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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 4 years ago

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TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 4: The Rest of All Time (Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here, Chapter 3 here)

A/N: Final chapter. I’d love to know what you think of this happy little fic! :D

Ichabod slowly came awake, his mind taking its time to acquaint itself with reality. He stretched languidly, feeling pleasantly rested for the first time in days. And then he remembered last night. His eyes flew open to find the space beside him empty, and his heart plummeted into his stomach. Had it all been a dream? An alcohol-induced fantasy? But no...the pillow beside him still held the faint dip of having been slept on and the bedroom door stood wide open. The deep scent of coffee and the tantalizing smell of bacon reached him, and he knew he hadn't imagined Abbie's return. With eager purpose, he hopped out of bed, making a pit stop before padding a tad anxiously down the hall to the kitchen. The Lieutenant stood at the island, flipping pancakes on the hot griddle in front of her. Her eyes darted up as he moved into the room. "G'morning, sleepyhead," she greeted with a smile. "Good morning, Lieutenant." He stood watching her, her ease in the kitchen (so unlike him), her small hands deftly pouring batter and flipping hot cakes. "I wanted to run to the bakery and get you some donut holes, surprise you, but I didn't want you to wake up while I was gone and think..." She fluttered the spatula in the air, glancing up at him. He nodded in appreciation. "Thank you," he murmured. "So instead," she moved on brightly, "I'm making some of my blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. And maybe a little candied bacon...?" "Ohh, you do know how to spoil me, Lieutenant," he stated eagerly. "I shall prepare our coffee." "Sounds good 'cause everything's just about done." Ichabod poured two cups of coffee, making them perfectly to their preferences, and set them at the breakfast bar. He retrieved plates and utensils, butter and syrup, as Abbie finished cooking. She set a plate piled high with pancakes and another full of candied bacon on the bar, and together they sat down to eat. "How'd you sleep, Lieutenant?" he asked after praising her for blessing him with such delectable sweets. "Well," she acknowledged with a nod. "You? You seem rested..." "Yes. My sleep was most peaceful." He filled his mouth with another bite of pancakes before he let it spill that she was the reason for his respite. Though he suspected she knew that after exhibiting how vulnerable he'd felt last night. They passed into comfortable silence, and Ichabod reveled in this simplest of pleasures, one he thought he'd never experience again. Abbie made his world, this world, come alive in a way he desperately feared losing. And while he'd never alter the way they fought monsters and demons and solved crimes and queries together, he'd take these moments—sitting in the early morning quiet, enjoying good food and better company, watching the morning sunlight play off her flawless skin, knowing he could just be when he was with her—over all the adventures in the world.

Abbie pushed her plate away as he took his last bite, and they both sat nursing their coffee. "What time are we expecting Miss Jenny this morning?" he asked after a few more moments of bliss. "Mm, I had a text from her when I woke up. She'll be here in a few hours. Seems she got to bed late." She turned her head slightly to look at him. "And I suspect she wanted to give us some time to catch up." "Mmm," he hummed, his face resolute as he nodded in agreement. He saw her waiting for him to speak, but he didn't know where to begin. He'd spilled enough last evening to quell the overflowing tide of emotion he'd been drowning in for days, but so much more remained. Not to mention he longed, if apprehensively, to hear her thoughts on all he'd conveyed. His expression must've revealed his pensiveness because the Lieutenant leaned forward slightly to catch his eye. "Crane?" He looked at her and nodded to let her know his willingness to talk. "I shall just refill my cuppa. Would you like more as well?" She gave him a look that told him she believed he was stalling—and maybe he was—but she replied anyway. "Water for me, thanks." Abbie set their plates and silverware in the sink and put everything else away as he prepared their drinks, and when they were done, he followed her into the living room. She sat at one end of the couch, and he chose a spot near her, leaving a bit of space between them. He glanced at her, and their arrangement struck a memory from not long ago, after she'd revealed her connection to the then-unknown emblem of Thura by nearly letting him expire. As much as that had frightened him, it paled in comparison to losing her, to watching her vanish before his eyes. "Crane...tell me what happened after I... disappeared into the box." She asked gently, softly, and though it still made his heart ache—even as she sat next to him—he couldn't refuse her. He took a brave breath and spoke. "I was so sure we'd defeat them. I thought it was an inevitability; we've faced so many things before. But I looked up, and you were just...gone. I'd never felt as empty as I did in that moment." He paused, trying to think past the second she'd dissolved into that mythical box, but the visual played in his cursed eidetic mind once more. He felt Abbie grip his hand, and he squeezed hers once in gratitude for the tether to the present, even as he relived the past. "You are not an easy person to lose, Lieutenant." He swallowed hard. "With the Hidden One weakened, Miss Jenny shot him. And Pandora, endowed with her husband's power and longing to rule in his stead, betrayed us. She and her box disappeared. Miss Jenny and I devised a plan and, using the map, tracked her to the cemetery above the tunnels. I...called forth the headless horseman to fight against her." He paused to gauge her expression, but she still listened intently without judgement, eyes wide. "When his broadax stuck in a tree and she began pulling him into her box, I knew she would defeat him without assistance. So I retrieved his ax and threw it to him just as he reached her. He cut her down where she stood." Abbie nodded slowly, taking it in, and he could see she regretted not being there to help him finish their job. "She was defeated," he assured her. "They both were in the end. I demanded she release you before she expired, and it was then she confirmed your...demise. When she breathed her last, the box began to glow, so I grabbed it and ran for the tunnels. I secured it in the Masonic cell, and as I started to retreat, it blew up. The force pushed me through the tunnels, and it knocked me out. You came to me then. At least I thought it was you." He looked at her questioningly. "Did you come to me? From wherever you were?" She shook her head, sadness and empathy written on her face. He nodded, then turned back to stare straight ahead, into the recent past. "I dreamed of you then. Just like it happened the first time we met when I was imprisoned in that infernal cell and you came to me. This time you told me I had to say goodbye. Then, in the way that dreams do, we were suddenly in the Archives....you told me your job was done...your soul was free. You took me by the hand and...led me home. We sat on the porch and you...you consoled me while I...." "While you what, Crane?" Her whispered voice came to him, floated through him as he remembered his words to her. "What is there for me in a world without you?" he repeated the sentiment that’d haunted him since she’d disappeared into that box. His eyes met hers. "It's what I said to you. What I should've said." He shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily in frustration. "What I'm saying now. Because I should've said it before." He saw her expression soften, her expectant look filling him with hope. "These last few days, all I could think of was how I told you...the dream you...that I'd miss you. How I kissed your hand and bowed low and when I looked up, you were just...gone again. How I didn't tell you while you were here all the ways you've changed my life. I couldn't have found a better guide through this modern world if I'd stumbled upon the Pope himself. You mean everything to me, and everyone saw it but I didn't say anything." He balled his hand into a fist as he bit off the last few words. One of her hands covered his fist, the other coming up and cupping his jaw, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "You're saying it now. And I hear every word." Her thumb traced over his lips, and he closed his eyes, the frustration evaporating, his heart floating into his throat. He kissed her thumb, captivated by her closeness, her sweet acceptance of all that he'd said. And still...he longed to know her thoughts. He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips for another kiss, and this time when he opened his eyes she still sat before him. "There are some things I need you to hear, too," she admitted quietly, her expression tentative and vulnerable. "Things I haven't told you." He nodded once and took a deep breath, mind racing at what she might reveal, heart thundering with worry that she would reject him gently but definitively and he'd be destroyed all over again. "When we were in that boat crossing the Delaware and I told you how rare it is for someone to have the kind of unwavering faith that you do, I meant it. Your kind of devotion is nearly unheard of, but what makes it more...intense is that that faith is in me. And I've been...afraid for a long time." He didn't follow her logic just yet, and he knew confusion had crept onto his face, but he waited for her to speak her mind. "Afraid I'm some kind of curse, that the people I care about always leave or die because of me. My father, my mother, then Jenny. Corbin, Frank, and now Joe." She veiled her expression in that way she did when things hurt too much but she had to press on. Ichabod longed to comfort her but made himself stay frozen in place to hear the rest of what she'd say. "I hate what happened to all of them, fates that I couldn't prevent, and I never wanted you to be on that list. Despite that concern, you're my closest friend. My fellow Witness. And that makes the threats against you that much more dangerous and palpable." He saw her steel herself. "But that's not the only thing I've been afraid of." "What is it, Abbie?" he wondered with a whisper when she didn't continue, brows drawn in concentration. "I've been afraid..." She sucked in a deep breath. "That all the things I've been feeling for so long now were unrequited. There've been others in both of our lives that've made me... question, but regardless of who's come and gone, my feelings for you haven't changed. Have only continued to grow, no matter how hard I tried to deny them. I've been afraid of them because...I didn't want you to leave too. You did, and when you came back, I wasn't sure how you felt about me. Then we were in that boat, about to head straight into the catacombs, and with that same rare, unwavering faith, you told me that when it came to you and me, you had no greater certainty." He nodded, affirming his sentiment once again as he stared intently at her. His chest felt tight, as though someone had his cinched it in a vice, and he waited anxiously for her next words. "In that moment, I saw it in your eyes. Felt it in my soul, like a puzzle piece locking into place. And when I heard what Betsy said to you, I didn't want to pretend what I felt wasn't real anymore." "You heard what Betsy said?" he queried a bit shyly. She nodded. "I heard how you didn't deny it, and I knew I wanted to tell you too. I just didn't get the chance until now." Her eyes held his, soft and open, looking at him as if she could see right into his soul. "I've wanted to tell you since I came back from the catacombs, but everything felt so raw and abrasive when I returned. Now...now everything feels fresh and new." Her body turned to face him more fully. "And I need you to know now...I love you. Your friendship, our partnership, is and has been the most important thing in my life, and I couldn't have faced the evils of this world without you. I never want to. I always want to be with you." Ichabod felt a flush race over his skin, his mind reeling from her admission, his pulse racing. He cupped her face with one hand, staring blissfully into her eyes. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone as he marveled at this most perfect of dreams coming true. "Abbie," he murmured in wonder, half statement, half question. "Shhh," she whispered softly, staring at him dreamily, her gaze darting to his mouth and back to his eyes. "Enough talk for now. Let's just...be." He moved to kiss her then, soft, languid, lingering kisses that deliciously teased and tortured him with their sweetness, her perfect lips responding to his better than every fantasy he'd ever conjured. He trailed kisses to her cheek, her cheekbone, her eyelid, before finally easing away from her. Abbie's eyes slowly fluttered open, and a pleased smile teased her lips as he drew his arm around her and she settled into his side. They sat in silence for some time, his fingers trailing up and down her arm. He'd never thought it possible to find himself here: content, fulfilled, free to hold Abbie in his arms, to kiss her. To hear her readily admit she loved him. To unabashedly speak of his love for her. God's wounds, only yesterday she'd been forever lost to him. Someday, when the biblical prophecy came true and he and Abbie met their demise, he'd spend an eternity thanking God for his Lieutenant, his better half, and the rest of all time loving her all over again. But for now, he held her in his arms.

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vanilla107 · 3 years ago

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Five Minutes of Sunset

Before the Curse of Sarah Fier series

Summary:

“We meeting after? Same spot? Sam gonna be there?” she asked, and Deena nodded.

“Simon too. He said he got us discounted food!” Kate said excitedly.

“I hope you know that means that the food is about to expire,” Deena said, deadpanned.

“Whatever! Food is food and I’m not going to turn down chicken wings and all the candy bars I can eat.” ~~~ Four friends get together on a Friday afternoon to talk shit about Sunnyvale and watch the sunset.

Also titled as: I JUST WANT TO WRITE FICS WHERE EVERYONE LIVES AND ARE HAPPY LIKE FUCK THEM DYING. GIMME MY FAVS BACK.

Read on AO3

It was a usual overcast Friday afternoon in Shadyside and Deena stretched her arms over her head as she headed towards the Shadyside High girl's locker room. The potent smell of floral body spray made her sneeze as she entered the room, high pitched voices bouncing off the walls and she winced before making a beeline down the corridor towards the toilets.

Her breath caught in her throat though, when she saw Samantha Fraser walking away from the toilets and towards her, and the grin that Sam gave her was enough to make her stomach knot.

Sam’s blonde hair glimmered under the crappy fluorescent lights and usually, Deena would have questioned that because the lighting was really shit but she didn’t care. Sam had already changed into her Shadyside cheerleader uniform, the blue and black standing out against her skin and her toned legs on display. Deena realised that she was shamelessly checking Sam out but before she could look away, Sam’s hand gently brushed against hers.

“I’ll see you later? The Spot?” she whispered, and Deena gave her a small nod before they walked past each other.

Deena’s heart could’ve exploded but she contained herself before turning left to the cubicles. There were two other band girls, Krystal and Lili, at the sinks chatting about some test they had earlier that day and Deena gave them a nod before walking to the end of the room where Kate, her best friend, was checking her hair. Kate grinned when she spotted Deena and gave her a hug. With black hair in a neat ponytail, a spotless record and dark eyes that could pick up the smallest detail, Kate was a good friend to have.

"How was AP English?" Deena asked and Kate rolled her eyes.

"Insufferable as always. Gary was a prick and decided to argue with me on every point I made while discussing Macbeth. I get that he doesn't like me, but fuck can he just give it a rest?” she groaned as she rolled her shoulders back.

“You do realise that he probably likes you, right? C’mon Kate, that’s the oldest trick in the book. He’s probably being an asshole to get your attention.”

“It’s stupid and if he thinks that it’s some form of flirting, then he’s dead wrong,” Kate huffed before looking at Deena’s gym bag.

“You getting ready for band?”

Deena heard Krystal and Lili take turns at the hand dryer before walking down the corridor, their retreating steps and voices echoing.

“Yep. And you have cheer practice,” Deena sighed, and Kate looked around, as if to check that no one was listening to them, before giving her a smirk and lowering her voice.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hog your girlfriend for too long. Besides, I’m there to yell and be on top of the pyramid.”

They both knew that was a lie. Despite Kate’s dismissive attitude towards cheerleading and all her other societies, she took it all seriously so that she could ‘Get the hell out of Shittyside’. She planned choreographies, sold extra drugs to raise money for cheer uniform upgrades and more. Deena felt that Kate did too much for a town that seemed against them with their nickname ‘Murder Capital USA’, but she knew that between the two of them, Kate deserved to get out.

“Oh please. We both know you do more than that,” Deena scoffed, and Kate shrugged her shoulders.

“We meeting after? Same spot? Sam gonna be there?” she asked, and Deena nodded.

“Simon too. He said he got us discounted food!” Kate said excitedly.

“I hope you know that means that the food is about to expire,” Deena said, deadpanned.

“Whatever! Food is food and I’m not going to turn down chicken wings and all the candy bars I can eat.”

“I gotta get changed and you should get going. Don’t want to be late for practice,” Deena said with a smile and Kate flipped her off before leaving her to get changed in one of the cubicles.

Deena listened Kates’s footsteps retreat, and she undressed and changed into her band uniform. She wasn’t self-conscious of her body and didn’t mind changing in front of other people, but the girl’s locker room didn’t leave much to look at. The last thing she wanted was for a girl to point at her for staring and then the whole school would think she’s gay (which she was but that’s wasn’t the point).

Kate had managed to spin a rumour that Deena had a scar on her lower abdomen that she had gotten in an accident and was still ‘healing from the trauma’. While her eyes wouldn’t wander around the change room now that she only had eyes for Sam, it was easier to keep the rumour going and have privacy.

That was another reason Deena loved Kate. Kate could lie flawlessly, and because she was a good student, no one would think twice.

Deena opened the cubicle and adjusted her hat before heading out the locker room and to practice.

~~~

She sighed in relief as she took off her hat and threw it into her bag and changing out of her clothes and changing into a fresh set of clothing.

Most of the band kids had left soon after practice, uniform and all but Deena was headed straight to The Spot as soon she could, so avoiding a trip back home would be beneficial.

Kate and Sam had ended practice earlier and both had gone home to shower and freshen up. Deena didn’t blame them. The showers in the locker room were gross and she was sure she saw mold on the ceiling.

She shuddered before throwing on a t-shirt and jeans and heading out of the locker rooms. She waved bye to Krystal and Lili, who somehow always ended being the last ones getting changed and left the locker room.

Deena thought about the homework she had to do as she walked past the pep rally posters and the banner reading, ‘Let’s Bring It Home, Witches!’. Deena was aware that the biannual football game against Sunnyvale and Shadyside was next Friday and despite Shadyside High having a good football team, Sunnyvale almost always beat them.

It was like a joke. Every single game, a Shadyside football player got injured or a Sunnyvaler would score miraculously, and Deena didn’t mean any offence, but what was the banner supposed to mean?

What where they bringing home?

The last shreds of their dignity?

It was so embarrassing but with Sunnyvale being the only city close enough to them, Shadyside didn’t have a choice.

Deena took a deep breath in before exhaling her feelings of the rivalry between Shadyside and Sunnyvale. This last week had been exhausting but she was happy it was over, and she could spend her weekend unwinding. She didn’t need to think about Shadyside and Sunnyvale.

All she wanted to think about was her, Sam, Kate and Simon hanging out on a late Friday afternoon.

She walked out of the school and a breeze lifted a few of her curls and inwardly thanked that she had packed blankets for them. She thought about the homework she’d have to do on Sunday and the three-page assignment for English, before shaking her head and taking out her Walkman from her backpack and drowning out her thoughts.

~~~

Simon was waiting for her, at least 6 shopping bags with him on the ground and he grinned mischievously as she gestured to all the bags.

"Look if we're starting this weekend off with a bang, we're doing it right. I got mini pies, meatballs, weird little vegetable sticks, donuts with that thick icing Kate loves so much, fries with enough oil to clog up our arteries-"

"Did not need that image Simon," Deena interrupted with a shudder.

"-sugar cookies, three different types of Oreos, cupcakes and... a little magic juice," Simon said, wiggling his eyebrows as he opened one of the bags that had a brown paper bag it cheap white wine.

Deena winced at the beverage and Simon straightened up and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, you don't have to have. I got it because I thought we could all loosen up a little. It’s not heavy shit either but no worries if you don't want, Dee."

His tone was sincere, and she gave him a small smile. Only Kate, Sam and Simon knew about her dad’s drinking problem, and they had been over to her house enough times to see some of the empty beer cans in the bin. While Deena knew that it was her dad’s fault for drinking too much and being passed out on the couch, she couldn’t help but wonder if alcoholism ran in her family.

That last thing she wanted was to be like him.

"Thanks Simon. Now let's carry this to the spot,” she said, and he smiled dopily at her.

They grabbed three bags each and they began to walk away from the supermarket.

"I'm surprised you got off so early. Don't you usually close the store on Fridays after school?"

"Yeah, but my manager loves me so much that when I asked him and flashed my beautiful doe eyes, he told Kristen to do it instead. She looked furious," he giggled, and Deena snorted.

Simon frequently complained about Kristen Jenkins, his other co-worker, who was a nightmare. She did all her work but was always trying to one up him to get employee of the month. While Simon didn't care for the title, he liked seeing his picture on the wall and knew it would only piss if Kristen more of he was overly sweet to her.

"You know she might kill you some day," Deena laughed.

"Not if I get to her first," he said suggestively, and Deena hit him playfully.

"Pervert," she said, and he danced forward, the bags swaying in his hands.

"Nah, just a law-abiding citizen your honour!" he yelled.

They discussed their homework and their other plans for the weekend (Simon was working as usual and Deena knew she would be stuck at home with homework and looking after her brother, Josh). They walked past familiar streets and soon the gravel under their shoes became a steep rocky path as they exited their town. Deena hated this part of the walk, but their destination would be worth it. They took a left into the forest and continued their walk in a comfortable silence.

The path got steeper, and Deena gritted her teeth as she made her last step up, revealing a little patch of grass with the best view of Shadyside. She could see the grocery store, her school and even the Sheriff’s office in the distance.

It was a hidden gem that she had found one night after her dad got home drunk and in a fit of rage, left the house with no idea where to go.

She didn't want to go to any of her friend's houses and at that point, Sam wasn’t her girlfriend yet and she didn’t want to scare her away (even though Sam reassured her a few months later after Deena had confessed that her dad was hardly around). Instead, she ran. Ran to the point where her lungs were burning for air and her shirt stuck to her back with sweat. It was so dark, and she realised she had no idea where she was going. She took lefts and rights before realizing she was in the forest outside of town but eventually saw a light source and kept following it until she got to the small patch of grass that overlooked Shadyside. Deena had stayed there till sunrise, watching the world go from dark to bright and a feeling of calm passed over her as she soaked in the first rays of the day. She had made her way home to find her dad passed out on the couch and Josh still asleep, both unaware that she had been gone for nearly four hours.

She had collapsed onto her bed and slept, her anger seeping away from her bones, but the memory of the sunrise embedded in her memories. She had shown Kate and Simon that spot a week later, and it became a regular hang out for the three of them until Deena started dating Sam a few months later.

Sam had been hesitant at first to go to ‘The Spot’ as Simon had called it but then again, Sam was hesitant with almost everything concerning her budding relationship with Deena.

Deena was hoping that Sam would loosen up over time, but she knew how her mom was…strict, had high expectations and a tight grip on who was in Sam’s social life. Deena hadn’t messed up yet but knowing that Sam could disappear from her life purely because of Sam’s mother was another kind of fear. Deena had met Sam’s mom, who seemed nice enough but hearing about a fight between Sam’s mom and dad, it sounded like her mom was slightly more vicious.

“Deena? You good?” Simon asked and she blinked as she snapped out of her daydream.

“Yeah…sorry. Oh…you set up everything,” she said, raising an eyebrow at the beautiful scene in front of her.

“When you leave a retail employee alone with food that needs to be organized, you can’t expect him to not do anything. I assumed that the two fluffy blankets were for cuddles later and the other was for this picnic, so I took it out. That okay?”

Deena nodded and made herself comfortable and grabbed a mini pizza.

“Perfect Simon. So…how expired are these?” she asked, taking a sniff and Simon stared at her.

“Do you not trust me, Deena?” he gasped dramatically and before she could answer, a familiar voice from behind them yelled.

“If she did, I would be worried!”

Deena grinned as she put down the pizza and stood up to see Kate and Sam walking together. Kate was holding two bottles of apple juice and Sam had a box of cookies in her hand. Sam’s hair was damp from her shower earlier and Kate’s cheeks were a rosy red. They were both in comfy clothes and Deena hugged Kate first before hugging Sam.

“Glad you could make it, Sam,” Deena whispered, and she felt Sam hold her a little tighter.

“Me too. Snuck out the house and everything,” she giggled into her ear, and Deena’s jaw dropped.

“Wait what? Seriously? Damn Samantha sneaking out-?” Deena teased, and Sam grinned.

“Won’t your parents notice you’re gone?” Simon asked as he popped a grape into his mouth before frowning and inspecting the container. “Okay…the grapes might not be good.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and she swiped a grape before her face scrunched in disgust, “Ew no. Oh that’s disgusting. Take it away.”

Simon laughed before taking the grapes and throwing them away into one of the empty carrier bags.

“Uh…not tonight. They both have work and stuff,” Sam said, and Deena detected the hesitance in her voice. She pushed down the urge to ask what the real answer was and sighed in relief when Kate let out a squeal from behind her.

“You are fucking brilliant Simon Kalivoda!” Kate said as she held up a donut with white icing on the top.

Simon gave Deena a triumphant look as Kate bit into the donut and signed in happiness while Deena took Sam’s hand and lead her to the food. The sat down and soon, conversation filled the air in between bites of food.

“Shadyside versus Sunnyvale next week. Yay,” Kate grumbled in between bites of her donut, and Simon looked at her with sympathy.

“At least their cheerleading routines aren’t as good,” he said and at those words, Kate visibly perked up and Deena hid her laugh.

“Damn right,” Kate said, before grabbing a meatball and popping the whole thing into her mouth.

“Okay so here’s what I’m thinking…we graffiti Sunnyvale’s bus!” Simon smiled evilly and Kate smacked him on his head.

“We’re trying to avoid conflict Simon. Not give them a reason to retaliate plus knowing them, they’ll get lawyers involved and all that crap.”

“But they win almost every time!” Simon moaned in frustration, “What’s the point of even having the matches if we already know the outcome?”

Deena heard Sam giggle next to her and she smiled as their conversation continued.

“Does no one think it’s a little weird that their team’s name is the ‘Sunnyvale Devils’?” Sam asked and Deena turned to look at her in surprise.

“Care to elaborate?” Kate asked and Sam sat up a little straighter.

“Well Sunnyvale has all these good things happen to them and it only seems that Shadyside suffers right? Economically and all that.”

As Sam spoke, she opened up the plastic container of cookies and she offered to everyone. Simon bit into one and Deena swore his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a moan of pleasure.

"Stop being so sexual, weirdo!" Kate said and Simon ignored her as he turned to face Kate.

"These are incredible. Did you make them?" he asked and Sam smiled brightly before nodding. "You must give me the recipe, holy shit. It's like there's cocaine in here!"

Everyone laughed before Sam continued.

"It's just strange that between two towns not too far apart from each other, one is thriving economically and the other is suffering."

“Except we have the murders! What's that nickname...'Murder Capital USA'? Yeah that!” Simon chipped in and Kate rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, but that hasn’t happened recently,” Kate argued.

“Not yet!” Simon said lowering his voice eerily and Kate turned back to look at Sam.

“Ignore him. You were saying?”

“Well, it’s strange that they’re the Sunnyvale Devils. Why would they name their team after the devil since they clearly have a blessing from God to thrive,” Sam said snarkily, and Deena grinned, happy that her girlfriend, who usually said things to please everyone else, was allowing herself to loosen up a little.

“I don’t know but they suck and maybe they deserve to have a mascot who is the literal devil,” Kate said proudly.

“A toast to Shadyside!” Simon yelled and Deena gave him a look of confusion.

“How about a toast to friends?” Kate suggested before looking over to Simon. “Y’know, since we have a ninety-nine percent change of losing next week’s game?”

“There’s still the one percent,” Sam said softly, and Deena squeezed her hand.

She loved how optimistic Sam was, even in the shittiest situations. Deena felt like sometimes, Sam was too bright and sunny for her, and that Sam deserved a person just as bright and sunny as her, but Sam eased her worries instantly with a kiss and words of comfort.

Simon took out the cheap wine and raised an eyebrow at Deena, who shook her head.

“You not drinking?” Sam asked and Deena gave her a small nod.

“Okay, so it’s just me, Kate and…Sam, you in?” Simon asked as he lifted an empty cup and Sam smiled at him.

“No thanks. My mom can smell any sort of alcohol a mile away, even if it’s the cheap stuff.”

“Suit yourself!” Simon said with a shrug, and he held up a bottle of apple juice that Kate had bought. “Would you prefer this?” he asked, and the couple nodded.

The sky was a haze of orange and gold clouds as the sunset and while Deena had witnessed the sunset at The Spot for the last couple months, she never got sick of it. The sun lit up the town and for once, Shadyside’s beauty seemed to nearly be on par with Sunnyvale. Sure, they didn’t have three story mansions or newly painted tennis courts and country clubs, but the weirdly homey feeling of the town was what Deena appreciated. The sunset made her feel like Shadyside wasn’t all bad and that things could get better for her and her family. The feeling that she could come out with Sam as her girlfriend and her dad would stop drinking so much. It made her fantasize of travelling and experiencing life with Sam at her side but knowing that Shadyside was her home.

It gave her five minutes of hope that she needed.

“Cheers to friends!” Kate announced, holding her cup high and they all cheered before downing their drinks.

Simon decided to pretend being drunk as he stumbled around the grass and made dirty jokes while Kate pulled his arm to go explore a part of the forest. Deena knew this was Kate’s way of giving her and Sam some alone time and she inwardly thanked her friend before turning to face Sam, who was glowing from the golden rays of sun on her skin.

“Wow…” Deena whispered, and Sam looked up, a frosted cookie in her mouth.

“Hmm? Did I miss something?” she asked, as she chewed and swallowed.

“No…it’s nothing,” Deena said, before leaning back on her hands. “So…you want to tell me what’s going on with your parents?”

“Ugh, nothing gets past you!” Sam groaned before closing her eyes and turning to face Deena, nibbling on the cookie as she started to speak.

“I think they might be getting a divorce. The fights have gotten worse, and they argue almost every day. It’s like a relief when I wake up to them not fighting. I think they went to see attorneys this evening after work which is why I could sneak out. I…I don’t want to be home waiting for them to tell me that type of news right now.”

Deena winced as Sam's voice broke and Sam buried her head into her hands, silent tears dripping down her cheeks.

“I don’t know what to do, Deena. I saw this coming, but I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if they go through with the divorce. My mom mentioned something about Sunnyvale to my aunt on the phone a few days ago and…and what if I move and if I don't move and stay with my dad...I don't know...what if I have to choose between my parents-?”

Sam broke off and began sobbing and Deena took her into her arms smoothing down her hair. Sam relaxed into Deena's arms and after a few minutes Deena spoke up.

“I’m so sorry, Sam. You still got me, and Simon and Kate and…I’ll do everything I can to help you through this. I promise.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes, every word. I know it's going to be hard but you will always have me.”

Sam sniffed before lifting her head and wiping away her tears.

“Thank you, Deena. That means everything to me,” Sam said before cupping the side of Deena’s face and closing the gap between them.

Deena could feel the butterflies in her stomach and taste the strawberry icing from the biscuit Sam had eaten. She could feel Sam’s growing smile against her lips, and she melted into Sam’s arms.

How had she gotten so lucky?

Deena wasn’t sure how long they kissed but after they came up for air, there was a wolf whistle from behind them and Sam nearly screamed before realizing it was Simon, grinning manically with Kate by his side, a similar grin on her face, holding a polaroid camera.

“God, you scared the daylights out of us!” Deena yelled and Sam chuckled before clearing her voice.

“You guys find anything cool?” she asked, and Kate shook her head.

“Nah. Simon saw a skunk and wanted to chase after it, but I dragged him away before things could get…gross. But…we did get these!”

Kate bounded up to them before presenting them with two polaroid pictures and Deena let out a gasp. It was of the two of them, the Shadyside sunset in the backdrop while their silhouettes were nose to nose. Deena knew that the photo was discreet enough for them to not be recognizable, with her hoodie hiding her hair, but Deena knew that made it even more special to Sam, who couldn't afford her mom finding out that it was two girls close enough to kiss.

Sam was frozen in shock as she stared at her picture before jumping up and hugging Kate and repeating ‘thank you’ repeatedly while Kate just laughed.

Simon sat back down and grabbed a handful of cheesy puffs before smiling at Deena.

“You still think Shadyside is going to lose next week?” she asked, and he hummed before winking at her.

“Who knows? I’m feeling kinda lucky this evening,” he said as she smiled as Sam sat down and wrapped her arms around her, so that her back was against Sam’s chest.

Kate sat down next to Simon, who pouted and glanced in her direction, before rolling her eyes and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“There. That’s all the love I’m feeling tonight,” she said nonchalantly, and Simon only grinned before tackling her, kissing her cheeks and she squealed.

Deena snorted and Sam gasped in surprise before asking, “They’re not together, right? You told me that they weren’t?”

“No, but Simon is overly affectionate, and Kate tolerates it. He’s kissed my cheek a few times before I told him I was lesbian, and he’s backed off ever since to respect my boundaries. Kate describes it as friendly connections, but Simon is convinced that she’s madly in love with him,” Deena explained, and Kate glared at her from the ground as she pushed Simon’s face away from hers.

“Simon! Get off! And no Deena, I’m not madly in love with him!”

“But I have so much love to give Kate!” he complained, his words slightly slurred from Kate's hand being against his cheek.

“Then date one of the cheerleaders I’ve told you about! Or one the football players!” she yelled.

Simon have her a goofy smile before smiling mischievously.

“Nah, none of them would be able to tolerate me the way you do and don’t act like I haven’t caught you staring during cheer practice. You crush on the cheerleaders and football players too!”

Kate’s face flushed and Simon smirked at her before she ruffled his hair.

“Shut up Si-money. You know we’re platonic soulmates.”

That answer seemed to satisfy Simon as he helped her sit up right and he gave her a shit-eating grin.

“Hell yeah! Platonic soulmates! Now that’s something I can do,” he hummed happily, and she rolled her eyes, but her smile was undeniable.

The four of them watched the sky turn lilac with streaks of pink and orange and slowly but surely, the deep navy started to set in. The wind picked up, and soon the blankets were brought out and wrapped around shoulders. Deena and Sam cuddled together, their body heat more than enough, and Simon tried to cuddle with Kate before she scolded him.

“I already let you kiss me, Simon. Don’t push your luck with any skinship!”

“I just don’t want you to catch a cold! It’s called ‘being considerate’ Kate!” he argued back.

Deena tried to keep her laughter in when she looked over to them a few minutes later, with Kate looking grumpy because she was shivering, and watched as Simon wrapped his jacket around her as well as the blanket around them.

“This changes nothing, Simon,” she grumbled.

“Wasn’t planning on changing a thing,” he said, and that answer seemed to make her rest her back against his chest.

The stars came out and the sound of crickets echoed through the air. Deena wanted this moment to last forever. Everything was perfect.

“You going back home tonight?” Deena whispered into Sam’s ear, and she nodded.

“Yeah. Gotta get back before the parents but thankfully dinner is in the fridge, and I can avoid them for the evening by locking myself in my room.”

“You could always come back to my place.”

“You have a project to do plus even if you didn’t, I can’t. I’m visiting my grandparents tomorrow for breakfast and the parents would definitely notice my absence,” she said apologetically.

“You’re right. I should focus on school,” Deena said sarcastically, and Sam rested her chin on Deena’s head.

“I know you’ll create an amazing project.”

“You always have so much faith in me.”

“Why shouldn’t I? You’re Deena Johnson, my sarcastic, moody, intelligent girlfriend and I know you can do it.”

Deena’s heart swelled at the word.

Girlfriend.

She cuddled closer to Sam and watched the sky turn fully to deep navy, the lights from the town the only reason it wasn’t pitch black.

Deena knew they’d have to leave in a few minutes so that Sam could be home before her parents. Kate had mentioned she was babysitting that seven which automatically meant Simon would be accompanying her. Deena knew that Josh would probably be at home under a sheet and doing whatever dorky shit he did online, which left her alone to do work in her room.

She shook away those thoughts and decided to focus on how she was in Sam’s arms, feeling warm and with Simon and Kate, who made her stomach ache from laughter. She chose to focus on the sweetness from Sam's kiss on her tongue and the last glimpse of pale yellow before it vanished under the navy sky. She chose to look at the stars and close her eyes to make a wish, and even though she had grown out of the habit that wishes couldn’t come true no matter how hard you believed, she took the chance.

She could choose happiness now and that was all that mattered to her.

~~~

Thank you so much for reading!

These events take place before Sam's parents get divorced (and all the shit hits the fan) and she moves to Sunnyvale hence the Shadyside cheerleading uniform and all of them attending the same high school.

Kate and Simon are 100% my favourite characters and I adore how goofy Simon is. I definitely headcanon Kate as bi and Simon as pan (literally everyone in Fear Street is queer you cannot argue with me on this!) and I adore their friendship throughout Part One hence PLATONIC SOULMATES EVERYONE. Simon seemed to love hugging people and throwing his arm around other people's shoulders so I made in overly affectionate with Kate in this fic.

Not going to lie, I would love to write a part two for this where Deena is reflecting on this moment while visiting Simon and Kate's graves but that might make me sad soooooo...let me know if you guys would want to read some angst lol.

I also really love Ruby Lane and I might write a whole fic about her because she was definitely my favourite killer in the trilogy! Also Alice and Cindy because those girls were gay as hell and I really did think they were going to kiss at one point.

Anyway, thanks for reading and if you liked it, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

Stay safe, vanilla107 xoxo

#fear street #fear street netflix #deena johnson #sam fraser #kate schmidt #simon kalivoda #fear street fanfic #sameena #my writing #vanilla107 writes

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always-there · 3 years ago

Text

About consent

OK guys, buckle up, because today's topic is depressing as hell.

Today I'm gonna talk about consent. I usually ponder about this while I cook, in the shower, late at night when I'm applying all my learned hypnosis techniques to force myself to sleep.

I was never taught about consent. All I had going for me was the classic "Rape is bad, avoid rape" chant the world of the 90's society thought was enough. All I saw were girls being advised to not dress like sluts and avoid being provocative in public. I got a good couple of different versions of that, mind you, as I grew up in a conservative Catholic school.

Nobody told us about the universe of potential situations contained within that fucking "Rape is bad, avoid rape". We thought rape happened when a man forced himself on a woman that was actively trying to resist him.

Black and white. No grey areas. Pretty simple.

I was fine with that. I was even judgmental towards victims, once I saw how they were dressed when they were attacked. Or if they were drunk or walking by themselves on areas widely known to be dangerous.

And then I grew up, entered the nasty-ass world of adults, and the Universe took pains to kick my ass in so many ways during 30 years that have finally lead to this post today.

So, I'm a list person. I like making lists. So here goes my one and only...

CONSENT LIST

• Dudes get raped too. Yeah. I know it's basic, but I scoffed at the concept for years. I know many people who still do. Dudes get raped too, get it into your mind. And no, it doesn't happen when they are effeminate weaklings. No. Any man can get raped. And they deserve to be treated as proper victims, with respect and compassion. The few times I've seen testimonies of male rape survivors, they reported even the police was skeptical or treating them like pussies or jokes.

• If your partner is sleeping, it's not consent. No, I don't give a fuck if you guys have been together for 20 years. No, I don't give a fuck if they wake up in the middle of it and decide to continue. I don't even give a fuck if they say they like it. If you touch, penetrate, make whatever sexual advance on a sleeping person, you are raping them. Any unconscious person is unable to give consent.

• If you're in the middle of it, having a good time, and suddenly your partner wants to stop... guess what, it's time to stop. You don't stop? You ask them to hang in there for just a while more until you're done? You power through it? Yeah, no. That's not consent, buddy.

• If you're ABOUT to do it, and the foreplay was great, and they were so into it, but when the time comes to actually go all the way, they change their mind... time to go home. Or put on a movie, or do whatever the fuck you want that is not forcing or trying to persuade your partner to go on.

• Subtle denial is a big-ass NO as well. They have a headache? Leave it. They are tired? Leave it. They have to wake up early the next day? Leave it. They fear a phantom clown is gonna haunt the bed if they indulge in intercourse that night? Leave-it. Don't persuade your partner to have sex if they don't feel like it. You know why? Because they DON'T want to have sex. Persuading or wearing someone down to say yes is not consent. It's pressure. Which takes us to the next bullet...

• If you insist that YES always means YES just like NO always means NO, I will smack you in the head with a frozen lamb leg. YES can be induced. Can be pressured. You can actually intimidate, scare, threaten and bully a person into saying yes. Maybe they are not ready. Maybe they are not sure about the relationship. Maybe they are not feeling well. Maybe they are fucking scared of you. It doesn't matter. If you have to lobby for it, leave it. You're being a creep.

• Drunk people. Good God. I can't believe this has to be an item. Leave drunk people alone! And I don't even mean passed-out drunk, I mean intoxicated but still dancing people, still talking people, I even mean, yes, dizzy or tipsy people. A person under the influence is not able to consent. Why do you think we drink, why do we call it a social lubricant, and other funny jabs? Because alcohol fights the restraint and common sense we'd had otherwise. It's a fun way to loosen up and get relaxed, but if someone has been drinking, don't hunt them for sex. I can't believe the number of movies and series that broadcast dudes trying to hit on drunk women. It still happens today, and not in a Law and Order episode, in your common everyday rom-com. This applies to every person under the influence of whatever substance they took that clouds their judgment.

And no, I won't hear it. They didn't put themselves in a position of danger. You are the danger, a threat that should not exist in the first place.

• So far so good, right? Well, tell me what you think about this. Let's say your partner doesn't want to have kids. And you do want them, for whatever reason. So, what do you do?

You mess with their birth control. Or you lie about you taking birth control. Or you lie about using a condom, or about the physical integrity and expiration date of said condom. Bam, presto manifesto, a bun in the oven.

That is fucking rape. And if you still need to ask why, because for whatever reason that was not creepy enough for you, I'll spell it out. It's rape, because the other person did not consent to that.

And now, if you still don't feel the need to go and take a shower until December, I have yet another list.

Are you in doubt? Are you not sure you are a rapist or not? Worry not! Below you'll find a funny little questionnaire ready for you to clear your mind and heart:

CAN I RAPE SOMEONE IF...

• ...they are dressing provocatively?

Answer: They could be walking down the busiest street of the city during rush hour completely naked and with a big, red silk bow on their ass, and still, nothing in the fucking world gives you the right to touch them. You are not entitled to another person's body because of what they choose to wear.

• ...we are dating?

Answer: Not if you are dating, not if you are married, not if the zombie apocalypse finally wiped out humanity and God himself descends from Heaven to pronounce you Adam & Eve 2.0 and gives you the task to repopulate the world. Dating only means you two are seeing each other on a regular basis for fun or to explore the possibility of a future together. It doesn't mean that your partner's body becomes your property, ergo, you have no rights whatsoever over it.

• ...they are seducing me?

Answer: Half of the time, nobody was seducing you, genius. If I have to hear another anecdote of how a bartender or barista o waitperson were throwing themselves on someone, I will barf in my own mouth. Servers are required to be nice, it's on their job description. But anyway, let's say for the sake of argument that yeah, they are indeed seducing you: no. Showing interest in someone is not an invitation to fuck, nor a provocation to fuck, so let things go their way and don't be a creepy jackass.

• ...I have done nice things for them?

This one I actually heard from a former, and I can't emphasize the former enough, friend. Their case was something along the lines of, I took her to dinner and a movie, later coffee and dessert, and one other lame activity I can't remember (probably drinks), paid for everything, took her home on my car... and then she refused to let me go upstairs!

Dude. Duuuuuude. And dudettes too, of course. No. If you want to get your money's worth, go to a proper sex worker, who will charge you accordingly for their services. Don't expect the other person to feel obligated to pay you with their body just because you fed them and threw a movie ticket in the package!

I had one friend go on a date with a guy. The date didn't work out, so they went their separate ways... until the guy showed up on her doorstep asking her to reimburse him for coffee and a donut. I shit you not. She was so dumbfounded she actually paid him back so he would leave, and I'm glad she did, because that, my friend, is rapist material on the making.

• ...they are a sex worker?

Answer: No, you creepy freak, absolutely not. Every single point I mentioned above applies to every human being on the planet and active or inactive Space stations. You cannot force yourself on anyone, you cannot violate consent ever. It doesn't matter if you're fooling around with the biblical whores of Babylon or the entire cast of Full Monty after a round of the blue pill. Consent protects everyone, no matter what they do for a living.

I'm so happy that all these points are not gonna be news for most of you. Awareness is spreading and the new generations are taught about consent since they are little kids. My generation, and most of all my generation in my country, dominated by a traditional patriarchal society, heard nothing of it. "Rape is bad, avoid rape" was taught mostly as a warning tale for girls. It was the girls' responsibility to prevent rape. Don't walk alone at night. Don't use slutty clothes. Don't be provocative towards men. Don't drink too much. Don't stare too much. Don't go to non-respectable places. Don't put yourself in danger.

I think things would significantly change if the song was played differently. Don't teach girls how to prevent rape. Don't teach boys that rape is bad and that "real men" don't need it.

Teach everyone about consent. Rape is only one of the grim consequences of violating consent. There are thousands of different traumatizing situations that could be avoided if we only respected consent all the time, if we were taught about healthy boundaries and personal integrity since kids.

But hey, we're getting there. I hope. I wish.

• Disclaimer: actually, I think disclaimers like this should not be needed, but still. In case you feel the urge of accusing me of speaking from theory... nope. I speak from experience. Personal experience. Experience I wish I didn't have, and that I had a very hard time harvesting to learn and become stronger. So yeah. Shut the fuck up, go out there and respect the shit out of people.

#consent #coercion #harrassment #r*ape #r*pe mention #victim blaming #it's 6 am here why I am writing about this at this ungodly hour

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adie-dee · 4 years ago

Text

Midsumma Festival

As I stumbled down the hallway to my apartment I tried to pull my keys from my pocket, catching a swear on my lips as they tumbled from my hand to the ground almost right outside my door. Tonight had been a bigger night than I’d anticipated - the afterparties for the Midsumma Pride March were always massive, but the one at the Espy had gone off, and had their liquor licence not expired I probably would have still been there.

But I was home now and I needed to get inside without waking Blake or the shouty neighbours, which I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manage. Prior to my phone dying I’d seen the time was twoish, and while I had no idea what the time was now, I was pretty sure they would all still be in bed.

Holding onto the wall of the spinning hallway I slowly leaned down to pick up my keys, stumbling once again as I straightened up. At least I hadn’t lost them completely this time - Blake’s concerns over security meant my spare was no longer hidden in the hallway, and I really didn’t want to wake him if I didn’t have to.

The key slipped from the lock as I tried to insert it, scratching the paint on the door to reveal another layer of dark brown paint underneath. Which I knew my landlord wouldn’t be happy with, but if he wasn’t going to fix the mould problem then I saw no reason to care about the door.

I bit back a squeal of delight when the door swung open. The lights were still off in the living area which meant Blake was still asleep, and if I treaded carefully then I’d be able to get in bed without waking him.

Delight turned to dismay when I flicked on the lights. Blake was awake and on the couch, watching me through bleary eyes, though the dismay I was feeling vanished when I saw he was wearing nothing more than the donut-print pink trunks I’d bought him for Christmas. It was a really good look on him, almost as good as my sequin playsuit was on me.

“Did I wake you?” I asked. I was sure I’d been quiet, even with the key mishap, but apparently not.

“Nah,” he replied. “Was just about to get ready for a run when I heard you attack the door. You have a good night?”

“A run? Already?” I unclipped the blue, purple and pink extensions from my hair. “But it’s it like three am or something?”

“Gonna take it you had a great night, then,” he said with a smirk. “It’s almost six. Surprised you didn’t see the sun coming up on your way home. But then, you were probably blinded by your outfit.”

I glanced down, confused at what he was saying. My neon yellow stiletto boots were bright, but they weren’t in my field of vision, and my playsuit was made up entirely of dark purple sequins, so it wasn’t distracting either. As for my fluffy white jacket…

The realisation of what he was saying suddenly hit me. “Isn’t it amazing?” I stated, posing to better show off the flashing LED lights built into it. “I found it in Vinnies. Can you believe someone just gave this away?”

As I stripped it off, his face twisted in a way that suggested he could.

“I got you something better,” he told me, throwing a parcel in my direction, only for me to fumble the catch. I cringed, hoping the contents weren’t breakable.

Thankfully, upon picking it back up I discovered it was squishy, and given his comment I figured it was probably clothing.

“Spotted a market after I dropped you at Faith’s,” he told me as I tore the package open. “Was branded as being part of Midsumma and--”

“You bought me a present for Pride?”

“Um. Yes.”

I nodded with approval. Presents for Pride was a great idea, and I was totally going to have to get something for Faith too.

“Anyway,” he continued on like I hadn’t just interrupted him, “I found that.”

I let out a little gasp at the sight of the t-shirt in the package. It was grey marle and decorated with a cartoon dragon with bisexual-flag coloured wings, making it identical to the one I used to own.

“You said you liked that tee,” he stated, “and I haven’t seen you wear it since--” he cut himself off, suddenly looking concerned while he traced the edges of the brand on his arm. The brand he’d gotten the last time I wore the old shirt. “It’s just occurred to me that maybe you stopped wearing it because of that day.”

“I couldn’t get the blood out,” I replied, my voice sounding distant even to me. That attack was the first time I ever felt pain, and I never wanted to experience that again. “Tried my hardest because I loved that top, but the stains wouldn’t budge. That’s why I stopped wearing it.” I hugged the t-shirt to my chest. “Was my favourite, too. And now I have a new one!”

Relief washed over his face. “There’s another one in there too. A different one.”

I put the dragon tee to the side and pulled out the other, a pastel purple racer back singlet.

“The guy was doing custom prints,” Blake explained. “So I had him do that.”

The front of the singlet had the bisexual flag printed on it, and on top of the flag was the bicep emoji. I looked from it to him, confused as to what it meant.

His face fell. “You don’t get it, do you.” When I shook my head he continued. “It’s a biceptual flag. Because you’re bi and you…” the concerned look reappeared again, “like… biceps,” he finished lamely.

I clapped my hand over my mouth again and stared at him, wide eyed.

“It’s bad, isn’t it,” he grumbled. “Knew I shouldn’t have done it.”

A snort escaped my nose and I dropped my hand from my face. “This is hilarious,” I told him, trying to hold back a laughing fit. “And true! I love it!”

The shouty neighbours started banging on our shared wall so I buried my face in the top, hoping it would muffle my laughter. I didn’t need them spoiling this unexpectedly perfect morning.

“So you really like it?” Blake asked.

I nodded, not trusting myself to stay quiet.

“Good.” He stood and came over to me then stared at my feet, suddenly confused. “Just how tall are those heels?”

I grinned down at him. “Eight inches. Don’t like being short?”

“It’s—” he glanced down again then back up at me, his eyes burning with a look I knew so well. “Fucking hot, actually.”

Gods, could this night get any better? “Then how about you skip your run and get your cardio another way?” I suggested with a wink.

“On one condition,” he told me, his hands already at the zip of my playsuit. “You keep the shoes on.”

My grin grew bigger. Tonight was definitely going to get better.

#my writing #Lily drabble

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austennerdita2533 · 4 years ago

Note

A ship edition of make you choose, my friend! Klaroline or Bangel? Lorelai/Luke or Rory/Jess? Anne/Wentworth or Emma/Knightley? Mondler or Benslie? Rachel/Ross or Rachel/Joey? April/Jackson or Lexie/Mark? And I always love your analysis, so please feel free to explain the reasons behind your choices if you want to! XO

I am always so excited to receive these even though answering/picking means ripping my soul into shipper Horcruxes haha. Love your new icon, btw! xx

Klaroline or Bangel?

Although Buffy and Angel are arguably my favorite forbidden love couple on TV - their longing for each other is an eternal, visceral, soul-encompassing thing - I have to go with Klaus and Caroline on this one. They’re the ship that brought me to Tumblr. They’ve yanked more fic out of me than I can believe. They’re the reason why I have so many amazing friends and mutuals. More importantly that all that, I am trash for them and always will be.

THIS CANNOT BE HELPED.

Klaroline have such tangled history, such rich possibility for the future. I get lost in the labyrinth of goodness and darkness unspooling between them. The qualities that clash. The emotion that sparks. The resistance that builds and builds, binding uncomfortably before it snaps. The enigmatic ‘something’ that scrapes between them like teeth until it comes away infected, bloodied, marred in chunks that are beyond reconciling with any chronology. They have the kind of connection that digs under the skin with claws. It’s neither painless nor pretty, not always happy nor healthy, but it pervades. It permeates until possession becomes nine-tenths of the law in their conquered hearts. Inevitability coils like like a living thing between them--and breathes.

I love the malleability of time that surrounds them, too. Part of that comes from their status as vampires, as supernaturals, but it also has something to do with how they punch through it as well - individually, together - both of them finding new ways to love eternity as it continues to stretch before them, bending it to their will whenever necessary.

I don’t know, it’s fun to imagine the enigma they pose to the world. To each other. What will a new year bring? A decade? How about a century?

Despite their lack of heartbeats, there’s change on the cusp of every word they utter to one another, on the fringe of every kiss they almost share but swallow before they reveal too much, not enough, everything all at once. It’s a dizzying, dangerous, and intoxicating “thing” they share, you know?

I suppose...well, I suppose I just like how there’s nothing easy about who they are or want they want.

Lorelai/Luke or Rory/Jess?

This one was difficult because JavaJunkies and Literati are top tier ships for me. *cries* I went with Luke and Lorelai mostly because I’ve been a shipper since I first saw them in the pilot episode back in the early 2000′s, and--I haven’t looked back since. They had me rushing home from school to watch re-runs, hightailing it from after-hours sports so I could catch new episodes on the WB. I haunted message boards. I scoured the Internet for spoilers. I tumbled into fanfiction before fanfiction was even a thing. I watched the seasons over and over again until I nearly memorized every moment they had, every bit of dialogue they spewed; until I analyzed subtext until I made my own head spin.

What I love so much about them is that they’re friends first and foremost. They genuinely like, trust, and respect each other as people beyond all else. They’re opposites, of course, but in a complementary way that just works. They also come to know they can depend on one another in good times or bad, and it’s that ‘unconditional’ element in their dynamic which draws me in hook, line, and sinker because it’s the kind of quality that preserves the longevity of a relationship. To be honest, over the OG series, we do see Luke and Lorelai veer farther away from each other romantically more than we’d like: *side eyes s6-early s7 specifically*; yet, at the same time, there’s a Permanence about them that never fails. Never fades. They’re simply THERE in whatever capacity the other wants or needs. No matter what, no matter when, no matter the emotional crap that’s already pooled between them.

Call me crazy, but I think steadiness and devotion of that caliber is beautiful.

Luke and Lorelai evolve together in such a way that it’s impossible for me to imagine them with anyone else in the end. They belong together like coffee and donuts.

Anne/Wentworth or Emma/Knightley?

Ask me this same question tomorrow and I’ll probably give you the opposite answer. However, today...today I am all about the angst and pining!

Eight-and-a-half years worth of regrets and broken hearts that never mended, looks that scorch because they were held a moment too long in front of company, secret longings that are whispered into pillows before the candle on the dresser expires and they tuck their weary limbs into bed, dreams that feature that one face impossible to forget--LEAVE ME HERE TO SING “KILLING ME SOFTLY” because that’s what Anne and Wentworth do to me!

Mondler or Benslie?

Look, I will love Monica and Chandler until my dying day but Ben and Leslie are so unbelievably adorkable together that anytime I think about them my heart is instantaneously flooded with warm, sunshiny, politically active, eats-waffles-for-every-meal-and-regrets-nothing fuzzies. I just--*melts onto the floor in a puddle of Pawnee rainbows*

Rachel/Ross or Rachel/Joey?

Ross-hatred is pretty embedded in the Friends fandom these days so I am sure many are or will be tempted to jump down my throat for this choice but...BUT...I do not care! *laughs maniacally* Ross and Rachel always had that boomerang spark, that “we’ll find our way back to each other” ellipsis at the end of every break-up or missed opportunity, that kissing-each-other-in-the-rain passion that could not be weathered despite the number of years or marriages or ‘almosts’ they had with other people, and I cannot get over them. I cannot give them up. I won’t, I won’t.

SHE GOT OFF THE PLANE, OKAY? She. got. off. the. plane. And, controversial though that might be for some (trust me, I get all the arguments against it; against them, really), I can’t help but be gleeful they got their happy ending. I wanted it then, I’m still satisfied with it now. *shrugs unapologetically*

April/Jackson or Lexie/Mark?

This last one cut me deep.

Ouch.

However, with Slexie, at least it’s canon that they were each other’s true albeit last *cries* loves and I can pretend that they reunited somewhere in the afterlife. But Japril...Japril was done so. stinking. dirtyyyy by Grey’s Anatomy. I will never forgive the writers for ending them the way they did. Never!

JACKSON AND APRIL ARE THE EPITOME OF SOULMATES. Their relationship was predicated on the purest, most wholesome kind of love because it blossomed from mutual respect and admiration as well as understanding. They invested the time. They put in the work. They peeled back the layers slowly, carefully, learning the magic of caring by opening their ears first then offering their shoulders when hurt swooped in to snip at pieces the other had left undefended. It was only later, with time, with trust that had turned conversation into a balm of contentment, that arms became a refuge, too. A harbor. A place of comfort and affection where they felt seen. Heard. Known. Loved in a way that wasn’t free from tears - oh, no - but was embracive of them as they fell, cushioning their remnants on thumbs as if they were more precious than pearls.

They loved everything about each other, vices included. They were best friends, lovers, something more intimate that defies definition but wraps itself around the sentiment of “having a favorite person.”

There’s an ethereal quality to what they are--what they mean to each other. You can’t quite touch it, can’t quite capture it, all you know is their atoms continue co-mingling whether or not anyone else notices it’s happening.

There’s no ending to a love like that, only another beginning.

#what-would-jane-austen-say #replies #the loveliest of lovely people #ashlee bree talks ships

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xxx-cat-xxx · 5 years ago

Text

Going Out in Style

This is for @trashofdoom, who requested a Palladium poisoning fic. Thanks for loving the same Tony Whump I do :) This is set directly after the IM2 birthday party, so there are canon-compliant discussions of death.

Thank you to @whumphoarder for beta reading.

_______________________

By the time he reaches a quiet rooftop, the tower gleaming far behind him, Tony’s vision is going double. A headache pulses through his temples like a knife, making his knees go weak and his stomach bubble up to his throat.

Part of him wants to lie down and get it over with right now. Give in to the pain. Fall asleep and never wake up. But he can’t - not yet. He’s still got shit to do, and besides, that wouldn’t really be his style.

“JARVIS, any chance I can find some aspirin around here?”

“There’s a twenty-four-hour pharmacy in the building to your right,” the AI informs him calmly, lighting up a flight path for Tony in the part of the HUD that didn’t get damaged during his fight with Rhodey.

Tony tumbles down more than he flies. It takes a full minute of standing bent over and panting, hands braced on his thighs, before he can muster the strength to get inside. The pharmacy is blissfully empty - no little kids or nosy teenagers asking for autographs - just an old lady at the register who looks over his beaten-up and altogether pathetic state with a crease of worry between her brows when he rasps his order.

“Take care of yourself, Iron Man,” she says when she hands him the aspirin and a bottle of water, her voice so warm and kind that it makes him want to cry.

He responds with a shrug and a flashy smile, then stumbles out of the shop, rounds the corner, and slides down in an alley. It suddenly takes an enormous effort not to throw up the pills he’s just swallowed, and for a while he just concentrates on breathing through the sick feeling in his stomach.

“Where’s Pepper?” Tony asks the AI when the drug finally starts to kick in and he can think through the pain again. The headache is dulling, but the nausea hasn’t decreased. He’s going to be sick sooner or later - if not the booze, then the poisoning will make sure of that. Keeping down food has become a pointless effort during the past couple of days.

“Miss Potts is still en route home, sir. Mr. Hogan is dropping her off at her private flat. They have nearly arrived.”

“Let‘s go.”

Something in Tony feels the need to make sure that she reaches the apartment safely. And something in him just needs to look at her one last time. Say goodbye.

Tony flies high above the rooftops, not wanting to be spotted, and hovers down quietly on a low building opposite of Pepper’s apartment just as the car pulls into the driveway.

The tension on her face is obvious when she thanks Happy and closes the car door. Anger and disappointment are the expressions she shows most often when she looks at Tony, but he knows that there are others. He’s seen how peaceful she looks when she smiles, how beautiful when she dances. He remembers the sparkles of happiness in her eyes the day he returned from Afghanistan.

He’s overcome by the desire to get more of this, to make her smile and dance every single day of her life, and something silly tells him to screw it all and fly over, to let her know what’s happening with him, to ask her to be with him for as long as he has left.

They could be in Venice now, he thinks, just him and Pepper, and for a second, the urge is overwhelming. Just tell her, just be honest, just ask her to spend the last days with you… But no, he’s gone this far - there’s no turning back now. He doesn’t want to make her sad. He doesn’t need people. They’re probably better off without him anyway. And he’s always been better off alone.

But no, that’s wrong, he’s never alone. He’s still got his most loyal friend right there by his side.

“JARVIS, what’s the status?” he asks, his own voice echoing loudly inside the helmet.

“You are running a temperature of 100.8 degrees, your heart rate is elevated, blood toxicity is at -”

“No, the Six Feet Under Protocol.”

There is a beat before the AI’s reply that no one except Tony would have noticed.

“Everything is ready, sir,” JARVIS says, his voice distinctly neutral. “I have transferred command of all of your suits to Colonel Rhodes. As soon as your death is confirmed, your shares of Stark Industries and ownership of your Malibu residence will be transferred to Miss Potts. Your private assets will be equally distributed among Miss Potts, Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Hogan.”

“Thanks, J.”

Tony watches Pepper’s slim figure disappear into her apartment, the red of her hair flashing bright for a second when she switches on the light in the hallway just before the door falls shut.

“Sir, if I may take the liberty, it is not too late to talk to Miss Potts. I am sure she would be-”

“Nope,” Tony cuts him off, “not having that conversation. Pepper‘s gonna have the mansion and a shit ton of money, and that’s the last she‘ll know of me. It’s best that way.” He hesitates. “What would you want, JARVIS? What should I leave you?”

“Sir, as I informed you after your return from Afghanistan, I have developed a self-destruction protocol for the case of your death that only requires your authorisation. It will be activated after the persons on your list of importance have expired and do not require my protection anymore.”

“Following me into the abyss like a loyal spouse, are you?“ He chuckles, then has to swallow against the lump in his throat. “Protocol authorised.”

He watches as his HUD blinks green to confirm the activation. “Gonna miss you, buddy,” he says before he can think better.

“I’m going to miss you too, sir,” JARVIS replies warmly. “As surprising as it is.”

The tightness in Tony’s chest turns into something else and the moment is ruined when the nausea hits full force. He swallows again, but it’s no use, and before he knows it he’s on his hands and knees, barely having time to retract the faceplate before he’s heaving gushes of alcohol onto the rooftop.

Tony retches until all that comes up are strings of bile. The strain of it brings tears to his eyes. He coughs and chokes and definitely doesn’t sob.

It takes effort to pick himself up again, pain and fever and exhaustion having turned his bones into lead. There’s a voice in his head whispering that it’s pointless, that it doesn’t really matter whether it happens here and now or somewhere else later. But he ignores it. Tony Stark’s not gonna bite the dust next to a puddle of his own sick.

So he shakily gets back to his feet, swaying as he does so. He tries for a while to blink away the colourful lights obscuring his vision before he realises that they stem from the distant sunrise.

“Sir, your blood sugar is dangerously low,” JARVIS informs him. “I advise you to eat, otherwise you might lose consciousness soon.”

Tony’s stomach clenches at the thought of food, but he knows JARVIS is right.

“Okay mom,” he banters, launching himself into the air.

When he reaches the river, Tony throttles the speed and opens his helmet. He glides high above the skyscrapers, letting his eyes drift over New York. The city is just waking up, looking almost peaceful in the soft morning light.

Tony puts on his sunglasses and starts AC/DC on the suit’s speakers. Going out in style.

“JARVIS, find me a donut place.”

_______________________

All my fics

Taglist: @toomuchtoread33 @yepokokfine

@badthingshappenbingo: This is my prompt fill for the “Chronic Pain” square.

#tony stark #JARVIS #palladium poisoning #hurt tony #tony whump #whump #fanfiction #hurt tony stark #pepper potts #iron man 2 #emeto #vomiting

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darkangeldesignstudio · 5 years ago

Text

Cherry Pie

summary: You have been working with the Winchesters for a couple of years now. Weird since you were once their target. Who would have ever thought a Kitsune could be friends with Hunters. But you wanted more than friendship, you wanted Dean and you would do anything to get him.

pairing: Dean x female reader

warnings: death, magical powers, and dirty dancing!

word count: 4.3k

A/N: Hello again! This is my second entry for @tilltheendwilliwrite‘s “T Shows Her Age: Songfic Challenge.” My song? Oh just a little number named Cherry Pie by Warrant, one of my favorite songs to dance to in the club. I saw this song on the list and thought, “who better to dance for than a sexy Dean, who just so happens to also be a fan of pie?” lol. First of all, I want to give a big thanks to my Beta @sexykitty96 for all of the encouragement and support. I really appreciate it love! This was the most frustrating fic I have written to date and I have thoroughly enjoyed the challenge it has posed for me. No smut this time, unfortunately, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless. Much love and happy reading!

Cherry Pie

It all started with a phone call.

Two female dancers from a local club, called Mischief, were dead. Both found in inconspicuous places near the club, but upon examination, neither case pointed to foul play. The police wrote both off as natural deaths and closed their case.

Luckily, the local coroner was a friend, and he noticed something that nobody else ever would have. “To the mortal eye, they appear as if they collapsed and expired from a heart attack.”

“Marvelous thing we aren't completely normal, then.” Your little quip caused Dean to chuckle. You smirked over your shoulder at him, flicking a fluffy black tail teasingly at him. Thinking back, it was somewhat funny how much your relationship had changed now that the brothers weren't trying to murder you.

Reminiscing on that fateful day made you smirk, but that was a story for another time. There were urgent matters to handle.

The team split. Sam left to stake out Mischief while Dean, moving as a private investigator, prepared to interview the locals. You, on the other hand, moved straight to the crime scenes.

Both were in alleys near the club, only a few blocks apart. You were met by overflowing dumpsters and the acrid stench of tobacco, vomit, and piss in the first alley. Since it was the older of the two sites, by a few weeks, it came as no surprise you discovered no magical residue. So, you decided it would be best to move on to the most recent scene before you became nose blind.

You got most of the same. The stink of moldy cigarettes and trash violated your senses as you went by a scrap of yellow police tape fluttering in the breeze. You sighed in relief. This alley was cleaner than the last. Only half a block away from Mischief, it appeared to have been thoroughly picked over by police and was only just starting to accumulate trash again. Lucky for you, because you could lock onto the slight notes of magic easily.

The scent was fading, but potent. The delicate smell held bittersweet notes of sexual pheromones. Only a specific creature could produce that smell.

You sent a text to the boys. “Meet me at the Motel. I found something interesting.”

Once you reached your motel room, you filled the guys in on what you’d found: “It has to be an incubus. But I've never known an incubus to execute its victims in this manner, most of them die quietly in their beds from multiple encounters.” Your tails, free of your magical glamor, swished around your frame as you paced the room.

Dean watched you pace, observing your body language as Sam asked questions. “What makes you suspect an incubus? Couldn't it have been just a regular vampire?” Your tails stiffened slightly with Sam's prodding, as if they were taking his doubt as a personal insult even though he knew you would never think that. This was business. You had to cover every base to be positive you were prepared for all probabilities.

Still, Dean didn't want you to think they doubted you. “Don't push so hard, Sam. You know she has a better nose for this sort of thing than we do. If she says it’s an incubus, then it is an incubus.”

You grinned at them. “Don't worry guys. I realize you are only sifting through all the possibilities. But the creature we are hunting is definitely an incubus, the smell in that alley was unmistakable.”

Sam nodded, pulling his notebook to his lap to look for any clue on incubi and how to slay them. Dean smiled sweetly and patted the bed next to him. You needed to rest, and he saw it. “It will take at least a day to get a plan worked out and get everyone into Mischief to stake it out. You should rest [Y/N]. Remaining in your human form drains you too much and we will need you to be in top form for what’s about to happen.”

“Thanks, Dean.” You smiled, touching your hand to his shoulder as you reached him. “I'm gonna grab a shower first. I smell like a dumpster.”

Dean laughed when you wrinkled your nose, making you giggle. He began to put his jacket on and walk towards the door. “I'll go out to grab us some food while you guys do your thing. What's it gonna be?”

You settled your order with Dean. By the time he returned, you had showered and Sam had a complete strategy in place for the next day. Tomorrow would be eventful; you just hoped they wouldn‘t bust up your plan before you could execute it.

The next morning, you set out towards Mischief. You and Sam would apply for jobs at the club while Dean, functioning as a wealthy patron, came in after the club was in full swing. You had to admit, Sam's idea was great, but you had a better plan.

A few hours later, you exited the club triumphant. The hostess practically dragged you to the back room when you said you wanted a job as a dancer. She never even glanced at your fake resume. You had a dance routine and song picked out within the first ten minutes of meeting her. She even provided you information on the two dancers that had died, while still assuring you that there was nothing to worry about. She showed you a costume that Dean was sure to drool over and granted you the stage name, Vixen.

It took every bit of control you had not to laugh at the irony. A kitsune called Vixen. Who could have guessed you’d receive a name so ironically exact? Picking up donuts on your way back to the motel, you informed the brothers of your success and sent Sam on his way to apply. Dean seemed suspicious of your chipper mood. Good thing you bought sweets to distract him.

It wasn't pie, so you wouldn't be safe from his queries for the long run. But if you played your cards right, he would be more than happy to have pie later.

You left for Mischief around five with Sam trailing behind you. It was better if everyone in the club thought you strangers. Less suspicion towards you meant more opportunity to catch the incubus in action tonight.

You entered through the front door and met a tall, gangly man in a monkey suit more fitting of the fifties. He leaned over your frame, raking his eyes over your body. Your hackles went up. This guy was a creep, and he made you suspicious, but his cologne made it impossible to tell if he possessed magic. It was frustrating.

The hostess from the night before sauntered towards you, putting her hand on the man's back to catch his attention. “George, this is our new dancer Vixen. Vixen, George is the owner of Mischief.” She smiled as she looked between the two of you. You shook George's clammy hands before he nodded and walked back towards his office.

You released the breath you didn't know you had been holding, looking up at the hostess. “Sorry, hun. George is a bit strange.”

You shrugged your shoulders, as nonchalantly as possible. “It's okay, ma'am. I've dealt with my fair share of strange in the past.” You both laughed.

“You are the first dancer here, dear. Once the other girls show up, I will call you to the back to introduce you.” She wandered off to the rear of the club.

Turning towards the bar, you locked eyes with Sam. If his expression was any indication, you knew he had overheard. “Shit.” You tried your best to appear innocent as you went towards the bar, hands in your pockets.

As you took a seat, Sam picked up the glasses from behind the bar and wiped them down. He plastered a fake smile onto his face. The perfect semblance of a coworker greeting a new friend. His eyes were another story. “A dancer? Really, [Y/N]? What the hell are you thinking?”

You growled at him. It wasn't the most menacing since you were in human form, but his questioning pissed you off. “It‘s the best course of action, Sam. I am a better use to you as bait than I am as extra eyes.”

He sighed. “Are you going to tell Dean or am I?”

“Neither.” You sighed, preparing to spill everything to Sam. "This is as much for him as for the case. We love each other, but he won't admit it because he doesn't want emotions to impede his duty. This is the best way I could think to show him I can be an asset to the team and care for him.”

“I understand.” He shook his head, smirking at you. “He‘s gonna be pissed when he finds out.”

You smiled deviously. “His anger won't last long when I'm through with him.” Sending Sam a wink, you stood just in time to hear the hostess call you from the back.

“Good hunting, Sam.”

Dean walked into Mischief at ten and made his way towards Sam. His eyes scanned the bar for [Y/N], expecting to see her there or waiting tables. Nerves seized his heart when you were nowhere to be seen. He perched himself on a stool at the far end of the bar, watching the rest of the club through the mirrors on the back wall, still scanning for you.

“She's not there.”

Dean looked up at his little brother and saw the smirk on his lips. “What did she do, Sam?”

“You will just have to wait and see, Dean.” With that, Sam opened a beer in front of his brother and pointed him towards the tables in the center of the room. “Just go with it.” He walked over to the other patrons.

Dean huffed, annoyed at his brother's cryptic answer and your absence. Why didn't you follow the plan? He stalked towards a small table towards the center of the dancer's stage to sit and nurse his beer. If you had changed the plan, you had a good reason for it. But why didn't you tell him?

As you donned your costume in the dressing room, you were giddy with nerves. Sure, you’re on a mission to kill a dangerous creature that could take the bait and attack you. But you’re also on a mission for the man you loved. A cool hand on your shoulder made you shiver.

“Hey Vixen, do you need anything before you go out on stage?” The blonde's voice was sickening sweet and her smile was as fake as her double D breasts and her icy blonde tresses. Diamond was a veteran and your costar for the night. The hostess had introduced her earlier, and you hated her immediately.

“I'm good, Diamond.” You smiled brightly up at her. “I may be new here, but I'm no novice to seducing men.” You almost missed the flicker of hate in her eyes. To her, you appeared young, beautiful, and delicate. An advantage of your magic; it made you irresistible to others. They never knew the threat you posed until it was too late.

The hostess walked into the room, cutting your conversation short. “Ladies, it's the last number of the night. I want you to give your best, go out there and show these men what they are missing.” Looking pointedly at you and Diamond, she smiled. “Vixen, you and Diamond will be the first to walk the floor. Pick a patron and show him a wonderful time. Everyone else will follow. Good luck, girls.”

When the hostess left through the curtains, you glimpsed Dean before a chilling voice whispered in your ear. “Break a leg, Vixen.” Diamond's smile was almost predatory, but you just smiled as the lights dimmed onstage.

You stepped out, this was your moment, and the music kicked on with that all familiar scream.

You smiled as the lights illuminated the girls on stage, one by one. Dean's jaw went slack and you giggled. Where the rest of the men saw the sexy leather bustier and leggings, you know Dean saw more. He saw the true you underneath the magic.

Dirty, rotten, filthy, stinkin....

Dean felt a surge of possessive energy take over. He couldn't take his eyes off of you. You personified beauty and danger and all he thought was, “MINE”.

She's my cherry pie Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise Tastes so good, makes a grown man cry Sweet Cherry Pie

Your beautiful black tails swung with the beat of the music. Your waist length, purple black hair flowed like silk as you rocked your hips and tossed your head to the rocking beat. The song was sinful and sexy and you never took your eyes from Dean's for more than a second.

Well, swingin' on the front porch, swingin' on the lawn Swingin' where we want 'cause there ain't nobody home Swingin' to the left and swingin' to the right If I think about baseball, I'll swing all night, yeah Yeah, yeah

All you ever wanted was for Dean to look at you the way he was right now. Eyes blazing like an inferno. It was exhilarating.

Swingin' in the living room, swingin' in the kitchen Most folks don't 'cause they're too busy bitchin' Swingin' in there 'cause she wanted me to feed her So I mixed up the batter and she licked the beater

You walked from the stage first, heading straight for Dean's chair. Diamond tried to cut you off, but Dean only had eyes for you. He waved her away from his chair. Her face was one of pure rage, but he didn't notice. You did, but you ignored it for now.

I scream, you scream, we all scream for her Don't even try 'cause you can't ignore her

You danced and swayed around his chair, touching him with light, sensual caresses. You wreathed your tails in icy, blue fox fire, running them around his arms, over his hands and under his chin. Leaning over the back of his chair, you tipped his head back and placed a sweet kiss to his lips, smiling when he groaned an impatient sound.

She's my cherry pie Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise Tastes so good, make a grown man cry Sweet cherry pie, oh yeah

Dancing in front of his chair, you enticed him. Dean had been struck dumb by the immense power you were demonstrating under everyone's noses. Where everyone else saw a pretty blonde, he saw a striking kitsune in all of her dangerous glory. It was astonishing, but all thoughts of your power had flown out the window when you kissed him.

She's my cherry pie Put a smile on your face, ten miles wide Looks so good, bring a tear to your eye Sweet cherry pie

He watched your body writhe like a snake in front of him, blue fox fire spread over your beautiful tails as you teased him. When you straddled his lap, his hands moved to grip your hips, but you used your magic to tie his hands to the arms of the chair. Much to his surprise.

Swingin' to the drums, swingin' to guitar Swingin' to the bass in the back of my car Ain't got money, ain't got no gas But we'll get where we're goin' if we swing real fast

Your hands were on his shoulders as you ground your hips into his. A little preview of what you would do to him tonight, you thought. His heated expression made you smile as you rolled your chest into his. Stroking your tails over his arms and legs, you heard him groan as the cool sensation of your fox fire connected with his heated skin.

I scream, you scream, we all scream for her Don't even try 'cause you can't ignore her

You tossed your head back, giving him a full view of your exposed abdomen and tight leather leggings as you did a back bend over his knees, placing your hands on his ankles for balance. You skimmed your fingers over his legs as you rose over him.

She's my cherry pie Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise Tastes so good, make a grown man cry Sweet cherry pie, oh yeah

Grinding your pelvis into his as you stopped mere centimeters from his lips. Smirking, you flicked your tongue over his lips causing him to growl. The sound shot to your core and you gasped as Dean's hands escaped your magical hold.

She's my cherry pie Put a smile on your face, ten miles wide Looks so good, bring a tear to your eye Sweet cherry pie, yeah, pie

Dean's hands grazed your thighs, leaving a trail of heat up to your hips where he gripped you hard. He leaned into you with a devilish grin. “You are gonna pay for that sweetheart.” You gasped when his hands pushed you down hard, rocking your clit roughly over his hard cock. It felt so good, you almost lost the hold on the illusion you had made for the rest of the club. Dean chuckled when he saw your focus wavering. “Don't drop that illusion, babe. You are mine. I don't want to share this sight with anyone else.”

(Swing it!) All night long (Swing it!) Like a trained professional

His words struck a chord in your soul and you smiled. “You ready for the finale, love?” Dean nodded his head slightly. Unsure of what you had planned, but ready for anything as long as you never left his lap.

Swingin the bathroom, swingin' on the floor Swingin' so hard, we forgot to lock the door In walks her daddy standin' 6 foot 4 He said, "You ain't gonna swing with my daughter no more"

You gave him the most sensual lap dance of his life. It was clothed sex. Dirty as all hell and he couldn't have asked for more. His hands roamed your body. Touching every inch of skin he could find. It was heaven and you couldn't wait to get him alone later.

She's my cherry pie Cool drink of water, such a sweet surprise Tastes so good, make a grown man cry Sweet cherry pie, oh yeah She's my cherry pie Put a smile on your face, ten miles wide Looks so good, bring a tear to your eye Sweet cherry pie Sweet cherry pie, yeah, huh

You ended the song with a kiss as Dean's hands stroked through your hair. It was everything you hoped for. Your tongues battled for dominance as he explored your mouth. He was like a man starved and you were more than happy to be the one he was starving for.

Swing it!

When the song ended, you were both jolted back to reality. The applause was loud and boisterous as the rest of the dancers stood. You smiled down at Dean. He smiled back, squeezing your ass when you stood to walk away with the rest of the dancers. You winked over your shoulder at him as you walked away, missing the hateful glare that Diamond shot your way.

In the back room, the hostess congratulated everyone on a job well done. “Vixen, you are one of the most phenomenal dancers I have seen in a long time. I hope you can stay for a while. Having you here will definitely bring in more customers.”

You smiled gratefully at her. Thanking her for giving you the opportunity. You lied, telling her you would love to stay, even though you had no desire to dance for anyone but Dean ever again and would be gone by morning. She was none the wiser.

Once she exited the room, you began to change into your normal clothes to go out onto the floor and speak with Dean and Sam. When you saw Diamond glaring at you, you just smiled and continued gathering your things. She was a small fry, no need to let a jealous bitch impede your case.

You met Dean at the bar and called Sam over. As he poured you both a drink, you told them of your suspicions of the club owner. He was the only male, so far, that had your instincts screaming at you. He was your most practical suspect and he would be the target at the end of the night.

Sam's thoughts on the matter made you pause. “I haven't seen him all night. He hasn't even left his office.”

“There are cameras everywhere in here. Maybe he's just watching the dancers from inside to discourage any suspicion.” Dean's point was valid, but something didn't seem right. What if you were wrong?

“There is one other person who could be involved.” Dean and Sam looked at you quizzically. They had never heard you doubt yourself this way. “Diamond. The dancer you waved off earlier. She's been acting weird since the moment she walked in today.”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, she looked pretty pissed when I told her I wasn't interested earlier.”

“Wait. What?” You were astonished. “She tried to get to you twice?” He nodded and your blood started to boil. “I'm gonna ring that bitch's scrawny neck.”

Both brothers chuckled and Dean stroked his fingers over the back of your clenched fist. “Don't fly of the handle now, [Y/N]. You will need your energy to fight later.”

Sam laughed a bit more. “So, what's the plan for catching this thing? I'm assuming you have a new one since you changed your plan without telling us.”

You nodded and filled them in on the new plan. All thoughts of strangling Diamond gone, for now.

After closing time at Mischief, you left out the back door to wait in the alley. You pretended to play games on your phone as if you were waiting on a friend to pick you up. Half an hour passed before someone joined you in the alley. You looked up, expecting a hideous monster, but all you saw was Diamond. You pretended to ignore her, acting as if she was an insignificant bug under your shoe. No threat.

When she sauntered up to you and began talking, you sent an SOS to Dean's cell. “So, Vixen. You planning to take my place here?”

You gasped as if her question hurt. “Why would you ever think that, Diamond? I am only trying to make money like every other person in the world. I have no desire at all to take your place.”

She laughed maniacally, her face morphing into an ugly scowl. “Sure seemed like you are. That man should have been mine tonight. I could have made him mine.”

“So, that's what happened to those girls. You got jealous because they kept taking your prey?” You laughed darkly at the creature in human skin standing before you. “You are one nasty bitch.” Your smile was smug as shock filled her, now monstrous, features.

She screeched in rage, grabbing you by the throat and lifting your feet from the ground. You only smiled as you released your hold on your own powers.

The succubus dropped you to the ground. Backing away as your sleek black tails, wrapped in fox fire, fanned out behind you. You pulled your hair into a quick ponytail, exposing your pointed ears as the creature watched you. “I'm confused though.” You stared at her. Your prey. “How does a succubus mask their magic with the same scent as that of in incubus?”

She offered no explanation, only crouched into a fighting stance and running full speed towards your body. You blocked her with a wall of blue fire. Lighting up the dark alley around you.

The succubus shrieked as her flash began to bubble like melted wax. It was nasty. She fell to the ground raking long furrows into the flesh of her face, trying with all of her might to remove the fire before it killed her.

Her shrieking was deafening in the otherwise silent night as her flesh slowly melted away from her bones. As Sam and Dean rounded the corner, into the alley, a beautifully grisly sight met them. A black kitsune, wrapped in blue fox fire stood over a succubus, flesh melted from her bones as she was reduced to a begging and pleading mess on the ground.

Dean approached calmly, motioning for Sam to stay back. When he reached your side, your eyes connected with his and he gasped. The blue of your fox fire was reflected in those haunting eyes. This was a kitsune's power. The power to protect and the power to destroy.

He drew his gun, aiming at the half-dead creature's head without ever taking his eyes off of you. The sound of the gun made you both jump and you watched as the ashes of the succubus floated away on the breeze.

“Let's go home, [Y/N].”

You took Dean's hand and followed him back to the motel where you all gathered your things. A few hours later, you, Dean, and Sam were on a plane headed home.

When Dean asked you what happened in the alley, you only smiled. “Nobody gets to claim what is mine, Dean. That's a kitsune's promise.”

He laughed, pulling you into a deep kiss that left you breathless. You made it home soon after that and spent days in bed together. Exploring each other’s bodies and loving one another from sun up to sun down and throughout the night. There was no place you would rather be.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #supernatural fic #t6ksongfic

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shirlleycoyle · 3 years ago

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‘We’re Tired of Getting Treated Like Trash’: Nabisco Workers Are Striking for Normal Hours

A strike that began at a Nabisco factory in Portland, Oregon last week has now spread across the country to Nabisco facilities in Aurora, Colorado, and Richmond, Virginia, where Oreos, Ritz crackers, Chips Ahoy, and other popular cookies and crackers are baked and packaged.

Hundreds of striking Nabisco bakery and distribution workers who are members of the Bakery, Confectionary, Tobacco Workers, and Grain Millers International Union have been forced to work 12 to 16-hour shifts during the pandemic, often six or seven days a week. Meanwhile, the snacks giant has proposed turning eight-hour shifts into 12-hour shifts without overtime, increasing mandatory work on weekends, and creating a two-tier healthcare plan that costs significantly more for new hires, workers say.

"Basically the main thing we’re trying to get is a fair contract. During the pandemic, we came in seven days a week. Some people worked every day—16 hours a day—for three months," Nathan Williams, an oiler who has worked at the Nabisco plant in Richmond, Virginia for more than 30 years, told Motherboard.

Williams said that his facility had pushed extra hours onto workers instead of hiring new workers. "For them, it’s all about finding the cheapest way to make cookies," he said.

Rusty Lewis, a striking warehouse worker at the Nabisco distribution center in Aurora, Colorado, told Motherboard that conditions have deteriorated during the 25 years he's been working for Nabisco. "It’s gotten worse. It’s gotten horrible. Horrible hours," he said. "They don’t care about frontline workers. They only care about the almighty dollar. We’re tired of getting stepped on and treated like trash. We’ve had enough."

The Nabisco strike occurs as workers around the country are using newfound leverage in a tight labor market to demand better pay, schedules, benefits, and work-life balance from their employers, especially in low-wage sectors, such as fast food, factory work, and retail where workers have suffered from increasingly unpredictable hours and stagnant pay. Last month, Frito-Lay employees at a plant in Topeka, Kansas, who belong to the same union as Nabisco workers, made national headlines when they went on strike to demand an end to triple overtime shifts, known as "suicides."

In recent days, the picket lines outside Nabisco facilities in Portland, Richmond, and Aurora have attracted hundreds of workers, community members, and politicians, who have brought sandwiches, donuts, and water. The Frito-Lay workers from Kansas have sent pizzas, and members of other unions have shown up to pickets. There have been line dances that have gone viral, rallies, and incessant honking from oncoming traffic.

Nabisco workers on strike in Richmond, VA. (BCTGM Local 358)

Mike Burlingham, a Nabisco worker who works in pest control at the facility in Portland, Oregon, told Motherboard that the mandatory overtime has made it difficult for workers to maintain a semblance of a normal life outside of work.

"You get tired, you want to be home with your family, but it’s extremely hard to have life outside of work," Burlingham said.

This summer, Nabisco shut down food processing facilities in Fair Lawn, New Jersey, and Atlanta, Georgia, two of its last five remaining food processing facilities in the United States. Those plants had been around for generations, and 1,000 workers lost union jobs. Workers in the remaining facilities are concerned that their jobs will soon be headed to Mexico, where two other Nabisco plants have opened in recent years.

"There’s a constant threat of if you don’t agree to concessions, we'll leave," Burlingham said. "There’s a lot of pride that goes into the job and the products. When I go to someone’s house, I like to say 'those Ritz were made where I work.'"

Meanwhile, Nabisco has profited handsomely during the pandemic. In 2020, Nabisco's revenue increased by 3 percent to $26.8 billion—as homebound consumers stocked up on snacks. The snack giant reported that its new revenue last quarter was $6.64 billion, an increase of 12.37 percent from last year.

Workers at the three sites are striking now because their union contracts—which are identical, known as a pattern agreement— expired earlier this summer, and the company has pushed workers toward multiple concessions. (Union organizers had strategically set up Nabisco contracts to expire that time, a tactic known as "contract line-up," a method for staging large private sector strikes.)

In 2018, Nabisco announced that it would stop offering pension benefits to its workers. Since then, the union and Nabisco have been at an impasse, failing to reach a new contract.

Workers say Nabisco's latest offer is part of a larger effort by the company to slowly erode their working conditions. The company has framed their proposed changes as a move toward “setting up our U.S. bakeries for future investment and long-term success."

"We are disappointed by the decision of the local BCTGM unions in Portland (OR), Richmond (VA) and Aurora (CO) to go on strike," a spokesperson for Nabisco wrote in a statement. "Our goal has been—and continues to be—to bargain in good faith with the BCTGM leadership across our U.S. bakeries and sales distribution facilities to reach new contracts that continue to provide our employees."

The Nabisco spokesperson denied that plant closures this summer in Georgia and New Jersey had resulted in U.S. jobs being shipped to Mexico.

"After years of misery, and concession and concession to the company, these people walked off the job," Cameron Taylor, a business agent at Bakery, Confectionary, Tobacco Workers, and Grain Millers Local 364 in Portland, Oregon, told Motherboard. "I’ve never seen them so happy. People are smiling and laughing, dancing, and playing music."

‘We’re Tired of Getting Treated Like Trash’: Nabisco Workers Are Striking for Normal Hours syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

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blessed-but-distressed · 7 years ago

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#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging: @katie-dub, @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @biancaros3, @ms-babs-gordon, @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld, @chocolatecrackle.

This chapter was a mess for so long, so big thanks to @wholockgal for helping me try to whip her into shape, and @lenfaz for always listening to my writing-related whining.

Emma

The next person who emails me asking for an extension on an assignment they’ve had ALL SEMESTER to do, I’m straight up murdering. ES

I think that’s what they call premeditation, Swan. KJ

There are 33 emails in my inbox right now asking for last minute extensions. 33! Justifiable homicide. ES

33? You’re quite right. Not a jury in the land would convict you. KJ

… This is the part where you chime in with your own work horror story, so I can see I’m being irrational. ES

Is it? As you wish. I just thought seriously about poisoning our illiterate sub-editor with expired milk I found in the darkest recesses of the break room fridge. All because she used a Daily Mail-worthy pun as a headline for one of my articles. And I might’ve done, if the work experience kid hadn’t just used up the last of it for his Ovaltine. KJ

Oh god. Is he okay? ES

For the moment. Looking a bit green around the gills though. I’ve a bet going with the Pictures Editor he won’t make it til lunchtime. KJ

Okay, so not exactly what I was going for, and yet, I feel strangely less like a monster. You, on the other hand, might want to get that kid to a doctor. And/or book yourself in for a refresher for that workplace sensitivity training seminar. ES

According to Liam, there isn’t an opening for six months. Believe me, he checked. KJ

Of course he did. So... 6 hours til happy hour at the Jingles. You in? ES

Oh? Are you buying? KJ

The first round, sure. But only if you promise me it’ll be an early night. I have 203 final assessments to grade. I DO NOT have time to be hungover. ES

Your proposal is acceptable. KJ

Emma saw the poster on the last official teaching day before Reading Week, tacked to the pinboard outside her office. Poorly formatted, and clearly the work of someone with little to no design ability, it nevertheless managed to stop her in her tracks.

End of Academic Year Staff Party

LASER TAG

School of Classics, Archaeology & History VS School of Social & Political Science

Has it ever rankled to be told we produce “Mickey Mouse” degrees? Have you ever been made to feel that your knowledge of Classic Greek literature was “too highbrow” to be relevant in today’s job market? Ever run afoul of Tracy from Social Anthro in the Library Cafe?

Here’s your chance to get your own back! Sign ups below.

Emma could feel something building in her gut. Something unpleasant and inevitable. Something like picturing herself strapped into a cheap plastic breastplate sometime in the near future.

Killian was going to have a field day.

Or, she thought he might, if she could just dig herself out from under the pile of term papers she needed to grade long enough to set up a meet with him.

It figured that all of the empty space in Emma’s schedule would evaporate just as soon as the weather turned. Living under so many layers for so long, Emma had almost forgotten the sun was supposed to have any real warming ability at all. But suddenly, just as the semester was drawing to a close, it re-appeared with a vengeance, and the city was utterly transformed.

Gone were the puffer jackets and tights, the Gore-Tex and the ugly sweaters Emma had long considered to be the unofficial national uniform. Instead the sidewalks became filled with pasty-limbed people displaying their newly liberated flesh with the kind of exhibitionist zeal Emma hadn’t seen since her first Spring Break trip to Florida.

She nearly tripped over a few as they lay sunning themselves out on the Meadows, oblivious to her sweaty, breathless approach. Not to mention the ten or so pubs she had to avoid on her walk home from work, the pavements outside bursting with mismatched outdoor furniture someone had scrounged up in a hurry. All of them packed with sun-worshippers in the most reptilian tradition, and none of them alone.

Who were these people? Emma wondered. Drinking Magners mid-afternoon and stripped down to the barest essentials, always an audience for their bawdy jokes. Where had they all materialized from? Didn’t they have jobs to go to?

In contrast, Emma’s apartment remained completely ignorant of the change in seasons, still cold as a morgue. Her south-facing windows not only had a great view of the brick wall opposite, but they also brought in precisely zero natural light.

It really was a shitty apartment.

And if she had to spend any more time cooped up in it, alone, wrapped in three sweaters while she read circuitous papers in defence of Andrew Jackson, she was going to go crazy.

She had to get out.

She discovered it by accident, really, one day last November when she’d been caught in a surprise hailstorm, and looking for somewhere warm and dry to scarf down the rest of her Greggs donut. Her office-mate had office hours, and the University library stacks were always too crowded with clueless undergrads or amorous couples looking for privacy.

But the City Library? There were whole floors where the only ones around were harmless old biddies working on their genealogies, and their peripheral vision wasn’t the greatest. It was the perfect place to devour a forbidden pastry, or wait out a hailstorm or two. Or run into the very Englishman you’d been meaning to text back.

Emma liked the Reference Library best. It looked kind the kind of thing a fairy tale Beast might gift to a reluctant new house guest to win her over: floor-to-ceiling shelves lining every wall, supported by cast iron balustrades reachable by spiral staircases, an imposing geometric dome that looked like it came right out of Versailles. For the nerds, original card indicies. And for the displaced American history lecturer: plentiful desk space, wi-fi and always somewhere to charge your phone.

Emma had always considered the place to be kind of her little secret. No matter the time of year or weather, it was never too crowded. But there was no mistaking the leather-clad figure sat alone in the second row, feet up on the desk, nose buried in a thin paperback.

He didn’t register her proximity as Emma made her approach, even as she bent down to get a better look at what had him so engrossed.

‘‘Codes, Ciphers and Secret Writing’?” Emma read aloud, perversely gratified to see him lurch forward in his seat, caught unawares. She clicked her tongue as she took the seat next door. “If you’re considering taking up a career as a spy, you might want to make yourself slightly harder to sneak up on. Just a tip.”

He set the book down on the desk, shooting her a somewhat annoyed glance. “Well this is a turn up for the books. It’s been so long between texts I thought maybe you’d done in one of your students, and were lost to the ravages of the criminal justice system forever.”

Emma made a face.

“No? Well, small mercies I suppose. And fancy seeing you here. I didn’t really pick you for a fan of French Renaissance architecture, Swan. Or was there some other marvel you’d come to admire?” He asked, batting his eyelashes in the kind of over-the-top way that would put a silent film ingénue to shame.

Emma rolled her eyes. “Sorry to deflate that massive ego of yours, but I’m not stalking you. I’m just here for the free wi-fi. How was I supposed to know you’d be here… studying spycraft?”

“So just a happy coincidence then?” He held her gaze for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe her. “Well then, as to the book, believe me, Swan, I have zero aspirations towards the Security Services. Callum, however…”

At that, a young woman a few rows down glanced up from her MacBook to give them the evil eye, and Killian ducked his head, slipping a piece of paper from out between the pages of the book, marked with an indecipherable jumble of numbers written in a childish blue scrawl.

“He’s off penguins for the minute,” he continued, his voice now little more than a hushed whisper. “Now it’s codes. Ciphers. Secret communiqués. Which wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps, if the lad hadn’t refused to communicate in any other way...” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his frustration plain.

By the sound of it, things might have been a little tense at the breakfast table lately.

Emma whistled through her teeth, though she fought to match his soft tones. “Wow. I think when I was eight years old, all I cared about was ponies.”

He glanced up at her then, the unspoken ‘Is that so?’ making her cheeks color. Even when he said nothing at all, Killian still found ways to make her regret every casual remark, every tiny breadcrumb she unwittingly left behind of the childhood she’d tried so hard to forget.

“Let me see that,” Emma said hotly, snatching the coded message from where it lay before him, leaning forward to examine it.

Then without thinking too much about it, she plucked the red pen from her hair that she’d been using to keep her bun in place, and set about making a series of tiny scribbles.

Killian, his book apparently forgotten, leaned over to study her work. “Know a thing or two about ciphers, do we, lass?”

Emma shrugged. “A bit. It came free with my John Jay obsession. But Callum’s what? Eight, right? So it’s probably not anything too difficult…”

The numbers could mean he was using a book as the key. Each number corresponding to a page and paragraph in the book where the desired word lay. Jay had been a fan of that particular method. He’d favored a dictionary as his key, usually. But the numbers Callum had written…

Emma drew up the matrix, smiling to herself as the childish meaning behind the code slowly became clear. She twisted the paper back in Killian’s direction with a victorious flourish.

“Lachie... is... a…” she translated. “Well, you can see for yourself.”

Killian’s eyes widened looking from the paper, back to Emma, his mouth agape. “You’re bloody brilliant, Swan.”

Emma wasn’t sure she’d ever been told that before. By anyone. Certainly not by someone who’d never been on the receiving end of one of her blow jobs. It was a single stray thought that stuck uncomfortably in her thoughts, and had her barreling on in a hurry to fill the awkward pause.

“It’s a six-sided Polybius square,” Emma explained, keeping her eyes trained to the piece of paper. “I’m pretty sure I read somewhere POWs in Vietnam used a variant of it to communicate between their cells. But Callum’s numbers only go up to 6, so I… what?”

He was staring.

“Nothing,” he said with a cough, though she could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

“You okay?”

He shook his head. “Of course. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking what?” Emma asked warily.

Looking kind of like he’d rather the ground rose up and swallowed him instead, Killian sighed and met Emma’s eye, shooting her a look that was so direct she was tempted to scoot her chair back to give them some space. “I was just thinking that Dr Swan is quite a good look on you.”

Emma opened her mouth, to what? Scoff? Say thank you? Luckily, she never had to find out, the silence punctuated by a series of conspicuous buzzing noises.

Emma heard MacBook Girl’s muttered curse. As if she wasn’t just dicking around on Facebook, like everyone else.

“Forgive me,” Killian murmured, clearing his throat and reaching into his pocket and fishing out the device. Whatever he read on that screen, his face immediately pulled into a tight frown and he rose out of his chair all at once.

“Everything okay?” Emma asked, growing concerned.

“Hmmm.”

It was not the most convincing sound Emma had ever heard.

As if somehow sensing Emma’s frustration, he raised his gaze from the phone to look at her, his expression softening a fraction around the eyes. “Apologies, Swan,” he said with a pained smile. “It appears I’m needed elsewhere.”

He hovered a moment, his weight shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “I need to head back to the office first. Would you like to walk with me? Or is the lure of free wi-fi too good an inducement to pass up?”

Emma glanced down at her watch, which showed the time to be little past noon. She’d been planning on enjoying the silence of solitude of the library a little more. Make a dent in her grading somewhere with decent heating and what passed for natural light.

But given the look on his face right now, and the way he was clenching his jaw, the fact that he’d even asked meant he probably really, really needed the distraction. And Emma might be pretty selfish on her best days, but she wasn’t cruel. And it just so happened, she had a particular distraction in mind.

“Sure,” she said, letting some of her weight fall onto his proffered prosthetic, as she rose from her chair.

“Sure, I’ve got time.”

Yeah, he was a fan of the laser tag idea.

His mood wasn’t buoyant exactly, as they wended their way along Castle Terrace, dodging Chinese tour groups who were arriving by the busload, selfie sticks at the ready. But the idea of Emma making a humiliating spectacle of herself certainly seemed to hold some kind of appeal for him.

He was no longer actively brooding.

“I can just picture it now; Emma Swan: Jungle Warrior.”

Emma snorted. Then she opened her mouth to refute this, and then closed it again, considering her track record.

Killian considered her shrewdly. “Something you’d like to share with the class?”

“I don’t know…I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m kind of competitive. The last time I did something like this, it got kind of… ugly.”

“Define ugly.”

“We went paintballing for David’s birthday one year and August ended up in the ER with a dislocated knee.”

Killian winced.

“He says he can still feel it when it rains. Of course, he’s a novelist, so he’s kind of known for being needlessly dramatic so...”

Encouraged by the prospect of mayhem, the usual mischievous sparkle was returning to Killian’s eyes. “I think this competitive side is something I’ve got to see for myself.”

“Too bad you’re not invited, then, huh?”

“I could be…?” Oh no. No way. Was he really pulling puppy dog eyes right now?

“No way. Not happening. You can put those eyes away. It’s a work event. The administration are already on my case about this whole thing enough as it is.”

“And if I talk them ‘round?”

“You’re not going to get the administration to change their minds about me with a winsome smile and pretty boy charm.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

Emma just rolled her eyes, and nudged him into the path of an oncoming tour group.

When I got back to the library I realized you left your book, btw. I returned it. Figured you didn’t need it anymore? ES

Indeed I don’t. In cracking his code, I believe you’ve exhausted Callum’s sudden passion for cryptography. At least, for now. Elsa would like to express her eternal gratitude. KJ

Wow. Look at me, extinguishing a young boy’s thirst for learning. Clearly I’ve got this whole teacher thing on lockdown. ES

Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I saw him googling nebulas on the iPad earlier. I dare say another obsession is in the offing. One that might drive his mother a little less insane. KJ

Well, that’s something. ES

Okay, so clearly the administration was into winsome smiles and pretty boy charm, because the next thing Emma knew, she was seated on a university-chartered bus headed out into the hinterland, her columnist stretched out of the seat beside her.

Because that was a super normal thing to bring along to a work event.

Emma found it easiest to ignore the curious looks of her bus-mates by picturing how she was going to wipe the floor with each and every one of them when they got to where they were going.

For the most part, the reluctant recruits they’d manage to scrape together from the School of Social & Political Science did not inspire awe. Emma was pretty sure she could take them. Between Tracy from Social Anthro with her scoliosis, and Glen from British Politics with his spare tire, they seemed a pretty ragtag bunch, not suited to roughing it in the great outdoors.

There was only one among them who looked like a contender, the bearded guy in the army surplus jacket dozing at the back of the bus.

His possible narcolepsy aside, he at least seemed to be in decent shape, if the cut of jaw was any indication. As if he could feel her gaze on him, his eyes blinked open, and Emma turned back to Killian, who’d suddenly trailed off mid-sentence.

“And you didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?”

Emma cringed inwardly. “Sorry. I was just sizing up the competition.”

“Oh?” He enquired, his tone lightening. “And how do they measure up, in your estimation?”

Emma shrugged. “I think it’s in the bag. Our combined youth-”

“Your fighting spirit-” Killian interrupted.

“And the fact the history department won against the Divinity School last year... ,” Emma continued, ignoring him.

“What about Rambo over there?” Killian asked, raising his chin to indicate the same guy Emma had been caught checking out before. “He looks like he might present a challenge.”

“Yeah, well,” Emma said, refusing to follow his gaze. “We’ll see.”

If Emma thought she might be able to somehow avoid this handsome stranger, maybe she should have remembered that she was cursed. Because when they nominated team captains, somehow it was him that Emma found herself facing off against.

The two of them stood awkwardly, forced to wait while some teenaged employee scrounged around in the pockets of his cargo pants for a coin to flip to determine territory.

And he was handsome, there was no getting around it. Nice hair, just on the manageable side of curly. Admittedly impressive biceps peeking out from underneath an ill-fitting plastic breastplate. Not to mention the warm, friendly smile as he held out a hand.

“Best of luck,” he said.

Oh, and an accent. A very nice accent.

“And to you,” Emma said graciously, accepting the handshake. She might have been naturally competitive, but there was no need to be rude.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you on campus before,” he mentioned casually, even as his hand still clasped over hers. “I’m Graham Humbert, International Relations.”

The way he said it, with his tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip, she wondered if he was flirting with her. She wondered if she wanted him to be.

“Emma Swan,” she replied, letting her hand fall back down to her side, palm tingling. “American History.”

Killian

Killian Jones was no stranger to using his masculine wiles to his advantage. Though he’d been something of an awkward youth, his university years had been their own sort of education, quite aside from his unfinished philosophy degree.

Now, as a mediocre journalist with few moral scruples, he employed charm and flattery as tools of the trade. What better way to put an interview subject at ease? Or finesse that long-guarded secret from someone’s lips?

True, Saorsa was hardly The Guardian. He wasn’t uncovering government corruption at it’s highest levels or netting himself any Pulitzers. Though he did manage to stir up a hornet’s nest in Parliament that one time, after he got a MSP to admit to an extra-marital affair. Necessary to the public interest it was not, but it never did the circulation numbers any harm.

It was these skills he thought might help secure him a spot on the team bus to Lugton Bogs, the aptly named quagmire that was home to Edinburgh’s premier, and only, outdoor laser tag centre. Or at the very least, might improve Emma’s standing with the university after a rocky start.

Killian’s first port of call? The Press and Public Relations department, tucked away in cobbled alley near Sandy Bell’s. And from the rising stink of it, mostly treated as an open latrine by some of the male patrons of said watering hole after one too many libations at the weekend.

The inside was decidedly more pleasant, sheltered from the stench by double glazed windows and a heavy steel door. The office itself was attractive enough, a hive of industry playing to the soundtrack of ringing telephones. He stopped to ask the way to the right office, and was directed up to the first floor, where cubicles gave way to actual offices.

It was a promising start, he thought. That is, until he seated himself in a rather uncomfortable chair outside his target office, and had gotten a good look at the nameplate velcroed to the door.

That Killian’s quarry turned out to be a male was regrettable, and a waste of Killian’s talents. That Killian’s quarry turned out to be none other than Robert Gold, native Glaswegian and former husband of one Belle French, Killian thought perhaps it wasn’t too late to do the honourable thing and fall on his sword.

He’d never been stupid enough to name Belle directly, but realistically, how many Australian librarians in Edinburgh could there be? And here was the very man Killian had publicly outed just a few short months ago, as a man who’d chosen his pill addiction over his marriage.

This was the man he had sought?

Killian was already halfway to his feet, ready to skive off their meeting with great urgency, when the door opened and out stepped a slight, silver-haired man, leaning heavily on a cane.

Tink hadn’t been lying when she’d said he’d been older.

“Killian Jones, is it?” he asked, looking bored.

Hello, rock. Hello, hard place. Killian’s first temptation was still to flee, but seeing as he was half-standing in plain sight, it seemed that ship had long sailed.

Instead he straightened, and held out a hand, trying to keep his voice quiver-free. “Aye, Killian Jones. I believe you’re the man to see about getting oneself included on an employee outing?”

For all his vices, Robert Gold did have one thing to his credit; he did not seem to be a Saorsa subscriber. Indeed, Killian’s name did not seem to bring about any flash of recognition. Nor, to Killian’s immense relief, a sudden zeal to sue for libel.

Though now Killian knew what to look for, he very much doubted the man would have much legal grounds. From the sweat soaking through his dress shirt, to the sallow complexion, to the pupils round as saucers, there was no way Robert Gold wasn’t in the throes of some chemical cocktail. The single life clearly wasn’t working for him.

He did, however, seem for the moment to be all-business.

“Laser tag?” he enquired.

Not sure if he was asking for an explanation, or merely a confirmation, Killian hesitated. “Something of an annual tradition from what I understand. Pitting department against department, all in the name of friendly competition.”

Gold nodded, absently.

“And this…” He peered down to examine the form in front of him. “... Emma Swan. You’re writing a column about her personal life?”

“It’s more an exploration on the nature of adult friendships. How difficult it is to make meaningful connections when you find yourself separated from your familiar networks. Emma is merely a vehicle I’m using to…” Killian fumbled for a suitable word. “...illustrate the point.”

“Hmmm.”

With any luck, that “Hmmm” meant that Gold found the idea tedious, and never wanted to hear about it again. Still, Killian wondered how long it would take him to convince their IT guy to “accidentally” corrupt the link to February’s column online.

“And you feel it would be helpful to you if you ‘tagged along’ on this outing?”

Truthfully, now he’d gotten Ruby to confirm Emma’s ER story, he mostly just wanted to watch her in action. But something told him Gold wouldn’t be particularly sympathetic to his plight.

“I think it would lend my words a certain credibility, if I was actually present for the events, certainly.”

Gold looked thoughtful, as if he was actually entertaining the idea. Or perhaps he was just meaning to add his next date with his dealer to his personal calendar. At any rate, he didn’t make Killian wait too long.

“There’s a number of forms to fill out,” the Glaswegian declared airily, pulling a stack of papers from a filing cabinet. “And some insurance concerns. I imagine your employer can email through proof of that?”

Could they? Killian certainly hoped so.

“Aye, of course.”

“Of course, we don’t ask for copy approval ahead of time, we’re not totalitarian savages. But you should be aware that we are always looking for ways to promote the university as a diverse, innovative and enjoyable workplace. Sometimes this means entering partnerships with members of the fourth estate, and sometimes that means breaking off such arrangements, if we feel our aims are not in concert. If you understand my meaning?”

Don’t burn any bridges. Duly noted.

At Killian’s nod of acquiescence, Gold clapped his hands together. “Well then, dearie, it looks like we have ourselves a deal. Blue pen, or black?”

And you thought it couldn’t be done. KJ

You didn’t. ES

I did. KJ

Please tell me you’re joking? ES

Alas, the cramp I’m nursing after signing near a dozen documents in triplicate says otherwise. I am UoE approved, and ready to watch Emma Swan go full berserker. KJ

I hate you. ES

I know. KJ

“Players must keep two hands on the phaser at all time to activate it. This is a safety feature which prevents the phaser being held at an arm’s length,” Killian read the tiny warning sticker on the side of his gun aloud.

Well, wasn’t that just fantastic.

Killian looked around for some teenaged, zero-hour contract flunky he could flag down, but after the initial hubbub of the coin toss, they’d all but vanished. The stand of trees stood all but empty now, except for the handful of middle-aged academics in green vests, wheezing as they made their way over the rise.

Sod it.

His gun might be fucking useless, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do what he came here to do: Watch Emma Swan kick arse and take names.

She really was in fine form. She might have been surprised by her appointment to team captain, but Killian wasn’t. She was the only one among them who actually looked like they knew what they were doing, and objectively speaking, she looked good doing it.

And as the reluctantly appointed leader, she was the one leading the charge to the enemy compound, organising her little band using military tactics she’d probably lifted straight from Che Guevara. This was exactly why people shouldn’t cross history professors.

Expending the last of his lung capacity, Killian caught up with Emma’s splinter group, just in time to hear the electronic sound effect that signalled a direct hit to the man to his left.

“Six o’ clock,” Killian bellowed, diving for the cover of the nearest tree stump. Emma was already there, pinned down by two more red-vests advancing from the other side.

“Alright, Swan?” he asked, wiping at his forehead with the sleeve of his useless arm.

To his delight, she actually seemed to be enjoying this, her face aflush with activity, her grin wide. She turned his way, tucking a stray tuft of hair behind her ear. “Give us the the tools, and we will finish the job.”

Churchill. She was quoting fucking Churchill.

But as she heard her compatriots fall to enemy fire, he could see the enthusiasm in her eyes visibly dim with each electronic squeal. If they stayed here too long, Rambo and the lasses from Gender Studies were going to pick them off, one by one.

Someone had to do something, and quickly.

And that someone might as well be the eejit with the gun that didn’t bloody work.

Nudging Emma’s shoulder, he pointed to a pile of boulders a little way off. “You make for those, and I’ll cover you.”

Emma looked from the pile, back to Killian. “Are you crazy? That’s like twenty yards. There’s no way we’ll both make it.”

“Only one way to know for sure,” Killian said, rising from his hiding place, and giving her no choice but to follow his lead.

“Aargh,” she cried, scrambling to her feet, rifle at the ready. “You know I hate you, right?”

“Aye, Swan,” he said, swinging to face his aggressors head-on. “I know.”

It wasn’t a drawn-out death.

To Killian’s satisfaction, a few of them had turned and fled when they saw him stand up. But Rambo, the bearded leader of the opposition seemed clue-ier than his friends. He saw the diversion for what it was. And as Emma darted out from behind the stump, he set his sights accordingly. Might have gotten her too, if Killian hadn’t stepped into the line of fire.

“You do know the purpose of the game is not to get hit, right?” Rambo called after him.

But instead of replying, Killian merely slung his rifle up onto his shoulder and headed back to the holding area, humming a song under his breath.

In the end, Emma decimated them, as he knew she would. All but Rambo, that cocksure son of a bitch. He had military training, of that Killian was certain. Or at least a stint in the cadets. He was a little too at ease, in Killian’s view.

Still, Emma managed to hold her own, waiting the bastard out until the clock ran down.

A draw.

He thought he might shout Emma a drink for this. Something tall and refreshing. But as she emerged from the stand of trees, still aglow with near-victory, he saw she wasn’t alone. Rambo strode along beside her, the two of them getting on suspiciously well for people who’d just been trying to “kill” one another.

Killian shrank back, letting himself fall back into a crowd of archaeology professors, comparing aches and pains. They certainly weren’t of the Indiana Jones mould.

He wouldn’t say he watched them. He merely observed them, like any other dispassionate member of the fourth estate. And how could he not notice his subject’s pleasure at this man’s company? The way her gaze dropped downward as they shook hands, a rare show of shyness.

Emma liked him. Rambo. Whatever his name was. Even a blind man could see it.

As far as the project was concerned, this was good news. Emma Swan, single and ready to mingle? Hell, it was a boon. Not to say one’s social life never suffered from embarking on a new relationship, but it was a damned sight better than Emma staying home every night with her marking and her Netflix.

So why did the sight of Emma typing her number into the man’s phone suddenly make Killian feel queasy? This was a good thing.

He should be happy for her.

Getting home took a little longer than anticipated. Not least because he stopped by the Jingles on the way and emptied out their stores of Captain Morgan.

“Maybe you should call it a night, eh?” the bar man suggested, just around the time Killian’s vision started going blurry.

Recalling Liam’s last lecture about “unnecessary expenses” he walked the rest of the way home, taking a somewhat circuitous route through a few back gardens.

He struggled with the lock, frustrated to find his keys kept slipping from his hand. He almost had it when the door suddenly fell in, and Killian with it.

“What the-”

Who else but Liam stood over him, arms crossed in that same look of quiet disappointment he’d been wearing for years.

“Good night was it?” his brother asked coolly, reaching forward to help him up.

“Geroff me, you judgy git,” Killian scowled, rising to his feet perfectly well on his own, with nary a wobble. “Would ‘ave been fine, you hadn’t opened the door like that.”

Liam stepped away, hands held up in surrender. “If you insist.” And then after a moment, “Why do you look like you’ve been at the Somme?”

Killian looked down at himself, to the best approximation of combat clothes his wardrobe had to offer, now caked in mud to the knee, and streaked with dirt elsewhere.

“Laser tag,” Killian replied. “S’for work.”

“Hmm,” Liam hummed. “Let me guess, you weren’t on the winning side?”

If you wanted to get technical about it, it had been a draw. But deep down, Killian couldn’t kid himself on that front.

Whichever side he’d been on had definitely been the losing one.

And how were drinks with Rambo? KJ

Graham. His name is Graham. ES

So it is. Does that sharp rebuke mean that in addition to guerrilla warfare, the man also excels at scintillating conversation over cocktails? KJ

Has anyone ever told you you’re a shameless gossip? ES

Once or twice. Though I much prefer the term “indomitable busybody.” That’s my favourite. KJ

Gee, I wonder why. And for your information, it wasn’t terrible. ES

Coming from you, Swan, that’s almost a ringing endorsement. KJ

23 25-32-33-45 51-33-43 42-33-33-25 42-22-11-42 12-26-11-41-42 16-33-36 31-15. ES

23’31 41-43-36-15 23 22-11-44-15 32-33 23-14-15-11 45-22-11-42 5-33-43 31-15-11-32. KJ

Whatever you say, buddy. Good night, Killian. ES

Good night, Emma. KJ

#cs ff #cs au ff #FindEmmaSwanAFriend #cs au #here she is #the chapter without end #after two months in the writer's block wilderness #enjoy

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iceddecafcaramel · 4 years ago

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A letter to future me from current me

Dear me in July 2021,

I don’t know how you’re doing, but I hope that you are genuinely happy with where you’re going to be next season, how you’re doing at school, who you currently are, and what kind of people you’re surrounding yourself with right now. I’m so excited to find out where you’re at in life and hope that you learned so much this year, both professionally and personally.

I need to remind you that as much as I wish that I was wrong, your current boyfriend is not the one for you. I know that you care so deeply for people and give everyone you love your all. But that doesn’t guarantee that they’ll reciprocate it back. This is one of those cases. I don’t know how the situation is for you but I hope that you both are at least somewhat happy. But you need to end this because you know that you’ll find someone that’s more compatible to you, and so will he. You knew there were problems from the start, and you know that you don’t deserve any of the pain that he caused. This was the hardest relationship for you because you wanted this to work so badly but you also knew that there was an expiration date to this relationship, as soon as your lease was up. You deserve to be with someone who is madly attracted to who you are and how you look, and someone who will care and reciprocate the love you have for them, and gives you their all. You deserve someone who looks at you the way you look at donuts. Last but not least, you deserve someone who you know is worth fighting for because they’ll fight for you too. It’s what you deserve because you’ve always given your best, no matter how much it hurt to put other people’s needs before yours, even if you knew they wouldn’t do the same for you. As one of your best friends would say, you are “mad nurturing and caring”, and oh so supportive. My only wish for you from me is to learn to treat yourself like that. I know that things are really hard and life is filled with challenges, but I am so proud of us for how far we’ve come. We’ve grown so much into a beautiful blossom and we have worked so hard to get here.

I know that whatever happens, you will feel so much pain when you have to end this because you loved him with all you had. You never admitted this so early in the relationship (especially now, as I write this letter in our fourth month together) because you knew it wouldn’t be reciprocated or said, ever. And I’m so sorry that you had to go through the pain of knowing that someone you love will never love you back, that this is unrequited love, and that this was a losing battle from the start. But thank you for still trying your best and giving it your all, like you always do. This heartbreak will be so painful but you will recover one day. You will come out even stronger and find someone better. You have amazing friends that you can actually talk to, and now have a safe space to express whatever you’re feeling.

I love you, and I hope you’re okay. You’re going to be okay, I promise. Love, You from June 2020

#thoughts #H

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thetenthdoctorscompanion · 7 years ago

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Gospel of the Chosen - Special Sneak Preview!

Happy September 18th, everyone! In honor of Lazarus Rising, here is a special sneak preview of my upcoming Dean/OC story, Gospel of the Chosen.

-Brittney

It was shaping up to be weird ass day.

First off, it was way too hot to be September. Illinois rarely got hotter than eighty degrees, especially in the fall, but the way the sun was shining down made it feel well over a hundred. Then there was this dumpy roadside gas and go. The owners clearly had their priorities way out of whack. Newspapers were up to date, but the food on the shelf hadn’t been checked for weeks—just a fridge of lukewarm water bottles, and a few shelves of expired granola bars. The stacks of skin mags were glossy and new, but the place didn’t have a single road map. What self-respecting pit stop didn’t have a damn road map?

And then, as luck would have it, there wasn’t a single car in sight. Not on the road, not in the parking lot, not even a half-rusted junk out back he could have fixed up before jumping. No, of course there wasn’t. That was probably snatched up by the last sorry bastard who’d gotten his ass dragged out of hell.

Dean wiped a hand over his forehead—not that it did him much good. His hands were just as sweaty as the rest of him, and every single muscle in his body ached. It felt like he’d been walking for miles and miles, but he wasn’t dumb enough to believe it. All it took was one look at the sky to figure that he’d barely made it one.

Well, he thought bitterly. Sitting in a grave for four months probably didn’t do much for his endurance.

The roaring sound of an engine made his head pop up. A bright blue car was speeding toward him, racing down the side of the opposite side of the road. Dean paused mid-step, changing his gait so that he was strolling backward down the shoulder, his left hand out with a thumb.

The engine surged, and the car sped past him.

In the brief glance he’d gotten through the window, he’d caught the woman looking in the opposite direction. But if her sudden burst of speed was anything to go by, she’d definitely seen him. It was all about pretending that she hadn’t seen him—just an honest mistake so she didn’t have to stop and ask if he was alright.

Not that Dean blamed her. The dangerous stupidity of picking up hitchhikers these days far outweighed the benefit of helping strangers. And he was willing to bet he didn’t look like the most welcoming damsel on the side of the road. He’d just climbed out of his own grave, after all, and he was covered head to toe in dirt and sweat. His hands were bloody from clawing his way through the soil, and he had more than a few scratches from the shattered glass at the gas station. Good looking as he may be, he wasn’t the ideal pick up.

He didn’t even make it another mile. Exhausted, bruised, and furious with himself, Dean trudged to a stop and sat on the side of the highway. He pushed himself into a slim patch of shade, and rummaged through the shopping bag he’d pilfered from the gas station. Supplies were already dwindling—four protein bars, one pack of mini donuts, and one magazine. And he was already down to his last water bottle.

He knew he should save it, but even after downing the other three, his throat still felt raw and sandy. He thought of all the dirt that must have collected there while he was lying in his pine box. Then, he thought of all the times his throat had been flayed and sliced and twisted and burned before he’d woken up…

The thought was gone in an instant, and he cracked open the water bottle. Screw it. He’d figure out a way to avoid dehydration later.

His eyes lingered on the latest issue of Busty Asian Beauties. But he decided against it. Not like he had any energy to spare beating his meat on the side of the road. Not when he still had a few miles’ walk ahead of him.

Frustration nipped at his knuckles again, and Dean gripped the water bottle a little tighter. He’d called Sam, but the number had been disconnected. That wasn’t exactly a surprise. He and Sam always cycled through burner phones on the job. Best way to avoid the bills was to ditch the name and number.

But then he’d called Bobby, and the old man hadn’t even let him get a word in edgewise. But that was all part of the job. If it had been Bobby calling him after four months downstairs, Dean probably wouldn’t answer the phone either. Especially when he didn’t have a decent explanation for how he’d gotten out. And Dean didn’t have a clue what he was doing alive and breathing in Pontiac, Illinois.

But that was exactly why he needed to haul ass to Bobby’s. Nothing he’d ever heard of had the power to bust a soul out of hell. Wriggling out of a deal, sure. He and Sam had helped a few poor bastards weasel their way out of a bargain, but once the Hellhounds got you, there was no coming back. There was no waking up a few months later without a scratch on you. Even a demon couldn’t do that. Not unless someone let them out.

That was a nasty thought. If one of the big wig demons had let him escape, then there had to be something in it for them, something big. And he damn well wanted to know what it was before it was too late.

So—no car, no map, no phone, and a few hours’ worth of walking between him and his next water bottle. No problem.

Dean crushed the empty bottle in his hand, tossing it back into the bag. It couldn’t be that far to the edge of town. He was still in Pontiac as far as he could tell. It was just a matter of getting to the part of Pontiac that actually had buildings, or at least a car he could hot wire.

Five minutes later, he was back to hiking. He kept his ears sharp, waiting for another car to drive by. This time, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Hell, he’d jump in front of the damn car if that’s what it took to get a ride.

Whether or not he would have survived a minor collision, hitchhiking just didn’t seem to be in the cards for him. The road was quiet. He tried not to let it get to him, because the more he thought about it, the more he worried. Pontiac wasn’t exactly a backroads town. If there weren’t any cars on the road, just how far from the city was he?

And then he stopped.

Up ahead, there was a car parked on the shoulder—black, dusty, and almost certainly empty. There wasn’t anyone around for a few miles. Someone had probably broken down on the drive and called for a ride. Of course, it could have been something a lot worse, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. There was a car, and that meant he didn’t have to walk.

Dean approached carefully, waiting for some homeless dude to come out swinging and scratching—but the car was definitely abandoned. The backseat had a few slashes in the upholstery, and the body wasn’t in mint condition, but it could still run for sure. He only needed it to carry him a few miles before he upgraded.

Laughing at his luck, he threw his shopping bag in the passenger seat. He wiped his hands on the shirt around his waist, and popped the hood so he could get to work. And then his smile dropped like a rock.

There was no fucking engine.

“Friggen scavengers,” he grumbled, along with a few choice curse words. He kicked the fender for good measure.

Another car sped down the road, flying past him before he could even lift his head. Dean groaned and wiped a hand down his face again. Time to call it. He had officially used up all of his luck.

Just as he was starting to think about how desperately he didn’t want to go back to walking—he’d take a nap in the wreck if he weren’t so anxious to talk to Bobby—the silver car slowed down. It rolled along the side of the road, and after an agonizing moment of hesitation, pulled a U-turn and headed back toward him. It coasted to a stop, still a couple hundred feet away, and then the door swung open.

Dean smirked. He’d take it all back. He was one lucky son of a bitch.

She was blonde, trim, about half a foot shorter than he was. Most of her body stayed behind the car door, one foot still inside the vehicle. Clearly, she was ready to bolt the second he made the wrong move. Still, she’d stopped.

“Car trouble?” she called.

“Uh, yeah,” said Dean, giving the wreck a disparaging look. “You could say that. Don’t suppose you’re a mechanic?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Eh, it was worth asking.”

He quickly closed the hood again. You didn’t have to be a mechanic to notice when the engine was missing from a car. It left a pretty big gap to the untrained eye.

Dean walked around to the side of the car, and the woman tensed ever so slightly. He could see her hand gripping the door, her body shift as she debated getting back in the car. Not wanting to spook her, he stopped and took a casual step back. He smiled at her and leaned back on the hood to show he had no plans on approaching her.

He wasn’t entirely sure that it had worked. She kept her face passive as her eyes slid over him. She could have been checking him out or sizing him up as a threat and he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

“Should I call you a tow truck?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” he said with a shrug. Lying was still natural for him, even if he was a bit out of practice. “I called my brother a few times, so I’m just waiting for him to call me back.”

The blonde nodded, her eyes still narrow. She shifted slightly, and her right arm dropped to the inside of her door. If Dean hadn’t been trained to look for it, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. But he was sure she’d just picked something up.

“What happened to you?” she asked suddenly.

“Sorry?”

“I mean the dirt, the cuts.” Her free hand gestured to his torso. “What happened?”

“Oh I, uh…fell…”

Even Dean winced at that. There was no way he’d get off with a lie that bad.

The woman raised an eyebrow, and her right arm tensed behind the door. “You fell?”

“Hey, don’t laugh,” he said, trying to sound defensive. The chick was clearly not laughing, but he knew he had to backpedal somehow. “I was trying to walk into town, and I tripped over my own feet. Went rolling down the shoulder into the bushes, so…I figured I’d be better off waiting with the car. It’s—It’s not exactly the most badass way to get a few bruises, but I’m not exactly in the best shape of my life here.”

He watched her closely this time, looking up from under his lashes. That usually earned him a few bonus points with girls—the whole bashful, nervous thing. He wasn’t exactly betting on it this time, but the girl seemed to think about it at the very least. After a few seconds, she offered him a tight smile. Her arm did not relax.

“Well, heat exhaustion can be a real bitch.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled. Dean sent her his best charming smile, and shrugged again. “But I think I’ll stick with the car this time. Sammy will get one of my voicemails eventually.”

“Sammy’s your brother?”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s probably holed up with a book somewhere with his phone on silent. But he’s gotta come get me one of these days, right?”

“So you’re just gonna wait on the side of the highway in a broken down car until your brother happens to check his messages?” She indulgently tried to restrain a snort. “That’s…either really sweet or really, really dumb.”

“Probably both,” he agreed. It looked like she was smiling for real now, so he decided to test the waters. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

Her eyes quickly flicked around her surroundings. Apparently seeing no polite way out of the conversation, she sighed. “Katherine.”

“Katherine,” he repeated, nodding to himself. “Cute name.”

“It’s fine.”

His window was closing, and he knew it. He’d lied his ass off about being fine in hopes that she’d offer him a lift anyway, but she might have been too cautious for that to work. Asking for a lift would show his cards, and she was definitely too cautious for that to work. Any second now, she’d climb back in her car and drive off without him, and he’d have another few hours to contemplate how shitty he’d gotten at being persuasive.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dean cleared his throat.

“Look, Katherine, I’m gonna be honest with you. I don’t really want to stay here with my car. It’s hot, I’m starving, and uh…all I’ve got out here is a package of mini donuts. Now, you seem like a smart girl. You don’t know me. I’m just some rough looking dude on the side of the highway. So if you want to keep driving, I won’t blame you. But I’d really appreciate a lift to the next town. I—I’ll keep my hands in view the whole time, best behavior. And if I’m not then you can go ahead and use that pepper spray you’re hiding behind your door.”

It was a gamble—a huge one. How was he supposed to recognize that she was feeling vulnerable without pointing out that she was actually vulnerable? But he figured the worst she could do was spray him or leave him on the side of the highway. Or she could always hit him with her car.

Well, he’d already decided he was desperate enough to risk a car accident.

Katherine stared at him, her whole body poised to strike. But she didn’t move to attack him. Instead, she pursed her lips, and tersely said, “It’s actually a billy club.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Old school. Nice.”

“Well, I guess the element of surprise is out,” she sighed, tossing the club onto the driver’s seat. “Thanks a lot, Dean.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad. I’m a hard guy to surprise.”

He could barely believe it, but the next time she looked over at him, she almost looked like she was blushing. She bit her bottom lip, but the smile there still shone through. She ran a hand through her hair, glancing around at the empty road one more time before she relented.

“Where did you say you were headed?”

“Just to the next town. Anywhere with a diner.”

“No, I mean…where are you really headed?”

She was smirking now, and though he took a few casual steps forward, it never faltered. Dean licked his chapped lips, and offered her a lopsided grin.

“Sioux Falls, South Dakota. On your way?”

Katherine cocked an eyebrow. “I could make a pit stop.”

“Alright then.”

Dean walked the rest of the way to her car, trying to keep his pace casual but not wanting to give her time to change her mind. Katherine cleared her throat.

“Uh, don’t you wanna get your stuff?”

“Hm?”

He glanced back at the empty car, thinking of the shopping bag in the passenger seat. Somehow, he didn’t think Busty Asian Beauties was going to help him win Katherine’s trust. So he just waved a hand and shook his head.

“Oh, nah. Like I said. All I’ve got in there is some donuts.”

“Right.” She smiled again, walking around to the front of her car to meet him. Her eyes gave him another once over, looser this time than it had been before. She seemed amused, but still a little hesitant, as she offered him a hand. “I’m not gonna regret this, am I?”

“God, I hope not.”

Dean couldn’t help it. His tongue snuck out over his lips, and he eyed her short frame with rapidly climbing interest. It had been months since he’d gotten laid, and it felt like it had been decades. But judging by the way Katherine was blushing under those blonde waves, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

Yup, he thought to himself. Still got it.

Katherine’s hand tightened around his, and tugged his body closer to hers. Then, before he could even blink, her left fist smashed into his windpipe. His face slammed into the hood of the car, and he fell like a rock—his head cracking none-too-gently on the asphalt below.

Dean’s body crumpled to the pavement, and Kat gaped down at him, hands flying to cover her mouth. She had not meant to do that. Alright, well she had meant to punch him, but she had no idea that he was going to go down that easy. What kind of dude got knocked out after one bump on the head?

“Shit,” she grumbled, resting a hand on her hip.

She hadn’t really thought this through. She didn’t even know where he was going really, besides a town name a few states away. And the drive was going to take hours. She doubted he’d stay unconscious for all of it, and now that she’d kind of attacked him, he was more than likely to retaliate. So what was she supposed to do? Let him take a nap in the back seat of her Prius and hope that he didn’t remember what happened when he woke up? Right. Cause he was real likely to let her explain herself when he woke up bleeding in the back of a stranger’s car.

There was really only one thing to do.

Kat sighed, popping her trunk and grabbing a roll of duct tape. She wasn’t spectacular at restraining people, but she figured if she just kept layering the tape on then it would do the job. It would at least buy her some time if he woke up and tried to fight back. She rolled it up and down his forearms, and then up and down his shins. She thought about taping his mouth closed, but he did seem to be in pretty rough shape. A gag wasn’t a lot kinder, but at least it would allow him some air to breathe…she hoped…

Once he was all taped up, she began dragging him around to the back of the car. He was a heavy guy, packed with bone and muscle, but she managed to get him into the trunk without too much of a problem. Laying on his side with his knees tucked up, he fit just about perfectly. Kat stood back to admire her handiwork, and passed the back of her hand over her forehead.

She had a sneaking suspicion that this was going to blow up in her face. But there was no going back now. Besides, an unconscious Dean Winchester was better than no Dean Winchester at all...

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural oc #fyeahsupernaturalocs #spn oc #spn fic #gospel of the chosen #katherine moore #my stuff #my writing #it's Brittney bitch #i know it's late but oh well

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