#and it IS sad when the show inevitably pulls back to expose the damage being done. how for every funny or sexy tryst or escapade there’s

[carefulfears]

every now and then in the midst of the most deranged garbage you’ve ever watched when californication gets actually very very sad 🫠

[ratonnhhaketon]

It’s Always Been You

Read on Ao3

Summary: Bloodhound and the reader keep getting pitted against each other in the arena, thanks to the jerks in the Apex Games Commission. After one particular, mentally-tolling match for Y/N, they agree that they've had enough. Bloodhound has had enough, and shows them just how much they mean to them with one simple action.

TW: Canon-typical violence (depictions of shooting/death in the Apex Games), Fluff

A/N: I really wanted to make the reader gender neutral but I hope using they/them for two characters isn’t too confusing. Enjoy!!

Being in a relationship with a coworker is never advised, no matter what field you work in. But, when your line of work is to battle to the death in an arena regularly, it’s certainly not advised. 

However, these rules didn’t seem to apply to Y/N and Bloodhound. They both aimed to keep their relationship private at first, PDA consisting of heartfelt glances to each other in group meetings or the occasional hand holding under tables, nothing more. But, after a legends-exclusive trip to the Paradise Lounge where Y/N may or may not have had a little too much to drink and started to get touchy-feely, the secret was practically out. Somehow the Apex Games Commission got word of the relationship and decided that “two lovers having to battle it out” was better for keeping views up, so they were rarely placed on the same team. Today’s game was no exception. 

The team was cleaning up after a run in with a squad by the building overlooking Bunker. A care package had landed not too far from where they were looting and Y/N barely even heard Octane announce he was going to check it out before he sprinted off down the hill.

“Kraber here!” His voice cracked over the comms. 

Y/N’s head snapped up and called out a “Dibs!” over the comms before they even started moving. They slid the whole way down the hill, instinctively dropping their empty Sentinel and exchanging it for the legendary weapon before retreating back up the hill and into the safety of the building. They ducked into a corner by the open window in the building and equipped the weapon, almost smiling at the oh so familiar feeling of the sniper in their hands. 

They looked over the arena around them, scanning the hills and valleys for a target. Gunfire stirred up on the hill across the small river from them. Y/N adjusted their grip on the weapon and started mumbling numbers out loud to themself, their brain working overtime to calculate the correct trajectory for a clean kill. 400 meters, plus damage drop-off…

A single shot rang out, curving through the air and going straight through the enemy’s skull. 

Attention: new kill leader appointed. 

Bloodhound’s masked eyes jumped from their hiding spot under a building up to the screens hanging from Bunker’s entrance to their left and were met with Y/N’s banner, featuring them looking menacingly at the camera with their prized purple Kraber, hanging to announce their new status. They pulled themself away and returned to shielding back up to return to the fight their teammates were still dealing with. 

Y/N, of course, paid the announcement no mind as they continued to scan over the area in search of their next target. What they didn’t expect was to be met with a familiar set of red goggles hiding quite far from them. Their target was distracted and in perfect view for a clean headshot, but something inside made them hesitate to pull the trigger. Instead they just looked on as Bloodhound finished shielding up and initiated their ultimate ability, watching their goggles glow a bright red before they ran into battle. Y/N waited in their perch as Bloodhound’s ultimate drained while they took out a few enemies and their goggles returned to their regular hazey maroon. As they ducked down to revive a teammate, the sniper lined up another shot- this time aiming for the chest so as to only down them. 

Just as the third member of their team was pulled to their feet, a single bullet flew through the air and directly into what was left of Bloodhound’s body shield, making them fall to their knees. Upon seeing them fall, Octane stimmed and sprinted down the hill to finish off the teams that were fighting. Y/N and the third member of their team, a random newbie that neither of the legends had met before, followed suit. 

The trio had managed to successfully third-party both squads that were fighting, but only one had fully died and dropped their death boxes. It was clear that one member of the remaining team had managed to snag a self-revive knockdown shield, and Y/N knew exactly who it was. Octane and the newbie on their team shared a knowing glance as they approached Bloodhound, who had tried to crawl away from the fight in an attempt to get themself back on their feet. 

Y/N kneeled down to be eye-level with their significant other. Their lips curled into a sad smile as they said, “Hello, my love.”

Bloodhound let out a grunt of pain as they clutched at their side. “A beautiful shot, elskan. It is truly an honor to fall by your hand.” 

Y/N pulled their small knife from its sheath on their belt and dug it into their opponent’s abdomen. As they pulled it from their body, Bloodhound, along with their teammates, all instantly dropped their death boxes. Y/N stood up as the announcer’s voice boomed through the arena’s speakers. 

Attention: A winner has been appointed. 

Several drones began to circle the team while Octane and the third member celebrated, with Y/N showing their excitement with a slight smile. 

These are your Apex Champions. 

~~~~~

After the game had concluded and the legends were picked up by the dropship, Y/N made a beeline to the infirmary wing. There was a nurse exiting Bloodhound’s room, who graciously left the door ajar when she saw that day’s Champion approaching. They gave the nurse a nod and smile of appreciation before entering the room and softly shutting the door. 

“Hey stranger,” they said quietly to not disturb the hunter, even though they inevitably knew they were approaching. “You feeling okay?”

Bloodhound sat up in the bed, “Just sore, but I vill be fine.” Y/N sat down in the chair next to the bed and scooted it to be a bit closer.  “I am very proud of you, elskan min. You have shown much strength in the arena today.” Bloodhound’s gloved hand extended forward and lightly gripped their hand, intertwining their fingers. 

Y/n brought their hands up to their lips and pressed a soft kiss to Bloodhound’s knuckles. “I just wish..” they began to say before looking at their feet and sighing. “I hate that they keep splitting us up. I hate having to finish you off instead of fighting by your side.”

A pained groan next to them caused their head to shoot back up and see their significant other moving to sit facing towards them with their legs off of the bed. They watched as the hunter pulled their hand away to remove their gloves before placing both of their hands around Y/N’s face. Their palms were cold, something they had realized must have been a result of the cooling accident they had been told about, but it was a comforting feeling. A grounding feeling. 

“I have spoken with Ajay and Natalie, and they both believe ve should speak with the Games Commission. If they do not stop treating us like this I vill stop participating in the games.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Blooth, no, don’t say that. I know how much these games mean to you, don’t make me be the reason you quit.”

Bloodhound glanced quickly to the door, making sure it was securely shut, and back at their beloved sitting in front of them. They wordlessly pulled their hands back from their face and up to their helmet, pulling it up and setting it on the clean bedding next to them. Next were their goggles and hood, which came off in one simultaneous and swift motion. Soft red curls that were intricately braided out of their face with an undercut that desperately needed shaved were exposed to the world and Y/N sat stunned. Their eyes were a delicate blue that almost seemed grey, with a scar slicing through the left eyebrow. 

A small hiss brought Y/N back from their thoughts of admiration as Bloodhound unhinged the clips on their respirator. It was last to fall on the bed with the rest of their equipment, and they sat there feeling as exposed as the day they were born. 

Y/N had heard the story of the cooling accident, as they had always wondered why their beloved’s body temperature felt so unnaturally low, but they never imagined it would leave scars on their face. Faded, light blue lighting bolts shot across their face, extending from their mouth and nose area. It looked almost like veins, or tree branches and the roots were their respiratory system. 

Many things had been communicated without words. Undying amounts of love and a trust that took years of the legends knowing each other to gain. They had shown a side of themself that even the doctors and nurses on the ship had not seen yet, proving that Y/N meant more to them than any title or win in the games ever could. 

“Bloothundr,” they said breathlessly, barely above a whisper. They raised a hand towards their face but pulled back hesitantly, not wanting to make the hunter uncomfortable. Bloodhound nodded silently, and they cupped their hands around their cheeks. A soft thumb lightly traced a scar that extended from the corner of their lip back towards their hairline. 

“Y/N,” they spoke up, looking at the person seated in front of them with nothing but adoration in their eyes. “I love you. The games do not matter, as long as you vill be by my side.” 

They leaned in, gently resting their foreheads together and smiled with tears in their eyes.“I love you too, Blooth. Always.”

[artificialqueens]

Undone, Chapter 28 (Bitney) - Stephanie/Veronica

A/N: Hey guys. To anyone who’s still reading this story, thank you for your patience between chapters, I know it’s been slow! Here’s a link to the previous chapters. Thank you so much to some very patient and helpful betas: @opalescent-cheetah, @artificialpuddle, @blackhighheels 

Chapter Summary: Bianca faces the dreaded lawyer meeting. 

NOTE: The role of Bianca’s divorce attorney has been recast as Asia O’Hara. 

TW: Emotional abuse, physical intimidation, gaslighting, PTSD 

***

“B...don’t you want to take a break?” Courtney tries to speak casually, but she can feel the edge of frustration creeping in. Bianca has spent all weekend at the sewing machine, creating garments at a manic pace. She’s barely slept since her call with Asia on Thursday, and only eats or sleeps when Courtney forces the issue. What began as concern is now full-on anxiety over her health. “Come on...we could go for a walk. Or take a nap. And I made that pesto thing you like, so-”

“I just need fifteen minutes,” Bianca mumbles. If she can keep her hands busy, she doesn’t have to think about Asia’s words turning over and over in her mind.

Don’t expect any resolutions right away.

Be sure to send me the sonogram pictures and a blood test. They’re going to want immediate proof.

No one can predict how he’s going to react.

She doesn’t have time to stop and even acknowledge Courtney; she has no desire to bring Courtney into the firestorm of bullshit racing through her mind right now.

“You said that an hour ago.” Courtney sighs and walks closer, sitting on the edge of the table right beside her sewing machine.

“I have to finish these pants.” Bianca grits her teeth and presses the pedal harder, shoving the tweed fabric through the surger.

Courtney puts a hand on top of the machine and states matter-of-factly, “B, you’re working too hard.”

“Maybe you don’t work hard enough,” Bianca snaps back.

The second the words leave her mouth, dreads surges through her veins, making her heart race and her skin heat up. A terrible feeling creeps into her stomach. This is how it starts. A snide comment here, a sarcastic insult there. Why does she always alienate people? What’s wrong with her?

Her eyes are misty when she finally dares to raise them, to look at Courtney and assess the damage. Only when she does, it’s not an angry face glaring down at her. Courtney’s expression is a bit surprised, but mostly...amused?

“Perhaps,” Courtney says with a giggle. “But my point still stands. You need to take a break.”

Bianca nods, trying to get a grip on her emotions, which at the moment feel all over the map. She’s relieved, mostly, that Courtney isn’t angry or offended, but also drowning in guilt, and her heart still races with leftover panic.

Courtney tilts her head, noticing the color in her cheeks, the glassy-eyed stare, the way her shoulders stiffen.

“Are you okay?”

Bianca nods, afraid that if she speaks, it’ll all come spilling out. All the darkness that she’s been desperately trying to hold back. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion. Courtney runs a hand through her hair, a motion that would normally be welcome and soothing. But right now, it feels almost oppressive, making Bianca’s muscles tense even more.

When she still doesn’t speak, Courtney drags a chair over and sits down right beside her. She takes both of Bianca’s hands in hers.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Bianca.”

“I…” She doesn’t even know how to begin. The whole time she’s been living here, she’s been trying to force herself to listen to what everyone says about Jared. That what happened between them wasn’t her fault. And she does believe it, to a degree. But sometimes in her darkest hours, there’s still a sliver of doubt that creeps in.

What if it was my fault?

Because she remembers how sweet and loving and generous he was when they first met. How he showered her with love and affection. Went out of his way to make her feel special and loved and desired.

Just like Courtney does.

He wasn’t angry or cruel when they first got together. He became that way over months and years, and Bianca sometimes can’t shake the feeling that she made him that way. And even worse...her deepest fear, one she has barely even acknowledged to herself, is that not only did she make him like that. But that something inside her is so broken that she actually needs that destructive energy. That she can’t be in a normal relationship, or accept normal love.  

That no matter what she does, she will end up destroying the goodness in Courtney with her anger, her bitterness.

She’s not trying to hide these thoughts from Courtney, not exactly. She’s just so deeply ashamed, so terrified of being exposed as a monster.  

Courtney hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s still stroking the back of Bianca’s hands, waiting patiently for an explanation that Bianca knows isn’t coming. Because now, even if she wanted to, she can’t get any words out.

As hard as she tried to keep everything in, Bianca can’t stop the hot, bitter tears from streaming down her cheeks. She takes a few gasping breaths, but it’s not enough, not enough air. When she begins to hyperventilate, Courtney goes from gentle, supportive concern to overt worry, cupping her cheeks.

“Hey...look at me. We’re gonna breathe. In….out…” She nods as Bianca copies her breathing, desperately trying to pull herself together.

“Court, I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to explain,” she chokes out.  

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Keep breathing...” She takes an exaggerated breath in.  

“No, I want to tell you...but I just…” Bianca’s breath hitches again.

“I know. I know you do.” Courtney gently brushes the tears from her cheeks. “But it can wait-”

“But you deserve an explanation.”

“It can wait,” Courtney repeats. “Just breathe.”

Bianca nods, finally releasing some of the tension in her shoulders. She sits silently, tears still trickling down her face, until her breathing is back to normal. She lets Courtney help her to her feet, pulling her into an embrace.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m just...sometimes I get so scared that you’re gonna end up hating me.”

Courtney pulls back, looking into her eyes.

“I could never hate you. Ever,” she says.

“You say that now, but-” a sob escapes from Bianca’s chest, but she tries to push through. “But I say stupid shit, and I don’t mean it, but I-”

Courtney’s gently kissing away her tears. Her unending patience suddenly feels stifling, like Bianca will never be worth it.

“I know this is gonna end. I know I’ll fuck it up, I always do.”

Bianca watches Courtney take a deep breath, terrified that she’s already begun to destroy what they’ve worked so hard to build. Heart in her throat, stomach in knots, as she waits for the inevitable rejection.

“Look at me,” she says, waiting for Bianca’s eyes to meet hers before continuing. Saying adamantly, “I’m not him.”

Unable to respond with anything more than a slight nod, Bianca bites her lip.

“Do you hear me? I’m not him.” Courtney pulls her close again, holding her tight, lips grazing her ear. Bianca feels weak and dizzy from crying, finally allowing herself to lean on Courtney for support.

She’s not sure how long they stand there, but it’s long enough for the body heat to make her comfortably sweaty, for her lips to find Courtney’s, brushing against her in a light kiss.

“How are you doing?” Courtney murmurs. “Wanna lie down?”

“No.” Bianca tucks her face against Courtney’s neck.

“Wanna dance it out?”

“Definitely not.”

“Why not?!” Courtney asks, giggling. “Endorphins will make you feel better.”

“Good idea. Let’s have sex,” Bianca says against her skin, teeth grazing her jaw.

“Mmm, no. If we have sex when you’re upset, you’re gonna associate sex with trauma, which will take a lot of the fun out of it. No sex,” Courtney finishes decisively.  

“Ugh, you’re so bossy.”

“I’m bossy?” Courtney pulls back, one eyebrow so high it’s nearly to her hairline.

Bianca laughs, finally breaking the tension in the air. She reaches up to cup Courtney’s cheek, tired and grateful and relieved all at the same time.

“Can I make you a cup of tea?” Courtney asks.

“Yeah, alright,” she agrees, settling back into her chair with a sigh.

***

Courtney would never admit it out loud, but the truth is, she’s nervous. She’s seen these ultrasound pictures before--mostly in movies and TV shows--and she’s never seen anything but a floating amorphous blob. Is she gonna have to lie and tell Bianca that a blurry mass is beautiful? What’s she going to say when it comes up on the screen?

It turns out, her worrying is all for naught. Because when she finally does look at the screen, Bianca’s hand clasped in both of hers, what she sees is the shifting image of a baby.

“Oh my god!” she can’t help exclaiming. “It looks like a person!”

“What were you expecting?” Bianca laughs.

“Um...more like...somewhere between a potato and a spaceship.”

“Ahh.” Bianca nods, then deadpans, “So are you disappointed?”

“Yeah, I was really excited about that spaceship,” Courtney giggles, nuzzling against her and squeezing her hands.

The warm, affectionate mood is killed a little by how somber Bianca seems once they’re in the car. Courtney looks over at her, reaching over to touch her cheek.

“You alright, babe?”

“Yeah. I’m just sending some shit to Asia.” Bianca looks up from her phone, biting her lip.

“Right.” Courtney’s hit by a wave of sadness, mostly for Bianca. As excited as she knows Bianca is for the baby, as much as she’s dreamed about motherhood, she knows that the bittersweet reality must never fully leave her mind. The dark cloud of her divorce hangs over her all the time, even when she’s not talking about it--even when she seems fine.

Courtney leans over the center console to brush her lips against Bianca’s temple.

After letting out a deep sigh, Bianca throws her arms around Courtney’s shoulders and buries her face into her neck.

***

Courtney stands outside the bathroom door, contemplating how best to approach Bianca this morning. She’s getting ready for what’s likely going to be a long, terrible day. Her first meeting with Jared and the lawyers, where they are supposed to (hopefully) hash out the main points of their divorce settlement. She knows that Bianca has been anxious and worried all week, even though she’s been putting on a brave face.

But last night, it seemed like it all really hit her hard. She laid awake for hours, letting Courtney hold her and talk to her about everything and nothing, just to remind her that she wasn’t alone. Courtney hadn’t drifted off until the first rays of dawn began to slant through the window, and she’s not positive whether Bianca slept at all.

Knowing that this was coming, Courtney’s been planning a surprise weekend getaway for them. Now, though, Courtney wonders if this kind of surprise after a long day with the lawyers will be too much. Maybe she didn’t think the plan through very well. She bites her lip and pushes the door open.

The counter is littered with hair appliances and makeup and assorted beauty products, what looks like everything Bianca owns spread out and opened. There’s not a hair out of place, and her face is fully beat. Compared to the relaxed, softer look she’s been moving towards since she moved in with Courtney, it’s almost jarring to see her this glammed up again.

“Hey,” Courtney says, moving toward her slowly, careful not to disturb any of the open powders and pots and bottles. She offers a smile, adding, “You look beautiful.”

Bianca can’t help but feel defensive. Of course, Courtney is giving her a simple compliment. The kind she gives her all the time, every day. But her insecurity immediately turns it into a judgement.

“I’m not trying to impress him,” she says. Her feelings for Jared, at this point, are crystal clear--she has no interest in getting back together with him, is sure she never will. But for some stupid reason, she can’t bear walking into that office looking different than she had when they were married. It feels, in an unjustifiable way, like that would be admitting something to him; it feels like that would make her even more vulnerable than she already is. “I know it’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Courtney replies. She can see the anxiety on Bianca’s face, her tense muscles, the little line where her brow furrows. Her heart aches for how scared Bianca must be feeling. She reaches out and gently touches Bianca’s sleeve. “And you don’t have to justify anything to me. Do whatever you need to prepare.”

Bianca puts down her mascara and sighs, closes her eyes. She feels anything but prepared. What in the world made her think that a little makeup and a curling iron would fix that? Courtney takes her hands.

“Hey...you can do this.”

Bianca looks up, her blue eyes cloudy with pain. She hopes it’s true, but a nagging voice in the back of her head is saying the opposite.

“I just...wish it was over.”

“I know.” Courtney tucks a lock of hair back, gently running a thumb against the shell of Bianca’s ear as she does so. “But hey...later today, it will be. And as soon as you’re done, you’re gonna come back home, and then I can tell you about your surprise.”

“Did I ever tell you that I hate surprises?” Bianca says, biting back a smile.

“You have. But you’re gonna like this one.” Courtney winds her arms tighter around Bianca’s neck. “I promise. And if you don’t...then, we can do it another time.”

“Yeah? So it’s something to do?” Bianca chases Courtney’s lips with her own, pressing her against the counter.

“You’re gonna ruin your lipstick…” Courtney slyly evades both the question and the kiss, teasing her.

“Worth it,” Bianca murmurs, finally capturing Courtney’s lips in a sweet, soft kiss.

***

Asia is true to her word. When Bianca arrives, they spend the morning together, going over the game plan and wish list. After a short lunch, most of which remains untouched, Asia escorts her into a conference room and waits with her, by her side, until Jared and his attorney show up.  

Bianca keeps her eyes down, trained on the blank legal pad in front of her. She can’t look at him. Even knowing he’s there turns her stomach. She does glance at his lawyer a few times. A petite Asian woman with dark eyes and glossy hair. He’s smart to have hired a woman. She’s not sure why it surprises her.

When the arbitrator arrives, she immediately gets down to business. The attorneys spend a few minutes discussing the big ticket items - their condo, the joint retirement account. Bianca is actually relieved that there’s a pre-nup, because it seems like it’s going to make everything go faster. She allows herself, for the briefest moment, to imagine that this might happen quickly.

Before they drill down into the details, Asia hands a paper across the table. It’s a disclosure statement, short and to the point, along with a copy of her last blood test. The most recent sonogram. The arbitrator looks it over, nods, and hands a copy to Jared’s attorney.

Bianca can sense Jared’s energy when his lawyer shows him. She hears his hands slam against the table, hears his lawyer do her best to quickly calm him down, get him to hush.

Her eyes are downcast, blurry with tears that begin to drip slowly down her nose, splashing on the legal pad. Asia puts a hand on her back.

“Do you need a break?” Asia whispers, and Bianca nods vigorously.

***

The meeting seems to disintegrate quickly once Bianca leaves the room, which doesn’t surprise her at all. She knew full well that this news was going to be a wrench in the plan. That Jared’s limited time of playing nice would be over.

Asia’s assistant brings her a glass of water, which she attempts to drink slowly, reminding herself to breathe every few seconds. She flexes her fingers and toes whenever they start to tingle, brings her focus back to the physical.

When Asia enters her office to give the update, she’s prepared. Jared is unwilling to negotiate any further. His lawyer quarantined him alone in another room to have his tantrum and requested to schedule a follow-up meeting in a few weeks. No financial agreements will happen until custody is worked out. They knew this would most likely be the case, so now it’s a waiting game until they see what Jared asks for.

Bianca nods.

“Are they still here?”

“They’re packing up now,” Asia tells her. “You’re welcome to stay here until you feel ready.”

“Thanks.”

Though all Bianca really wants is to go home, she takes her time, texting Courtney for a bit while she calms down. She doesn’t want to risk running into him in the lobby or at valet parking. She has a sick feeling when it’s time to go down to her car, and though she feels a bit silly, asks Asia if someone can walk her down.

Once she’s safely in her car, she breathes a sigh of relief. Soon she’ll be home; it’ll be over for the day. She’s even finding herself improbably excited for whatever surprise Courtney’s been planning all week. She takes a deep breath and pulls out.

Her relief is short-lived. At the parking gate, she rolls down her window to slide in her ticket, when Jared races up to the car like a bat out of hell, before she even knows what’s happening. He somehow manages to reach in, yanking the door open before she has a chance to react.

She has no idea what he’s screaming. All her brain can comprehend is the rage, the fury in his eyes as he rants at her, accuses her of all kinds of things. She knows she’s yelling back, telling him to stop, trying to pull her door closed, but he’s overpowering her, forcing her to listen to his tirade. It’s a complete out of body experience.

It must have been a hell of a commotion. Because the next thing Bianca knows, she’s somehow sitting on a bench by the elevators, head between her legs, as Asia’s heels come clicking towards her in a hurry.

“Bianca! Shit…” Asia sits beside her, places a hand on her back. “I’m so sorry. You’re supposed to be safe here.”

Bianca lifts her head. Her cheeks are wet with tears she doesn’t remember, and she scrubs at them with the sleeve of her jacket.  

“We’re gonna get statements from the guys down here, okay? I should be able to fast-track a restraining order.”

“Alright,” Bianca says, mind starting to spin. How are they supposed to negotiate a divorce under these conditions? What’s gonna happen to her baby?

“I don’t want you to drive right now. Is there someone we can call to pick you up?”

Bianca nods. Courtney’s waiting for her - probably expecting her to walk in the door at any moment. She pulls out her phone and goes to her recent calls with shaky fingers, then turns to Asia, grasping her sleeve.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Okay.” Asia takes the phone from her, glancing down at the screen. “I can handle it. Courtney? Is that your girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” Bianca closes her eyes, feeling useless and dumb, the way she always does when words fail her.

“I’ll fill her in, and then we can go upstairs to wait,” Asia tells her.

“Thanks,” is all Bianca can manage. She lowers her head again, praying for it all to be over quickly.

***

Last week, while filming a very awkward sex scene, Courtney let it slip to one of her favorite costars how stressed Bianca has been, and how she wished she could give her a break. He generously offered his house in Santa Barbara for the weekend, and Courtney figured that it would be the perfect way for Bianca to decompress after her meeting with the lawyers.

But all day, she’s been anxious. She was anxious while she packed their bags and loaded up the car, waiting to hear from Bianca. And she was anxious when Sasha arrived to pick up the puppies. So much that her friend immediately saw it and suggested that they have a cup of herbal tea while they wait for Bianca to finish.

Even after she gets the text that Bianca is on her way home, something gnaws at her stomach. She supposes that until she sees Bianca in person and knows that she’s truly okay, she won’t be able to feel better.

“Do you want me to wait with you until she gets home?” Sasha asks, a hand covering hers.

“Do you mind?” Courtney says, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Not at all.”

Courtney feels a little stupid and overly dramatic, but she’s grateful that Sasha is so perceptive. They chat about her students this term, and an art show she’s putting together, and when Courtney’s phone rings, she’s able to answer cheerfully.

“Hey baby, what’s up?”

“Hi, Courtney? This is Asia. Bianca’s attorney.”

Courtney feels her blood turning to ice, fear rushing through her.

“What’s wrong? Is she okay?!”

“She’ll be fine, but--Jared accosted her in the parking lot. She’s a bit shaken and I don’t think she should drive.”

“Oh, god.”

“Do you think you can come, and-”

“Of course!” Courtney exclaims. “Of course, I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Can you text me the address? I’m sorry, I just don’t have-”

“Absolutely, I’ll do that right now.”

“Thank you.” Courtney looks up at Sasha, panicked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll drive you.” Sasha’s already on her feet, placing the mugs into the sink and rinsing them. She grabs her keys and ushers the dogs into the carrier.

***

All Bianca feels is numb as she waits, fingers digging into the throw pillow in her lap. She has no idea how much time has passed when Courtney appears in the doorway, then flies straight to her.

Feeling Courtney’s arms around her, finally, unleashes something. She begins to cry, an unwelcome avalanche of tears that makes her hate herself even more.

“Baby…” Courtney crawls into her lap, stroking her hair and rocking her.

It feels like ages until she finds her voice again, choking out, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong!” Courtney holds her tighter, cheek pressed to the top of her head. Her heart hammers in her chest, terrified of what Jared might do next, but knowing that her fears are nothing compared to what Bianca must be feeling.

“I’m just...sorry. I know you’ve been planning something, and I-”

“Oh jesus, Bianca, that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you’re okay.” Courtney cradles her face and looks at her, eyes bright, brow furrowed in concern. “It was just a little weekend getaway thing, you know? We can do it another time.”

“Actually,” Asia interrupts, then looks a little chagrined when they turn to her. “Sorry for eavesdropping, I just wanted to tell you that it might be a good idea. For you to go out of town for a couple of days. I don’t want to freak you out, but...at least until the protective order is in place.”

“When will that be?” Bianca asks tiredly.

“Monday morning,” Asia says. “I promise. We have everything we need.”

Bianca nods.

“Well...if that’s what you want, we could go,” Courtney says, smoothing down her hair. “I have all our bags packed and in the car downstairs.

“What about the dogs?”

“They’re downstairs too. With Sasha. She drove me here because she was gonna watch them this weekend. Is that okay?”

Bianca nods, then asks quietly, “Can I see them first?”

“Of course!” Courtney leans forward to kiss the tears slipping down her cheeks. “Whatever you need.”

They sit together for a few more minutes, until Bianca feels composed again--as much as she can, considering the circumstances. Courtney slides off her lap and offers a hand, helping her to her feet.

The leave hand in hand, fingers laced together, Bianca gripping Courtney tightly to keep herself grounded. As they wait for the elevators, she manages to give Courtney a small, grateful smile.

[kickingitwithkirk]

A Kiss Upon Your Shoulder

Pairing: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Trouble Lacroix (OFC)

WC:3536

Warnings: 18 + only: kissing, humping M/F, intercourse, cursing, mention of addiction, angst

A/N: For @saxxxology #saxxxology vol.1 writing challenge

SONG PROMPT: Off My Mind-my favorite on the album

A/N: Set season 14 during Dean Winchester's possession by Apocalypse World's Micheal. Timeline extended and some events altered from series. I borrowed title from song lyrics.

*no beta- all mistakes are mine.

*GIF not mine

The sound of the bunker door closing reverberates through the room.

Several of the hunters around the map table stop what they're doing to watch an unusually tall Omega with long, smoky pink hair braided in a loose plait and wearing hunters garb descend the metal staircase halting at its bottom.

Sam Winchester is sitting at the far end of the table alternating between his phone receiving updates from hunters out in the field and the laptop looking for clues in the search for Dean while strategizing with Mary and Bobby their next move froze disbelieving his eyes.

“Sammy,” the Omega hesitantly says, her lightly accented voice startles him out of his stupor.

Batten down the hatches Sammy boy, Trouble just done walked back into my life… Dean used those exact words years ago introducing him to this Omega, never knowing how true they would turn out to be.

But not for him.

Sam's eyes shift into a fiery glow as his inner Alphas outrage surfaces at this imposter trying to pass itself as his long gone Omega.

“What fucking game are you playing at?” Sam gets up growling, stalking towards her pulling his demon blade.

“Sam wait!” Mary hollers at her youngest son knowing all too well the damage Sam can inflict under normal circumstances but in the state of extreme stress he’s currently under doesn’t want him to do anything he’ll regret.

The Apocalypse World hunters glance at each other perplexed having never before seeing an enraged Alpha, unsure what they should do.

After their arrival to this reality Sam gave them a crash course on life here, including the multiple genders of humans, Alpha/Beta/Omega, their confusing hierarchies and how they relate to each other.

The Alpha/Omega intricacies and nuances were still hard for them to comprehend since all of them were Betas.

The Omega cast her eyes down in deference to the large Alpha. “I'm here abo...” she doesn't finish speaking as he wraps his hand around her throat, slamming her back against a support column. She seizes his wrist as her eyes snap up meeting his glaring back before tilting her head as far as she can to the right exposing more of her throat.

Sam cautiously leans in, running his nose along her neck. The unique scent of winter, perceptible only to the Alpha under the scent blockers she’s used triggers memories he’s diligently repressed to keep this Omega off his mind come flooding back. The blade clatters loudly on the floor in the now silent room.

Wrapping his arms around her nuzzling into the curve of her neck he sucks on that spot he knows drives her crazy. Biting her lip she tangles her fingers in his long hair drawing him back up, running her tongue over his lips seeking entrance that he grants swirling his tongue around hers.

Someone's wolf whistling snaps them out of acting couple newly presented teens caught by their parents being very naughty.

“Hmm, not sorry,” she whispers nibbling on Sam’s ear making him quiver.

“Behave,” Sam mutters back taking a deep breath and subtlety adjusting himself before turning around to deal with everyone's reactions, not really ready to answer the inevitable questions.

Scenting his anxiety she twines their hands together offering a reassuring squeeze.

They’ve drawn quite a large audience from the library and adjoining hallways. People are elbowing each other grinning, whispering among themselves about their Chiefs and strange woman's reactions to each other then necking in front of everyone.

Mary stands there, arms crossed with the patented mom’s not amused look.

Sam huffs out an embarrassed laugh. “Everyone this is Trouble Lacroix, she’s my...she's an old friend.”

“I’m just an old friend after everything I went through for you?” Trouble snaps and Sam growls a warning at her tone but fuck it, she was right.

When Dean introduced them they were both junkies. Sam drugs of choice were demon blood and the power it gave him. Trouble’s was whatever made her forget her hunter fathers dominance over her as an Omega.

By the time they both got clean Sam found he could love again and she had learned to trust the Alpha in him wouldn't hurt her like others had. Sam swore during his next rut he would claim her as his Omega.

A week before he said yes to Lucifer and the subsequent showdown at Stull Cemetery he went into rut.

At their secret rendezvous, an old hunters cabin in Arkansas with his rut over Sam hadn’t claimed her, saying he couldn’t damn her, that this was his last chance to, unlike Jess, save her from certain death.

Trouble stood at the cabins window overlooking a small lake silently crying, unable to respond. The Alpha scented her sadness wanted nothing more than to comfort his Omega but all he could do was to kiss her shoulder, as he’d always done before leaving that last time.

Almost a decade later Sam can see the damage his refusals done in her sorrowful eyes.

“You kiss all your old friends like that?” Bobby quipped sarcastically eliciting a few laughs and breaking some of the tension.

“You look like Bobby Singer but you...resonate all wrong,” Trouble remarks as her light colored eyes surveys the others in the room finally coming to rest on Jack. “A Nephilim without Grace?”

“Yes, he is,” Mary answers crossing over to stand next to Jack, “how can you know that?”

Trouble shrugs “I’ve always been able to perceive things that are outside the normal spectrum.”

“You can what?” Maggie asks confused.

“The Omega can see that you’re out of tune with this reality,” Castiel states tipping his head to the side studying her, “she also possess other abilities.”

“I don’t need them to see your a dick.”

“Trouble,” Sam warns knowing she’d picked that up from Dean.

“Sorry, Angel of the Lord.” She half ass apologizes.

“And you suddenly show up here out of nowhere because?” Mary tersely inquires in her Alpha voice. Sam bristles unhappy that another Alpha, even his own mother, thinks they can question the Omega.

Releasing Sam’s hand she steps closer to Mary taking the same stance staring her straight in the eye. “I’ve seen Dean.”

Trouble tells them everything about her encounter with Dean in Nova Scotia, where she’s been the last two months.

They question is why he let her live when he’s killed others he has had contact with, another piece in a puzzle not making sense.

Sam asks her to stay but she turns him down, telling him it's safer for her to keep moving. He counters what better place is there for protection than in the heavily warded bunker?

She reluctantly agrees but only until Dean returns.

Mary makes it vehemently clear it’s problematic having an unclaimed Omega stay.

Sam reminds his mother that he is a mature Alpha, been making his own decisions without her input his whole life and with the daily suppressants he’s taken for years can control his instincts.

That got Mary’s back up, ready to argue with her youngest son, reminding him the Omegas already made the unmated Alpha act out. Bobby pulls her to the side and somehow he convinces her that the Omegas will be an assist in finding Dean. She doesn’t like but relents. Trouble is to stay in Dean's room, his Beta scent will help cover hers more to mollify Sam and a physical space between them for Mary.

Sam's frustrations over having not found Dean yet and his personal anxieties were intermittently fluctuating. The stresses he’s under, hardly eating, barely sleeping a couple hours a day while keeping track of people out on cases and figuring out how to help Jack adapt to not having his powers. Then there’s Nick, the mere mention of his name makes Sam shudder, let alone the traumatic physical and emotional memories dredged up by their face to face interactions.

Thankfully, there hadn’t been any real drama between Mary and Trouble. They’ve avoided each other as much as possible in the bunker.

It was really late or early, depending on how one looked at it, and Sam was still setting in the quiet library, waiting for the last couple of hunters to check in. “Sam, you’ve been here for hours, go to bed.” Trouble softly remarks as she walks up behind him gently running her fingers through his hair.

Sam closes his eyes enjoying her touch. “Just waiting on Maggie and Sharon to check in then I'll go.”

She snorts snagging his phone when it sounds, “Who you lying to? OK, their at the one star for the night. Everyone's accounted for.” Sam reaches for his phone and she dodges typing before handing it back and walking off.

“Cas is what...the hell that’s happening!” Sam gets up going after her.

“Bobby’s idea so go bitch to him mister ‘cause technically your off duty for the next twenty-four hours.” Trouble says unintimidated with him following her fuming, “Your exhausted Sam, you need a break so quit fighting and let us help.”

She stops at the shower-room door. “First, go bathe, you reek Alpha, then meet me in your room.” Sam goes from pissed off to aroused in three seconds. Trouble scents him, “Yeah right, it’s Netflix and chill...” She remarks them gives him a mischievous grin sashaying off.

Sam had been making courting overtures towards her, even though they were on a time limit, hoping he'd be awake long enough to make the most of this opportunity.

After the much needed shower Sam heads to his room in nothing but a low slung towel tosses it with his clothes into the dirty laundry hamper. Trouble came in carrying a tray of food locking the door behind her stops, inhaling sharply at the view of a completely naked Sam. He shivers as her eyes rove over him.

Sam’s not as bulked up as he was a decade ago, a leaner version still possessing a well defined upper body leading down to his flat stomach, the sharp v of his hips and those long legs. And between those legs...Swallowing hard and flushed Trouble moves setting the tray down on his bedside table as he hastily pulls on sweats and a grey t-shirt.

“Your three episodes behind in that series, figured you might want to watch it.” Trouble says grabbing his laptop and crawling onto his bed pulling up what he had been watching. “Have you seen it?” He asks sitting next to her.

“No, first your gonna eat,’ she gestures towards the tray with tomato rice soup, crackers and fruit, “then you can catch me up.”

By episode three Sam had eaten everything on the tray, brushed his teeth and was sacked out. Trouble shut the laptop down and placed it on the desk.

Turning out all the lights but a bedside one she slips back in next to Sam picking up the book she brought from the library. She’d been reading for awhile when Sam rolls over in his sleep, one leg landing between hers, arm draped across her waist and his head on her shoulder nuzzling into her neck murmuring, “back in my bed.”

As consciousness slowly filtered through the haze of extended sleep two things simultaneously get Sam’s attention, the cool scent of the Omega he’s spooning and his morning wood trapped between them.

“Must’a been a good dream,” Trouble yawns rolling onto her stomach, the sheet sliding down reliving her long legs and lower cheeks peeking out under her oversized T-shirt burying her head in the pillow mumbling “I was gonna leave after you fell asleep.”

Running a hand up the back of her thighs he pushes till she parts her legs far enough for him to touch her outer folds feeling how wet she already is before slipping two fingers into her tight channel. Trouble moans as he them slides deeper, making her wriggle against the mattress seeking friction against her clit. Sam crawls over wedging a knee between hers.

“Sam..we..sho..shouldn’t.”

Pulling his fingers out Sam moves straddling her legs, pinning them closed as he sits on her thighs stroking himself, using her slick as lubricant. Grasping her hips he starts rutting his cock between her ass cheeks.

Grunting, Sam shifts picks up momentum and with her under him, even like this, knows he’s not gonna last long. “Fuc..fuck Trouble..gonna cum…” Sam jerks back fisting his cock rapidly, cumming on her before falling forward and catches himself with one hand next to her, breathing hard. With his other hand Sam runs his fingers through his spending's rubbing it across her back.

Trouble pushes up onto her elbows looking back at him, “Dude, are you scent marking me?”

“Maybe.” Sam replies with a smug smile.

“So gross, Alpha.”

Sam was beyond frustrated and feeling sick on his drive back from Atlanta. The rumored sighting of Dean end up being a bust, another one of those crazies he’s sick of wasting his time chasing. Switching off the radio that's making his headache pound harder making him wish he was home already.

Trouble, utilizing her abilities, was able to help eliminate some of bogus reports. Unfortunately, when any of them got to close, Dean disappeared.

The last time she had him, he created some kind of feedback knocking her unconscious. Cas checked her over, telling Sam she would be fine.

When she woke up Trouble tells them she’s seeing Dean doing strange experimentation on different types of monsters using Archangel Grace and it scares the hell out of her.

That was Sam’s breaking point. He stormed through the bunker in full Alpha mode from the infirmary to Deans room, packed her duffel and hauled it to his room. Even Mary knew better than to get in his way this time.

Sam couldn’t get her off his mind anymore now he had her back in his bed. She allowed him hold her whenever they slept together but wouldn’t permit anything else since that morning.

The Lebanon City Limits sign was a welcome sight. Sam was sweating, shaky and just wanting to get home.

He arrived at the bunker wondering what the hell he had caught. Mary greeted him with a hug and frowned catching his scent. Sam played it off, saying the Beta who had one too many hits of the brown acid was ill and he must have caught it.

Another hunter handed him a bowl of soup and bad news about some gypsy vamps attaching truckers. He had them set up checkpoints and sat down to hack the traffic cams. Mary gripped his arm concerned as he’s typing but he says he‘s good. She didn't believe him but doesn’t push knowing he wasn't gonna stop.

Six hours later as he left Nicks room he felt a massive surge go through him, no longer able to ignore what was wrong and it was his own damn fault.

Sam had forgotten his suppressants and for the first time in years was going into rut. He made it to the end of the hall before passing out.

Cas had been by his friends bedside since Sam was found unconscious in one of the hallways days ago. He had been able to temporarily bring Sam's fever down and gave him sedatives to help him rest but with his age not being mated and having gone years without a rut his biology was demanding only cure, his chosen Omega.

Cas had called the Omega only getting her voicemail, left a message and began sending multiple texts.

He explained to Bobby that Mary had to leave the bunker, not only for her safety but the Betas also living there, unsure of how Sam will react to having another Alpha present when his Omega returned. Bobby found a case in Oregon that would occupy them for at least a week.

So Cas continued to do the only thing he could and watches over his friend.

Sam woke groggy from the sedatives to the strong scent of an Omega in heat pulling him to full consciousness.

Rolling onto his side he finds Trouble lying next to him naked, covered in a light sheen of sweat fitfully sleeping.

Moving to spoon her from behind he grips one leg hooking it over his rocking his hips sliding his engorged cock through her dripping folds, Half asleep she whimpers pulling out of his grip, drawing both legs to her chest. Rumbling in discontent Sam scoots behind her again, lines up and buries himself in her tight heat making her moan with pleasure, her cunt stretching around him.

Sam pulls out and hauls Trouble onto her hands and knees spreading her legs wide and sinks back in till his hips are flush against her ass. Feeling her relax around him Sam grasps her waist so tight bruises already forming and growling at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her slick cunt he starts pounding his hips rapidly.

Trouble reaches out grabbing the headboard to stop Sam from shoving her into it since he has six inches and nearly seventy pounds on her and is running on his instinct to mate.

Sam's knot starts to swell he continues thrusting wildly wrenches her hips up, forcing her to arch her back more as he grunts ramming the now fully engorged knot into her cunt locking them together and falls over her back, rolling his hips as she clenches him cumming.

Sam pushes himself back upright pulling her with him, flush against chest seizes a fistful of her thick hair bends to bite deeply into her neck making Trouble cry out loudly and cum again.

As they counterbalance each other Sam runs his tongue over his mark cleaning off the seeping blood helping the wound seal up faster before shifting to lay them down on the mattress.

Feeling the tug of his knot Trouble clenches tightly around him again, sending another orgasm rippling through Sam, releasing more of his seed into her.

Sam wraps his arms around Trouble, their bodies trembling from the exertion and a feeling of immense peace he’s never had before settles within him. He places a kiss upon her shoulder as it dawns on him he’s finally being to call her his omega.

“It's just every time I think about ya know its a..its like a nightmare. I can't eat, can't sleep, it’s always just there watching.” Dean bitched as they’re walking through the hallways.

“Dean, it’s just a beard, I’ve been a little busy lately” Sam remarks back exasperated and relived to have his brother back giving him a hard time.

“Yeah well, that’s not an excuse ya know, ‘cause a.. Duck Dynasty called and they just they want it all back.”

“Some people say I look good.” Sam proudly states almost telling him why he’s really kept it.

“No..no Sam, no people say that.” Dean shakes his head.

“Duck Dynasty is a step up from Dr. Sexy in some peoples opinions,” Dean turns to counter that insult disbelieving his eyes like Sam did weeks ago.

Trouble’s leaning against the wall now sporting titian tresses that rival Rowena's.

“Good to have you back Dean,” She says giving him a hug, “and I like the beard.” Walking over to Sam she pushes him against the wall wantonly kissing in front of Dean.

Breathless, Sam touches his forehead against hers running his fingers along the flannels front, “I was looking for this shirt the other day ‘mega.”

“Hmm, my bad, suppose I need to be punished Alpha.” She teasingly remakes biting her lip as Sam purrs low in his chest sliding the shirt off her shoulders.

“You’re back together?” Dean blurts out in disbelief interrupting them.

Sam turns pulling Trouble with him, her back flush against his chest reaches up moving her hair revealing his mark.

Dean looks between them, “fucking took you long enough Sammy,” he barks before continuing down the hallway grumbling, “there better not be any more surprises.”

Sam nuzzled into her neck breathing in the new honey-vanilla scent mixing with her naturally cooler one reaches down placing his large hands protectively over her womb where their surprise is resting tenderly kissing her shoulder.

[sweatycatmentality-blog]

suicide trial and error

A reflection on my past experiences living with an undiagnosed mental illness and the effects that my imbalanced state of mind had on my father’s own fragile mental health.  

An all to common journey for families with members suffering from undiagnosed mental illness that leads to tragedy.

The story I am choosing to share is not one of happy times during my childhood. It is a tragedy for which I bear a great responsibility for. My father's death was completely preventable. The cause of his death shouldn’t be classified suicide - he was murdered by my lack of understanding of his disease fueled by the teenage narcissistic tendencies which were coupled with my own undiagnosed mental illness. I accept responsibility for my actions and only hope that sharing my experience will prevent this tragedy from happening to someone else.

My relationship with my dad was always turbulent. It was cyclical, based on his mood and my own. There were ups and downs, always fueled with admiration or hatred, never anything in between. I’d only realize later in life that this was because we both suffered from untreated mental health issues - specifically bipolar and depression - the love/hate cycles coincided with our manic and depressed episodes. During the manic episodes we’d bond over our far-fetched dreams, each feeding the lies to each other of what was possible instead of accepting reality. As quickly as those episodes came, the depression crept in. This was heightened by drug and alcohol addiction on my dad’s part. Me, well I felt isolated from everyone despite having the appearance of a social life. I dealt with the feelings of being unwanted, unsuccessful, a burden on my family and friends. I questioned everyone’s perception of me, giving weight to the hurtful things bullies in school said about me, not realizing that they picked on me not because of my looks or because my family wasn’t rich, but because they got the best reactions from me. My anger and sadness shined through.

During these low points I became hostile towards my family, I was filled with rage and angry at the cards I had been dealt in terms of my family’s lack of money and the embarrassment I had of my father and how he acted - totally unpredictable, would he be sober or messed up. I lacked understanding of mental illness and didn’t know how to be empathetic towards him, primarily because I didn’t realize that he had a disease which was undiagnosed until he was in his 50s. My inability to comprehend the symptoms of his *(and my own) disease made my relationship with him unhealthy and detrimental to the wellbeing of both of us.  

I remember the first glimpse I had at the severe impact my awful, unforgiving, and uncompassionate attitude had on him was when I was in 9th grade. I sat at the kitchen table with my mom and dad on either side of me. My dad had cooked dinner, and like he always did when he chose to cook, he left the kitchen a complete disaster for my mom and me to clean up. I never understood how he could create such a mess and have no consideration for us having to clean it up. After he said dinner was ready, I always commented on the state of the kitchen to which he replied - I cooked, you all can clean. That was how it always went.

           This dinner started out the same as it always did, we said grace holding hands. The words had lost all meaning at this stage of my life. I couldn’t grasp what it was to be grateful for the food we had on the table or the roof over our heads. I was a self-absorbed, ungrateful teenager and an asshole. I see that now looking back.

After saying grace my father said “Cha (his nickname for my mom, Charlotte) get me the salt.” This sparked a fury in me as he was clearly sitting much closer to the cabinet that the salt was in and I felt as though he thought he could command my mom to fetch the salt for him merely because he cooked dinner. That wasn’t part of the deal - we cleaned, and he cooked, we were not his servants. Before I realized what I was saying I blurted out, “Why don’t you get it your f***ing self.” Silence. The next few minutes were a blur, but I believe he called me a b***h before getting up and grabbing his keys at which point my mom and I pleaded for him to stay and sit back down. We knew he was going to the bar like he always did when my mom or I commented on his drinking or exorbitant spending. His reaction was always predictable - he was never wrong, that drink or that new tech-device that we didn’t need and couldn’t afford was always justified. I have vivid memories of mom standing between him and the door begging him not to go to the bar and I would apologize profusely (most of the time) to no avail.

           This time was no different initially, he’d say to my mom to get out of his way in a deep scary tone which I knew far too well. The tone was that of rage and undeniable hatred towards us. Blaming us for disrupting a family dinner and causing him to go to the bar. Placing all the blame for the arguments on us and taking no responsibility in his role as the cause. This time when he charged for the front door in my gut, I knew that once he walked out that door everything in our lives would change for the worse. Upon his exit, I sensed that my mom shared my uneasy feeling.

           Reflecting on the incident, I am sure she felt disappointment that I once again opened my mouth and threw a match on the otherwise painless dinner. Why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut or just gotten him the damn salt myself, thereby conveying my disapproval of his commanding my mom to do his bidding but keeping the peace by still appeasing him by fulfilling that command. My mom knew that I was trying to stand up for her because in my eyes she never stood up for herself when he spoke down to her. However, this time I could see her sadness and annoyance at me. I apologized to her again, but the damage was done.

           Some time passed and my mom and I sat silently at the table not touching our plates. The dread of not knowing how he was reacting to my attack was dredging up a mass of emotions inside me. I felt ashamed and contrite, but it was too late to express those thoughts to him. He would never listen to me anyways; he needed to cool down before I apologized to him. My mom called and called my dad but was unable to reach him. He had turned his phone off. At this point I knew something terrible was going to happen. I ordered my mom to get into the car - I was 15 years old so I only had a learner’s permit - we racked our brains as we drove around to the local bars or places, we thought he might go. My mom called all of his friends, but none had heard from him. Our worry heightened when I suddenly had the idea to check the local community theater shop/rehearsal space where my mom and he volunteered. He had a key. As we were en route I called the police and asked them to meet us there informing them that I thought my dad was going to kill himself. Of course, the dispatcher immediately asks where he is and I say that I think he is at the shop, giving them the address, then they ask if he has a weapon. I had no clue. I realized I didn’t know what he was truly intending and by what means. It was the first time I recall feeling a tremendous amount of guilt for how I treated him. I had caused him so much pain that he didn’t want to live any longer.

           We pulled into the parking lot and saw his car, the cops weren’t there yet, but I ran into the shop. The door was unlocked and flung open to reveal my father on one of those lifts that utility workers use to fix telephone poles; a noose was around a rafter and the loop lay in his hands. He motioned to position his head through the loop and my mother, and I screamed for him to stop. We were pleading and apologizing, but he had no intention of stopping. This was how he was going to punish me for good. This was how he would make me learn the power of my words and the anguish and pain that they can cause. The cops entered and began asking whether he was armed, to which I screamed no and to f***ing help save him. They ordered him to come down and talk, always speaking in stern yet compassionate voices. Finally, he was down on the ground and they escorted him into the cop car. The cops said that he would be taken to a psychiatric hospital and held for 48-72 hours on an involuntary basis. After that a judge would inform us if we could seek to continue involuntary inpatient treatment based on his doctors’ opinions. Or he could volunteer to be admitted for continued inpatient psychiatric treatment - which of course he felt that he didn’t need despite his suicide attempt.

           Over the next several years there would be more attempts at suicide, all of which would occur when only I was around to deal with it. It was as if he was trying to mess with me and to show me how awful of a person he thought me to be. In retrospect, I do acknowledge that as an undiagnosed and therefore untreated person suffering from the same disease as him, I played a huge role in his untimely death. All the attempts leading up to his successful suicide in 2008 were inflicted by my irresponsible frame of mind and inability to be empathetic towards his condition. I must deal with that awareness for the rest of my life and it plagues me every day.

           I am sharing this story not only as a means of self-therapy, hoping that it will help me accept that I was not myself during the period of my life in which he took his life and that he too played a major role in his own self-destruction. I also hope that by sharing this tragedy with others that it will expose how prevalent mental health issues are in society for people of all ages and that without adequate diagnostic opportunities of our youth we will inevitably see more tragedies unearthed in our aging populations. Too many people go through life no knowing that their pain is due to chemical imbalances and can be treated. However even with increasing exposure to diagnostic opportunities, limited treatment options for the lower-income populations will continue to prevent those who truly need help from being able to receive it. We must do better as a society. We owe it to our youth to find solutions to make life easier for them to cope with. Life should be cherished and not taken advantage of. By increasing awareness of the prevalence of mental health issues in society we can only better the livelihood of all.

[dulciscoeur]

It took me some time, but the last chapter of Lapses is finally up. Click here if you want to read the whole fic on AO3. Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Lou Miller/Debbie Ocean Summary: Lost time doesn’t matter now. Trigger warnings: child neglect/abuse, trauma, dissociation. It’s angsty!

Lapses

Chapter 1: Conquest

Lou wakes just past three thirty. January is unapologetically cold, bringing along freezing air that filters through the places of her loft that don’t quite close or aren’t sealed properly. The only illumination comes from city lights outside and the pink Christmas lights on the opposite wall that she forgot to turn off last night, her attention focused on something-- someone else. Frost creeps up the windows behind Debbie’s sleeping form next to her the same way that realization of what they did just hours before creeps up her spine to settle vividly inside her mind. It definitely makes the cut for her top three most precious memories. She smiles, lets warmth sink into her chest when her eyes travel to Debbie’s face.

Debbie looks softened like this, no barriers around her. Lou thinks of lilies and soft summer breeze. Shadows from the snow falling dance across her face, bare shoulders and comforter like military expedition ghosts. Her lashes, dark and curled, rest against the softness of her cheeks, lips slightly parted. Fingertips ache to touch them, itching at the sense-memory, now familiar with how they feel against the pad of her skin. Lou moves as quietly as she can to rest on her side, right hand advances slowly as does the tightening in her heart.

The sound of the ice maker slices the quiet of the night, and she retrieves her hand as if she were a child caught doing something wrong.

Maybe she is.

Falling in love with Debbie came organically, an inevitable fate that she couldn’t nor wanted to fight against. Doing something about it though, that was something different. She was painfully aware of that, looking away whenever she caught herself admiring the way Debbie’s mouth curled when she spoke, making sure her hand didn’t linger on her lower back for too long when guiding her through doors, or straight up leaving the room when her emotions were too much to handle, her lone-wolf personality as an excuse.

Debbie interrupts her thoughts mumbling something in her sleep and snuggling closer to Lou, smooth legs wrapped around her like silky vines. The warmth emanating from her body is well appreciated, and she sighs at the time lost. When Debbie squeezes Lou with her arms, a small smile on her lips barely imperceptible in the dim light, Lou closes her eyes. Lost time doesn’t matter now. She lets the current of her emotions pull her back to sleep.

Chapter 2: War

Lou’s sipping the last of her coffee when Debbie wakes, eyes wide for a moment. Lou watches her from the small kitchen, half expecting Debbie to sigh in relief once she realizes where she is. She knows Debbie got good at sleeping at unfamiliar places, growing up with a dysfunctional family that would take her to jobs if needed. But this is not a hotel room, or the back of a car, or even a friend of her dad’s house. This is Lou’s bed and so Lou’s not really disappointed when, instead, Debbie sits up and smooths her hair, face twisting with concern. Judging by the way she does sigh, definitely not relieved, she’s either still confused or, on the contrary, very aware of where she is and what’s happened.

Lou suspects the latter.

She wasn’t expecting Debbie to have a breakdown once guilt (or regret) settled in, exactly. But she’s cursed with knowledge and some part of her she’d tried really hard to ignore figured she would react like this. Debbie’s predictable that way.

It still takes her by surprise— the tightening that forms a lump in her throat, the prickling of hot tears behind her eyes. She finds a distraction by pouring water into a cup of tea she had prepared for Debbie, instinctively dissolving two teaspoons of sugar in it, painfully aware that she’s done this so many times before under different circumstances that she knows how Debbie takes her tea without having to even think about it. Of course.

Feeling strangely out of place, she moves slowly and deliberately to let Debbie know she’s there. Debbie’s peripheral vision catches the movement and she regards her presence with a stare, whole body going tense. Her face is impassive, but Lou sees right through her.

Quietly, so as not to scare her: “Hey.”

Brown eyes remind her faintly of a scared deer before Debbie looks away, eyeing the items of clothing carelessly discarded the night before scattered on the bed and floor, mentally targeting each, and then standing up to collect and most likely erase (at least) the physical evidence of what happened between them as fast as she can, not even bothering to hide her nakedness.

Deep burgundy underwear in hand, she has the decency of darting her eyes at her when she says, “Lou,” her name on her lips a blend between an embarrassed apology and a low warning. Don’t.

It absolutely guts her, how Debbie acts sometimes. Lou’s used to ignoring it, the way Debbie just pretends her actions don’t have any impact on the people around her, as if the things she does and says don’t affect anyone except her. A whole minute of silence, Debbie in her bra and panties now, and Lou’s tired of pretending.

There’s a coppery taste on the back of her tongue when she speaks.

“We need to talk about this.” She slides the mug intently towards her on the breakfast bar that serves to divide both the kitchen and the bedroom, and them both. An unspoken threat.

Debbie stares at the mug as if it were a Molotov cocktail, then back at her, and Lou senses her trying to decide whether or not to act like she doesn’t know what she means. Scrutinizing her, she holds her gaze steadily, impassively. Another minute of silence (or hours, Lou doesn’t know anymore) where the weight of her words thread through the space between them, making its heavy presence impossible to ignore, humming and buzzing in the air like tension wires.

A sigh at last, defeated, Debbie gives her that face that says she’s irritated by Lou mind-reading her before moving to the end of the bed where her pantsuit is.

Lou can’t find the strength to look away from the paleness of Debbie’s legs starting to disappear as she puts the dark grey fabric on. She finds herself taking mental notes of the newly discovered birthmark on her upper thigh, almost hiding where the silk of her underwear begins; convinced that would be the last time she’ll see it. Africa-shaped, kind of. Faint cinnamon in color. Small, but noticeable if you’re close and interested enough. Which she is, both. And then the pants move upwards, upwards, past it, and Lou suddenly feels like she’s lost something valuable.

Her gaze flicks back to Debbie’s face, where a pantomime of emotions plays out across her features.

Debbie breathes in deeply, smiles a sad smile right into Lou, and says, quiet, like an afterthought, “Okay.”

Chapter 3: Famine

It hurts Debbie, looking at Lou’s hopeful expression and knowing it’s about to turn into something much more hurtful because of her. So she doesn’t, because it’s pitiful and that’s the last emotion she wants her face to show when she takes one last look at Lou and says the words that weight heavy on her chest, struggling to come out and cause inevitable damage. She’s also selfish and knows that look will haunt her later, and God knows for how long, which is the last thing she wants. They’ve known each other for years now, and Debbie sort of curses Lou for making her do this. Lou knows better than to force her to explain her feelings (feelings she’s more than happy to ignore and go back to pretending that nothing changed between them), knows better than to trick her into confessing why this (whatever this is) shouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Debbie manages to get through the awkwardness of getting dressed while pretending that Lou wasn’t blatantly staring, and finds herself moving to sit on the small couch where Lou’s already taking up half the space with her legs spread. She considers sitting on the coffee table to put more distance between them without it being so obvious, but she’s not so certain it will hold her weight and isn’t particularly inclined to find out. At last, she settles for the second best option, which is as far away from Lou at the other end of the couch as she can.

She feels Lou breathing deliberate shallow puffs of air in and out waiting for Debbie to look at her, the burn of those stubbornly expectant blue eyes that surely already predicted what she’ll say but probably want to, knowing Lou, search what truly hides in Debbie’s eyes when their gazes lock as she finally speaks, looking to find any hint of emotions that’d contradict her words and give her away. So Debbie keeps her face lowered, glares intently at anything that isn’t Lou, partly because she can’t bear exposing herself like that, but mostly because she’s never been one to make things harder than necessary. A pragmatist, if she’s ever seen one.

Still.

Her mind runs with thousands of useless excuses she could use to get out of the situation. Her eyes flicker to her phone on the bed, hoping for something to come through instead, a call about an emergency that requires immediate attention.

No such luck.

Reluctantly, she decides that Lou deserves better than her stalling. She deserves better than her, period. As ready as she’ll ever be and not wanting to prolong the tension any longer, she opens her mouth, only to be interrupted by Lou.

“At least have the decency of looking at me when you say it,” comes dryly, measured voice through clenched teeth.

Oh. So she really is tired of letting her off the hook. Fine.

Debbie sternly instructs her face to stay impassive, tilts her head and finds Lou watching her almost defiantly. Defiant is better than hopeful, she supposes. She’s not sure why that doesn’t make her feel any better. If anything, the pang in her chest feels even more painful than before.

“This can’t happen again.” She says simply and honestly, and it’s about as cold as she was afraid it would be.

“I thought you’d say that,” Lou says automatically with an irritably knowing look on her face, but the usual fondness in her voice is nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a disappointed but unsurprised tone.

Debbie doesn’t remember moving closer, but somehow, her leg is almost pressed against Lou’s, and she’s acutely aware of her own body betraying her, embracing the warmth that seeps through her skin with a sigh she thinks for a second she had managed to suppress, but if Lou tensing next to her is anything to go by, she hadn’t. Lou notices because of course she does, she’s fluent in Debbie.

Debbie almost rolls her eyes. There’s an odd stirring and restlessness in her limbs as if she were physically rejecting this whole situation.

She is used to being the one in control. She is used to well thought out plans that she ploys carefully in advance so that everything happens as it should, her mind calculating every option and possible outcome in every situation because being a few steps ahead makes her feel safe. She’s used to knowing what to say and do, which is why her mood further darkens as helplessness takes over her.

She’s never meant for any of this to happen because yes, they flirt, their bodies are drawn to each other magnetically and the air is filled with undeniable chemistry buzzing and sparkling between them even in the most innocent exchanges, but before last night, Debbie could count on Lou to efficiently make a witty remark when the atmosphere got too heavy and lighten the tension so that Debbie could breathe again.

It’s not that she feels like she’s drowning when Lou invades personal space or says something that’s charged with a little too much double entendre, enough to make her chest heave unpleasantly, which happens more often than she’d like. It’s just that the air catches in her throat when there’s not enough physical distance between them and her mind feels foggy at the innuendos and the blood thrumming incessantly in her ears makes it impossible for her to concentrate on whatever task she’s taking care of that needs to be done properly lest she makes out of character errors— which leads to her feeling like she’s losing touch with who she is, which then leads to her needing something to ground herself. That something usually being Lou reading her body language and taking a step back instinctively, giving her space, or Lou willing her eyes to erase the unbearable adoration (raw enough to suffocate Debbie sometimes) that shows there when Debbie catches her staring without meaning to, or Lou changing the subject and guiding the conversation into (safe) work-related territory when her actual feelings for Debbie lurk behind a teasing joke. All things that Debbie greatly appreciates because she relies on them being part of the equation, part of the routine.

That is, until now.

“I just can’t afford to lose you, Lou, when I eventually fuck up,” Debbie catches herself saying, only the slightest hint of a waver in her voice.

Lou seems to chew on that for a minute, but apparently decides it’s not good enough for her. Debbie sighs impatiently, not sure what Lou really expects.

“I’ll hurt y--”

“Oh, don’t fucking patronize me!” Lou bites out wryly, offended that Debbie would still try to take the easy way out. “Don’t make this about me. You don’t wanna face your feelings, fine, but don’t pretend this is about you worrying about me,” her voice is brittle and crisp.

Lou’s only inches away from her face now, a fact that Debbie only noticed because all her instincts are telling her to move back as if Lou’s hard expression were scalding her, earnest as ever, eyes roving across her face trying to read her.

Debbie can feel herself pale despite her best efforts to keep her composure, words caught in her throat. “I--”

She sees the exact moment Lou realizes she’s pushing the right buttons, holding her gaze and refusing to let go. Her mind registers the shift with panic, caught like a prey with no escape. Lou’s intent on further needling at her, Debbie knows she wants to make sure she feels as off-balance as she’s feeling.

“I’m more than capable of keeping things professional, Debbie. In fact, let’s keep it at that from now on. That means you don’t get to send mixed signals,” Lou snaps heatedly, standing up abruptly and whirling to walk towards the bed to grab Debbie’s phone and put it inside her purse forcefully.

Debbie stands up awkwardly, looking at Lou inching closer to her, tries to clear the dismay from her face when Lou shoves the purse to her chest, dismissing her.

“You don’t get to flirt with me the way you do and then push me away whenever you feel like me flirting back is too much.” Lou hisses, careful to keep her voice low, threateningly forcing her to step back towards the exit without ever touching her, even when Debbie trips on her feet a little. 

“You don’t get to put your hands on me and then act like I’m the one who’s pushing it too far when I lean into your touch,” Lou pushes on, almost nose to nose, blindly opening the door beside her, glare glued to her own. 

“You don’t get to act jealous and possessive when a woman looks at me, because I see you, Debbie, and I’m not your fucking toy. You don’t get to play with my feelings anymore,” Lou finishes, radiantly angry; but before she shuts the door in her face, Debbie manages to catch the hurt that passes across her blazing eyes.

Chapter 4: Death

Debbie’s eight the first time it happens. It was supposed to be exciting, the first winter storm of the year, but that day something more than just snow falls around her and eight-year-old Debbie dies, along with most of her innocence and all of her immaturity.

And at that moment, dying felt like this: Being held from behind by big muscular arms that are too strong for her fragile body. The cold barrel of a gun like a kiss of death pressed against her temple, the foul smell of alcohol hot in contrast at her cheek when the man speaks,

“I won’t hurt her,” he says, voice thick. You already are, Debbie wants to say, “if you just give my boss his money back.”

The playroom is freezing despite the fact that the heater is working. The temperature was not supposed to be a problem because Debbie took it all into consideration when she made the list of things she needed to keep herself warm: her fluffiest stuffed toys, piled up pillows and blankets on the carpet and a mug of hot cocoa. Now the improvised fort sits abandoned and the beverage must be as cold as she is in just her pajamas.

His father looks at her like he’d just realized she was there, and Debbie tries her best not to cry because he doesn’t like it when she does but the tears prickle her eyes all the same.

Oh, but then.

The hesitance she reads in his face digs a hole deep and wide in her chest that webs out and expands, expands, expands with every passing second until there’s no more room and suddenly something clicks and everything shatters, tears spilling down her face that somehow have nothing to do with the stranger holding her and everything to do with the one that’s looking at her like he’s considering her worth with mild resentment, like she just cost him his plan. She understands, because she’s little but she’s always been too smart for her own good.

Mr. Ocean opens his mouth to speak, but before he does, the man’s cell phone rings and he interrupts him to answer, the hand holding the gun still aimed at Debbie’s head.

She stands in place, dead but not quite gone. Listening, but not really.

She somewhat feels like she’s escaped her body to watch the scene develop from above, like the camera that hangs on the corner of that very room— unmoving, quiet, like an all-seeing eye rhythmically blinking red.

Her gaze darts down to stare at her own chest quizzically like it’s a stranger’s, contracting with sobs that she didn’t know were breaking through her. It looks like it should hurt but it doesn’t. She tries to logic her way out of it, to will her body to stop whatever it’s doing because it’s scaring her, but there’s no response. She feels empty, like static on a radio signal that chirps with every little breath she takes but that communicates nothing but buzzing hollowness, interference noise that makes no sense to her.

The idea of continuing to exist physically trapped, limited and controlled this way suddenly overwhelms her.

She says, “I can’t feel,” but it comes from the voice inside her head instead of her own, the words caught in her throat like fragments of bone.

She forces herself, ruthlessly, to swallow in much the same way she does when they have Borscht for dinner. Her mouth is sandpaper dry, but she thinks it would be silly of her to ask for water.

Instead, as if she were in class, she tries really hard to pay attention to the man’s chatter that continues to reach her ears like her head is sunken underwater, distorted. With difficulty, because the lurch of terror that is making her sick is still there, she follows the sound of the voice that seems to be coming from another room until the syllables start to make sense. There are curse words, lots of them, then something about his boss’s rule, not harming any kids and coming back. For her father, she supposes. It should make her feel bad. She feels guilty that it doesn’t.

When the man lets her go, she barely registers the burn on her knees as they hit the carpet.

After some time, when she looks up, there’s no one else in the room with her. After some more time, when the sun is starting to set, Danny finds her, curled up on the bed of pillows and talking to herself. Lately, he’s been ignoring her because he thinks he’s a grown-up, and Debbie only notices his presence when he asks if she’s seen his special deck of cards.

“No,” she says. Something in the way she’s said it must’ve caught his attention. He stares at her. She stares back. “What?”

“What’s wrong?” Danny asks in that worried voice that’s reserved only for her.

She tells him what happened mechanically because they never told her she should keep it a secret and she likes that he is finally talking to her again like he used to. She decides she won’t cry because she’s afraid he’ll think she’s not strong and she wants to prove that she is. Danny looks at her like she’s weird, as if trying to figure out what’s wrong with her. Before Debbie can get defensive because she thinks he doesn’t believe her, he rolls his eyes, embarrassed about what he’s about to do, then hugs her for the first time in months and sits with her to teach her about Schödinger’s cat.

He says it might make her feel better.

It... doesn’t.

She understands the concept, kind of. Mostly. But it still upsets her that Danny is defending their father to some extent and acting like “dad isn’t capable of doing such a thing.”

“Yeah, to you,” she thinks.

“You weren’t there to see it but I was!” she wants to say.

Instead, because she’d hate to make her brother sad:

“Thanks. I feel much better.” Her index and middle finger are crossed behind her back. “Now leave, loser. Unless you wanna have a sleepover with me and Ms. Sprinkles.”

She looks pointedly at the light pink teddy bear that’s been sitting next to them smiling perpetually.

He leaves and she doesn’t sleep, that night and many others, wondering what would’ve happened if rules about harming children didn’t exist and her father hadn’t been interrupted.

Debbie hears what people don’t say. Always has: the “I’m not” behind every dishonest “I’m sorry” she’s ever received, the “I’m doing this to hurt you” that’s covered up by “this is for your own good”, the “but” after every “I love you” before the words are even spoken.

“but you can’t give me what I want and this is not enough.”

“but there’s something wrong with the way you handle emotions that I can’t quite figure out and I rather leave.”

“but what is it with you and your family?”

“but you won’t open up and let me in.”

To read unspoken words and non-verbal cues is freeing as it is useful. She did make a living out of it after all, collecting paychecks thanks to her ability. Or more like stealing them. But for all her skills, she’s pretty bad at reading angry Lou, because her anger has never been directed at her and she doesn’t know what to make of that because it’s not the type of anger she’s used to being surrounded by growing up.

No shouting, no threats, no punishment. There’s only cold and she’s good at reading people but she’s not good at reading... nothingness.

She’s lost track of how many times she’s knocked on the door that Lou just closed, fighting not to let her body sink to the floor. She waits for the clamor, for the door to open again and the sharp accusations to cut deep into her but they never come. She waits and waits and waits but she’s not sure what answer she’s expecting, if there will be one at all, because she’s saying something but she doesn’t know if she’s apologizing or cursing or making sense at all because already she’s starting to experience the sounds coming out of her mouth in the surreal, distorted way she recognizes and loathes.  

Lou’s silence is so loud she can hear it over her own heartbeat thrumming erratically in her chest and echoing in her ears.

Her heart weighs heavy in her chest when she accepts silence is an answer in itself like she used to accept her mom telling her TV static is expected during a storm. The last thing she remembers before willing her feet to leave is telling Lou “I understand”, and braces herself to listen to white noise buzzing and humming, glitched and broken, for however long it takes for the signal to come back.

Lou doesn’t speak to her for four days. Her absence in the aftermath is abrupt, it leaves a mute echo everywhere and only hollowness to fill her outstretched hands with, wrapping her up in a cemetery quiet similar to the one she sees in the movies after a grenade has gone off.

Coincidentally, she feels the passing of time acutely during those days, like a sharp blade that is slowly sinking into her, making it bleed pain inside - pain that seeps over, under, around.

She’s thought about calling her, about texting her. She’s considered knocking on her door, going to the places she knows she frequents, asking about her to a friend in common.

Endless possibilities, but all of them with the same result: breaking her trust by disrespecting her boundaries. And as a result, watching the ledge she is standing on begin to crumble, only to shatter and widen the space between them like a rift in the landscape.

Lou has never asked anything of her before. Debbie owes her this, respecting that she wants to be left alone.

It is more than she knows what to do with, but she tries.

It’s hard.

Debbie thinks that she should be used to knowing what dying inside feels like by now. She became capable of not being paralyzed by it because she’d been forced to adapt to survive as a little girl. Good times. The thing is, after she’d left the family house, she never felt the need to fight to regain control of herself again, and now that is happening to her more often than she considers fair and she feels out of practice.

She tries to remember how to block out her emotions enough to function properly but not so much that she disconnects from her body, because that’s even worse.

She can’t remember and she loses herself, over and over again. Each time is different, each time feels the same.

Five days after that day, the day when everything went wrong, she gets a text from her. Lou tells her she should talk with Tammy, then doesn’t reply to her when she tries to make conversation. Debbie takes the hint with a heavy heart, grateful that at least she is speaking to her, and eventually meets Tammy at a café after a long panic attack bent over behind a drugstore that has seen better days.

Tammy counts four different pill boxes at the bottom of Debbie’s purse when she opens it to put the paper with all the necessary information of the target into her bag. She is smart enough not to mention it but she does ask,

“Is that everything you need?”

“Yes,” she answers too quickly. Tammy looks at her, achingly sweet. Debbie’s right leg bounces impatiently.

“Debbie...” her voice holds an extra layer of caution like the one people use on wounded animals.

Even knowing she means well, she resents her for it.

“I’m fine,” she says, flat.

She’s not. Tammy must notice because she touches her arm very gently before saying goodbye.

Debbie finishes her tea watching the snowflakes fall outside the café window, one after the other. If she could muster any sort of fondness for it she would, but she just rolls her eyes because she has come to hate winter. No need for another reminder of how she feels inside.

There is a party being held at this hotel, Tammy had told her. Lots of rich people. Lots of stupid rich people. Lots of stupid rich people drinking. Easy. Tammy also telling her Lou would be there had been more than enough for Debbie to put extra effort into the way she looked. It was presumptuous and she hated herself a little bit for it but it made sense earlier.

Now, not so much. Dressing up is no fun when the only person she is hoping will notice is nowhere to be seen.

She mostly succeeds in not letting her eyes roam the room looking for her and do her part of the job -  like she said, easy, really: run into businessman, swap key cards and put his in the plant pot near the entrance for Lou to pick it up and do the rest - but she can’t help the rapid fluttering of her heartbeat at even the suggestion of blonde hair.

It’s done in a matter of seconds and she sits at the waiting lounge by the reception area instead of joining the party, eyes glued to the Monstera Deliciosa.

She has to tear her gaze away when she feels fingers poking her shoulder. For a moment, her traitorous mind thinks it could be Lou and a rush of adrenaline courses through her but when she turns, it is a man that is looking at her expectantly. She raises her eyebrows in question.

“Hi, I’m Joe. Can I buy you a drink?” and then says something about seeing her there all alone but she’s distracted enough to miss most of his words.

She never gets the chance to see Lou that night-- by the time Debbie turns around to look back at the plant pot she is already gone.

Excusing herself absentmindedly to a confused Joe, she laments a quiet “maybe next time” on her way out, though she is not talking to or about him.

In the parking lot, she looks up at the barely shining stars hidden behind clouds that announce storms, self-conscious in only her aubergine dress. She tells herself she is shaking from the cold breeze that is curling sweetly around her, but she can’t justify the apprehension that’s radiating from her heart and pushing against the slashes of her ribcage.

So she looks up for a long time, lets the night engulf her until it feels like she’s suddenly in space. Darkness, no oxygen, no sound except for the rush of blood in her ears.

The silence expands.

There’s a sob trapped in her throat when she finally grabs the car keys from her purse, eager to get home and take off a dress that feels tighter by the minute, clinging to her in a suffocating way.

Debbie ponders what to do with the money on her account now that she’s not spending half of it going out to eat with Lou or purchasing top-shelf vodka from the fancy liquor store across the street to keep in her apartment— no use in doing that if the person she used to buy it for doesn’t stop by anymore.

The last bottle she bought for Lou has been sitting there half empty, untouched, for a week now. She feels like it’s mocking her by just existing but stops that train of thought before it evolves into something else and drags her away.

She grabs the bottle of wine next to it instead, her laptop, sits on the couch. She checks online shops to see if there’s anything worth buying instead of stealing.

Six open tabs later, she can’t really think of anything she wants besides... well.

She researches properties in Italy just to imagine what it would be like to live someplace else, far away.

It’s two weeks later that she finally meets Lou, really meets, for the first time in what felt like forever.

It’s not like they haven’t seen each other at all lately. They have, but definitely not like this. Most of the conversations about how to approach their jobs have been over the phone and whenever they did saw each other it was painfully impersonal. They talked briefly about going separate ways after what happened but agreed that it made no sense to either of them. They’re just that good when they work together, seemed stupid to waste their potential.

Although in moments like these, Debbie regrets their decision.

Lou’s gaze focuses on anything over Debbie’s shoulder but never on her when she meets her in the casino bar. She sits next to her, close enough to touch if she wanted to (was allowed to), which is already nerve-racking enough, but then her hand covers Debbie’s, discreetly putting there the earpiece that’ll whisper numbers in her ear when she goes to play blackjack in a minute, and bittersweet ache fills her lungs. She feels like she might burst into tears when Lou breaks contact, already missing it.

Lou seems unaffected, a fake-warm smile on her face while she goes over her part of the plan monitoring the cameras. Debbie nods at her and tries to breathe through the pounding of a heart that seems too big for her chest so it looks they’re having a normal conversation to anyone who might be watching.

She tries to ignore Lou’s hand resting too close to hers, but can’t help it when her pinky twitches involuntarily to brush against Lou’s.

Debbie feels a hot rush of shame, embarrassment coloring her cheeks pink when Lou pulls her hand away almost immediately, giving her an accusatory look.

“Lou,” she says. Sorry, she means.

Both of them stay in silence, looking at each other for seconds that feel like forever.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” is all Lou says, and is gone before Debbie can respond.

Debbie stands to do what she came here to do on autopilot.

It becomes a routine. Days of silence that become a week, sometimes more, and then a text or a phone call or, if luck is on her side, she gets to see her.

“You look like shit,” Lou says one night after pulling off a job successfully, her smile the closest thing to experiencing what heaven is like.

They’re at the rooftop of the second hotel they’ve checked into with fake names in as many days. Lou is usually gone right after she finishes her part, so Debbie is pleasantly surprised she is still there with her, looking at her in a way she’s not quite familiar with. Almost tender, like the look the Lou that usually bleeds into her dreams has, but not quite. There’s an elusiveness and vulnerability to it that serves as a reminder of what she’s done to her, and suddenly all the exhaustion and sleep deprivation and guilt and shame she’s been burying hit. She is so, so tired she thinks any second her legs might give away. She sort of wishes they do, just so she would have an excuse to look away from Lou’s eyes.

“I also feel like shit,” she says, and hopes it didn’t sound as pitiful as she thinks.

Two things happen:

Something about the way Lou’s hands shake makes Debbie think she is about to reach out to her, a thought that is only reinforced by the way the air, biting and crisp just seconds ago, seems to shift and turn into a current of nervous anticipation, humming between them like a live wire.

A group of friends chooses right that moment to open the door that leads to where they are, startling them-- and just like that, the moment is gone.

In some ways, Debbie feels as though she’s been waiting her whole life for it to end.

“I should go,” Lou half-whispers, but to Debbie’s complete surprise, she doesn’t move.

The wind had ruffled through her blond hair and her eyes seem to be sparkling and it’s only then that Debbie realizes just how much she’s missedher. Warmth spools through her organs, for the first time in ages. She doesn’t want Lou to go. She tells her that.

Lou wavers.

Thoughts whirling, spiraling, Debbie blurts out, “Let’s go to my place. Let’s just talk.”

Lou considers this, frowns for a moment as she contemplates an answer.

“Please,” Debbie adds softly, and the low timbre of her voice is enough to make Lou nod.

“Okay,” Lou breathes, and it’s filled with so much-- something familiar, something electrifying and pulsating and right.

The tiny quirk to her lips, the molten eyes that shine as if the sun had set in their depths ignite a flicker of hope inside Debbie. She breathes in, feels a pressure against her ribs, scribbles of emotions weaving a thread, like a spiderweb, around her heart, stitching up the broken parts together and mending the cracks.

“Okay.” She repeats, voice only trembling a little.

Everything is quiet around them except for the sound of heels piercing the silence and echoing on the city streets as they make their way to her apartment.

Determined to keep her nervousness at bay, Debbie focuses her attention on her steps, studying the ground moving underneath her feet, the yellowy blobs of light thrown downward by street lamps, the shadows that contrast with the neon pink that dances with a tidal motion as they pass by a tattoo parlour. The lights wavers and flares in yesterday’s rain reflection, and it’s not long until she feels dizzy and has to will her gaze to focus on something else.

Lou, looking straight ahead, all business, doesn’t seem to notice the way her eyes roam over her body, appreciating the black turtleneck that insinuates soft curves, the red faux-fur jacket thrown on top that ends at her hips where toned legs clad in leather pants start and end in graphite ankle boots to tie everything together.

Just when she’s about to complain about how long it’s taking them to get to her place, Lou stops abruptly, and Debbie almost bumps into her.

“Like what you see?,” she jokes, amused, and Debbie would’ve acted like she wasn’t blatantly staring if she weren’t too tired to pretend she wasn’t doing just that.

And this Lou who is trying to hide in the shadows the playful smile at the curve of her mouth, whose gaze feels like it’s reaching something remote inside her, reminds her so much of the Lou that would throw an extra blanket on her in the middle of the night or bring her something to eat when she would forget how to be a person that she wants to swallow the faint curl of her lips with her own and just soak in the warmth that is working through her body and pouring over and into every part of her. It’s hard to stop herself from reaching out, but she does, too afraid of breaking this image that seems to soften her around the edges, diffusing the coldness that had settled into a pang in her chest ever since she stopped talking to her.

“I’ve missed you,” is all she murmurs. Is all she can say.

This time, not only Lou’s eyes don’t skitter away from hers at the raw honesty, but there’s no bitterness to her voice when she eventually says,

“Yeah,” she agrees, not scornful, neither her tone nor her look. Just understanding in that way of hers that still surprises Debbie to this day.

Lou has written her code into hers with such naturality that it’s hard not to believe they’re not intrinsically linked, she is so planted into her that she is able to sense everything she’s feeling as if she were experiencing the emotions herself. There is a part of her that is afraid she will never be able to fit as seamlessly into Lou’s life here as she had been able to fit into hers. But standing in front of her apartment with the world seemingly slowed to a standstill in a city looks like it’s been here forever, silent and untouched and unwavering, she makes a decision.

“Let’s get inside,” Debbie says after a beat. Lou nods.

Her grip is tight on the keys when she moves to open the door. If she listens closely, she can pick up the steady sound of Lou’s breathing behind her, even over the thunderous beat of her own heart, and sense the tenseness of her posture mirroring hers. She feels faintly sick with anticipation as she steps inside.

By march the winter is already starting to die, but the cold in the flat is still present-- delicate, calm, the fading baseline at the end of a song. She doesn’t have to ask Lou to take a seat because Lou is already moving to her spot on the couch, the one Debbie avoided even looking at just hours ago and it’s almost like nothing ever happened between them.

Almost, anyway.

Lou is looking up at her like she’s waiting for something and, oh. Debbie had forgotten how her irises look under the soft glow of the fish tank, fire burning blue.

The scent of her perfume is comforting as she closes the distance between to sit next to her, hands pressed between her knees. Lou doesn’t comment on her closeness but clears her throat impatiently. Debbie knows she’s invited her for a reason other than just sitting in silence.

She wants to say Don’t make me say everything you already know but she’s tired of disappointing the people she cares about.

Fuck it.

“I need a drink, first,” she says, mostly to herself. Lou agrees with the softest smile, nodding.

It is essential to her psyche to distract herself so as not to have an anxiety attack, so she takes her time walking over to the kitchen, putting some ice cubes into two glasses and pouring more than enough whiskey into them. When she comes back, she finds Lou in the same place she’s left her, only mildly surprised she’s still there. Lou stares back with interest through her inspection, head slightly tilted to one side.

She offers one glass to her as she swipes a droplet of condensation off the side of her own, sitting next to her once again. They sip in silence for a second, both cognizant of how they filled in the void last time they were in a similar situation.

It isn’t the liquor, but she finds her throat cleared to speak, emboldened by it, committed.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, meeting her eyes, sharp and full of emotion. It’s a relief to look at her and see something familiar.

“I know,” Lou says.

It’s not enough, though. She needs to get this right.

“No, listen,” she continues, conscious of their proximity. “You were right,” she acknowledges. “I was-- I am terrified of my feelings.”

It’s comforting how transparent she sounds when she says it. Lou chews her lip, light dancing to life in the once guarded ice of her eyes, making her feel twelve and daring.

A sort of sound of amusement, and then: “Feelings, huh? I think we’re going too fast.”

Lou’s mouth, shaped like laughter, makes it hard for Debbie to concentrate, but with a proud tilt of her chin she manages to say,

“Feelings, yeah. I just... It’s not an excuse, but I don’t have much experience with those.”

“Deb—” Lou starts, with a soft look accompanied by an even softer smile.

“And I’m tired of that,” she goes on quietly, frown heavy on her face.

She thinks of how right the confession feels, and how true it is. For someone who considers herself strong and fearless, all her life she had instinctively leapt back when it came to facing her emotions, used to disdain emotions because to her, they meant weakness-- weakness she didn’t need or want. She has sought physical company as frequently as she wanted, but never committed to anything past that because she’s experienced first hand what loving someone does to you if things were to go wrong.

But things don’t have to be that way, she understands that now.

“And if I’m being completely honest, I really didn’t want to hurt you.”

“But that’s not your decision to make, is it?” she asks, voice imbued with the knowledge of one who already knows the answer.

The way she is looking at her is something out of a movie, in that way of hers that even if the best artist were to paint her they wouldn’t get the emotions quite right. So she looks and looks and looks. She doesn’t answer but she lets herself enjoy the longing, the unbreakable circling, the pressure of every single one of her molecules being pulled by Lou’s gravity. She doesn’t answer, not with words, but she lets herself fall into everything that is Lou, her lips against hers a near-worshipful thing, and for once, she’s not afraid of how Lou makes her want for things she never thought she would.

All her guilt collapses until it’s nothing but a flat surface where she can rebuild again, something better, something with Lou.

That is the last thought that reigns in her mind as she pulls her closer, fingers tracing the nape of her neck, slipping through silky hair like she’s holding onto a lifeline. And then she’s too preoccupied with the delirious torment of Lou’s body pressing against her-- skin warm, mouth pliant, greedy-- to think about anything else.

[scrivenerofmossflower]

From the Depths

Word Count: ~5.2k I did the thing. Bless @fuzzhugs​ for the original story seed, and @wuddshipp​ for the art. It wound up far longer than I originally intended, but I’m not complaining (much). Un-beta’ed, any mistakes are my own.

Summary: What if Martin had gone to sea after Marshank? 

Any beast living along the sea knew that the best time to search for salvage was after a storm, and after last night’s tempest, Welf was certain she’d find a few gems along the tideline. Shortly after dawn, with black clouds still rolling their way eastwards, Welff slung her loose canvas bag across her back and began picking her way down the cliffs. As she passed the small garden, she gave the thick, woody stems of the blackberry bush a sentimental pat. Some of the dirt had been washed away near the drop off, but the roots had worked themselves deep, and the scraggly bush had the obstinacy necessary to survive on the unforgiving northern coasts.

Welff brushed her apron off and gave it a single hard shake once she reached the ground to clear it of grit and grime. She cast a cursory glance to the horizon, then either way along the beach, before she trotted out to the edge of the tideline and began making her way slowly south. She kept her head bent, scanning the sands for anything which might prove useful. Timber was always in demand, especially anything already shaped that could be reformed into furniture. Tangles of rope, too, were common after a bad storm, or the tiny bits of amber that, though lacking any practical use, could be fashioned into beads.

A small raft of flotsam bobbed up and down with each wave, and Welff splashed into the water to fetch it. A wooden crate had gotten tangled in rope and seaweed, and though it was empty and small, it was still in good condition. Welff held up the seaweed to the gray light, combing through it for anything else that might have gotten tangled up. Through the brown-green drapery, she saw the mouse.

Welff dropped the seaweed with a splash.

The mouse stood, perfectly still, perfectly silent, hip deep in the sea, his face toward the horizon. The surf broke about him, foaming and casting up the occasional spray, but he didn’t seem to notice, not even shifting as the waves tugged at his tunic and tail. A sword was slung crossways on his back, the hilt sticking up over his right shoulder.  

It was as if the past had walked out of the sea, a memory made solid from the mist. A chill ran down Welff’s back and sent her spikes rattling, but she pushed past the sudden fright and took a few careful steps forward. “Luke?”

The mouse turned to look at her. “I… remember you,” he said, each word slow and careful. Welff realized her mistake—the mouse was far too young to truly be Luke, but the only beast he could be, then…

“Martin?” Welff breathed. “Is it—are you truly Martin?” Martin had been barely more than a child when he’d disappeared so many seasons ago, and the stranger in front of her would be the right age, roughly, though he looked older than he ought…

The mouse smiled, and reached out to take her paw, grasping it firmly in one of his own. “Welff. That was your name. Welff Tiptip… Yes, it’s me. I came back.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Welff, what happened to everyone? Please, tell me you know. Please.”  His grip tightened about her paw until Welff winced. He released her immediately.

“Oh, child,” Welff said. She sighed, and tugged him back towards shore. “It is a sad tale. Come, let’s get into one of the old caves and make a fire. Then I will tell you all I know.”

While Welff built and lit the fire, Martin gathered driftwood out under the cliffs, bringing armfuls in to stack to one side. Unstrapping his father’s sword, he leaned it against a rock, then sat beside the old hedgehog. He snapped a longer branch in two and fed it to the flames, watching them as he listened in silence.

“It all happened—well, not too long after you disappeared. Mayhap half a season’s time. A ship berthed just south of here, a massive, dark thing with a skull attached to the front. I don’t know if they were taking on water, supplies, or if there was some minor sort of damage, but in the end it don’t matter so much why they were here, only that they were. They found your tribe—oh, they were hidden, and they fought when they were found, don’t think otherwise. Timballisto especially fought like a creature possessed. They got a few of those searats, but there were too many of them in the end, and your tribe too few. Those who weren’t slain were dragged off with chains around their necks.”

When Martin closed his eyes, pale ghosts of the flames flickered behind his eyelids. “What of my father? Did he ever return?”

Welff let out a long, slow breath before she answered him. “Yes and no. We saw the red ship again, and we’ve heard the story from the few survivors. I’ll take you to the Arfship—that’s where they all live now, Vurg, Beau, Denno, and Dulam. They can tell you what happened to your father better than I could.”

Martin stood, picking up the sword to sling across his back again. “Thank you, Welff. Yes, I would very much like to speak with them. But for the moment, I need to be alone. I will come find you when I’m ready.”

He walked out of the cave and down the shore, back to stand again in the sea. His footpaws were soon numb, but he ignored them, staring out at the clouded sky and gray, choppy waves.

How long ago was it that he had stood in this very spot, lifting the blade in a salute to a father he had hardly known? Eight seasons, now? Ten? Did it matter? And what had he done in the meantime?

Failed every one of his father’s hopes for him.

Stay and defend our cave from all comers. Instead, Martin had rebelled against his friend’s authority, wandered far from home, and gotten himself and his only remaining relative enslaved as a result.

Protect those weaker than yourself, and honor our code.  Martin had failed to protect his grandmother from falling to pain and hardship. He had failed to protect Felldoh from succumbing to the darkness and anger within him. He had failed to protect Brome from being exposed to the horrors of violence, slavery, and war. He had failed, most of all, to protect Rose. Rose, who had trusted him without reason, who had believed in him when he didn’t believe in himself, who had argued with him and never let him get away with self-recrimination or senseless self-sacrifice.

Always use the sword to stand for good, and right. Never do a thing you would be ashamed of. Shame? Shame was an old friend now. Martin lived with it every day, failure settling upon failure like innumerable snowflakes until he’d fallen silent with it, fled from his friends with it, marched back across the northlands with it, only to find his home ravaged as well.

And never ever let another creature take this sword from you, not as long as you live.

Martin unsheathed the sword in one smooth movement, stabbing it down into the sand beside him and bending over the hilt. Guilt welled up within him, until he sank beneath it and bowed his head, paws clutching at the crosstree as he gave vent to his grief. Of all his failures, this one he’d never expected. His tribe, his family, those he was meant to be responsible for, who had raised him as best they could—they were gone. All of them. Gone. Martin’s breath hitched, his paws spasmed upon the hilt, until at last the tears ran dry.

Slowly, moving as if underwater, Martin stood, tugged the sword free, and wiped it absently on the edge of his tunic. He turned to gaze southwards once again. Each time he had paused in his trek back to the lands of his birth, his eye was inevitably drawn south, something deep in his soul whispering that way, turn that way. He knew there would be no welcome waiting for him from the tribe he had abandoned. Timballisto had been well within his rights those seasons ago, and with time and distance, Martin could understand the stress his friend had been under, the expectations of his chieftain and the elders of the tribe to be strong. All he wanted before giving in to the pull and going south was to know that his tribe was all right.

That way. Go. You’re needed.

Not yet, Martin told the pull sternly. Not yet.

He’d run from responsibility once, and been enslaved for it. He failed his friends. He failed his family. But he had a duty. He was Martin the Warrior, son of Luke the Warrior, and his tribe hadn’t just gone, they had been taken.

And he was going to take them back, if he had to sail to hellgates to do it.

The Bloodwake rode the rising tide off the western coast. A point to starboard, the mountain of Salamandastron hunkered over the sandy beach like a primordial guardian, a throwback to some past, primitive era.

Captain Ripfang leaned against the starboard rail, tongue running absently over his single fang as he stared at the hated mountain. It often felt as if the mountain itself were his enemy, as much as the damned stripedog that lived there. Well, all that would end tonight. His eyes narrowed, glaring his hatred at the mountain. Aye, it would end tonight, with the badger’s death.

“Cap’n.”

Redscale’s voice spoke at his elbow, and Ripfang answered without even turning to look at his second mate. “Aye?”

“D’you want a lookout posted?”

Ripfang turned his head just enough to watch Redscale from the corner of his eye. “Why?”

The rat scratched at his ear with one ragged claw, sending nervous glances towards the north. “Well, what if’n that ship shows up agin?”

Though his voice remained perfectly even, Ripfang bared his teeth in a furious snarl. “Which ship would that be?”

Redscale, unfortunately for him, was still glancing over his shoulder and didn’t notice his captain’s mood. “The one wot’s called Liberator, wit’ that mouse that—” Redscale cut off with a gurgle as Ripfang rounded on him, seizing him by the throat and lifting him off the deck.

“Listen to me and listen closely, coward,” he snarled. “I don’t care about that ship, or its crew, or that bloody mouse. Liberator, ha! It could be called Fool’s Errand for all the good it’ll do. We left that ship limping in becalmed water with a half-dead captain, and if it’s not at the bottom of the sea by now, I’m an ottermaid. Right now, all I care about is the mountain and its old badger. We’re going to war tonight, dimwit, and if you, or any of the other crew are going to start jumping at ghosts of dead mice, I’ll slay you myself and let you fight him at hellgates. Is that understood?”

Redscale gurgled, clawing at his captain’s paw. “Unnerstood, cap’n.”

Ripfang dropped him, where he collapsed upon the deck, rubbing at his bruised throat. “Good. Now, go check the armory, and make sure every rat aboard has their weapon ready.” Watching Redscale scurry off, Ripfang rubbed absently as his own shoulder, where that bloody mouse’s rusty sword had pierced his flesh. Mayhap after his business with Boar the Fighter was concluded, he could hunt down the mouse and send him to the bottom of the sea—assuming that he wasn’t there already.

Ten creatures stood in the shadow of Salamandastron: six hares, a shrew, a mole, a mouse, and a badger. Ten creatures prepared themselves for battle against an uncountable number of pirates—corsairs and sea rats, bilgescum who spent their lives riding the waves in search of loot and plunder, slaying and stealing from good creatures more in pleasure than any real need. Ten creatures readied themselves to fight and to die if need be, standing on the sand surrounded by a horde only too willing to make that happen.

Gonff stared at the snarling faces of the rats, decked out in barbaric finery—scarves of brilliant red and jet black bedecked waists and heads alike, brass and gold teeth winked in the light of the moon, earrings and pawrings and tailrings all were in evidence, but of greatest concern were the savage swords: scimitars, cutlasses, wicked daggers, all were brandished by the howling crew. Gonff tightened his grip around the haft of the pike he had borrowed from the hares, taking some comfort in it.

“Well, well,” Boar said, sounding almost jovial, “the gang’s all here. Where’s old snotwhiskers?”

A new rat strode through the ranks, half again as big as the others, doubly armed with a whip in one paw and a sickle sword in the other. He sneered, his snaggletoothed mouth pulling his already hideous face into something grotesque. “Here I am, mountain lord. We have you surrounded and ready to die.”

Boar’s only response was to rush the ranks of rats, a thunderous battlecry ripping from his throat—“EULAAAALIIIIA!”

The sea rats broke upon them like the flowing tide, the din of battle drowning fear, drowning uncertainty, drowning thought, until there was only the red-hot rage boiling in Gonff’s veins and the animal need to survive. He lost his pike almost immediately, but found a dagger a split second later, and paired it with his own, whirling and flailing through the foe.

Distantly, over the shrieking of steel on steel and the yells of battle, he could hear Boar. His voice matched the keen of his broadsword, singing a death chant for the rat of the seas—“Come to me, Ripfang. Meet Boar the Fighter. I am the son of Old Lord Brocktree, ruler of Mossflower, Chief of the Mountain. My blade is singing your deathsong. Let Boar take you and your vermin crew to the gates of Dark Forest this night. The summer sun cannot stand the sight of you darkening the earth!”

The badger himself stood head and shoulder above the heaving mass of sea rats, wielding his great battle blade with the fluidity of long experience. His armor pierced through in half a dozen places, splattered with his own blood as well as the gore and fur of sea rats, he refused to fall, a rock standing stubborn against the flow of the sea. Boar strove to reach Ripfang, who stood on an outcropping of stone, a standard in one paw, urging his crew onwards.

Gonff found himself falling back until he was back to back with Dinny, who had suffered a slash to his shoulder and teamed up with Trubbs. Wother, Ffring, Log-a-Log and Harebell fought foursquare nearby, and the two groups met and joined, six working in a loose circle to defend one in the middle as they took a brief respite, before switching out to allow another comrade to rest. After a small eternity, Boar’s voice lifted over the noise of the melee again—

“To me, my warriors! To me!”

Honeybell and Willow were already at Boar’s side by the time Gonff and the others reached the Lord of the Mountain. They’d all suffered wounds, but nothing more than superficial. Gonff met each creature’s eyes in turn, seeing fear, acceptance, resignation, and fury—there was no way out of this, not truly.

There was a momentary lull as the sea rats regrouped, readying themselves for a final sally.

“I’ll force a way through,” Boar said, voice low and hoarse, hefting his blade with both paws. “There’s only that single group standing between us and the Bloodwake—we’ll have to run for it. Are you ready?”

Log-a-Log was the first to notice, and waved both paws over his head. “Boar, wait! Look! Look at the ship!”

Somehow, the ship had come loose, and was now being driven directly towards the sands by the easterly wind. Figures moved on the deck, and several splashes were heard. A flicker, a spark, and the sail went up in flames, a mighty cry ringing out over the sands at the same time—

“Fur and Freedooooom!”

The companions turned outwards, but the horde seemed as taken aback as they.

An answering cry came from the dunes further north—“Fur and Freedoooooom!”—and a motley crew of mice, hedgehogs, shrews, and the odd squirrel flowed down and around the dunes, colliding with the sea rats’ flank at the same time the flaming ship ran aground, keeling over in the shallows with a sizzling splash. A second troop flooded onto the sands, a mouse with one eye and an old sword leading the charge, teeth bared in a fierce battlecry.

“I think we’ve just gotten reinforcements, sah,” Trubbs said dumbly, watching the renewed battle for a moment.

“Rather, but who are they, d’you think?”

“And where did they come from?”

Boar wheeled his blade over his head with a wild laugh. “Questions can be asked after the battle is done, my friends! Eulaliaaaa!”

And the battle closed again. The companions fought even more vigorously than before, rejuvenated by the hope of not just survival, but victory. They gave no quarter, cutting through rats and shields and spears alike. Gonff ducked around a pair of rats, dagger flashing up and between ribs, before realizing  they’d been menacing the mouse who had led the charge from the boat. His sword had broken in the midst of battle, but he’d kept the hilt in one paw, using the remaining inch or two as a bludgeon. Gonff laughed, as much from the thrill that he was still alive as at the other mouse’s obstinacy. To keep fighting with a broken blade?

“Here, matey, take this,” he offered one of his daggers hilt first. “Easier to stay alive with a whole weapon, y’know.”

The stranger flicked his one good eye from the blade to Gonff’s face, before relaxing into a grin. “That it is, matey,” he replied, switching the sword hilt to his other paw and taking the dagger. He flipped it once, catching it neatly. They stood shoulder to shoulder, guarding each other’s backs and working in tandem. They made a surprisingly good team for not even knowing each other’s names, Gonff noted. An idea began to take root in the back of his mind, but he nudged it gently to one side, vowing to consider it later, now that he was fairly certain there could be a later.

A squeal of mingled pain and fury rose above the clash of battle. Both mice looked up to see Boar with one arm locked around Ripfang, crushing him against the studs and rivets of his armor. The rat struggled and kicked, managed to rip Boar’s helmet loose and score deep scratches down the sides of the badger’s snout, but it was far too late.

Ripfang shuddered, wriggled, and at last fell limp.

“Whew,” Gonff said, letting his blade fall to point at the sand. Exhaustion suddenly seemed much closer than it had before. “I don’t mind telling you, mate, I’m glad that’s over with,” he added, watching as the remaining score and a half of sea rats, cowed at the death of their leader, were herded towards the tideline by the two trios of hares from Salamandastron, and a dozen or so warriors from their newfound allies. “What’s your name, by the—”

But his comrade was gone, striding over the sand, hilt still in paw. Gonff hurried after him, knowing that whatever was about to happen next, he wanted a front row seat.

“You killed him!”

Boar relaxed his grip with a rusty sounding creak, letting the crushed body drop to lie in a heap upon the sands. “I slew my archenemy, little pirate. If you were an ally of this scum—”

“That murderer was no ally of mine,” he interrupted, sounding furious at the very suggestion. “And I don’t care if he was your archenemy, or sworn nemesis, or whatever! I had a blood claim on the wretched, dockside, bilge—”

“Martin!” a third voice interrupted the pair, and an older, graying mouse strode through the fighters who, like Gonff, had gathered to see what would happen. “Peace, Martin. Peace. Ripfang is dead. Bloodwake is captured. We’ve won.”

The tension flowed out of the mouse, and he nodded. Turning back to Boar, he lifted his sword in what would have been a warrior’s salute, had the blade been whole. “My apologies, Lord.  On occasion I forget myself. Particularly during battle.”

Boar threw back his head and laughed. “A problem I share.” He stretched a paw out, eyes twinkling with good humor. “I am Boar the Fighter. Martin the Warrior, it is my pleasure to meet you at last.”

Martin’s paw was dwarfed by Boar’s, but he met the Lord of the Mountain’s eyes without fear or hesitation. “And mine to meet you, sir. I have heard many the legend of Salamandastron from corsairs and sea rats. The truth lives up to it. You have perilous comrades indeed.”

Boar nodded. “Come, I am sure you and your army are weary—you are welcome to enter my mountain.”

“Your invitation is appreciated, Boar, but I have a duty to my crew first.” Martin turned away, crossing the sands to the graying mouse with a single, loathing glance at what had been his blood-sworn enemy. “Vurg, I need you to call muster—I want a list of the wounded as well as the fallen. Beau, we’ll need broth and bread to start with the new freebeasts. The sooner they’re reaccustommed to real food, the happier they’ll be. Send a runner back north to the Liberator to let her watch know the news, and so we can get our healers here as quickly as possible…”

“He’s the captain,” Gonff realized, watching him walk back among the crew, organizing the lot of them with the ease and personal touch of long practice.

“He’s the warrior,” Boar murmured from above him. As they watched, Martin was stopped by a mouse so thin as to be almost a skeleton, with worn patches on his wrists. There was a brief exchange of words, before Martin caught the recently freed slave by the shoulders, staring at him as they both sunk to kneel on the ground. Boar turned away. “I didn’t see any of ours fall.”

“Neither did—” Gonff cut off, catching sight of a bundle of dark fur away from the rest of the fighters, and gasped. “Dinny!” He sprinted to his friend, sand flying as he skidded on his knees to the fallen mole’s side. “Oh, Dinny, don’t be dead, mate, don’t be dead! We came all this way together, you can’t die on me now!” He grabbed Dinny’s good shoulder and shook it, only for his paws to be pushed away by hefty digging claws.

“Burr, Gonffen, don’t you’m be caterwauling and carryin’ on. Can’t a choild close ‘is eyes for a rest?” Dinny complained, squinting up at Gonff. “Oi be roight toired after allen that billyhoe an’ barttlin, so Oi be.”

Gonff was struck speechless by this pronouncement, sitting back on his haunches. After a moment, he relaxed, tension and adrenaline ebbing away to be replaced by a fit of giggling, until he fell over backwards in the sand and laughed until tears sprung to his eyes.

To the east, back towards Mossflower and home, the sun began to lighten the sky. The third day of summer promised to be the best yet. They were safe. They were free. They were alive.

At sea, there had always been something that needed to be addressed: minor disputes between crewbeasts, an adjustment of course, vegetables chopped, drinking water tracked, not to mention the endless repair and mending and cleaning that went into keeping any ship afloat and in top condition. Martin had always been able to find something to keep his mind and paws busy, and always with that final goal in sight. Everything he had done, he had done in order to free his tribe from slavery.

It took a full day and half the night after the battle for Martin to run out of tasks.

His tribe and the other slaves from the Bloodwake’s galley were fed, their sores and wounds dressed, their rags replaced with decent clothing, their names recorded and their desires heard. Some had been enslaved for so long they barely remembered their homelands. Some, though, had families they wished to return to, and Vurg had been busy marking each destination on the map Martin and his officers had slowly developed while on their voyage.

The shrews in particular were eager to get back to their village—their chieftain Log-a-Log had managed to slip his chains three seasons ago and had, oddly, been on the beach during that final confrontation. Martin had already broached the subject of escorting him and his tribe back to their village, and found Log-a-Log to be a sensible and no-nonsense leader, as well as being an expert on ships of all sorts. He was certain he’d be able to get the Bloodwake seaworthy again—Martin hadn’t damaged the ship much, after all, only run it into the sand and lit the sail as a signal to Vurg to start the charge.

A handful of beasts of his own command had fallen in battle, and twice that many had been wounded in one way or another. Martin made sure each warrior was taken care of, and sat with the closest friends of the fallen as they grieved. He planned the funerals that were to take place, reminisced with them, and mourned as well. He’d always made a point of knowing the stories of each member of his crew, even as it had swelled with freed oar-slaves and outgrown the first small schooner he and half a score had taken to sea.

Then there were the prisoners to be dealt with—upon their captain’s death, the remaining sea rats had dropped their weapons and surrendered. There were almost two score at the final count. At the moment they were held in the cellars beneath Salamandastron, kept under guard until a better solution could be found. It had been Boar’s suggestion—both were loath to kill an unarmed beast, even a sea rat, but they couldn’t simply be released to roam the waves again, either. They’d likely be imprisoned for a time, then marched inland and freed.

At last, Martin looked around and found there was nothing else for him to do. He stood, swaying on his footpaws with exhaustion, as another realization crept over him.

His fight was done. He’d rescued his tribe and countless other oar-slaves. He’d achieved the goal he’d set for himself so long ago on the northern coasts. He’d won. Martin had won, and he had no idea what he was going to do now.

Thoughtlessly, Martin made his way through the roughly hewn corridors of Salamandastron, until he at last felt the sea breeze against his whiskers. He’d come out onto a western ledge roughly two thirds up the mountain. Far below, he could see the Liberator riding at anchor, with the tipped-over Bloodwake alongside her. Lights dotted the beach between the base of the mountain and the waves, with a handful more on the deck. He sat—collapsed—to the ground, putting his back to the wall and blinking up at the star-strewn sky.

What was he going to do now?

Martin turned the question over in his mind again and again, trying to find some answer. Nothing occurred to him. Yes, he would be sailing with Log-a-Log and the shrews soon, and there were a handful of other excursions to be made to return the others home, but after that? His father’s sword had broken early in the battle, his quest had been realized, and he somehow couldn’t conceive of simply returning to the northern caves and living with his tribe.

What was he going to do now?

How long Martin sat there, he didn’t know. He may have dozed off, his body finally giving in to exhaustion, but when he heard a soft scratch and a step behind him, he came alert instantly.

A mouse roughly his own age was standing in the arched doorway behind him, a cheerful, plump looking fellow dressed in green—the same mouse who had saved his life, and fought at his side as if he were stepping into a place already reserved for him. “You’re a hard one to find, aren’t you?” he said, settling himself down beside Martin without a second thought. He pulled a flat flask out from beneath his shirt and passed it to Martin, then produced a bundle that, when unwrapped, was revealed to hold a yellow cheese and a crusty loaf of bread, with faint wisps of steam still rising from it. He pushed this towards Martin, took a sip from the flask, and thrust it into his paws as well. “Stop staring at me and eat, matey. Haven’t poisoned it or anything,” he added with a broad grin.

Martin couldn’t remember when he’d last eaten—before the battle, certainly, but how long before the battle? He took a sip from the flask, then another when he found it to be dandelion cordial, light and refreshing. “You saved my life yesterday,” Martin said. “Thank you for that.” The mouse waved off the thanks and the flask when Martin tried to offer it back. “I’m afraid I never got your name, though.”

“Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves,” he answered. They shook paws briefly, Martin smiling at the little thief’s good humor.

“Prince of Mousethieves? How’d you earn a title like that?” Martin asked, curious about his new friend.

Gonff laughed. “By stealing, mate, how else? Oh, I don’t take from goodbeasts, at least, not without returning it, but where I’m from, there’s plenty of rotten ones whose larders are filled with food that don’t belong to them.”

“Aye?”

“Aye,” Gonff said. He cut a slice of cheese with his knife and munched it, staring out over the sands, his jovial face uncharacteristically solemn. “It’s a long and sad tale, mate, but it’s one I think you might be interested in.”

Martin tilted his head, curiosity roused. “What kind of place is it?”

A wistful smile stole across his companion’s whiskers. “Oh, it’s a beautiful place. Thick woodlands, flatlands to the east and cut through by a great river. The creatures there are peaceful for the most part, but not afraid to defend themselves or stand up for what’s right, and always willing to help each other when they need it. Someday, when we’ve gotten rid of that cat and her army, it’ll be a grand place again, old Mossflower Woods.”

The fur rose on the back of Martin’s neck, and a thrum ran through him, as if he were a bell being rung for the first time. Mossflower Woods. Something echoed back to him from within his soul—yes. You’re needed.

Martin reached out, taking Gonff’s paw in his own. “Tell me what I must do.”

[askmisakokaagandcaim]

Misakos backstory part 2

After working for a few hours with Carrick, they headed off to their tents for the night. Carrick followed Misako, making her look over her shoulder and raising her eyebrow. “You following me, Carrick?” He chuckled. “No, I sleep in the same tent as you.” She nodded. “Alright then.” She went to the tent, holding it open. “After you.” He nodded to her and went in, going to the bed beside Misakos. She looked in seeing two others in the tent. One was a human, medium in stature with a shaved head. He looked up at Misako, with forest green eyes. He smiled. “Hello, who are you?” Misako glared at him. “Misako. Who are you?” He shivered at her stare. “I..Im Evan.” She bowed quickly. “I’d say it's nice to meet you. But it's not.” He looked away from her. The other looked at her in an odd manner. Another elf, with black hair and snow white skin, yellow eyes looking at her intently. “Hi. Im Neri. Please forgive Evans extreme rudeness.” He gave her a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” She nodded. “To you as well.” She went to her cot and pulled the blanket over her head, going to sleep nearly instantly.

After a few days of working, Misako easily began to pick up how to take care of weapons, nearly passing Carricks skill. He watched her intently, with surprise, as she quickly and easily cleaned and cared for weapon after weapon. Carrick took an almost immediate interest in Misako, asking her questions about tieflings, samurai and her personal history, occasionally striking a sore spot, making her get upset with him. She always forgave him quickly, he’d flash a silly smile, making her smile slightly. They became close friends in the time they had together, as she taught her.

Inevitably, the day came when Carrick had to leave. As he packed his things from the tent, Misako sitting on the bed beside him, looking rather dreary, Arjhan came in. His face looked rough, and upset. Carrick looked up with a smile, but it dissipated quickly. “Arjhan, what's wrong?” He sighed heavily, running a hand over his head. “I’m… I’m so sorry Carrick. I tried to convince them otherwise.” Carricks face turned into a look of fear. “What are you talking about?” Arjhan sat down beside Misako, putting his face in his hands, looking like he was about to cry. Misakos head tilted in confusion. “Whats going on?” She looked back and forth between Carrick and Arjhan. They both welled up, Arjhan sniffling. “I'm so sorry. I tried..” Carrick sat between Misako and him, gently rubbing his back, as he wept as well. “It's okay. You tried.” Arjhan quickly turned and hugged Carrick, as he hugged back. “You were always like a son to me, Carrick. When I found you as a little boy, wandering the streets, I couldn't just leave you. You were so helpless..” Misako looked at them confused. Carrick pulled Misako into the hug. “Misako, I’m being put into the Division, to be a soldier.” Her eyes widened as she stood. “I thought you were done your service.” Carrick shrugged, as Arjhan continued to cry. “I guess the higher ups changed their minds.” Misako made her hands to fists, and bit her lip, holding back tears. “They can't just do this to you! It's not right! It's not fair!” She stomped her foot on the ground, making Arjhan look up, sniffling. “Misako, just because I’m sad, doesn't mean I won't punish you for improper behaviour.” Misakos second set of eyes opened, both sets giving off a red glow. “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all!” Arjhan stood. “Misako, that's enough. Settle down this instant.” She screamed at him. “How are you so calm!? They're sending a fifteen year old into the line of duty! This is ridiculous!” Tears started streaming from her top eyes, as drops of blood came from the bottom ones.. “I won't let them do this to you Carrick!” She looked at him, who was sobbing gently into his hands. Arjhan grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. “You need to stop this, now, or I’ll have no choice but to punish you for insubordination.” She ripped her arm away and growled. “You think I give a shit?” Arjhans jaw dropped, then closed, as he straightened himself out. “Fine. You don’t give a shit now, but you will.” Misako turned her back on him, and started walking away. He growled and grabbed all three of her tails, and lifted her off the ground. She screamed. “LET ME DOWN YOU GIANT SCALY BASTARD!” His eyes widened as he gripped her tails tighter. “I was just going to put you in, well, pretty much a time out, but now, you’re getting flogged.” She screeched even more, flailing violently, making Arjhan hold his arm out farther, carrying her out of the tent.

Carrick followed them, panicking slightly, seeing Misako in such a fit of rage. Misako had told him about her father, making him worried about her reaction to her punishment. “Arjhan! Don’t you think flogging is a little severe for a first time offence!?” Arjhan turned, giving Carrick a look of anger. “Would you like to join her?” Carrick stopped and shook his head, hanging it. “No Sir.” Misako continued to flail as Arjhan to the camps public flogging post. He put her down, grabbing her wrists, tying them together, then tying them to the pole. Misako was in tears, sobbing violently, begging to be let go. Arjhan shook his head. “If I go easy on you, I'm showing you favor because you have an in with our Prince, and I’m not going to be that kiss ass Captain.” She lowered her head, and sobbed, as Arjhan tore the top half of her uniform off, leaving her top bare. She cried harder, as her already scarred back was exposed to multiple men, gawking at her. Arjhan froze for a minute, looking at her back. “Oh Gods.” He mumbled under his breath. He kneeled beside her, whispering at her. “Sorry ‘bout this kid.” He stood, standing tall as other soldiers watched as he demanding a flogger. A smaller soldier ran up and handed it to him, backing away quickly. Misako looked back, seeing Arjhan with the flogger, making her turn away and sob harder. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “Misako Akiyama, you are being punished for Insubordination. You will receive 5 lashes from a flogger, and then will sit at the post, hands bond for thirty minutes. Do you understand?” Misako nodded lightly. “Say it outloud.” “Yes. I understand.” Her voice had become quiet and sullen. Arjhan nodded. “Good then.” He gripped the flogger and raised it, bringing it down on Misakos back, bringing back a painful, familiar pain, as she sat, quietly, accepting the punishment.

After Arjhan had finished, he walked away, leaving Misako to sit for thirty minutes. Carrick came up to her when everyone had left, and covered her with the thin blanket from his cot. “Jeez, he didn’t go easy on you, Misako.” She sat in silence. She didn’t look at him. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and as she went to swat him away, she just pulled on the rope which restricted her hands. She sighed. “Carrick... “ He sat beside her. “I’ll say here until you get untied.’ He rubbed her back gently as she sobbed onto the ground.

After thirty minutes had passed, Arjhan came by, seeing Carrick comforting Misako as she sat there, back covered in dry blood. He went over and untied her wrists. “Misako. Someone's here to see you.” She wrapped the blanket around herself, and rubbed her raw wrist. “Who’d come to visit me? My family doesn’t know where I am, Carricks my only friend.” She looked at the ground, as she heard a familiar chuckling behind her. “Forget me already, my dear?” She sat up slightly and looked over her shoulder. “Sensei…” Vandiss walked over and kneeled beside Misako. “I heard about what happened, Misako, and I have to say, I’m disappointed. I thought you can handle your anger better than that.” She sniffled and nodded. “I’m sorry Sensei. I should’ve done better.” She gripped onto the blanket and looked at Vandiss, a small whip mark across her cheek where a piece of the flogger had wandered off too. He sighed and wiped the blood of her face. “Come on, let's get you up and bandaged.” Arjhan cleared his throat gently. “Prince?” Vandiss looked over, still helping Misako stand. “Yes?” “Don’t you think you’re going easy on the girl?” Vandiss shook his head. “She’s a young girl, Arjhan. She's going to have her moments. Besides, you’ve probably done some mental damage.” He looked at Misako, who was almost in a Catatonic state. “Please don't tell me you grabbed her tails.” He cleared his throat. “I carried her here by the tails.” Vandiss sighed again. “Oh goodness.”

Carrick picked Misako up, carrying her back to the tent, laying her on her cot. “Arjhan is important to me, but he went too far.” He crossed his arms tightly, sitting on the edge of the bed. Misako, facing away from him. Carrick looked at her back. “We should wrap that up, you know.” She sighed. “No. Leave it.” He looked at her. “What?” “Let it get infected. I deserve it.” I disobeyed an order. He should’ve put me to death.” Carrick furrowed his brow. “No, Misako. He shouldnt have. Maybe he shouldve put you in solitude for half an hour but he shouldnt have flogged you.” She curled up slightly, her tails tucking between her legs. “My sensei is disappointed in me, that deserves death too.” Carrick frowned. “Misako.. No. No it doesn't. You’re amazing.” She shook her head. “I should’ve stayed at my family home and let my father kill me.” Carrick sighed, climbing onto the cot, pulling Misakos head to his chest, letting her head rest on him. She winced at first, then hugged him lightly. “Carrick…” He looked down. “Misako?” She began to sob into his side, as he continued to comfort her. “I’m here for you, Misako.”

Carrick continued to hold Misako as she cried, as Arjhan and Vandiss entered the tent. Vandiss stayed by the door, as Arjhan put his hands behind his back and stood up straight. “Akiyama, please get up.” Carrick looked at him, as Misako continued to lie down on him. “Come one, Captain. She's in pain.” Arjhan briefly glanced at him. “I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to Misako.” She slowly stood up, and walked to stand in front of Arjhan, “Yes, Sir?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I did push the punishment too far, mostly from personal anger.” Vandiss walked forward. “We need to chat as well, Misako. While the Captains punishment was a bit far, your attitude, from what I was told, was not acceptable whatsoever.” She nodded. “Yes, Sensei.” Carrick watched as a whole new side of Misako came out. Arjhan nodded at her. “Go get your back patched up before you talk with Vandiss. Don’t need our Quartermaster getting a nasty infection.” She nodded again. “Yes sir.” Arjhan left the tent, making Misako relax slightly. Carrick sat up, looking at her. “I’ll take you to the medical tent.” She nodded, as he walked over, and walked out with her.

After getting her back cleaned and bandaged by a another tall elven man, with dark skin and white hair, Misako walked back to her tent, to see Vandiss, standing and waiting for her. “Let’s go for a bit of a walk, Misako.” She nodded, following him. “Misako, you need to control your anger. I know how angry you get when people grab your tails, but you need to get over it, especially if you’re going to be in the army. You need to learn how to keep it inside a little more, instead of threatening to kill your commanding officers, which by the way-” He smacked her upside the head. “Are you trying to get a death sentence?” Misako rubbed her head. “Ow! No, I’m not Sensei I just… got protective.” Vandiss scoffed. “Of the Elf boy who's joining the ranks? Misako, I’m glad you’re making friends, but you don't need THOSE kind of friends.” Misako raised her eyes. “You mean an Elf friend, Sensei? Isn’t that kinda racist?” Vandiss pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled. “You don't need a boyfriend, Misako.” Misako flushed a bright red. “W..what?” Vandiss looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “I saw how you were… interacting with him.” She flushed deeper. “Sensei, I don't think this is an appropriate conversation for me to have with you.” Misako held herself back from laughing. Vandiss let out a small chuckle. “Perhaps you're right-” his face went stern. “But so am I Misako.” She nodded. “I know.” Vandiss shook his head in a mix of enjoyment and frustration. “What am I going to do with you.” She laughed out loud. “Let me do my job, I’ll get through the next few years, then we’ll figure it out.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back, patting her shoulder. “Sounds like a plan. Go get back to work then.” She smiled, bowing to him. “‘Till I see you again, I suppose, Sensei.” As she ran off, back to the camp.

The day came where Carrick first went into battle, thankfully coming back safely, automatically coming to see Misakos progress in being a Quartermaster. He heard various soldiers talking about how nice their weapons were, and several had their weapons out, showing them off to other soldiers. He chuckled and smiled, looking around his camp which he had been away from for a few days, seeing various posters littered around the camp. They seemed to be motivational posters with a huge lion on them. He chuckled at them, and continued on his way, finally getting to the quartermaster tent, which was nearly empty. His eyes widened, looking at Misako, who sat there, in the pants of her training uniform, her torso wrapped in bandages, long black hair tied up, all four eyes opened and concentrated on sharpening a very large axe. He chuckled. “Been keeping up, have ya?” She looked up, eyes having heavy bags under them, but a large grin spreading across her face. “Carrick!” She put the axe down, and ran over, hugging him. He chuckled, hugging her back, lifting her slightly and spinning. It had been over three weeks since they had seen each other. Misako hopped back on the ground, and looked at Carrick. “I’m glad you’re safe.” He nodded. “Other than a few bruises, I’m okay.” They sat down beside each other, and talked as Misako finished up with the huge axe, putting back on a wall hanger. She dusted her hands off. “Wanna go get a drink? I’m thirteen now, so it's less looked down upon then a twelve year old drinking.” Carricks eyes lit up, as she reached in his bag, pulling out a book and opening it. “I didn't forget about your birthday.” He pulled out a larger red flower he had found, and pressed for her. “Happy birthday.” She smiled, taking it. “Thank you Carrick!” She placed it on her desk, and took his hand. “Let's go get a drink.” She pulled him along to a large bonfire that was in the middle of camp, where many soldiers sat and told war stories. She went up to Arjhan and tapped his shoulder. “Can Carrick and I split a bottle? We’ll go somewhere else and be good, I promise, sir.” He chuckled, and nodded, handing them a bottle of red wine. “Have fun you kids.” His voice was slurred and sloppy, as he was obviously drunk. Carrick and Misako snuck off, going to the top of a small hill nearby, and sitting beside each other.

They began to drink, Misako, getting drunk much faster than Carrick, as she became giggly and clingy to him. As Carrick began to get more drunk, he held Misako closer and closer. She didn't fight him, although she wasn’t necessarily comfortable. They talked about the war going on, Carrick told Misako about rumors spreading around. Misako told him about the people she had met, and that she was apparently getting a reputation of being one of the best, if not, the best, Quartermaster in the army. Carrick smiled as she talked, pulling her closer. Misako pushed him away a little bit. “Carrick, no.” He frowned. “Misako..” His face flushed. She couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or him getting embarrassed. “I have.. Feelings for you, I’m sorry” Misako stood up, looking down at him .”What?” He stood up, taking her hands. “I have feelings for you. You’re my best friend. The only real friend I’ve had.” She pulled her hands away. “But Carrick. I can’t. My Sensei. “ Carrick drunkenly scoffed. “Who cares about your Sensei!” Misako took a step back. “I do, Carrick.” Carricks face got angry. “Ooooh I see how it is. You have feelings for your sensei!” Misakos face turned angry. “I do not! That's so wrong!” Her hands went into fists. “Carrick. I have feelings for you too! But my Sensei ordered me to not go that way. So I can't. I can't disobey him.” Carrick took a step closer. “I know you think that. But you can.” He pulled her face to his and kissed her, drunkenly. She pushed away. “I really can't.” He frowned. “Try. For me. Please,” She looked at him, as he was nearly crying. She sighed. “Fine. Only this once though.” She went up to him, as he took her hands, and put them on his chest, as she felt his heart pounding, as he put his hands on her waist, and pulling her in again, kissing her, this time, she kissed back.

They carried on for a minutes, before pulling away from each other, Carrick, bright red and frazzled, Misako straight faced and clear headed. “That wasn’t too bad.” She licked her lips. Carrick smiled. “Really? I thought it was great.” She nodded, quickly kissing him on the cheek. “I’m going to my tent now.” She handed him the rest of the bottle. “Have fun.” She walked down the hill, Carrick standing there, still frazzled.

The next morning Misako woke up early and walked to the Quartermaster tent. She began working right away, only to get a visit from Carrick. He walked in quietly, sitting beside her. “I’m sorry about last night.” She nodded, working on a shield. He hung his head. “I have to leave again today.” She stopped and looked up, looking over at him. “Already?” He nodded. “It’s apparently going to be dangerous, even Arjhans coming.” She nodded. “I see.” He rubbed his arm. “Thought I’d come say goodbye for a while.” She put the shield down. “Okay.” He cleared his throat. “I meant what I said last night.” “So did I Carrick.” He blushed. “Can I please kiss you again before I leave?” She looked at him, and nodded, as he quickly moved his head down, kissing her deeply, before pulling away. Someone cleared their throat behind them, making Misako look over, then at the ground. It was Vandiss, standing there, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face. “Arjhan asked me to tell you to get ready to go, Carrick. And I suggest you go now, and get ready.” Misako gripped the bench slightly as Carrick got up, and said goodbye to her. They hugged quickly, and Carrick left even faster. Vandiss glared over at Misako, as she went back to polishing the shield. “Misako.” She ignored him. “Look at me, Misako.” She stopped and looked over at him slightly. “Bad decision, Misako.” He walked over and sat beside her, as she continued to clean. “This mission he's going on, is dangerous.” She nodded. “I know.” He sighed “Just. Lay low, okay?” She nodded as Vandiss got up and just walked out.

For the next few weeks, Misako did as told, laying low, doing her job, until one day, she heard the loud hoofbeats of horses racing back. She got up, and walked out to see a squadron returning. They were alot fewer of them then before. She scanned them, recognizing it as The squad Carrick was in, but saw no sign of him. She did see Arjhan, with a solemn look on his face. She raced up to him. “Captain?” He looked down to see Misako, frowning slightly, and shaking his head. She gasped, and covered her mouth. Arjhan started to cry slightly. “He fought well, but in the end, he dropped, we didn't have anyone left who could help him.” Her eyes welled up, as she looked at him again. “Did you bring him back at least?” He nodded, pointing at a horse carrying a body. He ordered two men to take him off the horse, and place him in the grass. She went over, and looked at his cold face. She started crying over him. “Oh… Carrick.” She gently brushed his face with her finger. “Rest peacefully.” She sniffled, and started bawling, kneeling at his side.She wasn't given details of what happened to him, just that he fought well.

After that day, Misako went back to being an obedient child. Did anything she was asked, and did her job with no issue. Vandiss occasionally visited, but she usually zoned out when he did. The rest of her thirteenth year was spent in solitude. She just did what she needed to do to survive. Occasionally she would get in trouble for her lack of talking. She never had severe punishment. She was just, left alone.

[geektified]

New Post has been published on http://www.geektified.com/2017/05/09/the-raw-expose-the-samoa-joe-is-the-worlds-most-dangerous-fake-chiropractor-edition-5-8-2017/

The Raw Exposé: The Samoa Joe Is The World's Most Dangerous Fake Chiropractor Edition (5-8-2017)

By: Keila Cash

  Hello everyone and welcome to another installment of The Raw Exposé. Tonight’s episode of Monday Night Raw emanated from the O2 Arena in London, England. The biannual European Tour is in full swing as WWE makes a pit stop in the land of tea and crumpets for the next couple of days. With the crowd having a reputation of being extra rowdy, did they live up to expectations or did they have something to cheer about for all the wrong reasons? The answer to that question can be found throughout this blog. Without further ado, let’s dissect tonight’s episode of Raw in no particular order.

  Kurt Angle and Stephanie McMahon appointed Dean Ambrose and The Miz as co-General Managers of Raw since they were unavailable to run the show tonight.

  Braun Strowman made his way to the ring and demanded another match against Roman Reigns after he recovers from his shoulder injury. Once Reigns is out of the way, Brock Lesnar is next on Strowman’s hit list.

  Kalisto came out and challenged Strowman to another match after Strowman pushed him off the stage while trapped in a dumpster a few weeks ago. Strowman laughed off Kalisto’s comments and claimed that he could beat him with one arm. Ambrose decided to test that theory by booking Strowman vs. Kalisto for later tonight.

  Ambrose continued to show off his matchmaking skills by putting Miz in a match against Finn Bálor as the opening segment came to an end.

  This was a fine way to start the show, but it was nothing to write home about for the most part. Also, it appears that the crowd noise has been edited in post-production. It kills the viewing experience because the London crowd is usually hot. Perhaps their rowdiness will be detected later in the show, but it was definitely muted here.

  The Miz defeated Finn Bálor via disqualification when Miz shoved Bálor into the referee who was busy trying to keep Maryse out of the ring. Dean Ambrose overruled his co-GM by restarting the match and banning Maryse from ringside.

  Bálor attacked Miz and tossed him back in the ring. He nailed Miz with the Slingblade/Running Dropkick/Coup De Grace trifecta for the win. The match was decent, but it didn’t get past a certain level due to the screwy booking down the stretch. Despite that small quibble, this was a nice showcase for Bálor after Bray Wyatt cost him a shot at the Intercontinental Championship last week. Speaking of Wyatt, he didn’t show up to confront Bálor which is a little surprising. The night is still young, though.

  Alexa Bliss defeated Mickie James thanks to an assist from Nia Jax. James went up to the top rope, but Jax tugged her leg to provide the distraction.

  Bayley laid out Jax with a cross body at ringside, but it wasn’t enough as Bliss knocked James off the top rope and pinned her clean as a sheet.

  Bliss continued to attack James until Bayley chased her up the ramp.

  However, James was ripe for the picking as Jax laid her out with a running avalanche followed by an elbow drop for good measure. Jax is doing Bliss’ dirty work because she wants a shot at the Raw Women’s Championship. Bliss promised to discuss the matter with Kurt Angle, but I have a feeling she is going to duck Jax because she is a smart woman who values her livelihood.

  Samoa Joe sounds like the chiropractor from hell as he described how he was going to break every bone and ligament in Seth Rollins’ body.

  Rollins attacked Joe from behind and a backstage brawl ensued until WWE officials broke things up. This was a nice way to forward their feud leading up to their presumed rematch at Extreme Rules next month.

  Braun Strowman vs. Kalisto ended via No Contest when Roman Reigns made his way to the ring to confront Strowman. Reigns and Strowman had another epic brawl which saw Reigns nail Strowman with three Superman Punches before focusing his attention on Strowman’s injured elbow.

  Reigns rammed the elbow into the ring post before grabbing a steel chair to finish the job. Strowman eventually retreated through the crowd while Reigns stood tall in the ring soaking in a mixture of cheers and boos.

  This was a nice way to forward the Reigns-Strowman feud. Both men showed great intensity during their brawl which bodes well for their return bout at Extreme Rules. Expect a special stipulation to push things over the top in terms of batshit craziness.

  Sadly, their rematch is postponed because Strowman needs to have minor surgery on his elbow which explains the injury angle. This is sucky news because it throws the main event of the next two Raw PPVs into chaos. However, this medical timeout might be a blessing in disguise because Strowman should be back in time for SummerSlam which will allow WWE to build up Strowman vs. Reigns or Strowman vs. Lesnar for the Universal Championship. Either direction is fine, but it gives the creative team more flexibility when it comes to plotting out Lesnar’s Title defenses for the rest of the year.

  Sheamus and Cesaro survived Tag Team Turmoil as they defeated Enzo Amore & Big Cass, Heath Slater & Rhyno, Karl Anderson & Luke Gallows, and The Golden Truth to become the number one contenders for the Raw Tag Team Championship. The series of matches were good with Anderson and Gallows giving Sheamus and Cesaro a run for their money.

  The Golden Truth tried to pull off the upset, but it was to no avail as Cesaro pinned R-Truth with a roll-up. The finish was underwhelming, but it didn’t take away from the match quality leading up to the final pinfall.

  The Hardy Boyz came out to confront Sheamus and Cesaro, but the heels decided to head up the ramp instead. It was another case of Lather, Rinse, Repeat because the same thing happened last week. A change of pace would be nice, but I digress.

  Seth Rollins defeated Samoa Joe via disqualification when Joe rammed Rollins’ head into the exposed turnbuckle. Rollins pulled off the covering by accident which allowed Joe to take advantage of the situation. The referee gave Joe a pass but warned him not to do it again. Joe defied the ref’s order which led to the DQ finish.

  Joe continued to ram Rollins’ head into the turnbuckle before putting him in the Coquina Clutch. The referee shouted at Joe to break the hold which he eventually did as the segment came to an end.

  Joe and Rollins had a good match, but it lacked crowd heat. It was clear that both men were holding back because the finish allows them to have a more definitive match at Extreme Rules. The booking made sense, but the match suffered from an atmospheric standpoint.

  TJP defeated Jack Gallagher with a roll-up while grabbing the tights for extra leverage. The match was decent, but it was short on time.

  After the match was over, TJP targeted Gallagher’s knee and put him in the kneebar to do further damage until Austin Aries made the save.

  Neville promised to give TJP a shot at the Cruiserweight Championship if he won tonight, but he backpedaled when Michael Cole put him on the spot. It appears that Neville is taking the Alexa Bliss approach when it comes to keeping their frenemies closer.

  Sasha Banks defeated Alicia Fox with the double knees from the top rope. However, the win was controversial as Fox had her shoulder up before the count of three. The match was decent, but it was overshadowed by some sort of kerfuffle in the crowd. Since the WWE Production Crew is edit-happy when it comes to keeping the London fans in check, why was the “integrity” of this match kept intact in terms of crowd noise?

  Bray Wyatt defeated Dean Ambrose with Sister Abigail thanks to an assist from The Miz down the stretch.

  Wyatt and Ambrose had a good match which is not surprising due to their past encounters over the years. Ambrose had things under control until Miz hit him in the back with the Intercontinental Championship. Wyatt made the cover, but Ambrose managed to kick out at two. He only delayed the inevitable as Wyatt dropped him with Sister Abigail to pick up the win moments later.

  Miz attacked Ambrose by raking his eyes before cutting a promo vowing to win the Intercontinental Championship next week as Raw went off with Maryse and her husband canoodling on the entrance ramp.

  Finn Bálor didn’t appear during the main event which suggests that his feud with Wyatt has been dropped for the time being. Strowman’s injury might’ve pushed Bálor in front of the line for a shot at Brock Lesnar’s Universal Title at the July PPV. We shall see how it all plays out, but it’s very telling that the follow-up was dropped cold.

  As for Ambrose and Miz, they will face off for the IC Championship next week. I don’t expect a title change, but stranger things have happened.

  Overall, I thought tonight’s episode of Raw was decent at best. Even though the show was taped, the broadcast zipped by for the most part. The wrestling action was solid, but uneventful compared to last week’s stellar main event.

  It is becoming more apparent that WWE is doing a lot of post-show editing when they tape Raw and SmackDown Live from London. The crowd noise was subdued for most of the night, but a smattering of Randy Savage and CM Punk chants were picked up during the main event. The European fans can be a rowdy bunch, but neutering them like a bunch of puppies is a bit much because it kills the television experience for the viewers at home.

  The last couple of taped shows from the UK have been lackluster and the trend continued tonight which is sad because WWE usually goes all out to make these shows special. Let’s hope SD Live fares better tomorrow night, but I am not getting my hopes up. Le Sigh…

  The Braun Strowman injury is a bummer and it should be interesting to see how Roman Reigns is handled since his sparring partner is temporarily on the shelf. The creative team has to reshuffle the deck and we shall see how it all shakes out as Raw takes place from Newark, New Jersey next week. The injury bug needs to be wished the best in its future endeavors because it’s been taking out wrestlers left and right over the past couple of years…L

    On that note, this wraps up another edition of The Raw Exposé. I hope you enjoyed it and I will back tomorrow night with a brand new installment of The SmackDown Files. See you later, boys and girls!

[brokenprettybitter-blog]

Quotes

The more I swear I'm happy, the more that I'm feeling alone “Expectation is the root of all heartache.” -Shakespeare “She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.” -Margaret Atwood “She’s the type of girl that can be so hurt but can still look at you and smile.” -Marilyn Monroe “Have enough courage to trust love one more time. And always one more time.” -Maya Angelou "No one's ever stuck with me for so long before." -Dory. FN I'm not comfortable being friends with everybody “She who knows life flows, feels no wear or tear, needs no mending or repair.” -Gautama Buddha “I decided I wasn’t going to come down. I was going to fly. I was going to stay up in the air forever.” -Jesse Owens I’mma make some history
. Get up in your system and direct it like a symphony -Atmosphere, Shoes One day you're going to wish you had never let her go. You're a playa or getting pimped, know your position They can't be mad when she turns cold, for they blew out her flames. "All she wanted was a little bit of solid. Feels like love, it doesn't matter what you call it. Heal those cuts or hide em' underneath the polish. Break another promise and take me as a hostage." -Atmosphere Pour Me Another People come and go. Some are cigarette breaks, others are forest fires. Loneliness is nothing to do with how many people are around you but how many of them understand you. I'm not sour, I'm just smoking something louder "I don't know who I am. Or maybe I do know who I am and I just don't want to be her anymore." -Gayle Forman Probably make a gay nigga reconsider I just sent him a smiley face, bitches love smiley faces This shit's pick and choose, only fuck with niggas that got something to lose. I'm not the person I used to be, I admit a lot of shit got to me “Damaged goods tend to hide in pretty packages
. Saddened looks get disguised in witty adages” -Sadistik Don't make me expose you bitxh, I'm too busy Go against me then you made a mistake It's like killing two birds with one stoner I know that they mad, so I'm gonna shit on my critics some more I like taking niggas hoes but I stop doing that I don't wanna fight, but fuck around and I'll shoot you Don't assume you know me because you most likely DO NOT Maybe I'm asking for too much, just give me a purpose to love "Touch me without using your hands." Your eyes traced my features as if you were mapping out the night sky and I was your favorite constellation. Be curious, not judgmental. Do. Or do not. There is no try “Everything has been hurting a little too much for a little too long.” “you drowned my sorrows in your blood-stained soul” You're hold the key to the shackles on my ankle. The one who drags me back to shore when I'm drowning. You are my release and peace ❤️🔑 “Everyone has a song in their playlist which they always skip, but never delete.” "..to all those lost souls who have forgotten to believe in the immensity of love" Don't let the sadness pull you in, emerge from it with a smile. Let your past make you better not bitter. -- "Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional" I try with you 
There’s more to life than sleeping in
 And getting high with you
I had to let go of us to show myself what I could do 
And that just didn’t sit right with you I love your smile, you can do it without style From your lips, all the way to your eyebrows Cheaper to be yourself, ain't no wrong way to be It's not because you don't do something or you wasn't cooking, it wasn't because you lacked anything. It's simply because the option, the opportunity was there and he could take it You wouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do. 🌹

[kickingitwithkirk]

A Kiss Upon Your Shoulder

Pairing: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Trouble Lacroix (OFC)

WC:3536

Warnings: 18 + only: kissing, humping M/F, intercourse, cursing, mention of addiction, angst

A/N: For @saxxxology #saxxxology vol.1 writing challenge

I was originally to post this on Dec 31, 2019 but lost my internet for several days. I apologize for the delay- Country living and winter in the South don’t mix.

SONG PROMPT: Off My Mind-my favorite on the album

A/N: Set season 14 during Dean Winchester's possession by Apocalypse World’s Micheal. Timeline extended and some events altered from series. I borrowed title from song lyrics.

*no beta- all mistakes are mine.

*GIF not mine

The sound of the bunker door closing reverberates through the room. Several of the hunters around the map table stop what they're doing to watch an unusually tall Omega with long, smoky pink hair braided in a loose plait and wearing hunters garb descending the metal staircase halting at the bottom.

Sam Winchester’s sitting at the far end of the table alternating between his phone receiving updates from hunters out in the field and the laptop looking for clues in the search for Dean while strategizing with Mary and Bobby their next move froze disbelieving his eyes.

“Sammy,” the Omega hesitantly says, her lightly accented voice startles him out of his stupor.

Batten down the hatches Sammy boy, Trouble just done walked back into my life… Dean used those exact words years ago introducing him to this Omega, never knowing how true they would turn out to be.

But not for him.

Sam's eyes shift into a fiery glow as his inner Alphas outrage surfaces at this imposter trying to pass itself as his long gone Omega.

“What fucking game are you playing at?” Sam gets up growling, stalking towards her pulling his demon blade.

“Sam wait!” Mary hollers at her youngest son knowing all too well the damage Sam can inflict under normal circumstances but in the state of extreme stress he’s currently under she doesn’t want him to do anything he’ll regret.

The Apocalypse World hunters glance at each other perplexed having never seen an enraged Alpha unsure what they should do.

After their arrival to this reality Sam gave them a crash course on life here, including the multiple genders of humans, Alpha/Beta/Omega, their confusing hierarchies and how they relate to each other. The Alpha/Omega intricacies and nuances were still hard for them to comprehend since all of them were Betas.

The Omega cast her eyes down in deference to the large Alpha. “I'm here abo...” she doesn't finish speaking as he wraps his hand around her throat, slamming her back against a support column. She seizes his wrist as her eyes snap up meeting his glaring back before tilting her head as far as she can to the right exposing more of her throat.

Sam cautiously leans in, running his nose along her neck. The unique scent of winter, perceptible only to the Alpha under the scent blockers she’s used triggers memories he’s diligently repressed to keep this Omega off his mind come flooding back. The blade clatters loudly on the floor in the now silent room.

Wrapping his arms around her nuzzling into the curve of her neck he sucks on that spot he knows drives her crazy. Biting her lip she tangles her fingers in his long hair drawing him back up, running her tongue over his lips seeking entrance that he grants swirling his tongue around hers.

Someone's wolf whistling snaps them out of acting couple newly presented teens caught by their parents being very naughty.

“Hmm, not sorry,”  she whispers nibbling on Sam’s ear making him quiver.

“Behave,” Sam mutters back taking a deep breath and subtlety adjusting himself before turning around to deal with everyone's reactions, not really ready to answer the inevitable questions.

Scenting his anxiety she twines their hands together offering a reassuring squeeze.

They’ve drawn quite a large audience from the library and adjoining hallways. People are elbowing each other grinning, whispering among themselves about their Chiefs and strange woman's reactions to each other then necking in front of everyone.

Mary stands there, arms crossed with the patented mom’s not amused look.

Sam huffs out an embarrassed laugh. “Everyone this is Trouble Lacroix, she’s my...she's an old friend.”

“I’m just an old friend after everything I went through for you?” Trouble snaps and Sam growls a warning at her tone but fuck it, she was right.

When Dean introduced them they were both junkies. Sam drugs of choice were demon blood and the power it gave him. Trouble’s was whatever made her forget her hunter fathers dominance over her as an Omega.

By the time they both got clean Sam found he could love again and she had learned to trust the Alpha in him wouldn't hurt her like others had. Sam swore during his next rut he would claim her as his Omega.

A week before he said yes to Lucifer and the subsequent showdown at Stull Cemetery he went into rut.

At their secret rendezvous, an old hunters cabin in Arkansas with his rut over Sam hadn’t claimed her, saying he couldn’t damn her, that this was his last chance to, unlike Jess, save her from certain death.

Trouble stood at the cabins window overlooking a small lake silently crying, unable to respond. The Alpha scented her sadness wanted nothing more than to comfort his Omega but all he could do was to kiss her shoulder, as he’d always done before leaving that last time.

Almost a decade later Sam can see the damage his refusals done in her sorrowful eyes.

“You kiss all your old friends like that?” Bobby quipped sarcastically eliciting a few laughs and breaking some of the tension.

“You look like Bobby Singer but you...resonate all wrong,” Trouble remarks as her light colored eyes surveys the others in the room finally coming to rest on Jack. “A Nephilim without Grace?”

“Yes, he is,” Mary answers crossing over to stand next to Jack, “how can you know that?”

Trouble shrugs “I’ve always been able to perceive things that are outside the normal spectrum.”

“You can what?” Maggie asks confused.

“The Omega can see that you’re out of tune with this reality,” Castiel states tipping his head to the side studying her, “she also possess other abilities.”

“I don’t need them to see your a dick.”

“Trouble,” Sam warns knowing she’d picked that up from Dean.

“Sorry, Angel of the Lord.” She half ass apologizes.

“And you suddenly show up here out of nowhere because?” Mary tersely inquires in her Alpha voice. Sam bristles unhappy that another Alpha, even his own mother, thinks they can question the Omega.

Releasing Sam’s hand she steps closer to Mary taking the same stance staring her straight in the eye. “I’ve seen Dean.”

Trouble tells them everything about her encounter with Dean in Nova Scotia, where she’s been the last two months.

They question is why he let her live when he’s killed others he has had contact with, another piece in a puzzle not making sense.

Sam asks her to stay but she turns him down, telling him it's safer for her to keep moving. He counters what better place is there for protection than in the heavily warded bunker?

She reluctantly agrees but only until Dean returns.

Mary makes it vehemently clear it’s problematic having an unclaimed Omega stay.

Sam reminds his mother that he is a mature Alpha, been making his own decisions without her input his whole life and with the daily suppressants he’s taken for years can control his instincts.

That got Mary’s back up, ready to argue with her youngest son, reminding him the Omegas already made the unmated Alpha act out. Bobby pulls her to the side and somehow he convinces her that the Omegas will be an assist in finding Dean. She doesn’t like but relents. Trouble is to stay in Dean's room, his Beta scent will help cover hers more to mollify Sam and a physical space between them for Mary.

**********

Sam's frustrations over having not found Dean yet and his personal anxieties were intermittently fluctuating. The stresses he’s under, hardly eating, barely sleeping a couple hours a day while keeping track of people out on cases and  figuring out how to help Jack adapt to not having his powers. Then there’s Nick, the mere mention of his name makes Sam shudder, let alone the traumatic physical and emotional memories dredged up by their face to face interactions.

Thankfully, there hadn’t been any real drama between Mary and Trouble. They’ve avoided each other as much as possible in the bunker.

It was really late or early, depending on how one looked at it, and Sam was still setting in the quiet library, waiting for the last couple of hunters to check in. “Sam, you’ve been here for hours, go to bed.” Trouble softly remarks as she walks up behind him gently running her fingers through his hair.

Sam closes his eyes enjoying her touch. “Just waiting on Maggie and Sharon to check in then I'll go.”

She snorts snagging his phone when it sounds, “Who you lying to? OK, their at the one star for the night, everyone's accounted for.” Sam reaches for his phone and she dodges typing before handing it back and walking off.

“Cas is what...the hell that’s happening!” Sam gets up going after her.

“Bobby’s idea so go bitch to him mister ‘cause technically your off duty for the next twenty-four hours.” Trouble says unintimidated with him following her fuming, “Your exhausted Sam, you need a break so quit fighting and let us help.”

She stops at the shower-room door. “First, go bathe, you reek Alpha, then meet me in your room.” Sam goes from pissed off to aroused in three seconds. Trouble scents him, “Yeah right, it’s Netflix and chill...” She remarks them gives him a mischievous grin sashaying off.

Sam had been making courting overtures towards her, even though they were on a time limit, hoping he'd be awake long enough to make the most of this opportunity.

After the much needed shower Sam heads to his room in nothing but a low slung towel tosses it with his clothes into the dirty laundry hamper. Trouble came in carrying a tray of food locking the door behind her stops, inhaling sharply at the view of a completely naked Sam. He shivers as her eyes rove over him.

Sam’s not as bulked up as he was a decade ago, a leaner version still possessing a well defined upper body leading down to his flat stomach, the sharp v of his hips and those long legs. And between those legs...Swallowing hard and flushed Trouble moves setting the tray down on his bedside table as he hastily pulls on sweats and a grey t-shirt.

“Your three episodes behind in that series, figured you might want to watch it.” Trouble says grabbing his laptop and crawling onto his bed pulling up what he had been watching. “Have you seen it?” He asks sitting next to her.

“No, first your gonna eat,’ she gestures towards the tray with tomato rice soup, crackers and fruit, “then you can catch me up.”

By episode three Sam had eaten everything on the tray, brushed his teeth and was sacked out. Trouble shut the laptop down and placed it on the desk.

Turning out all the lights but a bedside one she slips back in next to Sam picking up the book she brought from the library. She’d been reading for awhile when Sam rolls over in his sleep, one leg landing between hers, arm draped across her waist and his head on her shoulder nuzzling into her neck murmuring, “back in my bed.”

As consciousness slowly filtered through the haze of extended sleep two things simultaneously get Sam’s attention, the cool scent of the Omega he’s spooning and his morning wood trapped between them.

“Must’a been a good dream,” Trouble yawns rolling onto her stomach, the sheet sliding down reliving her long legs and lower cheeks peeking out under her oversized T-shirt burying her head in the pillow mumbling “I was gonna leave after you fell asleep.”

Running a hand up the back of her thighs he pushes till she parts her legs far enough for him to touch her outer folds feeling how wet she already is before slipping two fingers into her tight channel. Trouble moans as he them slides deeper, making her wriggle against the mattress seeking friction against her clit. Sam crawls over wedging a knee between hers.

“Sam..we..sho..shouldn’t.”

Pulling his fingers out Sam moves straddling her legs, pinning them closed as he sits on her thighs stroking himself, using her slick as lubricant. Grasping her hips he starts rutting his cock between her ass cheeks.

Grunting, Sam shifts picks up momentum and with her under him, even like this, knows he’s not gonna last long. “Fuc..fuck Trouble..gonna cum…” Sam jerks back fisting his cock rapidly, cumming on her before falling forward and catches himself with one hand next to her, breathing hard. With his other hand Sam runs his fingers through his spending's rubbing it across her back.

Trouble pushes up onto her elbows looking back at him, “Dude, are you scent marking me?”

“Maybe.” Sam replies with a smug smile.

“So gross, Alpha.”

**********

Sam was beyond frustrated and feeling sick on his drive back from Atlanta. The rumored sighting of Dean end up being a bust, another one of those crazies he’s sick of wasting his time chasing. Switching off the radio that's making his headache pound harder making him wish he was home already.

Trouble, utilizing her abilities, was able to help eliminate some of bogus reports. Unfortunately, when any of them got to close, Dean disappeared.

The last time she had him, he created some kind of feedback knocking her unconscious. Cas checked her over, telling Sam she would be fine.

When she woke up Trouble tells them she’s seeing Dean doing strange experimentation on different types of monsters using Archangel Grace and it scares the hell out of her.

That was Sam’s breaking point. He stormed through the bunker in full Alpha mode from the infirmary to Deans room, packed her duffel and hauled it to his room. Even Mary knew better than to get in his way this time.

Sam couldn’t get her off his mind anymore now he had her back in his bed. She allowed him hold her whenever they slept together but wouldn’t permit anything else since that morning.

The Lebanon City Limits sign was a welcome sight. Sam was sweating, shaky and just wanting to get home.

He arrived at the bunker wondering what the hell he had caught. Mary greeted him with a hug and frowned catching his scent. Sam played it off, saying the Beta who had one too many hits of the brown acid was ill and he must have caught it.

Another hunter handed him a bowl of soup and bad news about some gypsy vamps attaching truckers. He had them set up checkpoints and sat down to hack the traffic cams. Mary gripped his arm concerned as he’s typing but he says he‘s good. She didn't believe him but doesn’t push knowing he wasn't gonna stop.

Six hours later as he left Nicks room he felt a massive surge go through him, no longer able to ignore what was wrong and it was his own damn fault.

Sam had forgotten his suppressants and for the first time in years was going into rut. He made it to the end of the hall before passing out.

**********

Cas had been by his friends bedside since Sam was found unconscious in one of the hallways days ago. He had been able to temporarily bring Sam's fever down and gave him sedatives to help him rest but with his age not being mated and having gone years without a rut his biology was demanding only cure, his chosen Omega.

Cas had called the Omega only getting her voicemail, left a message and began sending multiple texts.

He explained to Bobby that Mary had to leave the bunker, not only for her safety but the Betas also living there, unsure of how Sam will react to having another Alpha present when his Omega returned. Bobby found a case in Oregon that would occupy them for at least a week.

So Cas continued to do the only thing he could and watches over his friend.

**********

Sam woke groggy from the sedatives to the strong scent of an Omega in heat pulling him to full consciousness.

Rolling onto his side he finds Trouble lying next to him naked, covered in a light sheen of sweat fitfully sleeping.

Moving to spoon her from behind he grips one leg hooking it over his rocking  his hips sliding his engorged cock through her dripping folds, Half asleep she whimpers pulling out of his grip, drawing both legs to her chest. Rumbling in discontent Sam scoots behind her again, lines up and buries himself in her tight heat making her moan with pleasure, her cunt stretching around him.

Sam pulls out and hauls Trouble onto her hands and knees spreading her legs wide and sinks back in till his hips are flush against her ass. Feeling her relax around him Sam grasps her waist so tight bruises already forming and growling at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her slick cunt he starts pounding his hips rapidly.

Trouble reaches out grabbing the headboard to stop Sam from shoving her into it since he has six inches and nearly seventy pounds on her and is running on his instinct to mate.

Sam's knot starts to swell he continues thrusting wildly wrenches her hips up, forcing her to arch her back more as he grunts ramming the now fully engorged knot into her cunt locking them together and falls over her back, rolling his hips as she clenches him cumming.

Sam pushes himself back upright seizes a fistful of her hair pulls till she is flush to chest, biting deeply into her neck making Trouble cum again loudly.

As they counterbalance each other Sam runs his tongue over his mark cleaning off the blood he’s drawn, helping the wound to seal up faster before shifting to lay them down on the mattress. Feeling the tug of his knot Trouble clenches around him again, sending another orgasm rippling through Sam, releasing more of his seed into her.

Trembling from exertion Sam wraps his arms around Trouble, keeping her close, finally able to call her his Omega and gently placed a kiss upon her shoulder.

**********

“It's just every time I think about ya know its a..its like a nightmare. I can't eat, can't sleep, it’s always just there watching.” Dean bitched as they’re walking through the hallways.

“Dean, it’s just a beard, I’ve been a little busy lately” Sam remarks back exasperated and relived to have his brother back giving him a hard time.

“Yeah well, that’s not an excuse ya know, ‘cause a.. Duck Dynasty called and they just they want it all back.”

“Some people say I look good.” Sam proudly states almost telling him why he’s really kept it.

“No..no Sam, no people say that.” Dean shakes his head.

“Duck Dynasty is a step up from Dr. Sexy,” Dean turns to counter that insult disbelieving his eyes like Sam did weeks ago.

Trouble’s leaning against the wall now sporting her natural titian tresses that rival Rowena's.

“Good to have you back Dean,” She says giving him a hug, “and I like the beard.” Walking over to Sam she pushes him against the wall wantonly kissing in front of Dean.

Breathless, Sam touches his forehead against hers running his fingers along the flannels front, “I was looking for this shirt the other day ‘mega.”

“Hmm, my bad, suppose I need to be punished Alpha.” She teasingly remakes biting her lip. Sam purrs low in his chest as he slides the shirt off her shoulders.

“You’re back together?” Dean blurts out interrupting them.

Sam turns pulling Trouble with him, her back against his chest and movie her hair to reveal his mark.

Dean looks between them “Fucking took you long enough Sammy,” he snaps turning to continue down the hallway grumbling, “there better not be any more surprises.”

Nuzzling her neck he inhales the new honey-vanilla scent mixing with her naturally cooler one.

Sam reaches down tenderly placing his large hands protectively over her womb where their surprise is resting and kisses her shoulder.

[kickingitwithkirk]

A Kiss Upon Your Shoulder

Pairing: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Trouble Lacroix (OFC)

WC:3536

Warnings: 18 + only: kissing, humping M/F, intercourse, cursing, mention of addiction,  angst

A/N: For @saxxxology   #saxxxology vol.1 writing challenge

I was originally to post this on Dec 31, 2019 but lost my internet for several days. I apologize for the delay- Country living and winter in the South don’t mix.

SONG PROMPT: Off My Mind-my favorite on the album

A/N: Set season 14  during Dean Winchester's possession by Apocalypse World’s Micheal. Timeline extended and some events altered from series. I borrowed title from song lyrics.

*no beta- all mistakes are mine.

*GIF not mine

The sound of the bunker door closing reverberates through the room. Several of the hunters around the map table stop what they're doing to watch an unusually tall Omega with long, smoky pink hair braided in a loose plait and wearing hunters garb descending the metal staircase halting at the bottom.

Sam Winchester’s sitting at the far end of the table alternating between his phone receiving updates from hunters out in the field and the laptop looking for clues in the search for Dean while strategizing with Mary and Bobby their next move froze disbelieving his eyes.

“Sammy,” the Omega hesitantly says, her lightly accented voice startles him out of his stupor.

Batten down the hatches Sammy boy, Trouble just done walked back into my life… Dean used those exact words years ago introducing him to this Omega, never knowing how true they would turn out to be.  

But not for him.

Sam's eyes shift into a fiery glow as his inner Alphas outrage surfaces at this imposter trying to pass itself as his long gone Omega.

“What fucking game are you playing at?” Sam gets up growling, stalking towards her pulling his demon blade.

“Sam wait!” Mary hollers at her youngest son knowing all too well the damage Sam can inflict under normal circumstances but in the state of extreme stress he’s currently under she doesn’t want him to do anything he’ll regret.

The Apocalypse World hunters glance at each other perplexed having never seen an enraged Alpha unsure what they should do.

After their arrival to this reality Sam gave them a crash course on life here, including the multiple genders of humans, Alpha/Beta/Omega, their confusing hierarchies and how they relate to each other. The Alpha/Omega intricacies and nuances were still hard for them to comprehend since all of them were Betas.

The Omega cast her eyes down in deference to the large Alpha. “I'm here abo...” she doesn't finish speaking as he wraps his hand around her throat, slamming her back against a support column. She seizes his wrist as her eyes snap up meeting his glaring back before tilting her head as far as she can to the right exposing more of her throat.

Sam cautiously leans in, running his nose along her neck. The unique scent of winter, perceptible only to the Alpha under the scent blockers she’s used triggers memories he’s diligently repressed to keep this Omega off his mind come flooding back. The blade clatters loudly on the floor in the now silent room.

Wrapping his arms around her nuzzling into the curve of her neck he sucks on that spot he knows drives her crazy. Biting her lip she tangles her fingers in his long hair drawing him back up, running her tongue over his lips seeking entrance that he grants swirling his tongue around hers.

Someone's wolf whistling snaps them out of acting couple newly presented teens caught by their parents being very naughty.

“Hmm, not sorry,” she whispers nibbling on Sam’s ear making him quiver.

“Behave,” Sam mutters back taking a deep breath and subtlety adjusting himself before turning around to deal with everyone's reactions, not really ready to answer the inevitable questions.

Scenting his anxiety she twines their hands together offering a reassuring squeeze.

They’ve drawn quite a large audience from the library and adjoining hallways. People are elbowing each other grinning, whispering among themselves about their Chiefs and strange woman's reactions to each other then necking in front of everyone.

Mary stands there, arms crossed with the patented mom’s not amused look.

Sam huffs out an embarrassed laugh. “Everyone this is Trouble Lacroix, she’s my...she's an old friend.”

“I’m just an old friend after everything I went through for you?” Trouble snaps and Sam growls a warning at her tone but fuck it, she was right.

When Dean introduced them they were both junkies. Sam drugs of choice were demon blood and the power it gave him. Trouble’s was whatever made her forget her hunter fathers dominance over her as an Omega.

By the time they both got clean Sam found he could love again and she had learned to trust the Alpha in him wouldn't hurt her like others had. Sam swore during his next rut he would claim her as his Omega.

A week before he said yes to Lucifer and the subsequent showdown at Stull Cemetery he went into rut.

At their secret rendezvous, an old hunters cabin in Arkansas with his rut over Sam hadn’t claimed her, saying he couldn’t damn her, that this was his last chance to, unlike Jess, save her from certain death.

Trouble stood at the cabins window overlooking a small lake silently crying, unable to respond. The Alpha scented her sadness wanted nothing more than to comfort his Omega but all he could do was to kiss her shoulder, as he’d always done before leaving that last time.

Almost a decade later Sam can see the damage his refusals done in her sorrowful eyes.

“You kiss all your old friends like that?” Bobby quipped sarcastically eliciting a few laughs and breaking some of the tension.

“You look like Bobby Singer but you...resonate all wrong,” Trouble remarks as her light colored eyes surveys the others in the room finally coming to rest on Jack. “A Nephilim without Grace?”

“Yes, he is,” Mary answers crossing over to stand next to Jack, “how can you know that?”

Trouble shrugs “I’ve always been able to perceive things that are outside the normal spectrum.”

“You can what?” Maggie asks confused.

“The Omega can see that you’re out of tune with this reality,” Castiel states tipping his head to the side studying her, “she also possess other abilities.”

“I don’t need them to see your a dick.”

“Trouble,” Sam warns knowing she’d picked that up from Dean.

“Sorry, Angel of the Lord.” She half ass apologizes.

“And you suddenly show up here out of nowhere because?” Mary tersely inquires in her Alpha voice. Sam bristles unhappy that another Alpha, even his own mother, thinks they can question the Omega.

Releasing Sam’s hand she steps closer to Mary taking the same stance staring her straight in the eye. “I’ve seen Dean.”

Trouble tells them everything about her encounter with Dean in Nova Scotia, where she’s been the last two months.

They question is why he let her live when he’s killed others he has had contact with, another piece in a puzzle not making sense.

Sam asks her to stay but she turns him down, telling him it's safer for her to keep moving. He counters what better place is there for protection than in the heavily warded bunker?

She reluctantly agrees but only until Dean returns.

Mary makes it vehemently clear it’s problematic having an unclaimed Omega stay.

Sam reminds his mother that he is a mature Alpha, been making his own decisions without her input his whole life and with the daily suppressants he’s taken for years can control his instincts.

That got Mary’s back up, ready to argue with her youngest son, reminding him the Omegas already made the unmated Alpha act out. Bobby pulls her to the side and somehow he convinces her that the Omegas will be an assist in finding Dean. She doesn’t like but relents. Trouble is to stay in Dean's room, his Beta scent will help cover hers more to mollify Sam and a physical space between them for Mary.

**********

Sam's frustrations over having not found Dean yet and his personal anxieties were intermittently fluctuating. The stresses he’s under, hardly eating, barely sleeping a couple hours a day while keeping track of people out on cases and  figuring out how to help Jack adapt to not having his powers. Then there’s Nick, the mere mention of his name makes Sam shudder, let alone the traumatic physical and emotional memories dredged up by their face to face interactions.

Thankfully, there hadn’t been any real drama between Mary and Trouble. They’ve avoided each other as much as possible in the bunker.

It was really late or early, depending on how one looked at it, and Sam was still setting in the quiet library, waiting for the last couple of hunters to check in. “Sam, you’ve been here for hours, go to bed.” Trouble softly remarks as she walks up behind him gently running her fingers through his hair.

Sam closes his eyes enjoying her touch. “Just waiting on Maggie and Sharon to check in then I'll go.”

She snorts snagging his phone when it sounds, “Who you lying to? OK, their at the one star for the night. Everyone's accounted for.” Sam reaches for his phone and she dodges typing before handing it back and walking off.

“Cas is what...the hell that’s happening!” Sam gets up going after her.

“Bobby’s idea so go bitch to him mister ‘cause technically your off duty for the next twenty-four hours.” Trouble says unintimidated with him following her fuming, “Your exhausted Sam, you need a break so quit fighting and let us help.”

She stops at the shower-room door. “First, go bathe, you reek Alpha, then meet me in your room.” Sam goes from pissed off to aroused in three seconds. Trouble scents him, “Yeah right, it’s Netflix and chill...” She remarks them gives him a mischievous grin sashaying off.

Sam had been making courting overtures towards her, even though they were on a time limit, hoping he'd be awake long enough to make the most of this opportunity.

After the much needed shower Sam heads to his room in nothing but a low slung towel tosses it with his clothes into the dirty laundry hamper. Trouble came in carrying a tray of food locking the door behind her stops, inhaling sharply at the view of a completely naked Sam. He shivers as her eyes rove over him.

Sam’s not as bulked up as he was a decade ago, a leaner version still possessing a well defined upper body leading down to his flat stomach, the sharp v of his hips and those long legs. And between those legs...Swallowing hard and flushed Trouble moves setting the tray down on his bedside table as he hastily pulls on sweats and a grey t-shirt.

“Your three episodes behind in that series, figured you might want to watch it.” Trouble says grabbing his laptop and crawling onto his bed pulling up what he had been watching. “Have you seen it?” He asks sitting next to her.

“No, first your gonna eat,’ she gestures towards the tray with tomato rice soup, crackers and fruit, “then you can catch me up.”

By episode three Sam had eaten everything on the tray, brushed his teeth and was sacked out. Trouble shut the laptop down and placed it on the desk.

Turning out all the lights but a bedside one she slips back in next to Sam  picking up the book she brought from the library. She’d been reading for awhile when Sam rolls over in his sleep, one leg landing between hers, arm draped across her waist and his head on her shoulder nuzzling into her neck murmuring, “back in my bed.”

As consciousness slowly filtered through the haze of extended sleep two things simultaneously get Sam’s attention, the cool scent of the Omega he’s spooning and his morning wood trapped between them.

“Must’a been a good dream,” Trouble yawns rolling onto her stomach, the sheet sliding down reliving her long legs and lower cheeks peeking out under her oversized T-shirt burying her head in the pillow mumbling “I was gonna leave after you fell asleep.”

Running a hand up the back of her thighs he pushes till she parts her legs far enough for him to touch her outer folds feeling how wet she already is before slipping two fingers into her tight channel. Trouble moans as he them slides deeper, making her wriggle against the mattress seeking friction against her clit. Sam crawls over wedging a knee between hers.

“Sam..we..sho..shouldn’t.”

Pulling his fingers out Sam moves straddling her legs, pinning them closed as he sits on her thighs stroking himself, using her slick as lubricant. Grasping her hips he starts rutting his cock between her ass cheeks.

Grunting, Sam shifts picks up momentum and with her under him, even like this, knows he’s not gonna last long. “Fuc..fuck Trouble..gonna cum…” Sam jerks back fisting his cock rapidly, cumming on her before falling forward and catches himself with one hand next to her, breathing hard. With his other hand Sam runs his fingers through his spending's rubbing it across her back.

Trouble pushes up onto her elbows looking back at him, “Dude, are you scent marking me?”

“Maybe.” Sam replies with a smug smile.

“So gross, Alpha.”  

**********

Sam was beyond frustrated and feeling sick on his drive back from Atlanta. The rumored sighting of Dean end up being a bust, another one of those crazies he’s sick of wasting his time chasing. Switching off the radio that's making his headache pound harder making him wish he was home already.

Trouble, utilizing her abilities, was able to help eliminate some of bogus reports. Unfortunately, when any of them got to close, Dean disappeared.

The last time she had him, he created some kind of feedback knocking her unconscious. Cas checked her over, telling Sam she would be fine.

When she woke up Trouble tells them she’s seeing Dean doing strange experimentation on different types of monsters using Archangel Grace and it scares the hell out of her.

That was Sam’s breaking point. He stormed through the bunker in full Alpha mode from the infirmary to Deans room, packed her duffel and hauled it to his room. Even Mary knew better than to get in his way this time.

Sam couldn’t get her off his mind anymore now he had her back in his bed. She allowed him hold her whenever they slept together but wouldn’t permit anything else since that morning.

The Lebanon City Limits sign was a welcome sight. Sam was sweating, shaky and just wanting to get home.

He arrived at the bunker wondering what the hell he had caught. Mary greeted him with a hug and frowned catching his scent. Sam played it off, saying the Beta who had one too many hits of the brown acid was ill and he must have caught it.

Another hunter handed him a bowl of soup and bad news about some gypsy vamps attaching truckers. He had them set up checkpoints and sat down to hack the traffic cams. Mary gripped his arm concerned as he’s typing but he says he‘s good. She didn't believe him but doesn’t push knowing he wasn't gonna stop.

Six hours later as he left Nicks room he felt a massive surge go through him, no longer able to ignore what was wrong and it was his own damn fault.

Sam had forgotten his suppressants and for the first time in years was going into rut. He made it to the end of the hall before passing out.

**********

Cas had been by his friends bedside since Sam was found unconscious in one of the hallways days ago. He had been able to temporarily bring Sam's fever down and gave him sedatives to help him rest but with his age not being mated and having gone years without a rut his biology was demanding only cure, his chosen Omega.

Cas had called the Omega only getting her voicemail, left a message and began sending multiple texts.

He explained to Bobby that Mary had to leave the bunker, not only for her safety but the Betas also living there, unsure of how Sam will react to having another Alpha present when his Omega returned. Bobby found a case in Oregon that would occupy them for at least a week.

So Cas continued to do the only thing he could and watches over his friend.

**********

Sam woke groggy from the sedatives to the strong scent of an Omega in heat pulling him to full consciousness.

Rolling onto his side he finds Trouble lying next to him naked, covered in a light sheen of sweat fitfully sleeping.    

Moving to spoon her from behind he grips one leg hooking it over his rocking   his hips sliding his engorged cock through her dripping folds, Half asleep she whimpers pulling out of his grip, drawing both legs to her chest. Rumbling in discontent Sam scoots behind her again, lines up and buries himself in her tight heat making her moan with pleasure, her cunt stretching around him.

Sam pulls out and hauls Trouble onto her hands and knees spreading her legs wide and sinks back in till his hips are flush against her ass. Feeling her relax around him Sam grasps her waist so tight bruises already forming and growling at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her slick cunt he starts pounding his hips rapidly.

Trouble reaches out grabbing the headboard to stop Sam from shoving her into it since he has six inches and nearly seventy pounds on her and is running on his instinct to mate.

Sam's knot starts to swell he continues thrusting wildly wrenches her hips up, forcing her to arch her back more as he grunts ramming the now fully engorged knot into her cunt locking them together and falls over her back, rolling his hips as she clenches him cumming.

Sam pushes himself back upright seizes a fistful of her hair pulls till she is flush to chest, biting deeply into her neck making Trouble cum again loudly.

As they counterbalance each other Sam runs his tongue over his mark cleaning off the blood he’s drawn, helping the wound to seal up faster before shifting to lay them down on the mattress. Feeling the tug of his knot Trouble clenches around him again, sending another orgasm rippling through Sam, releasing more of his seed into her.

Trembling from exertion Sam wraps his arms around Trouble, keeping her close, finally able to call her his Omega and gently placed a kiss upon her shoulder.

**********

“It's just every time I think about ya know its a..its like a nightmare. I can't eat, can't sleep, it’s always just there watching.” Dean bitched as they’re walking through the hallways.

“Dean, it’s just a beard, I’ve been a little busy lately” Sam remarks back exasperated and relived to have his brother back giving him a hard time.

“Yeah well, that’s not an excuse ya know, ‘cause a.. Duck Dynasty called and they just they want it all back.”

“Some people say I look good.” Sam proudly states almost telling him why he’s really kept it.

“No..no Sam, no people say that.” Dean shakes his head.

“Duck Dynasty is a step up from Dr. Sexy,” Dean turns to counter that insult disbelieving his eyes like Sam did weeks ago.

Trouble’s leaning against the wall now sporting her natural titian tresses that rival Rowena's.

“Good to have you back Dean,” She says giving him a hug, “and I like the beard.”  Walking over to Sam she pushes him against the wall wantonly kissing in front of Dean.

Breathless, Sam touches his forehead against hers running his fingers along the flannels front, “I was looking for this shirt the other day ‘mega.”

“Hmm, my bad, suppose I need to be punished Alpha.” She teasingly remakes biting her lip. Sam purrs low in his chest as he slides the shirt off her shoulders.

“You’re back together?” Dean blurts out interrupting them.

Sam turns pulling Trouble with him, her back against his chest and movie her hair to reveal his mark.

Dean looks between them “Fucking took you long enough Sammy,” he snaps turning to continue down the hallway grumbling, “there better not be any more surprises.”

Nuzzling her neck he inhales the new honey-vanilla scent mixing with her naturally cooler one.

Sam reaches down tenderly placing his large hands protectively over her womb where their surprise is resting and kisses her shoulder.