#yes yes it is a dire need that I make the threshold babies

[thresholdbb]

He real cute in person

[okk--maaan]

Bad Kitchen Dreams

Hi. This is very dumb. But I couldn’t help myself when @ellelaconi​ threw out a Pale Kitchen Nightmares AU. So here you go. Feel free to imagine him in a blonde Matt wig and chef’s coat with a British accent.

WC: ~1.7k (whoops)

CW: you’re a really bad chef, Pale degrading you because you’re such a bad chef, pussy eating, fingering, PIV, brief drug mention, OSHA violations

Pale has traveled all over the country doing this. Helping desperate restaurant owners resurrect their businesses from the ashes. But in his twenty years, he’s never seen a situation as dire as this. As dire as yours.

When he pulls up in his big black car, he can tell the restaurant isn’t open. “Who the fuck ain’t open at one o’clock in the afternoon? Fuckin’ bullshit,” he mutters to himself. And sure enough. When he tries the front door - locked. He bangs on the glass and yells, “Hey! Hello! Anybody in there?!” After like five fuckin’ minutes of this, you finally appear -- wearing a dirty disgusting chef’s coat, your hair haphazardly pinned up, shit on your face. You wipe your hands down your front, smearing something orange across the little bit of white left on your apron.

As soon as you turn the lock, Pale pushes his way through with his big body. Without the barrier of safety glass, he can really get a good look at you. Even with all the mess, you’re pretty fuckin’ hot. Stunning really. Makin’ his cock twitch in his dark jeans, with your soft fuckin’ eyes and lips and shit. But he can’t think about that right now. He’s got work to do. Clearly.

He sticks a fat hand out and greets, “Hey doll. The name’s Jimmy. But call me Pale. Everyone calls me Pale. Hate that fuckin’ name in fact. Jimmy. Only person call me that is my fuckin’ wife.” You’re flustered with how quickly he rambles, but you take his hand and introduce yourself. “Well let me ask you something. Why the hell ain’t you open? It’s the middle of fuckin’ lunch,” he wave his hands all over the place like this is the most atrocious thing. And honestly, in his opinion, it might be. “Uhh well no one’s in here,” you try to explain. He scoffs, “Yeah no shit. Kinda hard for people to get in with the door locked and all.” He did have a point there. You wring your sweaty palms together, trying to fight the utter embarrassment. “Thank you for agreeing to help me, Jimmy - uh Pale. Please tell me what I need to do to fix this.” He leans in real close, jabs a thumb behind him, “Why don’t you unlock the fuckin’ door first?” You chuckle nervously and walk past him. Pale can’t help but glance at your ass as you do, just can’t help himself. And damn. You look just as good from the back as you do from the front. And again, his dick agrees.

With the restaurant officially open, you give Pale a tour. But the condition of the dining room is so deplorable, he doesn’t want to go any further. “Nah doll. I ain’t going in that kitchen. I got half a mind to even let you cook for me,” he throws his hands up in protest. He pulls out the cleanest chair he can find and plops down. Dusting off the tiny table in front of him, he asks, “So what kinda food you serve here?” “I create Mexican Italian fusion dishes,” you respond quickly and proudly. But that pride is short lived, with the way he’s staring at you. “Huh. Fusion. Well I’ll be the judge of that,” he purses his lips as he opens a cloth napkin and sets it in his lap. You take that as your cue to bring out his first course.

“Here we have a baby squid, steamed with lemon and capers,” you say in your best chef’s voice. Steamed? Squid? Pale thinks - knows - what’s sitting in front of him won’t be good. But you’re too fuckin’ pretty for him to flat-out refuse. He wishes he did a bump before coming in this place. By the way he has to stab the fish with his fork, he instantly knows it’s not cooked. “Look, I ain’t eating this. This squid is so raw, I can hear it telling Spongebob to fuck off.” Hot tears prick at your eyes. And he can see it. “No. Come on now. Don’t start that shit. Just - just bring me the next course,” he dismisses you.

You set two overly stuffed enchiladas in front of Pale. They look better than the squid, but his hopes aren’t too high. When he finally musters up the courage to take a bite, he wants to spit it out right away. “These are the worst fuckin’ enchiladas I’ve ever had,” he throws down his fork. You go to remove the plate, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you to his eye level. “Look doll. I know I said I didn’t want to go into that fuckin’ kitchen, but you’re going to take me back there. Right now. Show me with the fuck you got going on.” The way his breath blows over your face and his eyes bore into you, you can’t refuse. “Oh-okay,” you stutter.

As you walk to the kitchen, Pale follows, and you can feel his gaze locked on you. And he is truly mesmerized by the way your hips swing. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he demands any and every other employee leave. “Go clean something. And don’t come back in her til’ I say so. Got it?” All life - including the cockroaches - scatters. Except for you. And him. He stalks over to you liek a wild animal. And you’re his prey. Your ass back up against the metal counter, where he cages you between his strong arms. “How’s this sweetheart. Your restaurant is disgusting, your food is even worse. This place ain’t gonna stay open another month. But you? You’re the best damn thing I’ve seen this side of the Hudson.” He steps in even closer, pressing his hot hot body to yours. “Pale, I-” your eyes drop between your bodies. You can feel the bulge in his pants, insistent on your stomach. Before you can choke out another word, his fingers are digging into your soft hips. In one swift instant motion, he lifts you to sit atop the cold counter and mashing his mouth to yours. Demanding. Hungry. You part your lips for him without protest, let his tongue slide against yours. Your fingers comb and twist into his slicked back hair. He moans and thrusts into you when your nails scratch at his scalp. A sudden burst of confidence implores your hands to move to work at undoing his jeans. But he swats you away, pinches your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb. “Nuh uh doll. You’re not ready for my big cock yet.” When you nod in agreement, he releases your face and finds your own waistband, yanking down your pants and panties at once. With those around your ankles, he spreads you open and admires your glistening cunt. “God. Are you always this wet for every Joe Blow that walks in this joint?” You can feel your face heat up at the comment, but Pale ain’t paying not attention. He’s too busy dropping to his knees and wedging himself between yours. And he wastes no time diving in. You gasp and hiccup at the sudden contact. He licks and sucks at your silky folds, drinking down everything you give him. Occasionally, his proud nose nudges your stiff clit, sending shockwaves down your spine. He grunts and pulls away with a wet pop, “Finally something edible. Finally some good fucking pussy.” Fuck he really wishes he had some coke or a cigarette or a drink, something. He’s already too worked up and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

So he doesn’t.

Pale stands back to his full, towering height and makes quick work of his belt. He uses one hand to free himself, while he coats two fingers on the other in your slick. “Are you ready to take my big cock sweetheart?” he asks before shoving his thick digits deep into you. You inhale sharply and groan at the intrusion. “Yes Pale. Please.” He shakes his head, his dick now in his hand, where he strokes it slowly. “Nah doll. I want to hear you say it.” It takes every last brain cell not focused on the sensation of his burning hand pumping into you to find the words. “Yes - ah fuck - yes. Please fuck me. I’m ready to take your big cock.” Before you even finish your sentence, he’s lining up and thrusting into you. Hard. Deep. Your head falls back and knocks the steel service pass at the same time his cock head knocks your cervix. “Fuck. Fuck me. I like the way you beg sweetheart.” As he sets his brutal pace, the only sounds you can return are moans and whimpers and gasps. Your sounds of pleasure mix with his grunts and groans and curses and the delicious sound of bare skin smacking on bare skin. The symphony you create together bounces off pots pans plaster walls. “Fuckin’. This tight little pussy is gonna make me bust. Mmnh - fuck. Play with yourself doll. Make yourself cum. Make yourself fuckin’ cum on my cock.” You think you nod your head, but you’re not really sure. Either way, you brace your weight on one hand and use the other to draw perfect tight circles into your needy clit. The extra stimulation, added to Pales’ filthy words and steady driving driving into you, pushes you right over the edge. “Unnhh Pale. I- I’m gonna cu- I’m gonna-” “Yeah. That’s right. Cum on my cock. Cum on my cock in your dirty kitchen. Add to the mess. I’m gonna fuckin’ add to the mess. I’m gonna cum all over you. Fuck it’s disgusting in here,” he babbles and rants. You don’t even care that he’s continuing to insult your restaurant, even when he’s balls deep in you. You don’t even care because you can feel your cunt tightening around him and that ball of fire tightening around your insides. He fucks into one, two, three times more and everything explodes. You lurch forward, eyes pinched tight, cum with a shout. He follows right behind, pulling out of your still convulsing cunt, fucking his fist fast. Shooting sticky thick streams of cum onto one of your thighs, your exposed belly, and the counter. As he groans through the end of his climax, he smacks your undefiled thigh and grunts, “Shut it down doll.”

And you do.

You never enter another kitchen. Never cook another meal.

And never hear from Jimmy - Pale - again.

-------------------------

Tagging a couple other pals who expressed interest for some reason lol @direnightshade​ @poetic-solo​ @blackredrose27​ @find-me-with-orion​

[nedeljkovicsaysno]

hey wolf, there’s lions in here (hey wolf, just see there’s no fear)

Sander's all chaos and Robbe's so calm and Sander doesn't know how to handle it. AKA Sander's perspective when Robbe finds him in the midst of Chernobyl fallout.

I wrote this in a frenzy and it took me about thirty minutes so sorry if it's shit. I have a ton of emotions about Monday still and there might be more where this came from but I had to get this out. Disclaimer: I do not have bipolar disorder and I do not claim to be an expert on how Sander was feeling.

Title from "Run Run Blood" by Phantogram.

Also posted here. Hope you guys enjoy. <3

*

When he’s like this sleep doesn’t come, not when he’s at that dangerous cusp between mountain and valley, when he has one foot in blurry paradise and the other in darkness. When Robbe comes to him, finds him at the place he calls safe, he’s frantic: desperate for Robbe to understand him and is hot-shamed for the chaotic state he’s in at once. He doesn’t want Robbe to see, doesn’t want him to know how dire things can get when his mind takes control of him, and yet he’s never craved opening to someone more. The rational part of him that still lives and thrives beneath layers of paranoia and fear whispers to him: if anyone can love you, it’s him. If not him, no one.

And yet he still remembers how Robbe pushed him away, still dwells on the rejection his disobedient brain magnifies by thousands, reinforcing the mantra he’s had committed to memory for years, you’re unlovable you’re not worthy you’re NOTHING.

The sleeping bag in the corner of the room is unused. All he does is manifest his pain to paper, bleed the things he’s nearly bit his tongue off trying to stop screaming out loud to the one his soul knows: Robbe. Because it’s the only way he knows how to breathe he draws him in color, draws him in shades of black and gray and white, his face, his hands, that medallion gilded and stark around his neck. He sketches them together, scratches black and black and black across paper that’s so white it robs his vision. When he’s like this he feels like an unfinished painting, random scarred slashes of color across canvas, no order. Normally that’s the way he likes it, no rules, only spontaneity, all the way or no way, but when he can’t find lines and edges to define himself he is lost.

Robbe is those lines and edges. Robbe is the borders that keep him from coloring too far outside the lines. Robbe is stability; it’s just that Sander’s ability to upset the balance is as volatile and shattering as an earthquake.

“Get the fuck out,” he says when Robbe edges into the room, but across his mind sprints never leave me again. The entire room is how Sander feels about Robbe and every time he is vulnerable with someone they leave him in the dark and what must this look like, all of his artistic renderings of Robbe’s face, how obsessive, how intense? All Sander knows is shame.

“No,” says Robbe, in that soft tranquil murmur of a voice that Sander loves so, and then he says “I’m not leaving,” and then he says it again

And again

And again.

Through hazes and blurs Sander watches Robbe kneel beside him, feels his hand warm on Sander’s skin, mouth against Sander’s chapped knuckles. He’s aware that he hasn’t showered in days.

Sander says, “I’m toxic. Everything I touch is destroyed.”

Robbe says, “You touched me and I’ve never felt anything like that. I love you.”

But Robbe has said it and said it and then when Sander’s episode forced him to unmask the truth he ran and Sander wants to believe him but he can’t. But right now, right now, after he’s seen the worst side that Sander could possibly show him, Robbe isn’t moving, and his light-luminous eyes are honest, his face open and sure when he says look at me, Sander, look at me. Sander’s name on Robbe’s tongue adopts the hushed quality of a reverent prayer and Sander never needs Robbe to call him baby because that voice murmuring the sound of his own name is endearment enough.

When Robbe pulls Sander to his feet, taking charge for them at last, Sander follows. When Robbe instructs him that they will, from this second onward, be living their lives minute by minute, Sander agrees. And when Robbe kisses him, surprisingly big hands framing Sander’s ashen cheeks, the emotion radiating from his entire being is so sweet and genuine that Sander can do nothing but dissolve in anguish wrapped in Robbe’s arms, aqueous and ruined, the center of him bared for Robbe to see.

Robbe sees. He sees everything. And instead of running, instead of abandoning Sander to his ugly inner disarray, all he says is:

“I’m so glad I found you.”

*

Somehow Robbe gets him home, but he finds that when they cross the threshold to Robbe’s flat, he doesn’t remember the trip. Automatically Sander kicks off his shoes by the door and stands waiting for Robbe to lead him and when he does it’s straight into the bedroom, the path they hunt quiet and swift. Intermittent tears still drip hotly down Sander’s cheeks but Robbe’s hand is warm and sure at the flat of his back and if that’s the only thing tethering him to the earth then it will do: Robbe has proved that he is strong enough for them both.

“Sander,” says Robbe gently, when they’ve reached his room, shut themselves in. “What do you need?”

Sander looks at him, blinks. No one ever asks him that, not in so straightforward of a manner. It takes him a while to process.

“I,” he says after a moment, and his voice is a wreck. “I really want to shower.”

“Okay,” says Robbe. He leans up to him, kisses gently at the side of his mouth, sudden salt of Sander’s tears on his tastebuds. “Do you want me to come?”

“Yes,” says Sander fervently, because the thought of Robbe being out of sight for even one second right now is too much, and he’s already at war with the precipice at every breath.

Robbe smiles and leans his forehead into Sander’s neck.

“Okay.”

Tenderly he pulls him into the bathroom, where he runs the shower until it’s the perfect kind of furious hot, and then for the second time they’re under the water together and Sander is crying for how different it is from last time. Robbe holds his face in his hands like he’s sacred, like the worst thing in the world would be to handle him with anything but utmost care, and when Sander thinks about that he sobs even harder.

“I’m sorry I ruin everything,” he chokes into Robbe’s neck, and when Robbe pulls back to force eye contact Sander sees that he’s crying too.

“Sander,” he says, and there is his name again, made into song by the reverence of Robbe’s tone, so different from what he’s accustomed to. “You don’t ruin anything. I came after you that night, you know.”

Sander feels his chest seize. “You - what?”

“I came after you,” says Robbe, and he’s so beautiful when he cries Sander wants to paint him. “I found you, but Britt stopped me before I could get to you. I was screaming your name - “

[there is rain and cold and rain and cold and someone is wrapping a shield around his shoulders and the euphoria that crashed into paranoia that crashed into nothingness is fading and there is only rain and cold and

in the background, “SANDER!”

and something in his chest stirs but his mother is touching his face and the paramedics are pushing him back into the ambulance and Britt is there no now she’s gone and

“SANDER!”

he wants to look up but he doesn’t know if he is dreaming and then Britt is back beside him and the doors are closing and that voice the one he trusts is silenced]

“I heard you,” says Sander slowly. “I heard you, but I didn’t realize it was you until it was too late. I couldn’t - when I’m like that I can’t - nothing works.”

Robbe kisses his mouth and their tears mingle with the shower water and Sander is holding on to everything that makes him feel anything at all.

“Sander, I love you,” says Robbe, and Sander can hear in his voice that he’s trying to keep it together but he can’t. “You scared me so fucking much. She told me you - she said you had been manic the whole time. She said that you - that you didn’t love me. So I thought that meant it wasn’t real.”

For the first time in days something more powerful than darkness rises volcanic and ferocious in Sander’s chest.

“Britt told you I don’t love you?”

“Yes,” says Robbe, and Sander can feel him trembling. “I know it’s not true now. But I didn’t know what to think, I was scared, and that’s the only reason I - said what I said. I never, ever meant it.”

And just like that, clear as a Caribbean Sea, everything, everything makes sense; Sander understands the crucial part of the story he’d been missing. Robbe didn’t run away. Britt chased him.

“Robbe,” says Sander, and if it destroys him he’s going to ride this last positive wave of emotion until he can’t anymore because Robbe needs to know, Sander has to tell him. “I love you more than anything in this entire universe, in any universe, ever. And there will never be a day that that won’t be true.”

And this time when he collapses against Robbe’s chest and starts to sob anew it’s not for grief. It’s for relief.

*

Even when the brunt of the depressive wave is blunted by being with Robbe, sleep eludes him, a whim he can only chase and snatch at in bits and pieces. Robbe’s bed is warm and soft but not as warm and soft as Robbe himself is against him and he’d forgotten how healing it is to be clean. He doesn’t know the time; doesn’t care to know, all he focuses on is Robbe’s fingers braiding over and over through his hair, sliding gently down his nose and over his ribs (you’re so skinny, Robbe chides, and Sander manages a tiny smile and presses at Robbe’s poleaxe collarbones and says look who’s talking, tiny), their legs entangled beneath layers of blankets. Sander wants to look at Robbe all night long but he knows Robbe won’t sleep if he doesn’t so eventually he closes his eyes and pretends. Some time later, after he’s managed to drift the deepest he’s gone for days, Robbe’s phone dings and not long after he sits up, kisses Sander’s forehead, climbs easily out of bed.

Sander’s stomach knots; before he can shut himself up he blurts:

“Are you leaving me behind?”

Robbe turns to him, chuckles. His medallion gleams at his chest.

“Not in this universe.”

Sander smiles for that, rolls his eyes.

“Where are you going, then?”

Robbe walks back over to the bed, leans over, nuzzles his nose against Sander’s own. “School. I have exams.”

Sander has fears he cannot name and he knows they’re irrational but the monster in his head is loud. “Are you coming back?”

Robbe presses his mouth so, so tenderly to Sander’s own.

“Always.”

Sander melts then, closes his eyes, and all of a sudden he is so, so tired.

“Good luck,” he whispers, and Robbe’s soft response of “thank you,” is made of gold and sweet and kindness and Sander thinks that despite it all there is no person in the world luckier than he is at this exact moment because Robbe Ijzermans is a literal angel and his heart is bigger than the world and Sander gets to call him his own.

He sleeps.

[sweetness47]

Hate

Pairing Sam x reader

For @samwinchesterbingo

square filled: enemies to lovers

WARNINGS!!!! LANGUAGE, SOME SMUT, VERBAL NAME CALLING, REJECTION IMPLIED, ABO DYNAMICS 18+ READERS ONLY

Hate is a powerful emotion, one that can have dire consequences. Except in my case. Well, I guess I would have to explain better, since I sound like a complete blonde.

So, I’m a hunter, and I have on occasion found myself paired with the infamous Winchester brothers. Not that I mind, well more specifically, I don’t always mind. They are great hunters, and they always have my back and I will always have theirs when we are on a case. But buddy wise?

Dean and I get along great. I join him at the bar when he goes, we joke, banter, and he treats me like family. He’s like the brother I never had. He’s like the perfect gentleman, opening doors for me, making sure I get home safe, chasing away unwanted visitors at the bar. Like I said, family.

Then there’s Sam. He’s so fucking annoying. Yeah I said he’s good when we’re working a case, but outside of work? Forget it. He whines when I have to bunk in the same room as them, or when Dean lets me use the washroom first. You’d think I killed his best friend or something, but nothing could be further from the truth. I have tried everything known to man and beyond to change his view of me. From my perspective, he treats me like I’m a gnat…annoying as all hell, and can’t wait till I leave. He wouldn’t give me the time of day outside of a case, and god forbid I was ever stuck on the side of the road with a blown engine two miles from a vamp nest. He would leave me there to be bear chow or vamp chow, whichever came first.

Well, the beginning of my current predicament happened about 9 months ago, and yeah that’s what the time frame is. We were on a case, and had gotten separated from Dean. The large mansion had so many halls and rooms it was hard to navigate, especially when the ghosts kept changing everything, in other words they had literally taken possession of the entire house. And they weren’t letting us leave. Then we came across two ghouls, and they chased us, till we managed to take refuge in a room that wasn’t locked, and pour salt across the threshold. Then we grabbed our iron rods and waited for what we thought was to be an attack.

The attack didn’t happen, but my heat did. The adrenaline rush from the chase, paired with whatever was in these bottles that lined the shelves in the room, triggered an early heat, and it was bad. Not only did I not have any toys or privacy, I had the unfortunate pleasure of being stuck in here with the one Alpha who hated my guts. Lucky me…not!

Well, turns out that while he did not like me, his Alpha nature was not immune to the scent of my arousal. He turned to me as his eyes grew dark, and I swear he was plotting my demise while he was imagining me naked under him. Talk about opposing sides. Then his voice whispered to me, and it was dripping with dark lust, laced with what I thought was hate and disgust.

“Omega! YN, what the fuck? Why didn’t you take your suppressants?” he whined, sounding sexy as all hell…fuck did I just say that? Well, I mean he’s a dick but he’s a handsome dick.

I glared right back at him, my eyes gold. “I did, asshole! Whatever is in these jars triggered my heat, bypassing the suppressants. The last thing I want right now is to be stuck in a locked room with you!”

He grunted, and I flinched. “Well, whatever it was, your heat isn’t going to go away. And that scent is gonna attract jackasses from god-knows-where. I guess I will have to knot you to relieve the heat.”

“Oh fuck off Sam! You want to knot me? Pfft, yeah right, and I’m related to the Queen of England.” I scoffed. “Go piss up a tree. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in any way. How about you find us a way out of here, pretty boy.”

He growled and turned away to try the door.

That’s when it hit.

I was overwhelmed with the most excruciating cramps ever. I doubled over, screaming as the pain tore through my abdomen. This was definitely no ordinary heat. Never, in all my years, had I ever experienced anything like this. I was pretty sure childbirth was a piece of cake compared to what I was feeling at that moment. Beads of sweat covered my forehead as my fever reached new heights. I crumpled to the floor, unable to do anything.

I was dying.

Then he was there, helping me to sitting, his lips seeking mine as he worked to shed my pants and undies, then his own pants and boxers. He stood, bringing me with him, lifting me onto his hard shaft, and pushing me down slowly, breaking the virginal barrier, sheathing himself in my slick. He found a wall to hold me against as he fucked me, pounding into my wet core, sending my body into the most blissful climax known to man, well it was my first orgasm…but still. He followed soon after, his knot swelling inside me, filling me, ropes of cum shooting into my womb.

We stood there, trying to catch our breath as we waited for the knot to shrink. Finally, we were able to separate and we got dressed. Dean’s voice echoed through the halls about 5 minutes later, and with his help we were able to get the door open, then vanquish the spirits in the house and get the hell out of there. The ride home was more quiet than normal, especially Sam, but even Dean didn’t talk much. I was pretty sure he had caught some whiff of something, but I wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been exposed to. All I knew was he wasn’t acting like himself.

Well days came and went, Dean seemed to be his old self by that evening, and everything else fell back to normal as well, including Sam being an ass toward me. It wasn’t till about 3 weeks later that I began to feel off. I was staying with Jody when I knew my next heat was due, except it never came. Two more weeks ticked by, then Jody brought me home a pregnancy test. I balked at the very idea, but realized it was a very real possibility. It was only one time, but it was also unprotected.

FUCK!

I stared at the stick that I had peed on, watching as the plus sign slowly appeared.

I was going to have pups…Sam Winchester’s pups.

SHIT!

I sighed and sent a text to Dean that I was gonna take off for a while, citing that I needed some space from that asshole brother of his. Dean didn’t buy it, but was gracious and didn’t press, instead he told me to stay safe and keep in touch. I smiled and said I would, then I hung up and cried. Jody came to sit with me, and I ended up telling her what had happened. She hugged me, and told me I was welcome to stay as long as I needed. I thanked her and decided to take her up on the offer. It was going to be much easier to go through the stages of the pregnancy if I had someone to help me.

So fast forward to present day, and I decide to go to the store for some groceries. Yes, I look like I’m carrying a fucking planet under my clothes, but I’d been feeling fine, and I was going to cook a surprise dinner for Jody for everything she’d done for me to this point. She had taken me to all the appointments, taken me shopping for baby clothes, crib, car seat. She’d also begun to help me with bathing and dressing, because apparently having a belly the size of the moon makes it a little difficult to manoeuver. But cooking was ok, I’d planned for a meal that didn’t require any heavy lifting or bending, and it was going to be amazing.

Then two things ruined my day.

Well one of them didn’t really ruin the day, but it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

I was waddling through the pasta aisle, when I heard screaming, then snarling, then gunshots. My mind was racing through infinite scenarios…robbery, psychos, werewolves, monsters…the possibilities were pretty much endless, mostly because I knew what was really out there.

Then I came face to face with said snarling creature. Yup, it was a werewolf.

FUCK!

Then, just as he was going to charge at me, three gunshots went off in succession, and the lycan collapsed, lifeless. Footsteps came toward the heap of fur, and it just happened to be none other than Sam and Dean. My jaw dropped to the floor, about the same time their eyes looked me over, stopped at my monstrous tummy, then back to eye level.

And that’s when my water broke, and not just a little trickle. Nope, it was almost like the flood that swept Noah’s Ark across the world, just one big WHOOSH, all over the floor, my shoes, my dress, literally everything. The contractions started right after. I clutched my abdomen as pain tore through my body. Dean shoved his gun inside the back of his jeans and ran over to me. Sam did the same, reluctantly, or so I thought as it took him nearly a minute to reach my other side.

I was in too much discomfort at the moment to care though. “Call Jody. Tell her to meet me at the hospital.” Was all I could manage as another contraction ripped through me. I couldn’t even stand on my own.

After a quick call, two strong sets of arms were helping me up and walking me to their car. Sam got in one side of the back seat to support me as Dean helped me in the other side. Then the elder brother climbed into the driver seat and practically flew to the emergency ward. Sam held me as the contractions continued, and I could do nothing but use his scent for comfort. At the emergency, hospital staff rushed out and helped me onto a gurney, rushing me to the maternity ward so they could monitor the labour as it progressed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jody appeared at the entrance after YN been wheeled in, and met up with the boys. She took one look at Sam nearly strangled him as she tore a strip off the younger Winchester.

“You have some nerve Sam Winchester! How dare you knot YN and not give her another glance! Those twins she’s gonna have are yours.” He shot her a surprised look. “Yeah numbskull, I said yours. YN told me everything.”

Dean looked between Jody and Sam. “YN apparently didn’t tell me everything, otherwise I’d have beat his ass for you Jody.”

Sam blushed. “It wasn’t up for public discussion thank you both very much. She hates my guts anyways, so I never bothered to see if the knot had produced any…aww hell.” He gave an exasperated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.

Dean cuffed Sam upside the head. “She hates your guts? Look at how you treat her Sammy. She’s never been anything but nice, trying every which way to get you to see her as anything but an inconvenience. You treat her like shit when we aren’t working a case.”

Sam’s resolve fell then and he lowered his head. They were right. He’d been an ass right from day one. And the reason he’d kept pushing her away? He was attracted to her, had been since the first time he’d laid eyes on her. But he didn’t want to fall in love with her then have death separate them, so he decided to play indifferent. It worked too well, since she hardly looked in his direction anymore. Then he knots her and doesn’t even bother to check if she ended up pregnant. Ass didn’t even begin to describe that kind of behaviour. If his mom or dad were here, they would have kicked his ass, and he would have deserved every single second.

Before another word could be spoken, the doctor interrupted. “YN is asking for Jody. There are complications. One of the twins needs a blood transfusion, and YN isn’t enough of a match to be the donor. We may not be able to save the child. Our only hope is to find the father.”

Sam interrupted. “I’m the father. You’re more than welcome to test my blood if it will save my child’s life.”

The doctor ushered Sam to the maternity ward and left Dean and Jody to sit and wait. The hours ticked by with no word. Then finally they saw a very tired looking doc come down the hall.

“We were able to use the father’s blood to save the child, and the twins are now resting comfortably with the mother. YN said the father could stay for a while. She asked to have privacy for now, and said you both could come back in an hour.”

Dean and Jody looked at each other, nodded and headed to the cafeteria for some sustenance. Meanwhile, a very sheepish Sam sat in the visitor chair, holding the baby he’d helped save, while YN fed the other twin. YN spoke softly so not to disturb the sleeping infants.

“I don’t expect you to become part of their lives if you don’t want to. But I also won’t stop you from visiting them either.”

Sam stopped her there. “I want to apologize for the way I acted, every single moment. YN I was trying to push you away so that if anything bad happened, neither of us would be heartbroken. This life, it’s not meant for love and romance stuff. It’s harsh, dangerous, and full of uncertainty.”

“I know what this life is, remember? I can’t figure out why you never saw me as a hunter. I am strong, capable and I’ve been in love with you forever. It tore me apart inside when you rejected me, shoved me aside like a used piece of tissue? All I ever wanted was your love.  When you knotted me, that was the happiest moment in my life, and I prayed that you would follow instinct and make me yours. But it never happened. I was crushed.”

Sam wiped the tear from my cheek. “I wish I could go back and undo all those horrible things I said to you. I wish I had claimed you when I knotted you, fought against my stubbornness. But I can be a little hard-headed. Can you ever forgive me? Allow me to be your Alpha?”

YN giggled. “Yeah you are definitely hard-headed, and stubborn. And a jackass.”

Sam winced. “Ouch, truthful, but oww.”

That moment, the small child in Sam’s arms chose to stir, tiny cries filling the room, causing her brother to stir in YN’s arms. The two parents traded children so little Mary could be fed, and Samuel Jr. could be burped and changed. Once that was done, and the room was quiet again, Sam spoke up.

“So, how about it, will you let me be your Alpha? Once you’re healed up and ready, I will claim you as I should have months ago.”

YN grinned. “Yes Sam. To all of it. it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

[brooklynislandgirl]

Danny and beth

Married Life Meme || Accepting

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor

The water is cold, harsh and stinging as it sluices down Danny’s body like a fire-hose. Soaks him head to toe and he’s scrubbing at his face, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. The soap practically peels his skin, smells more like isopropyl alcohol than herbal essences which seems counterproductive all things considered. There’s no tile, no smell of coffee and sausage cooking and underpinning it all is a slick, sick taste of fear coating the back of his throat. The decontamination shower is built to withstand any condition it is placed in, and so should be the cops using it. A shudder of revulsion sweeps through him right as there’s a change in pressure and temperature.

“Nice glutes,” she says behind more cheerfully than she has any right to be. He can almost feel the way her eyes slide over him before they’re back to back and she turns on the next spray. He glances over his shoulder and sees she’s thrown her uniform on the ground atop his and there’s someone in a full hazmat suit collecting them, tossing them into a bag. They’ll be replaced free of charge, but not really the point. He notices out of her boots she’s quite a bit shorter than him, out of the whole kit, slender as a willow branch. Bare feet. Tiny ankles. Shapely calves if you discounted the scar, and he stares at that just a little longer than he should because Danny’s married not dead, and she’s a cute girl, his partner. Trails higher, avoiding the curve of her backside without permission, that’s pushing things a bit higher, but one brow shoots up as he catches a glimpse of the tattoo at her side.If anyone says anything, he’ll swear she started it. “Danny?”“Yeah?” He clears his throat, voice a touch rougher than it should be.“This…this is jus’….a precaution, right?” She sounds younger than she is, and more afraid than he is.“Yeah, yeah it is. I promise you’ll be fine.”

forgets to run the dish washer

Everything kind of falls apart.Rachel is out of town, the place looks like it’s been hit by a hurricane, Grace is running a fever and he’s taken a couple days off but hasn’t slept in a week. He’s ready to pull out his own hair if it will let his daughter sleep for three seconds. And it’s a small mercy when Beth lets herself into his house. Carrying bags of take-out from Mario’s. She kisses his cheek as she takes Gracie from his arms. Presses her wrist to his daughter’s brow and nods to herself. “No, no, no! You don’t wanna do that-”

“Danny, relax. I was going to be a doctor before…” A dark flash across her face. “Before. And you’re no good to her if you don’t grab a bite and get some sleep. “But-”“But nothing. I’m your partner, and you can trust me to always have your back.”

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up on the couch but the house is quiet. It’s also clean, and he can hear the dishwasher running. He sweeps the throw blanket back and pads barefoot down the hall. Grace’s room is empty and a stab of panic courses through him. And only subsides a few minutes later, when he hovers on the threshold of his bedroom. Grace is asleep, tucked under the covers in the middle of the bed. Beth’s curled up on her side, sleeping in the space he would normally find himself, a small palm resting on Grace’s chest. Both of them look at peace in the glow of the hall light behind him. And for the first time he can recall, that anxiety turns to a sense of calm.“Fever broke ‘bout a’ hour ago,” she murmurs, husky voice thick. “Is jus’ one lil cold, ya can stand down. An’ turn off da ligh’ when ya get some coffee f’ ya self. Now tell me how amazin’ I am an’ go back t’ bed.”

pumps gas for the car

“Is ridiculous, is wha’ is. Like dey no trust us.” She slips into pidgin without thinking about it and Danny can barely follow along when she does.“And when you become a senator for the great state of New Jersey, rookie, then you can attempt to repeal the law. Which dates back to 1949, mind you. And while yes, it might save a few bucks at the pump, think of the impact of tens of thousands of people losing their jobs, and the emotional trauma it would cause amongst adult motorists who would have to then learn how to handle the pump on their own– what? Why are you laughing? This is a very real thing.”

drives when they’re going somewhere

They leave the pump issue behind them and Danny pulls back into traffic. But it doesn’t keep her from closing her eyes and smiling a kind of Mona-Lisa grin. She tried to drive once and he’d snatched the keys out of her hand. Since then she conceded to let him, and it gives her a chance to watch his face from the veil of her lashes. She wonders if he knows how striking his eyes are when he wears that tie. “So, where we goin’, anyway?”“It’s a surprise. You know what a surprise is? It means I’m not going to tell you, that you have to find out when we get there, that’s what it is. And don’t think you can put your toes on the dashboard or stick them out the window. We could be in an accident and then you’d be toeless and of course that would be on me.”

“Whatevah ya say, Danny.”“That’s right. And I say keep your limbs inside the car and don’t distract me. Distracted driving is the number one cause of accidents on the turnpikes. And don’t think I won’t tie you down in the car-seat if I have to.”

“Your wife know ya talk t’me li’dat?”

Danny bites back the first and tenth and seventeenth thing that comes to mind at the tone of her voice and the way her fingers brush his as she reaches for the radio. “Don’t change it, it’s a law too… the Boss never gets changed.”“Who’s changing, turning it up!”

Rachel always hated Springsteen and suddenly he feels like a teenager again, as they both sing along. “Romeo and Juliet, Samson and Delilah, baby you can bet their love they didn’t deny! Your words say split but your words they lie….’cause when we kiss…fire!”

rearranges the furniture

The house looks empty. Sure, the heavier furniture is still there, but more than half the things he’s looked at every day for years are gone. The ghost of Grace’s laughter still echos in the empty corners and the rest of the boxes he’s been packing up are killing him with each shriek of packing tape. Deep down, Danny feels broken, feels himself bleeding out. Sure they had problems, every couple does. And maybe he had chosen to dive deeper into work than might have been necessary to cope with it. But they could have worked things out.

Instead, Rachel decided they needed to separate. And by separate, she meant she was seeing someone else, someone who was more emotionally supportive, someone who also approved of her career. A someone Danny wants to punch dead in the face, over and over again until the bitterness and the rage is gone, until he can see straight. But that won’t bring her back. That won’t get him anything but supervised visits. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes when the door opens again, and Beth picks her way through the minefield of cardboard to come up behind him. He almost flinches when she sets her hand on his shoulder.A minute later, and she hasn’t said anything, and she lets go. Picks up another marker, and writes down the room it’s supposed to go into.“I…I think we’re done here.” He says. “For today, anyway. Thanks for…just thanks.”

“Always.”He’s sure she’s going to say something else. That she’s going to touch him again and if she does, he knows he won’t be able to keep it all in. And then she moves past him and grabs her bag. “Call me.”“I will.” He won’t.When she’s gone, he makes his way to the couch. Lifts one end of it. Sets it down. Grabs the book laying on it, chucks it across the room.

falls asleep with the TV on

A couple months later and Danny knows it’s over. And worse, Rachel’s moved on. They’re fighting over custody, they’re fighting over bills, it’s just like being married without any of the perks. And more and more the bottom of the bottle is the only real comfort he can find. She’s not the one he calls at three in the morning when his words slur and the shakes have subsided. And maybe that should tell him something as his eyes slide past Pesci’s hit while Liotta and De Niro are waiting expectantly for the good news.“Danny? You okay?”“Yeah. I’m fine. I just wanted to hear your voice. Did I wake you? I could let you go if I did.”“Naw. Was just making coffee. Was gonna go surfing.”There’s a long pause, and he can’t tell if she’s joking. Beth does a lot of things that don’t make sense to him. From ruining a perfectly good slice with some pineapple to knitting doilies for the break-room. To answering his calls when he’s got so much to say that he can’t get a single word out.

“Danny?”“Yeah?”“Hold on. I’m coming over.”She hangs up before he can say no.

He doesn’t protest when she eventually shows up, cuddles up on the couch, runs her fingers through his hair. He doesn’t really know what she says to him when she does bother to talk, but there’s something comforting about the scent of her skin, and the warmth of her lap when he lays his head in it.

gets to use the bathroom first

There’s sun streaming through the window and Beth doesn’t know how long they’ve been asleep, only that there’s pins and needles in her feet and between her shoulders. There’s some talk show on the television as she stirs, but carefully because Danny’s still asleep. She gingerly replaces her thigh with a pillow and inches her way off his couch before she’s realised she’s made a dire mistake, a hiss of pain snaking out between her teeth. And she almost wishes Danny were awake to see the little hop-twitch as she zombies her way to the bathroom, if nothing else it’d be good for a laugh. After she’s done she’s turning on the shower and steals a shirt of his to wear so she can wash the day and night off her skin.Danny’s awake by the time she comes out, towel wrapped around her hair, shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and he’s making coffee, looking only a little worse for the wear. “Didn’t mean t’ wake ya.”“You didn’t.”Pours her a bit of cream and sugar in her cup and slides the cup across the counter.“About last night, Beth. I wanted to-”“Feed me bacon because you’re madly in love with my yahtzee skills? Done deal.”It’s the first smile she’s seen in a while. “Something like that.”

decides the temperature for the ac/heater

“How are you even alive? You can’t be. You’re dead and I never noticed because even from beyond the pearly gates you’re talking. Once your flesh starts liquefying and they assign me someone new I can’t held accountable for anything but modest funeral arrangements. No viking bows with the flaming arrows, for example. But you won’t know because you’re dead now.”Beth is laughing, and it’s a great sound. Threatens to pull a similar one out of him even though the hands she’s tucked into his jacket pockets are icicles. He’s half tempted to shake her off and make her find gloves or a nuclear reactor to get some heat into her skin.Instead, he leaves her hands where they are, and dips down to grab her around her knees, giving her a little boost up. It doesn’t succeed as expected because a moment later, her arms are wrapping around his shoulders.“What are ya doing?!”“Clearly I am carrying you piggy back. Didn’t they have that where you come from? It would do us no good if you turn into an iceberg before I can get you inside and warm you up. I’ll turn up the heater to the same internal temperature as the sun and build you a fire. But then you’re making me cocoa and we’re going to watch the game.”

sets up holiday decorations

It all looks very, very wrong.  No bright multi-coloured bulbs hang from the eaves, none shine in the windows. As far as Beth could tell, there weren’t any lights at all. Except for the occasional blue flicker. And while she could live without the excitement of pumpkins and paper ghosts and cotton spiderwebs at Halloween ~they were often in the patrol car, working over~ Christmas was second only to Thanksgiving when it came to Danny Williams. She lets herself in and finds him on the couch, head in his hands, and he hasn’t shaved or slept in days, based on the shadows along his jaw and under his eyes in the faint glow of the television and her heart sinks somewhere into her stomach. Instead of the boxes of decorations he’s got that are bigger than she is, there’s suitcases. She blinks back the sudden wetness in her eyes.“Hey.”“Hey.”

“When’s ya flight?”“Beth.” He stands up, takes a step, hesitates.“Naw, naw. Ya goddah go, right? No can live when ya heart’s across the world.” She knows this because hers is breaking right in front of him and she locks it up tight. The other thing she knows about Danny Williams is that Gracie is everything to him. Before she knows it, he treks his way over, wraps his arms around her waist, pulls her close. Her hands rest on his shoulders and she buries her face in his neck.

leaves the lights on

In the months that go by, the world becomes increasingly harder. She hates her new partner simply because he’s not Danny. Doesn’t have the detective’s instincts, doesn’t have the charm or the wit and she realises just how much she might actually hate Jersey without him. The snow that was once enchanting robs her very will to live and the dark that she could survive with him close by becomes insurmountable, no matter how many lights she leaves on. The daily phone-calls dwindle to a text now and again, and she can tell something is wrong by what he’s not telling her.She doesn’t think he reconciled with Rachel. She doesn’t think he likes Hawai’i. Maybe he hates his partner too. She makes the arrangements. Puts in for a transfer. Turns in notice. Locks her Brooklyn apartment up securely, and remembers the grief he’s given her in the past about not moving to Jersey and instead commuting.This was never how Beth expected to go home. But it feels like it’s the only thing she can do.

uses the bathroom with the door open

“You’re a troglodyte. A barbarian. Didn’t anyone teach you how to knock, Steven?”

Black slacks, that dark blue shirt that turned his eyes into something breath-taking that she never had words for. Blonde hair a little brighter from the sun exposure, slicked back into perfection. From the back he’s everything she remembers, and she smiles, tracing the edge of her upper lip with the tip of her tongue.“Been a year an’ already ya forgot about me, Danny? I’m...I’m crushed.”Every muscle in his body stiffens and if she were that kind of person, she’d imagine exactly how much colour drains from his face, and hands tighten on his... What she doesn’t have to imagine is the little shake before everything’s going back and she can hear the zipper before he even manages to turn around. The look on his face as he debates washing his hands or coming at her. He chooses to wash.“Beth? You took vacation just to come all the way here?” He quickly dries off and then it’s all hands on her waist, hoisting her up in the air until it’s all she can do to put her arms around his neck and hug him tight. There’s a chaste kiss or two and some laughing and more hugging.

“Not exactly. I came...home.”“To stay?”“Yeah. To stay.”

fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)

“You’re doing it wrong. You need a different kind of thing-”“Is that the professional term? Thing?”“Yeah, you know the thing. The wrench thing.”“Oh, that is so helpful. I don’t know how I could have lived this long without knowing that.”“You don’t have to be so sensitive, but it will stop making the squeaking noise if you-”“Do you want to come down here and do this? Mr Navy Seal who is secretly a god of leaking sinks. Please by all means-”Beth is hiding in her bathroom, but even that doesn’t drown out the sound of Danny and Steve ~a piece of her past come back into her life~ from bickering with each other. She never realised how much alike they are though their differences could be used in a text book case. And if Beth had to lose Danny to someone else, him having Stevie as his partner on their Task Force is the only way it’s okay. She’s still at HPD and they still spend time together as family does.“Yeah, mahalo. No no. Bo da dem still at it, try for fix. Yes, I need someone come out, fix sink before dey destroy my kitchen, try an’ mahalo. A’ole pilikia. Mahalo.”

Hopefully the plumber would arrive before Beth has to strangle them both, and figure out how to hide the bodies.

[wolfieonatypewriter]

Bayojeanne Week 6 - Jealousy

Word count: 3760

Summary: Bayonneta and Jeanne’s cat are at constant odds and who will get the upper hand?

A/N: Oh boy whats it like posting bayojeanne week things like, 2 months after the fact? A promise is a promise though so I am doing all of these. This one has a bit of a buy-in, it features Artemisa, their daughter from my other fic Barren Ground Blooms in Change (I guess you really only have to know it’s their kid, basically but feel free to read!) 

Jeanne had loved horses once upon a time. Lovely horses, big horses, light and springy horses. If it had hooves, a bad temper and could be saddled she liked it.

With the advent of modern technology and shackles that didn’t allow for the sort of long term care of an animal, she had found herself replacing her beloved horses with the roaring charm of motorcycles.

Angel Slayer was a bike all on it’s own category, extensively modified and of course, with more magic running through it than a young witch. That being said, sometimes the real world needed more finesse than what equated to a Mad Max chase gone off rails and for the times she needed to look like Ms. D’Arc, mild mannered teacher, other bikes had to do.

Her most recent purchase was a big and bulky touring bike with all the bells and whistles, in an attractive blue and black. It was a...compromise to get Cereza to ride with her and not keep getting detoured for her to flirt at humans.

For her cool teacher Jeanne days she had her tremendously fast streetfighter, slinky and aggressive that went from 0 to 60 in a staggering 2.6 seconds. By all standards, her mortal made pride and joy.

Only had one caveat. The passenger riding position.

Especially if that passenger was seven whole feet of legs, ass and overflowing charisma. 

To combat that, a sofa on two wheels was acquired and Jeanne couldn’t be happier. Umbra she was, true, but long travel with her streetfighter was like trying to eat angel flesh.

From her position on the curb, she gently buffed the gas tank while humming. It was a deliciously warm sunday and best of all, it was August which meant no kids to put up with (much as she loved them).

A raspy meow broke her peaceful groove and she set down the polish can and rag on the floor. A couple more faint sounds reached her and she followed it to the back of the alley.

“Little one, where are you?” She called in hopes the cat would keep on making noises.

The raspy meow intensified into a full blown distress call and Jeanne called forth her magic. She looked for any energy signature that could correspond to a cat and she found the source of the meow.

A drain grid had collapsed and a young cat was staring up at her, trying to climb the walls and constantly slipping. It was not yet an adult but no longer a small kitten either.

“ Oh no, I sure hope you’re not hurt.” She leaned down and reached into the maintenance shaft, dirtying up her work jeans and tank top beyond further usability.

Cat securely in her arms, she gave them a cursory inspection which revealed a he. He was skinny and was shivering harshly in her arms which made her worry intensify. Poor darling had to have been stuck for a considerable amount of time, if the dirt and mud on his cream and black fur was anything to go by.

“We’ll get you home, all cleaned up and maybe fed. How's that?”

Her only response was a little dust mote snuggling closer to her.

“Cereza, we have a guest today!”

Bayonetta poked her head back into the kitchen from the pool patio outside and gave her a puzzled look. “ A guest? I doubt you picked up Luka out of the goodness of your heart, darling so who do we have?”

Out of the two of them, she was much more likely to invite other people over for tea or something of the sort whilst Jeanne preferred to go out with her other friends.

“I found a dapper young gentleman in some dire straits on the Bettencourt’s ridiculous drain grid and plucked him from his predicament.” Said gentleman purred gently, eyes closing occasionally in clear exhaustion. “ I went in with him to Dr.Carter and she said he just needed some TLC. Not chipped either, a shame.”

“A cat? An actual cat?” Cereza crossed the threshold proper and looked at the muddy ball of fur in her arms. “Poor thing… Come on then, if we managed transdimentional toddler versions of ourselves, I’m sure he'll be in the best hands.”

Famous last words

His human was just the sweetest and incredibly well trained (if he could say so himself) but she wasn't the sharpest claw in the paw.

She kept willingly walking into the water spouting death trap, especially with the annoying one.

Did she not know that having no scent profile was *dangerous*? He thought he had broken her out of that habit with the departure of the other one but that had proven to be just temporary.

What if she went outside only wafting the pungent fragrances humans had, any other cat would not know who she belonged to.

They could even have the gall to approach and rub on her legs! It was a situation he could not stand for.

He trotted to the location of the watering hole, she had been there long enough and he had to improve her habits.

The annoying one noticed him first from her relatively higher position on the turbulent pond. The mating procedures, adorably goofy as they were among humans ( they didn't even rub facial fur), were well underway and she narrowed his eyes at him.

“Jeanne, you keep not closing the door and now the dust mote is here to cockblock again.”

He meowed, loud and articulate as he would to unruly kittens and got up on his legs to look at his human. They didn't understand much of their nuances so he had to employ baby talk.

“Heya Golem, what do you need hmm?” She rose up to lay her hand on his head and he stretched as best he could to meet it.

He purred and rubbed his head on her wet hand, getting it scratched by soft nails. “My treasure, did you just want some attention?”

Her colony mate ( who more often than not, stole his human’s attention) sighed and got up abruptly, spilling water over his immaculate and well groomed coat.

His angry yowl did nothing to faze her. This was why she was the annoying one.

“Just so you know, it's weird that you baby speak in french to the diminutive Auditio of Chastity"

He ran between her legs while she was trying to find a towel and swiped at her feet. As she turned to curse at him for clawing at her ankles, he was encased in a fluffy towel himself and lifted off the floor.

“My heart, don't be so mean to Cereza. She's just grumpy I’m giving you attention” His human had saved the annoying one from swift and brutal discipline but he found it hard to be mad when she was rubbing his now messy fur.

Snuggling into his human, he purred his agreement.

The sun on the outside was luxurious and he basked in it for the better part of the afternoon, as it was proper.

He was about to turn for the fifth and final time when the door opened with a near silent woosh that he was highly attuned to.

Oh, his human had to be home! Bolting upright, he meowed in her direction so she knew he was there.

The inside was pleasantly cool and he purred expecting to be greeted in the grabby manner humans usually did but no one came forward.

He sniffed the air, trying to figure out who could be in the colony but it revealed nothing but dust and their wafting herbal scents that lingered around the enclosed space.

When his cursory survey was finished, he was about to take a turn to bite his food when a low rumble sounded from somewhere he couldn't pinpoint.

Assailants! Intruders! His human could be in danger!

He arched his back and hissed in the general direction of the noise. The rumble increased in intensity and darted around everywhere.

Hissing as loud as he could, he held on steadfast under the onslaught of noise.

His bravery held out until the very moment a gargantuan beast landed in front of him and roared with all it's teeth.

It wasn't his most dignified moment, the jump up to the top of the tall fridge but he was clearly outmatched and hoped beyond hope his dear human would not be harmed.

“Cereza! Don't scare Golem like that!” His human was defending him from the beast and he marveled at the ingenuity and heart she had. “Oh little one, come here she cannot harm you”

He was scooped from the fridge, heart thundering and fur sticking all over the place and as the assailant bled into the annoying one, he snuggled into the warm bosom in a huff.

A cat of his status always chose to ignore the mocking noises humans made but he felt a smug satisfaction (something humans seemed to always do) at the scolding his human was giving her colony mate.

What better place to be, than purring away on a soft chest.

Bayonetta had a feeling...

No!

She was absolutely sure the young idiot Jeanne had picked up from the street about two months ago kept trying to sabotage her.

Why else would he monopolize Jeanne's attention? He was jealous, so *jealous* that she was there first.

Was she too proud to admit she was badly losing a war of wits to an obnoxiously adorable Siamese knockoff? Yes, definitely she was.

Golem was the featherless embodiment of Castitas, of that she was more than sure. Why else would he demand attention at the most idiotic of times?!

If she got home and Jeanne was already relaxing after a long day, usually by sitting on the seat that got most of the afternoon sun, she could well forget getting any sort of affection the little butt wouldn't oppose to.

Oh and Jeanne just coddled him to hell and back, softly murmuring to him in French and making fun of her for getting mad at a young adult cat.

His smug be-whiskered snout was highly unbearable.

She got him good right back ( oh the illusion charm over the pool board had been a riot even if Jeanne had yanked her ears for it) but invariably, her lover always sided with him and what was he good for? Shedding and being Lord Demandypants, that's what.

Part of her wanted to get an even more obnoxious pet just to annoy the living crap out of the discount-store siamese but there was a chance they would ally against her sex life and that wouldn't do.

“Jeanne?” She asked, her exasperation hitting an unprecedented, never before seen level.

“Yes?” She replied with a brush in hand, not even looking her way as the idiot purred and kneaded their (fucking) expensive duvet.

“Not to make this awkward but I was trying to seduce you, oh I don't know, a minute ago?” With a big measure of success too, her mistake had been to exit the room for a hot second to fetch the harness from the pool lounge.

Time the Cardinal Virtue Of Chastity had used to slink into the room and enthrall her previously very willing partner.

“It will literally just take a minute, Cereza. Last I heard, silicone erections lasted a long time.” The appreciative inspection Jeanne cast her way was the only thing that saved Golem from having a nasty encounter with her beast within.

“I promise I'll even put my darling little cream puff in quiet time.”

Bayonetta tossed her arms up in defeat and stood there awkwardly holding a dildo aloft with her crotch. “Fine but I expect compensation!”

Didn't save the furry brat from having his food eaten right in front of his face from her cat form but that, she kept to herself.

The littlest one was perhaps the greatest delight of his life. She was remarkably young, as humans measured things, and she was just now starting to realize her own strength.

Her ever increasing life skills usually came at the expense of his tail or ears. She was strong, far stronger than she looked but he was making good progress in teaching her manners.

Well, it was a struggle for her to not slobber on his tail but it was endearing. His human’s cub had been contributed by the annoying one but so far, that had yet to show, a fact that pleased him even further.

Said little one was sleeping on the other end of the crib like a kitten while he kept guard on the fluffy pillow nearby. She was hard pressed to do so and was about as nocturnal as a bat and he saw no end of her parents shuffling into the nesting room looking like shambling dogs in the middle of the night.

The late summer breeze wafted in from the open windows and he purred at the coolness of it on his face when whatever was pinned on them fell with a loud smash.

A low whimper started from the human kitten, most likely disturbed by the crashing object. Human made things were always so fragile. He snapped to high alert, inching closer to the little human and giving her hair some gentle grooming.

She quietened down and he nuzzled her soft head in reward, purring all the while which earned him an interested gurgle.

They were both about to settle down again when an odd light burst forth from the window. The little one snapped in its direction and she sniffled again.

He started grooming the fine human fur once more when the jangle of metal sounded on the ledge and he lifted his head.

A red beast cooed and twisted it's grotesque head like a toothy pigeon, hopping into the room with a curious spring to its step.

He growled loudly at the approaching intruder, daring it to come and further but it paid him no mind. His small kitten was crying in earnest as the metallic jangle sounded closer to the nest.

Too close.

Golem was a cat that knew a serious threat when he saw one. He had to protect his humans, had to keep them safe.

Yowling as loud as he could and puffing out his fur, he positioned himself with his ears pinned back between the little one and whatever mangled predator was in front of him.

It glanced in his direction at the noise but was undaunted in its path, leaving large burnt gauges on the floor.

With a massive paw, the thing was going to try to knock down the nest but Golem wasn't about to allow that.

With a decisive jump, he attacked the ugly dog thing with all his bravery.

Bayonetta heard her little girl cry and Golem making his usual mess of things, which had her reluctantly waking up.

Jeanne was out fulfilling her obligations as a witch, after all the ever present clock of their infernal fate never stopped ticking.

Umbra she was, the dark night and all that but she was also half Lumen and nothing quite replaced  the sun. Plus all the cutest mommy and me videos did not adequately prepare anyone for the event of shoving the littlest Umbra from a narrow pelvic canal.

A bright, heavenly light spilled the door to the nursery and her eyes snapped fully open, tiredness fully banished and she bolted into a full sprint.

As she yanked open the door, the Fairness was in the process of striking a flaming paw on the aggressively strong ward. A purple shimmer materialized into existence that rebuffed the Dominion back with a strong shove.

Most surprisingly, Golem had jumped quite literally to Artemisa’s rescue in a daring flight of courage. He had landed on the big head and scratched and bit at the staggered angel, making them shake their head.

Before she could do some real damage, the draconic angel bit on the young cats arm and tossed him to the ground. Oh, now they'd done it!

With several well placed summons and a harsh volley of bullets, they fell down into a mess of halos and angel bits she'd have to clean up. All in all, not too many damages to the nursery that they'd have to make up some random story to a contractor to fix it.

She knew Artemisa was safe albeit in a very, very bad mood but Golem had taken a hard hit trying to protect his charge. Her heart clenched at his arm injury, the bite deep and ugly.

“Come now, oh principality of courage. We'll tell Wes you got into a fight with a really big dog.” She scooped him up as gently as she was able and he meowed in distress in Artemisa’s direction. Bayonetta had to admit it took massive courage to stand up to a second sphere angel and even after getting beaten up, he tried to make sure the little one was safe.

Fortunately Dr.Carter did house calls and double fortunately, Jeanne would only hear about it when it was resolved. The cellphone conversation about this would not be easy.

The good doctor was baffled at his injuries and was going to take him to the practice for a closer look. She had to do x-rays but his soft tissue damage looked worse than what it was and she was able to stitch him up on site.

As Dr.Carter set him in the carrier, she looked at him straight in his good looking blue eyes and nodded.

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

"How many expensive cashmere pillows draped with Merino wool does a cat need?" Bayonetta wondered for the fifth time that week, as her most beloved kept piling on finery beneath the obnoxious albeit very daringly brave Walmart brand feline.

The answer right now was on 4 and she had to guess it wasn't the last she heard of it.

To Jeanne, he was the most lionhearted of beings on the planet and she nearly cried three times in Dr. Carter's office even though she assured her it was just a ding and nothing a little plaster and bandages wouldn't fix.

Showing her the clearly only hairline fractured arm on the X-ray had prompted a stricken but still very stoic pair of glistening eyes and even the good doctor was looking at Bayonetta with something that was bordering on panic.

Had he stayed overnight to be observed? Yes. Had Jeanne slept a singular wink? Of course she hadn't

He returned home the next day a little sluggish from his fashionable fentanyl patch but bright eyed and vivaciously blabby, a cute vet wrap bandage in a shocking bright pink and ruby red encasing his arm. Wes had mumbled something about the vet wrap matching her riding gear with a colour to her cheeks Bayonetta had ticked as a blush.

And now there they were, the unbearably smug cat, the little human on her front sling and herself, fielding status report calls every hour from one very worried witch. Her classes had to be going swimmingly that day.

All in all, she couldn't complain. He was willing to risk life and limb for her daughter and... They had reached a sort of understanding.

She reached over into the crib where he and his mountain of pillows currently resided and scritched his chin.

Huh, maybe he really wasn't all that bad after all.

( Maybe she could get Luka to toss himself in front of an Applause and Jeanne would make peace with him as well)

[zzzoloft]

Body Acceptance(?)

TW: Diet talk; Clothing Size

*Also a disclaimer to acknowledge my privilege as a small-fat person, and my ability to shop at the clothes offered at Target.*

I’ve been in dire need of some new clothes, but I’ve been in such a strange phase with my body.

About a year or so ago, my therapist started to slowly mention things to me like Intuitive Eating (IE) and Health at Every Size (HAES). Now I wonder how hard she had to hold back her eye-rolling while I ventured through months of off-and-on keto, excessive exercise plans, and then intermittent fasting. Not to mention all of the fatphobic language I used in reference to myself, and how much I based my life around what size of pants I could button over my belly in the sad and dusty fitting room of H&M.

I bought the Intuitive Eating book. I started it and never finished it, putting it aside for another time. Even so, I’ve tried to incorporate the principles in my own way - eat what I like, when I want, including times when I may not be physically hungry, since eating is a common method to self-soothe. Stop labeling foods as good and bad, let my body choose, and stop making food a moral issue. 

That’s been relatively easy for me, considering I have yoyo’d back and forth between major restricting paired with exhausting workouts, then back to the Fuck-It Diet and cocooning in blankets for months at a time. When I wasn’t dieting, I loved food and trying new foods. One of my favorite things is the novelty of walking into a new bakery or cafe and trying a drink or pastry I’ve never heard of before. I’ve also had a pretty big issue with binge-eating and even eating out of guilt or responsibility to the person who made the food - which resulted in eating things I didn’t even like. The same goes for dieting. I ate so many foods that made me feel bad or sick, for weeks and months on end, because it was supposed to be “good” for me. It’s to the point where I can be grocery shopping and realize I’m buying the “healthy” version of something - a version I don’t even ENJOY, or I’m buying a food or a quantity of a certain food, just because I find it filling and I want to feel stuffed, which I associated with feeling “better” for so long. (I am not saying I never binge-eat. Part of Intuitive Eating is accepting that binge-eating is a very valid coping mechanism when we are feeling low or exhausted.) 

In addition to the Intuitive Eating, I’ve been listening to/reading Fat Activism content, pinning Plus Size models on my Pinterest as well as following them on Instagram, because I’ve been idolizing fae-like thin girls who have never been and may never be, in a body like mine - and that goes both ways. I came out of the womb two years after my sister, with already thicker thighs. Honestly, this lead to a lot of jealousy in my younger years, and a lot of self hatred.  “Clearly we have the same GENES, why am I the ‘bad’ one? It must be all my fault.” Unfortunately the message of guilt, shame and inferiority were ingrained with comments from family, friends, society at large. Granted my mother was pre-diabetic when she was carrying me, and I grew up loving all foods while my sister was a picky eater in her young years. As adults, my sister and I talked about how it seems like I grow muscle a lot faster, while she dedicated a lot of time (and joy) in a weight-lifting regimen. Maybe these things are true, maybe it’s all conditional. But despite life’s changes, we’ve stayed in our relative body shapes and sizes. The inferiority due to my size was so internalized that deep down I still wonder when I’m going to start secretly restricting again and/or over-exercising, so that I can pretend to accept myself while still assimilating.  If other people commit their lives to counting their (and everyone else’s) calories, well, then I owe that to the world or I don’t deserve happiness, respect, sexual satisfaction, inclusion, and so many things denied to fat women and fat people in general. I have to shrink to fit through the metaphorical threshold into a life where I get the privileges of small-bodied women, a world where I know I’m better treated, because I shrank myself before and every interaction changed. If I could just do it a little more this time, I could be “one of those girls” - the cool girls, the pretty girls, the seemingly effortlessly likable girls. The girls that make men feel strong and masculine. The girls I always fear should be replacing me at any moment.

Because of the yoyo-ing, and because I’m still in the Fuck-It part of Intuitive Eating (eating ALL THE THINGS that I told myself were off limits or bad) I’m not even sure what my natural size is. I’ve been putting off clothes shopping, but my stomach issues cause me pain every day, and after lunch, I become so bloated that my pants and leggings, however stretchy, become so tight and begin digging into my stomach. I end up literally counting the minutes until work is over so I can go home and take off my fucking pants. As a big girl, I’ve learned that I prefer wearing tight clothes over hiding my shape. I thought it to be more “flattering” in the common meaning - making me look smaller than drape-y tops and dresses typically marketed to fat women so they could better shield themselves from ridicule by literally hiding themselves - another thing I’ve spent far too much time doing. It’s been a several-month-long internal dilemma - can I keep wearing “cute” clothes, or do I HAVE to get things that don’t suck in my thighs and stomach fat so that I can feel physically comfortable? 

Honestly, I’m not fully convinced of the latter part yet. I couldn’t convince myself that saving myself from physical pain might be more important than hiding my stomach or slimming myself, because honestly, there are still some parts of me that I literally fear showing. It’s like having even more “private parts” to be in a culture that is so fatphobic. I can keep hitting like and drooling at all of the fat babes on my instagram feed, but god forbid I myself step out of the house with VBO (visible belly outline), or not smoothing out my cellulite and lower belly with some good ol’ tights!! It even feels vulnerable to admit those things, not that I think I’m fooling anyone, but just the fact that I try so hard to the point my internal organs are probably out of place from all of the compressing I put them through. I’m still assimilating like this. 

Yesterday I went to Target, preparing myself that if a size doesn’t fit or look good, I don’t have to say “fuck that” - I can grab the next size up. As a teen I was most likely having panic attacks every time I had to shop in the plus-size section of a store. I squeezed and fell out of my straight-sized clothes because it saved me the shame of needing accommodation, the shame of otherness associated with shopping in different stores or sections than my classmates and my sister. I don’t recall how my mother felt, as a larger woman who from what I remembered said only mean things about her own body and was constantly trying new diets, but I felt she was ashamed in having to be there with me as well. Maybe this was just how I felt, since her clothes always fit her body, which shows she must have been shopping for her size, which wasn’t straight. Maybe culturally it seemed okay for a mom in her 40s to shop at Lane Bryant and the like, but unacceptable - a shameful failure on her and my part - to JUST make me, a kid, “normal”.

When shopping yesterday, I filled my cart with clothes all around the 12-16 range, and prepared myself to know that although that was my range before, it may be different now, it may be larger. I’ve stopped weighing myself so it really could be anywhere. Size 16 is when I used to tell myself ‘no’ and leave the store upset. I couldn’t accept my size, I couldn’t accept a stupid fucking number because culturally it determined my worth as a woman. Among all of the other stumbling blocks in my life, there was this one giant failure I always felt looming over my head that seemed to matter most in social interactions, job interviews, at school - my body size - and all of the connotations made from it.

On top of finding a ton of cute clothes to try, the dressing room attendant helped me carry them all into the fitting room, and informed me there was no item limit - BLESSED, amirite?!  (I even met a nice tatted up mom with her small baby who complimented the earrings I had picked out when I apologized for thinking she was the attendant and talking to her as-so, out of the corner of my eye. She was straight-sized and told me she had a hard day of clothes-trying-on, because she didn’t know what she liked anymore. I told her I am about to turn 30 and I completely understand. Do I still like my ripped tights, booty shorts, and crop tops? Do I want to look like a snazzy bitch in a blazer and heels now?! It’s always validating to me when a thin women talks about similar issues. It’s not just me hating trying on clothes. That was a missed connection, so if you know her - get me in touch!) I despise trying on clothes, I get all sweaty and my throat starts to hurt and I seem to get all of my phonecalls and texts while I’m trying to get myself through the daunting task of zippers, buttons, turning shit right-side out, trying different combinations of clothes, and hanging them all back up in the right direction for the store employees since I’m not a heathen.

I found far too many choices for my budget, I had a huge “YES” pile, an even bigger “Maybe/Different size?!” pile, and just a few items in my “Ew/Yuck/Why is this a fabric?!” pile. The biggest change of all for me was that I put comfort first. I don’t care if my ass looked nice, if my romper made me look a few months pregnant, if a dress was cinched right at the waist to highlight my thinnest area on my body. I twirled in the dresses and strutted around in the pants, imagining and acting out scenarios from sunlight and day-drinking to sitting at my desk at the end of the day, and made sure each choice held up. And I managed to find too many items to afford, but enough to get me moving forward toward a life of accepting my body in the range it tends to buoy around, rather than the body I have when I’m treating myself like a prisoner. 

This was one huge step in the right direction, and I can’t wait to appear in clothes that fit me, rather than clothes that mold me.