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talltalesandbedtimestories · 8 months ago

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Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside.

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact.

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager.

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked.

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don’t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon.

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me.

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras.

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean.

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.”

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina.

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same.

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet.

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try?

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.”

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late.

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary.

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down.

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright?

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago.

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I��d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.”

I’d kept my promise.

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

“Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.”

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date!

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions.

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey.

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away.

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp.

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat.

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus.

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth.

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin.

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath.

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.”

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie.

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open.

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere.

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean.

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El. What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to. Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again. It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due.

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger.

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year.

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer.

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice.

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going. I just want to tell you that I love need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam.

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

#jacklesversebingo23 #dean x ofc #angst #whump #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic

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meraki-yao · 10 months ago

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Get to know Me!

Thank you @lfg1986-2 for tagging me! I love doing these :D

Part 1:

Last song: Saint Bernard by Lincoln

Last film: The last full film I watched was Romeo and Juliet (2021) with Josh O'Connor and Jessie Buckley because my best friend's NYU account has access to a bunch of plays and she came over to watch it with me, but I watch a bunch of miscellaneous movie clips though

Currently reading: Book? You Will Get Through This Night by Dan Howell Fic: What if all I Need is you by aliwrites07 on Ao3, it's so freaking beautiful

Currently watching: I'm playing Dan and Phil videos as background sounds lmao

Currently consuming: Chamomile Tea, I'm wondering if I should take a note from Henry's book and start drinking tea regularly

Currently craving: a freaking break😭

Part 2:

1. Were you named after anyone?

Nah, my English name is a weird, fairly original one that my parents came up with (so many people pronounce my English name even though it's literally phonic, but I love that it doesn't have a pre-set meaning) and Chinese naming is a whole different thing, where there's not really a concept of naming your kid after someone, and even then it's not like English where you take the same name.

But I will say my Chinese name means "such a beautiful jade", which I really like, and am really happy with, so thanks Mom for that!

2. When was the last time you cried?

When I went to my bi-monthly counselling/ therapy on Friday

3. Do you have kids?

No, I'm 19 lol but I do want some in the future

I have a group of kids, essentially my sister's friends and schoolmates to whom I act as a big sister/mentor figure, I call those kids my children/my ducklings (I say kids but they're 16)

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

I used to do ballet until I pulled my legs and couldn't go on pointe anymore, so I quit in 2020 after fourteen years. And if anyone says dancing isn't a sport I will fight you

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Not really, just occasionally with my sister when we're clearly joking with each other

6. What’s the first thing people notice about you?

Either my naturally wavy/frizzy hair, or me being trilingual (I have a draft ranting about being a polyglot lmao)

7. What’s your eye color?

Dark, dark brown 🤎

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings, definitely. I also absolutely cannot handle any scary movies 😩

9. Any talents?

Eh, I don't really view myself like that? But I'll put public speaking and making arts and crafts out here

10. Where were you born?

Hong Kong! (nationality is a whole debate here and it's really complicated plus I'm technically an immigrant child even though it's still part of the country? But if someone asks me I always say I'm a Hong Konger)😁

11. What are your hobbies?

Too many to count! Singing, dancing, writing, performing, drawing, scrapbooking, reading... and pretty common hobbies but I just, they give me so much peace and happiness

12. Do you have any pets?

No but I have a little sister! (jkjk) I do want a cat though

13. How tall are you?

163 cm, so that's 5'3?

14. Favorite subject in school?

English and Chinese (for secondary school)

15. Dream job?

Desperately trying to figure that out! 😭😭😭😭

Thank you again for the tag love!

Tagging @rockingtheorange @alittlefrenchtree @nocoastposts @pippin-katz (no pressure!❣️)

#ask game #personal #i love playing these

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orchidyoonkook · 1 year ago

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personal

Hi, need to scream. Tumblr seems to listen best. can and please feel free to ignore.

okay so essentially my job has removed all of the things I use and need in order to be able to do my job with my mental disorder. my mental DISABILTY. that i was honest with them and told them about at my freaking trial shift. that i told them i needed certain things in order to do well. nothing drastic. but things that helped me significantly with my performace.

SOOOOOOOOO i am now severely struggling at my job because they've taken those away cuz they were 'annoying' or 'in the way' or 'clutter'. like. im not even leaving shit every where. It's like, maybe at most 3 sticky notes? (for example) and they're written just for me, like just so i can have a list of things i can do and know to go back and look on when i need a task because ive finished the one i was doing. but then my boss reads them and critiques them as if they're for everyone. or says 'okay yeah but we do that every day so i dont see why you have to write it down. you should know to do it by now' LIKE BRO. I forget to put deodorant on some days because of said mental disability. it's something i do and have done every day since i was 12 or 13. thats 12 years. and i still forget some days just cuz my brain wasn't working properly.

AND now due to this they have put me, one of the staff currently with more seniority than 3 other staff, down to one shift a week, while every one else is full time or heavily part time.

In march i was full time and kicking ass, I was the fastest employee on my tasks, i was doing great, the customers loved me and now that all of my things that i need in order to function have been removed for everyone else's aesthetic preferences, I'm suffering, and most likely being silently fired.

like... what do i do with that. I can do my job, with my accomadations - that arent that many btw - i dont expect them to move mountains for me. But dude. I hate this feeling so much because i'm capable, theyve seen me be capable. i was for 1.5 years. like i want to be good at my job. I like and enjoy being good at my job. i've told them that. I want to do good but my ability to be good is being derailed, and i just get told to try harder, just work harder, impress your boss with how hard you work -> for minimum wage, i might add.

and everyone is like "just get a new job, just apply for more jobs you're not applying for enough, literally just apply for everything, even if youre not qualified" and i cant just do that, due to said disability. there are jobs i am unable to do. so i have to be a lil picky otherwise i'll be right back where i am now. and ive been looking for months and applying for months with no luck - no one ever responds. why list jobs if you dont respond?????

it's getting to the point where im debating opening up drawing commissions or writing commissions, or something that i can make to earn a little extra cash here and there while i get over this transition period. And that's a big deal for me because i don't do commissions. I do my art for myself or for when i want to share something i've made already, like the UTWT books. Hell, I did a tattoo design for a friend on here that i put easily 40 hours into, and i felt guilty that they wanted to pay me for it because i'd asked them for the idea. Like, i don't do commissions. so for me to be considering it is really telling for me.

anyways. this is a bajillion words long now, but i already feel better. and I'm posting it in the middle of the night in hopes that the void just consumes it and never lets it see the light of day.

If you read this, thanks and sorry for the bummer of a post. This isnt a pity party or a poor yoon thing. I'm not looking for comfort or any of that. this is a 'i don't have a therapist and my friends and partner and family are sick of hearing me bitch, when i havent been able to fix it in months despite trying my best too' thing. so yeah..

i hope the new year brings me something good.

#i just needed to get that out #dont mind my screaming #literaly ignore it its just me bitching about my job for the millionth time #im not even doing organizing tags so itll vanish into the interweb

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bitegore · 8 months ago

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hello, im currently making a sort-of remake of your Blorbo Bleebus template (both to make a higher resolution image, darkmode version and transparent versions) and am debating making some changes to it (e.g. changing fruity to queer). Are there any changes you would make nowadays if you could?

originally put this at the end but the post got long so i'm moving it up here. Anyway I really appreciate you doing this and I also appreciate you reaching out about it. If you think I'm full of shit on any or all of the lines, feel free to completely ignore it, I don't mind. I would love to see your version when you're done! Good luck!

Anyway. Honestly I'd probably change up a lot of it - all of the elements were from various memes, and not all of them are in fashion. The only reason fruity is even on there (I don't particularly like the word myself either) is because the original meme that spawned the entire thing (including the idea of it being a blorbo rating system) was from a wine-flavor label - and thus "fruity" was a particularly awkward choice of a word for it to try to say "this tastes like grapes" lol. I don't think almost anyone who saw the sheet had seen that, though, or knew much about wine tasting (no shade, me either), so like a bunch of the other jokes it falls flat to basically everyone lmao.

These are what I would change. You don't have to do any of these, of course. But it's the ones I'd do. Sorry for how much it bounces around, most of them are just "the first thing i thought of after looking at the sheet again" so it's kind of random and not well organized.

#1: "Flavor Container" turned out to be a much more niche thing than I thought it was; replace it with something that gets at the idea of a character being an "archetype" or "really conentrated" amount of that kind of thing that works better and has more broad-spectrum immediate understanding Or just like, some other type of character-describing meme, up to you

#2: someone pointed out (rightly!) that there is one gender-specific subtype (himbo) on there but no female-specific gender subtype, and that the cat meme i put in as placeholder text on the character box uses he/him pronouns, which both kind of push it toward being gender-specific even though that wasn't what I had wanted. I'd either switch Himbo out for a more recent and less gendered meme or add a female-gendered meme (eg: "girlboss", "butch fatale", etc) to even out the subtypes, and swap out the pronouns on the cat meme for they/them instead of he/him. Might also be worthwhile to switch the bar option for "just some guy" for something like "just some rando" but honestly that doesn't have the same energy; I don;t think there is a properly gender-neutral equivalent for 'guy' that i can think of that won't sound forced and as long as it's not directed at anyone in particular I think that one can be left alone. Tbh if you're switching fruity out you should almost definitely also do these.

#3. i'm pretty sure calling things skrunkly is on its way out, i'd come up with a more recent meme adjective for the name spot i think

#4. one of the bars in the middle of the page goes between "1,000 tools" and "1,000 weapons", which (because I expected at most 30 notes) I figured would be similarly comprehensible to flavor container. It's meant to reflect an outlook on life, ie, do they build things up to solve problems or do they attack and tear down their problems? I don't think this is a very effective set and also it's not a good joke, so it's probably best to put something else there.

#5. the "you want them to have" section is clunky and not very good, which is because that was the last part i did when I made it and I rushed it because I was bored of the project by then. I think there are a lot more interesting things to talk about than "do they have sex" "do they have romance" "do they have friends" and "did you hate their ending specifically" BUT also i have been informed that this is the shipping website and I'm not really a huge shipper, so my lack of interest in most of the contents of those boxes might not be reflective of everyone else's! Please use your best judgement here, if you like that bit then you can absolutely keep it. That being said I think it would be interesting to get into something like "tropes" instead, switching out the idea of like, desirable plot beats for the character with like, desirable common storytelling tropes or something to suhove the character into, or genres, or w/e. it would also suit the rest of the sheet better. i also think it would be more fun to be filling in boxes like "go in the dark" and "bonk on head with giant mallet" and "hunted for sport" than "more romance" and "less romance", if you follow me lol

#6. The idea of the slider bars is fine, but the shape is apparently kind of tough for people to work with unless they're confident drawing digitally in some way, so intead of doing a straight black line with a black line down the center, I would do an outlined bar with a black line down the center, sort of like the below. I think this will be easier for people to fill in with a paint bucket tool or w/e and hopefully save some wrists.

#7. I keep seeing comments asking for it to be a fillable PDF as well, which is like, not something I am capable of making if I'm honest. I don't do PDFs. No idea if you do, but if you do have the ability, it might be a solid plan to make it as a PDF first so it can be converted into a fillable PDF somehow. I took a stab at doing that yesterday but then i got frustrated and bored and gave up lol.

#8. tbh if you're making it a bigger resolution this might not be an issue but the text is really kind of small. I'd probably change the image ratio and scale a lot of the text up, sort of like this (sorry i am not working on a computer where i have robust photo editing tools or the original file so i am just sort of cutting it up in photopea with my mouse so it looks kind of jank). The reason for this is because the program I made it in just sort of opened with a printer-paper-sized page and i went "cool, I can work with that" and didn't change it. But when sharing and posting it, it becomes hard to read.

(this also doesnt really work... i'm not very good at optimizing things for post-readability ;-;)

#9. the slider between "stupid as shit" and "scary-smart" isnt that good, i'd swap it for "not the..." and "sharpest tool in the shed" respectively, because i think that that is more fun. or something along those lines

#10. I already said I would change this bit out entirely, but if you do keep the "you want them to have" section mostly as-is, the last eight or so don't really fit with what's already there - "freedom", "catharsis", "justification", "The Realization", "revenge", "conseequences", "sympathy" and "a satisfying ending" are about the writing the character is situated in, but "a better/worse time", "better/worse situation", "more/less trauma", "more/less healing", "more/less/different romance", "more/less/different sex", "more/less/different friends", "painful isolation" and "a family" are about relationships and emotional experiences the character is having in-universe. I guess you could leave freedom, revenge and consequences in there, but they don't really suit it well. I'd either switch the last handful for things that fit the theme (and also the more/less/different/none scheme), or make the entire thing center around the writing choices in the original narrative they're from.

#11. If you're redoing it from the ground up, you also get to pick a better font... I badly wish I had done all the titles in Impact (the meme font, you know the one) because I think it would've been funny. I probably would've put like, "bottom text" at the very bottom of the page too but that's probably not as funny to anyone who isn't me. I didn't want to bother tweaking it when I finished it, so it has NBOS's default font (I think it was Arial Black?) instead.

#12. I'd probably switch "soft and sweet" to "cinnamon roll", i've seen that one make a comeback recently and also it's so old that the fact that it's out of date brings some kind of humor to it along with it in a way that "soft and sweet" doesn't really do.

#13. "aspirational character" doesn't really do anything in the subclass list anyway - it's not interesting or funny and much of what it covers is also covered by "just like you fr" and "braincell haver", so i'd also replace that one with a more interesting recent character meme.

#14. tbh the checkboxes underneath the picture box were me taking a bunch of potshots at Batman specifically (well, besides murderer, but that was beacuse I needed another line). In the spirit of it, if you have a particularly common Kind of blorbo that other people keep putting on your dash nowadays, it would probably make sense to take their traits and put them in there instead until if you check all of them off you get that character instead. Keep it updated and fresh and fun and all that lol.

Also - last things-

please don't write me in as the "original creator" or w/e - I was cribbing so much from so many other people and places that I don't really feel like it's worth crediting it all to me, all I did was grid it out. No idea if that was part of your plan but if it was like. don't worry about it, if it wasn't, then that's great because that works for both of us :D

understand if you're not interested or don't want it, but if it would be helpful, I can send you a probably way higher resolution version than is floating around on Tumblr if you like - the program I made it with was designing it to be a printable sheet so it's a high enough resolution that the edgtes would all print nice and crisply, I think Tumblr just has a maximum image size and my layout didn't work very well with it lmao

#red replies #Anonymous #WILD #im still just astounded that people even liked it in the first place

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elnierah · 10 months ago

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Announcement of Writing Hiatus, Yet Too a New Adventure

TLDR: Pausing my writing/fanfics for an indefinite amount of time to pursue drawing. Not abandoning my projects, but need a change of pace.

Hello, my lovely readers! Long time no see...?

This post has been brewing for quite a while, but I've been my usual stubborn self and refused to publicly acknowledge my struggles until now. I gave myself a deadline to make a decision, and that deadline is now here, hence this announcement post. However, to explain a little... Since October of last year ( 2023 ), I've been battling against and contending with an intense bout of writer's block - pretty much right after the 2nd remastered chapter of YCTL released. I also wasn't enjoying myself in the fandom, nor was I content with some of the decisions Atlus was making at the time. With those combined, I genuinely debated leaving/deleting all of my work, as all it brought me was misery. I won't go into too much detail as I don't like airing negativity, but I ultimately decided a break from it all was required, from SMS and such. After a much-needed break and unforeseen support, my volatile emotions ebbed and I managed to see the light again, yet when I tried to return to writing, I felt my heart wasn't as enthusiastic about it as it once was. I even attempted to begin production on Yusuke's B'day fic earlier, thinking that maybe it was the chapter of YCTL holding me down, but that didn't really help either. I was and still am apathetic towards my writing. I don't feel excitement, enjoyment or anything joyus towards it anymore. All I currently feel is frustration and annoyance whenever I try. It's easier to chalk this up to writer's block, because, well, that's ultimately what it is, but it's quite a severe case, unfortunately.

Around New Years, a friend of mine gave me their old drawing touchpad/tablet as they had upgraded, and I've been enjoying experimenting with it and tapping into my childhood hobby/interest since. While doing so definitely has those natural creative frustrations, I've been able to aspire beyond them, and that is ultimately what made me realise what creation should feel like again, and all of the above. It was akin to a wake up moment, one where I realised my relationship with writing as a whole had degraded and just trying to 'willpower' through it was impossible. I do not wish to abandon my projects or writing as a whole, but the reality of the matter is I cannot create anything of worth in my current state - trying to force myself will only lead to hatred, and I really don't want to lose my love for writing more than I already have.

These last 3 months have made it clear I need a change, and so I debated how to proceed forward and ultimately decided it would be wise for me to put my projects on an indefinite hiatus, yet instead of simply mulling over that fact, I should shift my creative energy towards other methods and explore different creative outlets whilst my burnout heals. I, unfortunately, cannot give a timeframe for when I may return to writing, as these issues have a mind of their own, but I'm hopeful this will be a step in the right direction. In the meantime, I plan to pursue drawing again as I've found it rather fun, despite the lulls, but this will primarily be a 'behind the scenes' venture, as I am still very much a fledgling artist and do not harbour any confidence regarding posting my artworks. I'm hopeful pouring my creative energy into something else can facilitate my growth, instead of remaining stagnant as I have the last few months.

As for my accounts, I plan to resume my activities on SMS. I've gone dark the last 2.5 months as I really needed it and wished to spend time with loved ones without these mental pressures, but now that I can see a path forward, I want to enjoy my place within the fandom again. I'll primarily be doing as I always have, posting miscellaneous stuff and supporting other creative individuals - just without the chapter updates and whatnot. Who knows, I may even post some of my artwork that I find decent enough.

To showcase my dedication to this new adventure, I drew a small fanart and wish to share it with you all! I did want to draw something a little more substantial, but the weather here is brutal and there's some other, unrelated, changes occuring in my life at the moment, so I'm rather busy. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this little piece - a piece indicating my wish to forge ahead, no matter its form! ᕙ(✧ヮ✧)ᕗ

This post has been going on long enough, so I'm going to conclude it with a few more words. But ultimately, I am still very passionate and love P5/shukita/kitashu, the form of which I express it is just going to shift for some time! Thank you all so much for your understanding, I honestly wouldn't be here without you all as your support has been paramount throughout the years! I hope this leads to a fruitful future for us all!

❤️❤️❤️💙💙💙

PS: Yes, I had to draw both variations of the ship as I love them both equally~! ヽ(♥ ³♥)ﾉ

#you cure the light #yctl #I want to draw a piece for P3Rs release #I miss this feeling of burning inspiration #so I'm going to cherish it for as long as i can!#THANK YOU EVERYONE~~~

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artificialgrinder · 2 years ago

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THE DARK SEEPING IN (BRATZ FASHION PIXIEZ REIMAGINING) CH. 3

After Cymbeline and Melvino's argument, Breeana approaches her sister and tries to calm the situation.

AN: Should I make a Spotify playlist for this?

Each knock on Cymbeline's bedroom door was a trial on Breeana's sanity. Even though she wasn't screamed at to go away, she was ignored. And that made her heart pound.

Why was she so afraid anyway? Yes, they had had their fair share of arguments. But with no real explanation as to why Cymbeline was so heated, Breeana was scared.

So when she knocked again, she debated on turning around and calling it a day. Maybe the bitch just needed her space.

But…

"What?"

Breeana stood there, her breath caught in her throat. Instead of asking permission, she turned the doorknob and entered the dim room. The main light was turned off as usual, lava lamps and fairy lights being the only things providing Breeana the ability to see.

Cymbeline was sitting at her desk, her wrist flicking back and forth as she worked the charcoal on her next art piece. Robyn sang at a low volume, the sound coming from the Mac computer, something that would usually soothe her in times of stress.

But Cymbeline was anything but soothed.

"What do you want?" The older girl asked, not even lifting her head.

Breeana played with her hands, daring herself to step further into the room. "Uh, hey," she uttered, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "I just…I wanted to see if you were okay."

"Uh, yeah," Cymbeline still didn't look at her sister. Yet there was a shift in tone there, almost like growing annoyance.

“It’s…I…” Breeana sighed. She couldn't do this. "Wh-What's the best way…to ask a guy to the Magnolia Ball?"

And only now did Cymbeline lift her head. "Are you for real?"

Fuck. "Uh, yeah. There's this guy, and…you know…I kind of want to - -"

"Breeana." Cymbeline held up the charcoal, bringing her sister to stop talking. "Why are you bothering me with this? Wh-What would I know," she laughed sarcastically, holding her hands by her sides, "about asking a fucking guy to a stupid ball?"

A red glow tainted Breeana's cheeks, unable to look at her sister for a moment. "Sorry, I just didn't know who else to talk to. I mean," she giggled sheepishly, "I'm not really gonna ask Daddy, am I?"

"Ask your friends."

What friends? Breeana didn't say it. Anything to save herself from the humiliation further.

Cymbeline wasn't entertained by her anymore, instead focused on her charcoal drawing again. Hitting the keyboard, Robyn sang slightly louder.

Breeana pursed her lips, teeth slightly clenched. This wasn't fair. Whatever she had done to deserve such an attitude was uncalled for. She breathed in deeply before saying, "Okay, what was that about?"

"That?"

"Downstairs. With Dad," Breeana pointed at the door as if their Father was standing right there, listening to every word. "Why did you snap at him like that?"

"It's really none of your business, Breeana," Cymbeline answered nonchalantly.

"Well, you're my big sister. We vent to each other all the time. So why not now?"

But Cymbeline didn't answer.

The fairy lights flickered slightly.

But Breeana didn't let it hinder her. "Come on, what's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Let's just talk about it," Breeana stepped closer yet again, getting a better glimpse of the art – a woman glancing over her shoulder, looking right at Breeana. No…through Breeana. And from her back, the part Cymbeline was working on in the current moment, a pair of brilliant wings rested. "I'm sure I'll understand. I'll always have your back, Cymb'. I mean, us sisters have got to stick together. You know? Just like Mo- -"

"Breeana!" Cymbeline stood up abruptly, slamming the charcoal stick down on her sketch pad, the piece shattering. "I don't want to talk about it!" She clapped in between words. "It doesn't fucking concern you. Fuck, it doesn't concern fucking children, as a matter of fact! I am a fucking adult, and I can deal with it myself. Now can you, please," she paused, holding up her now shaking hands, eyes wide with fury, "can you please stop bothering me?!"

That feeling, that fear that burrowed itself deep inside Breeana's belly before even entering the room…It now made sense. She should have trusted her instincts and left her sister alone.

“I-I’m sorry,” Breeana stammered, her heart hammering.

Cymbeline just stood there, eyes still wide, body shaking. And she lifted her arm, pointing at her door. "Get out," she said gravely.

Breeana didn't need to be told twice.

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"And what gives my skin that extra healthy glow is this night balm by Beauty Bay. This is it right here."

Despite what Breeana had previously heard about the "Tweevils", Breeana had gotten into watching their YouTube channel, particularly the skincare routines. It was never really something she gave a shit about. But she needed a change.

No, this wasn't for Dylan. This wasn't to catch his attention. This was for herself.

Fuck, she needed a distraction from what happened earlier in the evening.

No, Bree'. Don't think about it.

She forced her gaze away from her phone. Her reflection showed she was still there standing in her bathroom, smearing moisturiser into her face – nothing out of the ordinary.

Everything was fine. Everything was going to be okay.

Ping.

Instagram: DylanFreeStylesSometimes has made a new post.

Yes. She had his notifications on. And, yes. She clicked that notif so fast she wanted to be the first to like it. Breeana wasn't afraid to look desperate as she was pretty sure she made it obvious she liked him.

Of course, the first thing that caught her attention was his eyes. God, the butterflies inside her stomach were going wild already.

He was in a car, another guy in the driver's seat bopping his head to the radio. It was nighttime, and Dylan was wearing what he wore the night he and Breeana spoke.

This was most likely before Nevra's party.

"So, some guy - I don't fucking know his name - has made the bold decision to talk some shit about me. Thinks it's weird that my friend group is a bunch of girls. Bro, I may not know your name, but I see your picture. Go touch some grass."

The driver chuckled.

So did Breeana. Her knuckle found its way into her mouth. God, he was so bizarre. Yet so - so cute.

And now she was getting carried away. She clicked into his profile, watching his entire story.

Things she learned about Dylan:

He watched Love Island (and shamelessly enjoyed it).

His favourite song currently was Earfquake by Tyler, the Creator (well, Breeana guessed, judging how many times he used it in the background of each post)

He believed, "there ain't nothing wrong with kissing your homies," and provided evidence – a quick clip of him and Cameron exchanging a small kiss.

His Mom made the best cornbread.

He was already pumped for another party.

And most importantly, he was single.

Well, Breeana guessed as much. That one magazine did say that if a man posted a pic of a tea cup in a dimly lit room, making something very mundane into something grim, it was a cry for help, a wish to not be single.

"... Don't be so ridiculous," Breeana sighed.

Her mind was getting carried away, so she clicked out of Instagram and...sitting her phone down on the counter; the light caught her charm bracelet, then catching her attention.

Her brows connected. Three charms…

That wasn't right.

"What?" She whispered, placing her hands on the sink and inspecting the counter. Maybe it had just disconnected from the chain while she was scrubbing her skin with the exfoliator.

Breeana tried to ignore the small amount of panic within, searching for just a glimmer of the missing charm, looking under the spare towels, behind the bottled products she had just smeared on her face, on the floor.

Nothing.

The sinkhole.

No. It wouldn't have. Surely, she would have heard it teetering around in the sink before falling down the hole.

So, where the fuck was it?

Breeana examined her bracelet – one bronze charm for herself, gold for her Father, Silver for her Mother…

But no champagne for Cymbeline.

Breeana's heart stopped, fingers clenched around the edge of the sink.

She wasn't the type to look this deep into things, but…

No. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be. This wasn't some sort of…some sort of warning. Just a weirdly timed coincidence, that was all.

She took a deep breath in. Her missing charm was probably in the garden or Cymbeline's room.

Lifting her lavender eyes up from the plug hole, Breeana inspected her reflection. Her skin had paled drastically. For a moment, she told herself to relax. Everything was fine still. Nothing freaky was going on.

But then…she just stared…and stared…

She was looking right at the image of herself in the mirror. But she wasn't seeing herself.

Behind her eyes, a thousand images flashed all at once.

Trees. Darkness. The moon. Butterfly wings. Bright colours. Flashing lights. Talons.

A wicked smile.

Cymbeline.

Gasping, Breeana snapped out of it. She could see her reflection again.

Once again, everything was fine. She was safe, just standing there in her bathroom.

So, why was she shaking?

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Staring up at her ceiling, Breeana knew she wouldn't get much sleep.

She couldn't stop thinking about it – the vision.

That's what it was, right? The young girl couldn't be too sure. Never had she experienced anything like this.

A quick Google search earlier in the night stated she either had bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. Although she couldn't really dismiss these possibilities, they were very hard to believe.

Now, her mind was restless. She tossed and turned, trying to think of anything but the things she saw. But no matter how many sheep she counted, how much she reminisced about school the last few weeks, her brain always managed to lead her right back to the visions.

They had to be related to Cymbeline or the missing charm. Fuck, maybe it was mental illness, Breeana's fear and anxiety messing with her.

Then again, she saw shit that had nothing to do with either her sister or the bracelet.

Amongst the images of blackened tree branches and multicoloured lights flashing too brightly, Breeana was sure she saw them…

A pair of green eyes…circled by the darkest eyeshadow…contrasting greatly…striking almost.

Just as she was getting carried away in her thoughts, her gaze drew to her bedroom door, which was wide open.

Cymbeline scampered by, not even looking into her baby sister's room.

Her footsteps were soft, creating no sound on the carpeted hallway ground. For how fast she moved past, Breeana still noted her sister's appearance.

The older Devlin sister wore her favourite gym shorts and baseball top, a look that could pass off as pyjamas. But draped over her arm was a leather jacket and, in her hand, her sneakers.

It was 11PM.

Breeana couldn't help it. She flung her covers back and raced to her door. "Cymbeline!" She whispered.

The girl didn't stop. It was almost as if she hadn't heard Breeana at all. She quickly made her way down the stairs.

But Breeana followed out of her room, goosebumps rising on her skin. She followed her sister downstairs into the darkness. Their Father had retreated to his own room hours before, exhausted from travelling. So it was just the two of them, alone together.

"Cymbeline!" Breeana whispered harsher.

Finally, stopping before the front door, Cymbeline turned to look at her sister. Her face was a mix of two emotions – frustration and guilt. "What?" She spat.

"Where are you going?" Breeana held her hands out by her sides in questioning. "It's late."

"Relax. I'm going for a cigarette." Cymbeline rolled her eyes, turning back to the front door and unlocking it.

Breeana's brows connected. Strange. Cymbeline had never smoked in her life, as far as her sister was concerned.

As if reading her mind, "Don't even think about telling Dad either. Or I'll tell Dylan about your little crush on him." Turning the doorknob, Cymbeline looked over her shoulder once more, this time smiling wickedly.

"Wha…How did you know - -"

"Come on, Bree. It's obvious." Cymbeline teased. "Now, hurry on back to bed. And, again, no word of this to Dad. Or by tomorrow, Dylan will know you as a stalker."

There was only one reason Breeana could think of as to why Dylan would never believe her – Cymbeline was her sister and would never make such an accusation. Even if she did, Dylan would only take it as a joke.

However, reasons why he would believe it – Breeana liked his Instagram post too quick, she watched his entire story, she had done both of these things having only spoken to him once, and, just as Cymbeline said, it was obvious.

All she could do was be obedient. She remained silent, watching her sister smirk and turn to walk out the front door.

And Breeana turned and made for the stairs…

But as soon as the front door clicked shut, she stopped, not by choice.

The temperature in the room had dropped drastically, or maybe…

Maybe it hadn't. For it almost felt as if something stood in her way. Someone.

They stopped her from moving further.

Go, a voice said internally.

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Breeana's heart was hammering in her chest. The cold was beginning to tear her up, just navigating the forest. She wasn't totally blind in the dark of the woods, but it was a miracle she could even see anything at all.

Her sister was right up ahead, not too far, not too close.

Why would Cymbeline choose to come all the way out here just to smoke a stupid cigarette? Surely she wasn't that worried about Melvino catching her.

The younger Devlin girl knew she needed to remain undetected if she was going to figure out where the fuck Cymbeline was sneaking off to. And yet, she wanted to call out to her, ask if she could come along under the false pretence that she was interested in this secret.

That's even if there is a secret. Breeana let out a breath of cold air as she stepped over a fallen tree log.

Cymbeline was still up ahead. Good.

Taking another step - -

Snap.

Her heart sank.

Cymbeline stopped. And she turned.

Breeana ducked for the nearest tree. No. She couldn't get caught now. Not when they were this far out.

With her back pressed firmly against the wood of the tree trunk, she covered her mouth with her palm. God, why was she scared? This was Cymbeline. Her sister.

Yet, she could already hear the roars of protest…of broken trust…of betrayal. She didn't want that, not after the exchange in Cymbeline's bedroom. Who knew what the girl would do when she was already so fired up.

A moment passed, and nothing happened. Breeana removed her hand from her mouth, curving her body around the tree. Cymbeline would be standing there, arms crossed and fire in her eyes.

She'd pounce.

She'd attack.

…But looking around the tree, Cymbeline was nowhere to be seen.

"What…?" Breeana's eyes widened. She moved out from behind the tree to where she had last seen her sister. Her lavender eyes darted all around, now desperate to find Cymbeline.

And when she couldn't see her, she began to run.

"Cymbeline?" She called out into the dark quietly.

No response. She honestly expected it at this stage.

"Cymb'?" Breeana was becoming more desperate.

When it was clear she had lost her sister, she stopped. There was no way she could search this entire forest and find Cymbeline anytime soon.

Well, part of her brain told her she could if she really tried, while the other half told her that…

This was Cymbeline. The girl was strong, once taking down the star football player for being a "homophobic little bitch”. Breeana watched her throw him into a locker, slamming the door on his head.

It was crazy, but in Cymbeline's words; gay rights.

So if she could do that to a tank of a boy, she could fight off any possible danger in this forest.

She felt bad, her stomach twisting, but Breeana turned, giving up her search. If anything, Cymbeline had finished her cigarette and was already on her way back to the Devlin house.

Yes. That was it.

She was probably already home.

#bratz fashion pixiez #bratz #bratz fanfic #bratz fanfiction #bratz breeana #bratz cymbeline #bratz lina

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tenelkadjowrites · 2 years ago

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hello!!! i hope you’re doing amazing <3 i have two questions, cause i’m obsessed with ur blog and you’re the sweetest human ever to answer things, so i’m not scared of u (some blog owners just kinda gives me not so good vibes)

first, have u ever considered writing a best friend’s brother fic? i can picture it with anyone u write, but fr i think san would stand out more for the role iykwim

also!! u don’t rlly write about the other members, is it because u find it harder to fit in one of ur works? or anything else?

anyways, i hope u didn’t find anything i’ve said here offensive or anything. have a good week <3

this answer is gonna be long so i'm gonna add a cut.

first off, thank you so much for calling me sweet <3 it is really important to me that this blog feels comforting and welcoming (as much as a blog can be with the type of smut i post lol.) and that ppl can feel safe sending in questions or comments or even just random things about ateez or whatever.

as far as writing a best friend's brother, i haven't written that trope altho i've written reader sleeping with their brother's best friend with the idol taemin and my current seonghwa fic i am working on is also reader with brother's best friend. i just haven't gotten any inspiration to write best friend's brother yet, i just kinda go wherever my brain takes me lmao. altho that trope does sound fun! def a lot of promise for something smutty and enjoyable lol.

as for why i don't write about other members, it isn't anything against them. i love every single member of that group, they are my comfort and a source of great joy for me. but my brain leans into seonghwa because, when it comes to idols, he is just very special to me. i feel a kinship with him (as much as one can with an idol you know from a distance) in that he is oftentimes the caretaker (as the older sister, i relate.) he is extremely considerate, thoughtful, kind, and loving. i love that he is so open with his emotions that he isn't afraid to cry openly (not to get too personal on this blog but i cry a lot whenever i feel the need to since its healthy to do so) and his dedication to ateez and atiny touches me. on top of that, i think he is an incredible performer and he has an energy to him on stage that speaks to me. and of course, i find him just...insanely attractive.

because of all those reasons, he ends up being my muse and my inspiration for my fics. when my brain lobs me an idea for a fic, it is typically tied to hwa. if i swapped hwa out for another member, it wouldn't feel "the same" in my brain and therefore i believe the work would suffer for it if that makes sense.

i have gotten asked before, on and off this blog, about when or why i won't write for other members to the point where sometimes i catch myself debating if i should swap hwa out for someone else for a fic due to demand. but then i think that is a disservice not only to the member i'd swap with, who wouldn't be getting the proper treatment i give all my fics and characterizations, but also to myself as a writer who is now writing for the blog vs writing for myself and then posting it on the blog on the off chance others might enjoy what i write.

i've also said this before but it bears repeating because it is truly important to me but writing is me. writing is my heart, my soul, my joy and my passion since i was around six years old. it's saved my life, it's given me purpose, it's given me a happiness nothing else has. i write these fics because of the pure joy it gives me and i try very very hard to stick to that and share the stories to hopefully give others comfort and a place to escape to during moments of their life where they want to shut the world out. so i stick to writing mostly hwa because that is where my heart and creativity lies and my work is better for it! <3

i know this answer was soooo long and i hope that is okay if you, or anyone else, took the time to read this lol! but i really wanted to give this a good answer! thank you so much for taking the time to send in thoughtful questions and i hope i answered them in a way that made sense. <3 have a wonderful night/day!

#asks #this is long as hell omg sorry

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meiko3323 · 6 months ago

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BINGO

boss makes a dollar, i make a dime, so i print out challenges on company time XD filled it in on my own time tho

all my hoyolab friends were doing this so i decided to join in 😸 would this also count as meet the artist kinda?

hm, lets see what i can elaborate on...

- i write/ draw w my left, but hold food utensils incl chopsticks w my right. and i use a right-handed mouse. but when i chop veggies or sth for meal prep i hold the knife in my left

- bilingual: i know russian and english fluently. my parents had a "no english at home" rule when my sister and i were growing up, which i found annoying at the time but now im pretty grateful to not forget my mother tongue, and be able to communicate w the extended fam back home

- im extremely near-sighted, im talkin i could hold out my own hand in front of my face and itll be blurry

- idk if this is dating me too much, but i played a lot of neopets when i was young. i had like 4 or 5 accts, and even got my sis into em. i remember sneaking onto the family pc to play, and then sneak away when i heard my parents approaching

- came out at 16, tho in hindsight the signs were there as young as like 5

- i indeed had a fursona in middle/high school, prob cuz i struggled w human anatomy and found animals much easier to draw 😅

- get it? caffeine + fiend = CAFFIEND :>

- im the older sister by 6 yrs

- ive talked abt my connection to ffxiv on here before, i played it intensely for abt 2yrs, even got into the raiding scene a bit. was a miqo'te white mage main until sage came out and i switched to that

- i LOVE exploration so all my genshin maps are 100% including all the special/ underground ones, i caught up just before fontaine released, and since then it takes me under 2 wks to catch up on any new map

- dont like makeup cuz im lazy and also why should i waste time putting all of it on, only to have to wash it off after? or forget and wake up w panda eyes 🐼 too much hassle =w=

- i currently have short hair. i started cutting it myself since covid cuz salons were closed and it was getting too long, i was startin to look like that aLiEnS guy 😂 and now it saves me time and money, and as a bonus i dont have to leave the house for it which is always a win (id prob be a complete shut-in if i didnt have to work lol)

- ive fallen out of trees twice, once at a friends bday party when i was abt 5-6, and another time when i was ehhh 12-13. im also generally quite accident prone (not quite benny levels but up there) tho surprisingly not broken any bones *knock on wood*

- surprise-surprise, am an introvert lmao. require plenty of time to recharge my social battery

- i enjoy me some alcohol, not unlike a certain bard ;3 i actually used to drink FAR more when i was younger. funny enough its thanks to videogames that ive managed to unintentionally cut bk (aka replace one addiction w another lol), like now im able to skip up to 3 days. and when i do partake its not as heavy as before, partly cuz im weary of hangovers, and partly cuz the sleepies hit me before the buzz and thats annoying :T but i still chase that boozy high

- hoodies and flannels are life, theyre so comfy! clothes-related sidenote: pants MUST have pockets or i refuse to wear em

- ive got 16mm gauges in my ears, i think thats 00G? currently wearing silver tunnels atm. i miss my grumpy cat plugs, but alas theyre only 10mm iirc

- ive got 7 piercings i think, lets count: 1️⃣ tongue, 2️⃣ left side lip, 3️⃣ right nostril, 4️⃣-5️⃣both earlobes (stretched), and 6️⃣-7️⃣ a double-helix (intentional for the pun lol) on my left ear. i used to have a second row on my lobes but when my gauges got too big i had to take em out. kinda wanna get em repierced at some point and put the little cuffs back. debating an industrial in my right ear too (goin for some as.symetry) also wanna get a second piercing beside my current lip one (apparently thats called a spider bite 😳)

- never learned to drive cuz either got driven everywhere by fam/ friends, or relied on public transit. plus idk if i trust myself behind the wheel, it feels like itd be too overwhelming x_x

- i enjoy me some vaping. in classic meiko fashion, prefer the *fruity* flavours. tho ive had a couple good menthol ones. not a fan of dessert flavours, theyre nice for a few hits but vaping it for an extended time gets too sweet. ive dabbled w a bit of cigarettes too tho not a fan due to the nasty aftertaste. i also enjoy me some hookah, tho ive not indulged in years

- ive dropped out of uni not once but twice 🙂

- i love plushies and used to have a pretty big collection of them ^w^ i still hold on to a few, id have more if i had space in the apartment for em

- DUH, i have a tumblr as well :3 lurked on and off for years

thank you to anyone that bothered reading all that, didnt expect id have so much to say abt myself. sorry for rambling endlessly ^^'

and thanks in advance to anyone that fills out the card, i wonder if there will be any bingos :D

#my art #bingo #bingo challenge #about me #hehe snuck in some arlefuri #this was fun

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orphancookie69 · 1 year ago

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Mike Dooley: Interview with a Past Life Regressionist

Your spiritual student always coming to you with another free event from Mike Dooley! This time it is an interview with a Past Life Regressionist. While, if I worked at it, I myself could do this-I am very excited to hear from a professional.

Introduction from Mike: Wonder is the golden key to all that your heart desires. Nothing holds one back more than a closed mind/heart. Big questions beget big answers! Get out of your own way towards success. We can transcend lifetimes. This is one big adventure into the illusions.

Introducing Marije: She is a past life regressionist. She is certified in Dolores Cannon Quantum Healing, why have I never heard of that before? That sounds amazing. Doorway book: Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian Weiss. She grew up with no religion and spirituality and used to not believe in reincarnation a decade ago. She found Dolores Cannon by a suggestion from her spirit guide after channeling. We are all gifted. Embrace the life you are living by asking your higher self what past life you should be reminded of.

The higher self is all loving, no ego, no limitations. Why did you choose you this lifetime? We are all here with a support system in a higher realm. Your higher self knows what you can handle and what you need to know. Your higher self wants you to trust your intuition. The frequency of earth has been rising, more people are tuning into their higher consciousness. We are in exciting times now and the years to come. You come from unconditional love. Learn from the journey to come back to the unconditional love.

You can do future live progressions or even go back to source in a session. There are different parallel universes you can visit. 2023 is a time of strong polarity, the best of the best during the worst of the worst. Dolores Cannon: 3 Waves of Volunteers. There will be an old earth and new earth. Choose the frequency of love. This has never happened before. Other space friends are watching the earth experience as it is important playground in the bigger picture of things. Don't choose fear, choose love. Love is new earth, Fear is old earth. An unprecedented split is coming. Stay centered and grounded. Be a bringer of light.

Ringing in the ears is just a different frequency. It is a sign you are going in the right direction and to New Earth. Soul families often reincarnate together in multiple lifetimes. The people we are closest with are the ones we grow from. I have seen some videos on TikTok saying that people debate where body parts are based on what earth you are in. Crazy.

Questions:

What if one can not be hypnotized? You go into natural hypnotic trance.

Are past lives species specific? You start as element. You make choices to have different lives.

Do we bring physical reminders of past lives into our current lives? Birth marks. Cells can have memories of past lives. Moles.

What if I was a bad person in a past life? Most of us have been.

How far back are you able to go? How many lifetimes have one had? Harder to tap into. It varies.

What if this is my first lifetime? Your first one is not human.

What if I don't see anything? It is feeling or knowing or sometimes seeing.

What if I am not too sure about reincarnation? There is a spectrum of believers. Access is all the same.

Do kids respond differently than adult? Readings are for adults only, kids have a grace period. Suggested after 18 years old.

Can you do your own regression? It is not common. With a guide, yes.

Will I remember everything? Yes.

Do our personalities stay the same when we reincarnate? It could be similar or different.

Can it be scary due to bad karma? Not in this kind of regression.

How do I recognize someone in my current life from a past life? Trust your gut. Or your reaction.

14 Day Past Life Regression Journey

This is a teaser for an upcoming course, but man that looks like a fun course. For a price you choose, money back guarantee. You just need an open mind and curiosity. I watched this live, and it had 20,000+ people watching! The chat and energy were great live. This interview made me want to finally start my past life regression class from Julian Jenkins. Loved this.

#spirituality #rant #mike dooley #interview with a past life regressionist #marije terulin #past life #reincarnation #14 day past life regression adventure #TUT #The Universe #Notes from the universe

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kaija-rayne-author · 1 year ago

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I’m also new to Dragon Age. I haven’t played the first two but I’m currently playing Inquisition. I should be finished by now but…I keep putting it off because I know the ending and it’ll make me sad XD

Yes…I am very much in Solavellan hell. Ironically I only started playing DAI because I wanted to write an analysis of Solas as a successful Twist Villain. Then the son of a bitch went and got me invested. I’m honestly so impressed with how Weekes handled his character. A weaker writer would have just let him be another MCU Loki Edgelord. Soooo glad that’s not what we ended up with.

I’ve been catching up on lore about the first two games because, thanks to my writer brain, I am an obsessive fan theorist XD

I just can’t not theorize. It’s so much fun. My fiancé and I (he’s played all the games) have been discussing theories left and right and there’s so much juicy potential for Dreadwolf. Like, dang. It’s going to suck waiting another year to see if any of those theories were close.

But mostly I just want to see Solas again and find out if we can save this idiot from himself 🫠

….also maybe from Flemeth.

I started playing DA in Aprilish of '23. I've had them forever, but just have never gotten around to playing them.

I had a friend who played suggest I play them all in order for story reasons and I'm glad I did. I'm debating restarting DAO, because I've read there's references all through the series to The Dread Wolf and I'm a sucker for more Solas anything 😅. (And desperate, not gonna lie.)

Solas really is a masterfully created character, such a fascinating blend of nobility, gentleness, and prideful flaws and gah!

I did the same thing 😅, kept putting off the end. I've actually played DAI 3 times now, my original Dorian Romance, then I got curious about what the big deal was with Solas. So out of curiousity (curiousity absolutely gets me into trouble, frequently) I did a Solavellan run. (Even knowing who Solas was!) And I landed myself on the Solavellan Hell train. I'm a writer and editor so I know all the tropes and can usually see the twists coming from miles out. Sadly, not a lot touches me anymore.

I honestly didn't think Weekes would add my heart to their very notched belt. But they're such a strong writer and made Solas so nuanced and interesting!

Weekes definitely impressed me on a professional level. Very, very few authors manage that anymore. (Do highly suggest reading the Dragon Age books too. Especially Weekes' Masked Empire. They give a lot more depth to the games/world. First book is a bit rough, but Gaider got better in the next two.)

I utterly adore theorizing and analyzing literature, movies, any kind of fiction, really. People sadly don't enjoy that aspect of my brain as often as I'd like.

I keep hoping my partner will play them. I really think he'd enjoy them. And he loves breaking stuff down as much as I do.

I'm trying to keep my hopes low for Dreadwolf, but yessss there's so much potential!

And I'm not buying the game unless I can somehow save Solas' dumb, stubborn, prideful ass.🤣

My third playthrough was 'make Solas hate me', and it was sooooo hard. I played a Qunari so I wouldn't end up Romancing the bugger again 😅. It was somewhat fun to antagonize Solas for a bit. But I was happy to finish it. The angry Solas lines in Trespasser are totally worth it.

TBF I only did the minimal necessary for the hate me run. I really didn't like him hating me 😅.

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lostinfantasyworlds · 3 years ago

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Hi! First of all, I just wanna say that UNTL is definitely one of my best reads this year. Thank you for sharing that masterpiece.

What should we look forward to next year? Any WIPs?

Omgggg I am so honored sldkfja;sd thank you so so so much 🥺😭 ❤️I just —

I do have a few WIPs and I will give little summaries of each under the cut!! They are in order of when I will most likely finish them)

Under the Northern Lights post-canon PWP oneshot - I’ve had all kinds of little snippets pop into my head of Inuyasha and Kagome’s lives together within the UTNL universe, and I always write them down. Most of them are smutty because I can’t seem to help myself hahahaha. This one is the most fully-formed idea that I had a few months ago, and wrote down a whole rough draft in my phone. It actually takes place on New Year’s Eve, which is why I was hoping to have finished UTNL well before the end of the year so that I could have posted this follow up oneshot on/around NYE, but OH WELL. It’s mostly just porn anyways, but includes a tiny hint of plot that actually ties in with the epilogue! (you will see a reference to “New Year’s” in the epilogue, so just know that you will eventually be getting to read the whole story 😉)

The First and Last - Modern AU that could either be a long oneshot or a multi-chapter depending on how long it ends up being. Currently it's only about 4.5k words, but still super rough so it could definitely end up being multi-chapter. I'm so excited about this one because childhood-best-friends-to-lovers is one of my all-time favorite tropes (Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable were my first ship before I even knew what shipping was...), and now I'm FINALLY going to have a story of my own using that premise! This story is inspired by the summers I spent as a kid at my grandparent's cottage in Maine. It was in a very tiny coastal town, and was on a quiet street with a few other summer homes, so I would see the same kids every year and we would all hang out. And I may have had a smol crush on one of the boys that I would see each summer😏. So this story is InuKag in a very similar situation!! I love this one and can't wait to share once I go back and fill in all of the middle parts 🥰

Sometime Around Midnight - Modern AU multi-chapter based on a song of the same name by The Airborne Toxic Event. I actually came up with this as my first multi-chapter AU back in January/February before UTNL randomly forced its way into my brain and took up my entire life for the rest of the year. I'm still really excited about this one, and have a whole elaborate backstory planned out, but am actually really stuck on how I want the plot to go past the initial couple of chapters (which starts off as pretty much just a retelling of the lyrics of the song). It won’t be super long, probably only 3 - 5 chapters, but I really can't decide on an interesting enough way to end it 😆. I'll figure it out eventually, though!

The Girl at the Rock Show - Modern AU enemies-to-lovers fic that I wrote for @goshinote’s birthday back in October! I was only able to get it to the point of being a super rough draft (that was still over 6k) by the time of her birthday, but I promised to get back and finish it eventually, which I still plan to do! I debated whether to publish it, since it’s very much written for Jane and her interests with lots of inside jokes/references lol , but I figure I might as well share it because someone else might enjoy too! The basic premise is that Inuyasha and Kagome are both working at a concert venue and do not get along at first. But....✨sexual tension✨is there and so begins a FWB type of situation that of course turns into something more...

A couple of canon-based very short oneshots - I have ideas for little missing scenes I would’ve loved to see in canon every so often, and have a couple of rough drafts written. One is my version of a little follow-up to the almost kiss in TFA episode 18, and the other is a post-canon idea of how InuKag’s first kiss might have happened based on the manga where they never kissed inside the jewel! Both are short and sweet and very fluffy. I started off with most of my ideas being canon-based, so I like to return to that as kind of my bread and butter after writing a lot of AU. I just love love love Inuyasha and Kagome’s dynamic in canon, and I consider it a fun challenge to write within that world and keep them as in character as possible!

Apart and Together (very tentative title, pls ignore lol) - This is actually the first fic I ever started writing after finishing the series! It is basically just my ideas of what might’ve happened during the 3 year separation, and how their reunion would have gone. It’s actually already like 20k words hahaha, but I started it so long ago when I knew nothing about writing, and have shifted my views on certain things, so it will require a lot of editing/restructuring to get it finished. Eventually!

Untitled Multi-Chapter epic-style long fic based on Darling in the Franxx - Post-apocalypse AU where demons (led by Naraku) have taken over the world and humans are forced to live in small areas under constant attack. Inuyasha and Kagome (and others) are paired up on a mission to gather fragments of the Shikon Jewel, in an effort to stop Naraku from getting them first. They don’t get along at all at first, but learn to trust and rely on each other over time, although they grew up as part of a selection of kids that were raised to be soldiers so they don’t know much about humanity/love/etc. Also there is a twist! The premise is loosely based on the anime Darling in the Franxx, minus the sexual robot stuff hahaha. This will probably take me forever to write tbh. I have a loose idea of the plot, but nothing really written so far. I want to write the entire thing before posting, so it might not end up getting posted next year but we'll see!

That is ALL of my WIPs that have actually been fleshed out into full story ideas! I have a handful of random scenes jotted down in my phone that could potentially become stories if I thought about them a little more, but I don’t like to have too many open WIPs at once, so I’ll try and get a few of those out before trying to come up with anything else.

Thank you SO SO much for this question, and for your support of UTNL! It means the world ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

#ama #ask me anything

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woman-loving · 3 years ago

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I’ve been reading some articles about lesbian identities in Indonesia, from the late 80s to the 00s, and wanted to share some quotes that highlighted a couple trends that I’ve also noticed in reading about butch/femme communities in other countries.

1) There are different expectations about sexual distinctiveness and marriage to men are attached to butch and femme identities. There is a greater expectation that femmes will marry men, and femmes more often do marry men, though some butches do as well. Marriages to men seem to be for convenience or in name only, and women may continue to have female lovers.

2) Distinctions are made between real/pure/positive lesbians (butches) and other lesbians (femmes) who are “potentially normal.” This shows the flexibility of lesbian identity, where they can be gradations and contradictions in what it means to be a lesbian (e.g. a woman being a lesbian but not a “real lesbian"). The category has cores and peripheries, rather than everyone being equally lesbian or else completely outside of it.

3) There are disagreements between members, which cross butch/femme lines, about the meanings of these identities and whose lesbianism or community involvement should be taken seriously. The first passage describes femmes as engaging in a “more active appropriation of lesbianism as a core element of their subjectivity.” The boundaries of lesbianism can potentially expand or contract as people struggle to define it.

4) People don’t always meet the community expectations attached to their identity.

I think these passages help complicate the picture of what lesbian identities can look like, and some of these same tensions and debates are common features of lesbian identity in many different cultures. I also think these issues--the (differential) weight given to relationships with men, the notion of positive versus negative lesbians, and the active appropriation of lesbianism by peripheral members--are relevant to bisexual interest, since these questions also shape bi women’s engagement in lesbianism/lesbian communities. (And we can say that without claiming that any particular women in these narratives are “really bisexual.”)

Anyway, without further ado... (this first one picks up right in the middle of a passage because I couldn’t get the previous page on the google preview :T)

From “Desiring Bodies or Defiant Cultures: Butch-Femme Lesbians in Jakarta and Lima,” by Saskia E. Wieringa, in Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices Across Cultures, eds. Evelyn Blackwood and Saskia E. Wieringa, 1999:

“[...]negative lesbians. We are positive lesbians. We are pure, 100% lesbian. With them you can never know. Before you know it, they are seeing a man again, and we are given the good-bye.”

Father Abraham, who had entered during her last words, took over. “Let me explain. … Take Koes. Again and again her girlfriends leave her. Soon she’ll be old and lonely. Who will help her then? For these girls it is just an adventure, while for butches like Koes it is their whole life.”“Yes, well, Abraham, … my experience is limited, of course, but it seems to me that the femmes flee the same problems that make life so hard for the butches. So they’d rather support each other.”

“In any case,” Sigit added, ‘they have become active now, that’s why they’re here, isn’t that so?” And she looked questioningly at the three dolls behind the typing machine, Roekmi and my neighbour. The most brazen femme had been nodding in a mocking manner while Sigit and I were talking.

“So we’re only supposed to be wives? We’re not suited for something serious, are we? Maybe we should set up a wives’ organization, Dharma Wanita,[23] the Dharma Wanita PERLESIN? Just like all those other organizations of the wives of civil servants and lawyers?” …

“Come on, Ari,” Sigit insisted, “why don’t you just ask them? You could at least ask them whether they want to join?” Ari found it extremely hard. Helplessly she looked at the other butches.

“Do you really mean that i should ask whether our wives would like to join / our / organization?” One of the butches nodded.

“Ok, fine.” She directed herself to the dolls.

“Well, what do you want? Do you want to join us? But in that case you shouldn’t just say yes, then you should also be involved with your whole heart.”

“You never asked that of the others,” the brazen femme pointed out, “but yes, I will definitely dedicate myself to the organization.” Roekmi and the two femmes at her side also nodded. (Wieringa 1987:89-91)

The above example is indicative of the social marginalization of the b/f community. it also captures in it one of its moments of transformation. The defiance of the femmes of the code that prescribes the division of butches and femmes into “positive” and “negative” lesbians respectively indicates a more active appropriation of lesbianism as a core element of their subjectivity. At the same time it illustrates the hegemony of the dominant heterosexual culture with its gendered principles of organization.

Yet, however much the butches conformed to male gender behavior they didn’t define themselves as male; their relation to their bodies was rather ambiguous. at times they defined themselves as a third sex, which is nonfemale[…]. [...] [Butches’] call for organization was not linked to a feminist protest against rigid gender norms. Rather they felt that nature had played a trick on them and they they had to devise ways to confront the dangers to which this situation gave rise. Jakarta’s b/f lesbians when I met them in the early eighties were not in the least interested in feminism. In fact, the butches among them were more concerned with the case of a friend of them who was undergoing a sex change operation. They clearly considered it an option, but none of them decided to follow this example. When I asked them why, all of them mentioned the health risks involved and the costs. None of them stated that they rather preferred their own bodies. Their bodies, although the source of sexual pleasure and as such the object of constant attention, didn’t make it any too easy for them to get the satisfaction they sought or, at least, to attract the partners they desired.

From "Let Them Take Ecstasy: Class and Jakarta Lesbians," by Alison J. Murray, in Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices Across Cultures, eds. Evelyn Blackwood and Saskia E. Wieringa, 1999:

Covert lesbian activities are thus an adaptation to the ideological context, where the distinction between hidden and exposed sexual behavior allows for fluidity in sexual relations (“everyone could be said to be bisexual” according to Oetomo 1995) as long as the primary presentation is heterosexual/monogamous. It is not lesbian activity that has been imported from the West, but the word lesbi used to label the Western concept of individual identity based on a fixed sexuality. I have not found that Indonesian women like to use the label to describe themselves, since it is connected to unpleasant stereotypes and the pathological view of deviance derived from Freudian psychology (cf Foucault 1978).

The concept of butch-femme also has a different meaning in Indonesia from the current Western use which implies a subversion of norms and playful use of roles and styles (cf Nestle 1992). In Indonesia (and other parts of Southeast Asia, such as the Philippines, Thailand’s tom-and-dee: Chetame 1995) the roles are quite strictly, or restrictively, defined and are related to popular, pseudo-psychological explanations of the “real” lesbian. In the simple terms of popular magazines, the butch (sentul) is more than 50% lesbian, or incurably lesbi, while the femme (kantil) is less than 50% lesbian, or potentially normal. Blackwood’s (1994) description of her secretive relationship with a butch-identified woman in Sumatra brings up some cross-cultural differences and difficulties that they experienced and could not speak about publicly. The Sumatran woman adopted masculine signifies and would not be touched sexually herself; she wanted to be called “pa” by Blackwood, who she expected to behave as a “good wife.” Meanwhile, Blackwood’s own beliefs, as well as her higher status due to class and ethnicity, made it hard to take on the passive female role.

I want to emphasize here that behavior needs to be conceptually separated from identity, as both are contextually specific and constrained by opportunity. It is common for young women socialized into a rigid heterosexual regime, in Asia or the West, to experience their sexual feelings in terms of gender confusion: “If I am attracted to women, then I must be a man trapped in a woman’s body.” Women are not socialized to seek out a sexual partner (of any kind), or to be sexual at all, so an internal “feeling” may never be expressed unless there are role models or opportunities available. If the butch-femme stereotype, as presented in the Indonesian popular media, is the only image of lesbians available outside the metropolis (e.g., in Sumatra), then this may affect how women express their feelings. However, urban lower-class lesbians engage in a range of styles and practices: some use butch style consciously to earn peer respect, while others reject the butch as out-dated. The stereotype of all lower-class lesbians whether following butch-femme roles or conforming to one subcultural pattern is far from the case and reflects the media and elite’s lack of real knowledge about street life. […]

The imagery of sickness creates powerful stigmatization and internalized homophobia: women may refer to themselves as sakit (sick). An ex-lover of mine in Jakarta is quite happy to state a preference for women while at the same time expressing disgust at the word lesbi and at the sight of a butch dyke; however, I have generally found that the stigma around lesbian labels and symbols is not translated into discrimination against individuals based on their sexual activities. I have been surprised to discover how many women in Jakarta will either admit to having sex with women or to being interested in it, but again, this is only rarely accompanied by an open lesbian (or bisexual) identity. I have found it hard to avoid the word “lesbian” to refer to female-to-female sexual relations, but it should not be taken to imply a permanent self-identity. It is very important to try and understand the social contexts of behavior, in order to avoid drawing conclusions based on inappropriate Western notions of lesbian identity, community, or “queer” culture.

From “Beyond the ‘Closet’: The Voices of Lesbian Women in Yogyakarta,” by Tracy L Wright Webster, 2004:

Most importantly a supportive community group of lesbian, bisexual and transgender women is essential, given that these sexualities are thrust together in Sektor 15. Potentially, a group comprised of women from each of these categories, that is lesbian, bisexual or transgender, may prove problematic to say the least, given that the needs and issues of each group are different. Clearly the informal communities already in existence in Yogya are indicators of this. Any formal or organized groupings would certainly benefit by modeling on current, though informal organisations. In the lesbian network, transgendered women (those who wish to become men or who consider themselves male) are not affiliated, however many ‘femme’ identified women who have been and intend to be involved in heterosexual relationships in the future, are among the group in partnership with their ‘butch’ pacar (Indo: girlfriend/boyfiend/lover).

Organisations of women questioning sexuality have existed in Yogya in the past. A butch identified respondent said she was involved in the formation of a lesbian, bisexual and transgender network in collaboration with another Indonesian woman, who also identified as butch, 20 years her senior. The group was called Opo (Javanese:what) or Opo We (Jav:whatever), the name highlighting that any issue could be discussed or entered into within the group. Members were an amalgam of both of the women’s friends and acquaintances. The underlying philosophy of the group was that “regardless of a woman’s life experience, marriage, children…it is her basic human right to live as a lesbian if she has the sexual inclination”. The elder founding member of this group, now 46, married a man and had a child. She now lives with her husband (in name only), child and female partner in the same home. Although this arrangement according to the interviewee “is rare… because the husband is there, she is spared the questions from the neighbours”. Here I must add that it is common in Java for lesbians to marry to fulfill their social role as mothers, and then to separate from their husbands to live their lives in partnership with a woman. This trend however is more common among the ‘femme’ group.

From "(Re)articulations: gender and same-sex subjectivities in Yogyakarta, Indonesia," by Tracy Wright Webster, in Intersections: Gender and Sexuality in Asia and the Pacific, Issue 18, Oct 2008:

Lesbi subjectivities Since gender, for the most part, determines sexuality in Java, sexuality and gender cannot be analysed as discrete categories.[64] For all of the self-identified butchi participants, lesbi was the term used to describe their sexuality. This is contrary to the findings of two key researchers of female same-sex sexuality in Indonesia. Alison Murray's research in Jakarta in the 1980s suggests that females of same-sex attraction did not like the term 'lesbian'[65] due to its connection with 'unpleasant stereotypes' and deviant pathologies.[66] In 1995, Gayatri found that media representations depicting lesbi as males trapped in female bodies encouraged same-sex attracted women to seek new, contemporary descriptors.[67] The participants in this research, however, embraced the term lesbi as an all-encompassing descriptor of female same-sex attraction and as Boellstorff has noted in 2000, Indonesian lesbi tend to see themselves as part of a wider international lesbian network.[68]

The term lesbi has been used in Indonesia since the 1980s, although not commonly or consistently. Lines, les, lesbian, lesbo, lesbong and L, among others, are also used. Female same-sex/lesbi subjectivities in Yogya are not strongly associated with political motivations and the subversion of heteropatriarchy as they were among the Western lesbian feminists of the 1960s. By the time most of the participants in this research were born, the term lesbi had already become infused in Indonesian discourses of sexuality among the urban elite (though with negative connotations in most cases), and has since become commonly used both by females of same-sex attraction to describe themselves, and by others. Most learnt from peers at school and through reading Indonesian magazines.

However, public use of the term lesbi and expression of lesbi subjectivity has its risks. Murray's research on middle to upper class lesbians suggests that females identifying as lesbi have more to lose than lower class lesbi in terms of social position and the power invested in that class positioning. This is particularly in relation to their position in the family.[69] Conversely, her work also shows that lower class lesbi 'have the freedom to play without closing off their options.'[70] As Aji suggests, young females, particularly of the priyayi class may not be in a position to resist the social stigma attached to lesbianism and the possible consequences of rejection or abuse. Yusi faced this reality despite the fact that s/he had not declared herself lesbi. Hir gendered subjectivity meant that s/he did not conform to stereotypical feminine ideals and desires.

With so much at stake, many lesbi remain invisible. Heteronormative and feminine gendered expectations for females in part explain why lesbians may indeed be the 'least known population group in Indonesia.'[71] Collusion in invisibility can be seen here as a protective strategy. The lesbi community or keluarga (family) is what Murray refers to as a 'strategic community' of the lesbian subculture.[72] The strategic nature of the community lies in its sense of protection: the community provides a safe haven for disclosure. Invisibility, however, also arises through the factors I mentioned earlier: the normative feminine representations of femme, their tendency to express lesbi subjectivity only while in partnership with a butchi, and their tendency to marry. Invisibility, as a form of discretion, however, may also be chosen.

Gender complementary butchi/femme subjectivities [...] Due to the apparently fixed nature of butchi identities and subjectivities and their reluctance to sleep with males, they are seen as 'true lesbians,'[79] lesbian sejati, an image perpetuated through the media.[80] Similar to the butchi/femme communities in Jakarta, in Yogya, butchi are identified by their strict codes of dress and behaviour which include short hair, sometimes slicked back with gel, collared button up shirts and trousers bought in menswear stores, large-faced watches and bold rings. Butchi characteristically walk with a swagger and smoke in public places. In her research in the 1980s, Wieringa noticed that within lesbi communities in Jakarta the strict 'surveillance and socialisation 'may have contributed to the fixed nature of butchi identities.[81] In Yogya, this is particularly evident in the socialisation of younger lesbi by senior lesbi (a theme I explore elsewhere in my current research).

The participants held individual perspectives on butchness. Aji's butchness is premised on hir masculine gender subjectivity and desire for a partner of complementary gender. Yusi expresses hir butchness differently and relates it to dominance in the relationship and in sex play. The participants who told of the sexual roles within the relationship emphasised their active butchi roles during sex. As Wieringa suggests, this does not necessarily imply femme passivity as femme 'stress their erotic power over their butches.'[82] It does, however, indicate one way in which the butchi I interviewed articulate their sexual agency.

Femme subjectivities, on the other hand, are generally conceived of as transient. As many of the interviews illustrate, femme are expected by their butchi partners to marry and have children: butchi see them as bisexual. In public, and indeed if they marry, they are seen as heterosexual, though their heterosexual practice may not be exclusive. In the 1980s, Wieringa observed that femme 'dressed in an exaggerated fashion, in dresses with ribbons and frills...always wore make up and high heels.'[83] In the new millennium, the femme I met were also fashion savvy though not in an exaggerated sense. Generally they wore hip-hugging, breast-accentuating tight gear, had long hair and wore lipstick and low-heeled pumps. Their feminine representations were stereotypical: it was through association with butchi with in the lesbi community that femme subjectivities become visible.

#what is a lesbian #butch femme #indonesia #lgbtq #wlw #lgbtq history

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thran-duils · 3 years ago

Text

Total Eclipse (P.3)

Title: Total Eclipse (Part Three) Summary: Fem!Reader x Sherlock Holmes (RDJ). Sherlock had an impression on the reader from a formative age but he was always so busy running with cases. Their moments of passions were coveted between the two but they were few and far between. He left with Watson on a case and in that time, her parents found her a suitable man to give her to. Wealthy and accomplished. Sherlock and her have not been able to let go of each other though. Words: 5,365 Warnings (for the whole fic): Angst, infidelity, smut, swearing, substance abuse, non liner storyline, character death, 18+ as always Author’s Note: This whole chapter is backstory, hence why it’s all italics. I got really carried away, my b. The next chapter will resume current time and the plot will move on there. Heavy angst this chapter and smut!

Part Two || Part Four || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Your family left you in London when they went back to the country estate after the season had ended. Your mother was hell bent on finding you a suitor and even in the off season, she wanted you in sights on the streets, at cafes, restaurants. She wanted you out of the house too, one less mouth to feed. Your family was well off enough, but she was growing more embarrassed about an imagined slight against her of you not marrying off younger. As if your martial problems were a reflection on her…. But that is what society saw it as and it was how she reacted.

Despite the passive aggressive hostility between the two of you, this was going to be a blessing. Your great aunt retired early in the night, and you were given more freedom. Not to mention your great aunt was far more progressive in her views. It was shocking to you in the first place your mother allowed you to stay with her at all without supervision, but you kept your lips sealed. You were not going to pass this up.

Standing beside your aunt outside the florist shop where she was examining the seeds for her spring garden to plant this fall, you listened dully to Emily, the florist, tell her the layout to have them planted for the best coloring. You felt the uncomfortable feeling of someone watching you. Turning nonchalantly, your eyes scanned the square lazily. You spotted a man across the square with curly hair and a large, overgrown mustache. You furrowed your brow if only for a moment at his blatant staring.

Tearing your eyes away from him to not invite conversation or any indication you were interested, you looked back to your aunt still speaking with the florist.

“Love, would you go across the square to get me a bun? It is driving me insane to smell them fresh,” your aunt told you, touching your arm gently. “And get one for Emily too.”

The last thing you wanted to do was walk away from her and have this man approach you, but you nodded. You made sure to not look in his direction as you walked across the cobblestone towards the bakery. Out of your peripherals, you caught movement in his general direction, and you scowled. You hated brushing off advances, but it seemed you were going to have to do it. He was certainly following you.

Walking into the bakery, you waited patiently while the baker helped the two people already ahead of you.

The air shifted at your back and you closed your eyes, readying for the drawling of a desperate man.

“So, you were left behind.”

The whisper caused you to burst your eyelids open and you turned halfway to face the man. You found it was the man with the large mustache but that was certainly Sherlock’s voice. You scanned his face and realized immediately you recognized his eyes.

Stammering, you asked, “W-what are you doing?”

“Is there a problem, miss?” one of the men who had been being assisted asked, stopping when he saw your state.

You recovered quickly and straightened. “No, no, sir. Sorry. I was just startled by my acquaintance. I did not expect to see him out and about… like this. I apologize.”

The man nodded and walked on, leaving you to narrow your eyes at Sherlock.

“Give me a minute,” you told him before turning back and walking up to the counter. You ordered your buns, adding a fourth, before coming back to him waiting. He gave you a curt nod gesturing towards the door.

As soon as you were outside, you stepped off to the side, out of sight from the window of the bakery.

“What are you doing? What is this? Are you alright?” you asked, throwing all these questions at him in a hushed voice. You held out the fourth bun to him and he eyed it before taking it.

“Much obliged. I haven’t had breakfast,” he told you. He touched at his mustache and said thoughtfully, “Although, I will have to save it. This will make it difficult to eat.”

“It makes you difficult to recognize!”

“That is the point of a disguise, Miss Y/N.”

“Why are you wearing a disguise at all?”

“Well, I can’t just be myself all the time following you can I? That would be suspicious. Especially if your escort continued catching sight of me.”

“And following me in a disguise does not scream ‘stalker’ to you?”

Sherlock looked taken aback. “’Stalker’?”

“Is that not what you’re doing?”

Sniffing, he said, “I was merely checking up on you. I hardly would refer to that as stalking.”

“How did you know I was staying with my great aunt then and not at my family’s home?” Sherlock was silent and you intoned, “That’s what I thought.”

“Well, I was going to invite you to a play but now I am having second thoughts.”

Your eyes lit at this, and you said, “What play?”

“I said I was having second thoughts.”

“Well, maybe I’m having second thoughts about getting you a bun,” you retorted, immediately holding out your hand for him to return it.

He frowned and held it tighter, causing you to smirk.

“You would need to sneak away from dinner tonight.”

“I’m going out to Sweetings with my aunt.”

“Makes it more difficult. What if I told you the play was tonight, and you could use that as an excuse? A date with a gentlemen?”

All it took was him walking you back to outside the florists shop and the two of you exchanging pleasantries, him inviting you to dinner, you telling him you would have to check and that you would send word. Of course, your aunt did not know he had given a fake address. She was questioning of his name you gave but she did not pry too deeply.

<><><>

Seeing Sherlock was again not looking at the stage, instead his eyes wandering around the theater, you leaned over, lips close to his ear.

“You’re distracted,” you whispered.

He turned his head and now your noses were almost touching. Your lips parted, eyes locked with his. He swallowed sharply, blinking.

“That I am,” he responded, flustered before pulling away much to your disappointment.

He grasped your hand, “Come with me.”

You almost protested as he pulled you from your seat. It was terribly rude to leave in the middle of a play, not only towards the actors and actresses but the people you were having to walk by. Sherlock did not seem to care though.

A man was following the two of you up the aisle and out the doors. When he started following the pair of you up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall, keeping distance though, you cleared your throat.

“Sherlock, I think we have a tail,” you whispered out the corner of your mouth, keeping stride with him.

“I’m aware,” he returned quietly. Louder in his normal voice, he asked, “Love, do you need to use the lavatory?”

“No?” you hissed at him, confounded.

He shot you a look and you took the hint, nodding. “Yes.”

Sherlock took a sharp left with you down the hall. “Well, let’s find them for you. I’ll wait here.”

He egged you on with an encouraging hand at your waist. You did what he asked to continue down the hall, your heart beating. He pointed at a door and gesture for you to go inside. As the door closed behind you, you were thinking wildly about what was going on? Did he even have a plan?

“You shouldn’t be here,” an unfamiliar voice said from down the hall back where Sherlock was standing. Your ear was pressed up against the door.

“And your employer shouldn’t have taken what he did. It has been quite the goose chase figuring out where the piece was.”

“Where’s your lovely friend?”

“Went on to find the lavatory.”

Suddenly you heard a loud grunt and a crash. There was scuffling outside, and you pressed your hands against the door, debating if you should open the door or not. What if he was getting hurt?

The noise stopped and all you heard was your pounding heart.

Until to your immense relief, you heard Sherlock said, “Took you long enough. Were you too caught up in the show?”

You barely got out of the way before the door was opening, Sherlock thrusting it open. You stumbled a little as you flung yourself backwards and he reached in quick, steadying you. There was not a mark on him.

He pulled you from the room and you were faced with the man that had been pursuing the two of you, slumped against the wall. And another man standing there, pushing his hair back into place to look presentable again.

“Watson saved the day,” Sherlock told you, giving you a grin. “Flatmate that I mentioned. He can be helpful at times.”

“Holmes,” Watson said exasperated.

“’Holmes’?” you questioned, smiling slyly at Sherlock.

He looked entirely displeased at you before he shot Watson an annoyed look.

“Yes, John?”

Oh… he was getting back at John Watson then for exposing him as either Holmes Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes. You believed the latter sounded more plausible.

Realization dawned on you then.

“Hey, I’ve heard of you!” you said in an excited whisper and your breath caught when he jerked you towards him.

“Darling, we must be quiet now. Watson caused some ruckus out here,” he informed you. That was until it registered to him what you said, and he cocked his head. He leaned in, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, and whispered, “Heard of me where?”

“The newspapers!”

“What newspapers?”

“Where you solved a case with Scotland Yard! You hid your face—”

“I always hide my face.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were an investigator?” you asked.

“I wouldn’t say investigator—"

“Holmes, we do not have time for this,” John cut in impatiently in a harsh whisper, catching both of your attention.

“Right,” Sherlock answered, looping arms with you, cutting your conversation off. That was intimate, it was unproper for men to do this for women they were not engaged, married, or related to.

Watson led you back down the hall towards the main drag. He was cordial to the passing workers who were fetching refreshments for the people in their boxes. He led the two of you up another flight of stairs to the third floor.

Sherlock leaned in and whispered in your ear, “Now, dear, there might be some more violence. I may have to shove you in another closet.”

“Or I can stay out here.” Sherlock looked at you surprised, and you told him. “I can be useful.”

Suddenly, he pushed you up against the wall as loud applause erupted, putting a hand up to block your face. John was beside the two of you now, further blocking you from seeing down the hall.

“He’s leaving the box. It must be in between acts. It has to be happening now. Now, there is that room at the end of the hallway. Is he heading there?” John said in hushed tones to Sherlock.

Sherlock peeked around Watson’s shoulder, eyes searching. “He’s going to the room. He’s got two men with him. Broad. Should be a good time. You’ve needed that jacket mended on the hem for quite some time though, so perhaps it’ll serve well to have it fully needing to be tossed out.”

Watson looked completely unamused at Sherlock’s comment directed at him.

To you now, Sherlock implored, “Seriously, Miss Y/N, I would encourage you to heed my advice and stay out here. It should not take too long for Watson and I to retrieve what we need to.”

Sighing disappointed, you told him, “Fine. Don’t get yourself hurt.”

Sherlock smirked, “That would be incredibly rude of me considering I need to escort you home.”

“It would,” you agreed, and he pulled away from you.

Watson was watching the two of you closely, looking interested.

They left you.

The minutes dragged on after they disappeared into the room. People were milling about in the hall, waiters offering drink. You meandered closer to the door, curious about what exactly it was that Sherlock was retrieving.

Suddenly, the door burst open, two figures coming tumbling out. People yelled in alarm, the crowd dispersing as they jumped back up to your feet. You recognized Sherlock immediately as one of them. He had blood on his cheek and he was disheveled. They came at each other again and tangled up, throwing punches. He was tossed back towards the door.

Looking around wildly, you spotted a large bottle of vodka on one of the waiter carts and grabbed it. Before the man could advance again, you brought it across the back of his head, the glass shattering and the vodka spilling all over the man’s clothes. But he was knocked out, his knees buckling beneath him and falling to the floor.

Sherlock was back on his feet, looking at you in shock for just a moment before he came forward in a rush, grabbing your arm. “Quickly now,” he told you breathless. “We haven’t much time until the authorities show up!”

In awe at what you had done, you let him drag you along.

“Where is Watson?”

“He’ll be along shortly.”

The two of you were out of the theater and out onto the street. You were stumbling trying to keep up with his fast pace. He led you a few blocks down before turning the corner into an alley. That was when he finally began to slow down.

“What happened?” you demanded after you caught your bearings.

“More than the two men that went in there with our target. Things got a little tricky.”

You took your glove off and used it to wipe at his cheek. He winced and he commented, “You’re ruining your gloves.”

“Your face is bleeding!” you protested. You saw the blood was originating from a rather large cut.

“Hardly noticed,” Sherlock responded. He cocked his head and said, “You certainly made that other man bleed with that bottle.”

“I told you I could be useful.”

“It seems that is so…”

You had cleaned up most of his face. There was nothing to do about his hair but that was no matter.

The further you were from the theater, the more you realized what exactly had happened, your excitement thrumming beneath your skin was switching from shock to thrill. You had been in a fight. There had been henchmen. Sherlock was a detective and had taken you along on one of his cases. Which raised the question.

“Why did you bring me along?” you demanded. “Did you know it would be this dangerous?”

“I needed a date for entrance. And one I believed I could trust. As for danger, it is usually lurking around every corner, so of course I anticipated it. But, the degree is always in question.”

“Trust? You barely know me. Also, Watson didn’t have a date?”

Sherlock pointedly ignored the last point you made, “I’m good at reading people. And you proved I could trust you, especially in a fight. Plus, you said you wanted adventure.” He tilted his head towards you, asking sincerely, “Tell me, how am I doing providing that for you?”

You yanked him to you by the lapels of his coat, your lips crashing together. He was stunned as you pulled away.

“That was so exciting!” you said, caught up in your emotion.

Someone cleared their throat. Watson was standing there further down the alley. Sherlock hands came up to yours still grasping his lapels and he pulled your hands away. His thumb caressed the hand further away from Watson, concealing the touch, before he let you go.

“Right, well, we’ve retrieved the stolen items. That’s what we came here to do, correct?” Sherlock asked, reaching into his coat, pulling out an extravagant necklace and earring set. “Shall we move further away from the scene of the crime? Preferably to make sure Miss Y/N gets home safely.”

He barely saw Watson move towards the pair of you before he looped arms with you again and began walking. The trio of you caught a Hansom cab to return you home. On the trip, you offered Watson your other glove and said, “Sherlock’s already bloodied the other one. They might as well match.”

Watson actually chuckled at that and took it from you gratefully, wiping at the cut on his forehead. You caught Sherlock was amused by your comment and you sent him a quick, close lipped smile before pointing out to Watson he had missed a spot.

When the carriage pulled up outside, you looked at Sherlock and said, “However will I contact you if you do not give me an address?”

“Bold of you to ask for a man’s address,” Sherlock commented.

“You’ve been using that adjective to describe me since the moment we met. And I’m merely asking in case I need a date somewhere and need one for entrance,” you said, turning his words back to him.

Sherlock’s eyes crinkled and he said, “Touche.” He leaned out the window, “The lady is getting out. After she does, 221B Baker Street.”

You opened the door yourself and got out before either of them could react. You turned back to the door and said, “Expect a letter then. Pleasure to meet you, John. Thank you for the invigorating night, Sherlock. I surely will not forget it.”

With that you closed the door, and turned, leaving them.

Inside the cab, Watson looked across at Sherlock who was watching Y/N go through the gate and up the stairs as the carriage took off again. Sherlock felt Watson staring and turned his head back when Y/N was out of sight.

“Wherever did you meet her, Sherlock? And how long has this been going on?”

<><><>

There were small get togethers still held in the off season, especially underground, and you had sent Sherlock a note, letting him know you would be at it, extending an invitation. You were on the minds of the hosts as one not to report debauchery, which is what this party consist of. And through them, you had secured that invite for Sherlock on your word he would not speak of what transpired there either.

You were accompanied by three girls younger than you, who were eager to meet some of the men attending. They cared not you were a tad older, actually were relying on you to give them guidance. They knew you were not a virgin and one confided to you she was not either. Your advice to them was to stay away from Lord Timothy and Mister Wilhelm… they both carried disease. The girls had giggled at first before they realized you were serious. You had been warned yourself by someone older than you during your first season.

You found yourself wandering through this party, keeping an eye out. He had responded he would attend. It would be the first time you would see him since Watson and him had dropped you off at your aunt’s after that night at the theater. It had been over a week.

There were card games going on, women sitting in men’s laps, libations and drugs passed around freely.

“My, my, a woman without thick or long sleeves and baring shoulder,” you heard him comment from behind you. Turning, he was standing, hands clasped behind his back. “You’re barely wearing anything at all… what would your mother say?”

“Barely wearing anything?” you repeated, coming to him. “I have a dress on!”

“But it is improper. The scandal!” Sherlock commented dramatically.

“You don’t approve?”

“I prefer it. Your skin is beautiful.”

That was the first time he had commented on anything other than your clothing and your heart jumped. You kept your bearings though.

Cocking an eyebrow, you asked, “Sir, I thought you said it was inappropriate to comment on features. You are so indecent!”

“Yet, you’re still standing here with me.”

“That I am… How satisfied you must be.”

“Quite.” His eyes were alight.

You shook your head, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “Well, are you going to offer to find us drinks?”

Offering his arm, you took it, allowing him to take you towards a table where one of the servers would come by to take an order. The two of you spent the next couple hours drinking and speaking in hushed tones about his work and what was going on with you and he even engaged in politics with you. Throughout the conversation, you had gotten closer to him in the booth, your bodies almost touching.

“You’re here with others…” he commented out of the blue. You confirmed you were and he asked, “Do they need you here?”

“Why?”

Sherlock’s eyes ran over the room quickly before he said, “I am growing tired of the crowd. You could sneak away with me? I have a carriage waiting outside and there is a vintage bottle of brandy at my residence.”

He was… inviting you back to his place? You would be lying if you said you had not been living that kiss over and over again.

Coy, you asked, “That seems a long time to ‘sneak away’.”

“Well, then you could go tell them you are not feeling well. I could pretend you spilled on me, offer to take you home…” he made a face and said. “Honestly, I could handle you even geting sick on me cause I packed a second waist coat.”

Laughing, you asked, “Did you plan this?”

“What would your reaction be if I did?” He examined you closely. He grunted lightly as you came close, your body flush against his. He looked at you in interest. “Forward as ever, are we?”

You slapped his chest and he grinned, taking that as a yes.

<><><>

“This is your place?”

“Well, I rent this room specifically. Watson has another,” Sherlock answered, tossing his coat on the back of a chair. His vest followed suit, leaving him in his dress shirt and suspenders. “You are not shocked by how unorganized I am?”

“There is a lot of things to look at,” you said honestly, picking up a leaf and touching the soil. “You could certainly water more though. That I will judge.”

“You’re quite mouthy.” You heard him popping the cork out of the brandy he had mentioned. “Especially for being the guest.”

“Are you complaining?” you questioned, throwing a look over your shoulder, watching him pour the pair of you small glasses. You were unsure you would be able to handle another drink; you were already buzzed, and you did not want to be too drunk for what you were expecting to come. You wandered further into the room, finding his bed.

You noticed the light film of dust across the pillow you were closest to. “Where do you even sleep? Do you ever sleep?” Running your finger across it, you rose your brows. You flicked the small dust gathering from your finger.

“Yes. But not there.” He was closer now, holding both glasses.

“Well, I hope to change your stance on that,” you said carelessly, tossing the covers back. You grabbed one of the pillows and shook it out before tossing it back.

Sherlock commented, “You are trouble.”

“Am I?” you asked, not looking at him still as you shook out another pillow.

Sherlock was quiet behind you as you began to undress. Your bodice was tossed carelessly to the side and you pulled your skirt over your head, leaving you in your undergarments. You tossed a look over your shoulder, finding him looking at you with rapt attention, his knuckles white on the glasses he was clutching so hard. Your lashes brushed your cheeks as you looked down at your petticoat, releasing it. Your corset and chemise followed, you kicking your heels off.

You turned, facing him, completely nude. You were baring your dignity and your body to him, hoping he would respond in like. He was transfixed and you took that as an invitation to crawl onto his bed, sitting back on your calves. You would be the one to mess it up, get him to sleep in it for the first time in a long time.

He placed the glasses down before turning back to you. He walked forward and you got up onto your knees as he approached. You gestured him closer, and he came to you. You pushed his suspenders off his arms, letting them fall to his sides. Your fingers found the buttons on his shirt, unbuttoning them, the two of your gazes locked. He let you tear it off, throwing it aside before you went to work on his sacks. His hand gripped your wrist as you went to free him from his slacks and a grin broke out.

You kissed the tip of his nose and asked, “Why are we stalling?”

“I’m just thinking of you getting caught. And your family asking for me to hang—”

You silenced him by shoving your lips to his, and he grunted at the impact. He quickly fell into it though.

Good. You had succeeded in getting him to shut the hell up. If even for a moment. You pushed at his slacks and he got the message, pushing them down himself and kicking them off along with his shoes.

You pulled at him, and he followed you, not wanting to let you go. His dick was growing hard, brushing against your skin as you brought him onto the bed. Lying back, he came in between your legs, hovering over you as the two of you were locked in passionate kisses.

His lips trailed up the inside of your thighs. His lips were soft, yet you shuddered at the brush from the stubble of his beard. He kissed up your stomach again, coming up between your breasts. He found your mouth again, his tongue slipping in.

He sunk into you slowly, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you took each inch, breathing steadily. His lips peppered your shoulder, before sneaking back up. Sucking roughly at your neck, his teeth drug as he drove into you at a slow, steady pace. Small noises left you as you adjusted to his width.

Sherlock was lustful but he relied on passion rather than rough thrusts. He drove deep, holding you securely.

“On your back,” you rasped, wanting to please him.

He followed your order and you found yourself on top. You took him again, sinking into his length. You rode him, moaning, fingernails digging into his chest. His hands were gripping tight at your thighs and hips, low groans emanating from deep in his throat.

You stared into his eyes as you repeatedly sunk onto him, breathless and full of him.

<><><>

Nervously, you sat down on the bench beside Sherlock. He had sent you a note, somehow getting it into your bedroom without anyone in the house noticing. He had been away on a case and during that time, your hand had been forced finally. He looked bleak.

“I saw you are engaged.” He sniffed indignantly, looking out over the water. So, that is how he was going to greet you, cut right to the chase.

“You had time to be the name opposite of mine in that announcement.”

The two of you had been sneaking around either to meet each other for midnight trysts or accompanying him for over a year and a half. And during that time, you had convinced your mother to let you stay at your aunt’s, which granted you the freedom to do so.

He looked piqued. “I told you I was not ready. And I told you I would not be suitable for your parents. You needed to allow me to assist you in finding fortune to raise funds for yourself before moving out.”

“I was caught sneaking out with you.” He looked at you stunned, and you said, “Yes. Our time at The Everlade. Right before you went on this last case. I walked back inside the back door and my aunt was waiting there. There had been too many late nights and the staff had gossiped to her. It was the last straw… I was cornered and I was accused of sleeping around and I didn’t get out to or send you a note to tell you before you left.” He was silent still and you said, “I didn’t give your name up if that is what you are worried about.”

“Of course that’s not what I’m worried about,” Sherlock scoffed immediately.

“I had to choose between my great aunt telling my parents I had been sleeping with someone or behave and take the proposal she had been offered on my behalf.” You noticed the look on his face and sighed heavily. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sherlock. I had no choice! And did you expect me to become a spinster?”

“I am years your senior and I’m still single,” he argued.

“You’re also a man.”

“You evaded it — marriage, the dredges — for years.”

“I did. At the whim of my parents! I cannot get a place on my own. And if word got around that I was being… loose,” Sherlock bristled at the term because sleeping with one man was not being loose but outside of traditional marriage – something he did not abide by which influenced his feelings on the matter – you were as good as a harlot. And that is what society believed so it was what you had to play by. “I would have been ruined.”

Sherlock huffed.

“It’s true and you know it! I was stuck under their roof! All that time. And we had something, something great. And then I got stuck under that proposal!”

“You could have moved in with me.”

“Oh? To a place with two men? That’s what I could’ve done? That would have looked savory, Sherlock! So then not only would it have been one man I was sleeping with, it would have been two!”

“There’s an attic!”

“You wanted me in the attic?”

“Of course not!” Sherlock snapped sourly. “But it would have been the convenient excuse.”

“Except for your house maid.”

Sherlock scowled at the mention of Mrs. Hudson.

You turned to face him more fully and for the first time he looked at you completely. “Propose to me.” He was stoic and you reached for his hand. “If I had another proposal—"

Sherlock pulled his hand away and you felt a deep pang of hurt. He was gruff when he said, “Your parents won’t accept it. I know who Arthur Cole is. Read up on him. He is drowning in his lineage’s fortune.”

Of course, he was right. They had been overjoyed at the proposal, knowing not only that you would be set financially but they would benefit from it as well.

Your voice was meek when you agreed, “No… they won’t.”

“Then it’s settled then. I knew how this would end.” He cleared his throat and you saw his eyes were wet and your own were following suit, devastated at what was happening. He could not even look at you when he said, his voice barely above shaking, “It does not make it hurt any less.”

He got up from the bench quickly. “Good day.”

“Sherlock. We do not have to end like this,” you protested, reaching for him again but he was out of your reach. You got up now and pleaded, “I do not want to not see you.” He continued walking off and you followed a few steps, trying again. “Sherlock, please!”

You were only met with silence and your feet came to a stop. It would not look good for you to be running after him, especially now since that word could get back to your fiancé. So, your breath shuddered, watching him walk further and further down the path, leaving you behind.

~~~

Fic tags: @undecidedsworld @mcnegan

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes rdj #rdj sherlock holmes #my shit

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