#an old flame of her deceased husband that he never told her about and it all was done so well it was like modern gothic fiction until

[allieinarden]

You know that problem horror fiction has where if you do the “the real horror is real life” well enough, when the actual horror pokes its head out it just seems really goofy by comparison? Like it’s so unrelatable it verges on comedy relief?

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 28

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters

_______

Chapter 28

_______

The dinner party he dreaded most finally arrived.

He and Peter were cordially invited to dinner at the home of Dr. Reed Richards and his wife Dr. Susan Storm. As the man had been coy about who the other guests would be, Stephen could only brace himself for sharing a table with Dr. Peggy Carter and probably Ms. Rambeau.

They probably wouldn't be able to leave early for dietary reasons, either, since Sue Storm had mentioned on the invitation that she would be cooking a kosher meal. He could only hope that his mobile went off and he'd have to go to the hospital. He could pull the Selecting Spouse card and insist Peter leave with him.

"It'll be okay," Peter said. "It's just a few hours for one night. Then we're done."

"Peter-" he stopped.

"What?" Peter asked as he tied his bow tie.

"If I am less than pleasant this evening, I want you to know that it isn't because of you. I am going to do my best to be polite and civil, but if I am not, I apologize."

"This is really hard for you," Peter said.

"Yes." He motioned helplessly. "I don't want to talk about it; not tonight."

"We don't have to talk about it at all," Peter said. "You're entitled to your privacy, even if legally speaking I'm not."

"No, I think... You deserve to know. Just... just not tonight."

Unlike everyone else Peter had met since moving to Sanctum Heights, Dr. Richards and his family lived in what could only be described as a penthouse. They were on the top floor of the tallest building in the town. He'd seen the Baxter Building, of course, but never gave much thought to the fact that it was first and foremost a living facility. There were seven floors of housing and the first three floors were dedicated to a learning center and daycare for children. Earlier that day when they'd met for their usual tea, cookies, and Winding Road Whispers date, Ava had told him that Dr. Sue Storm both founded and ran the Baxter Foundation's learning center.

"She's an impressive woman," Ava had said. "Absolutely remarkable and very kind."

"I just know that Stephen doesn't like her husband."

"It's complicated," Ava had finally said. "And it's not for me to explain."

Other than that, Ava had given him a run-down on the family and, reluctantly, Dr. Margaret Carter, who Stephen was positive would be there.

"Just breathe," Peter urged Stephen as the lift attendant took them to the top floor.

Whatever he'd been expecting, the Richards-Storm penthouse was not it.

It was light and open with one of the salmon-pink walls dedicated to showcasing a multitude of children's drawings. The teal carpeting was low-piled and in some cases, well-worn from what Peter knew from his time at his Shul's daycare were tracks from tricycles and toy trucks.

The living area featured charcoal grey sofas and armchairs, the backs of all draped with a thick quilt or knitted throw. The corner closest to the living area had a table set up for blocks, coloring, and others activities a curious child might like. Several toys were still on the floor, mere feet away from the trio of toy bins next to the table.

On the opposite side there was a dining area with a table set for six, and further back, Peter could see the kitchen which was open to the rest of the space.

"Welcome!" Sue greeted, striding towards Peter and Stephen with her arms outreached. "I'm so happy to have the two of you here in our home!"

She was a beautiful woman, Peter thought. Her blue eyes were gentle and kind and her blonde hair was styled into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.

"Thank you for having us," Peter said. It seemed Stephen wasn't quite ready for words just yet.

"You're the first to arrive, even before Richard," Sue told them. "He got pulled into a consultation at work. I'm glad, however, as I'd like to have you look at the kitchen, Peter."

He nodded, surprised. "Okay."

"I hope I haven't made a mess of it, but if I have, please tell me, so I don't make the mistake again."

Much like he'd once done for Ben Grimm and his wife Alicia, Sue showed him how she'd gone about preparing the meal, complete with the kosher certifications on food packaging and pictures of the vegetables she'd selected before she'd prepared them. She even had a receipt from Fleishman's.

"And nothing that's dairy or used for dairy has touched the steak?" Peter asked.

"Nope! And there's no dairy in the meal, either," she assured him. "If anyone wants butter for their bread, I have individually wrapped packets and margarine for you."

Peter grinned, pleased. "Toda al hahavana. Thank you."

"You're so very welcome," Sue said. She looked both happy and relieved. "I've gained a lot of respect for the rules you and Dr. Grimm follow now that I've learned more." She looked back at where Stephen stood. "Would you like a cocktail, Dr. Strange?"

He seemed to shake himself out of some trance. "An old fashioned?"

"Coming right up!"

"And please, call me Stephen," he said.

"Peter? Cocktail?"

"Oh! Oh, no thank you. I'm nineteen," he said.

"Ah. A Shirley Temple, then," Sue said with wink.

"But I-"

"It's a lemon-lime soda spritz with grenadine and a cherry," Stephen said with the closest thing to a smile he'd worn since the invitation had arrived. "There's no alcohol and I think you'll enjoy it."

"Great!"

"Reed was evasive when I asked who else would be joining us," Stephen said to Sue when she brought both he and Peter their drinks. "Am I correct in assuming he's invited her?"

Sue sighed. "I told him to just tell you! Yes, Dr. Carter will be attending, along with my younger brother, Johnny. Reed wanted to ask one of the others as well but I said if he tried to pull something like that I'd find myself mysteriously unavailable to host." She arched a brow at Stephen. "You medical doctors are too stubborn for your own good."

He couldn't exactly argue that point.

"So, Peter, how are you liking Sanctum Heights?"

"I like it here," Peter said. "It's a lot quieter than Midtown, and using a car service took some getting used to, but I like it." Peter, knowing his role, picked up the conversation. "Will you tell me about the Baxter Foundation?"

Judging by Sue's megawatt smile, it had been exactly the right question to ask.

Sue launched into a detailed but engaging explanation of the foundation and its purpose. Peter was fascinated to learn about the educational classes for adults along with programs for those at risk or with special needs in addition to accelerated academic programs.

"And some of the people enrolled in the program live in this building?"

"They do! It helps encourage the building of life skills and community."

"And what classes do you teach?"

"She teaches how to be a wet rag," came a new voice.

Sue sighed and rolled her eyes as the newcomer joined them. "Johnny, these are my guests, Dr. Stephen Strange and his husband Peter. Stephen, Peter, this is my younger brother Johnny Storm."

Sue's brother was tall, blonde, and very handsome. He was maybe only three or four years older than Peter himself.

"Ah, the BCSS couple of the year, to hear others talk of it," Johnny said with an easy smile. "You're pretty young for a selected spouse."

Peter wasn't sure what to say to that so he just sipped more of his Shirley Temple.

"You had a paper in the Van Dyne School of Science Journal around a year ago," Johnny continued, plopping down next to Sue and making himself at home. "I'd have thought someone who was gifted enough to be selected to write for them would be busy with college, not married." He cocked his head and eyed Peter up and down. "Nothing?"

"Was there a question in there?" Peter asked.

Johnny laughed. "Not bad. I think you'll manage dealing with dear old Reed well-enough." He turned his gaze to Sue. "And you thought I'd be the last arrival!"

"How's school?" Stephen asked after Johnny had made himself a drink and brought over another Shirley Temple. "You're attending Metro University, are you not?"

"I am. I'm studying engineering," he said. "It passes the time."

He didn't even feel a pang of envy at Johnny's easy and casual dismissal of something so important as higher education, which surprised him. This time last year college had been his goal but now? Now he didn't know if he'd be able to tolerate it.

The four of them made small talk as Sue put some finishing touches on dinner. Peter's offer to assist were waved away. "You're a guest in my home; absolutely not!"

Johnny wasn't pleasant company, exactly, but he wasn't intolerable. Peter had his suspicions for why the man behaved the way he did but seeing if he was right would have to wait until their host arrived, presumably with the other guest. Peter could deal with it for a few more hours and then he'd be a good little selected spouse and maybe suck on Stephen's cock when they arrived home.

Sue had just encouraged them to all sit down and start dinner when Dr. Richards and Dr. Carter finally arrived.

Stephen quickly went through the proper introductions and Peter could tell how much strain he was under, even if the others couldn't. Deciding he'd be a model guest, he shook hands with Richards ("Call me Reed, please.") and nodded politely at Dr. Carter.

"It's so lovely to meet you, Mr. Strange," she said with a smile. "I was so happy to hear that Stephen found someone."

He was surprised at her accent; he hadn't realized she was English. He assumed she'd be from East Virginia, like Sharon. There was an air of self-importance about her that he didn't care for, but that could have been his bias rearing up on behalf of how much he liked Sharon.

"Thank you."

"You're late," Sue scolded.

Reed winced. "I'm sorry, Sweetheart, it was a pediatric case I was called to consult on and I can't just dash in and out on those."

"I know, Reed. Maybe send a message to my mobile next time, so I can make sure the food is warm."

He smiled sheepishly. "I'll do my best."

The six of them sat to eat and while conversation wasn't stilted, it wasn't exactly easy, either. Peter was proud to note that it wasn't due to Stephen; his selecting spouse had been nothing short of a proper gentleman.

"So Peter," Reed started. "How are you finding married life?"

Stephen ever so slightly stiffened beside him. "I like it," Peter answered. And honestly, at that! "I know some people like to look down on BCSS marriages but I think Stephen and I have been lucky with ours."

"No blow-out arguments?" Johnny asked skeptically.

"No, we communicate like adults," Peter said. "I can't speak for every marriage but we value honesty and respect in ours." He smiled over at Stephen. "If we have a problem we talk through it."

"And Peter has no qualms at all about letting me know when he's displeased with me," Stephen added, returning Peter's smile in a moment that despite the company felt private. "He's more than a match for my sparkling personality."

"I'm glad to hear it," Reed said. The man was sincere about it, too. Peter wasn't sure just what exactly had happened a couple of years ago to set Stephen and Reed at odds, but he had the feeling that it pained Reed.

"Marriage does seem to suite you," Dr. Carter said to Stephen. "I'm happy for you both."

"Thank you," Peter said again before Stephen could speak.

Reed turned his questioning onto Johnny and ah. Peter could see where some of Stephen's annoyance came from. The man probably wasn't trying to be condescending, Peter was sure, but if he'd been in Johnny's spot, he'd want to act out, too. Sue and Peggy spoke about some of the new classes Sue was preparing to offer in the fall and Peter took the opportunity to squeeze Stephen's hand under the table. He didn't like knowing that he was so uncomfortable.

"How are Franklin and Valeria?" Peggy asked.

"Well, their nanny from downstairs hasn't rang inform me they've set the building on fire, so I take that as a sign that they're doing well. They love overnight trips away from the castle tower," Sue said.

"They're the artists, right?" Peter asked, motioning to the wall of children's drawings.

"They are," Sue said warmly. "And they're the race car drivers you see the tracks from," she added with a laugh. "The floor below us is a dedicated play area for all of the children in the building, but Franklin and Val prefer to make their marks on the carpet up here."

"I recognized the tracks in the carpet from when I'd attend after school daycare at Shul," Peter said, grinning.

"That was what, a year ago for you?" Johnny quipped.

"Give or take nine years," Peter said evenly. Below the table Stephen squeezed his hand in warning.

"If you stay together, he'll be like fifty by the time you're thirty," Johnny said, unwilling to let the subject drop. "Doesn't that bother you? You're basically just a kid!"

"Johnny, that's enough!" Sue snapped.

"He's only a few years younger than me," Johnny exclaimed, looking at Sue. "How does this not bother you? If told you I was getting married you'd throw a fit!"

"We're not talking about you," Stephen said sharply. "As for Peter's age I assure you he's far more mature at nineteen than you are at twenty two."

Reed sighed. "Johnny, I can appreciate your concern but it's not our place to question our guests' marriage."

It took everything he had, but Peter bit back the comment he wanted to make.

"So, Stephen," Dr. Carter said in the following silence. "I saw that you put in for time off next month. Do you have anything exciting planned?"

"A trip," Stephen answered.

"We're going to California," Peter added. "I'm really looking forward to it; I've never been to the beach before."

"Where in California?" Sue asked.

"Malibu! Tony and Sharon asked for Stephen to be there when the baby is born," Peter said cheerfully. "I'm exited to finally see a beach but I'm more excited for the baby, obviously."

Silence descended over the dining table. Dr. Carter, previously so relaxed, looked as though she'd just swallowed rocks.

"I thought I'd detected a glow in her that night we ran into the four of you at the restaurant," Sue said cheerfully. "That's wonderful!"

"You're still in contact with her?" Carter asked Stephen.

Was the woman... jealous?

"Considering she's married to my best friend, yes," Stephen said reasonably. "I've known Tony since we were in college. I stood for him in their wedding."

"And you don't think that blurs the line between patient and doctor?" She pressed.

"I've never found it a challenge to keep those boundaries in place" Stephen said pleasantly. "But I do understand that maintaining ethics and a professional code of conduct might prove difficult for others."

Her cheeks went red as she sipped her drink.

Reed was frowning at her, but didn't reprimand Stephen for the set down.

"If you're going to California, you should definitely try surfing," Johnny said, garnering Peter's attention in what was frankly a blatant but effective subject change. "Malibu is great for surfing."

Peter looked to see Stephen's reaction.

"Not a chance," Stephen said. "You'll break your neck."

"Actually my balance is really good. I do well on skateboards."

Stephen sighed in that way that told Peter he was praying for patience.

Peter did his best to keep the conversation light and pleasant after that; Stephen was stressed enough even if his demeanor gave nothing away. Peter knew his husband. Fortunately Sue was happy to talk and Johnny seemed to settle down. Peter still wasn't sure about Reed but he felt a deep dislike for Dr. Carter.

"Have you given any thought about going back to school?" Reed asked him after dinner. They were seated in the living area. Johnny and Dr. Carter had left after dinner, Johnny to return to his dorm before curfew and Dr. Carter for an alleged work meeting.

"Not really," he said. "Some of the classes here sound interesting but as far as college, I don't think so."

"That's a shame," Reed said. "I read your paper in the Van Dyne Science Journal. It showed a lot of promise. How did you get the idea?"

"I read a book on pre-modern medicine and remedies," Peter said. "It talked about poultices, and how various insects were used depending on the condition, like maggots. It wasn't much of a stretch to research more on arachnids."

They talked for nearly half and hour; Peter was amazed that Stephen hadn't dragged him away and made their excuses to leave. But Reed was brilliant and the man seemed delighted to have someone willing and able to keep up with his science talk.

When the clock chimed nine, however, they did take it as a sign to wrap things up.

"Thank you for coming tonight, Stephen," Reed said solemnly. "I apologize for Johnny; he's having a rough time of things at the moment. I know that's not an excuse, but I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize for him. I was far more insufferable at his age," Stephen said.

"And thank you for your patience with Peggy; I know it wasn't how you wanted to spend an evening."

Stephen merely nodded.

Reed shook Stephen's hand, then Peter's and after Sue shoved a cookie tin in Peter's hand with a warm "Thank you for a lovely evening! It was so nice getting to know you better." they left.

Stephen said nothing as they drove home. His mind was a twisted bundle of thoughts and though he could tell Peter was working himself up into an anxious mess by the way his knee was bouncing, words of comfort or reassurance failed him.

Peter made for the stairs as soon as the door closed behind them.

"Bed already?" Stephen asked.

Peter turned. "I figured you'd want to head up."

"Actually I want to decompress for a bit," he admitted.

"Alone?"

"I wouldn't say no to your company."

"Are you sure?" Peter asked. "I know blabbed at the dinner party and kept talking with Dr. Richards when I know you don't like him. Then I nearly got into an argument with Johnny and I promise, I was trying not to be a brat and ignore Dr. Carter, but Stephen I really don't like her!"

"I'm not angry with you," he assured him. "My problems with Dr. Richards. Dr. Carter, and every other member of the board are mine, not yours. As for Mr. Storm, he's always been something of a hot head. He's gotten better."

Peter stared at him and Stephen could almost see the pieces slotting into place in his mind.

"You were friends," he said as it clicked. "They used to be your friends and that's why it's so hard, isn't it?"

The best of friends, he thought.

"Yes."

_______

[tazatouille]

this is how the story goes

word count: 4249

warnings: mentions of death, disassociation, alcoholism and small mention of toxic masculinity

ao3 link

summary: In which Fabian deals with the fact that he doesn't always have to be the hero.

“Let me read to you tonight, my darling.” Mama says to him, holding out her hand. Fabian, being the small boy he is, lets out a giggle and runs over to her, taking it excitedly. She smiles down at him and he sees his own dimples on her cheeks. Fabian can’t help but think that she must be the most beautiful lady to ever live, because of course that would be his Mama. Her silver hair falls like waves down her shoulders and he wonders if one day his hair will grow as long as hers. 

She leads him to their library, hoisting him up briefly so he can pick out a book. He can’t quite read all the titles yet, so he picks the one he can reach, which is a small picture book. Mama brings him close to her chest, holding him with one arm. “Ah, that’s a fine choice, Fabian.”

“What’s it about, Mama?” He asks her, letting her flip the book over in his hands. 

“Hmm… let’s see.” She says softly. “It looks like you’ve picked an Elven tale tonight, one about a handsome adventurer who sails the seas in search of a great sea monster.” 

“That sounds like Papa!” This earns a laugh from his mother, who kisses him on the cheek.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Mama lets go of the book, letting Fabian press it to his chest. Then she carries him out of the library and towards the stairs. “It’s time to get you to bed now, Fabian.”

---

Fabian recalls that day as one of the last days that his Mama ever read to him before bed.

But that was alright, because he’s been fine with that for a while now. He knew even then when little boys grow up, their mamas don’t read them to bed anymore. 

When Fabian gets up for school that morning, he sees her when he glances out his window. Cathilda is patiently watering the rose bushes as she always does in the mornings and Mama is sitting in one of her kimonos, beautiful as always, but carrying with her the heavy weight of time. Time that has caused bags to form under her eyes, her frame to grow thinner and dull her eyes each passing day. Time that has aged her, with every sip of wine she takes from the glass in her hand. 

He turns away from the window.

Fabian’s morning routine is easy. It’s about a half hour of dancing, then he takes a cold shower to wake himself up. Usually, he would go straight to training afterwards, but his Mama has allowed him this single day without morning training. He takes another hour to do his hair and then his makeup. It’s nothing too fancy, just a bit of eyeliner and the tiniest amount of concealer. If it was too heavy, he would sweat it off during practice and Fabian Aramais Seacaster does not let his makeup run.

By the time Fabian heads downstairs, Cathilda is now cooking in the kitchen. She’s humming an old sea shanty, one that she’s sung for him time and time again as a child. When he walks by, he hums along with her, dancing around her to grab his green smoothie.

“Good morning, Master Fabian!” Cathilda greets him, shaking the frying pan. “Do you mind taking this plate to yer mother? She’s waitin' in the dining room.” 

“Good morning, Cathilda!” Fabian says proudly, placing a kiss on her cheek. “Of course, I can.” He scoops the plate up off the counter, carrying it to the dining room. Mama sits at the head of the table, where Papa used to sit. To her right is none other than Gilear, thankfully not in his father's robes again. Fabian tries hard not to fling the dish right at his head and keeps his shoulders up.

"Oh Fabian, my baby boy, how are you this morning? Off to that little adventuring academy again are we?" Mama says, nurturing a glass in her hand. 

"Morning Mama," Fabian greets, setting her plate in front of her. Mama puts down her drink to lovingly pinch his cheeks. He laughs, hoping she doesn't notice when he slides it further away. "I believe me and the boys are going to meet at Basrar's this morning before school, since we aren't training today."

"We stop training for one day and you're already eating ice cream for breakfast? Whatever will we do with you?" Mama teases with a wave of her hand. He takes the seat to her left, purposely not making eye contact with Gilear.

Here's the thing about Gilear. He may be the Chosen One, something that Fabian is willing to admit and even defend, however, Gilear is still Gilear, and Gilear is a sad, pathetic little man who did not deserve his Mama.

Fabian could admit that his Mama and Gilear did have some similarities, as they seem to be both inept at the simplest of tasks. That being said, Hallariel Seacaster was an accomplished and renowned fencer, who dashingly took his father's own eye. Gilear Faeth was an ex-diplomat who couldn't get the yogurt stains out of his shirt even with the highest levels of magic money could provide.

This isn’t how the story is supposed to go. After Fabian heroically killed his own father, his mother was supposed to find another adventurous and even in some ways, more deserving man. In the story, Mama does not end up with a man like Gilear, but with a man far better than maybe even his father ever was. Or perhaps, she remains a widow, vowing never to remarry because her love for her deceased husband is so strong.

And in the story, Fabian is supposed to feel proud for killing his father, laying the final blow that his Papa craved so adamantly. But all Fabian is left with is a vacancy, the same vacancy that still rests in his mother's heart. 

At times, it almost feels hereditary.

He stares down at his smoothie and thinks he hears Gilear say something to him, but it goes unaddressed. 

Fabian thought it would get easier after sophomore year. Seeing his Papa was a treat, surely. Knowing his father is having such a good time in Hell helps him sleep a little easier, but it’s not enough to snuff out the flames of guilt that still burn in his chest.

Ever since his Papa died, his mother used the sensory deprivation egg less and less. To Fabian’s surprise, it was his mother’s decision, with Cathilda helping her steadily ease out of it. Cathilda told him that if they were able to get her out of the egg, they might be able to move onto her sobriety. He still holds onto that hope, even on the harder days when his mother can only greet him after school and then retire to her room soon after. 

“You know she loves you with all her heart, Master Fabian.” Cathilda said to him one night. “People are complicated, ya see… Just because she’s struggling doesn’t mean she loves you any less.” 

Fabian comes back to reality when he hears his mother’s laughter. He downs the rest of his smoothie, a little too warm now, to distract himself. He pulls out his crystal to check the Boyz’ group chat. “Well Mama, I think I’ll be off!” Fabian says, getting up from his chair. 

“Off already, darling?” Mama asks him, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She’s barely touched her food. “Come here.” 

He leans down and lets her place a kiss on his cheek. “You have a good day, my boy.” She tells him. 

“Of course, Mama.” Fabian smiles at her, then nods his head. “Gilear.”

Gilear nods back. “I wish you a good day, Fabian.” 

He walks out of the dining room, giving Cathilda a wave before heading towards the front door.

“Hangman,” Fabian thinks. “Ready for the day?”

He hears the purr of the engine start up as soon as he closes his front door. “I am ready for anything, sire. Where shall we go?”

“Head to the Ball’s apartment. I’m picking him up this morning.”

“Hangman...” Fabian warns, watching him roll out of the garage in front of him. The Hangman revs in response. “We are picking up the Ball.” 

“Master, I remind you that the Ball no longer needs a ride to school.”

Fabian is sure if the Hangman could, it would sigh in disappointment. “Of course, sire.” He leans slightly to let him climb on. Then, Fabian revs the engine himself and tears down the street towards Strongtower Luxury Apartments. 

---

“Fabian, for the last time.” Riz starts, walking out of the apartment building. “I’m never gonna get enough driving hours if you keep giving me rides to school.”

Riz lost his hat after sophomore year, and thank goodness because Fabian didn’t have the heart to tell him it wasn’t going to work forever. He wouldn’t admit it to Riz, but he was quite fond of the way his hair fell. It seemed impossible to Fabian that Riz didn’t style it in any way, but one day while they were hanging out, Fabian spotted a bottle of all in one shampoo and conditioner and chucked it into the garbage can.  

Fabian laughs, putting a hand on his chest. “As if you would prefer to drive your mother’s car over a ride on the Hangman?” The Hangman revs underneath him for emphasis. He can see the smile creeping on Riz’s lips, so he keeps going. “Besides, everyone lies about their driving hours anyway. Who has the time to drive a whole forty hours both night and day? I certainly don’t.”

Riz looks like he’s about to protest, but instead his face spreads into a big smile. Fabian pats the Hangman’s seat victoriously. “Come on, The Ball. To Basrar’s.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Riz climbs onto the Hangman, situating his briefcase against his chest. Then, his arms wrap around Fabian’s torso tightly. “You aren’t always gonna be around to give me rides, you know. I should-- uh, probably learn how to drive at some point.” He says. It’s supposed to be casual, but in reality, Riz just dropped a whale sized weight on Fabian’s chest. It threatens to leave him breathless and not in a good way. 

Fabian revs the engine instead, letting the purr drown out his thoughts. “Don’t say stuff like that, Riz.” He says under his breath, before taking off down the road. He isn’t going to start thinking about this right now.

They are almost to Basrar’s when Riz shouts over the wind, “Oh hey, Fabian! Do you want to come over to the office after practice?” 

Fabian smiles. “Cracking another case, The Ball?” 

“You know it!” Fabian can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I always need someone to hold my string.”

Fabian feels the laughter bubble from his chest. “Yes, one of my many talents. Fabian Aramais Seacaster, holder of string!”

“It’s extremely crucial to my casework!” Riz adds. “I couldn’t solve them without it!”

Fabian feels Riz’s arms tighten around him and he lets out another laugh, pulling into Basrar’s. 

---

They walk into the cool air of the shop and see Gorgug sitting at a booth in the corner. He waves to them as they approach.

“Hey guys!” Gorgug greets, giving them a toothy grin. He’s hunching over, like always, with a pink milkshake in his hand. He always ordered strawberry with extra whipped cream.

“Hey Gorgug!” Riz greets, letting Fabian take the window seat. “Dude, I gotta tell you about this show I’ve been watching. It’s awesome.” 

“Oh yeah?” Gorgug says, sipping his milkshake. “Zelda’s been looking for more shows to watch, cause you know, all her parents watch is like those crazy reality TV shows.”

Fabian watches as Basrar floats over to their table. “Boys! Good to see you, and so early in the morning too. What can I get you?” 

Riz orders a weird concoction of chocolate mint, coffee, and pistachio ice cream topped with gummy bears and chocolate drizzle. Fabian never understood why the gummy bears had to be added to it, something that Riz no doubt picked up from Fig. The gummy bears become hard as rocks because the ice cream makes them too cold, but he’s been friends with Riz long enough to know he would eat almost anything. And so, Fabian orders a simple banana split with caramel sauce.   

By the time their ice cream gets here, Riz is already waist deep in the intricate world building of the tv show he’s been watching. The thing about Riz is that whenever he got really excited about something, he’d explain it so fast he’d have to keep back tracking and then return to his previous thought. It could get a bit confusing at times, but the Bad Kidz, at least Fabian, didn’t mind. They just made sure to ask a lot of questions. 

"Here's the real catch, though. It wasn't the butler, but it was actually--" Riz gets cut off by his crystal ringtone buzz loudly on the table. He grabs it immediately and presses it to his ear. A few moments pass before he says, "Mom? What's going on?"

Fabian immediately sits up straighter before Riz holds his hand out. "I'll be right back." He mouths to them, scooting out of the booth. Fabian watches as he walks out of Basrar's.

Gorgug plays with the straw of his milkshake for a moment."So… how are you and Aelwyn doing?" He asks innocently, because Gorgug would never ask a question he didn't want the answer to. Fabian suddenly feels a little sick, putting his spoon down.

"It-- uh, well--" Fabian is tripping over himself now. He hates when he gets like this. His thoughts race through his head and try to force themselves out his mouth all at once before he can even think of what to say.

"I--I get it, if that's like--" Gorgug stumbles a bit. "Too private or something, I just, you know, was wondering."

"No, no, it's fine, Gorgug. We just… broke up a few weeks ago."

"Oh." He says simply. "Why didn't you…"

"Say anything?" Fabian finishes for him. "I guess it was somewhat embarrassing."

"Embarrassing? Did she break up with you?" 

Fabian shrugs. "No, it was more mutual, if anything." He starts playing with his ice cream now, getting spoonfuls of caramel sauce and pouring it back into the bowl over and over again.

"Then why would you be embarrassed?" Gorgug presses. "I mean, my parents would say that's pretty mature."

"It just wasn't what I-- We? Expected it to be." Fabian admits. It feels weird to say it out loud after it's been rattling in his head for weeks. "I guess, maybe I expected it to be like you and Zelda. Two matches made in nerd heaven." 

"You know, not every relationship is gonna be perfect, Fabian." Gorgug reminds him. "Zelda and I get along great, sure, but that doesn't mean I don't fuck up every now and then or that I never get upset with her." He shrugs. "But that's a part of like, I don't know, loving someone. You guys kinda just get to figure stuff out together." 

"I guess Aelwyn and I never really tried figuring anything out together."

"Maybe you just expected too much from each other." Gorgug shrugs again. "Cause, you can't only love the best version of someone, you know?" 

Fabian opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, the front door jingles and Riz makes his way back to the booth.

"Sorry about that guys." Riz says, sitting back in the booth next to Fabian. "My mom needed to know where I put the law books I borrowed from her last weekend. Where was I?"

Gorgug responds, but not before casting a reassuring glance at Fabian. "Uh… I think you were about to tell us who the killer was, right?" 

Fabian can't tell if Riz notices and adds, "Oh yes, something about how it wasn't the butler?"

"Right, right!" He says excitedly. "Okay, so…"

He continues telling them about the tv show, which Fabian doesn’t mean to tune out of, but he can’t stop himself from thinking about Aelwyn. 

Their breakup had been mutual. They quickly realized that they simply weren’t compatible with one another. Fabian wishes he didn’t take it hard, but Aelwyn was technically the first girlfriend he ever had, and his first kiss.

Fabian was supposed to go straight to Fallinel, take on the Elven army and break Aelwyn out of imprisonment in a feat of gorgeous heroism. Which, if you left some parts out and moved a few things around, he did, technically. But then Aelwyn was supposed to be so impressed with his prowess that they would start dating, eventually get married out on the sea and then have beautiful children, born out of both Aelwyn and his exceptional talents. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. 

But when they actually got together, Fabian realized that he didn’t understand Aelwyn at all, and she didn’t understand him. They had both been through copious amounts of stress during sophomore year, with Aelwyn having to adjust to a new life without her parents, and Fabian having to grapple with the events of Leviathan and his own residual fears. It was just too much for them to sort out together, too many parts of themselves that they didn’t understand, so how could they ask the other to?

“You have this version of me built in your head, Fabian.” Aelwyn said to him. “Maybe, before all of this, I could have been that person for you. But, I’m not even sure who I am right now.” 

And he agreed with her, and that was that. 

Their crystals all buzz on their table, and Fabian reaches over to check the message.

figgy pudding: Hey losers, where you guys at? 

He types back. 

fabian: Basrar’s, be there soon.

“I guess that’s our cue, huh.” Gorgug says, gathering the dishes onto the table, like he always does. “Make sure to text me the name of that show, Riz, so I won't forget.”  

“Will do.” Riz replies, already sending the text to Gorgug. He gets up from the booth to let Fabian out and turns to him. “You ready to go?”

From the way Riz is looking at him, he can’t help but feel like he’s asking a different question, but he brushes past it. “Yeah, of course.” 

---

"Is something wrong?" Riz asks that night, because Riz is too perceptive for his own good and Fabian acknowledges that he hasn't said a word to him in over 10 minutes. “You were kinda acting weird today.” 

"Hm? Oh it's nothing, The Ball. Don't worry about it. What were you saying?" Fabian replies, sitting up a little straighter. 

They are sitting in Riz's office, with it's stale mugs of coffee and scattered evidence. If this was anyone else's office, Fabian would hate being here. Sometimes, Riz is so deep in a mystery it becomes cramped with case files and boxes, but it always feels good to be in a space that is truly lived in. It’s nothing like home, and maybe that’s why Fabian likes it. 

"You can talk to me, you know." Riz says, taking the red string Fabian's been playing with out of his hands. He pins a photo up on his corkboard.

Fabian doesn't respond. He knows he should, but at this moment, talking to his best friend seems like one of the hardest things he can do.

Riz notices this, and looks at him. "I know how you get. We don't have to talk about it." He runs a hand through his hair. "You, uh-- wanna watch a movie, maybe?"

Fabian blinks at him for a moment before replying, "You want to take a break?"

Riz laughs at that. "Come on, Fabian. I'm not that bad."

Fabian scoffs. "Please, you almost missed homecoming because you were here piecing together your clues." He gestures to the corkboard.

"And then I closed that case the same weekend." Riz says proudly, puffing up his chest a bit. 

Fabian smiles, then makes the mistake of looking down at the floor beneath them. He runs his fingers over the scratch marks carved into the wood. 

He tried to call and Riz didn’t pick up. Riz never ever misses his calls and his ringer is always on, so why wasn’t he--

Riz’s eyes go from soft to panicked almost immediately. “Hey, don’t do that.” He tells Fabian, pushing his hands away from the floor. “I, uh-- still need to get someone to fix those.”

“I could get someone to do it.” Fabian says immediately. Riz shakes his head.

“You know I wouldn’t let you.” 

“But I could.” 

“Fabian, it wasn’t your fault.” 

And when Riz says this, Fabian lets out a breath of air. 

Because he knows, deep down, the situation with Riz last year wasn’t his fault. But maybe if he had been a better friend and called more, or came around the office more, or had just been there when it happened... then Riz wouldn’t have to pay someone to replace his floorboards. Maybe, he wouldn’t have such a hard time looking at himself in the mirror.

“You aren’t the only one who fails, Fabian.” Riz continues, seemingly reading his thoughts. He sighs. “Y--You do this thing where you think you are the only person in the world who can do anything. The only person who can save the princess in the tower, the only person who can kill your father’s rival, like you are trying to hold the whole world up on your shoulders because you are Fabian Aramais Seacaster. And I get it, you know? I’ve had some pretty big shoes to fill myself.” He lets out a short laugh. “But, you don’t have to… prove yourself to me. Or to-- uh, anyone, really.”

“Riz, I--” Fabian’s words fail him, because figuring things out was always Riz’s job. He knows he will pay to get Riz’s floors done, because maybe Fabian didn’t have to prove himself to anyone, but as well as being a Seacaster, he was also Riz Gukgak’s best friend, and that he needed people to know. 

“It’s okay, Fabian, really it is.” Riz says, interrupting him. “I’m not gonna lie, you haven’t always been-- uh, a perfect friend. I know I haven’t either.” He shrugs. “But you always try to be, and that means more to me than you probably know.” 

Fabian reaches over and pulls Riz into the tightest hug he’s given since he got out of the Forest of the Nightmare King. He feels Riz tense up at first, but then his arms wrap around his neck. 

“You are my best friend.” Fabian says into Riz’s shirt, because if he doesn’t say this now the flames that stir inside his chest will burn the words to ash before they reach his mouth. It was easier to say when Riz wasn’t staring back at him, picking him apart. A habit that Riz could never shake, but sometimes, Fabian welcomed it. He didn’t have to say much, because Riz always just seemed to understand. 

Fabian has never had a best friend before. His family sailed so often when he was younger that it was hard to make friends with any of the kids. He was constantly being pulled out of school and thrown into the next. Every time he did so he would play his little charade of being Fabian Aramais Seacaster, impressing the children in his class, and then his family set sail once again.

Near the end of freshman year, Riz pulled Fabian aside to thank him for the briefcase and the business cards. Fabian had brushed it off, saying it wasn’t that big of a deal, but it took him hours to hand write all those business cards. Something that, to this day, Fabian still hasn’t told Riz. 

After that, Riz never stopped calling him his best friend, and Fabian quickly realized that Riz is one of the only people who had ever really tried to be his friend. He denied it at first, but eventually he came to accept it as a fact. 

And maybe it was the same for Riz too. Like Fabian, he didn’t like talking about personal issues. It wasn’t until sophomore year when Riz was finally able to talk about his dad in front of everyone. And much like Fabian and his own charade, he much preferred his role as a detective versus a teenage boy trying to figure the world out. 

But that was just it, wasn’t it? Because maybe, they could be two teenage boys trying to figure out the world together. 

And so, Fabian may not write his name upon the world. Every living being in Spyre may not know the name Fabian Aramais Seacaster, but he is okay with this. 

Because Fabian doesn’t always need to be the hero, the knight who saves the princess, or the son who kills his father’s rival. Because even when he’s not the hero, there are people who still love him. And to be a part of a story that continues to write itself, that is bigger than his own, with Riz and the rest of the Bad Kidz?

Fabian couldn’t think of anything else he would rather do. 

[herstarburststories]

He didn’t make it to 42

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: it’s Dean’s birthday, you go to visit him with some news and things that need to be said.

A/N: Happy bday, De.

Warnings: so much angst, mentions of sex, hopeful/happy ending (?)

Dean’s dead. It’s Dean’s birthday and he’s dead. You can’t argue much.

Sam denied the demon blood inside him, and that didn’t stop its evil nature from growing and gasping for his fresh air to the point he was almost shocked alive. Dean denied his dad’s destructive methods’ results for the longest time, and that didn’t stop the cicatrixes in every emotion he had ever shown. You denied the absence of Dean and that didn’t stop the bricks cracking in your soul. There’s only so far you can go with your eyes closed.

So here you are. Standing in front of an empty grave. You are bigger than the dull tombstone, yet you can’t help but not to feel tall, at all. How can you even start to talk? Talking to Dean used to be easy even when it got hard and now you’re feeling like a lost kid in a supermarket. Your snide thinking spells out his name with venom, saying it isn’t easy for you to open your barmy mouth and spill out contrarian shit because this isn’t Dean, just another meaningless symbolism that Sam promises that will help. The real Dean died almost a year ago, he was burned in a hunter’s funeral, the flames dancing over his body as the smell of burnt meat invaded your nostrils. Whenever you try to remember his fragrance, that manly aroma which you loved to scent each morning, all your brain can come up with is the odor of his skin and guts burning. The smell lingers like bad perfume, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash yourself with his soap-- that only broke your heart worse.

But today is Dean’s birthday. He deserves a visit, even if it’s not him. Then you go and attempt to deal with the desolation, push it away just a little, and pick up something from the enormous pile of things you wish to tell Dean. You glance at the cold tombstone: Dean Winchester. 1979 - 2020. Beloved son, big brother, and husband. Hunter. A hero. Simple definitions that can never make it up for who he was and what he meant. You purse your lips and cough a little, a gentle wind touches your cheek so tenderly. If you were still a believer, you’d think this is some sort of sign, Dean’s presence or some other pious hoax. All you do now is to remain in quietude, a deep breath. Ultimately, your voice comes:

‘’You didn’t make it to forty two, huh?’’ You scoff humorless, reminiscing to the multiple days that Dean said he wouldn’t go past 35. He did live each year like it was the last--- you aren’t sure if it's such a good thing. If you carry on like your days are outnumbered, you are silently entertaining yourself until death's knock on your door. ‘’I always hated when you were right. Let’s be honest, you had the words of a pessimist and the wants of an optimist. Still, if you were to be right about something, it would be about a bad situation. A nest with too many vampires, how crappy the motel’s bedroom would be, or how that third glass of wine would make me tipsy. So yeah, I always hated when you were right. And look at you now! You aren’t right, you aren’t wrong. You are dead! And I’m the crazy girl screaming at an empty tombstone.’’

You let out a laugh empty of joy. That’s how a hunter’s life is: you die and people stop talking about you because it’s too sad or too long gone to hold any pity, meanwhile the ones who recall about you go loud with all the spirits in their heads. You put your hand in the pockets of the heavy leather jacket that once belonged to a green eyed man who would be turning 42 today, some strange force causing you to speak again.

‘’Wow.’’ You shake your head to the blue way you paint the scene until you notice that you never greeted him. ‘’Hey.’’ The simple word adds a comical insult to injury. ‘’Guess the dead don’t care about manners, huh?’’ You arch your eyebrows with a grin that demonstrates anything but happiness. ‘’Miracle died. Sam digged a hole next to the bunker and buried him there. He isn’t the same since you died, you know? Not the deceased dog-- Well, he wasn’t the same either. Always whining and scratching your door like a fucking cat, and sniffing your old boots. He made me company in your bed and I whined as much as he did when you didn’t come back home that day. He stood by the door most days, waiting for you to appear. I can’t judge him, I did the same.’’ You shrug, not caring about how risible that confession may look. It's true. You became as irrational as a loyal dog at some point in this sorrow. ‘’And Sam, your baby brother… I think he died with you right there, Dean. He didn’t try to bring you back as he promised, but I shouted and screamed so much. I said I would burn the bunker and throw Baby over a cliff if he didn’t-- if he didn’t let me try. I lived up to the mad woman title.’’

You are crestfallen, pacing on top of where the eldest Winchester - Sam’s brand new nomination -  supposedly was buried. You know your boots barely touch an infected land, there's no deceased man under your steps. The dead thing is in you.

‘’I spent days dragging your body everywhere and nowhere, anywhere I could catch a crumb of relief in hope to bring you back. But I couldn’t. Jack could, but that ungrateful idiot doesn’t wanna follow his grandpa steps and get too attached to mere humans, the creation or whatever. As if we are just some skin and bone to him, as if you are just another human.’’

You sit down on the tombstone, some tender solace in being close to a thing that's supposed to represent him, like sleeping hugged to a pillow or waking up to a photograph of his. Your nails sink against the gelid concrete at the thought of screaming into the sky for the new God that seemed as deaf as the last one. His calm answer to your burning pain. How he dared to tell you he knew what he was doing— as if he was the original lord and not a three years old. You can't make him do it, so you hold on the fury of some overthrown nation.

‘’Anyway, I couldn’t bring you back. Your body, well, you know how human anatomy works. Your body started to smell like death. We tried to stop with human and magic ways, and it wouldn’t work because you were dead. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when we got you in that fancy hospital tha night. I think we traumatized the doctor with so much violence and trauma. She didn’t even give us a false hope or anything, you know? She just asked about organ donation of what was left. She just wanted to take every little thing out of you, as if you were just another accident on a Tuesday night.’’ Your shake your head as the memories and your points start to mix, it's hard to discern things and keep a straight line when you have an open wound in your insides. ‘’Well, they couldn’t bring you back to life, and neither could Rowena or whatever I looked for. Don’t be mad because I tried, Winchester. You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I had to try.’’ you refuse to apologize, yet adds the playful words in his eulogy. ‘’But then your body started to stink and God, how could I continue to be so violent to your corpse? That was when I decided to listen to you for the first time and to Sam, so I let you go. I hate you for asking that.’’ What an ambiguous, contradictory truth to bare. You are glimpses of a person for months because of Dean Winchester, still have the energy to argue his selfless logic, just to love him even more. He's got your devotion, but man you can hate him sometimes. ‘’I hate you for going on that stupid hunt. I hate you for being dead, you giant idiot that I love so much.’’ You can't bring your mouth to say loved. "I was always telling you to let the past go and now I’m in love with a dead thing. What a comic way to end our history. I told you that Miracle died, right? I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I hope he’s in there with you. I wonder what your heaven is like. I bet it has Whiskey.''

Your dry chuckle makes your notice the tears in your eyes, glistening your orbs as they go like a waterfall to be absorbed by the thirsty land after leaving your cheeks.

"Sam and I-- We tried to make some sense out of this cruelty, but we can’t. You are dead and I can’t seem to put it past me. I still sleep in your bed, and I can still taste your body burning on the roof of my mouth in the quiet nights. I cried this morning because someone asked for a burger, can you believe that? It was so stupid since I used to shake my head and argue with you about cholesterol. Suddenly I was crying at lunch in a restaurant because some stupid kid asked for a burger with extra bacon. They sang Happy birthday to this dumbass child, and I interrupted with my awful crying, and wished that you were celebrating your birthday and not that kid. I guess you could say I wish death upon an innocent child with a problematic eating routine.’’ That was a whole new level of low, as if you are the one wrapped with the sentiment of laying six feet under.

‘’Everyone tells you about how grief is singular and particular with similar emotions that bring people who went through this together. They even have that crap stages thing and all that. You know what they don’t tell you?’’ Your mouth shuts for a moment, like you are waiting some response. You nod as if whatever you were expecting is handed to you. ‘’Grief can be fucking ridiculous. Who cries because of a burger full of oil and cardiac diseases? Who cries because they found a grocery store recipe under her dead boyfriend’s bed? Who falls on the ground screaming in the middle of the mall because they saw a flannel? Who? Those things are so stupid.’’ You smile like there's no tomorrow and the laugh leaving your lips is a treacherous tone. Perhaps you just aren't build up to express joy anymore. ‘’You see it in the movies and in the books and you think, you know, you think to yourself that grieving is being sad on special dates and randomly remembering the loved ones because of some screaming memory, like a flannel or their perfume. Thing is, it’s not just that. All your body seems so small, so tight for all the ache and agony inside it. Your senses go wild, you are not just one person in one place. You’re just the pain everywhere, like being pulled apart and you beg to jump in the fucking grave with them. At least you would be together, at least you would feel like one person and not suffering edges of a broken earthy thing. And--And you start remembering things you didn’t even know you had mesmerized. I look at the ceiling and remember you saying you’d paint it someday. I look at the kitchen and remember me screaming at you for giving Miracle the rest of the food. I smell Sam’s clothes and started crying because hey, they don’t smell like alcohol. You don’t iron them while drinking anymore, so of course they don’t smell like cheap beer.’’ You are chuckling through the tears and it only makes it more monstrous. ‘’Everything is you now that you are gone. Every man has something similar to you, every garden is green as your eyes, and each step sounds like you are coming home. They didn’t prepare me, not for this.’’ You said breathless. A soft single follows. The knife cuts both ways; the empty breeze and the words hurt. Where's the middle term? Where's the limbo? Where's the only safe place for you to rest your weary head?

Out of nowhere, you blurt out, ‘’I can’t masturbate,’’ I know it’s something stupid and even selfish to say, but I think you’d like to know. I can’t masturbate. That’s a part of the whole losing someone process that people are too ashamed to discuss, or maybe they don’t have the urge to be touched anymore because after someone you love dies, after someone-- the hands who touched are dead and cold, you become a haunted object. That’s how I feel most days, like I’m a haunted house because you touched me and now you’re dead and some days I believe I am too.’’ You look around the places. It's beautiful. It's lonely. It has trees and flowers and green. Not as green as Dean's eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't even have eyes at this point. ‘’Well, I can’t masturbate. I can’t touch myself. And I can’t ask someone else either. I tried and ended up punching the guy, Dean. I swear. I panicked when he was between my legs and just punched his nose. You’d have liked it, you were always the jealous kind. I won’t admit that, but I thought it was kinda hot. Especially when you got possessive in sex.’’ A dirty grin appeared on your lips, the echoes of luxury lasting in your eyes for a brief moment. ‘’I don’t think I can be cared for anymore, honestly. Sam tried to hug me when Miracle died and I… It was like I wasn't there. I got frozen in time, and I live in my sleep. In my nightmares you are alive. I  dream about the day you died every week and I used to wake up screaming, but now those nightmares are the only proof you were alive now that you’re as dead as the police report says this time. It was the most painful, calamitous moment for you and I swear it was a nightmare for me, but then I realized that at least I had you there, egoistical or not, I made my nightmare into a dream.’’ You aren't sure which opinion Dean would have on that. Would he understand? Would he shake his head? You wish you can ask him just this one more thing, just beg him to write it down for you on how to be without him here.

You raise on your feet, glaring at the name craved in the concrete. The tears go by still, although they're as usual as the blood in glir veins at this point. ‘’Death is so silly. What it takes, anyway?" Each word conquers more inches of pure wrath. ''People die because they stumbled on their own feet and hit their head somewhere, or they drove their car too close and too fast to the cliff, or because they were giving birth, or because they dated the wrong person, or because they were hunting a fucking vampire and got impaled. What are the chances? How stupid, and idiotic is death? Always creeping and waiting to bite and chew a piece of you-- Taking every scrap of you from me like that’s its right.’’ You are screaming, starting to kick and punch the tombstone with any piece of straight you have. Your limbs hurt and the blood is visible, but you keep going. ‘’YOUR STUPID DOG DIED, DEAN! AND YOU DIED! AND I DIED! SAMMY DIED! YEAH, IS SAID SAMMY! GO AHEAD, TELL ME ONLY YOU CAN CALL HIM THAT.’’ Another punch, your knuckles are ripped. Another kick, your boot as a hole. ‘’DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.’’ Kick. ‘’SAMMY, SAMMY, SAMMY!’’ A punch to each name. Anything to get a reaction, to get comfort. Anything. ‘’YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.’’ Gasping for something you don't need anymore, sweet oxygen, your eyes are on the tombstone again. And the definitions. And the trees. Your body is sore and aching. It is the kind and coercion no person wants which you needed; the freedom of feeling outside the exact pain that was inside. ‘’You can’t because you are dead. I’ve been playing some sick games in my mind, you know? Sam stopped hunting and had his closure. He was always better at letting go than you and I, but he’s still hurting. I never saw him hurting so much. I think he knows you won’t come back this time, how could you make us promise something like that?  Well, my twisted game is a bunch of misleading what ifs. What if you hadn’t gone after John? What if you hadn’t gone on that last hunt? What if you had stayed with Lisa? At first I didn’t like her much. Jealous, I admit that. But she grew on me. She gave you something I couldn’t back then and I’ll always be thankful for that. And even though it would rip me apart, I’d rather you to die at sixth after living your suburban dream with her. Have another kid besides Ben, maybe a girl this time, and just have that apple pie life. You and Sam would live close and your kids would always play. They’d be as close as brothers. Maybe I’d get a guy and bring my own kids and we could’ve a barbecue and everyone would be happy. But we don’t get soft epilogues here. It ends how it starts, right? Bloody and desperate. I thought maybe, maybe Lisa could understand what’s going through my head now. I drove to her new address and parked close to her house. I must have spent hours there, thinking if I should come in or not, If she somehow remembered after Castiel died or if I could make her brain work again if I told her the truth. But then I just drove back home and fell asleep wrapped in that stupid lumberjack flannel of yours. The one I always mocked, yeah? She may understand me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. You want her, you want me and Sam to be happy. I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. It’s like myt brittle soul shrewd and my body is just waiting to collapse.’’ You signed, overwhelmed by the battle without an anthem. The victory with no triumph. Is it still a win when you don't have someone to come home too? ‘’Your dog died, it’s the first birthday you didn’t live to see, and I bought all the things you told Mrs Butters you wanted for your birthday because it’s your birthday. I just don’t know how to celebrate it with you dead. People stop counting after they die, right? They just say he’d have been 42 or he died at 41. They give melancholy smiles when they wake up and check the day on their phones and a woe atmosphere swallows them for the rest of the day. Then they get better the next day. I think everyday is your birthday.’’ You attempt to wipe away your tears, which only causes your pulsating hand to stain your face red. ‘’Dean, for the first time, what died stayed dead! Congrats.’’ Once again, a hysterical laugh. ‘’I wish but no. What died didn’t stay dead, you are alive, so alive in my head. I swear you are there some days. I wake and watch the door, so sure you’ll come back. Sam says I’m living in delusion and I have to wake up and keep going since that's what you would want. That's enough to make him keep going, but it only makes me angry. Everyone we know and some strangers looks at me like I'm a house on fire and no longer a warm home, like I'm a car accident. They think I don't notice but I do.’’ You look at your boots, the whole is rolling out blood like your hands. You feel closer to Dean. How sick.

‘’Help, I’m still right where you left me." You plea, his love lingering like a bruise. ''I think gravity is overwhelming and it keeps me here. Sometimes it’s like I’m one of those dusted books Sam used to read. Or those Bukowski ones that you hid, so we wouldn’t see how smart you’re. You tried so hard to hide your intelligence because you didn’t think you were entitled to it. You saw yourself as the protector and never the valuable one for protection. You, the man who made an EMF out of an old radio, who rebuilt the Impala from the ground multiple times, and who knew patterns better than any detective. The man who showed me I could rely on someone other than myself. The dude with a lopsided grin, tough hands and a heart of gold. I miss you so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing all those classic rock songs and Taylor Swift pop hits, while I drove here. I would think you were home, smelling like guts because you wanted to eat before taking a shower after a hunt. I would think that you are in the Deancave, waiting for me to curl up on your lap to watch Scooby Doo or Doctor Sexy MD until we aren’t watching anymore. If I didn’t know better I would think no death could take you from me. There would be no tear us apart in our vows.’’ The only thing that keeps your organism working is that Dean died knowing how much you loved him. You never let this talk for later or never. No tomorrow is promised. That's a nice comfort, maybe that's what will help you to let go in the future. ‘’But yesterday your stupid, skink dog died and I lost the last living thing that I had from you. You know what’s more angerting? I cried and Sam cried and I noticed we were the living things you left behind and all we have is each other. All your closets of backlogged dreams were left for us-- so yeah. Sam is done hunting and he’s met a lovely girl, and they are moving in like in your domestic dreams. I’m taking care of the family business like your other contradictory dream and making sure Sam is safe enough to be normal. Because I have to, we have too. Stupidly enough, I still wait for the day you’ll burst out the door and tell us to hit the road again. I still watch every episode of your dumb tv shows to make sure I’ll know everything that happened when you ask. I still drive around in your car and close my eyes when the street is calm, only picturing you driving as Baby’s engineers go wild but those are my hands on the steering wheel. If I didn't know better, I’d think you are still around. But I know better. I still feel you all around. I love you.’’

Your monologuing ends as astutely as it stated. You get up, press a kiss to your ruined for the next weeks hands and place it on the rock with writings. You turn around and walk back to the car that you parked near, only in case of Dean wanting to see Baby. How knows? You and your clandestine faith. You lick your lip and get in the car.

You swear you the AC/DC cassette wasn't there before, but when you turn on the car and the radio it starts playing. It's the first true smile that comes to your mouth, it's bloodstained and you look like a shameless woman. With that you can deal.

It hurts a bearable hurt for now. You didn't think it was possible. Maybe someday.

The end.

(she takes a little longer to arive in heaven than sammy. his baby brother says that women are most likely to live around six years more than men. it doesn't ease him up, though. dean waited sam for too long, his platonic soulmate. and now he has to wait his romantic one too? the eldest Winchester considers it the best earthly present when the he sense you around, that smell of orange and apples. it's you, he knows before even turning around. he can't wait to love you again. your name rolls off your tongue so naturally, as if you had seen each other just yesterday: ‘’hey, y/n.’’)

But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?

REBLOG AND COMMENT. Feedback is magic and helps me!

Starburst's footnote: It just didn't feel right to make an author's note on the top. I wanted it all only to be an arrow to the story. So, this is my side note: it's six am and I'm up writing this after inspiration kissed me with a bruise in the middle of the night. Or more like grabbed my throat. Anyway, I had to write and finish this one to post today, even pushing sleep aside. Hey, we are writers, that's what we do! I've been watching the show since I was eleven and I cried like a baby with the finale. This series was just so important and crucial to molde aspects of relationships for me. The song marjorie by Taylor Swift was used here, and so was the line "you got my devotion/ but man, I can hate you sometimes" by Harry Styles. I told you guys I would use it somewhere! A special thanks to @msmarvelouswinchester​ who helped me with her encouraging and opinon. You are the best! And with all of this I wanna say: Happy bday, Dean Winchester!

REBLOG AND COMMENT! Feedback is magic! Especially about this fic, I’d like to know your opinion. Tags in the reblog! Send an ask or dm to get in the taglist.

[nordleuchten]

Hi ! Facts about the Lafayette couple. Thanks.

Hello Anon,

well, well, the La Fayette couple, Adrienne and Gilbert ��- where to even begin with these two? Their marriage was arranged and arranged marriages were very common for the time and people of their position. A family with wealth, a title and influence was keen on preserving all of this – and tried to add to it by trying to arranging marriages with families who as well had at least one of these things. A truly popular combination was a family with a great name/title that had fallen on hard times and a very rich family without too great a name. Now, La Fayette and Adrienne were lucky in so far as that they really loved each other. Their marriage was far more than pure convenience. Still, not everything was picture perfect. La Fayette had different mistresses and although he loved Adrienne, I always feel like it took him quite some time to realise just how wonderful Adrienne truly was, how loyal and devoted. It was not entirely uncommon that a man and a women in an arranged marriage barely know each other prior to their marriage. That again was different with La Fayette and Adrienne. La Fayette actually lived with his future in-laws together in their house prior to the marriage. Behind the scenes everything had already been sorted out, but the bride and the groom were still none the wiser (although La Fayette was told before Adrienne was told). Partly responsible for this living-arrangement was Adrienne’s mother, the Duchess d’Ayen. She was the metaphorical lioness protecting her cubs. She was fiercely protective of her daughters and thought that Adrienne was still way too young. So La Fayette moved in with them, they had some time to get to know each other and to mature a bit. La Fayette also won over the Duchess, who was a bit skeptical at first.

When La Fayette and Adrienne finally married, she was fourteen and he was sixteen. Their marriage contract stated that they should continue to live with Adrienne’s family and that their marriage was not be consumed for some time. This rule again was included due to the input of the Duchess – who still thought her daughter way too young for any martial endeavours. Regardless of that, Adrienne became pregnant with the couples first child during this proposed period – the popular opinion is, that La Fayette after some time simply wanted to be with Adrienne and sneaked into her room (something that he supposedly confessed to later in life). Whatever happened, they both seemed quite happy.

When La Fayette departed for America, Adrienne was completely clueless, she said that herself but there is also circumstancel evidence to support her statement. She had a young and sickly daughter to look after, a daughter that would die a few months later when La Fayette was still in America. She furthermore was pregnant with their second child and Paris was on fire with rumours. Newspapers printed rumours about La Fayette’s death on the field or something similar every other day and she often had no possibility of hearing from her husbands for months and months (before La Fayette’s first return to France they had not heard from one another for roughly eight months). The news of the death of their oldest child Henriette reached La Fayette so late that he send Adrienne many letters asking about Henriette, asking if she was well, long after Henriette was deceased. But despite all of it, Adrienne put up a brave face in public and never complaint. In general, whether she agreed with her husband or nor, weather she liked what he did or not, she never criticised him in public, never embarrassed or questioned him in front of others.

After the conclusion of the war in America La Fayette and Adrienne together with their children moved into their own home. They were, for people of their time and status, very engaged parents. They started hosting their “American Dinners” on Mondays and Adrienne was also included in La Fayette’s “Plantation-Project”. La Fayette kept a lively correspondence with George Washington but Adrienne also exchanged letters with Washington. There is one lovely, humours account by Washington in a letter to La Fayette dated September 30, 1779:

“(...) But at present must pray your patience a while longer, till I can make a tender of my most respectful compliments to the Marchioness. Tell her (if you have not made a mistake, & offered your own love instead of hers to me) that I have a heart susceptable of the tenderest passion, & that it is already so strongly impressed with the most favourable ideas of her, that she must be cautious of putting loves torch to it; as you must be in fanning the flame. But here again methinks I hear you say, I am not apprehensive of danger—My wife is young—you are growing old & the atlantic is between you—All this is true, but know my good friend that no distance can keep anxious lovers long asunder, and that the Wonders of former ages may be revived in this—But alas! will you not remark that amidst all the wonders recorded in holy writ no instance can be produced where a young Woman from real inclination has prefered an old Man—This is so much against me that I shall not be able I fear to contest the prize with you—yet, under the encouragement you have given me I shall enter the list for so inestimable a jewell.”

This is just such a funny, carefree, teasing letter between the three of them. Its adorable. But these carefree times soon came to an end with the onset of the French Revolution (you could argue that the Revolution had already begun long prior to 1789 but in that year it rapidly gained speed).

La Fayette entangled himself in the political and military matters of the day and when everything started to go down the hill (from his perspective at least) he tried to fled to America and got caught before he even could reach a harbour. Adrienne and the children stayed behind in France. Now, it had became some sort of custom that the women of (aristocrat) man who fled France during the Revolution “divorced” her husbands. (“Divorce” because these divorces were often not real civil divorces in accordance with the law but more a sort of public separation from their “treacherous and anti-republican” husbands that could get these women a passport and/or out of prison. It also opened them the opportunity to marry again later in life.) Somebody proposed a divorce to Adrienne and she was absolutely repelled by the idea. She had married La Fayette for better and for worse and she would not, not under any circumstance divorce her husband. Period. In fact, she started signing all her papers with “la femme de Lafayette”, “the wife of Lafayette”. After and eventful and fearful time, Adrienne was eventually released from her prison in France. She gathered her two daughters (her son was safe in America with his tutor) and went to Austria were La Fayette was still imprisoned in Olmütz. She had some family connections to the court in Vienna and eventually obtained the permission of sharing her husbands imprisonment. Although accounts vary, all accounts agree that Olmütz was a true hell-hole. Adrienne and her children were treated better than La Fayette  - but the treatment was still not good. Soon Adrienne became ill and the prison doctor could not really do anything. Adrienne was told that she was free to go, leave this place behind, find a good doctor, settle down somewhere more comfortable. Nobody wanted to see her suffer or even die. The only stipulation, if she would leave now she was not allowed to ever return – and with that Adrienne stayed and suffered and hasted her death because she would not leave her husband behind. In my opinion her sacrifice at that moment made La Fayette understand just how incredible his wife was. He never forgot what she endured for him and her actions probably lead their relationship to unknown heights.

After they were eventually all released from prison they settled first in Danish-Holstein and then in the Netherlands before returning to France. Adrienne managed to regain a lot of the property that they had previously lost during the Revolution. Although she was successful in that regard, her health (and beauty) was forever ruined. Despite all that she took great joy in seeing her children marry and becoming a grandmother. When Adrienne died on December 24, 1807 La Fayette was absolutely shattered. He wrote a very, very long and very, very sad letter to a friend, retelling Adrienne’s last days and expressing his grieve:

“As yet you have always found me stronger than circumstances, but now this event is stronger than me. Never shall I recover from it. During the thirty - four years of an union in which her tenderness, her goodness, the elevation of her mind, charmed, adorned, honoured my life, I felt myself so used to all that she was to me, that I could not distinguish it from my own existence. She was fourteen, and I was sixteen, when her heart amalgamated itself with everything that could interest me. I knew I loved her, I knew I needed her, but it is only now that I can distinguish what life which I had thought was to have been entirely devoted to worldly matters. (...)”

The letter is really long but so worth the read if you are interested. Really! It is such an honest, open, affectionate and reflected statement of their relationship. Adrienne’s last words were “Je suis toute à vous” (I am all yours) and La Fayette had these words inscribed on a miniature of Adrienne that he constantly had upon his person. Here is an account of the portrait from Jules Germain Cloquets book “Recollections of the Private Life of General Lafayette, etc”:

“In his children he cherished the memory of their mother, (Mademoiselle de Noailles,) whom he had loved most tenderly, and whose name he never mentioned but with visible emotion. One day during his last illness, I surprised him kissing her portrait, which he always wore suspended to his neck in a small gold medallion. Around the portrait were the words, “Je suis à vous ,” and on the back was engraved this short and touching inscription, “ Je vous fus donc une douce compagne: eh bien ! benissez moi .” I have since been informed that regularly every morning Lafayette ordered Bastien [his valet] to leave the room, in which he shut himself up, and taking the portrait in both hands, looked at it earnestly, pressed it to his lips, and remained silently contemplating it for about a quarter of an hour. Nothing was more disagreeable to him than to be disturbed during this daily homage to the memory of his virtuous partner.”

I hope you have/had an awesome day!

[johnputignano]

Big Jim’s Big Secret (Short Story)

When Big Jim Anderson finally uttered his final breath, well, King’s Creek had lost a true legend. That son of a bitch was renowned for his ability to drink anybody under the bar. No shit. And when Big Jim started tossing back cold brew, there was no way of knowing whether you would get the friendly old man or the cocksucker who loved to tease. Regardless, it was all in good fun.

I swear to god, there had been this one occasion when these degenerate punk rockers rolling on through. Apparently, they had a show that night in the valley, their name was “The Shit Kickers” but they pulled into town and made a short pit stop off at Mitch’s Pub to wet their palate. Clarissa had been tending the bar when the Mohawk weirdo began making a ruckus.

These punk rockers just love to get under the skin of working-class folk in the Bible Belt, and so there he was, spouting off obscenities and blasphemy for shock value. The spectacle was nothing more than the run of the mill asinine, juvenile behavior.

Big Jim heard the whole thing but felt that this wast his battle. So he ignored the punkers the best he could, but throughout the night they continued to get louder, drunker and more obnoxious. Enough was enough.

“I’m going to ask you boys to bring it down a notch or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Clarissa spoke loud and clear so that there was no mistaking anything.

“Fuck you, redneck slut.” the one with four lips rings responded before pouring his beer all over the floor. “You better clean that up less you want a lawsuit.”

This made Big Jim get all crazy. That big fucker rose from his barstool, picked it up in a calloused mitt and began to bash one of those jokers in the back of the dome. The Punker went down like a sack of horse shit, I mean knocked out cold. Another pulled out a switchblade.

“Oh, so you want to play games.”

Big Jim retrieved his large sheathed blade. The sight of this menacing bastard was sufficient enough to make a Civil War veteran shit his knickers and piss all over himself. That fellow knew full well that he was fucked. Luckily so did Dennis Lee, who quietly got up and bolted shut the bar entrance, ominously flipping the sign around, letting patrons know that they were closed.

“Big Jim, carve this fucker up real nice.”

And he did, ramming that mean steel blade right into the city boy’s esophagus. He was deceased before he knew it. Big Jim then made his way over to the unconscious man, yanked his head up by his hair and slashed him ear to ear. That night Clarissa, Dennis, and Big Jim would haul those bodies to Robert Turner’s farm to get rid of them.

Yeah, Big Jim was no joke and when he passed from a heart attack, well it just brought every eye in town to tears. The funeral was held at his house. Understandably, the better part of the town showed up to pay their respect and all were in the bark yard where the service was being held. That is, except for Big Jim’s grandson Waylon. That’s because he had snuck off to the basement.

Big Jim had a heart, and he was an open book, more or less, that is except for his private room in the basement. This room is where he spent a considerable amount of time and when he was in the basement, the old man was not to be disturbed.

The mystery of that room captivated the young boy’s mind. What was in that room? All sorts of scenarios went through the kid’s head. Hell, at one time he thought that his grandpa had a space alien locked up in there. I’m serious, that’s how secretive he was about how he spent his time.

Waylon knew that the room was fastened by a simple padlock and luckily for him he knew just where to get a pair of bolt cutters, which he snuck over there and hid in the bushes close by. As he stood in front of that ominous door all sorts of shit went through Waylon’s twelve-year-old head but he knew that this was his only chance he’d get.

The bolt cutters worked like expected, but Waylon froze for a moment. What if something so awful was being imprisoned behind this door that his grandfather took it upon himself to shield his family from it? And what if, by opening this door, that evil were to escape and wreak havoc? There was no point of contemplating at this point. The lock was busted and his hand was already on the door knob.

Now, before we proceed any further with this story, there is something we should address about Big Jim. His wife was Bridgette and in her day she was hell on wheels. As Big Jim told the story, he fell in love one night way back when they were both in their early twenties. Brigette was a Tom Boy and boy did she love to fight men. I mean, she was ruthless, and she had a particular distaste for pedophiles and rapists. That year Frank Reed had been arrested for molesting a sixteen-year-old girl, but since we all know that the court system is a joke, he got off on a technicality. Now Brigette never would admit to it for obvious reasons, but it is presumed to be true that she went to Frank’s house one night in the summer and cut his dick off. Frank lived, but she took the dick with her and fed it to her dog. The police never could get an answer out of that man as to who done it but when Big Jim caught wind of what Brigette had done he knew that this was the woman for him.

Brigette saw Big Jim as a wildcard with a heart, and that appealed to her. So when he announced that he was going to have a secret space for himself many years ago, she asked no questions. She trusted her husband was doing nothing more than blowing off steam, probably drinking beers and tinkering with the model cars he was obsessed with making.

Despite all the young Waylon’s planning, he did not anticipate Brigette’s keen sense of awareness. So when she saw her son’s kid sneak back into the house, she knew damn well what he was about to do. For fuck’s sake, everyone in town knew about his secret room and we all wondered what was in it. Brigette didn’t care that her husband was dead, she intended to keep the promise she made to him years earlier, to never step foot in that room. She’d be damned if she was going to let some snot-nosed brat disrespect her deceased husband.

By the time she found an opportunity to slip away unnoticed, she took it. Once in the house she moved quickly to the basement but when she got there, it was too late. The door was open, and the boy had disrespected a dead man’s wishes.

“Now you really did it Waylon.”

He seemed unfazed by her voice. The boy wasn’t even startled by the unexpected company, he was too focused on what he saw. As Brigette descended the stairs her anger turned to curiosity. What was in that room to steal her grandson’s attention so much that he couldn’t even hear the ass whooping he was going to get when she told his father? When she saw the tears in his eyes her curiosity turned to concern.

“Waylon?” she called out. He turned his head toward her and she saw trauma. It was that same look Frank had on him when she sliced off his willy.

“Grandma, I’m sorry, but I had to know.”

“Well, you went on and opened it. So what’s in there that has you so upset?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Boy, you better tell me.” Anger was returning, but when she got to the doorframe she too froze. “Holy shit.”

Big Jim’s secret room was a secret no more, and what the two of them saw was nothing short of disturbings. The room contained a shrine of sorts. Every inch of wall space was covered in Polaroid pictures, and in those pictures were children. In some pictures she could see parts of Big Jim which she identified by his chest tattoo, which was of a confederate flag. In all the pictures, the kids are naked, some crying. As horrifying as these were, they didn’t compare to the ones of her husband performing various sexual acts. Big Jim was a pedophile.

How does one recover from such revelations? She knew that Waylon couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut and once word go out that she was married to a kid diddler, well, she couldn’t bear the embarrassment.

“Waylon. I want you to go back to the funeral. Say nothing.”

The poor kid was so shocked that he obeyed without so much as a whimper, making his way back like a soldier suffering from shell shock. Once alone Brigette dropped the touch act and began sobbing. Her entire life with Big Jim was a disgusting lie. She slept in the same bed with this filthy monster. There was no stopping this. Word was sure to spread but what she can do is make certain that nobody ever sees the contents of that room.

After getting back her composure, Brigette made her way to the garage where she retrieved two cans of gasoline. With a broken heart, she poured it all over that room. Every inch was dripping with gasoline. Once both cans were empty, she grabbed a box of matches from the kitchen. Without hesitation, she struck a match and tossed it into the room.

Brigette stood there, watching the room burn with all its contents until she no longer could stand the heat. As she made her way back to the funeral, the flames began to spread to the rest of the house.

[bigjimbigsecret]

Big Jim’s Big Secret

When Big Jim Anderson finally uttered his final breath, well, King’s Creek had lost a true legend. That son of a bitch was renowned for his ability to drink anybody under the bar. No shit. And when Big Jim started tossing back cold brew, there was no way of knowing whether you would get the friendly old man or the cocksucker who loved to tease. Regardless, it was all in good fun.

I swear to god, there had been this one occasion when these degenerate punk rockers rolling on through. Apparently, they had a show that night in the valley, their name was “The Shit Kickers” but they pulled into town and made a short pit stop off at Mitch’s Pub to wet their palate. Clarissa had been tending the bar when the Mohawk weirdo began making a ruckus.

These punk rockers just love to get under the skin of working-class folk in the Bible Belt, and so there he was, spouting off obscenities and blasphemy for shock value. The spectacle was nothing more than the run of the mill asinine, juvenile behavior.

Big Jim heard the whole thing but felt that this wast his battle. So he ignored the punkers the best he could, but throughout the night they continued to get louder, drunker and more obnoxious. Enough was enough.

“I’m going to ask you boys to bring it down a notch or I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Clarissa spoke loud and clear so that there was no mistaking anything.

“Fuck you, redneck slut.” the one with four lips rings responded before pouring his beer all over the floor. “You better clean that up less you want a lawsuit.”

This made Big Jim get all crazy. That big fucker rose from his barstool, picked it up in a calloused mitt and began to bash one of those jokers in the back of the dome. The Punker went down like a sack of horse shit, I mean knocked out cold. Another pulled out a switchblade.

“Oh, so you want to play games.”

Big Jim retrieved his large sheathed blade. The sight of this menacing bastard was sufficient enough to make a Civil War veteran shit his knickers and piss all over himself. That fellow knew full well that he was fucked. Luckily so did Dennis Lee, who quietly got up and bolted shut the bar entrance, ominously flipping the sign around, letting patrons know that they were closed.

“Big Jim, carve this fucker up real nice.”

And he did, ramming that mean steel blade right into the city boy’s esophagus. He was deceased before he knew it. Big Jim then made his way over to the unconscious man, yanked his head up by his hair and slashed him ear to ear. That night Clarissa, Dennis, and Big Jim would haul those bodies to Robert Turner’s farm to get rid of them.

Yeah, Big Jim was no joke and when he passed from a heart attack, well it just brought every eye in town to tears. The funeral was held at his house. Understandably, the better part of the town showed up to pay their respect and all were in the bark yard where the service was being held. That is, except for Big Jim’s grandson Waylon. That’s because he had snuck off to the basement.

Big Jim had a heart, and he was an open book, more or less, that is except for his private room in the basement. This room is where he spent a considerable amount of time and when he was in the basement, the old man was not to be disturbed.

The mystery of that room captivated the young boy’s mind. What was in that room? All sorts of scenarios went through the kid’s head. Hell, at one time he thought that his grandpa had a space alien locked up in there. I’m serious, that’s how secretive he was about how he spent his time.

Waylon knew that the room was fastened by a simple padlock and luckily for him he knew just where to get a pair of bolt cutters, which he snuck over there and hid in the bushes close by. As he stood in front of that ominous door all sorts of shit went through Waylon’s twelve-year-old head but he knew that this was his only chance he’d get.

The bolt cutters worked like expected, but Waylon froze for a moment. What if something so awful was being imprisoned behind this door that his grandfather took it upon himself to shield his family from it? And what if, by opening this door, that evil were to escape and wreak havoc? There was no point of contemplating at this point. The lock was busted and his hand was already on the door knob.

Now, before we proceed any further with this story, there is something we should address about Big Jim. His wife was Bridgette and in her day she was hell on wheels. As Big Jim told the story, he fell in love one night way back when they were both in their early twenties. Brigette was a Tom Boy and boy did she love to fight men. I mean, she was ruthless, and she had a particular distaste for pedophiles and rapists. That year Frank Reed had been arrested for molesting a sixteen-year-old girl, but since we all know that the court system is a joke, he got off on a technicality. Now Brigette never would admit to it for obvious reasons, but it is presumed to be true that she went to Frank’s house one night in the summer and cut his dick off. Frank lived, but she took the dick with her and fed it to her dog. The police never could get an answer out of that man as to who done it but when Big Jim caught wind of what Brigette had done he knew that this was the woman for him.

Brigette saw Big Jim as a wildcard with a heart, and that appealed to her. So when he announced that he was going to have a secret space for himself many years ago, she asked no questions. She trusted her husband was doing nothing more than blowing off steam, probably drinking beers and tinkering with the model cars he was obsessed with making.

Despite all the young Waylon’s planning, he did not anticipate Brigette’s keen sense of awareness. So when she saw her son’s kid sneak back into the house, she knew damn well what he was about to do. For fuck’s sake, everyone in town knew about his secret room and we all wondered what was in it. Brigette didn’t care that her husband was dead, she intended to keep the promise she made to him years earlier, to never step foot in that room. She’d be damned if she was going to let some snot-nosed brat disrespect her deceased husband.

By the time she found an opportunity to slip away unnoticed, she took it. Once in the house she moved quickly to the basement but when she got there, it was too late. The door was open, and the boy had disrespected a dead man’s wishes.

“Now you really did it Waylon.”

He seemed unfazed by her voice. The boy wasn’t even startled by the unexpected company, he was too focused on what he saw. As Brigette descended the stairs her anger turned to curiosity. What was in that room to steal her grandson’s attention so much that he couldn’t even hear the ass whooping he was going to get when she told his father? When she saw the tears in his eyes her curiosity turned to concern.

“Waylon?” she called out. He turned his head toward her and she saw trauma. It was that same look Frank had on him when she sliced off his willy.

“Grandma, I’m sorry, but I had to know.”

“Well, you went on and opened it. So what’s in there that has you so upset?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Boy, you better tell me.” Anger was returning, but when she got to the doorframe she too froze. “Holy shit.”

Big Jim’s secret room was a secret no more, and what the two of them saw was nothing short of disturbings. The room contained a shrine of sorts. Every inch of wall space was covered in Polaroid pictures, and in those pictures were children. In some pictures she could see parts of Big Jim which she identified by his chest tattoo, which was of a confederate flag. In all the pictures, the kids are naked, some crying. As horrifying as these were, they didn’t compare to the ones of her husband performing various sexual acts. Big Jim was a pedophile.

How does one recover from such revelations? She knew that Waylon couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut and once word go out that she was married to a kid diddler, well, she couldn’t bear the embarrassment.

“Waylon. I want you to go back to the funeral. Say nothing.”

The poor kid was so shocked that he obeyed without so much as a whimper, making his way back like a soldier suffering from shell shock. Once alone Brigette dropped the touch act and began sobbing. Her entire life with Big Jim was a disgusting lie. She slept in the same bed with this filthy monster. There was no stopping this. Word was sure to spread but what she can do is make certain that nobody ever sees the contents of that room.

After getting back her composure, Brigette made her way to the garage where she retrieved two cans of gasoline. With a broken heart, she poured it all over that room. Every inch was dripping with gasoline. Once both cans were empty, she grabbed a box of matches from the kitchen. Without hesitation, she struck a match and tossed it into the room.

Brigette stood there, watching the room burn with all its contents until she no longer could stand the heat. As she made her way back to the funeral, the flames began to spread to the rest of the house.

[ask-silverfire]

Unfitting End

~20.04.2020

Finale of Vengeance Incarnate. (Parts 2 and 3 here.) 

Alaroth Sunstorm- no, Voidstorm - stumbles backwards after she takes her hand away. It is not enough that he has delivered Starflare to them and that she has just confirmed through forcing her way into his head that everything he said was true. It is not enough that Illethiann has stormed off to his refuge, telling her to deal with it. None of it is enough for what happened to Nivendi’en. 

“Go find your brother.” Nothing else needs to be said. Rei’ann knew Alaroth before he allegedly died. She offered refuge to the identical twin of Vellidan Sunstorm, when he needed it, having had no idea that he was alive until it happened. He brought the criminal to justice, and therefore deserves to go to his own family.

They are underground, in the hidden chamber where she kept Sylvarys Sunglance confined years ago, in order to guide him back to sanity. An anti-magic field surrounds the half of the room where he used to live. Where Irai’el Starflare now stands, released from the imprisonment of the void elf warlock who is rapidly leaving the chamber.

Rei’ann remembers her. Former fiancée to her deceased and now missing son, Irai’el’s skin, hair and eyes are irreversibly altered by the void. These are the only changes, for the young woman is otherwise exactly as she used to be, with her calm, dispassionate manner, hands clasped before her lap, as if she is waiting to be summoned. Her now pearlescent eyes are downcast. There is no tension in her posture. Rei’ann recalls the brief catch-up she had with Priestess Nightwhisper a while back, when Dorielle told her about her own encounter with Starflare. The things that were relayed were disturbing, but what she heard made sense as a possible motive for what Irai’el did.

“Why?” Her usually husky voice cracks from the cries of rage and grief. Her throat is sore, as are her eyes. Never in her lifetime has she ever lost control of herself in this manner. Her grandfather and father would have strung her up and whipped her if they were still alive, giving no sympathy to the fact that she lost her flesh and blood. Her Star. Her Light. Her first-born child.

Irai’el is unmoved. Her calm appears to be a reflection of an acceptance of her fate. A flare of rage overcomes the numbness as Rei’ann steps towards the invisible barrier that separates them, jaw clenched and fists tightened. She wants to hear it from Irai’el herself. 

“Why?”

There is the most miniscule of cants as Irai’el raises her head, finally meeting Rei’ann’s eyes with her own. Again, the impeccable calm. A demeanour fitting for a priestess. Of good stock. Perfection: what her own grandfather wanted from her but was never happy with.

“I believe you know why, my Lady.”

My Lady. How dare she? After what she did? Rei’ann would have sent an ice lance through her throat if she had less self control at this point. But she knows and recognises the tools Irai’el is using. The more Irai’el unnerves her, the more she shows that she has won.

“Is this about the Everbough case? What you had to do? What Magister Sin’oriel ordered later? He held my old position while I was out of action on Argus! I was not the one responsible!” Regardless, her hoarse voice is raised in protest. “He removed all evidence of your involvement. I didn’t even know you were in any way tied to it until Dorielle Nightwhisper told me!”

“Liar.” Even the tone of voice has not changed. Irai’el’s voice is husky too, but only because of the alto timbre spoken barely above a whisper, as Rei’ann remembers. 

“Sin’oriel is dead, Irai’el. He was transferred out to the frontlines on the Broken Shore when I was deemed fit to resume my former post. There is nothing on Everbough except for one single case file, and every agent involved in it has gone with him.”

“Because of you.”

Rei’ann stares. “What?”

“You had to conceal the mess-up. You had to get rid of me. I was involved only because I was in the Sun’s Fury. Lyzande Fairdusk let me witness what he was creating. And then I was suddenly transferred to work as Inquisitor under Everbough. I barely joined the Thori’Belore missions, because I was unwittingly already undercover. It would have been a mark on your pristine track record if you were shown to have used me, an untrained agent, for your own purposes in the Spire. And when Nivendi’en chose Taryane, there was no more use for me, so you did what you had to do.”

Of all the conspiracy theories she has ever heard, of all the complicated intrigue she had to deal with in her position in the Spire, Rei’ann had never had such accusations brought against herself. 

“No, Irai’el.” Her voice trembles from the effort to keep her anger controlled. “I did not get involved with the Sun’s Fury until Magistrix Windblaze was out of commission. After that, I was thought dead on Argus. I was technically dead on Argus. I would never involve you in anything that would put you at risk. Nivendi’en was going to marry you! You were to become my own daughter!”

“Nivendi’en.” Irai’el lifts her chin up. “And Irelia Sunglance, and her husband Sylvarys Sunglance-”

Rei’ann frowns deeply. What have the Sunglances to do with this?

“- are the worst kind of rats that are bred out of your household.”

Rei’ann stares, lips parted, as Irai’el tells her of how Sylvarys found her in the field, and offered her his protection and his staff in apparent pity. How Irelia and Nivendi’en later attacked her to take the soul fragment of Illethiann’s that was needed to trace him in the Twisting Nether, thereby negating Sylvarys’ promise. How Nivendi’en spat on her and backhanded her, accusing her of being a traitor. After Irai’el did the noble thing and backed out of what she always knew to be the love Nivendi’en had for his childhood best friend.

Her heart turns cold. “Is this what this is all about? You wanted revenge on Nivendi’en? He didn’t know you were scapegoated! How could he have known? I didn’t!” Irai’el shakes her head slowly, pale and colourless under the illumination of the ambient arcane lamps. “I was only the woman he wanted to marry. I was only going to be your daughter-in-law. Funny how little trust you and your family place in people who are going to join it, isn’t it?”

She lifts her chin slightly as she peers down the length of her nose at Rei’ann now, like a Lady herself. A noblewoman of the highest caste regarding nothing less than the dirt under her foot. “So different from my own.. Did your parents ever teach you that there’s nothing more important than your own family? That everything you do must always  be with them in mind? Sacrifice yourself for your blood and kin, Lady Firestar. It is the way of those who are born like we are.”

Rei’ann mutely watches Irai’el, unblinking. With each word, her heart sinks even more, unable to respond as Irai’el continues.

“I lost my own family. We served the royal court. After the Fall, I even killed my own Matriarch for turning felblood, and lost my brother in the process. I had no more family, except for the rest of us who remained. Everything I did, I did for them. I did for you. 

“But you did not appreciate any of it. Not you. Not Nivendi’en, for whom I would have done anything if it meant he could be happy.”

She understands now. Rei’ann understands why. But it does not change the fact that Irai’el is wrong. Her fists tremble as it is her turn to shake her head.

“If I had known, I would have done something. I did not. I wish I could turn back time so that I could have intervened, Irai’el. If you’re angry at me because you thought I caused your suffering, direct it at me. Why Nivendi’en? Because you hate him for what he did?”

“Because if there is a fate worse than death, then it is to suffer in grief over losing those you love.” Irai’el is motionless. A living statue of alabaster and storm grey shadowed in twilight indigo, as she speaks with preternatural calm. “I know it too well.”

“It is our choices that define us, Irai’el!” Rei’ann is inches away from the barrier now. She can step in if she wants to: it is her enchantment, her spell, but she holds back still. “You have chosen to be no better than what you think Nivendi’en and I are!”

“On the contrary,” Irai’el’s lips appear to curl into a smile. Rei’ann has never seen her smile. “I am free, my Lady. Freer than I have ever been my entire life.”

She has seen it once too often. One does not need to be inflicted with whispers of the Void to turn mad, or to lose all sense and sensibility, Irai’el Starflare is not delusional from the corruption of her body and soul. She is a victim of circumstance, and she has turned down the wrong route, to the point where she can no longer be helped. 

“Where is Nivendi’en.” No more questions.

Irai’el cants her head to the side. Her surprise appears genuine, which infuriates Rei’ann even more. “What do you mean?” “You know exactly what I mean.” Rei’an almost spits out. “His body is gone! Where did you move him?”

The void elf looks almost amused. “I have no idea what you are talking about. But it is a brilliant idea to take his corpse away. I wish I was the one who had thought of it.”

Rei’ann does not know which is worse: the fact that Irai’el genuinely appears not to know, or the fact that she is relishing in her pain. 

“I am very sorry, Lady Firestar. I do not know where he is. I wish you all the best in finding him. He does deserve a funeral, as does any elf.”

And then, as if a final slap to her face, Irai’el leans forward, keeping her gaze locked onto Rei’ann’s.

“Tal’anumen no Sin’dorei, Lady Firestar.”

There is no ice lance. There is no burst of flame. There is no blast of arcane. No magic for the undeserving. There is only a fallen body. A dripping blade, and void tinted blood pouring from the clean slice across the front of Irai’el’s neck. 

Judge, jury, and executioner: this is her role as Magistrix of Quel’Thalas. 

But Rei’ann knows - as did Irai’el - that this will not bring Nivendi’en back. 

Her sword clatters to the ground as she sobs, crumbling into a mess by the body of the void priestess.  (mentions @irelia-ad @dorylory )

[captainfangirlll]

Daenerys book vs Daenerys show

Book: Daenerys has purple eyes and silver hair.

Show: Daenerys has green eyes and blonde hair.

Book: Daenerys is 14 years old in the books and Khal Drogo is (according to Danys perspective) like 23.

Show: The age gap between Drogo and Daenerys is not that big, but still he looks older than her.

Book: Daenerys assumes she’s gonna marry Viserys at some point for Targaryens traditions

Show: This is never mentioned

Books: The first time Daenerys burns and her dragons born she is naked and her hair burns so she stays bald.

Show: Daenerys hair doesn’t burn.

Book: Many Daenerys' followers died, including her maid Doreah

Show: Doreah betrays Daenerys with Xaro Xhoan Daxos

Book: Three emissaries from Qarth come to invite her to the city.

Show: People in Quarth didn’t want Daenerys in the city Xaro invokes the ancient custom of Sumai to allow her and her people to be admitted under his protection

Book: Xaro Xhoan Daxos invites Daenerys to be a guest at his manse and repeatedly asks her to marry him. She realizes that he does not physically desire her and that he only wants her dragons. The custom of Qarth is that after marriage each one has the right to ask one thing of the other. Eventually he tires of her refusals and politely tells her to leave his manse.

Daenerys is told to come to the House of the Undying to seek counsel from the warlocks, as their visions would reveal her future, but instead of aiding her they try to imprison her there. Fortunately, she has brought Drogon with her, and he sets fire on the ancient undead warlocks and burns the place to the ground.

Pyat Pree the warlock who had brought her is furious and vows revenge. Luckily, Magister Ilyrio had despatched three ships to find her with one of his finest warriors Strong Belwas, a mighty warrior-eunuch, and his Squire Arstan Whitebeard of Westeros. They are to escort her back to Pentos. Daenerys however never does what is expected. She decides to take the ships to slaver's Bay to buy herself an army.

Show: Xaro welcomes Daenerys to the city and makes her a guest, but her dragons are stolen by the warlock in the House of the Undying. Daenerys later escapes after retrieving her dragons and with her men invades Xaro's house where she finds Xaro in bed with Doreah, revealing that she had in fact betrayed Daenerys and her dragons to Xaro and Pyat Pree she locked them inside the merchant prince's vault to die, she and her people ransack Xaro's house of all its gold and precious items.

Book: Ser Barristan doesn’t tell Daenerys his identity he pass himself as man called Arstan Whitebeard and in Meeren Daenerys find out. Furious, she gave him and Jorah a mission to prove their newly-proclaimed loyalty.

Show: Daenerys always know Ser Barristan identity.

Book: Daenerys is visited by Quaithe of the Shadow, who warns her of the others descending on her: "Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon."

Show: This prophecy is not mentioned.

Book: Daenerys problem in Meeren is not only The son of the harpy but, the "pale mare" that is a literal horse, carrying a refugee from Astapor. He too brings a gift: plague; by coincidence or not, those who contract it are said to be "riding the pale mare." It ravages not only the Meereenese but the armies of Yunkish slaves and sellsword companies.

Show: The only problem Daenerys has in Meeren are the songs of the harpy and rebel citizens.

Book: In the reopen of fighting pits in Meereen Drogon is attracted by the noise and chaos. Daenerys leaps into Drogon's back and the two fly away, leaving Meereen largely in the hands of Ser Barristan Selmy (who is not dead in books) not Tyrion who in books she haven’t meet yet.

Show: Daenerys is attacked but The sons of the Harpy in the fighting pits, but Drogon saves all and she flies away with him leaving Tyrion in charge because Ser Barristan is death.

Book: The final chapter (aside from the epilogue) is Daenerys's, as she attempts to return on foot to Meereen from a hill in the southern reaches of the Dothraki sea, which Drogon has taken for his haunt, only to be encountered by the khalasar of Khal Jhaqo as the novel ends.

Show: Drogon takes Daenerys in the Dothraki sea, and she is captured by them, that’s the end of season 5 and we all know what happens next.

Book: Tyrion Lannister is smuggled to Pentos with the help of Varys and left in the care of Illyrio Mopatis, supporter of Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrion decides to offer his services to her, and makes the journey in the company of a tall taciturn knight, "Griff," and his son "Young Griff." Tyrion takes note of the care with which Young Griff is tutored, as well as his coloring, and deduces that the boy is actually Aegon Targaryen, long-believed-dead son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia of Dorne;Jorah kidnaps him as a prize to win his way back into Daenerys's graces. Unfortunately the Selaesori Qhoran, the ship Mormont hires to take them to Volantis, is waylaid by slavers, and he, Tyrion and Penny are sold at markets in the shadow of Meereen, claiming to be an entertainment act. From there, Tyrion sneaks his way to the camp of the Second Sons, led by Brown Ben Plumm, and pledges his sword to them as another step in getting closer to Daenerys.

Show: There is not an Aegon Targaryen and we never see Illyrion again, Jorah takes Tyrion to Daenerys and he serves her until (almost) the end.

OTHER DIFFERENCES

Book: The kraken, Victarion Greyjoy (Eurons brother), Captain of the Iron Fleet, has sail his forces east towards Meereen to serve Daenerys.

Show: Victarion doesn’t exist in the books.

Books: Prince Quentyn Martell, eldest son of Prince Doran Martell of Sunspear, is traveling east as well. He has a parchment signed by Ser Willem Darry many years ago, establishing that his elder sister Arianne Martell is to wed Prince Viserys Targaryen when he comes of age; it is Prince Doran's wish that Quentyn and Daenerys stand in place of their deceased elder siblings in this matter. Alas, he arrives too late, finding Dany about to enter into a political marriage (see below), and is then left in a bad position when her new husband tries to have her poisoned—a tactic notorious to Quentyn's uncle Oberyn Martell. In a last-ditch effort to prove his worth, Quentyn visits Dany's two dragons, Viserion and Rhaegal, and attempts to tame them. He dies of his burns three days later.

Show: Quentyn doesn’t exist in the show.

Book: Ser Barristan is a loyal servant to Daenerys and their relationship is deeper than the show, she names him the Lord Commander of her Queensguard and gives him new gold-and-silver armor.

When Drogon begins attacking people in Daznak's Pit, Barristan tries to protect Daenerys by drawing the dragon's attention to himself.

Show: Daenerys and Barristan relationship and his loyalty to her isn’t that explorer in show because he dies by the Son of The Harpy.

Books: Missandei is 10 years okd in books so her relationship with Daenerys more of protectiveness from Daenerys part.

Show: Missandei and Daenera are arround same age and they are best friends.

MY THEORIES

There is a lot of significant changes in Daenerys history from the books, so I think she will reunite with Tyrion like in the show, we don’t what will happen with Victorion is very possible he takes Yaras roll and give Daenerys the ships to go to Westeros.

At the moment she is with the Dothrakis amd we don’t know how she is gonna escape.

Aegon Targaryen is also a thing and theres a lot of theoriea that he is gonna be the one who cause Daenerys craziness and not Jon.

Personally I think Aegon will arrive first to Westeros and he will take KL, in books he he suggests attacking Westeros and go for it, establishing a beachhead which Daenerys can later reinforce. He too seeks Daenerys's hand, and too is keenly aware that he must have something worthwhile to offer her besides his own bloodline as her nephew, in a revelead chapter of Winds of Winter shows Aegon is already in Dragonstone.

My theory is that we will see a war between Daenerys and Aegon before a war between Cersei and Daenerys. Or Daenerys will go North to help Jon and after she will fight against Aegon for the throne.

• I don’t know how is gonna be her relationship with the Stark, I think Jonerys will be a thing in books aswell, maybe her relationship with Arya will be better since they both are alike and the two favorite female George characters.

• Missandei and Greyworm aren’t a couple in books so I don’t think Missaned death will be crucial in Daenerys journey.

• There is a possibility one of Daenerys dragons become and ice dragon but not in the way that happened in the show. Maybe with the Joramun's horn, which is a legendary horn with magical properties, This horn is mentioned by Ygritte and Free folk believe that blowing the horn can bring down the Wall awakes Dragons and more.

So we actually don’t know how is gonna be Daenerys descent to madness in the books or if is she will become mad at all. She still have Ser Barristan, Jorah, Missandei, the unsullied and her three dragons.

Is very possible she will meet Jon but she have to deel with Aegon first, in books Jon Targaryen blood isn’t confirmed yet.

Personally I believe she will fall in love with Jon like in the show, collaborate in the long night and become mad at the end. Also I believe Jon will kill her too, but George will writte the plot very different and with logic so we have to wait, there’s gonna be HUGE differences.

[icyhotheartwritings]

Long and rambly post about the Camp Fire ahead. Skip to the bottom to avoid my rambling and just see the pictures.

[[more]]

One year ago today, I woke up and started getting ready for school. At 7:47, the girl I carpool with asked if I was still going to come get her because there was a fire near me. I step outside and everything seems fine. I can’t see anything, I can’t smell smoke, and my lips don’t burn like they always do when there’s smoke. So I keep getting ready.

A little while later, my mom tood me the fire has spread and I’m not going to school. All of Pentz road was being evacuated. That’s where my grandma lived. So we started packing.

We pack edeverything that’s important. My DBZ figures, my whole electronics collection, my Pikachu plushie, my concert t shirts, the souvenirs my mom’s best friend brought me from Sweden, the hand crocheted horse and cat my aunt made me, my mom’s signed hockey sweater, the ashes of our recently lost dog and the mane of the horse we lost a week before the dog. Everything. We packed it in our RAV4, Torey, and sent my mom down the hill to get the horses out while my dad and I packed our indoor animals. We couldn’t attach the trailer to the RAV, but the live in caretakers had a truck they could hook up.

My mom never made it to the barn. A half hour after she left, we got a text from my grandma.

“Don’t go down the hill. It’s on fire.”

By that time, my mom was trapped in the fire. They kept making her turn around, back and forth, as flames surrounded the road. A drive that normally took 15 minutes took 3 hours. Eventually, they made her get out of the car and walk. She walked for three miles until she reached running traffic and found someone to give her a ride to Chico.

Meanwhile, my grandparents had packed up their cat and dog and some of their possessions, taking separate cars just in case. They figured they’d come home in a few days, just like every other time. We were later told by a neighbor their house was in flames at 9:30 am. My grandma was the first to reach the roadblock on Pentz. They told her to turn around. She looked in her rear view mirror and saw my grandpa and the cat behind her, and fire coming up behind them and all the cars past them. So she drove through the roadblock. I’m certain she saved lives.

My then boyfriend was in a jam. He was home alone with his 4 year old cousin while his mom went to get his sister and her boyfriend and get gas. He was in charge of packing for the entire family and getting their kittens. His mom was gone for a long time, and by the time she got back the house two doors down was in flames. At the time they left their place was going up.

The friend who texted me that morning thankfully went home before the fire got to the church where we were going to meet up. Her family and animals all got out. She had to see a friend’s blind horse run into flames and die in front of her.

My aunt and uncle were heroes that day. Down the road from them lived a family. Three kids, their dad, and their grandma. My aunt drove the kids out. Their dad and grandma died that day, they were the first casualties discovered. I’m going to say this right now: Don’t you dare look for pictures of deceased people after a tragedy. I saw people begging all over looking for the video of them in their car. That’s someone’s family they lost. The internet knew they were dead before the kids did.

The power went out shortly after our last phone call with my mom, where she told us she had to leave the car sans one mirror that a cop took out. We were about to use my dad’s circular saw to overkill-cut a hose to siphon the gas out of my undriveable truck when it went out. I got my multitool and cut the hose, and used it for a number of other things that were frankly so mundane I can’t remember. I will never be without a multitool again.

The power being out meant we didn’t have any communications. The cell towers were down too. The very last communication we got was word that the stables were on fire. We ended up having a gathering of neighbors in front of our driveway, chatting about nothing and everything to distract ourselves.

Now, I’d never been a religious person before. But that day I prayed. I prayed to every god I could think of. It may seem weird, but most of all, I prayed to Hephaestus and Poseidon. I prayed for them to keep the fire away from my horses, to let them live.

My 3 horses were part of the 5 that got out of the stables on trailers. A family friend made it before they closed the roads. She packed up her horses in her trailer and got the caretaker’s son to hook up his truck to our trailer and get our two young horses out. But that left our old man horse. Our friend waved down trailers coming from further down the road. Soon she found one that had a space open. She actually knew our old man already, and she got him in the trailer and down to the fairgrounds. Before she left, my friend let out the other 15 horses. Four of them made it on the news, running side by side down the road with flames on both sides. A few days later firefighters found 20 horses at the stables, all of ours and some of the surrounding stable’s horses, rounded them up in the arena, and fed and watered them with my family’s stuff that somehow made it.

My dad and I didn’t leave the house for a long time. We left at 3:14 pm. Our car didn’t have a lot of gas, so we waited for Skyway to clear up. We had the cats packed up real quick after mom left, so we took them to our chicken coop for food water and a litter box and still be in quick grab range. It was strangely peaceful in a way. It was completely quiet. My dad and I decided to have breakfast, he had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and I had a strawberry pop tart. I almost left my retainer on the TV tray when we left.

Somewhere in the 6 hours my dad and I were without communication, I decided to pack up some more stuff in my backpack. I grabbed our old laptop and its cord, all my handwritten writing, and my textbooks. Then, I decided to sort through my old movie case. There, I found my old box set of Dragon Ball GT and a few DB movies. I decided to take it with me. Before we left, I grabbed my favorite blanket too.

We left the house at 3:14 pm. My old man dog rode in the floorboard. I had to sit cross legged on the seat. Me and my dad, 3 dogs, and 9 cats went up and around. At 4:30 pm, I got service back. At around 5:30, we were safe at the family friend who saved my horse’s house in Oroville. I got to go to Walmart and get new clothes and a toothbursh, take a shower, and then we were evacuated again. This time, we went to my friend’s husband’s family’s house in Bangor. We stayed there for the night and returned to Oroville the next day. We were evacuated from there again on November 10 and returned the next day.

On November 15, I got to see my old man horse again. That was also the day we found we were one of the lucky few who secured a rental house until we were able to return to our house, which was just outside the fire line. We cleaned it ourselves and moved in on the 17th. On November 18, we got to return to the stables and retrieve our stuff. On November 25, we got photographic confirmation that Torey the car and our stuff was burned to a crisp. The VIN and all but 4 characters of the plate were gone, which is why it took so long. Another family friend had to call in a favor from an old high school friend who became a cop to find it.

On December 8, at 3:17 pm, we were able to return home. We were fucking lucky.

View from down my road that morning

Old man cat out for a potty break

View of Paradise from Highway 32

RIP Torey

Found my 2DS. Lightly crisped.

Here’s my grandma’s house. Can you find my bed? Hint: it’s under the AC unit

It’s messy and old, but it’s home.

[cathygeha]

-REVIEW

Temporary Wife Temptation by Jayci Lee

Heirs of Hansol Series #1

Arranged marriages...would YOU want one? I wouldn’t…

Marriages of Convenience...would You want one? I don’t think so

So…

Why would two attractive people in this modern age opt to move into a situation that would put them together 24/7 and create havoc with their hormones KNOWING that they should not succumb to one another even though both feel the chemistry?

AND then…

Throw in a bit of

*cultural information

* a hunky and wealthy Korean American super-handsome male thinking he has life his life all planned out only to find out that his grandmother has another plan in place for him...one he is not willing to go along with

* a woman working in the family business that might help him out while he helps her out by providing a partner that will increase her likelihood of adopting the daughter of her deceased sister

* a hanbok (that REALLY caught my attention because my sister told me all about wearing one to her son’s marriage and how it fit and felt and all the rest)

* how one deals with the person one wants but can’t have...according to the contract for the marriage of convenience

* information on how to deal with in laws in a culture you did not grow up with

* a baby that more than one couple wants

* avoiding falling in love...or not

This book was not what I thought it would be but am glad that I read it and in reading it learned a bit, laughed a bit and enjoyed the reading while wanting to find out what will happen next in this series.

Thank you to NetGalley and Harlequin-Desire for the ARC ~ This is my honest review

3-4 Stars

BLURB

Much more than he bargained for… “You want me to find you a wife?” “No. I want you to be my wife.”

Garrett Song is this close to taking the reins of his family’s LA fashion empire…until the Song matriarch insists he marry her handpicked bride first. To block her matchmaking, he recruits Natalie Sobol to pose as his wife. She needs a fake spouse as badly as he does. But when passion burns down their chaste agreement, the flames could destroy them all…

EXCERPT:

Garrett resisted the urge to glance over his shoul­der to check on her. Natalie was a grown woman and he didn’t need to protect her from being swarmed by admirers. Besides, she was the one who had proposed they refrain from other relationships, so she wouldn’t do anything to hurt his reputation or hers.

Earlier, at her apartment, he’d caught fire at the sight of her in her little black dress. It was demure compared to the one she’d worn at Le Rêve, but it hugged her hour­glass figure and highlighted the curves underneath just enough to tease his imagination.

He walked to the bar for his Scotch and grabbed a flute of champagne from a server on his way back. As he’d anticipated, Natalie was now surrounded by a group of men and he lengthened his strides to reach her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart.” He pressed a light kiss on her lips and handed her the champagne.

“Thank you.” She leaned her head against his shoul­der when he pulled her to his side, playing her part like a pro.

“Natalie was just taking us to task about USC’s new head coach. It seems neither he nor I truly understand college football,” said one of Mike’s college friends.

“Is that so?” Garrett raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged.

“Taking you to task is a bit harsh.” She hid her grin against the rim of her champagne flute as she took a long sip. “It’s just that I have a better understanding than you guys.”

The audience winced and guffawed at her cheeki­ness. As Natalie continued with her lecture, all the men listened intently, as did Garrett. She was funny and down-to-earth, and her mind was quicker than light­ning. Lost in her words, Garrett belatedly noticed the crowd had grown. Her champagne glass was depleted and her smile was becoming strained.

He leaned down close to her ear. “Tired?”

“And hungry.”

“All right, gentlemen. I’m whisking away my date now. I’m tired of sharing her.”

When the crowd finally dispersed, Natalie slumped against him with a groan. “I need food, champagne and somewhere to sit.”

A server walked over with a tray of bacon-wrapped shrimp and Natalie snatched a couple of them. She popped one in her mouth and mumbled around her food, “Not necessarily in that order.”

Garrett laughed and guided her toward the French doors leading out to the garden. Natalie ate every sin­gle hors d’oeuvre she met along the way and finished another glass of champagne.

“Holy cow. Is everything really, really delicious, or am I just famished? I would totally go back for that crab cake if my feet weren’t screaming at me to get my butt on a chair.”

He glanced down at her zebra-print high heels. They did amazing things for her legs but didn’t look remotely comfortable. “There’s a bench around the corner.”

“Oh, thank God.” She kicked off her shoes as soon as she plopped onto the seat.

Garrett shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders before sitting next to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, gazing at the garden. “It’s so beautiful out here.”

“Is it?” He and Mike had grown up tearing apart that very garden, but Garrett had never sat still and taken it all in, like they were doing now. “I guess you’re right.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He studied her profile, her high, regal cheekbone and the graceful curve of her neck. Half of her hair had escaped the loose knot behind her head and fell down her back and shoulders. He wanted to sweep aside her hair and feel the softness of her skin, which he abso­lutely should not do.

“So how do you know so much about college foot­ball?” He tore his gaze away from her and stared at an old maple tree ahead of him, hard enough to make his eyes water.

“Long story.”

“We’ve got time.” He made a show of checking his watch. “I’ll give you ten minutes.”

Her laughter filled the garden, then ended on a wist­ful sigh. “My dad and I, we weren’t very close. The only time he didn’t mind my company was when we watched college football together. He was a huge fan. I don’t think he even noticed I was sitting there half the time.”

Garrett understood what that felt like. As soon as he finished graduate school, he’d thrown himself into his work. It was satisfying in its predictability and it created a common ground for him and his father. His dad had stepped down from the CEO position when his mom died, but returned to Hansol a few years later as an executive VP.

“I thought if I learned enough about the sport, he’d like me a little better.” Her shrug told him it hadn’t worked, but Natalie told her story without an ounce of self-pity—like she owned her past, hurt and all. His respect for her deepened. “But soon I noticed I wasn’t faking my enthusiasm anymore. I’d grown to love the sport. Who knew it’d come in handy at an intimate birthday party for a hundred people?”

“You certainly won over quite a few of them.”

“I did?” Her eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.

He huffed out a laugh. “Why did you think that crowd was hanging on to your every word?”

“Watch yourself, Garrett Song.” Natalie narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him. “I know where you live.”

He snatched her hand and tugged her to her feet. “Yes, and you’ll be living there with me starting Sun­day.”

“Ugh.” She hooked an index finger in each of her shoes, not bothering to put them back on. “Do you ever stop thinking about work?”

“Yes.” He cocked his head and pretended to con­sider her question. “But only when I’m thoroughly dis­tracted.”

Her lashes fluttered and color saturated her cheeks, and his gut clenched with heat. She could definitely become his most dangerous distraction.

AUTHOR BIO

About the author JAYCI LEE: Jayci Lee writes poignant, funny, and sexy romance. She lives in sunny California with her tall-dark-and-handsome husband, two amazing boys with boundless energy, and a fluffy rescue whose cuteness is a major distraction. She is semi-retired from her 15-year career as a defense litigator, and writes full-time now. She loves food, wine, and travelling, just like her characters. Books have always helped her grow, dream, and heal. She hopes her books will do the same for you.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Forgotten Alliance Ch. 11

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x OC with other parings mentioned throughout.

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Canon Typical things

Author’s Note: As a reminder, FA can be found on ffnet up to chapter 42. I am uploading chapters here on tumblr for convenience. I decided against tagging this until new chapters are posted. Of course there are a few that wished to be tagged and I will be tagging them in this. If you would like to be tagged please let me know! Chapters are queued and will be posted randomly.  Enjoy

The fire in the fireplace had lit the whole room. The crackle of the fire was the only thing that could be heard. Elizabeth laid on the floor looking up the ceiling. On the floor next to her was an old small chest. Elizabeth had taken that chest with her everywhere. It held things from her past that meant something to her. For being alive for eight centuries she didn't have a lot in that box. Inside, it held many photos, letters and trinkets that meant the world to her. Most of those trinkets belonged to those she had cared for that had passed. Since they had been back from spreading Finn's ashes, Elizabeth had left the family in the living room to leave them be as a family.

Finn's death had reminded her of the deaths of those that had grown close to her. She had seen a lot of death over some time. But no matter how many times Elizabeth had lost someone, she grieved like any other human did. She should have easily had been able to say they had died and moved on. But it had been impossible for her to do so. It was one of the things that made Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth knew that she would no longer feel the grief after a few days. But until then she always found herself with the chest next to her debating on opening it up or leaving it locked up.

Even as she looked up at the ceiling, her hand was wrapped around the small key that hung from a necklace around her neck. She hadn't opened it yet. She tired telling herself that there was nothing that she could put into this time. She only ever placed something in there that belonged to the deceased when they were close friends. Elizabeth and Finn hadn't even known each other that long. She had no right to add anything of his in there. That had been the reason she had not opened the chest yet.

Elizabeth heard footsteps approach her room but she didn't move her eyes away from the ceiling until the person stood looking over her. Turning her head slightly, she saw Elijah standing over her. He gave a small smile as he looked down at her. She smiled back at him and let go of the key.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news." He said with a sigh.

"Can't we just save the bad news for tomorrow?" She asked looking back up at the ceiling. There was always something. Elizabeth learned that a long time ago. "What ever news it is, what is a few hours going to do if we just ignore it?"

"Lucien freed Aurora." Elijah said softly.

"He already has a head start, Elijah." She said turning her head towards him. "For all we know he already freed her when he left us in Mystic Falls." She sighed softly. "You just lost your brother. It may be the second time, Elijah, but you need to give yourself time to grieve." She sat up in her spot. "I may have never had any siblings. But I had Malakai. And I may not have lost him, but it felt like it."

Elijah had sighed once more as he moved to sit down next to her. He had noticed the chest and picked it up and placed it on his lap. "Chest full of secrets?" He asked with a small smile.

Elizabeth shook her head and she pulled the necklace over her head and held her hand out to him. "A box of memories." She said as he took the key from her. "I had been debating on opening it. I usually do after a funeral."

"Why haven't you opened it yet?" He asked examining the key. He wouldn't open it without her permission.

"I couldn't bring myself to do it." She said looking down at the box. "I have everything that is in there memorized front and back." She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on one knee. "It's the things I collected over the centuries from those I cared about that died."

"Like trophies." He whispered. And Elizabeth shook her head.

"Like memories." She said looking at the chest. "Open it up." She looked back up at him.

Elijah hesitated at first, but he opened it. And when he did, he looked at how the chest was neatly organized. Some of the items he vaguely remember them. He pulled out a chain that held a marble that looked like it held the universe in it. Elijah couldnt place where he had seen it before. He looked at it for a moment before placing it back into the chest. Next, he pulled out a small blanket and looked at Elizabeth, curious.

"That was hers." She said with a small nod. It was the first blanket she was wrapped in before we sent her to the other village.

"We had gone through a lot to ensure her safety." Elijah said with a small nod.

"We did." Her eyes began to fill with tears as she remembered the planning it had taken for them to ensure her daughter would not come into a world with an abusive father. Elijah had gone through the trouble of compelling everyone in the village for them to forget that she had been pregnant, even her own husband. And when the night came that Elizabeth went into labor, Rebekah had been the one to help deliver her daughter. "She got to live a happy life." She smiled slightly.

"I thought the last time you saw her was when she was younger." Elijah asked thinking about when he had been inside her head.

"It was, but being that I always wanted to know how she was doing, I compelled her neighbor to tell me how she was doing. If I saw her, I would have either tried taking her back or told her that I was her mother. They named her Jane. Its not the name I wanted for her, but it's her name."

"If I recall correctly, you wanted her name to be Lily." Elizabeth's smile grew.

"Because I remember seeing the lilies growing and they had bloomed so beautifully that year. And then I gave birth to her a few weeks later. "

"I remember walking through the field with you that day." Elijah said with a smile on his face.

"Things seemed so much simpler then." Elizabeth said with a slight shake of her head. "It was in those moments that everything felt at peace. Like I'd be safe and wouldn't have to worry about anything."

"They were simple for you, Elizabeth." Elijah said watching her. "I had still been in hiding from Mikael. Coming to see you could have put you in danger."

"Mikael came because Niklaus decided to try and make hybrids." She said with some hate towards both Mikael and Klaus. Even though Elizabeth had forgiven Klaus for what happened, it still didn't change the fact that a lot of those that lived in her village had died just because they had activated their werewolf curse. She could remember that day as if it had been yesterday. She hadn't understand what vampire blood could do until that night. She had watched as Klaus fed and killed them all. "Compulsion or not, others knew about what he had done and that had spread like a wildfire. I'm just surprised he didn't try killing me for taking and hiding Malakai."

"It was only a matter of time until he died, Elizabeth. He thought of it as a waste of time to chase after you for someone that was bound to die."

"Joke is on him right?" She said with a smirk on her face. Elijah chuckled and closed the chest, handing it to her along with the key. She placed the key around her neck before standing up to place the chest back in it's spot. When she turned back, she found Elijah standing up, with his arm leaning on the mantle of the fireplace and his eyes on the fire. Elizabeth stood there for a moment just watching him. As he watched the flames flicker, she could feel the feeling of guilt began to build. She knew this time he had felt guilty for something. Along with that guilt, there was sadness. And Elizabeth knew it had to do with Finn.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked taking a few steps towards him and placing her hand on his shoulder. Elijah looked over at her and sighed.

"I should have had that bullet destroyed. " He said almost emotionless.

"You had no idea that any of this would happen." She said trying to comfort him. "You wanted to keep your family whole. Destroying it would have broken this family more than it already had been."

"My family has been broken for some time, Elizabeth. I have no reason to believe it could have been any worse than it already has been."

"What would destroying it have done to Finn?" She asked shaking her head slightly. "He had wanted to live a life in a witch's body and live at peace. You would have had your family back. It isn't good to think about the 'what ifs' Elijah." She watched as he looked away from her and back to the fire. A thought crossed her mind and she hoped that it would help him now, just as he helped her when she needed it. "Remember what you said the night I came back from hiding Malakai?"

Elijah looked up at her once more. There was confusion in his eyes for a moment before he nodded. "We can not change what has already been done. We can only take what we've learned from it and move on."

"Remember what I said to that?" She asked with a small smirk. "I'll be the one to make sure Malakai makes it, even if I had to make a deal with a devil to do so."

"How can I forget?" He said with a smile now on his lips. "That was the first time I ever saw a hint of the devil in your eyes."

Elizabeth chuckled. "I was a pregnant at the time, you were bound to see different things." She could no longer feel his guilt. She was glad she was able to distract him from it.

"Pregnant or not, that particular gleam is still there, and I cant help to wonder why?" He said looking her in the eyes. "Malakai is alive and well. What is it that still has the devil hiding behind those eyes?"

All Elizabeth could do was smirk slightly looking into his eyes. It took her a moment to find the right words about the devil he claimed to be hiding. "My deal with the devil is far from over." She said and watched as his eyebrow raised. The truth was Elizabeth had made several other promises to herself over the centuries. They seemed to pile together and the gleam that was in her eyes was the need for her own revenge free happiness. While she was able to hide the feelings that came with those promises, her mind couldn't easily forget them and there would be a time where she would no longer seek anymore bloodshed.

"What is it that you have yet to finish?" He asked. They both had not seemed to notice that they had moved closer to each other during their conversation. They were only standing inches apart. The fire that had light the room up earlier had now dimmed from not being fed.

"You'll just have to compel that out of me." Elizabeth still had a smirk playing on the corner of her lips. She wasn't sure if he would actually do it or if he would leave it as it was.

"Such a tempting offer, Liz." He said as he moved a strand of hair behind her ear. Elizabeth looked at Elijah surprised. He had never once called her by her nickname. It had been different to hear it coming from his lips. "But I won't force it out of you. I'd like to help you though."

Elizabeth swallowed the lump that was starting to form in her throat. "Some devils and demons are better left unknown to others." Elizabeth knew she could trust Elijah. She knew that everyone had a dark place that other kept their secrets. She even knew about Elijah's red door, and what it once held. She had heard the stories what Ester had done to open that door. But it was what her own memories would do to him. It was what she had done and some of the things she had witnessed that would make him possibly think differently of her or even himself.

"May, I?" Elijah asked bring his hand up to her head. He wanted to see into her mind. He wanted to see what creatures filled her with the need for revenge. He wanted to see the life she had while he had forgotten about her. Elizabeth had hesitated a moment at his question. She knew that he wanted to see the demons that she hid. She nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off his.

"Just don't say I didn't warn you." She said as he placed his hand on her head and she opened her mind to him.

Elijah said nothing as several images had passed through his mind. They were quick flashes of memories and moments in Elizabeth's life that had caused the gleam to stay with in her eyes. He could see and feel the hatred she had towards Aya the night she had taken everything from her. The satisfying pleasure she received from being the one to end Aya's life was something Elijah may have witnessed but feeling it and seeing it from her view had given him a different view on it. He caught the glimpse of a memory of Elizabeth arguing with Lucien about his witch that laid dead at Elizabeth's feet. The witch's death had triggered Elizabeth's blood lust and the deaths that had followed had been more than Elijah had ever killed. He watched as she had fallen far off the wagon before she had been brought back by a human that had only wished to help her. She had fallen in love with him. And while she had loved him, it had always felt off in someway that Elizabeth could never understand.

Elijah then found one of the demons that Elizabeth had warned him about. The human Elizabeth had fallen in love with had stopped to eat at a Diner on his way to meet Elizabeth. Elizabeth had been on her way to meet him from checking on Malakai who had been enjoying his life since he had been up. He had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Elijah knew the diner very well. He had recognized it the moment he saw through Elizabeth's eyes as she had run up to it, only to hide herself from the windows. Through her memories, Elijah saw himself speaking with Rebekah before she had snapped his neck. It was then Elijah had realized what had been done. He had lost himself in the moment and killed many in the diner. And one of them had been Elizabeth's human. It was why the chain in Elizabeth's chest had looked so familiar to him.

Elijah wanted to pull his hand away from her head, but Elizabeth continued to show him the other demons that awaited for their revenge. And for a woman that he had thought lived a better life than he had while she was away had seen more betrayal and suffering than he had living with Klaus or on the run from Mikael. Elizabeth had easily been able to put her revenge aside for those that she had cared about. She had dropped everything the moment Malakai had gotten into some trouble and they fled the country. It was how they had ended up in Paris until Elizabeth found out about the Strix. And with their return to the states, she knew it was only a matter of time until the pack Malakai had betrayed would find them again. While Elijah had no need to know the worries of Malakai there had been one thing that had stuck out like to him. Another demon to be warned about.

Elijah saw her conversations with Hayley and how she had convinced her to have a kill list. And with that, Elijah learned that the pack Malakai had betrayed had been one close to the Crescents. They wanted Malakai dead and it was why he always stayed away when a wolf was near. And with Elizabeth doing anything to protect those she cares about, she did what she had to. Elizabeth wanted the Alpha as far away from them as possible. It had been why Elizabeth had planted the idea of keeping Hope safe by leaving with Klaus in Hayley's head when she didn't expect it. While Elizabeth hated doing it, she had to keep the person she cared about safe. She just never expected Malakai to take off with both of them. Elizabeth had kept the selfish reasons she had done it hidden from Elijah, though. There was no way she would allow that to be seen.

Pulling his hand away from her head, he looked with several emotions passing his face. He wanted to be angry at her for getting Hayley to agree to killing the Strix. He wanted to apologize for killing the human. He wanted to comfort her for the pain and suffering she had endured. But he couldn't bring himself to show any of those. Elizabeth could see it in his eyes that he was trying to process everything she had allowed him to see.

She sighed softly looking down at her feet. "I warned you." She said softly before looking back up at him. "And I don't expect you to feel pity for what had been done at that Diner, Elijah. " She shook her head slightly. "I do, however, expect that anger to come back out." She said watching him. And when she hadn't seen the anger return or even any of the other emotions return, she had began to wonder why. Her eyebrow raised slightly as she waited for him to say or do anything. When a sigh passed his lips, she had relaxed a little.

"I can't be angry with you." He said with a small nod. A small smirk played at the corner of his lips. "As much as I would like to feel some anger towards you, it is just not there."

"Then what is the-"Elijah had cut Elizabeth off by pressing his lips to her. While it had surprised Elizabeth, she hadn't pulled away from him. The kiss had been slow and sweet. There was no reason to rush anything. While Elizabeth had been surprised, Elijah had been surprised with himself. It had been so much easier to let Elizabeth in. There was no fight with himself on deciding if this was wrong or right. Elijah had just felt it to be the right thing to do. But just as sudden as the kiss started, it ended with the sound of someone clearing their throat.

Elizabeth had been the first one to pull away seeing as it had been her room that they were still standing in. Who ever it was that was trying to get their attention had obviously came to see her. Her eyes looked away from Elijah and toward the door. While she should be surprised to see who had been standing there she wasn't. And if Elizabeth had to be completely honest, she had been smirking on the inside. "Hayley."

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 15

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is of Legal Age, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker

Notes: Please remember to read the tags/warnings listed and read/avoid as best for you. YOU are responsible for the content you chose to consume on the internet.

<<<>>>

Chapter 15

<<<>>>

Things were different, after that night. Better, Peter supposed, even if Stephen being considerate had him wondering when the other shoe would drop. He wasn’t sure just what had led to the change in Stephen’s behavior, but he wasn’t about to complain. Except…

Stephen hadn’t touched him, even after the week of his punishment. Sure, Stephen kissed him on the forehead sometimes before going to work, but he hadn’t returned to their bedroom.

Peter was about to lose his mind. The week was fine - he hadn’t even wished the cage was off so he could masturbate. Hell, he didn’t even think about it, used to the feel of metal surrounding his cock and almost enjoying it. But surely Stephen didn’t get the same enjoyment out of the wait?

By the time the Friday of the second week rolled around, Peter wasn’t sure what to do. He’d confided his dilemma to Ava over tea and cookies that Thursday as drama unfolded on NPR’s Winding Road Whispers. He’d blushed furiously the entire time, but as Ava reminded him, even if it wasn’t talked about, the dynamic he had with Stephen was very common and nothing to be ashamed of. Her advice had been to just entice him up to bed.

“How am I supposed to do that? I don’t do sexy!” he exclaimed when another commercial came on. (Kanine Krunchies can’t be beat, they make each meal a special treat…)

“You don’t do sexy?” she asked.

“Not well,” he confirmed with a shake of his head.

“Peter, the man paid for a year of marriage with you just because he was attracted to you. Drop to your knees and I’m sure you’ll have him dragging you to bed,” she advised. “It certainly works for Clea.”

That was one thing Stephen had never had Peter do. Stephen had sucked his cock a few different times, but he’d never told Peter to do the same. Truthfully, Peter wasn’t sure he’d even be capable of taking that monster in his mouth. He still had a hard time believing it fit inside him!

“Maybe…”

The show returned from its break, and they eagerly listened, curious to hear what would happen next to town reporter Ms. Madeline Trice after her escape from the nefarious and corrupt owner of the town’s mine, Mr. Floyd Fanbane.

Peter went with a simple fish dinner: halibut cooked in a blended stew of tomatoes, carrots, and chickpeas. It wasn’t fancy, but it did taste good, especially with some sliced toasted challah. He was sure Stephen would enjoy it.

He heard Stephen pull into the driveway and continued cooking. He’d already set the table. A fresh batch of lemon bars sat on the kitchen counter, ready to go.

He and Stephen would eat dinner, Peter would clean up, and then they’d spend a relaxing Friday evening in listening to Rex Gladstone, Ace Detective and playing a board game or two. Then, he’d see how Stephen reacted to him getting on his knees.

He wanted sex, dammit! And maybe he wanted to see if he could fit his mouth around Stephen’s cock. Maybe if he practiced…

Stephen seemed preoccupied over dinner. He still made conversation with Peter, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked. “You’ve seemed kinda distant and you haven’t been coming to bed.”

Okay, maybe that last bit was a bit forward, but still…

“I’m sorry for that. I’ve been doing research and preparation for a surgical case I’ve been asked to assist with next week,” Stephen said. He did look genuinely regretful. “There’s a team of us that will be involved, and some live out of the country, so it turns out my late evenings are the most convenient time to talk. I haven’t said anything to you about it?”

Peter shook his head. “No, you haven’t. I thought I’d done something wrong.”

Stephen’s expression softened. “I’m sorry for that as well. You haven’t done anything wrong that I know of. This happens maybe once or twice a year and when it does it eats up most of my free time when I’m not seeing patients. I’ll actually be leaving for Chicago this coming Wednesday and might not be back until Saturday or Sunday.”

“Can you tell me about it? Like, not the patient, because I know you don’t discuss them, but the surgery?” Peter asked. He was relieved it wasn’t anything to do with him. And yeah, now that he thought about it, Stephen did seem the type to hyper focus and bury himself in a project. He himself had done the same when he'd fixated on a project for school.

Stephen told him about the surgery, how a tumor had grown from the thoracic cavity up around the spine and was currently close to cutting off the brain stem. The surgery would be complicated and would take many hours to ensure the tumor was fully removed without damaging the patient’s lungs, heart, spine, and brain stem. Stephen was one of four surgeons on the case, along with two anesthesiologists, several surgical nurses, and a few reserve surgeons in case backup was needed.

Peter was impressed. “What are their chances?”

“From the numbers and simulations we’ve been running, close to sixty percent,” Stephen said. “But if we don’t try then death is a guarantee. We’ve been trying to get the probability up to sixty-five or seventy percent.”

“And that’s why you’ve been staying away at night?”

“Yes. There’s been a lot of information to sort through, logistics to line up, simulations to run, and contingencies to plan out. By the time I force myself to go to bed, the guest room really is closest.”

“How long have you been working on this?”

“Since last Thursday, when the chief of surgery at Chicago Heights Memorial called me about it.”

Peter thought back. “And the night before?”

Stephen shrugged. “I was reviewing information on a different case; one I won’t discuss.” He paused, looking a little uncomfortable. “I also thought you’d enjoy a break from me after my less than gracious behavior.”

Well, damn. Peter certainly hadn’t been expecting that.

Dinner finished and kitchen cleaned up, Peter joined Stephen in the den for their weekly radio and game night.

“Are you sure you can take the time for this?” Peter asked. He didn’t want to distract Stephen from important work.

“Of course, I’m sure,” Stephen said. “I enjoy our Friday evenings tremendously and the break from all of the planning and researching is welcome, I assure you.”

Stephen was in almost as tricky a situation as Rex Goldman, Ace Detective. He and Peter were playing Cribbage and Peter was very, very good.

Stephen had won once, and twice Peter had beaten him to one hundred and twenty-one pegs. At the moment, he trailed forty-two to Peter’s fifty-seven.

At least the Ace Detective was in similar dire straits. He had the whole city of Burbank Falls against him as he investigated the disappearance of the local librarian’s beloved beagle. The beagle in question had a series of computer codes that threatened to bring down the tri-state area’s power grid engraved on its collar’s tags. Or so they were being led to believe.

“Go.”

“Dammit,” he muttered, making his play. “How are you so good this?”

“I used to watch and listen when my Aunt May would hold card nights. It was easy enough to learn the math,” Peter said. “I don’t think the beagle is as important as they’re making it out to be,” he added as the show broke for advertisements.

(Rex Goldman, Ace Detective is proudly sponsored by PymCo. Whether your entertainment needs are big or small, PymCo. has technology sized to fit it all. PymCo. - Quantum Sound has never been so big.)

“Agreed,” Stephen said. “I’m leaning towards the librarian’s cousin - the town clerk - having the codes.”

“Really? I bet you twenty pegs it’s Mayor Winthrop’s secretary.”

Stephen considered. “Deal.”

It was the town clerk with the codes and Rex saved himself and the prized beagle from certain death by runaway train. (Of course, that didn’t stop the mayor’s secretary from threatening to detonate the bombs in the library basement, putting Rex, the librarian, the mayor, and the beagle in mortal peril until the next week’s show.)

Stephen collected his twenty pegs and managed to narrowly beat Peter as he hit one hundred and twenty-one with ease.

“That was fun!” Peter said, far more gracious a loser than Stephen. “Aunt May never let me bet when we played.”

“I wonder why,” Stephen drawled, amused. “Counting cards and figuring odds makes you enough of a menace.”

“You can’t count cards?”

“No, I can, I’ve just never needed to for Cribbage.”

Peter smirked. “Guess you’ll just have to get on my level now.”

“Indeed,” Stephen said with chuckle. He glanced at the clock. “It’s still fairly early. I think I’ll read until I go up to bed.”

Peter agreed easily and gathered up the cards and stored them away in the storage bench along with the pegboard case.

Stephen sat on his usual armchair, feeling very relaxed after the long series of late nights he’d pulled.

He was confused when Peter stepped up to his armchair but when he sank fluidly to his knees between Stephen’s sprawled legs, he got the hint.

“I want to try something,” Peter said. “Is that okay?”

He nearly groaned. “So long as you don’t bite me, I’m sure I won’t complain.”

He spread his legs wider at Peter’s prompting and helped as Peter undid his belt, unfastened his slacks, and slowly unzipped him. He shifted to pull his slacks and briefs down. Peter’s eyes were wide as he took in the sight of Stephen’s cock.

“You’re not cut,” Peter said finally. “So does that make you more sensitive here?”

“Give it a lick and find out,” Stephen suggested.

“So I just-” Peter’s hand delicately pushed the foreskin back to reveal the pink glans. Peter leaned in and the tip of his tongue touched against the slit for a fleeting second. The scant contact had Stephen sucking in his breath through his teeth.

Peter leaned forward even more and after a false start that had him doing his best to open wider (and fuck if Peter struggling to fit him in his mouth wasn’t one of the hottest things he’d ever seen!), sucked Stephen’s cockhead into his mouth. As his tongue tried to swirl around in the limited space it had, Stephen’s head dropped back.

He pulled back, licked around his lips, and then took more of Stephen in his mouth. “More” wasn’t much, but it felt amazing.

Peter was persistent in his efforts, sucking and licking when he could. He’d pull back, try again, and repeat that until he’d taken in as much as he was able to without gagging. Undeterred, he used his hands on the rest of the shaft, stroking and learning Stephen’s cock in a way Stephen hadn’t even allowed himself to dream he’d want to do.

Peter’s eyes were watering and his lips deliciously swollen and red as he serviced Stephen’s cock. It was a fight to keep from taking over and making Peter take more, let alone to keep from closing his eyes at the sheer pleasure of it all.

He was so perfect, his Peter. He was going to lose him, he knew that, had accepted it before the ink from his purchasing signature at the BCSS had even dried. But he’d have these memories and it would have to be enough.

Stephen tried to warn Peter that he was too close. Peter simply made a noise of acknowledgement and continued his actions until Stephen came with a loud groan and spilled down the young man’s throat.

“I take it you’ve missed me in bed?” Stephen asked after Peter sat back on his heels.

“Yeah,” Peter said, licking his swollen lips and wiping his mouth. “Haven’t you missed it, too? Two weeks is a long time to go without getting off, and you’ve been stressed, to boot!"

“I am perfectly capable of masturbating, Peter,” Stephen said. “Do you really think I suffered in my lonely guest room bed? The shower in the mornings?”

Peter frowned. “Maybe you didn’t, but I did!”

“You never said anything after your week was up,” Stephen pointed out.

“I’m allowed to do that?”

Stephen glanced heavenward. “Of course, you're allowed.” He paused. “Honestly a small diversion would have been nice this past week.”

“Oh.” Well now he felt foolish.

“Would you like for me to come to bed tonight?” Stephen stroked the side of Peter’s face. “Do you want me to put you on your belly and work my cock into your tight little body? Do you want me to use you as is my right?”

He nearly whimpered. Those words shouldn’t have aroused him so much, even knowing that Stephen did in fact see him as a person. But he belonged to Stephen, and he found he… liked it.

“Yes,” he managed.

“Yes, to what?” Stephen asked. “You need to tell me, Peter. You’re going to learn to ask for what you need and what you want.”

Stephen would teach him, Peter knew. He leaned into the hand Stephen had cupping his face.

“All of it,” he said. “Please, Stephen, I want all of it.”

“Then let’s go to bed.”

Peter got all of it and more until he laid sweating and dazed in bed while Stephen was off getting the usual wash rag.

His ass felt deliciously sore and even better, he’d been able to come for the first time in two weeks. And then a second time, and finally a third, until Stephen was satisfied that he’d pleasured Peter enough to make up for his inattention during that second week.

“Get some sleep,” Stephen ordered him after he’d wiped them both clean and pulled up the covers. “I have every intention of repeating this in the morning.”

Peter smiled and snuggled into his pillow. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

<<<>>>

[let-it-raines]

Rising From The Ashes (Ch. 2)

Summary: When her husband died, Emma wasn’t sure that she could ever move on. He left her with a broken heart and a baby who was only three-months old. It’s enough to take most people down, to make them not want to keep going, but Emma Swan isn’t most people. She’s stronger than she has any right to be. And after years of heartache, she’s found ways to move on…one of those being in Neal’s best friend, Killian Jones. As she’s always known, however, things are more complicated than they ever seem to be. 

Rating: Mature (who was I kidding thinking it would be teen?)

A/N: WOW, you guys! I was not expecting such a reaction from you all. Like, at all. It’s been blowing my mind, and I hope you guys like where this story is going. All I can really say is to be patient. There are a lot of moving factors, and it might take awhile to understand them all :D

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Found on Tumblr: 1 | 2

Tag list: @resident-of-storybrooke @resident-of-storybrooke @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @teamhook @ekr032-blog-blog @mayquita @bmbbcs4evr @wellhellotragic @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld 

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! It’s not a problem at all!

*Double “-/-” break means a flashback

Sergeant Neal Cassidy, presumed dead since 2011 and officially declared as deceased as of May 2018, has been found alive. The details around his presumed death are still unclear. It’s assumed that he was held as a captive in Iraq near the end of the Iraqi War and never listed on the known registrar of war criminals, so he was not released in the agreement the United States had with Iraq to trade war criminals. After Delta Force raided an al-Qaeda compound last month and found Sergeant Cassidy, he has been in an undisclosed German hospital recovering. In recent days, he has been moved to a hospital in Maine where his wife Emma Swan and son Henry Cassidy reside. He is also welcomed home by former Naval Captain and close friend Killian Jones. We cannot speak for the world, but this is a feel-good story that we’re sure brings joy to even the darkest of hearts. It’s a family reunited from death. What could be more heartwarming than that?

-/-

“Ms. Swan, Captain Jones,” Dr. Vibuthi greets them, reaching over and shaking their hands before settling down in her chair while he and Emma sit in their seats across from her. The office is oddly bright, colorful paintings adorning the walls with the odd educational diploma mixed in. Every doctor’s office he’s ever been in is sterile, dull, but this is likely because he’s only ever been in an exam room. It’s not like it matters what the office looks like, not in the grand scheme of things, but he needs something to focus on besides the vomit that continuously threatens to leave his body.

“Killian?”

“Huh?” he asks, turning to Emma who is looking at him with eyes full of concern.

“Did you hear the doctor? She asked if you were okay.”

Oh. He didn’t hear her at all. He didn’t know anyone had said anything since she greeted them. How much did he zone out? It’s only been a few seconds, hasn’t it?

He might not be okay.

“I’m fine, love,” he assures Emma before looking at Dr. Vibuthi. “I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed is all.”

“That’s completely understandable with what you all have been through. Miracles like this are wonderful, but they do come with a certain amount of shock.”

Miracles. Shock. Surprise. He’s already tired of hearing those words. It’s been two weeks.

“They do,” he grits, his fingers fidgeting across his thigh until Emma reaches over and places her palm over his knuckles, the smallest of touches already making him feel infinitely better. “So, can you tell us how he is? How Neal is?”

She looks down at her files while he interlaces Emma’s fingers with his, needing the connection and support, knowing that she needs it too. “So Mr. Cassidy is a rare case. He hasn’t given us a lot to go on, is always insisting that he’s fine, but we’re running as many psych tests as we can just to make sure.”

“Yeah, that’s what they told us when we talked to General Neller on Tuesday,” Emma explains, her hand tensing in his. “But he said you could tell us how Neal actually is? Is he hurt? Is he malnourished? Does he have PTSD? What tests have you run on him? I just feel like for two weeks we’ve known he was alive after thinking he was dead for almost a decade, and yet no one will fucking tell us anything other than they’re running tests.”

With every single bone in his body aching, wishing to know more, wishing that he could understand what the hell has been happening, he also knows that in all the ways he wants to be weak, Emma needs him to be strong. She’s strong enough herself, likely the strongest person he’s ever met, but she’s gone through hell more times in her life than anyone ever should. Right now is simply another round of walking through the flames and hoping not to be burned to ashes.

The first few days after the news was released that Neal had been found alive had been an adrenaline rush of trying to understand what the hell was going on, how it could be going on. He and Emma were convinced that it was a false report, that it wasn’t him, especially since no one had bothered to notify Emma. The first fucking thing they should have done was notify Emma that Neal was alive. It should have never made it to the news, not without her knowledge.

Their house had been a mess. When Emma collapsed, the plate she dropped shattered and glass cut into her skin. So with a numb girlfriend, a terrified son, and a wailing daughter shocked by all of the commotion, he’d had to get the glass shards out of her legs and clean her up. Henry had made the decision to call David, which is what they taught him to do in situations like this (not that there had ever been a situation like that before), and David had quickly come over and helped them take care of the kids while Killian called every military contact he could think of to try to find out what was going on.

And they’ve basically been in a loop of looking for information ever since.

With crying. A hell of a lot of crying, sobbing really. He doesn’t think he even knew that the human body was capable of producing that many tears.

This is the closest they’ve gotten to any information, though. They’re in the same building as Neal, even if they have no idea what happened to him, how he’s alive, where he’s been. They know nothing other than that he was found in some undisclosed compound.

So the compound. They know about the compound. That’s it.

Well, they know that he’s alive.

How the fuck is Neal alive? And why is he not outrageously happy about it?

His best friend is alive, back from the dead, and it’s been the worst two weeks of his life. How damn selfish is that? He should be elated, feel like his life is back and all of the tragedy of the past eight years is gone, but it’s complicated. Life always is, but your best friend coming back from the dead only to find out that you’ve slept with his wife isn’t exactly ideal.

He shudders at the thought because while he and Emma have slept together, it wasn’t just to scratch an itch. They love each other, have for over four years now, and he’s never felt guiltier about it than he does right now. One shouldn’t feel guilty for being in love, and yet all he wants to do is drown himself in a bottle of rum…and in Emma.

They never meant to fall for each other. He doesn’t think anyone ever does, but it just happened. They were both grieving, and as the two people closest to Neal, they’d leaned on each other. For years it had been the purest of friendships, two people mourning over something they never could have imagined happening to them, and he’d spent more of his time helping her raise Henry than anything else. But somewhere along the way – between diapers and potty training, breast pumps and cooked meals, late nights and early mornings – he’d developed feelings for her.

He’d never despised himself more than the moment he realized his heart fluttered at the smell of her hair or the way her lips felt when she kissed his cheek in greeting. It was wrong. He couldn’t have feelings for Emma. He wouldn’t just be hurting Neal’s memory, but he’d be hurting Emma, too. She was, still is, the strongest woman he’d ever known, but she’d also been through hell. Who was he to complicate her life?

-/-

-/-

“Alright, Jones,” Emma sighs, handing him a glass of wine before she plops down on the sofa next to him, crossing her legs up on the couch, “I am kid free. I have wine. I have HBO. We are about to have the night of our lives.”

He chuckles underneath his breath before taking a sip of his wine and placing it on the side table so that he can grab the giant fleece blanket Emma has and pull it up over them. “When the hell did we become so boring that wine and HBO means having one of the nights of our lives?”

“I also have Chinese takeout.”

“Touché, love. That makes all the difference.”

“Exactly. And I have a three and a half year old. I only get to watch something with cursing when it’s past eight, and usually I’m so tired that I fall asleep on the couch.”

“I know. I’m usually the one that has to make sure you don’t hurt your neck by sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh yes, my hero.” Emma dramatically rolls her eyes even as the corners of her lips tick up on the side. God, that smile. He loves that smile, and he hates himself for loving it. He’s pretty much decided that he’s going to suffer for the rest of his life loving that smile, and honestly, he’d be okay suffering that way. If Emma’s smiling, it means she’s happy, and she deserves nothing more than to be happy. That’s all he wants for her. “But I’m not doing that tonight, okay? We’re going to catch up on Game of Thrones and stay up far past midnight.”

“You’ve never even seen an episode.”

“And thus, the catching up.”

“Whatever you want, love.”

They get caught up in the show, even if he’s seen it as well as reading the books, but watching Emma’s reactions to learning everything is priceless. She gasps and groans in all of the right places, laughing in several inappropriate ones, and she spends far too long coming up with theories that are so far off base that he has a difficult time not saying anything to correct her. He’s not sure if it really is the fact that she has the weight of the world off of her shoulders for one night, Henry spending the night with Mary Margaret so he can spend time with Leo, or if it’s the two glasses of wine she’s had.

It’s probably both.

The wine is likely heightening things. She’s not much of a drinker, hasn’t been in recent years at least, wasn’t old enough for too long before Henry was born to develop a real tolerance. He’s not saying Emma is a lightweight, but he’s also saying that Emma is a lightweight. And it’s not like he can say much, his drinking having toned down ever since he started helping Emma out with Henry. Time and time again he wanted to drink when Henry wouldn’t stop crying or even when Emma wouldn’t, but he wanted to be there for them.

Besides, until a few months ago, he was still in the Navy, and he’d get calls at all hours of the day. No one really wants a drunk Captain, whether he’s at sea or not. He wasn’t spending much time out at sea in the past few years anyways.

“He’s cute,” Emma sighs, Rob Stark on screen.

“Dark hair and blue eyes your type, Swan?” he teases, nudging his shoulder into his. “Not to mention British.”

“Most definitely. That’s an attractive combination. If I were to – oh,” she laughs, her lips gaping open before they close. She slaps his shoulder, the force far too strong to be playful. “You’re an asshole. You know I wasn’t talking about you.”

“You most definitely were. I am literally the definition of your type.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma says, moving her hair over her cheeks to hide the blush he saw a minute ago, “you wish, Jones.”

I do, he thinks, something inside of his stomach twisting before he makes it stop, makes it twist in an unpleasant way. He can’t. He can’t do this. He can’t flirt with her. But the words keep falling off of his lips. It’s like he can’t stop himself, especially when he falls back on flirting whenever he’s trying to hide something. People always discount flirting, teasing. They don’t take it seriously, so he can say the things he wants. He can hide how he feels without really hiding it.

It’s what he has to do.

“What is your type?” Emma asks, shocking him out of his thoughts. She’s not watching the screen anymore. She’s watching him, her beautiful green eyes looking directly into his. His skin his buzzing, his entire body really, and he begins to wonder how much he’s actually had to drink tonight.

“Swan, you don’t care about that.”

“I do,” she promises, twisting her body and placing her hand on his forearm. His skin practically ignites with her touch, and he wonders if he can burn from both her touch and his guilt. “I’ve known you for, like, seven years, and I think I know everything about you except for your ideal woman.”

“I don’t have an ideal woman.” “Oh come on, don’t lie to me like that. I know how men work. You like someone with big boobs and a good ass. It’s not that complicated. It’s disappointing for humankind as a whole, but it’s not that complicated.”

He groans, reaching up to rub his hand over his face before grabbing his glass and taking a large gulp. How the hell is he supposed to answer this question?

“Aye, love, I can say that you lot all have various assets that make you appealing, but, you know, once you’re out of the phase where all you can do is fall into bed with each other, you do have to have things in common, things to talk about. I like to be able to laugh, to have a good time, but values are important, you know?”

“You mean, good form and all that?”

He laughs, shaking his head back and forth. She’s never going to let it go that he believes in good form. He’s been a military man for too long, been taught too much chivalry from his mother, and even though Emma accepts when he opens doors for her or when he pulls out her chair before they eat, she always murmurs something teasing about good form.

Like flirting and innuendos for him, he thinks that’s how she protects herself too. She didn’t have anyone to help her out, to do nice things for her, until she was fifteen and adopted by Ruth Nolan, and even though she’s now twenty-six, he thinks some of those things linger. He knows they do. Scars made when we’re young tend to linger.

“Aye, good form, darling. But I’m serious. Yes, obviously I enjoy how a woman looks, but I do like someone who understands me, you know?”

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, scooting closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder, “I get it. I want that too, someone who understands me. It’s been…awhile.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulder, tugging her closer before kissing her temple. “I understand you, love.”

“Yeah, yeah you do.”

The rest of the night seems to fly by, and before he knows it, it’s two in the morning and he and Emma have gone through another bottle of wine. At least, he thinks it was one bottle of wine. It might have been two. Honestly, he doesn’t know anything except for the fact that Emma is currently straddling his lap with her hands in his hair and her lips on his.

Everything about it is glorious, the sensations overwhelming him. She’s soft, so damn soft, and every inch of her skin is warm. Her lips are warm too. And her tongue. Actually, everything about Emma from her lips and her skin to her compassion is warm. God, he loves her, and he’s not entirely convinced that this isn’t a dream. It has to be a dream because she is kissing him like her entire life depends on it.

She is kissing him, and he is giving as good as he’s getting, sucking on her upper lip and making her whimper, the sound shooting straight to his groin. She’s pressed hotly over his length, rolling her hips into his, and every coherent thought he has is gone the more she grinds against him, the more that her tongue tangles with his in a slick, pleasurable dance.

But the moment her hands begin to tug on his shirt, begin to try to undress him, he has to stop them. He can’t do this. They can’t do this. And they really cannot do this while drunk. It’s wrong. It’s one of the best moments of his life, but it’s wrong.

“Emma,” he breathes, panting really, “we can’t.” “Why not?” she whines, resting her forehead against his, her breath ghosting over his swollen lips.

“You know why, love.”

Her eyes flutter closed before she’s moving off of him, her steps wobbling a bit. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning when we take Henry to Kaleb’s birthday party, okay?”

“Goodnight, Swan.” God, what has he done?

-/-

-/-

But then there was that night, that glorious night where they’d let the alcohol get to them, where they’d let their inhibitions down, but it was wrong. There was the alcohol. There was Neal. There were far too many reasons why they shouldn’t have done it, but they still did, even if the both of them ignored it for weeks afterward. It wasn’t talked about. It wasn’t referenced. For awhile, he wondered if Emma even remembered.

God, he had both hoped that she didn’t remember and also that she did. It felt like he was living in one of the most complex, torturous little loops of time imaginable.

He obviously had no idea how wrong he was.

Because over four years, three houses, two states, and one new baby later, they were as happy as can be.

And now everything has become complicated.

As if it wasn’t before.

He thinks he’d go back to the complex, tortuous time loop any day over this.

Because he’s a bloody wanker.

“Ms. Swan,” Dr. Vibuthi calmly begins, obviously used to dealing with upset people if how she’s reacting to Emma’s myriad of questions is any indication, “I cannot begin to understand the ordeal you have been through, but I ask you to be patient with me.”

Emma nods her head, her throat bobbing up and down while she bites her quivering bottom lip. God, what he would give to take away all of her pain. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just…I need some kind of information. Something more solid.”

“That I can give you. Mr. Cassidy is healthy. He’s not malnourished, he doesn’t have any diseases. From what we can tell, he had several broken bones over the last few years and has several healed scars that you’ll likely see and that may shock you. But there’s nothing currently physically wrong with him.”

Killian sighs, releasing the breath he was holding. In the moments where his mind has been clear lately, he’s thought about Neal being tortured. He had to be. There’s likely no way around it, but he’s never wanted to be the one to bring it up. So while from what Dr. Vibuthi has said, he’s sure Neal was tortured at one point, he doesn’t seem to have been lately.

At least physically.

None of it makes any sense.

He cannot come up with any possible explanation for what’s happened. If he could be a fly on the wall in the debriefing that he knows Neal is going to have to do with the CIA, he would. There’s so much he wants to know, even more than just what Neal has been through, but he has a feeling that he won’t be allowed to know any of it. And as close as he and Neal were before, he would bet that they will never be that close again, not with everything that’s happened.

“But what about mentally?” Killian begins, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Can you tell us how he is mentally? What his mindset is?”

“Unfortunately not quite yet. He won’t talk about what happened in much detail, but we are running all of the evaluations that we can as I said. We have our own and the military also has several that they’ve asked us to run since Neal has expressed interest in remaining in the service. All he truly talks about, however, is getting back to Emma and Henry.”

“Oh God,” Emma gasps, letting go of his hand so she can cover her mouth with both of her hands, her entire body shaking.

Why the hell would he want to return to the service? Killian has been retired for five years, and he didn’t even leave in bad circumstances. He simply wanted to be around for Emma and Henry more, wanted to live life. He can’t imagine being held hostage for eight years and wanting to return to the very thing that basically took his life away.

“So can we see him?” Killian soldiers on, reaching over and rubbing his hand up and down Emma’s back, stuffing all of his thoughts down and focusing on what’s important right now. “That’s why we’re here, right?”

“Yes, you can see him, but for a limited time. We don’t want to overwhelm him. And afterward I’d like to set up an appointment with both of you about his treatment here and when he leaves. Unfortunately, you all have a long road ahead of you.”

-/-

“Are you ready, love?”

“No, but we need to go in. I’ll just freak myself out more if we don’t do it.”

“Aye. It’s just…it’s going to be okay, Emma,” he promises, dipping his head down to quickly brush his lips over hers. He hasn’t done that nearly as much as he should lately, a distance between the two of them building, one that he’s likely been putting there himself. What else is he supposed to do when his girlfriend’s husband is back? But still, he loves her, supports her, and he won’t let her think otherwise, not now. “I love you.”

She smiles, but it’s weak, sad even. It’s not Emma. “I love you too.”

With that, Emma pushes down on the handle and pulls open the door, walking inside on a visibly shaky step as he follows behind her. Neal is sitting in the hospital bed in gray sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking healthier than he did the last time Killian saw him. He’s obviously older, the difference between thirty and thirty-eight hard to miss, but he looks stronger somehow.

It’s…jarring.

It’s also jarring to see him in person. He’s real. He’s actually alive. Killian knew it to be true, but this is real, physical proof. It makes everything almost surreal.

“Ems,” Neal laughs, a bright smile forming on his lips that causes the lines around his face to wrinkle. He doesn’t say anything else, hopping up from the bed and rushing toward Emma, immediately cupping her cheeks and crushing his lips into hers.

That may be the most jarring thing of all.

He’s seen Emma kiss Neal, something he saw plenty of times before, but it was never when Emma was the woman he loves, never in a situation like this.

He’s never seen Emma kiss Neal when he knows exactly how Emma’s lips feel.

Was he allowed to feel jealous? Is that okay? He knows that he can’t just make his emotions disappear, that he can’t stop loving her, that he won’t  stop loving her, but there’s no guidelines for this. As far as he knows, nothing like this has ever happened. There’s no one to follow or help tell him what to do.

What is he supposed to do when the love of his life’s husband shows up from the dead? What is he supposed to do when his best friend is experiencing some kind of miracle second chance in life and Killian has all of the power to break Neal’s world apart when it’s all finally coming back together?

What is he supposed to do if he has to not love the woman who he intended on marrying? The woman who has an engagement ring in the pocket of his old Naval uniform only because he knows she won’t look there. To the mother of his child…to the mother of his children.

He wants to say that he’ll step back, that he’ll let them mend their fences, but he can’t do that. He and Emma have a life together. They have Henry. They have Ada, who Neal doesn’t know about yet, which is a bag of bag of worms he doesn’t know how to handle.

They can’t hide a child, and bile rises in his throat at the fact that his little girl is going to be a reason for friction. Ada is one of the lights of his life, and she’s done not a thing wrong, so similar to Henry who’s been unusually quiet since he found out his father is alive.

It’s all fucked up, and he just doesn’t know what to do. He wants to hold his family and never let go, but he’s likely going to have to let go. He can’t do it, but he may have to.

It’s going to break him.

His best friend is alive, and he can barely be happy about it.

Neal finally pulls back from Emma, leaning his head against Emma’s forehead in a move that nearly breaks Killian. That’s what he and Emma do. That’s…theirs. His legs practically collapse underneath him, but he refuses to let that happen. He absolutely refuses.

Then Neal turns to him, his eyes staring directly into Killian’s. “Jones,” he sighs, “nice to see you, man. Can you believe this?”

He can’t.

[thechillingadventuresoflili-blog]

And chapter twenty-one. Hope this one is more satisfying than the show. As always, show me love. Dedicated to @zeciex, @lovelykhaleesiii, @frucienlover, @hedgewitchhollow, @heda-mikaelson, and @satanskittles

Chapter Twenty-One Lilith

The woman in front of Lilia smiled and pulled her to her feet. “I heard your pleas, my dear one. Michael will die if you do not perform this forbidden Wonder. You most certainly do have the power in you.”

“But I’ve never even heard of Tempus Infinituum.” Lilia was confused. “Even before he wiped my memory. How am I supposed to do it?”

“Well for one you could try believing in yourself.” Lilith told her. “Michael needs you to destroy them.”

Lilia looked at her as Lilith went over to the bathtub and started filling it up. “I’ll need to be submerged in water, won’t I?”

Lilith nodded at her and stood up to face her. “While you are saving him, I will be here, helping him fight off the witches and keep them from harming you while you are in the tub.” She placed her hands on Lilia’s cheeks, much like Michael would do. “When you are fully submerged, I will say the incantation and you will go back in time. Do you have something of his to help you with the time and place?”

She nodded and went to go find one of Michael’s shirts that she had stolen to wear under her corset. That was when she heard the gunshot. “Michael!”

“He is fine. That was the death of the matron here.” Lilith rolled her eyes and looked off into the distance. “They are almost here. Hurry!”

Lilia got into the tub and held the shirt close to her chest, closing her eyes. “Got it.”

Lilith placed her hands on Lilia’s shoulders and started to whisper the ancient words to enact Tempus Infinituum. The water started to bubble around Lilia as Lilith pushed her underwater, screaming out. “TEMPUS INFINITUUM!”

And with that, Lilia’s body disappeared from this time. Lilith stood up and walked over to Lilia’s clothes, putting them on. She felt the arrival of the witches, just like Michael did, and went out of her room to meet him.

Michael looked at her and immediately knew that that wasn’t Lilia.ldquo;Who are you?”

The man who stood before her looked exactly like Satan Lucifer. She could see some of his human mother, but he was all his father. “My dear boy, I am the Queen of Hell. Don’t worry. Lilia is safe, going back in time to help you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow as she stepped closer to him. “Not what I pictured when I thought of you.”

She smiled and placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “Come. We have witches to kill.”

They walked together to the top of the stairs where the witches were talking about him. “How could any of you defeat me, when I’ve already won?”

“You haven’t won.” Cordelia said in a strong voice, looking at him.

“Perhaps you haven’t the state of the world outside.” Michael gestured to the elevator.

Myrtle scoffed. “Yes, it’s almost as bad as your dinner jacket.”

“Enough!” Cried out Lilith. “All your banter is driving me insane. For Satan’s sake!” She walked down the steps with a grace that rivaled his own and went straight to Cordelia. “Your mother says hello and that she misses you.”

That took the Supreme off guard. None of them were expecting that. Lilith walked to each one of them and brought up their deceased loved ones, telling them messages that they gave her before she left the Hell realm to help her husband’s son.

Walking back to the bottom of the steps, she turned to the witches and smiled. “Michael Langdon, Son of Satan Lucifer and Lilith the Damned, is now your king. The prophecy has been fulfilled. Even now, his lover is stopping you and your plan by hiding his younger self away. You lost.”

“We haven’t lost.” Cordelia told the strange woman before them.

“Bow before your king!” Mead yelled out to them.

“I don’t know about you, Cordelia. But I always choose the winning side.” The Voodoo Queen walked up to Lilith and bowed her head before them. “You have the Queen of Voodoo on your side.”

Lilith sighed and looked behind the witches. “You kill her, Marie, and I will let my king feast on your heart.”

Marie Laveau walked out from the shadows, smiling at the woman and sneered. “I made a new deal with Papa Legba. For her soul, Lilith.” She pointed to her replacement. “I intend to make it right with my god.”

“Well, too bad. Legba is under my rule. Being a Hell daemon. And not of the idiot upstairs.” Lilith smiled and waved her hand, burning Marie. She left the stairs and bent down in front of the ashes to retrieve her heart that was still beating. “My son, come feast.”

The witches watched in horror as their only secret weapon was burned in front of them and their worst enemy walked down the stairs to the woman. He took the heart and bit into it, keeping his eyes on Lilith’s.

“You witches as are a dying breed.” Lilith told them all as they stood around. “Bow. Or suffer the same fate as Marie.”

Cordelia looked to behind Michael and nodded softly as Coco stabbed him in the back with a knife. Lilith cried out as she felt the pain in her own back. Michael dropped the heart and held her up as he pulled the knife out of his own back. “That would have worked.” Michael told her. “If she wasn’t here.”

Lilith twisted her wrist and Coco’s neck twisted in a weird direction, killing her.

As he dealt with Coco, the others raced upstairs to perform the spell. Lilith growled and transmutated up there to stop them.

“Oh, where do you think you are going?” She huffed and stepped towards the bitch who was going back in time. “You really think this mousy little bitch will help you?” She laughed with evil dripping from her form. “You really are dumb as your mother said.” Lilith grabbed the back of Mallory’s head and drew her in for a kiss that sent poison threw her veins, killing her.

“Mallory!” Cordelia cried as Lilith dropped her, the poor girl’s skin turning black starting with her lips. She looked up at Lilith as tears ran down her face and stood up. “Satan has only one son, but my sister are-” Her words stopped as a knife went through her head and Mallory went up in flames as her soul burned white hot.

Cordelia’s body dropped and there stood Michael, bloody from being shot by Madison who had concealed a gun under her dress. Mead was close behind him. “Damn. More bodies to clean up.”

Lilith smiled and turned to Myrtle. “Die. Or serve us. Those are your only two choices. I know the limits of your power, Myrtle. You’re no good to us alive. Unless you serve us.”

“I would rather die than serve Satan.” Myrtle told them. “Your fashion sense is ghastly. I wouldn’t survive anyway.”

Lilith nodded and waved her hand, turning the old bat to dust. Myrtle closed her eyes and sighed, accepting her final death for good.

“Where is Lilia?” Michael was starting to get worried about his lover as he looked at Lilith. “Do I need to go save her?”

Lilith shook her head and smiled. “She will be here shortly. She just has to right a few wrongs. Like the fate of Miriam Mead. Getting you safely to her and then to find the warlocks. She has to implant the idea that you are a good thing in the mind of Cordelia and the Council before she can come back.”

Michael felt the shift of power and looked to Mead who shimmered. “Ms. Mead?”

“That’s the real her. She may need you.” Lilith got up on her toes and gently kissed his cheek. “Your father and I are so proud of you, dear boy. Do better than your predecessors. I’ll send up some things you may need.” And with that, she was gone. Faded back to the Hell realm to check on Lilia.

“Michael?” Mead asked him, as though just now waking up. “The last thing I remember is burning.”

Lilith was right. Lilia had made everything right again. Michael smiled and hugged his adoptive mother, tears flowing down his face.

“What is going on? Where’s Lilia?” Mead was so confused.

“She’ll be back.” Michael whispered. “She’s just fixing some things.”

[gwynne-fics]

31 Days of AUs: Historical

Requested by: @wei50-blog

Pinocchio -- In-Ha & Dal-Po

one. In-Ha isn’t certain where the boy came from. Her grandfather takes him in after finding him covered in soot with cut hair. Grandfather says he needs help and Father doesn’t protest, not even when the boy is put on their family registry, and given the name of her deceased uncle. They are wealthy merchants and there is plenty of food and space in the house so it is probably not important where he came from.

She is only a little jealous of Dal-Po. It is clear her Grandfather and Father are happier with a boy than a girl who can’t lie and they are tired of her asking where her mother is. At least Dal-Po distracts her from that.

two. He knows there was something sinister about the way the fire started in his home. He sees Jae-Myung, his older brother, arguing with an older woman he doesn’t know the night before the flames engulf their estate. There is a mystery that leads to his parents’ deaths and the end of his world.

Jae-Myung shoves two scrolls at him before they run away from the fire. They are separated after Jae-Myung cuts his hair and he is afraid he will never see his brother again. He shows the scrolls to the merchant Choi Gong-Pil. Father liked the merchant and he recognized him when he found him in the burned parts of the mountain. The old man frowns and puts the scrolls away.

“Your name is now Choi Dal-Po. It is for your protection. This is your home now.”

three. “You had another nightmare,” In-Ha says as Dal-Po escorts her to the docks. Grandfather sends her out to negotiate because she gets the lowest prices on fish and produce. Dal-Po comes with her for protection because she is annoying and it angers people. “It’s been ten years. I wish you didn’t have nightmares”

Dal-Po shrugs but she can see he’s tired and she knows he’s sloppy when he’s tired. He surprises her when he abruptly changes the subject. “I overheard Ahn Chan-Soo’s father talking bride prices with your father and grandfather.”

In-Ha snorts indelicately and pauses in front of one of the street venders. “I’m too good at keeping the books and running the house,” she says. “They will never marry me off, especially not to a magistrate’s third son. I’m too good for him and they know it.”

She catches him smiling when she doesn’t hiccup.

four. There is a part of him that is glad he and In-Ha are technically related. He doesn’t know many girls because of the separation of men and women but In-Ha is a delight. He wonders if she is like other girls or if she is completely unique in the world. He knows exactly what is on her mind because she can’t lie. Grandfather says it is an illness some people have and that is why he won’t marry her off.

They say the right husband will see past her truth but no such man exists. They want In-Ha to be happy in her husband’s home.

He doesn’t believe Grandfather after the talk with Magistrate Ahn. They think In-Ha will make a great wife for a magistrate and Chan-Soo is smitten with her after their few chaperoned walks. Chan-Soo will never be magistrate. He points that out to his foster family. He isn’t ready for In-Ha to leave their house for all the reasons she gives him and for one that she doesn’t know about.

While she is distracted with buying fish for dinner, he goes a few stalls down and buys her a binyeo. He knows there were will rumors. He is about to come of age and will need Grandfather to find him a wife but...he sticks it in front of his handbok anyway.

He quickly gets in between In-Ha and the fish seller after an argument arises over prices. He pays for their fish and escorts her away.

“You’re not going to chide me?”

He laughs and keeps his hand against her back. “He was trying to overcharge you.” He intends to say more but Grandfather waits for them at the gate. His expression worries him. They had visitors from the palace last night.

“We need to talk,” he says. “About your birthright.”

five. In-Ha sits in her room and tries not to cry. It was her own fault for eavesdropping. Dal-Po is the son of the murdered lord and lady of their province. The King is asking questions again. Grandfather wants Dal-Po to reclaim his birthright before the King and discover why his family is dead. All this time, they’ve been training him to be the kind of man who can rule their province fairly and with insight to its people.

Grandfather doesn’t like Lady Regent Park and her taxes in the name of her son.

Dal-Po would leave and become someone else. She would be alone. By the time he returned, she would be someone’s wife and they would never be allowed to speak ever again. She loves him and it hurts to admit.

“In-Ha?”

She quickly wipes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths before she answers him. “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She stands and smoothes her hands over her handbok. He comes into her room and stands awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds. “You’ve been in here millions of times,” her voice catches when she tries to tease him. “How is now different?”

She hiccups and tries to swallow it but her chest hurts.

“You heard?”

In-Ha can’t lie. “Yes. When do you leave?”

“I don’t want to leave. I told them I wanted to stay and marry you. I don’t need to be nobility, In-Ha. I know it’s sudden--” What is sudden is the way she flings herself into his arms and clings to him. Dal-Po wraps his arms around waist and holds onto her like he will miss her. He is crying when he pulls back and reaches into his hanbok. He pulls out a lovely but simple binyeo. “They refused my offer. I won’t be good enough for you until I am Lord Ki Ha-Myung. I asked them to wait.”

“I’ll wait,” she says. “I’ll wait forever.”

She doesn’t hiccup.