#I killed grammar and now she's rolling in her grave

[bondsmagii]

Here’s something I really can’t explain.

To sum up: I shouldn’t be alive right now. I shouldn’t be writing this. I have no idea how any of this could have happened, but the fact you’re reading this now is kind of living proof that it did happen, so I suppose I’ll try and explain it as best as I can.

A little backstory for you. Way back in the late forties, my great-grandfather was a young man working with the local fire department. He came back after the war and just couldn’t settle into any kind of desk job, so despite my great-grandmother worrying about his mental state he ended up running into burning buildings for a living. Naturally he saw some messed up shit, but nothing haunted him more than a hotel fire that he attended.

At the time there had been an annual prize night for a local grammar school. Hundreds of kids and their families were crammed into the hotel’s large ballroom when a stray match lit up the curtains on the stage. Back in the day they weren’t exactly great about fire safety, and the walls and furniture were panelled or made with highly flammable materials. The whole room went up in minutes. Over one hundred people died, over half of which were children below the age of fifteen. It was an indescribable tragedy, and my great-grandfather – along with every first responder there – was scarred for life over the things he saw that evening.

My great-grandfather did his best to live with what happened, and for the most part he did well, all things considered. All of his grief seemed to be directed towards one little girl, who was never identified or claimed. She was badly burned but not unrecognisable; the theory was that her whole family had died with her, leaving nobody left to notice she was gone. She wasn’t the only person to suffer this fate, unfortunately – all told, five people were never claimed by families – but because my great-grandfather was the one to pull her body from the wreckage, he sort of became obsessed with her. He was preoccupied until his death with finding out her identity, and every year on the anniversary of the fire he visited her grave to lay a wreath. Unfortunately, he died without ever finding out who she was.

Fast forward a few decades, and I’m in my early twenties. My great-grandfather died when I was quite young, so I only had a small idea of this part of his history. It was, however, enough to make me wary of large fires – especially hotel fires. One summer, I’m visiting another city for my younger brother’s university graduation, and I stay the night in a hotel near the city centre. I remember fires were on my mind already, because initially they had tried to give me a room on the twenty-third floor, and I had politely refused and requested a lower floor. (An old maxim of my great-grandfather’s: never stay on a floor where you wouldn’t survive the fall.) Because of the graduation, the hotel was packed, and I ended up on the fifth floor in the end, but I figured it was better than nothing.

The first night was fine. The second night a fire broke out. The hotel had had some electrical rewiring done within the last month, and something went wrong. The fire smouldered for hours, undetected, before spreading into multiple parts of the ventilation system. Smoke and flame was pushed to all corners of the hotel before the fire cut out the power. Later, investigators would discover that the fire burned through the power for the smoke and fire detection alarms almost immediately – yet somehow the fire alarms went off. This is only the beginning of the inexplicable that night.

By the time the alarms woke me, my room was already filled with smoke. I had been drilled on this so many times as a child that it was instinctive for me to roll off the bed and onto the floor; only then did I start to panic. Luckily I had fallen asleep with the curtains open – the only time I had ever done that in a hotel – and the city lights illuminated the room enough to let me know the smoke was only in the top two thirds of the room, and not as thick as it could have been. I had time to crawl into the bathroom, wet a towel, and tie it around my nose and mouth. Then I crawled to the door and lay a hand flat on it. The door was cool, so I cautiously pulled it open.

In the hallway, it was pitch dark. This is the worst case scenario for any fire. Smoke disorientates people, and they feel ill from inhaling it. Panic compounds the confusion. People can get lost in their own homes – hotels are the worst place for something like this. People stand little chance of getting out if they haven’t memorised an exit, and even then it’s not foolproof. I should know. I always memorise exits, but when I went out of my room I turned the wrong way. I don’t know why. I was panicking, I was confused, and I just made the wrong choice. It should have cost me my life.

I realised my mistake as soon as I reached the end of the hall. The door there was propped open (fire safety hazard, I remember thinking, like it mattered at that point) but I could see no flames. The door led to the stairwell, and I had just crawled out onto it when the entire world went black. The smoke and flame had intensified, the fire sucking in oxygen and the smoke being forced up the stairwell like a huge chimney. It spilled over the edges of the landing and enveloped me even hunched on my hands and knees. My eyes began to sting and water; I couldn’t see anything. I crawled back and bumped into the wall, and for several long seconds that felt like minutes, I couldn’t find my way out of the stairwell. The heat was evaporating the water in the towel, and the sheer amount of smoke meant it wasn’t doing much good anyway. By the time I finally made it back out into the hall, I was coughing and choking. Panic made me pull the towel down. I only took the smallest breath before the floor tilted under me and I experienced a horrible rush of lightheadedness – with smoke so toxic, sometimes a breath is all it takes.

I kept crawling, heading back towards my room, now realising my mistake. At that point I was forcing myself to stay calm, but it wasn’t working. I had realised I had probably just gotten myself killed, and it was almost impossible to breathe. The temperature was climbing, and I knew the fire was close. I could hear screaming from somewhere nearby, doors slamming. Every single rational thought had left. I scrambled down the hallway in pure panic, and then I saw the child.

She was hunched down, looking right at me. She wasn’t in any kind of night clothing – she looked like she was still in the clothing she would have worn at the graduation ceremony, a neat little dress and polished shoes, a ribbon tied in her hair. She was perhaps eight years old at my best guess, and seeing her shocked some sense into me. Before I could speak or gesture to the direction she should go, she waved and then pointed.

“Come on, mister,” she said. “This way.”

Together we crawled to the other end of the hallway. Smoke was billowing from that stairwell, too, thick and dark though still not as bad as the other one. Either way it didn’t look good, but the little girl didn’t seem concerned – not even when we crawled out onto the landing, and the orange flicker of flames was visible several floors below.

“No,” I said. “It’ll be too hot.”

“Come on, mister,” she said again.

She began scrambling down the stairs, staying as low as possible. I could hardly leave her, so I followed.

The heat was unbearable, and by the time we were on the floor below, visibility was zero. The smoke was so thick and black that even the flicker of the flames had vanished; the only way I knew how close they were was from the heat and the deafening roar of it. Have you ever been near to a large bonfire? Have you heard how loudly it crackles? That’s nothing. Big fires, they roar. They sound closer to a freight train, a tornado. It’s a sound so loud that it sets off a primal kind of terror, even without the heat and the smoke to add to the danger. What I’m saying is that it’s something that’s very difficult to crawl towards, yet there we were.

I couldn’t see the little girl, but every time I began to panic she would reach back and touch me. The heat grew and I could smell my hair burning, my clothing threatening to catch. The floor was excruciating, and while I didn’t realise it at the time, I was in the process of receiving third degree burns on my hands and knees from the floor alone. I felt faint, the heat making my head pound. It seemed to drain my of my energy, and during those last seconds – as we passed directly past the floor where the inferno was at its worst – I was sure I was running only on pure animal instinct to get away.

Then we descended into the hallway below the fire, and it was all gone. The heat lingered, but it was nothing compared to what it was before. The smoke was hazy grey, high up by the ceiling. The little girl was tugging at me, and I realised I’d collapsed to the ground.

“Quickly, mister!” she said now. “Not far!”

In my pain and confusion, it didn’t occur to me that she wasn’t burned; that she had no difficulty breathing. She tugged hard at my clothing, and while I didn’t know that my clothing was alight at the time, later I remembered and wondered how she had done it. With her prompting and encouragement I made it down the last of the stairs and out into the hotel’s lobby, which was shockingly untouched. Alarms were blaring, but the room was free of smoke and many of the hotel’s employees remained there, grabbing people as they emerged, coughing, from stairwells and hurrying them outside. When I stumbled into the lobby I was immediately tackled by several employees who were, I was later told, beating the flames from me. I had stumbled into the lobby on fire.

I don’t remember anything else. I didn’t have time to mention the girl. I passed out, and was kept in a medically induced coma while my body recovered from serious burns. I very nearly didn’t make it, and when I awoke I had several months of painful operations and skin grafts to go. My hands were badly burned, though the doctors managed to save nearly all my fingers – I’m only missing the little fingers to the first knuckle, and while the scarring is bad I can use the hands well. My knees are badly scarred but functional. My back isn’t pretty to look at, but it doesn’t bother me now, not outside of itching in the heat. I forgot about the girl until just before I was released from hospital, five months later, but to my relief I was told that no children had died in the fire. Whoever she was, she had gotten out safe.

Almost a year later, my grandfather died. He was the son of my firefighter great-grandfather, and when my own father and I were around his house, sorting through his things, we came across some of my great-grandfather’s stuff. Medals, a few old photographs of the family, some letters. My father and I went through the pictures, my father pointing out relatives and telling a few stories here and there. What you would expect from such an occasion, really – but then I found an old picture of a little girl.

I recognised her immediately as the little girl I had seen in the hotel – there was no denying it. The picture was an unpleasant one, taken post-mortem, and while half of her body was badly charred the other half looked as though she could be sleeping. Her hair was the same, the bow singed but present. The dress was the same. I could even still hear how she sounded. Come on, mister! I was so shocked I didn’t say anything. My father looked at it for a long moment, and then he gave a sad sigh.

“I wish he had found out who she was,” he said. “That haunted him. He felt like he failed her.” He took the photo from me and looked a little more closely at it. “Nonsense, of course. He did everything for that little girl. I’m sure she would thank him if she could.”

She did, I thought. She did.

#creeptastic #creepypasta #my creepypasta #writing #my writing #short story #fiction #back at it again with the spaghetti afraido

[imagineofallkindsxxx]

Eternal Flame- 9/? Kol Mikaelson

Vampires... They're Real

WC: 1675

We all fell asleep in Sams room the following night while watching his favourite comfort movie in his bed. That's the twelfth time I've seen Top Gun now. We were or at least I was woken up by a loud cough coming from the doorway, I opened my eyes to reveal that I fell asleep on the floor last night with the three boys on the bed, and they say chivalry is dead. I looked at the digital clock on Sams bedside cabinet which read 11.03 which made me sit up abruptly looking at the doorway to see Meredith, she must have stayed over as well. I got up searching for my phone to reveal i had 12 texts from Elena, 5 from Ric and a voicemail from the least likely person, Damon Salvatore. I shoved it into my back pocket before heading to the door leaving the trio sleeping peacefully. I walked down the stairs to see Meredith, Harry, and Lucy. Sams parents.

"I am so sorry for your loss Mr. and Mrs. Fell. You too Meredith." I told them sincerely upset about the death of Tobias Fell. "Do they know the cause of death?" I asked the trio which Lucy replied.

"Animal attack." Strained voice probably from crying and comforting her husband.

Animal attack.

Vampires.

"That's terrible." I said still feeling bad for them especially Meredith and Harry but still genuinely hoping that it was a tomb vampire and not Stefan. "Again, I'm sorry for your loss." This created a weak smile from Lucy and a nod from Meredith, Harry staring into space. I heard a honk from outside that sounded like a certain Salvatores vintage car. "That's my ride."

"I'll show you out," Meredith got out standing up heading towards the door I've been going in and out since freshman year.

"Can you tell Sam to text me whenever he wants. I'll be free for him." She nodded confirming she'll pass on the message to my best friend. I walked out and saw the blue vehicle with a raven-haired vampire driver making me nearly turn back and go back to Sam. I walked towards him and got into the car. I put the seatbelt on then he sped away.

"Do you not answer your texts?" He questioned in that classic Damon tone. I rolled my eyes.

"When a family member of my best friends has been killed via 'animal attack' I tend to stick by him" I replied snarkily making him roll his eyes. "Well, what's with the texts and calls?" It was his time to show off his 'iconic' smirk.

"Well, I assume you're aware of the little ghost problem we had last night." I hummed in agreement my mind going back to the conversation i had with my deceased aunt "Well the ghost of Mason Lockwood gave me a visit and showed me something very interesting in the Lockwood cellar" he told me stretching the very before stopping not giving me any hints of what it may be.

"Well? What is it?" I asked annoyed at the vampire already, two minutes must be a record.

"Patience is a virtue, middle Gilbert" making me roll my eyes for what seems to be the tenth time in three minutes. We sat in silence on the way to the Lockwood cellar before getting out the car and walking a good five minutes "Could you be any slower?" Damon asked annoyed by my speed making me contemplate going slower just to annoy him.

"I can try." He turned back and glared at me we walked into the cellar seeing my sister and Ric who must have gotten here not long before us as they were walking down the hidden tunnel in the cellar. Damon put a finger to his month as if be quiet, i narrowed my eyes but nevertheless I went behind him quiet to see where this is going. I overheard Ric saying to Elena.

"Careful where you shine that thing. Bats hate the light."

"Wait, what?" Elena replied making me keep a laugh in when Damon comes down the tunnel standing behind her whispers.

"Elena!" Which she turns around to see the blue-eyed vampire "Boo!" scaring the petit brunette as I see he jump with fright.

"Ah, god Damon!" She yelled making me smile before pushing past him to stand next to Ric.

"Scaredy-cat!" He goads.

"Just ignore him. That's what I do." Ric advises Elena and me rolling his eyes.

"To be fair Ric," he looked at me while I was looking at the floor expecting me to actually defend a Salvatore "it is quite hard at times, his voice is just that annoying. Its impossible" making the doppelganger and hunter smirk at the scowl on the vampires' face.

"Your real brave when your somewhere I can't reach you" I gave him a smirk in retaliation to the statement.

"So, you really can't get in?" my twin asks the annoyed creature.

"No. Seems like even the ancient Lockwoods were anti-vampire." Damon told the elder Gilbert.

"Wonder why?" I sarcastically muttered making him give me a glare which I ignored too busy trying not to fall in the dark and rough terrain.

"What do you mean ancient?" Elena questions oblivious to the comment made towards the Salvatore and his species. His eyes go back to my sister, he gestured in a way to carry on walking.

"See for yourself." The four of us carrying on the walk with two flashlights being our only source of light. "Well, this is as far as I go" Damon states letting the two gilbert sisters and their hunter guardian carry on walking. Elena shines her flashlight on the wall in front of us to show drawings of all kinds seemingly to be Viking runic.

"What is all this?" my sister asks from beside me while I somehow read some of the writing.

"Well as far as I can tell, it's a story." Ric begins "In simple, archaeological terms, it's a really, really old story" he points at a drawing of what is the moon cycle, I think? "That right there, is the moon cycle" after this he points at another drawing on the wall "a man, a wolf." How did I know that was moon cycle?

"A werewolf" Elena says looking mesmerized by the drawings.

"Yeah, it's the 'Lockwood Diaries: Pictionary-Style'" Damon pitches in with an attempt at humor of the possibly huge discovery in front of us.

"But the Lockwoods didn't settle here until the 1860's with the rest of the founders. Who drew these? When were they drawn?" I asked the historian in which he shared a look with the vampire.

"A long time ago" Ric vaguely told me.

"How long?" My sister said backing me up by questioning the hunter as well.

"Long. It gets better. Show them, Ric." Damon once again butted in.

"Names. They're not native. They're written in-"

"Runic, a Viking script" I cut him off making his look at me with eyebrows raised, I shrugged my shoulders.

"Vikings?" my sister said not understand that Vikings were in Mystic Falls.

"This name here, I translated it and it reads Niklaus" Ric tells us.

"Klaus"

"And Elijah... and Rebekah" pointing towards the names on the wall flashing at a group of names one catching my eye that I'm barely hearing anything, it was only three letters. it was next to Rebekahs making me think that maybe it was another Mikaelson. I was in a weird kind of daze, the only thing breaking me out of the trance I was in while looking at the name was.

"Mikael." That makes me snap my head towards the teacher.

"Mikael? Their dad?" I questioned with a nod of confirmation from Ric.

"Mikael, as in, the vampire hunter who knows how to kill Klaus?" My sister asked all of us.

"Yep. I now like to call him 'Papa Original'" Damon says humor filling his voice while Ric takes pictures of the cave wall.

To break the tension my phone rang to see Sam was texting me,

'Meet me at our place in ten mins?'

I furrow my eyebrows wondering what could be so important that couldn't be said over the phone but sent back a little.

'Sure'.

"Hate to break this lovely revelation short but I have somewhere to be, friend to console. You know the drill." indicating I'm going to speak to Sam which Elena nods in reassurance.

"Yeah go, be with him. Do you need a ride to his place?" She asks me but I shook my head.

"I can walk it but thanks Lena" walking out of the cave missing the look of borderline shock on her face at the nickname I've barely called her since the accident. I walk out of the old Lockwood cellar northwest for a few minutes before reaching a little lake that is usually used for parties but when quiet a peaceful place where Sam and I come to regularly when we need to get away from everything. When I'm there I already see the brunette sitting on a rock.

"Hey, Sam." He turns around while sitting to see me, he turns back around facing the lake with a serious expression on his pale face. "Are you okay? Stupid question. What can I do to help?" I asked reprimanding myself for asking such a stupid question at the beginning. I sat down next to him on the same rock. He gave me a small smile.

"You can keep a secret right?" He asked in all serious.

"Of course," I told him offhandedly.

"No Alexandra. I'm being deadly serious, what I'm about to tell you... I'm not supposed to tell anyone. You can't tell anyone." he told me turning around looking me in dead in the eye. I turned around facing him curious yet worried about my grieving friend.

"Sam, you can tell me anything. I swear on my parents grave I won't tell anyone." I sincerely swore to him.

"It's about" he stopped himself breathing in before sharing

"Vampires... They're real."

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

A/N: Sorry for the lack of content episode wise in this but I thought I'd give you an idea of how Sam is going to be a recurring maybe even main character and the rest of the episode plus a bit of Sam drama is part two of the episode.

As usual let me know of any grammar, spelling mistakes or British slang/spelling.

Please comment or vote to let me know I'm doing a decent job. I need validation haha.

Thank you for reading lovelies xxx

#kol mikaelson x you #kol mikaelson series #kol mikaelson imagine #kol mikaelson x oc #kol mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries #the originals imagine #the originals

[late-to-the-party-81]

ANGELS LIKE YOU

Summary

A small look into the relationship between Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton, examining their relationship and feelings for each other.

Author Notes:

N.B. - I haven't seen the Black Widow film yet - hopefully this is (mostly) canon compliant.

Not beta'd, hopefully it flows okay and their aren't too many grammar errors

I’ve copied this over from my AO3 account as an experiment as I’m getting used to tumblr

Track - Angels Like You by Miley Cyrus

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Natasha couldn’t pinpoint when the feeling of ‘wrongness’ had started, but she knew the exact moment it crystallised and could no longer be ignored.

Nine months ago Clint Barton had made a decision which changed both of their lives forever; he didn’t kill her. Instead he had brought her in, managing to incapacitate and capture the famous Black Widow, seeing something redeemable in her that she didn’t see in herself.

For the first few weeks the only people she had contact with were Clint and Nick Fury. It was Clint who tended her wounds, talked to her and reluctantly injected her with sedatives when she tried to attack them and escape. She was kept in a room which contained the bare minimum; metal furniture securely bolted to the floor – nothing to make a weapon from. Barely more than a prison cell.

But as the weeks passed, her fear diminished. She had never been scared of them, but she had been scared by what those in charge at the Red Room would do if they thought she hadn’t tried to free herself and return to them. If they had wanted her back though, they would have been here by now, surely? Therefore, she was no longer of use to them. Maybe they thought she was dead? But either way, it seemed that now she was free of them. She didn’t know what to make of that. Her whole life, her whole self, had been dedicated to them.

It would be easy to think that she had imprinted on Clint, like an orphaned starling, but they both knew it was more than that, the pull between them, this feeling of completeness in the other’s company. She knew he felt it as much as she did. And then one day, whilst training, preparing her for her first mission with SHEILD, the first major step in her new life, they had crashed together.

Lips, tongues, teeth. Hands scrabbling at clothes, nails scratching and breathless gasps. An absolute feeling of ‘rightness’ until it was followed by just that niggle of ‘wrongness’. She knew she loved him and he her. Surely this was what was supposed to occur between them?

Everything was odd between them for a few days until she literally bumped into him. His hands coming up to grasp her upper arms in reflex to steady her, his smiling face looking down at her. She thought he looked like an angel, the angel that had saved her. She didn’t know which one of them moved first, but they were kissing again, the heat between them undiminished. They made it to one of their rooms, full of the need to be close, completely connected. She remembers she cried out, remembers the tears that fell from her eyes as she was overwhelmed with it all.

From then on they were inseparable. They worked missions together, their skills complementary, and a bond that bordered on telepathic. Something happened in Budapest, but they never discussed it with anyone else.

Outside of missions there was barely an inch between them if they could help it, but the feeling of wrongness teased at the edges of her mind. She saw how Clint smiled to himself when they were out, undercover, and they he spotted families together, the father swinging around a giggling child. They observed family cookouts, couples together in restaurants, their love and affection on display for the world to see, and no cares except each other. She could never give him that. Never be able to give him the children he so desperately craved, despite him never voicing it. She didn’t think she would ever be able to relax enough in this life to have any of the other things either.

Natasha knew he could tell she was withdrawing. Their intimacy was still passionate and hurried; rough and fulfilling. But Clint was no fool. She needed him, in ways she couldn’t describe, but as he tried different ways to reach her, she knew, that eventually, it would end. She would make him miserable and he would hate her.

That end, the clarity of wrongness, came when she found him waiting for her, a bunch of flowers in his hand. He looked at her, sadness in his eyes, and he called her ‘baby’. They both knew this was it. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, soft and tender, the first and last time. That night their loving was slow, the most bittersweet of goodbyes. They had no need for words.

She left before sunrise that morning. She went to Nick’s office, unsurprised he was there so early. Without a word he slid a folder across the desk for her. A new mission. A solo mission. One that would take her away for months. Was there nothing this perceptive man didn’t know? It didn’t take her long to grab her ‘go bag’ from her room and then she was off.

But Clint didn’t hate her. He messaged her later that day, telling her to stay safe, and asked her to keep in touch when she could. It was awkward at first, but as they texted, then called, each other, they fell back into their easy rapport. When she finally returned he wrapped her in the biggest hug and they stayed up all night, eating pizza, talking and watching zombie movies.

Clint fell in love. Laura could give him everything he wanted. Natasha couldn’t help but love her too. Laura opened her heart to the other half of Clint’s soul, never jealous, never insecure. Then came Cooper, and Lila, then Nathaniel, and Natasha knew joy and love like she’d never known before. Her family, she realised, as unconventional as it was.

But with a snap of a mad man’s fingers it was gone, blown to dust. Clint, so bent on vengeance, abandoned her. And she couldn’t help but blame herself. Her soul, covered in red and violence had tainted his. Then, five years later, a glimmer of hope….

“Damn you!” There is hurt in his eyes as he realises she’s secured him to the rock.

“Let me go,” she commands, softly.

“No, please don’t.” Tears roll down his face, and she can see his heart breaking.

“It’s okay.” And she knows what she has said is true. If this works (and god, it has to work), everyone that she loves, that Clint loves, will return. This is a journey she has to make alone, her angel can’t fly down with her. She kicks off from the cliff, breaking his grip on her wrist and she falls. She loves him so much.

Laura stands, watching her husband. She doesn’t know how to comfort him. He is crouched down at the side of a grave stone. It was a quiet, private ceremony, as per the wishes Nat had given, many years ago. Clint is trying to reconcile the fact that he had to give up one part of himself to get another part back. He is angry and grateful and elated and sad and fucking traumatised. If he thinks too hard his head might explode. He screams, fingers curling into the dirt by the headstone of the empty grave. He screams and screams until his throat can longer make any sound and he is lying on side, sobbing. He feels Laura holding him, rocking him and stroking his hair, until at last he is able to return to his feet and be led to the car. He doesn’t know how he will go on without his angel with the red hair.

Notes:

This story has lived rent free in my head from almost the first moment I heard this song. Think what you like about Miley, but the emotion in the lyrics and her voice as she sings this - shivers!!! And I cry nearly everytime I sing along.

The pain of knowing you have to leave a loved one behind for their own good, because otherwise you will ruin them.

Okay, I'm waxing lyrical here, but please, do listen to it to fully understand this work.

#archive of our own #fanfiction #clintasha #mcu fanfiction

[minervahopebeyond]

Blood Petals.

Hi!! I hope you like this one! Please let me know what you think ✨💕

Ps. As always I already checked everything but I apologize if you find any grammar or vocabulary errors.

Chapter 13: The article. (Part 1)

So, apparently it was impossible for things to just go well for him. If something was in order then another thing would go to hell. Draco was that lucky.

Thanks to the Patronus, he could communicate with Sirius and Mr Potter without a problem; he just waited for his roommates to fall sleep, closed his curtains on the bed, casted a muffliato and then he sent his Patronus over there. Shortly he would get an answer from them and Draco found himself safe again, like when he was at Grimmauld.

The only problem that brought up the Patronus Cham was the one with Ron.

Weasley didn't faint when he heard the news but he was rather indignant.

" How?"

Draco laughed as he prepared the chessboard.

"What? Are you jealous, weasel?"

Ron snorted and rolled his eyes, trying to seem unaffected but Draco knew better.

"I didn't know your little Gryffindor pride was so fragile!" He said with an amused smile on his face. "If it makes you feel better, I don't believe it's about me."

The redhead raised an eyebrow, bored expression on his face.

" I swear! It's like your bloody dog! That's not about you."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, ferret?"

Draco rolled his eyes, Weasley could be so obtuse sometimes.

" Jack Russell Terriers are known for chasing otters. Ring any bells?" The blond boy said with a smirk.

Ron started to get awfully red and glared at him. He grabbed some of the biscuits he was eating and threw them at him.

"Stop talking about it!" The boy looked away. " Besides, dogs are loyal and Jack Russells are also known for being energetic, playful, and hard workers"

"So, basically, you are telling me that you are a Hufflepuff."

Another biscuit was thrown at him.

"Lions are proud animals... they are social because they live in prides. They are also territorial and protective. And last but not least, they are lazy fuckers that send the lioness to hunt while they sleep all day." Weasley snorted. "I don't see how any of that doesn't apply to you."

" Ha bloody ha. Joke is on you, because I will never have a 'lioness'."

The redhead was still eating, then he talked with the mouth full.

"I'm sure, someday, you will find a pour bastard that spoils you rotten, every hour of every day."

He said it so quick, Draco's smile faded and Ron looked at him confused for a few seconds. Then he remembered and his eyes turned sad.

"It's okay, Weasley. I don't need to get married to be happy. If I make this two years count for something then I'm going to be happy. I swear."

His friend was looking at him, hurt, Draco felt awful.

" If you would just let us help you! People care about you, you prideful stupid git!" He yelled at him. He was figuring out what to respond but the redhead stood up and walked away.

And for the first time ever, Weasley stormed out and let him alone playing chess.

It wasn't exactly a fight. Ron was too good of a person to ignore him, given the situation. But something was there, Draco could feel that he was upset and maybe a little mad at him. The redhead was trying not to show it but the blond boy could tell.

As days passed things were getting a little more rough between them. They would stay silent for long periods of time while playing chess or Ron would smile less when he was around. Draco hated it with all his being.

He still talked to Potter, there wasn't much to say, though. Sometimes he would stop himself from getting too close to him, too friendly; because he feared that, if they became real friends, the boy would start to talk to him about Ginevra. He wished scarhead all the bloody happiness in the world, they could dance over Draco's grave for all he cared, he just didn't want to hear about it.

31st of October would be the following week and the green-eyed boy told him about this brilliant idea that his father had, of him spending the night at Grimmauld with them. He told him about how good it felt to be near them, because he always was kind of bitter at the feast, with everyone enjoying the night and having fun.

Draco, of course, already knew that Potter was sad on Halloweens. He learned that back in first year... That's why he suggested this plan to Sirius and Mr Potter on his letter. He just pretended not to know anything about it.

______________

Draco woke up that Saturday feeling good about visiting Hogsmade. He missed drinking butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks or going to Honeydukes. Today his plan was spending the entire day with Blaise and Pansy, he kind of owed them, after all. And he missed them, he missed them being happy and laughing with him. So, that was his main goal for that day: making his friends laugh and smile a lot.

Blaise was nowhere to be seen, so he most likely was waiting for him at the great hall, having breakfast with Pansy. He got changed as quickly as he could and went to meet them.

Today, you are going to be really nice and you are going to let me have fun. Is that clear, useless daffodils?

When he got to the Great hall, everyone had a copy of the Daily Prophet in hand. They were all whispering ’Can you believe it?’ ‘This is so awful, they should be ashamed of themselves’ ‘The anniversary is next week, who does that??’

He sat next to Pansy.

“What is going on?” He asked.

Blaise had a conflicted face when he looked at him. Then he made a gesture to Pansy.

“He is going to find out anyway.”

Blaise sighed and put the newspaper in front of him.

“It’s the front page.”

He could only stared at it.

REBORN FROM THE ASHES: SIRIUS BLACK AND JAMES POTTER

There was a picture of them under the headline, the were walking at the street, smiling at each other. It looked like Sirius had said something funny, because for a brief moment, Mr Potter

threw his head back and laughed. They were close to each other, which wasn’t new... but in this context it seemed like it was. He started to read, then.

We all know that Sirius Black’s name has been cleared. This year we had the grand surprise of welcoming James Potter back to our world, and thanks to that we found out the truth about the events of that awful night back in 1981.

Both of them had been spotted on the streets of muggle London, as they were about to enter a restaurant, looking quite cozy. I think we all want to think that this is just a mistake, but sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words.

We also could get a statement from someone who went to school with them, who wishes to remain anonymous.

‘There were rumors about them, back in Hogwarts, they were never apart. And the entire school knew that Black was gay, maybe it was even why he got disowned. Just saying.’

Only one week away from the anniversary of the death of the Potters (although now it would be commemorated as Lily Evans Potter death), it seemed rather shocking to all of us.

As always, my intention is to keep my readers informed of everything, even when the news turn up to be uncomfortable.

Written by: Rita Skeeter.

What a load of bullshit! Sirius and Mr Potter weren’t dating! They would had told Potter. There was no way in hell they would of hide this from him. They wouldn’t let him find out like this. And most of all, they didn’t deserve this, after all that they went through... it was too much.

He looked at Blaise and Pansy with a pained look on his eyes. He had to go, do something. Pansy sighed but nodded.

“You better meet us at the three broomsticks.”

“You two are the best friends that one could ask for” He hugged Pansy and smiled brightly at Blaise.

“Yes, we know. Now go with the Gryffindors, Dragon.”

He got up and walked towards their table. Potter was frowning at the article. He heard Granger speak.

“Harry, this is Skeeter. She wrote that we were together in fourth year, based on a stupid picture too.”

“Yes, mate. They would had told you, you would know.” Weasley was always seeing through people, always being perceptive. Draco sat down next to Potter,in front of the others two thirds of the golden trio.

“ I agree with both of them. This is bullshit and really insensitive, in so many levels.”

Harry turned to look at him,the frowned seemed to fade a little, before the boy nodded.

“Yes, you are right. Of course.” The boy cleared his throat before continuing. “I’ll meet you outside in 15 minutes? I think I need to be alone for a little while.”

Draco frowned at that while the other two nodded at him. They had worried expressions on his eyes.

Draco waited for Weasley and Granger to finish eating breakfast. None of them were in a mood to talk, the blond boy just wanted to check on Potter before going to the Three Broomsticks.

They waited for a while, trying to give the green-eyed boy some space, before they went to meet him. They walked in silence until Granger spoke.

“Are you spending the day with us?” She didn’t mean it in a bad way, her tone was more curious than anything else. Draco shook his head.

“No, Pansy and Blaise feel a little abandoned because I spend Sundays with Weasley already. I promised to be with them the entire day... But this happened. I’m meeting them there later.” The girl murmured something like ‘Oh... okay’ and nodded.

When they got outside, Potter was not alone. Theodore was standing in front of him, with Vince and Greg beside him.

“Don’t tell me that you are crying, Potter.”

“Leave me alone, Nott.”

He looked at Potter to see if he could find any trace of tears on his face: nothing. Good. Draco grabbed Weasley and Granger by their arms, indicating them to not get closer. Potter hated being saved, he could look after himself.

“Don’t worry. We are not going to tell anyone.” Theodore said in a fake tone. “I would be ashamed too, if I had a deviant as a godfather... Not to mention your father turning into a shirtlifter.”

Oh, no. He was going to kill him. And Vince and Greg too, because they laughed. He found himself marching towards them, furious. He stood in front of Potter, looking at the Slytherins.

“What the fuck did you just called them?” Theodore, no, Nott; rolled his eyes.

“This doesn’t concern you, Malfoy.”

“Unfortunately, it does, so let’s try this again.” Draco took a few steps closer towards the git. “What the fuck did you just called them?” He hissed.

He was close to Nott, he wanted to intimidate him, to make him realize that he just made a big mistake. That moment right there, was his chance to take back what he said, and move on with his day. But Theo could never let something go.

His hazel eyes where looking right at him, with determination, with the desire of winning. Then he spoke really slowly, enjoying the words that left his mouth.

“I said: Sirius Black is a deviant and James Potter is turning into a shirtlifter for him.”

This is something that Draco hated and loved about Theodore: he enjoyed being mean. The blond boy, always appreciated the honesty of it all, the brunette didn’t pretend to be polite or a good person; he was good with his friends and mean with the rest. Draco hated that sometimes he took it too far.

He pulled a face of disgust and disappointment and took a step back.

“You think you are really funny, don’t you? Making fun of someone for who they love.” He snarled at him. “I personally think that the article is bullshit... but even if it were true, I don’t see how you could joke about it.”

He laid the trap right in front of him. Back the hell off, Theo. We both know how to play this.. The other boy just snorted.

“That’s because you are a fairy too, Malfoy”

Draco just smirked. You are so stupid, darling. I’m going to destroy you.

“See? Don’t you think is a little basic and old fashion? To make fun of someone for their sexuality, I mean.” He raised an eyebrow, smirk still in place. “For example, if I wanted to insult you... Maybe I would point out that your lack of wit and brains, could be because of the inbreeding.” He heard the Gryffindors gasp in amusement behind him. Theodore glared at him.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, but I’m not even finished.” Then he looked at him up and down and bit his lips. He could swear that Theo blushed a little, before being notoriously uncomfortable. “But if I were to stood in your level... I would kindly remind you that most of the openly homophobic bastards, turn up to be closeted and ashamed themselves.”

Nott took out his wand and Draco followed.

“Let’s remember that I’m better at dueling than you, Theo. Why don’t you save the little dignity that you have and leave.” Then he looked at Vince and Greg. “You too, I don’t even want to see you.”

Theodore looked furious and hurt at the same time. He gestured the other boys to follow him and they walked away from there. He was watching them go when he heard Weasley.

“That was brilliant, ferret!”

Draco turned around to see the boy. The redhead was already pulling him into a hug. He was surprised at first, they never hugged before, and at the moment, they were in this weird limbo of friendship. The blond boy blinked and returned the hug. Good, this felt normal again. He couldn’t feel Weasley being mad anymore.

“That was almost as cool as when Mione punched you in the face!”

Draco chuckled and pulled away from the hug to look at him.

“I feel honored, weasel.”

Granger walked to where they were, smile on her face.

“Thank you for standing up to them, Draco”

He widened his eyes, dumbfounded. Granger avoided speaking to him... Now she was thanking him. He nodded.

“It was nothing, I’m sure you would had punched Nott in the face, if I hadn’t intervene.” He smiled at her. The girl chuckled and agreed with him.

They turned to look at Potter, then. The green-eyed boy was staring at him... trying to say something but no words left his mouth.

“I’m sorry if I got in the way. He insulted Sirius and your father and I just couldn’t leave it.”

Potter frowned at that.

“He insulted you too.”

Draco nodded and did a gesture with his hand, to indicate that it wasn’t important.

“I’ve known him for a long time. He can’t say anything about me that I haven’t heard before.” The boy was looking at him, curious, and then he nodded.

“Do you want to come with us to Hogsmade?”

He started to feel the tickles. He is just being friendly, you brainless flowers. Draco smiled and shook his head.

“I can walk with you there, but I really have to spend the day with Blaise and Pansy. They will kill me if I ditch them.”

Potter seemed a little disappointed to hear that, but he just nodded at him. The daffodils didn’t stop moving, making him feel tickles all over his lungs, pulling him to be near the boy; Draco force himself to stay where he was. He felt Weasley put his arm around him.

“Let’s go then, ferret.”

The day was a little cold, but it was still fall ,so it was enjoyable to be outside. As they walked there, Draco noticed that Potter was rather quiet. He wished that the green-eyed boy wouldn’t worry about the stupid article from Skeeter. The Daily Prophet always wrote shit, everyone knew that. The ministry used them to manipulate information, it wasn’t exactly a coincidence that Sirius and Mr Potter were on the front page, while the disappearances weren’t.

Hogsmade has this peaceful air that Draco always found very soothing. Since there were just a few weekends a year where the students could get out of the castle, everyone was happy, it was like a pause from all the awful things that were happening outside.

“Potter, enjoy today. To brood over it won’t get you anywhere.”

He turned to where Draco was, anxious green eyes looking at him.

“Fine. Have fun with Zabini and Parkinson.”

#drarry #fanfic #fanfiction #prongsfoot

[searchingwardrobes]

An Education in Southern Gothic: 1/2

Here it is, my first contribution to the @cssns! I am so excited to share this with all of you! It’s based on a ghost story that kids would tell at a school where I used to teach. The school really was built on the former grounds of a Southern plantation, and it really did have a small graveyard on school property. The most fun for me was putting our favorite Once characters in a Southern setting, and I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much! Part two is already written and will post tomorrow.

Much thanks to @snowbellewells, my fellow English teacher and grammar queen. Your metaphorical red pen was a life saver!

The above eerie art with a Southern flair by @hollyethecurious

Summary - Fact: there’s a graveyard between the football field and the science building. Debatable: a ghost haunts the halls of Misthaven Hills High. Emma Swan is about to get an education. Killian Jones is about to get a whole lot more.

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals (let me know if I missed anyone!): @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @optomisticgirl @distant-rose @xhookswenchx @wellhellotragic @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @branlovestowrite @ohmakemeahercules @shireness-says @mythologicalmango @vvbooklady1256 @gingerchangeling @ultraluckycatnd @revanmeetra87 

Chapter One: Urban Legend 101

It’s not so much the two-foot high, decorative fence of ornate black metal. Nor the ancient tombstones tilting in the Georgia red clay and cracking down the middle. Emma Swan isn’t the type to find anything chilling in the realities of death. It’s just a graveyard, she would say with a roll of her eyes, even as a child. She was always that kid willing to traipse across a grave when dared, never once entertaining the idea that the person buried beneath would be angry, disturbed, or even care. Rotting bones, that’s all there was beneath the earth. Not angry souls of the departed.

Yet this one has a chill skittering across her spine, especially when a breeze sends the Spanish moss swaying. The olive green vegetation drips from the live oak shading this little plot. This is her first Georgia fall, but she already knows the chill isn’t in the air. Even if it is early October.

“Rather creepy, isn’t it?” says a British accent at her side, and the sound makes her jump.

“Shit, Jones!” she snaps.

“Language,” he admonishes, with an exaggerated wag of his fingers. Her eye roll earns her a soft chuckle. He crosses his arms and regards the gravestones silently beside her.

“I didn’t believe the kids,” Emma admits, “until Henry Mills actually hauled a heavy book into class.”

“Aye, that lad is a believer if I ever saw one.”

“Yeah,” she agrees fondly, “so I had to come out here and see for myself. How did I not know there was a graveyard here?”

“You mean tucked between the football field and the science labs?” Killian quips. “Why would you?”

“Shouldn’t there be a plaque or something?” she arches a brow at her friend. “Huh, Mr. History Buff?”

He rubs at the scruff on his jaw in feigned deep thought. She finds herself staring a bit too intently at the cut of his handsome face and quickly glances away. Killian hadn’t exactly endeared himself to her at their first meeting back in late July. She was rushing to her first faculty meeting at Misthaven Hills High, and running across the parking lot in the 99 degree humidity hadn’t exactly put her in the best mood. Killian’s over the top flirting when she slid into the only available seat in the packed library had earned him a swift kick to the shin. If it hadn’t been for Mary Margaret and David, she would have assumed the history teacher was a total asshole.

Yet it turned out that Killian was David’s best friend, and David was the husband of her college roommate and best friend Mary Margaret. Killian was also friends with Belle, the librarian; Ariel, the biology teacher and swim coach; Robin, the PE teacher; and even Robin’s wife, Regina, who was also the school principal. The students also adored him, and not just the girls who swooned over his looks. She couldn’t go anywhere in this school and find anyone who disliked the man. So she begrudgingly had to admit she’d been wrong about him.

Now, two and a half months later, she honestly counts him as one of her best friends. They understand one another in a way that’s almost uncanny. Best of all, Killian’s flirting never pushes past the teasing type that makes her smile. While Mary Margaret and David fret about Emma’s walls, Killian respects them, even understands why Emma feels she needs them. And for that, she appreciates and welcomes his friendship.

“You know, this just may be the perfect subject for the next grant request. I need to get with Belle on that.”

“A ghost story can get us a grant?”

“Of course!” he tells her with a wide grin. “History fanatics love a good ghost story. Especially one that took place on a southern plantation.”

Emma frowns and cocks her head at the tiny plot. “This town couldn’t have bought land someplace else?”

Killian chuckles and nudges her in the ribs. “What is it, Swan, do you believe in ghost stories?”

“No,” she scoffs with a wave of her hand, “I just think it’s creepy that they had to build the school around tombstones.”

“So,” Killian says, voice dropping low as he saunters close to her, “you don’t believe that the ghost of Cora Mills wanders these hallways, angry at being hung on this very tree simply for taking vengeance that was rightfully hers?”

A shudder runs through Emma as a breeze rustles the tree again, as if it can hear Killian’s words. His breath against her ear doesn’t help either.

“While she continues to make breakfast foods?” she says to cover up her reaction.

She hopes the arch of her brow conveys her incredulity. Her students had claimed that sometimes you could hear bacon sizzling and the cracking of eggs. That sometimes you could even smell it. The ghost of Cora Mills eternally cooking that final breakfast she had set before Tara and Jonathan Lautour before stabbing them to death with a butcher knife.

“The story makes no sense,” Emma snaps, propping her hands on her hips. “Why make them breakfast when she planned on killing them?”

Killian leans closer, waggling his eyebrows. In an ominous voice he says, “So they wouldn’t see it coming.”

Emma shoves him in the chest and his laughter sings on the autumn breeze.

“You’re as full of it as the kids are, Jones.”

His laughter rings behind her as she marches back to the main school building to get her things before heading home for the afternoon. The cold dread that skitters down her spine is just her mind playing tricks on her.

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

“You want me to do what?!”

Mary Margaret sighs and gives her a withering look as if she’s her petulant two-year-old. “I think I spoke clearly, Emma.”

Killian snorts, earning him a dig in the ribs from Emma. Jasmine stares intently into her salad as if avoiding eye contact with Mary Margaret will save her from being roped into the deal along with Emma. The four of them make up the entire humanities department: Emma English, Killian history, Mary Margaret art, and Jasmine drama and music. They’re also co-sponsors of both the school paper and the yearbook. It’s the downside to teaching in a town as small as Misthaven. Yet the upside is the bond they share with students whom they teach for four years straight.

“I’ve just assigned research papers to my juniors,” Emma argues, “and I got stuck with the homecoming issue of the paper, remember?”

“It’s just one night,” Mary Margaret says, throwing in a pout for good measure.

“Why the hell do the cheerleaders spend the night in the cafeteria?”

“Language!” her colleagues chorus.

Emma rolls her eyes. “As if Regina even watches her language. I heard her call Will Scarlett a little piece of shit just yesterday.”

“That’s because his parents call him that,” Killian quipped.

“Anyways,” Emma says with a wave of her hand, “I’m not spending the night at the school, especially not on the cafeteria floor.”

“We bring air mattresses,” Mary Margaret explained, “and it’s a tradition. This time of year, the girls are so busy with football and homecoming that they don’t get enough practice in for competition season -”

“Which starts in two weeks,” Jasmine puts in.

“Exactly,” Mary Margaret continues, “so we do an overnight practice.”

“And you don’t sleep in the gym because . . .” Emma grumbles.

“There’s no air conditioning.”

“Aye,” Killian put in, “you may be new to the South, Swan, but surely you already know that air conditioning is a necessity, not a luxury.”

“Thank you for your expert opinion, Brit.”

“Emma, I beg of you,” Mary Margaret says, “I need a certain number of chaperones, and my assistant coach is pregnant.”

“So?”

“Nine months pregnant. She can’t sleep on an air mattress!” She clutches Emma’s arm. “She’s going to stay for the entire practice. All I need you to do is be an adult presence.”

“A warm body,” Killian clarifies.

“Exactly. Until David and Killian get there with breakfast at 6 am.”

“See, Swan, just until - wait, what am I doing?”

Emma laughs at Killian’s confused expression. Jasmine almost chokes on a cherry tomato.

“You and David are bringing us Chick-fil-A at 6 am. The order has already been placed.”

“Wait!” Emma raises a hand to stop Mary Margaret’s words. “Why didn’t you say that sooner? You would have had me at chicken biscuit. Unless there won’t be hashbrowns.”

She turns and grasps Killian’s arm.

“Will there be hashbrowns?”

He chuckles and pats her hand. “Emma, I swear you would sell your soul for greasy food.”

“Answer my question, Jones.”

“Yes, love, there will be hashbrowns.”

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

Emma seriously cannot believe she agreed to this. Killian was right: she’s way too addicted to fast food. Otherwise she wouldn’t be blowing up twenty-three air mattresses in a high school cafeteria. At least she’s in the air conditioning and not in the sweltering gym like Mary Margaret and her assistant coach.

The final air mattress plumps up, and Emma cuts off the air pump. As the whirring stops, the cafeteria feels eerily quiet. A shiver runs down her spine, but Emma shakes it off. She wraps the cord around the pump and puts it back into the box Mary Margaret was very insistent it had to be stored in. Emma turns to put it in the plastic storage tub, chuckling again at the sparkly label: “MHHS Cheer Squad Glamping Supplies.” As she snaps the lid in place, she sees a figure out of the corner of her eye.

“Finally,” she huffs as she turns, “Violet, you were supposed to . . . “

Emma trails off as she sees nothing but the empty doorway leading out into the hall. Hmm, maybe she ducked into the bathroom, Emma thinks as she crosses the large room. Her boots echo off the tile floors, and that damn shiver runs through her again. It’s all because of Killian and Henry and all of their stupid ghost stories.

And the graveyard between the football field and the science labs? Her traitorous mind adds. Which, by the way, also isn’t that far from the cafeteria?

“Seriously, Emma, get a grip,” she mumbles out loud to herself and then proceeds to be one of those ridiculous people who roll their eyes at themselves.

“Violet?” she calls, poking her head into the girls restroom. The light is flipped off, and Emma realizes that the freshman would never use the bathroom in the pitch dark. She turns and nearly collides with a short, slim figure with dark hair. “Sh - Violet!”

“Sorry Ms. Swan,” the girl apologizes, “you were calling me?”

Emma shakes her head. “Yeah, I was, sorry.”

“Coach Ms said I’m supposed to help lay out all the sleeping bags and goody bags and stuff.”

“Goody bags?”

“Yeah, it’s a tradition.”

Emma rolls her eyes. Again. “Of course it is.”

She sighs and leads the girl over to where all of the cheerleaders had deposited their things. There are glittery signs on the wall with each girl’s name. Naturally.

Neither Emma nor Violet notice the shadow that melts into the dark recesses of the kitchen.

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

“And now Cora Mills, rejected by her lover Jonathan LaTour, plunges her knife into his heart: Again! And Again! And Again!”

With one hand holding a flashlight beneath her chin, Ruby, a senior on the cheerleading squad, lifts her other hand to make stabbing motions. The other girls in the circle jolt slightly at the violent hand gestures. Relishing her audience’s reactions, Ruby grins wickedly as she continues the macabre tale.

“Tara LaTour screams, but before she can even rise from the dining room table, Cora descends on her as well!”

The girls now audibly shudder as Ruby makes stabbing motions again. Her friend Ashley at her right makes screeching noises like in the movie Psycho. Ruby hands the flashlight off to her.

“Do we really have to listen to this story?” Emma whispers into Mary Margaret’s ear, “I mean, some of the younger ones look like they’re about to wet their pants.”

Mary Margaret laughs her off, “It’s a tradition for the seniors to tell it. Scaring the freshmen is part of the fun.”

“Great,” Emma mumbles, “another tradition.”

“Covered in blood,” Ashley picks up the tale, dropping her normally sweet voice down several octaves, “Cora Mills sits calmly at the dining table and finishes her victims’ breakfast!”

“Ewww!” the girls all chorus, followed by nervous giggling.

“That’s how the police found her. They were so horrified, they dragged her out that very morning and hung her on the oak tree. Right. Over. There!”

Ashley points dramatically towards the door that leads outside. At the same moment, a loud clattering sound comes from the kitchen and all the girls scream. Emma’s loathe to admit it, but even she jumps, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Calm down girls,” Mary Margaret admonishes gently, “it’s probably just the commercial size dishwasher.”

The next senior takes the flashlight, a tiny, nervous girl named Aurora. Emma isn’t expecting her to get into such a terrifying tale, but the normally timid girl turns out to be quite the little actress.

“Now Misthaven Hills Plantation is no more,” she intones, “instead, our high school sits on the land where the tragic murder took place. Cora Mills, still vengeful, roams these very halls.”

All of the girls are leaning forward now, hanging on every word.

“If you listen, you can still hear her making that breakfast,” Aurora pauses and cocks her head as if she hears something. The rest do the same.

“D-do ya’ll h-hear that?” stutters Tiana, a normally tough junior.

The girls scream again, and Emma has to admit, she thought she might have heard something. Probably a mouse, but she doesn’t know if that theory will lessen the screaming. Thankfully, whatever the noise was stops, and the girls nervously glance at one another and giggle. Aurora continues, sniffing the air to punctuate her words.

“Often these halls smell of bacon and eggs.”

“Or whatever slop the cafeteria is cooking up,” Emma grumbles under her breath, and Mary Margaret pokes her in the side.

“And,” Aurora continues, leaning forward to drag out the suspense, “do you know what the ghost of Cora Mills is always looking for?”

“What?” the rest of the girls all whisper.

“The body of a girl to possess, but not just any girl,” Aurora pauses dramatically again, looking each girl in the eye, “a girl who is secretly crushing on a guy. So she can seduce that guy and . . . KILL HIM!!”

The girls all gasp and rear back, and Emma hides a giggle behind her hand.

“Then Violet better what o-out!” Grace, one of the freshmen, sing-songs.

“Me?” Violet squeaks.

“Everyone knows you’ve got a huge crush on Henry Mills!”

Even by the light of the lone flashlight, Emma can see the poor girl blush as chaos breaks loose among the cheerleaders. Some giggle, others make kissing noises, while Grace shakes her friend’s shoulder.

“All right, girls, that’s enough!” Mary Margaret admonishes, and they all quickly settle down. “I don’t allow teasing or bullying of any kind, remember?”

“But Coach Ms,” Grace potests, “Violet hasn’t tried to hide that she likes Henry.”

“Except from Henry,” Ruby quips, and they all giggle again.

“What exactly,” Violet asks nervously, “does the ghost do?”

“Oh honey,” Mary Margaret tries to assure the girl, “it’s just a silly story.”

“I don’t know,” Ashley argues with a shrug, “back in 2009 there was that boy who drowned this time of year, remember? His girlfriend was passed out on the shore of the lake with no memory of how she got there!”

“And in 99,” Ruby adds, “a couple was leaving the homecoming dance, and for no reason at all, the girl drove the car right into a tree. Killed the boy instantly, and the girl didn’t even remember going to the dance at all.”

“And Henry’s last name is Mills!” Violet gasped. “Is . . . is that a sign? Is the ghost going to get me? And then Henry?”

“Okay, everyone stop!” Emma calls out, rising and flipping on the light. She sits down next to the poor fourteen-year-old and takes her hands. “Violet, this whole thing is ridiculous. This is high school. Secret crushes are the norm. If this story were true, teenage boys would be dropping like flies around here.”

That gets a giggle out of the freshmen, but the upperclassmen look a little peeved.

“But back in 89 -”

“Stop,” Emma cuts Aurora off, “I think it’s time for bed.”

The girls all grumble, but begin sliding down into their sleeping bags nevertheless. Emma takes the flashlight from the seniors so she can flip the lights off once again.

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

Emma isn’t surprised that she fell soundly asleep on an air mattress on the hard cafeteria floor. After all, years of foster care followed by life on the streets and crashing in her Bug have made her adaptable. These are far from the worst accommodations she’s ever had. However, she’s awakened a few hours later by frantic, high-pitched voices and hands shaking her.

“Ms. Swan! Ms. Swan!”

Emma sits up groggily, squinting to see with the beam of a flashlight shining in her face.

“Shit girls, you’ll blind me!”

“Language.”

Emma turns towards the admonition. “Ms?”

“There’s something in there,” Ruby squeaks.

“In where?”

“The kitchen,” Aurora whispers. She’s the one holding the flashlight in trembling hands.

“Girls, please -”

“No, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, “someone is definitely in there.”

That fully wakes Emma up. She sits and holds up both hands, shushing the whispering girls. For two heartbeats, there is only silence. Then, the distinct sound of spoons hitting metal reverberates through the cafeteria accompanied by the definite hissing of . . . bacon.

The girls all scream, naturally, and Emma harshly tells them to be quiet. She stands, yanking the flashlight unceremoniously out of Aurora’s hands. She places a finger to her lips, and the girls fall silent again as Emma turns and creeps towards the kitchen. Her heartbeat quickens as she sees a flickering light spilling out of the industrial room and over the cheap tile. Ruby is clutching one of Emma’s arms while Ashley clutches the other. Tiana is almost plastered to Emma’s back. The rest of the cheerleaders are in a tight bunch behind her, while Mary Margaret brings up the rear with Grace and Violet clinging to her sides.

“I’m calling David,” Mary Margaret whispers, pulling out her cell phone.

Emma stops beside the empty salad bar where she has a view into part of the kitchen, and crouches down. The girls all follow suit behind her. It’s almost comical how twenty one teenage girls and two grown women are squeezing themselves between the wall and the salad bar.

Now that they are closer to the kitchen, Emma can swear she smells bacon and eggs, but she tells herself it has to be her mind playing tricks on her. What is definite though are the cooking sounds coming from the kitchen. She can hear a whisk hitting rhythmically against the sides of a bowl and the sound of something sizzling in a frying pan. Behind her, the girls’ screams are muffled behind their hands. Emma turns, shining the flashlight at their feet so the girls can see her without being blinded. At the back of the group, Mary Margaret is talking into her phone in a tight whisper.

“Yes, David, there is someone in the kitchen!” She pauses to listen to her husband. “No, we are not imagining things! Now get over here right now before I have a heart attack!”

Emma bites her lower lip to keep from laughing as Mary Margaret hangs up her phone indignantly. She then speaks softly to the girls.

“Listen, most likely this is just someone playing a prank. Everyone knows you girls do this every year.” The girls all visibly relax slightly at Emma’s logic. “Now, I’m going to go in there as quietly as I can to take them by surprise. You all stay out here.”

“Emma, I really think you need to wait for David and Killian,” Mary Margaret tells her, “they said they’re on their way.”

Emma quirks a smile at her friend. “Please. The only one who rescues me is me.”

She ignores the whimpers of the girls and Mary Margaret hissing her name in a motherly tone as she slips inside the kitchen. She shines the beam of her flashlight over the serving line to her right and the dish area to her left. Nothing.

There’s a loud clatter that startles Emma, and the girls out in the cafeteria as well, based on the high-pitched screams. Emma swings the beam of her flashlight which illuminates a stainless steel bowl spinning in the center of the kitchen floor. Around the corner, where the stoves and ovens are, a strange, blue-tinged light is pulsing.

“We know you’re in here,” Emma calls out, “and it isn’t funny!”

The sounds of cooking are louder, the smells stronger, and there is no denying it: someone is cooking bacon and eggs in the middle of the night. Emma takes one slow step after another, then rounds the corner with the heavy camping flashlight held up like a weapon. She freezes at the sight before her, a shadowy figure radiating an eerie light. The figure pauses in stirring an empty skillet, turning its head slowly to look right at Emma . . .

The flashlight hits the floor, rolling across the industrial tile and colliding with the stainless steel bowl with a loud crash.

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

The last thing Killian wants to do on a Friday night is go to Misthaven Hills High. David is the football coach, and it’s one of his few off nights of the season. The two of them and Robin had been enjoying a rare guys night out at the local wings place, watching the Braves in the playoffs, when David got a frantic phone call from Mary Margaret. It was an insane phone call, really, but Mary Margaret isn’t the type to scare easily, so here they are pulling up to the mostly empty parking lot of the high school.

The three of them knock on the heavy outside doors to the cafeteria, and Mary Margaret immediately opens it and yanks them inside.

“Thank God you - wait, where are your weapons?”

“Weapons - “ David starts to laugh, but Mary Margaret is clearly not in a humorous mood.

“Yes, weapons! A gun? A baseball bat?”

“A sword,” Killian teases.

“A bow and arrow,” Robin adds with a chuckle.

Both men stop laughing immediately when Mary Margaret shoves them back outside.

“I guess she’s serious,” David sighs.

Luckily, David has a shotgun hidden under the back of the truck cab, and a baseball bat in his sports bag for when he and Killian hit the batting cages at the rec. David takes the gun, Killian the bat, and Robin breaks a branch off one of the dogwood trees that dot the school landscaping. Hopefully Leroy, the school groundskeeper, won’t find out it was them who desecrated one of his trees.

Who are they kidding? He’ll blame it on the kids.

“Is this legal?” Robin whispers as they head back to the cafeteria. “Being armed on school property?”

“I think legality is a bit of a grey area nearing midnight on a Friday night,” Killian whispers back.

Mary Margaret greets them by practically falling into David’s arms and frantically gesturing to the kitchen. The cheerleaders are huddled nearby literally clinging to one another.

“Emma thought it was someone playing a prank,” Mary Margaret tells them, “so she went in there to confront them, and . . . and . . . “

“Is she okay?” Killian asks, immediately alarmed, and pushing past his friends to head for the kitchen.

His friends follow, Mary Margaret still talking in frantic tones. “I don’t know. I heard her shout something at the person, then her flashlight went out, then there was a crash.”

The four of them collide into the salad bar, causing Killian to curse and the cheerleaders to scream.

“I can’t see a damn thing!” Robin mutters

“Where’s my cell phone?” David says, patting at his jeans pockets.

Ruby scurries over with a tiny flashlight bedazzled with red gems and offers it to Killian. He turns it on so they won’t trip over anything else, though its beam is about as powerful as a lightning bug. God, he’s been in the South too long. Next thing he knows, he’ll be saying ya’ll and bless your heart.

The four of them rush into the kitchen with the seventeen-year-old cheerleading captain on their heels, but they all come to a screeching halt to find Emma standing there in the middle of the dark room.

“Emma?” Killian questions.

She turns slowly to him and blinks with a slight shake of her head. Then she looks him up and down, a slow smile filling her face. She doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of their friends behind him.

“Yes?” she asks almost tentatively.

“You’re okay?”

“Never better,” she almost purrs.

Killian deflates, grinning at her flirtatious quip. “Well, you’re depriving me of a dashing rescue, love,” he jokes.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret cries out, flying past the men to grab Emma in a hug, which the blonde awkwardly accepts. “You scared us to death! What were those sounds? Did you find anyone?”

“She’s okay!” Ruby shouts to the other cheerleaders as she runs back out to them. “And nothing weird is in here!”

“Well,” Emma says slowly, looking around her.

Killian tilts his head, something seeming a bit off about her mannerisms. She looks at him again, an arch lifting her brow, and he swallows nervously under her gaze. She walks slowly forward, resting a hand first on Killian’s bicep, then on Robin’s and David’s, appraising each man as if she were admiring sports cars at the dealership.

“Emma?” he says again, a bit worried now.

“Oh, none of you need to worry about me,” she says with a light laugh. “The girls just had overactive imagination after all those ghost stories.”

“But we heard . . . “ Mary Margaret trails off.

Emma shrugs. “The kitchen staff left out some bowls and things. I suppose there was a mouse?”

Mary Margaret sighs and laughs softly at herself. “Of course! I should have thought of that! And the smells were all in our imagination probably.”

Everyone heads out of the kitchen except for Killian, who stops Emma with a hand to her arm. He looks intently into her face, unsure what he’s searching for, but hoping to find an explanation .

“Are you sure you’re okay, Swan?”

“Oh, darling, I haven’t felt this good in years.”

Killian is so confused by the words coming out of his best friend’s mouth, that he barely registers the way Emma trails her fingers across his jaw. That is, until her fingers drift lower to the open vneck of his henley. He startles at the slightly seductive touch and grasps her fingers loosely.

“You seem a bit off, love.”

“Whatever do you mean,” Emma asks with a slow smile as she leans closer, “Killian?”

She saunters past him, her hand trailing across his shoulder as she goes, and Killian for almost a full minute is frozen in place.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, “did she fall and hit her head?”

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

Cora Mills rather likes this body she has inhabited - this Emma Swan. She normally hates thin blondes, but this woman is at least fit. And she’s a grown woman with curves and more mature tastes. The last several she had inhabited were mere girls, and the young men she had seduced hardly a challenge. But Killian Jones . . .

She slinks down into the soft cocoon the others called a sleeping bag, a pleasant smile upon her lips as the lights go out. She had been thrilled to see this room full of possible targets on the one night every ten years when she could re-enter the world of the living. She was even more thrilled when Emma Swan walked into that kitchen, her unspoken love crying out to Cora in delicious agony. And when Cora had laid eyes on the object of Emma Swan’s affections, well - what more could a woman want?

It was a shame his pretty face couldn’t save him from a violent death.

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2019 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ghost fic #ghost possession #teacher!Killian #teacher!emma #enemies to friends to lovers #ouat in the South

[dukereviewsxtra]

Top 15 Simpsons Treehouse Of Horror Stories

Hi Everyone, I'm Andrew Leduc And Welcome To Duke Reviews Xtra Where We Are Continuing Monsterween

By Talking About The Simpsons...

Yes, I Know That It's Gone On For So Long That Fans Are Now Begging For It To Be Cancelled But When It Comes To October, You Just Can't Help But Talk About The Treehouse Of Horror Episodes...

And How Can You Not? They're Wickedly Funny And Wickedly Spooky, Yes, There Are Years Where They Dropped The Ball But Either Way You Can't Help But Watch Them...

In Fact These Episodes And The Very First Christmas Episode Were How I Was Introduced To The Simpsons And Because Of That, I Am Doing The Top 15 Treehouse Of Horror Stories On The Show Today, So, Without Further Delay, Let's Get Started...

15. The Day The Earth Looked Stupid

In 1938, The People Of Springfield Listen To Orson Welles Famous War Of The Worlds Broadcast And Like Everyone Else That Heard It Starts Believing That They Have Been Invaded By Aliens And Start Panicking And Rioting....

The Next Day, When All The Townspeople Except Lisa Are Stark Naked, Rolling In Mud And Acting Like Animals, She Tells Them That The Entire Thing Was A Hoax To Which The People Of Springfield Vow Never To Be Fooled Again...

But With Kang And Kodos Seeing This As An Oppertune Time To Invade, Lisa And Mr. Welles Try To Tell The Populace This Is Not A Hoax, It's Real But Not Believing Them, They End Up Being Invaded...

This Is A Cleaver Story, I Love How The Simpsons Took This Incident And Flipped It On It's Head, I Also Liked How They Got Voice Actor Maurice Lamarche As Orson Welles (And If Anyone Doesn't Know Who He Is Then Maybe You'll Recognize Him From This...)

That's Right, He's The Brain From Pinky And The Brain, I Would Say That He's Also Egon From The Real Ghostbusters But That's Irrelevant But On Animaniacs There's A Pinky And The Brain Segement Called Battle For The Planet Which Is Also A War Of The Worlds Knockoff While Even Mentioning It In The Episode...

There's Also Another Episode Where Brain Does A Famous Rant That Wells Did Years Ago While Recording Commercials...

Either Way, It Was Just A Good Casting Choice And Because Of The Facts I Say See It...

14. Frinkenstein

Professor Frink Is About To Be Awarded The Nobel Prize And More Than Anything He Wants His Late Father (Played By (Of All People) Jerry Lewis) To See Him Get It As He's Always Been A Bit Of A Disappointment To Him, So He Brings Him Back To Life Ala Frankenstein. But Upset That He Has Some Robotic Parts And A Lack Of A Genitalia, Frink's Father Goes On A Rampage Killing People By Stealing Their Body Parts...

But After A Talk With Lisa, She Convinces Frink's Father To Stop His Rampage And To Think Of His Son. Going To Stockholm For The Ceremony, Frink's Father Makes Up With His Son But He Ends Up Going On Another Rampage, Stealing All The Scientists Brains Which Forces Frink To Kill His Father By Kicking Him In The Crotch

But While His Death Is Funny, Frink Manages To Save His Father's Soul By Placing It In A Box With His Latest Invention The Soul Catcher...

It's A Soul In A Box!

Except For The Ending, It's A Good Story And It's All Because Of Jerry Lewis Who Is Great As Frink's Father To The Point That You Can Tell That They're Related And It's Not Just Because The Character Was Based On Lewis, Either Way This Is One That I Definatly Say See...

13. Terror Of Tiny Toon

When Marge Forbids Bart And Lisa To Watch The Itchy And Scratchy Halloween Special To The Point That She Takes The Remote Batteries With Her, Bart Finds Some Unstable Plutonium Which They Use As Batteries So They Can Watch Itchy And Scratchy But Instead Of Watching The Cartoon They End Up Becoming Part Of It. However, Not Liking How Bart And Lisa Are Laughing At Their Pain, Itchy And Scratchy Decide To Team Up To Try To Kill The 2 Kids...

This Story Shows A Fun View On What It's Like On The Opposite Side Of The Tv Screen And Despite Itchy And Scratchy Trying To Kill Bart And Lisa I Enjoyed The Regis And Kathie Lee Cameos And Scratchy Falling In Love With Snowbell 2, This Is Defiantly One That I Say See...

12. Wanted: Dead, Then Alive...

This Story Sees Sideshow Bob Finally Doing What He's Always Wanted To Do, Which Is To Kill Bart Simpson But After A While, Bob Finds Himself Like The Joker If Batman Was Dead That Without His Nemesis To Cause Him Trouble Life Is Just Not Worth Living Anymore. So, He Creates A Machine To Bring Bart Back To Life Over And Over Again So He Can Kill Him As Many Times As His Twisted Heart Desires...

This Is Just A Fantastic Story, Down To A T For Terrific And Kelsey Grammar's Performance Like Every Time He Voices Bob Is Just Amazing But Despite How Awesome It Is The Reason Why It's So Low On The List Is Because It's Just Another Sideshow Bob Story And Not Anything Really Horror Worthy But It Was In A Treehouse Of Horror Special So For This Story I Say See It...

11. It's The Grand Pumpkin, Millhouse

An Obvious Parody Of It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, To The Point That They Play The Peanuts Theme In It And Make Fun Of The Fact That All The Adults Go Wah Wah Wah, This Story Sees Millhouse Taking On The Linus Role As He Goes To The Pumpkin Patch To Wait For The Grand Pumpkin Only Like The Robot Chicken Parody (Minus The Demonic Ceremony)

When Millhouse Cries Because The Grand Pumpkin Didn't Show He Actually Shows Due To Millhouse's Belief In Him But When Millhouse Gives Him Some Pumpkin Bread, The Grand Pumpkin Vows Revenge Over The Fact That Humans Don't Respect Pumpkins Around This Time Of Year...

What Can I Say About This Episode Except Watch This One For Yourself And Definitely See It...

10. House Of Whacks

This Story Sees The Simpsons Having Their House Converted To A Ultrahouse That Will Never Let Them Do An Inch Of Work For The Rest Of Their Lives. Meeting Their New Computer, They Change It's Voice From Matthew Perry To Dennis Miller But Eventually Marge Picks Pierce Brosnan....

While Doing Whatever The Simpsons Demand Of Him, Pierce Develops Human Emotions And Eventually Ends Up Falling In Love With Marge Which Leads Him To Turn Psychotic And Try To Kill Homer...

I Absolutely Love This Story, And Having Pierce Brosnan As The AI For The Ultrahouse Adds A Little Bit Of Creepiness And Elegance To It, Though It Makes Me Wonder If Pierce Ever Sang To The Simpsons While He Served Them...

Still Though It's A Great Story And I Say See It...

09. The Monkey's Paw

This Story Sees The Simpsons On Vacation In Morocco Where They Come Across A Monkey's Paw That Will Grant Wishes To Whomever Has It But Despite The Seller Warning That With Every Wish Will Come Grave Misfortune, Homer Buys It And Once They Return To The States The Simpson's Start Wishing On It...

With The First Wish Going To Maggie, She Wishes For A Brand New Pacifier To Homer's Dismay. With 3 Wishes Left, Bart Wishes That The Simpsons Were Rich And Famous And The Paw Grants The Wish With Funny Results That Echo The Simpsons Own Popularity At That Time...

Lisa Uses The 3rd Wish For The World To Have Peace Only For The World To Be Invaded By Kang And Kodos After They Destroy All Their Weapons. With One Last Wish Left, Homer Uses It As Only Homer Could By Asking For A Turkey Sandwich On Rye With Lettuce And Mustard Only To Discover The Turkey To Be Dry...

Giving The Paw To Flanders, He Wishes For Kang And Kodos To Be Gone And Any Other Wishes We Don't See In The Story...

This Is One Of Those Stories That Has 2 Morals With The First Being Caviat Emptor (Let The Buyer Beware) And To Wish Wisely Still It's A Good Story And I Say See It..

08. Attack Of The 50ft Eyesores

This Story Sees Homer Visits Lard Lad Doughnuts To Get A Colossal Doughnut Like The One That Lard Lad Is Holding, He Finds Himself Being Fooled By False Advertising When He Finds It's Not As Colossal As It Sounded. Pissed About This, Homer Steals Lard Lad's Colossal Doughnut During A Freak Lightning Storm Which Brings Not Just Lard Lad But Dozens Of Other Mascots To Life...

With The Mascots Causing Terror Throughout Springfield, Marge Believes That Giving Up The Metal Doughnut Will End The Mascot's Reign Of Terror But Despite Homer Giving It Up, The Destruction Continues. Luckily, Lisa Notices A Copyright Tag That Lard Lad Left Behind Which Gives Her The Idea To Visit The People Who Created The Mascots...

There, They Tell Lisa That The Only Way To Get Rid Of The Rampaging Mascots Is To Ignore Them Which In Turn Will Cause Them To Lose Their Powers, So They Write A Jingle That's Performed By Paul Anka To Try To Distract The Populace...

This Story Is Well Written And The Song By Paul Anka Is Very Funny Along With Some Of The Things The Mascots Do While Causing Destruction, It's A Funny Story And I Say See It...

07. Bad Dream House

A Parody Of Poltergeist, This Story Sees The Simpsons Buying A House That's Buried On An Indian Burial Ground And Is Haunted By A Poltergeist, Despite Marge Wanting To Move Out, Homer Tells The Family To Sleep On It Only For The Poltergeist To Try To Try To Convince Everyone (Except Marge) To Try And Kill Each Other...

While It's A Good Parody It Doesn't Go Full Parody Unlike The Family Guy Version Where If You Look At A Scene You Realize "Oh, They're Parodying This Scene From The Movie" But It's Still A Funny Story And I Say See It...

06. Bart Simpson's Dracula

A Parody Of Francis Ford Copola's Dracula, This Story Sees The Simpsons Travelling To Mr. Burns House In Pennsylvania Only For Bart And Lisa To Discover That Mr. Burns Is A Vampire. However When They Do, Mr. Burns Turns Bart Into A Vampire And The Only Way To Save Him Is To Kill Burns Himself...

This Story Is A Funny Take On The Vampire Legend And Is A Great Parody Of Copola's Movie To The Point That When Burns Is In The Gary Oldman Red Costume With The White Hair, I Just Can't Help But Laugh, And I Say Watch It...

05. The Island Of Dr. Hibbert

In A Parody Of The Island Of Dr. Moreau, This Story Sees The Simpsons Travelling To The Island Of Lost Souls, Where They Find Dr. Hibbert Running The Resort, But While The Family Is There, Marge Believes That Something Weird Is Going On, So, She Investigates Only To Be Captured By Hibbert Who Turns Her Into A Panther...

After A Night Of Violent Sex, Homer Realizes That Marge Has Been Transformed Which Leads Him To Try To Find A Cure, Not Just For Marge But For Everyone On The Island...

This Story Is A Great Take On Wells' Story, As We See Our Favorite Simpsons Characters Transformed Into Interesting Animal Versions Of Themselves I Especially Like Mr. Burns As A Fox, It's A Great Parody And I Say See It...

04. King Homer

This Story Is Basically The Simpsons Telling The Story Of King Kong With Homer As Kong, Marge As Fay Wray And Burns As The Filmmaker, It's A Pretty Good Parody With Clever 1930's References And I Honestly Don't Know What Else To Say About It Except See It...

03. Nightmare On Evergreen Terrace

A Parody Of Nightmare On Elm Street, This Story Sees Groundskeeper Willie Taking On The Freddy Kruger Role As He Kills All The Kids In Springfield In Revenge For Their Parents Not Saving His Life When He Was On Fire One Day In Smarch...

While I'm A Huge Fan Of The Nightmare On Elm Street Films, I Absolutely Love This Parody Of The Films Which Is More Willie's Revenge Than Nightmare On Elm Street As In Treehouse Of Horror 5, He Kept Getting Killed In Every Story, Still I Say See It...

02.The Shinning

A Parody On The Shining, This Story Sees The Simpsons Being Hired As Caretakers Of Mr. Burns Summer Estate, But When Burns And Smithers Cut The Cable And Take All The Beer, Homer Goes All Jack Torrance And Tries To Kill His Family...

This Is Probably The Funniest Movie Parody The Treehouse Of Horror Has Ever Done, From Homer Saying Late Night Tv Phrases To No Tv And No Beer Make Homer Something Something It's Just Freaking Hysterical And I Say See It...

Before I Reveal My Number One Choice Here Are My Top 5 Worst Treehouse Of Horror Stories...

05. The Diving Bell And The Butterball

This Story Sees Homer Being Paralyzed By A Spider Only To Gain Spider Powers When Another Spider Bites Him, This Story Is Just Plain Boring To Say The Least With The Only Good Part Being When Homer Gets Spider Powers...

04. Dry Hard

A Parody Of The Hunger Games That Just Is Not Well Written In The Least...

03. Life's A Glitch, Then You Die

The Simpsons Face Y2K Which Could Have Been A Good Story But The Ending Sucks With Lisa, Marge And Maggie Being Apart Of The Last People To Survive The Planet's Destruction While Bart And Homer Get Launched Into The Sun With The Most Annoying People On The Planet...

02. How To Get Ahead In Deadvertising...

A Parody Of Mad Men, This Story Sees Homer Accidentally Killing Krusty The Clown Which Catches The Eye Of An Advertising Agency That Wants Homer To Kill Celebrities So Their Likeness Rights Can Be Cheaper. It's A Good Story With A Bad Scene As Homer Kills Prince (Now I Don't Know If Prince Was Dead At The Time This Was Made But To Me It's Kind Of Insulting)

01. MMM...Homer

This Story Sees Homer Taking Up Cannibalism To Which I Only Have 2 Things To Say #1: Really?, Really? You Had To Go There? And #2: No!

But I Digress, Let's Get To My #1 Best Simpsons Treehouse Of Horror Story...

01. The Raven

This Episode Sees The Simpsons Taking On The Edgar Allen Poe Tale In The Only Way That The Simpsons Can. With Narration From James Earl Jones, This Tale Is Like The Haunted Mansion Both Funny And Scary At The Same Time, I Know People Will Be Upset That I Didn't Have The Shinning As Number One But Every Time I See This I Can't Help But Laugh At It And I Say See It...

Till Next Time, This Is Duke, Signing Off...

#the simpsons #treehouse of horror #Disney + #FX #Fox #Top 15 #Jerry Lewis

[chaseyesterdays]

So this is probably a tad late but I realized you are probably the biggest Star Wars fan I follow (okay maybe not probably) but I want your opinion on TLJ and to an extent TFW, like you honest impression and opinion. I have no problem asking off anon/sending a message if you’ve got some opinions™️, just state so.

Hi Anon! I’m perfectly comfortable answering anonymous messages or carrying on conversations via DM, so however you feel most comfortable is fine by me! I do have A LOT of opinions though and I’m probably not going to remember half of them for this post, so if there’s anything you want me to elaborate on or any other questions you may have, feel free to ask me however you like!

(I’m putting this under a cut because holy crap, this went on so much longer than I ever thought it would.)

Okay, first off: I think TFA had great potential as a film. ( I know you asked more specifically about TLJ, but I feel like I have to start at the beginning to get my thoughts semi-in-order. TFA introduced what could have been very interesting characters: a female orphan scavenger Force sensitive, a POC stormtrooper raised from birth for destruction but with a kind heart that ultimately guides him, a hotshot pilot with a gentle soul and a desire to do the right thing while remaining loyal to whom and what he believes in – even a female stormtrooper captain who could have had such a great backstory if they’d just let her. I can’t demonize TFA too much on not developing these characters because it’s the first installment in the saga, but still, where TFA failed is in its progression of the characters. I can almost forgive Rey’s overt Force abilities in the fight with Kylo Ren because yeah, we’ve seen the same with Luke on a slightly smaller scale, but it still felt a little bit jerky to me in terms of flow. Finn and Poe fared better in my opinion, but only because I felt like this new trilogy would give each of the new trio a movie in which to shine: TFA would be Rey’s and Finn and Poe would have what became TLJ and Episode IX to be more of the focal characters.

But here’s where I have issues with TFA. First, the movie was just a remake of A New Hope with different characters. I get that JJ Abrams was trying to appeal to the original fans while still providing that same magic to bring in the younger generations, but sheesh, the whole plot is essentially recycled with a few things moved around order-wise. Desert planet that isn’t Tatooine but looks like it, jungle planet that isn’t Yavin IV but looks similar, a “Death Star” that isn’t a Death Star but is essentially a Death Star, the death of a wise old mentor… There was literally no originality. I think JJ let his fears of fucking up the saga get the better of him, so he was too afraid to branch out and make the movie really great. He could have used similar elements and plot points as an homage to the first movie while still providing his own take on modernizing the film, or placing different characters as the focal point. In the end, even though I cried like four times watching it because Han Solo was one of my favorite characters and didn’t deserve to go out like that, I can’t rag on JJ too hard for TFA. He tried, but he fell flat on some things, and ultimately his treatment of an Original Trilogy character opened the door for some atrocities to be committed down the road.

And speaking of atrocities, that leads me to TLJ. Now, I’ll be honest here, I’ve only seen the movie once and fucking refuse to watch it again, but I’ve read a lot of other people’s reactions to it and examined some articles/YouTube videos explaining why everybody else thinks it’s such a bad movie, so I’ll call on what I remember for now and if anything else comes up in the future, I’ll let you know. But I’ll start here and now by saying that the reason TLJ was a failure from the start falls directly on the shoulders of Rian Johnson. Rian Fucking Johnson, Mr. Hubris, who literally said he set out to make a movie that destroyed fan expectations and worked to keep them guessing (if I remember correctly – like I said, I’ve sworn off TLJ content for awhile now just to keep my blood from boiling). The direction Rian took TLJ made no fucking sense and completely torpedoed the outline that JJ had for the movie, derailing the trilogy as a whole just because Rian wanted to be the smug, smart asshole who knew better than anybody what was gonna happen. As a result, the movie is full of plot holes and directionless actions and flat dialogue and ridiculous characterizations, and it’s not just a failure as a Star Wars film, it’s a failure as a movie in general because the plot simply doesn’t hold water. It’s literally a low-speed car chase with some cool effects that made half of its characters either useless, annoying, OOC, or redundant. It’s bad. My creative writing professors aren’t even dead yet, but if I’d turned in that script for one of my classes, they’d be rolling in their graves. (Did I mention I studied writing, grammar, composition, storytelling, character building and plot development for four years in college and make my living as a writer now? Trust me, I know my shit.)

First off, one of the biggest failings Rian Johnson had aside from the general plot was mistreatment of characters. The POC characters Finn, Poe, and Rose bore the brunt of that because Rian wouldn’t know how to write good POC characters if they literally smacked him in the face – hell, even the best of us white people are still learning. But Poe was reduced to an angry Latino stereotype, which made absolutely no sense considering his actions and attitude in TFA. He trusted Leia and the Resistance leaders and followed them because he respected them, not because he was blinded by them or whatever else anyone can try to insinuate. Admittedly he’s right to question Holdo because her actions make no sense and there’s literally nO REASON FOR HER NOT TO TELL HIM WHAT’S GOING ON, but he wouldn’t just fly off the handle and stage a mutiny like that. He would have talked to Leia about it repeatedly, talked to Holdo and others repeatedly, and Leia would have made Holdo see sense if she was in character AND SHE NEVER WOULD HAVE FUCKING STUNNED POE.

Ahem.

Finn and Rose’s storyline is harder for me to remember because I hated that cantina sidequest thing so much, but what I do remember is feeling like Finn wasn’t even the same person (he wasn’t, because Rian Johnson killed him and put someone else in his place) and Rose was just redundant because it felt like she was created to be a love interest so Finn would be with someone other than Rey (again, I’m fine with platonic best friend relationships, but considering the fact that Finn/Rey would be a biracial relationship and the big ship R*eylo is founded on a whiny white man literally abusing the female protagonist, it just seems like a blatant attempt to undermine the POC characters and relationships in the film). Now let me be clear: what happened to Finn and Rose is not the actors’ faults, as they were at the mercy of Rian Fucking Johnson, and it isn’t the characters’ faults that they’re so weak. That’s all on bad writing and Rian Johnson, and I’m in no way blaming anyone but him for destroying them. (Also, I don’t want Finn to die at all, but having Rose save him from sacrificing himself just so she could kiss him and declare love for him and keep fans guessing again is just…so bad, Rian. Why won’t you let your characters make sense.)

And then there’s Rey. If I’m remembering correctly, both Daisy Ridley and Mark Hamill said they didn’t get back into character for TLJ because the characters they played, Rey and Luke, weren’t even the same characters in this film, and whoo boy, does it show. First off, I hate this term, but Rey was essentially a Mary Sue in this film. She had pretty much no training with Luke but somehow managed to be an amazing Force user anyway?? Look, I’m a naturally talented singer, but I didn’t just get good because of that, I got good because I worked hard and studied technique and worked with instructors who helped me take my natural talent and channel it and refine it into something better. That’s what Luke should have done. That’s what Rey should have gotten. But neither of them were in character so of course we didn’t get that. Instead, we got an angry, sullen Luke who tried to murder his nephew in his sleep, which NEVER WOULD HAVE HAPPENED BECAUSE HE SAW ENOUGH GOOD IN DARTH VADER NOT TO MURDER HIM SO WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE DO IT TO HIS NEPHEW, HIS SISTER’S ONLY CHILD. No sense people. No sense.

Rey being a nobody is a controversial point because some people love the fact that a great Jedi can be anyone at all. I get that. But what those people don’t realize is that the Skywalker line came from a slave woman. She was a “nobody” in the grand scheme of things – no disrespect to Shmi Skywalker, who was a powerful woman and a goddess in her own right. Making Rey a Skywalker (either from Luke’s line or Leia’s) does not diminish the “nobody” thing. In fact, it’s the only thing that makes sense, because that lightsaber belongs to the Skywalker line and it wouldn’t just call out to anybody – my creative writing professors would have shot that shit down in a heartbeat. So I think Rey will actually end up being someone with a connection to the Skywalkers; some people theorized that “The Chosen One,” AKA Anakin born of midichlorians, could be almost an avatar-like thing, or Rey could be a reincarnation of Anakin if she’s not a Skywalker/Solo somehow. Kinda farfetched, but no less farfetched than the rest of this fucking movie, so whatever.

Tying Rey and Kylo together could have been so interesting if Rey was his sister. I loved the idea that Rey and Kylo were both Solo children of the Skywalker bloodline, representing the Light and Dark sides of the Force and proving that ultimately, the balance between Dark and Light is what defeats true evil and restores balance to the galaxy (after all, balance is not the absence of dark or light, but an equal ratio of it, and I firmly believe that being a Jedi should not be banishing all the darkness in you, but simply controlling it and centering yourself on the balance between love and passion and anger and pain). It would have made such a good story for Kylo Ren to be a double agent or a legitimately brainwashed young man struggling to do what he thinks is right and being misled but still using his gifts to support balance once he realizes he’s been led astray. Instead, we got literally the worst villain ever: he’s not intimidating, he’s whiny, he pitches temper tantrums, he’s selfish, he’s abusive, he’s impulsive… The writers can’t figure out what they want with him, because they’ve worked so hard to make us sympathize with him and like him and set him up like a misunderstood kid, but then they go and have him make the conscious choice to be evil but still be all those “good” things? It makes no sense. His character progression is all over the place because Rian can’t write and the Kylo he created is not even the same character as JJ put in TFA. And as a result, we now have just about canon proof that Rian wanted R*eylo, which is just another glorified abusive relationship that “stans” keep romanticizing. Gag me with a spoon. I’m done.

Also, who the fuck was Snoke? How was he so powerful? Where did he come from? How did he brainwash Kylo? Who trained him or how did he learn all he knew? How could he see everything and sense everything but not hear, see, or feel Kylo moving the lightsaber? Why were he and Phasma completely nerfed and killed out of nowhere with absolutely no character development or reason for dying? The world may never know.

And here’s where I get really angry: the sheer disrespect for the Original Trilogy characters. Harrison was ready to retire as Han, and I can understand that – I don’t like how Han went out, but I can almost forgive that because I don’t want the actors to be miserable. But what they did to Luke and Leia is unforgivable. Straight up, point blank. Luke Skywalker would never try to murder his nephew in his sleep. Leia would never stun Poe or send her son away or be a terrible, absentee parent. Luke would never be the person he was in that movie, because even in the depths of despair, Luke chose good, chose to see the good in others. He and Leia never gave up hope or belief that good would always triumph over evil. The Luke I saw in TLJ had none of that, and Mark Hamill himself said it wasn’t Luke, it was “Jake Skywalker” or some other nonsense. Mark is a genuinely kind and accepting person, so if you manage to make him angry about a character he’s played for more than thirty years, you’ve fucked up big time, and Rian Johnson did just that. And what’s worse, there was no reason for Luke to die aside from the fact that he just wasn’t convenient for the writers to consider anymore. Han’s death happened to let Harrison retire, but Luke’s was just to get the old generation out so Kathleen Kennedy and the other Powers That Be could do whatever they wanted in the Star Wars universe and milk that cash cow for all it’s worth. Now that Carrie’s gone, all real ties to the Lucasverse are gone, and I’m not convinced they weren’t going to kill Leia off anyway for the reasons I stated above. The blatant disrespect of that, of destroying characters I’ve loved my whole life, who literally kept me alive when nothing else did… It’s unforgivable. I wept like I lost loved ones watching Luke and Han die, and I refuse to do it again.

And here’s what it all comes down to for me: hope. Star Wars was founded on hope. The whole franchise was created in the wake of the Vietnam War when everyone needed something good to believe in, a clear divide between good and evil where good won simply because it was willing to fight for what it believed in, support others, love others, do the right thing. Even when the chips were down and everything was at its darkest in ESB, they always had hope, and in the end, hope won out. There are literally documentaries out there and books written about the success of Star Wars and the fact that hope is its literal cornerstone. The sequel trilogy destroyed all of that. There is no hope anymore. The Resistance is pretty much decimated at the end of TLJ, and at the hands of a government (not even a government??) that rose up out of nothing and destroyed like twelve planets with a flick of a switch and blew billions of people away (and of course we never hear another word about that because that can’t be important at all). Everyone is dying. There are no ships left. There are no forces – less than 100 people made it off that salt planet whose name escapes me and I don’t care enough to look up, and it might have been less than 50. There is no chance that the Resistance can rise up out of nothing and overcome that. Considering how far Rian derailed the progression of the trilogy as a whole, I don’t know how on earth JJ can come back and fix it with literally nothing on his side – all for the sake of shock factor (I swear, I shake my fist at Rian Johnson in my head at least once a day). I know the modern trend is to shoot for gritty, hopeless, “realistic” films because that’s what the current mood is in this country and around the world, but that’s not what Star Wars is about. That’s never been what Star Wars is about. The whole story was built on the foundation of hope, that good could rise and triumph over evil, and there’s simply no room for that in this sequel trilogy. Essentially, the sequel trilogy has failed because it destroyed what makes Star Wars “Star Wars” at its core, and for that, I will never forgive it. The prequels may have been dark, but they exist to show that while the good can fall, ultimately, they can rise again even if in the smallest of ways. “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” The narrative is so convoluted and misconstrued in the sequel trilogy, and it will never be able to find that same foundation of hope again because Disney fucked up. As I said in 2017, “Star Wars is dead. Long live Star Wars.” So I’ll stick to my Original Trilogy and remember the good things that kept me going, the characters and actors that saved my life and made me realize that even in the face of darkness, hope and love can overcome all. That’s Star Wars to me. Honestly, that’s what Rogue One delivered, and if you take anything out of this, it’s that Rogue One is the only Star Wars thing Disney did right. But the sequel trilogy isn’t Star Wars, it isn’t even halfway decent storytelling, and I hope that on the day I die Rian Johnson and everyone responsible for TLJ can lower me into my grave so they can let me down one last time.

I probably left a lot out because I have so many feelings on this matter, and this response is like encyclopedia-long as is, but it’s the truth of what I feel, and I really hope I shed some light on the topic for you (probably way too much light, but I digress). Thank you for caring about my opinions Anon! I really appreciate you giving me the opportunity to put my thoughts down, and if you managed to make it to the end of this ridiculous post, just know that my inbox and my asks are always open for any clarification or fandom-screaming or thoughts in general. Have an amazing day, and as some people whom I love very dearly used to say, “May the Force be with you. Always.”

#star wars #anti tfa #anti tlj #these are my opinions guys don't @me #I was actually asked for this lmao #thanks again anon i love u for this #forcie rambles #adventures of a panic stricken graduate #who probably could have gotten her degree in star wars lore tbh

[princess-cordelias-writingblog]

Scared to be lonely -Part two. (Theo x Reader)

A/N: I like Theo more than I used to back in season five but honestly I still hate him a bit??, but I love you guys so much that I decided not to kill him, happy? I hope so <3 another thing is that I’ll do a third part cause that last ask had a lot of prompts and I have zero time to do a long imagine but I didn’t want to make you guys wait any longer, I guess those aren’t bad news for you lmao 

Part 1.

Words: 841

Warnings: A bit of violence. And a few grammar mistakes bc I’m not perfect <3

Prompts: #3 “Am I dead?”,#7 #37 “You don’t need to protect me.”

It’s been two days since Theo got shot, and you can’t seem to find the courage to go and see him to the hospital, part of you is angry as hell, the other is scared of what could happen if you go.

“It’s ok y/n, you’re allowed to see him, is not forbidden, you know? we’re not gonna kill you if you do it.” Malia said after smelling the anxiety. 

“I don’t want him to think that I forgive him, I don’t”

“Didn’t you tell him that you love him?” She asked, frowning.

“Well, yes... but- I mean, that’s not the point!”

“Just go” she rolled her eyes “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride.”

Half an hour after, you were standing right out of his room, Melissa explaining everything to you.

“I don’t know what those bullets had, but he almost didn’t make it, lucky for him Scott was around, he has to stay here for a while, he’ll be fine tomorrow morning”

“Okay, at least he’s alive”

“Yes he is” Melissa gave you a kind smile and opened the door for her “good luck, kid”

“Thank you” you mumbled, entering quietly.

Theo was sleeping, he almost looked like he wasn’t a terrible and horrible monster, almost. You’d say that he even look cute.

You sat silently by his side, What now?, Should you kiss him?, Punch him?, Kill him for good before he could ask any personal questions?

“Am I dead?”

You turned to face him “Uh, no”

“Y/N...” Theo breathed, trying to sit on the bed “you’re here”

“Hey, easy there” you pushed him again ”I don’t want you bleeding all over the sheets”

“Are you worried about me?” He smirked and hit the pillow a bit hard, he huffed, frowning.

“I’m more worried about you giving Melissa a hard time” you replied.

“You know, I might have been dying but I think I heard you say you love me?” Great, he decided to start early.

“I did” you sighed, lowering your head in defeat, there was no point on lying, he’d have known it anyway.

“Then why were you avoiding me?” 

“Because I wasn't sure, I’m still not sure.”

“About what?”

“About you being the new man you claim to be,” you said, “it’s too good to be true, you know?”

“I know” Theo nodded “and I can’t say I’m a good person, I’ll never be a good man, but I swear that when I’m with you, I’m a hundred percent sure that I’m better”

“Nice speech,” you said with a shaky voice “but you have to understand, I can’t take you back, not after all you did.”

“I don’t like it, but I understand,” He said, you looked at him trying to read his face but it was impossible “you should probably go then”

“I will, but I need to know something” you quickly added, “Why were you at school that night?”

“I was looking for you, I know you’re always with Liam now that Stiles is no longer here and he and Scott had practice, so I figured I could find you there so we could talk”

“What did the counselor do to you before I got there?”

“I... I don’t know” He struggled to remember but it was useless “She appeared out of nowhere and asked me if I was looking for Scott, I said no but she didn’t believe me”

“Then?”

“Then she walked closer to me and... I can’t remember Y/N, I think she stabbed me?”

“It’s okay” you nodded “You’ve told me enough”

“Why do you ask?”

“Uh, Scott wanted to know”

“You’re lying” he commented “I can hear your heartbeat”

“Look, if the crazy lady comes back to finish the job I need to know if it was your fault or not, okay?” you replied standing up from your seat and graving your sweater “So I know I’m not hurting an innocent”

“Hurting?” He raised an eyebrow “Are you planning to attack that woman?”

“Is none of your business, not anymore at least.”

“You don’t need to protect me.”

You laughed “I’m not, trust me”

Next morning you were in your bedroom, talking with Lydia on the phone as usual when you heard a knock on the front door.

“What was that?” she asked curiously.

“I don’t know” you answered, getting out of your room and going downstairs “I’m not waiting- oh, wait I think I know who is it”

“Who?”

“Theo” you rolled your eyes, “Melissa said he would be fine by now so he probably came here to talk and-”

You opened the door ready to kick him out when you realized it wasn’t him.

“Hi, Y/N”

Before you could close the door something hit you in the face and you fell unconscious.

“Y/N” Lydia called you anxiously “Are you okay?”

“Hey, sorry” The woman picked up the phone, smiling down at the body in front of her “but Y/N can’t answer right now.”

And just like that, she hung up the phone.

#teen wolf imagine #Theo raeken xreader #scared to be lonely #danny's writing #writing prompt #who else wants to kill that counselor?

[nervousyouths]

the stages of grief

so I was doing a 1000 word thing for my English class and then I loved it so much I turned it into a  shawn fic that's more than 1000 words.i also apologize for any grammar stuff or if it doesnt make sense lol.  enjoy. 

Denial:

“This can’t be happening,” Sophie says as she tugs at her golden locks. “No...” She looks down at her phone with the text message still displayed on the screen: He’s gone. Salty tears stream down her face and she puts her head in her lap. “This can’t be happening.. He.. he can’t be gone,” she hiccups. “He’s still alive, they got it all wrong, you’re here,” Sophie cries. “You’re on your way to my house, and you’re bringing take out like you usually do.” She stops for a moment at the memory, letting go of her hair she stares blankly down at her bed not able to make sense of it all. “How…” She chucks her phone at the wall, and a shatter rings through the house. “NO!” falling down onto the bed, her sobs become louder, longer, and almost violent, jolting her body back and forth.

Sophie heard two knocks on the door and immediately smiled when she realized who it was on the other side of the door.  Walking to the door in her clad feet, she opened the door to reveal her adorable boyfriend, Shawn. He looked up from his phone in a rather quick manner and gave her the cheesiest smile. “I brought takeout,” Shawn replied while holding up the all to familiar Chinese takeout bag.  

“Omg, you are the BEST boyfriend ever!” Sophie squealed while grabbing the bag, “Now hurry up and get in here I’m missing Harry Potter right now.”

Shawn chuckled lightly and hugged her, “You’re so cute.”

Sophie buried her head into his chest so he doesn’t see the blush that had appeared on her cheeks. “What can I say, I like Harry Potter,” she mumbled.

“Alright, alright let's go, missy,” Shawn said picking Sophie up bridal style and rushing her into the living room.

“Let me go!” Sophie laughed.

Anger:

Sophie slowly walks into the bathroom and wipes at the tears with the sleeve of the sweatshirt that she was wearing. It was Shawn’s. Out of all the sweatshirts of his that she wore, she always gravitated towards the green one. She smiles at the thought then immediately frowns. Why should I sad? He’s the one who got himself killed. She looks up in the mirror to see a different person. Her hair is disheveled and she has mascara all over her rosy cheeks. She suddenly feels… angry. “Why would you do this to me?” Sophie questions, “Why would you leave me here alone?” She tugs at her locks for the hundredth time that night. Her breathing starts to get uneven. Tears start to roll down her face again. “Why..” she sobs with her face in her hands. She sinks down the wall of her bathroom. “How could you do this to me! You’re supposed to be here!” Sophie cries, “I hate you!” She stands up and put her hands on the counter. A bloodcurdling scream pours out of her as she shoves everything onto the floor. A crash echoes through her house, and she leans over the sink feeling as if her entire body’s fluids might just pour out. She goes to throw up but she can’t, she hasn’t eaten in a couple days.

Sophie typed rather quickly as she tried to get her research paper done. Papers were flown everywhere, and she looked like a mess. Her hair was halfway out of the bun, she had eye bags for days, and her very time consumed makeup was smudged. She had texted her boyfriend some time ago and specifically told him NOT to come over. She didn’t need one more distraction in her life. He came over anyway. He walked into the apartment, went over to her and closed her computer. “Hey!” Sophie exclaimed, “I was working on that!”

“Not anymore,” Shawn said, “You need to take a break.” “Speaking of...when was the last time you DID take a break?”

“I took a break last night when I went to bed last night, does that count?” Sophie questioned.

Shawn’s eye went wide, “Wait so you haven’t taken a break to eat ?”

“Well, I did have a granola bar earlier….”

“Nope doesn’t count.” Shawn said, “Alright come on I’m going to make you something.” “In the meantime go take a shower you stink.”

“HEY, I don’t smell!” Sophie laughed as she stuck her tongue at Shawn.

“Yes, you do now go.”

“I love you,” Sophie laughed.

“Oh honey, I love you more.”

Bargaining:

Sophie can barely contain herself in class. She wants to die. Sophie knows that she can’t though, he wouldn’t want it. Tears start to fill her eyes again as she walks down the hallway and immediately makes a turn and runs out of the school to her car. She gets inside the car and automatically tears start to fall down. ”I should’ve convinced him not to come over.” “I should’ve gotten in that car crash, not him.” “Please God just take me,” Sophie sobs “Please.”

Sophie's phone vibrates next to her as she’s watching her favorite movie, The Fault in Our Stars. She sees it’s Shawn and picks up the phone. “Hey what’s up?” she questions.

“I’m just about to leave to come to see you.”

“No don’t come the roads are terrible.”

“Too late I’m on my way.”

“No, go back home Shawn.”

“Too late honey.”

“I’ll just come to you.”

Alex laughed, “I see you in a few.”

She never did.

Depression:

Sophie has been in her room for days. She won’t come out, she doesn’t have the energy. She wants to move on with her life, but she feels too guilty. Why would she live her life when he isn’t? It was her fault that he got killed. Her sweet loving boyfriend got killed in a car crash because she couldn’t convince him to not come over. She couldn’t even make it to the hospital, what kind of girlfriend is she? A terrible one for sure. She will never forgive herself for this. She closes her eyes as thoughts start to swarm her head like bees. They start to take over her being. They repeat in her head over and over. You’re a terrible person, it’s your fault. You need to die.  “I’m sorry,” Sophia mutters, “I’m sorry I let you down. “I’m sorry I’m not a good enough person.” Her breathing starts to get uneven. “I’m sorry I was a terrible girlfriend,” Sophia cries. She sits up and looks around with wide eyes. She feels as if her chest is going to explode. Her breathing gets heavier, tears start to roll down her face. She collapses on the ground in defeat. Her hands go to her hair. “Please,” she heaves, “Make it stop.”

She got the text on a Saturday. His mom had texted it to her. She couldn’t make it to the hospital because she had to fly from her home in Colorado to Canada to see him. She had plenty of time but, of course, the flight got delayed. She rushed to try and get the next flight but there were weather issues. She had gone over and sat in one of the chairs in defeat. She had quickly pulled out her phone and texted Karen and told her that she’s sorry that she won’t be able to get there in time. She said that she understood and she was glad that she was safe inside with the weather conditions. Sophia quickly responded thankfully and put her phone back in her backpack. Then she waited.

After hours of waiting, and sleeping, the weather had cleared up, which made it able for Sophie to go her home. Shawn. Before she had gotten on the plane she had texted Karen and told her that she was able to go on her flight. When she had gotten on the plane she wasn’t able to sleep, so she stared out the window and hoped that her precious was okay.

When Sophia has gotten off the plane, she was rushing passed everyone to get to her uber, which to find out canceled on her. What luck. Sophie was starting to stress. Her braid was being tugged on as she tried to find another uber. She had to go see Shawn. She had gotten the uber and had made it all the way to her apartment when she received a text message. She had done a double take.

He’s gone it said.

Acceptance:

It had been months since the incident. Sophie was feeling better, almost happier. She wasn’t really back to the way she was, how can one be? She felt lonely and empty. There was still a pain in her chest, but that's what happens when you lose a loved one. She missed him, a lot. She wished most days that she could get one of his amazing hugs or cuddles. People look at her now with sorrow has Sophie walks towards the grave site, but, she doesn’t seem care. Right now it’s just her and Shawn. She walks with the bouquet like she wasn’t fazed. Sophie has fazed, though. She went through so much, and she’s healing. “I’m starting to change,” Sophie said, “But as you said, changing isn’t a bad thing, it never was.” “I hope it never does become a bad thing.” She starts to walk away. She turns, “Oh, and I love you.”

Shawn had driven Sophie to school the day she had finals.

“I’m no nervous I’m not going to be able to go through this.”

“You got this.”

“Can you just come with me?”

“I wished”, Shawn laughed, “but I can’t you have to go through that own your own.”

“Fine, I love you.”

“I love you too, honey.”

ALRIGHT this is the end idk how i feel about it i feel like it could be 1000  x better. I wanted to add like kissing in there and like other things but idk how I would do that. if someone wants to write on this topic please do because its going to be better than mine. lol  if you like it share it if you want lol HAVE AN AMAZING DAY WOOO (also alex was the original name so if you see alex it’s supposed to be shawn) ;)

#shawnfic #shawnmendes #shawn

[supernaturally-writing]

The Love of an Angel

A/N: Lol what even is this title?? Idk man. But anyway. So this is that spontaneous fic I made a PSA about earlier. As I was writing it, I realized I wasn’t really doing my sad idea justice, because it just didn’t seem sad enough to me, but that might be because I was writing it idk. I hope it’s sufficiently angsty. Be warned: it kinda jumps around a little bit. There are sections of the story missing, or not given in a lot of detail. Italics are past memories. 

P.S: It is 3:18 AM and I am very very sleepy so pardon my shitty writing and grammar inconsistencies/mistakes.  

Word Count: 4856

Warnings: ANGST. So much angst. Brief mentions of smut; not very detailed. Character death. Depression, depressed Cas, Human!Cas. A little bit of fluff towards the end, but not much??? Cas-centric fic. 

Summery: Their love has been years in the making, but [y/n]’s abrupt demise spells out a rough going for Castiel. Being newly human doesn’t help the situation as the (ex)angel strikes out on his own and suffers in his own self-imposed isolation as he tries to live with these mortal emotions, determined to avenge the only woman he’s ever loved. 

Masterlist 

When Castiel rushed to the bottom of the Bunker stairs to welcome the Winchester gang back from their extensive hunt (as he’d always done), he’d never expected to find one of their party mysteriously missing. He also hadn’t expected Dean’s eyes to be red-rimmed, or for Sam’s arm to be in a makeshift sling, or for both Winchesters to be covered in blood and mud and ripped clothes. Sam had only made it halfway down the creaking staircase before he collapsed in on himself, sinking to the metal steps as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Dean sank down with him, tears swimming in his own eyes, and gingerly pulled his baby brother into his arms. By then, Cas knew. He knew that [y/n] was dead. Some part of him had known since the moment the brothers had stepped foot in the Bunker-- but now the knowledge settled in his gut like a boulder.

He’d only been human for a month and a half-- it hadn’t been nearly enough time for [y/n] to teach him how to cope with all of his new emotions. Especially heartbreak.

When he finally sucked in a breath, the pain hit him full-force, like a bunch to the belly and a kick to the sternum all in one. His throat burned as it constricted, cutting his airway until he was gaping like a fish, his legs trembling under the monumental weight of his own leaden frame. He only made it to the nearest chair just in time for his knees to give out; he didn’t even sit on the cushion properly. Just nestled his face into the cushion of the arm as his hipbone throbbed with the awkward positioning of his crumpled stature.

His eyes burned, the cool tracks of his tears doing nothing to soothe the pain of his heated skin. He was sure he was going to throw up; the sensation was foreign, but this new instinct told him to wrench himself out of the chair just in time to throw up on the floor. [Y/n] was dead. His [y/n] was dead and the Winchesters hadn’t been able to bring her back. . . And if they couldn’t bring her back, then she was really, truly gone. The brothers had mastered the art of giving Death a raincheck.

Cas wiped his mouth and pushed himself onto wobbling feet, balancing himself against the nearest object-- which happened to be Dean. Cas pulled away from the hunter, shame coloring his cheeks, before he looked into his face a saw a reflection of his own sorrow there. Before he knew what he was doing, Castiel crashed into Dean and buried his head in his shoulder, great sobs wracking him, replacing the previously silent tears.

When the three of them finally composed themselves enough to mop up Castiel’s mess and officially address the scattering of wounds on the brothers, each of them sat in thick silence in the library. Sam stared into nothing, unblinking; sometimes, Cas would see the muscle in his jaw feather to the surface, but other than that minute movement, Sam had gone deathly still. Dean scratched at the mahogany surface of the table, his eyes rolling behind his eyelids as he relived whatever had happened. . .

Cas’ heart wrenched for the millionth time that afternoon as he suddenly realized that he didn’t know how she died. He didn’t know anything about her last moments-- and he hadn’t been there to see it, to save her. It was ten quick heartbeats before he could breath again and peal his hands off the armrests of the chair, where he’d squeezed the blood out of his fingers and broken his shorts nails down to the bloody beds.

“How did she--” Castiel began, his voice rough and gravely, the sound screeching in his own ears and scratching his own throat.

“Demon. Simple salt ‘n burn turned into a chase when a local black eyes caught wind of us in town. We uh-- we weren’t. . . We didn’t see it comin’.” There was a long pause as Dean finally tipped his head back and opened his eyes-- admitting the flood of fresh tears. He scrubbed his hand down his face, sniffing loudly. “Damn thing brought a whole party. She fought. . . She fought so damn hard, Cas. Even after-- even after she went down. . .” He couldn’t finish the thought; Cas didn’t press him for details. He didn’t want to imagine it. Didn’t want to picture his human covered in her own gore-- didn’t want to picture the life leaving her eyes.

He closed his own to fight off the image. It didn’t work.

“Did you kill it?” The words raked at Castiel’s raw throat, no more than a whisper in the air, hard to hear even in the stifling, pressing silence of their melancholy. He was afraid that if he spoke too loudly, he would break. Really, truly shatter; the only thing holding him together was the grip he resumed on the cold, unforgiving wood of the armrests below. Silence ensued, and rage suddenly filled him, bubbling up from his toes and swirling in his guts like lava, until he sprang to his feet so abruptly the chair clashed against the concrete floor. “Did you kill it?” He was yelling now, his arms trembling as he slammed his palms down onto the table. Dean just stared at him, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Something had died in his eyes, but right then, Cas could only think about all the things dying within himself.

“No,” Sam finally whispered. “No, it smoked out before we could get to it.”

That rage rippled into Cas’ arms, fueling him with a violent energy; he swung blindly, fist colliding with the nearest lamp. Sam flinched with surprise with it shattered against the opposite wall.

Before his brain caught up to his legs, Castiel was stomping down the corridors of the bunker, his footsteps harsh booms of sound all the way into his room.

Cas sat on the edge of the motel bed, fingering the hole in his jeans. He rolled the information Dean had given him around in his mind, his teeth dragging along his tongue as he chewed on the muscle. Hunger gnawed at him but he ignored the growling of his belly for favor of flicking through the television news feeds.

He hadn’t been able to stay in the Bunker. He hadn’t been able to pass [y/n]’s room every time he walked down the hall. Hadn’t been able to look at her little idiosyncrasies that she’s left scattered about-- little quirks that would go untouched for some time as the boys adjusted to a life without the woman they’d practically grown up with. Some things were small, nearly unnoticeable: an arrangement of cups in the cupboard, assorted by color and height, the towels hung neatly, folded three times each, the books scattered around her room in perfectly arranged chaos. He hadn’t been able to deal with the stutters of his heart every time he caught a whiff of the automatic air freshener she’d plugged into the wall outlet of her room. It smelled of vanilla and honey-- a gentle smell, not so overpowering that it burned the nose, just sweet enough to make him breath deep and slow and savor the scent of it floating through the halls.

So he left. He packed his things the following evening, hastily shoving the few belongings he’d accumulated into the borrowed duffle bag he’d taken from Dean: his angel blade, a few pairs of thin, ripped jeans, and the flannels he’d been given. The bag was depressingly light when he hefted it onto his shoulder.

Dean had asked him to be safe, had told him that he couldn’t stand to lose another friend-- not so soon after losing [y/n]. But Castiel could only look at him and clench his jaw. Whatever promises he made Dean would have been a lie, save for one thing: “I will find that demon, Dean. And I will kill it, even if it means the end of my own meager mortal life.” There was a long silence, and some small part of Cas had thought that Dean might try to make him stay. But he hadn’t. He’d only shaken his head and scrubbed his drawn face with shaking hands before he finally told Cas everything he knew-- which wasn’t much. The majority of this hunt would rely solely on Cas’ ingenuity and familiarity with the demonic ranks. It had been so long since he’d accessed certain memories, and trying to do so while a human had given him a migraine that lasted for the entirety of the drive from the Bunker to the grimy motel in southern Tennessee.

That night had been the first night he dreamed of nothing; he was too exhausted to think, even while unconscious.

As the days wore on, Cas drew closer to finding answers, though through no small amount of effort. Most nights he only caught an hour or two of sleep, the rest of his waking moments spent bent over a table, or maps, or flicking through the news or scrolling through the internet. He tracked demonic movement; hunted them, killed them, even has his strength and stamina dwindled. Over the weeks, he’d hardly eaten; he’d fallen back into the angelic routine of never needing to eat, even though his mortality demanded sustenance. It was a rare occurrence when he finally pulled himself away from his work to order takeout.

When he looked in the mirror, Cas couldn’t see the man-- or angel-- he had been. His cheeks were hollowed, and there was a constant shadow over his eyes, bruises lining the puffy skin beneath the dull blue orbs. His hair was shaggy, curling around his ears and at his temples; he’d accumulated a number of new scars. Some of them were purely accidental-- others. . . Well, sometimes he’d flirted with Death just a little too blatantly, and those lingering considerations had nearly cost him his life and his mission on a few close-call hunts. Most nights he was glad Jimmy had been evicted; he was sure the original owner of this vessel would have been outraged to find Castiel abusing it so thoroughly. . . Other nights he wished he could still talk to the man. Perhaps Jimmy would know what to do, how to help. And even if he didn’t, having him around would have at least been some sort of company to break the monotony of hunting solo.

As the months wore on, Cas found himself thinking more and more about [y/n]. The first few weeks, he hadn’t known how to handle the crushing weight of her death, so he’d blocked her from his mind. Even in his dreams, he’d continued to have the regular nightmares that originally drove him into [y/n]’s sleepy arms: fighting through Hell with a struggling Dean Winchester trapped securely against his chest; fighting past the influence of Michael and Lucifer as he broke into the Cage to drag out a soulless Sam Winchester; fighting for the control of his own body as Leviathans ripped the power out of his hands. There were so many things that haunted him still; perhaps his brain had not yet processed his lover’s death to the capacity that his heart had.

Now, though, he allowed memories to trickle into the forefront of his consciousness: the first time he’d met a spunky young huntress that had punched Lucifer in the face and lived to tell about it; helping the Winchesters break her out of a county jail for car theft; sitting across the booth from her as she nursed a cup of coffee and a horrid hangover. Sometimes he would wake up with the whispers of her voice ringing in his ears, even as the dreams of her evaded his sleepy memory. Other times he would lay awake late into the night, even after a long day of fighting and tracking, and struggle to remember the details of her face, or how her skin felt under his hands, or the smell of her shampoo when he snuggled up behind her after she’d taken a shower. Those were the nights that the tears rolled quietly and wetted the pillow on either sides of his head; those were the nights that he wouldn’t dream, and he would awaken feeling twice as tired as he had the day previous.

Dean called often, but Cas rarely answered. It was only when Dean’s calls became persistent that he finally picked up the phone; Dean would always curse him for scaring him like that, then tentatively ask how he was doing. He tried to answer the hunter truthfully, but it was usually easier just to give him a short, gruff answer and hang up the phone. He would immediately return to his work, slowly but surely digging up the secrets of the Underworld as he looked for a cockroach among the colony.

Castiel had never expected to feel the power of his grace returning to his veins. Well, not his grace, per se, but grace nevertheless. When he’d been captured by vengeful fallen angels, he’d fully expected to be killed-- hell, he’d practically submitted, ready to embrace Death with open arms. But the lingering thought of his mission had spurred him on, and before he’d comprehended the result of his actions, he’d killed an angel and stolen their grace. The power was startling; it coursed through him, searing hot as it healed him and restored him to his former immortal vitality. It had taken him another day to adjust to being an angel again-- he stopped eating, resisting the habit of consumption. But he also stopped feeling. At least in the capacity that humans felt. He still felt that pain, that emptiness. He wasn’t sure if there was anything in the universe short of a miracle straight from his Father himself that would totally erase the ache that resounded within him. But at least it wasn’t crushing. . .

Being an angel again allowed him to truly marvel at the resilience of humanity for the first time. It was human instinct to trudge on, to make the best of the worst situation, to always keep fighting no matter the odds. Where the angel in him would have given up on this farfetched quest, his human heart had whispered to him with every heavy thump: revenge, revenge, revenge.

With this newfound-- and dwindling-- strength, Castiel made it a point to work all the harder towards his goal. Within a fortnight, the angel had tracked down one of the demons that had assisted in the killing of his human. The following night, Castiel knelt above the lifeless corpse of that black-eyed bitch with the answers he had sought after for so long.

[Y/n] sat up as her bedroom door creaked open. Castiel stood in the doorway, looking disheveled and out of place as the hall light outlined him in a halo of dim golden illumination. He’d been human for a week or so now, and every night she’d been able to hear him struggling in his sleep from the room over. He’d cried, groaned, whimpered and thrashed his way through the night. Oftentimes, it kept her awake, too; she’d finally pulled him aside and told him to join her the next time a nightmare roused him from his sleep. He’d given her a sheepish smile and tipped his head to the floor, color lining the arches of his cheekbones. She’d laughed off his embarrassment with a peck to the scruffy surface of his cheek.

Now, though, her heart thundered behind her sternum as he quietly padded further into the room. The door swung most of the way closed, though it didn’t latch, leaving a sliver of golden light slanting across the wall. It was just enough light to see by, and soon enough Castiel was crawling into bed with her, though he’d insisted he lay atop the coverlets as to keep her comfortable. After a hushed argument and a soft huff, Cas finally submitted to her persistence and slid under the comforter. His bare legs brushed hers, and he quickly apologize before she shushed him and pulled him close.

He’d fallen asleep with his head resting above her heart, her fingers combing through the short dark tresses atop his cranium. With her by his side, he’d rested peacefully for the first time in his mortal life; after that night, their sleeping habits had become routine.

Until. . . Until she’d stumbled into the bunker, battered and bruised but smiling her shit-eating grin nevertheless, boasting of a good hunt and searching for a good drink. That night, when she eased her aching body into bed, Cas had been the one to pull her close, and when she turned her head to give him their nightly peck on the cheek, his lips had slanted against her own. It was hard and demanding, and his lips trembled against her’s. He cupped her tender face with his hands, his thumbs brushing her jawline, tracing over the black and blue bruise that feathered out there. When he finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead against hers; they breathed each other in, sharing the air between them one gulp at a time.

“My [y/n]. . . My [y/n]. . .” He repeated her name over and over, a gentle, whispered supplication. She relaxed into his hold, her hands wandering down his sides as she tried to soothe the anxiety out of him. “I am alien to this world of human emotion, but--” he’d taken her hand in his and placed it over his racing heart, shivering with her touch-- “if this is love, then I am plunging further and further into this sea of affection; drowning in it, really.” He released a breathy laugh at that, and [y/n] twisted her hand until their fingers were clasped, locked together as Castiel clung to her. “Please, please. . . Don’t scare me like that anymore. I don’t think I could live if. . . If--”

“I’m here,” she murmured, cutting him off with a gentle kiss. With her free hand, she cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb over his cheekbone; she’d blown out a breath of surprise to discover the wet trail of tears there. “I’m here, Cas. I’m okay. I’ll always be okay; I’ve got an angel by my side.” He’d started to protest at that, making it a point to inform her he wasn’t an angel anymore-- but she already knew that. Still, she kissed away his words, and that was the first night they made love.

It was long and slow; wandering hands and searching eyes and wet trails of saliva as they both marked each other with lover’s bruises and gentle kisses of adoration. Not once had [y/n] been able to tell him she loved him, too afraid that those three words would somehow shatter this perfect existence. Cas, on the other hand, had growled it against her throat, against her bare breasts, had chanted it as they reached their ends and fell into each other’s weight. They kissed each other to sleep; when Cas jerked awake later that night, [y/n] rolled over and rode him until they were exhausted again, her head falling against his chest as he buried his face in the silky tresses of her hair.

For the following weeks, they fell into bed and into each other’s arms. There’d hardly been a room in the Bunker that they hadn’t christened: the kitchen, the library, the shower room, the garage, the war room, a few of the dusty storerooms in the uninhabited wings of the bunker. Sometimes their couplings were slow and sweet-- usually after a hunt, when [y/n] would come home to a worried Castiel, even though she was usually right as rain. Other times they were fast and rough; demanding mouths and groping hands and pounding hips as lips laid claim(s) to miles of scarred skin.

It was the night before she was to leave with the Winchester brothers to accompany them on a simple salt and burn when she finally told Castiel she loved him. He’d just finished his journey kissing the scars from her ankles all the way up to her fingertips. When she finally blew out the breath that carried those three soft words, he’d paused and lifted his weight off of her, staring at her long and hard with parted lips and watering eyes. She’d said it again, with a little more volume this time, conviction making her heart swell. By the fourth time she’d said it, her fingers carding through his hair, he’d cut her off with a clash of his lips. The kiss was so hard and so abrupt that their teeth clacked together, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about the dull tooth ache that ensued. They sank into each other, worshiping each other with their tongues and fingers, until they began to fall into the easy trance of sleep. [Y/n] laid behind him, her arms twined around his waist, and she pressed a final goodnight kiss to the nape of his neck.

Before she settled into her last blissful sleep, she’d whispered one last “I love you, Castiel” against his skin.

Cas stood on the outskirts of the playground, his hands stuffed into the deep pockets of his trench. It had been a few months since he’d killed the demon-- Cerebur-- that had been responsible for [y/n]’s death. The eight month anniversary of his leaving the Bunker was rapidly approaching, yet he ignored the calls of Sam and Dean Winchester. It was hard to hear the pain in their voices, to know that they still mourned as he did, though it was to be expected. Humans mourned their whole lives, oftentimes; there were some wounds that even Time could not heal. This wound. . . This wound had been one of the deepest any of them had sustained. [Y/n] had spent her younger years growing up with the Winchesters when John would pair off with her mother for extensive hunts. The situation had left the Winchesters and the girl ofttimes fending for each other and themselves in the same motel room for days on end. In some ways, the Winchesters had bonded with [y/n] more closely than they had even bonded with each other. For a short time, she’d had a shot at a normal life, quite like Sam had; a boyfriend swept her off her feet, carrying her off to some lofty apartment in the northern sectors of Seattle. Dean visited as often as possible, and Sam made his yearly trips north during spring break to spend his vacation with her and her soon-to-be husband.

Castiel idly wondered what he would find in her Heaven. The thought that she might be happy in her Heaven with that man nearly deterred him from visiting her.

She would want to see you, Cas. Dean’s words rang through his mind; he took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. He eyed the guardian angel apprehensively, knowing full well what he had to do. Where the thought of murdering one of his brothers or sisters would have been offensive and even horrifying some years beforehand, he now smothered the instinctive resistance to the motions of his hand as he swung his angel blade into the small of the angel’s back. Light flickered and grace crackled, smothering out as if a heavy hand had pressed down on the power, snuffing it out like a candle flame. He hid the body quickly; when he returned, the playground was desolate, silence hanging in the winter air.

He toed the sandbox quietly, palms sweating against the metal of his blade.

With a sudden conviction, Castiel jumped through the portal and disappeared into the lofty halls of Heaven.

It didn’t take long to find [y/n]’s door. He stood before it for a long time, listening to the steady thumps of his heart. He’d dreamt of this moment for so long; now that he stood on the threshold of action, pain flickered behind his sternum again. It wasn’t nearly as intense as it had been when he was human, but he still felt it. This place was a constant reminder that [y/n] was dead.

He gripped the handle of her door with shaking fingers before he gave it a twist and swung it open.

After the initial light of his entrance had faded, he blinked away the glare of a bright summer sun. The heat of it kissed his skin. That pain in his chest roared to life again as he realized where he was. In Sioux Falls, just down the road from Bobby’s house, was a pond fed by a lazy, gurgling stream. A grove of Poplars surrounded the water, tall grasses of the richest green swaying around every bank. Lilypads floated along the surface of the water, hugging the banks, creating a shadowed refuge for the fish hatchlings that darted below the surface of the water like tiny flashes of silver.

This had been the place [y/n] came to as a child, when she stayed with Bobby and the Winchester boys. It had also been the spot she’d brought him too during the early years of his time on Earth. She sat with him for hours, talking of humanity, plucking at the summer grasses as the birds sang above and the bugs chirped from below.

It had been there that Castiel had fallen in love with humanity; it had been there that Castiel had fallen in love with [y/n]. That love had been dulled by his angelic detachment, but he’d been able to express his affections in the form of undying loyalty. As the years went on, he became more accustomed to the concept of feelings; as the years went on, [y/n] and Castiel frequented this grove as often as possible.

But no visit had ever stood out to him as starkly as this. He had never been so in awe of his Father’s creations as he had been there, surrounded by a lazy summer evening, with [y/n]’s shoulder pressed against his own.

Now, sitting at the edge of the pond where they had sat that day, sat [y/n]. She had her back to him, but he knew it was her. He knew it in the way his heart soared and sank all at once, in the way that her hair glinted in the sun with the different shades of color in her tresses, in the way she rocked to an unheard tune amongst the chorus of nature. He crept towards her quietly, apprehension suddenly hammering at his heart, and he had to stop himself. It had been months since he’d felt the hot prick of tears, but there it was, a stinging behind his eyes. He scrubbed at his face and gulped down a breath of the summer breeze before he came to [y/n]’s side.

Sitting on the cross section of [y/n]’s folded legs was a toddler, no more than four, with the hair of Castiel’s vessel and with the stunning eyes of [y/n]. When she turned that gaze onto the angel, he nearly crumpled. A wide, toothy grin split her sun-kissed skin; oh, she had her mother’s smile.

“Daddy!” The toddler reached for him, and Castiel sucked in a shuddering breath, sinking onto his haunches. He pressed the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes, the heat behind his blue orbs swelling until the tears spilled over and tracked down his face. He’d never considered the possibility that [y/n] might. . . That he might. . . But, there she was-- the baby that was very obviously his daughter. He saw Jimmy in the girl, almost more so than he saw [y/n]. “Daddy, Daddy!”

Small arms wrapped around his neck and he was abruptly pulled down a little lower; soft giggles filled his ears, and he slowly unwound his arms from about himself to sweep up the girl that had pulled him down into a hug. He kept his eyes closed, unable to look at [y/n], feeling her quiet stare as she watched with a soft smile. It wasn’t until he felt her lips ghost across his own that he finally opened his eyes. [Y/n] knelt before him, looking beautiful and so deceptively alive. . . He freed one hand and reached forward, brushing his thumb across her cheek to ensure she wasn’t another dream.

Her head tipped to the side, her cheek pressing into the callused surface of his palm. Her eyes fluttered closed, her smaller hands coming to rest against the back of his as it cradled her skull. She finally sighed, long and low, and a grin stretched across the gentle curve of her mouth. She met his eyes for the first time in eight long months; love and adoration twinkled there, spurring on the cascade of tears down Castiel’s rugged face.

“You’ve kept us waiting long enough, my love,” she finally hummed.

@willowing-love

@angelsxreader

@castielxreaders

@casxreader

@castielxreaders

@splendidcas

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #supernaturally-writing #spn #spn one shot #spn fic #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #human!cas #human!castiel #angst #spn angst #supernatural angst #character death #depression #fluff #brief mentions of smut #sammi writes #castiel fanfic #castiel fic #castiel fanfiction

[imaginecredence]

“I’ll see you again.” (part 8)

Summary: A Credence Barebone imagine (Credence x Reader)

~You try desperately to find Credence to save him from Graves, only to find out Credence has another secret and is so much more than you thought he was. You go home alone, no Credence...

Note: This is the 8th part to this imagine so make sure you check out the others! I hope you like and reblog it. There also will most likely be a grammar mistake so bare with me. Anyway… I hope you enjoy!

P.S. I did use some of J.K. Rowling’s writing from the screen play to make it more realistic... Just letting you know. I’m not taking credit for those parts.

Date published: February 8, 2017 ew

Warnings: mentions of abuse, and WAY too much cuteness to handle

Year: December, 1926

Word Count: 1,488

MASTERLIST

PLAYLIST

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You saw Graves leaving the destroyed building, running after the dark mass. You quickly ran to the building, looking for Credence. He was no where to be found. So you decided to follow Graves. You followed from a distance for your safety and for Credence's, wherever he was. You stopped and watched Graves from behind the corner of a building. The dark mass was levitated high in the air, angrily churning as Graves walked closer to it. Graves began to shout up at the mass, "To survive so long, with this inside you, Credence, is a miracle." You couldn't believe what you were hearing. The angry, dark mass was Credence? Innocent, kind, broken, Credence? Your eyes began to fill with burning tears. He had already endured so much and now he had to endure this. As these thoughts swam in your brain, a man with curly hair and blue coat suddenly appeared a few feet in front of you, watching Graves and Credence. He didn't notice you hiding around the corner. The mass moved closer to Graves. Suddenly its dark energy bursted out with a loud scream, knocking Graves to the ground. The energy sent a shock wave around the city. The curly haired man dived behind a car as you turned and leaned against the building, covering your ears and squeezing your eyes shut. After the wave was gone you uncovered your ears and turned to saw a woman with short black hair appear in front of the man hiding behind the car. The woman yelled, “Newt!” “It's the Second Salem boy. He's the Obscurial,” Newt said. Newt and the woman continued to talk to each other, but you couldn't hear the conversation. The Obscurial screamed out again and the woman yelled out, "Newt! Save him." The woman dashed out toward Graves and Newt magically disappeared. Graves walked closer to the Obscurus, that was still angrily screaming and churning. He took out his wand, and the woman suddenly blasted a ball of energy at Graves. You were so confused and didn't know what your were looking at. You kept your distance behind the building, watching with wide eyes. But you stayed aware of Obscurus, because even though it was quite frightening, it was still Credence.The Obscurus vanished and Graves was obviously irritated. "Tina. You're always turning up where you're least wanted,” Graves said, as he summoned a car through the air. Tina dove out of the way, but by the time she gathered herself, Graves was gone. You heard crashing, and Credence's scream from before, in the distance. You decided to follow it. You didn't know what you were going to do when you found him, but you had to help him. When you finally came upon the Obrsurus, it was rising up above the buildings and suddenly slammed into the ground, sending bricks and sidewalks flying. You found stairs to the subway station and quickly ran down them, hoping to find Credence.You saw the Obscurus and it was finally calming down. Newt was watching from across the station. The black mass gently swirled in the air, above the train tracks. Newt (now hiding behind a pillar) began to talk. "Credence. . . It's Credence, isn't it? I'm here to help you, Credence. I'm not here to hurt you." Newt moved out from behind the pillar and stepped down on the tracks, walking low to the ground. The dark mass began to disappear and the figure of Credence appeared. You wanted to run up to him and hug him and tell him everything was going to be all right, but you didn’t, you couldn’t. You watched as the man spoke again. "I've met someone just life you, Credence, A girl— a young girl who'd been imprisoned, she'd been locked away and she'd been punished for her magic." Her magic? Is that you had just witnessed? All the crazy things Mary Lou spoke about were true? There were so many things going through your head it could have exploded.You watched Credence from afar. He was huddled on the train tracks, scared to death. All you wanted to do was hug him, but you knew you shouldn’t. You didn't know anything about magic and the man talking with him obviously did. Newt crouched down and said, "Credence, can I come over to you?” Newt slowly made his way over, but as he did a blaze of light bursted out, throwing him backward. Graves walked in through the tunnel. Credence began to run as Graves continued to fire spells, and Newt, who is rolling out of the way, tried to fire back. Credence continued to make his way down the tracks when he suddenly stopped as the headlights of a moving train headed right toward him. "NO!" you yelled, but no one heard you over the sound of the rumbling train. Graves suddenly casted Credence out of the way of the train with a magical force. After a while of dueling between Graves and Newt, you noticed Credence on the tracks again. He was cowering and he began to shake, as black matter formed around him. His eyes turned white and his sobs disappeared as the Obscurus took its full form, blasting towards Graves. Graves watched in awe of the power, but quickly Disapparated just in time. The Obscurus blasted around the station, suddenly crashed through the roof, out into the city. It began crashing into more buildings as a crowd of people watched from below. The mass plunged back into the subway, bursting through the roof once more."CREDENCE, NO!" you heard a voice yell, as Newt and Graves laid on tracks, beneath the dark force. Tina ran onto the tracks as the Obscurus froze inches from Graves face. It began to rise, swirling gently, staring at Tina. She spoke to him, calming him down. Everything seemed like a blur. None of this made any sense. Your head was fuzzy from being thrusted into a wall earlier. . . that felt like forever ago. So much had happened since then. You didn't know what to believe. You continued watched from a distance as Graves thrusted magic upon Tina and Newt. You were beginning to feel dizzy and lightheaded again. Things seemed to be going in slow motion. Credence appeared again as a large group of people came pouring down the steps, wands raised. "Shhhh! Don't, you'll frighten him,” you heard Tina say. Credence began to be taken away by the darkness again. The Obscurus let out a loud moan and began to grow. Everything around was crumbling. Tina and Newt tried to protect Credence. Graves turned to face the large group of wizards, wand at the ready. "Wands down! Anyone harms him—they’ll answer to me,” He turned back to Credence. ”Credence,” he said in a manipulative voice. "Credence..." Tina said softly. Suddenly the wizards drew their wands and began pelting the Obscurus with spells. "NO!" you yelled, tears falling from your eyes. Under the pressure of the spells, the Obscurus finally gave up and exploded, a white ball of magic taking over. The force sent everyone flying backward. You were pushed back into a corner of the subway station. Your vision went hazy. You saw bits of black matter floating around the rubble. You saw all of the wizard's mouths moving, but you couldn't hear anything. Your mind went black. The last thing you thought was that you'll never see Credence again. You would never get to tell him exactly how you felt about him. To tell him how much he meant to you and how you couldn't imagine your life without him.You woke up with an awful head ache. You hoped for a split second that all of this was an awful dream, but you opened your eyes and saw where you were. All of the wizards were out of the station, no one had ever known you were there. You clumsily stood up and made your way to the steps, out of the subway. Taking one step up, you froze, turning your head to see the place where Credence had disappeared. Your eyes began to burn with tears. You ran up the stairs to the dark city. You walked back to your apartment, avoiding the wizards who killed Credence. You went up the stairs to your apartment, trying not to fall over. You got into your apartment, pausing in the doorway. You scanned your untouched apartment. Everything was the way you left it. Exactly the way Credence knew it. You began to break down in tears. You closed your door and curled up on the couch with a blanket, crying yourself to sleep.

To be continued...

PART NINE

#credence barebone #credence #credence deserved better #credence imagine #credence x reader #ezra miller #ezra miller imagine #ezra miller x reader #ezra miller fanfic #ezra miller imagines #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fantastic beasts movie #fanfic #credence fanfic #harry potter #harry potter imagine #imagine #imagines #fbawtft

[wordsbymz-blog]

4 Your Eyez Only... Through My Ears & Mind

J. Cole announced his fourth album just 8 days prior its release. I was happy, among many others, that I'll get to hear some new tales from an excellent storyteller, which can drag his listeners inside the narrative and make them easy to relate to. I looked for the album right after waking up in the morning on the 9th of December and instantly pressed play. As expected, Cole and his team created another mind blowing experience. 

 There are many ways you could interpret this album as a whole and each song separately. It can be viewed as a reflection and reminder of black a man's life and his enviroment, victims of stereotypical assumptions of society. Or it might be a tale of a rappers childhood friend, James, which was killed aged 22 years old. So this is just my version of understanding the album. 4 Your Eyez Only through my ears and mind.

 Two things I have to say first. I have never studied English grammar in school (nor have I self-studied for that matter). So at times I got lost in my own process of thoughts, just like in "De Ja Vu". Not sure if I'll ever fully understand it, but I do have my theories. 

 The record is open with James's prayer for a better tommorow, since he's afraid his days are getting closer to an end. Cole here, on the other hand, contemplates his career. In next they both are thinking about the immortality of an individual and his legacy, whether is the one who escaped Fayetteville or the other left behind. 

 Similar thoughts resonate in "Ville Mentality", where James and Jermaine ask themselves, how long they can survive with the mentality residing in their town. Cole can't wait to leave that place. James doubts his own life lasting long, surrounded by stereotypes and putting up a front. Just like the rapper isn't so sure about his longevity in the music industry with analogical settings.  

 Suddenly, James finds hope in new love, which feels amazing. He literally feels alive more then ever and is not willing to die anymore. He realizes that this girl is getting to know him better day by day and stops his fear of opening up to someone for the first time in his life. In the words you feel the mad love Cole has for his wife. 

 Both our protagonists like their newly gained positive outlook. They reminisce over their development from child to a man, that made one of them victim of stereotypes and the "I'd only fuck up anyway" attitude, while the other became one of the most talked about names on scene in past decade. They acknowledge that only dreaming and planing on changing for better isn't enough. One needs to work on those changes. They know spilling blood over women, money and respect is poison of communities. For James it is his daily reality. He's dying. Jermaine wakes up to undescribeable feeling, seeing TV reporting on his friend's murder. The outro of "Changes" is simulating James's funeral.  Pastor urges on mourners, promising revegne, to stop this from happening again. This vicious circle has gotten way out of hand. Circle, which Cole explains through out the album on various occassions. 

 Just like he does on the next track. "Neighbors" is about stereotypical prejudices of the society. J. Cole offers an example from his own recent experience. He rented a house in a "decent" neighborhood to escape everything and wind up this record. There were mainly black people coming into the house and occasionally blazing in the yard. Mostly white neighbors concluded they must be growing and selling weed in there and called the cops. S.W.A.T. team raided the house while the crew was at SXSW in Texas. In chorus Jermaine admits, he actually is selling dope product. He's well aware of cases, where this prejudice escalated and resulted in the death of innocent people. As an illustration he uses killing of Trayvon Martin. Some things you can't escape (in the US)  - death, taxes and a racist society, which makes Cole worry about his own life. Integration certainly didn't have the desired effect people hoped for in the sixties.

 James and Jermain serande their better halfs during pregnancy in "Folding Clothes". They want to make their life easier during these times and future ones too. They take it as preperation for fatherhood.  Both of our narrators notice how soft they are becoming. They dont mind, though. Outro of this song give us another reflection on the hypocrisy prevaling in the hood. Its everywhere - relationships, friendships and (not only) in James's case at job interviews. However he still hopes for a better tommorow. 

 There's new hope on the horizon with the birth of James's daughter. He isn't sure if he's strong enough or even deserves to be a father. James promises to defend her from evil or prepare her for it, as he can't stop everything from happening. So he decides not to celebrate Santa or Christmas, since it is only one of the ways to breed greed in people from childhood. He finally is experiencing the feeling of being needed and wanted for the first time, up until now he experienced the exact opposite. For him his daughter is the only positive thing he ever did. Because of her, he feels alive again, willing to fight for survival and doesn't want to die.

 Just as in sonet, even here comes the denouement at the very end. If the listener didn't quite catch the story behind the album, last and the most emotional song will uncover it for him/her. James is trying to live lawfuly. Though it's hard for the convicted man to find a job. He returns to what he knows, and to what will secure his baby girl for sure. The fear of the forthcoming end has sneaked back again. He knows that if it comes, it will be the consequences of his own actions and the stereotypicaly minded society. Will there be time for him to teach his offspring things he had to learn for himself? What if she finds out about his death from the news? Is she gonna find a man better then himself? Is she going to understand? Perhaps she'll hate, despise or even miss him. James just hopes she won't fall into same vicious circle as him. He is aware of the fact he isn't alive if she listens to this song. Although he would rather if such song never existed and he could be there for her. Still, he begs the Lord not to take him so soon from her. 

  Heartbreaking syntax is closing with J. Cole telling the story of a phone call he once had with James. Jermaine felt the panic in his voice, but his friend didn't want to tell him what was going on. James reminised about the old days, how he admired him for his goals and ambitions since then. He urged the rapper for a first and the only favour. He wanted him to tell his daughter, Nina the story of her father and the reason behind his actions, which (as he phrophesied) lead him to a premature grave. 

 Jermaine Cole did not betray his friend and created a whole album not just for James's daughter, but for all the children, victims of mass incarceration (if you aren't familiar with this topic, check the documentary 13th from the produced by Netflix). Everything finishes with Cole asuring Nina that her father was real. Not because of girls, how hard he was or for the fact he was in jail. Her father was real, because he loved her. 

 Summary conclusion:

 There is certainly no doubt, that the fourth album of native frankfurter is the realest one and for the matter the most personal as well. On 2014's Forest Hills Drive the artist took his listeners on a trip through his life. But this feels even more personal, vulnerable or exposed if you like. Cole, known for preserving his private life, has honored the memory of his late friend in a trully dignified way. 

 I cant shake the feeling we've heard about "James" already in the past (i.e.: "3 Wishes”). But the story of his life with such details had never been completely revealed, if I could put it this way. Now the right time has come to fullfil the promise Jermaine gave to his friend. It's possible, that the trigger could've been the fact of Cole and his wife expecting a daughter themselves. As I did mention before everyone can interpret the record in a different way. That's the beauty in music and J. Cole's work in general. 

Personally, I believe its the story of a rappers friend, parallely complemented by Cole's point of view or his own experiences. As he mentioned himself, even though this was meant for Nina, it is supposed to serve all the children in similar situations. Anyone could identify and learn from it could really. 

 The thing with me is: Being from the Czech Republic, it used to be hard for me to even  understand the words of any lyrics, wether it was pop, metal or hip hop. But in the past years I dug a little deeper. So for me its something still fresh to see all the double meanings or even hidden meanings behind words, whole songs and records. 

 It is part of the reason why "4 Your Eyez Only" is so strong for me. I enjoy his wordplay, despite it being a bit distressing in this case.  My mind is stuck on three  particular cases of such feeling, all in the song "Neighbors".  "Some things you can't escape - death taxes and a ra-cist society..."......marked part about society sounding as it is....but also as N.R.A. - National Riffle Association. A few bars later you can hear no less thought through  homonym - news sounding also like noose. Third case is in the background the repeated words "...don't follow me...", which are inspired by the late Trayvon. It would be foolish to regard to J. Cole as only a storyteller. He's considering each & every element thoroughly and his product is the proof. 

 Which brings me to the sound of the fourth studio record "4 Your Eyez Only". Which, at first, was being created in the afore-mentioned house in North Carolina and its provisional studio called "The Sheltuh". The works have later moved to the legendary Electric Lady Studios based in New York and built in 1970 by the late Jimi Hendrix. Ever since then, it has been used by the likes of Led Zeppelin, Kanye West, Lady Gaga, The Rolling Stones, The Roots, John Lennon and many others, now including J. Cole.  He produced or assisted production with the majority of the record himself. Not shying away from showcasing his guitar playing talents. 

Cole invited for production yet again colleagues from Dreamville Records - Ron Gilmore and Elite - which ,as proven in the past, has worked well. He also invites others such as Childish Major, Boy-1da and Vinylz. It's easy to see that Jermaine likes to work with people he trusts. From wide range of people I have to mention co-founder of Dreamville and manager Ibrahim Hammad, sound engineer Mez, fine-tuning rappers sound for nearly a decade, as well as CharGaux, bringing vocals and strings ever since 2014 Forest Hills Drive. 

 I'm enjoying the jazzy vibe on the album. There might not be a generic club banger for mass-market, but who's to say ,you need one to be succesful. Someone can possibly think that the instrumental foundation of this project is dull, when compared to his previous work. I dare to oppose. In this case, it seems to me that story or message was given absolute priority. It was confirmed to me by Cole himself in the Eyez documentary shot mostly at Electric Lady Studio and its area during the process of making he record. Here he states: "...You get to this point in [your] career, in terms of platform. Next one might go down or it could go up. You can't guarantee to be this high again. While I'm here let me use this opportunity I have to say the realest shit I ever have...". Same "critics" might say that Cole isn't saying anything new. Which unfortunately might be true, but those things are still happening. With that, I do not want to say that the album is weak from the side of lyrics or sound. Actually, it's the very opposite. Everything sounds and feels united and is eloequently illustrating the atmosphere of "4 Youre Eyez Only' filled with emotions. 

I doubt that J. Cole's platform would go down after this work of art anytime soon. He seems to be humble and always trying to become an even better man. If the media and the industry were to cast him away, his devoted fan base, to whom he delivers hope, will support for a long while. For many enthusiats, he's already now immortal. 

#j. cole #jcole #dreamville #4youreyezonly #4 your eyez only