#jimmy (mouthwashing)

[howfishismade]

mouthwashing nation

[eldritchkraken]

missed it the first time since you only get to see his pre-crash model a few times, but i realized thanks to this shot that curly's shirt collar mirrors the pony express logo. re: the horse symbolism, the horseshoe is supposed to be a charm to draw in good luck when positioned this way. maybe just a coincidence but could have a deeper meaning too.

[days-until-burnout]

I was wondering if maybe you could write a bit of gribeans? Sperate from the bad boys I mean. But totally fine if im asking too much. Love your fics sm!!

i can! i very much can! i am willing to give a try to any hermit or life series member (even some from empires, even thought i dont know much from them aside from overlapping members). and dont worry, you arent asking too much :] feel free to request whatever you want, because i am an adult and i know how to adult with content lastly, thank you, glad youre enjoying the fics<3

_____

📧 Day 28 -

Characters - Grian/Joel ft Jimmy, Scar & Bdubs Words - 1,520 Time - 45 mins Content - College AU

Grian looked himself over in the mirror for the twelfth time, meticulously looking for a flaw or hair out of place. Normally, he wouldn’t bother with unimportant things, but one didn’t go out with some rich guy every night, so he had to make an impression. He gripped the edge of the sink, pressing his lips into a thin line, almost desperate to find something wrong. He hadn’t even eaten anything to make sure he had nothing in his teeth, and for once, he had been going to sleep at a reasonable time for a week to avoid getting bags under his eyes. He had brushed his teeth three times in the morning, twice in the afternoon, used mouthwash and floss in between to avoid bad breath. He even showered twice, once when he woke up and one recently. And his clothes, although not new, he had washed and ironed them and kept them pristine the day he convinced Joel to go on a date. 

Okay. Alright. Fine. He was doing too much. But this was important. Very important. Because Joel had money, and Joel seemed fun, but more importantly, Joel had money.

He could hear his flatmates making a loud mess outside, the walls were thin. They could probably even hear him overthinking and how desperate he was. 

When his hand slipped from the sink, he finally snapped out of it. He grabbed his phone, checking himself on the room a final time before stepping out of the bathroom to the noise. He walked the corridor to the living room, plopping himself on the couch as Jimmy, Scar and Bdubs played like they were at the Olympics. With practice, he turned out their screaming and screeching and cheering, turning his attention to his phone. Twenty past six, ten more minutes until Joel would arrive. He unlocked his phone and decided to finally answer messages, freezing when he came face to face with his chat with Joel. 

Something so small like a wink, it was just a semicolon and a close parenthesis, yet it made his heart and stomach overturn like he’d never been on a date before. 

He slid his thumb across the screen to exit the chat, glossing over the unanswered messages. His peace, however, lasted a total of half a minute, because the room suddenly plummeted into silence, and Grian knew it was bad. Very bad. 

“Sooooo,” Jimmy said first. Grian glanced at the top of his phone, subtly looking at Jimmy who was facing him, no doubt grinning like the idiot he was. “Excited? Nervous? Do you want us to follow to make sure this random guy doesn’t break your heart?”

“Oh! Yes, we should!” Bdubs jumped in, which at least assured Grian of the thought that they had somehow discussed this between them. 

“Oh, god, no, don’t you dare!” He looked up from his phone, glare instantly finding Jimmy. He glanced at the other two, finding matching, bright and sparkly eyes. If time travel ever became available, he would pay whatever it was needed and stop his past self from flatting with this trio. “Plus, you three, against him? No chance. No chance.”

“Oh, come on, G. You don’t have to hype him up!” Scar said, and the other two nodded. Dogs. They were all dogs. And Grian so, so regretted not having moved in with Cleo and Scott. Maybe next semester. Yeah. That was a plan. He would do that as soon as he could. “Also! You need to remember, Joel is shorter than us. And we are three against one. It would give you enough time to run away, at least.”

Grian scoffed, turned his head away as he got up. He walked to the kitchen, cringing when he heard them standing up, footsteps following him. As calmly as he could, he grabbed a glass and poured some water into it, trying to calm his nerves or try to not throw the water on their faces. 

They continued to talk, loud voices that he made white noise. Then his phone pinged, and he quickly grabbed it, smiled at the notification. Nonchalantly, he walked out of the kitchen then out of their flat, quietly closing the door behind him. He speed-walked the side of the building to the street, a sigh of relief escaping him when he found Joel’s car parked right there. Without thinking or waiting for him to get out, he jumped in, rapidly clicking his belt on. 

Joel laughed, “Couldn't wait to see me?”

“You have no idea,” he joked with an eyeroll. 

Soon enough, they were driving off. 

>>>

Turned out, Joel was more than a pretty face. Joel was a pride monster, boastful and loud, and he’d probably fit right in with Jimmy, Scar and Bdubs. That aside, Joel liked showing off, and Grian couldn’t even be mad, because Joel had reasons to show off. After yet another strike and loud cheer, Grian wondered if he somehow rigged the whole bowling lane. Joel had that kind of money, and liked to spend it like that too.

“Aw, don’t look so salty, Grian. I’ll buy you some ice cream to cheer you up.” Joel giggled, but his lips were twisted into a smirk, and even that was… Ah, it was whatever. He smiled back at him, eyebrow raised as Joel grinned innocently. 

“How generous.”

“Plenty.” 

They grabbed their empty plates and cups, throwing them away as they exited the lane. The place was full and bustling, and Grian was glad to have reserved their time. In an act of bravery, Grian leaped and grabbed Joel’s hand, relaxing when he noticed him blush. He smirked to his surprise. 

“Wouldn’t want to lose you in the crowd, now, do we?”

Joel blinked, then huffed, smiling, “Sure, sure. Just admit you want to be by my side. I don’t mind.”

“You’re as rich as you’re self-centered.”

“Aw, you think I’m charming?”

Grian scoffed, but they walked hand in hand, and that was enough to counter his pounding heart. 

>>>

They walked about in the mall, chatting about their courses and their friends, giggling about work and their flatmates. One time, he yanked Joel from walking into a stand, their bodies crashing as his back hit the wall. They stared at each other, blinking a couple times before breaking into a fit of giggles. Their hands stayed with each other, shoulder to shoulder, and it was nice. Very nice. Grian almost thought he should’ve asked him out sooner. 

At some point, they stopped on some grassy bit with bean bags and chairs, fake grass under shelter, probably somewhere for kids to play but there were none so they sat down. They shared a bucket of cotton candy, talking about all the annoyances of life. Usually, Grian kept them bottled up for nights with a drink, but Joel’s petty suggestions and cute faces made it worth it. At least he was letting it all out, which was good to an extent. And Joel seemed to trust him enough to share too, stories he promised to keep secret even if Joel hadn’t asked that of him. It felt like a teenage dream, talking and laughing with his crush so openly. 

Grian got brave again, heart beating on his throat, he ripped a piece of cotton candy while Joel was talking, then raised it to him but not fully to his mouth. It was a risk, a big one, and he pushed down the trembles when Joel stopped talking, looking at him with curiosity. 

Joel’s lips brushed the side of his finger, his face lighting up in heat as Joel kept eye contact before leaning back, cotton candy on his tongue. He watched him pull his tongue back, closing his lips into a smile. He swallowed, eyes flickering between his bobbing Adam’s apple and lips, back and forth before looking up to his eyes. Joel stared back, amused and content, almost mischief in his eyes. 

“You wanted me to shut up so badly?”

He shook his head. He barely heard the words, once again fixated on his lips. It was too early. Much too early. 

Oh, whatever. 

Grian pushed himself up, getting on his knees with a hand on the fake grass, hovering above him before pressing his lips on him. A hand crept to the back of his neck, reassuring as Joel did the actual kissing. Joel smiled as he did, tilting his head slightly to be more comfortable. It was just a couple seconds, but long enough that Grian would never forget. 

Grian jumped back in fright when he subconsciously recognized the gasps. He turned and looked up to see the troublemaker trio looking at them with wide eyes. Still at a distance, but quickly getting closer. His head snapped to the side when Joel grabbed his hand, the other grabbing their cotton candy bucket, quickly tugging him to his feet. He got up clumsily, wanting to yell at his friends but his attention was on him, on his mischievous, sparkling eyes. 

“Whe—”

“C’mon, my car’s faster.” Joel grinned, and Grian knew he was in good hands. 

_____

so.... lots of 45mins writing lol what a coincidence. anyhow, i said im revealing who i am on day 100, well, i have a surprise for day 30! and that's gonna be that im taking a week break lol i have to do some writing for events and i have personal writing to sort out too. but worry not, i will be back. seven days is not that long honestly in the meantime, i guess, feel free to send requests if you want. there are currently 6 asks waiting (all will be answered after the break, most likely), so feel free to send more :]

[howlingday]

The Schnees Are A-Cawin'

Watts: (Enters) I came as soon as I could! Are you alright?

Jacques: Of course I'm not alright! I haven't been this shaken since our theater production of the Rusted Knight when I forgot my lines!

Watts: You played a rabbit, though. You had no lines.

Jacques: Exactly! I gave three monologues!

Watts: Ah, yes, I recall the standing ovation we received when James strangled you into silence.

Watts: More to the point, what happened here?

Jacques: My wife and I were having an argument. Somehow she found out about my affairs and threatened to divorce me! I went into a blind rage! I grabbed the scarf around her neck and...

Jacques: Well, I guess you could say that in tonight's performance, I was the one to strangle Juniper.

Watts: Adorable, Jacques. I can't wait to read the reviews for this domestic homicide.

Jacques: Wait! Did you hear that?

Watts: It sounds like hippo gargling mouthwash.

Jacques: She's still alive! Quickly! Help her up!

Watts: Of course!

Jacques: ARTHUR, NO! YOU STEPPED ON HER NECK!

Watts: I THOUGHT IT WAS A LUMP IN THE CARPET!

Jacques: YOU KILLED HER!

Watts: WELL YOU KILLED HER FIRST!

Jacques: What are we going to do?! We have to call the police!

Watts: Let's not be hasty, Jacques. Is there anyone else in the mansion right now?

Jacques: No, it's just us. We sent the servants home to allow ourselves some privacy. We've been trying to spice things up in the boudoir.

Watts: I see...

Jacques: In fact, for the first few minutes, she might not have been aware I was attacking her..

Watts: Jacques, I'm going to be sick... Can we please focus on the dead body?

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

Jacques: How disturbing!

Watts: Yes, it's supposed to be! It's perfectly believable that she'd hang herself with her own scarf. A fragile end to a fragile woman...

Jacques: They'll see right through it! We'd be better off just confessing!

Watts: Don't be a fool, Jacques! If this got out, it'd be the end of your company!

Jacques: Oh? Is this before or after you've thought of your radio show?

Watts: I have no idea what you're talking about.

Jacques: And I have no idea why you thought this would be a good placement for my recently deceased wife! If she were any more left, she'd be wearing a White Fang mask!

Watts: Stay focused, Jacques! We need an alibi... James and Pietro already know you called me in a panic. We could say you were writing a play and needed help with the ending!

Jacques: I have always wanted to try my hand at a meaty five-act play~.

Watts: Of course, in order to sell our alibi, you'll need to write the whole thing tonight.

Jacques: ...You know, I hear one-act plays are trending right now.

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

Jacques: ...and the Rusted Knight's betrayal can begin just before the tea party!

Watts: Brilliant!

Jacques: You know, we really should see about getting this produced!

Watts: Yes, well, first we'll need to get away with murder first... (Enters office)

Jacques: ...

Watts: ...

Jacques: (Whispering) Arthur, did you invite a vagrant into your office?

Watts: (Whispering) Of course not!

Jacques: So he isn't a vagrant?

Watts: No, I didn't invite him! I'll contact security.

Winter: Ah, Dr. Watts... Father... I wanted to introduce you to a... old friend of mine, Qrow Branwen.

Qrow: Hey there, nice to meet ya. Dr. Watts, I heard what you were talking about earlier.

Watts: WHAT?

Qrow: Yeah, on the radio. Caught your show on the way in. Pretty neat stuff! Any chance I could get a tape for my husband? I think he'd get a real kick out of it, knowing that I met THE Dr. Arthur Watts!

Winter: Qrow, just got a call from Ironwood. He needs to speak with you.

Qrow: Ah, duty calls! Hope you don't mind us using your office, Dr. Watts.

Jacques: Arthur, I don't like being in the same room as a bumbling huntsman!

Watts: Don't be ridiculous! You're in the same room as your daughter and James on a near daily basis!

Qrow: Sorry, Ice Queen, but I gotta go. Jimmy needs me to look into a suicide.

Jacques: A- A suicide, you say? Is it a... recent suicide?

Qrow: Hard to say. Coulda been weeks ago, though that's just based on how PALE she looked.

Jacques: ...

Watts: ...

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

Jacques: Dealing with the police has been just awful. That Branwen fellow kept asking questions! He even wanted to read my play!

Watts: Did you finish it?

Jacques: Of course not. I just pilfered the plot of the Grimm Brothers. Let's just hope he's unfamiliar.

Watts: Oh, speak of the Grimm... Remember, your wife died; try to look sad.

Jacques: How's this?

Jacques: D8

Watts: Too sad. Remember, you were married to Willow.

Qrow: Hey, Mr. Schnee. Sorry again for your loss. Guess I'm hanging around a bit longer, since this is a homicide.

Jacques: Homicide?! You think my darling Willow was... murdered?!

Qrow: Looks like it, based on the autopsy. And here, look at this carpet we found. See that mark? Looks like the heel of a shoe.

Jacques: So?

Qrow: We found a similar indent UNDER the carpet, right on Mrs. Schnee's neck. Somebody must've killed her and make it look like a suicide.

Watts: Surely you don't think Jacques is responsible?!

Qrow: No, of course not. Mr. Schnee has already been cleared as a suspect.

Watts: He has?

Jacques: I have?

Qrow: Yup. His shoes are similar to the shape, but way too small. We're looking for someone with the same style, but bigger feet.

Watts: D8

Qrow: Are you alright, Dr. Watts?

Jacques: Oh, he's just grieving...

Qrow: Well, I've bothered you long enough. Better get back to work...

Qrow: ...Oh! Uh, just one more thing... Mister Schnee, do you like Mistrali plays?

Jacques: Of course! Who doesn't?

Qrow: Y'know, I grew up in a Mistrali home. Food, art, everything. And when I read your play, I thought, "Hey, this is GREAT! It feels VERY Mistrali!" Kinda reminded me of, uh... The Grimm Brothers.

Qrow: Anyway, that's all. See ya 'round! (Exits)

Jacques: ...ARTHUR, I'M DONE FOR!

Watts: Calm down, Jacques! The worst he can do is out you as a plagiarist!

Jacques: EXACTLY! I'LL BE EJECTED FROM THE ARTS COMMUNITY!

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

Watts: Alas, dear listeners, it's time for our break. Stay tuned for our second hour where our topic will be: "Anxiety: Your Body VS Your Life".

Watts: (Sees Qrow) Oh, for the love of...

Watts: Mr. Branwen! What a pleasant surprise!

Qrow: Sorry to bother you, Doc, but I had a question for ya.

Watts: About biology? Because I do have some notes on the negative aspects of alcohol.

Qrow: Thanks, but it's actually about the case. See, there's this loose end I'm trying to tie up, but I'm honestly pretty stumped. But YOU have that terrific brain! You REALLY know how to make people tick! Figured if anybody could solve this, it'd be the great Dr. Arthur Watts!

Watts: Oh, do go on~! ...No, seriously, do go on.

Qrow: One sec, I had it here somewhere... Ah! Here it is! It's about Mr. Schnee's play.

Watts: Yes, I thought it was derivative as well...

Qrow: If Mr. Schnee was writing a play at home, why were the staff under the impression that he'd spend the night at home with his wife?

Watts: Well, most if not all of Jacques' staff are from outside of Atlas, and he usually speaks with passion in Atlesian. Perhaps there was a translation error?

Qrow: ...

Qrow: Yeah, that sounds about right! Thanks for your help, Dr. Watts! (Exits)

Watts: Farewell~!

Watts: (Scowls, Sits in booth) Welcome back, Atlas...

Watts: Cinder, who's our next caller?

Cinder: We have Qrow Branwen on line one.

Qrow: (Via radio) Hey, Doc! I almost forgot! Just one more thing...

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

Jacques: I can't take it anymore, Arthur! He's at the opera! He's at the wine club! He's even at my alcoholics anonymous meetings!

Watts: I thought it was only a wino anonymous meeting.

Jacques: IT USED TO BE!

Jacques: He's clearly much smarter than he lets on! Maybe we should come clean now?

Watts: THINK, Jacques! We won't be the only ones who suffer from this! Whitley will be made a pariah by progeny, and without me to employ her, Raven will be forced to return to her life of crime in Mistral!

Jacques: NO!

Watts: And think of the good work we do for this kingdom! Without us, Atlas would fall into the sky and be destroyed!

Jacques: The words are deranged, but the way you say them makes me believe~!

Watts: You forget the kind of pull I have in these cities! Come on my radio show and we'll squash any rumors circulating about this mess. No jury would convict you, regardless of what Qrow Branwen would say!

Jacques: Thank you, Arthur. I feel like celebrating!

Jacques: (Chugs hard liquor)

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

Watts: I swear, we could win a High Praise award for this broadcast!

Jacques: Perhaps even a Shmulinger! Which we'd politely decline, of course...

Watts: BRANWEN, YOU TEST MY PATIENCE! Somehow you've got it in your head that WE are responsible for Willow's death! But this harassment will amount to nothing in the absence of EVIDENCE!

Qrow: Gee, sorry to upset you, Dr. Watts. Cinder let me use the booth. Nice girl, that Cinder. Let me in after I told her that I always dreamed of having my own radio show.

Watts: Oh, and what would your show be about? How to cook chili in two ingredients or less?

Qrow: Nah, but I bet I could do a pretty good show about murder. Y'know what every great murder has?

Jacques: Gravitas?

Qrow: Character motivation, and that's what had me stumped. If Mr. Schnee was going to murder his wife for Lien, then why not years ago? Why now? Why'd you do it, Jacques?

Watts: Is that why you're here? To speculate? To make false accusations?!

Qrow: No, Dr. Watts. I came here to make an arrest.

Jacques: (Pops open liquor bottle)

Watts: You're going to arrest us?! On what grounds?!

Watts: (Smacks bottle to the floor) STOP THAT!

Qrow: I'm not arresting both of you. Just Mr. Schnee.

Jacques: Pardon?

Watts: You can't ask for one now; you haven't been convicted yet.

Qrow: Your motive was a classic! Truly timeless! Like something out of a Mistrali play... You fell in love with another woman.

Qrow: Honestly, it doesn't take a detective to figure out how you feel about her, but it does take at least two to prove it. Like the Junior She-tectives Mrs. Schnee hired to investigate your fidelity.

Jacques: That's how Willow found out? Junior Detectives? How needlessly dramatic...

Watts: You're right. We should have figured this out sooner.

Qrow: For a while, you almost had me. Really thought you were gonna get away with it. The scarf, the alibi- Truly genius! Can't wait to see the documentaries they'll make about you!

Watts: Documentaries?

Qrow: Sure! People will wanna know how that brilliant criminal mind of his works!

Qrow: The whole kingdom will be talking about him! Maybe all of Remnant!

Qrow: Mr. Jacques Schnee, and the passion-fueled murder he'd almost covered up.

Watts: OH, PLEASE! He couldn't even cover up that he wet the bed at science camp! He tried to hide the sheets in his geode cubby! You think this MAN-SHAPED VESSEL OF ANXIETY could have done ANY OF THIS BY HIMSELF?! You think his arms are strong enough to hang a body that big?! WILLOW'S?! HIS LIMBS ARE LIKE SOGGY SPAGHETTI NOODLES!

Watts: The fake suicide? The alibi? IT WAS ALL ME! Hell, it was my FAT FOOT that finished her off! AND I GOT AWAY WITH IT, TOO!

Qrow: Got away with it? I don't understand. Didn't you just confess?

Watts: Maybe to YOUR liquor-induced mind it would seem that way!

Jacques: I'm completely sober and I STILL don't get it.

Watts: I bet you thought you could manipulate me, play to my ego, and get a confession out of me, but the fact remains that you still have no evidence and it will be your word against mine!

Watts: The plebians of the Kingdom of Atlas, all of whom idolize and worship me, will believe me over anything that spews from the mouth of an equally idiotic huntsman! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a radio show to host!

Qrow: Dr. Watts...

Qrow: ...YOUR SHOW STARTED THREE MINUTES AGO.

Watts: ...

Jacques: ...

Jacques: ...I hope you're happy, Arthur. Now everyone know about science camp.

Watts: Shut up, Jacques...

[vlkodddlak]

From this post

Fandom: Mouthwashing

*kicks feet in the air*

so many fandoms that i'm in and you ask for fucking mouthwashing... Like bro!! there's not even that many characters in the game!!!!

sighs anyway. i'm gonna do it cause i'm a big fan

my blorbo is definitely anya. she's a fan favorite but i don't care no one else understands her like i do ok... i'm the only one that gets her...

i don't have any scrunklies in mouthwashing. if u do then ur weird ok, don't talk to me

my scrimblo bimblo is swansea because bro. i know everyone is sleeping on him cause he's kinda old and ugly but i actually rlly like this guy

glup shitto....i mean...isn't the whole game kinda obscure ? i dunno?

poor little meow meow is CURLYYY i know he did nothing bad u just gotta trust me on this one. and i love how pathetic he looks wrapped in all those bandages. move out the fucking way jimmy let ME put painkillers in that man's mouth

i'm not putting anyone into the horse plinko cause i don't have fun watching characters suffer. same with eeby deeby. they're already all in hell

also since i have two characters left and they don't fit anywhere in this i just wanna say i love daisuke he's a funny little guy and i will actually cry if he dies or something bro

jimmy is an asshole and i care about him so little that i had to Google his name to make sure i got it right cause i didn't remember. THAT'S how little i care about him (he's an interesting character but i just know he's secretly behind everything. fuck you Jimmy)

play mouthwashing guys, thank you goobye

[static-blossoms]

Was not expecting a Jimmy face reveal in the Mouthwashing release trailer but ok!

[curlynerd]

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

[softlass27]

❛❛ so … do i get a goodnight kiss? ❜❜ 

Here we are, anon!

ao3 link here

“I’m dying.”

Despite the misery of the current situation, Aaron’s mouth twitched. “You’re not dying."

“I am.” Robert rested his head on the edge of the toilet seat and squeezed his eyes shut. “There’s no way I can feel this bad and still be alive. This is worse than the carbon monoxide pois – ”

Aaron winced when Robert was cut off by another wave of nausea and lurched forwards to throw up again, practically burying his head in the toilet as he choked and heaved.

They’d been sat on the floor on their ensuite for a good hour now, Robert hunched over the toilet bowl and Aaron crouched behind him, rubbing his back and sweeping hair away from his face. His knees were killing him, but he didn’t have the right to complain, he wasn’t the one with food poisoning.

Robert gasped for breath and let out a long groan, which echoed loudly in the bathroom.

“This is fucking awful.”

“Just let it out,” Aaron murmured soothingly, rubbing a hand up and down Robert’s clammy arm. He tried very hard not to listen to the sound of vomit hitting the bowl.

“God, please jus’ make it stop.” Robert knuckles were clutching the sides so tightly they’d turned white.

“I’m sorry, I would if I could. But it can’t be much longer now – I don’t think there can be anything left.”

When that round had finally subsided, Robert shakily pushed himself up, spitting once more into the bowl and wiping his mouth.

“C’mere,” Aaron reached to pull Robert away from the toilet and let him sag his chest, stroking the back of his neck with his thumb. “I’ve got you.”

From his position under Aaron’s chin, Robert let out a whine that might have been funny if it wasn’t so pitiful.

“I’m never, ever eating at the Woolpack when fuckin’… fuckin’ Luke Posner is on shift again,” he mumbled, his voice raspy.

“Okay.” Aaron couldn’t blame him; he was beyond glad he’d gone for the risotto instead of the chicken.

“I don’ care if he’s dating my sister; tell your mum I want him fired.”

“Think she’ll be glad of the excuse if I’m honest, he’s bloody useless.”

“An’ – an’ if she doesn’t, I’m gettin’ a shovel.”

“It is… way too soon to joke about that.”

“M’not joking, I – ow.” Robert cut himself off when a particularly severe cramp hit him, curling in on himself and fisting a hand in Aaron’s t-shirt.

Aaron removed his hand from Robert’s neck to gently stroke small circles on his stomach.

“Fuck me, this hurts.”

“I know,” Aaron said against his temple.

When the cramp passed, they sat in silence for a few moments. Robert tugged his sweat-soaked t-shirt away from his skin, grimacing as he did so.

“I feel disgusting.”

“Well, you’ve looked worse.”

“Wow. Thanks for that.”

“Sorry, I dunno why I thought that’d make you feel better.”

Whatever retort Robert was about to offer was lost when he pulled a face and scrambled for the toilet. Aaron barely had enough time to release him and help him get there before he was retching painfully once again.

After another hour dragged by, Aaron checked his phone and noticed that Robert hadn’t thrown up for a good fifteen minutes. He nudged him softly.

“Rob?”

Robert hummed from where he was dozing on Aaron’s shoulder.

“You’ve not been sick for a while now, how’re you feelin’?”

“Like shit.”

“But not dying anymore?”

“I guess not… ”

“You think you could come back to bed? Try and get some rest?”

Robert slowly pulled himself up, scrubbing a hand over his bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t wanna risk it. You go back though, m’fine here.”

“Don’t be daft, I’m staying if you are. But I really think you should try and get some proper sleep; we can always put a bucket by the bed just incase.”

Robert sighed, before nodding slightly. “I need to clean my teeth, though, feels like something died in my mouth.”

Aaron pressed a kiss to his forehead and slowly pulled him up to stand and lean against the sink.

“Toothbrush and toothpaste, mouthwash, wet flannel, glass of water.” He gestured to the items he’d pulled out at some point during their first hour in the ensuite, ready for when Robert would need them. “You get yourself sorted, I’ll fetch you a bucket and some fresh pjs, alright?”

“Can I have some of yours?”

“Course you can. I won’t be long.”

Aaron nipped downstairs and grabbed a bucket from where they kept the cleaning supplies, before returning to the bedroom and pulling out the most threadbare – and therefore softest – set of pyjamas he owned.

Robert stumbled out of the bathroom, flicking off the light as he went. He looked well and truly done in, but his face had a little more colour in it after he’d given it a wash.

“Arms up.” Aaron peeled Robert’s sticky t-shirt over his head and his bottoms down his legs, throwing them in the direction of the laundry basket with a grimace. Robert was entirely pliant in Aaron’s arms as he helped him into his fresh pyjamas and steered him towards the bed.

“Well, you make this a lot easier than Seb does.”

“Oh shit, Seb,” said Robert, looking dismayed. “Do you think he heard?”

“Eh, I doubt it, but I’ll check on him just incase,” said Aaron as he pulled the quilt over him. “Right, water’s on the table, bucket’s on the floor next to you, anything else you need?”

“Well I’ve given my teeth a good brush so… do I get a goodnight kiss?” Robert titled his head up, a doe-eyed look on his face.

“Oh, Rob... ” Aaron smiled and sat down next to him, raking a hand through his hair. "There is no way my mouth is going anywhere near yours right now. Not a chance in hell.” He snorted at Robert’s offended expression.

“I will give you one on the cheek though.” And he did, pressing a soft peck to the side of his face. It seemed to do the trick, Robert’s frown replaced with a pleased smile.

“Jimmy texted earlier.” Aaron held his phone up.

“Mm?”

“Yeah, apparently Nicola’s sick as a dog, too. She had the chicken as well, so it definitely must’ve been that. He asked after you.”

“Fucking Luke,” Robert grumbled.

“At least we know it wasn’t personal, eh?”

“No, he tried to poison me. I’m gonna sue him. Him and his psycho mum.”

“Okay.”

“That witch probably had something to do with it.”

“Okay.”

“Stop patronising me.”

“Okay.” Aaron stood up and held in a laugh when Robert shot him a glare.

“I’ll just go check on Seb then I’ll come to bed, alright? I’ll even let you be the little spoon.”

“Hmm, lucky me.” Robert snuggled down further into the pillows. “Aaron?” He called out just before Aaron left the room.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks… for lookin’ after me.” He looked slightly bashful all of a sudden.

“You don’t have to thank me, you muppet. You’re my husband, it’s my job. It’s literally in our vows, ‘sickness and health’, and all that.”

“I know, just… still not used to it, sometimes,” Robert mumbled, eyes beginning to flutter.

And God, if that didn’t make Aaron feel things that it was too late at night for him to really dwell on.

“Just close your eyes, I’ll be back soon.”

By the time Aaron returned from checking on Seb (as he’d suspected, their son had slept through the whole thing, oblivious to the noise that had been coming from their room), Robert was already fast asleep.

[alias-b]

Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me

California, 1992. Billy Hargrove and Camille Harper built their future in an endless, red hot summer. Everything changes with a splash of pale blue. Billy x OC! Camille Harper

A/N: The baby one shot I promised everyone! Occurs after my fic, "Without The Lights." Warning, I get into the not pretty side of pregnancy and Camille struggles with her illness. Sexual content. TW: graphic description of birth and postpartum depression. Mention of death and past torture. Cross posted here on AO3

1992

   She’d been late.

   Camille Harper was never late to anything.

   Then, she’d taken ill. Scents that used to thrill her in the morning like fresh coffee, fluffed pancakes, and scrambled eggs sent her scurrying into the bathroom.

   Billy looked up from his desk, covered in different lead pencils and scattering papers. Grotesque concept art for an upcoming horror film he’d been working on. Still pretty as a picture. Less of a baby in the face, but still just as sweet. Sprinkle of facial hair and lashes for days.

   “Ugh, so much for sleeping in Saturday.” Camille gargled mouthwash, spat, and wandered out. Brown hair grown out and piled up in a bun. Billy’s arm snaked around her hips, bringing her into his side. A temple pressed into her nightgown. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

   The back of his knuckle drew along her forehead. Cool metal of his wedding ring chilled.

   “No fever. You probably ate something last night, I told you the shrimp was a bad idea.”

   The very word ‘shrimp’ almost made her hurl again.

   “We’re not trying that place again.” Camille kissed the top of his head. Curls longer like a rockstar around his shoulders. “I have a new case to prepare for the office Monday.”

   “Boy or girl?” Billy set his pencil down and watched her plop into the couch.

   “Girl.” Camille frowned, rubbing her head. “She’s got a wall up, this one. Office likes me so her case is mine. Arthur thinks it’s a good match, but I’m actually nervous.”

   “Arthur this and that.” Came a scoff. “School buddies who ended up at the same office. Pshh.”

   “Arthur is taken now and quite happy.”

   “Who swept him off his perfect feet so he’ll quit bothering my wife?”

   “Lovely man named Stanley.” Camille laughed when Billy gave a double take. “Went drinking together while you played with latex masks last Thursday.”

   “It was crunch time. I’m sure your new case will be fine. Brilliant Dr. Harper. Blazing through all that schooling and study abroad. Almost in the clear.” Billy mused, switching his light off. “We’ll see if they like this new design I got. Tea?”

   “Yes, please.” Camille slid down the couch, pulled a fuzzy blanket into her body while Billy went into the kitchen. Cozy apartment they could afford. Walls covered in memories. Photos and degrees. She clicked the remote and settled on a light movie. Look Who’s Talking.

   A campy opening of sperm headed toward a dropped egg after a mini love scene with Kirstie Alley. Camille sighed, rubbing her head before something clicked the same moment hot water howled from the tea pot in the kitchen.

   “Oh, shit.” She shot up. Blinked. “No way.” They hadn't exactly been trying. But, they hadn't not been trying.

   “Getting your Travolta fix?” Billy set a mug down and Camille blinked at him.

   “Ah, yeah.” She shot up. “I just remembered...I was supposed to hit the drug store. We’re out of...everything.”

   “Everything? I’ll drive you to the store.” Billy chuckled.

   “No, it’s just around the corner, I need the walk. Fresh air. No shrimp.” Camille skidding around him to toss clothing on their bed. Dressing in jeans and a tee. “Keep working. Need anything?”

   “I’d kill for a Milky Way.” He shrugged, plopping back into his seat. Camille was hopping around to put some shoes on. Sun from outside caught his face and she pressed her lips, kissing his cheek.

   “I’ll bring you something sweet.”

   Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Camille nearly jogged down the steps from the fourth floor. Grabbed a basket when she got to the mini-mart and tossed randoms items they needed in. Billy’s candy included. Stopped in a section that made her cold.

   Pregnancy tests.

   “Jeez.” She mulled over boxes before snatching one.

   Ignored the idle way the clerk peered at her stomach when he rang it up. Christ. California sun and wind swept against her body. Usually it set her at ease, but a ball of nerves sank into her stomach when she took the elevator back up. Billy was on the couch now, looking up as she tossed the candy into his lap.

   “You okay?”

   “Feeling sick again.” Camille half lied and went into the bathroom. Locked the door. Stared at the clear plastic curtain as she peed on a stick. Washed her hands and pulled at her watch. It ticked slower to spite her.

   “Camille?” Billy knocked. “Something’s up.”

   “Ah, just a second,” she paced, “give me just another second.”

   “Let me help.”

   “Oh, believe me...you did.” She sat on the side of the tub. Stared at the colored tiles. So many to count. Billy exhaled on the other side of the door. Didn’t leave. “Billy, I’ll be fine.” Her own tone shook.

   Did she want this?

   Were they ready?

   How was she going to feel if it’s nothing?

   How was she going to feel it it’s blue?

   Camille didn’t have time to think through each possible dream because reality spoke for her.

   Blue. Crystal clear sky.

   “Camille.” Billy jimmied the lock until the door popped open. She looked up in tears.

   “...Is that?”

   “Blue.” She breathed with one fist curled to her chest. Burst into tears. Unable to tell if they were happy or sad. She just needed to cry. Billy swept toward her.

   “Hey, hey. I got you.” Billy kissed her cheeks until she was soothed. Held her there while she clung to his shoulders.

   “It’s blue.”

   “What’s...that mean?” Billy met her eyes. “You’re...”

   “Blue.” Camille said again. Licking her lips before they pressed. “I’m pregnant.”

   “We’re having a baby?” Billy blinked at her. She waited for him to panic. But, he smiled. So bright that it made her burn with jealousy to be confused about it. “We’re having a baby!”

   Billy grabbed his wife. Held her close to him. Settled Camille just a little, she tried to feed off his glow.

   “Ninety nine percent accuracy. We need to, ah, go to a doctor first.” She let Billy pull her up. Out into the living room.

   Why was she riddled with confusion and anxiety while he bubbled with excitement? He danced her around to no music like a true romantic.

   “Let’s not...say anything until we go. I’ll make an appointment. After my meeting Monday?”

   “Yeah, yeah.” He swept hair aside and smiled again, so youthful. Kissed her there in the sun. Meanwhile, she felt life being sucked into a swirling pit. Billy tugged Camille into the couch, nestled her into his chest. “Are...Are you happy?”

   “I’m… Blue “...something.”

** ** **

   It was real. Confirmation at the doctor and life turned in on itself. People were careful with her. Work tried to withhold cases she’d fought for.

   She had a woman’s condition. They treated Camille like it was fatal.

   “Jim? Are you still there?”

   A thud on the other end was followed by scrambling.

   “Camille?” Joyce had the phone now. “Jim, get up.”

   Camille laughed that time.

   “Your father’s fine, just shocked. Oh, Jim, stop being dramatic!” Came some bickering.

   “I’m going to be a grandpa!” There was more laughter on their end.

   “Can you two stop kissing in my ear already?” Camille twirled the cord and stretched her legs out into Billy’s lap. Let him massage her ankles. “We wanted to know...if you guys would come down for the birth. Should be early November, I’m due.”

   Billy started counting something on his fingers, earning a soft kick.

   “Max and El already freaked. Letting them follow me to UCLA was such a mistake.” Camille joked. Mike and Lucas in Washington. Will and Dustin following Nancy and Jonathan to New York. Steve, Heather, and Robin living blissfully in Chicago. Rumor had it Regan and Kali turned up there too.

   “You’re listening to the doctors, right?” Jim turned stern. Such a dad.

   “You know it,” Camille brought the phone away, “Billy, you want to pass me a beer?” He just snorted.

   “Hey, none of that.” Jim was in her ear. “We’ll fly over now.”

   “No need. We’re fine. We’ll figure things out when it gets closer, yeah? Telling work was mortifying enough. But, we got the leave figured out. Arthur’s been such a help. Don’t worry about anything.” Camille sighed when Billy’s hands worked up her legs. Had to slap him out of her skirt.

   “Congrats, Camille! Billy, you tell Susan?” Joyce stole the phone.

   “We heard her crying from over here. Same with Grace. She and Elliott choked him near to death. Billy also tells me that Miss Mayfield was set up with a certain middle school teacher, how the hell did that happen?”

   “Mr. Clarke can be quite charming,” Joyce chirped and a groan erupted from Jim, “passes Susan’s little boutique on the drive to the school every day. Started stopping in. Flirting in his way. I couldn’t tell you.”

   “Glad Rosemary’s former team was willing to do us some favors and help her out with that.” Camille was still squirming away from Billy’s advances. His lips on her neck. “Well, I should go. But, any and all advice is wanted.”

   “She already tore through all the mommy books in the library. Ignore her.” Billy stole the phone. “Hops. Can I call you Pops now?”

   “If I can call you, dead.” Jim smiled when Joyce swatted his chest.

   “I expect you to spoil my kid.”

   “Will do. Make sure Camille takes it easy.”

   “Oh, I will.” Billy said goodbyes and pushed his hips into Camille’s, a sigh followed.

   “Hate you.” She settled her arms around his neck. A long kiss followed.

   “Valentine’s Day.”

   “Hm?” She went for his neck and jaw. Immersed in him.

   “By my count, we made her Valentine’s Day. Wonder if it was the car or the counter or the couch or the bed?”

   “I hate you...and it could have been the floor too.” She chuckled into his skin. Kissed him fiercely. The phone rang again. Billy reached over to snatch it.

   “Hargrove.” He let Camille paw at him. Twirling his hair about. Worshiping him with starry eyes. Billy’s own eyes opened and he pushed up with Camille still attached to him. “Why are you calling, I’ve told you-?”

   Camille let him go immediately. Saw the cold way he went rigid.

   “What?” Billy sounded breathless. “I...”

   “Billy?” Camille touched his face when his eyes welled.

   “Fine, just don’t call here again.” The phone slammed and he was up. Pacing. Rubbing his eyes.

   “Billy, who was that?” Camille hurried after him. Tried to tug at his arms but he slipped off.

   “Just...give me a second.” He didn’t make it into their room. Collapsed to the floor and covered his face.

   “Billy!” She gathered her husband into her chest. He just sobbed. “Billy, who was that?”

   “...Neil. He's been trying to call.”

   “You didn’t tell me that.”

   “I didn’t want to freak you out. I kept hanging up. I was terrified you’d pick up and he’d...” Billy sniffled. Clung to her. Cried more. Camille petted curls helplessly. Kissed blond hair and soft cheeks all better. “He’s sick.”

   “What?”

   “He’s dying. Cancer. Not the kind you get better from.” Billy lifted. “Don’t know why I’m crying about it, I’ll be glad he’s… He asked to see me. How can he fuck up my life and then just…?”

   Disappear.

   “Where is he?”

   “Colorado.” Billy wiped his eyes. “Fuck him.”

   “Do you...want to go?”

   Billy thought of Neil with his skin sunken and yellow. No longer handsome. Rasping at him from a mattress. Pissing himself. Dying alone in a cold bed like his father before him. He turned to Camille and cupped her stomach.

   “No, I don’t.” A long kiss into her abdomen. “I want to hold our baby. Take her to the park. Make her feel safe. I promise I’ll never...” He stopped. Blinked several times. I’ll never be like Neil. Nuzzled into Camille’s neck. “I love you.”

   “I love you too.” She let Billy’s broad body sink into her. Brought him to bed where they could wrap each other up. Feverish and dizzy until he pushed inside her. Melted their mouths. Gasped into her neck. Succumbed to the sweltering heat. He sought comfort and burrowed under her skin. Pushed fingers between thighs. Fucked her into the mattress while they reached peaks.

   Hours later, Camille heard Billy get up, thinking she’d fallen into slumber. Came to the door to listen.

   “Hey...” He said into the phone. Whispering. “No, you listen. I’m not… I don’t want to see you. I’ll just remember you healthy. Able enough to give hard lessons. I just...wanted to call and say Camille and I are having a baby… I think it’s a girl.”

   There was silence for a few beats.

   “We’re going to name her Sara and she won’t be learning hard lessons. She won’t be afraid of me like I...” Billy paused.

   Life flashed these vivid images of his childhood. His mother’s bracelet scattering across the pavement. That one moment Neil let him cling.

   “You ever think things could have been different for us, you know, after mom? I do. A lot. But, I can’t live in that… You beat the shit out of me. You hurt my wife. You hurt Susan and she’s still trying to move on. Max’s hair is all grown out and she won’t let anyone touch it. You won’t hurt my daughter. But, I’ll tell her about you. Tell her she had a grandfather who made bad choices and ended up…”

   “...Yeah, I think she’ll get the Hargrove jaw too.” Billy softened, lifted his eyes to the starlight beyond the window. Wondered if Neil was looking too. “I’ll tell her your name. Not much else. Hardest lesson I learned was realizing I’m not going to be like you. I’m sorry you wasted your life, I’m not going to. I’m going to be a good dad. I...just wanted to tell you that. That I'm in love still and I’m going to be a great father to my little girl. I’m going to keep her safe in this world. Goodbye, dad... We loved each other once.”

   Billy hung up. Curled into a ball to cry silently. Camille inched out until his head lifted. Arms came up to accept her there.

   “Shhh, I got you.” She tucked Billy’s head under her chin. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be an amazing daddy. I’m so lucky you’re mine. We’re going to be okay.”

   “God, I’m supposed to be holding you.” He chuckled at himself and Camille beamed.

   “We’ve got each other.”

   Neil Hargrove died in his sleep late April of 1992. Alone in a cold bed.

** ** **

   Camille’s belly turned into a mini planet Billy couldn’t stop kissing. Dealt with some fiery stares when he made comments about her swelling breasts. It was true, tired all the same, she glowed. Billy fed her odd cravings. Made her feel as sexy as he could until she was climbing atop him. Riding him because she needed it now and bad. He liked that part.

   A million baby books later, Billy became an annoying infant factoid machine.

   "Did you know if-?"

   "Billy," Camille groaned into the couch, "I want Thai food again."

   "I swear to god, Camille, our kid is going to come out trying to order a pad see ew, extra spicy."

   "...Two orders please."

   Billy was weak. He ordered her three to last her.

   Elliott, now eleven years old, took to painting seashells and starfish along her belly when she was stuck on the couch. Billy’s excitement never stilled. Only illuminated. So willing to learn this all. They cleared spaced. Decorated a little nursery all under the sea themed. Camille was more riddled with anxiety. Always steadying her breath. Talking to the little life inside her. Constant gifts and advice from friends helped from time to time.

   “Billy!” Elliott jumped up when he came home. “Think I could work in movies like you?”

   Camille was giggling. Hard. Her shirt pulled over her stomach painted with the shark from Jaws.

   “Guess what we watched?”

   “It wasn’t even scary.” Elliott crossed his arms, ruffling waves of brunette hair. “That was kid stuff.”

   “Think so,” Billy swept him up, growling for effect. Baring teeth like a shark. Earned a giggle.

   “She cried again at a TV commercial.” Elliott whispered and Billy snickered.

   “I'm allowed to have emotions, you two. Roger is going to be here any minute.” Camille pushed up. “Who wants ice cream?”

   “Mint chip?” Elliott followed after her.

   “You know it, kid.” She braced one hand on her back and the other around his shoulders. Billy shook his head and dropped a bag on his desk. Water ran as Camille washed her belly off and Elliott pulled out a pint of ice cream with two spoons. “Your big brother doesn’t have our sophisticated taste in ice cream.”

   They shared a few bites over the counter. Camille groaned a little and pressed a spot on her stomach.

   “You’re doing that a lot, sissy.” The affectionate name he’d picked up when he was little never left. Camille felt a cramp well like a great wave.

   “Just my girl dancing around. Picking fights with my organs. She’s definitely going to be like her daddy. Want to feel?”

   Elliott smiled his toothiest grin and reached out. Let Camille press his hand to her side.

   “Spicy food and mint ice cream is all I want these days.”

   “My mom said she liked mac and cheese with tomatoes with me.” He gasped, feeling the baby. “She high-fived me!”

   “Billy kissed my stomach once and got a swift kick.” Camille snickered, scooping more ice cream to enjoy. Billy paced in, pecking her cheek before he stole a spoon and the strawberry pint in the freezer.

   “All mine.” He shrugged, eating. Camille hunched, moaning a few minutes later. “Camille, you sure you’re okay?”

   “It’s just minor...cramps. I’m fine. She’s not coming out for another two weeks.” Camille licked her spoon.

   “She’s been doing it all day. Like this...Oohh...” Elliott mirror a motion with his hand on his back and the other on his stomach. Billy raised his brow.

   “They’re far, far apart.” Camille turned to the ice cream and felt a pop. A gush of fluid like she’d peed herself. Billy’s spoon clattered.

   “Sissy?” Elliott took her hand because he was closest. “Cami, what’s happening?” Billy was at his wife’s side, holding her.

   “Her water broke.”

** ** **

   A million phone calls later and Camille was whimpering, pacing around a bed. Wobbling side to side. Bracing her hands to groan. She decided on a birthing center and midwife over a hospital. Place looked more like a hotel and had a hot tub for those births. Cozy space all for them.

   Billy held a lot of jokes back.

   “The baby book’s-”

   “Fuck the baby books!” Camille’s red face lifted. A demonic edge to her voice and even Billy backed up. “Photographic memory is worth shit!” He edged off. “Sorry, I’m...oh! I want drugs. I want my midwife! I want Thai food... It’s early!”

   “She’s on the way now. Jim and Joyce were on a plane an hour ago. Max is driving El here. Just breathe.”

   “Fuck my breathing!” She sounded truly possessed. Grabbing at Billy over the bed with some crazy burst of pregnancy strength. “I want drugs… What if she comes out hurt because it’s early. Or like me?”

   “She’s fine. Hey...” Billy pried her hand from his shirt and crossed around. “She’s going to be perfect.” He held her. Placed a kiss into hair. Camille’s face was blushed and beading with sweat. Limbs shook as she braced into the bed.

   “Camille!” A woman who could have bench pressed Billy hurried in. “Oh, poor girl. Keep breathing like I taught you.”

   “Ellen.” Camille winced. The girls were on a first name basis. Ellen was a former body builder and wrestler turned midwife. Lost some kids of her own and swore to help other girls keep their babies. “I can’t. I can’t.”

   “Might want to go get some ice chips, Bill.” She turned to him looking frantic and reeling it in. “Two cups.”

   “For her?”

   “For both of you. You’re in for a long night.”

   Billy scrambled. Passed the waiting room where Roger and Elliot sat for Grace and the rest of the family to arrive after driving the crying girl in.

   Hours of groaning and wailing. Women in other rooms joined in like a chorus of cries and soft birthing songs. Billy joked they were calling out to each other. Solidarity for the pain women were created to endure.

   “Camille, honey, you have to get up like this. Just like we practiced.”

   “I can’t,” she only moaned, shaking her head back and forth.

   “Daddy, she needs you. We’re almost there, I’ll be back in with assistance. She has to get into position.” Ellen continued, lighting a fire under Billy while he paced. The midwife jogged out into the hallway where more women vocalized together. Called out to ensure none felt alone in this.

   “Something’s wrong, she’s gonna come out like me.” The girl sounded delirious. Billy cupped Camille face, watched her eyes dart over his welling expression. “She’s gonna tear a part of me out and I can’t stop her.”

   “I want her to be like you.” Billy admitted.

   “Don’t say that.” A hand pulled for his shirt. Camille twitched with anger at him. “Don’t say that again!”

   “No, I hope she’s exactly like you and she’ll have parents who love her. We’ll teach her never to force a smile. That perfection is bullshit. I hope she’s like you, I have this entire time.”

   “The world’s going to swallow her.”

   “We won’t let that happen.” Billy smiled because he was so certain about that.

   “She’ll be in pain.”

   “And we’ll see her through that too. Pain happens. Means we're here sometimes. Means we're strong enough to fight through it and she won't be alone. You gotta get up, she needs you.”

   “Camille!” Another voice at the door.

   “Dad. Jim, you’re here.” She wheezed when Jim came to her with Joyce’s hand in his. Sprinkles of grey in his hair. Joyce pulled her brown locks back into a ponytail.

   “Hey, sweetheart, we’re all here for you.” She came around the bed. “Max and El want to come in, we got them to stay with the others. Just breathe, you’re almost there.”

   “How’re you holding up, punk?” Jim clapped Billy on the shoulder, earning a chuckle.

   “Just barely, Hops. Lots of ice chips.”

   “I swear by those, you might want more.”

   “She’s crushing my hand.” Billy lifted his near white palm. Camille’s digging fingers into his skin.

   “He did this to me,” Camille hissed. Another bout. Another groan that tore the room. Ellen was back at her side.

   “Camille, come up now, that’s my girl.”

   A growl ripped violently.

   Like a werewolf mid transformation.

   Camille huffed and got to her hands and knees. Thought to rip her flesh away and reveal fur and muscle hiding underneath. Teeth growing and sharp to stark points while her veins darkened.

   She could have torn through a forest. Howled at the moon. One last time.

   It glowed bright before her. Speckled with stars.

   She counted them to herself.

   “Hold on, here.” Ellen guided stirrups higher so she could grip them. Had her squatting on the bed. “Breathe.” The thin cotton of the gown was damp. Hanging from one shoulder. She growled and tore it open down the front. Veins pulsing and pushing. No drugs. Just a body built for agony. Miles of it. Nude and feral.

   Camille screamed at the moon this time. For gawking. Grabbed at Billy again while he helped brace her into position.

   She howled and other women howled back. A great echo into the unknown. Into the dark night. Wolves in a pack itching to run through wind and rustling trees. Feral bodies that were so often controlled by weaker beings. Free and shameless.

   Women were not always soft, they were hard edges of steel slicing skin to pieces. Teeth gnashing muscle and bone apart. Hot irons of a beating heart within a hollowed chest cavity. Camille led a brigade with her.

   “Big push now!” Came the command.

   Camille tossed her head back and roared. Succumbed to the flames and blood lust. Thought her bones would break and shift so she could become the beast. Bring the world to its knees.

   Ellen reached down, head lifting.

   “Camille, it’s time. Another big push for me.”

   Camille only braced herself. Bones chattering. Words echoed with encouragement from her family. From Billy as he held onto her. Ellen repeated herself from the right.

   “Ahhh!” Vocal cords vibrated and almost ripped apart. Teeth baring. A gasp when it reeled back. Sweat and blood dribbled down Camille’s quivering thighs.

   “Almost, sweetheart, almost. Keep pushing for us.”

   “I can’t, I can’t.” Came the chants. Jim thought to step forward as he watched her spine press out into skin, but Billy sprang into action.

   “You can do this.” He kissed her temple. “You can.”

   “I’m not ready, I can’t.” Camille cried so hard. Looked out at the sky.

   It was all blue.

   “Camille,” Billy murmured into her hair, “I love you. You can do this.”

   The stars glowed brighter beyond the window. She longed to reach out and catch one.

   “They’re singing to me.” She whispered more so to herself. Lips opening to howl and sing with them. The women echoing her calls. The stars waiting beyond the veil.

   She waited for fur to ripple her skin. For claws to grow long and sharp.

   “That’s it, Camille, push!” Ellen took one hand, guided it down to feel something warm and wet. Camille screamed and they helped her stay upright when something stronger and more youthful than her tore from a body built of steel and stardust. “Take your baby. She’s here. Cradle the head.”

   Camille was sobbing as she pulled a tiny mass to her bare chest. A fallen star she managed to grasp. It echoed her screams. More powerful and beet red. Slicked with blood and fluids.

   Unable to stay upright, she was guided back with Ellen and Billy’s help. Looked almost wild in the starlight. Bloodied and nude with her cub cradled close.

   The baby wailed over Camille until she quieted in a daze. It overcame her with so much ease. Felt like she was slipping into a warm bath. Endless pools. Unbothered by her nudity there in the wash of moon.

   “Look at her,” Billy gasped through tears. Kissed Camille’s cheek again. “I’m so proud of you, you did it. She’s beautiful.”

   She half expected him to say, my, my, what big eyes you have.

   “Congratulations, mommy and daddy.” Ellen was ushering her assistant around.

   Camille didn’t look down. Couldn’t. Not at this little pup that ripped from her. That howled with her at the moon. This beating heart she would nurture and teach to glow all neon and red. The baby felt its mother’s heart beating under her little head and made it her first lullaby. Camille felt for a moment, that she had no more life in her. No more fight to tear through the woods leading a pack of wailing women.

   “Let’s get her cleaned up.” Ellen pulled the whimpering infant away to tend to her. Camille sat sprawled there half naked with one leg hanging over the side. Her own fluids in a puddle beneath her. Warm and oddly comforting. Billy and the assistant worked to maneuver her into another mattress so the dirtied one could be rolled off.

   “Camille?” Billy cupped her face there against a plush pillow. Covered her body. “Hey.”

   “She’s just a little dazed.” Joyce was smoothing brown hair back. Hopper’s hand on her shoulder. “You did so good, honey.”

   Ellen pushed a peach bundle back into Camille’s arms without asking. Helped her cradle the head as she propped herself up into the pillows. Hazel eyes lowered to see her daughter at last.

   Bright, crystalline eyes. A full head of dark hair already. Blinking and still at her mother. Billy leaned into Camille’s shoulder with a tired grin. Fingers grazed his baby’s cheek. Lips lowered to feel the tufts of hair, to inhale the scent of new life. The urge to cry overshadowed her smile.

   “Sara Anne Hargrove, welcome to the world.” Billy said. “Halloween birthday, I’m jealous.” Glowing with vitality Camille didn’t feel as he spoke.

   She heard the other women crying out and mourned that she no longer had the strength to roar with them.

** ** **

   “She’s so tiny.” El glittered, cradling the baby with Jim’s help.

   “She makes that same squinty face Billy does, look.” Max joked. Both girls as tall as Camille. So grown up and out into this big world. Jim crossed to see Camille when Billy went into the hallway to sign some papers.

   “You okay, kid?” He tucked a strand of hair away. She stared beyond him at the moon.

   “I never asked you if it was okay. Her name.”

   “I think it’s perfect.” Jim smiled and Camille pressed her lips at him. “Joyce and I will stick around if that’s okay. Help you get situated.”

   “We’d appreciate that. Grace and Roger live a ways out.” Camille blinked, head back to see everyone fawning over the baby across the way.

   “You okay?” Jim felt a great distance pool within his kid.

   “I’m...” Blue. “A mother.”

** ** **

   Sara wouldn’t latch.

   It took extra help to get her to at the birthing center and Joyce assisted at home.

   “Give her a second.” Billy tried to help. Tried.

   “You want to do this?” Camille’s eyes snapped at him. He put his hands up in response.

   “I’ll start dinner.” He slunk away into the kitchen where Jim was. Max and El left because they had class the next day. Grace promised to come up as much as she could after kissing Billy a million times. Phone calls and cards poured.

   “Ah...” Camille wiggled in her seat. Perched on an extra pillow because everything below her waist was raw and padded. Her stomach went down slowly while her breasts ballooned. Sara suckled in her arms and Joyce only offered encouragement. “It hurts.”

   “They never tell you that in the books.” Joyce sighed. “Jonathan gave me all sorts of trouble too. You’ll get the hang of it.” Camille winced and settled her head back against the couch. Felt like she was just waiting for it to be over. Everyone gushed about this amazing connection they would share and here she was just floating.

   Maybe that was just something else to get the hang of.

** ** **

   Camille started to have dreams. Maternity leave only made her restless. She cried when Billy packed her files away into the closet. He’d gotten the first month to stay with her while she’d gotten three.

   And she wanted to go back.

   Billy didn’t dare ask why the urge to see these kids over her daughter quelled.

   So, Camille dreamed a lot on rare nights she got sleep.

   Barely ate.

   A white room with white sheets in a white bed. Camille in all white too. Doctors fussing as she bloodied the room with her mess. Her womanhood that was supposed to be kept in check. Sara crying. Screaming. Echoing.

   One doctor pulling his mask down. Smiling wider than a circus clown. Brenner.

   Camille tore up and screamed too until Billy started to shake her awake.

   Only one week in and she’s unraveling with dark circles and a broken in body.

   “Camille!” Billy just held her until she stopped.

   “No, no, I have to check on her.” She ripped away from him. Scrambled into the other room to hover over the crib. Sara sleeping soundly and undisturbed. A sigh.

   “Camille, come out, you’ll wake her.” Billy rubbed his eyes. She ignored him, felt around the window for a latch.

   “You left it unlocked.”

   “What?”

   “I told you to lock it last night.” Camille’s neck twisted with a heated expression. Eyes glinting like an animal.

   “She took awhile to sleep, I forgot,” he paused, “I’m sorry.”

   “They could come in and take her. In the dark. Just like that.” She seethed in a struggle to keep her voice low. Billy gently pulled her from the room and shut the door.

   “I’ll remember next time. Nothing can climb to the window.” He rubbed her shoulders. Only got pushed away as Camille checked the door. “Camille? Who...”

   “Brenner!” She burst and covered her mouth. “If she’s like me, they’ll come take her in the night. In the dark. They’ll take her away and make her a number. You'll die and I'll be rocking in some hospital.”

   “Brenner is dead. That won’t happen.” Billy realized her fears. Saw her eyes glimmer there. “That lab is dead, no one will come for her. She’s safe with us.” He sat her on the couch. Watched her quiver and hold herself. Head dropping. The baby monitor in their bedroom echoed a wheezy sound. “Come get back in bed, I got this one. You had her yesterday.” Billy sighed and tucked Camille in. Left.

   “Hey, you...some set of lungs you got.” Billy’s voice spoke through the haze of static. “There you go. I mastered the art of the diaper, I think I-no, no, don’t pee on, daddy. You weren’t done.”

   A giggle.

   “Yeah, I’m your daddy, Sara. Bet you have some freckles coming in. My mom says I had mine young too.”

   Camille pictured her husband at total peace. Seated in the rocking chair wagging his finger and smiling at their baby. Soothing her. It made her weep silently until she shoved a fistful of blankets into her mouth. Billy took to this life a duck to water.

   And she…

   She just fizzled and sunk. Dreamed of Brenner coming and Sara being torn away. Never knew what to say. What to do. Billy seemed to have it figured and that just made her feel behind and confused.

   “You are my sunshine...my only sunshine...” Billy sang and Camille covered her face. Blocked her ears because it was too much. He returned ten minutes later to hold her. Kissed her hair and uttered the sweetest I love you because he felt so fulfilled and lucky.

   Camille pretended to be asleep.

** ** **

   Breastfeeding hurt still.

   Second week. Camille never slept. Put on her brave face for family visits. But they saw it in her eyes. She sang to Sara and chatted with her. Changed her to perfection. Kissed her head. But, the connection. The emotions welled up like they were blocked in her throat.

   Her body healed and only felt lifeless. Like she was a puppet controlled by another. Strings twisted all along her limbs to make her flop along a stage. Little clumsy ballerina. Going through the motions. She only cringed when the baby cried.

   Sara needed her.

   And it made her shrink.

   She was mommy. Warm arms and shelter. A knowledge base that would mold their baby.

   That suffocated. Billy smiled and cooed and Camille looked away. He just seemed so happy. She felt wrong.

   Why didn’t that come for her too?

   “Camille, look, look.” Billy was lying on the couch, lifting Sara up as she giggled to no end. Little limbs flailing. She bubbled a raspberry and he chuckled.

   Camille stood there in the kitchen doorway and averted her eyes.

   “Come sit with us.” He pushed up, nestling Sara into his lap.

   “I’m going to ask if I can go back early. To work. They need me.”

   “Uh,” Billy tread carefully, standing, “it hasn't even been a month. We’re still figuring this out. Take the time. You earned it.”

   “I can work part time.” Camille said it without any emotion. Not blinking. Staring at his feet while Sara wiggling there into his chest and played with blond curls.

   “I don’t want to make this choice for you, but I think it’s a bad idea. We haven’t even figured out our hours when we go back. Babysitters. Camille, don’t push it-...why won’t you even look at her?”

   Billy said that without even thinking. Camille’s eyes glinted at him.

   “What?”

   “It’s like you want nothing to do with us anymore.”

   “That’s not true.”

   “Well, look at her then. Hold her. We made her and she’s perfect.”

   “Billy.” Camille backed up. Touched her palms to her ears. Didn’t know how to not hear this. “Stop it. I’m fine… Stop saying that word.”

   “Huh?”

   “Perfect, she doesn’t have to be-”

   “You know what I mean.” He eased. Camille vibrated there. Paranoid. Manic. Lost. Went around him and slammed a door. Sara jilted. Started to cry as he bounced her. “Hey, no, you’re fine. Mommy’s just upset. She’s tired. She’s just tired.”

   Camille slid down the door. Cried there because she scared her little girl. She made her baby cry. She was a bad mother. These thoughts chanted until she was covering her ears again. Got into bed and curled into the tiniest ball she could.

   Something strange happened as she shook and wept there. Her fist beating into her shoulder. Punishing herself for being bad until sleep crept. A bad mommy. Bad. Bad. Bad. The skin purpled with a bruise that next morning. Camille felt Billy stirring behind her.

   They slept apart.

   “Hey, I gotta go pick up some stuff. I’ll grab groceries.” He kissed her head. “Might be a few hours.”

   “Okay.” Camille rasped, eyes on the wall. On the rain trickling outside.

   “Camille, last night, I-”

   A whimper on cue from the monitor.

   “I got her. She’s hungry.” A robe pulled over her nightgown. Over the bruise. She couldn’t look at Billy as she left. Plucking Sara up, she went out to the couch to feed her. Her husband appeared dressed and eyed her carefully.

   “I’ll be back soon.” Billy reassured her. Hesitated at the door before he lifted his eyes. “Love you.”

   “...Love you.” Camille said quieter. Let the TV drone. Billy locked the door and didn’t make it to his Camaro. Instead pushed coins into a payphone.

   “Yeah? Hello?” A tired voice answered from a hotel room.

   “Jim.” Billy swallowed. “Hey, I...”

   “You alright, Billy?”

   “It’s Camille. I don’t...” Billy paused. “I’m headed out to run some errands. Can you come over? Sit with her a bit. I left the key under the mat.”

   “Billy, is everything okay?”

   A pause. Billy didn’t know how to tell Jim what he saw. But, Camille always responded to Jim’s love. She needed it right now. Billy felt useless.

   “I don’t know.” See for yourself.

   He hung up and got into his car. Wiped his eyes before he pulled out.

** ** **

   “Come on, we can do this.” Camille groaned. One breast out to feed the baby. “Please.” Sara wiggled in protest. She looked up at her mother. Smiled.

   Camille shattered.

   “Don’t do that.” She quivered.

   Don’t look at me with undying trust and love.

   Don’t look at me like I'm all you got because I’m failing you.

   “I’m sorry.” Camille offered at last. Felt like she’d been holding that in since she saw the strip turn blue. “I’m sorry, I can’t...I’m a bad mommy and I’m so sorry.” Tears hit Sara’s cheeks and blanket. A baby blanket Grace knitted with the baby’s name in it. Pale lavender. Camille sobbed and held her. “I don’t know why I feel like this and I’m so sorry.”

   She couldn’t stop. The baby just cooed at her. Grabbed for long locks of brown hair.

   Don’t cry, mommy.

   That was how Jim found them.

   Camille drained of life and sobbing over the baby she felt she'd let down. Skin discolored and bruised. Clothing loose and crumpled. One of her breasts out. Hyperventilating. Vibrating. Sara still contented in her arms. Looking around in wonder.

   “Camille, sweetheart,” Jim crossed and she hitched to breathe. Offered the baby to him. Desperate.

   “Take her. Take her away from me. I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m not right. I can’t keep her safe from men in suits with red ties. I'll just hurt her too. I’m a bad mother. I’m not...I don’t feel...” Camille shook and Jim took the bundle. “I can’t look at her because I can’t do this. I’m awful. I’m a horrible mother. I’m sorry!”

   Skin paled and eyes huge, Camille crushed in on herself.

   Hands covered her face. Crossed legs lifting so she could curl up again there.

   “Camille...” Jim eased. Realized how unwell she’d been. Clearly not sleeping or eating in the short time they’d been home. “She’s okay, Camille. You’re doing okay.”

   “I’m not, I’m not. She’ll be like me and they’ll take her away. They’ll stage a car accident or fry our brains and she’ll be out there and all alone. I made her cry, I didn’t mean to.” She kept thinking about Rosemary and Noah brushing her aside. Lying to her. Keeping her in a cage.

   “That won’t happen, no matter what she becomes.” Jim faced her, cradling the tiny baby against him. “Deep breath.” He managed to fix her nightgown back up with a free hand. “Hey, look at her, it’s okay. She's safe.”

   Camille wiped her eyes and stared at the floor.

   “Has it been like this since you got home?” He frowned. “We...We didn’t-”

   “It just feels all wrong, Jim. I don’t understand.” That raw voice squeaked. He brought her against him with his arm. Holding Sara there too.

   “She’s healthy and beautiful. And she’s happy. You did that.” Jim offered. Camille’s fingers dug into his jacket. “You’re not well. I’ve seen this before with my own family. We’re going to get you some help, okay? You need help and that’s okay.”

   Camille only nodded. One shaken hand reached out to touch her daughter. Finger running the curve of her little chin.

   “When’s Billy getting home?”

   “Couple hours tops.” She sniffled.

   “I want you to go lie down.”

   “She hasn’t eaten.” Camille persisted, head lifting.

   “We’ll try again in a bit. I’m going to make you something to eat and I want you to just close your eyes. I’ll take care of the baby.” Jim stood, ushering her with him. “Get into bed.”

   “What about Billy?” Camille let Jim cover her. “He...He seemed...”

   “I’ll explain it to him. Just rest.” Jim settled Sara into her crib. Turned the mobile on. He made some plain toast and got Camille to sit up and each both pieces. Brushed crumbs off her face. Tucked her into a warm bed.

   Then, he called Joyce.

** ** **

   Billy came home with his arms full of bags. Stopped there at the scene. Joyce playing with Sara on the couch. Jim just walked out of the kitchen.

   “Where’s Camille?” He dropped the groceries aside. Jim put a slow hand on his shoulder.

   “I got her fed and to sleep. We managed to help her feed Sara after the first hour...” Jim sighed. “Billy, Camille’s...”

   “I don’t know what’s happening to her. She doesn’t want to be around Sara or I.”

   “What’s happening to Camille is common. Happens to mothers everywhere. She needs to go talk to someone about it.” Jim cocked his head and helped the new father put his items away while Joyce stayed on the couch. “Postpartum depression. You read about that?”

   “Some in the baby books. Not much.”

   “Camille is feeling very...”

   “Blue.” Billy’s eyes went distant. He sucked his cheeks in. Set his jaw to sigh. “I ignored it. I got mad at her for...”

   “It’s not either of your faults. It happens. Camille has to go talk to someone before she hurts herself. She needs support. It’ll be okay. I promise.” That somehow relaxed Billy. Jim always knew what to do. What to say.

   “I hope,” Billy began, “I can be a dad like you.”

   Hopper smiled at that. Beamed and hugged Billy to his chest. The new daddy paced to see his baby on the couch.

   “She behaving for you?”

   “That she is.” Joyce smiled. “We got her. Camille’s in the bedroom.”

   “Thanks.” Billy kissed Sara’s head and went in. Clicking the door open. Camille stirred. Head lifting when he got behind her. “Hey.”

   “Hi.” She stiffened up as he brought her to his chest. “Jim tell you?”

   “Yeah.” Billy’s chin settled upon her crown.

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Don’t apologize, we’ll get through it. You, Sara, and I. We’re a team. Little pack of wolves.” Billy kissed her head. Let her finally breath him in and cling as she turned to burrow into his chest. “You two are everything to me. Nothing else is as important as us.”

   “I love you. I love her. I do.”

   “I know you do. And we love you. We’ll get you help, Camille. It’s okay.” Billy cuddled her closer. Thought of Hopper. “I promise.”

** ** **

   Camille woke before Billy that next morning. Went to feed Sara. Jim and Joyce left after another long talk with Billy when Camille fell back asleep.

   “Okay, Sara, it’s just you and me. We can do this.” She adjusted and sat in the rocking chair. Cupped her breast to offer it. Pain stung a little but… “There we go. Good girl. Yes.”

   Camille felt herself smile this morning. Billy made an appoint for her. She would be taking the full maternity leave.

   Sara wiggled and burped up as Camille bounced her. Hummed Billy’s song to her and flicked the mobile around. Her husband hadn’t emerged yet so she went into the kitchen. Made a turkey and cheese sandwich. Sliced it diagonally and fell into the couch to watch some TV. Billy stumbled in and stood there with bed head. Beautiful beyond belief.

   “Morning.”

   “Morning.” Camille took half the sandwich and offered the plate to him. Billy brightened. Sat next to her. They shared the food in silence. Watched TV until she got under his arm. Rain padded against the windows. Sounded peaceful. “Do you think she’ll like surfing or ballet?”

   Eyes flickered over his wife as she engaged herself at last. With ease.

   “I think she’ll be into pro wrestling.” Billy smiled fuller. Camille let herself feel it, pushing at his chest before she laughed. Still a pretty sound. Inhaled the scent of him before he brought her hand up to kiss the tender skin of her wrist.

   “She’s gonna do whatever she wants to do, I think.” Camille said then, kissing up his jaw to find soft lips. “And we’ll be there to support her... We’ll always be there, won’t we?”

   “We will and that’s enough. I promise.” Billy tucked hair aside for a feverish kiss, nuzzled down into her neck to murmur. “You doing alright?”

   Camille saw his lashes flutter. Traced her fingers over the freckles and thought about how she couldn’t wait to see them bloom like fresh petals upon their daughter.

   “Today? Yeah. I think so. We’ve got each other.” She breathed, pressing lips into wild curls. They held each other while the rain fell lighter. Realized Billy was right. Echoed his call. “That’s enough.”

   Sara roused for her parents. Squirmed as Camille picked her up to bring her into the living room so they could gush and admire her. Neon hearts that glowed brighter by the hour. Her lullaby and sunrise all at once.

   “I love you both,” Billy nudged his head into Camille’s temple, “so much. You know that?”

   “You’re a magnificent father. We're lucky, Sara and I.” Camille’s lips pressed and the curves of her expression blurred. Billy blinked several times. A smile pressed. She let Sara giggle in her lap and held one finger with a strong, little hand. Babbling some until Camille was laughing to encourage it. “She’s all blush and tangerine today.” Not blue.

   “She’s beautiful,” Billy sighed there with so much contentment as Camille let herself relax. “And she’s just like her mother.”

   Hazel eyes lifted to see him. Amazed by this wonder of a life they created. A miracle. Like a specific star they’d plucked down to cherish and nurture.

   “She’ll be messy and also so kind. Good. Angry when she needs to be. She’ll cry and not be shamed for it. Our baby will be shown so much love, the world couldn’t hope to swallow her.” Camille smiled again. Softer by the hour as she gazed at Sara there. “The best parts of us. Our love. Into one gorgeous creature. She’s us, Billy.”

   That hit the new mother hard. Made her voice quiver.

   "She's us."

   Camille felt a glimmer of it then as she understood it all. That connection threading red cords around her heart. Casting out to anchor others so close. Billy saw it resonate and felt it too. Held them both on the sofa as they curled up like a family. Their own pack. Camille would teach Sara to howl at the moon and tear through forests. To endure and pull herself back to her feet at every stumble. To lead and love as hard as she could. Like she was meant to.

   Billy only glittered at her. Camille’s burst of vitality and hope. They had each other and they would get through whatever would follow the horizon.

   “And it’s enough,” he repeated in peace, “I promise.”

[mrsjokerphoenix]

Chapter 3- we always go back to the places where we were happy

summary- You a Rouge CIA had masterminded the plan for Joker to break out of Arkham Asylum. You planned to run away with him but destiny had other plans and he left with his former psychiatrist Harley Quinn. Breaking your heart and leaving you to pick up the pieces. You had left him behind and moved on and had only focused on building your empire but life was about to change once again.

A/N- sorry im dramatic and its a slow burner. No smut yet I just want it to be extra special between them and things with Joker are unpredictable so yea LOL Next chapter for sure! Let yalls girl know what you think! All comments welcome good and bad. 😊

All you could think about was getting home and pouring yourself a glass of wine. Youve been so busy with work you desperately needed me time. “Finally” as you turned the key to get into you apartment. Suddenly a cold towel attacked your face while an arm linked around your neck and everything went black.

You suddenly awoke confused and disoriented and tied up. “Where the fuck am I” you screamed at what seemed to be the biggest man youd ever seen guarding the door. “Get me the fuck out of here” pleading and looking around trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Sorry misses we have strict orders to keep you here until other wise told.” He said while maintaining his eyes straight ahead.

“I dont give a fuck what you were ordered to do! Do you know who I am?” You growned. “Ill have you killed! do you hear me?”

A million thoughts were racing through your head. Who could you have pissed off? Was I going to be killed. You were trained for situations like this but fear still overtook your body. “Calm down calm down and think.” You tried to tell yourself. You examined the room, it looked expensive but no windows. You’re only able to see one door. Great maybe theres a window in there. “Can I at least go to the bathroom?” You huffed at the guard. Not a single word was uttered as he walked over to you and unlocked your restraints. “There is no windows in there and dont try anything funny. Theres 2 guards on the other side youll never make it out of the building.” He warned almost as if he had read your mind. “Building?”you thought this was someone’s home.

Your feet hit the cold marble floors shocking you a bit as you walked to the bathroom. Once inside you ran directly to the toilet and barfed up clear fluids. “ how long was I out for?” You questioned. “ could if be the russians? Maybe the Saudis? No it cant be I have great relations with both sides.” You felt exhausted and whatever it was you knew you could talk yourself out of it. You splashed cold water on your face and gargled some mouthwash that was on the sink and made you way to the room.

As you were walking out there was knocking at the door. An older lady probably mid 50s and short silver hair, dressed impeccably handed the inside guard a black garment bag With Alaia printed on the front. A second guard brought in 3 boxes of shoes. One box readTom Ford , second jimmy choo and the third one Dior. Now, now you were really confused. “No no no, am I being trafficked.” You stood in shock as they laid out everything for you in the bed.

“The boss wants you ready by 9 sharp.” He ordered

“The boss? Wth is going on? Is this a joke?” A Nervous chuckle escaped your lips.

“No!” He said not very amused by you. “Please do as your told, everything else you need is in the bathroom closet, we’ll be outside while you get ready miss.” And out the door he went.

You walked over to the bed, middle finger grazing the bag. Intrigued you opened it. A beautiful vintage black long Alaia bandage dress with side slits. You backed away not being able to wrap your head around the situation. “Why this dress, why were they providing such luxuries” You sat against the bathroom door knees to your chest trying to sooth yourself. “I need to get out, am i going to be killed?” putting your head down on your arms. You always knew this job was risky but you never thought your time would come so soon.

7:45pm read the clock when you finally mustered up the courage to get up and get ready. You had it all planned as soon as whoever had you here let his guard down you would look for a phone and call for help. Faulty plan since you didn’t even know where the hell you were. “Lets do this” as you picked yourself up the floor.

Surprisingly everything you need was there. Almost as if they knew exactly what you used. Everything felt so eerie but you had to shake it off. You finally settled on a messy low bun with two strands of waves framing your face. A classic makeup look with red lips and the diamond studs and diamond bracelet that were discreetly placed under the garment bag which you didn’t notice until you got dressed. You put on the black strappy Tom Ford. You knocked at the door to let the guard know you were ready.

“Wow” he stuttered almost immediately regretting it. “Im sorry miss, are you ready to go?”

“Yes, even though id much rather you let me go free.” You said.

“No can do and im sorry but I will have to handcuff and blindfold you.” He let you know.

“Are you kidding me?!” You stared. You wanted this to be over, you just wanted your home.

Once handcuffed and not able to see you were lead what seemed to be a horribly long hallway and into the elevator. Once inside the guard undid the cuffs and took the blindfold off. You noticed he had pushed the PH button. We were going to a penthouse but whose? Wondering, suddenly your heart sank to your stomach and you were finding it hard to breath. “It cant be” the realization hitting you like a cargo train.

Elevator doors opened revealing a dimly lit apartment home ceiling to floor windows overviewing Gotham city.

And there he stood back towards the elevator entrance, standing in-front of the bar. There he stood in his perfectly tailored red suit and shiny slicked back locks now painted green.

“Joker” you muttered.

Lifting his glass of whiskey while holding his cigarette on the same hand, he turned to face you.

“Welcome back kitten”

[omniversalobservations]

Superman Meets the Quik Bunny (1987)

Bless Superman’s bullet-resistant heart, but I don’t think the man knows how to say no. When the Radio Shack Whiz Kids asked him to do a crossover comic, of course he said yes. When the anti-smoking folks asked him to beat up Shane MacGowan only dressed as a brown cigarette, he could only agree, even though it meant throwing the frontman for the Pogues over a building and into space. And when the Quik Bunny asked for a crossover, what is there for a Man of Steel to do?

It’s the Eighties, the era of Watchmen and Dark Knight Returns, and in Superman’s case there’s also a depressing newsprint abortion in which he teams up with the Quik Bunny. If Frank Miller had been in charge, we might’ve gotten Batman crossing over with a heroin-addicted Kool-Aid Man and his stable of hookers, but instead we get this, which is slightly more disturbing.

This opus to vertical integration and the phrase “Quick Thinking” is brought to you by writer Mike Carlin and artists Carmine Infantino and Dick Giordano. It’s worth remembering that, at different times, Infantino and Giordano were the most powerful men on the floor at DC Comics. Consider that as you picture them they putting the final artistic flourishes on a bedraggled rabbit twisting its ears in orgasmic delight while it sucked back what appeared to be beige motor oil.

And also, seriously, I hope you don't get sick of “Quik Thinking.” Seriously.

The story starts commonly enough, for a superhero comic: We open on Superman chasing down one of the multitude of antisocial stage magicians in pajamas which bedevil the world of superherodom. In this case, it’s Flash baddie The Weather Wizard, whose costume – green bodysuit, flated collar, pixie boots and a golden sash – help him cut a figure which is slightly less intimidating that the Quik Bunny…

While the Wizard is pouring torrential rain down on the city of Metropolis, four plucky kid geniuses are busily constructing a super-robot treehouse off in the suburbs somewhere. The multicultural and gender-balanced Quik Qlub – who go by the individual names of Ronnie, Patty, Maureen and Miguel, which sounds like a Protestant family of three and their gardener – apparently do all this at the behest of their manic mentor, the Quik Bunny. Like the mass hallucination shared by a doomsday cult, the Quik Qlub cannot stop themselves from obeying the harried, hectoring commands of their cotton-tailed tyrant. Some day there’s gonna be something extra in that chocolate milk.

While hanging out in their magic robotic treehouse, the Qlub chances upon a tvbroadcast of Superman's life-and-death battle against moisture and a fey Mister Greenjeans. Understandably, the Quik Qlub begin to fear for Superman's safety – possibly because they're idiots, or maybe they have Weather Wizard confused with a black hole or God – and rush off in their transforming magic clubhouse to offer assistance. And chocolate milk.

Luckily for the Qlubbers, Superman has a long history of accepting help from people far weaker than himself. “Sure Robin, come help me defeat Brainiac. Hey the Atom, thank goodness you’re here, how else could I beat Doomsday without you?” It’s condescending but his heart’s in the right place. I suspect this inclination on Superman's part is half fatherly good nature, and half that he knows the Weather Wizard couldn't even beat the Quik Bunny in a fight – and he's RIGHT!

So while the Weather Wizard is throwing hurricanes and tornadoes around the nation’s capital and making it snow in Egypt and what-have-you, the Quik Qlub follow around in their big happy schoolbus of delight while solving mazes and word puzzles and whatnot along the way. It's pretty enlightening stuff - I, for one, learned that the easiest path to the Great Wall of China is via the Canals of Venice. Thanks activity book mazes!

The whole story wraps up in China, where Weather Wizard's been making it hail, and oh man, the Chinese hate hail. Seriously. They must, otherwise why else would he do it? Hail, the one weakness shared by the entire nation of China. One billion people, brought low by hail.

Amazingly - or actually NOT amazingly really, if you think about it - the Weather Wizard is outgunned and outclassed by the Quik Bunny, who quickly fashions a lightning-attracting Quik Bunny metal decoy, and sets it up on the edge of the Great Wall. When the Weather Wizard zaps it with electricity, thinking he's striking the Quik Bunny himself, he instead ... somehow gets walloped himself, I think. The science seems to wear a little thin on the inner thigh around this point of the story, but from what I gather, the Weather Wizard is kind of a puss and then he's dead and thank you Quik Choclate Mouthwash, you've saved something from the forces of whatever!

Then it's back to the Qlubhouse and all its horrible, dark secrets for a celebratory chug of powdered chalk dust and a hearty Kryptonian backslap, bringing to an end another exciting occasion wherein Superman slowed down long enough to let nitwits like the Quik Qlub, the Radio Shack Whiz Kids or Jimmy Olsen fart around and let super-criminals go on massive sprees of destruction and mayhem just so they could feel like they helped.

Source: Gone & Forgotten

(image via Heritage Auctions)

[howfishismade]

this was revealed to me in my adderall. also it was so hard not to add chest surgery scars. grips my head

[eldritchkraken]

no i'm not done talking about mouthwashing. another symbol that fascinates me in the game is the pink hibiscus. this is connected exclusively to daisuke, it's the pattern on his hawaiian shirt and setpieces connected to him often contain them.

the pink hibiscus is often used as a symbol of love of all kinds, including friendship. and this fits daisuke well! he is the friendliest of the five crewmates, lacking the tension of the dynamics between curly, jimmy, and anya, or the cynicism of swansea.

i think pink is also meant to symbolize daisuke's innocence and naivete - he's the newest crewmember, appears to be the youngest, and out of everyone, he holds out hope they will be rescued the longest, and he trusts jimmy when he orders him to go in the vent that ultimately dooms him. i think this innocence is why the pink hibiscus appears so much in the late chapters - being the direct cause of daisuke's death fills jimmy with a lot of guilt and is the beginning of the wake-up call he needs to start being accountable for what he's done.

[webcricket]

Great Expectations

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Dean Winchester

Word Count: 1045

Summary: A five part fluffy drabble series. Castiel primps in prep for your date. Dean is not particularly amused.

Part 2: Never Touch Another Man’s Toothbrush

If Castiel hears Dean’s unmistakable bow-legged gait as the hunter approaches, it fails to disrupt the angel from his perplexed meditation upon the rubbery pink glitter-inlaid toothbrush clutched in one fist, and a bone-handled straight razor, edge dangerously glinting and honed to a mirror sheen, cradled in the opposite palm. Various other discarded toiletry sundries swim around the drain of the sink, spilled haphazardly in haste from the usage-worn travel-sized leather sack lying crumpled over the faucet. Dean’s startled gasp, squeaking in a most unmanly and decidedly mouse-like manner on the intake, garners a curious glance from the contracted brow of the celestial being via the mirror. Judging by the strained sound, the last place the six-pack of beer and cold plate of pizza arm balancing act known as Dean Winchester expected to find his angelic ally on a Friday night was rifling through his personal manscaping articles at the modest-sized wall-mounted porcelain basin in his bedroom. Asked, he’d tell you on a typical Friday night, or any night, or day for that matter – really any hypothetically proposed hour in question – the angel would likeliest be found in the library, or in whatever immediate or adjacently-eyelined vicinity of bunkerdom you happen to be holed up in, doing a piss poor job of pretending not to stare and a bang up job of being patently awkward about his romantic interest in you while simultaneously doing abso-freakin-lutely nothing about it.

Hunter senses tingling at the explicit change in routine, Dean’s gaze sweeps the corners of the room seeking evidence he’s on candid camera. He wonders if this is Sam’s payback prank for the charcoal in his toothpaste incident two weeks past; he can come up with no other logical reason for Cas to be screwing with his stuff. Revolving to face his friend, wielding the toothbrush and razor like weapons on a hygienic battleground, Cas offers his friend a gravelly greeting in lieu of an explanation. “Hello, Dean.” Obligatory nicety ticked off the to-do list, he returns his regard to the gadgets of grooming in his grip. Jaw ruminating on as yet unspoken words of question, Dean plops the plate and bottle with an unkindly lack of care on the surface of his dresser and stomps over to glare at the spillage of washing, scrubbing, and shaving instruments circling the sink. Gesturing at the mess, he manages to enunciate a diplomatic, “What. The. Hell?” Cas contemplates his answer, choosing the shortest most direct route to explain the crux of the current circumstance. “I have a date.” This does nothing to aid Dean in understanding why his deodorant should be involved unless the angel’s date happens to be with death itself. Intuiting Dean’s requirement for further elucidation, Cas adds, “In five minutes.” “And you thought-”

“I thought I should make an extra effort.”

The ire shading Dean’s greens lightens in dawning realization that the date must be with you. The part of him not pondering murder – panged by his toothbrush’s involvement in whatever is going on – is proud Cas finally made a move. “Dean?” Cas squints between his stymied friend and the innocuous appearing toothbrush that seems to be a source of disproportionate pain given its use as an instrument of tartar control. Experimentally, he waves the toothy tool sideways, watching Dean’s gape follow. “Did you hear me?” Dean emits a stifled grunt that may or may not be acknowledgement. Cas continues, “Where do I start? What’s more important if” –the angel’s blues go anxiously wide in verbalizing his concern “–if we kiss … fresh breath, or smooth skin?” Dean blinks, numbly mumbles, “That’s my toothbrush,” rescues the item of his angst with a swift snatch from the seraph’s fingers, and conceals it behind his back for protection. “So” –left with the razor, Cas deduces “–I should shave?” With clarity that comes from a weighty concern lifted, Dean’s head wags. “No. No, buddy.” He claps Cas roughly on the shoulder. “You should be yourself. Stubble, and all. Maybe lose the trench and tie though, ‘kay?” He grimaces, gnashing his jaw, for exaggerated effect. “Unless you plan to go door-to-door selling life insurance on your first date.” He jostles him again to drive the point deep into its intended ofttimes socially dense heavenly headspace. Cas peers down the plane of his torso and gives the free-flapping lapel of his coat a tentative tug. The tie he can easily do without – has done so before, even; the coat however, he never realized, serves as a shielding comfort and manifestation of himself. Sure, Jimmy put the garment on before he said ‘Yes,’ all those years ago, but the angel kept it on, through multiple resurrections, through so much choice and searching for place and purpose that it’s woven indelibly into his identity. It’s not an attachment he has time to defend, so he doesn’t try to. “Thank you,” he murmurs, unable to mask the doubt deepening his tone. The pads of his fingers fondly flatten the fabric. He looks up, averts his eyes to lessen the lie. “I’ll try that.”

Ducking out of Dean’s reassuring grip, he steps sideways toward the center of the room, skirting him to make for the exit. Celestial and corporeal nerves firing on all cylinders, he feels no more prepared to meet you in the garage than he did five minutes prior. Dean is not so easily deceived; Castiel also isn’t a fantastic liar. “Hey, hang on.” Dean dives for the sink, scoops up a bottle of bright green mouthwash, and chucks it at the angel. Cas catches the bottle and cocks his chin askance at the hunter. “That should do the trick.” Dean winks, clicks his tongue, and aims a finger gun at the bottle. Without further inspection, fully trusting in Dean’s sagacity, the angel twists off the cap and downs the entire throat searing minty shebang in a single swallow. Love potion, emotional elixir, liquid courage, mild molecular explosion for the mouth, whatever it is, it sets the seraph’s lips into an indebted upturn of a smile. “Thank you, Dean,” he repeats his gratitude and means it this time. Tossing the drained bottle back to the hunter gawking in astonishment by the fiery feat of will required to drink mouthwash, he disappears into the hall.

Castiel tag list:  (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @roxy-davenport  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy    @bluetina-blog  @dont-trust-humanity  @honeybeetrash  @bucky-thorin-winchester  @superwholockz   @tistai  @wordstothewisereaders  @gill-ons  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @marisayouass  @stone-met   @castiel-savvy18  @samualmortgrim  @trexrambling  @magnificent-mantle  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx  @moon-and-stars-cas  @mandilion76  @rockfairy  @peaceloveancolor  @unicorntrooper  @anisolatedship  @itsilvermorny  @aditimukul  @kudosia  @goofynerd-67babylove  @uninspirationalsonglyrics  @gray-avidan  @mishascupcake   @mishapanicmeow   @praisecastielamen  @roseyhxnt  @jessikared97  @let-the-imaginationflow  @warriorqueen1991   @sebastianstanslefteyebrow   @hisnameisboobear  @kristendanwayne  @fuschiarulerinthebluebox  @coolpencilpie  @jenabean75  @luciathewinchestergirl  @morganas-pendragons  @heyitscam99  @fangirl-and-stuff  @selahbela  @realgreglestrade  @splendidcas  @pointlesscasey  @i-larb-spooderman  @thewhiterabbit42  @thelostverse  @castieliswatchingoverme  @beccollie18  @dragonett8  @dixie-chick  @jtownraindancer   @carowinsthings  @passionghost  @sherlockedtash88  @futureparent  @gabbie7-11  @myfandomlife-blog  @dreamerkim  @shamelesslydean  @earthtokace  @neaeri  @justanormalangel  @lone-loba  @supernaturalymarvel  @lilrubixx  @wings-and-halo  @thehoneybeecastielfollows  @musiclovinchic93  @81mysteriouslyme  @the-bottom-of-the-abyss  @jaylarkson  @iminlokisarmysofi @pixiedusts  @spookysculderfiles  @laqueus-ludovicus  @missjenniferb @lexininja  @jessiekay2010   @skrratata  @rhiannonj79  @calicat79

[numba99]

Hate to Love You

summary: anyone who knows me knows I love slim jim bUT I have this thing with hate fucking him. It’s HOT okay. This is an old trope but honestly i never get tried of reading these kinds of stories so i figured why not. I also might turn this into a series bc i have some ideas for it going longish term but we’ll see. ALSO for the purpose of this kevin is still a ranger bc A) i don’t know how to let go and B) i need the dynamic okay ty Word count 2,249

Warnings: smut, drinking, being kinda mean/aggressive i guess?? it’s nothing crazy but if a guy coming on strong makes you uncomfy you may not like this but everything is 100% consensual  also i didn’t proof read bc im me 

You slipped through the door of your friend Brady’s apartment, music and the scent of beer attacking your senses. You scanned the room of vaguely familiar faces, looking for the one you knew best. 

You’ve been childhood best friends with Brady, growing up together in Minnesota. You had grown apart a bit after high school when you moved to New York for college. As fate would have it, Brady’s hockey career would take off and he ended up in New York with the Rangers. You guys linked up again and it was like you never spent time apart. You loved everything about Brady - in the most brotherly way possible. Well, everything except his roommate.

Jimmy Vesey. The absolute thorn in your side. From the first day you met, you both rubbed each other the wrong way. You didn’t understand how someone as sweet as Brady could like him so much. He was cocky and obnoxious, and you weren’t afraid to tell him that. You pushed each other’s buttons in all the wrong ways and you tried to avoid him as best as you could.

Going to Brady’s place was always a gamble. Sometimes Jimmy would be out and you could just enjoy your time with him. But when he was there... let’s just say there wasn’t a moment of peace. As annoying as he was, you tried not to let that get in the way of seeing Brady. He was your best friend after all, and you definitely weren’t going to let a punk like Jimmy ruin that.

“Hey y/n,” Brady greeted you. He wrapped his arms around you, careful not to spill any of the content of his cup on you. “I’m so glad you made it.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss a Skjei party for the world,” you replied.

“Let me get you something to drink,” Brady said. You followed him to the kitchen smiling at some of the people you recognized from past parties. Thankfully, none of them were Jimmy. Brady made you your favorite: vodka cranberry. Although he always managed to go a little heavy on the vodka. 

Nonetheless, you drank it happily as you mingled throughout the party. You caught up with Brady’s girlfriend and a few of her friends that you’ve gotten to know throughout the years. A couple of Brady’s teammates were there as well, though you hadn’t seen Jimmy yet. Maybe it was your lucky night.

“Hey,” a soft voice spoke from behind you. You spun around, finding the blue eyes of Kevin Hayes’ looking down at you.

“Hey,” you smiled. Now Kevin was a friend of Brady’s you didn’t mind. Kevin was everything Jimmy wasn’t: kind, funny, and respectful. Plus, he was pretty easy on the eyes.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said, sounding almost sad.

“I know, works been crazy,” you explained, “I’ve been meaning to get to a game, but every time I’m free, you guys are on the road.”

“Hopefully you can come to one soon, we are kind of in need of a little luck,” Kevin said.

You laughed, “You guys will figure it out. In the mean time, I’ll check my schedule. Maybe I can make it the next time you guys are in town.”

“I’d like that,” Kevin smiled shyly. Before you could reply, there was a commotion in the next room. You and Kevin exchanged a confused look before going to investigate. A circle was forming on Brady’s living room floor. 

“Y/n, Kevin, we are playing spin the bottle come join!” one of Brady’s girlfriend’s called to you. She was giggling, much more drunk than you. Maybe if you were on her level, you’d be more inclined to play. It seemed a little juvenile to you.

“I don-” you began, but Kevin cut you off.

“Oh come on it could be kinda fun,” he nudged you. You sighed, Kevin wasn’t exactly easy to say no to.

“Fine. But just one round,” you told him. Kevin smiled, walking with you to join the circle. Just as it was about to begin, none other than Jimmy Vesey wedged himself between two guys across from you. Gross. You thought you had hit the jackpot of Jimmy being out, but no such luck. Maybe Kevin should rethink using you for luck at a game.

You rolled your eyes at his presence, avoiding looking at him. The game began and you watched as people spun the empty beer bottle and kissed the person it landed on. You quickly could tell who was into each other, their lips lingering longer than necessary. Kevin didn’t seem to get so lucky, only giving the girl he landed on the quickest kiss.

Finally it was your turn. With reluctance, you spun the bottle, watching it go round and round until it stopped. You looked up to see who it landed on and nearly gagged. Jimmy.

“Absolutely not,” you stated, not caring if you looked like a dick.

“Oh please, you’d be lucky to kiss me,” Jimmy rolled his eyes. 

“You can’t say no, that’s not how the game works,” a voice said. You weren’t even sure who it was, you were too irritated by the stupid smirk on Jimmy’s face.

“I don’t care, I’m not kissing him,” you replied.

“Scared you’re going to catch feelings?” Jimmy sneered.

“I’m scared I’m going to catch something,” you shot back. 

“Whoa, wait. Can’t someone take a dare instead of a kiss?” Kevin asked. God bless him.

“Yes, fine. I’ll take a dare,” you said quickly. Anything but that.

Some guy you never met before piped up, “Okay I dare you to kiss Jimmy.” The circle erupted in laughter. You felt your blood boiling. Whoever that man was, he was officially on your shit list. 

“You guys fucking suck,” you grumbled. It’s just a stupid kiss, you told yourself, just do it and don’t give Jimmy that satisfaction of thinking you’re scared. 

“I’m waiting,” Jimmy puckered his lips in your direction. You knew he was enjoying how annoyed this was making you. Don’t give him the satisfaction, don’t give him the satisfaction, don’t give him the satisfaction.

You leaned across the circle, closing your eyes. You pressed your lips to his, pulling away almost as soon as contact was made. “See now was that so bad?” Jimmy teased.

“Asshole,” you grumbled, standing up and leaving the circle in a huff. You made a beeline for the bathroom, wanting to wash him off your lips. If you were being honest... it wasn’t that bad. His lips were kinda soft, it really wasn’t-

Get a fucking grip, you cut your own thought off. You stared at yourself in the mirror wondering just how much vodka Brady put in that drink. That would be the only way you could be anything less that disgusted by kissing Jimmy.

Okay so maybe, maybe, there was the slightest part of you deep, deep down that thought Jimmy was good looking. Not that you would ever admit that, especially not to him. You talked way to much shit about him and he would never let you live that down. Besides, even if he was kinda cute (deep, deep down) he was still an ass and you didn’t want anything to do with him.

You swished mouth wash through your mouth and convinced yourself the only reason you didn’t hate the kiss was because you were buzzed. You washed off your hands out of habit of being in the bathroom and went to head out.

As you swung open the door, a figure standing before you made you jump. Jimmy. Great.

“What do you want?” you snapped.

“You know, you are in my bathroom in my apartment,” Jimmy replied, stepping passed you. He eyed the mouthwash on the counter. “So fucking dramatic.” 

“If you weren’t so gross I wouldn’t have to be so fucking dramatic,” you replied. 

“Oh come on, y/n, I know you liked it,” Jimmy replied, stepping closer to you. You took a step back, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. How did he know. Your heel hit the door, pushing it back almost completely closed.

“You just can’t stand the idea of a girl who isn’t dying to get in your pants,” you rolled your eyes.

“You don’t have to act in here, y/n,” he said getting closer to you, “It’s just you and me. You can admit you wanna fuck me.” You let out a laugh.

“Either you’re drunk or you’re fucking deranged,” You replied. You ignored the way he said you wanting to fuck him made your heart rate spike. 

“I see the way you look at me,” he continued, getting closer to you still. You tried to take a step back, but you were completely against the door. He placed his hand next your head, pressing the the door closed with a click. “I know you want me.”

“I want nothing to do with you,” you said, sounding a lot less confident than you would had hoped. Suddenly, his hand was on your thigh. It was a gentle touch, so much so that you almost didn’t feel it. 

“If you don’t want anything to do with me, than tell me to stop,” Jimmy stated, looking you dead in the eyes. His hand pressed against your skin with a bit more pressure. Your mind was going a hundred miles a minute, trying to figure out what to say. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction but, fuck, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t turned on.

“You’re annoying,” was all you could manage.

“That’s not a no,” he pointed out. His hand slid high up your thigh and just under your skirt, making you squirm. “Come on, tell me no. I’ll stop the second you do,” he said, brow raised. His eyes were still locked on yours, a mischievous glint in them. It was becoming a battle of resolve and the way he smirked at you, you knew he knew he was winning.

You were silent as his hand went further up, inching ever closer to your core that was starting to ache, despite your better judgement. Jimmy brushed a finger over your underwear, making you draw in a quick breath. He paused, waiting to see if you’d say anything.

“You just can’t say no can you?” Jimmy smirked, “I knew it.”

“I hate you,” you growled, wondering where your will power went. Just as the words left your lips, a finger slipped into your under wear. Jimmy a finger along your slit, smiling to himself.

“If you hate me so much, why are you so wet for me, hmm?” he asked. God he was such an asshole. You wanted to slap the cocky grin right off his face. 

“Doesn’t matter you couldn’t do shit about it anyway,” you huffed.

“Is that a challenge?” Jimmy asked. You told yourself you were going to tell him to fuck off and leave, but that’s not what you heard yourself say.

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

“And what if I want it to be you cumming on my fingers?” Jimmy asked, hooking a finger through your underwear. It was impressive how he managed to make your skin crawl and turn you on with one sentence.

“Then you should shut the fuck up and do something about it,” you shot back, sick of his games.

Without another word, Jimmy yanked your underwear down your legs. He coated his fingers in your wetness, allowing him to rub smooth circles over your clit. You bit your lip, not wanting to moan as he slid two fingers inside you.

His fingers were long and slender, allowing him to hit a sweet spot deep inside you. You squirmed against the wall, hating how quickly you felt a knot of pleasure form in your stomach. You looked down, refusing to let him seeing you enjoy it. You couldn’t see him fingering you, as he was under your skirt, but you could hear how wet you were and he most definitely heard it too.

“You didn’t have to make this so easy,” he taunted you, pressing his fingers deeper in you.

You stifled a moan. “God can’t you ever just shut up.”

“Nope.”

You wanted to say something clever, but your mind was clouded. You were trying to focus, not wanting to cum to fast. His ego didn’t need that. Part of you didn’t want to cum at all. You savored the idea of him just pumping into you and getting nothing. You thought it would be wonderful to watch him deflate like that but, fuck, it did feel good.

Jimmy twisted his hand slightly, allowing his palm press against your clit. Your knees buckled, making Jimmy chuckle as he continued to work at you. He was relentless, and you were nearing closer to your end.

The friction of Jimmy’s palm against your sensitive clit coupled with his fingers hitting all the right spots inside you became too much. Despite what your mind wanted, your body gave into the pleasure. A low moan escaped your lips and your head tilted back and your eyes squeezed shut. It would be better to not look right at him. 

Jimmy didn’t linger, removing his hand form under your skirt just as you finished. “You’re welcome,” he said in your ear, with a triumphant smirk. Without another word, he slipped out of the bathroom and back to the party, leaving you shaking in the bathroom.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Tell me a story about Ryan Brenner.

SPF (sun. protection. factor.) 

a story about Ryan Brenner? you got it, dude. kickin’ off my follower request drabbles with an adorable one. 

word count: 1,075 (lol i can’t drabble.) 

Everything that Ryan carried with him had a purpose. There were the obvious practical necessities: a few changes of clothes, layers in various thicknesses and sleeve lengths for varying climates and seasons, a set of utensils that rarely saw any use, a can opener, lighter, tobacco tin and rolling papers, a bar of soap, toothbrush and paste and a travel size mouthwash, combination shampoo/ conditioner, and a razor. Then there were the things he’d realized he’d needed while traveling, that he’d added along the way: leather bound notebook, two pens and a pencil to jot down lyrics or sketch something for inspiration, moisturizer for the wind burn, more socks than he thought he needed- there was no such thing as too many. All the items in his stuffed-to-the-gills pack had a purpose, but there was one item in particular that also had a story: a tube of sunscreen. 

This is the story about the first time Ryan Brenner got good and drunk, as well as the reason why you’d never catch him dead without SPF 50 or higher with all of his other necessities. 

It was summer in Georgia and there wasn’t a need for shoes or shirts. Ryan had come back to visit with some cousins- Tommy and Zach, Jimmy, Fitz, Patrick and Taylor- all of whom were around his age, give or take a year or three- after three years away, and he was caught off guard by the way it felt to be welcomed back by so many smiling faces, so many curious questions. 

“What’s the Pacific like? Bluer’n the Atlantic?” from Tommy who’d never left McIntosh county. 

“Does it really snow all the time in the Rocky Mountains?” Zach could count on one hand how many times he’d seen snow outside of the month of December.

“What’s it like jumpin’ trains?” Taylor was always interested in physical challenges. She was small, and the only girl in the gaggle of cousins, and she asked with a set to her brow that said ‘I bet I could do it, no sweat.’

“You writin’ any new songs, Ryan?” Jimmy likely had a song or two he’d want Ryan to listen to. He looked up to his older cousin for his musical abilities, and pretty much everything else, ever since they were 5 and 7 and Ryan taught him how to climb a tree... and what to do when you fell out but didn’t want your Ma to know you’d hurt yourself doing something stupid. 

“Ryan, why’d you take so long to git back here?” Fitz slung an arm around his shoulder, a year younger but a foot taller. 

“What state’s got the easiest girls, huh?” Patrick had always been driven by a pretty face that was willing to kiss him. 

He answered all of their questions as two bottles of cheap whiskey were passed around between the group, concealed in crumpled brown paper bags as they walked the few blocks from Zach and Tommy’s place down to the beach. Patrick was 21, and had taken it upon himself to supply the group with booze. Fitz, Tommy and Zach had all drank before, but it was Taylor and Ryan’s first time, Taylor making it a point to match him sip for sip so as not to lose any ground among the boys. By the time their feet left the sharp blades of dried grass and met the soft but searing sand, Ryan was grinning like a court jester, his words melting into laughter or just melting as they tumbled from his lips. Taylor had her arms out on either side, giggling and twirling like a top. Fitz, the biggest of them all, jumped on Tommy’s back and they both nearly toppled over, only pulling more laughter from Ryan, cheeks flushed from the heat and the alcohol; from the way it felt to be back with his cousins, causing trouble like no time had passed and it was only yesterday that they were putting tadpoles in with their granddaddy’s dentures. 

By the time they’d flopped down in the sand, some of them on towels but most of them just laying on the shirts they’d shed, Ryan Brenner, 19 years old, was as drunk as a skunk and spinning while still. He’d gotten into town just that morning, and traveling always made him tired but the whiskey and the sun and the rush of pure happiness had made him sleepy. Cap pulled over his face and the waves crashing rhythmically behind him, his cousins’ chatter faded as he drifted off, one hand resting on his bare stomach, the other tucked under his head.  

“Ryyyyyy-aaaaaaaan...Ryyyyyy-aaaaaan!” Patrick and Fitz were calling his name in a sing song voice, Jimmy laughing as he swung Ryan’s legs from side to side. 

“Huh...wha...oof...oh shit, man…what the…” Ryan tried to sit up but gravity was not on his side, pulling him hard back down into the sand. A groan somewhere from his left in Taylor’s pitch told him that she wasn’t faring any better, and he turned his head to see Zach and Tommy poking her back as she lay face down on her towel. Ryan’s eyes widened as he took in the shade of her back, a violent red akin to a radish. He fought the spins to pick his head up enough to look down at his chest and abdomen and saw, with horror, that he was the same radish red hue, burned everywhere except for the five fingered shape on his belly where his hand had fallen. His armpit and elbow were the color of boiled crabs, and nothing hurt yet but he could feel the future burn already. 

“By the way, Brenner,” Jimmy, the one cousin that didn’t share the surname gave him a drunken, self satisfied grin, “booze makes you burn quicker. Wear sunscreen next time.”

Ryan Brenner, 19 years old, drunk for the first time and burnt with the imprint of his left hand on his belly, scooped up a handful of sand and threw it at Jimmy, while Fitz, Patrick, and even Taylor- just as miserable as he was- laughed until their headaches caught up with them. 

But that was the last day in Ryan’s life that he was caught without protection from the sun, and to this day, Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall, North, South East or West, he always kept a bottle, can or tube of sunscreen among his necessities.

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