#my dad has burned crap to hell two days in a row now

[robotsprinkles]

I swear if/when I finally manage to move out of this house my parents are going to burn it down within a year

[bellakitse]

The Marriage Tamales

Answering a call, TK and 126 meet Carlota Reyes, Carlos' mother, and his three sisters. While there, TK learns some very important information about his and Carlos' relationship.

* “You made this pretty little gringo, our mother’s marriage tamales?” Lola looks at him amazed.

Valentina smirks at him, the only way the oldest can. “When’s the wedding?”

“Wedding?” Sofiá repeats, scoffing. “Where’s their kid? Obviously, he already married this white boy if he made him mama's marriage tamales."

Carlos gets the text from his older sister just as he’s leaving the station for the day; he lets out a groan before he reads it, remembering as he sees her name that he’s supposed to go to their mother’s house for dinner. His workday has been a long one, and it’s completely slipped his mind. Valentina was probably texting to know when he would be getting there, since his mother doesn’t like to serve unless all her four children are at the table on family night.

He opens his messages, ready to shoot a quick text that he’s on his way when he reads what exactly she’s sent him.

‘The fire department is here, Mami almost burned the house down, get here now.’

Carlos feels the blood in his body go to his toes as he rereads the text before letting out a curse. He rushes to get into his squad car, turning on the light bar and the sirens as he goes. He tries not to speed, the last thing he needs is another lecture from his mom about it, between the squad car and his Camero, his mother is always giving him the stink-eye, and lecturing him about being a speed demon who is giving her grey hairs with his driving.

Carlota Reyes knows how to turn on the mom guilt like a pro when she needs to.

He gets to the simple ranch house his mother moved them into when he was a teenager to find a fire truck, EMS, and his sisters’ vehicles all in front of it. He’s barely turned his car off before he’s already out the door. Seeing the badge on the truck, he spots the engine number and instantly realizes that it’s the recently rebuilt fire engine 126 that has been called to his mother’s house. He’s worked a few calls with the new crew in the last few months since the firehouse opened their doors again, he likes them, and Michelle who works with them as EMS Captain seems to have good things to say about them too.

He relaxes slightly now that he knows it’s them who answered the call, it also helps that the house seems to be fine except for the emergency vehicles gathered around, and a few EMTs by their rig. No one makes a move to stop him as he makes his way up the stone pathway to the front door. Be it because he’s still in uniform, or because his face says ‘get the fuck out of my way,’ he’s not sure.

“Mami?” he calls out as he walks into the house, the smell of smoke hitting him the second he’s through the door. “Valentina?” he shouts next as he enters the living room, stopping short at what he finds inside the family room.

His oldest sister Valentina is there alright, as are his other two sisters Sofía and Lola, and they aren’t alone. Members of the 126, Mateo, and Marjan are sitting on the couch with them, while Judd and Paul stand behind it, all drinking what looks to be horchata like it’s a party.

“What the hell?” he gets out, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“Hey, bro!” Lola speaks up first, flashing him a shit-eating grin as she raises a glass to him as a toast. Lola is the one he’s closest to age-wise, with her being only two years older than him, as opposed to Sofía, who is five years older or Valentina, who at 34 is eight years older. “Finally, you’re late.”

“Seriously, what the fuck,” he repeats himself, looking away from his troublemaking sister to the more responsible ones. “I get a text saying Mami almost burned the house down, and I come to find you guys drinking horchata with the 126?”

“And chicken empanadas,” Captain Strand adds in from where he’s sitting next to Valentina, a smile on his face as he bites into the empanada, letting out a joyful sound. He’s not surprised, his mom’s empanadas are delicious, but that’s beside the point.

“I’m going to ask one more time, and I expect an answer,” Carlos tells them all sternly, placing his hands on his gun belt. “What the fuck is happening here, and is everyone okay?”

“Everyone is fine, Carlitos, which is more than I can say for you if you curse in my house one more time, Nene.”

Carlos spins on his heel to find his mother over by the archway mimicking his pose by having her hands on her hips.

“Mami,” he exhales, he crosses the distance between them and pulls her small frame against his, holding her tight. He feels her chuckle softly as she rests her head on his chest, hugging him back. The top of her head barely grazes his chin, and he leans down to accommodate her. “Are you okay? Valentina said there was a fire.”

Carlota Reyes pulls back from the hug, throwing a glare over his shoulder, no doubt at his older sister. “Your sister is melodramatic, Tu sabes como es.”

“I’m sorry, did you or did you not start a fire in the kitchen?” Valentina asks the room at large, getting an echo of agreement from his other two sisters, though the 126 seem to be smarter by keeping their mouths shut when Carlota shoots them all another look.

“Mami?” he questions her, giving her his cop face in hopes that she’ll cave and tell him the truth. Rolling her eyes at him, she turns to the man beside her, and for the first time, Carlos notices who it is. He can feel his face go hot as he looks at him.

TK Strand.

He shouldn’t be surprised he’s here; he should have realized that TK would probably be responding to the call the moment he saw the 126 truck, he definitely should have anticipated it after seeing TK’s dad.

“Hey, TK,” he gets out, his face goes redder still at the way his voice cracks, but he can’t help it. He and TK have been messing around, keeping it strictly friends with benefits since his failed dinner attempt and then their darts date. They hang out; they’re friends, they have sex – really good, out of this world, mind-melting sex – and now TK is standing next to his mother, while he has to get through this without her figuring out all the dirty things he’s been doing with the guy she’s smiling up at so sweetly.

“Hey, Carlos,” TK smiles at him as he tries not to react too much. There is a way that TK sometimes looks at him, that makes Carlos forget that the guy is not his boyfriend, it always makes him want to press him into the nears wall and lick his way into that smile.

“TK, tell my Carlitos, that everything is fine,” Carlota nudges at TK with her elbow like they’re already best friends, Lord help him. “He’s always worrying so much. You’re going to get wrinkles, Bebé.”

TK grins at him with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes that Carlos is sure is from the way his mom talks to him. It doesn’t matter that he’s 26 and a Police Officer. As the youngest of four, his mother and to an extent, his sisters have always babied the crap out of him. He’s learned to ignore it until people outside the family get a front-row seat to his embarrassment.

“The stove caught fire,” TK starts telling him, raising his hands to calm him down when Carlos makes a panicked sound. “It’s all good, we put it out and checked-out your mom and sisters,” he looks over at the couches where everyone is seated. “Everyone is fine, and there’s not much damage, though the stove will have to be replaced.”

“See, the handsome firefighter says everything is fine. You can stop worrying now, mijo,” Carlota says to him, turning back towards TK with a smile. “You’ve met my son before, TK?”

Carlos feels his skin heat up as TK looks over at him, a slow-building smile working its way to his face. “Yes, ma’am, Carlos and I know each other from work, he’s an excellent officer.”

“And handsome?” his mom questions hopefully, a sly grin on her face as she looks over at him like she knows she’s killing him with embarrassment and is okay with it.

TK lets out a chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners from his grin, he leans down closer to his mother to speak in a stage-whisper. “He certainly makes some of the calls we’ve been on, way prettier.”

Carlota lights up like she has won the lotto, and Carlos instantly understands what his mother is playing at.

Carlos groans loudly, earning himself a snort from more than one of his sisters. “Oh my god, this isn’t happening,” he says, turning away from TK and his mom to find his sisters, Captain Strand and the rest of the crew watching them with entertained looks on their faces, empanadas in hand.

“What?” his mom asks innocently like she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

Carlos ignores her as he takes a step back towards the couches and the food, if he’s going to be embarrassed in front of his siblings, the people he works with, and the guy he has a massive crush on; at the very least, he’s eating.

“She zeroed in on him the second she saw his eyes, kid,” Valentina tells him.

Carlos shakes his head, holding out a hand to Sofía, grateful when she passes him an empanada. “Of course she did, Mami likes green eyes.”

Valentina, Sofía, and Lola all nod in agreement, while everyone else in the room looks on curiously.

“Mom’s scoping him out for Carlos,” Lola explains because she’s a horrible, horrible sister who he is going to smother with a couch cushion. “Valentina and Sofía are married, and I’m a lost cause, so Mami is checking out if TK is available for Carlos.”

“I am not!” Carlota protests, which sets her and his sisters off, in between the snippets of conversation he learns that his mother latched on to TK since the second he walked through her door.

Turning his gaze towards the man in question, he finds TK has taken a few steps closer to him, looking at him with humor and a little shyness as his family really gets into it. The rest of the 126 looks on, riveted by the show, the Reyes women are entertaining if nothing else. Taking the plate of leftover empanadas, he passes it to TK, letting him take one.

Biting into it, TK lets out a moan that stops all conversations and makes Carlos’ pulse spike.

Jesus Christ, this man lives to wreak havoc on him.

“Oh my god, that’s delicious,” TK says happily, closing his eyes as he chews, missing the grin Carlota is sporting, pleased as punch by TK’s reaction. “No wonder you’re such a good cook, you got it from your mom.”

Carlos stares at TK and nowhere else, as the rest of the ones gathered stare holes into the both of them. TK looks back at him, and the little shit dares to smile at him like he hasn’t just unleashed mayhem with his words.

“Carlos has cooked for you?” Sofía asks, the glee in her voice proof that while she might be the quietest of them all, she still has an evil streak a mile long.

“Mmhmm,” TK says around another bite, raising his fingers to count off. “He’s made me fish, didn’t eat that time though, my fault, not his. He’s made me carbonara; that was pretty simple, but he was coming off a 16-hour shift, and it was still delicious. He also made me some tamales to die for,” TK continues, not realizing what he's done by mentioning them. Carlos cringes as his sisters look at him with unholy excitement. He turns to look over at his mom, shaking his head as he takes in the way she looks ready to cry, she’s so happy. 

“He said it was your recipe, ma’am,” TK tells his mom, flashing her a bright smile. “You taught him well. It’s the best food I have ever had, besides these empanadas, of course.”

His mom makes a squeak like noise, before slapping her hands over her mouth in what Carlos thinks is an attempt not to start squealing. As is, she looks to be vibrating with unbridled happiness.

“You made this pretty little gringo, our mother’s marriage tamales?” Lola looks at him amazed.

Valentina smirks at him, the only way the oldest can. “When’s the wedding?”

“Wedding?” Sofía repeats, scoffing. “Where’s their kid? Obviously, he already married this white boy if he made him mama's marriage tamales. You guys adopting or going with surrogacy?”

"Marriage tamales?" TK asks with a small confused smile on his face, while his sisters nod in his direction. 

"Mami taught all of us with the condition that we can only make them for someone truly special to us," Valentina tells him, as TK looks at him with wide eyes, his mouth parted in surprise. "I made them for my husband when I realized I loved him, Sofía, did the same with her husband."

"I have never made the tamales for anyone," Lola adds. "Cause like I said, a lost cause."

TK continues to look at him, shocked, and suddenly Carlos doesn't care that his family or TK’s crew is watching; all he cares about is that TK doesn't freak out, and as a result, Carlos loses him. "Tyler, I –" he starts only to stop when he hears choking happening next to Valentina.

Looking over, he finds Captain Strand staring at them. "He called you by your name."

TK snaps out of his daze and looks back at his dad, his face turning red. "Dad," TK hisses in warning, but Owen doesn't listen.

"He knows your first name, TK," Owen continues, making significant eyes at his son. "He knows it and just used it. Does he know what the K stands for too?"

TK doesn't answer, his face is a pretty shade of pink, and Owen turns his eyes to him, waiting for an answer. 

"Yes," Carlos starts, making TK’s gaze go back to him. "It's –"

TK takes two steps towards him, placing his hand over his mouth. "Don't you dare, Carlos Reyes," TK warns him gravely, but Carlos can't help but smile at how flustered TK looks. 

He tugs the hand off his face, grinning at him. "I didn't realize using your name was such a big deal," he teases him, smirking as TK gives him a scowl. "I feel special."

TK narrows his eyes at him in response. "Marriage tamales, Reyes."

Carlos loses his smirk, giving him a nod when TK raises an eyebrow at him. Fair enough. 

"So, you're dating?" Mateo asks, reminding them that the crew is still very much in the room watching this all go down like a telenovela. Marjan, Judd, and Paul all look on in interest with small smirks on all their faces.

"We're –" TK starts, looking around the room, then back at him. There is a vulnerable look in TK's pretty green eyes, and Carlos feels like an idiot. He has spent the last few weeks that they have been doing this, trying to keep it all light and easy, as not to spook TK. And while doing so, he hasn't been looking for a sign that maybe things have changed, that possibly TK might finally be ready for more.

"We're not, not dating," Carlos says for him, the words feeling really inadequate, but it's the best he can do with everyone around them right now.

They need to talk alone and give this a new definition, but for the first time, Carlos is hopeful that it will include the words relationship and together.

TK looks at him with a small smile, giving him a slight nod of his head, silently agreeing with him.

His mother, though, of course, isn't satisfied with the answer. "I'm sorry, but that is young people speak for what exactly?"

Carlos opens his mouth only for Lola to cut in.

"It means Carlitos has been hitting it with the gringo, but not putting a label on it, Mami," Lola informs her while smirking in his direction. "He's been doing a whole lot of sinning, but it also seems like he wants to bring this cutie into the family."

TK blushes again at his sister's words, while Carlos narrows his eyes at Lola who keeps looking at him completely pleased with herself.

"Lola, how's Leticia from the good market Mami likes?" Carlos questions, a victorious grin on his face as she loses her smile and glares at him. Valentina and Sofía let out amused 'oohs,' respectively.

"Lola?" Carlota questions, groaning when Lola gives her a hesitant smile. "If you break that girl's heart, her dad isn't going to sell me the good peppers anymore, and I’ll make you go across town to get me some from that fancy organic place that pisses you off,” she warns her.

The comment gets his sister, and his mother started again, his other two sisters joining the fray.

Captain Strand proving to be a good Captain who knows when to get his people out of the fire, begins signaling for them to leave. One by one, the firefighters each head for the front door, each thanking his mother for the food.

TK is the last to go, still looking at him and no one else. "We'll talk later?" he asks, his expression tentative, and Carlos can't let him leave like that. Ignoring his family, he leans down to give TK a quick kiss. He lets out a surprised sound when TK touches the back of his neck, holding him there for a moment to make the kiss last.

When they break apart, the room is completely silent, but Carlos can't hear anything but their breathing and his heart beating.

"I finish my shift in three hours," TK tells him quietly, and Carlos nods, understanding him.

"Come by after; I'll be home."

TK smiles at him before turning around; he lets out a nervous chuckle as he finds his sisters and his mother watching them. "It was nice meeting you all," TK starts, walking back towards them to get to the door. He stops in front of his mother, holding out his hand. "Ma'am it was a pleasure, thank you for the food."

Carlota smiles up at TK, taking his hand before pulling him in for a hug. TK lets out a surprised noise, whether it's from the unexpected strength his mother has, or the hug itself, Carlos isn't sure.

Letting him go, Carlota points a finger in TK's face. "I better see you again, guapo, soon."

TK looks at him, smiles, and then looks back at his mom. "I'll make sure it happens, ma'am."

 ֎֍֎

 Carlos is a mess of nervous energy as he paces back and forth in his apartment. TK texted him twenty minutes ago, asking if it was still okay for him to stop by, and now Carlos was waiting for him, every second that past putting him more on edge.

He has a feeling that the conversation they need to have is going to go his way. TK put down all the signals before he left his mom’s house, but that doesn’t stop him from being nervous. He wants this, wants TK so bad. More than he’s ever wanted anything, and knowing that there might actually be a chance he gets to have him completely sends his pulse racing.

The rest of his time at the house had been interesting. His sisters and his mother grilled him about TK to the point that he had to ask who was the cop, him, or them? They’re amazing interrogators and cracked him like an egg. In the end, he told them how he met TK, keeping some of the more salacious aspects of their relationship to himself for his mother’s sake, though given the leers his sisters gave him, they weren’t fooled at all.

Finally, though, all it boiled down to for his mom and his sisters is how he feels. His mom softly asking him, ‘Lo quieres, Carlitos?’ her warm hands holding his. Valentina playing with his hair, Lola with her head on his knee as she sat on the floor, while Sofía stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders, he couldn’t deny the truth.

The hug that came from all sides as he let out a quiet, ‘Si, mucho’ soothed him the only way his family’s love could.

He couldn’t hide it anymore. He cared about TK, given half the chance he could love him forever, and he really wants that chance.

The knock on the door pulls him away from his thoughts, taking a breath he crosses his living room to open it, finding a soft-looking TK, who gives him a nervous half-smile as he takes him in.

“Hey,” he says quietly, stepping to the side to let TK in, only TK doesn’t do that; instead, he steps into Carlos’ space, his face inches away from his.

He looks at him for a moment, his green eyes searching for something before he closes the distance between their lips. Carlos sighs into the kiss, bringing his arms around TK’s back as TK wraps his arms around Carlos’ neck. TK’s tongue runs over the stem of Carlos’ lips, and with a soft moan, Carlos opens his mouth. TK kisses him the way he does everything else, one hundred percent in, his tongue dances against his as he deepens the kiss, and all Carlos can do is hold him closer as he gets lost in the taste and feel of TK. He feels perfect in his arms, and it’s all he wants, to keep TK close to him. Jesus, he’s in love, without meaning to, he's fallen in love with this beautiful man, and he just wants to keep him.

Carlos has them pressed against his door when they break the kiss, both breathing heavy. TK keeps a firm grip on him like Carlos has any interest in stepping away from him. He looks at Carlos; his bright, colorful eyes have a soft hazy look to them.

“The marriage tamales, Carlos,” TK whispers, there’s almost a pleading quality to his tone. “What do they mean?”

Carlos inhales sharply, his heart pounding in his ears as TK looks at him earnestly. Licking his lips, he closes his eyes for a moment, and he feels the way TK runs his fingers at the top of his spine, almost petting him to calm him down. Opening his eyes, he looks back into TK’s, time to lay it all out on the table, and hope he’s not wrong in his optimism.

“It means,” he starts, his voice not much more than a whisper. “It means I want to be yours, and you be mine. It means that I want what I have wanted from the moment I met you.”

“What’s that?” TK whispers back, his eyes are large, and he looks at Carlos like he’s genuinely seeing him for the first time.

“A chance to love you the way you deserve,” he tells him, smiling at TK when he lets out a sharp breath. “If you let me, I’ll love you the way you should always be loved, Tyler. Entirely and with my whole heart.”

“What if I don’t deserve that?” TK asks, swallowing hard, his eyes glassy from unshed tears.

“I’ve never heard a bigger untruth in my life, you deserve everything good this world has to offer,” Carlos brings his hands to TK’s face, cradling his cheeks, his thumb under his eyes, ready to wipe away the tears. He hates that someone made TK feel like this. “I’m not saying I’m the best thing that will ever happen to you. All I can say is that I’ll treat you like you’re the best thing that’s happened to me, because you are, we aren’t even together, and you already are.”

TK closes his eyes, and more tears spill, but there is also a blinding smile on his face as he pulls Carlos even closer, resting his forehead against his. “When your sisters said that the tamales are only for people you guys think are special and love,” TK opens his eyes, and Carlos has never seen anything more beautiful than the man standing in front of him. “I wanted that. I want to be special to you, loved by you. I want it so bad, Carlos. I think I have wanted it from the start and it scared the fuck out of me, it still scares me.”

TK pauses, taking a breath. He lets his hand slide down from Carlos’ neck to his chest, letting it rest over Carlos’ heart, he smiles up at him when Carlos covers his hand with his, holding it to his chest. “But I want it more than it scares me, Carlos.”

“Yeah?” Carlos asks, his cheeks hurting from smiling so hard.

TK grins back at him, a soft laugh falling off his smile as he nods. “Yeah.”

 ֎֍֎

 Carlos pulls his car up in front of the house; the driveway is already full of vehicles. Turning his head to look at the house, he makes a vague note that the house could use a paint job. It’s not bad, but a touch-up is needed. Looking next to him, he takes in his passenger. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks for the third time since he started his car. TK flashes him a smile, it’s a little nervous but mostly amused at his expense. He shifts the package he has in his hands, drawing Carlos’ attention to it, it makes him smile.

“Yes, I’m sure,” TK answers firmly, the same way he has since Valentina called this morning to ask if he was with his white boy, and if he had finally declared his love for him, then their mom insisted he bring TK to a late lunch at the house since dinner didn’t happen the night before.

He’d had the phone on speaker when speaking with his sister, and before Carlos could weasel out of it, TK answered they would be there, asking if he should bring anything.

Valentina had gone silent for a second, before letting out a loud laugh, telling him that bringing his pretty self was more than enough.

“Okay,” Carlos takes a deep breath as TK flashes him another smile, his hand going for the door handle, but Carlos can’t help but stop him.

TK gives him a curious look; his brow pinched softly in the middle. “Carlos?”

“Just don’t break up with me now that we’re finally together because my family is crazy, please?” Carlos rushes out to say, only half-joking. He adores his family; he’d give his life for them. But they’re nuts, and last night was only a taste of it, now that they know he and TK are together, he can only imagine how extra crazy they’re going to be.

TK’s expression softens, he lets go of the handle, turning his body back towards Carlos. “Come here,” he commands softly, his hand reaching for Carlos’ cheek to pull him close. Carlos goes as he’s asked, sighing as TK presses his forehead against his.

“I’m not going to change my mind about this,” TK tells him quietly, his thumb drawing circles on his cheekbone. “I know I have been hot and cold with you.”

Carlos opens his mouth to argue only for TK to cover it with his hand.

“But,” TK emphasizes. “I know what I want now, okay?”

“And it’s me, right?” Carlos askes, needing to be sure, the smile TK gives him is bright and sweet.

Carlos’ eyes shut a second before TK’s lips touch his. The kiss TK gives him is gentle, a soft press of his lips, it’s after Carlos lets out an impatient sound that TK deepens it. Still, Carlos can feel TK’s smile against his lips as he licks into his mouth, the temperature in his car rising with every swipe. Carlos grabs at the back of TK’s head, pulling him closer, moaning as the action makes TK suck on his bottom lip.

“Tyler –,” he groans out as TK pulls his mouth off his, starting to kiss his way down his neck. “Baby, please.”

He’s not even sure what he’s begging for, and neither have time to find out when there is a sharp knock at the hood of his car, startling them enough to jump away from each other.

Looking over towards the passenger side window, Carlos lets out a deep mortifying groan as he takes in the smirking faces of his three sisters watching them.

“Heeey, bro,” Lola starts, her eyes flickering from him to TK and back again, her grin growing, while Sofía places a hand over her mouth, and Valentina shakes her head, rolling her eyes. Carlos looks at TK to find him blushing, his eyes a little hazy, and though he’s embarrassed himself, he’s also more than a little proud by the expression he’s put on his boyfriend’s face.

“So we can see you’re having a real good time out here,” Lola continues, and Carlos hears one of his other sisters snort. “But we’re kind of hungry, and you know Mami doesn’t serve unless we’re all sitting down, so if you could stop eating your gringo’s face, we’d appreciate it. Mami made carne asada and raja con papas.”

Sofía leans down to speak to them. “She said he’s too skinny, so she went dish heavy and made a lot,” she looks at TK, giving him a shrug. “You better be ready to roll out of here, she’s going to stuff you.”

TK laughs, giving his sisters a nod he opens the door to the car and steps out. Carlos follows, going around the car quickly to take his hand.

They start towards the house only for Valentina to hold up a hand to them. “What’s that?” she points at what TK is carrying in his other hand even though it’s obvious what it is.

TK looks down at his hand and grins when he looks back up at his sister. “You said I didn’t need to bring anything, but I was taught not to come into a house empty-handed,” he smirks when Lola and Sofía start laughing as he shows them the gift he got their mother.

“No mames!” Lola gets out through her chuckles, setting Sofía off again.

Valentina shakes her head again, also smiling. “He’s a smartass little shit,” she looks over at him with approval. “Good job with this one, Nene. Mom might box his ears, though.”

Carlos shrugs, he’s not worried, he saw the way his mother looked at TK the night before, and he knows he’s already won her over.

Walking into the house, they find Carlota Reyes standing in the foyer, a smile on her face, and the house smelling amazing. Leave it to his mom to have a kitchen fire the night before and now a little over twelve hours later have lunch ready.

“Mami,” he greets her, letting go of TK’s hand to hug her, leaning down so she can kiss his cheek.

“Carlitos,” she greets him back before looking over at TK with an even wider smile. “Welcome back, guapo.”

“I did say I would make it happen, ma’am,” TK grins at her. He holds up the small home extinguisher he’s been holding, presenting it to her, his lips twitching as Carlota narrows her eyes at him and his present. “Valentina said no flowers.”

Carlota stares at it for another few seconds; everything is quiet as she purses her lips. “Que suerte la mia,” she starts, rolling her eyes when the girls start laughing. “Another smart ass, not like I already have four.”

“That means she’s adopting you,” Lola tells TK as she throws an arm around his shoulder for a moment. Valentina and Sofía nod in agreement, grinning at TK as he smiles back at them. Carlota shakes her head at all of them, the corners of her mouth curling upward.

“Enough standing around, let's eat,” she orders them, waving towards the dining room. They all listen and start to make their way into the room.

Carlota stops TK with a touch of her hand on his arm, Carlos stops too, watching TK with his mother. “Thanks for the gift, mijo, I appreciate it.”

TK looks over at him and then back at his mother, a soft smile on his face as he covers her hand with his. “Gotta keep you safe, ma’am, you’re my boyfriend’s mother after all.”

Carlos watches as his mother lights up, and he feels something warm spread through him as he watches two people he loves get along. Behind him, he knows his sisters are also listening; he can feel their approval too.

“Call me Carlota, ojos bonitos, Carlota.”

[bonebreakjack]

What Would I Be Without You?

Tenko and Hana take a leap of faith changing their lives for better or for worse. Along the way they uncover many secrets hidden away, try to find their way in life, and deal with their new eccentric roommates and their even more eccentric friends.

But at least their doing it together.

(An AU of what would have happened if AFO hadn't interfered with the Shimura family's lives. (Cause I refuse to believe he had no part in that horror). This is my take of what could have happened via what little we saw of the family.)

Chapter 2: What A Day...And It’s Not Even Over yet

If this was going to be a new normal, Tenko would rather take his chances and hide from society back inside the apartment becoming a shut in. It’s as if the universe was like ‘Fuck You’ to him and his sister the moment they stepped out. First they missed  the first two busses. Not even just one, but both of them, to get to the station. So they both had to run all the way to the station so they could make the train. Then there was a villain attack along the way and the crowd watching the Hero and Villain go at it. (Is that the new upcoming hero Mirko? She’s moving around like a frenzied rabbit keeping the guy disoriented.) Tenko would have been more happy to see the fight if we weren't worried about getting to school on time. ( Which really was more about keeping as much stress off his sister as possible she’s got enough on her plate besides worrying about him.) Navigating the crowd  was a nightmare and a half, no one wanted to move, half of them were being rude assholes and the other half kept hesitating cause they didn’t want to look away from the fight. Hana nearly tasted dirt more than a couple times and Tenko sure as hell did taste the dirt with being shoved around. They finally make it to the station only for the ticket machine to break and them missing the train having to wait nearly an hour for another one. Thus making them late.

 Hana tried to lighten the atmosphere by suggesting they go buy snacks while they waited, only for Tenko to tell her he was broke cause he spent the last of his money on house items they needed, and she herself had forgotten her wallet. Meaning they don’t even have money for the train to begin with. Wonderful. They did have a bit of luck in Hana digging through her bag and finding enough change to get them on the train, but she would probably have to ask one of their roommates to get her her wallet when they wake up. She paid for the tickets and they sat in silence on their phones. Tenko saw that his phone battery was in the red and went to get his charger …..that he didn’t bring . So he just wasted what little he had on mobile games. He threw the damn thing in his bag and scowled for the next hour, as the rage bubbled up inside him and he stewed like a pressure cooker. The train comes and one again he's surrounded by people, who were far too close and pushy as they packed into the train like sardines. He could feel his very thin rope of patience fraying quickly. He hated being touched, there were too many people, and today was NOT working in their favor, he has to go back to school in the middle of the year, they moved all the way into the city in a stranger's house he had never met, and its too much for the first fucking day- Hana reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing lightly and he throttled the urge to scratch at his face and neck. His sister hated it and it made her distressed. He stewed in stillness instead, thinking positive. At least they were together. Not.

Tenko was seriously contemplating homicide right now. He was jam packed alone on the train to the new school he had to go to, his sister got dropped off at her Highschool two stops before so he had to suffer alone now. This was pure crap and what's worse because of his height made him easy to push and shove around, and God help him Why is everyone TOUCHING HIM?

This was the start of what Tenko was sure to be a Hellish day.

Fuck.

The hiss of the doors alerted him to freedom and he clawed his way out nearly knocking over an elementary school girl. From what he could see she apparently had a similar plan but was using the wall to avoid death by stampede. Apologizing under his breath, Tenko pulled her up and then shoved her through the door before following. He yelled out another apology as he ran, noticing the time.

A plain faced boy passed him wearing the same uniform, his face more panicked as he ran to get to school. HE was a bit weird out by the boys muttering of wanting to avoid his mother's fly swats.

More and more students passed by him as he slowed down wearing the same uniform as him. He couldn't help but stare at how much more unique looking everyone was in comparison to the private school he went to. A sense of more freedom filled the air and the students seemed more lively. They seemed pretty happy and content rubbing their good mood to everyone today.

Maybe today won’t be as bad as he thought-

He was shoved to the side very roughly by a much taller bastard of a kid with dark red brown hair with needle like appearance and gold eyes. He smirked condescendingly down at Tenko who glared back up at him. He began to walk away but Tenko wasn't about to let him. Nope that was the last fucking straw that burnt up the rest of his self restraint. He couldn’t help his lips twitching, wanting to stretch into a smile as a thought passed through his head. Hello, Misplaced Aggression.

"Hey bastard what was that for?" Tenko was snarling at the now surprised boy, assholes like this think they're so damn mighty until someone barks back. But they messed with him on the wrong day.

"You were in my way shortly, learn to make room for your betters!" The Tall Bastard, as Tenko now deemed him, had gathered himself after he realized Tenko wasn't backing down. His two friends flanking him to try and further intimidate him.

Tenko just scoffed and wondered when they started cloning cliches. Different schools have the same bullies, how predictable. The ones back home were scarier anyway, they actually knew who his dad was.

"Oh I'm sorry your majesty, I didn't realize you have a Caution: Wide Load sign on you."

The silence was too beautiful, he should have recorded it, or took out his phone to take a picture (he was still mad at leaving his charger at home). The Tall Bastard’s face was turning a funny shade of red from humiliation and anger. His friends looked wary and looked at their leader  before backing away slowly. “You looking down on me you puny bastard!” Tall Bastard picked Tenko up by the scruff of his collar and Tenko could almost hear a choir cause it was as if his prayers were answered and someone decided to send him a punching bag.

If that’s the case then… A yelp that sounded like a came from the mouth of a dog came out of the Tall Bastards mouth and he dropped Tenko to cover and hold his injured crotch from where Tenko kicked him. One doesn’t play fair with those who won’t give the same treatment. As soon as he was on the ground Tenko’s leg shot out to kick Tall Bastard on the back of the head making him hit the ground. He picked up his backpack where it had fallen and went to walk away. “Hey asshole I wasn’t done with you-!” “Wait Soga! You can’t get in trouble again. You could get expelled this time.”One of the friends spoke up, he had a reptilian appearance and on the short side. He grabbed his friend Soga’s arm to keep him from attacking Tenko. “Let's Just leave besides I get the feeling this kid isn’t all there if yanno what I mean.” Tenko felt a scowl pull at his lips at the remark which caused the reptilian human to hide behind Tall Bastards-Soga’s- body. The two boys stared at each other down before Soga tsked and spat on the ground. “Fine whatever, he’s not fucking worth it anyway.”They walked to the school entrance, though Tenko noticed with slight satisfaction that Soga was limping as he did. It didn’t help the bitterness that burned in his lungs as the words ‘Not worth it’ , ran in his head. The small fight didn’t help his bad mood and he grumbled all the way to the Staff office as how unsatisfied he felt.

  He got scolded for being late on his first day of transferring by a bulbous looking teacher. He was just in time for the 2nd period to begin but they weren’t lenient on tardies. And no, you can’t use a villain attack as an excuse. Asshole. Tenko looked sourly down at his schedule and the added papers on top of it. Apparently his sister had asked the staff to give him a list of clubs he could join this late in the year. He and Hana transferred to their new schools in the middle of fall, a really weird time but they didn’t have much of a choice. Ugh he didn’t even do clubs back home, why would she think he would now? He trudged all the way to homeroom and was met with the Class representative, a lanky boy with a split mouth and slim face. When he spoke his voice contained a slight hiss and small bumps of flesh along with extra needle-like rows of teeth shows. A snake-like quirk it seems. The boy was polite and said u anything to ask him. The only seat available was the one in the cornerback near the classroom closet. Another good thing that happened today seems, best place to pretend you're doing work and take a nap. He had a few minutes before 2nd period officially started which was physical education and all the boys were changing. Since he hadn’t gotten his uniform for that yet he was allowed to sit out or stay in the classroom. Obviously he decided to stay and the class representative went to go change himself while Tenko worked on setting up his desk to take a nap on. At the corner of his eye he spotted a strange looking teenager with bandages all over his arms and neck. His hair was black in a way that clearly looked dyed, and his eyes were almost a luminous blue. Something about him kept nagging at Tenko’s brain. He decided to just go back to minding his business and didn’t even know why some random kid caught his attention anyway. The moment every one left he  laid his head on his desk and knocked solidly out. ----- Tenko and Hana were walking home when a man with white hair stood in front of them, he smiled kindly at them and for some reason Tenko was having a hard time putting a face to this stranger or even a name. Is he new around here? Did he just move in? Tenko didn’t hear the others talking about anyone new in the neighborhood. The man was talking to them about something but Tenko can’t remember what he was saying. The words just sounded like noise. He reached out  to him with a hand but Hana put herself in front of Tenko and started screaming about a pervert and calling for help. Whatever ease Tenko had felt disappeared when she did and followed her lead bringing the attention of whatever adults in the area to them. Hearing a familiar dog-like growl, Tenko felt relief as he saw Mikkuns mother stomp up to them and the man backing up as she interrogated him on what he was doing with them. Getting vague answers she tells him she has never seen him around here before, putting her body right in front of them blocking their view of the man. The words became a blur again and whatever he said seemed to pacify her but then Mikkuns mom was leading them home. She was talking to herself, french accent thick with anger and suspicion as she was going to tell the other neighborhood parents about this. His own mom opened the door demurely as if waiting to receive bad news and apologize. It hurts Tenko to know she was already suspecting that he got in trouble for something. To her surprise and fear Mikkun’s mom was talking about how a strange man had begun talking with her children but Mikkun did not recall anyone moving in recently. She was going to ask the other mothers but warned his mom Nao to keep an eye out. They ended up receiving praise from the French woman for their quick thinking and instincts before getting head pats from her paws. She bidded them a good day before marching off intending to go warn the others parents. Mikkuns mom was pretty cool. Both kids were brought into a hug by their mom who was so happy they were okay before ushering them to the living room and rushed to go talk to grandma and grandpa. Tenko wondered why he can’t seem to recall this mans face-

“Shimura-san, Shimura-san…”Somebody was shaking him, ripping him from his memory. Tenko blearily looked up to see the class president looking down at him in concern. Shooting up from his desk thinking he slept while class came back, but was happy to see it was just the class  President there. Seeing his gym uniform showed he had come from where the class actually was to find him. “Sorry about that Shimura-san, a man had come to school saying he bought something from home that you forgot..” A shadow image of a taller man with slicked back hair and cold eyes flashed in his mind making him shudder. A wave of fear ran through him and all he could think was pain. The President looked concerned at Tenko reaching his hands out as if to prevent him from falling over but Tenko stepped out of his reach.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Who did you say came by?”He let out a shuddering breath and gathered himself in case it was who he thought it was. The President's tongue slipped out as if tasting the air before letting out a sign. “A Shirakumo Oboro? Do you wish for me to tell him you're busy? I will if you want.” That was surprising, most people wouldn’t lie to an adult so blatantly like that and not for someone else. It made Tenko feel a bit awkward but also a little happy. “No it’s fine I know who that is. Thank you….” Tenko trailed off. A flush of heat hit his cheeks once he realized he has no idea what the president’s name is. It got even worse one the other taller boy realized and laughed softly. The president led him out of the class to the front entrance. “Uroko Sogen. Now let’s hurry, there isn’t much time before the rest of the class comes back.” Making it to the door he tried not to look too surprised to see one of Hana and his new roommates, or really he should be calling them the actual tenants, here at his school. The man was on the taller side with tan skin and a scar on his head, his hair flowed around white and fluffy like a cloud even though it was pulled back into a ponytail. Blue eyes caught Tenko’s form and waved at him like an enthusiastic idiot. 

Which had the opposite effect it intended, making Tenko want to do an 180 and go back to class. “Lil Shimura-chan!” Actually never mind he’s just going to go back to class. “NO WAIT, I GOT YOUR CHARGER!”The older man screeched, panicked seeing Tenko actually maneuver to go back inside. Tenko looked confused and a little suspicious that the man came all the way here just to deliver his charger. “Hana texted me saying she forgot some things at the apartment, and that you also forgot this. I wasn’t working so-” He went to one of the multitude of pockets he had and pulled it out letting it fall gently into a confused Tenko’s waiting hands. “The first day can be rough, and from what I heard from Hana it was far from ideal for the both of ya. It ain’t much but I can take you two somehwere to eat after she’s done training? I know a place with great Sushi.”  It was a bit silent after that but Tenko felt his lips twitching into a small smile. Shirakumo didn’t have to do that, he could have just dropped off his sister's stuff and be done. It felt nice to be considered. “I think I would like that.” The smile he got from Shirakumo was downright blinding, seriously did he employ the sun into his teeth why was it so bright?! 

“Alright! I’ll leave you to it then. Have a good day Lil Shimura-san!” The older man waved at them before taking off on a cloud like a dragon ball parody character. Huh so that what his quirk was, he wonder how he implements that into his hero work- “Shimura-san class is about to start.” Tenko’s thoughts were interrupted before nodding at the boy as they went back in. He couldn’t help but squeeze the charger in his pocket, happy that some good things came out of today at the very least. They got into class and all the boys had finished changing back into their regular uniforms. His eyes caught the blued eyed black haired kid again and was shocked to find he had piercings in his ears, nose, and lip. He couldn’t believe the school even allowed that. The other kid looked up before giving him a wink flustering Tenko.

Distracted he didn’t see the small girl trying to get into class and tripped right over her knocking them both over.

Dammit he jinxed himself. Tenko quickly got up and pulled her up to her feet. She was so small for a second he could have mistaken her for a younger elementary student. Her hair was a pinkish red and she reminded him of cherub from those paintings but without the wings. “Ah I’m sorry-!” They both started and it became a babbled mess that the president broke up since they were in front of the door. The girl sat in the front seat looking down at her now dirty uniform, and Tenko winced before deciding to pay her back later for that.

The class filled in and sat around talking to each other. He tried to ignore the occasional glances his way from his new classmates and especially that bastard with the glowy eyes. A heavy knocking and the class stood up as this ridiculous amazon of a woman walked into the door. She was clearly built under her suit and skirt and looked more like she would fit in a fighting ring than she would as a teacher. Her hair long purple pink, and eyes that looked shiny and red. She looked even bigger as they sat down. “Helloooo class!”And Loud, she was very loud, it grated on Tenko’s ears a bit “Now I’m sure you all were gossiping about it during gym, but I’m a say it again anyway. We have a new classmate with us.” She looked at Tenko and invited him up and damn he hated this. He trudged along slowly to the front as the teacher clapped her hands. “Let’s make this quick, we have free time and I’m sure your classmates are excited to get to know you. Why don’t you tell everyone your name, what you like, and your quirk as an ice breaker?”

Her voice became softer as she handed him the chalk. His classmates leaned in excited to gossip or rip into him the moment he was done and Tenko felt like he was in the spotlight. He wanted to puke. It would have been fine if she didn’t mention the damn quirk thing. Tenko was hoping to avoid that a little longer. So much for good things happening, right back where he started. A familiar rage boiled inside him, or it could be the stomach acid from his anxiety. His hand shook a bit as he wrote his name down slowly trying to buy himself some time. He looked at the board hoping for some answers but got now. Resigned, he put it down and turned to his excited classmates. Sogen, Dye job with blue eyes and the small cherub girl were the only ones who looked subdued.

“I’m Shimura Tenko, I like video games and syrup covered mochi,” He took a breath and decided to rip it off like a bandaid. They would find out sooner or later anyways.

“Quirkless.”

[fancat-not-fangirl]

Flying in the Face of Danger

a/n #1: ok so I’ve decided that I’d start posting more of my writing on tumblr bc idk. I like hurt!Dean a lot, so that’s what most of it will be.

a/n #2: Speaking of hurt!Dean’s, if anyone knows any good ones where he gets hurt and either Sam or Cas is protective, please send me a link. I’m running out. I’ll take literally anything I can find. I’m desperate.

a/n #3: This is one I wrote a while ago. It’s on my ao3 and ff.net. This is more of an emotionally hurt Dean than a physical one. Whatever. The demon here is an OC. The fic is set somewhere between seasons 2-6.

Summary: For a case, Dean has to take a trip by plane. Alone

()()()()()()

This particular demon had been bothering them for a while now. Always getting in their way, making their lives much more difficult than necessary. For example, he seemed to find pleasure in sending demon assassins after them. In short, he made their lives hell.

Exorcising him meant that there was always a small chance that he could return. And they couldn’t take any chances. So Sam and Dean decided to play it safe and burn the bones.

Except the bones were in Hawaii. Of course they were in Hawaii. As if anything in their lives was ever easy.

And of course it was Dean that had to fly there because Sam chose that exact time of year to get horribly sick.

Dean had tried to reason with him. He really did. He had tried to convince Sam that Dean should stay and take care of the nose blowing snot spewing cough obsessed moose. But Sam wasn’t having any of that.

“Killing this bastard is more important than a cold,” Sam had told Dean after almost hacking his lungs out during a particularly bad coughing spell. Then, looking more pointedly at Dean, he’d continued with, “And I’m not a kid anymore Dean. I can take care of myself.”

And after days and days of arguing, Dean had relented and bought a plane ticket, flying all the way to Hawaii and back, without throwing up even once. (Or at least that’s what he’d tell Sam.) 

And now he was waiting for his luggage in the airport, still slightly nauseous from the flight but he’d never admit that.

Truth be told, the flights had scared the crap out of Dean Winchester. Back when he and Sam had exorcised that demon years ago when their dad had still been alive, at least he’d had Sam to comfort him. To make fun of him and his Metallica. To squeeze his arm when they hit an especially rough patch of clouds.

This time, all Dean had had was a lady on his right who spent the entire time talking away with her friend, and a man on his left, who seemed to hold on to the firm belief that Dean was, in fact, a pillow, and not one of the fiercest hunters in the entire Western Hemisphere.

But even the best hunters get scared. And right now Dean was terrified. The smell of the too many bodies in the plane still clogged his nose, and the soft mush that the flight had called food was fighting its way back to the surface. Dean could still feel the vibrations of the plane if he didn’t keep moving, which was why he kept up an agitating pace walking back and forth as he kept waiting and waiting for his bags. All of the people here were just as impatient as he was, eager to go home to their families, to their jobs, to their lives. 

What was Dean going home to? Stingy motel rooms, crappy diner food, hours and hours on the road, almost getting killed every few days. Dean didn’t even know if he could call that a home.

Screw this airport. He needed to get out. Soon. 

Everywhere he looked reminded him of that plane. Of the stingy old seats. Of the tiny cramped bathroom that swayed under your feet and made you nauseous. Of the horrid silence broken every few minutes by a cough or a baby’s cry. Of the endless shaking and turbulence of the plane. 

Of the hours upon hours of chilling fear of that small one in a million chance the plane could go down.

The airport seemed to dislike the fact that if it denied Dean his luggage any longer, Dean would rub two parallel lines into the floor with his pacing, so it finally gave up his bag. He would have taken it with him in carry on, but God knows he had too many guns and knives in the bag for him not to have been stopped at security. 

Grumbling to himself, Dean pushed through the crowd of people and hauled his bag off the line. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man that had used him as a pillow slumped against the wall, waiting for something or other. Hah. Dean thought. At least this time it would be the wall that had to endure the snoring, not Dean.

Following the flow of noisy people out of the terminal, Dean sighed as he realized that he would have to spend another hour or two in a taxi. He’d have to answer stupid questions like “How was your flight?” and “Where are you headed?” And he couldn’t just tell the taxi driver his location in case he was being tailed, so of course Dean would ask him to drop him off three blocks away from the motel room. That would mean another twenty minutes of walking, Dean calculated. Twenty minutes before he got to see Baby again. Before he got to their room and could take an incredibly long shower to wash the airplane out of him. Twenty minutes before he got to see Sam and breathe in that Patented Little Brother Scent that Sam always seemed to have. Dean had high hopes that the airplane musk would get flushed out with Sam’s smell. Not to mention hearing Sam’s voice. Oh how tired Dean was of the constant bickering and mumbling everywhere around him, not being able to make out what was being said but also never quite having a full moment of peace and quiet. 

Dean walked past a row of windows that opened to the line of airplanes outside. Repressing a shudder, Dean remembered the one time on his flight to Hawaii he had braved a glance outside the airplane window at the ground below, and had almost heaved up his lunch. 

The faster he got out of here the better.

The sea of people, including Dean, finally made it out to the arrival dock. He saw families launch towards their loved ones and envelop them in hugs. He saw one girl burst out crying at the sight of her boyfriend, holding up a sign that said ‘Welcome home! Will you marry me?’ Smiling softly to himself, Dean couldn’t help the sad twinge in his gut. It wasn’t quite jealousy, but definitely something akin to it. These people didn’t know how lucky they were, with their normal jobs, peaceful lives, caring families. With their homes. 

Dean shook his head and moved on. He craned his neck, looking for someone that looked like they drove a taxi. Damn it, it was just his luck that they would all be taken by the time he got out-

Dean’s eyes latched onto a sign being held high above the others. He read the word ‘JERK’ spelled out in big bold letters, and followed the arm holding it down down down to Sam’s smiling face. Sam, whose nose was red and had bags under his eyes and was definitely still sick. That didn’t stop Dean from striding over to his brother and pulling him into a quick hug. Inhaling deeply, Dean relaxed at the familiar and comforting smell of his little brother.

Sam let out a noise of surprise, but returned the embrace, coughing a bit when Dean pulled away. 

“I thought you were strictly against chick flick moments?” 

Dean grinned at the sound of Sam’s voice. He’d never admit it to Sam, but he had missed his little brother like crazy on his trip.

Giving Sam a playful shove, Dean teased, “The plane messed with my head. I thought you were Angelina Jolie.”

Sam stuck his tongue out at Dean and was about to say something else when he sneezed. He dug around in his pockets for a tissue, and gave Dean a panicked look when he couldn’t find one. Chuckling, Dean reached into his own pocket and gave Sam a tissue. One of the many Dean had for times like this; when Sam spent too much time thinking of others and not enough to think about himself. But that was alright, because Dean would always be there to think of Sam for him.

“C’mon, Sasquatch. You’re sick as a dog. Let’s get you home so I can see what crap you’ve been doing to yourself to ‘get better’ while I was away.”

“I can take care of myself, you know. I’m not a helpless five year old anymore.”

“You sure about that?”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Bitch.”

And as they left the airport side by side, it registered to Dean that he had used the word ‘home’. But at the sight of Sam’s laughing face as Dean slid into the driver’s seat of Baby and told his car how much he missed her, Dean realized that this was exactly what he was going back to. Hours and hours of driving with Sam at his side. Joking and laughing with his brother about that man that had used Dean as his personal pillow. Listening to Led Zeppelin full blast on the road, with Dean and Sam singing along. Both brothers staying up late, watching crappy motel TV.

Home.

Dean was home.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

So just for something fun, supernatural AU/crossover?

[Dear Anon, I’m not sure if you meant “supernatural” in the general sense or “supernatural” as in Supernatural the TV series, but I went with the latter.]

Their van belongs to Tobias.  The title’s in his name, anyway, even if Rachel does most of the driving.  It’s Marco, however, who paints the thing to look like the Mystery Machine.

Rachel blanches at the sight of the turquoise horror that greets her when she walks out of the motel room the next morning.  Jake grumbles about it the whole day, complaining that he’s been betrayed by Tobias’s willingness to help Marco with this monstrosity.  Now no one will take them seriously.

…which is, Marco says, the whole point.

The cops who investigate grave desecrations and destruction of property have no reason to suspect the six dumb college kids driving the garish performance piece.  The otherwise-suspicious locals tend to break their narrow-eyed glares to smile in spite of themselves when they see that van pull up outside.  The demons don’t know to be afraid — not until it’s already too late.

Anyway, it’s their home.  They stop by Marco’s parents’ roadhouse as often as they can, and they’ll spend the night at Toby’s any time they swing through Indiana.  If one of them is injured in a way impossible to explain to a civilian doc — striga claw marks, holy water burns, hex bag brands — that’s when Cassie’s mom will stitch them up with no questions asked.  But there are six sleeping bags bundled into the back of their van, and six duffels that rarely leave its trunk.  Their van has 900,000 miles on it and counting, worn places where Rachel rests her favorite rifle on the dash as Ax drives and a window seat that sags perpetually from Jake’s too-long legs jamming up against the support springs.  It’s been with them since Tobias first came to collect them, one by one (“my dad’s on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few days,” he’d said, so casual, as if they didn’t all know what that meant), and it’ll probably outlive every single one of them.

Rachel is fond of pointing out that they are, none of them, suited for desk jobs or apple-pie life.  They’re hunters, she says, and they’re better off this way.  Jake wonders, sometimes, who she’s trying to fool.

Cassie crouches to close the little girl’s eyes, fingers trembling.  The striga was done eating by the time they arrived, too late to be of any help.  M-O-L-L-Y, says the hand-painted line of flowers on the wall.  Cassie looks for a long time, before she can straighten up and move on.

Marco arches off the bed sometimes, gasping hard like it’s him the kelpie dragged under the waves.  Like he’s the one who went down, sailboat and all, to drown in the cold depths of the Pacific.  He becomes too bright and too loud and a little too mean, any time they find themselves dealing with a water demon or a ghostly possession.

Jake enters the first four, first five, sometimes the first nine digits of his aunt’s phone number, on burners and payphones and Michelle’s secure lines.  He never gets all the way, never actually asks anyone to let Rachel come home, and he’s never even tempted where his own parents are concerned.

“What’d you get for it?”  Cassie’s voice is hard-edged with anger in a way that Marco has never heard before.  He doesn’t bother to ask how she knows.  That tiny touch of psychic, mostly on her father’s side, means that she was always going to figure it out.

“Three years,” he says, offering her his smoothest smile.

Cassie stares at Marco.  Both of her hands are fisted in the hem of her flannel, trembling slightly.  Her lips are pressed into a tight line.

“You know what?”  Marco laughs, the sound more desperate than he means it to be.  “That was far more than the demon wanted to offer, even for a top-shelf soul like this one.  I drive a hard bargain.”

Cassie continues to look at him, until he feels himself shrinking in his seat.  “What did you get for it?” she asks again, still not asking about the time.

Peter called today.  For nearly an hour he chattered so much — about the roadhouse, about the new dog, about the wedding in July — that Marco could barely get a word in edgewise.  Marco’s not sure about this Nora person, or he wasn’t at first, but Peter smiles every time he sees her or even says her name.  The first smiles Marco’s seen, the first complete sentences he’s heard, since the Coast Guard knocked on their door and asked them to sit down.

What’s dead should stay dead.  After five years in the business, Marco knows that much.  His mother is gone.  But happiness… even a lifetime’s worth… that doesn’t have to be out of reach.  Not for Peter.  Even if it does come with a toy poodle and an excess of algebra.

Marco pushes to his feet.  “None of your business,” he says.  “It’s my soul, and I’ll do what I want with it.”

He honestly doesn’t know what Cassie has in mind when she stands and crosses over to him.  Not until she grabs him in a hug so fierce it hurts, squeezing her whole body around him.  “I’m getting you out of this,” she promises.  “I don’t care what it takes, I’m not letting them collect.”

Ax was never even supposed to be on the mission to retrieve Marco’s soul from hell.  He tells them that a lot, that he was the only cherub included in the entire garrison of seraphim on what was supposed to be a milk run, an easy first mission just to get his wingtips wet.

He wasn’t supposed to be the only survivor.  He certainly wasn’t supposed to rebel mere months later when ordered to cut out Tobias’s heart to complete a cosmic ritual.

But then, lots of things that weren’t supposed to happen have happened anyway.  Marco was never supposed to die facedown in the half-frozen mud of a South Dakota ghost town.  No righteous man was ever supposed to reach the gates of hell, breaking the first seal as Taylor’s claws broke the surface of his soul.

Aftran is supposed to be helping her overlords do their best to destroy the earth right now, not assisting humanity’s rebellion against angels and demons alike.  Jake is supposed to be at home with his parents, not wanted by the FBI for his brother’s murder and a dozen corpse mutilations.

For that matter, “hasn’t been home in a few days” was supposed to mean that Tobias’s dad was “dead or worse,” not “forcibly called back to heaven to help set up the apocalypse, ‘cause turns out he left out a few crucial fucking details when explaining my family history.”

“…draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te!” Rachel recites.  And then waits, arms crossed, holy water at the ready.

Jake’s mouth curls.  “Okay, we’ve got the Catholic bullshit out of the way.  Now do you believe me?”  Two fingertips drum against the arm of the chair to which he’s tied.

Tobias looks over at Rachel.  Neither of them makes a move to break the devil’s trap.  “What the fuck are you?” Rachel demands at last, feeling her patience fray.

Jake’s shoulder lifts in a half-shrug.  “A high school dropout with six bucks to his name?”

“And severe cataracts?”  Rachel flicks more holy water at Jake; it continues to do nothing.  “We saw your eyes flash white.  Cut the crap.”

“Or what?”  Something subtle shifts in Jake’s voice, becoming rough and cold.  “You’ve killed enough of your cousins for a lifetime, don’t you think?  And Tobias…”  The thing under Jake’s skin runs his tongue over his teeth.  “I know what you and this one get up to in the dark.  Either way, I’m guessing neither one of you is ready to hurt this precious meat—”

Wham! The chair back slams to the floor.  Rachel’s knee is pressed into Jake’s chest.  Her knife blade digs into his throat.  “Guess again,” she snarls.

“Rachel!”  Tobias’s warning comes too late.  Partway loose now, the demon gestures, flinging Rachel across the room.  Jake’s body pulls free from the broken chair, motions not quite human.  Turning, the demon spots Tobias.  It draws itself up.  And up.

Jake’s eyes go white with shock when the thing inside him realizes it has lifted clear off the floor.  That it cannot move his arms or legs.  His mouth opens; there’s an abortive motion as it struggles to escape the meatsuit that now entraps it.

Tobias’s right hand is raised.  His eyes shine with a radiance entirely different from the sickly, jaundiced shield over Jake’s.  The light surrounding Tobias seems to come from everywhere at once, and yet it all shines on him, throwing the wings of his silhouette into sharp relief against the far wall.

“What are you?” the thing inside Jake asks, half-strangled.

“Been asking that question for twenty-three years, pal,” Tobias says.  Blood trickles from his nose.  His hand trembles slightly.  His eyes are steady.  “Guess we’re in the same boat, because I’ve never seen anything like you either.”

Jake’s lips pull back from his teeth, grimace or smile.  “I am what happens when a demon eats an angel.  Swallowed him up, grace and all, and now I’m a Knight of Hell.  And now I’m starting to think that before that happened, Elfangor might’ve got busy while he was here on Earth.”  It leers.  “So naughty, that one.”

Tobias squeezes his hand inward.  Jake’s body convulses, yellow-white flashing under his skin.

“Wait, wait—”  The thing gasps air.  “I can give you power, information, revenge, I can give you—”

“I want my father back, you son of a bitch.”  Tobias closes his hand.  Light flares, sharp enough to blind.  With it comes the unearthly scream of angelic power.

When their vision clears, Rachel and Tobias find Jake — just Jake — kneeling on the floor.  He’s swaying in shock where he stares up at Tobias.  “Did we know you could do that?” Jake asks, voice sandpaper-raw.

“I’m gonna vote ‘no,’” Rachel says, looking at Tobias’s flabbergasted expression.

“Okay, cool, still badass.”  Jake slumps sideways; Tobias lunges to catch him before he hits the floor.  “I’mma take a nap… for the next eighteen hours or so… then we can figure this all out later.”

“It’ll scar, won’t it,” Rachel says, watching Cassie’s neat row of stitches press into her leg as if it belongs to someone else.  She’s not bothered, she doesn’t think.  It’s not that she thinks scars are cool, or that they’ll impress anyone.  Marco will flutter his eyelashes and swoon when he sees it, of course, but that’s about all the reaction she’ll get, all the reaction she’ll want.  She doesn’t think scars make her tough, or that they make her ugly.  They’re proof, and that’s what she hates and loves about them.  Proof that she’s still alive.  Proof of what she’s been through and yet survived.  Proof that you should see the other guy, only of course there’s no seeing him, because he — it — is always ashes on the ground.

“Tobias?” Mr. Feyroyan says, and Tobias stops at the door.  He’s pleasantly surprised to be remembered, given that he attended this high school for a few months at most.  “Did you ever get out?” Mr. Feyroyan asks.  “Make your own life, the way you said wanted to do?”

Tobias considers talking about the five semesters of college he managed before the same things that’ve been chasing him his entire life caught up to him.  Considers explaining that he understands, now, why they had to move so often and why his dad had to be away so much of the time.  Considers admitting that the family business pulled him in, the way it was always going to do.

Considers the traces of ectoplasm still embedded under his nails from the ghost possession this morning.

“I help people where I can,” Tobias says, because at least that much is true.  “And this life isn’t so bad.  Not as long as you’ve got people willing to live it with you.”

Ax wasn’t raised to doubt.  He was raised to be a warrior.  The right hand of God.  Absolute.  Unquestioning.  Wrathful.  He was raised to fight and die in the war against the demons and forces of darkness.  Not to make decisions on his own, with no one to guide him.

“Is it a sin,” Cassie asked him once, “to want to know the truth?”

She believes in him, the way that she’s meant to.  The way that he’s meant to believe in Jake, in God, in the righteousness of heaven.  That doesn’t stop her from asking questions of them all.

Humans are pitiful, evanescent beings.  Earthly and evil.  Half-clay, half-spirit, and the clay half usually wins.  Aximili is supposed to demand their respect, to tell them be not afraid as they quail before him.  He is not supposed to let them shorten his name and feed him pecan pie and show him soap opera marathons.

It’s hard to remember that, sometimes, when he and Rachel exchange a bumping of fists over an annihilated vampire nest.  When Marco lifts yet another bottle down from the bar, wait’ll you try this one.  When he watches his nephew curl an invisible-intangible wing around Jake’s body where they sit at the edge of a reservoir, as if Michael’s sword is not a mere empty vessel but a precious and unique soul, worthy of being treasured.

“An angel, a demon, a nephilim, and their pet humans walk into a bar!” Marco announces loudly.  It has the desired effect, which is to say that Nora lowers the shotgun she grabbed the instant Euclid started barking at their approach.

Still in the front entrance of the roadhouse, Marco and Euclid exchange their usual greetings of polite mutual loathing.  Even Marco can’t deny that the little monster has his uses, when it comes to smelling unclean things.

Aftran seems solid enough, mostly.  But Marco thinks sometimes he can detect a hint of what Euclid smells coming off her: sulfur, smoke, the occasional unsavory whiff of little Karen’s body rotting around the corpse-animating creature within.

Nora thunks half a dozen shot glasses on the bar, pouring holy water-laced whiskey as she goes.  That’s for the humans, and Tobias.

“What’ll it be for you, Precious Moments?” Nora asks, using Marco’s nickname for Ax.

Ax refrains from pointing out for the four millionth time that being a fallen cherub doesn’t mean that his true form bears any resemblance to porcelain figurines, and instead sits at the bar.  “I would like the usual, if you please,” he intones.

Chuckling, Nora reaches down a bottle of Cinnabon Pinnacle.

Jake swallows his shot quickly, grimacing at the taste of the silver-lined glass.  “Does Peter have anything for us yet?”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Jake,” Nora says.  “I’m doing well, thanks for asking.  Have you killed any monsters since we last spoke?”

Chastised, Jake settles over his second drink.

“There are new omens, of course.”  Nora slides a plate of fries and a glass of whiskey — sans holy water — toward Aftran.  “All up and down the U.S.  The pattern isn’t holding anymore, or it’s just gotten so dense it can’t be detected.  Almost like…”

“It’s the end of the world?” Marco suggests.

She smiles grimly.  “Almost.  Funny, you noticed that too?”

Marco likes Nora, mostly because she doesn’t try to mother him.

“Let’s get to it, if that’s all right with you.”  Jake sets his glass on the bar.  “World’s not gonna save itself, after all.”

Marco runs off row after row of glossy badges, engraved name tags, exquisitely forged shields.  Only to have Ax present them upside-down, wide-eyed and utterly clueless.  Only to have Cassie drop the act and start telling the truth the millisecond she thinks a witness or victim has half a chance of believing them.  He’s not even sure why he hangs around with these numbskulls.  Probably because they’d be lost without him.

“Would you have made a good lawyer, you think?” Jake asks.

He and Tobias are sitting at the lip of an open grave, splitting a beer as they wait for the bones to burn down enough to fill the dirt back in.  Their shoulders touch, which is the most affection they ever show, really, living out of each other’s pockets as much as the six of them do.

That’s probably why Jake thought to ask.  Because this is the closest they ever come to having a real date: watching bones burn.  Jake’s already on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, and Tobias is wanted by forces a hell of a lot scarier than mere law enforcement, so they tend to be the ones to risk racking up an entirely moot number of grave desecration charges while the others clean up the rest of the hunt.

“Probably not, no,” Tobias says.  “You’re always telling me I see too many sides of every story.  That would’ve made me a crap lawyer, even if…”

Even if he wasn’t a walking grimoire of spare parts.  He’s gone through the lore in Cassie’s family’s bunker, enough to know what all those demons and angels are after.  A vial of his blood can grant a few hours of invulnerability to harm.  A drop of his grace can open an interdimensional rift.  Cut his heart out and you can close heaven itself.  Stuff an angel inside him, and the resultant being could create and destroy universes with a wave of the hand.

“You could get out, you know,” Jake says.  “Now that you can protect yourself.”

Laughing, Tobias shakes his head.  “Cassie,” he counters.  “Cassie could get out.”

“Cassie will get out.  Just as soon as she figures out a different way to help, one that involves less hurting.”  Jake’s confidence probably isn’t even misplaced.  Cassie’s the one with the clean record, the sane outlook, the skills she can actually put on a résumé.  She’s not like the rest of them, dragged into this life because of one tragedy or another.  “I have hope for Rachel too.”

Tobias hmmms.  That one, he’s not so sure.  Rachel’s record is clean, yes, if only because everyone from the cops to the surviving Berensons believes that it was Jake who pulled the trigger on Tom.  “Rachel thrives in this life,” he says.

“If she would just freaking call her mom, get a little help getting set up…”  Jake makes a gesture of frustration.  He went to prison to protect his cousin, only to have her break him out and them both end up living full-time to hunt things like the one that took Tom.

“Marco’s headed for semi-retirement already, you watch.”  Tobias changes the subject, because he’s a coward.

That one catches Jake by surprise, causing him to twist around.  “You sure about that?”

“Semi-retirement.”  Tobias takes a long pull of the beer, passing it back.  Their fingers overlap, then lace together, as they talk.  “Like what my mom had.”

“She was a hunter?”

“She was the director of the FBI,” Tobias says, smiling at the memory.  “On the phone, anyway.  She went blind some time before I was born — got a few guesses, now, as to how that happened.”

Jake grimaces.  He’s seen for himself what happens when a human looks at the unshielded grace of an angel as powerful as Elfangor.

“So that took her out of field work, and she switched to working the phones full-time.”  Tobias tilts his head back, remembering the long row of landlines and cells, the raised bumps of the Braille labels for insurance investigators, Homeland Security, even MI5.  “Did that until I was seven, which is when…”  When someone came looking for spare nephilim parts.  Tore her to pieces instead.

“I stand corrected,” Jake says at last.  “Marco would make an excellent full-time bullshit artist.”

Tobias chuckles.  “And Ax?  Now that he’s all… locked out of heaven?”

“Your taste in music is a crime, you know that?”  Jake doesn’t answer the question, which is an answer in itself.

Tobias knew he shouldn’t have asked.  There’s no future for fallen angels or freak-of-nature nephilim or alleged career criminals.  Not in the private sector anyway.

“So.  You, me, and Ax-Man, huh?” Tobias says.  “‘til the end of the world?”

Jake levers himself to his feet with a grunt of effort.  “That doesn’t sound so bad.”  He pulls Tobias up; they lean into each other against the cold graveyard air.

“No.”  Tobias takes a breath.  Lets himself feel Jake: fragile, human, warm.   “Doesn’t sound bad at all.”

[rickstexaschick]

Random Picks, Chapter 5:  Coach Sanchez, Part 1

You have to satisfy your PE credit before you can graduate. You thought this would be an easy option...

It was in the mid-90s when I went back to college to finish my degree, having taken the "long route" path through life to get there.  A few years working at different fast food restaurants, then worked my way up through management at a retail clothing store at the mall...  I even tried being the assistant to a family photographer -- who turned out to be less than family oriented in his handling of his employees...

"No" apparently didn't mean "no" to him; and the whole "Me Too" movement wouldn't happen for another 20 years.

Finally, even I had to agree with my patient and long-suffering parents and admit that I was getting to Nowheresville fast.  So, I went back to school, taking mostly night classes wherever possible while working full time during the day, until I was down to the final semester, getting ready to register for those last few courses and then I'd be done.  That's when my advisor told me that I wouldn't graduate without completing the 2 hour physical education requirement.

Christ.  28 years old and I still had to do Phys Ed?!  It was so fucking stupid.  I scanned the listing for the less-strenuous courses -- archery? bowling?  Nothing held any appeal for me whatsoever.  I still had a week or so to come to a decision and was sitting in the Commons area.  I was “Slamming and Cramming,” which was basically slamming coffee and doing some last minute cramming for a final exam.  I overheard 2 students talking about their racquetball class.

Ooh!  Racquetball.  I'd missed seeing that on the listing.  I tuned out the students' remaining conversation and pulled out my worn and tattered copy of the next semester's course listings.  Quickly flipping to the PE section---sure enough, there were 2 different classes offered.  I had to pick the late one at 6pm, which would give me an hour break at the end of my work shift.  Yuck, a PE class at 6pm.  Oh well, it would have to do.

Fortunately I come from what you would call a Racquetball Fanatic Family.  Other families did tennis or golf, ours was racquetball.  My dad had gotten really into it, when it first became popular, and for a number of years he participated in semi-pro tournaments.  Then he became a rep for one of the bigger equipment companies.  My older brother did even better and started playing in junior tournaments when he was 15, then turned pro at 18 and continued doing it for years.  Not that that was a lucrative thing, but still...  Then he, too, took a job as a rep with the same company as my dad.

I dabbled in it, playing in junior tournaments here and there while I was in high school, but I wasn't as good as my brother or my dad, or maybe it just didn't appeal to me as much.  And I didn't really want to travel around selling sporting equipment.  So, that was my racquetball story.  At least now it would pay off, and this would be an easy "A."

The semester ended and the new one started.  I was standing in a long line at the textbook store, waiting to check out when a guy standing in the line next to me happened to see the slim, used copy of "Handbook to Racquetball" on the top of my stack of books.

"Racquetball, huh?  Too bad you have to get Coach Sanchez this semester."

"Never heard of him," I said, hoping to avoid a long, drawn out conversation about some evil-tempered asshole.  So often these types of stories had no basis in fact, were more Urban Legend than anything. The scary calculus professor who failed everyone, or the female English professor who would sleep with 1 or 2 of her male students and would let them miss every class and still give them A's.

"He came out of retirement to coach this semester.  The regular coach was in a bad accident over Christmas."

We shuffled closer to the check-stands.

"You seem to know a lot about it," I said, finding my curiosity growing.  At least, the accident story sounded interesting.  I can rubberneck along with the best of them when it comes to passing a car pile-up on the road.

"I'm a Kinesiology Major — that's Phys Ed.  Gonna be a professional trainer when I finish," he said proudly, swelling himself up, holding his stomach in and puffing his chest out.  The guy looked the type---all bulky muscle, tanned, confident.  Probably more muscle than brains, like so many jocks.  He adjusted the heavy stack of books in his arms and continued.

"We heard all about Coach Radcliff's car accident -- he almost died.  Anyway, the way I heard, this guy Sanchez was pro for long time.  Taught here for a few years, then disappeared.  That was a while back.  Not the easiest guy to get along with, is what they say.  Kind of an asshole."

Huh, I thought.  I'd never heard of anyone with the last name of Sanchez, and the Racquetball World wasn't exactly huge...   We each stood in silence after that.  I paid for my books -- Holy Crap, these damn things were expensive.  If only I would actually read them...maybe I'd have better grades.

The first day of class came and I was running late from work, of course.  Story of my life...  The course listing said that the first 3 or 4 classes would start in the classroom setting, so at least I wouldn't make myself any later by having to run into the locker room to change first.  I opened the door to the classroom and was grateful when I realized that the door was in the back of the room -- so no "walk of shame" past everyone and the professor, interrupting the lecture.

I slipped into a desk at the end of a row as quietly as possible.  The room was long and narrow and there was a tall guy sitting in front of me.  I couldn't see the front without leaning past him and halfway out in the aisle, which I sure as hell wasn't going to do -- no need to draw anymore attention to myself.

"We-urp-ell.  It l-l-looks like our star player, our celebrity has finally fuckin' arrived..."   The man's voice was deep, rough.  And sounded very annoyed.  I looked around to see who'd come in behind me and realized to my horror that he meant me.

Oh shit.  Please don't let this class, my last semester, be like this...  Everyone in the room was looking at me.  I felt my face burning and tried to slide down a little in my chair.

The guy in front of me had turned around sideways in his seat to look at me, giving me a clear view of the man at the front of the class.  He was tall, lean, with a shock of blue-grey hair sticking out from his head in unruly waves.  Like he didn't own a hairbrush.  Even from the back of the classroom I could see his blue eyes piercing me.  Damn!  He was fucking sexy!  I sucked my breath in and felt myself growing wet.

He frowned.  "N-n-nice of you to join us.  Y-y-you didn't feel the need to change?"

I looked around and realized, to my horror again, that everyone was in shorts and t-shirts and had their racquets.

"Um, sir," my voice croaked and I had to clear my throat and start again.  "The course listing said that the first few lectures would be in the classroom.  So I thought..."  I trailed off lamely.

"Th-Then you thought wrong.  Go change.  Meet us on the courts.  Everyone else, let's (urp) go."

I gathered up my things and headed for the locker room, my face still burning with embarrassment.  How was it that I'd made this mistake, that everyone else knew to be in work-out clothes?  Then I stopped in my tracks at the entrance to the locker room, my hand on the door.  I didn't have any work-out clothes with me.  I wasn't expecting to need any yet.  Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.  Now what?

I turned around and went to the racquetball courts.  Coach Sanchez was trailing up the rear, the students having disappeared around a corner, and I caught up to him.

"Coach, I don't have anything with me.  I wasn't expecting to play today.  I'm sorry."

"Hhmmph."  He refused to look down at me, barely acknowledged that I'd said anything.  He continued walking, his long legs taking great strides and I struggled to keep up, taking two steps to his one.  We got to the wing of the building with the courts, everyone was standing around, waiting for instructions.  Coach paired everyone up and sent them off to the courts.  He turned and looked down at me.

"Go wait for me -- go up on the gallery."

Some racquetball courts are designed with the rear wall made of plexiglass, so observers can watch.  But being a classroom setting, this facility's courts were regular walled, with a viewing gallery on the second level so that the coach could look down on the various games and call out instructions.

I went up to the second level and set my things down in the corner.  I peered down onto the first court and watched two students clumsily knock the ball around.  I went from court to court and saw that this pretty much was the caliber of all the students in the class.  I ended up above court #9 and watched two guys hitting the ball wildly, laughing at themselves.  The tenth court was empty.

"This group f-f-fucking sucks."  He was standing right next to me and I nearly jumped out of my skin.  "Can't believe they talked -- talked me into this shit."  He pulled a metal flask from the hip pocket of his shorts and unscrewed the cap then took a deep pull.  His long fingers were wrapped around the flask, his other hand rested on the rail, his fingers taping it lightly.  I stared at them and wondered what they would feel like on my body...  He offered the flask to me, nudging my arm.  "Want some?"

"Uh, no thanks..."  I was pretty sure it wasn't Gatorade in that flask.  He stood uncomfortably close to me and I began to breathe quickly.  Occasionally he'd lean into me, on the pretense of craning his head down into the court below to watch a player, but he didn't immediately move away afterwards.  Soon he stayed pressed up against me.  His skin was warm and I started to feel wetness and heat bloom between my legs as the skin of his arm continued to rub against mine.  Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and took a careful sideways step away from him.  I could feel his eyes on me, but I kept my gaze steadfastly downward, pretending to watch the game below.

"Hhmmph," he chuckled.  "All r-r-right.  You can take off -- you can go.  Be here, be back Thursday, fucking on time and ready to -- you're gonna play for me."  He looked me up and down, smirking.

I stammered a goodbye, thanking him, then gathered my things and left.  My legs were so weak I nearly tripped down the stairs.

When I got to my car and started the engine, I had to sit there for a few minutes, waiting for the throbbing in my pussy to go away.  God, what was it about this man that made me so fucking horny?  Everything about him screamed "drunken lech" but all I could think about was him fucking me.  I wanted to reach down and rub my clit, finger fuck myself right there.  I took a quick look around the parking lot and didn't see anyone.  Coast clear.  Being winter, it was already dark out...should be safe enough.

I reached a hand down inside my pants and leaned over the steering wheel to hide myself.  Then I slowly rubbed my clit, thinking a quick orgasm would ease my tension before I drove home.  Reaching further, I pressed two fingers deep inside and began to stroke, thinking about his tall body, those elegant, long fingers...I was breathing heavily and sweating, I felt myself coming close --

A hard rapping on the driver's side window brought me back to reality and I yanked my hand out of my pants but stayed bent over the steering wheel.  Oh my God, here I was, caught masturbating in a school parking lot by the campus police.  What the fuck had I been thinking?!  I was too afraid to look up, but then the hand rapped on the window again.  I turned my head and it was Coach Sanchez.  He motioned for me to roll the window down.

"Y-you left without the -- without a copy of the syllabus."  His eyes gleamed and his smirk was positively lecherous.  He looked down at my hand where I had it down on the seat and I imagined that my fingers were dripping with my juices.  I was mortified.  I wanted to melt down into the floor boards of my car.

"L-L-Looks like you, uh, you could use some help there."

I cleared my throat, "Um, no.  I'd dropped my ID under the seat.  Was just trying to find it..."  It was such a blatant lie.  I couldn't look him in the face.

"Uh huh.  Here."  He leaned into the window and handed a copy of the syllabus in to me.  I could smell the faint odor of liquor on his breath.  "I let those fools out -- I let class out early.  Wanna get a drink?"

Now I really was mortified.  My coach had caught me masturbating in the car...Surely he knew I was thinking of him, and now he was asking me out for a drink?  My mind raced.  I can't say that I wasn't tempted...There was something about him.  Duh.  Obviously.  But, no.  I'd already had one affair with a professor.  It ended badly.  His wife had found out about us.  Threatened to have me kicked out of school -- but this would have ended her husband's career, so fortunately she didn't say anything.  I couldn't put myself through that again.

"Thank you, Coach Sanchez, but I worked all day and I'm really tired.  I think I'll just head home."

"Tired, huh?  D-d-don't let that be your -- affect your performance in the future."  He straightened up and stepped away from the door, rapping on the roof twice with his knuckles.  "See you -- see you on Thursday."

Grateful at finally being released, I rolled up the window and backed out and drove away.  I looked in my rearview mirror.  He remained in the same spot, watching my car until I turned down the row of the parking lot.

tbc

This was originally posted on Archive of Our Own:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15708732/chapters/36759801

[seljepw]

Over the Hills and Far Away- Pt. 6

The Road So Far: The reader, Bobby's adopted daughter, has magical powers, but nobody knows why.  One day, She and Dean wake up in a suburban house just outside of Lawrence, with no memory of how they got there.  As they investigate, they discover that Bobby is alive, Sam is living with Sarah (we met her back in season one, remember?  she died, too.), and the world has been cleansed of all supernatural things.  Looking for answers, they travel to Cas's new home, but instead of the angel-turned-human, they find a woman named Celine.  Who turned out to not be a friend.

A/N: You guys are amazing.  Thank you for the renewed interest in this series.  I think you've earned some answers. Just, you know, not all of them.  Not just yet.

Word Count: 1,136

From Last Time:

She was still beautiful, but now it wasn’t in a human way at all; it was more in a force-of-nature way.  The way a hunting lion is beautiful.  Or the shape of lightning.  Deadly and unstoppable.  Her eyes were more tilted, huge, and glowing orange.  Her skin had gone pure white, and her cheekbones jutted out underneath, as though her bones were made of shards of glass.  Her hair and dress seemed to drift on a breeze that touched only her.  Her ears were long and pointed, and tipped in black.  The same black stained the tips of her fingers, which now resembled claws and were tapping contentedly on the table in front of her.

“Got you,” she purred, in a low, soft voice, and smiled, revealing a row of very sharp looking teeth.

Now:

A table full of startled hunters is an interesting thing.  Especially if it’s a group that’s been working together for the better part of two decades.  It’s less like a traditional family, and more like a pack of deadly animals.  You all moved in unison, leaping out of your chairs and drawing weapons from their hiding places; waistbands, boots, back pockets, and sleeves.  As one, you pivoted to face the threat that was sitting calmly in a battered cane back chair, smiling up at you like an indulgent mother.

“Bless,” Celine chuckled.  Then she moved one clawed hand, as though she was snatching a butterfly out of the air.  Or yanking the leash of an unruly dog.  “Sit.” she snarled.  

You were all shoved back into your chairs by an unseen force.  Your hands- still grasping their respective weapons- were lashed to the table by invisible bonds.  Bobby glowered at your captor with murder in his eyes.  Sam was breathing heavily through his nose.  Sarah’s Face was pulled into a grimace, as though she was struggling, but she couldn’t seem to move at all.

“What the hell did you do to us, lady?  What was in that pie?” Snarled Dean.

Celine whipped her head around to face him, as though she couldn’t have been more surprised if one of the chairs had spoken.  Then her eyes flitted between you and Dean, and grew thoughtful.  

“Interesting…” she mused, leaning forward and examining Dean like an entomologist inspecting a new variety of insect.  Then- before you could really register any movement- she was beside him, swinging one of her clawed hands at his face.

“DEAN!” You screamed, struggling against the magic that held you.  But there was nothing to worry about.  Celine’s hand stopped inches from Dean’s left eye, repelled by a flash of gold light.  Dean hissed and jerked forward as though he had been burned by the back of his chair.  You shot a glance to Bobby, Sam, and Sarah.  They were completely Immobile.  Whatever Celine had done to your family, it affected you and Dean less than the others.  Celine seemed to have realized this, too, and it amused her.

“Oh, but this is too delicious!” She chuckled, turning her fanged smile to you. “You Claimed him?  You silly thing.  Who knew you had that much power?” Her smile disappeared. “Not that it will save you or your pet, in the end,”  She spat the word ‘pet’ as though it were some kind of disgusting bodily function. “You’ve eaten our food.  You are Bound.”

That stopped you cold.  Faeries could trap people in their realm by feeding them Fae food.  It all made sense, now.  

“You’re a faerie,” you choked out the words past a lump of terror in your throat.  “We’re in the land of Faerie?!”

Celine’s lip curled up in a derisive smile.  “Took you long enough to work that out. That’ll be your mother’s side of things, I should think.  Slow human brains.”

“My mother?”  Your head was spinning- it was like your mind was unlocking, but so many tumblers falling into place at once disoriented you.

Celine smiled again and leaned forward, bracing one hand on the table between you and Dean, and bringing her face level with yours.

“Why, my dear child.  I should think you’d have figured it out by now. You’re really beginning to bore me.”

That was the last straw.  You had had enough of her smug half-answers.  You were done being jerked around.  You strained even harder against your magical bonds and met Celine’s glare head-on.

“Ok, lady,” you snarled, “Enough foreplay.  Who the fuck are you?  And how do you know anything about me, my mother, or my power?”

Celine giggled, using one clawed finger to brush a lock of hair off of your forehead and tuck it behind your ear.

“Silly girl.  I’m your faerie godmother.”

You stared- thunderstruck- at Celine for a long moment.  

“Come again?” Dean’s voice floated up from behind her, where he was still pinned in his chair.  Celine straightened up and swung around to face him.

“Her faerie godmother, I said,” She swept regally back to the head of the table, settled herself once more into the cane back chair, and with an imperious wave of her hand, released the bonds on you all.  

“Not so fast, old man,” Celine pointed one claw at Bobby, who had braced his hands on the table, preparing to rise to his feet. “Our business here needn’t include violence.  I am simply discharging my obligations to the girl,” this last statement included a nod at you.  Bobby settled back into his seat, glowering.  No one, you saw, had let go of their weapons.

“I don’t know if you've noticed, lady,” you scoffed, “but I’m not really in the market for glass slippers and a poofy dress, so cut the crap.  What’s your deal?”

“To ensure your safe delivery to your proper place.  Which you would have known, if you hadn’t been stolen by this troglodyte,” her orange eyes flashed at Bobby, “and hidden from us for so many years.”

“Her proper place is with us,” Sam said darkly.  “She’s our family, not yours.”  Strangely, that one statement from your ‘brother’ meant more than you could express.  Dean’s knee pressed against yours, grounding you further.  You began to draw measured breaths again, your hammering heart rate slowing a little.  

“I assure you, little boy, she is my family.  She is the offspring of my brother,” said Celine.

That knocked the wind out of you all over again.  You had never known your biological father.  After Bobby had saved you, he had become your dad.  He had become everything.  Until you met the Winchesters, that is.

“So...” you croaked, unable to resist asking, “who is my father?”

“His Name is his own, and not yours to know.  All you do need to know is that he is a prince of the Sidhe,” stated Celine proudly.

“The ‘she’?” Asked Dean, his lip curling in confusion.

“The Sidhe, you stupid ape,” snarled Celine, somehow managing to make the word sound different, even though it was in fact pronounced ‘she’. “The ruling class of the Fae.  Your owner is a noblewoman, however loosely that term applies.” She flicked her eyes over you in a disgusted glance.  

You and Dean began talking at the same time.

“My owner?  Look here, bitch-”

“I’m sorry- are you telling me I’m a freakin’ faerie princess?”

“Of course not, girl,” snapped Celine (she ignored Dean completely).  “You are only half Fae.  Your birth was a necessary abomination.  Your cow mother never even knew what you are.  Or what you were born to be.”

You felt your cheeks flush, despite yourself.  “What was I born to be, then?”

“The Tithe to Hell, of course.”

~~~~~~

Tune in next week to figure out what the fuck is going on!

Tags: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @raelady1184, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @icecream-and-gadreel, @singingphoenix, @deevoon, @aprofoundbondwithdean, @mrsgabrieltrickster, @emilyymichelle

[shotsbytheprince-blog]

I hate the weather in Las Vegas. I'm from the Great White North, Canada. The hottest our summers have ever gotten was 35 degrees celsius. So when I stepped out of the airport into 44, oh man I was sweating bullets. And to have a consistent hell-like weather with the sun beating down like a truck...well I just wasn't having it. We still went out and enjoyed what Las Vegas had to offer but not without sweat and teaes trailing our way home. And you could NOT imagine how much we sweat walking from The Stratosphere Hotel towards The Smith Centre. If it wasn't for one of my closest friends performing, you can bet I wouldn't have made the 40 odd minutes walk. We did and I'm glad we did. But I'm getting a bjt ahead of myself, let me start after getting off the plane. This was my first time going to Las Vegas with just friends. I went with two of my closer friends, David and Anthony. Although Anthony insisted that his performance was just a gateway to get us to Las Vegas, David and I knew it was our sole purpose to help and support our brother out. So we hopped out our second plane. The first flight was mediocre, the second had movies and I watched Beauty and the Beast pretty much all through the flight. My buddy David and I heard stories of our airline-which-shall-not-be-named losing luggage. The relief and grief I felt when I saw the pink shoe string tied luggage bag was insurmountable. I overpacked, and if I lost everything then oh boy was I screwed. So now we were waiting for our welcome party, a.k.a Anthony's dad. Although I've known him for years, I've never met his parents. Seeing Anthony as a cool, happy, easy-going guy made me feel at ease. Then meeting his dad, I understand where he gets all this from. Anthony's dad, Tony, is a very nice guy. Down to earth, open minded, and funny down to the bone. We had been worried about what we'd do for food and the first thing he told us was "you can come to our hotel whenever you guys are hungry." HALLELUJAH! Praise the heavens because that just saved us a ton of money. We went to their hotel first thing and has the best rice and chicken I've ever had. Or maybe it was free or great news to have these meals. Our hotel wasn't far from them. It was about a ten minute walk and it was worth it for food...even in this heat. So we went to check in at our hotel. Oh man it looked so good from the outside. An observation deck, different sets of elevators, a diner, a starbucks, and a really good lookong fine dining restaurant. Then we got into our room. The happiness was flushed from our face and it was replaced with confusion. Oh, at first glance the room looked like any other hotel room. Which shouldn't be, or isn't, the case for hotels in Vegas. Pros, the beds were comfy, there was a washroom, and a television. Cons, our view was a wall, the lights flickered waaay too much when first turned on,   shitty floor, shitty channels, shitty outlets, we saw this one trailer about addiction almost every commercial break and it was incredibly dark, and the wifi was complete and utter shit. Granted, the room was free and it was just a place to sleep. The wifi was a problem for us because two of us are content creators and we wanted to upload while we were there. The only reason we spent so much time in that room was because it was incredibly hot. We went out for food, to look for places to take photos, to go to the outlets, and our friend's performance. Don't get me wrong, we did enjoy Vegas. We took a lot of photos, and the Strip was a great experience. We found some gem spots to do a shoot, found some great deals (even with the conversion rate), and found some culture in the back ends we were in. The Las Vegas was just as flashy as movies portrayed them. We didn't gamble, but we did get to enjoy what everything had to offer. From shows and locations like Venice and Paris, to the flamingo conservation and seeing flamingos for the first time in my life. But we never fell into the Sin-like lifestyle of Vegas. Call us squares or lame but we are more scenic or in-the-moment people.   Throughout our whole vacation, Anthony had rehearsals. So he'd leave early and come back late at night. We'd have time to hang out and talk, but most of the trip was just David and I. Nothing wrong with that, it was fun. And we wanted Anthony to perform his best and blow everyone's mind. So here comes Saturday. The day of Anthony's performance. He was up at 7 and left before any of us got up because we went to the Strip the night before. David and I spent the morning working on our crafts, his was a video and I was sorting through photographs. We had to be at the Smith Center by 3pm so we had a lot of time to kill. We didnt really do much, but we got distracted and got ready late. By the time we left the door, it was almost 2:30pm and it was a 40 minute walk. By the way, our end of the hotel had 6 elevators but still took forever for an elevator to come by so we were definately running late. Not just that, but it was the hottest day in the whole week, 47 degrees. A 40 minute walk, 47 degrees, and two Canada-raised folks did not equal a swell time. We rushed it. We didn't walk normally, we speed walked. At least 3 times that walk, I contemplated not going. Our shoes were burning. Our shirts were soaked in sweat. We turned a 40 minute walk into 20. So by the time we got to the theatre, we looked like we just hopped out of the pool. Waist up anyways. Luckily, we brought an extra shirt to change out of. We used our already soaked shirts to wipe off our sweat. So we got out tickets. Balcony, row H seats 216 and 217. The show wasn't really a show. It was a benefit put on by Broadway in the H.O.O.D (Helping others open doors). So it was an arrangement of singers and dancers. Our friend Anthony was the only poet. We were so far from the stage that we could barely see who was performing. Not that it really took much away. Every performance was beautiful. The singers blew me away, and the dancers were sharp and flowed well. There were kids performing. Around the age 12 and they blew me away. Their lack of stage fright, full resevoir of confidence and singing voice sent chills down my spine. I was overwhelmed by them and thought wow, nothing could top this feeling. That was, until Anthony hit the stage. No introduction, just a fluid transition from one performance to him on stage left with the spot light on him. No props, no music, just him and his voice. Flick. He started. His piece was openly about a lighthouse. By openly about, I mean it was written and titled around the use and purpose of a lighthouse. But it was open to interpretation, and still held that the true meaning behind the poem was for his mind alone. He wasn't nervous. He spoke with confidence, and captivated the ears and minds of everyone  in the audience. Flick. The words smoothly escaped his lips and drowned everyone in them while still guiding. Flick. Everyone was focused on just Anthony. All eyes were on him, and all ears were filled with words. Flick. A shiver swept my body as his voice grew stronger and louder. I could feel how proud David and I were of Anthony. How proud we were to see him perform in front of 2,500 people. To not miss such a big event in his life. To share it with him. To listen and see him radiate confidence with every word. It was inspiring. Flick. Exit stage left. He was done. The crowd cheered for him. There was a girl behind David who was more vocal about it. But the applause was strong that night. He may not have gotten to everyone that night, but you can tell the ones he touched. They clapped louder than anyone else. But not as loud as David and I. We left after first intermission. We were honestly not interested in any one else performing except Anthony. They were all great, but we were already blown away. We ubered back to our hotel because that walk was a no-go. Not sweating through another shirt. When we got back to our hotel, we ordered some food and just rested up. We were awaiting Anthony's return to congratulate him and celebrate. But before he got home, he had to eat dinner with his parents. So we took more time to rest, even watched Hot Tub Time Machine 2. Oh crap, its one of our last days in Vegas and I forgot to go souvenir shopping! So I dipped out right after the movie ended to go to the souvenir store down the street. Once I exited the hotel, who do I see? It was Anthony coming back from dinner. We hugged  it out and I extended by congratulations and told him my favourite parts. He joined me in buying souvenirs because he wanted to pick up some booze to celebrate before heading out. He picked up some Bacardi and arizonas to experiment mixes. We got back to the hotel room and it was just full of praise and admiration for Anthony. We were proud, and we were wanted to show it. We kicked off the rest of this life changing nignt by Anthony sharing his experience with us down to every detail. How he felt, how he was kept in the dark the whole time, the people he met, the way he didnt know if he was supposed to be there, and forgetting all the words right before getting on the stage. This made his performance even more impressive. But through it all, he had explained how he didn't feel any fear. He said he felt free. Even when he forgot the words, he didn't feel scared. He knew the words would come to him. In summary, his experience was inspiring. He showed his strength in facing what should've been a nightmare. He said the view from our hotel window was very humbling. This summarized his whole experience. The view of the wall was his struggles, and he looked them dead on and didn't flinch. Strength. We started drinking. This experimental mix was definately...new but it wasn't bad. The more we drank, the better it was. But isn't that with all alcohol? But we drank a bit too much and wondered what the heat and this level of drunk would turn out to be. Out of better judgement (wow, while drunk), we stayed in and continued talking. We shared some high school stories and drove down memory lane. We went to the same high school but I was a year older so we didn't have any classes together. I told them my favourite teacher was Mrs. Nevins. She cared about her students and showed unconditional support. We brought up our CPTs which was the huge final project, abbreviation for Culminating Performance Task. It was a newspaper-like article in which we write a story about an event in our life which had a lesson or was funny. Mine was about a lucid dream I had about someone I used to love. The moral to mine was things have an end for a reason. Holding on is a lot harder than letting go. It seemed corny repeating it back to them. David's was more personal. He talked about a father figure he had his whole life who ended up going to Iraq for a Peace Keeping mission. But he was then captured and tortured for months. Imagine seeing someone almost everyday with a smile on their face, them having that same smile be replaced with a bloody and sunken face on the news every night. He eventually came back and David explained to us how family extends farther than blood. The man captured is okay now, and David had gotten past it all. He showed us a Netflix series called Captive which had his father figure feature on episode 8 of season 1. This was a night of sharing. Of opening up to each other. David and Anthony each showed me how they became the person they are today. So I wanted to show them what made me who I am. It was a poetry piece by a man named Steve Koyczan. It was called To This Day. The message was pretty much an elongated "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me". But the way it was presented hit me hard. Not just the video, but in the words he used. How he portrayed that kids will always be kids but words will always hurt and carry on through our lives. Koyczan's use od cacophony and juxapedia really took it home for me. The disgusting sounding words hit my heart like when I was bullied for being bigger. And this was my showing them my roots of poetry. Content creation. I became vulnerable for them. I told them the story of my bipolar friend. He stopped taking his pills but the good days seldom came back. He never took his pills again, but he took his life. He taught me to enjoy my happy days and love my friends. So I bared my heart to them. I told them that being bullied as a kid didn't bother me until it all caught up to me. I told them that I tried killing myself because I didn't want to be around anymore. I told them that even to this day, I still think of dying. Of how easy it was to go to the rooftop pool and just jump. Or take a scenic route down the observation deck. I told them that I was really grateful for them having me in their friend circle and how even being able to go to Vegas with them was a gift. So here we are. In the shittiest hotel in Las Vegas sitting in a room. Just us three guys sharing. Opening up and showing our vulnerabilities to each other. Crying. Listening to music. Letting our worries go. But it was silent. Not awkward, we were just taking it all in. David broke the silence. He knew what Anthony and I go through regardless of how long he's known us. He told us that he feels no malicious intent in our body. That we were friends because he wants us to be around. He reassured us that he sees us as good people. People who deserve to be happy. That we weren't weak to ever think about suicide. But that we were stronger to still be here. And that he was glad to have us in his life. He reassured me that letting me into their friend circle was nothing to be grateful for. We are all in it for each other. That we're all friends because we care for each other. Wow, that was some strong Bacardi. Joking aside, the night continued on a brighter note. Now, how was this so life changing? This wasn't a movie. We didn't go out on the strip and drop bills. We didn't get piss drunk, wake up with a hangover with a friend missing. Mike Tyson's tiger was not in our washroom and the only money spent was on bottles to drink. No, this was real. Saturday night and we spent it inside talking. Anthony said that Las Vegas just sucked the soul out of everyone here. How everyone fell to sin in this city. But we didn't. You can call us squares or lames but I realized on that night how real of friends these two are. That we didn't need to go out to have a good time. We spent the night talking to each other and taking care of our spiritual happiness and not our material happiness. All the stress and worries were gone in those short few hours. In the City of Sin, we overcame and became better people. Happier people Just a story of how important it is to have these kind people in your life. They don't come often, so treasure them. But hey, don't get me wrong. Next time I head to Vegas, I'm balling out.

[salutethepig]

My Dad's pigs

Well, strictly, there weren’t his.

OK, I’d better give you some more background hadn’t I? There’s already some words on my Mum in this blog from earlier, so it seems only right that he also gets a fair crack of the narrative whip in my ongoing pig tales. And I’m actually more than a little surprised that I’ve not got around to talking that much about them — except in passing — until now, some years after the blog was started. So, sorry to you both! I love you; it wasn’t a deliberate slight 🙂

But first, here’s a shot of the (in-)Famous Five. Not sure where this was taken but I’m the one on the right in the back row. By the way, you will note that my pristine discriminate suss vis a vis clothes, hair-cuts and general hard-core posing, has always been with me…

Dad had an interesting, varied life. He’d been a merchant sailor on the Russian Convoys in WWII. He’d graduated from the Royal College of Music as a pianist and, initially at least, taught piano, but after he’d met my Mum (met up again that is; they’d split up and gone their separate ways, until Mum went down to Devon and, so her version goes, “dragged him back to Oxford and away from that other woman”), five children came along in rapid succession and it was soon apparent that the measly pay offered a music teacher wasn’t enough to support us all. Taking a cue from his own Dad, he re-trained as an accountant and started working for firms up & down the country. We moved. A lot. By the first 10 years of my life, I think we’d had 4 or 5 different places we called home.

And a couple of early shots of them attending someone elses’ wedding and, in the second, their own.

[I’ve even recently attempted to map some of the houses — it’s available here as The Bulow Clan homes for any of you stalkers out there — and, using Street-view, took a look at how they’re doing now. It’s quite surprising quite how much hasn’t changed from my memories of them, memories in some cases, from over 40 years ago]

Whilst it meant that we were forever making & then saying good-bye to short-lived friendships (at first those children next door, or just along the road, then later, those at primary school), it also resulted in us becoming a superbly well-tuned and tight-knit fighting unit, skilled at packing up one day and then efficiently moving these 7 people, their dog and their furniture to a new location, the very next day. I think I said before that my Mum could easily have organised the Normandy landings — her grasp of logistics was that good. We were the civvie equivalent of the Royal Engineers, moving men, vehicles & supplies through a devastated wasteland.

Here’s a later retirement shot — from the back garden in their nice, newly built, modern house. Finally, my Mum got to have a house that she didn’t have to look after all the time. Didn’t stop her still doing so, mind you…

And then, just like that, Dad gave up the life of an accountant and became a pig farmer. Well, in my memory, it was like that. In all likelihood, it took probably a few weeks or months — at least — to convince my Mum that this wasn’t the most insane idea he’d ever had. Dad was bright (and funny and kind), but sometimes you wouldn’t know it. He also could (and did) drink. And that was a problem at times. I recall being driven by him (in retrospect, a very pissed him) at high-speed around Bournemouth, where we were visiting his parents and after he’d had a row with Mum. He was often pretty useless with money; rather surprising for an accountant and I recall Mum keeping separate little pots for each bill and, once or twice we kids and Mum had to hide silently under the bed and pretend that we weren’t in, when the milkman (or similar dunned debtor) came a’ knockin’.

But become a pig farmer he did. There were, I’m sure, some sharply hissed, unkind words from behind the closed bedroom door or from the front-room, as they discussed it, but again, in my memory, we just effortlessly and calmly segued into our new lives on farms. Dad had always loved pigs, working with them in Devon, so, whilst an unexpected change of tack — at least to us — maybe not a total bombshell for my Mum. Who knows now? But there we were. Living in farm cottages as Dad never owned his own farm; he was always a tenant farmer. But one big advantage of this was that the job came complete with a large house. I’m sure the wages were pretty crap but at least they didn’t have to find rent money and were able to have separate bed-rooms for (most) of us!

Here’s the place at Kingsdown, in Kent. We moved here when I was just 11, from the previous farm in Essex. This was the last one he worked at and it specialised in careful, highly skilled breeding programmes. Now. this pristine, white house is divided into two properties but when we were there, it was all ours. Complete with nests of rats under the garden shed. An endless source of fun for us and the family and farm dogs. Corn fields behind. Bluebell woods on the horizon. And an old Royal Marine training ground  further along the farm road — dangerous as all hell, full of collapsing tunnels, hidden drops and unstable sandy banks, so therefore irresistible to us.

And here, the farm buildings that housed the pigs, now looking almost deserted (and a likely asbestos health & safety nightmare), but these were where Dad worked, where we all ‘helped’ him and, from the concrete jetties, where the animals were loaded and off-loaded. The grain store and chute, at the back, was another treasure trove of rats for hunting. Oh, and it also had a large oil-drum sized tub of black molasses given to the pigs to supplement their diet. Scooping a fistful out when no one was looking, was a treat for all of us kids.

And so, as I said therefore, not his pigs. But as far as the porkers and we were concerned, they may as well have been. He loved them. He cared for them. He bedded them down when they were ill, supervised their births, farrowing, feeding, growth and deaths.  As a breeding experimental site, we had quite tight access controls (for that time); and the occasional foot & mouth outbreaks nearby meant we often went into lock-down and once — luckily only the once — we had to watch as all the animals there had to be killed and burnt. An horrific sight, sounds and a smell that lingered in the air and clothes and even the hedgerows for days afterward. A lot of us cried that day. Including my Dad.

An earlier farm was also the cause of more than one or two nightmares for me. The pig manure was swept into huge underground pits (using what were, in effect, giant rubberised Squeegee mops) from where it was rather (to me) ingeniously pumped out, through a network of pipes either onto the nearby fields or into tankers for disposal elsewhere. Leaning over the manhole covers, seeing the churning, stinking dark, seething mass below, made me wake screaming in the night as I ‘watched’ Dad slip into it and get sucked away.

Gentle reader? Of course, it never happened. For which I for one am profoundly grateful. He went on to live for another 30 years or so.

But “what about the pigs”, I hear you cry? “Tell us more about them”?

Despite (or rather because of) the intensive breeding attempts, these weren’t anything special — certainly not rare breed types, just pink & large — except in their ability to grow quickly to weight, to be low in fat, to produce large litters. You know, the same as everyone else, the same as almost the entire rest of the world was looking for. We (Dad and his fellow pig-herds) were ‘guilty’ of the crimes I’ve previously excoriated the English farmer for. I suppose we could claim that this was a different time and that we “knew no better”, and in all honesty, I think that’s pretty much the case. I don’t recall anyone then extolling the benefits of the old style pigs — hardier, tastier, able to live outside — whilst calling for them to be retained. The dash for profit was headlong and Dad’s employers weren’t immune to that siren call. So these ones weren’t kept outside; they lived in inside sties. The floors were concrete (although they had huge quantities of fresh straw changed twice daily to move around on, root round in, dig for their food in). Food was generally high-energy pellets. They got given some fruit on occasions. But precisely because this was a breeding farm and the owner was paranoid about infections or diseases from outside, pigs weren’t allowed the scraps and swill from school canteens that we saw used on the earlier farms.

Ideal? No. Unfeeling? Yes, pretty much I guess. The sows had large-ish farrowing crates even then, so the natural bonding that should occur was less likely to happen. We docked tails. We de-tusked the boars. They didn’t get to run around outside, to root, to dig, to play in the way that this most sociable of animals needs to. And whilst I never saw anyone treating them cruelly or unkindly, still, this was a processing operation. I’m not happy looking back at the lives these animals led because of us.  I’m unsure how to end this piece. For the time and place, they had a better life than some and Dad was uniformly caring of them. I suppose that’s the best I can say. Somehow though, it doesn’t seem a fitting epitaph for all the work and care and effort that he put into his animals. We never really spoke about this or how welfare for animals had changed when we’d both got older. And I regret that. And I miss him. Of course. But I think he’d have approved of my coming back to write about these lovely creatures. Thanks Bernie. For everything.

Oh, and one last thing? As far as I know, we’re not related to this branch of the extended Bulow Clan. We visited there whilst living in Florida. A beautiful place, calm, green, verdant. And yet. And yet. The stench of slavery — like burning pork — doesn’t wash away, even in the torrential Florida rains…

In 1821, Major Charles Wilhelm Bulow acquired 4,675 acres of wilderness bordering a tidal creek that would later bear his name. Using slave labor, he cleared 2,200 acres and planted sugar cane, cotton, rice and indigo. Major Bulow died in 1823, leaving the newly established plantation to his seventeen year old son, John Joachim Bulow.

After completing his education in Paris, John Bulow returned to the Territory of Florida to manage the plantation. Young Bulow proved to be very capable. John James Audubon, the famous naturalist, was a guest at the plantation during Christmas week 1831. In a letter to a patron, Audubon wrote:

“Mr. J.J. Bulow, a rich planter, at whose home myself and party have been for a whole week under the most hospitable and welcome treatment is now erecting some extensive buildings for a sugar house.” Bulowville, Florida December 31, 1831.

Bulow’s sugar mill, constructed of local “coquina” rock, was the largest mill in East Florida. At the boat slips, flatboats were loaded with barrels of raw sugar and molasses and floated down Bulow Creek to be shipped north. This frontier industry came to an abrupt end at the outbreak of the Second Seminole War. In January 1836, a band of raiding Seminole Indians, resisting removal to the West, looted and burned the plantation. It would never recover. Bulow returned to Paris where he died the same year.

Today, the coquina walls and chimneys of the sugar mill remain standing as a monument to the rise and fall of the sugar plantations of East Florida.

  My Dad’s pigs was originally published on Salute The Pig