#when i maintain conversation w someone my attention is usually fully on them

[xbadnews-a]

today my brain has been having trouble connecting socially. i did, however, get a few things done ( i tagged all my ic posts, did a web weaving & collected all my drafts among other things ) but i mostly needed a recharge day today [ yesterday?? the 5th ] & I'm glad i took it. tomorrow i should be back in the swing of things but if I'm not i wont be pushing myself beyond what i feel capable of

[autistic-sidestep]

1, 11, 24, and 32 for suranga? 😳

thank!

1. what is their secret identity? do they have any nicknames? what is the meaning behind them?

(ngl the secret identity question is confusing so i’ll go to nicknames) off the top of my head, sides and sidey (barely tolerated from ortega, allowed from themmy) while in the sidestep suit, , probably bug-eyes by other heroes/vigilantes when they’ve teamed up cos the sidestep mask is a bit unsettling. he has the tendency to stare intently at people w/o realizing which themmy’s briefly teased him about.

With steel and sentinel and sunstream it was either sidestep or on last name basis only, but sura is a shortening of his name, just as he does for ricardo into ric (ortega proposed ranga and suranga immediately retaliated with ‘ricky’). they do alternate with using last names for eachother sometimes.

11. are they more self-serving or more focused on others’ needs?

i'd say self serving but he's also more focused on others' needs than he'd like to admit? it’s part of the reason he minimized casualties at the gala, and ended up rescuing the staff at the mansion, and also took the hit for the civilian against blaze. he liked being helpful in his sidestep days, (partly why he ended up begrudgingly agreeing to train herald, and to offer to help ortega with his hg stuff, and also reconditioning spoon, though chen doesn’t know that) and in spite of having a past self rivalry and trying to distance himself from his old hero persona, he's still in the habit of caring way too much about other people even when it gets him into trouble/complicates things more.

24. how do they typically come across to strangers? to friends? do they frequently use their telepathy to influence others’ perceptions of them?

To strangers, unassuming/forgettable and not worth bothering, with a little bit of telepathic nudging to drive the point further. his cane can kind of help with that too, which he uses to his advantage. he's noticed people with mobility aids are less paid attention to/ignored (iirc sidestep does say something similar in text about their scars too), which is one of the reasons he started using it after a lot of debate (amongst others). ofc there's the trade-off of having to deal with the brief pitying looks/gawking, which is annoying, but dealable with, either with telepathy or just ignoring it depending on the day. If he really has to maintain a conversation with an acquaintance, then he can do enough conversation and banter to feel natural (with some help from telepathic nudging) and then wrap it up without coming across as outright rude. There’s exceptions like with marcia where he can’t find an easy excuse to leave, but he also finds himself enjoying it - that’s how he accidentally ended up befriending rosie as carmen/the puppet.

with friends, he’s a lot more caustic and deadpans a lot, but that's actually a sign he likes them, rather than feeling the need to be polite. If he shows affection it’ll usually be followed up with insult or something else to maintain the cool facade (exuding ‘whatever i don’t care’ energy but he cares so much he’s going to explode and doesn’t know how else to deal with it).

32. do they favor forceful mind control or subtle manipulations?

Subtle manip all the way! Gentle touches are better for maintaining his cover, and it’s a method he’s more used to from his Farm infiltration days and as Sidestep. That, and the advantages to not being a known telepath as Argos means it’s that much easier to get the drop on someone with his powers if no one knows he has them. With forceful telepathy, he’s not fully confident in his control - something unintended might happen if he doesn’t use enough restraint, like potentially frying someone’s brain. It’s a similar reason why he picked telepathy boosts to make sure he’s got a handle on the nanovores. Dominating someone’s consciousness feels too much like how Heartbreak controlled him, and he’d rather avoid it if he has to, so if he does have to possess someone, he makes sure it’s as quick a process as possible.

[princeanxious]

Does Virgil ever get a little jealous in the werewolf au?

Hi yes so uh, i was gonna answer this normally, but then i got a scenario in my head and tbh i just had to write it. So uh, you get a fic as an answer to this. Yay?

The One Time Virgil Got Jealous

Warnings: romantic inteactions(including kissing and hickeys), jealousy, and someone trying to flirt w/ roman while he’s in a relationship.(don’t worry, virge takes care of that)

[[MORE]]

It was the week after finals, and Virgil had just spent the past week recuperating from the accumulated stress of the ending college year’s workload. The pack had decided, by Logan’s suggestion, to head out and celebrate Virgil passing his classes with flying colors this semester.

He’d been reluctant, but Roman’s pout had done him in easily, as he couldn’t resist the incentive to stop by the town’s craft store first to be treated to a new sketchbook and new art supplies. Even Patton had begged for him to go, and at that point he’d been plenty outnumbered.

They’d dressed up a bit for the occasion, and he’d even let Roman fuss over adding some color to his usually simple makeup. Roman wore his favorite skinny jeans and a poet shirt that was more form-fitting around the torso, leaving his collar unbuttoned just enough to bare his chest and look sultry, but not quite enough to look burly. Virgil matched his mate’s skinny jean look but decided a t-shirt and his hoodie with fur trim were more than enough.

The pack had similar sentiments, dressing up just a bit, even in playfully jabbing at how their Alphas had dressed up so differently. Patton in a plaid flannel, and Logan in a button up, blue vest, and tie.

By the time the promised errands had been run and settled, Virgil found himself sitting inside with his pack at a local pub. Stories were passing about, drinks and food were being served, and happy chatter filled the space. Roman had ended up with Virgil tucked up against his side, and they had been bickering about disney for the past 30 minutes. Everytime Roman got a little too heated or passionate, though he was not being mean or aggressive, Virgil would lean up and peck him on the cheek, or lips, or shoulder, and sooth Roman back to calmness.

Things had been calm, if a bit loud as more customers came in for the saturday night rush. The food had been great, and the experience had so far been pleasant.

And then, he and Patton had gone to the restroom.

Now. In all his life, and his few romantic experiences, Virgil had never really felt anything close to jealousy before. Perhaps, betrayal(when he’d been cheated on), sadness, and annoyance. But never true jealousy.

That was until, when he and Patton had made their way back to the tables where their pack sat, and saw Her.

It was one thing, to walk over to a stranger and flirt with them in their first meeting. It was another thing to do so when said stranger had obviously already been flirting with a significant other for the past half hour.

It was an entirely different story to insert yourself into their absent significant other’s seat and be touching and flirting with them and disregarding the fact that they were already taken.

The rest of the pack’s chatter had tapered off some, and many were eyeing the stranger with vague annoyance, though none had made a move due to their head alpha’s absence. He’d heard rather than saw Patton’s intake of breath at the newcomer, but Virgil remained silent. Roman’s expression bordered both peeved and mildly uncomfortable as he stated clearly that he was taken and not interested over and over.

“Well, thats not good.” Patton had mumbled, eyeing his younger friend with worry, unsure on how Virgil would react, and was ready to comfort him if need be.

Her back had been mostly to them, and she was more focused on ogling at Roman than listening. If Virgil could growl, he would have done so unconsciously the moment he watched her put a hand on Roman’s bicep and giggled.

Slowly, he walked forward towards the table with Patton trailing behind, his face a mask of cold indifference. Smoothly, he leaned against the high table, folding his arms and staring directly at the woman as Patton sat down, whispering to Logan.

It took her a moment to notice, any of the pack’s small conversations pattering off into silence at the confrontation, and the object of her lust turning his attention to someone else with relief. Eventually she turned around, and blue eyes met piercing grey.

“Um.. Hi?” She greeted, his eye twitched, but he maintained an indifferent expression.

“Sup.” He tilted his head to the side and against his arm, his eyes staying open enough to stare at her. There was a quiet moment where nothing was said before he spoke up.

“Your in my spot.” He leveled, trying to keep the anger out of his voice, and let it pitter down to annoyance. He really didn’t want to make a scene, but he allowed his expression to turn into a scowl and a sneer to twitch at his lips with his next words. “And touching what’s mine.”

“Um. I don’t see your name on it, so sorry if I don’t believe you.” Her demeanor changed a bit to sarcasm as she seemed to purposefully get herself comfy in the chair.

“I’m afraid you misunderstand me,” He leaned in a bit, his sneer returning as he spoke. “I’m not talking about the chair.”

He leaned back, standing up fully and making his way around the chairs to stand behind Roman. He was quick but gentle to curl his fingers into Roman’s hair and tug, tilting Roman’s head back, staring into his mate’s eyes before kissing him deeply. Such an action elicited a deep pleased growl from Roman, who reached up to thread his hand through Virgil’s hair. A few whoops and cheers erupted from their pack at the strong display of confidence and baring his claim.

By the time he’d pulled away, the woman was storming off and his seat was free. It didn’t exactly stop him from depositing himself into Roman’s lap instead, and sagging into his mate’s embrace, the adrenaline from such an encounter finally draining from him. Roman seemed more than fine now, seeing as he was now more occupied with mouthing and nipping at his neck, on a mission to match his mate’s claim. He grumbled, knowing he’d be covered in hickeys before the night’s end.

Roman was his though, and that was enough.

[valhallanrose]

Sabina ( @arcanecadenza ) did this lovely prompt of A Kiss for Losing a Bet between her OC Dante and my Zelda, which immediately made me spiral and now I have a second meeting fic from Zelda’s perspective because I ultimately am now a fan of this pairing. Dante’s just baby, I can’t help it.

Fic under the cut for the sake of your dash

Zelda heard the locked shop door pull as if someone tried to open it, she’d been wrist deep in a flowerpot full of dirt, getting it ready for one of her other plants to be transferred into it. There was a moment of panic, several moments of just standing around with her muddy hands wondering what to do before she remembered that she was, in fact, a magician. 

“Oh, just a moment!”

She quickly flicked her wrists, the dirt vanishing into nothingness before she crossed the room to the window beside the door. Zelda was already half leaning out of the stained-glass panels before they were fully open, polite smile on her face as she spoke. “I’m sorry, we’re closed at the moment, but I’ll be open again tomorrow…”

When she got a good look at who had been trying to open the door, a really good look, she could have just about died. 

Dante stepped down off the stoop as she laid her hands on the windowsill, face cherry red and eyes wide as he approached the window with a casual sort of smirk that had her mind committing a minor malfunction. She was frozen as he leaned in, bracing his arms on the windowsill and speaking to her in a hushed sort of tone. 

“That’s alright. I came looking for you, anyhow.”

The night she’d kissed him, over a game of cards with just enough blackberry liqueur helping her throw all inhibition to the wind, she hadn’t expected to ever actually see him again. She didn’t visit taverns, certainly didn’t gamble, and figured that the odds of him actually looking her up were rather slim. 

So the fact that he was standing in front of her right now, outside her shop?

Fuck. 

“What, you want me to absolutely demolish you in cards again?” She teased gently, watching with some delight that his own cheeks turned pink. “Can’t say I’d be opposed, but I don’t own a suitable deck at the moment. Or is this just an excuse to lay one on a stranger when you bet a kiss again?”

Zelda propped her chin in her hand, a smile pulling at her lips as he flushed, and found herself taking him in all over again. 

The dim light of the tavern hadn’t done him justice. She couldn’t easily see the freckles scattered across his skin, so many more than she had, couldn’t see the different shades of brown swirling in his eyes. Her eyes followed the loose curls of his hair down the sides of his face, over the curve of his cheeks...down to that beauty mark in the center of his lower lip that she found she wouldn’t quite mind kissing again. 

She idly wondered if he’d taste like orange juice and gin again if she did. 

“I like to think I don’t make it a habit of kissing strangers.” Zelda heard him say, drawing her out of her reverie and making her refocus on the conversation at hand. “Though, if you’re so eager for a recreation, we don’t have to be.”

Zelda chuckled and rolled her eyes, reaching out and gently pushing his glasses back up his nose when they started to slip. Her voice lowered to a purr, much more characteristic of when she got a little tipsy than her usual self, but...something about him just made her bolder than usual.

“Oh, but you aren’t a stranger to me. I’d wager I know you far better than you think.” She murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob slightly as her hand lowered to smooth out his necktie.

He lifted a brow, expression somewhat roguish despite the growing flush on his cheeks. “Oh really? Have we met before? I’d hope I wouldn’t forget such a face.” 

His hand lifted, brushing a few pieces of hair out of her eyes - surprisingly at height with her even as she leaned down from the window. Zelda only laughed, shaking her head and taking his hand in hers. She turned it over in her palm, lazily tracing her fingers over the lines of his hand as she spoke. “No, but I do read palms, and yours were quite easy to get a look at over the table.”

Dante groaned dramatically, leaning hard into the windowsill and rolling those warm honey eyes in her direction. “Oh, and this is the part where you predict my impending death and tell me there’s a dark, handsome stranger in my future, isn’t it?”

She smacked his palm lightly, playful over aggressive, and shook her head. 

“Hands tell a story, Dante. I can read them just like an open book.” Zelda’s hand started to pull away, her tone becoming nonchalant as she continued. “Of course, if you’re worried, I can always just keep it to myself…”

When he grabbed her hand again and nearly smacked it down on his own, she had to bite back laughter, his expression somewhere between disbelieving and curiosity as their hands settled on the sill again. 

“No, no, I’d like to see what you think you know. But if you’re wrong...you owe me a favor, to be called in at any time.”

“I’m rarely wrong, so I’ll take that bet. I’d like to maintain my winning streak.” Zelda giggled softly, lowering her gaze to his hand in hers. For a long moment, her fingers passed down his, following the shape of his hands and the lines of his palm before she looked back up at him. 

She didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on her face, too focused on her quiet words as her thumb idly stroked over his palm. 

“As I said, hands tell you a lot about a person.” She said softly, trailing the very tips of her fingers across the center of his palm and smiling a little as his own fingers twitched. “And not a lot of people think about it. You can probably tell I’m a gardener just by looking at mine.”

“And not at all by the absurd number of plants I can see over your shoulder.” Dante teased, and she felt herself flush again under the intensity of his gaze and the curve of his lips. Instead, she just managed a roll of her eyes, lowering her attention back down to his palm instead in hopes that would somehow keep her from making a fool of herself.

“Palmistry, on the other hand,” she chose to ignore his amused snort, “tells more about a person if you know where to look.”

Her fingers shifted, tracing first over the curved line arcing around his thumb. “This one here is your life line.” 

“Ah, so this is where you tell me I’m going to die in three weeks. What do you think, food poisoning or mugging gone wrong?”

“Five minutes, using the pruning shears in my back pocket.” Zelda shot him a grin as she looked up to meet his own mischievous expression, snickering under her breath before her gaze lowered again. “No, the mortality thing is a misconception. Your life line focuses on your general well being, your passion for life, major changes and events in your life.”

She lazily drew her nail along that line, trying not to focus too hard on the chipped green polish that made her quite aware she hadn’t done shit to take care of her hands for a few days. “Yours is a long and strong line, meaning you’re dependable, but...it’s forked. Forked lines are usually indicative of a new path, redirection, and life change. And angled toward the Mount of Moon...traveling to far off places, which we know is true, dear traveling salesman.”

Her gaze flicked up briefly, searching for a reaction before her eyes dove back down and her cheeks heated when he realized he was watching her, not their hands. She held his gaze, brown nearly searing gold in the sunlight that made her feel a little weak until she managed to spit something coherent out.

“What? Something on my face?”

His face turned pink, but he shook his head, gesturing for Zelda to continue before she lowered her gaze. She pulled her hair idly over her, the ends brushing his palm as she lowered her fingers to the heel of his hand. She didn’t move it, though - she needed the cover to pretend like she wasn’t blushing like mad when she really took in how close he was. 

“This one here, in the center of your palm, is the head line. Yours is long, deep, and curved...you’re a person who’s intelligent, has an excellent memory and concentration, but you’re a romantic. You’re creative and open to new ideas, unafraid of exploring concepts and beliefs unfamiliar as you go. And here…” She tapped the next line, highest on his palm. “This one is your heart line. This one is wavy and double-forked - that means that though you weave both romance and practicality into your life, you’ve experienced less in the way of serious relationships.”

“Your fate line expresses how much of your path is controlled by destiny as opposed to your own will, and yours is…” Zelda stifled a laugh as she took in the line in question. “Well, let’s just say you’re very self-driven. You chose your own path, not the one laid out for you by others. And if your sun line is anything to go by...you’re willing to work hard for that success. It runs parallel to your fate line, meaning you could continue to grow that success and gain quite the reputation for yourself, but...it’s short, too. Don’t forget to stop and enjoy life, take some time for yourself, especially when it seems like you’re stuck in place.”

Zelda was quiet for a moment before she stiffened, realizing with some horror she’d practically been petting his hand for a good ten minutes and wanting to die a little inside as she cleared her throat. “Or, you know, die in three weeks via carriage accident and all your ex-lovers will come to your funeral to mourn.”

There were a few more beats of pause, and Zelda wanted to die just a little bit more, turning her face away as she started to withdraw her hand. But...his own shifted, just enough for him to lay her hand in his palm just as she had done to him before.

“So you get to know all about me, and I haven’t got a thing about you?” She heard him say, tone playful, idly noticing when she looked up that he was now studying her palm. Zelda watched as he carefully adjusted his glasses, brows quirking up when he lifted his gaze back to hers and gave her a light smirk. “What does your hand say, hm?”

“Oh, kotyonok, what makes you think I’d give that information over so easily?” Zelda grinned, feeling suddenly energized and impulsive all over again as she reached out and grasped his tie carefully. She pulled him into the window opening ever so slightly, placing a kiss on the corner of his lips before leaning in to murmur in his ear. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you a magician never reveals her secrets?”

Delighting in the way his face flushed, and ignoring her own reddening cheeks, she leaned back and pretended to consider the idea for a moment, then made a face as if she’d had an epiphany. “Well, not until she’s at least taken you on a proper date. How about you swing by at seven? Then you can learn all about what my hands tell you.”

The only answer she got was a sound very much like a mewling kitten as Dante, red faced, managed a nod and a sheepish sort of smile as Zelda straightened. With a final, very cheeky wink, the panels of her window swung shut - and she would wait a long, long time, until she was sure she was alone to laugh nervously in the empty and quiet shop.

“I am in so much trouble.”

(kotyonok - Neviv/Russian for kitten)

[kati-mariposa]

Guardians: Chapter 2

Characters: OC, Bill Skarsgard & Jeffrey Dean Morgan

*WARNING: Mild Language

Summary: Can be found in Chapter 1

[*DISCLAIMER: The actors do not represent themselves as actors, but as the characters I created to play out in the story.]

-Chapter 3

“What are you working on right now?” Jeffrey asked, casting a shadow by hovering over me as I sat on the beige couch.

“I’m doing a Christmas themed commission for someone who’s just as obsessed with the holidays as I am,” I replied with my eyes glued to the picture. I drew a stray line by accident and had to erase it gently, so that I don’t bend the paper or tear it. I’d die if that’d happen.

“But it’s not even Halloween yet,” he reminded me as he went around and sat on the loveseat diagonal of me.

“I’m almost always dreaming of Christmas even during Springtime,” I grinned when I glanced up at him, quietly chuckling under my breath.

He chuckled deeply in his chest and gave a warm smile towards me, grabbing a book from the coffee table to read. Sometimes he liked to relax and read anything he can find, while I enjoy drawing, for fun and for business, then practice writing on the side.

“Do you plan to go to bed soon? Or are you staying up to draw?” he wondered while scanning his book.

“Nah. I got plenty of time to work on it more tomorrow before I have to get ready for the Halloween party at Alexander’s house,” I told him as I sketched some new lines on the paper.

There was only silence between us for a minute or two, but it suddenly felt cold in the room. It also felt like a pair of eyes were burning through my head as I peered down at my sketch book. I eventually raised my head to check out my hunch and sure enough, Jeffrey had his dark hazel eyes pierce into mine, which made me uncomfortable and click my mechanical pencil out of nervousness.

“Right. The party. Do you have your costume ready?” his curious tone didn’t sound so pleased.

“Yep. I took care of the finishing touches just before I started drawing today. I only need to make sure I have everything together for tomorrow.”

“How will you be getting there?”

“Bill’s supposed to pick me up.”

“Is he dropping you off back home afterwards or is he planning on taking you to his apartment, into his bedroom for the night?”

I froze abruptly when he said the last sentence, which also began to make me uneasy and I bit my lip out of annoyance.

“Jeffrey!” I said irritated.

“What? I simply asked a question,” he tried to lie with his rough voice. I could tell he was being distasteful of Bill again without being so forward. Basically beating around the bush.

“Yeah, but you constantly try to make him look bad when he’s not provoking you or has done anything to deserve your rudeness,” I defended Bill. My voice began to rise a bit from the small intensity of the argument.

Jeffrey was offended that I snapped back at him for disrespecting my friend, but he had no right to talk about him like he was some kind of sleazy person. Sometimes, I felt like he purposely plotted ways to get me to not like Bill, but I couldn’t fully prove it and it seemed unlikely that he’d be that drastic.

“He’s a young guy. I was his age once and I know what’s on their minds at that time in their lives. He’s up to no good,” he explained putting the opened book face down on the coffee table. I put my pencil and sketch pad to the side of me in order to concentrate on the conversation with my “Guardian Godfather”.

“Oh he’s not like that! Give me examples of why you think “he” of all the other people I know, is such a bad person?” I challenged him loudly, crossing my arms and sitting with my feet planted to the floor for support.

“He’s a smoker,” his response was given.

“You smoke too. But he doesn’t do it so often and he rarely smokes around me because he knows I hate cigarettes. Does that make you a bad person for smoking?”

“No. But I’ve seen the look in his eyes, the way he sees you whenever you’re around. It’s obvious there’s something he wants from you and it’s usually the one and only thing on every man’s mind. In fact, I’m surprised he’s hung around for this long.”

He was pissing me off, so I stood up fast, firmly stomping on the floor and balling my hands into fists.

“Just stop it already! I can’t believe you would say those terrible things about him like that. He’s not what you think he is, so don’t ever talk about him that way!” I yelled at him with sheer anger.

He fixed himself on the cushion, clasping his big hands onto his grey pajama pants as rage also fueled his emotions high. He was silent as he scolded me through his black frame glasses, but he removed them to continue the stare down with me, like he meant business.

“Don’t give me that tone little lady,” he clenched his jaw.

“I’ll stop once you stop insulting Bill,” I dared to tell him. I was so worked up, my hands were nervously shaking, but I kept them firm by my side. The corner of my eyes were tearing up from Jeffrey’s words echoing in my mind. I blinked a few times and ultimately a tear or two rolled down my warm cheek. I couldn’t even make eye contact at that point, I was so upset with him.

“Wait a minute. Don’t tell me… Oh Lord,” he muffled while pinching the arch of his nose.

I didn’t say a word, but I was worried about what he was going to say next. Who knew what was going through his mind. His eyes were focused on the floor for a short few seconds before returning his attention towards me. Then, he started to chuckle, which freaked me out because after that, he grinned.

“You. Oh Kat, Kat, Kat. My little kitten,” he chanted slowly standing over me, showing off superiority, “Are you?”

“Am I what?” I hesitated.

“Sweetheart, are you in love with Bill?” he finished, snickering to himself.

“W-What?!” I was taken aback by his assumption.

“Are you?” he said as calm as he could maintain.

“Why are you like this? You used to not care and suddenly you’re making more of an effort to intimidate him. Why change now?”

“Answer the damn question,” he demanded.

“No! Even if I might be, I’m better off not telling you about it,” I snapped, partially lied to his face.

Deep down, I did kind of have feelings for Bill, but I would never admit it. I especially would never tell Jeffrey after the crap he’s been pulling. I picked up my drawing supplies from the couch and made my away around Jeffrey so I could head for my room. I was too emotional in front of him and I refused to break down and let him win this argument.

“Where are you going? We’re not finished talking here,” he shouted at me.

“You’re not my dad! This conversation is over,” I cried back, ignoring him down the rest of the hallway until I finally reached my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it.

I then tossed my stuff onto my black desk and ran to the bed, crawling under the sheets and pouring my eyes out with unlimited tears. My sobs were discreet because I didn’t want him to hear me. The only things I heard after storming out of the living room was the footsteps of Jeffrey retreating to his bedroom at the end of the hall. He shut the door loud, startling me as I wept under the blanket.

I couldn’t understand it. He was never that way when I was first becoming friends with Bill. In fact, he welcomed him into the family even though we weren’t dating. As a matter of fact, he truly liked Bill then. For a year, Jeffrey showed his hospitality and trustworthiness to him, but something was definitely off nowadays. What did he mean by “the way Bill looks at me”? He saw me differently? It’s just too overwhelming, I thought, it made my head hurt. Things needed to go back to normal.

I grabbed my phone and was about to call Bill so I could seek comfort, but then I side-tracked. It didn’t seem wise to immediately call and complain about Jeffrey’s insults to the one person it was meant for, at least not right away, in my condition. If he heard even a sign of unhappiness and sniffles, he’ll automatically worry a lot and interrogate the crap out of me. Not that it was a completely bad thing, but I was too overcome with anger and sadness to express it to him then. I also didn’t want him to become even more hateful of Jeffrey, since I knew it could cause more problems between all of us.

I care for Jeffrey, but I also care for Bill. This was too much to bear in mind as I uncovered myself from the sheets to get some cooler air. I needed to do something. I couldn’t stay here for the night. I had to leave.

I sat up, pondering what to do. If I wanted to leave the house, I’d have to wait until Jeffrey fell into a deep sleep, but as a start, I had to pack what I was planning to wear for Halloween. So I jumped out of bed, searched and gathered all of my costume necessities, took out a dark red duffle bag from my closet and carefully packed my items inside, organizing at the same time. I would need to wait awhile until I could see that the coast was clear to leave to spend the night at someone else’s place.

“Really hate this,” I muffled under my breath before finishing my packing, then sitting on the bed, waiting almost impatiently for the time to sneak out like a mouse.

[gldngrl7]

Karamel Fic: Permission to Flourish (7/11)

Title: Permission to Flourish

Author: gldngrl7

Date Started: February 12, 2017

Rating: T for Teen (I know!  I can’t believe it either!)

  Author’s Notes:  

This story is the sequel to Bulletproof. Please read that one-shot before diving into this one.

This chapter introduces another original character that I really loved writing.  I always knew that Mike was going be stubborn and that he was going to need a lot of outside influences to help him reach his decision.  He needed someone to tell him it was okay to stop thinking with his head and start thinking with his heart again.

Comments are welcomed, flames are destroyed with my freeze breath.

So many many thanks to my those who’ve taken the time to comment: @lostin-the-desert @anaveragegirl15 @threesilverthings88 @emarasmoak @myfangirlinghq

           I'll close my eyes

                 Then I won't see

                       The love you don't feel

                                   When you're holding me

          Mornin' will come

                   And I'll do what’s right

                           Just give me till then

                                       To give up this fight

            And I will give up this fight

 --Bonnie Raitt – “I Can’t Make You Love Me”

  Chapter 7/11

  Playing Valor left Mike stinking of fire and fumes, and in desperate need of a shower.  Back in his slacks and plaid shirt, he landed in a clump of trees before hopping the back fence into the yard of the house where he rented a garage apartment.  It wasn’t close to work, but the undeveloped forest area behind his street made for perfect cover when he needed to slip in and out undetected.

 Years ago, Elam Scheinbaum, worried about how his wife would survive without him on a fixed income, had spent a portion of their life savings converting their detached garage into a fully functional studio apartment.  It was an investment in her golden years, allowing her to have a modest income from the tenant’s monthly rent payment.

 Walking across the yard, he heard the back door of the main house open, just as the patio light flicked on.  “Michael, is that you?” came a soft, uncertain voice.

 “It’s me, Mrs. Scheinbaum,” he reassured.  Even with the light on, her eyesight wasn’t the best at night.

 “Oh goodness,” she gasped, her hand fluttering over her chest.  “You’re home awfully late.”

 “One of my students was in an accident at school. I’ve been at the hospital with her mother,” he explained, before redirecting the conversation.  “You’re up awfully late.”

 “Well…my hips, you know,” she referred to the pain that sometimes kept her awake at night.

 “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 “Such a sweet boy,” she gushed.  Mrs. Scheinbaum was a tiny little thing, made even more diminutive by time and gravity.  The top of her kerchiefed head barely came up to his chest, and there were times he was terrified that if he touched her she would shatter to pieces.

 Being utterly clueless, Mike had asked about the kerchiefs once over an afternoon tea with his landlady (she loved to have him for tea on Sunday afternoons), and she explained that she and her husband Elam had worshipped in the Orthodox Jewish faith at the beginning of their marriage, where it was required for a woman to keep her hair covered for anyone other than her husband.  Over the years their religious practice had become more and more moderate as their four children entered their lives, but even with the shift in her practice, she never felt quite herself unless her head was covered.  Even with her husband dead for the last decade, Mike had never seen her head uncovered.

 “And I’ve been watching the coverage on the fire at the refinery.  My Eli worked summers there when he was in college.  Did I tell you that?”

 Her eldest son, Elijah had gotten his college degree in chemical engineering more than three decades ago and moved away shortly after having found work in Louisiana.  These days, he made brief visits to his mother during the holiday seasons with his wife and kids in tow.  “No, Mrs. Scheinbaum, you never told me that,” he shook his head.  Forgetting the reason why he had rushed home, Mike stepped closer to her.

 “How many times do I have to tell you to call me Naomi?” she teased.

 “Just once more, Mrs. Scheinbaum,” he teased right back, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

 “Such a good boy,” she muttered, shaking her head. Mike sometimes wondered if she felt her own sons weren’t good boys.  “Your mother must have raised you right.”  

 Mike thought that couldn’t be further from the truth, but answered her assumption with an upwards tilt of his lips.  Everything he had learned about being a good man he’d learned from Kara and Lois.  And from the example set by Clark.

 Her eyes squinted a little, suspiciously, as she looked at him.  “Come to think of it…I didn’t hear your car in the driveway.”

 “I had trouble starting my car,” he lied.  “I took an Uber.”

 She sniffed the air.  “You need a shower, Michael,” she suggested in that way that was more of a demand.

 “I was just about to….”

 “Take your shower, Michael.  I’ll put the kettle on.  You look like you could use a nice cup of tea.”

 She wasn’t wrong.  The earthly beverage of hot tea had restorative properties that couldn’t be explained or quantified – at least not by someone like him.  And after the day he’d had, a cup of tea sounded like just what he needed.

 Mike moved to step back, but her hand reached out to grab his wrist.  Her grip was tight, despite her age, the strength of a woman who had raised four strapping sons and had been given no quarter, nor had she offered any.  “I may be old, Michael, but I know what’s going on. I see things.  I also smell things.”

 His heart skipped in his chest as he instinctually shuttered his eyes and cleared his throat.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Scheinbaum,” he evaded. “I was just trying to get my car started.”

 She winked and gripped his wrist tighter, as if she knew he was too afraid of breaking her to pull away.  “Of course you were.  I just wanted you to know…that I know.   You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.  That’s all right, Michael.  Just know that I’m paying attention and I’m cheering you on.  And that you’ll always have a place in my home.”

 “Well I…thank you,” he said, deciding to let it go. He could never convince a 90-year-old widow that she didn’t know what she thought she knew.  It was a waste of time and breath.

 “Go on then,” she said, releasing his hand. “The kettle won’t take long to boil and I’ll have your cup ready for you.”

 Mike nodded and slipped away, out of the circle of the porch light, until he was unlocking the door to his apartment and flipping on the lights inside.  The flat was modest with a small kitchen, a bathroom with a shower, a full-sized bed in one corner and an entertainment center and sofa in another.  He didn’t need much and the apartment served his needs. The rent was cheap enough that he was able to put money in savings for a rainy day – or in the event he ever hastily needed a change of identity.

 He wasn’t worried on that score when it came to Mrs. Scheinbaum.  She may know what she knew but she would never breathe a word about it to anyone, not even to her gaggle of ladies with whom she played regular games of Canasta. Mike suspected that having him here, just a few steps away from her home, made her feel safe and if that were true, how could he take that away from her by telling her she was wrong?

 Mike could have showered before the water had a chance to steam up, but instead he took a few minutes to enjoy the feeling of the day and all of its drama being rinsed from his body and circling down the drain.  It was, of course, a pipe dream (aha!) but it was a lovely notion all the same.  Shower complete, he towel dried and left his hair wet and sticking out, straw-like from his head.  Mike donned his steamed up glasses again, as well as a pair of cargo shorts and a tee shirt, before slipping on a cheap, worn pair of flip-flops he usually only wore when he did the yard work outside, or took the trash bins to the curb on Wednesday nights.

 As predicted, she was dropping his preferred three sugar cubes into a steaming teacup when he walked in the back door. He’d been here a thousand times or more, but a part of him still waited to be invited like a little boy visiting a friend’s house.  She waved a hand, offering him his usual chair at the table, which he gladly accepted.

 “I’d tell you all this sugar will rot your teeth,” she smiled.  “But I suppose your teeth don’t rot, do they?”

 Mike opened his mouth to play off her suggestion, treat it like a funny game between them, or to once more suggest, quite unbelievably, that he didn’t know what she was talking about.  But then, he thought better of it.  What harm would it to do to give her the confirmation she so desperately wanted?  After all, he trusted her.  Knew her heart and knew that she would never intentionally reveal his secret.  It would be nice to have someone know – someone he could talk to face to face.

 Clark had drilled into him the necessity of maintaining the mask and had Mike had listened well, soaking up the advice from the man who made being a superhero an art form.  But Clark Kent had never meant this.  Don’t reveal yourself before others, before people you can’t contain. On the playground today, he had come a hairsbreadth from breaking that rule and he would have, had Supergirl not shown up just in the nick of time.

 But this wasn’t what Clark had meant when he’d taught Mike that rule.  Decide who you can trust with your secret.  Choose wisely.  Buried beneath the lessons, that had been in the hidden truth.

 “No, they don’t rot,” he answered her query, waiting for the regret to wash over him for revealing his true self.  It never came.  Without a hint of flair or drama, Mike reached up and removed his glasses, setting them on the table in front of him.

 Her eyebrows rose, as though she hadn’t been expecting him to crumble to her will quite so easily.  She threw back her head and laughed, a soft, raspy sound he found contagious.  “That must be nice,” she said, at last.  “I had a full set of dentures by the time I was seventy-two.  Sometimes I think we were only meant to live for as long as our teeth last.  Where are you from, Michael?  Krypton? Like Superman?”

 Unlike with Superman and Supergirl, there hadn’t been a massive media onslaught when he’d flown onto the scene.  No interviews or questions.  They’d made assumptions, of course but nothing they’d bothered to attempt confirming.  No one had even requested an exclusive, or if they had, he hadn’t been made aware. Alien superheroes were kind of old hat by then.

 “Daxam,” he answered.  Even though he didn’t need the tea to cool down to drink it, out of habit he did as humans did and blew at the steamy liquid.    “It is…was…in the same solar system as Krypton.  Like Supergirl, I grew up on a planet with a red sun.  When my planet was being bombarded with the remains of Krypton, I managed to escape in the flight pod of a Kryptonian emissary – who was already dead, or so I was told.  And that’s my story,” he said, as if wasn’t just the tip of the iceberg.

 She took a sip of her own tea, cream no sugar, staring out the kitchen nook window to the garage he called home.  “It must be a lonely life.”

 “There are other benefits,” he shrugged, but he couldn’t hide the desolate tone buried in his voice.

 “You know…my friend Ellen has a single granddaughter close to your age.  Lovely girl,” she announced, as though deciding to solve his loneliness problem in one night.  “A handsome boy like you should really have a girl.”  Then her head snapped up, tilting to one side to take a better measure of him. Her eyes twinkled in the soft glow of the kitchen light.  “Or a boy,” she said, with a casual shrug as though unflustered by such things.  “My friend Marion has a son who just broke up with his partner.  They were together for fifteen years, if you can believe it.  Perhaps he might be interested in a blind date.”

 Mike laughed.  He couldn’t help himself, because she seemed so invested in seeing him happy, and it had been a long time since anyone had cared.  “I appreciate the sentiment, Mrs. Scheinbaum, but….” He trailed off.  His heart panged in his chest like a hard strike to a gong that reverberated throughout his entire body.  He’d actually managed to go a few hours without thinking about Kara.

 “But your heart belongs to someone else,” she inferred from the look on his face.

 “I’m afraid so,” he answered, without bothering to reconsider his response, or to couch it in vaguer terms.

 “One day I’ll get that story out of you, Michael,” she insisted.

 “One day…I’m sure you will.”

 “Well don’t wait too long,” she warned.  “I’m ninety years old.  I don’t have many days left.”

 Mike grew sad at the thought of losing her.  Humans were so delicate and their lifespans so short. For some, death couldn’t find them fast enough as far as he was concerned, but for others like Naomi Scheinbaum, death would come all too soon, taking a bright light from the world when it did.  “I’m sure you’ll outlive us all,” he replied, wishful thinking.  

 “Nonsense,” the old woman sighed, taking a sip of her tea, and looking older than he’s ever seen her.   “I’ve seen too much of this world.  It will be time to be reunited with my Elam soon.”

 Her eyes glowed with such promise, as if the thought of dying didn’t scare her in the slightest, especially if it meant being with her lost love.  Mike hoped that while he was alive, Elam Scheinbaum knew exactly how lucky he was to be loved by a woman like Naomi with her whole soul.  His heart panged again at the thought, wishing hopelessly that he could have a love like that.  It occurred to Mike that Mrs. Scheinbaum might be just the person to hear his story, and now might be just the time to tell it.

 “I had a visit from her today,” he began, taking a sip of his tea and tasting the sweetness on his tongue.

 Sharp as a tack despite her advanced age, she quickly inferred, “The girl you love?”

 “Yes,” he replied.  “I haven’t seen her for six years.  When I landed on this planet…I disrupted her life…became a burden to her. In a way I became her responsibility. She was beautiful and strong and so compassionate to other people and so…determined.  She didn’t know how to give up – even when it would have been smarter and safer to quit.  I fell in love with her because it was impossible not to…and because she was impossible.”

 “She sure sounds like something special,” Mrs. Scheinbaum said, her tone gently encouraging him to continue.

 ‘She was,” he agreed, remembering those early days before he’d screwed it up by opening his mouth – or by kissing her in the first place.  He’d take it all back if he could; to return to the time when she was training him and they were having good times and a lot of laughter.  “But then I had to go and tell her how I felt.”

 “She didn’t feel the same?”

 Mike shook his head slowly.  “I wasn’t exactly the man she deserved.  I was selfish and self-centered; I wasn’t serious enough. We were so different, believed in different things.  We disagreed a lot.  I didn’t have the first clue what she needed or how to give it to her. Until…she came to me and said that she could never be with me.  That even if she had the time or the inclination to date someone, it wouldn’t be a man like me.  That’s when I knew….that the best thing I could do for her…what she needed…was for me to leave.  So I did.”

 “It’s what you both needed.  At the time,” she suggested.

 “Both needed?”

 “You were like a gosling, Michael, imprinting on the first person to make a significant impact on your life after your arrival.  You had no one and everything you knew was gone. You clung to her, perhaps enough to frighten her.  She became your…everything and that’s not good when you don’t even know who you are yet. But you did the right thing, dear. You departed the nest and, in the process, learned to fly on your own.  And look at you now…when you’re not using your powers to save lives, you’re a schoolteacher who molds young minds and shapes futures.  For an abysmal amount of money, might I add.  Tell me how that’s selfish and self-centered,” she huffed, obstinately.

 “It’s like I’m still clinging to her,” Mike said. “I’ve never been able to forget her…to move on.”

 “Maybe you’re not supposed to,” she suggested, pouring him a second cup of tea, and sliding the sugar bowl in his direction. “What was it like to see her again?”

 “It was like falling and knowing that hitting the ground is the only thing that’s going to stop you.”  A feeling with which he was all too familiar, thanks to Clark’s long-suffering, and increasingly enterprising attempts to teach him to fly.

 “Sounds like love.”  She smiled ruefully and sighed.  “I miss that feeling.  When just looking into his eyes is like stepping off a cliff.  When it’s right…when you’re in it together it’s okay though, because you know you have a soft place to land.”

 But that was exactly Mike’s problem.  Kara didn’t feel like a soft place to land, she felt like a bed of jagged rocks amongst a churning, pounding surf.

 “Why was she here?” Mrs. Scheinbaum asked.  “Here on business?”

 “You could say that.  She tracked me a down,” he told her.  “A mutual friend told her where to find me.  After six years of keeping it a secret.”

 “Secret?’ her thin, well-groomed eyebrows wrinkled her brow.  “Now this is getting interesting.  Why such secrecy, Michael?”

 “I wanted her to move on with her life.  I wanted it to be like I never landed in her backyard. Never screwed up her life.”

 “There’s only three reasons why a women would hunt down a man: love, greed, or revenge.  Which was it?”  Mrs. Scheinbaum leaned forward, teasing him in a conspiratorial whisper.

 “I left without saying goodbye,” he explained. “She just wanted the last word.”

 “So she just came to tell you off?  She put a lot of care into not caring about you.”

 “No…it wasn’t…like that….”  Mike’s mind went back to that scene in the hospital cafeteria. The tears he hadn’t wanted to see, still didn’t want to accept, and didn’t want to let in because he knew the damage they could do to the Kevlar around his heart.

 “What was it then?”

 “She told me she didn’t mean the things she’d said that night.  That she’d been young and stupid and scared.  She said that she was sorry…for all of it.  That it was the biggest regret of her life.  She said she liked me, but hadn’t known how to tell me or what to do about it.”

 “And did she tell you she still loves you?”

 “No,” he shook his head.  “Why?”

 “Because she does.”

 “No,” he insisted, “this was just her—“

 “You told me she was strong and determined and impossible,” Mrs. Scheinbaum interrupted.  “A woman like that doesn’t track a man down after six years and lay her heart at his feet unless she loves him.  Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone could you love you, Michael?”

 “I don’t know,” he mumbled.  “Maybe because no one ever has.”

 “You need to let yourself be loved, Michael.  It’s not hard,” she promised.  “You just have to….lean into it, and let it sweep you away. You did it once,” she pointed out. Mrs. Scheinbaum reached out, placing a hand, gnarled with age, the skin as thin and breakable as tissue paper, over his.  “Surely it can’t be any harder than learning to fly,” she winked.

 He chuckled, his voice dry and raspy despite the tea.  “You’d be surprised.”

 “My marriage to Elam was arranged,” she confessed, causing his eyes to widen.  “Not a popular notion these days, I know,” she waved a hand.  Being from Daxam, this was a concept he understood, but Naomi Scheinbaum was the first person of his earthly acquaintance who’d been in an arranged marriage.  “I was born in The Netherlands in 1934.   My family had been in the diamond business for four generations—it was amongst the first industries the Nazis sacked when they invaded Holland.  They needed industrial grade diamonds to build weapons, you understand.  Anyway, when you run a diamond business you learn quickly to be paranoid, to take security very seriously, and so my father was always prepared.  The Germans had already invaded Denmark, Norway, France and Luxembourg – he knew it was only a matter of time.  So he sent us—my mother and brother—out of the country to be safe as soon as he sensed the wolves were at the gate.    I arrived here when I was barely six years old, clinging so tightly to my mother’s hand when we stepped off the boat in New York.  We had a suitcase each and a small bag of cut diamonds, tucked in my underpants, to start a new life.  My father’s younger brother and his family arrived a month later.  That is when we learned my father had died at the hands of the Nazis that ransacked his business.”

 She’d been just like him once – long ago.  A stranger in a strange land where nothing made sense and the road home had closed behind them.  He covered her hand with his to let him know he understood – he truly did.

 “After the war, there were so few of us left it seemed, the Nazis had killed so many.  Elam fought in the war in his own way.  Though as an Orthodox he was a conscientious objector and wouldn’t pick up a gun, but at sixteen he had inherited his father’s printing business and so he offered his services to the war effort that way.  Printing propaganda leaflets and fliers – ‘Buy War Bonds’, ‘Loose Lips Sink Ships’ – that sort of thing.” Mrs. Scheinbaum rolled her eyes and tilted back her head, as though recalling what a silly child she once one. “And he was ancient when we met,” she said.  “Oh, Michael, he was so old!  Twenty-nine,” she chuckled.

 Mike laughed.  “Walking with a cane, was he?”

 “He might as well have been,” she insisted.  “I was seventeen,” she explained.  “Anyone older than the age my brother reached had one foot in the grave.”

 “What happened to your brother?”

 “He was twelve when we immigrated.  He would have turned right back around to go fight the Nazis if he could have.  After Pearl Harbor, there were lines out the door of the army recruitment centers. Nate was one of the first to sign up. He was barely nineteen years old at the time.  He died in August 1944 – buried in Normandy.

 “I’m very sorry.”

 “In 1951, our community was just beginning to recover from the war.  So many losses.  There wasn’t one among us who didn’t lose someone.  In our grief and our determination to continue on…to spit in the face of what the Nazis did to us…we banded together to renew our faith, to say…’We are still here”.  We married…we had children, because we believed God demanded it of us.  To be fruitful and multiply.  Elam saw me one Sabbath at temple and that was all it took. I don’t know what he saw in me, but he approached my uncle to ask for intercession.  My uncle encouraged the match but didn’t force it.  Elam was a good man who could make a good living and those were hard to come by after the war.  I didn’t love him, but I thought, ‘I should snap this man up before someone else does.’  And so I did. I was very pragmatic for a seventeen-year-old.”

 “I guess it worked out.”

 “Not at first,” she said.  “We were strangers who shared a bed, and then…a child and then…two. We made a life and we lived it together, but I held myself back.  To this day, I don’t know why.  Maybe it was because my father never survived the Nazi invasion, or because my brother died on Omaha Beach.  Maybe a part of me thought I would just lose my husband too.  Elam wanted more than what we had, that was clear from day one. He wanted love and so…that’s what he gave me.  He invested his love in me, in the hopes that someday he would see a return on that investment.  I struggled with my feelings every day.  It wasn’t that I didn’t feel anything, you see.  It’s that I didn’t want to feel anything.  Part of me wanted to shove it all down into a dark hole and forget all about it.”

 “So what changed?” he wondered.

 “One day I realized that this was not what God intended when he made us…this building of walls around our heart.  God…the Universe,” she translated for his benefit, understanding that their belief systems were not the same, “wants us together. Draws us together, like the sea to a shore.  After seven years, he was my best friend, he knew everything there was to know about me – the places I liked to hide.  His investment of love had quietly and artfully filled the gaps left behind by my father and my brother.   One day I looked at him and I saw something…inescapable, but more importantly…that I didn’t want to escape it.  I was exhausted from swimming against his current.”

 “What did you do?”

 “I leaned into it, Michael,” she smiled.  “That’s all.  I leaned into it, and the rest was easy.”  She reached up and cupped his cheek, the tissue paper thin skin of hands softer than silk.  “This girl,” she said.  “You have to ask yourself…’is she inescapable?’  Do you think you can do that?”

 He nodded, though he already knew the answer to the question.

 “I poured a healthy dose of whiskey into my tea, and the room is spinning a bit.  Do you think you could help me to my room, dear?  I think I’ll be able to get some sleep now.”

 “Oh, of course,” he jumped from his chair and offered an arm to help her from hers.  She gripped him tightly as he walked her down the hall to her bedroom. Her sheets were already pulled back from an earlier attempt to sleep, so she slipped in easily and pulled the sheets around her.  Mike flicked the switch on the lamp beside her bed and plunged the room into darkness.

 “Goodnight Spaceman,” she said, her words already slurring with sleep.

 Mike chuckled.  “Good night, Mrs. Scheinbaum.  Sweet dreams.”

 A light snore was already coming from the covers by the time he closed her bedroom door behind him.  In the kitchen, he washed out their tea cups, setting them out to dry and put away the rest of the tea service, before grabbing his glasses from the table, slipping out of the back door, and over to his apartment.

 Mrs. Scheinbaum had given him a lot to think about, which left him tossing and turning on his mattress, unable to sleep. Giving up on the idea of getting any sleep at all tonight, he reached for his he phone on the charger on the bedside table.

 He could always catch up on some email.

 TBC

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Miss Everything - Request

Requested by @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester:  Dean x reader have been married for years, she gets pregnant but he doesn't want it. She leaves but never moves on. He ends up in another relationship and about to marry her. At the altar he decides he needs to be with reader and their child.

Summary: Basically, everything from above.

Pairing: Dean x Lisa/Dean x reader

Word count: 1,878

Warnings: Slightly angsty.

A/N: This was odd... I never imagined Dean doing such thing but requests are requests and I liked getting out of my comfort zone. I hope you like it.

Enjoy!

“We are here reunited to celebrate the union between Lisa Braeden and Dean Winchester in holy marriage…” The priest spoke. He wasn’t a regular priest but rather a priest that had turned into some kind of hunter after realizing demons walked among the rest of the creatures on Earth.

Dean’s hands were sweating. Him and Lisa had taken a while to take the choice of getting married, of starting “a new life together” as some would say. But there was something off about the whole thing.

Lisa was giving him a certain look, but Dean couldn’t identify which one. All he could see and hear inside his head were memories from another woman, a woman he had betrayed, a woman he had hurt. He hadn’t thought of her in a long time, but for some reason, he was remembering her then: at the altar.

“I do.” He heard her words softly, perfectly pronounced and so confident… She actually wanted to marry him.

“Then I pronounce you husband and wife.” The priest smiled warmly at them, who were shaking like teenagers, with sweaty hands and big grins. “You may kiss the bride.

And her kiss was lingering, excited and joyful. She was smiling from ear to ear as Sam took their first picture together. They were young, so young John didn’t fully approve of their relationship – less to say their marriage – but they were in love and so they took the first chance they got to travel to Las Vegas and get married in secret.

It was the first time Dean broke his father’s rules, and he wasn’t even sorry, he loved her too much.

Lisa squeezed his hands as a plead for him to pay attention. The seconds felt like year to him. He couldn’t help but to notice how different the aura was compared to his first wedding.

Sam wasn’t smiling. Dean knew he liked (Y/N) better, but he was still there supporting him through all the bullshit. Castiel was now there as well, and he had also a frown on his usually neutral face. None of them felt like Lisa was the one; especially not after Dean told them why he and (Y/N) split up.

“Dean, don’t dare to do that.” Sam had threatened.

“Bad news, Sammy. I already did.” Dean hissed. He was drunk, and he was bitter to the soul.

“You always promised to be a better father than dad… What changed?” Dean slammed the glass of whiskey at the table, smashing it into tiny pieces of crystal as the rest of the liquor dripped to the floor.

“Do you honestly think I can be better? In this life?” Sam didn’t say anything, “She had to leave.”

“You did this to her… You can’t just abandon her.” Sam begged, “Not now, Dean… It will be so hard for her to…”

“It will be better for her to stay away… For them to live out of this life and away from me.” Sam huffed.

“Is this the problem? Your self-loathing?” Dean shook his head, “That baby needs a father, Dean.”

“I’m sure (Y/N) will find someone better.” Dean whispered bitterly, “I can’t be a father, Sam. Not now, not ever.”

Lisa had maintained the look until Dean acknowledged it. He mouthed a “sorry” and so Lisa turned to see the priest once more. The ceremony felt slower than usual, and Dean was starting to get frustrated. He looked at Sam, who was patiently standing by his side like the best man always did. Dean knew exactly what his brother was feeling, but he also knew Sam wouldn’t say a word. He respected Dean’s decisions; or at least, he didn’t try to make him change his mind anymore because “It’s a waste of time.”

Dean tried to remember his past wedding. It had been secret, but even so there were a lot more attendants there. Bobby was there – he had called John to allow Sam and Dean to help him on a case in Nevada as an alibi for the wedding – and Rufus was there as well. (Y/N)’s best friend – a huntress – and Sam. They were all a bit tipsy, especially Dean because only alcohol would make him brave enough to defy his father’s rules.

(Y/N) had a rented white dress. It was simple, but beautiful. She barely had any make up on and her hair was messy because she and Dean had decided to take their heads out the window during their way to the chapel.  Lisa, on the other hand, had her mother’s dress which wasn’t precisely ugly but it was way too much. She had a natural eye makeup and lips gloss, nothing out of normal in her, and her hair was curled.

That wedding wasn’t secret, there was no one left to hide things from. Lisa’s parents were dead, as well as Dean’s and, for some reason, she had decided not to invite any of her friends. So there were only Sam and Castiel with their frowny faces and tense vibes.

She had expected him to react differently. Dean loved children; he truly did, so why did he say such things?

Maybe it was the fact that John traumatized his kids. Or maybe Dean felt like he would never be a good father. Maybe he wasn’t the man (Y/N) thought he was… Whatever reason, he had ripped her heart in pieces.

(Y/N) cried for hours as she packed her stuff and left to the closest motel. But Dean wouldn’t know that because he never talked to her again. Sam had tried to contact her, and he did for a few months until (Y/N) asked he to stop calling her – it was too painful to remember the life she had lost – and so every bit of information Dean could get about his child or (Y/N) got lost.

Sam had stopped talking to Dean. He pulled the ice law for over a month, only talking when it was truly needed but always keeping it short and simple, because he couldn’t stand to hold a conversation with his brother without getting the urge to stab him.

Sam nodded at his brother. He wasn’t happy, but if Dean loved Lisa as much as he claimed, he was willing to keep up with her and maybe one day he would grow fond of her as much as he did with (Y/N).

Dean then looked at Cas who was by Lisa’s side. The angel was utterly confused because God hadn’t told anyone that that was the only way to get married. On the contrary, God allowed couples to just be with the other without needing any snazzy ceremony or loads of paperwork. However, Sam had begged him not to say it during the wedding, and so Dean noticed his frustration at trying to keep his lips sealed.

If he had been at his first wedding… Dean knew he would’ve loved that. Elvis performed the ceremony and Marilyn Monroe danced around them and threw plastic rice over them once they kissed. There was music and laughter and so much joy that day. The chapel was red and pink and it had all kinds of strange ornaments on the walls.

But no, this time he was getting married at an ex-convent’s basement, with a hunter-priest, without music or even light – expect for the small dot that came from a small window at the back of the priest and the few flashes the used candles gave – and his brother and angel were unhappy, and Lisa wasn’t comfortable and he was missing (Y/N). It was a real pity party.

“What will you tell your dad when he finds out?” (Y/N) asked, unable to take away the stare from the metal ring Dean had just given her.

“He won’t.” Dean promised.

“So we get married and then what? We lived apart and meet each other in secret like we do now?” Dean looked down, of course he hadn’t thought of that.

“Only until we are old enough, I promise.” (Y/N) sighed heavily.

“We are old enough now, but to the eyes of John… We’re just kids.” She lifted her gaze. It was holding back a few tears. It hurt her to be like that.

“I know… But I’ll fix it, I promise.”

John died a month after the wedding. He never got to know in life about Dean’s secret shenanigans, and so he and (Y/N) could finally live the real married life – hunter’s version – with a honey moon all over America, visiting the most famous hunted houses and yanking as many spirits as they could.

Where would he take Lisa? He hadn’t even thought of it. He didn’t have money to take her to a real honey moon, and she wasn’t a huntress so the idea of hunting demons together was an absolute no.

Hell, Dean didn’t even feel like discussing such things. The idea of going on a honey moon with Lisa was frustrating. He didn’t want it; he didn’t want any of that. But he was afraid the realization had gotten to him too late.

“Do you, Dean Winchester, take Lisa Braeden as your wife…” The priest’s voice took him out of his mind.

Millions of flashbacks invaded his mind. (Y/N) laughing, (Y/N) crying, (Y/N)’s kisses, (Y/N) hunting, (Y/N) sleeping… Just (Y/N). He couldn’t help but to imagine what kind of child had she gotten to raise.

Of course he or she would be polite, and kind and well-behaved. (Y/N) was an excellent mother, and he didn’t even have to spy on her to know that. She had everything a mother required and even more, so he was confident the child would grow up like a champ.

He imagined a little girl with her eyes and his hair. Playing to fight the fairies rather than dressing up as them; making gun noises at the other kids at school and kicking whoever-bothered-her’s ass. She would be an absolute bad-ass with a sassy attitude but moral values that she would appreciate more than anything. She would have a big heart and a great mind… And Dean was missing that.

He couldn’t help but to chuckle sadly, interrupting the priest’s question. “Sorry,” he apologised after Lisa gave him a death glare, “where were we?”

“Will you take her as your wife?” The priest asked again, shortening the sentence.

It was time for him to make a decision. Lisa was an amazing woman, with a normal life and all, he couldn’t screw it up. Sam would never forgive him if he broke Lisa’s heart as well, and it was bound to happen, so Dean had to truly think it through.

“Dean?” Lisa insisted. He cleared his throat and let go off her hands.

“I can’t drag you into this life, Lis… Not you.” He said.

“What does that mean?” Lisa whispered.

“Dean, do you take her as your wife?” The priest insisted. He was an old friend, and he knew exactly what happened with (Y/N), so if Dean refused to marry Lisa he wouldn’t make such a fuss.

“No.” Dean apologized and walked out, taking off the tie he used when playing an FBI agent and throwing his coat – also from the FBI costume –to Sam.

“Where are you going?” Castiel asked.

“To find (Y/N).”

*Requests are ALWAYS open.*

Tags: @deanwssister @oaisara @coffeebreakandwinchesters @dreamingintheimpalawithdean