#side note i dyed my hair green two months ago and it is not washing out. im stuck like this forever

[boygirlctommy]

i saw other people doing this so hehe art vs artist 2023 :D

[thejudgingtrash]

11. “...did you just sniff me?” for percabeth pretty please 🙏🤍🤍🤍

Heya! I’m finally here to come back to this request 😄😄 It took me only a little bit in comparison to other requests, but I'm here!

Also since @percyheartsannabeth, @skaterannabeth and @not-optimistic-petrol-biscuit had asked about fluff. Here you go... Kinda? 😬 Anyway. Here's a monster sneak peek into may I introduce you to my beloved wife? 😋

It took me all day yesterday, but I managed to pump out 11k words. That's a record for a single session in one day (with like two breaks). And yes, that is still not the entire chapter. Here are roughly 9,2k for you to consume!

TW: alcohol, overbearing relatives not minding their own business, a tiny section talking about domestic abuse and Athena and Frederick Chase ain't shit but that's nothing new. Poseidon too, for once. Enjoy!

may I introduce you to my beloved wife?

(*absolutely not proof-read, my bad)

Annabeth sighed. You can do this. You can do this. You’ve already finished the week. Think about the money. Think about the move to California. Push through this day and next week, think about the money and the minute you’ll hand your termination in. She wanted to splash some water up her face, but the makeup that tinted her lips in a luscious rose and added some bronze to her high cheekbones was too expensive to be washed off and hastily reapplied.

It was pre-Dionysus Day, which meant it was merely the calm before the storm. The first sparkling sip of an impending disaster waiting to rollover the roomy Greek villa Percy forced her to stay in. Well not really forced. Forced and bribed her to stay in. That made it sound slightly better. Just think of the one-hundred seventy-five dollars he’s going to transfer into your bank account for your new start in California. I should renegotiate. California is also expensive. Make it two-hundred fifty thousand.

The tall blonde looked at her reflection in the mirror. A young woman full of life was the first thing she had seen in the morning but now she looked tired and annoyed, just how she felt. Something crashed in one of the dozens of rooms next to her and people laughed. Annabeth sighed again. It was the only thing she could do, otherwise she would scream like a banshee, making sure that at least Hermes and Prometheus would check her, if it wasn’t for Percy stuffing socks into her mouth to make her shut up before they got to her. The majority of his Greek relatives had been lovely if not terribly nosy and overbearing. It was the opposite of her family. His was warm and chaotic and for the most part welcoming. Hers? Cold, apathetic, disapproving of everything she did. She had no family in comparison, and neither would she want to compare this wholesome messy bunch to the cold-hearted Athena Pallas and the monster that was Friedrich Chase.

Annabeth respected Hera and Hestia, she definitely side-eyed Aphrodite who was cheating on her husband and she would definitely stay away from Zeus. Crossing paths with him occasionally in the New York office of Atlantic INC. was terrible, seeing him openly be flirty and loosen up during a forced trip was way worse.

This was a bad idea and I have a terrible feeling about this. The burgundy wrap dress that hugged her skin was soft and light but in the Thessalian heat it felt like a sticky cocoon caging her. She wasn’t a beautiful butterfly, ready to burst out and wow everyone. Neither was she a moth drawn to a flame. She was a bug that had been sprayed by Percy with a pesticide, wrapped in toxic chemicals which were slowly dissolving her body, piece by piece.

A knock shoved the horrendous image inside of her head aside. “Yes?” she asked with a firm voice. Too firm with a hint of annoyance, but she was not a professional actress and could not switch her emotions off as she pleased. She was a junior marketing manager for Christ’s sake. Not for much longer. Only two more months…

Percy opened the door. “Are you ready?“ he asked with his usual pleasant baritone reaching her ear.

He wore light linen pants that hugged his legs loosely and a light blue shirt with the first buttons opened up. She could see his defined chest and the swirls of black hair peeking through. The hair was styled into a disheveled curly mess which suited him way better than the gelled back corporate look and he forgot to trim his beard like the day before. Annabeth couldn’t deny what she saw – her tormentor was a very attractive man.

“Do you want to bail?” His sea-green eyes darkened a shade. Worry flashed through them.

Annabeth exhaled sharply for the last time. “I wish I could but then I’d leave you without a fiancé,” she smiled through the pain.

Her glance found her reflection again. The topknot was still intact, and a few strands carefully framed her heart-shaped face. She looked perfect on the outside and she wanted to commit manslaughter in the inside.

“Let’s get over with it,” Percy sighed and stretched his hand out. It seemed like Percy was the one that would rather bail.

Annabeth took it without any complaint. She was the happy girlfriend soon-to-be-wife and holding hands was way better than being forced into kissing him during Sports Day. The Theodoropoulos family truly had planned activity after activity during those two weeks in winter.

“Oh!” Sally peeked into the bathroom and saw her son holding Annabeth’s hand.

“There you are! Is everything okay, mija?” she asked with her sweet Dominican accent and looked at Annabeth.

Annabeth automatically smiled back. Sally was the mother she never had, and it broke her heart crumble by crumble by the sheer charade Percy and she were forced to display for the next six days. Sally Jackson deserved the best. She certainly didn’t deserve being deceived and lied to by her terrible son and his tag-a-long coworker.

“Yes, Percy was just making sure we’re arriving on time.” Annabeth got on her toes and placed a soft kiss on Percy’s stubbled cheek. It tickled but by now she had gotten used to it.

He rolled his eyes, smiled at his mother, nonetheless. Sally’s eyes sparkled and she clapped, clutching her hands tightly. “You don’t know how proud you’re making me, mijo,” she then said teary-eyed.

“You finally found a great girl and she is standing next to you.” Sally wiped a tear away and the awful feeling that sat on Annabeth’s chest and made everything heavier, amplified by a thousand times.

This was way worse than being referred to as the woman that would bear him three to five children presuming with the first one sired on this current vacation by Ares. Yes, Annabeth wanted two children at max, but not definitely now. She was twenty-eight and in the prime of her life! Note: Percy would certainly not be the father of said two children. Unruly blond waves and a mischievous grin blitzed through her head. Pale blue eyes came back from the deepest pit of her memory. Luke. Fuck no, that was even worse than Percy. His betrayal… Annabeth tried to shake the memory off and focused on the ongoing situation in front of her.

Sally truly hoped her son found love and not a quick fling. Oh shit, Annabeth thought and looked up to Percy whose face expressed similar thoughts. His conscience nibbled and guilt flooded his body.

“Mamá,” Percy began and released Annabeth’s hand in order to grasp the older woman’s shoulder.

Sally brushed his large hands off. “No, no! Off you go! You younglings should be downstairs celebrating your reunion with the entire side of Poseidon’s family.”

Annabeth appreciated the fact that Sally was invited and flown out each winter holiday by the Theodoropoulos’. Despite having been divorced from Poseidon for over twenty years, she was still a popular and welcomed guest, not just because of her son’s attachment to the Greek side and his tied division of the Greek family company.

Sally gave each of them a last smile before entering the women’s bathroom. Percy exhaled and pinched his nose. After ten seconds he released the nose and looked back at Annabeth. “Ready?” he asked a final time. Annabeth nodded.

The loud singing, yelling and talking that had been muffled by the bathroom hit her by a tenfold. The place had all the Mamma Mia vibes without the fun singing four days ago. Not anymore, as drunk relatives hit up the shore with loud music and talked loudly in their Pontic Greek dialect.

As the couple descended the stairs and walked through the parlor, a new wave of guests arrived at the same time. Three people that have just entered early adulthood looked up to them. Two men, one blond with a stoic face and bronzed skin, the other was shorter with spiky black hair and a beautiful grin on his lips. The woman next to him was the tallest out of the trio and possessed a high ponytail that would leave Ariana Grande dying out of envy. The dyed lilac hair swung around and nearly reached the middle of her thighs, meaning the hair was even longer without its tight prison on top.

“Thanatos, Zagreus, Megaera!” greeted Percy and gave each one of them a rib crushing bear hug. They looked pleasantly surprised at seeing Percy being accompanied by a pretty woman his age. It seems like the proposal didn’t reach all of the ends of the Greek world.

They fell into a short conversation in Greek and Annabeth smiled politely next to Percy as she fell entirely out of place. The evil Duolingo owl didn’t prepare her for this experience. Neither did her mother bother teaching her at least their Athenian dialect properly. She could introduce herself in Greek, order a beer, say goodbye and that was it. Thank you, Athena. For nothing again.

“Oh, you must be Annabeth,” Megaera eyed her carefully and Annabeth had the feeling that she could split her open with her hands. Weirdly enough, Annabeth was kind of into it. Megaera wasn’t only as tall as Percy but she was clearly the one with the toughest workout regimen as she displayed her muscular legs and defined arms with a short cocktail dress only a few shades darker than her hair.

“Yes,” Annabeth squeaked. She nearly added a ma’am towards the end. Megaera cocked her dark eyebrow. She had an aura that demanded respect.

“Interesting to see the woman who captured Perseus’ heart. It seems that he did develop a good taste after all. Calypso was as pretty as the crescent moon flower but sadly as dull as his corny jokes are.” Megaera’s deep smirk was a stamp of approval as her eyes roamed all over Annabeth.

“Hey!” Percy interrupted and placed a firm hand on Annabeth’s waist, as if he was trying to mark his territory.

“You have your own toys right to your right,” he then added with a playful tone.

Megaera actually laughed and waved dismissively. “That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for more.” A clear offer which left Annabeth’s face turn into a fiery tomato red.

“Anyway, we have some catching up to do,” Thanatos proposed as Zagreus and he silently watched the conversation blossom. He sounded as reserved as he looked.

“Indeed,” Zagreus agreed, surprising Annabeth with a posh English accent. “Father will murder me if we miss out on his moussaka. It’s to die for you need to try it, Annabeth, at least before Hephaestus gets ahead of himself.”

Annabeth laughed. The Theodoropoulos did have their positives. “I will, Zagreus,” she nodded.

“Oh please, if aunt Sally gave her go for you to stay here, you’re as good as family. We’re Than, Zag and Meg for you,” Zagreus offered.

“Annabeth is already my nickname but thank you for the kind offer!”

The three new guests went on to join relatives and friends at the party which seemed to get more chaotic by each passing minute as the volume seemed to increase.

“My cousin Zagreus from my uncle Hades’ side,” Percy explained as the three went out of his sight.

“Are they friends? Or…”

“Pretty sure they’re polyamorous. You know, I don’t know, and I honestly don’t really care, I see Zag once every twelve months at max. Just don’t stick to Meg’s side for too long otherwise she’ll turn you into her fiancé.” Percy’s tone suggested that he was not joking.

“Oh.” Annabeth didn’t know what to think of it.

Percy closed his eyes as if he was making a silent prayer, before his sea-green met Annabeth’s light gray ones. She smelled like lemon with a hint of lavender, instead of roses like normally. Delicious. If it weren’t for the fact that it was Annabeth.

“So, listen. You know I’ve talked about Dionysus Day and how his birthday brings out the worst side of everyone.”

Annabeth nodded as Percy went on to explain.

“Pre-Dionysus Day is basically same with the only exception that my great-grandmother’s house is filled with the entire family. Yes, we’re expected to eat, drink, laugh, drink, dance, drink, reminisce on our past, drink, make fools out of ourselves in order for them to take blackmail pictures and drink some more, but no matter how much they want you to open up… try to control yourself. Everything you say can and will be used against you.”

Annabeth’s stomach started to churn, and her knees slightly gave in. “Look, I’m truly sorry for the mess that I’ve caused,” Percy looked directly into her eyes and tried to ignore the rosy streaks across her flushed cheeks. “And my relatives can be overbearing. But if we manage to stick through this night and the next one tomorrow, we’re as good as done with playing games.”

“Fine,” Annabeth gritted through her teeth. She had agreed to the terms and condition. She didn’t need a reminder of the stupid decision she made two months ago.

“Let’s go.”

She placed her hand on the doorknob that separated the parlor from the huge living room. Percy followed her as she opened the door. A wave of laughter, wine, ouzo, discovered secrets, cigarettes, sweat and fun hit them.

“Oh wow, someone should open a window.” Percy suggested as he coughed. Luckily cousin Metis had the same idea. No, aunt Metis. Or was it Thetis? Why did Percy need to have so many relatives with similar names again?

“Oh, Annabeth, look at you!” Aphrodite had snuck up behind them and surprised the fake couple by hugging each of them and nearly spilling the expensive Greek vintage in her hand on Percy’s shirt. The red alcoholic liquid carelessly swirled in her glass and more than often seemed to want to escape from her clutch.

“Aphrodite, be careful!” Percy reminded her as she dug her fingers into his arm. Her nails were as fake and bought as was the bond between Annabeth and Percy.

“Oh, please cousin, you should learn how to loosen up!” She laughed, but it sounded more like the shrill sound a bird made when it got nearly hit by a car. The high pitch made Annabeth slightly frown.

“Take your girl upstairs and show her all the Zorbas moves you got!” She wiggled her badly overdrawn eyebrows.

Aphrodite had always been the poster child of perfection. She knew how to dress her curvaceous body the right way, she knew how to apply the perfect touches of makeup on her face and she was the most graceful being Annabeth had ever met. Seeing her so disheveled left the blonde American content. It showed that Aphrodite wasn’t one of the gods, she was a mortal mess like they all were. That, and it was kind of funny seeing the abrupt transition from oozing perfection to looking like a rough mess after a couple of glasses of wine.

“If you know what I mean, you two know what I mean, right?”

“Yes,” Annabeth and Percy answered. Unfortunately, they did.

“That reminds me, this is such a pretty dress that you got!” Aphrodite’s eyes widened and she tugged at Annabeth’s sleeve that went slightly over her elbows. “Percy needs to bring me a couple of those the next time he visits. Oh wait! You’re about to marry, Annabeth can take me shopping. I want to visit New York next summer. When was your wedding again?”

Panic filled Annabeth she tried to stutter a lame excuse like they had done the entirety of the stay. Aphrodite’s brown eyes found something else to focus on in the meantime. Her hand went out to poke the tall blonde’s chest as she went on to pull on the thin fabric.

“You should show the men what you got! Free the girls!” Aphrodite yelled over the loud music, pushing Annabeth’s C cup to its limits. “Let Percy stand in the corner with that stupid frown, all jealous and depressed while you’re out on the hunt!”

Percy did not look amused especially since he tried to pull Annabeth away.

“Yeah, just like that!” Aphrodite’s glass pointed directly at his face as Annabeth tried to shove Aphrodite’s fickle fingers aside. “Oh, if I were just a little bit younger and not tied to your cousin…”

“You mean cousins,” Percy corrected and made a step backwards as Aphrodite’s dreamy and drunk dazed focus shifted from Annabeth to him.

“Aphrodite, leave Percy and his future wife alone,” Hera arrived to save the stressed couple and rolled her eyes. “Go harass Hephaestus and try to be a faithful wife for once in your life.”

She still looked like she had a massive stick shoved up her ass by the way she stood entirely straight next to them, but Annabeth appreciated the gesture. If Hera didn’t like Aphrodite much, Annabeth would rather join Team Hera than stand alone by the bleachers and under Aphrodite’s charmspeak. Aphrodite pouted and stomped with her feet twice as if she were a toddler and not a grown woman marching towards her forties. Then she stormed off and ran into the arms of her lover, nother husband to spite her mother-in-law and embarrass her even further.

“Malàka,” Hera cursed and lost her cool for one second, before clearing her throat and focusing on the already tired fake engaged couple in front of her. Not even Hera seemed to be averse from drinking a glass of wine or two. “You two definitely need a drink.”

Annabeth agreed with her for once.

She pointed at the bar behind her, which was managed by Dionysus and his wife Ariadne. The number of relatives ganging up on them and demanding new drinks was frightening. Surprisingly Dionysus kept his cool and shoved drinks in people’s hands at an impressive speed.

“Yeah, let’s get over with it,” Percy sighed and took Annabeth’s hand again.

“Are you okay?” Annabeth asked him. She knew from Thalia that Percy rarely ever drank and that his family was to blame for most of it. Percy seemed stiffer and graver than usual as well. As much as she disliked his jokey nature and easy-going demeanor he displayed at work, she’d much rather have that Percy by her side right now. Dionysus Day and the day before seemed like it was hell on earth for him and walking through it each year must take a toll on him.

“Yeah, let’s just each grab a glass of wine. Let them be happy about me shoving this disgusting stuff down my throat.” He thanked Ariadne as she prepared two glasses of the same vintage Aphrodite seemed to have inhaled earlier.

“Thank you.” Annabeth took her glass and sniffed. The wine smelled sickly sweet with a hint of the bitterness that the fermentation process had left. The glass in her hand weighed surprisingly heavy, not because of the wine itself but because of the golden swirls decorating it. The glass transitioned from the crystal-clear transparency into a deep black. A lyre surrounded by a bigger laurel wreath decorated the middle section and a golden snake was wrapped around the stem. The golden rim gave it a nice finish.

“Into a fruitful night,” Percy darkly mumbled over the music. He was really not looking forward to it, which confused Annabeth immensely. She didn’t understand why he pushed himself through this if he really didn’t like the drinking activities. He surely had his reasons, hence her not starting a fight with him over it. It was his family and their tradition after all.

“Into a fruitful night,” Annabeth instead repeated.

Issuing a weird toast as well. Percy Jackson was clearly not a drinker. Their glasses clinked and each of them took a sip. Thankfully grandma Rhea made sure they were well-fed before the festivities began.

“Fuck,” Annabeth muttered. A fine vintage as well. Not as sweet as she thought, it left a hint of sweet cumin as the lingering aftertaste. Her lipstick left a mark on the glass, but she didn’t bother to care as she took another gulp. The wine was nearly finished. She slowly started to understand why ancient civilizations went crazy after this stuff.

As she looked at her so-called fiancé, she saw that his glass was already empty. A grimace rested on his face as well.

“Err, Percy?”

“What?” The dark brooding look on his face was no more.

“Shouldn’t you take it easy?” Annabeth carefully asked. His eyes narrowed.

“I am,” he stated and cocked his head towards his cousin who was still busy playing the barkeeper but kept an overall watchful glimpse on the guests that flooded the gates.

“Dionysus saw me drink. Most importantly he saw us have a drink. That should be enough for me, but if you want some more, be my guest.” He shrugged.

Annabeth felt that she should probably drag his mopey ass out of the party, but it was way too early to leave. “Fine,” she said and asked Ariadne for a refill. Annabeth went in for another long sip. She should definitely stock her wine cabinet once she was back at her shitty apartment. Before the glass reached her lips again, Hermes snatched it away and chugged the remaining wine.

“Hermes, what the hell?!” Ariadne grabbed the glass and pushed her husband’s cousin away. The bored postman was back with his shenanigans.

“My bad, dear wifey, but I’m on a mission here to abduct sweet Annabeth,” Hermes winked and placed his hands around Annabeth’s shoulders.

“What are you up to?” Out of all of the relatives she’s met so far, Annabeth was convinced that everything Zeus had ever sired was a mistake. Zeus himself was a mistake.

“Can you stop being German and boring for once?” he joked. Annabeth’s eyes narrowed. She did not like this one bit. She turned her head around and saw that Percy had been pulled into a conversation by Hypnos and Morpheus. He had completely forgotten about her. Great.

Hermes guided her through the crowd, towards the middle of the room. They had to dodge chairs, drunk relatives, a sofa, chatty relatives, the coffee table and dancing relatives before they made it.

“There she is!” greeted Achilles the confused marketing manager.

Paris, Helen, Patroclus, Hermes and Achilles stood in a circle around a table. Dozens of shots of all sorts of colors were displayed. Annabeth had a terrible feeling about this.

“What is this and why are you pulling me into this?” Annabeth asked and did not like the mischievous grin they all shared. She wanted to go back home and cuddle with Daedalus on her sofa and push his cat ass out of the way before the next steamy Outlander scene hit the screen. Yes, Annabeth was that much of a single that seeing some on-screen action was the best she could get. She hoped that the mangy cat didn’t bother Thalia all too much while she was staying in Greece. She owed her so much already.

“Well, I stayed in your country,” Paris started. “And they have a weird tradition with ouzo. They don’t drink it the way we do, watered down and slowly at lunch and what not…”

Annabeth was still American for the most part and had nothing to do with Germany. The last time she stayed there was nearly thirteen years ago. She didn’t want to have anything to do with Germany. Friedrich Chase lived in Germany. And she fucking hated Friedrich Chase. Therefore, she hated Germany. Things that would never change. Okay, Hamburg was a cool city and she was glad her father moved to Cologne. Should she feel the urge to travel back to Germany for a week or less, she’d go to Hamburg, take ten thousand pictures, and post them on Instagram the minute before she was boarding her flight back to New York. Helping her to enrage her stupid father was all Germany had to offer.

“Germans do ouzo shots,” Patroclus cut to the chase. “And since you’re the newest member of our family…”

“And German!” Paris and Hermes added simultaneously.

“We’ve decided to play this little game,” Achilles added.

“What’s the name of the game?” Annabeth asked. She was only slightly curious. Emphasis on slightly.

“Last man standing. Oh sorry, ladies. Last person standing,” Hermes corrected himself as he placed four shots in front of each person. That was way too much hard liquor to handle. But if she did Jägermeister bombs in her sophomore year of college without any issues, this should be fairly easy.

“What are the rules?” They all looked at her in silence. No rules. No prize. Just drink.

“Oh wow.” The urge to roll her eyes and walk off came back with a force.

“I think I’m going to pass,” Annabeth said and already turned to her right.

“Why?” Helen asked innocently. “Need your man to look after you? The one who’s having an amazing time back there with his third glass of wine?”

Foul game. Annabeth’s head shot to the right. Helen was right. Percy was laughing and looked like he was having a great time chatting with Oceanus and his wife Tethys. Tethys refilled his glass as her husband and Percy broke into laughter once again.

If that’s the case…

“Fuck it, I’m in,” Annabeth agreed. She swallowed the bait and she knew it. There was no reason why she should feel upset about Percy opening up all of a sudden. He desperately needed it. Why she wished to be a part of that, Annabeth did not know.

“Great!” Helen threw her brown mane over her shoulders and grabbed the first glass.

“Για μας!” they all yelled and chugged the liquor. Gia mas, the Greek toast, was repeated every time and it seemed to brighten the mood, despite resting heavily on Annabeth’s stomach. Her college days were over, but she was glad she resisted coughing repeatedly.

Patroclus clutched his stomach after the second shot, Helen ran out after the third, Paris and Achilles were laughing maniacally after the fourth and Hermes mysteriously disappeared after the first one. Annabeth was the last person standing. She placed the crystalized shot glass back on the table and examined the messes around her. The only thing that had happened to her, were that more golden locks escaped from her bun and her lipstick needed some reapplying as she left marks on each glass.

Annabeth tried to take a step away from the table and felt how the world slightly shifted around her. The fact that she would curse and hate herself for her behavior in just six hours, was something drunk Annabeth gladly put aside. The headaches that definitely would haunt her for the rest of the trip didn’t matter, she won and that was all she cared about.

“Hell yeah!” she yelled as all inhibition faded away, leaving pure and raw life force behind. Unbeknownst to her, Annabeth had moved right into the circle of dancers.

“Perseus, get your bride before she breaks her legs!” someone laughed. Was it Iapetus? Or was it Hyperion? Who even cared at that point?

The next two hours were a blurred mess. A blackout slowly crept through her mind, leaving foggy memories behind. Annabeth felt how she was dancing with people and how people were laughing. Were they laughing at her or with her? Did it really matter? Why was her hair repeatedly slapping her face, didn’t she tie it up?

She danced with different people, men and women. She really hoped that the guy that looked like a naked Danny DeVito with longer black hair was not Zeus who had lost his shirt and pants. Who was the guy with the sea-green eyes again? Why was he clapping and laughing whenever she was busting a move next to Hermes? Was he important? Why did he remind her of work? The shots might have been a short-sighted idea after one and a half glasses of wine. She probably overestimated the amount of food she had consumed at dinner prior. Wasn’t she supposed to try someone’s moussaka?

“There you are! Ares, stop dancing with her for once. We’re about to leave.”

Ugh. Ares. Not Zeus, but still yucky.

Sea-green eyes. Percy, of course. How could she have forgotten the asshole that brought her into this whole mess? He seemed fairly sober, didn’t he have a glass or three of wine? Annabeth was certain, she’d be able to drink him under the table. His height and his build might put him at an advantage, but if he wasn’t used to drinking, she might have a fair shot.

A rock song was the next song that appeared. Percy wanted to drag Annabeth off the dance floor.

“Oh no!” Aphrodite intervened with a shrill screech. “Give the two lovers some room to show each other affection!”

Hera actually raised her glass for once to show that she actually agreed with one of Aphrodite’s wild ideas. Someone fumbled with the playlist and a Greek slow jam roared through the old speakers.

“Are you guys fucking serious?” Percy muttered under his breath. But roughly eighty pairs of eyes were all but watching the soon-to-be betrothed and waited for a romantic dance which reminded Percy more of the horrors that the eight-grade dance was.

Annabeth drunkenly hiccupped and looked at him in surprise as she felt one of his hands around her waist and the other one taking her hand. They rocked as if it was the final dance at prom. Annabeth barely remembered prom. Oh right. Her mother had forbidden her from going. She never attended prom.

A casual glimpse through the crowd showed her that people were actually filming this nonsense and some women were actually cooing. Did… did they seriously think this back and forth with sweaty clothes on was romantic? Her eyes found Percy’s again.

“So…” he began.

“So…” she repeated.

“Careful!” he warned her before twirling her through the tight circle. People screamed and applauded. A camera flash blitzed through the darkness twice.

“Oof,” Annabeth groaned. Her stomach and equilibrium did not appreciate that sudden movement.

“I’m sorry, I won’t do that again,” Percy swore. The rocking motion made both of them sleepy. Annabeth suppressed a yawn, rested her head on his shoulder. Percy could make the perfect comfy bed, if he wanted to.

Percy, sensing that people were awaiting some action from either of them, placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face up. Annabeth’s eyes widened. Is he going to kiss me in front of them? Again? her panicked brain asked. She was turned into stone, not by Percy’s distant cousin Medusa who had eaten most of the truffles, but by the tenderness of his actions. He was one solid actor.

Percy placed a soft kiss on her forehead, before moving on to a temple. Annabeth blushed and buried her heated face in his chest as he released her. Intimate, soft and sweet. The screaming relatives disrupted their comfortable silence yet again. The slow song came to an end and the next upbeat one invited everyone back to the dance floor. Annabeth released herself from Percy’s tight embrace and just bolted. Damned be nausea. A wave of coldness hit her. She felt something she didn’t like the minute Percy had softly kissed and soberness woke her at a start. What was it? Anger? Disappointment? Longing? She didn’t know and she didn’t want to know.

“Annabeth!” Percy shouted, but the amount of people standing in his way made it more difficult for him to keep up with her. His hand brushed over his own lips.

Annabeth opened and closed doors left and right. The kitchen, the dining room, the smoking room. She hasted through the first floor until she found another lost soul in the fireplace room. Why the villa had a fireplace room in the first place, she did not know. It had been super-hot the entire time but what Annabeth understood as heat and what native Greeks deemed as hot temperatures didn’t have to correlate.

Great-grandmother Gaia’s humming faded away. The eldest of the Theodoropoulos looked up from the pair of socks she was knitting. When she came to find out the intruder was Annabeth, joy spread over her face.

“Come, come!” The broken English that she softly spoke reminded Annabeth of her own grandmother. She hadn’t seen Elsbeth Lilienthal-Chase since she had left Germany. And since her mother didn’t give her a chance to say goodbye, she didn’t have a phone number to reach her with. The only way would be through that asshole Friedrich Chase, and the only time she’d willingly let someone contact that man was if she had been six feet under and he would be forced to show up for one important family event for once.

“I was unable to sleep. Parties aren’t something for me. I’m too old and boring for my children and their children,” Gaia sighed as Annabeth took a seat on the green sofa next to the light blue armchair. All of the cushioning seemed to have been made by Gaia as the socks had the same pattern as the pillow that Annabeth leaned against. Balls of wool surrounded the older woman as if she sat on a field of fresh tulips.

“Drink, drink! You need water. I’m pretty sure you danced a lot.”

Annabeth kindly took the offer, grabbed the carafe and poured herself a little bit of water into a small glass. The water was surprisingly cold and refreshing.

“My children deem me crazy,” Gaia continued. “The war with the ottomans. Deportation. Fleeing and seeing death everywhere. Losing my father in the chaos. Then the big world war after that twenty years later. They don’t want to listen to the same stories. They only want to have fun. So, they sent me away.”

Annabeth felt terrible for the old lady. It looked like she had been through hell and back in her youth. She didn’t look like she needed much, only someone to listen to her.

“I won’t bore you much,” promised Gaia.

Gaia’s tanned leathery hands continued working on the little socks. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, dearie. We have plenty of acetaminophen and other hangover remedies. Tomorrow will be even worse, because Dionysus wants to celebrate his birthday with even more wine,” the old woman laughed, and her green eyes twinkled full of life.

“I also was young once…”

The two sat in comfortable silence, only interrupted by Gaia’s humming or Annabeth refilling her glass of water.

“So,” Gaia began.

“So?” repeated Annabeth.

“You are the woman that tamed my little Perseus,” the older woman grinned.

Oh no.

Annabeth had a lump in her throat and drinking water to solve it, didn’t work. She wasn’t just lying to Zeus and his wife. She was lying to an entire clan, from the youngest to the oldest members. What Percy and she were doing wasn’t right, neither was it fair. Sure, Percy’s shitty uncle didn’t help much by forcing him to marry the next person, but did the rest of the family deserve to be deceived as well? No, they didn’t, and that truth rested heavily on Annabeth’s narrow shoulders.

The fact that Gaia looked so much like her great-grandson was crazy. They possessed the exact same shade of sea-green. It was passed onto Rhea, Percy’s grandmother, and then Poseidon, Percy’s fucked up father. Always full of intelligence and calculation. Shifting easily from delighted and full of life to the crashing anger of a storm. Power and knowledge were key features of Gaia’s eyes.

“How did you meet my sweet Perseus again?” Gaia innocently asked but Annabeth knew that there was some sort of ulterior motive behind her question.

“At work,” she honestly answered, and Gaia smiled. The old lady was able to sense the truth.

“He’s not my direct boss, but we run into each other a lot. And we hated each other from the moment we saw each other.” Annabeth remembered how she accidentally spilled her hot coffee all over his shirt. She had been public enemy number one from then on.

“He’s an excellent boss, as much as I hate to admit it. He knows his ways around and is passionate about the ocean and its inhabitants. Definitely more passionate than me, I’m just there for the money. He actually wants to make a difference. And he’s extremely annoying, might I add.”

Gaia burst into laughter and needed a minute to calm down. Annabeth cracked a toothy grin. “Ah yes, I can see how you fell in love with him.”

Doom. Uneasiness. Discomfort. The lump in Annabeth’s throat grew bigger and bigger. Why was her vision so blurry all of a sudden? She looked down at her dress. Dark dots appeared. More sprinkled across her lap as Annabeth realized she was crying.

“I’m so sorry,” Annabeth sniffled. “I… Percy… I…”

Gaia put her knitting utensils aside and set herself upright in the armchair. “Oh no, what is going on, Annabeth?”

The calming hand on her back did not help the young professional at all. No, Gaia’s honesty and curiosity made it way worse.

“Percy and I… we’re not engaged. We did it because Zeus-” Annabeth tried to confess, but Gaia brushed her off.

“It’s okay, Annabeth. I know,” the old woman smiled.

The tears that smeared her foundation or rather what was left of it ceased to fall. “You what?!”

Shock widened Annabeth’s light gray eyes.

“I knew from the minute you stepped into my house. I’m pretty sure Rhea knows as well.”

Annabeth’s jaw fell open. “B-but how?!” she stuttered and felt like an utter and complete idiot. The first few days had been rough and difficult, but now she thought that Percy and she conveyed the illusion of being a happy couple.

“You were scared of everything including him the minute you arrived,” Gaia warmly smiled. The infectious warm smile of a grandma looking out for her little chicks. Was Annabeth now one of them?

“I knew something was off with that sudden engagement of yours with the way you two behaved. Either you were pregnant, or it was a ruse. Since you are heavily drinking and paper thin, it was clear that there was no pregnancy. You young people truly don’t eat enough anymore,” Gaia shrugged, patted Annabeth’s knee and went back to knitting the sock.

“But now… it all makes sense. You do feel something for each other. Even if you are blind to it for now.” She continued to hum. “I just hope that my dear Perseus will be the young and carefree boy he was all those years ago one day again. And I do believe that you are the key in finding him hidden underneath all those layers and walls he had put up due to his father.”

Annabeth didn’t even close her mouth during the elder’s monologue. Did Gaia seriously connote that she… that Annabeth Chase… might feel something for her soon-to-be boss? Madness. Absolute madness. She took everything she had thought of the friendly old woman in front of her back. Maybe her relatives did have a point, when they decided to brush Gaia off due to her old age.

Annabeth? And feeling something for Percy? If that something was hatred and the utmost rage, absolutely yes. But… anything else? She would receive a hefty sum on her bank account and would put in her two weeks the minute she found a better job in California.

“You know… there is a tale I’d like to tell about men.”

And Annabeth would prefer to place the glass back on the table, throw the heels away, storm out and run to the next airport.

“They are stupid vapid creatures,” Gaia carried on.

Annabeth snorted behind her glass. “That is certainly true,” she agreed and earned an honest grin from Gaia.

“My dear husband Ouranos with whom I had all of my dear children decided one day that one woman was not enough. And that twelve children were not enough.”

Twelve children?! Annabeth's womb just twisted and turned in protest. The shocked expression on Annabeth’s face made Gaia chortle loudly.

“Oh yes, back in my day we were all very fruitful,” Gaia affirmed.

“That sounds horrible,” Annabeth interjected.

“Oh, only the birth part and the eighteen years after it,” the older woman dismissed her which made Annabeth in turn laugh again.

“My father was a farmer and he had one piece of advice: never let someone toy with you. You are not a doll; you are a person with morals and dignity, a person with feelings and dignity. Let no one, especially not a man, treat you like a commodity or something to kick around. Well… when dear Ouranos left me and sought our neighbor with bigger breasts… I taught him that lesson. And I did so with my father’s trusted knife that I hung on the wall afterwards.”

There was no knife displayed on the wall. It was a fucking scythe. Large, frightening, brutal. A golden great long sickle with jagged teeth rested on the wall as if it were ready to cut you up into one thousand pieces. Was there really dried blood stuck on the teeth or was Annabeth’s drunken mind making things up?

“The minute our youngest turned eighteen he took off and was never seen again. And now, should a person, in that case my Perseus, not know how to treat you properly, you know what to do,” Gaia advised and took a sip out of her own glass.

“Uh… you mean threaten to cut his genitals off with a large and sharp family heirloom?” Annabeth’s eyes widened again.

“No, dearie…” Gaia gave it some thought. “Well maybe so, dearie,” she then went on. That made Annabeth chuckle again.

“But demand absolute respect from him. Don’t ask him for it. Demand it. I don’t know how but he has dragged you into our family and expects you to play the perfect fiancé. This will eventually blow up in his face and he will drag you along with him. Teach him a lesson, however.”

“You know what? I will!” With Gaia’s official blessing, Annabeth was all smiles and scheming new plots. If the head of the family gave her the approval of kicking Percy’s ass, she definitely would.

Steps echoed in the fireplace room and Annabeth and Gaia’s heads turned to greet the intruder. They didn’t even realize the door opened and closed again.

Gaia’s younger twin who still had some black streaks in the braids marched into the hall, curious about what the two women in front of her were previously talking about. Gaia’s youngest daughter Rhea had joined them. The large blue floral dress made her seem like she never left the late 1960s and the two long braids only added to that sentiment.

“Mamá, what is going on? By the way Percy is looking for you, Annabeth,” Rhea informed her grandson’s alleged fiancé before taking a seat in front of her and grabbing one of the many balls of yarn in front of her mother. Rhea then went on to play with it as if she was a six-year old.

“Oh no, Rhea, Annabeth and I were just chatting about love and life,” Gaia batted her eyelashes.

“You see, I gave Rhea the same advice about her disgraceful husband when he went out to seek another woman.”

Rhea rolled her eyes behind the large pentagonally glasses. “You and your stories about the scythe, mother,” she sighed.

“I have to make sure the younger generation knows!” Gaia huffed. “I won’t be here for much longer and then-”

“We'll regret all the things we’ve said and done to you, I know mamá, you have been telling me this since I was four years old and spilled my apple juice,” Rhea completed her mother’s sentence.

Rhea’s attention shifted to the smiling blonde in front of her. She grew to like Percy’s fiancé. She had a fire within herself and a backbone, all great things to handle a Theodoropoulos man.

“But my mother is right when she says that the scythe is a trusted tool. Zeus, Poseidon and Hades did scare Kronos with it after he tried some foul things with their sisters. Treated them worse. Did overall horrible things. He never wanted daughters, only sons. Didn’t seem to accept the fact that it was out of my hand.” Rhea squished the ball of light blue yarn in her hand.

“My children were always looking out for me and I will be forever grateful for them. I do hope that you will have the same feelings and love for your children.” It was clear who their father was supposed to be.

“Yes, I hope so as well,” Annabeth squeaked. Did it get hotter in here all of a sudden?

The door opened, and a worried Percy stepped into the fireplace room. “Oh, there you are,” he sighed as he immediately sighted Annabeth’s blonde unruly curls. He had been running from the basement all the way to the roof searching for her. Relief washed over his face like some shower gel from a cheap commercial. Only then did he realize that Annabeth had been cornered by both his nosy grandmother and his even nosier great-grandmother.

“Whatever they’ve been telling you, it’s a lie, it’s wrong and it never happened!” he warned her as he took a seat right next to her.

“Oh please, relax,” Rhea rolled her eyes and threw the wool at her grandson. “We have been talking about mamá’s scythe.”

“Hey!” both Percy and Gaia complained. At least they hadn’t dished out embarrassing stories of him taking off in diapers at night.

“This is expensive! You young people show no respect towards others' belongings,” Gaia cursed.

Annabeth took the blue yarn and placed it back on top of the pyramid of other colors.

“Thank you!” Gaia smiled before she focused on finishing the sock.

“You’ve found your fiancé, Perseus. Now go off back to celebrate and let us old people reminisce about the past and talk.” Rhea lazily waved at them whilst Gaia didn’t even look up from her craft.

“We will,” Percy said while getting up and casually dragging Annabeth along. He kissed both Gaia and Rhea on the cheek, Annabeth threw a hasty “See you in the morning!” over her shoulder before the couple left.

“Are you okay?” Percy asked as he pulled Annabeth aside for a small breather.

She nodded. “It’s just a bit overwhelming with the amount of people that either want to take pictures of us, hope I remember when their youngest kid’s birthday is, or they tell me they hope we have our first baby preferably in less than a year.”

Percy blushed. He didn’t think it was that bad, but then again, men are mostly left out of the baby talk until their mother’s saw that their best friend’s children had their first grandbaby. He truly didn’t have any intention of having a child before the age of forty. He had to save a business from his damned uncle, run and manage said business and preferably find a woman he tolerated enough to marry before he could even think of children.

Percy apologized again. “One week,” he promised her.

“One week,” Annabeth repeated and nodded.

“We’re going in, you’ve missed the high of the party with your talk with my yai yai, but that’s perfectly fine. The first have already left, let’s just mingle for ten minutes or so before we can-”

The door flung open. “There they are!” yelled Hermes who was followed by Zephyrus and Hercules.

None of them had any intention of letting the party stop before five in the morning. It was merely two. The minute Hermes had his sights on Annabeth, he knew that he had found his best drinking buddy aside from Dionysus himself. Oh no, Annabeth thought and rightfully so.

The minutes of calmness and rest next to Gaia did their wonders because Percy and she were thrust back into the party at full force. She didn’t exactly remember when the blackout happened, but it was roughly thirty minutes later. She was drinking, she was dancing, she was completely making a fool out of herself. The hair? A mess. Annabeth herself? Don’t even think about it. She had been dancing with Hermes and Patroclus, Aphrodite accidentally stepped on her foot one time when Ares approached her.

Percy broke his own promise and accepted a fourth glass of wine from Dionysus who insisted on it. That glass was his doom. The last droplet touched his tongue and his world turned into a flashy mist, his consciousness was broken into pieces, fragmented and sprinkled across the floor. Where he was, when he was and who he was were things he couldn’t remember. The only thing that popped up in his mind were waves of solid gold. Was it hair? Could hair truly move like that and possess that texture? And a whiff of lemon with a hint of lavender crawled up his nose. It was an odd combination, but it felt safe and like home. He liked this smell. Where did he smell this before?

Percy didn’t care, he had other matters to attend to. The first thing on the docket was finding the bathroom, he had drunk way too much. The house had weird rules in regard to bathrooms. Was it the left side or the right side that the young men could use? Why did his uncle Hades have to break two sinks in a span of a week when he was sixteen again? Why were women and others allowed to do whatever they wanted? His great-grandma and her weird plans were always set to make him fail somehow. Things that she had thought of decades ago still bore fruit today.

Percy stumbled upstairs and turned right and prayed the doors he was opening were empty bathrooms and not relatives making out. That was just what he needed. The first door he opened was of his great-uncle Oceanus and Tethys who had a face mask on her face and pink curlers up her hair. At least the old people still knew how to behave. He hoped his mother had left the party hours ago. He apologized and closed the door. The next one was an empty bedroom, his even maybe. No, his bedroom was on an entirely different floor. Or was it?

The next bedroom was closed off thank god, but from the sounds on the inside it seemed like cousin Eos and her newest catch Orion had some fun. Disgusting, Percy thought before he moved on. The next door was what he was looking for. A bathroom. Lit up, clean and empty. Empty if it wasn’t for this one woman who was clutching the brims of the polished sink. She was tall, the golden hair equaled a rat nest and her red dress seemed to have witnessed a lot.

“Ugh,” she muttered and looked into the mirror. Her eyes found his immediately.

“Percy?” she turned around.

Oh right. He was Percy Jackson, thirty-one, single, hopefully the new CEO of Atlantic INC., he had a fantastic apartment in the Upper East Side with an amazing view and he was in Greece to impress his family with his fake fiancé in order to secure his father’s legacy. His fake fiancé being Annabeth Chase, a woman he loathed, had to pay a little hush money and hoped would leave the company fairly soon after.

“You’re in the men’s restroom,” Percy then stated.

Annabeth looked around. No, it was not the same bathroom she used in the morning. Oh yeah, Gaia’s weird bathroom rules.

“Honestly who cares?” the junior marketing manager complained. “A toilet’s a toilet, no matter who uses it.”

Percy shrugged. Annabeth had a point but it wasn’t their house so they couldn’t dictate the rules.

“I wanted to retouch my makeup, but I didn’t find my makeup bag.” She walked steadily to Percy, but it was clear to both of them that she had her fair amount of shots in her system.

“Yeah, it’s probably in the other bathroom. Wait, let me use the bathroom for a second and then we can head back to our room and you can look for your makeup.”

Annabeth nodded and waited on the outside while Percy was tending his business. After drying his hands, he opened the door and found Annabeth yawning in front of one of his yai yai’s paintings. It showed the scythe from the fireplace.

“In all honesty, your great-grandmother is an amazing woman. I admire her. Showing kindness and strength each day. How old is she?”

“Turning 106 next October,” Percy smiled at her. “She always said she wanted to live long enough to see her favorite descendants find their own happiness, whatever it may be.”

The softness in his voice made Annabeth’s heart ache. She turned her head back to the painting. She was a nobody. She had no family, no traditions she could upkeep. She didn’t even have a steady relationship in the past five years. Fucking Luke Castellan. He also had to take that from her as well. Make her suffer. That’s what Athena, Friedrich and Luke all thought at the same time. And they all had nearly reached their wicked goal if it hadn’t been for her stubbornness and will to eventually blossom into something else. The first step towards that something else resided within her move to California. She wanted to leave everything and everyone behind and start a new life, somewhere where no one knew her.

A thumb brushed over her cheek. Annabeth looked up to Percy. She hadn’t even realized she was sobbing again.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay,” Percy assured her. His hands found her sides, pulling her into a soft hug.

A true fiancé level hug. Annabeth had never felt that comfortable within a man’s reach. Percy might have been an awful and annoying coworker, but he truly cared about his fellow people. The way they slowly rocked and kept hugging each other reminded her of the school dance work they had put on the floor earlier. But this time it was real. This time there was no one taking pictures or yelling into their ears, or the demand to see a kiss.

Annabeth rested her face in his chest and Percy leaned his head on hers. It was like they had been made for each other. A welcoming scent greeted Percy. Lemon and lavender. The person stuck in Percy’s crumbled mind had been Annabeth. She was his anchor in the havoc his relatives had created in such a short time. He took a deeper breath. It felt reassuring.

“Did you just sniff me?” Annabeth laughed as she pulled away from him.

“You do smell good!” he defended himself with a stupid grin on his mouth.

“Oh, wait you’re super drunk,” she giggled again as she saw his widened pupils that had pushed the darkened sea-green iris away.

“Well, look at you,” he retorted.

They looked at each other. Aside from the bumping music and the noises people made downstairs it had been completely silent. He missed her warmth; she missed his comfort. Neither would have guessed that a simple embrace could offer so much. Neither would have thought they would take it to the next step within a split second.

One last look. A last time sea-green and light-gray met before each set of eyes closed and their lips met with a brutal force in the middle. Their teeth clacked but it didn’t matter to them. What mattered now, was the moment. Forgotten was the alcohol, forgotten were the troubles of past, present and future. Forgotten were the friends and relatives in the building and back in New York.

So... what do you think? 😄 Like I said, this is not the entire chapter 🤷🏾‍♀️ I honestly feel bad for cutting the chapter off because it's really getting more interesting from that point on 💁🏾‍♀️ I'll probably continue working on this once I've published the next act of The Fool 🥳

Also Greek people, if something seems off with this (aside from random English at times lol) hit me up, I definitely have to do more research!

[captainjimothycarter]

Prompt: Peggy & Morgan Stark 😍🙏

I’m gonna try out my AU where Tony goes back in time and uses the time stone to make his Auntie young again. This is so not what you asked for and I am so sorry. I just kept adding to the back story.

--

The last few weeks seemed something out of a dream if you ask Peggy. Her godson had shown up to her dying body just over a month ago, missing an arm and scarred all to hell, but seems so happy, so proud over something. She should know that glint in a Stark’s eye by now, young or old. Before she could even gather enough energy to ask what he was doing or what in the hell happened to him, he’d pressed a glowing stone to her body and Peggy found herself...well, simply put, young again.

She couldn’t even think of to describe the sensation, no matter how many times Tony asked. It felt like her entire body was vibrating, every single cell, molecule, atom inside of her was vibrating at an intense rate but on the surface, she felt fine. When she opened her eyes next, she was young again. 

Not only was she young, where she could breathe on her own, where she had her own mind in whole again, she wasn’t alone. She laid in some bed, much comfier than the hospital bed, in a much smaller room that wasn’t her own. The smell of the woods wafting through the sweet breeze came through the open window, washing away the stench of the city certainly told her she was no longer in the city.

She wasn’t alone. Tony sat beside the bed, looking pleased and both relieved. Enough to drop to his knees beside her and hug her frame to him, crying into her shoulder like he was seven years old again and terrified of Howard coming home to find the mess he made.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered in a choked voice. “This was selfish of me, entirely selfish. Not that isn’t on-brand for me.”

Wiping at his face, he pulled away with another watery grin. “You just...missed so much and have so much to see, to do, to live, Auntie.”

She did as any auntie would do and calmed him down, smoothing his hair back and held him close, mindful of his injuries. She had so many questions on the tip of her tongue and he answered them all after he calmed down.

She was in the year 2023. She was at his lake house. She was in the body of her 29-year-old self and yes, the scar along her shoulder and abdomen were still there. Tony told the tale of how he got to be this way, a tale she almost didn’t want to believe. Stark men were well known to boast about their accomplishments and drag them out, but there was something in his eyes that told her that he wasn’t lying.

“Did anyone…?” Peggy wasn’t sure if she could finish that question. 

Luckily Tony seemed to know the answer and as always, there was the rude but if not on-point timing of Steve bursting through the door. And she does mean bursting. It’s like he’s fresh out of the machine and figuring out his body on the serum again, blowing through the door and tearing it off its hinges.

Steve doesn’t even seem to notice as he stares at her, but she notices. She sees the pain in his eyes, the guilt, the weight of the world he bore on his shoulders time and time again without anyone asking. She notices because she sees through the mask he wears, figuratively, and literally. 

It’s all Peggy can do not to cry when he drops beside her and holds her close, almost bruisingly close, but Peggy finds she likes the closeness. The smell of his musk. His soft touch despite how calloused and rough he could be. She likes to see the pain melt from his face as he touches her, pink lips parted, and baby blues wide, as if this is a dream.

If so, she doesn’t want to wake up.

“Tony,” Steve breathes, his voice hitching slightly.

“On it, Cap.” He paused, looking down at the pair with a warm look in his eyes. “You two got the east side to yourself, just don’t knock down my walls.” He still pauses in the doorway, shaking his head with that same fond Stark look. “Happy birthday, Cap. Told ya...it was worth sticking around for. Told ya she’s important to me too.”

It was the next morning before Peggy was introduced to everyone else. Sam, someone she’s met a few times before, who laughs and hugs her tightly just as Steve had done. Sam, who grew up with Uncle Gabe, a Howling Commando. “You and Gabe had something going on,” he teases, making Peggy both flush and roll her eyes. “Admit it and settle this bet between me and him that he took to his grave.”

“Uh, Sam,” Steve warns before Peggy chucked a biscuit at his head. “Told ya not to bring that up.”

Thor, a vague memory of an incident in Mexico flashing before her eyes. She is still struggling with memories and Tony promises they will come back, just give it time. Stephen Strange, this doctor whoever it was, insisted she’ll recover fully in time. His eyes light up when he sees her and calls her a warrior before pulling her into a bone-crushing hug before promising to wrestle later.

Bruce is an interesting character, Peggy notes. She’s met Doctor Banner once or twice, just a bare handshake before she’s rushed off. But this...Banner before her large and green but with a smile all his own makes some sort of pride twist in her stomach. 

Natasha introduced herself when Peggy was getting out of the shower, quiet and standing in just the doorway but she’d noticed her. “You’re real,” is all she says, touching Peggy’s arm as if to confirm it to herself.

“Real as the day Barton and I brought you home,” Peggy snorts, shaking her head. “Glad to see you made a name of yourself, Natalie.”

“Thank you for making that call, even if Barton took the rap for it.”

“Barton’s never had much sense. Where is he anyway?”

Natasha’s eyes look outside and she follows, to see two figures on the other end of the lake. A blonde that’s taller than a brunette with a metal arm. That’s all Peggy needs to know.

Clint makes himself known to her in his usual fashion of making her trip over his boots when she’s coming inside. Tony had to leave to make an important trip so she was just saying goodbye. He’s there to catch her before she falls with that stupid grin on his face.

And clearly has learned a few moves when she twists them so he’s on the floor, but finds herself pinned before he helps her up.

“Good to see you again, Director,” he purrs before his head tilts towards the door. She can see the flash of purple aids and something in her chest pulls. Those weren’t there before. “Someone wants to meet you.”

That’s the last face she ever thought to saw. Steve had warned her, struggling to find the words that Bucky was alive and gave her the brief rundown of the Winter Soldier and Hydra, but seeing it was far easier than believing it. Her mouth fell open into a perfect O as she watched Steve lead inside a very nervous Bucky.

“Dear Lord,” she whispered, ignoring Barton’s snickering. Her hand tries not to cover her mouth but she gives way to the motion. “Sargeant Barnes.”

Bucky, for all his might, is trying to make himself look so small and it works. He looks so incredibly small tucked into himself, tilting his left side away as if she could make out the golden laced arm. Yet, for all his might, flushed face, and newly cropped short hair, she sees that trademark, annoying Barnes smile. Even his sister possessed it.

Peggy’s hold is tight around him and she feels him collapse to his knees, holding her around the waist as if he’s a sinner begging to be forgiven. She knows the crimes he’s been forced to commit, but they’re not him. They never were. She’s lost personal agents to him, friends, family even. She doesn’t blame him. She’s met him personally and he’s almost killed her, crushed her throat even. She still doesn’t blame him.

She drops to his knees and holds him for as long as he needs it, letting him be the one to pull away. He holds her face carefully as if the arm is new and he’s trying to be careful with the strength. His silver eyes gloss over with tears before his forehead touches hers.

“You do realize now that I win our bet, right?” He asks, washing away any sedimental moment that makes her want to snort.

“I love you too,” she breathed, pulling him into a tight hug. “And technically I do. You died, by all records mean.”

“Technically I didn’t. Frozen is not dead, ask Steve.”

“Steve is not a part of this. He was declared dead too.”

“You just don’t want to lose.”

“Of course not. I’m not giving you a year’s worth of chocolate for Christ Sake.”

“Yeah, well it’s shit anyway.”

--

When the car pulls up later that afternoon, Peggy is called outside by Tony’s voice. She untangles herself from Steve’s side where they sat by the fire, quietly holding hands while listening to Bucky and Clint talk about some baseball game. There’s a knowing smile on Tony’s lips when she’s out in the sweet, summer air. She can make out two figures in the car. One feminine and one...small.

“Tony, what’s going on?”

The answer makes itself known when he helps a woman out of the car, slim with strawberry blonde hair, and a poised demeanor that matches Peggy’s. They’ll get along great. In her arms is a five-year-old little girl with Tony’s brunette hair, but her mother’s eyes.

And that trademark Stark scrunch of her face when she’s trying to figure out the situation.

Oh. 

“Auntie, this is my wife Pepper and our daughter Morgan.” He paused, pride just emitting from him as he looks up at Pepper and reaches out to take Morgan into his arm. “We’ve talked it over and...we’d like to carry on the tradition. We want you and Steve to be Morgan’s godparents.”

“But Steve and I aren’t…” The protest falls from her lips at the pair’s looks.

“Please, give it a week and he’ll get over the shock and pop the question if you don’t do it first,” Tony sighed, rolling his eyes.

“He’s already looking at rings,” Pepper noted. 

“You two are horrible,” Peggy teased, rolling her eyes. “Horrible for each other.”

“Love you too.” Tony is grinning from ear to ear. “Morgan, do you wanna meet your Auntie? She’s come a long, long way to see you.”

Morgan is unlike Tony. She’s curious, intelligent, but she’s cautious and Peggy can guess that’s a sheltered life growing up so far and she can understand why.

Peggy slowly gets on the little girl’s level and offers her a charming smile. “Hi, Morgan. I’m your dad’s auntie. I can tell you all the embarrassing things about him later to make sure you get extra ice cream.”

She hears both Pepper laugh and Tony’s groan before Moran is in her arms and that’s that. It’s a sealed deal between them.

Morgan is unlike Tony, Peggy notices. She’s almost an exact copy of half and half. Curious, rambunctious, but with the free spirit of a child who doesn’t have the world on her shoulders even at such a young age. Forced to grow up in the media light. 

She takes to Peggy as a fish takes to water, grabbing her Auntie’s hand and running out to have ‘tea parties’ and asking hundreds of thousands of questions in a single breath.

And Peggy loves it all.

She teaches Morgan how to ride a bike with her parents, much like she taught Tony. She’s there to help her bake, and the first one there when she has a nightmare and sleeps with her in an impossibly tiny bed. She knows Steve and Tony have photos of that night. She intends to destroy them.

After breakfast of muffins and a day of tinkering with some little robot, Morgan has, of course. She’s learned from the best, after all.

Peggy is in love with her goddaughter in the same means she was in love with Tony. She’s fiercely protective and loving and refuses to let the love get in the way of a life lesson, but there’s plenty of hugs and kisses to go around.

s

Morgan is a big part of Steve popping the question and as things go with her and Steve, it is a wonderful disaster that still ends in a yes. Except for Morgan and her dress are both smoldering after catching on fire. Steve’s suit is singed and the tie he was wearing is now around her arm to stop the bleeding.

Still, Morgan is happy that they’re getting married and declares herself a flower girl. As if Peggy was going to tell her no.

--

“Hey, Pegs,” Pepper asks her one morning over coffee. “Morgan needs some new shoes, do you wanna take her into town?”

Never one to say no to shopping, Peggy agrees. Steve just tags along with her like the loyal golden retriever that he is.

The day starts with shopping for shoes. Shoes that light up, shoes that have ridiculous bells in them, shoes that squeak when you walk, shoes that even have skates in them. Peggy enjoys them all and in their most ridiculous state. She buys them all too, even if Morgan might outgrow them in a month because they’re adorable and she loves how happy they make her goddaughter.

Plus, the bells will be payback for that god-awful cowbell Mr. Jarvis had given Tony when he was a kid.

They stop for lunch at a cafe, the girls going to sit while Steve brings them their food. Morgan instantly declares she has to sit in her Aunt's lap.

After lunch is dress shopping for the wedding and of course, traditions are traditions that are meant to be broken, so Peggy allows a flushing Steve in.

“What colors should the wedding be?” Peggy asks Morgan as she looks at an overpriced and sequin dress.

Morgan’s nose scrunches up from where she’s sitting on Steve’s knees, kicking her feet. “Pink,” she declares proudly. “Wait, no. Purple, like Uncle Clint’s hearing aid!”

“How about blue and red?” Steve muses, making Morgan gasp loudly. 

“Yeah! That one!”

Peggy laughs, beside herself. She’s outvoted, even if she agrees blue and red seem to be the colors of their life.

Their dresses are fit to order and promise to come within two weeks. Tony has already made promises on a suit, even if Steve insists he could wear the old WWII dress uniform and Peggy scoffs at him.

The ride home is quiet, Morgan soundly asleep with a belly full of food and holding onto a teddy bear she’d been eyeing that Peggy couldn’t say no to.

It’s late by the time they’re home. She tucks Morgan into her bed, smoothing her hair back and kissing her temple. 

“I made many promises to your dad that I couldn’t keep,” Peggy whispers, kneeling down beside Morgan’s bed. “Some through the fault of my own, I will admit, but mostly Howard and his vile change of heart. I regret everyone I had to break because I knew that put us further and further apart. I wanted to protect Tony, protect him from this world, from Howard, even from himself, and I couldn’t do that. I failed as his godmother, no matter what he says and I promise, I will do everything to make it right and protect you, little one.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Maybe, Just Maybe

Characters: Jo Harvelle x Winchester!Reader, Sam and Dean Winchester, Meredith Grey, Mark Sloan, Jackson Avery, Owen Hunt

Word Count: 1,150

Warnings: supernatural/grey’s anatomy crossover, all angst, end of season 5 spoilers

Summary: Jo is someone that shouldn’t be hunting in the first place, but after you have a fight, you come to learn bad news that just shatters your world.

Squares Filled: No pain no gain for @as-the-saying-goes-bingo​ // surgery in @hc-bingo​ // last times/farewells in @ladiesbingo // broken bone in @spngenrebingo​ // homesickness in @badthingshappenbingo​

Fandom: Supernatural/Grey’s Anatomy

Beta: she wants to remain anonymous

Author’s Note: If you have any requests, please send them in!

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

Not every relationship is going to be perfect. There are big obstacles and small ones, and only if both parties are willing, then they can get through anything. Your relationship, however, may be suffering too much to fix it. You said something you shouldn't have, even though you believe it to be true. Your girlfriend, however, didn't like hearing it.

You've been hunting ever since you could walk. Your mother died a year after you were born, so your dad took you into his family. He was also on his own with two boys, and as much as he did not want you to, you got into his lifestyle. How could you not when he came home bloodied and bruised, or when he hid weapons and other supernatural items all over every motel you stayed in.

Yes, your dad was John Winchester, but your mom wasn't Mary. You're the youngest of the Winchesters, and your half-brothers are very protective of you. They tried everything to keep you away from the scary stuff, but there came a time when you had to learn to protect yourself. John hated bringing you into this life, but in his mind, it was better than being put into the foster system. So, Sam and Dean helped you be the best hunter there ever was.

And you were until you met Jo Harvelle.

It's not that she made you a bad hunter, it's that she made you a cautious one. While that should be a good thing, it's actually the complete opposite. Sam, Dean, and even your father taught you to shoot first and ask questions later. Jo always loved to ask questions first. She was so eager to hunt with you that she threw all caution into the wind. It was your duty to look after her. She's unknowingly caused so many injuries and accidents.

You can't blame her. Her mother is a hunter, and so was her dad. She so badly wants to be one, that she skips over steps. She's inexperienced, but she refuses to see it. You've told her this many times in the nicest way possible, but it won't stick into her head. You're about the same age as her, and because of that, she thinks she can do whatever you can do.

You grew up with experience... she didn't.

The last conversation you had with her was you trying to explain to her why she couldn't come with you to Seattle on a werewolf hunt. You tried to be nice about it, but you ended up screaming in her face about how bad of a hunter she was. You might have said some other things involving her dad that you can't take back. The look on her face tore your heart into two. Instead of helping her become a better hunter, you just pushed her away.

Classic Winchester.

She knew she was inexperienced, but all she wanted to be is like her parents. A part of you never wanted her to become involved in the first place. She's smart, young, adventurous, brave, full of life, and very beautiful. Monsters eat people like her for breakfast. You were just scared of losing the person you loved dearly. You've seen what it did to your dad, Sam, and Dean. It sucks the life out of people. You didn't want to see that happen to her.

You regret everything you said to her. You love her. Hunting means nothing if she isn't by your side. You left over a month ago and wouldn't take anyone’s calls, not even your brothers. You wanted to prove that you can still hunt alone.

You can't.

You proved that when you thought it was a good idea to go after a werewolf nest without any backup. Yes, werewolves have nests, and they are fucking vicious when threatened. You didn't know if you would even make it out alive. Maybe you didn't. Maybe what you're looking at isn't a dark sky with a bunch of twinkling stars. Maybe you didn't get your insides ripped apart like it was a Christmas present. Maybe you didn’t break almost every bone in your body, trying to fight them off. Maybe you're not lying on the grass, fighting for every breath. Maybe you're not wishing Jo, Sam and Dean were with you.

Maybe, just maybe, you're not currently dying.

Because if all of the above is true, then maybe you're not going to make it home after all.

What happened? Where are you? Why do you feel so numb? The last thing you remember is fighting that werewolf—or actually losing against the werewolf. You were looking up at the stars, wondering if you'd been too harsh with Jo. Jo! Shit! You need to get to her!

You yank yourself up from your bed, but two things stop you: pain burns up your abdomen, and a bunch of wires keeps you locked on the bed. Oh, you're in a hospital. Your legs are in casts. How did you get here? Who found you so close to a werewolf's nest? Are they okay? How many bones did you break?

"Oh good, you're up,” a female doctor says by the beeping machines.

How did you not notice her or the nurse there before?

"Page Dr. Sloan and Dr. Hunt, please," she asks of the nurse.

"Right away, Doctor,” the nurse nods and leaves.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?” she asks, and you just nod. "Do you know where you are?” Nod. "My name is Meredith Grey. Can you try speaking for me?"

"Water, please,” you try saying, but it comes out all raspy.

"Of course," she nods and leaves.

As soon as she leaves, three more doctors enter. All men, all with smiles on their faces. One is the tallest with grayish hair, the other is a black man with gorgeous green eyes, and the last one is a redhead. Why are they here? Meredith comes back with some water, and you down it graciously.

"Can you tell me your name?” Dr. Grey asks.

"Y/N."

"Y/N, they are Dr. Mark Sloan, Dr. Jackson Avery, and Dr. Owen Hunt," she introduces the trio respectfully.

"You have really pretty eyes," you say to Jackson.

"Thank you," he blushes.

"Can you tell me how you got your injury?"

"My injury?" you ask before remembering the werewolf.

"Your abdomen was badly damaged. Dr. Avery and I were able to repair some of it with skin grafts, but we had to pull sections from your thighs and butt," Dr. Sloan explains.

"I've never seen trauma that bad. What happened?" Dr. Hunt asks.

Dr. Avery's eyes remind you of someone. They are bright green with a hint of blue, though, you're not concerning yourself with the blue.

"I have to call my girlfriend. She'll worry," you say when you remember your brother and the whole reason you're in this mess.

"I'm sure she will be alright. Is there any family we can call?" Dr. Grey asks.

"My brothers. Please, let me have my phone. I need to talk to them."

You beg with your eyes, and the doctors realize they won't be getting anything out of you unless they give you what you want. The doctors shuffle out of the room after giving you your phone. You haven't spoken to anyone in a good month, so you hope you can get them to come to you.

Dean hasn't said a word since he and Sam have arrived. He's been standing by the door with a sour look on his face. Sam is talking to Dr. Grey, but you don't know about what. As soon as he's finished, he walks into your room and locks the door.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean explodes.

"You could have gotten yourself killed,” Sam adds.

"Not calling or texting in a month? Because of Cas' stupid rib branding thing, we couldn't find you," Dean glares.

"I'm sorry,” you sigh.

"What happened?" Sam wonders.

"Werewolf nest. I couldn't get out in time. I thought I was dead."

"You will be because l am going to kill you!" Dean shouts.

"Before you do that, could one of you tell me why Jo isn't calling me back? We had a huge fight before I left, and I need to tell her that she was right. I shouldn't have said what I said, and I really hurt her feelings. Is she ignoring me?"

Dean's anger and Sam's concern completely wash away at your girlfriend’s name. Something happened, you can read it on their faces. Did she get hurt? Worse? You haven't been home in a month, so how bad can things actually get?

"What happened? Tell me she's alright,” you whisper.

Sam takes a seat on the edge of your hospital bed. If Sam is the one talking, then you know you're going to hear bad news. He's the brother that always gets that job.

"Don't say it," you get tears.

"We were being chased by hellhounds, and one of them got to her before we could."

"Tell me she's okay," you cry.

"She didn't make it. Ellen either. I'm so sorry,” he sighs.

You're already crying at the thought Jo is no longer with you, but Ellen too? You left things off with Jo by yelling at her and telling her she sucks at hunting? Now she's gone? You didn't even tell her how sorry you are. You're never going to hear her voice again, stare into her beautiful eyes, run your fingers through her blonde locks, kiss her plump lips, and so many other things.

You're never going to tell her how much you love her, and it's all your fault. Maybe if you had never left, you might have been able to save her. All you can do now is to cry for the loss of a family who never deserved any of this.

Maybe, just maybe, things would have been different if you stayed.

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[tropicalfreckles]

Friends Again CH 1

Hey guys, decided I’d post this here, too! An obvious Disclaimer beforehand, B**TLEB*BES DNI MASTER LIST found here

Now then. I started writing this about two months or so ago, had the idea in my head from the first time I watched the musical. The first two chapters didn’t have anyone beta reading it, and my writing is super rusty since I haven’t posted fanfiction online in 10 years until now. Here’s the quick summary from AO3! Rating: M (for body horror mentions. other than that the content would be T for the cursing)

Warnings: Body Horror, Blood, they talk about how Lydia impaled Beej, some violence, at some point they will brush up on Beej’s child abuse from Juno (though it won’t be detailed), Bug eating, Beej pervs on the Maitlands just a little, Lot of cursing. (i’ll add more warning tags if you guys give me a heads up about anything I missed!)

Characters: Lydia Deetz, Charles Deetz, Delia Deetz, Adam Maitland, Barbara Maitland, Beetlejuice & a few OCs made for the fic along with the introduction of my demon BJ oc, Antares!

Summary:  It had been months since her face off against the ghost with the most, it ending on a very mixed note for Lydia. But, the events won't leave her dreams, and she is slowly coming to terms with her suffering from trauma because of her actions. Would it lead to her confronting them, and in turn, seeing the source of it all once more?

(fic in read more)

 Eight long months had passed since Lydia finally decided to open herself up more to her father again. Along with accepting Delia as being apart of their new, weird, happier family. Lydia definitely saw the Maitlands as part of that family with how much they've done to help her, her father and her recently made step-mother. She would've been surprised with how fast those two had gotten married after the engagement if it wasn't for the whole near death experience by angry demon thing. They figured after that life was short, especially compared to the Maitlands and got married only a few months after they finally were settled in. Unfortunately for poor Lydia, the nightmares she had after her clash with her demon ex-friend still clung to her. They started about two weeks after everything happened. It was enough time for Lydia to let things sink in about what they did and even if he deserved it, how she killed a person. They happened almost every night, then every other night, and by month four had stopped. Then the month after they started up again and even though Delia tried her hardest, she just couldn't help with Lydia's mental health deteriorating again. So she began to see a family therapist. She had to leave out some details for obvious reasons and changed the story a little, but it was only helping so much. Every time she would recount the nightmare in vivid detail to her therapist.

 'Everything around her was distorted, like it was the inside of a funhouse mirror. The colors around her varied from a mix of eerie, bright and ghoulish colors to more monotone colors blending into each other. Her heart was thumping into her chest as everyone played the part that she had given them. I'm doing the right thing, he won't stop. He's a demon so it's okay! That's all she was able to think about to justify her actions. The joy of being alive after their 'green card' marriage soon came crashing down onto the dirty recently revived Beetlejuice as he went off on one of his tangents. Going on about the mixed emotions of humans that were overwhelming him all at once. He started getting a look in his eyes, going straight to murderous thoughts just as she knew he would. Her breathing picks up as she grabs onto the broken piece of rebar from the poor taste of art that her father hands to her. She fixes her footing and screams as she plunges the make-shift weapon through the back of the demon, screaming as she used all the force she could muster. Everything becomes distorted around her after that; everyone else becoming shapeless blobs. Except for the dying Beetlejuice who stares off like he's gazing at an unknown force. In typical fashion he cracks a joke with his dying breathe. The blobs were all shocked at the action until Lydia told them why she did it. They started to move in an off-putting way to get ready to be rid of him when he would rise as the recently deceased.

Before it could play out just as it did in reality everything went black around her. Terrifying mouths appeared into the view everywhere she looked. The adrenaline that spiked when she stabbed him now was replaced from anxiety to dread as blood poured out from the mouths. Their laughter echoed with twisted and distorted voices. The blood swallowed up the demon before her. She tried to wade through the blood in vain trying to reach him as fear engulfied her.

"No... NO! Beetlejuice-!"

It's not supposed to be like this; he's supposed to go back to the netherworld, he's supposed to be okay! Everyone is supposed to be okay! She reached out, crying out his name in an attempt to save him,

"Beetlejuice!" She saw his body surface in the sea of crimson. It was carrying him further and further from her as her dress became heavier with every passing second. Blood coated her face as she kept an outstretched arm to try and grab onto him.

A cackle echoes from the darkness as a giant hand pulled him out of the blood, belonging to a woman she only was briefly introduced to. It was his mother, the head demon in charge of the more bureaucratic side of the Netherworld. Juno. His body is still, lifeless now, his hair color changed to a purpleish-blue.

" BEETLEJUICE !" She screams one last time. A giant sand worm jumps out of Juno's mouth and eats both the demon she cried out for, and herself. Then she wakes up.'

 Well, at least she would partly tell the truth. She left out a lot of key details from her nightmare when talking about it, such as marrying a centuries or millennia old demon as a green card thing to bring him back to life. About ghosts in general. Lydia had to switch many things around, along with the murder. The story changed to her having a horrible fight with an old friend who she 'stabbed him in the back'. More metaphorically than in actuality being physically. Talking about her trauma to anyone outside of the family was really difficult. Which is why she didn't see the point to seeing a therapist in the first place. Thankfully most of the facts could be turned into metaphors with some hoop jumping. She finally got the story 'straight' with her family prior to opening up. What she would tell the therapist is she betrayed a friend who had mental health problems and was threatening her family. She told them she called the cops on him and made it out that his abusive mother beat the shit out of him. Then shipped him off to military school instead of him going to juvey. The therapist took the strange nightmares she would have as a vivid imagination of her guilt of betraying someone she thought as her friend before. She wasn't even that close to him, they only spent a few days together and she was more focused on seeing her mother again. Yet killing the man is something that made her stomach turn when she thought about it again. It was different than the thrill of scaring people with him from before. Sure he was 'fine' in the sense of he was just back to square one of being a ghost and a demon again. However she still took something away from him that was bigger than she thought before. Life. Even if it did make him go crazy after being alive for less than five minutes.

 He didn't seem too bothered by it when he left following his melodramatic farewells. After feeding his scary mother to a giant sandworm of course. He seemed a little happier, even. Unfortunately she never really got true closure. Sure she gave him a small hug, even though that was a little hard because he smelled so bad. It was probably his clothes since the man looked like he never washed a thing in his life. After a two months of seeing them, her therapist suggested that maybe all she wants is closure to her traumatic experience. The therapist didn't recommend actually going to visit her 'friend' in case it would be too overwhelming for her. A phone call or something was suggested if she thought she wanted to talk to him. Tell him how much of a jerk he was before and how he took things too far. Tell him how she felt bad about the way she ended things. That was going to be complicated though for a number of reasons.

One, even if she did want to go back to the Netherworld which she definitely didn't. It was just like when she had her realization it would take possibly eternity to find her mother. What luck would she have finding Beetlejuice? Two, even though she saw him comically swing his mother's torn leg around after he took her out. What's to say she still wasn't 'existing' and back running the netherworld's social services for the dead. Or whatever it was she did. She didn't want to come face to face with that horrid woman again. She wasn't even sure if demons could die still and she had to have been a demon just like Beetlejuice. Sure she got eaten but once again she could've somehow came back. Three, her family would NEVER let her go back in there. Four was the most important though; did she even want to see him again? Could she even see him again? He certainly wouldn't want to after what happened. Even if they left on neutral terms he might be feeling a bit miffed that she stabbed him in the back. He was still a demon.

 "Feelings are stupid." Lydia groaned, flopping on top of her bed dramatically as she gave a deep sigh. She had just gotten back from another appointment and curled up on the bed.

  "I can't believe I miss when Delia would be the one 'life coaching' me. I shouldn't feel guilty for what happened; he deserved it. He was going to kill dad, possibly everyone. He tricked me into almost exorcising Barbara!" Lydia wrinkled her nose, kicking at the air with her legs as she grabbed onto her pillow then tore at it a little."That big, smelly jerk."

 She sniffled a little then buried her face into the pillow. Why should she care. He only ever cared about his powers and about himself. Even if he stood up for her and saved her from his crappy mom. Who only was there because she ran into the Netherworld and abandoned everyone. In hopes of seeing her mom again. She wasn't at fault, though; it was just a big mess.

  "Lydia sweetie, are you okay?" A concerned voice came from behind her door with a gentle knock following it.

  "Is it okay if I come in?" Lydia lifted her head from the pillow then looked to the door. She gave a one shoulder shrug.

 "Only if you want to, Barbara." She shifted, rolling onto her back as she stared up at the ceiling. Barbara phased through the door deciding she would practice on her ghostly abilities some more. Even if she still felt it a bit rude to not use the door. She walked over to the bed, then sat down on the edge of it while reaching out to gently stroke Lydia's head.

  "How was your appointment honey?" She gave the sweetest, caring smile she could muster for the young girl as Lydia blew one of her bangs out of her face.

 "Was okay, I guess; I don't know why I still have to go to these.." The goth teen closed her eyes, finding it soothing in a way to feel the cold fingers of her friend comforting her. Barbra quirked a brow at her, then stopped for a moment as she gently patted Lydia's head in response.

  "Are you still having those nightmares?" Lydia inhaled deeply before sitting up as she swung her legs around.

 "...yes." She spoke softly, just barely above a whisper as her gaze cast downwards. Barbara inched closer to her then wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders.

  "Oh, Lydia. I know that man was awful. Yet, I understand if you feel bad for him. I still.. really do not like him. Although I hope he's found peace in whatever he is doing now, in the Netherworld. Even if I will never forgive him." A frown creased the lips of the ghostly woman as she knit her brows. "I'm just glad he left on his own at least. Only good thing he did while he was here. Besides saving you." She sighed then gave a shake of her head. Lydia looked up at her while playing with the ends of her lacy black dress.

 "I know.. he. I mean, he wasn't.. I don't know. He's a jerk, yeah, a real asshole. But, I think he did care about us, even if it was a little. Scaring people with him was fun, I just didn't.. want him to kill my dad. Even if I was mad at him. Upset. I know now dad acted the way he did because he was hurting as much as I was. He just masked his grief differently than I did. But, I hated the tantrum Beetlejuice made. I didn't want him to hurt you or Adam." Lydia gently moved her hand over Barbara's hand, eyes softening a bit. Barbara moved her hand away from Lydia, opting to gently grab her cheek.

  "You put too much on your shoulders, sweetie. You're a good kid. You were so brave.. we should've been the ones to protect you, though. Not the other way around. You know I don't hold anything against you for what happened. Adam and I should've not put our trust in Beetlejuice in the first place. What we should've done was shooed him away. But we were just so desperate. Losing everything in such a short amount of time." She moved her hand away, resting both of them now in her lap as she stared down at the floor. "Gosh. I wish I became more assertive sooner. At least now if anything like that happens again, we'll be better about it." She looked back to Lydia, giving her a comforting smile. Lydia nodded to her in response.

 "Well, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not gonna make any more deals with demons I barely know again." Lydia snorted. Barbara gave a small chuckle as she bumped her shoulder.

  "I hope you mean any deals ever again."

 "Eh, we'll see." Lydia snickered, Barbara giving her a small scowl of disapproval.

  "Lydia." Lydia laughed, then gave Barbara a hug.

 "Okay, okay. I really need a nap now." She let go then smiled up at Barbara. The woman took the hint, getting up after giving a small wave. She turned around then phased through the door once more. Lydia kicked her combat boots off her feet, then got up and walked over to the door. She locked it just for some privacy and moved back over to the bed, jumping on it. A nap.. another nightmare? Her expression soured as she stared out to the window of her bedroom. The sky was cloudy, dark grays and purples covering every bit of the bright blue endless sky. She shifted her gaze to the mirror that was on the other side of her room. Reason number four. It would be crazy. She shouldn't even try. How could she be so sure that she could even summon him if he was in the Netherworld. It would be safer to try that than going back into it. Wrapping her arms around herself, her mind was battling all the possibilities of things that could go wrong. A thought occurred to her as she remembered the handbook for the recently deceased. She still had the copy Beetlejuice gave her. Maybe there was a chapter about how to deal with a demon besides marrying them and killing them. Hopping off the bed, she ran to her dresser, digging around in the bottom one. Just as she left it; under her old clothes she never wore anymore. Taking it out, she sat on the ground then began sifting through the pages. A faint glow coming from each one.

 'This is crazy, what am I doing.' Lydia thought to herself after looking through a couple of chapters, sighing as she began to close the book. She couldn't endanger everyone. She didn't want to put them through.. hm. Hold on. Her eyes flickered as she noticed a color change in a page, big red letters spelling out the name of a new chapter. DEMONS, and how to handle them. Her fingers smoothed over the page as he brought the book into her lap once more.

  "You can summon special demons by chanting their name three times, without breaking the pattern. If your demon guide however is unhelpful, and causing more problems than you need. You can send them back by chanting their name once more. Three times, unbroken..."

 Her eyes widen as she bit her lip. If it was in this book, then it had to work, right? This was given to the recently deceased to help them after all. She thought back to after everything happened with Beetlejuice, remembering her dad now having crosses around the house even if that didn't really work when he used it before. However he had also acquired holy water and given Lydia some as a precaution. She thought it was silly, since back then she had no reason to believe Beetlejuice would come back. Now that she was faced with a new option, however. She slid the dresser drawer back in place, keeping the book tucked under her arm. She walked over to her bookshelf and pulled down a squirt gun that her dad had poured the holy water in. Would this actually work? If it didn't it probably would either piss Beetlejuice off or make him laugh at her. Or both. Either way she still liked the security of it. Maybe he'll be too entertained by her squirting him with holy water to hurt her or the others. Holding this in her hand meant that this was real. She was really going to do this. Walking over to her curtains, she closed them quickly. Lydia then went to her phone on the nightstand then picked it up. She turned the Bluetooth on, changing the volume of her music to the max. It wasn't uncommon for Lydia to listen to her music loudly some times. A good excuse to cover up whatever noise the demon would bring; the others wouldn't question it. Her dad wouldn't be home for a little while longer so she didn't need to worry about him. He was the only person who was ever bothered by her listening too loud.

 "Alright.. you can do this, Lydia. Just. Just one quick conversation can work for closure, right? Right. This isn't the dumbest thing you ever did at all. Besides summoning him the first time.." She tossed the book on the bed, then held up her squirt gun. It might not even work, so that would be good. Right? This is just an empty attempt. Whatever it took to reassure herself she wasn't going to get killed. Sitting down on the end of her bed, she stared out at the mirror. Okay. You can do this, Lydia Deetz.

 "Beetlejuice.." Everything seemed normal so far. Just the sound of her music, nothing eerie whatsoever. There was a chill however she felt against her neck, though she figured it was just her nerves.

 "Beetlejuice." A gust of wind started knocking hard at her window. It had to have been the oncoming storm. Just another coincidence. Or so she thought. Her music started to change songs at a frequent pace. Shit. This was really happening. Was he really going to come? She gripped her squirt gun, gritting her teeth. She couldn't show fear. Lydia refused to let him have the upper-hand.

 "Beetlejuice!"

[oskea93]

Why Can’t I (3)

Warning: Language Hey guys! Sorry if this update is lame. I wanted to get something out before I started on the next update of Keep it to Yourself. This update is a bit more comical but I promise the good stuff is coming soon. Thanks to those that have read, liked, or wanted to be tagged. I appreciate you all!!

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“You ever notice how dark the sky is when it’s night time.”

I stared up at the dark sky, giggling out of drunkenness from time to time. “I bet the astronauts need flashlights in space because of how dark it is.” I heard Duff laugh from beside me. At this point, I was thrashed! The stiff drink I had asked Duff for went from being a single shot to multiple shots within 1 hour. Not to mention a few beers thrown in here and there. I wasn’t the type to get drunk, especially with people I didn’t know. The last time I was drunk was on my 19th birthday when Bryn and I were arrested for public intoxication. It was my birthday and I was finally able to legally drink without it being a big deal. Let’s just say Bryn and I over did it and made total fools out of ourselves outside of Studio 54 in Manhattan. We thought we were having fun but the cops and club owners thought otherwise.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if we could go to space for like a day and then drive home.” Duff spoke. “It would be like driving to Disneyland.” I hummed in response, keeping my gaze on the stars above us. I didn’t have a clue as to what time it was but the sand below me was very comfortable and the crashing of the waves was making my eyes grow heavy with exhaustion.

“Are you falling asleep on me?” Duff poked my side. “You lightweight.” I groaned in response as he laughed, pulling his body to a sitting position. I looked over at him, my eyes trailing down his body. I watched as he stared out at the ocean, his blonde hair blowing lightly in the wind. He was very attractive! I don’t know if it was all the liquor that flowed through my bloodstream or the fact that I hadn’t been laid in almost two months, but Duff was killing me. I literally wanted to climb him like a tree and let him have his way with me.

“Duff?” I spoke without realizing it. He turned his head toward me, his green eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Will you-”I started to speak, only stopping mid-sentence when a wave of nausea hit me like a brick. Without any warning, my thoughts of passionate sex with Duff were ruined by the contents of my stomach spilling out like Old Faithful in Yellowstone!

“Oh shit.” I heard Duff exclaim with a chuckle. I felt his fingers pull my hair back as I continued to throw up on the beach. I was totally embarrassed. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head no, dizziness soon falling over me, making everything around me spin out of control. Was I dying? Did I have alcohol poisoning? “I don’t feel good.” I moaned out, getting on my hands and knees, trying to keep myself somewhat balanced. I could feel my body staggering around like a Weeble Wobble toy. I finally gave up, falling back into the sand below me. “I’m dying.” I cried. I closed my eyes, hoping it would calm down the dizziness. I heard Duff’s footsteps (hopefully it was Duff’s footsteps) coming toward me. “I’m dying.”  

Duff started to laugh; God, his laugh was sexy. “I promise you’re not dying.” I cracked open my left eye, seeing him crouching down beside me. “Let’s get you off this beach and on a comfy bed.” He stood up to full height, pushing his long mane out of his eyes. Without any warning, his arms slipped under my body, picking me up bridal style. I instantly wrapped my arms around his neck, placing my head in the crook of his neck. The sudden movement caused my already fragile stomach to lurch in protest. Before I knew it was happening, Duff’s once clean shirt was now covered in vomit. He had stopped walking almost immediately, his arms tightening under my weight.

“I am so sorry.” I cried out. I didn’t even look up to see his reaction. If I was embarrassed before, I was absolutely mortified now. I have never thrown up on someone before and here I was emptying my guts on the guy I envisioned having sex with mere seconds ago.

“Believe it or not-”He started talking. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been puked on.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening right now! This was why I don’t drink. I was becoming one of those girls you see outside of the club, puking her guts out into the nearby dumpster. However, I didn’t have a dumpster to puke in… I puked on a human being….

“You weren’t kidding, man.”

“I can’t believe something so perfect as that barfed all over the place last night.”

“Dude, beautiful girls can’t hold their alcohol. I can’t tell you how many times I had a babe puke on me or puke on my guitar. I fucking hate when that happens.”

“Oh shit, she starting to wake up.”

My body was fucking killing me. From my head pounding, to my ribs aching, I felt like absolute shit. The only good thing was that this bed was super comfortable. I let out a groan, slowly rolling over in the bed and onto my back. The sun shined through the white curtains, warming the room with natural heat. As my eyes adjusted to the sunlight and my aching hangover, I realized that this was not my bed and it was not my room.  I looked down at my attire, an unfamiliar, baggy sleeveless shirt covered my torso and my shorts had been removed.

“Good morning!” 
I jumped up in surprise, seeing two guys standing near the door. I instantly pulled the blanket tighter to my body, fear washing over me. “Who the hell are you?” I cried out. “Where am I?” The memory of being with Duff and what had happened last night flew out the window, being replaced with a fight or flight reaction.

The blonde’s face fell, “No, it’s okay.” He started to come closer. “You see-” He paused, gesturing between him and the curly headed guy. “We’re friends of Duff’s.” I looked at him confused. “He told us to watch you while he went out to get some medicine. He figured you would have a hangover.”

“When’s he coming back?” I asked. “Is he coming back?”

The blonde started to smile again, “Yeah, he’ll be back soon.”

I stayed silent, still clutching the blanket to my frame. Even though the shirt was covering me, I still felt uncomfortable and naked. “Can I have some privacy, please?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, sure thing.” The blonde quickly backed out of the room, the curly headed guy following his lead. Once they were out of the room, I tore the covers off me and stood up.

“Fuck.” I muttered, grabbing onto my head.

Once the rush was over, I stood up straight and looked around the room. My top from last night was nowhere to be found. Luckily, my wristlet and sunglasses were placed on the wooden dresser in front of the bed. I made my way over to the piece of furniture, grabbing my things to leave. I placed my sunglasses over my eyes and started walking toward the door. I needed to get out of here and back to my own hotel room before Duff appeared. Even though we didn’t do anything, at least I hope we didn’t do anything, I was totally embarrassed by my actions. I fucking threw up on the guy! Who does that? Plus, I’m sure Bryn was worried sick and had every island police officer looking for me at this point.

“Should I leave a note?” I asked myself aloud. I looked behind me to see if there was any paper. “Fuck it.” I ditched the notion. What was I supposed to say anyway? “Hey, thanks for being there with me while I got drunk. Sorry I threw up all over you.” I don’t fucking think so.

I made my way through the house, passing by Duff’s friends. Their attention was focused on the TV in front of them, giving me a clean break to leave. I quietly closed the door behind me and started walking toward the shops that lined the streets…

“I was worried sick, Lauren!”

I rolled my eyes as I combed my wet hair. When I finally made it back to the hotel, Bryn wasn’t there. I counted my lucky stars at that point because she would have hounded my ass as soon as I walked past the threshold. Her not being there gave me some time to sober up and clean myself up from last night. I didn’t need her seeing me in a stranger’s shirt, looking like I had a drunken one night stand.

“We are in a foreign area, Lauren. You could have been kidnapped. You could have been raped. There are so many thoughts running through my mind right now.” I rolled my eyes at her reaction. “Were you alone or did you spend the night with someone?”

“I was with a-”I thought of the right word to explain Duff. “I was with a friend.”

“A friend?”

I nodded my head, “A friend.” I repeated. She stared at me through the mirror. It was evident that her brain was in overdrive as she thought of who I could have spent the night with. “Oh my God.” She breathed out. “You were with that guy from the bar!”

I let out sigh, placing my head down on the counter. “He’s a weirdo, Lauren. He could have kidnapped you and then we would have never seen you again.” She was pacing at this point. “Oh God, did you have sex with him? Did you cheat on your loving fiancé with some miscreant?”

I removed myself from the vanity, walking past her and back into my room. “You’re not answering my questions, Lauren.” She followed me like a puppy. “When you don’t answer it means that you did something.”

“I didn’t fucking sleep with him, Bryn.” I exploded. “If he wasn’t there then God knows where I would be right now.” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he looks a little rough on the edges but he’s a good guy.”

Bryn let out a huff, muttering a string of words as she turned to exit the bedroom. Sure, Duff didn’t look like Luke or any of the guys that Bryn and I hung around. He had tattoos, drank like a pirate, and had long hair. He was different and that’s what Bryn hated. I mean it wasn’t her fault, it was just the way she was brought up. Bryn’s parents were wealthy squares who looked down on those that didn’t look like them. Like Billy Joel sang, “She’s been living in her white bread world.”

I guess you could say that my parents were the same way. They were very judgmental of those that didn’t come from the top social-class, my father especially. You needed to have three silver spoons in your mouth before my father acknowledged you. My mother just went with the flow, basking in my father’s success and hanging out with Bryn’s mother at the country clubs and luxury clothing stores. I could have ended up just like them but thankfully God gave me feelings and empathy for others…

@fancywasmyname1​ @sparxx27​ @siliwanoel​

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 17)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count: 5,800    

Section Content: fluff, flirting, angst, nightmare, PTSD, smut, R-rated language, all the sex

~~~~~

Dean had been merciful to her - or mean, depending on how you look at it - and kept his t-shirt and boxer briefs on when they prepped to share his bed. “Should grab you something in case you don’t want to sleep naked.” He offered. “I won’t talk you out of it, though.” Her heart almost exploded when he dug the red plaid flannel out of his closet. He remembered me mentioning that one. She could tell by the smirk on his face when their fingers glided over each other for the exchange.

She’d tugged off the skirt and kept on her panties. Once the shirt was buttoned over her chest she performed that age old magic trick and extracted her bra from the sleeve. He smiled, dipped into what was obviously his preferred side of the bed, and tapped the mattress. A stretched arm readied to cradle her. She curled in, careful not to hit him with a faceful of her hair which she’d normally have in a ponytail to sleep. I’ll give him this tonight, since he likes it down. He was the big spoon in this particular scenario, the other arm draped around her waist, locking her into position. She sighed. Just the right amount of warmth.

Her heart sped at the closeness. Anticipation built, expecting the inevitable exploration of her skin, curves, folds, wetness. She waited, trying to regulate the stilted breath. That’s when it happened.

Dean snored.

His heavy, steady breathing blew near her ear.  

Hero, yes. Superhero? Eh. Still falls asleep pretty quickly after an orgasm. Poor guy. It certainly took a lot out of him. A smile crept over her lips. God, his face was absolute perfection when he came. If a look can trigger ovulation, that did it.

She closed her eyes and took in the scents of the room along with sounds of Dean slumbering. The underlying spice and mix of whatever pheromone Dean gave off sleeping next to her was heady and made it hard to smell much else. Even his sweat is a turn-on. She focused to pick out the other odors layered beneath. Bourbon, leather, something metallic, and maybe gunpowder?

The desk lamp had been left on, forgotten. Her gaze returned to the tiny pictures on top of the simple oak dresser. She wanted to get a better look at his family in the morning. Wanted to ask why he never mentioned his mom. Nothing recent. Old pictures. Old memories. Old heartaches? Maybe she left a long time ago? Died? The thought made her heart ache for the little boy who looked so happy in his mom’s embrace.

She was on edge from having given him head, expecting Dean to finish what they’d started quite soon after. She was slippery and swollen between her legs. Julie always enjoyed that particular act; especially with Steve, who’d been fairly well-endowed himself. But, not as big or pretty as Dean’s. Never thought I’d call a penis pretty.

Dean adjusted, curled up even tighter against her. His dead weight leaned into her. The sounds of his breathing; the promise of him being inside her; they all made it difficult to drift off to sleep. But she did. Eventually.

Julie shifted the car into Park once she found a good spot in the shopping center lot. Ina had pointed out her own car down the row. Her forlorn expression from the passenger seat stared out the windshield. “He’s such a friendly boy. He’ll run to just about anyone willing to show him a lick of affection.”

“Don’t assume the worst. There could be a good samaritan who’s taking great care of him right now.”

Ina sighed. She was such a tiny, slim little thing, even shorter than Julie’s mom. The compact car seat she occupied appeared massive in comparison. “You’re right. And, it hasn’t even been a day yet since he got out of the yard.”

Julie unbuckled her belt. “Where did you say you live again?”

Ina wrapped a few strands of her long and shiny, raven-colored hair behind an ear. Her mocha brown complexion was flawless, ageless. Julie was curious as to how old she actually was. “Um, just down the road in Fairwind.”

“Nice neighborhood. I couldn’t find anything available when I was looking months ago.”

Ina only nodded.

Julie waited, expecting a dump of information. She’d only met this woman three times, but she’d been a flood of words the other two instances. When there was none, Julie cleared her throat. She had a busy day ahead. And a man she was dying to see later. “Well, how about you grab me some flyers so I can drop them off at a few places?”  

“Yep, I’ve got ‘em in the back seat.” Julie nodded, expecting her to exit, retrieve, and bring them back. All of a sudden, Ina burst into tears. Her narrow shoulders dropped forward and hands covered her face. “My Cocoa Bear.”

God, she was taking it really hard. Julie patted her on the shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, Ina. Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. Sooner we get them posted, the sooner you get him back home.”

She sniffled, stared at Julie, and nodded. “Okay.”

The day was sunny, warm and a tad humid. Julie shut her car door and followed Ina to her spot. A good workout would focus the tension and excitement she was battling within her mind. The night before had been restless. All she’d thought about was Dean, his hands, mouth, and that voice encouraging her to let go and whispering filthy promises before Cas showed up.

The chirp as Ina unlocked the car door melted Dean’s green eyes from Julie’s vision. Ina opened the back door and motioned to the seat. “Got a whole box full. Spent most of the morning at the copy store.” She was still sniffling. “Take as many as you want.”  

Julie smiled and leaned in. A strong whiff of incense hit her nose. The back seat was not the tidiest. She drifted back to being in Dean’s immaculate Baby the night before. She lifted the lid off the folder box and grabbed a handful. The black lab’s smiling, panting face stared back from the papers. “Cocoa certainly has a great mom.” The offhand comment left Julie’s lips as she pulled out of the car and turned back to face Ina.

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.” Ina smiled and grabbed Julie’s wrist. The touch was strong and quite unexpected from the petite woman. A flash of blue filled in the black irises of Ina’s eyes. Julie shook her head. Maybe she was more exhausted than she thought. Her mouth opened at the strange henna colored markings emerging, pushing through Ina’s skin. She felt cold. A stinging. Like bees. “Such a help you’ve been, Julie.” Her eyes flashed electric again. “Hm. You’re going to taste so sweet.”

Julie woke, gasping for air in the low light. The arms wrapped tight around her were huge. Her heart pumped. She heard the snort behind her and slowly recognized the space.

Dean.

He stirred and grunted, pulled her closer. “Hm.” It was not a moan of concern. He sounded content.

What the hell was that shit?

“Jules?” His lips were by her ear now. “Okay?” His deep voice scratched out the question.

She nodded into the pillow, feeling his biceps clench under her neck. “Yeah. I’m good. This-this is nice.” She brushed the hairs along his forearm. “I’m... just going to go use the bathroom.”

He pecked at her neck. His head dropped back. “This is nice.” He affirmed in a far away voice. She slithered out from under his embrace and stood by the side of the bed, inspecting his relaxed face. Closed eyes, slightly parted lips. “Coming back?”

“Of course.” She whispered, frowning at the question. “Go back to sleep, Dean.”

“K.” He nudged his nose into the pillow. The sight made her heart ache. He looked peaceful, younger, cares washed away if only for a short while. She wondered how soft and still his cheeks and lips would feel then, not clenched in heated anticipation or want. He floated into his own dreamland. She wondered as she spotted his eyes tracking something under his lids. But she didn’t dare disturb. Something tells me you deserve all the good dreams, Dean Winchester.

Julie tiptoed out of the room, grabbing her phone off the desk before she left, and headed into the bathroom. She clicked on the overhead light, shut the door and sat on the toilet seat. Cool porcelain against the back of her thighs was reminiscent of Ina’s frigid grasp in her dream. Nightmare? Memory? What the hell was that? A shiver started at her shoulders and trickled down her spine. She sat up straight.

One of the way too long sleeves drooped over Julie’s hand. Bringing the fabric up to her nose, she inhaled the embedded Dean scent under the detergent. The inhales and exhales dragged out slow.

Her eyes took in the functional, clean surroundings of his nicely updated bathroom. Modern, smokey grey subway tiles, lined with a lighter grey grout, had been installed with care on the floor. Her toes dug into the cushioned powder blue rug that ran the length of the walk-in shower and ended in front of the throne. Actually a pretty comfy seat.

There were fancy chrome faucets and sprayers behind clear, pristine glass doors. Those doors were a pain to clean at the old house. I was always lazy about that. Got dull and filmy. But, these? Not a water spot to be spotted. Impressive. A veined grey and white marble shower interior looked sleek and expensive. A pedestal sink and rather large mirror resided next to a repurposed bookcase storing rows of plushy grey and white towels, toiletries and male necessities. She made a mental note of the cologne he wore. The robe on the door hook produced a grin. He’d look like Hugh Hefner in that.

I wonder if he did all these updates. If not, he paid someone a decent amount of cash to renovate and make it really nice. Was it in horrible condition when he moved in or is this a really important space for him? File that question away for later.  

The nosey inventorying of Dean’s bathroom had distracted her. She then realized she should probably pee and dropped her panties and situated for the task. Her hands grabbed the forgotten phone lying nearby on the tile. She rifled through messages. There had been a handful from Cat, who’d been checking up on her daily since finding out about the ordeal.

How you holdin’ up? Let me know if you want me to bring Sal and Pep by to run amok in your backyard.

I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

Check in with me soon, K?

I think it’s important for you to have all the details.

Ciao Bella.

Her stomach flipped at the one line she read over and over. I’m not sure if this is going to help… found something, I think, related to Dean.

“No.” She whispered. “Shit.” She wanted to remain ignorant. Live in this fantasy space with him for a little longer. Reality was only going to complicate things and make her question everything.

Maybe, though… maybe this is fate intervening.

She groaned.

But, he’s hot and sweet and even makes grumpy sexy. Makes me laugh. Makes me feel safe. What details are going to change all of those inherently authentic things about him?

Maybe it’s something about his family. His mom. Could fit some pieces together.

A low rap on the door shot her head up. “Jules? You okay in there?”

“Y-yeah.” She squeaked out. “Why?”

“Been gone twenty minutes.”

Shit. She frowned, stood, and pulled her panties up. A quick flush and washing of hands followed.

Upon opening the door, a wary smile met her in the dark hallway. Dean leaned into the door frame and inspected her. “Your side of the bed was getting cold.”

She waved her phone, identifying it as the culprit. “Lost track of time.”

“Can’t sleep?” He stepped closer, hesitant. He’s feeling me out. Waiting to see if I’ll hit the panic button. “Do you want me to take you home, sweetheart? Maybe you’ll sleep better. This bed’s not the comfiest.” He sighed. “I miss my memory foam.”

“Do you want me to go home?” she asked.

“God, no.” His still not quite awake features frowned. “I haven’t slept that solid in forever.”

She grinned. “That’s not because of me. That’s because you waited weeks to do what you should have been doing.”

His face lit up at her lightened attitude. “You had a little something to do with it.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt right above Julie’s knees. “Come back to bed, baby.”

Julie swallowed down a moan. Reality can wait until tomorrow. She nodded.

That smile flashed. The one that gave her a front seat to all his pearly whites. He led the way back down the hall. Low light from the open bedroom door split right between his bowlegs. He was a bulk, wholesale package of muscles and strength. She laughed when he spun and flung his body on the bed, making the headboard creak and the mattress bounce. It took some seconds for the motion to subside.

“Are you trying to break it?”

He shrugged and smirked. “Just prepping it for the workout it’s going to get soon.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You really haven’t…”

He shook his head. “No one else’s been in this bed except for me… until now. And, you’ve got me fully believin’ there’s a lot more in store. Italians do do it better. At least this full-blooded Italian sex kitten standing right here in front of me does.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Even with the comical expression on his face, she managed to feel heat rush to her cheeks. “How do you know I’m full…” She shook her head and strolled to the bed, dropping onto the mattress with as much grace as she could muster. A suggestive scoot closer had him do the same. She leaned her head upon an elbow to match his positioning. “You’ve investigated my ancestry, too? What did you do, grab a DNA sample?”

His free hand cupped her jaw. He leaned in and licked her mouth open. “Both parents from Italy. That’s as far as I went. This is as close to banging Sophia Loren in her heyday as I’m gonna get.” Peridot eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Say something in Italian.”

She groaned. “I don’t speak it well. I mean, I’ve listened to my mom and dad speak it a ton growing up. But, it never really stuck up here.” She tapped the side of her forehead. “And, Sophia Loren, really?”

Dean shrugged. “Lots of Sunday afternoons in front of the television growing up. Plus, she was smokin’ hot.” The hand skirted over her neck and shoulder, along the curves and dips of her back to rest on an ass cheek. “Try. For me.” He pushed her body in to meet his, fingers squeezing the globe. “Please.”

She sighed and shut her lids. Electric pulses flowed at the feel of him everywhere they connected. He was tight and rigid. Hot and hard. Her eyes opened, drowning into those beautiful eyes, and then she whispered, “Che cosa vuoi?”

She watched his smile double in size. “What the hell does that mean?” An innocent wonder filled his face, in direct opposition of the clothed erection he rubbed into the slit of her thighs. “And say it again.”

She giggled and moaned at the same time. “It means what do you want? Che cosa vuoi?”

“Che cosa vuoi?” He repeated. The deep throttle in his voice strummed into her core. She bit her lip at how sexy the foreign words, though stilted and choppy, dripped from that luxurious mouth. Dean’s eyes narrowed in focus. A thumb swiped over her bottom lip. “How do you say ‘kiss you’?”

The apples of her cheeks rose. “Ti bacio.”

“Ti bacio.” He repeated that as well, planting a delicate kiss, cradling her jaw. “How about ‘be inside you’?” His brows did a quick double rise.

She moaned, flustered at the request. “I don’t know. Inside is ‘dentro’. I’ll work on my translations for next time.”

Using his bodyweight, Dean collapsed Julie onto her back in a second. Air whooshed out of her lungs. He’d tucked his forearms under her armpits, the crook of his elbows wedging in place. Strong hands emerged alongside and caged her face and forced her back to arch into him.  “Hm.” He licked her mouth. Her jaw dropped open at the way he manipulated and immobilized her head with those meaty fingers. The tongue swirled and dipped in the wetness of her mouth. “Dentro.” He mumbled. His ability to dominate and overpower ignited her skin. Lumberjack thighs parted her comparatively smaller ones. The boxer briefed cock rutted against her damp panties, wiggling into position and only increasing her fluid production.

“Dean…” She whispered.

Lips moved to her neck. His scruff burned like sandpaper against the skin. “Say my name again, sweetheart.” The words poured out hot and impatient.

“Dean.”

Dean groaned. He bit into the flesh along her collar bone. Julie gasped. Then, he sucked and worried at the same spot of skin with pursed lips and the tip of his tongue. All the while sliding his erection into the material along the folds of her pussy. He leaned up and locked eyes with her. Whatever air left in her lungs released at the raw, worn beauty of this man. “Really wanna be inside you, Jules.”

Hands she realized she’d been using to grip onto his back clenched the rippling muscles.

His lips parted, breath even. “Can we? Will you be alright?” He searched her face, she knew, for some hint of hesitance. “If it’s too soon after all of it…”

“Dean…”

His lids closed at hearing his name. “I don’t only mean what's happened recently. I mean, that’s its own bag of crap that no one, especially you, should have ever had to go through.” Eyes opened as he continued to dry hump her in the most amazing way, unhurried yet purposeful. “But, all of it… after Steve…” He sighed, relishing the feel as much as she was. “We could just keep it fun, simple, easy… just like this.”

“Surface level?” Julie questioned, gauging him now.

He smirked. “That’s your guaranteed best experience with me. No muss, no fuss.” In an instant, the carefree gesture washed away. “You want me to be honest with you. There’s a lot, Jules…”

Her lids pressed tight together. “I did say that, didn’t I? Can you be honest with me, then, in this moment, right here and now?”

His arms untangled from his stronghold. She felt the shift of his body, him pull away, leaning into the crook of her side now. Shit, why did I ask him that? “Yes.” The word came out sure, laced with heavy conviction.

Julie took a deep breath and opened her eyes. When his eyes met hers, he didn’t waver, waiting, hovering.

“Any plans on hurting me?” He raised a brow. She shook her head and tried not to laugh. “Besides kinky plans.”

A curl of a smile. “No. Of course not.”

“Are you scared about being honest with me?”

Dean shifted on his elbow, his eyes breaking contact.

That was an answer in and of itself, but Julie tried again. You don’t ask a man like Dean Winchester if he’s scared. “Worried?”

Dean’s finger played with one of her curls. He breathed in, then spoke on the release of air.  “My life was… is, still complicated. Not many people would be able to understand. Or, want to.”

She nodded, took the words time to settle around them. “Why’d you put your life at risk to search for me?”

“Aside from it being in my DNA?” His eyes drifted back and stared at her mouth. “I didn’t want to lose you. I just found you.”

She smiled. A stinging in her eyes threatened to release tears. But she batted them away with quick blinks. “That’s all the honesty I need for tonight, then.” Dean smiled. His eyes were glassy, too, and that made Julie’s heart stop for some seconds. Fingers reached up and stroked his jaw. “Maybe another question.”

Dean’s head dropped in a dramatic fashion. His brows crinkled and his eyes narrowed, accompanied by a hard stare. “One more, sweetheart.” The authoritative tone was back and Julie’s arousal returned.

“Who’s made you feel safe?” She asked, her voice trembling.

His head tilted at the question. A foreign mix of wonder and confusion spread over his face. “What do you mean?”

“Who, in your life, made you feel really safe?” She rephrased.

Dean did that mental rolodex thing she’d come to enjoy witnessing. His eyes darted away and his lips did a slight tuck back into his mouth. Julie’s stomach twisted at how long it took him to find an answer. But, she saw him come up with one. His lips popped back out. The right side of his mouth angled up. When he turned to her he stated, “Baby.”

At first, Julie thought he was calling her another term of endearment. The word finally connected in her brain to the subject matter. “Your car?”

He smiled.

Julie could feel the frown form on her lips. “What about your parents?”

“No, sweetheart.” His smile remained, though it appeared forced. “They tried. I know they did. And, maybe I felt safe before I could really remember what that was... when I was really little.” He shrugged. “Baby’s always been there. Made me feel safe. Made me feel like I had a home. Somewhere I could hide, ride.” Dean collapsed onto the mattress, on his back.

Julie shot up, leaned on an elbow to study his face. The moment was awkward, clumsy now. I’ve fucked it all up.

Dean shook his head and chuckled.

“What?”

“Sweetheart, no one’s ever asked me that before.” His lips tightened. He reached up and grasped the side of her neck. Fingers threaded into her hair, leading her face so he could study her again. “Why would you ask me that?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “I-”

“Why would you care?” Dean interrupted. No malice in the tone. Only genuine curiosity.

That triggered a response. “Why wouldn’t I? You make me feel safe. I wanted to know a little about the person that made you feel the same way. Figure out how-” she bit her lip and tore away from his eyes.

“What?” He prodded, tilting his head on the mattress to catch her expression under the waves of cascading hair.

She struggled with the words. “Figure out how I can make you feel safe.”

His brows knit together.

“When I left this bed earlier, you asked me if I was coming back.”

That distant, unsure look flooded his face again. “That didn’t mean anything.”

She smiled. And pushed. “I’ll always come back, Dean. If that’s what you want, what will make you feel safe. You deserve that, same as everyone else.”

His green eyes widened.

Her whole body was on fire, staring back at him. It wasn’t arousal or want. She felt exposed, emotions laid out to be either scooped up or tossed away. It had not been in any way how she expected this night to turn. But, now, in the moment, it felt necessary, needed. “I’m sorry.”

Dean’s face hardened. His mouth opened a fraction. That tongue swiped the back of his bottom row of white teeth. “We done with the questions?” The hold on her neck released.

She sat up straight and tucked some hair behind an ear. Confusion flooded her brain. “Yeah.” He hopped off the bed and wandered around the mattress to his dresser. All she could stare at was the back of him, which in any other circumstance would be quite pleasant. But she wanted to garner something, anything from his expression.

A loud sigh left his mouth. “You really are something.” His head shook. The profile presented itself as he bent at the knees to rifle through his record collection. “I don’t get anything out of you for weeks and then you hit me like a ton of bricks with everything in less than a day.” Dean didn’t look over, kept his eyes on the albums. His jaw clenched when he found something, slid out the sleeve from its confines and pulled out a record. A confident twirl of the album between his hands as he rose, the sleeve forgotten on the floor.

The record rested on the turntable. A flip switched. There was crackle and static. The record spun. The speaker waited for the track to play. Dean turned and stared at Julie. He flipped her heart the way he had the album. “I was hoping to make this last. But, you’ve made that impossible now, Jules.” Arms rose over his head. Fingers tugged at the collar and he pulled the t-shirt off in an elegant peel. “I was thinking, maybe, I could hold out for a few songs. But, it’s probably only gonna be one. And, if it’s only gonna be one...” He pointed at the flannel she wore. “Take off my shirt.”

“What?”

His right eyebrow cocked. “You said you were done with questions.”

Her mouth dried up.

Finally, a smile returned. “And, don’t say you’re sorry to me. Not again.” He shook his head. “Not ever.” A stride filled with that Dean confidence made its way to the nightstand. Two fingers pulled open the drawer. He bent down and rummaged. The tap of a foil package hit the table’s surface. A knee closed the drawer.

Julie knew this was coming tonight. Had been hoping, praying even, that nothing else would prevent this from happening. The nerves, the fright, the reality of it had made her hesitate with a pool of muddy, emotional thoughts instead of pure passion and action. Then, when she thought she had fucked it all up, with the words and the estrogen induced interrogation, this complication of a beautiful man had gotten the train back on track. But even scarier, he now seemed to be all aboard with the idea of making this night mean so much more.

“Come over here, baby.” He patted the mattress in front of his standing figure.

Julie gulped and crawled over the mess of sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. Her head tilted up. He grabbed her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “So very pretty.” She thought he must have been commenting on how he looked, perfection in light and shadow. “Take it off.” The command was soft.    

Her hands found the buttons and did not spare any time to strip herself of the shirt.

His smile widened along with his eyes. “Eager, too, huh?”

She smiled.

“Good. I won’t feel so bad when this is over in minutes.” He tore the foil package open and put it back on the table. His fingertips delved into the hair at the top of her head, combed down through to end at the swell of her left breast. He pressed his warm palm right over her heart. “You know how you hear a song and you connect it to a specific memory?”

She nodded.

Dean licked his lips and catalogued every inch of her breasts with a stare that melted her insides. “I have lots of memories with this one song. All good, maybe even great. Someone might even say this song makes me feel safe.”

Julie swallowed.

“Wanna make me feel safe, sweetheart?” He grinned.

“Yes, Dean.” She didn’t hesitate in her response.

“Alright, then.” Dean broke eye contact and walked back to the record player. He cocked his head and smiled at Julie. “We’re gonna work on our night moves, baby.”

Dean could have said they were going to work on their taxes and Julie knew it would sound just as fucking sexy.

He dropped the needle in place and made a beeline toward her. A guitar strummed and filled the room. He dipped down, caught her lips with his open mouth. His arms wrapped her up, laid her down on the bed. Once again, the weight of him pressed against her side. She moaned when he rose up to his knees on the mattress, disconnecting. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down past her hips. She brought her own knees up to assist. His lips mouthed to the lyrics as he removed the last of her clothing. Her lips tugged up at the show.

She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes ***

And points all her own sitting way up high

He tossed the panties to the floor and ran his hands up the length of her body, stopping to massage her breasts and give her nipples a slight twist. He mouthed the next line.

Way up firm and high

Julie giggled. He flopped down on his back, flesh of their arms rubbing, and without pomp or circumstance, pulled off his boxer briefs, singing along this time.

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy

Out in the back seat of my '60 Chevy

Workin' on mysteries without any clues

He fell silent now. Turned to stare at Julie. He held the open condom wrapper between two fingers and raised his brows again. She nodded. A low growl bubbled up from his throat. Her eyes dipped down to watch him work his cock. She knew it wouldn’t take long. She wanted to speak, say something. Every other time he’d wanted to hear her voice. But this time is different.

And we'd steal away every chance we could

To the backroom, to the alley or the trusty woods

I used her, she used me

But neither one cared

We were gettin' our share

He rolled the condom over his erection. His body rolled between her waiting thighs. The dominance and power was gone from the way he hovered. He kissed her lips, slow and easy. His fingers slipped into her wetness. He moaned into her mouth and lubed up his sheathed erection with her want. Every cell sparked under her skin. The tip of him poking with insistence at her entrance.

Tryin' to lose the awkward teenage blues

Workin' on our night moves

And it was summertime

Sweet summertime summertime

All of the instruments stopped for a second, then resumed their rhythm. Dean searched Julie’s face again. It was all there in those apple green eyes. The request, the need, the want. He wanted to speak, too, she could sense it. But this time is different. He pushed inside her, slow and easy, letting her accept, adjust, and respond to him as Mr. Seger sang.

And oh the wonder

We felt the lightning

And we waited on the thunder

Waited on the thunder

He didn’t ask if she was ready. He didn’t need to. Because this time is different.

He pulled back, eased inside again. His forearms held his body up for part of the sway. But when he tunnelled back, nice and slow at first, the delicious friction of his chest ran along her hard nipples. This wasn’t going to take long. Because this time is different. His pace increased, breath fumed out of his nose, jaw clenched every time he bottomed into her fully.

Dean’s rhythm was quick and steady now, firm and prodding, as the song did the exact opposite and slowed in its reminiscence. Heat rose in her core. He grabbed one of her legs, propped it up to hook onto his hip. His eyes never left hers through any of it. He found that spot deep inside. And worked. Hard. She gasped at how he lit her up from within. Grabbed his shoulders and held on. While he worked.

I awoke last night to the sound of thunder

How far off I sat and wondered

Started humming a song from 1962

She wrapped her calf tight, draped it over the curve of his tight ass muscles. He was using all of himself, drilling into her now. The sound of wood creaking, mattress springs straining. Moans toppled and stacked atop each other.

Ain't it funny how the night moves

When you just don't seem to have as much to lose

Strange how the night moves

With autumn closing in

The music stopped again. Dean stilled, froze. His forehead leaned against hers. “Baby?” He whispered.

“Yes, Dean.”

“You feel so safe.”

He pulled back and she got lost in his eyes. Her heart lodged up into her throat. He nodded with a smile and exhaled, sharp and low, as the guitar started up again. His fingers snuck between their bodies, strummed her clit. And he worked. All of him. With her. This is different.

She studied every movement of his face. The vertical line that formed between his brow, deep in concentration. The little craters that appeared above either side of his top lip, embedding into laugh lines, when he quirked up his mouth. The flare of his nostrils. The look she tried to define in his crystal green eyes boring into her, shining like glass. He brought her to release and rode the wave. His moans enveloped hers. She clenched her walls, tightening around him.

The end of the song was near and so was Dean. His mouth opened, he struggled out a strangled groan, body rigid in her embrace. And he came. Hard. His body shivered. He grinned, kissed her lips, and rolled them both to their sides. Still. Connected. This is different.

The song ended. Quiet for a few moments before the next track began. Dean swiped at her cheek. Julie felt the wetness under the pad of his thumb. She was crying. Oh, no.

Dean smiled. Pulled her in close and held her. He kissed her forehead. She forced away the tears, slowed her breathing. “Tell me those are good tears, sweetheart.” He whispered in her ear.

She nodded along the scruff of his jaw.

Kisses dabbed at her damp cheeks. “Good. Because we just made one hell of an awesome memory.”

She smiled. He kissed the apple of her cheek.

He moaned, pulled out of her, then stood up. Naked and glorious. He rolled off the condom as he spoke and tied it up. “Gotta use the bathroom. Coming back.” He wandered to the doorway, then turned back to look at her with a wide grin. “Always coming back.”

*** Lyrics from Night Moves by Bob Seger

~~~~~

Part 18

Series Page

[thelanguageoflovers]

Little White Lies - Chapter 6

TJ woke to the loud, angry tone of his alarm for the first time since the morning of Molly's death, his head immediately throbbing as he sat up. Amber was sleeping next to him, as she had on occasion since the day they came home from the hospital. "Ambs, wake up," he mumbled, shaking her awake. "I hate you." "Mhm, I know. We have school today, though. In...two hours." "Fuck," Amber grumbled, mostly to herself. "Why did we choose today?" "...It- it's Monday?" TJ offered. "And we have to get back to school, Ambs." "I know, I know. But I started my period like two days ago and we just ran out of pads and tampons," she huffed, burying her face back in her pillow. "Listen, I'll run to the store. You get ready, alright?" TJ offered, grabbing Amber and his set of car keys and turning to his bedroom door. "Thanks, Teej," she said, reluctantly pushing the covers off of herself and starting down the hall to get dressed. "Eh, don't mention it. You're the one just casually bleeding out every damn month," TJ responded, jogging outside with a quick call over his shoulder to their mom. 

TJ stepped through the automatic doors of the supermarket, pausing for a moment to glance in both directions as his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting overhead. He took a right, before turning into his aisle. He was halfway through doing his damnedest to calculate the best deal when someone said his name, startling him from his reverie of numbers and long division symbols. "TJ?" He glanced up to find Andi Mack, of all the people in the world. "Oh, hey," he greeted, chuckling to himself at the awkward nature of the situation. "Nice to see you again?" "Yeah," Andi laughed slightly, stepping into the aisle. "May I ask why you're... here, specifically?" she asked, gesturing vaguely to what was effectively a wall of period products in front of TJ. "Amber needed pads," he laughed, quickly deciding on and grabbing a box, 99% sure it was the same one they always had at their house. "Ah. And here I am trying to convince Bex that she really doesn't need more fabric softener. We literally have four bottles of it at our apartment." "Hey, you never know! Maybe she likes really, really soft clothes?" TJ defended. "Listen, I've been meaning to talk to you, do you have a minute?" "Y-yeah, of course. As long as I catch Mom before she walks out of here with a lifetime supply of fabric softener, one less deed to a business, and a date at bankruptcy court." "I wanted to thank you for being there for Amber at the funeral," he said. "And I- I wanted to tell you that I think you should tell her." "Tell her what?" "Tell her you're in love with her," TJ said. "Yeah okay, like it's that simple," Andi scoffed. "I know, I know. I just- I think you should tell her." "Does she even like me? Or girls in general?" Andi asked skeptically. "I don't know?" TJ bluffed. "You are literally her twin brother, of course you know." "No, I think you don't understand. I literally have no idea, Andi. That girl is an enigma and a half. Just talk to her, alright?" "Fine, I will. But I have to get going." Andi nodded goodbye to TJ, before turning to walk away. She stopped just before rounding the corner, turning to face TJ. "You and Amber come back to school today, don't you?" "Yeah, we do. I'll see you there?" "As long as I can still afford not to have a job after Mom's fabric softener spree." "Jesus, I sincerely hope you're exaggerating for the sake of comedy."

TJ took a deep breath, fiddling with the bottom of his hoodie. He and Amber were wearing similar things, both having chosen primarily black outfits. If asked why, they'd mumble something or other about their clothing choices relying simply on whatever it was that tumbled from their closets that morning. However, both knew that their sudden affinity for dark, muted clothing revolved around their wish to blend into the rest of the world today, to melt away from everyone else and bleed into near invisible blurs of black fabric and blonde hair. "Okay?" Amber asked, glancing at her brother. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just- get this over with?" Amber nodded, taking a step toward the front doors. The twins' first synchronized footstep into the hallway fell heavily against the shiny linoleum like a textbook being dropped to the ground from the arms of a clumsy student, drawing all eyes in the hallway to them. A quiet murmur spread through the hall as they felt a hundred pairs of eyes resting on them, the sympathy surrounding them nearly tangible as they walked. "I hate this so much. Why can't they just leave us alone?" TJ whispered to Amber. "Me too," she agreed, turning toward her locker. TJ opened his next to her, silently putting his books in his bag. He pulled the tall stack of homework he'd done out of the severely worn backpack, rifling through it and putting the homework for his afternoon classes back in his locker before swinging it shut with a satisfying clang. "I've gotta go to class," TJ mumbled, training his eyes on the ground to avoid students' gazes.

TJ and Cyrus walked side by side toward Mrs. Bailey's room, Cyrus doing his best to shoo people's gazes away from them as they walked. When TJ glanced up to find Cyrus angrily mouthing something about 'leaving him alone' to a freshman, he stopped dead in his tracks, turning to face everyone in the hallway. "Hi, can I have your attention for a second? Yes, my sister is dead. Yes, she died almost a month ago in the hospital. I know, I was there. Now, if you could all stop boring me with sympathy that I know you do not intend sincerely, that'd be lovely." With that, he pivoted on his heel, turning down the hall. "I'm sorry, Teej. I tried to get them to stop spreading rumors and stuff," Cyrus apologized, following him into Mrs. Bailey's room. "It's fine, Underdog. You didn't do anything wrong." TJ responded, taking his seat alongside his best friend as the final bell rang loudly through the room. "Alright, class!" Mrs. Bailey called for the attention of the class. "This class period is going to be dedicated to your projects. Today, we're going to write a quick reflection on your projects thus far. Those interviewing partners, write a short summary of what you've found about your partners. And those being interviewed, reflect upon your experience. In fifteen minutes, turn them in and keep working on asking questions." Cyrus quickly got to work, writing out a string of blatantly emotionless adjectives describing TJ. He desperately wanted to avoid writing anything too personal about him. When fifteen minutes was up, he turned it in with a sigh, thoroughly unimpressed with his work. He turned back to talk to TJ, sitting next to him and opening his computer. "Alright, Teej. Where is your favorite place on Earth?" "Hmm... I don't really know. I guess, there's this tree in the woods behind my house. It's pretty, and you can see the whole city from the top." "I wanna see it sometime!" Cyrus exclaimed. "Okay, Underdog. Whatever you say," TJ winked, smiling slightly. "Cyrus, can I talk to you for a second?" Mrs. Bailey asked from her desk behind them. "Yeah of course, what's up?" Cyrus asked, standing up and stepping toward her desk. "This." She held up Cyrus's work. "Is not good enough. I want it done again by the end of the period. And I want it to be done right this time, or you and TJ both get zeroes, no matter what his essay says." "But he just got back from bereavement leave!" "I know, Cyrus. But I also know you can do better than some adjectives and a full name." "...Fine."

At the end of class, Cyrus was handed back his newly written paper with a bright red 100 at the top, circled multiple times. "Oooh, can I read it now?" TJ asked excitedly. Cyrus held it away from him, shaking his head in disapproval. "No!" he exclaimed. "It's not like you don't already know everything I wrote in here!" "Not true! I wanna know what you wrote about me!" TJ huffed, lunging forward and pulling the paper from his hands as the bell rang, allowing students to file out of the classroom. TJ, however, stayed back with Cyrus, leaning back against their table and reading down the paper.

Timothy James Kippen's favorite color is blue. If you were to ask him why, he'd say it's because blue is the color of the sky and of the ocean, of possibility and languid happiness. But he won't tell you that blue is laced into his mother's eyes. That the first gift she ever gave her daughters lay in the clear blue shining in their eyes. He won't tell you that he's spent years wishing for the crystal blue eyes he wasn't given. Instead, he fell into green. Timothy James Kippen's least favorite color is green. He'll never tell you why, but he knows it's because the very green he holds in his eyes was a gift from the one person he's never wanted a gift from. The one gift he could never return, etched permanently into his eyes. TJ is woven out of threads made of midnight walks in the dark, 11:11 wishes, movie ticket stubs, and the few pages precious enough to have been torn from the spines of their journals. He is shelves upon shelves of books, all adorned with notes in black ink along the margins, and countless weathered atlases and world maps, each marked with places he wants to go, things he wants to see, people he wants to meet. He is warm, gentle, blue cotton. But he's been dyed green. The dye has stiffened him, tangled the threads that weave through him. He's slowly washing the green away, softening again. But with time, maybe the dye will fade completely. Maybe he'll be warm and kind and loving again. Maybe he'll be blue again. But for now, he's settled for teal.

[darwin-xf]

Close through the Dark

Just some pillow talk from circa SOSS. Good clean fun. The rest is at AO3. The middle chapter is filthy fun, but you can skip it just fine. If that’s not your thing. Sorry if you saw this. Penultimate chapter of Vox coming very soon! xo-D

————————————————-

“That was it.” Mulder said, some minutes after they had collapsed to the bed.

They lay side by side in the near dark of his bedroom, his fingers laced behind his neck, his eyes idly following the shifting shadows on the ceiling. She was sprawled on her stomach, close but not touching him, her face half buried in a pillow. She emitted an occasional satiated murmur.

“That was what?” she asked, lazily.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had. Red hot monkey sex, Scully. That was some primitive bootknocking.”

Her laugh settled into a smirk, her eyes still closed.

“Was it ok when I…”

“More than ok.” In fact, their encounter had been playing behind her eyelids as she drifted next to him. She stole toward him and kissed the underside of his jaw, then rested her head on the landing strip of his chest.

“Good,” he said, circling his arms around her and giving her a squeeze. “I would normally, uh, ask first...”

“That’s not bad as a general rule,” she said. “But I think I set the tone, Mulder. For this particular soirée.”

“I picked up on that,” he said, smiling at her.

“I’m not really sure what came over me...”

He shrugged, complaining the furthest thing from his mind. Also, never good for Scully to overthink. In bed, anyway.

His window was open a sliver, allowing the city’s dusky spring hum to wash over them. Bars coughed patrons back up to the sidewalks as happy hour timed out, more carefree and certainly louder. All over the city clusters of tight blossoms weighed down limbs. A night bird trilled nearby and light from a million bulbs worked its way around the edges of his blinds which swayed and rattled in the breeze. A car alarm blared fruitlessly several blocks away.

“Why do the best words for sex all originate from the French?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her mouth. “Tonight’s...skirmish, you might be interested to know, took over the top spot from the rendezvous we had last Thursday.”

“You have a list? Have you been making reports on me from the beginning, Mulder? Taking your little notes?”

“That water isn’t from the faucet, is it Scully?” he asked, gesturing to the half-empty glass they’d been sharing.

“Jug in the fridge.”

“Good. Nothing for the record. It’s all up here,” he said, tapping his temple.

She lifted her head and looked at him. “What did we…?” A slow smile spread across her face. “Oh yeah. Thursday was nice.”

“Last Thursday beat out our power lunch from three Mondays ago, if you must know, which, at this point, is taking the bronze. Nipped it at the wire,” Mulder said.

She looked at him quizzically. Their physical intimacy had been progressing nicely. Which, if pressed, she might admit was an understatement.

“Lunch is a contemporary English word. Nineteenth Century, I think. Luncheon. Power is Latin in origin maybe? But I’m pretty sure it comes to us via Anglo-Norman French as the verb poeir-to be able to. Why aren’t German words sexy, Scully?”

“I can never decide whether your capacity for remembering literally everything except my birthday is more a curse or a blessing,” she said, dragging her fingers through his shorn hair. “You’re so minky,” she muttered, nipped at his pec.

“Me neither,” he said. “But when it comes to this,” he said, wagging his index finger between them, “It’s all good.”

“Hmmmm,” she agreed.

“I’ll work on the birthday thing.”

She snorted. “I won’t hold my breath.”

“We celebrated this year.”

“You invited me to dinner after you overheard Skinner wish me a Happy Birthday.”

“You noticed that? How does Skinner remember your birthday? Why does he? He never mentions my birthday.”

“I’ve never taken a swing at him.”

“You’ve held a gun on him though. And accused him of treason.”

“I guess he’s the forgiving type.”

“Good thing, or he would have canned me ages ago.”

“That's true.”

“There was that one time. Just before we left for Wisconsin? We sang in the bar?”

“Three years ago? I was dying of cancer, Mulder. Even Bill Junior sent a card.”

“Scully, I…”

“It was nice all the same. You don’t often have occasion to see sparklers in February. I never got to eat my Snowball, though.”

Scully peeled herself away and stood at the end of the bed, pressing her arms skyward with hands clasped in a deep stretch, dark in her hollows, not a stitch on. His eyes went soft, taking her in, as his tongue toyed with the sore spot on his freshly split lip.

“There’s a dirty joke there somewhere, but I’m too distracted to think of it.”

————————————————-

They had pulled on some clothes and were at his dining table eating toast and lentil soup.

“Is this from a can?” Scully said, pointing toward her bowl with her spoon. “It’s good. It tastes like my mom’s.”

“It is your mom’s” he said. “She gave me a quart of it from her freezer at Thanksgiving. She insisted.”

“She probably thinks you’re too skinny. And generally a helpless bachelor.”

“I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I like her. I’ve never met a Scully woman I didn’t like.”

“Remember Aunt Maura, my dad’s spinster sister? She’s kind of a drag.”

“With the lavender hair?”

“That’s her. Mom only invites her out of obligation.”

“She seemed like kind of a sourpuss,” Mulder agreed.

“Who spends all of Thanksgiving dinner with people you might see twice a year complaining about noisy children and the lack of amenities on their recent cruise?”

“I kept wanting to ask her about her hair. But I thought it might be rude.”

“You have good manners, Mulder. But, you've never spent time with my mom as my lover.”

“True. You weren’t putting out in November.”

“Not that you know of.”

“Touché, Scully,” he sad. “But you weren’t, right?”

She just shook her head. He went back to his soup.

“Wait. If memory serves, we engaged in some pretty hot premarital intercourse on my sofa not a half hour before meeting your mother for brunch. This was, like, months ago.”

“We did more than that. There was very little room for the Holy Spirit, as I recall. But she didn’t know that. And what, Monster Boy, do you mean by premarital?”

“You know what I mean. Does she know now? That we’re... going steady?”

“Hints have been dropped. Also, we played some serious footsie at brunch. Not to mention I brought you to brunch. She’s not an idiot.”

“Huh. You know what I think, Scully? I think your mother knew what we were to each other long before we did.”

“Maybe she did.”

“I’m not sure how...”

“Well, I’ve heard stories that you can get…a little...intense when I’m incapacitated.”

“You know how the rumor mill is.”

She laughed. Down in the street, someone yelled “Debbie, don’t do this to me!” the plaintive wail echoing up through the corridors of buildings.

“Maybe we should close the windows,” she said.

“It doesn’t bother me. For once I’m about to curl up with my favorite warm body and someone else is acting like a lunatic and going home alone.”

“It’s nice up here,” she said.

“I couldn’t believe your mom gave me your cross to hold, when you were gone. I was afraid I’d lose it. I wore it for a while.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have a jewelry box.”

She smirked at him.

He looked down and smiled, still shy around her from time to time. “I’m just glad I got the chance to give it back.”

“I still have that football video you gave me that day. Somewhere. Maybe I’ll even watch it one day.”

“I was very suave, wasn’t I? Also, a jackass.”

“To me, you were adorable, all sleepy eyed and meek, drowning in some green grandpa windbreaker. You’ve filled out since then,” she said, running her eyes over his bare chest and arms.

“I was so relieved. And petrified. I wanted to scoop you up and snatch you away to my lair forever. Or else turn on my heel and spare you ever seeing me again. I fought those dueling impulses for years, where you were concerned. I was more like the monster from Beowulf than boyfriend material. Grendel.”

“Who wrote Beowulf?” she asked. I had to read that in AP Lit.”

“Anonymous. The same person who wrote Go Ask Alice, a cautionary tale to warn prim young women of the perils of the fast life.”

“Prolific,” Scully said. “And such range. Too bad the name is lost to history.”

“I’ve always wanted to name a dog Grendel.”

“Not a fish?”

He stood up and made his way toward his fish tank. They flashed and scrummed near the surface as he approached—barefoot and boxered, her favorite look—and darted after the flakes as he tapped them into the tank.

“Grendel was hairy and bipedal. Mammalian. Omnivorous and moody. He lived with his mother. All wrong for a fish.”

It occurred to her that Mulder wanted to honor this Medieval mythical monster like a long dead but fondly remembered great uncle, the story of Grendel more plausible to him than Jonah and the Whale to most Christians.

“I’m glad you didn’t succumb to any of those impulses,” she said. “And I’m glad we seem to have found some middle ground.”

Finish at AO3...

[bamby0304]

Season’s Special: Chapter 10

Winter: December

Summary: Life was simple. You worked at the local cafe, starting your days baking some pies before setting off to serve customers. Everything was routine, all year round. Nothing changed. As a creature of habit you were quite content living your life the way it was. But when a flannel wearing flirt walks into the cafe one morning you begin to wonder if maybe you’re missing something…

Over the next twelve months things start to change. Over four seasons your world is turned upside down… only question is, is it for better or for worse?

Masterlist

Warnings: Some violence...

Bamby

You felt like crap. The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, the whole town was busy preparing for the coming festivities… and you felt like complete and utter crap.

It seemed the electrical and water problems Susie had been experiencing had come to your apartment- which also affected the cafe. Even after Susie went back to her place and informed you it was back to normal, you were left to deal with a building that had more mood swings than a tantrum throwing toddler.

With everyone bustling around town and planning parties, your month was completely booked. Orders were practically coming out of your ears there were so many of them. For the next four to five weeks you would have no free time.

The stress of your building and all the orders was making it hard for you to get some decent sleep. You felt drained all the time, like it didn’t matter if you slept for a hundred years, it still wouldn’t be enough. It was getting to the point where you felt so horrible you’d actually started being sick.

Food was off the table. Just the thought of eating made your stomach churn. All you could manage was the few bites you forced down your throat whenever you felt like you were going to pass out.

Coffee was your best friend. You didn’t usually drink as much as you had been lately, and you definitely never had it as strong as you had been. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Every year you got a little under the weather around Christmas, so it wasn’t entirely odd for you to feel the way you did. But you didn’t recall it ever being this bad.

To be honest, you were pretty sure the cafe wouldn’t have survived the last few weeks if it weren’t for Tom and Susie. They’d, of course, taken notice in your change, and had stepped up without a word.

In the kitchen of the cafe you were alternating between sipping on coffee and making desserts. You had pies in the oven, cookies cooling on the bench, a cake mix ready to go, and cupcakes that needed to be decorated. That was just what you had going at that moment, there was still a seemingly never-ending list of orders still to be done.

Focusing on your work- and drink- you didn’t even notice when the front bell rang. Though, mind you, you hadn’t noticed it ringing all day, so it wasn’t a surprise you didn’t realise you had a customer.

Your attention was pulled away from your steaming, extra strong, cup of coffee when Susie walked in, a kind smile on her face. “Someone’s here for you, boss.”

Frowning, confused, you placed your mug down on the counter and headed out to the front of the room. That’s where you stopped dead in your tracks.

It had been almost four weeks since you’d seen him. Dean Winchester. He looked just as he had before he’d left, yet more handsome than ever. He looked a little more rugged and scruffy, his facial hair passed the shadow he usually let it grow to- though the hair was far from being untamed, unkempt or even close to what you could call a beard. But other than that, he still looked like Dean. Your Dean.

Slowly, a smile crept on your face, and before you knew what you were doing, you were running around the counter and towards him. He caught you as you threw your arms around him, jumping in the air. Spinning you around, his arms around your waist, his face buried in your neck, he held you close.

A moment later, you pulled back so you could look into those beautiful green eyes you’d missed so much. They were smiling up at you, crinkling at the corners.

“God, I missed you.” You let out a breath you’d been holding since he’d driven off all those weeks ago.

Chuckling against you, he nodded lightly. “I know what you mean.”

You sat at a table across from Dean, inside the café and away from the snow outside. The two of you were silent as you watched each other. You were sipping on your coffee again, while he had a drink of his own and- of course- a pie on the side.

“Spiced custard.” He nodded, breaking the silence, gesturing to his pie with the fork in his hand. “I like it.”

“Good.” You smiled lightly, feeling more content than you had in some time.

“But I was kinda hoping for something, I don’t know… special.” He gave you a pointed look.

“We’ve been busy,” you explained. “It actually took me a few days to realise the season had change, and by then my schedule was so full I never got time to think of a special.”

“Can I suggest pecan?” He grinned lightly.

“You always suggest pecan.”

He nodded in response, a small laugh falling from his lips as he turned back to his pie, the two of you silent once more.

The first week without Dean had been torture. You’d gotten so used to having him around that you forgot what it was like without him. Every time the bell rang you were sure it was him, coming back to grab some pie. But it never was.

By the second week you’d convinced yourself to be numb to the pain. You made yourself wait, and forced yourself to be as busy as possible. It had worked for a while… until the next week rolled by.

Week three was the worst. It was around then that Susie left your apartment and things started to change. Your place was a mess, your sleep patterns no better. Whenever you did sleep you had horrible nightmares of Dean… picturing him hurt and bloody… and dying.

For the last few days you’d been a mess. Working nonstop to distract yourself, even though that actually did nothing to keep your mind from going to dark thoughts. You drank as much coffee as you could handle, not wanting to sleep. Not wanting to see the nightmares. Your hair had started to thin and fall out here and there, your skin paling, eyes red rimmed with dark circles surrounding them. You were pretty sure you looked like some kind of monster.

But seeing Dean in real life- and in one piece- washed all your worry away. He was okay. Everything was going to be okay.

“I don’t mean to sound like an annoying, over-protective boyfriend, or anything,” Dean swallowed the last of his pie before meeting your eyes again, “but, is everything alright?”

Your smile vanished, replaced with a look of guilt and surprise. “What are you talking about?” you tried to play dumb.

“I’ve been kinda hoping you’d say something so I didn’t have to, but… you look like you haven’t slept in weeks. Or eaten in days,” he noted.

Maybe everything wasn’t going to be okay…

“It’s nothing.” You shrugged, trying to brush his worry off. “Just stress.”

“Because of the shop? If that’s the problem, I’m back, I’ll help out,” he offered.

Heart warming at his offer, you gave a small smile as you shook your head. “We’re fine. Really.”

“Then, what is it?”

Part of you wanted to keep trying to sweep everything under the rug. You didn’t want to worry anyone, especially Dean. But you also knew he wasn’t going to listen to anything but the truth. He wasn’t going to let this go until you told him everything.

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair and let it all out. “The electricity for one. We’ve changed the globes a million times but it must be the wires.”

“Lights keep flickering?”

You nodded, going on. “And the water pressure is off. Sometimes the water comes out murky and gross as well, which is not good when you’ve got to use it to cook. Then there’s the heating. No matter what we try, I’m always freezing.” You gestured to the layers of clothes you were wearing to prove a point.

“Any strange noises?”

“Well, yeah. But that could be the old building and pipes. Sometimes we get rats in the walls as well. And it has been kinda windy lately,” you noted.

There was a look on Dean’s face, as if he felt like all of the information you’d just given him was the worst news he could have heard. He looked as if you’d just told him someone had physically hurt you or something.

Not liking that look, you tried to give him a reassuring smile as you reached out to slip your hand into his. “But we’re fine, Dean, really.”

His eyes scanned you. They roamed over you from head to toe. There was no heat in his gaze like there usually was when he looked you over. Instead it was like he was examining you. As if he was trying to find some kind of injury, or anything that might be out of place.

When he spoke again you were a little concerned at the tone of his voice and the fact the look in his eyes hadn’t softened- despite your efforts. “Look, I gotta go home and grab some things, okay? I want you to stay here. With people. Maybe take Susie to the park or something? Go for a walk, I don’t know.”

“Dean,” you laughed lightly, “it’s snowing outside. I’m not going for a walk.”

“Fine. Just… just stay with people, okay? I don’t want you to be alone.” He got to his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Promise me.”

All you could manage was a nod, his behaviour rendering you speechless.

Pleased with your response, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead before turning on his heels and walking out the door. Each time he turned back to look at you, you took notice of his tense jaw and worried eyes. You’d never seen someone so concerned before.

You’d tried to keep your promise. You really had. But when Dean didn’t come back and the store started to empty, you couldn’t find it in your heat to make Susie or Tom stay with you. Besides, you were exhausted. You wanted to sleep.

Now that Dean was back you’d hoped your nightmares would disappear. So, the moment you’d stepped into your apartment you’d shed your layers of clothing, leaving your tights and shirt on. You’d grabbed a blanket, popped a movie on, curled up on the couch and let yourself sleep.

Blood. Screams. Fire. Horror.

Fear. Pain. Anger. Sorrow.

All around you. Your nightmares were more alive than ever. They consumed your mind. Your soul. It was as if they were draining the happiness out of you. Like it was draining everything good. Leaving nothing but an emptiness that revolted you.

Try as you might, you tried to wake. You tried to pull yourself out of the terror. But your mind wouldn’t let it go. You had no control.

You could feel your physical body thrusting and convulsing. You could feel the edge of a scream hanging on your tongue. You could feel your skin slick with sweat while it shivered from a cold like nothing you’d ever felt before.

You could taste your own blood. It coated your mouth, thick and strong.

You could smell rotting flesh. Something so disgusting and wrong you could only think of one word to describe it. Death.

You could hear the incoherent murmurs of someone. They were angry. Their rage all consuming. Their rage consuming your energy. Their rage draining you.

Something loud in the distance pulled at your attention. Someone yelling. Something banging loud. You were pretty sure it was a fist on a door, but you couldn’t be certain. Your brain couldn’t focus on it properly.

More noises followed. Louder. Voices. Closer. Familiar and unfamiliar. Masculine. Worried. Hurried.

Then you felt hands. Strong, warm, welcome hands grasped your shoulders, shaking you. Hard. Fast. Urgent. Scared.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes shot open at the sound of Dean’s voice yelling your name.

He was leaning over you as you lay on the couch, covered in sweat despite how cold you felt. His eyes left yours, glancing down at your chest. Gaze following his, you found yourself looking at a dark red mark on your skin. A mark that looked exactly like a hand print.

“Where is she? Where’d she go?”

Pushing Dean away, you sat up suddenly, eyes wide and glued to the tall stranger in your house… and the shotgun in his hand.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Y/N, this is Sam. Sam, Y/N,” Dean quickly introduced as he grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet.

“Sam? Sam, Sam? As in, your brother Sam?”

“Yes,” Dean answered gruffly, putting himself in front of you protectively for some reason.

You were confused. You had every right to be. For some unknown reason, your boyfriend and his brother had broken into your house in the middle of the night with a gun-

Dean pulled a gun of his own out, cutting your thoughts short.

“What are you doing with that?” You nodded to the weapon in his hands.

Before anyone could respond a woman suddenly appeared in the middle of your apartment. She had deathly grey skin and was dressed in ripped robes that were so dark they almost looked like shadows. She looked like something that had stepped out of a horror movie.

But she hadn’t stepped out of a movie. She was real… and she was in your apartment.

“Sam!” Dean called out to warn his brother, but it was too late.

The woman threw Sam across the apartment, holding him against the wall without laying a finger on him. He struggled to breath, pulling at an invisible force around his throat.

Knowing his brother was in danger, Dean dropped his gun and started rummaging through everything and anything he could get to. “What’s she connected to?” he asked.

Eyes glued to Sam, fear pulsing through your veins, it took you a moment to realise he’d directed the question at you.

“What?”

“The ghost? What’s she connected to?” Dean asked, voice raised and panicked as he hurried for you couch.”

“I don’t know what you’re-”

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence before Dean had pulled Susie’s book out from between the couch cushions.

Running to the kitchen, knowing Sam didn’t have much time left, Dean grabbing the salt off your bench and a lighter from his pocket. Throwing the book in your sink, he poured salt over it before setting it a light.

An ear-piercing scream echoed off the walls as the woman in black burst into flames before disappearing right before your eyes.

Sam fell to the ground, taking a deep and much needed breath. Dean leaned against the counter, panting hard himself. While you looked around you, your mind still processing everything.

“What the hell just happened?”

Bamby

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The Moon Circus chapter one: La fille du soleil

She was tired. Undeniably tired. Under her eyes were bags larger than those she had packed when leaving Switzerland, in her hand, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee. Her hand had cramps from holding her pen for so long.

“Ziegler, we need you at the drive-through!” Yelled her boss in her shitty earpiece, which matched her equally shitty fast-food uniform. She nodded, running over to her post. “Good evening! Have you made a choice yet?” She asked, trying her best to sound welcoming and happy. Her French was perfect, from the accent to the pronunciation. Perks of being Swiss.

Even if she had barely slept in three days, even if she got the shakes from her caffeine high. She had just gotten back from her college, where she was studying the medical arts, she barely had the time to trade her blouse and skirt for an orange and bright yellow uniform, she was already getting yelled at by five different persons. Angela Ziegler kept her voice even and joyful for the rest of the evening.

“Good evening! Have you made choice yet?” Her throat was dry, she was tired, and her voice slightly raspy, yet her interlocutor did not seem to mind in the slightest. Excited babbles of children could be heard, chanting ‘circus’ with enough energy to bring a melancholic smile to Angela’s lips. She remembered, when her little world was covered in snow, as her parents, holding her hands, stood by her sides, leading her to the circus. She fondly recalled the feel of her mother’s hand against her gloved one, or how her father laughed when he gave her piggyback rides.

She was brought back to the moment by her colleague, Hana, who looked at her with compassion. Decembers always were trying times for Angela since her parents had passed away. Sighing sadly, she resumed working, trying to keep herself focused.

Her service had finally ended, after dragging out slowly like a dying snail trying to reach its final destination. She simply could not wait to take a shower and pass out on her couch with some silly TV show playing in the background. On her way out, she waved goodbye at Hana, who was in charge of the night shifts. It was pretty cold outside, but Angela had had worse. Plus, she welcomed the freezing breeze like an old friend, as it seemed to dance with her blond hair. Angela Ziegler liked the calm, she checked her phone, it was almost midnight. She hurried back to her apartment. If she liked the Lyon nights, she certainly was much less fond of the dangerous back alleys.

She opened the door to her small lair. It was nothing fancy, but given the fact that she was living in the third arrondissement, right next to the docks, she was lucky. It had a living room with a kitchenette, a decently sized sofa who could serve as a bed in case Lena got in trouble with her girlfriend, Emily. Angela’s room was small, but efficient. A small bed, a bedside table drowning in books, notes, and a glass of water that had been sitting there for way too long to be drinkable. There also was a small desk, equally messy, with a small plant, which she lovingly named Freud, for she loved to pour water on little green Freud, chanting ‘drown, drown’. She let her bag fall to the ground, as she kicked her shoes off, jumping on the sofa, turning on TV, as she stared at the ceiling. Lord, was she tired.

She eyed the pack of cigarettes on her table. Lena gave them to her, as a ‘thank you’ for letting her stay over a week. Angela was not a smoker, not a regular one, but she could use something to take the edge off, and the smell of fast food oozing from her made her too nauseas to drink any of the cheap liquor she kept stashed in her cupboard. Grabbing a cigarette, she opened her window, pulling a lighter from the empty ashtray sitting on the windowsill. As she was smoking, her mind wandering, paying no attention to the political debate in the background, a blaring noise echoed through the street, she almost dropped her cigarette.

“What is that?” She muttered, leaning over the railing to see what was going on. “Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! Le Cirque D’Andromède is in town! Head over to Place Bellecour, and witness the impossible! Under the big top, you shall find us! Our first representation is going to be public, and completely free!” Enthusiastically spoke man in a megaphone. He was standing atop a car, which was blaring an obnoxiously loud circus music. He waved a top hat around.

Angela chuckled, he had cliché long moustache, a white cane and a black tailcoat, complimenting his pristine white shirt. The med school student checked her phone. Lena could definitely use something fun to do tonight. She called her, the brit answered almost right away. “What’d’ya need, Angie?” Asked Lena, upbeat as ever. “There’s a circus in town, first night sounds free. Want to check it out ? Bellecour isn’t that far from your place, is it?” Angela was already stripping for her shower, holding her phone with one hand, letting the cigarette fall down. “Please, I live in Bronc, that’s right next to the Jean Masset train station. I’ll be over in a second, meet me there!” Chirped Lena cheerfully. “I’ll take a quick shower and I’ll meet you at the station. Bring popcorn!” “Will do!” Angela hung up, before getting in her shower. She felt all the stress of the day wash off pleasantly. Sure, she was still tense, but she got used to this weight on her shoulders a long time ago. As soon as she was out of the shower, she tried to figure out what she was going to wear. Was it going to be casual, or classy? She had like, one good dress, and that was it. Her paycheck didn’t really cover much over the essentials.

She ultimately decided that she was too lazy to dress up, plus Lena had seen her at her worst caffeine-fueled extravaganza at 4 AM, trying to turn a semester of slacking around. She opted for dark jeans, a blue top which really brought out her eyes, and some light mascara and eyeshadow, just to pretend she actually made an effort. TV: turned off. Purse: Grabbed. Makeup: On. Ready to roll.

The streets were pretty calm for the 3rd district, which was known to house some of the city’s poorest students and people who didn’t have enough money to move to the suburbs. Still, it was a nice place. She lived Rue De Marseille, where shops almost never closed, except during Ramadan, where everything was quiet during the day, but so lively during the night ! Children playing soccer in the dead of night, under their mothers’ and the moon’s supervision. Teens smoking on the docks, carving their names in every available surface, or graffitiing the walls. Lena was a pro at that. Her nickname, ‘Tracer’, was almost everywhere in the borough, to her utmost pride. The train station was her favourite. The brit liked to go on trains, especially when she had no idea where they were headed, and just leave. Emily hated that, she once had to get Lena back from Valence, the brit still had not lived that one down.

Angela ran up the stairs to Jean Macé, where Lena was laying on a bench, watching something on her phone, kicking her crocs-clad feet in the air. “Hi there!” “’Sup Angie!” The brit greeted her with a hug. “When’s the train getting here?” Asked the blonde, sitting on the bench, as her friend let her feet lay on her lap. “Shouldn’t be too long now, I s’pose.” Lena looked as tired and dead inside as Angela, she too had to work a part time job, but it was far less classic than Angela’s. “How are things?” Miss Ziegler knew that Lena did not exactly enjoy bringing her adventures as a ‘criminal’ (after all, poor Lena Oxton wouldn’t hurt a fly). “They’re good, Jalel and I just lounged up in the HQ all day, not much traffic. Even enough time to actually turn in my assignment in time, for the first time like, ever!” Jalel, Lena’s boss, was a dear, but was not to be messed with. He was like a teddy bear which would turn in an actual bear if provoked. He /adored/ his assistant, and always made sure not to drag her into overly dangerous tasks. “Sounds great! But I am afraid your professor might have a heart attack when she realises that you were actually one time, for once.” Lena was studying animation, and her art teacher, in spite of her appreciation for the very much loveable brit, was growing more and more exasperated each time she turned assignment in late. Her current high score was two months late, she had had to dodge the teacher’s incessant calls, emails, and even had to hide in the boys’ bathroom to escape the animation teacher’s wrath. “Are we going by TGV, or are we going the wild way?” Asked Lena, knowing fully well that there were no TGVs scheduled for the day, only trains carrying merchandise or materials for the ever-expanding city that was Lyon.

“Wild way, I imagine.” Grinned the blonde, cracking her knuckles. Lena started stretching, before a distant light warned them of the train arriving. Angela sucked in a shallow breath, she had gotten slightly used to it, but before the big jump, she always got stressed out. Lena took her hand, squeezing reassuringly. They stepped back a bit, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The Brit whistled, and the two girls broke into a sprint, jumping on the train. Angela looked down as she jumped, it felt like time itself had slowed down, the tracks moving fast beneath her feet.

In this moment, she felt everything, the wind in her hair, the blood hammering her temple, the adrenaline running wild in her veins, just like the train speeding through the city. She landed on her knees, but she didn’t feel any pain. She just felt relief and joy. “Not bad, Angie!” Yelled Lena, barely audible over the wind rushing around them. The blonde giggled in response, grabbing Lena’s extended hand, pulling her to her feet. She opened her arms against the wind pushing against her. “Wooohoo!” The tiredness in her bones left, replaced with cheerfulness. Lena imitated her, the two of them started a screaming contest, knowing that nobody could hear them. They screamed in unison, in their heads, they screamed against mean bosses, late nights on papers they knew were going to be awful, failed romances, against a world that kept trying to bury them, yet, here they were: on a train, in the middle of the nights, surrounded by the city’s lights coming from the cafés, the rooftops lit with fairy lights.

Once their voices had died down, it was almost time to get off the train. “Part-Dieu’s in view!” They got to the opposite side of their wagon, trying to avoid the pieces of wood firmly held by metal chains. As soon as the platform was in sight, they ran and jumped. Their landing was not exactly smooth or elegant, but they managed just fine, rolling onto the unclean ground of the C platform. Luckily, there was no one in sight. They got up and dusted themselves off. “We should hurry, I don’t want to miss the opening!” Lena, hyper as ever, grabbed Angela’s hand, running through the train station. Angie really liked the ambiance in those late nights in the train station. People asleep on the benches, or on their luggage, the brave, daring youth vomiting in the bins, getting chastised by the personnel, or the soldiers patrolling under the Sentinelle Act.

Part-Dieu was a street away from Bellecour. They raced down the stairs, to the surprise of a few young men, trying to soothe the burn of alcohol in their system by laying in the fountains, which were luckily not turned on. They didn’t even have to raise their heads to know where the circus was. Loud music echoed through the street, along with a tremendous cheer, from a seemingly overhyped crowd.

Their steps led them to the place, and the crowd that had formed there was nothing short of massive. All around the titanic place that was Bellecour, were decorations, poles challenging the height of the surrounding buildings, with various strips of coloured cloth twirling and joining the other poles in a whirlwind of undeniable beauty. Thankfully, the spectacle had not started yet. “Oh! Cotton Candy!” Exclaimed Lena, almost running to the small stall, dragging her friend along. “I’ll never get over how ridiculous its French name is. Barbapapa.” Angela shook her head, as her friend grabbed their sticks, handing her the extremely sugary candy. “C’mon, Angie, French is the language of love, shall I say it again?” Lena wiggled her eyebrow suggestively. “Do no-” “Omelette du fromage…” She winked, as if she had dropped the smoothest pickup line known to mankind. An exasperated sigh made them turn around. A woman, clad in tight, dark green leather, and what seemed to be a huge necklace made of various leaves, feathers, and flowers. Her hair, held back in a ponytail which showed her remarkably high cheekbones. “Omelette AU fromage.” Sighed the beautiful woman, walking past them, stopping to catch a side glance at the duo. “Jolies crocs, ma belle.” Grinned the Frenchwoman, fading into the crowd. “Angie, I’m pretty sure my ovaries just exploded.” Whined the brit with a shaky voice. “For fuck’s sake, Lena.” “Exploded!” “Oxton, your gay ass is the reason I can’t take you anywhere nice.” Angela sighed, and resumed trying to eat her cotton candy without having it stick to her fingers, which was frankly impossible. While her friend was off rambling about her ovaries getting destroyed by yet another woman, Angela dragged her towards the scene, trying to avoid running into people too much. “It’s about to start, snap out of it!” Chastised the blonde, lightly shaking her friend’s shoulders. All the lights suddenly went down. The crowd went dead silent, and thank God, Lena shut up. Various noises, resembling those of a forest rose from seemingly everywhere. There must’ve been some speakers hidden in the poles’ cloths. On the scene, rose poles looking like bamboo, in a dim cloud of smoke. The first men appeared. Clad in skin-tight blue costumes, with intricate patterns which looked like scales. They gracefully split across the stage, revealing a huge man, whom looked similar to Poseidon, wearing a similarly blue costume, however this one was cut at the torso, revealing an impressive chest covered in blue tattoos, which ran up to his neck, and got lost underneath his equally impressive beard, also covered in the aqua glyphs. He rose his voice. It was not a language Angela knew, though it did sound similar to a mix of Spanish, Italian, and a few hints of French.

Then, the violins started to accompany him. The subtle melody was sublimed when cloths from the nearby polls were thrown onto the bamboos, as the acrobats started their hypnotizing dance, which consisted of intricate swirls and jumps, getting nearer to the public, studying them with their immense, child-like eyes, before promptly jumping back a few steps, as if they were afraid. Their arms moved in perfect harmony with the song, their long arms wrapped in foliage made them look like brisling bushes, moving with the wind. Then, a bright spotlight illuminated a pole on the other side of the Place. An acrobat was standing there, it didn’t take long for the two girls to recognize who it was. “It’s the ‘crocs’ girl!” Thought Angela. “It’s sugar-tits!” Exclaimed Lena, ever a one-track mind. A line from the pole she was currently standing on, with perfect pointes, as if she were a feline and not an actual human being, was linked to the main scene. Graceful as a feather slowly making its way towards the ground, quick as a leopard dashing on its prey, she pounced on the thin line. She rolled on it like it was solid ground, landing on the tight string, under the public’s delirious applause. Her skin, coloured in blue, seemed to sparkle under the limelight. She stopped for an instant, as if enraptured by the art flowing endlessly throughout her body.

In that moment, to Lena ‘useless horny lesbian’ Oxton herself, she was much more than simply a pretty face, she was an ethereal vision of pure, unaltered beauty, as she fended through the air, not unlike a falcon seeking its prey. It felt as if her lungs exalted art, in each and every subtle puff she let slip, as she danced across the thin line, her naked feet strutting, carelessly taking dips, standing on one foot, as the other carelessly dangled in the void. “Woah,” Sighed Oxton, her eyes refusing to leave the entranced woman’s lithe figure dancing across the line, her very ears refusing to acknowledge the man starting to sing in the background.

“She looks…” She didn’t even finish her sentence, completely mesmerised. Angela didn’t dare to shake her friend out of her trance, instead turning around to follow the main attraction. The man whom spoke earlier was now singing, his loud voice booming through the audience, enrapturing, enchanting people who knew little to nothing of the quality of the performance they were currently experiencing. Because such a thing shan’t be qualified as a simple performance, nay, ‘twas an experience, one which touches your very essence, leaving it forever altered. The beauty of the spectacle, the sheer elegance, art was dripping everywhere, like honey from a lover’s lips.

Angela was not exactly a patron of the arts. She was quite fond of them, sure, she even took an option in college, yet, no painting, no simple youtube video of a performance could ever match the feeling which flowed through her veins, drowning her sense with a feeling of everlasting satisfaction. Each artist, acrobat, every piece, foliage of the décor belonged there, it had a meaning, it had an IMPORTANCE.

The dancers strutting along the stage, carrying their aforementioned colleagues, whom were once terrified by the public, were now dancing a breath away from them, standing on the brink of the stage. The public, even though they perfectly could have, did not dare to touch them. The imposing man strode forward on the scene, his glorious mane dyed in various shades of blue, aqua green and purple, his voice carrying the strength of the whole company. The dancer they had met earlier jumped on the platform, landing with a graceful bounce, followed by a salto, ending in the man outstretched arm. They swung their hips rhythm for a short while, before a sharp cry stopped the whole stage altogether.

The artists looked around, jumping away from the crowd. The bamboos-like poles seemed to shake. Then, a creature, which resembled the chimera from the Greek Mythology, fell in the middle of the stage, forcing the imposing man and the gorgeous dancer to step away elegantly. “How many people are in this costume?” Wondered Lena, aloud. “Shhh…” Hushed Angela, entranced couldn’t move her eyes away from the scene. A man, shirtless, flaunting his flawless body, rock-solid abs enhancing an already entrancing silhouette. His dark skin was covered in white war paint, he was walking like a gladiator in an arena. He came to an eye-level with the chimera, growling loud enough for Angela and Lena to catch it from where they stood. He raised his fist, preparing to strike, but suddenly, both him and the beast knelt. A woman, clad in dark red and black from head to toe made her way between the both of them. Her face was covered by her hood, in her hands, she carried two lanterns, oozing purple smoke, adding to her already frightening aura.

“We get it, you vape.” Snorted Lena, not even realising that Angela didn’t even hear a word she said, her eyes almost forgetting to blink, too focused on the spectacle. She dismissed the Gladiator with a flick of her wrist, before running her hand against the beast’s flank. The beast seemed to shudder, whining for everyone to hear. The impressive man left the blue-skinned acrobat, trying to push away the wraith-like creature from the distressed animal.

With a twist of her finger, the man fell to his knees in front of her, as his comrades gasped in shock. She flicked his forehead, causing him to stumble backwards. She pointed an accusatory finger at the man, before gesturing to the blue skinned acrobat. The woman collapsed on the spot, her long hair falling over her face. The other dancers slowly stepped back, some of them running towards the poles, climbing them up, resting at the top like lemurs. Just one remained by the fallen dancer’s side, rocking her in his arms, seemingly weeping. The singer wailed, as the violins’ strings joined his voice, in a requiem-like mood.

The hooded woman, with a lift of her pinkie, invited the fallen beauty to rise, which she did, grabbing her companion by the collar, effortlessly flipping him over, her hands around his throat, strangling him. The blue-skinned woman then joined the mysterious figure. The latter grabbed her smoke-oozing orb, bringing it to her lips, inhaling some of it, before letting the smoke go in the fallen beast’s nostrils. It promptly got up, its previously cream-coloured fur turning a twisted shade of grey, before charging an acrobat. He jumped over the ferocious beast, evading his hit. Its lion head roared at the public, before turning tail, exposing his back, which bore a goat head where his spine met its rear, and most importantly its tail, an enormous snake head, which hissed menacingly. “You know what this reminds me of. Eww, that’s why I’m a lesbian.” Commented Lena, still not deterred at her friend’s lack of response. The hooded lady offered the dancer her arm, and they left together, walking among the forest of bamboos, as the man, rose to his feet and raised his voice, now thunder-like. The artists, hanging on their perches, jumped to the ground, bouncing on their feet, as if there were springs underneath them. They started to run in circles around the singing man, the tempo increased, the hammering of the acrobats’ feet on the stage sounding like drums of war, as the impressive man’s voice grew louder and louder.

The public saw a grapple falling in the middle of this mosh pit-like circle. The man, holding the line with a death grip, showing off his imposing musculature. The violins simply went insane, the musicians, appearing perched atop the poles all around Bellecour, in an orchestra of grief-fuelled wrath. He rose to an incredible height, the climax of the scene was his vertiginous fall. Right as he was about to hit the ground, the music stopped dead in its track with a final bang, the subjects fell to the ground, leaving him standing there, on one knee, his strong fist against the ground. The crowd was silent. He got up, his hair hiding on of his eye. He walked up to the end of the stage, standing on the edge. “This, is not the end,” He started, his shoulders heaving menacingly with each breath.

“Merely the beginning!” As he ended his sentence, fire sprouted from the bamboo poles illuminating Place Bellecour. The lights remained for a few seconds, before the fire died down. The public was cheering, clapping enthusiastically. The whole stage was in the dark, before some dime lights revealed the whole cast, bowing to the audience. “Where’s the hot chick?” Asked Lena, looking frantically on stage.

A noise similar to one of a zipper made them turn around instantly, ever so mindful of pickpockets. “Why, I do hope you meant ‘me’.” She was standing there, hands planted firmly on her hips. Lena was speechless, just looking at her up and down, in utter disbelief. “Your performance was incredible miss…?” Asked Angela, extending her hand, which the acrobat shook with in a most firm handshake. “Amélie.” Confidence was practically oozing off of her. “A pleasure Amélie, I am Angela, and this is Lena.” She pointed to her lust-struck friend. The brit seemed to regain her composure, extending her hand, expecting a handshake. But the Frenchwoman gently took her hand, bringing her lips to her knuckle, leaving a feather-light kiss upon it. “Heureuse de faire ta connaissance, ma belle.” She smirked, as Lena sported 50 shades of red on her face, ears and neck. “The mine is the pleasure.” Blurted out Lena, to Angela and Amélie’s hilarity. The acrobat reached in her more than generous cleavage, to reveal a sticky note. It had a number written on it. “Gérard is going to give out a speech, it should cover the basics, I do hope to see you around at the Moon Circus.” She stuck the note on the gay mess’ cheek, before kissing the other one, pretty close to her lips.

She turned around, raised her arm to a nearby pole, and grappled away. “I hate to see her leave, but bloody hell do I love to watch her go.” Whispered Lena, in awe. “For fuck’s sake.” Sighed Angela, recovering the sticky note before the brit could forget about it. The man Angela had seen earlier appeared on stage in a cloud of smoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen! We are delighted to hear that you appreciated our opening! However, I must inform you of a most tragic news for us, but a truly interesting opportunity for you! Due to the snow blocking the air traffic, a lot of our artists had to cancel. If you have any particular skill, visit us next Sunday for the auditions. Weeeeelcome to the Moon Circus!” His moustache moved with each word he said, speaking in a microphone bearing a similar one. The crowd cheered some more, as paper and leaflets flew across the sky, shot by some cannons which were hidden under the stage.

Lena caught one, looking it over with interest. “Want to apply, Lena?” Angie looked over her friend’s shoulder. “You could, I mean, you’d be bound to earn more than you do at that crappy MacDonald’s. Didn’t you study this before?” Asked the brit, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “I studied Les Arts Du Cirques back in Switzerland, yes, but I am afraid my level of skill is not what they’re looking for.” “There’s a role you’d be perfect for.” Stated Lena, showing her the leaflet. “And what would that be?” “La fille du soleil.” “Your French is fucking awful, Lena.”

[obsessed-withthe-hales]

Meet The Family - Part 2

Summary: Returning to the Hale household for Christmas proves to be an exciting event, with many surprises and unexpected turns.

Author’s Note: Well, I suck ass at summaries, but a ton of people asked for a second part to this story and here it is! I know it’s been forever, but I just needed some inspiration and the right idea, so this is what hit me today and I just had to write it. I really hope you guys like it; I’m in love with the idea, not so much the writing. But I’m glad you all got the sequel that you asked for! Please let me know what you think :) Enjoy!

Warnings: Language maybe? Fluff

Read Part 1 Here

Tags at the end

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

“Merry Christmas!” Laura said excitedly as she opened the door, pulling Derek and I into a tight hug before allowing us entry into the house.

“Christmas is tomorrow, Sis,” Derek mumbled into her hair, earning a sharp smack to his shoulder.

“Shut up and get in here. Everyone is dying to see you two.”

“Alright, alright,” Derek chuckled, pulling our bags in with us as he shut out the cold. “Are we the last ones?”

“No, we’re still waiting on a few more people, so you won’t get chewed out, don’t worry.” Laura tossed a wink my way, making me smile as I shed my coat. Loud chatter already filled the house, laughter and playful remarks floating through the air. Derek turned to take our things upstairs, but was stopped by his sister’s voice. “You’re in your old room again. Dad just put up the new bed, and Mom said you better not break this one or you’ll be buying the replacement.”

“Oh, my God,” Derek muttered, running a hand over his blushing face. “You know, I offered to pay for another last time we were here and they were still looking. Dad wouldn’t let me.”

“We’ll never live that down, will we?” I asked, already knowing the answer as my cheeks burned. Laura just laughed and shook her head with a smirk, confirming my suspicions. “Great.”

Joining the rest of the family, we were pulled right into conversations, catching up on everyone's’ lives, filling them in on what we’d been up to since we had come up at Thanksgiving. With every trip we made, Derek’s family made me feel more and more at home, like I belonged. Hell, I was probably more comfortable around most of his family members than half of my own.

The afternoon soon turned to evening, Talia announcing that dinner was ready. Since I hadn’t been able to help in the kitchen this time, I insisted on helping set up the food while the others washed up. Sitting down at the large table, I couldn’t help but smile as I discreetly looked around, noting the happiness on people’s faces- happiness stemming from just being able to be together. Tears began to prick the backs of my eyes, catching me off guard and earning the attention of Derek’s younger sister, Cora, as she sat down next to me.

“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked, trying to keep her voice down as to not draw any attention our way. I nodded with a laugh, trying to assure her that I was fine as I wiped away the tears before they could do much damage to my mascara.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m alright, just...got emotional, I guess,” I explained. “It’s nice, seeing everyone again. Sitting down to a family dinner. That’s all.” Reaching under the table, Cora squeezed my hand and offered a sweet smile, one that I was happy to return.

After saying Grace, the food was passed around, everyone filling their plates and assisting the kids in filling theirs. I tried to hide my smirk as I listened to a few whispered bribes of extra dessert if only they’d eat a full helping of veggies. As Derek handed me the stuffing, the ‘thank you’ barely left my lips before I was clamping a hand over my mouth after the smell- one that I usually loved- hit my nose.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” my boyfriend asked, eyebrows drawing together in confusion while he watched me quickly pass on the large bowl of stuffing. “Are you okay? You love stuffing.”

“Uh-” Taking a few deep breaths to fight down the nausea, I finally sighed as it passed. “Yeah. Fine. I’m just not feeling all that great.”

“Do you want to go lay down? I can wrap your plate, Mom will understand,” he offered, rubbing soothing circles on my back. Shaking my head, I offered a tiny grin, patting his thigh to drive the point home. Derek nodded, eyeing me curiously for a few more seconds before turning his attention to his food and digging in.

Waking up on Christmas morning was one of my favorite things. There was just something about the atmosphere hanging in the air, the excitement bubbling up, the cheery nature of everyone around.

“Derek, wake up! It’s Christmas,” I said softly, nudging his shoulder. He grumbled a bit, trying to bury his face in the pillow to avoid me, but I was relentless. Leaning down, I trailed kisses along his exposed neck, nipping at the sharp definition of his jaw and earning a quiet groan.

“Y/N, if you don’t stop that, we’re gonna break another bed. And I really don’t want to pay for another one.”

“Well, c’mon then!” I giggled, tugging his arm until he finally sat up. Pulling me into his broad chest, Derek grinned sleepily up at me, nudging our noses together.

“Fine. I’m sure people are already fighting to hold the kids back from the presents anyway,” he conceded, making me squeal with excitement as I jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom to freshen up before going downstairs.

As the kids opened their new toys, animatedly showing them off to one another and creating games, the rest of us set to opening ours, all taking turns and offering thanks a plenty. Watching from my perch on a chair with my grin, my hand ran lightly through Derek’s hair where he sat in front of me on the floor. He would occasionally catch it and press a lingering kiss to the appendage, making me smile fondly.  

“I think that’s every-” Talia started, only to be cut off by Laura as she stood and pointed.

“No, Mom, look. There’s one left, tucked all the way back here,” she said, shooting her mother a confused glance. Talia only shrugged in response, motioning for her to pull it out. “Another for Derek.” Leveling her gaze on her brother, she playfully smirked as she walked toward him. “Okay, I know you haven’t been that good this year.”

“I think you’re just jealous,” he quipped, grinning widely up at her and earning an eyeroll.

“Who’s it from?” his father asked, eyeing the bag curiously.

“There’s no name. Weird.”

“Well, open it already!” Laura said, nudging his foot with hers. I watched closely, heart pounding, as Derek pulled the paper from the top and reached in, feeling around until getting a good grip on something.

“What the hell,” he mumbled, holding up a small orange onesie that said “Dad is my hero” across the front in large yellow lettering. I bit my lip as he proceeded to pull out a small hat with fuzzy wolf ears- Derek’s favorite animal- and a long shallow box. People’s faces were already showing that they caught on, making a huge grin break out across my lips. Popping the lid off the box, Derek’s jaw dropped.

His head snapped up, eyes wide as they found mine. As he held up the positive pregnancy test, tears pooled in my eyes.

“You’re- we’re...pregnant?” he asked, several gasps sounding around the room at his question.

“Yeah,” I laughed, nodding my head like crazy as tears spilled down my cheeks. “I’m pregnant. We’re gonna have a baby.” Jumping up, Derek pulled me into a hug, lifting my feet off the ground in excitement.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Laura shouted, her and Cora practically jumping up and down. “We’re aunts, oh my God!”

“Which makes us grandparents,” Talia said, squeezing her husband’s hand as they each sported large smiles.

“And I’m a great uncle,” Peter muttered. “I’m too young to be a great uncle.” Everyone began to congratulate us, hugs and handshakes and loving words being passed all around. Somehow, Derek and I managed to find a single quiet second to ourselves, holding each other in a long embrace. Pulling away, he cupped my face in his large hand, adoration overflowing in his eyes.

“How long have you known?” he asked softly. “Do you know how far along you are?”

“Found out a couple weeks ago. I haven’t gone a doctor or anything yet because I wanted you to go with me, but if I did my math right, just under three months. Which means…”

“This baby was conceived the night we…” Derek trailed off, amusement lacing his tone. “Here. In my old bed.”

“Yep,” I confirmed, not able to hold back my laughter.

“God, I love you,” he declared, pulling me in for a sweet kiss and another hug before dropping to his knees so his face was level with tummy. “And you, little peanut.”

Ten months later

Pulling up the long drive, I smiled as I looked out the window, taking in the large, beautiful home as we neared it. It was early Autumn and the leaves were just barely starting to change, much like the first time I had ever laid eyes on this place. Putting the SUV in park, my fiance reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling it to his lips as he shot me a wink.

“You know we’re gonna get attacked in there, right?” he asked, a playful edge to his tone. I chuckled in agreement, turning to the back seat and grinning.

“Yeah, but on the bright side, we may actually get a few minutes to ourselves,” I said. Getting out of the car, Derek and I stretched for a moment before he went to grab the bags while I opened the door to the back only to be greeted by big green eyes and a happy gurgle.

“Well, hi sweetheart,” I cooed, straightening the tiny hat on her head before working on the straps of the car seat. “Did someone have a good nap? Hmm?”

“Oh, Peanut’s finally awake,” Derek said, offering a loving smile to our daughter as he walked around the side of the car with our things. “And in a good mood!”

“For now. Until she gets hungry in a half hour.” Just as I sling the diaper bag over my shoulder, the door to the house flew open, Derek’s sisters and mother standing there with so much excitement on their faces that they looked like they’d explode.

“You better get that baby in here ASAP!” Laura called. “I need some auntie snuggles!” Turning back to our daughter in the car seat, Derek and I gave each other knowing looks before smiling down at her.

“Are you ready to meet the family, Peanut?”

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[battle-scarred-raven]

Fanfic: Change Isn’t Easy (Part 3)

Title: Change Isn’t Easy

Part: 3

Fandom: Halo/RvB

Pairings: Past California/Carolina (mentioned), Past Yorkalina (mentioned), CarWash, California/Kesan (@k-dradom‘s Sangheili character)

Summary: Carolina, Wash and the Reds and Blues travel to Sanghelios. The Freelancers run into an old friend who has moved on with her life. Meanwhile, California nervously awaits seeing her friends again, knowing she didn’t part with them last in the best way and a lot has happened since…

As they say, change isn’t easy. Takes place after Season 15 of RvB. Probably going to end up canon divergent.

Warnings: Canon typical language in both English and Sangheili.

Notes: Translations for Sangheili throughout this fanfic are provided via hyperlink (hover over linked text to see the translation. Some phrases are not exact.)

It had been a while since the Freelancers had been in a city on a planet. The last had been Armonia, well over a year ago now, back on Chorus, and they had been forced to destroy that. As impressive as the Chorusan capital had been to Carolina, though, it paled in comparison to... what had Tucker called it?

Vadam, that was it.

The keep itself was built into a mountain, much of its structure and the surrounding city even running inside the mountain itself, and overlooked the entire territory surrounding it. Fal had mentioned in passing ever since the House of Vadam had officially claimed the site as their own, no other clan or military force had been able to seize it. Carolina was inclined to believe him, in all honesty. It certainly looked impenetrable. She wondered if Wash was thinking the same thing, before the walls of the mountain closed in on them as Fal led them yet further in.

Expecting a large cave, Carolina was stunned to find a sprawling and rather advanced metropolis far below them of ancient and modern structures, and a myriad of Sangheili just going about their daily lives. Somewhere far below them, she could hear the sound of a river. The sight was enough to make her pause and out of the corner of her green eyes, she could see Wash doing the same, too.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Fal stopped beside them, also admiring the view. “Vadam is one of the younger city-states on Sanghelios, relatively speaking, yet it is among the most impressive.

Despite her unease about being around Sangheili, Carolina couldn’t help but agree. “It’s beautiful. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.”

“Hmm.” Fal hummed, before gesturing for the two Freelancers to follow. “It isn’t much farther.”

As he stepped out onto one of the natural stone bridges that lined the cavern with its very lethal looking drop on either side of it, Carolina cringed and turned to Wash. Judging by how stiff the other soldier was standing, she guessed he was about as horrified as she was at the narrow rocky path.

“Come!” Fal called a little ways ahead of them, “It is perfectly safe. There are barriers installed to stop a fall. Observe...” and to demonstrate, he threw a small rock towards the ravine floor, only for it to bounce off some kind of blue forcefield back into his hand.

“Yeeeah, maybe after you, Carolina?” Wash told her after watching the demonstration, still not entirely convinced.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” She admonished him.

He snorted at her in return. “Like you weren’t afraid either.”

“Just... shut up and start walking, Wash.”

Despite everything, they both ended up catching up with the old Sangheili warrior at the same time. They were taking across to a large platform built into the inner cliff of the mountain, where a large temple like structure had been hewn directly from the rock. It looked at least a thousand years old, judging by the heavy weathering and more recent looking battle damage.

“Was Vadam attacked recently?” Wash couldn’t help but ask in spite of himself.

“Yes.” Fal’s voice was solemn. “The Blooding Years, the Sangheili Civil War. The Neru ‘Pe Odosima – the Servants of the Abiding Truth in your language – struck out at Vadam lands. Vadam Keep was heavily damaged during this time, including the temple to our old gods here. The last such Temple in Vadam. I think Kaidon ‘Vadam keeps it as a reminder of what our species was once reduced to – great, yet foolish warriors blinded by lies and faith and willing to die for what turned to be a pointless, non-existent cause. There was no honour in what we did, what some still continue to pursue, and there never will be.”

“Is that why the Sangheili are fighting one another?” Carolina asked, her voice a whisper.

“Indeed. Or... rather, one of many reasons, I suppose.” The old Sangheili nodded, his expression a little grave. “It is true; some of us are still blinded by our faith. Others feel that Kaidon ‘Vadam is false, that he should have died as the Gods and his position of Arbiter decreed in the name of the Great Journey. Others still find it unacceptable to ally with your kind, saying humans are too dangerous or that the Sangheili are strong enough to stand alone and being allies with humanity only weakens us. This is why we need people like Lavernius, his son and T’las. To help keep the peace. To prove that we need each other. Those short-sighted fools that, whatever their reasoning, conspire against the notion of peace would doom us all without second thought.”

“Speaking of... why does T’las want to see us, specifically?” Wash piped up after Fal had finished talking. “Does she... think we can help her out, or something? Because Tucker would be better at that, in all honesty-”

He was cut off by Fal laughing suddenly.

“Do not presume I know the Swordmaster’s mind, Eenngahnehenn.” He interrupted in an amused tone, like the idea was absurd and, truth be told, it probably was. “T’las’ business with you is not mine to know unless she wishes to share it with me. Wort. She awaits you inside.”

Under her helmet, Carolina raised an eyebrow. “And what about you?”

“I will await your return out here.”

The cyan Freelancer once more looked at Wash, then to the darkened entrance of the temple, then back to her fellow Freelancer, who gave her a shrug. What did they have to lose? Taking a breath, she walked inside, Wash following shortly thereafter.

Inside, the temple betrayed its true size, and it was massive. Littered around its derelict hall were ancient alien artifacts, some obviously Sangheili, but most reminded Carolina of the relics on Chorus. She wondered if perhaps they, too, belonged to Santa’s long-dead, mortal masters. Similarly, Wash was in awe beside her, looking around him, and for the second time that day, both Freelancers were stunned for a moment.

After a while, they proceeded further inside the main hall of the temple, past many statues of Sangheili, before coming to an open space dominated by a giant statue of a being that looked like a human, except it had six digits per hand, was wearing highly advanced looking armour and its facial structure was somewhat different, sporting no visible ears, more fur like hair and two slits for a nose. At the base of the vast statue, obscured by shadows, was an armoured and cloaked humanoid figure waiting for them, back facing towards them.

Was this her? Both Freelancers looked at each other once again, confused. Both had been expecting another Sangheili, not... a human?

“No, you aren’t hallucinating.” The figure addressed them in a familiar voice, turning to face them as she answered the question they were both dying to ask. Her dark steel and blood red armour, the Helioskrill variant, made her look remarkably like a Sangheili, to the point where the boots were split in two in mimicry of Sangheili toes. Even the helmet was remarkably similar to Fal’s, except with a golden, polarised visor.

“T’las?” Carolina frowned deeply under her helmet.

The other soldier waved a dismissive hand. “Please. That’s just what the Sangheili call me because most have difficulty pronouncing my actual name. That, or out of respect for Thel inviting me to his clan. Or both. You, however, know me better than that.”

The figure wasn’t wrong. Carolina did know her better than that, or at least she thought she had. Memories unbidden came rushing to the surface, causing the cyan Freelancer to clench her fists in anger.

“California?” She forced out, struggling to keep the anger from her voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Keeping the peace.” The new Freelancer answered her calmly. Then as if sensing Carolina’s underlying rage, she turned her head to Wash. “Hey Wash, sorry for you to be dragged up here, but we can catch up later, alright?”

The steel and yellow Freelancer looked between the two women, but it didn’t take long for him to understand. “Yeah. I’ll be outside with Fal, then. It’s good to see you again, Cali.”

“Likewise.”

Silence followed as Washington turned to leave. Only after she was sure he was gone completely, did California remove her helmet with a hiss of air that reverberated from the temple walls, revealing her battle-scarred and tattooed face as if Carolina needed any more confirmation it truly was her. Her expression was remorseful, guilt dancing in her only working eye.

“Carolina...” She began after another silence.

“Don’t you dare ‘Carolina’ me!” The barely suppressed fury from before suddenly burst free. “You-you let me believe I had a future again! That there was more to life than fighting wars! And then you just... you just left, without so much as a goodbye! No looking back, no message left, nothing!”

Didn’t you do something similar, from what I heard? California wanted to say, but suppressed the urge, knowing it would only make thing worse. Instead, she apologised, “I’m sorry, Carolina.”

“Sorry? Sorry?! You left me hanging for months!” Carolina gestured angrily at her. “Not to mention, right after Epsilon as well! Right when I needed you most! And all you have to say is, sorry?! Why, damn it?! If you had wanted to run off and play diplomat so badly, why couldn’t you just say so?!”

California waited until her resentful echoes died down before quietly uttering her softly spoken sentence. “I... I wasn’t sure I was ready.”

It was enough to deflate Carolina for a good minute, mouth agape as her next accusation died on her tongue. “I... I’m-what?”

“I wasn’t ready.” California repeated, a sigh escaping her lips and her whole body slumped a little like the action physically deflated her, not unlike a puncture in a Warthog tyre. “Or, at least I didn’t think I was at the time. I wasn’t sure I was ready to commit to you, to us, because of my past. So I ran away and left you, like I left Wash when the Project came crashing down and I didn’t know what to do. I guess some things don’t change, huh?”

Carolina remained silent, trying to process what California was saying to her. She left because she was... afraid? It contrasted starkly with the image of her fellow Freelancer that she was used to seeing, but then even she herself had fears, she supposed, even when putting on a front.

“I should have left some sort of message though.” California continued, heedless of whether Carolina wanted to interject or not. “I’m sorry for that. It’s ironic, my reasons for leaving, considering what’s happened since, but it’s not an excuse. I should have explained myself, not left you hanging blindly in the dark like that. You deserve so much better than me, especially after the shit you’ve been through.”

Not just me, the cyan armoured Freelancer almost stated in newfound sympathy, until her processing mind caught up with the rest of her and realised just what the other woman had said, which left her somewhat confused. “Wait, what do you mean? Why is it ironic?”

No sooner had she posed the question, the answer presented itself when footsteps echoed from even further inside the temple, eventually revealing their owner to be a huge Sangheili that dwarfed California by a good head and shoulders amount.

“I heard shouting. Is everything alright, Dallas?”

Even as the Sangheili spoke, Carolina had already whipped her Battle Rifle out on anger filled instinct. Her next few sentences rolled out almost all as one. “What the hell?! I thought this was a private conversation! Who the hell is he?! Has been here the whole time?! How the hell does he know your actual name?!”

California was quick to shift, getting between the pair of them. “Carolina, calm down! It’s alright. Just... lower your rifle. You’re going to frighten Thaea.”

The cyan soldier’s grip on her rifle loosened and her head cocked slightly, obviously puzzled until she saw the small bundle in the Sangheili’s arms. She uneasily lowered her weapon, a question on her lips, but not one she got to ask out loud.

“This is my husband, Kesan, and our daughter, Thaea.” The other woman introduced her, and Carolina went entirely numb, heart shattering as the implications of California’s prior statement were fully realised.

“You...-Your husband? And... daughter?” Carolina eventually stammered out as she struggled to think. “As... as in... you... you’re married? You... you adopted a kid?”

“Had, actually.” California rubbed the back of her head uneasily, tousling her black hair a little. “But... yeah. Took a few goes, but-”

In the space of a second, there was a whirring sound followed by a sickening crunching sound as Carolina utilised her Speed Unit to rocket a punch straight into California’s jaw, both cutting off the other woman and sending her to the floor from the impact and pain. Kesan moved to shield his wife from further harm, but with a kid in his arms, there was little else he could do to help, and before he could stop her, Carolina was already leaving the temple without so much as a glance back to see the consequences of her actions. Not long after that, the steel and yellow form of Wash came running in to see what the commotion was about.

“What the heck, I leave you two for five minutes and then Carolina comes storming out and-oh, shit.” He stopped himself short, both physically and in a speaking sense, before running over to kneel by California’s side. “What the hell did you say to her? Did she punch you?”

“Yes, she did.” It was Kesan who answered him in place of California, who was too busy clutching her jaw in pain. It was enough to send Wash reeling back in surprise. “It is alright, Washington. I mean no harm.”

“No offense, but the last time I saw a Sangheili before today, they insulted me, and the time before that, they nearly killed my whole platoon.” Wash offered as way of explanation, barely relaxing. “So you’ll forgive me if you and your people put me on edge.”

“Understandable.” The Sangheili’s green eyes held deep sympathy in them as he looked first at the Freelancer, before shifting his gaze to Thaea and cooing her, keeping her calm despite his own alarm. “Do you have any biofoam?”

“Only for personal use.” Wash’s frown was almost audible in his tone. “I have a Healing Unit in my armour that might help, but...”

“I’m fine.” California moved her hand from her jaw, revealing a sizeable bruise already forming, before spitting out a little blood, a few flecks of which landed on Washington’s armour. “I’ll be fine.”

“Carolina isn’t known for light jabs when she hits someone.” Wash shook his head. “You know when she punches you, she means to do damage. What if your jaw is broken?”

“He has a point, monerasha.” Kesan agreed, shifting a little uncomfortably. “You even told me as much before we traveled down here.”

“Listen, both of you, I’ll be fine. If my jaw was broken, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” California spoke between gritted teeth. “It’s just a bad bruise. Dias – Digamma - even said as much.”

Wash was silent for a moment, surprised California still even had her AI after all this time, but made no comment on the matter as he offered a hand to help her up. “Alright, but at least have someone have a look at it properly, just to be sure.”

She accepted his hand gratefully, allowed herself to be pulled up. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I didn’t deserve it though.”

“Do I want to know?” Wash asked, then changed his mind. “Actually, probably not. Do you want me to go talk to her?”

“I doubt it’ll do much good, but knock yourself out.” There was a beat, before California added, “Pun not intended, by the way.”

“Good, because that would be a terrible joke to make right after you just got punched by Carolina.”

With that, Wash left, leaving California alone with their husband and their daughter, who was now fussing a little in Kesan’s arms. He offered her one of his long, slender fingers to play with as way of distraction, before he spoke.

“You didn’t deserve that.” He rumbled at his wife, brows furrowing.

“Oh, believe me when I say I did.” California answered, before whirling around to face her Sangheili husband. “Fruqo’t cha, Kesan, I left her without so much as a word! Right when she was hurting the most! What kind of person does that to someone they care about?”

There was a long silence as Kesan regarded California carefully with his green eyes.

“You two were close.” He inferred, though whether it was a statement or a question, only he knew.

“I...” California realised her blunder then. Her relationship with Carolina wasn’t one she’d ever disclosed with her husband, not out of shame, but because she truly thought it would never come up and be an issue. Still, she felt somewhat guilty. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I didn’t think...”

“What you did in your past isn’t any of my business unless you wish to tell me.” Kesan sighed quietly, and California got a vague sense of déjà vu. It was a conversation they’d had a few times before.

“Still, I should have told you this, at least. If I had, things might have gone differently. I could have come to you for advice, or something.” California echoed his sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Now all I have is a giant headache, a severely bruised jaw and an ex-girlfriend who’ll probably never forgive me.”

“Even if you had told me, that still might be the case. No-one can predict the future.” Kesan shook his head. “Did you at least tell Carolina why you did what you did?”

California slumped even more. “I tried and... well, you saw the result of that.”

“Then perhaps you should give her time.” Her husband offered lightly. “At any rate, we should head back to where we are staying in the main keep. Thaea is fussing, so she is likely either tired or hungry again. Perhaps both. And you need to see a medic about your jaw, still.”

“Yeah, alright. Probably for the best.” California slid her helmet back on, clicking the seals into place, before walking with her husband out of the temple and back to the main keep.

[milkcartonbastard]

The Outsiders

Warnings- I mention Soda dying in Vietnam. I give Pony a little memory issue, though.

Note- Johnny and Dally had already died in this one. I know the title’s weird.

~~~

  The old house loomed in front of the old man. It was a lot more decrepit than the last time he had laid eyes on it. It's once white sides were now grey and vines were traveling up them. The roof had light marks on it and reminded him of soft spots. That was probably what they were: leaks and soft spots. The fence that used to surround the place weren't there anymore and the yard's grass was around two feet tall. The man's eyes got misty. Why did it look like that? It had so much love so many years ago.

   "Grandpa? What is that place?" The man looked over at his great granddaughter. She was watching him carefully and holding his hand. She gave him a look that said very politely that she wanted to leave. It was early in the morning and he had woken her up for a road-trip. The man patted her hand and started to walk across the road with her. They had been standing across the street from the house. His family member helped him walk. He'd had shaky knees ever since he turned eighty about seven years previous.

  "I used to live here. This was my home." His voice was shaky as he spoke. She looked like she was very interested now. She'd never even seen pictures of the house before. It was amazing to see it in the flesh and know where it was. It was a key to her grandpa's past and she'd love to know everything.

  "We called it 'The Curtis House', because, well, it was." He chuckled, but spoke softly and slowly. His worn silvery green eyes roamed around the outside. "I lived in there with my two older brothers, Soda and Darry. Our parents died when I was your age, fourteen, so I grew up with my brothers."

   Ponyboy and his great granddaughter, Jodie, walked through the tall grass and maneuvered their way to the porch. The cane clutched in his right hand didn't help very much, so Jodie was really what was holding him up. Still, they walked.

  Ponyboy dropped his cane in the tall grass as he reached toward the splintered steps' banister. It felt rickety and a rush of dread washed through the old man. The house should never have looked like this. He'd always swore to take care of it. He vaguely remembered everything he and his brothers would do to make sure the house stayed neat and taken care of. How had he let it get this way? Why was it abandoned?

  "You've never said anything about having brothers! How come?" Jodie asked softly. Pony's eyes softened and he felt a shudder come from inside. He struggled for the words to answer her. They walked up the steps slowly and tried to reach the porch's flat surface. It didn't look flat anymore, however. It was more sagging and warped than anything. They cautiously walked to the front door.

  "I'd forgotten anything about them. Why mention something you can't explain?" Pony asked with a sad smile. He'd known their names and he vaguely recalled what they looked like. It was shameful to say that. Pony's memory about his life had started disappearing years and years before. He'd always felt the presence of the memories, but they were covered in a mirage and he could never recall anything anymore. It felt horrible and like things were constantly pulling on his brain. Sometimes he would hear sentences and he could remember something that had to do with his brothers, but he would always forget seconds after remembering. It was a horrible thing, but he learned to live with that.

  "Oh... Dad said you had memory issues. That's alright, Grandpa." Jodie smiled sweetly at him. He waved her off and stared at the front door. The screen door wasn't there, but was laying on the porch. The wooden door was the only thing that seemed to be blocking Pony from his childhood. He raised his hand to grab the doorknob but stopped. He'd felt like this while looking at the door before.

  Jodie's hand eased over her grandpa's and she gently moved their hands to the doorknob. Maybe it wouldn't open, but something told Pony that it would. The cold brass doorknob turned and Pony pushed the door open. The crisp stale air from inside met the chilly Oklahoma air and Jodie shivered for a second. The house didn't look anything like she'd expected, and by the look on Ponyboy's face, he didn't either.

  "It still has furniture and pictures?" Jodie asked. Ponyboy walked into the house first, making sure nothing would jump out at them. His eyes glanced at the arm chair underneath a lamp. He saw the couch nearby and he looked back at the arm chair.

  "Where the heck have you been? Do you know what time it is?" Darry stood up and tossed down the newspaper he had been holding. He was angrier than Pony had ever seen him. Pony shook his head wordlessly.

  Ponyboy shut his eyes quickly and opened them again. The scene was gone, but Pony could still hear the words like they had just been bellowed out at him. It was a memory. Pony was confused as it faded away. Then, it was like he couldn't remember why he was breathing hard and staring at an arm chair. He continued walking into the house.

  The floor creaked and the dust on the floor seemed to fidget when they walked. Ponyboy pulled Jodie along to the picture frames on the walls. They were covered in layers of dust and were hanging askew on the wall. The walls had great big cracks running across them. Pony's wrinkled and shaking hand reached up and grabbed a picture frame off the wall. The nail that had been holding it up took that as its chance to fall out of the wall. It bounced off Pony's shoe and clattered to the floor.

   Jodie pulled her sleeve into her fist and wiped off the glass part of the picture. It showed three young boys in it. They were all handsome and looked different yet similar. The most handsome of the three had dark gold hair that was combed back- long, silky, and straight. He had beautiful dark brown eyes and a sensitive looking face.

  The next boy looked muscular and athletic. He had dark hair that kicked out in the front and little tufts were sticking up in the back; a cowlick. He had pale blue-green eyes that looked strong and determined. He was the only one who wasn't smiling in the photo. He still looked happy, though.

  The last boy of the three was clearly the youngest. He had light brown, almost red hair that was long in the front and sides, but looked a bit weird in the back. He had silvery green eyes and a handsome smile. He was a doll. Ponyboy's lips twitched into a small smile.

  "That's me and my brothers. Soda, Darry, and I'm the awkward looking one." Jodie watched her grandpa point to each person individually. He placed the photo on the nearby table. He grabbed another one. It had the same three boys, but there were a couple more people in the picture this time.

  The first boy had thick, greasy hair that was combed back in complex looking swirls and he had a sideways smile. His arm was across Soda's shoulders and they were smiling at each other. Soda had a goofy grin and it was clearly contagious. They looked like they were best friends.

  The second boy had light brown colored hair and impressive sideburns. He had a wide grin and was obviously laughing whenever the picture was taken. His hand was resting on Darry and Pony's shoulders. His eyes were squeezed shut do to the laughter. He caused a smile to break across Pony's face as he looked at the picture.

  The third boy was standing next to Ponyboy. He had dark, shaggy hair that hungover his forehead and in his black eyes. He wasn't smiling, but he too looked happy to be there. His face was dark and tanned, but there was one part that wasn't. He had a long scar that ran from his temple to his cheek, right beside his eye. It was a lighter color than his skin. Him and Pony looked the same age and height.

  The last boy had long, fluffy, blond hair that was almost white. He had blazing blue eyes. The kid had an elfish face, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin, and ears like a lynx. He looked meaner than the rest of them. Maybe he was, or maybe he was as sweet as Ponyboy.

  "That's the gang. The other boys are Steve, Two-Bit, Johnny, and Dallas. They were our best friends..." Pony's wrinkled and shaking hand caressed the glass of the picture frame. He'd forgotten about his friends. He was surprised to remember their names. He couldn't remember their last names though, which wasn't surprising.

  "They look cool, Grandpa. Was Steve Soda's best friend?" Jodie asked. Pony nodded and she smiled. He placed the picture frame on the table with the other one.

  "Let's look at the rooms, Jodie." Pony grasped her hand again and led her to the farthest room. He pushed the door open and saw the faded gold comforter on the king sized bed. It was Mr. and Mrs. Curtis' room. They had pictures in there too, but Pony couldn't bring himself to step over the threshold and into their room. It was his parent's room and it felt weird to be looking into it. He couldn't remember the last time he set foot in there. Pony pulled the door shut again and walked toward the next room.

  Jodie opened the door and they walked into the bedroom. It was a plain room with checkered blankets on the bed and a desk in front of the window. The desk had trophies on it and some text-books. The bed had a ton of boxes sticking out from underneath it. A calendar was hanging above the bed. The year on it was 1973 and the month was open to November. It was Darry's room. Jodie and Pony walked around it for a moment before moving to the next one.

  This room was blank. It didn't have sheets on the bed, a desk in it, or even boxes sticking out from underneath the bed. It did have some stuff laying on the bare mattress, however. The objects on the bed were letters. Jodie picked them up and looked over at her grandpa. It had been Soda's room before he moved in with Pony. Pony tried to remember why they shared a room, but he was out of luck.

  "Can I read them aloud, Grandpa?" She asked. Pony sat down on the mattress and nodded for her to begin. She flipped the first letter over in her hands. It had 'return' stamped in bold letters across the addressed person. "It says it's to a girl called Sandy from Sodapop Curtis. It's been returned, unopened."

  "Let's not read that one. What's the other one?" Pony's worn out voice asked. Jodie flipped to the other envelope. It was a blank envelope with things stuffed inside it. Jodie pulled a telegram out of the envelope. Her features softened. Pony asked her what it was.

  "It's a telegram..." Jodie tried to put it back into the envelope, but Pony stopped her.

  "Read it to me, please." His eyes were misty again, but Jodie obliged. She squinted at the pink tinted paper. The wording had faded over the years since it was sent. "'The secretary of the army has asked me to express his deepest regret that your brother, specialist five Sodapop P. Curtis, died in Vietnam on October 8, 1973, from explosion of a hostile mine. His body cannot be recovered. Witnesses have identified him. Please accept my deepest sympathies.' "

  Pony sat on the bare mattress while he stared at the wall. He'd forgotten why he'd left the house, his friends, and his only living relative. He'd forgotten that Sodapop hadn't died by natural causes. He'd forgotten how he felt the first time he read the telegram that was sent to the house instead of his beloved brother. A horrible realization stuck him. October 8 was Soda's birthday...

  "Grandpa, maybe we should leave now." Jodie spoke softly. Pony shivered and shook his head before he spoke. "I want to see the rest of the house."

  Jodie helped him stand up and they walked to the last room. It was his and Soda's shared room. There was a desk beside the bed and the bed had the same checked comforter as Darry's. The desk was a bit different, as it was covered in books and boxes were at the foot of the bed. The boxes were filled with books, too.

  "Woah! Look at all the books!" Jodie exclaimed and rushed over to them. There were probably a hundred books in the room. Pony shuffled over and pulled some out of the boxes. Catcher In The Rye, Lord Of The Rings, The Carpetbaggers, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest, Lord Of The Flies, and Gone With The Wind were a few of the books that Pony pulled out of the box. He grabbed for Gone With The Wind and clutched it in his hands for a moment.

  He felt like he should know something about the book, or at least feel something. He'd seen the movie once before when he was younger. Yeah, that's what it was. He'd always wanted the book, too. Maybe he'd just forgotten about it. Pony tossed it to the side and watched Jodie go through the boxes of books.

  "Hey, Grandpa? Your full name is Ponyboy, right?" Jodie asked. Pony said yes and she waved a large packet in the air. It was notebook paper held together with a staple in the upper left corner of it. He squinted at it. The ink from a pen was prominent on it.

  "It's titled 'The Outsiders'. Your name is on the front of it with a 100% for a grade." Jodie pushed it into his hands. Pony looked at it for a second. He saw the first sentence on the front page. Something in his brain switched on and he knew he needed to read it. He looked up at Jodie and handed it back to her.

  "You're going to read that to me, okay?" Pony asked her. She nodded and he stood up. She helped him walk to the living room. Pony down on the couch and Jodie sat in the arm chair. There was enough light flooding through the gritty windows and the opened front door that Jodie could see to read.

  Ponyboy sat with his hands by his sides and a focused look on his face. He was waiting for Jodie to begin to read. He had a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. He tried to ignore it as the feeling he forgot something rang in his head. Maybe that would be fixed soon. Especially now that he was in his old house. Jodie cleared her throat and began to read.

  "'When I stepped into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, I had only two things on my mind: Paul Newman and a ride home.'" The words hit Pony with a force he'd never felt before. Old feelings and a sensation of falling slammed into him. He started to recall everything he'd forgotten as Jodie kept reading the story. They sat for hours as the words drifted off the page and created the most heart-wrenching and truly amazing story that had ever unfolded before them. Pony's chest constricted as the unexpected part hit him. It was the part he'd forgotten, or made himself forget.

  "'Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold...'"Jodie read off the words and her voice cracked as she did. "'The pillow seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died. You read about people looking peacefully asleep when they're dead, but they don't. Johnny just looked dead. Like a candle with the flame gone. I tried to say something, but I couldn't make a sound.'"

  A tear rolled down her face and dropped onto her hand as she read. She kept reading despite her tears. Pony felt his chest constrict and his heart speed up. How had he forgotten that? How had he forgotten that his best friend died? How could he forget spending a week in Windrixville with him? The story continued and got worse.

   "'Dally raised the gun, and I thought: You blasted fool. They don't know you're only bluffing. And even as the policemen's guns spit fire into the night I knew that's what Dally wanted. He was jerked half around by the impact of the bullets, then slowly crumpled with a look of grim triumph on his face. He was dead before he hit the ground. But I knew that was what he wanted, even as the lot echoed with the cracks of shots, even as I begged silently- Please not him... not him and Johnny both- I knew he would be dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he always got what he wanted.'" Jodie quit reading and wiped her tears on the sleeve of her shirt.

  Pony stayed quiet and waited for her to continue. He'd forgotten about Dallas dying, too. Jodie started reading again and Pony looked at the pictures on the wall. About ten minutes later, the story was over. Story. That all Pony wished it was.

  "You're a really good writer, Grandpa. I'm sorry..." Jodie drifted off. She was pretty shaken up. Her eyes were puffy and tears were still rolling down her face. Her fingers twiddled across the back page and she yanked it off. It was a page of different handwriting and it looked like it had been folded up at some point.

  "Grandpa, this is Johnny's note to you. Do you want me to read it aloud?" Jodie's voice cracked as she held it up for him to see. She'd already read it once, because Pony had put it in his theme. It was different, though. It was different when it was the actual note Johnny had written. Pony nodded and she began to read it aloud.

  "'Ponyboy, I asked the nurse to give you this book so you could finish it. The doctor came in a while ago but I knew anyway. I keep getting tireder and tireder. Listen, I don't mind dying now. It's worth it. It's worth saving those little kids. Their lives are worth more than mine, they have more to live for. Some of their parents came by to thank me and I know it was worth it. Tell Dally it's worth it. I'm going to miss you guys. I've been thinking about it, and that poem, that guy that wrote it, he meant you're gold when you're a kid, like green. When you're a kid everything's new, dawn. It's just when you get used to everything that it's day. Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it's a good way to be. I want you to tell Dally to look at one. He'll probably think you're crazy, but ask for me. I don't think he's ever really seen a sunset. And don't be bugged over being a greaser. You still have a lot of time to make yourself be what you want. There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows. Your buddy, Johnny.' "

  Pony let a tear slip down his face and his bottom lip quivered. He remembered. He remembered everything now. He remembered Soda's telegram arriving and everyone falling to pieces. Steve leaving for good, Two-Bit sobbing and drinking anything he could get a hold of, Darry falling apart and collapsing on the spot, and Pony himself leaving home. Everything there reminded him of Soda, Johnny, and Dallas. He ran away from his life and all the memories he'd made there. Pony pretended not to remember anything about his family and childhood until he didn't have to pretend anymore, because he really forgot. Now that he could remember it again, he felt horrible and guilty.

  "It's okay, Grandpa. It's okay." Jodie tried to comfort him and muffle her own sob. Everything hurt. Pony in took breath and tried to wipe the tears away with his hand. He stood up and walked to the room he and Soda had shared. He grabbed 'Gone With The Wind' off the bed and walked back into the living room. His shaking hands gave the novel to his great-granddaughter. She took it immediately and opened to the first page. Ponyboy had never finished the book and he was about to. He was going to do it as an apology for forgetting everyone and everything. He was going to do it so the memory of this happening didn't die with him. He was going to do it to try and appease his guilt.

  Most importantly: He was going to do it for Johnny.