#FALLEN SNOW ANGEL IN THE PILE. i should be squeezing him in my hands into a lil ball | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kshira · 2 years

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𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋!

how they spend christmas with their children and you!

ft. mikey, kokonoi, ran, rindou, sanzu

tw. fem!reader, mentions of pregnancy, super fluffy dads

𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

꒰ 𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐘 ꒱

“daddy look, it's snowing!” a bob of blonde rushes pasts mikey’s legs bursting through the door and diving into a pile of white mounds laid silently on the ground, mikey groans, rubbing his eyes at the excessive playtime before eight am.

“daddy sure seems tired” you walk behind your husband, laying your hand on his shoulder as the other rubs over your stomach. “you should be sleeping, mommy” mikey tilts his head back, a silent smile spreading over his cheeks.

“they keep kicking” you grunt, moving beside mikey and his hand outstretched on your back to help you down on his lap, arms automatically wrapping around your body and his hands resigning on your stomach.

“he keeps kicking” mikey corrects you, thumbing a circle on the exposed skin from your bulging stomach, “she” you poke back, looking out in the distance at your son rolling in the snow and throwing the powder in the air.

“whatever they are, i’m just happy to have another baby with you” mikey coos, squeezing his arms around you and pressing a sloppy kiss on your cheek. “daddy!” his son squeals, running back into the room with water tracking into the clean house.

“what is it?” mikey smiles, opening an arm for his son to sit beside him, “wanna show you and mommy what i made” the boy grins, his childish smile spreading and mikey shivers noticing how much he truly looks just like him.

the snow falls harder once you step outside, your son's fingers tugging you along to the creation he’s made, mikey slowly following behind. “oh manjiro, look” you sniffle, covering your mouth as tears coat your lashes, three little snowmen lined beside another, each describing your family.

“you missed one” mikey walks over shuffling his son's hair before he begins rolling the snow with his hands, a small ball forms and he places sticks and stones on the snowchild.

his son grins harder, clapping his hands together before diving back into the snow, easily distracted by the fallen flakes. mikey walks back to you, cupping your cold cheeks with his hands and pressing a kiss against your lips, “i love you and our little snowman family” he mumbles, peppering your lips with more kisses.

꒰ 𝐊𝐎𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐈 ꒱

“princess, you can’t hang that there” kokonoi looks down at his daughter, her black locks draped around her eyes she frowns, “why not daddy?” her voice cracking when kokonoi takes the ornament away from her.

from the kitchen you hear a bellowing sob erupt from your daughter making your other child sitting on your hip begin hiccuping tears, “hajime, what’s wrong?” you yell out, brushing black strands away from the chubby cheeks of your son, cooing at him until he starts grinning.

“n-nothing, nothing at all my love” you cock an eyebrow up walking into the living room where your husband and daughter bicker over the christmas tree. “stop crying angel, you can’t hang that at the bottom, it belongs on the top of the tree” kokonoi squats down where his daughter is crying, a thumb coming up to wipe the tears away from her cheeks.

“listen to your daddy, the ornament belongs at the top” you peck a kiss on her head and hand over your son to kokonoi as he snuggles the child against his chest. “want me to help?” you ask your daughter, smiling softly when her eyes light up.

hoisting your daughter up to meet eyes with the tree she places the object at the top and giggling when you plop her back down and she continues placing ornaments on the tree.

kokonoi watches you smiling when you turn to him, “you belong at the top of the tree” he winks, stepping closer and holding his son tighter to his chest as he sleeps soundly against him.

“because i’m an angel?” you snicker, and kokonoi vines an arm around your waist, pulling you to his side, “you’re my angel” he leans down to whisper in your ear, hot breath fanning on the shell. “daddy am i your angel?” his daughter tugs at his shirt, hands thrown up and though he struggles kokonoi holds his other child in his arms.

“yeah, both my angels, even your brother” kokonoi places a kiss on his daughter and his son, leaving the last one against your lips, “merry christmas angel, thank you for giving me everything i’ve ever wanted.”

꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐍 ꒱

“good morning, beautiful” ran’s deep voice drifts in your ear as he shuffles closer in the bed with you. ran grabs your hips and gently pulls you flush to his chest. “five more minutes” you mumble, pressing your body harder on him.

“you said that five minutes ago plus the kids have been waiting by our door to see what santa has brought them” ran chuckles into your neck, peppering the skin and smiling when you groan as he rises from the bed towards the kids.

“can we go down now daddy?” ran’s son squeaks, jumping up and down while the other son wobbles around babbling about something, “go ahead, gonna get your sister right quick” ran smiles, watching his son grab his brother’s hand and bouncing down the stairs.

ran steps into the nursery seeing the silhouette of your body holding his daughter, cradling her within your arms “her first christmas” you speak softly, swaying the newborn back and forth, “so many more to come” ran chimes in, walking over and bending down to set a kiss on top of her head. “come on, let’s go see what santa has brought the kids.”

“ran” you exhale, once you look across the living room filled to the ceiling with presents galore, you hear the sounds of your sons but they’re covered in toys, clothes and more toys. “yes baby?” ran grins, sitting in a chair by the corner while he watches in amusement.

“you think maybe santa went a little too far?” you pinch your nose in annoyance, but the sounds of your children laughing and screaming with their new toys softens the anger, just a little bit.

“let me hold my princess” ran stands up, extending his arms out and that cold, condescending exterior fully fades away when his daughter is in his arms. “they’re only kids once, i want to give them the best christmas every year” ran flashes his eyes at you while his finger is loosely gripped by his daughter’s tiny hand.

“mommy! you got so many presents!” your son yells out from the mounds of toys, “more than me!” he adds, and you look up to ran noticing his lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“you know santa had to treat his favorite girl just right” ran leans over to press a kiss on your forehead, “merry christmas pretty girl, when the kids go to bed tonight you’ll get the rest of your presents.”

꒰ 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔 ꒱

“baby” a loud voice calls out to you while you place another wrapped present under the tree, “what rindou?” you shout-whisper back, tiptoeing over to where your husband is laying another present under the tree from the opposite side of where you are.

“what did you say?” he yells now and you flinch, whipping your head around the tree to glare at him, “seriously? be quiet, you’re going to wake up the kids.” rindou softly pads over to you, poking his tongue out and laughing when you roll your eyes at him.

“i love you” he whispers—finally, and you lean in brushing your lips across his own, “i love you more.” rindou kisses you again before pulling back and sighing “let’s do the rest of these presents, wanna get in the bed you.” rindou squeezes your hips as his hands slither down the curve, “i’m not promising i’ll be quiet then though.”

you roll your eyes and push him back playfully, picking the rest of the presents and scattering them under the tree, rindou departs to set up the bicycle near the door, placing his hands on his hips at the array of toys for his children. turning around to cease an opportunity of your full bottom on display, rindou quietly pads over, rubbing his hands together.

a rather loud boom echoes through the room, grimacing that you’re sure it’s woke up your kids you frantically look for rindou—face first into the floor, groaning and rolling on the ground.

“santa?” your son squeals from the top of the stairs, followed by a smaller voice struggling to pronounce the words after his sibling. “no baby, just me and your daddy” you whisper, shooing off your children and their sadden words followed by sounds of doors closing.

“princess, i am in so much pain, kiss it better?” rindou whimpers, still frozen on the floor as you walk over to him, bending down and carding your hand through his hair. rindou flips over and wrapping his arms around your waist and yanking you on top of him enticing a small hiccup in your throat.

“out of all the kids i have with you, you’re the biggest baby” you coo, leaning down to kiss rindou while he grins through the kiss, “i’m getting what i want, ain’t i? kissing my pretty wife on christmas eve, house full of kids.”

“kids almost figuring out who santa is” you add, nuzzling your nose into rindou’s neck and he laughs, chest vibrating against your own, “let’s make out under the mistletoe until they wake up” rindou snickers.

“only if you promise to watch all the sappy christmas movies with me afterwards” you reason and even though rindou absolutely despises the mortal thought, he'd never want to be anywhere else but spending christmas with you and his children.

꒰ 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔 ꒱

you’re nestled between sanzu’s long legs, slumped on his chest while his hands are wrapped around you and your toddler that is playing with her new toys from christmas. sanzu lays his chin on your shoulder, spinning the trinket attached to his daughter's toy.

you yawn violently, fluttering your lashes close as sanzu squeezes you harder “been a long day, angel you should go to bed” sanzu whispers, and you shake your head, “no, it’s her first christmas i want to stay up a little longer.”

“she’s had the best christmas because of you, haru” you push strands of soft hair behind her ear, smiling as your daughter slobbers on the toy, and clapping her hands with a playful smile attached to her chubby cheeks. “anything for my princess” sanzu nuzzles his nose in the crevice of your neck.

sanzu smiles while his arms sway you softly, watching his daughter play with her toys, picking up every single one with her chubby fingers and throwing it down to the ground, your delay of words and low hums of breaths he knows you’ve fallen asleep and though you’ve said you wanted to stay up a little longer—he knows you need the rest.

your daughter falls behind you tucking her body under his arms and clinging to your chest, her gentle snores bringing tears to his eyes as sanzu holds his own little family close to him.

“i’ve had the best life because of you” sanzu whispers out, placing a kiss on your cheek, and christmas ending with his family sleeping on his chest and another year of complete and utter happiness.

tagging!! — @dukina @toyomitsus @yunxbin @misinfe @my-tasteful-muses @mvkimas @shinichirosupremacy @satmitsuplanet @yut-aa-a @manjirosdoll @passionateuchiha @meena-in-a-nutshell @liquefied-cat @notsocoolnana @obitology @sanzuswh0re @wakasa-wifey @manjiroscum @ranilingus @hirwishin @azazelkim @etheralyonn @benibabe @snoopysxng @angeltani @purrienee @haitanihime @bakugosgrenade @thesimpsclub @miytsuya @rindous-housewife @4k0taro @winterv-black @hoebirama7 @izanasqueen @movhiiii @aathenax @inoopie @yukihime-mikeys-girl @somerandompipzsxh @ch1-fuyu

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyorev fluff #tokrev fluff #mikey x reader #kokonoi x reader #ran x reader #rindou x reader #sanzu x reader #mikey fluff #kokonoi fluff #ran fluff #rindou fluff #sanzu fluff #koko x reader #koko fluff

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archangelgabriellives · 4 years

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Sabriel Advent Day 13: Fireplace

(A/N-This is a continuation for Day 12. Also there is no specific time frame for this fic, I needed Cas to have his angel powers and his wings.)

“Ha! That’s a full house, baby!” Dean threw his cards down on the library table, beaming with glee as he reached for the pile of poker chips between the two of them. Castiel sat stoic, still holding his hand as he watched Dean grab at his winnings. “Figured you’d be better at this game, Cas”

“Hold on, Dean,” Cas said in his typical angel tone. His strong hand stayed Dean’s, halting the hunters delight in its track. “I believe that I have the better hand.”

Slowly, Cas revealed his cards. Normally hardened features melted into a smug smile, and Dean threw his head back with a loud groan.

“A royal flush?! Come on, Cas, how is that even possible?”

Castiel only winked, his smirk growing a little more as he neatly collected his winnings.

“Well that’s what I get for playing a frickin’ angel, I guess.” Dean lifted his beer and took a long sip as he watched. “You can't keep yourself from cheating. Thought I had ya there.”

They laughed quietly together as Cas sorted his chips. Dean leaned forward on the table, beer bottle pointed at the angel.

“You are definitely counting cards.”

Castiel lifted his own beer, clinking it with Dean’s.

“Most definitely.”

He raised it to his lips, but before he could take a sip, Castiel froze.

Cassie, please. I need help.

“Cas, what’s up?” Dean asked after he swallowed his beer.

A sharp ringing echoed in the library, and Castiel’s eyes glowed with grace.

Hurry, Cas. Find me.

“Hey,” Dean whistled, waving his hand in front of the angel’s face, “where’d you go?”

Castiel’s voice was sharp. “Gabriel needs help.”

“Help? With what? That newbie witch hunt? That’s why Sam’s there.” Unease crept its way up Dean’s spine. His brother should have no problem keeping the shortstack safe, so why is Gabriel calling Cas? What happened to Sam?

“We need to go.” The urgency in Castiel’s voice garnered no argument, and without thinking, Dean was up and tucking his gun into the back of his pants. He rounded the table, ready to pull Cas towards the Impala and book it towards Minnesota at light speed.

“I’ll drive.”

“There’s no time.”

Without another word, two fingers were on Dean’s forehead. His world spun, and in an instant Dean was standing ankle deep in freshly fallen snow. Darkness enveloped the forest he found himself in, the wind softly carrying the sounds of far off coyotes around them. A gust of frozen breeze cut through Dean’s skin, only his henley protecting him from the elements.

“Hell, Cas, you could’ve whammied up a jacket for me.”

Castiel ignored Dean’s complaining, and unfazed by the harsh weather walked off through the trees. Dean sighed as he hugged himself against the cold, and stumbled after the angel. It didn't take more than a few moments for Cas to stop, finally finding what he was looking for.

“‘Ey, man. What are we doin’ out-”

Dean stopped, his eyes falling to the snow covered lump sitting at the base of the tree. Two men were huddled together, faces buried in each other as their arms clutched each other close. He spied familiar fabric, and a chill ran through his blood.

“Sammy!”

He was there in a second, prying the two men apart, although they didn't let each other go readily, quickly pressing fingers at his brother's throat.

“T-There’s a pulse,” Dean stuttered, “just barely.”

“Dean.”

Dean’s head spun, wild eyes falling to Cas, the angel statuesque in the falling snow. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, and in the blink of an eye, all four men were back at the bunker. Dean immediately set to work pushing handfuls of melting snow off Gabriel and his brother. He tried to separate them, but all trying to pry Gabriel’s arms off his brother earned him was a pained groan and the archangel weakly pawing at Sam even harder.

"Let go," Dean whispered, a tightness growing in his throat and his eyes starting to burn.

"Dean."

Cas's voice was softer now, the hand on Dean's shoulder gentle and comforting.

"Let me."

With a snap of the angel's fingers, both Sam and Gabriel's clothes were dry, and Dean could feel the tension in his shoulders fade with the subtle blue tint in both of the men's skin.

Gabriel stirred first, arms tightening around Sam's neck before he blearily lifted his head, eyes immediately widening as they fell on Sam.

"Sam!" Gabriel buried his fingers deep in Sam's hair, lifting his face and shaking gently. "Sam, wake up."

"Sammy…" Dean choked out as he sat next to them, squeezing his brother's arm.

A collective breath was let out as Sam's eyes fluttered open, blinking heavily as he took in the scene around him.

"G'briel? De?"

Gabriel let out a quiet sob of relief, then leaned in close and pressed a tender kiss to his lover's lips.

Hours later, after Dean fretted over the safety and well being of his brother, sent him for a hot shower and a change of clothes, after a brotherly heart to heart over a glass of bourbon, Sam needed a moment. A moment just decompress. He finally got his brother to go to bed, not sure Dean believed him when he said he was fine. But honestly Sam didn't really care what Dean thought right now. He just wanted to be alone.

Well, maybe not alone.

As if on cue, Gabriel wandered into the room.

The light from the bunker's fireplace jumped across the room, accentuating the deep worry lines that Gabriel seemed to have picked up in the last day.

"Hey," the archangel spoke quietly, "how ya doing there, Sambo?"

Sam sighed. "Been better."

"Wanna talk about it?" Gabriel grabbed the glass decanter and two tumblers from the wet bar against the wall, bringing them over to share with Sam in front of the fire.

Sam accepted his glass, eyes on Gabriel as his drink was poured. "Did you talk to Cas?" Sam dodged the question.

"Yeah," Gabriel murmured as he poured his own glass of bourbon, settling deeper into his chair after he set the decanter on a side table. "He tried to jump start my grace. No go on that," he griped, bitterly taking a sip of his drink. His face scrunched up at the taste. "Guess I gotta just wait it out."

Sam nodded, downing his whole glass in one gulp. He watched the flames for a moment, the sound of the crackling logs calming him. "It'll be ok, Gabe," he said, reaching between the chairs to take Gabriel's hand.

They sat like that for a while, the feeling of Sam's thumb caressing his skin soothing Gabriel's nerves.

"Sam," Gabriel broke the silence, "when we were...out there, in that forest, I-I thought I was going to lose you. That bitch stole my grace. She took the only thing away that could help you."

Sam felt Gabriel's grip tighten.

"I had a thought out there, that I would do anything to save you. Even give up my own existence to know that you could be safe."

"Gabriel-"

The archangel took another drink, swallowing what was left in one shot.

"I love you, Sam Winchester," Gabriel hissed through the burn of alcohol. "Whether or not you feel the same way, whether or not you're in this for more than a hunting partner and a way to blow off steam…" Gabriel's breath was ragged, determination written on his face as he locked eyes with Sam. "I love you. With all the depth of my being."

The corners of Sam's lips quirked up, a breathy laugh bubbling out of him. He pulled Gabriel's hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles. "Gabriel, I love you, too." He kissed his palm. "I have for a long time." He kissed his wrist. "Frankly, I think I've been waiting for you to get tired of me and move on," Sam said with a sad smile.

"Oh, Sam," Gabriel breathed, still watching Sam's lips on his skin, "could never get tired of you, kiddo. You're perfect."

Sam hummed, content to just pull Gabriel out of his chair and set their glasses down before he wrangled Gabriel into straddling his lap. His giant hands skimmed along the lean lines of Gabriel's body, drawing out soft gasps between their slow kisses.

"Now that we know we both caught feelings," Gabriel purred between kisses, "I can add it to the list of 'Things Sam Can Make Me Scream'."

A sly smirk broke over Sam's face, a glint of mischief sparkling in his eyes.

"Care to give it a try?"

Doing this thing (even tho its done)

@holydean @6-wings

#keep reading #sabrieladvent2019 #sabriel #powered up castiel #depowered gabriel #bamf castiel #rescue #love confessions #i kinda like how this came out #theres no real plot #just some feelings #hurt/comfort #i wish i knew hownto do a line on mobile #ill fix it in the morning

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pagesuponstpages · 5 years

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one for the road

ofc: celeste morgan

inspo: “Let’s make snow angels!” “Are you nine?”

word count: +1.8k

synopsis: celeste is the tour manager for 5sos, (and regrettably stuck on the boys’ bus, thus being the unofficial parent over them. despite being the same age as ashton) and they are running late to the concert venue due to snow and traffic, making her more and more grumpy (the other manager of the tour is on her ass for every nit picky thing and blames her for it as well) and ash continues to be a pain in her ass (lbr all of them are, but underneath all that hard-ass-tour-manager-skin, she loves these boys to the ends of the earth maybe ashton a little more than necessary)

a/n: i’m kinda terrified posting this, cause 1. it’s been ages since i’ve posted any fanfic and 2. this is a completely different fandom that i’m writing for… but here goes. hope you enjoy.

“Macie, we’re on our way, with about two hours left.”

“Hope so, cause soundcheck starts in three hours.” Celeste sighed, looking out the window ahead of her. The snowflakes were flying down from the skies, growing thicker and thicker in the past hour, with the windshield wipers going almost at top speed.

“We’re trying with the best we’ve got Macie,” she grumbled into her phone.

“Well try a little harder. Jacob is on my ass if they don’t get here on time.” Celeste frowned. Jacob, the tour coordinator, was on both Celeste and Macie’s asses about everything, from how the boys would not arrive on time (Celeste’s “fault”) or how the venue wouldn’t be available to the crew until the day before or the day of the show (Macie’s “fault”). Much to say that Celeste and Macie shared hatred (even initially bonded over it) for Jacob throughout the entire tour.

“We’ll get there when we get there, and work from there. Plus, the boys don’t technically need to be there for the soundcheck.”

“Babes, you forgot that we sell tickets for soundcheck privileges.” Oh. Right.

“Dammit,” Celeste groaned, “traffic does not look good with the snow accumulating on the highway.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll deal with Jackass when the time comes. Safe travels.”

“Thanks, Macie. See you soon.” Celeste clicked the phone call off, placing her phone next to the clipboard with the seemingly unending lists of things to do. She glanced out the window, bracing herself at the door frame before walking closer to the front of the bus.

“Hey Danny, how we doing?”

“Well Ms. Morgan, it looks like we may be behind schedule with the way the snow keeps coming down.” He didn’t even bat an eye when Celeste sat next to him, as he continued driving, bobbing his head slightly to the music playing in the front. She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples.

“Well, I guess we’ll get there when we get there?” She stood up, wanting to update the boys in the back.

“Yes ma’am, when we’ll get there.”

“Thanks, Danny.” He nodded, while Celeste walked away.

She heard a couple shouts followed by laughter, the closer she got to the end of the tour bus. Once she opened the door, all four boys froze where they were: Michael sat on the couch with his head nearly squashed by Luke’s arm; Calum flopped on top of Luke, their faces inches apart; Ashton was balanced standing on the arm of the couch, leaning forward with his arms spread out wide, about to belly flop onto the other three band members. Celeste rolled her eyes, then walked up to Ash, pulling him back down to the floor, shoving Luke off of Michael and sitting in between them, and then pushed Calum off of Luke to the point of him careening to the floor.

“Ow,” Calum yelped.

“You are all acting like children,” she said, whilst unlocking her phone to pull up the ever-updating schedule.

“So if we’re the children, then you’re our mom!” Luke grinned, perching his chin on her shoulder.

“And if you’re our mom, Ash’s our dad!” Calum said, laying on hers and Luke’s laps. She caught the eye of Ashton, who was sitting on top of the makeshift coffee table in front of them.

“What do you say, wifey?” he said with a smirk plastered on his face.

“I say that there’s a change in schedule, and we’re gonna get to the venue late with the rate that the snow is falling.”

“Oooh, it’s snowing?” Then the curtains in the back, flew open, followed by the oohs and ahhs of the white fluff falling down, slowly piling up on the road.

“So,” she continued, pulling two boys back into their seats, “with the snow and pending traffic, we’ll be late, if not completely miss soundcheck.”

“What do you mean miss soundcheck? We can’t do that-”

“If we’re lucky, we’ll arrive at the venue two hours before the show starts, maybe even an hour,” Celeste said, cutting off Luke, “which barely give you guys enough time to change and warm up before the openers start.” The four boys looked at her, their expressions turning solemn.

“Are we doing anything in exchange for the fans that bought soundcheck tickets?” Calum said, shifting his head in her lap. Celeste nodded, checking her phone to see if Macie got back to her with any updates.

“That is what we and management are planning if traffic does get so bad. But, I’m hoping that will just be the worst case scenario.”

“Well then, if we’re gonna be stuck on this bus for at least three more hours, are we up for a Mario Kart tournament?” Michael said, handing two controls towards Luke and Celeste.

“As much as I would love to kick your asses, I have more work to do,” Celeste said, handing Calum the control.

“C’mon mom, is there really anything that you can do on the bus?” Luke said, raising his brows. She chewed her lip, debating for a few seconds.

“I guess not, other than Jacob’s work, which should technically be done by him,” she trailed.

“Yeah, let the asshole do his own work,” Ashton muttered, picking up a controller from the table. Celeste raised her eyebrows.

“You know?” was all she said, which then Ashton turned around, facing her with a small smile.

“We’ve all witnessed Jacob treat you and Macie like shit,” Calum confessed.

“Jacob Andrews is bloody brilliant in his work, but also a fucking prick.” Ashton nodded.

“Well I’m glad to be only dealing with his bullshit for you guys,” Celeste finally said after moments of silence. “Now, I’m gonna kick your asses on the track.”

“Did the bus just stop?”

Celeste blinked, squinting to see the time.

“What time is it,” she croaked. Her legs were tangled with someone’s and someone else’s blonde curly hair was tickling her cheeks (she wasn’t so sure if it was Luke or Ashton). After their Mario Kart tournament (Celeste got second while Ashton got first, to her disappointment), taking a little over an hour, they all fell asleep, one by one, all curled up in the back of the bus on the couch that they all managed to squeeze onto.

“Around 5 o'clock, I think,” the blonde curls said in front of her (Celeste is pretty sure that’s Ashton).

“How long did we sleep?” Luke grumbled, shifting his legs to sit up, which also prompted her legs to the ground. The next thing she knew was that she was falling, and Ashton was going down with her.

“Oof!”

“Ow!”

There were thudding steps coming to the door.

“The bus stopped.”

Celeste blinked, her eyes coming into focus, realizing that she was on top of someone (Ashton) and that their faces were millimeters apart.

“What do you mean the bus stopped?”

Ashton looked at her, his eyes drinking her face in, and Celeste only now realized that he had flecks of green in his hazel-y brown eyes.

“Hi,” he whispered, whilst the boys around them continued to talk.

“If we don’t move, can we just pretend that we’ve fallen asleep until they leave?” she whispered back while closing her eyes and snuggling closer to him.

“Shh, I think they fell asleep,” she heard Mikey said.

“Let’s go out, I’ve never stepped in this much snow before.” Celeste heard some more shuffling and whispering before the door clicked shut behind them.

“Are they gone?” she whispered to Ashton, right up to his ear. He snored softly, his breaths tickling her neck.

“Are you fucking kidding me, you actually fell asleep?” she said, turning her head to face him. Then she heard his giggle.

“Had to play the part wifey.” She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t force the smile on her face to go away. They both stood up; Celeste picked up her phone to see if she had any text updates from Macie or hell Jacob. But alas, none, which may be contributed to the no signal that she was receiving.

“Where are you going?” Ashton had been walking towards the front of the bus, sliding on a beanie and a jacket from near his bunk.

“The bus stopped. Better take the chance to see the snow,” he said, grinning. Celeste didn’t answer him, but she did grab her coat and bobble hat, following him out the bus.

Once Celeste reached outside, it felt like a whole new world. They were out in the countryside, the ground stretching for miles and miles, all covered in white powdery snow. The sun graciously peeked out from the clouds, and there was a light breeze to bring more snowflakes down.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“It truly is something.” She glanced at Ashton, looking at the winter wonderland ahead of them with the same awe that she had (and still has) moments ago.

“Why did we stop?” she turned to see Danny hop out of the bus, shutting the door behind them.

“Traffic was backed up on the highway for another couple hours, putting us to arrive at the venue by 8 or so,” he replied. Celeste frowned, but nodded for him to continue.

“So I made the executive decision to take the country back roads for a shortcut, which was going rather well for the past hour until we ran out of gas. And the brakes seem to be freezing up a little. It was safest to stop.”

“Did you call management to let them know? And we need to call a tow truck or something the way-”

“Don’t worry about it Celeste, I got it covered. You just relax with the boys in this weather for once,” he said, with a knowing look.

“Are you sure Danny, cause I should technically be doing that since it’s in my job description an-”

“Celeste,” Ashton said, holding her shoulders with his hazel eyes staring into hers, “calm down. Danny’s got it.” She sighed, but nodded while watching Danny walk to the front of the bus, making some phone calls.

“Plus, you need the break. You’ve been running yourself ragged since the tour started.” She focused back on Ashton, who was now walking further into the snow, ignoring that the white powder was coating his dark jeans the further he walked.

“Fine,” she huffed.

“Yay! Now let’s make snow angels!” The three other boys were ahead of them, flopped in the snow in the empty pasture, tens of feet ahead of them.

“Are you nine?” Celeste said, staring at him.

“Maybe so, but c’mon!” And so she did, letting Ashton pull her along to the other boys and wiggle in the snow to make extremely tall snow angels.

And she secretly loved it.

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plaidstiel-wormstache · 6 years

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That’s Christmas To Me

This is a Christmas Song I’ve been listening to on repeat: That’s Christmas To Me by the Pentatonix, and I’ve written this one with Sam. AN: It’s a little angsty at the beginning, but it comes good, I promise. It’s also unbeta’d, so this steaming pile... it’s all mine! Warnings: angst, fluff, supernatural style violence. Word Count: 887

Sam spun to the door. YN slid across the ground. Dean barreled through the room. Each moving in their own way, putting up a fight, swinging from the shoulder, copping a swipe, landing a punch, trying to sink the silver blades in.

The younger Winchester sunk the blade between the ribs of the Vetala that was gnashing its teeth in the direction of his neck, letting the body and blade go as soon as the weight slackened. While of one of its pack dying proved a distraction, Dean seemed to get the upper hand over his monster, but YN was being shoved across the room, tripping backwards over the small coffee table, and was now at the mercy of her opponent.

“YN!” Sam yelled, watching it happen in slow motion. The female hunter was visibly winded as she landed, arms splayed, eyes wide, trying to get herself to move, but the Vetala was already launching for her. Knees pinning her arms, hands holding her head, teeth sinking into her collar.

Dean rammed his blade through his attacker, ripping it out the moment he felt slack, discarding the body and tossing his knife to Sam who was currently weaponless. Sam caught the blade and drove it into the back of the feasting beast. A loud and ear splitting wail erupted from the Vetala as it tried to turn towards Sam, but this was a well practised dance and Dean was there with the other knife, burying the silver blade deep within its chest.

“YN?” Sam’s hands were hovering over her, his eyes flicking between her own and the gash and flowing blood at her neck. YN didn’t respond. “YNN?” He tried again, lifting her limp body into his arms. “Dean!” Sam roared, his older brother still a go to when he was panicked and unsure. “Get her to the car.” Dean instructed, already splashing kerosene over the bodies.

“YN?” Sam whispered, her head in his lap, a spare shirt from his bag pressed firmly to the bite at her neck. “You gotta wake up.” Sam begged, ignoring his brother’s eyes on him in the rearview mirror. “You don’t wanna miss Christmas.” Sam hushed, fighting to hold back his tears. “She’s a fighter.” Dean promised, pressing the accelerator to the floor.

“She’s just paralysed.” Dean sighed as he entered YN’s room, John’s journal in hand. “So when will she wake up?” Sam asked, gently smoothing the bandage over her neck now the bleeding had stopped and he’d cleaned out the bite.

“No idea, Dad says it wears off eventually, it’s just like a long sleep.” Dean closed the diary and looked over at his brother and YN. He’d taken off her boots, cleaned her wound and patched it up, it also looked as if Sam had wiped the dirt from her face. “You want something to eat?” Dean asked, knowing the answer already. “No, I’m good.” “She’ll be okay, Sam.” Dean promised again. This time Sam turned to look at his brother, eyes rimmed red, but no tear tracks marked his dirt smattered cheeks. “I know.” He nodded.

Sam listened as his brother’s footsteps echoed down the hall and toward the kitchen. “If you wake up, I promise to tell you.” Sam whispered, leaning closer to her. YN didn’t stir. Sam picked up her delicate hand, lacing his long fingers between her dainty ones and cupping the back of it with his other hand. “You have to wake up for Christmas, show us what it should be.” He sighed heavily and smiled to himself. “If you wake up, I’ll show you how Christmas should be.”

Sam pressed the back of her hand to his cheek then lay it gently back against her stomach. He got off the bed and closed the door so as Dean couldn’t hear his confessions. Returning, he pulled the desk chair over, and sat in it, taking her hand again, in both of his.

“The fireplace will burn bright, and there’ll be presents underneath a decorated tree. “We’ll make snow angels, if it snows,” Sam paused, his eyes tracing her lips, “And maybe I could steal a kiss under the mistletoe.” He smiled to himself, remembering the drunken kiss they’d shared at the beginning of the year. “And I promise, I’ll cherish all the simple things wherever we may be, whenever we go hunting.” He didn’t realise his eyes had been welling up until he blinked and a tear splashed on the back of his hand. He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “‘Cause that’s Christmas to me… with you.” Sam confessed, leaning further forward to brush his lips over her forehead.

“Sam?” YN croaked sometime in the early hours of the morning. Sam sat forward from where he’d fallen asleep, squeezing his eyes shut then opening them again. “YNN?” He hushed, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. “Stockings as well?” She managed to get out, her voice hoarse and throat dry. “What?” He asked, thinking she was delirious. “For a perfect Christmas.” She explained. And in the dark Sam could just make out a smile, he wanted to plant his lips on hers, instead he settled for moving to the bed and bundling her into a careful hug. “Cause that’s Christmas to me,” She breathed against his shoulder, “With you.”

If ya like it, reblog and comment ya filthy animal... from Home Alone!

Tagging humans:

@atc74 @akshi8278 @dont-trust-humanity @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou @redlipstickandplaid @lipstickandwhiskey @jensen-jarpad @avasmommy224 @munlis @arryn-nyxx @autopistaaningunaparte @babypieandwhiskey @beckawinchester @blacktithe7 @bringmesomepie56 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @charliebradbury1104 @chvalkenberg95 @clairese1980 @dancingalone21 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @fandoms-are-the-best-escape @frenchybell @gabby913 @grace-for-sale @green-love-red-fantasyhearts @hasta-impalasta @i-like-your-assbutt @ilostmyshoe-79 @impala-dreamer @impalaimagining @iwriteaboutdean @jalove-wecallhimdean @kazchester-fanfiction @kristaparadowski @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @lucifer-in-leather @lucis-unicorn @melonberri @manawhaat @mogaruke @mrswhozeewhatsis @nichelle-my-belle @notnaturalanahi @oriona75 @ruprecht0420 @sdavid09 @sherloki-moriartea @thegreatficmaster @waywardjoy @wheresthekillswitch @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @wi-deangirl77 @wideawakeandwriting @you-know-whodoesthat-crazypeople @captainemwinchester @kittenofdoomage @room-with-a-cat @katymacsupernatural @emoryhemsworth

#christmas challenge #holiday season #sam winchester #sam x reader #flangst #fluff #angst #supernatural #spn fanfic #sam fluff

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klove0511 · 5 years

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At Any Cost Chapter 3

It started small. One night, maybe a month after Sam had moved in, nightmares of Sam dying in new and horrible ways woke Dean for the fifth time in a row. He lay in bed panting, surprised Lisa was still sound asleep beside him. The adrenaline from his latest round of nightmares was going to keep him up for at least an hour, he could tell. Glancing at his alarm clock, he stifled a groan. 2 AM, and he and Sam had work in the morning.

When this had happened last week, he’d found Sam up late reading and the two of them had killed the hours catching up and telling old stories. He told himself that wasn’t going to happen again, but he knew he’d feel better if he had eyes on Sam. Sliding out of bed, he padded down the hall, surprised to find Sam’s light on again. He wondered just how much sleep Sam had been getting lately. He didn’t seem sleep deprived, but Dean knew better than anyone how well Sam could function on no sleep. He tapped on Sam’s door, quiet enough that he wouldn’t wake his brother if he’d fallen asleep with the light on.

No surprise though when he heard Sam quietly call, “Come in.”

Sam had occupied this room for a month, and it still didn’t look like he’d moved in at all. The bedspread was a floral pattern Lisa had obviously picked out, the walls were still painted lavender, various boxes of their junk were still piled in the corner. The only indication that Sam spent time in here was the pile of books on his nightstand. He wasn’t sure if Sam was waiting to be kicked out or if he just didn’t know how to make a room his own, but Dean resolved to help him settle in more that weekend.

“Can’t sleep?” Dean asked, closing the door behind him.

Sam shrugged noncommittally. “Nightmares again?”

Dean shook his head and scoffed. “I always check the house at two in the morning. Saw your light on.”

Sam huffed a laugh and nodded. “Yeah, well, sleep isn’t really my friend lately. Pass the time with me?”

Dean crawled onto the bed, which was not nearly big enough for two Winchesters, and settled against the headboard, brushing shoulders with Sam. The contact was reassuring in a way Dean couldn’t explain, and though they talked for over an hour, he felt sleep beginning to tug at him almost immediately. They woke in a tangle of limbs the next morning as light spilled through the curtains and the door to Sam’s room clicked quietly shut.

Sam worried, but Lisa never said anything, not even when it kept happening, first once a week, then twice, until nearly every night found Dean crawling into Sam’s bed at some point. They never did anything besides talk and sleep, but here, in this house, it felt like a breach in protocol. A line they shouldn’t be crossing, and nowhere close to the line Sam wished they could cross.

Sam didn’t try to stop it, though. Wrapping himself around Dean helped ground the hum of power under his skin and let him sleep more than two hours a night. Breach or not, Sam couldn’t, wouldn’t, turn Dean away.

One day, as spring was just starting to melt the piles of Indiana winter snow, Sam blinked back to consciousness and found Dean’s morning wood pressed firmly against his ass. This wasn’t unusual in and of itself, especially lately, but judging from the soft moans and minute thrusts, Dean was in the middle of a very interesting dream.

The little brother in Sam told him to wake Dean up, thus ruining the climax, as it were. Logic and self-preservation told him to sneak out of bed and leave Dean to finish his dream alone. That was what he should do. He knew it, tried to talk himself into making that first move, but there was a third part—a leaking, achingly hard part—that wanted to pretend he was still asleep and enjoy wherever this might go. He gritted his teeth. That would be wrong. It would be taking advantage of Dean, for starters, and beyond that would be crossing a line he wasn’t prepared to cross in Lisa’s house. Not when he knew for a fact Dean and Lisa were still involved. They were frequently very enthusiastic about their involvement after they went to bed, even if Dean did end up laying next to Sam, asleep, a few hours later.

Even as Sam palmed himself and stifled a moan, he knew he was going to be sneaking out of bed and into the shower to take care of things in private. He carefully shifted toward the edge of the bed, freezing when Dean’s arms tugged him back.

Dean’s sleep-rough voice grumbled, “Five more minutes.”

Sam held his breath. After a minute, Dean’s breathing deepened, and his hips resumed their small movements. Sam silently groaned. Only Dean would be able to resume a sex dream after falling back asleep. Sam’s traitorous cock was fully interested in staying in bed, and it was rewarded when one of Dean’s hands slid down Sam’s belly to within grazing distance. Not close enough, damn it.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Lisa was right down the hall. Want or not, he was only here—they were only here—because she allowed it. Never mind how Sam had sworn up and down that he wasn’t going to destroy Dean’s life by coming here.

Sam whimpered when a particularly enthusiastic hip thrust shifted Dean’s hand enough to brush Sam’s hard dick. Dean didn’t seem to react, though, so Sam deemed him still asleep and took the opportunity to slip out of bed. This time, Dean let him go.

He breathed a sigh of relief and gathered his things for a shower. He briefly considered going for a run, but he didn’t relish the thought of trying to will his erection into submission lest the neighbors see. He glared at it for a moment, feeling like a horny teenager, then stealthily made his way to the shower, managing to avoid anyone else in the house.

Under the hot spray he palmed himself while mentally shuffling through his spank bank. Sure, he could probably get himself off in five minutes or less just reliving what had happened in his bed that morning, but he was looking for a distraction. Something to get him thinking about Dean and his penis less. Maybe Castiel instead. Sam had harbored a harmless crush on the angel practically from the moment they met, and it was easy to call up fantasies of that deep voice calling him a good boy. He stroked himself with one hand, lightly fingered himself with the other. He imagined Castiel pressing into him from behind, superhumanly strong arms holding Sam up as he thrust into him. Good. Yes. He was close, stroking himself faster, chasing the release. Dean on his knees, Cas feeding Sam’s cock to him. Oh. As he imagined fucking his brother’s face to the rhythm of Castiel’s thrusts, Sam came so hard he whited out for a moment and had to reach out a hand to catch himself on the shower wall.

So much for a distraction from Dean.

After Sam crawled out of bed, Dean cracked open his eyes. That had been his imagination, right? He hadn’t actually felt Sam’s hard-on a minute ago, had he? He pressed both palms to his eyes until stars exploded behind his eyelids. No, that hadn’t been part of the dream in which he was pounding his brother into the bed. This was getting out of hand.

Lisa was already in the kitchen, and he could tell this was not going to be a good day. She looked determined, and he’d learned ages ago that a determined Lisa got her way. She didn’t even give him a chance to warm up his brain with coffee before she started talking. “We need to talk about Sam.”

Dean groaned. In truth, he’d been waiting for her to kick them out. It was weird, he knew it was weird. And great sex or not, Lisa’s patience with him could only be expected to extend so far. He hadn’t pushed, hadn’t asked, hadn’t wanted to rock the boat. Sam said he was dealing, but Dean knew he was barely sleeping. Knew the kid hardly slept more than an hour or two unless Dean was in bed too. Dean wasn’t sure if it was nightmares or memories or what, but they both slept better the way they did things now. Dean briefly wondered if that was part of why she had tolerated it for as long as she did. He hadn’t woken the house up shouting in weeks.

She set her jaw and continued, undeterred by his lack of verbal response. “I know I’m the one that offered him a place to stay, but it’s time he got his own place, don’t you think?”

Dean narrowed his eyes. She wanted just Sam gone? “What, you think he isn’t pulling his weight or something?”

She sighed. “Of course not. He’s been great. And if you want me to list the ways I will, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point? He’s a great guy, just got done being tortured in Hell for saving the world and is still somehow managing to be a functional member of society, but, yeah, he definitely needs to hit the road.” Dean let a touch of his anger filter into his voice, edging his sarcasm harder.

She turned away from Dean. “You know why, Dean. I didn’t want to bring it up, but this thing between you is—It’s not what siblings do. And I’m not judging. The two of you saved the world. I’d be an idiot to be anything other than grateful. But I don’t know that there’s space for me and Ben in this tangled up mess with you and Sam. I thought if—never mind. The point is that I know it’s not like that between you.”

Dean struggled not to roll his eyes. If she only knew.

But she wasn’t done.

“Except for how it is. Maybe not yet, but it will be. I’m not blind. I see how you watch each other. So, yeah, Sam has to go. If you want to stay—”

The sound of the front door closing hard—not quite slamming shut—shut them both up. Dean winced. Son of a bitch.

Sam sat down hard on the front porch. He’d known this wasn’t going to last. He just hadn’t expected it to hurt so much when it ended. It was ok, though. He’d leave after work, find a motel for the night, then get a place of his own. And he wasn’t going to drag Dean along with him. Dean would put up a fight (Sam refused to think about how one-sided the conversation he’d just heard was), but it was better this way. Dean got to keep his family, and Sam could stay close.

He stood, dusting off his pants as he prepared himself to go inside and grab some food before he and Dean left for work. Ben opened the door, stepping outside and barely glancing at Sam before starting across the lawn, heading for his bus stop. Sam checked the time—later than he’d thought.

With barely a flutter of wings preceding his arrival, an angel appeared on the lawn between Sam and Ben. Sam could hardly see the vessel past the sight of the grace. It was blinding and with a sickening roll of his stomach he realized it reminded him of Michael and Lucifer. It had to be the last archangel, Raphael.

He saw Ben pause and turn back when the angel appeared. Not good. He tried to subtly catch the kid’s eye and warn him to run, hopefully around back to get Dean, but Sam would be happy with anything involving “away.” Sam tried to think. He had no weapons, hadn’t carried one in weeks. All their sharp-edged tools were locked away in the garage, just like everything in Baby’s trunk, so no way to slice his hand and banish Raphael. He could call Cas, but his memories of Lucifer vaporizing the angel stopped him. There was no plan. Just stall until Dean realized there was something going on and banished the archangel himself.

Raphael had a darkly pleased look on his face that made Sam’s blood run cold. He flicked his wrist, and Ben flew across the yard to slam into the siding where he hovered two feet off the ground. Sam flinched and glanced over at him. No bleeding. He looked scared but not painful. Small mercies.

Sam steeled himself. “What do you want?”

Raphael sneered. “I want to hurt Castiel, and I’ve heard you’re his pet. Do I need to spell out the rest, or have my brothers taught you how we think?”

Sam blanched. No, Raphael did not need to elaborate. He was here to hurt Sam, badly, judging from the look on his face. “I’m not that important. Your plan isn’t going to work.”

Raphael laughed deeply, and Sam could see his wings flutter in amusement. “Oh, you think so? Perhaps I just wanted to hurt you. Hurting Castiel is a bonus.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you ruined everything, you vile, useless earthworm. You took my Father’s script, and you destroyed it. You think you know better than God? Than the angels? You are pathetic, and I will personally crush you for your insolence. Then, I will release my brothers, and we can have a proper Apocalypse.”

Sam felt cold fear wash down his spine. “I won’t say yes again.”

Raphael tilted his head with a look that could almost be mistaken for pity. “Don’t worry, vessel. You won’t have to.”

That sounded ominous. Sam tried to respond, do anything to keep distracting and stalling, but he abruptly found that he couldn’t. His eyes widened, and then Raphael smirked. Sam felt the snap crackle of his grace lighting up under his skin and willed it away. It might be useful if he knew what he was doing, but as it stood, he was just as likely to hurt Ben or an innocent passerby as do anything useful.

“Oh sorry, did I not mention? I’m tired of listening to your attempts to understand things obviously beyond your comprehension. It’s time I finished what I came here for.” With that, he idly waved his hand and threw Sam across the yard.

Sam landed hard on his left shoulder and felt something give way before pain flared bright from the joint. Dislocated, probably. He groaned and tried to push himself to his feet, only to be slammed back into the ground by an invisible heavy weight pressing into his back. He struggled to turn his head enough to keep breathing and winced as he felt his ribs creaking under the strain. The angel was toying with him. He cracked open his eyes just in time to see Raphael fly across the yard to deliver a hard kick to Sam’s abdomen. He followed it with two more and a kick to Sam’s head that left him stunned. Something had broken internally, he knew, and he gagged as blood started to well up in the back of his throat. The kicks had flipped him onto his back, and now he was in danger of choking on his own bodily fluids. Maybe. Maybe if he could roll over again. Could he use the blood to make a banishing sigil? No. Grass. He was laying on the grass. He needed a flatter surface.

Idly, he wondered if any of the neighbors had called the police. He hoped not. He didn’t especially want to see vaporized police officers this morning. Sam was aware enough to realize just how fuzzy his brain was. Concussion, he thought. He barely felt the next several blows Raphael rained down on him. At this rate, he wasn’t going to last until Dean made it out here to rescue him. As if on cue, he felt a surge from his grace. Still dangerous. Still likely to end up hurting Ben or someone else, but he was out of time. If he knew that Raphael would leave once Sam was dead, then he would just wait and take the damage, but he didn’t. Rather, he suspected that he was just the first person Raphael was going to hurt here. He didn’t matter that much to Cas. Dean did. Hurting Lisa or Ben would hurt Dean. Hurting Dean would hurt Cas. And, of course, Dean had failed his duties as vessel too. No, Raphael wasn’t going to leave once he was done with Sam. Sam needed to end this, if he could.

He reached for his grace, dormant for months now, and pulled. He felt the rush of power, already starting to heal his wounds. He gritted his teeth to keep from screaming as his shoulder popped back into joint. Healing was good, but not what he needed at this moment. It could wait until after the psychotic archangel was gone. He tried again, reaching for his power and then pushing, trying to focus it at Raphael, who was gearing up for another round of blows. This time it worked, and Raphael went flying. He landed near Ben.

As the angel laughed—never a good sign—and reached up, twisting his arm and clenching his hand into a fist. Ben screamed, and Sam suddenly felt the weird, omnipresent itch between his shoulder blades explode outward. In a blink, he was across the yard and reaching for Raphael. Tossing the angel away, again, he stood in front of Ben protectively. Something was coming out of his back, and he was trying not to think about it too much, but a glow caught the corner of his eye. Wings. Honest to God wings, made from the same glowing grace Raphael’s were made of.

Slowly, he lowered them, keeping an eye on the angel as he checked to see how badly Ben had been hurt. Honestly, the kid looked ok. He was standing under his own power now, watching Sam with something akin to awe. Sam tried to smile reassuringly, keenly aware that he probably looked like a wreck with blood dripping down his face.

Dean heard a commotion and stumbled outside just in time to see a winged dick start pummeling his brother. He ducked back inside for a weapon—preferably an angel blade, if he could remember where the heck he’d stashed his. No, that would take too long, it was in the Impala. He grabbed the knife he kept stashed in the living room, slashing his hand as he went back outside. Sam wasn’t on the ground anymore, he was by Ben, kneeling on the ground. Dean was alarmed by the glowing wings he could clearly see erupting from Sam’s back, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as he hastily drew an angel banishing sigil on the wall beside him. He could see angel dude when he stood up and an angel blade dropped into his hand. Dean worked faster, pumping his hand to keep the blood flowing. The angel teleported himself directly behind Sam and drew his arm back to stab his blade into Sam’s back as Dean slammed his bloody palm onto the finished sigil. Immediately, bright light flooded the area and he had to raise his arm to block the glare from burning his eyes.

He panted, trying to catch his breath until he realized he could hear Sam yelling. He blinked, trying to focus on what was going on in the yard. As his vision cleared, the only thing he was able to think about was Sam laying on the ground, curled into a ball and screaming in pain. Shit shit shit. Dean rushed over, trying to assess Sam’s injuries. His face was covered in blood, especially around his mouth which was concerning. Dean ran his hands down Sam’s back, looking for a stab wound. He’d thought he’d hit the sigil in time, but he couldn’t be sure. He fought down the panic threatening to overwhelm him. He was not going to lose Sam again. Not now, not ever. Less than a minute later, Dean was still trying to figure out how badly Sam was hurt, but Sam had gone quiet and limp. As soon as he realized, Dean frantically felt for a pulse, heaving a relieved sigh when he found one, strong and steady. He held on, tipping his forehead against Sam’s. They were going to be ok. He barely registered Ben running back to the house or Lisa standing in the doorway, silently watching the scene.

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#spn fic #wincest #wincestiel #sam!whump #dean!whump #angel!sam #season 6 au #fic i wrote

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brooktiniwrite · 7 years

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Chapter Eight Coming Of Age (Part 1)

When she awoke, Bryn had never felt more unaware of her surroundings.

In her disoriented state, she was only conscious of the feelings against her. The first was brush, chafing against her back. The second was the sun beating against her skin, and the third were hands; Hands gripped at her ankle, pulling her after heavy footsteps.

Then she was gone again.

The second time she awoke, she wanted to speak, but her brain couldn’t process the words. Not when it took all of her effort to understand the booming voice that drug her helplessly across the desert floor.

“Bryn!” It said. “Wake up!”

The hands that released her foot slammed against her face.

“Wake up! I can’t carry you any longer.” Fingers squeezed into her cheeks as they shook her. The motion was violent. The feelings were no longer at her skin but in her stomach, making its way up. And out. The water poured out of her and she wondered if it was endless.

“Good girl.” Said the voice. A hand circled her back roughly. “Let it out.”

Bryn attempted to open her heavy eyelids and when she did, she saw blue, midnight blue and then ebony black.

“Jamie?” She croaked.

Then it all shut down, all but the sounds.

“Dammit Bryn!” She heard as the last of the water escaped her gut. “Don’t you pass out again. I’m too weak. I can’t carry you.”

The next time that she awoke, it was to the hum of electricity. Her sight returned sparsely, skewed by the florescent light above her. She lay tucked into wool sheets.

Breathing in the scent of those dry blankets, Bryn let her heavy eyes fall shut again. She attempted to roll onto her stomach, completely enthralled with the comfort she found inside of those itchy wool covers, but the sheets clung to her back painfully, pulling at her raw skin. The sting was just enough to remind her of how she’d gotten here. She remembered choking, drowning.

She screamed.

She attempted to raise herself from the bed, but scrambled back into the covers after realizing that she was naked. Bryn surveyed the unfamiliar room. There were no windows, only old wooden walls. A few knotted holes in the wood let the natural light in from outside.

In search of a door, Bryn glanced quickly to the opposite side of the room. Instead, she found herself staring into the dark eyes of a girl. The sight of her took Bryn back, leaping against the old metal bed frame. The girl was slender, her willowy frame leaned over an old rocking chair. Her skin was cocoa colored and her dark, straight hair was braided tightly to fall at her waist.

“Where am I?” Bryn gasped.

“You’re on reservation land.”

“Warm Springs?”

The girl nodded and Bryn’s guts twisted. Warm Springs was the Reservation that bordered Lake Billy Chinook.

Every local knew to stay weary of the Rez. Other than just passing through, Bryn had only stopped in once. The place Bryn bravely ventured was a Quick-e mart called Rainfall Market. The broken down store had barred windows and a colorful sign with “Snow cones .99 cents” plastered on the side. She’d passed by it often; Many times when she was young. She used ask her dad to stop and buy the candy-coated ice, but his answer was always the same; Not in this part of town Brinny. The people here are rough around the edges.

Bryn kept one eye wearily on the girl, who was at the bed now, brushing her fingers along the sheets before she sat down. The old metal frame creaked as she rested her dainty figure at Bryn’s feet.

“We found you with Jamison, about three miles into the reservation.”

“We? Who is we?”

“Me,” She blinked. “And the leaders of the Reservation. Jamison and the others have already made arrangements with us to have you here.”

Bryn tried to sort everything out in her mind. She remembered Jamison mentioning that they knew someone, that they wouldn’t have to go to the Fae Realm for Bryn’s Ceremony. Bryn frowned. This was their plan? This rickety house and this fragile looking girl?

“I’m sorry.” Bryn waved her hands in front of herself. “But what are you?”

“What am I?”The girl crinkled her forehead in question.

“Yeah. What are you? You know, like vampire, werewolf,” Bryn paused. “Angel?”

“Oh!” The girl giggled softly. “I’m no Angel. I’m Conduit and Fae, like you.”

“Ugh.” Bryn rubbed the backs of her hands against her eyes. “This is nuts.”

“Maybe I should have started with introducing myself.” She had her arm extended, and a smile spread gently across her face. “I’m Baya.”

“Bryn.” Bryn said without offering a hand.

The girl dropped her hand, disappointed, and lifted herself from the bed. For a moment, it was silent in the room, and Bryn blamed herself for the awkwardness, it wouldn’t have done any harm to shake her hand. As if to increase Bryn’s guilt, Baya retrieved a pile of neatly folded clothes from the weathered rocking chair in the corner and placed them delicately on the bed next to her.

“It’s your Coming of Age attire.” Baya folded her hands together shyly. “As part Fae, I agreed to perform the ceremony for Jamison.”

For Jamison? Bryn quirked a brow. “You mean for me.”

“Yes.” Baya laughed. “For you as well.”

Bryn couldn’t help but look at the girl in confusion. When Baya caught Bryn’s expression, her face went blank.

“Oh,” She mumbled nervously. “He hasn't told you.”

“Told me what?” Bryn asked angrily.

Baya sighed. “He’s gonna kill me for this.”

“What?” Bryn pressed. “What is it?”

“You receiving your element is just as important to him as it is you.”

If Bryn looked confused before, she couldn’t imagine what she looked like now as her face contorted into an even more precarious position.

“Bryn, he is your guardian. Hasn’t he told you-“

“Guardian,” Bryn interrupted impatiently. “That’s what those... those things called him last night.”

“The water Fae?” Baya inquiried. She leaned forward, seemingly interested in these creatures.

“Bunch a’ racist assholes if you ask me.” Bryn spat, irritated that this girl could be so fascinated by a creature so crude, so ruthless to Jamison for merely existing.

Baya hummed.

“They weren't too enthused with Jamison I’m guessing?”

“Yeah.” Bryn said quickly. It was strange, but she couldn't help confiding in her. “What was that about? Why so bitter with Jamison?”

“It's just their way.” Baya shook her head, not excusing such behavior, only giving reason. “Water Fae are still partial to the Seelie Court. With Jamison being Unseelie- well there was bound to be conflict.”

Bryn’s face revealed her state of puzzlement. She could feel her brows furrow as she wondered on Jamison. He couldn’t be Unseelie. That would mean he was Fae, and Jamison wasn’t Fae. He was a shape shifter.

As if Bryn had said her very thoughts aloud, Baya answered.

“Shapeshifters, Werewolves, they are Unseelie. Before The Great Divide, all Fae were Seelie, just with different powers. Some could shift, others could control elements, but somewhere along the lines, Shapeshifters created their own court.”

“And then became Werewolves?” Bryn ensued, remembering the harsh words the water Fae used against Jamison. Ponja made it sound as though Jamison was the last of his kind, that the rest had fallen victim to some sort of degeneration.

“Something like that.” Baya agreed. “The shifters, -the Unseelie, I guess, is what they called themselves then- fled the Fae realm, and The Seelie Court hasn't allowed them back in. With out the absinthe, the use of their world, the Shapeshifters became susceptible to the moon, and disease. Almost all of them are werewolves now, save Jamison’s family and a few others.”

Bryn paused, for a moment she felt thankful to be around someone who wasn't trying to hide everything from her. Something like this, this conversation, would have been like pulling teeth to get out of any one of her family members. Bryn decided to press on with other questions before Baya changed her pace.

“And now he’s my guardian? That has something to do with him reading my mind, doesn't it?”

“I wouldn't call it mind reading just yet, but yes. Guardians have that kind of a connection with their Fae before they are bonded.” Baya said. “I can’t believe he hasn’t explained any of this.”

“Jamison’s good at not mentioning things.” Bryn said bitterly. “So why don't you explain?”

“Um- Well.” The girl broke eye contact to fiddle her thumbs together. Bryn prayed she wasn't changing her mind, deciding to be secretive like everyone else. To her delight, Baya continued. “One Shifting Fae is born an Elemental Fae’s guardian every century.”

“And Jamison is the Guardian of this century.” Bryn pinched her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. What more could be added to this complicated mix of magical, prophesied, otherworldly bullshit?

“In many centuries, actually.” Baya added exuberantly. “-Since the Shape Shifter's have died off. Bryn, If- if you allow Jamison to bond with you, he will be the most powerful Shifter of his time.”

Bryn clenched her teeth. This was what Jamison wanted, to bond with her -what ever that meant made her feel uneasy- and be some sort of Super-Shifting-Hero? No, Bryn scoffed. This girl was out of her mind. It was no secret that Jamison couldn’t shift. Not even when he was nearly drowned by those water demons could he shift like Ryder had.

“Are you sure we are talking about the same Jamison here?” Bryn asked. “He can’t shift. It Literally rips him apart. I’ve seen it.”

“Not until you receive your affinity.” Baya confirmed. “If you don’t Come of Age, Jamison’s purpose, his abilities, are nulled. Just like yours.”

Bryn’s head spun. She pressed her palms to her temples, as if to hold herself still.

“Baya- Right?” Bryn stumbled for the other girl’s name, and Baya nodded. “Baya, you’re going to need to slow down. I-I just found out yesterday that I’m a part of the this World, or that it even existed. This- This is a lot to take in.”

Baya frowned.

“If it makes you feel any better, bonding rituals are very common.” She urged. She seemed to be rambling, talking quickly with no foreseeable cessation. “Most of the warriors have a bonded counterpart now a-days, it’s just that normally, the bond only forms a mental connection- and recently the Elemental Fae have been limited to bonding with werewolves. You and Jamison though, you will share abilities. I mean, Imagine: a splice with the ability to shift-”

Baya went on and Bryn tuned out. Her voice was only a muffle in the distance of Bryn’s thoughts. Bryn was still fretting over the fact that Jamison’s eagerness to get her here was self-absorbed.

“What I said upset you.” Baya stated abruptly. “Didn't it? You think he’s using you, so he can Shift.”

“I do not.” Bryn lied, astonished at how correct Baya’s accusation was.

“He cares, you know? He’s got a tough exterior, but- but on the inside he’s very tender hearted.” Baya’s voice hitched. She liked him. Bryn could tell by the way she said his name, by the way she blushed. “He went through a lot of pain to save you from that lake. He nearly killed himself from changing into a Water Fae.”

Killed himself, Bryn choked. When she reached deep into her memory, it screamed at her. I’m too weak for this now. I can’t carry you.

“He’s ok?” She sputtered the words. “He’s ok, right?”

“He is better now.” Baya hesitated. “But he isn't good. A full body shift like that- It could have ruined him.”

The guilt of forcing him to do such a thing rose in Bryn’s throat. Images of his hand crumbling from the stone fist he’d managed to shift into flashed through her mind. She cringed as she remembered he thick pieces of rock and blood that tore from his bone.

“I just- I-” Bryn stalled, an epiphany interrupting her guilty ramblings. “If I go through with this ‘Coming of Age’ ritual, Jamison won’t have to go through that-that pain when he changes, right?”

“No, he won’t, not after he gets the hang of it.”

“I’ll do it then.” Bryn rose hastily, fisting the clothes beside her. “I’ve been wanting to do it, I would have done it anyway.”

Baya left the bed quickly, digging through a dusty bedside dresser as Bryn hurriedly stepped into the garment. It was an ethereal off-white dress that hung above her knees in the front and dipped to skim at her calves in the back. An iron chain pinched at the smallest part of her waist and the neckline was deep, plunging all the way to the chain.

Baya dug out two thick metal cuffs from the drawer and thrust them toward Bryn.

“These are iron bracelet cuffs. You will need them for the ceremony.”

Bryn replied by quickly slipping the thick metal over each hand and around her wrists.

“The ritual will render you… unconscious. The iron will bring you back.” Baya said sternly.

Anxiety stirred in the pit of Bryn’s stomach. Unconscious. Iron. She tried to remember the Folklore she’d learned from her father when she was young, begging him for just one more fairy tale at bedtime. A wooden stake to kill a vampire, silver for a werewolf, and Iron to weaken a faery. She touched the cool metal as a test. Nothing happened.

“Alright.” Bryn nodded. “Where is Jamison?”

“Out the door and across the pews there is another door.” Baya jerked her head toward the exit. “That's where you'll find him.”

“Pews?” Bryn questioned sharply. “Is this some kind of a church?”

“Warm Springs Community.” Baya replied with only half of her attention as she smoothed out the pale bedsheets.

Bryn frowned, confused. She gazed around the room, taking in the rocking chair, the weathered rug at her feet and the rickety metal bed.

“What’s a bedroom doing in a church?”

“You’d be surprised the kind of visitors the reservation keeps.” Baya said, now fluffing a pillow “There are rooms like this spread about the town. I think the church has three. Anyway, if you’d like to see him, you can now. We can start the ritual afterward.”

Bryn nodded. She opened the door with a creak and poked her head out the old cedar door to gaze upon the nave of the church. Baya was still preoccupied with her primping, so Bryn stepped through the doorway. She had never been in an empty church before. She would have assumed the vacant room of worship to be eerie, but something about the stillness was comforting.

It was nothing grand, not like the kind of Church you might see with vaulted ceilings and arched hallways. This church was small. It was old. The walls were wooden and slightly dusty, The windows beside the pews were outdated, they looked as though one might have trouble opening them. The wooden floorboards were warn from the patron church goers, but it was warm, inviting.

Sun slipped through stained glass windows, illuminating the dust particles that lingered above honey colored church pews. A podium adorn with an intricately designed cross stood affront the pews, and across the room was a matching aged cedar door.

Bryn paced speedily to the opposite side of the church, her hair feet padding against the wooden floors. She was so eager that she forgot to knock before throwing the door open with a loud bang. Her eyes quickly adjusted to Jamison, tucked tightly into wool sheets. His shoulders pinched upward as he winced at the sound. His skin was pale, purple residing under the swollen parts of his body. Parts of his skin were split, the blood dried into thick scabs. A gash strung down his forearm and across his hand, a deep crevice curled under his chin and crept across his neck.

“Jamie.” She flushed. “You’re awake.”

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josjournal · 7 years

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Person A (Liam) and B (Louis) are roommates that live together in a dorm. Their neighbor (whom Person A finds hella fucking cute), Person C (Zayn), knocks on their door and asks if they have any sugar. Person B (Louis) pushes Person A (Liam) out of the dorm, stating that “They’re as sweet as can be.” BONUS: B locks the door and refuses to let A in until A and C talk to each other. ~LA (just found this prompt for you to do) :P

Hi, Little Angel. I know you sent me this prompt (and others) ages ago, but I finally managed to get to it. I’m pretty nervous about posting it, but I’m just trying to take a deep breath and do it. Hope it doesn’t disappoint you or anyone else.

The sun was warm through the window as Liam stared out across the quad, watching kids enjoying the blanket of snow that had fallen the night before. He groaned as another piece of popcorn bounced off the top of his head and onto the desk in front of him. “Louis,” he warned his roommate, already knowing the lad had another piece ready to be thrown. “If you’re that bored, can you please just go outside? I have to finish this report.”

“I want you to go outside with me,” Louis said, his voice just short of whining. “The report isn’t due until next week and you have the whole weekend to work on it and I wanna go have a snowball fight.” He moved to sit on the desk next to Liam, his heels banging against the drawers, making Liam groan even louder as his head began to pound in sync with Louis’ feet.

“Just go,” Liam said. “Let me work for another hour and I promise, I’ll come out and join you,” Liam finally gave in, knowing there was no other way to be rid of his roommate.

Louis hopped off the desk and clapped his hands. “One hour, but I’m going to wait for you,” Louis said. “Otherwise, you’ll ‘forget’ to meet me outside and leave me to my frozen demise.” He settled back onto his bed, fiddling with his phone while now pointedly ignoring Liam.

With a fond smile and shake of his head, Liam turned his attention back to his laptop, forcing himself to focus on a literary analysis of The Catcher in the Rye, a book that he’d enjoyed, but wasn’t even sure where to begin putting his thoughts into words. He was in the middle of a paragraph about the necessity of Holden’s obsession with the ducks in Central Park when Louis closed the screen on his fingers.

“Hey!” he snapped, glaring at his roommate.

“Time’s up,” Louis said, happily, dropping clothes on his head before sitting down to put on his shoes. “Time for arctic adventures. Get dressed.”

“I was on a roll,” Liam grumbled, looking longingly at his computer before taking off his vest and pajama bottoms, leaving him in just his Batman pants.

“Hey, you never know, Zayn might be outside,” Louis teased, chuckling as Liam’s face flushed bright red at the mention of the boy in the room next door.

“Shut up,” Liam muttered, looking at the clothing Louis had tossed at him and rolling his eyes. “I am not wearing shorts and a vest to play in the snow.” He started digging around in his wardrobe for something more weather appropriate, while Louis teased him about their neighbor.

It wasn’t Liam’s fault that the best-looking person he’d ever seen in his life lived less than twenty feet away from him, that his bed was pushed up against their shared wall. He sometimes could hear the low rumble of Zayn’s laughter through the walls and found himself wishing he were the one making him laugh that way. Instead, Liam just stared at him from afar and ran away any time he got too close. It had taken several instances of Liam hiding behind Louis for his roommate to figure out what was going on and he hadn’t stopped teasing him since.

Liam had just found a pair of joggers and started digging for a jumper when there was a knock at the door. He grumbled at Louis when he opened it, smacking Liam in the bum with it. He froze when he heard a familiar voice coming from the other side. “Look, I know this is weird, mate, but you wouldn’t happen to have any sugar, would you?”

Liam felt a warm thrill through his tummy at Zayn’s voice but refused to turn around. In fact, he was trying very hard not to move as he realized he was still in just his pants. He jumped when he felt Louis grab his bicep, yanking him towards him and then shoving him into someone, the two of them falling into the hallway.

“This one’s sweet as they come,” Louis cackled as he slammed the door shut, leaving Zayn and Liam in a pile on the floor.

Liam scrambled to his feet, his hands flailing as he tried to figure out which part of himself to cover, finally deciding on his face because that way he wouldn’t have to make eye contact. He kicked a bare foot back against his door, cursing when pain shot through him, reminding him he was barefoot. “Let me back in!” he shouted through his hands.

“Nope!” Louis shouted back, still laughing, but it was fading like he was moving away from the door.

Liam couldn’t move; he couldn’t even breathe. He stood in the hallway, cold as his body heated up in embarrassment. He was willing himself to disappear, he was twenty-two, it wasn’t too late for super powers to develop, right?

Cool hands wrapped around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. Liam squeaked when he saw it was Zayn that was touching him and squeezed his eyes shut, thinking invisible thoughts. He heard a small chuckle, the one he’d only listened to through the walls and his heart sank. He’d always wanted to make him laugh, but not like this.

“Liam, yeah?” Liam didn’t move, just kept focused on melting into the floor or something. “C’mon, open those eyes.” Liam shook his head. “Alright, then.” Liam felt a tug in his wrists and he tried to dig his heels in, but Zayn appeared to have the advantage, moving Liam easily. Then he released Liam’s wrists as another door shut. “We’re in my room now.” There was some shuffling noises and then hands moving Liam’s arms, resting clothing in them. “I’m going to turn my back and let you put these on, yeah?”

Liam waited a minute before opening his eyes, faced with the back of Zayn’s head, he quickly scrambled into the shirt and joggers that were in his hands. When he was done, he looked around Zayn’s room, smiling at the Green Lantern poster hanging over one of the beds. “You like comics?”

“Yeah.” Zayn started to move, stopping suddenly. “Can I turn around?” Liam blushed but made a sound of agreement. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Liam responded, shuffling his feet.

“So, I was making some tea, that’s why I asked your roommate for sugar,” Zayn said, stepping over to an electric kettle, setting out two mugs. “Did you want some?”

“I should go-”

“NOT LETTING YOU BACK IN!” Louis yelled through the wall.

“Or not,” Zayn said, handing over one of the mugs before settling on the floor next to one of the beds, nodding his head to the spot next to him. Liam hesitated before sitting down next to Zayn, but not close enough to touch. He sipped at the mug, making a face. “Yeah, I know, sorry for the lack of sugar.” He took a sip of his own and Liam watched his eyebrows furrow in distaste.

“Sorry ab-” Liam cut off his excuses for Louis’ behaviour when Zayn reached over and grabbed his hand, forcing Liam’s finger into his mug of tea and stirring it around for a minute, Liam thankful the tea wasn’t boiling hot. After a couple spins, Zayn released his hand, taking another sip before making a face. “What was that?” Liam asked, laughing as he stuck his finger in his mouth to clean the tea off.

Zayn gaped as Liam pulled his finger out with a pop. “Um, well, I asked your roommate for sugar and he said you were as sweet as they come, so I figure it was worth a shot.” He shrugged at Liam’s laughter. “Unfortunately, I think instead of making my tea sweeter, you just managed to make it hotter.”

Liam started to laugh harder before stopping suddenly. “Wait, what?”

“HE THINKS YOU’RE HOT, PAYNO!” Louis shouted through the wall, causing both of them to roll their eyes at each other.

“He’s not wrong,” Zayn admitted, looking down at his mug.

“NEVER AM!”

Liam shook his head before opening his mouth, hoping to get an entire sentence out. “How about we go to the coffee shop across the quad for some tea free of eavesdroppers?” he suggested, a shy smile overtaking his face at the grin on Zayn’s.

“I’d like that.”

They walked out into the hall, Liam determined to break down his door if he had to, laughing when he found his boots and outerwear sitting outside the door with a note from Louis. “Have fun!”

“I hate my bloody roommate,” Liam muttered as he got ready to go outside.

“I don’t know,” Zayn said, helping Liam zip up his jacket. “I think he’s rather sweet.”

#ziam #jos boys #ziam ficlet #my writing #this is mine #rather sweet #cross posted to ao3 #matchmaker louis #Anonymous

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[MF] Savior

NOTE: This is my first time (probably?) doing something like this, and by this I mean creatively writing a short story and submitting it for other people to see. Feedback appreciated, whether it be on formatting, development, etc. or just whether you loved it or hated it. Thanks for reading!

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The city of Jainhurst screeched to a halt. The once bustling epicenter of commerce was now coated in a sheet of silence and ice. Snow had piled up high in the streets, but no one had bothered to shovel. A better word would be dared to shovel as only a fool would show his face in a time like this.

Meridia was pacing in her room. Between tending to her babe and to the fire, she was losing her mind. Meridia had spent the previous night tending to her husband’s atrocious injury, and she did not get a wink of sleep. The cloaks that wrapped her did not help; no matter what, she couldn’t seem to disperse this unearthly chill that engulfed her body. It wasn’t a chill though; to describe what she was feeling in a word like that would be a sin. She was enveloped in a fear very few people her age had ever experienced; the inevitable, the inexorable, the one thing that all men and beasts have in common: death. She rocked her babe, though she knew he wouldn’t be quiet. She wanted to throw him into the fire, his screams were so loud, but she could not. How could a mother think such a thing? she thought to herself. Her trembling fingers squeezed the babe’s cheek, while she brought her sweaty, moist lips to his forehead. She tried to sing for her son, but her voice would not hold. Meridia gave up trying to soothe her child and laid him in his crib.

The screams persisted, but Meridia did not go back to the crib. She slowly walked to her husband’s huge leather chair in front of the fire, draped in woolen blankets and quilts. The quilts she had knitted herself, the blankets a gift. A yellow piece of paper laid on the seat of the chair. The paper had been freshly printed, merely hours before, but her sweaty fingers had stained it from holding it for too long. The paper read: “MANIAC ON THE LOOSE. LOCAL MAN JASON DABBENHEART MAIMED BY MASKED INDIVIDUAL ON THE SEVENTEENTH OF JANUARY. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR HOME FOR ANY REASON UNLESS IT IS OF UTMOST IMPORTANCE”. Meridia knelt in front of the fire and closed her eyes. She prayed for her husband.

It had been a difficult decision to make. His wife was certainly skilled in treating injuries and illnesses, but this required a master at his craft. Dr. Pulius’ home lay at the other end of town, the only home with a torch burning outside. Jason trekked knee deep through the snow, his wife’s fear burning in his heart. He had to be strong for her. He had to be strong for his son. Jason drew the crow-black cloak tighter around himself for both fear of the cold and fear of being seen. He struggled to push all other thoughts aside; he had to keep moving. Jason felt with his right hand the cloth over the nub where his left had been, where it should be. A hot anger pulsed through him, while he thought: Why me? Why me?. But he pushed these thoughts aside as well. All he needed to do was focus on moving forward; moving, moving, just a little further.

Jason paused to catch his breath. He knew he’d be weak on his journey, but he didn’t expect it to hit him this hard and so early. His legs were trembling from fatigue and chill, yet he pushed on. Suddenly, his legs gave out and he fell face first in the snow. Exhausted and defeated, Jason dragged himself up. He knew he could not make it to Dr. Pulius without rest, but he could not rest in this frozen blackness. His wife’s words echoed in his mind: No matter what, no matter what: do not go to anyone but Mr. Pulius. His wife didn’t understand. Jason trudged up to the door of a house nearby. He thought, Do not worry my love, I trust this man. A sign hung outside the door, an anvil painted half red and half black: the new smith. Jason, being a smith himself, had briefly chatted with the man when he settled in. His name was Samuel.

Jason pounded on the door, yelling, “Please help me! I am on my way to Dr. Pulius and I have fallen weak and need shelter.”

A minute went by, and Jason heard movements inside the house. Then another minute went by, and all was still. Who can blame him? thought Jason. Who would open their door on a night like this?. Jason started back to his home, so far away now, when the door suddenly swung open.

A tall, lean figure stood in the doorway. With his blonde curly hair and his surprisingly clean body, Jason thought him an angel. The firelight from Samuel’s hearth bled out onto Jason as he trudged towards the young man. Samuel rushed over to the weak figure, saying, “Sir, come in immediately!”.

Samuel practically carried Jason back into his home. Jason immediately went to the fire to warm himself. Samuel turned around and shut the door.

“You’re an angel lad. Thank you a hundred.”

“No need to thank me. Please, make yourself warm and comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Do you have any ale?”

“Only the finest,” Samuel smiled.

Jason returned the smile as Samuel poured. Jason drank greedily, the liquor soothing his pains. He noticed Samuel did not drink, but he said nothing of it. Jason settled down and looked around the room. It was surprisingly bare, with a bookshelf with several books, a bed here, a pot there. But no tools.

Jason asked, “Where are your tools, lad?”

Samuel looked puzzled for a second, but then responded, “Oh, for the forge? I keep them outside.”

“In the winter? They’ll be ruined that way!”

“Ah, you’re right. I didn’t think a bit of snow would do any harm.”

“Aye, you’d be surprised what the cold can do.”

Samuel smirked a little at that. Jason looked closer at Samuel; his hands were smooth as a baby’s bottom.

“Wow, you have the hands of a prince! How in the hell do you keep them so smooth from the forge?”

“My lovely wife massages them at night and I apply a special ointment my father sends me from the East. The smiths out there are unmatched, my father among them.”

“So why did you move here if the smithing is so much better out there?”

“My father forced me to: he said I should learn from experience first, then learn from the best.”“Wise man.”

“Anyways, can I get you something to eat? You must be starving.”

“That would put it lightly. I could eat a whole horse and then some.”

Samuel chuckled, and went over to the pot on the fire. Jason had not noticed the smell when he had first come in, but he smelled it now. It smelled like a dead animal, a scent so disgusting he was surprised he wasn’t cooking a skunk.

“What is that stench? My babe can cook better than that!”

The host chuckled and ladled a few times into a big copper bowl.

“I promise it tastes better than it smells.”

Jason chuckled, and said:

“I hope so.”

Jason took a spoonful and was pleasantly delighted.

“You were right. This is not bad at all.”

Jason took several more spoonfuls, and was starting to feel at home.

“My wife would die to know this recipe! What’s in it?”

“Secret. But if you look closer, you should be able to tell why it’s so good.”

Jason looked puzzled, but he looked nonetheless. He saw carrots, potatoes, some cabbage… then he froze. Jason slowly raised his head back up to look at Samuel. Samuel flashed a wicked grin

A thumb looked back at Jason from the soup. He never did make it to Dr. Pulius.

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