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thecleverdame · 5 years

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Sleepy Hollow - Eleven

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta: ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

Van Tassel House - Sam’s Room Sam awakes, rolling over to find Lady Van Tassel at his bedside with food and drink. He shifts, pulling the covers up over his waist, still naked from the night before.

“You slept like the dead,” she affirms mouth pinched in a tight expression. “You are too kind to me.” Sam clears his throat, sitting up. “I do not look to be served by the lady of the house.” She smiles and shrugs. “Nor would you be but that the servant girl has vanished.” “Sarah?” Sam confirms, thinking about how pleased she was to have him here, to solve this dark mystery. “Run away, like many more people are leaving, in fear, without ceremony.” Lady Van Tassel waves her hand as if swatting at wafting annoyance. “Where is Y/N?” Sam asks, immediately regretting the question. He can still smell you on the bedclothes. “She watched over you till dawn, I dare say.” Her eyes narrow, something playful sparkling. “Now it is her turn to sleep and I am here. I doubt, however, that I will provide the same level of care my stepdaughter has.”

“I am grateful.” Sam ignores her implication.

“I’ll leave you to dress, constable.” She leaves the room as Young Masbath enters. “I am fit for another day.” Sam’s careful to keep the sheets around his waist as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Get my brother.” “I’m already here.” Dean saunters through the door, tugging his sleeves into place.

“You’re awake early,” Sam comments, pulling on his trousers.

“There wasn’t much sleep to be had while Y/N was providing you such vigorous care.” Dean grimaces and Sam nearly chokes on his own spit.

“The walls are thin?” Sam grins despite the blush rising in his cheeks.

“Thin enough to know she took great care of you...twice.” Dean remains unamused.

“Miss Van Tassell tended to me when I had the flu.” Young Masbath adds, looking from Sam to Dean. “She is a gifted caregiver.”

Dean chuckles, placing a hand on Young Masbath’s shoulder. “I have no doubt she is.”

“Where are we going?” “To the Notary's office,” Sam offers and Dean nods in agreement. “Why?” Young Masbath asks. “Because that is where I expect to find deposited...the last will and testament of the elder Van Garrett,” Sam explains, looking at his brother. Dean nods at him. “You’ve thought of something.”

“Of something Young Masbath said.” Sam gestures to the boy. “The Widow Winship came many a day with a basket of eggs to Van Garrett, who I understand had hens to spare. I begin to see. It was Van Garrett's child that the widow was carrying.” “I heard someone leaving last night,” Young Masbath interjects. “Looked like they were headed into town, but I lost them in the woods.” “You didn't see who?” Dean cocked an eyebrow. “All I saw was their lantern.” The brothers ponder this new information, troubled, as Young Masbath brings Sam a shirt. “The Horseman does the killing but, I believe, at the bidding of a mortal, someone of flesh and blood.” Sam pulls the shirt over his head. “What makes you say that?” Masbath looks at Sam like he’s insane. “The witch,” Dean confirms.

“Indeed, the crone, when I happened upon her corpse, she lay in a pool of blood. Blood poured hard from her neck. The wound was not cauterized.” “Then, she was not killed by the Hessian. Someone tried to make it seem so.” The boy is getting it now. “Perhaps it was the settling of a private score,” Dean offers.

“That would make more sense,” Sam agrees, gathering his things. “The Horseman cuts heads to a different drum. The crone pointed us to what drives the Hessian - his skull has been stolen from his grave. The person who stole it has power over the Hessian. Here is why the Headless One has returned through the gate of the Tree of the Dead. He chops heads until his own is restored to him.”

“But what person?” Young Masbath looks from Sam to Dean. Dean is silent for a moment then chuckles, watching the knowing grin on his brother's face. “What person has something to gain from all three murders?”

Town Square - Church

Wagons, horses and townspeople swarm. A crowd empties the town's general store. Provisions are passed along, man to man, and loaded onto wheelbarrows. Sam, Dean and Young Masbath ride, passing by many angry faces who leer up at them. All up and down the long straight road, homeowners board up windows with lumber. The three stop, tying their horses in front of the "NOTARY." Sam looks down the road, people are headed to the church.

“Sanctuary.” Sam looks to Dean. “Or, so they hope.”

“The hysteria will only build from here.” Dean claps a hand on Young Masbath’s shoulder. People carry supplies into the church, within the bordering wrought iron fence. Others work to build and erect massive wooden crosses. In the crowd here, Reverend Steenwyck spots the constables and Young Masbath, pushes past people, shouting... “There they are! There!” The reverend hollers. People begin to pay attention to Steenwyck as he climbs atop a crate, pointing toward the Winchesters. “The desecrators of Christian burial! Twice they met the Horseman, and kept their heads! How is it so?” Turning toward the notary Sam tries to ignore the scene before him and heads inside, as a clod of earth hits him on the shoulder. In the churchyard, Steenwyck continues his rant. “The Devil protects his own!” Inside they find themselves in a small, untidy room with piles of dusty documents in great disorder. The Notary Hardenbrook looks at Sam with his one good eye. Young Masbath stands nearer to Dean. “I take it, Mr. Hardenbrook, that wills and testaments are held here on public record?” Sam inquires, pulling off his riding gloves one at a time. Hardenbrook is in a funk, trying to act calm. He knows what they’ve come for and passes a document across the desk. “I believe this is what you wish to see. Take it and go!” Sam and Dean lean in, scanning the will of Peter Van Garrett. “Van Garrett Senior left his estate to his next of kin, that is to say, to his only son. However, the son was also murdered.” Hardenbrook explains. “The next of kin after the son would be the eldest of the line from Van Garrett's father's sister...none other than the Baltus Van Tassel: something else no one thought to mention?” Sam’s eyes flick up to the man, ignoring Dean shifting beside him. “Well, you have found your way to it, and I hope you will leave now before my windows are broken.”

The crowd murmurs outside like angry bees. Sam flourishes the will in his hand. “My brother is not ready to leave,” Dean smirks widening his stance. Hardenbrook starts moaning and wringing his hands. “A brick through your window is not what puts you in terror, Hardenbrook - there is something else. I saw your fear, and Steenwyck's, and the doctor's when you met at Philipse's house... Philipse paid with his head, and you fear for your own,” Sam surmises much to the notary’s horror. “Yes, it's true!” Hardenbrook shouts. “But we did not know it was a murdering plot when we were drawn in!” Dean steps forward. “Drawn in by whom?!” “Mercy upon me!” Hardenbrook exclaims, clasping his hands. “We meant no harm to come to her!” “No harm to come to whom?” Sam leans in.

“But the marriage made her next of kin…” Hardenbrook babbles on as Sam is losing his patience. “Made who next of kin to whom?!” Sam shouts. “You’ve yet to offer any real answer.” “He means old Van Garrett secretly married the Widow Winship.” Young Masbath is the one to clarify. “Of course!” Sam is starting to catch on. “And Van Garrett made a new will, leaving everything to her and his unborn child... So she stood between Baltus and the legacy! Where is the will?” Hardenbrook is beginning to panic, looking around the room, eyes wild. “I cannot be seen to help you! The Horseman will come for me!” “We will not leave without the very last will and testament in question.” The younger Winchester stands his ground as Dean crosses his arms over his chest. Hardenbrook digs into a mountain of documents, hurling handfuls into the air and flings the second will at Sam. Young Masbath nervously checks the door. “Go, then! I am a dead man!” The old man cries, he starts to sob. “Sir-” Young Masbath starts. “Young Masbath...I know why your father died. That night when Van Garrett quarreled with his son, Jonathan Masbath was summoned upstairs to witness the new Will. Here is your father's signature. It was his death warrant.” Young Masbath takes the document and looks at it tearfully. “But the secret was not safe. Mrs. Killian the midwife was forewarned the baby was coming -- and so she, too, had to die.” One of the other hurled documents fluttered down fortuitously in front of Sam. Dean picks it up. “The marriage certificate,” Dean confirms. “Parson Steenwyck married them. Doctor Lancaster confirmed the widow was pregnant. She told the secret to Magistrate Philipse. Notary Hardenbrook concealed the documents.” Hardenbrook snivels and moans and wrings his hands. “And you all kept silence!” Sam turns to the notary. “Why? For some nameless dread of the man who stood to gain by it - Baltus Van Tassel!”

VAN TASSEL HOUSE

Sam, Dean and Young Masbath start up the stairs, noticing Baltus, alone, with a glass of liquor, is brooding over an oak coffer of silver, running coins through his fingers. The constables continue with Young Masbath, speaking quietly. “I think there is some error in your reasoning,” Young Masbath interjects.

“Really?” Sam looks to his brother. “Do give us the benefit of your insight.” “All these murders, just so that Baltus Van Tassel should inherit yet more land and property?” Masbath shakes his head. “Precisely,” Dean confirms. “Men murder for profit. Possibly you don't know New York?”

“If you had seen the things we have young man you would not hesitate to believe-” Sam stops short seeing his bedroom door ajar. He carefully pushes the door open, surprised to find you at his desk, reading his ledger.

“Y/N, why are you in my room?” “Because it is yours.” You smile softly, eyes darting to your handsome constable. “Is it wicked of me?” “No,” Sam can’t help the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth at the sight of you. “Of course not.” “I missed you. Where did you go?” “To the Notary.” Sam forces an even expression, dreading the idea of telling you that he suspects your father. “I had questions to ask Hardenbrook.” “And did you learn anything of interest?” You crane your neck to look at him like the prettiest flower trying to arch closer to the warm sun and Sam feels ill. Sam and Dean exchange a glance. “Well...perhaps.” Sam falters, heat rising in his cheeks. “My father-” you start and Sam nearly jumps out of his boots. “Your father...?”

“Yes,” you nod, eyes narrowing at his strange disposition. Perhaps a night with you has set him on edge. “My father thinks you should return to New York.” “Really?” Sam balks, as Dean sucks in a breath. “Why is that?” “I don't know,” you smirk, looking at Sam’s handsome face. “Perhaps he looked in your ledger and did not like what he saw.” You leave the ledger open on the desk. Sam steps over to look. Dean follows in tandem. It is a page of doodles with the name "Y/N" written several times, and a sketch of you, beautifully intricate.

Embarrassed, Sam slams the ledger closed. “He believes townsfolk and country do not mix,” you offer. Sam opens the drawer in the desk and puts away the document he took from the Notary. He is nervous because he knows they point to complicity by Y/N's father. Young Masbath, watching, understands this, Sam locks the drawer and pockets the key. “What have you there?” you inquire. “Evidence,” Sam explains. “I'm sorry, I must ask for a few moments of privacy.” “Then I will leave you to your thoughts. Sleep well, Constable.” You brush past him, letting your hand brush over his, a subtle invitation. You leave and Sam looks to Dean, saving his commentary for when they’re truly alone.

“Look at that.” Sam points to a huge spider scuttling under his bed. Dean takes a step back, wincing at the sight of it. He’s never liked them. “It's only a spider.” Young Masbath smiles at the older constable. “Why don’t you keep an eye on it. Make sure it doesn’t crawl its way into my room.”

“I saw where it went.” Young Masbath kneels down, looking under Sam’s bed. He turns back to the constables. “There’s something under here.” “Kill it!” Dean offers.

“Why don’t we simply put it outside.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Let me help you move the bed.” Young Masbath and Sam move the bed only to reveal a strange pentagram drawn in chalk on the floorboards. “The Evil Eye!” The boy backs away. “What is it?” Dean inquires, leaning down to inspect the sigil.

“It is someone casting spells against you.” The boy confirms, looking away as if the mark might take hold of him if he inspects it too closely. “An evil eye,” Sam repeats, staring at the spider sitting in the middle of the Pentagram.

Van Tassel House - Y/N’s Room

“Shhh,” Sam hisses, his nose pressed into your cheek. “Someone will hear us if you keep on like this.”

While he’s right, there’s also a hint of pride in his voice as he takes you from behind, half bent over the heavy wooden vanity. You’re standing on shaky legs with your nightgown around your waist, unable to stifle the desperate pants flowing from between your lips.

“I’ll try to control myself,” you gasp, reaching up and behind to fist a hand in his hair. Twisting to the side you catch his mouth is a sweet, lingering kiss. He’s feeling better, he must be, because he’s fucking you so hard it’s taking the breath right out of your lungs. There’s nothing but lust and unbridled pleasure as his cock moves inside you, again and again, slick running down your thighs. Curling forward he deepens a second kiss as a hand snakes between your legs, finding your bud with sinful precision. He swallows your gasp, nearly growling in response.

Your breath hastens as he strums your body like a well-trained musician. It’s his expert touch combined with the deep stretch of his hard prick that sends you over the edge into ecstasy. You cum with a muffled shout, his hand clapping over your mouth as you arch backward, cunt clutching and squeezing him inside you.

“Perfect,” he mutters, jaw tightening. Grabbing your hips he moves faster and faster, his strokes unrelenting as you shake and shutter. He chases his own release, hips smacking into your backside until he lets out a long, low moan and pulls out. He cums over your buttocks, shooting warm and thick, stroking himself until he’s fully satisfied.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” he chuckles breathlessly, placing a kiss just behind your ear.

“I don’t mind one bit,” you laugh, blissfully exhausted. Using a handkerchief he wipes you clean, before tucking himself back into his pants. The moment you turn around his arms engulf your waist, twisting together at the small of your back. There’s such a familiar feeling when he holds you close. Being with Sam feels like a safe, happy place that you find yourself longing for when he’s not near.

“I can’t stay,” he explains softly. He’s beautiful in the candlelight, the small lines around his eyes wrinkling when he smiles at you.

“But you must!” you whine, sliding both hands over his chest.

“I wish I could.” One hand abandons your hips in favor of your cheek, thumb stroking back and forth. “But while the Horseman is at large I don’t have the luxury of spending my nights in your bed.”

“Please be careful,” you insist, searching his eyes. “I couldn't bear it if something happened to you. I know you’re healing but-”

“I’ll be fine,” he counters, dipping down for a soft kiss. He presses his nose into your cheek, squeezes you as close as he can, nearly taking your feet off the floor. “I have Dean to look after me. There’s no one better suited for the job.”

“I have to admit I’m interested to know what you find out.” You grin, watching as the corners of his mouth twitch. You’re curious by nature and truly eager to find out more about this mystery that’s consumed your life.

“All will be revealed.”

Sam leaves you with one last kiss. And then another. By the time he finally leaves, your lips are swollen and heart bursting with the promise of what’s to come.

Later That Night... Sam and Dean are sitting awake in Dean’s room, silently waiting as the hands of the clock tick past midnight.

“Are you sure you want the answer you may find, brother?” Dean asks, rubbing his finger over the amulet in his hand, a token from their uncle.

“What does that mean?” Sam’s eyes shoot up, back straightening.

“You know full well what I mean. There are layers of secrets here, secrets that may put a stop to your romance.” Dean grins slyly at his brother. “We could leave, go back to New York. You could take the girl with you.”

“If she and I are meant to be she will come with us when the time comes regardless of what puzzles we may solve.” Sam nods firmly, trying to convince himself as much as Dean.

The truth is you are all he thinks about. And he is afraid that their investigation may drive a wedge between you but he can’t stop now. His scrupulous morals won’t let him.

They hear a door creak open and then the creak of the stairs. Sam motions to Dean as he lights a candle. They wait for a few moments and then carefully open the door and sneak out of the room.

They remove their shoes when they come to the stairs, wary of alerting anyone to their presence. A floorboard creaks in a room at the end of the hallway and they freeze as Sam blows out the candle in his lantern. There’s a light coming from under the door as they inch closer. Footsteps are heard, then a door opening and closing. “Outside,” Dean whispers as he and Sam creep outside in the pitch black of night in their stocking feet. They follow a faint lantern light moving in the distance. “What do you think we’re about to come upon?” Sam questions, stopping on the hillside as his eyes adjust to the dark. “I have no idea.” Dean shakes his head and they advance, both men peering forward to look through the thicket of trees. There’s a lantern sitting on a rock and on the ground, on a blanket are a man and woman in the midst of rather rough sex.

Sam’s eyes widen and Dean cocks his head as they move closer. The couple continues to fuck, oblivious to their audience. The man is on top of the woman, grunting desperately. He’s giving it to the woman as hard he can. The woman lies back and her face is revealed as Lady Van Tassel. Dean reaches over and slaps Sam who shoos his hand away. Lady Van Tassel pulls down the man's shirt, exposing his flesh. She raises a small, sharp knife behind his back. Sam is about to shout a warning but Dean stops him.

They watch as Lady Van Tassel brings the blade down to her own hand, slicing deep into her palm. Blood flows and she rubs the cut over her partners back, smearing red blood. She then caresses the man’s chest, neck, and face, trailing blood until he’s covered. The man lifts his head, in apparent ecstasy as he sucks on the woman’s fingers revealing he’s none other than the Reverend Steenwyck.

The constables back away, having seen more than enough. When they return to the house Young Masbath is waiting for them. “What was there?” the boy asks Dean.

“Something I wish I had not seen. A beast with two backs.” “A beast with two backs?” Young Masbath mumbles in amazement. “What is next in these bewitched woods?!”

“Dean,” Sam shoots a warning shot. “Don’t tease the boy.” The three of them make their way back to Sam’s room. His desk drawer is visibly open, and he inspects it already knowing the worst. The documents have been taken. Young Masbath suddenly sniffs the air. He signals to Dean. He sniffs again, pointing to the grate in the fireplace as the source of the smell: the documents burned to ashes. “Someone is working against us.” Sam ticks his jaw, anger bubbling to the surface.

#sleepy hollow #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester au #sam winchester smut

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raymondshields · 4 years

Note

1, 4, 5, 6, 11, 15, 21, 22, 23 for the writers ask?

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Currently, I’m working on a fic titled A Monstrous Manifesto, which is a fic entirely inspired by Cat Valente’s poem of the same name. Every line is a chapter, every noun is a part of that chapter, and every single beast named corresponds to a Spectre, allowing me to dig directly into their heads and demonstrate their full psychology.

Progress stopped unfortunately back in July on part four - a fiend, which I picked Deadly Beetle Stand for, because I just couldn’t get into his head. Kiril played soundboard for it and I’ve been humming and hawing over him trying to figure it out, but let’s be real it’s gonna come to me in a dream.

Because see here, most folks who’ve read my works, if told to point to my best, it’ll either be a) my breakthrough with Armour Adventures (which tbh if I redid I’d do better on), b) In Kismet Marcescence (which I need to sit down and plot out properly before I continue), or c) rather unexpectedly to me, Green Grows The Asphodel. Guess everyone likes that soft MiAlba where Alba gets his bastardization arc, but also I let him speedrun it in Broken Shine The Stars and people seem to like that one too, so.

The thing is with AMM is that this would be my greatest work. Like AA, it’s gen, but here’s the one advantage I’ve realized I actually have over pretty much everyone else in this fandom: I am myself a monster, fictionkind and all. I’m a Devil and a feral little beast, which means when you offer me Spectres - warriors of the dark and death who are all based around animal motifs - I take one look and go “oh! You’re like me!” and proceed to write them as actual monsters while having some unspoken and long-winded conversation about what it means to be human, what it means to be shunned, and what it means to belong among the broken.

It means that I write Spectres wildly different than anyone who isn’t Kiril (who is on the same wavelength as me and we argue back and forth about the inner details of everyone’s monstrosity), which means when I do it, nobody’s seen this shit before and apparently people seem to think it’s cool. So AMM is the very epitome of that style, of that psychological and philosophical discussion. I don’t really have a background of research in either of those things, so any similarities to works or theories already out there is entirely coincidence. Cat Valente’s poem was the first stepping stone I ever took to accepting myself for who - and what - I am. I owe as much of my identity and confidence to her as I do Zamorakian philosophy, which built my personality and is a major part of how I survived the middle school era of my life. The least I can do in return is offer the best of me out into the world.

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

“Somewhere deep below conscious thought, below his training and the life and this Lemurian body, buried under lifetimes of war, buried under the idea that a Spectre was a fighter, his blood remembered how to love the memory of the fallen.” - Beneath Blood Ties

BBT is one of my most unappreciated fics, which makes sense as it’s set almost two thousand years prior to Classic, starring a fourteen-year-old Lemurian Minos and the Saint who raised him, Aries Kirien, whose name is probably still spelled Kiriel at least once in the fic because no beta we die like Gold Saints.

The original inspiration comes from Seanan McGuire’s Once Broken Faith, and the line in question is Toby reading the Luidaeg’s blood memories after the latter told a young Karen that she couldn’t speak Faerie even in her dreams - she speaks it in her blood memories, and Toby notes that her blood remembers.

It stuck with me, though I’ve read OBF approximately a million times. It, along with A Killing Frost and An Artificial Night, are my three top Toby books. And it responded to me as someone who’s fictionkind: I couldn’t speak the language I spoke as a Devil in my dreams, or in the waking world, but I know some part of me remembers it. Would know how. The Chaorruption filters all of that into English because it thinks it’s helping, but if I were a magical creature right now, in this world, I’m pretty sure my blood would remember.

So I wrote about Minos, and the sorrow he carried. The premise of BBT is that a Pope realized some Spectres come back, went around before they became Spectres, and kidnapped the lot of them to train as Saints, leaving them all traumatized as fuck, unsure of who they were or who they followed, and messed up for lifetimes. I also wanted to show more that Spectres were more than what the Holy Wars made of them, and about digging through that exotrauma to remember that they could be kind.

Spectres, originally, would make sense as really just Hades’ servants and the ones who keep the Meikai running. Pretty sure that means they know every single death rite that’s existed in the past three millennia. Pretty sure they know how to be respectful of the dead. Pretty damn sure that below all that soldiering and war, they’re all really exhausted librarians who want to do their job and also dig graves.

But I like this sentence here best, because that’s pretty much the climax of the plot here: that there is, in fact, something underneath all his exotrauma, all the current trauma he’s been dealing with. That below all of that bitterness and war, he’s a better person than what Athena made of him.

Idk, I just think it’s neat and no I’m not projecting being ‘kin on him again. /j

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Albafica, to nobody’s surprise. I mean, come on. A guy with a fuckton of traditionally-feminine beauty whose looks keep getting brought up, is very introverted, has seen some shit, just wants to kill people who hurt what he cares about while also not hurting the people he does care about, really wants you to keep your damn distance, is super touchstarved, and holding onto his humanity with his fingertips? Come on the only things he’s got that I don’t is an actual male reproductive system and naturally blue hair.

Once you realize that especially in TLC Athena’s actions are pretty damn horrific, especially to her Saints, Albafica has the perfect setup to become a Spectre. Seriously, if he’d been offered Luco’s deal but while holding a dying Lugonis, do you really think he wouldn’t have taken it? I explore that more in Broken Shine The Stars, but like. Albafica is the perfect fallen angel of a character. He has genuinely good intentions. He’s hurting so damn bad and only fucking once in his entire onscreen performance is that acknowledged (shoutout to Luco for that one), and if you take his sorrow and let him turn it into anger, he’s a glorious monster indeed. Albafica’s descend into monstrosity and Spectrehood is exactly what would happen if I got angry and also hadn’t been fucking nerfed physically.

I love him way too much.

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Surprisingly, Aiacos. Alba’s hard as fuck to write. Aiacos, though. You’ve heard me go off about Aiacos at length, but like. He’s the very embodiment of the worst person you can become while still loving, still surviving. Aiacos is the type of person we’re all capable of becoming, and we all should be terrified of becoming, because every single choice he’s ever made is completely understandable and that much more horrific for it.

It’s somewhat unsurprisingly easy to get into his head. He’s fun to write because he scares me. Because if I let him do all the dumb, selfish, sadistic-looking, survival-focused things, then I don’t have to worry about doing it myself. I let him look out for only himself when the pieces are down, so I can do better.

Also I haven’t seen anyone else write him that way (Kiril being the obvious exception here), so it’s double the fun because new territory.

11. What do you envy in other writers?

Hey. Hey you fuckers who can plot shit. Give me the number of the demon you sold your soul to. Let me PLOT SHIT.

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

Summaries! Titles are easy, I steal them from songs and Toby books. They’re just fancy wordplay and I have literally a list on my fic spreadsheet of titles I want to use. Summaries, though, are very important. People don’t pick fics based on title and tags, they pick based on summary. They’re your hook into the work, so you’ve got to give the audience your premise short and sweet and actually sounding appealing.

Sometimes I can write them no problemo. Other times, they’re a fucking nightmare. I try to imply the tone of the ending in my summary, because I have absolutely been blindsided by the ending in a way I really didn’t like because I thought the summary was hiding the ending. (Example - there was this one fic that made it sound like my OTP was going enemies to lovers, and it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it needed the fucking dead dove do not eat tag, stopped just short of serious nonsexual noncon (which wasn’t tagged at all), and ended very unhappily and it messed me up for days, I did not like it.)

So for my summaries I set the scene, set the tone, and imply the tone of the ending so you have a vague idea of where it’s going. Easier said than done.

21. What other medium do you think your story would work well as? (film, webcomic, animated series?)

Anime, probably! Manga wouldn’t lend itself too well to my style, but I’d enjoy short anime episodes, I think. I honestly don’t know. Someone tell me what my stuff would work good as. I dunno.

22. Do you reread your old works? How do you feel about them?

For fic, all the time! I write what I want to read, and since six out of seven of the Dohko/Kagaho works on AO3 were my fault, I’d better get used to reading my own writing for pleasure. Fortunately, I like most of my writing recently, so that’s pretty all right!

Don’t ask about what I had up on ff.net. Don’t. It’s old and bad and I didn’t know how to write.

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

Hmmm... I want to rephrase this better as ‘what fic exists only as a concept and has done so for the longest out of all the concepts of fics currently in my head’, and hmmmm. Honestly, it’s either Shion and Aiacos’ romance fic where they also get a daughter (which has a title actually, The Lost Sea Fantasia, but still hasn’t been written); or it’s Wyvern Rose and the Trials of Lightning, which is about 15th century Rhada’s two daughters, the elder of which is surprise-given his surplice and his job when he dies right before Hades does, and the younger of which is kidnapped by a spiteful goddess who doesn’t like the elder of the two.

ToL is a fic that I have somewhat plotted out, but really needs a lot of work. I’m not really sure how to go about writing it, because whenever I sit down to sketch it out, it never comes to me. It does, however, lend itself well as a bedtime / campfire story that Albafica tells Regulus while they’re out on a mission together, as part of Alba sneakily teaching Regu how to be a Spectre without anyone knowing. It’ll stay a concept for a long while until Rose crashes into my headspace and actually fucking tells me more about herself other than “oh yeah btw I’m fucking Julia” like thanks, already knew that from Julia herself, tell me more about you you awful little Judge of a dragon princess.

[ask game here!]

#asks #saint seiya #dorksmithery #thank you!!#i'm gonna go answer the other one now #but ofc send me more if yall want!

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jrubalcaba · 7 years

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Precious Cargo Ch. 14 - The Big News

Precious Cargo Chapter 14 - The Big News

author: jrubalcaba

featuring: OFC Guinevere “Gwen” Adams x Bucky Barnes

word count: 1783 words

rating: PG

warnings: Feels galore

A/N: @avenger-nerd-mom is the best beta ever!

At first there was darkness everywhere, but after a while I could sense bright lights. I could feel something cold in my right hand and something tight wrapped around my left arm. I could hear beeping and someone nearby was breathing deeply, almost like they were asleep. I opened my eyes slowly, taking in my surroundings. I was in the medical wing of the tower. I looked to my left and could see the heart monitor, tracking my vital signs, a blood pressure cuff just above my elbow. A sigh from my right startled me. I snapped my head around and saw him. Bucky. He must have been here a while, because he was still in the clothes he was wearing the day we left. He was asleep, his metal hand holding my right. I squeezed his hand, hoping to wake him up, and it worked.

“Wha-Gwen! Oh I'm so glad you're awake! Everyone's been worried,” he gushed, leaning forward to brush my hair back from my face. I gave him a small smile. “You need anything? Water? Trip to the bathroom? Food? Tell me and I'll get it for you.” Geez. He's not normally this attentive, even when we were together.

“Water,” I rasped, my throat dry. Bucky sprang up and ran to the sink, filling up a cup with water before bringing it back to me and tilting it up ever so slightly so I could take a sip. Oh my god it tasted so good. “Thank you. Can you let my doctor know I'm awake?” I asked. He left the room without a second glance. Wow. I need to remember how to do that. The door opened and Dr. Cho walked in, Bucky on her tail.

“Miss Adams, so glad you're awake. You lost quite a bit of blood back there. A couple of the bullets went straight through,” Helen informed me. Well, son of a bitch! No wonder I went out so fast. She wasn't done with her assessment though. “There was a bit of a problem, due to your underlying condition, but everything has been checked out and you're going to be making a full recovery.”

Underlying condition? WTF? Bucky was in the same boat as me, as he had a perplexed look on his face.

“Underlying condition? What does that mean? Is something wrong with her?” He questioned. She looked at him with an apologetic face before answering. “Sorry Sergeant Barnes, but seeing as you're not my patient’s next of kin, I cannot discuss anything with you unless she tells me otherwise, in writing.” Helen smiled, clearly dismissing him. Bucky walked out of the room like a puppy with its tail between its legs. As soon as the door was shut, she rounded on me.

“So, I need to tell you this because I'm sure that he's going to notify the team that you're awake, and that means we have a few moments before we're interrupted.” She paused, checking to make sure he wasn't listening, before coming back to sit next to me. “Your underlying condition? You're pregnant. 9 weeks along and confirmed by ultrasound and blood work,” she stated.

Pregnant? Me? There has to be a mistake. Bucky couldn’t have kids. Unless HYDRA lied to him, which given their history, it’s entirely plausible. He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with, and he never used condoms while we were together. Holy fuck! I'm pregnant!

“I can see that this is a surprise to you. Normally, the kind of trauma that you've experienced could have caused you to miscarry, but, and I'm thinking I'm correct in this, but the fetus is half super-Soldier, so it's still viable.” Helen squeezed my hand and gave me a sad smile. “I know it's a lot to take in, but you need to rest and recuperate,” she insisted, patting my hand. “It's not just you anymore-” she was cut off as the door opened and Wanda, Steve and Natasha filed in. Wanda got to me first, embracing me in a tight hug.

“I'm so glad you're ok! I've missed you so much!” She exclaimed. The other two gave me a smile and a nod before I realized that no one else was coming in.

“Where's Barnes and the rest of the team?” I murmured, my throat still sore. They all looked at each other before Steve stepped forward.

“He's more than likely taking a shower, getting some clean clothes, and eating. He came in with you and hasn't left your side since. He wanted to be here when you woke up,” the captain explained. Oh. Well, that's...sweet. “The rest of the team is waiting for you.”

In my fuzzy brain, I begin to process things. “How long have I been out?”

“You've been out for a day and a half. Dr. Cho said that you have some issue that no one knew about, so she wanted to monitor you to make sure nothing was wrong,” Wanda answered my thought out loud.

“Oh. Well, ok then. Dr. Cho, when can I leave?” I asked. She smiled knowingly at me, because it's a well-known fact that I cannot stand being the center of attention, medical or otherwise. She really is an amazing doctor.

“Let me go fetch your discharge papers, then I can come unhook you from the machine,” she replied. Natasha suddenly produced some clothes from behind her back.

“I figured you'd want some of your own clothes to wear instead of scrubs,” she stated, shrugging. I nodded, flashing a grateful smile her way. Dr. Cho returned, placing some paperwork on my lap before leaning over me to begin unhooking the leads to the machine.

“No one knows. Your secret is protected by doctor-patient confidentiality,” she whispered in my ear. I peered at her out of the corner of my eye before she spoke louder. “You will need to relax. Your left arm will need to stay in a sling for a couple days. No extra curricular activities, do you understand?” I nodded my head, catching her eyes to ensure that I was replying to both statements. Everyone left so Dr. Cho could help me get dressed.

Once I had my own clothes on, albeit significantly tighter, I was in the elevator, heading up to the living quarters. When the doors opened, there was a chorus of “WELCOME HOME!” The whole team was standing under a banner that read ‘WELCOME HOME GWEN’. I smiled as they took turns hugging me until I noticed that Bucky had joined them. His hair was still damp from his shower and he had clean clothes on. He walked forward, holding an envelope out to me.

“Hey. Um, so Elliott and Zoey’s parents didn't get to meet you or anything, so they gave me this to give to you,” he said, nodding at the envelope and handing it to me. “Oh, before you ask, both of them are fine. Not a scratch, bruise, or hair out of place. They were really scared that you were gonna die though.” He rocked back on his heels, looking sad. His phone suddenly went off, and as he pulled it out, Sam looked over at it and whistled.

“Damn dude. Where'd you find her?” He asked, jealous. Bucky looked over at him with his best ‘eat shit and die’ look and shoved the phone back in his pocket, his eyes straying over to me for a split second.

“Forget about it. Let's celebrate Gwen being home, alright?” he offered, changing the subject, but I wasn't gonna let him off that easy.

“Sam, was it a blonde woman with dark eyes?” I may have been talking to him, but my eyes never left Bucky's face, so I saw the guilty look pass over him before Sam confirmed my suspicion.

“Yeah it was. She, uh, didn't have any clothes on,” he replied, a blush dusting his cheeks. Fan-fucking-tastic. First Bucky brought her home to do god knows what, now she's sending him dirty pictures. Unbelievable.

“Great. You know, I appreciate the thought of celebrating and all, but I'm starving and I would love to just order some pizza and relax,” I suggested. Everyone could feel the tension between Bucky and I but I could tell they weren't going to push the issue since I had just come out of the hospital and didn't need anymore stress.

“Alright,” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “Everyone figure out what you want on your pizza and I'll call in an order. Grab your drinks, get comfortable, and we'll meet in the theatre.” Everyone was going their separate ways, so I walked over to the closest chair and opened the envelope. There was a letter inside from Elliott and Zoey’s parents.

Dear Gwen,

We want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for taking care of our children. They are our entire world and being taken from them has been torture. We were told about what had happened at the gas station. How you hid them. How you selflessly put your life on the line to protect them. How you took several bullets and lost copious amounts of blood all in the name of our children.You saved their lives, and we are eternally grateful.

We didn't know if you would pull through, so we had plans in place in case you did or didn't. If you're reading this, that means you pulled through and that all of your medical bills are taken care of. It’s the least we could do. If you didn't pull through, we were going to pay for your funeral services. We hope to keep in touch with you on behalf of Elliott and Zoey. Thank you so much for taking care of the precious cargo that is our children.

I wiped the tears away as I finished the letter. I looked up and Bucky was there, watching me. I stood up and pushed past him, going to my room and slamming the door. I slid to the floor as more tears came. Knowing that I had a child growing inside me, that could have been lost, suddenly hit me. This was no way to raise a child. I could not, in good conscience, bring a child into this life. Not to mention that if people know that I'm carrying the Winter Soldier’s child, I will most certainly have a target upon my head. Bucky cannot know. He more than likely wouldn't care anyway, seeing as how he cheated on me. There's only one path I can choose. I will not tell Bucky and I will have to disappear and never speak to the team, who had become the family I never had, again.

Chapter 15

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#precious cargo #bucky x ofc #bucky barnes #gwen adams #jrubalcaba

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