#and she casually said that i was just practicing my exorcisms

[random-mha-thoughts]

Pumpkin Kiss (Monoma x Reader)

Pairing: Monoma x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Prompt: Fall with Monoma, wither, pumpkin pie, hayride (I used all three ayee)

Summary: Class 1-A and 1-B take a trip to the local fall festival where Monoma starts acting more zealous than normal.

Word count: 1,555

Tags: @rintomoj @yamichxn @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: Ahhh the fall entry for the Seasonal Love Event.  With Fall, we’ve reached the last 2 days of the event...  I really hope I did Monoma justice with this, it’s my first time writing a 1-B character, but I tried to inject as much fluff as I could into it so it’s sweet (like pumpkin pie, hehe)

Seasonal Love Event Masterlist

"I think Monoma's being crazier than usual today," Kendo comments, munching on her kettle corn.

"Wonder if he's on edge about something?" Pony also perks up.  There's syrup smudged cutely over her lips from the caramel apple she's eating.  She's in absolute childish bliss picking on it.

"It's probably about you," Tetsutetsu says bluntly, his gaze directed straight at me.

"Why would any of his dramatic episodes have to do with me?" I snort as all of them direct their attention after his remark.

"Because even right now he's staring straight at you from across the field."  Ibara nods her chin over behind me.  "I also believe he must be put off by something."  I don't miss how she mumbles under her breath about him possibly needing an exorcism because of the sudden change.

"I'm really tired of having to chop his ass every two seconds.  It's like he forgot how to act all of a sudden."  The orange-haired girl rolls her eyes and hands me the half-full bag.  "Have the rest, I'm full."

I figured she wouldn't be able to eat all of it.  Kendo openly gaped at how generous the bag of kettle corn was when she bought it and - wrongly - proclaimed she'd be able to finish it.  I was correct to not buy anything and wait for her to give up.

Kirishima strolls over to greet Tetsutetsu with their secret handshake - no one really knows when they came up with such an elaborate routine, it just happened - before flashing his sharp teeth at me next.  "Hey, Bakugou, Sero, and I are gonna go hit up the carnival games, you wanna come with?"

"Sure, I wouldn't mind-"

"Uh, no, I don't think so."

The atmosphere suddenly fills with vexation as we all know who's voice that is.  The blond stomps over from behind Kirishima and crosses his arms over his chest.  How did he even hear that from across the field?  Was he eavesdropping or was he already slowly making his way over like the creeper he's become today?

"(Y/n) doesn't need to be hanging around you pompous, fake heroes."  I can practically hear the way he looks down his nose at Kirishima, thought there's a bit more edge.  "We provide enough company and enjoyment by ourselves, you're not needed."

I want to roll my eyes.  And why should I let this fool decide who I should hang out with?

"Besides, we all wanted to go on the h-hayride together," he concludes, sounding indignant until he stutters.

Monoma stuttered?

"Oh!  I think that would be so fun!"  Pony's eyes shine as she claps in joy.  "That's actually a pretty good idea, Monoma!"

"Yeah, it was the first intelligent thing you've said all day," Kendo jabs at him.

Kirishima shrugs and flashes an unbothered smile at me.  "We can hang another time then.  See you around!"  After bidding goodbye to me and Tetsutetsu, he jogs off to find the rest of his crew.

I whirl onto the blond and point a finger at his face.  "Don't try to control me and my friends, I do what I want."

Monoma flicks his hair casually, disregarding everything I just said.  "But I had a great idea, didn't I?  A much better one than just playing silly carnival games."

"Carnival games are fun, you know!  It's not just sitting on a stack of hay twiddling your thumbs!"

"But it would be relaxing, don't you think?" Pony chirps, her eyes still twinkling at the thought.

I don't have the heart to deflate her excitement.  "Yeah, I guess you're right," is my meek assent.  Though, I don't think it would be ll that relaxing considering the crisp weather we're experiencing.  Relaxation is more for summer I'd say, not fall with the withering colored leaves.

We make our way over to the hayride plain, Ibara deciding to leave in favor of taking some scenic pictures of the surrounding leaves.  There are only two carts and five of us, so we decide to split into a group of three and a pair.

"Kendo's the only one who can handle Monoma, so they should be together," Tetsutetsu suggests.  "I'll go with Pony and (Y/n)-"

"Uh, no way!" Kendo interrupts, a clearly displeased sneer morphing her features.  "Just because I can handle him doesn't mean I want to sit near him for at least 20 minutes."

"I have to agree," the boy in question pipes up.  "Besides, I'd rather be with (Y/n) who's nicer to me."

An unspoken hangs for the briefest moment after he said that, everyone glancing at me before Kendo shrugs.  "Welp, fine by me."

Aw come on.

Before I can complain, the three of them get into their hay-covered cart and get themselves comfortable.

"Shall we get going then?" Monoma questions in his over-dramatic way, sweeping his hand toward our own cart.

"Yeah, let's just get this over with," I mumble.

We mount ourselves onto the wagon.  Some of the hay is soft enough that it doesn't poke into me.  Once the horses start moving, the gentle rocking of the wagon is somewhat comforting.  I try to relax and ignore my partner, hoping he'll get the hint that I don't want him to talk as I lay my back against the floor.

"Pie?"

I peek an eye open to see an aluminum container hovering above my face.  I sit up and stare at Monoma questioningly.  "Where did you get this?"  Judging from the dark orange color, it's pumpkin pie.

"While you guys were discussing arrangements, I bought some for us to eat."  He places it in my lap before opening the clear lid on his own.  "Since you said there was nothing to do on a hayride, I gave us something to do."

Cautiously, I roll up and open the container.  "You didn't poison this, right?"

He waves his hand at me.  "Why would I do that?"

It's not that I don't trust him, I'm just wary of his behavior today and him being kind while choosing me to ride with is slightly unsettling.  Yet, I know he wouldn't hurt me and I appreciate the gesture, so I open it and take a bite.  The natural sweetness of the pumpkin dancing on my tongue while the crust has just enough texture to balance the softness of the middle.

Monoma's eyebrows furrow minutely.  "I also didn't want you to regret riding with me instead of the others."

I raise my own brow.  "I'd only regret it if you started your bullshit."

He levels his periwinkle gaze at me.  "Do you prefer Tetsutetsu and 1-A to me?"

I'm taken back by his question.  "Just maybe for fun, when you're in your moods about them I guess.  You're my classmate, not them.  And Tetsutetsu is fun to hang out with.  I prefer just talking to you like this."

"Oh.  I see."  He looks down at his half eaten pie.

Past his head, I observe a line of pumpkins decorating the road and laugh at one of the more irregularly formed ones.  "Are they sure that's a pumpkin?"

Monoma turns his head around and lets out a chuckle.  "I think the irregular ones taste sweeter."

"You don't say?"

I finish the rest of my own in silence, stealing glances at the boy's contemplative expression. He's actually quite handsome, anyone would fall at his feet if he weren't such an uptight pain in the ass most of the time. Pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty face, even a strong quirk - he just needs to work on his attitude.

"Hey," his head lifts up and meets my probing eyes, only for his words to catch when he notices how I've leaned slightly forward.

The fork still frozen in my mouth as I hold it, I maintain his gaze and hum, waiting for his question.

A sudden brush of pink dusts his cheeks and he rubs his hand. "You said like my company, right?"

"Yeah, I do." My voice gets softer, chest pounding in anticipation for what's coming next.

Monoma coughs with the difficulty of formulating his words. It's endearing to see him struggle instead of being overzealous. "I-I like your company too," he rushes out like ripping off a band-aid.  "In more ways than one.  I'm trying to say I like you."  With every word, his face saturates in more and more color.

A tenderness wells up inside me as I process his confession.  Monoma being out of character towards me proves the sincerity of his words, or at least the fact that his feelings for me are more special than the rest.

In a spur of the moment, I lean over and plant a light kiss on his cheek.  The response I got was priceless: scarlet blood flowing straight to his ears as he clears his throat to regain his composure.  Until he catches me off guard and counters with another kiss that barely misses the corner of my lip, causing my own embarrassed warmth to flood through me and butterflies to gather in my belly.  The sweetness from the pumpkin pie he ate lingers there when I swipe my tongue over to wet my suddenly parched lips.

"So, do we agree to spend more time with each other?" Monoma attempts sounding calm and collected.

I shuffle over closer to him, our fingers brushing together.  "Yes, I'd like that."

Monoma's like that weird shaped pumpkin in a way.  He doesn't present as the best outwardly, but he's sweeter if you decide to take a bite.

#monoma x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #monoma fluff #monoma neito #gender neutral reader #Seasonal Love Event #monoma scenario #monoma imagine #mha monoma #bnha monoma #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #bnha x reader

[razorblade180]

Twin Snowflakes 27:Hill climbing preparations

Part 26 here!<-

Rehearsals were going well. With Darren out of mind and no further incidents, students had gotten back into a steady blow of progress. The band was a little shaky at first but Summer had learned that Nick had a point about her being a bit strict in the beginning. With that hurdle jumped, Summer felt comfortable enough to take a short break. Her feet swung from over the stage's edge like a kid on a swing while she took a moment to call Oscar. It had been a few days since their last check in date. The fact that he didn’t blow her fun up meant his own hands were full. Fortunately, two rings was all it took before his face popped up on her screen, covered in what was hopefully seawater.

“Hi Oscar! Ummm sea life treating you will? You look a little…”

“Wet? Sigh, I can’t believe I’m saying this but I miss the cold of the tundra. All the storms and aquatic grimm yanking me off the boat is getting annoying. Anyways, Penny told me you had a little scare recently? Everything okay?”

“Yes, I think.” Summer rubbed her face. “Well…as okay as things usually get. I do feel better than usual. I’ve gotten to perform quite a bit the last couple days.”

“Really? Did you take my advice by any chance?”

A guilty smile found its way on Summer’s face. She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Nah. I’ve just been singing a couple of covers and a few originals that anyone with a radio has heard. The lyrics in the journal are just that, in the journal. I actually wanted to talk to you about a trick Nick got me to try. You’ve actually mentioned it once before early on.”

“Is that so- woah!” Oscar yelped, nearly falling from the rock of the ship crashing through a wave. “Hehe. Sorry about that!”

“Everything okay over there? I can call later?”

“No it’s fine; just rough seas. That’s good though. Challenging waves and other harsh weather factors have been swelling for quite some time. You’re too young to remember this but Atlas was actually a bit warmer. Hot places were cooler and sailing wasn’t as wild.”

“I’ve heard about that in class. Don’t scientists think it might have something to do with magic being back?”

“Or the gods roaming through Remnant.” He smirked, confident about the latter theory. “Harsh conditions mean it’s difficult to press forward. As if the world itself is trying to keep things away. With a little luck, passing these hurdles are all the answers we need.”

Answers. Summer couldn’t begin to imagine having those. It was more terrifying than reliving if she had to be honest. She wouldn’t know what to do if the gods themselves didn’t know what to do. The only thing worse is them saying she couldn’t do anything.

“Let’s cross our fingers you aren’t on a boat for nothing. Speaking of Shiva, Nick talked me into entering my headspace willingly. I was even able to manifest a shovel in it!”

“A shovel?” Oscar quirked his head.

“Yeah it wasn’t the usual blue empty space. It waslake; the lake as a matter of fact. I chucked a shovel at Shiva and told her to start digging her grave.”

“Nick told you to do that!?”

“Weeeeeeell… he only told me to confront her with unwavering resolve in a way Veronica would. I’m pretty sure that meant being cut throat but I may have defaulted to cock intimidation. Pretty sure I stoked the flames of war. But it felt good!”

The cheerfulness in her tone was genuine. While manifesting and confrontation was something Oscar had tried to get her to do early on, there are ways to go about it. Headspace or not, poking at a beast was always risky. “I’m glad you’re feeling good, but exercise caution. I wouldn’t try that alone. There’s a lot we don’t know about that space. I doubt you can actually die there but if that really is your mind you're traversing then serious backlash might happen if things go wrong. Remember, Shiva has an edge. Don’t let her play you in your own head.”

“Believe me, that’s the last thing I want. I’ll be careful Oscar. Thanks for worrying about me. Couldn’t ask for a better therapist”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Ruby and your dad give some pretty solid motivational speeches.”

Hehe, don’t sell yourself short. I should probably get going. Good luck! Watch the gods tell you to perform an exorcism or drown me in sacred water.”

Oh if only it was that easy. “If she had any signs of a soul I would’ve tried that already. Take care Summer. Call me when you need me”

“You know I will.” She hung up and looked over at Nick. A few of the girls had taken the opportunity to strike up a conversation with him. In typical fashion, Nick just let them fawn in vain. “Geez, take a hint ladies.” She mumbled.

“Oh my gods! I wasn’t aware you could sing!”

“So talented!”

“Can you sing for my birthday!?”

All the back chatter and compliments made it hard to focus on one person. Nick did his best to calm them all, giving a faux laugh and smile. “Hehe, thanks. I can hold a note, I’m not as good as my sister, and I’m way too sheepish to sing at a birthday. Now we should probably get back to working maybe? Practice is almost-” his eyes caught the door entrance before he finished. Valerie had walked in.

As if by will, her head automatically turned to meet his eyes. Valerie couldn’t help but give some kind of disarming smile, giving a small wave that was quickly rejected when Nick went back talking to the people around him. Not even Valerie could deny that burn. She put her hand down before she felt anymore like an edit, walking over to Eliza to get what she had to do over with.

“Hey soldier.”

“Huh? Well look who finally decided to show! I expect more from a representative of this school.”

“Oh brother…” Val couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I’m not even gonna pretend that I’m sorry like I usually do. Look, at least I did what was asked of me. Boiler is fixed for now and there should be no problem getting hot water when the big day arrives.”

“Keep a keen eye on it just in case. I don’t have any time to deal with tiny problems during the tournament.”

“Yeah you and everyone else in this room. Now if you excuse me.” Valerie pointed both thumbs back and tried backing up slowly.

“Hold on…”

“Uuugh. Yes? I got plenty of practice to work on. Make this quick.”

Eliza narrowed her eyes. “Wow, someone is more aggressive than usual. If that’s how you’re going to be then I’ll spare you the lecture. Just know you better be careful or I might pull the rug out from under you this year.”

“Hmph, bold words. You gotta make it to the top of the hill before challenging the ruler. Though you’re more than welcome to kick Nick around and take his spot for all I care. See ya. Just text me the meeting information. Got things to do.” Valerie turned around and headed off. On the way out she saw Summer staring at her with a raised eyebrow from afar. To make matters worse, the cheerleaders moved by the exit. Veronica being among them. Valerie was ready for some kind of sly comment but to her surprise Veronica briefly acknowledged her, nodded, and then went back to what she was doing.

Eliza looked at the time and figured everyone made enough progress for one day. “Alright everyone! You can all start wrapping things up. I’m sure all of you have things to-” the sound of everyone packing their belongings overpowered her voice. “Do.” She finished. At least she could trust everyone to clean up on time. “Nicholas, get your butt in gear.”

“Oh thank goodness!” Nick wasted no time squeezing his way through the girls that lingered around him. “Sorry! The VP calls! Let’s go Summer!”

“Right behind you.” She turned towards the band. “It would be a good idea for you all to practice a little longer. Not because you may or may not need it but because I’ll finally give you room to experiment. Just no funny ideas about adding drum solos.” Summer hopped off stage and headed off, quickly catching up to Nick, Eliza, and Veronica. “Well aren’t we an interesting looking bunch?”

“An idol, witch, heir, and fashion designer. This is the beginning of a bad joke I’d say.”

“Bold of you to call someone a witch when they’ve agreed to help you train.”

“Would you prefer magical girl, or maybe sorceress?” Nick nudged her.

“I prefer my name. However…sorceress is endearing, I suppose.”

“I could call you that while you teach me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She said in a shrill voice. “I’m already regretting this.”

“Well while you two train to death, I’m finally going to get some real shut eye. I can hear my bed calling my name already.”

“Not so fast.” Veronica interjected. “Since we ended up being free at the same time and I have to work a little more diligently…”

Summer didn’t like where this was headed. “Veronica, my hot headed designer, I’m well aware of what it’s like to be a perfectionist. However, please don’t rope me into this.”

All three of them looked at her at once. “It’s your dress!”

“I know that! No need to remind me! I am tired though. It’s Monday, the weekend was crazy, and I just put in a full day of school with extra curricular activities. Allow me two hours at least!?”

“Ugh, ever the whiner. Fine but I don’t want to hear any complaints about design. Most would be thrilled to be heavily involved with their clothing.”

“Well consider this a show of good faith towards your skills.”

The four of them continued to talk all the way to the manor. Eliza tried to stay on important topics while Nick did his best to keep things casual. It never really worked out considering Summer's insistence to not help her dear brother and Veronica’s curiosity about events to come. It was only when the girl’s feline ears twitched by the gate did she begin to quiet down.

“Hmmm?” She stopped immediately.

“Huh? What’s wrong Vee-”

“ACHOO!!!” The girl yelled. The sneeze was so strong Veronica lifted off the ground slightly. “Phew…sorry about that.” She sniffled her loss and continued walking like nothing happened, leaving everyone confused. Veronica was the first to enter with everyone lagging a bit behind. Her eyes looked around until they spotted her mother, Blake, coming down the stairs in casual clothes and wet hair.

“Hey everyone! Finally home I see? And with a friend?”

“Uh classmate. I wouldn’t exac…ummm that’s not important. Hehe, I’m Eliza Marigold.” She stammered. It didn’t really dawn on her that she’d be meeting Mrs. Belladonna herself today. “You look lovely. Though…you look a little red? Are you sick?”

“Oh it’s nothing! Just umm got out of the shower is all.”

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s ma?”

“Out back with Jaune.”

“Really?”

“One hundred perfect!” Blake said, unusually preppy. “Well I don’t keep you kids held up. I’ll be in the living room. Nick, Summer, I think your mother is in the garden.”

“Cool. She must be setting up the candle test already. Follow me Eliza.” Nick took her hand and guided her.

“Think I’ll get lost or something?”

“No, I just don’t need you judging every inch of this place until you find something to criticize.”

“……It’s too bright in here.” She heard Nick snicker at her attempt. “You suck.”

With those two out of the way it was time for Summer to mosey to her room. “Finally, nap time!”

“Don’t you wanna practice too?”

“What they’re doing is something I already know. Besides, Nick and I do most of our practices separate. He’ll get me when he needs me. Wake me up if you need anything.”

Veronica waited for the girl to get out of sight before giving her mom a look meant to inspire shame and embarrassment. “Really? We’ve been out all day ya know? You had plenty of time.”

Blake put her hand over Veronica’s face. “Shush your face. It happens sometimes. Thank you for the heads up.”

“Y’all are gross but that’s nothing new. I won’t mention it again if you could bring dinner up to my room. I’m gonna be spending quite some time in there.”

“Even across the world I guess some habits don’t change. Deal.”

xxxxx

In the garden, Weiss stood on the balcony with a cup of coffee. The sound of footsteps behind her caught her ear. She was more than a little surprised to learn that they belonged to not just Nick. “Eliza?”

“Mrs. Schnee. Thank you for allowing me in your home.” Eliza gave a curtsy.

“How’s your father?”

“Oh you know him, always up to something.”

Weiss wasn’t sure if that was good or bad considering his track record. “I see. Well make yourself comfortable. Nick, everything is already set up. Never would’ve thought this is how you’d try to get this done. Don’t push yourself.”

“Heh, push myself? Me?”

Weiss playfully rolled her eyes and left the balcony, ruffling Nick’s hair on the way out. Nick looked at Eliza confused. “You know you don’t have to be so formal around her, right?”

“Let’s not focus on my speech and pay attention to why we’re here. Anyways, how does this training work exactly?”

Nick walked to the railing to point at the fifteen candles spread throughout the garden. “The goal is to light all the candles at once without burning anything. It’s harder than it looks. It requires timing, speed, accuracy, and control above all.”

“Never took you for one who cares much for traditional methods of fighting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use your glyphs to manipulate the elements.”

“Yeah, because I suck. Summer on the other hand…” He hunched over in defeat. “Not so much.”

Eliza couldn’t help but scan the area multiple times. This couldn’t be all there was to it. Could it? The five candles in the actual hedge maze looked a little challenging, but Nick was…Nick! Despite her reservations about his attitude, he was smart and knew how to work.

“Do you increase the candle amount as you go?”

He nodded. “That’s the natural progression. Summer can do thirty without thinking much about it.”

“Meanwhile you can’t even do half that amount. You sure you’re the older twin?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” He pouted. Nick grabbed his sword and got into his low stance.

“So I’m just supposed to observe you?”

“No. I’m going to need help with the fires too.”

That’s not something she wanted to hear. “Tsk, alright. But first, let me see if I’m able to do it. Wouldn’t be that good of a teacher if I couldn’t.”

She climbed on top of the railing to get a better look. She raised her right hand to the sky and took a breath. Five flames ignited her fingertips as she thought of the best approach. Moments later, Eliza launched all five with a downward swing, another five swing left, then the final five to the right. Each flame danced on the winds below them before finding their targets.

Amazed, Nick’s jaw dropped for a second before saying anything. “First try!?”

“Not exactly. You did say all at once so that may have been cheating. Let me try again.” She wrapped both arms around herself then swung them out, causing a gust of wind that blew out the candles.

Nick watched closely. Breathing, posture, line of sight; anything he could to gain knowledge. Eliza cuffed her hands together. A small flame flickered into existence and grew slowly until it was the size of a baseball. Eliza threw it over the garden underhanded. The moment it reached max height she pushed her hands downwards like if she closed a lid. This made the flame split apart into embers that fell quick enough to reach each candle. Nick couldn’t believe she was two for two.

“Seems I got the hang of it.” Eliza blew the candles out and hopped off the railing. “I’d do it while off the railing but I’m positive we know the results.”

“Yeah no kidding. While I’m lucky I picked the right person to help me, doing that so easily kinda stings. Not gonna lie. You really are a sorceress.”

“Tsk, flattery gets you nowhere. Assume your stance.” She ordered. Eliza kept a close eye on Nick. He opted to square his feet with his shoulders, a sturdy stance for sure. “So far so good.” His blade pointed up and outwards. A red glyph began to form at its tip, conjuring a ball of intense flame that was as big as a softball. Eliza’s eyes narrowed. She could not believe what she was watching. “You’ll miss.”

“Huh?” Nick said, trying to focus.

“If you shoot the fireball then you are going to miss.” Eliza channeled a silver orb in her palm that bursted into shimmering light. Nick’s glyph suddenly vanished and took the fireball along with it.

“Hey! Don’t just negate my semblance out of the blue! I didn’t even shoot it yet!”

Eliza wasn’t sure what she had expected from this training. It was clear now why a talented person like Nick was fumbling. Frankly, it was annoying. Down right inexcusable. Eliza folded both her arms. “You’re so idiotic in the strangest ways possible, you know that right? To think you’re stronger than me?”

Nick huffed. This wasn’t constructive at all. “You gonna actually help, or continue to insult me? If I knew how to do this on my own then I wouldn’t ask for help.”

Nick ran his hand through his tangled hair and let out a sigh. Eliza could tell he genuinely had no idea what was wrong. It kinda got to her. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be picking on you like that. You weren’t wrong to ask for help.”

“Normally I have an inkling of how to progress but I’m hitting a wall. All of this is just…”

“Too much?” Eliza leaned over and thumped his head. “Because it is. That’s exactly your problem. You are doing far too much at once. Why are you trying to do so many steps at the exact same time?”

“What do you mean at the exact same time? All I did was make a fireball.”

Eliza could feel her eye try to twitch. “Okay. I should’ve expected that from you. Guess I’ll teach by showing.” She stood beside Nick and made a flame. “See? Now this is as basic as it gets, just straight up fire. A fireball requires controlling the shape of the flame;maintaining its heat as well.” The flame swirled around itself to make just that.

“Okay? I’m following you so far.”

“If a fireball was all you were making then no big deal. However, I just saw you attempt to make a fireball that has to keep its shape, burn hot enough, long enough, and must be aimed at multiple targets at once. No mind can do all that on a dime. It’s simply too much.”

Nick watched Eliza move behind him, putting her arms right on top of his, guiding his movements as if she was holding his blade. Her chin rested on his shoulder to get a clear line of sight. Nick was no stranger to being led through an attack, but man was it weird to have Eliza this close!

“Ummm…”

“Bear with it and focus.” She uttered, trying not to yell in his ear. “Make a flame. Just a flame. Let it heat swell and dissipate in sync with my breathing.”

“Shouldn’t it be with my own?”

“Not when your heart is beating like a drum. To think Nicholas Schnee would lose composure from a girl touching him?”

“Can’t hear you, focusing.” He was trying anyway. Eventually he managed to slow his heartbeat. He could tell Eliza was taking deep breaths on purpose to help. In sync, he made another fire glyph as she ordered.

“Good, now make it as hot as you want, then make it into a ball.” The flame shaped into the size of a baseball this time. Eliza smiled. “See how easy it is to control the size after you’ve completed the previous steps? You’ll save dust this way.”

“What’s next?”

“Aiming. You already know where your targets are but you also aren’t in a rush. If you need time to make a shot then all you have to do is make the time.” Eliza raised Nick’s sword higher in the air. “Launch it into the air, confirm where you need the fire to hit, then guide the flames to it.”

Nick took a deep breath and launched the fireball ball in an arch over the garden. He waited for it to reach the middle and fall briefly before making it burst into smaller flames that hit the candles. Eliza finally let go so he could pump his fist into the air.

“Woohoo!”

“Don’t celebrate yet, but good job. A moving target would be harder but not impossible. Repetition will allow you to eventually group certain steps together without having to think about it. You’ll get used to making fireballs that are a certain size and speed as long as you allow yourself to process each step as you are now. I noticed you let the fireball fall. Why?”

“I always end up not lighting them all because the fire dies too quickly. I realized the flame wasn’t hot enough the moment I shot it, so I let it get closer to the candles before having to split it up. Good thing you told me to aim higher or I may not have noticed.

“He can process things like that but not realize breaking the steps up will make things easier? How does his brain work!?”

Another gust of wind blew the candles out. “I’m willing to help you further but I think it’s time you held up your end of this bargain.”

“Antsy, aren’t we? Fair enough.” Nick put his sword down and sat on the railing. “What I’m about to tell you is going to make your tournament life a hundred times simpler. This is your second King of The Hill. Remember the rules?”

“Of course I do.” She followed his lead and sat down as well. “All previous tournament and combat skills leading up to the tournament are calculated so they can rank you compared to the other contestants. In order to progress higher you must defeat the person directly above you in the rank to switch places. Those who win are rewarded a reprieve from being challenged immediately to decrease rematches, but the loser can be challenged by whoever is directly below them. Conversely, if you challenge a person and lose, then you have to wait a set period before trying again while defending your current spot. The entire tournament is on a time limit that tests endurance, strategy, and the skills you’ve used all year. The winner is whoever is ranked number one by the end; the king of the hill.”

“Correct! It’s pure chaos. However, you forgot an important thing. You’ve participated once and managed to get third, so that’s automatically where you start.”

Eliza’s eyes lit up. “That’s a rule!?”

“Yep. As long as you still participated in prior tournaments this year, which you have. Congratulations on skipping the taxing part. Now you’re in the grueling section. The only way you go up is through me and Valerie. A slip up could cause you to waste too much energy and that could drag you out of third if you lose or even win against me immediately, because if I get challenged and win, then I can challenge you again before you challenge Valerie or after you hypothetically lose to her. Let that sink in for a moment.”

Eliza could feel her heart drop to her stomach. If she were to beat Nick and lose to Valerie then at best she’s at a third of her strength for a rematch she doesn’t want. Beating Nick was a goal but she didn’t need to do it twice in a day! The worst part is she is at his mercy in this scenario; getting a reprieve only if he needs one. He could very well best her and then she’s even more tired defending third place.

“Is it sinking in? Third place is its own special hell. Let’s knock Valerie into it.” He smiled.

“And how do we manage that exactly?”

“By knocking me into it! I want to take a dive in our match. A good one. The two of us will put on a spectacle to show our might that ends with me losing. This will throw everyone off into thinking you are exceptionally strong and-”

“Are you saying I’m not!” She folded her arms.

Nick chuckled nervously. “Let me finish before you get upset. Yes, you're strong, but will think you’re stronger than me by a decent margin. This is where the mind games kick in because the two of us haven’t actually used that much energy, but the other contestants don’t know that.”

Eliza rubbed her chin. “You…want them to fight you?”

“Exactly. No one's gonna pass up the opportunity to get a leg up on me. You know that better than anyone. Unfortunately for them, I’ll actually be trying against them and I fully intend to go end them quickly. This does multiple things. It makes the gap between the top three look bigger, allows me to stir the lower ranks rotation, keeps you rested, and makes Valerie anxious because you will not immediately challenge her. We are going to burn time until it gets to a point that once she’s knocked out of first, getting back up will be nearly impossible.”

“I fail to see how that’s possible. If she’s rested-”

“That’s just it, she won’t be. You can challenge her freely and not worry about me for most of the tournament. Use the time to learn how to fight her then I’ll challenge you again and win, then immediately go fight her. You’ll briefly be back in third place but fourth place holders will be exhausted and think twice about challenging you, Eliza Marigold; the person who beat Nicholas Schnee.”

“You made a safety net for third”

“I made a safety net for you! I will beat Valerie so she’ll fall to second place and that’s where you jump in to knock her to third. By that point she’ll have to wait and losing twice in a row is gonna give people ideas. Even if she beats them it’ll be a race against the clock and you can challenge me to avoid fighting her if it comes down to that. Boom, guaranteed second place for you with a potential at first place.”

The plan was insane, daring, and yet clearly thought of. “This is…a lot. Not to mention not full proof. What if I actually don’t need you to weaken Valerie and can take first place for myself?”

“Then by all means take it. I’ll knock Valerie to third myself and then fight you. Careful though. If I win you’re stuck with her and plenty of time you have to stall.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “What if I refuse this off altogether?”

“That’s fine. We’ll just all have to do our best.”

“Your entire plan hinges on you beating Valerie. What if-”

“I’ll win.” He deadpanned. “I can take her this year. No questions about it.”

He started giving that same exact look he did a few days ago. “Not that I’m not interested but this feels a little unlike you.”

“Is that bad? People are always saying I’m too soft around Valerie. This is a tournament and there’s no rules against teamwork. You in?”

He hopped down and extended his hand. Nick did his best to seem casual about all of this but it was clear to Eliza he was pretty frustrated at Valerie. It wasn’t her place to pry. If he was willing to go this far then she might as well keep an eye on the entire thing. A chance to progress, and a good event. As long as those two things happened without incident then she had no reason to object. Then there was the other problem. She already helped him train…Eliza shook his hand.

“Glad to do business with you. I guess it’s only fair now that I give you the choice to stop training me. Wouldn’t want this to feel like I’ve gained so much tangible progress while yours relies on-”

Eliza tossed him his sword. “Quit with the chivalrous act. If I don’t train you to my standards then I’m positive your plan is bound to fall apart. Helping you here can only benefit me, or did you already forget I could teach you a thousand ways to improve your glyphs and still even the playing field?” She made another silver orb.

Nick gulped. He actually did forget how big of a pain in the ass it was gonna be fighting her. Semblance training doesn’t mean much if you can’t use it. “Have I ever told you that you can be terrifying and comforting at the same time?”

“Nobility should be just that. It’s why people like your face so much whenever you look like you beat the crap out of somebody.”

“People like my face because I’m handsome!!!”

“Less chitchat. More candle lighting.”

Nick hunched over in defeat. Marigolds, what can you do with them?

#rwby #rwby au #nicholas schnee #summer schnee #oscar pine #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #eliza marigold #val valkyrie #rwby twin snowflakes

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part five Word count: ±4250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part five summary: Sam tries to find out more about Zoë’s past, but when he meets up with his brother again, he never thought he would have to reveal his own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​ and @deanwanddamons​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Paragould, Arkansas      June 16th, 2005 - Five months ago

     A shrill whistle reverberates over the training fields. Children stop in their tracks and run back to the teacher, bursting with energy.      “Alright! Good job, everyone! Red team wins!”            A woman, probably around her thirties, smiles as she is surrounded by her class. Like they always do after practice, they sit down on the grass in a circle, looking up at their teacher, waiting for her to give the cue to head off to the dressing rooms. The sun shines brightly and stands high in the blue sky, shining down on them. Birds chirp, hopping from branch to branch in the trees surrounding the fields, while the American flag flutters from the frontage of a school building.

     “Looking forward to summer break?” the teacher asks, laughing when her question is answered with loud enthusiastic cheer.      “Aren’t you even going to miss me?” she pouts.      “We’ll miss you, Mrs. Dawlson,” one of the little boys speaks up.      More kids agree with him, causing their supervisor to smile, humbled.      “I’m sure you will do fine at Oak Grove, Roy. You’re all going to middle school! Fifth graders already, my boys and girls are all grown up.” She observes her class, pride in her kind eyes. “I tell you what. Next Friday we are going to play lots of fun games, alright?”      The faces of the children light up and they happily beam at each other, already excited for next practice.      Their teacher lets them off the hook. “Be safe, off you go!”

     All get up and bolt for the dressing rooms, challenging each other to get there first. Some squeal and laugh as they play tag along the way. All but one. The joy disappears from Mrs. Dawlson’s face as she watches one of the girls, who slowly strolls back to school. Despite the warm weather, she’s wearing a long sleeved shirt and blue sweatpants.      Mrs. Dawlson sighs, clearly caring too much about her children to let this slip. “Laura?”      The little girl looks over her shoulder, her expression blank. She carries her long, chestnut hair in two braids, her bangs cover her eyes.      “Could you come here for a second?” Mrs. Dawlson asks, gently.

      Laura drags her feet with her head hanging down, like a dog who has done something wrong and is now called back to get punished. The teacher sits down on her heels to level with the little girl, making sure not to talk down to her. But Laura doesn’t look her in the eye and keeps staring at her feet.      “How are you doing, Laura?” she wonders, her voice friendly and calm.      “I’m fine, Mrs. Dawlson,” she replies, politely.      The coach hesitates for a moment, figuring out the best way to approach her pupil.      “Well, alright. But if there is anything you want to talk about, let me know, okay?”

      The young girl looks up and Mrs. Dawlson startles at what she sees. She can detect a dark bruise through her bangs, right above her left eyebrow. With her fingers, she carefully sweeps away Laura’s hair and reveals the injury underneath. Scared, the student backs out and turns her head away. Quickly, but without hurting her, Mrs. Dawlson grabs Laura’s wrist and pulls up her sleeve. What she sees then, would make everyone’s stomach turn; her entire arm is bruised.          “How did you get these?” Laura’s teacher questions, a bit firmer than before.      “I fell,” she lies.      “Tell the truth, Laura. Who did this to you? It’s alright,” Mrs. Dawlson tries to convince her.      “No one! Please don’t tell anyone!” The little ten year old begs as she pulls herself loose.      “It’s safe with me. I promise,” her teacher assures.      “No, I - I can’t,” Laura stammers.

     By now she’s crying. Big tears stream down her porcelain cheeks. It seems like she is going to cave in, but suddenly she turns around and makes a run for it. Mrs. Dawlson lets her go and straightens her back. With a sigh, the teacher places her hands on her waist and watches the girl leave the field.      Disapproving, she shakes her head and closes her eyes, swallowing thickly. “Poor girl…” she whispers to herself.

     Paragould, Arkansas      November 26th, 2005 - Present day

     It’s still early morning when Sam pulls over at 2310 West Kings highway and enters the parking lot of the Ramada Inn. He left Zoë still asleep; apparently she really needed her rest. Last night, he wondered what was going on in her head and what she’s been through, as he went over the database she developed during her years of hunting. He could tell from the file properties that she didn’t just accidentally stumble on a ghost and got curious. He doesn't know the entire story behind her possession, but something happened. Something bad.

     The first file was added over four years ago, containing information on a Diligo Vesco. ‘Diligo’ can be translated to ‘love’ in Latin, ‘Vesco’ meaning ‘eater’ in that same ancient language. A demon who served directly under the devil himself in the early years, one of Lucifer’s creations, if you believe the lore. Not your ‘casual’ black eyed rat from hell, like the ones Dad dealt with every so often. No, this one was much worse.

     The name fits, because that’s exactly what it does; it literally feeds on love, by possessing someone and slaughtering the host’s loved ones. The demon doesn’t just kill them, though. A Diligo Vesco is one of the most vicious and sadistic of its kind. It’s been reported to take its sweet time torturing the victims, before actually killing them. Sam found case reports in Zoë’s database that described the gory details. Limbs severed, organs ripped from bodies, missing parts of the brain. Arson, waterboarding, skinning, mutilation. Ways of torture he had never seen before. One of them was called Blood Eagle, where the demon would cut open its victim’s back, break all the ribs and twist them upwards, giving the poor soul ‘wings’.

     Since the beginning of time, these creatures are responsible for unexplainable and brutal murders within families and close circles. The Ade family murders in 1874, where the children were cut up and set on fire. The Green Family massacre in 1994, in which the mother of three slaughtered her children with an axe. These smart monsters play the game well, framing the vessel for the blood that the demon sheds.

     The Diligo Vesco is only able to show its true face when the host is physically close to someone he or she loves. Until that time it holds on like a leech. An exorcism would be the only way to spare the life of the possessed, but this is where it gets tricky; the demon can only be exorcised when it manifests. By the time a hunter picks up its scent, it is usually too late. Most of the time the damage is done and the thing is long gone. When it does come to driving out the demon, the host nor the exorcist rarely survive. Killing these demons is close to impossible without harming the person it's controlling. Yet this is what his father and Dean must have accomplished, since Zoë is still walking amongst them.

     Curiously, Sam had compared Zoë’s online database with his father’s journal, but the case happened to take place in a period of time from which a couple of pages of the book are missing. Zoë does not elaborate on the details of her own case either, but whatever happened, it triggered her to become one of the best hunters in the country. The list of creatures that she slayed after her possession is impressive. Zoë ended more supernatural spawn from Hell in the past four years than some hunters manage to kill in a lifetime.

     Still pondering over this newfound information, Sam gets out of his brother’s car. On his way over to Paragould, he and Dean talked about this new Sullivan girl. The youngest Winchester couldn't help but to be curious about her motives, her past. Dean doesn’t get why Sam even gives a damn. He said it’s none of their business and if Zoë doesn’t wanna share, why dig further and risk getting your eyes scratched out?

     While rummaging in his pocket, he enters the motel lobby and makes a left turn to the main corridor. The red carpet underneath his feet is stained and the wallpaper has come off at the corners, a sheer contrast to the Hampton Inn, where Zoë is staying. Here, the coffee machine in the hall spits out the most horrendous brew, they need a flashlight in the bathroom because the light is broken and the air conditioning sounds like a generator, but doesn’t actually do jack shit. But then again, he has a feeling that not even a freezer could have cooled down the rabbits inside of room 106.

     Just as he takes out his room key, he sees that he won’t need them; Dean is already at the door with the blonde he picked up the night before.

     “Call me,” she tells him, as she saves her number in his phone.      “I sure will,” Dean smirks.      They kiss once more. Both can barely keep their eyes off each other as the young lady parades away in last night’s clothes with a flustered grin on her face. 

     Sam passes her in the hallway and looks over his shoulder. He can see where Dean’s coming from; she’s beautiful. Dean has spotted the look upon his brother’s face, though.      “Forget it, tiger. She’s mine.”      “Had a good night?” Sam chuckles, hoping he will skip the details.      Dean yawns and saunters back into the room. “Did I have a good night? I barely got a chance to sleep.”      “Okay, already more than I wanted to know,” Sam cuts off, before Dean spills the goods.

     He follows his older sibling into the room, finding one bed untouched and the other a complete mess. An empty bottle of Sauvignon lays on the ground, while a dirty glass still stands on the cabinet next to a half a bottle of Jack Daniels. The window is wide open, the heavy curtains wave in the wind slightly, but despite the fresh air, the room still smells like sex. Seems like they had one hell of a party.

     “Let’s get going,” Sam announces.      Dean looks aside at his little brother, frowning. Since when is Sam the one who gives the orders?      “Already?” he replies, bummed, clearly hoping for a rendezvous.      “Yeah, I found our stuff,” Sam informs.      “Ah, so you found Sullivan,” Dean chuckless, raising his eyebrows.

     Sam huffs and rolls his eyes, but his older brother doesn’t pay attention to it, tipping over an empty bag which once contained potato crisps. Apparently he’s hungry.      “Yeah. It didn’t take me long to find her. Her bike was parked outside a hotel. She’s working a case,” Sam explains, acting casual, but Dean can’t help himself.      “If it didn’t take you long to find our shit, then where were you all night?”      Reluctantly, Sam sighs before he answers. No way in hell his brother is going to respond maturely to what he is about to say.  “I spent the night at her place.”      Dean laughs out loud, throwing his head back. “I knew it! You cheeky bastard!”      “Nothing happened, Dean,” Sam states with a tone.      “Oh, come on. Not even a little smooch?” he teases, but Sam denies.      “A look then? You know, one of those cheesy Notebook moments.”      But again, Dean’s brother shakes his head, although he can’t resist to comment on that. “You saw The Notebook?”      “Well... no. So I’ve heard,” the oldest corrects uncomfortably, quick to turn the conversation back around. “But let me get this straight; absolutely nothing happened?”      “That’s what I said,” Sam confirms.

     After opening a pizza box that - to Dean’s disappointment - is empty, he stops searching for food. Then he turns to Sam, who is clearly annoyed with the interrogation.      “Are your eyes fucked up?” Dean wonders in disbelief. “Honestly, I'm a little disappointed. I thought I taught you better than that. How can you spend the night with a woman like that without making a move?”      “That’s it. I’ve had it.”      Sam squares his shoulders and stares at Dean, furiously. His brother pissed him off, but Dean can hide his victorious grin. For weeks he has tried to push Sam over the edge, to trigger him to let it out. To yell, cry, take a swing at him if that was what his little brother needed to do to feel better. Anything to get him out of the dark hole in which he’s currently hiding up.

     “Did it ever occur to you that I might feel terribly guilty if I would just head off with some girl for a one night stand like you always do?!” the youngest of the siblings exclaims.      “I have no idea, Sam. You never talk to me about it, so how the fuck am I supposed to know how you feel?” Dean bounces back.

     “And you think it’s strange that I don't talk about what happened?! My girlfriend was murdered, Dean! I was going to ask her to marry me, for fuck’s sake!” He pauses, growing even more furious. “I had everything planned out! Law school, Jess, everything!”      By now Sam paces from one side of the room to the other, restless and upset.

     “You were gonna marry her, really? Sam, with your background the chances of the American dream coming true was close to zero. You should’ve known that,” his brother reminds him.      “I was just trying to move on, I was trying to be happy! And you know what? I actually was!” Sam halts in front of Dean and raises his voice even more. “I loved her, Dean! I still do and I can’t get her out of my fucking mind! She died because of me!”      Dean looks at his younger sibling, sympathetically. “Don’t do that to yourself, man. It’s not your fault she’s dead.”      “It is. I didn’t warn her about the danger out there!I lied to her--”

      Sam intends to ramble on, but Dean intervenes.      “- What makes you think that telling her the truth would have made a difference? Whatever killed Jessica, wasn’t just some ghost, Sam. Hey, listen to me.” The older brother grabs Sam’s shoulder and forces him to look down into his eyes. “That same thing killed Mom, and probably a whole bunch of other people. It’s powerful, and if Dad has trouble stopping it, no offence, but you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

     “I’m not talking about stopping him at that moment, Dean!” Sam pulls himself loose and turns away.      An unpleasant silence fills the room as Dean waits for a follow up, but his brother doesn’t continue.      “What then, Sam? Talk to me,” he pleads.

     Again that silence. The younger Winchester doesn’t move and stares at the wall with his hands placed on his waist. He swallows apprehensively, his jaw tensed. Then Sam sighs and turns around for Dean to see his eyes glister.      “I could have prevented it,” Sam claims, his voice soft and broken now.      Dean observes him, thinking through his next question first before he shoots. He has a feeling there’s more to this than just guilt.      “How?”      Sam bites his lip and averts his gaze. Then, after a month of silence, Sam finally opens up to his brother.      “I dreamed of Jessica’s death, days before it happened.”

     Complete silence. While the air grows even thicker with tension, Dean stares at his brother, his eyes confused and stunned. Taken aback, he opens his mouth in order to respond, but can’t find the words he’s looking for.      “Y-you mean, as in… a vision or something?” he returns disbelieving, chuckling nervously.      Sam scoffs as he moves away, ready to leave this conversation already; he knew Dean would respond like this. “Never mind.”      But Dean doesn’t let it go. “You’re telling me that you actually saw Jess die, like she did, in a dream?”      His younger brother halts, turns back slightly and eventually nods his head. “I didn't think anything of it at first. I figured it was just a bad dream. Until…”

     He doesn't need to finish his sentence. Dean says nothing, instead he just stares at Sam. Several thoughts rage through his head. What the hell is going on with him? What the hell could this mean? Why the fuck didn’t he tell me this before? The sheer thought that something might be terribly wrong with his little brother, has his stomach in knots. This isn’t ordinary. In fact, this is as far from ordinary as a human can get. He is stunned and overwhelmed by the idea, but his own brother might actually be something a hunter would keep a close eye on.

     Sam swallows thickly, feeling exposed and embarrassed. “You’re looking at me as if you’re about to empty a bottle of holy water over my head.”      For a moment Dean glares at the flask on the table.      “Dude, you’re seriously considering?!” Sam shouts, frustrated.      “You wanna tell me that this is normal, Sam?!” Dean counters, raising his voice.      Sam shakes his head and turns around, already regretting that he brought it up.      “Why didn’t you tell me before?” the older brother questions.      “I don’t know,” Sam mutters, staring at the ground.      “You don’t know? You’re psychic, right?” Dean scoffs.

     The youngest of the Winchester boys grinds his teeth, but doesn’t say a word. The tension between the two of them is heavy and familiar; it feels the same as when they had the argument before Sam took off for college.

      “Anything else I should know, Sam?” Dean pressures, clearly worked up over this. “I don’t know, maybe you can stop bullets or run super fast.”      Dean steps to the other side of the room with his arms folded in front of his chest, making fun of the situation because he has no idea how else to deal with it.      Sam eyes him, following his movements. “Funny,” he snaps. “Mature, too.”      “It would explain a lot of things. The ‘S’ stands for ‘Sam’ and there’s your love for tights,” Dean provokes.      “Stop it,” Sam hisses, but Dean isn’t done.      “Can you fly? ‘Cause that would be fucking awesome.”      “Dean!” Sam warns mad.      “What?! Either I joke about it or I lose my fucking cool! Take your pick,” Dean returns.      “One way or the other, it doesn’t help!” the youngest exclaims. “You see? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you, Dean! I knew you would give me this kind of shit!”      “What did you expect? You kept this from me for over a month!” Dean brings to mind, hurt seeping past the words.      “I don’t have to tell you everything I go through. I don’t owe you that,” Sam makes clear, venom in his tone.      “And that’s where you’re wrong,” Dean turns to him, pointing his finger as he approaches his brother. “I am your fucking brother, Sam! So yes, you do owe me that!”

     Dean stares straight into Sam’s eyes, his head tilted slightly backwards to look at his younger yet taller brother. Sam can see his words struck a nerve.      “We used to tell each other everything. What happened to that?” Dean wonders.      “It left, along with me.”

     Sam breaks eye contact and walks past him. As Sam bumps his shoulder against his, Dean shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw.      “I know you’re pretty damn good at it, but don’t you walk away from me,” he threatens, not brave enough to turn around to watch Sam leave.      “Why wouldn’t I?” Sam tests, not impressed by Dean’s stern words.      “Because this is not something you can walk away from! When will that finally come to you? When you’re in, you’re in. There’s no way back when you know about the things in the shadows, especially not when you have fucking visions about it!”       Now Dean does turn to face Sam, who scoffs at the message. “So what then, huh?! You’re planning to hunt until you’re in a wheelchair?”       “No, I’m planning to hunt until I finish the job Dad left for us to do and along the way, I will kill as many sons of bitches as I possibly can. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.” He pauses, staring at his brother with fiery eyes. “I intend to prevent people from going through the same shit we’ve had to endure, and if I don’t succeed, I’ll die trying.”

     This time, Sam doesn’t have a counter ready. No stubborn remark, no smart answer, just silence. He’s not sure what to say to that. He has to admit, he respects Dean for his morals, his honor. It gets him thinking, too. About his own future, his own life. Because deep down he knows Dean is right. He can run from the supernatural all he wants, but it will continue to follow him, always and everywhere.

     “Why should we be the one to sacrifice everything?” Sam questions, less hostile than before.      “I don’t know,” Dean sighs. “It’s just the way it is. So we either feel sorry for ourselves, or we suck it up.”

     Sam nods, admitting, but not at all okay with the inevitable. He can never have the life he wishes for. There will always be more to hunt, more to kill; this is a never ending story. And even if he does turn his back on the business for good, will he be able to forget about Jessica’s death? Can he move on without scanning every street, expecting something out of the ordinary around every corner? Right now, actually getting his law degree seems impossible, but then again, maybe he was being naïve when he went to Stanford in the first place.

     “Shall we go?” Sam suggests.      Dean looks up at the defeated man. The peace has returned, but brought a sense of devastation along as well. Accepting his fate is hard on Sam, he understands that. So Dean decides they had enough arguments for one morning and lets it go. He got Sam to talk to him; one step at a time.      “Can’t we stay one more night?” Dean tries, carefully.      Sam frowns, but then understands his reason for hesitation.      “Denise”, he chuckles. “Or Demi? I’m not sure. Her name started with a ‘D’.”      Dean’s typical grin appears on his face again, his eyes still soft, though.

     “Listen, man. I’m not pushing you to hook up with some chick just to mess you up, okay? At some point it’s gonna be time to move on, and I just figured a girl might help with that,” Dean lets him know, somewhat apologetic.      Sam eyes at his brother for a little while with an expression saying something in the line of ‘yeah right’. After a moment of who-gives-up-glaring-first, Dean caves.      “Alright, I wanted to piss you off so that you would get it out of your system,” he admits.

     The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches upward; he knew it. He’s not mad at Dean for playing that card, though. His older brother means well and he actually feels a little better now that he told him what is going on.      “Seriously, man. Talk to me when something’s up,” Dean underlines.      Sam responds with a nod of the head, then he gathers his stuff, apparently intending to leave.      “Ah, come on. One night,” Dean begs.      “There’s something ripping out hearts down in Texas, described by locals as ‘possibly coyotes’,” Sam offers.      Dean rubs his unshaven chin and thinks it over.      “Awesome werewolf hunt or awesome sex? Tough one,” he ponders.      Sam can’t help but smile and waits for the final call.      “Alright, let’s hunt some wolf,” Dean gives in. “Do you need to change in a phone booth before we go?”      Sam gives him a death-stare once again, but his brother keeps a straight face.      “No?” he checks, teasing.

     Dean can’t wipe the comical smirk off his face and so Sam shoves his brother towards the door, triggering him to let out a laugh. Before he follows, the younger Winchester feels his pockets for his phone and freezes. Unpleasantly surprised he looks around.      “Lost something?” Dean wonders.      “I think I left my Blackberry at Zo’s,” Sam realizes.      “Naturally,” Dean chuckles, failing to believe he didn’t leave it there on purpose.      “Would you quit it already?!” Sam returns, feisty.      “Okay, I’ll stop,” Dean promises. “We need to score some food anyway, I’m hungry.”      “There’s a In-N-Out a block from Zoë’s hotel,” Sam mentions.      Dean’s eyes light up, imagining the food in front of him already. “A Double-Double it is.”

     Sam grins as Dean picks up a small duffel containing only the few things they carry around at the moment. He follows Sam outside, who locks the door behind them. A quick bite before they leave another town and move on to the next. They never stay long, but the last two stops have been extremely short. Dean likes Denise, or whatever her name is, yet he has never been the guy who sticks around long enough to get serious with a girl. To be honest, a wolf hunt already sounds more fun than doing the girl he already did last night. After that shapeshifter drama, and now this newfound information about Sammy, he’s up for something equally exciting and distracting. Dean is sure of it; Texas, here they come.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter six here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean angst #Sam angst #Supernatural OFC series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #stss #Kate Huntington

[stusbunker]

What Lingers Within: Three

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Past Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Written for: @thisismysecrethappyplace​

Word Count: 2316

Amazing Beta’ing by: @itmighthavebeenintentional​

Aesthetic and preread by @thoughtslikeaminefield​

Summary: Sam and Dean leave the reader in capable hands, but she doesn’t stay put.

Series Masterlist

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               Dean was waiting for Sam to tell him to leave. They sat in the living room nursing beers and zoning out to a college football game. Her cousin, Michelle, remembered him, barely, but it helped establish a nearly tenable foothold into her life. Their hostess left them to check on her before calling it a night.

        They were completely out of their element now. Dean felt Sam’s discomfort like he felt the pull to her side, each their own piece of himself: empathy and reflex. But Sam held his tongue and for that Dean was grateful.

        Unceremoniously, they crashed on the coaches, backs protesting all the while. Soon Sam’s snores muted the peaceful country noises. Dean couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to. She was so close he could almost smell her and yet he felt farther from her than he had since the day he had set her free.

        He just needed to make sure she was settled, able to ward off your run-of-the-mill monsters and then they’d be off.  Never to darken her doorstep again. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

*^*^*^*^

        Her little second floor walk up was shabby enough to be affordable and out of the way enough to be secure. The peeling white paint seemed to collect with each trip up the back steps. Dean brushed the remnants off the landing with the side of his boot as he knocked. He gave her a minute before bending down and snagging the spare key beneath the cracked planter, the dahlias had started to wilt with the autumn nights, but he knew she wasn’t going to scrap them yet. The old lock protested the force he used but gave in soon enough.

        He called out, finding her bag by the door, but little else to indicate she was home. That old familiar panic started to creep in as he came upon the abandoned living/dining room.

        “Honey? You home?” he sing-songed. “It’s me. I left Sammy at Bobby’s, hoping you’d--,” he broke off as he saw her bedroom door open a crack. “Have some time off.”

         He tapped the door wider, peaking around the frame. That’s when he spotted her, feet hanging off the end of the bed, shoes still on. She was drooling face down, pillow held tight in her arms with one of his old flannels spread out over the pillowcase, cradling her cheek.

         His breath caught in his chest, it felt like he was seeing something that wasn’t yet meant for him. A gift he had to wait to unwrap, but how he itched to. The way her lashes landed on her rounded cheeks; her lips open with the peaceful rhythm of her breath. Steady and serene. How’d he get so lucky?

         With practiced care, Dean slipped her shoes off her feet, setting them down so as not to wake her. Then he shrugged out of his jacket, since she was pinning all her blankets beneath her, and draped the heavy canvas over her torso. As quietly as he found her, he let her be, busying himself in the kitchen while she rested.

        She rushed out of the bedroom with his jacket an hour later, voice cracking in excitement. Dean thought his heart couldn’t stand much more aching fullness. She threw herself against his chest, smashing his ass against the edge of the counter as she scaled him like a tree. He’d craved how she used her whole body to love him, never dainty or timid. Before he could mention dinner, she was stripping him right there against the laminate.

        That was the day she gave him his own key.

^*^*^

               You woke up to an actual rooster crow, which was deceptively before sunrise. The wooden floorboards, worn and frigid beneath your feet. After creeping down the stairs to the bathroom you decided to poke around for some coffee. Overly aware that Dean and Sam were only a breakfast table away from your early morning sneaking about; you tried to be as quiet as possible. It didn’t work.

               “Hey---what are you trying to do?” Dean stage whispered over the edge of the couch. His hair fluffed at an angle and his face scrunched against the brightening day. You hated how cute he looked in that moment and replied justly.

               “Making coffee, butt out.”

               He licked his lips and cocked his head. “It’s in the pantry. Michelle gave me the heads up, figured I’d be up first.”

               Right, of course she did. You didn’t reply but stormed over to the sliding door off the kitchen and whipped it open, hundred-year-old tracks be damned. You woke Sam and didn’t bother feeling bad about it. He was involved with this fuckery too. Now that everyone in the direct vicinity was up and glaring at each other; the coffee took no time to brew. You let them serve themselves as you sat on the far end of the table, staring into the hazy morning across the hills to the east. You had a speech rehearsed, though now were too annoyed with their stupid faces to converse with them civilly. Instead, you stewed.

               Naturally, Dean sat down next to you, shoulders hunched over his coffee, toeing the line of being in your bubble. He still smelled like the leather of the car, maybe it was just his scent. You tried not to think about how soothing it was and took a long pull from your mug to stop yourself from letting go of your anger.

               “I almost forgot you’re less of a morning person than me,” Dean said as if to himself, the smirk evident in his words.

               “Yeah, well, it must be nice to know so much about me. Some of us don’t have the luxury,” you snipped, pulling your knees to your chest as you balanced against the back of the old chair.

               Dean sat back, turning his entire body to yours. “Fair enough. What else do you want me to say? I’ve apologized.”

               Your head snapped up, eyes boring into his earnest gaze. “I want you to fix me. My memories. I want it all back, Dean.”

               Sam cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that’s possible. Cas, the angels, none of them are like they used to be.”

               “He should at least try and call him,” you said to Sam pointedly about Dean.

               “Oh? He should, should he?!” Dean bit back. You hugged your knees tighter and glared at him, but something slowly unraveled within, as if he was a forgotten language you were deciphering. He was willing you to understand. You felt his frustration and his annoyance with you and himself, it came off him in waves. It felt so close to how you felt that you didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at him. God it was like he was inside your head, feelings that in tune came from somewhere, somewhere bone deep.

               “You need to stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, collecting the hair on top of your head into a rushed ponytail. “It’s too familiar.”

               “Like what?” Dean tried to brush it off.

               “Like that,” Sam agreed. Dean pursed his lips and gave Sam the stink eye. “Look, I’ll call Cas. But we are going to head out, let you get back to your life. Michelle said you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

               “Right.” Dean stood, pushing in his chair. He dug in his inside pocket for a card. “Look, if anything comes up or Cas doesn’t show in the next few days--- call me. I put Sam’s number on there too, just in case. In the meantime--- keep salt with you and uh, maybe brush up on your exorcisms.”

               You laughed mirthlessly until you realized he was serious. You swallowed, feeling his fingers brush against yours as you plucked the tiny card from his outstretched hand.

               “Tell me you’re going to be alright,” Dean whispered, looking at you through the lush foliage of his lashes.

               “Only if you can say the same,” you challenged, climbing to your feet. Dean shook his head and rubbed his lips. “Don’t think about disappearing for good. We’ve got beef now, buddy.” You pointed at his chest vehemently with his card.

               “Is that what it is? Awesome, really needed another nemesis, didn't we, Sammy?” Dean looked over his shoulder to realize that his brother had left you two alone, again. The infectious grin softened as he caught up to what lay under all your bravado.

               “Go on, I’ll be fine.” You rubbed your upper arms against the drafty kitchen. Dean didn’t say anything, he simply leaned down, lips barely a breath against your temple. Just when you didn’t think you could keep from touching him, he was gone, turning out of the kitchen and through the mudroom. Minutes later the rumble of the Impala disappeared over the hills. He hadn’t looked back.

^*^*^

               Three days at your cousin Michelle’s, and you were already itching for the city. No word from the angel meant you were slowly going out of your mind with boredom. Eventually, you came to the decision to clean out your cubicle. You wouldn’t face the constant scrutiny from your coworkers after everything that had happened from Chase’s death to Katelyn’s arrest at your apartment. One last rodeo and you’d be able to move on. Again. Always moving passed one hurtle or another, never stable, constantly in flux.

               Nervously, you climbed into the passenger seat of the old pick up. It had been years since you’d been to the farmhouse, since before your aunt and uncle had become snowbirds, leaving it to Michelle. But you knew every dip in the road out of the valley, the grooves in the earth held more pieces of your past than your mind seemed to anymore.

               “You gonna call him?” Michelle asked, overly casually.

               “I’m gonna give his buddy another day or so and then--- maybe?” You landed heavy on your own doubt.

               “He seemed like he misses you,” she added gently, not taking her eyes off the road.

               “Yeah, well, that sounds like it was his choice,” you tried to be flippant. Neither of you bought it.

               “Still, couldn’t hurt, especially after the last one,” Michelle kept digging.

               “I’m positive it still would hurt, Chelle,” you shifted, throwing your feet on the dashboard and leaning against the quilt covered bench seat.

               “His brother single?” Michelle tried to mask the tease in her tone.

               You couldn’t hold back the chuckle at her change of topic. “Do you want me to call him for you?”

               “He like older women? I’ve gotta have ten years on that one,” she shrugged, half considering it.

               “Couldn’t hurt,” you threw back, the mood salvaged as the truck crawled into the thick lines of traffic.

               It was just before quitting time when you arrived at work, stopping first by the copy room for a spare box to clear off your desk. You stacked the remaining reams of paper onto another box when you heard a dramatic gasp.

               “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Oh my god, how are you doing? We heard what happened, or some of it. Can you believe they let her out on bail? Not even twelve hours and she was free as a bird,” Gracie had yet to pause for air.

               “I’m sorry, what?” You interrupted.

               “Yeah, Katelyn’s out. Something about evidence tampering or false statements from someone they couldn’t locate after the fact?” She looked apologetic; it wasn’t enough. Everything in your stomach seemed to plummet to the floor.

               “Have you seen her? Has she been back?” You tried to remain calm, it didn’t work.

               “What? No! God, that’d be rich if she showed up here. I think the upper ups were notified and then it kind of spread like wildfire. Roy is filling in this week until they bring somebody in from another branch.”

               “Roy? The DM?” You felt ill.

               “Yeah? Who else, I mean, no one else has access to everything Katelyn did,” Gracie said it like you were an idiot. There was only one person Katelyn would have done what she did for, and he was sitting in the office on the other side of the wall. You had to get out of there before he saw you.

               “Look, do me a favor? Don’t mention I was here? It was just too soon, ya know?” You tossed the empty box back onto the stack. You eyed the doorway and tried to make a quick exit strategy.

               “You’re kidding? You just got here. Everyone wants to see you!” Gracie insisted.

               “Yeah, about that--- don’t really want to be the center of attention. Or cause for alarm. Just, give me like ten minutes and you can tell anyone anything. Deal?” Your eyes kept darting about the space, hoping to make it clear of the large open plan office before anyone else saw you.

               “I guess--- Wait! You’re scared, aren’t you? What’s the matter?” Gracie stepped closer and did a terrible job whispering. “Is it Roy?”

               “Gracie, listen. I’ve had a terrible week. I can’t right now,” you gave up and just walked away, head down, slinking around the bend for the exit. The same door you stepped out of to find Chase’s bloody body a week before. The yellow tape was still fluttering in place as you booked it down the alleyway, away from your office. Just before you made it back to the street, your phone buzzed.

              >Everything alright? It was Michelle. 

You exhaled in relief and rounded the mouth of the alley to meet her out front. Before you made it to the corner, a grating voice called your name. Katelyn. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, but as you contemplated ignoring her, a shadow stepped into your path. A heavy hand fell over your mouth before you could scream.

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General Tags: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @foxyjwls007​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008​ @princessofthefandomrealm​                              @wingedcatninja​​

Series Tags: @tiggytaylor​​  @vicmc624​

^*^*^

Read On: Chapter Four

#what lingers within #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #reader insert #amnesia #dean angst

[insert-witty-comment]

Chapter 1- Prayers to the False God. February 9th, 1925 Saint Michael’s Home for Boys Hampstead, London. I was a quiet child growing up. I was a foundling. Found one morning on the doorstep on a January morn in 1915, or so the nuns tell me. I grew up in England. From the time I was an infant, I knew I was different. When I was younger, before the abuse began, the Nuns would talk about the golden rule. That we needed to treat each other as we wanted to be treated. I, personally, did not believe that first part. I knew I was meant for more than dreary orphan halls, secondhand clothes, and a greatness few of these brats would know. I knew this because the little voice told me. The voice didn’t talk to me all the time, and sometimes went months without even interacting with me. But, it did give me impressions about my surroundings and the other orphans. This meant that I preferred talking to the little voice instead of talking to the other orphans. When the voice was silent, I would practically live in the library. The little voice had taught me to read by the time I was three. The voice also acted as my conscience of sorts, teaching me when and when I shouldn’t do something. The Voice didn’t speak to me, no, it just gave me impressions. Wrong and Right, feelings that felt like praise, and joy when I was doing things properly. These feelings helped me, and gave me something to hold unto as the Voice came and went as I got older. My social reclusiveness led me to be bullied by the other children at the orphanage. There were a few moments that stood out. The first was the week Tommy Michaels killed my pet. I had a hamster, the nun’s allowed us to keep small animals in our rooms as long as we kept their cages cleaned and fed and watered properly. Tommy was a vile child. We had never gotten along, and when I was seven, my hamster escaped. It returned to me piece by piece. His legs, one after the other. Then his torso. Day after day. Until one morning I woke up to his furry brown head on my nightstand. That morning at breakfast his smirk told me everything I needed to know. That day, in our playroom, Tommy taunted me about the death of my furry companion. I proceeded to lose my mind. It felt like a dam burst somewhere deep inside me. A wave of light surrounded my palm, and a shimmery blast of emerald light exploded out of it. Tommy was catapulted into the wall of the playroom and fractured his leg. I was sent to bed without dinner. The voice had wanted me to kill them. The next morning, I looked in the mirror. I noticed that my normally blue eyes had turned a startling bright, vibrant green overnight. When the nuns noticed, that was the first time I was locked in a closet and forced to pray for my sins. For my eighth birthday, I had my first exorcism performed on me. For Tommy’s, he got adopted. I found out after some experimentation, that I could make things happen. I could levitate and move objects with my mind. I could force someone to tell me the truth and knew when they were lying. I had learned to read early, and frequent trips to the library led me to discover and cultivate a passion for reading. I dove into the classics and the new. I was particularly drawn to fantasy novels for some reason. I knew what I could do was magic, or something similar. The voice had told me this, and it was always right. Those works of literary masterpieces, and a restless urgency from the voice, gave me an impetus to learn all I could about my new abilities. It all made sense, from a literary perspective. I was the downtrodden orphaned magic user. Voice was my version of the Blue Fairy. Of course I’d be the hero in my story. Meanwhile, as I practiced my newfound abilities, my hair changed from blond to the same emerald shade of green. The nuns took offense to this, they called me a devil, or a demon; Insisted on praying over me and forced me to learn their scriptures in hopes of drawing out the demon they swore lived in my body. It might have been a self fulfilling prophecy, but I drew special motivation for training when they screamed Exodus 22:18 in my face. My life became hours locked in a closet that was barred with planks, or chairs. Filled only with mental conversation. That was more me talking and the voice giving impressions of sadness and helplessness that only served to add to my drive to train, to become more powerful. This was how my life was for those three dark years. I’d attend the trivially easy school they had in the mornings. Then, I spent my afternoons having the bible literally pounded into my skull on a few occasions, and my evening’s were passed by sneaking out to the small green grove near the woods, experimenting with my magic or powers. I’d earned quite a few scars over the years from the nun’s tender mercies, and slowly, began to resent them and the religion they tried to literally cram down my throat. I certainly wasn’t the only orphan they did this too, but I was definitely one of their favorites. One day, I had enough of the endless lectures, of being locked away for hours, or deprived of meals for some perceived slight against their God. The Voice was urging me to get me-us out of this mess. When the nun’s decided they had enough of my “devilry.” and decided to lock me in the prayer closet overnight one evening, I turned the tables on them. I broke the ropes they had bound me with. Then I locked them in the small room where I’d spent so many hours forced to pray to a deity, I frankly had my doubts about. Usually they left me with a candle. I didn’t grant them that luxury. I forced my magic to hold the door, and then let them stew for a few hours. They stopped trying to “convert” me after that, and I was allowed to eat on a fairly regular schedule. This continued until shortly after my tenth birthday. It was Monday, and I had settled into the library. My homework was arrayed before me, and a day of pretending to care about basic sums and Latin awaited me. Some things, I instinctively knew, or the voice did. I wasn’t sure which. That was where Sister Agnes found me. She approached me as she always did, an aged leather hand clutching a wooden crucifix attached to the matching rosary in one hand. A glare on her face, and a murmured prayer on her lips. She was one of the oldest nuns at the orphanage and was convinced that I was the devil incarnate. She was one of the nuns that had led a crusade to remove the so-called demon from beneath my skin. “Good day sister, what prayer are you muttering to the false god today?” I asked with a sneer. Okay, so I’d learned to play up to the sisters. Sue me. “Stephen, there’s someone here to see you.” She said, a look of fear on her face. Her back was straight, and her posture stiff. I looked up from my compendium on Latin. That was certainly odd. I had no known associates in this life. I also knew that I was growing into the age where it would be harder for me to be adopted. I wasn’t concerned with that reality. I had my own plans for what life would entail after I aged out of this place, if not earlier. “A prospective mother.” The nun said. “Just the mother? Where's the father?” I asked. “He’s attending to other matters. You’ll only be meeting the mother today.” She replied, “come on boy, before I drag you by the ear.” She said, and I closed my book. I followed her into the office that the nuns used for administration. Mother Superior sat at the front of the desk, and seated in front of it was my prospective parental unit. I took a seat, and Sister Agnes left. The woman was dressed casually, in a dark blouse and skirt. Her hair was pulled up in a severe bun. She didn’t wear much jewelry. A string of pearls, a single diamond ring on her finger. When she turned her gaze on me, I instantly felt a tingle come across my skin. I could feel the magic practically pouring off this woman. It was the first time I’d met someone else magical, and a weight I didn’t know I carried felt like it was lifted from my shoulders. The voice was excited too. “This is the boy?” She asked. Her tone was grim. “Yes, just as you wanted, an older child, independent. Smart.” The nun said. The woman sniffed. “His hair?” “Not a clue. The boy is quite adventurous. He just showed up one morning with his hair like that. Don’t worry, he won’t be doing that again. ” The nun replied. “I should hope so.” The women remarked with a murmur. “Stephen, my name is Bethany Andrews. If you’d like, I’d like to adopt you. My husband wants a son, and I am unable to conceive.” She said. Mother Superior gasped, and I gave the matron an innocent look of curiosity. We learned quickly in the orphanage, and I admired Bethany for how blunt she was. I looked into her eyes. There was something about her gaze that seemed to pull me in. “Careful boy, you might not like what you find if you keep looking.” A voice in my head said. Her voice. I gave her a startled look, and recoiled visibly, almost knocking over my chair in the process. and she smiled softly, a knowing glint in her eyes. I nodded once, and the woman smiled. “Fantastic!” Mother Superior said elatedly. “I’m sorry you’re leaving us child, I hope you’ll carry the lessons we taught you in your new life.” I looked at the matron. “Mother, I appreciate how you’ve treated me over the years, and I hope someone will return the favor to you one day.” I replied with a too-sharp smile. She faltered for a moment before she spoke again. “Good! I’ll fill out the paperwork while you go pack your things.” She said. I nodded. I knew there had to be other people like me out there, people with magic. There always was in the books, after all. My plan was to find them after I left the orphanage. I needed to learn more about these abilities, how to use more than the paltry telekinesis than I currently had access to. I went back to my room and grabbed the few belongings that I had. I didn’t have much, a few sets of threadbare clothes. A stuffed bunny; A couple of shells from souvenirs at the beach; The one trip we had made there. I shuddered as those memories came to the forefront of my mind. Lingering hands belonging to old men who had no place touching younger boys in those places. Memories I squished down. I quickly packed it all in a rucksack and went back to the office. Bethany had finished the paperwork. She grabbed my hand, and we walked out of the front. A car was waiting for us. It was a gorgeous piece of engineering for the time, painted a shiny silver. I recognized the hood ornament, and realized this car likely cost more than the orphanage’s yearly budget. The rear doors of the car opened, and we got inside. As soon as we settled, the car roared to life and took me away from the dreary orphanage forever. Okay, so, this is actually a completed work. I’m just trying to get that ever elusive exposure. If you like this, reblog, and I’ll post the second chapter, in a week, or a year, or whenever I get back to tumblr.

#web serial #Web Fiction #urban fantasy #fantasy #steampunk #fantasy serial

[al-n-cartoons]

The Multiverse in a Blender, Chapter 2 Part 3

       So I grabbed my parts, and I made to depart."

       "Wait, what was that about being strapped to a table?" Dipper asked. Dexter wrinkled his nose, comprehending the meaning.

       "Everybody!" Ben called, either ignorant or ignoring the undertones.

      "Oh, things couldn't be worse,

      When your job's to save the universe,

      Oh, things couldn't be worse!

      When your job's to save the universe."

       "I'm next!" Rex claimed, not waiting for the microphone before beginning. His voice was a lot less practiced, and a little offbeat, but he seemed to enjoy the activity no less.

       "My name is Rex, Rex Salazar,

       If you ever visit, you'd see I'm a star,

       A medical miracle, though it left quite a scar,

      My parents exploded and my world was marred."

       "Geez, heavy much?" Zak remarked, "I thought this was just supposed to be a way for us to get to know each other in a casual setting."

       Rex shot him a look, and continued, "To celebrate my surviving,

      By brother went far,

      I got amnesia and enough bots in me to fill a jar!" He yelled the last line, incredulous.

      "Ooh, my turn!" Steven shouted, startling Connie and Danny, for they had been rather close.

       "My name is Steven, Roze's sole child,

        I'm in love with nature, and filled with much guile,

      My mom isn't real, but her failings she left piled..." Connie frowned, bringing her boyfriend into a tight hug.

       "Oh no...?" The others chorused, uncertain.

      "I've been accused, abused, misused, to clean up her mess,

       And after all that I've done, I still get no rest."

      "Oh, things couldn't be worse,

      When your job's to save the universe.

      Oh, things couldn't be worse,

      When your job's to save the universe."

      Steven offered the acoustic device to the others, but Zak raised a questioning hand, "Wait, so...what exactly did Rose do?" He asked, well intentioned.

      "Oh, um...she was actually Pink Diamond." Their gazes still lacked understanding.

       "She and her sisters invaded earth to rob it of its worth.

       ....she controlled a war from both sides and killed millions."

       "Oh. Yikes." Danny was the first to comment.

       "Yeah, no competition, your mom's easily the worst." Ben agreed. He turned towards the four sisters, "Ladies, did you want to go?"

      "The product of love, our father created us," sang Blossom sweetly,

      "The first was departed, far from all others," Bliss sang, a little bitterly, "so wild her powers and unkept her prowess."

      "We've fought countless battles, each worse then the last," Buttercup spoke rather than sang, her voice a natural rasp.

      "The joy of the fight! Many victories are past." Came Bubbles' shrill squeals. Her singing capabilities were easily the worst out of all participants, but at least she rhymed.

      "Honestly, we're so awesome that it's almost embarrassing, our enemies are never able to put up much of a fight for too long." Buttercup detracted, flexing her muscles.

      "So many seek help, crawling to our feet,

       For they know for certain, our foes we'll defeat." Blossom finished. Bubbles spun quickly, shoving the microphone a little too brashly into Dexter's arms.

      Flushing in frump but not willing to make a seen, he straightened up and began. His voice, per low confidence in his singing capabilities, was hushed, "Mine family is new, I haven't been there long,

       The last fosters hadn't held strong,

       'Too many eruptions, explosions, destructions!'

       So strange were they, my daily constructions."

       He turned once his lines had finished, his face nearly matching Blossom's silken locks, Dexter rammed the device into Zak's gut with the force of a starting out football player, causing the recipient to gasp.

       "Geez-Oh, things couldn't be worse,

      When your job's to save the universe.

      My family is great, I must attest,

       But to my origins I must protest,

       In my soul, a demon took rest,

       And no existing exorcism met much success.

       Born with an affinity for the abnormal,

       My job is great and not very formal,

       The main job done, the wretch is defeated,

       Though our past battles had always been heated." Dipper eyed Zak cautiously, but was put at ease by his sister and Ben.

      "Oh, things couldn't be worse,

      When your job's to save the universe.

      Oh, things couldn't be worse,

      When your job's to save the universe!"

      "That leaves me, me ME!...and also my bro." Mabel said, flapping both arms in the air like a waterlogged bird.

      "My name's Mabel, we were quite tardy!" She had taken to using a British accent for this line.

       We were so late, here at this party,

      But we knew that something was wrong, regarding-

       Our world as we knew it seemed to change,

       We thought it was pretty–very darn strange,

       And it was! We were right, we weren't deranged,

       We also thought some plans we could arrange."

       "She..uh, you didn't do it right." Danny piped up, "How did you effect the world? How was your old life? Does anything stand out to you?" He offered, more kindly and a little embarrassed by his abruptness.

       "Danny." Ben interrupted, although the tune had slowed to match the pause. "It's okay, if they want to tell us, they will. If they don't, they won't."

#ben 10 omniverse #ben 10 #The Multiverse in a Blender #Rex Salazar #Zak Saturday #Dexter #Steven Universe

[the--sad--hatter]

Name Calling (12)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST.

DESCRIPTION -  In which the ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on how much you would enjoy it.

MASTERLIST

Chapter Twelve - Blue Moon

You woke up naturally, no life monitors beeping at you, people coming to check on you, nightmares thrusting you from your rest or Russian Spy’s lounging on your bed. It was a nice change of pace and it was responsible for your great mood, solely responsible. The happiness you were experiencing had nothing to do with your late night rendezvous with Bucky in the kitchen.

“Friday, play something fun and loud for me please?” You asked with a grin.

The opening notes of Shoot To Thrill began to play loudly and you started shaking your hips, which was easier said than done when you were still lying under a duvet. You dramatically threw the covers off yourself and got up, letting the music feed your stellar mood as you rocked out and danced your way through a shower. You had successfully locked away all the bad feeling yesterday had brought, pushing away the sadness and anger over your birth parents into a box in your mind.

Friday kept the music coming, running through a playlist of rock songs you’d come to love through Tony as you dried your hair and dressed yourself.

“You’re the best Friday.” You told her as you left your room.

“I am well aware but thank you for noticing.” She replied.

You chuckled as you made your way to the kitchen, trying to identify who was making banging noises.

“Steve!”

He crossed the room in a few large strides and engulfed you in a hug. You wriggled your arms out of his tight grasp and wrapped them around his tiny waist. The hug went on a little longer than you expected and you awkwardly patted him on the back.

“You alright there Cap?” You asked in concern.

He pulled back and looked down at you, his expression fretful.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry I had to leave before you woke up, I didn’t want to.”

“Hey, it’s ok. I understand. Besides, it was only a small knock to the head. Everyone is making a far bigger deal out of this than they need to.” You bemoaned.

The concern your team mates had for you was nice, you appreciated knowing they cared but it was getting a little over bearing. Steve picked up on your frustration and stepped back, dropping the subject.

“I don’t think anyone else is up. Want to join me for a run?” He asked.

“No, not really.”

“It will do you some good.” He offered.

“But cardio is evil and you’re really competitive.” You whined.

“What if we did our run out of the compound?” He offered.

You were enticed by the offer, which is why he had made it.

“Alright, I’ll go change.” You grumbled and stomped back to your room.

You quickly changed, throwing on your falcon shirt and a pair of sweats. You figured if Sam wasn’t there in person he could be there in spirit. You met Steve in the hallway and he threw his arm around your shoulders and led you out of the compound gleefully.

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

Natasha washed the blood of her hands with a stone cold expression. The “package” that the Captain and Barnes had picked up for her hadn’t taken very long at all to break.

What she had learned from the now whimpering mess of a man had been troubling and she wasn’t looking forward to telling Stark. She had however been given a new lead and didn’t plan on telling Stark anything until she had the full story.

It would have to wait though, she had other plans to put in motion today. Just because her Kotonok had other things going on it didn’t mean Natasha was going to give her a break.

Picking up her phone with now spotless hands Natasha sent off a text with a scheming smirk.

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

The run had been torture but it had been worth it to see Steve’s petulant expression when you overtook him. He had grown more and more irritated when he couldn’t take back the lead. He really was competitive. You had raced all the way back to the compound, reaching the doors a few seconds before the blonde super soldier with a jubilant victory cry and making a mental note to have Friday send the security footage the Sam.

You dragged yourself into the kitchen after your second shower, your muscles screaming in protest. Steve chuckled with vindictive amusement. You let him have it, you were faster but he had much higher stamina and was already recovered. You threw yourself onto a stool and whined in pain as Steve slid a plate over to you. You shook your head in wry amusement at the smiley face drawn onto the pancakes.

Taking a large bite you groaned.

“Even chewing hurts. How do you do that every day?” You asked.

“It gets easier the more you do it. I don’t normally run twelve miles though.” He admitted.

“Me either.”

“Clearly.” he noted.

Your phone pinged with a text message and you shovelled another mouthful of pancakes onto your fork with one hand while you checked the message.

Natasha: Meeting room three, now.

You groaned and swallowed as much food as you could while getting up.

“I gotta go. Thanks for the food, I hate you for the exorcize.” You told Steve.

“No you don’t.”

You winced as your calf muscles burned.

“Actually right now, I kinda do.” You whimpered.

Steve’s chuckling followed you all the way down the hall and into the elevator.

When you arrived Natasha was coming out of the meeting room with a man you didn’t recognise. He was clean cut and wearing what you could tell was an expensive suit, sophistication and elegance practically dripping from him.

“Kotonok, I wasn’t expecting to see you down here.” Natasha said once she spotted you.

“But..”

“This is Daniel Maddox, an associate of mine. He’s a lawyer, he was instrumental in obtaining your identification documents.” She continued, speaking over your confused objections.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person Miss Stark.” He said kindly, offering his hand to you.

Natasha smirked at you from behind him and made a pushing motion with her hands. You gave your best impression of one of her faux charming grins and took his hand.

“The pleasure is mine Mr Maddox, seeing as I owe you a thank you.” You said as you shook his hand.

“I have another important meeting to get to, which I’m already late for. Would you mind showing Daniel out for me?” Natasha asked you.

“Sure.” You agreed, trying to contain your bewilderment.

Natasha bade him goodbye and left, shooting you a conspiratorial wink over her shoulder. Maddox turned to you with an easy and charismatic smile.

“Shall we?” He asked.

You smiled unsurely and led him to the elevator.

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

Bucky leaned casually on the railing overlooking the ground floor reception of the compound as he waited for the Black Widow. She had asked him to meet her here regarding the man he and Steve had kidnapped picked up for her. His attention wandered as he waited, only being picked up when a man and woman exited the elevator.

He straightened slightly as he saw you walk across the lobby with a man he didn’t recognise. He wasn’t spying on you if he listened in on your conversation, he couldn’t help it if he had enhanced hearing. Besides, the way you were tapping your fingers against your thigh indicated that you were nervous.

“The Blue Moon is one of the best clubs in New York, they have the most divine music. I think you’ll like it.” The man said to you.

“It does sound interesting.” You conceded.

“Shall I pick you up at say, seven?”

“I can meet you there, no sense in you driving all the way here to pick me up just to drive me back into the city.” You laughed.

Bucky frowned, it sounded like you were agreeing to a date with the pretentious prick.

“If you’re sure. I look forward to seeing you then.” The man said, pulling your hand to his lips and kissing it.

Bucky felt like gagging at the swarmy bastards move but to his surprise and chagrin you blushed and smiled.

“Well isn’t that interesting” Natasha said, sidling up beside him and watching you.

“Who is that she’s talking to?” Bucky demanded.

“Daniel Maddox, a friend of mine. I had hoped they would hit it off but I didn’t expect him to move so quickly. I only introduced them five minutes ago.” Natasha said with an amused smirk.

Bucky clenched his jaw in annoyance.

“You think she should be prancing off on a date with some stranger in the middle of everything that’s going on?” Bucky snapped.

“I think a little romance and normality is exactly what she needs.” Natasha said calmly, smiling as you waved goodbye to Maddox.

“And you think he’s right for her?” Bucky asked dubiously.

He had gotten bad vibes off this Maddox person and couldn’t believe Natasha was encouraging you to date somebody like that.  

“He’s charming, well educated, rich and polite. So unless you can think of anybody more suitable for our little kitten to date…?” Natasha teased.

Bucky glared at her.

“No suggestions? Good, I think her and Daniel would make a wonderful couple.” Natasha finished.

“You had better hope your matchmaking doesn’t backfire Nat.” He warned.

“You seem very invested in this, have you thawed towards her?”

“She’s a brat, my concern is for everyone else. The drama that unfolds around her is exhausting.” Bucky snapped defensively.

“If you say so. If you’re done spying and gossiping about someone you care so little about perhaps we can get to business?” Natasha said snarkily.

Bucky glowered at her and gestured for her to lead the way. She strutted off confidently and Bucky followed. Glancing back in time to see you get into the elevator with an excited smile.

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

You slipped on the navy blue dress that had been waiting for you in a garment back when you got to your room, courtesy of Natasha and pinning your hair back out of your face the way Wanda had taught you, you regretfully slipped on the matching heels and gave yourself a once over in the mirror.

Satisfied you were ready you grabbed the clutch purse with your phone in it and left your room. You hadn’t told anyone else you were going on a date but if Natasha had gone to all this effort to plan it then you assumed she had arranged for your mandatory superhero escort.

As you walked down the hallway you heard a strangled sort of groan from someone behind you and whirled round to see Bucky at the other end of the hall, glaring at you like you’d just slapped him. You froze like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Evening Bucky.” You stammered, ducking your head nervously.

Last night in the kitchen Bucky had been uncharacteristically civil. Gentle even. The way he was looking at you now was anything but. You never knew where you stood with him nowadays and it was confusing. Familiar anger flared up and you threw your shoulders back and straightened your spine. Bucky Barnes and his attitude weren’t going to ruin the good mood you had going today. You turned your back on him and strode away, his eyes burning holes into your back.

Natasha was waiting in the elevator for you when it opened and she looked you up and down approvingly.

“Are you sure you want to do this Kotonok?”

“Absolutely.”

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

Bucky paced like a caged animal around his room, his mind whirling at a thousand miles per minute. He had been on edge all day, since he saw you with that slimeball Maddox. He had tried to convince himself it was none of his business if you wanted to date someone so clearly creepy. He had told himself he was probably being paranoid, Natasha was a good judge of character.

Then he had seen you in the hall in that ridiculously tight dress his immediate and visceral reaction had revealed the truth he had been doing his best to contain. You had turned around and looked at him with those big shocked eyes and all the blood in his head had rushed south. He tried to say something, anything but his brain had stalled and you had glared at him and walked away.

Now you were on a date with some hotshot lawyer in that sinful dress and Bucky was stuck here, pacing around and trying to argue with himself that he wasn’t being a fool. He didn’t trust Maddox and his instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong.

It had nothing to do with how badly he had wanted you when he saw you in that hallway. He wasn’t jealous. He was worried.

Alright, he was jealous AND worried he conceded to himself. It didn’t mean he was wrong. He was one of the most highly trained assassins the world had ever seen and his instincts were unparalleled.  If they were telling him something was wrong, then he needed to listen.

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

As soon as you had entered the upscale jazz club you had the distinct impression that something was off about the place. A waiter led you over to Daniel Maddox who was sitting in the VIP area. He politely stood when you came over and kissed your cheek.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” He said.

“I couldn’t miss this opportunity.” You told him genuinely.

You looked around the club, noting the dark haired woman at the bar who looked nothing like Natasha Romanov. There was one other occupied table in the cordoned off VIP area, a large man surrounded by bodyguards who was smoking a cigar and watching the gorgeous singer on the stage.

“This place is everything I hoped it would be.” You said happily.

“Would you like a drink? Perhaps a martini, they make a wonderful one here.” Daniel asked you.

“Whatever you recommend.” You said.

He waved the waiter away with your order and you noticed the odd way the waiters jacket hung. This wasn’t your usual scene and you were a little out of your depth but you were fairly certain most waiters didn’t carry guns. The corner of Natasha’s lips quirked up at the bar and you knew she knew you’d picked up on it.

Her eyes passed over the man in the VIP section and you settled back in your seat, taking a casual appearance. So that was your mark, that was the man who was going to lead you to Jack Docherty.

When Natasha had told you that she was expecting Daniel to ask you out because he was a Hydra spy you had been shocked. When she had further explained that Hydra had made a deal with Docherty to try and deliver you, you had been furious. She had given you the chance to back out and let her and the Avengers take care of it but you refused.

Tony was going to be enraged, most of the team were but you didn’t care. Natasha knew what taking down Docherty meant to you, as did Wanda who was waiting patiently outside for your signal, and Clint who was sitting further down the bar from Natasha.

The waiter returned with your drink and you thanked him kindly. Raising your glass to Daniel you clinked it with his.

“To a wonderful date.” You cheered.

“The first I hope, of many.” He added.

You seriously doubted that. You took a fake sip of the Martini and smiled coyly at him. You remembered what Natasha had said and began a mental countdown. If they were using the poison you thought then in about two minutes he would expect you to start feeling woozy.

Right on schedule you rubbed your hand over your temple and sighed.

“It’s a little warm in here. Would you excuse me, I need to freshen up.” You muttered groggily.

You stood up and stumbled, subtly switching your glass with his.

“Of course my dear. Are you alright?” He said amicably.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” You said, waving off his concern.

You picked up the Martini glass and he watched with a barely concealed look of satisfaction while you drained it.

“Would you mind ordering me another?” You asked as you shakily walked away.

You noted the two waiters subtly follow you across the room as you made your way to the bathrooms and dropped your clutch, your phone inside clanging against the marble with a satisfying clunk. The program Natasha had installed immediately sent a signal to Wanda and you picked it up, hurrying towards the bathroom with your two would be kidnappers in tow.

Everything was going exactly to plan until you saw the club doors open and you internally let out a string of curses when you saw who was coming through them.

What the fuck was Bucky doing here?

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

Special shout out to everyone who has commented on this fic and liked or reblogged it. You’re making this a really enjoyable experience for me and I’m super grateful!

@dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty @memanda17 @krystallynx @theonelittleone @piscesbarnes @free-as-fishes @tarastudiesalot @captainamericasbeard @buckybearbabe98 @nerdandproud-86  @clarkesardothien @harrison-shot-first @chook007 @thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala selvala

@the-corruptor @iover  @buckitybarnes @kendrawr-kitkat @Pheonix-Whiskey-Tears @the–real-wombat@fairislesheets @angiept

@pizzarollpatrol @payformycollegepls

#bucky x reader #avengers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #reader insert #avengers fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #dad tony stark #tony stark x reader #stark reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers is a sweetheart #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson is a good bro #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #captain america #steve rogers is a little shit #clint barton #parent tony stark #hattersmarvelverse

[kamimuse]

Seeking answers

Hisao had been in the trade capital for three days now, hunting for answers. Thankfully he hadn’t been alone in his search. Neugdae, who had disappeared months ago had returned just before the priest had left Eorzea for the east. He’d been against bringing the younger man along on his trip, but the young assassin wouldn’t be denied, and had decided to stow away on the ship regardless of the hingan’s protests. When Neugdae was revealed to have followed him all the way to the foreign trade country, the priest eventually gave in and allowed the miqo’te to assist in his search. He had help and he wasn’t going to refuse it this time.

His efforts in Thavnair had not entirely proven fruitless, but the options he’d found to break this blood bond with the others were less than ideal. There had to be something else, something more ceremonial, maybe a bind breaking ritual. His last night in the Shroud before leaving had left the man unable to breathe. He hated this. This had been why he stayed away from people. This had been why he shut himself away from the world. It had been almost two decades since he had felt this much pain and fear. He couldn’t concentrate on his work, and he certainly didn’t want to risk the lives of others when he still had so much left to do. The hearing gift the Raen had was only a small part of the problem, but it certainly added to a growing pile of concerns. Thankfully it made for the best excuse to see this new task done. He couldn’t have others distracted or worrying about him.

Scouring shops, libraries and temples for alternative answers to what he’d found had been in vain. Even his last-ditch effort to look for answers in Alchemy had given him nothing to work with. His former master, from whom he’d learned of blood magics, was gone. He’d seen to that personally. He didn’t dare seek out the guild of underground witches, not after what he had done. A short trip to his master’s former home had been unwise, but it was the only place he had left to search that may have answers. Walls along the outside of the burned down estate had given way to secret passages that lead to the underground study that had been left abandoned for years. Some flooding and mildew had claimed the floors of this hidden study, but most of the magical materials and tomes were still intact within. Among the many books the priest picked out to take home with him, it had been a short time of searching before the two had even found what Hisao had been looking for. If not for Neugdae he might have overlooked his master’s most precious Grimoire. It was only after that they had returned to the Inn to compile what they had found, Hisao spent hours pouring his focus over every tome until he’d opened the Grimoire only to find one of the two answers to his query.

There was no doubt someone had noticed his presence in the city when he and Neugdae had been scouring for answers. Not that anyone could do anything about it- he was already boarding a ship with his apprentice and headed for Kugane. He knew someone there who might be able to help at least, someone who specialized in magic involving bonds. He was at least grateful he had sent word to her before he left on his trip, on the off-chance it would come to this- and it had.

The trip to Kugane had not taken as long as the trip to Thavnair from Eorzea. Most of it had been spent sleeping. It had been some time since he’d been back to Hingashi for personal reasons as he usually only came passing through on business related affairs. While this was business related, he still felt it was a very personal affair. He had been in the city for all but maybe an hour, getting off the boat and making his way to the Hostelry for a bite to eat with Neugdae, then sending the younger man on some errands to fetch him some items off a shopping list he would need for the exorcism he would perform back in Eorzea when he eventually did return home. After he’d sent his apprentice off, he finally made his way to the Rakuza district.

Conveniently nestled near the end of the market and around the corner from Kugane’s courtesan district, a shop of interest caught the Raen’s eye.  A hole in the wall magical services shop. Dark double doors, one front window full of plants and what looked like statues of different eastern Deities- all of which looked either like goddesses or feminine depictions of different Kami and spirits. The signage outside of the shop advertised love potions, love spells, infatuation charms, glamour magic, and natural aphrodisiacs.

The priest stood outside the shop with a grim expression, and likely stood there for a minute or two before finally finding the mental strength he would need to deal with what resided inside the snake oil shop.

Stepping inside the small doorway, the priest found everything as he expected it would be. Shelves lined the walls with a variety of different home remedies, alchemical goods, ritual components and edible items such as supplements and the like- anything you could imagine a shop like this would have was readily available to the public for those who wished to enhance their vitality in the affairs of love making. Hell, there was even fertility tools for those wishing to start a new family. It was exactly the kind of business practices the priest refused to offer. The man would not have been here had he not been desperate.

Moving his way to the front counter, Hisao noticed no one was around even though the sign out front said it was open. Curiously the older man looked back to the entrance and saw the enchanted bell above the door had not been tripped. Walking back over to inspect the bell’s enchantment, he frowned when he realized it had been deactivated. Just as he was starting to suspect foul play, the sound of light thumping could be heard from the back room behind the counter. Thump. Thump. Thump. Heavy breathing between two parties and then a soft gasp.

The Raen’s eyes slipped shut as his irritation began to build upon realization of what he was hearing. Of course. He did not expect anything less. Striding back over to the front counter the Raen slammed his hand down on the service bell next to a little basket of “infatuation bath soaps”, to which he genuinely sneered at. The sound of brief hingan cursing was passed from a feminine voice, and soon there was shuffling of clothing and as though someone was hastily getting dressed. A moment later a young hingan man stepped out from behind the back room, passing through beaded curtains. He was hastily tying his Yukata closed and pulling his pants up and fastening a belt, his face bright from embarrassment and likely afterglow. He didn’t bother making eye contact with the priest standing at the counter, likely out of shame- Nope. He quickly made a quick escape through the front door as soon he could, but did not leave until after a young and pretty hingan Raen woman stepped out from behind the curtains, her own yukata tied loosely around the waist, slipping off to one side to bare a lovely pale shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.” The woman said with a playful wink, earning herself a bashful smile from the young man before he disappeared out the doors with a bounce to his step.

Hisao’s brows narrowed at the young woman as he inhaled a deep breath. Kami help him. He cleared his throat to get the woman’s attention, her pale sea foam green eyes eventually shifting over to the dark-haired au ra, a slender hand reaching up to comb through her own dyed purple and aqua colored hair. The woman flashed Hisao a wicked smile finally as she wiggled her painted nails at him, striding confidently around behind the counter as she leaned across it, pushing up on her tip toes to make herself a little taller as her tail playfully swayed behind her.

“Welcome home brother.” She teased. “It’s rare I see you coming into my shop. Are you here for a divination reading on your future love life? Maybe an infatuation incantation or a love potion by chance?”

“Yui, a pleasure as always.” He said flatly, turning and moving to the front of the shop and flipping the open sign to ‘closed’ and then promptly locked the door behind him, earning a slight annoyed scowl from the younger Raen.

She’d recognized this behavior and it meant he had to talk about something serious. He rarely came home for anything other than business, so that’s likely what it was related to. Deciding she would need to be buzzed for this, the woman reached under the counter to produce a pipe and some of her own personal moko stash and began working away at stuffing the pipe as she spoke towards her older brother.

“Pleasure? Yes, that’s what I specialize in, but I doubt that’s what you came here for. You must be working on some odd case to have come all the way here. I doubt this is family related- unless Setsuna sent for you.”

“What’s wrong with Setsuna?” He asked, casually striding over as they regarded one of their many siblings.

“Mm. She’s getting married next spring. She’s been in the market for a priest, and thought you should have the honor, but Yoko was against it.”

“Typical.” Hisao muttered quietly. “Unfortunately, I don’t do weddings- even for family.”

The priest crossed his arms over his chest, his gold eyes peering around the shop in thought, pondering how long had it been since he’d been here? Likely since it first opened some time ago, and the younger woman had owned the shop for many years now.

The small femme raen lit the end of her long-stemmed pipe and took a long drag from it. It was a pretty piece- ornamental dark hardwood, all hand carved with what looked like Kirin running across swirling clouds. Tapping her long purple nails across the end of the pipe in thought, she drew it away from her lips and exhaled a slow rolling stream of smoke from her dark purple painted lips. Her makeup was excessive but complementary to her waist length hair and pale gaze.

“Yes, I told her that.” Yui said, eyeing the older au ra a little scrutinizing now.

She could sense something was wrong with him. His aether felt… unnatural. Different somehow. She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was then she noticed the sleepless rings under his eyes and the fatigue that wore him down physically, despite the enhanced braces she knew he wore. Finally, she spit it out.

“Something happened. What did you do?” she asked quietly, her voice low but accusatory all the same.

Hisao’s turned his gaze back to the woman finally and gave her a quiet look.

Then he explained.

   Yui was quiet for several moments in near disbelief after her brother had regaled her with the details that had unfolded for him for the past week or so. She had always known and understood Hisao had practiced the more taboo in terms of his work, so the young woman wasn’t surprised by the priest’s sudden predicament. Setting her pipe down and beginning to pack it away, she started to chuckle.

“What did you think would happen?” She cast him a sly and arrogant look, her tone condescending as if she were scolding a child.

This earned her a frown from the older man as he inhaled a breath, trying to will himself not to be criticized by a lesser mage. He’d already been harassed by Belia about his magics. One woman belittling him was more than enough. Even then, she was probably right. He should have planned for these sorts of consequences- to be fair, he had expected something different. Just not this. Still he remained quiet and trained a focused eye on her as she continued to laugh in his face.

“There was no time, and no other options. I did what I had to.”

“You could have let them just die and be done with it. Wipe your hands clean of- “

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

The woman leveled a flat stare at their brother then gestured to the door. Amusement gone from her features as she snapped right back at him.

“If you didn’t come here for my opinion, then why are you here, Hisao?”

That seemed to shut him up. He was seething below the surface, but he did come here for her help after all. She was the only one of his sisters who still talked to him, and it was likely because they were both black sheep in a family of mages. Deviating from the family tradition of walking the path that was chosen for them, rather than what they had wanted. Hisao was still attempting to break from his path as a healer, but when it was your strongest gift, habits die hard. Inhaling another deep breath to settle his nerves, his gaze softened as he peered down at her in a pleading manner.

“I told you in my letter why I went to Thavnair. As you can expect, I could only find two methods for breaking a blood bond.” Hisao explained, his expression falling a little.

“I thought severing the aetheric connection would be enough, but it isn’t. I can either kill those I am bonded to, or I can have my memories of those bonded erased.” Clearly the priest didn’t like either of these options. They were drastic. All those late-night conversations and gentle bonding. Both he had grown incredibly close two.

“There has to be another way.” Hisao’s hope was hinging on his younger sister that she might know other options available to aid in the bond breaking.

The woman looked skeptically at the older man.

“Have you considered just- you know. Living with it? Maybe develop some real relationships? The Kami know you need something positive in your life. It’s not healthy spending your days alone in your garden.”

“I’m not going to subject myself to emotions that are not my own. Much less put anyone else through the same.” Hisao frowned at her. If he wanted to live with it, he wouldn’t have come to see her!

Seeing her older brother’s huffy expression, she rolled her eyes as she brainstormed for a moment. After a moment, she frowned, her long lashes fluttered as she turned to peer up at him with concern. She didn’t like what she was about to offer, but at least it didn’t suck half as bad as the other options he’d found in Thavnair.

“There is a few options. Though only one certain one I can think of off the top of my head that has a guaranteed success rate.” She said simply, drumming her nails on the countertop as she straightened up, pulling the shoulder of her Yukata up and over the bare skin, making herself a little more decent.

“I have a ritual I’ve performed for people who are heart broken. I’m sure it will work in a similar fashion to sever ties of empathy. It’s not irreversible, but it’s very difficult to undo once you’ve completed the ritual. It doesn’t cut the blood-bond to the other person, but it helps.”

Hisao waited with bated breath. Well? What was it? Could she even help? It certainly had to be better than a memory erasure or death. Two absolute extremes. A silence hung between them for several minutes and Hisao finally shrugged at her, upturning a hand as if silently asking her to continue. What was the hesitation?

Finally, she caved and sighed with a more worried look on her features than before.

“Hisao, this method completely cuts out all emotion from your being. This means you would feel nothing going forward. No joy, no anger, no humor, no love- nothing. You won’t feel pain, but you won’t feel relief either.” She explained slowly, her tone lowering as though she were trying to explain the consequences of the spell she was speaking of.

At first Hisao seemed very interested, his eyes widening some as he thought about what she was offering. Something that would remove all distraction from his life, something to let him -focus-. He was already a great mage as it was, but this would give him an advantage to become perhaps one of the most powerful. True it would strip away what made him a person, so it wasn’t ideal in that aspect, but it was better than some of the other alternatives. As he was about to say something, she cut him off, frowning as she recognized the look of contemplation in his gaze.

“Sure, you’ll function like anyone else, and through the bond you will recognize when someone else is experiencing emotions, but you won’t feel them. You won’t know how to process them- you won’t be able to. You’ll never feel fear, and you’ll never feel comfort. Think about this Hisao.” She warned.

The more she explained the more conflict he felt. If he went through with this, the bond wouldn’t be broken, but it would mean he would not endanger or subject himself to distraction for the others. It would stop any conflict in the future, and it would put the priest’s mind at ease. Yet to not feel the joy and love for the earth he so cherished. It was a cruel hand that fate had dealt him. As things stood, he could not continue on the same path. In only a few short days he had been undone. He would need to find another alternative soon if this wasn’t the answer either.

It was then that he closed his eyes, and he could see the empty darkness in his mind’s eye. Floating endlessly with nothing but silence and darkness that stretched on forever. Perhaps it had been a premonition not of just death of the physical body but the unavoidable silencing of his heart. Did he sacrifice his memories or his emotions? He smiled, perhaps a bit bitterly as he lowered his gaze. Dark magics always came with a price after all.

“…You can perform these rituals?”

“I can.”

“Come with me to Eorzea then.”

There was a silence that hung in the air after his request for her to join him back home and she had to consider his offer carefully. Yui didn’t want to be responsible for damaging her very own flesh and blood, but she didn’t want the older Raen to do something reckless either. Finally, she sighed at him and pushed herself away from the counter as she turned to head into the back room, casting a cool glance over her shoulder to the priest who was still reeling in thought.

“I’ll pack my things then.”

#short story #hisao osamuki

[fuckyeahevanrwood]

Evan Rachel Wood Turns Her Trauma Into Good. On ‘Westworld’ and in Life.

When Evan Rachel Wood needs a jolt of confidence, she puts on a certain playlist, a compendium of feminist anthems and feisty classics — “I Will Survive,” “These Boots Are Made for Walking,” Tina Turner, Pat Benatar, some head-whipping grunge and hip-hop. It was piping through her house here one chilly afternoon last month. Ms. Wood, the actress and musician, had just put herself through an emotional wringer: She testified before Congress, in unflinching terms, about being a survivor of sexual violence, then jetted to Los Angeles to perform songs by David Bowie, her musical idol, with his bandmates.

It was a cross-country head-snap. Now she was welding herself back together.

“My life is definitely going places I did not foresee,” she said, leaning over her kitchen counter, as Sia’s “Unstoppable” played in the background. “But I’m going with it. It doesn’t feel like a choice at this point. This is just what I need to do.”

Her trajectory is even more remarkable when you consider how much it overlaps, thematically, with the story line of Dolores, her character on the HBO series “Westworld.” On that sci-fi drama, set in a Western theme park where visitors can act out their most depraved fantasies with humanlike robot “hosts,” Dolores is an innocent and much-abused host who slowly awakens to the darkness of what has befallen her, and then fights her way out.

A critical darling when it aired in 2016, “Westworld” had the most-watched debut season of any HBO series, and anticipation for its new season, which begins April 22, is high. In a starry ensemble that included Anthony Hopkins, Ed Harris and Jeffrey Wright, it was the women, like Ms. Wood and Thandie Newton, as a host madam who’s newly conscious of her reality, that were riveting, in part for how they endured — and inflicted — violence.

The show, Ms. Wood said, “completely transformed my entire life,” not because it catapulted her career — although it did — but because playing Dolores forced her to drill into her own struggles. “Her journey mirrored so much of what I had been through and what I was going through,” she said. “It gave me a strength that I did not know I had.”

For Lisa Joy and Jonathan Nolan, the married co-creators of “Westworld,” Ms. Wood was first an exceedingly “protean” actor, as Mr. Nolan said in a joint phone interview. Ms. Wood, 30, has been in front of the camera since childhood, graduating from volatile adolescents in movies like “Thirteen” to a vampire queen on “True Blood.” They cast her knowing she could pull off the lightning shifts that Dolores makes in Season 2, which finds her exacting sweet revenge even as she weighs its costs.

“With Evan’s character, I wanted to explore a hero who has flaws and had a history that was trauma and sadness, but who could overcome that,” said Ms. Joy, a writer, producer and director of the series with her husband. “To me, that’s an inspiring story, and a story that can teach. And Evan, because she is so strong and she is that person, was able to unleash even more of that strength than I imagined. Even the aspects of her performance where she’s vulnerable, or when she makes a mistake, you’re internalizing that even heroes falter. It’s the kind of hero I wish I had had growing up.”

Ms. Wood did not necessarily feel heroic when she traveled to Washington — her second time there, after the 2017 Women’s March — to testify before a House judiciary committee in February. “I shook for days” beforehand, she said. She feared she would be judged for what happened to her.

“I couldn’t even believe I was about to say these words aloud, that I probably have only said out loud to three people.”

That somebody with her background — “I’ve had practice baring my soul in intense, surreal situations; it’s like what I do for a living” — was still terrified made her even more determined to go, to represent those who couldn’t. She was invited to appear by Amanda Nguyen, the founder of Rise, an advocacy organization for rape survivors. They were endorsing the Survivor’s Bill of Rights, 2016 legislation which amended the federal criminal code to give survivors of sexual assault the right to a free medical exam and to have rape kits be preserved for as long as 20 years, among other changes. (The hearing examined the law; its supporters are hoping to get a version passed in each state, because most rape cases are tried on the state level.)

Ms. Wood called herself a survivor of domestic violence and sexual assault, and described being raped twice, about a decade ago, first by an abusive partner, then by a man in the storage closet of a bar. “Being abused and raped previously made it easier for me to raped again, not the other way around,” she said. She has aligned herself with these causes before, but never in such personal terms.

She spoke of suffering from “depression, addiction, agoraphobia, night terrors” and attempting suicide; eventually, she was given a diagnosis of long-term PTSD. The assaults left her with “a mental scar that I feel, every day,” she said. She delivered her testimony in a gripping voice and broke down in tears afterward.

Around her neck, in a locket on a long silver chain, she carried a picture of her character, Dolores.

She was still wearing it a week or so later, at her home in Nashville. “Whenever I had a moment of self-doubt, I remembered — this is a part of me,” she said, as her cat, a protective Devon Rex named Smokey, curled up beside us on the couch.

She moved to Nashville a few years ago, seeking a quieter place to raise her son, now 4½ years old, she had with her ex-husband, the actor Jamie Bell. Save for an old friend turned writing partner, she knew few people there, and gets around without much fanfare, helped by a pair of tortoiseshell glasses and a choppy bob. (Her long “Westworld” hair is a wig.)

Would she have been able to testify without the show?

“I hadn’t even cried about my experiences until after ‘Westworld,’” she said. Her defense mechanism was to go numb and power through. “And I didn’t even realize that until I’d done ‘Westworld.’”

When she finally gave herself permission to cry, “it was like the floodgates opened,” she added. “It just felt like an exorcism; it was so painful but so healing.”

Revealing her ordeal, she felt freer, she said, comparing it to coming out as bisexual in 2011. “Everyone was like, ‘Don’t do it!’” she mock-yelled. “And I was like, I have to, it’s me, and it’s unhealthy if I live in a way that’s not authentic.”

Ms. Wood’s testimony, coupled with the personal revelations and shifts of the #MeToo movement, made a difference, said Ms. Nguyen, who helped draft the original bill. “Storytelling is so important in convincing people about policy change,” she said. “I know that that hearing moved the needle for progress.”

Twenty-four hours later, Ms. Wood was in Los Angeles, about to perform at a touring Bowie tribute. She has a lightning bolt tattoo, from Bowie’s “Aladdin Sane” album cover, and songs like “Rock ’n’ Roll Suicide” were her beacon. “I used to just put that on when I was at my lowest points and just wait for him to scream, ‘You’re not alone!’ And that would get me through another night,” she said.

When she opened the lyric page for that song, onstage at the Wiltern in Los Angeles, her hand trembled. The words looked like symbols — “like I couldn’t even read,” she said. “Everything went white. And I thought, ‘Oh boy. Breathe, girl, breathe.’” In videos from the show, you can see her hesitate and back off, then regain her momentum. She finished the number with shattering intensity.

“Evan is a powerhouse,” said her friend Linda Perry (4 Non Blondes, Pink’s “Get the Party Started”), the vocalist, songwriter and producer, who recommended her for the Bowie gig. “What I like about her is, she’s not afraid to be vulnerable, and that to me is an extremely powerful position to be in. She stands right there with her feet on the ground and her arms open, saying, This is who I am, this is how I’m going to be, and this is how I’m going to walk through life. Take it or leave it.”

In Ms. Wood’s telling, that position is hard won. The daughter of two actors from Raleigh, N.C., where her father runs a community theater, she began performing early, and moved to Los Angeles with her mother, an acting coach, after her parents split when she was 9. A steady career followed, but looking back, she said: “I didn’t feel like I had proper training for the world. I lived my whole life asking, ‘What do you want me to do and who do you want me to be?’ I was so insecure and didn’t feel worthy of much.” As a teenager, she began a much-ogled relationship with Marilyn Manson, the older goth rocker, to whom she was briefly engaged.

Only later in her 20s, she said, and especially after she became a mother, did she find her voice. The 2016 election also impelled her to act, to set an example for her son.

In between Seasons 1 and 2 of “Westworld,” Ms. Wood filmed an indie drama, “Allure,” out now, in which she plays the gaslighting abuser of a teenage girl. It was not fun to play, she said, but a painful story she felt needed to be told. “If you’re going to be famous, for me it has to mean something, or be used for something, because otherwise it just freaks me out,” she said.

The playlist we’d been listening to all day — her soundtrack for the revolution — is called “Invincible,” she said. In a flannel shirt, dark jeans and cowboy boots embossed with stars, she was unguarded and casual, peppering the conversation with “Dude!” and the click, every now and then, of a fidget cube, to channel her energy. Her house is cozy but feels half-lived in — she’s still in Los Angeles often. “Westworld” shoots in the Utah desert; to lighten the mood on set, she and her co-star James Marsden, as a “host” gunfighter, run their lines as Veronica Corningstone and Ron Burgundy, from “Anchorman.” (She puts on her coaching voice; he’s dense. It works.)

But Dolores’s transformation, in Season 2, left Ms. Wood unnerved.

“I’ve worked for a very long time to not be angry and vengeful,” she said, “so it was hard to take pleasure in that, even though I knew that the character had definitely earned it.”

Ms. Wood’s mission is always to turn her trauma into some other force. Before she went to Congress, she had her aura read at a Nashville shop. It told her some of her energy was blocked, that she needed to get something out. Now, a week afterward, we went back, to see if anything had changed.

She was still glowing lavender — “wonderful storytellers, writers and artists,” the description said. “They have the talent to visualize and describe magical, mystical worlds.” But where before her emotional chart looked like a jagged mountain range, now it was flat, calm. “Speaking your truth!” she said.

Her hope was that — especially post #MeToo — “Westworld” would do for others what Dolores did for her: help them to feel powerful, and be heard.

“Everything you want is on the other side of fear,” she said.

#evan rachel wood #articles #the new york times #articles 2018 #westworld

[reallylonglies]

Taylor Swift - Demon Hunter: Part Three

Just a normal dinner, she was relieved. She’d spent the summer stalking a particularly malevolent sea spirit. Sea spirits can only be evicted with the help of actual ocean spray, which had meant luring him to the coast which hadn’t been easy. Concealing the bruises she’d gained from fighting him on a clifftop wasn’t easy either. Fighting a violent spirit was hard, she had to avoid injuring the host while landing the right blows to the spirit. Rome has excellent healers though. 

This night would just be a straightforward dinner with friends. She’d known this couple for years, it would be fun, relaxing. 

But as soon as they arrived she sensed that something was wrong. Maybe it was exhaustion that slowed her down. It wasn’t until they were half way through dessert that she took the opportunity to casually take a look at him through the bowl of her wine glass. Pretending to be checking for faults, she caught a quick glance at his refracted image. She almost groaned aloud with frustration, but she caught Blake’s eye across the table. They exchanged much more in one look than they could have in a half-hour’s conversation. 

Of course, Taylor thought, I should have known. 

The invite had been very sudden and Blake had been insistent. 

They finished their dessert. As casually as possible, she suggested that she help her friend with the dishes.

“How bad is it?” Blake asked as soon as they were alone.

“Can we start with how you know what we’re dealing with here?” Taylor asked, stacking the dishwasher with precision. Just because you’re a demon hunter doesn’t mean you can’t be damn good at household chores. 

“I… I trained for a while…” Blake looked guilty. They methodically stacked the machine and, without conferring, began removing all sharp objects from the room, “I retired early. I fell in love and I couldn’t keep chasing all those guys, it didn’t feel right.” 

“I get it,” Taylor sighed, it really was exhausting. She’d tried to keep relationships going, but some guys just get funny about you consorting with beings from other dimensions. Even the most understanding eventually grew tired of her aggressive training routine. It was always “How do I know he’s possessed, what if you’re just using that as an excuse?” 

It made sense that Blake had been a rod, her hair was perfect for luring out a satyr or a fire demon. You can fill it full of perfume and then just waft until the demon shows itself. They just can’t resist the scent/texture combination.

Blake’s husband shouted something inane from the dining room, they remembered the task at hand. 

“Alright, what do we do? I can’t take him home like this,” Blake was urgent but not panicked. Taylor sensed that this wasn’t her first rodeo. 

“It looks like a basic level three demon, nothing too complicated. Do you know how long it’s been like this?” she took a series of silver charms from her pocket and wrapped them around her fingers. Blake removed her earrings and placed them on the counter. 

“About three months, I tried to ignore it at first but then I caught sight of him in a mirror and…”

“Say no more. You were right to bring him here.”

There was a big mirror in the dining room. A level three, the Jack-Of-All-Trades of the demon world. Common as headlice in the right places… Taylor was almost impressed that it had managed to take hold of such an influential host. 

He was a big man, but they were very strong women. 

He entered the kitchen and immediately the demon knew it had made a mistake. Taylor caught him in a headlock and forced him to the floor, trying to do as little damage as possible to Blake’s husband’s body in the process. She was thoughtful like that. 

“What’s happening? Why are you doing this to me? Is it because I said I didn’t like the potatoes? I just thought they were a little underdone!” he was a talker, and there are some things that even demons can’t change. 

Taylor pressed her be-charmed hand into his forehead. 

“Oh god, that burns what are you doing? Did Blake tell you what I said about your last single? It was just below par compared to your previous work I’m sorry…” 

“Blake, we need a reflector, can you grab that tea tray?” Blake pulled a silver tea tray from the worktop and held it above her husband’s flailing head. 

“This is like the worst trip to the dentist ever, what have I done to deserve this,” he caught sight of himself in the reflection, spotting the demon for the first time as it railed against Taylor’s silver covered hand, “Oh. That… What is that? Blake honey what’s living inside me?”

“Just a level three demon, we’re gonna pop it right out for you. You won’t feel a thing.” 

“He might feel something,” Taylor asked, trying to listen for the demon’s tune through the grunting and wailing. 

“Ok, you might feel something but it’ll just be a slight pinch,” Blake smiled, she was a terrible liar. 

“It’ll be more like pulling a tooth,” Taylor was using her full bodyweight to keep him restrained.

“Yeah, just like that,” Blake’s reassuring voice was not at all reassuring.

“Except where the tooth is a demon and your whole body is the bleeding gum,” Taylor finally caught the sound of the tune. Wrenching his face towards the mirror, she sang five notes and the demon split from the host with a deafening scream. Stuck in the tea tray, it growled at them impotently. 

She let the host slip down to the floor, he was whimpering. 

“Would anyone like a coffee?” Blake asked, casually popping her earrings back in, “Ryan stop whining, it wasn’t even that big of a demon.”

*********

I didn’t agree that Blake should be allowed to enter the circle of trust. It was a very tight circle. Me, Taylor and nobody else. Of course I felt threatened by Blake. With hair like that who wouldn’t. I wanted to live in it and cut it all off at the same time. Demons can be weird about hair. 

“She knows her stuff and it would be nice to have a friend who understood… you know… this?” 

“You make a compelling point, allow me to repost: I don’t like her.” 

I beg that you don’t judge me on my debating skills. I’m a demon, I’m good at possessing and haunting and showing up at halloween parties to upset teens. I’m also great at making passion fruit and white chocolate swiss rolls, but that’s not a demon thing that’s just because I’m awesome. 

“You are only saying that because you don’t want to share me,” she said. Perceptively. I hated it when she was perceptive. It was all “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to go out” or “that’s based on your personal bias, not fact” or “you only claim to like CSI: Miami to be controversial.” 

“Fine. But don’t blame me if this goes horribly wrong.” 

“It will not go horribly wrong, why are demons so pessimistic?” 

“Because we literally live in hell.” 

At least that was an argument she couldn’t contradict. 

*******

I will consent that letting her have a team mate did have it’s benefits. Blake did information gathering and operational support, Taylor did the hands on exorcising and I did the clean-up and paperwork. 

Have I mentioned how much paperwork there is? The audit trail on an exorcism is no small thing, and it’s a pretty thankless task. 

Mentally I referred to them as Taylor Swift and Blake Deadly because I thought it was hilarious. I didn’t share this with them because I couldn’t handle all the eye-rolling. I just occasionally laughed to myself about it. The demon who sits next to me didn’t find it funny, he just seethed at me in his gross brimstone cloud. 

Everything was going well until she met him. 

It wasn’t that I was jealous. She’ll claim that I was jealous. I wasn’t. Look how well I’d coped with sharing her with Blake. We were a team now! I was not jealous. 

My complaint was that she was spending a whole lot of time with him and he wasn’t even possessed. He wasn’t even an attractive prospect for a level four wind spirit, you know - the kind that spend autumn days making people’s coffee cool down too quickly, or causing people to get their hair caught in their lipstick. These are minor players, we wouldn’t even send a high ranking rod like Taylor in to combat. For a level four you send in a trainee, someone like Zendaya: she’s got potential but needs to hone her craft with a lot of practice. (Her work with Zac Efron was flawless though, a lot of conversations went on about that back at HQ.)

This guy wasn’t powerful enough to interest low level demons, I didn’t see the attraction. 

Blake tried to explain to me it was something something work life balance. I wasn’t really listening, I was looking at her hair. 

Anyway, I think my actions were perfectly justified. 

It wasn’t like I was trying to get her attention anyway. 

I just wanted to make a point. 

I think she overreacted. 

Definitely. 

*****

She thought she understood what betrayal felt like. 

When she came home that day and found her boyfriend possessed, she almost shrugged: it was inevitable that he’d become a target one day.

It didn’t seem like a big problem, just a small infestation. She locked the doors, sat him down. Tried to be gentle. 

The shock came when she pressed her charm against his forehead and heard a familiar song. The face she saw in the mirror, straining against the face of her lover was one she’d known for fifteen years. The demon that had changed her life forever. 

She didn’t need to sing the tune, he floated gently away from the host. 

“I was just making a point,” he said. 

“I never want to see you again,” she replied to his floating form in the mirror. 

“I was just reminding you that you have an important job to do,” he didn’t even have the common decency look guilty. 

“Get out,” she said, standing up, clenching her fingers around a throwing star in her pocket. 

“Oh come on, it was only a little bit of possession, if anything it will be good for him!” 

She threw the star at him and it passed through his spectral form and smashed a vase on the other side of the room. 

“Oh see, this is why we can’t have nice things,” he began. She didn’t have time for his stupid sarcastic tone. 

“I swear if you don’t get out right now, I will trap you in a song forever and you can spend eternity alone.” 

Her voice was stern, he looked honestly confused. It was as if he didn’t understand what he could possibly have done wrong. 

“Ugh, fine,” he said, dissolving. 

He didn’t know what he’d started. 

#spooky #taylor swift #t swizzle #fanfic #fan fiction #blake lively #buffy #new writing

[tantric-witch]

Psychosexual Somatic Therapy with Mike Lousada

I first heard about Mike Lousada when I was reading Vagina by Naomi Wolf. Naomi was asked to visit the the creator of psychosexual somatic therapy to write a piece for the paper she worked for. She reported that she found it very mysterious, a man claiming to heal women with their vaginas, her words had me intrigued and I had to know more about what he was doing. I spent the next few months researching him and reading the books he recommended on his website. Then when I realised he was based on North West London I knew I had to experience his energy in the flesh when I returned from my travels around Central and South America. It took me over a month to get an appointment with him and it ended up being on the day I left for Australia. Danny (my partner) came with me. He planned to sit outside while I attended my appointment. We arrive at a wide staircase and get buzzed in. Mike greets us in a casual cardigan, fresh jeans and a t-shirt. His grey hair is pushed fashionably back. He has the energy of a person giving you all their attention. He is present. He is aware. Every doorway in his place is decorated with colourful dangling fabrics. Statues of the grinning Buddha sit comfortable on the mantelpiece. Paintings fresh from a psychedelic journey brighten the walls beside om symbols; candles and potted plants. 'Now,' he calmly says, 'I'd like us to do some meditative breathing to get us present in the moment. You've had a journey here, and I want you both to settle and be here.' We breathe. It helps. He asks me about my situation. I explained that I felt as if I was still carrying some trauma from my past relationship in my body as I used to close off or shut down during sex and often deliberately avoided being present. He looked at my body language and said he could see that I had a disconnect between the upper and lower parts of my body. I explained that after an intense sexological bodywork course with Joseph Kramer and his colleagues in Brasil, all of this old trauma was becoming more apparent. Like I'm growing more sensitive to energies I used to ignore. Mike usually has a verbal meeting with people the first time he met them, but since we were already on the path of learning, and we only had the one session to make progress, he suggested that we jump into some somatic therapy. He said he was glad that I'd brought Danny, and that he would guide him to help me. We entered his practice room. I undressed and lay down on my back. Danny and Mike sat either side of me and we began to breathe. He asked whether I was comfortable with Danny placing a hand over my solar plexus, just below the belly button. He hovered his right hand above my throat and breasts. 'I won't touch you without first getting consent.' My breathing lead to some discomfort in my throat. I coughed and felt pain. He offered me a tissue and I spat into it. Tears welled up. He asked me, then guided Danny to put his hand lower with his fingers completely covering my pubic hair and his palm cupping my labia. My legs unintentionally shake. I say that my solar plexus is in pain. Mike placed his hand over it and started to draw the energy upwards. He didn't touch me but pain arose and out of no where, I began to cry. I wasn't sad but knew something from the past had surfaced in me. The room started to fall away as I slipped into a trance. I no longer felt Danny and Mikes presence with me, just their hands. Danny was asked to place his elbow on my pubis mons and hand on my heart. Tears streamed down my face. I felt anguish and pain pushing through my chest. These tears were familiar but I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this way. Mike asked me how old I felt as the pain increased. I replied ‘three’ without thinking. I did feel so young and helpless. I felt the shift of old pain clearing out of me. I knew the emotional pain wasn't part of my life now and I was okay. It began to subside. I lay motionless allowing the energy to circulate. A throbbing pain started in my throat. Mike asked me if he could place his hand on it. During a past bad relationship I often thought I had throat cancer as my throat was so tight and painful. This was the pain I was experiencing now. I was thrust straight back into my ayahausca trip. I knew that I had been shown that I had the capacity and strength to overcome any emotional and physical pain. I knew where I had to reach to find this. I called on this inner wisdom and began to relax into a softer state. It was working. I felt completely in my body and out of my head the whole time we were in the room. When I finally came round I had a little giggle at the concerned faces that met me. I realised it must have looked somewhat like an exorcism. I felt grateful for the strong protective energy holding the space for me. I had been somewhere and just got back. My entire body felt lighter and different. I asked for some time alone. They left as I got myself together. As I joined them, Mike was explaining to Danny that he has the capacity to hold this space for me if these blockages were to arise again. Danny said that all he was doing was remaining very present, and not much else. 'That's all you have to do.' Mike said. 'Don't over complicate it or put too much knowledge into it. That comes from the ego and making it too much about yourself.' He pointed out that it was likely something happened when I was three that then resurfaced in my past relationship. I asked whether I shoud delve into myself to find what traumatic situation I'm holding onto. He said it didn't really matter what it was as my mind wasn't holding on to it, just my body. He said the shaking that came up was my body releasing the trauma. 'Don't ever try and quell shaking. It's your bodies natural reaction. Don't surpress it.' The work I did with Mike is very similar to the work I do in sexological bodywork. Although I've seen my own clients go through similar transitions it still feels surreal that I can fall into that state so quickly myself. One final thought Mike left me with is to open up this side of myself to Danny more if needed. He said ‘the more you open, the more of you can be healed and loved.’ Up until a few years ago I believed our traumas could only be fixed through talk therapy. Now I think the journey of all healing starts with talking but until we address the body and align them together, the issue may always lay dormant in our lives. 

Visit my website to find out more about sexological bodywork www.tantricwitch.com 

#trauma #bodywork #somatic #psychosexual #therapy #mikelousada #vagina #naomiwolf #tantricwitch #healing 

[tsaritsa]

The Possession of Isra Wright

this fic can also be found on ao3 or ff.net

NEXT CHAPTER

The rebuilding Ishvallan community is rocked by the uncovering of an exorcism gone horribly wrong, resulting in the death of a young woman at the hands of her own family. General Roy Mustang and his team suddenly find themselves embroiled at the centre of a military scandal that threatens to not only undo their three years of hard work, but also the military itself.

This story came about as I was researching into desert inhabitations, much like Ishval would’ve been before the civil war and what basically started as ponderings about the sorts of festivals they would celebrate and how Ishvalla was intertwined into their lives ended up as this.

The Possession of Isra Wright draws from my own understandings of a minority group that has suffered what is fundamentally both a literal and cultural genocide and then their forced integration into the ‘mainstream society’, rather than on the concept of possession itself. It is not my intention to try and glorify what are sometimes extremely sacred or harrowing experiences for many belief systems (or, in some cases, misunderstood mental illnesses), but rather use it as a catalyst to explore and understand other underlying issues in Amestris and Ishval. If you’ve seen the The Exorcism of Emily Rose, you’ll notice I’ve drawn a lot of my inspiration from there.

This is a story about dealing with the aftermath – but first I’ve got to introduce you to my version of Ishval. Have fun kiddies!

Warnings: language, sexual situations and violence.

CHAPTER ONE, Malkhā River Bank. Late summer, 1918.

There was hardly a breeze today – the heat was almost stifling, oppressive, but so so so dry. Drought season in Ishval was as harsh as ever.

However, Captain Riza Hawkeye noted, this was not without its benefits. Like today, for example. It was Lāeshembha today, the last day of the drought. Rain was imminent – the ahsa flowers had suddenly began to sprout, and the yālahe herons had been spotted by Sakhesā – the decimated, but altogether still holy mountain. A sandstorm was on the horizon too, Riza noted a little uneasily – a true harbinger of the desperately-needed rain, but it could be devastating to the only half-completed buildings in the Kanān district. Colonel Miles had assured her that the rest of the preparations would be completed before the proper celebrations were in full swing but she knew as soon at the goat’s horn sounded to begin the celebrations, preparations would be the last thing on anybody’s mind. She would need to talk to the General about that – too often now corners were being cut or mistakes were being made in light of new achievements and accomplishments.

However, possibly the best benefit to Lāeshembha was the fact that the General was also participating in it today – it was traditionally a manly thing to do, after all, but everyone had been invited to participate if they wanted to. It was not like he had any choice in the matter, however – everybody (jokingly) loved to point out how they could do his job much better than he could, and Lāeshembha was one of the few times the man could prove himself on the Ishvallan’s terms.

It also helped that the General was a practical man – though there were a few young men milling around the edge of the Malkhā river-turned-lake with loose shirts on, but most, including the General had opted to simply wear loose cotton pants, sans shirt. This year would most likely be their biggest yet – there were at least a thousand people, mostly men, milling around the edges of the artificial lake, each holding their own wooden net. The excitement in the air was palpable – with each successive year that Lāeshembha was held, the competition increased to catch the fish – and with it, the honour that one earned because of it.

Yes, Riza was more than comfortable perched up on the bank of the Malkhā, watching the almost-chaos below her, well-shaded from the brutal heat of the afternoon sun by the enormous ironwood’s that dotted the length of the restored river-turned-temporary-lake.

“Y’know, I would say that you’re going red because of the heat, but we’d both know I’d be lying, right?” Rebecca Catalina snarked as she sat down next to Riza on the sparse ground, handing her a bottle of water. “You have a terrible poker face when it comes to your beloved commanding officer.”

Riza accepted the bottle, and sighed deeply. “My poker face is fine, thank you very much,” she shot back. “At least I’m trying to be subtle about it-”

Rebecca elbowed her in the side. “Oi! I am totally subtle, Miss I’m-Wet-For-Sparkypants-”

“You are the worst-”

“I bet you two are gonna be all sneaky later too, finding some shady corner where you shove your hand down his-”

Riza tackled the woman down onto the ground, desperately trying to cover her mouth to no avail. Rebecca simply laughed, fighting off the attack with the experience of someone who had done this many times before.

“-and then all we’ll hear is oh Riza, yes, do it aga-”

“SHUT UP REBECCA!” Riza shrieked, scandalised, trying to stifle her own laughter as they rolled around on the bank. “I swear on the ground I stand on that I will kill you if you don’t shut-”

Rebecca threw her head back onto the ground, laughing far too much to fight back anymore. “You two are adorable,” she managed between gasps, tears sliding down her face. “And Havoc said that this trip would be boring.”

Riza frowned, flicking her harshly on the shoulder. “It’s not funny,” she hissed, glancing around to see who had noticed the commotion – barely anybody. Everyone seemed too distracted to notice the two of them, high up on the bank. The crowd at the edges of the Malkhā was the main focus – a sea of white hair dotted with blondes, reds, browns and blacks.

Rebecca sighed as she sat up, wiping her tears away. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not funny – it’s fucking hilarious how you two inch around each other like something out of a Walter and Black book.”

“Remind me why I invited you again?”

Rebecca grinned wolfishly, pulling her dark curls into a low bun. “Because there are tons of half-naked men here and you need to be distracted or you’ll make terrible decisions tonight? Not that it’ll stop you though. So just the half-naked men, really.”

Riza rolled her eyes, taking a drink of water from the bottle that Rebecca had given her. “You are incorrigible,” she muttered, scanning the horizon with unease once more. “Are you taking the train back today or will you stay the night?”

Rebecca hummed. “I don’t know. What’s the weather looking like?”

“Not good. Clean up tomorrow is going to be a bitch. Even if you left tonight I’m not sure you’d outrun it.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Rebecca said, standing up and stretching her arms out wide. “You’re going to need all the help you can get, and technically I’m off work until next week anyway.” She winked at Riza. “Besides, there’s plenty of strapping young men that will be desperate for fresh meat tonight – if you don’t get lucky, at least you can live vicariously through me.”

Riza grinned, crossing her legs and shifting the janhe on her shoulders. Though the military uniforms were only required during work hours (and nobody was stupid enough to wear them a second longer) and even though the ones for the Ishvallan summer were made of a lighter wool blend, they were still suffocating at the best of times. Casual Ishvallan wear had become the norm for almost all the long-time serving military branch – Riza included. Heatstroke was the most common ailment in Aledia – alongside dehydration. At this point in the summer, water wasn’t enough to keep a person healthy; they also had to rely on drinks with added electrolytes and minerals. The traditional Ishvallan diet didn’t do a bad job itself – but many of the soldiers found the heat of the food too much. Contests over how much chāna they could eat without feeling ill were common – and a practice that caused both her and Roy a lot of consternation.

At least it was a friendly competition, Riza thought as she adjusted her legs, wincing a little at the sudden pins and needles spreading through her calves. By her estimates, today’s high would be at least thirty-four degrees – not the worst she had endured, but undoubtedly some people would feel the effects of the blazing sun tomorrow. Taking a quick swig of water, Riza looked out to the still waters of the Malkhā. The incoming rains would carve a new path for the river, and provide relief to the region that was starting to show signs of strain. The population of Aledia was growing every month, and with them, straining what few resources they had. At least the rain would lower the temperature for a while as well. Too many people were growing irritable with the relentless heat – Riza was a little ashamed to count herself amongst them.

Growing up in the East had taught her to deal with heat, of course, but she had grown up with humid, muggy heat. Ishvallan summers were as dry as a bone, sunburn was a constant stress and worry (and naturally, Riza was not a person to develop a tan of any sort – freckles, there were plenty, but her gaining a tan was like Edward gaining a foot in height). Roy, the lucky bastard, took to summer like a fish did to water. Of course he was a fine specimen to ogle anytime of the year (not that she’d tell Rebecca any more than the tidbits she’d let slip already – that woman was learning far too much, far too quickly from Madame Christmas) but the summer was a particularly wonderful time to do so – and there were opportunities upon opportunities to do so.

It was during this reflection on how to improve her ‘Rebecca filter’ that she caught his eyes down on the bank. Rebecca would pin it down to them being ‘star-crossed lovers’, but in reality there was often very little times where one would not be checking on the other – even more so after the events of the Promised Day. More than once that day they had been so close to losing one another – and as the saying went, hindsight truly was twenty-twenty. Riza remembered only too clearly the abject terror she felt as the nurses had pulled her away from Roy to do proper surgery on her wounds. She still had nightmares about that moment.

She knew Roy did too.

However, restoring Ishval took up more than enough head space between the two of them. Having control over an entire district of the country was wonderful, Riza was humble enough to admit that, but it came with its own set of dangers. How they ran Ishval could only be done because Führer Grumman had such trust in the General’s vision – and with it, their own culture had developed on how rules and policies were enforced.

There were many open secrets in Ishval. Military regulations fell to the side in favour of other, more unorthodox methods of dealing with rule-breakers and breaches of confidence. The Ishval unit was almost a separate faction to the Amestrian – much like how Briggs was to their icy commander. Riza suspected this was a deliberate choice – a group bound together by mutual experiences and a common goal were much easier to inspire loyalty than soldiers who were shifted around to suit numbers more than actually do any legitimate work.

It was this type of loyalty and hand-selection of troops that enabled so many…indiscretions of a personal nature to float under the radar – only when the person’s involved became ridiculously overt would they be separated and questioned duly – and never before.

The rumour mill never bothered with her and Roy. There was no need to. Rebecca had snidely called her the ‘Queen Bee’ of Ishval more than once – and it was true, to an extent. Her relationship with him was not at all professional on far too many levels to count – but they were professional when it came to their jobs. Their district wouldn’t allow it otherwise. One misstep, one conflict not attended to would tear down all they had worked hard to gain – and that was the constant fear plaguing the back of their minds.

However, on days like these, decorum from the Ishval unit went out the window – and so did the rules. This was why Riza was sitting on the top of a river-cum-lake bank, wearing a sundress and a patterned janhe and unabashedly staring at her superior officer’s abs – who, as it happened, was staring back at her, a smile blooming on his face and eyes promising that he’d catch at least one fish: or die of mortification otherwise.

“Are you finished having weird eye sex yet?” Rebecca asked, plopping herself back down, stifling a snigger. Riza glanced at her. “Have you finished being a bitch that won’t get any mekhlo at this rate?” she shot back.

Rebecca held up her hands in apology. “Yes, okay, calm down already. I think the High Cleric dude is gonna blow the magic goat horn.”

Riza threw Rebecca a disproving look, before sitting up a little straighter. The people milling by the waterside had stopped talking to one another – all were looking to the water, muscles tense, wooden nets held high. High Cleric Basir had walked out onto a rock, carrying the ceremonial goat horn that had been found buried in the rubble remains of an Ahmanhe, the traditional places of worship for Ishvalla. All that could be heard were the lapping of the water on the stones and a lone yālahe circling above, occasionally calling out in a mournful cry at being ousted from its water source temporarily.

Basir took a deep breath and then placed the horn against his mouth, and a low, solemn tone came out – and all hell broke loose on the edges of the water. A roar rose from the crowd gathered as they all began running into the water as fast as they could manage – in a matter of seconds the lake was flooded with a frantic frenzy of limbs and voices and nets and splashing water – Riza immediately lost track of where the General was in the chaos. It was a few minutes of this before the first men began to emerge victorious from the crowd in the lake, hands and mouths full of fish, some still wriggling around. It didn’t take long for Roy to emerge out of the crowd either holding up his fish-grasping hands in success.

“ARE YOU PROUD OF ME NOW CAPTAIN?” He hollered up to her, looking far too pleased with himself. “TURNS OUT I CAN FEND FOR MYSELF WHEN THE NEED ARISES!” The crowd around him laughed, looking up to where she and Rebecca were sitting, Rebecca cackling madly. “Hell of a catch, wouldn’t you say?” she said between laughs. Riza snorted, trying to ignore the curling warmth low in her gut.

“That is an awful pun, Rebecca,” she replied, a smile growing on her face as Roy made his way up the bank where they were sitting. “Go find Havoc and see if he’ll spare you a fish.”

Rebecca harrumphed at that, before standing up slowly. “General!” she called out. “Your treasured Captain is telling me you won’t have any fish for me. How could you break my heart in such a cruel way?”

“My reputation obviously precedes me,” he called back, making his way through the crowds that were beginning to emerge as more and more people came out of the lake – some successful, many not.

“Cad!” she retorted, pouting and putting her hands on her hips. “Did Havoc fare any better?”

“I think he got four, if the crowd surrounding him is any indication,” he replied, glancing back at the growing horde surrounding the young man down at the banks of the Malkhā. “You better run quickly if you want some fish from him.”

A look of determination stole across Rebecca’s face. “I’ll see you two at the party!” she yelled back, quickly jogging down to the large gathering by the now empty lake.

Roy turned back to where Riza was sitting. “Where do I put my hard-earned labours?” he asked, sitting down on the towel next to her, sending water droplets flying as he shook his head vigorously.

“I’ve got an ice box here – did you kill them already?” Riza asked, dragging the wooden box from where she had been keeping it in the shade.

“Nah, not yet. You got a knife?”

She passed him one as well as chopping board – some people liked to bash the heads against the rocks by the river’s edge but that was far too cruel in her opinion. Worse were the ones already skewering them, ready for the waiting campfires at the town square. Roy made quick work of gutting and filleting the fish.

“Where’re the dogs? I was going to give them the guts.”

“It’s too hot for them out here – you know that as well as I do – and Eliza was giving me that look that you give me when you’re going to stir shit up. She takes after you a worrying amount.”

“So she should,” he replied primly, placing the filleted fish into the ice box and making a small alcove in the corner of the ice for the guts to keep. “She’s a wonderful dog who perfectly emulates what it means to be a Mustang-”

“Meaning she sleeps all over the furniture and constantly eats food she knows isn’t for her?” Riza interrupted, taking the ice box from him and began to wrap it back up in cloth. “You indulge her.”

“She is a wonderful and loyal friend and I will not let you insult her-”

“She is a dog, Roy, I’m sure she won’t kill her to have a bit more training than ‘piss here please, if you will’-”

“General.”

Their bickering stopped as Samir stood before them, in his customary robes and ceremonial sash. The man was still as intimidating as ever, even with the faded scar, Riza thought, before standing alongside Roy to greet the man properly.

“Samir! I didn’t see you in the group – you didn’t participate this year?” Roy asked, offering his hand. They shook hands, briefly, before Samir replied.

“Unfortunately not. I was given the task of watching over the mekhlo barrels this year – not an entirely terrible job to be given during Lāeshembha. I suppose you were successful once more?” He asked, humour in his tone.

“Naturally,” Roy replied, a proud smirk growing on his face. “Not as good as Havoc or Karir – but I just need to catch at least one fish so you all don’t lose hope in me.”

Samir snorted. “Best not let others know you were being easy on them. They may wish to challenge you properly next year.” He turned to Riza. “Colonel Miles instructed me to tell you that the preparations in the Kanān district have been done. The storm tonight will not ruin the progress we have made this week.”

Riza smiled warmly. “Thank you, Samir. Will you and Colonel Miles be joining us at the Ahmanhe tonight for the dinner?”

Samir nodded. “As soon as we shift the mekhlo to the cellars we will join you. Hopefully the young ones will give up this year in their quest to get drunk.”

She laughed, as did Roy. “Unlikely,” he replied, “but there’s hope yet. We better go now, anyway,” he continued, nodding to Samir. “There are two dogs at home that are going to be very disappointed if we don’t bring them the fruits of my labour.”

Samir laughed. “They’re more demanding than most of the ammonla around here.”

“You’re probably right there,” Roy replied. “But I imagine that the ishmonla will be acting far worse tonight.”

Samir nodded sagely. “I hope not to count you two amongst them,” he said. “I will let you go now. Ishvalla dhāmo.”

“Ishvalla dhāmo,” they replied in unison, watching as the hordes of people crowded around him, all jabbering away in various fluencies and cadences of Ishvallan.

Lāeshembha – fishing festival that occurs at the end of the drought season

Ahsa – a vine-like plant that grows in the cracks of buildings and the ground. The white flowers begin to blossom when the humidity reaches a certain level in the summer.

Yālahe – species of heron that migrate to the south to breed.

Sakhesā – a small mountain that is sacred to Ishvallan’s. It is said to be the place that Ishvalla once stood.

Kanān – a prophet of Ishvalla, born approx. 1240.

Malkhā – the main river that runs from the mountain ranges that separate modern-day Ishval from Amestris.

Janhe – a traditional shawl for Ishvallan women, which covers the shoulders and upper arms. Comes in a variety of fabrics and patterns, typically made of cotton.

Mekhlo – a type of fermented alcohol, made with the bark of the nekhlo tree, spices and the aloe vera plant. Prepared in the height of summer, it is both delicious before and after fermentation.

Aledia – name of the village being rebuilt in the Ishvallan district. Comes from the Ishvallan word aledhā, meaning moon.

Chāna – traditional Ishvallan stew, made with goat and root vegetables. Typically a spicy dish.

Ahmanhe – place of worship for Ishvalla.

Ammonla – informal way to talk about a child or children.

Ishmonla – informal way to talk about an adult or adults.

Ishvalla dhāmo – (trans. Ishvalla guides [you]) a formal way to say goodbye.

#fma fanfiction #royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #rebecca catalina #scar #fullmetal alchemist

[redgillan]

Spirit in the House - Chap 2/10

Modern!AU Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Reader is in a coma after a car accident. Bucky moves into your apartment and find your spirit still hanging around. (Based on Just like Heaven)

Word Count: 1;454

Warnings: Ghost!Reader, Language, Blasphemy (probably idk)

A/N: Here we go, hope this one will be fun! Dedicated to @mellifluous-melodramas you’ll see why (hopefully) 

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

Bucky groaned in pain as he slowly peeled his eyes open. His temples throbbed from the alcohol he had consumed the night before, but there was something else. He pressed his hand to the side of his head and winced in pain when he felt a tender lump.

Memories of the previous night rushed back to him and he became very aware that he was lying on the cold kitchen floor.

“What the-” He saw you sitting on the threshold of the kitchen. You were hugging your knees to your chest, arms wrapped around your legs. He tried to sit up, but his body refused to cooperate.

“You fainted.” You explained in a monotonous voice. “I walked through the table and you fainted.”

Carefully, he threw a glance your way. You looked completely unfazed by the night’s events. Your eyes were cast on the floor, the expression on your face was a mixture of fear and confusion as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth.

“A-Are you, uh, a ghost?” Bucky felt stupid for asking. Ghosts are not real, these things don’t exist.

“I’m not dead!” You snapped your head up to glare at him.

“Well...” He scrunched his nose up as he spoke. “You walked through the table.”

You groaned loudly and pushed yourself off the ground. He watched you walk towards the sofa before you simply evaporated like a wisp of fog. He flinched and froze for a moment not sure if it really happened.

Glancing suspiciously around him, he decided to call it a night. He collapsed face first onto the mattress and fell asleep almost immediately.

When he woke up, you were sitting at the foot of the bed.

“You have to leave.” You kept repeating like a broken record. “This is my apartment. I am not dead and you have to leave.”

For the first few hours, he tried to argue with you. When he understood that you were not going to back down, he decided to just ignore you. It was really difficult, you were always there. And two weeks later, you were still there.

You sat on the closed toilet lid while he took a shower, forcing him to shower in his boxers. You stood in front of the TV, purposely blocking his view. You hid in unusual places like the fridge and tried to scare the shit out of him.

“Leave me alone!” He shouted, practically running to the bedroom.

“Don’t you have a job?” You trailed after him and saw him eating in bed. “You’re gonna leave crumbs everywhere!”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugged.

“But I do!”

He shrugged again, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “You can’t even touch the crumbs.”

You crossed your arms and glared at him. With a victorious smile, he lay down in bed and put his head on the pillow. His features relaxed, a sign he was about to fall asleep, and that’s when you started singing at the top of your voice.

“SHUT UP!” He screamed, throwing a pillow at you, which simply passed through you as if you were not there.

“I’m gonna keep singing until you get out of my apartment.” You continued singing louder.

Bucky sat up in bed, “Okay, fine. I’ve tried to be civilized but you leave me no other choice.”

He jumped out of bed and walked past you. You heard him mutter something to himself as he grabbed the phone and dialed the number written on a piece of paper next to the console. He mumbled your address, a ‘thank you’ and ended the call.

“Who was that?” You asked, but he ignored you. “Hey! Who was that? Oh, you’re ignoring me again. Well, I guess you won’t mind me singi-”

“Don’t!” He pleaded, joining his hands in prayer. “I’m asking nicely, please leave me alone and go haunt someone else. A murderer, a thief, whoever you want, but leave me alone.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and turned your head to avoid his eyes.

“I can’t leave.” You muttered, looking at the front door.

“What was that?”

“I can’t leave.” You said louder, turning back to him. “You think I didn’t try to walk through that door and find people who actually care about me? I can’t leave the apartment.”

Bucky straightened up and looked at you with cocked eyebrows before his features softened and he walked up to the front door. He opened the door and stood next to it.

“There. See ya!” He motioned for you to leave and you rolled your eyes.

“I can go through walls, dumbass. It doesn’t matter if the door is open or not. Something won’t let me leave.”

An exaggerated groan tore from his throat and you replied with a loud sigh. A man in a priest robe cleared his throat to get Bucky’s attention. The old man was standing on the threshold of the apartment, holding a crucifix in one hand and a bible in the other.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You scoffed.

Bucky shot you a dirty look before he turned to the priest. “Father! I’m glad you could make it.”

“You heard me coming?” The priest asked, nodding at the door.

“Oh, that? No, I just tried to make the spirit leave through the front door.”

“Uh-uh, and did it work?” The priest asked with furrowed brows.

Bucky turned to look at you and sighed. Curious, the priest looked in the same direction where there was nothing but the dining room table and the crease between his brows deepened.

“She’s still here.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” The priest entered, a wary expression etched on his face.

He walked around the apartment as you and Bucky observed him from the living room. You put your hands on your hips and shook your head.

“An exorcism? Seriously? What, the ghostbusters were not available?”

“Shh,” Bucky hissed then smiled awkwardly when the priest turned back and frowned. “I told you, I tried to be nice but since you refuse to go, he’s going to...” He made wild gestures with his hands. “Send you back to Heaven, or Hell, whichever you prefer.”

“Yeah, sure, and all that thanks to the power of Catholicism.” You mocked, holding out a hand towards the priest who was now chanting incantations in Latin.

After Bucky shot you another dirty look, you decided to stay quiet and the both of you observed the priest.

He kept chanting and mumbling words and you were trying really hard not to roll your eyes. But when the priest took the crucifix and started throwing holy water while shouting words in Latin, you burst out into laughter

Bucky tapped on the priest’s shoulder, getting his attention. “She’s right behind you, Father.”

The priest looked at him, a little annoyed at the interruption. He threw holy water in the direction Bucky had pointed, but it simply went through you and made a little puddle on the wooden floor. You gave Bucky an unimpressed look.

“You’re mopping that up.” You turned around and left as the priest continued to throw holy water around the living room. “Oh, and by the way, cogito ergo sum.” You smirked at Bucky over your shoulder.

Bucky groaned inwardly and quickly ended the session. He thanked the priest and walked him back to the front door. As Bucky leaned against the closed door, an idea popped into his head.

He took his car keys and slammed the door behind him. After a quick search on his phone, Bucky found the best rated occult bookstore in Brooklyn.

The bell above the door tinkled when he pushed the door open. The place was dark and smelled like old books, a few customers turned to look at him and he suddenly felt less confident.

The cashier was a brunette with long hair, blowing bubbles with her gum as she looked around the place. Bucky quickly found the spirit section. He kept glancing around as if he was doing something illegal.

“Can I help you?” A young man with bleached-blond hair appeared out of nowhere, startling him.

“No!” Bucky quickly replied and cleared his throat noisily, trying to appear casual. “Do-do you believe in ghosts?”

“Well you don’t until you do.” The man said rather mysteriously, cocking an eyebrow at Bucky. “Met a ghost?” Bucky babbled a few words that didn’t make any sense before he stopped him. “Say no more. I’m Pietro. I own this place with my sister.” He gestured towards the cashier. “She has the gift.”

“Uh,” Bucky replied, shaking Pietro’s hand. “I’m James.”

“Well, James, I think we can help you with your problem.” Pietro wiggled his eyebrows.

Part 3

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagine #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky fanfiction #redgillan #redgillanwrites #spirit in the house

[mattbrothersscriptwriter]

Once Upon A Time

I’d like to have a little ramble and shout into the void about a truly unique, life affirming and heartfelt movie. Not because any of this hasn’t been covered before - I’d bet my guitar case full of coins it has. Not as a review or a hot take or a think piece, though perhaps it’s a little of all of those things. But because I recently rewatched the 2007 musical drama Once (dir: John Carney) and it reminded me how much this movie makes me fucking feel… which is also the hardest thing for me to eloquently put down into words but hey, I’ll try.

Once tells the simple story of Guy (Glen Hansard), a busker in Dublin who lives with his Dad and works in his hoover repair shop. He’s a talented musician but is still living in the shadow of a long since broken relationship, something that evidently both haunts and drives him. This inner conflict has inevitably kept him stranded in the same place – possessing the skills and the ambition to transform his passion into a career but lacking the courage and the heart to truly see it through. That is until he meets Girl (Markéta Irglová), a Czech immigrant who gets by selling flowers and the Big Issue. She’s a keen pianist and the unlikely pair quickly form a unique friendship, bonding over songwriting, heartbreak and Dublin itself.

Shot for next to nothing in three weeks, it’s a film so raw (and perfectly suited to that style) that just a single step in either direction would shatter the illusion. Too glossy and the magic is somehow lost. Any more ramshackle and there probably wouldn’t be a finished film to even worry about. Cillian Murphy was supposed to play Guy but dropped out, making way for director John Carney to convince Hansard, who was already set to write the music, to take the natural next step and just play the role himself.

It’s a story that manages to exist in the moment like nothing else I’ve really seen, thanks in part to the guerrilla style production but also thanks to its immense, bittersweet heart and commitment to bottling the ‘life as it happens’ feeling. It’s how we all experience life after all and it’s only afterwards that we may look back on certain memories as feeling like scenes from a movie: those perfectly captured instances where decisions have huge consequences and it feels like some higher power is writing you into a cruel plot twist or inevitable turning point. Its one thing to physically make a movie feel so grounded but to write and perform it that way too shows a real understanding of the tone they were aiming for – and absolutely nailing in the process.

It’s a joyful movie but an effortlessly melancholy one too. Like I said, it’s bittersweet. Anyone who has ever had a dream, ever been in love or ever wished for something more, you can understand and feel all of that through one look at Hansard’s exhausted face. Avoiding saccharine movie tropes and clichés, he’s simply a bloke who rides the bus with his guitar. Who chases thieves stealing his busking money. Who exists in our world. We probably see him every day, out on the streets or hunkered away in a corner of the tube. His or her music echoing through crowds, ignored by most but probably connecting to more people than we might think.

Guy never seems more vulnerable than when he’s hiding behind a forced smile or his sad, puppy dog eyes and watching this mask of happiness slowly blossom into something genuine is where the film really hits me. It reminds us that we have to seek change – or allow change to happen to us – to move from where we are to where we want to be.

I love how Guy is a thirty something pessimist whilst Girl, despite living with just as much of an uncertain, unstable future as Guy, is a ray of sunshine in comparison. She’s a stubbornly joyful extrovert, happily striking up conversations with strangers - a comically recurring trait that rewards her with casual piano practice in the music shop, helps to secure a bank loan for the recording session AND score a reduced charge for the studio hire later on. It’s the ‘if you don’t ask, you won’t get’ mentality, utilised by someone with no ulterior motives; a real pure soul who finds happiness in what she has, not what she’s lacking.

She speaks her mind, unconcerned with any risk of social awkwardness. Her abrupt “I have to go now” way of announcing she’s leaving becomes something of a catchphrase and it works wonderfully in establishing not just the generational difference between the two characters but the cultural one as well. I really love how we first meet her in the film – when she is drawn to Guy performing his most emotionally raw song (the amazing ‘Say it to Me Now’) all alone, in the middle of the night. This exorcism of his repressed feelings, expressed only through his music, is in fierce contrast to Girl’s happy go lucky outlook and she wastes no time in probing him for the truth.

This film is one of the most genius, underplayed and natural musicals ever – essentially doing the ‘bursting into song’ thing whilst remaining firmly in reality, never quite breaking that thinly veiled fourth wall that all other musicals do. Here, it’s in a beautifully captured song-writing-on-the-fly sequence (‘Falling Slowly’) or a late night jam session between family and acquaintances (‘Gold’) or in a great sequence where Girl sings lyrics to an instrumental track given to her by Guy whilst on a walk back from the corner store to buy batteries (’If You Want Me’). It’s so relatable; from the street kids watching her go past to her fluffy slippers to the clunky portable CD player in her hand. Who hasn’t done something like that? A more traditional musical might have been tempted to convert the pedestrians to background singers, cooing harmonies over her shoulder or snapping their fingers in a dance routine through the street but this film shows that life can be full of ‘movie-adjacent’ moments and not feel cheaply earnt whilst portraying them.

This movie is something of an Irish, folksy Before Sunrise – except Guy is probably in the period of his life where he’s actually living in Before Sunset (jaded, wondering what could have been) whilst Girl is firmly in Sunrise (open to new connections, optimistic about the present). They’re on different paths and perhaps even swap roles throughout, with Guy becoming more enlightened and eager for new experiences whilst we learn that Girl is caring for a small child who is product of her past. These two never really come to any real conflict themselves. The closest they maybe get is when Guy makes an awkward, kinda sad pass at her one night – but it’s practically all forgiven and forgotten by the next day. That’s real life too and I’m glad a moment like that is addressed in the story but promptly resolved. It doesn’t need to be this instance of overly contrived setup/payoff, it’s just a misunderstanding that the characters are aware enough to acknowledge and put aside. In fact, so much of this narrative goes against the grain. Guy never gets ‘the Girl’. He chooses to chase down a woman who is probably bad for him. And Girl ends up giving her husband another shot – a character we’ve never met and have barely heard about. Again, just because we aren’t aware of a person’s backstory doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist or that we’re responsible for making any grand change to the way things pan out. Here, a kind gesture of purchasing a piano for a kindred spirit is more than enough… if a little unpractical.

So much of this movie acts as a mirror to the lives of the people making it. The struggling artist narrative is straight out of Hansard’s life, even recording the demo tape in the same studio as he once did. The ex-girlfriend who moved to London is right out of Carney’s own past. All of this helps blur the line between fact and fiction, The scene where Girl tells Guy that she loves him, unprompted and ingeniously unsubtitled, is perhaps the most quietly powerful moment in the film – because the line between performance and truth is shattered as we, like Guy AND Hansard, perhaps can’t tell who’s saying what anymore – the character or the actor. In reality, it may have been both. And it’s captured right there on screen. Lightning in a bottle.

Arguably, this film is set in the last era of when a story like this could be romantic – or at least romanticised. If it was made today, in 2018, Guy would be recording in his bedroom, uploading to Soundcloud, plugging his Patreon page and filling a Youtube account with cover songs sang directly to his webcam. There’s no doubt that the advancements in technology has added an artifice to the whole struggling artist thing and it means something very different in this day and age. Here, in the far flung days of the mid 00s, there’s no real social media presence (Myspace was sort of at its peak but was more of a Facebook precursor than the platform for music it slowly morphed into) and Guy ends the movie with a handful of CDs to show for his time in the studio. Ah physical media, how I miss thee… sometimes…

This is definitely one of those movies that is firmly lodged in my brain. Despite only having watched it twice, three times at most, I’ve had the soundtrack on rotation for ten years and the time I caught Glen Hansard himself in concert (at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire in 2015, natch) was legitimately one of the most memorable gig experiences I’ve ever been to. Everything from the setlist to the showmanship to the intimacy to the grandeur, it was just incredible. An unplugged encore starting with Say It To Me Now up on a balcony in the crowd through to Falling Slowly on piano? Woop woop! 

But I digress… this is a film that is firmly time-stamped in my memory. I watched it on the very same night that I first properly met someone who ended up becoming a huge part of my life. Nearly ten years ago to the day, me and some friends - energised by both the movie and the hazy summer evening - trekked across town to a housewarming party. This was a decision which would inevitably change the very direction of my life, which is insane when you really sit down and think about it… and being able to pinpoint the origin of such a huge personal crossroads is kinda what Once is all about so it really does resonate.

And I think this rewatch really did resonate, because I now saw myself more as the cynical, pessimistic person Guy is at the start of the film – just trying to keep on keeping on and push himself out of his comfort zone. To achieve something special or worthwhile. Without getting too personal, I can be my own worst enemy and while 2008 mostly feels more like a lifetime ago, there are times when it feels like it was just yesterday and I blinked and went from then to now in a flash. And we all have these moments. Be it meeting someone influential, deciding to move house, to travel to a new country, to quit that job and take that risk; they can be scary or freeing or even traumatic but they’re an element of life that movies strive to replicate… and this one just does so by downplaying the weight of these moments rather than draw attention to them in an artificial manner.

John Carney has said that the title of the film is in reference to other talented musicians and artists that he knew, who always said ‘once I do this and once I do that, then I’ll pursue my passion’ etc, referring to the realities (and the safety nets) of life that can sometimes stop people from taking the plunge and chasing their dreams. I’ve definitely felt the same way and have constantly had that conversation inside my own head: that once I get these things sorted then these things lined up then I’ll do such and such and how in the end, time just keeps on moving regardless… so you have to act. 

This film is about making that choice to act.

#once #glenhansard #marketa irglova #john carney #ireland #dublin #indie film #musical #falling slowly

[sending-the-message]

Furfur by Ilunibi

Going to college was hard on both me and Dead Coyote. Of course he was proud of me--he’d watched me juggle exorcisms and calculus the entire time I was in high school--but we’d grown comfortable with one another’s presence. Dependent, I guess is a less nice way to put it in my case. He could take care of himself a bit more than I could take care of me, and I didn’t realize it until I was standing in my dorm with my scant few belongings that I honestly had no idea what the hell I was going to do with myself.

Eighteen. Free. Lucky enough to get a room to myself. Yet, there I was, standing dead in the center of a bare-bones room staring at the full-length mirror on the back of the door, confused and scared and honestly wishing that I could just throw my acceptance letter in the face of the dean and go back home. Home, of course, being Dead Coyote’s couch. I know it smelled like skunk and Camel cigarettes, but it was also warm and cozy and familiar.

And welcoming. I didn’t exactly feel wanted in college.

Most people who practice my particular craft don’t advertise it because it’s a pretty isolating way of living, even with other believers. I found out after trying to join the pagan alliance on campus that the little Wiccan do-gooders who preached about white magic and crystals didn’t fancy the idea of including a newcomer whose entire magical history revolved around the Ars Goetia and necromancy. They heard “left-hand path” and assumed that I was some misguided, edgy freshman or some poor, lost soul who was destined to live a dark and miserable life brought upon me by vengeful demons and restless raccoon ghosts. I told myself they were just intimidated by the fact that I had nearly a decade of experience and actually got results, that they were all fad-witches who’d give it up once it stopped making them feel like manic pixie dream girls, though I knew honestly that I was just bitter and lonely.

I talked pretty frequently to Dead Coyote, though, and that was my respite. Where most college kids would call their mom to ask how to do their laundry or cook a meal that wasn’t ramen and Kraft dinner, I’d call and ask about whether candle color mattered for casual non-Goetic invocations, how to get wax out of carpeting, and how to keep a smoke alarm from going off. The latter he had a few different answers to for several different reasons, and I appreciated his expertise. It probably saved me a fine or two.

One week became two weeks became a month, and I really hadn’t made any friends or done anything beyond my basic, nightly rituals and piles upon piles of homework. Fortunately, by the time August ended and September began, I found that I was perfectly capable of operating like an adult and even found a couple of casual acquaintances who’d wave at me in public. It still wasn’t the same, though. Going back to an empty dorm was a blessing and a curse because, while I didn’t have to worry about somebody asking me why I had satchels of grass drying in my window and candles stockpiled in my closet like I was preparing for Armageddon, I also didn’t have anyone to sit around and shoot the shit with. And honestly, years of being part of a team made magic on my own feel painfully lonely and much less powerful.

“Princess, you are just forty-five minutes away,” Dead Coyote groaned into the phone when I called him, crying.

“I don’t have a car, DC.”

“Yeah, but you know who does? Me. Do you wanna hang this weekend or what?”

I told him that it would be a waste of gas to drive me back and forth. He told me it would be worth the trip. While he’d enjoyed the calm in my absence for the first few days, the quiet was starting to grate on his nerves. And, if I felt so strongly about him spending his cash on gas, he’d just stop by and visit me to cut down on fuel. If I wanted him to stay the whole weekend, hell, he’d just sleep in his car. He’d slept in worse places, he said, though I told him I’d rather him not elaborate. I didn’t want to know what was more disgusting than the backseat of his Grand Prix.

When he arrived, my RA--who just so happened to be one of the leaders of the pagan alliance--eyeballed him suspiciously in the lobby as she tapped her pen against the clipboard with the visitor registry. I can still remember the look of disbelief on her face, tucking her chin down and glaring up at me over her glasses. All she would have needed was a wad of gum smacking in her mouth and she’d look like an extra in an ‘80s movie.

“So, is he your--?”

I told her that he was my older brother which, in retrospect, was a dumb idea. I’m pretty sure that if somebody was asked to draw the polar opposite of me in every way, they would have had a quick sketch of Dead Coyote. She shifted her gaze between us and offered us the tightest, most unconvincing smile I’ve ever seen a person manage.

“I’ll just put down he’s your… uh, boyfriend.”

Dead Coyote laughed a little harder than he should have.

If he felt awkward stomping around a crowded building full of awkward college girls, he didn’t show it. They definitely felt that he was out of place, though, gawking and whispering as I just kept chirping at the side of his head about local gossip while he listed off my neighbors and classmates who’d gotten knocked up, arrested, and knocked up then arrested. It was satisfying to hear that, after I was off to college to make something of myself, Jessica Schneider had found her final form as a white-trash party girl who had been locked up after being found with cocaine in her possession. I shouldn’t have laughed, but I was petty enough to still hate her.

While we chatted, I noticed Dead Coyote growing more and more distracted the further we went down the hall. My room was situated at the very end next to a dead light but his eyes kept drifting around like he was looking for something--or someone--in particular. By the time we were at the middle of the corridor, he was casting worried glances over his shoulder, and at the end, he was walking completely backwards. The girl who lived across from me cursed at him when he nearly mowed her down, but he didn’t seem to notice she existed. His brows were furrowed, his lip raised in a mix of disgust and bewilderment, but try as I might I could not figure out what he was looking at.

Residents? A chip in the wall? A bug? Somebody’s gaudy door decoration? Given who it was, he honestly could have been distracted by anything. Even after getting clean-ish, his attention span was as bad as his memory.

When I opened the door, he gently bumped me inside with his hip and ducked in after me like getting to my room was a stealth operation. It shut with a bang that echoed like a gunshot and I realized that I hadn’t even had a chance to get my key out of the lock. I stared at him, he stared at me. After a moment of me drawling like an idiot while I tried to decide whether to ask him what his problem was or if I could get my key, he plopped down on my bed and nodded his head toward the door.

“Who’s in room 14B?”

I didn’t know. When I told him, his confusion turned to concern and he immediately began to ransack my desk. Ignoring anything scandalous he found, he dragged out a pad of yellow legal paper and the fattest marker he could find, scribbling a magic triangle dead in the center with a single word of wisdom bolded and underlined directly beneath it.

STOP.

And with that, he was out the door. I followed him through a smattering of freshman girls as he explained, a bit too loudly, that something was very, very wrong in room 14B. I flinched as a few of them tittered when he started into the metaphysics, preaching darkness and bad vibes and demonology. Yet, more than the embarrassment of being exposed to a few nonbelievers, I was intrigued because I couldn’t really wrap my mind around not being the only practitioner on campus who dabbled in anything heavier than aromatherapy and meditating under trees. Hell, I was almost hopeful.

The stuff he told me was admittedly pretty grim, though. There was power coming from that room, like electricity, and he had no idea how I hadn’t noticed before. He thought he’d taught me better than that. Whatever it was, he said he could feel that the air was so charged that it was nearly painful. The kind of static that makes your hair stand on end and your arms break out in goose skin and makes your head pulse and your teeth hurt.

“They’re up to something and they suck at it, and it’s gonna backfire like a sonuvabitch,,” he explained in front of me and a curious blonde clutching a bowl of Captain Crunch. He stopped in front of 14B, glowered at the tacky cork board hanging on the door, and unceremoniously unpinned a happy little note written in glittery purple pen. It was quickly replaced with his warning, a warning he then had to explain to Cereal Girl after she asked with a full mouth what the fancy triangle was for.

The rest of the day went pretty smoothly, thankfully. Dead Coyote taught me a few new invocations, he helped me with some spells I’d been tinkering with, we threw rocks at cars, and I got to eat actual food that wasn’t the prison-slop the dining hall shelled out. It’s hard to imagine that there was ever a day where an A&W burger would make anyone feel like they were sitting at a banquet in the halls of Valhalla, but you do not understand how special it felt to be eating food that wasn’t university pizza.

After he returned me to my humble abode and picked a parking lot to camp in, I found the RA office empty and the lobby strangely quiet. I tromped up to my floor and started down the hall, taking a quick glance at 14B to see if the message had been received. I half expected it to still be there, but it was gone, ripped off so violently that I could see a shred of lined paper still clinging to the cork board. It was concerning, but I decided I wasn’t the person to fight Dead Coyote’s battles for him.

“Miranda wasn’t happy.”

A voice stopped me and I turned, curious, to see the girl with the bowl of cereal from earlier. This time she had a Hot Pocket, munching as nonchalantly as she had been before. If Dead Coyote ever had a spirit animal, I’m pretty sure it would be Cereal Girl.

I asked who Miranda was and Cereal Girl looked back at room 14B and pursed her sauce-stained lips.

“Miranda? The RA? You really don’t know who she is?”

The RA? That was a shock. I remembered back to my very brief attempt at interacting with the pagan alliance and how she had been so fucking bitter when I told her what it was I did in my spare time. Her, with her pretty auburn curls and her button nose and bohemian earrings and weird, sepia-tinted Instagram selfies. She was the kind of person to shop at Whole Foods and refuse to wear a bra because they were against the will of Mother Gaia. She was not exactly the type of girl I pegged as being capable of setting off all of Dead Coyote’s alarms.

But, I didn’t tell Cereal Girl this. I just told her that, aside from some brief interactions here and there, I wasn’t really familiar with her. I didn’t even know that was her room. I hadn’t even known her name.

“Huh. Weird. ‘Cause she knew exactly who left her that note. I didn’t even have to tell her.”

She gestured at my room at the end of the hall and told me she’d returned the favor. A cold fear filled my stomach and it dropped like a rock straight through the rest of me. While I doubted that somebody on the fast road to fucking up basic ceremonial magic could do much to threaten me, she was still somebody who was on the fast road to fucking up basic ceremonial magic and that was dangerous in and of itself. And if she had it out for me? Hoo, boy, she may not hit me, but with how tedious and detail-oriented it all is, I could imagine what she could do to herself or somebody else.

When I reached my door, though, all that was taped to it was a flowery piece of stationery with a single crest on it: Glasyalabolas. No pentacles, no Sigillum Dei, nothing. Just the crest of Glasylabolas, drawn incorrectly in that same purple gel pen as the note Dead Coyote unpinned from her door. Honestly, it was kind of amusing, but I knew enough to take it as a threat. Even if she was horribly inept, she still had the audacity to try to summon the patron demon of manslaughter in my dorm room. I briefly wondered what she would think if she knew I’d danced with that dog before.

“Okay, what does that mean?” Cereal Girl asked. I untaped the paper, took a pencil out of my bag, and wrote Miss Miranda a note on the back. My new friend trailed me as I walked back to 14B but I never said a word. I just left my new nemesis a friendly little bit of advice for her to find the next morning.

That’s not how this works. Stop it.

As soon as I woke up the following day, I was out at Dead Coyote’s camping spot and climbing in the passenger’s seat of his car. I resolved that I would just spend a lazy Sunday outside of my dorm so I wouldn’t have to think too hard about Miranda and her hypocrisy. We wound up near some nature trail just outside of town and the entire day was spent talking about life and our ambitions and getting back to the basics of him teaching me Spanish profanity and me telling him about my days at school.

We only decided to head back to civilization when the sun started hanging low in the sky, Dead Coyote pitching his last cigarette and sighing, “Well, princess, let’s get you home.”

We only made it partway.

There’s a stretch of road just down the hill from my old dorm that was typically lit up like Vegas at night. I guess enough pedestrians complained that drivers nearly killed them and enough drivers complained about the people-shaped deer that the city council decided it was a good idea to make sure daytime never ended in that one spot. I didn’t immediately get worried when, for the first time in ever, we cruised up the street in pitch-black nothingness, but the closer we got to my final destination for the night I began to feel a prickling across my skin, like static. Side-eying Dead Coyote proved he wasn’t really reacting to it, but the tingle became a burn and that burn became a sharp prick of pain. I flinched in my seat, then smashed into the dashboard as Dead Coyote slammed the brakes.

I would have cussed, but when I looked up, Dead Coyote was staring dead ahead like an alien spacecraft had landed in front of his car. Nose bleeding, I peeked over the edge of the dashboard and struggled to focus my eyes. For a second, all I saw was color and movement: swaying and pale gray. It hurt to look at and the sharp prick of pain grew into a throbbing, stabbing warmth that roiled in my belly and tried to tear its way out of my skin.

“Oh. Shit.”

Dead Coyote’s voice was low, level, but his eyes were pure panic. I saw why when my double vision finally melded together and there, standing in the middle of the road, was a pallid deer with bright, blazing eyes. They were the same color as lightning, hot and white but, for whatever reason, my brain interpreted it as blue.

“Oh… shit,” I echoed, watching as the deer--with strangely human confidence--raised its antlered head high and sauntered across the road. Dead Coyote watched quietly, poked his head out of the car window, and mumbled under his breath as it vanished into the trees. Even outside of the glare of his headlights, it still seemed to give off its own ghastly glow.

He pulled over immediately, dug through the trash in his floorboard for his emergency cigarettes, then jumped across me to grab a flashlight from his glove box. And some chalk. And every leftover salt packet he had collected from every fast food restaurant he’d been to in the past twelve months, which he ripped open and dumped into the chest pocket on his flannel jacket.

“Get out of the car, princess. You know what that was.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. We both knew what and who had just traipsed past us and the fact that he was just wandering around freely like a stray dog did not bode well for anyone or anything in his path.

Furfur.

You can go ahead and giggle at the name--it’s kind of stupid--but if you ignore the name and look to the meat of the matter, Furfur is not the kind of demon you’d want to square off with. Grimoire entries about him are vague and make him seem non-threatening--a mischievous deer who compulsively lies and likes shiny rocks and playing Cupid--but the problem with those entries is that they’re so vague because controlling him is an absolute bitch that nobody wants to bother with. Only under very specific circumstances will he work with a conjurer and, even then, you have to have every failsafe in check to keep him honest. If he’s dishonest, he will waste no time in trying to talk you down the most self-destructive path he can manage.

Dead Coyote, in his younger days, found that out the hard way.

More concerning though was that he was physically there, skin, bones, antlers, and all. Now, even though a lot of these stories I’ve told you would make you think that ceremonial magic is flash, pizazz, and physical interaction, you have to remember that the stories I pick out are ones that are unique and interesting. Most people into ceremonial magic never see anything overtly odd in their entire lives, and even those of us who have experience intense feelings more than we actually get a gander at the big guys. Even if you do see them up-close and personal, they’re normally bound. They can’t really leave where they were summoned, at least if you’re doing it right.

But somebody wasn’t doing it right.

I don’t even think we checked to see if anyone was coming before we bolted across the road--Dead Coyote scrambling over the hood of the car in his panic--and we ran a pretty fair distance before either of us thought to turn on the flashlight. Stumbling, hissing, spitting, we tore through the underbrush even as it threatened to tear through us, blackberry briars and switch-worthy shrubs grabbing at our clothes and lashing across our faces. I felt blood dripping down my forehead and my arms and saw Dead Coyote with briar-covered vines wrapped around his jeans and twigs stuck in his hair. The entire time, he was grumbling and groaning like a teenager bitching about doing his chores.

“Stupid goddamn 14B bitch thinks she knows what she’s doin’ but she don’t know, princess, she has no goddamned idea what she’s doin’ and she’s lucky as fuck that I’m here because I actually read more than one goddamned motherfucking piece of shit book on the subject unlike her dumbass and I fucking swear, princess, she better hope I don’t find her ‘cause--”

This went on for a while. One continuous sentence without so much as a pause that lasted all the way to a clearing among the trees that eventually faded into what looked like a local farm. Overgrown wild grass was separated from trimmed grazing ground by a rickety wooden fence, the entire expanse illuminated by the moon. And there, standing proudly like he was waiting for us, was the deer.

Dead Coyote reached for the salt in his pocket. Through some chance miracle, our stomping around in the underbrush between the street and the clearing hadn’t ripped a hole in it. I expressed concern pretty much immediately about how effective salt would be against a bona fide Goetic power, but he just glowered at me and huffed a tangled strand of hair out of his face.

“Princess, the only thing better than salt is holy water, and I ain’t packin’ that today. I do have, like, what? Half a cup of Burger King salt? We make do, a’ight?”

Slowly, we crept toward the deer. Looking back, I’m not quite sure why, as Furfur was watching us the whole time, painfully aware of what we were doing, rigid and strong and unwavering. He didn’t really believe we would do anything to him, or that we could even if we tried. Part of me wants to believe it was out of habit--deer are normally so easily spooked--but I know that I was absolutely petrified. I had never encountered anything so strong that was unbound, and I could still remember that feeling of electricity and pain in my stomach when we nearly hit it with the car. I didn’t want to be near Furfur but I knew in the bottom of my heart that the only person qualified to get rid of him in the area was Dead Coyote, and armed only with salt packets? Well, he sure as shit couldn’t do it alone.

We were almost within salt-throwing distance when Furfur turned to me and smiled. Human teeth in a deer mouth, stretched as wide as it could, grinning at me with a glint of curiosity and maliciousness in its eyes. That tearing feeling in my abdomen came back and every nerve in my skin flared to life like a thousand white-hot pins were being jammed into me. Dead Coyote opened his mouth to speak, but his voice trailed off when I keeled over.

“Lonely. Empty.”

Furfur’s voice was an echoing, monotone whisper. His mouth moved in a way far too human to be anything but horrifying.

“Come to harm me. I can help you.”

I still don’t know why I remember everything he said. Maybe it’s because of the fact he was so powerful and supernatural that he just willed his little speech to burn itself into my mind. Maybe I did it myself, seeing as trauma can be a bitch. But, while I was rolling on the ground, clutching my stomach, vision blurry and nerve endings screaming, he spoke to me. Slow, rhythmic, almost taunting, and every word made my heart squeeze like it would burst.

He told me how disgusting I was. He told me how I made my mother miserable, how much she wished that she had aborted me. He told me that my father had forgotten I existed and was glad to be in prison, away from me. He harped about how I would one day die alone, forgotten and unloved, in the same shithole apartments I grew up in and that it would be just like Cheryl. I’d choke on my own vomit and nobody would find me for days, the victim of a low and savage upbringing. And about Cheryl? Oh, he talked on and on about Cheryl, smiling and speaking in a melodious, almost sing-song pattern that was somehow still as flat as its words before.

“You hated her, did you not?”

I choked that I didn’t.

“No. You did. You were jealous. She was stealing him, yes? You are glad she is dead.”

Dead Coyote’s lips were a tight line, his muscles taut. It was as though he was frozen in time, though I know it was just the mention of Cheryl that choked him up. There was something furious in him, a fire I could almost feel. I was afraid, so fucking afraid, that he hated me because of everything that fucking deer was spewing out of its mouth. Tears welled up in my eyes and I sobbed, loudly, that I didn’t want Cheryl dead.

“No. No. You wish for something else. Tell me what it is… princess.”

He snapped. It had been a long time since I had seen Dead Coyote lose his absolute shit, but he exploded toward Furfur like he was launched out of a cannon, salt balled up in his fist like he was planning on punching a deer in the face. Furfur only tilted his head and chuckled, perfectly still even as Dead Coyote began to bark dispelling incantations at him and shovel handfuls of salt in his face.

When the salt-well ran dry, he pulled a folding knife out of his pants pocket and took it to his arm. I didn’t see what he carved. I found out much later on that he now has a nice, jagged, but rather impressive scar in the shape of a magic triangle hiding amongst his tattoos. It’s the one seal that can control Furfur, the one that can make him play nice and go home.

But I missed the excitement afterward, being curled into a ball on the grass and heaving sobs into my knees until I heard Dead Coyote stop screaming. I hardly even noticed the pain receding over Furfur’s voice still ringing in my head, only snapping out of my trance when I felt something thud to the ground next to me.

A deer skull, with half-finished carvings riddling the bone that were redone with smudged paint marker. Furfur’s crest was right smack in the middle of its forehead, in metallic silver. A smaller, almost insignificant Seal of Solomon was beneath it, perfectly centered and meticulously drawn. I sniffled as I cursed Miranda the RA for being too stupid to realize that placement and sizing in sigils were more important than aesthetics. You don’t make the demon more powerful than the controller, and you better use the right damn pentacle. No wonder her pet was running wild.

I think the most pain I ever suffered was still aching from Furfur’s aura and trekking back to the car, and I almost begged Dead Coyote to let me just sleep it off in the clearing. It was worth it to go back to campus--me hobbling in and clutching my everything while he strolled in behind me holding his trophy by the antlers--to watch as he walked straight to the RA’s office, found little Miranda sitting at the desk watching Youtube videos, and slammed the skull so hard into the ground that the bone splintered and shattered in a dozen different directions. Miranda screamed and jumped out of her seat.

Dead Coyote snarled.

“If you don’t know how to walk the left-hand path, stay on your own goddamn road. And if I ever hear you have tried to summon some bullshit again, or if you think about hexing my girl, I will throw out every single goddamn reservation I have about doing harm unto others. Do you understand?”

She didn’t call campus police, for whatever reason. Maybe because she knew she fucked up. Either way, when aspirin and Tylenol did nothing to make me stop jittering and groaning, I decided to skip my dorm for the night and head down to Dead Coyote’s camp site at the parking lot down the road. We sat up for hours upon hours, blazing through a secret stash of dashboard weed despite his insistence that I not touch the stuff. It was the only thing that made me stop hurting, though, and that was all he cared about in the end.

I apologized, again and again, bawling in a cloud of smoke about all of the things Furfur said, everything about Cheryl. He watched me, eyebrow raised, before handing me a napkin from the center console.

“Ah, princess. C’mon. It’s Furfur. He lies about everything if he ain’t sealed properly. I know you didn’t hate Cher. You cried as much as I did when she died.”

He took a drag off his joint.

“You were jealous, though.”

When the weed was gone and he’d given me one of his patented, stoned-out-of-his-mind, how-are-you-this-goddamn-wise-when-you-can’t-even-remember-your-phone-number pep talks, he dropped me back off at my dorm. Miranda was gone, the RA’s office empty, and the lobby deserted. When I got to the hall, only Cereal Girl remained, staring at my door with half a Twix sticking out of her mouth like a cigar. Our eyes met, but she didn’t have to say a word. She just smirked and laughed, crumbs splattering across the ground and, probably because I was high as fuck, I couldn’t help but laugh, too.

Taped to my door was another crest of Glasyalabolas.

Yet again, Miranda had drawn it wrong.

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