#Sheridan had me worried there for a minute but we got there

[daenerys-targaryen]

I LOVE WINNING!!!!!!

[carmenized-onions]

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                    Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

 You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.   

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

[wall-legion]

The Space Between

It had been a long day at the soap shop, and everyone was exhausted by the time the sign was flipped to "closed". So many people had stopped in to pick up last minute gifts, and many were not as patient as they could have been about the shop being low or out of products at that point in the day. "Does anyone want to actually go out and celebrate tonight?" Leyya asked as she watched Odetta come into the back and slouch into a chair. "Sheesh, kill the vibe more." This came from the meerkat perched in a tube near the ceiling. "No one asked you, Cepir. And you lost your stupid hat." "Ah! My fez!" From the other end of the table, Zojja shook her head and laughed. "Don't let him wind you up like that. Besides, there's still time to freshen up. Soon as Sheridan's done, one of us can." "Don't worry about me." Odetta finally looked up from where she had collapsed onto the table, head on her folded arms. "I'm not going anywhere but to bed with the leftover scones and tea." Zojja glanced from Odetta to Leyya, as the other asura shrugged. "But what about Zio and Iialli..?" "He's new, so of course he got assigned duty tonight. And Iialli is busy at Pheazza's because a ship came in with new inventory." "I see..." Leyya looked up as Mabon drifted in from the kitchen, sporting an apron that read "Mursaat do it Unseen". "Mabon, what are your and Sheridan's plans?" "Oh, nothing complicated. I plan on enchanting myself to look like a sylvari so we draw less attention, then wine and sweets on the beach. Why?" He looked at Odetta as she groaned softly. "...have I said something to offend?" "No, because that sounds wonderful!" Odetta sat up. "What about you two?" she asked while gesturing at the two asura. "Oh, we'll be heading to the Grand Piazza for an event! A combination fig tasting from an orchard in Cantha and lecture about mutualism!" "Don't think about it," Leyya muttered. "Why?" Odetta just stared at Leyya, face full of confusion. "You don't... oh. You don't know. Never mind. We'll bring you back some figs if we can." Odetta frowned, both at Leyya and at Zojja as she muffled a snort of laughter. "Okay. Thank you. I think." At that point, Sheridan came all but tumbling down the stairs and beamed as they caught sight of Mabon. "I'm ready!" "I should say," Mabon replied with a chuckle. "You're certainly eager." "You two have a good time," Odetta said as she made herself smile. "It sounds like you're in for a lovely night." "Thank you Odetta." Sheridan stopped briefly to give the woman a hug, as Mabon worked his magic to transfigure himself into a tall male sylvari with silvery birch skin. "We'll see you later!" "We should be off as well." Zojja got up from her seat. "Don't want to be late, after all." Leyya reached out to pat Odetta's hand. "I'm sure you'll have a nice evening in spite of everything," she said. "Chin up." Odetta watched them depart, locked the door behind them, and then set herself to cleaning the shop. Once that was done, she retreated into the kitchen to finally make herself tea, only to hear someone knocking. "You gonna get it?" She sighed before looking up at Cepir, who was lounging in his 'kitchen globe', an orb that Mabon had crafted and added to the pipe network so he could be included when everyone gathered in there. "I am considering it." "Well consider faster. They're knocking hard enough to rattle the walls." She rolled her eyes, but went to the door. She unlocked it and pulled it open hard, eyes shut while raising her voice. "We are closed-" "Even for Valentine's gifts?" She finally opened her eyes. Iialli was smirking and holding a box of chocolates, while Zio was standing over her and grinning as well, a bouquet held in his hands. "I... I thought you two had work," she finally managed. "Phee said she would manage without me. Can't speak for him." "I let the Zio charm do the work for me." Odetta folded her arms across her chest. "So you're in trouble." "Probably." He started to turn away. "Do you want the flowers or not, princess?" She grinned for the first time in hours. "Get in here, you two."

[forever-rogue]

OKAY blurb/fic request. Stealing Javis cigarettes. Not the whole pack but just one when you want one and you and Steve just watch as he tries to figure where they are going. Or something along the lines of that . Just some plain old goofy office pranks/ partner teasing

Stealing Javi’s cigarettes? Teasing? I got you covered 😌

Javier x Fem!Reader; warnings: smoking, slight language, sex themes

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

Stress.

It was the least you could use to how you were currently feeling. Nothing but dead ends and dead bodies had been turning up over the couple of weeks. And you were on thin ice. Well - you, Javi, and Steve.

And while you had a moment alone, you remained in the silent office, letting your thoughts wash over you, laying your head on the desk and practicing your breathing for a few moments. It was then that you took a look at Javi’s desk and found his pack of cigarettes discarded and tossed onto the middle. Strange. He usually always had them tucked into his back back pocket for easy access. He must have forgotten them.

Drumming your fingers along the top of your desk, you contemplated taking one. Unlike your two partners, you were not a big smoker, only partaking socially or on the rare occasion when your will was comprised and you just couldn’t help yourself.

Like now.

One couldn’t hurt.

He probably wouldn’t even notice.

Jumping out of your office chair, you darted across the room to his desk and snatched the box, popping it open and snatching out of the few remaining sticks. Shit. Maybe he would notice. Or hopefully he’d already have another pack at the ready.

It was already too late, you realized as you held the cigarette between your lips, bringing the lighter to it and inhaling deeply. Tossing the lighter back down, you sat on the edge of Javi’s desk and took a long, deep drag before exhaling heavily and wiping at your tired eyes. You were sure you looked as bad as you felt.

“Hey,” Steve’s gentle voice quickly pulled you of your thoughts as you turned to him with a sheepish expression. Ever the federal agent, it only took him a few moments to put two and two together, “don’t let Javi see. He’s already looking for any excuse to lose it.”

“I couldn’t help it,” you groaned as you walked back to your own desk, “one moment of weakness and he’s going to chew my ass off.”

“Not you,” Steve snorted lightly, “we both know that.”

“We’re not-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he cocked an eyebrow as you sat back and put your feet on your desk. Whatever you and Javier had was...something. Both simple and straight forward, but also incredibly complex, like the two of you were constantly walking on glass around each other, “we’re not dating, Steve.”

“You’re not not dating,”  he insisted with a little smirk as you mouth his words back in a low, mocking tone. He only laughed as you sighed and looked at the ceiling, “whatever you guys want to call it, it’s something.”

“Sure, Steve,” you sighed softly, “just don’t tell him about this, yeah? I’m hoping he won’t even notice. If nothing else, I’ll go and buy him a new pack.”

“I saw nothing,” he gave you a small salute as you turned back to your paperwork, trying to quickly finish the cigarette before Javier returned it.

Sure enough, within a few minutes, Javier stormed back into the office, stopping at the door and glancing at the two of you. He huffed as the two of you only gave him small nods of acknowledgment but remained engrossed in your work. Your heart skipped a beat as you were sure he expected you to say something - anything - but you choose not to.

Slamming himself back down in his chair, he reached for the pack to grab his own cigarette. He paused for a moment as he appeared to do a quick inventory, brows furrowing when he appeared to notice something was off. But if his suspicions were raised, he made no comment and just started worked.

Crisis averted. For now.

Steve caught your eye for a fraction of a second, a little smirk tugging on his features as your eyes widened in a silent plea to remain inconspicuous. The room in the air was thick and tense, but no one said anything, luckily, as you all went back to work.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next several weeks weren’t much better. Each day was just as hectic and chaotic as the next, with barely a moment to breath. And although you hadn’t wanted to succumb to your primal needs, you caved and started to pick up a new smoking habit. Still nothing compared to Javier or Steve, still not enough to have your own pack on you. Instead, you took them from Javier. At first it was just one then, but then it almost turned into a little game with you and Steve, to see how long you could keep this going on.

Today? Today you were almost desperate for a quick smoke. Groaning, but quick on your feet, you sneaked over to Javi’s desk and reached into his desk drawer to pick up the pack you knew he had stashed there.

But it wasn’t there. Nothing was besides the usual mess.

Fuck.

“Looking for these?” Javi’s voice reached your ears and you immediately froze as you slowly looked up and met his eyes. A warm flush washed over you, as he displayed the box of cigarettes you had been looking for.

Caught red handed.

“Umm...” you gave him an innocent look as you he came closer and closer, effectively trapping you behind his desk.

“I was wondering where these were going,” he smirked as he tossed the new pack onto the desk, “but you didn’t make it very hard to figure out. Sneaky little thing.”

“It was an accident?” you tried as he sat on the edge of the desk, his dark eyes watching you like he was the hunter and you were the weak prey caught right in his grasp, “umm...a moment of indiscretion.”

“Many moments of indiscretion,” he raised an eyebrow before reaching up and grabbing your chin, a firm but still gentle gesture, as he forced you to look at him, “you could have just asked.”

“Wasn’t as fun,” you swallowed thickly, feeling heat pooling low in your belly as you could already see where this was going. And damn, if you didn’t like the thought of that. He chuckled darkly before letting you go and quickly darting his tongue out to wet his lips. It was a habit that you had picked up on a long time ago, but it still made you heart flutter every dam time, “maybe I wanted to get caught.”

“Did you want to get caught?” he asked as his hands found your waist and he pulled you closer to him. You could feel his body heat radiating onto you and it was enough to send shivers up and down your spine.

“I like when you get mad,” you confessed as you played with his tie, tugging on it gently and pulling him almost to your lips. It was just enough to where you could feel his ghost over yours, but you weren’t going to be the one to make the first mouth, “you always fuck me right when you’re mad.”

“If that’s what you wanted all you had to do was ask,” and then he closed the gap between the two of you and crashed his lips onto yours, his hands moving to your backside as he squeezed the soft flesh, causing you to groan into his mouth.

“Javier,” it was nothing more than a soft, reverent moan as you pressed yourself against him, “please.”

“Ahh, sorry baby, we’re in the office,” he let you go completely, causing you to huff in annoyance, “guess you’ll just have to wait until later.”

“You’re an asshole, Javier!”

“And you’re a sneaky little thief, so I guess that makes us even” he pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving you slightly out of the way to sit back down in his chair. You made a small sound of annoyance as you stared at him in disbelief, “did you need something, sweetheart? If you want a cigarette, help yourself.”

“That’s not what I want and we both know it.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re all out of luck,” he said casually, “until later.”

“I hate you,” you stuck your tongue out at him as you went back to your own desk.

“I love you too, baby,” he shot you a wink, “I’ll make it up to you later. Don’t you worry.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[phoebehalliwell]

Ok I feel like I gotta do Prue/Jack + S4 (where Ptue doesn’t die 🥺)

hmm i feel like this is really inchresting to do because like What would the tone of s4 be if prue lives are we still doing the source as the main plot bc let’s be real a lot of that plot was just them grieving prue really the only reason the source moved that fast was he needed to strike before paige was fully trained i’ve also stated before i don’t think we’d get queen of hell phoebe without prue’s death bc i think a really crucial element of her relationship with cole as things spiralled was prue’s death phoebe needed something she felt she could hold on to a family of her own that wouldn’t die on her. so i really dk how s4 would be structured i’m just gonna say it’s a little more episodic more like s3 than s4 and um that’s all i’ve got so far

okay so basically um. prue’s last relationship was jack. & not for lack of trying there were many one time appearances sometimes the occasional two time appearance but she just like. is not finding connection with anybody

so we’ll say in a sense of like. detoxing. like maybe all these men are empty because she doesn’t know what she truly wants she’s going to take a step back from dating which is just a sorry excuse for her to throw herself more into the craft and into work she’s going like 100mph with just like no sign of stopping and both piper and phoebe are looking at her like that concerned monkey puppet giving the side eye because like. this is so not sustainable.

but like. she needs to like. not die she needs to not die before she gives her life some meaning hopefully she’ll find that in photography and you know with all this witchcraft she’s kind of secretly hoping in the back of her mind that if they defeat the source she’ll be able to find love again she’ll be able to be prue again bc lately she doesn’t really feel like anything anymore she hasn’t been sleeping much lately she hasn’t really been doing anything other than work, whether that be mortal or witchy

anyways. we’ll say there is an innocent under attack by the demon of the week n who should that innocent be other than one jack sheridan who is just like. completely floored by the fact prue is a witch. actually scratch that you know what this all makes perfect sense this is why you were always running off to disappear is this how you got that collection in the ms. hellfire episode that time you had a baby was that even your cousin like. this all makes so much sense. except for the magic part what the fuck.

and like. the have to watch him so he doesn’t die and both piper and phoebe immediately turf that duty to prue like you were the one that dated him and prue’s like no no no leo leo can you watch him and leo’s like sure : ) and then like ten minutes later like gets a whitelighter call and he’s like actually i can’t watch him and prue’s like fuck and jack’s like hey did you know that guy was born in like 1920?

and it’s just like. god prue really doesn’t want to be there because like. no. not now. dude she’s so focused she’s so honed in she can’t i mean jack no not now he’s such he’s such a distraction a nuisance he’s. she can’t do this now.

and like. jack’s well aware she’s trying to pass the job onto someone else i mean how else do you get stuck with the brother in law so he’s just like are you really that scared of rekindling old romance and prue’s like no i’m just worried that i’m going to be exposed to how insufferable you are and knowing that i dated you for a very Very brief period is going to make me die from the embarrassment of it all and jack just smiles like yeah i missed you too and prue really tries not to smile back but it’s not working which only makes jack smile more because god for some reason no one gets under her skin quite like him

and piper and phoebe are making fun of her from the doorway while also pretending to be too busy to be able to deal with that

so idk prue’s like doing witch stuff to make sure he doesn’t die and jack’s just really fidgetity because like. he hates not being able to do stuff like he always does Stuff and he can’t do anything literally this is so fucking boring aaaaaaaa and prue’s kinda laughing from her cauldron because she never really noticed how much you know jack hates being useless being stagnant because he always comes off as like. such a useless man but thinking back to their time at bucklands oh shit yeah. he is kinda like that.

speaking of work,, oh shit!! there’s a very important photography thing that she’s supposed to be doing right now but she forgot bc she’s like. babysitting her ex right now fuck fuck fuck fuck she can’t like. abandon the task at hand and jack’s like it’s okay i can handle this work thing and prue’s hella hesitant to let him bc it’s her Job that shit’s insanely important and he’s like hey do you trust me or not partner and prue’s like fine bc what other option does she have and honestly? she does really trust jack he’s saved her ass more than once at bucklands like. she trusts him

so jack does that everything goes over smoothly he poses as like her assistant yeah ms. halliwell is away at the moment can i take a message and prue’s rolling her eyes in the corner but this is really the first time jack is exposed to prue’s career in photography and he’s like prue this is really good i mean this is Really Good i mean not that i’d really expect anything else but like. wow <3

and prue’s just like yep thanks well leo’s back so gotta run byeee and jack’s like cool 😐✌ and she is outta there faster than a bat out of hell and piper and phoebe who were eavesdropping the whole time are like ???? where are you going and prue’s like to go do this to go do that you know some really flimsy excuse and they’re like?? anyone could have done thatare you running from jack?

and prue’s like no. and they’re like you totally are dude wtf i thought you were just complaining about how you can never find a spark with anybody and now they last guy you had any real chemistry with lands in your lap and you’re pawning him off on leo?

and prue’s like what do you want me to do? what, rekindle romance until the demon’s vanquished and then never seem him again? no? then what? keep him around until a demon actually succeeds at killing him why would i do that i’m not gonna keep him around just so he can die

and both piper and phoebe definitely have that awakening moment like ohh those andy scars run deep huh (but this also signals that we’re placing him on a level with andy aka signalling some endgame type shit) and prue has never really vocalized any of those thoughts hell she didn’t even quite realize she had them but like. shit. it’s true!!

and piper’s like it doesn’t have to be true and prue’s like well it is. anyone we love dies. you’re just lucky bc your husband’s already dead and piper’s like well i mean like and prue’s like no think about it think about everything that happens in this house everything we go through and you think Jack can weather that?

and phoebe’s like well does he want to? and prue just looks at her totally dismissive and phoebe’s like well no because if he wants to then i think he can like. he’s not going in blind right he knows we’re witches he knows there are demons he’s being hunted by one now like. if he’s still willing to stay after all that shouldn’t you at least give it a shot

and prue oh god she so doesn’t want to because if she does open herself up to that possibility and then jack very understandably says no this is too much i’d like to not die thank you tho she doesn’t want to do that.

anyway. we defeat the demon blah blah blah and we have prue back at jack’s house like okay well it was really good to see you great job not dying um. see you again??? because like. will she see him again? and jack’s okay the demon’s vanquished? and prue’s like yes. and jack’s like so nothing’s going to jump outta my walls and drag me to hell in the middle of the night? and prue’s like probably and jack’s like probably?? and prue’s like well i don’t want to make any major promises there’s always a slim chance that Could happen and jack’s like well okay i feel like i would kinda want a super powerful witch by my side in case that does what my chances of that and prue’s like actually, keeping me around only increases your odds of being killed by a demon and jack’s like oh. you wanna stay anyways?

and it’s a redux of heartbreak city where they just like. talk. like that’s it and it’s been so long since prue’s had a conversation this long like it’s insane how much she just like missed this how much like. like how much she genuinely enjoys being around him. n then she like. falls asleep. just conks out

and 7:30am jack’s phone is ringing off the hook and jack answers it like hello? and piper’s like hi are you still alive and jack’s like morning to you to yes i am and she’s like is prue there? and jack’s like yeah she’s alive too do you wanna talk to her and piper’s like yes

& he hands it to prue who’s still like very much asleep and she’s like mmhello and piper’s like hi?? and prue’s like is there an emergency and piper’s like well it’s past seven and you aren’t already on your third cup of coffee i was worried you had been killed or something and prue’s like ha ha. i was asleep. and piper’s like asleep?? prue you never even sleep anymore and prue’s like oh yeah hmm. bc tbh she’s still kind of asleep she’s not at full cognitive function so she’s like nothing’s wrong and piper’s like no nothing’s wrong and prue’s like okay i’m going to go back to sleep then

anyways she gets home at like. 11. and piper and phoebe are losing their Shit like prue!?!? and prue’s like what?? we didn’t even have sex (piper begrudgingly slides phoebe a tenspot) i just fell asleep whats the big deal and piper and phoebe are like !!!!!!!!!!!

idk n then they like. go on to do the casual cat and mouse type game bc neither of them wants to run back into a relationship bc well jack fell really in love with her last time and honestly he still is he doesn’t know if he has it in him to be left by her again pure on the flip side like a) doesn’t want jack to die but also b) doesn’t want him to leave

so they’re not Dating but they also just keep ending up together bc they like each other <3 but no not like that they’re not dating no just friends haha yep friends yeah just two friends who look like they’re both pining for each other but not in a not in an i’m in love with them way lol just in a you make me feel safe and comfortable like i’m at home but also you still manage to keep me on my house and you always make me smile kind of way you know pssh no big deal

idk we get a big moment where um. shure we’ll say we’re getting ready for the final battle with the source and prue’s like okay well fuck it because i might die and i don’t want to die without telling you that i love you and kisses him and jack’s like !!!! okay well you can’t die now what. and then she doesn’t <3 and they go on to live happily ever after <3

[underworld-of-imagines]

Alone - Spencer Reid

Prompt: “Did you get any sleep last night?”

TW: Heavy mentions of death, angst

A/N: Hey guys so this is something I worked on for a few days. I got the idea from a list of dialogue prompts I have.

Part 2

“Why didn’t you save me?”

You shot up like a bullet, your heart racing as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. The cold air burned your lungs as you drew in deep breaths, your ears still ringing from the nightmare. Your sweat-soaked shirt clung to your body, leaving a sticky residue over your skin.

Glancing at your alarm clock you let out a big groan, 4:23AM, you had barely made it 2 hours.

Knowing you wouldn’t make it back to sleep, you dragged yourself out of bed and into your kitchen. Tipping out your now cold coffee, you set about making a new hot cup to awaken your mind for the excruciatingly long day ahead. The bitter coffee burned your tongue, too lazy to care about the taste or burning you downed the cup quickly. You filled the cup again, downing it once more before throwing the cup into the over-piling sink.

The nightmares since your sisters death had been relentless, torturing you past the point of exhaustion. Avery, your sister, was killed by a drunk driver a mere two weeks ago. You weren’t very close to your younger sister, but still her sudden and painful death left you with a myriad of nightmares that followed. Your parents had already died, quite a few years ago, leaving only you and your sister to carry on the family line. But now, you were the only one left, left alone to deal with the aftermath of your sister’s death.

Hell, you and your sister weren’t close. In fact, you couldn’t be more opposite from each other. But that didn’t stop the love you had for her. Sure, you fought, every sibling fights every now and then. She didn’t approve of your work and you didn’t approve of hers; yours was dangerous, hers wasn’t enough to support her. You made it work though. Because you loved your sister.

And now, she was gone, just like your parents.

Your apartment seemed empty, no one else had ever lived there, but the hole in your heart made a hole in your apartment. You were alone. The photos of your family that you once proudly displayed now sat in a box, painful memories of everything you had lost.

Tired of standing in your apartment, you reached for your car keys before leaving the apartment. Driving was one of your favourite ways to get things off of your mind. You didn’t have to think of the pain, or the loss. It was just you and the road.

4am meant mostly empty roads, and tired drivers who wanted to be anywhere else but there. Except for you, you were wide awake and looking for the perfect distraction from your thoughts. Turning on the radio, you waited for a quiet sad song to start playing before pulling out of your apartment’s parking lot. It was the perfect distraction.

After a few hours of driving, you got a call from Hotch on your way back to your apartment.

“We got a case; briefing is in 30 minutes.” He announced sharply before hanging up. Letting out a loud sigh, you turned around and drove back towards the office. Luckily, you had thought ahead and thrown your go bag into the backseat of your car, along with a change of clothes for work. You weren’t really planning on heading home before work started. Instead, hoping that you’d find something to entertain yourself with.

“Y/L/N, how nice of you to join us.” Emily teased jokingly as you rushed into the briefing room, breathless from the quick change you had done.

“Sorry, long night.” You apologised before sitting in your seat, the tablets being handed around by Penelope.

“Oh, was he good?” Emily said teasingly.

“Um, what?” You questioned. Confused, you looked at her before realising that she thought you were with a guy.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” Derek asked, his eyes watching you carefully. You glanced at him nervously, avoiding his eyes. He already knew the answer, they all did.

Hotch cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention back to the case at hand.

“Okay, so we have a murdered couple in Sheridan, Wyoming. It’s a small town with about 18,000 people. The local police department have done some investigating but came up with no viable leads. This is believed to be the third couple murdered in a string of crimes. We’ve been asked to come in and help catch the unsub.” JJ explained, pictures flashing up on the screen of the couple.

You zoned out, focusing on the photo of the female on the screen. Her black hair was the same colour of your sisters, her lips the same shade of pink. She looked scarily like your sister, so much so, that if your sister weren’t already dead, you’d be convinced that it was her.

“Y/N, come on we’re leaving in 30 minutes.” Reid announced, nudging your side almost painfully to bring you out of your trance.

Spencer was your closest friend at the BAU, you told him everything, from a book you read, to some interesting fact you had found out. You knew about his mum, and even had gone to meet her with him once. But this is something you wanted to keep to yourself, you didn’t want pity, or help – you just wanted to get over how you were feeling. Admittedly, you had hoped there was something more between you and him, but he never acted, so you assumed it was just platonic for him.

“Oh, yeah.” You nodded before standing up and leaving the room hastily, you didn’t want Reid to know why you were acting so weird. He was a genius; he’d figure it out somehow.

*****

You wrapped your jacket tighter around your body as the chills set into your bones. For some ungodly reason, the air-conditioning on the plane was always colder than necessary, and you always needed a jacket for the ride. Jokingly, your sister used to call you lizard, because of the fact that you were always cold, no matter the temperature outside.

“So, anybody got any ideas?” Hotch asked as you sat around the plane, everyone moving closer to discuss the case. You zoned out of the conversation; your eyes warily trained on the closed file in before you.

“Y/L/N go visit the last crime scene.” You zoned back into the conversation, focusing on Hotch who was sitting across from you. “The families of those victims are on their way, so we’ll touch base with them when they arrive.” Hotch assigned your roles, leaving you to continue looking over the cases on your way to the location.

*****

“Mr. Morrison was killed over here, coroner put his death at before Miss. Turner’s, who was killed in the bedroom.” You followed the officer into the bedroom, unconsciously taking notes of both the victim’s lives and their deaths.

“Were there any signs of sexual assault on the female?” You questioned, averting your eyes from the large blood stain on the bed.

“Not from what we could tell, although it seems like the killer may have positioned the body postmortem.” Around the room there were several photos of the seemingly happy couple, as well as some of their respective families. Walking over to the nightstand you noticed the slightly open bottom drawer.

“Has this been searched?” You questioned, pointing towards the open drawer before you.  

“No.” Usually you refrained from looking into one’s personal lives so much, but you needed to find any link you could between the victims.

Bending down, you opened the bottom drawer. Inside the drawer were a pile of magazines and catalogues, all about weddings and relationships. On top, was a black velvet box with a small silver leaf imprinted on it. Opening it, you saw that it was empty, the engagement ring missing from the box.

“Was she found with an engagement ring?” You questioned, examining the back of the box.  

“No, she wasn’t.” You showed the empty box to the officer, who eyed it curiously.

“So, where’s the ring?”

*****

Cold water dripped down your face, chilling your skin as you leaned against the basin, your elbows resting on the counter. The cold-water working miracles to awaken your mind again, shocking you into a state of semi-consciousness. Sucking in a deep breath, you splashed your face with more cold water again before looking up at your reflection in the mirror. You looked beyond exhausted, sunken, dark purple eyebags, pale skin, slightly sunken in skin. It was a wonder you hadn’t passed out from exhaustion entirely.

The door to the bathroom opened, Emily stepping into the small space. She quickly noticed you, and your distressed appearance. You watched as she cautiously stepped towards you, her hand extended out slightly.

“Y/N?” She asked, her hand resting gently on your shoulder. “Are you okay?” You held your composure as you dried your face, forcing your lips into a gentle smile.

“Yeah, just been a rough day. This case isn’t easy,” you lied. Profiling made lying come easy to you, you could lie through your teeth about almost anything now.

“Bullshit. Something is wrong, the whole team can tell. You’ve been hurting for weeks. You obviously haven’t been sleeping, and you’re distracted almost all of the time. We’re worried about you,” tears pricked at your eyes as Emily spoke, her words hitting deep into your heart. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” She assured, her hand gently rubbing your back in circular motions.

“My sister-” you choked, the ball in your throat hardening, “she was killed in a car accident. Drunk driver.” Emily let out a painful sigh, her arms pulling you into a tight hug. “It happened about 2 weeks ago; I haven’t been able to sleep since.” You admitted, the words coming out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell us?” She questioned, tears pricking at her eyes as well.

“Because I need to deal with it on my own. I can’t take time off, the team needs me, victims need me. But I’m getting better,” you forced a smile to try and convince her of your words.

“You need time to heal Y/N. We can find a way to manage without you. You’re all alone in this aren’t you?” Reluctantly, you nodded your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I’m sorry,” she apologised. “Taking some time off might help you though. It’s easy to tell that you’re exhausted and not working at your best. Nobody will blame you; we just want what’s best for you.” She reminded, her words full of warmth and heart.

“Thank you,” your voice was quiet, but she smiled, nonetheless.

“We’re here for you.”

*****

The door to Hotch’s office swung in, Hotch stood on the other side of the doorway, a grim expression on his face.

“Y/N, come on in.” You nodded, following him into the large office that you had only seen a few times. “What’s the meaning of this meeting?” He questioned, his eyes not averting from yours.

“I-I’d like to request some time off sir. My sister passed away a few weeks ago, and I thought I could handle it and work. But I haven’t been able to,” you admitted, hanging your head in shame. Anyone else on the team could have handled grieving and work, or at least separated the two from one another. You couldn’t, everywhere you went, your sister was there. Everything you did, she was there.

“Why didn’t you tell us Y/N?” Hotch’s body relaxed, a sad expression washing over his face.

“I didn’t feel like you guys needed to know.” You admitted shamefully, regret laced into your words.

“We’re your team Y/N, you should have told us.” He chastised; his voice thick with sadness.

“I know sir, I’m sorry I didn’t.” You paused in silence for a minute, the air thick as you thought of your actions. “Can I take a few weeks off sir? I promise it won’t be long, I just need some time to grieve and sort through things,” you assured, your eyes pleading.

“Of course, Y/N, take however long you need.” He reached for a piece of paper, handing it to you. “Just fill this out and send it back to me in a few days. I’ll sort out the rest.” Grateful, you took the piece of paper out of his hand, holding it gently in your own.

“Thank you, sir, see you when I come back.” You appreciated, shaking his hand briefly before walking out of the office.

The bullpen was now empty, everyone having already left to go home for a few days after the long case. You had successfully caught the killer, right before he killed another couple. Turns out he had been hunting couples looking to get engaged, because his ex-girlfriend had turned down his proposal.

The team had agreed to go out for drinks after the case, to celebrate yet another win. You had opted out of going to the bar, instead lying that you had some things you wanted to do. It wasn’t a complete lie. But thankfully, the boys had believed it. JJ and Garcia were a bit more suspicious. Emily just watched you warily, already knowing what you were going to do when you got home.

Since you had told her of your sister, she was more than understanding of your actions. And even helped you out by bringing you coffee and checking in on you. She was one of your closest friends, and you were ever grateful for her.

Grabbing your bag, you packed away some important stuff from your desk before looking around the empty bullpen – it was your home away from home. Letting out a small sigh, you hitched your bag over your shoulder before walking out of the bullpen, aware of Hotch watching you walk towards the elevators.

*****

~3RD PERSON POV~

“Hey, has anyone heard from Y/N lately?” Derek question as he walked into the break area, everyone was spread around the small area, chatting between themselves. Emily stayed quiet, glancing at Hotch who was now paying attention to current issue. The team had a right to know at least something for your sudden disappearance.

“Some things happened recently, and Y/N needed to take some time off to deal with them.” Emily spoke up, being careful not to release any telling information. Knowingly, Hotch glanced at her, he didn’t know that Emily knew, but now it made sense since Y/N wouldn’t have gone to him without being pushed.

“She was pretty out of it for the past few weeks,” JJ pointed out. The team had picked up on your behaviour and knew something was wrong from the day after her death, when you walked in late with bloodshot eyes.

“Team, Y/N took some time off for personal reasons. I can’t go much into it, but a family member passed away and she was struggling with the situation. She requested some time off to deal. I know it hasn’t been easy for her lately, so please, can we stop speculating and give her privacy.” Hotch requested, putting his coffee mug back down on the bench. Spencer glanced up at him, his eyes full of concern as he profiled his supervisor.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, standing up and grabbing his coffee. He hurried back to his desk, quickly sitting down, and sending you a hasty text.

S: Are you okay?

He waited for what seemed like forever for your response. It was only a few minutes before his phone dinged with a response.

You: So, you found out?

He ignored the pain of your harsh response as he quickly typed a response.

S: Why didn’t you tell me?

You: I didn’t feel the need to. I didn’t want anyone to find out. Emily convinced me to tell Hotch after she cornered me on the last case.

S: I thought we were close though?

You: Spencer, we are close. But this is something I wanted to deal with on my own.

He sensed your hesitation in the text, the lie that you blatantly told. Spencer knew you better than anyone, he could read you like a book. You couldn’t get anything past him.

S: Do you want me to come over?

He watched carefully as the three dots appeared and disappeared a few times. Letting out a groan, he put his phone down, he knew you needed someone to help, to talk to. But he couldn’t help but feel stupid for asking. Obviously, you didn’t want him around, or you would have told him earlier.

You: Please

With that simple word, he jumped up and practically ran over to the break area. His pleading eyes looked at Hotch, and before he could even open his mouth, Hotch spoke.

“Go,” Hotch acquiesced. He knew that you needed someone, and Spencer was the someone you needed.

Part 2

[luminescencefics]

(there is) no time like the present

On his way towards the rest of their friends in the booth by the back of the pub, Niall finally spots Aisling’s auburn hair and glittery dress standing near the wooden table. He’d be lying if he didn’t think she looked quite pretty. Niall’s always known Aisling to be pretty, in a way that he knows that thunder follows lightning during a storm and that the sun always shines the brightest in the summer. It was just a universal thing.

But tonight, he finds that he’s entirely hyperaware of Aisling’s prettiness.

And he isn’t quite sure what to do about that.

A (short) story about a brown-haired boy and an auburn-haired girl trying to convince the world that they aren’t lonely, and how time really isn’t of the essence.

written for the 1dff discord server fic challenge

new year’s eve // roommates trope

niall/ofc, 8k words | banner credit

11:34

In Aisling O’Leary’s twenty-eight years of living, she has known two constants. The first being, she could never say no to people. No matter how hard she tried to, she just couldn’t bring herself to disappoint the people she cared about most in her life. She blames that on her trait of always trying to please people. The second constant is that she was a settler, in every sense of the word.

She settled with her group of friends in secondary school back home in Clifden. She settled when she chose to go to university across the country in Dublin instead of taking the leap and applying to schools in her dream city of London. She settled with her marketing position at a publishing house when her dream was to be an editor. And, she settled with her last boyfriend of two years, Cormac Hayes.

When he decided to end things with her three months ago, Aisling knows that she probably should have been more upset over it. Truth is, she stayed with Cormac for that long because it was easy. He loved her at arm’s length and she was okay with that. He gave her attention and loved her the best way he knew how, and although it wasn’t enough for Aisling in the end, she sort of just let it happen. And when she didn’t even shed a tear over losing her boyfriend of two years, she wasn’t surprised in the least.

That’s just how Aisling O’Leary worked.

She tries her hardest to ignore the constant ringing of her mobile from the inside of her purse under her work desk. It was Friday afternoon and she was practically the only soul in the office because most of her other co-workers decided to take the day off to prepare for this evening’s New Year’s Eve festivities.

Aisling didn’t really think too much about it, to be honest. What did she have to celebrate this past year? The fact that she received an end of the year bonus at her job that she hasn’t enjoyed for the past four years? The fact that she’s single, once again? The fact that she’s still living with her uni mate and putting off her goal of moving to London?

She pushes those thoughts away when an image of said uni mate flashes across the screen of her mobile.

“Niall, for the love of god, please stop ringing me,” Aisling scolds, harshly whispering into the receiver. It’s really no use considering it’s just her and the unlucky intern who couldn’t get the day off, but she does it anyways for dramatic intent.

“As lovely as ever, sweet Aisling,” Niall starts, the sound of whooshing air in the background a bit distracting. Aisling can only assume that he’s walking around outside, the sound of the chilling winter wind blowing through the phone loudly giving him away.

“Sorry, Niall. Just, uh, busy is all.” Aisling lies and Niall doesn’t even try to fall for it. She does feel a little bad for snapping at him, because it’s really not his fault that she’s in such a shit mood. And taking it out on her uni mate turned flatmate turned best mate just wasn’t really fair.

Niall Horan crashed into Aisling’s life during her first year at University College Dublin (the word crashed used very appropriately). She was sitting towards the back of her Art History lecture, a random gen-ed requirement her advisor forced her to take. She chose the back because she assumed she wouldn’t be bothered, but then eight minutes after class began, Niall ran in with flushed cheeks and his freshly bleached blonde hair standing up all over the place. And out of all the empty seats in the entire lecture hall, he chose to sit next to Aisling.

He spent the entirety of the lecture fidgeting in the plastic seat next to Aisling, looking over her shoulder at the notes she was scribbling down aggressively. He didn't even bother to bring a notebook, let alone a pen, to the lecture. Normally, Aisling would find that infuriating. But when it comes to Niall, Aisling has found that most of the things that should bother her just, well, don’t.

“I’m walking into the shops. Everyone’s been texting like mad about tonight, driving me up the fuckin’ wall. Did you put the group chat on mute again?” Niall asks and Aisling doesn’t even bother answering, because of course she did.

It’s not that she didn’t like her uni mates, because they really were the best friends Aisling has ever had. But when they decided amongst themselves that her and Niall’s flat would be the destination for pre-drinks tonight, conveniently leaving Aisling and Niall out of the conversation altogether, she couldn’t help but grow increasingly annoyed.

But in typical Aisling fashion, she just let it happen. She blames it on that first constant of hers.

“Just while I was working. Didn’t want to be distracted,” Aisling decides to say, pausing as she hears the sound of an automatic door opening and closing on Niall’s end. She knows he’s probably completely aware that she’s not that excited about tonight. But in typical Niall fashion, he tries to find the silver lining in every situation—even if he is feeling equally as shitty about this evening.

“Well, you’re probably the only person in all of Ireland working today,” Niall says, a chuckle added at the end to let Aisling know that he’s just messing with her.

“That’s not true. Sean’s here with me, having the time of his life.” Aisling watches the office intern sit at his desk with his head in his hands, clearly hungover and annoyed that he got stuck working the day of New Year’s Eve. She feels a bit bad for the lad, empathetic to his cause.

Niall agrees. “What’re we drinking tonight, Aisling? How ossified do we feel like getting, scale of one to ten?”

Aisling sighs. She knows getting drunk off her arse tonight is probably not the best move to make. But then she starts to think of her friends and how they seem a lot more bearable after a few drinks. She starts to think about the past three months of her life and how she feels like she’s just taking up space. She starts to think about the last phone call she had with her mam, and how she’s suddenly begun to worry about her oldest daughter. She starts to think about her future, and how she’s not really excited about it at all, to be fair.

The more she thinks about it, the more getting completely plastered sounds better and better in her head.

“Whiskey. Lots of it,” Aisling replies, sure and assertive.

“There’s my girl,” Niall says, and she can practically hear the glass bottles being added to the shopping trolley. “I’ll see you when you get home. Let’s just try and have fun tonight, yeah? Forget about all the bullshit.”

Aisling agrees to try her hardest to do that for Niall. But she’s got enough bullshit going on in her life to hold anybody down, and if she’s going to try and get over it, she’s going to need a lot of whiskey to do that.

And some courage—lots of it.

14:08

In Niall Horan’s twenty-eight years of living, he’s known two constants. The first being, he puts too much trust in other people, not nearly guarding his heart the way he should. He’s always fallen too quickly and too harshly, never really thinking of the repercussions. The second constant being that he was always blissfully one step behind everybody else, overlooking hidden clues and secret hints, not really understanding the longing look in another person’s eyes, or why their cheeks heat up around somebody’s presence. He wouldn’t blame that on selfishness, per se, rather, naiveté. If it wasn’t hitting Niall right in the face, chances are he completely missed it.

He’s thinking about his unguarded heart while lining up the various liquor bottles he bought at the shops a few hours ago, creating a makeshift bar on the kitchen countertop. His mind briefly falls to Sheridan, as it does most times when he’s feeling a bit lonely. He thinks about her blonde hair and turquoise eyes and warm pale skin. How she was the most important thing in his life on and off for five years. How he loved her with everything inside of him, and he figured that would be enough.

But then she gets a job offer a world away in America, and she takes it without even looking back. Without even considering how it would affect Niall. Without even including him in the conversation.

He wonders if she’s always been selfish with his heart.

Niall tries his hardest to not think about it. She left Ireland almost nine months ago, and he really has been doing better. He wants nothing more than to forget about this year. It was one filled with heartbreak and anger and pain, and the idea of drinking his sorrows away to start over again is exactly what he needed.

But there’s no denying that Niall Horan is admittedly lonely.

He thinks of Aisling, and how she seems just as lost as he is most of the time. Back in uni she was always the rational one between the pair, always taking notes and showing up to class and making sure that Niall kept his head on straight. When he meets Sheridan at the end of their first year, he remembers instantly thinking that she was the one for him. He blames it on that first constant of his.

Sheridan Walsh was beautiful and rich and, admittedly, so far out of Niall’s league the second he met her at a mutual friend’s house party. She was studying linguistics at Trinity as a hobby, a job at her parent’s enormous investment bank already secured. Her family had an expansive estate in Killiney overlooking Dalkey Island and Niall did everything he could to try and fit into her world.

When he meets her he charms her instantly, and the second he realizes that she was in a different social class than his own, Niall runs into Aisling’s dorm room and begs her to strip the bleach from his hair. He spends Years Two and Three doing everything he can to impress Sheridan, and finally one night she gives in, and he feels as if he’s floating through thin air.

To this day, Niall still isn’t sure what it was about him that made Sheridan finally agree to start dating him. She didn’t approve of his course of study, she found his hometown of Mullingar to be quaint, and she never really understood why he decided to live with Aisling in their too-small flat.

If there’s one thing Niall can appreciate most about his friendship with Aisling (and there’s a lot to be thankful for, to be fair) it’s that she tried her hardest to be nice to Sheridan, even though there would never be a world where the two of them would ever be friends. Aisling showed Niall how to properly knot a tie to prepare him for meeting Sheridan’s parents, she explained to him the difference between an oyster fork and a salad fork whenever he had to go to fancy dinner parties, and she constantly reminded him that he shouldn’t try as hard to fit into Sheridan’s world, because she loved him just the way he was.

If only it were true in the end.

In reality, Niall has a lot to be thankful for when it comes to Aisling O’Leary. He just hopes that he purchased enough whiskey to try and make her enjoy herself for the first time in three months.

17:41

Normally it takes Aisling twenty minutes to get home from her office near O’Connell Street to her and Niall’s shared flat in Ranelagh. But she’s stalling, walking along the River Liffey in the brisk evening weather instead of getting on the bus to start getting ready for tonight.

Niall knows this, as he’s grown accustomed to Aisling whipping open the front door twenty minutes after five, complaining about the crammed rush hour commute while untying her boots and throwing her scarf haphazardly over their wobbly coat hanger. He’s currently watching the clock change from the half hour mark almost nearing quarter to six, debating if he should ring her or not.

As if reading his mind, Aisling shoots Niall a text, assuring him that she’s not avoiding their mates (lie) and that she isn’t contemplating ditching this evening’s festivities (lie) and that she’s stopping at the nearest shop to grab snacks for their friends (half-lie turned truth). Niall doesn’t bother telling her that their friends already agreed to bring food over, because he knows Aisling better than she knows herself sometimes. Instead, he writes, Do what you need to do, A. I’ve got a drink waiting for you when you get home xx, and Aisling starts to feel a bit more at ease.

It’s near six when Aisling appears with a shopping bag filled with crackers and the nicest assortment of cheese she could find last minute. Niall can hear her usual foot pattern by the front door while he starts pouring the two of them whiskey neats in the nice glasses Sheridan re-gifted him two Christmases ago.

“Sorry I was late. The shops were brutal, too many people banging about. Couldn’t even find the good cheese Cara likes,” Aisling says, entering the kitchen with a smile headed in Niall’s direction. He watches as she starts putting the items into the fridge and respective cupboards, avoiding making eye contact.

“If you turned your mobile on every now and then, you’d have seen that Cara and Robbie already got food for tonight,” Niall says, sliding Aisling’s drink across the kitchen counter.

Aisling gives Niall a sheepish look. “Right. I was just—”

“—Busy.” Niall gives Aisling a look she knows all too well, and she immediately feels guilty, slumping down in the chair across from him. “Your mam rang me earlier. Was wondering why her lovely daughter wasn’t answering her calls.”

Aisling chuckles softly, bringing the glass to her lips. “Ah, of course she did. Sometimes I think she rings you because she likes you a bit too much.”

“What can I say? Mam’s love me—especially yours,” Niall says with a grin, puffing his chest out a bit.

Aisling snorts. “Did she say anything of interest this time ‘round?”

“Just went on about how your da can’t find a proper barmaid for tonight,” Niall says, the mention of Aisling’s family’s pub in Clifden bringing a nostalgic smile to her face. “She might have also mentioned that she’s worried about you.”

Aisling frowns. “Worried?”

Niall nods cautiously. “Yeah. She thinks you're lonely.”

Aisling pauses for a moment, watching the amber liquid inside her cup slosh with each swivel of the glass on the countertop. She really hates that word—lonely. To Aisling, loneliness implies the absence of something. How can she miss a feeling she’s never even truly felt in the first place? The only thing Aisling has felt for the past few years has been complacency. And that’s one she’d love to shed with the new year.

“Well, she’s nothing to worry about. ‘M not lonely,” Aisling mumbles, downing the rest of her drink with one large gulp.

Niall cocks an eyebrow in her direction. “That’s exactly what a lonely person would say.”

It’s one of those rare moments when Aisling can’t tell if Niall is taking the piss or genuinely concerned. But with one look in his blue eyes, Aisling decides to go with the latter.

“I promise you, Niall, I’m not lonely. It’s been three months. I barely even think about Cormac anymore, so quit your worrying,” Aisling counters, beginning to pour herself another glass, this time a bit shorter.

“You never even thought about him to begin with,” Niall quips, finishing his drink as well. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

Aisling doesn’t really know how to answer that, because there’s no denying that Niall is absolutely correct. She just isn’t quite sure how to explain to her best mate that she never truly felt heartbreak in the same capacity that he did. Cormac ending things with Aisling did not shatter her heart the same way that Sheridan did to Niall’s.

Aisling starts to wonder if there’s something wrong with this so-called heart of hers.

“I think I saw it coming before it actually happened, ya know?” Aisling begins to explain. “I think I knew Cormac wasn’t the one for me. It made the blow less harsh, in a way.” It’s a version of the truth that both Niall and Aisling can settle on. And she can tell that he’s understanding as he nods through his final swallow of whiskey.

“Just want you to be happy, is all,” Niall says, placing his empty glass on the countertop. “It’s the beauty of New Years, my sweet Aisling. You can start fresh.”

Aisling just smiles, finishing her glass as well. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

And this time, she truly hopes he is.

19:22

Aisling is starting to think that it’s far too early for her friends to be this inebriated.

It’s barely half past seven and her friends had started to arrive nearly an hour earlier. After her unsettling conversation with Niall, Aisling resorted to locking herself in her bedroom with the excuse of getting ready. Instead, she sat in the shower for far too long until the hot water turned cold, building up the courage to just try and let loose for one fucking night.

The second she hears Cara and Robbie enter the flat, Aisling immediately fights the urge to down another whiskey neat.

There was a time when Aisling believed that Cara and Robbie would be the first pair out of their uni group to get married. They had been together ever since Aisling lived next door to Cara in the dorms during her first year at UCD. And while everybody else had seemingly tried to grow up during the past seven years, Cara and Robbie seemed content in their post-uni bubble.

Aisling was pretty sure that bubble should have been popped some time after their twenty-fifth birthdays.

“Oi! Aisy! Pass me a fresh Smithwick while you’re at it!” Conor hollers over from the small loveseat in the living room when he notices Aisling heading towards the fridge for a new drink.

She nods, biting her tongue at the ridiculous nickname that he hasn’t stopped calling her since Year Two. Aisling’s just happy he isn’t calling her feek anymore.

If Aisling had the choice, she would never have had Conor worm his way into the inner-workings of their unusual friend group. But alas, Conor came along with Niall, and if Aisling wanted to keep Niall in her life (which she very much would like to), then she had to suck it up and deal with his unruly best mate.

Aisling passes Conor the freshly opened bottle of beer, smiling politely at the pretty brown-haired girl seated to his right. According to Niall, Conor’s been bringing her along to their group pub outings for a few weeks now. Aisling promised to remember her name if she stuck around for another month. Conor had a bad habit of flying through girls, and it became harder with each new face to remember their names.

Aisling heads back into the kitchen to start preparing the cheeseboard, watching in her periphery as a long slender red-painted finger reaches out to snatch a stray cracker hanging off the side of the tray.

“Wait your turn like everybody else, Han,” Aisling scolds, ignoring the snicker her friend makes in between bites of the cracker.

“Sorry mum, you know how I get if I don’t eat something before drinking,” Hannah says, her Scouse accent already beginning to muddle together. Aisling does her best to keep her eye roll to herself.

“It’s too early for you to be slurring. Lay off the drink until we get to the pub, okay?” Aisling responds, reaching out to grab the half-finished vodka tonic in Hannah’s shaky hands. She tosses it aside, hopefully long forgotten by the time Hannah finishes eating something.

She watches Hannah nod her head agreeably, before sneaking another cracker off of the plate. This time, Aisling doesn’t scold her.

“I’m sorry you’re ringing in the New Year all by yourself,” Hannah says after Aisling has a sip of her drink. “Shite being alone, innit?”

There’s that word again. Alone. Aisling shrugs half-heartedly even though she doesn’t really agree with Hannah’s logic. Even if she tried to explain it to her, she knows she wouldn’t understand it. While Hannah’s been a great friend to Aisling over the years, she’s admittedly been quite selfish. Therefore, Aisling tries not to burden her with matters of the heart.

Niall overhears the conversation when he walks into the kitchen with Hannah’s boyfriend Rory, and immediately he starts to feel a bit guilty.

Aisling and Cormac would never have met if it weren’t for Niall. They both played together in Niall's men’s league for footie, and he thought that they would be a good match together. So when he gave Cormac his flatmate’s number one night after practice and a week later they went out to dinner, Niall really believed that he did Aisling a solid.

Now though, he feels a bit shitty.

“What’re you two gossiping about?” Rory asks, slinging an arm over Hannah’s pointy shoulders, unaware of the awkward tension left hanging in the kitchen from Hannah’s previous comment.

“Nothing, babe. Just sad that Aisling won’t have a New Year’s kiss,” Hannah says, the backhanded dig flying completely over her head. Aisling feels it though, and so does Niall, who immediately steps in.

“Keep drinkin’ like that Hannah and you might not make it to midnight for a kiss this year either.” The lightness of his tone makes it seem to Hannah and Rory that he’s just joking with them, but Aisling knows Niall, and she can hear the undercurrent of frustration laced between his words. So when she lifts her head up and looks at him and already finds that he’s staring right back at her, she smiles a bit, mouthing a quick thank you in his direction.

Sometimes, she’s really lucky to have a friend like Niall.

21:43

Niall slams down his second shot of whiskey since entering the pub nearly thirty minutes ago, and he’s finally starting to feel that type of drunkenness where everything seems a bit lighter and everybody seems a lot happier. They’ve chosen a pub in Parnell Square in favor over the crowded pubs in the Temple Bar area, and he’s happy with their choice considering the pub is filled with twenty-somethings instead of the usual younger, rowdier crowd.

After the incident in the kitchen, Niall finds himself keeping a closer watch on Aisling. While he knows the past few months have been quite hard on her, he didn’t realize how apathetic some of their mates were. He also didn’t notice how sad it made her.

He wonders if she’s always felt like this, and he’s always just been too wrapped up in his own sadness to notice her own.

Regretfully, he blames that second constant of his.

“Oi, Horan! Drink up!” Conor yells over from his left, another shot of whiskey waiting for him on the bartop. Niall tears his eyes away from Aisling, instead focusing on the overflowing shot glass in front of him. He gulps, already mentally preparing to slow down in order to keep his wits about him until midnight approaches.

Niall shoots the drink back, slamming the glass onto the sticky bartop and wiping the back of his hand over his lips. He can hear Conor cackling beside him, and he tries to ignore the elbow digging into his ribcage. He tries to find Aisling’s wavy auburn hair through the crowd, or even her sparkly long-sleeved dress, but it’s no use. She’s too far out of his view.

“Are you lookin’ to pull?” Conor asks smugly after noticing Niall’s gaze flittering over the other side of the pub.

“Nah mate. Not tonight,” Niall replies, the thought of pulling a random girl for the night sounding entirely unappealing.

Conor turns towards his friend, putting his back to his pretty date. “Niall, tonight’s the perfect night for a random lay. C’mon mate, it’s New Years! Every single bird here is looking for an easy shag. It’s been months anyways, what’re you waiting for? Sheri’s not comin’ back.”

Niall tries his hardest not to flinch at his friend’s words. He knows deep down that if he really wanted to sleep with a random girl for the night, he could. And earlier, he probably would have done just that to cure his loneliness. But now the thought of doing just that sort of makes his skin crawl a little.

Including the fact that he can’t stop trying to find his flatmate in the crowded pub. But he’s not quite sure what that means.

“Fuck off Conor. I know she’s not coming back.” Niall’s annoyed that his friend decided to bring Sheridan up. He just wishes everybody would stop fucking bringing her up.

Conor just shrugs. “Then why aren’t you lookin’ for an easy lay?”

Niall’s grip on his whiskey coke is so tight that his knuckles turn white. He grits his teeth before taking a long sip, before giving his stupid friend one last annoyed look. “Because sex isn’t the answer to everything.” And with that, Niall walks away.

“It sure helps though, prick!” Conor shouts from his place at the bar, and Niall just shakes his head, ignoring him.

On his way towards the rest of their friends in the booth by the back of the pub, Niall finally spots Aisling’s auburn hair and glittery dress standing near the wooden table. He’d be lying if he didn’t think she looked quite pretty. Niall’s always known Aisling to be pretty, in a way that he knows that thunder follows lightning during a storm and that the sun always shines the brightest in the summer. It was just a universal thing.

But tonight, he finds that he’s entirely hyperaware of Aisling’s prettiness.

He’s watching the way her head falls back when a loud laugh rips through her lungs, her long auburn hair falling past her shoulders, catching the dim pub lighting in a way that stops Niall dead in his tracks. The sparkles in her shift dress glitter with every bend of her knees or swivel of her hips, and Niall tries his hardest to keep his eyes off of Aisling’s lower half. Her eyes have that glow to them that only happens when she feels totally comfortable, and he’s wondering if it’s genuine or if the liquor is helping mask her unease surrounding tonight.

Before he’s caught, Niall pulls himself together and approaches the group.

“Niall!” Aisling squeals once he’s entered the small half-huddle the girls in the group have formed. She’s leaning in, a bit unsteady on her chunky heels, and Niall can feel the whiskey warmth of her breath fan over his cheeks. She’s definitely drunk, Niall thinks, securing an arm around her middle so Aisling doesn’t end up arse over tit on the dirty pub floor.

“Somebody’s havin’ fun,” Niall pushes through a grin, his arms tightening around her waist once Aisling presses two small hands on his shoulders to steady herself. She giggles and it sounds like the prettiest song he’s ever heard.

“Wasn’t it you who told me to drink away all the bullshit?” Aisling asks, finishing the rest of her drink, her head falling back on her neck dramatically as she swallows. Niall chuckles, grabbing the empty glass from her shaky fingers before it slips and cracks on the floor.

“Might’ve. But slow your roll, sweet Aisling. Still three hours left until midnight,” Niall tuts, smiling a bit when she huffs out in disappointment, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. He finds it incredibly adorable.

“Don’t leave me alone with these eejits then! They’re the ones forcing drinks down me throat!” Aisling calls out, pointing a skinny finger towards Cara and Robbie who look responsible. Her Western accent grows much stronger with each level of intoxication Aisling passes, and Niall knows that if she continues he’s going to start struggling piecing together what she’s trying to say.

So he laughs, removing his arm around her waist and throwing it around her shoulders instead, pulling her closer to his chest so that his chin rests above the crown of her head.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” Niall says, and Aisling smiles back, squeezing his hand that dangles in front of her chest tightly in thanks.

Niall squeezes back, thinking that if he had to spend the next three hours with her, he wouldn’t mind at all. He especially wouldn’t mind it if Aisling was still tucked under his arm once midnight struck.

23:38

Aisling has spent the last twenty minutes holding Cara’s curly hair back while she retches into the toilet. She stopped drinking about an hour ago once she noticed the pallor beneath Cara’s copper skin, knowing it was only a matter of time until she grew sick.

And just like clockwork, with an hour to go until midnight, Cara grabbed Aisling with shaky hands and dragged her to the toilet before vomiting into the porcelain basin below. Aisling rubs her friend’s back, wrapping her curly hair around her wrists to make sure the coiled tendrils stay vomit-free.

She wishes the night didn’t have to end like this.

But it seems to always happen whenever she’s around Cara. As much as Aisling loves her, she can’t help but wonder if this is how it’ll always be with her friend. She wonders when she’ll finally just grow up.

Once again, Aisling has to give up her night in order to make sure Cara’s isn’t ruined.

Cara moans under her and Aisling snaps out of her miserable state, asking her friend if she was okay and if she needed anything. Cara shakes her head, albeit still unsteady on her feet as she slowly hobbles over towards the sink. Aisling sighs for what feels like the hundredth time, wishing her friend would stop being so stubborn.

Before they leave the toilets, Aisling dampens some paper towels and blots it over Cara’s sticky forehead. Her friend swats at her wrists angrily, snatching the wet paper towels from Aisling’s hands and throwing it into the rubbish bin.

“‘M wearing foundation Aisling! Christ, yer gonna fuck it up!” Cara scolds, walking past her friend and fixing what’s left of her mangled curls into a topknot.

Aisling just frowns, wishing her friend would be a bit kinder to her considering she did just spend the better part of her evening holding her hair back and listening to her retch into a shitty public toilet.

“Sorry,” Aisling mumbles, because she knows she could never yell at her friend no matter how angry she makes her. Aisling would rather not rock the boat, so instead she just lets Cara take out her frustrations on her. She’s been doing it for the past seven years anyways, why stop now?

Cara says nothing. Instead, she irons out her black dress with her hands and leaves the toilets, heading towards their group of friends in the back of the pub. Aisling watches her go, taking a few seconds to herself to just breathe.

If Aisling were a different person, she probably would have told Cara off for acting like a Grade A Bitch. She would tell her to stop being so selfish, to stop making everything about her, to stop acting like such a fucking child.

But Aisling is not that person.

So instead she shakes those words from her head, focusing on regulating her breathing and making sure the redness in her cheeks goes away. She wishes she was the same level of drunkenness she happened to be a few hours ago, where everything seemed a bit more bearable and she wasn’t focusing on the shittier parts of her friendships.

When she emerges from the hallway, she spots Niall immediately. She’s found that he’s always standing a bit closer to her than normal, always making sure she’s okay and that she’s enjoying herself. She’s grateful for it, if she’s being honest, because out of everybody in this crowded pub, she’s happy that it’s Niall who’s standing by her side.

She watches as his brown hair flops over his forehead, hanging around his face in a messy boyish way. He looks handsome with his white button down shirt tucked into his navy blue houndstooth dress pants. When he turns a bit so he can laugh at whatever obscene joke Conor just made, she can see the way the shirtsleeves tighten around his flexed bicep, and the way his waist looks thinner when he swivels his hip, and the way his arse arches in his new pants.

Aisling is immediately transported back to a time when every movement Niall made would make her blush uncontrollably. When his hair was blonder and his laugh was louder and he wasn’t as muscley—when he would barge into her dorm room at all hours of the day and show up at Aisling’s library table and doodle notes and scribbles on her coursework. When she found herself crushing on her first ever real uni mate, when she tried her hardest to ignore it, until it ultimately faded as the years passed on.

But sometimes, in moments like this, the feelings would shoot straight into her chest like a lightning strike, and she finds herself struggling for air. It usually happened in fleeting moments—typically when he laughed so hard his blue eyes scrunched, or he held her really tightly whenever she had a bad day, and especially when he called her sweet Aisling.

And just like that, the moment is gone, leaving just as quickly as it came. As if noticing her absence (something that he’s been doing a lot of tonight), blue eyes meet hazel and he cocks his head in concern, the silent question of Are you okay? floating through the air until it stops right in Aisling’s path.

She nods her head and it’s entirely unconvincing. But before Niall could leave their friends and approach Aisling, she gestures towards the bar with a small smile, insinuating she was going to grab a new drink. Niall just nods, staring at her as she approaches the bartop.

As soon as she feels the heat of his gaze leave her back, Aisling orders a water. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to be here anymore, the dreaded feelings she had earlier in the day flooding her insides without warning. She doesn’t give a fuck about midnight anymore, doesn’t give a fuck about watching her mates cheers to the start of a new year.

She just wants to leave.

23:55

Niall turns away from his conversation with Conor, wondering why Aisling hasn’t returned to their spot in the back of the pub. He watched her head towards the bar almost ten minutes ago, and he’s not quite sure if there’s something wrong.

He’s reminded back to the lifeless look in her eyes when she left the toilets with Cara moments ago, and he instantly feels his stomach drop a little at the thought of something bad happening to her. Did they get into a fight? Did Cara say something to upset her? Where the fuck is she?

“Cara, where’s Aisling?” Niall asks, leaning into her ear to talk over the loud music. He cranes his neck towards the bar where he last saw her, and finds that her auburn hair is no longer in view.

Cara shrugs her shoulders, looking less than interested in this conversation. “Dunno, mate. Fucked off in the jacks ‘coupla minutes ago.” Niall scrunches his nose at the lingering smell of bile on her breath.

“What’d you do?” Niall knows that his tone is a bit accusatory, but he feels like an idiot for not realizing that Aisling was upset sooner. He’s instantly brought back to the kitchen when Hannah hurt her feelings, and Niall’s left wondering if he’s as much of a prick as their friends have been lately.

“Oh, fuck off Niall,” Cara starts, laughing even though it’s not funny. “Did nothin’! She probably just doesn’t wanna be ‘ere durin’ midnight ‘cos she’s single and all.”

Niall knows that isn’t true. He also knows that if Cara had asked Aisling herself, she would know that Aisling could give less of a shit about being single.

Niall’s suddenly left with the unwavering thought that maybe nobody has asked Aisling how she’s truly felt in a long time.

Before he can reply, he notices the countdown start to begin, and suddenly he doesn't want to be around his friends at all.

He wants to find Aisling.

23:59

Aisling can hear the ten second countdown from her spot outside the pub, leaning against the cold brick wall, cooling her down from the inside out. Her winter coat is still clenched in her right hand, the heat of her anger keeping her warm against the evening breeze.

Her eyes are closed tight and she’s trying her hardest not to cry. Aisling knows it’s stupid—crying over her friends who didn’t even spare her a second glance when she stormed out of the pub door. She doesn’t want to blame them, because even though they can be selfish and unaware of her sadness, Aisling has let it slide for far too long. She’s starting to think that her friends have grown accustomed to her knack of shrugging things off her shoulder, and she really only has herself to blame.

Aisling sighs as she hears the countdown end, the sounds of celebration reverberating through the thick brick. She’s ringing in this new year alone, as it seems, and she wonders if she’s part to blame for it.

She wonders why she’s never spoken up when her friends overlook her feelings and say hurtful things about her. Aisling knows that they aren’t intentional, and that her friends don’t truly mean to hurt her feelings, but part of her wishes they would just understand.

She wonders why she’s never been bold enough to go after the job she actually wanted. Why she stays working her shitty desk job day after day, losing interest in everything around her. Why she never acted on that job listing she received an email from in London, why she never even tried to move there in the first place.

She wonders why she’s wasted so much time trying to find love in boys who can never offer her what she truly needs. Why even though Cormac was a sound lad, she knew he wasn’t right for her, but the thought of leaving him was much more difficult than staying, so she chose the easier option.

Aisling wishes she was the type of person to speak up, to act on what she wants, to simply be better.

But she isn’t.

So she sinks down to the cool pavement below her, her neck stretched upwards as her head rests on the brick wall. Her eyes are still closed shut, and she thinks that if she keeps them closed, she can squeeze out the girl she so badly wants to get rid of.

She thinks that when she opens her eyes again, she’ll be a new person. The person she wants to be.

00:03

Niall finally finds Aisling outside, her head resting against the wall upturned towards the night sky. Her eyes are closed and Niall’s eyes are trained on her long ivory neck, and he wonders what would have happened if he came out here just as the clock struck midnight.

He shakes that thought from his head, because she looks so small. So unsure. So sad.

Aisling doesn’t look at Niall until he’s sitting near her with his warm hand resting on her bent knee. He’s looking at her as her eyes flutter open, hazel eyes glassy from the tears threatening to fall. He knows Aisling though—knows her so well that she won’t let them fall, no matter how badly she wants to.

She offers Niall a weak smile, and he’s sitting close enough that he can see her bottom lip wobble. It makes him angry.

“Ready to get out of here?” Niall asks softly, ignoring the millions of other questions he wants to ask her. He knows how fragile she is. How adamant she is about not explaining her feelings, so he takes the easy way out even though it kills him to do so.

Aisling smiles at him, a little stronger than before. “Please.”

Niall doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he stands up, grabbing her winter coat in one hand and her smaller hand in the other. Once she’s standing in front of him, close enough that he can feel her shaky breath on his neck, he holds open her coat and buttons her up.

“Let’s go.”

00:52

Niall and Aisling have been sitting around the kitchen island, a half-finished bottle of whiskey on the countertop between them. Aisling’s heels are discarded somewhere near the front door, her feet resting on the unoccupied stool to Niall’s left. He’s rubbing her shins in between pulls of liquor, his navy blazer thrown over the couch, the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt opened to show his patch of chest hair.

They haven’t really said much in the fifteen minutes they’ve been home. Niall knows when to bite, and he knows that getting Aisling reacquainted with whiskey will make the conversation a lot easier.

So they sit. And he jokes. And she smiles.

It’s only after Niall says something stupid that makes Aisling snort—something that should be completely unattractive to most but Niall finds it incredible endearing—that her words make Niall’s heart stop.

“God, now I remember why I had such a crush on you in uni,” Aisling says after a pull of whiskey.

Niall stops his laughing, eyes immediately going wide. “Wait, what?”

“Oi, quit being an eejit,” she says with a roll of her hazel eyes. “Don’t act surprised, everybody knew.”

But Niall can’t help it. He is surprised.

Why hadn’t anybody told him? More so, why hadn’t she told him?

Was he really the only person who didn’t know?

“Aisling, why didn’t you tell me?” Niall asks, his voice void of teasing. He’s honest and when she looks deep into his ocean eyes, Aisling realizes that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned the crush she had on him in uni seven years ago.

“I genuinely thought you knew. Christ Niall, everybody knew,” she whispers, placing the whiskey bottle back on the table separating them.

“I just—I,” Niall’s confused. And overwhelmed. And slightly angry with himself. “Just wish I knew, is all.”

“Why? It wouldn’t have changed anything, Niall. It was years ago. And you were with Sheri. It really isn’t a big deal, I shouldn’t have said anything—”

“—Don’t do that,” Niall says abruptly, cutting her off.

Aisling’s eyes widen, mirroring Niall’s. “Do what?”

Niall huffs in response, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. “Act like your feelings don’t matter. They do. And I just—fuck, I dunno, Aisling. I just wish I fucking knew.”

“Why, what would you have done?” Aisling asks, repeating herself, half out of annoyance and half out of sheer curiosity. She truly wishes she just kept her fucking mouth shut.

“Who knows,” Niall says, grabbing the whiskey bottle for himself and pouring it down his throat. “Probably would have spared myself the heartache of dating a girl who could give less of a shit about me. But hey, the past is in the past. New year and all that. New beginnings or summat.” He holds up the bottle in a false cheers, his eyes dull and harsh.

Aisling’s replaying what he said earlier over and over in her head, watching as her best mate continues to gulp back whiskey.

Act like your feelings don’t matter.

Has she been doing that for years now? Acting like her feelings are insignificant, like everybody else’s feelings are more important than hers? Like every thought she has is just her completely overthinking everything?

She reaches out and grabs the bottle from Niall’s lips, placing it on the countertop in front of them with a gentle thud.

“It’s not that I don’t think my feelings matter,” Aisling starts, her voice a small mumble. “It’s just—nobody bothers to ask. I’m always helping everybody else with their problems, and it’s not that I don't want to, because I’d do it for anybody. I’m just different, I suppose. I keep things in, because sometimes the things I try and say are just shit, if I’m being honest. So I don’t really say anything.”

Niall sighs sadly, reaching across the countertop for Aisling’s hand instead of the whiskey bottle.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Niall starts, a sad look on his face. “I’m sorry I never bother to ask sometimes. It’s just, fuck Aisling, you’re just hard to read sometimes. And it’s so frustrating ‘cos you’re my best mate, yeah? I care about you so much.” Niall’s thumbs are brushing against Aisling’s hands and she tries her hardest not to shudder. “Hate when you keep things in. Need you to tell me, yeah?”

Aisling nods and she prays that Niall keeps his hands in hers.

“‘M sorry too, Niall. Care about you, too. Quite a bit.” Aisling is wondering if she’s imagining Niall leaning closer towards her, or if she just wants it to happen so badly that she’s conjuring it up in her own head.

Sitting across from Aisling in their tiny kitchenette, Niall wonders if he’s ever truly thought about kissing her before tonight. Sure, Aisling’s always been beautiful. And sure, she’s been one of his closest mates ever since they first moved in together. But as he sits here, watching the way her skin glows from the overhead lights, watching the way she’s slowly leaning in towards him, he’s really thinking about it.

So he leans in, too.

And he kisses her.

01:14

When they break apart, Aisling feels as if she’s on fire. Her forearms are balancing her upper body on the countertop, and Niall’s longer arms are holding her elbows tightly. Blue eyes meet hazel and their faces are so close that Aisling’s eyelashes are tickling the apples of Niall’s cheeks.

They’re breathing each other in before Aisling’s hand wraps around the back of Niall’s neck and she’s bringing his lips against hers for another searing kiss.

He reacts almost instantly, bringing one hand away from her elbow and up to her cheek, slotting his bottom lip over her top lip and holding back a groan from the back of his throat.

They break apart again, the edge of the counter digging into Aisling’s chest in an uncomfortable way. She sits back against the chair on her knees, her breathing labored and eyes blown wide. Niall’s staring at her, taking in her rosy cheeks and her messy hair, her swollen lips and huffing chest.

He thinks she’s the prettiest thing he’s seen all night. (Even though he knew that to begin with, to be fair).

So he stands up, holding an outstretched hand towards her body, giving her a boyish grin to which she returns instantly. “C’mere.”

Aisling practically jumps into his arms then, leaning her entire torso onto his with her arms wrapped securely around his neck. She can feel Niall’s forearms against the small of her back, and she’s standing on the tips of her toes in order to press her lips fully against his.

Niall squeezes against her hips and Aisling gasps, her mouth opening against his allowing him to lap his tongue against her own. It’s everything and more, and the sound exploding from the back of his throat practically causes Aisling to melt against his chest.

His hand is knotted into her hair, pulling back slightly so that she can reach his mouth. Aisling slowly starts to back Niall up against the wall adjacent to the hallway, and with that support he can run his hands down her back and against her bum, squeezing the skin through her glittery dress. When he pulls away for a breath, Aisling starts to kiss down the hollow of his throat, sucking a lovebite against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, causing Niall to rock his hips against hers.

“Christ Aisling,” Niall says through a strained breath, his head falling back against the wall when she blows over the fresh mark on his skin.

She steps away cautiously, her eyes wide in anxiousness. Was she doing too much? Niall practically whines when the warmth of her body leaves his own far too quickly, and his arms stretch out to bring her back to him.

“Is it too much? We can stop and forget that it even—”

“—What? Christ, who’s being the eejit now? Don’t leave,” Niall rushes out frantically, pulling Aisling flush against his chest to continue what they were doing before she left.

Aisling giggles into his mouth and it’s probably the sweetest sound he’s ever heard (a close second to her groaning into his mouth earlier). Before she can retreat again, he begins walking them backwards until she’s pushed up against the wall separating their bedrooms.

He breaks away and looks at her with a cocked eyebrow, a smirk growing against his strawberry swollen lips. “Mine or yours, sweet Aisling?”

Aisling laughs a bit, her arms still locked around his neck. Her hands are playing with the hair against the back of his neck, and he’s practically purring at the feeling of it. Without really thinking much (because how could she with the way he was looking at her?) she grabs the closest doorknob to her (which so happens to be hers) and opens it swiftly, dragging Niall by his forearms into the room until the backs of her knees hit her mattress and she’s falling into it with a gentle thud.

It’s all tangled limbs and pulled hair and knocking teeth, and they both could never have imagined their night ending this way. Niall practically rips the hidden zipper of Aisling’s dress off (“Sorry babe, can’t stop thinkin’ about what you look like under it”), Aisling tears through the remaining buttons on his white dress shirt, running her fingers through the hair on his chest causing him to groan against her neck (“Do you like that, Niall?”), Niall flips them over and when he’s leaning over her staring at Aisling hungrily in her cute little matching underwear set, he’s practically drooling at the mouth (“Dear god Aisling, you’re beautiful”), and when they’re both stripped down to nothing but skin and Niall’s leaning on his forearms over her, pushing into her with one swift breath, Aisling can feel herself falling apart inside (“Christ Niall, you’re everything”).

And when it’s all over and done with and they’re both lying against each other, breathing in and out, Aisling suddenly has a realization.

Truth is, maybe her and Niall were alone. But, for one night at least, they could forget about that. Why be alone by yourself when you could be alone together?

So with that thought, she cuddles deeper into Niall’s chest, feeling his hand tread through her auburn hair softly. Before she drifts off, he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, mumbling a quiet Happy New Year, sweet Aisling into her hair.

And when she mutters it back to him, sealing it with a kiss to his collarbone, she actually believes it for once.

That it was, truly, a very happy New Year (in the end).

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

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[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

What We Did, pt. 24

Summary:  After finding out you were pregnant, Bucky agrees to help you leave the hero life. The two of you go to Seattle, and hamper down for six months until you start dreaming of a certain someone. Convinced the dreams are a sign, you and Bucky go back to New York. Will everyone be happy to see the pair of you? What questions will they have? And will the lie Bucky and you made up finally resurface?  

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my main bitch @childishhoebinoo again. THIS IS A BIT SHORT, SORRY!

Warnings: //cheating//pregnancy//ADULT STUFF//

masterlist

Chapter Twenty-Four: Rose-colored

“Well, baby is looking great – you have only a few weeks left,” the doctor looked away from the ultrasound monitor and smiled at you before turning attention to Bucky. “Now, Dad, make sure to keep mom and baby happy.”

He laughed and nodded. “Will do.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she smiled and handed over the ultrasound photos over to you. “I’ll let the girls in the front know you’re coming in next week. I’ll see you two then.”

Bucky and you thanked her and when she leaves, he helps you up. You get dressed while Bucky admires the ultrasound and the two of you feel it in the air – impending parenthood. It’s not like you are afraid, but you were afraid.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be someone’s fucking mom,” you cried out dramatically. Bucky laughed and told you it will be fine. “Sure, you’re going to be great – but I’m a fucking train wreck.”

“Sweetheart, you are not a fucking train wreck; sailor mouthed? Yes, but you’re going to be a great mom,” Bucky insisted as he grabbed a hold of your wrist; he gently tugged you to him and kissed you on the mouth. The kiss was soft and warm, and you wondered briefly, if having sex on an examination table would be completely uncomfortable. The thought passes when your stomach growled and Bucky grinned.

“Come on, I’ll buy us lunch.”

…

The restaurant is quiet as the two of you eat a late lunch; Bucky ordered a hamburger while you went for a chicken sandwich. It’s delicious and the baby is happy, which makes you happy. Your stomach almost touches the edge of the table and Bucky lovingly teases when you can’t reach over for a napkin.

“Yes, let’s make fun of the pregnant lady – I’ll remember that when it comes time to change a shitty diaper.”

“You act like I’m not excited to change diapers,” Bucky argued back playfully. You rolled your eyes and sighed at the sound of your cell going off. You don’t want to pick it up, but it’s Tony. Bucky tells you to answer it and when you do, the man is talking a mile a minute.

“Hold on, Tony, what’s going on?”

“Barton, he got the papers.”

“We just finalized them the other day,” you pointed out.

Tony laughed. “What can I say, my lawyers work fast.”

Your heart dropped as you looked over to Bucky. “So, the lawyers sent Clint the custody agreement? He hasn’t called me.”

The expression on Bucky’s face was evident – displeased and a little worried as you listened to Tony explain the situation. You knew Bucky hadn’t been completely on board with the custody agreement Tony and you came up with, but he wanted to support you. He sat in on the phone conferences with the lawyers Pepper had hired and stayed quiet. You knew he thought Clint was a good man, because he was but you wanted to protect the baby, Bucky and admittedly, yourself.

Tony sighed. “No, he’s far too busy blowing up my cell. He’s become very colorful with his words, the messages are, honestly, performance art.”

“Fuck, I have to call him – he needs to know it’s not your fault. I came to you – you were just being a good friend. Thank you, Tony. I’ll take care of it.”

“No worries, kid. You know Pep and I are in your corner.”

The two of you hang up and suddenly the chicken sandwich didn’t look so good; you placed the phone down on the table and looked to Bucky – he was quietly contemplating something because you had to say his name twice before he looked to you.

You smiled at him and asked if he was okay. “I knew the lawyers sending the papers would get Clint going and I know you never were really onboard with all this…”

“No,” Bucky shook his head and reached down for your hand. He squeezed it tight and brought it up to his lips, giving your knuckles a light kiss. “I’m always going to be at your side, everything I really care about, everything that matters to me – it’s right here at this table. I don’t care what anyone thinks, it doesn’t matter how we ended up here, I’m just glad it happened.”

“Me too.”

Bucky grinned, letting your hand go to dig something out of his jacket pocket. You watched as he brought out a small velvet box, your heart raced as he smiled sheepishly. “I got this the day after you talked about getting married, I guess, I was afraid. I wasn’t sure if us getting married would be just for the kid…”

“God, no, Bucky….”

He nodded. “I know that now, but honestly, even if it was, I would have still married you. I’ve always loved you, doll. From the moment we met, I just loved you and when you told me you were pregnant – I just didn’t want you to do it alone. I didn’t want to see you doing this by yourself, not that you couldn’t.”

The two of you laughed and you leaned in to kiss him again, touching the side of his face. “I don’t want this with anyone else, I don’t,”

“Me neither, so let’s do this, yeah?”

Bucky took out the ring, it was a rose-colored gold braided with small diamonds all around it; it was lovely, and it was more than what you could ever imagine. He took your left hand, his mouth curved into a small, hopeful smile.

“What do you say? Marry this old Brooklyn boy, please.”

“Of course,” you cried out, holding back tears as he slipped on the ring. It was a perfect it and, in that moment, everything else didn’t matter. Throwing both arms around his neck, you kissed Bucky hard and long, forgetting all together how-to breath.

.....

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[dimitrescus-bitch]

That Morgan (Kailen Sheridan x Morgan!Reader)

“Alex, yeah, I gotta go,” you said as you saw your girlfriend approach you. “Bye, love you too.”

“Who was that?” Kailen asked, setting two drinks down in front of you. She wasn’t jealous, just curious, you could tell from her relaxed tone. “Secret girlfriend?”

“Older sister, she’s coming to my game tomorrow,” you said and Kailen nodded. “Which means you’ll finally get to meet her.”

“What do I need to do in order to make a good first impression?” Kailen asked and you had to think about it for a moment. “There’s gotta be something.”

“Just be supportive and let’s hope for the best,” you said and Kailen seemed a bit worried about that. “She knows I’m out, but she doesn’t really know we’re dating.”

“Hmm, I wonder why,” Kailen said sarcastically.

“After this, after you meet her, I’m posting all of the appropriate photos of us I have on my phone,” you said and Kailen chuckled as she kissed you.

“I was joking, I swear,” Kailen said, leaning against you. The two of you finished your date before Kailen took you home. You drove yourself to an afternoon practice after that and you were pretty sure that you had this game against Boston in the bag.

Everybody knew you sister, but they didn’t know you. To be fair, women’s hockey wasn’t really a big deal in America. You were also fairly new to the sport. This was your first season away from college, where you had made quite a name for yourself. Tonight was technically your first professional game on the first shift. Alex was coming to watch it and after the game, you’d introduce her to your girlfriend. You met Kailen for breakfast, picked Alex up from the airport after that, and then started getting ready for the game. You did your normal rituals and then before you knew it, the game was starting.

“Fuck yeah!” you yelled. You had scored your first goal and it was barely 4 minutes into the game. That set a pretty good tempo for the rest of your shifts. You’d go on and either get an assist or a goal. You had gotten a penalty for fighting towards the end, but by the final buzzer, the Riveters had easily defeated the Boston Pride. You took some pictures, showered, changed, and then met Kailen in the parking lot.

“Where is she?” Kailen asked, nervously shifting back and forth. Actually, you couldn’t tell whether she was nervous for just cold. Kailen had given you her coat for the night, which was the warmest thing you’d ever worn.

“She’s coming, be patient,” you said, hugging Kailen. She held onto you and didn’t let you go, trying to steal some of your warmth.

“Y/n,” Alex said and you turned around. “Good game, even if mom’s gonna mad about the fight.”

“Better the fight than the girlfriend,” you joked and Kailen nervously chuckled. “Alex, Kailen. Kailen, Alex.”

“You didn’t tell me that your sister was Alex Morgan,” Kailen said, a little surprised.

“Kailen, what’s my last name?”

“Morgan.”

“What did I tell you my sister did for a living?”

“Played soccer.”

“Where and when did we meet?”

“Sky Blue at Pride, my first season, and now I feel like an idiot,” Kailen said. You gave her a kiss on the temple and then got into her car. Kailen got in after shutting your door and Alex followed her car to your house. You quickly fixed something up to eat, watching from the kitchen as Alex and Kailen spoke with each other. Kailen came in towards the end of you making dinner and sat on the counter. “So, I think she’s cool with us dating. I got a shovel talk and then we both had a nice moment of woe is me over the states of our club teams.”

“Well, that’s good,” you said and Kailen grabbed a cookie from the cabinet. Kailen and Alex seemed to get along well and at the end, you took some photos for Instagram, having promised Kailen that you’d post about her.

[phoebehalliwell]

I loved your cataloguing all of prue’s potential kids!! Like the detail that went into it is *chef kiss* I can’t wait to see what story you come with with Sheridan and Warren! Also, that post got me thinking, what do you think would have happened had Andy become a whitelighter and come back? How do you think that would have effected his and Prue’s hypothetical kids? Like would one of them been the twice-blessed do you think?

it’s 2.2k under the cut bc idk how to shut up

okay so for a whitelighter!andy & prue i think The Move would be like in the s3 finale the source has tempus reverse time but then like idk knocks out leo or whatever because he knows that without him there both prue and piper will die from their injuries what he doesn’t know is that there’s a certain other whitelighter who will watch from the fringes check in but not interfere for risk of being caught going against the rules but when he sees piper and prue inches from death and no way leo can get to them in time, andy has to make a choice. he has to heal them. oh but now we have the elders all pissy because whitelighters are only supposed to work with their own charges their not supposed to run around freelance healing other people’s charges that’d be chaos so clearly there needs to be some consequences and andy’s ready to like gracefully take whatever’s dealt out to him and prue’s like I Think The Fuck Not and like goes to bat for andy talking about how she would have been dead without him how the charmed ones would be gone without him really rains hell down on the elders so they’re like ᵒᵏᵃʸ ᶠᶦⁿᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗᵉᵛᵉʳ ʷᵉ ʷᵒⁿ’ᵗ ᵖᵘⁿᶦˢʰ ʰᶦᵐ ᶦᵍ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁿ’ᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒ ʳᵘᵈᵉ blah blah blah so prue and andy talk in the heavens and it’s sorta awkward at first bc prue’s like so. you’re not dead. that’s good. bc you know. you’re not dead. and andy’s like yeah. but like he’s reading the subtext here bc he Knows prue and she’s saying i’m so happy your alive but i’m really hurt that you never told me. that i mourned you and thought you were gone forever but you weren’t you were right there. and andy’s not entirely sure what to say bc like. what was he supposed to do. and he understands how prue feels but he couldn’t have just orbed in like hi i’m a whitelighter and you’ll never see me again it was better for prue to mourn and move on so she that had a shot at happiness but now he’s face to face with her and what i thought it would be better for you? it sounds hollow so instead of trying to explain himself he just says the first thing that comes to mind i never stopped loving you and he’s ready to orb back into the ether or whatever bc while the elders won’t punish him for saving prue & piper they’re still not jazzed and he’s still not allowed to interact with them when prue kisses him and tell him like i lost you once i’m not about to do it again marry me. and like they’re married within the hour bc by now the charmed ones have done this before they can do it on a speed round mode and the elders are like hey we said- and prue’s like sorry i can’t hear you over the sound of holy matrimony suck my balls blah blah blah like end season 3 i’m not sure when prue would have her first child though and if it would predate wyatt bc like. y’know her career’s still very much in its early stages she’s still on the up & up and her and andy haven’t actually like been together in a minute so there’s a lot of catching up to do whereas like piper and leo have consecutively been together longer she’s owned p3 longer than prue’s been a photographer so she’s already p locked in on that & she can do her job sitting down which is a plus. so i think in a whitelighter andy au wyatt will still be born first but patricia will be born within the same year, maybe six months after wyatt and i don’t think wyatt would really be like the twiced blessed bc like patricia would be Right There and he’s just no longer special enough to really warrant a prophecy y’know? i also think in this au it would take longer for prue and andy to move out bc y’know like again they just got andy back but i think she would still be out of the house by the end of season four beginning of season five ish i also think like the thing they really didn’t consider is that their kid’s gonna be half whitelighter so when piper’s like yeah have you vomited orbs yet lmao prue’s like wait. especially bc like andy’s only been a whitelighter for like a year or two and they’re both like oh word what does this mean and like they have leo and sorta piper to answer their questions but it’s sorta like they’ve got this vibe that no matter what happens like we’re in this together we have each other’s back we can do anything real power couple vibe they’re very like sappy like they’re aware they’re sappy & they’re not gonna stop.

& then a bit on sheridan & warren bc in the specific au i’m gonna write them in it still starts the same as it did here but i am keeping prue’s canon death in s3. and so like s4 the twins are still toddlers and i think piper and phoebe would still offer to watch them on like weekdays or whatever bc they still have a bedroom in the manor and jack still sorta lives in a bachelor pad and like the kids do have magic powers and jack definitely is there more and shows up more bc those are his kids and one day he shows up and there’s a demon attack and he like knew prue fought demons but he had never y’know. been in the line of fire so to speak and he’s like does this happen a lot and piper’s like yeah sort of and phoebe’s like there’s no need to worry warren and sheridan are totally safe here and jack’s like really because the scorched wallpaper begs to differ and piper’s like we understand your panic but like we can keep them safe and jack’s like no i don’t think you understand my panic those are my sons they’re my only kids and they’ve already lost prue i’m not. i’m taking them with me. and like the girls get where he’s coming from (paige is also here she just doesn’t really know jack so she’s hanging out with leo in the kitchen like 😐) basically they bind warren & sheridan’s powers and phoebe modifies the dominus trinus (now the dominus dualis ig) and tells jack that when they’re ready this will give them their magic back. and so like he moves them into his place but it’s not built for kids and so he’s on the hunt for a new place but also like a new jobs bc like bucklands blows without prue and almost everything there reminds him of her and he really just needs a fresh start so when he gets a job offer in japan he packs his bags & the three of them are off and then it’s like maybe four years in japan and then we’ll say he goes to new york and that lasts maybe two years and now warren and sheridan are like in elementary school and he knows the hopping from place to place isn’t like good for them and he really needs to settle down for a place that’s gonna be like Home and he knows he has to return to san francisco. so 2007 he’s back in san francisco he does not cross paths with the halliwells again and he sorta feels like he should bc like sheridan & warren Are Witches that’s like part of who they are and like he and prue had agreed before that they would raise them with magic because prue wishes she had known she was a witch she had always thought that had she had come earlier to the craft she could have done more good maybe not lost as many people and jack knows he has to unbind their magic eventually especially bc that was what prue wanted and like prue was always right but like. fuck dude. his kids were wizards. witches, whatever. like how is he supposed to raise kids with magic. like should he just go back to the manor and be like hi raise my magic kids for me he doesn’t want to do that those are his kids he doesn’t want to dump them off somewhere much less the place where their mom died so basically he keeps postponing it he keeps blowing it off and the kids are growing up normal & safe but still it’s gnawing at him bc it’s not what prue wanted and he doesn’t want to send them into the world unprepared and like sheridan & warren are like sixteen now and he’s like fuck. fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. what am i doing what am i gonna do i don’t know a goddamn thing so he’s like fuck it. hi god it’s me jack. i don’t believe in you and i don’t really believe in praying but here i am on my knees bc i’m lost. i think i’ve fucked up but i don’t know how to make it better, i want to do the right thing but i don’t even know what that is, would love some like. guidance. or something. i guess. and he like waits because like magic is real so like. hey god. do something please. and nothing happens and he’s like whatever this is why i never went to church blah blah blah That Night he dreams he’s at p3, which is weird because it’s been closed for like eight years and jack hasn’t thought about it in like twice that long but that’s where he is. and it’s like empty and a bit messy like there’s been a concert but now it’s late and everyone’s gone home. everyone except him, and the raven haired woman at the bar. prue. and listen jack doesn’t cry okay he doesn’t saw marley and me and like didn’t even sniffle (lie, he cried) but he sees prue and well uhh he’s crying a lil bc like fuck. he misses her. and he misses her confidence and the way she always seemed to have the right answer and could always manage to save the day and he misses her. and he’s like i hope you’re here to answer my prayers and she smiles at him bc he’s always so glib and stupid and it drives her up the wall but she still loves it about him and she’s like actually, i am. and idk she talks with him and quells his fears and he’s like how do i even bring that up to them he guys you’re wizards -witches. yeah that. like how do i even broach that. and prue’s like get the spell. and be ready. and she just sorta vanishes and he’s like cool are you gonna save the day like you always do but he can already feel she just isn’t there anymore and he’s like okay :/ and he wakes up and it’s like three am and he wants to go back to bed the whole magic thing is just niggling at the back of his mind so he gets out of bed and hunts down his old briefcase he had from all the way back at bucklands and finds just like a blank unlabelled folder and takes a deep breath and in it are some old photos of prue and him from the 90s and a thick folded up piece of paper with a torn edge and he carefully unfolds it and in like a really nice script is the unbinding spell and then like warren and sheridan are like dad? why are you awake right now and he’s like why are you awake right now? and they twins sorta share a look and warren’s like weird dream and sheridan’s looking over his dad’s shoulder and sees the pictures of prue and is like is this mom? and he takes the pictures and jack’s like yeah those are from. they’re from a long time ago. and sheridan and warren are looking at these pictures and like they wanna ask something but aren’t sure how to say it so jack goes first and he’s like your mom wanted you to have this and hands them the spell and they’re like what. is this? and he’s like its a spell. to unbind your powers. magic powers. i know i should have told you earlier and i’m sorry but i- are ghost real? what? like. can dead people... y’know... and jack breaks into a smile bc he’s so glad that they actually got to like. meet prue. have at least one memory of her. and so sheridan and warren take the spell and are like. so do we read it? and jack’s like idk i’m not a witch yeah i guess so y’know  hear now the words of the witches, the secrets we hid in the night. the oldest of gods are invoked here. the great work of magic is sought. in this night and in this hour, i call upon the ancient power. bring your powers to we brothers two, we want the power, give us the power. and like the apartment shakes and idk the lights flicker and the brothers are like cool. now what. and jack’s like i don’t know. guess we’ll find out.

[safflowerseason]

Cassie’s diary - an excerpt

(I truly do not know what this is. I wrote it when I was supposed to be doing other things, and here we are. It was fun to write, though. The usual caveats about writing quality apply, I didn’t even edit this before posting. Who am I.

I suppose I am technically spoiling my own story but also, I think if you’re paying attention, nothing gets spoiled. 

December 16th, 1:25am

Mom’s first day of “retirement” (except of course we can’t call it that, even though she voluntarily chose to leave her job as the first female of chief of staff to the second elected lady president). She spent the day on the couch watching CNN obsessively and calling her replacement every thirty-five minutes. 

This is all according to Dad because they made me go to school instead of staying home and watching Mom go insane like I wanted. I asked Dad why he didn’t go to work and he said he had to stay at home and make sure my mother didn't start breaking things out of rage. Also because she would kill him if he let me stay home when I had finals to take. 

I said it was one of the finals was for my constitution class, and it’s insulting that I have to take it in the first place, all things considered, but no fucking luck. 

I finished early and spent the rest of the period writing a detailed summary of all the mistakes and typos in the exam paper, which will probably make Ms. Hill fail me out of rage, but it was a better use of my time than the exam. Nick Sheridan finished with about ten minutes to go and he sauntered up to submit the paper like he was on the fucking red carpet at a Hollywood premiere. He spent the rest of the class whispering very obnoxiously about how his family is going to Tahiti for Christmas. I ignored him because he is worse than the excrement that builds up in the upper cracks of a toilet bowl. Plus, I know for a fact he got question twenty five wrong, because we studied together yesterday and he was not paying enough attention to the nuances of Article III.

After finals the girls went downtown for hot chocolate and ice-skating, but I went home to check on Mom and to study. Apparently the stock market dipped 1.3% percent and her replacement’s assistant had blocked her number, so she had moved onto drinking the good whiskey from Dad’s office that we’re not supposed to know about. Dad had even skipped going to the gym in favor of staying at home, so I could tell he was secretly worried, even though he tried to cover it by saying that this was all just good material for the book. 

To cheer Mom up I made her quiz me for my art history final, which seemed to work, but then her phone went off with a notification that the UN ambassador had been exposed in tax fraud scandal, and she started yelling for my father because the ambassador was a hand-chosen pick by Liz. Dad, who was lying on the couch with a sheet mask on, said nobody gives a fuck about the UN anyway and to get over herself but if she really wanted he would go make a call. (Which he did). 

We went out to dinner to “celebrate” and Mom’s phone didn’t go off once, which was actually miraculous and also a little bit weird? The best part of dinner was when Richard stopped by our table during dessert to ask Mom how her “retirement” was going, and Dad had literally restrain her from pouring the water carafe over his head. I told Richard all about my constitution final and he said I should come over and tutor his kids sometime. At this point, Mom ordered another dessert to go. 

Later, Mom stayed up past midnight pacing around her office and obsessing over the stock market. Eventually, Dad started threatening to take her on a real vacation, and she told him she’d like to see him fucking try, at which point Dad snapped “careful what you fucking wish for, Amy!” and they both slammed their respective doors. My parents are truly the biggest fucking babies on the planet. 

(Dad’s already planned for us to go “somewhere warm” between Christmas and New Year’s, but he won’t tell me where it is—shit, I hope it’s not Tahiti. I’m assuming we’ll just tranquilize Mom to get her onto the plane? I hope the flight attendants wear padding…)

Anyway, she finally went to bed when I told her I couldn’t go to sleep until she did and I had my last final in the morning, but I could hear her ranting to Dad on the other side of the house. God. If I fail my art history exam, it’s going to be their fault.

[the--blackdahlia]

Natural Born Killers Chapter 14 (Sam x Dean)

Title: Natural Born Killers Chapter 14

Summary:  It started as an accident. That’s what it was. But things escalated from there and now the law wants Dean Winchester, one way or another.

Warnings: Language, violence, graphic murder

Present

“I’m really worried about him.” Diana told another agent, Peter Sheridan, as they sat down for lunch.

“Who?” Peter asked.

“Victor.” She told him. “He’s obsessing over this case. Was he close to one of the victims or something?”

“I think he just wants to catch the next Richard Ramirez or John Wayne Gacy. That’s it.” Peter told her. “And obsession is like an addiction. It consumes your life. He got a taste of this case and he wants more.”

“But trapping the brother like this? It feel more like stalking.”

“It happens. He’s got a few more hours to get something out of Sam Winchester. But I don’t think he’s going to get anything.” Peter took a drink. “If his brother really is alive and is killing people, that kid’s probably so brainwashed that he’s not going to say anything.”

“I just hope that this whole thing doesn’t turn around and bite him in the ass.” Diana said. Peter nodded.

“You and me both. Because we’ll be the ones to pick up the pieces if it does.”

****

2006

Dean had made a lot of progress on Baby. He only stopped to eat when he started feeling light headed and his sore muscles begged him to take five minutes. He sat in the kitchen, eating a sandwich, and staring at the ring on his finger. Whatever had Sam was going to die a painful death, Dean was sure of it.

There was a loud knocking then on the front door. Dean sighed and got up. He knew how to keep records in case it was a customer. He made sure to have a weapon ready, in case it wasn’t. He slowly opened the door.

“Bobby, I got here as soon…” The girl at the door started to say, but stopped when she saw Dean. “Dean Winchester?”

“Kaelyn Wesson?”  Dean asked. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same.” She said. “Is Bobby here? He called me.”

“How do you know Bobby?” He asked.

“I, well, you see…” She stuttered some. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.” Dean stepped out on the porch. Kaelyn sighed.

“So, monsters are real.” She told him. “I discovered it the hard way and Bobby saved my life. In return, I do research and tracking for him or to take the overflow of hunters that need help.” She explained. “And I know it’s crazy but…”

“It’s not crazy.” Dean said, opening the house to her. “Why did Bobby call you?” Kaelyn made her way in and immediately set up her computer on an empty piece of table she found.

“Sam. He’s missing. Bobby asked if I had any leads, and I was in the area anyway. There was a comic convention nearby.” Kaelyn explained. She waited for her laptop to start up. “Just glad the old man has Wi-Fi.” She looked at Dean. “How was Palo Alto?”

“You don’t want to know.” Dean said, shaking his head. Kaelyn nodded.

“I didn’t finish at U of M either.” She told him, typing away. “Not when some glowing blue monster thing kills your girlfriend.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Dean said. Kaelyn waved him off. He played with his ring out of habit.

“I just want you to know, I may have done a search on Sam not too long ago. Wanted to see how successful my graduating class was.” She cleared her throat. “Congratulations on the wedding.” Dean froze. He looked at her. “I always wondered if you two were really brothers or not. I figured you weren’t, that it was some love thing. But I’m glad that you two were able to find some normal.”

“Uh, thanks.” Dean said. Kaelyn nodded. “I...I got some things to do out back. Gotta work on my car…”

“The Impala?” Kaelyn asked. “God, I love your car. I remember you taking Sam and me to the movies in it.”

“Yeah, she needs some love.” Dean said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Can I offer a hand?” She asked. “It’s gonna take a bit to get the scan in.”

“I…” Dean started to say.

“I know how to do electrical work.” Kaelyn offered. Dean sighed.

“Fine. You can keep me company.” Dean sighed. Kaelyn jumped up and followed him out to the yard where the restoration work was going on.

“Oh.” Kaelyn said, staring at the Impala. “Oh sweet girl.”

“She’s tough.” Dean said, working on sanding so he could repaint. “Wanna do this so I can work on some other stuff?” Kaelyn nodded and went to work on that. They worked in relative silence with just the radio playing some classic rock. Dean was surprised at how quick he was getting things fixed. He had worked on cars before with less damage that had taken longer to fix. But the boss he had had at the time was more for money than anything.

“I should go check on the scan. And you should eat something.” Kaelyn said.

“I just ate.” Dean said.

“That was about five hours ago.” Kaelyn told him before heading in the house. Dean was shocked. He had been so focused on working that he didn’t even realize how quickly time had went by. Dean sighed and made his way inside. Kaelyn was typing away at her computer. Bobby would be back soon, Dean hoped.

“I’ve got something.” Kaelyn said as Dean got a beer out of the fridge. He made his way over. “Four other people, all twenty-two, have went missing.”

“And?” Dean asked.

“Well, could it be whatever caused Sam to go missing?” Kaelyn suggested.

“That’s a thought. Good job Kaelyn.” He patted her on the back, making her flinch. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She said quietly. Dean closed her laptop lid, making her look up at him.

“There wasn’t a convention nearby, was there?” He asked. She looked down. “Kaelyn Wesson, you’re pretty much my little sister. Now tell me what is going on.”

“I ran.” She said. “Things were going so good between us. We just moved to Mitchell and…” She didn’t even have to finish. Dean knew what she was saying. He nodded to what she was saying.

“What’s his name?” Dean asked, taking mental notes.

“Uh...Hudson. Why?” She asked.

“No reason.” He snagged the keys to one of Bobby’s pickup trucks. “Want some pizza? I want some pizza. And we’re running low on beer.”

“Want me to go get it?” Kaelyn asked.

“Nah. You stay here and do your research. I’ll be back.” He smirked at her before he walked out, making sure he had his favorite knife on him, preparing for the drive to Mitchell.

****

Dean used the browser on his phone to track down Hudson’s in Mitchell. There were three. And stalking Kaelyn’s MySpace page, he found pictures of the guy. He drove to the first house, but it was an old man with Navy tattoos on him. The second house though provided a better outcome.

He peered through the window and saw the douche sitting on the couch, surrounded by beer cans. Dean reached into his pocket, making sure that his knife was there. He looked around and saw no one was around. So he went to the door and rang the bell. It took a minute or so for Hudson to get to the door, so Dean rang the bell again.

“Fuck man, give me a moment.” Hudson said as he opened the door. “What?”

“Hudson Davies?” Dean asked.

“Who wants to know?” Hudson asked.

“I think we need to have a little chat.” He pushed Hudson back into the house by his face and slammed the front door shut.

“What the fuck man? Get out!” Hudson said. Dean punched him, knocking him to the ground. Hudson made to reach for the house phone, but Dean stepped harshly on his hand, satisfied when he heard joints pop and bones crack.

“I said I wanted to chat.” Dean said, grabbing Hudson by the hair. “You hurt someone near and dear to me. You might know her. Kaelyn.”

“That bitch sent you here?” Hudson asked. Dean punched him, satisfied at the bruise already spreading on his cheek.

“She didn’t send me.” Dean growled. “I came on my own. Because apparently, you have some trouble keeping your hands to yourself.” He punched him again. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take this knife,” He held up his favorite knife. “And I’m going to slice a little here, dice a little there. And when I’m done with you, you’re going to look as ugly as your soul is.”

“P-please don’t do this.” Hudson begged.

“Is that what Kaelyn said when you beat her?” Dean spat. “Because the way I see it, you’re no better than the monsters I hunt on a daily basis.” With that, he placed a hand over Hudson’s mouth and stabbed his knife straight into his heart. As much as he would’ve loved to hear those delicious screams, he didn’t want to risk neighbors calling the police. But in this neighborhood, Dean wasn’t even sure if they’d show up.

He looked at the tears streaming down Hudson’s face as he tried to hold on, praying for some kind of help to come to his rescue. But no savior came. Instead, he got more of Dean’s blade to various parts of his body, until he finally gave up and came to rest in his own blood. Dean sat back, staring at his body.

“Good riddance.” Dean hissed. He got up a moment later and searched the house. He pocketed any and all cash he saw, and took a few expensive items to make it look like a botched robbery. Anything that looked like it might be important to Kaelyn, he took with him. He made sure to wipe down anywhere his prints would be. Before he left, he turned to look at the body laying in the middle of the living room, staining the already grungy carpet. Dean couldn’t stop the smile that spread on his face before he turned and left.

****

“It’s been hours.” Kaelyn said as Dean came in. “Bobby called, said he’s on his way back.” She looked up. “Where’s the pizza?”

“Forgot.” Dean said. He laid her things on the table in front of her. “There’s $250.” He laid the cash on the table. “I borrowed $20 for gas.”

“Dean?” She asked.

“Hudson won’t be hurting anyone.” He told her, walking away. “I’ll call and have the pizza delivered.” She caught a flash of red on his freckled skin. Blood. Her eyes widened and she got up, following him.

“Dean, what did you do?” She asked.

“What had to be done.” He explained. “Are you going to turn me in?”

“No.” She said, taking him by surprise. “I love true crime. I’d love to be apart of this story when it makes its way into some profilers textbook.”

“God, you and Sammy are two peas in a pod, aren’t you?” He chuckled.

“Any way I can help, just let me know.” She said. “I’ll order the pizza. You go get cleaned up.” She gave him a quick hug before going to find a menu in Bobby’s kitchen.

****

Tennessee

“I appreciate what you’re doing for them.” Jake said as him and Sam walked one wing of the prison, while Ava and Andy walked the other.

“What am I doing?” Sam asked.

“Playing it cool, even though I know you’re just as freaked out as the rest of us.” Jake told him. Sam nodded. He was scared, but not of where they were. Of what Azazel wanted with him.

“So, you were in Afghanistan when this happened?” Sam asked. Jake nodded.

“Yeah. I was just ready to go home.” Jake sighed. “I loved my job, but the death, it just got too much. Watching innocent children being killed and then your best friend from high school getting sent home without the use of his legs…”

“Sorry.” Sam said. Jake just shrugged.

“I just had gotten done telling one of my buddies I was ready to go home, then I went to bed in my barracks. I woke up here.” Jake explained to Sam. “My friend just sort of chuckled and said I’d be out of there before I knew it. I thought he meant my tour would be up soon.”

“It must have been him.” Sam said.

“That yellow eyed freak. I’m going to kill him.” Jake said. Sam nodded. “So, you were in a car accident?”

“Yeah. Dean and I were heading for a quiet weekend when a truck came out of nowhere and hit us.” Sam said. “I had a vision of him dying and I went to the chapel and I prayed. He told me he could save him. I shouldn’t have believed him, but I was so blinded by what I saw that...that I had to.” Sam laughed some, but had tears in his eyes. “And the ironic part is, Dean wasn’t even hurt that bad. He just needed to rest. And now I’m here in a fucking prison.” Sam picked a piece of splintered wood off the floor and chucked it at the wall.

“We’re going to get out.” Jake said. “We’ve just got to figure it out so we don’t get our necks broken like poor Lily.” Sam played with his wedding band, a nervous habit that he had done ever since Dean had given him the ring.

****

“This place is disgusting.” Ava said, looking at everything around her. “We’re probably breathing in black mold as we speak!”

“I think that���s the least of our problems.” Andy said. “That man royally fucked up our lives. Even if we can go back…”

“Oh, I’m going back.” Ava said. Andy rolled his eyes.

“If we get to go back, your fiance is dead and you just disappeared. How is that going to look on you?” Andy asked. Ava started to open her mouth to speak. “And my home and car are gone. I have nothing to go back there. And I guarantee you, the cops found my stash.”

“Oh god.” Ava said. “I just wanted to have a break from the planning stress. That was it!”

“I know, I know.” Andy said, rubbing her back. “We’re going to get out of here.”

“But you just said that if we get out, our lives are over.” She told him. He sighed. He was not good about talking to people. That was something his brother used to tease him about, but he wasn’t much better. “I don’t even remember the last time I ate.”

“I’m starving.” Andy said. “I don’t suppose you’d want some grilled rat.” He watched a rat scamper across the floor, earning a glare from Ava. With no electricity, it was getting dark inside. They were all going to meet in the main part and try to start a fire soon, using what few resources they had. They were getting ready to turn around and head back to find Sam and Jake when each of them breathed out a white cloud.

“Oh no, not again.” Ava gasped. A form flickered in front of them then. He was wearing a striped uniform, much like the one Ava had faced before had on. His eyes were lifeless as he reached out for Ava and Andy.

“Get back!” Andy called out.

“Sam used one of the bars to fight it last time.” Ava said, running over to one of the cells. Andy did the same, pulling on the bars but they wouldn’t budge.

“Oh come on!” Andy said as he pulled. He looked back over to where the ghost had been standing, just to find him gone. “Ava?”

“Where’d he go?” She asked, looking at the same spot. Her breath showed again and she turned around to be face to face with the ghost. “ANDY!” She screamed. He ran over to try to get the ghost away from her, but the ghost grabbed her by the hair and repeatedly into the bars.

“Stop!” Andy said, running at the ghost. He ran through him, falling to the ground along with Ava. Andy started to shiver from the cold, his insides feeling like they were turning to ice. He groaned and pushed himself, looking over at Ava. “Ava?” HE asked, but she didn’t answer. “Sam! Jake!”

His voice echoed through the halls of the prison. Sam and Jake raced towards him, seeing him cradling Ava’s body in his arms. His skin was white from the cold as he shivered.

“Andy, what happened?” Sam asked.

“G-ghost.” Andy said, his teeth chattering from the cold.

“Yeah, those things as pesky.” The woman from earlier said, walking up to them. “Oh, I’m gonna need you to move.” She pushed Andy away from Ava and said the same Latin she said as she stood over Lily’s body. The same light come out of Ava’s mouth and she collected it.

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded. The woman smiled at him.

“Oh Sammy, I have my orders.” She laughed. “I can’t kill you guys. I’m just here to collect this.” She shook the vial, laughing.

“Who are you?” Jake asked. She smiled.

“Sammy knows me. We go way back.”

“Meg.” Sam growled. She winked at him.

“I’ll be back for that one soon.” She motioned at Andy. “See you soon.” With that, she was gone, leaving the three men alone.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @we-ride-with-the-tide @dekahg @marvel-af @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke @xxwarhawk @strab0 @sandlee44 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Supernatural Tags: @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23 @cloudyskylines @supernaturalwincestsblog @flamencodiva @sams-serialkiller-fetish @theas-bedtime-stories

Natural Born Killers Tags: @mysteriousharmony @webcraft4eveh @mereka18 @writinginthesecrettrees @i-write-for-all-soulmates

[applebyarrows-official]

A Very Sheri(dan) Christmas 8 PM, December 25th, 2009

Perching uncomfortably in a stiff sitting room chair, near a quiet, flickering spark of a fire left in the ashes of the day’s burnings, Avery gazed out into the living space around them, taking in the wreckage that had sprouted from Christmas Day. Scattered on the floor were the torn remnants of the wrapping paper from many presents, as well as the many colored bows and ribbons that had topped them. Unwrapping gifts had taken place that morning, and it was long past sundown now, but no one could seem to bear cleaning up the holiday cheer. The only being set on doing anything this time of night after the celebrations were Jessica, who was off doing housework, and the dog. Avery had never been a big fan of dogs. Crups were one thing, as they were at least generally intelligent creatures, but even they were on thin ice! They thought fondly of the brief interaction they had had with the Headmaster’s crup as they informed him they’d be taking the holiday to visit family. Proper dogs though, they were a whole different can of worms. This dog, in particular. Avery looked cautiously at the dog in question--Jessica’s dog--and he looked back at them with a completely vacant expression. He was utterly idiotic, Avery thought, as they watched him try, again, to eat the lower branches of the Christmas tree. Jessica was proud of that dog. “He’s purebred, you know! Absolutely perfect in every way!” Jessica had spouted earlier today. The Hogwarts professor had sat through Jessica’s ramblings, thoroughly finding humor in the half-blooded witch being so incredibly proud of her designer idiot. As if he knew he was being thought poorly of, the Pomeranian trotted over to Avery’s exposed ankles and gave them a wet, sloppy lick. They lifted their feet up so they were out of dog-range, and tucked their toes underneath their legs, sitting barely on the seat, just barely out of reach of Chuffy’s mouth. Why were dog mouths always so wet? Avery frowned at Chuffy and shooed him away. As much as they tried to put up with being in this damn house, for Margie’s sake, they were not going to allow themselves to be subjected to and slobber that was not from their own pet, who was unfortunately stuck at the school while Avery was away.

It was just for a couple of days, but Jessica had told them straight off the bat that she didn’t want to introduce Chuffy to any cats, and Avery couldn’t promise that Ganymede would do well with such a small dog. He had hunted bigger things in Brazil than that Pomeranian, so maybe it was for the best, in the end. Sairish had promised to take good care of Ganymede, and Avery had told Ganymede to behave before they left. He might be upset for a little bit, but he’d be okay by the time they came back, and he'd be doubly affectionate upon their return, they were sure. It was just a matter of him behaving while they were away. Surely someone would write if he was causing problems at Hogwarts. A loud clatter from behind Avery, coming from the direction of the dining room caught their attention. They stood quickly, turning to see the source of the noise, only to see Jessica already stooping down to pick up a dropped platter and waving off Avery’s unspoken concern. “You are a guest,” she spoke clearly. “I will not have you lifting a finger to help clean in my house.” Ah, of course. Avery shrugged and returned to the stiff chair. This wasn’t their house anymore-- It was just hers. It would never be Avery and Jessica’s home again. Just…. Jessica’s house.  Avery was nothing more than a minimally wanted guest, staying the holiday to see their daughter. Jessica inviting Avery to stay the holiday had been nothing more than a peasantry, a “look, we’re doing just fine without you here,” now that they were back in the country again. Hell, it hardly seemed like Margie even wanted them here. The nine-year-old had only just barely managed to sit through the uncomfortable dinner with the three of them. She was much more excited to have time off of school this week and excited to wait up for Santa than she was the see Avery again. Perhaps seeing them outside of their regular summers was odd for her. Avery wasn’t supposed to get Margie again until late May. A long, wordlessly tense silence followed Jessica’s quick denial of any help that Avery had to offer. Now instead, they sat, once again returning to the terrible chair. They tried to relax into it, hoping that maybe sitting back into the cushions would soften them a bit. It did not.  Avery returned to watching the dying fire, only passingly noting as Jessica moved on from cleaning up the dining room and moved into another part of the house. Only the occasional sound of a passing car or muggle carolers singing broke through to Avery as they thought.

Suddenly, and with seemingly no warning, the sharp clunk of a heavy glass being set on a nearby side table startled them out of their thoughts. Quickly looking up to the source of the intrusion with a scowl etched into their features, Aver came face to face with the woman they had been thinking about, and the scowl vanished. Jessica held out a second glass towards them. “Ah, thank you.” Avery took a cautious sip of the offered beverage, briefly relishing in the familiar flavor before returning their gaze to the fireplace. “You know, if you stare at that fire long enough as intensely as you are, someone might start to think you were trying to get it to relight it without using your wand. What’s occupying your mind, Avery?” It would be asking for too much for Avery to choose to be completely honest with Jessica. Instead, the chose to keep silent for a long minute, mulling over just what exactly they should say back. “Oh, nothing much,” they replied eventually. “My mind was just wandering. You understand how I can be sometimes. I was thinking about how the other professors are holing up. You remember how restless the students can get when they stay at school over winter break. I just hope they’re managing with all the troublemakers we have this year.” Jessica smiled half-heartedly, most likely thinking about the adventures the two of them had shared over their own breaks, creating and causing havoc in the castle. “I didn’t ever think I’d see the day when Avery Sheridan turned over the ‘concerned professor's’ leaf in the place of the ‘quiet, rebel troublemaker’ leaf. It suits you.” She sighed deeply before continuing. “Taking that teaching position has really done some good to you. I’m glad it brought you to your senses about moving back into the country, even if it was a bit late. But,” she shrugged, “better ten years late than never, I suppose.” Jessica’s words seemed kind and joking on the surface, but Avery could all but taste the disgusting venom they were truly laced with. “Yep… better late than never, that’s what people always say, isn't it?” Avery forced a smile onto their face and gritted their teeth. Surely, Jessica wasn’t planning on having this conversation again, especially not with Margie sleeping upstairs. “But hey, I’m here now, and that’s what matters at the end of the day. Margie won’t have to go across the ocean to go between our homes anymore. I want to be better at this parenting thing. I want to make it all easier for her, you know? Especially before she comes to school. As much as I like being a professor, I want to be Margie’s parent before I’m her professor. I’m grateful that you’re allowing me to take a more active role in her life by inviting me for the holidays and that sort of thing before she comes to Hogwarts, Jessica. Thank you.” The tension that followed Avery’s thanks was thick enough to cut with a holiday carving knife. Avery glanced up at Jessica. “What’s the matter? Dog got your tongue?” “Marjorie will not be attending Hogwarts.” Jessie’s words severed the space between them both. “Pardon?” “I’m sorry, did you not hear me? Margie will not be attending Hogwarts.” “And why, pray tell, is our daughter not going to be attending the prestigious wizarding school we both went to?” “Because, Alberich, our daughter is a fucking squib, which you would very well know if you had spent any more time with your daughter than the couple weeks during the summers you were graciously given! She’s nine! There’s been no leviations, no color changes, nothing! Not a single thing other magical parents look forward to experiencing with their child! And I had to deal with that alone.” Avery stood quickly to their full height at Jessica’s raised voice, towering over their ex-wife, watching as she stood to match their gaze, unfaltering. Both of their faces were covered in deep-set frown lines, each of their furious intents matching the other’s. “How dare you” Avery’s voice came out in a curt whisper before raising to a volume just under a shout. “How dare you call me that fucking name. You have no right! How dare you blame me for thinking that my daughter was going to be an amazing witch one day, and for being excited about it! How DARE you act like it was my choice to split Margie’s time between us and to not have very much time with her. How DARE you blame my focus on my career for me not being around! You don’t think I know that I’ve been a shitty parent? You don’t think I want to try harder? That’s why I’m here, Jessica! I’m fucking trying, which is more than some other shitty fucking parents can say about their goddamn liv--”

“Baba? Mum? What’s going on?” Avery turned quickly towards the stairs where a soft-spoken girl, rubbing her bleary, sleepy eyes stood, and they felt their heartbreak. Of all the things they had wanted, Margie listening to them fight was never one of them. Jessica recovered first. “Go back to bed, lovely. Your father and I were just talking about what school he wanted you to go to when you’re older. I told him that you would be attending the local high school with your friends, as we talked about. It’s nothing to worry about tonight.” Avery bit their tongue and the obvious sleight by Jessica, for Margie’s sake, watching as Margie nodded slowly and turned around to go back to her room. Avery looked backed towards Jessica, an apology already forming on the tip of their tongue. “Jessie, I’m so sor--” “Stop.” Jessica held up her hand and looked away. “I don’t want to hear anything come out of that damn mouth of yours, least of all those words.” Jessica picked up the two glasses that had been left on the side table by the both of them. Not saying a word as she turned away and walked towards the dining room, Chuffy following happily behind her. Without so much as a glance back, she spoke again. “I think you should go.” Avery watched in silence as their life fell to pieces before them once again. Their daughter was likely confused and hurt because her parents were fighting, and Jessica wouldn’t want to try being friends again, not after this. Not even for Margie’s sake. The best they could ever be was cordial. They ran their fingers through their hair, messing it up in the process, before swearing and shuffling to pick up their things from the guest room before heading back to the castle. Hopefully, no one would ask why they came back so much earlier than they had planned.

[frederator-studios]

Tiya Zhong: The Frederator Interview

Tiya Zhong, known to the interweb as Addictiya, is an animator, illustrator, designer and doll artist still brushing off glitter from her graduation just a few weeks ago. Her final film as a student of Sheridan College’s Animation program, “Lost, Stolen, Dropped,” is an autobiography of her daily struggle. It is also among the most relatable, inspired and squishy 2 minutes of animation I’ve seen in a good long while. Enjoy the short above, then read on for Tiya’s journey from schoolgirl doodling in her textbooks to professional artist!

Did you always want to be an animator or artist?

I discovered my passion for drawing when I was 4 years old, and I have always loved doodling figures on my textbooks, reading comics, and watching animation. When I was little, I never thought about becoming an artist - I just thought it would be fun if I could draw forever. In high school, I wanted to be a comic artist, but I became fascinated with making characters come to life. Animation was even more vivid than comics, which is why I chose to major in it.

How did you decide to move from China to Canada to attend Sheridan?

I grew up in China, so at first I planned to attend a university in Beijing that features the best animation program in China. In an extra-curricular art school where I was studying to pass the university’s entrance exam, I met a substitute teacher who'd studied abroad. Talking with him made me realize how many opportunities and great artists are out there. That’s when I started to research animation schools in North America, and got to know Sheridan.

What did you like best about studying at Sheridan?

I learned a lot at Sheridan. The school has great, experienced teachers. But I learned the most from my peers, who are all amazing artists. Being in that group gave me no choice but to improve. What I enjoyed most is how free the environment is, compared to the one I’d been in. I also had a lot more resources at my disposal. Being at Sheridan really helped me discover my own art style.

Did you work any jobs during your time in college?

Since high school, I have always worked on stuff for conventions: things like zines, charms, and commissions. During college I actively kept my eyes on the industry and started to take freelance jobs. I’ve done character illustrations for games, art for a published illustration tutorial, design work, and more commissions, mostly with Chinese companies. I think it’s really important for artists to have at least some experience working with partners or employers before finishing school.

What are your favorite techniques, considering you've worked in both 2d and stop-motion? And those are just the two I know for sure!

Yes, I’ve done a little bit of 3D for assignments, but so far I’ve only worked in 2D and stop motion. I love both techniques equally! They are two different forms of art and each has stunning aspects. I love how free 2D can be, and how much you can play with crazy distortions, squash and stretch. I also love the process of crafting puppets and sets and being able to hold them in my hand.

What inspires you and your work the most?

Japanese anime definitely influences my work. They are my childhood and what made me keep the pencil in my hand! In the process of creating, I also look for references in many forms: live action movies, fashion, short films, photography. Anything related to art.

Is there anything that comes up in your work over and over?

I built my interest in life drawing while studying at Sheridan. Now, emphasizing the beauty and curls of human bodies has become a core part of my drawings.

How was the experience of creating "Quarters" in a team of 9 animators? 

Creating “Quarters” with 8 other amazing artists was a really great experience! It was our first try, but there were no conflicts and everything went smoothly. Everyone pitched an idea for the film and we voted for the ‘four neighbors’ idea, which became “Quarters”. I worked on layout designs, prop and sets fabrication, shooting area setups, animation, and some post-production color corrections. We spread the work pretty much equally to everyone, so that we could all gain experience in every stage of creating a stop motion film.

What inspired you to create "Lost, Stolen, Dropped"?

I had two other ideas for my final film before “Lost, Stolen, Dropped,” but they didn’t feel authentic to me. Personally, I prefer telling stories on subjects that I’m knowledgeable about, or have experienced myself. So one month into my 4th year, I gave up my first idea and all the storyboards I’d done for it. I thought, “What subject am I really familiar with? Is there anything that I know better than anyone else?” At the same time, I lost my brand new Cintiq pro pen. Not long before then I had lost my wallet. Aaaand my portable hard drive. My roommate commented that losing things is my everyday life. That’s what inspired me - I am really good at losing things! So I decided to make a film about that.

Love it. Do you often pull from your own life in your stories?

Actually, I can trace it back all the way to primary school! I used to draw comics as my diaries. With four panels comics, I’d record anything that happened in my life that I found fun. By the end of grade 7, I had a whole sketchbook of my personal life. I only showed it to my closest friends.

What were the biggest changes you made to "Lost, Stolen, Dropped" while working on the film? What were the biggest challenges?

I made a big change in the story. At the end of the first version, I made lots of copies of the main character, which came from all the different scenarios or timelines. They all appeared in her messy room, staring at her and guiding her to find her phone. That ending had a very dark and absurd feeling to it. The problem was, in order to explain that story and deliver the right feeling, the film would need to be a lot longer. And so, too much work for me. In the end, I changed lots of things and compressed the storyboard so I could finish it.

What do you plan to do now that you've graduated? Sorry to ask that question, I know it's the worst for new grads, haha.

Haha, I was so lost on this before, but now I kind of have a blueprint! The very first thing I want to do is find a job that I like, start saving, and get my PR (permanent residency) here in Canada, which is very realistic. I'll use my savings to go to grad school or take online classes: anything to improve my skills and broaden my perspective. Eventually, I want to work on personal projects without having to worry about financial issues.

Do you have a favorite cartoon, film, or artist?

Different films have been my favorite at different times in my life... I just love work that has great stories or strong emotions. I can’t really pick one film as my favorite, but Masaaki Yuasa is definitely one of my favorite directors! What I admire most about his films is how the abstract parts serve the expressive storytelling, and the drawings are always loose. That’s what I need to learn!

What's your biggest dream?

My biggest dream used to be becoming a zoologist! That was when I was 8. Now, my dream is to connect with great artists and studios over the world. To learn from them, work on fun projects, live a happy, healthy life, and occasionally go on vacations so that I can work on my other hobbies!

What are your hobbies outside of animation?

I’m interested in a wide range of things! Biking, gym exercise, photography, choreography, sculpting, sewing, leathercraft. But my greatest interest, outside of animation, is dolls and puppets! I love all kinds of dolls and toys. Different doll artists always make dolls with different characteristics, and that self-expression element is what appeals to me. I want to be able to create my own porcelain or resin doll one day. I am working hard toward that goal! ❀

Follow Addictiya on Instagram

Thank you for the interview Tiya! Love your work and am so looking forward to seeing what you do next. Enjoy home and your summer vacation pre-Adulting, you’ve earned the heck out of it!

- Cooper ❀

[sheridancarrington-blog]

TITLE shooting star TIME & DATE after midnight, january 1st, 2019 TRIGGERS drug abuse, alcohol abuse, drug addiction

It was just a party. Sheridan had been growing used to those since she moved her, used to the kind that dealt with alcohol harder than champagne and wine. She was enjoying herself too, when she was drunk enough to shake something loose but not too drunk that all of her emotions got drowned in the bottom of the bottle. It was a fine line and Sheridan was jumping rope with it. One minute she was happy and smiling a real smile, actually enjoying herself and everything around her. One drink more and that genuine smile went away, being replaced with a mechanical one because she didn’t have it in her to pull out a real one. From feeling a fire in her, laughing to going dead behind the eyes because she didn’t feel anything anymore.

Not that anyone cared enough to look twice anyway. She was Sheridan Carrington. Nothing was ever wrong with her. Despite the fact that her life was in shambles and she felt like one of the only things keeping her together was the need to be better than her mother and better than her father and to prove that she could have what they couldn’t. A good family. Starting with O. Who Sheridan got tongue tied and flustered around whenever she spoke to her. How do you tell someone you’ve only spoken to twice that you’re sisters? (You don’t.) Her life was in flames and the person staring back at her in the mirror wasn’t Sheridan but she was fine.

Really.

She’d been somewhere in between the two extremes when there was a pounding on the door and every part of her said to get out. To run, don’t look back. Don’t even worry about anyone else. For the first time in a long time, put herself first. But she didn’t. Handcuffs clicking closed around her wrists and cold air hitting her in the face was enough to start to sober her up and the gravity of the situation started to hit her. She was being arrested because she was high off her ass and she had more cocaine on her. The rumors would get back to her parents tomorrow and they would shake their heads, each mumbling about what a disappointment their daughter was but not to each other. Yes, her father was a cheater and her mother was a stone cold bitch but at least they’d never been arrested.

After a moment though, sitting in the back of the police car and trying to compose herself, stop her thoughts from running wild, she realized that she didn’t care what they thought. They had raised their child and for 26 years, Sheridan had been perfect. Never an outburst, or a temper tantrum. Asking instead of demanding and always being grateful. Growing up and into her teenage years, she’d never gone out partying, never was home any later than curfew, all because she wanted to be good, keep her family’s reputation silver and shiny.

Now though? Sheridan was going to crawl through hell and drag the family name with her, see which came out the other side looking better.

The whole process of being booked into the jail went both too quickly and not enough. The precious coke she’d bought off of Rowan was taken from her, she was shown to a cell and the handcuffs released. Part of her wanted to smirk, wanted to be there to see the look on her mother’s face when she got the news that her daughter had been arrested. Wanted to see what happened when her father went into work just to have people commenting that the daughter of an ambassador went to jail on drug charges. It wouldn’t look good for either one of them. She hardly cared about her reputation anymore, it was all about ruining theirs now.

What was one more model with an arrest record anyway? Sheridan had probably been one of the few that couldn’t say she’d ever sat behind bars before tonight.

Looking deeper made her realize that she didn’t recognize who she’d become. The Sheridan that came to New York was a completely different person than the one who was here now. It was like pulling a loose thread, how far would you go before eventually the whole thing unraveled. All Sheridan had been doing since getting to New York was yanking at it, seeing how fast she could lose herself. Until she could look in the mirror and not even see herself staring back. But that wasn’t something she wanted to think about. So she buried that under the rest of her mess and self loathing to deal with another day.

There was no going back from here. This had been her choice and she was going to have to live with it. Sheridan didn’t want to do another disappearing act, leave New York this time and pop up again some place random. She wanted to ride this tidal wave out then check for survivors, weather it be her relationships, reputation, or even herself. It was going to be messy and she couldn’t wait to see the wreckage. 

Except in a game where you were seeing just how much you could ruin everything, was there even anyone to call to bail you out when you needed help, literally in this case? The idea of calling her parents never even crossed her mind, there was nothing she would ask them for ever again. She’d never gotten a lawyer upon moving here, it wasn’t something that ever even crossed her mind. Naiveté: 1, Sheridan: 0.

The fluorescent lights of the police station were killing her head, contributing to the headache already throbbing away. Her entire body hurt and she felt awful all over. It was only then she remembered that she felt this way after hooking up with Chessie the week before. She assumed it all was due to getting wasted and having sex, sex that she couldn’t even remember which was unfortunate because no doubt was it hot. It was slowly coming back to her now, albeit in blurry fragments. White powder neatly lined up, a rolled up bill next to it, in her hand, in her nose, feeling better than she ever thought she could feel.

The same way she felt tonight after getting high at the party. Now it all made sense and if the worst she felt was like she was getting sick, with aches and a headache and feeling fuzzy, Sheridan actually kind of felt the trade off was worth it. Getting a little rundown in exchange for being reminded that you can feel, that you weren’t just numb all the time? Put her name down on that dotted line.

She only had three real friends in the city, one didn’t have a cell phone and the other she hadn’t spoken to in weeks. That’d be a hell of a call. Hey, I know we haven’t talked in a minute, but I need you to bail me out of jail. It left only one option: Buffy. She closed her eyes against the throbbing of her head, getting it together to finally pick up the phone and put the her fingers to the buttons. One of the only numbers she knew by heart that a United States landline could dial. “Buffy? Thank god, I need you to do something for me …”

[fibula-rasa]

(Content Warning: anti-Latino bigotry in coded language)

Romantic Romero

by Elisabeth Badger

Excerpt from Modern Screen (August 1939)

Full article & transcription after the JUMP

ONE OF Hollywood’s most contradictory personalities is tall, dark, sinister-looking Cesar Romero. If you belong to the misguided group who take Cesar at his face value and think of him as a cross between a gangster and a parlor snake, prepare to readjust your opinions—for Cesar has the most misunderstood face in town.

Though he has never given a bad performance, Cesar hasn’t been allowed to get very far in the movies, chiefly because his physiognomy isn’t the dimpled, curvaceous type that is the mark of the glamor boy, and manna at the box-office. The planes of his face, the implications of his mysterious eyes and sometimes cruel mouth, have more significance and less sunshine than is seemly in a public idol, especially a movie hero.

But in private life, Cesar is one of the most sympathetic, amiable and universally well-liked men in pictures. You can’t find a girl or man of his acquaintance who doesn’t say, “What a sweet guy!”

In the field of romance, likewise, he’s far from what he seems. Confirmed column-readers get the impression that Cesar is a philanderer, an accomplished side-stepper of matrimony. Actually, he has more good, sound old-fashioned ideals about women and marriage than most of the dimpled delegation.

“Everyone has the idea that I go with a different girl every night,” he said reproachfully, “whereas very few of those items in the columns are true. One girl at a time is enough for me.”

Red-headed Ann Sheridan was the girl at the time. But Cesar didn’t specify how much time is allotted to each girl, so I can’t guarantee that the romance still thrives—what with Ann being elected Oomph Girl, and Cesar having to wear a beard for weeks and weeks for his role in “The Return of the Cisco Kid.” However, Ann’s case will serve to exemplify Cesar’s point of view about women.

“Why do we have to marry?” he demanded, when I asked about their intentions. “Isn’t it possible to be attracted to each other, fond of each other’s company, without being expected to end up in matrimony? I’m very fond of Ann, I love her company, and we have loads of laughs. But I don’t intend to marry her, and I know she wouldn’t want to marry me.

“I’m the last person in the world that Ann should marry. A girl like that, with a career that interests her more than anything else, should marry someone who can help her. A producer or a director. Certainly not an actor.

“Besides,” he continued, distributing his six-feet-two more comfortably on the divan, “I have a lot of ideal about what I want marriage to be. I’ll be very cautious about whom I marry because when I do, I expect it to last forever. No divorce for me! And I can tell you one thing—my wife will be a non-professional. It isn’t possible to have two careers in one marriage—not mine anyway.”

CESAR DISMISSED the idea that an actor’s leading women are a threat to marriage. Even though stars do with great regularity discard their mates in favor of the most recent leading lady, the surprising Mr. Romero has no fear of such pitfalls. He thinks it would be a poor husband who couldn’t withstand that temptation.

“What would worry me would be clash of temperament, ambition and working hours. That’s what I’ll never marry an actress. An actor’s wife has to efface herself, in a sense, and adapt herself to his way of life, and care more for his success than her own.”

I pointed out that if marriage is his ultimate object, he’s wasting a lot of valuable time these evenings, for Cesar seldom goes out with anyone but actresses.

He nodded assent. “But I don’t know anyone else,” he said simply. “I have been very much in love—once, in the East, before I came to Hollywood. She was a woman ten years older than I and she had two children, but I was completely in love with her. I never wanted to be apart from her. That, to me, is the real test of love.

“I’m afraid that has spoiled me for everything else. I’m sure if it hadn’t been for that experience. I would have thought many times since that I was in love. But because I know what it is really like, I’ve never been able to deceive myself. I’ve always known it wasn’t the real thing. That thought has probably cheated me out of a lot of fun.

“I’ve been infatuated, of course—crazy about various girls for the moment. But really being in love, to me, is being unhappy unless that person is with you every minute—the feeling that you want her with you, must have her with you, all the time. I’ve never felt that way about any other woman.”

Few men have been exposed to more high-powered blandishments. Cesar has been in Hollywood since the first “Thin Man” picture, which is quite a span of years. In that time his career has gone through various phases, but he has never really had a real break professionally. He’s become well-known principally through his extra-studio activities which included going to the most prominent parties, dancing with stars who could appreciate his professional smoothness, and beauing all the glamor girls to places well within the range of the candid camera’s eye.

It was rather a strange set-up—young man with a relatively small salary and a minimum of fame, finding himself always in the thick of the most successful and celebrated. But that role was a familiar one to Cesar. His adult life had always been that way.

ELDEST SON of a well-to-do Cuban family, he lived in comparative luxury for fourteen years in New York City, where he was born. Just as he reached an age when money begins to have some meaning, his father’s business crashed with the collapse of the sugar market. The Romeros took refuge on the New Jersey shore where they had always spent their summers, and devoted themselves to painful economy. When he wasn’t in school, Cesar worked in various lowly capacities at a big New Jersey department store.

But the social standing of the Romeros did not stop with their income, so Cesar found himself in the anomalous position of delivering packages at a lady’s door in the afternoon, and brushing shoulders with her at a fashionable dance in the evening.

He had quite a career in the department store—progressing from wrapper to stock boy to truck driver. One summer, he endured the rigors of a soldier’s life at the Plattsburg Military Training Camp because his father saw an advertisement in the paper: “Send your boy to Plattsburg and swap him for a man.” Cesar went under protest, and doesn’t think the swap quite came off. His family moved back to New York so he could have his last three years of schooling at the Collegiate School there.

“That period of my life seemed very glamorous and exciting,” he recalled. “The Collegiate boys used to take the Spence School girls out every afternoon that we could afford it. I had just enough money to walk to the girl’s house, take her in a taxi to the Ambassador tea dance, and get her back to her house in a taxi—and then walk home. It was not considered cricket (Continued on page 84)

ROMANTIC ROMERO

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for a girl to order anything more expensive than cinnamon toast and tea, and if she did, she was never invited again.”

There must be honor among glamor girls in those matters, too, for though Cesar still takes out girls whose expensive whims are far beyond his income, figuratively speaking, they stick to the cinnamon toast and tea.

AFTER graduation, his father’s friends got him a job as a runner for a Wall Street bank. He lived alone in a little hall bedroom and continued his double life. At night he was the perfect dancing partner at innumerable debutante parties. While by day he tramped around Wall Street with a pouch full of valuables shackled to his wrist. This being handcuffed to a mail-bag, for practically nothing a week, was what got Cesar down. It was inevitable that a boy who could dance that well wasn’t going to see much of a future in Wall Street. He was ripe material for a girl friend who itched to go on the stage and urged him to become her dancing partner.

They worked, they rehearsed, and at last they were engaged for a spot in a musical show. Cesar gave up his job, and sent word to his family that he had gone on the stage. They were staggered. So was the audience. The act lasted exactly one night. But Cesar now had his foot in the door of a theatrical career, and wouldn’t remove it. He worked hard on new routines, changed partners several times, and finally, after a long heartbreaking siege of ups and downs, became a successful ballroom dancer. He was featured at all the smartest night spots, among them the famous old Montmartre—which is where producer Brock Pemberton saw him and gave him the lead in the road company of “Strictly Dishonorable.”

That tour was Romero’s start as a legitimate actor. Shows on Broadway followed, and then M-G-M’s screen test which brought him to Hollywood and a long series of villainous roles.

Cesar’s swarthy coloring, and particularly the bony structure of his face, give it a sinister cast, but when you look closely you see that his eyes are kind; his mouth, gentle. On the day I talked to him he looked positively spiritual, because he was wearing a beard. It was grown for his role as a dirty but benevolent Mexican in “Cisco Kid,” but seen without the serape and sombrero, it made him look as if he might perform miracles.

The tragedy is that no one will cast Cesar in the kind of role his sympathetic personality deserves. Even at Fox, where he is now under contract, more often than not he gets parts that don’t do his popularity any good. But the protests are mine, not his. Cesar doesn’t feel sorry for himself at all.

“I’m grateful to be earning enough to take care of my family,” he said, “so my father has no more worries. They are all out here now—my mother and father, two sisters and a brother. They don’t live with me. Oh, no!” He shook his head with a laugh. “I’ve lived alone too long to be able to live with my family again. But they have an apartment in the same building. I’m very happy to be able to take care of them and have them with me.

THE greatest disappointment I’ve had was not getting the part of Dr. Saffi in “The Rains Came.” I wanted it terribly and I think I could do it well,. But they won’t give me a chance. Tyrone Power’s going to do it. He isn’t the right type for the part, but I’m not a great star and I’m not box-office.

That’s the sort of thing that can happen to a man when his bone structure is against him.