#why must my brain torture me with impossibly to buy things

[withered-tears]

Jesus fuck that was the CRUELEST iteration of The Dream I've had in fuckin years

[jay-and-dean]

Firefly Chapter 7 : Eighteen and twenty-eight years old

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary :  40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 4330

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Chapter 1

Firefly Chapter 2

Firefly Chapter 3

Firefly Chapter 4

Firefly Chapter 5

Firefly Chapter 6

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

——————————————————————————

She wasn’t moving at all. Sitting on the bench in the middle of this ocean of life, she watched people walk by. The sun had gone down now, after moving from building to building, making giant shadows change the whole city constantly.

She was overwhelmed, unable to move at all. Her eyes were drinking the world like new born baby’s ones. None of her muscles moved for hours, her fists clinging at her dress, her heart bleeding in silence for Dean.

A few people stopped to ask her if she was okay, but she couldn’t answer, her voice locked in her lungs…

But she finally got up.

After days of hiding in alleys, and walking on boulevards, escaping weird men yelling at her in the dark of night… It started to rain. A heavy, pouring storm rain that made her dress heavy and washed the dust out of her. And that warm loud summer rain somehow woke her from her torpor.

She had to live, and learn everything about life because that’s what Dean wanted for her… But Dean wasn’t here, and he will never be. So she came back to that bench, soaked and shaking, and started to cry for him. She had to be happy for the man she loved, and couldn’t without him… 

Her tears only calmed with the rain that day. And even when her eyes stopped crying, her heart never stopped weeping for Dean a single second.

Not when she got up from that bench to find a map of the city on the subway station, not when she found clothes, and ripped that stupid dress of her body… It was still weeping when she first found people in the street and asked her where to find food. It was screaming inside her during her first night in a foster home for homeless people… When she fought for the first time to escape men again. 

Her heart was weeping for Dean the first time she laughed, seeing cartoons in a TV store front, when she found out about drugs and abuse, cheating, wealth... when she started to be hungry, when she fell of exhaustion in an alley…

And even if her eyes stayed dry, her soul kept crying when the demons attacked.

Lilith had sent them after her as soon as the Queen noticed Y/n was no longer in Hell. She was hiding in an abandoned building when dozens of demons attacked her, she fought with teeth and nails to get them off and she won, but that wasn’t the end… Lilith kept sending more minions and, exhausted but determined to live, Y/n had only one option left.

She faked her own death. With the help of her powers and some research in the nearby library and in the maze of knowledge she had memorized over the years, she tricked the demons into believing she was dead, and used a certain pattern of sigils to hide herself, cloaked from every supernatural being.

Finally she was free.

So things went easier. After a little while, she met her own little angel : Sue. An older lady who offered Y/n shelter when she caught her dumpster diving her diner. Sue found Y/n a little odd at first, everyone thought that of her, but just as with every person Y/n had met on her way, Sue liked the happy girl she always seemed to be, enthusiastic about the very simpler things ; so she offered Y/n a job as a waitress in her diner.

_____________

 Y/n’s window was rolled down as the loud music blasted through the speakers of her raven black 1967 Ford Mustang as she drove to work, still the same job at Sue’s diner. And she was smiling wide on her way, because she loved every single thing about this job. 

She parked her car in the lot and made her way inside to take her light blue apron.

“Morning Y/n! How are you doing today sweetie ?” Sue asked.

“You know, same old same old.” Y/N shrugged.

Tying her apron on her, Y/n smiled kindly. She looked so different from what Dean had known, and hopefully different enough so no demon passing by ever recognized her. Her hair was tied together and no longer falling on a waterfall in her back. No more fancy dresses but only jeans and all the t-shirts she liked, with rock bands on it, or her favorite movies posters... 

Sue sighed and put her hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

“Are you still working on freeing Prince Charming ?” she asked Y/n with an apologetic smile. 

“Yes, I promised I would get him out and I won’t stop until he is” she said determinedly. 

When Sue had just found Y/n she kindly offered her to stay at her house until she could get on her own feet. Y/n dreamed a lot about Dean, some dreams worse than the others, so after the third night of her guest screaming Dean’s name, Sue had asked her who he was. Y/n couldn’t tell her everything so she said he was the love of her life and was wrongly imprisoned, and that she had promised to get him out.

“He’s a very lucky guy to have you, Y/n” Sue told her.

“Yeah, I just… I miss him so much…” Y/n said as she made the last knot on her apron.

“I know sweetie, but if you truly love him, he’ll come back, just wait and see” she smiled with that protective expression she always had when it came to her protégée, even if she seemed sometimes perplexed about all those stories she told.

She gave her her note book to write down the orders.

“Yeah I hope so” Y/n clicked on her pen and made her way into the diner to take up the orders of all the customers. 

It was a quiet day, she loved this little diner, the food was amazing and it even had a little jukebox she often used. It had given her a shelter, money to live, but also an identity and friends. A life.

Her smile faded like it did sometimes, Dean would have loved this diner too… She thought back to all the things she discovered on Earth.

She did everything Dean had told her about : She went to the movie theater, she learned how to drive (thanks to Sue), she had a date or four, went to a party, she got drunk a few times. She danced alone and with others, kissed a girl and travelled a little. Her appetite for life was never ending, so she had driven to the ocean and dived, she had smoked weird things once and ran in the forest, she had woke in the middle of the night to go buy ice-cream, she had sang in the shower and stayed home for an entire weekend crying while watching bad tv shows… And she even lost her virginity to a sweet boy. But nothing could get her mind off Dean, calm her weeping heart or divert her from her goal.

Every night she looked up at the stars and imagined him by her side, she could use her power to create an image of him that existed out of a million little stars, well more like a million little fireflies.

A lot of time had passed since she last saw him, her heart broke at the thought of him down there for so long. He must have forgotten her by now, if his soul even survived those many years.

A throat being cleared pulled her from her daydreaming. She turned to find a man smiling at her.

“Oh my apologies, what can I get you, sir ?” she asked the man, there was something unpleasant about him, he had dirty blonde hair and she didn’t like the way his blue eyes were traveling her up and down.

“Are you on the menu ?” he asked her with a sly smile.

Y/n sighed deep, why were a lot of men on Earth such… pigs ?

“No sorry, I was just joking” the man began. “I’ll take a coffee with some pancakes.” 

Y/n wrote his order down and left with a forced smile. 

He was the only customer today so Y/n handed the paper to Sue so she could make it and sat down at the little bar. She was watching the man in the mirror that hung on the other side of the counter. She couldn’t shake the eerie feeling she got from the man, he looked normal, but she could feel something… something powerful radiating off him.

The bell pulled Y/n out of her haze as she took the coffee and pancake to the man.

“Here you go sir, enjoy your meal” Y/n said as she dropped the food at his table.

“Thank you.” 

She was starting to leave when his voice stopped her.

“Can I ask you a question, miss ?” he asked as he took a bite from the pancake.

“Yeah, of course” Y/n shrugged.

“You haven’t been here for long have you ?” he said as he looked at her.

“Uhm no, not very long. Are you from around here ?” Y/n asked, he was just a normal guy, it was impossible for anyone to find her anyway. 

“Oh no not at all. But i didn’t mean this diner...” he kept on eating nonchalantly, he swallowed. “I meant Earth.” 

Y/n’s eyes went wide, she turned and ran towards the exit only to bump into the man who was just sitting at the table behind her half a second ago. 

“Who are you” Y/n asked as she stepped back from him

A deep sigh left his mouth.

“It hurts me that you even have to ask that, Y/n” he blinked and his irises turned to a fiery red.

Y/n ran towards the kitchen to get Sue. She pulled open the door and shrieked as her dear friend fell on her with her eyes burned out.

Dead.

“No ! Sue !” Y/n started shaking, cupping her friend’s face. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER ?” Y/n screamed to the man walking in casually.

“She put too much milk in my coffee, so I ended her” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Y/n stood up, her eyes a flare as she widened her arms to unleash her powers. Two fiery tentacles wrapped around the man’s legs.

“You’ll regret this” she said, her voice sounding like a thousand people at once.

The man gave her a sly smirk and snapped his fingers, her powers stopped immediately. She thrusted her hands forward to him, but nothing happened. Fear shone in her eyes as she looked at him in disbelief.

“It’s time we should head home, Y/n” he stepped closer to her, his fingers tilting up her chin.

“We have a family to start” he whispered against her lips with a dark chuckle.

“L-Lucifer” she gasped. 

 His arms wrapped tight around her and before she could blink she was back in Hell.

The suffocating smell of sulfur and blood made her cough, her whole body started to shake as she started to desperately gasp for air, her lungs crushed by the most powerful anxiety she ever felt. Her arms reached to her enemy in a pleading scratch, like he was strangling her…

“Home sweet home, baby” he cruelly cooed in her ear, his breath heavy on her skin. 

She pried her arms between them to push out of his embrace. He chuckled as he let her go and she fell backwards, scrambling away from him.

“Stay away from me!” she finally managed to yell at him, her eyes flaring back to life as she was losing control over her powers.

He tilted his head at her as he watched her, his steps following her every move.

“You are such a pretty thing, I see some potential too. But I was told you were,” he hummed in thought “a pain in the ass. And I’m starting to see why.”

Her eyes were scanning everything, the bloody walls, the frozen air all around her, the never ending screams, the smell of fear and fire. 

No she couldn’t be back in Hell…

With a turn of his wrist she was lifted up in the air, she tried to fight his power, but he was too strong… She couldn’t take on the Lord of Hell…

“Y/n, I’m only going to tell you that only once : You will obey and be helpful” he said with every step until he stood nose to nose with her, his eyes drinking her in.

She gave him a sweet smile before she spat in his face.

“Never” she told him.

His hand came up to wipe her spit away, he licked his hand clean, humming at her taste. 

“As you wish, Y/n. Then my little slave needs chains...” he sneered.

Iron ropes wrapped around her as soon as the word left his lips, they burned into her flesh making her scream in pain. She fell heavy to the ground at his feet.

“For eternity” he finished as he sat down on his throne.

“No p-please, no chains… everything but chains” she begged him.

“Oh no baby, I know what you used to do when you’re set loose, but forget about that, he isn’t here anyway, no reason to go wandering. Jeal told me all about you and your little lover.” he said as he crossed his legs over each other.

“H-he isn’t ? H-How” she asked, suddenly able to ignore the pain of the iron digging in her flesh. 

How was that possible ?

“He got out, Heaven’s plans. Now stop asking or I’ll gag you too” he sighed, looking at her. “I’ll make you your own little cage, like they did for me. No way you’ll get away from this one. And don’t think your daddy will help, he still thinks you’re dead. Everyone does.”

She whimpered in silence, only one thought on her mind. He was free… 

Dean Winchester was alive.

________________________

Dean’s Pov 

  Dean woke up in a little painful whine, he opened his eyes and wiped the sweat off his face and neck, watching the ceiling, trying to focus on the contour of his body, the sheets and the pillow. He took a deep breath to calm his heaving chest. 

Another nightmare.

And this one wasn’t the violent surviving of Purgatory, it wasn’t the burning guilt of old fights with John, the crushing pain of seeing Sam die ; it wasn’t the despair of losing Mary again, the disturbing memories of being a demon… It was the worst : Hell.

And among the worst, the tortures and the screams, tonight’s nightmare had to be about the cruellest idea demons ever came up with : fake hope.

In his dream, he was laying on the floor of his cell, barely able to breath because of the blood drowning his lungs, and he felt her hand, her tiny soft fingers wrapped around his wrist to ease his panic. She whispered sweet things to him but when he lifted his eyes to see her face, only Alastair was there, laughing loud and sharpening knives. 

Dean stretched and shook his head, like he could get rid of those memories like that. He couldn’t let nightmares get to him, and he couldn’t let his past crush him. 

With his guts still aching from the dream, he forced himself to get up. Staying in bed only made the memories clearer, and the trauma cut deeper. He knew only another hunt could ease the pain. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he saved enough people, he would finally expiate.

The bunker was silent, even Sam was still sleeping so early in the morning. Walking to the kitchen, he frowned : His knee was still hurting and the bruises on his face and collarbones too. 

Damn demon.

He turned to enter the kitchen and jumped a little.

“Hi Dean, sorry I scared you” Jack said, looking up from his bowl of cereal, his big eyes going to the hunter’s wounds quickly. “How are you ?” 

“I’m fine. What are you doing up so early ?” Dean grunted, going straight to the coffee in his long grey robe. 

“I have trouble sleeping lately” the boy answered, frowning in confusion like he often did. 

“Try whiskey” Dean muttered low in a sleepy grunt.

“Alcohol is really not a solution to my problem I think” Jack turned to him, even more confused.

“I was kidding” he sighed, sitting in front of the young boy.

Sometimes Jack really was Castiel’s son…

The hunter scratched his scruff and took the cereal to plunge his hand in the box, eating some while reading the joke behind it.

“I hear a voice in my head” Jack sighed. 

Dean looked up, ready to make a mocking joke but he noticed a genuine worry on the boy’s face.

“A voice ?”

“Yes” Jack searched Dean’s face. “At first I thought maybe I overheard something on the angel radio, but… It seems different.”

“What does it say ?” 

“I don’t really understand it” Jack shrugged.

“Understand what ?” Sam asked, scratching his head while entering the room with his hair in every direction and the left side of his face still swollen and bruised. “Wow, everyone is up early this morning ! What am I missing ?” 

“Jack says he hears a voice” Dean repeated, getting up to get coffee now it was ready. “But he doesn’t know where it comes from or what it says” he groaned slightly. 

Please don’t let that be bad news again…

Dean sat heavily, rubbing his tired eyes while his brother interrogated Jack. How long had he been hearing the voices, were there several, was it constant… The boy only had a very few answers.

“We need to find where it comes from, Dean” Sam states, making his brother grunt again in his coffee mug. 

That didn’t sound like a good old fight and kill hunt, it sounded like trouble.

_____________________

  Dean pushed the heavy metal door and went down the stairs, overhearing his brother, Jack and Castiel talking in the library. 

Reaching them, he almost threw the bag on the wooden table, not daring to ask any question seeing the three too serious faces looking at him.

“I guess no good news” he mumbled deep in his throat looking down to grab a beer from the bag.

“Dean” Castiel started with his worried voice, making the hunter look instantly slightly annoyed. “The voice comes from Hell.”

“Hell” Dean repeated casually, taking a sip of beer to wash the word from his mouth. “There are a lot of voices in Hell, it’s pretty loud down there.”

When his eyes fell on Sam, a shiver roamed his back. He had the face, Dean hated that face, the “you’re not going to like it” face. So he put his beer down on the table and sighed.

“What is it ?” he finally asked.

“The voice, Dean” Jack said. “It’s calling you.”

“Me” Dean’s eyes widened. “There can be another dude named Dean in Hell !”

“Dean…” Sam sighed. “Who could be calling you ?”

Dean’s first thought went to Bobby. They had freed him from Hell a few years ago, he was supposed to be in Heaven, and Crowley had decided differently… Maybe someone they lost ? An innocent locked in Hell by mistake ? But Rowena was on the throne now… Would she do that ? 

“How can you hear a voice coming from Hell ?” he shook his head. “Do you hear them all ?”

“No” Jack said. “Only this one.”

Dean sat and took a deep breath, realizing this would mean that he would have to visit Hell... again. After those break in, the nightmares were always worse, and last time he had to deal with a panic attack in the shower. 

“Okay” he stated. “What is the plan ? And how do we know it’s not a trap ?”

_____________________ 

 “So your plan…” Rowena frowned from her throne, her long dress nonchalantly falling on the floor. “Is letting the boy follow a voice like a dog on a leash ?” 

Dean’s face was stern, his arms tense, his heart a little compressed in his chest.

Each time he smelled that horrible sulfur mixed with blood smell, it was like he could feel the chains and the needles and hear Alastair’s voice all over again. Then he had two choices in his mind : Either he accepted it, and stayed with the demon’s croaky voice in his head for days, or focused on what had made him hold on for years back then : the secret girl’s soft touches ; but then the fear was replaced by the crushing feeling of despair and sadness, at knowing he had been fooled that bad, into believing innocence exited.

“More or less” his brother answered. “Rowena, you have to admit it’s something new… And if there are leaks in Hell…”

“Yeah yeah…” the witch sighed. “But don’t come crying when your little baby angel comes back traumatized. This is not a place for kids.”

Oh the irony.

“It’s not there” Jack cut them with a frown, looking around.

“What do you mean it’s not there ?” Dean grunted. “You were sure it came from Hell !”

“It does…” the boy stated. “Just deeper.”

“Deeper ?” Sam shook his head, but turned to Rowena, immediately trusting Jack as always. “Is there a basement in Hell ?”

“A basement ? Hell is a multi-dimensional…”

“Answer him” Dean cut her, losing patience.

Rowena got up and demons entered the room. She gave orders about getting the records, about the cage, and all. After a few very long minutes, a demon in an old man vessel came closer to the Queen, whispering something in her ear.

“Oh really ?” Rowena said. “Why am I not aware of all this ?”

“Because they’re all empty, your Majesty” the demon shrugged. 

“What is ?” Sam insisted with a flustered move of his hands.

Rowena sat again.

“There are cages, like the one that held Lucifer once. Smaller ones, but for all we know, they are all empty.”

“For all you know ?” Dean raised his voice a little. 

“No one uses them” Rowena shrugged. 

“They held an angel during the war between Heaven and Hell” the demon spoke, his voice shaking a little, obviously uneasy in front of the Winchesters. “I-in the dawn of time, but the angel was killed by Lucifer before Michael locked him in the cage… We kinda forgot where they were.”

“Take us to them” Jack ordered Rowena with this frown of his.

Rowena looked to the demon that didn’t move, his eyes on Dean, like the hunter could suddenly decide to kill all of them.

“Merihem, take us to those cages” Rowena called him. “Chop chop.” 

____________________

The light of Hell’s fire didn’t reach that deep in the pit, like the sun in the deepest ocean.

Dean was holding the torch like it was his lifeline in this vertiginous nightmare of deafening silence. Everything was threateningly pitch black, a perfect representation of the fear of dark, a big cold lonely nothingness… With stairs in the middle. 

“I didn’t know there was anything deeper than Lucifer’s cage” the Queen’s voice echoed weirdly in the void.

Suddenly, the stairs stopped and Dean banged into metal bars. He lifted his torch to see what was behind it, but the cage was empty.

“It’s here” Jack whispered. “I can feel it.”

Sam opened the empty cage, his arm hair ruffling at the touch of the same metal that held his soul for so long.

“Nothing” he said, holding back his own trauma probably as hard as Dean did.

“Dean…” a weak voice made them all jump, coming from the dark.

“Who is this ?” the hunter grunted, taking a few unsure steps to the next cage, firmly holding his torch in front of him with an almost trembling arm.

“Dean…” the voice now whined.

Sam put his hand on his brother’s shoulder to make him wait for him. They looked at each other, using silent words and joining their flames to fight the pitch black ahead of them. 

Even used to all kinds of nightmares, Dean wasn’t so reassured in the deepest of Hell, called by a weak and plaintive voice coming from the darkest of darks.

Something moved in the cage in a deafening metal noise, a shadow fleeing the light. The brothers both let out a shaky breath, moving closer with the demon and Rowena way behind them.

Dean swallowed, finally distinguishing a body, hunched in the opposite corner of the cage, shaking. Extremely long hair was falling around the pitiful form, chained heavily even inside the cage. 

“Who are you ?” he asked again. “You’re calling me, why ?”

No answer.

“Who is this ?” Sam turned to the demon that had guided them.

“I-I have no idea” it answered. “No one came here in years !”

“Dean ?” the voice seemed to struggle thinking straight.

“Jeez” Sam muttered. “For how long has she been there ?”

She ? Dean thought, realizing now it was indeed a woman, her thin delicate hands were clinging to the floor.

His heart was racing in his chest, from being in Hell, from the fear of what he would find, and from something else, something confusing, like an emotion flying in the air around him.

The girl finally lifted her face to them, teary eyes frowned at the light of the flame, her shaking hand open in front of her to soften the burning of the torch.

Dean felt hit violently in the chest, his breathing stopped in a strangled gasp as everything he certainly knew started to crumble in the back of his mind. He opened his mouth but nothing came out… After swallowing twice, he finally managed to speak.

“Firefly ?”

Next Chapter on @roonyxx​‘s blog

________________________

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[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Red Roses, Red Roses

Rated: 16+ For graphic descriptions of violence and gore, brief mentions of rape, mentions of torture, mentions of abuse, and disturbing images.

Masterlist

~All the pretty girls, they find

A way to keep you on my mind

I swear I heard you singing along

Cities pass like candy stores

And you're the one

I'm looking for

And so

I'm just a boy

Who's telling a girl

That when I grow up I'll buy you a rose

When I grow up, I'll buy you a rose~

"Okay, but what is the proper plural form of Nephilim?" I asked from the back seat of the Impala as it drove through the winding roads from the bunker and into town. "See, 'cause ' Nephilims ' sounds weird. So, is it ' Nephili ' like ' octopi ', or could it be ' Nephilice ' like ' mice '? I need to know this, guys."

The car was silent. Sam, Cas, and Jack were all thinking over the answer to my question and Dean was just rolling his eyes in the mirror.

"Maybe-" Sam started slowly "-Maybe it's just 'Nephilim'. You know, like ' moose '?"

"Yeah, that kinda sounds right, I guess." I nodded. Dean laughed and shook his head, glancing at me in the mirror. "What?"

"Oh, nothin'." He waved a hand. "I just don't get ya' is all."

"Yeah, neither do I." I shrugged and Jack must have found something funny because he snickered. "But what is it that you don't get?"

Dean shrugged. "I mean, I know you get rattled; Felix scares you and I get that. But you just take  everything else  in stride! How do you do that? I just- I don't get it."

"I told you this, Dean. I'm good at hiding my reactions to things and if I can't hide them then I use them to gain sympathy from others." I glanced at Jack, catching his eye. "At least, that's what I do until I can really trust somebody."

Jack smiled a little and tugged me closer into his side. He had been acting sorta weird since we'd all piled into the Impala for the drive into town. Jack had wrapped his arm around my waist and held me tight against him, almost as if he was keeping me away from the trench-coated angel on my other side. He kept shooting Cas these weird glances and I couldn't help but wonder what they could be about. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought that Jack was being possessive.

Not that I was complaining about our close proximity or anything! Jack was really warm and winter in Kansas was, shall we say, not. Who was I to turn down free cuddles? Although those cuddles did kinda make me want to sink my teeth into him. He smelled so sweet and his skin looked so frustratingly soft. Maybe one of these nights I could sneak into his room and get a taste. That could make things better, I mean, half the torture of being around him was the curiosity of not knowing.

"And we're here!"

Sam's voice knocked me out of that potentially devastating train of thought and I followed Jack out of the car. Okay, ' followed ' is the wrong word. Jack pretty much just pulled me out of the car with him. He didn't let go of me. Weird.

The town of Lebanon, Kansas reminded me quite a bit of Copper Harbor. The main difference was that Lebanon was bigger... A lot bigger. The buildings were small and friendly, made of red brick and wooden doors and windows with glass that bulged out at the bottom. The streetlamps were iron and curled over the street as they should and there were planter boxes underneath display windows. The whole town just breathed in a way that said ' stay awhile '.

"It's Christmas time," I noted aloud, "I almost forgot."

There were colorful lights wrapped around poles and wreaths hung on doors with bells that jingled when they opened. There were even speakers placed outside that filled the air with all sorts of holiday music and I felt a smile split across my face as I started to sing along.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me you sing too," Dean chuckled as he held open the door of a discount clothing store. I was about to say something witty as a response but Jack beat me to the chance.

"She does! She sang to me last night," He said, smiling down at me. Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at the acute lack of space between us. Jack noticed and let go of my waist.

"Oh yeah? And how was that?" Dean asked, smirking.

Jack's brow's furrowed and his head tilted as he eyed me like he was trying to remember something.

"It was..."

' Please don't say anything that'll get me dead! ' I pleaded silently.

"It was  magical ."

Sam, Dean, and Cas all shared a strange look, but before anything more could be said, the shopkeeper waltzed in from the back room.

Her silver hair was cut short and straight with the ends tucked around her chin. She was a short, thin woman probably in her late forties or early fifties with a not-a-hair-out-of-place sort of attitude. I would bet twenty bucks that her name was Christie spelled with a 'Ch' that she would be sure to remind us of. Click-clacking her way over to us in a pair of atrociously hot pink six-inch heels, the woman regarded us over the tops of her thick, rectangular glasses which hung on a chain around her neck. She flicked her eyes over each person individually in a way that reeked of silent judgment and when her eyes landed on me I was tempted to flip her off. When she was satisfied that she knew everything there was to know about us, the woman fixed a painfully fake smile onto her face and greeted us, speaking slowly like we were uneducated simpletons.

"Well, hi there all! My name's Christie with a 'Ch', you know, like in 'Christmas'? What are your names?"

Called it.

"Hey, Christie. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam, standing really creepily behind me is Cas, and this one here is his son Jack." Dean pointed as he introduced everyone, sounding annoyed as if this was his tenth time meeting Christie which it probably was. "We're lookin' to get Marty here some warm clothes. Got anything, ah, petite?"

I shot Dean a pointed look to which he just smirked. It wasn't my fault he and his brother were so freakishly tall. In front of us, Christie ignored his request to do business and kept on chatting.

"Sam and Dean Winchester? I remember you, boys. Why didn't you tell me one of you had a daughter as pretty as this little vision? Is she yours, Sam? She looks a bit like you," She cooed, stroking my hair as if that was a socially acceptable thing to do. I almost bit her hand off but smiled instead. Her question caught Sam off guard.

"No, no. Marty's not my daughter," He chuckled nervously, shaking his head.

"Oh! My mistake. Is she yours, Dean?"

"What? No! O'corse not!"

I nearly smacked my face with my palm. Were these guys  trying  to look like kidnappers? Considering their age and the way I was dressed, oh yeah, this totally looked like a kidnapping.

Christie frowned and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to her side. Jack reached for me but Christie pulled me further away, glaring at him.

"Oh, dear me. I shouldn't be calling the police on you boys now, should I?"

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, trying to come up with some sort of excuse and Christie was already pulling out her phone. A very Isaac-like idea popped into my brain. I rolled my eyes and huffed, pushing away from Christie.

"Ugh! Why do you guys have to be so weird about it? I mean, if you have to dress like child abductors then you could at least  try  not to act like it!" I turned to Christie, shaking my head. "Yeah, sorry about them, ma'am. It's a really long and scandalous story and you probably don't wanna hear the details, but I'm not being kidnapped, I promise."

Christie perked up at the mention of scandal, she was probably just itching for some juicy gossip to spread around at one of her knitting meetings.

"Well, I should probably hear the whole story just to make sure," She said, almost buzzing with excitement.

"Are you sure?" I baited, "It's pretty bad!"

"Oh, you can tell me, hon! I won't tell anybody."

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

"Alright, so long story short, my mom is Cas's aunt and she's a slut who cheated on my dad, who's a straight-up loser. So, he only found out that I'm not his just last week and filed for divorce within two days because he finally has an excuse to get rid of me now. Except, surprise-surprise, my mom never wanted me either because I'm a useless mistake and so they both threw me to child support which Cas here saved me from because he's a decent human being!" I finished my rant of bull crap and inhaled deeply. Christie had bought every word.

"Aw, you poor baby! You get a discount, sweetheart, and if one of your parents ever comes in here I'm gonna wring their neck!" She continued babbling as she led us through the store while Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack all stared at me like I had eight heads. I smirked at them and shrugged a little.

Five hours and six oversized bags of clothes later and we were out of that store. We crossed the street and collapsed on some benches outside a diner, remaining silent for a while.

"That was worse than Hell!" Dean complained, tugging his boots off and rubbing his sore feet. "If I had to hear that woman talk for one more minute, I might have slit her throat!"

The rest of us made noises of agreement. Well, all except Jack who just shrugged.

"I thought she was nice," He said, though he too looked worn out.

"That wasn't nice, Jack. That was prying," Cas corrected him.

"Yeah," I agreed, "I wasn't sure how much more crap I could spout about your aunt, Cas!"

"Yeah, um, speaking of," Sam cut in, "You had that whole thing pretty handled, Marty. Where'd all that stuff come from anyway?"

"I've been on my own since I was nine, Sam," I lied, lowering my head and picking at my jeans.

"I get that, but-"

" Since I was  nine ,  Sam ." I glanced up to see Sam's mouth form into an 'O' of understanding. I looked away again, quieting my voice. "I know how to make up excuses that people won't question."

"Ah."

"You are  quite  the liar, Martina," Cas spoke up with a tilt of his head. The way his words curled in on one another made it impossible for me to tell whether his statement was one of praise, suspicion, or both. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Jack eyeing Cas, his lip curled in a scowl that looked unnatural when displayed by his gentle features.

I didn't look up at the angel sitting in front of me. A tight smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I tapped the pads of my fingers against my knees.

"You don't trust me do you, Castiel?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. Cas sighed and shook his head; I watched Jack's hands clench into fists.

"No. No, I don't," He said, eyeing Jack's reactions as well.

"Why not?" I still didn't look up, feeling the angel's gaze shift to me.

"You lie so easily to others, and you do it very well. What's to stop you from doing the same to us?" For once, Castiel's tone didn't seem accusatory. He sounded truly curious and... understanding almost. His words were something close to gentle.

"Nothing, really," I answered honestly, "For five years, it was just  me . I had Isaac but I still felt  so  alone . I felt so small and scared and  purposeless . All I did was run and hide, it was like I was just waiting to die. So, when you guys offered me protection, I couldn't say no. I couldn't say no, even if I didn't actually need it."

"Didn't need it? What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, leaning his elbows on his knees. I shrugged.

"You guys saw a small kid getting attacked in that alleyway and you helped her out. You just made the same mistake that everybody does."

"And what mistake is that?" Cas pressed, squinting curiously.

"Thinking that small means the same thing as helpless," I took a deep breath, shaking my head, "It doesn't, and I'm not. I told you I was clever, you just never stopped to think about what that meant. What you guys don't seem to get is that I survived for  five years . I was just scared that if you knew then you would leave me there alone and I- I just couldn't."

"So, you lied to us?" Sam asked with a frown. I nodded.

"I did. I lied to you and I'm sorry."

"We wouldn't have turned you away, Marty," Jack said, softly grasping my hand.

"I think somewhere deep down I knew that. There were just these things I had to do to survive and I was so scared that if you knew about them, then you wouldn't want me. So, I lied. Because the only thing I could think about was how I just couldn't be alone anymore." I laughed in spite of myself.

Jack nodded solemnly before glancing up and getting distracted by something across the street. His face lit up as he let go of my hand and stood, bounding towards whatever had caught his attention. I didn't bother to watch him.

"Look, Marty," Dean sighed and shook his head a bit, "You seem like a pretty sweet kid and I like you, a lot. Now, I may not know everything about your past, but I know from experience that the only thing that can make up for your mistakes is trying your best to do the right thing now. I wanna trust you, Marty. We all do. But if you keep all these secrets, then we can't do that. So, can you promise us just one thing?"

"Name it."

"No more lies?"

"No more lies," I lied.

"Good." Sam smiled. "So, is there anything else we should know about you?"

There were so many things. None of which I could tell.

"Well, there might be one thing."

"What?"

I opened my mouth to speak but I was cut off by a flower being presented before my eyes. The flower was a rose and the rose was white. It was gorgeous and perfect, there wasn't a single flaw on any of the smooth petals and it was just one step short of full bloom.

There was a hand attached to the rose and I plucked the flower from his fingers, twirling it between my own.

"What's this for?" I asked as I looked up at Jack who beamed down at me the way I remember summer sunshine being like.

"It reminds me of you," He said simply.

"Why?" I chuckled.

"Um, because you said that you pretended to be innocent and helpless because you thought that nobody would want you if they knew otherwise. So, um, I-" He gestured to the rose's thorn-covered stem. "Well, t-this one has spiky-things on it."

"So, it does." I nodded, giggling at his strange explanation. Jack flashed me a grin and continued.

"At first, I thought it was just beautiful, like you, and I didn't see the spiky things until I picked it up. When I touched it, it hurt, but I took it anyway. See, it's still beautiful - even with the spikes - I still wanted it. So, I want you to know that even if you have spikes, I still want you."

Around. There was an ' around ' tagged on the end of that sentence, he just forgot to put it there. Right?

"Thank you, puppy. That was very sweet," I said, catching a glimpse of the flower cart across the street where he must have gotten it. The cart was unattended. In fact, the whole street was oddly empty. It was Christmas time, the street shouldn't have been empty, but it was and that gave me a very bad feeling.

Jack smiled so innocently it made me want to cry.

"You're welcome!"

"You paid for this though, right?"

Jack's face immediately told me the answer. "Is it not for free?"

"Nope, you stole it. You're criminal now," I joked.

"Oh." Jack frowned for a moment. Then he shrugged. "Well, when we grow up, I'll buy you one."

I had the chance to say something witty, so naturally, I replied with:

"Cool."

I mentally slapped myself. Of course, he says something cute and all I say back is ' cool '. My brain hates me.

I felt my cheeks heating up, so I ducked my head down. Deciding that we were in a shaded enough spot, I tugged the light-teal-colored baseball cap off my head. (I had been using it to hide my face from the harsh burning of the sunlight that drifted over the town.) The cap had a manatee sewn on the front and was one of the few things I had brought with me from my past life on the sunny shores of Florida. Laying the hat in my lap, I pulled my thick black braid over my shoulder and proceeded to weave the rose's stem into it loosely. Then, I flipped my hair back and smashed the baseball cap back on my head.

Meanwhile, the angel boy just smiled down at me as if he  hadn't  just said some of the kindest words I'd heard in five years. My cheeks felt like they were on fire and suddenly my shoes were extraordinarily interesting.

My attention was drawn away, however, when out of the corner of my eye, I watched Cas's back go ramrod straight. His head tilted to the side like he was listening for something, his eyes narrowing to one-quarter squint power.

"Cas?" Dean called to his friend. More like  their  friend, really, Sam and Jack were his family too. I guess I couldn't bring myself to call the angel my friend while I was lying to his face about everything I was.

"There are monsters somewhere here, I can sense them," Castiel said quietly. Jack stopped and tilted his head like Cas, focusing.

"I sense them too," He reported, glancing at me, "They're vampires." I sat up a little straighter.

"Put your shoes back on, Dean. You cannot rest while enemies are nearby," I said, smiling wryly and letting an edge of nervousness creep into my voice.

"How many are there?" Dean demanded, already taking charge.

Cas squinted harder. "Seven... Wait, no. There are eight."

"Where? C-can you sense that?" Sam asked.

"No-" Cas shook his head before turning to his surrogate son. "-But Jack can."

Cas sent a small nod to Jack who nodded back and directed his gaze upward, stretching out a hand. His eyes flicked into glistening gold and I could feel my hair stand on end as the air became charged with raw power. For a split second, I almost thought I saw the outline of feathered appendages sprouting from the boy's back. Then, Jack's eyes flickered back into their crystalline blue and I shook the after image away. Whatever I had thought I'd seen was gone before I could register it.

"There are two of them hiding in an alley about thirty yards that way-" He pointed to the left "-and there are five more. They're waiting for an ambush? I think? They're over there. In that really suspicious-looking grey van parked four cars down." He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and I leaned over to glance at the car. Jack had been right, the van totally looked like it belonged to the mafia or something.

"What about the last one?" Dean pressed, his eyes shifting around to examine his environment. Jack shook his head.

"I-I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I mean, I can sense it - I know it's here somewhere - but it's cloudy. I can't tell exactly where; it's like it's everywhere and nowhere at the same time."

Jack called the vampire an ' It '. Of course, he did.  It  was a vampire.  It  was a monster. What else does one call a monster? What else does one call  a thing  like that? After all, that's all  it  was; that's all  I  was. A  thing . Not a someone, not a person, not a  friend . A  thing . A  pest , a  nuisance , a  parasite  to be eradicated. Skrew all Jack's kind words and endearing actions; they didn't mean anything! He could never really love me back. It was only a matter of time before he realized that. It was only a matter of time before he started calling me ' It '.

' How long will that be, I wonder .'

I was pulled from my thoughts by a scream. It rang, high and sharp, and it echoed off the brick buildings.

"HELP! HELP ME!" A woman's voice cried.

"Max?" Jack whispered, his eyes going wide. I didn't know who that was and apparently, neither did Dean as he flung his strong arm out in front of Jack who began to sprint towards the sound.

"Who?" Dean demanded. Jack struggled to push past him but Dean wouldn't budge.

"That-that's Max! She's my friend! Those things have her! She needs our help!" He explained impatiently. Dean's face scrunched up.

"Wait, wait. Max? Teenage girl? White hair? 'Bout yea high?" The elder Winchester made a height comparison with his hand and Jack rolled his eyes.

"Yes! Now, come on!" Jack huffed.

"Oh ho! So that's why you're not going for abandonment issues over there?" Dean teased. Letting go of Jack, they started towards the sound of screaming. "Does Jack-Jack have a girlfriend?"

Jack stopped and faced Dean, confusion written across his brow. "Max already has a girlfriend."

"Oh."

The two dorks were brought back to reality when that Max girl screamed again.

"SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP!"

Her voice was followed by another, a boy this time.

"HEY! HEY! HELP! ANYBODY! HELP US!"

"That's Eliot!" Jack took off down the street at a full-on sprint. Dean, Sam, and Cas hot on his heels.

"No, no! Please, go on ahead without me," I muttered, sarcastically, "Save the damsel! I'll just... wait here then."

Huh. Max and Eliot. I felt like those names should be switched around, but then again, I go by Marty, so who am I to judge?

Out of nowhere, I felt a stinging pain in my shoulder. A syringe. I knew the feeling well. Before I could react, the pain suddenly doubled, rapidly spreading all throughout my body like a viral infection.

Dead man's blood.

I whipped my head to the left to meet an all too familiar pair of brown eyes.

"What's bouzzin' gousin?" An accented voice jeered.

Then everything was black.

***

The vampires were taken care of rather easily. Jack felt like a Jedi Knight as he suspended them in the air, stringing them up like the murderers they were. They didn't even struggle. Like convicts dangling from a hangman's noose, the vampires knew as soon as they saw Jack's glowing eyes, that their deaths were nigh at hand. Jack thrust out a hand and caught them in the pulsing rings of his grace, a sound like drum beats underwater reverberating off the alley walls. With a grin, the boy clenched his hand into a fist and the monsters splintered into not but dust.

With the threat eradicated, the glow in Jack's eyes flickered out and he turned to the high-schoolers who he considered his friends.

"Hello, Max! Hello, Eliot! It's alright, you're safe now," He chimed, nodding to each kid in turn and lifting his hand in greeting, though he refrained from actually waving it. Upon seeing him raise his hand, the kids shared a look of sheer terror and backed away. Jack frowned at their reactions, lowering his hand. "No, no! Wait, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you!"

Max and Eliot paused, trying to determine whether or not they believed him.

Unbeknownst to Jack, Max and Eliot didn't actually like him. ( After finding out about the supernatural, the teens were disappointed when the Winchesters refused to tell them more about spirits and monsters. Enter Jack, and his unfortunate lack of talent in terms of keeping his trap shut. ) Max and Eliot had only hung out with Jack once, and that was exclusive because they knew that he lived with the Winchesters. Against his better judgment, Jack had shown them a glimpse of his powers and though they thought his telekinesis was cool, the teens had agreed not to search the boy out again.

There was just something about Jack that unsettled them, frightened them,  terrified  them. Just like every other human who had seen what Jack could do; deep down, they were all afraid of him. Because he wasn't normal, he wasn't right,  he wasn't human .

"What did you just do to those guys?" Eliot asked, staring with eyes as wide as quarters. Jack thought it would be better not to answer that question.

"It's okay! They were monsters," He reassured.

"He disintegrated them," Cas deadpanned. Dean shot the angel a look. "What?"

"YOU DISINTEGRATED THEM?!" Max screeched loud enough to make Jack flinch.

"Yes?"

"You didn't just, like, proof em' away or something?" Eliot added, a little quieter.

"Um, no. No, I didn't."

"COULD YOU DO THAT TO US?!"

"Most likely, yes," Jack answered, thoughtfully, "I've never tried it on humans, though. But I would never hurt you guys, you're my friends!"

"You're really freaky, dude," Elliot said, shaking his head slowly, "And, like, not in a good way."

"I know." Jack hung his head. They were afraid of him. They hated him. He shouldn't have expected otherwise.

"I'm never gonna be able to un-see that," Max muttered, staring at the cement.

That gave Jack an idea, maybe there was a way to undo this.

"I know you're probably freaking out, but I think I know a way to make it better," He said, trying to sound reassuring.

"Nah, man. I don't want any of your freaky Aquaman powers used on me!" Eliot shook his head.

"No powers." Jack smiled despite how badly their words hurt. "I promise."

His stomach twisted with the lie, but they didn't need to know that. Max and Eliot shared another glance.

"Okay..." They agreed, hesitantly.

"I have a friend. Her name is Marty," Jack explained, leading them back to the bench where his family had left the girl. "She's right here!"

Except she wasn't.

That's when the Nephilim's phone rang.

It was a picture message. Marty sat unconscious tied to a chair in some shack. The text read:

"I really would hate to incur the wrath of the Winchesters, so consider this a ransom note. All you have to do is find her in time. Tick-tock. ~ Felix "

Max peered over Jack's shoulder.

"Hey! I know that place!"

***

"Welcomb back to the land of the livinc' where the livinc' are, in fact, dead!"

Okay, so she knew I was awake. I kept my eyes closed anyway and canvassed my new environment. Having grown up blind, I didn't need my eyes to see.

My hands were bound with zip-ties to the arms of the splintering wooden chair I sat in. The space around me was large but not cavernous as there was no echo. This was a shack of some kind judging by how the metal panels making up the roof clanged against one another in the wind. The shack was also dark to protect vampire skin from the sun, and in winter, no sun meant freezing temperatures. There was a weight covering my lap; someone had given me a blanket. I caught the scent of hay among other less pleasurable farm smells. I could hear the shifting of five pairs of feet surrounding me in a circle. This was going to be fun.

Opening my eyes, at last, I was met with the sight of a young woman around the age of twenty-two, lounging on a few hay bails. She was long, lean, and muscular with a round face displaying a crooked smile. I could see the end of a tie-dyed shirt sticking out beneath the fluffy black coat she wore. Her green and purple hair was chopped short in a punk rocker pixie cut that stuck out in at least five different directions. If I wasn't mistaken, a few of the strands appeared to be scorched on the ends. Her cheekbones were low and prominent and plenty rosy. She had full lips and a button nose that was home to two tiny diamond studs. The woman wore her dark green eyeshadow with plum-colored lipstick unapologetically. Her eyes, which were set deeper than most, turned down at the corners and sparkled with mischief. They were accompanied by thick dark eyebrows, the left of which had apparently gotten a third piercing since I had last seen her.

"Ah hah! So she  is  alive!" She said, her thick Dutch accent coating her words, "I was begininc' to worry that you had follen asleep... Again."

I shrugged despite my restraints.

"Yeah, well I can only sleep-in so long."

"You never were a morninc' person, were you?" The woman sighed, shaking her head. I watched her arrow-head pendant as it swung back and forth from her neck.

"Nope."

"And dat's why we're frien'ds!" She chirped.

"We're not friends, Elwyn." Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh but it was better than pretending like everything was fine and dandy between us. Elwyn faked a gasp.

"You used my fuoll name! You muss be serious. Why so c'old,  mijn lieve ?" She asked, tilting her head.

"Spending five years as a walking corpse will do that to you," I answered, smiling thinly. "Why are you here, Elwyn? What's this act for? We both know that if I wanted to walk out of here right now, I could do so without a scratch on me. What do you want?"

"You might 'ave been able to woltz out of 'ere if you had a full tanc', dat's true." Elwyn nodded, in agreement. Then she tilted her head and frowned at me with pouty lips. "But you're quite weak now. I'm sorry, hones'ly. I t'ought dat you'd be able to 'andle dat much dead man's blood but you still look pale an' shaiky!"

"Well, I've always been pale," I replied, narrowing my eyes. Elwyn sat up, crossing her legs and putting a fist to her chin. Her brows furrowed and she looked at me with what seemed to be genuine concern for my well-being.

"How lon'g has it been since you fed,  liefste ?" She asked in a gentler tone.

"A little over two weeks," I answered honestly.

"Two weeks?! Nothinc'? Not even somethinc' piffy, like a ra'bbit?"

I shook my head and shrugged.

"Oh,  jij arme ding ! I know you ha'te it, but how could you do dis' du yourself?!" She cried, shaking her head in dismay. I looked away. Deep down I knew that Elwyn really did care about me, albeit in her own strange way. I was being harsh with her and that wasn't exactly fair. She was Felix's prisoner too.

"I more than hate it, Ellie," I said, speaking softer now, "But I just couldn't find a good opportunity. Besides, I can take it."

Elwyn rolled her chocolate-brown eyes.

"No you gan't, Mardina! Look at yourself! You're runninc' on foomes and it shows!" Elwyn huffed, her accident becoming more prominent as her emotion shown through. "Be hones'd wit me, dis is because of dose Win-kesters, isn't it?"

"Not exactly," I said, picking at a splinter on the wooden arm-rest. I knew the real reason and it was a stupid one. I mean, of all the ways to try to be better, starving myself to the breaking point probably wasn't the smartest. But I wanted to be good, pure. I wanted to be human. For him.

"Ah, I see." Elwyn smiled softly. "I was told aboud dat Nephilim boy, the rumors were wrong about him. I was watchinc' you two today; he's not a ragink' monster at all."

"No, he's not." I shook my head.

"He's a  zoet wezen , no?" Elwyn chuckled to herself, "Sorry, I don' know de word for it in English."

I nodded. The closest translation of her Dutch was ' sweet creature '. It fit.

"What's his name?" Elwyn asked without the slightest bit of hostility.

I smiled. "His name is Jack."

" Hou je van hem ?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging. Elwyn smiled knowingly.

"Yes, you do. And if what I saw was any indication, he feels the same."

"No, he doesn't, Ellie," I sighed and gestured to the child body I was trapped in. "He can't. Just look at me! I'm just a sister to him and if he knew what I really am then he'd hate me!"

"So, dat's what dis is about." Elwyn nodded with understanding.

"What do you mean?"

"You t'ink yourself bad, so you want du be good for him. Dat's why you 'aven't been feeding," She explained, sounding matter-of-fact.

"Yeah, I guess so." I looked away.

"Well, das not good!" Elwyn leaned forward and cut the zip-ties that held me to the chair. Then she reached behind her and fished around a bit until she pulled her arm back and held it out to me, a blood bag resting in her palm. "Have a snack now and your  engel jongen  will never know!"

I glanced at it for a moment but it didn't take much to break my willpower. I snatched the bag from her hand and ripped it open, downing it like there was no tomorrow.

"You gan slow down,  geliefde.  I brough't more." Elwyn chuckled.

"You did?" I asked looking up.

"I had a sneakinc' suspission dat dis was goin'c du 'appen." She shrugged, tossing me another bag which I ripped into also. She reached behind her again, this time tugging around a small cooler full of the stuff which she pushed over to me. "I admire your willpower, Mardina. I don t'ink I'd have de kinda strengt for what you're pullinc'. How'd you do it?"

"Do what?" I asked, halfway through my second bag.

"Live with dose 'unters day in an' day out!" She exclaimed, "Esspecialy dat e ngel jongen ! Da kid smells like garamel chocolate! I envy your gontrol. How'd you stan' so close to him? I was eighty-feet away and I gould 'ardly gontrol myself!"

Well, at least I wasn't the only one.

"I gotta keep up apperences, Ellie. You know all about that." I knew I sounded guarded, but this subject made me uncomfortable.

"But you gould still get a taste. I know you gan make pepole forget t'ings."

I sighed, finishing my second bag and grabbing another.

"You know, Elwyn? You almost got me." I smiled, shaking my head.

"What do you mean?" She asked, feigning obliviousness.

"For a second there, I almost thought you were still my friend."

"I  am  your friend," Elwyn insisted, "I defied Felix for you!"

"Then you ran right back to him the second I turned my back."

"I had too," She spoke, her voice regretful.

"No! No you didn't! You  chose  too. You chose  him  over  me !"

" Hij is mijn vader !  Ik moest !" Elwyn cried. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"I don't care!" I shouted back, "We were free! We both could have been free! But no, you chose to leave me all alone in the middle of the woods!"

"I knew you'd be fine," She whispered. I shook my head, pressing my lips together.

"No, you didn't," I growled. "Do you have  any idea  how long I wandered for?!"

"You made it out."

"Not in one peace. I lost things in there, Elwyn." I shook my head. "You left me there." Then, I let out a harsh, rasping, laugh and spat my next words. "And for what? To run right back into the arms of the father that never even loved you!"

Elwyn hung her head. " Het spijt me zeer.  I'm so sorry."

"You should be," I said, cooly. "Why do you always run back to him? And don't give me any of that ' he's my father ' bull crap."

"I don know. But what I do know is dat I am still your friend."

"Right." I nodded, smiling through tight lips. "Why are you really here, Elwyn?"

She took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that had slipped down her face, and looked up. "I game 'ere to save you," She said.

"Excuse me?"

"From dose 'unters!" She explained, "Felix told me dat you were with de Win-kesters and I begged him to let me c'ome rescue you. An' he said yes! He's so much kinder den he used to be; he promised dat he wouldn' make you do anyt'ing you didn' want to!"

Elwyn smiled at me and took my hand.

"Oh, yeah?" I scoffed, "Then what was that phone call, huh? What? Is killing my friend supposed to win me over?"

"Hey, I said dat Felix is kinder den he was." Elwyn sighed. "He's still Felix though. He was tryinc' to intimidate de Win-kesters into letting you go."

"I'm not being held hostage!" I insisted.

"But you are still in danger!" Her eyes softened, "Dey will kill you if dey find out what you are."

"I know."

"C'ome with me," She pleaded, "C'ome with me, an' Jack will never find out about you. C'ome with me an' he'll never break your heart."

I paused. Was there really any chance?

No. There was no chance. No chance that Felix could ever change. It was one in a million. There was no chance and  no choice .

"If you're really here to save me, then what's with your little posse?" The five other vampires had been unusually quiet for idiots of their caliber.

Elwyn shrugged. "In case t'ings get messy."

"We'll, then you better plan on things getting messy because I'm not coming with you," I said with a smirk.

"Why not?"

"Because Felix wants me dead, Elwyn, and that's not going to change."

The woman's face fell.

"I know you didn' mean to kill Madra," She whispered, gently. I shook my head and frowned.

"I didn't kill her," I hissed, "Felix killed his soulmate, not me."

"And he sees dat now. He knows dat it wasn' your fault, dat you couldn't gontrol it. He realises dat and he forgives you!" She smiled a little.

"And how many times did he have to beat you before he realized that?"

"C'ome on, Mardina!" She sighed, though I could see the pain her eyes hid. "Dis is an olive branch! Jus' take it!"

I shook my head and I laughed. I laughed long and loud and hard. I laughed like a girl gone mad. I had told Elwyn that I had lost something when she had left me in those woods, I wanted her to know what it was.

"No," I said. Then I stretched my bloody lips into a mad, humorless grin, "I don't want your olive branch."

"Why not? Its your best chance! Don you want peace?"

"Peace?  PEACE?! " I spat, "You know what he did to me, what he made me! You think after every thing he took away, that I would want  peace ? You think after what I did, Felix would offer me peace?"

"I don't want peace," I said, beginning the rhyme I'd heard when I was still alive, "I want war and I want my enemy's head hung like a boar. I didn't come for money and I don't want his crown, see, I've come to burn his kingdom down. So, come one, come all, to take a dance with the dead and stain the petals of the white roses red."

"Mardina, please!"

The other vampires in the room shifted, readying for a fight. But I was faster.

Launching myself from that splintering wooden chair, I threw my body forward towards the stack of haybales Elwyn had previously sat on. I had to jump to avoid the vamp that tried to grab my legs and that pushed me forward a little too much but it wasn't something I couldn't compensate for. Landing on my hands, I shoved my body up, and over the hay bales in a vamp strength enhanced backflip. I landed on my feet and flipped my hair back. The shed's door was in front of me. Sure, it was locked but the lock was only one of those slidey metal bars which are super easy to break and if I was going to fight five vamps at once, it would be wise to keep my back to the door that way I might be able to be thrown through the door and land outside instead of pushed into a dead-end wall. Also, if I was going to fight five vamps at once, I was going to need the proper tool for the job. Beside the door, my eyes landed on a tool rack. I spied my weapon of choice. This was going to be fun .

It was one of those weird four-prong rakes that I'm not completely sure is called a rake. A label on the shaft said it was a soil cultivator but I didn't care what it was called because I was fighting for my life. The four prongs were about five inches long and although the shed wasn't new, the equipment in there thankfully wasn't that old, so the four steel prongs were still wicked sharp.

I ducked, dodging the arms of another vamp before rushing for the tool rack. Another vamp sprang in front of me, blocking my way and I paused. This one had bleach-blond chin-length hair. I knew him. I remembered him from when I was in Felix's cage. This one's name was Boyd and he liked to touch things that didn't belong to him. I couldn't fight back then, but I could now.

"How's it goin', Boyd?"

"So, you remember me, do ya?" He jeered, beginning to circle me like a predator circling its prey. Little did he know, he was not the predator here.

"Oh, I remember you alright. See, Boyd, I'm not a good little girl-" He used to call me that, "- not anymore. I don't do what I'm supposed to. See, when it comes to bastards like you, I don't forgive and I most certainly don't forget."

"Well, I guess its a real shame that I forgot your name, then. You were one of my favorites!" He laughed, "Only thing I remember 'bout you now is how loud you used to scream."

I gave him a cold smile and lunged straight for his legs. Grasping his ankle, I twisted and pulled, sending him crashing to the floor. Then I lifted his leg, rolled over, and slammed my arm down on his knee. There was an ear-splitting snap and he screeched like an animal.

"Who's screaming now, Boyd?" I taunted. I sprung up and stomped down on Boyd's throat, crushing his windpipe. As a vampire, that wouldn't kill him which was good because I wasn't done with him yet. I was going to make him hurt. Why would I want peace when I could have revenge? Revenge felt good.

I rolled away when a red-haired vamp took a swing at my head. I bolted for the four-prong rake and brandished it the way you would a staff. The rake was long, about three inches taller than me, but I easily found the balance point. I spun it around in my hand as I circled the other four vamps.

"Mardina, we gan talk aboud dis!" Elwyn tried, grabbing my arm. I threw my head back and laughed.

"No, Ellie. We can't!" I flipped the rake over, using the blunt end to whack Elwyn upside the head with supernatural strength and speed. She was knocked out. "Stay down. You're not like them and I don't want to kill you."

The red-haired vamp ran at me again and I spun out of the way, flipping the shaft again and swinging it down as he passed me. Two of the prongs buried themselves in the base of the vamp's spine, judging by the position, between two vertebrae. He howled and tried to claw at my arm but I easily avoided him. A female vamp shrieked for her friend and lunged at me from the left.

I rolled my eyes. Pushing on the shaft of my rake I distanced myself from the redhead vamp and ducked away from the female's fangs. I reached out and grabbed her shirt, using it to pull her down towards me. I slammed my head into hers once, then twice to daze her. She stumbled as I let go and switched to grabbing the hair at the base of her neck.

"Night-night, cupcake!" I chirped. Then I slammed her face into my knee and tossed my weight over her shoulder, sliding my arm around her neck. I pulled backward.

That blissful crack was the sound of her neck snapping. Jumping up and using the wall to gain some momentum, I twisted the vamp's head all the way around. It was easy with nothing but tissue and tendons in my way. Her body dangled limp from where I held her by the hair, so I opened my mouth, letting my fangs extend, and I bit her head off.

The redhead vamp with my rake still stuck in him cried out and tried in vain to reach me again. It was pathetic, really. Grinning, I wrenched the rake upward, severing the vamp's spinal cord and pulling the prongs along with two of his vertebrae straight through his back. He fell to the ground, paralyzed from the waist down because two of his bones were missing.

Just as I was about to remove his dreadful cranium from his miserable shoulders, one of the other vamps jumped at me, managing to rake his grotesquely long fingernails along my back. I released no cry of pain as he tore through my skin before grabbing me by my shoulders and hurtling my body at the wall. My face slammed against a pole built into the metal siding as the rest of my body just hit the wall. I landed on the ground with a jarring impact that I was sure had broken a few things. But I couldn't feel the pain. I was too focused on my rage. I was seeing red, and for the first time, I welcomed it without fear.

"Not so tough now are ya?" He called out.

My body was broken and yet I stood. I felt invincible.

"I know I'm not tough," I laughed. I wiped away the blood that was dripping from my mouth and nose, looking up to smile pleasantly at the vamp. "But you wanna know what I am?"

"What?"

"I'm insane, and that tends to make up for the rest."

The vamp charged me but I twisted around and Spartan kicked him into the wall. Then, using a few hay bails to step on, I vaulted into the air and brought the rake down on the vamp's head, piercing through his skull and embedding the prongs in his brain. The spray was a little gross but I didn't care. He deserved it.

"You're next, pumpkin," I called to the last vampire left standing in the room.

I crossed over to him and he managed to block my first two blows but then I smashed the blunt end of the rake into his face a few times and he was unconscious. I heard a groan and turned on my heel.

"And that brings us back to you, Boydie-Boo!" I cheered, stepping on the paralyzed vamp's hand as I passed him. I leaned over Boyd who was still on the ground, gasping for air. "Hello, sweetie. How are we today?"

All Boyd did was gasp and choke, he couldn't speak as his vocal cords had been stepped on.

"Aw! Did you get a boo-boo?" I pouted at him.

Then I grabbed Boyd by the throat at lifted him into the air. He struggled against my grasp but could do nothing. He couldn't even beg.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? Can't you scream for me?"

He shook his head and spat at me. So, I threw him into a wall. Boyd fought to stand, using the wall to stagger upright.

"Come on, Boyd! Fight! Are you going to let yourself be beaten by a girl?!" I taunted him and pulled on the fear that was already constricting his mind. Revenge felt so good.

"You-you're not a girl," He panted, "You're a monster!"

I hummed, tapping my chin with my finger.

"I guess history will have to be the judge of that, now won't it, buddy-Boyd?" I dragged my rake along the ground, though all the blood of his friends. There was a wonderful metallic grating noise as the prongs scrapped across the concrete.

"Please don't! Please! I'll do anything!" It felt good to hear him beg.

"Unfortunately," I continued, "I don't think you'll be around to plead your case!" I hefted the rake.

"No! PLEASE!"

"Bye-bye, Boydie-boo!"

I swung the rake upward with all my might and with a sickening crunch I rammed its prongs up through his jaw. I said I wanted him to suffer. Pulling him by the prongs in his face I brought his screaming form over to the tractor sitting at the back of the room. I rammed the shaft of the rake through two spokes of one of the tractor's wheels. All it took was the flip of a leaver to send the wheels spinning.

Turn, turn, turn and scream, scream, scream, then a nice snap, crackle, pop, and then suddenly, Boyd's head and body were two separate objects. I was very happy. Then, the random vamp I'd knocked out woke up and yanked on my hair, throwing me over his shoulder.

I tried to land on my feet but failed, tripping and stumbling backward. I landed on my back and scrambled to get up. As I did, I noticed the perfect white rose that Jack had given to me had fallen out of my hair. It lay on the ground in a pool of blood. Jack said it reminded him of me, of the way he saw me. Well, it wasn't innocent or perfect anymore. But neither was I, so I think it matched me better now.

The vamp rushed me and tackled me to the ground, pinning my arms to my sides as he snapped at me with his fangs out.

Bang... Bang!... CRASH!

The door burst open and light from the setting sun poured in, falling directly on the last vamp's face. He cried out and tried to scamper away, like a rat from a cat.

"It's about time! You guys are late to the party!" I shouted.

"Yeah, sorry!" Dean said from the doorway, "Who would've thought there were so many old sheds in this town!"

I didn't get a chance to reply.

I felt the air prickle and spark, charging with a tambour of power that I recognized but had yet to experience to this degree. I turned my head in time to see Jack, eyes glowing gold, passing by Dean with his hand outstretched. Golden waves of energy shot from his being with a sound like drumbeats from the depths of the sea. The waves caught the fleeing vampire and time around him slowed to a crawl. He was lifted into the air and revolved to face his reckoning. The Nephilim's lips tugged into a cruel grin as he saw the fear in the vampire's eyes.

Suddenly, the pulses of energy stopped and the vampire was flung towards Jack, landing face-first in the dirt at the boy angel's feet. Jack knelt down, his expression seeming to consider the trembling, pathetic thing in front of him.

"P-please!" The monster managed to choke out. "Mercy!"

Jack looked up at me, his eyes soaking in my bloodied face. Apparently, that was all it took. Jack's eyes hardened and he turned back to the vamp.

"You. Hurt. My. Friend."

Jack grabbed the vampire's head in his hands and started to squeeze. The vamp screamed as the pressure increased until his skull just couldn't take it anymore. There was a crunch and a wet sucking noise as the vamp's head collapsed in on itself. I liked that sound.

"That dude's still alive," I said, casually jabbing my thumb at the red-haired vamp I had paralyzed. Jack turned to where I had pointed, ready to squeeze another brain out of its shell.

"Jack!" Cas called from behind him. "No!"

The Nephilim scowled at Castiel and I admired the rage I saw in his eyes. This wasn't my Jack but I liked this version just as much. No, Jack wasn't human, was he? He was more like me than I'd thought. Jack snapped his fingers and the red-haired vamp crumbled into dust. The sight was actually sort of pretty.

When Jack turned to look at me his eyes were completely soft and full of concern. There was my Jack.

"Are you afraid of me now?" He asked in a whisper.

"No," I replied flatly, shrugging my shoulders, "Why would I be?"

"I killed them." Jack hung his head. "Right in front of you."

"Am I supposed to care?" I smirked, hoping my voice didn't sound as harsh as I thought it did. I was just barely beginning to come off my rage-induced high. Jack eyed me with confusion and relief.

"You're hurt," He observed, moving over to me.

"Me? Nah! This is nothing." I gestured at the bodies scattered around the shed. "You should see the other guys!"

"Stay still." Jack placed his soft, gentle, hands on my face to examine my injuries and I felt a warm tingling as he healed them. "There. I fixed you." He whispered. It was more to himself than anything but I still heard it. It made me laugh on the inside.

Yeah, no. Nothing could fix me. I was broken beyond repair. It was my insanity that held me together. Does that sound like the sort of thing that can be fixed?

"Thanks, Jack-Jack!" I chirped, smiling brightly at him.

"You're welcome, Marty," He said quietly. Jack's eyes flicked down, focusing on my lips like he wanted something but wasn't sure how to ask.

"Um, M-Marty?" Sam's voice broke whatever spell the two of us had been under and I glanced over to him.

"Yeah?"

"Did you, uh," Sam pointed to the carnage surrounding us, watching me with weary eyes. "Did you do this?"

I shrugged, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder at the tractor. "Yeah, mostly. But the tractor helped."

"I'm guessing the tractor did that?" Dean pointed to Boyd's head with its jaw still run through with the prongs of the rake. I walked calmly over to the severed head, grasping it by the hair and pulling it off the prongs before returning with it back to the boys. Sam, Dean, and Cas all stared at me with eyes as wide as quarters as held up the head.

"Dean, this is Boyd," I said, keeping my tone as sweet as possible.

"Huh."

"Say hi to Boyd."

"Uh...Hey, Boyd..."

"Good." I grinned as if I was holding a puppy instead of a severed head. "Now let me tell you about Boyd. Boyd liked touching things that didn't belong to him. He worked for Felix and Felix liked hearing little girls scream and cry. So did Boyd. Boyd was very good at making little girls scream and cry, little girls like me. Weren't you Boyd?" I asked the mutilated cranium in my hand. I moved the severed head up and down in an enthusiastic nod, holding it by the hair as if it was a marionet.

"You were very good, yes you were!" I cheered. Then, like the flip of coin, I snapped my focus back to the Winchesters, wiping my face and tone clean of all emotion.

"So, I used a tractor to rip his head off because he deserved it and now he won't ever make another little girl cry ever again. Right, Boyd?" I asked the severed head. I grabbed the head's bloody, splintered jaw and clacked it's teeth together like you would a ventriloquist dummy. "You bet your britches!" I made the head answer, mimicking Boyd's voice.

"D-did he-" Sam stuttered. I flicked my gaze back to him, allowing all three to see the harshness in my eyes.

"Whatever you're thinking, the answer is probably yes."

"Marty?"

I turned to Dean. "What?"

"Put the head down."

I dropped Boyd's severed head.

"Come here." The hunter opened his arms and I faked a sob before accepting the hug. "You weren't gonna tell us about that, were you?" I shook my head. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're safe now."

"Thank you for not throwing me away, Dean," I said softly. The elder Winchester chuckled.

"Don't thank me, Marty. After all, how could we throw away someone so Bad-Ass?"

"Am I awesome now?" I asked.

"You were always awesome."

I laughed and the Winchesters trusted me more than ever. Their mistake.

"Dean, that one's moving," Castiel called our attention over to Elwyn, who was just waking up.

Jack was quick to react, sending a golden blast of power to throw her against the wall where he kept her pinned.

"Wait! Wait!" She cried, "I didn' 'urt Mardina! I swear!"

"Do you work for Felix?" Dean interrogated, pushing me behind him.

"He's my fah'der but I'm not like him! I want du 'elp her! I jus a messenger!"

"Whaddia say, Sammy? Should we shoot the messenger?" Dean asked, keeping his cold eyes on Elwyn.

"No! Please!" Elwyn begged, tears slipping down her face. "I didn' 'urt her!"

"You know, if we shoot the messenger, Dean, it sends one Hell of a message." Like his brother, Sam could turn on the killer inside him like a switch.

"Felix is in Floree'ida, okay? Dat's all I know, I swear!" And it was all she knew because Elwyn had never had a backbone. There was no strength in her.

"Guess its up to you, Marty," Dean said, turning to me. Elwyn looked at me with wide pleading eyes. I regarded her with ice in my own. No second chances. Monsters don't get second chances, I know I never did. I knew I never would.

"I'm your friend, Mardina! Tell dem I'm your friend!" She pleaded. I shook my head.

"You only cared about me when Felix wasn't looking." I was almost shocked by how apathetic and passionless my voice sounded. I watched her without compassion. "You were never my friend."

"No!" Elwyn screeched, "No! I 'elped you! I 'elped you when dey beat you!"

"But you never tried to stop them."

"What?! No!" She sobbed. I smiled at her slightly.

"Go tell Madra I'm sorry."

I sent Jack a nod and with a snap of his fingers, Elwyn was nothing more than flecks of grey drifting to the ground.

Turning around with a sigh, I could feel the eyes of the four others as I bent down and scooped up the rose Jack had given me. I cradled the precious flower in my hands, watching as the blood dripped from its petals in big heavy gobs. It had been perfect once. It wasn't perfect anymore. It would never be perfect again. Or perhaps it could be, just not the right way. Because the blood was oddly beautiful with the way it stained the petals and pooled in the center of the rose.

"I can get you another one," Jack spoke up, "And I'll pay for it this time!"

I turned back to him, smiling down at my little rose.

"No, its okay, Jack. It's a crooked kind of perfect. I think I like it better now."

~All the pretty girls, they find

A way to keep you on my mind

I swear I heard you singing along

Cities pass like candy stores

And you're the one

I'm looking for

And so

I'm just a boy

Who's telling a girl

That when I grow up I'll buy you a rose

When I grow up, I'll buy you a rose~

Lyrics from: Buy You A Rose by AJR

(Author's Note: You may or may not have figured it out by now, but Martina Imogene Linville is insane. MARTY IS NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY. SHE IS NOT A GOOD PERSON. Marty also had Borderline Personality Disorder before she went insane. So, even at her most stable points in this story, she is not to be trusted. Remember, she manipulates peoples emotions. She makes them feel what she wants them to feel. Any other character's actions may or may not actually be their own. Please keep this in mind going forward.)

[longitud-de-onda]

{un veneno} march: eloquence

pairing; javier peña x female reader summary; your time with emiliana is running out and your feelings for javier are only growing rating; m warnings; talk about sex, alcohol (can i even write a javi fic without it?), angst, age gap, two idiots who need to get over themselves word count; 3.1k january, february

un veneno masterlist

You turned over as you woke up, not wanting to open your eyes to the bright light that streamed into your room from the windows. When you did, however, your eyes didn’t open to the darker side of your room but the worn fabric of Javier’s couch.

You stretched out, groaning as you woke up. Your neck was a little sore, which you attributed to the position you were lying in without a pillow. A blanket was half-draped over you, and you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. It didn’t feel great, but the couch was surprisingly comfortable.

The events of the night before began to return to your memory: going out for drinks with Javier, returning to his apartment, watching TV on the couch until late. You must have drifted off at some point.

It was nice to know Javier let you fall asleep there. It had happened before, more often than you’d like to admit, but usually, he’d set you up in the small spare bedroom he had.

You heard a bit of rustling as you rolled over to glance over the room. Javier was walking out of the kitchen towards the door, a piece of toast in hand.

“Javi?” you said, voice dripping with sleep, “What are you doing?”

“You’re awake!” he startled before breaking out into a smile. “Good morning.”

He had grabbed his leather jacket and looked like he was about to leave.

“Morning,” you smiled up at him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go to work,” he said. There was a tinge of apology in his voice like he wanted to spend the day with you.

“It’s Saturday,” you complained. It was too early for you to care about being respectful, or care at all about what you were saying. You wanted him to stay.

After that day on the mountainside, you had taken to spending your Saturdays with Javier. He had the day off, so you could go do stuff together. Except, obviously, today.

“I know, but it’s important,” he said. He took a bite of the toast.

“I hate the DEA,” you said. You had hoped you’d get to go out to the market on the other side of town. Javier had promised he’d take you there at some point, he didn’t trust you to go alone. Too dangerous, he said.

“I know,” he laughed, “I’m sorry. You can stay as long as you need. Just lock up.”

“Okay,” you said, “When’ll you be done?”

“I meant you could stay as long as you need to wake up and eat and stuff. You can’t spend all day inside.” Javier opened the door. “We can do lunch tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. “Bye, Javi.”

“Have a good day,” he said before exiting the apartment.

You pushed the blanket off of yourself and sat up. It hurt, having him leave as soon as you woke up. Not that you were in a position where you could be offended. You were lucky he let you spend the night.

Javier’s attention was something you found yourself almost fighting for, and you knew others must as well. He was charming, young, handsome, and worked for the Embassy. That was the definition of a perfect man in most peoples’ books.

You stood up and walked over to the kitchen, where you grabbed a banana and sat down to eat. This was your 8th time, if you had kept track correctly, spending the night at Javier’s, and you seemed to always get a better nights’ sleep, even on the couch, than you did back at Emiliana’s.

Unfortunately, today was different in that Javier wasn’t there. You missed having him wander around, talking about different things. You missed telling him about work. Sometimes he’d talk about his favorite music or Colombian political secrets, and you’d tell him about how you always managed to find the best restaurants in every city and lecture him about packing a bag for an overnight because whenever he had to go up to Medellín he always overpacked.

As you sat eating, you found yourself wondering what the back half of his apartment looked like.

You walked over to his room and pushed open the door. The smell hit you before you could even notice what it looked like. A combination of sweat and latex and whatever that distinctly sex smell was, and the wave of it was so strong you had a hard time imagining that he hadn’t had sex in the past 8 hours you had been in the apartment.

Usually, that smell dissipated, you were familiar with that. For it to linger?

Your stomach clenched as your mind cleared a bit to notice the big bed in the center of the room and you realized he must have someone else in here almost every day. There’s likely been girls younger than yourself in that bed.

And for some reason, you haven’t been one of those women.

You’re standing in Javier’s closet, shuffling around in the small space, Javier sitting on his bed beyond the closed door. You had been chatting ever since you arrived at his place after school got out.

You hoped to be able to change out of your work clothes into the outfit that had somehow migrated to Javier’s closet, but the limited space didn’t allow for any speed.

“Hey, um, you have to move out of Emi’s soon, right?” Javier asked, voice muffled through the wood.

“Yeah,” you said, frowning. “I do.”

You had a couple days left and had been lying to Emiliana for a couple weeks now about having a place to stay. You chalked your procrastination up to over-involvement with teaching work and spending the rest of your free time with Javier or out partying. That didn’t fix the fact that in a few days you’d be effectively homeless.

“What are you going to do? You’ve set something up, right?” he said.

You couldn’t outright say no. Not to Javier. He was a decade or so older than you, had things figured out, had dealt with his own fair share of housing problems in the past. To admit that you had ignored this problem would be to admit how naive you were.

“I’ve traveled a lot, you know,” you decided on saying. “Been places where I didn’t know where I was going to sleep for the night.”

“Y/N!” he sounds like he’s rolling his eyes. “This is different. You’re working a job, you need something stable.”

“I don’t do stability.” That was as close to a life motto as you had. Living someplace for two months was new territory for you. The prospect of another nine or so was practically impossible to imagine.

“I know, but...” he stopped.

You paused, shirt halfway on, and waited for him to finish his sentence.

“What if you just move in with me?”

“What?” you ask, stunned. You finish putting on your shirt, mind working double time.

“I mean, you practically already live here. Your clothes are here, you eat here. I have a spare bedroom,” he said.

Moving in with Javier? As roommates? It was like some sort of angel and demon joined forces to create a godsend that would also torture you for the rest of the year. And how long was he suggesting this for? Because the nights you spent here were already pushing your limits of staying shut up about how much you wanted to kiss him.

“You know what, forget I said anything. It was a bad idea,” Javier rushed out.

You tensed up. No. You wanted this. Even if he was going to be the death of you.

You slipped on your pants as fast as you could, and flung open the door, throwing yourself onto Javier. He hugged back.

“No,” you said into his shoulder, “It’s a great idea. Thank you.”

“Where are you headed?” Javier walked out from his room, seeing you grabbing your jacket and purse which had been tossed across the couch earlier that day.

You were wearing the tightest jeans you owned and a cropped tank top, and the feeling of Javier’s eyes swooping over your body was just what you needed. There was no question: you were wearing this outfit to get the attention of someone.

“Dancing,” you responded, keeping it short as not to divulge your feelings. I’m going out so that I can forget about the fact that I get to sleep in the room next to you but never in your bed wasn’t the most appropriate answer.

“Fun.” He was frozen in the opposite corner of the room and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You had been living together for two weeks. You had gone out before. Why was he acting weird about it now? Why was this different?

“You’d hate it,” you said.

He liked going out for drinks but that was his limit. You had learned that the reason Javier was so perplexed by your social tendencies was your comfort around crowds. After years of training and working with the DEA, too many people put him into Agent Peña mode, and while it was useful for self-preservation, it meant his idea of fun usually involved fewer people.

“Maybe not?” he said, walking further into the living room. You furrowed your brow. What was he getting at? “The fact that you’d be there makes a pretty compelling argument.”

“Sure it does,” you laughed, trying to ignore the way his words sent a chill down your spine. Your brain helpfully supplied you with the image of Javier in a disco with you, tipsy and on the dance floor, hands around your hips, grabbing at bare skin on your waist and sliding up your leg under a short skirt. The goosebumps crawled up your arms and you shrugged on your jacket.

“I’m not going to be back until tomorrow,” you said.

“Why not?” He actually looked confused and for a moment you felt sorry that he didn’t understand. Until you remembered he was why.

“Um...” You didn’t know how to tell him, I’m going to go out of my way to fuck someone so that I can forget that I’m falling in love with you. It hurt everywhere, but mostly in your chest, and you knew staying in this apartment any longer would cause you to explode. Your heart couldn’t handle the sort of torture you were putting it through.

Javier was perfect in all the ways you didn’t think men were capable of. He respected everyone, even the women he paid to have sex with. He was great at being a roommate: sitting down for dinner with you, going out and buying groceries, listening to you vent about your bad days. He was vulnerable, at least within the confines of your apartment, sharing the difficulties of his job in ways you were beginning to understand. He said good night to you every evening with so much tenderness it hurt.

You knew Javier was getting lots of action. It was no secret that before most of the fucking occurred in his living room. Now that you were around he had the decency to always stick to the bedroom if he even had them there. Usually, he would leave for the evening, but sometimes you would get to meet his encounters.

Some of them were young, just over 18 and absolutely stunning, while others were closer to his age and would stay for an hour to smoke with him and talk. It didn’t matter who they were. Only that they were almost always different every time and they each were successful in confirming that you were quite possibly the only girl in Bogotá who wouldn’t get to warm Javier’s bed for a night.

You couldn’t handle it anymore. The last time you slept with someone was over a month ago, with Mateo, and your most recent orgasms had been at your own hand with Javier’s name on your lips, face pushed into the pillow, hoping he wouldn’t hear.

Your pause was enough for him to understand you’d be falling asleep in someone else’s bed tonight.

“Right,” he nodded. He stood across from you, hands in his pockets. “Well, stay safe?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You too, Javi. You never know, I leave you alone and you’ll end up setting this whole place on fire or something.”

Your head was pounding as you woke up, wrapped up in the arms of not one, but two men. As you shuffled around, you realized one was awake, and you mumbled a good morning. The events of the night before weren’t very clear, once you left Javier’s apartment (you still weren’t used to the fact that it was your home, too) you had gotten as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It was a blur of neon lights and hands around your body.

You could remember leaving the disco in a haze, arms wrapped around you. Remember moaning as you rode someone. Remember being held by your waist. By your hair. Remember Javier’s face flooding your mind as you came. Remember biting down on a pillow to keep from shouting out his name.

You looked down at the two men surrounding your body. You weren’t sure if they were together. They might have been? Most men wouldn’t dare sleep in the same bed as another unless they were involved.

You thanked them, wanting to make your leave before it got awkward. Maybe they wanted to have breakfast with you. Debrief. Talk. Sometimes that was custom. You didn’t want to do that. This wasn’t a normal threesome. Not that those existed. But this was you, trying to forget someone, and if that came up in conversation you would feel guilty.

So you gathered your things, got dressed, and left.

Walking the streets of Bogotá in the morning was nice. The fresh air on your skin felt amazing and the smell of fruit wafting through the air was refreshing. You loved the way the city breathed. It didn’t sound or smell like any other city you had been to. You knew you were falling in love with the city itself.

You opened the door to Javier’s and startled at the empty apartment. He was an early riser, and he liked to work in the living room. There was no one there. He must’ve still been asleep.

You entered the kitchen, collapsing into one of the chairs at the table. You grabbed an apple from the bowl and started eating. You didn’t really want to talk to Javier today. Sleeping with someone else hadn’t exactly helped the way you thought it would.

“Javi didn’t mention he had a roommate,” said a voice from behind you, accent thick. English wasn’t their first language.

You turned around, taking in the woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She was probably around your age, wearing nothing more than her underwear and one of Javier’s button-downs. She was beautiful. Your stomach flipped.

“Um, yeah. Hi,” you mumble. “And you are?”

“I’m Elena,” she said, smiling. She entered the kitchen like it was her own home and sat down across from you, grabbing another apple from the bowl.

You knew what she was here for. They didn’t usually spend the night. But there was a first for everything, you supposed. You told yourself you had to get used to it. You were roommates, and this was who Javier was. That was something you’d have to learn to accept. It just hurt so much more given the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Nice to meet you, um—”

“Did Javi not tell you I would be here?” she interrupted you. Her brow furrowed a bit and you wondered how long she had been planning to sleep with Javier. 

“No, he, uh,” you stuttered, “He didn’t mention anything.”

“Elena,” called Javier from further back in the apartment, out of sight. “Do you want to have breakfast before my roommate gets back, I don’t really want her to know someone was...”

He had wandered into the kitchen, trailing off as he saw you. He at least had the decency to look guilty.

“Hey, Javi,” you said, swallowing back the pain.

“Y/N? Hi,” he said, “Sorry, I, uh, I didn’t realize you were here.”

Of course he didn’t. You stared up at him. He had on pants but no shirt, and damn if you didn’t want to walk up to him and feel every square inch, trace the side of his neck, feel the rise and fall of his chest. You glanced away, hoping futilely he hadn’t caught you staring. You looked over at Elena, knowing that she had gotten to do exactly what you wanted.

And you were sitting in between this couple, ruining their morning after.

“It’s fine,” you said, pushing back your chair and ushering Javier into your seat. “It’s your place, you should have breakfast.”

“I should go,” Elena said, standing. “I think you two need to work out whatever is going on.”

“No!” you and Javier said at the same time. He looked back at you.

“Stay,” you said, not wanting for Javier to say anything that would completely screw over your day. “I need to take a shower, I’ll make myself scarce.”

You turn around and walk away, knowing that the two are starting at your back, still wearing the skimpy outfit you had on as you left the night before.

Upon entering your room, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. You squeezed your eyes shut, praying that the tears wouldn’t fall. This was exactly why you didn’t stay in one place for too long. When you were traveling, there was no time for feelings to develop, anything that happened was casual. You didn’t have to deal with pining in silence for months as someone flirted meaninglessly back at you.

You had dug yourself into this hole, agreeing to the job at the school, and now you wished you hadn’t. Getting to be around Javier was a blessing, some days you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to get to meet someone so perfect. But nothing made sense. Why did this guy, years older than you, offer to spend his time with you, even give up his privacy and let you live with him, but stay so painfully distant? What was it about you that he didn’t want?

The sound of laughter erupted from the direction of the kitchen and you sank to the floor, wishing you could go back to when you said yes to living here and stop yourself. You’d rather be back at a shitty hostel than feeling this.

next part

taglist; @pascalisthepunkest​ @turquiosenights @el-lizzie​ @letaliabane​ @stillfangirlingbtw​ @mando-vibes​ @flower-petal-blooming​ @spookyold-saintjm​ @enchantedrhoses @creamysacrilege​ @lolwhateverlol @murdermewithbooks​ @nerdysuperchick @awesomefandomsunited​ @nolivingthingdroid​ @mus1cal-barnes​ 

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good - 10

Chapter 10: 126 Kisses

Alright everybody I’m back! Finals are over and I’m officially free to write as much as I want until I can get a job. Hopefully that will be soon, but it’s not looking great. This chapter things sort of slow down and our heroes get the chance to relax for a minute. I figured they deserved it after their last case. Also this is just really fun for me.

Taglist:  @dreamwritesimagines @rhabakoli @alwaysadreamingoptimist

AoG Taglist:  @pancakefancake @prettyboyspenerrr @youreasnack @alioop3818 @newtslatte @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @andiebeaword @stalker83005 @lotties-journey-abroad

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: None! This is all fluff. If you aren’t scared of a little making out, you’re safe here.

“The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.” ― Jane Austen

           Trying to decide what your favorite thing about Spencer was was like trying to decide what flavor to pick at a Baskin-Robbins in hell, the options stretching to infinity. His lips, his brain, his hair, his really terrible but also really cute jokes, his hands, his magic tricks. There were a lot of options. There were so many options.

Right now though, the lips were taking it in a landslide.

“Do you really think,” you gasped, “that now is a good time for this?”

Spencer didn’t look up from where he was diligently making his way down your neck, fingers tracing little circles into the space of skin between your blouse and your slacks. You were in a supply closet, which felt very, extremely, incredibly high school, although admittedly you had never actually done anything that edgy in high school. That being said, if you were going to act like high schoolers you thought making out in a library was a much sexier choice and should probably involve fewer mops.

“Can’t wait,” he mumbled, pulling you just that little bit closer to him.

“Can’t wait 30 minutes till we’re off the clock?”

You laughed at him, but he swallowed it with a kiss, making you far too breathless to laugh anymore.

“This is our first full day of work back since the case where I didn’t see you for a full week. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I forget nothing, and I remember every. Agonizing. Moment.” He punctuated the words with kisses.

“I remember,” you breathed out, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I also remember that despite that, we like our jobs. We would like to keep our jobs. Which is why this is a bad idea.”

You stepped away, disentangling yourself with more restraint than you had probably ever exercised before. 30 minutes. 30 more minutes of paperwork. 30 more minutes of explaining to some desk jockey how to put a man in handcuffs. Then you were free.

You gave him one last kiss, just as a reward for the fact that you were miraculously managing to walk away from this.

“Meet me at the library after work.”

You reasoned you deserved to indulge your childish fantasies if you were going to be a responsible adult right now.

Before he could kiss you again and make you rethink your decision, you slipped out of the supply closet, straightening your shirt as you went. You stopped to check your appearance in the bathroom mirror, touched up your lipstick a little, then went back to work hoping nobody would notice your pupils were still dilated. The only person truly likely to notice that, however, was Spencer, and you didn’t have to worry about him. All you had to worry about were these forms.

The next half hour of your life was grueling. You had been literally tortured before and somehow, this seemed worse than that. You would have said it was impossible for anything to be worse than that, but now you knew better. It was simply improbable.

Finally, it ended. You let Spencer leave first, because clearly you were the one showing restraint today. He booked it out of the building, but you, on the other hand, took your time packing up. Stopped to chat with Emily, figuring she would be a safe bet considering she was either oblivious to your relationship or just so good at hiding her emotions she would never give away knowledge of it. You valued that in her as a friend. Her ability to not call you on your blatant lies when she knew the truth was better kept a secret.

You kept the conversation brief and lighthearted, and soon you were out the door too. You were aware Spencer knew your favorite library because he had confessed to you that the moment he knew he was in love with you was when you told him you even had a favorite library and that it was your happy place. You couldn’t help the fact that not only was it superior to all other libraries, but it was also superior to all other locations in general.

You wasted no time getting inside once you were there, scanning the shelves for him, and…there he was, freaking out some librarians with the speed at which he was reading. Was that the book you thought it was?

“Is that my favorite book?”

Spencer looked up, face forming a smile before his eyes even registered that it was you who had approached him.

“Yeah. You mentioned you liked it so I thought I should read it.”

“I think you’re concerning the librarians, my love. You’re going to put them out of a job.”

He blushed, and you assumed he was feigning modesty, but he quickly made the real reason for his sudden intense interest in the same page clear.

“My love?” His voice cracked softly. “We use nicknames now?”

Your face turned shades to match his. “Only if you want to.”

Wow, the books were fascinating. In fact, you could stare at them all day. Just look at bindings and never move or speak again ever for the rest of your life.

“Yeah, I do. I think it’s cute. Sweetheart.”

You stared down at your shoes, toes curling inside of them. Something about the way he said it made you go all melty inside. You definitely liked that.

“Okay, well,” you said, clearing your throat. “Considering you’re about 75% of the way through the greatest novel of all time, I have to ask. What do you think?”

“Well, I’ll admit it’s not my usual taste, but the author is certainly talented. I mean, the parallelism between certain characters, the perfect use of narrative tension, it’s all very well done. You have excellent taste.”

“And you’re not just lying because you like making out with me?” You teased.

“Well I do like making out with you.” Spencer grinned slyly. “But no. I never lie about books. Literature is sacred.”

“Agreed.” You nodded.

“That being said, I hardly think this counts as a holy place,” Spencer said, his voice dipping lower so that only you could hear, “so I think we can defile it guilt free.”

You were about to agree when you caught sight of the new arrivals shelf over his shoulder.

“Oh my gosh I’ve been trying to get my hands on that forever but I was too cheap to buy it!”

You shove past him, disregarding any apologies that might have been necessary. Not that he would require them. He had been ignoring you for books for the past week. He totally owed you.

“Can I read it first?” He asked, just as fascinated.

“Absolutely not.”

“But I’ll read it faster!”

“You’re not even done with the book you have now, slowpoke. Catch up with the big kids then you can read.”

You snatched the book of the shelf, holding it close to your chest. Spencer, meanwhile, appeared to have finished the book. You really hated him sometimes.

“Done. Now can I read it first?” He raised an eyebrow at you in challenge.

“Fine. But you owe me 126 kisses.”

“I’ll remember that.”

You snorted, not taking him literally as he took the book out of your hands and you paused to admire the architecture. Part of the reason this library was your favorite was that it was multiple stories. Books upon books not only stacked over shelves but over floors of a building. Multiple stories in multiple stories, if you wanted to be witty about it. The large glass windows in the front allowed plenty of light in, and you liked to bathe in sun pools while curled up with your books. You never liked to just be in and out of a library. One had to take time to bask in a library, to appreciate its unique atmosphere, to perhaps soak up the knowledge of its books through osmosis. Libraries were both underappreciated and important.

“Can you walk and read at the same time?” You asked.

“Of course I can, what kind of question is that?”

“Then follow me. I’m taking you to my favorite reading nook.”

You wound up the stairs, Spencer in tow, hardly glancing up from the book to see where he was going. You wondered if his genius brain came with hyperdeveloped peripheral vision.

The sun dappled blue carpet of the steps lead you to the second floor, coming to a spiraling stop across the room from your favorite spot. You made a bee line for it, sinking down into the plush curve of the couch. It wasn’t particularly busy on this floor of the library at this time of night, since this was where they kept most of the more obscure research literature. This floor was more geared towards the serious scholars, while the first floor was designed for university students and casual readers. You enjoyed all three categories of reading, yet another reason this location was so optimal.

“C’mon.”

You gestured for Spencer to join you, and he easily flopped down next to you, leaning into your side. He looped an arm around you, passing you the book with his free hand.

“Done?” You asked.

“Done,” he confirmed. “It’s kind of dead in here, isn’t it?”

“This is their slow day. We’re almost guaranteed not to be interrupted up here right now. Part of why I like it. I like to read in peace. There’s probably some research papers up here you’d like.”

You idly flipped open the pages of the book, ready to relax and read for an hour or two. Spencer had other ideas though.

“Guaranteed not to be interrupted, huh?” He said, nose slipping into your hair as he whispered the words low in your ear.

“Baby, I’m trying to read,” you whined.

That was the wrong choice of words. His hand slipped from your shoulder to your waist, pivoting you to face him as his fingers dug into the soft flesh that curved over your obliques.

“Have I mentioned that I really love the nicknames?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer before his mouth was on yours, and you were abruptly incapable of rational thought. No unsubs, no paper filing, and certainly no books. The room could have been on fire and you probably wouldn’t have noticed seeing as it already felt like you were on fire with the warm skim of his hands against your skin.

“Maybe I should have just taken you home,” he said, already a little breathless. “As nice as this couch is, yours is more comfortable, and you look very good in a t-shirt.”

“And jeans?”

A mindless comment, a meaningless clarification as your head spun.

“No. No jeans.”

He went back to your throat, which seemed to be his favorite spot. You inhaled sharply, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Besides, I still owe you 126 kisses.” You felt him smile into your skin saying it.

Oh, he was enjoying himself entirely too much.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying, “Yes, please.”

You heard him muttering under his breath as he kissed your neck, and your brows furrowed in confusion. After a moment, you realized. He was counting. You would have laughed if it wasn’t actually a little bit sexy.

Were you actually going to do this? Were you seriously making out with your boyfriend in a library? A public library, no less? The answer was no, and not because you didn’t want to.

A librarian hovered one shelf away, looking like she really didn’t want to have to come interrupt you but would if you continued. You sighed, pulling away from Spencer.

“I was wrong earlier. We are officially being interrupted. Let’s leave before we terrorize the poor librarians any further, shall we?”

You couldn’t hide your slight disappointment. It had been a long day and you deserved 126 kisses from your boyfriend. Alas, it was not to be.

Spencer was undaunted. “Guess this means I get to take you back to your place.”

“Guess it does,” you said, leading the charge back downstairs.

You ran your library card, checking out the book, before breezing out the door. You knew Spencer had walked here just like you knew he typically took the subway to work. Just as well. Meant you wouldn’t have to be separated on the drive back to your house.

“By the way, I’m investing in some t-shirts for you,” you said as you climbed into the driver’s side of your car.

He followed, sitting passenger side.

“Is there something wrong with my shirts?” Spencer frowned slightly.

“No, of course not. I love the way you dress. However, I want some oversized t-shirts.”

“I’m not following,” he said.

“It’s simple. I buy you t-shirts, let you keep them for like, a month, and then gradually steal them all from you.”

He laughed. “Why not just buy yourself t-shirts that are too big?”

“Because then they won’t smell like you.”

“I would say I’m not sure I fully understand you but actually I’ve been realizing since we got back that I’m sort of obsessed with the smell of your perfume. It would kind of linger in the air after you dropped off my coffees on that last case and that alone could keep me going for hours.”

“Really?” You kept your eyes on the road, diligently avoiding eye contact, suddenly shy.

“Really. You smell so good, all the time. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well I shower on a regular basis, just for a starting point,” you teased.

“Did you know that some experts say you actually shouldn’t shower every day? Apparently occasionally taking a break allows your skin to rebuild the natural oils it needs to be healthy. So while it doesn’t hurt you to shower every day, it can also be beneficial to skip sometimes.”

“I’m making a mental note of that for our next case. ‘Unsub has read same studies Spencer has. Took them too far.’”

You were rewarded with another of his laughs just as you pulled into your driveway. You took a moment to appreciate it, the sound light and happy. It was nice to hear him so relaxed after the case you had just gotten off. You were quickly overcome by the urge to kiss him.

He lead you inside, the two of you practically tripping over each other in your haste. You had never unlocked a door so fast a day before in your life.

You kicked off your shoes in the hallway, and Spencer followed suit, mismatched socks making an endearing appearance.

“I’ll be right back,” you said, heading in the direction of your bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“To change into a t-shirt. And no pants.”

Spencer smiled to himself, settling down on your couch, fully prepared to wait as long as it took. He had 114 kisses to bestow upon you in a t-shirt. A t-shirt, and no pants.

 “Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

― Robert A. Heinlein

[itsmylife--dontyouforget]

I need answers...

I saw your name again in old going through old Messenger chat, I decided to click and reread them even though I already know what's in. My questioning, a clumsy questioning, as if nothing was wrong with me that night. I explained you that I had a "little" blackout, knowing very well that I don't remember anything from 9pm to the time I woke up... This awakening, which still haunts me in my subconscious, I remember hearing an alarm ringing, opening my eyes and not knowing where I am... starting to panic inside, where am I? What happened? I lift the sheets, I'm naked, on the floor a wrapper... and then you ask me “how are you” and you tell me we had a great evening... An evening that I only remember the beginning: our discussions about travel, culture, advice for my studies, I drink your words as I always have, you have always been good advice since we have known each other, you were the big brother I never had...

An evening that was just a friends dinner in a restaurant, nothing exceptional, an evening during which I only drank one beer except for the shot of tequila before entering the restaurant, a bottle that you had brought back as a souvenir of the good old days.

Here we are back to that famous morning, when I locked myself in the bathroom of this hotel, I remember taking a shower, getting dressed, gathering my things quickly and ordering an Uber. My brain just went on autopilot, I don't remember the passed time between the hotel and my home, I just remember coming home and taking a shower and getting ready quickly for work and pretending nothing happened.

I called L. and asked him to come with me to the pharmacy to buy a morning-after pill just in case. I didn't really explain the situation to him, I have just told him to not ask any questions.

Then, that same day, my college girlfriend called me, my double, the one without whom the group work and classes would have been nothing but long sessions of torture. I summarize the situation by telling her that I have a blackout and that I woke up in a hotel room without knowing how I ended up here. She jokingly replied that I'd better stop drinking and partying. She laughs. The following year in class, she brings back the subject in a funny way, saying that anyway, I'm such a party girl and I drink so much that I wake up in a hotel room with strangers. These words, at this very moment, made me understand that the fault was mine, and what was supposed to happen happened. It was my friend, I must have done something wrong....

I was 21 years old, I went out to dinner with a friend on a weeknight, an older friend who was engaged. 

It was by reading many testimonies that I managed to put a word about what had happened and that I discovered the phenomenon of sideration and traumatic amnesia. Our brain, that overpowering tool that knows how to put itself on automatic pilot. My brain just decided to suppress that moment and the following day, a banal day where I pretended nothing happened...

Coming back to that discussion, I had almost forgotten that you came back to me a year later to tell me that “you were sorry and you still didn't understand my reaction, that I am a great girl and that you missed me as a friend.” At that time, I didn't dig any deeper. 

Two months after that night I wanted to reclaim my life and somehow my body. I broke a few hearts in the process. The chicks team was born, they made me understand that my detached behaviour with regard to what happened was not normal and that it might be good to talk to a professional about it. Which of course I didn't do.

Then comes the period of self-loathing, followed by long introspection and memories coming back to the surface. 

Like the year I turned 18, when I was dating G. he took me into the bedroom during a party at our house, when I was drunk and couldn't even undress myself, it wasn't love either, nor was it envy, but rape. 

The following summer, with this boy I met at my workplace, a super nice client with whom I spent the beginning of the summer as a friend. One day after he drove me home, as usual, he asked me if he could charge his phone for 5min for the gps, I accepted. He tried to kiss me : I pushed him away, he tried again and started touching me, I told him no several times and I managed to force him out. He left and sent me a message telling me “what a great person I was and that he loved our time together, that he apologised for getting carried away but I had to understand that it was because I was "hot" ”. I blocked him, he came to my workplace several times. The start of the academic year is coming up and I find myself crossing into him at the library and university restaurant constantly looking at me and smiling at me... 

It has taken me a long time to regain confidence and re-dating, a little over a year. 

Then I met someone in the corridors of college, an angel...at first sight. It turns out he is violent as soon as he drinks. We were having a party with some of my college friends as part of a project, he came over and freaked out, spilled a drink on my girlfriend, hit a guy who was dancing with me and my friends and knocked the performer off the stage. The guards had to throw him out; he was waiting for me, furious, calling me non-stop. I started to get paranoid at night and always watch my back.

I had time to look back and think about those situations that were obviously "not normal" and not acceptable.

Situations that I wasn't aware of how there were impacting and affecting my relationships. What I thought I had forgotten came to the surface, first with the words of R., who, I quote, "forced himself to sleep with me". Then comes the break-up, I decide to embrace my single life and go out again, always followed by that shadow. This summer, on the beach, M. who stent above me to kiss me, I started to panic...then N. this feeling of déjà vu and anxiety at the contact of his body on mine. These flashes, real or imaginary, that my brain sends to trick me. 

All this to get back to the beginning of the story, I want answers. To find this missing piece of the puzzle, even if it is impossible. Part of me stayed in that hotel room.

I'm often told that it's complicated to know what I really think and that I'm constantly chasing guys. Making me understand that I am an easy girl and that I have to be careful because one day bad things will happen. Saying me that I didn’t seem to realize it and that the world isn't all rosy. I already know that, I have chosen to live the moment and not feel sorry for myself. 

I have the life I dream of! 

That’s why I just keep my thoughts for myself, I don't talk about this event. I don't want people to feel sorry for me or to change the way others look at me. Sometimes my mind gets foggy, and lately we all have time to think, maybe a little too much.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt.24.prt.1

“What the fuck is going on with you this morning?”

“Nice to see you too”

Resting with his head against the glass wall of the shower, Lance wasn’t having a fun time. He’d thrown up, and was now basking in the revolting after taste and burning of his throat and sinuses. Hunk had had the best of intentions, but the flavours had been too strong and he was too filled with guilt to keep his liquid second breakfast down

“Are you sick? Do I need to call Coran?”

“My senses are a little too hyped. Blood makes it worse, so I’m super ramped up. It’s fine”

“You threw up”

“Food’s gotta come out some way”

“Ew”

Lance nodded, yep, being a vampire was glorious

“It’s fine”

“It’s not fine. Do you throw up every time?”

“Nah... and normally I don’t have an audience to my embarrassing moments”

Lance hoped Keith would take the hint and leave

“You better get your shit together, Hunk and Pidge are coming back later”

“I know, I heard. Hunk’s gonna he even more worried...”

“That’s his problem, not mine. Mine’s a vampire who’s clearly not okay, but insists on being a dick about it”

“I’m sorry?”

“You should be. What’s going on with you, is it just your senses? Because you look like total shit right now”

“Wow. Way to make a man feel better about himself”

“God! You’re impossible. Why can’t you just talk to me?”

“I already am”

Lance really didn’t want to talk. He wanted to find Blue and go back to bed. Keith wasn’t having it. Flushing the toilet, the hunter put the lid down and decided he needed to have one of those talks where they were both sitting. Something he sooooo wasn’t in the mood for

“You know what I mean”

“What do you want me to say? I had a really messed up dream and now I feel like fucking shit because my stupid brain doesn’t forget things?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know how to comfort people”

“I noticed”

“Fuck you. I’m trying”

Lance muttered under his breath

“Very”

“What was that?”

Sighing to himself, he raised his head to look at Keith

“Nothing. Look, I appreciate you covering for me. I don’t know why you did, but thanks”

“You could have just said that from the start”

“And you could have left me to vomit in peace...”

“You’re not okay. If you’re not okay, I don’t know what to do. Coran said you were changing, I don’t know what’s normal anymore. I’m stuck here and I don’t know why. And I don’t know why you keep doing stupid things. Why didn’t you feed before Hunk and Pidge got here?”

“Didn’t have time. Barely got out the shower and Hunk was calling to say they were coming over”

“So you weren’t trying to starve yourself?”

How stupid did Keith think he was? He knew he had to keep his hunger under control. He’d fed too much too fast. He should have stuck to his normal third of a bag. Too much blood had amplified the feeling of being alive. Stroked his ego and now he was dealing with his own stupidity. He hated the hunger. He hated not being able to keep down Hunk’s smoothie. Lance swore there were still pieces of kale and spinach stuck in his teeth

“No... Did Hunk make you a smoothie?”

“Nope. He tried to...”

“You’re lucky... are you going to be highly offended if I go back to bed?”

“Depends, are you going to get all douchey if you don’t?”

“Probably?”

“Then go back to bed. This time, try to wake up without looking like something Blue threw up”

Lance managed a weak chuckle. Blue had thrown up some spectacularly gross stuff in her lifetime. Keith probably meant hairballs, but he hadn’t experienced thrown up body parts before, or entrails in his sheets

“Blue is princess. Blue is perfection. She’s a tiny little murder cupcake of perfection”

“Does everything always have to come back to a comparison with bread items?”

“What do you mean?”

“You called Pidge an anger muffin before...”

“And you’re an anger loaf. You’re too fucking tall and grizzled to be a muffin”

“I’m not an “anger loaf”... what even is an “anger loaf”?”

Lance groaned

“I just told you, you’re too big to a be a muffin. Are you really gonna sit there and mock the guy on the floor?”

“If it gets the guy on the floor to talk to me”

“I thought we agreed I need a nap”

Keith sighed at him. Lance flinched when the hunter moved his hand, Keith’s brow raising in confusion

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“You flinched”

“I thought you were going to punch me”

Keith rolled his eyes at him

“Paranoid much?”

“Always. Besides, it’s not paranoia when people are out to get you?”

“And who’s going to get your undead arse when we’re stuck out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?”

“You?”

“Dream on. Can you get up off the floor now?”

But the floor was good. Moving seemed like effort... even if he did get to spend a few hours hiding from Keith

“I suppose”

“Good. You know, you’re worse than a kid”

“Yep. I grew upwards on the outside and not on the inside”

“I can tell. Either that or you were dropped on your head a lot as a child”

Jesus. Keith was snarky... but it was refreshing. Having him worried about him was too weird, but having him insult him felt strangely normal. Good, even. Like Keith didn’t actually worry about him, and that was how it was meant to be

“Probably. Probably dropped myself on my head too...”

“I can imagine”

Lance faked offence before cracking up into laughter. Poor Keith looked completely lost

“What’s wrong with you, now?”

“Nothing, mullet. Give me a sec to clean up, then I’m off for a nap. What are you going to do?”

“Play with my camera... there’s not a whole lot around here to do”

“That’s why I like it... Keith, you know, I know you’re the biggest dumbarse I’ve ever met, but I’m starting to think you’re actually not to terrible”

Keith shifted, uncomfortable but in kind of a good way. His heart was racing for no reason, but Lance could see a smile on those lips of his. Keith was actually kind of pretty when he smiled... pretty lame, yeah, lame...

“And you’re not too horrific for an undead thing”

*

Lance tried and failed at the napping. Pulling Blue into his hold, he groomed her thick black fur as she purred. She was a total slut for grooming. Bath’s not so much, but grooming turned her into a pile of purring goo. Planting kisses on the top of Blue’s head, she nudged into his lips

“No more grooming for you. I want cuddles”

Lance had given napping a genuine shot, only for his nose to decide it needed to be focused on Keith’s vanillary scent from the body wash in the guest bathroom. Keith hadn’t said anything about the options in there, and the hunter didn’t need to know Lance had wondered if he should buy him something more “manly”. Not being bugged by Keith to train felt weird. Lance loathe to admit he kind of missed it. Keith had a lot of drive, fuelled by the anger he hadn’t worked through. Without anything to channel that anger into Keith was left to potter around in a home that wasn’t his. It kind of felt like Lance was torturing Keith, a reversal of roles from when Keith kept insisting he was a vampire. Lance very nearly missed that as well. Yes, he’d been confident that he hadn’t turned Keith, but having Coran confirm it had taken a weight off Keith’s shoulders. He wasn’t Adam. He was lying when he said he was human... not that Lance had the full picture, and he wasn’t sure that Shiro’s version of things quite lined up with Keith’s. Keith must have been terrified he really was turned, trauma did strange things to the mind. He must have been terrified that Shiro was going to have to watch him change, then have to kill him like Adam had had to be killed. It all would have been especially hard on Adam, assuming he was a hunter, he knew just how vile vampires could be. Yeah, he should probably go check on Keith and make sure he was as okay as he was pretending to be.

A quick hunt through the house proved Keith wasn’t inside. Heading out the back of the property, he found Keith working out on his own. Damn if his dream didn’t come back to haunt him. Keith was focused, sweat running from his hair, yet totally in his element. For Keith, his job really was his life. He’d spent years earning those muscles in combat, rather than exercise machines alone. Thanks to his memory, Lance knew how to throw down, but Keith lived it. He lived to hunt the things they should all fear... Something Lance had once entertained the idea of, but knew his Mami wouldn’t approve at all. Plus, he didn’t want to end up on Coran’s disposal list if he lost control and lost the last of his humanity in the process.

Crossing the back lawn, Lance sat himself down a few metres away from Keith. The hunter so in the zone that he hadn’t noticed. Lance managed a good 10 minutes before Keith finally did, the hunter’s eyes widening a fraction as Lance cocked his head

“I didn’t mean to ruin your concentration”

“I didn’t notice you come out”

“I noticed. I was wondering where you were”

“I thought you were napping. Feeling any better?”

Nope. Because fuck if he hadn’t been distracted by the way Keith’s shirt was riding up

“Yeah, a bit”

Walking over, Keith flopped down next to him

“You don’t have to stop. I can go if I’m making you uncomfortable”

“You’re the one who looks uncomfortable”

That’s because he was. He could smell the sweat on Keith’s skin, a feeling welling up inside him. He wanted to reach out and brush Keith’s fringe back and he didn’t know why

“It’s nothing. You know, I almost miss you trying to kick my arse”

Keith snorted at him as he plucked up a stray blade of grass

“A few more lessons and I would have had you”

“Dream on”

“Is that you way of saying you’ve been holding back?”

“A bit. It’s hard to live as a human when you have way too much strength”

“Is that why you wear glasses? Don’t they get in the way?”

Lance took his glasses off, holding them out towards Keith

“We’ve talked about it before, but yeah. I see too much and I’ve seen too much as it is”

Keith seemed surprised as he took Lance’s glasses, holding them up to peer through them, making a face as he did

“These are horrible”

“It helps make the world smaller so I can focus”

“I’ve never really thought about what vampires must go through”

Keith handed his glasses back, Lance surprising himself by placing them down beside him

“Don’t go feeling sorry for vampires, ever. You do that and you’re dead”

“You don’t need to tell me that”

“I know you know the risks, but it’d really suck if something happened to you, you know”

Punching his arm, Keith looked mortified at the gesture, Lance unable to not snort in laughter

“Shut up”

“I don’t know why I did that”

“Because you secretly like me too much. It’s strange. I’ve never had anyone live with me before, other than Mami. I keep wondering if I’m doing anything wrong. If I’ve made you hate me. Or hurt your feelings... I’ve barely known you two weeks and I keep having to tell myself I’m not your friend. Maybe this was what Coran meant by our quintessence complimenting each other?”

Keith plucked up another blade of grass

“I don’t think I understand what quintessence is. Is it a fae term?”

Fae... Coran must be a fae. Lance hadn’t thought to ask and then it seemed too late too

“I’ve heard it mentioned between Allura and Coran before. It’s like the stuff inside us. That spark of life that connects all life. I think faes can manipulate quintessence”

“Like the way they constantly say “you’re safe” or “you’re in a safe place”?”

“That might be more to do with me...”

He’d been so scared as kid. Waking up in a strange place, scared of everything and anything. Coran had told him since he’d met him, and every time they met, that he was safe there

“Oh... I’m sorry”

“Nah, don’t be. You didn’t turn me”

“But still...”

“I have the feeling we both had kind of crappy childhoods”

Keith nodded, Lance noting the pain in the hunter’s eyes, he didn’t like it

“But look at us now! A vampire sitting in the sun, and a hunter who doesn’t know how to relax”

Keith dropped his head, Lance expecting to be scolded for “doing that” again

“I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

Keith raised his head

“I don’t know. I’ve never lived with anyone other Shiro and Adam, not for years. You say a lot of things I hate, but now we’re getting on and it’s weird”

Lance gaped, before smiling

“I know right. I don’t know what to do when you ask me if I’m okay. I’m like, waiting for you to yell at me or try to kill me again, and then you don’t and I’m like why not?”

“I keep thinking you’re going to kill me in my sleep, and then you don’t. And you keep doing weird things that make me feel weird. You didn’t have to go out of your way. You didn’t have to buy lactose free milk”

“I didn’t want to make you sick. You might be a total dick, but that’s just being cruel”

“I tried to kill you”

“You poisoned yourself”

“I yelled at you”

“You still do”

Keith shook his head with a sigh

“I don’t get it”

“I don’t get it either. I don’t get why we seem to be getting on better. You should hate me”

“I do. I mean... I still think you did something to me”

Lance’s undead heart gave a strange leap of concern

“Coran said there was nothing wrong, didn’t he? It was a clean bill of health?”

“That’s what he said, but how am I supposed to believe him when I’ve only just met him?”

“You can’t go wrong believing in Coran”

“He helps werewolves and vampires... he’s not even human”

“Exactly, he helps. If Shiro trusted him...”

“Then I should... but...”

“It’s not easy to trust when you’ve been kicked to the curb?”

Keith nodded at him

“Yeah, exactly. And Shiro’s not even here. I don’t have a target and I don’t know what to do”

“I don’t know what to do either”

“At least you have a job”

“Giving people advice for next to nothing...”

“It’s still something”

With Keith around, Lance had been pretty neglectful of work. He really should check his emails and contact his clients...

“I suppose so. It usually keeps me busy... I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not exactly a people person anymore”

Keith snorted

“I don’t think I’m in any position to judge”

“You’re alright. Pidge and Hunk wouldn’t be so gung-ho about you if you weren’t”

“I don’t get why they want to be my friend. I’ll be gone sooner rather than later”

Yeah. That was right too. Keith would be gone... a stupid prang if loneliness hit him out of the blue

“Yeah. Yeah. I suppose so... off to fight more vampires?”

“Probably. I go wherever I’m sent”

“Don’t you get scared?”

“Not really... if they’re hurting people then someone has to step up”

“Yeah. Keith, can I ask you something?”

“We’re already talking?”

Lance snorted, okay, he’d deserved that one

“Can you look up the status of vampires. Like if they’re alive or dead?”

Keith immediately frowned

“I can. I can ask Shiro, but that kind of thing usually requires permission”

Lance nodded. He’d expected that

“Okay. I was just wondering”

“You want me to find out if Nyma and Rolo are still alive?”

Just their names made Lance feel sick to his stomach. He’d wanted to ask Coran for so long, but was ashamed that he wanted to know. Shiro poking around could bring trouble... He didn’t want Keith and Shiro to be in any danger from those two

“Not if it’s going to get you into trouble... I just...”

“I can ask. Shiro’s been a Blame member longer than I have”

“No. No, it’s okay. It’s stupid really. They probably don’t think about me at all”

“It’s important to you, isn’t it?”

“They���re in the past. They’re not the kind of vampires you want to meet. I don’t want them knowing about you and Shiro”

“There’s databases for this kind of thing. The Blades take agent safety seriously”

“No. No... If I know... I’m stuck knowing, either way”

“That must be hard”

“Remembering? Humans don’t know how lucky they are. That pain you feel, it gets better with time, but... I’m already scared. I’m scared of when Blue will die. I’m scared of seeing her in any other way than alive. I’m scared that Pidge or Hunk will find out and hate me. I know... that I’m not supposed to be scared... but... Sorry. Sorry. I shouldn’t be letting my emotions get the better of me”

“You shouldn’t apologise so easily”

“When you get old, you feel like there’s a whole lot to apologise for. You’ll get it someday”

“No. I don’t think I will. You didn’t ask to be turned. You didn’t ask to be turning again... you should be mad”

“I’ve been a vampire for a long time now. Madness kind of fades away to acceptance”

“It shouldn’t. You were a kid”

“I was a shit of a kid. I always wanted to be liked...”

“Pfft, doesn’t every kid?”

“Probably. I don’t know. I broke my family and even after 36 years, I’m still fucking dumb”

“You’re not dumb... you’re stupid”

Keith seemed to really be searching for another word during the pause on his sentence, only for to him come up with “stupid”. The hunter’s eloquence rivalled his bullheadedness

“Geez, thanks”

“You know what I mean”

“I don’t know if I do... We should head in soon. Pidge and Hunk are going to be here shortly”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s the afternoon. With those two, it’s always best to be prepared for anything”

Keith dropped the piece grass he’d been playing with, his hands coming up to rub at his face

“I don’t know how to deal with them”

“Go take a shower and I’ll make you another coffee”

“I don’t know if coffee’s gonna help”

“Pidge would kill you for speaking such blasphemous words. According to her, coffee fixes everything”

“I’ll remember that for the day she spills coffee in her laptop”

Lance shuddered

“Don’t even joke about that. It happened in college... and fuck, I was honestly considering changing my name and moving to a new country. It’s not a sight you want to see”

“Noted. I mean, I guess I can force myself to have another coffee”

“That’s the spirit. Let’s get you inside, samurai”

“Samurai?”

Lance shrugged

“With all your martial arts and that... I mean, that looked like karate you were doing”

“Lance, samurais have swords”

[fauna96]

V Prompt: Role Reversal

Title: The djinni, the thief and the magician 

[This was hard. It was very very difficult... but fun! Kudos to who guesses from where I’ve taken Kitty’s name and surname as a magician.]

Agnes Pole had a secret, a secret that could have her killed. The fact was, she didn’t choose to keep this secret; it had just happened.

They made it easy, telling you to forget your birth name; but for Agnes it had been impossible. It wasn’t that she didn’t try: at night, when she was still a child, she used to close her eyes, squeezing them hard, and she tried with all her force to expel that memory: her mother’s voice calling ‘Kitty’.

Obviously, she couldn’t do it; and, as much obviously, no one knew it, less of all her master. After all, she was the one to issue Agnes, as her first lesson, to not trust anyone; and, implied, her too. So, Agnes had kept her mouth sealed; she hadn’t even dared to say out loud that forbidden name.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw Agnes Pole: a young woman with short, soft dark hair, her mouth constantly bending in a pleasing smile. She didn’t know how Kitty looked like, except for a lost five-year-old child.

Her sensor net started ringing in her ear; a moment later, at her window a pigeon materialized. Agnes made it come in and immediately it took the shape of a pale-faced young man in a grey suit.

«Mistress» he said, bowing slightly «I think I’ve found him».

 Nathanael was her regular demon for a few years, now; it was one of the first djinn with a considerable power that she had summoned, and, in the beginning, she had found it irritating without an exact reason. Really there wasn’t a reason, because the demon was precise, quiet and impeccable. Every magician’s dream.

But it was fussy, fastidious too, and with a hidden slyness capable to turn any order inside out, Agnes knew it. However, it was efficient; and, as Whitwell always said, finding efficient servants, and silent in addition, was extremely rare. So, Agnes had kept it and, in the end, there had been vantages: just to start, learning to give orders precise and crystal-clear. Then, she had found out Nathanael was a real font of knowledge and, if you made it the right questions, you would have obtained all the answers you wanted. If she had to describe her servant with a word, Agnes would have used ‘competent’.

And it really was (take that, Farrar), because it had been successful in individuate one of the thieves of artefacts that were driving all Tallow’s department and police mad.

Agnes, as the Chief of Security’s apprentice, had been placed to investigate on the series of thefts; in the beginning, she had to admit that, as a job, didn’t please her much: she hated work office, she’d have liked more to be thrown in action. Whitwell, in front of her complains, had barely risen an eyebrow. «You’re still an apprentice, Agnes» she had replied. «Be careful to not fool yourself. You’re clever and you have talent, but use your brain before talking. A work office, as you call it, could do you well».

Agnes had bitten her tongue. As she had to do every time she had met Farrar and had to endure a barrage of gibes.

And now, instead… «A very good job. Nathanael» she commented, leant on the car seat.

The young man near her tilted his head. «Thank you, mistress» he murmured, but Agnes could catch all the surprise behind the courteous tone. It wasn’t very usual that Agnes deemed her demon worthy of more than orders, but it was a particular occasion. «If everything goes well tonight, I’ll dismiss you for a while».

«Now let’s not exaggerate, mistress» the demon’s face was always pale and serious, but Agnes thought she could catch an… amused? glint behind the icy eyes.

Oh, why not? It had deserved it, at least. Of course, she would have to do without her most trusted servant, but it would have been a little time. She was perfectly capable to look after herself. It would have been weird, though, not having the tall, lanky shape behind her shoulders, silent as a shadow and as much as loyal…

«We are here» Nathanael murmured. «Do you see that corner over there? He passes over there every night to go to his… hideout. I think he has some hiding place under the bricks, because he always takes some minute there. And in that minute, he’s distracted».

Agnes nodded, without tearing her eyes away from the road. She made a gesture towards the djinni, and it slithered out the half-closed window as a curl of smoke.

They didn’t have to wait long: a figure was coming close with quick, measured steps. It stopped at the corner as expected.

And then there was a noise of struggle, a furious shout suffocated, then the boot opened up and something was thrown in.

 Nathanael didn’t like very much kidnapping kids; but he didn’t like disobeying orders either and being punished, so there wasn’t a lot of alternatives. Moreover, the kid in question had trashed like an eel and he was able to kick his shin with a boot that must have something of iron, because it stung a lot.

He and his mistress had taken him to an old abandoned library that they had used many times during various occasions. Miss Pole looked at the boy still passed out at her feet. To be truthful, there wasn’t real age difference between the magician and the commoner, but her posture, her clothes and everything made Agnes Pole always look older.

Nathanael looked at her at the corner of his eye while she seemed to review mentally what ask to the commoner. And probably, repeating herself to be calm and rational, a thing that wasn’t always Agnes Pole’s forte, despite her excellent teacher. Nathanael wrinkled slightly his nose thinking about Whitwell. Old vulture.

The boy made a sudden moan and his eyes opened wide. Nathanael saw them searching the room for a way out, then they rested on the two of them.

«Move and my demon will tear you apart».

The boy didn’t move. Then, unexpectedly he made a dazzling grin, shining on his dark face.

«Hello» he said.

Well, that wasn’t the reaction Nathanael was expecting, frankly. And neither did his mistress, holding her lips tight while the commoner kept watching them from below.

«What could have I done to deserve such an honour? Kidnapped by a magician?» he winked  with a mischievous expression, that little did suit a dirty boy, curled on the floor.

Nathanael saw clearly his mistress’ patience decrease; were they alone, he would have whispered to her to stay calm, tranquil: she was in charge, as usual.

But Agnes tightened her fists lightly and took a deep breath. «I want you to answer my questions, quickly» she said. «And maybe I could think even to let you go».

The boy sneered. «Of course, miss magician. And you give me a lift home, don’t you? No one believes it, not even your demon. You caught me, you won. I don’t know what else you want».

«The Resistance. I want your accomplices».

Fell a… curious silence. The boy grew quiet, then he spoke directly to Nathanael. «Did you tell her I’m from the Resistance? Because I stole some scrap metal? Oh dear!» And he burst out laughing so loud that the walls resounded. «I’m sorry, o most powerful magician» he could stammer out «but your demon dropped a clanger here. I work in my own».

«So do you steal artefacts just for an hobby of yours?» Agnes asked, her voice dangerously sweet. «And only magical objects, not simple jewels?»

«Ah, that is a little secret of mine, sorry. Anyway, of course I sell them. At the black market, but that surely you know. And surely you know that they’ll go to the Resistance or whatever. But I don’t want anything to do with them. I work on my own, told you».

Agnes smiled. «So those two… the kid following you anywhere and that girl so pretty… aren’t they your accomplices?»

A shadow passed on the boy’s cheeky face. Here we are, Nathanael thought.

«No» he spelt put. «They…»

«Don’t you think they’ll live better out that hole of yours? Maybe that kid would stop coughing so much».

The boy gulped and stared both in the eyes. «Look. I am a thief, it’s true. But I am not from the Resistance. You can promise me all you want, magician, but I can’t give you what I haven’t, and I haven’t any names nor addresses. If you want to throw me in jail for theft or say that I’m a terrorist, do it. It’s my word against yours, isn’t it?» His dark eyes lingered on Nathanael. «Oh, the demon, sure. You could have me tortured by it. Surely I could sing then, but I wouldn’t trust me too much. Always had a low pain tolerance level».

«Mistress» Nathanael whispered. «A word».

Agnes stepped back and tilted her head toward him. The boy’s sharp eyes kept watching them.

«I think he’s honest, partly. But if he sell magical artefacts…»

«He has some communication channel, yes» Agnes sighed and, for a moment, it seemed that her mask was slipping. «I was so close…»

«I think» murmured Nathanael «that he could be bought. Making leverage on… his two friends. Bought, not threatened».

Agnes narrowed her eyes. «What should I do? Buy them a house?»

«No» the boy’s voice came suddenly. He must have an exceptional hearing. «No. But there is something I want».

[yootaesowlwrites]

Requested By: loontje2006

Request: Hi, can I have 80 or 147 and 162 with Callum pls? Thank you xx♡

Prompts: A80- “I Couldn’t Save Them! I Couldn’t Save Them!” & A147- “So The Baby, It’s Yours?” & A162- “I Will Move The Sea And The Sky To Ensure Their/Her/Your/His Safety.”

A/N: I used all of them, and I am so sorry, there isn’t a happy ending, and let me tell you, I might have had a headache while planning this, but I made myself almost tear up in the end, oh and this kinda became an AU, I hope you don’t mind, and I think I got the medical facts right, I googled and read a book, but if it's not... sorry.

Warnings: ANGST ENDING!

Word Count: 2.1K

【 • Primary Masterlist • Drivers Masterlist • Callum Ilott Masterlist • Fan Fiction Masterlist • 】

【 • Prompt List • Smut Prompt List • Scenario Prompt List • Alternate Universe Prompt List • 】

【 • List Of Characters & Drivers I Write For • Rules & Request • 】

In the world of hitmen and assassins, you have to keep your private life hidden that way your enemies won’t have anything to use against you, but it was your choice… a lesson Callum had learned the hard way, he was still young but he was a brilliant hitman, and when he met (Y/n) her child he wanted out of the business, he wanted to be sure that their lives would never be in danger, but he was given one final task, a final task that ending up taking (Y/n) and her child from his grasp.

Callum’s unblinking mournful eyes stared ahead of him, he was numb, his mind replayed the scene over and over, trying to see or figure out if he would have ever been on time to save them, it took days before it finally sunk in, he would have never been on time, her child would still be dead and she would still not have survived, he picked up a glass of water and took a sip, he wanted to stay sober, he didn’t want to become drunk and numb his mind, he wanted to remember her, he could still remember the first day they met, the day he was given his last assignment and the last day he saw them.

Callum enters the toy store, his friend had sent him to come and buy a toy for his child because he was too busy with some paperwork, he was given a picture of how the toy looked like and was sent on his way, as he walks past the aisles looking for down them hoping that he would spot the toy, but instead, he saw a woman with a small child next to her.

“Is it that the one you want?” (Y/n) asks, Callum could see the playful smile on her lips as she looked down at the kid.

“Yes.” The kid beamed up at the woman.

“All right, but are you sure?” (Y/n) asks, the child giggles nodding his head.

“Yes, I am,” Damien says, Callum walks down the isle going towards them, (Y/n) quickly noticed him approaching them, being unsure of his intentions she pulled Damien closer to her.

“Oh, no, no, I’m not going to…” Callum trails off, (Y/n) nods her head, still unsure if she should trust him or not. “I, uh, I’m looking for a toy.”

“Well, you’re in the correct store, if you thought you were lost for a moment.” (Y/n) says, Callum chuckles and (Y/n) faintly smiles.

“Uh, right,” Callum says, he reaches into his jacket's pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper, he unfolds it and shows it to (Y/n). “Uh, this, I’m looking for this.”

“Oh, that’s all the way at the bottom of this isle.” (Y/n) says. “We saw it as we entered it.” Callum gives her a thankful smile and his eyes fall down to her child. “So, uh, what’s your child like?” Callum looks back up at (Y/n), his brows furrowed.

“What?” Callum says.

“Well, I assume you're there buying that toy for your kid?” (Y/n) asks, she assumed, but she might have been wrong.

“Oh, no, no, um, a friend of mine couldn’t come in, and he had asked me to come and buy it for them,” Callum says, (Y/n) could feel her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“Oh, I uh, I’m so sorry, I just kind of assumed…” (Y/n) says.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Callum says, he looks down at the child clinging to her hand. “So the baby, it’s yours?” (Y/n) softly chuckles

“Does he look like a baby?” (Y/n) asks. “I  mean, he’ll always be my baby, but still.” Callum chuckles.

“Child, haha, right sorry, uh is he yours?” Callum asks, (Y/n) nods her head.

“Yeah.” (Y/n) says. “I uh was pretty young when I had him.”

“You guys must be one happy little family then,” Callum says, he envied them, he wished that his life was normal, but unfortunately it wasn’t.

“It’s just the two of us, his uh father, well, let’s just say he’s an a-hole.” (Y/n) says, Callum nods his head understating what she meant.

“Well, uh, thank you for your help,” Callum says.

“No problem.” (Y/n) says.

“But, uh, hey, do you maybe want to go for lunch sometime?” Callum asks, (Y/n) gives him a soft smile.

“That’ll be nice.” (Y/n) says. “When would be an okay time for you?”

“Tomorrow? At the starlight diner?” Callum asks, (Y/n) nods her head.

“I’ll see you here, at 12?” (Y/n) asks.

“At 12,” Callum says, (Y/n) walks past him with Damien, he turns around. “Wait.” (Y/n) stops and turns around to look at him. “Can I have your number?”

“We’ll see how you do tomorrow at 12.” (Y/n) says.

Only a memory now, but her smile was imprinted in his mind like a tattoo, that was what caught his attention about her, that became his favourite part of her, just seeing her smile and being happy, after that day, months quickly passed, and Callum had asked her to be his girlfriend, and took on the responsibility to care for her child, Damien, was his name as he had come to learn, both of them quickly became his world, and he wanted to leave the hitman business, he wanted out, and he was granted an exit, but it came with a price.

One last hit on several targets and he was allowed to have help, if he would be successful at his task he would be allowed to leave the business and be with (Y/n) without needing to look over his shoulder all the time, she had no idea what he was and he tried his best to hide that side from her, she was too pure for him.

Callum laid on a rooftop aiming his sniper rifle at one of the big names he had to take out, his friend, Keith, joined him as they watched the enemy.

“You really love them, don’t you?” Keith asks.

“I do,” Callum says, he looks at his friend. “They’re my world, and I will move the sea and the sky to ensure their safety.”

“Is that why you want out? Are they the reason?” Keith asks.

“Yes,” Callum says. “I can’t risk them getting hurt because of this business.”

“All right, so is that the only target or are there more?” Keith asks.

“There’s more, and we have to take them all out.”

If only they had worked faster, maybe word wouldn’t have gotten out that he was on his last job and taking out certain people, names had unfortunately also gotten out and that was when everything went wrong, he never saw it coming, but when he received the message that his last target had kidnapped (Y/n) and Damien, he was fuming, a location was sent to him and he was warned to come alone otherwise, they would die, unknown to him, Damien was already dead, and (Y/n) was being tortured, the place was surrounded when he arrived, he fought tooth and nail to get inside.

Once inside he was surrounded by men wanting him dead, but the only thing that kept him going was getting to (Y/n), he got closer to the room where she was being kept, but he was running out of bullet’s, the once possible task became almost impossible now.

Callum slams a guard up against the wall and slams their hand against the wall, the guard drops his weapon and Callum slams the guard’s head into the wall, knocking him out, Callum releases him letting him slide down to the floor and picked up the guard’s weapon, he shoots the guard making sure he wouldn’t become a problem, he looked at the closed door in front of him, (Y/n) was behind it, he opens the door and steps inside and saw his last target standing behind (Y/n), it was a heart-clenching sight for him, (Y/n)’s face was covered in dirt, sweat, tears and blood, and a couple of feet behind her laid Damien, already dead.

“I see you made it,” Adam says. “But sadly not on time.” Callum lifts his weapon, aiming it at Adam.

“You’re fucking dead,” Callum says, glaring at the man, Adam pulls (Y/n) to her feet and used her as a shield, wrapping his hand around her mouth limiting her breathing, Callum could see her right thigh was bleeding where a knife had been driven through her skin to torture her. “Let her go, this is between you and me.”

“And why would I let her go? She’s currently keeping me alive.” Adam says, (Y/n) was already tired, but she needed to give Callum an opening, she used her last bit of strength and bites the man’s palm, Adam releases in shock and pain, she falls to the floor unable to stand on her own, Callum took the opportunity and shot Adam between the eyes, he fell dead to the floor behind her, Callum lowers his weapon and rushes towards (Y/n) as she coughed struggling to breathe.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n)?” Callum says, her breathing was short and he knew something was wrong, he kneels down next to her as she looks up at him. “It’s going to be all right, I’m going to get you help.” She needed medical attention, her thigh was bleeding heavily and it was that she had bled from her nose, it was clear that she was punched in the face several times, he carefully picks her up and begins exiting the building, he was taking a risk by picking her up, but he had to get her out of there and to the nearest hospital.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me what you were?” (Y/n) asks, her voice weak and above a whisper.

“I didn’t want to put you in any danger,” Callum says, they exit the building. “But I failed, I should’ve known this would happen.” (Y/n) lays her head on his shoulder feeling tired.

“They killed Damien in front of me.” (Y/n) says, he could barely hear her voice. “They had injured him before putting a bag over his head.” She coughed tasting the metallic taste of her blood. “What time is it?” It was clear to her, her brain was most likely swollen or starting to swell, but she tasted her own blood, it just confirmed that there was more damage inside her.

“The sun should be rising soon, I’m taking you to the nearest hospital,” Callum says, she could hear the concern in his voice, he tried not to show it, but it was there.

“I’m not going to make it Cal…” (Y/n) whispers.

“Stop,” Callum says. “You’re going to make it, you’re going to be all right.”

“I’m tired… stop, so we can watch the sunrise one last time.” (Y/n) whispers.

“No, no, I need to get you to the hospital,” Callum says.

“Please, Cal… one last time.” (Y/n) whispers. “It’s already too late.” He wanted to argue, but he had seen the signs, she was bleeding internally, but he was hoping that she was bleeding slowly, but she was right, it was too late, the hospital was too far away and the ambulances refused to pick people up in the neighbourhood they were in during the night, even if it was almost morning, they never knew when it was a real emergency or somebody trying to hijack them.

“All right… All right.” Callum says. “One last time.” He wanted to cry, but he stayed strong for her, for the both of them, it might not have been the most beautiful place they were in, but they had an okay view as the sun started to rise.

“It’s beautiful.” (Y/n) whispers, Callum barely heard her say it, he didn’t reply knowing he would break if he did, he could hear her breathing become shallow. “Hey, look at me.” Callum turns his head, their faces inches away from each other. “I love you, okay?” Callum could feel tears threatening to spill from his eyes, this wasn’t how he imagined their last moment would be.

“I love you too,” Callum whispers. “So so much.” He leans his forehead against hers, she tried to keep her eyes open but the moment was unavoidable, the second her eyes fell closed it was over, her breathing stopped and Callum fell to his knees leaning back as tears roll down his face, he had lost her, she was gone, Keith pulled up next to him and climbed out of the car as Callum laid her down on the floor. “I was too late.” Keith had never seen his friend cry, not once. “I COULDN’T SAVE THEM! I COULDN’T SAVE THEM!”

The memory haunted him, and would haunt him for the rest of his life, he was different, his fellow hitmen and assassins could see it, he was colder and ruthless as he used killing to numb his pain to numb the painful memories, he knew there was nothing he could do to bring them back, but he had nothing else, they were his world and he couldn’t save them.

[sparxwrites]

(it’s ya boy sparx, heelying in eight weeks late with starbucks and fic for a fandom none of my followers are in! gotta stay true to my incredibly erratic form. anyways, yall should play gw2, it’s a good game.)

[AO3]

“Canach.” There was, abruptly, a woman’s voice behind him, sweet as honey and dark as smoke. “How’s jail been treating you? Rather poorly, it seems. Pity. You looked like such a sweet young thing when you were bringing a horde of karka down on Lion’s Arch. Or so I’ve been told.”

Canach grit his teeth, suppressing a flinch of surprise. Not that there was anywhere to go, stuck in a chair with his wrists manacled to a table and the table bolted to the floor – and a pair of guards outside the door to boot. Visitor’s rooms at the Vigil Keep, it seemed, were irritatingly thorough.

And populated with invisible visitors, to boot.

“I’m sorry,” he said, infusing the words with as much irritated insincerity as he could manage, “have we met? I’m afraid I don’t do terribly well at recognising mysteriously disembodied voices.”

“Where are my manners?” said the voice, as its body walked into view. “Countess Anise– well. Ordinarily, I’d say at your service, but…” She smiled, and it was the smile of a predator faced with its prey in a snare. “I think, in this case, that you’re rather at mine.”

If he’d expected any visitors at all – and he hadn’t – it would have been a firstborn or two, come to tell him how terribly disappointed they were in him, and how very sad he’d made the Pale Mother. If she’d even noticed her wayward child’s misbehaviour at all, that was.

He certainly hadn’t expected a human, dressed like she had money and with voice like someone clever. A bad combination, in Canach’s books.

“That’s an awfully bold assumption.”

“Not really.” Her voice, initially so pleasant on the ear, was starting to burrow into his brain like a particularly tenacious insect.

“And what does that mean?” He was staring at her, blatantly, and didn’t much care that he was being rude. He didn’t much enjoy having conversations on the back foot – which he very much was, currently – and any kind of information he could glean about his mysterious visitor would be most welcome.

Low cut dress, expensive but tasteful jewellery, no visible weapons, and no guards other than the ones outside the door… She was either stupid, less important than she looked, or capable enough of defending herself without weapons that there was no need for a guard in the room. The first two options seemed unlikely, which left the unpleasant conclusion that he was stuck in a room with a powerful magic user.

Lovely.

Countess Anise ignored his question, instead leaning over the table to grasp his chin. Her touch was gentle, but the invasiveness of the gesture had him pulling away – as much as he could when he was stuck in a chair, wrists chained on a short leash to the table. It was futile, really, and all he managed was a sharp jerk of his chin and a baring of teeth.

The fingers on his jaw tightened, almost immediately, in subtle warning. Countess Anise turned his head this way and that, her eyes raking over his face. They lingered on the pale, ugly scars of thorns grown in too fast from the softness of his scalp, on the lines of tension carved into his brow, on the crushed-grass bruise around his left eye.

It gave Canach the uncomfortable impression of being a cow at market. No doubt the Countess, with her fingers dug into his jaw, could feel how hard he was gritting his teeth.

“How did you get this bruise?” she asked, eventually, releasing his jaw. One pale, manicured finger came up to tap the underside of his eye, just on the edge of the faded discolouration. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, but you don’t strike me as the kind of man to start fights in a prison. Given your track record of running away from confrontations, that is.”

Canach took a deep breath, and tried to keep from doing anything stupid – like, say, attempting to bite a certain rich human mage’s finger off. “Why are you here?” he asked, in a voice inches from a growl.

“Ah, ah.” Countess Anise tapped the bruise, twice, before finally, finally pulling her hand away from his face. Canach couldn’t quite hide his wince, and the Countess didn’t bother to try and hide her smirk. “I asked first.”

Canach ground his teeth together so hard he felt sure she must be able to hear it. “Some of the Consortium– I’m sorry, ex-Consortium– inmates here seem to have a bit of a problem with me, for some reason. I can’t imagine why.” There was a throbbing starting up behind his eyes, and it wasn’t from the week-old bruise. “Why are you here?”

“Several reasons,” she said. She was still staring at him like he was some sort of rare, fascinating object. It was starting to make the back of his neck prickle – moreso than it had been already, anyways. “The only one that concerns you, though, my little sapling, is that I’ve bought your bond. I thought it might be nice to have a quick talk, before I collected you formally. To get to know one another.” Her eyes settled on his bruise again. “And to check you weren’t… damaged goods.”

The silence that followed was a physical thing, a weight in the room, claustrophobic in its closeness.

“…You can’t buy me,” was the only thing Canach could think to say, eventually. The words snapped out of him, shoulders rigid, something thrumming bright and terrified deep within his chest. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “I’m not a thing.”

Countess Anise laughed, openly, in his face. “You’re a prisoner in Vigil custody. Convicted of crimes against the peace, no less. I’d rather not be crass about it, but… I can absolutely buy you. In fact, I think you’ll find I’ve already bought you. You’re mine, for the rest of your sentence. Which– remind me. A life sentence, wasn’t it?”

Canach stared at her, wide-eyed, disbelieving, chest heaving with every breath.

“Hmm.” Countess Anise pursed her lips at his lack of response. “Regardless. Everything has a price, Canach. Even you. We can either keep that as a little footnote in what I’m sure is going to be a very productive working relationship, or… well. I’ve got a little time on my hands right now. I can spend it on reeducating you, if you insist on being a brute about it.”

With a roar, Canach hurled himself forward across the table. The cuffs brought him up short, of course, and peeled a thick layer of bark off his wrists to boot – but it was gratifying to see the brief look of surprise on the Countess’ face.

Only for a moment, though. Then the world disappeared.

His vision went first, swallowed into black, his hearing following seconds later. It was as though someone had plugged his ears with wool, except he couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat, or his breathing. He could still feel his lungs working though, too-fast with panic– and then even that went. The texture of the table disappeared from under his fingers, and even the scents and tastes of the room – the bitterness of his own green, snapped-stem odour, the rich musk of Countess Anise’s perfume – vanished.

Canach was left suspended in… nothingness. The word darkness didn’t quite do justice to the all-encompassing absence of anything. No sight, no sensation, no awareness even of his own body or its subtle processes. Just blackness, and silence, and the infinite drag of horrified terror at his mind.

It could have been minutes he hung there, consumed by the endless, gaping absence, or it could have been hours. Days. Years. It was impossible to tell, without anything to measure by.

Even his frantic attempts to count were useless. One stretched on forever, an eternity in a single word. Two and three passed by so quickly he nearly missed them. Four seemed futile, after that, but he forced himself to count it nonetheless.

The panic drowned him, after five, and the only thing he could think was, Pale Mother, please, make it stop.

When Canach came back to himself, he was hyperventilating, gasping for every inhale like a scared child. Sprawled on his chest across the table, with his arms wrenched out beneath him, the cuffs dug deep and painful into his wrists.

“That,” said Countess Anise, mildly, “counts as being a brute, you know.”

He swallowed, a slow and laborious motion, and heaved himself back into his chair – carefully, so carefully, so as not to give her an excuse to do… whatever she’d just done, a second time. “You intend to torture me, then,” he said, picking each word with the delicacy of a man removing ticks from his flesh. His wrists throbbed, dark, yellowish ichor oozing out around the cuffs. “Until I behave myself.”

The Vigil guards outside the room, he couldn’t help but note, were still very pointedly facing away from the door. Who was this woman, to be able to pull such weight within the Vigil? Certainly not any ordinary human noble. He doubted they’d have even let her in the room without an armed escort, if she had been – and they certainly wouldn’t be turning such an aggressive blind eye to a mesmer pulling tricks on a high-profile prisoner in the heart of their most secure facility.

“Don’t be dramatic.” The Countess smiled, a thin, lipless sort of expression that set every thorn Canach had on end. “As I said. If you intend to be a brute about things, I’m willing to invest a little of my time in teaching you to… not be. If you cooperate, though, then we can dispense with all that unpleasantness.”

“And what,” asked Canach, warily, his heart still hammering in his chest, “would my cooperation involve, precisely?”

Not that the question mattered much. There was little he wouldn’t do to avoid getting sent back to that awful, endless absence.

The Countess hummed, examining her nails in a poor pretence at mulling his question over. “I like having useful people to hand,” she said, at length, eyeing him from under her eyelashes. “And you, flower, seem like you could be very useful, given your… ah, unique skillset.”

A spymaster of some sorts, then, Canach surmised. That explained the cleverness, alongside the money. Nobles, especially human nobles, were interminably dull and stupid to a fault, in Canach’s experience. He wondered which had come first – whether she’d been born into nobility, and was the exception to the rule, or whether she’d acquired her wealth and title via making herself indispensable to someone higher up in the human pecking order.

She was watching him for a reaction, he realised, and schooled his face into a carefully neutral expression. No point in looking too eager to get out of this hellhole – no matter the strings attached. Or in looking too afraid of what those strings might be.

“…At the very least,” she continued, and he couldn’t tell if she’d found what she was looking for in his face or not, “you’ll be useful at parties. I’m obliged to attend, but I can’t stand talking to the great and good of Divinity’s Reach. Having a convicted criminal at my side might at least discourage some of the more irritating attendees to keep their distance.”

Canach couldn’t help himself – he barked out a laugh at that, grinning a grin that was more a baring of teeth than a true smile. “I do hope you can find something a little more interesting for me to do,” he drawled, pulling on his usual, careless mask as best he could. “I don’t enjoy parties, and frightening nobles hardly seems like a challenge.”

“So you’ll take the position?”

“Do I have a choice?” The bitterness was back in his voice. He couldn’t help it. No matter how interesting this woman and her bizarre job offer seemed, she’d bought him. And then tortured him into consenting to his enslavement, to soothe whatever strange sort of conscience the monster of a woman still had.

He wasn’t a big fan of being caged.

Countess Anise laughed again, and raised an eyebrow “Not at all. But I do like to maintain the illusion of a mutual business relationship, no matter how… messy the finer details are. And it might help your poor, wounded dignity to pretend that you’re doing this of your own free will.”

Canach made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “Illusions. How very true to form of a mesmer.” He hissed out a breath through his teeth, trying to keep his temper in check, to not let her know how badly she’d disarmed him. “Yes, yes, I’ll take your damned position. It can’t be worse than staying here.”

“I’m so glad we could see eye to eye.” Good gods, every time the woman smiled, Canach wanted to crawl out of his own skin. “I look forward to working with you, Canach. I think this is going to be a very productive… partnership.”

Canach bit the inside of his own cheek hard enough he tasted sap, resin-bitter and thick against his tongue. “I’m sure it will be,” he gritted out, only biting down harder when her smile widened. For one of us, he thought, but very carefully didn’t add.

Working for the Countess was, at the very least, going to be an interesting exercise in holding his tongue – in the face of, he suspected, severe provocation.

“Excellent. Guards!” she called, rapping smartly on the bars of the door. One of the guards, a young and fresh-faced charr, finally turned around to look into the room. It might have been Canach’s imagination, but the recruit seemed almost relieved – that the Countess was unharmed, or perhaps that the prisoner was still alive. It was impossible to tell.

“Canach is being transferred into my care, by order of Queen Jennah,” Countess Anise informed the charr, who immediately stood a little straighter at her tone. “Your superiors will have all the paperwork within the next twenty-four hours. Get him ready for transport – and for the gods’ sake, give him a bath and some new clothes. If I must play babysitter to a convict on the way back to Divinity’s Reach, I expect him to at least be tolerable to look at.”

“Yes, ma’am!” The charr saluted smartly, completely failing to hide her utterly bewildered expression. “Of course, ma’am!”

The Countess graced the guard with a smile, far more friendly than the ones she’d bestowed on Canach. “Wonderful,” she purred. “And Canach? Do try and stay out of trouble for the immediate future, would you? There’s a good boy. I’ll be back for you tomorrow.”

Canach, his wrists still throbbing in time to his heartbeat, still oozing sap onto the table below them, mustered up an exceptionally half-hearted baring of teeth. “I can’t wait,” he called after her. “Good talk, Countess! I look forward to our next one!”

Countess Anise neither responded nor looked back as she breezed out the room, and out of sight.

The Queen. Good gods. Canach leaned back into his chair, head spinning as the two guards came in to unchain his hands from the table. He barely noticed them tugging him to his feet, escorting him back to his cell. The thrice-damned human Queen. What in the name of the Pale Tree had he gotten himself into?

[avengerscompound]

Bringing Home Kobik - 2

Bringing Home Kobik: A Winterhawk Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count:  1433

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Smut on the series (M|M, oral, anal), the aftermath of torture, PTSD, mentions of child abuse

Synopsis:   When Bucky decides to try to get legal custody of Kobik he meets resistance due to him being a single man. Clint steps up as a co-parent to help with the process.

Art by @bexlie-draws

Chapter 2

Adopting children at the best of circumstances takes a lot of time and resources.  When the child is also considered a weapon of mass destruction, it verges on impossible.  Impossible that is unless you had the resources of the Avengers behind you. Clint had money.  He didn’t like to advertise the fact, but he was very well off. So he threw it into all the legal things involved.  Bucky couldn’t work out why he was doing this for her. He barely even knew her. Clint would just pat him on the back and say he got it.  He didn’t want a child to go through what he went through. Bucky wondered if it was more about Clint’s childhood and the incident with Loki than anything.  Trying to undo some of the negative from his life. Erase the red in his ledger as Natasha would say.

Bucky was more involved with the other side.  The petitioning the government to release the deadly child into his custody.  Steve took the helm. It was better coming from Captain America than it was coming from the Winter Soldier.  Surprisingly Tony backed him up when questioned. Though only when questioned. Bucky was still grateful. He wanted nothing more than to have that little girl safe and away from people that would use her.  He wanted her to have a taste of what it was like to be normal, even though she would never be that. He wanted her to not be what he was. He had put all that made him Bucky aside and that was what he was now.  The guy who gave this little girl the freedom and love she needed to just be a little girl. It was the only thought that filled his mind.

Although Clint Barton was becoming a problem.

Bucky knocked on Clint’s door.  Each Avenger had their own living area.  A section of the facility they could call their own. Where they didn’t have to socialize or be Avengers and they could decorate as they saw fit.

Clint doesn't decorate, as much as he climbed out of a dumpster one day and decided considering he was spending so much time in them he might as well bring that home.  “Oh hey, what’s up?” Clint said pulling the door open.

“Paperwork,”  Bucky answered, holding up the thick pile of papers up.

Clint whined and stepped aside.  “Aww, paperwork.”

Bucky stepped into the room and looked around.  The place was bare apart from a coffee table, two lamps, a three-seater couch that was an ugly brown color and torn in several places, and a large flat-screen TV.  There was a hook on the wall for his bow, but the bow itself was propped in the corner. Other than that, the only really personal items were a selection of photos both in frames and just pinned to the wall of Clint with various people. Several of him and Kate or him and Nat.  One of his wedding photos. One with Steve. One with Tony. One where he was sitting on Hulk’s shoulder and the two of them were grinning like the big children they were. Another with Banner. Him hugging Wanda. Pretending to be birds with Sam. There was even a photo of him and Bucky together, though Bucky couldn’t remember when it was taken.  They were laughing about something and looking at it made him feel a little of the happiness that the photo had captured.

The whole place was a mess. A stack of old pizza boxes sat in the corner.  Three coffee cups sat on the coffee table along with scattered papers, newspapers and a PlayStation controller.  Lucky was sitting in the middle of the floor chewing a sneaker.

“Jesus Christ, Barton.  How can you live like this?”  Bucky said, grimacing. “What if social services come by and see this mess?”  Bucky put the papers on the coffee table and started tidying up.

“Well, excuse me.  I was spending time washing my hair.  You should try it sometime.” Clint said.  “Why would social services come by here? Wouldn’t she be living with you?”  He sat down on the couch and started digging through the mess on the table trying to find a pen.

Bucky fished in his pocket and handed him one.  “Because you’re legally going to be her father, bird brain.”

Clint groaned and started filling in the forms, marking his initials and signing at every little post-it note in the pile.  “Did you pull this pen out of your pocket, nerd?”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he collected all of Clint’s recycling into a bag.  “Must have known you wouldn’t be able to find one. I guess I’m psychic.” He snarked.

“Maybe we should move in together,”  Clint said without raising his eyes.

“Oh yeah, great idea.”  Bucky snarked. It was a defensive response.  The suggestion felt like yet another one of Barton’s jokes.  But really, even though Barton was a slob it would help with the application if they shared the same space.  If Kobik knew for sure that he and Clint were always there when she needed them. Besides, he didn’t really hate Barton.  Yes, he was a slob. Yes, he was undisciplined. Yes, he never took things seriously. Yes, he could be flat out annoying.  But Clint understood. He got the things that Bucky had been through. Clint would tease him but it was never using names like frosty, or about his arm.  It was never about the shit he’d been through. It was always just related to his hair or being surly.

Honestly, he liked being around Clint.  There was a sense of ease he put him in where he could be himself.  It made a nice change from being babied or feared.

Clint looked up at him with an eyebrow raised.  “Why not? It would help right?”

Bucky’s eyebrows knitted together and he studied Clint carefully.  Looking for the hint that this was an elaborate prank. All his saw written in Clint’s face was sincerity.  “Yeah. It would help. Show them that we plan to work as a unit.”

“So why not?  I mean, I know, I know.  Slob.  Annoying.  I turn my hearing aid off when people are asking me to do shit and I don’t wanna do it.”  Clint said waving a hand around. “But we get on alright. Right?”

There was something in the way Clint said ‘right’.  Hope? Validation? Bucky couldn’t quite pinpoint it.  It drew him physically closer to the man though and he sat down on the couch next to him.  “Yeah, we get on fine.”

Clint’s shifted a little in his seat and his knee tapped against Bucky’s.  Bucky knew not to read to much into these things, but still, for a moment he held his breath.  There was always something about being touched by people he trusted that sent a small shiver through him.  He trusted Barton, but more than that. He liked him. “You are annoying though.” He added when he’d released the breath.

“Yeah, yeah.  And you’re a grumpy old man.  We’ll be like the odd couple.”  Clint said.

“I don’t know what that means,”  Bucky grumbled. Clint laughed and patted Bucky’s thigh.  It made Bucky inhale sharply and he had to consciously tell himself to relax again.  “You better start picking up after yourself if we do this.”

“Don’t be stupid.  You’re Felix and cleaning is Felix’s job.”  Clint countered turning back to the paperwork.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,”  Bucky said. He sat for a moment rubbing the spot on his thigh where Clint had just touched him.  “Are we really doing this? We’re gonna move into the same apartment?”

“Yeah,”  Clint said, flicking another page over.  “Yeah. I think it’s a good idea. We’ll need to talk to Stark.  Have him merge ours. No wait, that won’t work, your’s isn’t near mine.  I dunno. Do some renovating. I don’t know about you but this place only has two bedrooms.”

“Yeah, mine too,”  Bucky said. “I guess Stark won’t mind changing shit for us.  He’s always smashing holes in walls.”

Clint laughed and bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s.  “He does love blowin’ shit up.”

Bucky pushed his hair back from his face and looked around, holding his breath once again.  He released it as a soft laugh. “You know ... unless you wanna just share a room.”

Clint turned and looked at him.  He raised his eyebrow and a smile played over his lips.  “Think you might need to buy me dinner before I agree to that, Soldier.”  He teased.

// NEXT

[atopearth]

The Men of Yoshiwara: Kikuya Part 6 - Hayabusa (Hayato) Route

Oh no, I love big brother types! Hayato might be the death of me🤣 Honestly though, Misao and Hayato reminiscing their childhood memories of the time before he suddenly “disappeared” was sweet and nice. It felt like they really shared a bond that they both looked back on fondly and still remember to this day. I always find it heartwarming when two people cherish the same memories. As expected, their childhood separation seemed like a sad one since she was so attached to Hayato as a kid, but I guess Hayato adored her too, so it was painful for both. It also seems like he’s working hard in hope that he can leave Yoshiwara in a few years and properly confess to her at that time. He probably didn’t want to meet her under these circumstances, but I think it’s a good thing, since they’ll get to see whether they are both still the person that they liked so much in their childhood imo.

I was glad Hayato sent that letter to tell her to come to Kikuya. I mean, despite how he wants himself to feel, I doubt many people could resist seeing the person they love when they’ve just reunited haha. Lol at him asking questions to see if she had been visiting Yoshiwara frequently, but it was nice of him to apologise for probing to see if she was still “pure”. More than the fact of whether she was pure or not, I think Hayato just wanted to believe that Misao is still just as innocent and sweet as she was when they were children, and confirming that she hasn’t changed probably made him happy, since it was inevitable for him to have changed considering his circumstances, but seeing the same Misao must make him feel that things can go back to how they used to be? Hayato seems so dejected about himself being a courtesan and not being worthy to be someone important to Misao, so his rejections can kinda hurt. But I can see why he wouldn’t take those valuable belongings from her though, it’s worth so much, how could he just take it like that lol. Lmao though, Hayato feeding her candy felt more like he was feeding a kid rather than it being something romantic. To be fair though, Misao is pretty childish lol, especially since he had to convince her in such a cute way that she should keep the valuables to herself just in case she needs money in the future. I knew he cheated in the game for her sake (so that she would take the valuables home), but that’s understandable since Misao is stubborn.

I don’t like the name Hayabusa so I’m going to keep calling him Hayato haha. Hearing him speak about his childhood memories with Misao, you can really see how much he cherished them, and how much he’s been wanting to see Misao all this time. It’s kinda saddening though, because whilst Misao pretty much just went on with her life after he left, it feels like for Hayato, Misao has always been his motivation to leave Yoshiwara asap so he can properly meet her as another man rather than as a courtesan. Ohh wow, I’m kinda glad the story is focusing a bit on the idea of Misao possibly getting caught for letting the couple elope. It was always just an excuse for Misao to have the money to go to Kikuya so I’m kind of happy that they’re actually exploring the consequences in this route. On the other hand, Hayato really can’t keep his cool when it comes to Misao huh? He loses most of his judgement and rationality that you can really tell how much she means to him. It’s a good and bad thing though, since he needs to keep calm to help her better, but it’s heartwarming to see that he’s not completely jaded by the world of Yoshiwara. It’s so sweet how Hayato used his allowance ever since he was a kid to buy those comfit candies all the time hoping to give it to Misao someday. Her existence really kept him going… I think Iroha’s proposal to keep the valuables at Kikuya as payment to see Hayato is a good idea. Iroha obviously doesn’t seem to care about where the money came from as long as it’s money, and Misao needs to hide them from the people checking up on her, and she wants to keep seeing Hayato, so really, it’s mostly a win win situation.

I kinda like how Hayato finally decided to express his feelings and kiss Misao. He’s afraid that she might find another courtesan before he’s able to leave Kikuya and I think that’s understandable lol. But I’m glad he’s finally being honest with himself, since even though Misao would wait for him, I don’t find there being any reason to force themselves to not see each other until he’s free from Kikuya. Misao and Iroha were really careless to talk a bit about their deal at the entrance to Kikuya, and lol right when I was thinking how careless they were, the patrol supervisor busted in trying to arrest Misao since they already investigated that it’s impossible for her to have such valuables. It was pretty crazy but expected that Hayato would admit to their crimes in her place. I find it crazy that the police or whatever would torture Hayato and possibly execute him… I love how nice and caring all the guys are in this route though. I wonder if it’s because Hayato is such a sweet and honest guy hahaha. You can really see why Hayato admires Takao, not only is he a great courtesan, he’s also a really reliable and kind guy. It was touching to see how far Hayato was willing to go to protect Misao tbh.

Well, Misao’s mother knowing the patrol supervisor was certainly convenient! And it was because Misao’s mother stopped the patrol supervisor from eloping back then that she ended up being able to live an honest life here, so she owes Misao’s mother lol. It’s kinda interesting though, makes me wonder whether the patrol supervisor did this job because she wanted to stop people from risking their lives going to the mainland and wants them to instead work hard and hope for a future here instead, or does she just think they’re stupid now lol? But not everyone is a top courtesan so not everyone gets to pay off their debts… Maybe I’m just thinking too much haha. Anyway, it was nice to see Misao and Hayato reunited. Oh btw, not sure but I feel like from Kagura onwards, the story really doesn’t delve much into the sex, it’s just kinda like, they did it, yay! Whereas, in Tokiwa and Takao’s routes, they actually sounded pretty steamy! I personally don’t really care, but it just felt kinda weird to be lacking in that part when it’s a story about courtesans hahaha. I also kinda like how in this route, instead of wasting her money all on meeting the guy or whatever, the valuables do end up contributing to allowing Hayato to retire early and being able to marry Misao. It’s kinda nice that it shows how Hayato really did work hard all these years, but at the same time, it was a blessing that these valuables ended up bringing happiness to another couple, which is what the eloped couple hoped for Misao to have due to her kindness, so I liked that it showed how what goes around comes around haha.

I think it’s nice that in the sequel it shows how Misao and Hayato are both helping out with their family businesses. I guess it’s just nice to see how they both have families and are both working hard taking care of their parents and their own married life. I love the trope where they share a candy together through kissing, it sounds nice and sweet hahaha! The happy ending was interesting, since the both of them decided to go to the mainland and look for the eloped couple to tell them about how the girl’s parents have been looking for them etc, and it was nice to know that they were thinking of writing a letter back. Not sure if that’s a great idea since they eloped but I guess the game doesn’t really care about that hahaha.

Overall, I liked Hayato, but I feel like I mainly liked him because he’s a big brother type rather than for himself. Like, Hayato is sweet, he’s kind and very self sacrificing and stuff, but I feel like their romance lacked a spark. I feel like maybe it’s because a lot of their feelings relied on you understanding how much they loved and cared for each other back when they were kids rather than seeking to show how much they loved each other in the present. It was still nice though, because it was quite saddening to see how much Hayato thought about Misao and how much he wanted to see her once he could leave, and I really liked the change in perspective/story where they focused on the consequences of eloping and how it can affect others. And Hayato is super cute so it’s all good haha.

Overall Review I feel like Kikuya gets a lot of mixed reviews so I was a bit scared that I wasted my money, but I think it was better than I thought! Honestly thought the courtesan setting was going to be pretty trashy but it was actually pretty pure lol. It doesn’t delve a lot into the darkness of Yoshiwara and stuff, but it definitely establishes that the life of the LIs aren’t one to be envied, until they meet Misao anyway, because that brings happiness into their lives lol. Although most of the routes were pretty average, I did really enjoy the Takao, Tokiwa and Hayabusa (Hayato) routes. The game definitely doesn’t have a great plot, especially with how ridiculous some things can be, but it’s mainly a game for the romance anyway, so that’s fine haha. At times, I do have to admit even the romance isn’t the greatest either though, and I think only Takao really appealed to me, but it still has its merits with the variety I guess haha. I’d say if the game is on special and you’re bored, I’d recommend it, otherwise, there’s really nothing special about it lol. It’s pretty typical, pretty cliche but it was still kinda enjoyable. It’s not too long either (around 20 hours according to my Switch), so that’s good I guess? I’d say it’s easy to read since you can kinda turn off your brain and enjoy it, but at the same time you can’t when you’re faced with some ridiculous situations hahaha. Overall though, it’s not bad, I’d give it like a 6/10 probably.

[ladywritesthings]

Welcome to Burlesque, ch2

AO3

---

Caleb barely managed to catch himself before he fell flat on his face at her feet, tripping and stumbling over the doorframe. He whirled around immediately, but the door had already smacked shut behind him and he could hear Molly cackling madly from the safety of the hallway, and the echoing slaps of what could only be exchanged high-fives.

They’d planned this.

That must’ve been why they’d left him alone at the bar — they planned this while he was trying to get his head back on straight, and he’d been too distracted to notice until it was far too late. The pricks.

“You must be Caleb!”

He froze at the sound of her voice, high and sweet and playful — because of course it was. He hadn’t had any idea what she could have sounded like before he heard her but now that he had, he couldn’t possibly imagine her sounding like anything else. She had the light, lilting accent of the Menagerie Coast, and something deep within his chest ached at the sound of his name on her tongue. How did she—?

“I’ve been expecting you.”

They hadn’t just planned this, it wasn’t just a prank meant to embarrass him, throwing him into a room with an unsuspecting dancer. They’d arranged it. Money had probably exchanged hands to put him in this room — oh gods. It was worse than he’d thought.

“You don’t have to leave, you know, you can turn around. It’s okay, I won’t bite.” He could hear the grin in her voice. “Probably.”

‘Götter helfen mir.’

Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he turned, very slowly, to face her. The room was plush, a comfortable and elegantly decorated room clearly designed for… private encounters, but relatively small — too small, actually; she was far, far too close to him. She was shorter than him, of course, and even in those kitten heels of hers she barely came up to his chin. Her train had been exchanged for a sheer dressing gown edged in soft down, open and flowing, a sleeve of which had slipped down her shoulder. She was looking at him with those huge, violet eyes, lashes impossibly long and thick over the freckles dusting her button nose, and he swallowed harshly. Gods help him, indeed.

“Hello,” he croaked lamely.

“Hi, I’m Jester!” she said brightly. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She extended a delicate hand and he could only stare at it dumbly. After a moment she retracted it and squinted at him. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

It took a lot more effort than expected to clear his throat. “I — ah, n-no, I can’t say that I have,” he mumbled awkwardly.

“That’s okay,” she said kindly. “Molly said you might be a little nervous.” She extended her hand again and, when he didn’t take it, tugged on his sleeve instead. He was powerless to resist her as she guided him to the long couch that lined the walls, to move away when she gently pulled him down to sit next to her.

“Molly—?”

“He was the one who told me about you,” she explained, a little unnecessarily. “He said he had a friend who would like to meet me, if you know what I mean—” She wiggled her eyebrows, cheeks dimpling, and his heart jumped in his chest, “—and of course I said yes, because Molly has such good taste in friends, but…” She leaned close, a smile somehow simultaneously sweet and sultry curling her lips. “I didn’t expect you to be so handsome.”

His chest tightened as she tilted her head, eyelashes fluttering as her eyes traced him up and down. ‘She is being paid to do this,’ he reminded himself, ‘it isn’t real,’ but that fact was hard to remember with her breath tickling his cheek and her fingers ghosting over his hand. She smelled like cherries and honey and she was really too close now if he wanted to keep his wits about him, but before his brain caught up to his body enough to react she was gone, up and across the room before he could blink.

“You’re really quiet,” she commented.

He coughed, feeling his face heating up as she rummaged around in the drawer of a small end table in the corner. “I’m… sorry,” he said haltingly. “I — did not expect to be here.”

She glanced back at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“This was… not my idea,” he confessed awkwardly.

She paused, turning back to him with her hands clasped behind her. “No wonder you seem nervous,” she said, and cocked her head. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder, gems glinting in the ambient lighting. He swallowed.

“I am sorry,” he said again weakly.

“Oh, no, don’t be sorry!” she said. “It’s really cute, actually.” It was absolutely the wrong thing to say if she was trying to ease the tension in his gut, but she didn’t seem to notice. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” She smiled again, in that coy, wicked manner that set his nerves alight. His mouth went dry as she came slowly towards him, slipping the dressing gown from her shoulders. It pooled around her feet and she paused briefly in front of him, tail swishing slightly. Caleb now saw she held a length of thick silken ribbon, which she wrapped once around each hand before slipping it around the back of his neck. She yanked him forward as she leaned in close, nearly nose to nose. “There are other things we could do instead,” she purred.

He wanted to scoot back, leave now, knew he should; she was far too dangerous and far too sublime and he really, really shouldn’t be here with her so excruciatingly, tantalizingly close — but she was much stronger than she looked and he was helpless as she began dancing again, twisting languidly, and thinking became impossible as she nudged his knees apart, moving torturously between his legs.

She took her time, teasing, tormenting, never quite touching, but inching closer and closer with every shimmy of her hips, every turn of her body. It was getting harder to breathe now, and it was hot in here, so unbearably, terribly hot — damn Mollymauk, damn Beauregard and Fjord and damn Mollymauk to hell for putting him here, for locking him in this room with this woman, and —

She lifted herself smoothly onto the couch with one knee on either side of his lap, not quite straddling him, but not quite not. And then she was moving again to the faint music of the club below, body curving, hips rolling, agonizing and seductive and never quite crossing the line into something more. His heart thundered in his chest as he sat there, paralyzed, as her thighs pressed against him, fists clenching and unclenching unconsciously on the couch cushions beneath them as he watched her — he was well aware he was staring, well aware of the lecherous way his eyes roved her body, desperately trying to capture every part of her at once, commit her to memory — but he was unable to look away. She released the ribbon then, fingers tracing slowly down his arms, taking him by the wrists as she placed his hands gently on either side of her corseted waist. “You can touch me, you know,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. He could feel her smiling. “If you like.”

She was warm from dancing, his hands fitting perfectly into the curves of her, and she smiled again as his fingers tightened reflexively around her. A hand trailed back up his arm, tracing up his neck, running lightly through his hair. She put her lips close his ear again as she leaned forward, her voice a breathless whisper, “I like it when you touch me.”

It would be so easy to buy into the fiction she was presenting, to allow himself to run his hands over her and lose himself in the idea that she cared about him at all. That the way she was making him feel was in any way reciprocated, that she would even look at him twice if Molly hadn’t pulled some strings; that, if only for one night, or one hour, or even a single minute, she wanted him. And she was so good at pretending — the swell of her chest pressed against him, her hips moving beneath his hands, her fingers in his hair — that he almost did, almost let that little groaning sound caught in his throat to escape him as she breathed hotly in his ear, but —

He ached to touch her, touch her properly, feel her skin on his — to run his hands up her thighs, to bury his face in her neck as she said his name, again and again...

It was too dangerous, too much, too —

He let go of her then — with one hand, he wasn’t strong enough to pull away from her yet, not entirely, he was too selfish for that, even now — fumbling through his pockets. ‘Where is it, where did I put it, where—?’

She slowed her movements, pulling away slightly to look down at him with those huge, gorgeous eyes. “What’s wrong?” she said. “What are you—?”

He didn’t answer her, too focused on the singular task of pulling out his wallet, and somehow managed to wrench his other hand from her waist to rifle through it.

She let go of him then, her eyes widening slightly, her plump mouth a small ‘O’ of surprise and — what was that? Anxiety? “Is that — Are you—?” She swallowed, and her confidence seemed to be melting slightly, and suddenly she seemed much younger now. “I don’t — th-that’s not really what I thought — Molly didn’t say anything about a-actually—”

He brandished his prize in her face. “Cat!” he barked.

She blinked down at the picture in his hand, that small spark of unease turning to confusion. “…Cat?” she said.

“My cat,” he croaked. “His name is Frumpkin.”

She looked at him, gaze traveling from his face to the image of Frumpkin and slowly back again. “I don’t…”

“He can change shapes sometimes, but he prefers to be a cat mostly,” he babbled. “He likes to be scratched behind the ears when I read.”

She was looking at him like he’d grown an extra head, utterly bewildered at this sudden change in subject. He was well aware he must appear deranged — who in their right mind would start talking about their cat in the middle of a lapdance with her? — but he couldn’t keep going like that, couldn’t let her continue, not if he wanted to keep his head on straight —

There was a sudden clattering, and both their heads snapped to the door as it opened.

A firbolg stood there, towering and grey, with long, violently pink hair, carrying a mop. “Oh,” he said, looking bemused but not at all embarrassed at the sight of Jester straddling him. “Hello.”

“Caduceus!” said Jester, scrambling off Caleb’s lap to the cushion beside him. She was blushing now, the same lavender-pink as her tongue, her arms wrapped protectively across her chest. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, they didn’t tell me the room was being used.” Caduceus scratched his head with the mop handle, pink eyes taking in the scene before him — Jester, half-naked and flushed; Caleb, frozen in place, still holding the picture of Frumpkin aloft.

“Well, it is, and we’re kind of, um, busy, so if you could, like, come back later—?”

“My mistake, I’ll leave you to it.” He smiled pleasantly, nodded at Caleb. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “You two have fun.” The door clicked shut behind him.

They sat in silence for a long time, Caleb still stuck in place, although he’d finally managed to lower his arm. He could feel Jester glancing furtively at him, her arms still wrapped around herself. She seemed different now, as though a spell had been broken — still gorgeous, heart-stoppingly so, but… uncertain. Young. Innocent. He was suddenly, painfully aware of how much older he must be than her, and how close he’d been to allowing himself to get lost in the fantasy. How close he’d been to doing something he’d regret.

He stuffed the picture back in his wallet, for once not caring if it creased or crumpled, and stood abruptly. “I should go,” he said.

She blinked. “O-oh,” she said.

“Yes, I should — hmm.” He wanted to say something — thank her? Gods no, how pathetic would that be? “I should go,” he said again.

She looked at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher, almost seeming to deflate a little. “Oh. Okay…”

In two quick strides he was at the door, but hesitated with his fingers on the handle. He could go back and salvage this — she was so close, so beautiful, so… He shook himself. No. He wouldn’t do that to her.

He left without saying anything else.

Molly nudged Beau and Fjord in the ribs as Caleb stumbled back to the bar, disheveled and heart-sick and probably covered in glitter. “He returns!” crowed Molly triumphantly, clapping him on the shoulder as he came close and collapsed on a stool. “Veth, we’re gonna need some shots over here. Now, tell us everything.” He plucked slyly at the ribbon still draped around his neck.

Nott slid Caleb a shot of something and he downed it without bothering to try to identify it. She slid him two more and he downed those too, savoring the burn as they hit his throat. His palms were sweating again. He nearly slopped the fourth shot all over himself, his hands were shaking so much with latent adrenaline, but tossed it back anyway.

They were watching him. Beau grabbed his wrist as he reached for the fifth shot, smile slipping slightly. “Dude, slow down,” she said, her brows knitting together in mild concern. “You’re gonna throw up.”

“I knew she was good, but I didn’t know she was that good,” joked Molly. He swiped at Caleb’s face, finger coming away blue from a smudge of lipstick he hadn’t realized was there. “This is a good color on you.”

Caleb shook his hand out of Beau’s grasp and downed the final shot. When he rose from the barstool his head swam, but he was surprisingly steady on his feet as he took Molly’s face gingerly in his hands, leaning in close. “Mollymauk?” he said, only slurring a little.

Molly was grinning. “Yes, Caleb?”

He patted his cheek. “Fuck you,” he said, and left.

“Oh, come on!” yelled Molly as he walked away. “We all saw you looking at her, I was doing you a favor! You deserve to have some fun every once in a while!” But Caleb didn’t look back.

It wasn’t until he got home, collapsing on his dilapidated couch with Frumpkin flopping over in his lap, that he realized his colossal mistake.

He’d put the picture back in his wallet, but never put the wallet back in his pocket.

He groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes, but not seeing didn’t change the facts.

He’d left it at the Lavish Chateau. In the VIP room.

With Jester.

He’d have to go back.

[fellintotartarus]

i think we partied too hard

on ao3!

i'm obsessed with one night stand amy gets pregnant fics rn (literally don't ask why... shut up) I'm also VERY MAD about the green book win (it was a category filler?! roma deserved it shut up) so you get this, i guess.

Jake sat with his head on the table groaning. He had spent 29 hours awake, running on 2 hours of sleep, and he could not crack this case. Amy sat next to him in the same fashion, in the same situation.

 After 29 hours of looking at the same case board, interrogating the same perps, and running the same routes, they were no closer to bringing down this mysterious drug lord. The clock ticked teasingly in the corner, reminding them of the time elapsing that they couldn’t solve the case.

 All of the sudden, Jake’s head snapped up.

 “Ames,” he whispered. “It’s the sister.”

 Amy’s head shot up. They stared at each other before smiles crept onto each of their faces. They solved it.

 —

 That night, the whole squad went to Shaw’s to celebrate. They were waist deep in shots, pints, and, in Holt’s case, Charbonay. It was a sloppy drunk kind of night.

 Four-drink Amy had come out to play. Terry tried to get another drink in her so that she would stop terribly winking at everything that walked, but the bartender had cut her off and was watching them with a hawk eye. They wanted to stay more than they wanted five-drink Amy, so they let her horniness run rampant.

 Jake was not a heavy drinker, but this case closing was a cause for celebration, so he was wasted. He didn’t have a tiered drunkenness scale like Amy did, but after six drinks he was strangely flirty as well.

 The rest of the crew was very weirded out by their gross and alcohol-fueled vibing, and they gravitated away from Jake and Amy into another corner.

 Soon enough, Jake and Amy were sitting huddled up at the bar, steadily drinking enough to keep them at the “horny-drunk” level.

 “Jake, you know something? You’re super hot. I totally would sleep with you, but I’m too much of a chicken to say that,” Amy slurred, poking his chest (surprisingly firm, she might add).

 “Whaaaatttt? You’re the sexiest ever. Every time you wear that red dress it makes me suffer because I just wanna lift up the skirt and fuck you in it,” he breathed in her ear.

 The conversation had taken a significant turn from playful flirting to very serious dirty talk, and it was reflected in their proximity to each other and their heavy breathing.

 Amy moaned under breath. She took a nibble of his earlobe and whispered lightly, already grabbing her purse, “Do you wanna go back to mine?”

 Jake stood up abruptly, nodding, wobbled a little bit, and grabbed her hand. They half-ran to the door, giggling the whole way.

 —

 The next morning, Jake rolled over to find the good lump on his mattress only to find a foreign bed and a warm barrier with its arms wrapped around him.

 Confused, Jake groggily opened his eyes to find a very naked Amy Santiago sleeping peacefully next to him.

 His eyes went wide and he gasped slightly, causing Amy to stir and open her eyes. As soon as she saw him, her reaction was about the same as his.

 After a few tense seconds of just looking at each other with surprise, they simultaneously sprang apart and let out yelps.

 Amy, realizing they were both naked, tugged the sheet over her body, leaving Jake’s (very nice, she had to say) body exposed. He gasped and grabbed the sheet and pulled it over himself, leaving Amy’s (extremely sexy, he thought) body exposed. It was a slight battle of tug-of-war before they gave up and starting mad-grabbing for their clothes on the floor. Amy found her underwear pretty close to the bed, but, holding her boobs in place with her hands, she found her bra in the hallway, and her pantsuit on the couch. Jake was luckier to find all his clothes in the bedroom.

 They met in Amy’s kitchen.

 “So we... uh...” Amy trailed off. She was visibly tense in the shoulders.

 “Seems like it,” Jake laughed awkwardly a bit, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 A pause. Then, suddenly, laughter filled the apartment. They were belly-laughing, the good kind of laugh that left you aching. Tears welled in their eyes.

 “Was I any good?” Jake choked out through laughs.

 Amy stopped laughing and said seriously, “I don’t know. You were my first.”

 Jake stilled. “Wait, Ames, really?”

 A laugh forced its way out of Amy’s throat. “No! Oh my god, who do you take me for, a 30-year-old virgin?”

 “Jesus, you scared me!” Jake laughed.

 “Okay, well, I’m glad this isn’t weird and all, but I am majorly hungover and would like to take my day off,” Amy said.

��“No, yeah, got it. I was just on my way out.”

 They shared a genuine smile as Jake walked out the door.

 Amy lay in bed later that night and texted Jake.

 To: Jake Peralta

Isn’t it... weird that we aren’t weird?

 From: Jake Peralta

not rly tbh. the way i see it is we have a funny inside joke now. also i literally remember nothing.

 To: Jake Peralta

Yeah haha. Makes sense. Definitely don’t remember anything either.

 The thing was, she did. Or, well, she had evidence. She woke up with the mat in her hair that she only got when she had sex in her favorite position, she had the good ache between her legs of being well-fucked with a big dick, and her clitoris was really sensitive, meaning multiple orgasms. She didn’t entirely like the conclusion, but Jake must be really good at sex. Gross (Or was it? her brain said). She wondered why she couldn’t stop thinking about it, until she realized that it was weird now. She had made it weird by remembering.

 Or maybe it was the way he made her laugh like nobody else, or the soft curl of his hair flipped to the side, or his strong arms holding her as she slept away the morning.

 Amy blushed and shook the thought out of her head for the millionth time that year.

 At his apartment, Jake lay awake with memories flooding back. Jake had the rare gift of retaining memories slowly when he blacked out, and he had never been happier. Besides the obvious, Jake was mind blown that Amy freaking Santiago had given him the best sex of his life. She was such a nerd, it seemed impossible! Just remembering the night’s activities sent a shudder down his spine and warmth through his core.

 But it also begged the question: was it just the sex? Or was it also the halo of light around Amy’s face when she laughed, or the way her hair shone softly, or her adorable hate face reserved only for those who had invoked a pure form of hatred from a cinnamon roll of a human (looks like a cinnamon roll, could actually kill you).

 Jake wondered for the millionth time that year why he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was his colleague for Christ’s sake, his frenemy within the precinct. They competed constantly and bickered more than an old married couple.

 Jake sighed, punched the good lump into shape, and fell asleep.

 —

 Jake and Amy’s work relationship hadn’t changed much at all, except now they seemed to have a lot more to laugh about. Every once in a while, they would be sniggers coming from their desks from a seemingly new inside joke.

 The main thing that changed, however, was the way they looked at each other. Their glances would linger while the other wasn’t looking, and there was something unidentifiable in their eyes. It was soft, and it was absolutely torturous. The rest of the squad had bets on the outcome of this newfound grossness.

 Jake’s deniable crush on Amy had spiraled into a full-blown infatuation. He thought about her constantly, texted her when he wasn’t with her, and even improved his life to please her. He cleaned every week, he sold his unnecessary stuff, and started chipping away at his debt. It was a goddamned miracle.

 Amy found herself thinking about Jake too much for it to be normal. She always suspected that she liked him as more than a friend but was always able to tamp it down and ignore it. Not anymore, she thought with a sigh. Now it was like everything he did was the cutest thing. His smiles always sent her into a soupy mess, and every time they touched by accident it was like electricity running up her spine.

 Then one day, a month after That Night, it became impossible to not think about him.

 She woke up that morning feeling nauseous for the second day in a row. She violently vomited a few times and then lay against the cool bathroom floor, the cogs turning in her brain.

 Idiot, she thought to herself.

 After nervously checking her period tracker and seeing that she was a week late, she immediately called Jake.

 “Hey, I was just about to call you to see if you could meet up for coffee before work. I wanna talk to you about something.” He sounded hopeful and groggy, like he had just woken up. But Amy was not concerned about that right now.

 “Peralta,” she whisper-yelled through the phone. “Did we not use a fucking condom?”

 She heard shuffling on the other end of the line. Then, Jake’s voice rang clear and awake. That obviously had gotten his attention.

 “Ames, what are you saying?” he said nervously.

 Amy pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly.

 “I can’t stop puking and I’m a week late,” she said softly. “Jake, I think I’m pregnant.”

 Silence.

 Then, after a beat, “Okay. Get dressed and meet me at the CVS on the corner by your apartment. Everything’s going to be okay.”

 Amy wiped away some stray tears and did as Jake instructed. She found him waiting at the entrance of the pharmacy. When they made eye contact, his eyes lightened, and a small smile crept onto his face. He held his hand out for her to take. It was corny, but Amy really appreciated it.

 They navigated through the store, finding the pregnancy tests, and Jake insisted on buying the most expensive one to put Amy’s mind at ease.

 They stepped into the bathroom together, receiving strange stares from the employees, and Jake turned to the corner while Amy peed on the fancy test (Why was she comfortable with him in there? God, she must really like him). Then she set a timer and they waited.

 Standing there in the bathroom waiting for the timer to go off, Amy turned to Jake and asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

 Jake raised his eyebrows. “Oh, right. That.” He sighed. “Well, I guess now’s as good a time as any.” Awkward smile. Deep breath.

 Amy waited with bated breath for what she thought (and hoped) he would say.

 “So, after That Night, I, uh, realized that I like you. And I wanna be with you. Romantic stylez. Stylez with a z.”

 Amy was shocked. She knew she felt the same way, and that she wanted that, too, but their life might be about to get really complicated.

 A part of her brain told her that it would make things simpler if there was a baby, but another part thought of Jane the Virgin and how complicated Mateo’s life became with on-off parents.

 But heart and mouth seemed to be ahead of her brain because she found herself saying, “Me, too.”

 Jake smiled so genuinely it hurt Amy’s heart. She smiled back and, before she could think, pulled Jake in for a tender kiss.

 If Jake had to describe it, he would say it felt like taking a deep breath after too long under water. Kissing Amy was like coming home and smelling your pillow after being away. Kissing Amy was like heaven.

 If Amy had to describe it, she would say it was like pulling on a soft shirt straight out of the dryer. Kissing Jake was like a fresh, warm binder and a clean apartment.

 Then the timer went off.

 Amy pulled away and made eye contact with Jake. There was panic and worry in her eyes.

 “Deep breath,” Jake said reassuringly.

 Together, they looked down.

 Not Pregnant.

 Amy could almost cry with relief. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

 She looked up at Jake, who also looked pretty relieved. He caught her looking and tried explaining.

 “I would’ve been a good dad. Y’know, if that was the case. I would have stayed and cared, I’m not—”

 Amy cut him off. “Jake. I know. I don’t doubt it even for a second. But relief is fine. I am definitely not ready, and you probably aren’t either.”

 Jake smiled pulled her in for another kiss, only for Amy to stop him.

 He looked worried and said, “Oh, shit, did I mess something up?”

 Amy laughed. “No, you goof. It’s just that we are definitely not going going to make out in a CVS bathroom.”

 “Oh. Oh, okay good. Geez, I thought I fucked up for a second.”

 “No, Peralta. We’ll be fine.”

[n1cklybear]

A revelation

So, today someone posted Proverbs 13:12 (CSB) on a Discord server that I am on (not the one I run):

"Hope delayed makes the heart sick,

but desire fulfilled is a tree of life."

How true. Then, what has God called for us to do as Christians? Follow Him, no matter what, no matter how hard. God has promised to lift us up if we continue to obey His commands at several different points throughout the Bible. Not only that, but Jesus Himself said in Luke 14:26 (CSB):

"If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters--yes, and even his own life--he cannot be my disciple."

What this verse is saying that Earthly relationships should NEVER be getting in the way with our relationships with the Lord. I come from an abusive family. My dad literally told me a few months that he literally didn't care about me. So, yeah, being loved is something I have never experienced. Ever. My desire for love has gotten in the way of my walk with the Lord as pleasing my parents with their impossible-to-reach standards has taken up all my attention. In addition, I've spent much time trying to literally buy love from my younger sisters, and try to be the perfect cisgender person for my extended family and "friends" who are literally "God hates f*gs" people, and be the perfect little cisgender male Christian for my church. Why? To please everyone. Because I desire love and attention. Those are not to be our focus. Our focus is to be strictly on God and His will.

Luke 6:22 (CSB)

"Blessed are you when people hate you, when they exclude you, insult you, and slander your name as evil because of the Son of Man."

Obviously, slightly different context as Jesus is talking about non-believers in the context, but it can just as easily be used to describe relationships with other Christians, because as is unfortunately true, Christians LOVE to tear each other down. We Christians are other Christians worst enemies in many cases (not all, especially in countries like Iran and China obviously, I'm speaking mostly of the western world here). As trans people, we are hated. Often viewed as sub-human, including by other Christians, get excluded, insulted, and slandered. We are called to not back down during that. We are to face it and take it with grace, knowing that we will be rewarded for our behavior and faith in the face of persecution.

Matthew 28:10 (CSB):

"Don’t fear those who kill the body but are not able to kill the soul; rather, fear him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell"

We're not to live in fear of other humans. Only of the devil, even when faced with death.

Mark 10:29-30 (CSB):

"I assure you," Jesus said, "there is no one who has left house, brothers or sisters, mother or father, children, or fields because of Me and the gospel, 30 who will not receive 100 times more, now at this time-houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions-and eternal life in the age to come."

We are to follow the gospel. That's the only way that we will ever be truly blessed, even if it means we are giving up everything and everyone we have ever known, as I would be if I were to transition.

2 Timothy 1:7-8 (CSB):

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but one of power, love, and sound judgment. 8 So don’t be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, or of me his prisoner. Instead, share in suffering for the gospel, relying on the power of God.

We are not to live in fear, but trust fully in God's power, love, and wisdom. We are not to be ashamed or hold ourselves back when it comes to the gospel.

So, what I realized, who am I living for when I refuse to transition for fear of losing everyone and everything, things I never had? My close family never truly cared about me, and neither does my extended family or "friends" if they cannot accept who I am in Christ, because if one thing I've learned being trans, is that my identity is not only about gender, but more importantly who I am in Christ. If they cannot accept my identity in Christ, do they actually care about me? Most of them are Christians, and they should be accepting of my walk, and guiding me, if they refuse, the Lord WILL hold them accountable. They in the end, are not really hurting me, but themselves and their relationship with the Lord by refusing to help me in my walk.

Now, that said, I'm still scared. I know that I don't truly have a family or any friends. That's why I've been scared to lose what I have now, because losing them would force me to realize what I've known for a long time. But, we are not to be bound to the spirit of fear. We MUST go with God, no matter the Earthly cost. Now, the hardest part is that I do not have any support in real life, which kills me. But, the Lord has always been good and provided what I needed when I needed it the most, even if it wasn't when I wanted it. In addition, are we called to be miserable and depressed and suicidal? NO. Those things are of the devil. I am keeping myself from being able to be used fully by the Lord by continuing to wallow in misery. This isn't the life I've been called to. Now, it will be hard, I am scared, I am scared to lose every Earthly thing I've ever had. But, the Lord demands our trust. So, I know that I need the spirit of courage, but I fully recognize that I need to transition, sooner than later. How can I expect to be blessed when I refuse to follow Him, because wanting to kill myself is not of the Lord. I cannot be blessed when I wallow in that, because I lack faith.

Anyway, it's likely that I will be homeless, never be loved on this Earth (which kills me), but once again, am I to live for others, or for God? I  need to pray much for strength and courage and wisdom, but I am going to start seriously looking into transitioning so I can fully follow the Lord's will, because yeah, that's scary. Being suicidal does nothing for anyone, myself, others, or the Lord.

One other note, continuing as Nick (my birth name, well, technically it's Nicholas, but no one outside of old people call me that, but that's beside the point, sorry I'm a very technical and exact person) will mean that I continue to lie, to myself, others, and God. It's not who I am.

Finally, will this hurt others? Yes, but at some point, I have to recognize, that's their problem, not mine. It will be hard for me as I hate hurting others, I hate myself when I do it, but, I must follow the Lord, and trust that He works it all out.

Anyway, that's my revelation. It will be terrifying, and EXTREMELY hard, but in the past and today in other countries, Christians are literally being KILLED for their faith, being put at the barrel of a gun and told to recant their faith or have their brains blown out. They are being tortured, imprisoned, used as slaves and organ "donors" for organ harvesting, and how insignificant my problem is compared to that! If I can't stand up for the faith when it comes to living as a woman, how could I ever expect to stand up when the government turns against the Lord and wants to kill me? I couldn't. It's time. Anyway, that's it.

P.S. This is also a plea for accountability. Seriously, please hold me accountable to this, because if left to my own, I will never carry out what I posted, I will just crumble under the weight of it all without a force ensuring I keep moving on.

[donnerpartyofone]

21 Questions

Tagged by @getoutofmyhouse who had oddly similar answers to mine

Nickname: only the one I use here, that I gave myself--Claire Donner, which has to do with my famous love of cannibalism. Claire is my real first name, though.

Zodiac: I am so very cuspy. I was born at about a quarter to midnight on April 20, so I tend to relate to, and feel insulted by, the suppositions about Aries and Taurus equally. I’m one of those jerks who will tell you astrology is a bunch of hoo ha...and then drone on with my Many Esoteric Ideas about it, so I’ll just stop myself right here.

Height: 5’ nuthin is what I prefer to say...because saying I’m 5 and 3/4′ sounds a little like saying I’m 10 and a half years old.

Amount of sleep: It’s all fucked up. Until I got into my 30s I could, and would prefer to, sleep endlessly. Now I go to bed around 10 (depression), get up around 5 or 6 (being old), and for extra fun, I’ve developed this insomnia that often keeps me up from about 2am-5am. I try make the most of it by getting up, getting high, watching a movie or two, writing...basically just having a secret private day by myself. I’d really rather go back to just sleeping constantly though.

Last movie I saw: I saw GRETA in theaters tonight, which was ok. I guess I thought any Neil Jordan film would be headier than this, but watching Isabel Huppert just running around acting like an absolute maniac is a rare treat! My last video experience was RAW, which I put on to bother my husband right when we got home from the theater. (I think he liked it more than I originally did, to my surprise)

Last thing I googled: The correct spelling of Sylvia Likens’ last name. I’m obsessed with this type of crime where a group of people (usually a family and/or some of their friends and neighbors) fall into some kind of shared hysteria where they protractedly torture to death an acquaintance for no particular reason. Some times there’s an element of mystery as to why the victim didn’t leave while they were still able to, which suggests to me that the murdered person was just as much a victim of the groupthink as the perpetrators. Other example victims include Suzanne Capper, Vera Jo Reigle, and I think to some degree Sophie Lionnet, James Bulger, and Junko Furuta. (Also a crime they briefly discuss in the book Lords of Chaos, where several people murder a friend in their trailer, but I can’t remember it specifically enough to look up the names--the other last thing i tried to google) I keep thinking there should be a psychiatric and/or legal term for this kind of crime, but I’ve never heard one, so let me know if you got one!

Favorite musician: I have trouble with questions that involve ranking anything, so I’ll just say that right now I’m listening to a lot of old White Zombie. I didn’t know anything about their origins as an East Village noise band, and I’m fascinated by the stories about how apocalyptically miserable it was to be in that group. I’m increasingly obsessed with people who work their asses off doing something they barely even enjoy, for what must be borderline spiritual reasons.

Song stuck in my head: Nothing right this second, for which I am very grateful. There’s something awful in my brain that causes me to wake up with some maddening, babyish tune stuck in my head more often than not. It is most frequently the Ten Little Indians nursery rhyme. This is literally killing me.

Other blogs: @anhed-nia, which started as a dumping ground for long posts about mental illness, and turned into almost only movie writing. at some point there was just so much movie shit that i started to feel awkward about posting anything personal there again. i also got @getoffyrass which is a group blog, and a repository for images that make great drawing references. everyone is encouraged to post their drawings, too, although it is seldom used. i still like having it around, for when i have time to draw. my “real” drawing blog is @neveratendermoment but i don’t draw often enough anymore...

Do I get asks: i used to get tons! i really enjoy them, even the trolls to some degree. i must have seemed like more of a regular tumblr geek girl back in the day. also tumblr has just changed a lot since then. my blog was definitely a casualty of Best Stuff First, i think my follower count stopped dead forever right when that happened, and now that practically every single fucking thing on this entire site is either fandom shit or *discourse*, i really have nothing to offer tumblr anymore, anyway.

Blogs following: 1,057. 

Lucky numbers: 2! Also 5.

What I’m wearing: black wool long john pants from Chrome, and a white v neck teeshirt with the words BLACK MAYONNAISE on it in black Rocky Horror font. i live near the notoriously toxic Gowanus Canal, and “black mayonnaise” is the actual term used to describe what’s on the bottom of it, by the scientists who are trying to figure out what to do with it.

Dream trip: i am really excited by travel, it’s hard to pick. i’m hopefully making a dream trip soon though: my father’s mysterious finno-swedish family is from the åland islands, and my husband and i will be planning part of our honeymoon there, whenever that happens.

Dream Job: i think about this a lot, because the older i get, the more i object to the entire concept of having to work to live. i’m into the whole universal basic income thing. i’m at this point where i can barely stand to think about capitalism in any way--like i think about how the need for money is so mortally serious that there’s a lot of physical stuff in the world that only exists because someone was scared of starving, tons of useless products and packaging and factory byproducts and all kinds of fucking straight up garbage that was only invented due to the lethality of poorness. i would rather be left totally alone forever if possible. however, if i HAD to do something and i COULD do anything, it would probably be film criticism. this fantasy takes place in a world where people care so much about what i have to say that i can make a career, not only out of movie writing, but out of only writing about the specific movies i want to write about, referring to nothing other than my personal reactions.

Favorite food: i wish the answer weren’t just “cheese”, but it probably is. also mushrooms. anything cinnamon. i’m a pretty adventurous eater though. the most important thing for me is a variety of flavors and textures.

Languages: english. i took several years of italian in junior high-high school, and did nothing with it. i taught myself to read french pretty fluently, but i would fold right up if someone tried to speak to me. i learned a bunch of swedish on duolingo, shoulda kept it up. i’ll get back to it! i really regret never learning spanish though, so i’m easily torn on what to do with my time.

Play any instruments: clarinet in junior high/high school, also alto sax which i did not enjoy at all, a little guitar. i bought a used electric bass last year that i have really been enjoying, but i feel a lot of guilt around not playing enough. so much of it is just strength training. that’s probably what i like about it, though. also i got a lot of electronic music software and midi controllers and stuff...and then i realized that it could take me months to sort through the thousands of samples i have to program this stuff, and i only got so far into it before i started to get discouraged. i need to get back to it, it’s ridiculous to let that stuff lie around. this is a rare example of me wishing i knew someone local to play with, who could speed me along on how everything works.

Favorite songs: another one of these impossible questions! anybody who is even reading this can probably guess the answers from the handful of music posts i reblog over and over and over. the other night i got all hyperactive and forced my husband to drop everything and listen to “buffalo stance” by nene cherry, which i never ever get sick of. real top contenders for favorite song might be “Stand By the Jamms” by the klf, and this recording, which has gotten me through many difficult hours:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d8k1HsF3EvY

https://www.forcedexposure.com/Catalog/sunray-sonic-boom-music-for-the-dreamachine-cd/STRAWB.003CD.html

Random fact: i’m sure i’m missing out on something really funny and cool, but for now it’s just the well-known fact that i read palms.

Describe yourself as aesthetic thing: man, how do i answer this without being totally pretentious? maybe nobody can! i’m coming up with something really hard to describe but it will be worth it. the other day i watched this insane, completely unnecessary movie about lorca and salvador dali (played by robert pattinson) as gay lovers. there’s a scene in it where lorca does that “pick a hand” thing to dali, and dali picks an empty hand. of course, they’re both poor students who couldn’t be buying any gifts, so they do this obnoxious pantomime where dali pretends lorca actually gave him something--but then it turns out that lorca really DOES have something. he opens his other hand and gives dali...SOMETHING. i don’t know what! they make such a big deal out of it, but what the hell? you see it for a second in this closeup, but it’s shot from like, behind and slightly underneath, and it is just unrecognizable. it’s sort of an orange blob? it’s probably meant to be a sculpture. but, i love the idea of doing the “pick a hand” thing to somebody, and the other person is just like...hey wait a minute, what the fuck even IS this?? 

it reminded me of one of the most amazing things anyone ever did at my school, bard college. this genius art student who I WISH I COULD NAME TO CREDIT HER did her senior project as this like...made up product. i saw them at the senior show, hanging off a spinner rack, like you’d see next to the register in the drug store. they were called Toilet Buddies. they were these plastic, brightly colored objects that looked like toys, but they didn’t have a familiar earthly shape, and because of the title, it was IMPOSSIBLE to imagine what to do with them. so, she gets the lipstick cam from the film department, and shoots this video of herself sneaking some Toilet Buddies into Walmart. then she takes them to the register and BUYS THEM--the baffled cashier looks for them for a while, and eventually just rings them up as a general grocery or something. then in part 2, the artist TAKES THEM BACK TO THE STORE WITH THE RECEIPT AND GETS A REFUND.

so anyway, i see myself as like a fake product--something that looks just familiar enough to exit, and that appears to have a designated purpose, but it’s just kind of cheap and foreign and it becomes nightmarish to try to imagine what to do with it. 

I don’t know if anyone i know will want to do this, but i tag @negativepleasure @moviesludge @former-contender @dimestoreman @thefuzzydave @darkarfs @theoddsideofme @blueruins ...um, i don’t really know who would enjoy this. the ultimate would be @garbagenacht