#that gift could come from a witch hunt

[youchangedmedestiel]

I wrote this little ficlet (available on AO3 too) for Valentine's Day, it's called "Just a small green ball":

Dean is in the kitchen of the bunker. He is in a good mood, humming led zeppelin’s songs while cooking. Sam and Eileen took Jack out of the bunker for few days but based on the quantity of food Dean already made in less than two hours, no one would think there are only two here, and even less that one is a human and the other an angel that doesn’t really eat.

He is flipping the pancakes he prepared when he feels a strong and warm body pressing against his back, arms wrapping around his waist.

“Hello, Dean.” The gravely and familiar voice whispers into his ear, triggering goosebumps on his neck and arms and a smile. Then soft and tender lips kiss him on his pulse point. “Are you really that hungry?”

“No, I’m not.” Dean answers like he is hiding something, that’s when he feels that warm touch leaving. He turns around and faces Cas, looking at him with squinted eyes and his head tilted.

“Dean, why did you cook all these?” Cas asks, his eyes wandering on the kitchen counter. There is an apple pie, already cooked pancakes on the left and raw pancakes dough on the right with PB&J sandwiches. But this is not all, ingredients to cook burgers are also visible and probably even more are in the fridge.

“I have a gift for you.” Dean explains, smiling widely, as he fidgets the pocket of his jeans. “Ta da.” He exclaims, holding a little red wooden box between them. “Open it.” He tells Cas, who is looking at the box, puzzled. The angel takes it and does as told.

“Dean, what’s that?” Cas asks, his head is not tilted anymore but he looks at Dean questioningly.

“I’ve been looking for it for a looong time. And I finally found it. I was thinking that today might be a good day to give you this gift. Since, you know –“ Dean says, acting goofily, but Cas rolls his eyes. He still doesn’t know what this one small green ball is for.

“I know it’s Valentine’s Day, Dean. Isn’t that why Sam and Eileen left the bunker with Jack for few days? Because you know –“ Cas stops and lifts his arms, then adds “we were ‘celebrating it too loudly’ last year”, using the air quotes. Dean’s cheeks turn slightly pinkish remembering the reason for the loud noises last year. He swallows hard.

“Eat it.” Dean orders, he can’t wait any longer, for the next part of the surprise.

“You want me to eat the ball?” Cas asks, and Dean looks at him like he expects him to realize the innuendo, but he never does and in a way he thinks that makes it even funnier. At least it makes him feel fonder of Cas. Dean nods, looking at Cas lovingly. With that gaze, he could make Cas do anything, even if the angel doesn’t really need that to do everything for Dean. Cas swallows the ball. “What now?”

“Come, sit here.” Dean leads Cas to the kitchen’s table by grabbing his arm and Cas lets himself be dragged where Dean wants. Cas settles while Dean grabs the PB&J sandwiches on the counter and brings them to the table. He looks excited and Cas still doesn’t understand why but he smiles, because he loves seeing him happy. Though he knows PB&J’s could do that to someone, because he used to feel like this when he was a human and could taste them. He still misses them.

Dean pushes the plate towards Cas. “Eat.” He offers, smiling proudly. They sure look good, and Cas would love to do that, but they are just going to taste like molecules. He can’t refuse though, not when Dean looks at him like that with big wide eyes, he looks like the child he was never allowed to be. Cas grins at him and picks one up. Dean watches him expectantly as Cas leads it slowly to his mouth and takes a bite. Suddenly, Dean sees Cas’s eyes open widely in shock.

“Dean,” he exults, his mouth full.

“I know,” Dean nods, smiling. He did good on this one and feels proud when he sees how Cas takes one bite after another with really breathing. “Easy tiger, slow down.” Dean chuckles.

“But Dean, I can taste it, like human taste it.” Cas observes, then adds “How is that even possible?” Cas asks, picking up another sandwich.

“That green ball is responsible for it.” Dean explains, as he takes one sandwich for himself.

“I guessed that. Where did you find it?” Cas asks, his mouth filled again with peanut butter and jelly.

“I’m not going to reveal all my little secrets.”

“I guess I’ll have to make you spit it out then.” Cas says, smirking.

“Right.” Dean answers, and swallows hard. “But first we've got a big and tasty day ahead of us. You should try my burgers.” Dean says as he gets up and walks toward the kitchen.

Later, now that they are settle in the Dean cave in front of a movie to digest every meal Dean prepared, he needs to know, “so what’s your favorite meal then? Pie? I’m sure it’s pie? Or burgers? I did them real good today.” Dean shifts in Cas’s arms, because he wants to look at him when he answers.

“You, Dean.” Cas throws.

“I – huh –“ Dean’s cheeks turn really pink this time, it’s even perceivable with only the TV screen’s light on. Dean doesn’t have time to say more that Cas’s lips take possession of his in a hungry - despite all this food - and heated kiss.

#destiel #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #happy valentine's day #happy wedding anniversary #here's a little ficlet to celebrate #and think about them #in love #together #happy #as they deserve #writing fanfiction #that gift could come from a witch hunt #or from rowena's collection #and dean would have asked sam to be sure he could make others #before giving this gift to cas #like that they could have more days like this #it's just a thought #I add this idea before falling asleep last night #i hope you'll like it #my destiel fanfic

[wildwestdean]

transposition

summary: a spell goes wrong and ends up with you and sam switching bodies. neither of you tell dean, which ends up being the greatest decision you ever made

pairing: dean winchester x witch!reader; best friend!sam winchester x witch!reader (platonic, obvs)

word count: 6.3k+

warnings: swearing, mentions of magic use, misunderstandings, miscommunication, angst, secrets, accidental love confessions, awkward idiots, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff, cliches, minor use of [y/n], (female pronouns/descriptors used)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Sam grunted under his breath, continuing to powder the contents of your mortar with more force than necessary. “If Dean finds out about this-”

“Dean asked me to do this,” you defended, eyes skimming over the page in front of you before looking up at him. “Okay, maybe not verbatim, but he asked!” you added upon seeing the look on Sam’s face. 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m sure he did,” he replied sarcastically, slamming the pestle down with enough force to make you flinch. 

“Would you be fucking careful!” you hissed, glaring at him. “That thing isn’t indestructible and it’s important to me, it was a gift-” 

“From Dean,” he finished for you. “I know. Sorry,” he added, and even though his tone was sincere, you just knew he rolled his eyes anyway; and you chucked the closest thing you could grab at his back in retaliation. 

“Dick,” you muttered, going back to reading the passage before you. 

It wasn’t often that you used your powers - more so when it came down to a last resort option - and when Dean first discovered that you had magic, it wasn’t intentional. The two of you were on a hunt together, and it was - of course - not going to plan. You were on the brink of consciousness, having no choice but to watch defenselessly as Dean became outnumbered by Vamps. The spell came out of nowhere, nothing more than a primal instinct to protect him, and before anyone knew what was happening, the two of you were left alone with nothing but piles of ash where the monsters once stood. Dean first thought that Rowena had somehow stumbled upon them to save the day once more, though once he realized the spell came from you, he damn near lost his mind. You would have rather he yelled at you, smashed things around, anything compared to what he did. Once he made sure you were okay and had you checked out, he simply acted as if you didn’t exist; you were completely frozen out of his life. He never needed to say anything, you could see it in his eyes every time he glanced at you: How could you be a witch? He hated witches, and you knew that- it’s half the reason you never told him in the first place. He only started coming around with Sam’s convincing- and even then, it took an incredibly long time for him to trust you again. Then, one day, he came to realize that no matter what happened, he could never hate you. So, he came to you with an open mind and a peace offering- the exact mortar and pestle you had once told Sam that you wanted, because it reminded you of your mother’s- and the two of you worked on putting the pieces of your friendship back together. 

“Ass,” Sam retorted, turning and walking over to you with the freshly crushed ingredients. 

“You know,” you started, taking it from his hands. “You can’t really be against this all that much, otherwise you wouldn’t be here helping.”

“I’m only here so you don’t get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on,” you urged with a chuckle. “You love doing this, and you know it.”

He gave you a sarcastic smile before taking the book from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Fine,” you huffed, snatching the book right back. 

With one final glare at each other, you started the spell. Everything was going well… until it wasn’t. 

You aren’t exactly sure where it went wrong. You don’t know if it was the ingredients, the way you said the spell, or just a mixture of everything, but before you even knew what was happening the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow and sent both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “What the fuck?” you wondered aloud, feeling strange beyond comprehension. 

“What the hell happened?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I don’t know. Something feels wrong,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized why you felt so different. “Sam?” you asked meekly.

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; were they even your hands? 

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; your body? 

“You’re me!” you exclaimed, gesturing between the two of you. 

“You’re me!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, using the wall behind you to help you stand. “God, how do you live like this?”

“Me? What about you? I won’t even be able to reach the upper cabinets in the kitchen!” he countered, flailing his arms around. 

“At least you’ll be able to fit on your bed! My feet are gonna dangle!” you huffed, folding your arms over yourself. 

“You need to fix this,” Sam declared, stepping towards you. You couldn’t help but take a few steps away- this was way too weird. You’ve seen shifters take your image before, but this was actually you. Only it wasn’t you. You felt like your head was about to explode. 

“Gee, you think, Sam?” you snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “I thought we’d just stay like this forever!” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the door swinging open. You both flinched, turning to see Dean peering into the room. 

“What the fuck’s with all the yelling?” he asked, glancing around. “The hell is going on?” 

“I- uh-” you tried to answer, but nothing came to mind. 

“Just, uh…. experimenting,” Sam supplied, and you sent him a glare. 

“Experimenting?” Dean repeated, raising his eyebrows at you- or rather, at whom he thought was you. 

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug, not sure what else to say. The two of you shared a look, silently agreeing not to breathe a word of what was really going on. 

Dean’s face softened, and he sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re actually doing that spell. Sweetheart, we can get by without it.” 

“We don’t-” you started to argue, before Sam interrupted you with a clearing of his throat. 

Right. Dean wasn’t exactly talking to you right now. 

“Thought it was a good opportunity to practice,” Sam replied, sounding more like he was asking than telling. 

“Right,” Dean said, eyeing your body wearily. 

Oh, god. He was gonna pick up on something being wrong, it was only a matter of time. 

“You can leave any time now,” you spoke up, more irritated than you meant to sound, but you were severely on edge.

Dean turned to you with a look of surprise. “‘Scuse me?”

“I just- you know, we’re in the middle of something,” you continued, doing your best to stand your ground. 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he quipped, taking a step towards you. “What the hell were you thinking? Why are you letting her mess around with this stuff? Better yet, why are you helping her mess around with this stuff?” 

“It’s just a simple spell,” you argued, your head swirling with the fact that you were looking down on him, instead of being dwarfed by his frame like you normally would be. 

“A simple spell?” he repeated, fury and irritation dancing in his eyes. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”  

“Last I checked we could make our own decisions, Dean!” you exclaimed, glaring at him. 

“Sure,” he placated with a nod. “So long as they’re not stupid ass decisions!” 

“Can we go ten minutes in this place without a fight happening?” Sam pitched in, already exasperated with the situation. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean grumbled, glaring at you. “Food’s ready.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Sam announced, earning a glare from you in return. 

“Don’t you think we should finish-” you tried to ask, but were quickly cut off by Dean. 

“No, you guys are done in here,” he declared, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”

“Dean-” you tried once more, only to be cut off again. 

“Sam,” Dean warned. “I’m not kidding. Whatever you two were doing, it’s done.”

“Fine. We’ll be out in a few minutes,” you relented, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “We need to clean up!” you added upon seeing the look on Dean’s face. 

“Five minutes,” Dean agreed pointedly. “Or I swear, I’ll drag both your asses out of this room.” 

“Yeah, five minutes, got it,” you huffed, watching him as he hesitantly left the room. 

You waited a few moments before hastily making your way over and all but slamming the door, turning to look at Sam with wide eyes. 

“We are so screwed,” he declared, matching your expression. 

“What are we supposed to do? He’s gonna figure out something’s wrong!” you exclaimed, slumping against the door behind you. 

“We just…. I don’t know, pretend?” Sam suggested with a shrug. 

“Pretend?” you repeated incredulously. “Sam, this is insane! We can’t just pretend to be each other!” 

“It’s not like I meant permanently!” he defended, holding out his hands in surrender. “But until we can find a way to fix this, we have to at least play the part in front of Dean.” 

“Fine,” you agreed with a huff. “But I am not going on your crack of dawn jogs.” 

“Oh, come on-” he started to argue, though quickly stopped when met with your glare. “Yeah, okay, that- that’s fine.” 

“Great. Now let’s go before Dean gets even more pissy,” you declared, opening the door with a flourish. 

With a quick nod, he followed you down the hall, the two of you lowly bickering about the situation all the way to the kitchen. 

“I feel like a baby giraffe with this fucking body.”

“You look like a baby giraffe, do you not know how to walk?” 

“Yeah, I know how to walk! I know how to walk with normal legs!”

“Normal? You’re short enough to get in anywhere with a child’s pass!” 

“Keep up with the attitude, Sam. Maybe I’ll go have a really nice salon visit and cut all this hair!” 

“Fine, then maybe I’ll call up that guy from your ‘worst date ever’ and ask to catch up!”

“Fine by me. You’ll be the one he’ll be groping and hitting on the whole time.” 

“Yeah- well-... look, just don’t cut my hair!” 

“What are you two all hush hush about?” Dean asked curiously, eyeing you both as you entered the kitchen. 

“Nothing,” you both quickly replied, taking a seat at the table. 

Dean stared at you both for a moment before nodding curtly. “If you say so.” 

Choosing not to reply, you both quietly watched as he joined the table, taking his regular seat next to you. Which, of course, meant he was currently next to Sam, and you watched in amusement as he shifted nervously while Dean got too close for his comfort. 

Attempting to stifle a laugh, you took a bite of the burger that was placed in front of you, only to grimace in response. “What is this?” you asked through a mouthful, meeting Dean’s confused gaze. 

“It’s… the same veggie burger you force me to make you every time I make burgers?” he replied, looking at you as though you lost your head. 

Fucking Sam, you thought bitterly. “Oh, right. Right, it just- it tastes different, I don’t know,” you stammered, sparing a quick glance across at Sam as you hurriedly took another bite. 

“You two are weirder than usual tonight,” Dean muttered to himself before eating his own food. 

The three of you ate in stifling silence, you and Sam both internally trying to find a way out of this mess, before Dean spoke up again and pulled you from your revere. 

“[Y/N], do you want just the usual from the store? I was gonna make a run before our movie night,” he said, turning to look beside him with a soft grin. 

You felt your stomach drop as Sam cleared his throat, looking between you and Dean for a moment. “Movie night?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, his eyebrows furrowing in even more confusion. “Like we have every Friday?” 

“Oh, right!” Sam exclaimed, chuckling nervously. “I didn’t realize what day it is, I, uh- I’m actually not… feeling too hot, do you mind if we skip it tonight?” 

“You wanna skip it?” Dean asked quietly, making your heart shatter as you watched the hurt and disappointment flash across his face.

After the two of you made up from your falling out, you started a tradition of spending extra quality time together at least once a week. This resulted in having a movie night every Friday, no matter what. Whether that meant catching a random movie on a motel tv or settling into the Dean Cave, you both always found a way to make it. Knowing you had no choice but to skip out this time almost made you want to tell him what happened right then and there; but you didn’t. 

“Yeah, I just… I think it’s best if I just head to bed, you know? I’d hate for it to get worse,” Sam said sheepishly, playing with the glass in front of him as he met Dean’s gaze halfheartedly. 

You were glad that if you had to mistakenly swap bodies with someone, it was Sam. Given that he became your best friend from just about the moment you met, he had your behaviour down pat; you just hoped you could do the same and make this all a little easier. 

“Well what do you mean, what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.

“I’m just feeling run down is all,” Sam said, shrugging lightly as he stood up, taking his dishes to the sink. “Maybe we can watch something tomorrow,” he added, turning back to Dean with a shy smile. 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed softly, averting his gaze to the beer in his hands. “Don’t worry about it, just get some rest.” 

“Sure. Uh, goodnight, guys,” Sam replied awkwardly, shooting you a pointed look before leaving. 

You stayed in uncomfortable silence for a moment, studying Dean as he pouted at his bottle. 

“You alright?” you asked tentatively. 

“Yeah, just… first time she’s bailed on me,” he replied indifferently, downing the rest of his beer before heading to get another one. 

“She didn’t bail on you,” you argued firmly. “It’s not like she chose to go bar hopping or something, she’s sick.” 

“Didn’t seem so sick when she was huddled up with you,” Dean said curtly, leaning against the counter as he sent you a cold stare. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked confusedly, shifting in your seat to look at him better. 

He remained silent, lips pursed as he studied you for what felt like hours, before he finally shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Then why say it?” you asked in irritation. 

He remained silent once more, simply raising the beer bottle to his lips and taking a long sip before standing upright. “Night, Sammy.” 

“Dean-” you tried to press, but he only ignored you as he continued across the floor, leaving the kitchen without saying another word. 

You sighed in exasperation, quickly cleaning everything up before heading to your room, catching almost no sleep as you dove deep into researching for a reversal to your mistake.

“You need to shave,” Sam said, staring at you from across the table. 

“What?” you asked, caught off guard by the declaration. 

“Your beard - my beard. You need to shave it,” he clarified. “It’s been over a week.”

“And?” you asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “I doubt you’re taking care of all my housekeeping.” 

“That’s because I’m doing everything possible to not look at you! Like you asked!” he hissed in return. 

You rolled your eyes in response, returning your attention to the book in front of you. “I have more important things on my mind than shaving your stupid facial hair - which looks fine, by the way.” 

Sam huffed, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, well you can at least take five minutes for me!”

“I don’t even know how to shave a beard, Sam!” you argued, closing the book in exasperation. 

“Then just let me shave it for you!” he begged, leaning over the table. “I’m serious, [Y/N], you can’t just leave me all unkempt.” 

You met his gaze and sighed softly. “Damn, you can even pull off the puppy dog eyes with my face. That’s a talent, Sammy.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh, for what felt like the first time since this whole thing happened. “You can do it better than I can,” he chuckled. “At least when it comes to Dean,” he added with a smirk. 

“What does that mean?” you asked curiously. 

“Nothing,” he said, shrugging dismissively. “C’mon, let’s get you- me- whatever, all taken care of before Dean gets back with dinner.” 

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed, getting up to follow him.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of him as he sat on the bathroom counter, because: “How else are we supposed to do this? These arms aren’t gonna reach that face comfortably without some help.”

You fell into a comfortable silence as he did what he needed to do, the only words spoken being his occasional nagging for you to quit moving, as you were both lost in your own thoughts about the last few days.

“I’m really sorry, Sammy,” you said suddenly. You weren’t sure whether your voice was so quiet due to the shame you felt, or for the fear of breaking the silence that surrounded you. 

“It’s not your fault,” he said simply, reflexively. 

You sighed, gently shaking your head; which earned another scolding glare from him as he steadied you. “It’s entirely my fault. I fucked up big time, and we both know it.” 

“Look, it was an accident,” he urged, wiping away the remnants of the shave one last time. “Assigning blame isn’t going to change anything.” 

“Why aren’t you mad at me? You should be furious! I practically ruined your life,” you pressed on frantically. 

“Okay, that’s being dramatic,” he chided. “Yeah, this isn't an ideal situation. Though weirdly, it’s also not the weirdest situation I’ve been in. And you know what? It’s not even the first time I’ve been in this situation! Remember when that kid switched bodies with me? Trust me, you’re a much better person to be switched with.” 

“Yeah, I remember,” you said, chuckling softly. “Still, I’m really sorry.” 

“I know you are,” he said softly. “I also know you’ll find a way to fix this.” 

“You really believe that?” you asked hesitantly. 

“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “‘Cause it’s you, and I’ll always have faith in you. You didn’t mean for this to happen, [Y/N]. It’s okay.” 

“No, it-” you started to argue, but he cut you off. 

“Stop,” he urged softly. “I’m not mad at you, okay? Maybe I was at first, but I’m not anymore.” 

“Promise?” you asked meekly. 

“I promise,” he said firmly.

“Okay,” you relented, not fully believing him but not wanting to push the topic any further. 

“Okay,” he repeated, gently wiping away one of your stray tears. 

“Maybe we should just tell Dean,” you suggested hesitantly. 

“Tell me what?” Dean’s voice suddenly cut through the room.

The two of you jumped, and you moved away from the counter as calmly as you could, knowing how the predicament you were in must look to him.

You turned to the doorway and came face to face with Dean staring intently at the two of you, his mind working into an overdrive as he tried to make sense of the scene he just walked in on. 

“Dean, I- when did you get back?” you asked nervously. 

“Tell me what?” he asked again, ignoring your question. 

You and Sam were both at a loss. You spent so much time trying to figure this whole thing out, yet neither of you thought to come up with some kind of story should you be cornered like this. 

“[Y/N]?” Dean asked softly, looking over to where he thought you sat on the counter. 

The look of hurt and confusion that flashed over his face and the waver in his voice all but sent a fresh wave of tears washing over you. 

Dean waited impatiently a few moments before shaking his head with a scoff. “Whatever, food’s in the kitchen.”

Before anyone could say anything else, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you and Sam stunned in his wake. 

The dynamic between the three of you began shifting even more ever since that night, and you could feel Dean slipping further and further away from you with each passing day. 

You noticed it every time Dean would catch you and Sam huddled up and whispering low; when he would stand and stare before leaving with a quiet grumble of forgetting why he was there. 

You noticed it when he started spending more time in his room or tinkering with Baby in the garage; finding any and every excuse possible to spend time outside of the bunker and away from you and Sam. 

You and Sam tried to ignore it, promised yourselves that you’d explain everything once you managed to set things right - or, if you discovered you were over your heads and couldn’t fix everything. 

The thing you hated most about this whole thing was that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to Dean; and the worst part about that was not knowing whether you and Sam really became more convincing, or if Dean just didn’t care enough to question you anymore. 

Which is exactly why you found yourself sitting in the war room, waiting for Dean to make his way through to the kitchen, in order to try and talk things out. 

You weren’t expecting him to appear with one duffle bag over his shoulder and another by his side - and he wasn’t expecting to see you, either. 

“Didn’t think you’d be up,” he declared after a moment of hesitation, continuing on his path to the stairs. 

“Where the hell are you going?” you asked hotly, standing from your seat. 

Dean sighed, throwing his head back in frustration as he considered his response. “Donna’s cabin.” 

“What? Why?” you asked, eyebrows drawing together with confusion. 

“I can’t do it anymore,” he said tiredly. “I just can’t, okay?” 

“Do what?” you asked wearily, taking a tentative step towards him. “What are you talking about, Dean?” you pressed, feeling your chest tighten with the rising nerves and fear.

“Don’t do that,” he demanded, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You think I don’t know what’s been going on around here?” 

“What-... what’s been going on?” you asked curiously. “The hell are you talking about?”

You weren’t sure if or when he figured out what happened, and you also weren’t sure why it would make him feel the need to leave. 

“I’m talking about you and [Y/N]!” he shouted, throwing his bags down and stepping towards you. 

“Me and [Y/N]?” you wondered, taking a nervous step backwards. 

“I’m not an idiot, okay?” he spat, his jaw ticking. “You think I haven’t noticed? Think I couldn’t figure it out?” 

“Okay, look,” you began, holding out your hands defensively. “I can explain.” 

Dean let out a humourless laugh, running a hand over his mouth before glaring at you once more. “Explain,” he echoed with a chuckle of disbelief. “Don’t waste your breath.”

“Why are you so pissed off about this?” you asked in bewilderment. “I mean, I know we kept it from you, but we figure it’d be easier for you.” 

“Easier for me?” he repeated, voice raising. “What about this entire situation makes you think it’d be easy for me?”

“Well because it-... I mean it doesn’t really affect you, Dean,” you replied, unsure of your own words. 

“It doesn’t affect me?” he repeated with perplexion. “Of course it affects me! You know how I feel about her!” he exclaimed, taking yet another step forward. 

“What?” you questioned, thrown off by his response. 

“Don’t “what” me,” he snapped. “I want to be happy for you, Sammy. I really do, but I just-... I don’t think I ever can be.” 

“Okay, I-... I am so lost,” you admitted.

“You stole my girl, Sam!” Dean all but screamed. “You know that I love her. You know I was gonna tell her, and you know how much I want to spend whatever’s left of my god forsaken life with her! You swore you didn’t feel that way about her. You- I mean how to hell could you do this to me, Sammy? I can’t even stand to look at you anymore.” 

You remained silent, staring at him in shock and confusion for what felt like hours. Your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to formulate a response, but all that came out was a broken whisper of his name. 

“Don’t sweat it, Sammy. Not like I can blame you for falling for her, right? I mean hey, I sure did,” he sassed, smiling sarcastically. “Not surprised she chose you, either. She deserves someone better than me. But I’m not sticking around anymore to see it first hand.” 

You watched in stunned silence as he turned to gather his bags, trying and failing to think of anything to say. What the hell were you supposed to do? The man of your dreams just admitted he felt the exact same way, and you were trapped in his brother's body. Even if you told him the truth right now, would he even believe you? 

“Do me one favour, though,” Dean said from the foot of the stairs, effectively pulling you from your thoughts. “Don’t tell [Y/N]. Don’t tell her anything. I’ll think of something to tell her during the drive and call her tomorrow.” 

“Dean-” you finally began to protest, only to go unheard by him as he started up the steps. 

“Later, Sammy,” he announced with finality, disappearing out of the bunker. 

“You have got to be kidding me. I mean honestly woman, how stupid can you be?” Rowena’s voice rang through the war room as she made her arrival known to you and Sam.

“Did you not get in enough insults over the phone?” you asked in exasperation, not bothering to move from your spot in the library as you watched her approach.  

“I don’t think there are enough insults for this situation, dear,” she said sweetly, smiling innocently. 

“Either be helpful or leave, Rowena,” you replied solemnly. 

It had been three days since Dean left, and over two weeks since the whole debacle happened. You had never been more determined to find a solution, nor had you ever felt more defeated. 

“Alright, fine. No need to be cranky,” Rowena tsked, taking a seat across from you. “Go on, then. Walk me through everything.” 

“Fine,” you sighed, steadying yourself before recounting the situation. 

“Let me get this straight,” Rowena declared, holding a hand up. “You actually let him leave? After what he said?” 

“Is that seriously your only take away from this?” you asked angrily, glaring at her. 

“It’s not my only take away, but it’s certainly a big one,” she said calmly, accompanied by a half shrug. “This is the spell you used?” she asked, looking over the book you gave her during your explanation. 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” you confirmed sheepishly. 

“Well, don’t you worry. We’ll have you and Samuel right as rain in no time, dear,” she comforted, eyes never leaving the pages in front of her.

It took another four days, but ‘No time’ finally came. You were practically itching to get this all over and done with as the three of you finished setting everything up. You didn’t even care about being in your own skin again, all you cared about at this point was getting Dean back in your life. He did everything possible to avoid talking to you or Sam each time either of you tried contacting him, and you were missing him more and more with each passing hour.

“That should do it,” Rowena declared, snapping you back to attention. “You know what you need to do?” 

“Yes,” you said quickly, urging her out of the room; the last thing you needed was for her to be around and have the spell go wrong again, resulting in all three of you being scrambled around. 

“Don’t rush it!” she cautioned. “I know you want him back, but you need to take this slowly. You can’t afford another screw up!” 

Her statement made you pause, and you knew she was right. “Go slow, I got it,” you confirmed, shutting her out of the room. 

“Ready?” Sam asked, looking at you eagerly; albeit nervous beyond belief. 

“More than ever,” you declared, taking your place at the altar. 

You began the spell, doing everything slowly and precisely so there was no room for error. Once you had finished, however, nothing had happened. You were just about ready to scream with all the emotions boiling inside of you when suddenly the bowl before you exploded in a cloud of yellow, sending both you and Sam flying. 

“Oh, god,” you groaned, holding a hand to your head as your ears rang. “This again?” you wondered aloud.

“Did it even work?” Sam croaked out.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through a fit of coughs. “You?”

“I think so,” you declared, sitting up. It was at that exact moment you realized what happened. “Sam?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Yeah?” he questioned, sitting up himself. “Wait-” 

“I’m-” you began, unable to finish as you stared at your hands; your own hands.

“You’re….” Sam tried, staring at you then down at his body; his very own body.

“You’re you!” you exclaimed in glee, pointing at him.

“You’re you!” he echoed, scrambling to stand.

You followed suit, taking a moment to steady yourself on your own feet. “I need to go,” you announced, not giving him time to reply before you ran out of the room. 

“You’re welcome!” Rowena called after you, watching you run by. 

“Thank you!” you called back absently, hurrying out to your car. 

The drive took longer than ever before; at least, it felt like it did. You spent the whole time trying to think of what to say, of how to explain, but nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed like enough. All you could hope for was that everything would magically come to you once you stood before him. 

If he ever decided to open the goddamn door. 

“Dammit, Dean! Open the fucking door before I break it down!” you yelled, banging your hand against the wood for the upteenth time. 

You opened your mouth to yell once more, but before you could even make a sound a voice boomed out from behind you. “What are you doing here?” 

You turned with a start, coming face to face with Dean as he stood at the bottom of the steps. “I came to talk to you,” you said simply, taking a few steps forward. 

He quickly averted his gaze, focusing on wiping the grease from his hands with the rag he held. “Coulda just called,” he countered gruffly. 

“Why?” you asked, laughing dryly. “You’d just ignore my calls.” 

He stilled his ministrations for a moment before shrugging, glancing back up at you. “Maybe ‘cause we got nothing to talk about.” 

“Dean-” you tried to argue, though you stopped short when he rolled his eyes and turned away from you. 

“Look, I know all about you and Sam, okay?” he huffed, storming across the drive and to where Baby was parked, hood still open for Dean to continue working on her.  

“Oh, for god’s sake, Dean. There is no me and Sam!” you exclaimed with a groan, quickly following behind him. 

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he placated, picking up his previously abandoned ratchet. 

“Just listen to me,” you pleaded, watching his face scrunch with a mix of frustration and concentration as he dove back into his work. 

“You don’t need to explain,” he said distractedly. “I get it. He’s good for you. I just-... you didn’t need to hide it, [Y/N/N]. I thought we were closer than that.” 

“We are! That’s not what we were hiding, just let me explain!” you said desperately, stepping closer to him. 

“You can quit the act, okay?” he snapped, stopping what he was doing as he stood up, finally turning to look at you. “I have eyes, I saw what-” 

“Sam and I fucking switched bodies!” you yelled over him, effectively rendering him speechless. “Alright? When you walked in on us doing that spell the other week… it went wrong, Dean. Sam and I, we just-... we switched!”

“You… switched bodies?” he asked slowly, scepticism starting to present itself on his face as he processed what you said.

“Yes,” you confirmed softly. ”I was Sam, Sam was me.”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably as he anxiously tapped his fingers on Baby’s exterior. “Well, isn’t that just a great story,” he muttered, leaning under the hood once more. 

“It’s not a story,” you argued desperately. “It’s what happened.” 

“Then why not tell me?” he challenged, not missing a beat. 

“Because,” you began lamely. “You always have so much on your plate, Dean. We didn’t want to shove this stupid thing on you and add to your worries.” 

“So you lied to me for my own good?” he asked harshly, gaze not straying from his hands as he worked. 

“We didn’t lie, we just-”

“Avoided the truth,” he finished for you. “Same thing, if you ask me.”

“We thought it was for the best,” you admitted quietly. 

“Oh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically, throwing his tools down. “Sneaking around, icing me out. Definitely for my best interest, huh?” 

“Dean, please,” you pleaded. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.” 

“Then why did you come, [Y/N]?” he shouted, shutting Baby’s hood. “What did you think was gonna happen here?” 

“Well, I thought-... I just-... I wanted to clear the air,” you stammered. “I wanted to explain.” 

“Well, you explained,” he muttered, busying himself with tidying his mess. 

You watched him silently for a few moments, trying to think of your next move. You decided to ask the question that’s been on your mind since he left: “Were you really planning on actually telling me one day?” 

He let out an irritated sigh, picking up his belongings and moving around to the trunk. “What are you talking about?” 

“Were you really gonna tell me?” you repeated, quickly taking a few steps to meet him at the trunk.  

“Tell you what?” he huffed, irritation oozing off of him as he slammed the toolbox down. 

“How you feel!” you blurted out, taking yet another step towards him. 

“The hell are you talking about?” he questioned, feigning cluelessness. Though the way his body stiffened as he idly messed with the stuff in the trunk betrayed him; he knew what you meant.  

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you replied softly. “Were you?” 

“I don’t know!” he huffed, shutting the trunk. “Maybe,” he added, walking away from you once more. 

“You said-” 

“I know what I said!” he interrupted, clearly irritated. “Can we not relive it? I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Well I do!” you argued, exasperated. “Why the fuck else do you think I’m here, Dean?”

“To clear the air,” he sneered, repeating your earlier words as he made his way back to the cabin. 

“To tell you I love you!” you shouted after him, stopping him in his tracks. “I didn’t choose Sam. How can I choose him when I’ve loved you for years? How can I choose him when my entire world stopped spinning the day you shut me out of your life all those years ago? How can I choose him when I didn’t feel like I could breathe until you finally spoke to me again? How can I choose him, when having to watch you walk away the other day was the most terrifying thing I had to do, because I didn’t know if I’d ever get you back this time? You can put us in any timeline, in any universe, or in any realm, and I will always choose you. I love you.”

You were met with silence for entirely too long, and you watched the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders as he kept his back to you, standing tense as ever with his head down low. 

“Will you just look at me, please?” you pleaded shakily.

As soon as the words left your mouth he spun on his heel and marched towards you, closing the distance between you two in seconds. He grabbed your face in his hands, letting a moment of hesitation pass by before crashing his lips against yours. It was harsh yet delicate, slow but needy. It was gentle and all consuming. His hands strayed from your face, one sweeping to the back of your head to hold you steady while the other slipped to your waist and pulled you close. Your hands found themselves gliding up his arms, resting on the base of his neck for a moment before settling on his cheeks. 

When the two of you finally pulled away to catch your breath, it seemed like neither of you wanted to go too far; foreheads pressed together and noses brushing as you both giggled quietly, shy smiles on your swollen lips. 

You stood like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's presence in ways you never could before, until your gentle whisper cut through the silence: “Please come home, Dean.” 

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly, planting a delicate kiss to your forehead before completely wrapping you up in his arms, holding you closer than ever. “I am home.”

tagging: @winharry

dividers by @firefly-graphics and @saradika

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester x y/n #sam winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean fluff #dean fic #dean winchester angst #dean angst #sam winchester fluff #supernatural fandom #supernatural fic #dean winchester x plus size reader #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #best friend!sam winchester

[steddieasitgoes]

Eddie, who, as a child, struggled with making decisions, so Wayne gifted him a Magic 8 ball that he could turn to for guidance. Eddie spends most of his childhood carrying around the Magic 8 Ball, using it to decide between mac and cheese (ask again later) or chicken strips (signs point to yes) at lunch or whether he should go talk to the new kid Gareth (without a doubt). 

Eddie slowly starts to make his own decisions but keeps onto the Magic 8 Ball for important, life-changing questions. He asks if he should drop out of school after failing his first senior year (my reply is no) and then again if he should repeat said senior year (it is decidedly so). He even asks if he should start working for Reefer Rick (reply hazy, try again) -- it’s the one time he chose to ignore the ball’s advice. 

Unfortunately, Eddie doesn’t have his Magic 8 Ball on him when the witch hunt starts. He wishes he could ask it if all this hiding and running is going to be worth it. But for once, Eddie has to rely on his own decisions. So he keeps going. Lets Dustin and his friends take him under their wing and protect him. Has to trust that Nancy’s plan is going to work and that Steve is going to make Vecna pay when he nods his head at his request. 

It’s hard trusting other people without having something to double check the universe’s whims on, but he has no choice. 

When he survives and gets sent to the hospital, the Magic 8 Ball is one of the first thing he asks Uncle Wayne to bring him from home. The first question he asks: was any of it real (without a doubt). Oh, how he wishes it was all a dream.

The second question he asks later when he’s all alone: will I get over my crush on Steve (very doubtful). Not pleased with the answer, Eddie pushes the Magic 8 Ball aside and rolls his eyes. What does it know anyway? 

As his recovery continues, Eddie comes to rely on his Magic 8 Ball less and less because he has a group of friends around him who are there to offer their guidance. The Magic 8 ball stays perched on the small hospital table though, always in reach if he needs it. 

He nearly tells Wayne to take it home one night, but he’s glad he doesn’t because in the morning he wakes to find Steve shaking the ball in his hands. 

“Didn’t strike you as a Magic 8 ball kind of guy, Harrington,” Eddie teases, voice thick with sleep and whatever drugs are still coursing through his body. 

“M’not usually, but I needed a little guidance with this question.” 

“Oh yeah? And what does the magic ball say?” 

“It just says yes.”

"Ah, the most definitive of Magic 8 Ball answers.” 

“So I should trust it then?” 

“That depends,” Eddie says, stretching out on the uncomfortable hospital bed. “What did you ask it?”

"I asked it if I could kiss you.” 

Without thinking, Eddie sits up and snatches the Magic 8 Ball from Steve’s hands. He ducks his head, closes his eyes, and mouths his question before violently shaking the Magic 8 Ball. 

It is certain.

“What did you ask it?” Steve asks, stepping closer to Eddie’s hospital bed.

“If you were being serious.” 

“And? What did it say?” 

Eddie turns the Magic 8 Ball so Steve can see the little triangle floating. When he looks up, he sees Steve barely containing the smile breaking out on his face. 

“Guess you better kiss me, Harrington,” Eddie teases. “Don’t want to upset the Magic 8 Ball gods.”

#this is dumb lol but i have this thing with magic 8 balls idk #steddie #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington/eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #dani writes #mine

[femoso-seben]

mini witch headcanon

Konig x witch reader

You are one of five sister witches, born from the same demon raised by the same witch who grew up together. As the youngest you didn’t have a familiar, you had seen all the familiar your sisters have. A bear, wolf, hawk, and a black panther. All majestic but very… cold.

You wanted something a little more friendly and a little less demanding…. However, the gods have deemed fit you have rotten luck. You were gifted the most horrendously ugly octopus you have ever seen. Slimy and clingy. Your first thought it eat. Deep fry it, with some nice sauces. Then the little squirt transforms. You could no longer eat it. You tried throwing it back into the ocean but the little filthy thing kept coming back clinging to Your skin. Its favorite place to hang out was your chest its tentacles touching your face. You walked the lands keeping your familiar in your hat. When the witch hunt began…. having a massive behemoth of a man on your side was very useful. ----------------

Fic here

@milkywayhou

#call of duty #cod x reader #konig cod #cod #konig #konig call of duty #konig x reader #konig x you #cod konig #konig mw2 #cod mw2 #octokonig #octopus! konig

[s-4pphics]

moth. teaser. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: knights of the devil, you all are to be conquered. 

WORD COUNT: 881 

WARNINGS: vampire!ellie, vampirekiller!oc, a lot to come FUCK, violence… so blood(drinking), death, murder, gore, religion briefly,

A/N: yasss yaaas taglist?

prolouge

1809

“Oh, my precious darling…” 

Red, similar to her hair; palms painted from the tips of a finger to the points of elbows; knees sunk into begrimed pili drenched with fresh maroon. Panicked breaths are accompanied by prayers, wishes of denial. Desires for death. 

“… What I would give to protect you…” 

“F-F—“

Tortured hollers are directed towards the pouring skies. Bodies. Bodies everywhere; surrounded by decay. 

She sobs, deep from the pits of her stomach, “Father, for-forgive them! For they do not—“

Thunder claps. Lightning is being used as weapons from the Lord above, all meant to discover her and strike. The beams in the sky are intended to punish her discernment. It was a mistake. It was a mistake! Her eyes refuse to meet the battered corpse of the young babe, no more than three. Her crime was committed in a haze, blinded by starvation, all at the cost of the family before her. Villagers would deem the view a savage attack. A mutilation only made possible by the ravenous wolves after dark. The bears that protect the trees at dusk.

All on horseback, the strangers paused their ventures to inquire guidance. She swiftly became an aid for navigating the path, instructing them with a trembling finger and a blistering throat. Follow that trail to the end of the woods. Unbeknownst to their gracious eyes, she followed. Stalked after their mount for miles like the thoroughbred they ride, carried by the wind. Urged by bloodlust. 

Her vision blurred when they tied their horse’s lariats to a nearby post that barely passed the trees. Her vision was shrouded in darkness, a substance so thick that her limbs felt trapped, even in frantic movement. They’d reached the end, just like she’d promised. 

Their screams satiated her hunger, but never hindered her guilt. 

Demons, I tell you! All of them, demons! Witches destined to be set aflame for the masses! 

And now she crouches over them with remorse in her chest. Remorse that will wash away her like the rainfall that pounds on her shoulders. Much like it had in the past when her purity was stolen. Another fatality. 

1919

“Hunting requires bouts of unwavering dedication. If the entirety of your being doesn’t relish in the suffering of the demons walking, then you are to be shunned.”

Being the youngest hunter-to-be amongst legends, historical monuments that leave trails of prosperous victories wherever they advance, is humbling. Your mother pestered you for as long as you could remember: never, never become a hunter, being her only protest for you, her only child. She used to pray beside your bed at night when she assumed you to be asleep, praising the Creator for forbidding you sickness or poverty. You were her only treasure, a gift from the frosted heavens. 

And the demons took her. 

Hunters searched the unoccupied lands that surrounded your home relentlessly, but no traces of the Devils’ were ever discovered. They attended your mother’s burial for your protection, and prepared to assist your transition into the orphanage, but you denied. You were permanently vexed. Forever vengeful. 

I wish to become a hunter! 

Your recruitment was immediate due to the shortage of volunteers, and that same day, you witnessed all of the treasures and memories of your childhood home — of your mother — get burned to the ground by the Hunters. No trails for the demons should go untouched by fire. 

“If you hesitate for even a second, you’re dead. Either by their hand…” 

Something unsettled you that morning as you prepared for school. Something in the air, something underground. A heaviness in your home that you couldn’t trace. Your mother ironed your skirt and pinned your hair up, brushed down the small curls around your hairline, and she eased you. The weather is changing, dear, she’d said before wishing you well. You studied relentlessly, all while she was shredded by teeth sharp as knives. You want the Devil’s lifeless heart in the palm of your hand, risks be damned.

“Or mine. And I will not hesitate.” 

The overseer of your battalion, who slowly paces before his future prodigies, aura menacing, pauses in front of you. With your gaze locked forward and a lump in your throat, you gawk right on the crescent on his belt — the hunter’s insignia — your feet shuffle, shoes slightly squeaking above the wood. 

“Are you prepared, child?” 

His tone is disparaging, and you swallow. Your head bobs and your breathing stutters. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He crouches before you and your cells stiffen, elbows perched on his knees, eyes finally level with yours. You appear stoic due to the grinding of your teeth, inspecting the stitched scar that sprouts at his right brow and crosses his eye.

“You are nothing,” He hisses, and your heart clenches, “You are not a child, and I am not your elder. Any identity you held prior to your arrival is worthless, now. We are vessels for the greatest power above. Hunter is your only name, do you understand?” 

No verbiage escapes you. It couldn’t with how your breath trembles, so you nod once; Quite mechanic. 

“Stand straight.” 

His conviction forces your shoulders into alignment, and snickers from the older prodigies erupt from behind you. Your cheeks warm and your palms drip. The overseer rises to his feet once more.

“That goes for all of you!” He shouts, and the room is quiet.

The crescent sparkles under the yellow candlelight. Your palms grow clammy at his viperous swear. 

“I will not hesitate.” 

#vampire!ellie #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams au #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie tlou #works 𖧧࣪ #lesbian

[eremorte]

thronecoming heritage hall gifts (rewritten)

The Thronecoming heritage hall gifts bug me. Most of them don’t feel like a parent has gifted them. They are so uninspired for the biggest moment in their child’s life.

I’ve listed my replacements below. I’m hoping for the gifts to have a, if had-to-do-it-again-here’s-what-I’d-want vibe.

blondie lockes

OG gift: running shoes

rewritten gift: a new piece of tech that helps her with her mirror cast. A shiny new microphone or even just a cute news reporter accessory that acknowledges her unintended break from destiny (or rather extremely developed hobby/career because her story can be over in like 30 minutes) it also gives off the initial impression that blondie’s story is “just right” the way it is until.. boom! There’s a note.

That mentions that as Goldilocks has reflected on her role and how she regrets hurting the bears the ways she has* and with an extra perceptive daughter like blondie she is sure to find a worthy story (within bounds) that won’t cause baby bear to develop a complex. *insert long list of things here that blondie could comment on in her stead because the story book of legends didn’t write every worthwhile critique of the bear house and the bears despite “forgiving” her won’t let her talk to them about this* and a small comment of how she is super proud about blondie that hopefully eases some of her attention seeking behavior so she’s less of a brat later on.

cerise hood:

OG Gift: picnic basket with an electronic mirror lock.

revised gift: honestly I have no comment. This is a great gift. My only question is how recently the presents are placed in the hall seeing as how that basket spit up a whole bird leg. Maybe it has a special note of the picnic menu they have in celebration once the whole shebang is done.

o hair twins:

OG gift floating hair brushes

rewritten gift given how Rapunzel’s story is that she was locked away her whole life because her bio mom ate a magical plant while pregnant that the witch wasn’t sure of the side effects of and had to lock her away because damn sure bio parents couldn’t do anything if the witch was second guessing herself. What I think should be there are odd bits an bobs function like an Easter egg hunt of a map and post fairytale notes one what they are that Rapunzel is certain her girls can figure out because they have her plant powers (though probably diluted hence the helpful notes incase they have to solve things like their adoptive grandma ).

briar beauty

NOW FOR THE GIRL WHO INSPIRED THIS POST. Her gift makes me so angry. It is the most nothing gift of the whole bunch. You mean to tell me that a hundred year sleep doesn’t come with any regrets at all? Not one thing?

OG gift A neck pillow.

revised gift: A SCRAPBOOK. The first few pages could be filled with pictures of her family. Bonus points if they’re are people Briar wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet but knows who they are by virtue of her mom. It hits home exactly how big her sacrifice is. Also all the storybook imagery? The intro? Imagine if there was a dark time line where we were being told everything that happen through briar who missed all of it and is trying to piece back something familiar?

either way, mental breakdown and existential crisis guaranteed.

also bonus. It’s totally merchandisable. Half the book mercy was essentially scrapbooks/concept art anyhow.

Cedar wood: revealer rays

it’s a good gift but something she wouldn’t be able to use in her story at all. They are not subtle and most everyone who knows about Cedar knows that Pinocchio didn’t mess up her eyes to the point she’d feasibly need glasses. Revised gift: letters from the blue fairy (well wishes, maybe an helpful hint or two) Gepetto and Pinocchio (things to to try (and not repeat) once she’s no longer wooden and how to lie effectively) I can’t think of a physical possession for Cedar to have. But I feel she’d appreciate these. Maybe a special cricket/donkey whistle?

duchess swan:

no gift shown but what I have in mind is a mix of briar and blondie’s gift.

a collection of letters (written on leaves and paper or something) from both her mom and her bio dad detailing the bitter sweet love in the tragedy to reassure duchess it’s not all bad. And a special pair of dancing shoes for her last night as a human. I imagine this gift would only make duchess mad.

Madeline hatter:

no gift shown and honestly idk what the mad hatter gives his daughter it’s probably perfect. An old hat that looks very normal actually? A crazy new teapot? Who knows?

raven queen:

og gift wand wishing well coin

honestly I want to know the logic behind the wand. Is it a back up battery in case apple thwarts raven through zapping away her powers somehow?

I have multiple suggestions

Something that contains directions to the true SBOL

recipe for the poison apple

something that originally belonged to someone in the Snow White family that she is proud enough to share with her daughter (raven would probably give it back).

*blondie branches out mentions how Goldilocks promised to be a better person.

#ever after high #eah #blondie lockes #briar beauty #cedar wood #cerise hood #duchess swan #holly o'hair #madeline hatter #poppy o'hair #raven queen #thronecoming #eah headcanons #eah parents

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: And here’s Part 3! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,600 Tags/Warnings: 18+! Smuttish, fluff and feels.

Part 3: Christmas Day

The next day, Christmas morning comes. You’re up early after a night of somewhat restful sleep (anticipation of today kept you up for a while). 

And so are the guys, though their enthusiasm isn’t as bright as yours. 

Everyone is still in their pajamas, the humans with their mugs of coffee as you corral your friends into the living room by the sparkling, multicolored tree.

During your trip to Walmart on your first night in, you managed to squeeze in some shopping for actual presents. Your wallet now hates you, and likely will until February. 

But it’s worth it to see the guys’ faces when they find their names on gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. Jack in particular wears an expression of wonder, almost like a little kid. It makes you smile. 

Everyone has a small gift from you, though they clearly weren’t expecting it. Sam accepts his parcel from you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think any of us remembered about this part,” he says.

“No worries,” you wave him off. “It’s just a ‘thank you’ for letting me crash here for the holidays.”

You have a new book for Sam, an old-school Gameboy for Jack, a new set of ties for Castiel. You hold your breath when Dean sits down on the couch to open his. 

He considers the small box with slightly furrowed brows. He glances up at you. 

“What’d you do?” he asks. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just open it, Dean,” you reply with a laugh. A smile twitches at his face, and he finally obliges you. 

Inside the black velvet box is a nice silver watch with a leather strap. 

Dean blinks in surprise. He glances over at his empty wrist where his father’s watch used to rest, but he hasn’t replaced it since it broke after the witch hunt in Indiana.  

You come over to sit beside him and point out the new watch’s features.

“This part is adjustable,” you explain. “I figured you could take it off and use the strap for your dad’s watch.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s face, warm and somewhat disbelieving. You bought him a whole new watch, just so he could use the leather strap for his old one. 

Something in his heart tightens, and also eases when he looks up at you. You’re smiling, a little nervous. 

And Dean can’t help himself. He cups a hand behind your head and kisses your cheek, wishing he could do more, but not wanting to invite curiosity. Already he can feel Sam’s gaze on both of you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says. “This is…it’s real nice. Thank you.” 

But Sam notices the warmth in his brother’s voice, and the way he looks at you. And the way you’re looking at him, like he hung the damn moon. 

It brings a suspicious smile to Sam’s face. 

When you offer to pick up breakfast, Dean intervenes and says you’ve done enough. Sam will get breakfast going, he insists. (And Sam, rolling his eyes, agrees with him.)

“I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I’ll be back,” Dean then says. 

“See ya later,” you reply with a little wave before you go to help Jack set up his Gameboy. Castiel is already sorting through his new ties, arranging them by color, then by pattern on the sofa. 

You glance over your shoulder though, and manage to catch the way Sam pulls his brother aside. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but it sparks your curiosity. 

“What?” Dean asks. Sam raises a brow at him, with a knowing smile. 

“Get her something good,” Sam tells him. 

“Dude, shut up,” Dean holds a finger over his lips and glances over at you. Thankfully, you seem invested in helping Jack. 

“I’m just saying. Put some effort in,” Sam persists. His eyes hold a teasing glint. “Nothing from the gas station.”

“All right, I got it,” Dean snipes back. It’s none of Sam’s business, really, but he already has an idea growing in his mind as he heads down to the garage.

Dean has all but disappeared since this morning. You thought the two of you were going to talk at some point, but you haven’t seen him all day. 

Maybe it’s stupid, but you start to wonder if he’s avoiding you. If the gift was too much…

Sam happens to catch you lost in thought while you’re glazing a large ham in the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks. 

“Sure,” you reply. “Want to peel the potatoes?”

You glance at the bag on the counter. Sam agrees and joins you to wash and start peeling for you. 

“Have you seen Dean?” you ask him, hopefully subtle. 

Sam’s lips start to form a knowing smile, but he dims it down. “He’s probably in the garage.”

“…Oh, right. God forbid I bother him while he’s working on his car,” you joke. Sam glances at you.

“Or yours, most likely,” he says. “He did promise to get it done by today. Didn’t you guys have a little bet going?” 

He knew about that? you think with a blush. 

“That was silly,” you admit. “It’s Christmas. He should just relax.” 

“When my brother says he’s gonna do something, he commits,” Sam says. “He deals with people the same way.”

You raise a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Sam just smiles, like he knows something you don’t. He finishes peeling the last potato and sets it down on the counter with the rest.

“All right, what’s next?” he asks.

Once the ham is in the oven and the other side dishes you and Sam prepared are set off to cook, you return to your room to shower and get ready for dinner later. 

You decide to wear the dress you found while you were shopping, before you even knew your relationship with Dean would change. 

You almost went with a red lacy one, but there was something about this dress—green velvet, off the shoulder sleeves and flaring at the waist. It’s simple, but pretty. You pair it with some comfortable black flats. 

You spend longer getting ready, only having to redo your eyeliner once this time. Then you steel yourself, gaining some confidence, and you go downstairs. 

Jack is in the kitchen, sneaking a finger in the cranberry sauce.

“I saw that,” you tease. He stiffens like you’ve caught him red-handed. He quickly tucks his hands behind his back. He notices how you’ve cleaned yourself up with a polite nod.

“You look very nice,” he says. 

“Thanks!” you chirp, blushing lightly. “Want to help me set the table?”

Jack obliges you like the nice kid he is. You two set up the long dining table that the guys usually use for research, first with the new red tablecloth, then the plates and silverware and glasses. 

And finally, while Jack checks on the ham in the oven, you place the (fake) gold candleholders on each side of the table. 

Dean comes out of wherever he’s been hiding, right as you’re leaning far over the table to light a candle. You don’t realize how your dress rides up your thighs in the back, but Dean is captivated by the sight for a moment…until he clears his throat. 

“Need some help there, sweetheart?” 

His unexpected voice startles a yelp out of you. You flail as you lose your balance, but he hooks an arm around your waist and prevents you from catching your hand on fire. He brings you flush against him, smirking down at you.

“Nice reflexes,” he teases. “When’s your audition for the Karate Kid?”

“Oh, shut up,” you gripe back. 

You shoot him a playful glare as you rest your palms against his chest. But it loses its effect when you melt into his subsequent kiss. You reach up to twine your arms around his neck, letting your nails graze up the back of his neck and through his hair. 

He shudders a little, with a pleasant hum, making you smile against his lips.

He breaks from you with a customary Dean grin, which is equal parts flirtatious, amused, and a hint cocky.

“Miss me?” he asks. You smile through your blush, but you have to taper down your inclination to say yes. His gaze drags down your body with interest. 

“I like this dress too,” he says, and his voice fairly rumbles. Along with his scrutiny, it makes your face flare with heat. Your fingers play with a button on his shirt, red flannel this time. He rubs the soft velvet along your hip.

You tilt your face up to him, despite your lingering blush. 

“Where’ve you been all day?” you ask. He quirks a smile. 

“I’ll show you,” Dean says. 

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage. 

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Dean snorts. “It’s an old rust bucket. Needs a complete fucking overhaul, or the scrap heap. If you really want, I’ll get the new parts, fix it up top to bottom…or, you could just take a stroll through my garage.”

He gestures around, where classic cars are lined up on either side of you. A wide grin spreads across your face. 

“Oh my God, you’ll let me drive one of these?” you say in excitement. 

“You can pick one out and take it home,” Dean replies. Though he doesn’t want to think about you leaving…maybe you two can talk that over later.

Your smile falters. “What? Dean, no. This is your collection.”

He pulls you in by your waist and gently bucks his hand beneath your chin. 

“Call it my gift to you,” he says. You notice his father’s watch once again rests on his wrist, with the help of the new leather strap you bought for him.  

“You’d really give me a whole freakin’ car?” you ask, tearing up and beaming bright at the same time. 

Dean brushes your cheek tenderly with curled fingers; his answer is in his eyes. You try your best to blink away your would-be tears. He catches the one that falls from the corner of your eye with his thumb.

“Why don’t you go pick one out?” he suggests, nodding behind you. 

Biting your lip, you reach up and kiss him sweetly before you get started. You miss the way Dean blushes a bit. Because you’re already meandering down the line of beautiful old classics. 

Soon enough you stop at an interesting red one.

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” you say. Dean is unimpressed. 

“No,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms. 

“What, why?”

“I ain’t puttin’ you in a Volvo. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“But it’s cute.”

“Remember, you’re gonna be driving across state lines,” he reminds you. “You want something reliable, strong.”

You huff and decide to keep looking, but you lay a gentle hand on the side mirror. 

“I might be back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

A smile threatens Dean’s lips as he watches you. He knows for sure he’s losing the bet. But it’s worth it for this moment right here.

You flit between the rows of cars. Finally, you stop at a funky mint green one. It reminds you of a car your grandfather had when you were a kid, when he’d take you out for ice cream on a Sunday.

“You like that one?” Dean asks. He walks over and joins you at the car, soothing a hand over its hood.

“I think I do. What is it?” you ask.

“A Ford Thunderbird, 1960.” Dean’s gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “Good choice. 5.8-liter V8 engine. 300 horsepower. This gal was powerful in her time.”

“Let’s see if she still is,” you say with a grin. 

So you and Dean break out the Thunderbird into the open roads of Lebanon, Kansas. 

Dean gives you pointers on driving stick, as it’s been a while for you. But after a few minutes, you regain the hang of it and test the car’s powerful sounding engine. It almost rumbles as loud as Baby. 

“Oh, crap. What about dinner?” you realize. “The guys must be waiting on us.”

“Eh, they’ll live,” Dean says with a grin. “Keep going. There’s a park right around the corner here.”

Sure enough, you’re about to turn into a park that borders on a small, but beautiful lake. You probably should’ve brought a coat; the car’s old heater isn’t doing you much good in your little dress. 

But right now, you don’t care. Because this is a perfect moment, and you don’t think you could be much happier. 

You park the car in view of the sparkling lake. Before Dean can turn to you and ask what you think of the car, you’ve started climbing over the upholstery over to his side. 

“Whoa. Easy tiger,” he chuckles as you grunt and struggle. 

“Here’s my Karate Kid audition,” you joke, earning an even deeper laugh from Dean.

But he helps guide you into his lap, where you straddle his hips and reach down to anchor his seat back. The two of you laugh when it momentarily gets stuck, but Dean is able to fix it. With a turn of his wrist, his seat jerks back and gives you more room to maneuver. 

His warm hands smooth up the back of your thighs while you find purchase on his shoulders. 

“Hmm. You’re cold, babe,” he remarks with a frown, and he rubs your legs more to generate some warmth on your skin. “Should’ve brought your jacket.”

Your legs might be cold, but your face heats up at the way he calls you babe. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re really his.

Your answering smile is both warm and playful.

“Who needs clothes when I’ve got a big, strong, flannel-wearing man to warm me up,” you tease, soothing your hands along his toned arms. 

It lifts his frown into an amused grin, even as he shakes his head and grips your thighs more firmly.

“Oh, so I’m a portable heater now?” he remarks. 

“Yup,” you nod with a grin as you lean down. “Do your job, heater.”

Swiping your hair over your shoulder, you lean down for a sweet kiss. But it quickly gains in passion as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips. His hands move to take a healthy grip of your ass, grinding you down into his lap. 

A pleased sound gets trapped in your throat when you feel his length pressing against your core through his jeans. You slip a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lower lip.  

You feel like a teenager making out with your boyfriend in some backwoods clearing. But it’s an exhilarating feeling.

You never thought you’d be able to do this. Not with Dean. 

You cup his face in your hands and pull back a bit.   

“I love this car,” you say. “You really gonna give it to me?”

Dean smirks. Once again, your lipstick (though lighter this time) is smudged all over his mouth and chin. You wipe some of it off with your thumb.

“Maybe I won’t,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take my sweet time fixing that rusted out piece of shit sitting in my garage.”

You giggle against him, and his hands smooth up your thighs, rucking up the skirt of your dress.

“Is that your plan?” you reply. “Strand me at the bunker, make sure I can never go home?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Gotta keep my girl close.”

You huff. “Your girl? That’s presumptuous.”

“Oh, really?” Dean gives a deep chuckle. “Weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t a one-time deal?”

“No, you said that. I’m just along for the ride,” you quip.

But you think you’ve teased him too much when his amusement starts to fade. His green eyes dim to embers as he tilts his head.

“Is that right?” he asks. 

You soften, gazing down at him with a more genuine smile. You press your hand to the side of his face, letting your thumb sooth over the apple of his cheek. 

“Dean, of course not,” you say patiently. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”  

That admission is thick in your throat. It comes out at nearly a whisper. 

But then, the shadows begin to clear from Dean’s eyes. His lips curve into a more familiar smile.

He kisses you, and the two of you continue exploring one another. Not to mention, testing the limitations of a reclined car seat.

By the time you two get back to the bunker, the dinner table is a mess. The guys have clearly eaten without you, and now Sam is trying to explain the finer points of football to Cas and Jack in the living room. He pauses when he notices you and his brother walk in.

“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks. But he spies Dean’s hand resting on the small of your back with a smile. “The food is in the kitchen. All you need to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks!” you call to him on your way to the kitchen. 

Dean means to follow you, but he stops short when he sees a framed picture of Mary Winchester hanging on the wall in the living room. He draws closer to it, not realizing that the others are watching him. Most of them with curiosity, and one with hopeful wariness. 

His mouth curves with a slight smile. Someone caught her by surprise. He can tell by the way she’s looking over her shoulder in the 8” by 10” frame. She wears her favorite green jacket—one that Sam bought for her last year. Her hair brushes past her shoulders in a haphazard mix of blonde curls and waves. But her smile. That smile’s even more golden.

“Who put this here?” Dean asks. When he doesn’t get an answer, he glances back and finds his brother’s gaze first. He just smiles, but doesn’t look like the culprit. Dean moves on to Cas, who subtly shakes his head.

Jack, on the other hand, looks both guilty and hopeful, before his eyes fall to the folded hands in his lap. 

Instinctively, Dean wants to tighten up. But when he looks back at his mom’s smile, a little more of the edge in his heart crumbles. 

“She looks good there,” he says. He turns back to Jack and gives him a nod…and a reserved smile. The nephilim hesitates to return it, but when he does, it’s a genuine one. 

Dean moves on to the kitchen, where he pretends not to catch the way you’d been surreptitiously watching the scene from the kitchen. You duck your head and continue cutting some ham for the two plates you’ve set out on the counter.     

Dean’s face lights up when he finds the pies: pecan and apple. 

“Okay, you want mashed potatoes or macaroni with the ham?” you ask him. Dean raises a brow at you. You smile in amusement.

“What am I thinking? Both, obviously,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Dean quips with a nod. 

“Ah, well that’s interesting,” says Castiel. It stops both hunters in the kitchen with curious looks. 

“It seems you’re caught again,” the angel tells you, nodding up to the mistletoe poised above you and Dean. 

You roll your eyes, while Dean just smirks. You glance up at him with a question in your eyes. 

Should we tell them? you ask.

Dean’s smile grows. Hell, yeah.

He leans in to cup your cheek, and he kisses you soundly—something that shocks both angels…but not Sam. You close your eyes with a sound of contentment. You grab onto Dean’s shirt, holding him close.

“She didn’t kiss Sam that way,” Jack comments. 

Castiel recovers first, realizing what’s happened by Sam’s knowing look. 

“No,” Cas says in amusement. “I don’t believe she did.”

While Sam turns up the volume on the TV, giving you and Dean some privacy, Dean finally parts from you and tugs a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“You know, I promised you a car by Christmas,” he says with a grin. “Technically speaking, I did come through on that deal.”

You raise a brow, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Hmm. I suppose you did.”

“And if I remember right, I get a…what was it?” He pretends to recall with a raised finger. “Oh, that’s right. A consequence-free request.” 

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes, but amusement and warmth still gleam them. “All right, Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?”

He hums and seems to consider it. He makes a show of it, really, tilting his head, looking down at you with a deepening smirk. You fight not to blush under his scrutiny, even as your smile grows. Your hands rest against his chest, while his slide around your waist and pull you in closer. 

“How about you don’t go running off so soon,” he says, thumbing at your cheek. “Stay through New Year’s, at least.”

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t shocked. You raise a brow. 

“That’s your request?”

Dean shrugs, but his quirking smile can’t hide the fondness in his eyes. It warms you in a way you also don’t expect.  

Taking your chin with gentle fingers, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Your eyes close as you once again take in this heady feeling. Being with him still doesn’t quite feel real, but you’re holding on for as long as you can. 

When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at your slightly hazy face.  

“I already got what I wanted,” Dean says. “Now we just…keep this good thing going.” 

You really do blush this time.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” you tease. He gives you a wry look.

“Not what I meant.” Then he smirks, squeezing your hips. “But actually yeah, that too.”

You laugh and swat at his shoulder. 

“Well, since I’m honor bound. I suppose I can stay a few more days,” you reply. “And I mean, your birthday’s not long after that.”

Dean hums in agreement. “We talkin’ early birthday present?”

You flash him a cheeky smile and slowly slide your hands down his arms. 

“Then Valentine’s Day’s is just around the corner,” you add. Dean nods sagely, trying to temper his smile.

“Might as well stay through February,” he says.

You grin. “Ooh! St. Patrick’s Day!” 

Dean laughs genuinely then, throwing his head back. You hold onto the edges of his button-down shirt and tug him back to you. 

“What I mean to say is, I could consider staying longer,” you say. However long you want me, your tone suggests. “…I’ll just need to tie up a few things.”  

You know your father will be just fine if you decide to move to Lebanon someday soon. He now has his new wife to keep him company, and there isn’t much else tying you to your hometown besides nostalgia, and bittersweet memories of your mom.  

“Is that a serious offer?” Dean asks.

You grin up at him playfully. “If you want it to be.”

He smiles and kisses you again. The way he holds you, looks at you, it’s tender enough to make your throat tighten with emotion. 

“I do,” Dean says. He stares down into your eyes. “It’s you, sweetheart. For me too. Just you.”

 Your smile is tremulous, but oh, so bright.

“Good.” 

AN: And that's it, folks! 🥹 Let me know what you thought of Part 3. I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Coming Up Next:

I have one other Christmas in July fic in store, over in The Boys fandom. Look out for "Love Actually" (Soldier Boy x Reader) next week!

It's set in the "Break Me Down" story-verse, but can be read as standalone. I will tag everyone who follows that ongoing story (which is almost finished!!).

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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Tag List:

Comment below or send me an ask if you'd like to be tagged in this series!

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#If You Want It To Be #Part 3 #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x you #tgwrcjulyevent #dw's witch events #Christmas in July! #Christmas fic #dean winchester smut #friends to lovers #sam winchester #Castiel #Jack Kline #TGWRC #dean winchester #fluff #mutual pining #supernatural #smut #zepskies writes

[zombie-bait]

The Death of a Vampire

Lestat as a protagonist just works so incredibly well and a very significant aspect of that is him being Anne Rice's self-insert. Lived experience can be critical when it comes to writing a good story and many memorable novels will feature elements of that. Anne is built different, though. Lestat (book 2 onwards) is basically Anne's journal for dealing with her grievances and trauma, which, on its own, is a very questionable method of writing. More often than not, it causes him to be characterized inconsistently between books because Anne's own opinions have changed. But it also makes him so real.

You follow his struggles with religion, you see him yearn for forgiveness from a god that has seemingly abandoned him a long time ago and you feel it. The passage I will never get over is in the early chapters of The Vampire Lestat, when Lestat has a breakdown over his mother's (and frankly his own) mortality. He struggles and he cries and he can't get out of bed because there's nothing he can do. Eventually he starts to live again, forces himself to.

But.

"I wandered into the church and on my knees I leaned against the wall and I looked at the ancient statues and I felt the same gratitude looking at the finely carved fingers and the noses and the ears and the expressions on their faces and the deep folds in their garments, and I couldn’t stop myself from crying. At least we had these beautiful things, I said. Such goodness. But nothing natural seemed beautiful to me now! The very sight of a great tree standing alone in a field could make me tremble and cry out. Fill the orchard with music. And let me tell you a little secret. It never did pass, really."

I think about those last two sentences a lot. I think about them even more since Anne Rice passed away.

Every page of Interview is spent talking about death and yet (imo) it's only in TVL that you really feel it. Louis in book 1 welcomes death quite readily because, besides his toxic boyfriend and their traumatized daughter, he doesn't have much to live for. He's basically given up by the time Lestat appears. The greatest torture, to Louis, is the knowledge that he can live forever on the suffering of others.

But Lestat is the complete opposite. He wants to listen to music, to explore Paris, to perform on any stage that will take him, to embrace the man he loves and to send his ailing mother letters of his accomplishments. Death matters most to those who are desperate to live and god is he desperate. He's haunted by his mother's sickness, by the wolves on the mountain that threaten to end his life before he's even lived it, the witches place that reeks of meaningless suffering. And in a way, the dark gift provides opportunity to escape that. But it is still death. It takes away Nicki in a very literal way and takes away his mother in a more personal one. Magnus, like death, chose Lestat arbitrarily. He sees the cellar of blonde corpses and knows that he was only one of dozens to meet an untimely death with no explanation.

Lestat also really wants you to know that he is, truly, a good person. He must be. He swears to only hunt criminals and then goes back on that two pages later. He reshapes stories to present himself as the noble protagonist and the audience has no choice but to believe him. He wants, desperately, to be loved for all that he is, man and monster. He wants to be the hero.

He's this awful, fascinating, very human man so clearly born out of the internal struggle to find meaning and love in a cruel, unpredictable world we all tend to share. He's made up of incredibly basic and powerful human desires hidden behind a mask of bravado and I can't recalling seeing another protagonist like him.

(Quick mention: This isn't some kind of "wow Anne Rice is an incredible author who can do no wrong" piece. She's written a lot of fucked up and bad shit that cannot be easily brushed over. But I don't think I'll ever get over reading TVL for the first time. To read someone bare their soul in such a way creates a truly unique experience. A lot of characters in a lot of pieces of media face death, but it's rare to see a character face mortality in such a personal way.)

(Also odds are I've written similar posts to this before but shhhhh these sad gay vampires are all I have)

#iwtv #interview with the vampire #vampire chronicles #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv spoilers #louis de pointe du lac #the vampire lestat #vampires #mortality #literature #this is all book stuff btw #not super relevant to the tv show as far as ive seen #but only time will tell #the vampire lestat spoilers #i was gonna make a joke about how i should write an essay exploring mortality in tvl #but i think i just did that #so hmmmm #how do i convince ppl in my life to read this book without them thinking im a little freak #cuz like Gabrielle <3 but also Gabrielle :// #iykyk

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence, swearing, animal death, no beta, warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Death is here. 3051 words.

Notes: As per canon, Max is in the hospital. Argyle left Hawkins once he dropped Jonathan, Will, and Mike off, at the urging of Jonathan – who did not want his friend to be hurt. Maybe headcanon that he went back to Suzie’s place in case they needed her expertise and also because, ya know, Eden.

1843

Left in the sunlight, a vampire would not explode nor turn to ash and float away in the breeze. They would burn, blister, and shrivel until their body lay twitching and immobile. This provided a very brief window of respite from their evil; as soon as night came or shade was provided, the vampire would begin to heal.

Whatever damage, they could heal. Sunlight’s scorch. Blessed blades’ cuts. Holy water’s burn. Nothing could kill a vampire. A witch could curse a vampire to trap them in places, times, and forms; but ultimately, it had always come down to a fight.

At the beginning of the 18th century, a witch from a Romanian coven wrote a spell. It would allow a conjurer to summon a ball of sunlight to wound the vampires. The wounds would linger, fester, and scar their marble skin. Ripples in an otherwise perfect complexion. The Romanian witch had to offer her life in exchange for the gift of the spell to bless all of her kind.

And so, “lux solis urere hic malum,” became the witchfire war cry.

By 1843, the vampires had been hunting the humans your coven protected for seven years. The sunlight spell helped, but it was no longer enough. Your coven’s strongest wordsmith, Penelope, had been at work, spending days… months… years… on end hunched over her alter and communing with The Witches Who Came Before.

It was a bitter morning when Penelope’s magic worked for the final time. Frost bit at the tips of leaves and even the most hardened farmers took an extra minute to get out of bed, while she worked to ensure not only the protection of humankind, but the freedom of all witches.

Through bloodletting, she poured herself into a bucket, a witch’s sacrifice the last ingredient in a potion so strong, a single drop was death to an entire colony. Your aunt painstakingly soaked paper in the potion, let the sheets dry, then ground them up into a matte powder. She went into the night, her fist full of dust, and blew into the face of the undead.

The vampire had forgotten what it was like to breathe, but as quick as the feeling returned, it was taken away, and he clawed at his throat for air. He screeched until he shredded his own throat deep enough to sever his vocal cords. Then, not by God nor sword but by a magic woman’s hand, he was no more.

…

1986

Little witch echoed in your head.

You tore your gaze away from Eddie and blinked off the haziness that had overcome you. Change the subject, change the subject.

“So…” you started, but lost your intended sentence.

“So,” Eddie repeated.

“I don’t… I don’t know what we’re meant to do now…”

He rolled his shoulders back and considered his options. There was an urge to run, to abandon you and leave the doomed Hawkins. Go to the cities, feed, make more vampires. It was his first thought, primal and defining.

Eddie didn’t know if was all those years in bat form or if he had been patient in his forgotten life, but he was willing and able to wait on his primage urges. While his memories weren’t returning, his personality was, and he personally found it very amusing that a witch had knowingly brought vampires back from extinction.

That’s what he was telling himself. That he was not moving from your couch because he was entertained. That it wasn’t the feeling he got calling you ‘little witch.’ That it wasn’t a familiarity he couldn’t place. That it wasn’t your smile or smell.

You wondered what he was thinking. It occurred to you then, that he was probably sizing you up. “Do you remember what it feels like?” you asked. Eddie’s eyebrows rose. “The witchfire?”

His naked body had been in front of you enough for you to know the witchfire scars run along parts of his torso, and it covered his arms. Part of his neck, jaw, and cheek had been marked too.

“No,” he answered, holding a hand out and examining it. “Remind me?”

Hesitating, you thought about it. The burning smell. “Um… It would burn, like the sun. But concentrated. You couldn’t heal from it fast. Couldn’t wash it away with darkness,”

“It disturbs you,”

“No… Not… Not the vampire part. It’s the rest. Everything that happened around the vampire part.”

Eddie nodded. “Show me.” Your puzzled expression made him grin, fangs and all. “Witchfire. Show me,”

“You might not remember the pain, but assure you it definitely hurts,”

“Then hurt me,” he replied.

“I liked you better as the bat.”

Eddie laughed. “You spoke of witchfire first. You want to show me you are not weak. So, show me.”

Huffing, you crossed your arms over your chest. It only made him happier. You tried to pretend you weren’t loving it by standing up and walking a few steps away.

“Come on, little witch. You did not go to all that trouble to get me here, just to not play with me now.”

You knew you shouldn’t.

Muttering the spell under your breath, “Lux solis urere hic malum,” you held your hand out, palm side up, and let a ball burn into existence. Without nurturing it, it remained the size of a tennis ball, floating just above your skin. As you turned and walked back to the couch, you watched the witchfire reflect in his dark eyes, getting brighter the closer you got.

When you sat, Eddie moved closer still. He looked at the orb in awe rather than fear. “Your magic is…” He shook his head softly. “Remarkable.” He slowly held a finger up to the fire, you pulled your hand back, extinguishing it.

“It will burn.”

Eddie didn’t move. His sly smile did not falter. He waited.

“Fine…” And you repeated the spell and brought the fireball back to him.

Eddie’s eyes grew wider as he got closer, then as the tip of his finger touched the flames, he hissed and flung himself back so hard he rolled off the side of the couch.

Cackling with laughter, you clapped your hands together to kill the fire.

His face popped up over the armrest glaring at you, then in a literal blink, half his body was over the side coming towards you. He froze, timing his movements with your blinking. You didn’t see him change positions. It was terrifying. His arm looked twisted somehow, or maybe it was the sharp angles he was holding himself in. Spiderlike.  Murderous.

You held your breath and tried to wait it out, but the trailer’s air wasn’t clean enough to let you stare for long. When you blinked, he was instantly halfway across the couch.

Terrifying, but exhilarating.

It would take one more. Less than half a second. A single blink. He’d be on you.

Eddie’s pupils were wide, dark, void of emotion. His lips were in a twisted smile that let his sharp teeth show just enough. Nails clawed into the plush of the couch. A monster, no doubt, but somehow still so profoundly beautiful that you couldn’t bear to look away.

Through his complete stillness, Eddie listened to how quickly your heart rate began to race. You were breathing through your mouth, audible and shaky. Like his, your pupils were blown. Although he couldn’t recall when or where or to whom, Eddie knew he’d played this game before. It wasn’t like this though.

You closed your eyes with purpose. He was silent, but you felt the weight of him as he climbed over you.

Eddie waited for you to open your eyes, or push him away, or conjure witchfire, or any number of predictable things. Instead, you short-circuited his brain when you giggled. A happy sound. Carefree. Unafraid. Then, with your eyes still closed, you slowly laid back.

One of your legs hung off the side of the couch, while Eddie straddled your other. He held himself above it but you could still feel him there. His hands were still clawed into the fabric, one on the backrest, the other next to your head. As you laid yourself back, he followed you down, letting his weight distribute on his knees.

When your eyes opened, you were looking up into a soften expression. You could see the chocolate brown of his eyes. The ghost of freckles he earnt as a human and couldn’t shake as a vampire. His expression – a gooey combination of confusion, curiosity, and something else.

“I told you it would burn,” you whispered, turning your head and taking the hand next to your head. A mortal man would have collapsed, unable to maintain the position, but his nimbleness prevailed and he remained still. Eddie watched you study the finger he’d held the flame. It was a raw wound, but it would heal.

Without thinking it through, you kissed it. He let you. As your lips touched his skin, the hunger roared through him. Suddenly, he was at the door of the trailer. You scrambled, standing up.

“I must go,” he said.

“I can’t let you-”

“I will return,”

“You-”

“I won’t,” he assured you as if he was reading your mind.

“Promise me,” you demanded. “Say it,”

“I’ll return to you,” Eddie swore. “I won’t harm any of your humans.”

You hugged yourself and frowned.

Eddie said your name softly. “I will return to you.”

The trailer door slammed and he was gone.

…

Steve Harrington died in pain. There were no memories flashing before his eyes. No warm bright light to follow. Just agony. The feeling of his bones snapping through his skin. His eyeballs squelching inwards just before it all stopped. Then, he was gone.

There was no time to hold Steve or to carry his body to a safe place. Nancy Wheeler screamed and thrashed against everyone as they tried to pull her back. It took the brawn of Jim Hopper to hold her tight and carry her to the car. The group sped away, reeling from another loss.

Steve made three. Murray Bauman and Dmitri ‘Ezno’ Antonov died a week prior, on the Party’s second ill-fated attempt at taking Vecna down.

Nancy and Robin held onto each other in grief-stricken desperation in the back of the truck. El Hopper, not a witch but magic nonetheless, blamed herself.

“What are we gonna do…?” Joyce Byers’ small and scared voice asked from the front. “How are we going to keep them safe?”

Nobody answered.

The ride to where the Party was held up was void of conversation. They’d taken up in the empty lakeside house of one of Hawkins’ currently incarcerated drug dealers. Hopper, assumed dead but still a cop, knew Reefer Rick wasn’t going to come home anytime soon.

Inside the house, Dustin Henderson was the first to notice Steve’s absence.

While the children cried, Hopper and Joyce huddled in the corner. They were both pale with shock. Joyce shook her head. “We can’t keep doing this,”

“We’re getting them out of here. Sue and Charles were right to take Lucas and Erica. I’ll drag Henderson to his mom. Get them out of Hawkins. Mike too,”

“You think he’ll leave El?”

“Won’t give him a choice.”

Nancy, forcing herself into stoic resolve appeared. “I’m not leaving,” she asserted.

“Nancy,”

“No. We have to end this. For Will. And El. For Steve. For everyone. We have to end this.”

Within hours, half the Party was on route to evacuation, leaving Joyce and her sons – Will and Jonathan, Hopper and El, Nancy, and Robin. Like Nancy, Robin refused to abandon ship; vengeance was on the minds of the teenage girls.

“He’s getting stronger,” Will said. They were all sitting around Reefer Rick’s kitchen table. Will’s skin was tinged a sickly blue. His connection to Vecna and the Upside Down had never truly been severed.

“We cannot fight him there,” El added.

“So, we need a hometown advantage? How do we get him up here?” Hopper posed.

There were no suggestions or solutions at first. Then, Nancy thought out loud, “We need help. Maybe if we go back to Victor, to his dad…”

“Help!” Robin yelled suddenly. “We need help!”

Everyone watched her. “Erica. Erica’s leg should not have healed that quick. And it wasn’t just a sprained ankle. That was… that was Vecna magic poison shit, right? So, so, the girl that helped. Erica said she was weird. What if she’s like…” Robin gestured at El. “You know, superpowers weird? What if she can help?”

“Where would we even find her?” Joyce asked.

“Yeah, I don’t know, seems like a-” but before Nancy could finish, Robin interrupted.

“A shot in the dark?!”

…

When a knock on your door woke you up, you tripped over your feet to get there. It was as you opened it you realised Eddie wouldn’t have knocked. You’d learnt the hard way vampires did not need an invitation; they’d carefully cultivated that myth themselves.

Standing on your doorstep was a group of people. Although you recognised them, it was only Robin who recognised you.

“I told you we shouldn’t have all come,” one of them mumbled. Jonathan.

“We need your help,” Robin said. “We know you have superpowers. We know you did something to Erica. You have to help us,”

“She means ‘please.’ Please help us,” Nancy corrected.

Pure desperation.

Utter grief.

Abject misery.

“Come in.”

They told you the story, beginning in 1947 when Henry Creel was born. The Lab. Papa. Eleven. Will Byers going missing. The Upside Down. Barb. Demogorgon. Dr Sam. Demodogs. Bob. The Mind Flyer. Kali. Billy’s possession. Russian invasions. Starcourt. Hopper’s not-death. More Russians. Vecna. Demobats. Kate Bush. Max Mayfield lying in a hospital bed. Murray. Enzo. Steve.

“So, now it’s your turn. What’s, ah, what’s your deal?” Robin was pacing, nearly manic. Only Steve had ever been able to focus her energies, now he was gone and she was lost at sea.

“You’re not like me,” El said. She was sat between Hopper and Joyce on the couch. Will sat at his mother’s feet. Nancy perched herself on the barstool while Jonathan stood against the kitchen bench next to her.

You blocked Robin from taking another step, taking one of her hands and holding it tight. Her eyes welled up with tears. “When this is done and if we survive, I will help you talk to him. You are owed a farewell.” You turned to the group. “You of all are.”

Robin dropped to the floor and folded in on herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and rocking. You let her self-soothe.

“The first thing you need to understand is that involving myself in this could make it worse. Vecna is a parasite. He has his own power, but he feeds off others’ too. The other world, the Upside Down, he draws power from there. From you, Eleven. Even you, Will,”

“But he’s just a boy,” Joyce said sadly.

“I don’t think he is… You’re something else. But… nothing that can help us now. My point is that if gets a hold of me, he doesn’t just get my magic. He’ll find a doorway to all witches. That’s… Well, it’s almost endless power. He will not be stopped. He will take this plane of existence. And, he might find ways to the others.”

There was a stunned and pensive silence.

“So… It’s, it’s a gamble,” Nancy concluded.

“And we’re betting… literally the entire world…”  Jonathan said, looking at her. She nodded.

“What if he already knows about you?” Will asked, voice quiet.

You sat down on the carpet on the opposite side of the coffee table. Eye level with Will, you studied his face. “You feel him…” Will nodded. “And he feels me?”

“No,” Will replied. “He saw Erica, after you healed her,”

“Are you sure?” Joyce asked him.

Will shook his head. “No… But… he might.”

Cutting through the tension like a chainsaw through salted butter, the phone rang. Nobody was spared from the jolt of fear.

You jumped up to answer it, knowing the few people who had your number. “Hello?”

“You need to get out of Hawkins,”

“It’s fine,”

“No. It’s not,”

“Kelsey, whatever the news is saying-”

“You don’t understand. It’s not on the news. As far as the humans know, the clean up of Hawkins is going well and there hasn’t been any more casualties – injured or dead.” There was something worse than panic in Kelsey’s voice that you hadn’t heard in decades.

“What’s going on?” you asked, skipping over the obvious ‘that’s not what’s happening’ and rhetorical ‘how do you know about what happened?’

“The Witches Who Came Before. They’ve given a warning to the coven.”

Your blood ran cold, so cold it felt like ice, like all the red had frozen solid in your veins. Kelsey didn’t continue, maybe too afraid to tell you, maybe wanting to give you a chance to bail from the conversation if you wanted to go entirely rogue.

“Karhu. What’s the warning?”

Kelsey hadn’t heard her first, her ancient name, for centuries; she wanted to sob. She remained stoic and delivered the mystic caution. “He knows. He knows you’re close. He doesn’t know what you are. He can’t find you like he can find the humans. But it’s only a matter of time.”

Divine timing.

“And the coven? What are they going to do?

“Ah, well, they-they’re gonna set up a border. Around Hawkins. He-he shouldn’t be able to cross it. And his power shouldn’t be able to, you know, get through. But, um…” Kelsey was nervous, stuttering as she anxiously reported.

“But what?”

“They haven’t worked out if… If it’s better that you… Uh…”

She didn’t have to say it. “If it’s better that I’m trapped in here with him. Right? ‘Cause if I run, he’ll come after me,”

“Yeah,” Kelsey whispered. “I’m sorry… I tried-”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. You haven’t done anything. And don’t try to… Don’t fight the coven on my behalf, okay?”

Kelsey was crying.

You looked back at the terrified faces watching you intently.

“He’s powerful, but he’s just another monster. Just another leech. We have outlived famine and demons and war and witch hunts. Henry Creel is no match for a witch.”

End Note: I personally feel like the 1843 section of this chapter slaps so hard. Grimoire updated to include witchfire, and the timeline has been updated too.

You know the drill. Tell me your thoughts and feelings! I need them! xo Rhi

Fic Taglist: @kaitebugg03 @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers

#Mine #Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Vampire!Eddie #Vampire!Eddie Munson

[just-wublrful]

a conversation between a man condemned and his devotee

Litany of Things Which are Crossed Out, Richard Siken | Uriel, Yves Olade | Heart Berries, Terese Marie Mailhot | When Rome Falls, Yves Olade | Neon, Yves Olade | @sandarafreedompark | Death Wish, Josh Alex Baker | Beloved, Yves Olade | Confessional, Sue Zhao | Straw for the Fire, Theodore Roethke | A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway | Blossoms, The Amazing Devil

(ID under the cut)

[ID: A collection of quotes from various sources. 

1. Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party. / Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party / and seduced you / and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.

2. We met out the back of the bar, and you smiled, all knives. Said, You don’t know me yet, but you will. We’re going to be so dangerous, babe, I can feel it. Found out biblically wasn’t the only way to know someone when I prised open your chest, looking for burning.

3. I wanted to know what I looked like to you. A sin committed and a prayer answered, you said.

4. I say, I promise I won’t do anything awful, / and he says, you are something awful, / but I’m keeping you anyway. / does that make me your bad thing? your wild / thing? something worth hunting across the county? / you want to kill me more than anyone else. / That’s what love is, baby.

5. It’d be the good kind of fire. More purgatory, less witch hunt. / I could try burn all this shame out of me. / It’d work as well as you think it would, / meaning, not at all.

6. I’m scared of the love I have for you. Because I know it will ruin me. And I also know that I will let it.

7. I will never admit what he means to / me. Will say / he was simply a game I / could not pass up. Love / is a death wish between you / and the you you’re / becoming. I will never admit to / him that his love feels like a tease / from God. A gift I / only deserve as prelude to punishment. Love / is a bluff  between goodbye and forever. You

8. & vicious. & lovely. So when God asks / me about love, I respond with cruelty. I know / no other answer / I know no other question. I’m

9. And when one of us had finished confessing, we’d fall into the others orbit. And the other could always be relied upon to keep us there. / So when we asked the question in out own convoluted way, (will you love me anyway?)

10. It’s your privilege to find me incomprehensible. I gave you my minutes; let them remain ours. I hope I haunt you.

11.  "Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?" / "Yes. I want to ruin you." / "Good," I said. "That's what I want too.”

12.  And I pick up the phone, dial your number and wait / And shine like my petals once shone / And just as it's ringing, I whisper aloud to my saint / "Oh, we, we're gonna get on"

End ID.]

#webweaving #web weaving #i know i have 4 yves olades in here I KNOW #aiden #eli #p tag #god. beast im glad its done. #wubweaving

[abnormalityjoseph]

SAGAU Idea

Sagau, but the creator!reader actually can regain their divine powers. [Kinda Imposter AU]

The Gnoses were to the Archons in order to directly resonate with Celestia

However, the Creator did not create the Gnoses.

Once the Creator was subdued (put into a comatose state beneath Teyvat, for example), Celestia helped instigate the Archon War by revealing the Gnoses and the positions.

The reader, randomly gets dreams with Genshin characters in there (meeting Fischl before she got her vision, comforting Kunikuzushi after his first betrayal, talking with the Crimson Witch, you get the idea)

They pass off the dreams as just..Yk dreams. But those interactions did happen in Teyvat. One of the few times the world was graced with the Creator’s presence since the Archon War.

Cool. Nice. Then you get Genshin and realize these look like some of the people from your dreams. But weird but oh well

Then you get isekai’d into Teyvat. As the Creator’s reincarnation. Your descent is felt by all the divine and those you did meet in (what you assumed were, but actually weren’t) dreams.

It’s pretty cool there. It always looked magical in Teyvat while you were playing, but it’s even better in person!

Oh, btw you’re being hunted.

Yeah…so turns out Celestia made a fake creator to keep the Archons pacified…and said fake creator had ordered for your head.

But this..False Creator could never replicate the aura your presence emitted. People were bound to find out, if you were able to evade capture long enough.

Spoiler: you do. And if the Tsaritsa won’t come to your aid first, then the Abyss will. Because of course the Abyss knows what’s going on, and of course the Tsaritsa would catch on fast.

Depending where all those characters you met are, it may take awhile before you realize those dream encounters were actual encounters. But hey: more friendly faces that’ll [eventually] come your way!

The more people who believe you are the true creator, the stronger you’ll become. Eventually you’ll be able to even the playing field against Celestia and whatever Archon tries to stand in your way.

What I mean is: You’ll have the chance to grant people your version of the Ghoses. To give them strength equal to an archon + as a gift for standing by your side.

The archons’ Gnoses resonate with Celestia, but the ones your followers get will resonate with you

Now go, wage war against Celestia and return to divinity! With your followers by your side, and your powers returning, the False Creator’s got a big storm coming their way!

#Joseph’s Think Thonks #sagau #genshin impact #self aware genshin #sagau brainrot lmao #genshin sagau #someone use this plEASE I WANT CONTENT TO READ—

[angelsworks]

Little Witch The last kingdom x reader

Chapter Six

Next Chapter -> H E R E

Series Masterlist -> Here

Type: Series

Summary: Sihtric tells the group what he saw, causing them to think about how they’ve treated you.

Warnings: 18 + Mature themes, crying.

Sihtric takes his time walking back to the alehouse. He feels conflicted. Before he was sent to spy on you he thought you a devilish witch. Despite saving Osferth, he was firm in his belief you were just like Skade. Doing things, good or bad, for your own secret plan.

He expected you to be consulting with some enemy of Uhtred.

He expected to uncover some plot against his friend.

He expected being able to walk back into the alehouse, smug and ready to fight. Ready to hunt you down and kill you.

He didn’t expect this.

To hear your sobs as they bounced off the alley walls. To watch as you slide down the wall, completely broken. To now have to go back to Uhtred and tell him something. But what? What would Uhtred do?

The woman you met with, Astrid, had practically told him everything he needed to know. Putting the pieces together he’d come to believe you were a seer, that much was true. Your parents had been killed. You were previously with a man named Steffen and you escaped. Now he hunts you down.

She also told you of your bond with Uhtred. To fortify your bond you would need to fuck. That didn’t surprise him.

In his experience, a lot of magic had been rooted in passion and lust. It was as strong a tool as hate and rage.

Each step he takes feels harder. He’s not a man of emotion, but feels a deep feeling emerge in his chest. Worry maybe? Worried of what Uhtred will do with this information. What he will do to you. Would he stand with Uhtred against you? Would he kill you for his friend, when he knew you had done no wrong?

No, he decided. If it came to that he would protect you. His moral compass was beyond dusty and rusty. Often ignoring it in favour of completing his assignment or mission. Here it didn’t feel right. His compass was spinning out of control. He couldn’t just ignore it. He couldn’t ignore you.

He found the rest of the group, still sat at the corner table in the alehouse. He realised how gloomy his face must look, yet couldn’t find the need to fix it. He felt gloom and oncoming doom. It felt wrong to share what he had heard. But Uhtred had to know.

He sits slowly on the bench. Stealing Osferths tanker and downing it in large gulps.

“I did not want to drink that ale anyway Sihtric.” Osferth tells the man in a snarky manner.

Uhtred looks at him expectantly. A smile on his face from a previous conversation. Ale has settled in his stomach and he feels it warm his skin.

Sihtric sighs and sits. Not sure where to start.

“Sihtric tell me, has my witch proved to be untrustworthy as we thought?” He laughs, clapping Sihtric on the back.

The others lean in, waiting for Sihtric to tell of what he saw.

“You need to let me finish what I say before you jump to conclusions Uhtred.” Sihtric finally speaks. Voice low to avoid their conversation being overheard.

Uhtred’s eyes narrow and his eyebrows furrow. His mood drops and he feels puzzled. Sihtric is not usually so cryptic. Finally he nods. Pulling his own head in so he can hear the man clearly.

“She did not go to piss as we thought. She met a woman - a Dane by the look of her - in an alleyway. The two embraced, seemed to be friends.” His words further Uhtred’s confusion. What would a witch like you be doing with another Dane.

“The Dane was sent from the ‘elder witches’ as I could gather. They spoke of your witch’s past and what she was doing now. They exchanged gifts and the Dane left.” Sihtric finishes.

“Is that all?” Finan asks, a little bewildered.

Sihtric relents. His bond to Uhtred is stronger to the one he feels to you. But he remains adamant he will protect you at all costs.

He sighs, “Her parents died recently. Then she was taken by a man called Steffen. From the malice in the Danes voice, he was not kind to the girl. He wants to break her bond with you Uhtred. Only mere days ago did she escape to find you.”

Uhtred contemplates Sihtric’s words. He struggles to remember a time he’s seen his friend so moved by something. He stays quiet, as Sihtric looks like he’s got books worth of things to say.

“The bond she shared to you is real according to this Dane. To break it the girl must lie with another man who is not you. To fortify her bond to you she must lie with you.”

Finan laughs, “You heard that Uhtred had a potential maiden to bed and didn’t bring her here.”

“No I did not,” Sihtric’s voice is hard. “While we speak she cries her soul out on the floor of an alley.”

No one says anything for a while. All quietly thinking.

Osferth thinks about how you came to them. Probably scared, terrified even. And how had they treated you? They tied you up. They didn’t even learn your name. He feels bad, more than that, guilty.

Finan shares Osferths feelings. He regrets every moment he spent glaring at you or making the sign of the cross when he’d touched you. He starts to look back on your time with them with new eyes. You didn’t struggle in your ropes, didn’t fight them when they tied you up. His thoughts lead him to wonder what else you had endured before reaching them.

Uhtred is at a loss to start with. He lost his wife, then jumped into bed with Skade, which turned out to be a terrible mistake. Now fate had lead him on a new path. A path that apparently involved you.

It made sense of course. He felt an odd connection to you. Whether that was master and seer or now something more. He wonders why you did not share with him your past before. More thinking leads him to realise why. He had treated you like Skade, when you were far from it. He didn’t even know your name, he hadn’t cared to ask.

Sihtric sees the silence as a confirmation of your fate, death perhaps. He speaks up finally, “If you plan to hurt this girl I will stand in your way. I am your friend but I will not kill a girl for simply living.”

Uhtred blinks, confused, “Sihtric there will be no killing of any girls. I know now I must treat her kinder. That is if we plan to keep her.” He tried to joke to lift the spirit of the group.

Sihtric sighs in relief. Glad he won’t need to do anything so drastic.

“Now, tell me which alley she sits.”

You don’t know how long you’d cried. Your eyes had ran dry to the point your sobs were empty shudders that racked your body. You were sure you were sending yourself into some sort of panic. So you tried to focus on the sounds of the street. Of the few people now walking in the square and the merchants packing up.

You took some deep breaths before getting up and wiping roughly at your eyes. Then wiping your hands down your dirty dress. You hid your dagger on your leg in its scabbard and the pot in one of your dress pockets.

You made your way to the centre of the square, trying to find your previous path to the alehouse. They’d undoubtedly know you’d been else where. From both your lack of flowers and tear stained eyes.

No matter, you had to return. You needed Uhtred, more than you’d like to admit. You need a master. For the years you’d seen Uhtred in visions, you knew at some point you would be together. Master and seer.

You just didn’t realise your relationship would turn down a road of romance.

Other seers at the covenant had told tales of their own previous masters. Some did indulge in lust and desire. They said it made their visions crystal clear. The visions weren’t restricted to dreams, they could happen anywhere.

But you didn’t know it was a requirement almost to keep your bond with Uhtred strong. To avoid losing your master. How would you even bring it up to him?

Lost in thought you don’t watch where you walk. Causing you to bump into someone, someone large and muscular. Before you can apologise the person had wrapped their arm around you, pinning you to their side.

Before you start to panic you take in their smell. Wood, leather and musk. Uhtred. Your body relaxes in his hold. Feeling at ease now. Whether you had to sleep in his bed or not, you knew you’d be safe with him.

“It seems you broke our agreement little witch.”

You try to come up with some response, a lie maybe to cover your tracks. Words fail you as you slump beside him.

“No matter, I look forward to sharing a bed together.” He tells you. His accent thick and words hushed as they land next to your ear.

“But first, we bathe.” The words have you twisting out of his hold. Trying to get away. It causes him to have to stop and turn to regain his grip on you.

“Are you scared of water witch?” He asks playfully, teasing. It’s strange to see him so comfortable with you.

“I don’t need to bathe Uhtred. I’ll sleep on the floor, I’ll wear new clothes. I just don’t need a bath.”

He sniffs your hair, “New clothes won’t clean your hair little witch. We will bathe. Do not worry, I will help.” His words do little to comfort you. Making your stomach twist with a strange sort of uncomfortable desire. Curiosity? Or something more.

You continue in silence. Not speaking about your fate of bathing. It’s not the bath so much you dislike. It’s the feeling you anticipate the water will awaken in your back. As water meets cut you know you’ll be reminded of what resides there. While the plan is improbable - to never bathe again. You are happy to try.

Uhtred has lost a wife already. He has been tricked by an evil witch and now he has been given you. Only to learn that you come to him broken and scared. After Sihtric’s words he feels a previously hidden need to both protect you and take care of you. Even if he has to coax and convince you in to doing it.

He leads you into a large building. An inn. Made of oak and stone with large torches lighting the inside. The room is warm when you step in. And quite, a peaceful kind.

After speaking briefly to a woman near the front of the Inn, you are shown upstairs to a room. She tells you your bath has been prepared in the next room over. A door leads you to the bath, so you do not have to emerge from your room.

When she closes the door it feels as though she takes the air with you. You stand nervously in the middle of the room. Arms folded around your chest, as you try to steady yourself.

“You bathe and return to me, understood?” You nod, moving swiftly to the bath in the other room. Shutting the door with more force than necessary.

The room is small and the steam from the water fills the room. The wooden bath tub is large and deep. Probably the largest you’ve seen. You briefly wonder how such a vast amount of water was brought up here.

You take a few moments to think of a plan.

You could make it look like you’d bathed. Wet your hair. Put your dress back on. Then go to bed.

A plan that sounded fool proof in your head was about to be anything but.

#angelsworks post #dark #the last kingdom #finan the last kingdom #osferth the last kingdom #uhtred of bebbanburg #uhtred ragnarsson x reader #uhtred the last kingdom #sihtric the last kingdom #the last kingdom x reader

[spaceless-vacuum]

Hi my friend sent me the request you did for them. And I love it so much

Can I request yandere gagons for yandere links playtonic x baby dragon's female reader ( been playing tears of the kingdom. And you can ride and climb the dragons.)

Like the found the little reader coming out of her egg and is kinda different then the other dragons she More like a naga dragon looking one but is to cute

Please and thank you ( I didn't know if you do ganondorf's so I put links on there to if you can't do the ganondorf s have a great day

Oot Ganondorf was a powerful sorcerer who was born to the Geurdo and raised by two witches. He has stolen from everyone and knows no bounds and murdered people, nothing can or will stand in his way. When he first finds your egg he's more confused with what's inside. Will you even hatch?

He doesn't know the power he holds but he can’t tell from the moment he sees your egg that you're his. The rare object is his birthright. In his eyes and no one was going to stop him from keeping it.

After some research he found out he came across a rare dragon egg. One that hadn't been seen in centuries. Despite it being such a rare gift the limits and knowledge on you were limited. He had no clue what to think, what you could or would do, or even how to raise you. He thought about passing you along to someone else to raise but as he kept you close and spent more time with you the two of you began to imprint on each other.

He brought you with him to Hyrule as he swore allegiance and he often rants to your egg about news and how the days pass. His plots and schemes remain his to know about but he loves to just talk to you. Once you hatch it's after the young hero emerges from the woods but before he faces or challenges Link.

The serpent-like creature was too small and weak to care for itself. He took care of you. Keeping you close all the time (not that you would stand to be put down) he kept you with him hidden in his pockets. Sneaking your food during meetings. You ate fruits and meats most happily and he was glad to see you thrive even in these conditions. It would take awhile until you grew up but he had hoped it would be sooner rather than later. He had plans that needed to go underway soon. 

Wind waker Ganondorf has this deeper character to him where he states his reasons for wanting to take over Hyrule is so he can give his people a better life. While i dont think this is actually the case, I think it stems more from the fact that he believes by some sort of bid he owns hyrule by right and can rule it better. What better way to take it all over than a dragon?

Flying through the air or swimming in the ocean either way will be a wonderful tool for conquering. At first when he finds the egg he assumes he'll use you like a tool the same way he does his bird. Once you hatch though he takes one look into those beady little eyes and realises, no… No, I can't do that to this creature. He does care for even his bird (he uses chickens hidden around the rocky shores of his fortress as enrichment and will throw the hideous creature people who cross him for food to hunt down)  but he can't think of you as a tool. Not even as a pet.

You're intelligent, far more so than he would ever expect and you've… What's the word? Tamed? Imprinted? Like the rito- eh it doesnt matter.

He doesn't know how to care for you but you're very smart and intuitively the both of you work it out. As you grow older and his plans start to grow bolder as he starts to kidnap the maidens. He keeps you by his side for this. Planning to keep you safe and by his side for his final fight. Talking to you and keeping you safe as you grow older.

Totk Ganondorf would have found you while planning to challenge Raru. Leaving his kingdom to swear fealty also meant being able to travel through hyrule proper and taking claim to whatever he figured he might need. He found you hidden away in some temple and was skewed with jealousy. Raru never did know what power he wielded and this was just another show of it. Items of rare and extravagant power are best suited to those that would use them.

This man is tainted with hate and the moment he sees the egg he has his claws in you. Planning for what he'll do once you wake up. A dragon is a terrible thing to waste. He keeps you warm with blankets and hides you until he's back home. You sit still until it's time for you to hatch and he trusts few with the task of guarding you.

You're a very sweet dragon in comparison to his cool exterior.  He only allows you to circle his keep and to go no further than that, lest you be discovered before he can put his plans into motion. When he goes to kill Sonia and enact his revenge he takes you with him. Hiding you in the room he killed the queen in so you may witness his rise as king in front of zelda and everyone else.

When he manages to slip away you dash after him, remaining out of sight. He also takes you with him to the keep that was made his tomb. He knows that as an immortal dragon you're doomed to stay alive all those years without him, and it stops you from running off. He impressions you with him. 

Unless you showed absolute fealty, keeping you here with him is a mercy. Otherwise he'd have to hunt you down and corrupt you with malice and neither of you would want that. He believes in you to stay there. Staying asleep until he wakes up himself. After damaging Link and ensuring Zelda is gone he goes underground with you by his side. Waiting for the fabled swordman to challenge him; he plans to fight with you by his side.

#eye write #request #yandere ganon x reader #platonic yandere #platonic relationships #dragon reader #yandere legend of zelda #Ganondorf #oot ganondorf #totk ganondorf #wind waker ganondorf

[haggishlyhagging]

The next witness was a woman from Utah who wanted to be among the witnesses because she had heard me speak both in Provo and Salt Lake. But she wished her identity to remain secret because she feared losing her job. Knowing just exactly the correctly humble and deferential tone to take with Mormon males, she was the perfect witness. I watched her in stunned amazement get those egos in the palm of her self-deprecatory little hand, and was grateful that she was willing to do what I could no longer do for any reason: play the male-female, master-servant game which so many Mormon men so much need for their egos, and without which they do not know how to relate to women at all.

The content of her statement was also unerring. She told them she taught young Mormon women in a special program for the intellectually gifted at a church-owned institution. Many of these young women, she said sadly, feel as if there is no place in the church for them, as if the church wants only women who are willing to sacrifice their talents and intellectual capabilities to full-time wife- and mother-hood, which they were not wiling to do, and that this made them unacceptable as "real women" in the church. "These young women are not dispensable," she cautioned.

"But," she continued, coming to the point, "for the past year and a half, I have been able to say to these troubled young women, 'If there's a place in the church for Sonia Johnson, there's a place for you.'" Here she paused for effect and got it. "Bishop Willis," she asked, "what am I going to say to them if you excommunicate Sonia?"

If she had stopped then, she would have left the prosecutor-judge very unsettled and impressed against his will. But sensing her advantage, she pressed it too far by pleading, "Please don't turn this into a witch-hunt!"

The conciliatory mood she had established in the room disappeared on the instant. Although I could sense that something had gone amiss, Rick had to explain to me later what it was. "She shouldn't have reminded those men of witches," he told me, and went on to explain. "Men are basically very much afraid of the spiritual powers of women; that's why they try to keep them from discovering them, from using and developing them—cut them off from the priesthood, set themselves up as women's spiritual leaders. When she said 'witch-hunt,' out of the slime of womanfear in their unconscious slithered the specter of women in power over men, and they instantly united against their age-old enemy, woman; woman as mysterious, woman as witch, woman as powerful, woman as god. I know," he concluded softly, "because I felt it in myself when she said that word, and I looked up quickly and saw what I was feeling pass simultaneously over the faces of the four men seated before us."

Even without the "witch-hunt" she could not have saved me, of course, but she might have left those who had set themselves up as my judges longer in nagging uncertainty about the wisdom of their verdict. Still, she was wonderful, and her act—for I hope it was an act—a grim reminder of all that lies ahead of women in establishing ourselves as adult human beings who do not need to fawn and grovel and coax and coo in order to be allowed to function in the world.

-Sonia Johnson, From Housewife to Heretic

#sonia johnson #ex mormon #female spirituality #male fear #patriarchy

[xxxdreamscapexxx]

Sacrifices series: Chapter 2: The hunt

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Series Summary: After closing the Darkhold, Wanda struggled to find her place in the word. Until she met you that is. And in you, she found hope. But the past has a way of coming back and she’s faced with an impossible choice once again. A choice that’s going to break her heart. Chapter summary: After the last time she saw you, Wanda spent every waking moment trying to capture the monster, who was terrorizing her city and causing mass panic. What will she stumble on?

Warning: angst!; nightmares, lack of self-care, sleeplessness, emotional trauma; Hurt - No Comfort ; Blood, human sacrifice, gory details of a mutilated body, dark magic... That should be it, but in case I missed anything, please let me know. Also, Reader will not be making an appearance in this chapter, but she has a significant role to play in the future. Chapter 1: Sacrifices

It had been exactly 9 days since Wanda last came to see you. Nine terrible days, filled with exhaustion and disheartening failure. She worked tirelessly to find the person responsible for all the dark sacrifices. They were calling him “The Sorcerer” on every news platform there was, stopping regular broadcasts for every small detail the reporters could get their hands on. It was causing only outrage. That was the worst part. But if it meant views, no one cared to listen. She had hardly slept all that time. Her nightmares were getting worse. More realistic, more vivid. She almost felt trapped in them, every time she managed to fall asleep. As if invisible bonds were holding her prisoner in her own hellish plane of existence, refusing to let her go. It was getting harder to claw her way out of them. She had started to fear falling asleep. Not without someone watching over her. But who would be there to watch the Scarlet Witch sleep? She hardly had any friends left, despite what she was being told. Besides… Who could she trust? The dark circles under her eyes were growing bigger, her eyes sunken in. She had lost her will for most things. She was ready to break down completely. And the only thing that gave her hope, that helped her hold herself together, was the hope of seeing you again. After another dead end and way too many grotesque pictures of the horrors left behind by The Sorcerer, she sighed, defeated and unable to continue doing this a moment longer. Her heart ached so bad. Not just for herself, but for the millions out there, that lived in fear, for those who suffered the consequences of that monster’s actions. God, she needed to do better! Everyone was counting on her to find him, to stop him from doing any more harm, and she was failing! How pathetic… The most powerful magic wielder in the world, and she couldn’t catch a stupid man, playing with powers he didn’t understand… She had one more location to run down for the day, one last place, where he could have been hiding, before she would be done and she could finally rest. She could finally get in her car and drive to your house. That’s what she called rest now. Sneaking and sculking around your house like a criminal, just to sneak a glance at you from your windows. Ugh, she truly was pathetic. How low she had fallen… Driving through the streets filled her with a sense of dread. There was another protest. People with hateful signs marching with their heads held high. What was to be proud of, she wondered? What kept their heads from hanging, when they said such terrible things? She never thought she’d see the day, when people would once again rise, to burn witches. Had they learned nothing? Were they so easily fooled? Did the actions of one person truly condemn everyone, who had a gift? She didn’t believe that. But to prove it, she had to catch him first.

The whole world was wrong. And no one felt the sting of it as much as she did. Being able to read minds didn’t help, either. Almost anyone she passed thought of the dangerous monster, that walked the streets. Who would be his next sacrifice? What would be the terrible consequence of it this time? How many would it affect? No one knew, but everyone feared for their lives, their families, their children, their homes… Everyone was sending suspicious looks at their surroundings. They had so many reports of people claiming to know who The Sorcerer was. Most times it was simply neighbours they didn’t like, co-workers they envied, poor strangers, who had been unlucky to catch the eye of the wrong person. Ugly. All of it. She hated it. But sometimes, they got some legitimate intel. Like this last location. Which is why she was forcing herself to go there today. When she reached the old building, she could feel the dark energy that surged from it. She could never mistake it. It was like the perfume of a long-lost lover. She couldn’t name it, couldn’t touch it, couldn’t explain it in any way, yet she would always recognize it. And here, it lingered in the air, it seeped into the building, the concrete pavement, the very earth this place was standing on. All polluted. It made her sick to her stomach. Or was it that she hadn’t eaten in… How long was it now? She didn’t remember her last proper meal. But she had found a protein shake in the kitchen this morning. At least she drank that. Not that it mattered much. As she made her way inside, Wanda felt almost dizzy. Her very being rebelled against the energy of this place. It roared with outrage and disgust. Yet another, small, but undeniable part of her felt like it was just waking at the presence of such darkness. “Don’t touch anything here.” An inner voice whispered. “All diseased. All rotten.” It kept whispering, making her wish she could cover her ears and turn away. She could still see the door back there, she could still walk away from this place and never return… What wishful thinking. She could no more run away from here, than she could run from herself and she knew it. But it helped, giving herself the illusion of choice, when there was but one. Forward. As she ascended the stairs, her eyes peering up, she almost hoped he would be here. She needed this to end. She needed for this to be over, so she could be free.

“At least freedom is still possible for you.” That voice spoke again. That inner awareness of hers. And just when she was about to ask what that meant, a realization, or rather, a sudden recognition of another presence alerted her that she wasn’t alone and it dawned on her. There were people living here. Amongst all this… Filth. If she could feel it from outside, if it was consuming the entire building… What did it do to them? “Death.” Hissed that voice again. An echo of something she already knew. “Only death.” And that confirmation made her feel sad, most of all. Sad, that she had taken so long to find this place. Sad, that she had failed them too. That she had left them to live with this. A sudden bang, somewhere above her, startled her, making her blink away the almost trans-like state she had been walking in and she summoned all her strength, all her power, to face whatever was lurking here. Her heart was beating faster with every step she took, climbing each floor with this gut-wrenching feeling that something was waiting for her there. That she was being watched. But there was no one. Only the muffled sounds of people, behind their closed doors. Each one living their own lives there, completely unaware of how much they were being affected by the evil presence that loomed over the place. Then again, not everyone was lucky enough to be able to leave. She could see, hear, she could smell the poverty here. Now that was a true horror. A very real evil that she alone was unable to fight, or win against. Poverty claimed more lives than that Sorcerer could in a lifetime. It was the true enemy of the people in this world. Yet, there were no protests of outrage, when children starved and died, when potential was snuffed out in so many households, just for the lack of money… No one cried for the people lost to that evil… Tragic really. That people would band together and hunt down that Sorcerer, that they would do unspeakable things to him in the blink of an eye, yet would stay docile and submissive, when faced with the man-made atrocities of this world. Tragic. It almost made her want to give up then and there. But people didn’t have much protection against magic. And so, it fell on her to protect them. Even if not all deserved the grace of her efforts.

She had reached the top floor, wrapped up in such thoughts, carelessly unalert. It wasn’t like her to be so easily distracted. But she realized it wasn’t her. It was this place. It had a power of its own. It was messing with her and she had to remind herself to be at full attention. It was dangerous here… Especially here. There was a single door on the top floor, glaring at her, as if it could scare her into leaving. So much decay here… It wasn’t just the surface, the chipped paint or the dust, it was an undercurrent of sorts, a living, breathing thing that ran through the whole building, poisoning everything it touched… He must be here. No place was better suited. No place she ever stepped foot in had so much darkness in it. It was like it was made of evil. She used her powers to unlock the door, surprised that it would even work. There were no protective enchantments, no defences she could feel or spot. There was no one inside either. She could hear no thoughts, feel no sign of life. The door just opened for her and Wanda stepped inside with a sense of dread inside her. She could smell the decay here, mixed with herbs and spices that lingered in the air. She walked into the hallway, trying not to breathe too deeply. The smell was so heavy it almost made her lightheaded. And it looked like a normal apartment really… If it wasn’t for the negligence she could see with every step. Furniture falling apart, paint falling from the ceiling and walls, the dust and grime she could see everywhere. Who would choose to live like this? The next room she stumbled upon was a small, dark bedroom. The smell of dirty sheets and unwashed clothes hit her nostrils as soon as she opened the door and it made her eyes sting. How disgusting it all looked. The windows were closed shut, heavy drapes covered every surface that could give off light, making the room even more unwelcoming. She wouldn’t wish this on her worst enemies. This… Life.

Wanda stepped away from the room, grateful to be able to breathe more freely, even if reluctantly and she made her way to the next room, a more specious living room it seemed. There was a strange buzzing sound she couldn’t quite place here. Irritating and low. The curtains were closed here too, preventing her from seeing clearly and she used her magic to pull them aside, causing a cloud of dust to start spinning in the air around them, illuminated by the sun-beams that made their way inside. She could see bowls and plates of half-finished food on the small table, all rotten and mouldy now. There were flies everywhere, feeding, buzzing, flying around her as if to test if she could be part of their next meal too. It made her sick. On impulse, or perhaps, because she couldn’t stand the feel of it much longer, a blast of magic surged from within her and into the room, causing the small insects to fall. Dead in an instant. One fell right at her feet and she looked at it for a long moment, her face a grimace of open disgust, before she looked away. She didn’t dare look down again, too scared to watch herself walk over them as she stepped further inside. Looking past the broken couch and the ripped carpet, the first thing she saw was writing. It was on the walls, the floor, on random pieces of paper. Scribbles and notes everywhere. Spells. Real ones. Those that weren’t, she soon saw, were covered in paper and then that was overwritten with new spells. So many, she had to take her phone out and photograph, so she could examine later. The next thing she noticed, the one thing she realized wasn’t broken, or destroyed, were shelves. Full of mundane things, or so it seemed, but her eyes stopped on a shelf filled with books. Old ones. There were no titles on the spines, so she took one, delicate fingers opening the heavy, hand-stitched covers to find that it was a grimoire. Or an attempt at one. Her senses told her that whatever spell was being described on the pages she was looking at wouldn’t really work, regardless how much power one had. But it was a beautiful book. A real antique. And it made her wonder what else was hiding there. She used her magic to pull them all off the shelf, holding them up in the air and opening the pages. They were all books on magic! Old, new, some full of misinformation, but some… They had some truth to them. Whoever this person was… They had a real treasure-trove of information. And a book on the Scarlet Witch. The prophecy, the description of her powers… All there. Was he researching her? Was he thinking of going after her? How long did he have that book for? Did he know who she was, how to find her? But what scared her most of all, was the thought that if he knew who she was, he could also know about you. You could be in real danger and she wouldn’t know it, because she left you!

The thought of that almost made her heart pound out of her chest as panic gripped her, refusing to let go. She hadn’t seen you in 9 days! So many things could happen in that time. What if he did know about you? What if he hurt you? She would never be able to live with herself if that happened. And the only reason she could even breathe, the only reason she wasn’t running to you right now, was the thought that she hadn’t heard of a new victim of The Sorcerer. He was laying low these days. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with her. Maybe he had stumbled on this, saw that he couldn’t use this book and moved on? But the only way for her to find out, was to find him. And to do that, she needed to know more about him. Wanda closed the open books in a swift motion and she left them in a pile on the shelf. She’d be taking them with her on her way out. She wanted to go through them, when she had more time and she wasn’t paralyzed with fear for your life. With uncertain steps, she stumbled upon the kitchen, the sight making her gag. Dirty dishes and rotten food lay everywhere, the smell of it so completely overpowering, she had to cover her nose and mouth with her hand. The bugs and maggots here were thriving and she couldn’t stand the sight, so she moved on. She couldn’t possibly find what she needs here anyway. There were only 2 more doors she hadn’t tried. One was clearly the bathroom and she was sure she wouldn’t be able to stomach whatever was waiting for her there, so she chose the second one instead. But it wasn’t simple choice or chance. It was a feeling of sorts. Something calling her to that spot. Something dark and mysterious, something alluring, yet repulsive. Magic. The worst kind of magic. She could feel it. The corruption that started there, originated there and was spreading out. It was unmistakable and it was calling out to her. With every step she took, Wanda could feel the power that was concentrated behind that door. With how strong it was, she was surprised that The Sorcerer managed to keep out intruders up until now. Such dark magic sought out to corrupt anyone and anything. Other would have felt it too. They must have. When she opened the door, she gasped, the coolness that washed over her making her shiver and step back for a moment. But it wasn’t just that, it was that smell again. Death. So much stronger than before. It was all-consuming here.

Like this entire apartment, the room was dark too. In fact, it was much darker and she summoned her magic, so she could illuminate the space, searching for a light switch on the wall, but unsurprisingly, there was no electricity. She could see candles though and she lit some, hoping to see better, but as soon as she did, she wished she had never stepped foot in this place at all. Right in front of her, nailed to the wall, was a body. A human one. His eyes were carved out, the jagged edges around the wounds bloody. His chest had a hole too. Right where his heart was supposed to be. The organs were removed, gone now, probably taken by the monster who did this… She could see the poor man’s neck was snapped and she realized it’s probably how he died. Hopefully it was quick.

But what did The Sorcerer intend to do with the organs? He was going to use them for something. A spell. Another omen perhaps? And she needed to know what it was. Swallowing, Wanda forced herself to look away from the grotesque display on the wall, lighting the rest of the candles in the room, so she could see better. There was an alter here. It was obvious it grew, just as his obsession with dark magic did. Objects were placed there with great care, but as his collection grew larger, he had less space to fit them all. Idols, bones, figurines, objects with dark power… There was only 1 thing missing, a central piece that had its own place of significance. Something he must have taken with him. His book. The grimoire he used for his spells. It was gone… “Fuck!” She cursed under her breath, her eyes scanning the room frantically. There were other books. He must have moved those with significance here… Once he realized which ones were actually written by magic wielders. But the one he was using for his spells was gone. He was too. And she had no idea where he would be going. He must have known that someone was going to come for him. But how? “Damn it!” She screamed, a burst of magic knocking over his alter, his objects scattering on the floor, some, more fragile things breaking in the process. She wanted to hunt him down more than ever. She wanted to run out of the building as if she’d find him on the street, just waiting for her. But life was never that easy. Wanda walked out of the apartment with newfound determination, a stack of all his books trailing behind her, hovering in the air. She didn’t bother to hide her powers. In fact, she was hoping that he would be watching. She hoped he’d see her make her next move too. She made a call to S.H.I.E.L.D, briefly explaining the situation and she waited for the black cars to start coming. It didn’t take long. Agents were everywhere, surrounding the place and the one in charge approached her with careful steps. “Get all the people out.” Wanda said through gritted teeth. “This is a condemned building now.” “I understand.” The woman smiled at her, making a sign for the agent beside her to start spreading the word. “Top floor. That’s where he used to be.” Wanda continued, looking up briefly. “There’s a body inside.” The woman only nodded this time. Far more serious at the implications of another dead body. “Not one of his sacrifices. But it will be.” The redheaded woman continued, before the agent could interrupt her. “Just… Give the poor man a burial.” She said, a note of tiredness in her voice and she turned to leave. “And after that?” The agent spoke after her, stopping her in her tracks. Wanda looked back at the woman, then the building, ugly and grey and somehow more disturbingly unnerving than it was when she first came here. “Tear it down.” She said, a tremor in her hand giving away how much she wanted to do it herself. “Tear it down and salt the earth.” “Does that help?” The woman spoke again, thoughtful. “It has to.” Wanda said, her voice much smaller now. “It has to.”

---------------------------------------------------------------- It took me some time for the second part, but inspiration struck and I wrote this in 3 days. I'd love to know what you guys think! I have 2 more chapters in mind for this series. Should I write them too?

#writing #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfiction #scarlet witch #magic

[inklessletter]

Maybe then, Maybe there

Pairing: steddie

CW: 3.2k

TW: angst and hurt, not talking about feelings, pining, kissing, period typical and internalized homophobia, trauma, possibly multichapter

---

“Alright, then. Let’s swim.”

Eddie Munson had always been careful. He had to learn to anticipate every possible scenario so he could react, so he could protect himself. Sometimes that habit made his mind a wasteland, a dangerous place to stay for a long time. But it was necessary, if he didn't want to end up beaten, crushed and shattered, like the time he forced himself not to think of every now and then.

Eddie Munson had to learn to control his life in a way that no other boy his age had to. He was loud and obnoxious, a carefully designed persona to keep everybody away, and it has worked so far. Even if he had failed twice to graduate, he had friends with a purpose. He always had, and he always acknowledged what every single person around him wanted to get from him.

The band members needed a solo guitar and someone to scream his lungs out at the microphone every week. The kids from Hellfire expected him to entertain them with D&D campaigns. Rick needed him to sell to a specific group of people he couldn’t really reach regularly.

It was lonely sometimes, being a mastermind. But it was safe. And he would take safe over lonely every single fucking day of the year. 

Yeah, he would. He craved a surprise free life, and after spring break, a portal to hell and a witch hunt from his whole home town, it was a mandatory requirement. A ground rule. No surprises.

And he tried, he tried so goddamn hard to keep working on anticipating everyone’s movements. He absolutely wanted to know, to decipher their means, because after all the shit they’ve been through, why on earth would that bunch of people want to keep being in touch with him? His circumstances made them go through hell; he still couldn’t bear to look at Henderson straight in the eye for more than three seconds, just because he knows what he made that kid go through. He clinically died on his arms, he scarred him for life. The fact that the kid kept showing up every day at the government hospital blew his mind. 

He couldn’t anticipate that. Eddie didn’t know what to do with that. He also didn’t know what to do with the fact that along with Dustin Henderson, the rest of the gang were there, visiting him, treating him like he wasn’t the cause of the worst distress of their lives. They worried about him, asked him about his recovery and the scars of the wounds, they brought him gifts and treats, and he even got to know new kids, like Will Byers that Mike couldn’t stop talking about, or his girlfriend El, the superpowered girl. And they were all friendly with him.

What was Eddie supposed to do with that, huh?

What did those people want from him? He had absolutely nothing to give them. 

He even tried to apologize to them, maybe that was what they wanted, an apology. But they all looked at him like it was insane (Henderson told that he was actually nuts) and kept coming back.

It took Eddie a few weeks to know that his life now was entirely different and he had to adjust to not being able to anticipate what those people wanted from him. It wasn’t until he heard Buckley talking to Nancy about him and addressing Eddie as “their friend” that he understood that maybe this whole situation had completely destroyed his carefully constructed wall between him and the world, because he had now friends, apparently.

Trying to get a hold of the kids was easy, he just had to organize D&D campaigns again and they would be all his minions again. He could give them something worthy of their times, and that could grant him a glimpse of the control he had lost with all this fuckery. That made him feel less… lost. Safer, in a way.

But then they started inviting him to movie nights, and birthday parties, and they even brought him presents and made him a small surprise party on his birthday (they learned about his birthday being on June 23rd because Erica just looked at his file when he was at the hospital). 

It was—it was madness. He took a deep breath, and came to terms with him not having a fucking clue about how to anticipate to that group (exactly when he was blowing the candles of the birthday that Erica and Dustin had baked for him) and just went with it.

And here he was, a random night of August 1986 sitting on Steve Harrington’s car hood at the quarry, talking with him and actually realizing that he had been stupid enough to actually “go with it” a little bit too much.

Being friends with Steve was the most surprising thing of all. See, he didn’t play D&D, he hasn’t smoked weed in four years, he did no drugs (not that he had any on him, now that he wasn’t dealing anymore) they had nothing in common. Steve was fire and Eddie was water. They were—they were supposed to be incompatible. Steve liked sports and Eddie could only run twice in his life when his actual life was in danger. Eddie read fantasy books and Steve hasn’t picked one up since high school. Steve was a morning person, for fuck’s sake.

Steve was the sun and Eddie was the moon. They were not supposed to meet. Ever.

But he was easy to talk to, and he was responsible and loving with the kids, and he had the funniest look on his face when he rolled his eyes at Dustin’s remarks until the back of his skull. When he was with Buckley those two were an unstoppable team, Eddie could swear that they melted and fused into one single hive mind because the way they acted, god, that could be just one person. Their friendship was something to behold with utmost joy. Steve was also a bit bitchy, and Eddie found himself loving that. He learned to read Steve’s judgy face, and what came after was always worthy of his time. The man was witty. 

But he was also kind and giving. Maybe his gossiping skills kept him on the loop of every detail of Eddie’s life, or maybe he was just a good listener, but Steve kept asking Eddie about things he mentioned like, two weeks ago, and Eddie was impressed that he remembered.  No one, besides Wayne, has ever paid that much attention to what he had to say.

Eddie was stupid enough to actually want more from that. They started hanging out, and sharing things. Steve gave Eddie the opportunity to laugh at him when he shared stuff about his childhood, but Eddie didn’t laugh. He just shared things in return.

Later he would analyze the fact that he really didn’t want to laugh at Steve, because he wanted him to keep looking at Eddie in the eye, and he did that more and more when he found that Eddie didn’t really mock him for what happened to him, or what he wanted to do with his life. The result of that analysis had Eddie’s head spinning for days.

He was falling in love with Steve, and at this point he didn’t know how to stop it.

Whatever was left of his stupid persona was gone now, and he was utterly fucked, because he realized that he didn’t want to stop hanging out with him, even if it led to his heart to be destroyed. He wanted him.

Eddie wanted the heartbreak, but also wanted Steve’s smiles, and stories, and bitchiness.

Night car rides were a thing now, and there they were, under a full moon, after Eddie just shared with him yet another silly piece of information of his childhood (that he didn’t know how to swim and the fact that he dove through Lover’s Lake was pure intuition and he would not know how to do that again). Steve had hopped off the hood and was lending Eddie a hand.

“Alright then, let’s swim.”

“Didn’t you hear the part in which I told you that I don’t know how to?” Eddie said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll teach you,” Steve insisted, with a wicked smile on his face while he danced his fingers, urging Eddie to take his hand.

“I’m not a good student,” Eddie said, smile forming on his lips. Oh, he was so going to end up in that stupid lake, wasn’t he?

“Then I’ll get you, you won’t drown, I swear.”

Eddie looked at him in silence, and then at his hand, he took it, but didn’t leave the car. He spoke softly.

“I don’t have any swimming trunks,” Eddie said, as his last retort.

“Neither do I,” Steve said through his smirk.

“Are you suggesting skinny dipping?”

Steve burst in laughter, but Eddie actually stood next to him, hand in hand.

“No, you are,” Steve said. “I was going to keep my underwear on, but if you’re so eager to spice this up, then, yeah. Totally naked.”

Steve was fucking unreadable. Why did a straight jock, boring young man that wanted everything missionary, and a house with a wife and half a soccer team of kids happen to be so hard to foresee?

What did Eddie miss about him? And why the fuck was he already taking his shirt off?

Before they both could know it (and Eddie was blaming the blank canvas that his mind was now that he apparently decided to let himself go, carefree and dangerous) they were at the shore of the quarry in nothing else but their boxers. Steve didn’t hesitate, and he walked into the water.

“Come on man, it’s warm.”

“What if there are—uh—things? Actually, Harrington, how the fuck are you not shitting your pants at the idea of swimming in another lake at night after what happened to you?” Eddie asked, ranted, really, but he was already getting into the water.

He observed Steve, that he was already chest deep. He really observed him.

Steve was—god, he was beautiful. Scarred in his stomach and his back, his pinkish, healing wounds were visible under the full moon. He looked like he was made of silver and it felt wrong in Eddie’s mind because Steve’s color was gold, not silver. Eddie saw him run his wet hands through his hair, combing it back, and, yeah, yes, he was something else.

He was the kind of something else that he wouldn’t have dared to dream of, the kind of something else that made him force himself to look away every single time they were showering after PE, or dressing in the locker room. Steve was the kind of something else that Eddie could not have, and looking at him with want was nothing but hurtful.

Steve turned around and looked Eddie in the eye. He smiled briefly and then he sank under the surface, and Eddie panicked. When he came back a couple of seconds later, Eddie felt himself like he could breathe again.

“Dude! Not. Cool!” Eddie said with a hand on his chest, worrying expression on his face.

Steve laughed, honest, bright. 

“Sorry, I’m so sorry, man. My bad,” Steve said, bubbly, light hearted. 

Eddie rolled his eyes at him and looked away for a second, trying to recompose. When he looked back at Steve, he—he was staring at Eddie.

Eddie saw Steve’s eyes roaming through his chest and he suddenly felt hyper aware of his own looks, scarred and broken, tattoos destroyed, meaningless ink of what once was a cool design. Designs that were made to reinforce the persona that was no longer with him, also broken and scarred. Eddie swallowed around nothing when he realized that it was such a poetic parallel.

In an impulse to stop the staring, Eddie came closer, sinking until his chin, in front of Steve. The younger man didn’t even bother to pretend that he wasn’t staring, and looked at Eddie’s face when they were next to each other. 

“Do they give you hell? The—uh, the scars. Do they still hurt?”

Eddie didn’t know why Steve was suddenly whispering. The slick, wet skin on his face, on the tip of his nose, on his cupid arch, were gleaming under the moonlight. Eddie followed the light, and it was a mistake. He looked back at Steve’s eyes when he answered.

“Sometimes. Yeah, sometimes they hurt.”

“Mine too.”

Eddie studied his face.

“Do you—do you think that he—”

“No,” Steve said quickly. “No, it’s over. He’s dead. I think they hurt because they’re still healing and nothing more.”

Eddie looked away.

“You’re safe.”

And there it was. The hurt.

He didn’t need to be told that before. Steve telling him that he was safe was a reminder that he had no control over anything.

“How do you know?” Eddie asked, also whispering. He saw Steve struggling to reply to that, and before Steve could read that question differently, Eddie specified:  “How do you know that he’s not coming back?”

Steve shrugged and smiled at him, crouching enough to be chin deep, too, mirroring Eddie.

“I need to believe that this time is for good. There’s no point in going on with our lives if we are stuck in that headspace, you know?” Steve licked his lips and he was suddenly, somehow, closer to Eddie. He didn’t see when he moved. “Like, what’s the point of trying to get a good job if I’m always fighting monsters in my head? Why would I try to find a person to fall in love with, to marry, to build a family with?” Steve studied Eddie’s face before he continued, again, closer. 

“Steve—”

“Why would I even bother?” Steve asked, and Eddie felt Steve’s warm hands grasping his under the water. 

Eddie didn’t quite know what was happening, but he felt Steve’s forehead against his, and he was starting to feel dizzy with want. This was—god, this was insane.

Why was he so close? Why—why was he telling him this?

There was something that didn’t feel quite right. And Eddie hated that he knew exactly what.

“Is that what you want in life, Steve? A wife and a family?” Eddie’s voice was a little trembling and he felt like shuddering all of the sudden, like the water went extremely cold, and the skin against skin was burning him alive. He could even taste Steve’s breath in his mouth, and his mind, god. His mind was clouded, overcast, no sun to be seen even if it was right in front of him. 

It took Eddie a couple seconds to understand that Steve didn’t respond. 

Steve was still unreadable to Eddie, and Eddie had never been more lost in the past few months that he was at that moment.

“What I want,” Steve said, low, raspy, shaking. “What I want is to live, Eddie.”

Steve didn’t ask Eddie with words. Steve asked for Eddie’s permission to kiss him looking at him in the eye, and then to the lips, and back to the eyes. He gave Eddie time to back down, and when he didn’t, he came slightly closer, grazing his lips against his. Eddie forgot how to breathe, especially when Steve stood there, not kissing him, not moving. Waiting for Eddie to move away.

Eddie laced his fingers with Steve under the water and that was permission enough for Steve to finally mold his mouth against Eddie’s.

Eddie’s mind crashed. He didn’t understand anything that was going on. It still didn’t click. Maybe he was sleeping,maybe this was nothing but a feverish dream but it felt quite too real.

Steve was kissing him, gently, softly. Tentatively. Steve kissed his bottom lip, once, twice, three times. It was only when he tilted his head to deepen the kiss that Eddie actually kissed back.

It still felt off, but they kissed, oh, they kissed. Steve cupped his jaw with a hand, drawing him closer, chest to chest, wet skin slick and soft against one another. Burning bright and all consuming. 

Swimming lessons forgotten, they kissed and touched until the water was actually too cold for their bodies and they had to get out of the lake. Eddie tried not to think too much of what he thought he knew about Steve, he tried not to think about if Steve was finally showing his cards about what he wanted to get from Eddie. Eddie decided not to listen to that voice, not that night, not when water and fire actually made magic together, like an impossible. Like a paradox, the universe destroying itself and building itself back.

Steve Harrington, the unreadable man, surprising Eddie once again, against his will, by kissing him. 

Eddie didn’t pry about Steve’s sexuality, that was a conversation for the future. Their bodies were around a towel that Steve retrieved from his car, pressed together, still kissing fiercely, pulling up sighs and moans from each other.

“You didn’t—uh—you didn’t teach me how to swim,” Eddie said suddenly, stupidly, and he scolded himself. Steve laughed in his lips.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m sorry. I can teach you another time, though,” Steve suggested. Eddie smiled in his lips, ignoring that terrible feeling.

“A-ha. Yeah, sure. We can—we can do that, yeah,” they both laughed softly, still pressed together. “Was this your plan all along? Getting me naked and kissing me stupid?”

Steve laughed again and Eddie wanted to die in his laughter. “No, not really. I really wanted to teach you to swim, but,” Steve gave Eddie a peck, “you kept asking about what I wanted and, um—nobody has asked me that in a long time. And I—well, I just realized there what I wanted.”

“To live?” Eddie asked, not really teasing.

“Yeah. I want to live, to love, to have a family and a nice house,” Steve said, smiling. He looked into Eddie's eyes. “I want all that, Eddie.”

And that was what it wasn’t clicking.

Because Eddie couldn’t give him what he wanted. Eddie couldn’t give him a fancy wedding, a nice life, in a respected neighborhood. He couldn’t bear children of their own. They probably wouldn't be able to buy a house because he knew, he saw how clandestine and secretive lives like that were. How dangerous, how mortifying not being able to hold hands in public. 

A life with Eddie would bring Steve nothing but misery and his dreams crushed, shattered, scattered all over.

Eddie was not part of that equation, and he wouldn’t let himself be, because Steve deserved to have all that, everything that he wanted.

What was happening between them, the kisses under the silver moon, bare and wet and full of dying love, was turning that quarry into a graveyard of the unborn life that they were not meant to have together.

Eddie hugged him tighter, kissing him deeply and hungry and leaking what was left of his love for that fantasy into Steve’s mouth, hoping that it would be imprinted in his blood and in his lips for the rest of his life that he so wanted to fully live.

That he could foresee.

For that he could prepare.

But not that night. Not that night. Not when it was new and raw and experimental. 

Maybe it could work in another world, Eddie thought, where fire and water can kiss, and the sun and the moon can share the same sky at the same time.

Maybe then.

Maybe there.

#inklessletter #inky writes #fanfic #fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie fic #st fic #ficlet #angst and hurt #pining #kissing #developing relationship #internalized homophobia #period typical homophobia #eddie is sad :( #it's been a long while since I don't write anything