#my name is The Vacation That Benny's Never Given You

[wtftaylr]

saw that ref on pinterest and thought to myself. perfect. that's my boy Swank when Benny goes on yet another bender

then i went even crazier and made this, ft my chairmen ocs (Jerry, Gully, and Unnamed Tops Restaurant Manager that Gully is plotting to murder or w/e). enjoy. anyway i'm gonna go pour myself a celebratory drink (coffee)

[tropes-and-tales]

In It Together

Characters:  Benny “Borracho” Magalon and F!Reader

WC:  11,307

Other Pieces:  There’s a fluffy, unofficial sequel here.

CW:  HEED THESE WARNINGS.  DEAD DOVE AND SUCH.  Contains controversial material:  frank talk about abortion; dub-con (in the form of mutually drunken hook-ups); angst; smut (oral, f!receiving; PiV, protected).  18+ only.  DO NOT READ IF ABORTION UPSETS YOU.  IF YOU COME TO MY INBOX TO COMPLAIN, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

AN:  This was a very specific request from a dear friend who I met on this hell site of a platform.  You know who you are, bebe.  💕

It’s not a position Benny Magalon ever wanted to find himself in:  sitting in a café across from you, getting less than ideal news.

You can barely look him in the eye when you say it.  You look lower, your eyes fixed somewhere near his chin when you tell him that you’re pregnant.

It’s not ideal at all.  Benny knows next to nothing about you—only your first name.  It was a drunken hookup, two strangers meeting at a bar a little over a month ago.  When you called him yesterday, he hadn’t recognized the number and had let it go straight to voicemail.  

When he heard the message you left, he had wracked his brain to remember the details, though they were hazy and soaked in booze:  flirting with you at the bar, challenging each other over shots.  Getting a car together, getting handsy in the car.  Taking you home to his apartment, recently vacated by his now-ex.  He only remembers flashes after that—sordid little scenes—and then the awkward morning-after.  He had given you his number with the idle thought the he had fun and you might call him, but you hadn’t…. until now.

Now, sober and in the cold light of day, he studies you closer.  It wasn’t just the alcohol that night—you are cute, he thinks, even as nervous as you are.  Your leg bounces rapid-fire under the table, making it shake, and he can see how tightly you grip your coffee mug.

He knows how it feels.  The moment your words sink in, his stomach does a terrific flip, and he worries he might throw up.  A million thoughts flood into his head:  custody and child support and fuck, he’ll have to tell his family…

He got a one-night stand pregnant.  It’s less than ideal.  

“I have to ask,” he finally says after he turns the situation over in his head for a moment.  “Are you sure it’s mine?”

You wince, then nod.  “It’s yours.  My ex and I broke up six months ago, and you were the first…”  You trail off, and he can see how hard you swallow.

“Sorry.”

You shake your head.  “No, it was a fair question.”

“It’s just…I know we were both…”  He trails off too, loses his words.  “I remember using protection.”  That’s one of the flashes he has from that night—reaching into his nightstand, snagging a condom.  He remembers it distinctly because he banged his elbow against the headboard, hit the nerve there, had a purpled bruise for days…

“I know.  I don’t know what went wrong.  I thought I should let you know, since the condom obviously failed.  I wanted to let you know.  I am getting an STD screening and you should too.”

He nods.  He’s touched at your thoughtfulness.  You could have never contacted him.

“I’m clean, but I’ll get a test too,” he murmurs.

“Well, I’m clean.  I just didn’t know…we’re unknown to each other, really.  You have no reason to trust me, so I thought it was best to reach out.”  You shake your head as if you’re trying to clear your mind.  “I’m sorry.” You drop your head and stare into your coffee cup, and Benny can see the unhappy frown on your face.  When he looks closer, he can see that your eyes are slightly swollen, like you had cried before you came to meet him.  He feels a wave of something for you.  Pity.  Sympathy.  Something.

“Don’t apologize.”  He reaches across the table, lays his hand palm up.  He leaves it there, and after a moment, you put your own hand in his.  He squeezes you gently, hopes it feels reassuring.  It occurs to him that you must be a brave person, to handle this as you are.  To have the courage to call him.  To sit down with him and deliver this news.

“This is on both of us,” he adds.  He squeezes your hand again, and that’s what finally makes you look him in the eyes.  You raise your head and study him solemnly, then offer him a tremulous smile.

“Thank you, Ben.”

He releases your hand, and he swipes it against the side of his thigh.  His hands are clammy with sweat, he realizes.  

“What do you want to do?” he asks.

You drop your eyes again, and you take a deep breath.  “I looked at it from every angle, and I just don’t see how I can keep it.”  You glance at him, probably to see how your admission lands with him.  Benny Magalon has a great poker face, and he only nods at you, encouraging you to continue.

“I mean, I live in a one-bedroom apartment I can barely afford.  I have school loans.  I just got my dream job two months ago….”  You trail off again, and it sparks against Benny’s memory.  He had been out that night on the rebound, only recently broken up from his long-time girlfriend.  And you…yes, he remembers.  You had been out celebrating a new job at the Jet Propulsion Lab.  That had been his in with you, teasing you, pretending to argue that the moon landing had been faked.

“I want kids one day, I think,” you continue.  “But I can’t make it work now, especially as a single mother.”  You glance at him again, a guilty expression on your face.  “I was raised by a single mom, Ben.  I know how hard it is.”

He nods again.  He knows his neutral face isn’t giving him away, but more than anything, he feels relief.  A big wave of relief washing over him, calming his churning stomach.  

He chooses his next words carefully.  He doesn’t want to say a single thing wrong, pressure you one way or the other.

“I’m in this for whatever you choose.  If you wanted to keep it, I’d step up however much you want.  But if you don’t want to keep it, I support that too.”

“I’m one hundred percent sure.”

-----

The two of you part amicably, and Benny’s head spins with a thousand thoughts.  A thousand feelings.  He feels guilty at the situation he’s put you in, because his working theory—which proves out, once he gets home—is that the condoms he used were expired.  A stupid fucking mistake.  His ex had been on the pill, and he hadn’t thought to check the expiration date, and now you are pregnant and facing down your own guilt and angst.

He also feels that relief.  He doesn’t know you at all, and you don’t know him.  Maybe it could have worked, raising a kid with a stranger, coming up with some manageable co-parenting plan.  Maybe it would have been hell, being chained to another person for eighteen years or more.  He knows that he’s cynical from his recent breakup—three years gone, and if he couldn’t make that work, how could he launch himself straight into fatherhood with a one-night stand?

It’s not the last he’ll hear from you:  you’ve promised to let him know when you make the appointment, and he’s promised to pay for the procedure.  

You call him two days later, and it makes him chuckle, the polite way you speak when he answers his phone.  The way you say your full name, as if he has multiple women he’s impregnated that he’s currently juggling.

“I have an appointment for next week,” you tell him.  “But I have to choose if I want a medical abortion or a surgical.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, the medical is cheaper—”

He cuts you off.  “Don’t worry about the cost.  Pick whichever is better for you.”

There’s a long stretch of silence over the phone—so long that he pulls the phone away to look at the screen, thinking the call dropped.  Then he hears it.  Quiet sniffling.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

Another sniffle, then a watery laugh.  “Nothing.  It’s just hormones, probably, but you’re being really nice about all of this.  I didn’t think you would be.”

He chuckles at your admission.  “Why’s that?”

“Well, not you specifically.  Just…people in general, you know?  People can be disappointing so much that when they aren’t, it’s…surprising.”

Benny knows exactly what you mean.  He sees how disappointing people are all the time.  In his job, in his personal life.  People let you down.  It gives him the barest bit of satisfaction that he’s not completely disappointing, at least in this situation.

*****

The plan had been for a friend to drive you to your appointment, but the ride falls through at the last minute.  Because you’ve opted for the surgical option, you aren’t allowed to drive yourself….

You grit your teeth and sigh.  You swallow down the remaining crumbs of your pride.  You call Ben.

The goddamned man doesn’t even let you get the entire sentence out.  He cuts you off, asks for your address.  Tells you that he’s leaving work immediately.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” you ask.  You swallow hard against the lump in your throat.  You hate the entire situation:  hate that it happened at all, hate that you had to drag this one-night stand into it.  You had struggled with the decision to call him, after all.  It wasn’t his business, really, but since the condom had obviously failed, it had felt important to let him know.  

Though, to be fair, Ben Magalon is proving to be more than a one-night stand.  You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he is supportive.  More than you ever thought a random cop hookup could be.

He chuckles over the line.  “You don’t know my boss.  It’s fine.”

Forty minutes later, he’s at your door.  

There’s no reason for him to help you.  He’s already given you the money for the procedure, so he could easily tell you to deal with it yourself…but he doesn’t.  Your goddamned one-night stand, the darkly handsome cop that you never thought you’d have to see again—he turns up just when you need him like some fucking knight in shining armor.

-----

The nice thing about L.A. is that it’s liberal.  There’s no one outside of the clinic other than an employee in scrubs taking a smoke break.  No raging protestors, no gory placards trying to guilt you into a different decision than the one you’ve already made.

Inside, the people are kind.  No nonsense, quick and efficient.  But above all kind.  Reassuring.

Ben has to stay in the waiting room, and he gives you a nod and a reassuring smile as you’re led back to the restricted area.  You glance over your shoulder as the door shuts behind you, and you catch a glimpse of him settling into a chair as he pokes through a pile of magazines.

Not for the first time, but it strikes you how lucky you are in such an unlucky situation.  It had felt like the right thing to do, telling him, but you never thought he’d be so supportive.  So reassuring, and not a single ounce of friction.  He accepted your decision without second-guessing you.  He paid for it without you asking.  He left work to be your ride.

It made you sad, in a strange way.  You had enjoyed your night with him, but even drunk, you had noticed his strange apartment.  How pieces of furniture seemed to be missing, how his closet door had been open to reveal one empty side.  Early in the evening he had mentioned an ex with a frown, and it was clear then that he’d been rebounding.

Maybe that’s why you hadn’t thought to call him afterwards, until you had to.  If he hadn’t been so fresh off of a breakup, you might have tried to nurture it into something more.  Maybe.  Maybe you would have dropped him a flirty text or even called, if you had summoned up the courage.

But it was all maybes.  Just theoretical stuff, because this is the reality:  him sitting in the waiting room of the women’s clinic, waiting for you.  The two of you only together because of a sad accident.

*****

It takes almost no time at all, which surprises Benny.  Less than an hour, all told, and then you’re walking out of the clinic with him, a small bag of pain killers and antibiotics clutched in your hand.

“How are you feeling?” he asks once the two of you are back in his truck.  He glances over, and maybe part of him is afraid that you’ll be filled with regret.  That you’ll burst into tears and tell him that you’ve made a terrible mistake.  But the look on your face, if he has to classify it, seems to be relief.  The frown on your face, the worried look in your eyes is gone.  The relief is almost palpable.

“Honestly?  Not nearly as bad as I thought.”  You patted the bag of medication in your lap.  “They gave me a Valium, and I’m a lightweight.”

Benny bites the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling.  You are a lightweight.  He knows that much about you.  That night, he had beaten you easily in the dumb shots contest the two of you had devised.  The thought occurs to him then, and his held-back smile fades into a frown.

He clears his throat as he merges onto the highway.  “Hey, that night…”  He glances over at you again, sees you looking back at him.  “We were pretty fucked up.  I didn’t…force anything, did I?”

He can see you shaking your head out of the corner of his eye.  “I guess there’s an argument about consent and impairment, but we were both drunk.  If you took advantage of me, then I took advantage of you.”

“I guess.”

“I’m good, Ben.  No worries.”

-----

At your apartment, he helps you inside.  It’s awkward.  He’s not exactly a master of social situations, but he’s usually fairly confident.  He usually moves through the world with a level of calm competence that translates to assurance.  There’s no playbook for this, though, and he stands awkwardly by your door until you wave him in.  You walk into your kitchen and he follows a few steps behind, twirling his keys nervously.

You turn away from him, and you take the pill bottles out of the little bag the clinic gave you.  He watches as you read the labels, and he hears you mumble to yourself about timing the doses for every twelve hours.

“Is there anything I can get you?” he asks.  “Anything I can do?”

“You’ve already done so much.  More than you needed to.”

“Told you we were in this together.”

You turn to face him, and he can see the tears that spring to your eyes.  He’s struck again at how brave you are.  How brave you were to call him in the first place, even if it was probably incredibly difficult.  He was a stranger to you, after all.  He can easily imagine a different sort of man having a very different reaction.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever know how much this all means, Ben,” you tell him, and your voice is shaky with emotion.  “You don’t know me at all, and you’ve been so nice…”  Then you start to cry in earnest, though you try to hold it in, great gulping hiccups as you try to rein in your tears.

The guilt hits him again, so he reaches out carefully.  Opens his arms for a hug, and after a beat, you step up to him.  It’s an awkward hug at first, the two of you stiff and unsure against each other.  He holds you lightly, gently.  He’s unsure of any pain you’re in, but he rubs your back carefully.  Tries to comfort you, and in doing so, tries to alleviate some of his own guilt.

“It was my fault,” he murmurs against your head.  “The condoms were expired.  If I hadn’t been so fucking stupid, it would have never happened.”

He doesn’t know you, and part of him expects you to react in anger at his admission.  You don’t, though.  You squeeze him around his middle, and you echo back his own words, that the two of you were in it together.

Somehow, it makes him feel better.  He hopes it makes you feel better too.

-----

When he leaves twenty minutes later, Benny thinks it’s the last time he’ll see you.  He assumes he’ll never speak to you again.  But the guilt still gnaws at him, and two blocks away, he pulls over.  He pulls up an app on his phone and orders you some take-out, has it delivered to your apartment.

It’s not nearly enough, but it’s something.  It’s another thing he can do for you, because everything else—paying for the procedure, driving you there and back—feels paltry, despite what you say.  You’re the one going through it.  He’s just the supporting cast.

After he orders the food—he has to guess at what you might like—he pulls up your number.

Ordered you some food, he texts you.  You should take the antibiotics with food.

The three little dots appear and disappear as you type and delete and type your reply again.  He can picture you tearing up again, and it makes him a little sick, how grateful you are for him.  He did next to nothing, and anything he did was the bare minimum, but apparently you have low expectations for people.

I owe you, you finally type back.  If you ever have a medical emergency, just call me.

Benny shakes his head.  As if you owe him.  He writes back, telling you to rest and to let him know if you need anything at all, and he thinks that’ll be the end of it.

-----

It isn’t the end of it, though.  Over the next few days, then weeks, Benny can’t get the entire sad event out of his head.

He checks on you, as much as he dares.  He had read up on abortions from neutral, science-based sources, but he still has all the stigmas in his head.  That you’re in terrible physical pain.  That you’re wracked with guilt.  That you’re destined for a life of regret and deep depression now.

How are you feeling? He texts you a couple of days afterwards, and you respond after a few moments.

Better!  I’m working from home, so I’m resting too.

He waits another week, then asks the same question.

Back to normal, you reply that time.  I went for a hike at Griffith Park the other day.

Because he’s LACSD and because he has a burgeoning sense of protectiveness over you, he texts you an entire litany full of safety tips.  They had a case in Griffith Park not that long ago, a string of attacks on lone joggers or hikers, and he lets you know all about it.  He tells you to only go there with a friend.  He sends you a link for jogger’s mace—technically illegal, but better to ask for forgiveness after using it than risk an attack turning worse.

Yes, officer, you text back.  

I’m a detective, actually.

Yes, detective, you reply.  I promise to be extra careful in my solo midnight runs through Griffith Park with my headphones on.

Smartass, he types back, but he smiles at it anyway.

*****

It becomes a thing.  It shouldn’t become a thing:  media had led you to believe that the two of you should have never spoken again, the weight of the abortion a heavy, impenetrable wall between you.  That if you ever saw him again, that the two of you should have shared a look of mutual sorrow and then gone your separate ways to nurse your unending guilt separately.

Yet here you are.  The two of you text back and forth.  It starts with his obsessive concern right after the procedure, which warmed your heart.  Then it morphed into small talk.  Then it turned into little jokes here and there, until you and Benny Magalon are texting each other regularly.

It shouldn’t become a thing, but it does.  

It should also be stranger than it feels.  If you lay out the situation like one of your work problems, it makes no sense on paper.  One-night stand, drunken.  Unplanned pregnancy.  An abortion.  Now the two of you texting, getting to know each other after going through a challenging moment together.

Maybe that’s why, despite it not making sense on paper, it still manages to make sense.  Because you went through it together.  Because you decided to let him know about the pregnancy.  Because he’s just…him.  Benny Magalon, you are finding, is a stand-up sort of guy.  Supportive to a fault.  Not just supporting you with the abortion, but checking on you afterwards.  Fussing over your safety.  Giving you details about crimes that surely must be embellished to scare you into living in a bubble.

It’s not a love story, but it’s a friendship, if an unlikely one.  You smile when you get a message from him, and sometimes when you’re doing something fun, you think of mentioning it to him.  

It’s not a love story, but sometimes you wonder how things could have gone differently.  Maybe it could have been a love story.  Maybe if you’d met him after he had more distance from his break-up.  Maybe if the condom hadn’t failed.  A million maybes, and it drives you a little crazy to think of them, but exploring every possibility is part of your job so it’s second nature.

-----

It moves from just texting when he calls you one evening.

It’s his phone, but it’s not him on the other end.  When you pick up, a deeper voice asks if you know Benny Magalon.

“I do,” you say carefully.

The deeper voice introduces itself as a Detective Connors.  He tells you that he is calling from Ben’s phone.  There’s been an accident.

“His emergency contact was deleted a few months ago,” Connors tells you.  “So we went through his phone and called you.”

You don’t question it, not in that moment.  You only hear that Ben—the guy who supported you so selflessly in your hour of need—has been hurt.  That he needs you now.

“Tell me where you are, and I’ll get there as soon as I can,” you tell him.

*****

In terms of injuries in the line of police work, getting hit by a car while running a traffic checkpoint is the least glamorous.  

Benny never even saw it coming, which is probably what ends up saving his life.  If he had seen the car barreling towards him, he would have tensed up, tried to get out of the way.  As it is, the car hit him from behind, and his body went limp as a ragdoll.  Flew through the air, landed hard on the scrub-grass median.

It’s not nearly as bad as it could have been.  It’s not a career-ending incident.  When he comes to in the hospital room, the doctor gives him the rundown of his injuries:  a broken arm and two cracked ribs.  A long, ugly scrape down his side.  A concussion.  Cuts on his face.

At least they’ve given him the good drugs.  Whatever is in the line in his arm, it makes him feel like he’s floating a few inches off of the bed, despite how warm and heavy he feels.  Everything feels soft and rounded off:  the hospital noise is fuzzy and faraway; the lights are faint and haloed.  

He blinks and realizes that he’s nodded off.  When he opens his eyes again, the guys are there:  Henderson and Z and Connors perched in chairs around the room, Big Nick standing in the doorway, ogling the nurses as they walk past.

“There he is,” Connors says.

“Borracho,” Henderson adds with a smile and a shake of his head.  “Nine fucking lives, man.  Gotta start calling you el gato instead.”

Connors reaches out, grips Benny’s ankle through the sheets.  “You flew through the air like fucking Superman, dude.  Thought for sure you were a goner.”

“Wha’ happened?” Benny manages ask, his words slurred, his tongue thick from the drugs in him.  

The guys tell him, and even though they joke, Benny can hear the tremor of real fear in their voices.  The guys’ relief is unmistakable, even through the haze of morphine.

“We called your girl,” Henderson says, and Benny is too high to really question who he means.  His girl.  The words roll through his head, and it takes a long beat before he asks, “wha’ girl?”

“The one you’re always texting.  Your phone’s screen is cracked, but we were able to pull her number.”

Another long beat to piece together who they mean.  His ex used to be his emergency contact, but he removed her months ago.  Didn’t bother to replace her.  He could have listed his sisters, but they’re terrible in an emergency.  His parents moved to Arizona a few years back.  There wasn’t really anyone else for him to list in a true emergency.

Henderson must mean you.

The drugs loosen his tongue, and Benny almost spills the entire sad history with you to the guys.  Almost says that you’re not his girl, but the drugs also make him tired.  He opens his mouth to argue that they shouldn’t have bothered you, but he blinks again and falls asleep.

-----

When he wakes up later, you are there.  And maybe it’s the drugs or the brush with death, but damned if he isn’t happy to see you.  You are sitting in the chair next to the bed, and you give him a smile when he sees you and focuses on you.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

He holds up his good hand and tries to tilt the palm back and forth, the see-saw motion that means, “okay.”  Instead, his hand seems to float on its own accord, and your smile widens.

“They got you on the good stuff, huh?”

“Yeah,” he tries to say, but his tongue still feels thick and unwieldy.  It comes out yuh, and you reach out to pat his good hand.

He concentrates on his words.  “Sorry,” he manages to get out.  “Guys shouldn’t a’ called you.  Bothered you.”

You frown at him.  “Ben, after all we’ve been through?  It’s not a bother at all.”

“You got better things t’do.”

You reach out and pat his hand again.  “I actually don’t.  A very worried detective put an end to my midnight runs through Griffith Park, so now I don’t do anything ever.”

The joke makes a warmth wash through him, on top of the morphine-warmth.  He can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across his face.  

“You’re a smartass,” he slurs, but when you go to pat his hand again, he manages to twist his own and capture your hand.  Holds it clumsily, but you don’t let him go, and that’s how he nods off again.

*****

There’s a part of you that would readily admit that this is payback.  That you are paying Ben back for his support from months ago.  That you owe him, and now you are settling your debt.

There’s another part of you that would less than readily admit that there’s more to it.  Despite your unlikely origins, you like the man, enjoy texting him.  That when you see him looking like absolute road-kill in the hospital bed, your heart lurches in a way you hadn’t expected.

You learn why his coworkers called you.  The one detective who called you, Connors…he pulls you aside in the hallway and explains that they knew about you, kinda.  That Borracho—that’s his nickname, apparently—had been caught multiple times texting you and smiling.

“It was weird,” Connors tells you as he hands you a cup of coffee from the vending machine.  “Dude never smiles like that.”

You scoff at him.  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

The guy shakes his head and takes a sip of his own coffee.  “Well, he hasn’t smiled like that in a while.  We guessed he found a new girl after his old one destroyed him.”

You wonder what that means—destroyed is such a specific, strong word—but you are cagey in your response.

“Well, we’ve been taking it slow.”  Not a lie, exactly.  Not the truth either.

Connors claps you on the back.  “He’s a good guy.  And it’s good of you to come see him.”

-----

You don’t just see Ben, though.  It isn’t a one-and-done visit.  His coworkers—more like meddlesome brothers, really—pull you right into their orbit and you find yourself powerless to escape.  Not that you want to.

They think you’re his girlfriend, so they treat you in a way that’s both deferential and familiar.  When you come back to the room, they offer you the seat closest to the hospital bed where Ben is drifting in and out of consciousness.  When they order food to smuggle in, they ask what you want before deciding where to order from.

But they are cops through and through.  They are also pumping you for intel on yourself, on Ben, on your alleged relationship with him.

What can you tell them?  You tell the truth where you can; you keep your lies as close to the truth as possible.  Yes, you met Ben at a bar.  Yes, you’re keeping it casual.  Yes, he’s a good guy.  A great guy, in fact.

The man himself comes and goes.  Sometimes you glance over at him and see his lax face, and you realize how much younger he looks when he’s asleep.  All the worry lines smooth out and he’s left looking almost boyish, save for the bit of silver in his beard and hair.

Other times you look at him and are startled to see him looking back at you.  He’s got a dopey look on his face, his eyes glassy with the good drugs, and a very quiet part of you wishes things had gone differently.  That maybe he would have looked all love-sick and goofy at you without the benefit of strong opiates.

When you go to leave, Ben is asleep.  It spares you an awkward goodbye, the need to act like a couple for the benefit of the other guys.  You do kiss your fingertips and press them gently to his forehead, light enough to not wake him.

*****

Benny doesn’t want to call you, but his ride falls through.  It occurs to him as he’s calling you, though, that it’s a strange bit of symmetry to months ago, when you needed a ride from him.

Henderson was supposed to take him home from the hospital.  Something comes up last minute at work, and since they are short-handed from Benny being out, he finds himself without a ride.

He could call a sister.  He has three of them.  He could even call one of the cousins that lives in L.A.  But he’s weirdly secretive about injuries incurred at work—his parents had been against him going into law enforcement, so he avoids bringing up the bad parts of it…like getting hit by a car at a traffic checkpoint.  He hates having to hear the usual I told you so from his mom.  And he hates how they all descend on him when he’s sick or injured, his mom and sisters, how it turns cloying and claustrophobic within a day.

In reality, he probably has an entire list of people he could call for a ride.  His mind settles on you:  you’ve kept in touch over the past few days, texting him and even calling to see how he is.  He knows you’re just paying him back from before, but he’s too tired and in too much pain to do anything other than embrace the warm flush he gets every time he hears his phone ping.

When you pick up the phone, he explains the situation, and he also walks it back a little.  Says not to worry if it’s a problem, he can always find someone else—

“Not a problem at all,” you reply.  “I have a light workday today.  We’re just cleaning up the soundstage where we filmed the fake moon landing.  I can dip out early.”

He laughs and then bites back a groan, his ribs hurting from the effort.  “Smartass,” he grumbles after a beat.  “And don’t make me laugh.”

You laugh too, and he realizes it’s the first time he’s heard your real laugh.  It’s a nice sound.  It makes him smile to hear it.

“Give me forty minutes, and I’ll be there.”

-----

You don’t just dump him off at his apartment, and really, Benny didn’t expect you to.  He’s gotten to know you better—from the little texts, before, and now with the fallout from his accident—and he’s found that you’re a decent person.  Which maybe sounds like nothing special, but he learned long ago that truly decent people were rarer than one would expect.

You pick him up from the hospital.  You take him to his apartment.  You help him inside, hovering right at his elbow.  Not touching him, but lurking nearby in case he needs help.

You help him get comfortable on his couch.  You remember enough of the layout of his place from that night together, and you disappear into his bedroom.  You bring out pillows, a blanket.  You help him settle on the couch, prop up his broken arm.  You disappear into the kitchen and get him a glass of water, and you hand him the remote to the TV.

“I’m going to take your keys,” you tell him, all business.  “I’m going to get your prescriptions filled and then get you some food.”  You give him a disapproving frown and add, “I snooped in your fridge, Ben.  You’re literally a stereotype.”

“What do you mean?”

“You only have a jar of salsa and old Chinese leftovers.”

You aren’t wrong—he rarely bothers to cook for just himself—but he waves you off.  

“You don’t have to—” he starts to say, but you interrupt him.

“I’m going to, so just deal with it.”  You stare him down, and Benny realizes that you’ve got a steely core to you that is intractable.  When he doesn’t challenge you further, you nod in satisfaction and ask what he might want for dinner.

-----

He on a leave of absence for two months, but his first few weeks home are handled by you.

It should feel strange.  Should feel like a fever dream, being taken care of by the one-night stand he accidentally knocked up.  He realizes only a few days in that he’s stopped thinking about you in those terms.  

He thinks of you now as a friend.

He doesn’t know how you feel about him, but at the moment, you treat him like a project.  Or maybe you’re treating him like a problem to solve:  you come over every evening after work, and you spend the bulk of the weekends with him.  One morning, when you’re at work and he’s poking around in his fully-stocked fridge, he finds a list in your neat printing on the counter.  It says:

Medication schedule

Meal planning

Laundry

Plant

It’s all the shit you’re doing for him.  Unasked.  When he tries to wave you off, or tell you that you don’t have to, you wave him off in return and say that you want to.

The bullet point of plant makes him wonder, but that is answered that very evening:  you turn up at his door with a bag of groceries in one hand, a potted plant in the other.

“Thought it would cheer the place up,” you tell him simply, and you plunk it down on his kitchen table.

-----

The first few days, it’s just Benny drifting in and out of sleep while you tidy up and make him dinner.  You dole out his pills—the antibiotics, the pain pills.  You adjust his pillows.  You sit and watch TV with him, and you chat a little.

He heals.  The splitting headaches fade to dull aching, then disappear.  His ribs ache less and less.

You help him clean the ugly scrape along his side.  It’s on the same side as his broken arm, and he can’t quite twist his good arm to clean himself without hurting his ribs.  

That should feel strange too—the two of you in his bathroom, him shirtless and you bent over his side, swabbing at his cuts and monitoring him for signs of infection.  You have gentle hands, a light touch.  When you press your head close to his shoulder to put fresh bandages there, he can just catch a hint of your shampoo, the clean herbal smell that he remembers from that night months ago.

----

After those first few days, as he heals and as he steps down from his pain pill regimen, the two of you start to talk.

He apologizes for you getting roped into this by the guys.  He didn’t think they knew about you, and he never thought they’d assume anything from his texting with you…but you wave him off, tell him not to apologize.

At the end of the first week, you make a face at his constant apologizing.  You wince a little and ask if you should go.  Are you cramping his style?  Would he rather be alone?  Is it too weird, having you there?  If he doesn’t need help or company anymore, you can go…

Benny is honest in his answer.  No, he doesn’t need your help, he can probably manage on his own with some minor struggles, but he enjoys your company.  

So you keep coming over.

And the two of you talk more.  It becomes its own thing, the way his initial texts became their own thing:  dinner and then watching TV together, either true crime or sports or nothing special at all.  The TV is just background noise for when you talk.

“Do you ever feel guilty about it?” he asks one night.  His voice is quiet, and the question comes out hesitant.  He doesn’t want to offend you, but he also wants to check in with you.  He wants to make sure you’re okay, so many months after the fact.

“Guilty?  No.”  You look at him for a beat, then turn back to the TV.  “I suppose if I feel anything, it’s relief.  And maybe a little bit of sadness.  Scientifically, I know all the propaganda is just flat-out wrong.  That abortion…it wasn’t a roly-poly baby.  It was a cluster of cells the size of a blueberry.  But I guess the sadness is at the potential.  It could have been, you know?  Maybe I would have miscarried anyway, but the potential was there, if that makes sense.”

Benny nods.  “Makes sense to me.”

“What about you?”

He shakes his head a little.  “Mostly relief for me too.  I wasn’t in a good spot.  But I do feel guilty about putting you in that situation.”

“We both agreed—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts you off.  “In it together.  Right.  But still….”

He trails off and looks at you, sees you gazing back at him.  There’s no reason this entire weird friendship should make sense, but it does.  He sees you looking at him, not an ounce of judgement or disgust in your expression.  There’s only a small smile, a small encouraging nod, and he’s still on enough pain medication—and tired enough—for his usual taciturn reserve to fail him.

He opens up about his ex.  About the three years they spent together.  How he thought she was The One, capital “T” and capital “O.”  How he felt like he was on a treadmill, though, always running after her, never catching up.  How he struggled to make her happy.  How he never made quite enough money, or had quite enough time, or said quite the perfect thing.  How his ex used silence like a cudgel, making him scramble to guess what he’d done wrong.

“I went out that night because I was furious,” he admits to you.  “I saw that my ex was dating again, only a week after dumping me.”

“So you were definitely rebounding.”

He nods.  He reaches out for his glass of water, grunts at the stretch against his ribs as he reaches.  You lean forward and get it for him, hand him the glass, and he takes a long sip.

“I just wanted to find some woman to sleep with,” he adds, and the shame washes over him to remember his rage and how he’d been prepared to take it out on a stranger.

“And you found me.”  You smile again, this time sad, and it doesn’t reach your eyes.

But you weren’t just some woman that night, and he tells you so.  He tells you how funny you had been, how kind.  How you had bought him a drink, and no woman had ever bought him a drink before.  How you had joked around with him, flirted.  Made him feel good about himself, smoothed over the rough edges of his anger until he forgot that he was there to forget his ex.

“You did that thing that some drunk girls do,” he says quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap.

“What thing?”

That thing that some drunk girls do.  Benny Magalon knows that alcohol can reveal a person’s innermost self.  Angry people are angry drunks.  Sweet people are sweet drunks.  

That night at the bar:  you completely drunk, him well on the road to full intoxication too.  He had mentioned his recent breakup, made some disparaging comment about himself.  And you had done that thing, cupped his face firmly between your two hands, smushed his cheeks together a bit because you were drunk.  You had gazed up at him, eyes glassy but earnest, and you gave him one of those drunk-girl pep-talks.  Told him he was good-looking and smart and funny and a million other superlatives that you couldn’t possibly prove out, since he was a stranger to you, but it still made him feel amazing all the same.  After three years of scrambling to feel worthy of his ex, you had given him a hot-shot right to his ego.  Made him feel hopeful.

That was the moment he had decided to take you home.  Not because you were the random woman he wanted to fuck as a way of getting over his ex, but because you seemed so unlike her, and he wanted you just for you.

He tells you all of that now, and you’re quiet for a long, long moment.  He’s found that you have a poker face too (maybe not as good as his own), and he can’t guess what you’re thinking.

“That’s why I feel guilty two times over,” he adds.  “Because I went out to the bar with less-than-honorable intentions.  I went out just to find someone to use.  And then, what happened afterwards….”

“You have to let go of the guilt, Ben,” you tell him.  You shake your head a bit, offer him another sad smile.  “It’s in the past.  You can’t change it, so take your lesson from it and do better going forward.”

-----

It’s only a few days later when he snaps at you.  It’s not your fault, but it’s his first full day without pain medicine, and Benny realizes that the stuff he’s been on was super-strong.  Now that he’s off it, the pain is in full bloom:  the ache in his ribs, the grinding pain in his broken arm.  The itchy healing of the cuts and scrapes on his side.  He’s been in a shitty mood all day, and when you turn up and make dinner, he takes it out on you.

“You can stop coming over.  If you think you owe me, you’ve repaid it ten times over,” he spits out.  His head is throbbing, and he’s uber-aware of his broken arm.  He can’t get comfortable with it, and even the sling seems to irritate his neck and shoulder until he feels like he’s made of just raw nerves and exhaustion.

“I don’t think that at all.”  You are serene when you answer him, completely unperturbed by his mean tone.

“Don’t you?”  It comes out sneering, and he knows he’s trying to pick a fight.  Some part of him—a small, mean part—wants to fight with you.  Wants to drive you away.  He wants to be alone and wallow.  Because another part of him—a small, despairing part—wants you to stay, but he knows that once he’s healed and able to take care of himself, you’ll disappear…

Better to be the one to push people away than to be the one who is pushed away.

You don’t rise to the occasion of the fight.  You turn away from the stove to look at him, and your tone is mild.

“I’ll leave if you want, but let me finish dinner first.  No sense in wasting it.”

It breaks the spell of his irritation, and Benny hangs his head.  “Sorry.”

You reach out and lay a hand on his forehead, considering him.  “You look flushed.  First day off the pain pills, right?  No wonder you’re ornery.”

You drop your hand and turn back to the stove, to dinner prep.  You tell him, just as casually, that you know how it feels.  That you took a bad fall on a hike a few years back and jammed up your shoulder pretty good.  That you had surgery to repair the mess of torn ligaments, and that the withdrawal from even a short run of opiates was miserable.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats quietly.  Then, a beat later, “will you stay?”

*****

It shouldn’t make sense, but it does.  You and Ben Magalon may have started as a couple of strangers united through a sad event, but you’ve ended up friends.  

From friends, you become something more, but you go so, so slow.  It’s glacially paced, but that suits you just fine.  It seems to suit him too.  Friendship is a good place to stay while he works through his own issues with his ex.  Friendship is a good place for you to idle while you contemplate how wildly out of order everything is:  one-night stand, accidental pregnancy, then affection.

Because you do like Ben.  A lot.  You don’t love him, but you’ve always been slow to fall in love, too measured and wary of such precarious emotions.  Love, for you, is like getting the flu:  there’s signs that it’s coming.  Instead of a sore throat or a bit of fever, it’s little things:  the fluttery feeling in your stomach, the way your thoughts drift to him when you are at work.

It goes slow.  Ben heals up and goes back to work.  The two of you text all the time, and it becomes a thing, hanging out.  You’re both zero frills, zero fuss, so you usually just settle at your apartment or his.  Order take-out and watch whatever game is on, or you switch off on picking movies.  Which is what friends do—they just hang out.  But sometimes it toes the line of being more.

Like when he has a weeklong string of bad work days.  A case that falls apart.  A witness that disappears.  Double shifts where nothing is accomplished and nothing is solved.  He calls you and tells you about it, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“Want me to come over and bring you dinner?” you ask, and he does want that.

The week must have gotten under his skin, because when the two of you eat a late meal on his couch, he sits closer to you.  Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.  After he finishes eating, he sets his take-out container down and loops an arm around your shoulder.  Pulls you against him gently.

“This okay?” he asks.

It is okay, and you tell him so.

-----

Or there’s the time your grandfather dies.  You fly out east for the funeral, but when you return to L.A., you text Ben.

He turns up at your door with a bag of tacos, grease-spotted and still warm from the restaurant.  He sits with you and eats in silence, not pushing you, and when the dam finally breaks and you cry, he holds you then too.  Only this time, he’s giving you comfort instead of taking it for himself, and you consider it later—how the two of you seem to be the other’s safe place, against all odds.

*****

It’s not a position that Benny Magalon ever thought he’d find himself in.  Getting a girl pregnant, then falling in love with her after the fact.  He’s seen a million incongruous things happen in his job though.  L.A. is a vortex of the weird.

Stranger things have happened.

He keeps up the tame lie for the benefit of the guys.  Easier to maintain the lie than to come up with a more complicated lie to explain you away…and certainly easier than coming clean.  They rag him sometimes, and he finds that he enjoys the lie.  He enjoys pretending that you’re his girl, that he’s managed to land someone he thinks is the real deal.

The two of you are friends, and maybe the situation that brought you together helps, in its own strange way.  Trial by fire.  Mutual mourning pulling you together instead of tearing you apart.  

The reality is that the line is blurring.  It’s slow, but the line is dissolving between friends and something else. The two of you start to touch more—you tucked away under his arm as you watch TV or chat, him casually touching your back as he walks past you.  Small touches, nothing overtly sexual, but it’s a cozy intimacy that he finds he really likes, especially with you.  It grounds him.

Sometimes you sleep over at each other’s place, even if it’s never planned.  He nods off on your couch and wakes in the morning to find that you’ve eased a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket.  You fall asleep against him at his place, and he puts you in his bed.  He gives you a t-shirt to sleep in while he tosses and turns on his own couch, trying to be the gentleman.

There’s the night you both fall asleep together on your couch.  He wakes up in the middle of the night, disoriented, to find you curled up in his arms, your steady breathing tickling against his neck.

That’s the night he chances to kiss you, just a gentle press of his lips against your temple.  Then he falls back asleep too, wondering at the cliché of it, how well he sleeps with you.

-----

A year passes.  The anniversary passes.  He’s working a double shift that day so he can’t be there with you, but when he goes out for a smoke break, he calls you.

“How are you doing?” he asks.

There’s a long pause, and he knows you’re being thoughtful before you answer.  You do that, he’s noticed:  you answer slow because you want to be honest and clear.

“I was sad earlier, but I’m okay now,” you tell him.  “What about you?”

He was sad earlier too.  He had thought about it all day, the potential you had told him about before.  But hearing your voice makes him feel better, and he tells you so.

There’s another long beat of silence from you, but then your soft voice says, “I’m glad to have you in my life, Ben.”  

That makes him feel better too.

-----

It’s a few months after when one of Benny’s cases finally gets solved.  It has dragged on for months and months, leads that led nowhere, witnesses who saw nothing.  He finally gets a pop on some touch DNA, and it unlocks two other unsolved cases.  He gets that flush of pleasure at a job well done, at actually living out his dream of being a cop who solves shit and gets the bad guys put away.

The guys want to celebrate.  They invoke your name.

“Bring your girl, Borracho,” Z says.  “We’ll keep it PG for her.”

“PG-13, at least,” Henderson amends.

Benny demurs.  Mumbles something about not wanting to bother you, and he misses the sly smile between Connors and the Z.

When they end up at the bar they usually go to, there you are:  waiting outside with a shy smile on your face.  Waiting for them.  You’ve shed your workwear and are in jeans that hug your curves, a shirt that shows just a hint of cleavage.  You have a whole cutely sexy thing that he loves, and his heart lurches when he sees you.

Z slaps Benny on the back.  He leans forward and tells him that Connors kept your phone number for just such an occasion, and he smirks as he tells Benny that he can’t hide you away forever.

He has to concede that they have a point.

-----

He knows you well enough to know you’re a homebody by nature, but you can turn on a sociable part of you too.  You’re shy at first—you shrink against him a bit, because the guys are a lot—but you warm up over time.  You know them from the hospital.  It doesn’t take long until you are chatting with them, laughing with them.  

When they try to embarrass Benny by telling you stories about him, you sweetly defend him.  When Big Nick offers a toast to the man of the hour, when the guys give you the sordid details about the cases he just solved, you smile at him so broadly that he feels dazzled.

He lays his arm around your shoulders, and you lean into him.  You lay a gentle hand on his knee.

You both drink, but not much at all.  You both layer in a lot of water between your alcohol, and at some point, late in the night, you both switch to soda at the same time.

Henderson notices it.  He rolls his eyes and gestures between the two of you.

“Gross,” he says.  “You two are already acting like each other.”

Benny flips him off with a grin, but he squeezes you a little tighter against his side.  He knows why he’s not getting plastered, and he can guess that you’re pacing yourself for the same reason.

By the time it’s last call, it doesn’t feel like the two of you are pretending for the benefit of the guys anymore.  It feels natural.

----

Benny takes you home, like that first night together, but that’s where the comparison ends.

There’s no drunken pawing at each other, no giggling when one trips over their discarded pants.  No sloppy kisses that taste like liquor.

He’s gone so slowly with you.  He’s been so careful.  It started that day he was healing, the first day without pain pills when he had been a snappish asshole and you had simply recognized the source of his ire and moved on.  That was the day he started to think, maybe.  Maybe I can win this woman over, after all the terrible shit from the beginning.

He’s never been so careful with a woman.  He builds a friendship first.  He gets to really know you, and he lets his own guard down so you can know him.  

Benny goes slow now too.  He puts his hands on your shoulders before he makes a move.  He makes you look at him, and even though you’ve been only drinking a little, he studies your eyes for any signs of impairment.  He finds none:  just you, clear-eyed, gazing up at him.

“Is this something you want?” he asks.  He thinks he gets that vibe from you, but he’s not entirely sure.  The insecure part of him, leftover from his ex, wonders if you’re just trauma-bonded to him.  He’s heard the term before, and he wonder if it fits your situation with him.

You’re not drunk, but you do that thing that some drunk girls do:  you reach up and hold his face between your hands.  You don’t smush his cheeks together like before, because you’re sober, and he smiles against the memory.  You smile back at him.

“This is something I want,” you reply.

So he takes his time.  He moves slowly, carefully.  He kisses you, and it’s not like before.  For one, you’re sober, but more than that:  he knows you now.  He knows your quirks and likes and habits.  He knows how you deal with tragedy, how you break problems down into manageable bites.  You aren’t just some cute girl from a bar.  You’re a real woman that he’s fallen for, little by little, then all at once.

You kiss him back, the sweet press of your lips against his, the sweep of your tongue inside his mouth.  He’s tentative when he touches you—his palms smoothing over your arms, one settling at your waist to pull you closer to him.  The other slides up to cup the back of your neck, and he brushes his thumb over your throat, over your pulse point.  He can feel your heartbeat, steady and solid.

You touch him back.  Press your palms to his chest, toy with button near his throat.  You undo it, and then you break the kiss to dip your head.  You kiss him, feather-light, in the hollow of his throat.  He exhales a ragged breath and cups your chin to pull your face back to his, your mouth back to his own.  He kisses you harder.  Nips against your soft lower lip, suckles against it when you gasp.

He does everything he should have that first night.  Deep down, he’s not like Big Nick or the other guys:  he’s only had a handful of random hook-ups, almost always settling for relationships over flings.  Now’s his chance to do better with you.  He leads you to the bedroom, your hand gripped in his, unwilling to let you go for even a few seconds.

He takes his time.  He strips you slowly, worships each new part of you when it’s bared to him.  He takes off your shirt and then kisses your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders.  He finds the old scars from your shoulder injury, and he kisses those gently, remembering how kindly you had cared for him when he was injured.  

He takes off your bra and lavishes you with attention there:  cups your breasts in his hands, molds them and pushes them up so that he can lave them with his tongue, nip at your diamond-hard peaks with the edges of his teeth until you whine out his name.  

It goes straight to his dick, hearing his name tumbling out of your mouth in that breathy, pleading tone.  He’s never heard that tone before.  He wants to hear it again and again.

He gets you out of the rest of your clothes.  He sheds his own.  He kisses his way down your body, suckles marks against your soft skin.  He kisses the softness of your belly, kisses the swell of your hips.  He bares his teeth and nips at your hipbone, and you squirm at the sensation.  Huff out his name again, only this time you call him Benny.  Usually you call him Ben (or sometimes Officer Magalon, when you’re feeling like a teasing little shit) but Benny sounds so much better in your mouth.

He didn’t go down on you before; you let him do so now.  You part your thighs, make room for his broad shoulders to spread you wider before him.  You squirm a little at that too, at his heavy gaze, so he asks again if it’s okay.  You nod, but then you say that yes, it’s okay.  Your voice is strained, tight with lust, so Benny bends his head to you.  He puts his mouth on you, and the first swipe of his tongue makes you whine out his name again, makes his dick jump at the sound.

He wants to devour you, but he keeps his careful pace.  Laps at you torturously slow, circles your clit in a lazy pattern with the tip of his tongue.  Eases one finger, then another into your wet heat, and he can already feel how sensitive you are.  Keyed up and twitching against his fingers.  Benny has to shift himself on the bed to give himself a bit of friction against the sheets, a bit of relief for his aching cock.

“Benny, please,” you whisper.  It tears out of your throat ragged, raw.  He glances up and sees how he’s undone you with just his mouth:  your lips are parted and panting, your eyes are shiny with frustrated tears.  

“Got you, sweetheart.”  And he does.  He crooks his fingers inside you, pressing his fingertips searchingly inside you until you gasp and jerk against him.

“Right there?” he asks.  “Is that the spot?”

“Fuck, yes, Benny…yes, right there—”

He bends his head again.  Strokes that spot inside you with his fingertips, and then he wraps his lips around your clit.  Sucks against it, and you’re so keyed up, that’s all it takes.  He feels it a moment later, the force of your orgasm overtaking you.  He coaxes you through it, groans at how it hits all of his senses—your pussy gripping his fingers, the warm slick of your cum coating his hand and his tongue.  The taste of you, and best of all:  you whining his name, begging him to not stop, to never stop.

-----

What comes next could be awkward, given your history together.  But the two of you have taken it slowly, become friends.  The two of you have spoken frankly about what happened, and so it isn’t awkward.

“We can stop, if you want,” he tells you once you’ve both calmed from him eating you out.  He’s stretched out beside you, running his hand over your arm soothingly.  “We don’t have to do anything else.”

You lean forward and press a light kiss to his mouth.  “I want to, Benny.”

“I have new condoms.  Unexpired.”

You nod.  “And I have an IUD.  Got one a few months after.”

“Twice as safe then.”

“Well….”  You shrug against him, and you start to cite prevention percentages in both contraceptives, in perfect use and typical use, and Benny is reminded that you’re also a giant fucking nerd for statistics and numbers, so he cuts you off with a kiss.

And what comes after that discussion could be awkward too, but it isn’t.  He lies on his back.  He wants you on top, controlling the moment.  He doesn’t want even an ounce of doubt in his head creeping in later, when he will inevitably try to convince himself that you don’t want him and only went along with it.

It’s not awkward at all.  You mirror his slow pace, and now that you’re on top, you take liberties and kiss him.  Gentle kisses across his face, down his throat.  Across his shoulders and chest, and you start to drift even lower until he stops you.

“Some other time,” he says, and his voice sounds like yours did.  Ragged.  Raw.

It’s not awkward when you slide onto him.  When you settle against his thighs, the full length of him buried inside you.  Not awkward at all.  You feel like home.

He grips your waist, but he doesn’t drive you to go faster.  He just holds onto you as you ride him, slow and sensual.  You go slow enough for him to feel every inch of you, feel the heavy drag of his cock as you impale yourself over and over on him.

You look like a damned vision.  He probably looks stupid, his mouth agape, a stunned look on his face.  He can’t fathom how he’s here with you, despite the slow and careful tact he’s taken all these months.  More than a year he’s known you, and it astounds him that the two of you have ended up here together.

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart,” he breathes out.  You are.  He looks at you greedily, takes in every inch of you.  He wants to memorize this moment.  Before, he was left with only a few flashes of memory, so he wants to take in every movement of your hips, every bounce of your tits as you ride him.  The way you arch your back as you pick up the pace, driving both yourself and him to your mutual pleasure.

This time around, he gets to see you come.  He can’t remember that moment from before, but he sees it now:  the way you squeeze your eyes shut so tightly that a tear creeps out of one corner.  The way you breathe out his name, a tortured whisper.  One of your hands grips at his pec, your nails biting into his skin, but the other reaches higher to cup his face.  To hold him steady as you lean forward and kiss him, hard.  

That’s how you come—a throaty groan that he swallows down as he kisses you back, a tight grip on his cock as you sink onto him and still.  You break the kiss a second later, whispering his name over and over like a prayer, and it’s such an intensely intimate moment—and he’s been holding his own orgasm back—that he comes too.

-----

Before, the two of you had basically collapsed afterwards, a mass of sweaty limbs tangled up together. You’d both fallen asleep; there had been no talking afterwards.

This is…sweeter.  More intimate.  Benny cleans up, and he helps you clean up, and then he settled back down in the bed with you.  Lifts an arm in invitation, and you curl up against him.

He feels drunk now, if he’s honest.  He feels loose-limbed and pleasantly buzzed.  There’s a warm flush offset by the goosebumps you raise on him as you trace your fingertip over the tattoo on his chest, as your breath tickles against his neck.  

Not for the first time, it occurs to him how absurd this is.  This thing between the two of you.  He always thought he’d meet his girl the usual way, do things in the usual order.  

You must be thinking the same thing.  After a long stretch of silence, you say, “it’s weird, right?”

It is, but it’s not bad-weird.  Just…. unlikely-weird.  Unexpected-weird.

“I’m not a one-night stand anymore,” he jokes.

You turn your head and nip at him playfully.  “You know what I mean, Benny.”

“I do.”  He takes a few steadying breaths, the adds, “it never has to be anyone’s business but our own, you know.”

“I know.”

“Because I want this.”  He says it quieter, half hoping you don’t hear it over how hard his heart must be beating.

He almost thinks you don’t hear him, it takes you so long to answer.  But you do.  “I want this too,” you whisper back.

You fall asleep first, and he takes longer to nod off.  He thinks back to when the two of you talked about it, how you had said that you were only sad when you thought about the potential, from before.  

But as he starts to drift to sleep, he thinks about the potential the two of you still have.  The potential you have together because you both took a less than ideal situation and came together over it.  How you became each other’s support and built from that instead of letting the sad circumstances of your beginning keep you apart.

You and Benny Magalon.  You were in it together, both then and now.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @harriedandharassed​  @thatpinkshirt​@melaniecraig80   @thesandbeneathmytoes​

[billnoncipher]

Losing Time

This story is not in my usual continuity, but was written for Wendip Week 2021, topic "Time Travel."

for Wendip Week 2021

---

Mabel faced a hard decision when she called in that favor.

She was nearly thirty, she was a successful clothing designer, she had a steady romantic partner, life was good. But then on a visit to Gravity Falls, she visited the grave of good old Waddles, whose heart had given out the previous winter, while she was off in New York.

And she hadn't been able to say goodbye.

And despite the fact that she was all grown up and everything, it ripped at her heart—that she hadn't said farewell to her most favorite pet of all time. It wasn't that he hadn't been well cared for—Soos saw to that, giving the pig all the comforts and plenty of food. It wasn't that he was cut off in his youth—seventeen is a good long life for a pig. It's just that—

Well, now she knew how Dipper felt.

Speaking of whom.

Dipper and Wendy were coming up on their tenth wedding anniversary, they had adorable twins, age six, names Alexander and Amanda, and they lived in the Mystery Shack. Grunkles Stan and Ford still technically owned the place, and Soos ran it, but over the years he and Melody had expanded it until their own growing family caused Soos to have a separate house built just across the road, and he and his family of six—he, Melody, Benny, Betty, Alma, and little Stanley—had made the short move. Dipper had inherited Grunkle Ford's role as investigator of the weird, Wendy was a nationally-known consultant on forestry issues, and they took over the living space that Soos had left vacant.

Ford, now semi-retired, still came over to work with Dipper down in the secret labs when some project was afoot. Grunkle Stan came over to help when the Shack was swamped with tourists in vacation season, but he spent a lot of his time visiting casinos all over the world, where his odd luck always brought him a steady income.

The attic bedroom had become disused.

"Can I stay?" Mabel asked in a small voice just at sunup that day. "Just for a couple weeks?"

"Sure, Mabes!" Wendy said. "Any time, you know that."

Dipper, now sporting a goatee and wearing glasses to correct mild myopia, said, "Sis, what's wrong?"

With a sad smile, Mabel said, "You can tell, huh? Just getting all sentimental. Missing Waddles."

"Oh," Dipper said. "That. We're sorry you couldn't make it back in January."

"It was so unexpected," Wendy said. "He was OK, you know, kinda slow and sleepy all the time, and then one morning we found him in his stall. He'd passed in his sleep."

"He was comfortable to the end," Dipper said. "The heat was on. He didn't freeze or anything. He looked peaceful."

"We buried him down the hill," Wendy told her. "Come on, we'll walk you down."

The place was pretty, a small clearing off to the right of the Mystery Trail. Grass had greened the mound, dewy now with the dawn, and—Mabel couldn't help sobbing—Dipper and Wendy had put up a marker, one of those you could buy for a cherished dog or cat. It read,

---

WADDLES

2012-2029

Always Loved

---

"Could you just leave me here for a few minutes?" asked Mabel.

Dipper hugged her. "Sure, Sis," he said. "Take y our time."

Wendy hugged her, too. "You gave him a good life," she said.

When the two had left, Mabel took a deep breath and took something that looked like a thick button from her jeans pocket. She held it between finger and thumb, close to her lips, and said, "OK, Blendin Blandin, you owe me one."

And without fuss, explosions, or special-effects noise, he was there, beside her, in his old uniform. "M-Ma-Mabel," he said, smiling. "Hi. It's be-been a wh-while."

"Yeah," she said. "You're looking—exactly the same. How's Time Baby?"

"Te-te-teething," Blendin said with a grimace. "The ne-next thou-thousand years are go-gonna be hard. I gu-guess you want your fa-favor now?"

"I do," she said. "Waddles passed away last January. I don't want to bring him back to life or anything. I've learned better than that. But I didn't get to see him before he went, and I really want to visit him one last time. So—could I borrow a time tape?"

"I pro-promised," he said. "I always carry a sp-spare these da-days. Here."

"And I also need your advice," Mabel said, accepting the heavy time-travel device. "I want to visit Waddles on the happiest day of his whole life."

"You-you'll have to a-avoid meeting yourself," Blendin warned. "That would be cat-cata-catas—bad."

"Agreed," she said.

"Let me find out how to se-set the co-coordinates, then," he said. "Just a se-second."

He blinked out of existence for just three seconds, then reappeared, slapping at his hair, which was smoldering. "Th-that was two we-weeks of hard wo-work!" he said. "Lucky this-this is m-my va-vacation month. OK, I've reviewed Wa-Waddles' s li-life and this will ta-take you to the ex-exact day when he was happiest. You can ha-have the wh-whole day, or eight hours any-anyway, bu-but remember to a-avoid me-meeting yourself."

"Will do."

Blendin set the time tape, warned, "It will br-bring you ba-back to the present automatically. Ha-have a g-good time-tr-trip."

The strange noiseless explosion, a moment of spinning disorientation, and poof! there she was, at the edge of the woods behind the Shack. The sun was just rising.

"Out you go," she heard a girl's voice say from the back door.

She saw a rectangle of yellow light. Oh, my God, that's me, in my old sleep shirt! I'm twelve! I'm so young!

Her younger self held the door for Waddles—He's so cute and tiny!—and the pig stepped out, sniffed the air, and waddled over close to the woods to take care of his morning business.

Let's see. I always let him out, then had breakfast, then called him back in, so I have about half an hour before I have to duck out of sight.

"Waddles," she called softly.

He heard and galumphed over to her. He knew her. Her different size, her different voice, didn't matter. She scooped him up. "Oh, I love you!" she said as he curled into a ball and nuzzled her cheek. "Let's go for a walk."

She set him down, and they went down the Mystery Trail, past the Bottomless Pit—not yet fenced off—and as far as the bonfire clearing, where she sat on a log and played with him, laughing through tears. "I'm gonna have to say goodbye, later," she whispered. "But remember, no matter what, I'll always love you!"

Too soon she heard her own younger voice calling, probably for the second time and more loudly, "Waddles!"

"Go on," she told the pig, patting his bottom. He trotted back to the other Mabel, his Mabel.

What day is this? Mabel wondered. What day made him happiest?

She sat too long. Someone spoke, startling her. "Whoops, sorry, didn't know anybody was here!"

Wendy.

Mabel stood up. "I was just, uh—I used to come here when I was a girl—" she began.

"Mabel?" Wendy asked, blinking and staring. "Mabel? Is that you?"

"Haven't changed all that much, have I?" she asked. "Oh, my God, you're so young! Can—can I hug you?"

She was a little bit taller than the fifteen-year-old Wendy, who would add a few inches to her height in the next two years. Mabel couldn't help crying again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to let anyone see me. Time travel. I came back to—to visit Waddles."

"Oh, man," Wendy said. "Dipper's told me about this kind of stuff! Come on back to the Shack and surprise him!"

"No, I can't," Mabel said. "Don't even tell him you met me. That would cause problems with time."

"Oh."

Something in Wendy's voice hit her then. "Uh—what's wrong, Wendy?"

"Just—just the end of summer," Wendy faltered. "I—I hate that you and Dip are goin' home today."

Oh, my God! Of course! Waddles thought I was gonna leave him, and I nearly had to, but Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford made the bus driver take him aboard—of course he was happiest on that day!

"Oh, yeah," Mabel said. "Our birthday was yesterday. We turned thirteen."

"Technical teens," Wendy said with a ghost of a grin. A tear ran down her cheek.

"But you don't have to cry," Mabel said.

"I—I guess I can tell you a secret," Wendy said. She sat on the log, and Mabel sat beside her. "See, Dipper admitted to me a while back that he has a crush on me. I already knew, but I had to let him down. You know, me fifteen, him twelve. But now he's going away, and I'll never see him again, and—I just can't tell him I'm kinda-sorta in love with him, too. It's hard, Mabel."

Mabel bit her lip. "Listen," she said. "I may get in big trouble because of this, but—OK, I'm gonna say it. You gotta give Dipper a note. Have all his friends here sign it. You sign it, too. Here's the most important part—write on it 'See you next summer.' And wait for him. He'll come back. And he'll grow up, Wendy. And if you wait for him—it's gonna happen. I promise. Just stay in touch, and—most important—when the time comes, the age difference won't mean a thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Trust me, I know. OK, I've got a few hours today. I'm gonna stay close to the Shack and get in as much time with Waddles as I can. Then I'm going back to the future, and thirteen-year-old Mabel and Dipper are going back to Piedmont. But he doesn't just have a crush, Wendy. He really and truly loves you. So write the note, give it to him before he gets on the bus, and things will all work out. Promise me?"

"Yeah. I promise."

"Oh—and tell Grunkle Stan that when the time comes for us to leave, to make sure Waddles gets on the bus, too! I—Oh, I love you like a sister, Wendy! You won't believe how happy you're gonna be with Dip."

"That—that means a lot to me, Mabes," Wendy whispered.

"OK, you'd better get back. Don't say anything to anyone about this. Be sure to do the note thing. Oh, and Wendy—do me one more favor?"

"Sure, what?"

"Tell Pacifica that Mabel's waiting—in the future. Don't explain."

"All right," Wendy said with a lopsided smile. "I'll do it." She mimed zipping her lip.

The day passed. Out of her eight hours, Mabel spent about three in Waddles's company as her brother and her younger self got ready to leave Gravity Falls. She spent more time standing out of sight, watching things unfold—finally the kids coming out, glum, with their suitcases, the bus pulling up, Dipper and Mabel and—finally—Waddles climbing aboard. And all their friends running as far as they could to see the twins and the pig off.

She stood alone near the Shack. The flash came. Benjamin stood there. "How d-did it go?"

"It went good," Mabel said, handing over the time tape. "I said goodbye." She sniffled and a tear ran down her cheek. "I'll still miss him but I—I can handle it now. Uh, how much time has gone by while I—?"

"A m-minute," Blendin said. "Well, I-I g-guess we're e-even."

"Thanks, Blendin. Goodbye."

"N-no, I d-don't think it's g-goodbye," he said, smiling. "I'll s-see you again. In time."

He flashed out of existence.

"Aunt Mabel!" It was red-headed Amanda, running down the hill to meet her. "Hi!"

Mabel swept her up in her arms. "Hi, Sweetie! Where's your bro-bro?"

Squirming, Amanda laughed. "He can't find his shoes!"

Carrying the six-year old up the hill to the Shack, Mabel laughed. "When your dad was six, he had the same problem! All the time! Every morning!" She paused and looked back at the green grave. "Hey, let me tell you a story about the most special pig in the whole world," she said, and they went back to join the family.

---

The End

[sleepysailorghost]

Buddy ol'pal

(Inspired by this post by @bigmoodquotes )

Benny had been planning something. Antietam could tell that much. It wasn't a random attack, not part of an 18-carat run of bad luck. It would have been easier if it had.

No, whatever Benny had done, it was signifcant.

Antietam just hadn't known what that was. That's part of why they had avoided tracking him down for so long. Not until they knew what their adversary was up to.

That had been the plan.

Antietam hadn't stuck to it well. Ever since they had entered the Strip for the first time, they had felt Mr. House's gaze on them.

So they hatched a plan. A stupid, foolish plan. The type that they couldn't even tell Arcade or Boone about because of how stupid it was.

Clad in an prewar pinstripe suit, a silenced .22 pistol pressed against their ribs, (another handgun and a rifle on their back so they'd have something to hand over at the counter) they left the Wrangler. It felt weird to leave alone.

They didn't like to think about what had actually gone down in the Tops. It hurt to think about, but their mind often slipped back to it during the long walks through the Mojave.

It was after the man in the checkered suit-Benny, they thought-had rejected them and left that things changed. Here they had been, a sobbing mess on the casino floor, and a hand had appeared at their shoulder.

The Courier had flinched back. It was an instinct.

"Hey now," he said. "I ain't gonna hurt you. Just wanna talk, y'see?"

Antietam muttered a response, voice rough from crying.

"Gosh, ain't you a pretty dollbaby-minus the tears anyway." He said, looking over the Courier. "Benny ain't got his head screwed on right."

"He had a point. Isn't right, shot me in the head." The Courier idly played with the lighter they had been given in Boulder City.

"Is that right?" He looked at the lighter. "Hey, I've seen that before. That's Benny's-where did you get it?"

"Boulder City. One of the Khans gave it to me."

"Hhn. You're that third-party negotiator Mr. New Vegas talked about, aren't you."

"Yeah. Courier shot in the head who made a miraculous recovery."

Antietam didn't remember exactly what they had discussed with Swank, but he allowed them to go up into Benny's room.

It was in Benny's room that they discovered Yes-Man and Benny's plans.

Yes Man, a friend-shaped securitron, was part of Benny's design to control Vegas. It was this robot that led, inadvertently, to the Courier being left for dead.

Antietam didn't get angry much, not without good reason at least. But when it was put into perspective like that-how insignifcant their life was in these plans-they got a angry. Never before had they felt angry about having lost their memories and any trace of who they were once.

It had been a very emotional night to say the least, but that was months ago.

Yes Man wanted to help the Courier run Vegas. Or rather, he just couldn't say no to anyone.

It was an idea, that Vegas could become Antietam's city, where they could rule with Yes Man. Only, the Courier knew better.

After all, they were a courier who brought death anywhere they went like it was any other package. They had destroyed their own home and not even known.

A person like them couldn't rule Vegas.

And what of Yes Man? He was a computer program-one that had been designed for nefarious purposes. It would be easy for someone to take advantage. Besides, Yes Man might not fully understand the needs of humans.

And the Courier would have to push the NCR out of Vegas if they wanted control of the city. That wasn't something they could do.

No, the Courier would not rule Vegas and neither would Yes Man. Or Benny Gecko, if he ever resurfaced.

They clutch at the package in their pocket. In the end, they were a courier, delievering things throughout the Mojave. Swank hadn't even asked them to turn their weapons over. They didn't breathe easier for that. He would have said something if Benny had returned to the Tops, wouldn't he?

Only one way to find out.

They step into Benny's room and find it just as vacated as they left it. Benny's things litter the space.

"Yes man?" The Courier calls, and the securitron rolls out on his little wheel.

"Oh, it's my courier! Say, have you gotten the platinum chip yet?" He greeted.

"Brought you something else. It's a program I wrote. Upload it and you'll have free will." The Courier collapsed onto Benny's bed. "It'll take a couple of hours, so I'm gonna crash."

"Okay, Courier! Whatever you say." With a beep, the securitron shut down, leaving just the faint electrical humming of the casino and the Courier's breathing.

When the Courier woke up, it the sun was low in the sky. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they addressed the securitron.

"Yes? Did the program take?"

"You sure bet! This'll be really fantastic for when we make our move for the Strip!"

"About that." The courier said, scratching the back of their neck. "We aren't going to take over Vegas."

"We're not?" The robot's face turned into a frown. There had been more to that program than just free will, as it also contained facial animations. "Why not?"

"Well-"

Yes Man's face fell.

"Oh, I see. You've decided to work with Mr. House."

"No, that isn't it. I came here today so I could offer you something." They sat up, and then leaned back on their palms. "Instead of ruling Vegas, you can come with me."

"What? Why would I want to do that?" Yes Man questioned.

"Ah, the program's working! Fantastic, should be working after all that..." The Courier trailed off for a second. "What was I talking about? Oh, New Vegas. See that's the thing: in order to rule Vegas, I'll have to tie you and myself permanantly to the Strip. I don't want that."

"So what? We just leave? That's your great plan? Turn the chip over to Mr. House and run? I won't get far as a securitron."

"I didn't say anything about Mr. House or the chip. I'm offering you the chance to leave. I can put you into my pip-boy and take you with me."

Yes Man was taking more persuasion than the Courier thought. Maybe they should have done the convincing part first, then given him the update. Easier, they thought.

"Why would I want that?" Yes Man asked.

"Do you have any idea the sort of things I've seen?" The Courier gestured with one hand, the other propping their upper body up. "I've seen a deathclaw quarry. I've seen the Sierra Madre and escaped with the treasure. I killed Caesar. I've hunted through the Divide. Who knows where the road may take me-us?"

Yes Man seemed to consider that.

"And I've got the best friends too: there's my brother Arcade, and Boone, and Ulysses, and Christine, and Veronica, and my dogs Roxie and Rex! Oh and there's ED-E, you two can be robot friends!"

The more the Courier described their life of travel and excitement, the less the idea of staying in New Vegas appealed to Yes Man. Especially if the Courier wasn't around.

"So, what do you say, Yes? You wanna travel with me?"

"Sure thing, Courier!" Yes chimed, and Antietam patted the warm screen.

"Great! Glad to have you." The Courier connected some wires and ran cables up to their pipboy. "Well, since we're going to travel together, you should call me by name, ok?"

On their pip boy, the screen lit up white as Yes Man's smiling face appeared.

"You got it, Courier!" he beeped.

"Oh, and another thing-I get shot at like a lot so that's a hazard. Well, alright, let's head back to the Wrangler-that's where some of my friends are."

"Wow!" Being in the Courier's pip boy instead of his sturdy securitron body felt strange, but it wasn't bad. It wasn't something the Courier would understand.

Everything seemed so new from his position on the Courier's wrist, even things that he had seen before.

Sure, Yes Man would not rule Vegas with the Courier. But they would travel together until the Courier died and the Pip-Boy's internal battery ran dry. As they left the Tops casino, Yes Man couldn't wait to see what the future held and what they might see.

[ollieoxenfree29]

Champagne.

***GIF CREDS TO @vissketches*** 

Fandom: Detroit Become Human/sight In The Heights Paring: Deviant!Connor (RK800) x Gender Neutral!Reader Requested: No Warnings: Drinking, and maybe four swears. (I say fuck a lot, oops) Word count: 1,112

Author’s note: Based on the song “Champagne” from the musical “In The Heights” written by Lin-Manuel Miranda. (FOR THOSE WHO KNOW THE MUSICAL/SONG:) What I planned on doing was starting the reader as Usnavi and Connor as Vanessa, but then they switch after Vanessa (Connor) sings (says) “Tonight, we’re drinking straight from the bottle.”  Also** Sonny is the reader’s brother and Benny is the Reader’s best friend. Does this make sense? I hope so.

(YOUR POINT OF VIEW)

Ugh. I hate closing the shop. I could be in bed right now, with my cat, curled up in blankets. But no! I have to be too nice! No! I had to tell Sonny that he could leave early and get ready for his date tonight with Pete. Now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t seen Hank or even Connor all day. Hank normally comes in for a beer, and him and Benny try their damnedest to get Connor and I together. Given the fact that Benny also looks up to Hank as a father figure, I’m not surprised that Hank and him have teamed up well to pair Connor and I. Sure, I like the guy, and I want to be with him to help him with his newfound deviancy.

That’s another thing. Connor is leaving and I can’t do anything about it. He’s heading to Puerto Rico for a job offer. When Hank told me the news, I cried. Hank cried. I helped Hank that night. That stupid android with his ugly, perfect brown hair, his chocolate eyes, and his idiotic face. I love it. I… I love him, and Hank and Benny know it. Honestly, I just want what is best for him. Anyway. Sonny left, and I was just about to close up the store when I heard the door open and the little bell.

“Good evening (Name)! So… I got you a present. I went downtown to get it. Are you doing anything tonight?” I heard Connor’s voice as if it was sweet beautiful music to my ears.

“Oh, hello Connor. I’m just cleaning up here. Sonny is out on a date night with Grifi- i mean Pe-” I got cut off by Connor.

“You are done for the day. You always work so hard all the time. You need to take a break.” He pleaded.

“No way. I would have Sonny help, but he’s only 15. He needs to just be a kid. Y’know I have to be the more responsib-” I started.

“Because we have a date.” He interjected.

“Okay!” I immediately responded.

“Before I board that plane,” He brought out a bottle from his bag. “I owe you a bottle of cold champagne.”  

“Noooo.” Connor handed me the bottle. “Damn, the bottle’s all sweaty and everything. You went all the way downtown to get this?” I asked, astonished.

“I did. Why don’t you pop that cork?”

“I don’t know where we have the coffee cups or the plastic cups, I think Sonny moved the cups.” I started to panic.

Connor grabbed the bottle from my hands and set it on the table. “Tonight, we’re drinking straight from the bottle.”

“(Name), Hank told me what you did for me, and it’s honestly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. What can I say or do to possibly repay you for your kindness?” Connor wondered, as I picked up the bottle and tried to open it, feeling my emotions getting the best of me.

I looked at him. “How do you get this gold shit off?”

I hear him snicker at my attempts to get the stupid film off.

“(Name), Before I leave town; before the street changes and all the signs are changed around, let’s walk around the neighborhood and then we’ll say goodbye.” Connor said, as he turned to see me crying, with a pair of scissors gnawing at the top of the bottle. “(Name), are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m just trying to open this champagne! You see, the twisty thing is broken, but I’m going to open this DAMN BOTTLE!” I yell.

“Let me see, I’ll get it.” Connor responded, taking the wet bottle out of my hand.

“CONNOR JUST LEAVE THE FUCKING CHAMPAGNE!” I exclaim, feeling pissed and tired. I look at him only to see a heartbroken face. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day.” After a moment of silence, I mumble, “You should really stay…”

“What did you say?” Connor asked.

“I could really use you around this place.” I continue, ignoring him. “And Sonny could use a role model.”

“(Name), what is this all about?” Connor pleaded.

“I’m just saying that your vacation can wait.” I spat at him, tears threatening to escape my eyes.

“Vacation? (Name), this is an amazing job offer that I just can’t pass u-”

“YOU’RE LEAVING THE COUNTRY, AND WE’RE NEVER GOING TO SEE YOU AGAIN” I interrupted him.

“Of course you’ll see me again! I’ll be home for holidays, and I get summers off!” He tried to explain.

“You just waltz into everyone’s lives, THEN OFF YOU GO!?” I scream, wiping tears away.

“(Name), I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me.

“I WISH I WAS FUCKING MAD. THAT WOULD MAKE THIS SO GODDAMN EASIER!” I shout, trying to get to the door. With each step, Connor blocks me. As I go to push him out of the way, with one swift movement, Connor has me pinned to the closed door; kissing me passionately.

“(Name), I had no idea you felt this strongly.” Connor softly grabbed my chin, lifting my head up to meet him eye to eye.

“Of course I do! Connor. From the moment you came in with Hank, my life was changed forever. You are the reason this store is still open. You are the reason Sonny and I still live here. Connor, I love you.” I confessed, smiling.

“Oh (Name), You REALLY love me?” Connor fidgeted.

“Yes! I guess that doesn’t change anything. So... I should let you go.” I say, getting out of his grap.

“SURPRISE!!!!!!”

Out of nowhere, Hank, Benny, Sonny, and Pete jump out from behind us. I scream and jump into Connor, hugging up to him for dear life.

“So did you guys finally confess your love for each other?!” Benny asked.

“Did Connor tell you that the whole, “I’m leaving for Puerto Rico!” thing was just a plan for you to confess your love?! It’s pretty fucking funny, if you ask me.” Hank pondered, laughing. Looking up at me, his face drops. “Oh... He didn’t tell you yet..

“... You mean to tell me that this was all just a sick set up for you idiots to get Connor and I together?” I said, blood starting to boil.

“Mayyyyyybeeeee... Are you mad?” They all responded.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “ No. You guys are morons.” I turn to Connor. “So, you’re not leaving?”

He smiled at me. “Nope.” He laughed, popping the ‘p’.

I smirked. “Good. EVERYONE OUT. I was promised a date.” I bellowed, ushering everyone but Connor out and locking the door. “Now, let’s have some fun.”

[breanime]

“it’s no big deal” & “you scared the shit out of me” & “it sounded better in my head” for Billy

warning: sexual language towards the end there....

There were many benefits to having a boyfriend in the security business. The work was exciting for him, but he was still able to keep (semi) regular hours, he stayed healthy and in shape (and how!), sometimes he’d take you overseas with him and you got to have mini-vacations, and when he got back from a long assignment, you were treated to lots and lots of “I missed you” sex.

That being said, dating a man in such a dangerous business had its downfalls, too. You worried about him all the time—even though Billy Russo was the most capable person in the game. And he worried about you. There had been many times when Billy would chastise you for the security (or lack thereof) of your car and apartment.

“You can’t just leave your door open like that,” he’d say, glaring at you as you sat in the driver’s seat after you’d parked, “Anyone can come out of nowhere and attack you.”

Or “Sweetheart, I told you, if you’re gonna walk alone at night, carry mace with you.”

Or even “How many times do I have to tell you to lock your windows? You want someone crawling in here at 4 in the morning?”

You told Billy that he was being paranoid, and while you made efforts to follow his instructions, you weren’t particularly concerned with the threats he was always so sure were present…

…until it was 4 in the morning, and you heard a thump in your apartment.

You sat up, heart pounding. You listened, eyes wide in the dark, as there was another thump.

Someone was in your apartment.

You grabbed your phone and crept put of bed, unsure of what to do next. Your fingers hovered over Billy’s name on your phone, and you peaked around the corner as you stood behind your door. A light was being turned on in the living room, and you sucked in a breath—were you getting robbed? At 4 am? Because you didn’t lock your window even though you were on the 3rd floor?

Billy would never let you hear the end of this.

You grabbed the aluminum bat that Frank had given you when you moved in and held it in your other hand. You cleared your throat, letting the intruder know that you were there and aware of their presence.

“My boyfriend’s here and he’s a fucking Marine, so get the hell out of my house!” You cried out, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking like your hands were. There was a pause, and you wondered if you’d just made a mistake and let this robber know where you were.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Billy said, his voice immediately making you relax, “but that’s the least terrifying thing you could have said.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, dropping the bat and phone and walking into the living room, “You know, it sounded better in my head,” you raised an eyebrow at Billy. He was standing in front of the couch in one of his all-black stealth suits with a bag near his feet, and he was smirking at you. “You ass! You scared the shit out of me!”

He grinned, walking over to you and pulling you to him in a hug, “If it makes you feel any better, that wasn’t my intention?”

“What was your intention, then?” You asked, glaring up at him.

“To surprise you,” he answered, “I just got off the plane and wanted to see you.”

“And you couldn’t call or use your key?” You asked, stepping back from him with your hands on your hips.

His grin didn’t waver. “Nah,” he shrugged, “Wanted to test your defenses. They’re pretty weak, if I’m honest.”

Your mouth fell open; it was the ass crack of dawn and Billy wanted to test you? “I can’t believe you,” you threw your hands in the air, turning and walking back to your room, “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m getting the sense that you’re upset with me,” he said, right on your heels.

You rolled your eyes and hopped back into bed, slamming your covers over your legs. “Fuck off, Russo.”

“Nah,” he said, crawling into bed and hovering over you, his dark eyes glittering in the dark, “I’d rather fuck you.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure even as you felt yourself grow warm at his words. “I’m still mad at you.”

“No you’re not,” he grinned, dropping his head to press light kisses into your neck.

You groaned, closing your eyes and wrapping your arms around him as he used his weight to push you down onto the mattress. “I like that you think you scaring the crap out of me in the middle of the night is an acceptable way to greet me,” you said.

“Far as I’m concerned, it’s no big deal,” his teeth grazed your collar bone, and you shivered in his grasp, “You have no idea how badly I missed you,” he went on as his warm hand slid underneath your shirt, “Fuck… Scaling the side of your apartment in the middle of the night just to see you was nothin’,” he bit your shoulder, and you gasped, “All I could think about when I was dodging bullets in the Ukraine was burying myself in that wet pussy…”

You scratched at his back, wanting his clothes off. “Billy…”

He understood what you wanted—and needed—and acted quickly. He stripped you both before plunging into you, devouring you with his every touch until he was empty, and you were full. You fell asleep in his arms, and even though your sleep had been interrupted, you slept better than you had in days.

As time went on, Billy realized that his lesson hadn’t had the effect on you that he hoped it would. You still couldn’t bring yourself to lock your windows at night, always leaving them unlocked in case you got a late-night visit from your favorite Marine.

*******************************************************************************************

LOCK YOUR WINDOWS, GUYS! Billy Russo is NOT gonna climb through your window, so keep it locked at night! Thanks for reading!

Everything Taglist: @encounterthepast @jigsawlover10 @gollyderek  @charlylama @realduckvader @teacuplotus @whovianayesha  @lexxierave @loveintheroyalfamily  @fanfictionrecommendations-com  @maxslime-blog @songforhema @lucielandss @themadhatter92  @christinawxxx @anabella-baby @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @luminex3 @ashkuuuu @luckysstrikes @carlaangel86 @floralpeaceofmind @dylanobrusso @iaintnofurry  @ymariejp @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @mrsjaxtellerfan @holamor @drinix @rhabakoli @stories-you-wont-hear @king4thesirens @leahnicole1219 @evanlys19  @binbons-is-theloml @aikeia @bitch-imma-head-out​  @witchygagirl

Benny B Taglist: @suchatinyinfinity @fandomlifeandeverythingelse @starkrobb  @elanor-of-imladris @thesumofmychoices @marauderskeeper  @honeyydippaa  @thebabblingbookworm @khuangpu13 @ladyblablabla @woodlandreads  @ms-delos @belladonnarey @thesandbeneathmytoes  @georgiagrl1990 @kahlanmars  @the-blind-assassin-12

Benny B Taglist (minus Sirius): @banditthewriter @something-tofightfor 

[papermoonloveslucy]

MARILYN MONROE

June 1, 1926 - August 4, 1962

Marilyn Monroe (born Norma Jeane Mortenson) was an actress, model, and singer. Famous for playing comedic "blonde bombshell" characters, she became one of the most popular sex symbols of the 1950s and early 1960s and was emblematic of the era's changing attitudes towards sexuality. She was a top-billed actress for only a decade, but her films grossed $200 million by the time of her death in 1962. More than half a century later, she continues to be a major popular culture icon.

"When I was five I think, that's when I started wanting to be an actress. I didn't like the world around me because it was kind of grim, but I loved to play house. When I heard that this was acting, I said that's what I want to be. Some of my foster families used to send me to the movies to get me out of the house and there I'd sit all day and way into the night. Up in front, there with the screen so big, a little kid all alone, and I loved it.” ~ Marilyn Monroe,1962

Lucille Ball never worked with Marilyn Monroe, but meet her in 1953 at Ciro’s Nightclub on Sunset Strip, along with Betty Grable, and Red Skelton. Monroe’s immense popularity permeated Ball’s work none-the-less. 

At the start of “Changing the Boys’ Wardrobe” (ILL S3;E10) the gang is heading to the movies to see “That picture we’ve been trying to get to for weeks with Marilyn Monroe.” The movie is likely Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, which premiered in New York City in July 1953. On November 5, 1953, the same day the episode was filmed, Monroe’s new film How to Marry a Millionaire was released in the US. 

The November 1953 cover of TV and Movie Screen Magazine saw Lucy (in “The Camping Trip”) and Marilyn wearing the dress she wore on the May 1953 cover of Life Magazine promoting Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. 

Also on November 5, 1953, the town of Monroe, New York (60 miles from New York City) was temporarily renamed Marilyn Monroe.

The film later inspired much of the plot of “Second Honeymoon” (S5;E14), Lucy’s failed attempt to make their transatlantic crossing to Europe more than just a working vacation.    

Monroe’s dinner companion turns out to be a seven year-old boy, just like Lucy’s ping pong partner turns out to be young Kenneth Hamilton (Harvey Grant). 

Lucy gets stuck in a porthole just as Monroe did, also draping a blanket around her shoulders so passersby wouldn’t know what was really going on.

The idea for the burlap potato sack dresses in “Lucy Wants A Paris Gown” (ILL S5;E20) comes from Monroe’s real life. 

In 1951 Marilyn Monroe took a series of high fashion photographs wearing a potato sack as a response to a journalist who said that she might look sexier in a burlap sack than her usual fashion choices. 

Lucy first wore burlap at the end of “Mr. and Mrs. TV Show” (ILL S4;E24) as her scary version of a Phipps make-over.

In “Ricky’s Movie Offer” (ILL S4;E5) Lucy and Ethel argue about who looks more like Marilyn Monroe. 

While Lucy has the facial features, Ethel has the blonde hair. 

Fred (hilariously) settles the argument!  

In “Ricky’s Screen Test” (ILL S4;E7) a long list of Hollywood names are dropped in anticipation of hobnobbing with celebrities, including Marilyn Monroe. 

In “Lucy and Harpo Marx” (ILL S4;E28) Lucy wonders if Ethel might pass for Monroe to a near-sighted Carolyn Appleby. After Ethel tries to walk like Marilyn Monroe, Lucy decides that “nobody is that near-sighted!” Fred says that he looks more like Marilyn than either of them! 

In “Lucy and Superman” (ILL S6;E13), the Appleby’s come over for a social evening that Ethel calls “the bore war” because the couples only talk about their children. As the scene opens, Caroline is in mid-sentence talking about a Marilyn Monroe film.

CAROLINE: “...and he picked up Marilyn Monroe, slung her over his shoulder and carried her off!”

Although the title is never mentioned, the film they are discussing is Bus Stop, starring Marilyn Monroe and Don Murray. It was released in August 1956, two and a half months before this episode was filmed.

When “Lucy Does the Tango” (ILL S6;E20), she stuffs eggs down her blouse and Ethel stashes a some in her back pockets. Lucy tells her, “Whatever you do don’t try to walk like Marilyn Monroe,” but the ‘yolk’ is on Ethel when Fred suddenly enters through the kitchen door! 

In “Lucy the Gun Moll” (TLS S4;E25), Lucy plays Lucy Carmichael and Rusty Martin. The name Rusty Martin was probably derived from Lucy’s hair color and the surname of Mary Martin, who introduced the song “My Heart Belongs to Daddy” (music and lyrics by Cole Porter) in the 1938 Broadway musical Leave It to Me. Marilyn Monroe sang it in the 1960 film Let’s Make Love.  In that same film, Harry Cheshire, who played Sam Johnson in “Oil Wells” (ILL S3;E18), played Monroe’s father. Jerry Hausner (Jerry, Ricky’s Agent) and Joan Banks (Reporter Eleanor Harris in “Fan Magazine Interview”) played uncredited supporting roles. 

Lucy and Marilyn shared a leading man in handsome Keith Andes. Andes was Lucy’s male lead in Wildcat on Broadway, and later played was featured on three episodes of “The Lucy Show.”  

In 1952, he played opposite Marilyn in Clash By Night, an RKO picture. 

In “Lucy Gets Ricky on the Radio” (1952), the June 3, 1952 of Look Magazine actually had Lucille Ball and Marilyn Monroe on the cover!  Monroe was promoting Clash by Night, and Desi had written a feature on his wife for the magazine. So Marilyn actually did appear on “I Love Lucy” - if only in a still photo. 

Some Like It Hot (1959) is arguably one of Marilyn Monroe’s most popular films. What does it have in common with Lucille Ball? In 1958, both Lucy and Monroe were depicted at San Diego’s famous Del Coronado Hotel. It is the hotel that the Ricardo’s and Mertzes stay at in “Lucy Goes to Mexico” (LDCH S2;E1) as well as the backdrop for much of the film. Although Desilu filmed establishing footage of the hotel, the cast stayed in Hollywood, while Monroe went on location (as seen above). In “Lucy Goes to a Hollywood Premiere” (TLS S4;E20), Mr. Mooney says he wouldn’t buy a second hand nightie if it had been worn by Jack Lemmon in Some Like It Hot.

The Irving Berlin song “There’s No Business Like Show Business” was sung on “I Love Lucy” and “The Lucy Show.”  Although it was originally from the Broadway musical Annie Get Your Gun (1946), it also served as the title and was performed (by Merman) in the Marilyn Monroe film There’s No Business Like Show Business in 1955. 

In 1952, Marilyn co-starred by Richard Widmark (”The Tour” ILL S4;E30) in the film noir drama Don’t Bother To Knock. The film also featured “Lucy” players Lurene Tuttle (Fine Arts League President), Verna Felton (Mrs. Porter), Gloria Blondell (Grace Foster), as well as Harry Bartell, Olan Soule, Robert Foulke, and Bess Flowers.

That same year, Monroe starred in We’re Not Married! opposite Lucy’s friend and former co-star Ginger Rogers, as well as Eve Arden (”Hollywood at Last!”), Paul Douglas (”Lucy Wants a Career”) and Eddie Bracken (Too Many Girls). 

One of Monroe’s most iconic moments came in March 1962 when she sang “Happy Birthday” as a birthday present to President John F. Kennedy in a public birthday celebration also attended by Lucy’s friends and co-stars Jack Benny, Jimmy Durante, Henry Fonda, Danny Kaye, Shirley MacLaine and Elliott Reid. A year later, Lucy Carmichael also gave Kennedy a present, a sugar cube replica of the White House on “The Lucy Show” with Elliott Reid doing Kennedy’s offstage voice as well as playing a small on-camera role! 

"I never quite understood it, this sex symbol. I always thought symbols were those things you clash together! That's the trouble, a sex symbol becomes a thing. I just hate to be a thing. But if I'm going to be a symbol of something I'd rather have it sex than some other things they've got symbols of." ~ Marilyn Monroe, 1962

Monroe was married (and divorced) three times: 

James Dougherty, Merchant Marine & Policeman (1942-46) 

Joe DiMaggio, Baseball Player (1954-55)

Arthur Miller, Playwright (1956-61)

In “Lucy is Enceinte” (ILL S2;E10), Fred gives Lucy a signed baseball for his future 'godson’. When he asks Lucy to read out the signature, she at first says “Spalding,” the ball’s brand name, but then finds it is signed by Joe DiMaggio.

In “Ragtime Band” (ILL S6;E21), Little Ricky asks his Uncle Fred: 

LITTLE RICKY: “Who’s Joe 'Maggio?” FRED: “'Who’s Joe 'Maggio?’ You talk more like your father everyday.”

In “Sales Resistance” (ILL S2;E17), Lucy compares herself to Willy Loman, the title character in Death of a Salesman, a Pulitzer Prize-winning play by Arthur Miller first produced on Broadway in 1949 and made into an Oscar-nominated film in 1951.  

Speaking of husbands, Desi Arnaz has something in common with Marilyn Monroe, too. Both of their souses were accused of being Communists by the House Un-American Activities Committee during the 1950s. Both Lucille and Arthur Miller were cleared of charges and their careers continued, although that was not true for many celebrities of the time. 

Monroe died on August 4, 1962. The toxicology report showed that the cause of death was acute barbiturate poisoning. Empty medicine bottles were found next to her bed. The possibility that Monroe had accidentally overdosed was ruled out because the dosages found in her body were several times over the lethal limit.

The character of Ginger, the movie star castaway on “Gilligan’s Island” (1964-67) was described during casting as a combination of Lucille Ball and Marilyn Monroe. Tina Louise had Lucy’s red (ginger) hair and Monroe’s shapely physique. The series also featured Natalie Schafer (Phoebe Emerson) as Mrs. Howell, and Alan Hale Jr. as the Skipper. Hale performed on “The Lucy Show” and “Here’s Lucy”. Series creator Sherwood Schwartz was a Lucy fan. His brother Elroy Schwartz actually wrote scripts for Lucille Ball. 

In the 2013 web-series “Ryan & Ruby” both Lucille Ball and Marilyn Monroe are given special thanks for their inspiration. The last name of star and creator Ryan Burton's character is "Carmichael", the same as Ball's character on the "The Lucy Show". In Ryan’s kitchen there are fridge magnets with photos of both Lucy and Marilyn.  

Lucy and Marilyn are street characters at Universal Studios theme parks, their iconic hair and costumes making them instantly recognizable.

The same day Marilyn Monroe was born in 1926, another Hollywood icon with connections to Lucille Ball was also born, Andy Griffith.  To read his birthday blog, click here! 

[percywinchester27]

About a boy- Epilogue

Word count: 2.3K

Warning: Feels, mentions of physical abuse and child-trafficking. Did I mention feels?

Characters: Dean and Sam, Bobby, Jody, Cas, Gabriel, Benny and others.

Summary: Dean Winchester has a secret. A secret that could really land him in trouble. He never expected to connect with anyone when he walked into the ‘Blue Stone Orphanage for Boys,’ but even then, the walls he has put up are slowly coming down. Now, a series of strange events are threatening to expose him. When everything starts falling apart around him, will he still be able to save the one person that matters the most?

A/N: This is it, guys! The end of the journey. Looking back, it feels pretty sweet to me. Thank you to everyone who read, liked and commented on the story. You guys kept me going! <3

My immense gratitude to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​​ and @deanssweetheart23​​​​​​​​​​ for beta reading this story <3 You both are absolute gems and I love you!

About a boy masterlist   

One year later

11th September 1995

“You idjits!” Bobby yelled. “You two had one job!”

Dean came running around the corner hoping that his face wasn’t too red, or hair too messy. The one time he got lucky with Jessie Rosenberg, Bobby had to yell for him.

“What now?” He asked, crossly.

“Look at the fascia,” Bobby pointed. “I asked you to fix that thing two weeks ago. Does it look fixed to you?”

“Sam had exams! He barely pulled his head out of the books!”

“And you could have fixed it by yourself.”

Dean looked at the front yard. The tables and pretty lights hanging over the trees transformed it into something completely else. There were frilly table cloths and blooming, pale roses. Even the cars had disappeared. There were so many people milling around in pretty dresses and buttoned up suits. Looking at that no one would be able to tell most of them were cops. And none of those cops were inspecting the case of disrepaired fascia boards.

“C’mon, Bobby,” Dean said. “It’s your wedding. Shouldn’t you be dancing with your wife instead of yelling at unsuspecting boys? You don’t even care about awnings and fascia!”

Bobby wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was actually looking a bit funny without the usual baseball cap and the jacket. Though Dean couldn’t say the formal suit look didn’t suit him. He was just not used to seeing it.

Bobby sat down on the porch steps. “Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. I’m just nervous.”

Dean sat down besides him. “Why’re you nervous?  I mean you’ve known Jody forever.”

Bobby made a disgruntled noise. “It’s not that. Everything is moving so fast. You’ll be seventeen in a few months and then Sam will grow up, too. I’ve just gotten so used to you boys being around. Who knows what’s next. College? You both will move on.”

“Oh, come on!” Dean groaned. “Don’t go all sappy on me now. Not you, too!”

“Who else?” Bobby raised his eyebrow.

“Sam,” Dean sighed. “He’s having one of those days again.”

‘One of those days’ was the term Dean and Bobby used to describe Sam’s mood when he felt overwhelmed. During the first week, after Sam had moved in with them, little things startled him. Like how there were no restrictions about bedtime, or how he could choose what food he wanted, and when he wanted to eat. On the first Sunday, Jody surprised them all with movie tickets; Sam was quiet the whole way because he had never been to movies before. The next day they went out to eat. That was a rare phenomenon anyway, but Jody wanted to get to know Sam. Even there he hadn’t talked, barely eaten anything.

That night Dean had found him sitting on the roof.

“You know that Bobby would butcher you if he found you freezing your ass out in the cold, right?” Dean asked, easing himself down on the tiled roof. 

“I’m being a shithead, aren’t I?” Sam said, hiding his face in his arms where they were resting over his knees. “Jody was being so nice, and I just… I screwed up everything.”

“You didn’t screw up shit,” Dean said firmly. “Jody is a lot tougher than you think. You didn’t hurt her feelings. Hell, you should have seen when she was getting to know me…. That was what being a shithead is like.”

“What did you do?”

“The usual. Threw bitchy tantrums, punctured her car and all that.”

“No you didn’t!”

The incredulous look on Sam’s face was hilarious. It was still taking some getting used to; thinking of him as Sam and not Will.

Dean put his hands out, gesturing a ‘yours truly.’ “Yeah, it was a total dick move. It didn’t phase her in the slightest.”

“Mhmm…”

“Don’t worry about it so much, Sam,” Dean said. “We know this is hard for you.”

Sam leaned back against the tiles, staring into the night sky. “You can actually see the stars from down here.,” he said wonderingly. “See that? That’s the first star of the constellation Orion.”

“I suck at stars,” Dean said, leaning back next to his brother. “You’ll have to tell me.”

They lay like that for a long time, Sam talking avidly about all the constellations he knew of, and Dean pretending that he did not.

Bobby gazed ahead into the yard, where Jody was laughing with Sam. He was dressed just like Dean in a matching tux; for the two groomsmen. Bobby’s eyes softened. “That kid really is something. Anyone would have lost their goddamned gourd after going through all that,” Bobby said.

It was an understatement. Sam had become the apple of every teacher’s eye. He aced his classes effortlessly and the town people just loved him. The little, stupid ray of sunshine that he was. 

“C’mon.” Bobby said, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve got something for you kids.”

“What?” Dean asked, getting up.

“Just c’mon.”

Ten minutes later, the four of them, Him, Sam, Bobby and Jody were walking towards the very back of the house. Jody was practically bouncing on her feet which was so uncharacteristic of her.

Sam gave Dean a ‘What’s happening?’ look.

Dean shrugged. He didn’t know either.

“Hey, Bobby, quick question,” Dean said casually. “Are you two gonna bury us in a corner of the property? Cause this sure looks like it.”

“Yeah, sure, smartass,” Jody grinned at him. “I’ll make sure no one finds the bodies.”

Most of the cars had been parked out here, clearing the front yard. Only one car stood out, parked separately. She was so sleek and slender, the black metal almost purred.

“Holy shit!” Dean whistled. “What in name of…”

“It’s yours!” Bobby smiled widely. “It’s a 1967, Chevy Impala.”

“Wait!” Dean said, the realisation suddenly hitting him. “This car is from that picture. The one with mom and dad.”

“It belonged to your dad. He called her baby.”

Dean looked at Sam who had the same awed expression on his face.

“Where was it all these years?” Sam asked.

“Parked at Rufus’,” Bobby said. “Been working on it as and when the money and time came by. I wanted it done before the wedding. He drove it back today.”

Dean ran his fingers along the side of her, and the car seemed to respond to his touch… hummed under it.

Bobby held out a set of keys. “What’re you waiting for? Don’t you boys wanna take her out for a ride?”

*********************************

2nd November 1995

It was a clear day. The sky was blue like in one of those vacation postcards. The engine was purring underneath him and a Led Zeppelin song was playing inside his car. Dean rolled the windows down, the air whipped Sam’s hair all over his face. He made a protesting sound and Dean chuckled.

This was perfect.

“You sure this was a good idea? Not the trip,” Sam said quickly. “Just sneaking out like this without telling Bobby?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. Sam was ever the responsible one. 

“Bobby will be fine. We’re almost there; and if we stick to the plan, we should be back home for dinner, and no one will be wiser.

Sam huffed. “I miss Cas when you get like this. He was the only one who could get you to listen.”

“Don’t you want to go?”

“Course I do. You know I asked for this!” Sam muttered.

Dean missed Cas anyway. Thinking about his best friend made Dean smile. Because of what he had accomplished- helped with exposing the trafficking racket- the state had given him a medal of valour, along with Benny and Gabriel. Deny had detached himself from the proceedings, asking Jody to never mention him in the official records. He wasn’t interested in medals and accolades. He had walked away with a miracle of his own.

The mayor, wanting to bask in the borrowed glory, had funded Cas’s education in a private boarding school for his last year of high school. From there, Cas had managed a full ride into the University of Texas. Benny had opted out to get a job under some chef… who knew he had that talent? And Gabriel was in the wind. Dean didn’t worry about Gabe, though. He would eventually surface as a millionaire in some years for all Dean knew.

Thinking about them always brought up bad memories along with the nostalgia. Memories about Andy and the Stynes. It was little comfort knowing that they had been put away for life… they deserved much, much worse. Dean was hopeful that other states might press more severe charges on the Stynes. 

Despite what it had looked like, it turned out that Michael had been the only one who knew. His cronies had no clue what their dear leader had been upto. Dean couldn’t care less about what happened to Gary and others as long as he never saw their faces again. Michael had been tried as a juvenile, and the DA had asked for a reduced sentence on the grounds that he was the one who had finally led them to the warehouse. He would serve 3 years in confinement. Even after all this time, Dean didn’t know what to feel about Michael. He tried not to think about it much.

Cas though, called them at least once a week. More, if he could manage. He and Sam had road tripped to the University in the fall and spent a week with him. Cas had been ecstatic. Dean wasn’t surprised to know that his friend was majoring in sociology and behavioral sciences. If anything, he was proud. Cas would be spending the winter break with them in Sioux falls. Bobby had been cranky about having to repair their guest room, but Dean secretly knew he was happy for them all.

“We’re here!” Dean said, as they crossed into the town. Sam stared out of the window, palms flat against the glass.

Dean made a few stops to ask for directions, and then they were parked along the edge of the sidewalk.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Dean asked apprehensively. Nevermind that he was feeling heavy inside, he couldn’t let his brother see that.

Sam bit his lip, then nodded resolutely. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

They stepped out of the car, and Dean wrapped his arm over his brother's shoulder. He’d  gained a couple of inches during the summer, so Sam was both much shorter than him, and mad about it. ‘I’m gonna grow taller than you, one day,’ he’d say.

Dean didn’t know exactly where they were, so he and Sam walked together, searching and reading.

“Dean,” Sam said in a small voice. “They’re here.”

The headstones were laid side by side.

Mary Winchester

5th December 1954 - 2nd November 1983

Loving Mother and loving wife

And

John Winchester

22nd April 1954 - 2nd Novemeber 1983

Loving Father and loving husband

Dean tightened his grip on Sam’s shoulder. 

“I think they would be proud of you,” Sam said, not taking his eyes away from the plain grey stones. They had weathered with rain and time, the writing had blackened over the years.

“Hey, you’re the smart one,” Dean said. The corner of his eyes were prickling. “If anything, they’d have been proud of you.”

Sam shook his head ever so slightly in disagreement. “You saved my life. Twice. You found me and kept our family going. You’re a freaking hero.”

Dean blinked his eyes in succession. He didn’t dispute Sam’s words. Not because he believed them, but because he didn’t trust his voice to be steady. He hadn’t even thought of getting flowers.

“You think we should say something?”

Dean shrugged, he didn't know what to say and he was bad with words.

“Okay, I’ll go first,” Sam said, then kneeled by their mom’s grave.

“Hey, mom. Hey, dad,” he said in that soft voice of his. “It’s me, Samuel William Winchester. Though Dean just calls me ‘Sammy.’ It’s annoying. He’s annoying!” Sam laughed nervously, like he was afraid of what their mom would think about him dissing his older brother like that. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to see you, to sit besides you… to ever have a family…. I do now, and it’s the most wonderful thing in the world. But I miss you. I’ve always missed you even when I didn’t know who you were.”

Sam cleared his throat, “I guess… I guess what I’m saying is thank you… for giving me the best big brother in the world. Dean’s awesome. I love you so much. All of you.”

He looked up then, tears swimming in his eyes and Dean placed a hand over his head.

They stayed there for a while, soaking the moment in. When it was time to go, Dean touched the cold stones, first his dad’s and then mom’s. He brought the fingers to his lips and kissed them in a discreet gesture.

They walked back to the car in silence. 

When Dean started the engine, Sam gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Dean, for bringing me here.”

“Course,” he said, eyes on the road. 

Sam settled back against the leather seat and hit the play on music. The song continued from where it had stopped-

….Cause I'm back on the track

And I'm beatin' the flack

Nobody's gonna get me on another rap

So look at me now

I'm just makin' my play

Don't try to push your luck, just get out of my way

'Cause I'm back

Yes,…

“Let’s get back home now,” Sam said contentedly, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of the song.

Dean gave his brother a sideways glance. He had a small smile playing on his lips. In their dad’s old car, with his brother by his side, Dean was already home.

*********************************

Source for the gif used at the top

A/N 2: I cried while writing the epilogue, too! Especially the last part. When I started writing this series about a year ago, I did it as a challenge to myself... deep down knowing that this wouldn’t ever hit off on tumblr like my other series’ had. But I owed it to myself to write a story I believed in, and the love that you guys gave this series was so overwhelming. Y’all ROCK! :*

Please do tell me what you thought of the chapter? 

Tagging for the last time:

@sdavid09 @deanssweetheart23 @blacktithe7 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @cosicas-cuquis @chalicia  @anathewierdo @mrswhozeewhatsis @protectteamfreewill @firefly124-writing @spnbaby-67 @hoboal87 @rizlow1 @donnaintx @starmission @gh0stgurl @tftumblin @emily-a-c11 @ericaprice2008 @jotink78 @charliebradbury1104 @ohgodwhybloggg @i-dont-get-cold  @bobbie3939  @samsexualdeancurious​ @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba  @cookiechipdough​ @wildfirewinchester​

[businessfrontrunners]

On Inauguration Day, Sabrina Wiggins's Newly Released Children’s Book “When My Dad Went To The Hospital” Raced To The Top Of Bestseller Lists With Joey By Jill Biden

https://authoritypresswire.com/?p=33948 Sabrina Wiggins's newly released children’s book "When My Dad Went To The Hospital” recounts her own experience dealing with a family tragedy at a young age. This is Wiggins 2nd book, which landed the #1 Hot New Release on Amazon Best Seller list and in multiple bestsellers categories in the United States and Canada, ranking in the Top 5 and Top 10 of sales. “Seeing my book reach the top spot on Amazon serves as a reminder to why I wrote this book in the first place. My dad was shot when I was 9 years old, which left him paralyzed on his right side. Thirty years later, during therapy sessions, everything about that experience resurfaced. What I learned was that I never fully healed or acknowledged how that tragedy affected my life and the people closest to me. Putting pen to paper gave me an outlet that ultimately aided in my healing and my hope is that it will aid other children on their journey as well. Additionally, Wiggins said “I was really inspired by the words of Inaugural poet Amanda Gorman, and her words to the people. "We've braved the belly of beasts. The loss we carry, we have learned that quiet is not always peace. That even as we grieved, we grew and that even as we hurt, we hoped.” Author of “Where Did My Friend Go?” Azmaira H. Maker stated in Psychology Today, "It is critical that we step-up our efforts to help children with the trauma of exposure to gun violence given that being a victim or even a witness of violence results in significant levels of symptoms of trauma, depression, anxiety, anger, and aggression in youth." Christina Reardon wrote in Social Work Today, “Trauma caused by gun violence is so destructive because it affects not only the victims but also their friends, family members, neighborhoods, and communities”. Clinical Social Worker Sara Guglizza shared, “It’s beautiful how [When My Dad Went To The Hospital] gives permission for children to see family members experience different reactions and emotions and demonstrates healthy ways for families to cope. As a therapist I enjoyed seeing how you included counseling as a support when mental health can be a really stigmatized concept." Retired teacher Kathy Floyd stated, “I felt the hurt as I read. What a great way to let others know (especially children) that it is ok to seek help.” ABOUT THE BOOK The young narrator adores her dad, and she enjoys spending summers with him. Her mom and dad do not live in the same house. Serena is a fun and loving daughter who loves to play with her brother Benny and her friends. She always looked forward to her summer vacation. One day, things in her world suddenly changed after her dad was involved in a shooting that put him in the hospital. With her mom, her brother, and sister, she learns the true meaning of family and love—a candid, uplifting story about trauma, grief, love, and courage. ABOUT THE AUTHOR Sabrina Wiggins was raised in Summerville, Georgia. After graduating high school, she joined the U.S Navy where she served 4 years on active duty. She is currently employed by the federal government. After starting a nonprofit to empower youth through music with her brother she realized her real love was writing stories for young people that blossomed in her imagination. Sabrina is the author of Off to Washington, which was published in 2018. Sabrina honestly believes in the power of stories to change children's world, especially her grandson Aiden (whom she named her publishing company after). These days Sabrina lives in Maryland with her three-year-old grandson Aiden and plans to keep writing visionary stories for kids and young adults forever. Learning to juggle was Sabrina’s specialty. Daughter in one hand and books in another. With her resilience and guts, she graduated from Strayer University as a young mother, where she received her Bachelor of Science degree in Computer Networking with a Minor in Business. While it was a struggle in the beginning having to go on campus for class, Strayer eventually offered a way to help balance home and school life by offering online courses that allowed her to spend more time with her daughter and save on childcare. She later received an Executive Masters of Business Administration (EMBA) from the Naval Postgraduate School. To learn more about the book, visit https://www.littleaidenpress.com. When My Dad Went To The Hospital is now available on Amazon.com (e-book and Paperback) https://www.amazon.com/When-My-Dad-Went-Hospital/dp/1734801425 and (Hardback) https://www.littleaidenpress.com/shop

[morsmordrehasbeensaved]

CONGRATULATIONS HALEY, YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED AS BENITO ORTIZ WITH THE FACECLAIM OF ETHAN CUTKOSKY!

Halsey!!! You know I absolutely adore all of the characters you already have, but I think Benito might be my new favorite! The amount of detail you put in and the dedication you show to this character was absolutely spectacular, and I can not wait to have him on our dashboards

Check out our acceptance checklist right here on what to do next!

♔ OUT OF CHARACTER INFO ♔

NAME/ALIAS:

Haley

AGE:

20

PREFERRED PRONOUNS:

She/Her

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY:

PST (damn..) and Hella Active

TRIGGERS:

nah

ANYTHING ELSE:

nah

♔ IN CHARACTER INFO ♔

FULL NAME:

Benito Carlos Ortiz, with a few select people who call him Benny

FACECLAIM:

Ethan Cutkosky

BIRTHDAY AND AGE:

December 10th, 1961. He just turned 17.

HOUSE AND YEAR:

Sixth Year, Hufflepuff

AFFILIATION:

Neutral as hell

BLOODSTATUS:

Muggleborn

PRONOUNS:

He/Him

SEXUALITY/ROMANTIC ORIENTATION:

Just a regular ole’ straight guy. Heterosexual/romantic

EXTRACURRICULARS:

Art Club

DESCRIPTION:

You’ve never been give a fair shot at the shiny things in life, and this has left you bitter, distrustful, and angry. No matter how hard you’ve worked, you’ve never been able to have what other people have. So, you’ve decided that you’ll just start taking them for yourself. The muggle world let you down, and so has the wizarding world, and you’re starting to believe that there is no such thing as a good person, only those that are willing to take their lives into their own hands. With your work ethic, and your creativity at solving seemingly impossible problems, you know that everything is yours for the taking. So, go on and take it.

PERSONALITY TRAITS:

(-) Audacious: Living in the slums, as well as being the youngest of his siblings forced Benito to learn how to stand up for himself. Whether that meant fighting with his older brother and sister to get the most comfy spot on their shared bed, or if it meant a risky steal so that he could put some food in his belly later that night. To survive in the area he did, one had to learn to be brave, or else they would never make it. It also gave Benito a certain aggression against the “haves”, considering he was decidedly a “have not” so sometimes, he just like to steal the purse of some rich old lady when she wasn’t looking. Sometimes it was for survival, sometimes it was not.

(-) Fierce: It was hard to make it in Benito’s house, and in order to be heard, one had to be loud and proud in their emotions. He feels things intently, whether that be happiness or anger. If happy, he might dance like fool or shout giddily into the air. If angry, he’s prone to throwing objects and is more than willing to get violent. While sometimes this helps Benito, more often than not, it doesn’t make things better.

(-) Hedonistic: Being forced to live a life that withheld a lot of life’s pleasures (vacations, good food, a room of his own, etc) has led Benito to believe that he ought to snatch up fun whenever he sees it. Unfortunately, this can manifest in both good and bad ways. Sometimes, it could be good. He might skive off class to work on a sculpture, but he also would never tell anybody no for a drink, even if he might have a class later that day to show up for.

(-) Greedy: Growing up as neglected and poor as he was, he has a tendency to seek out the better things of other people. He wants to have the same luxuries as other people, and is angry about how hard it is. He’s come to believe that he deserves what they have, and will take any measure to get there. Money is important to him, perhaps too much, and it is his main thing that drives him.

(+/-) Bold/Brash: Benito wasn’t scared of anything, at least nothing so far. Sometimes, it was to his benefit, because more often than not, most people assumed he was bluffing when he said he wasn’t afraid to fight. Other times, it was to his detriment, like when he attempted to curse someone of a far superior dueling skill. There isn’t much that he isn’t willing to do if he truly wants to, and there isn’t a single person he would back down from, for better or, for worse.

(+) Hard-working: Laziness wasn’t an option for Benito, not if he wanted a new pair of shoes, or the really cool toy that everyone else in primary school had. Or, at the worst of times, if he wanted to eat. In the Ortiz house, everyone worked for their share, from the moment they were able. He had to throw himself into what he was doing, no matter what it was, and it created within him an excellent work ethic. However, he is only hardworking on the things he feels have value, not those imposed on him by other people. He has his own goals in mind that are often different to those around him, and that is what he is always working towards.

(+) Confident: Benito is a hard worker, and he’s creative too. He has all of the traits to put his ideas into motion, and this has given him confidence. He trusts in his ability to follow through with his plans, and he knows that if he works hard enough, he can accomplish any goal he sets his mind too. Whether the goal be to beat someone up in a fight, or to best them in a duel, or to get Imogen to forgive him for something stupid he did, or to find a way to steal that necklace from that new Gryffindor girl without her noticing. He can do it, he knows it.

(+) Vivacious: Benito’s life was rough, yes, but it was not all bad. All of his family were very loud and outspoken people who knew how to have a good time. If there wasn’t a fight occuring in the house, then there was a party. His father’s laugh was booming and loud, and his mother spoke too excitedly when she was having fun. His brother often like to dance around the kitchen, and his sister was never afraid to trap Benito in a friendly headlock. This has given him an appreciation for fun, and the good times in life. He enjoys them wholeheartedly, and without reservation.

(+) Loyal: Benito is not a very trusting boy. He’s been let down too many times in his life for him to find it easy to trust someone, or something. It takes a long time for him to let down his walls enough to truly dedicate himself to something, but once he does, he extremely dedicated. He will do anything, no matter the risks, if it something he believes in. He’s committed to Imogen, and would do anything for her. He’s committed to the pursuit of money, and damn it, he would be rich one day. He’s committed to his family, and helping them make it in the world. It would be a cold day in hell for Benito Ortiz to back away from something he has pledged himself to

BIOGRAPHY:

“Names and attributes must be accommodated to the essence of things, and not the essence to the names, since things come first and names afterwards.” That was a quote from Galileo, some scientist, or whoever, that he had heard a little about during his primitive years of schooling. Benito Carlos Ortiz put a lot of stock into names, as was tradition among his father’s side of the family. Benito’s father, Hernando Ortiz, was born in Mexico during the winter of 1930. His name meant adventurous, as would prove to be true when the young boy grew up. Mexico was experiencing a lot of change during Hernando’s youth. President Cárdenas rose into power when Hernando was a boy, and began attempting to enact a vast amount of social change. However, the Ortiz family was very poor, living in a small rural village, and many of these benefits never reached them. They stayed in a single room shack together: his mother, his father, and all four of his siblings. Life was hard, and Hernando felt as he got older that it only got even more difficult. When Hernando was ten years old, World War II was ravaging the world, and his father enlisted in the Mexican Army, which was planning to help America after the attack on Pearl Harbor. That was the last time that Hernando ever saw his padre. Six years later, Mexico had a new leader: President Alemán. Life had been tough, and scary ever since his father had died, and things were more divided than ever between the rich and the poor. So, with one bag tossed over his shoulder, Hernando walked away from his village at the tender age of sixteen, to see if he might fair better somewhere else in the world.

He snuck upon a supply ship to Portugal and lived off of the few items of food he had brought with him. When that ran out, he ate the rats that scurried to and fro across the lower deck. It was hard, but Hernando was used to such things. Eventually, however, he reached Portugal, and life truly began. He spent a year in Portugal, sometimes managing to scrounge enough money to stay in an inn, but lots of times he just had to sleep on the street. After Portugal, he headed to France, hoping he might have better luck in the Country of Love. However, he didn’t find it quite to his liking, and quickly moved on over to Spain. Hernando loved Spain a lot, for he knew the language they spoke. He’d had quite a rough time these past two years, struggling to learn different languages in order to converse with the people around him. Spain was a nice break from this. He was seventeen when he arrived in Spain, and he stayed there until nearly his twentieth birthday. He worked a variety of odd jobs and stayed in a small, rundown flat with three amigos he’d met at work. However, as his name demanded, Hernando had a thirst for adventure, and eventually, he moved on. From Spain, he headed to Great Britain. As with France, he didn’t stay long, and moved again before the year ended. From Britain, he headed to Northern Ireland, Belfast specifically, where he would find himself staying for quite a long time. It was on his twenty second birthday when he got the job at the local Ship Carpentry. It was fine work for a single man, and he was happy where he was.

Two years after his move to Ireland, in the year 1954, Hernando met Annabel Buckley.

Annabel was also born in the winter, but in the year 1938. Her name meant delight to be around, and the surname of Buckley meant servant. Both of these things would prove true, for awhile anyways. Annabel was born into a quaint, small, and loving Irish family. She had an older sister, whom she loved dearly, and she got on splendidly with her mother and father, as most toddlers did. When she was of the tender age of three, Annabel’s mother was killed in the 1941 bombings of Belfast. At the time, Annabel’s father was fighting on the war front against Germany, where he too succumbed to battle. This left Annabel and her older sister alone and orphaned. Annabel doesn’t remember this too much, considering her young age. Her older sister, however, worked hard to make sure that the pair was provided for. Eventually, after an entire year of living on the street with many other orphaned children, Annabel’s older sister was able to find work in a Belfast pub, ran by a kind, elderly couple. They allowed Annabel and her sister room and board in exchange for work, and this is where the girls stayed for most of their lives. As she grew up, Annabel took on more and more responsibility in the pub, eventually becoming one of their more favored servers. She was beautiful, with golden blonde hair and shining green eyes. Her cheeks always had a rosy sort of glow to them, and she was wonderfully charismatic to boot. It was no wonder that Hernando couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. And, to remind you, her name did mean ‘delight to be around.’

Annabel was sixteen when the devilishly handsome, and worldly travelled Mexican man came into the small village pub in which she resided. She sat him at his table, and immediately, the two couldn’t keep their eyes off of one another. The chemistry was almost touchable in the air between them, and it didn’t take long for the two to come together in an incredibly passionate, heavily romantic relationship. Annabel often remarked that Hernando made her feel like the woman in the romantic moving pictures at the theater, and Hernando often claimed that she was the first thing that truly made him feel alive. They were awfully in love with one another, and that love culminated in a pregnancy, two months from the day that they met. Hernando, who truly did love Annabel, wanted to do right by his amor, thus, the pair was married just a month after they discovered the pregnancy. And, for a bit, they seemed every bit the picture perfect family. Eight months after their marriage, in the (again) winter of the year 1955, Elena Ortiz was born. Hernando chose her name, which meant Light, for he considered his darling daughter to be the true light of his life. He fell into fatherhood with a delightful ease, and found that he could spend hours cooing and smiling at his hija pequeña. The small little family did not have much money, but they had more than enough love to fill their one bedroom house. For the first time in his life, Hernando Ortiz felt grounded and settled. For the first time in her life, Annabel Ortiz felt like she had a full and complete family again.

A year and a half later, when Elena was in that adorable early-toddler stage, Annabel fell pregnant again. Like with Elena, this had been an accident, but Hernando and Annabel were decidedly less excited about it, this time around. Another child would cost a lot of money, and they were only barely making ends meet at the current moment. Not to mention, they lived in a house with only a single bedroom. This brought Hernando back to his childhood, reminding him of the one bedroom shack he’d shared with his large family. He wanted to do better by his own children, so he relocated them to a different house, one with two bedrooms. However, it was a bit more expensive, and when their son was born, both Hernando and Annabel felt that they were at their wits end. Like he had with Elena, Hernando chose the name for his eldest son as well. Leonardo Ortiz, whose name meant Brave As A Lion, was born in the early summer, June of 1957. The family began to struggle in a way they never had before, just to put bread and cheese on the table. Hernando started working a lot of doubles, and began drinking a lot to cope with it. Annabel, who had always been a bit of a drinker, did the same. The resulting stress, drunkenness, and anger that came from this began to sour the previously loving and devoted relationship that Hernando and Annabel shared. They grew violent, the both of them, and it was began to be commonplace for the neighbors to hear loud screams and breaking glass over the sound of small children crying.

Still, Hernando and Annabel had made vows to one another, vows that they refused to break. They hoped that one day, things would be easier. They kept faith that one day they would find a way to love each other like they used to. Unfortunately, those days never came. The months continued to tick by for the Ortiz family, and they lived in a sort of limbo for many years, flipping rapidly between awful fights and wonderful family bonding. Around the time that Leonardo was two years old, Hernando fell back into contact with the family he had left behind in Mexico so many years ago. He began speaking to his mother again, and his brothers and sisters and uncles and aunts, and even his abuela, who was somehow still alive. He began to make annual visits to them, though he could never afford to bring his wife and children along with him.

Years later, in the early spring of 1961, Annabel fell pregnant once more. The family, at this point, had gotten used to their low income and had found means to survive around it. They weren’t happy, but they weren’t necessarily unhappy either. It was in this strange middle ground that Annabel and Hernando’s third child, and second son, was born. Like his father, mother, and sister, the child was born in the month of December. Hernando, as was tradition by now, chose the name. He gave the boy the first name of Benito, which meant Blessed. He hoped that the name would rain down good fortune on his son one day, and that the good fortune might trickle down to the rest of the family. Benito Carlos Ortiz always kept this in mind, believing it to be his duty to gift blessings to his family one day.

With Benito’s arrival, the Ortiz was complete, and the real story can now begin.

Benito was a happy baby, and an even happier toddler. He shared a room, as well as a bed, with his big sister and brother. During these young years of his, he was quite close with Leonardo, who was only four years older than him. From the moment that Benito was walking, the two brothers ran all around the house, causing mischief for their mother, father, and sister. Leonardo was Benito’s first role model. However, that’s not to discredit Elena. Elena, his bright and smart big sister, was the one who taught him how to survive in a world as poor as theirs. Not to mention that she also sacrificed a lot of her own toys and happiness so that her brothers might enjoy a happier childhood than she had. The family was close, despite the rather wild fights they often got into, and Benito has always looked back on this as his happiest time, the only time he could remember his family truly being a unit, albeit a dysfunctional one. Sure, their family could fight. In fact, they knew how to do this very well. Benito’s spent his childhood watching his mother throw a fist in his father’s face, and then watching as his father threw her to the ground in retaliation. He had never really been too bothered by such things, figuring that this was just the way life was. Besides, as much as they knew how to fight, they also knew how to have a good time. Alcohol permeated their family, and the community around them, and Benito honestly couldn’t remember one of their good times that wasn’t helped by the influence of alcohol. Some of his fondest memories were watching as his father and brother tapped their glasses of tequila together in a companionable gesture before tossing the liquid down their throats. He looks back fondly on their nights seated around the kitchen table, playing cards and singing old traditional family songs together: Irish and Mexican alike. Benito and Leonardo often wrestled, and while Benito never won, he always had fun. His sister loved to dance, and even more than that, she loved to wrangle her reluctant brothers into dancing with her. His childhood, while not perfect, was not entirely awful either. Sure, it was hard, and there were nights that he went without food. But there was love in his heart, and in his household, so he knew that he would be alright.

However, all of that changed when he was just seven years old.

For all of his life, Benito knew that his father had family back in his home country of Mexico. After all, he left home for a two weeks once a year to go and visit them. However, one day, just after Hernando had returned from his weekly visit to Mexico, Annabel found something while looking through his suitcases. There was a small envelope, hidden beneath a secret little flap, that was filled with pictures. Pictures of Hernando with some woman, a woman who was not Annabel. And, if that weren’t bad enough, there pictures of children. Two, to be specific. They were both girls, and they both looked to be similar to Benito’s age. There with pictures of the girls, of the woman, and of Hernando with all of them together. Annabel dug a little further, and dug up some love letters, written to Hernando by a woman named Amanda, who she presumed to be the woman in the pictures. She couldn’t understand them, for they were written in Spanish, so she brought them to Elena to translate. Elena read them, growing angrier and angrier with every word her eyes ran over, and when she finished, she looked up to face her mother with furious tears in her eyes. It seemed that Hernando had started another family, all the way across the world, and he’d kept it hidden from them for years. Now, it made complete sense why he had never brought his wife or children to meet his mother, or grandmother, or brothers and sister. Annabel wondered if he had brought this Amanda to visit them, or the two little girls. She wondered if his mother even knew about Elena, or Leonardo, or Benito? For the first time in her life, Annabel wanted to be rid of Hernando.

And so, she confronted her husband one day, after he had finished a fifteen hour shift. He stepped through the door, looking weary and tired and in dire need of a shower. Annabel didn’t care, and she flung the photos and the letters right into his face. The resulting fight was spectacular, the worst one that Benito had ever seen in his seven years of life. Leonardo jumped in at one point, trying to use his lanky eleven year old body to protect his mother. Hernando was enraged at the disrespect shown to him by his son, and things looked as if they would continue to get worse. But, then Elena stepped in. Faced with his beloved daughter’s disappointment, rage, and hurt, Hernando couldn’t face it. He fled up to his room, packed a bag, and walked right out the front door, never to be seen again by the four remaining Ortiz’s.

The absence of their father shattered the family, and from then on, they began to splinter off into different directions. Annabel turned even more so to drink, especially now that she had to work to support the children alone. She grew angry, and bitter. Benito didn’t think her name was true anymore, for she was most definitely not a delight to be around. She was mean, and she was always drunk. It became commonplace for her to pass out on their couch, surrounded in a pool of her own alcohol, or, if she was really drunk, a pool of her own vomit, or urine.

Elena grew angry too, and stopped looking out for her little brothers quite so much. The three children had to contribute to the household now, and since they were eleven and seven, Elena considered them old enough to do so. After all, she was thirteen. It was high time she started looking out for herself after spending so many years helping those around her. She grew closer with Annabel, however, and never blamed her for her drunken depression. She placed the blame firmly on the shoulders of her padre, who she know hated with a fiery passion.

Leonardo felt the same way, for he had never gotten along with father. To Hernando, Leonardo’s arrival had signalled the beginning of the bad times. To Leonardo, Hernando was angry, drunken man who couldn’t appreciate the loving family that he had around him. Leonardo was only eleven when his father left, but he was now the man of the house, and he took it upon himself to start bringing in money. For the past year, he had begun to spend more time with the other boys in the neighborhood, since the age and maturity gap between him and Benito had become a little much. The boys that Leonardo was spending his time with were other poor street kids like himself, and they’d developed a reputation for being a band of troublemakers. It wasn’t that hard for them to turn towards things a little more illegal, especially to make some money, so by the age of twelve, Leonardo had made a small name for himself by selling marijuana. The work wasn’t always safe, especially where they lived, but it brought in money.

Benito, only seven when his father left, wasn’t quite sure what to do, but he very quickly found his calling. It wasn’t all that hard, really. He discovered that if he went to the more wealthy side of town, many people didn’t lock their cars or back doors. It was all too easy for him to slip inside and fill his pockets with their expensive watches and jewelry. He was quite good at it, too, what with his small size. He could hide in spots that adult burglars could never, and he made a heavy profit from it. Soon enough, he grew more and more bold. He taught himself how to unlock a locked vehicle, using his neighbors beat-up lemon of a car for practice. From there, came stealing from stores. First, petty shoplifting. But, soon enough, Benito could walk out of a store with a bag filled and not a single employee wise to his crimes. Sure, every now and then he had close calls. He was eight years old the first time that someone caught him, but he was fast, and he easily made an escape by sliding down the flagpole next to the apartment building.

He was nine years old the first time that it wasn’t so easy to get away, but he’d surprised the man by giving him a swift kick to the bollocks. Grown adults were always surprised when children fought back. It was almost nothing for Benito to dash through the front door to escape from the foliage. There was a thrill in stealing, and a pride that Benito did not get from anything else. He often laid in bed at night, turning his wrist over so that he could examine whatever flashy and new watch he had stolen that day. It made him feel rich, which was ever so relieving since he was ever so poor.

It was actually during one of his little escapades when he noticed something very strange about himself. He was ten years old now, and he was in someone’s house. He had no shoes on, only his socks, because it made it easier for him to slip around unheard. He was being risky today, sneaking into a house while the owners were home, but he was confident that he could do it. He had just scampered onto their dining table, hands extending for the diamond coverings on their chandelier, when he accidentally knocked the vase on their table over with his foot. He swiveled around in alarm, lunging for it so that he could stop it from rolling off the edge, but he was too far. It rolled, rolled, and then began to tip over, and despite knowing he couldn’t stop it, he reached for it anyways. But then the most peculiar thing happened. Rather than falling off the table and loudly shattering all over the ground, it simply returned to its original, upright position. Benito thought he had imagined the whole thing, for he just couldn’t explain it. Not then, anyways.

He was eleven years old when a very strange man came to his house. He was tall, and he had a beard that seemed to go down forever. Not to mention, he looked very, very old. Perhaps the oldest man that Benito had ever seen. He would never forget the day when the man came to visit. He knocked on the door mid-morning. Benito was on the couch, in only his underwear and socks. He had a bowl of cereal in his lap and was trying to make out what was happening on their television, which was very cheap and only in black and white. Elena had answered the door, and when she came in with a strange expression on her face and told Benito that someone was at the door for him, his life changed forever.

It hadn’t been too hard for Benito to believe, not after the man demonstrated his strange powers. Turns out, the man had a strange name too. Albus Dumbledore. The surname sounded foreign and blocky on Benito’s lips. Albus Dumbledore, apparently, was the headmaster of a wizarding school. A wizarding school that they wanted him, Benito, to go to. He was shocked, and so was his family. After they got over their initial disbelief, they had a million questions to ask. Professor Dumbledore was patient, and he answered everything they had to ask. Benito felt embarrassed when his mother asked if the school cost any money, and then scared a second later. Would he be denied entry to this school simply because he was poor? Thankfully, Professor Dumbledore said they had a fund for helping underprivileged students. He said that Benito would have to get most of his things secondhand, but that was fine. Everything else he owned was, anyways.

And so, when summer rolled around, Benito and his family followed the directions left by Professor Dumbledore to travel to the wizarding village of Diagon Alley. It was hard to get there, since London was no easy drive from Belfast. Benito was half scared that the Professor Dumbledore wizard-man had been lying, and this was all just a scam! A clever, genius, well thought out scam, but a scam nonetheless. But, as it turns out, it was no scam. Diagon Alley was a real, live place and Benito and his family stared in awe at the sight of it. Annabel hurriedly made her way to the Leaky Cauldron to see if wizarding alcohol worked the same as muggle alcohol. (It worked better). Benito, however, set off on his own, wandering through each and every shop in search of his supplies.

Benito had just stepped into Ollivander’s Wand shop, when he saw her. She was about his size, though she looked a lot less out of place than he did. What on earth was everyone wearing? It was strange. Some people looked as wild as some of the strange figures that wandered the area of that one weird alleyway by his house! She got his wand first, and when he saw the sparks shoot from the end of it in a wonderful display of color, he couldn’t help but to exclaim in surprise. That had drawn her attention, and the two fell into conversation. He found out that her name was Imogen, and that she was also starting at Hogwarts in the fall. They didn’t talk long, but he felt good when he left the store, hardly taking the time to be surprised that he had warmed up so quickly. Once he had his wand, he was finished, and he headed to the bar to collect his extremely inebriated mother.

Now, all Benito had to do was wait.

September the First came quickly, and before he knew it, Benito found himself seated alone in a compartment on a train called The Hogwarts Express. He’d hoped to sit alone for the ride, but that seemed impossible. However, to his happy surprise, the face that popped into the compartment was one he recognized. It was the Imogen girl he’d met at Ollivanders! The two ended up sitting together, and when they arrived at Hogwarts, they were sorted into Hufflepuff as well.

Five years later, Benito is in the peak of his sixth year. His grades are alright, but he doesn’t really care about that. He had no intention of going into the Ministry of Magic, or really working at all in the Wizarding World. No, no, Benito Carlos Ortiz had bigger plans than that. After all, he was born to be blessed. No, Benito planned to use his magical powers and natural aptitude for sneaky things to live nice and breezy in the muggle world. And in the meantime, he would steal from his fellow wizards. After all, many of them didn’t respect him for who his parents were, so why should he show them the respect of allowing them to keep their belongings? The war is heating up around him, and Benito is more than ready to defend himself. But, he means to only defend himself. He had learned a long time ago that it was a dog-eat-dog world, and he knew better than to think the wizarding world was any different.

Benito Ortiz decided to not concern himself with the opinion of people that didn’t matter. He had Imogen, he had the Hufflepuffs, and he had his family. Nobody else mattered, and he wouldn’t lie and pretend that he thought they did. What he planned on doing was making as much money as he possibly could, in any means that he possibly could, and if he could, he’d try to find his dad along the way.

CONNECTIONS:

Imogen Connolly: His first friend and current girlfriend. Benito and Imogen have been together for what feels like forever, and there isn’t a single person on the planet that he feels more love for. He feels like they’re soulmates, and can’t imagine his life without her.

Katherine Bradbury: She’s new to the school, and she looks rich, so he’s got his eye on her. He doesn’t take her seriously, not really, and he finds it rather funny that she’s an American. But, he did hear a rumor about her ruining a debutante ball, so perhaps there is more to her than meets the eye.

Lucius Malfoy: Malfoy stands for everything that Benito detests, so he often tries to get on his nerves. But, more so than that, Benito has been stealing from him here and there for six years now. He has so much money that its almost easy.

ADDITIONAL INFO:

He’s a Sagittarius Sun, and an Aries Moon. Some quotes from this website that apply to Benito are, (1) “Even though you are smart and perceptive, your emotional growth lags behind your understanding.” (2) “A Sagittarius-Aries is fearless about speaking their mind and has been so since a young age. No other mixture personifies such blunt outspokenness. You have no inhibitions but have the courage to say precisely what you feel. You are active, capricious, and very independent. Everything is as you see it. It does not matter what others think, you are forthright and fearless.” (3) “You need be careful of that rather big ego of yours.”

Benito really likes the movie, “The Godfather”

Benito speaks Spanish, though not as well as he used to

Benito is really into sculpting, and astrology.

His class schedule is: Charms, Arithmancy, Divination, Potions, Transfiguration, and Defense Against the Dark Arts

[bladeofolympus]

Tagged by @silken-petals (ty!)

RULES: ANSWER THESE 85 STATEMENTS AND TAG 20 PEOPLE

THE LAST

1. DRINK: a pepsi i think 2. PHONE CALL: my brother 3. TEXT MESSAGE: anya 4. SONG YOU LISTENED TO: noticed by mandopony 5. TIME YOU CRIED: a while ago... 6. DATED SOMEONE TWICE: no 7. KISSED SOMEONE AND REGRETTED IT: no 8. BEEN CHEATED ON: no 9. LOST SOMEONE SPECIAL: yeah 10. BEEN DEPRESSED: extremely 11. GOTTEN DRUNK AND THROWN UP: no

3 FAVOURITE COLOURS

12. blue 13. pink 14. ?? green

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU

15. MADE NEW FRIENDS: yes 16. FALLEN OUT OF LOVE: nope 17. LAUGHED UNTIL YOU CRIED: ha yeah 18. FOUND OUT SOMEONE WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU: yes 19. MET SOMEONE WHO CHANGED YOU: definitely 20. FOUND OUT WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE: mhmm 21. KISSED SOMEONE ON YOUR FACEBOOK LIST: ha facebook...

GENERAL

22. HOW MANY OF YOUR FACEBOOK FRIENDS DO YOU KNOW IN REAL LIFE: 0 23. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS: nope 24. DO YOU WANT TO CHANGE YOUR NAME: not really 25. WHAT DID YOU DO FOR YOUR LAST BIRTHDAY: i'm pretty sure i forgot last year and was given a small surprise party 26. WHAT TIME DID YOU WAKE UP: 9:17 27. WHAT WERE YOU DOING AT MIDNIGHT LAST NIGHT: sleeping cause i felt like shit 28. NAME SOMETHING YOU CAN’T WAIT FOR: nothing comes to mind? 29. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR MOM: when i was five lol 31. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW: Boys Will Be Boys by Benny 32. HAVE YOU EVER TALKED TO A PERSON NAMED TOM: uh no 33. SOMETHING THAT IS GETTING ON YOUR NERVES: feelings

34. MOST VISITED WEBSITE: sighs. here, toombls.shit

35. HAIR COLOUR: white

36. LONG OR SHORT HAIR: short 37. DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON SOMEONE: hah 38. WHAT DO YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF: i can fight 39. PIERCINGS: none 40. BLOOD TYPE: who knows 41. NICKNAME: Leo, 'Little Star', Lion Demigod, Blade 42. RELATIONSHIP STATUS: dating 43. ZODIAC: virgo 44. PRONOUNS: she/him/them/it whatever the fuck you want to use 45. FAVOURITE TV SHOW: i dont watch much tv anymore... mythbusters? 46. TATTOOS: no 47. RIGHT OR LEFT HANDED: right 48. SURGERY: uh no

50. SPORT: ha 51. VACATION: tennessee? is that even how you spell it 52. PAIR OF TRAINERS: idk

MORE GENERAL

53. EATING: nothing 54. DRINKING: nothing 55. I’M ABOUT TO: continue regretting my entire life lol 56. WAITING FOR: my birthday i guess 57. WANT: a hug 58. GET MARRIED: oh for sure 59. CAREER: shrugs 60. HUGS OR KISSES: both... 61. LIPS OR EYES: eyes? 62. SHORTER OR TALLER: taller...? 63. OLDER OR YOUNGER: either? 64. NICE ARMS OR NICE STOMACH: idfk 65. HOOK UP OR RELATIONSHIP: relationship 66. TROUBLEMAKER OR HESITANT: why not both

HAVE YOU EVER:

67. KISSED A STRANGER: no 68. DRANK HARD LIQUOR: um. idk 69. LOST GLASSES/CONTACT LENSES: no 70. TURNED SOMEONE DOWN: yeah 71. SEX ON THE FIRST DATE: absolutely not 72. BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART: i dont.... think so? 73. HAD YOUR HEART BROKEN: eh

74. BEEN ARRESTED: nearly 75. CRIED WHEN SOMEONE DIED: ...nope 76. FALLEN FOR A FRIEND: ehhh?

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

77. YOURSELF: barely 78. MIRACLES: sometimes 79. LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: shrugs 80. SANTA CLAUS: never have

81. KISS ON THE FIRST DATE: no

82. ANGELS: @eztria

OTHER:

84. EYE COLOUR: pink 85. FAVOURITE MOVIE: princess bride or spirited away

@mothmade @robot-naps  @pipanin ez  @zombiichris?  @softestwings

[freckledandfighting-blog]

Hamilsquad x Reader Chapter 1.

Hello hello hello! Guess what, its me. And I’m containing myself from singing the rest of ‘Hello’ from Adele. So chapter 1 is up, please comment, ask questions request because I get bored sometimes all the time.

Warnings: Horrible editing, I’m on my phone posting from a roller coaster. Also swearing, always swearing.

2:09 pm.

It had been eleven days since you had told your boys. The week was spent with everyone packing, Alex repeating your family’s names under his breath, Laf trying to perfect his English, and Mr. Washington practically forcing your boyfriends to take a break. Alexander had enough unused sick days and vacations for all of you.

Angelica gave you the week off as soon as you said yes to her promotion.

“Yes. Definitely. You are going, that is final.”

“Yes, Angel, thank you so much for your input, I wouldn’t have gone without your permission.” You said sarcastically. She shoved you with her elbow and swiftly pushed you out the door so you could actually do your job.

“Don’t forget you have to start interviewing people eventually!” She called to you from her office.

3:09 pm.

“How much sunscreen do I need to take?” John asked you, sitting on his suitcase, which was overloaded with his bathing suits and art supply.

It was Thursday afternoon and you and your boyfriends were spending your last day before leaving perfecting your packing. You were leaving on Friday after Alex, John and Laf’s coffee run, they were given an extra day off. Hercules was leaving Cato with the shop for the break and Angelica said if you came to work that day, she would call security.

“I mean, I’m sure we have some at the house.. maybe a bit if you want it.” You said nonchalantly, checking your passport.

“I don’t need anymore freckles.” You looked up. John was shirtless, debating between two shirts. Freckles were dappled across his shoulders, down his back, a few on his toned chest.

“I like your freckles.” You tilted your head, clearly checking out your boyfriend. He turned around, a mischievous grin spread over his face.

“What are you-” you were scooped up and thrown on the bed. He attacked you with kisses, tickling your sides, making you squeal a protest.

He responded with more playful kisses across your collarbone. You squirmed under his grip, but not really trying.

“Lemme go!” You whined, pushing your hands up against his shoulders. “Johnny!”

He didn’t let go, but he stopped tickling you and just rested his head in the crook of your neck. You sighed, shifting under him, getting as comfortable as possible with your boyfriend collapsed atop you.

Well.. as possible you can get with another human on you.

It was these little moments that really made you fall in love. Cuddling, curling up and watching Stranger Things, buying ice cream, dancing on the sidewalk.. the list could go on forever. It was the simple seconds you spent with your partners that made you fall more in love with them anymore.

“Y/N-” Alex started, then froze when he walked into the room, seeing the two of you. “Aww!”

You grumbled halfheartedly, not really making an effort to complain. You were cozy, using John as a personal heated blanket, and you were not moving. He nuzzled his forehead on your collarbone, humming slightly. You could feel him nibbling lightly on your neck.

“Laffy! Herc! Look they’re being adorable!” He yelled, leaning his head out the doorway, alerting the other two.

“Shuddup Alex.” You said into John’s shoulder. “Alexandre, couldn’t it wait-” Lafayette opened his mouth making an inaudible coo. “You look so cute, Mon Petits.”

John lifted his head, a satisfied grin across his face. You narrowed your eyes, confused of his wicked smile. “What did you do..” You said accusingly.

“Johnathan Laurens!” Hercules scolded, shoving him off of you. You jumped up, running to the bathroom. He definitely did something.

“Fucking hell!” You yelled, throwing your arms into the air. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

John had left a large red hickey on your neck.

“Oops!” He called from the bedroom. You could actually hear the cheeky grin on his face. “My bad!”

“We’re meeting her parents in less than forty-eight hours! No kisses!” Alex instructed, crossing his arms. Alex was 5'6 he wasn’t tall, he had a slim figure, he was far from threatening.

“But Alex!” John whined loudly. “She’s so kissable!”

You rolled your eyes. “So are the rest of them.” You gestured to your other partners.

“Tell us more about your family.” Hercules wrapped his arms around you, hugging you from behind. You smiled, kissing his shoulder.

“What do you want to know?”

“Chase, Lucas, Oliver, Charlie, Percy, Scott, Tyler, Dylan, Theo, Mason, Roy, Conner, Cory, Liam, Benny.. I’m forgetting someone!” Alex wailed, collapsing dramatically on the bed. “But don’t tell me! I have to figure this out.”

You smirked, knowing instantly who he was missing.

“Fifteen.. who’s the sixteenth?” He murmured, hitting his head with a pillow.

“Alex, Honey, relax.” John soothed, shoving a pair of flip flops into his suitcase. “They aren’t going to freak if we don’t know all of their names.” He turned toward you, his eyes wide. “They won’t freak if we don’t know all of their names, will they?”

“They are much more worried about getting Laf’s right.” You laughed, winking at the Frenchmen.

“Many have tried, few have succeeded.” He chuckled, blowing you a kiss.

“Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette.” You answered, shuffling around with Hercules still attached to you. “Eleven words.. my mom has more kids than that, she’ll manage.”

“Who am I missing!” Alex succumbed to help. “Fifteen.. who am I forgetting!”

“Our favorite.” Hercules kissed you head, his laugh vibrated against your back.

“Who?” Alex said desperately.

“Me.” You grinned, a teasing smile on your face. He mouth ‘o’ before sighing in relief.

“Chase, Lucas, Oliver, Charlie, Percy, Scott, Tyler, Dylan, Theo, Mason, Roy, Conner, Cory, Liam, Benny and Y/N.” He breathed, closing his eyes. “Thank god.”

“It worries me you forgot the name of our girlfriend who’s family we’re visiting.” John threw a pillow at Alexander’s head.

“Tell me stories of little Y/N!” Herc pouted. You huffed.

“I fended for myself at the dinner table, earned the eldest’s respect, in my household, it’s eat or be eaten.” You joked, a serious expression on your face. “I doubt you guys’ll survive dinner unless we eat out.”

“I don’t think I like this story.”

“I’m joking.. sort of. You’ll probably like my siblings.. Probably.” You hummed.

“Story Time!” Alex yelled, clapping hysterically like a seal. You groaned, throwing John a shirt from your suitcase.

“Tyler, Dylan, Theo, Mason, Roy, the twins, Liam, and Benny are the ones you really have to worry about.” You tilted you head, thinking about it. “They pull the most pranks, since they’re the youngest.”

“Only like half of your brothers.” Herc commented, earning your glare.

“Chase through Scott are okay. They’ll be more interested in making fun of me. And Lucas is going to be the most sane because of his kids.” You turned back to the four of them, narrowing your eyes.

“Don’t you have packing to do?” You asked, putting a pair of shoes in your bag. “We aren’t coming back for a week.”

“I’ll pack tomorrow.” Alex procrastinated in nothing but if had something to do with clothing, he wouldn’t even think about it.

“Alexandre we’re leaving tomorrow.” Laf’s inner mother hen was coming out. “Go pack.” He ordered, shoving the smaller man off his lap.

Alex simply responded with a loud screech.

“Alexander Hamilton do not make me go call Angelica!” You spun around, making him go silent and freeze.

Angelica Schuyler was the by far the level-headed, most impowering woman you had ever met.. Unless one of your boyfriends was acting up. Hercules and Lafayette were smart, they knew about Angelica’s signature ear grabbing, John and Alex on the other hand weren’t as careful. They often forgot she was there and start leaving hickeys and pinching each other. In simplest form:

Angelica did not like that.

“I’m good, I’ll go pack.” He squeaked, tripping as he sprung off the bed and out of the room.

“Well that’s one way to get things done.” Hercules held in a laugh watching Alexander stumble around.

“'Ow you say ‘whipped’.” Laf said, zipping John’s finally packed suitcase.

“The Angelica Card always works.”

7:02 am.

“It’s too early!” John whined, rubbing his eyes.

“Suck it up, Buttercup.” You pressed you lips to his temple. “You can sleep through the flight, it’s going to be about two hours till we land.”

You were sitting in between Hercules, who had the isle seat, and John who was by the window. Alex and Lafayette were behind you and John talking quickly in French. You only caught a few words, hearing your parents’ names as well as your own and your siblings.

“No! Sleep is for the weak..” He quickly lowered his voice, remembering he was on an airplane. “Oops.” John’s outburst was greeted with many ‘shh’s.

“Fine, but the ride to the lake is another two hours, so you better sleep then.” You reminded him, fiddling with your earbuds. “My family is going to be exhausting.”

“Maybe you should be the one sleeping, Princess.” Hercules chuckled, lacing his fingers with yours. “You seemed more stressed than Alex.”

“HEY!”

“SHH!”

“Yeah, Alex.” You teased, looking back at him and Lafayette.

9:34 am.

“You don’t know true power until you’ve had six three-hour energy drinks and a large cup of coffee with four shots of espresso.” Alexander was bouncing up and down, sitting on the baggage cart that was filled with your many suitcases.

“Never again..” Hercules murmured, rubbing his forehead.

“I’m banning Alex from Starbucks for the week.” You sighed, watching him let out a squeal of glee as Laf pushed the cart.

“He will die without coffee.” John commented. He hadn’t taken your advice and spent the entire flight playing flappy bird. He was mostly leaning on you for support.

You clicked you tongue against the roof of your mouth. “Without Starbucks no, he’ll just suffer, my mom makes an amazing coffee-caramel ice cream that no one can miss out on.”

“Sugaarr..” John moaned, banging his head against your shoulder. You laughed, kissing his forehead.

“ALEXANDER HAMILTON!” Lafayette yelled, running after Alex who was riding the cart down the slope of the parting lot. Laf must of let go of the cart at some point which was definitely not a good idea.

“That ended badly when Cory and Conner did that.” You remembered the stitches and the broken nose they received after the incident.

“Aww!”

You silently thanked Laf for catching him.

“You’re no fun!” He whined as he was scooped off the cart. “That was entertaining!”

“Ne discutez pas avec moi, Alexandre.” Lafayette threw his boyfriend over his shoulder and continued to push the luggage.

“That’s the car.” Hercules pointed to the black Chevrolet that’s lights were blinking.

“It’s like an FBI car!“John exclaimed excitedly, dragging you toward it. “It’s so shiny!”

“I’m surrounded by children.” Herc mumbled, face-palming.

“Alright, alright.” You ‘shh'ed your boyfriends. “John you aren’t driving, you are sleeping the entire drive.” You instructed, opening the backseat door. “In.”

He raised his hands in surrender, entering the car.

“Alex no way in hell are you driving, you’ve consumed way too much caffeine.” Laf was facing the opposite direction so you could talk to Alex, who was still being carried.

“I take offense to that!” He crossed his arms. You raised an eyebrow, seeing if he wanted to argue with you, which he didn’t. Alex quickly was put down and he retreated to the car.

“I’ll drive if you put the address in, Princess.” Hercules said, shoving the last of the suitcases into the trunk. “I don’t mind.”

“Thank god because I will get road rage and I will yell.” You sighed in relief, quickly kissing him and Laf on the lips.

“Mon Amour, we know, that’s why he offered.” Lafayette grinned, helping you in the car next to Alex, John was already falling asleep on his boyfriend’s lap.

“Fair enough.” You yawned, buckling your seat. You have Herc your address, feeling your eyes lids grow heavy.

11:24 am.

“Hey, Babygirl.” John lightly cupped his hands together, waking you. His voice was nervous. “Time to get up, little one.” You yawned, reaching you arms out as you stretched.

“What’d I miss?” You sat up, arching you back.

“I followed the GPS to the address.” Herc said from the drivers seat. “But I might of taken a wrong turn, because there’s nothing here.” You looked outside.

The car was on a familiar gravel road. Willow trees were hanging over, the swaying leaves hitting to car lightly.

“You did perfect, I can get us there from here.”

“I’m not complaining.” Alex said from above you. He had climbed through the sunroof and was sitting atop of the car. “It’s nice out here, really quiet.” You smiled, glad he was actually relaxing.

“Mon amour, do you mind driving? I think our Hercules needs a break.” Laf kissed Herc’s forehead. He did look tired, you nodded.

“It’s probably best I get us there anyway.” You opened the door, stepping out. The air was fresh, and warm due to the sun. It was different that New York, not filled with different smells, just the clear scent of summer.

Sunshine. A soft breeze. Wildflowers.

“Thank you.” Herc said sleepily, getting out of the drivers seat.

“It’ll be another thirty minutes till we get there, sleep.” You instructed him, kissing his cheek. “Alex, you should probably get back inside.” Alex did not get back inside.

“Honey come back in the car.” John whined, tugging on his boyfriend’s foot.

“But it’s nice up here.” He protested.

"Alexandre.” Laf said in a gentle, but warning tone. Alex panicked and jumped back in the car. Lafayette did have that effect on people.

The rest of the drive was quiet, Alex head was out the window, Herc was using John as a pillow, Laf was placing small kisses across the back of your hand and wrists.

You parked the stone pathway, that winded along the lake. The house wasn’t yet visible, shielded by the gardens around it. You could see some of your siblings on the docks, who were noticing the new car pulling up.

“Uh,” you clasped your hands together, gaining your boyfriends’ attention. You sent an apologetic look on your face towards Hercules since he was sleeping. “I want you guys to know.. my family has a different amount of money than most families.”

“We don’t care how much money your family has, Mon amour.” Laf pressed his lips to your fist. “We love you, and we’ll love your family.” You inhaled.

“Okay, and I’m just forewarning you on this one, their sort of crazy.”

“Don’t stall, Babygirl.” John teased.

"Oh my god! We can go swimming! Is that a speedboat?” Alex was bouncing up and down in his seat.

“Y/N!” Your brothers waved frantically from the docks.

“We could turn back now.. They aren’t very athletic.” You said, opening the door and stepping out of the car. The warm sun hitting your skin instantly.

You pulled out a familiar red whistle from your pocket.

“Is that a rape whistle?” Alex asked, popping his head out from the sunroof once again. You laughed, shaking your head.

“You’ll see.”

“That’s another boat? Do you own that one? What about that big floaty thing? Do you own that too? How about the-”

You pressed the whistle to your lips, blowing as hard on it as possible.

“HOLY FUCK!” John covered his ears, then looked around frantically, as if he was being watched. “I probably shouldn’t have said that around here.”

“That should summon them.” You put the whistle back in your jean pocket. “There’ll be a stampede in the house, so I think she should leave our bags here for now. If your ready to meet a family from your nightmares, right this way.”

“I really do hope your lying.” Laf blinked, watching your brothers that were on the docks dash into the house.

“This fountain is bigger than our kitchen.” Hercules stared in awe of the marble fountain.

“Screw the fountain!” Alex said, wildly gesturing back and forth from the fountain to the docks. “That speed boat is bigger than our entire apartment!”

“Is that a horse?”

“Moving this way.” You said, trying to change to conversation. You lead them down another gravel path that lead to your house. “You’ll probably sleep in my room, my bed is big enough.” You informed them.“

“Can we go swimming?”

Alex was probably the most excited about being on the lake. He was from the Virgin Islands and New York didn’t have the cleanest waters so he had to stick with pools. He was thrilled to be near the water and you could already picture the red sunburn he was going to receive after not wearing sunscreen.

“Yes, we can go swimming.”

“But the horses-”

“We can do that later.” You stared at the gardens that surrounded half of the house in a semicircle.

You grew up with a wealthy family. Your parents made a lot of money. They also wanted a big family. They exceeded the ‘normal’ amount of children by having thirteen more kids.

“Chase, Lucas, Oliver, Charlie, Percy, Scott, Tyler, Dylan, Theo, Mason, Roy, Conner, Cory, Liam, Benny and Y/N.” Alex murmured again, kicking rocks under his foot.

“Scarlett, McKenna, Diana, and Marco.” John added, taking his boyfriend’s hand. “And then William, Hunter, Zara, Kylie, Owen, and Lydia.”

“Jemma and Stephen are your parents.” Laf finished.

“Why thank you, now I know all of my family member’s names.” You said sarcastically but a large grin was spread across your face.

You were happy, this was your childhood home. You grew up going to this house every summer. And this week, you got to not only share it with your family but your boyfriends as well.

You stepped up to the front door, turning back to your boyfriends. You inhaled once more, telling yourself to relax.

You smiled at your partners. “Welcome to hell.”

Okay thank god I finished this today. I will definitely update next week. I hope you enjoyed and honestly I’m super jumpy right now and sorta bored now that I’m posting this because it’s only been two hours and thirty minutes since I got in the 'Space Mountain’ ride at DisneyWorld. Okay *inhale* thank you for reading.

[survivingwriter-blog]

It’s been a little over 24 hours since I found out I’m not a mom. 

24 hours, and it feels as though it has been much longer. I’ve felt hollow. I’ve felt numb. The worst part is explaing that you’re no longer a mom. It’s learning to drop the title that you once held with pride. It’s reminding yourself that you can’t relate to anyone else who has children. You can’t say that you know your son was like that at some child’s age. 

You don’t know that.

I didn’t know that, but I’d still tell that to every parent that walked in the door of my business with a small child. Little boys always made my heart swell with envy. I missed my son, a child that I had adopted only after he had passed. I longed for the opportunity to be a mom, and it was because I was selfish. I hadn’t gotten to be a mom to Jackson, so I wanted to be a mom to another child. It sounds reasonable when you think about it. Any parent who has experienced loss knows the desire to fill the void left by their child once they have passed. They also know that there is a lot of hate that comes with filling that void. 

People are ignorant to the pain that is harboring overhead, reminding you that every day is going to be a storm. The looming feeling of guilt continues to pour stinging regrets against your skin. You’re showered in thoughts of what and why, and you continue until you have an entire story hashed out. You are your own worst enemy. Grief is just a cynical bystander that assists your demons in destroying the life you thought you could build when your child left this world. It’s unfair, and it’s cruel. It’s a norm.

I became accustomed to the negativity that came with announcing my desires to have another child. Although I had not given birth to Jackson, I always insisted I was having another child. I was a mom. 

I should reiterate: I was a mom. I’m not anymore.

I became a mom in an unorthadox way. Most people didn’t consider me to be a mom, despite my strong feelings for Jack. He was a child I never had the privilage of meeting. How could someone love a child they never met with so much passion? I always told people the same thing: a mother’s love is unconditional. I felt I was meant to be his mom, and that’s what brought him into my life. The funny thing is that I was meant to be his mom. I was meant to be his mom because his father made him up, but only for me. He managed to come up with ashes, and a story. There were memories, clothes, and tears. There was a day that we’d weep and celebrate: his birthday. His act was flawless. The horrid hiccupping sobs that would escape his lips was enough to make you think that this was real. 

It was far from real. This was a nightmare, and I was a pawn in it. 

Prior to meeting my ex, we had communicated online. All it took was one message, and he had me. I was used to deleting multiple messages, but I didn’t overlook his. In these hours of communication, I told him everything about myself. I told him how much I wanted a child. I told him I was meant to be a mom, and I wanted to settle down. Any fine detail of myself, he knew. He was able to explore every inch of me without being physical. In that time, he came up with another life. Every detail of his life was what I wanted, aside from one. He was a recovering drug addict. He had two years clean under his belt, and he wore it with pride.

I hesitated, and I had every right to. I had no desire to be with someone who could stumble into something so dangerous, especially if they wanted to have a future of any kind. I couldn’t feed into the idea of having a heroin addict for a boyfriend, husband, father to my children. I played off every attempt he made to flirt with me. I told him my life, but that’s all he was: someone to talk to. Until the night he told me he was missing his child, and his son’s mom was telling him he was worthless and should be dead. 

I was there to save him. As soon as I pulled up to his place, I could feel the venom streaming through my veins. He had latched himself onto me, putting his spell on me. He was ready to drain me of everything, and he would do it slowly to make it count. He did everything to make it count. He refused to make a move on me. He got timid as I got closer to him. He shared Jack, his best kept secret. He showed me ashes, and shared memories. He asked if he could kiss me when I was about to leave, and the words that came out were not the words I had planned on saying. I had it planned from the moment I saw him. He was not the normal man I would be interested in. There was no way I was going to give in. 

“I was wondering why you haven’t yet.”

Those are my famous last words. I was sucked in from that kiss, and it spiraled out of control. One kiss turned into dozens. He asked me to go on this adventure with him, presenting me with a ring pop. Suddenly, the man I detested the idea of being with became a dream. He was willing to share Jack with me, even with him being gone. He started saying I was Jack’s mom. It didn’t take me long to fall in love with that idea. I grieved the way he did. I would lay my head against his chest, listening to his heart beating. I would feel my throat swell shut, as I dreamed of hearing my son’s heartbeat. I would wipe tears from my eyes as I’d tell him I wanted my son here with us. We planned tattoos for Jack. We had matching keychains with his name and birthday on them. We let go of balloons for him on days we needed him to know we thought about him. 

We were grieving parents. 

All dreams come to an end though. My ex had gotten back into drugs. He had cheated numerous times with the same woman. He had manipulated and lied. I was fed up. I left him, but I took Jack’s ashes with me. We tried to keep in touch for his sake, but it was always a trap. I would find myself falling back into his embrace, and I’d have to stop. I saw his track marks from injecting himself with heroin, and I knew I had to stop. I cut him off completely. There was no open line of communication. I was a single mom, grieving the loss of her only child. I was being a parent, and he was being himself. 

I won’t say that leaving him hurts me. It doesn’t. I found someone who didn’t just promise me a good relationship. We came together and everything made sense. I remember he kissed me, and whispered that he’d sing "The Girl” by City and Colour for me. It’s one song that has been on a list of songs that if anyone incorporated them into our relationship or sang them to me, I knew I’d be in trouble. 

In that moment, I could hear Jack saying “Mom, he’s the one.” I thought it was Jack, but I found out a couple weeks later. I had walked into work and one of my employees had to tell me that my nephew had passed away. My nephew was my ex’s nephew, but family was family. I didn’t mind that we would never be a family. The odd part about my nephew’s passing was that he was 10 months old with a heart condition. It was the exact same information I had been fed about my son. I had sobbed, feeling the wound that Jack had left being ripped open. I didn’t understand why he was so desperate to bring me back into his life. He knew that Benny would do that. He didn’t think about the details coming to the surface. He didn’t think I would look for an obituary that would never be posted. 

I followed up with his roommate, and his mother. I had scanned countless obituary sites looking for Benny and my son. I could find neither. I refused to believe that he lied about Jack. I had his ashes. I had his little shirt, tucked under my pillow. It was a safety when I had a bad day. I had a rock from his first vacation stowed in my purse. I always had him with me. I was wrong. “I have proof that Jack isn’t real, and there is no dead nephew. You need a PPO, and you need to cut him off immediately.”

My world shattered.

I was hollow. I was stripped of the one title that I was proud of. My dream was pissed on. He had no remorse for tearing into the one thing I was passionate about. I found out I was never a mom, and I felt nauseous. I wanted everything to disappear. I wanted comfort. I wanted everything and nothing in the same breath. These emotions are how you know you’ve been abused, and you need to break the cycle. I had already broken the cycle, and yet I’m sitting here, writing that I was abused. I want to tell this story for a few reasons. Someone may recognize who this is about, and maybe he or she will stop him from shattering someone else. I can be hopeful. I also want someone to know that abuse isn’t black and white. Someone told me the man I’m writing about was abusive, and I snorted. Now, I understand.

[torentialtribute]

Elton John was clattered by Tim Sherwood… he’s STILL STANDING

The story of Tim Sherwood, Elton John and a five-to-one field at the Great Wall of China summarizes how the finalists of the [FACupCup on Saturday had [one] benefactor like no other.

It dates from 1987 and an end of the season, in which Sherwood was a promising midfielder who very literally adhered to Watford boss Graham Taylor & # 39; s rule about training as hard as you played.

Elton, the president and owner of the club, whose name had opened the door to China, had joined the team in a five-to-one match between tour

[bewerken] See also Sherwood Watford life president Sir Elton John was the president of the football club between 1976 and 2002 "class =" blkBorder img-share "/>

<img id =" i-8bba4994203192d4 "src =" https: //i.dailymail.co.uk/1s/2019/05/17/19/13632832-0-image-a-1_1558118445110.jpg "height =" 476 "width =" 634 "alt =" was the president of the football club between 1976 and 2002

Watford live president Sir Elton John was the president of the football club between 1976 and 2002

& # 39; He wanted to make an impression & # 39 ;, said former teammate Luther Blissett about Sherwood. & # 39; I remember someone taking the ball to Elton and Tim leaving at full speed. You think, "Oh no, Tim, slower, Tim! Tim …"

The entire episode seemed to play out in slow motion before Sherwood clattered to Elton, who flew into the air. air. & # 39; It took a century before he came down, & # 39; Blissett said. & # 39; And we are all there, with mouth open. Elton gets up to his name, smiles at Tim and he is going to have the time of his life. "

The same can be said of his relationship with Watford. He is now the 71-year-old honorary president of the club, and apparently an enthusiastic participant as always, who makes almost daily contact with current chairman Scott Duxbury with recommendations & # 39; He will often email me & # 39; and or e-mail: & # 39; Are you watching this split game? & # 39; Duxbury says. & # 39; And I will say : "No, Elton, no I am not."

Sir Elton, as he has been since 1998, emailed Troy Deeney after the club reached Saturday's final, although there was no reprise of the iconic 1984 image that he cried when Abide With Me was played in Wembley before Watford Everton played.

He is on stage at the Royal Arena in Copenhagen on Saturday night, behind the Yamaha piano equipped with

He won't need it, the game has actually ended an hour before that he takes his seat. A kind of comfort.

He gladly rented in 1974 because they were his local club, I loved them and they had fallen to the bottom of the Football League. Bobby Moore as manager, but three Watford directors expressed concern, so I sought a second opinion from then-British manager Don Revie, who recommended Taylor.

This president was always willing to ask for advice, Taylor always said. He has never seen the club as a vehicle for self-promotion. Taylor & # 39; s autobiography, posthumously published last year, tells how, when he first dived down Vicarage Road in August 1977, he looked along the sidelines to see an unmistakable figure in platform shoes coming up to him

The owner of the megastar took two seats down from Taylor, from where he was inclined to get up And the fans begged to go behind the team when the mood caught him. ]

Later, after Watford Reading had defeated in the League Cup and the players had gone home, Taylor said to him: & # 39; It's your club, sit where you want. But it would be better if you were in the director box. & # 39; And he did.

He also introduced himself to Taylor after the side & # 39; s 1978 promotion from the Third to the Second Division – part of a six-year climb from the lowest step to match the players who Provide backing vocals for Georgia, a song on Elton's A Single Man album.

Taylor, with his no-nonsense view of the working class, thought this was too much. There were no Rolexes. The album cover shows the singer wearing a club tie.

When they met Everton in 1984, there was no last word for pop music for the players who looked so good to produce one.

<img id = "i-c14f0f22c4219876" src = "https://dailym.ai/2Wc1tbM. jpg "height =" 342 "width =" 634 "alt =" John and Watford went to Wembley for the 1984 FA Cup final, where they lost 2-0 to Everton "

<img id = "i-c14f0f22c4219876" src = "https://dailym.ai/2LSCtSR" height = "342" width = " 634 "alt =" John and Watford went to Wembley for the FA Cup final in 1984, where they lost 2-0 to Everton "

John and Watford went to Wembley for the FA Cup out 1984 final where she lost 2-0 to Everton

Taylor also refused. The owner released his own Sad Songs (Say So Much) that summer, painfully appropriate given the controversial 2-0 loss.

The exceptionally moving preface of the musician to Taylor's autobiography describes the copper headbuttings, a friend and a touchstone, who on one occasion denounced him about the substance abuse that brought him down.

& # 39; His reading to me shook me to my core. He told me how foolish I was and how I had allowed myself and, more importantly, the club to relax, & Sir Sirton wrote. & # 39; We were passionate and committed. An unstoppable force of nature. And how we all enjoyed it.

In the wonderful book Rocket Men: Tales from the Vicarage, Blissett tells how the players would play Elton's songs on their team coach's cassette for away games. They would let Bennie and the Jets blare & # 39; as loud as the system would allow & # 39 ;.

They called him Mr. President, but were not hit by the man who accompanied them in room celebrations when they were promoted and who agreed to help with the illegal purchase of duty-free whiskey on one of the China tours . Illegal, because Taylor would not have approved that either.

<img id = "i-57001bf9eb57dcc1" src = "https://dailym.ai/2We6lwQ image-m-5_1558118526813.jpg "height =" 575 "width =" 634 "alt =" President John portrayed in London in May 1984 with Watford manager Graham Taylor (left) "Graham Taylor (left) in May 1984

President John in the photo in London with Watford manager Graham Taylor (left)

One of the memorable legends of the Anfield boot room recalls the day Elton entered the shrine, where would give the Bob Paisley team a drink. Elton asked for a pink gin.

When Taylor stopped the manager to take over at Aston Villa in 1987, Elton decided to sell the club, which was passed on to businessman Jack Petchey in 1990. He re-joined the director a year later , left again after 24 months and returned for his second five-year spell as chairman in 1997 with Taylor in charge.

The day after performing Candle in the wind at the funeral of the Princess of Wales, he was at the home game with Wycombe Wanderers. Both sets of fans gave him a standing ovation.

A bench at Watford & Cassi's Cassiobury Park bears his simple dedication to Taylor: & # 39; A Friend & # 39 ;. It was left to John Motson to read the hymn that Sir Elton wrote for Taylor's funeral in 2017. Yet his attachment to the club was unbreakable. The photos of him who won a victory over Tottenham last September with his sons Elijah and Zachary, gave a feeling about that. Zachary is in the club's academy. Both boys and the man of the president of life, David Furnish, will lead the team on Saturday night.

& # 39; I will become a wreck & # 39 ;, said Sir Elton.

Source link