Happy Halloween!

Surprise, surprise! I actually managed to get a Halloween story done in time for the holiday this year! I've always wanted to do one, but could never get it to work right. This year, thanks to one of those lovely headcanons floating around Pinterest, I was able to get this done back in July! I couldn't be happier.

The headcanon: Sherlock likes to pretend not to see himself in mirrors, be averse to garlic and crosses etc., just to freak Anderson out. John caught on and started reminding Sherlock to stay out of direct sunlight when Anderson's around. They have a bet on when Anderson will break and start carrying around a wooden stake at work.

It's a bit rough, but it's not horrid. Makes me giggle anyway. I hope you enjoy it!

A Vampire for Halloween -- an original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     “What’s that look for?”

     Sherlock blinked and turned to John. “What look?”

     “You know the look.” John sighed as Sherlock raised a brow. “The ‘I have something devious planned’ look. You were wearing it not a minute ago.”

     “Halloween, John.”

     “Is next month. What about it?” John frowned and folded his paper, setting it aside for later. Sherlock was wearing that look again. It worried him a bit. “Murders will go up. Is that what’s got you all excited?”

     The tall detective groaned and stood, pacing in the living room. “Obvious, John, but something far more entertaining. You’d enjoy it too, I suppose. It does target Anderson.”

     “Anderson? What’s gotten into you?”

     “Halloween!”

     Sherlock stood on the coffee table and grinned widely. It was a bit haunting, that look, but John couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. He waved a hand at his flatmate.

     “Out with it, then. What are you up to?”

     “Something devious, John, something wonderfully fun!”

-

     October first came and John should have been prepared for Sherlock’s game. He’d started bits of it at Baker Street, but John had been on the lookout for cases deemed interesting enough for the great Sherlock Holmes. So when they pulled up at the crime scene and Lestrade looked amused, it caught him a bit by surprise.

     “Careful, Sherlock,” Lestrade called out. “Heard this one loved her crosses.”

     Anderson’s head popped up, eyes narrowed as he watched the tall man stride into the room, close enough to the victim, but well away from the kitschy collection of bedazzled crosses. He muttered darkly as he paused at the jewelry around the woman’s neck.

     “John!” Sherlock straightened, turning to look at the doctor. “Kindly remove her jewelry and give it Lestrade. Can’t touch the bloody corpse like this!”

     John looked to Lestrade who nodded, looking a bit put-out, and he sighed. “Really, Sherlock? Do you have to touch her? Can’t you get close enough for a good look and give your deductions that way?”

     “You know my methods, John.”

     “Of course, you bloody git.” He smirked as he did as he was asked, handing the evidence to another officer who’d stepped up to take it. “There you go, free of any blessed items.”

     Sherlock quickly then began his usual manner of determining the death of the woman and who the killer was and where they were hiding. John glanced at Anderson to see the man wearing a confused and concerned scowl. Sergeant Donovan wasn’t sure what to make of it either.

-

     “If you’re not going to take the bloody umbrella, then stay out of the light, you bloody idiot.” John snapped, swinging the umbrella he was carrying. He’d never admit he’d brought it both to annoy Sherlock and to watch Anderson panic a bit more. “I can’t patch you up, remember?”

     “Don’t be stupid,” Sherlock muttered, frowning at the mirrored glass. “Wouldn’t dream of going into the sunlight; would ruin my complexion. How’s my hair? Do I need a trim? Can’t see a blasted thing in these mirrors.”

     “Your hair’s fine,” Lestrade spoke up. “If you’re done here, bugger off, yeah?”

     “Can’t see your hair?” Anderson huffed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

     Sherlock spun and gave the medical examiner a dark grin. “Oh, I don’t know, Anderson. What do the facts tell you?” He laughed as the man backed up a pace.

     “Vampires aren’t real, you know!”

     “Oh, have proof of that, do you?”

     “Sherlock, come on,” John rolled his eyes. “You may not eat, I sure as hell do! I’m leaving to head to Angelo’s, you coming or not?”

     Anderson paled a bit more at John’s comment, though it was unintentional. He swallowed a laugh as he took off down the sidewalk, not waiting for Sherlock to catch up. He was hungry, that much was true, and if Anderson wanted to add that tidbit to his list of ‘facts’ then who was John to stop him?

     “Now you’ve done it,” Sherlock chuckled, catching up. He’d pulled his Belstaff around his ears, “hiding” himself from the sun. “Did you really have to bring the umbrella? You know how much I despise Mycroft and his.”

     “Oh, it was a bit of fun,” John giggled. “I’ll leave it home next time. And Anderson can think what he wants. I was telling the truth that time. I am hungry and you rarely eat unless I force upon you.”

     “Delightful. He’s nervous, going to start carrying a stake at the next crime scene.”

     “Nah,” John shook his head. “Not yet. He’s definitely far more scared of you now than before. By Halloween, though, he’ll be carrying one. Sally too?”

     “Oh, she’s got Holy Water in her pocket and has started to wear a cross around her neck. Haven’t you been paying attention to how she holds her head up when I get close to insult her?”

     “Right. Still having fun, then? Halfway through the month, ought to make sure you’re still not bored.”

     Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Hardly dull. Lestrade plays along well, you know. Did you tell him? Why did you tell him?”

     “Because one of them should know at least and Greg can help you before you get to the scene, you know, with the crosses, and garlic, and all.” John shrugged. “Plus, he enjoys watching Anderson freak out a bit too.”

     “Marvelous.” Sherlock grinned. “Best idea ever.”

-

     Three days until Halloween and there it was, on the medical examiner’s waist: a wooden stake. John blinked at it for a moment before realizing that Anderson wasn’t the only who had one. Sally and a few other officers carried various ‘anti-Vampire’ kits on their sides.

     “Greg,” John stood next to the DI, his voice low, “How many officers have you told about Sherlock’s little prank?”

     “Most of them. Not Donovan or Anderson, since those were his targets, I presume.” Lestrade shrugged. “Some still think he’s not acting, so I let them think what they will. He’ll get bored of it soon, right?”

     “Oh, no doubt, Detective Inspector,” Sherlock said, strolling up to them. “But, I do have one final scheme to bother Anderson with, with your permission, of course. And your assistance?”

     “Oi, your hearing that good?”

     “Nope, read your lips. Bit boring, really.” The taller man shrugged. “Will you help me or no?”

     “Of course. What do you have planned?” At Sherlock’s grin, the DI frowned. “Do you know your face does that? Does he know his face does that?”

     “Does what?”

     “That ‘I have something devious planned’ look? No, he doesn’t. Makes him look a bit mad, though.” John chuckled.

     “Which is nothing new, John. Everyone thinks I’m mad.”

     “Only a bit,” Lestrade said. “Some of us think you’re only a bit mad. Know you, is all. Your plan?”

     “Of course,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The plan.”

-

     ‘The plan’ would have waited until after Halloween night, but as luck would have it, a ‘fresh body’ showed up Halloween night and put it all into motion. Bless Molly and her wonderful ways. After a bit of an argument, Sherlock agreed to wear the vest under his clothing, just as a precaution. John didn’t want a trip to the A&E just because the idiot wasn’t willing to be prepared. They met Lestrade and most of his team outside the scene. Sally stood a bit off from the group, watching Sherlock with narrowed eyes as they wandered into the house. Lestrade grinned at her before the door shut behind them.

     “She wonders why you don’t get attacked, either of you since I’m a psychopath.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Thinks you’re working for me, under some spell, Lestrade. Should really set that one straight.”

     “It’ll sort itself out tonight,” Lestrade waved a hand, dismissing it all. “No crosses and this one was allergic to garlic. Everything else is in place outside, Anderson will be out in a bit. So, what happened?”

     Sherlock took in the room and gave his deductions at rapid speed. John rolled his eyes as he steered away from the mirrors. He gave his solution to Lestrade (heart attack, not murder, boring) before stalking his way outside, clearly in a dark mood.

     John and Lestrade were close on his heels as the younger Holmes brother threw open the door and practically flew at Anderson. The medical examiner squealed and fumbled for the wooden stake at his side, but it was a bit late for that. Sherlock had his mouth around Anderson’s shoulder, ‘biting’ as hard as he could.

     At Lestrade’s shout of “Sherlock!” another officer threw a bucket of faux blood at the detective and medical examiner, causing Anderson to rip himself away from Sherlock. John stepped up, simply to make sure neither man was actually injured (beyond Anderson’s fall – he’d tripped and landed on his backside in his hurry to get away).

     “Brilliant!” Sherlock crowed, ignoring the fact he was covered in red corn syrup. “Wonderful! It’s Christmas day! Look at him!”

     John and Lestrade shared a look before dissolving into laughter along with nearly the entire squad. Sally had rushed to Anderson’s side only to be brushed off as the medical examiner stood to glare at them.

     “What the hell what that about!” He snapped, stalking up to Sherlock. “You trying to kill me or something!”

     “Hardly, Anderson,” Sherlock grinned. “Bored, needed entertainment and you were the easiest to fool. Should have suspected Sergeant Donovan as well, but that wasn’t the point, really. Thank you for playing along.”

     “Playing along – what do you mean by that?”

     “Just that, Anderson,” Lestrade managed over his laughter. “Bloody good trick, it was. Should have seen your face! Squealed like a girl!”

     “I do not squeal!” Anderson denied adamantly, stomping his foot, “Besides, I was only trying to protect myself from that bloody Vampire!”

     “Oi, you do, mate!” John grinned. “And Sherlock’s no Vampire. He could see himself in those mirrors just fine and none of your stuff would have worked on him.”

     “Well, the stake, John, but that hardly matters. Stab anyone with a stake and they’d die. Obvious.” Sherlock said. “Come on, I’d like to get home before this sets in too horribly. Afraid it’ll ruin my Belstaff.”

     “Don’t drip on the floor, Mrs. Hudson will kill us,” John looked at his flatmate and sighed. “Oh, we’re going to have to walk. No cabbie will let you in like that.”

     “Fair enough, come on then.” Sherlock strode ahead, waving a hand as they left the DI and half the Yard behind them. “Happy Halloween, Lestrade. Do try and have something more interesting next time please!”

     “Of course, you git.” Lestrade laughed. “Happy Halloween to you too!”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Tone is Everything when Speaking

I worked on this one for a long while. In the beginning I wasn't sure if I wanted this to be Sherlock/John or my own characters. Of course, as I started writing, Sherlock simply took over and decided for me. Not that I mind, of course. It's nice to have characters help out now and again.

I'm not fully thrilled with this one as I think it could be a whole lot more, but again, the thought was to put words on a page and move on. Which I did. It turned out well enough, but if I have time during NaNoWriMo, I may go back and edit it a bit. We'll see.

There is a companion piece to this. Two, actually. I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to post them here or not yet. If I don't, I will definitely link them to my deviantArt page. One is in the middle of this and the other is floating around through time and space, but it fits in this AU.

Without further ado, I give you the story inspired by the prompt: Don't sign to me in that tone.

Don't Sign to Me in That Tone -- An original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     His hands flew quickly, signing in an angry tone if his face was anything to go by. Damn it! I nearly had it that time! You should know better than to interrupt me!

     I rolled my eyes and signed back just as quick, speaking aloud as I did so, “Don’t you sign to me in that tone. Be nice, your hair was about to catch fire.”

     To hell with my hair! A scowl settled on his face as he sat back and glared at me.

    “You say that now,” I huffed, “But you love your hair. You’d sulk even more if you’d burnt your damn hair.”

     The tall man snorted and pushed away from the table angrily. He stalked off towards his room and the door slammed shut. I sighed and rolled my eyes, not bothering to walk down the hall and find out how upset he was with me. He’d probably forget to sign and simply make rude gestures instead.

     I cleared the table off and threw away the burnt bits. He’d sulk now, but he’d be fine later and, if I was extremely lucky, I’d get some sort of apology. He really did love his bloody hair, but the experiment was probably just as important. I’d find a way to make it up to him.

     A few hours later, the dark haired man finally decided to grace our living room with his presence. He sat in his chair, legs curled up beneath him as he looked at me, studying me. I didn’t look up from my paper beyond that initial look, waiting for him to make some noise to get my attention. I didn’t have to wait long.

     I… He snorted, frowning. I’m sorry, John. I would have had an awful strop over my hair, thank you for preventing me from setting it aflame.

     “You’re welcome, Sherlock,” I gave my response and raised an eyebrow, on hand on the paper.

     Fine, go back to reading. I’ll entertain myself then.

     “Just don’t set anything else on fire,” I mumbled, returning to my paper.

-

     “Damn it, Sherlock! Stop signing to me in that bloody tone!” I snapped, forgetting to sign this time. He rolled his eyes, pretending he couldn’t understand me, but I knew the idiot could read lips. “Keep it up and I will leave you here! Greg can take you home and he’s horrible at signing.”

     He wrinkled his nose before blowing out a steam of air. Fine. Tell them. He paused for a moment before adding a Please at the end.

     I turned to the DI and outlined what the detective had said, leaving out the insults and ‘obvious’ remarks. Sherlock gave a sort of growl, something he always did when I didn’t repeat what he said exactly as he’d told it to me, but I ignored it.

     Sally opened her mouth and Sherlock made a handful of gestures and I let out a hissed, “Sherlock!” before turning to the sergeant and shaking my head. “Please, don’t, Sally. I’d rather not repeat that.”

     She blinked, turning a shade darker from blushing most likely, and shut her mouth with a click of teeth. A quick look toward Lestrade and she spun, disappearing behind a car, probably to mutter darkly where the tall man couldn’t see her.

     Sherlock spun and took off, signaling the end of our help and I sighed, following closely behind with a shout to the DI. I had to nearly jog to keep up to his long legs and ridiculously billowing coat, but when I caught up he signed a simple thank you which I smiled at.

     He wasn’t so bad, not really.

-

     “Don’t sign to me in that tone, John.”

     That was the first time I had ever heard Sherlock’s voice beyond a handful of grunts, growls, and irritated noises. I had also been wrapped up in semtex at the time, signing back what Moriarty was spouting off in my ear. I’d been so startled that I stopped and stared at him like some idiot.

     “So the great Sherlock Holmes can speak!” Moriarty appeared around the corner, delight rolling off his tongue as he laughed and clapped his hands together. “How interesting!”

     “Don’t be stupid,” Holmes rolled his eyes, gun pointed at the madman, “Talking is boring.”

     “You bloody git!” I hissed, glaring at him, but he didn’t spare me more than a glance. If we survived this, I would strangle him myself for forcing me to put up with him for this long.

     They both continued to ignore me, I assumed because I was no longer useful to either of them at the moment, which gave me time to prepare an attack. Of course my meager attempt was useless and we eventually got away with our lives, all three of us that bastard, and we headed back to Baker Street.

     Once there I simply headed to my room and locked myself in, effectively ignoring my flatmate. I went about doing so for several weeks, during which Sherlock spent his time obsessing over his new puzzle (one Jim Moriarty) or sending Lestrade frustrated texts because I refused to accompany him during his consultations with the Yard. He could just talk to Greg anyway, so why did he need me?

     I ignored his off-handed remarks and piss-poor attempts to explain why he refused to talk since childhood. I found a reason to be out of the flat: work at the surgery or need to get some air, might go see what Mike’s up to today. Hell, I’d put up with Harry if it meant I didn’t have to spend time with that lying bastard. Whatever reason I could come up with, I used, no matter how stupid it seemed.

     It was only after Mycroft interfered with a black car pulling up to the curb and driving me away from the flat that I begin to think that I should probably listen to what Sherlock had to say. Blessfully, the elder Holmes simply insisted that I listen to his brother than explain the whole thing for him. He sent me back with a smile I knew was fake, and I stalked up the stairs and demanded an explanation.

-

     “For the thousandth time, do not sign to me in that tone, you bloody git!” I snapped at the crime scene. I signed rapidly, if you keep up your attitude, I’ll out your damn arse to the entire Yard.

     Sherlock hesitated and stared at me, eyes wide. You would. He decided. His lip raised in annoyance. That would be not good, John, you know that. It would ruin everything.

     “Exactly,” I muttered. But I wouldn’t be the only one putting up with your insults and foul signs.

Lestrade guesses, or knows, haven’t decided yet. Need more data. He doesn’t care though, either way. Likes it when you take charge of me. Interesting. He began wondering if he’d prefer Mycroft more because of how controlling his brother was and I blushed.

     “Oi! Case!” I snapped.

     Lestrade raised an eyebrow. “I saw my name and his brother’s a few times. What’s going on?”

     I shook my head as he switched gears and began to outline his deductions. I repeated them back, glad for the change in topic. The DI said nothing as I accepted the switch of conversation and shouted orders to his officers.

     Come along, John! Sherlock signed, The game is on!

-

     Don’t sign it, I smiled, stilling his hands, “Please?”

     He sighed and rolled his eyes. For several long moments, there was silence before Sherlock took a breath and spoke,

     “I do.”

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Only Angels Have Wings

This story... I love it so much, but it was a pain to write. I've had this prompt for AGES, but it just wasn't coming out right. So I took a break from it for a while and I finally came up with something that I just fell in love with.

The prompt for this was: "Dude you have wings! I thought you were just really into trench coats."

Because I've been binging Supernatural lately (during July and now to catch up for the new season, of course), I couldn't help coming up with this. Because, seriously, it's Castiel. How was this prompt not made for Cas?

Title is uninspired, but I don't care. The story is fantastic! Working on continuing this lovely little AU.

Trench Coats and Wings -- an original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     Castiel groaned as he rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand, wishing that he’d left school a bit earlier. It was getting dark and Lucifer would start to worry if he wasn’t home soon. Gabriel, Castiel guessed, was either home or off on his own adventure; he hadn’t seen his older brother leave.

     He pulled his coat higher over his shoulders as he stared at the ground, trying to hurry his pace without seeming like he was rushing off somewhere. He knew the school’s bullies were still around this time of day, and he really didn’t want to attract any more attention to himself. Yet, he should have known something was likely to happen as his foot caught on a raised bit of sidewalk, throwing him forward.

     A few things happened at once: an aborted, strangled shout escaped his throat and someone else hollered “hey!” as a hand grabbed the collar of his coat. A startled “no!” slipped from his mouth as the coat was yanked off his back. He tried to steady himself by force, but instinct took over and a hidden pair of wings flicked out to help regain his balance.

     It’s okay, it’s fine, Castiel tried to tell himself as his eyes shut, feet finally resting firmly on the ground beneath him. No one can see them anyway, it’s fine. I have nothing to worry about.

     “Dude, you have wings!”

     Castiel’s eyes shot open as the blood drained from his face. He knew that voice from school. That voice belonged to one of Dekon High’s notorious ‘bad boy’ bullies, one Dean Winchester. Of course Dean could see his wings; of course, he’d see them after he’d inadvertently helped Castiel from falling.

     Castiel closed his eyes and wished for all the world that it was not Dean Winchester standing behind him and that he was simply hearing voices. It was late, he’d skipped lunch, he was tired – any excuse as to why he was hearing voices.

     “I thought you were just really into trench coats.” It was said with a snicker, but it didn’t feel vicious or heated. Simply amused.

     “I, uh,” Castiel turned, biting the inside of his cheek, unsure.

     Dean stood there with the coat loosely held in his hand as he stared openly at the two black appendages sticking out from the other boy’s body. Castiel blinked as heat crawled up his neck and he pulled the wings as tight to his back as he could. Dean raised an eyebrow as he turned his gaze to the angel.

     “Uh, thanks?”

     “Is that a question?” Dean grinned. He held out the jacket. “Here, you can have this back if it makes you feel better.”

     Castiel took it, dropping his gaze as he nodded. He shifted on his feet, tempted to put the coat back on, but it seemed a little stupid at this point. He draped it over his arm instead and tried to smile.

     “Thanks for saving me. I, uh, I have to go.”

     He spun and started walking off, tugging on the coat as he did so. Dean wasn’t a rare case. Castiel had met several people over his lifetime and heard about others from Gabriel and Lucifer, who could see his wings. He really didn’t want a repeat performance.

     “Wait!” Dean called, jogging to catch up. “Seriously, you spring those things on me and think you can ditch me like that?”

     “I wasn’t--.” Castiel shook his head. “I have to get home. Lucifer doesn’t like us staying out too late.”

     “Us? Oh, you and Gabe, then.”

     Castiel nodded but said nothing as he stalked down the street. Dean plodded along alongside him, casting curious glances now and again at his back, but saying nothing. Castiel endured it for several long moments before he stopped and glared at the older boy.

     “Why are you following me? Going to jump and beat me when it’s dark enough? Going to get your fill so you can run off and tell someone about me? Going to try and touch them to see what they feel like? To see if I can feel it?” Castiel snapped, his voice on the edge of a growl and near to the point of breaking. “What. Do. You. Want?”

     Dean took a few steps back, putting distance between him and the younger boy. He frowned, trying to figure out what had set him off. He raised his hands slowly, a gesture of surrender.

     “Um,” Dean frowned further, “I was actually just going walk you home, or at least part way. Don’t want you tripping again, shit. But, you know, if you’re just going to freak the fuck out, I’ll leave.”

     Castiel groaned as Dean spun around and headed back the way they’d come. He huffed and chased after Dean, calling out,

     “Dean, wait, I’m sorry!”

     “Oh, so you know my name,” Dean snorted, not stopping. He had slowed down a bit, though.

     “Everyone knows your name,” Castiel muttered. “You’re one of the hottest guys at school and a well-known bully, so why wouldn’t I know your name. Stupid.”

     Dean paused, raising an eyebrow at him. “Only one of the hottest guys, huh?”

     Castiel’s mouth dropped open as a blush crept up his face. He spluttered, trying to come up with an excuse or something. Of all the things out of that sentence, of course, he’d pick up on the ‘hottest guy’ bit.

     “I know of you, Gabe talks about his baby brother fondly, but I don’t think I actually caught your name.”

     “Cas.” It came out as a squeak and Castiel ducked his head, clearing his throat. “Castiel. Name’s Castiel.”

     “Cas,” Dean hummed, smirking as he watched the angel fidget. “That’s where he gets Cassy from then.”

     “Cassy?” Oh, he was going to murder Gabriel when he got home.

     Dean slid up to Castiel, grinning wider. “Yup. Says you’re the sweetest little thing ever, his baby brother Cassy. I totally have to agree with him.”

     Castiel spun and nearly ran to get away from Dean, who simply laughed as he chased after the younger boy. Gabriel was going to die in the most horrid way he could think of. Castiel was going to pull on his wings until he begged for mercy. He was going-.

     “Why are you following me now!”

     “Because you’re going to break your neck at that speed, Cas, chill.” Dean rolled his eyes. “I was serious about walking you home or even part way. You tripped over air and at this point, I’m a little worried you’ll fall on your face trying to get back on your own.”

     “Fine,” Castiel grumbled, deciding it was better to let Dean follow than trying to argue otherwise. He knew Gabriel, so it couldn’t be all bad, right? “You might as well ask.”

     Dean blinked, caught off guard. Castiel smothered a smile and shrugged. “The wings and if Gabriel has them. Questions?”

     “Well, that was a good one. Gabe’s got them, right? And Luci?”

     “Yes. Gabriel’s are golden and Lucifer’s are usually an opal white. You know, has a sort of rainbow sheen on them in the light?” Castiel shrugged as Dean nodded. “And you’re not supposed to be able to see them. But people do. People who are gifted.”

     “Gifted? Really?” Dean snorted. “Sounds kinda stupid put it that way.”

     “Well, I was going to say touched, but it’s clear that you’re touched in the head.” Castiel sniffed, pretending to be hurt by Dean’s remark. “But yeah, it’s hard to explain, really. Something about being chosen by God or what-not and it’s supposed to be super rare.”

     “Wonder if Sammy could see ‘em,” Dean muttered, more to himself than anything. Castiel said nothing to this as they continued to walk. “So, I’m guessing you can fly with ‘em since you righted yourself. Also, how the hell are they hiding under that coat?”

     “Magic,” Castiel replied immediately but laughed at Dean’s expression. “No, serious. Angel magic. Gabriel wears his leather jacket and Lucifer has a few clothing items he can use. Each piece suppresses the space behind our backs, making it seem as if there was nothing there.”

     “Time lord tech, huh?”

     Castiel tilted his head and frowned. “I, I don’t get that…”

     “Never mind,” Dean shook his head. “Seriously, though, can you fly?”

     “Haven’t in ages, but yes. We can fly with them.”

     “Sweet.”

     Silence fell between them for some time. Castiel could see thoughts and questions flicking across the older Winchester’s face, but he didn’t say anything. And Castiel had no words to offer him, so the angel just kept his mouth shut.

     After a while, Castiel stopped outside a house, hands stuck in his pockets. Dean frowned for a moment before raising an eyebrow at the house he’d stopped at. He looked at Castiel and tried to keep a smile hidden.

     “White picket fence? Seriously?” Dean shook his head. “That is so not what I pictured when I thought of a bunch of angels living in town.”

     “Lucifer likes it. So does Anna, so Gabriel and I don’t say anything.” Castiel shrugged. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got to go. Lucifer’s going to be upset I’m home this late as it is and-.”

     Dean walked over and planted a kiss on the angel’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassy,” he grinned, walking away. “Say hi to Gabe for me!”

     Castiel stood, stunned for a long while as he watched the older boy leave, a hand pressed to his cheek. God above, today was weird, but not unpleasant. Suddenly, Castiel smiled. Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad either.

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Change is Normal, Darling

I'm rather thrilled about this piece, believe it or not. I really kinda like this one. It's a follow-up piece to another one of my stories, and actually is a follow-up piece of its own. The third piece was started in July, however, I haven't finished it yet, so it won't be in the line of "Camp NaNoWriMo" postings. Perhaps I'll upload it later when it's finished.

The first of these three pieces can be found here, called Change is Coming and involves the characters from Always for Eternity. You'll notice I use them a lot. They're my favorite characters, believe it or not. I love them to death.

The prompt for this was: “It’s okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around her as she shook with terror. “It’s over now.” - “No, it’s not,” she whispered back. “It hasn’t even begun…”

This story wasn't entirely planned out when I began writing it. It came from a role-play story (where two people write back and forth to create a story, each one having control over everything but the other writer's character), and I just fell in love with it. Which is how it tumbled into a trilogy of its own. Rather fun.

Times Change -- An original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     I knew it was coming. Had known for a while, in fact.

     Didn’t matter, though, that I knew it was coming. It hit me hard, harder than the shock that had forced me to keep my human form long after I should have shifted into my wolf form for the first time.

     This, this hurt worse than anything I’d ever felt. My body shook with tremors I couldn’t control, though it was mostly from the fear I felt.

     I was afraid to become a Vampire.

     Gods honest truth, that. Victor had abandoned me shortly after the shaking had begun, fueled by fear himself, I guessed. Eli had taken his place, watching me transform from one monster to another.

     I reached out to my longtime friend, seeking comfort, though it would help little to none.

     “It’s okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around me as another quiver of terror wracked my body. “It’s over now.”

     I laughed, humorless and loud before curling into his body. I was amused he thought it would be over so quickly.

     “No, it’s not,” I managed to whisper back. “It hasn’t even begun…”

     I felt him startle into stillness, the kind that if I hadn’t been in his arms or couldn’t see him, I would wonder if he was still there. The kind of stillness that only Vampires somehow managed.

     “Oh, Mickey…” he murmured into my hair, hands rubbing my arm, my back, trying to be soothing. “I’m so sorry…”

     Horribly bitter words bubbled up my throat. You should be. It’s your fault Josiah came after me. If you hadn’t come back, I’d be just fine. I hate you. Josiah did this because of his petty hatred for you, I got caught in the crossfire. I was just a tool for him, but you didn’t stop him.

     I bit them back, all of them and let them sit in my stomach, bitter and nauseating. I wouldn’t say them, not now, not ever.

     “Doesn’t matter.”

     Hopeless words that fell flat really. He said nothing.

     I don’t know how long he held me as my body shivered and quaked in his grasp. Too long.

     I stilled.

     He pulled back.

     There, on the edge of my consciousness, I could feel the urge to eat. That wasn’t the right word, but it fit.

     It wasn’t over, the change from beast to a monster, but it was finished in its attempt to tear me apart.

     “Hungry,” I muttered darkly, staring at the Vampire in front of me.

     He stood and disappeared for several moments, returning with something I knew to be blood.

     My nose wrinkled. Part of me was repulsed by the scent sitting in a glass while the other part…

     It hungered for the liquid so hard I blanched.

     “Sorry,” Elijah muttered, helping me drink the lukewarm fluid. “You’ll have to get fresher stuff later. This is the best I could do on such short notice.”

     I glared at him over the glass. Short notice? He was the one that had come to warn me about…

     I huffed and ignored it. It didn’t matter.

     Everything had changed.

     Nothing mattered.

--

     I stared at the bar in front of me. I could feel the pulse of hundreds of people in the area, but could taste nothing of what were now my own kin.

     Vampire, nearly whole.

     Wolf still sat within me, but I lacked the ability to shift. Yet, I kept the senses – wasn’t that part of the vampiric package as well?

     Probably.

     Reflexes too. Gods, how was I supposed to separate the two? Did it matter?

     Probably not.

     New start, free from the chains that bound you in Dekon, Mick… I strode into the bar and smirked darkly. A place to mark as your own, the strange half-breed you are. Make it good…

     My smile grew wider as I strode to the bar. This dinky arena would be mine. I would take as I wanted, there would be none to stop me.

     Not that it mattered if there was.

     This was mine and I would take it, and keep it, by force if need be.

     Eli had given me tips and tricks to make it better, to help me and I thanked him.

     I thanked him by leaving.

     Victor had never returned and I couldn’t care. He could barely handle me when I was a wolf, why did I think that he could have handled me now that I was some sort of new monster?

     My family didn’t know, couldn’t know. Ty wouldn’t be able to handle it either, in the end. He’d hated Eli long before he knew the Vampire’s true nature.

     Didn’t matter.

     Not really.

     This was who I was now, no going back.

     I wasn’t sure if I wanted to thank Josiah or continue to curse his name until I died. Did I live forever as a Vampire or just have a lengthened lifespan like the Lycans? He was the reason for this, the reason why I was no longer certain of myself.

     Fucking bastard.

     I sighed, settling down at the bar. Might as well get used to this. The change was ever present, fighting between wolf and undead, probably for as long as I lived.

     It ached, my body, as it fought itself. But it wouldn’t kill me. Not now.

     There was nothing I could do now.

     Didn’t matter.

     I was born a monster and I’ll die a monster.

     It’s all I knew how to be…

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )

Resistance is Impossible

Again, I promised to share all the things I wrote for Camp NaNoWriMo, so here's this... Whatever this is. I'm moderately okay with this, but it's very strange.

The prompt for this was: "Five things your antagonist cannot resist."

Moderately proud of this one. Got to play with my villain for a bit, which I haven't done in AGES. Had fun with this. Again with the bit of odd writing, trying different things out. Somewhere along the way, it was decided that Josiah likes chocolate. Nearly as much as he likes number 1. He is a strange creature, but I love him anyway.

Impossible to Resist -- an original work by Julie Lynn Thorpe (C) 2016

     List five things you cannot resist.
     Josiah frowned as he stared at the page. No one knew where it had come from or who had delivered it to his room. He snorted, dropping the page back onto the desk where he’d spotted it, ignoring the message.

-

     Two days. It took him a total of two days to come back to it. He hadn’t wanted to, resisted quite well actually, but two days was suddenly torture. He had to look at it again and try and figure out who was demanding such ridiculous things from him.
     List five things you cannot resist.
     “Number one,” he muttered darkly at the page, “Blood drained fresh from my victim.”
     When nothing happened, he snarled and balled the sheet up, tossing it across the room. He questioned the servants again, demanding they try harder to figure out where the stupid thing had come from.
     Once that was finished, he proceeded to indulge in number one. He was feeling particularly hungry tonight.

-

     Days passed and the letter slipped from his mind. He resumed his daily life, which, of course, included the tormenting of his dear cousin. He was rather upset with his aunt and uncle for allowing Elijah to just waltz right back into their lives, but after his near attempt at killing the woman his cousin fancied, Josiah was forced to ignore it.
     “You know she’s going to hate you again,” Josiah leaned against a shelf in the library.
     Elijah looked up and scowled. “Shut up, Josiah. No one asked you.”
     “She was so angry you left the first time, wasn’t she? Why would she take you back a second time?” He rolled his eyes. “How many second chances can you get, cousin, before she decides you’re not worth her time?”
     Josiah grinned as Elijah paled. The younger Vampire straightened and darted from the room, forcing a laugh from Josiah. He grinned darkly. He turned and left the library, heading back to his room, pausing only for a moment as the letter came to mind.
     “Number two,” he hummed, “Tormenting my cousin.”
     It was rather delightful. Perhaps he should do it again soon.

-

     The horse reared as it reached the edge of the field, sides heaving as Josiah reigned her in. He turned the mare back towards the center of the clearing and dismounted, dropping the reins. She huffed and dropped her head, following slowly behind him as he walked into the middle of the clearing.
     “Number three,” he exhaled as he let his legs fold beneath him so that he sank to the ground. “Being able to escape the manor and the idiots who reside there…”
     He let himself fall back so that he could stare at the sky. The stars above seemed to mock him as they shone down on the Earth. He was unsure of the Lycan territory, but he assumed that they would avoid the area for a bit. Or, so he hoped.
     Time alone was a blessing, no matter how much he enjoyed bothering his cousin. The strain of social requirements with his aunt, uncle, and grandfather was far too much on occasion. Tonight was no exception. A party in honor of a possible union between the furred beasts and his family.
     Michaele and Elijah had gotten quite close since her appearance at the manor. They were quite sickening, actually, holding hands and longing looks. He would have to leave soon, it was becoming far too much to handle.
     Jealousy was a possibility, but he didn’t want to think on that too much. Not since that night, he fucked up. No.
     He sighed and closed his eyes. He would rather just enjoy the silence.

-

     He’d made a list of his own now, just below the words List five things you cannot resist. Number one – blood, preferably draining his victim to death but wasn’t a necessity. Number two – tormenting the hell out of his cousin. Number three – being able to escape the manor and the people who lived there. Number four – …
     Josiah stared at the list and frowned. He wasn’t sure what else to add to his list. He had plenty of impulses, though nothing he couldn’t resist. His frown deepened as he briefly thought to write do something stupid just to spite my elders but that wasn’t quite true. He could resist that if the effort was strong enough.
     “My lord?”
     The Vampire turned his head towards the servant who held out a box. “What?”
     “Your sister returned and asked me to deliver this to you, my lord.”
     He raised an eyebrow and took the box, shooing the man away as he did so. He removed the lid and blinked in surprise. It was nothing more than a box of chocolates – the ‘oh so expensive’ sort from Paris.
     He let out a laugh, shaking his head. Of course, in the middle of the madness that this list was creating, his sister would, of course, bring him something he couldn’t resist. She was brilliant when she chose to be. It was a pity they weren’t closer sometimes.
     Number four – expensive chocolates from Paris. Especially if they were purchased by his sibling.

-

     He watched them run into the forest, hand in hand. He snarled softly as he hid among the eaves of the manor, knowing it wouldn’t be last he would see of the damned woman who haunted his waking hours as much as she haunted his dreams.
     Josiah was tempted to follow her, tempted to tell her that he’d killed the man in the hall for her so that she would remember that she had loved him, once and that it was possible she could love him again.
     The fifth and final thing he could not resist, no matter how much he tried, was her – Lycan and lover to the Alpha of the forest and keeper of his cousin.
     The woman he’d lost once before, the woman he’d lost again…                                
     Michaele Sencor.

I'm a sucker for comments and critics. Let me know what you think down in the comment section below! Thank you for reading!

(If you find you have a desire to share this elsewhere, PLEASE PLEASE let me know first. I have shared it in a couple of places, so I know it's out there already, but for the love of all that is holy, ASK ME to share this. I'll probably give it the okay, but I'd like to know where you're sharing it and if you're going to give me proper credit for it. It is my work after all. Thanks! :3 )