#drew this awhile ago but figured I should share it before the month is over

[astrodances]

Happy pride, everyone!!! 💛🤍💜🖤✨

[ladyfawkes]

[I know what you're thinking -- and the answer is NOPE. THIS IS NOT A REPOST. THIS IS THE ACTUAL THIRD UPDATE (count 'em, THREE!!) in less than a month!! WOOPAH!!!] Tangled Just Before Ever After Chapter 4: Down the Hatch Current word count: 10103 Chapter 4 Summary: How in the world does Eugene answer Rapunzel's question??? Can the author manage to eek out yet another chapter from within the Tower??? WILL OUR COUPLE EVER GET BACK TO CORONA?!? S0ooOoo MANY qUeStiONs!!11!!

Eugene gulped hard several times; the silence stretched a bit too thin between his forthcoming answer and Rapunzel’s question. Eugene could feel that old standby instinct of wanting to lie through his teeth threatening to take over. But this was Rapunzel before him…. And this much he’d learned by now; if an honest woman confronts you about your past hookups, you should level with her. Though Eugene would've told Rapunzel whatever she wished to know, no matter when she chose to ask. After he’d been exploited for so many years by the likes of Stalyan and the Baron, Eugene had reached a breaking point fairly early on where he couldn’t bring himself to seduce the innocent anymore. He’d never liked doing that in the first place since it made him feel cheap, sleazy, and just all-out gross. Even grifters had to draw the line somewhere. It was yet another reason why he’d left Stalyan.

Eugene also knew that if he had to start running interference regarding his past during his first day as Eugene Fitzherbert the gentleman ….then he’d have to keep lying forever afterward….just like Flynn had. And Eugene was simply tired -- no, exhausted -- from all of the running, running, running. Flynn Rider had been on the move ever since he ditched the orphanage before his 10th year all those years ago. No more running, Eugene resolved. Even if leveling with the princess means she wants me out of the picture, so be it. She deserves to hear the truth from the source.

“Rapunzel….” Eugene began delicately, “the short answer to your question -- I’m sorry to say -- is far too many. But I’m requesting that we put a bookmark in that answer; we’ll circle back around to finish it.” Eugene nearly lost his nerve to continue after seeing the crestfallen look in Rapunzel’s eyes. He instead busied himself by locating the ring-shaped pull embedded in the trapdoor of the floor. After tugging on it, he noticed it wouldn’t budge. Without prompting, Rapunzel volunteered further information, explaining how when the princess was still little, Gothel always made her go up to the loft before she opened the trapdoor for her trips away. The crone never wanted the girl to figure out how to operate it. Thus Rapunzel said, “But you’re good at finding your way out of places. I figured you could make the mechanism work -- even without having seen Gothel’s trick to unlatching it.”

No sooner had Rapunzel said the word “unlatching” when a sharp click-THUNK issued from the floor. “Found it,” announced a smirking Eugene, as he moved the toe of his boot off of the otherwise camouflaged mechanism. He couldn’t help feeling a little smug after having effectively outthought that diabolical dead woman….again. The young man repositioned himself to again tug the metal ring and sure enough, the trapdoor swung open this time.

“After you,” said Eugene, gallantly gesturing Rapunzel down the next set of stairs.

“If only I had met you sooner,” Rapunzel said wistfully, as she shook her head. She’d tried to find that hidden mechanism in the floor for years. Eugene had discovered and figured out how to disarm it in mere seconds.

Eugene could not help his contrite chuckle. “Rapunzel, if we had met sooner -- even one year earlier, I doubt I ever could’ve left this place the first time. But it would’ve been for an entirely different reason.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rapunzel challenged, an unexpected edge to her voice. She folded her arms and demanded, “And what’s that?”

“Well, for starters,” said Eugene, his voice becoming far more subdued, “you never would’ve reached the fateful decision to enter a trust agreement with the kingdom’s most disreputable scoundrel. I mean….how could you?” Eugene pondered softly. “Especially based on the faulty info you’d been given about the world in general, you wouldn’t have had a reason yet to take the chance on our deal. Gothel’s control freakishness….hadn’t yet pushed you to the brink. Instead, she would’ve come home, you would’ve had no choice but to tell her that you’d caught me breaking in, and….well….”

“Don’t say that,” Rapunzel abruptly cut him off, abandoning her walk down the stairs, instead rushing over to grab Eugene’s free hand. “Don’t you ever say that,” she admonished, eyes wide. “Even if you had remained a perfect rogue stranger to me, Eugene Fitzherbert, I never would’ve wanted that old crone to hurt you on purpose. And especially not like... this,” finished Rapunzel, once more stretching her palm and pressing it against the jagged bloody tear in his doublet. A renewed ember of hope sparked inside him. And before he knew it, Rapunzel was apologizing, of all things!

“I….I’m sorry I put you on the spot that way regarding, ah, any prior relationships. It wasn’t fair of me to throw something like that on you so suddenly.” Meekness overtook Rapunzel and she looked at the floor, absently tracing out an invisible half-circle with her big toe. “Besides,” she confessed, “I only did it to distract you from my own awkwardness. But….but you kept…..insisting I should tell you what was bothering me since you are trustworthy.” Eugene was swift and carefully set the trapdoor down with the hinge open outward. He also briefly removed and set down his satchel.

The anxious young man went directly to Rapunzel with open arms but halfway through the motion thought that perhaps he shouldn’t, because Eugene didn’t want her to feel obligated to reciprocate. So the keyed-up man kept his fingers curled into his palms rather than reach out, and he kept his arms from raising above waist height. He was half-frozen, trying earnestly not to telegraph what he truly wished to do.

Eugene’s own thumbs must’ve betrayed him, though, as they involuntarily flexed, splaying outward from his balled fists. Rapunzel approached him and briefly gazed into his eyes with a hint of smile behind her own. She proceeded to lean over and take each of his hands, in turn, and tenderly kiss each errant thumb, in turn. Yet any embarrassment Eugene felt over her keen perception would soon melt away. For the princess took his left wrist and placed his arm over her right shoulder, took his right wrist and guided his arm around her waist, and then she mirrored the gesture with her own arms around him. The pair had briefly stopped their world to oh-so-carefully melt deeply into each other. After some time, they briefly broke their embrace. Rapunzel drew her arms in and criss-crossed her upper body with them, tucking in right up against Eugene’s chest. This allowed the sweet young man to attentively draw the princess into himself so tightly, nearly tight enough for him to wrap his arms around her twice as he buried his entire face into her silken hair. Each time they embraced….Eugene was simply floored with just how perfectly they “fit” one another; she could nestle comfortably and flush against his own shape, creating a head-to-toe highway of warmth and love.

Eventually, contented humming issued from Rapunzel’s throat. “I’ve never felt this safe before,” she murmured in awe, her face still pillowed against Eugene’s chest. “Nobody’s ever held me like this before either.” This realization had moved the princess to tears. Eugene leisurely placed a ring of popcorn kisses around the crown of her head in effort to soothe. “Dearest Sunshine of mine,’ he whispered into her hair, “I can promise you there’s so much more where that came from…..” and he was able to draw her imperceptibly closer into himself.

Soon moisture pricked the corners of his own eyes, for Eugene had a similar epiphany to Rapunzel’s. In all his years of relative isolation on the run, Rider never once allowed himself to partake in anything on this type of intimacy level. He’d always been keen to its existence, though. And he knew it was so much deeper and more meaningful than sex. And being the secretly sensitive person Eugene was, it was something he furtively craved but couldn’t bring himself to put that type of expectation upon another human being, knowing the unfavorable lifestyle he led.

And here this fractured thief managed to get caught up within a perfect healing ray of sunlight….and she was willing to take him on along with all his demons, even without knowing the full story in advance. And boy, did he ever have more than his fair share of demons. In spite of himself, Eugene had to say it again. “Sunshine…..I don’t deserve you.”

He immediately heard a tiny huff of impatience from her. “Eugeeeeeene,” Rapunzel overemphasized with mild vexation, “deserving or not, I’ve chosen you. You are forever my new dream. So….so start acting like it….please?” she implored, gazing at him with wide-open concerned eyes. Even her pep talk to him had proven about as rough and tumble as dandelion fluff.

“For you, Sunshine.” Eugene caressed her cheek. “It’ll be a struggle for awhile….but I will no longer speak of ‘deserving to have you.’ I shall instead focus on ‘building new dreams with you’.”

“Thank you,” Rapunzel said gratefully. “It….just….hurts me to see you thinking so much less of yourself due to circumstances now beyond your control.” She slipped her hand into Eugene’s own. And it was that moment he finally found an opening to finish what he started.

“Circling back to the bookmark in our conversation…. Rapunzel…. Ever since the first time you chose to address me as Eugene, everything...the past few days...has been unlike anything I’ve ever felt or experienced with any woman before. It’s all new….all of it. So many firsts already. Nonetheless, you still have every right to ask me about whomever I’ve been with prior to when we met. And while I do intend to eventually tell you about those encounters -- if that’s what you want -- you should also be aware that for me, Eugene Fitzherbert, it’s still a little too soon to openly discuss much of anything just yet. But I will try for your sake, if that’s what you need.” He briefly bowed his head, his eyelids automatically sliding shut.

Rapunzel was so fleet-footed that Eugene had not heard her change positions to where she grabbed his satchel, immediately encouraged Eugene to open his eyes and to help a struggling Pascal who was now lugging a forgotten cast-iron frying pan, and she started down the steps at long last. That was….abrupt, Eugene thought to himself. If Rapunzel was perpetually so talented at keeping him on his toes, then he’d best get himself some better boots -- and soon!

“You okay?” asked Eugene, just to make sure. He grabbed the brass ring of the trapdoor and just before he closed it…..he looked around the Tower one last time. He knew that he should feel the most ominous and terrified that he’d ever felt, especially upon glimpsing his own bloodstain on the floor. But something…..someone was protecting him. And even though he was neither superstitious nor believed in ghosts, once in awhile he would privately allow himself the indulgence of conjuring up invented people and imagery from his past. Fleetingly an image of who could only be his mother comes to mind; it was her spirit that must’ve been shielding him from the worst of today’s trauma, he decided. Thank you, he mouths the words to a seemingly empty Tower, pulling the trapdoor tight shut forever.....

“I’m more than okay,” Rapunzel replied enthusiastically, as she made her way down the dingy spiral staircase. “Who cares about past relationships when you can tell me about all of those firsts you just mentioned instead?”

Eugene almost -- almost -- laughed aloud with relief. Here he had been so worried about past relationship questions when Rapunzel instead wanted to be told all about the present. Three days, and this was the only thing he’d come across so far in which Rapunzel was anything like any other woman he’d met. And Eugene was more than happy to indulge her need to know just how special she had become to him and why.

A/N: I hate to do this (haven't done it here before) but I'm getting next to NO feedback and the same goes for reblogs. If you enjoy my writing, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE -- even if you write no review--reblog this?? It's the only way this story goes out anywhere. It's an author's life blood. You all know how isolating and ridiculous tumblr's stupid search algorithm is.....

[12yeahiminluvwu]

Bad Enough For You

pairing - pop-punk!jj x pop punk!reader

summary- JJ wants you all to himself, and he’ll do anything he has to to make that happen, even if it means reverting to his old ways. 

word count- 2,265

warning(s)- swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs, 

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

From the wings, JJ watched as the girl he had shamelessly obsessed over for months sang her lungs out and jumped around the stage like she owned the place. He could tell that this was her element. The stage was where she belonged. From where he stood, he could see her chest moving up and down as she fought hard to breathe but you wouldn’t know by the way she hit every note like it was second nature to her. He watched the way she got down on her knees, reaching out for the crowd and singing right to them. She was fucking good at this. It was no question why they were the most popular band in the little college town. 

Y/n was somewhat of a mystery to JJ, even after all this time. He couldn’t figure her out, no matter how hard he tried. He watched countless guys come and go, none of them fitting her standards- of which he had no clue what they were. 

He was always nice to her- which was his first mistake. Y/n wasn’t into the nice guy type. Unbeknownst to JJ, she liked her boy, and girls, as bad as they come. Her last boyfriend was a drug dealer from the southside of town who looked like he definitely had killed someone before. She never bothered to ask though, it was just better that way. His second mistake was trying to get her attention. She didn’t give it to anyone she knew wanted it, except for fans on stage. So there JJ was, shit out of luck. It wasn’t until one night after a hopeless encounter that he decided he’d start trying to be someone she would pay attention to. That had been a few weeks ago now. JJ knew how to be an asshole. He’d done it most of his teenage years back home on the island. 

As the band was coming off stage, Y/n waited for the typical “Hey good job out there!” from JJ, but all she got was a cold shoulder. He didn’t even acknowledge her, even if all he wanted to do was spin her around and tell her how amazing she’d been. He had to be the bad guy now, because that’s the only way he’d get to her. She brushed it off quickly and made her way back to the green room, whereas JJ and his boys made their way onto the stage. 

--------

“Anyone know The Band CAMINO?” JJ asked and the crowd erupted in loud chants and screams. The tune to See Through filled the bar and the crowd got even louder. She didn’t know it, but Y/n was the inspiration for the band singing this song tonight. 

Now it was Y/n’s turn to watch from the wings. She kept her gaze on the blond bassist, silently wishing he would stop trying so hard to get at her. 

The air in the bar was damp and smelled like sweat and cheap beer. It was packed wall to wall, for sure violating some type of fire code, but who really cared anyway. The only sound you could hear from here all the way down the block was the live music being played. Lights shined on the boys, illuminating every inch of their skin, making them look like absolute gods. JJ, as usual, had ended up taking his shirt off a few songs into the set, making everyone in the crowd go crazy. Y/n had to admit, the boy knows how to work an audience. He knows exactly what to do to drive them crazy, and if he wasn’t such a kiss ass off stage, she might give him a chance. She just wasn’t into the kind of guys who would drop everything and come running. She liked the chase. She liked feeling like she had to earn the attention of someone, she didn’t like when it came easy. 

“Rebound feeling like a rerun, everything that we've done, funny how it all played out.

You're good at looking at me like I'm see-through but I gotta see you, I shoulda learned by now.” The vein in JJ’s neck was straining as he poured his heart into the song. In that moment, with the crowd roaring and the sweat dripping down his face, he felt like he was flying. He felt invincible, and for a moment- he forgot about Y/n. But only for a moment, because as soon as the next verse fell out of his mouth, her image came flooding back into his mind like a tidal wave. 

“How do I get your attention? How does it feel to always have mine? How do I address this tension? How you're looking through me every time? Got me out here, got me thinking what I would do, got me in my head, got me wishing I was with you. God, I'm wishing I was with you.” Quickly, JJ glanced over to where you stood and before you could notice, his eyes shifted back to the crowd in front of him. 

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

Post gig was always JJ’s favorite time because he got to hang out with his boys and revel in the high that was performing live. The air was still thick from the events tonight but the boys didn’t care. The afterparty had moved from the bar to the band’s shared apartment and Y/n’s band was here too. JJ did his best to keep his gaze off of her, but her smile lit up the whole room, and he couldn’t ignore the way he felt when she was around. But he knew that if he showed any of that at all, it would send her running for the hills. 

There she was, standing with a drink in her hand, laughing with the lead singer of his band and driving him crazy. He tried to focus on the music playing and the conversation he was having about how good Ashton Irwin’s solo music was, and how his album is going to be a huge hit, but he found himself drifting back to her every time. Excusing himself, he walked into the kitchen to make himself a stronger drink. He stopped cold when he saw who was standing at the counter, back facing him. Shaking his head, and ignoring the hitch in his throat, he brushed past her, reaching around the counter to find what he was looking for. 

“You’ve been pretty quiet lately Maybank… any particular reason?” The girl asked from beside him. He looked over at you quickly, simply shrugging his shoulders. That was all he gave you, hoping it would be enough to keep your attention a little longer without looking too interested. You gave him a once over before continuing on with your night. 

JJ had left you wanting more, believe it or not. You suddenly wanted to know why he detached himself from you. Was he losing interest in you? Or using reverse psychology to get your attention. Either way, it made your mind race. The more he drew away, the closer you wanted to get. This was the chase you wanted. 

By the end of the night, you were drunk off your ass and had somewhat attached yourself to JJ. He paid you no mind other than keeping you from falling over every once and awhile. 

“Do you need a ride home?” He asked as people started to clear out and head home. He hadn’t ended up drinking as much as he thought he would, and was completely sober. 

“Probably…” You giggled and laid your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his middle, attempting to pull him closer to you. On the inside, he was freaking out. His heart was permanently beating at a million miles an hour, his palms sweating and breath caught in his throat, but to anyone looking your way, he looked cool as a cucumber. No one would be able to tell that he was freaked out by the girl of his dreams hanging off him like they were in love. 

JJ looked around and saw that your whole band had left and that you two were the only ones left in the living room. 

“We should get you back home…” He trailed off, walking the two of you over to the couch and sitting you down so he could grab your things before helping you back up and out to his car. He reached across to belt you in and gently shut the door. Starting the car, the quiet hum of Bad Enough For You by All Time Low filled in the silence between the two of you. 

“You know…” Y/n started to say and JJ glanced over at her before returning his gaze to the road. After looking at her ID for her address, he made his way through the streets. 

“I actually think you’re really attractive, but you made it wayyy too obvious that you had a thing for me so I pushed you away… because it scares me when people show an interest in me… be-because usually people just leave in the end anyway…” 

JJ was quiet for a moment. Had you just admitted that you liked him? 

“Why, don’t we talk about this tomorrow when you’re sober?” He asked, parking his car in front of her apartment. Coming around the side of the car, he helped her up out of the seat and walked her to the door, grabbing her keys from her to open the door. 

“Will you stay?” She slurred and he hesitated. 

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea Y/n…” 

“Please? We don’t have to do anything, I just don’t want to be alone when I wake up…” The look on her face was enough to make him do anything she asked him to. His heart melted and he nodded, walking behind her, hands intertwined, to her bedroom. She shimmied out of her skinny jeans and took her bra off under the baggy band tee-shirt that had been tucked into the pants, plopping down on the queen mattress. JJ kicked off his docs and shimmied out of the jeans he’d been wearing before climbing into bed next to her. She tucked herself right into his chest like it was her own little spot and was out in seconds. JJ, on the other hand, took a little longer to fall asleep. He started down at you, your cheek pressed up against his chest, hair all over the place. He’d never seen you look this peaceful, not even on stage. Slowly, he brought his hand up to brush the stray hairs out of your face.  He just couldn’t get his mind to shut off. But eventually, his eyelids fell heavily closed and sleep took over him. 

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

When morning came, you had trouble remembering where you were, and who you were with… Looking up at the person you were laying a slight rush of releifewashed over you, but then you started to worry about what happened last night and lifted the blanket in hopes that your clothes, and his, were still intact. Thank fuck, they were. 

You felt JJ take a deep breath and closed your eyes, pretending to be asleep still, doing your best to ignore the pounding headache that resided at the base of your neck. You could tell JJ had a mini freakout, similar to yours, when he opened his eyes. But then his memories of last night came back. Yours came back in pieces, while his came back in a rushing wave. You remembered suddenly wanting all of his attention and doing your best to get it, until your bandmate kept handing you vodka sodas and before you knew it you were hanging all over him the rest of the night. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, you somehow got him to stay the night with you. And now here you were, tangled in your bedsheets. 

Slowly, you looked up at him, trying to gage the situation. He looked down at you, the smallest hint of a smile ghosting across his lips. You found yourself staring at them. The feeling of his fingers trailing up your arm sent shivers down your spine, and heat rushed to your cheeks. 

“Uh, hi…” You trailed off, absentmindedly tracing shapes along his abs, sometime last night his shirt had come off, leaving him in his boxers. 

“Hey.” He smiled. His voice was deep and scratchy due to the lack of use overnight, his nerves didn’t help any. 

“Coffee?” You asked after a pause and he chuckled lightly, nodding his head. You nodded back at him before pushing yourself out of bed and making your way to the kitchen. JJ wasn’t too far behind you, taking a seat on the other side of the island. 

“So… last night was interesting…” He began, trying to get the conversation flowing. 

“Yeah, uh. I was pretty fucking drunk so. I don’t really remember anything I said…” You admitted from where you stood at your keurig. 

“Well, to sum it up, you told me to stop being such a try hard and you think I’m hot.”

“That sounds like something I would say, yeah.” The two laughed and another moment of silence fell on them. 

“Well, I would be down to go out if you are…?” She said and JJ did his best to contain his excitement. 

“Yeah, that’d be cool.” He said and she smiled, realizing she’d been right about him just faking the hard ass act to get her to like him.

[myhauntedsalem]

19 Parents Share The Creepiest Things Their Kids Have Ever Said

Kids say the darnedest things, but they also come out with ridiculously creepy things as well. When Reddit asked ‘what is the creepiest thing your child has ever said?’ Parents of the internet came forward with their stories and boy, they didn’t disappoint.

Here are nineteen of the most disturbing, chill inducing stories shared.  All we ask is for you to try and suppress the urge to lock your children in a cupboard after reading these.

1. “Daddy Its A Monster… We Should Bury It.”

My 3 year old daughter stood next to her new born brother and looked at him for awhile then turned and looked at me and said, “Daddy its a monster… we should bury it.”

2. “The Man Who Crawls On The Floor And Stands By My Bed.”

My co-worker’s four year old daughter always thought that the rattling of the water pipes in the kitchen cupboards were “white wolves” and the sound always scared her. One day she was sitting at the kitchen table and she said, “Mom. The white wolves aren’t bad… they’re our friends!”

Her mom encouraged the idea by saying, “Yes! The white wolves are protecting us. They are our friends.” Then her daughter added in, “They’re our friends, but not the man who crawls on the floor and stands by my bed”.

3. “Good Bye Dad.”

I was tucking in my two year old. He said “Good bye dad.” I said, “No, we say good night.” He said “I know. But this time its good bye.”

Had to check on him a few times to make sure he was still there.

4. “It’s The Closest I Can Get To Seeing Her Dead.”

He’s not my kid, but my godson is extremely creepy. He likes to stand in his little sister’s doorway while she naps and watches her sleep. I ask him why and he says, “it’s the closest I can get to seeing her dead.” He also likes to shove her fist in his mouth as far as it can go because he wants to “know what suffocating is like, just in case.” I’m pretty sure he’d be a serial killer if it wasn’t for Mario Kart.

5. “The Man With The Snake Neck.”

While changing my daughter in front of the open closet door. She kept looking around me and laughing. I asked her what was so funny. She said, “the man.” To which I replied, “what man?” She then pointed at the closet and said, “the man with the snake neck.” I turn around and nothing was there.

I’m afraid to look into the history of my house to see if anyone hung themselves in the closet. At least she wasn’t scared.

6. You Will Die Soon

Not to me, but to his grandmother.

He was cuddling with her and being very sweet (he was about 3 at the time). He takes her face in his hands, and brings his face close to hers, then tells her that she’s very old, and will die soon.

Then he makes a point of looking at the clock.

7. “I Want To Peel All Your Skin Off.”

I was sound asleep, and at around 6am I was woken up by my 4 year old daughters face inches from mine. She looked right into my eyes and whispered, “I want to peel all your skin off”.

The backstory here is I had been sunburned the previous week, and was starting to peel. In my sleep addled state however, it was pretty terrifying for a few seconds. I didn’t know if I was dreaming, or what was going on.

8. “When You Die, I’m Going To Eat You.”

My sons were about 2 and 4 when their pet goldfish died. I attempted to use the situation as an opportunity to discuss death and mortality. After I finished my explanation, my four year looked up at me with his big, blue eyes and asked, “Mommy, someday, will you die?” My heart filled with love and a little sadness, knowing this was one of those pivotal moments when the first bit of childhood innocence was lost,and I told him yes, someday, mommy will die.

“Good,” he said with a totally deadpan expression, and walked out of the room.

Later when we were about to flush the fish, he asked if we could eat him instead. I said no, we don’t eat pets because we love them, and he said, “When you die, I’m going to eat you.”

9. “Carson Is Gone, I Am Rick.”

When my son was little he, maybe 3, he used to do this weird crawl where he would slide his forehead along the floor. That was pretty creepy in itself. Then one night he crawled across the hallway into my room like that and stood up a few inches from my face and made a weird meow sound. He got into bed with me and went to sleep.

Another time he was freaking out about a monster in the basement so we went down and saw nothing, of course, and as I turned out the light and headed upstairs and he said “Hes right behind us now.” I might have peed a little.

Possibly the creepiest thing he did was one day I scolded him for misbehaving so he hid his head under his blanket. I pretended I couldn’t find him by saying “Where is my little Carson?” He slowly lowered the blanket and with a dead evil stare said, “Carson is gone, I am Rick.” I’m certain he’s possessed. We never knew any Ricks, as far I can remember. Still don’t. Never figured out where he picked up the name.

10. “I Died And Now I’m Here.”

Getting my two and a half year old daughter out of the bath one night, my wife and I were briefing her on how important it was she kept her privates clean. She casually replied “Oh, nobody ‘scroofs’ me there. They tried one night. They kicked the door in and tried but I fought back. I died and now I’m here.” She said this like it was nothing.

My wife and I were catatonic.

11. Baby Brother

“So I shouldn’t throw him in the fire?”

3 year old daughter holding her baby brother for the first time.

12. The Pretty Girl At The Cottage

My 3 year old nephew was at my cottage. He’s asked me numerous times about the “girl over there” while pointing at one of the back bedrooms. The place is small, and there is definitely nobody there so I just dismiss it as a really active imagination (he has lots of imaginary friends).

Then some friends are visiting and they have a daughter around the same age. She has never met my nephew. Twice in the one day she asked about the “pretty girl” while pointing at the exact same room. Definitely caught me out and I didn’t know what to think.

Then at Christmas my family was over at my place and my nephew points at a picture of my wife and asks if she is coming to visit us here or does she just stay at the cottage. My wife died ten years ago. Personally I don’t really believe in paranormal stuff so it’s probably just my logical brain putting together a bunch of kids ramblings but it definitely got my attention.

13. “He’s Behind You Now.”

“Go back to sleep, there isn’t anything under your bed”.

“He’s behind you now”.

Still haven’t gotten over that one and shiver at the memory.

14. “He’s Coming For You. You Better Hide.”

While not something my own child has said, my younger cousin (around 5 at the time) once drew a picture of a a black monster, looked up at me, and said “He told me to draw this. He’s coming for you. You better hide.”

15. “You Will Put Me Down, Down, Down In The Hole.”

I have a three year old who says some pretty strange stuff….

Last night: “Mommy.. the man, the very big man with big yellow eyes is looking at you.”

I look.. nothing. I tell him there is no man and he is make-believe. My son laughs, “Oh he is hiding now.” — 2 minutes later, “Oh no Mommy, you made him very mad. Now he says he will come when you are sleeping.”

Few weeks ago he tells me, “I’m not going to be four. I’m going to die. And you will put me down, down, down in the hole.” I tell him that isn’t true, and who told him that. He gets quiet and goes, “The man told me. But I will be scared, so after three night-nights you die too and come with me.”

Sheesh. As if I didn’t have bad dreams already.

16. “Daddy, I Love You So Much That I Want To Cut Your Head Off.”

A friend of mine’s child told him “Daddy, I love you so much that I want to cut your head off and carry it around so I can see your face whenever I want.”

17. The Bad Man

Why are you crying?

“Bad man”

What bad man?

“There.” Points behind me at a dark corner of the room

Lamp on bookshelf next to said darkened corner falls off as soon as I turn to look.

She slept in our bed that night

18. Ham Can’t Scream

When I was a waitress, I watched a little girl (4ish) stab her plastic fork into her sandwich repeatedly, saying “die die die die die die”. When I asked her what she was doing (her mom was in the bathroom for a minute), she replied with a straight face, “I like to kill things, but mom says I shouldn’t. So I picked the ham because it can’t scream.”

19. Satan Wants To Meet You

A few months ago I asked me brother and his wife if their kids ever did any creepy. They both immediately looked at each other and seemed surprised that I had asked.

Apparently the last few couple of weeks they would hear my niece talking to herself in her bedroom. They assumed it was just her playful imagination so they didn’t give it much thought. One day however my brother asked her who she kept talking to, she said it was her new best friend Satan who visits her at her window every day. Her window is close to the ground so they were seriously concerned that there was someone actually going up to her window and kept a closer eye on her for the next few days.

Every single time they would hear her talking he would go outside to her windows but never found anyone. They began asking her more about his new friend and apart from his name being Satan she mentioned that he follows her everywhere she goes and that he promised her he will bring her a cake one day.

At a late cookout at my parents a week before they mentioned that, she took her mom outside to the backyard and pointed at the pitch black backyard and told her that her friend Satan was there and he wanted to meet her also. That made chills run down my spine since I was at that cookout also. After that they made her promise she wouldn’t talk to Satan anymore.

[cowboyshit]

Stay the Night

I started writing this lil ficlet awhile back, right around Revolution. I decided to write a purely smut-filled one-shot just for indulgence sake, where a FOC would basically use sex to "take care” of Adam and make him feel a little better. Since I like using FOC’s who I’ve already established whenever I can, I figured Fawna Rose from Some Real Cowboy Shit fit the bill for this one perfectly. There’s a little angst as we catch up on why these two aren’t together, but for the most part this ficlet is purely self-indulgent smut.

Ship: Hangman Adam Page x Fawna Rose (FOC)

Summary: After their initial encounter, Adam and Fawna started to get close. Close enough that she was pulled in to the storm of his insecurities and, not able to handle the idea of not being the only man in her life, they decided to stop seeing one another. However, the night after Revolution, even though Adam and Kenny won and beat the Young Bucks, Adam finds himself holed up alone in his hotel room, drinking. Lonely. He makes a stupid, drunk decision and despite what unsolved aches lay between himself and Fawna, he decides the only thing that can help him is the chance to see her again.

Rating: NC-17 (Gratuitous smut)

Warnings: Alcohol use, smut

Length: 5,982 words

Available below the cut

There was still a ringing in his ears. An ache in his chest. No matter how much he drank, he couldn’t get it out of his head. The footage on the titantron in front of him. Matt, Nick, and Kenny. All three poised to superkick him after he and Kenny won the tag team titles. 

Kenny. The man who held the other half of the tag team titles alongside Adam himself.

But it was supposed to matter that they didn’t kick him, right?

That’s what he kept telling himself. Beer after beer. Shot of whiskey after shot of whiskey. It was becoming apparent that no amount of drunkenness was going to ease what was burning in his heart and that was when, drunk, a careless, reckless, and absolutely stupid idea popped into his head.

There was a sharp and sudden clatter as his clumsy, big hand swept a little too hard and tipped one empty beer can to crash into three more, sending them bouncing off the coffee table and onto the floor below. He muttered a curse and looked at the mess, noticing a few splatters of beer had spilled out and were soaking into the carpet. Unable to care enough to do anything about it, he made a nose of discontent in his mouth that was something like a grumble and returned to what he’d been trying to grab: his phone.

The bright screen made him wince as he unlocked it, but he soldiered on, mind set on one conquest and unwilling to give in until it did what was necessary. He navigated (with difficulty) to his contacts, scrolled, and clicked her name.

FAWNA ROSE

Their last text conversation popped up, long bubbles of thoughts they’d sent back and forth over a month ago, and her last words to him shone vivid and bright. He knew what they said – he’d read this conversation enough to memorize it – but he still forced his eyes to focus and read them again.

If you can ever find it in your heart to accept my situation, I’m here. Until then, I don’t think we should talk or see each other anymore. We’re just hurting ourselves by dragging this out Adam, and it isn’t fair to either of us. I care about you.

 I care about you.

He sucked in a hard breath and held it, broad chest lifted and lungs slowly beginning to ache. His eyes ran over those four words one more time and he exhaled in a heavy, sudden breath. Too drunk to think through what he was doing he clicked her name, clicked audio, and clicked the button to call her. He held the phone against his ear and stared wordlessly out the window from his hotel room and tried to keep his breathing low and slow. He didn’t know what he was going to say when she picked up (if she picked up). He didn’t know why he was calling.

 Yeah, he did.

The phone clicked and the ringing stopped but didn’t roll into the voicemail recording. She was there on the other line, but she hadn’t said anything. He pressed the phone a little harder to his ear, wanting her close, wanting to hear her breathing. His lonely heart ached and not just for the way he missed her, but for everything. For himself. The loneliness that chased his lashing out at men he’d once called brothers. The emptiness that no amount of alcohol seemed to fill, try as he might. The sting at the words echoing back at him in real time, with Nick’s and Matt’s voices, joining that of his insecurities and making it all harder to fight and to ignore.

“Adam?” She spoke first after enough silence passed between them.

He inhaled, tried to say something – even something as little as a hello – but found his throat was suddenly too tight to work anything through it at all. That air he sucked in hitched, betraying the shaky way he was struggling to hold his composure.

“Text me your hotel and room number, okay?” There was a gentility to her tone that stung his eyes with tears and made him pinch the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb to hold them at bay. The ache inside was a chasm ripped asunder and it begged to be filled with the care she so freely gave him. “Adam?”

“Okay,” he barely managed to speak, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat after and tore the phone away, ending the call with his heart pounding hard and his inebriated mind spinning.

After sending her the hotel and his room number, Adam glanced around and lumbered to his feet. His large frame swayed with instability, but he started to snatch and shove discarded towels and clothes around the room in an attempt to tidy up. He wasn’t necessarily a slob, and it was hard to make a hotel room messy after just a day when you spent your time in it completely alone, but drunken carelessness had him less clean than he’d normally be. He knew Fawna worried about him, too. Wouldn’t do for her to come in and see a bunch of beer cans lying carelessly around.

He didn’t call her because he wanted her pity, nor did he want to be lectured.

They’d gotten close after their first encounter. Close enough that she knew what he was going through. Close enough that when he started letting the fear of everyone close to him turn on him become true, he’d taken that out on her, too. Because he didn’t like that someone he was beginning to get real feelings for was already married. Because he was already feeling inferior everywhere else in his life, and no matter how many times she explained polyamory and her unique situation, he couldn’t shake the voice in his head that reminded him with her, he’d always be second.

 Always second.

He was so tired of being second. Or third. Or fourth. Or fifth.

When the fuck was it finally going to be time for him to be first?

There was a knock on the door and Adam jerked, realizing he’d been standing in the middle of the hotel room, holding the television remote, staring off into space as he drifted in and out of painful, misery-fueled thoughts and inebriated numbness. Shaking himself back to reality he glanced at the remote, frowned, and set it on the hotel entertainment center before making his way to the door. His weight lurched and he struck a palm on the door to steady his body and keep from toppling over. It was then he realized he hadn’t thought to put on a shirt and hesitated, just briefly before he slid his hand down the flat surface to the handle, pulling it open and glancing down his front at her.

Seeing her after a month of no contact brought up feelings he didn’t have the mental stability or sobriety to process. He sucked in a breath and tried to think about what to say, but his drunk tongue took over and robbed him of the chance to save face.

 “I miss you.” His brow pinched, and he swallowed back hard.

“I know.” She said, but gently, like she was cradling him carefully, minding his current fragility to keep him from shattering apart. Her autumn brown eyes on his put butterflies in his stomach and made him sway where he stood. Did she see the way she affected him? “I miss you too.” She admitted, volume a little smaller, like she knew she wasn’t supposed to say it but understood how badly he needed to know that. He felt guilty, then, making her go against everything she’d explained to him about how they couldn’t see one another unless everyone was on-board and okay with their situation.

He worried she was going to ask him if he’d changed his mind. His bleary blue eyes jumped with sudden sharpness between hers, waiting for it.

 “Can I come in?” She asked instead, gesturing to the hotel room behind him he was blocking with his thick figure.

 “Oh, yeah.” He said quick, stumbling back and out of her way. Adam held the door as she walked inside and then turned to close it, back to her as he tried to sort through everything and get a better hold of himself. Calling her here had been a drunk mistake, but he was still too drunk to take responsibility and send her home. He had her here. He needed her.

Adam turned around, hoping when his gaze met hers, he’d have a stroke of brilliance and know just what to say. “Fawna, I –”

“Shh,” she said, effectively quieting him as he frowned in confusion. Fawna drew close enough to lay her palm over his heart, and a smile tilted the edges of her full, sinfully kissable lips. “I can feel how hard your heart is beating,” she whispered, and it sounded like a roar in his ears with the way his blood rushed.

 “Wait. I can’t do this to you.” He’d lifted his hands to pull hers off him but let his fingers curl around hers and was holding her hand between them. “I still don’t think I like the thought of sharing you, I just…” Words failed him because he knew he was wrong. He knew it was wrong to ask her to stay anyways, to let them keep complicating things because he just wanted to feel good for a minute.

He was using her the same way he used alcohol.

 “Adam, it’s okay.” She said, surprising him. He frowned at her and she slowly pulled her hand away from his. 

She pressed her fingers onto his chest and though she didn’t have the strength to physically move him, he allowed himself to be moved at her insistence and stumbled backward until she had them turned with his back pointed toward the bed. When he glanced questioningly at her, she raised one dark, shaped brow as if to say: Do you really want to fight me on this right now?

It was easy to give in since it was what he wanted. Adam let her guide him backwards until he fell on the bed, and when he tried to speak as her hands went to his belt buckle, she clicked her tongue with gentle chiding and let their eyes meet.

 “Let me take care of you tonight, Adam.” She said.

Fawna waited for his nod, and relief swept immediately through his body. He laid back on the pillows and breathed hard through his nose as she released the tension of the belt, snapping the buckle and pulling the strap through. The sound of his jean zipper tugged down overpowered the jingle of her leaving his belt undone, and he groaned deep in his throat as she slipped her fingers beneath the elasticity of his boxer-briefs and wrapped her fist firm around his cock. The blood was rushing to fill it quickly, and he pressed his chin to his chest and watched with desperate eyes as she gave him that little smile that claimed innocence even as she behaved licentiously.  

 “Ohh,” he squeezed tight passed clenched teeth, “fuck.” A quick hiss sucked air hard into his lungs as she dipped and put her soft, wet mouth over the head of his cock and slipped him down her tongue. His body tensed and his hips arched upward, greedy, stuffing more of his inches and stretching her lips wide around his girth. His fingers curled and dug hard into the comforter over the hotel bed and his eyes, wild, jumped over the top of her head and watched her please him.

 A desperate, shaking hand unclenched the grasp it had on the comforter and moved instead for her hair. He pushed the strands out of her face, wanting to have a clear line of sight to his cock bulging her cheek at the same time he felt it running between her tongue and the warm, ridged roof of her mouth, the tip pushing between the warm wet walls of her throat before she pulled back up. His groans filled the room and mixed with the little wet noises of her lips and tongue servicing his cock.

 A little pop as she pulled up off his head, sucking back the saliva that left it glistening.

 “Feels good, baby?” She purred, and Adam’s fingers slipped to frame the back of her head, curling tight around the strands.

 “Mhm,” he grumbled, nodding as he pushed her head down, eagerly wanting her mouth on his cock again.

That soft, wet tongue of hers knew just how to stroke the skin, just where to curl and flick the sensitive lip of the head of his cock, and as badly as Adam wanted to keep watching her he was victim to the way his eyes rolled back in his head. Fingers still curling in her hair – pulling the strands a little too hard, his knuckles gone white – he pushed her down further and further, stuffing his cock inside her warm mouth until her lips kissed the base. He felt her struggle to hold his cock so deep and pictured the way they’d look from the side, where he’d be able to see the bulge of its shape down her throat. She choked again, body jerking, tender, wet skin squeezing his girth and making him moan deep in his chest.

Adam’s eyes snapped forward and he released the pressure of holding her down, watching as she slipped quickly up, little bits of spit bridged between her lips and the head of his leaking, desperately red cock. As she brushed the saliva away, Adam’s eyes traced the wetness glistening over her eyes and admired the way they shone in the soft white hotel light coming from the bedside lamp. He liked it like this - lights on - able to watch and see everything.

Fawna curled her fingers around his erection and used her spit and his precum as lubricant as she stroked with perfect pressure. Adam’s chin jutted outward, jaw clenched tight as another desperate, heavy moan ripped through his lungs and pressed between his teeth. She bent and he felt the tip of her tongue run down the blood-filled veins of his shaft toward his balls, and when she latched her lips around them and sucked the tender skin of his sac he made a desperate sound and curled his fists hard into the sheets at his side. Sweat dappled his forehead, sticking his crown of blond curls to his skin.

“Oh fuck, Fawna, baby,” he panted heavy and fought to keep his eyes forward when all they wanted to do was roll back again.

“Mmm, mhmmm,” she moaned and murmured while still sucking and licking the most sensitive, pleasurably spots, fingers rolling over the tingling, needy head of his cock. She sent vibrations through his cock as she did it and caused him to glance desperately down his body toward her head bent between his legs. 

“Wait, wait,” he breathed heavily, like he’d just finished performing an intense match in the ring, his large sweat-damp and lightly blond-hair dusted chest rising and falling with staggered breaths. As Fawna slowly pulled her mouth off him and looked with confusion, Adam was sure to move quick and shoved at his denim jeans to push them further down his thighs. He wanted them off, same with his boots and socks. Once Fawna realized this she pushed his hands away - she’d said she wanted to take care of him - and undressed him herself. 

She slipped off the bed and when his glazed eyes followed her with helpless confusion she answered with a little curve to her smile and slowly started to undress herself. “Stay put,” she commanded with a sweet murmur, and practically peeled the material off her skin inch by inch until his blood was roaring in his ears and the beat of his heart was pounding distinct enough to count. His fingers curled into the reprieve of the comforter again, needing to grab something since she’d told him he wasn’t allowed to reach for her. Hungry blue eyes nearly gone black, void of any softness they could otherwise have, ate up his delectable little treat as she - at last - peeled the lace lavender bra she wore and dropped it to the side. She curled her fingers in the elastic of her matching panties and made sure to turn about as she slipped them down and off her body so he’d have ample view of her ass as she did it.

It made him growl, more beast than man. His ass clenched as his hips lifted instinctually upward, wishing they were buried between those thighs he couldn’t pull his gaze from.

When she returned to kneel on all fours between his spread legs, she bent and angled her head inward, laying a slow, lingering, sensual kiss against the inside of his thigh. She trailed those affectionate, sweet touches up his skin to where his cock jerked and twitched, so hard it almost hurt, pre-cum beading and dribbling desperately down its head.

After pausing to wet her fingers she began to service him again, being careful to let off when it was clear she was building him too quickly toward the peak. The tease - the way she edged him - was the most glorious torture he’d ever experienced. He fought the instinct to put his hands on her hair and hold his cock in her throat until he made her gag on his cum by instead bruising her body with how rough he handled her. He grabbed fistfuls of the soft fat over her hips before he ran his calloused palms down her chest and over her nipples, pinching and pulling them just enough to make her squeak in that way that made a smug grin push into his round cheeks.

His sac sucked tight to the base of his cock as she bobbed her head in a quick, rapid motion over his sensitive, throbbing head. He felt the tight curl in his abdomen for the fourth time that night and his thighs tensed, the hard muscles beneath the natural fat showing. Fawna, used to the way his body communicated during sex, popped her lips off his head just before it was too late. He groaned long and low, mixed with an almost growl-like noise of frustration as his hips arched up and his cock leaked desperately, but he still didn’t cum.

“Are you trying to kill me, woman?” His voice was strained. Weak. He was a mess of heavy breaths and a sweat-sticky body. 

And she smiled that little smile with her lips red and swollen from how they’d sucked and licked at his cock for so long. That playful little innocent seeming smile that told you she knew she wasn’t pure at all. It made his eyes dark with hunger and his fingers cramp, wanting to curl hard into her skin and flex his strength over her. She leaned back on her calves, sitting upright between his legs, and slowly wiped the little glisten of saliva and precum from her lips before she fixed her eyes on him again.

“Of course not, baby. I’m just enjoying you.”

A shiver of pleasure rushed down his spine and a flood of pride filled his body. That was something Fawna did well from the very beginning; make him feel important. Needed. She could be anywhere in the world, even back home, with her husband, but she wanted to be here, squished between his hairy, thick thighs, making him writhe and moan and nearly cum before letting off and going again, drawing everything out for as long as they physically could.

“Besides,” she said, tone playfully matter-of-fact as she started to climb up him, knees on the mattress at either side of his hips, drawing her eyes back up to his, “those moans of yours have me drenched, and you’re not going to finish until you’re inside me.” His nostrils flared, jaw clenching tight enough to make the muscle jump beneath his closely trimmed blond beard.

She pressed back on his thick cock, the head slipping between her pussy lips but not yet allowed inside. He could feel the truth - how wet she was - and it made him groan as his cock slid up with ease between them and rubbed her clit. She ran her hips back and forth, slow and languid, teasing her clit to rise and making herself whimper and moan above him. Adam’s fingers bit into her hips and drove the pace a little faster, wanting to milk more and more of those trembles out of her body and hear those needy little cries she couldn’t help but make.

Fuck, she was so wet. He could feel it coating their thighs; sticky.

Before she could make herself cum by rubbing his cock over her clit, Fawna pulled her hips up and reached back, positioning him so that when she sat back, the leaking, red head of his erection buried an inch inside her. She sank her hips slowly; down, down, down until he was comfortably lodged deep and they both stilled for a moment, adjusting to the way they breathed with shaky, desperate breaths. She ran her hands down his bare chest and started to move, rocking her body slowly to stroke his cock a few inches in and a few inches out. She was building him again, content to make his head spin and keep his only focus on the love and sex that filled the space between and around them.

The moan from his chest was deep and yearning. He arched his hips up as she sank down, and his fingers readjusted where they gripped her. He was trying to reach through fat, through muscle, to bone. She moaned and Adam felt he’d never heard a sound that made him happier. The way her cries bounced off the corners of the hotel room and reverberated back, tangling with his own passionate grunts, the shifting of their bodies atop the sheets, was driving him toward a lack of control. He wanted it all, then and there. He wanted to flip them around so she was beneath his shadow, he wanted to push his palms hard against her thighs and roll her hips up until her knees touched her temples. He wanted to drive his hips hard and fast into her over and over and over until he bruised her and left her aching for days. This possessive beast inside him was nearly impossible to deny, and his hands gripped tighter on her hips, his own driving faster up into her. He forced his eyes open, though they wanted to clench shut from the pleasure tingling through his entire body, and watched the way her face pinched in pleasure, lips caught wide open, their edges still glistening wet from when she’d been servicing his cock.

He grunted and drove his hips up harder, readjusting his grip on her hips, happy to see the red and white marks of his hands in the fat there. Would it bruise? He hoped so. He hoped she’d have the marks of his fingerprints in black and blue across that pretty flesh, and think about this moment. How good it felt to have him deep inside her, stretching her.

Suddenly, she resisted him. Before concentrating, Adam was the hive of restless need, and only forced his grip on her a little tighter, trying to make her ride him to the rhythm he decreed. But, when she stayed firmly resolute against being drilled by his pace, his eyes met hers with question. She slipped her hands down his sweat-damp chest to where he held her body and curled her fingers around them. Lifting, she pried them off her body and set them atop the comforter cushion. Her eyes met his and she smiled.

“My pace, cowboy. Remember?” She grinned as she said it, stopping him once again from getting carried away and driving them to the orgasm his cock was desperate for, twitching and leaking inside her. The breathless quality to her voice, the way she seemed to need to catch herself for a minute, was more than enough evidence to see how he’d affected her and nearly threw her off her game plan for the evening.

Adam could barely smile, every muscle tense and tight, but still flashed her an impish one.

“Can you blame me?” He choked out as she brought the pace back slow, sliding languid up and down his length, head never falling from her drenched lips. He shifted his body beneath her, peeling his skin from the damp comforter and drew a ragged, needed breath deep in his lungs. His tongue swept his lips and he took another breath, letting the tension in his muscles slowly leak out. “You’re driving me insane.”

“Aw, I’m sorry baby,” she said with a purr in her voice and a look in her eyes that said she was definitely not sorry. “But tonight I make all the rules.” She kept that pace, that way she stroked the entire length of his cock up and then down. Moving her hands to either sides of his shoulders she leaned her body over his and let him be trapped in her shadow. Her nipples brushed his chest and made a shiver ripple through his body. Every slow shift back and up of her body rubbed them against his skin and made him want to make a mad grab for them. Instead, his fingers curled desperate into the sheets where she’d placed them.

Fawna lowered, but didn’t reward his lips with a kiss. Instead she left tokens of her affection on his neck, kissing, licking, down to his chest and up the other side. She suckled, not enough to leave any permanent marks, but enough to let the blood rush hot and tingles to race up and down his spine. As she nibbled at his earlobe she whispered huskily into his ear, “I’m here to take care of you tonight, baby. I’m going to make it worth your while.” And she dropped her lips back to his neck, kissing where the muscles jumped because he swallowed so hard at her repeated promise. She lifted her mouth from his neck and hovered over him. One of her hands reached so she could gently grasp his bearded chin, tilting his blue eyes to meet hers. “That means I decide when we cum and everything we do before then.”

A shiver ripped through him like a tremble and the satisfied look in her eyes made him bite back a groan. 

The slowed pace had taken him off the edge he’d been desperately at, and Adam wasn’t sure to be thankful or to curse her. Fawna slowly sat back and his cock twitched, buried inside her. He looked up her body, every imperfection on display by the glowing lights all turned on in the hotel room. She wasn’t shy - he loved that about her - and smiled at him watching her, lifting her arms and arching her body sensually. Her pink nipples were hard, and it took everything he had not to demand she bring them to his mouth where he could suck, lick, bite and give her beard burn on her breasts. His eyes fell down them to her belly, to her hips and thighs where his greedy fingerprints were still visible on her skin and back up again. When he’d had his fill of admiring her, Fawna began to move her hips again.

Adam wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she first came to his hotel. Time seemed to stand still in this place, even though he logically knew he didn’t. Nothing existed but himself and Fawna. Not the alcohol, not the turbulence in his self-identity and his questioning of the love and loyalty of men he’d once called brothers on his tongue and in his heart. None of it. He existed only in pleasure with her rocking hips, in the pressure of her pussy wrapped around his hard, pulsing, desperate, cock, and the sore tightness of his balls sucked up to the base of his shaft, needing that final release. They were both glistening with sweat, their hair stuck to their foreheads, temples, and neck.

Fawna pressed her palms against his chest gently and lifted her hips off him until his cock slid out, patched in creamy white from her own slick. It twitched, longing for the warm home it’d been enveloped in. She didn’t rob him for long, instead gingerly moving her body so she stood bedside and reached for his hand to tug him off the bed too. The sheets stuck to his sweat-damp body, his thick figure a frame in the comforter from how hard he’d been pressing himself into it.

“What idea do you have in that head of yours now?” He asked, but his voice was roughened by the relentless continuance of pleasure and the denial again and again and again of final satisfaction.

“You’ll see,” she said, and leaned over the bed, pressing one of her forearms atop it for leverage. She reached back, hand on his, and pulled him to stumble forward until his hairy, muscular thighs pressed against her legs and his cock slipped up between her cheeks, leaving a trail of his precum and her wet. When she let his hand go it was natural for it to fall to the ample curve of her ass and for the other to join it. His fingers pressed and curled into the give of the fat there and that hungry look passed his face again.

Fawna arched her back and moved herself into the cushion of the mattress and then back, squeezing him inside her cunt with ease, as if they were pieces of a puzzle meant to fit. Adam leaned his head back, letting the end of his curls brush his shoulders, and arched his hips into her pace. His fingers slipped up the curve of her ass with the intent to tighten a grip on her hips but then, unable to help himself, he lifted his right palm and brought it down hard, open-palmed, over her ass. The ripple of skin, the soft sting of red in the shape of his hand and the little squeal of pleasure and pain she made pushed his hunger back to the forefront once more. He raised his hand and brought it down again, making the fat jiggle and the skin redden.

This time Fawna did not stop him from choosing the pace and the more she let him get away with, the more he let the hunger inside take. His hips crashed with hopeless abandon into hers in quick, needy bursts. He knew he was going to bruise her, but he didn’t care. He wanted more and more of those whore sounds to moan out of her throat and bounce around his hotel room and back into his ears, filling it until it was the only sound he could hear. 

His fingers curled their grip into her skin and used it to forcibly pull her back hard on him, to assist the thrusts as he shoved his cock needy and deep inside her. He fucked her into the mattress, one hand reaching up her back and shoving her down into it between her shoulder-blades, pushing her ass more up toward him so he could fuck her deeper and make her cry out and moan even more loudly. His name joined her cries and it made him even more ravenous than before. Sweat dripped down between his chest and still, he kept driving his hips to crash hard into hers, shoving his cock relentlessly again and again inside her red, swollen pussy lips.

By offering him the final power - allowing him to answer that needy call inside himself to be the one in control for the final act - she gave him exactly what he needed.

But he could hold off. Just long enough.

The hand that had previously pushed her into the hotel bed lifted and instead snaked between her body and the mattress, fumbling as his fingers reached with greed and without apology for her raw, raised clit. He slipped past it momentarily, almost cruel as he pushed two fingers inside her, along with his girthy cock still stretching her. A devilish grin curved the corner of his mouth at her little cry and long moan of pleasure that followed. He pulled his fingers free and used the wet he’d drawn from inside her to circle around her clit, petting her harder, synching it with the thrusts of his pulsing cock inside her. Just a little longer… just a little longer… he could hold off, he could…

“Adam!” Her cry ripped audaciously loud before her thighs began to shake and her body convulsed, the muscles of her cunt gripping tight around him. 

A low groan crawled loudly from his throat, his jaw locked and he bent halfway over her before his own body could be denied no longer. Buried inside her Adam came, decorating her insides with ribbon after ribbon of hot, sticky cum. For a long moment, almost long enough to make them look like carved statues of exhausted lovers, they stayed still like that. Adam leaning over her body, his palms flat on the mattress, her body trapped under his, their skin glistening with sweat that caught the lights.

Dragging a deep breath into his lungs that smelled like sweat and sex, Adam slowly lifted himself to stand straight and gingerly pulled his sensitive, still semi-hard cock from between her red, dripping pussy lips. She crawled onto the bed and turned herself around to look at him, that same exhausted, happy expression relaxed onto her features. Before reality could stab into this sinful haven they’d created, Adam gestured toward the bathroom with a tilt of his head.

“Want to rinse off with me real quick?”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile, gingerly moving to set herself on her feet. When she swayed, he reached out to catch her, though his reaction was a little slower than it’d normally be. They exchanged smiles, amused at how they’d thoroughly exhausted themselves.

She yawned as they padded barefoot and naked around the bed and toward the bathroom. “Is it okay if I stay here with you tonight?” She asked, and though her tone sounded innocent, as if she’d just now thought of it, Adam had to wonder if she’d planned it all along. If she’d had the forbearance to know he didn’t want to spend the night alone, and all the sex in the world wouldn’t stop that emptiness from coming to steal away his happiness as soon as she left and he was the only one in his hotel room.

He wouldn’t put it past her.

Adam pulled her by the hand to stop her from walking into the bathroom and crashed her body back into his. His free hand reached to gingerly tuck a lock of her frazzled, tangled hair behind her ear and fell into tenderly holding her face. This was what made things hard between them. The way his heart beat for her. The way it wasn’t just sex.

“Yeah.” He said, and a faint, tired smile touched his lips. “I’d like that.” He leaned down, his hand slipping to pinch her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her face up toward him as he brushed his lips gently against hers and then sank in for a deep, passionate kiss that’d leave them both dizzy by the time it was through.

[lizk77]

Ten Years

This was actually originally posted on facebook around the end of the year. It began with my need to share my experience with others. I saw a few of those ‘10 years ago’ posts where people post a pic from back then and a recent one side by side. I tried that and realized I don’t really look much different. But the last decade of my life has certainly been the most meaningful of my life. This is very personal and discusses physical, mental and emotional abuse so if that’s a sensitive subject for you please don’t read. This is why I’ve been absent from tumblr and writing for so long.

I would also say this is not appropriate for anyone under the age of 18 due to adult themes.

It’s been 10 years. A decade. The most difficult yet meaningful decade of my life. When I think back to the person I was 10 years ago, I am amazed by the woman I’ve become today. I stand here at the end of the most difficult decade of my life and I’m proud. Proud of what I’ve accomplished, my strength and everything I’ve learned.

I began this decade feeling nearly suffocated by grief. I was no stranger to grief, but the loss of my mother was like the spiritual and emotional equivalent of having the wind knocked out of you. Pure, utter devastation. I was overwhelmed by my feelings. The whole world felt like a strange, scary place without my mother in it. In the months preceding her death I had tunnel vision, I focused on taking care of her and Emily and didn’t allow myself time to feel anything. So even though I knew she was dying, it didn’t really hit home until after she was gone. I instantly regretted that I didn’t focus more on enjoying my mother’s last months on this earth. I carry that regret with me still today. I should’ve had her teach me how to make her spaghetti sauce. I should’ve written down the recipe for parsley potatoes that she showed me how to make once but I haven’t been able to duplicate since. I should’ve asked her questions. Questions about my grandparents, about my dad, about when I was a baby. I should’ve had her French braid my hair every night. I miss that the most. I should’ve asked her how to be a good mother. What to do when my child is up at 3am puking down the hallway, all over the bed and the carpet. If I should take my kid to the hospital when she has something stuck up her nose, or how high of a fever is cause for alarm. There have been countless instances over the past decade where I would have given anything to be able to call her for guidance and support.

Grief has been the overwhelming emotion guiding me the past 10 years. I’ve learned that grief never ends. It changes, at first the feeling of loss is so raw that you just don’t know how you’ll ever be the same again. Then, over time, it evolves into every emotion. Grief can be happiness, sadness, anger and frustration. It can encompass all emotions at once. There are times even now when I just feel the loss of her all over again and in that moment I’m devastated all over again. I struggled with a lot of things after my mother’s death. I am still struggling with my faith. I have been angry at God for the past decade, so angry that I have neglected the spiritual well-being of my children. I have yet to figure out how to let that go.

I’ve always considered myself to be a strong, independent person. Life made me that way. I’ve experienced enough death, enough pain, enough abuse. Not long after the death of my mother, I was lured into a relationship that provided security. Financial security, which I had never had before. But I lost my strength. For 7 years I allowed my strength and independence to be stripped away. I was broken, ashamed, nobody knew what I was going through. Hell, I didn’t even realize the full extent of it. I was blind to the damage being caused not just to me, but to my children. I told myself our security was more important than our happiness. I realized after a while that I was wrong, but by then I didn’t know how to get out. I was afraid of losing everything.

Then it happened. The one thing I always said I would never tolerate. And yet, I found myself wishing it would happen. Because then I would have a reason. I watched my mother suffer the effects of physical abuse many times while I was a teenager. I vowed that I’d never let that happen to me. But once I was tangled in the web of my own abusive relationship, I began to realize that there are types of abuse that far surpass the physical. Bruises, cuts, even broken bones eventually heal. And it’s so easy to say, “He hit her? What a monster!” The abuse is very evident. But when you’re subjected to the whims of a narcissist, it’s very different. Everybody thinks they’re such a nice guy. They project an image of being loving and caring and happy. But the truth is they are even more of a monster than the guy who beats his wife. For seven years, I merely existed in his world. I tried as hard as I could to give him what he wanted and make him happy. Nothing I did was ever good enough. My daughters and I walked around our house on eggshells, not wanting to poke the sleeping giant. I tried to be the peacekeeper. Tried my best to keep his anger focused on me and not my girls. I told myself I could take it as he backed me into the bathroom, up against the shower wall, screaming at me with his face inches from mine. Spit flying everywhere. He called me worthless, accused me of cheating, told me I didn’t care about my children or the home we built for them.

And I stayed. Because I didn’t know how to leave. I didn’t think I could take care of my home and children on my own. I wasn’t strong enough. I was weak. I wasn’t good enough. After all, that’s what he had told me for 7 years. The day after one of our fights was always surreal. He acted like it never happened. Told me he loved me and he just needed to get his anger out or he’d explode. Like berating me and breaking me down was no big deal. And I would stand there in front of him, bewildered. Amazed by how really fucked up he was. But I stayed. I kept the peace and I stayed.

Until that night. When he hit me, it was like he knocked some sense into me. I remember the look on my daughter’s face after it happened. Tears welled up in my eyes as my baby looked at me with concern and asked if I was ok. I was not ok. Not at all. I saw myself in the face of my baby, saw the concern I felt for my mother all those years. And I drew strength from it. My mom would have been devastated to know what my life was like. I was her strong child, yet here I was broken and weak. I couldn’t let the same cycle repeat itself. I couldn’t let my kids grow up watching their mother being treated badly. I knew that if she were still alive, I would’ve gotten out sooner. She would’ve seen right through him. She would’ve known he was evil and I was miserable. She always did. She always knew. I used to hate that she was always right about my life and my feelings. But now that she’s gone, I truly miss her ability to tell me what’s wrong with my life. She always had a way of calling me out on my bad decisions. And she was the only one I listened too. The only opinion that really mattered.

So I decided to make a change. I called the cops and had him arrested. Then I went the very next day and filed an injunction for protection from abuse. He was gone. My oldest was already with her dad and my youngest went up north to stay with my aunt for awhile. I had two uninterrupted months to find myself again. I picked up the broken pieces of my life and focused on me. I spent time with friends. I went on dates. I lost a bunch of weight. I went out and experienced life beyond my couch. Gradually I began to feel like myself again. I regained my strength. But I also found myself grieving, once again. Despite everything I had been through, I missed my family. I worked hard for 7 years to build a life and it was gone. Of course I didn’t miss the abusive part of my relationship. But there were some things I missed. The feel of someone next to me in bed at night. Having someone to talk to about my day. Despite my decision to stay single and raise my daughters on my own, I found myself lonely at times. Sure I had been out on dates, but I told everyone up front that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, I just wanted to keep things casual. Once you tell a guy that there’s really no way to take it back. Plus I had so much baggage. And I’m not talking about my kids. I’m talking about emotional baggage. I was a mess. I faked confidence that I didn’t have. Sure I was getting stronger, but healing takes time. How do you tell someone you just met that you just suffered through 7 years of narcissistic abuse? Without them thinking you’re totally crazy? You don’t. So I held it back. I tried to push it to the back of my mind and forget it was there.

It didn’t work. I decided to try something different. I talked about it. To everyone. Literally. Friends, co-workers, family, dates. Reactions were mixed. Most people were really supportive. Some were not. A lot of people just faded into the woodwork of my life at this point. They stopped texting me and returning my calls. I was upset by this at first, but soon discovered that letting it out was like lifting a huge weight off my shoulders. It was helping me heal. I was growing stronger each day. I have to thank each and every person who listened, even if they had a negative reaction. My healing was much quicker because I let all those feelings go rather than bottle them up. I know, crazy, right? Here I am, the cold-hearted one who buries their feelings deep down, sharing all my feelings with pretty much anyone who would listen. And something amazing happened. I started to smile more. I opened up to people. I started being honest and upfront with people about my feelings. Sure, I’m still hurting and healing, but I really feel transformed. I struggle, I have stress and anxiety, mostly about my children and finances. But I am happy. I am confident again. I know I’m a good person and learning how to let go of all the bad feelings and negativity created by my situation. Some days are good, some days aren’t. Some days I feel strong and on top of the world. Others I feel weak and broken. But the most important thing I’ve learned in the past decade is how to pick myself back up, dust myself off and rise above.

I don’t know what the next decade has in store for me. I know I will continue to focus on my inner growth and raising my children. I will figure out how to be happy and how to struggle less. I will also focus on developing honest and loving relationships with the people I care about. Respect and loyalty and communication are my top priority. My focus has to be me and my children. We come first. I refuse to allow any of us to be mistreated or abused. I will settle for nothing less and surround my family with people who are genuine and who care. This is my goal for the next ten years.

It will be the best years of my life.

Tagging: @allaboutchoices @innerpostmentality @bobasheebaby @sirbeepsalot @darley1101 @desiree---1986

I’m tagging just a few people I know. I won’t be offended if you don’t want to read or reblog.

[aziraamane]

Human AU - Part 5

(Previous) - (First)

September faded to October, November hot, or should that be cold, on its heels. In that time, there had been countless playdates - Ezra dropping off an excitable Warlock at Crowley's flat, or Adam walking back with Ezra and Warlock to spend a few hours with them in their home above the bookshop, till Crowley finished his various necessary businesses and was able to pick him up; infinite mugs of tea and/or coffee drunk, endless jokes and smiles and emotions thought long lost, buried into the ground until they weren't.

Crowley floated through those months on cloud nine. 

I have a friend. An actual friend. One who doesn't look at me like the Bank of Fucking England with a cock.

As far as socialites went, Crowley didn't mingle with the crowd, and as such, didn't have what anyone would call a social circle. He went along with whatever his mother, brothers, and sister told him to, played his part, and scuttled off home, back into willful isolation. Friends were a bother he couldn't be arsed with, family even worse.

But Ezra is...different. 

He wouldn't get his hopes up, yet. He could still turn out like everyone else. But for now, Crowley was content, simply pleased that he'd forged a connection.

"The hell are you looking so dopey about?"

Ugh. There came the gravelly tones that could suck the life out of anyone present. 

Hassel Crowley, eldest now Lucifer was dead, was, to put it in milder terms, a right ugly bastard. He had pallid skin, and froggy eyes, and hair like a thatch of mouldy straw. He smelled of stale smoke, and always had a cigarette in his hand. He offended Crowley's senses, all of them at once. 

"Fuck off, Hassel."

"No, no, I want to know, really," said Hassel, smiling a sickly sneer. He took a drag of his cigarette, long and slow, eyes watching Crowley mockingly. "Been a while since you've smiled like that."

Crowley reached for his wine, knocking back the glass in one. "If you must know," he said, setting the empty glass down with a click, "Adam's made a friend. They've been playing together a lot. Quite lovely, really."

"Adam? Luci's brat?"

"Yes, Hassel, your nephew. Do try to keep up, yes?"

"Don't like kids," Hassel muttered.

"You don't like much, to be fair."

"Shut up, you bumbling idiots," snapped the drawling tones of their mother. 

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses. Only one in the fucking room with a doctorate and an actual brain cell, and I get called an idiot?

Then again, what else could be expected from his family?

"You! Out there!" Beatrice Crowley, better known to the world as Bee, snapped her fingers in the direction of her newest assistant, who scurried over dutifully. Without looking up, Bee shoved a folder at him. "I want those photocopied and laminated in ten minutes, and on every desk in this place, so make - it - snappy! Go, go!" She glared at his rapidly retreating back. "And don't trip over your -" He stumbled and fell, dropping the folder, "-shoelaces. Ugh, useless, the lot of them!"

Bee was pushing seventy, but looked barely a day over fifty. Never a hair of her black bob out of place, she dressed immaculately, carried herself with a confident air, and yet was so ruthless and cold that she could never be anything but as ugly as Hassel. The rest of the brood weren't much better, Crowley thought, and Bee’s habit of wearing a red and black bow atop her head made him think rather uneasily of a large fly.

"How many assistants have you gone through so far this year, Mother?" Hassel smirked.

"Too many," she replied, eyes on her paperwork, "and I don't care to remember anything of them."

"Charming," Crowley snorted as he picked up the decanter on the table.

"Anthony, I expect you to walk out of here still able to put one foot in front of the other."

"Oh, the years have had me build up quite a tolerance, Mother dear," he drawled, topping up his glass. 

"Nice way of saying you're a drunk," Hassel said.

"Well, I do pride myself on having a more sophisticated tongue than you lot."

"You better watch that tongue, baby brother."

Bee threw a stapler at Hassel. "Out."

"But-"

"Out!"

Hassel glared at Crowley, stuck his cigarette between his lips, and stormed out of the office. 

"Something on your mind, Mother?" Crowley knocked back half his glass and sighed. Oh, that was good wine.

Bee pursed her lips as she tapped her pen on her desk. Finally she pushed her paperwork aside to glare at her youngest son. "What am I to do with any of you?" she snapped. "If Lionel and Hassel aren't getting into bar fights, it's Dana letting blunders slip through the editing, or you flirting with guests and showing off on the red carpet like some vapid damsel. At least Lucifer had some sense. Only one of you that ever did."

Crowley mock-pouted. "And here I thought you loved me."

"Listen to me, idiot. You're forty, and all you have to show for your years on Earth is that atrocious car and a boy you didn't even want to take on in the first place."

"I reckon the PhD counts for something, Mother." Crowley pretended he didn’t hear the slight about his beloved Bentley.

"Oh, yes. Stars. How novel." Bee snorted, derision dripping from her tone. She pulled a sheaf of papers out of a desk and eyed them over a minute, then tossed them to Crowley, who made no move to pick them up. "Our shares are going down faster than when Lucifer died,” she said. “They could have floated longer had you agreed to inherit his business, but you, moron, sold it - so you're going to do something to earn something back for the family."

"Am I?"

"Yes. You are." Bee steepled her fingers together. "You’re always causing trouble with the nearest person that bats their lashes at you, but when was the last time you actually dated?"

“Uh...same year those little butterfly hairclips went out of fashion? The fuck am I supposed to remember something like that?”

“Well, that’s going to change if you know what’s good for our family, Anthony.” Bee pushed herself back from the desk and stalked round it to snatch the wine glass from her son’s hand - though not before he got one last deep swig out of it. “Find someone. Man, woman, something in between, I don’t care, but I want to see you married by the end of next year. You hear me?”

Crowley choked on the wine still in his mouth.

~*~

Weekends at work usually passed by quickly enough. The library was almost always quiet, the only students around having confined themselves to the silent study areas, headphones in situ and pens scribbling away in between frantic turning of pages.

Warlock often accompanied Ezra to the library. He would take a handheld console and its charger, maybe one or two of his own books, and sit on a beanbag in the corner to amuse himself for the duration of his father's shift. He liked Newt, and Newt wasn't much more than a boy himself, bless him, so they got on well; on quieter occasions Newt could usually be found with Warlock on his lap as they “nerded out” together. Apparently consoles were immune to Newt’s destructive tendencies, something Ezra could be thankful for - those gimmicks were expensive.

At the present moment of this particular Saturday, Warlock had taken it upon himself to help Ezra put back the returned books to their designated shelves. A five year old couldn't possibly begin to understand the Dewey decimal system, but he was trying, and it warmed Ezra's heart to no end. 

"What's this word, dad?" Warlock held up the book in his hand. 

"That says “philosophy,” darling. Means a lot of old men in old times, sitting around discussing things."

"Sounds boring."

"Ah, but some of the greatest minds were borne of philosophy, my dear boy."

"You're funny, dad."

Ezra ruffled his hair. "As are you." 

The click of brisk footsteps drew Ezra away from Warlock, curious. A tall figure rounded the bookshelves, and Ezra felt a false smile jump unbidden to his lips. 

Gabriel Fell was the dean of King's Business School, and the eldest of his siblings. He was pleasant enough, but condescending and a little too mocking even when he didn't intend to be. He was also dashingly handsome, with a chiseled jaw and tall, muscular stature; everything the shorter, softer, rounder Ezra was not. 

"Gabriel. How nice to see you."

"Ezra! You're looking well. And the little tyke!" Gabriel knelt to fist bump a grinning Warlock. "How you doing, buddy?"

"I'm good!"

"Great. That's really great." Gabriel straightened up and gave a none-too-gentle punch to Ezra's shoulder; he winced, rubbing the sore area briefly. 

"You got a minute?" chanced Gabriel.

Ezra slid the book cart away with a resigned expression. "I suppose I can spare the time. Warlock, darling, will you go sit with young Newt awhile?"

"Okay." Warlock skipped off, hair bouncing around his face.

Gabriel watched him go with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Good kid,” he murmured. “You've done a great job with him, Ezra."

"Thank you." Ezra clasped his hands tightly behind his back. "Shall we walk?"

"Yeah, let's do that." 

Gabriel fell into step beside Ezra, his gait long and loping, one striding step for every two of his little brother’s, a dance of position much like a reflection of their real lives. Gabriel had always been bigger, better, stronger, and it showed in every fibre of his being from adolescence to adulthood; Gabriel who played for the football team, Gabriel who secured the scholarship...Ezra never had it in him to be jealous, but a little put out? Yes, certainly, if only because the rest of the family expected the same of him and never got it.

"So I wanted to let you know," Gabriel said, "that I've heard a little rumour through the grapevine. A position is opening up in Arts and Humanities next year for a History lecturer."

Ezra made a low noise in his throat. "Fascinating."

"Sure you don't want to apply?"

"Gabriel, you know I gave up studying towards my doctorate long ago."

Gabriel sighed. "Ah, Ezra, you're too good to be lounging in a library for the rest of your life. You could be so much more!"

"I'm very happy where I am," Ezra said stoutly. "I don't need to be more."

"Hm. Well. That's a shame, truly. It would be brilliant to see you teaching again."

"And I enjoyed my time teaching, but undergraduates are vastly different from high school students. Not quite my style. Honestly, Gabriel, sometimes I worry you don't really know me at all."

Gabriel fixed Ezra with a steely look. "Would that you let me get to know you."

"You're my brother, for heaven's sake. You should know me already."

"Alright, then how about you come to dinner at my place tomorrow? Sandy's doing the meat. That's what I actually came to talk to you about, but I got all excited about that vacancy and - anyway, what do you say? You'll come, right?"

Ezra paused. Sandy did have a certain touch with roasts, that was true. He nodded after a moment. "Yes, we'll be there."

"Hm...you reckon you could get a babysitter for Warlock?"

"Why would I need to do that?"

"Well, it'd be a nice opportunity for us all to get together again, y'know, the way we used to. Michaela and Uriel are coming as well. Have a few drinks, crack some jokes, stuff not for kids' ears, you understand."

Ezra deflated. "...I will see what I can do."

"Great! See you around, let's say seven?" Gabriel gave Ezra's shoulder another punch and ambled off, hand raising in farewell.

So that was how it would be. A night of teasing and humiliation disguised as playful sibling rivalry. Well, one must keep up appearances with the family wherever possible. Sighing, Ezra pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and called Crowley.

"Hey, angel." Crowley picked up on the second ring.

"Ah, hello, my dear.” Ezra tried very hard to ignore the sudden flutter in his chest at hearing Crowley’s smooth tones. “Um, quick question - does your nanny take on more than just Adam?"

"Eh? Uh, don't know, actually - d'you need someone to watch Warlock?"

"Tomorrow evening, yes. Last-minute arrangement, quite unavoidable, I'm afraid. I can pay Miss Device for her time, of course."

"Don't worry 'bout that. Bring him over."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'll cover it. My treat."

"Oh, I think you might be the angel here, Anthony."

Crowley snorted. "Less of that, I've a reputation to keep. Right. See you tomorrow."

[lamptracker]

FIC: Be Alright

So full credit for this idea goes to @the-quackson-claxon.

Also I haven’t tagged anyone because I’m going to be redoing my taglist soon, so.

FIC: Be Alright

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield/Original Character, Harrison Osterfield/Female Reader

Summary: Based on the song “Be Alright” by Dean Lewis. Harrison’s heart is broken; Tom and the reader help him put it back together. If you squint it might be a soulmate AU but don’t look too hard for that.

**

Harrison Osterfield walked through the door of the flat he shared with his girlfriend of three years, barely able to contain his excitement. He’d finally decided: he was going to ask her to marry him.

He had just been out to buy a ring. He spent three hours in the jewelry store, agonizing over picking just the right ring.

“I can’t figure out why,” he’d said to the jeweler, “but I like this one.”

It was a fairly simple ring - large round diamond in the middle, two smaller round diamonds on either side, set on a shining silver band - and it was nowhere near Isabella’s style. She was sure to pretend she liked it, but ask if they could go pick out something else together later.

But for some reason… it spoke to him. So, he bought it.

He passed through the kitchen, noticing a pack of cigarettes on the counter. Odd, since neither he nor Isabella smoked. Maybe Hannah left them here, he thought to himself as he poured himself a glass of water.

Just then, Isabella padded softly into the room.

“Oh, hi, love.”

“Hi, Haz.” She offered him her cheek to kiss, a tiny smile on her face.

“You may want to call Hannah, she left her cigarettes here.”

Isabella looked down at the ground, suddenly bursting into tears.

“Oh, Bella, no. Easy, hey, what’s wrong?” He rested a hand on her arm; shamefully, she jerked it away.

Isabella drew a shaky breath, crossing her arms in front of her before she spoke. “They’re not Hannah’s, they’re Andrew’s.”

“Andrew?” Harrison scrunched his nose up in confusion. “He hasn’t come round since New Year’s, did he leave them here that long?”

Isabella shook her head. “No, it…. I….” she sighed deeply again. “He was here earlier today, I slept with him.”

Harrison’s stomach dropped. She cheated on him? This girl, this amazing girl, the one he was about to propose to, the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with…

...cheated on him?

“Was,” Harrison finally croaked; his throat had suddenly gone dry. “Was it just a one-time thing?”

Tears rolling down her cheeks, Isabella shook her head.

“How long?”

“I-”

“How long?”

Isabella finally looked up, but at the ceiling. “Six months. I-I know you don’t tolerate cheating and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But you were out of town and I was lonely, and-”

“Oh, like that excuses it,” Harrison snapped, more bitterly than he’d expected to; Isabella jumped slightly.

“I know, and I’m sorry, Harrison. I really am.”

“Let me ask you something,” Harrison said softly, cupping her cheek in his hand. He was taken aback by how cold the skin felt under his fingers; usually she was warm to the touch. “Do you love me?”

Isabella nodded.

“Do you love Andrew?”

A pause, then another nod.

As much as it pained him to do so, Harrison knew what he had to do next:

“Do you have somewhere you can stay?”

“You’re kicking me out?” A fresh batch of tears escaped her eyes; her shoulders racked with sobs.

“I love you, Isabella. I love you more than anything, matter of fact I was going to ask you to marry me tonight. I was just out buying a ring. But… but it feels like now, the only reason you’re still with me is because I’m a safety net, I’m there to fall back on in case things with Andrew don’t work out. And Isabella, I refuse to be anyone’s backup choice. I deserve better than that, even if it’s not with you.”

“You were… you were going to propose?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

Isabella sighed, wiping a tear away. “I can be out by six, I’ve got a couple of options.”

“Is one of them Andrew?”

“I think you know the answer to that, Harrison.” Isabella sucked her lower lip in between her teeth. “I wish we could work this out, I wish this wasn’t the end, I-”

“But we can’t,” Harrison said softly, “and it is.” Tears threatened to escape his eyes as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, watching as Isabella ran around and gathered her things into a suitcase.

She was gone before 5:30. She gave him one last, longing look before exiting his apartment - just his now - and leaving.

**

Harrison didn’t leave his apartment for three days. He would occasionally get up from his spot on the couch to shower, or eat, or use the bathroom. But for the most part he just let his calls go to voicemail and his texts go unread as he scrolled through old texts he and Isabella had sent to each other.

She did love me, at one point, he thought to himself. Did I react too hastily? Should I have forgiven her, let her stay? Should-

His stream-of-consciousness rambling was interrupted by a frantic knocking on his door. Harrison, grumbling slightly to himself, rose from the couch and opened it slowly; a rather perturbed-looking Tom Holland stood on the other side.

“Normally,” he growled, “when you’re alive, the custom is to answer your fucking phone.” Tom shook his head as he let himself into the apartment. “I wanted to know how it went the other night, dude! Did Isabella say yes? Where is she, anyway, eh?”

“Gone.”

Tom stopped dead in his tracks, right in the midst of shrugging off his jacket. “She what? When’s she coming back?”

“She’s not.” Harrison sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s been sleeping with Andrew for the last six months.”

Tom finished taking off his jacket, slinging it over the back of a chair, before gathering his best friend into his arms. “Oh, mate, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“Neither did I. Found his cigarettes on the counter the other day, that’s how I found out. But now she’s gone, and I have this ring that feels like it weighs about a thousand pounds, and I’m alone.”

Tom grabbed the ring box off the side table, opening it slowly. “She wouldn’t have liked this.”

“I know, but it spoke to me. I couldn’t leave it alone. I’m just going to take it back, I…”

“Nah. You should hang on to it.”

“Why, as a reminder to never let anyone in again?”

“No. As a reminder that it’s okay to do that.”

Harrison just looked at Tom oddly for a moment, sinking down onto a couch cushion. He wasn’t sure what Tom had meant by that. But, shrugging, he grabbed his phone and started scrolling through his texts again.

“What’re you doing?” Tom asked, sitting down on the couch next to Harrison.

“She really did love me,” Harrison said softly. “You can see it right here, yeah? Like maybe… maybe I was too hasty in letting her go. Maybe we could have worked it out, maybe-”

“Maybe she would have kept sleeping with Andrew behind your back,” Tom said bluntly. “Maybe Andrew wasn’t the only one, maybe it’s been longer than six months, dude. It’s hard, and I know that. I know you loved her, I know you still do. But… let’s face it, this is one thing your relationship can’t bounce back from.”

Harrison leaned his head back against the back of the couch. Tom was notoriously bad at sugar-coating things. But… but that was what he needed right now. He needed someone to tell him straight. He needed someone to be right.

Unfortunately, at least for him at this moment… Tom was right.

He hated it when Tom was right.

**

Two weeks after that night, Tom finally convinced Harrison to go out to the pub with him, Harry, and Tuwaine. Tom was hoping they could successfully keep Harrison’s mind off of Isabella.

“Mate, what’re you doing?” Tom asked as Harrison scrolled through his phone.

“I’m calling her, I’m calling Isabella. I miss her, I love her, we can work through this.”

Wordlessly, Harry slapped the phone out of Harrison’s hand; Tuwaine held his hands out to catch it before it hit the table.

“What the hell was that for?” Harrison asked incredulously as Tuwaine handed Tom the phone.

“You’re not calling her,” Harry said simply. “And you’re not reading her texts anymore either, it’s messing with your head.”

Harrison’s eyes grew wide. “Are you…”

“Deleting all these texts? Yep. Deleting her from your phone? You should have done that two weeks ago. Blocking her number? Not that she’s tried to call you, but it’s for your own good.” Tom pressed a couple of buttons on the phone as he spoke.

“But, I-”

“Harrison, man.” Tuwaine shook his head. “What Isabella did was terrible. You can’t forget that, you know? This is really for the best.”

Harrison slumped in his seat, sighing as he took a sip of his beer. “It’s just… well, at least there’s pictures.”

“Oh, shit, the camera roll!” Tom, who had started to hand Harrison his phone back, quickly snatched it away again. “Thanks, buddy, I almost forgot.”

Harrison groaned. “Two years,” he said softly. “I spent two years with this girl, and to think that two years’ worth of memories can be erased in thirty seconds…”

“More like forty-five, you have a shit-ton of photos on here.” Tom shook his head. “Listen, it’s like I said. I know you loved her. But… you can’t go back to that.”

Harry and Tuwaine just nodded.

“It’ll hurt for awhile,” Tom continued. “But you’ll get over it, I promise. And we’re here to help you every step of the way.”

Harrison sucked in a breath, letting it out slowly. “I wish it didn’t have to hurt so badly.”

“I know, bud.” Tom clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But the only thing that will help - and this is going to sound cheesy - but the only thing that will help is time.”

“I guess you’re right.” Harrison took another swig of his beer. “You guys are great, thanks.”

“We try.” Harry smiled at him. “So anyway, there was this photo shoot I was doing the other day, and…”

**

Six months later, Harrison was feeling better. It still hurt, he wasn’t going to lie. But that hurt seemed to ease with time. He’d gotten rid of everything that reminded him of Isabella (which meant he had to buy all new dishes and towels, but to him it was a small price to pay for closure). He resisted the temptation to call her, or text her, or even creep around on her Instagram page. His heart was no longer in excruciating pain; it was more of a dull ache, like the kind when you’re almost healed but not quite. He was getting better every day.

But the world was still a tiny bit gray.

“Hey, man, you up for pub night?” Tom asked one day.

“Always. You, me, Harry and T, right?”

“Yep, I… oh, just got a text from Tuwaine, is it okay if Audrey tags along?”

Harrison nodded. “Sure, I like Audrey,” he said, referring to Tuwaine’s girlfriend.

At the pub, the five of them - Tom, Harrison, Harry, Tuwaine, and Audrey - sat gathered around a table.

“Oh, babe,” Audrey said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited a friend of mine. She’s had kind of a rough day at work, so I thought she could use a night out to lift her spirits.”

“I’m cool with that,” Tuwaine replied. “Guys?”

“Any friend of Audrey’s is a friend of mine,” Harry said.

“Sounds good to me,” Tom added.

Harrison just shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Audrey smiled. “Thanks so much, I- oh, here she is!” She stood up and waved excitedly at her friend; Harrison turned his head to glimpse her…

...and, suddenly, his world went from gray to Technicolor bright.

“Wow,” he said under his breath; Tom laughed.

“I told you, you’d be alright,” he said

Harrison spent the entire night talking to Audrey’s friend. Her name was (y/n), she had just gotten out of a long-term relationship a few months ago, and most days she liked her job but today if someone had offered to burn down the building for half a bag of Funyuns and a scratch-off lotto ticket she wouldn’t have turned them down.

He was immediately drawn to her - she was sweet, she had a nice smile, she had a wicked sense of humor.

By the end of the night, he’d asked her out - “I haven’t done this in awhile, so please be nice to me,” he’d started it out. But she found him funny, and charming, so she readily agreed.

As he walked her out to her car, trading jokes and eventually phone numbers, he couldn’t help but remember what Tom had told him:

You’ll get over it, I promise. The only thing that will help is time.

At first, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get over it, but now he could safely say he had.

**

Two years after Harrison met (y/n), he’d decided to propose. He knew, he knew, what had happened the last time he decided he was going to propose to someone. But he loved (y/n), loved her so much.

He knew he had to take the chance.

“And you already have a ring!” Tom had said; Harrison shook his head.

“I can’t give her that one,” he argued, “I didn’t buy it for her.”

Tom sighed. “Harrison. You knew Isabella wouldn’t like that ring. And you bought it anyway, why?”

“Because something in the back of my mind said, this is the one. This is the ring for the one you’ll spend the rest of your life with. That sounds cheesy, doesn’t it?”

“Totally. So… maybe you did buy it for (y/n). You know?”

Harrison shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. She does seem to prefer the simpler jewelry; Isabella always liked the big flashy stuff. Well… I’ll try it.”

That night, when (y/n) came home, Harrison took her by the hand.

“(y/n),” he started. “When I met you, I didn’t think I had the capacity to ever love anyone again. You’ve proven me wrong, time and time again. I love you with everything I am, and everything I am going to be. So…” he produced the ring from his pocket. “Will you marry me?”

(y/n) gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. “Yes!” she finally managed, between tears. “Yes, Harrison, oh my God!”

Laughing, Harrison slid the ring onto her finger; she held it up, admiring it.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” she exclaimed. “This ring is so perfect, how did you know?”

“Just a hunch.” Harrison gathered her into his arms, kissing her deeply. “I love you so much, (y/n).”

“I love you too, Harrison.”

[mattzerella-sticks]

Drop the Act (Dean/Cas, Sam-centric fic, Post-Canon, 3.5k)

After defeating the Empty, Sam thought all the surprises were done for. Cas was saved, was human, and the Winchesters were a complete family unit doing what they do best: hunting monsters and saving people. He didn't account for his brother and angel best friend to manage one final surprise after coming back from a routine hunt in Florida.

But that's what happens when you don't see what's been happening right in front of you for a year.

(Love to my #SPNFamily)

(Link to ao3)

           Sam enjoyed the Bunker these past two weeks while Dean and Cas were away. It was a vacation filled with dusty archives and suspenseful podcasts, eating when he wanted to and not having to put his research away while he did it.

           There were a few interruptions, like phone calls from his mom checking in. Making sure Sam didn’t neglect basic care for translating more texts. He was offended when Mary suggested he take a night off and step out from the underground. So Sam wouldn’t become, in her words, a ‘hermit’.

           His entire time alone wasn’t spent holed away from the world; Sam jogged in the early mornings – when he remembered to sleep at a normal time. And every other day he’d set aside a half-hour for yoga among the trees. Mary still wasn’t satisfied at that, remarking how little he interacted with others in his downtime. Rolling his eyes, Sam told her he hadn’t any need. The kitchen was well stocked before Dean left, and unlike his brother Sam learned how to control his portions.

           Sam wasn’t avoiding people; he found no need to seek others out. But when they came, he didn’t turn them away. Even with Dean and Cas out, Jack stayed with him. He, too, was uninvited from the hunt. They left each other alone for the most part, both busy with their own things. If he saw Jack, though, he wouldn’t ignore him. Sam invited his angelic son along with him the other day when he took interest with his yoga mat. Jack didn’t get farther than the warrior pose, but he had fun with it.

           So Sam had no problem being around people. He just appreciated his alone time, especially after a rough couple of months. Drowning in back-to-back hunts, he needed to lock himself down and recharge his batteries. Dean and Cas finding their own hunt, one he wasn’t asked to go on, was a sign. The peace and quiet lifted Sam’s spirits. He wasn’t bombarded with loud music, the clatter of pots and pans, distracting chatter and loud, suspicious noises at strange times. Wherever those two went, a commotion was hanging overhead like heavy, dark clouds.

           When he heard the slam of the Bunker door though, he knew his serenity was shattered. He shut his book with a sigh, glancing up as Dean and Cas descended the staircase with suitcases in hand.

           The hunt was in Florida, closer to Miami than Orlando. Now back in Kansas, they still looked ready for the beach. Dean wore a calm t-shirt of a muted grey color, a complete opposite to Cas’s loud rainbow colored Hawaiian shirt. They both also had on board shorts and flip-flops. Sunglasses were loss in the bird’s nest of Cas’s dark hair while Dean’s was hidden by his backwards cap. The entire walk down the stairs, the two bickered with relaxed grins stretched across their tan faces. Cas’s skin was even more bronzed than usual, while Dean’s body shone with star-like freckles.

           Even after a year, Sam found Cas a strange sight when out of his holy tax accountant armor. Picking out a wardrobe was one of the many things Dean taught Cas after becoming human. He didn’t mind, sticking by their friend’s side through it all. He forgot much of what he already learned for his first stint, and the process the second time around was anything but easy. Dean’s resolve never wavered, helping Cas develop his routines and explore his tastes. “What I should have done the first time around,” Dean said.

           “Hey guys,” Sam waved at them, “Didn’t know you were coming back so soon.”

           Dean nodded, dropping his stuff at the head of the table. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. We kinda lost track of time and forgot to call…”

           “To be fair,” Cas said laying his own luggage beside Dean’s, “I assumed Dean had already done so before we left the motel.”

           He rolled his eyes. “When could I have? I wasn’t out of your sight that entire morning.” Dean sat, continuing. “Besides, I thought I told you to text Sam when we stopped for the night in Illinois?”

           “That’s your fault,” Cas told him, taking the chair to Dean’s left for himself. “My thumb hit the wrong button because of somebody –“

           “Oh like that was a problem for you,” Dean cut him off, beaming. Cas matched it in intensity, their smiles glowing with radiant bliss.

           Sam cleared his throat, dragging their attention to him before the pull between them was too strong. “I’m glad you’re both home,” he said, glancing between the two, “the Bunker hasn’t been the same since you left…”

           Dean nudged Cas, chuckling. “That’s moose-talk for he wanted a few more days without us.”

           Glaring, Sam decided to not snag the bait. Instead, he asked them to share how the hunt went. They were tightlipped with the details over the phone, really only connecting with him through text. Sam’s digitization made accessing the Bunker’s resources much easier, but also took away any help he could offer.

           They told the story in halves, both of them interrupting the other at the oddest times with little facts and quips. It was hard to follow along at times, but Sam understood the gist of it.

           A shifter was targeting couples involved with a retreat program built to counsel married couples through communication problems. Sam snuck in a quick jab, wondering that if this hunt happened maybe years earlier things would have been different.

           “Yuck it up,” Dean scoffs, “But some of that shit was actually helpful… if you wanted to be some kind of new age freak in touch with your emotions.”

           “Anyway,” Cas course corrected, knocking shoulders with Dean, “we managed to sign up before the next session began so we could investigate.”

           “Turns out Cas asks questions better when he’s out of the Fed suit.”

           Sam stifles back a chuckle after Cas smacks Dean on the shoulder with a soft thwack. “At least I was asking questions. Half the time you were either on the beach or by the pool –“

           “It sucked enough that there was a shifter there, I was trying to make the most of our trip.”

           “We still managed to enjoy ourselves, after taking care of the monster…”

           Dean sighed, scratching at his neck. “Yeah that’s true.”

           Sam looked between the two, brow raised. “So, how did you take care of it?”

           The hunt barely lasted longer than three days, the extended time because Dean and Cas had trouble testing the staff with silver. Dean pouted, “Seriously, using the rings was a good start until you get called in to a session with a therapist about commitment and cheating.” He waggled his fingers, flashing the silver band towards him. Sam spied Cas’s hand resting on the table, wearing a similar ring.

           Cas smiled at Dean, eyes shining with warmth. “Although I did enjoy your very passionate defense when she assumed you took our marriage as seriously as a… what did she say? ‘Like a teen does his curfew’?”

           “She was bonkers,” Dean growled, “Just wanted to separate us, get us out of the way. Figured… since she was the shifter.”

           “She was?” Sam asked, “Did you gank her right then?”

           “We didn’t realize until later,” he said, “Much later.”

           Dean and Cas got into an argument after the meeting with the therapist. He was hurt and blowing off steam, and by doing that drew unwanted attention their way. “It didn’t matter what she or any of them thought,” Cas told them, “We were there for one thing –“

           “I didn’t take that well either,” Dean admitted, sheepishly darting his eyes back and forth between Cas and the table. “Stormed off to be alone for awhile… mainly sat by the surf and watched it tickle my toes.”

           “While I involved myself in the activities,” Cas said, “Until Dean came to apologize.”

           Sam eyes his friend, “That… sounds ominous.”

           Dean chuckled, “That’s because it wasn’t me.”

           The shifter decided to corner Cas on his way to the pottery lesson, dragging him away to a hidden alcove. Fake Dean took every measure to appear reticent, and quoted a lot of their history back at Cas. He shrugged at Sam. “She did her research.” Cas was ready to forgive Dean, waiting for him to take the first step. It was only when she suggested they seal their argument with some make-up sex did Cas figure out it wasn’t Dean.

           Sam rolled his eyes. It wasn’t the first time a monster read more into his brother’s relationship with their friend. And for once it played to their benefit. He shot off a quick prayer that Dean got used to those types of digs. Before, he would scowl for days and butch it up. Now any mention brought out a wry chuckle and a soft look. Sam couldn’t imagine his brother would have been okay faking a relationship with another man a decade ago. He’s really grown, becoming comfortable with his sexuality.

           “I stabbed her in the heart when she tried unbuttoning my pants,” Cas said.

           Dean leaned into him and smirked. “And that’s when I found them.”

           Sam spluttered. “You did?”

           “Oh yeah, was walking, working up the courage to see Cas and… let’s just say it didn’t make me feel better stumbling on that.”

           “You knew what it was, though,” Cas comforted him, hand disappearing under the table, “All the times I said I wanted to kill you meant nothing in that moment.”

           “Oh yeah that moment…”

           Sam watched them slip into another one of their moods. Where Dean stared at Cas, and vice versa. Nothing could pierce the veil created when both men communicated with only their eyes. When they started these, Sam felt left out. He wanted that closeness, where someone could know what he was feeling with a single glance. Through the years he got over it, though. What Dean and Cas shared couldn’t be replicated. Now all he felt was a fond annoyance. In the early years, he could count these special interactions with both hands. But then that number grew exponentially. After they got Cas back from the Empty, it rocketed near infinity. Sam knew why.

           Dean and Cas were best friends, the former angel an official Winchester brother. Losing him after Lucifer stabbed him was like cutting off a limb. The Empty, two limbs. In the ceremony freeing Cas from that void, Dean vowed to never let any power come between them. His conviction, a powerful magic in itself, forced the Empty into slumber. Not before it shrouded the two as the final words were spoken. They broke the curse hanging over them, and all it cost was Cas’s grace.

           “I don’t need it, not anymore,” he said, once they settled back in the Bunker, “Not when I have my family.”

           Sam cleared his throat, breaking their intense focus. Back for less than an hour, and he had his fill of them. He asked what happened for the rest of the hunt. “You wrapped it up so quickly… but you were there longer?”

           “Dude, we were in Florida,” Dean said, “Vacation.”

           “Seriously?”

           “Hell yeah,” his brother grinned, teeth sharp and white. “Do you know there are nude beaches in Florida –“

           “Gross, I don’t want to hear it –“

           “It’s just the human body, Sam.”

           “Whatever.”

           Dean turned to Cas. “I think he’s gotten his fill of us already.”

           “Then we might as well unpack,” Cas sighed, standing, “I’m feeling kind of ripe.” As he stood, Dean did as well; the reason being their joined hands, as Sam noticed. He gaped at them, unnoticed. “I’d kill for a shower right now.”

           “Well I hope not me,” Dean joked, leading them away.

           Before they could get too far, Sam found his voice. “Guys?” he yelped, voice cracking near the end. Dean and Cas glanced back, free hands hovering over their bags. “What are you… what’s going on?”

           “We’re heading to our room, Sam,” Dean said, “What else does it look like?” Whispering to Cas, he talked from the corner of his mouth. “Someone had his nose in the books too long…”

           “Our room?” Sam parroted, “What are…” In an instant his face shifted, smoothing out into a familiar expression. He set the tired lines of his bitch face to radiate the most annoyance with his brother’s actions. “Okay, I get it. Ha ha… good one.”

           “Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out,” Dean stepped closer worryingly, “Talk to me Sammy. Tell me what’s the matter.”

           “That shifter sure got you wrong,” Sam muttered, returning to his book, “You sure seem committed to this bit.”

           “What ‘bit’?”

           “Seriously, Dean, the case is over. You and Cas can drop the married act now.” He wanted to finish the chapter. It’s difficult when his brother and friend are glaring at him with righteous fury. If he didn’t already know Cas lost his powers, he’d be very concerned for his well-being. “What?”

           “Sam,” Cas started, “Dean and I are married.”

           The bombshell that dropped before him sounded suspiciously like his book slipping through his fingers. It was a contest, which would blink first him or them. Sam waited for the ringing in his ears stop before asking. “W-what?”

           All fight drained from Dean and Cas, each sneaking looks at each other before shooting Sam twin looks of concern. “Sam,” Dean tried, reaching a hand out, “are you okay –“

           “I should be asking you that,” Sam leapt to his feet, eyeing him for any clues. “Were you sure it was only a shifter. This isn’t like a spell or anything?” He dragged his fingers across Dean’s chest, as if a hex bag was taped there like a recording device.

           Dean bat his hands away. “Dude, the hell? No there weren’t any witches. Me and Cas are married.”

           “You’re serious?” Sam asked them, eyes wide, “You guys got married in Florida?”

           “No, Sam,” Cas said, “Dean and I have been married for a while… we celebrated our anniversary in Florida.”

           “…What?”

           “Yeah,” Dean continued, drawing Cas in closer, “One year. Why do you think we didn’t want anyone else coming with us?”

           “Because…because you didn’t need us for the hunt?”

           “When we went there was no hunt,” Dean sighed, “Except Winchester luck made it so we had ourselves a working vacation. You’re lucky we managed to salvage what was left so we weren’t coming back cranky. Although… ‘m not feeling too good now.”

           “Oh my God, you two… I can’t believe this…” Sam sank back down into his seat, tugging at his hair. “A… a year? How… When?”

           “You were there, Sam,” Cas said, “all of you were. Mary, Bobby… Jack, Claire, Jody, Donna and the girls… Chuck –“

           “Hold on,” Sam cut him off, “When we dragged your ass back from the Empty?”

           “Yeah,” Dean said, “Weren’t you listening when Chuck explained?”

           Sam blushed, finding his lap more interesting than the conversation. He remembered when Chuck showed them the parchment. On it was a way to rip Cas’s grace out and put it back into his body. He’d still be connected to the Empty, until the second part purified his body of any connection with the entity. And because of that, the Empty still had Cas’s wings, but his soul belonged to humanity. That’s all Sam thought he needed to know. He tuned Chuck out in favor of going over the scroll himself; confident he would understand it better that way. It was illegible, and Sam was too embarrassed to ask Chuck to clarify.

           “But,” Sam tried to save some of his dignity, “You two didn’t really change much. How was I supposed to know all of that was a… wedding ceremony?”

           Dean smirked, knocking heads with Cas. “We’re too old to act like animals, ripping our clothes off wherever. Didn’t need to, anyway. Me and Cas were always close… so there wasn’t that big a change. Just more options to express what was already there.”

           “Although it was me who stopped Dean from getting too frisky in public areas,” Cas sighed, “He didn’t care if you were to walk in on us.”

           “Should’ve let him. I bet there wouldn’t have been any confusion if he saw us –“

           “I don’t even want the mental image,” Sam said, face redder than before.

           His misery garnered a healthy chuckle from his brother. Dean wiped a tear from his eye, “Oh man, Sammy. How could you not notice for a year? You’re the one who’s always harping on the details. Oh – oh – and you even told me the next time I watch porn to wear headphones? Sam, I haven’t had the need to watch porn for so long you heard me and Cas going at it!”

           “Stop!” Sam cried, shoving his hands over his ears, “I’m going to murder you!”

           “Please, Sam, not my husband. Only I’m allowed to kill him,” Cas said blandly. His eyes feigned boredom but there was a smirk curling across his face.

           “I can’t have been the only one who didn’t know.”

           “Know what?” Jack asked, stepping into the room; his frown at Sam’s posture immediately transformed into a smile when noticing Dean and Cas. “Hey! When did you two get back?”

           Dean waved his question away, instead asking one of his own. “Jack, me and Cas? What are we?”

           “…My dads?”

           “No,” he sighed, flashing his hand at him. “What do these rings signify?”

           “Oh! That you and Cas are married!”

           Sam paled at the answer, Dean’s boastful grin leeching the color from him. “You knew?”

           “Of course, Sam,” Jack said, “It was their one year anniversary.”

           “This isn’t making any sense,” Sam muttered to himself, “Why didn’t I…”

           “Mom was in tears for days, Sam. And you thought Claire was joking when she called me dad? Christ, Chuck gave me his blessing and officiated. Even Amara sent a gift, and it wasn’t dad rising from the grave.” He heard Dean swallow, and then a hand on his shoulder. Sam looked up into his brother’s eyes, any and all mirth gone. “You, uh… you’re okay that me and Cas… that we’re…”

           Sam bit back a curse, hating himself for how he was acting. “Of course, Dean. It was… I was shocked is all. I mean… one whole year? And I didn’t even know, didn’t congratulate either of you…”

           “I thought you did, for what it’s worth,” Dean said, “‘You look happy, Dean. How does it feel to have a no-strings attached win?’” Those were the exact words Sam said to him after the Empty’s tentacles slithered away. A tear hangs precariously from the corner of Sam’s eyes.

           “I meant it,” Sam nodded, “Especially now that I know you and Cas are married. Are in love.” The words sat right on Sam’s tongue. Thinking back, he wasn’t sure how he kept the blindfolds on for so long. Love was the only explanation for the way Dean and Cas looked at each other. For how Cas always has a cup of coffee for Dean ready when he wakes up. For Dean buying books for Cas whenever they head out on hunts, the former angel’s collection already taking up one shelf in the Library. Sam swiped at his eyes, launching himself forward to crush Dean into a hug. “You deserve this, Dean.” Dean muttered something under breath, tugging Cas over with their still joined hands. He opens his vice-like grip long enough to crush the other man in, too. “So do you, Cas.”

           “All right, all right,” Dean freed himself, fighting the sweet smile unfurling, “That was enough of a chick-flick moment for today.”

           Cas nodded. “Dean is all chick-flicked out. We spent last night marathoning Bridget Jones after I lost the coin flip.”

           “Cas,” Dean whined, “You’re my husband. You took a vow to always be on my side.”

           “I made no such promise,” Cas chuckled, twining his arms around Dean’s neck, “All I committed to was loving you,” he pecked at Dean’s lips, “cherishing you,” again, “and honoring you,” and again, “until I take my last breath. Nowhere in there did I ‘vow’ to never make fun of you.”

           “You’re an ass.”

           “Yes, but I’m your ass.”

           Sam and Jack exchanged amused glances. “All right,” Sam cut them off before they bickered some more, “We get it. You’re together. You don’t have to prove it anymore.”

           “This?” Dean asked, “This ain’t proof. You want proof you can watch us have sex.”

           Sam frowned, scrunching his nose up in disgust. “Yuck. I told you Dean, I didn’t want the image of you sticking it to Cas.”

           Dean stepped backwards, mouth nearly cracking in half by how wide his grin is. “Other way around, moose brains.” He winked, delighting in the stuttered outrage from his brother.

           “Really?!?”

           “Of course, Sam,” Cas said, Dean already disappearing down the hallway, “How do you think I knew it wasn’t the real Dean?” The pointed stare brought the flush back onto his cheeks. Cas blipped out of sight after that, his and Dean’s laughter both mocking and comforting.

           Sam shook his head, the smile still in place on his face. “You two… made for each other.” He enjoyed his alone time, but always made time for his family. He always will. Things may change, can end or begin anew, but family will be eternal.

[petri808]

A Brush with Fate

NaLu Week 2018- Day 5 Omen prompt

 @nalu-week

Today was like any other day on the commuter, packed like sardines in a metal can.  She holds on to the strap hanger above her head as she talks to her friend on the train, leaning her head against her arm, they’ve got just a couple more stops to go before they’ll be out of this box.  Sigh, “I didn’t do as well on my finals practice exam as I’d hoped to.”

“Lu, you got an 85%, that was the 3rd highest in class,” Levy her best friend whines, “I only got 70% and besides you’ve got another 5 weeks to study...”

With the next stop coming up, the people getting off start to slowly gather near the exits, pushing through the sea of bodies, jaunted slightly by the slowing of the train.  

Lucy’s back is brushed up against, nothing special in these commutes.  “With all the studying I did, I just thought I’d get a higher…” but images flicker in her mind and she pauses midsentence.  Like a video playing rapid fire, flashes of pink, a smiling face that she cannot recognize, the letter ‘N’, pieces of a puzzle that mean something and yet nothing to the young woman.  But as quickly as the feelings hit they fizzle away and she is left standing dazed and confused.

“Are you okay?”  When Lucy is able to focus again, her friend is waving a hand in her face, “you’re totally spazing out on me.”

“Huh?” she blinks, damn it, what was that about?  “Yeah,” turning on the fake smile, “I’ll be fine Levy.”

“A-alright, well, so I was asking if you wanna check out the mall with me tomorrow?”

“Sure, Levy, I don’t have any plans…”

Safely in her apartment, Lucy flops onto her bed and stares up at the ceiling.  ‘Pink hair… a smile…’  Sigh, covering her eyes with her arm, it had been awhile since she’d had a premonition that strong so why in the middle of a train car?  ‘It must have been triggered by a person,’ she surmises as most of her visions are triggered by touching a person or object, but unfortunately it happened so fast, and with that many people around, it was hard to discern anything.  ‘Oh well, nothing I can do about it now…’

This was crunch time for the young college student, finals were in a week and all Lucy needed to concentrate on was studying.  She needed to maintain a certain GPA to keep her scholarship and there was no way she could afford to lose it.  So, focused on the internal monologue she was having, reciting chemical formulas that when the second flash of visions hit her, Lucy was jolted hard.  ‘Pink hair… a wide smile…  ‘N’…’ her heart thundered in her chest, ‘why was it beating so rapidly?’

“Yo, miss, are you okay?” the words barely registering with the blonde, “Hello?” a snapping sound, fingers maybe.  She blinks as the world comes back into focus, or is it, for the image her eyes are seeing is a fuzzy pink color.  Pink?  “Are you okay?”  Lucy nods slowly.  “That’s good, hey I’m sorry I bumped into ya’, kinda crowded in these cars.”

She looks around and realizes she’s sitting on a bench, hadn’t she been standing?  “I-It’s okay,” her voice still shaky, “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” the train is slowing down, “well, this is my stop,” he smiles wide, “take it easy now, you look kinda stressed,” he walks away with a wave.

That smile, the hair, Lucy slumps into the seat, was her premonition about this man?  The physical cues matched, but what did it mean and why did it feel like her heart was going to break through her chest?  That hadn’t happened the first time so was it just from shock or was there another meaning behind it?  ‘Ugh, I really hate this gift! Why does it have to be so cryptic?!’ Exhale, as much as she wanted to solve the mystery, it would need to wait.

Two weeks later, there’s a knock at her bedroom door, “Lu, you better get up and get ready, we’re supposed to meet Cana for lunch remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the blonde mumbles at her roommate through the door.  School had ended a week ago and it was like her body just knew it was now summer break, so all week she hadn’t gotten up until lunch time.  Lucy loved her bf and roommate, but some days the girl’s early riser routine drove her crazy.  She grabs her phone to check the time, ‘10:00a, ugh,’ burying her face back in the pillow, guess she really did need to drag herself out of bed…

“Hey!” Cana waves at Lucy and Levy from the café.

“Sorry we’re a little late, we missed the first train,” Lucy apologizes as the pair sits down.

“I was late too,” she shrugs her shoulders, “and I took the liberty of ordering for you guys.  So,” leaning on the table, “what’s new…”

The trio stayed at the café for a couple hours, catching up on current events, gossip, and such before walking around the plaza.  Levy and Lucy were attending the same college, but Cana had opted to go straight to working for her old man at their family bar as soon as she turned 18.  She was just a waitress until she turned 21 and could bartend but eventually he expected her to take over as manager.  

“He tells me to hurry up and learn the business, so he can retire and just sit there drinking with his buddies, that bastard, so I keep threatening to quit and leave him to suffer.”

“Speaking of bars,” Lucy chimes in, “next year we all turn 21…”

“Oh, I’ll be getting plastered for sure, and we can party at my bar!”

Levy, “I don’t know what I wanna do yet.”

Lucy, “me neither.”

“Guys!  It’s like a tradition to get wasted on your 21st birthday!”

“We’ve got time to decide,” Lucy laughs.

“So, Lu,” Cana steps in front of her blonde friend, “Leo was asking about you again.”

She rolls her eyes, “I’m not interested in that flirt.”

“But you need a boyfriend!”

“I don’t need…” the color pink catches in her periphery, Lucy’s head turns just as a group of guys passes a few feet away, her sepia orbs meeting emerald green.  Neither of them stops walking as they share a slow-motion glance of recognition; it was the guy from the train.  Levy grabs her arm as the same images flash through her mind again even stronger than before, and just as she’s about to faint.  ‘Pink hair… A wide smile…  ‘N’…’  An infectious laughter rings in her ears and the scent of something spicy envelops her. The now familiar flutter in her chest, ‘But they hadn’t touched this time…’              

“Lucy!”  She feels herself being shaken.  “Snap out of it!”

“Levy, what’s going on?” Lucy hears Cana asking and can see her friends talking but her mind is still flickering through all the stimulus.

“I don’t know, I mean it happened once about a month ago, but she didn’t faint like this.

“Hey, Lucy?” now it’s Cana shaking her, “wake the fuck up!”

Slowly the blonde comes to her senses, “Stop… shaking me.  I’m awake.”

“Well don’t fucking scare us like that!”  Exhale, “What the hell happened?  Does it have to do with your premonitions, but I’ve never seen you end up so affected before.”

“C-could we not talk about this in the middle of a mall,” Lucy runs a hand over her face, “we can go back to our apartment and talk if you want.”

The three girls hail a taxi and return to Lucy and Levy’s apartment where Lucy consigns herself to the couch and Levy makes them all some tea.  Once settled with their drinks, the two other girls sit and listen intently to the blondes recounting of the 3 incidents.  She gives them all the details she can remember, but by the third one, the grin on Cana’s face is starting to grate on her nerves.

“This isn’t funny!” Lucy shrieks.  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to divine from this info!”

“Are you that daft woman, you are getting a premonition of your future husband!  You should be so lucky that it’s this easy for you to figure it out.”

“That’s not funny Cana.”

“I’m being serious. The reason the sensations kept getting stronger is probably because you weren’t believing to them.”

“And do what?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe introduce yourself, get his name, phone number, jump him, drag him to your bed, whatever.”

“Cana!”

“Lu,” Levy cuts in to stop the escalation, “you told me before your premonitions have always turned out to be accurate, right?  Which means there’s no running away from this.”

Lucy exhales, hunching over with her face in her hands, “it’s not like I know who he is or how to find him.”

Cana, “I bet you’ll see him again, seems fate’s been making you run into each other.”

“Or, it’s just a coincidence.”

“Or, it’s destiny, Lu, just admit it to yourself.”

“Ugh!  Okay fine!” throwing her hands up in defeat.  “If I see him again, I’ll at least try to talk to him…”

The tingling sensation creeping along her spine and goosebumps erupting along her arms was the only warning she needed to know the pink haired man was nearby.  Lucy closes her eyes, of course, she curses out the gods, only a week had passed, and this was already happening, guess Cana was right about it escalating.  By the time she opens them, the dream man is standing next to her table with an air of uncertainty.  ‘No surprise there.’  She gestures at the empty chair, “have a seat, did you wanna order anything, the waitress will be back soon.”

“Maybe later.” He takes a seat tentatively.  “Um, look,” running his hand through his hair as a nervous gesture, “I know we don’t know each other but it’s just…  I don’t know how to explain it but I’m trying to understand why I keep getting these weird vibes every time I run into you.  I-I mean,” gesturing like wiping the slate, “they don’t feel like bad vibes, just why am I getting them?  I remember feeling them one day on the train, but I ignored it, then the time you fainted I had them, and again when I saw you at the mall.”  Leaning forward with his head propped up, “even today, something drew me over to this café and bam, I look over and you’re sitting here.”

Lucy sits back, a little surprised that he was experiencing something.  It was clear he wasn’t getting premonitions like she did, yet somehow, he was feeling the pull as well.  ‘Well ain’t the spirits working overtime on this one.’  She sits quietly as the waitress gives brings her order and Natsu foregoes anything for himself.  Once they are alone again, she smiles, “How about we start by introducing ourselves, my name is Lucy.”  

“Oh right,” he laughs, reclining back in the chair, and there’s that wide smile again, “duh where’s my manners, I’m Natsu.”

‘N, figures that’s what it meant.’  “Well, Natsu, answer this question, do you believe in things like destiny, string of fate, soulmates, anything like that?”  

“Mmm, I’ve heard of those things, but don’t know if I really believe it or not.”

“Then what would you say if I told you those ‘vibes’ you’re feeling is fate trying to point you towards someone special.”

He sits back, “Are you trying to tell me that some mystical force is what…”  ‘Destiny, string of fate, soulmate… Soulmate!’  “… that you’re supposed to be what my future wife or something?”  Lucy just nods, watching the expressions on his face while his mind is trying to grasp what she’s telling him.  ‘Is this chick a fruit cake?  She seems normal enough, well except she did faint on me…’ “How do you know for sure that’s what it means?”

“Because,” exhale, “because I get premonitions.” He tips his head in confusion.  “Remember when I fainted?” he nods.  “That happened because I was getting flashes of images relating to you.” His eyes narrow still unbelieving.  “Okay, the first time you felt the weird vibes, it was in the train as well, right?” he nods again.  “What you probably didn’t see because maybe you were just walking by, is when you brushed up against me I had the same flashes hit me then too.  I fainted the day you saw me at the mall as well.”  Sigh, “I hate having this gift, but this is the first time I’ve ever had it affect me so strongly.”  Looking down, “I wanted to deny it all, but my friends made me promise to talk to you if I saw you again.”

He stares at her for a bit, then leans back and crosses his arms, “as crazy as your story is, I feel like you’re telling me the truth.”

“Only a handful of people know about this side of me, I don’t like to talk about it because it’s so weird.”

“Well that makes sense.”

“I don’t always understand how it all works, and it’s frustrating when I can’t figure out what I’m being shown.  Come to think of it,” she reclines in her chair, “I didn’t faint this time.” Thinking out loud, “does that mean something too,” rubbing her chin, Lucy laughs, “since I finally acknowledged you maybe fate decided I didn’t need a slap.”

“I take it back,” he grins, “you are a weirdo.”

“Ugh!  That wasn’t very nice!”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, just that you are weird.”

Her eyes widen, “So, you don’t mind?”

“Well, it’s not like I’m gonna drop to my knee right now and propose just because the universe is telling me you’re the one.”  Lucy blushes at his insinuations.  “But would you like to go out on a date with me, just hang out sometime?”

“I think…  I’d really like that…”

[welllpthisishappening]

Where You Can Still Remember Dreaming (3/35)

Killian Jones, former crime reporter, was not happy to be home. It hadn’t been home in a very long time, after all. Home was an abstract construct that existed for people who didn’t know as many adjectives for blood as he did. Home wasn’t New York City, but it certainly wasn’t Boston or New Orleans either and he’d always gone where the story was. And he was positive Emma Swan was one hell of a story.

Emma Swan, pro video game player, desperately wanted to find home. She thought she had, a million years ago in the back corner of a barn and a town and faces she trusted. But that had all blown up in her face and it didn’t take long for her to decide she was going to control the pyrotechnics from here on out. So now she was in New York City and a different corner and she kind of wanted to trust Killian Jones.

Rating: Mature. Word Count: 9.6K of Killian Jones background and why he’s so jaded.  AN: Will and Robin ragging on Killian for every single one of his life choices and how clearly into Emma Swan he already is might be my absolute favorite thing. So here’s more of that. Also Cora. And Regina. And journalism families. And Ariel. And painfully adorable kids! As always I can’t thank you guys for clicking and reading and being generally fantastic.  || Also on Ao3 and FF.net and tagged up on Tumblr || Tag List: @jamif ; @alicerubyfloyd ; @courtneyshortney82 ; @jennjenn615 ; @artistic-writer ; @kmomof4 ; @onceuponaprincessworld ; @nikkiemms ; @resident-of-storybrooke ; @whumped-natascha-remi-ronin ; @coliferoncer ; @strangestarlightdetective (Let me know if you want to be tagged or not tagged or just, like, have some feelings.)

He had an office.

And a couch in his office.

He’d never had a couch in an office. He’d never really had an office. And now he had both. He also hadn’t heard a single word from Emma Swan in the last week.

And it might have been driving Killian insane. Slowly, but surely. It might have also been driving his friends insane. He had an office and no reason to use it.

“Some reporter you are,” Will said, not the first time he'd pointed that out. He’d flopped onto the couch without a single word ten minutes before, draping his legs over the side and dropping half a dozen cameras on the floor. “How did you not actually get her number?” Killian didn’t answer. He didn’t have an answer. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true. He had an answer, just not one he wanted to share with Will Scarlet in an office building that seemed to be some kind of living, breathing entity.

“Is it always this loud in here?” Killian asked instead, leaning back against the absurdly expensive office chair that had come with the absurdly fancy office.

Regina was pulling out every conceivable stop – metaphorical or otherwise – to make this work. He probably would have been impressed if he wasn’t so frustrated that he was a piece of garbage reporter and Emma Swan hadn’t called him to set something up yet.

For the story.

Absolutely for the story.

“It’s an office,” Will reasoned. He still hadn’t sat up. “You worked in a daily for years in several major metropolitan cities. Why is this weird for you?” “It’s not.” “Ok, then why didn’t you ask for contact info? From any of them, but especially the one you’ve been mooning over for the last week?”

Killian scoffed, mostly so his face didn’t dissolve into exactly that. “Excuse me? What was that phrase you just used? Did we just teleport to 1947?” “Why that date?” “A spur of the moment decision.” Will hummed in agreement, shifting on the couch and flopping his head to his side, staring at Killian like they were sophomores in college and trying to figure out how to pay the rent that month. “I’m serious,” he continued.

“I know you are,” Killian sighed, sliding down the chair until his knees were bent in front of him and his shirt was going to get wrinkled, crumpled up against his back. He had research to do. He had a video game to learn and a lifestyle to understand and maybe a blonde to...stalk? No, that sounded too aggressive.

That’s why he’d given her the card and resolved to hope for the best.

Because Killian could pick out a cautious source when he saw it – Emma’s slightly skittish behavior like some kind of flashing neon sign that this wasn’t just going to be easy. Of course not. It was a good story – she was a good story – probably the best story he’d had in as long as he could remember, some kind of decidedly optimistic something that he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about for the last week.

But she was nervous and she didn’t really want to talk and, truth be told, he was fairly positive she didn’t really want him there.

The story hadn’t been her idea. Or her team’s idea. It had been some quasi public relations advisor masquerading as an elementary school teacher who had, by some journalistic coincidence, managed to get Regina to listen to her.

And Killian didn’t have time for a story that wasn’t easy and simple and, well, maybe a little fluffy.

What a goddamn disaster.

He should have gotten contact info from the entire, stupid team.

And Emma.

Definitely Emma.

“If you think any harder you’re head is actually going to explode,” Will muttered, grinning at Killian. He’d kicked his shoes off at some point. God.

“Just make yourself comfortable, why don’t you?” Killian hissed. He ran his hand through his hair, practically yanking on the ends in frustration and he was no closer to understanding how any of this video game stuff worked than he had been a week before or a year before or ever in his entire life.

He was a fucking awful reporter – with no knowledge of his subject matter.

“It’s not like you’re doing anything else,” Will reasoned. “And I don’t have anywhere to go for awhile. So, uh, yeah, Hook. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Also Locksley said he might show up.” “So you’re babysitting me is what you’re telling me?”

“I said no such thing. You a master of this game, yet? Locksley said…” “Just how many conversations with Robin are you having?” Killian asked and his leg was starting to cramp up, bent the wrong way under his desk. His phone dinged a few feet away from his hand and he nearly jumped towards the sound, ignoring whatever Will did with his face as he reached to grab the thing and, possibly, will a very specific person onto the other end.

It wasn’t even a phone call.

It was a notification.

That he did not remember setting up.

For an e-mail blast he absolutely did not sign up for.

“What the fuck, Gina,” Killian mumbled under his breath and Will sounded like he was actually cackling, one arm thrown over his face as the whole couch shook under his weight. “Jeez, Scarlet, I promise you, it is not that funny.” “It is,” he argued. “Did you have to put your phone number on that mountain of paperwork you signed your life away to last week?” “Probably. It all started to blur together a bit at the end.” Will clicked his tongue. “See, that’s where you made your first mistake. You’ve got to read the fine print, Hook. Otherwise you’re going to get roped into Cora’s, I don’t know, scepter of journalism dominance.” “I don’t think that’s the string of words you were looking for.” “Yeah, well, you didn’t get contact information from your sources, so forgive me for having to take over the mantle of the word leader.” “Stop talking.” Will chuckled again, finally pulling his arm away from his face and swinging his feet back onto the floor. “Seriously, though. That’s Cora’s thing. Everyone in the company gets ‘em when they start. Front page blasts and breaking news blasts and, I’m pretty sure, you can sign up for section specific blasts and keywords and I don’t think I can say the word blast again without actually laughing.” “Yeah, that’s fair,” Killian admitted. “So, wait, that’s Cora’s thing? Not Gina?” “You’ve got to stop thinking we’re all on the same team here.” Killian considered that for a moment, chewing on his lip and wondering when Will learned how to actually look like a serious adult. Probably around the same time Hannah moved to Washington and he stopped taking photos if he wasn’t promised a paycheck. They were, easily, the most depressing group of people in the entire New York metropolitan area.

And Cora Mills was nothing if not ruthless.

That was a good word for it. She’d married into money when she was young – a fact she was quick to point out to anyone with a pulse whether they wanted to listen or not – and made something of that money by building up Mills Media when her husband died. The Daily Caller hadn’t been much more than a glorified blog before Cora decided it was hers and, thirty-odd years later, it was one of the top sites in the entire goddamn world, with enough web traffic to make Killian’s head spin, even if that merlot story had been awful.

He’d clicked on the merlot story.

A lot of people clicked on the merlot story and every story, every day, no matter how trite the headline or the stock photo that went along with it.

It made Cora millions and, by extension, made Regina millions and only one of them was happy with that fact. She’d never admit it out loud – not when her mother was pulling the strings, but, once, Regina wanted a paper and a byline and an outlet that didn’t just tell stories. She wanted to tell good stories. Stories that drew hits and revenue and gave a bit of ink, electronic or otherwise, to the so-called little guy.

Killian graduated with those same ideals and that same hope, evident in every single byline – tell the good story, the true story, the story people otherwise would never hear. That changed in New Orleans and one night and that story was as far from good as anything else. And Regina had gone back to Cora, had lost that shine as soon as the police told her Daniel had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and Killian never believed that story.

But it wasn’t a good one.

It was goddamn depressing.

So he ignored it and he let the depressing seep into everything, let the memory of her sit in the back of his head like a weight until it was as dead as the people he wrote about and that was easier than trying to fight it.

Liam would hate that.

Fuck.

“Hook, you’ve got to stop spacing out on me,” Will said sharply, suddenly right in front of the desk with one hand on the wood and the other one flicking Killian’s left forearm. Killian glared at him. Will didn’t move an inch. “Got your attention didn’t it?” “That’s an absolute dick move,” he growled.

“You really haven’t figured it out yet?” “What?” “Regina is staging a battle for your soul.” Killian blinked. And then fell back on sarcasm and being an asshole and that was easy. That was comfortable. “That so?” he asked. “I can’t imagine it’ll be much of a fight.” “Asshole.” “Yes.”

Will rolled his eyes, knocking over a nameplate that likely cost a questionable amount of money so he could sit on the edge of the desk. “Can we have this conversation without you actually cracking jokes? Because this is almost serious and I need you to understand what’s happening here.” Killian wasn’t expecting that – or the look on Will’s face, back to adult and meaningful and he really didn’t have anything else to do. Except maybe try and find an apartment uptown. He was going to move back uptown.

Liam probably wouldn’t like that either.

“Yeah,” Killian promised and it might have been the most sincere thing he’d said in the last week. “Explain, Scarlet.” “Cora didn’t want you here. She didn’t care about your staff cuts or your layoffs or whatever. She, and this is verbatim from Gina, said serves him right for that spiral years ago. I thought Locksley was actually going to punch her.”

Killian stiffened, pressing his feet into the carpet underneath him as he tried to count to ten. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Oxygen was important. Vital. He had to keep breathing. And Cora Mills had no idea what she was talking about.

It wasn’t a spiral.

It was a...downfall.

He’d been twenty-two, a year out of college with a string of bylines and a freelancing gig that was enough to pay the bills and he’d been happy. He was writing. He was telling stories. Until his phone rang. There’d been nothing but a phone call – it wasn’t anything more than a training exercise gone wrong, an engineering mishap that should have been smooth sailing and, even now, the pun made Killian’s tongue feel too big for his mouth and he could taste bile in the back of his throat and the whole world felt like it was falling off its axis again.

Dead.

Captain Liam Jones, pride of no one except his younger brother, was dead. In a goddamn fucking training accident.

And the United States Navy simply expected Killian to move on. Like Liam hadn’t been the foundation of absolutely everything, hadn’t supported a career in journalism like that was even a career, like he hadn’t read every single byline, no matter where he was.

Killian got a check and an apology on template stationary and it took all of five seconds to decide he was done. He left New York the next week, paid off his half of the rent, kissed Regina on the cheek and walked away.

He stopped writing good stories and started writing any story, bouncing from weeklies to dailies to one company in Missouri that might have actually been a glorified newsletter. Until he got to New Orleans and sat down at a bar after writing about a triple homicide that would still probably end up below the fold and she smiled when he spoke.

Like that was just something people did.

Milah Ormagia was sad and tired and she wanted in a way Killian didn’t remember wanting until he saw her. So he took and he found his way back towards something that felt a bit like happiness and if he closed his eyes he could still remember the exact curve of her smile and the way her hair frizzed softly in the humidity and how cold her hand felt in his when he woke up on pavement with lights and sirens blaring around him.

It almost seemed ironic that when the doctors told him they did all they could, they took that hand. He was a goddamn dismal story.

“So,” Killian said, licking his lips and trying to keep his voice even. He wasn’t fooling Scarlet. “If Cora didn’t want me here, how did this happen? It’s not like Gina to just…” “Stand up to her mother like that?” Will suggested. Killian shrugged. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what she said exactly, but whatever it was did the trick. Cora agreed, as long as you bring in the hits. That’s the deal. You write you want. You tell this good story and you bring in the ad revenue and Cora won’t kick you out of this very fancy office.” “When did Gina even find the time to decorate this?” “I’m not convinced she sleeps.” “Yeah, that’s probably true,” Killian mused. “Ok, so let me get this straight. Gina promises Cora I can bring in the numbers and that’s, suddenly, good?” “It’s because she thinks you won’t.” Oh. Yeah, that made sense. Cora wasn’t exactly the nurturing sort. She was more the take what you want and fuck anyone who stands in your way sort. And, in this instance, Killian was very much in the way. And very much a reminder of why Regina wanted to write in the first place.

“Shit,” he sighed, hand back in his hair and shoulders sagging with the sudden weight of the journalism world on his shoulders.

“It’s a good story,” Will said, like that would just make everything alright. “And if you do this the way you can, then, maybe, Cora will loosen up a little bit.” “You honestly believe that?”

Will shrugged, tugging on the end of the Hunter Alumni shirt he must have pulled out of the back corner of his closet that morning. “You can write, Killian,” he said simply. “That’s always been the case. Gina wouldn’t have brought you home if she didn’t agree. Or think you could do something here that can change this whole, stupid clickbait site. But, you know, no pressure or anything.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Killian scoffed. He’d bit his lip, blood in his mouth and nerves in the pit of his stomach and he wished, not for the first time since he’d come back home, that Liam was there. If only to listen to him whine.

God, he wanted to whine.

And maybe talk to Emma Swan again.

“Really though,” Will continued, crossing his arms lightly over his chest. “I’m not saying you’re changing the world with video game stories. But they seemed like good people and it’s interesting and it’s...I don’t know, nice.” “Nice,” Killian echoed skeptically.

“If I used the word good again, my brain is actually going to explode.” Killian smiled, some of the tension that had been tight as a vice at the base of his skull loosening just a bit. “You’re a poet, Scarlet.” “And you don’t have to write about death because it’s the only thing you think you’re worthy of doing anymore. We’ve come full circle. You get to come home, save the integrity of the modern journalism world and get the girl.” “What was that last part?” “Yeah, honestly, what was that last part?” Robin leaned around the open doorway, eyebrows lifted and something that might have been amusement lingering on his face as Killian tried to groan as loudly as he possibly could.

“Don’t you have a section to run?” Killian asked, grabbing one of the, apparently, two-hundred pens sitting on his desk, and tapping it loudly. Robin grinned.

“No,” he said. “It’s a website, Killian. There’s like..three people actually sitting in news right now.” “Oh, to be the high and mighty editorial elite.” “Twerp.”

Killian winced. “That just makes me think you’re disciplining Henry and Roland.” “You think I call my kids twerps? What kind of father do you think I am?”

“Obviously not a very good one,” Will muttered, dropping back into the corner of the couch. “Hey, how come Regina’s never gotten me a fancy office with window walls and a couch that costs more than my rent?” “That couch does not cost more than your rent,” Robin said and it wasn’t an answer to the question. Will lifted his eyebrows. “And it’s because Gina likes Hook more than you, obviously. God knows why, it’s not like he’s actually done anything since he got here.” “Ok, that’s rude,” Killian mumbled, but he couldn’t really argue and maybe Will had gotten phone numbers during the meet and greet. He probably would have mentioned that. He absolutely wouldn’t have mentioned that.

God damn.

“Is it because he’s thinking about this girl?” Robin asked, ignoring Killian completely and sinking down next to Will with a very specific look on his face. Maybe if Killian just walked out they wouldn’t notice. He could...do something else. Anything else.

He could go back to that midtown bar and ask Granny for a phone number. Or apartment address. Or Emma Swan’s entire life history.

That last one seemed kind of extreme.

Although even the idea of walking into the middle of Times Square on a Friday in the summer was enough to leave Killian wondering where exactly he’d misplaced his mind.

“It’s totally about this girl,” Will confirmed. “She was pretty, Hook. I get it.” “God, shut up,” Killian hissed and this all felt a little juvenile. Two minutes ago they’d been talking about his entire life falling off the rails and how much Cora Mills still hated him just for breathing and now Will Scarlet was trying to gossip with him about girls like they were fourteen.

“She was!” “Wait, wait,” Robin interrupted, hands flailing through the open air in front of him. “You met her? Also can we stop using the word girl, it’s freaking me out.” “We could just stop talking about this completely,” Killian suggested, but the words might have been in Latin for all the good they did him. Will was already talking over him.

“Yeah, I met her,” he said, grabbing a camera off the ground and toying with the controls on the top until he, apparently, found what he was looking for. “Here,” he continued, pushing the screen towards Robin’s face until the older man’s eyebrows shifted slightly and he hummed in the back of his throat.

“She is pretty. Is that...Hook are you the guy sitting at that booth?” Killian tried not to throw something – like his very expensive new office chair through the wall of windows behind him. Or his actual body through the wall of windows behind him. “Who else do you think it would be?” he asked impatiently.

“I have no idea,” Robin admitted, not pulling his eyes away from the few inches of photo screen. “This is just...you look happy?” “That sounded like a question.” “It kind of was. I actually think you’re smiling and you’re leaning forward. With both hands. Oh shit, Scarlet. Look at this. He’s got both hands on the table.” Will snatched the camera out of Robin’s hands, mouth going slack when he realized it was true and Killian bit his lip until he could taste blood again. When he’d woken up in the hospital they’d told him he’d been out of it for a few days and that one of his lungs had collapsed and he had four broken ribs and his left arm probably wouldn’t ever be totally straight again – or complete.

He wasn’t ever much of an athlete or particularly vain, but Killian didn’t think it was selfish to want to be a whole, human being and as soon as they’d released him from the hospital, he’d realized he wouldn’t ever be.

Not again.

So he did his best to ignore it. That was a bit of a trend for him. Ignore and move on and keep writing. And never draw attention to it, the piece of plastic at the end of his arm and the straps that held it in place and left little rivets on his skin no matter what he seemed to do to try and make it even remotely comfortable.

“Oh fuck, he’s right, Hook,” Will mumbled and either they didn’t realize this was exactly the kind of conversation Killian didn’t want to have or they absolutely did not care. It was probably the second one. “You’re totally leaning in. That’s a thing, right?” “A thing?” Killian repeated. “Yeah, you know, like a peacock or something.” “English.” “He’s saying you’re into her,” Robin explained. “He has no idea how body language or animals work and it’s ruining his metaphors.” “Ah, well, yeah, of course.” “She work at that restaurant where you met the team?” Will made some kind of strangled sound, seemingly trying to melt into the corner of the couch and Robin looked incredibly confused. Actually jumping through the wall seemed like a pretty appealing option. “What am I missing?” Robin continued.

“I mean, she does kind of work at the restaurant,” Killian mumbled. “So you’re not totally wrong. I don’t think she’ll have much time for that though. If this works out.” “If what works out?” “The League cut. They’re totally going to make the cut so…” “You’re not making any sense.” “She’s on the team,” Will muttered, staring at the photo again and whatever animal metaphor he was trying to come up with. “Or, more to the point, she is the team.”

Robin was standing up and pacing and glaring at Killian like he was actually his kid and had just shown up with a detention slip. “What the fuck, Killian?” he asked sharply, not even bothering to slow down when he started talking.

He was picking up speed.

“It’s not like anything happened,” Killian argued, not quite sure what it was he was arguing exactly. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Nothing. He’d talked. And given her his card. And maybe participated in some entirely harmless flirting.

That’s what that had been, right?

It felt a hell of a lot like flirting. Or maybe friendship? They could be friends. They should probably be friends. That would make a year-long feature series easier. If they made the cut next week.

They were totally going to make the cut.

Killian could be friends with Emma Swan. He wanted to be friends with Emma Swan. And he was kind of terrified of Ruby Lucas, fairly certain she’d actually eat him if he dared put a toe out of line.

“Both hands, Killian,” Robin shouted, skidding to a stop in front of the desk and staring at him like he was defying him to object.

“There is only one hand, Locksley,” Killian said softly. “That’s how it works now. And nothing happened. Or will happen. Ethics or whatever.” Will whistled, low and judgmental and Killian wished he’d leave and wished Robin would stop doing that thing with his face. His phone made noise again – another e-mail blast. “You know you can turn those off,” Robin said, an apology without actually using the words.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

“Man, Scarlet gets all the good updates first.” “You’re busy. That section we talked about. Or whatever.” “You’ve got to come up with another word.” “My vocabulary has been kind of limited recently. It’ll get better once I start writing again.” Robin quirked an eyebrow, tongue pressed on the inside of his cheek and Killian tried to take a deep breath. He just needed to write something. If he started writing something, anything, the rest of it would all fall into place.

He was positive.

“Yeah, I know,” Robin said. This had been the strangest conversation. Killian probably shouldn’t have spent so much time thinking about Emma Swan in the last few days. She had impossibly green eyes. “Although, for what it’s worth, she was leaning in too.”

Killian didn’t say anything. He couldn’t come up with a single word. And there was another person in his office.

“Hi, hi, hi,” Ariel said brusquely, nodding at each one of them in turn before settling on Robin. “We are having some kind of link disaster.” “What?” Robin balked. The shift from concerned friend and quasi parent to front page managing editor was abrupt and just a bit jarring – his shoulders rolled back and his spine seemed to extend and Killian was half positive the slight gray at his temples looked a bit more distinguished all of the sudden.

“A link disaster,” Ariel repeated. “People are calling. Aurora’s losing her mind. I think Regina made her cry already.” “Oh my God,” Killian laughed, earning the ire of Robin’s glare. He grinned in response. “C’mon, Gina’s making people named Aurora cry. Who’s Aurora?” “Her assistant,” Ariel explained. Killian hummed in understanding, appreciating whatever attitude the receptionist had that allowed her to just barrel into his office like she owned it. “And she’s still kind of shaking at her desk. Because none of the links on the main page are going where they’re supposed to be going. You click on one thing and it goes to a totally different story.”

“Well, that’s not ideal,” Will laughed, thumb spinning something on the back of the camera. Robin looked like he wanted to beat him with it.

“Thank you, Scarlet,” he bit out before softening his expression slightly when he glanced back at Ariel. “Do you know where Gina is now that she’s done terrorizing assistants? She hasn’t killed any interns has she?” “We have interns?” Killian asked, joining the conversation and working another groan out of Robin. “That’s a fair question.” “Maybe not during a link crisis,” Ariel reasoned and he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “I told Aurora she needed to fix the base code, but she’s totally freaked, so I don’t think there’s anything to do on that front and Sydney is, apparently, missing in action so that’s why Cora’s pissed. More so than usual.” “You know how to fix this?” Robin asked, something that sounded a bit like desperation creeping into his voice.

Ariel shook her head. “I know the general idea of how to fix this. Sydney’s engineering or whatever his card says.” “Engineering’s just a very fancy way of saying IT. If you can fix this now, at least stem the damage, Gina might build a statue of you in the lobby.” “It’d be difficult to see around my desk if she did that.” “Yeah, you really here for the receptionist gig?” She shook her head again, hair hitting against the side of her chin and no one in that office was really telling the full story. That was kind of ironic too. Maybe it was because they’d used the word good so often.

“No,” Ariel admitted softly and Killian bit back a grin. “You want to go fix this link disaster though? Because I really think Aurora’s going to have some kind of actual episode if we don’t fix at least the main story.” “The main story’s fucked up too?” “What part of emergency did you not understand, Locksley?” Will asked, not even bothering to disguise his laugh. “Aren’t you an editor?” “Don’t ask him that,” Killian warned. “He’ll bite your head off.” “Both of you, shut up,” Robin snapped. “Ariel, what time is it? And how long do you think this emergency is going to last?” She tugged her phone – buzzing and possibly flashing some kind of morse code – out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Uh, nearly four-thirty. And I have no idea. Again, emergency kind of suggests it’s bad. We should have fixed this five minutes ago.” “Shit. Ok, um, Aurora probably can’t cope with the Subway right now, right?” Will pushed off the corner of the couch to glance over the row of cubicles on the office floor in front of them and whatever he saw seemed to make it painfully obvious that Aurora absolutely, positively could not hand the Subway at four-thirty on a Friday afternoon.

“Yeah, uh,” he stammered, dropping back onto the cushion with a thump. “That’s not happening right now.” “Shit,” Robin repeated. He grabbed his own phone, thumbs flying across the screen as he clenched his jaw tightly. “Maybe they can stay a little while longer.” “Who are you talking about?” Killian asked, fairly certain he was only half involved in the conversation taking place in his own office. That was still a weird sentence.

“He’s referring to his kids as a collective they,” Will mumbled. Robin kicked him, a string of insults that absolutely would not have been appropriate in front of his kids falling out of his mouth. “And he’s talking about picking them up from that summer program. You know where Gina met that teacher who suggested the story that your whole career is depending on?” “You are the soul of tact. And I can go get ‘em. It’s not like I’m doing anything here. I know shit about coding.” Will rolled his eyes. “You want to date your lead source.” Ariel perked up at that, eyes flashing Killian’s direction. Robin kicked Will again. “He’s not doing that,” he said, sounding like he was issuing some sort of journalism decree. “You’d really go get ‘em, Hook? Honestly?”

“Yeah, sure,” Killian nodded, grabbing his phone off the desk. He hadn’t brought anything else. He didn’t have anything to write yet.

Robin exhaled loudly, clapping him on the shoulder like he’d also just agreed to pay the tuition for whatever fancy school Henry and Roland went to. “Thanks,” he breathed, nodding towards Ariel as she moved back towards the door and the emergency. “Just bring them back home when you’re done and Gina will probably let you eat dinner with us. Scarlet can come too.” “Wow, gee thanks, Locksley,” Will muttered, slinging his cameras back over his shoulders. “No can do though. I’ve got a date.” “What?” Killian and Robin shouted at the same time. Robin’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Who?” Killian pressed and Will just grinned, a stupid, frustrating look that made him regret coming into the office to begin with at all.

“A gentleman never kisses and tells. Go save Locksley’s kids, Hook. I’ve got places to be.” He walked out of the office with the grin still plastered on his face and cameras hitting against his thigh, Ariel already loudly comforting Aurora on the other side of the floor. Robin didn’t move an inch, just kept staring at Killian like he was waiting for him to explode.

Killian wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.

Maybe he should take a cab.

“You ok?” he asked. “Honestly?” Killian’s lips twitched, the lie on the tip of his tongue getting twisted there. He nodded. Robin sighed. “You’ve got to work on that,” he mumbled. “Rol and Henry will be thrilled to see you. Don’t get ice cream.” It took Killian four blocks of stop-and-go traffic to decide, without question, that they were going to get ice cream. With sprinkles.

Living on the edge.

He’d probably expense it.

It took him another two blocks to decide he probably should have walked.

He handed the driver a handful of bills, promising he was sure, yeah, yeah, it’s fine as he dodged between oncoming traffic and made his way up 3rd Avenue. The school itself didn’t stand out much – set between the brownstones and ivy-covered walls that were the norm downtown, but Killian could hear voices and laughter and something that might have actually been a basketball bouncing.

Or multiple basketballs.

And if he was in the sudden habit of keeping track of how long it took to realize things, it would have taken Killian two seconds, one deep breath and four basketball dribbles to know, without question, he was in the right spot. The very solid weight colliding with the side of his jeans was also a good sign.

“K, K, K, K,” Roland mumbled, added a few well placed punches in between nicknames. It was somewhere in between punch two and three that Killian felt any lingering frustration over the conversation in his office – and the promise that he absolutely did not want to date Emma Swan – ebbing just a bit as soon as the seven-year-old next to him wrapped his arms around his thigh.

There were other footsteps running towards them and Killian dimly heard Henry yell Hook from the other side of the basketball court as he bent down to pry Roland’s hands off his jeans, hauling him up his side and groaning slightly when a knee collided with his gallbladder. “Steady on, mate,” Killian muttered. He got kneed in the liver that time.

“Roland, you can’t just run away like that,” said a flustered woman, sprinting towards them with wide eyes and a basketball tucked under her arm.

Roland made a noise, a mix between a scoff and a groan and Henry laughed in the background. Killian tried to look like an adult. “I didn’t run away, Mrs. Nolan,” Roland explained, sounding like he was detailing how to fix the coding emergency Killian had run away from. “I came to see K.” Mrs. Nolan’s eyes, somehow, got even wider, eyebrows shooting up her forehead and her mouth formed an almost perfect ‘o’ when she realized. She looked like a teacher, Killian thought, all bright-colored dress and a soft cardigan that matched the clip in her short, brown hair.

“Huh,” she said, regarding him softly and Killian felt like he was being judged. Or maybe examined to match up on previously reported facts.

That seemed like wishful thinking.

“Hook,” Henry said again, skidding to a stop in front of him and only avoiding another crash when Killian reached out a steadying hand. “How come you’re here? I thought Robin was coming to get us?” “Where’s Dad?” Roland asked. Shouted. He shouted the word into Killian’s ears. Mrs. Nolan was still staring.

“There was a thing at the site,” Killian explained, hitching Roland back up again when he started to droop, threatening to tear his shirt in half. “So I’m here. With ice cream as a bartering chip.”

Henry’s eyes lit up, smile practically sprinting across his face, and Roland was already yelling about chocolate chip cookie dough. Mrs. Nolan hadn’t blinked. “Alright,” Killian continued slowly, nodding back towards the sidewalk. “You guys ready to go? Do I have to sign anything or…” “Wait, wait,” Mrs. Nolan said quickly, tugging on Roland’s sleeve when Killian took a step backwards. “You can’t just leave.” “No?” “No,” she said sharply and he was back to feeling like he was getting detention. “I mean...who, well, no, I know who are you. But there are rules. An actual parent is supposed to let us know if someone different is going to be picking the kids up. You’re not on the list.” “That’s kind of insulting,” Killian muttered, working another laugh out of Henry and that was absolutely why he’d done it. He slung his arm over the kid’s shoulders – only a few inches shorter than him – and tried to plaster on his most convincing smile. “I mean, they clearly know who I am.” “The rules, Mr. Jones.” “You clearly know who I am.” Mrs. Nolan grimaced, a muscle in her temple jumping and Killian felt guilty for a moment. She almost looked too teacher’y. She shouldn’t look as stressed out as she was. Jeez. “Were you going to go next week?” she asked and that wasn’t the question he expected at all.

Killian opened his mouth to respond, but another voice joined the melee and his eyes were going to go permanently crossed if he kept trying to look at everyone at once. Ruby Lucas looked just as intimidating as she had in her grandmother’s Midtown restaurant the week before, only now she was wearing a Legend of Zelda t-shirt that was, clearly, far more interesting to the two kids in the conversation than Killian’s initial ice cream offer.

“What are you doing here?” Ruby asked. Straight to the point then.

“There was a coding emergency at work and Robin couldn’t pick up Henry and Rol,” Killian answered. “So I’m here.” “You know Henry and Roland?” “I mean, yeah, obviously.”

“K’s going to take us to get ice cream,” Roland added helpfully, squirming when Killian muttered a little quieter, mate against his hair.

Ruby quirked an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be writing?” “Shouldn’t you be practicing?” Mrs. Nolan tried to turn her laugh into a cough, ducking her eyes when Killian and Ruby both gaped at her. “I’m also helping out a friend,” Ruby said softly. “And we practiced this morning. Not that you’d know, since you’ve been missing in action for the last week.” “Is that a gaming term?” Killian asked.

Henry groaned. “Hook, we’ve been over this. You can’t call it that. It just makes you sound old.”

Ruby might have actually smiled. Mrs. Nolan laughed again. “Are you taking lessons from Henry?” Ruby asked knowingly.

“I have yet to find a better teacher,” Killian admitted. “In fact, post ice cream, that was the great, big Friday night plan, wasn’t it? Or it would be if we can leave. Mrs. Nolan’s call though.” “Oh man, laying it on real thick aren’t you?” Killian shrugged. “M’s did you hear that? He called you Mrs. Nolan. I’m going to tell Ruth.”

“She’ll probably think it’s nice,” Mary Margaret muttered. “This is a one-time favor, Mr. Jones. And only because I have no idea what a coding emergency is.”

“That’s ok, neither do I. That’s why I’m here. And let’s not do that Mr. Jones thing again, that’s incredibly weird.” She nodded, tossing the ball back to the group of kids behind her when they started shouting. “You didn’t answer my question, you know. About next week.” He hadn’t. He’d been hoping to avoid that. He was an absolute shit journalist. “I’m hoping to,” Killian said. Mary Margaret glanced at Ruby.

“Don’t you know?” “It’d be helpful for the story.” “And,” Ruby prodded, widening her eyes meaningfully.

“And I’m waiting for some more details,” Killian responded simply. Good. That was good. That was honest. Ruby didn’t look convinced.

“Well that’s dumb. I thought you were supposed to be a good journalist. Or at least a journalist who wanted to prove he was still good. Haven’t you won awards? Unless the Google results lied to us.” Killian pressed his teeth into his lower lip, swallowing back his immediate retort when he remembered there was a seven-year-old clinging to his side and an eleven-year-old under his arm and he was an adult, god damn. He could have this conversation – even if it felt like six different conversations at once.

“Ruby,” Mary Margaret chastised, flashing an apologetic look at Killian. “Ignore her. She’s been outside for too long, it’s throwing off her zen or something.”

“Ah, yeah, video game stereotypes.” “Exactly that. Can I, uh, can I give you some advice?” “Solicited or forced?” Mary Margaret’s eyes narrowed and Killian ducked his gaze, suddenly far more preoccupied with his shoes than whatever was happening on that blacktop in downtown Manhattan. Henry laughed against his side. “Suggested,” Mary Margaret corrected, reaching out to rest her palm on the arm he still had wrapped around Roland’s waist. “This is all vaguely...terrifying for, well, you know. But, uh, I wouldn’t have said anything to Regina if I didn’t think this could work. For all of you. And she totally Google’d your name on my couch a week ago.” Killian’s stomach twisted at that, several knots that even Liam probably would have been proud of forming in his gut. It might have also been Roland’s knee. And he could only imagine what she found on the internet.

Fuck.

He was going to get chocolate dip on his ice cream – forget the goddamn sprinkles.

“Ah, well,” he stammered, eyes still staring at his feet. “That’s...good to know. And I kind of got that impression already.” “Good.” “So what are you going to do about it?” Ruby asked sharply and Killian jerked his head back up. He nearly dropped Roland.

“Excuse me?” Mary Margaret sighed, her hand falling across her face until she was peering at them between her fingers. Ruby didn’t budge an inch. “I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” she growled. “How come you haven’t been back to practice? Or have a concrete answer about writing something for the cut? We’re totally going to make the cut.” “I know,” Killian said easily.

Ruby’s eyebrows pulled low, head tilted slightly and she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Yeah?” “Why wouldn’t I think that?” “Shouldn’t you answer questions better? You’re a journalist.” “You keep throwing that fact in my face,” Killian laughed. “Trust me, I’m aware of it. And I’m purposely avoiding questions because I know how.” “That is infuriating.” “Try doing it on deadline.” Ruby grinned that slightly predatory grin, tongue pressed against her cheek and she turned to look at Mary Margaret again like she was looking for confirmation of...something. Mary Margaret nodded. “Ok,” Ruby said, holding her hand out expectantly. “I’m going to do something, but if you screw this up, I’m going to push you in front of the uptown 1. Got it?” “That is oddly specific,” Killian muttered. Ruby wiggled her fingers. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Your phone. I want your phone. I am helping you.” “Strangely enough, I’m not getting that vibe.”

Mary Margaret clicked her tongue, bumping her shoulder against Ruby’s and her face was nearly as red as the sweater she had on. “I can’t blame the sun again,” she mumbled. “This is just her.” “Phone, Jones,” Ruby commanded and Killian dropped the thing in her hand without another word, having to shift Roland just a bit in the process. Several of his internal organs were going to suffer permanent damage from this conversation. “You learn anything about the game yet?” she continued conversationally, typing something into his phone and handing it back to him with a glint in her eye.

Killian glanced down, breath hitching in his throat when he saw the brand-new name in his contacts. Swan. No, Emma. No, Emma Swan. Just a last name and, maybe, a nickname and Ruby probably hadn’t been asking about Overwatch.

“That’s a distinct work in progress,” Killian admitted and Ruby hummed. “I can almost name all the characters now though.” “We’re working on powers,” Henry added. “And why Roadhog is the worst character to play.” “What?” Ruby gasped. “Please, kid. That chain hook is a huge help when you’re fighting in close quarters. And he doesn’t take much to get back to full health. He’s an underrated character.” Henry shrugged. “I like Doomfist.” “You can play Doomfist?” “Yeah,” he nodded. “The canon is sweet.” They were never going to get ice cream. And Roland was getting impatient. “Alright, kid,” Killian interrupted, pulling on the back of Henry’s shirt when he ducked out from underneath his arm to try and recreate a part of the game. “C’mon. I promised Robin you guys would be home eventually. And if we’re going to sneak ice cream, we’ve got to go now.” “Ice cream,” Roland repeated shrilly, lunging towards Henry and nearly face planting on the ground. All three adults in a five-foot radius moved at the same time. “Henry, we have to get ice cream!”

“Yeah, yeah, ok” Henry agreed, albeit a little despondently. “But, uh, could I maybe come watch you guys play next week?” he asked, glancing hopefully at Ruby and Killian.

“Of course,” Ruby promised quickly. And maybe just a bit enthusiastically. “I mean, well, as long as it’s cool with your parents. And Killian. If he’s planning on actually showing.” “I am,” Killian said.

Ruby smiled. “Then absolutely. We’ll get you a team t-shirt.” Henry looked like he was actually going to start jumping for joy. “And maybe one for Killian too if he learns how to play the game.” He needed to find other adult human beings who were able to have a conversation without trying to actually hit him over the head with meaning.

They, eventually, did get ice cream and were no less than forty-five minutes late to dinner. None of them ate dinner. They’d had ice cream instead.

And Regina was going to kill him.

“Seriously?” she hissed for what was, at least, the forty-second time since Killian had walked into the full-floor apartment on Spring Street hours before. Roland was asleep between them, head on Regina’s lap and feet draped over Killian’s legs, while Henry tried to explain what it was something called a Junkrat did and why he was so important to winning the game.

The actual one. Not the metaphorical one.

“You fix the coding on the site?” Killian countered and Regina raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Make any other assistants cry?” “Ass,” she grumbled.

“You’ve got to come up with better insults, your majesty. These are just getting redundant.”

She rolled her eyes, brushing her fingers over Roland’s hair. “I only have one assistant. By the way.” “I didn’t know you had any. People like to keep me out of the loop.” “Including your sources?” “You checking up on me?” Killian asked, hoping against some kind of improbable hope that sarcasm and even more deflection would get him the hell out of the conversation. Not with Regina. And not in her domain. Or something. The whole goddamn city was her domain at this point. Maybe that’s why he was still staying in a hotel uptown.

Regina leveled him with an even stare, eyes boring into his brain and possibly his soul and Killian wouldn’t have been surprised if she was just reading his mind when his phone started to ring – loudly. Roland grumbled, one foot pressed roughly into Killian’s thigh as he tried to grab his phone off the coffee table before it could actually shatter or Regina could keep hissing god, turn your volume down.

He nearly dropped it.

Swan.

“Huh,” Regina said, peering at the screen over shoulder. “Must be nice to have sources that return your calls.” “You say that wistfully, your majesty,” Killian muttered. He couldn’t seem to move.

“Answer your phone, Killian. Preferably in another room.”

He tried to extricate himself from what felt like the limbs of several seven-year-olds, careful not to knock Roland off the couch as he moved towards the hallway and swiped his thumb across his phone screen. “Hello?” he asked softly, dimly aware of Regina’s not-so-quiet laughter.

“Uh, hi, hey,” Emma mumbled and he was smiling. He could feel the muscles in his cheeks move, lips quirking up quickly and automatically and, well, that was weird. He stopped three-quarters of the way down the hallway, sliding down the wall and stretching his legs out. He hadn’t actually said anything back. “Killian?” she asked.

He hit his head on the wall.

“Yeah, yeah, here,” he said quickly, nearly stumbling over the words in an effort to get them out. “I, uh, is everything ok, Swan?” “Yeah.” Silence. Dead silence. Dead, uncomfortable silence.

“Well, no,” Emma corrected softly and those knots in his stomach had made a rather glorious return. “I...I wanted to apologize.” “For what, love?” The word was out of his mouth before he could even consider it and he heard the change in her breath, the soft catch like she couldn't quite get enough of it. Killian knew the feeling. “Sorry, no nicknames.” “You’ve broken that rule twice already, you know.” “Yeah,” he laughed softly. “I realize that. It’s, uh...habit, I suppose.” “You frequently call all the girls nicknames? Set ‘em at ease so they start spilling their on-the-record guts?” He shook his head, only realizing he was still sitting in a hallway when Emma laughed in his ear. “See, your silence kind of answers the question for me.” “I can neither confirm nor deny that it is sometimes easier to get information out of sources when one is trying to be decidedly charming.” If he got Emma to laugh like that – simple and easy and like some tiny, warm light that seemed to seep into the very center of him in the hallway of an apartment he didn’t live in – Killian would be certain coming back to New York was the right choice.

It kind of felt like the right choice.

“So what you’re telling me is you think you’re charming?” Emma asked.

“Decidedly.” “Is that what you were trying to do before? Last week I mean. Charm me to get me to talk?” “No,” Killian said, an immediate and honest response that sounded like he was shouting the word into the phone.

She stopped laughing and Killian resisted the urge to sigh at that. “Didn’t even bring a pen,” she whispered. Fuck.

“Shit journalist.” “That’s not true,” Emma argued, voice just a bit stronger than it had been all conversation. “I mean...well, that’s not what the internet said.” Killian narrowed his eyes – Mary Margaret’s words from that afternoon ringing in his ears. She totally Google’d your name on my couch a week ago. “Did you look me up, love?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t actually crack like some prepubescent kid with a crush.

That kind of went with the theme of the day.

“Did you really win a Louisiana Press Association Award for exposing a drug ring in New Orleans?” Huh. She must have Google’d for a very long time. And that felt like some kind of distant memory – he’d been in the hospital when they held the fucking awards ceremony. He never even saw that plaque.

“Killian?” Emma pressed. He hit his head again.

“Yeah.” “Was that an answer to the original question or just acknowledging me shouting your name?” He laughed – sharp and shaky, but a laugh all the same and he wished he’d called her first. Ethics. There were ethics involved and this had gotten very murky, very quickly. “Both,” Killian smiled. “How far back did you go on those search results, Swan?”

“Mary Margaret shouldn’t gossip like that. It’s very unlike her.” “To be fair, she was distracted. A charming guy like myself, shows up at her school and promises two adorable kids ice cream. It’s no wonder she didn’t just start spilling your entire life story to me by default.” Emma made a strangled noise, a gasp and maybe sheer terror and Killian was back on his feet quickly, heart hammering against his chest as he tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. “Swan? Are you ok?” “Fine,” she bit out, exhaling loudly. “Fine, I’m fine. Jeez. I’m...this conversation is garbage isn’t it?” “Confusing,” Killian conceded. “I wouldn't call it garbage, though.”

“Generous. You want to talk about the Louisiana Press Association now?”

“What about it?” “Exposing a drug ring seems a far cry from video game stories,” Emma said. “And mass murderers in Boston.” He chuckled under his breath, sinking back onto the floor and tugging on his hair. “They’re all stories in the end, Swan.” “Good ones?” “Some more than others.” “Follow-up?” “Yeah, sure,” Killian said and he was absolutely the one being charmed. God, he should have asked Mary Margaret more questions. He was too terrified of Ruby.

“Why go to the mass murders? I mean, was that, like, a personal decision or a front office thing? Is that even a journalism term? Front office? Editorial! That’s what it’d be called right, editorial? And why stick in Boston? That’s the longest you were in one spot for a really long time. Even longer than New York and….” She cut herself off, gasping slightly when she realized her follow-up was more of a short speech. Killian was grinning like a fool at the opposite wall. “Shit,” Emma mumbled. “That was a lot. You should have told me to shut up.” “I didn’t want you to shut up.”

“Oh.” “Start from the beginning, huh?” Emma hummed and he could almost picture her sitting across from him – the way her tongue had darted across her lips when they sat in the booth, how she twisted her hair around her fingers and rolled her shoulders when she was nervous.

“Alright,” he began. “So I grew up in New York, went to school here, like I told you, started writing here until...circumstances changed. And so I left. Went to Colorado for a couple of months because it was the furthest thing from New York I could imagine. Realized I couldn’t quite stand mountain air or, you know, mountains. Then did stringer work at what felt like seven-hundred newspapers on the west coast, liked that a little bit more, appreciated the Bay Area for the water and the seafood. Then got a job offer in New Orleans and stayed there for…”

He squeezed his eyes closed, memories washing over him, scents and sounds nearly reaching out and smacking him in the face. He glanced down, staring at his left hand and half expecting to find someone else there.

Of course not.

That was a long time ago.

“So, I stayed in New Orleans for a little over a year,” Killian said. “Started covering news, breaking or otherwise and that story you’re talking about, the one that won the awards, it, uh, took me my whole stint in the city.” “Is that why you left?” Emma asked breathlessly.

“Kind of.” “And you just figured you start with the drugs and turn to homicides because….” Killian shrugged, treading on thin ice in late August. “It made sense,” he admitted, a quiet explanation he’d never actually said out loud. “No one else wanted it. So I took it because I could. They were stories.” “Control,” Emma whispered and Killian made a noise in the back of his throat. “You wanted to have some control.” Well, fuck.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “That’s...exactly it, actually.” “Yeah, I get that.” They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t quite as deadly or uncomfortable as it had been before. It felt a bit like understanding. And maybe he was reading way too much into a second conversation.

“Why did you want to apologize, Swan?” Killian asked, wincing when his voice cut through the silence.

She laughed. “Oh, for M’s and Ruby. This afternoon. On several different fronts. Including M’s being difficult about you getting ice cream to the aforementioned adorable kids. Although, out of context that does sound kind of weird.” “She was doing her job.” “Yeah, she’s fairly certain her job is to mother me.” “That’s not a bad thing, Swan.” “No,” she sighed. “It’s not. But she shouldn’t have to. Not anymore at least. And, maybe, I’m apologizing for something else too.” Killian sat up straighter, pressing his phone against his ear with his shoulder and rubbing his thumb against the top of his brace. “What’s that, love?” “For not telling you when and where the cut was and that I, well, I mean, the team, we’d like you to be there. For the story.”

For the story.

Right. Of course. No other reason except the story. Certainly not because he’d just explained Killian Jones, crime reporter with an extensive knowledge of blood adjectives for the first time since his inception seven years before.

That would be insane.

“That’s alright, Swan,” Killian said, hoping to infuse some sort of belief into the words and the nickname. “That’s not your job. Any journalist worth his salt would have been able to figure it out. Or gotten in contact with you.” “Is this your sly way of saying you didn’t want to contact me?” He nearly screamed the word no into the phone. He probably would have woken up Roland. And he could hear Emma’s smile in her laugh on the other end of the phone, a couch creaking slightly when she moved. “So that’s a no, then?”

“That’s a no.” “Friday. Playstation Theatre. Like all day. We’ll be the ones wearing questionably tacky matching t-shirts, so you should probably put that in your lede.” “Noted.” “Ok,” she said and it sounded like she was still smiling. He really hoped she was still smiling. “So I’ll see you then?” “I’ll text you when I leave.” Killian grimaced, eyes snapping closed again and shit – step too far. At least he hadn’t called it a date. Thought it, sure. Goddamn fucking ethics.

“That sounds like a plan,” Emma muttered and maybe this wasn’t a disaster. “Do you...do you like coffee? I could bring you coffee.” “I like coffee,” Killian grinned.

“I’ll be the one with coffee then.” “Good. Good night, Swan.” “Night, Killian.” He sat on the hallway floor for at least another five minutes after the phone went dead, grumbling out a quiet shut up when he saw Regina’s knowing look as soon as he walked back into the living room.

[tinymintyoon]

A Night With You

Jungkook X You Drabble Thing

By ~ tinymintyoon

Sigh. That’s how my day had been going. Everything had been difficult and more tiring than it should have been. After my awful day, I finally arrived home and was able to release all the compressed stress that had accumulated throughout the day. I was expecting to open the door to an empty one bedroom apartment, quiet, calm, and relaxing. I opened my front door and the first thing that catches my eyes was the lights. The lights in my entryway, living room, and kitchen were on. I never leave the house without making sure all of my lights are off. I don’t make enough money to waste electricity. So, a second of panic ran through my veins before I heard a voice call my name, “Y/N? Are you finally home? I started making dinner. Hyung told me you had a rough day at university.” I recognize the voice, but as I continued into the kitchen a well-built, strong, tall, very handsome man was cooking in my kitchen. I release another sigh.

“Jungkook, you really scared me for a second. I thought someone was robbing my apartment, goodness. How did you get in anyway?” I spoke with an exasperated tone and he looks up from the stove to answer my question.

“You gave me a key, remember?” 

“Oh yeah. It was awhile ago, sorry I forgot.” I waved my hand in apology. “I’m going to go change. I’ll be back out in a sec.” With the conclusion of my sentence, I left to my room to change into some pajamas. 

Slipping out of my skinny jeans and unclasping my bra felt like the most liberating activity I’ve done all day; actually, scratch that, all week. After I threw a large shirt and a pair of night shorts on, I comfortably walk into the kitchen enjoying the way the soft fabrics lay and move against my skin. I arrive in the kitchen to find Jungkook continuing to prepare dinner. 

My footsteps informed him of my presence and he spoke. “Dinner is almost ready.” He lifted his eyes from the stove to look at me once again and began to drag his gaze up and down my figure. “Comfy?” He asked while cocking his eyebrow. I look down and then back at him. His expression is, most likely, more attractive than it should be, but I still respond.

“I’m the most comfortable I’ve been all week, actually. So, don’t give me any attitude. I don’t want it.” I spoke and walk over to the stove in order to continue our conversation while I observe what he was cooking. The aroma of the food filled my nose and it was absolutely wonderful. It looked equally wonderful. I was too distracted by the amazing meal my boyfriend had been making to notice his arms had found their way and wrapped themselves around my waist. His fingers interlocked with each other and pulled me flush against his chest. My eyes were still ogling the cooking food, but my body immediately relaxed into Jungkook’s embrace. He realized my comfort and rested his head on my shoulder.

“So, hyung told me you had a bad day. It really looks like you had bad days. How are you feeling?” His deep soft voice seeped into my ears which were just a few inches from his mouth. My eyes closed, and I focused on allowing him to help me relax. 

I hummed. “It has been busy and stressful. I haven’t have a lot of sleep either. Why did he tell you though? He hummed in my ear debating his next sentence. At the same time, one of his hands leave my waist and turn off the eyes on the stove top. 

“I ask him how you are everyday to get an objective perspective on how you are, but today he texted me first and said you looked terrible, but like not in a you look bad kind of way because you are always beautiful. He just meant it like you look exhausted. You use to always tell me how much you love attention on days when stress was bad and stuff. Plus, I have been missing you. School has made you so busy.” His nervous rambling ended and his prickly carefulness faded away. “ Yeah anyway, dinner is ready.” 

I turned around and gave him a proper hug. “Thank you. I really did need you today.” Then I lifted myself on my tip toes and placed a soft kiss right on his cheek. “Let’s have dinner.” I continued to walk away from him, leaving the warmth of his embrace and the comfort of his touch, to grab some dinner plates out of one of the cabinets. I proceeded to hand the two dinner plates into the hands of my lovely boyfriend so he could make our plates.

While we ate, I elaborated on the events that occurred the past few days. I explained why I felt like giving up altogether and let out a lot of my frustrations. Jungkook patiently listened to my ranting and complaining while he calmly ate the dinner he had made. He understood my frustrations and then tried to comfort me with words of encouragement. He tried his best to convince me that my efforts and struggles happened for a reason. They weren’t empty or wasteful.

His voice was soft and measured as he comforted me. “Not all weeks will be as bad as this past one. There will be worse ones and better ones, but the important part is that you try your best. You also have a leg up because you have me to help you through it all.” His lips pulled into a smile after he shoved a piece of meat into his mouth. The cuteness of his smile and the sincerity of his words made my heart bloom spring flowers for the first time since the harsh winter storms of this week took over. 

I began to mimic his smile. “I seriously am lucky to have you here.” I couldn’t help but validate his cocky remark because in that moment it seemed true.

The last crumbs on our plates disappeared as we finished eating. Bubbles, the sound of water, and giggles filled the kitchen as we washed the dishes before we both crashed on the couch. Jungkook started a movie and as soon as his body came to meet mine on the couch, my limbs were wrapped around him. Our legs ended up tangled together, his chest, muscular and broad, was pressed against my smaller one. His hands, strong and calming, followed mine and wrapped around my waist, drew patterns on my skin, and gently played with my hair. His loving menstruation made my body realize it’s physical exhaustion and the stress of the week dissipate.

“Focus on me. Don’t worry about anything else.” Jungkook’s voice was deep and distracting. His words were easy to follow then, and even easier to get lost in as his lips met mine. I watched his eyes begin to close and his figure lean further into mine. I let my eyes fall shut with his before his lips collided with mine. They’re always warm and inviting. His lips are beautiful, angelic, but also terribly sinful things. He can do so much with just his lips. Jungkook can make me relaxed, scared, excited, lustful, confident,and worried. The list expands with the time I’m allowed to share with him. This kiss was soft and confident. My return of the kiss was sleepy and relaxed. The movie playing in the background had been forgotten long ago. He noticed my lack of energy from the kiss and decided to make it easier for me. He made it so I didn’t have to move. His lips relocated from mine to my neck and shoulder. He gingerly made his way to my ear and purposefully whispered, “Are you tired, baby?” The warm air from his murmur tickled my ear. Suddenly, his lips began to play with my ear lobe. 

“Jungkookie-ee, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” My statement came out whiny and apologetic. I lazily responded due to my lethargic state that was worsened because of Jungkook distracting me. 

“Do you want me to stop?” His question was backhanded, not because of his words but because of the way he said it. His dialog fell out of his mouth smoothly and in a manner that made it seem more sexual than it needed to be. If I wasn’t exhausted, his words would have been more effective. 

“Please don’t.” My voice was barely audible, but it didn’t need to be that loud for Jungkook to hear. He stopped. He looked into my half lidded eyes and moved back to my lips. 

“I really did miss you, more than I knew until just now.” His gaze was fierce and serious as he shared his thoughts with me. “ I missed the way your lips feel against mine, the way your smile makes your cheeks so cute and your eyes scrunch up, the way your body melts into mine when I hold you, the way you look when you’re tired, the way you look in general, the way your voice makes me question all of my self-control, just all of the little things that make you... you, the things that make you mine.” Jungkook’s lips met mine once again. This time they transport me into a world or sincerity, trust, comfort, and passion.  I couldn’t help but think ‘I want to stay here forever. Make this last forever’ But time continues to pass. The night progresses still, and the world continues without us. For now, I’m fine with that.

Part 2

Thank you for reading, lovelies <3 

[kayteonline]

Strange Magic: I Put a Spell on You

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Brad (OMC)

Summary:  If you loved When Harry Met Sally… this isn’t it. But it’s got its flavor. Witches are bitches, and this one has a parting gift for you that stirs things up for you and Dean in a way you hope to never experience again

Warnings: Language

Word count: 4.3k

Series Master List

Tags: (At the end. I tag alotta of peeps, but you are never obligated and always appreciated. Feel free to let me know if I tagged you incorrectly or you would like me to take you off! I totally understand. Its been awhile so tagging was kinda hard.)

A/N: My beauties.. it’s been awhile! I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this! I’m so happy to be back. I hope you love a ride because this is definitely that. A total 17k word ride! Strap in ;)  Italics in this part are flashbacks.

I had a lot of fun writing this. As well as set backs and writers block, life,etc... but I made it out and I’m excited to share this! It was born from a challenge put on by the wondrous @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog and her forever ago Romcom challenge with the prompt ‘Except for the part about my penis, that’s true.. It’s bigger than coins’, and a long ago spnkinkbingo square ‘Coming Untouched’. ELO’s song Strange Magic further inspired the title and also inspired Dean x Reader throughout. It’s so grossly late it doesn’t count of course but if you read it, I hope you enjoy it! THANK YOU TO THE MOON AND BACK to my patient, sweet, imaginative, encouraging beta @butiaintgonnaloveem for putting up with this beast and my huge fic ;) And more huge thank yous to my other great friends who looked this over and kept me going early on: @mrswhozeewhatsis @manawhaat and @saxxxology

I love hearing from you all! Thank you for reading! XOXO  

*Aesthetic by my super talented wonderful friend @saxxxology <3

“I’m so glad that’s over and done with.” Dean’s smile held a sense of pride as he ducked into the Impala.

Sliding behind the wheel he nodded in approval first at Sam, who nodded back in agreement before he shifted and nodded at you next, a slight smugness pulling at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t wait for your nod before he turned back to stick the key in the ignition, firing up the engine.

You shook your head with a laugh, the attitude in his display not going unnoticed. “Yeah? Which part, Dean? The case, or Braaad?” You drew out his name adding a wistful sigh for additional effect knowing each time either you or Sam said it you’d get a reaction out of him.

He rolled his eyes, throwing on a face of disapproval, the corners of his mouth dimpling as he glanced at you over his shoulder. Sam caught his gaze and laughed in amusement, making Dean’s mouth fall into a hard line. “Whose side are you on?”

“He was your idea,” you reminded him with a self-satisfied smirk, coming to Sam’s defense, “or did you forget that part?”

He mumbled to himself, likely mocking what you’d just said, and threw the car into reverse without another word, pulling out of the parking spot in front of the motel room you’d just checked out of. It made you giggle in amusement, just as it had every other time he pulled this attitude, and what made it even funnier was if it weren’t for Brad coming to your aide, the three of you would have ended up with a cold case, or worse; you’d have ended up dead.

Dean dropped his phone on the table rubbing at the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “So, we’re up shits creek here if we don’t find someone. And I’m not about to be this witch’s next meat puppet.”

“Me either, I’m all out too. You know just about everyone I do, and they’re all a day's drive or more away,” Sam conceded next, closing the thick leather bound journal and setting it beside him on the bed before tossing his phone there, too.

Scrolling through your contacts, you chewed your bottom lip when you saw the name. You hadn’t talked to this person in almost eight months now, and you’d hoped you wouldn’t have to reach out to them, but with Sam and Dean both coming up empty it seemed as though you had no other choice.

“I have one last person I can try,” you finally spoke up, breaking the short span of silence in the motel room. Meeting two sets of curious eyes, you let out a small sigh. “His name’s Brad. He’s a long time friend of mine that I originally began hunting with back in the day. He lives in Gary, just a few hours northwest from here, and last I knew he was mostly out, but available if needed.”

Dean scoffed. “Brad? That’s a stupid name. What kind of hunter’s name is Brad?”

You and Sam both looked at each other, eyebrows pulled together in question. “Uh, the kind you should hope is available to cover your ass. Unless of course you prefer to be witch souffle,” you shot back leaning back in your chair across from him.

His lips pressed into a flat line. “And how good is this… Brad?” He waved a hand around dismissively.

“He’s fantastic,” you smiled wide before continuing, “Smart, level-headed, there for his friends whenever you need him; he doesn’t let his his emotions get in the way of a case, he’s brave above all others’ fears or concerns of a situation, and strong of course... physically.” you added with a small smirk. As you continued to think about his other qualities, your words fell off and you stopped talking altogether as it dawned on you how closely you’d just described Dean if someone were to ask you about him.

Dean kind of stared at you as you spoke, the look on his face something you couldn’t quite read. It had you wondering if he’d caught on, and knew who you were actually talking about. He let out a heavy sigh then pulling you from your thoughts, seeming to concede to the fact this was the only option, and looked to Sam before his eyes returned to yours. “Alright, call him. If he’s annoying, even just a little bit, I’m shooting him first chance I get.” He stood with his last words and walked into the bathroom.

Pulling the car onto the main highway, Dean headed in the direction of the bunker, the three of you content with a closed case under your belt. You were after a witch; a powerful one at that. She was believed to have died long ago, and resurfaced after Lucifer was set free when the seals were broken. She’d succeeded in keeping herself concealed for years until a couple of hunters stumbled upon her during a summoning ritual she was performing, ending up as sacrifices, and popping up in a news feed Sam was subscribed to a day later.

Upon further research into the disappearances, and an eleven hour drive to Fort Wayne, Indiana, it was discovered the guys knew more about her than they had originally thought. Dean remembered reading something in their dad’s journal about a similar case he’d worked in the early eighties, where he killed an equally dangerous witch performing similar spells to summon a powerful demon that required multiple human sacrifices.

It sounded easy enough, find the witch and end her before any more harm could be done.

That, however, rapidly changed when they were conducting interviews in her neighborhood and ended up on her front porch. She’d recognized both Sam and Dean immediately as being the sons of John Winchester, the man who’d killed her mother, and attempted to trap them. She proved to be equally as powerful as her late mother, and a whole lot of pissed off; the boys narrowly escaping the swarm of bees she conjured.

Needing another way to get close enough to kill her, Dean had come up with “Plan B’’. With Brad available to meet you that afternoon, the two of you would be going in as new neighbors to get in and complete the job.

“I thought you were friends with cool people Y/N, not tools,” Dean snidely commented as the three of you watched Brad heading for the diner’s entrance when he arrived.

You could tell by his unsuccessful attempt at covering the shock on his face, he’d probably been picturing someone similar to Garth: gangly, a shy bookish looking type you would think had zero game with the ladies, and most likely couldn’t hold his liquor. So when he saw a good looking guy that resembled him a little bit from his younger years, he was having trouble hiding his jealous discomfort.

Brad was tall, an inch or so over Dean, but not quite Sam’s height, with a strong jaw and a perfectly proportionate body, his muscled chest on display through his snug t-shirt. With the days-old scruff on his face and open weathered flannel button down, he looked more like a man straight out of some lumberjack fantasy than someone who hunted monsters.

“His tool is none of your concern, Dean,” you shot back with wink. “He hunts as good as he looks.” Your smile was wide and proud, and you barely caught Dean’s rolling eyes from the corner of yours when Brad spotted you in the window. He waved your way, making Dean’s face light up in amusement.

He laughed low taking in the way you smiled at him as you waved back. “He's got a small dick, doesn't he?”

You balked at his direct question. “One look and two sentences, and you think you have him figured out?”

“One look and two sentences, and I know I have him figured out. Look at him. Walking like some Abercrombie model reject. He's compensating. Especially in that joke of a plastic truck.”

You should have said something in Brad’s defense, but your words failed you as your cheeks went hot knowing he was right. Why was he always right? “Ok, fine! He's ok.. I mean he might only be about as big as a roll of silver dollars, but he knows how to use it very, very well. Have I had bigger? Yeah. Obviously,” you gestured towards Dean. “Doesn’t overshadow the fact that he’s a great hunter.”

Sam’s head shot up at your motions, stuttering out a, “Wh-what?” that both you and Dean ignored.

“Gotta put that anger somewhere,” Dean remarked, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of his lips that made you want to reach across the table and smack him. Even more so when he continued to talk. “Told you I’d finally get you to admit you’d slept with him.”

Squinting your eyes in annoyance you had a great comeback for him, ready to fire it off when a familiar voice sounded just above your head. Your eyes widened, the heat flaring in your cheeks again to the point it felt like they were going to burst into flames from the pure embarrassment that he’d likely heard all of that. Slowly turning your head you looked up at him with a meek smile.

“Oh, we’ve definitely rolled around in the sheets a few times. Except for the part about my penis, that’s true.” His hand landed on your shoulder giving it a firm squeeze as he continued, “It’s bigger than coins, come on Y/N.” He nodded, eyebrows pulled high and gratified as he smiled coolly at the brothers blank expressions. “I haven’t met you guys yet, but I’d be happy to prove it if you like.”

“Yeah, we can go to the bathroom right now, and I’d be happy to show you what a real dick looks like,” Dean replied, his smile huge and condescending, keeping his eyes intently on Brad.

“Dean!” Sam scolded him under his breath with a shove of his knee into Dean’s thigh. “Dude, what’s gotten into you?” he hissed quietly.

“What? I’m playing nice,” he shrugged. He didn’t budge though, continuing his epic stare down with Brad, his smile still as self-satisfying as ever as Brad smiled back, unfazed by Dean’s attitude.

“I like him already,” Brad commented, breaking the growing tension as an elbow nudged into your bicep and he pushed into the booth beside you, signaling the waitress over. “So, what’s the low down on this big bad witch we’re after?”

You met Brad years ago through a close family friend that often partnered with him on cases, and the two of you hit it off immediately. You partnered up not long after when a horrific hunt left his friend severely disabled.

He was a genuinely great guy, that was not only attractive, but smart; he could make you laugh even on your darkest days and the two of you worked well together. You trusted him with your life in any situation you ended up in, and he always had your back.

Having him around again, it was painfully obvious the huge torch he still held for you, even after his eventful arrival. It made Sam snicker, while Dean turned ‘alpha male’ like he was marking his territory any chance he got. It had you double taking at the change in him given the fact you and Dean were only friends.

If you had to categorize it, you were basically friends with benefits, and neither of you seemed to ever care to put a label on it, or want to put anything more into it after any night you ended up in bed together; and that was fine by you. Throughout the 5 years you’d been hunting with the brothers, sex with Dean had been on occasion; usually after longer hunts and some heavy drinking. You cared about one another, of course, but it was never anything more than one friend caring for another’s safety in this line of work. You could only speculate that Brad’s arrival brought some of Dean’s deep insecurities to the surface.

One particular moment stood out to you from a few days ago as you and Brad got ready to head out to your temporary housing. You’d caught Dean eyeing a shirtless Brad as he dressed on the other side of the small room; his fitted black slacks hanging low on his lean hips, his bright smile infectious as he laughed with you at a story he was telling about one of the many crazy hunts you’d been on together. His scars from battles past were on full display, spread out over the expanse of smooth, set lean muscle, silently proving to them he was more than just a pretty face.

Dean’s eyebrows were pulled together in deep thought, not really giving the conversation his full attention, and he pulled his own shirt out, toying with the fabric and shifting uncomfortably in his chair, trying not to stare too long at him. You could have been misreading him, but he looked like he was comparing himself to Brad, physically, and it still made your stomach sink when you thought back on it. You found yourself wanting to go to him and tell him everything about him was perfect in your eyes, he was gorgeous, and there was nothing about him you would ever consider changing. As the thought crossed your mind, it had you stopping for a moment, wondering why that affected you like it did. You were all for boosting either brother’s self esteem when needed, but that was different.

Sam and Brad walked a few feet ahead as the four of you made your way around to the back of the house you and Brad would be borrowing when Dean quickly strode up beside you, leaning close as he spoke low. “I can see now why you’d be all googley-eyed for him. I thought he was just another douche, but, he’s admittedly a pretty cool guy.”

You eyed him curiously at his choice of words, but went on defense as you knew this was probably another attempt at phishing for information, like he’d been doing for the past few days, about yours and Brad’s previous relationship. It took you a minute to see it, but his sly tactics weren’t as well hidden as he thought. Why was he trying to get a read on your feelings?

“Ok, I am not, nor have I ever been googley-eyed for the guy, Dean. We’re just friends,” you hoarsely whispered back. “So we had sex twice, that’s as far as it ever went. He is wonderful, yes, and he deserves the best girl out there, but that girl isn’t me.”

His mouth pulled into a half smile and you could see his face visibly relax, looking like he was a little relieved to hear that. “Crazy drunk nights after a hunt. Been there. The road can be a lonely place.”

“... I wasn’t drunk,” you responded meekly. “And neither was he.”

“Oh,” he said, pausing for a relieving few minutes before speaking again, “So, what happened? He wanted more and you bolted?”

You let out a deep breath in an attempt to reign in the irritation his question sparked and shrugged, “In a way I guess… I went one way, and he went the other technically. We weren't seeing eye to eye anymore, so it was better for the both of us.” Coming up to the steps that lead up to the back door you quickly stepped in front of him placing your hand squarely on his chest to stop him. “What’s this about, Dean? You’ve been asking about him pretty often lately. What are you trying to get at?”

He scoffed, laughing low and averted his eyes the way he did when he’d been caught. “I just want to be sure I know who I’m dealing with. That’s it. We don’t know the guy, and it’s been months since you last saw him, let alone talked to him. What if he’s some crazy psycho serial killer out for revenge?”

You laughed out loud at the absurdity of his assumption catching his eyes, his cheeks turning pink at your reaction because he was partially serious about what he said. “That I know for a fact is not true, ok? You and Sam can rest comfortably knowing Brad’s harmless to anyone who’s not a monster,” you assured him, still giggling. “You know what I think? I think, that you’re thinking, I’m gonna ditch out on you at the mention of you wanting more because we’ve slept together.” You watched as all emotion fell away from his face. “Well I’m not, Dean. He just wasn’t the right person for me.” Holding his gaze for a beat longer, you turned on your heel and made your way up the steps not waiting for a response.

The brothers made themselves scarce after you were settled, only calling to check up on you throughout the day. It was mainly Sam, which didn’t surprise you after the last conversation you and Dean had. When you’d hung up with him after the last call, you made up your mind. After this case was finished you were going to find some way to get it out of him what was going on.

Working together again with Brad, things fell right back into stride. He was still the same ol’ sweet protective guy you remembered, and it felt like it had been only days, not months, since you last saw one another as you put together a plan of action to get close to the witch and take her out. His subtle attempts at making a move on you weren’t missed either. In his own roundabout way, he kept making it known he still carried feelings for you. And like Dean, Brad kept slyly prodding you for information about your other relationships to see how good his chances were at rekindling what you once had.

It made coming up with the best way to tell him the two of you were just friends that much harder, and that you and Dean often slept with each other; not to mention you admittedly kind of liked him. A lot. So you left it unspoken until the right words came to you, and instead prepared for part one of your plan; gain access to her home and find clues about what the witch was planning on summoning.

After successfully being welcomed into the witch’s house, things went sideways, fast.

Unknown to you or Brad during your light conversation, she snuck in a little something of her own into the brownies you’d made as a ‘new to the neighborhood’ gesture. As the spell completely immobilized you, Brad was able to get a good swing in on her before she could take him too and quickly ran out the back door.

Not bothering to go after him, she smiled knowingly at you as if to answer your unspoken question about why she wasn’t worried about him getting away. She revealed to you then she knew exactly who you two were the moment she answered the door. With the help of a location spell and some of Sam’s hair she’d snatched, she was able to eavesdrop on several occasions.

As she spoke, the pounding pressure in your head doubled, and you could barely make out the next words before you passed out; something about Dean caring about you deep down, and with you here, you’d become the perfect leverage on her quest for revenge.

After finally coming to, you found yourself shackled down in her basement as she readied the next part her plan. The Latin incantation she recited next was old, unlike anything you’d ever heard before, and with a puff of red smoke she had stolen your voice.

You could only stare in utter shock as she used it to mask her own, and lure Sam and Dean to her. It worked too as you listened in on her side of the conversation she was having with Dean.

To make matters worse, the spell she cast didn’t just take your voice, it was slowly constricting your throat with each breath you took.

Thankfully it wouldn’t take Sam and Dean too long to get to you, but she was ready for them. She had learned from the last attempt, and subdued them quickly. With the brothers writhing in agony on the concrete floor the moment they set foot in the basement, things were beginning to look grim for the three of you.

As your vision began to go fuzzy around the edges, your chest burning from the lack of oxygen, Brad barged in; gun raised and dirt smeared across his face as he demanded she let all of you go. He looked so angelic in that moment, standing tall above you, the light from the one hanging bulb casting a glow around him as he inched further in the room attempting to get himself between you and her.

Reciting another piece of Latin, she snapped her fingers and turned towards Brad. Before she could take another step, he pulled the trigger sending a bullet right between her eyes.

You’d never felt more relief in your life than that first deep breath after the spell was lifted. Whatever she cast over Sam and Dean was gone too, the two of them already up on their feet praising Brad on his perfect shot and thanking him for saving all of you.

With her body disposed of and your things collected, you all agreed a hot shower and a few stiff drinks would be a perfect ending to your brushes with death. The guys offered to buy the first round for Brad’s victory as Dean pulled up to the motel, but as he fidgeted in his seat, he kindly declined before asking to talk to you off to the side when the car was stopped.

“Is everything ok?” you asked when the two of you were a few feet away from the Impala. “I was really looking forward to you coming out with us tonight. We’ll be heading out tomorrow now that the big bad witch is dead, and I don’t know when I’ll see you next. I was hoping we could catch up some more.”

“Everything’s great, Y/N. People are safe again, the bad is gone.” He smiled sweetly down at you, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The thing is, I was kind of hoping it could be just you and I celebrating the win tonight. Alone. The last few days had me thinking about how good together we’ve always been, and how truly sorry I am about how things ended with us. So, I want to make it up to you... if you’ll give me the chance.”

You sighed heavily knowing this was coming, but hoping you’d dodged that bullet when it hadn’t come up. You were still feeling entirely unprepared to say what you needed to say right now, but forged on, “Brad,” you started, pulling one of his hands from his pockets as you put on your bravest smile and took a deep breath. “You’ve been one of my oldest, and closest friends I’ve ever had in my life. We are great together, we will always be great together in this life. I just... don’t see us being anything more than friends.”

“So us sleeping together back then… that meant nothing to you?”

“What? Of course it did. You were what I wanted… back then. It’s just, can you look at me and honestly tell me you felt something more for me after either time we had sex? Because the way it ended sure didn’t seem like it.”

He tore his eyes away from you after your last words, and slowly pulled his hand away, catching Dean's eyes when he’d glanced over from the Impalas open trunk. Following his gaze, you gave Dean a tight smile when your eyes met before looking back to Brad.

“Look, Brad, I’m sor-” your words were cut short as Brad’s hand came up.

“Save it, Y/N. Thanks, but no thanks. This is what I get for saving you today? A ‘Hey Brad, I have zero gratitude to show you for saving my life today. Let’s just be friends, I’d rather go celebrate with the Douche-chesters’.”

Your mouth fell open, completely taken aback at what he was implying. “You know what..“ you started, ready to lay into him when you were stopped short, catching Dean out of the corner of your eye already heading over having heard the rising anger in Brad’s voice. And by the looks of him, he didn’t miss the insulting nickname either.

“Hey!” he called out. “Why don’t you dial it back a little bit there, buddy. She doesn’t owe you jackshit for today. None of us do. So how about you apologize to her for your own douchebag attitude, and go find your gratitude with some local bar skank.”

Narrowing his eyes, he stepped closer to Dean. “You don’t have to tell me twice, buddy. Just remember, all of you would be dead right now if I hadn’t come to when I did,” he spat back. “So how about the two of you…. go fuck yourselves. Hmm? Sound good? Good. She’s a terrible lay too by the way; enjoy.”

Raising both of his middle fingers to each of your faces, he made sure to look at both of your dumbfounded faces one last time before stalking off. He grabbed his stuff from beside the Impala and tossed it into the back of his truck as you and Dean looked at one another, knowing smirks on your faces before you burst out laughing.

“Worse has been said,” Dean commented loud enough for Brad to hear, and threw his hands up with a shrug, the two of you still laughing as he shot you both one last dirty look before getting in his truck, speeding out of the lot.

When you woke that next morning, something felt off.

Part 2 - Do you believe in Magic?

Tags from my list, @mrswhozeewhatsis awesome list and the @spnfanficpond  XO: @butiaintgonnaloveem @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @quiddy-writes @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @winchesterenthusiast @littlegreenplasticsoldier @deandoesthingstome @salvachester @chelsea072498 @mirandaaustin93 @ohmychuckitssamanddean @kittenofdoomage @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @faith-in-dean @for-the-love-of-dean @thedevilinthedetails @skybinx-blog @myfand0msandm0re @winchesterfiesta @sandlee44 @mrsjohnsmith @supermoonpanda @samanddeanwinchester67  @feelmyroarrrr @beachy2014 @its-my-perky-nipples @gryffindorable713 @meganwinchester1999 @fangirling-instead-of-working @mamaimpala @notnaturalanahi @scorpiongirl1 @mysupernaturalfanfics @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @babypieandwhiskey @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @faegal04 @jotink78 @mogaruke @autopistaaningunaparte @emoryhemsworth @taste-of-dean @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @supernaturalismylife @revwinchester @supernaturalyobsessed @just-another-winchester @there-must-be-a-lock @winchester-family-business @canadianjelly @deansbabygirl01 @pretty-fortune @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian 

[myhauntedsalem]

19 Parents Share The Creepiest Things Their Kids Have Ever Said

Kids say the darnedest things, but they also come out with ridiculously creepy things as well. When Reddit asked ‘what is the creepiest thing your child has ever said?’ Parents of the internet came forward with their stories and boy, they didn’t disappoint.

Here are nineteen of the most disturbing, chill inducing stories shared.  All we ask is for you to try and suppress the urge to lock your children in a cupboard after reading these.

1. “Daddy Its A Monster… We Should Bury It.”

My 3 year old daughter stood next to her new born brother and looked at him for awhile then turned and looked at me and said, “Daddy its a monster… we should bury it.”

2. “The Man Who Crawls On The Floor And Stands By My Bed.”

My co-worker’s four year old daughter always thought that the rattling of the water pipes in the kitchen cupboards were “white wolves” and the sound always scared her. One day she was sitting at the kitchen table and she said, “Mom. The white wolves aren’t bad… they’re our friends!”

Her mom encouraged the idea by saying, “Yes! The white wolves are protecting us. They are our friends.” Then her daughter added in, “They’re our friends, but not the man who crawls on the floor and stands by my bed”.

3. “Good Bye Dad.”

I was tucking in my two year old. He said “Good bye dad.” I said, “No, we say good night.” He said “I know. But this time its good bye.”

Had to check on him a few times to make sure he was still there.

4. “It’s The Closest I Can Get To Seeing Her Dead.”

He’s not my kid, but my godson is extremely creepy. He likes to stand in his little sister’s doorway while she naps and watches her sleep. I ask him why and he says, “it’s the closest I can get to seeing her dead.” He also likes to shove her fist in his mouth as far as it can go because he wants to “know what suffocating is like, just in case.” I’m pretty sure he’d be a serial killer if it wasn’t for Mario Kart.

5. “The Man With The Snake Neck.”

While changing my daughter in front of the open closet door. She kept looking around me and laughing. I asked her what was so funny. She said, “the man.” To which I replied, “what man?” She then pointed at the closet and said, “the man with the snake neck.” I turn around and nothing was there.

I’m afraid to look into the history of my house to see if anyone hung themselves in the closet. At least she wasn’t scared.

6. You Will Die Soon

Not to me, but to his grandmother.

He was cuddling with her and being very sweet (he was about 3 at the time). He takes her face in his hands, and brings his face close to hers, then tells her that she’s very old, and will die soon.

Then he makes a point of looking at the clock.

7. “I Want To Peel All Your Skin Off.”

I was sound asleep, and at around 6am I was woken up by my 4 year old daughters face inches from mine. She looked right into my eyes and whispered, “I want to peel all your skin off”.

The backstory here is I had been sunburned the previous week, and was starting to peel. In my sleep addled state however, it was pretty terrifying for a few seconds. I didn’t know if I was dreaming, or what was going on.

8. “When You Die, I’m Going To Eat You.”

My sons were about 2 and 4 when their pet goldfish died. I attempted to use the situation as an opportunity to discuss death and mortality. After I finished my explanation, my four year looked up at me with his big, blue eyes and asked, “Mommy, someday, will you die?” My heart filled with love and a little sadness, knowing this was one of those pivotal moments when the first bit of childhood innocence was lost,and I told him yes, someday, mommy will die.

“Good,” he said with a totally deadpan expression, and walked out of the room.

Later when we were about to flush the fish, he asked if we could eat him instead. I said no, we don’t eat pets because we love them, and he said, “When you die, I’m going to eat you.”

9. “Carson Is Gone, I Am Rick.”

When my son was little he, maybe 3, he used to do this weird crawl where he would slide his forehead along the floor. That was pretty creepy in itself. Then one night he crawled across the hallway into my room like that and stood up a few inches from my face and made a weird meow sound. He got into bed with me and went to sleep.

Another time he was freaking out about a monster in the basement so we went down and saw nothing, of course, and as I turned out the light and headed upstairs and he said “Hes right behind us now.” I might have peed a little.

Possibly the creepiest thing he did was one day I scolded him for misbehaving so he hid his head under his blanket. I pretended I couldn’t find him by saying “Where is my little Carson?” He slowly lowered the blanket and with a dead evil stare said, “Carson is gone, I am Rick.” I’m certain he’s possessed. We never knew any Ricks, as far I can remember. Still don’t. Never figured out where he picked up the name.

10. “I Died And Now I’m Here.”

Getting my two and a half year old daughter out of the bath one night, my wife and I were briefing her on how important it was she kept her privates clean. She casually replied “Oh, nobody ‘scroofs’ me there. They tried one night. They kicked the door in and tried but I fought back. I died and now I’m here.” She said this like it was nothing.

My wife and I were catatonic.

11. Baby Brother

“So I shouldn’t throw him in the fire?”

3 year old daughter holding her baby brother for the first time.

12. The Pretty Girl At The Cottage

My 3 year old nephew was at my cottage. He’s asked me numerous times about the “girl over there” while pointing at one of the back bedrooms. The place is small, and there is definitely nobody there so I just dismiss it as a really active imagination (he has lots of imaginary friends).

Then some friends are visiting and they have a daughter around the same age. She has never met my nephew. Twice in the one day she asked about the “pretty girl” while pointing at the exact same room. Definitely caught me out and I didn’t know what to think.

Then at Christmas my family was over at my place and my nephew points at a picture of my wife and asks if she is coming to visit us here or does she just stay at the cottage. My wife died ten years ago. Personally I don’t really believe in paranormal stuff so it’s probably just my logical brain putting together a bunch of kids ramblings but it definitely got my attention.

13. “He’s Behind You Now.”

“Go back to sleep, there isn’t anything under your bed”.

“He’s behind you now”.

Still haven’t gotten over that one and shiver at the memory.

14. “He’s Coming For You. You Better Hide.”

While not something my own child has said, my younger cousin (around 5 at the time) once drew a picture of a a black monster, looked up at me, and said “He told me to draw this. He’s coming for you. You better hide.”

15. “You Will Put Me Down, Down, Down In The Hole.”

I have a three year old who says some pretty strange stuff….

Last night: “Mommy.. the man, the very big man with big yellow eyes is looking at you.”

I look.. nothing. I tell him there is no man and he is make-believe. My son laughs, “Oh he is hiding now.” — 2 minutes later, “Oh no Mommy, you made him very mad. Now he says he will come when you are sleeping.”

Few weeks ago he tells me, “I’m not going to be four. I’m going to die. And you will put me down, down, down in the hole.” I tell him that isn’t true, and who told him that. He gets quiet and goes, “The man told me. But I will be scared, so after three night-nights you die too and come with me.”

Sheesh. As if I didn’t have bad dreams already.

16. “Daddy, I Love You So Much That I Want To Cut Your Head Off.”

A friend of mine’s child told him “Daddy, I love you so much that I want to cut your head off and carry it around so I can see your face whenever I want.”

17. The Bad Man

Why are you crying?

“Bad man”

What bad man?

“There.” Points behind me at a dark corner of the room

Lamp on bookshelf next to said darkened corner falls off as soon as I turn to look.

She slept in our bed that night

18. Ham Can’t Scream

When I was a waitress, I watched a little girl (4ish) stab her plastic fork into her sandwich repeatedly, saying “die die die die die die”. When I asked her what she was doing (her mom was in the bathroom for a minute), she replied with a straight face, “I like to kill things, but mom says I shouldn’t. So I picked the ham because it can’t scream.”

19. Satan Wants To Meet You

A few months ago I asked me brother and his wife if their kids ever did any creepy. They both immediately looked at each other and seemed surprised that I had asked.

Apparently the last few couple of weeks they would hear my niece talking to herself in her bedroom. They assumed it was just her playful imagination so they didn’t give it much thought. One day however my brother asked her who she kept talking to, she said it was her new best friend Satan who visits her at her window every day. Her window is close to the ground so they were seriously concerned that there was someone actually going up to her window and kept a closer eye on her for the next few days.

Every single time they would hear her talking he would go outside to her windows but never found anyone. They began asking her more about his new friend and apart from his name being Satan she mentioned that he follows her everywhere she goes and that he promised her he will bring her a cake one day.

At a late cookout at my parents a week before they mentioned that, she took her mom outside to the backyard and pointed at the pitch black backyard and told her that her friend Satan was there and he wanted to meet her also. That made chills run down my spine since I was at that cookout also. After that they made her promise she wouldn’t talk to Satan anymore.

[mamaredd123]

A Taste of Something...New

A/N: It’s been awhile since I posted anything on here and for that I offer my apologies. Writer’s block and life in general have been wreaking havoc on my creative tendencies. But I do have a brand new little tale to share with y’all and I hope you enjoy it. Not exactly sure how long this one will be but I am already 3 chapters in. Hopefully y’all will stick around and see how it plays out.

WARNING: can’t think of any in this chapter.. if you spot any please let me know and I’ll tag them though

WORD COUNT: 1566

PAIRING: none yet... the best is yet to come

Mama’s Master List

Mama’s Tag List 

Just as a gentle reminder, if you happen to enjoy this (or didn’t), leave some feedback or even hit the reblog button. We all know how great it feels to get some feedback from our writings.

‘I'm gonna work late again tonight baby’

She read the text and then sat the phone down almost nonchalantly. Same words, another day. She knew he had to work, had to get the job done to put the money in the bank to pay the bills. Somehow, after seven years of this, it had just become monotonous. It was just words.

Was he actually working? Was THIS job that important? Just last Saturday he had promised to take her out to eat, finally a date night, but work had delayed him and they had missed their reservation. The one question that nagged her more than anything though, even after twenty-three years, was did she even really care?

Glancing over at the phone, with a slight hesitation, she picked it up and texted back her usual response.

‘Ok… try not to be too late.. love u’

Within seconds she got her “love u” text back and she knew he was done communicating with her for the night. She would not hear anything else from him unless he woke her when he came home in the wee hours of the morning.

Recently, she had been having these thoughts more and more when she got his recurrent texts each night, always the same theme, work. It hadn’t always been like that between them. They had met and fell in love early in life, such a joyous thing! He had been so full of life back then. Even after the kids were born nothing had changed. He used to always make sure he was home in time for dinner, he planned all their family vacations, and even surprised her on more occasions than she could remember with small weekend getaways for the two of them.

Presently, she was forty-three, both their kids grown and out in the world on their own. Now it was just him and her. Mostly, it seemed like it was just her. He very seldom was even home at night before she fell asleep. This should be the best years of their lives! They should be enjoying a few years (hopefully about five or nine years) before grandchildren and then spending the rest of their lives entertaining the younger generation with tales of laughter and words of wisdom. With life, there's always some obscure twist of fate though.

Her days and nights seemed to run together, with blurred lines, each one appearing to be a mirror image of the one before it. She would get up each morning, get him dressed and out the door. The rest of the mornings, she spent tidying up the house, maybe a load of laundry, and taking care of any bills that needed to be seen to. Her afternoon’s were just as exciting. Usually, she would make a quick run to the grocery store for a few items and if she really wanted to do something thrilling, she might even stumble into the local Walmart for a little window shopping. Then she would return home and prepare a dinner that would not be eaten hot.

After all of the ‘wife chores’ were done, however, she made the rest of each day her time. In between binge watching and casual surfing on the net, a few months ago, she had stumbled across a website that shared, which was new to her, fan fiction. Between all the things going on in her life, the new obsession of her new favorite show, and obviously her freedom, she was immediately hooked. Fanfiction! Who would have thought! She remembered the eighties and the nineties so she knew all about fangirling over someone, or so she thought.

So here she was sitting alone, again, in the middle of the night. She was all bundled up in the covers of their bed, computer up and running, and scrolling through her new favorite internet site. Reading the stories she stumbled upon drew her back to her high school fantasies. In the nineties, yea she had her crushes on the favorite celebrities but even in her wildest dreams, never had she ever some up with some of the stuff she was reading tonight. That was really saying a lot, really, cause the things that she thought of doing with Marky Mark HIMSELF (and still thought about doing today), well, they definitely made her blush when she thought about them. But.. these stories she read! There were things described in them that she had never even thought possible and she had been married FOREVER, or so it seemed.

Finishing the latest tale of unabashed lust, she shoved the laptop away from her. Leaning back on her pillow, she looked over to his side of the bed. The emptiness of it seemed to weigh even heavier tonight for some reason. She tried to think back on any given day/night when things seemed to change between them. Nothing stood out. Not one single moment. Except this one. A deep sigh escaped her as she realized she really did love him. That was why she was here, alone, every night, by herself. But was that enough? Business was good. She always tried to make sure nothing interfered with that. The kids were as good as they were gonna get. She always made sure he had clean clothes in the morning, a clean house or at least a semi clean house, a cold beer in the fridge, and something to eat when he was hungry. Doesn’t sound like much but that was basically all he ever asked from her all these years. If you thought about it, she really had it made.

Shaking her head, she climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen. This way of thinking was definitely not a good thing, not if she was going to find a way to find some kind of passion, lust, love, anything to salvage her marriage. She grabbed her tumbler and filled it with ice. Reaching for the cabinet door, a small voice echoed in her head ‘all you do is drink yourself to sleep every night’. Shaking her head again, she reached in the cabinet and pulled out the bottle of bourbon. She filled the cup and mixed in the coke with zero hesitation well maybe a second's hesitation when she rethought about how she was trying to figure away to salvage her marriage. Taking the first sip, however, always felt like a open act of rebellion, even though no one was there to see it. She really didn’t drink much, usually a couple of drinks at night, maybe a glass of wine or two.

The thoughts running through her mind weren’t very productive as she moved from the kitchen and back to the bedroom. ‘Screw him’ was the basic principle of them. Most of these long nights, she felt like she was spinning out of control. One second, desperate to fix her marriage and breath life back into it. The next, angry as hell at him for always leaving her alone. Getting back under the covers, nursing her drink, she pulled her computer closer. She had to get out of her own mind, she thought to herself as she settled down to read some more fanfiction. Instead of going to her notification page to see who had posted another chapter of delicious, flesh devouring, sin ridden fiction, she chose to scrolled the main page. Maybe she would find a few new authors to stalk.

The first thing she noticed was a post from one of her most favorite authors stating that she was attending a comic con, in her state! This woman, oh man, she had been reading her stories since the day she joined the site. There was a lot of hype going on about the convention she realized as she read through the comments on the post. The entire cast of the show was going to be there! Out of curiosity, she opened another browser and looked up the convention. To her surprise, it was actually being held here in town. The thought of meeting any of the cast would be delightful but also possibly meeting her? Would he care if she went? Would he even notice she was gone? 

She glanced over at the empty side of the bed and sighed deeply. She longed for romance like the ones she read. She hungered for some passion in her life. She ached from the loneliness. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the emotions, who can really say what compelled her but she clicked on the Buy Tickets tab and bought herself a gold package! He would probably kill her when he realized how much she had just spent but oh well. She very seldom ever asked for anything from him. She finished her drink, tucked her laptop away for the night, and settled down in the bed. Her dreams that night, for once, were not bleak or dismal. Instead, they were full of delicious fantasies. 

                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When he came home that night, he found her balled up under the covers with a soft smile across her face. He paused and watched her for a few moments. It had been a long time since he had seen her smile like that. Quietly, he slipped out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him. He would sleep on the couch tonight so maybe he wouldn’t disturb her.

Random Tags (gonna try to do an updated tag list soon... maybe.. hopefully)

@megansescape @madamelibrarian @chelsea072498 @jayankles @feelmyroarrrr @docharleythegeekqueen @crowleysdemonknight @motleymoose @sumara62 @mrstheorossix3 @evansrogerskitten @waywardjoy  @dwaynii @jensen-jarpad  @deathtonormalcy56 @supernatural-jackles @ruprecht0420 @charliebradbury1104 @relmi-llorrac @wonderange @sandlee44 @tom-is-in-my-tardis @kmb99t @summer-binging-spn @posiemax @ohmychuckitssamanddean @thedevilinthedetails @bohowitch @tmccarney @dragon-tail @suli155 @mrsbatesmotel53 @petrovadixon @thewalkingmombie @mogaruke @spontaneousam @uniquewerewolfsuit @firstlady36 @goldenolaf25 @lunarsaturn88 @babypieandwhiskey @impalaimagining @sis-tafics @chaos-and-the-calm67 @inmysparetime0 @idreamofhazel @nichelle-my-belle  @firstlady36  @bohowitch @whispersandwhiskerburn  @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @ilostmyshoe-79 @roxy-davenport @mrsbatesmotel53 @plaidstiel-wormstache @spn-hetalian-from-Hogwarts  @carribear31  @captainemwinchester @watercolor31 @sea040561 @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel  @impalaplots @faegal04 @missjenniferb @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @emoryhemsworth  @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for  @tattooedmomster13 @sardonicpsycho @dwgrl1903  @tankcupcakes @atc74  @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @iwantthedean @paintrider13-blog @d-s-winchester @death2thevirgin @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @ellen-reincarnated1967 @just-another-busy-fangirl @waywardjoy @winchesterprincessbride @willowing-love @redlipstickandplaid @mirandaaustin93 @kiranagoya 

[the-shadow-of-atlantis]

Heroes of Gotham

When Lily is on the run she discovers that gods are real and she is a demigod. Now she must learn to harness the power she has within her and learn to love again.

Word Count: 1,758

Tagging: @speedypan @insideoflit @cupidjayne @coffee-randomness @guns-n-lilies

A/N Lily belongs to @guns-n-lilies this is a collab piece i am working on with @maryenette, @maruthor, or @guns-n-lilies (Note if you would like for your oc to appear in the next chapter please let me or @maruthor know and we will work something out) Also this story is based off of the Percy Jackson series universe.

Lily shivered as the cold air of Gotham swirled around her. She wrapped her sweater tighter around her body wishing she had something thicker. She looked around the streets and held the straps of her backpack tighter when she spotted some shady looking people stealing a few occasional glances at her.

 As she passed by an alleyway she heard commotion as if a fight were happening. She wasn't sure why but something drew her in to investigate, but she froze at the sight of a girl with four boys fighting off... giants?

 “I swear these cyclops are more trouble than usual.” Shouted one as he dodged a swing.

 “Why can you just use your soul ripping powers?” Shouted another who held a spear. He went ahead to strike the monster again before it knocked his spear off his hand, the bronze weapon landing a few feet away from Lily.

 “You know that is only for emergencies.” Snapped the girl.

 “And this doesn't count as an emergency?” Questioned a young boy who quickly swiped his katana, making the monster turned into dust. Lily’s eyes widened as the shimmery substance blew into the wind. She knew immediately this was not normal.

 “What's wrong demon head? Can't handle some Cyclops?” Another boy teased.

 “Why you-”

 “Damian focus on the monster then you can hit Tim.” The girl ordered.

 “Hey!” Tim whined. The girl simply smiled as she struck another large monster with her bo staff, the sheer force of it knocking the giant over before she finished it, incinerating it to dust.

 “Okay that was number three... wasn't there four?” The girl asked, glancing around.

 Lily spotted the last one hiding in the shadows and she knew what was going to happen when it silently crept up on the group of warriors who were clearly too tired to pay attention. It was about to attack them when Lily quickly picked up the spear that was laying on the ground and, with the help of adrenaline coursing through her veins, charged and jabbed it into the monster, turning it into a cloud of dust. Everyone's heads snapped towards her direction.

 “It's a girl.”

 “Yes I see that.”

 “Can she see us?”

 “I'm pretty sure she can.”

 “You think she's a mortal?”

 Lily noticed the girl sniff the air before shaking her head.

 “No she has demigod blood.”

 “We should bring her to camp then.”

 “Todd we can not just take her to camp, we don’t know the girl. She could be dangerous.”

 “I doubt that little brother.” The girl slowly walked towards Lily. “Hello child, what is your name?”

 “Lily.” She wasn't sure why she responded. These were complete strangers but she felt a strange sense of home, something she hadn't felt in a long time.

 “Hello Lily, you may call me Annabella.” The mysterious girl gave Lily a small smile before gesturing to the males, “These are my brothers; Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian.” Lily looked over the girl, her eyes were dark brown and Lily could have sworn her black hair seemed to shimmer like the night sky. It contrasted greatly with her pale skin. She wore a black leather jacket over a black T-shirt that read ‘Camp Half-Blood’, a piece of clothing she noticed all of them had in various colors. Was it a family thing?

 “How long have you been running away Lily?” Annabella inquired, to which Lily tilted her head in question, until Annabella gestured to her backpack.

 “Oh um a few months.”

 Annabella nodded before turning to look at her brothers.

 “Summon the chariots Damian.” She ordered.

 Damian nodded and suddenly two sets of horses with chariots appeared. The boys all went into one and Annabella gestured to Lily to enter the other one. Lily eyed her wearily.

 “I assure you that no harm will ever come to you, not on my watch. There is an explanation for all of this, if you allow me to explain.” Stated Annabella, her demeanor calm and composed but her voice full of comfort. Lily nodded slowly before climbing in. She felt Annabella wrap something around her shoulders and relaxed at the warmth it provided.

 The horses began to move and as it did Annabella began speaking. “Do you know of the Greek legends?”

 “Yes.” answered Lily, marveling at this ancient method of transportation, “though I only know from what Wonder Woman told us; about how she was brought to life many years ago by Zeus. But what does that have to do with all this?”

 Annabella nodded in appreciation. “That is only the beginning of the story, you see. Shortly after the Justice League was formed, many of the Olympians began to lose power. As many praised and sought the heroes, the gods began to fade.” She began to trace the intricate designs on the chariot. “To preserve their legacy and influence, the gods transferred their power onto the very heroes that we know today, thus the heroes took their place on Mount Olympus.”

 “W-Wait…” Lily uttered, “are you telling me that… our heroes, the ones who save us every night, are gods?”

 Annabella nodded solemnly. “Not all of them are gods, only the strongest, the most powerful who can withstand the powers of a god. Superman gained the power of Zeus, Aquaman, as you may have already figured out, gained Poseidon’s powers. Batman was blessed with the power of Hades, Wonder Woman became Athena, and so on.”

 “Did all the gods give up their power?”

 “No,” Annabella shook her head, “only those who had been ignored for far too long. Those who are still worshipped and those who can survive with little praise, just as they did for centuries, still exist, working alongside the new gods.”

 “What are the gods… if you don’t mind me asking…” Lily questioned with great interest.

 “Aphrodite and Hera are both examples of goddesses who have not lost their influence. More minor beings, such as Hecate and Iris feel little change as not many worshipped them in the first place.”

 “But don't Batman and Superman still do their hero business?” Lily asked making Annabella smile.

 “Of course. When they came into power they changed the way things were. The old gods never interfered with the lives of mortals which, in a way, caused them to be forgotten. The new gods, however, still take on their human personas. It keeps them in check.”

  Lily took a deep breath in an attempt to let all the information seep in. It was a lot to take in, but she had a feeling this wasn’t the entire story. “How is it relevant to me… to… any of you?”

 “Ah, I was getting to that.” Annabella grinned slightly, “you see, the gods and goddesses sometimes find romance with a mortal being. If there is ever an offspring, they are called demigods, and these demigods protect mankind. They do tasks--demigods call them quests--for the gods when required, although the gods usually do them and that has helped prolonged the lives of many.”

 “Are you a demigod?”

 “No I am actually a goddess. Minor one but still a goddess.”

 “Oh… do you have parents or..?”

 Annabella chuckled. “My father is Hades, or Batman, whichever one you prefer to call him by. My mother is La Muerte. Before my father became Hades she had her eyes on him for awhile. When he became Hades it made things more interesting and therefore I came to be.”

 Lily stared ahead, thinking over the information she was given before another thought came into her mind. “You called the others your brothers... are they all children of Hades?”

 “Only Damian the small one,” Annabella explained, “Jason, the one with white streak, he was a son of Ares and died in battle but I was able to bring him back to life.”

 “You can do that?” Lily gasped, shocked by the power the goddess next to her had.

 Annabella scrunched up her face in an expression that screamed ‘it’s complicated’. “Not exactly... I got lucky with him. Usually it never turns out so well.”

 “Usually…”

 “I connect better with animals then I do with humans.” Annabella quickly added, “Not entirely sure why but at the same time I don't question it. Anywho, because of that he owes his life to me. The other two, Dick and Tim, their mortal parents knew my father's human form and when they passed away my father took them in. Dick is a son of Aphrodite and Tim is the son of Hermes.”

 The young runaway closed her eyes and rubbed her head. This was more than she ever expected, but surprisingly it didn’t come as much of a shock to her, not when she had seen some pretty unbelievable things already. Not only that, ever since she was a child strange things had been happening to her and around her. She had seen things nobody else had seen, and when she tried to tell people they thought it was her imagination because she was only a child, a kid. They had mentioned it so much, she believed them.

 But this… this explained it all.

 She was different, yes, but there were others like her.

 “Where... exactly are we going?” Lily asked quietly.

 “To Camp Half-Blood. It is a home away from home or in some cases an actual home, if that makes any real sense. There, you will be cared for and protected. We all will be.”

 “And… you said I’m a demigod….” Lily began slowly, “do you know who my godly parent is?”

 “No, but I am sure you will find out soon enough.” Annabella’s eyes seemed to light up when she saw the sight of towering trees. “Today, the gods don’t abandon their children. When they enter the camp, they are usually claimed the very first day. We will see who will claim you, and after that we will settle you down in your cabin, which you will share with your siblings and from there, we will see how you fit in here.”

 The chariot finally came to a halt. “We have arrived.” They stepped out and Lily glanced around, studying her surroundings with a dazed smile. It seemed like a small paradise to her, with nothing but bright blue skies, emerald-colored grass that glimmered with dew and luscious green trees. In the distance, she could see small but elegantly crafted cabins, each unique in their own way.

 Annabella spun around and opened her arms. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood... welcome home.”

 Lily smiled at the last word. Home.