#Christ that was fucking intense and I spent the whole time screaming as it kept getting more intense and more heartbreaking

[redrobin-detective]

seen the new cryptid chapter? jesus christ on a breadstick

I just finished it. I’m crying again?? I wasn’t expecting a new update until Christmas and instead we get another chapter two days later??? AND ITS THAT

Oh boy, ohhhhhh booooooooy. Oh my god, how am I going to make it to New Years when THAT is going on Christ on a cracker. This story was already progressing at breakneck but just went into warp drive good god.

So yeah, other than the tears and emotional distress and incoherent screaming, I’m doing pretty good

[fandom-puff]

Hi! I want to request an imagine of Severus. Where you and Remus are great friends and even tho your bf Sev knows that, he still sometimes gets jealous :) Thank youu! Love the ones you wrote so far

I loved writing this!! 

Only Yours

Warnings: smut, swearing, jealousy. 

“Severus, don’t be a dick,” you grumbled, shutting the door to Severus’s room at Grimmauld Place behind you. Your boyfriend stalked ahead of you, his back to you as he loosened his cravat, brooding and seething in silence. Huffing, you followed after him, folding your arms and leaning against the wall with raised eyebrows. “It’s not my fault Remus and Sirius sat either side of me. You’d be more than welcome to sit with me in order meetings if you weren’t so bloody adamant we keep this-us- a secret,” you said, frowning.

The order meeting had been tense, to say the least. You had been chatting with Remus, which was typical- you were both very alike and often discussed books you’d read or the newspaper while waiting for everyone to filter in for the meeting. Sirius had sidled up next to you as Kingsley was on Remus’s other side and engaged in the conversation. This would have been an eye roll-worthy but tolerable for Severus. What put him in a foul mood, however, was Black and Lupin practically ogling you and flirting. Naturally, you waved Sirius off, calling him a fool, but it seemed to Severus that you enjoyed Lupin’s attention a little too much, what with your chin in your hand, devoting your full attention to the werewolf as you discussed Jane Austen’s work.

Normally, Severus wasn’t too arsed about your bookish discussions with Lupin- he loved watching your eyes glitter  when you talked about the novels you enjoyed. What pissed him off was Black’s cheeky comments as you debated about the plot and the characters. Most notably ‘christ moony, haven’t seen you this worked up since that pretty librarian in Town. Watch out, YN, our dear Remus here will discuss that wretched book with you beneath him if you carry on!’.

Of course, Sirius had only been joking, and in his defence, he was well within his rights to do so- as far as most of the order was concerned, you were a pretty, young, single witch. Nevertheless, you smacked him upside the head and laughed playfully, although you stopped giggling when you saw Severus's glare across the table.

“You’re jealous, aren't you?” you murmured. “You know Sirius was just messing around,”

you tilted your head to the side, watching Severus's back as he tensed. “Remus wants to have you. They both do,” he muttered bitterly. He’d be damned if his childhood bullies had his girl, his witch, his love.

“Oh Sev,” you whispered, running your hands up his back gently. “Don’t be silly. Neither of them want me. Remus and I are friends, you know that, and Sirius can’t tell his arse from his eyebrow,” you rubbed his shoulders gently, through that stiff frock coat he insisted on wearing. “And even if either of them did want me, I wouldn’t let them have me. Do you want to know why?”

He grunted, still in a mood, which you took as a begrudging yes.

“Because,” you whispered, standing on tiptoes, leaning over his shoulder. “I only want you,” you breathed into the shell of his ear, biting his earlobe. A low hum rumbled in his chest as he turned around, eyes darkening with lust. You pulled away from him and stepped back, locking your eyes with his as you slowly unbuttoned your shirt. You dropped it to the floor, kicking off your shoes and toeing off your socks, before wriggling out of your trousers. Severus gulped as he watched, letting you strip for him, eager to see what you were up to.

When your underwear was tossed to the side, you looked up at him through your lashes, completely bare before him, while he was still fully dressed.

“See my skin, Severus,” you said softly, slowly stepping towards it. “Stake your claim. Mark me up. Only you can do that, can’t you? Only you can leave bruises and scratches on me. Not Remus. Not Sirius. Only you,”

He nodded his agreement.

“Then do it.” You demanded.

Instantly, Severus swooped forwards, grabbing your hips and attaching his lips to your neck, not caring if his lovebites would be visible above your collar. He kneaded the flesh of your hips, grasping at every inch of you he could, making you weak at the knees. Turning you around, he pressed his front into your back, the ridges of his rough frock coat rubbing your skin raw as he fondled your breasts, pinching and flicking your nipples, twisting them the way you liked. Your eyelids fluttered and you arched your back, reaching back to kiss his throat, whimpering when he began plucking at your clit. He groaned lowly into your ear, dipping his fingers into your slick heat, before bringing them up so you could see your arousal glinting on his long, thin digits.

“All of this for me?” he growled in your ear, causing you to squirm and nod.

“All yours,” you moaned, watching with lust-lidded eyes as his tongue collected your arousal.

“Good girl,” he said, pressing his clothed erection into your arse, groaning when you squirmed against him. He began unbuttoning his many buttons, but you quickly grew impatient, using magic to finish them off, earning yourself a smirk. He removed his clothes. Unlike him, you did not stand back and watch. Instead, you attached your lips to the newly revealed flesh, suckling your own claim into his sallow skin. He tugged you back by the hair. “Bed. Legs spread,” he demanded, and you eagerly complied, hurrying over to the bed, baring your most intimate parts to him. You reached for your wand to cast a silencing spell on the room, but he shook his head. “No. Not tonight,”

“but what about-?”

“Everyone has gone home. Everyone except Black and Lupin. And I intend for them to hear every minute of this. You are mine, and only mine,” he growled as he stalked his way up to you, like a panther on the prowl.

“Only yours,” you agreed, breath hitching as the tip of his cock bumped your achy clit. “P-please, Severus,” you whined, already grabbing at him to come closer. For once, he wasn't in a teasing mood and shoved his cock in right to the hilt. You yelped at the sudden fullness, before dissolving into a moaning, writhing mess for him, scraping your nails down his back as he found a harsh, brutal pace. Soon, your room (and probably the whole house) was filled with the erotic sound of flesh slapping against flesh and the staccato cries of his name that left your mouth. Swearing, you grasped at the sheets as Severus’s bruising pace caused the headboard to slam repeatedly against the wall. You whined out as Severus drew your legs around his waist, each thrust now hitting a delicious spot deep inside you.

Severus, who was often rather quiet during sex, was groaning and grunting louder and louder. It has been a while since you had fucked, and even longer since it had been as intense as this. He called your name, not caring who heard, so long as they knew it was him who made you feel this good.  Grasping at your breasts, he bit hard onto your flesh, leaving dark marks all over your shoulders and neck and chest (he was particularly proud of the extremely large hickey just below your ear- no amount of makeup could cover that one up...)

“Oh, God! Severus, more! more! harder! please!” you whimpered, moaning like a wench. Severus grabbed your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, squishing them together and forcing you to look at him as he pounded mercilessly into you. 

“Whose are you?” he growled, eyes flashing dangerously. Any other time, you would’ve touyed with him and debated you answer to earn yourself a spanking, but right now, all you could do was wail that you were his, only his, and could you please please please cum? 

He groaned, his hips faltering slightly as he neared his release. “Cum,” he ordered. “I want to hear you scream my name, witch,” 

He didn’t need to tell you twice. You yelped and gasped with pleasure as you screamed for him, telling him how good he made you feel, as he filled you with his hot seed, groaning your name. 

Spent, he rolled off you and pulled you close to his chest, holding you and shushing your little whimpers thanks to the aftermath of your climax. Content, relaxed and satisfied, the pair of you drifted off to sleep. 

Needless to say, the next morning when you walked (or rather, limped) into the kitchen with a bruise displayed proudly on your neck, Remus and Sirius kept their eyes down. You were sure you could see them blushing...

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

Chocolate || Arthur Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “ 11 & 12 with Arthur? (I love your writing so so much! 💖💕💖)” (I love you so much ♡)

Summary:  n.11 & 12 from my prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I don’t recognize you anymore” Warnings: swearing, fluffiest fluffy fluff, me loving Arthur desperately.

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

When Arthur stepped into his house that morning, after a long night spent at Charlie’s yard due to the incoming of a new consistent cocaine shipment, he was at first profoundly relieved by the peaceful, utter silence reigning supreme in his living room. Nevertheless, a few minutes later, his tired brain realized how unusual it was for you not to be around by that hour, maybe finishing your chores while singing and dancing all over the place, thanks to the gramophone he had given you the previous Christmas. Factually, that deafening silence was definitely strange, thus your husband’s nerves started to wildly shrink under pressure because of the raw concern growing in the middle of his chest: with the passing of years, experience had taught him to be prepared for the worst, always. The Peaky Blinders had uncountable dangerous enemies, he knew that and he was aware that you as well could be somehow dragged into their dirty affairs; actually, that torturous thought kept him up at night and, in that very moment, caused cold sweat to form on his forehead, as he drew his gun from his shoulder holster and his feet slowly trod on the creaky wood of the stairs leading to the bedrooms. Carefully not to make a sound, Arthur made it all the way upstairs where nothing seemed to be wrong, the closet with your precious porcelains, placed right in the middle of the corridor, was intact, even the long rectangular carpet on the floor was exactly the way he had left it, plus he literally could’ve heard a pin drop. But then, all of a sudden, an excruciating moan reached his ears, having his head instantly tilt towards the closed door of your shared master room.  Pure terror took possession of his body, his mind went totally black, in the blink of an eye, his side violently collided with the wooden surface which offered no resistance, snapping open right on the spot, and causing him to stumble upon his own legs, struggling to regain balance after his disproportionate effort. “What the hell is going on here?” He screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice contaminated by destructive ire mixed with fear, yet, as soon as his gaze laid on your king-size bed, his mouth shut for an istant and immediately fell back open, giving birth to a hilarious confused expression. You were whining in pain, curled up as a tiny ball in the middle of that huge mattress, creased sheets around your bare ankles like tentacles of an octopus, for some absurd reason you kept on moving your feet, getting even more tangled in that mess made of white linen. “What the fuck are you idiot yelling about?” That grievous and unusually aggressive tone raised from your minute figure, and, even though it was slightly muffled by the pillow you were sinking your face in, it instantaneously made a light bulb go off in Arthur’s brain. “Oh, shit” That was nothing more than a whimper, but he possibly sounded more frightened than before, for his intuition became scarily real with each passing second. Sadly, you were on your period and, in spite of being a bloodthirsty gangster, that realization, right off the bat, made him want to run away with his tail between his legs; still, he needed to be brave and face the beast, for the sake of your happy and long-lasting marriage. “Y/n? A-are you okay?” He carefully advanced towards your bed, nervously toying with his cap between his fingers, his alarmed glance briefly run up and down your huddled body, analyzing you and each one of you movements, almost like a tamer preparing to domesticate a tiger. “God, what have I done wrong? Why you keep punishing me?” Those existential questions escaped your mouth together with all of your desperation, while you dramatically turned your eyes to the ceiling, loudly invoking some kind of divine help and totally ignoring your husband’s concern. “Guess the answer is no” Arthur mumbled with raised eyebrows, scratching his hair first and then his moustaches, in an attempt to convoy his thoughts and find a logical solution, he quickly finished the glass of whisky he had left on his nightstand the night before, as his mind was struggling with what to do and his feet anxiously stepped back and forth on the tiffany blue moquette. Eventually, he just opted for removing his jacket and shoes, in order to lay down by your side and comfort you in every possible way, praying not to get brutally killed in the process. “Come here, love” He breathed out with his strong accent, gently lifting your back and guiding you to lean on his chest; his arms fondly enveloped your torso, one of his hand petting your hair, and the other knowingly massaging your belly in the hope of alleviating your cramps. A groan halfway between relief and sorrow was your only reply to those loving gestures, indeed the terrible ache haunting you was so intense, that it affected your ability to pronounce real sentences. “Do you need me to do anything for you?” A few butterfly kisses were left on your forehead through that caring question, leading you to instinctively rub your cheek against the crook of his neck, looking like a purring cat in need of affection. “Mmh, no...” you blurted out in pain, yet changing your mind right away “ I-I mean yes... Ugh, I want chocolate” Truth to be told, you sounded just like a tantrumming child, and that whole comedy would’ve made him laugh heartily, if only your teeth were not that close to his jugular. “Chocolate?!” He asked raising just one of his brows in an interrogative and deeply confused look. “Yeah, bloody chocolate” Both Arthur’s thumb and index ended upon his eyes, starting to massage his eyelids in a hopeless effort to find a sense to your absurd attitude and, at the same time, a strategy not to disappoint you and your frail emotional state. “It’s fucking 7 a.m., darling, where do you think I should find chocolate now?” Childishly, your small fists hit his forearm a few times, while small cries left your lips and you kept kicking the air and the blankets. “Please, please, please-” Already exasperated by your acute pleading, he simply surrendered to his bitter fate, showing his open palms in sign of defeat. “Okay, okay, I’m going” Still, as soon as he got out of bed, trying to put his shoes on despite his precarious balance, your whiny voice induced him to froze on the spot. “Oh, forget it! Just come back in bed with me” Arthur’s jaw nearly dropped at your new request, he turned to you with disbelief painted on his pale face and his hands on his hips, flaunting all his exhaustion. “Jesus Christ, this woman is fucking crazy” He grumbled to himself and started to untie his boots once more, while you seemed to be on the verge of death, continuing to complain about how you needed him to hurry up and cuddle you. “I don’t even recognize you anymore, what’d you monster do with my loving wife?”

tag list: @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @mclfoybaby, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest

[ashes-and-ashes]

Birthday Part 1

A bit of backstory to this fic:

So tomorrow (July 15th) happens to be the amazing Aly’s birthday! Seeing as she is one of the most incredible people ever, I decided that I was going to write her a birthday fic.

Of course I had intended for it to be pure fluff, but my evil brain doesn’t work like that. After an hour, I seemed to have 2808 words of angst, with very little fluff. And (despite Aly being the Princess of Angst) I was not sure if she wanted such depression on her birthday.

So, I split the story up! Here is the first bit of angst, and I’ll post the fluffy bit tomorrow. The fluffy bit is purely dedicated to Aly, and I’ll write an incredibly long and gushy post about her tomorrow. However, here’s the first angst and depressing bit - hope it’s okay!

@withrewings

~

Sirius was going to explode.

It was March 4th, a mere 6 days before Remus’ birthday and Sirius still hadn’t managed to produce anything suitable for his present. He had started drawing in January, convinced that three months was enough for him to create something good enough to give to Remus, but the days had rolled by and suddenly Sirius was left with a sketchbook of half-finished drawings and a looming sense of dread.

He winced, bending back over the page, ignoring the shiny charcoal film covering the side of his hand. His fingers ached from grabbing onto the stub, his back sore from being hunched over the paper for hours, but Sirius didn’t really care. He bit his lip idly, tracing the curls of Remus’ hair, the tilt of his chin, the hollows carved into his back and arms -

“Goddamn it!” With a snarl, Sirius stood, interrupting Marlene’s rant about the Slytherin Girls. He hurled the sketchbook to the ground; the back cover bent with a slight crunch as it hit the floor, the pages flipping open to reveal the sketch he had just been working on. “God-fucking-damn it!”

The others barely looked his way - Sirius’ outbursts were common enough now that everyone had gotten used to the swearing and yelling. It was late at night - they were the only ones in the common room. James bent down, scooping up the book with one hand, eyes still fixed on Marlene. “Go on Marls. What did you say to her?”

“More like what did you do to her,” Dorcas muttered. “No way that girl made it out in one piece.”

Marlene flashed a quicksilver grin. “I hexed her nose off. Completely. Transfigured it into the tiniest mushroom attached to her ugly face. God, they were so mad.”

James let out a laugh, throwing his head back; in the background Sirius noticed one of the twins (Either Fabian or Gideon - the light from the fireplace was dim, and he couldn’t quite pick out the details on their faces) hand a galleon to Benjy, who was sitting on the mantle. “Priceless.”

Peter leaned forward, eyes wide. “How long do you have detention for?”

Marlene shrugged. “Detention will last 3 months. But the tales will last forever. I’ll be a goddamn Hogwarts legend.”

“You’re already one,” Lily assured her. She tapped James on the shoulder. “Prongs. Want to give Sirius his book back?”

With a smirk, James held the book out to Sirius, the covers still open to reveal the half-finished drawing. “Oh right. I forgot.”

Sirius snatched the sketchbook back, flipping him off. “Oh, shut up.”

They were all meant to be discussing Remus’ party (Remus having gone to bed ages ago) but the hours had ticked away and they had planned absolutely nothing. Sirius wasn’t surprised - nothing ever seemed to work when everyone got together, except for a whole heap of snogging between Marlene and Dorcas, and James and Lily.

He scowled down at the sketch in his lap, the half-finished outline of Remus, silhouetted against a huge moon, the curve of his spine mirroring the constellations twinkling above him. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, the words bitter in his mouth. “I’m so screwed.”

Lily looked surprised. “Why? That one is beautiful, Sirius. He’d love that.”

Sirius shook his head, violently flipping to another page. “No! This one is...is…”

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. She was sprawled in a huge chair, legs dangling over the side; Marlene gave her bare legs a long look before winking at Sirius. “I think this one is pretty.”

“God.” Sirius groaned, slamming the book shut. “It’s romantic. It looks like we’re dating or something.”

Benjy snorted, swinging his feet from where he was perched on the mantle. “Aren’t you already?”

Sirius flipped him off; he could feel blood rising to his cheeks. “I’m pretty sure Remus is straight, Benj.”

“Only one way to find out,” Kingsley muttered; the room erupted in laughter.

“I say,” mused Marlene, “That you should draw him in an intimate position.”

“Maybe with a collar,” Fabian called, “And chains, black leather and fishnets - “

Dorcas laughed. “A gag!”

“You should draw me in that!” Benjy yelled over the laughter. “I’d love to be drawn in collars and chains and black leather fishnet stockings.”

“Oh shut up,” Sirius said. He scowled, staring down at his hands; there was a scar shaking across his index finger where his mother had broken it once. “You guys are absolutely useless.”

“Says the guy without a present,” Lily muttered. Sirius stuck his tongue out at her.

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Look,” he began, “Remus is...Remus. He’d love anything you drew him. Stop over complicating it.”

Sirius spread his arms out wide. “Over complicating is what I do, darling.”

Benjy snorted. “I’d prefer that you do Remus.”

He was definitely blushing now, Sirius could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, spreading over the back of his neck like a flood. He scowled again, running a hand through his hair; it was already wild and tangled, paint and God knew what else caught in the dark locks. “You know what?” he said, then paused. “I was going to say ‘Screw you all’ but I reconsidered because I knew you would turn it into something about screwing Remus. So go eat a bowtruckle.”

He could hear Benny’s voice carry, even as he turned the corner and started up the stairs. “Why don’t you eat Remus?”

Sirius scowled. “Fuck off Benjy!”

~

Sirius glares down at the paper.

He knew he wasn’t going to give this one to Remus anyways. It wasn’t even the drawing that screwed it up - the paper was crinkled from where he had grasped it, the lines smudged and faded, too intense and too bold. It turned everything into hard lines, points instead of curves, edges instead of sweeps. He knew he was wasting time, drawing something that he would never, could never show Remus but it lessened the tightness in his chest, made it easier to breathe.

He had 2 sketchbooks. The first one had a red cover, and he used it for all his doodles. Pages of simple things: wand tips and goblets, candles and flowers, spellbooks and cauldrons and hundreds of unicorns. He brought that one everywhere, kept it in his school bag, was always doodling in it until the book was finished.

The second book was black, the cover heavy and Sirius always kept this one under his bed, because who wouldn’t know? This book contained everything - a boy on his knees, broken fingers, a single burning piano key. Scars, hundreds of them, rendered in perfect detail, all torn flesh and blood and bones, the lashes seared into his brain. He drew fingers with scar marks and backs with claw marks and even the broken, bleeding figure of an angel with its wings sawed off.

And Remus. This book was filled with Remus as well, all the shattered, beautiful parts of him, all the scars and cuts and marks. He drew Remus crying, and Remus screaming and sometimes he drew Remus kissing him.

He stared down at the drawing now, splayed on the page in front of him. He had hesitated when he drew him and Remus, but once he started he couldn’t stop. The charcoal spilled out of him, bleeding onto the paper, and everything was the same. Two boys kissing, the desperation clear in the clenching of their fingers or the arch of their spine, mused curls and closed eyes and scars like brushstrokes on their skin and Sirius couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

He wondered, sometimes, what Remus would say if he saw him, if he peeked into that black sketchbook, saw every dark crack in Sirius’ heart laid bare. Everyone had their secrets, he supposed. His were just more open than most.

There was a rustling sound from behind him; Sirius quickly flipped the page. It was late at night, the room filled with the sounds of people breathing, dreams spiraling into the air. The nightmare had woken Sirius up, the fractured visions of his parents and Death Eaters, and he had spent the rest of the night drawing, filling up even more pages in the sketchbook. He glanced down and started; the lines he had made were so dark that the colour had bled through the page, leaving smudges and streaks and the delicate tracery of lines carved into the page in front of him. He hastily closed the sketchbook, pulling the red one onto his lap, opening it to a random part in the book. Damn. This one was of Remus too, a idle study of him sleeping, his curls framing his face with gold.

He was about to turn the page again when the curtains on his bed flew open. It was as if his drawing had come to life; Remus stood there, golden curls forming a messy halo around his face, his eyes half lidded from exhaustion. He yawned, running his hands through his hair. “You okay?”

Sirius shrugged. “Sure.”

Remus frowned. “You’re always so closed off. It’s like you’re hiding something. Keeping something locked away.”

Yeah, my love for you, Sirius thought, but he didn’t say anything. He shifted, pulling the covers up around him, focusing on his breathing. Remus shot hi a concerned look.“Nightmares?”

“Yeah.” Sirius’ hands tightened around the blankets. “I’ve been up for awhile.”

Remus regarded him thoughtfully, then pulled the curtains wider. He slid into bed next to Sirius, gently rearranging the blankets until his warm legs tangled with Sirius’ cold ones. “It’s like lying in bed next to an ice sculpture.”

Sirius forced a laugh. Remus was too close right now; he was certain that he could feel his heart pounding. “It’s like lying in bed next to a furnace.”

Remus laughed, the sound warm and rich. God, Sirius could drown in that sound. He shifted over, giving Remus some more room, twisting until his head was tucked under Remus’ shoulder. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, the air smelling of wool and pine and clean cotton -

“Shit,” Remus said. “Is that me?”

With a jolt, Sirius opened his eyes; the book on his lap had fallen, the pages splayed open to reveal the sketch of Remus sleeping. He swallowed, hard, fighting to keep his voice steady. “No. It’s the fucking Duke of Alytown.”

Remus punched his shoulder. “Shut up.” With a shaking hand he reached over, picking the book up carefully, tilting it so the light fell on the pages and illuminated the drawing. “Did you...did you draw this?”

Sirius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His heart was hammering triple-time in his chest, like a huge drum - he was certain Remus could hear it. “Nope. I just fall asleep with drawings of you on my lap all the time. I actually commissioned Snape to draw this, you see - he would creep into our room at night and - “

“Jesus.” Remus’ mouth hung open, his eyes wide as he turned the drawing back and forth. This close Sirius could see his eyelashes, golden against his skin, so fine that it looked as if they were spun from spider silk. “God. This is beautiful, Sirius.”

“You’re beautiful,” Sirius said, then quickly snapped his mouth shut. Smooth, Sirius. Real smooth you fucktard.

Remus laughed, more in shock then anything. “Me? I’m not...I’m not…”

“Beautiful?”

Remus looked down at his hand. “Yeah.” He pauses, clearly struggling with something; his mouth twisted into a bitter smirk before he continued. “Just look at me. I’m...I’m ruined. I’m scarred all over.”

Sirius bit his lip, hard. In his mind he saw his back, the lashes standing out like lines of silver, raised and thick and livid. He swallowed, hard. “Sometimes the cracks are the most interesting part of a sculpture.”

The barest edge of a smile ghosted over Remus’ face. “But it’s still ruined all the same.”

If only you could see, Sirius thought, If only you could see how beautiful you are, how perfect you’ve become. If only I could draw you the way I see you.

He coughed; with a steady hand he tore the sketch out of his book, handing it to Remus. “Keep it,” he said, then shook his head at the shocked expression on Remus’ face. “It’s yours now. I was going to give it to you for your birthday, but I’ll just whip up another drawing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, and a beautiful, dazzling smile raced across Remus’s face, making it look like the sun had coated him in strands of liquid gold. Beautiful, Sirius thought, and his heart gave a painful twist in his chest.

“Thanks Sirius. But I don’t…I don’t need this, you know. All I want is...is you, I guess. Your heart. I want your heart, Sirius. That’s all.”

Sirius looked down. “Anything for you, Re.”

~

He couldn’t stop himself from drawing Remus.

The black sketchbook was open on his lap again, a fresh page blank and empty. His hands were dark, coated in the shiny-grey of graphite, his clothes covered in the stuff. He had been drawing for ages without taking a break, his eyes dropping from exhaustion and yet he allowed the sketch to bleed out of him, splattering across the page.

He was almost done the black sketchbook, had only a few pages left. Usually a book would last him 6 months, but he had filled half the book in less then 3 weeks. It was like he was an addict, thirsting for something he could never have, lightning and thunder and rain echoing through his veins. He couldn’t stop himself now, even as he continued filling the pages, Remus staring up at him from every angle.

Sirius took a shaking breath. It felt like he was underwater, drowning in his feelings for Remus, threatening to blow him apart with every gasping inhale of air. He set the pencil to the paper, letting his mind take over, the curve of Remus’ eyes gradually starting to fill the page.

He remembered the first time he had seen Remus, 5 years ago, standing in the compartment of a train as the sun went down over the hills. He was with James, wild and rebellious because for the first time ever he was free, when the door had opened and Remus had stepped into the compartment.

There was something different about him, even back then, some ethereal way that Remus moved. He remembered how the light had hit Remus’ face in just the right way, casting his features into shadow, making him look like some beautiful bronze statue and all Sirius could do was stare.

There was always some part of him that had loved Remus, but it really hit him in 4th year. He had been playing Quidditch, backlog against the setting sun, and he had looked down and seen Remus in the stands and his heart swelled up and he couldn’t breathe. He knew it then, while hurtling through the sky on his broom, knew he would have given up anything to make Remus happy.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a sharp crack; he had pressed down so hard on the pencil that it had shattered, pieces skidding all over his sheet. Sirius scowled, glaring down at the page - there was a boy on a broom and a boy on the ground, the light hitting them until it looked like a spotlight, wind whipping their hair around them. He swore, staring down at his hands - it was so obvious. All it would take was for someone to look at his book to know what he felt towards Remus. He couldn’t burden Remus with that, the unrequited feelings of a shattered boy. Remus had already been through far too much - Sirius couldn’t heap another load onto his shoulders.

But what if he did? The thought rose up unbidden. What if he did like you?

His mind flickered back, sorting through the memories of the year - the Train, Remus’ hands tight around his neck. The Christmas Feast, sitting together under the cold half moon. January, grasping onto Remus’ fingers, the desperation in his eyes as he began to change. Valentine’s Day, a single chocolate, a whispered conversation. Sirius, I…

“I what?” Sirius had said.

Remus shook his head. “Never mind.”

So many moments, so many hidden touches, and Sirius’ heart was pounding because what if? What if there was a chance?

He was gripping the sketchbook tightly, so hard that the cover was digging into his palms, scoring lines across his palm. Remus had told him what he wanted that night, didn’t he? I want your heart, Sirius. That’s all.

“My heart,” Sirius said, out loud to the wind. Slowly, his hands tightened around the sketchbook.

He knew exactly what to give to Remus tomorrow.

[monikafilefan]

Dead End Road ch4

This is chapter 4 of 5 and you can catch up or read all the way through here!!!

You're going to want to read this chapter ;) Trust me.

Tagging @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @peacenik0 @scully-eats-sushi @skullsmuldon @lappina @furiouskidcollectorlove @foxanddanapetrie

Has life on the run turned into something much more meaningful for Mulder and Scully?

“A woman or man of value doesn’t love you because of what he or she wants you to be or do for them. He or she loves you because your combined souls understand one another, complements each other, and make sense above any other person in this world.” -Shannon L. Alder

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Five minutes later, Mulder excused himself when he felt his bladder scream and stomach turn at the thought of his epiphany and wanting more for their life as a couple—not knowing if it would ever even matter in the scheme of all things “them”. He’d left Scully sitting there watching the events unfold to use the restroom in the building by the parking lot and finally relieve himself, but during the whole walk there and back, he couldn’t shake the notion that maybe this was as good as a life shared with Spooky Mulder would get. Would he be able to actually live with himself if their names were never cleared? What if she could be living a normal life visiting with her family and working as a doctor as she pleased, without him? What if Scully was off the hook already, free and clear? And the million dollar question that rolled around his brain consistently—what if he never would be?

A wedding was the last place he should be deliberating about where the hell their future was headed but he just couldn’t help it, even as it mocked him while throwing yet another normal act that they weren’t experiencing in his face. He felt horrible enough as it was—dragging his best friend through hell and back as his work partner and now he felt as if he was withholding a better future from his life partner now, too. He’d just hoped to hell that she felt differently.

He trudged back through the grass and around the decorated tree line to the back row seating where he spotted Scully’s red hair reflecting the sun's rays. Jesus, she was beautiful, he thought as he slid down into his seat next to her. She hadn’t turned to face him while looking off in the opposite direction, only instinctively reached out and held onto his hand with a firm grip. They had always had that connection, and some had said an otherworldly awareness of one another from very early on in their partnership. They could feel each other thinking, hurting, and sense that physical presence acutely. Since that time so long ago, it’s only gotten more intense. Even when they weren’t around one another for a short period of time, they missed that connection implicitly—as if something tethered within them was being pulled too tightly.

Mulder looked at her again more closely and that’s when he’d noticed the wide beautiful smile that lit up her face, slowly fading right in front of him. He instinctively knew why and he’d beaten himself up for that very same thing. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, tucking her into his embrace as he ran a hand along her thigh. Scully looked up into his swirling eyes and she knew what he had seen when he looked at her, what was written out in her own eyes plain as day.

“Scully, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. We can’t,” Mulder explained to her while he rubbed along her arm. “We can’t keep punishing ourselves for feeling joy, happiness. We did the right thing and you know that, you always have even though it hurts,” he said along her cheek and cut off her retort that he’d known was coming with a finger to her lips. “Yes, we did the right thing, Scully. We each did the right thing just in different ways, but for the same reason—unconditional love for our son.”

Scully sighed as she released the tension in her shoulders. She knew he was right. As much as she hated to admit it, he was usually right about most things when it came to the inner workings of her mind and heart. So while looking directly into his eyes and nodding, she admitted to herself and to him that she received the message loud and clear.

Maybe it will really all be worth it, Scully thought to herself. She held out anticipation that every close call, every heartache, every unselfish sacrifice would prove to give their lives—William’s life—a glimmer of hope. She had a deep feeling, a connection that she seemed to carry with her that they could be reunited in the end—that the darkness they’d kept hidden would eventually fade completely with the light of happiness they shared.

Mulder laid a gentle kiss on the top of her head—seemingly caught up in his own thoughts as Scully contemplated about marriage in general and the unconditional love that Mulder and herself felt not only for William, but for one another as well. As she glanced up at the Mother of the bride beaming in the front row, a conversation she had held with her own Mother on that very subject brought her comfort.

“Dana, I don’t know why you’re so reluctant to talk about it,” she added in defense, amused with her mouth half hidden behind her coffee mug.

“I’m not reluctant, Mom, I’m just…not sure if marriage is something for US ,” Scully argued, already uncomfortable after having her Mom walk in on her and Mulder wrapped up in a tight embrace with their tongues down each others throats.

This way was certainly not the way she had intended on sharing the news of the fact that she and Mulder had finally admitted out loud that they were in love—that they had jumped off that platonic cliff, into each other's hearts and bodies.

“Look, Mom, we’re in love and have been for—hell probably since that first couple of years as partners. But Mulder and I don’t need a piece of paper or a pair of rings to prove that we’re meant for one another—prove that we will watch each other’s backs, stand side by side as equals, and always share our love and respect. We’re partners, Mom, in every sense of the word, always.”

Scully felt the heat flush across her cheeks as she spoke the final words through her lashes, slightly embarrassed that she actually poured out her feelings to her Mother while Mulder stood listening just outside of the kitchen. But as her Mom grinned teary-eyed across the table from her, she suddenly realized in that very moment, that she would repeat every word with conviction in a heartbeat and didn’t give a goddamn WHO heard her.

The sudden wave of people rising to their feet around her for the woman in white caused Scully to snap her head up, and out of the memory that left her feeling warm and elated. She rose with Mulder’s arm still firmly draped around her, understanding her subconscious was really trying to remind her of why and for whom she chose the current path she was on.

Love.

She did it all for the frustrating, dangerous, intense, consuming, perfect love she had for Fox Mulder.  

And now, she wanted him to know she still felt that way—that she truly would always feel this way. Scully leaned back against Mulder’s hard warm chest and turned her head toward him as she sighed and linked his fingers with hers.

As the sky slowly darkened, Scully aptly watched the bride and groom as they took their places at the center of the ornately decorated archway while the Minister began the process of binding two people together under the eye of God.

As the they were told to be seated, Scully was struck with a jolt of nervousness. As much as she wanted to be bound to Mulder in yet another significant way, she was hesitant. Hesitant to wordlessly take that leap to convey how deeply her love and commitment ran considering where their lives were at that moment.

She turned her head to face him as the Minister began to speak and reinforced her grip on his hand with a strong squeeze, pulling their joined hands into her lap while his eyes danced over her face. Would he feel the same as her about essentially saying vows to one another even if he didn’t believe in God? He had hinted to marriage in the past but she had never taken his words at face value during those times for a multitude of reasons. Now she could kick herself for not pressing him for more details.

Was this even the right time to do this? For Christ’s sake not only was it their son’s birthday, whom they had given away to strangers, but she had spent hours this morning choking on her tears and fucking his father on the side of the road just to feel better about it. She squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head. Mulder was right, she had to stop internally beating herself to death if she ever wanted to move on in this relationship with him.

The fact was, she wanted to be there—needed to be there with him. With him. Him, always him.

Paralyzed with the reminder that at more than one point, he was gone from her. Taken, tortured, killed, buried, unearthed alive, sent away, and sentenced to death. That feeling of hopeless loss of losing the other half of her that made her whole, the man who gave her life meaning and gifted her with true unyielding love was nothing she could ever really describe to him. Only during the late night visit to her deathbed did Mulder ever convey he’d physically known that fucking tortuous feeling of losing the love of your life as well as she had.

“Oh, Mulder, you have to let me go,” Scully sighed, tears leaking out of her eyes, rolling over the side of her nose and into the pillow. He squeezed her hands between his, almost to the point of pain, as if that could keep her from leaving the world. “Please, don’t do this to yourself. For me, Mulder, I have know—to have peace that you’ll be okay when I’m gone,” she chokes through the lump in her throat.

“Scully, please don’t—hearing you say that kills me,” Mulder’s body shook as he cried into their joined hands while leaning across the hospital bed, his face slick with grief. Sucking in a ragged breath he admitted, “If I could trade places with you, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d do anything for you!” he yelled passionately, licking his tears off his lips. Scully’s heart broke even more for the man she’d fallen for, but forced a sad smile for his consistent loyalty in finding a cure. “I would marry you right here, right now if I thought it could save you,” he said with a smirk, breaking the palpable tension of despair.

Little did she know back then, that he had wanted to marry her right then and there just because he was in love with her, and not just to make her smile or because her life was slipping through his fingers like the tears down his face.  

With that gut wrenching memory—that thought had supported her decision, solidified it. He was the man she wanted to marry, and she’d known that way back then. She wanted to be fused to Mulder in this way for the rest of their lives. Even if it wasn’t official or legal, it would be to them and she wanted to do it. She wanted to do it right now!

Mulder rested his hand that had been embracing her shoulders along her neck and moved the other hand around her upper arm, turning her slightly to face him. He stared hard into her eyes to try and read her thoughts and knew she needed to see how he felt in that very moment with her. God, he loved everything about her. Even her down-right fucking aggravating attributes that had his head spinning on many occasions just made him fall deeper and deeper for her. Her bravery, perseverance, loyalty, hardheadedness, and especially the way she loved him, served only as reminders that she was so much more than just the small yet significant pieces that made up Dana Scully as a whole.

So as his eyes danced back and forth between hers, he sent out his deeply ingrained love, affection, and trust for her from his soul and into her own. “Scully…” he breathed.

“The way you look at me, my God, Mulder,” she said shaking her head, voice raw and exposed. “You still make my heart pound just as hard as the day I met you. The intensity you express for what you’re so passionate about is overwhelming at times.” Scully licked her lips and watched every line and movement of his features as he beamed at her expression. She had to dip her chin and flick her eyes to their laced fingers when his gaze became too much. “From the beginning, you’ve been like a drug to me, and not in a bad way, Mulder,” she strongly whispered to quell any self-doubt on his part. “But it’s true in the way that I’m completely and utterly addicted to you, in every way possible. I need you almost as much as I want you.”

Mulder was grateful and slightly surprised by Scully’s blatant declaration of her feelings, but still grinned wildly while the love for his other half spread warmth through him in way of a low humming buzz. He brought their joined hands up to his lips and brushed them along the silky softness of the back of her hand. “And you love it,” he told her, with a glint in his eye.

Scully lifted her chin and raised her brow as the corners of her mouth curved upward. “And I love it.”

Mulder swallowed and started again, “Scully…” She angled her head toward him, donning her usual all-knowing Scully expression. He knew she could feel his anxiousness from his intention but she didn’t shy away from him. Then she smiled, an amazing heartfelt grin that knocked the breath right out of his chest. With his arm still wrapped around her shoulder while caressing her neck, he leaned in a little closer to her face as she moved their clutched hands into her lap and stroked his forearm, brushing her fingertips along the fine hairs. He nudged her cheek with his and told her, “I’ve always loved you, Scully, and it’s time we did this, for us.”

Scully’s eyes welled with unshed tears as he pressed two warm kisses along her cheek bone and leaned back to face her. It was her turn to assure him. “Yes, Mulder it’s about time, isn’t it?” she playfully stated.

As the groom started with his terms of endearment, “from that very first moment I met you, I knew my life would never be the same…” the couple took turns reminiscing and repeated their vows from the Minister. Mulder and Scully lightly laughed at one another as the couples words hit home. They took the opportunity to do the same as they spoke to one another the way they have since day one, with their eyes.

The soft murmuring of oaths and promises sent a surge of confidence into them both while they felt the momentous turning points in their lives they shared together flash back in their minds.    

Their expressions grew serious as they gazed into the depths of one another. The moss green and ocean blue colliding in that unique and undeniable way that only belonged to a pairing of soulmates. Those looks they shared, were everything. It was him in Antarctica; It was her in Alaska; It was him sobbing at her deathbed; It was her weeping at his funeral; It was them kissing over their sleeping son nestled between them. It was them. It was everything .

“Wow, Scully…” Mulder was struck speechless with the magnitude of the moment.

She brought her hands up to either side of his head, her fingers pressing into his temples and around his ears, holding him steady in her gaze. Mulder’s heart was racing with excitement as the realization of what they were doing finally sunk in. Her smile for him was ethereal and he felt himself falling for her—into her all over again.

Her forehead touched his as she softly spoke, “it was so easy to fall in love with you, Mulder, that it took me four years to realize I’d already fallen.” His nose nuzzled hers and she slowly fluttered her eyes. “Now there isn’t one second that passes by where I’m not aware of just how far gone I am for you.”

Scully knew she was eternally woven in Mulder’s quest after those very first few cases as his partner, but she was also internally woven into him , into his essence that desperately reached out for her own. It had just taken her a while to figure it out.

She loved Mulder so much more than mere words or jewelry could even express. In that moment, the perfect words being uttered, or rings being slid upon one another’s fingers didn’t matter. Only the two of them speaking from the heart in their own way, and sealing the promise of finality with their lips were what truly mattered.  

More thoughts and vows being repeated in the background had only supported the life commitment they were sharing in their own little world, and it urged them on to fully express their love.

“I take you, to be my wife. I vow to be your biggest fan and partner in crime.”

Mulder smirked and nudged Scully’s knee with his thigh and was gifted with a toothy grin from her in return. “You’re my best friend, my lover, and partner for life,” he breathed heavily, the words he’d been thinking about for so long rushed to the surface and practically poured out of him.

Scully hummed and felt a blush rise up her neck as she absorbed his words, realizing that her own thoughts on exactly what to say came to her easily. “Mulder, I promise that I will laugh with you, mourn with you, and grow old with you,” she choked out and gripped his face a little harder, emotions threatening to take over as she looked away and leaned the top of her head on Mulder’s shoulder to try to compose herself.

“I vow to love you faithfully and unconditionally through difficult and easy times.”

Mulder ran a hand up and down Scully’s back, lending her support as he touched his lips to the shell of her ear. “Scully…Dana, I will love and cherish you when we’re together,” he murmured into her ear and felt her press her mouth to his collarbone. “And I will do the same when we’re apart,” he promised, as Scully shuddered along his chest while the bride and groom’s voices faded into the background once again.

She lifted her head just enough to turn her face into his neck and spoke when her lips grazed his hot skin. “I will always support you and your dreams, no matter how crazy they are,” Mulder huffed out a laugh and she grinned into his shirt. Scully found it easier to speak without her voice breaking if she could do it without direct eye contact. “God, Mulder, I vow to respect our differences, knowing that they bind us together,” she told him with passion, lifting her head and facing him nose to nose.

Mulder gently wiped the tear stains from her face and held her chin, their faces just a breath away. “I promise to love you—to be your comfort and friend for the rest of my life,” he finished, sealing his commitment with a kiss to the bridge of her nose while he felt her nodding in agreement.

Saying his vows, those words seemed so inadequate to how he’d actually felt about her, how he’d felt for the longest time. Only voicing or repeating them to one another just seemed so…insignificant, compared to speaking them in their own distinctive way to one another with their eyes and touch.

His breath quickened and his eyes darkened on her with intent. “Forever, Scully,” Mulder touched his warm lips to the corner of her mouth as his voice vibrated along her skin. “For better or worse, I am yours and you are mine.”

Sucking in a shaky breath while her thumbs rubbed the sides of his warm face, she returned his affirmation, “I know I’m not the greatest at expressing myself, but I need you to hear this from me tonight. I am yours. For better or worse, Mulder, I’m yours.” Scully’s heartbeat hummed in her ears as her throat constricted, only allowing few words at a time to slowly move from her heart and out of her mouth. “Always. No matter what, that has been and always will be the truth. My truth.”  

Mulder bit his lip while he brought her delicate hands down from his face and cupped them between his larger ones, pressing them into his chest so she could feel his racing heart. Keeping his face touching hers, he swallowed hard and rasped out, “you are my touchstone, my purpose, my light in the dark...my Scully.” A lone tear trickled down the side of his nose that was nestled next to hers and then absorbed within her skin. A comforting analogy for them both.

Scully gasped when her own tear dropped down her face as his sentiment sent a wave of elation through her. Mulder smiled and moved a hand up to tuck a strand of her waving hair behind her ear, faces still languidly moving along each other.

“And you are mine,” Scully said softly through her own overwhelming emotions, mimicking her response to his outpour of love for her years before in the doorway of his apartment.

Mulder chuckled at the deeper meaning to her response as he ran his hand from her hair to around her neck and up to cradle the back of her head. Scully tilted ever so slightly and their mouths greeted each other with overwhelming intensity.

Mulder’s other arm wrapped tightly around her hips, pulling her flush at the same moment her hands had slid up his chest and around his back where they gripped fist fulls of his shirt, needing to be as close to one another as possible. With their limbs tangled and chests rubbing, their lips slid back and forth, barely balancing on the thin line of euphoric and erotic.  

In that moment as the words, “you may kiss the bride” echoed throughout the din of applause and cheers, Mulder and Scully kissed one another deeper and more passionately than they had ever kissed before while moaning into each other’s mouths, far outlasting the young bride and groom, even missing their departure down the aisle.

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[thephantomofthe-internet]

Fide (Eros p.t 13)

Billy Hargrove x Reader, Jonathan Byers x Reader (Unrequited)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Word Count: 3090

Warnings: Swearing, Fighting, Abuse mention

Author’s note: So am I 100% happy with the way this turned out? No. Am I still gonna post it? Yes. Why? Because I think that this is the best the wording is gonna get, I always forget how hard it is to write romantic love when you’ve never been in it.

Forever Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @steveharringtonofficial @denimjacketkisses @flamehairedwritings @hargroovin @nistaposebno @giftofdreams @feverxxdream

Series Tag: @hargrovesgoldilocks @xicarcalii @wtf-richarddd @sighsophiia @baebee35 @ijustwantahugfromtennant @rhyxn @wearemightyghosts @random-stupid-stuffs @so-not-hotmess @warsintothestars @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @angellastor @aaliyonte @baileythepenguin @sleepyspacegal @kingbouji3 @abbyed @80steenmovie @ohtaylorrose @little-red-wolf-hood @peanutlicker5000 @demoncrypt1066 @jinx-is-fire 

Feedback Appreciated!!

Billy had been determined to figure out what happened at Vicki’s party and when you didn’t show up to school on Monday morning, his quest went outwards to his peers.

Unfortunately for him, nobody knew what happened. As it turns out, the only people to talk to him that night were Tina and Macy, who were too far blitz to remember what happened, Jonathan and Nancy, who insists that they didn’t do anything to her, and him. Five people. That was it. And three of them couldn’t remember what had happened.

He didn’t believe Nancy and Jonathan at first, he gone after them for days trying to muscle out the information, but they stuck to their story and, though it took him awhile, he realized that you weren’t upset with them. You continued to talk to them as if nothing had happened. That was the upsetting part-the obvious answer seemed wrong. That worried him more than anything else.

So he left them alone. There was nothing he could do if the answer wasn’t there, he had to find another solution. That solution became to watch out for you. Not obviously, of course, that would make him look foolish, but close enough to make sure you weren’t in harm’s way. Not that you usually were, but after the events of Vicki’s party, people seemed to be talking about you a bit more.

That was Billy’s fault, not that he realized it at the time. All his intense questioning caused a stir and people were more than inclined to look into her and exactly what happened that night. Billy hadn’t heard, but according to Hilary Caldwell, you did return to the party, crying your eyes out. You got back in your car and drove away, nearly hitting her and her friends as they crossed the road. This made the whole story a lot juicer, but Billy never heard it. You and Hilary weren’t friends and he wouldn’t intentionally seek her out unless he knew she knew something.

But everyone else heard some form of that story and spread it like wildfire. You became a woman scorn in some eyes, a helpless victim in others, and, in Tommy and Carol’s eyes, an annoying waif prone to crying fits. Tommy made that known to anyone who would listen and, because the boy has never learned his lesson, that person became Billy on Wednesday afternoon.

Since he dumped Valerie and you weren’t talking to him, Billy had returned to eating lunch with Carol and Tommy, only out of necessity seeing as it was December and it was too cold to eat outside. He mostly focused on picking at his meatloaf and cold green beans, trying to block out the sounds of Carol and Tommy’s annoying voices. But that day, Tommy had decided to be even more annoying than usual.

He turned to Billy, his mouth full of cheap ground beef and premade gravy, and said “You know man; it’s good to have you back. That psycho bitch Y/N turned you bitch.”

Billy rolled his eyes, noting how he stole one of his lines, but keeping his focus on his tray instead. He didn’t agree with what Tommy was saying but he didn’t feel like arguing with him about this-if Tommy needed to inflate his own ego by putting himself above you, then he’d let him purely because Billy knew it wasn’t true.

“She’s so pathetic,” Carol added “Effing switching from guy to guy, blubbering like a baby when Byers dumps like he’s actually worth crying over.”

“Fucking nut job, she’s insane dude. No matter how good that pussy was, she was not worth it.” Tommy laughed.

That’s when Billy snapped. He was on his feet before he’d realized that he was moving and his fist connected with Tommy’s jaw before he realized that hitting him could be the wrong choice.

“What did I say about talking about Y/N, dumbass?” he sneered. Tommy’s hand came to his jaw and, for a brief moment, it looked as though he wasn’t going to fight back. But then he was on his feet and a weak punch came directly for Billy face. It didn’t hurt, per say, nor did it surprise him. He chuckled darkly “Oh, now you’re dead, Hanson.”

Fortunately for Tommy, before Billy could pounce on him, Vice Principal Warner pulled Billy back. “My office, now Hargrove!” he snapped, tugging the boy out by his arm.

Of course, he got suspended. Fighting was punishable by suspension and he’d worn out all his chances, so he was gone for three days. And since he wasn’t going to school the next day anyway, skipping his afternoon classes wasn’t going to mean much. He left in a cloud of smoke and screeching tires.

Of course, you heard about it. The story was spread like wildfire throughout the student body. Any fight was interesting, but the added addition of it being over someone made it especially juicy. Rumours flew of the fight being over Valerie, who basked in the glow of attention, Vicki, who mostly kept her mouth latched around Steve’s, and, as per her own retelling, Carol.

You kept your head low, grateful that the fight didn’t seem to be about you. Billy was getting even more reckless and you almost wanted to seek him out and help him, but that meant speaking to him of your own free will and that wasn’t in the cards as of late. You were still too mad and broken to even think of speaking to him right now. You spent the rest of the day trying to push him from your mind and the afternoon out of school at the Hawkins Library, your home away from home.

When you finally had to go home, you thankfully found groceries in the fridge and your father asleep on the couch. You made dinner and brought your mother some, surprised to see her awake and doing something other than watching mindless TV; she was up in bed reading a knitting magazine. You made your father a plate and ate alone in your room. For the first time since meeting Billy, you felt lonely. You contemplated called Stacy but you weren’t in the mood to hear about her boyfriend or drama with Kristen, which seemed never ending. You went to bed early, wishing you could call Barb and sinking into the pain like a warm bath.

You woke up at midnight with a throat dryer than you ever felt before. You tiptoed downstairs, heading into the kitchen. The only light illuminating the kitchen was the moonlight from the open window and the small yellow light you’d forgotten to turn off hours early. You decided that you didn’t need more light than that and dug through the cupboard for a plastic cup you felt comfortable bringing upstairs. You filled the cup quickly under the sink and drank the whole thing in one giant gulp. You filled the cup again, leaning against the back of the sink, letting out a breath through your nose.

Then, someone rapped at the back door. And you dropped your cup, slapping one hand over your mouth to muffle the scream that emitted from your throat. You let your gaze linger to the window above the sink, hoping for some sign of who was there without actually going to the door.

The blue Camaro sat on the street outside. You groaned loudly, stomping to the door.

“Jesus Christ, are you looking to get murdered? Cause I was about to grab a knife and-” you started, but when your eyes flicked up to his face, the words ran dry in your mouth as you felt your eyes widen. You’d seen Billy look bad, beaten up by forces he never mentioned, but this was a new level. He looked absolutely terrible-there was blood crusted under his nose, his right eye blackened and there was a small cut on the bag under his eye, his lower lip fat and busted. Tommy could never do this much damage, even if he gathered his whole gang including Steve Harrington, the best fighter of all of them, which wasn’t to say much.

“Oh my God get in here!” you gasped, pulling him by the arm and pulling him inside. You grabbed the first aid kit off the shelf above the sink and led him upstairs, shushing him. You flicked on the overhead light in your room and locked the door.

“Sit.” You commanded, pushing him down onto the bed. You noted how he winced when you touched his left shoulder. You opened the old kit and knelt in from of him, removing an alcohol wipe and dabbing away the crusted blood. Billy winced when the wipe touched the cut on his eye, but he didn’t complain beyond that.

You placed a bit of pressure on the sides of his nose, checking for irregularities. You sighed “Well, it’s not broken. I’m gonna go get some ice, you stay here. Take off your shirt, I wanna check your shoulders.” You said.

“Always trying to get me naked, aren’t you?” he chuckled, wincing as he tried to pull his infamous smirk. You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the room. Billy sighed, watching you go. He knew you well enough to know that this was just you being nice. You were still upset and now, the obvious answer that it was his fault shined bright neon in his eyes. He settled in to try to fix the mess he wouldn’t admit that he caused.

When you returned, he had stripped off his shirt, the large bruise on his left shoulder fully on display. It was fading, a mark from another night, but he’d obvious been shoved into something or hit, based on the redness around it. You had to keep yourself from running your fingers over the constellations of freckles, moles, and tiny scars on his back, focusing on the bruise itself. You handed him one bag, pointing to your own eye to explain where to place it. He did as you did and you took your place behind him, icing the large bruise.

You sighed “So, are you ever gonna tell me what’s going on?” Billy grunted in response, not bothering to attempt to look at you. “I worry about you, Bill…” you muttered, letting your forehead rest on the top of his spine.

Billy’s gaze flicked to his hands, the faint bruises on his knuckles felt weak instead of strong now. He took a shaky breath. “My dad’s an asshole.” He admitted. You didn’t respond, unsure of what to say.

“When he gets pissed, he takes it out on me…” he muttered. You nodded, lifting your head to lean it on his uninjured shoulder.

“And he did…all this?” you asked. Billy nodded and let out small gasp, immediately embarrassed by it. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it all, you wanted to seem calm and understanding.

“I deserve it most of the time.” He added softly.

“Bill,” you whispered “You don’t deserved his shit.” You felt him nod and you turned to look up at him. “Do you have anyone you can call about this? I mean I don’t wanna tell you what to do but I think maybe having a backup plan, in case shit gets too bad, might be a good idea.” You asked.

Billy nodded again “My stepmom.” He said.

“Susan?” you asked.

“No, Karalee.” He replied, letting out a small sigh “When we moved out to Sacramento, he married this chick Karalee, nice lady, big house. When he’d get mad, she’d kick him out and take his house key, make him go handle it somewhere else. She watched out for me. But then he started in on her and she left him. Tried to take me with her, but it didn’t work out. Not her kid, courts ruled in the bastard’s favour. Gave me her number when we left, told me I can call if I need anything.” He said, lifting the small Virgin Mary charm he wore around his neck “Gave me this too, don’t know why but it was nice, best thing anyone did for me.”

You nodded softly “Good…” you muttered, wrapping your arms around his middle “I don’t like seeing you hurt…”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” He replied forcefully, turning to look at you “Y/N, when’re you gonna tell me what happened? Why won’t you talk to me?”

“I just-” you sighed “It’s embarrassing and I don’t wanna talk about it. You’ll laugh at me.”

“No I won’t.” Billy retorted, watching you carefully.

“You already did…” you muttered and Billy found himself shut right up. Everything he’d been trying to pretend wasn’t true was and he felt like an ass. All that work, all that searching and sleuthing and it was his own pigheadedness that caused all this.

“I’m sorry…” he replied softly. You nodded, looking up at him. His whole face was broken with concern and disappointment. Not in you, but in himself. He looked so upset. It broke your heart a little.

“You weren’t sober, I get it.” You replied “I’m not mad at you anymore, I’m just embarrassed.” You said.

“If it makes you feel better, I can’t remember anything you said.” Billy replied.

“Really?” you asked, a small smile breaking onto your face. You didn’t know if he was telling the truth, despite how solemn he looked, and that made you nervous to accept the words as truth.

“All I can remember is you leaving crying, not a great image.” He said.

You chuckled drily “Sorry ‘bout that one, bud.” Billy felt his face pull into a smirk, which hurt his lip but he didn’t mind this time. Now, the minor pain of his busted lip pulling didn’t compare to the warmth filling his whole body, like the California sun warming his skin on one of his family’s rare beach days.

“Nah could’ve been worse. Could’ve been Carol crying, she looks like she’s melting. It’s nauseating.” He replied. You chuckled, nodding along. You’d only seen her cry once, but it looked like someone took a hairdryer to a velvet painting.

When your laughter died down, you found yourself smiling, leaning into his shoulder. It was a brief moment-nothing you hadn’t done before, but Billy found the moment suddenly very private and intimate. His smirk fell into a small smile and his hand came instinctually around to touch you, his hand coming to your ankle and his thumb grazed it lovingly. The whole moment felt out of time, as though you’d entered a different universe where everything was normal. If you could have lived in this moment forever, where you could pretend that Billy cared for you the way you cared for him, you would’ve. But you had to return to the real world.

“How’d it go with Val? You two talk it through?” you asked.

Billy shrugged “We broke up.” He said, as though it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Huh?” you asked, lifting your head to look at him fully “I thought you were in love with her?”

Billy shook his head, trying to understand the logic. “Where the hell did you get that idea from?” he countered.

“From you!” you said “You told me that you loved her after Vicki’s party, that you couldn’t dump her for that reason alone!”

Billy fell silent. He did know what to say-you were right, he did think that he loved her once, back when things were simple and loving, but that feeling fell away after weeks of Valerie putting him off for people she deemed as more important or better than him. Vicki’s party was the last straw for him.

“I…I don’t think I did, I mean I did once, but not then. I was over her then. I think.” He stuttered.

You shrugged “Eh, you were drunk; you were doing a lot of stupid shit. There was a keg, I’m sure you did a keg stand or four. Saying that you love someone when you don’t is only a problem when you say it to that person. Otherwise you’re fine.” You explained softly.

Billy found himself agreeing, nodding along with you as though you spoke a gospel. “You’re right, you’re right, you’re really smart, you know that?” he said.

You smirked “Yeah, yeah I do.”

Billy rolled his eyes, turning to face the window. You followed suit and Billy wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and returning you to the position you’d been in before, leaning on his shoulder. Through your blinds, a full moon lit the room and you contemplated getting up and pulling the blinds, letting in all the light, and turning off the bright yellow light that hurt your eyes.

You sighed “Let’s stay here forever, yeah?” you muttered dreamily.

“Up in your bedroom? Pretty sure your mom would find us soon enough, definitely before we starved to death.” Billy replied softly, teasing you just a little. The idea didn’t feel bad to him, which felt even stranger than it should’ve.

You giggled, shaking your head slightly. “No, I mean here, in this moment. It’s so quiet and peaceful and nobody wants anything from us. We don’t have to be anything or do anything. Let’s just stay here, okay?” you replied, the dreaminess in your voice increasingly becoming evident of your tiredness.

“Yeah, sure why not?” he muttered. Billy looked down at you, watching the way you snuggled into him, trying to harness the warmth his body emitted. You look so small; soft and sweet and innocent and curled so close to him. If Billy had felt butterflies in his stomach around a girl recently, or even at all, he would’ve known the feeling well enough to identify it in that moment. He would’ve known the meaning of the feeling. But Billy didn’t know the feeling well enough and chalked it up to some form of late onset nausea from the pain inflicted on him. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss in your hair and moving you into your own bed, chuckled at the small whine you emitted as he lifted you away from him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, kid…” he muttered in your ear, pushing off the bed and out the door, flicking off the light as he left. He snuck downstairs and out the side door again.

You two were going to be okay. This was proof. The butterflies be damned.

[yourjughead]

Medic

Pairings: ReaderxSweetPea

Warnings: Hinted at violence, mentions of blood, fluff, angst.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this lil not so lil fic, American Beauty//American Psycho will go up during the week. Let me know what you think my loves!

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“Woah what happened you?”

“Fucking Ghoulie” Sweet Pea stomped inside your trailer and threw himself down on the couch. Eye bruising, head cut and lip swelling slightly. He was a sight to behold.

“Aww poor baby” you teased and he glared.

“Just fix it, that's your job isn't it?”

“I'm the gang medic not the gang slave” you shot back.

You kneeled on the couch in order to look properly at the cut on his head starting in his jet black hair.

“Wow Ynn on your knees for me? You tease”

“Careful Sweet Pea or your eyes will be a matching set” you played back. Always the same flirtatious exchanges that never mounted to anything.

Still on your knees you leaned further in, tilting his head down to reach the very start of the cut before starting to clean it out.

“You know you're basically forcing my head into your chest right now yeah?”

“Are we complaining?” you dabbed an especially large amount of antiseptic on his head and he let out a hiss.

“Nope, never” he gripped your hips harshly and seemed to channel his pain into them, you didn't really feel it at all.

“You're crossing the line of doctor patient relationship SP” you put the steristrips on the cut and covered most of them with his hair to hide them before moving into the eye.

“Shame” he smirked. You sat back so you were cross-legged, pulling Sweet Pea closer to inspect his eye.

“This was just an excuse so you could spend the night looking deep in my eyes wasn't it” he grins at you and you flash a small beaming bright light into his eyes.

“Argh!”

“Yup your pupils dilated fine there” you laughing as he shoves you backwards before hovering over the length of your body. He shifts to prop himself up, still holding himself over you.

“No need to patch up the black eye now that I'm blind”

“You're right, we should fix your lip though” you half catch him by the chin and drag him down closely, him willingly going. Your faces were mere millimeters away. He slowly closed his eyes but quickly you grab a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic and press it to his lip as he half howls in the pain of the burn and the surprise.

“You bitch!” He shoots up kneeling, leg either side of you as he pats dry his lip.

“That's an odd way to say thank you” you smirk and he begins tickling you mercilessly as you were caught halfway between screaming and laughing.

“Okay truce truce truce!” He finally stopped as you began to turn slightly purple. You were regaining your strength as you both stared at each other sweetly, him still kneeling above you. His phone buzzing to life broke you both from your trance.

“Hello-Yeah-Yeah-Really?-FPs son?-yeah-Emm not I'm really busy-” he glanced at you apologetically and you bit your lip, averting your gaze “-okay-okay-Ill be right there-yeah-talk to you later”

“Business?”

“Yeah?”

“Will I have a bunch of you to stitch up later orrrr”

“No-” he laughed again “FP was busted for that murder thing on the Northside, typical that we get  the blame. But anyway he didn't name names with the drug's side of it so it's time to follow the rules and start looking after FP jr, going over there now with the gang to let him know” he reluctantly got off the couch and fixed his jacket and collar in the mirror. Sweet Pea was fiercely loyal, especially to the Serpents. They had given him everything when his world was taken from him a few years ago. No one knew what that meant to him like you did. You were best friends ever since. You stood and behind him, helping to fix his collar.

“FP jr...oh waits he's kinda hot, I wonder if he's single?” you half whispered behind him, knowing it was driving him mental.

Suddenly Sweet Pea turned, grabbed onto you before turning again, half slamming you into the wall on which the mirror hung. You let out a slight sexually charged whimper at the sudden control he was taking and he smirked. Damn it you thought. He was inches from your face once again.

“Yeah, I thought so” he winked before releasing you, reveling in the little victory you just granted him while you cursed yourself.

“Maybe I should give him a phone call” you called after Sweet Pea as he went for the door.

“It'll be the last phone call he ever gets” Sweet Pea half slammed the trailer door. He won the battle but you won that war.

~

Over the next few weeks you were introduced to Jughead and his subsequent Northside world. You found yourself falling slowly for the idea of the Northside, a place free from direct negative association. With the more time you spent in the north, the less you spent in the South and with Toni and Sweet Pea. It had not gone unnoticed, especially by Sweet Pea. He had wanted to like Jughead but your intense interest in him and his world had completely put him off, along with Jugheads initial reluctance to embrace all things Southside.

The rain hit off your tin roof viciously, it was nights like these you spent curled in your trailer often before chaos of a fight would ensue and your trailer would be full of casualties for you to repair. Tonight was no different.

“I mean god forbid you fight when it's dry and sunny and Toy Story isn't on the TV for fuck sake” you finished bonding together Fangs Fogarty’ check gnash with the medical glue, the enduring your rambles. You moved your way along the string of Serpents, repairing each as they told of their fight with the Northsiders before being interrupted by a “psycho girl with a gun”.

“Wait...where's Sweet Pea?!” You searched around the room when you got to the end of the line and they began filtering out.

“He's still with the police, he's been in and out with them for for past month more than any of us so they kept him in longer” Fangs replied as the gang began to move on and out

“wait why so much?”

“All petty crimes, don't worry, it's only your fault” Rocky jeered before exiting.

“Wait what” you caught Fangs shoulder before he could slip out too.

“Well I mean you're not around to rein him in lately so he's bound to go off to his own devices to distract him”

“What do you mean I'm not around?!”

“Gotta ask yourself that question Northsider” Johnny scoffed before you pinned him to the door frame of the trailer with your forearm.

“What was that Johnny?” You bit.

“Noth-nothing yn sorry...thanks for realigning my wrist…”

“That's what I thought” you jostled him back and he half fell out the door down the steps, Fangs laughing at him before he met your glare and stopped.

You began cleaning up the trailer and changing into your PJs before sitting and waiting for Sweet Pea to come with his own injuries. He didn't. You spent the whole night sitting, looking at the door and waiting for your jet black haired friend to come in giving out about something or other. He didn't. You eventually drifted off into a nightmare fueled sleep.

You woke in a cold sweat thinking of all the things that could have happened to him during the fight, during being in the holding in the prison, on the walk home, in his own trailer. The thoughts were eating you alive. 5.30am gleamed on the clock, he had to be home by now.

Dressed in your pj top, shorts and slippers you grabbed a dressing gown and threw it on before dashing across the trailer park to where Sweet Pea lived alone. You banged harshly on the door, fear and cold getting to you.

“Jesus Christ what?!?! Are you trying to wake the whole park?!?!” He half shouted, squinting and groggy. You just dove at him, arms wrapping tightly around his tall build.

“Woah what who died?” You didn't answer and just held him slightly tighter.

“Okay seriously ynn who is dead?! Is it Hot Dog?! Oh please don't say it's Hot Dog!! Say it's Fogarty before saying it's Hot Dog! ” He pulled you inside his disgruntled trailer.

“I thought you died you big jerk! Why didn't you let me know you were okay!?” You went from hugging his chest to hitting his chest.

“Thought you'd be busy checking if your new Northsider boyfriend was okay, didn't want to bother you with my Southside problems” you broke from him and looked extremely confused.

“Don't give me that ynn, we all know it's what you want. A nice, happy, safe home, away from all this Serpent crap, it's why you're the medic now and stopped working jobs with me, don't lie to me”

“Firstly I HAD to stop working jobs, I was the only one my mom had trained in her trade before she died so I didn't have a choice there, secondly I wouldn't dream of leaving my Serpent family, there crap is my crap and thirdly I can have a nice, happy, mostly safe home in the Serpent's, it's what I have!”

“IT'S NOT THE SAME! YOU WANT TO LEAVE! I KNOW YOU DO! YOU SHOULD JUST LEAVE ALREADY AND STOP PROLONGING THE INEVITABLE AND JUST LEAVE! YOU DESERVE BETTER THAN THE SERPENTS! You deserve better than me” his true feelings came to light once more, the eternal and never ending fear of being abandoned again. Your anger drained from you then.

“Sweet Pea I could never ever leave you, I could never ever leave the Serpents. You're more deserving of love then you realise and Sweet Pea-” you took his face in your hands to force him to look down into your eyes. He placed his own hands over yours to hold them there.

“-I love you” your hands on his cheeks went around his neck and you pulled him down to meet your lips. His hands went to your sides. You broke apart and just held each other for a moment, your head buried in his chest and his resting on the top of your head.

“I lo-" it was like his tongue was completely tied in itself and you could see him curse himself. He wasn't used to hearing it, wasn't used to saying it and wasn't use to feeling it.

"its okay" you said into his chest.

"i love you too” he whispered against your hair.

“I'll make sure you have a nice, happy, always safe home ynn, I won't let anyone hurt you”

“You'll never be alone as long as I'm around Sweet Pea, I'll keep you safe from your own thoughts” you kissed again.

“I love you, you giant goof but if you ever scare me like that again, you're going to need to go to a regional hospital” you winked.

“Ive got all I need in the medic that you are” he kissed you sweetly then again

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

Much love Xx

Tags: @sunshine51879 @deanilostmyshoe

@goshdarnitthatsalongname @svenjafangirlt

[katerbees]

A Sherlolly Halloween part 2

Pt 1 here: https://katerbees.tumblr.com/post/166457341430/sherlolly-halloween-pt-1

Pt 1.2 here:https://katerbees.tumblr.com/post/166511390155/sherlolly-halloween-part-12

This Halloween takes place in Season four after TST and before TLD. Ahhhh I can’t wait until these two get their lives together and get a nice Halloween

Halloween 1 year ago

Molly adjusted her wig. Damn thing was so itchy. She had decided to take Rosie over to see Mrs. Hudson and have some photos taken of the two of them dressed up. She hoped she would not run into Sherlock while she was there; he was in no state fit to be around a child. He had turned into a goddamned smackhead idiot since Mary had passed.  Molly had begged him to stop, had cried and cried, but of course all he said was “’It’s for a case,” and walked away from her.

You can’t help a person who doesn’t want to be helped, Molly thought, bouncing Rosie from one hip to the other. Molly spent most of her time these days at Bart’s, and John’s flat these days. While she had certainly meant the vows she had taken as a godmother, she hadn’t anticipated needing to fulfill them so intensely.  She had come to love Rosie with her whole heart. She knew she could never fill the void of Mary, but she knew she would always be there for the little girl, no matter what.

She exited the tube, feeling slightly ridiculous in her costume. However, many women stopped to tell her how cute she and her daughter looked in their coordinating costumes. Molly corrected the first couple of people of people, “Oh, thank you, she’s my Goddaughter” but quickly gave up and just accepted the compliments, while sending a silent prayer up to Mary to forgive her.  

She found her way to Baker Street and knocked on the black door. Mrs. Hudson answered.

“Oh Molly! Rosie! So good to see my girls!” She yelled, pulling them in to the flat. “Now I’m so sorry dear, but I have no idea quite exactly what you two are supposed to be.”

“Well,” Molly began excitedly, “I’m Elsa” she gestured to her long white braided wig like it was supposed to be a dead give-away, “and little miss Rosie is Anna.”

“And who are those people? You both look adorable. But I have no idea what that means.”’ Mrs. Hudson replied, taking Rosie from Molly’s arms.

“It’s from a Disney movie. Super popular right now.” Molly smiled. Sitting down her tote bag, full of diapers, milk, and toys.

Molly heard shouting from up above. “No…” she groaned. She thought to herself, but apparently the words had left her mouth without her noticing.

“Oh yes. He’s on about something again. Hasn’t eaten for days. I think he might be on those drugs again. I keep telling him, chasing Mary, God rest her soul, to the grave isn’t going to bring her back.” Mrs. Hudson instinctively tightened her hold on Rosie, who was now trying to play with Mrs. Hudson’s necklace. “No no my darling, here let’s find a nice stuffy for you to play with.” Mrs. Hudson moved towards a basket she kept filled with toys.

Molly worried her lip. She was so over Sherlock and his stupid bullshit. But she was his friend and she still worried about him. Especially since him and John were still on the outs. She sighed.

“I’m going to go up and check on him. Milk and diapers are in the bag.” Molly said.

“Oh thank you. I’d really appreciate that Molly, you know he is so fond of you. Even if he doesn’t show it. I can tell. Here, take this tray of biscuits and see if you can trick him into eating some.” She handed Molly a tray that had been sitting on the kitchen table. “Me and miss Rosie here will just be reading this nice book”

Molly took the tray and headed up the stairs. Her mind wandered back to Halloween last year. She had gotten dumped, and Sherlock had been making out with some poor girl that he was using to get to a psychopath. He really was an asshole. And here she was, one year later, once again in a costume, getting ready to have her dignity torn to shreds. She just knew it. He was in such a bad place mentally and physically right now. She braced herself for a verbal assault, and knocked on the door.

“I have told you twenty four times now Mrs. Hudson to leave me alone! My mind does not require nourishment. I am at a critical juncture in my planning and I require nothing from you.” A deep baritone voice responded.

“It’s not Mrs. Hudson” was all that she could think to say.

She was shocked when he opened the door.

“Molly.” His stormy blue-green eyes, swept over her. “And in a costume?” his eyebrow raised

“It’s Halloween Sherlock” Molly said, her voice sounding much more tired than she felt.

“Ah. Yes. I suppose it is.” He responded, opening the door wider. He looked like shit. She had seen him look worse. She was shocked he was speaking in coherent sentences.

“Sherlock. Are you..” she began

“Molly, a good rule when it comes to asking questions and making inferences is to not ask a question you don’t want the answer to.” He cut her off.

 “Are you high right now?” Molly continued.

He opened the door to his flat wider. “At this exact moment I am minimally under the influence. Please. Come in.”

Molly walked into his flat. Books were strewn everywhere. Photos and maps tacked to the wall. He was clearly in the middle of a case. Always with the damn cases. Always ruining himself and ruining other people. FOR THE DAMN CASES. She found herself growing angry.

She realized then that she was still holding the tray she had been sent in with.

“Biscuits?” she asked through he gritted teeth.

“Oh just save us the trouble and thrown them.”

“Excuse me?” Molly replied.

“You’re angry with me. The last time I was using you slapped me. Three times to be precise. So get it out of your system so we can move forward.” He countered, calmly.

“Why. Is. Everything. A goddamned game with you!?” Molly responded, her voice starting to rise.

“Oh I assure you that this is a matter of like and death.”

“Yes. Sherlock. Yours! If you keep on like this you will die!” Molly was yelling now, and felt the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She slammed the tray down on the nearest table. “Don’t you care about that?”

“I do not believe this will kill me Molly. I am very careful with the amounts I take. This is for a case. A life will be saved.” Sherlock had walked towards her as he was speaking, now arm’s reach away. “Please. Just trust me.”

“Do you know how many bodies I have to cut into every week because somebody thought they knew they could handle it? People who OD? People who drive drunk? No one ever think it can happen to them.  But since you’re Sherlock fucking Holmes you won’t believe anyone other than yourself!” Molly was full blown screaming now. “And if you die from being a total idiot, because THAT is what you are acting like right now, what about John?”

“John hates me right now.” Sherlock cut her off, his voice becoming shaky.

“What about Mrs. Hudson?  And Me? And what about Rosie? Hmmm? Your Goddaughter is downstairs while you are up here in your glorified crackhouse. You took an oath Sherlock. I know you don’t believe in God, but I can’t believe that the oath you took that day doesn’t mean something to you. Do not let that little girl lose another person Sherlock!” Molly had closed the distance between them now and was shaking with anger as she looked up at Sherlock. His façade was cracking.

“Stop it!” he yelped “Please just stop it. He pressed his fingers to his temples, and breathed deeply, trying to keep the tears back. “Molly. Just believe me when I say this. Trust me. What I am doing is for John. It is for Rosie. It is for.” His voice caught in his throat and cracked “Mary.”

Molly found herself chest to chest with Sherlock. He was crying. Sherlock Holmes cried?

He continued. “Just please,” he pulled Molly close, “please keep looking after Rosie and Mrs. Hudson. I know I’ve been rubbish since Mary died. So has John. You’ve kept everyone together. Please. Just a little longer. Things can be like they used to be.”

Molly felt his hot, tears making the top of her head damp. She wrapped her arms around him. She had no idea what he was talking about. Seeing him like this scared her.

Molly stood there, rubbing his back awkwardly. She had imagined moments like this, but never envisioned them happening like this.  She wished she could tell him everything would be ok but she knew better. Things never just went ok for Sherlock Holmes.  Murderers followed him around, people killed their friends, and sociopaths even tried to get her involved in their schemes. Molly sighed.

“Can you at least tell me what’s going on? Please? Maybe I can help? I’ve helped before.” Molly offered.

“I don’t want to involve you. You have Rosie to look after.” He responded quietly.

“Me, Mrs. Hudson, and Harry all take turns. And I hate seeing you like this. Please. Let me help you.” Molly’s anger was starting to wane, replaced by a deep sadness for her friend who didn’t feel like he could share his burdens with anyone.

“I need you to meet me with an ambulance at a house in Brixton next week. John will be there. There won’t be anything dangerous. Just show up ready to do doctor things.”

“Sherlock? I’m a pathologist. John’s a doctor. Why would I need to be the one examining>”

“John will still be angry and he won’t trust anyone else. Not for what you will need to do.” Sherlock responded.

“What will I need to do?” Molly responded, peeling herself away from Sherlock, using every bit of self-restraint she possessed.

Sherlock refused to make eye contact with her.

“Sherlock?” Molly asked again, skepticism filling her voice.

“I will be very…altered. You will need to do my bloodwork.”

“Jesus Christ Sherlock. We just talked about this!” Molly felt the anger and the tears starting up again.

“I will be doing this with or without your help Molly.” Sherlock said, his voice slowly regaining the smooth composure it normally had.

Molly looked away. “Fine. But you should come down and see Rosie while you’re in your right mind. And Mrs. Hudson too. She’s worried to death about you.”

“Molly I..”he started to protest.

Molly held her hand up to silence him “No. You don’t get to keep making one sided deals with me. I’ve been your secret keeper before and I’ve never asked you for anything. You are going to march down there, you are going to apologize to Mrs. Hudson, you are going to play with Rosie and see how adorable she is dressed up for Halloween, and you are going to take our picture together because I want a damn picture of me and my Goddaughter and you will not complain about any of it.”

Sherlock stood there, realizing he had nothing to argue with. She was right. She had been a supportive friend and ally to him all these years. A constant source of stability and friendship.

“Right. Let’s go. By the way, what exactly are you supposed to be? That wig is damn itchy.”

Molly gave a small smile, it was all she could muster given the solemnity of their discussion.

“It’s from a Disney movie.” Molly responded quietly.

“I have no idea what that means.”

They went downstairs and had tea with Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock let her fuss over him like he hadn’t since Mary died. Sherlock played peekaboo with Rosie and snapped some photos of Molly and Rosie as Anna and Elsa. Mrs. Hudson insisted on taking one of the three of them. In the photo, Molly is holding Rosie, Sherlock has his arm around Molly. Sherlock covertly sent a copy to himself from Mrs. Hudson’s phone and looks at it all the time. He knows in two weeks, everything will change again. What he doesn’t know is: an east wind is coming.#

[christyinchina-blog1]

China Keeps Testing Me

I know I made a decision to blog and that I’ve been very neglectful of that of late, but diving into a place like China… it leaves you a little preoccupied with what’s in front of you. I think maybe that’s been the biggest gift about this place, as well as perhaps it’s burden. I came to Beijing with a lot of weight on my shoulders. There were so many things about my life that were plaguing me, things I knew I couldn’t fix, but I knew I needed distance from. I think if I went anywhere else, I would still be preoccupied and trapped inside my own head, but not in Beijing.    

This city wakes you up. This city takes you into its dark heart, ruthlessly tests you, and then keeps you in its grip. When you stare true poverty in the face, walk among the ill-kept streets, and become accustomed to the rough nature of the city, you face so many challenges on the daily that the bullshit you brought with you in an emotional back pack end up falling straight off your back, and you just open your eyes and push forward because if you don’t, this city will wreck you without a shred of guilt.

I’ve loved my experience in Beijing, but the truth is, it’s been hard as hell. I’ve been tested more in these last three months than I ever have in my entire life. I want to tell people that this is a great experience and that they should do it, but I can’t. This is not for everyone. I you can’t go without, if you can’t take every day with a go-with-the-flow or whatever attitude, this place is not for you. China is a rough place for a spoiled foreigner. Everything is difficult. Everything is a challenge. The adventure isn’t in the sight-seeing, it’s in the getting by. It’s in the perilous navigation of everyday life.

I’m about three months into my time here. I spent the entire first month in training and finally got into my own classes in August. It was a tough month because I had to cover a lot of other people’s classes and my load was really intense for being new to the job, but I got by. I put my head down that month and really didn’t think about much, other than pushing forward.

I’ve been very fortunate to have met many good friends who helped me through the entry phase. If you ever come to Beijing, make friends. That’s the only way you survive. If you can’t ask for help, stay home. I’ve struggled with this because I like to be independent, but here you need help sometimes. Not speaking Chinese is a bitch. I’m trying to crash course learn, but it isn’t easy because, while Beijing is a Chinese city, there’s just enough English that you naturally use it as a crutch. I’m trying so hard to rid myself of that habit.

My experience here has been interrupted by an unexpected medical leave. I went to the doctor and was told I had a golf-ball sized cyst and that it had to come out immediately. Being my stubborn self, I tried to put it off, but I started having severe pain at work, so I knew it was time to bite the bullet and just go.

The problem with being sick in China is that scheduling procedures is a little tricky. I went around in circles with the insurance, hospital, and my own doctor until I just broke down and conscripted someone to make the appointment for me.

The Chines hospital, my friends, is not for the faint of heart. I went to the international department, the implication being that there would be English spoken, and yes there was, but not to the quality you’d like if you’re about to have an operation. There was so much me not knowing what the hell was going on. They made me do tons of tests, but they didn’t really tell me why. They didn’t tell me when I was having my operation. I just went where they led me, did what I was told, and wondered what the hell would happen next.

I wanted to get frustrated with the situation, but I just kept two things in mind. One: if I was back in America, there is no fucking way I could afford this operation. Two: I’m in China and I don’t speak their language. It’s my own fault that I’m having communication barriers. I can’t get mad because, unless I want to live in an aggressive state of denial. I knew what the hell I was getting myself into.

After a whole day of tests, they admitted me to the hospital, and I had no idea that I was being admitted. Somehow, I just ended up in a room with a band on my wrist (that said my name was Christ and not Christy. Hahaha!) and I was like… oh shit, what the hell is happening next?

The doctor comes in and insists that I am in a delicate condition and I can’t leave. Well, I hadn’t planned to stay, so I literally had nothing with me. They insisted I could not leave, so I had to argue with them that, fine I would stay if they insisted (not that it was at all necessary) but I needed to go home first. They decided to operate on me the next day, so I went home, got provisions, and came back.

I’ll spare everyone the details of the operation prep, because it was not pretty. If you want to know, just google laparoscopic cyst removal surgery, cause I am not about to write anything about that nasty bullshit. It was a pretty intense night, being alone in the hospital. I’m sure people would have come with me if I asked, but I hate making a fuss about things, and I just needed to be alone and figure it out.

The next day, I had the operation. I was so calm about it; I don’t even know how I did it. Everyone I tell about this freaks out when I say I was put under in China. I had a friend come with me because they won’t operate without someone else there. I told my friend to not let them pull the plug on me. She was impressed at how completely unaffected I seemed that I was about to get operated on. I haven’t lost my cool since I first got to China, and I promised myself that I was going to be strong after my first week. I kept my promise.

It was so weird because, rather than letting me walk to the operation room, they made me get on a bed, wrapped me up in blankets like a taco, and wheeled me across the hospital like I was a corpse. It was stupid in my opinion and everyone looked at me funny because I was a foreigner.

When I got to the operation room, it was kind of freaky because literally no one spoke a word of English. The anesthesiologist put the oxygen mask on me, but they didn’t have the oxygen on! So I was breathing nothing and tore it off. She, annoyed with me, shoved it back on me. Then, I guess she realized it wasn’t on, so she turned it on and I gasped for air, and I took this huge breath of straight inhalation anesthesia. I remember the sensation of my lungs burning as I was gone in a second.

When I woke up, I was coherent. I always come out of anesthesia so strong. I wasn’t groggy at all. I was complaining to the staff because they kept stabbing my artery for an oxygen sample. They missed 7 times, I am not kidding, before I screamed at them to leave me alone, because for the love of god, I can breathe. They gave me a shot of morphine to shut me up.

They had no idea what to do with me. All the other people in the recovery room were out and I was running my sassy mouth in broken Chinese. Eventually, they wheeled me back into the room. They had me hooked up to so many machines, it was so unnecessary. EKG, blood pressure, pulse checker, oxygen, some stuff I don’t understand, and an IV. I was stuck like that for 25 hours and I made it known that I was unhappy.

The hospital was so weird. The nurses always came to check on me in groups. Like, twelve nurses at a time! I have no idea why. They’d come take my temperature, then leave me with the thermometer for over an hour before they would take it. I literally have no idea why.

           I asked for some kind of pain medicine, because I had four incisions and could hardly move, but they were so insensitive. They wouldn’t even give me ibuprofen! Lucky I had some in my bag, but you’d think a hospital would be more sympathetic.

           I pressed the matter because I was seriously miserable and they got so fed up with me that a nurse came in and, without even asking me, just stabbed me in the leg with a shot of some painkiller. I helped for about 20 min before I finally got them to IV me some ibuprofen. Seriously! The Chinese hospital acts like no one has ever wanted pain medication before!

           I hated staying there. The staff was so profoundly unhelpful. I had to be proactive about insisting on getting food, else they’d have just let me starve to death. I stayed there two days and when it was done, I was so ready to leave.

           It’s not like it is back home. The doctor came in the day I was going to leave, literally tore my bandages off my incisions with so much force that I almost screamed, and then was like “go home and take a bath.” No after care instructions. No information on when to follow up. No notice of when I can go back to work. Nothing. So I just left. In an American hospital, they would have wheeled me out to a wheelchair and made sure someone took me home, I literally just got up and waddled out of the hospital, then hunted a cab down to take me home.

           My overall opinion of the hospital is that, if you need it, it isn’t awful, but do not expect any compassion and just suck it up, because it’s going to suck.

           I recovered well. I’ve been taking it easy the last week or so. Surgery in China is a bit of a mind fuck, but I think it’s given me some serious perspective on so many things. I just feel lucky, that’s all. Beijing might want me dead, but it’s been good to me. I would have probably had this cyst rupture if I was back home, because at least in China, you get tests back immediately, rather than having to go through our bullshit system where you have to wait weeks to interpret an ultrasound that can literally be read on the spot. If I’d had to wait that long, there is a serious chance that I would have had to deal with major internal bleeding. I really can’t complain about any of this, even though the whole thing was a complete cluster fuck.

           The really sad thing about this is that I had to come to China to get my health concerns addressed. Even with insurance, getting the appointments I needed were almost always damn near impossible back home. I can go see the doctor in such a timely manner here. It’s inexpensive. It’s usually decent care. Yeah, the hospital as a little shady, but my primary care is fantastic. What the hell is wrong with America that I feel more comfortable in a city that can’t figure out basic plumbing and electrical wiring getting my health addressed than I do back in the good old USA? These are the real questions.

           China has made me feel very fortunate. Whatever disdain I have for my current situation, it’s not nearly as bad as what the Chinese people deal with. I get exceptional coverage through my company, but the average Chinese person… I caught one glimpse of the Chinese side of the hospital when taking all my tests, and let’s just say it isn’t a place I will ever return to voluntarily.

           I’m one of the rich in this country, and I live like crap by American standards. This is the kind of perspective China has given me that I’m never going to lose. I just look at everything now and think: it’s really not that deep.

[ezra-blue]

You’ve Got Something - 36

For @baronvonriktenstein‘s Messy!AU

36: No Idea

Sanzo learns and must decide how to apply a very important lesson.

Happy Birthday to Goku! ... This chapter does not focus on him, but he does play an important role. Enjoy!

Word Count: ~3700

Warning: This chapter includes an explicit mention of sexual activity, as well as acts that may be considered child abuse. 

36: No Idea

Something felt off. Sanzo couldn't place what it was, but stepping out of the bakery that evening under an overcast sky, walking towards his car, lighting up his first smoke of the night, it all felt wrong. He had this constant, nagging, itchy sensation that he'd missed something, like some small cog had come loose in the clockwork framing of the universe and now the whole thing was ticking wrong. He knew he'd done everything he was supposed to, what could possibly be wrong?

He tried to mull it over as he walked the block towards where he'd parked today, tried to think of some task forgotten, some habit skipped, some favor he'd promised Koumyou (or that Koumyou had forced him to agree to, one or the other), but nothing came to mind. Perhaps it was the slight sense of wrongness he'd been feeling off of Hakkai, but he hadn't talked to Hakkai today. Perhaps that was it. He paused and took his cell out (ignoring the messages of happy emoticons he'd gotten from Goku) and went to text Hakkai the evening numbers, but just as he pulled up the POS system, he got a text message from an unfamiliar number -- no text, just an attachment. It was morbid curiosity that convinced him to check this message first.

His phone displayed a photograph of Hakkai, on his knees on his sofa, wrists bound with a belt, naked, skin flushed red, and with obvious handprints on his bare backside and thighs and a stream of ejaculate running down his back. Sanzo choked on his smoke. "Son of a bitch!" He dialed the number, and the other end picked up on the first ring. "What the fuck, Gojyo, that's not fucking--"

"Oh, has Gojyo shared his treasure with you before?" All of Sanzo's heat and bluster was smothered in an instant, as Nii answered instead. "It's a shame for you, then, since I'm fairly certain Hakkai won't be sharing any of that ever again."

Sanzo's cigarette fell from his mouth, and he superheated from cold shock to his temper boiling over. “You son of a bastard, what did you do?!”

“I decided to close up my unfinished business with my ex.” Sanzo's shoulders tensed, the bones in his back and spine all tensing up. How could Nii sound so fucking nonchalant?! The very thought of Hakkai going back to Nii was pure insanity!

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

“I wasn't done with him. Now, I am.” Nii chuckled, as if any of this were funny. “One last lesson in muichimotsu.”

Sanzo's insides roiled with rage, but he tempered his fury enough to growl, “You're a bastard,” rather than screaming it. “I have no idea how you convinced Hakkai to sleep with you again, but what the fuck are you talking about, muichimotsu? You're terrible at letting go. You obviously nursed your stupid grudge long enough to come back and fuck with him one more time, who the fuck are you to talk about holding nothing?”

“Ah, I don't need lectures from you, little Kouryuu.” Nii sounded as bored with him as one might listening to a discussion of one's own fingernails. “After all, I'm not the one wasting my time thinking about things like committing.” Sanzo felt like his collar had been jerked, hard. “Thinking about your future, Kouryuu? Thinking about setting down roots here and setting up to coast?” Nii laughed through his nose, and Christ, Sanzo could just picture him sneering into his collar. He stomped hard, imagining Nii's smirking mug was underfoot.

“How the fuck do you know what I'm thinking?” His voice was hardly a hiss, and he hoped others walking nearby couldn't hear him.

“What does it matter? You haven't learned yet, baby brother, nothing turns out the way you think it will. I tried to teach you, in a much gentler way than I'd been taught, little Kouryuu. Nothing works the way you think, and oh, how quickly things change.”

Sanzo ground his teeth together at the sound of his name, because he still remembered, still loathed every time Nii said it...

“Kouryuu, here.” Kouryuu had followed Ken'yuu into the kitchen, toddling knee-high to his nearly-grown big brother. Ken'yuu whistled and beckoned Kouryuu as he opened the refrigerator, and Kouryuu scampered over to join him, pointed at the bottle of soda.

“Wan' that. Can I have it?”

“Dad'll be mad if I give you that, don't fuss.” Ken'yuu winked and stuck his tongue out at Kouryuu as he whined, then rummaged through the refrigerator. “But he said to give you a snack. You wanna snack, little Kouryuu?”

“Mhm.” Kouryuu nodded, his yellow hair bobbing, and Ken'yuu found a white box. Kouryuu's heart leapt. Papa's peach buns! “Gimme!”

“So impatient.” Ken'yuu chuckled, but opened the box and picked one out. “These are special, okay? Don't tell Dad. Say 'ahh.'” Kouryuu opened his mouth wide, and Ken'yuu put something on his tongue. Kouryuu bit down and chewed, but something was immediately wrong. It wasn't the chewy, tasty mochi dough, there was no cloyingly sweet peach-paste middle. Instead, there was a crunch, waxy and crisp skin, and then, his mouth burned.

“Ahh!” Kouryuu cried out and spat out something bright red and green, but his mouth and tongue were still on fire. Ken'yuu had half of a peach bun in his hand and laughed as Kouryuu screamed and wailed at the heat on his tongue.

“I never said you were going to have it. Dad likes you to have vegetables, right? That's one of Papa's jalapeno peppers. Can you say 'jalapeno,' little Kouryuu?” Kouryuu couldn't answer, too preoccupied screaming...

Every time Ken'yuu had said his name.

Koumyou invited Ken'yuu along to help with shopping for Kouryuu's first grade uniform, though likely it was to help keep an eye on Kouryuu for when Koumyou inevitably met someone he knew and got absorbed into an unavoidable catch-up conversation. Ken'yuu and Kouryuu had been waiting outside of the shoe store next to one of the pillars for nearly twenty minutes while Koumyou chatted with some women he knew, Kouryuu dutifully holding the bags, and Ken'yuu flipping through a pocket-sized book. Out of nowhere, Ken'yuu slapped his own forehead, making Kouryuu jump.

“Kouryuu!” Ken'yuu spun around and bent over, still hovering over Kouryuu and close to his face. “Kouryuu, I just realized, I left my chocolate in the book store! I bought a bar of chocolate, and I was going to share it with you, but I left the bar in the shop.”

Kouryuu felt a sting of suspicion, but he bit his lip. He did love chocolate, but... “What kind?”

“The one right by the cash register, with the almonds.” Ken'yuu quickly grabbed the bags, then motioned for Kouryuu to go. “I'll hold the bags and stay here, can you run over and get it for me?”

Kouryuu nodded and hurriedly toddled off. The book store wasn't far, Dad probably wouldn't miss him, and, of course, chocolate was delicious. He shuffled right to the cash register past all of the books, took the chocolate bar and held it up for the cashier in her green apron to see, and said, “My brother forgot this.” Then, he turned around and walked back out.

The cashier shouted after him, “Hey, wait!” Kouryuu hadn't wanted anything else, so he returned to Ken'yuu, but the woman kept shouting. Kouryuu ignored her, returning to Ken'yuu just as Koumyou came out of the shoe store, further bags in hand.

“I'm sorry that took so long!” Koumyou smiled and fluffed Kouryuu's hair. “I hope you boys didn't get bored without me?”

“No, of course not.” Ken'yuu's nose was back in his book, and Kouryuu was about to offer him the chocolate, when he heard footsteps running towards them, and all three turned and saw a security guard approaching with the woman from the book store.

“That's him.” She pointed directly at Kouryuu. “He said something, then walked off with a five-dollar chocolate bar.”

Koumyou gasped, and crouched down. “Kouryuu, did you?” Kouryuu, with the chocolate bar still in hand, held it out, and was about to turn to Ken'yuu to tell him to explain, but Ken'yuu merely clicked his tongue.

“Ghirardelli, Kouryuu? You've got good taste for a kid with empty pockets.”

Kouryuu's jaw fell, and Koumyou took the chocolate bar back from him and gave it to the woman.

“I'm terribly sorry, sir, he's only six, I thought he understood that one needs to exchange money for goods and services,” Koumyou began to explain, all while patronizingly patting Kouryuu's head, and Kouryuu seethed with embarrassment.

It was worse every time.

Kouryuu knew he was being obvious, but he couldn't help it. He didn't have a lot of friends, so when another boy in class who wasn't sullen, withdrawn Hakkai or his intensely sweet sister took interest in him as a friend, he found himself silently mooning over him. Even quiet afternoons studying were spent with his heart pounding in his chest, his heels bouncing under the table. His friend hadn't seemed to notice.

Ken'yuu had.

“Oh, Kouryuu.” Ken'yuu stuck his head in the kitchen, and Kouryuu arched his back as Ken'yuu wagged an eyebrow at him and his school companion. “Studying? Mind if I join in?”

Kouryuu could only watch helplessly as Ken'yuu seated himself next to his school friend, as Ken'yuu smirked and winked and charmed him, and in what felt like an instant, his only friend was under his brother's spell. Sometimes Kouryuu wondered if Ken'yuu only saw him as a way to lure in guileless teenagers, as bait for a predator, or if he only enjoyed flirting Kouryuu's friends away from him so that they would never talk to him again.

Either way, Ken'yuu had soon distracted his friend into coming with him to get ice cream, and Kouryuu was left alone, and the next he spoke to his friend, he couldn't look Kouryuu in the eye. Now, he was just another faceless, nameless memory that Ken'yuu had tainted into shadow.

He couldn't even look at him without rage boiling through his lungs.

“Out here alone, little Kouryuu?” Kouryuu stewed when the sliding door opened and Ken'yuu emerged, grinning down at him where he crouched down against the wall. Kouryuu quickly smashed the cigarette he'd filched out of Toudai's jacket, but Ken'yuu smirked in such a way that Kouryuu knew he had seen. Kouryuu just scoffed, his lip curling, in a practiced expression that he'd picked up after sixteen years of exasperation, frustration, and annoyance at his older brother. Tonight, though, he had worse things swirling through his mind. Ken'yuu squatted down next to him, hunched over like a particularly devious frog examining a pond, and Kouryuu sniffed and pulled his knees tight to his chest. “Dad says you got a day's suspension for fighting. Lemme guess – the 'two dads' thing?”

“Like you care.”

“Of course I care, little Kouryuu; you're my only little brother, after all.”

“As if,” Kouryuu muttered, and Ken'yuu flicked his shoulder.

“Louder; I'm an old man, remember?” He chuckled half-heartedly and jostled Kouryuu's shoulder, shaking him around roughly. “Mumbling is rude.”

“Whatever.” Kouryuu rolled his eyes and tried to pull his knees in tighter. Ken'yuu merely slung an unwelcome arm around his shoulders. It felt so heavy, too heavy, like one more anchor of gravity against him.

“Kouryuu, I've been there. The 'adopted' thing, the fact that we have two fathers, it makes us stand out, and in high school, where you're expected to conform, the nail that sticks out is the one that gets hammered down.” Ken'yuu kept his arm around Kouryuu as he took out a cigarette and flipped it to his mouth, then lit it up. “And of course, kids are dumb, and they just keep hammering and hammering at'cha, 'til even they're sure you're flat. The good news is.” Ken'yuu paused to drag on his cigarette, leaving Kouryuu hanging like so much drifting smoke. He blew a smoke ring to loop around the pair of them, and finished, “Eventually, they start ignoring you, if you ignore them long enough.”

“Mm.” Sometimes, it was easy to forget Ken'yuu had been raised by the same parents as him. He hadn't been with them when he was little, but they'd done what they could for him. “I guess you're right.”

“Besides, they're not wrong.”

Kouryuu felt a cold, sick sensation in the pit of his gut, one that was too terribly familiar by now. He tried to move a hand to plug his ears, but Ken'yuu wasn't letting him move his arm. “You know why they kick you around. Because you are strange. You are weird. Being adopted isn't normal. You can't imagine how many times I heard 'your parents didn't love you.' They didn't, of course. Why else would they have gotten rid of you the way they did?” Ken'yuu chuckled again, and the icy feeling in Kouryuu's stomach prickled, his intestines freezing solid and dying. “Perhaps that's more me than you. I actually got in touch with the people who threw me out. Once. Yours is dead, isn't she? No idea who one half of the equation is, but didn’t Koumyou tell you about your mother?” Ken'yuu clicked his tongue a few times, and Kouryuu squeezed his eyes shut. “So, you are strange. Other people won't accept you. You could just accept that nobody outside of this house is going to accept you as you are and let it go, but you're going to have to be reminded of it every day, every time you walk out those front doors, that someone's going to be cruel to you. Just forget about them. There's no point in trying to get attached to people like that. You might as well get used to being alone.” Ken'yuu slyly tipped his eyes back into the house, and Kouryuu shivered. “After all, someday, you will be.” He patted Kouryuu's shoulder hard, in a failed facsimile of brotherly affection. It just made Kouryuu shake.

Then, abruptly, Ken'yuu hopped up and called into the house, “Toudai, I'm out of smokes, can you spot me one?” Kouryuu covered his ears as he faintly heard Toudai saying his pack was in his jacket, Koumyou starting to scold him, and Toudai discovering that his pack was gone, but God, all he wanted was quiet, quiet, not to hear it anymore, even as all three of them started to shout his name...

“Oh, Kouryuu.” Nii sighed wistfully, clicking his tongue down the line, and Sanzo clenched his fist tight, tense down his hunched spine all the way to his heels rooted on the concrete. “Didn't you learn? I was only trying to teach you what you needed to know.”

“That the world is a miserable place and life is terrible? Fucking hell, it was because you wanted it to be that way and made it that way! You're all twisted up over stupid shit like your fucking parents leaving you and foster care and shit, you didn't let go of that! Fuck you, you're just a bitter sociopath who likes fucking with people, the world is terrible because you make it that way!”

Nii didn't respond for a moment, and Sanzo heaved, his breathing so loud in his ear. The dim sky was darkening as the sun set, though the sky was beginning to clear as black ink crept up past the clouds. Then, Nii snickered. “Is that what you learned? Ah, well. So be it.” Sanzo closed his eyes tight, gripping the phone so hard he couldn't feel his knuckles. “That's my truth. Life is pain, love is worthless, and nothing is worth holding on to. You know as well as anyone how fast love can vanish. How is Toudai, anyway?” Nii paused, and Sanzo braced himself, glaring at the blackening sky on the horizon and letting it mute any reaction he might have wanted to have. “Ah, and how about that boy you're seeing? Goku, isn't it?”

That could not stand. “Stay away from him.”

“Oh, I make no promises.” Nii chuckled again, and Sanzo seethed, grinding his heels down. “But really now, Kouryuu, if things are as you want to think they are, what do you have to be afraid of?”

“Sanzo?”

That voice wasn't on the phone. Sanzo pivoted around and found Goku on the sidewalk behind him, oil still smudging his cheek and his backpack in hand. Sanzo heard the other end of the line hang up and dropped his arm, then stared warily at Goku. Goku gawked at him – he could tell he was pale, his face felt like it had been dunked in ice water – but Sanzo tried to shake it off and approach him.

“What are you doing here?” He studied Goku's face as Goku, frowning, seemed to be doing the same in return.

“Um. I work that way –” He pointed behind him. “And the bus home is this way.” He pointed down the sidewalk, then grinned. “I'm surprised you're here this late, though. Is something wrong?”

His smile was so innocent, Sanzo almost couldn't stand it right now. “Nii called me. Just to tell me Hakkai went back to him.”

That wiped that smile off. “Wh-what?!” Goku's jaw dropped. “But... he...” His wide eyes were nearly wet, gaze darting to and fro like a bird panicking in a cage. “I thought... he and Gojyo...” Goku motioned vaguely, then threw his hands up. “What about Gojyo?”

“Who knows? Hopefully he has sense enough to kick Hakkai to the curb when he finds out, nobody deserves that.” Sanzo crossed his arms tight, stress tightening his jaw and making him grind his teeth. Goku shook his head with frantic horror.

“No, no way! Gojyo cares about him, a lot! Plus, Nii's a jerk, maybe he's lying.”

“He's not lying.” Even thinking about the proof he'd seen made Sanzo feel a little sick under his anger.

“But...” Goku swallowed. “They're supposed to be together.”

“So what?” Sanzo dug out a cigarette, his fingers trembling through the practiced motions, and he shook his head to himself. The tension was in his knuckles, his knees, everything, and even Goku's presence was starting to erode at what was left of his energy. “Shit changes. Sometimes, something like that just isn't worth holding onto. If Gojyo's smart, he'll let go and get over it.”

Goku bit his lip and let his gaze tip towards the ground. “No. Love changes with you. When you love someone, when you really love 'em, you change with 'em! The only reason you should stop is if they don't change with you, and I know Gojyo, I know he can do it for Hakkai!”

“What the fuck do you even know?” Sanzo hadn't meant for it to come out so harsh, but everything felt too raw. Even when Goku grabbed his chin and forced him to meet his eyes, knocking the cigarette from his mouth, his annoyance snapped straight to apoplexy, even as Goku said it:

“Because I'd do it for you. I love you, Sanzo.”

Oh, fuck, Sanzo couldn't have heard that. Goku's eyes, so bright, so determined, were drilling into him, his lips set in a thin, serious line, confidence in his stance, and Sanzo wanted to melt. He should have known, he should have thought, but he didn't want to hear it. Everything that meant, everything that could have meant, his memories and conflicts swarmed up over him, it can't last, it won't last, it'll vanish, it'll be snatched away from me! And Sanzo locked up, jaw tight, shoulders back, joints tight like they'd been drilled in place. “You have no idea what that means.”

“Yes I do!” Goku advanced another step, and Sanzo had to will himself against the urge to retreat, he couldn't show weakness, not now. “It means I wanna stay with you, no matter what, and--”

“You have no idea!” Sanzo shoved Goku back. Hurt flashed through Goku's expression, but Sanzo gritted his teeth. “Sure, it changes. It changes, it leaves, it dies.”

“No, dammit! Maybe sometimes, but not all the time!” Goku held his hands out towards Sanzo. “Why don't you believe me? And if you didn't want love – if you didn't think you liked me like that, then why did you want to see me at all?”

Sanzo flinched, but he shook his head. “It doesn't matter.”

“But... I care about you!” Despair tinged Goku's voice, his eyes going wide. “Does that mean anything to you?”

Sanzo felt an ache in him, accompanied by the sudden notion that this was his turning point. Either he accepted what Goku was offering, and all the risks that came with it, or he throw it away.

He hardened his heart and made the only smart decision.

"No."

Goku staggered back, as sure as if he'd taken a blow to the chest, but Sanzo held firm, as hard as the concrete under his shoes. Then, Goku sucked his lip in and tried to will the emotion from his face. "Fine." He lowered his head. "Tell Mr. Koumyou and Mr. Toudai I'll miss 'em. I won't bother you anymore." With that, he charged off in the direction he'd been heading, face down, arms crossed tight over his chest.

So much of Sanzo wanted to reach for him, to chase after him, to try to explain, "this is for your own good, you don't want to learn the hard way," but for Goku, this was probably hard enough. He wouldn't understand. He wouldn't want to.

His knees were shaking, his throat hurt. He wished the clouds would come back, blot out the moonless evening sky, and drown the rain that threatened to spill from his eyes and down his face, but he swallowed hard, pushed it all back, and tried to reassure himself: "Just let it go." He shook his head and tried to turn for his car, already feeling lost.

Maybe the world really had gone crazy.

[voiceinthemidstofthefourbeasts]

The Death of Love pt 3

"We're dead, Moloch." The Godking's eyes wide, not wanting to accept the truth. Mind racing with ways it couldn't have happened or how it could be true. It was fail-proof, after all, even if there was an impermeable loophole.  "We are in Purgatory." Yet still Moloch had a hard time digesting it, even with Robert in front of him, the screams of the soul that used to reside within the host now silent. "We have to find a way out! My best demons are probably on it, all we have to do is wait. And... and Aaron! He's the anti-christ... him and Sexy Satan wouldn't just let me STAY dead! They NEED me!" "Moloch..." "They will find a way. We... will find a way. All it will take is coming up with a plan. I know how my powers worked when binding us and keeping us alive.... I just have to find a way to... boomerang us back. Maybe trick the spell into feeling one of us in transition..." Mark sighed deeply, "How do you plan on this? Our bodies are on the material plane, the spells you put on us thrive in them." Moloch held up his finger, " NOPE. WRONG. Souls and bodies. Mostly souls. And guess what? Here we are, now we just need to get to the bodies." The harbringer nearly face palmed himself at Molochs ranting and broken logic, but stopped himself with a thought. Moloch didnt seem so crazy after all.  "The necromatic spell... the one you and I searched for with Alexander... That was supposed to stop the loophole of dying from me, right?" "Duh- before that, anyone could have killed you and then I'd die. Killing me though- nadda. I basically made you and me the same. Patched loophole." "Tell me... how could the loophole be broken?" Moloch shrugged widely,"How the fuck would I know? If I knew, I would've already been safe guarded against it. So... something tells me something is still there that can bring us back." The harbringer wanted hope, but even he knew that could be foolish. Purgatory was always rumored to be much like Hell except no one ever knew what happened to angelics here. "We might need to communicate with someone back in Hell... or the asylum." "Purgatory is a cut off. From Heaven angels come and go when needed, visions and otherwise can be given. Prayers heard. In Hell... you know demons travel from plane to plane... your visions, spells... what have you. Purgatory is meant to be the ending. Where souls come to die if they aren't taken to Hell. Where demons killed come to their final place. Any creatures not granted passage in Heaven or Hell and not granted afterlife on Earth come here. They cannot leave. They cannot speak out. It is but a prison for the lost." Moloch's brow cocked, a smirky, know-it-all look came about him as he retorted, "Then explain Akane." Mark paused his line of thought, forgetting completely about Moloch's acolyte. This also jogged his memory of the horrid and strange creature that followed Moloch when he was shunted by Purgatory a while ago- that sort of disfigured blur made flesh on the plane of the world. "Akane.... Did Akane ever tell you about this place? How he came to escape?" "Pfft, like I really cared then. He came back and that's all that mattered. But... if Akane was able to break out, then there's still a way. Think about it. Akane at least realized where he was and found hi way back to Earth. We just realized it, now we just have to become as crafty. And we have an advantage. Our bodies." "How are we to communicate?" "We will find a way." Mark felt frustrated but nodded anyway. Did he not understand the difference between Purgatory and the others? He was a King of Hell, and although very young, Mark was sure the demon would have been educated even through Hell's rumors of afterlife. Even more so since the demon had spent the time to keep them OUT of purgatory. "I searched the building, there's nothing here. Nadda." "Considering this is a manifestation of our memory, that would make sense." Moloch rolled his eyes, more so at Robert who was still weeping and mumbling this whole time. "Could you /please/ do something about him?" "What would you have me do?" "Shut him up! Kill him! I don't fucking care!" The harbringer sighed, feeling pity for the human soul. "Moloch, go back to your room, I will meet you there." "Just do something about him. I'll work on my plan." Mark watched the demon leave,  some relief once he disappeared down the hallway. Mark stood and peered at the man, watching the broken soul curled now in the corner. Death stepped over and knelt, wanting so much to help Robert. If only he could be soothed, to forget all the horrible things he witnessed. None of these things had been the human's fault. "Robert, look at me." But the man kept weeping. "Robert?" The man slowly looked to him, then began to panic. "Where's Tori?! Have you seen her?! Is she okay?!" "Shh... shh... Tori's not here." "Who are you?! What did you do to my sister?!" "Listen, everyone is safe... but I you need to calm." "Tori? Tori!?" Mark could tell the soul was beyond help as if he had been in Hell. Who knows what horrors Moloch subjected Robert to. Mark pulled off his shirt, letting his wings unfurl behind himself. He was going to calm this man so he and Moloch could think, and keep hidden from the figures... even if it was going to exhaust him again. Mark pulled closer to Robert who wasn't paying attention at first. But his eyes caught the sight and he stopped his babbling. "An angel..." "Relax.... " Robert was between panic and awe as his breaths came fast, his soul's mind not knowing what to do.  As Mark moved forward, so did his wings. Enfolding the area- Mark's breath shuddered as his own concentration broke. Feathers like that of a hawk, spotted with the grey of age formed a protective barrier. They were no longer mangled and tinged with gold and black, no bones twisted among the fluff and softness... He couldn't help the tears in his eyes, seeing the purity as it had before becoming Moloch's Belial.  Mark pushed back his own wonderment and focused back on the fearful, broken soul in front of him.... And Robert fell peacefully asleep and Mark swayed and fell beside him in exhaustion once more. Mark awoke a while later, Robert. still fast asleep under his wings. At least he was quiet....  The harbringer peered around before moving to get up, heading out to go find Moloch once more. He was able to enter the room, watching as Moloch paced back and forth, an intense look upon the demon king's face.  "Have you come up with anything?" Yet Moloch didn't stop, just murmuring, "Yes, no thanks to you." He was taken aback but shrugged it off as he closed the door. "And?" "Witches do séances. All we need to do is communicate during a séance." "...Purgatory is impermeable." Moloch shook his head, finally stopping and looking at Mark. "Akane escaped." "We know that... but communication is shut off here. Must I explain this again?" "/Akane/ escaped... and /with/ him escaped another. I doubt they patched the hole." Mark rolled his eyes and sat on the bed, knowing ideas like this were sure to fail. "We don't know where this tear is- if it's even still active. And truthfully, if it was, you could escape just fine to another host." But the demon king smirked, "Not if the hole is tiny. But it would be enough." "What about another plan... in case this one fails? I highly doubt a séance would work as is. Only human spirits can be called..." "Bullshit--" "Listen! Only human spirits... and they would have to be in Hell or still on Earth... Rarely is one taken from Heaven as speaking to spirits is tinged with dark magic or necromancy. A spirit from Heaven torn from there, even just to speak, can have dire consequence for both spirit and summoner. Now... even if we could communicate outside of here, we would need to be human and... summoned to speak." Moloch shrugged, "What about a random party crash?" "Again... we would have to be in the lines of it to even be pulled forth... " He noticed the look drawing on Moloch's face, " think of it as being near a phone... you can't answer it unless you're close enough to hear it. And Purgatory is impermeable. " "Perfect! Let's go find this tear." "What ARE you on?! Really, Moloch?" "Why not? We have a soul. a HUMAN soul, and we have you. All we need now is some lucky person on the other side wanting to talk to the dead. Easy peasy." Death wanted to argue this more, but he could tell Moloch's plan had a sort of logic behind it, and Moloch's plans usually worked even if not according to what he talked about. The GodKing was intelligent and methodical, even if something would go wrong it still seemed to work in Moloch's plan.  "How do we find the tear?" "You." "Excuse me?" "You're Death, right? You're going to do all your little deathy powers and feel the shift in the plane." "That could take days... weeks... We don't even know how big this plane is let alone the dangers. And... the power it will take." "Then we better get on it." Mark groaned, "We don't even know if Robert's soul is going to be in his right mind to say what we need..." "For the love of--"  Mark suddenly fell off the bed as Moloch extended his hand, the harbringer writhing in pain and shock of this sudden attack. " While you were cradling that jackass I was practicing my powers here. I guess knowing you're dead really helps put it in perspective. Oh. and by the way, I saw those shiney old wings. I guess this plane really does detach parts of people. I gotta fix that." "Stop! Please!" "Or what, Marky Mark? Are you going to resist working with me? Leave me inside this place to rot with the other demons?" "Moloch... no! Nothing like that!" "Then say it and mean it." Mark's body flew up and hit the ceiling, being pinned there by the unseen force the demon willed.  "Moloch! Stop!" "Just say it right and maybe, just maybe, I'll play nice." He couldn't help but cry out, his bones feeling as if being crushed by the demon power. It took everything in his being not to use what he could to attack Moloch, knowing Moloch would find a worse way to retaliate. " My Lord...!" "Louder." "My Lord! Mercy! I beg you!" And with that, Mark fell to the ground, weak and panting. "You're such a bitch."  Mark came to, groggy and sore. Nothing had changed except the sureness of the demon king and his new found strength in Purgatory, and the fact that Moloch was just speaking demonically in abyssal, trying hard to cast whatever spells he could in the middle of the room.

[rmoseley]

Jacked Part Three

I’ve been hunting with Sam and Dean for a year, we make a pretty badass team. I met their father too, he seemed nice until we found out he was possessed. Sam shot him with the colt, in the chest and the demon evacuated his system. He was still alive, we were on the road, discussing why Sam didn’t kill his father when a semi crashed into the side of the impala. Mine and Dean’s skulls cracked together and I was out. I woke up to Sam yelling for Dean. “S-Sam?” I looked around me I felt pain in my arm intense pain. Dean had his arms around me. He looked pretty bad. “Oh my god is he-” “I dunno.”

Sam said fighting against pain. I hurt all over. Tears rolled down my face when the medics came. I made it long enough to see Dean being loaded as. I was being wrapped up, my injuries where less sevear than Dean’s. He was hurt really bad, I woke up in a hospital bed. Screaming for Dean and Sam not knowing how or why I was there. The nurses came in and did a check on me and I limped all the way down to Dean’s room. He was in a coma, hooked up to a machine. He looked unburdened and innocent laying there. I started to cry, I had grown feelings for him. Strong feelings that I couldn’t quite explain. He made me feel nervous excited angry and happy all at once, he made me feel alive, more so than any hunt I had ever been on. “Dean, I don’t know if you can hear me. I hope you can,” I took a long shuddering breath to hold in a sob. “Why did you shove yourself in my place, why did you risk your life for me?” I said holding his hand. I made a vow to never leave his side.

I felt something brush my cheek. I looked up from praying to St Jude. Dean’s father sat with him for a little while saying nothing, he just stared at his dying son. Him and Sam had a falling out, resulting in a glass being shattered by no one uncertain. And then I saw nurses and a doctor running towards Dean’s room. A single word escaped my lips, a breathless whisper. “No…” I ran with Sam to see Dean flat lining. I stared at the scene, I watched the doctors frantically try to save him I watched the nurses fly around the room, I held onto Sam’s Jacket for support. I held onto it to keep me grounded while my other hand covered my mouth. And then Dean came back. I was still holding onto Sam when we walked down the hall. I finally let go and let my head slump back against the wall behind a chair that I was in. ‘You are going to get it when you wake up Winchester’ I thought. I was waiting for Sam to get back, he said he needed to pick something up. I was passing the time by talking to Dean, even if it made me look crazy, I told him about when I was little, I told him about Thomas and why I wore the crew necks, Sam came in with a paper bag. “What’s in the bag Sam?” I asked as he removed it, “seriously? A Ouiga board? If Bobby where here he’d-” “well he’s not and I’m left out of options. okay?” I rolled my eyes. “Fine, fine don’t get bitchy with me, get on with it.” I watched as Sam set the board up. “Reaper? There’s a Reaper in the hospital?” the piece shifted to the yes. And I could almost imagine Dean rolling his eyes at me. “Is it after you?” Sam asked and Dean said yes. I felt like I just got punched. “What do we do Sam?” I asked in a panicked voice. So Sam and I ran/ limped to John’s room. “Christ. Do you Winchesters ever do what you’re told?” I asked as Sam discovered his father’s Journal. “It says that Reapers can warp a person’s perception to make them see what the reaper wants them to. Do you think that’s what’s happening to Dean?” I asked Sam he looked at me with sad eyes as I began to tear up, Dean was so close to death, and then, he moved he was choking on the tubes as he regained consciousness. I ran out of the room yelling. “Help! I need help! Come quick!” I was pushed from the room as they removed the tubes. Dean’s eyes were locked on mine, I couldn’t tear mine away. I walked in after they cleared out. “Hey Jackie.” Dean said smirking. “Hey.” I scooted my chair closer to him. “I am so relieved, so so relieved that you’re awake. I said yawning. “You look terrible,” he said. “I feel terrible.” not because of my broken rib or my scrapes and bruises, I hadn’t slept very much only and hour or two since I woke up in this damned place, I owed Dean. He saved my life, if it wasn’t for him I would have been in his situation but with the less favorable out come. I smiled at him. Sam came in just as the doctor did. He ran some tests did some scans, you know normal doctor biz. He came back perplexed saying that Dean was completely healed. I was so glad that Dean didn’t remember being out of his body, I would have been mortified, he would tease me to no end if he did remember. John knocked on the door and said hey. I was still peeved at him, shooting him a venomous glare I walked out followed by Sam shortly after he argued with him. “Something’s wrong with him.” I told him he agreed going down the hall to go get coffee. I followed Sam. When we came back, we walked in silence as we passed an empty hospital room, a body laid on the floor eyes pinned on the ceiling unseeing, dead. “Dad,” Sam said as he dropped the coffee and ran to his father. I didn’t understand why people said moments like that slowed down, they sped up, building a sense of being overwhelmed. It throws you into shock and makes you go numb, Sam screamed out. They tried in vain to save John Winchester. I already knew he was gone, we watched as the called his time of death, 10:41 am. I was supporting Dean on my good side. I felt him shaking trying to stay solid as he stared at his father’s lifeless body. I was stoic, I barely knew the man, but he reminded me of my own father. Even though I didn’t know him well. I still felt the sting of loss. I was present at John’s funeral. I stood between Dean and Sam. I watched the flames lick John’s corpse. Dean stared straight ahead jaw clenched muscles tensed. I saw the tears in Sam’s eyes, his eyes mirrored my own red and puffy. Despite my attempts at sleep I had stayed awake all night. My eyes were sore. This was my fault. If I hadn’t excepted Dean’s offer to join them they would still have John, and Dean wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Over the next week Dean dedicated himself to fixing the Impala, I was tempted to have a friend drive Gray up to Bobby’s. He didn’t talk to me he just kept fixing the car. Despite mine and Sam’s efforts Dean refused our help. He slid out from under Baby, and holy Jesus how is it possible to look that good covered in Grease and motor oil? I inwardly cringed for thinking that, what was wrong with me? The header I took must have scrambled my brains I cleared my throat and looked away pretending to look at the Impala. Praying that neither him or Sam saw the look in my eye or that I bit my lip slowly. They were arguing and Dean finally admitted using Baby as a coping mechanism. “Who’s Ellen?” I asked speaking for the first time in a while. They shrugged and we were back on the road. In an old piece of shite minivan. “This is humiliating.” Dean said I agreed. We got out and headed into an old bar. “Place looks like a ghost town.” I said watching the dust kick up. We went inside looking around. I drew my gun just as I heard the click of a rifle. “Oh god please let that be a rifle.” Dean said as the chick behind him cocked it. “No I’m just real happy to see you.” I removed the safety of my pistol, she told Dean not to move and I was already aimed at her head. “Cut the Shit Annie Oakley.” I barked noticing that she was a blonde. My least favorite hair color. I glared at her she returned the icy cold stare. Dean took the gun from the girl and unloaded it partly before she punched him and stole it back this time I stood in front of the barrel. “Don’t touch him.” I growled my nostrils flaring. Dean called for Sam who was also held at gun point. “Well this is fucking fantastic!” I said pressing my forehead into the barrel. They both lowered their weapons when they learned Sam and Dean were Winchesters. “Hey I’m Ellen, that’s my daughter Joe.” I smiled, “I’m Jackline Daniels. A friend of Sam and Dean’s.” I lowered my pistol shaking Ellen’s hand. So I spent the whole time sitting as close to Dean as I could and glaring at Joe. She wore a skimpy little tank top and hip hugging jeans, not that she had any hips to hug, she was a fucking tooth pick. But I was no better, I filled out my jeans a little to good having to heave them up, and I wore baggy shirts to hide the lack of cleavage I had. We were introduced to Ash, he looked like Joe dirt. Dean said he looked like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie. He had a mullet and everything about him screamed Redneck. He totally blew me away, he was helping us track the Demon. Dean watched Joe with mild interest, he followed her around to a solo table by a window. I watched them eyes narrowed, kinda wishing Dean had remembered being in the out of body experience. Sam picked up a folder. “You’ve got to be kidding me, clowns?” I said, Sam nodded reading the police report. I caught wind ofJoe and Dean’s conversation and absent mindedly stabbed the bar with my hunting knife. Everyone looked at me but my focus was trained on the wall behind the bar, my jaw set. I cleared my throat and apologized, yanking my knife from the wood and walking out Glaring at Joe as I went. She gave me a deer in the headlights look. And I smiled all of the kindness was absent replaced by a different emotion. I was out on the porch throwing my knife in the dirt and making it stick, when Sam came outside. “What was that Jackie?” he asked mild amusement in his voice. “Nothing, I just zoned out.” Sam scoffed. “So this had nothing to do with when you were at Dean’s side the entire time at the hospital? Or the fact that I caught you checking him out at Bobby’s?” my face reddened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sam shrugged “fine fine, don’t get bitchy with me.“ Sam used my line against me. "Har, Har.” I said sheathing my knife with skill. “He can do better is all.” I said walking away from him. Looking up at the sky. We were driving the rain pelting the ugly van as we went. All was fine until I caught Dean looking at me in the rear view mirror. I looked away flustered as Sam and him continued to talk. I dozed off dreaming about the night we wrecked. I woke clutching onto the seat gasping. "You all right Jackie?” Dean asked.

[rachelclewis]

The Birds and the Beasts

               I like running in Sugarhouse park for a number of reasons.  I know that two laps plus the interior driveway into the parking lot equals one 5k.  I also appreciate the difficulty.  There are two good hills in the circuit – four total.  It hurts but it is a good workout.  I love it.  Especially in spring when the baby ducks are out.  The cuteness is a good distraction from the burning calves.  Usually.

               Recently, however, as I approached the first hill I noticed a… what? A cluck of ducks? That’s probably not right.  But there were five mallards off to the right on the grassy hill, which is the wrong side of the road.  The pond is in the center of the park, off to my left as I run counter-clockwise around the loop.

               Something about their behavior seemed strange and I turned to watch them.  There were four males and one female.  If you are wondering how I know a male mallard from a female mallard, they are easy to differentiate.  They are similar in shape but the males have bright green heads and with white collars where the throat starts to widen into the body.  Females are slightly smaller and are mostly spotty brown but with bright blue patches on their wings.

               One of the males had a splotch of white on his mostly green neck and another white blob on his body, like someone had thrown bleach on him.  Or like a watercolor painting that is nearly complete but not quite. This means he is a mixed species duck – part mallard and part white duck.  There is a duck like this that lives in my boyfriend’s neighborhood.  We saw him one morning and I said, “We should call mutt ducks ‘mucks.’”  He didn’t laugh.  I reminded him that it was still early and I hadn’t had any coffee yet.  “I mean I’m not saying it’s an A plus joke,” I pressed him at the time.  “Clearly it’s B work.  But seriously… nothing?”

               I was rethinking my evaluation as I ran in the park and decide he was right.  I was downgrading the joke to a C plus – B minus at best – but before I could finish the thought, the one female in the cluck made a sudden turn and darted out into the road with the three males chasing closely behind.

               There was a car but it was able to stop just in time.  The female kept running and crossed the road in front of me with the males closing in on her.  The fastest one caught up with her as she stumbled over the curb on the pond side of the road. Before she could pull herself up onto the grass, he clamped his beak on her thin neck and twisted it awkwardly to the side as he scaled her back. The muck and the other two males gathered around, waiting their turn.

               I can’t claim to have had a clear impulse to do anything in the moment.  And yet I had many impulses – layers and layers of considerations that lodged in my gut like an onion swallowed whole.  I spent the rest of the run peeling it and contemplating the pungent concerns as I carved deeper into it.

               It certainly occurred to me – maybe a few paces down the path – that I should go back and rescue her.  I could chase the males off, couldn’t I?  Or would I just scatter them temporarily?  Then they would resume as soon as I got back on my way, with that female or the next one they saw.

               I remembered what I’ve read about duck copulation before.  Specifically, I recall reading about the roughness of the males. Witnessing it was certainly more brutal than I imagined while reading about it.  Still… this was “natural,” right?

               Then I remembered my friend Meg telling a story about a pair of ducks rogering around the grass on the day of her wedding.  I remember she was disturbed by it, but her sister had said, “no, ducks fucking are good luck!”

               “Duck fuck, good luck, duck fuck, good luck…” I repeated to the rhythm of my running pace as I fought my way up hill number one.  This helped for a moment, but I kept picturing the awkward angle of the ducks neck as the drake held her down, pushing her throat into the grass.  And then I remembered something else that I read about ducks as I crested the hill.  “What was it?”  I asked my brain.  “Something about the fact that the penis is corkscrew shaped?  For some gawdawful reason?”

               As my shoes slapped down the declining side of the hill the shock wore off and I suddenly realized that I had witnessed something intense and violent.  “What is wrong with me!?  Why didn’t I help her?” I yelled at myself. “What about SISTERHOOD?”

               With a pang I remembered that one of the reasons I run in this park was the baby ducks.  “Is there anything cuter than a baby mallard? Now I know where they come from. I guess it’s evolved that way for a reason?  Corkscrew cocks and all?  Otherwise, no more mallards.”

               The trail was leveling out and I realized that I was justifying my inaction using the old ‘means to an ends’ trope.  “Who am I? I sound like Rick Santorum, telling rape victims to ‘make the best of a bad situation.’”  

               I tried to banish the image of the other drakes – the slower ones – forming a jumbled and impatient line as I approached the steep raise of hill number two.  That article I read didn’t say anything about gang rape. I was not prepared for that.

               “I’m not heartless,” I told myself as I fought the gravity asserting its full force on my calves. “I am impartial.  Like a documentary film maker.  I am here to observe and learn, not to judge or intervene.” On the steepest part of the hill, my pace slowed to a run just slower than a walk and I started to lose track of where my legs ended and where the sidewalk began.  “I am Sigournie Weaver,” I declared.  “Narrating with my soft as suede voice as an arctic wolf gnaws on the leg of a still struggling baby caribou.”

               I crested the hill but continue walking, trying to catch my breath.  “Except Sigournie Weaver wasn’t actually there,” I remembered. “I am the dude who keeps filming when the shit goes down.  The one I always scream at.  ‘Put the camera down and throw the polar bear a damned fish!  Don’t you know what climate change is doing to them?!’”  I picked up speed and made my way toward the downward slope on the West side of the park.

               I told myself that if the ducks were still there when I made it back to the scene of the crime I would intervene.  I rounded the corner and searched the grass and the shore of the pond, but they were gone. “Maybe she got away?”  I thought about her waddling at full speed out in front of the car.  Was that intentional?  Escape through frantic suicide?

               Slogging up hill number three it occurred to me that she ran, but she didn’t fly.  “Why didn’t she fly?  Maybe it is all part of the mating ritual. Play hard to get but not too hard to get.”  I was starting to feel better and I repeated the mantra from the previous trudge up this hill.  “Duck fuck, good luck, duck fuck, good luck…”  I played through the scene in my head again.  “She certainly looked like she was desperate to get away, but it must not have been with a full heart, or she would have flown.  Right?”

               “Oh Christ,” I thought as I crested the hill.  “Did I just make the duck equivalent of the ‘look what she’s wearing’ argument?”  I was flying down the back of the hill, hating myself with every step.

               I remembered then that I had been driving passed this same park the week before when all the traffic came to a stop for no apparent reason.  Once I was close enough I saw that there was a pair of mallards in the center of the six lane street, herding a half dozen babies up the median with the female leading the parade and the male bringing up the rear.  This is one of the things I love about mallards. They always seem to make such cute couples.  

               Another time, years ago, I was driving through another part of Sugarhouse and I saw the carcass of a female mallard to the side of the road and a male standing watch over her lifeless body.  You will see this from time to time.  They seem to be very devoted.  I used to think monogamous, “or at least they stay partnered for the mating season?”  Suddenly I wasn’t sure.  “I’ll have to look that up, I guess.”

               It was the last hill and I could see where this was going.  I told myself to skip the scene which was obviously coming.  The one where I berate myself for letting the male off the hook” because they make such cute dads, after all.”  

               Utah was in the news that same week because a judge had praised a former LDS bishop as a “good man” as he sentenced him to life in prison while his victims sat in the courtroom.   “Great men do bad things,” he said.  I was outraged when I read it in the paper.  

               “Not going there,” I thought.  “Just, not even going to do it.”  But it was too late.  I felt no better – no more ‘woke’ – than that judge.  I used my self-loathing as fuel to get me up the last hill and onto the flat stretch along the north side of the park.  Just one more downhill and then the turn into the center of the park where my car was parked.

               I finished the last stretch and I asked myself if my real problem is that I’m too disconnected from the natural world.  The real one, not the artificial landscaped park meant to look something like nature that I conveniently touch base with on my lunch breaks.  It isn’t the same thing, despite the occasional wild encounter.  “Has urban living made me so soft that I cannot bear witness the brutality of the real world?  Or has it made me too hard in some way? Has my voracious consumption of liberal punditry turned me into a habitual moralizer, constantly monitoring of my thoughts for traces of ignorance, and leaving me unable to make sense of what is around me without anthropomorphizing?”

               I dug the key to my Toyota out of my sweaty sports bra and I flopped down into the driver’s seat. It was the most exhausting three miles I have ever run.

               “I am a bad person, a bad feminist, and I will never look at a baby duck the same way again. Fuzzy little fuckers.”

               I turned the key and steered my car onto the park road.  There was one thing I did feel I understood as I worked my way back around the loop toward the exit.  “The next time I am yelling at a nature show because the photographer is so cold hearted as to just stand there and film while the wild dogs surround the limpy gazelle, I will remember this outing in the park and I will tell myself to go to hell.”

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