invisible steed

So, I’ve been watching Agent Carter, and enjoying it.  Maybe not writing-essays-about-ridiculous-meta-and-academic-topics-about-it enjoying it, but seriously having a fun, rompy time watching it.  And in my over-analytical way, I was trying to pinpoint why.  Specifically, I was trying to figure out why, of all things, it was the Peggy/Jarvis team-up that really hooked me and kept me watching.

Then I realized that these assholes:

are the reincarnations (silliness and giddy-inducing banter 100% intact) of these assholes:

Damn you, ‘Avengers’ feels.  I knew you’d catch up with me again someday.


Sam imagine requested by the winner of the 800 BFC, superwhockian1011! “SamxReader story where they’ve made a family and have an adorable little girl who’s a toddler. the daughter gets kidnapped by a demon or something after all this time of the reader and Sam being away from the life? It could Crowley that takes her or something, as revenge for all the trouble the boys have caused him over the years” Just as a disclaimer, the child’s name will be listed as Y/c/n, following the same format as Y/n. Hope you like it!

You bare feet trod over the frayed shag carpet, your daughter slung over your hip, her hands hanging limply on either side of your shoulder, her plump cheek squished like a pancake against your neck. The little darling had tuckered herself out after a day of imaginary battles, her tinkling voice trilling high above the great emerald canopy of the maples in your backyard, her father on her tail just one step behind as she raced about on her (invisible) noble steed, vanquishing the ferocious dragon (your fourteen-going-on-four-hundred canine, Christo, huffing away from the rambunctious toddler, eyes flooded with mingling emotions of fear, adoration, and exhaustion), her giggles infiltrating the peaceful springtime air as your husband, Sam, scooped her into the air, stubby legs you knew would elongate sooner or later thrashing at the air, his lips blowing raspberries into her neck. The playful vigor had all but deserted the young girl’s body, her legs flapping against your stomach and spine with your every step, feet tiptoeing over the concealed lines of a well-known precaution, the spray painted Devil’s Trap a constant reminder of your gruesome past as demon hunter and companion to the Winchester brothers, the eldest of which continued on in his lifestyle. He understood the logic behind his brother’s abandonment of the occupation, ruffling the chocolate mop of hair atop your daughter’s head whenever he stopped by to visit, his leather jacket reeking of sodium and iron and… your life, the aroma tugging on your heartstrings, your jaw hardening at the memories you had shared with the man now on his own in the industry. You did your best to relocate the thought to the archive at the back of your mind, reminding yourself to lock that cabinet before you went to bed. You eased the nursery door open with your toe, the hinges squeaking timidly as you squeezed through the doorway, your daughter’s head lolling forward, slumber preventing the normal motor controls from functioning properly. You leaned back, expertly realigning her sleeping form against your chest before creeping along to her “big girl bed,” shifting the sheets aside before gingerly laying her body onto the mattress, her hand flopping to hang off the side of the bed. You worked the cotton comforter up around her neck, pressing your lips to her forehead before turning to join Sam in your bedroom, your bones aching from the day’s victory.

Once more, you crossed the Devil’s Trap, padding along your way to your bedroom, Sam’s form staring out of your windows, the lack of bar of iron panes grating on your nerves, though you’d remained hidden from the creatures of darkness for… what was it, five years now? Your daughter was four, you’d been married a little longer than that. You shook your head, leaning your body against the door frame, the thump of your bicep against the wood alerting the former hunter of your presence, his face turning to greet yours, a fatigued grin spreading across his lips as he sluggishly shuffled towards you. The swish of his pajama bottoms rustled by the tops of his feet as he strode across the room, stopping before you, his hands inching around your waist, easing you away from the wall, pulling your hips to his with a patient agenda, his mouth working from your hairline to your lips, stopping at all the usual hot-spots as he descended, pecking your eyelids, your nose, the corner of your mouth before you tilted your face to his, hurrying his kiss along, your lips tugging at his. His hands smoothed along your camisole, inching up your sides before ghosting to your cheeks, cradling your face in his calloused palms, smiling lazily into your embrace, your fingertips brushing along his elbows. You were wrenched from his lips by the aggravated howling of your dog, sounding a floor below, low groans erupting through the floorboards as the animal growled. Your eyes locked on Sam’s, hazel irises hardening in suspicion, striding to his nightstand to retrieve his long-stored angel blade as you hauled the dresser drawer open, fishing Ruby’s signature demon knife from beneath rolls upon rolls of mismatched socks, the handle empowering, yet surprisingly foreign, in your hand, your fingers constricting on the wood as you paraded from the bedroom, Sam snaking to your left to check on your daughter as you journeyed to the staircase. Your feet ghosted over the floorboards, avoiding the weak plots of wood as you snuck through your own home, eyes grazing over the poorly illuminated lower level, scanning the shadows for signs of forced entry, for a misplaced article of clothing, for the tell-tale trail of sulfur… yet you saw nothing out of place. Christo pawed at your feet, claws scratching the tops of your exposed skin, whining loudly, his eyes flashing upwards, as if he were staring the Devil in the eyes through the ceiling… targeting the nursery. The door above slammed against the wall as Sam entered your daughter’s room, your heart hammering in your chest.

“Y/c/n?” Sam’s voice sounded, straining through the air, stress binding his lungs.“ Your body seized in terror. You’d laid her down not a moment ago. He must have missed her beneath the covers. She was, after all, a tiny little whelp of a child. The sound that emerged next tore your heart from your chest, sending you bolting up the stairs three steps at a time, your face contorted tangibly in fear as Sam’s voice ripped through the night, panic riddling his coarse call for his daughter. ”Y/C/N!“ He screamed, his body coming into view as you sprinted into the nursery, hands tearing at the fabric on the bed the open window fluttering the curtains with a cooling breeze that should have calmed your senses on any other  occasion. He spun to face you, eye wide with dread, his lips pursed. "She’s not here. She’s not here!” he cried, throwing clothing about as he checked every last corner, your cellphone in your hand, fingers pounding the one number you knew would assist you. Dean answered on the second ring, voice groggy from his apparently recent slumber, crackling as he mumbled a greeting. Your voice answered his, wrecked with sobs, your breath catching in your throat, cords tightening around your neck, vipers clutching your lungs in their side-winding grasps.

“Dean. Y/c/n’s gone. The window’s open, I was with her two minutes ago, I don’t know what too-” you bawled, tears blurring your vision, your eyes drifting to the carpet outside of the nursery as you spewed information to the attentive hunter, your gaze locking on the upturned corner, scrapings of dusty red paint collected in a small, unnoticeable mound beside the broken exterior line of the trap. Your heart clenched in your chest. “Dean, it was a demon.” The eldest Winchester spat instruction you knew from every angle, Sam sliding from underneath the bed, his fingertips dusted in the acrid mustard dust, his nose crinkling in fury, jawline stiffening as he displayed the sulfur to you, his head lifting with intention to meet your eye, his gaze shifting behind you, features going slack, completely void of any emotion other than fright. You followed his eye, turning to face whatever had caught his attention, the cell phone slipping from your numbing hands at the sight before you; Crowley, the King of Hell, had your daughter popped up on his waist, mirroring your method of transportation, your daughter’s hazel eyes half-lidded, eyelids drooping as she fought her exhaustion, uncoordinated fingers fiddling with the demon’s suit collar, unaware of the danger she was in. You strode forward, Crowley lifting a finger in your direction, waggling his digit at you in a reprimanding fashion, eyes squinting as he shifted his weight, your joints freezing within your limbs, forbidding you from moving. Sam let out a strangled grunt from behind you, clearly in a similar state of immobility, struggling against the unseen contraints. The demon clicked his tongue at you, his unoccupied hand tucking a strand of unruly hair behind your daughter’s ear.

“She’s lovely, really. I expected as much from you, love,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you. If you had control over your body, you would have clawed his eyes from his sockets. “But I was concerned Moose over there would dilute the beauty. A happy mistake.” he grumbled, voice seeping like an oil slick, your daughter resting her head against his shoulder, offering you a tired smile. “Right, I suppose it;s best if I speed this along, eh? Little one needs her rest. I take it you’ve heard the story of Rapunzel?” he inquired, waiting a moment for your reply, though you were barred from speaking by his spell. “See, those tablets, you remember those? They’re like the vegetables from my garden, which you took. Legend has it that my repayment,” he bounced your daughter on his hip, grinning adoringly into her eyes before shifting his gaze to you, smile darkening wickedly. “Is your firstborn. I figured I could cut the shipping bill by picking her up myself.” He planted a kiss to your daughter’s hair, wiggling his fingers in a mock wave, your limbs becoming fluid once more. You charged the demon, eyes locked on your daughter’s face, before the both of them vanished from your sight, your feet treading through their previously occupied plot of flooring. She was gone.


In the bleak fields of Mazadaran there fluttered the banner of King Khykhusraw..And before it the armies of the evil Zahhak.. trembled like sheep before spring thunder..His legendary blade that could cleave iron in two, Ruknabad, was forged from a frament of the sun..His horse, Rukshna, flew on invisible wings..Truly a steed befitting the Jahangir..And as there hang not two suns in our firmament…There is but ons Shah on this earth..The peerless hero Khykhusraw who will be the one to take up his blade and heavenly mandate?