#he's definitely alive and living a healthy happy life with me I swear guys

[funkyman66]

I'm currently rewatching Tales of Arcadia, and I'm at Trollhunters rn (cuz this show was legit my whole late childhood)

Draal is actually my pookie bear holy shitballs. like look at himmm I need to give him lil kisses :(

[simsadventures]

Only Mine: Chapter 12: Time to Be a Hero

Mobster!Bucky x Reader

Summary: The ballroom is under attack. And you try to make it out alive. But not without Bucky.

Warnings: mobster AU, angst, guns, blood, fighting, swearing, death of a character, betrayal

Word Count: 2873

A/N: Some people missed the angst, so here’s some for you (yup, I’m looking at you @coffeebooksandfandom​). Anyway, did anyone miss Only Mine as much as I did? Hope you guys did, loved writing this part even though it’s of the less happy ones. Let me know what you guys thought about it all. FEEDBACK is gold, you know the drill xx

Series Masterlist ___ Masterlist

< Previous Chapter

You groaned loudly as you rolled on the ground. You tried to focus long enough to find out what the hell was happening. You knew that there was somebody, or more people firing guns in the room, most probably looking for Bucky and his men. That made you an easy target as well because you were always by Bucky’s side.

Realising this you looked around yourself frantically, knowing you didn’t fall to the ground on your own volition. It must have been Bucky pushing you down so you wouldn’t be hurt. And you were right. Bucky was next to you, but unlike you, he was already on his feet, yelling orders at his men and looking around the room to find who the shooters were.

He briefly looked at you, looking for any apparent injuries that would prevent you from getting up, and when he saw none, he quickly grabbed your upper arm and pulled you up to his side.

You hissed in pain because you felt a sharp sting in your hip, and when you looked down to your left side, there was a shard of glass sticking out of your body. If you weren’t in such frantic situation, you would probably let yourself panic over it, and you’d most probably faint. But there was no time for that now.

Bucky followed your eyes, and when he saw the glass sticking out of you, he swore under his breath. He tried to touch it, but you swatted his hand away and took a deep breath. You needed to be strong not only for yourself but also for Bucky. You knew that he didn’t need a pretty face who would scream and faint in this situation. He needed a strong woman who would listen to his commands. You would have plenty of time to have a panic attack when this was all over, you told yourself.

You quickly pulled the shard out of your skin, stifling a painful moan in your throat. So that’s where the blood around you was from, you thought to yourself, patted your hip and threw the glass on the ground.

You then gripped Bucky’s hand in yours and gave him a reassuring squeeze which he reciprocated, only to turn around and yell at Sam behind the closest pillar to where you two were currently hiding.

“Sam! You have eyes on the shooter? We can’t go blasting shots through the room. There might civilians left here. They have nothing to do with this shit,” he yelled, but Sam yelled back that it was negative. They still couldn’t find whoever was shooting.

Just as he finished yelling, there was another round of bullets fired, most of them aimed at the two of you and your little pillar, which was shaking with the strength of those shots.

You took a deep breath and tried to make yourself as small as possible, trying not to be a target.

“Imma get you out of here, doll. You’re my priority,” Bucky said between the bullets as he gripped his own gun.

Before you knew it, he was standing a meter away from you, taking a few good shots after which a silence followed. Bucky obviously killed whoever was firing at you. But you knew you shouldn’t be hopeful. There definitely wasn’t just one shooter, so nobody was safe, yet.

“I love you, James, but I’m not the only person here. Please, make your life a priority as well,” you said with a stern look and Bucky smiled at you before he caressed your cheek briefly.

“I always knew I’d die doing this job, but I won’t have it that you die here as well. Even if it was the last thing I did, you’re getting out of here safe, Y/N,” Bucky whispered against your hair. You pushed him away slightly and took the lapels of his tuxedo.

“You listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. Stop talking like that or these shooters will be your last fucking worry, you hear me? If you want me to get out, you’re gonna have to get out as well. I’m not losing you, not so soon after I fucking found the love of my life,” you almost yelled into his face.

Bucky watched you in amazement, silent because of your little outburst. He knew that there wasn’t any other woman for him. Nobody was crazy enough to stay with him despite the shit-show his life was.

He just nodded and kissed you, letting all his emotions into the kiss for you to feel, for you to know that he would try to do everything in his power to live. For you, if not for anything else in this world.

He wanted to say something more when suddenly the room was pitch-black.

Great, now they cut the power, you thought and set your jaw. As scared as you were, you were getting pretty pissed at those fucking attackers. Did they really have to make it look like a scene from a shitty action movie? Everyone could have carried on shooting with the lights still on, but no. It wouldn’t have the effect, or whatever.

You knew your sarcastic self wasn’t helping anything at that moment, but you had to let out your fear somehow, and it was either being snarky in your own head or start crying and crumble on the floor. And you knew you couldn’t afford the second option.

You could feel Bucky pulling you down by your interlaced fingers, so you did the logical thing and crouched, although it was not the easiest thing to do in your high heels. But putting them down would only result in more shards in your feet, and so you decided to keep them on, however uncomfortable that was.

“We need to stay together, doll. You listen to everything I say when I say duck, you duck. When I say run, you fucking run, are we clear?” Bucky said intently, and you nodded.

“Yeah, very clear. I do everything you say, no talking back. You’re the boss,” you stated, and Bucky nodded, glad that you weren’t making a scene right now. Not that you were that kind of girl, but still. It was a possibility, especially in a moment like that.

You heard vibrations coming from Bucky’s pocket, and he quickly picked up his phone.

“Yes, Steve? Another two down, good. Do we know how many it actually was? You think 15? Alright, copy that. Be careful, try to kill as many motherfuckers as possible. I don’t give a shit about witnesses. I think we can be pretty sure as to who it was sending these men here. Yeah, me and Y/N are still in the main ballroom. Yup, Sam is still here, and I think Peter and Drax as well. Haven’t heard from anyone else, but hoping that they’re alright and fucking fighting. Alright,” Bucky finished his call, and then looked back at you.

“We gotta get out of here, doll. So we fight our way back, and then we’ll see. If everybody’s dead by then, we can go home, if not, you stay outside, and I’ll take care of business. We good?”

“Good,” you nodded and followed Bucky who carefully stood up, and started walking towards the exit. You knew he was doing it mostly for you, but you were still happy he didn’t send somebody else with you outside while he fought. You needed him healthy and happy, just like the rest of the gang.

You tried to tread carefully and silently, trying not to draw attention to the two of you by the clicking of your shoes. Just when you thought you outsmarted the idiots by taking the longer route outside, you saw a shadow in front of Bucky.

He was quick to let go of your hand, and thanks to your eyes already adjusting to the darkness, you could see a knife in that person’s hand, which Bucky dodged skilfully, knocking it out of the guy’s hand with one swing of his right arm, while his left arm grabbed the guy by his throat. The attacker was obviously surprised at Bucky’s swift motion, because he didn’t react at all, or very little, from what you saw.

When you heard a sickening crack, you knew Bucky broke his neck. Just like that, with his bare hands. It gave you a new respect for Bucky, and even a little fear, but you didn’t want to dwell on that. You couldn’t be afraid of your boyfriend. Not when you were sure he would never put his hand on you.

You continued on your way after that. You could hear some fighting from other parts fo the building, but you thought that you were staring to be safe more and more the closer you got to the door. And just as the thought crossed your mind, a rain of bullets hit you.

Bucky quickly pushed you in an adjacent empty room, closing the door with a thud and hiding behind one of the doors. You were surprised you were still unscratched except the one thing on your hip, and you sighed heavily, breathing out a relief.

You looked over at Bucky, wanting to tell him that you were two lucky sons of bitches when you saw his face contorted in pain.

You frantically got to your knees and scrambled closer to him to check his injuries. Surprisingly, he didn’t protest, and that’s how you knew that it was actually really bad. He must have been in a lot of pain for you to take care of him in a situation like that one.

You asses the injuries, seeing most of the blood was concentrated on his left arm. You pushed his sleeves out of the way and saw that a bullet hit him right through his shoulder, or very close to it.

The wound was bleeding like crazy, and you were afraid that at this frequency, he would bleed out in your hands. You quickly took off his jacket and pushed it against the wound. He hissed in pain, muttering insults not directly at you, but at the whole situation.

“You’re gonna be alright, baby, you just gotta stay awake for me, ok?” You murmured against Bucky’s cheek, trying to keep him awake. You rummaged through his pocket until you found his cell phone, quickly dialling Steve’s number.

“Steve? It’s me, Y/N. Bucky’s been hit, and it looks nasty. Can you come get us, or somebody? I need to get him out of here, and I don’t think I’ll be able to carry him, and he’s in no shape to walk on his own. Yeah, yeah, in that exact room. Alright. I’ll keep him awake. Hurry up, please,” you said through the speaker and ended the call to tend to Bucky.

He was watching you with a weird look in his eyes.

“Doll. You’re the best thing in my life, you know that, right?” He whispered, his voice shaking.

“Don’t,” you harshly told him, “don’t fucking say stuff like that right now. You’re not fucking dying, not on my watch, and if there’s anything on your mind, we can talk about it once we get out of here and get you to a hospital. So unless you wanna tell me something else, you only answer question I ask you, we clear? I’m the boss here now,” you said, swallowing your own emotions that were threatening to bubble up on the surface.

Bucky chuckled with evident difficulty, and you laid your hand on his chest.

“I love you, you crazy mobster. So just stay with me. So, tonight, I was pretty jealous because all those women looked like sluts. What did you think of it?” You said with a smirk, and Bucky shook his head at you.

You talked like this for a while, before you heard somebody coming in. Bucky was awfully quiet, and he tried to grab his gun, but he was too weak for that because of the blood-loss. You looked between him and whoever was coming before you leapt for the weapon. You saw the horror in Bucky’s eyes, but he still remained quiet.

You gripped the gun in your hand, the metal feeling extremely heavy in your hand, considering it was the first time you ever held anything like that. But you’ve watched enough crime series to know that all you had to do was pull the trigger since Bucky has been shooting with it already.

You aimed it at the unknown person coming into the room, praying that it was Steve who just didn’t announce himself and you wouldn’t hate to use the gun in your hand.

When the person came closer, you could see it was one of Bucky’s men. Bob, or what was he called. You were about to put the gun out of your hand when your instinct kicked in, and wouldn’t let you lower your hand. You’ve always had a weird feeling about him and Brock, and you couldn’t afford to take any chances. If he proved trustworthy, you could lower your gun later.

But from the looks of it, and his more than a sinister smile, you knew he wouldn’t give you the chance to lower it.

“Well, well, well. The boss wanted you alive, but I guess I can’t help myself, can I, Barnes? Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m gonna shoot you some more, have fun with the pretty little thing next to you, and then I’ll kill you, how does that sound? I think it’s a pretty good plan, actually,” he mused still looking at Bucky.

You shivered knowing that if you didn’t step in, all of that would happen. You could hear he was talking some more, but you filtered it all. You aimed the gun as best as you could and steadied your hands to your best abilities before you pulled the trigger.

The noise was much louder than you expected, although mere minutes ago you were near many more guns. It was probably the weight of the situation. The gun was in your hands, and it was your very own hands that had to fire it and hurt somebody. You aimed at his chest, but when you looked at him to see if he would cause you any more trouble, you could see you hit him right between his eyes.

Weird feeling ran down your spine, and you had to keep breathing through your nose, or you’d vomit.

Instead, you looked at Bucky to check if he was still with you, but what you saw made you panic even more. His eyes were closed.

You put your hand under his nose to see if he was breathing and you could feel air coming out of his nose, however, shallow his breathing was. You were about to stand up and just drag him out of there however you could to save him when a bunch of people ran into the room.

You gripped the gun again, prepared to protect Bucky, but you realised that you knew these people. It was Steve, Sam, and Brock. You weren’t glad to see the last one, but the other two finally brought relief to your body.

“Y/N! How is he? And are you hurt?” Steve yelled, kneeling beside you, checking on Bucky’s pulse.

“He’s breathing, but it’s not good, Steve. We need to get him to hospital, now,” you yelled back, the adrenaline still very much present in your system. You were about to stand up when a hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Wait a second. How come you have Bucky’s gun, he’s barely breathing and Bob, our friend Bob is laying here, with a bullet in his fucking brain? That’s a little suspicious, don’t you think, Y/N?” Brock asked, all serious.

You couldn’t believe your own ears.

“What are you even talking about, asshole? I was trying to protect Bucky, and your friend Bob here was obviously working for somebody else as well, from what he told us,” you answered, not believing this was actually happening.

“Oh, right, and he had his evil speech about what he is about to do and what his plan was, just like in movies, didn’t he, Y/N? Everything seems to be playing in your cards, weirdly enough,” Brock growled as he neared you.

“Enough. Our priority is to get Bucky to the hospital, and then we can figure out what the fuck happened. Y/N will go with us, and somebody will stay with her at all times, just to play it safe,” Steve said, not sparing you a look as him and Sam picked Bucky up and rushed out of the room, leaving you with Brock, who harshly tugged you by your upper arm.

This wasn’t happening, you kept repeating to yourself, but no matter what you did, you couldn’t wake up from this nightmare. Not only were you shot at, and you had to kill a person in order to protect your boyfriend, you were also accused of orchestrating the whole thing.

Brock was right in one thing, you thought. This really was like something out of a bad movie.

/Next Chapter >

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[enchantedlokii]

Darkness

Rating: PG

Warnings: fire, nightmares

Alternate Universe: none

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Mentioned: Richard Parker, Mary Parker, Ben Parker, May Parker, Adrian Toomes, Liz Toomes, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, Bruce Banner

Prompt Credit: @tadie1234 || nightmares

Peter had never been a stranger to nightmares. Even as a little kid, he would wake up sobbing out of fear from the images his mind created. Most were irrational; monsters that his mind would make up because of his overactive imagination. Others were different; being separated from his parents, for example. He didn’t exactly have separation anxiety, but he always knew that this was different. He could feel that something was wrong and that feeling would send him into a panic.

The nightmares started coming more frequently after his mother and father died. He could remember waking up and Ben or May being in his room, holding him close. Just like his parents had down when he was smaller. Eventually, they started to become less common again, until the next big accident in his life; the Hammer Drones, the spider bite, Ben’s death. Most recently, it was Adrian Toomes; the Vulture.

Peter decided not to tell anyone about the accident with the warehouse. He felt weak letting someone know that he nearly died because he was trapped underneath rubble that had been dropped on him by his at-the-time-girlfriend’s dad of all people. He didn’t tell anyone about the fire either. How he had ran into the flames to save the man who had just attempted to murder him, knowing that he might not make it back out alive.

And things got better afterwards. He had been invited to join the Avengers by Tony Stark. Even after he refused, the man returned the suit he had taken from him after the ferry accident. A few days later, Mr. Stark had sent him a text letting him know that Happy would pick him up after school. Peter had been confused until they reached the tower and Tony explained that he wanted to make the internship real. He wanted Peter to help him with his projects, commenting that he hadn’t had anyone who was smart enough to work with him since Bruce disappeared. Peter was more than happy to accept the offer, thrilled by the fact that his longtime hero wanted anything to do with him, even after all that the boy had done.

Then, the nightmares came back. This time they were all about Toomes. Some nights he would be dropped in the water again. Other nights he would be trapped beneath concrete. Occasionally, he would be on a burning beach. He had managed to keep them hidden from May, but he knew that it would be much harder keeping it hidden from Tony when he was given the chance to stay the weekend at the tower. Even so, he couldn’t turn away the once in a lifetime opportunity. He knew that the only non-Avenger who had ever slept there was Pepper Potts.

The first night went great. It took him a few hours before he could fall asleep, but he didn’t have any nightmares. Actually, he couldn’t remember dreaming at all. But the second night, Saturday night, was a different story.

“Please! Please, someone help! I’m down here!” Peter kept crying desperately for help. It was becoming harder to breathe with every cry, and he faintly wondered if someone kept adding more weight to the pile. He let out a strangled wail as he desperately tried to push the debris up and off of him, whimpering when he once again collapsed against the cold floor.

Panic filled his chest as he made another effort, hearing dozens of crackling noises. He was sure that he had some broken bones and he would definitely be hurting in the morning. That was, if he survived until morning. At this rate, he wasn’t sure he would ever be freed from the terrifying pressure.

Just as he was about to faint, the boy heard someone calling to him. He blinked and the scene changed. He gasped for air, still feeling the pressure on his chest. “I-I can’t breathe,” he cried, not realizing at first that he was at the tower and that he wasn’t alone in the room. He jumped as someone touched his shoulder, turning with wide, frantic eyes to face a worried Tony.

“Hey, hey, Pete, it’s okay,” he told him, gently taking one of the teenager’s hands and laying it on his chest. “Feel that, Buddy? You’re breathing. You’re okay.”

Peter shook his head. He couldn’t breathe. Why did he not understand? How could he not see that Peter couldn’t breathe? How did he not realize that he was trapped and he was being crushed and— “h-help me.”

“You’re okay,” Tony repeated, his voice soft. Peter was sure it was the softest he had ever heard it. He kept one hand on the boy’s chest and ran one through his hair in an attempt to comfort him. “Just take slow breaths, Kiddo. It was just a nightmare. You’re safe. I promise.”

Peter hesitated before nodding slowly, trying to calm himself. It took a few minutes, but he finally took a shaky breath and closed his eyes, letting his muscles relax slightly. “I-I’m okay,” he murmured, his voice sounding tired. “I’m okay.”

“That’s right,” Tony told him. “You’re just fine, Pete. You want to sit up?”

Peter nodded and let the man help him sit up in the bed without protest. At first he was silent, just playing with a string in the blanket. Then he sighed and looked down. “S-Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he replied sternly, sure to let Peter know that there was no room for argument. “Kid, everyone who has ever lived in this tower has had nightmares. It’s okay, I promise. It’s perfectly normal.”

Peter blinked up at him uncertainly. He couldn’t see any of the Avengers having nightmares. It seemed so childish. But he didn’t think that Tony had any reason to lie to him either.

When the kid didn’t speak up, Tony pushed the hair out of his face. “Do you want to talk about it? I know it’s hard, but I swear to you it helps.”

“H-how do you know?” Peter questioned. The last thing he wanted was to tell Mr. Stark about his nightmares. It was ridiculous. He was supposed to be a hero, not a child.

“Because I’ve been there,” he told him carefully. “I know it hurts to talk about them, but I promise that it’s so much better when you don’t have to keep it to yourself. It’s not healthy to bottle it all up. Trust me with that one. All it does is drive a wedge between you and the people who are worried about you.”

Peter thought about it for a moment, looking down again as he fidgeted with the string in his hands. Part of him did want to talk about it, but another part of him said not to. Talking about the nightmares surely couldn’t make them stop, but maybe it would make it a bit easier. Maybe it would keep him sane if nothing else.

“I won’t force you to tell me,” Tony continued after a beat of silence. “But if you want to, you can. Or I can just sit here for a bit if you want. Sometimes it helps just to have someone there with you.”

Peter sighed, glancing over slightly but still not looking up. “It. . . It was about the Vulture,” he said quietly. “The, um, the guy with the Chitauri weapons?”

Tony nodded. “I remember,” he assured the boy as he paused, seemingly looking for an answer to his question. He thought about saying something more, but he wasn’t sure what to say. So instead he let the boy elaborate in his own time.

“I. . . On the night of homecoming, he found out that I’m Spider-Man,” Peter continued. “He was. . . Well, funny story. . . My date was his daughter and they started talking about the Washington Monument incident. He put two and two together when I said I wasn’t in the elevator when it happened. That’s why I went after him.”

Peter was quiet for a moment as he collected his thoughts. So much happened that night, and he wasn’t sure how much he needed to say. “I followed him to an old warehouse, and he started to attack me. Or, well. . . I thought he was attacking me, but it turns out he was aiming for the support beams. He. . . He destroyed them all, and then the building fell on me. . .”

Tony’s eyes widened slightly at the story. “Oh, Pete,” he murmured, rubbing the boy’s shoulder. “You could have told me.”

“I know,” Peter sighed. Truthfully, he had wanted to tell Mr. Stark, but he chickened our every time he thought of it. “It’s just really hard. I didn’t think I was going to make it out, and I wasn’t ready to. . . Die.”

“But you did make it out,” Tony reminded him. “And I’m proud of you for that. Not only did you get out, but you went on and kept fighting until you brought him down. Most people would have given up then and there.”

Peter just shrugged, not sure what to say. He was grateful when Tony didn’t push him to say more. “Hey, it’s almost daylight. How about we go make pancakes and then we can just sit watch TV for a bit? How does that sound?”

Peter gave him a small smile at the suggestion. “Yeah, okay,” he replied. “That. . . That sounds nice, Mr. Stark.”

“Great,” Tony returned the smile as he spoke. “Let’s go, Kid.”

[tuancore]

Lost You (Part 14) :

Starring- Jinyoung x reader

Genre- Angst

Summary- It's your choices and actions which made you miserable.

You could feel your entire world collapsing before you, oxygen leaving your lungs, suffocating you to death. It was a horrible feeling, your body was crying for oxygen to let you live, but you had absolute no reason to. As much as it killed you inside you were going to meet ends by killing yourself from outside as well.

As soon as your eyes shut close, you felt yourself falling into some sort of black hole, getting sucked from within. Thats it, you are going to leave everything behind and rest in piece, you thought.

________

The doctors operated on you restlessly for hours, Jinyoung stood outside the operation theatre his face already pale and puffy from crying. All he prayed was for you to be safe and to come back to life, To him, To your love, To where you belonged.

The doctors were finally done operating on you after two and a half hours.

"Doctor, how's she? She's fine right? Nothing happened to her right—" Jinyoung clouded the doctors with multiple questions his fingers intertwined together. Exhaling a short breath, they replied "Mr. Park, we managed to save her..but if she—".

"If she what doctor?" He shouted impatiently, "You See.....Mr. Park we have to wait till she gains consciousness until then we can't say anything clearly, let's just hope for the best, now if you excuse me" The doctor excused himself leaving Jinyoung behind, crying to himself.

BamBam approached him, embracing Jinyoung in his arms, rubbing his back, "Hyung, Noona will wake up soon. Don't worry, she's the strongest".

"But BamBam what if she never wakes up, what if I lose her?" Jinyoung panicked, grabbing his hairs harshly "I can't lose her Bam, I can't, how will I even breathe seeing her in this condition?".

"Hyung, Hyung....please calm down, nothing bad will happen, have some faith in her, she won't leave you", BamBam tried to assure him, "If anything she loves you, she'll not go anywhere leaving me, leaving you, any of us".

And just like that it's been two months and you still haven't opened your eyes. Seeing your lifeless form before his eyes were burning and eating Jinyoung alive, he felt so helpless for the first time in his life, even if he gave up all his money and his soul he won't be able to wake you up. All he was required to do was pray and wait for a new day to bring the possibility of you waking up.

"Oppa..." The voice made Jinyoung turn his head around, while he sat beside your ward bed on a barstool holding onto your cold hands securingly, "Minyoung, You here? Not having work today?".

"I do have work but I wanted to visit Unnie first, that's all" She smiled, staring at you, "Oppa, I just hope she wakes up soon, it's been so long. It's kind of hard to not have her around and I want you to be healthy Oppa, you're neither eating nor sleeping properly. Do you think unnie will be happy seeing you like this?".

"Yeah, you're right...." He turned to face you, his heart hurting everytime to see your hands getting pierced with syringes and that oxygen mask which was keeping you stable, " But Minyoung, I'm healthy don't worry, as long as she's by my side, I'll be okay ".

"Where's BamBam?" Minyoung asked, "I thought he would be here".

"BamBam? He hasn't visited for two to three days, anyways why are you asking about him?" Jinyoung asked back, raising his brows in curiosity.

"Stop with that suspicious upfront" Minyoung laughed hitting Jinyoung's shoulders playfully, "Lisa unnie was worried about him, he hasn't been answering her phone calls".

"Lisa hmm, there's nothing to be worried about he's busy with things at the studio, tell her not to care about that dork that much. Yugyeom is there with him" Jinyoung laughed, "Oppa if he's with Yugyeom it's 110% confirm that they'll cause some trouble, for you all to wrap up later, it's so casual for Lisa unnie to get worried".

"I know, I know. Salute to Lisa for bearing with BamBam's annoying ass" Jinyoung grinned, at the thought of Lisa always running after BamBam with the amount of headache he gives her.

"Aigoo it's already, 11:47. I guess I'll be on my way to the clinic, see you Oppa" She hugged Jinyoung gently, then after facing you again, "Unnie wake up soon, we're all missing you a lot".

"Please baby, please come back to me, with every passing second, I'm losing a part of myself" He sniffed, reminiscing the times you both have spent together, "Remember baby you always scolded me for not helping in household chores, and that one day you'll leave me if I didn't start being a good boyfriend, helping you with those. I'm sorry...." He sobbed kissing your knuckles, "I'll do whatever you'll ask me to, I promise. I'll do the dishes, I'll do the laundry, I'll clean the washroom. Anything, I'll keep you like the princess you are....all you have to do is come back to me. Please....I love you. Please".

"Bam the hell are you doing?" Lisa growled through her phone, making her boyfriend shudder in fear, "I'm sorry Lili baby I was busy".

"Busy? What kind of busy? That you haven't answered my calls for three days, not even a single message", she continued ranting while BamBam bit his bottom lips nervously, glancing at Yugyeom every now and then who was busy drinking his chocolate milk, "Baby...I'm just busy at the studio with some mixtapes, it's been exhausting lately. I promise I'll call you from now onwards, don't worry too much, hmmm?".

Sighing loudly, Lisa mumbled "Okay, take care, by the way Bam".

"Yes Lili?".

"Just go and visit the hospital, Minyoung told me that Jinyoung's condition is also worsening, it's not good for his health", She explained, tone laced with concern, "Lisa, hyung hasn't been himself since the day Noona— I'll spare myself some time and go there".

"Sounds good, and one more thing. I'm coming back in five days" Lisa contained herself from squealing. BamBam's face lit up at the news, clutching his phone tight he grinned widely, "OMG! Finally! You've been stuck at Rosé's place for three weeks now, that's enough for her".

"Yeah, but it's definitely not enough. I'm cutting my visit short because my childish boyfriend is being a nut".

"Hey! What do you mean by a nut? I'm the coolest you know so it's definitely you who's a nut" He bragged, dabbing again. Yugyeom let out a scoff walking out of the room.

"And I'm the hottest okay" She chuckled lightly, "Yeah yeah a very hot nut though, Lisa come back soon I miss you", he muttered lovingly.

"I miss you more Bamie".

________

The work and everything started getting the best out of Jinyoung, he was ditching meals and sleep continuously. He ran from office to hospital and then from hospital to office without any fixed schedule. Everyone requested him to get some rest at home, Yugyeom and BamBam even suggested that they will keep an eye on you. But Jinyoung was not satisfied with any of that, if he wants to be with you, Then he will be with you. His words were solidified in concrete.

Except for today, everyone planned on not letting Jinyoung step inside your ward until and unless he attends today's meeting. The investor was giving up a huge amount for the project and Jinyoung's company can't miss on this.

"You guys sure that this will convince Sir to attend the meeting?" A blonde lean boy one of Jinyoung's employees asked, chewing his fingertips, "Of course! Hyunjin don't worry. Noona means the world to Jinyoung hyung, he'll even walk to the moon just for her sake, so chill", Yugyeom encouraged Hyunjin who was still not so sure.

"Please hyungs do anything, but please please convince Sir to lead on this meeting. He has been rescheduling this meeting for weeks and I don't think that the investor himself have that much patience" Hyunjin explained desperately, "I do understand that he's here for ma'am he cares for her, he loves her but job is also important. Please convince hi—".

"Shut up! He will go with you, just stop with your blabbering" BamBam shouted, irritated hearing Hyunjin's pleadings since then.

BamBam and Yugyeom proceeded with their plan by locking your room's door from inside not letting Jinyoung in, "Hyung! You'll get to see her after the meeting only!" BamBam shouted from inside holding onto the knob tightly.

"BamBam that's not fair! You can't do this I swear I'll break the door if you don't open it!" Jinyoung snarled from outside banging on the wood. "Stop banging loudly, Do you want Noona to get disturbed?" BamBam's words made Jinyoung stop and sigh in defeat, "Fine I'll go....".

"Good choice, so we'll be waiting for you right here after few hours...." BamBam smiled waving a bye from the little glass hole in the door, "Few hours" Jinyoung repeated sadly not wanting to leave you even for a second.

"After you Sir" Hyunjin spoke for the first time after Jinyoung's arrival. He nodded after capturing your form, grabbing the file from Hyunjin's grasp walking towards the exit flipping through the pages, with Hyunjin following behind.

Yugyeom and BamBam passed a thumbs up towards Hyunjin, mouthing "Told you".

Unlocking the door, BamBam and Yugyeom plopped themselves on the couch. Both of them already tired from sweating day and night at the studio, but they knew that someone has to look after Jinyoung because he has completely lost himself.

Suddenly your heart rate monitor started to beep sending a panic wave through BamBam and Yugyeom. They jumped to their feet running to examine you, your breathing was highly unstable even though you had the oxygen mask.

BamBam stayed with you while Yugyeom rushed outside to call a doctor to check on your not so good seeming state. Your chest heaved up and down due to your erratic breathing, your lungs suffocating you.

"Noona... Noona...." He called out desperately, "Nothing will happen to you Noona...", BamBam pulled out his phone ready to dial Jinyoung's number but stopped at the thought of Jinyoung being in the meeting.

"Doctor please...do something it looks like she's getting short of breath" Yugyeom barged in along with the doctor, she immediately stood beside you, checking your pulse rate and heart rate.

She injected you with some medicine, then again leveling the monitors after awhile your breathing was back to normal. BamBam and Yugyeom almost had a cardiac arrest, if it wasn't for the doctor to have you stable again.

"What was happening to her?" BamBam asked the doctor, "She's fine right?".

"Don't worry she's good, and I think she'll wake up soon" She smiled at both of them, before walking away.

"Gyeomie...." BamBam whispered facing him. Yugyeom nodded with a smile, "Yes yes I heard, Noona we're waiting".

Your head started throbbing with pain, almost unbearable, you tried opening your eyes but squinted them with the ache, tears filling your eyes. You heard someone calling your name voice laced with shear panic.

"Noona!" With the last call out, you opened your eyes, panting and sweating heavily as if you've ran a marathon, "Calm down, calm down..... Everything is okay, you're okay. Slow down, breathe in, breathe out".

"BamBam...." You whispered, through the mask. Later catching the proper rhythm of breath, still with your head throbbing you managed to rotate your eyes across the room. Hospital.

"I didn't die?" You mumbled which was audible enough for BamBam and Yugyeom to hear. "Noona, stop saying things like that. You're safe and sound. Nothing happened to you by god's grace", Yugyeom snapped, shaking his head.

You didn't dare to ask about Jinyoung, not that he has left your mind or heart, but the slightest thought of him pained your heart, neither did Yugyeom or BamBam were bothered enough to bring Jinyoung up.

Later the doctors performed few tests on you to make sure everything was normal. Fortunately the reports were declared normal and that if you wish you can get back home as soon as possible.

"Shouldn't we call Jinyoung hyung and let him know about her?" Yugyeom asked BamBam, "We should but not now, he's still in the meeting and if we informed him right now, he'll leave that meeting in between and hurry here, which we don't want..." BamBam explained, waiting for doctors to shift you back to your ward.

Thanks to the medicines, due to which your headache completely vanished, you still felt light headed almost floating in the sky, legs wobbly, breathing heavily. The doctor handed you a pair of clothes for you to change from that hospital gown.

"This...." You asked the doctor confused about the clothes which you were certain belonged to you, hesitantly taking the dress from her hand. "The young man who's with you kept these clothes just in case and see it was fruitful", You nodded your head mind thinking about BamBam since he was the one with you meanwhile the doctor clearly referred to Jinyoung.

"You can walk..." Yugyeom uttered examining you from head to toe as you walked with the doctor. "Of course I can, I didn't break my legs".

"So wanna go home?" The doctor asked you with a humble smile, "If you want you can, I'll just arrange the discharge papers".

"Will it be okay to take her so soon, like she just woke up?" BamBam asked worriedly. "Everything is fine, you can take her home. She'll get proper rest at home".

Sitting at the backseat of BamBam's car you stared outside of the window, it was already evening with the sun almost setting while BamBam sat on the driver's nseat with Yugyeom beside him.

"Noona Jinyoung hyung isn't at home, he's busy in some meeting, so no one would be at home, if you want I can take you—" Cutting BamBam in the midway, you sighed in frustration, "I don't want to hear anything about Jinyoung Bam! Just take me somewhere else but not to him".

Yugyeom and BamBam locked eyes in eternal confusion and shock, "What do you mean by not to him?".

"I just don't want to see his face, I don't wanna go back to him".

"But Noona he—".

BamBam held Yugyeom's arms shushing him, "So I'll take you to Youngjae's place then...".

Eyes widening you shrieked loudly, "Youngjae's place? BamBam have you both completely lost it. Why would I want to go to that bastard's place, he's the reason why me and Jinyoung are having problems".

"What do you mean?" Yugyeom cut in curtly.

"I know Youngjae is the one responsible for mine and Jinyoung's relationship to end so brutally!" You snarled clenching your fists, your nails almost digging into your palm's flesh.

"I know you both knew this, then why would you want to take me to his place?", You asserted your pitch rising with every word.

"Because he's your bestfriend" Yugyeom and BamBam announced in unison. Your face falling at their words, pondering over it, a sharp pain shot through your head making you groan in pain.

Part 13 // Part 14 // Part 15

______________________________________

[welllpthisishappening]

One Foot In (3/7)

The facts were these.

Killian Jones was dead. This much Emma knew, standing in the middle of the funeral parlor staring at him. What she didn’t know was why. Or how. Or what she would do when she touched him.

Because Emma Swan had a gift. Touch a dead thing once, bring it back to life. Touch it again, dead forever.

And the last thing Emma could do was bring Killian back to life, talk to him for the first time in years, only to watch him die all over again. Not when she’d spent the better part of those same years being in love with him.

—–

Rating: Teen, but eventually they’re going to kiss Word Count: 9.3K this chapter. Again.  AN: I continue to have a lot of thoughts and feelings about all the thoughts and feelings you guys have about this mess of words. Thanks for being lovely. We get to that eventually this chapter. Also, happy hockey day internet. Yesterday obviously didn’t count because the Rangers don’t play until tonight. 

@shireness-says​ @optomisticgirl​ @nikkiemms, @teamhook, @dayo488​, @greymeetsblue​, @jennjenn615​, @heavenlyjoycastle​, @klynn-stormz​, @superchocovian​, @onepunintendid​, @jonesfandomfanatic​, @lfh1226-linda​

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

—–

Emma Swan is twenty-nine years, six months, twenty-three days and, approximately, eight and half hours old when she wakes up to an empty apartment. 

This, normally, would not be cause for distress, but Emma is less than twenty-four hours removed from making sure Killian Jones wasn’t buried in the same cemetery she once kissed him in and they probably should have discussed the rules more. 

Like the never leave her apartment rules. 

Because everyone thought he was dead rules. 

Emma exhales, a breath of air she didn’t realize she was holding onto until she suddenly realizes how much she desperately needs it and it cannot be healthy for her vision to keep fading in and out like that. She assumes it’s a symptom of something. Possibly insanity. 

She feels a little insane. 

And questionably well rested. 

Because for someone who broke most of the most fundamental rules of the universe the day before, Emma didn’t wake up once all night. 

She refuses to acknowledge that that is probably a sign too. 

“Ok, get a grip, Swan,” she mumbles, mostly to herself because she is, in fact, the only person in that apartment. “He can’t have gone that far.”

Pushing out of the pile of blankets tangled between her legs, she glances around her admittedly small living room and the smile on her face feels equal parts unnatural, incredulous and a little overwhelmed. And kind of charmed. 

The blankets on the other side of the room are all folded – sharp corners and folds that are, very likely, Naval grade and the clothes he’d slept in are next to them, looking as if they’ve just been dropped off by the world’s most effective dry cleaners. 

This, however, does not give Emma any sense of where the hell Killian has actually gone and she can’t keep talking to herself. That’s a line she refuses to cross and a rabbit hole she refuses to go down and she jogs into the kitchen before she realizes that’s where she’s decided to go next. 

The plates are still in the sink, not much looking out of place, but Emma has been spending most of her free time with Ruby for years now and she’s got an eye for these things or something that would definitely make Ruby laugh and there’s a peace of paper folded on top of the coffee maker. 

His handwriting is different than it was when he was a kid, not quite as lopsided as it was when he got points taken off a spelling test for illegibility that required Liam to meet with the teacher. It’s blunter now, like he’s trying to work out all his emotions about the entire state of the world in a few letters on a piece of paper that Emma can’t even begin to imagine he found easily. 

You didn’t have any coffee left. You’re an awful hostess. 

Her hand doesn’t shake when she reads it, a moral victory she’ll probably hold onto for the rest of the day, and her smile still feels incredibly out of place. 

Because Killian is not in her apartment. 

Or dead. 

That’s probably the most important part of the whole thing. 

Emma genuinely has no idea what sound she makes in response to that. It’s not a laugh, she’s teetering far too close to those metaphorical precipices to actually find much humor in the situation, but it’s not actually a scoff or a groan either. It’s a weird mixture of all three, a sound that actually manages to hurt her throat on the way out before lingering in the air and pressing down on every side of her skull and he’s right; she doesn’t have any coffee. 

She was going to go to the store last night. 

She got a little sidetracked. 

God, now she wants a cheeseburger too. 

And Emma is disappointed she didn’t realize exactly where a very-much alive Killian Jones went as soon as she woke up. Because, once, when she was seven and he was eight – only a few days after his birthday and he’d been bragging about being older and wiser and several other things that made Emma kick at his ankles – he’d decided he wanted to know what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street. 

And the only way to figure out what was underneath that one man hole on Main Street was to lift it up, climb. down and start exploring. Immediately. He’d ignored most of Emma’s protests, smiling and nodding like she was making any progress in the argument, and eventually she’d run out of fight and gotten a flashlight out of the hallway closet. 

They didn’t find much of anything, just managed to ruin both of their shoes and Ingrid resolutely refused to give them pie for three straight days because they had to throw away their clothes when she couldn’t get the smell out and—

“He went back downstairs,” Emma sighs, shaking her head in something close to disbelief. 

She doesn’t time herself, but she assumes that she gets ready in record time – only a few minutes and a few droplets of water thrown at her face, not even bothering to brush her hair before tugging it up while jogging down the stairs to her own restaurant. Emma put the note in the back pocket of her jeans. 

Killian doesn’t immediately look up when Emma walks in, skidding across the linoleum tile of the kitchen floor, but she can see his lips quirk slightly and, if put under oath, she would swear his eyes get brighter. 

That is a scientific impossibility, Emma is sure. She’s also not entirely convinced they’re dealing with normal science. 

She doesn’t know what category magic fingers fall under. 

He’s half leaning on the counter, arms crossed lightly over the button-up he was wearing the day before and feet crossed at the ankles, a mug of what is, presumably, coffee in his right hand. There’s no tie, which is probably for the best because Emma isn’t sure she’d be able to handle that. 

And he’s not alone. 

“Hey, Em,” Graham says brightly, and Emma is glad she’s not holding anything. She would drop it. Killian’s tongue moves into the corner of his mouth. 

Emma needs to study science more because it feels as if the blood actually falls out of her face, vision doing that thing again and she’d just like some kind of confirmation if that’s even possible. 

Killian doesn’t move, although his eyes do narrow, a hint of a concern shifting into the space between him and Emma. There is not much space between him and Emma. 

“So, uh...I met your friend,” Graham continues, eyes doing an admirable job of looking like they’re bouncing around a pinball machine. “Didn’t really know you had friends.”

Killian snorts into his coffee, and Emma is torn between scandalized and...mostly scandalized. 

“I have friends,” Emma sputters. Graham does not look convinced. “Are you not my friend?” “I am your employee.” “Ok, well...yes, that’s technically true, but—” “—Do you want to share friendship bracelets, Em? Is that what you’re telling me?” “There’s no need to be a jerk about this.” “What about those little heart pendants? Where we each have half? Or is that too retro for us? We’re some kind of proper millennial relationship, right?” Emma scowls – an expression that is starting to become her default setting, and Killian is suspiciously silent. Until he isn’t. 

“We had matching temporary tattoos one summer,” he says softly, and Graham nearly falls over. He doesn’t actually, which makes it eight-hundred thousand times worse, and Emma briefly considers drinking the coffee straight out of the pot. 

She assumes burning her tongue beyond recognition will, somehow, ground her. 

“That so?” Graham asks, voice going gruff and disbelieving. “What summer was this? Recently?” “Do you honestly think I am the kind of person who has had a temporary tattoo in recent history?” Emma mutters. Graham shrugs. 

“I have a sudden and very strong suspicion I don’t know much about you at all, boss. It’s not for lack of trying, but…” He trails off in a way that makes Emma’s stomach twist uncomfortably, an allusion to almosts and possibilities that were never really either because Emma doesn’t like those words and she’s much better on her own. 

It’s safer that way. Less connection, means less possibility for getting hurt. Or something. 

She can’t really remember the reason for anything anymore, particularly when she can feel Killian’s eyes boring a hole in the side of her head and her pulse has only recently recovered from finding her apartment as empty as it normally is. 

“If memory serves, Swan was eight,” Killian says, still speaking mostly into his coffee cup. “She’d gotten a rather disappointing mark in third-grade science.” Graham’s shoulders shake when he chuckles. “What kind of science is third grade science?” “The most basic science possible.” “That’s a complete and total lie,” Emma argues. “That was...there was that frog thing involved and I—” “—Resolutely refused to do the assignment,” Killian finishes. “Did you also get detention?” Emma nods, not as stunned as she probably should be that he remembers this so well. Although, he’d also gotten detention with her because if Swan isn’t going to dissect the frog, then I’m not either. “Ingrid was furious,” Emma says. “She said we were challenging authority and couldn’t I have just done what I was supposed to do for once in my life.” “I always thought that was a little heavy-handed. What did the frog ever do to you that it deserved to get cut up like that?” “Died, apparently.” Killian hums, the conversation drifting dangerously close to topics they absolutely cannot discuss in front of Graham. “That was awfully rude of him to do that.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure the frog would agree with that, though.” They stare at each other for a moment – metaphors and metaphorical dances of the conversational variety and Graham coughs pointedly when they don’t do anything else. “Anyway,” Killian says, a forced brightness to the word that makes Emma’s jaw clench. “Swan refused to cut apart the frog, Ingrid was very upset about it, as was the teacher, God, what was her name?” “Ms. Feinberg,” Emma answers. Honestly, Graham does not appear to be breathing at this point. 

“That’s right. That’s right. She wore that ridiculous fur coat in the winter and—” “—We thought she could control the animals with her voice. Some kind of ridiculous magical thing that made a lot of sense when I was eight.” “Does it not make sense now?” Emma shrugs, not sure how she manages to stay upright when it feels as if the floor shakes under her feet. “How’d you get coffee?” “I’m absolutely incredible in unfamiliar situations,” Killian grins. He leans forward as he says it, another test of fate that Emma can’t voice and he knows she can’t voice and she’s going to have to give Graham an entire week off for subjecting him to whatever this might be. It feels like flirting. Again. “Also your coffee maker does not require me to be a rocket scientist, love.” Graham sounds like he’s choking. 

“You ok?” Emma asks as he continues to sputter on oxygen. 

“Yup, yup, yup,” Graham nods brusquely. “I’m fine. Totally fine. So, uh...you two knew each other when you were younger then? What was Emma like when she was a kid? Aside from the weird science thing.”

“It’s not weird to refuse to dissect a frog,” Emma hisses. “I was a kid. I liked animals.” She wishes she could come up with another phrase then kill him because that feels a little insensitive and Emma clearly doesn’t want to kill Killian, but he keeps laughing and pouring more coffee. He twists around, opening a cabinet he shouldn’t know is there and offers Emma a mug. 

“I don’t know how you take your coffee, Swan,” he says quietly.

Emma reaches out slowly, careful not to touch his fingers and it’s as weird as possible – gripping the mug from the top while Graham’s actual head snaps back and forth. “Cream and three and a half sugars,” she says. “If it’s not espresso.” “You don’t have an espresso machine?” “It’s not that kind of restaurant. Espresso is way too new wave.” “New wave,” Killian echoes, but there’s nothing even resembling teasing in any of the letters. He says them as if he’s chasing them and they’re both still holding the goddamn mug. 

“Yeah. I’m not...great at change, really. Like. At all, you know.” He lets go of the mug. 

She doesn’t drop it. So, points to her or whatever. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Graham says. He waves both his hand through the air, as if that will clear it or make any of this make sense and maybe Emma should just give him two weeks off. “I am...very confused. I thought you knew each other. You…” He glances at Killian, blinking quickly. “I don’t know your name.” “That’s because I never told you,” Killian says. 

“And?” “And...what?” “Ok, you’re really not going to tell me your name? Are you...Em, what the hell is going on right now?”

Emma shakes her head, not sure where to begin or how to explain and Killian is pouring her coffee. As if that’s a normal thing that is allowed to happen and the urge to run is almost overpowering. That’s always been her thing – even when she was eight years old and refused to follow the rules of a science class that was almost too dependent on rules and a classroom that smelled like formaldehyde no matter what they happened to be studying that week. 

Emma does not do conflict. She does disappearing acts, her own personal brand of magic that’s served her and her slightly patched-together heart very well for the last twenty years, but that same heart is really only patched together because it was forced to run away from the man in front of her who, once upon a time, wouldn’t let her get in trouble by herself. 

So she doesn’t run.  

She swallows instead, biting back words and explanations and the very real desire to just scream as loud as she’s capable of. 

“You want to double check on the napkin dispensers?” Emma asks, not actually looking at Graham and that does admittedly feel like kind of a dick move. 

“I’m sorry, what? Was that the answer to the question? Seriously who the fu—” “The napkin dispensers,” she cuts in sharply. Emma turns her whole body when she speaks, hopeful that her face betrays the regret she feels festering in the tips of her fingers. “Just...you know make sure that they’re full.” “Are we expecting some kind of mad pie rush today?” “God, I hope not. Also, why are you here early?” Graham’s expression shifts – tremulous and clearly concerned about Emma’s immediate reaction to whatever he’s about to say. He glances Killian’s direction, but is only met with slightly interested eyebrows and a recently refilled coffee mug. 

“You heard her,” Killian mutters. It’s not quite a threat, although Emma can’t stop the shiver that drifts down her spine and lingers in between her hips, a flash of cold that makes her wonder if they’ve suddenly time traveled to the middle of December. 

He hops onto the edge of the counter when Graham’s mouth drops slightly, eyebrows still as high as ever and hackles almost visibly raised. 

Emma has no idea what hackles even are. 

“Hey,” she says, waving a dismissive hand as close as she can get to Killian without ensuring disaster. “What…” Emma trails off when she realizes she can’t formulate that question either, another head shake that makes her neck ache. “Alright,” she continues. “I want a straight answer Humbert. What are you doing here so early?”

Graham shuffles on his feet again. “Ruby called me. Late last night. Which, honestly I thought you were dead, but she promised you weren’t, just that you might be and—” “—I’m sorry, I might be?” “Emma, if you keep interrupting me, I’m never going to finish the story and I’ve got a jam-packed schedule of refilling napkin containers.” “Are they that empty?” “Emma!” "Fine, fine,” she grumbles, shooting a glare Killian’s direction when he dares to laugh at what may be her very real mental breakdown. 

“I didn’t say a word, Swan,” he grins. 

Graham coughs again, but it also sounds a bit like a groan and three weeks of vacation seems almost exorbitant. “Ruby called me,” he repeats. “Was certain there was something going on with you and that you were acting shady after you guys left here yesterday morning. She said she’d been doing some research and some names had come up and—” “—Wait, what kind of names?” Emma interrupts. Graham throws a strawberry out of the closest bowl at it, the fruit bouncing off her left hand and landing at her feet – rotten, again. 

Killian slides off the counter. 

“Do you mind giving us a couple of minutes?” he asks, stepping in front of Emma like he’ll be able to block her from the threat of the one waiter she employees. She has to dig her nails into her palms to resist touching him again, those ridiculous and inconvenient magnets proving particularly problematic once more. 

She doesn’t hear whatever Graham says in response, is far too busy trying to figure out what the buzzing in the back of her head is. It sounds a bit like flies, or maybe a little more like bees, a hum and a sound that isn’t quite distracting, but feels a little powerful. 

The noise grows the longer she stays in one place, as if it’s getting stronger or more intense, knocking at the edges of Emma’s consciousness. It feels a bit like a memory she forgot, but is desperate to remember and that doesn’t make any sense at all. It’s déjà vu, a familiarity and a reminder and it almost feels warm, like it’s wrapping its way around her shoulders and holding her tight and Emma doesn’t think it’s a threat. 

She’s got no idea what the hell it is, but she doesn’t think it’s trying to hurt her. 

It might be trying to help her. 

Or remind her. 

And she nearly jumps out of her skin when Killian tugs on the side of her shirt. 

“Holy shit,” Emma growls, stumbling backwards. “What the hell were you thinking?” “You’re going to have to be more specific, Swan.” “What time did you get down here?” He shrugs, an air of nonchalance that’s far more frustrating with the noise that’s starting to ebb in between her ears. “Not long before you got here.” “Was Graham down here?” “No, he showed up in the middle of my quest for coffee. He’s fairly desperately in love with you, you know.” Emma blinks. “Ah, shut up,” she says before she can come up with a better retort and, that time, Killian’s answering laugh is almost warranted. 

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” “Yes. You can’t...you can’t do, like, any of the things you have done in the last hour.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules.” “Well there are rules,” Emma snaps, and she knows it’s not his fault. He was dead yesterday. And now he’s not and that’s got to be messing with his head, no matter what he tells her. Even if he keeps staring at her that very particular way, as if she’s some kind of magical being descended from on high to...do something. Emma isn’t sure what yet. 

Killian moves back towards the counter, grabbing the strawberries along the way. The whole thing is ridiculous. “And they are?” “You can’t come down here. Not...not without telling me or when Graham is down here and—” “—And just who exactly is Graham, Swan? He seemed quite interested in figuring out who I am.” “Because you aren’t supposed to be in the kitchen!”

“No, I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s because he’s hopelessly, inextricably head over heels in love with you and he made several different assumptions as soon as he saw me. Do you not often have men in your kitchen, love?” “That’s not even clever.” “And that’s a very pointed attempt at not answering the question.” 

Emma huffs, crossing her arms, but that only serves to twist up her shirt and Killian’s eyes dart towards the suddenly obvious patch of skin above her right hip bone. “No,” she mutters. “That’s not...this has never happened before.” Killian eats another strawberry. 

“And Graham, he doesn’t...he’s not a partner in your side endeavors?” Emma shakes her head. “He knows that sometimes I take elongated breaks that usually require Ruby to arrive, but other than that, no. He’s got no idea. No one does.” “Why not?” “Why not?” Emma balks, voice rising of its own accord. Killian’s face doesn’t shift, but she can see his tongue press on the inside of his cheek and that might be one of his tells. “No one can know that,” she presses. “It’s...that’s way more power than anyone should have. Life and death and—death.” “You said that twice,” Killian points out. His own voice drops, like it’s trying to balance out Emma’s near-shriek and she probably shouldn’t be taking comfort from it, but she can still dimly make out the buzzing in the back of her brain. 

“I left Storybrooke and I got shipped around the country. I bounced around from group home to foster homes and houses and no one was ever even remotely interested in actually adopting me. One family tried to use me as a tax break, but that was as close as I got and it was never...it was never Ingrid. It was never you.”

She has to take a deep breath to stop herself from crying and Emma isn’t sure how the words keep coming, but Killian Jones is in her kitchen and everything seems to fall out of her without much concern about her set of rules. 

“There was never anyone,” Emma continues. “So I learned to keep to myself and figure things out on my own and it’s better that way, don’t you think? No chance of making a mistake or doing something wrong and I’ve managed to rationalize the whole thing with Ruby.” “Justice being served, huh?” Killian asks knowingly. 

“Yeah, exactly that.” “I can’t just stay in your apartment forever, love.” The endearment switch catches her off guard, a trend that Emma should really start expecting at this point. Nothing seems like it’s on even ground anymore. 

“People know you’re dead,” Emma argues. “There were news reports and, well, you heard it. Your name was there and there were graphics and—”

“—All of that seems a little tacky, don’t you think?” “I’m not here to debate the merits of journalism with you.” “Then what are you going to do, Swan? Because I’m not going to stay cooped up forever. I can’t. I did that for a very long time and I won’t—”

“I told you,” Graham announces, turning towards the wide-open door of the restaurant where a fuming Ruby appears to be doing her best impression of carved marble. “Doesn’t he look just like that dead guy on the news?”

Emma drops the coffee mug in her hand. 

“He looks exactly like that dead guy on the news,” Ruby seethes. She stands in the doorway for a few more moments, likely considering where to dump Emma’s body when she inevitably kills her, but then the clack of her heels moving towards the kitchen sounds impossibly loud and Emma regrets not getting dental insurance. 

She’s got a feeling she’ll need it sooner rather than later. 

“That’s super weird,” Graham continues, stuffing a handful of napkins into the container at table six. “Didn’t he die under suspicious circumstances?” “They don’t know,” Emma bites out. She chances a glance at Killian who, it seems, has also frozen, fingers wrapped around another strawberry. 

Ruby’s laugh is distinctly lacking any humor. “Or so the reports go.” “I heard some rumors there was some shady stuff involved,” Graham says. Emma’s head is going to fly off her neck. That would be for the best – then she could ignore the whole situation entirely. 

“What kind of shady stuff?” Graham shrugs, dropping the container back onto the table and every noise sounds magnified. Emma has to glance down to make sure there aren’t sparks shooting out of her fingers. There are not. That’s almost disappointing. 

“Well they didn’t find anyone else there, did they?” Graham asks. “At the scene, I mean? Usually there’d at least be a suspect or something.” “Maybe you should be the PI,” Ruby drawls. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re hysterical, Lucas. I’m just saying. There should be DNA or something right? And they said he lost his hand. But...no hand at the crime scene.” “What?” Killian snaps, looking only slightly affronted when Ruby glares at him. “Where did it go?”

“Do you think I’m aware of dead peoples missing limbs?” Graham asks. 

Emma’s never had an actual heart attack, so she can’t be entirely certain of what the symptoms are or what it actually feels like, but she assumes it sort of feels like this. Her arms feel too heavy for her body, hands like weights dragging her into the kitchen floor. Bobbing on her feet, she tries to dispel the extra energy she’s suddenly flush with and that can’t possibly be medicinal.

No one notices at first – Ruby far too busy asking Graham where he’s getting his sources and Graham snarking back and it’s not a surprise when Emma feels Killian’s gaze move back towards her and her tiny vertical jump. 

“Swan,” he starts, leaning forward. “What…” “Oh, no, no, no,” Ruby shouts. Her hair hits the side of her face when she shakes her head, eyes bordering on dangerous and possibly tinted as red as the highlights in her hair. “No, no, you did not call her that. Is that...Humbert, you need to get out of here.” Graham drops another napkin container. “What? I work here, Lucas.” “I don’t care.” “You are not my boss.” “Get out of here, Humbert!” He lifts his hands in frustration, clearly waiting for Emma to object, but her jaw is stuck mid-clench and there is something wrong here and a heart attack probably shouldn’t last this long. “Fine” Graham growls. “Fine. You guys want to play secret and not act like this is the first time Emma has acknowledged there are other human beings on this planet, that’s fine with me.”

He’s gone in a huff of napkins and knocked over chairs, the bell on the door ringing loudly as soon as he slams it behind him. 

And for half a moment Emma is almost hopeful they won’t say anything else. They’ll just stand there until the end of time when the meteors come and dinosaurs return or however the world is going to end and she’ll be able to avoid this particular brand of conflict. 

“Emma.” No such luck. Killian is still staring at her. 

“So, guess we’ve got some things to talk about, huh?” Ruby asks, more forced calm that’s almost worse than screaming and shouting and throwing fruit. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” “The truth would just...blow my mind.” Emma sighs, closing her eyes and trying to come up with something that’s even remotely possible and everything sounds worse than the last lie. “I couldn’t,” she whispers, staring at her shoes. Her shoes are less judgmental than the other two people in the kitchen. 

“He is kind of dreamy. I think it’s the hair. Or the earring.” Emma lifts her head – Ruby grinning knowingly at her because Ruby knows that other rule and they’ll have to deal with that eventually. Preferably when Killian isn’t within hearing distance. 

“I think my uncles thought it was a joke,” Killian murmurs, tugging lightly on the jewelry and the wisps of hair that curl just behind his ear. “I looked this morning. Just to make sure I wasn’t taking on any zombie-like characteristics.” “You’re not a zombie,” Emma groans. He grins at her. 

“No harm in double checking. But I noticed the earring and that’s definitely Nemo’s, so...in the grand scheme I suppose it’s nice.” “Who’s Nemo?” Ruby asks, grabbing a pie off the counter and two forks. She hands one to Killian. And they’re all taking this surprisingly well. 

Emma may be the only one who isn’t. 

“The aforementioned uncle,” Killian says. “This one is good too, Swan.” “All Emma’s pies are good.” “Are you two bonding right now?” Emma demands. “Because that’s...Ruby are you not furious?” Ruby nods, tugging the fork out of her mouth slowly. “Oh I’m super pissed at you, but you’re currently exercising three of the five tells, so I figure you’re doing a really great job of beating yourself up already. Also I’ve got some news and, like, eighty-thousand questions.” “Only eighty-thousand?” Killian asks. 

“At least. Don’t try and play cute with me though, Jones. I’ve got some very strong suspicions about you.” “Such as?” “You weren’t as naive about the situation as you told your girlfriend.”

Killian’s grip on the fork noticeably tightens and Emma should really clean up the puddle of coffee at her foot. It’s starting to seep into her sneaker. Maybe she should buy new sneakers. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, and Emma’s breath catches because she’s incredibly familiar with that particular tone. It’s the same exact tone it was when he was seven and trying to convince Liam he’d only had one slice of pie at Ingrid’s. 

And the tips of his ears go red. 

Ruby shakes her head. “Incorrect. And as much as I hate to admit Humbert is ever right about anything, he does bring up a good point about your hand. What do you remember about that?” “Not much,” Killian lies. 

“Nope, try again.” His eyes dart towards Emma’s, tongue flashing between his lips and it’s as if they’re standing on a tightrope above several dozen crocodiles or alligators, whichever are more dangerous, and there’s probably rain involved too. Just to make everything as slippery as possible. 

“You said you’d already done the cooped up forever thing,” Emma whispers. “And you wouldn’t do it again. What did that mean?” “You ran and I stayed put, Swan.” “English, Jones.” The twist of his answering smile is enough to make Emma’s heart stutter against her rib cage. He tugs the pie plate out of Ruby’s hands, taking another exaggerated bite – eyes never leaving Emma. “Seriously, you should be winning awards for this,” he mutters. “And I didn’t actually lie to you before. I have no idea who actually killed me.” “But?” “But,” he repeats. “I’m not exactly the kid you remember.” “Who are you then?” Killian inhales, only to exhale even sharper and—”It’d really be much easier if I could hold your hand.” Ruby gags. “That’s not a line,” he promises. “That’s...it was always easier that way.” “Start at the beginning,” Ruby commands. He salutes again. 

“My brother died when I was ten years old and it changed my entire life,” Killian explains. “For awhile I thought it ruined my entire life because it meant Emma was gone and, you know no one ever moved into your house, Swan?” She shakes her head, not sure what the right response to that is, but some twisted part of her is almost glad. “They didn’t,” Killian continues. “It was just there, forever, taunting me of what was gone and what wasn’t ever actually coming back. And, well, Shakespeare and Nemo were used to being on the road, but the acting troupe they’d be in for the decade before they got saddled with me...it was on its last legs. There’s no money in it and they sort of stumbled into guardianship without much prep or guidance and they didn’t...they sat in that house and they’d both seen so much already. 

“You know Nemo’s ship was attacked once, that was part of the reason he wanted to avoid the bars on that port leave when he met Shakespeare and they’ve both dealt with so much shit from the world. They weren’t really….they weren’t really interested in the world anymore.” “But I bet you were, weren’t you?” Ruby asks, tugging on the plate again. 

“Not at first. Well, no that’s a lie. I was a shit kid as soon as Swan was gone, always getting in trouble and blowing off class and I think I tried to run away no less than sixteen times before I actually turned sixteen.” “How would you get out of town?” Emma asks, hating how soft her question sounded. 

Killian smirks “I never made it very far. You know Storybrooke, love, eyes everywhere and people gossiping even more. I think Cora Mills caught me trying to sneak out of my house even more than my uncles did.” “Oh she always gave me the creeps.” “You’re going to want to remember that in a second.” “Can you please put a pause on the flirting for, like, point two seconds so we can get on with the story?” Ruby groans. “Time, as they say, is a-slipping.” “You’re not very patient are you?” “It’s a family trait,” Emma mumbles. “You should meet her grandmother.” “Hey,” Ruby cries. “My grandmother taught me every PI trick I know. She’s the reason we’re going to find Jones’ killer and collect both rewards.”

Emma tenses. “Both rewards?” “Yeah, now you’re interested, aren’t you? Keep going Jones. This is almost interesting backstory.” “Almost interesting,” Killian chuckles, and they really should have each gotten their own pie. “Alright, alright. So Cora Mills—the mayor of Storybrooke,” he adds at Ruby’s questioning expression. “She’s been mayor since the dawn of time really, and she’s known I’ve been trying to get out Storybrooke for years, but I never did.” “Why not?” Emma asks, Killian’s hum of confusion feeling as if it lands between each one of her ribs. “I mean...couldn’t you?” “Eh, I’m sure I could have if I put my mind to it. But at some point around high school graduation, which was never entirely a guarantee for me, I realized that Nemo and Shakespeare were done with the world. They were tired of fighting it and tired of trying to find their place in it and—” “—You couldn't leave,” Ruby finishes, a note of sympathy in her voice that stuns Emma more than just about anything else that’s happened. 

Killian hums again. The disappointment and regret in the sound is bitter on Emma’s tongue, and maybe she should be taking some adult-ed science classes because she’s clearly got no idea how any of this works, but she’s never seen that look on his face before. 

As if the whole world has passed him by and left him in the metaphorical dust. 

“They’d given up their whole lives for me,” he mumbles. “And we were good. For a very long time. I...well, I figured out how to make money and I had books.” “Books?” Emma repeats. “You had books?” “I like to read.” “Are you a nerd now?” “I wouldn't go that far. It’s a...hobby, possibly some kind of obsession depending on who you ask. Don't ask my uncles.”

“I promise.”

He smiles at her again – slow and genuine until that replaces the whatever in between Emma’s ribs and she feels as if she breathes normally for the first time since she woke up. Ruby sticks her entire tongue out. 

There are berry stains on it. 

“Is this going to be a thing now?” she shouts. “The flirting? Are we going to flirt our way through several different crime scenes?” Emma tilts her head. “Are there more than one crime scene?” “There might be if Jones doesn’t get better at telling us his goddamn life story. Also, the less sarcastic answer is maybe because I’ve got news, but seriously the life story. If you were good with the shut-ins, why did you leave?” Killian doesn’t answer immediately, and the tension in between his shoulder blades is almost too obvious. Emma isn’t sure she hears him at first. And then she’s not sure she wants to. 

“Nemo got sick,” he says. “Suddenly and...badly? Is that the right word? It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t great and so I was trying to figure out a way to get some money and an opportunity presented itself.” “How?” “Remember creepy Cora Mills?” Emma hates that her jaw drops, but she can’t stop it and she knows this is not a good story. She didn’t expect it to be a good story and it is, somehow, even worse. “What could she possibly offer you?” “Money,” Killian shrugs. “And the chance to get out of Storybrooke, which given the situation paints me in a particularly asshole-light, but that’s always been kind of my MO too and—” “That’s not true.” “You haven’t known me for a very long time, Swan.” “I don’t believe that.” Melting certainly isn’t the right word for whatever happens to Killian’s expression. Emma doesn’t care. It’s the first word her mind comes up with and latches onto, in some misplaced effort to maintain control of a decidedly out of control situation, and she wishes she could hold his hand. 

Too. Or still. 

Or always. 

Honestly, whatever. 

“Thanks,” Killian mutters. “I promise it’s warranted in this situation. I was getting desperate. I never went to college and I couldn't figure out what to do or who to ask.” “No girlfriend to help, then?” Ruby asks archly, ignoring whatever noise Emma makes at that particular question. “What? First of all, that’s a genuine question. Because if there is a girlfriend, then we should probably prepare ourselves for her arrival in defense of Jones’ previously discussed very dreamy face and, second of all, if there is a girlfriend, she probably should have helped him rob a bank or something.” “Are we advocating bank robbing now?” Emma fumes, her anger having nothing to do with the sanctity of the American banking system. 

“No girlfriend,” Killian says. Emma wrings her hands together. So, naturally, Ruby notices. “Anyway, Cora found me one day and told me she had an opportunity if I was interested.” “And were you?”

“I didn’t see any other option, really. It made sense when she explained it. I had to get on the ship and—” “—Wait, wait, there was a ship involved?” Ruby asks. 

“Yeah, a cruise. To uh...shit, where was it to?” “We weren’t on the ship.” “That wasn’t the important part that’s why,” Killian mutters. “It was Tahiti or something. But I was told that I wasn’t supposed to do any of the onshore stuff they do. You know, zip lining and...swimming with sharks or whatever.” “The thought of that always freaked me out,” Ruby muses. 

“Yeah, me too actually. They say it’s safe, but—” “Can we focus, please?” Emma exclaims, met with two wide-eyed expressions for that especially emotional outburst. “Sorry, sorry, just...what were you supposed to be doing on this boat? Oh my God, are you some kind of drug mule?” Killian makes a face, ridiculous enough that Emma has to dig her heels into the ground to make sure she doesn’t try to do something absurd like kiss it off. The rules of the universe can suck it, honestly. 

“Are you kidding me?” “You’re the one who said I didn’t know you anymore!” “I was not a drug mule,” Killian sighs, dropping his fork so he can run his fingers through his hair. “I was...a water mule.” “What does that mean?” “Cora said that once we got to the island, there’d be some people getting on the ship who had something for me. I was supposed to bring it back.” “Did you meet these people?” Ruby asks, business-like and Emma knows she wishes she had a notepad of some kind. She pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket. 

“Yeah, that was kind of the problem.” “How so?”

Killian doesn’t shudder, but it’s awfully close, a nervousness to him that doesn’t match up with anything Emma knows about him. “There was a whole group of them. Each one of them shadier than the next and they all spoke in grunts, I swear.” “Sounds like lackeys.” “Yeah, probably. They didn’t know anything about Cora though, so the orders were coming from higher up and that’s kind of when I realized I’d gotten into something I wasn’t particularly interested in.” “What do you think that was?” “I don’t know exactly,” Killian admits. “But one of the goons handed me a vial of something that was, maybe, filled with water, demanded my immediate and complete silence and told me his boss was expecting me when I got back to New York.” “New York?” Emma asks. “That’s where the ship left from. I asked this guy what exactly it was I was supposed to be moving and how I was supposed to get it through security.” “I’m sure he didn’t appreciate that,” Ruby chuckles. 

“He did not, actually. He told me to shut my mouth and do my job and that, this is where it gets weird, his master wouldn’t be pleased if I deviated from the schedule.” Ruby’s eyebrows pull low. “He switched from boss to master?” “Weird, right?” “Super weird. And incredibly creepy. So what did you do after that?” “I told him that I thought there was a mistake,” Killian says with a laugh that sounds full of a slightly different brand of regret. “And that I wasn’t interested in shipping whatever product they were trying to move. I don’t remember much after that, but I do remember the vial falling and breaking. Goons one through six were not very happy about that. There was a lot of moanful grunting about it.” “There were six of them?” Emma breathes, not nearly as confident as she’d like to be. She rocks backwards on her heels when Killian slides off the counter, ignoring whatever Ruby is doing with all of her limbs as she steps into her space. 

There haven’t been very many moments in Emma’s life that stick. She’s made sure of it, run from the thoughts and the feelings and the relationships for years. This moment, however, seems determined to linger and fester and that second word is absolutely wrong. 

It doesn’t fester. It grows – the buzzing returning until it sounds like someone’s turned the metaphorical volume up as high as it will go on Emma’s life and soul and, possibly, the magic she’s done her best not to acknowledge for the last twenty years. 

None of that, however, holds a candle to whatever look settles on Killian’s face. It’s not quite understanding – there’s still that pesky rule hanging over their heads and she’ll tell him the truth at some point, eventually, she will – but for right now, this moment, she wants to memorize every shift of his face, the twitch of his lips and the turn of his eyebrows, hair falling almost artfully across his forehead when he tilts his head slightly. 

He doesn’t look scared of her. And, really, that’s what makes all the difference because Emma’s been a little scared of what she can do and terrified of what everyone else will do if they find out about her, but Killian just takes another step towards her and smiles as if everything is normal or could be normal and—

“I’m fine, love,” he promises. “I’m very good at surviving.” Ruby scoffs. The moment ends – with Killian’s hand hovering just a breath away from Emma’s side. “Right, right,” Ruby mumbles. “Sure you are. That’s all very well and good and everything, but you’ve thrown a very large wrench into a case that already makes a negative amount of sense. Plus, you know...you’re supposed to be dead.” “I think we’ve covered that several times, Rubes” Emma mutters. 

“And I don’t think Jones died in Storybrooke.” Emma is very glad they’re not open until ten. Ruby’s proclamation rings out in the empty restaurant, bouncing off walls and tables and half-filled napkin containers. It hangs there, taunting and teasing and it can’t possibly be true. 

It can’t possibly be...not true. 

“I think you died on that boat, Jones,” Ruby adds, rolling her eyes when Killian mutters the technical term is ship under his breath. “And I really don’t care about that. But I think the goons killed you then and there and moved you to Storybrooke because you were some kind of very dreamy recluse who, if we’re keeping up appearances, should be dead in your hometown.” “But then why is Cora the one with the reward money?” Emma counters. “She’s the one who set this whole thing up.” “Unless she doesn’t really know who she was working for. Or she didn’t expect Jones to show up dead. Or she’s a little nervous about her own safety because Jones did show up dead. There’s plenty of reasons. All of which I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to answer when we go pay her a visit.” Emma does her best to form actual words. She does. It does not end well. And Ruby snickers at her. “Five figures, Em,” she says, pausing between each word to really drive her point home. “And whatever the uncles have offered now.” Killian jerks his arm back to his side. “They did what?” “Oh yeah, it’s not as much as Madam Mayor, but it’s a good amount and I think they’ve got some suspicions about you and your little jaunt to the...what water is Tahiti in? That doesn't matter. What does matter is that there’s more money being floated around and that means that more eyes are going to be on this and it’s in our best interest to figure it out.” “Don't you think that’s dangerous?” Emma asks, fighting the itch to start mixing something. 

“Oh, I think it’s incredibly dangerous. Except we’ve got a living, breathing dead person in this kitchen who’s involved in some kind of shady something and those same shady somethings will probably be very interested in him being alive. So solving Killian Jones’ murder seems to be our only option at this point.” Killian smiles at Emma – as if he’s won a competition they absolutely were not staging. She groans. “This is not a victory for you,” she hisses. “This is...how do you expect to just go outside? Graham knew who you were.” “He suspected,” Killian corrects. “And I’ll wear a hat. And sunglasses.” “Your ears look ridiculous in a hat.” “I hate to be that person, but I don’t think we should be all that worried about the fashion choices of the dead here,” Ruby says. 

“And you’re very worried about your own fashion choices.” “Ok, that’s rude. I am worried about you. Incredibly so, in fact. Because we’ve got a good thing going here and I...well, I am worried about you. That’s the headline.” It’s not a particularly impassioned speech, but it may be the most emotional Ruby’s gotten since Emma ran into her perp in an alley. Her heart strings are, effectively, tugged. And the guilt in the pit of her stomach churns. 

That’s less pleasant. “Fine,” Emma snaps, like she had any chance of convincing either one of them otherwise. “Fine. Let’s all solve a goddamn murder then. It’s not like I had pie to bake.” “Should be award-winning pie,” Killian adds. They’re definitely flirting. “And I’m serious about 30-30-40. Except from my uncles. That’s...there’s got to be a line, you know?” Ruby stops pouring the coffee Emma hadn’t realized she’d started pouring. “What exactly does that mean? Exactly?” “You said that twice.” “I’m going to get Emma to touch you.” “God, Rubes, that’s dark,” Emma grumbles. She’s run out of coffee. 

“I think I should get the forty percent of the reward because I died,” Killian says, easy as well, pie. “And we’re not taking money from my uncles. Nemo’s still sick. There’s gotta be some kind of morality clause in your familial PI code, right?” Ruby considers that for a moment before bursting out into a laugh that is so loud Emma glances at the walls to make sure the paint hasn’t been chipped. She’s still doubled over nearly thirty seconds later, body shaking and tears in her eyes and it’s a little concerning, but also kind of nice because it sounds real and Killian is still standing far too close to Emma. 

Like he can’t bring himself to move. 

“Yeah, yeah, that does seem fair actually,” Ruby nods, laughter still clinging to her words. “It wasn’t in the original instruction manual, but I doubt Granny was really prepared for people coming back from the dead.” “Magic’s got a way of sneaking up on you like that.” “I guess it does. And I guess we’re going back to Storybrooke, huh?” Killian hums, a barely visible shift of his weight that’s really a dismissal without the words. Ruby almost looks impressed. “I’ll, uh...I’ll give you guys a second.”

Emma needs to take the bell off her door. 

It’s far too loud, particularly when she can’t hear Killian breathing next to her. He turns on the spot, quick enough that Emma feels like she has to blink to make sure it’s really happening. It is. He’s still there. 

Looking at her. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, desperate to say something before he can. She’s a great, big, giant coward really. 

Killian’s mouth quirks up again. “Still as fine as advertised. And you stole my question, actually.” “There’s not anything to be worried about.” “With you or the situation in general?” “Me. Always.” “That’s a decidedly depressing mindset, Swan. I’d very much like to worry about you, at least for the time being. And I know there’s something you aren’t telling me.” Emma startles at the certainty there, the distinct lack of blinking or confusion. He’s positive. And he’s right. She makes another absurd noise. “I don’t know anything about you,” she points out. “It’s...we’re in the middle of something here and I just, well—”

“Why is it a minute?” 

“Why is what a minute?” “This whole magical side of you,” Killian says. “A minute seems incredibly arbitrary. It’s not a lot of time to do anything productive.” “You’d be surprised.”

He chuckles, tongue doing something incredibly unfair again. “You know I haven’t often been jealous of other people, but it seems to be a trend for me this morning.” “That’s ridiculous. Graham is not...we’re not like that.” “You may not be, Swan, but he certainly is. And I can’t say I blame him.” “That felt like flirting,” Emma accuses. 

“It was absolutely flirting. Was that not obvious? That’s frustrating. I am, admittedly, out of practice though, so...” “That’s surprising actually.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Emma nods, taking a step back to try and maintain her sanity. It seems to be slipping through her fingers the longer they stay in that kitchen. “I’m kind of out of practice with the flirting thing too,” she admits. “But, yes, it was meant to be. And, again, there’s no reason to be jealous. I’m talking to dead people.” “And then dead’ing them again.” “Usually.” “Alright, so we’ll work on the flirting then,” Killian promises, and Emma resents whatever her pulse does at that. He certainly hears it. “But why the minute? Did you decide that?” “A minute is a very long time. Plus, the longer someone is alive who isn’t really supposed to be alive, the more likely something is going to go wrong and people get very preachy when they realize life and death is in the balance.”

“I’m still here though. You’ve avoided kissing me on multiple occasions.” “That’s what you're worried about?” “Not in the way you’re thinking. Well, partially in the way you’re thinking, but mostly in the way that you said you’ve never done this before, right?” Emma nods. “And you don’t have some boyfriend aside from the love-struck waiter.” A less enthusiastic nod. Killian’s smile widens. “So,” he continues, leaning around her to grab something she can’t possibly be bothered looking at. “My main question before we dive into the seedy underbelly of the world is...why me?” “I told you that already,” Emma whispers, and she is not emotionally prepared to deal with this many emotions this early in the morning. Or ever. She can’t believe she still has so many emotions about Killian Jones. She desperately wants to brush his hair away from his eyebrows. 

“No, you did a rather horrible job of avoiding the question. So, I’ll ask you one more time, love, why didn’t you let me go?” Emma opens her mouth – certain I couldn’t will come spilling out of her, again and on loop, but she meets his gaze and it’s all too much and not enough. He’d know if she was lying anyway. 

“I just thought it made more sense,” she says. “To have you there. I...I thought my life might be...better if you were in it. You know, again.” He’s infuriatingly quiet or a moment, gaze penetrating. That’s not altogether uncomfortable either. Emma doesn’t blink. 

And, that, that, eventually seems like the turning point because it’s in that moment she realizes what exactly Killian is holding. 

Saran wrap.

He moves quickly, leading with his head so as not to touch her with anything else. The saran wrap isn’t perfectly tight between his fingers, a strange balancing act with only five fingers, but Emma’s too stunned to worry about that for too long and then she’s too amazed to be stunned and she’s wanted to kiss him since she saw him. 

Again. 

She moves forward, the taste of plastic on her tongue when she presses her lips against his. Her arms twist behind her, determined not to give into the metaphorical magnets that feel as if they’re yanking on Emma and begging her to card her fingers through Killian’s hair. 

She fists her hands, but she doesn’t pull away. Part of her is stunned, toying with fate and fire and the rules of the world, but the rest of Emma is screaming out in triumph, desperate to press her mouth closer to Killian’s, to breathe him in until he’s found his way back into the middle of everything. 

It feels impossibly easy. 

It always felt like that. 

Emma makes a noise, almost a groan and possibly a sigh and she can feel Killian’s smile through the twisted up saran wrap. Their noses bump.

“I can’t believe you did that,” she mumbles, not moving her head away. His laugh times up with the buzzing in her ears. 

“Consider it a well-executed science experiment.” “What would you have done if it didn’t work?” Killian shrugs. “I was pretty confident it would work.” “That’s not an answer.” “I really, really, really wanted to kiss you.” 

He bunches up the saran wrap before Emma can object, another quick press to her cheek that isn’t really to her cheek and she feels like she’s floating. She’s not sure she’s ever felt like that.

Ruby groans when she walks back into the restaurant. 

“Oh my God,” she sneers. “Is this our new normal? Because if it is, I’m taking my own car. Or that bus. It wasn’t really that bad.” “You made her take the bus, Swan?” Killian asks, tossing the saran wrap in the trash. Emma probably shouldn’t regret that. 

“I was trying to figure out how to get you away from your own coffin.” He beams at her. Ruby throws several napkins across the restaurant. 

“Can we go solve a murder, please? I’m sure Madam Mayor is very busy.” Emma takes a deep breath, glancing at a still-smiling Killian and the slight flush to his cheeks. She’s a little proud she put that there. “Yeah,” she nods. “Let’s go solve a murder.”

[infinite-hearts-333]

Broken pack, Broken wolf

Sander sides, Analogical (Eventually), Logan Angst, Werewolf AU

WARNING: really bad writing, angsty, lack of sleep and starvation, swearing I'll add to this

Before

Part 2- Purpose, and... family?

Logan never left his room. Well, that's what the sides believed. Truthfully, every second night, he snuck out of his room in the middle of the night to steal snacks from the kitchen- well, once he found it. It was hard to sleep without the comforting weight of his pack around him, so Logan read and fingered out what his purpose was here until he passed out from exhaustion. Which... wasn't healthy... but he couldn't help it.

Moving on, his purpose. Apparently, he was inside a human's head- in the form of a figment of the male's imagination also known as one of his 'sides'. Logan, was the male's- also known as Thomas- Logical side. There are other sides as well, Morality and Creativity, the ones he met when he first manifested, and others as well, known as Deceit and Paranoia.

Logan, once informed on where the hell he was, began to work. How he knew what to do- he had no clue whatsoever. He just sat, and suddenly, he was typing and writing and planning, it helped to pass the time, distracting him from the hole in his heart that craved touch from his pack.

Logan stayed in his room, never coming out to interact with any of the sides. Even when Creativity lost stability and split in two, Logan remained seated in his room, the only change in routine was that he stayed in the den, curled up to hide from the scream as a side split in two.

Days turned to weeks, then to months, then years. Life became a sick pattern, wake up (sometimes he was already awake), eat any leftovers, work until he was exhausted and crawl back into his den. Some nights, Logan would cry himself to sleep, unable to remove the last image before his death- Jackson's horrified face, maw opened in a shout. 'LOGAN!'

The bags under his eyes became darker and darker, for Logan couldn't sleep without his pack, and the couple of hours of sleep he got from collapsing from exhaustion were cut short from Logan awakening, screaming and crying from night terrors.

Eventually, Logan came to the facts that crying was going to do nothing. His pack would move on, not knowing he was alive. .....could this even be counted as being alive? So he got rid of it all. All of his emotions, he repressed them, ignored them, hid them, and focused on his work instead.

And soon enough, Logan could hold a straight face from dawn till dusk. Only then, did he go outside in the day. He walked to the cupboard that he had never touched, swinging the door open and studied the clothes inside.

He got unchanged, dressed, and brushed his hair carefully, folding his ears down until they vanished against his will. Two flicks of his tail, and his tail vanished as well. A unicorn onesie sat in his cupboard, and he stared at it for a few minutes and then tossed it into the den. Removing his glasses, Logan smeared foundation under his eyes to hide the bags, before placing his glasses back on.

He inhaled, clutching the key hanging around his neck, and then unlocked the door for the first time, and stepped outside into the hallway.

Logan hadn't expected a welcome, more of a... threat for near-attacking Morality when they first met. But, instead when he walked into the kitchen he got a happy, cheerful: "Oh, hi!! You came out of your room!"

Was this guy serious? Or did he have some form of brain damage or memory issue? "Um... yes?" Logan said slowly, unsure. Morality giggled softly, beaming up at him. "Sorry if i scared you when we first met, i'm a little too affectionate sometimes. I moved a little too quickly for your liking right?" Logan blinked, once, twice before mentally screaming at himself to talk. "Oh.. um, yer. I'm also sorry." he shuffled a little on the spot.

"It's okay, you were scared!" The bubbly side chirped, turning back to cooking pancakes. Logan blinked again. He just dropped it? Just like that? Wasn't he mad? "Your.... Your not mad?" He asked quietly. Morality quickly turned, a horrified look on his face. "God no! Why would I? You were scared, and I got too close. And you didn't harm me, only knocked me over."

Logan frowned slightly, filing the info away for later. Empero and Jackson warned the other pack mates of the dangers of being near and interacting with humans, how they are selfish, self absorbed beings that only care about themselves. Empero's birth pack had been genetically changed, forced through artificial selection so the humans could take the strongest pups and use them to hunt and as weapons. Jackson was born domestic, and submission was beaten into him, causing the loss of his front left leg.

Logan expected to at least be yelled at. Well, he did look human, maybe they were kinder to their own species. Who knows, maybe humans have packs of their own. A bolt of hope rocketed through logan. Maybe... just maybe... he would be able to be part of a pack again. The idea of being rid of the horrid pain in his heart made Logan want to curl up on the floor and cry from relief.

"HELLO PADRE AND SMALL NERD~!" someone yelled from behind Logan, spooking him. Logan whipped around, and without thinking decked the man in the face. Morality yelped, and the man- who looked absolutely ridiculous in a pristine white prince outfit- stubbled back, blinking rapidly. Logan froze, eyes wide. Shit.

Prince-boy as Logan decided to dub him, stared right at Logan, before a massive grin broke out on his face as he stood upright and rubbed his jaw. "Nice to know i'm not the only one who knows how to throw a punch! Chill nerd, i ain't gonna attack you." Logan was in a near crouch position, prepared to bolt or attack, but semi-relaxed after prince-boy's words. Humans were truly strange.... "It's: i'm not going to attack you." Logan corrected, narrowing his eyes slightly as he lowered his guard.

Prince-boy scoffed, and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, name's Roman, what's yours?" Prince-bo- no, Roman, asked holding a hand out to shake. Logan flinched at the sudden movement, and slowly took the hand with a firm grip, shaking it before releasing. "Logan..." Logan said in a soft voice. "And i'm patton, but you can call me dad!" Chirped Morali- Patton, beaming as he flipped a pancake.

Roman snickered, and Logan raised an eyebrow studying over both of the sides that he would be living with for the rest of Thomas's lives. Roman bounded over to patton, leaning against the other affectionately as he peeked over Patton's shoulders to look at the pancakes. "Looks good patty-cake!" Roman said with a smile. Logan watched, heart throbbing with the want to be apart of that, to be held and hugged and be back with his pack-

No. That life, it was over. He couldn't have that any more. Instead, Logan trotted around and sat at the bench, lifting one hand and flicked his wrist to summon a book he had been reading. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he opened to the book-marked page, and began reading. He read in peace for a while, until the smell of pancakes and freshly melted butter increased causing his stomach to growl in demand of food for being so neglected.

"Here you are kiddo!!! I hope you like pancakes, I was in a bit of a baking mood!" Patton giggled, beaming that unnaturally bright smile and it took all of Logan's willpower not to shy away. Logan's gaze dropped, down to the neat stack of pancakes with butter, jam and syrup, causing him to salivate. "This.... This is mine?" He asked softly, tilting his head. "Of course!" Patton said, pushing a plate to roman who had seated next to him. "I wouldn't give it to you if it wasn't!!" Logan paused, swallowing, and then carefully reached out and pulled the plate closer.

He watched Patton and Roman carefully, and he cut off a piece, quickly sniffing it before sticking it in his mouth. Roman wasn't paying any attention to the werewolf, shoving the pancakes into his mouth happily, relishing the sweet taste. Patton was half watching, not enough to pick up on Logan's cautious behaviour, but enough to know they were eating.

Logan slightly melted. It was delicious, the light and fluffy pancakes seeming to melt in his mouth, and the jam proved the perfect amount of sweetness. Logan was starving from his bad diet and couldn't help but shove more food into his mouth, stuffing himself silly. The back of his mind warned him that if he continued he was most likely going to be horrible sick, and have the worst of stomachaches, but he was too hungry to care.

"Woah! Easy there kiddo, you'll give yourself a stomach ache! The food isn't going anywhere!" Patton joked. Logan forced himself to go slower, out of the want for the others not to know about his... lack of self care, but also out of a primal fear that they may take it away if he didn't slow down. He slowly chewed his food, focusing on the texture and taste to distract himself.

Soon enough all of Logan's food had vanished, and he already felt a little sick. He scooped up his plate, wandering into the kitchen, washed it, put it away and went to turn to leave before twisting his head over his shoulder to look at the others. Roman was chattering on about something, and Patton had just turned his attention to Logan. "Were you going kiddo?" He asked, tilting his head. "Back to my room, I have a lot of work I need to attend to." Logan answered simply.

"Oh... okay then! We'll see you again right? Maybe tonight or tomorrow?" Patton asked, sounding a little disappointed that the new side didn't want to stay longer. "Maybe." Logan said, and turned disappearing down the halls. When Logan got back to his room, he definitely regretted eating so much, for his gag reflex kicked in and Logan rushed to the bin near his desk and threw up half of his breakfast. Acid and bile mixed together horribly in his mouth, leaving him gagging even more as tears formed in his eyes. He whined softly, causing more pain to form in his throat as his ears and tail appeared, ears flat and tail tucked in between his legs.

'Eat less next time.' he thought bitterly to himself, summoning a glass of water, chugging the whole thing and then crawled into the den, curling up into a tight ball leaving Logan to wander in and out of light uneasy sleep for the rest of the day. So much for 'work he had to attend to.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next

[ineffable-endearments]

Psycho-philosophy & the angels, fallen or not (part I)

I swear I wasn’t taking any mind-altering substances while I wrote this. It’s very heavy and I’m not sure anyone will enjoy it, but I felt like I had to get it out.

And now it’s too long to be just one part. Here is the first part anyway.

It’s established that Aziraphale and Crowley symbolize the “opposing” sides of human nature, but I have a pretty difficult time with believing that they actually represent “good” and “evil.” THEY believe they represent “good” and “evil.” But even before the two of them develop their humanity by spending time on Earth, before they start to affect each other, they both have philosophies that are far more complicated than just “do good things/be helpful” or “do bad things/be hurtful.”

Before you can be “good,” you need a definition of “good.” And the same goes for “evil.” And I absolutely do not think that the characters’ personal definitions of “good” and “evil” match with the narrative’s definitions of “good” and “evil” (which I’m not strictly sure it really has). So...what might they represent more closely?

In extremely broad terms based more in dictionary definitions than in the finer points of academic philosophy, I’d cast Crowley as the individualist and Aziraphale as the collectivist. Individualism is the prioritizing of the individual’s interests over a group’s interests. Collectivism is the prioritizing of a group’s interests over the individual’s interests.

Obviously, this is heavily informed by abuse from their Sides. Hell motivates its demons to behave by making them fear for their own souls using physical intimidation. Temptations are also usually focused on taking advantage of some selfish motivation in humans. Heaven, meanwhile, motivates its angels with the promise of the Greater Good, intimidates its angels with the belief that disobedience is out of line with the Greater Good, and shames its angels for acting with any sort of personal interest.

“What?!” you say. You’re going to cast Crowley, the guy who initially hatched the plan to try to save the world at great personal risk, as the self-centered individualist, and Aziraphale, the hedonist who’s just about ready to watch the world burn at Heaven’s command until Crowley buys him lunch, as the collectivist one?!

Well...in a way. Because while the characters believe they represent these ideas, and while they genuinely buy into them on some level, the whole point is that the two viewpoints taken to extremes end up looking awfully similar. They also rely on each other, no matter how much they try not to.

I should clarify a few things before arguing any more.

The perceived “selflessness” of collectivism is sometimes idealized, and that’s why it maps onto the supposed “goodness” of Heaven, but it doesn’t actually mean kindness, compassion, or goodness. It means not considering oneself - including one’s own identity, preferences, or moral conscience. Likewise, the perceived “selfishness” of individualism is often vilified and gets cast as evil, which is why it maps onto Hell, but all it really means is placing one’s own perspective at the utmost importance, which can be beneficial depending on who’s doing it.

I’ve seen some incredibly smart commentary on the Good Omens book being a just-barely-post-Cold War novel comparing, among other things, Capitalism (heavy on individualism) and Communism (heavy on collectivism). I thought the analysis I read was brilliant, it told me a lot that I had not thought of before, and I would love to read more. But that’s not what I want to talk about here.

In this essay, I’m really sticking to the terms “individualism” and “collectivism” as they inform the psychologies of individual people (Crowley and Aziraphale). I’m trying to have a discussion that I think is important, because it’s important for humans to have a healthy notion of how individuals fit into their relationships and communities, but my commentary is much more vague and not tied to a specific moment in history. I’m frankly not very qualified to talk about the Cold War, anyway.

Crowley and Aziraphale are a couple of paradoxes. At least, they’re paradoxes until they discover Earth as their true allegiance, at which time they just become two balanced angels of neither Heaven nor Hell.

CROWLEY’S PHILOSOPHY

Crowley knows he’s supposed to represent Hell and the kind of self-interested desperation that drives people to damnation - a kind of extreme individualism. But he’s been condensed into an Earthly being who’s formed relationships and preferences and loves and, gosh, although he wouldn’t admit it, a conscience. Unlike Aziraphale, he’s much more OK with this sense of identity, because individualism is not incompatible with being, well, an individual. But he does struggle with the fact that he’s supposed to be working toward The End Of All Things for his own self-preservation when his real wish is for The Continuation Of All Things.

Most of Crowley’s decisions are framed from his own personal opinions. He approaches the world as he sees fit, which includes accepting his job of damning souls because he has to or he’ll get destroyed. He does what he needs to survive, so you could say he “answers to the higher power of Hell for self-interested reasons,” but for moral purposes, Crowley does not answer to anyone. Interestingly, though, he DOES have a conscience based in his own feelings.

By personality (not because he serves some moral power but because it’s just his personal preference), Crowley does not like certain kinds of cruelty. He’s willing to do his job, but he doesn’t enjoy taking free will away from people, for example. And in most cases, outright violence (like Hastur turning into a pile of worms and eating the telemarketers alive) is not something Crowley is into, either. In this case, the fact that he’s self-motivated means he has enough imagination to grasp what it’s like to be another person, and while he’s willing to upset people/give people the opportunity to damn themselves/generally be inconsiderate in public, Crowley simply does not enjoy the experience of destroying others without giving them a choice.

Oh, and we can’t forget: “You’re supposed to test them, but not to destruction.” It’s Crowley’s personal feelings that lead him to believe Armageddon shouldn’t happen, and Crowley’s personal feelings that lead him to act out against Hell.

With all that said, Crowley feels a profound love for the world and Aziraphale (whether he’ll admit it or not) because he really enjoys it on Earth, and he wants to keep enjoying it. Therefore, all of his “individualism” ends up working in the favor of the “greater good” anyway. In the end, Crowley temporarily loses hope and stops fighting, but by this point, he’s already had his positive effect.

It’s kind of like Terry Pratchett’s powerful quotation about witches being selfish. “All witches are selfish, the Queen had said. But Tiffany's Third Thoughts said: Then turn selfishness into a weapon! Make all things yours! Make other lives and dreams and hopes yours!” Maybe it’s not so intentional on Crowley’s part, but the outcome of his love for Earth and his bond with Aziraphale ends up serving the interests of others.

Crowley’s journey involves a less drastic change than Aziraphale’s. Once he thinks it’s possible to fight for the world and survive, he doesn’t have a single qualm about it, because he answers to his own standards, not anyone else’s.

AZIRAPHALE’S PHILOSOPHY

Aziraphale, on the other hand, has to basically figure out that it’s a good thing to use his own judgment instead of Heaven’s. In doing so, he has to rewrite his belief system and even rework his identity.

Aziraphale knows he’s supposed to represent the collective, Heaven, the Greater Good. But he’s been condensed into an Earthly being who’s formed relationships and preferences and loves and a conscience and an identity of his own. At first, this feels wrong to him, because many of his personal interests go against Heaven’s. It’s why he’s so incredibly good at repressing and denying; he has this sense of Self but doesn’t believe he’s entitled to it and doesn’t realize there is any way to separate from Heaven, so as far as he knows, to allow this Self to grow and flourish would ultimately be extremely painful and potentially dangerous. You can tell the other angels aren’t happy with his sense of self, either, as far as he allows it to go (see: any interaction in the bookshop, Gabriel’s behavior over the sushi).

Aziraphale is so oriented toward the Heavenly collective that he literally denies himself his own judgments, his own opinions. He’s convinced that Heaven is the Greater Good, so he accepts that as reality no matter how absurdly wrong their actions might seem to someone with an iota of common sense. He has not been allowed to have an opinion on it, and he will not form one now. He does intensely enjoy performing altruism and does not approve of Heaven’s plans to drown all of Mesopotamia and turn Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt, but he will even push aside the satisfaction of kindness and the fear of cruelty if he’s told that his feelings don’t fit within the Great Plan.

It’s important to note that as far as Aziraphale believes, the existence of Hell and the work that Crowley is doing for Hell is in fact part of the Great Plan. He says as much to the Archangels when they bully him outside his bookshop.

Aziraphale is enthusiastic and adoring about life on Earth and about humans - and about Crowley! And oh, he does indulge. But he sees this all in a rather passive way, at least at first. He is simply enjoying the world and allowing the Great Plan to unfold. He does not think he has the right or ability to defend the world from Heaven’s judgment, even though he wants to. So, like Crowley’s self-orientation coming full circle to serve the interests of others, Aziraphale’s orientation toward the collective comes full circle to become very self-serving.

THE TWO TOGETHER

Enter Crowley’s judgment. Crowley is really fantastic company, but I think the specific thing he did in the long run was to help Aziraphale see that his own desires and judgments matter. Even when Aziraphale temporarily disavowed their relationship, Crowley’s influence was strong - would the Aziraphale who was standing on the Wall of Eden, or the Aziraphale who witnessed the Great Flood, have chased Gabriel around asking if the war was necessary, or would he have called the Metatron to argue everyone could be saved? Even when Aziraphale doesn’t actually ask questions, these interactions are an assertion of Aziraphale’s own feelings and judgments when he’s being told to be quiet and fall in line. And I really do not think he would have made these assertions before his long Arrangement with Crowley. In this way, Crowley gave Aziraphale the world and the gift of Being Himself.

As for Crowley, he doesn’t care about any Great Plan and thinks Heaven’s will is positively odious, but Aziraphale is convinced that the cosmic dance between the two of them is just ineffable. By playing along with that notion, Crowley allows it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. The meaning of Crowley’s existence goes from “just make everyone as miserable as possible” to “balance out Aziraphale” which really means “create a world that doesn’t suck as much as Heaven or Hell, which are both insufferable.” In this way, Aziraphale gave Crowley the world and the gift of Being Part of Something.

[moonraccoon-exe]

Disney’s Tangled but it’s a Corqi

This has been sitting in my drafts for literal MONTHS, being finished little by literal over M O N T H S, and just got to finish it now lmao

Sorry for the size, but Tangled gives me Feelings and Corqi even more, so this had to happen, inevitably ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I’m going to put the whole thing under cuts, UNDER reblogs, because even if you put a “Keep Reading” line on a post, it doesn’t work on mobile and honestly mobile users will MURDER ME for the size, so you’re welcome, making this comfortable for you.

Also making it like three parts so it’s easier for you to read, because you know me, I’m the 10k+ nerd, and this is 20k+ so yes. 

Do I regret spending literal months on this to post and find 10 notes, 5 of which are myself?

Yes.

Does that mean I’m not going to post?

Fuck no, I spent a lot in this so if I get one note, fuck it, I’ll just love it myself lmao

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @nephilimeq!

Read on AO3

*****

Ruff Lovin: Doggie Style

"Here girl! C'mon Callie!” Stiles throws a ball across the room as Rascalé looks on bored, or even borderline unimpressed. Stiles sighs and crouches down to his lady, scratching her behind the ears. She leans into it tongue wagging happily before she sighs and puts her head on his leg.

"What's the matter, Callie the Collie?", Stiles muses as he pets her gently. She's been lethargic lately, gaining a little weight in the belly and she's been sleeping even more than usual. She lifts her head to look at him and licks at his chin before sighing and laying back down again. Stiles gets up and paces nervously.

It's been seven days of her decreased energy, which wouldn't be a big thing for any other dog, but Callie - a big brown, collie - normally keeps up with Stiles very well. She was a stray and he got all her shots, but he still hasn't had time to get her spayed.

He stops and looks at Callie who is lounging on her side with her legs crossed. She's a tough broad, but sometimes she likes to be a fancy lady. But even this was different.

When she sat like that, it meant she wanted to be waited on like a queen. She was usually pert and alert, adorably at attention. But now she was lain on her side, seemingly fighting off sleep.

Stiles hadn't noted a fever, or anything off about her smell or diet. Hmm... maybe Derek would have an answer?

Wanna go see Derek and Bruiser?" Callie perked up at the names and Stiles grinned, happy to finally see some life in his lady "Alright, Derek's an adult, he'll know what to do, and we'll get a couple of hours outside of this shithole."

“I heard that motherfucker!" A voice from nowhere says. Stiles grimaces, glaring at the far wall that he shares with the other apartment, Stiles can't stand the guy. He complains at every single little noise that Stiles makes. He swears he hears like a bat. Must be all the meth.

"What'd you say you little shit?”

Dammit, Stiles hadn't meant to say that out loud, but...fuck it.

"I said your sonar hearing must be a fringe benefit of all the meth! You meth-dicked bastard!" Stiles yells out grabbing Rascale's leash and sprinting out the door with her. He hears his neighbor open his door and soon sees a short stout man holding a bat.

"You wanna say that to my face, 418? Want me to kick your ass the same number of times as the apartment you live- Rascalé!"

Stiles groans, cursing the elevator for being so fucking slow. Rascalé yips and trots to Mether McMethyson and allows him to pet her hair. Stiles hated it, but he couldn't stay mad. She was literally the only reason he was still alive.

"Hiya lil Callie, aren't you the sweetest thing, yes you are! Who's a pretty bitch?" Methan Von Methenlowen says as he maniacally pets Stiles dog "You know overfeeding is a sign of dog abuse?"

Stiles attention snaps back to Methzel Washingmeth, yes, he's now switched to celebrities.

"The fuck? Fuck you!”

"Fuck you if you're over feeding your dog!" Mathbastian Meth says irritably. He's covering Rascalé’s ears while also giving her scritches, so she's unconcerned with the conversation.

“She's getting fat and it's not healthy.”

"Wait! She's not fat, she's full figured and beautiful, she’s just been a little tired lately.”

"Hell, I like big ladies,” Meth Mettrick Methis, shrugging like this is a pleasant and casual conversation they're having, "But when it's dogs it's no good. Get your shit together, if anything happens to her, I'm coming for you.”

Stiles can't think of a damned thing to say so he shrugs and nods, reaching his hand out hoping Rascalé will notice. She does after about 30 more awkward seconds of petting while Stiles stands next to the wall, trying not to freak the fuck out. As she walks towards him, Methedict Methold points menacingly at Stiles.

"And fucking get her fixed, her heat was stinking up the whole building and she left little bloodies everywhere. But it's not your fault is it, princess? You just have a piece of shit owner-" Even though his attention was back on the dog, Methie Methane (that one works on two levels... kinda) was pointing a finger at Stiles.

"What heat? She doesn't have- I mean, wait, bloodies?"

"Yeah, I know you just got her which is why I haven't beaten your ass for not getting her spayed, but if you wait much longer she's gonna get knocked up and newborn puppies are a pain in the ass, you understand mel?"

Stiles sighs and nods again, thanking the heavens when the elevator finally arrives He and Callie walk inside and as the door closes Stiles looks down at Callie who looks back at him and shakes his head.

"Fucking, LA."

 XXXxxxXXX

 Stiles moved to Los Angeles from Beacon Hills and grabbed the first single he could find in his price range. What he thought was a great deal at the time (his building was right next to the Magic Castle! He could see it from his house, how cool was that?) morphed into being 10 months into a 12 month lease with the methed out pet protection squad living next door.

Stiles found Rascalé under an overpass with no tags. He posted a few ads on Next Door and Craigslist and after no response he took her in. He'd gotten her shots, but getting her spayed was a more complicated (read: expensive) procedure and Stiles was still job hunting! He knew he'd have to find something soon, especially now that he and Derek were fucking, he knew he'd start to feel weird about the cash Derek gave him for helping out with his house. Stiles hums to himself as he enjoys the distinct change in air that happens just above Franklin. Maybe it's the altitude, but the smog seems less penetrating. Rascalé nudges Stiles' knee, seeming to notice his internal tangent.

"Well Callie, we're not exactly fucking, we just fucked the once, but I would very much like to fuck him again, you know?" He looks down at Rascalé who yips at him and then pulls slightly on the leash, wanting to reach her destination.

"Well aren't you the eager beaver? Bruiser's a fun dog, isn't he? You two are best friends, huh?"

Rascalé looks back at Stiles with her "bitch, please" look that Stiles swears she got from Derek. Fucking Derek.

Stiles smiles.

When Stiles got Rascalé, she was extremely undernourished. He fed her correctly and made sure she stayed active. He loved going over to Runyon trail and running to the tops of the peaks with her. It gave them amazing views of the city which Stiles hates just a little less in those moments.

He was on one of these runs through the trails with Callie one bright Sunday morning. On the way back to his shitty apartment, they saw a little black miniature pinscher wearing a leather vest with a broken metal chain in a pool beside him. He looked lost and afraid as Stiles hovered around him.

"Hey lil buddy, looks like you got away from your owner, huh?" Stiles had seen this before. Sometimes Rascalé would get too excited and get a little far away from him. He thankfully had an extending leash for her. This little pinscher looked small, but he was an energetic little bastard. Stiles knew when the dog started barking hell at him.

Ever the peacemaker Rascalé barked once and approached the dog, sniffing and saying hello or whatever it was dogs did when they met each other.

"Callie, you are a Jedi master." Stiles said happily as he'd finally been allowed to crouch down and pet the dog. He fingered his tags and saw the name was "Bruiser Hale" There was a phone number on the back so Stiles pulled out his phone.

A few minutes later a Grecian statue looking mother fucker came running up the hill, Stiles looked at his phone and then at 185 pounds of tanned muscle tone and definition jogging in real life slow motion towards him. He looked at his phone and thought about the soft, masculine voice coming out of this hard bodied hunk with his dark, nearly jet black hair and his sparkling hazel? Are his eyes fucking hazel?

"So fucking unfair." Stiles mumbled as the guy dropped to his knees, scooping the little dog into his embrace. Bruiser seemed just as happy and relieved to see his owner as he barked and licked the man's face.

"Bruiser, honey I'm so sorry I lost you!" the man - Derek Hale, himself- sighed happily into Bruiser's fur. He looked up at Stiles "Normally we come in the south entrance, but today we came in the north and I think he got a little overexcited and turned around. He's a small guy, but the chain I got wasn't strong enough. I'm Derek, by the way."

The man extended his hand and Stiles grabbed it, helping him up in the process. He was a good height, just about a nose taller than Stiles and Stiles could definitely work with that.

"Hi umm. I'm Stiles. Glad I could get Bruiser back to his dad" Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, thankful it was warm out so he could blame the trail and weather for the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Stiles, eh? That's... a name." Derek grinned and Stiles would have to remember to be indignant after he got done sunbathing in this man's smile. Impossibly handsome and kind of a dick? Sign Stiles up!

Funnily, Stiles didn't jump his bones right away.  He actually enjoyed Derek's company, which Derek assures him is no small feat. Since then Stiles and Derek had been jogging in the park with their dogs and occasionally Stiles would help Derek with some repairs on a house he was flipping. He'd taken to hanging there most weekends and as many weeknights as he could manage. Derek loved Rascal and she loved Derek and Bruiser. Stiles was glad to have a friend and Derek's place provided many benefits. The best of them all being Derek himself.

As they got closer, Derek started to show more of his true self. Stiles got to know his likes and dislikes. For example, Derek liked quiet, seclusion and working out. Derek didn't like clothes. The closer they got, the more comfortable Derek felt shedding his shirt, and then his shorts as he traipsed through the house to the outdoor shower. There were two heads and one day he looked at Stiles expectantly, like they were at the gym and not his open - albeit surrounded by security hedges -  backyard. Stiles tried to remind himself that he was grownup and nudity was no big deal and ever since he'd started hitting the trails his body was pretty damn fine. Also, what was going to happen, a NASA satellite was going to come by and take a grainy picture of his dick? Stiles shuddered and looked at the sky warily before taking a deep breath and dropping trow.

He felt the elevator eyes and grinned, slightly cocky that Derek wasn't the only one with something to bring to the table. The water was sun warmed and he could feel the heat emanating off the man beside him.

"Hey Derek, I've never asked, but are you seeing anyone? Stiles asked as chalantly as the situation would allow. Derek chucked.

"Hey Stiles, I'm single." He turns to face Stiles and Stiles swore he could feel the whisper of Derek's dick on his thigh. He wanted it in his mouth. "Tell me about your boyfriend.”

Stiles turned and faced Derek, taking a step closer allowing that whisper to turn into a full on scream. Derek lifted his brow in anticipation as Stiles smirked.

"Hey Derek, I don't have a fucking boyfriend so why don't you let me suck your dick?"

"Only if you let me return the favor." Derek replied with a lick to his own lips, and then Stiles'. And then Derek's tongue was in Stiles' mouth and the next thing Stiles knew he was on his knees giving Derek's dick a pep talk for the dicking he was about to receive.

Cut to now, where Stiles was standing in the street halfway between his house and Derek's, wondering if he should feel awkward about going over there? They were definitely going to have sex again, right? Both were free of significant others, and the last time was good. Should Stiles have called him after? He knew Derek was going out of town for "business" whatever the hell that was. Should Stiles know Derek's business? As far as he knew flipping the house was just a hobby, but now that he thinks about it who has a hobby like that? Was Derek loaded? He’d have to ask after sucking Derek's dick. No, before! That's classier, right?

Rascalé waits patiently as her owner reminisces in the middle of the intersection, but soon starts to pull Stiles out of harm's way. Stiles follows obediently and begins to ramble.

"I know I'm a slut, Callie, and I live in that truth several times a day, in several different positions. And I know Derek's a slut because men who are not sluts don't spank you and tell you to call them alpha on the first dicking. Or any dicking really, that right there is some kinky shit. No judgement!"

Callie leads the way as though she was being led by sense memory and Stiles follows along in fashion "It's just, I like him, you know? He's actually a great listener he's funny and charming and we have fun. Is sex gonna mess that up? Maybe I should sit and talk to him and we can figure out our future like adults? Because despite the fact I'm living in a drug den and have no real job, I am an adult!" Stiles pumps his fist in the air, and lowers it quickly. looking around to see if anyone noticed his outburst.

They don't. It's fucking LA.

"Fucking LA! Back in Beacon Hills I would have gotten a citation for public disturbance. Here, I'm the sane one! And you and I both know Derek's an adult, Callie He has condoms at the ready! He even sluts it up adult-style! Serious goals."

Stiles looks up the dead end street in front of him and exhales. He's going to be an adult with Derek and DTR before whatever it is they're doing blows up in his face (and not in the good way).

Stiles gets to the front door and lets Callie off her leash before unlocking the front door. She takes off like a shot towards where Stiles is sure Bruiser is and Derek watches as he walks up the couple of stairs in the foyer.

"They missed each other, huh? Derek asks, before he tums to get an armful of Stiles.

Stiles wraps himself around Derek, licking into his mouth rubbing his groin against any part of the man he can reach. Derek adapts like a motherfucking adult and carries Stiles to the mattress in the middle of the living room.

It's not until they're in the middle of round 2, when Derek holds him down with a firm hand in the middle of his back, pinning his chest to the mattress while fucking the life out of him when Stiles looks up and sees Rascalé looking at him with friendly Judgement that Stiles realizes he's gone terribly off course.

She's lounging on her side and Bruiser is pacing around her, licking her nose, in her ears and grooming her lovingly. Stiles cocks his head and Derek leans over him, breathing hotly into his ear as he slows his thrusts.

"it's kinda funny, huh? They're a lot like us." He rasps before licking the shell of Stiles' ear and biting at his neck. Stiles squirms, moaning loudly at the utterly welcome intrusion of this man on top of him and shakes his head.

"Wha- what the fu?" He can't finish his sentence until he finishes his orgasm so he prioritizes and waits until he's snug in Derek's arms. He ignores the little flutter he gets in his stomach and pays attention to the dogs again. Now Bruiser is sniffing Callie's... underneath-the-tail area ahem- and giving her little licks as she huffs contentedly and gives Stiles ~the look again.

Stiles is a little closer to understanding what it means.

"What did you mean when you said the dogs were like us?" He asks Derek, absentmindedly petting his beard. Derek kisses his neck (Stiles promises to swoon after he DTRs dammit!) and looks at the pups.

"They've been fucking for weeks. I mean I know we haven't been fucking for weeks, but still."

"Hmm." Stiles hums as his eyes sleepily begin to droop. His little lady was getting some and had her little doggy boo in check. Callie was always such a boss ass bit- wait.

"Whoa, Stiles, what's wrong?" Derek yelps. A second ago the frenetic young man was dozing in his arms and now he was up, pacing and pointing at Rascalé.

"Our dogs are what?” Stiles asks frantically. Derek stares at Bruiser who is torn between whether to start barking or just ignore the outburst like Rascalé has gotten used to.

"They're fucking. They've been at it the last few weeks. I can't believe you never saw them, it's kinda funny.”

"It's not funny, Derek! How does it even work, Bruiser is so tiny!"

"Hey!" Derek starts defensively, "He's a short dog, but he's got a tall attitude!

"What?" Stiles deadpans at the perturbed sexyness on the floor.

"He's BAE! Big Attitude Energyl See, I can 'millenial' too!"

"...

…

…

… What?!" Stiles rushes over to Rascalé, much to the displeasure of Bruiser who growls at him. Stiles.. hisses at Bruiser (Stiles will not be blamed for his lack of couth) and begins to pet Rascalé, rubbing her belly.

"Stiles, what's the big deal? She's a grown ass bitch, don't slut shame, Calliel"

"First off!" Stiles says, pointing accusingly at Derek, "stop trying to millennial, you're fucking 32, you were born in the damned '80s! Secondly. She’s not fixed, Derek! Methaddict Cumformeth said she was just in heat!"

Derek opens his mouth and then shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before opening his mouth again.

"I don't even… who… wait, why isn't Callie fixed?"

“I got her as a stray! She has all her shots and I was saving up to get her spayed. Don't poor shame me, this is not my fault! Why isn't Bruiser fixed?”

"Leave Bruiser out of this!”

"Bruiser was in it, Derek DEEP! He literally raw dogged my girl!" Stiles cradles the unconcerned Rascalé to him as he gives a still growling Bruiser the evil eye. Derek rolls his eyes.

"I was going to have you take him next week! Besides, no one is saying it's anyone's fault it's just surprising. It's kind of kismet, right?" Derek ponders, suddenly getting wistful, Stiles sneers.

"More like lazy ass parenting! Derek, the Dogfia already have it out for me I can’t let Callie bear the brunt of my ineptitude!”

"The Dogfi- wait is that the Dog mafi-”

"Derek, shut up and focus! What are we going to do?”

Derek looks at Stiles who gawps at him expectantly.

"Well?" Derek opens his mouth to remind Stiles he just told him to shut up. but Stiles steams ahead, “I will not be shamed for being an irresponsible dog owner. Callie is a bad bitch who can raise her pups by herself, but she shouldn't have to, Derek. Not because I was being a bad doggy daddy.”

"Jesus, Stiles! Doggy daddy?!"

"Enough out of you, Hale! Didn't I tell you to shut up?" Stiles points at Derek with wide eyes, missing (or ignoring) the slight kinky smirk on Derek's face, Stiles files away Derek's like of being bossed around for later if there is one.

Shit, if he took Rascalé back home, then Meth Newmethson would kill him and then probably steal his dog and get her also hooked on meth! Stiles pulls at his hair and looks at Derek frantically. 

"Derek, we have to move in together!"

 XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Derek Hale is in love.

Shit, he wanted to blame Bruiser. Before Derek adopted the dog, he was a cold, bitter and angry young man. He was a litigator and worked hundreds of hours per week (yes, he knows a week only has 168 hours, but he worked hundreds) fighting in court and caring little about the outcome except for him winning. He'd had a pretty Dickensian childhood. Parents were killed when he was young, he was in an orphanage until his uncle appeared from nowhere and took Derek as his ward. He found out his parents had extremely generous settlements and when he turned 18 he invested or put the money in savings while he lives off his lawyer money.

One day he won a huge settlement for his client and afterwards the kid of the man the judgement was against showed up at Derek's favorite coffee spot, dog in tow. He cried and yelled at Derek about how he'd ruined his family and now they had to move to the country because they couldn't afford the city or the school the kid was attending and Derek's heart melted. Well, not because of anything that dumb kid said, but rather the large chocolate eyes of the hound dog puppy the boy had with him. Derek had always wanted a dog but didn't want to become too attached. Now though, since he'd have to find a new coffee shop, he decided to treat himself to a pup. He'd need something small but feisty so he could take him on trips.

He met Bruiser when the then mini pinscher puppy trotted up to him, pissed on his shoes and quickly pranced off. Derek liked him instantly. He purchased not only the pup, but every butch accessory he could find. He loved Bruiser and slowly he found that love seeped into other things.

He loved time off. He started to actually use his vacation hours and now worked only 80 hour weeks which was nearly unheard of in his field, but he didn't care. He loved flipping houses, loved going in and making minor repairs and revisions and then relisting the house and seeing how much profit he could make.

He loved exercising and running the trails with Bruiser. He loved his body and loved using it. Bruiser always brought him the best tail. He'd used the lost dog trick many times and it usually ended up in a nice tug and tumble with some overly concerned dog owner in the woods.

And now he loved Stiles. He was a little surprised when he realized it, but not shocked. He’d never even considered fucking just one person at a time, much less having a boyfriend and settling down. Not until this long, lean boy with the honey eyes gave Derek a wholly inviting view as he trudged up the hill to where Bruiser had run off to. The boy was completely bent over in entirely too short jogging shorts. He was oblivious of his beauty, but not of Derek’s and he can’t say he didn’t like the attention. He was used to that, though. What caught him off guard was how friendly the boy was, and how interested in Derek he was outside of his good looks and sex appeal.

He was whip smart and funny and very handy, even offering to help with the house. Derek didn’t notice they hadn’t fucked yet until one day he came home to shower and felt Stiles’ eyes on him. As Derek turned to look, Stiles flailed and pretended to be watering the dogs after their run. Derek wondered for a moment why Stiles hadn’t come and jumped his bones when he realized he hadn’t jumped Stiles’! Hadn’t even tried! He considered Stiles... a friend?

That’s when Derek knew he was in love with Stiles. Well, as close to love as he could get anyhow. He liked being around him, loved his dog (even though Stiles did insist on calling her two names, “It’s a nickname, Der! She’s Rascalé the Collie, Callie for short!”

Derek should have known then, when he thought that explanation actually made sense, that he was head over heels for the boy.

And he knew it even more now when Stiles suggests they move in together and Derek… doesn’t mind that much. Of course he’s going to give Stiles shit for it.

“Stiles, what? Why do we need to move in together?”

Stiles jumps up, his dick bobbing just as righteously as its owner and paces towards Derek, poking finger armed and ready. Derek covers his nipples.

“The Dogfia out here is rampant!” Stiles says, poking Derek in the sternum. Derek rubs it, pouting and choosing to ignore ‘Dogfia’ for now. Stiles smirks and rubs the spot soothingly before narrowing his eyes again and getting back into a ~mood.

“I will not allow Rascalé to be a single mother because of me. And you shouldn’t want Bruiser to be a furry fuckboy!” Bruiser looks up from where he’s grooming Rascalé and barks once before going back to his task. “See? Even Bruiser wants to be involved in his pups lives!”

“I keep Bruiser well groomed.” Derek insists, crossing his arms over his chest in defiance.

“What?”

“You called him a furry fuckboy and I’ll have you know-”

“Dammit Hale, stop being adorable! This is serious!” Stiles says, plopping on the mattress next to Derek who starts to play with his leg hair.

“Is it though?” Derek asks causing the young man to huff, “We don’t even know if she’s pregnant.”

“Of course she is!” Stiles throws his hands up in exasperation, looking at Derek like he was missing the obvious.

“Oh yeah, how do you know?”

Stiles grows quiet suddenly, thoughtful in a way Derek hasn’t seen him very often, but when he does, it’s electrifying.

“It’s fate.” He says simply with a shrug. Then he chuckles to himself, “and honestly, it’s perfect for me. I have two months left on my lease and I gotta get out of skidrow west. So I stay here, we work on the house which should be done by the time the puppies are here. We’ll have a fun story to tell the new owner and then we can figure out what happens next.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Stiles looks over at Derek suddenly. The smile takes over his face and Derek’s floods the entire house with joy.

“Yeah?” Stiles says cautiously as he takes Derek’s hand in his, “You ready to be house flipping puppy grampies?”

“I think I am.”

“Shit, I can’t believe that worked! Now I won’t get murdered by Mether Lawmeth!”

“Who?”

“Oh, it’s this guy that lives in my building who buys, makes and sells and consumes meth. I don’t know his name so I just change other names to make them meth related names.”

“Why ...why do you do that? Dammit Stiles, what’s wrong with your brain?!”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s still fucked out by this guy I met on the trails.”

Derek’s jaw drops and he laughs, shaking his head, “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey, those are our future grandpups you’re talking about!”

Derek shuts up Stiles’ crazy, crazy mouth with a kiss.

 XXXxxxXXX

 The next day they walk hand in hand back to Stiles’ place to start packing Stiles’ meager belongings. Derek leaves Stiles to start and goes to get his truck out of parking. When he gets to the fourth floor walk up, he can hear absolute bloody murder from the hall.

“How dare you allow this precious gift from Heaven to be knocked up by some trail trash, some… some… furry fuckboy!”

“I’ll have you know he is groomed regularly!”

“I’m calling the cops!”

“The dog cops?!”

“FUCK YOU, my cousin’s a cop and I’m going to call him and Callie is gonna stay with me until he gets here!”

“The fuck she is, get the fuck away from me, oh my god!”

Derek hears Callie growling and takes the steps two at a time until he sees Stiles wielding a can of Lysol and trying to shield Callie who is barking at Meth Guy… who has a fucking knife.

Fucking LA!

“Gary, put the knife down!” Derek yells, standing his ground as the guy turns to him wildly.

“What? How’d you know my name?”

Derek holds back a shrug. He took a shot in the dark, but he wasn’t gonna let Metholm McDowmeth know that. Dammit, Stiles was rubbing off on him.

“I know it because I’m a lawyer and you have more than a few warrants out for your arrest. So if you don’t want to go back to jail, you’ll put the knife down and let my boyfriend and stepdog leave in peace!” Damn, Derek was really all in. He could tell himself he was doing it for the show, but he loved Callie almost as much as Bruiser, he was committed. And when Derek commits, he goes full throttle.

“Fuck you, you Superman looking piece of shit!” Gary starts to lunge at Derek who lifts one eyebrow and goes apeshit.

He grabs the hand Gary swipes at him and kicks him in the chest, sending him flying past Stiles and further down the hall. Derek cracks his neck and fucking roars as he stalks down the hall towards Gary who is scrambling to get up.

“Stay DOWN!” Derek yells. He reaches Stiles and grabs him behind the neck, crashing their mouths together. He then sweetly bends over and pats Bruiser on the head while scratching behind Rascalé’s ears.

“Aren’t you a sweetie? Yes you are, Mama!” Derek says playfully as Rascalé licks his nose. He smiles at her before dropping the smile immediately and sneering at… Gary.

“Ok, Pal! Whatever you say, you crazy piece of shit!” Gary starts to crabwalk back to his apartment with Derek looming over him. When they get to the door, Derek pushes it open to give room for Gary to go in. Gary starts to stand again, but then stops when he hears another growl from Derek.

He crawls the rest of the way into his apartment and Derek closes the door. He turns around to an armful of Stiles.

“C’mon!” Derek insists happily as Stiles plants kisses all over his face. “Let’s go get your shit.”

“Yeah! But first let’s fuck really loudly and piss off Gary some more!”

Derek nods in agreement and carries Stiles into his place.

 XXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Stiles could barely believe the turn life had taken for him. Instead of sitting in his shithole apartment listening to Gary complain about every ethnicity he could think of while also, you know, doing meth; he was now walking hand in hand with his new boyfriend and their two dogs, one of which was gonna be a mama any day now.

It’s only been a couple of months, but Stiles has never felt more valued or loved. True to his word (part of the agreement that he and Stiles finally set up when they decided to DTR like fucking adults!), Derek treated Rascalé like a queen and so did Bruiser. She was getting big and this was probably the last walk they’d be able to take before nesting down.

Stiles thinks about the pups and how life couldn’t be more perfect.

“Derek, Derek Hale! That is you, you fucking bastard!” A blonde man with piercing green eyes walks up and sneers at Derek who is blushing. Stiles furrows his brow looking between the two confused.

“Hey Jackson, umm, nice to see you? I hope you’re well.”

Jackson’s jaw drops as he looks incredulously. “Well? You hope I’m well? Were you hoping that when you ghosted me after giving me the best sex I’ve ever had… outside in a park?!”

“Woah, hey Jackson, this is Stiles, my boyfriend, so maybe be cool.”

“Boyfriend?” Jackson finally looks at Stiles as though just realizing he was there. Stiles wants to be annoyed at the guy, he’s intimidatingly gorgeous, but Stiles can also tell the beauty consumes him. Hell, he’s outfitted in the latest hiking gear and even has sweat proof foundation on. If he wasn’t being a dick, Stiles could love him. Hell, Stiles probably loves him more because he is a dick. “How’d you two meet? Did Bruiser get “lost”?”

Jackson does little air quotes on ‘lost’ and looks at Derek who is melting beside him. He's nearly a puddle as Stiles looks between the two stricken.

“Wait.. Derek, what? I mean-” Stiles looks at where his hand is joined with Derek’s and then back at the man in question. Then he laughs.

Jackson’s shit eating grin falls and his face morphs into something like disgust. Stiles bends over laughing and wipes tears from his eyes.

“You think I didn’t know about Bruiser’s training? I had to take him on a walk and he brought me back this tall dark skinned god!”

“That was Boyd.” Derek says pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “He’s the only one I saw twice.”

“That’s right baby, and I’m the last, right?”

Derek looks back at Stiles and nods.

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Good!” Stiles pecks Derek on lips and looks back at Jackson, “It was great meeting you Jackson. When you get your head out of your ass, give us a call. I’m sure we can set a new goal for your best evers.” Stiles winks and drags their pack down the trail.

“You knew?” Derek asks timidly. Stiles chuckles.

“Yeah, I knew, and I felt weird about it at first, but then I realized that out of all the trade, I was the one you kept. Plus, my dog loves you and she basically call the shots.”

Rascalé waddles ahead and looks back at the boys as if to keep up. Bruiser yips happily, running in circles around his lady and Derek and Stiles follow behind hand in hand.

“Such a boss bitch.”

 Rascale' and Bruiser

 Ferdinand…………………………………… Josephine…………………………………………...

[rambling-at-midnight]

The Dangers of Sarcasm: Part 2 (final)

The clock continues to blare, much to Sam’s intense annoyance, so eventually he just yanks the cord out of the wall when he discovers he can’t make sense of the many buttons on its surface.

His surroundings are both too simple and too complicated for Sam to make much sense of. The only decoration on the grey-colored walls is a canvas with the words ‘God bless kale— Samuel Winchester’ written in fancy cursive.

Sam frowns. “What?” That’s not something he would ever say, both because you and Dean would ridicule him for it endlessly, and also because he likes eating healthy, but it’s not that important to him. Also, who would ever have that quote on their wall? That’s ridiculous.

There’s nothing unusual about the room, save for the fact that Sam didn’t go to sleep here and he’s never seen it before in his life. You would absolutely hate the black bedsheets and pillowcases, insisting on at least a navy blue. There always had to be a little bit of color and music around you or you go crazy. It’s one of the things Sam loved about you.

Sam frowns. Why’s the thinking in the past tense? Just because he doesn’t know where you are doesn’t mean you’ve, like, died or anything. That would be ridiculous. Everyone knows you can’t die. You’re one of the best hunters ever, plus even imagining you dead is laughable. Nothing could keep you from standing back up, not even Death himself.

The bathroom is the same: only the essentials in the cabinets, the place as spotless as if nobody even lives in the place. The entire house, way too large for just Sam, is the same way. It may just be a regular house, but one person doesn’t need this whole space.

Sam laughs. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters. “I don’t live here. I don’t know what this is. I don’t know how I got here.” But still, he can’t help but feel that this is the place he lives now, and it’s much too large and quiet: the opposite of the Impala, which is always blaring rock and alive with your laughter, cramming the two large Winchesters and slighter Singer into their seats and with beer coolers on the floor.

The only possible explanation Sam has for waking up here is somehow getting super drunk and wandering into someone’s house, but they probably would have noticed and Sam didn’t even drink more than a beer last night before heading to Barnes and Noble with you. So that’s pretty much out of the question.

The fridge is what Sam wishes you and Dean would eat more: all healthy foods; stuff like kale (Sam thinks about the quote upstairs) and lettuce.

It’s when Sam opens his cupboard that stuff gets interesting.

There’s an entire shelf of salt. On each lid someone had drawn a devil’s trap.

On the shelf below the salt is another shelf stocked with only one product: spray paint.

“Definitely a hunter’s house,” Sam mutters. On a hunch, he lifts up the corner of a rug. In this cold, dark house, a rug seems out of place; a cold stone floor would be more fitting. Sam’s beginning to think this place is just an elaborate dungeon. It certainly feels as oppressive as one.

Just as he’d suspected, there’s a Devil’s trap painted onto the floor underneath it. Sam bets there’s one under every rug and bed in the house. It’s what he would do if he had a house.

Sam climbs the stairs back up to the bedroom. His phone is lying on the bedside stand, but it doesn’t have the occasional crack on its screen from getting thrown around by monsters and it’s not slightly bent at the bottom right corner. It’s pristine, just like the house.

He pulls open the one drawer, hoping for a clue as to who the house belongs to, but the contents inside only confuse him more: a CD and a single glossy photo Sam’s almost sure he doesn’t remember taking: you and him, so young it was obviously taken before he went to college, talking, sitting cross-legged and face to face in front of the Impala.

Sam and you talking isn’t exactly a monumental occurrence, so that scene could very well have happened, but Sam knows for a fact that no one in his family is particularly fond of taking photos. So who took this photo of you and Sam together?

Dean.

The thought comes to him completely unprompted. It definitely wasn’t Dean; that wasn’t something Dean would ever take a picture of. Dean prefers to take embarrassing photos of you and Sam for blackmail, not something that could even be considered sweet. It goes against his ‘tough guy’ persona.

Now that he’s thinking of his brother, Sam has a thought that he should’ve had the second he woke up but for some reason didn’t. He dials his brother’s number. Dean picks up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

Sam sags with relief at his brother’s voice. “Dean! Hey, Dean, where are you? Are you at the motel room?”

“Who is this?” his brother asks instead of answering.

Sam frowns. His brother has his number saved in his phone, all of them. “Dean, it’s me. Sam.”

Dean hangs up.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters, running a hand through his hair, and calls his brother again. Dean picks up on the first ring this time.

“I don’t know if you’re actually Sam or just a monster, but don’t call me. Call again and I’ll kill you.”

“Wait! Dean—”

He hangs up again.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam asks himself. Why would Dean be angry with him? He hadn’t done anything last night, had he?

Maybe he’d accidentally hurt Baby. That would definitely be something that Dean would try to kill him for.

Sam dials again.

Dean picks up with an exaggerated sigh and immediately starts talking. “Look, man, I don’t know if you can’t hear suddenly, but I don’t want to hear from you. Like, at all. So leave me the fuck alone.”

“Wait! Please don’t hang up,” Sam pleads, sensing that his brother’s thumb is hovering over the ‘End Call’ button. He knows Dean. “Dean, something happened and I woke up in this strange house and there’s a quote on the wall that says it’s by me, but I’ve never said ‘God bless kale’ in my life, so—”

“Sam, you say ‘God bless kale’ every day,” Dean interrupts. “I’m pretty sure the words are what you cry out during sex.”

That definitely sounds like Dean.

“Look, where are you?” Sam asks desperately. “I’m seriously freaking out, man. I don’t know what’s going on.”

Dean’s voice is hard when he speaks. “Are you with the FBI? You’re not tracking this call, are you? God damn it, Sam.”

“No!” Sam almost pulls his hair out. “I’m not with the FBI, I swear. Dean, we’re both on their Most Wanted lists.”

“ I am,” Dean corrects. “What is your deal?”

Sam frowns. “I don’t know.” His brother doesn’t sound like Dean; his voice is too unconcerned, too cool. Sam’s only ever heard him use that tone of voice with monsters that try pleading for their lives. He checks the date on his phone. It’s the correct day and year. “Yesterday I was hunting with you and Y/N and then I woke up here—”

“Shut up!” Dean barks. Sam flinches. “What, so this is just all coming from a dream? You’re such an ass, Sam. You made your choice and I made mine. I still can’t believe you sometimes.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Sam roars. “Something’s going on, Dean!”

Dean doesn’t say anything for a while, so long that Sam has to check that he hasn’t hung up again. Finally, he says, “Okay, then what’s your problem?” Even after all this time, Dean’s a sucker for his younger brother. Other hunters say he’s too nostalgic.

“Dean, yesterday we were in Long Pine, Nebraska, staying in the Long Pine Bunkhouse, hunting a rugaru, and I woke up today in this strange place.”

“How’d you know where I am and what monster it is?” Dean snaps.

“Because we were hunting it together yesterday!” Sam replies exasperatedly. Why is it taking his brother so long to understand this?

“Sam, you haven’t hunted with me since you went to college,” Dean replies.

“What?” Sam screws up his face with confusion. “Oh, come on, Dean, this isn’t some prank you and Y/N are pulling on me, is it?”

Dean laughs, but it’s a sound that isn’t happy. “Sam, trust me, Y/N doesn’t have anything to do with this. Whatever ‘this’ is.”

“Why not?”

“You killed her.”

Sam shows up at the Long Pine later that day, ignoring nonstop calls from someone named Nancy. Dean opens the door when he knocks, and Sam’s greeted by three things: holy water to the face, a silver knife, and his brother’s face.

Sam doesn’t remember him having so many scars or hair that short, but he takes the knife and draws a thin cut on his upper arm. Dean nods, finally satisfied, and lets him into the room.

“You do know that if you brought FBI and you’re faking this whole freakout, I’m going to kill you, right?”

Sam looks into his brother’s eyes and finally finds out what it feels like to be a monster the Winchesters are hunting. There’s no teasing in his brother’s eyes, no warmth, nothing. He really would kill Sam and the FBI squad that would show up if he was lying. “I’m not faking it.”

Dean nods and picks up a beer from the bedside stand. As Sam looks around more, he realizes his brother’s room looks like a trash pit. Surely his brother’s liver can’t be well off, considering how much beer he appears to drink. And that’s saying something, considering how much beer Sam is used to his brother drinking. “All right, spill.” Dean pulls out his trusty handgun and rests it on his knee, pointed at Sam.

“I honestly have no idea what happened,” Sam says honestly. “Yesterday we finished up that rugaru hunt and then we went to a bar. Y/N and I left early to go to Barnes and Noble and then we slept in the Impala because you were taking a girl to the motel room. Then I wake up in a pretentious home with the quote ‘God bless kale’ on the wall—I mean, what the hell?”

Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a few times before handing it to Sam. It’s a YouTube video of Sam, but it doesn’t quite look like him. He’s wearing glasses  and his hair is slicked back and slightly shorter than it should be.

“Ew,” Sam mutters and Dean huffs out a laugh.

“That’s exactly what I thought.”

The Sam in the video paces around a stage, spewing all sorts of pretentious health tricks and stuff about not letting anything hold you back, not even family. He ends the speech with “I mean, God bless kale, am I right?”

Sam makes a face. “I—that’s—I’ve never—”

Dean just sits and watches him.

Sam quickly searches both his and his brother’s names. Dean’s been on the FBI’s Most Wanted list since ‘09 and Sam has his own law firm.

Finally, Sam searches for you.

“Y/N Singer was convicted for multiple counts of murder, arson, grave desecration, and sentenced to the death penalty. Her sentence was carried out on February 23, 2009,” Sam reads out loud and puts a hand to his mouth. Dean watches him, eyes calculating.

Sam sprints to the bathroom and empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.

“I hope you had that same reaction the day it happened,” Dean says coldly, leaning one shoulder on the doorframe and watching as his little brother retches.

“You said I killed her,” Sam says weakly once he’s finished, slumping against the side of the bathtub.

“You went into law, missing Dad be damned, and rose through the ranks of your pretentious law firm,” Dean says, crouching down so he can look his brother in the eyes as he reminds him of his sins, because it would appear he’s forgotten.

Dean’s so livid Sam can’t even see it. How Sam could forget what he had done, how he could dare to speak your name out loud, it baffles him. There’s no excuse. “You were assigned to prosecute Y/N when she was caught, I guess. And your reputation was too important, so you made sure she was sentenced. You know what you told me?”

Sam hugs his knees to his chest. “What?”

“You said you’d help her get out. And then you didn’t, because they could have caught you. And she died.” Dean turns away so Sam can’t see the struggle on his face. Sam can’t be faking this memory thing, because he knows that what he did was unforgivable and that Dean had sworn to kill him if he ever saw him again. So for Sam to show up on his doorstep, acting like the brother he remembers from their shared childhood… the only explanation is that he really is having an episode or whatever.

“Y/N never hurt a person,” he says softly, starting to vibrate with anger. “She was the sweetest hunter I ever knew. You loved her, Sam.”

Sam shuts his eyes and shakes his head.

“You loved her! And you killed her!” Dean bellows. “Because you couldn’t handle losing a case!”

“That wasn’t me!” Sam yells. “I would never, Dean!”

“That’s what I thought, too!” Dean shouts, his face turning red, fists clenching so he doesn’t reach for his gun. “You forget I raised you, Sam! I taught you every trick, every move, every game I know! I sacrificed everything for you! You ate first, you got the bed and I got the floor, and I never complained, because I loved you, and I was happy that you were happy! I was happy that you were turning out good because I had turned into a fucking mother to take care of you, and then you know what you do? You kill my sister. You killed Y/N and then you have the audacity to keep that picture in your bedside stand and say you regret it and say you still love her. You didn’t love her. You didn’t love me. And I shouldn’t have loved you.”

While he had been yelling, Sam had put his head in his knees and started to sob, shoulders shaking, because he knows that this isn’t real but right now he doesn’t have you, and for some reason, for some godawful reason, he’s starting to remember talking with you after your trial and promising to get you out but then his boss had called for a dinner and he had gone to that dinner and you had died. “You don’t mean that, Dean. Y-you can’t.” There’s an awful, hollow feeling in his chest that he should be used to, after years of you being dead, but the thought of being used to it makes him terrified.

There’s memories coming back that Sam knows aren’t real, the memory of the night, that dinner with his boss, and when he got home he was told that there was a scheduling error by his secretary Nancy and that Y/N had been executed already.

And even though it never happened to him, Sam can feel every excruciating detail of that memory, burnt into his memory, and the waves of grief that only Dean could have soothed, and then his brother had called and threatened to kill him.

And now Dean hates him and he loves kale and the only decorations in his room are a picture of you, a CD, and a pretentious quote on his wall.

Dean’s fit of anger fades when he sees his brother’s shuddering shoulders. Goddamnit, but he still does have a soft spot for his brother, no matter what he did, because he is Sam’s mother, after all. Sam’s practically a part of him.

“Dean, I swear to God, I would never do that,” Sam vows, wiping his eyes but keeping his eyes on the floor. His eyes go wide when he realizes what must be going on. “You didn’t happen to piss off an angel recently, did you?”

“What?”

Sam scrambles to his feet. “This has happened before—our memories have been messed with before, remember when I was working IT and you were a health nut? Maybe we pissed off an angel and they decided to pull this trick—”

“Wow, you really are out of it,” Dean says, his eyes half-lidded as he watches Sam. That’s how he is nowadays; wild and extreme mood swings because he’d lost every single person he’d ever loved. “Angels, Sam? Is this some sort of midlife crisis? Has the stress made you lose your mind?”

“Cas,” Sam mutters. “Dean, where’s Cas?”

“Who?”

“Wait, if I didn’t die, then the angels wouldn’t have pulled you from hell, so of course you don’t know Cas,” he continues feverishly. “So no apocalypse because you didn’t go to hell. So you’ve just been a regular hunter all these years?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean frowns. “What else would I have been?”

“Dean, if you ever loved me, just trust me,” Sam says, standing up and brushing by his brother. “I have a story to tell.”

Dean’s face is blank when Sam finishes the story. Finally, he asks, “How many drugs are you on?”

“I’m not out of it,” Sam insists. “Dude, trust me. What we would do would make people think we’re crazy, but we know monsters are real. And if demons are real, why’s it so unbelievable that angels might be too?”

“Fine, angels, maybe,” Dean relents. “But everyone knows you can’t come back from the dead!”

“What about zombies and ghosts?” Sam reminds him.

“But that’s not really coming back.”

“Look, dude, just trust me. I—”

“Y/N trusted you,” Dean mutters.

Sam winces. “You’ve got to believe me, man. That wasn’t me—that must have been, like, a different version of me. Not this version, trust me. I… I haven’t wanted to be a lawyer in a long time. I’ve loved hunting with you and Y/N for years.”

“Y/N never wanted kids and a normal life like you did,” Dean reminisces. “That’s why she was so nervous around you, because she didn’t think you would still like her if she didn’t want what you did.”

“Dean, if you help me, I promise we’ll get Y/N back. Not just back, but this entire existence—me leaving, Y/N dying, all of it—that will get erased and it will never have happened. I promise.”

Dean eyes Sam warily. “Maybe you’re just freaking out, but sure. Worst comes to worst, you wake up and go back to your lawyering and I go back to hunting and we pretend this never happened.”

“Now we just need to figure out what happened,” Sam sighs. “Cas will know.”

“Cas, who saved me from hell?” Dean asks and Sam nods. “Well, how do we get him down here?”

“I know a ritual.”

“This isn’t gonna work,” Dean mutters. “Angels don’t exist, otherwise hunters would have encountered them a while ago—”

“Dude, most of them are dicks,” Sam interrupts. “I’m sure some hunters have encountered them and the angels smited them.”

“Then why are we summoning a dick down here?”

Sam frowns. “Cas was a dick at first, but he got better. Hopefully he won’t kill us immediately. Maybe he even remembers the timeline I came from. Angels are weird,” Sam adds as an afterthought. “I know something that will banish him, anyway.”

Once they’re set up, Dean hovering by the symbol on the wall, ready to press it to banish Cas at a moment’s notice, and Sam ready to talk to the angel, they share a look. It’s a normal look for Sam, the way they both check with each other to make sure they’re ready before hunting, but it hurts Dean’s heart. He’s missed his brother.

“All right, Cas,” Sam says, finishing the ritual. “Get on down here.”

A white light blinds them. Once it fades, Cas wearing Jimmy Novak is squinting at the two hunters. “Who are you and how did you know how to summon me?”

“Cas, it’s me,” Sam pleads. “Don’t you remember?”

“I’ve never seen you before,” the angel replies. His angel blade falls into his hands. “Are you the one that’s been interfering with time?”

“Sort of, I guess?” Sam winces. “I want to set it back, though. I don’t like this timeline very much.”

“The Winchesters,” the angel realizes. “You were special, the both of you.” His eyes linger on Dean’s. Dean gulps. “You wish to fix this mistake?”

“Can’t you?” Sam asks. “I know Gabe and Zachariah have done things like this before.”

Cas frowns and shakes his head. “The fountain’s magic is one I am not allowed to break.”

“The fountain?” Sam frowns. “The fountain? Oh!”

“Sure, I wish to have never gotten back in the life even when you came to pick me up from college.”

“Set things right,” Cas says gravely. “My superiors aren’t very happy with you.”

He disappears.

“That was an angel?” Dean asks. “Wow. He sort of sucked.”

“He’s better in my timeline,” Sam mutters. “All right, we have to find the fountain that granted me this wish.”

Dean barks out a harsh laugh. “What, you wished for Y/N to be dead and to be a lawyer?”

“I was joking around with you,” Sam murmurs. “I said something like ‘I wish I’d never gone with you when you came to pick me up from college’.”

Dean looks at him incredulously. “That’s something you joke about?”

“The you I know is a lot more easygoing,” Sam says under his breath. “So, what? Did I refuse to come with you or what?”

Even as he asks that, he remembers it: Sam telling Dean that he would be able to handle it, Jess dying only a little later, and Sam throwing himself into his work to distract himself. You visited sometimes, which reminded him of his old childhood crush on you, and eventually you two got together.

Then you’d made the FBI’s Most Wanted list.

“Don’t answer that,” Sam says hastily when Dean opens his mouth. “All right, well, that should be pretty easy. Destroying the fountain should work, right?”

“I assume so,” Dean shrugs. “I’m still not convinced you’re not bonkers, but let’s go.”

“Fuck!”

Dean crosses his arms as he watches his little brother pace around, spewing expletives, in front of the ‘Closed’ sign of the little Chinese restaurant. The insides are completely barren; whatever fountain Sam’s looking for is long gone.

Sam’s looking a little spare at the moment, his hair ruffled from running his hands through it so much, eyes twitching from tiredness, cursing like a sailor. Passerby give him a wide berth.

“God damn it,” the younger Winchester mutters, fishing his phone out of his pocket and answers this Nancy that’s been calling him nonstop. “What the hell could be so important?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, but you didn’t show up at work today so I thought you might be sick and your house was empty and ransacked when I got to it—” the secretary on the other end babbles.

Sam holds the phone away from his ear and looks to Dean for help, but Dean’s stopped helping him long ago. Eventually he interrupts Nancy by saying, “I’m fine. I’m taking a vacation right now. Don’t call me again.”

“A vacation?” the girl repeats. “Mr. Winchester, are you all right?”

Sam hangs up and rolls his eyes at Dean, who should smirk and make a sexual comment about his secretary going to his house, but this Dean just raises one eyebrow and turns away. Sam blinks and shakes his head.

“So we gotta figure out where the fountain is, right?” Dean asks.

“If it isn’t demolished,” Sam mutters. “If it is, then I don’t know what we’ll do.” Surprising Dean, though he really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, considering the sort of madness his brother is spewing right now, he sits down on the sidewalk and puts his head on his knees.

Maybe when they were kids Dean would know what to do, but his brother’s been spewing anti-family content for years, making it very clear that he’s not welcome and no amends are going to be made anytime soon. Plus, at this point, the only thing Dean knows about Sam is his name. What he likes, if he’s seeing anyone (though that would be like betraying Y/N, Dean feels like), and all that other stuff is a mystery.

It’s the nostalgia that makes Dean sit down next to his brother, not quite able to bring himself to put a hand on his back. Even if his brother has mysteriously lost his memory and thinks they’ve been hunting together for the past few decades, that doesn’t mean he’s just forgotten seeing that face push for Y/N to be killed.

“Hey, you don’t happen to have a headache or anything, do you?” Dean asks. “You haven’t hit your head or anything?”

Sam gives him a scalding look. “I’m not crazy, Dean. Not yet, anyway.”

Dean frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m starting to remember things that I haven’t done,” Sam whispers. “I remember the trial. I remember pushing to kill Y/N. And I can’t remember some things about my timeline, like where I took Y/N out on our first date.”

“You’re starting to turn into the Sam I know,” Dean realizes.

“I don’t want to be him,” Sam whispers, looking at his brother with teary eyes. “Please, Dee. I don’t want to be him.”

“That’s all right,” Dean says, suddenly reminded of how Sam would cry sometimes when he wanted something from Dean when they were kids. He slings his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “You’re not gonna. I won’t let you.”

Sam sniffs. Despite being over six feet tall, his hunched shoulders and inturned feet make him look small.

“Let’s call it a night and get back to it in the morning,” Dean suggests, standing up and taking Sam with him. “I doubt you’ll forget your entire life in one night.”

The brothers track the fountain to one place, but it turns out they sold it to another place, and then that place had it transferred to another facility, but then the truck that had been carrying it had crashed, and somehow the brothers find themselves picking through a dump. Dean looks up to see his brother’s disgusted face as he wades through the leaking garbage bags, but it’s not a regular disgusted face, it’s a ‘this is all beneath me’ face. For a moment Dean forgets about everything that’s happened, seeing that expression on his brother’s face, and wonders why he’s bothering to help his brother.

Then Sam blinks and shakes his head. He smiles at his brother, a tense one but a real smile nonetheless, and Dean remembers. Sam’s starting to squint a bit now, his eyes going as he turns more into the Sam Dean knows. The physical sign of his change is scaring both of them.

If Dean can have his brother and his sister back, he’d do anything, but watching this new Sam turn into the Sam he’s used to is killing him.

Sam almost starts to cry when he finally sees the fountain. It’s sitting in the middle of a pile of black garbage bags. “Dean! Dean, come look!”

Dean scrambles over and looks to where his brother’s pointing. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Sam nods. “I’m sure of it.”

“Then we’ll need to get it to a construction site,” Dean says decisively. “Run it over with a truck, you think?”

“Maybe taking the coin will reverse it,” Sam says. He starts to make his way to the fountain when a shout stops Dean from following him.

Dean turns around with a fake smile. “Yes?”

“This is private property,” an old man with a missing tooth bellows from a few yards away. He must be slightly deaf. “You boys better get off right now!”

“All right!” Dean yells, beckoning Sam over. Sam holds up the penny, glinting in the fading light, and pockets it. “Sorry, sir! We’re leaving now! You think that’ll do the trick?” he adds in an undertone to Sam.

Sam shrugs. “If we wake up and things aren’t changed, we can just destroy it tomorrow.”

“Man, I can’t wait to see Y/N,” Dean says, smiling wistfully.

“Me too,” Sam agrees fervently. “You have no idea.”

Dean thinks he does, but he keeps his mouth shut. One thing about this new Sam becoming more like the old Sam is him thinking less and less about other people. He really hopes this works.

Dean wakes up to a familiar click. When he opens his eyes, his pistol is staring him down. Sam is holding it up, jaw clenched. “Sammy?”

“It’s Sam,” he corrects unconsciously. “What the hell am I doing with you ? Did you kidnap me?”

“Hey, you tracked me down,” Dean says, sitting up fully. His brother won’t kill him, he doesn’t think. “You were having a meltdown. You completely lost it.”

“I’m surprised I’m not dead, then,” Sam sneers. “Considering you’re a professional killer. Maybe I should call the FBI, see what they think about Dean Winchester being here.”

“Well, out of the two of us, I’m not the one that’s killing innocents,” Dean shrugs, his voice light so it doesn’t betray his emotions. That would be embarrassing.

Sam’s hands tremble.

“We both know you aren’t gonna shoot me, Sam,” Dean says, eyeing his brother’s posture. His legs are spread too wide, both hands on the gun. He’s lost his edge, and for the first time Dean’s completely sure that he was telling the truth earlier. No one is good enough of an actor to completely change their posture for a character. This Sam moves and acts, hell, even breathes different from how he’d done it just yesterday. “Put down the gun.”

Dean needs to smash that fountain. This is hell; the way Sam’s looking at him now compared to the way he looked at him yesterday. He wants to cry. He’s lost his brother again, and he might not even get him back. Or you. Somehow knowing that he could have gotten them both back makes it so much worse.

“Don’t fucking contact me again,” his brother spits. He sets the gun down and hightails it out of the room.

“Wouldn’t want to!” Dean yells after him.

When the maid comes in to clean later, she finds the entire room has been wrecked.

Dean runs the bulldozer over that stupid fountain once, then twice, then three times, until the stone is just dust under its wheels, and then he hits the wheel once when nothing happens. Maybe Sam had been faking it after all, a cruel trick he’d devised, or he really was helping the FBI find Dean. At this point, he wouldn’t even care if he was arrested. Knowing his luck, Sam would be the one to prosecute him, too.

Dean revs the engine of the bulldozer and starts to pull it forward, but it jerks to the side so violently he’s thrown out of the car, falling, falling, falling…

Falling right into a bed.

Dean and Sam wake up with identical gasps of air, Dean in the motel room and Sam in the car.

Sam throws himself over the seat, waking you up as he hugs you to his body tight enough to strangle you.

“Uncle!” you joke-wheeze and tap his arm. “Sam, what gives?”

Sam pulls away just enough to let you breathe and buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. He doesn’t think he’ll ever let you go now that you’re in his arms for fear of you disappearing or worse. Being able to smell you and run his hands up and down your arms reassures him that you’re really here and not dead anymore, thank God.

“I just had a really bad dream,” he finally mutters.

You smooth down his bedhead absently. “Clowns or midgets? Did I save you from them?”

Before Sam can answer, the Impala’s door opens and Dean catapults himself into the hugfest wearing only his boxers. The girl he’d brought home stands in the doorway of the room, watching with confusion.

“Let me guess,” you laugh, gladly accepting Dean’s hug as well, “you had a bad dream too?”

“You have no idea,” Dean replies, his eyes meeting Sam’s over your head.

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes

[gelaaysstuff-blog]

SUICIDAL NOTE

In the morning,

I’ll be dead.

All the thoughts

Gone from my head.

No more crying.

No more tears.

No more hateful,

Useless years.

              I am tired of everything that has happened to me. I wished that I wasn’t born when all I feel is pain and heartaches, physically and emotionally. I’m sick from all of this, being anyone’s toy, a thing to be played with. I can no longer contain this feeling from inside me and all I want to do is to put an end to it. And this is my suicidal note.

              One morning, I was awakened with an e-mail sent by a random girl whom I don’t know of. It was two in the morning when I opened the message, I was taken a back because of what it contains but it was just a moment when I realized that maybe it was just a prank message. So I’ve decided to go back to sleep. It’s been a week but it seems that my inner-self can’t get over it. It’s as if my conscience is talking to me; what if it’s true? What if that girl is already dead?  I didn’t take her message seriously, and then partly it’s my fault. I’ve been bothered by my conscience that was then I opt to make a move. I booked a flight from Germany to Philippines. Now that I’m already here in the Philippines I just then realized that I don’t know what to do next. I swear to God, that me, myself, Iyvel Rad will surely save you Ace Rylle.

3 months Later

              “Have you found any traces Ahmed?” I asked him. It’s been 3 months ever since I started this journey of ours. So much had happened in between those months but the only thing that I’m grateful for is when I found a guy who’s currently my oh-so-called best friend. And if I’m not luck enough he had the talent that could definitely helped me; him being the best hacker in the country. I’m now living in a comfortable place in San Francisco, Agusan del Sur.

              “Sorry Iyvel. Still no progress.” He replied.

              “ How I wish she’s still alive and kicking because I can’t find it in my heart to accept it.” I said. I know it sound gay but I can’t help it when it’s been running in my mind for a month.

              “Losing Hope, Iyvel? Thought you’ll do everything?” he spite back with a knowing look drawn in his face.

              “I am not Ahmed. Go back to your work and I’ll do the mine. Now move your ass.” I replied slightly annoyed.

              “Okay, okay. You are so hot headed.” He said. But I didn’t reply back as it will only make the conversation longer than what we do. Many hours had passed, silence surround the whole area with only sound of tapping keys are heard. Time flies so fast when moon starts to give light in the darkness.

              Asking, searching, hacking, we’ve done every possible ways that we can do still no improvements not even close to a clue to the point that we lost track of the time. It’s the seventh month of searching still no sign of hints laid in the table. Adding up to the spice, this month will be the difficult one as I do all the work since Ahmed can’t lend a hand because he had something to take good care of – his childhood friend Aestherille whose nine month pregnant. So he needs to be there until she delivers.

              I was doing my research when I received a text from Ahmed saying: “San Franz Doc. Room 35. Important. ASAP.” I stopped got my keys and went out to where my car is and rushed to the hospital. As I arrived I went out of my car, enter the said hospital, and got my way to room 35. There I saw Ahmed sitting in a bench with his head bent down and his hands were clasped together, praying silently. I went near him and asked what happened which made my world upside down.

AHMED’S POINT OF VIEW

              As I was placing all the groceries to the right container, Aestherille whined at me. Trying to convince me to cook for her lunch when it’s only an hour passed after she finished the whole pack of eggnog. I gave her another set of eggnog for her to satisfy her appetite temporarily. I asked her to let me borrow her laptop since I forgot mine in my house. She said yes. So I went upstairs to her room and found her laptop in her study table I opened it and the first one to appear is the messenger that was widely opened in the screen with an open message exactly as what Iyvel had from a total stranger. I was still in shock but not any longer when a loud bang of the door swung open revealing Aestherille in horror plastered in her face. She forgot to shut down her laptop leaving it in a sleep mode. Aestherille seems like she was glued to where she was standing can’t even do anything. When here I was, rage starts to build up in my heart disappointments, betrayed different emotions filled my whole being and I shouted at her.

              “ALL THIS TIME, IT’S YOU WE���VE BEEN LOOKING FOR. YOU’RE THE ACE RYLLE THAT CAN’T BE FOUND IN EVERY WAYS WE TRIED WHEN IT WAS JUST A FAKE NAME. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, TO US?!YOU KNEW THAT WE’VE BEEEN SEARCHING FOR YOU FOR 9 MONTHS! 9 MONTHS THAT WE WASTED WHEN YOU ARE JUST HERE, SO NEAR YET SO FAR.!!” I shouted letting out my frustrations and feelings. We both cried in heavy breathing, she tried to explain but my mind is not in the state to accept neither excuses nor explanations. I was about to get my phone to let Iyvel know about this when Aestherille shouted with pain as the baby in her womb wanted out. I don’t know what to do, my mind seems not to process all things that had taken place not until when a water-like spread in the floor where she was standing, I carried her to my car and rushed to the hospital. Waiting for hours, the doctor finally appeared, first it was good news knowing that the baby is healthy but not when the doctor said that the mother did not made it. Everything happened so fast it was then I texted Iyvel to let him know about this.

IYVEL’S POINT OF VIEW

              My world has fallen apart. My heart can’t hold any of what’s happening now. I can’t seem to accept it. I cried my heart out I’m blaming myself for not able to save her. One thing I realized is that I’M TOO LATE. With a heavy heart I walked to the room where her body is. My core starts to beat fast that for the first time I can finally see the face behind this façade. Pulling off the cover, a pale skinned yet beautifully made with a pair of thick brows and long curvy eyelashes, with her long pointed nose and perfect formed lips, I covered my mouth with my both hands and seated at the floor when my feet lose their strength. She’s the girl.

FLASHBACK:

              Nine months ago, before me and my family migrated to Germany I still lived here in the Philippines same place where I lived now. I was a fat ugly boy the complete opposite of who I am today. I was a victim of bullies in our school. I was a toy and a servant and the pocket money of every one. Until one night I was forced by Chad one of the bully to be at a bar together with them because they seem to have a surprise for me. Even if it was against my will, I came because of fear to be beaten up to death. In the bar, the group of bullies boys and girls played me together with the girl with the same life as me. But unlike me, she was beautiful and had the body of a goddess but with the same faith she was bullied because of her too much beauty she possessed. Things are just bearable at first being used to it. But not until Chad with his girlfriend Fiona and the other bullies forced me and the girl to strip before them. It was way beyond one’s mind, I was fighting with them because I don’t want to but the girl beside me started to stripped as if it was just nothing. I look at her face my blood runs cold there were no emotions at all. Then I was stripped by others after which, both of us were already naked. Flashes of cameras and all is their way of making fun of us. I was already crying I thought that was it but no, the fun is just getting started for them. We entered a private room and were taken a sex video of us and the rest was history. After what happened I forced my parents to migrate in places far from Philippines. And we chose Germany. After two months of living in Germany I change myself to my current self and it’s when I received a message from Ace Rylle.

END OF FLASHBACK

I don’t want to assume that the baby she delivered minutes ago was mine. But my heart strongly believed that I am.

One month after you passed away, I am still in the state of moving on because I can’t still accept the fact that you were gone. But I will live enough and happily just what you wanted it to be together with our daughter Baby Ace.

1 week after she died.

Ahmed visited me in my house and gave me a CD that contains Aestherille’s last message for me. I turn on my DVD player and put the CD inside of it.

Playing:

Hi Iyvel! First I want to say sorry for hiding from you after all the things that you’ve done to me. It was good to know that there is still someone that cared for me except from Ahmed. You know, at first glimpse of your picture after knowing that you are looking for me to save me from all pains I instantly recognized you being the boy with fat bellies and a cute round face. Our first encounter is not of that a memorable one; after what happened months ago after you disappear I still continued to be there toy, dumb isn’t it? Haha. But you know what, when I learned that I was already 2 months pregnant all I think about is to kill myself together with my baby. I love our baby even if she was made out of fun. Because I don’t want her to feel abandoned. That’s when I made a message a suicidal note where everything started in the new chapter, before I leave the world with my baby and sent to random people. But how twisted our faith are, it seemed like destiny also wanted to play with us. The next day, I already planned to hang myself but for the last time I checked my messenger especially from you and it made me happy that you’ve seen it. It gave me hope, but still my desire to end my sanity I stand firm and I was about to hang myself when Ahmed entered my room. Know what, Ahmed was my longtime friend. But his family needs to migrate so Ahmed can pursue his dream. That’s when I lost contact with him. When he entered my room he was still wearing his long thick coat. He just arrived from his country and immediately rushed in here after knowing about me then he tried to convince me not to end my life and he succeeded. Now I made it today. Please send my gratitude to him Iyvel. But I know for myself that when time will come for my delivering I know I won’t make it because I have a heart was once operated when I was young. Sorry for everything. This time I wish that you’ll love our baby – your baby just like how I loved her. Live fully. Bye Iyvel.

END

[katyaton]

These Things Are Fun Lets Give It a Go

Tagged by the lovely @mygeekcorner​ !!! 

RULES: answer all questions, add one question of your own and tag as many people as there are questions. (…. yeah not doing that one sry)

tagging: Whoever wants to do it!!! I’d love to get to know people better :) I’m also shy and would like to tag more but don’t want to overstep my bounds. @dreamsinteacups @rollertoasteroflife @booksncupcakes @ramigo and @totallynotanobody and @nakedpasta (you last two can just tell me in person if you want, haha)

1.      coke or pepsi: Coke!!! Drinking Pepsi where I live is basically blasphemy. 

2.      disney or dreamworks:  Both excel at different things. Hard to pick just one, really. Depends on my mood. 

3.      coffee or tea: I feel like by now most of you know, but Tea all day everyday. 

4.      books or movies: books

5.      windows or mac: windows…. I have so many issues with macs i swear the computers can sense my fear.

6.      dc or marvel: Gotta go with marvel. Their universe and interwoven story lines are A+.

7.      xbox or playstation: Playstation - it’s what I grew up with as a kid.

8.      dragon age or mass effect: neither. don’t play them.

9.      night owl or early riser: Night owl

10.  cards or chess: Cards - I feel like there are a lot more games you can play with them.

11.  chocolate or vanilla: Chocolate!

12.  vans or converse: Converse I suppose

13.  lavellan, trevelyan, cadash, or adaar: ????

14.  fluff or angst: I need a healthy dose of both. It also depends on my mood, but I have to say that i’m slightly partial to angst. 

15.  beach or forest: Beach if I had to choose.  

16.  dogs or cats: Cats!!

17.  clear skies or rain: Definitely rain

18.  cooking or eating out: Eating out can be fun, but i’m also cheap and really like to stay inside, so probably cooking more 

19. Spicy food or mild food: I like a bit of spice on things, but overall most of my food is on the milder side. 

20.  halloween/samhain or solstice/yule/christmas: Halloween is good but I love the atmosphere surrounding Christmas and just the general good cheer and attitude. 

21.  would you rather forever be a little too cold or a little too hot: Where I live is super hot so I’d have to say cold. Also, when you’re cold you can always put on more layers. There’s only so many things you can take off when you’re too hot.

22.  if you could have a superpower, what would it be: I’ve been adamant about this for several years. I would choose teleportation. Just think how much money you’d save? No more plane tickets, no more paying for cars/car insurance…. You’d also never be late to anything, ever and your commute time would be zero! And if a bad guy is near you you can just teleport away!

23.  animation or live action: Depends on the subject matter. If it’s more fantasy I’d say animation. If it’s more entrenched in drama I’d say live action.

24.  paragon or renegade: ????

25.  baths or showers: showers  

26.  team cap or team ironman:  I love them both dearly but I have to say I’m partial to Cap. He’s just so pure and good.

27.  fantasy or sci-fi: I really love both, but I think I ere on the side of fantasy

28. do you have three or four  favourite quotes? if so what are they:

“I want that” (via Napoleon Dynamite)

“Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.”  (Dr. Seuss)

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.”

(J.K Rowling…. this was actually my senior quote in my year book)

29.  youtube or netflix: netflix

30.  harry potter or percy jackson: Harry potter, however I really also love Percy Jackson as well. They’re both good boys. 

31.  when you feel accomplished: when i finish reading a 150,000 + fanfic in 1-2 days. 

32.  star wars or star trek: star trek.

33.  paperback books or hardback books: Paper back only because it’s less expensive. I understand that hardbacks are superior though.

34. horror or rom-com: Probably horror, although it can’t be one of those super cheap horrors that rely on jump scare or whatever. It needs to be legit and interesting. 

35.  to live in a world without literature or music: What would be the point to life???

36.  pastel colours or dark colours: Pastels

37.  tv shows or movies: shows - you stay with the characters longer and there’s more time for character development and complicated plots.

38.  city or countryside: City. I like the country for like… a few days, but then after that I get really board. As much of an introvert as I am I still need things going on around me to be happy.

39.  if any other zodiac sign could describe you, what would it be: Don’t get me started on this pseudo-psychology….. (*whispers* prob a virgo)

40.  if you could only listen to one album for the rest of your life what would it be: Oh god this is hard. I don’t really listen to albums, mostly just individual songs that I like. If I had to pick one, though, at this point I’d choose Hamilton. 

41.  cinema or theatre: cinema simply because I rarely, if ever, go the to theatre. I know I enjoy it, but it just happens so rarely that I can’t really compare the two.

42.  if you could be any fictional character’s best friend, who’d you be: Yuuri Katsuki or Kuroko Tetsuya. I feel like with both we’d get along really, really well.

43.  smiling or smirking: Smiling. Smirking has a rather negative connotation, no?

44.  are you an ‘all or nothing’ type or are you more consistent: Consistent

45.  playlists or your whole library on shuffle: Playlists. If I shuffle things I always end up skiping until it gets to the song I actually want. 

46.  travelling or staying at home: Traveling, but it can’t be 24/7. I definitely need time to recharge at home once in a while.

47.  books or fanfiction: Both are great, but tbh like most of us I have only really read fanfic recently. I have a few published books that I’m currently trying to get through, though!

48.  If you could live in a fantasy world, what world would it be: Probably Harry Potter, but only if I was a witch. Having magic would solve so many of my problems!

49. your favorite cartoon: It’s kinda up for debate whether it’s an anime or cartoon, but I’m calling it a cartoon made in the anime style simply because it’s not Japanese made. Avatar the last airbender/Legend of Korra

50.  name the weirdest five songs on your itunes, current or past: Hmmmm ok here’s what I came up with

Chum Drum Bedrum Ok I love this song so much. The singer completely describes how I am as a person: hella awkward, long and lanky, and flowy. He represents me on so many levels. 

2-1 by Imogen Heap Not a lot of people know about this song but I find it so intriguing and interesting. Definitely not everyone’s cup of tea, though. 

Wide Eyed by Animal Collective This song is what it sounds like if you're on LSD, I imagine. 

Five Night’s at Freddy’s Song 1 This song is very strange - it’s based off of a horror computer game - but you have to admit it’s jammin.

Seaboard Rise 49 Literally heard this song at a music museum and it’s the most lit keyboard song you will ever hear I guarantee it!!!

51. mountains or plains: mountains

52. favorite anime (or tv show if you don’t watch anime): Yuri on ice (of course), Death Note, Death Parade, Kuroko no Basket, Ouran High School Host Club, and Erased. (sorry couldn’t pick just one!)

53. which social media platform are you most like yourself on: Tumblr in terms of personality I suppose, but since I try to not post everything about my life on here there are a lot of things missing that don’t really come through. I’d say facebook simply because almost everything about me is uploaded on there, by one person or another. I’ve had my facebook since I was in 7th grade, so it’s really documents my life almost. I’m not really into any other social media other than those two. So in conclusion, tumblr in terms of personality, facebook in terms of being able to open up more about my life.

54. What are some of your passions: I am in love with the brain. I think that it is akin to the deep ocean or the universe - there are so many things we do not understand about it. It also houses our personality, every thought, memory, emotion. Every little nuance that makes us human. Yet it really is just a collection of water, lipids, proteins, and neurotransmitters, yet somehow in all of that we have developed a complex sense of self. Are our personalities really separate entities, or are they just a complex construct that our advanced brains have superimposed to make sense of the chaotic word that we live in??? Basically I want to research some sort of neuroscience/biopsychology related field. 

I also love genetics for similar reasons… I find it fascinating that some sort of elemental coding for our functioning lives inside us. 

I’ve also found a new passion for writing as of late :)

[jbmcdonald-blog]

More blog than anything, but...

I think I’ve seen tumblr used as a blog...? I had an author blog, but it’s pretty much defunct at this point. These are thinky thoughts, but lacking a blog I use on a regular basis, I might as well have my thinky thoughts here. ;)

So. In Real Life, I pay my bills by training dogs. It’s a great happenstance that I managed to be really good at two things in life: writing and dog training. It’s a small miracle that I like both and can make a living at one while still working on the other.

Again, IRL, I’m one of the only dog trainers in the SF Bay area that will work with dogs who are aggressive toward people. (I heard a rumor years ago there was another, and I think there must be one slightly farther south, but I’m not sure. My asking around hasn’t gained me much.) As it happens, I also have VERY good results. So, enough backstory so you know what’s going on: 10:30 at night, July 3rd, I was driving home and saw a collar-less old dog (I thought) wandering just about half a mile from my house. Being me, I stopped to pick him up. Only because of my heavy background in dog behavior, body language, training, and aggression, did I spot there was An Aggression Problem. By the end of this week, shuffling through clues (behavioral, factual, vet-opined, and various other ways) I now believe he was a failed fighting dog (because he’s too nice to succeed at that), around 3 years of age, badly abused as an adult but not a puppy, able to be rehabilitated, and needing lots of vet care. So the last week has been setting up a gofundme and posting everywhere asking for help (please please please do not start asking me questions and whatnot without checking the gofundme link for answers, because they’re probably there - I’ll post it in another post), working heavily with the dog to make him safe, testing him out with my amazing, awesome, wonderful dogs (I owe them several steak dinners at this point), taking him to and from the vet an hour plus away (because that vet, those techs, receptionists, etc know me in my dog training form, and will let me do things they would NEVER let anyone do -- “Hey, guys, I’m bringing in a pittie who’s afraid of people and will growl and lunge if you look at him too long. It’s cool if we don’t muzzle him, right? I promise I’ll walk you through not getting bit. 0:D” Which, in turn, helps dramatically with rehabilitating), answering questions, sending thank-yous for donations, and ever more training. Also, not sleeping well.

ALL THAT is just the backstory.

Basically, it’s like when people want me to re-train their dog who also happens to need vet care. Except I’m not getting paid, so I can’t hire done the obnoxious life stuff I now have no time for, like cleaning the house. Since Dog (Flea, actually) is also intact and has never been in a house before, this means he’s also being destructo-dog and marking, so I have to watch him like a hawk when he’s inside. This is not relaxing. To relax I put him in his crate or outside, and then deal with my guilt. >.>

ALL THIS to say, I’m basically overworked. Normally, my life is like this: 1 week per month I board dogs. Every other month or so, I board for two weeks. When I’m not boarding dogs, I try to write minimum 4 hours per week.

Right now, I have the work of boarding, without the pay, and feeling like I should write. Okay, now we get to the meat of my post.

When I’m overworked, I veg out. I don’t write well. I watch TV and play Candy Crush, and then wonder why I have a headache. It can’t be staring at screens, surely. >.> Now, this is the exact opposite of what’s good for me. I mean, this is good for me for a day to two, to unwind and relax. But after that, I do much better if I’m writing/blogging/walking dogs/being productive. Right now is my “writing time.” It’s easy enough to leave the house so I can get that done, but do I do it? Nooooo. I feel guilt over what I think I “should” be doing (working with Flea every minute of the day, except when I’m working with my own dogs because they need to know they’re not being replaced, except except when I’m actually working or cleaning the house, except except except when I’m getting my horse out), which makes me less productive instead of more so, which makes me bury myself in TV and Candy Crush, and then I stay up too late, wake up too late, drag through the day, am too tired to function except for TV and Candy Crush, feel guilt, stay up too late, wake up too late...

Healthy: Getting exercise (which, I swear to god, is a word I will NEVER BE ABLE TO SPELL). Going to bed on time. Writing if it’s writing weeks, working with dogs if it’s boarding weeks. Have some downtime, with as little screen time as possible - especially in the evenings.

The totally 100% self destructive cycle: what I am currently doing.

Today is a great example: Me: I should get up and either take Flea out to socialize, my dogs out to walk, write, or go see my pony for pony therapy. Also me: Yes, I should. Let’s play Candy Crush. Me: Wait-- that’s not-- ooooh, look, shiny. Also me: Right? You deserve this break. You’ve earned this break. Your life is haaaaaarrrrrrrd. Me: ...I got out of bed four hours ago and all I’ve done is thirty minutes of emailing and texting clients and three and a half hours of playing Candy Crush or watching Lost In Space. Or as I like to say, LOOOOOOSST IIIIIIIN SPAAAAAACE! Also me: LOOK! SHINY! Me: I really do need to get to work. This argument has been going on for an hour now. Also me: Fuck that. Me: No! Work! Look, if you just get up, you can have sugary cream with a little coffee in it. Also me: Just play until this life is over. Me: Okay, I’m all out of lives. I should-- Also me: Facebook! Let’s just check Facebook really quick! Me: I need to GET UP. Just GET UP. Then you can even sit back down. Also me: But then what will you do? Walk your dogs? You’re running out of time in the day, now. If you walk your dogs, you may not have time to write. Me: Then I’ll write. Also me: But your dogs have been cooped up, and you know Lily gets depressed if she doesn’t get out. Oh, and don’t forget you have to do Cash’s physical therapy. You missed yesterday. Me: And I only got the exercises for him two days ago... Also me: So, so far, utter failure there. Look, Candy Crush has reloaded another life... and if you just delay for five minutes, it’ll load ANOTHER life. Me: ...I should get up and do something. Also me: But what will you choose to do, therefore choosing not to do something else? Me: I’m going to get my dogs out and then go see my pony. I’ll enjoy that. Also me: So that’s the priority now? I thought you were making writing a priority? Me: Okay, so I’ll write FIRST, then-- Also me: Oh, so you’re going to run the risk that you won’t get the animals taken care of today? Shouldn’t they be your priority? Their lives, health, and happiness depend on you. They’re ALIVE. They should ALWAYS be the priority. Me: Okay, so first I’ll take Flea to the park for socializing. Then I’ll write, get the pony out, and take dogs walking when it’s cooler, this evening. Also Me: You know you often end up skipping the last thing. Are you prioritizing this new dog over your own dogs? Me: ...what? Also me: Just saying, which is more important? New dog or your dogs? Me: ...I... Also me: Or the horse? She’s in a box stall. She’s cooped up unless you get her out. Do you think she’s happy like that? Me: Okay, pony first, then-- Also me: YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE PRIORITIZING WRITING. Me: *sits down in defeat and plays Candy Crush or watches TV for the rest of the day.*

I read once, recently, in somethingorother on how to talk to people, that the second you say “Yes, but” what you’re really saying is, “No,” or “I disagree,” or “you’re wrong.” I’ve held that up whenever I want to say “Yes, but” to someone, and found that it’s not always true. But (haha), it’s definitely true for me in this situation.

Furthermore, I know that if I get up and start doing something, anything, I’ll continue doing more things, and I’ll feel better. That doesn’t help actually get me up, though. I know that if i keep sitting there, I won’t do any of it and I’ll be unhappy and the cycle will continue. That doesn’t help, either. I know that to make myself happier, I need to get up and be productive, and/or exercise, and/or eat better, etc. It doesn’t make me do it.

My dad has been in AA for most of my life. (34 years? Something like that.) He talks about his drinking days, and thinking, “Just put the glass down, you don’t need another sip,” and then taking another sip as if his arm belonged to someone else. I get that. It’s exactly how this feels, especially once the cycle starts. Normally I can help end the cycle by taking a day or two and going to my honey’s house, leaving my dogs (and even boarders) with my assistant trainer for a night or two. This time I can’t even do that, because Flea is so twitchy. He’s doing AMAZING, but a set back right now would break me and slow down his progress dramatically. I don’t feel like I can trust him with others unsupervised, yet. His signals that he needs space are just too easy to miss.

I kind of think of this as the “But” phase of the cycle, the hardest one to get out of. I need to get up/but I’m so tired. I should do something/but what should I do. I need to prioritize my dogs/but what about these other things I want to prioritize.

It’s exhausting. Meds help (for anxiety and ADD), but not always enough. The cycle just has to be broken. Easier said then done. >.> But hey! I’m blogging. That counts as writing, so one step out of the hole I’ve dug. It took me three hours from the time I decided to do it until I actually managed to do it, but I still managed in the same day. That’s something, right? RIGHT.