#Throwing that rotting suitcase out and making my own no thank you

[rubberduckyrye]

I've been doing some research on Angie and pacific islanders, and here's what I've decided I'm going to do with her:

She's fairly Native Hawaiian coded, so I'm going to go full hog on that and make her Native Hawaiian.

From there, I'm going to keep her personality and core background traits that lead up to her personality--but I'm going to essentially scrap everything and everything because holy fuck Kodaka did you really have to be that racist about it.

Like I didn't realize it but holy fuck I don't think there's a single instance in her FTEs and Salmon Mode Dates where she doesn't at least mention some incredibly racist caricature thing being a part of her "culture."

This being in relation to the blood sacrifices, human sacrifices, implied child sacrifices, implied savagery/lesser civilization, ectect. There's just. So much here that I think it's time to throw out the whole suitcase and use actual references to Native Hawaiian culture.

I'm gonna have to do a butt ton of research... but I think it'll be worth it in the end.

Also, I know this one isn't Kodaka's fault, but from my limited research done so far, Angie's god, "Atua," is actually more or less multiple gods--though it can be used to describe "God" in more modern times, it is traditionally used to refer to multiple gods. I know in the original Japanese version she uses "Kami", which I think is a loose term for God/the gods? Still, the singular instance of Atua isn't technically wrong, but it does kind of feel... wrong, if you know what I mean?

Anyway.

[ehh-is-the-name]

I ENTIRELY disagree with your statement that cobs and mephone are one in the same. They just arent!!! they arent!!!! it's comparing a person who Was Abused to their Abuser. And i think thats really dangerous, especially because cobs did things knowingly and out of ill will and is absolutely manipulating suitcase and knife in his speech to them, but also because mephone literally has/had no fucking idea he created the contestants.

theres something wildly different between creating a fantasy UNKNOWINGLY where everything goes your way (kinda- i'll yap about that later) and you have your contestants and your show where you can be the perfect host you always wanted to be!!... And creating Sentient Beings (who you know are sentient) and sending them off TO WAR only to physically and emotionally abuse one of them when he comes back with Only ONE of the children you sent him to steal. like. Fellow mephone apologist, he's not really that bad!!!! there is hope!!!

Back to the whole. 'everythign goes his way' thing- A key difference between Cobs and Mephone to me is that Mephone, not even knowing he created the contestants, doesn't force them to do anything. He's kinda... dumb? like, let's be real, his biggest threats come up to 'you'll be kicked off the show' and yada yada... Like. take Marshmallow.

He (UNKNOWINGLY) created marshmallow to be on HIS show. But when she chose to leave... he didn't stop her. And yes, he knew she left because of his confrontation of mepad where he expressly asks him 'why did you let marshmallow leave?' Mephone 100% KNEW. but he didn't stop her (nor apple, for that matter) from going off and starting a life of their own.

MEPHONE DOESN'T WANT CONTROL OF HIS CONTESTANTS LIVES.

Yes, he's a jerk, YES, He's absolutely terrible to his contestants sometimes, and YES, he will have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

BUT. He's not anything like cobs-- at least, not where it matters.

Cobs tried to kill mephone, multiple times, when mephone tried to start his own life. Mephone views his contestants as real, sentient people- Cobs doesn't! He sees the contestants as toys, if anything... And he sees his own creations as tools. Valuable tools.

So like. what im trying to say. Is uhhh sorry for yapping so long and i hope you have an awesome day!!! I've just seen this whole Mephone=cobs thing going around and it gave me a headache SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU DEAL WITH IT </3 but i do hope thsi was informative!

First off- LET'S GO I LOVE II DISCORSE THANK YOU FOR RESPONDING THIS IS WHAT COMMUNITY'S ALL ABOUT!!

Anyway, I will say, that I'm giving you a hug and crying into your shoulders for bringing up the marshmallow thing- I completely forgot about it even though we literally just saw her again (I think it's pretty clear that my priorities are ALL over the place).

Rewatching the scene I get what you're saying.

I'mma be soooo fuckin honest this scene went right the fuck over my head, and by that, I mean I didn't know if Mephone was being genuine with his confusion or fuckin' anything actually. When I say ii 16 has killed me and left me rotting in a gutter, I'm so serious. Mentally I am in a gutter and your ask has at least rolled me back on the curb so I can breathe air instead of sewer water.

Literally reading your thing has made me remember other posts I have seen and taken to heart about this phone, like examples A and B. (They're both tumblr analyses that are kinda outdated 'cause of the bombshell but still pretty good imo). Mephone DOESN'T want to control the contestant's lives and, although he can be a dickwad at times, he still cares about them. Though is that just because they're his OCs in a way? I-

I say all that but I'm also like, I don't want to be completely throwing away everything Cobs is saying just because I feel ill every time he talks. You right, it's very clear that this whole thing is heavy with the manipulation but fuck man I think I'm just easily manipulated... I'm being so serious when I say I lost what hte fuck I was typing in the middle of this and I don't think it's coming back to me. I rolled back in the gutter, sewer water is my home I fucking guess.

Anyone who's listening to me at this point- I don't recommend it I actually don't know what the fuck is happening. I think I still have it in my head that Mephone knows about the whole "making the contestants thing" which makes it hard to fully embrace what you're saying. I should clarify tho:

Mephone and Cobs aren't the same, but the things he's indirectly picked up from Cobs (because of his abuse) are presenting harder than I thought originally. And I think that's what I really meant when I wrote the note. Or at least, that's how I feel now. It's been a couple days since I wrote the stuff in the blockquote. That's the best way to explain how I feel about the Mephone = Cobs situation—yes, but genuinely, in all honestly, no they're not the same.

And do not be ashamed of ranting, really, we love it here. Plus, my friend called this the 9/11 of inanimate insanity and yeah there's a lot of fallout and theories rn. Perfect time for discourse 'cause we're all going through the wringer.

[katsukikitten]

Part 10 of Irritated. Y'all thank Jo for this being updated lol.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ This is an 18+ Pro Hero AU, mentions of violence and death. Enjoy

The pungent smell of wet Earth and nose burning chemicals did not pair well with the harsh scent of rotting fruit. Sickeningly sweet as it rouses you, mind hazed as your eyelids refuse to open or even flutter. Weighted by lead and an endless sleep that tries to pull you under again. For once you submit.

More time passes, although you aren’t even sure you understand the concept any longer as that same smell stirs you again, a bang from an adjacent room pushes your eyes to flutter. Flashes of light against the start darkness before your eyes adjust to the low light of the room that seeps in from a few small rectangular windows. The panes are caked with dust while bricks are pressed into the seedy Earth, giving the room a natural coolness, there is only one set of stairs that lead up towards a door outlined in light. The sound of running water makes your throat constrict and your mouth dry, as if you swallowed cotton whole. Making you wonder just how long you had been pulled undertow. It takes your throbbing head a moment to catch up with your senses as a chill settles over your bare skin in goose flesh.

And then it all comes flooding back, the awful taste of his salty skin in your mouth, the fear gripping at your muscles as you finally realize that you are not in the safety of your apartment but somewhere forgein. Thrashing to get to your feet only to hit hard onto the icy concrete, wrists and ankles bound by white cuffs, a small whine escapes your raw throat. Your heart hammers in your chest before you feel a sharp prick in both of your wrists. A warm substance floods your system as your eyelids become heavy, mind trudging through abduction procedures before settling on blissful numb. A blurry figure comes from the only other door in the room that isn’t atop the staircase. You don’t need to fully focus on his face to know exactly what color his eyes are as they burn into your retinas before sleep hushes your frayed nerves. You dream of all consuming green that slowly fades to black.

Bakugou finds himself standing in the kitchen of his apartment, your spare key stares up at him from your paperwork. A sweating glass with melting ice and the reminisce of an amber liquid is his only company. He leers down at the address, wondering why the hell you were on such a seedy side of town, then he thinks of you shaking on the couch back at the hotel during the convention. His stomach churns, your final words and blow cause him to suck his teeth.

“Not my fucking problem.” He huffs to himself, refilling the glass before killing the light in the kitchen to settle on the couch. His grip is too tight on the crystal glass in his explosive palm, the glass threatens to shatter while an infomercial plays in the background. His mind is anywhere but the TV while indestructible pans are advertised across the large screen. Aggressively swirling the amber liquid as his thoughts become more and more loud. He swallows the whisky whole and with it the thought of you. Letting it all burn as it runs down his throat and heats his chest, a warm feeling flooding his veins as he sinks lower into the couch. Flipping channels as he forgets you.

Your key taped to your personal records, that Bakugou stole, do not sit on his fine counter much longer, soon it is swiped and shoved into a pocket. He slams the crystal glass on the counter as he reaches for his own apartment keys and his cellphone. Bakgou slams his apartment door, locking the deadbolt before he rushes down the stairs to catch the last train to you hellish part of the city.

The hour train ride sobers Bakugou and only sets him into further agitation. Glaring at anyone who thinks to look at him more than once, even going as far as baring his teeth. Before glaring at his own reflection, who sneers right back. His black tee is tight and a bit damp despite the cool air, the brim of his backwards cap pulls the hair away from his forehead as his faded sides breathe in the chill of the train. The hat, an excuse to hold in his hair, his hero gloves heating his hands as his fingers twitch, he hopes your apartment is hardwood throughout since he didn't have plastic bags to put his feet in while he looked for something. Anything. He was doing the best with what he had.

But the more he looks at himself the more he realizes he never really was doing his best. At least not when it came to you.

The address to your apartment complex is a few blocks away from the train station, his jaw clenched as he reaches the low lit building. Screaming comes from somewhere far off, his ears perk out of habit, but he was supposed to be off duty right now. Plus that wasn’t his current focus, not to mention should he help it would be suspicious as fuck as to why he was so far way from home tonight. He bounds up the stairs in the dank stairwell two at a time, huffing through his nose as he reaches the top floor. The carpet is worn threadbare and reeks of vomit and water damage. Silence envelopes the top floor compared to the yelling and crashing items on his way up. Slowly it dawns on him that you’re most likely renting out the entire fucking floor. He sucks his teeth, leaning in close to the door of the first apartment on the floor. Nothing comes from the other side of the thin cheap door, musty air flows from between the cracks as if the room had been closed for quite some time. It confirms what he’s been thinking. He finds your apartment door with ease, several bolts and locks lined up perfectly straight. He looks down at the one key and thinks about what happened in the short few years you started at the agency that you would need five, no six additional deadbolts on your door. He half wishes you hadn't made it so obvious as to which door was yours, thoughts creep into the forefront of his mind as he imagines someone else standing in his spot now. He thinks he will need a locksmith, but that would call attention to himself, he could attempt to pick them but he never really had time to practice the shady skill. Just as he is about to turn to brute force as the answer he notices that your door doesn't seem fully shut. He thinks of all the times that you bitched while on patrol about your damn door and how you had to literally slam it shut for it to actually lock. Gritting his teeth he gently pushes the door open with his gloved hand letting it swing open with an eerie creak.

Already things are out of place. Your suitcase stands alone, untouched and obviously unpacked from the clothes peeking out from beneath the zipper, by the front door. Your lanyard for your keys is on the floor instead of the table that is in the foyer and the converse you were wearing the day that you quit are missing. Faintly something gleems in the grainy light from the hallway from beneath the table in the foyer. Bakugou reaches for it tentatively, teeth gritting as he realizes what the glass rectangle is.

Your phone.

Specifically, your dead phone.

His hand hover over the unresponsive screen before deciding to leave it, this would be evidence they would need later but for now he knew he had to do something. Kamisama takes pity on the poor bastard and throws him a bone in the shape of a scrunchie. Your black scrunchie that seems to have been ripped from your arm. As he reaches for it he notices the faint residue smeared on the hardwood. His mind dredges up weeks ago of the guy trying to hide his quirk. Of the carpet by the hotel door in the hall just a touch darker.

He should have fucking killed him, he should not have listened to you. He snatches the scrunchie, heading towards your kitchen to look for a bag, tupperware, anything to trap the smell of you and possibly your assailant. He finds a plastic sandwich bag, shoving the broken hair tie into the baggie before sealing it shut. He heads for your door thinking better of slamming it shut in case he needs to return without the calvary. Pulling his phone from his pocket he dials an old number from memory, the other line picks up.

"Oi, it's time I cashed in on that favor you owe me."

After the short conversation and the long hour and a half in the cold a four door sudan pulls up to the train station by your house. Bakugou eagerly yanks open passenger side door, slamming it shut as he cranks of the heat in the car, giving the driver no room for questions let alone a greeting.

"Oi, I need you to find the owner of this." He flashes the scrunchie as the driver gives him a look, "Inu, you're hound's son aren't you? It's not impossible."

"It might as well be dude. What is this?" Inu snatches the bag from hot fingers, "Do you even know when the last time the owner wore this. And what exactly are we doing? Is this even fucking official?"

Bakugou narrows his eyes, mouth set in a harsh snarl as he leans in close to the driver's seat while Inu leans back.

"I dunno was your shit I helped you with official? Was it ethical for us to take out a mob boss for your now ex wife?"

Inu looks away into the rear view mirror, eyes boring holes into the glass and the blankets in the back seat. Bakugou doesn't notice, he takes it as admission before leaning away into the passenger seat.

"Now get to sniffing." Inu grits his teeth at the hot head's comments before sighing out. Opening the bag just a little to take a whiff. The smell was faint, indicating a large gap from the time it was last worn to now. Not to mention there was an odd smell, so unbelievably faint in the fabric that had Inu not already known what you smelt like he would have missed it. Just barely he could make out past the notes of your shampoo a salty harsh smell, almost like a preservative. Had it been any stronger it would have burned his nostrils. Sweat and...was that formaldehyde?

His stomach churns, slowly closing the baggie before cracking his window, catching the wind just right. He follows his nose, head halfway out the window as the car carries the men late into the night, all the way to the fringes of a suburb that was partly in the country. Inu parks the car on the wide street of the little neighborhood built to mimic an American suburb in the nineties. Homes of various sizes spread out and yet not too far from one another.

"This is it." Inu announces, throwing the car in park as it sits nestled between a beat to hell pick up truck and a dented sudan.

"You're sure?" Bakugou asks as he takes in the old home, it's upkeep is minimal at best, landscaping border line over grown as he can barely make out the small rectangular windows at the base of the house beneath the old dim street lamp.

"This is where both smells get stronger."

"Both?" A tic wounds tighter in Bakugou's jaw while a tremor runs through his arms. Inu nods as Bakugou reaches for the knob.

"Woah, woah!" Inu's large hand clamps down onto a broad shoulder, "Hold up man, if she really is involved then this is nothing like the sting we did bro. We need to call someone."

"Like fucking who?"

"I dunno Director Yami?"

"Yea so he can dismiss this again? Fuck that and fuck you. I'm going." He shoves Inu away reaching for the door again before the blankets in the back seat come to life. A mop of emerald curls with concern plastered across the giant's face appears to Bakugou's horror.

"Kaachan...you can't. We need to do this right, for her." And with that Bakugou snaps, lunging for his old friend, enemy. Climbing past the center console with his hands outstretched before they wrap around a thick column squeezing with all of his might. Deku doesn't do much to stop him, somehow knowing deep down that it isn't really him that the red eyed man wants to kill. He wraps broad hands around thick forearms giving them a gentle squeeze, he could snap them with One for All if he wanted. Instead Inu barks out a breathy "What the fuck?" as he wraps his arms around Bakugou's torso pulling him back into the passenger's seat. In the tussle either Bakugou or Inu hit the horn, causing Inu to panic as a light comes to life in the once darkened house. He forcefully shoves Bakugou into the front seat as he peels into the street, thankfully without burning rubber.

"Are you trying to blow our fucking cover?!" Inu shouts, "Like fuck! And what's killing Izuku-kun going to do?"

Bakugou turns to glare at the behemoth of a man in the back seat, he rubs his throat as red eyes watch bruises form.

"I'm not sorry Deku, fuck you." But Izuku can read between the lines, Bakugou saying he is sorry but still fuck you for trying to stop me while our friend is most likely on borrowed time.

"'S kay. We can help her."

A honk, rouses you before footsteps can be heard overhead rushing through the house before blinding light floods down into the basement.

"Finally you're awake." He flicks on all the lights, scrambling to put your feet under you so you can at least sit. Eyes flickering over the room as you try to give your throbbing, unresponsive mind to collect something, anything you can store away for later to aid your escape. Meanwhile the green eyed fucker monologues.

"It took some time for me to adjust your dose, I need you to be just under enough that you won't fight back, your heart rate spikes easily you know…." His words are lost to you as you glance over your shoulder only to wish you never did as your stomach churns in horror. Lined up against the wall behind you are women, women you had posed with.

But what haunts you is how it starts with your missing friend. Her eyes hollowed out, pitch black holes stare back at you as her skin looks paper thin, like a botched mummification or that whoever was trying to preserve her got lucky. She is still in her last scene clothes that are bloodied and torn. Your eyes struggling to follow the line as they progressively become more and more preserved, until your eyes finally land on your last instagram picture, you and that young girl. With the peace signs beneath your eyes.

She looks to still be alive, until you realize she is unblinking with glass eyes and a permanent smile with the help of a stich or two.

He notices your rigidness and frowns.

"Are you not happy? It's hard to save the eyes." He forces your face to meet him with his fingers on your skin, "I made them for you. They're your friends right? I wouldn't want my doll to be lonely."

Your breath comes in ragged huffs as rage consumes you, you were going to kill him. With whatever little power you had left, you were going to end him and savor it.

All these lives, twenty, that you could see, lost, because of you and you negligence. Your eyes glow before a prick comes at your wrist, the power dying in your fingers.

"No." You rasp out as your vision begins to fade.

"Ah come on, I just want you to be a wake for just a bit doll. Just a while longer before I make you mine."

Your world plunges into the depths of darkness.

Your dream of the girls behind you, of their scream as their preserved bodies animate, their glass eyes fixated on you as they crawl across the concrete. Their mouths smelling of formatihide and rot as they lean close to you, voices beneath water or worn by gravel.

"You did this. You killed us."

[kpoptrashibnida]

Enough Pt. 14

A/N: Hey guys! Here is the new update for Enough! I hope you guys enjoy it and as always I enjoy receiving feedback! Please don’t hold back and let me know what you guys think! Also, I did my own gif lol I could not find what i wanted for this chapter, so I decided to ‘make’ my own. Please don’t judge me too harshly, I am not tech savvy xD

Mina and Suho were kind enough to pick you up from the airport once you arrived at Seoul. They were being very tentative with the way they spoke to you and it annoyed you that they were treating you like a ticking time bomb. You tried to ignore it and smile as much as possible without it looking fake. You tried to keep up with the conversation as Suho drove you to your house. Mina was updating you on how her doctor appointments were going and you were genuinely happy to hear about your future niece or nephew. They insisted on taking you out to dinner but you were tired and just wanted to go home and sleep. Suho and Mina shared a look and agreed to drop you off home. 

Pulling up to your apartment you felt a strange wave of sadness overcome you when you realized that you actually moved. You’re back in Seoul, away from what means the world to you. Suho helped you with one of your suitcases as you rolled the other one up to your apartment. Mina tagged along, insisting on helping even though you refused to let her carry anything heavy. You opened the door with the new code your building manager gave you and you were surprised to see how it looked exactly the same. You don’t know what you were expecting, since no one entered your apartment during your time away. But you definitely were not expecting to feel an emptiness. The place that once felt like home now felt like a foreign place to you. 

“Okay, well I guess you don’t have much to unpack. Do you want us to stay and help?” Mina offered, feeling bad about leaving you alone

“No, it’s fine. You guys have done enough for me. Go home and rest, you must be tired.” You say, rubbing Mina’s stomach in a loving manner.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Suho said and gave you a pointed look, which made you smile.

“Of course. Thank you guys, really.” You gave them a smile, not knowing what you would do without them.

“Okay, good night.” Mina gave you a strong goodbye hug, making you emotional all of a sudden.

You walked them to the door and bid them farewell, thankful to be left alone. You sat on your couch and closed your eyes, exhaling a long breath. The last 36 hours replaying in your head like a movie. 

When you arrived at the Friends Corp. building you were nervous and full of jitters, not knowing if you were going to see Jaehyun or not. You walked to the HR office to return your employee badge and access card. You then proceeded to go to Wendy’s office, saying goodbye to her and answering her questions about why you were leaving all of a sudden. You gave her a brief explanation as to why you were headed back to Seoul and kept an eye out to see if you saw Jaehyun. Once you were done talking to Wendy you went down the hall to look for Johnny and Mark, hoping that Jaehyun might be with them.

“Noona, I just can’t believe that you’re leaving. Why?” Mark asked, extremely sad that you were leaving.

“I know, we didn’t even have time to throw you a going away party or anything.” Johnny whines, still not believing that you were actually leaving.

“Wait! Does Jaehyun know?” Mark asked, realizing that he wasn’t there.

“Wait, he called out sick this morning.” Johnny says, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. “Did something happen?” He questions.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you look at your two friends and you try with all your might not to cry in front of them.

“Um, Jaehyun and I broke up last night.” You say in a whisper, hoping that if you don’t say it too loudly it isn’t true.

“WHAT?” Both men exclaimed, shocked at the news that their two great friends broke up.

“Why? What Happened?” Mark questioned, not believing that this happened.

“There were just some… issues we could not work through, and I have a lot of projects waiting for me in Seoul that cannot wait.” You explained, not wanting to get into the details. 

“Damn I’m sorry.” Johnny says, giving you a hug.

“You guys can come and visit me any time.” You say with a small smile. You say your final goodbyes and leave the building, a dull ache in your chest. 

It does not surprise you that Jaehyun was not at work but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t sad. You were really hoping to see him to at least give him an explanation. It would have been ideal if you did that at your apartment, but you were frozen in place, just watching your life crumble around you. You were angry with yourself for not fighting for your relationship; for not fighting to keep Jaehyun in your life and saving your relationship.

The whole process of getting to the airport, going through security and finding your gate was all done on autopilot. Your mind was not present and your body was just going with the motions. Namjoon got you a seat on Business Class and you were thankful because all you wanted to do during your 15 hour flight was sleep and cry with some privacy. And that is exactly what you did. Plus watch a movie or two once your eyes burned from all the crying you did. Thankfully once you landed you had regained some control over your emotions, so Suho and Mina did not know of what you did on the plane. You’re pretty sure they had an idea though because you were uncharacteristically quiet.

You had not realized you were crying until your body was shaking with sobs, tears streaming down your face. You hated feeling sorry for yourself. You felt pathetic and dumb and crying was not going to fix anything. Crying was not going to take you back to New York and fix everything, it’s not going to take you to that night and not let Jaehyun go until this was resolved. It’s not going to take you back to the moment Chanyeol entered your life again and put up your walls to keep him out completely. Even though crying was not going to fix your broken heart, you could not help it. Your sobs echoed in your apartment, filling the empty spaces around you. With a trembling body, you made your way to the bathroom and took a shower. The hot water helped relax your tense muscles and wash away the grime from the long plane ride. You were grateful to come home to a clean apartment, courtesy of Namjoon and the company. The time you spent in the shower was enough to relax you into a sleepy lull. You were exhausted from the plane ride, the crying and all the events that took place. You closed your eyes and hoped that sleep would soon envelop you and temporarily make you forget about everything that happened. 

_________

“Noona! I am so happy you are back!” Jungkook greets you with a tight hug the second you enter the building. You can't help the laugh that escapes your lips at his tactics, the sound sounding foreign to your own ears.

“Kookie! Look at you! I wasn’t gone a full year and look how buff you got.” You say playfully, pinching his bicep.

“I have been hitting the gym with my hyungs. I wanted to be buff for when you came back.” He says, jokingly flexing his muscles.

“Okay gym rat.” You say with an eye roll, headed to the elevators.

You were greeted by all your coworkers, pleasantries exchanged as you made your way to your office. You felt strange in your office but you knew the feeling would go away soon. Once you were back in your routine and submerge yourself in your projects, you knew the feeling would go away. You heard a knock on your door and you whip your head towards the noise, heart hammering in your chest.

“Hey! Can I come in?” Namjoon asks, hovering by the doorway.

“Yes, of course.” You say, heart still hammering. You were stupid to think it was Jaehyun knocking at your door. Old habits die hard. 

“I emailed you the new projects that need to be handled first. After that, you can choose the order in which you complete the other ones.” Namjoon explains, noticing the lack of a smile on your face.

“Sounds great, I’ll get right to it.” You say with a small smile, giving your attention back to your computer.

“Is everything Okay?” Namjoon asks, noticing your odd behavior.

“Yes, everything is fine. I’m just a little tired, I’m not used to the time difference yet.” You say, hoping he’d take that explanation. 

“Okay, well pace yourself and take it easy.” He gives you one last knowing glance before he leaves your office.

And just like that you shut yourself out of the real world and immerse yourself in your work, something you were good at and wouldn’t sabotage. 

________

“Get up. Now!” Mina says as she pulls the comforter off your body.

“What the hell Mina? How did you get into my apartment?” You complain, the bright sunlight burning your eye balls. 

“Because I know your pin, genius! Now get up, you’re not going to spend the whole weekend wallowing in self pity. We are going for a nice walk to the Han river.” She says matter-of-factly, looking cute in her exercise clothes.

“No.” You reply, trying to snatch the comforter back.

“I said get up, I’m not playing with you! Don’t you know you’re not supposed to make a pregnant woman angry?” She questions, smacking your but hard.

“Ouch!” You whine, kicking your feet like a toddler. “Mina, I don’t want to go to the Han river, I just want to stay here. Leave me alone!” You whine, wishing she wasn’t a good friend right now and would let you rot in your apartment. 

“Bitch if you don’t get up I swear I will punch you, you know I will! Me being pregnant is not going to change the fact that I will beat your ass.” She threatens. You know not to mess with Mina because she will beat you up if you make her angry enough.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll fucking go. But just so you know I will hate it and I will complain the whole time!” You huff, getting out of bed and heading for your closet.

“That’s what I thought.” Mina says, satisfied with herself. She doesn’t like to get violent but she will if she needs to. 

You come out of your closet dressed in a jogger set, glaring daggers at a smug Mina.

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” She smiles, making you roll your eyes at her.

“You’re lucky you're pregnant with my niece or nephew.” You say, making her laugh.

“Okay, let’s go before it gets any later.” She says in a sing-song voice, annoying you already.

The walk along the Han river was actually very relaxing, but of course you would not admit that to Mina. You enjoyed the breeze hitting your face, alleviating the perpetual weight you felt in your chest. You inhaled the cool air and blamed the stinging in your eyes to the cold wind. 

After a nice and relatively quiet walk, you agreed to get some lunch with Mina. she needed to eat because she was eating for two and could not skip any meals. Suho actually had set up reminders on her phone, much to her annoyance. You thought it was cute though, Suho was very immaculate with the things he cared about. 

After eating some jjajangmyun, you went to some shops to buy a few items you needed as well as some groceries. You had been ordering take out all week since you got back to Seoul and you decided it was time you started cooking again. 

“I can’t believe you have been eating take out this whole time! You are insane.” Mina chastises as you make your way up your apartment building, grocery bags in tow.

“Yeah I know.” You huff, not wanting to be lectured by your best friend. At least she has that aspect of motherhood down.

“Thanks for helping me out today. And for taking me out for a walk.” You say once you have put all your groceries away, Mina getting ready to leave.

“No problem. You know I’m always here for you. Don’t hesitate to call, okay?” She says. 

You nod and give her a hug and kiss her belly before she leaves, leaving you alone once again. This time however, you did not feel as empty as you had been, which I guess is a good thing. 

_________

“Are you sure I need to go? I can stay here, I really don’t mind.” You say to Namjoon, hoping he would let you have your way.

“What? No! What are you saying? I sent you over there to oversee this whole project and now you’re saying you don’t want to go? Don’t be ridiculous! Our investors are expecting to see you there, a lot of people are. I’m sorry but you’re not getting out of this and that’s final.” Namjoon rants, not believing what he is hearing at this moment. 

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You sigh, you didn’t like making Namjoon upset. 

“We leave in two days, so if you don’t have a dress already, please go buy one. The company gave you a card with a wardrobe budget for events like this. Use it.” He commands, not taking no for an answer. 

“Okay, I will.” You put your hands up in surrender, already hating the thought of going shopping. Normally, you’d love to go shopping with Mina. But as her due date is approaching, Suho has been even more overprotective than usual and does not want her going out and doing too much. So now you are left to go alone and you completely hate that.

“Hey Noona!” Jungkook greets cheerily, sitting down on the chair in front of you.

“Hi Kookie.” You greet, moving the food around on your plate. Just the thought of returning to New York after three months of being back in Seoul is enough to make you lose your appetite. 

“Are you excited about going to New York with Joon hyung?” He asks, oblivious to your sour mood.

“Not really. I still need to buy a dress.” You groan, pushing the food tray away from you.

Jungkook gives you a pointed look and swallows a mouthful of rice.

“I can go dress shopping with you.” He offers, giving you a sweet Jungkook smile. 

“Won’t you get bored?” You chuckle at his ridiculous offer.

“Of course not! I’d never get bored while hanging out with you noona.” He says, warming your heart a little.

“Well I have to go tonight. Are you available after work?” You ask, not believing that you are actually taking him up on his offer. 

“Of course! We shall meet at the lobby at the end of the day. There are some good shops in Gangnam that we can go to.” He offers with a smile.

“Okay, sounds like a plan.” You say, a small smile creeping on your face.

“Now eat. You’re too skinny.” Jungkook pushes your food tray back to you, making you roll your eyes at his antics.

You did manage to eat your food however, some of the previous nerves ebbing away. 

At the end of your work day you made your way to the lobby of the building where Jungkook was waiting for you.

“Noona! Ready to go?” He asks, opening the door for you.

“Yes, let’s get this over with.” You say, Jungkook whining at your lack of enthusiasm.

You guys took the subway to Gangnam and Jungkook pointed out some shops that he knew had some nice dress selections.

“I don’t know Kookie, these dresses seem a bit…. Extravagant.” You say, looking through the racks of dresses.

 “Noona, it is an extravagant event, so you need to dress the part.” Jungkook says, holding up a dress for you to see. You scrunch your nose and shake your head no to the insultingly revealing dress.

“Come on! You gotta show some skin.” He whines, making you laugh.

“Jungkook, are you sure you did not just come with me so you can see me in a skimpy dress?” You  accuse, laughing when you see Jungkook turn a slight shade of incriminating pink. 

“Noona~!” He whines, he did not do it for that reason but he will admit it was a perk.

“What do you think of this one?” You ask, pulling a silk dress from the rack. 

Jungkook looks at it for a few seconds and nods, thinking it's a good contender.

You looked at the reflection in the mirror and smiled, liking what you see. The dress was a beautiful midnight blue. It had a plunging V neckline with necktie straps, a partially open back and a high slit that showed a hint of skin. You felt beautiful and sexy and you hoped that the dress caught the attention of a certain someone that was going to be at the gala. 

You open the door to the dressing room and twirl the fabric around, showing the dress to Jungkook.

“Whoa noona, you look amazing.” Jungkook exclaims, eyes roaming your figure in the dress. You looked amazing in it, like the dress was made just for you. 

“It’s not too much?” You ask, feeling the silky material in between your fingers.

“Not at all! It’s perfect. You’re perfect noona.” He smiles, making you blush at the compliment.  

“You’re too sweet Kookie. Okay, I guess this is it. I’m sick of dress shopping.” You say, heading back to the dressing room.

“We have only been shopping for like an hour and a half.” He laughs, thinking it was funny that a girl did not enjoy spending hours shopping. 

Once you had paid, Jungkook convinced you to go out for some drinks and dinner. You were hesitant, not really in the mood to socialize. Even though three months had passed, you were still hurting from your breakup with Jaehyun and you just wanted to go home, drink too much wine and pass out. Jungkook thought that the sound of that was ridiculous and convinced you to do otherwise. You went to a trendy place that had recently opened up and it was full of young people drinking and having a good time.

Jungkook was fun company and you were enjoying his conversation. It was really helping you keep your mind off of things but you were not keeping track of how many shots of soju you were shooting back. You had pent up frustration and sadness that you needed something to numb it. 

“Whoa noona, are you okay?” Jungkook asks, eyeing your swaying form.

“Of course Kookie! I am doing grrrreat!” You say, imitating Tony the Tiger.

Jungkook laughs as he moves the soju bottle away from your grasp.

“Okay Noona, I think that I need to get you home. You are done for the night.” Jungkook pays for the bill and helps you up, offering to carry your garment bag and purse. He had your arm draped around his neck as he maneuvered you out of the restaurant and out to the uber he requested. 

“Okay noona, just rest your head and don’t make sudden movements.” Jungkook Instructed, making sure you wouldn’t vomit in the car.

Jungkook struggled to help you out of the car and to your apartment. You were very dizzy and had to stop twice because you thought you were going to throw up. Getting into your apartment was an even bigger challenge because you could not punch in the right code. So after a few minutes of trying, you were actually able to open the door.

“Okay noona, I put the garment bag in your closet. Do you need anything before I leave?” Jungkook asks, making sure you were not going to fall over.

“No, thank you Kookie, you’re the best.” You say, pulling him in for a tight hug.

“Of course. I had fun with you today.” He says, giving you a small squeeze.

He was about to pull away when you pull him back in for a kiss, taking him by surprise. He did not react at first but soon enough he reciprocated the kiss. You pull him closer, if that was possible, and let your hands roam his chest. You lightly moaned into his mouth, hands reaching under his shirt to touch his skin. Your hands were starting to lift his shirt up when Jungkook finally realized the turn of events.

“Noona, noona hold on.” He murmurs against your lips, trying to stop your wandering hands.

“What? You don’t want this?” You ask, biting your lip and looking up at him from under your eye lashes.

“Noona, I think you are very attractive and trust me, I would love to go further with you but you are drunk. And I don’t think you are in a good place for this right now. I’ve noticed that something is wrong and if I were to ever… sleep with you, I’d want to make sure it was right.” He says, placing your hands by your sides and giving you a small reassuring smile.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come on to you like that.” You say, tears welling up in your eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don't cry, it’s okay. I’m not upset.” He says, taking you to the couch and gently sitting down next to you.

“I just, I went through a hard breakup and I am feeling very emotional. I don’t know what to do or how to feel. I’m sorry I roped you like this. I appreciate you so much Jungkook. I really do. And I roped you into all of this.” You say, the guilt creeping in from attacking Kook the way you did. 

“Noona, it’s fine. If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here for you. We are friends.” He gives you a small smile, squeezing your shoulder. “Are you feeling better?” He asks, noticing that you looked more sober.

“Yeah, I do feel a lot better. Thank you for today, I really needed it.” You say, giving him another hug.

“Any time. I’m heading out. Have a fun time in New York. you’re going to be the belle of the ball.” He says with a cheesy wink, making you laugh.

After Jungkook left you decided to take a shower to clear your head and sober up. You needed to pack for your trip to New York because you did not want to be doing it last minute. The thought of seeing Jaehyun again made your heart beat uncontrollably in your chest, stomach churning uncomfortably. You knew it was going to be awkward but you were really hoping you could see him and speak to him. You were so tired from all the overthinking and drinking that you went straight to sleep without realizing it. 

_________

“You okay?” Namjoon asks, looking at your silent form next to him on the airplane. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” You say, closing your eyes and trying to ignore the people still boarding the airplane. You wish you could close the door to your seats. 

You were not in the best of moods but you didn’t want to project that to Namjoon. Your head was still whirring with chagrin at the thought of coming on to Jungkook the other night at your apartment. He had made it clear he was not mad and that it was not going to be weird between the two of you. And you also had the prospect of seeing Jaehyun again, which had your heart hammering and your stomach feeling nauseous. It was going to be a long flight and you did not want to be a bummer to Namjoon.

“I’m not stupid, you know? I know we have a professional relationship but I like to think we are friends too.” Namjoon gives you a pointed look, a clear indication that he was not going to drop it until you talked to him about it. 

“We are friends Joon.” You sigh, looking at him between the seat divider. He raised his eyebrow, a silent sign for you to go on.

You took a deep breath before you delved into the story. Telling him about Chanyeol to that ending and then to Jaehyun and how you sabotaged that. You told him about Chanyeol being back in the picture, how he was Loey and why you were dreading this whole event. He was stunned at the story, of how you kept this from him all this time. If you really wanted to stay back from the gala, he would have considered it because he did not want you to be uncomfortable. 

It felt good to talk about the whole thing with someone, a great pressure lifting from your chest. You had killed a good three hours talking to Namjoon about your situation, you had dinner and you were starting to feel tired. You were glad that you had Namjoon with you now that he knew about what happened. You just hoped that you could survive this thing.

___

“Okay so after dinner, the performances are going to start. The opening act will be Loey and Ara.” Wendy gives you the run down as she walks you to your table.

“Sounds great, let me know if there’s something else you need me to do. I have my phone with me.” You tell her, approaching the table. You look around and notice the slightly different people sitting at the table.

“What, um, is this the original table I was supposed to sit at?” You ask Wendy, remembering that you created the seating chart with her. 

“Oh.” She starts hesitantly, going slightly pink. “Yeah it is, but Jaehyun asked to be moved to a different table.” She says, looking visibly uncomfortable.

“Oh!” You say, trying to ignore the pain in your gut that made you feel winded. You thank her for guiding you to your table and taking a seat, greeting the people in your table. Namjoon was sitting there so you were glad you were with someone that you felt comfortable with. 

You tried to focus on the conversation taking place at the table and not on the fact that Jaehyun asked to change tables. You understood why he did it, but it didn’t hurt any less. You tried to be discreet while you looked around to see if you could find Jaehyun, but it was hard to locate him. You reprimand yourself for being so unprofessional, remembering that you were not here just as a guest but you also have responsibilities in this event. 

After dinner you went to look for Wendy so you could get ready to begin the musical acts of the night. 

“Everyone, we want to thank you for being here tonight. Your support and contributions to the opening of this pop up shop. This would not be possible to everyone’s contribution. So without further ado, Miss Wendy Son will be presenting the acts for tonight!” You say, passing the microphone over to Wendy as she steps up to the stage, a dazzling smile gracing her face.

“We all know everyone has been anxious for our opening act, so without any more delay, I present Ara and Loey!” She presents, the crowd roaring with applause. 

The two of you made your way off the stage and made your way to your seats again, waiting for the show to start.

You glance around one more time before Loey and Ara hit the stage and you finally find what you are looking for. You see Jaehyun sitting at a table close to the stage, surrounded by people from his department plus Johnny and Mark. You made eye contact with him and you felt like your stomach dropped to your knees. He only held the eye contact for a few seconds before turning to the woman next to him and smiling at something she was saying. You recognize her from the PR team, which made sense that she was at the same table as him. You tried to normalize your breathing as you look at the stage again, the lights of the room dimming and the music blasting from a speaker. 

All the performances were spectacular, Loey and Ara definitely were the highlight. They did a spectacular job with their duet, the crowd amazed when Loey was revealed. Ara also had a solo and there were other bands and artists performing. The performances lasted about forty five minutes total, leading to the final portion of the gala which was just dancing and drinks. You tried to make your way towards Jaehyun’s table but you were stopped by some of the investors, wanting to congratulate you on your collaboration of the gala and the opening of the pop up shop. You were trying to be a gracious host, but you noticed that Jaehyun was no longer seated at his table. 

You knew it was very unprofessional to be looking around while having investors and members of the board speak to you, but you were looking through the crowd trying to find Jaehyun. 

You were finally left alone and you decided to do a lap around the reception hall, hoping you can find the person you’re looking for and without interruption. You were trying to get by people without touching their sweaty bodies and without getting stopped again. After a futile attempt you make your way to the back table, wanting to get some punch because you were too thirsty from all the talking you did. You felt a finger poke you on the side and you whir around, anticipation clouding your mind. 

“Hey, you look amazing.” Chanyeol says, dazzling smile highlighted by his new platinum hair.

“Hey, new hair?” You ask, not knowing what to say. 

“Yeah I decided to do something different for the gala. You like?” He asks, twirling around and showing you a 360 degree view of his haircut and  outfit. He had changed out of his performance outfit and into a black tux paired with a white shirt and a black bow tie.

He looked very good, you give him that, but you were not in the mood to engage in conversation with him.

“Yeah you look good.” You say with a smile, glancing behind him to see if Jaehyun was behind him. You did not want the night to end before you could at least greet him.

“There you are! We need to go with Namjoon, he wants to present us to a possible investor.” Wendy says as she approaches you, noticing that you were with Chanyeol after she was speaking a mile a minute.

“Oh, hello Mr. Park.” She greets with a bow, embarrassed at interrupting the conversation.

“Hi miss Son, no worries. I know you are busy ladies. I’ll leave you to it. I guess I should look for Ara and make sure she is okay.” Chanyeol says, bowing once before leaving.

You follow Wendy to where Namjoon was, passing many people along the way and greeting them with smiles and hellos. You caught a glimpse of Jaehyun with a group from the HR department. He looked gorgeous with his charcoal grey suit, white shirt and dark red bow tie. You once again made eye contact with him, but it was very short since you had to keep moving to keep up with Wendy and not lose her in the mass of people. 

It was about an hour later when you were finally free. You were walking with intent even though your feet were screaming. You frantically looked around the hall, hoping to find Jaehyun. You noticed Mark and Johnny hanging out by a wall, speaking to each other. You march towards them hoping that they know where he is. 

“Hey guys, how are you?” You ask, approaching the dapper young men. 

“Noona! You look so awesome!” Mark says, giving you a hug.

“Thanks Mark.” You smile, ruffling the boys hair.

“You did an incredible job! But you have been very busy, I noticed that you were speaking to people non stop all night.” Johnny says, giving you a hug as well.

“Yeah it’s been a pretty crazy night. Hey, have you seen Jaehyun by chance?” You ask, feeling bad for cutting the conversation short, but you really wanted to find him.

Johnny and Mark shared a look, something made you feel like it wasn’t a good sign.

“Yeah he left about a half hour ago.” Johnny says awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Oh, I see. Well, he must be tired too, he also played a big role in all of this.” You say, trying to mask the disappointment in your voice.

“Yeah he was. Well we are heading out too. Have a good night and a safe flight back to Seoul.” Johnny says, hugging you. 

“We are going to come visit you, okay?” Mark says, giving you a reassuring hug.

“Yes please, I really want you guys to come.” You say with a smile, bidding them goodbye.

You stand where they left you, mind blank and eyes not focusing on anything. You could not believe that he was gone. Just like that. So this was it. No chance of speaking to him again. You did not know when you were going to see him again and you were too big of a coward to call him. Besides, what you wanted to say was better if you did it in person and not over the phone. You felt defeated and thought it was time to go to your hotel so you could take a shower and drink all the contents of the mini bar. You were so busy tonight you didn’t even get a chance to fully enjoy yourself and have at least one drink. 

You found Namjoon and told him you were going to head over to the hotel, deciding that it was time to call it a night.

You were waiting for your town car to come to the front of the building when you hear someone calling your name.

 “Hey! I was trying to get your attention since before you left the building. Did you not hear me?” Chanyeol asks as he jogs up to you, breath visible in the cold night.

“Oh, sorry, I did not hear you.” You say, looking out for your car.

“Are you crying?” He asks, peering at your face.

“No.” You say, not realizing you had been crying, a few stray tears running down your face. 

“Uh, okay. Well I sort of wanted to get a dance with you.” Chanyeol tries, getting closer to you and placing a hand on your arm.

“Chanyeol, I’m  not in the mood right now. I just want to go to my hotel, I’m exhausted.” You say, biting your lip in an effort to hold your tears in.

“Hey, hey look at me.” He says gently, lifting your face to look at him. “Are you okay?” He asks again, emphasizing the ‘okay’. 

You feel your lip quivering and shake your head no, tears finally overflowing. 

He hugs you into his chest, feeling your body shake in his hold. You cry into his shirt, hoping that you would not stain it. 

Chanyeol held you and felt his heart squeeze; he did not know why you were crying but he hated seeing you like this. All he wanted to do from now on is be there for you, whenever you wanted or needed him, he would be there. Just like he always should have.

Previous                                                                      Next

[hermannsthumb]

Would you be able to do #45 about taking you home for the holidays but now family thinks we're dating?

45. your family ditches you for the holiday so i take you home with me, except my family thinks we’re dating now, and i don’t know how to tell them that we’re not

from winter writing prompts here

YES I WOULD B HAPPY TO

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

“I can’t promise it’ll be very fun,” Hermann says. “You’ve met my family.”

“Like, barely,” Newt says. He’s met Hermann’s dickish older brother, and Hermann’s terrifying dad, both at the same PPDC banquet ages ago, back before they lost funding, and he doesn’t think he made a very good impression on either. (The shouting he did probably didn’t help his favor much. Nor the threatening.) The rest of them--the other two siblings, and a mom who must have at least a little bit of a cold streak in her to reproduce with Dr. Gottlieb senior four fucking times--are nothing but dark-haired and pointy-cheeked enigmas to him. 

“Enough to know their sort,” Hermann says, a touch wryly. “It’ll be quite professional. Dinner. Cocktails. You’ll need to wear an, er, nicer tie. Perhaps a suit. Father will likely ask us about our work.”

“Sounds riveting,” Newt says.

Hermann sniffs. “You don’t have to come, you know. No one is forcing your hand.”

Which is true. What’s also true, though, is that when Newt phoned up his dad to excitedly inform him he’d be able to come home for the holidays for the first time in over five years, he was met with a short pause, and then an annoyingly knowing “But wouldn’t you rather spend it with your Hermann? Alone?”

“He’s not my anything,” Newt protested. “He’s just my--lab partner. And roommate.”

It fell on deaf ears, though: somehow Newt’s dad got it into his head that Newt had a thing for Hermann (which is totally ridiculous), and that Hermann had a thing for him too, and a holiday, alone, together, was all they needed to work out their feelings, and he was sure he’d have a brand new genius son-in-law and even grandkids in no time. This was when Newt choked on air and almost dropped the phone.

“Grandkids?”

“I just want to see my son happy,” his dad finished.

So, no Geiszler-style Chrismukkah for Newt this year. Not even something lowkey with Hermann, like they used to do back in the Shatterdome. Newt’s dad’s plan backfired spectacularly: when Newt informed Hermann he was fresh out of things to do this year, Hermann immediately invited him to Gottlieb-style mostly-secular Hanukkah back in Germany with him, and the guy looked so relieved to not have to face it alone that Newt couldn't help but say yes.

He’s starting to regret it now. “I don’t think I have any nice ties,” he admits. “Or, uh, any suits, either.”

Hermann hmphs. “I suppose we’ll have to make a stop at the shops, then, before we head to the airport. Do finish packing. I don’t want to be late.”

“Sounds great,” Newt sighs.

The plane ride over is long and boring, broken only by a short layover in London; Hermann is zonked out on Ambien for most of it (“You gave me a raging headache last time we flew together,” he explained, “I need some quiet.”), so Newt has no choice but to poke through the uninteresting movie selection until he finally settles on some old rom-com. Then his earbuds are busted on one side, so he has to buzz a flight attendant for another pair, and by the time they manage to get them back to him the movie has automatically shut itself off and Newt has to restart. Fucking annoying. Whatever. 

Hermann’s youngest brother (Bastien, he thinks) meets them at the airport with his car. He’s smooth-faced and good-looking, with--as Newt expected--those same high cheekbones, that same dark hair. His, though, is curly in the way Newt’s only ever seen the ends of Hermann’s get when it’s damp. “Dr. Geiszler,” he says, giving Newt a firm handshake, then, in Hermann’s funny dialect of German, “It’s good to meet you. We’ve heard much about you.”

Good things, Newt hopes. But probably not. Whatever horror stories Hermann relayed over the years--messy laboratories, chunks of rotting aliens everywhere, a tendency to play electric guitar at four in the morning--would only have fed the fire that Newt stoked to life when he tried to throw a mimosa in Lars Gottlieb’s face all those years ago. This was a bad idea. “Uh,” Newt says. “Howdy.”

Hermann receives a small clap on the shoulder. He’s shorter than Bastien, Newt notices. How...cute. “Hermann,” Bastien says.

“Hello,” Hermann says.

They drive over in silence, Hermann and his brother in the front, Newt crammed in with the luggage in the back. It’s very scenic. Like some old-timey sort of painting. Snow and rolling hills everywhere. “What’s your house like, Hermann?” he says, as they pass what looks like a old barn.

“Old,” Hermann says, disinterestedly. He’s playing some sort of puzzle game on his phone. “Large. Bloody drafty, too--I’ll need my heating pad, or I’ll wake up stiff every morning.”

Newt hides his snicker behind his hand.

“My leg,” Hermann says, and turns in his seat just to roll his eyes at Newt.

“Mother made sure to put extra blankets on your bed,” Bastien says, conversation apparently flying right over his head.

“Oh,” Hermann says. He blinks. “That’s...good of her. Will Newton be in the guest room, then?”

Bastien gives him a strange look. “The guest room?” he says. Then, with a sort of bewilderingly knowing tone of voice, “We’re not children anymore, Hermann.”

“...Right?” Hermann says.

They have a small moment to themselves as Bastien--kindly--carries their luggage inside, and Newt tucks Hermann’s arm under his to help him navigate the iced-over old walking path. Newt means to ask about whether or not Bastien is always that weird, or if Newt’s German is rusty and things were just getting lost in translation, but Hermann surprises him by squeezing his hand in that way that means he’s nervous. He’s gotten better at reading Hermann’s tics and body language since the drift. “You look nice,” Hermann murmurs. (Hermann Gottlieb, complimenting him?) “I’m glad you chose the blue suit. It--”

“Suits me?” Newt jokes.

Hermann doesn’t laugh. “I won’t bother telling you to be on your best behavior,” he says, “because, quite frankly, I don’t care, and I know you won’t be anyway.”

“That’s true.”

“Just--please do try to stay by my side,” Hermann says. “You’ll make it remarkably easier for me.” He squeezes Newt’s hand again. Newt gives him a small smile.

“Of course,” he says.

Easier said than done, really. The second they step inside, Hermann is whisked off to the kitchen by Bastien to--evidently--be presented to his mother, and Newt is left alone in a small sitting room with the oldest brother he also shouted at all those years ago and a woman who can only be the sole Gottlieb sister.

They both stare at him. The oldest one narrows his eyes.

“Hey, guys,” Newt says, in his piss-poor German. “Nice to...be here.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” Karla says. She’s holding a glass of something amber. Probably some sort of whiskey. She takes a long sip of it without looking away from Newt once. “You’re shorter than I expected. Though I suppose Hermann’s always liked them short.”

“Uh,” Newt says. He hasn’t been roasted in his mother tongue in some time, not since one time when Hermann was really mad at him and English just wouldn’t suffice. He can’t say he missed it. If that’s what this is, anyway. “Thanks?”

“Geiszler,” Hermann’s older brother--Newt thinks his name is Dietrich--echoes thoughtfully. Recognition flits across his face; he stands from his armchair. “Geiszler. You’re the little prick Hermann betrayed our--”

“Newton is the little prick who helped save the world while our father was busy funneling millions into a pile of bricks,” Hermann says, suddenly materializing at Newt’s side from nowhere with a hand at his shoulder. “He is also he is here as my guest, I might add, so I would appreciate it if you treated him with the respect he deserves.”

Hermann’s brother sits back down.

“He’s still short,” Karla says.

Bastien is enlisted to show them up to Hermann’s childhood bedroom, hidden in the back of a very long hallway, and Hermann settles his suitcase down on the tiny twin bed with a small, mournful sigh. “Cold as ever,” he says. Newt happens to agree. “It’s like the bloody Arctic. I can’t understand it.” He plucks at the stack of blankets resting at the foot. “I suppose these’ll have to do.”

Newt’s suitcase is hefted onto the bed, too. Bastien wouldn’t let Newt carry it himself. (Hermann refused assistance.) “You should be able to fit comfortably. Hermann is nothing but skin and bones--he won’t take up too much space.”

“Uh,” Newt says. “Fit?”

“On the bed,” Bastien says.

Newt and Hermann stare at him. “Ah,” Hermann says. “No.” Then, as if he’s explaining something to a small child, “Newton is sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

“I told you,” Bastien says, “we’re not children. Nobody expects him to.”

Expects him to? “I mean, I kinda expected to,” Newt says. 

Bastien touches both of their shoulders and gives them something that might be a smile, if you tilted your head and squinted a little. Guess it runs in the family. “We already know,” he says

Then he leaves. 

“Huh,” Newt says. “Hey, Hermann, I’m like, eighty percent sure they think we’re bang--”

“I know,” Hermann snaps. He groans, collapses onto the bed, buries his face in his hands. Newt shoves his own hands in his pockets awkwardly; he’s a little hurt Hermann’s this upset over the concept, to be honest. “But why?”

“Well, what did you tell them about me?” Newt says. There were plenty of rumors flying around about them after the end of the war, plenty of weird Buzzfeed articles ranking Newt’s haircuts and speculating on how platonic their living situation was, so he wouldn’t be surprised if (like Newt’s dad) Hermann’s siblings saw some of those and put two and two together and made five. Because it is platonic. Obviously. 

“That you’re a brilliant scientist,” Hermann says. “An--er--friend. Partner. That we live together. That we--with the kaiju’s brain--I know it’s classified, but it seemed important.” He groans again. “Oh, they’ll never believe me.”

Knowing Hermann, he probably did refer to Newt as his partner and not see how that could be misconstrued in anyway. “Then just don’t say anything,” Newt says. “I don’t mind it if you don’t.”

Hermann looks up sharply. “You don’t?”

Newt shrugs, going a little pink. He doesn’t think Hermann will notice. “There are worse things to be than your date. Can we eat dinner now? All I had all day was some pretzels on the flight.”

He holds out his hand to Hermann. Hermann takes it, staring strangely at him. “Alright,” he says.

[therabidjackalope]

Buried Treasure

Neil Kendleson took a deep drag from his cigarette, his head bobbing as if the beeps and crackles from his metal detector were actually catchy music notes. The salty water of the beach would occasionally lap at his bare ankles, but he could hardly be bothered to notice.

The beach was surprisingly empty for such a beautiful summer day. The sun was high in the sky, shining down it's golden rays across the white sand. The occasional bikini clad tan chaser and castle-building child looked up at Neil as his shadow crossed them, but the typical crowds stayed away that day.

Not that the treasure hunter minded at all. All those cars and surfers and beach bunnies merely got in his way anyway. Nothing but obstacles and distractions. Granted, some of them also dropped money for him to find, and he affectionately patted his jingling, coin-filled pocket in thanks to their carelessness, but a few pennies and nickels weren't his true goal. Neil wanted to find real treasure.

Pirates weren't the only ones to hide their valuables in the soft grainy soil of the beach. For thirty years, Neil had been seeking the ultimate jackpot, and he knew he would find it some day. He just had to be persistent. The other stuff he found on his weekend journeys, the coins, jewelry and random trinkets, were simply encouragements.

The beep of detection, when it finally came, was loud and solid. Neil had never heard his machine make such a noise before. Without bothering to look at his meters, he carefully set the machine aside and knelt down into the sand. Strapped securely to his leg was a portable shovel, which his quickly pulled free and began to frantically dig.

It took only a few scoops before he heard a thunk and felt his blade strike something solid. Neil felt his heart jump into his throat, his ears filling with the rapid beat of his own pulse. Had he finally found what he was looking for?

More sand was scooped away and flung in random directions over his shoulder and a large trunk began to appear, it's dark chocolate-colored leather in stark contrast to the polished white sand grains surrounding it. Impatience made Neil toss his shovel aside and begin digging with his hands, throwing and pushing aside great piles of sand to expose the entire top of the trunk. It looked to be in surprisingly good shape for being buried at a beach.

Grabbing a handle, he rose back to his feet and tugged. The beach was not eager to release it's prize, but Neil pulled again, shifting it from side to side until he finally worked the trunk loose and managed to pull it free from its shallow resting place.

Once again sinking to his knees, Neil brushed a few lingering grains of sand from the top of the trunk and looked at it closely. It had felt heavy when he pulled it and he wondered what could possibly be inside. He hoped it wasn't a dead body.

The trunk itself was old fashioned, dyed leather stretched across a heavy metal framing with simple brass clasps to hold it closed. He had seen many similar in design in his childhood, even used them for suitcases a time or two when going on vacation. He ran a hand across the dark brown leather. It was cool to his touch and almost felt brand new. It couldn't possibly have spent much time in the surf, but it was close enough to the water that it must have gotten wet at least once during a rising tide.

One of his hands moved to flip the first clasp open, but then he stopped and looked around. Whether he found a corpse or gold, he didn't want too many witnesses. He needn't have worried, however, the stretch of beach he found himself on was empty as far as his eyes could see. Despite the perfect weather, the tourists had other places to be, apparently.

Turning his attention back to the trunk, he nervously until both of the clasps holding the lid closed, and then nervously cracked it open a tiny bit. No stench of rot assaulted his nostrils, so the chance of having found a victim of the mob was minimal. Feeling braver, he flipped the lid complete open and looked in for his new-found booty, his heart-beat becoming thunder in his ears while his imagination blurred with possibilities.

A pair of shiny black eyes stared back up at him. The teddy bear took up most of the space in the otherwise empty trunk. It's brown fur was worn and thin, a few threadbare patches covered spots that had needed repair at some point in time. A faded red ribbon with white polka dots wrapped around its neck and formed a bow just beneath it's pointed snout. On the bottom of one paw was a tattered embroidered heart that was barely held on by a few loose threads.

Neil looked down at the worn bear and his mouth made an O of surprise. For several long seconds, toy and man simply stared at each other silently. Suddenly Neil's vision began to blur as tears began to gather. He tried to blink them away but more formed to replace them.

“I can't believe it.” Neil said as he reached in and lifted up the stuffed bear. He held the old toy up into the light, a smile of childish glee crossing his face. “How is this possible?” He asked the silent toy. “Teddy! I thought for sure you'd been lost forever when the old house burned down. How are you here? How did you-” His voice choked up and the question would forever go unasked.

Neil pulled the treasured bear to his chest and hugged it tightly. “I did it.” He squeaked out, tears of joy pouring down his cheeks to dampen the old teddy bear's fur. “I finally found my treasure.”

Abandoning both the trunk and his metal detector, Neil began to run up the sand dunes and away from the beach, tightly clutching his buried treasure and feeling like the wealthiest man in the world.

[epizkage]

the first chapter of my good omens fic! its a uni au, the main ship is ineffable bureaucracy but there is also background ineffable husbands, hastur/ligur, and maybe future dagon/michael!  i’ll be uploading this to ao3 tomorrow, as well as uploading a page of sketches for each chapter both on here and on my art insta. thank you for reading, im grateful for any feedback at all!!  tagging as #ineffable neighbours on all platforms!! (here, ao3 and instagram!)

“Crowley, what the fuck?” Bee groaned, incredulous, as Crowley handed them another houseplant through the car window. They were sat in the passenger seat, knees near enough at their chest with how far forward the seat had been pushed, their lap and arms already full of plants which they may as well have been juggling in trying to make room for more. 

“I have to bring all of them, Bee, they’ll be lonely if I don’t.” Crowley answered sincerely, handing them another, which Bee shoved rather frustratedly into one of the cupholders by the gear stick. 

"Oh, don't worry about me-" Bee huffed sarcastically, taking the tray of mini cacti that Crowley handed them and sliding it onto the dashboard. "-I'll just be a fucking shelf, shall I? It's not like I wanted to say goodbye to our mothers or anything."

"Language, Bee!" Came their mum's joking voice, though from where Bee couldn't quite tell, their peripheral vision on both sides blocked by leaves and greenery.  

"Yeah, Bee, language." Crowley mimicked petulantly, having the gall to try and hand them one last plant through the window only to be stopped by a string of very colourful curse words. Bee managed, after a lot of growling and swearing and heightening claustrophobia, to transplant the innumerable pots into the vacant driver's seat, swinging the car door open with enough vigour to nearly hit Crowley as they made their escape.

The tiny battered car was stuffed to the brim, back seats folded down to make room for two lots of possessions, Crowley and Bee's lives packed up into boxes and stacked in the world's most audacious game of Tetris, scraping the roof and blocking the back window entirely; sure to make Crowley's already terrible driving even worse. 

"Arsehole." Bee scowled, stepping back from the car to join their parents on the pavement, all watching and doing nothing to help as Crowley attempted to strap a way-too-big suitcase to the roof.

"Don't call your brother an arsehole, dear." Their mama said jovially, nudging them in the side.

"He is a bit of one, though." Replied their mum - the other one - coming up to their other side. Bee smirked at the two of them, and busied themselves with rolling a cigarette. 

"Oi!" Crowley called, turning to throw them all a faux-offended pout, ignoring the suitcase for just long enough for it to start sliding off the roof. At the sight of him frantically trying to stop it from either hitting the ground or smashing one of the car windows, Bee choked on a laugh and dropped the filter they'd been holding between their lips, figuring it was karma for laughing as Mama rushed to Crowley's aid. 

"You could help, you know, dear sibling." Crowley yelled, way too loud for a quiet, late September morning, as he tightened the straps on the makeshift roof rack. The neighbours, inevitably, would talk amongst themselves - middle class businessmen asking "oh, aren't you glad that those bastard kids are finally going back to uni?" over a neat and orderly breakfast, wives responding "I never did understand them anyway, Karen mentioned Satanic witchcraft, but really I think they're just hippies." Maybe they'd even pop round with fake neighbourly intent, presenting the couple with a rehearsed spiel of "my Sophie left for uni again a few weeks ago, you don't appreciate the alone time until they come back!" and a horrid fake laugh when really all they were trying to do was nosey around and determine whether their neighbours were lesbians or just really good friends.

Really good friends, who shared a surname, raised children together, and held a garden party last year to renew their vows.

Bee ignored him and sparked up their cigarette. Both mothers shared a glance and rolled their eyes, and Crowley rounded the car to lean against it. 

"Is that everything?" 

Bee nodded through an exhale of smoke, and suddenly their parents had zoned in on them, Crowley being dragged into their huddle while Bee was made to extinguish their cigarette.

"Oh, we'll miss you, horrible children." Their mum laughed, pulling both Bee and Crowley into a tight hug and kissing them both, Bee on the crown of their head and Crowley on the cheek, before passing them off for Mama to do the same.

"We'll miss you both too." Crowley replied, his smile showing clearly all of the anxiety he was trying to keep hidden.

"Don't worry, kiddo-" Bee slapped him on the back as they spoke, a rare moment of genuine and open kindness flashing between them and making their mothers smile from ear to ear. "-Everyone's nice, you know that."

It was Crowley’s first year while Bee was going into their second, and Crowley was to move in with Bee and their friends that they’d met last year. Crowley had met them all before, too, even considering them friends of his own after spending a lot of time at Bee’s flat, though nothing could help keep the anxiety at bay. 

Truth be told, the poor kid looked like he might cry, and so with a sigh Bee decided to take control.

“Come on, we gotta go, I’ve got all the keys and I don’t want Hastur or Dagon tearing into me for making them wait.” 

Crowley looked understandably dejected, but nodded nonetheless, and with one last long family hug the two bundled into the car.

Bee got in first, bringing all of the plants back into their lap to make room for Crowley, who soon after slid into the driver’s seat, hands balled into fists on his thighs as he took a deep breath.

“It’ll be okay, kid.” Bee tried to be reassuring despite their voice sounding bored and their face being almost entirely blocked by plants, but Crowley smiled at them anyway.

“I know, it’ll just be weird to be so far away.”

Bee nodded with a hum, both of them waving goodbye to their mothers, before they set off for their new house-

-which was fifteen minutes away, in the city. ~

Crowley and Bee had managed to unpack the car and near enough move everything in before the first of their housemates even showed up, perfectly chaotic and exactly at the wrong time, as Crowley battled to fit the giant suitcase through the front door while Bee laid on the sofa and did nothing to help.

Her arrival was made known by three things: the sound of Britney Spears’ ‘Womanizer’ muffled through car windows and getting ominously closer until coming to a head as she pulled up, a crash as the aforementioned car hit the lamp post outside the house, and then a loud, blunt exclamation of “fuck.”

“Ah, Dagon’s here.” 

She ran out of the car, leaving the engine on, door open and music still blasting, and gave Crowley a hard clap on the shoulder as she pushed past him and threw herself into Bee’s lap, only to be promptly deposited onto the floor.

“Aren’t you guys buzzed?” She grinned, red hair messy and falling into her face, partially covered by a black baseball cap that said “women want me, fish fear me” on the front.

“I was until you got here.” Bee fired back playfully, snatching the hat from Dagon’s head and shoving it on their own. It was way too big and the peak fell down over their eyes every time they moved, and they readjusted the size, quite intent on wearing it for the rest of the night, as they got up to help Dagon unpack her car.

Dagon had brought with her far too much of what she didn’t need and far too little of what she did; half of her car being taken up by a giant fish tank (“I’m going back home tomorrow to get them, I hope they don’t miss me too much.”) while the tiny suitcase on her passenger seat apparently held all of her clothes for the year. The music, still Britney Spears, was only turned off once Dagon had unloaded the car completely (as Bee and Crowley had discovered, she had created a playlist of every single Britney Spears song on Spotify), by which point many of the neighbours had already given them some rather distasteful looks from behind their net curtains. 

With the playlist blaring again, now through a speaker upon Dagon’s insistence, the three of them had split up to investigate the house. The outside was irregular and dirty-white, made complete by a wooden door with chipped black paint and a half shiny, half rusted number six nailed to the wall. The inside was no better, old carpets and ragged papering complimenting holes in the plaster and rusty radiator pipes.

None of them had even bothered to look around the place before signing the contracts - an offer of cheap rent and ‘satisfactory’ facilities more than enough to sway them.

Bee had taken to the garden, itching for nicotine, and they extracted a cigarette from behind their ear, scattering loose tobacco through their mess of black hair and making no effort to even acknowledge it, let alone remove it.

The garden was small, narrow and void of greenery completely, except from a pitiful looking tree that looked more like a long twig that had been plunged into a patch of gravel than anything that had ever been remotely alive. The ground was plain concrete, mossy and damp and unappealing in every sense, resembling an alleyway more so than a garden. Bee thought it crunched nicely beneath their thick-soled boots as they walked, and that was enough for them.

They hopped up onto the shoddy brick wall that ran the length of the garden fence, almost barreling straight into the tree-that-once-was, and once they’d found their footing they paused to light their cigarette. 

Crowley would be sure to try and bring the thing back to life, of that they were certain. 

Eyeing the fence, Bee was sure that it would fall down before the year was up, what with the rot and knot-marks and holes between the panels; and they suppressed a laugh at the death-rattle it gave when they kicked it. They spared a glance over into their neighbour’s garden, and then their nosiness overcame them and they draped their arms over the fence entirely, wrinkling their nose a little at how nice next door seemed in comparison. 

It was a wide, open space and the tiles on the ground looked brand new and almost shone under the early afternoon sun. Bee didn’t feel in the least bit bad about dropping cigarette ash all over them. In the middle was a patch of neat green grass, in the far corner a russet-painted shed, and the entire back fence was painted with a sunset-inspired mural.

Inside the house Bee saw a lone girl, busy packing things away into the wall units in the kitchen. Bee found themselves very intrigued, her deep brown skin flawless and shining with a rich gold highlighter that caught the sun every time she moved, and she wore a loose, ruffled white shirt that flowed with her movements and made her look like an angel. 

For someone so seemingly put-together, she’d sure picked a rough neighbourhood to live in.

Bee stopped staring, then, and as they turned to duck down behind the fence to finish their cigarette they met eyes with Crowley, making his way out of the back door to join them.

“Dagon’s setting up her tank," He waved vaguely behind him as he spoke, up on his tiptoes to peer eagerly over the fence. 

"What's next door like?" 

"Nice." Bee replied genuinely with a nod, waiting for Crowley's hum of approval before continuing. "When's your boy moving in?" 

Crowley choked, and Bee snickered when his face flushed almost as red as his hair.

He had started dating a boy named Aziraphale, though Crowley would only ever call him Ezra, Zira, or Angel, over the summer, having met online and hit it off in a fresher's group chat for their university. 

"Weird name." Bee had commented, and then had immediately taken it back upon remembering that their legal name had very nearly been Beelzebub.

The two had met up a few times, and soon become an official item. Bee could still vividly remember the absolute joy on Crowley's face when he'd found out that, arguably through some sort of divine intervention, Zira would be living just next door when term time started.

Who else he was living with, however, Bee and Crowley hadn't the faintest. All Zira had said was that there were four of them, two second years and two first years, and all of them had met through family friends, university societies and extra curricular youth groups. Nerds.

"Uh, h-he-" Crowley cleared his throat, removing his sunglasses as if it'd help him think better, brown eyes so light they almost shone yellow darting this way and that but never meeting Bee's own. "-He should be here tomorrow, or the day after."

Bee smirked at him, quirking an eyebrow. 

"You'll have to introduce us.”

Crowley very quickly brushed it off with an awkward nod.

“What do you think the rest of ‘em will be like?”

Bee finished their cigarette and stubbed out the end on the wall, little ashy embers flying back at them as they flicked the filter in the general direction of the drain by the back door.

‘Get something to put your dock ends in-’ Bee reminded themselves as they followed Crowley back through to the living room. ‘-Asshole. Think of the planet.’

“Insufferable, probably.” Bee shrugged, leaning back against the sofa and crossing one leg over their knee, their foot beginning to twitch and shake out of habit. They decided not to mention the girl they’d seen in the kitchen, knowing full well that Crowley would mislay the information to Dagon, who in turn would mislay it to Hastur, over-exaggerated and not at all true stories of Bee and the mystery girl somehow being an item forming from nothing more than boredom and a need for drama.

“Yeah, probably.” Crowley’s reply was half-hearted, paying no real attention as he instead stared down at his phone.

“Zira likes them, though, so I’m sure they’re nice enough.”

Bee made no effort to reply, but if they had, it would’ve been cut off. First by a crash, followed immediately by the second customary exclamation of “fuck” of the day. 

It was beginning to feel like home already.

[harryandmolly]

The Emancipation of Ginny ~ 7

summary: shawn and ginny could’ve ruined everything six months ago, and sticking together despite their past could make or break them now as ginny stays on as his personal assistant. but what happens on tour doesn’t stay on tour.

warnings: Language, champagne, redheads

WC: 5.5k

Shawn’s lips part in shock when Ginny stands and practically leaps on the blonde girl at the bar who he too noticed has been checking her out all night. He watches as Ginny turns on the charm, leaning into her ear with a smile to tell her her name with a soft, whispered giggle. She takes the woman’s hand and shakes it slowly, holding intense eye contact. He sneers watching the blonde go sparkle-eyed and blushy. He knows that face. He’s made that face a lot for Ginny.

His friends are elsewhere, distracted by the night. It’s a great bar. Everyone’s having fun. He was having fun up until about five minutes ago. Now, with a quickly warming glass of expensive whiskey in his fist watching someone’s hand flirt up the thigh of the woman who haunts him, he’s not having fun.

+

Bianca is a perfectly good sport when Ginny wakes her up clunking into her shoes with a guilty smile. She half-heartedly offers breakfast and it’s clear if Ginny takes her up on it she’ll be very put out. With a sleepy wave, Ginny is out the door, dying phone in hand, squinting at the bluish light of morning when she steps out on the very sketchy corner somewhere off the high street.

She heaves a sigh. Her feet are sore. Her lips are swollen. Her mind is numb.

Leaning over a rubbish bin, she empties at least some of last night’s mistakes on top of some smashed-up old pizza boxes, coughing and clearing her throat. She straightens up, shakes her misshapen curls out of her face and marches off to face her walk of shame.

Mercifully, because something has to go right in Ginny’s life right now, her mum is out at the farmer’s market when she comes back to shower and change so she’s not around to give her the eyes (you know the ones) for staying out all night and coming home in such a state.

She doesn’t have time to get cute. She has to get back to the hotel to get Shawn on a plane back to Toronto. She only has time to look like she survived the night.

She also definitely doesn’t have time to think too hard. Thank god.

Before long, she’s outside Shawn’s hotel door with breakfast attempting to knock gently with her elbow because he’s probably still asleep. She bumps her arm against the door a few times before maneuvering the Pret bag onto her lifted knee so she can slip her extra keycard into his door.

“Need help?”

She nearly jumps out of her skin, tightening her grip on the coffee tray awkwardly so it nearly tips. She wobbles, breakfast sandwiches on her makeshift lap table weedling. Shawn grabs both from her before she can lose control of them.

She flips her hair out of her face to turn. He’s wearing a boyish smirk framed by warm pink cheeks and a sweaty brow. He got into the gym early. She clears her throat.

“Idiot,” she chuckles.

“Nah. Would’ve been stupid if I didn’t know I could catch ‘em.”

She sighs and lets them into his room, holding his door open for him to carry their food inside.

“Thanks for this,” he hums, holding up her offering.

She shrugs. “You pay me for it, mate.”

Shawn flinches, not at her tone, she guesses, but at her use of the casual term he thought they shed. She aims her gaze at her feet and listens to him crumple the wax paper around his croissant sandwich.

“You’re up early,” she points out.

He shrugs, his back to her. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Her jaw tightens. She nods and shoves her hands in her pockets. “Oh. Maybe you’ll sleep on the plane.”

He’s going home for a week and honestly, it probably couldn’t have come at a better time. They could probably use a little space. Between recording and Ibiza and all the meetings Shawn’s been taking trying to plan out every thirty second increment of his future, they’ve both been wearing thin. Their relationship is showing the strain. It’ll give her time to stay in London and spend real time with both her parents, separately of course, and Hannah. She’s reminded momentarily of The Plan they need to riddle out.

He shrugs again, even more half-heartedly, like the energy it takes to communicate with her is more and more taxing every minute. She runs her tongue along her top row of teeth and fiddles with her septum piercing, flipping it up and down.

“Are you packed, then?”

He finally turns around and nods, plunking down gracelessly on the end of his unmade bed, coffee in one hand, food in the other. He jams a bite in his mouth.

“Dunno where my passport is though,” he mumbles.

She smiles and cocks her head warmly. “I have it.”

He looks up, adams apple bobbing as he swallows. He goes a little pinker under his eyes and ducks his head. “Thanks, Gin.”

They eat in not quite comfortable silence. It’s not the silence that’s unusual. Ginny and Shawn spend time in silence pretty often, probably due to the fact that it’s very rarely quiet when they’re around other people. It’s the space that’s weird. Ginny’s in an armchair next to the bed, Shawn’s on the far end of the mattress. They could pass it off as polite distance put in place to protect Ginny from Shawn’s post-gym stench but they’d both know it was just a convenient excuse.

There’s real space here neither of them knows how to bridge. So they sit and they eat.

Shawn finishes first, more fidgety than usual as he downs his sandwich in only a few bites. He stands and strips off his shirt, tossing it on top of his suitcase as he kicks at his sneakers like a teenage boy. She focuses on her coffee and not his sweaty chest.

“I’ll be out in a minute. We won’t be late,” he assures her.

When he shuts himself in the bathroom, she heaves a sigh and throws herself onto the bed with the remains of her sandwich and coffee. She ignores the way the sheets smell like him and curls up to take stock.

As she sinks into the flimsy hotel pillow, her curls buffeting out around her eyes to shield her from the world, Ginny uses her yoga training to focus on her body. When she takes the time, she realizes she feels… good. Physically, her muscles don’t seem to hold the same weight and tension they did -- that knot in her upper back is gone. Ginny wonders with a smirk if Bianca’s weight riding her face finally did the trick.

Mentally, things are foggier. She closes her eyes. She doesn’t think she feels sorry. She doesn’t think she wishes that Shawn didn’t see her hand slip around Bianca’s hip on their way out of the bar. She doesn’t think she regrets being physically close with someone in a way she’s really missed. She thinks she maybe needed it. Most of all, she doesn’t regret doing something for her.

Ginny has made a living being exactly what people need. She’s a good fit for it -- she doesn’t take the work personally. She takes every opportunity to learn about the business. She’s been on fun teams with kind people who treat her fairly. All that said, she spends most of her time serving her friends’ needs. They do what they can to serve hers, but it’s not enough. Ginny has to help herself, too.

She rolls onto her back. What do I need?

On a fundamental level, Ginny has all she needs. She has shelter, food and her health. She has friends and family and adventure. And she has some dreams.

She squeezes her eyes shut against some knee-jerk tears. Those dreams are old, dust-covered and left to rot in a corner of her brain where her ambition hasn’t reached. She loves those dreams somehow in the same deep, infinite way that she loves herself. But those dreams scare the shit out of her.

She’s been happy enough thinking of those dreams as just that, not uncovering them and directing them back toward the center of her focus where she can aim the blinding spotlight of her drive. Why change that now?

She’s deep in thought when Shawn emerges from the steaming bathroom with a towel slung around his waist. He finds her sprawled on his bed, eyes closed, jaw tight. He frowns and, without thinking too hard about it, he leans down a little to cup his hand around her ankle gently, rubbing his thumb into the firm bone.

“You ok?”

Ginny blinks and sits up on tented fingers, looking up at his face. She nods slowly.

“I’ll be ok. I’ll let you change.”

She stands and straightens up beside him. He’s watching her with concern plain on his face. She lets her eyes drift shut under the weight of her sigh. She leans into him, feels his hand come automatically, chastely to her waist to support her. He holds his breath. She presses her cheek to his, unbothered by the way his curls drop rivulets of water down her face. After only a moment or two, she pulls away with a tired smile.

“Knock on the door when you’re ready for me,” she says over her shoulder. He has no time to stop her, to look right into her eyes and try to understand where she just went before the heavy door swings shut.

He nearly stumbles to sit. His stuttering heart drops into his stomach. He plants his feet into the carpet, willing himself to feel grounded. He drops his head in his hands and counts his breaths.

And then he gets up, putting his dreams into the corner of his own mind.

+

Ginny rolls over. She glances at the clock on the bedside table and groans.

“Love, you promised.”

Her words are muffled against the pillow. Shawn winces and bites his lip, turning his head from where he’s perched on the end of his bed in Toronto, pulling on his running shoes.

“I know, I’m sorry, I have a problem.”

“Hi, my name is Shawn and I am a gymaholic,” she mutters, eyes still shut, into the pillow that smells like his shampoo. She shifts comfortably, settling back in.

Shawn watches her, heart full to bursting in his jittery chest. Despite the late night with her, he’s antsy. He has to get a workout in or he’s going to lose it. He’s just sorry it means less time in bed with her. His her.

He stands, shoes tied, hands out apologetically, “I know, I know. Sooner I leave, sooner I come back. I’ll stop and get breakfast at that French bistro, the one with the whole wheat almond croissants.”

Ginny opens her eyes suspiciously. “Keep talking.”

With her unspoken approval, Shawn brightens, scurrying around his bedroom collecting his keys and jacket. “And when I get back, we’ll eat in bed and watch a movie and take a nap and screw until we fall asleep again.”

Ginny sits up fully, sheets falling around her hips. Her hair is swept up in a pineapple, held up by a blood red scarf that she lets him take when he has to spend nights without her.

She’s perfect.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mendes.”

He winks and waves, heading for the door. Ginny looks down and sees his phone wedged beside his pillow.

“Hey, you forgetting something?” she calls.

He looks back at her blankly. At her raised eyebrows, he turns on his heel and books it back to the bed, planting a knee beside her. He hoists himself onto the mattress, catching himself on his hands to steady his smooth but very firm kiss flat against her lips. She whimpers in surprise and thumbs across his cheek. He hangs on just long enough for her to think he’s changing his mind about leaving, but he pulls back with a flush.

“Kay. I’m gone.”

She holds up his phone with a smirk. Realization dawns on his pretty face. He chuckles, ducking his head, then grabs the phone and pecks her again. The way he hurries out the door has her falling back into his very fluffy pillows with a contented sigh. He already wants to come back to her.

+

Shawn is… jonesing.

That’s the best way to describe how he’s acting right now. He knows it. He can acknowledge how pathetic it feels. He misses Ginny like a junkie misses a fix.

He hasn’t had a ton of time to himself since he got back to Canada. First things first, he went straight to his mum and dad’s house and slept in his childhood bed for almost 12 hours. He woke up a little delirious but mum made toad in the hole. He sat on the couch with Aaliyah and let her kick his ass at Mario Kart (or so he told himself). They spent the day lazing around the house as a family before he left for the city again to meet up with the guys at one of their haunts.

He didn’t make it 28 hours before drafting a text to her.

He didn’t send it, even if it was a simple, innocuous “hey how’s home?” It felt like they had an unspoken agreement when they hugged goodbye outside security at Heathrow, that they both needed a little space. Time to regroup.

But now he’s alone, his first morning back in his condo in too long and he finds himself thinking about the times she came with him, made herself at home in his home. He took that for granted, he thinks bitterly, shaking his head at the cavalier way he’d crawl out of bed to get to the gym. He thinks he’d give anything to have those minutes or hours back, lying in bed with her, the little spoon to her big spoon.

He tilts his head back onto the arm of his couch and sprawls, his phone buzzing away on his stomach through his cozy pink hoodie. He ignores it.

He’s so frustrated he could scream. He’s the one that did this to them, anyway. He hasn’t forgotten that. He felt something wrong and he took a step back for himself. For a few months, he was so sure he did the right thing, even if it hurt. He did it for himself, so that’s ok, right?

But he always missed her. She could be sitting beside him, long legs crossed, her head on her fist as she slept upright in an airport lounge seat and he’d miss her. God, she felt so far away sometimes. How did this happen to them? Sometimes it’s like nothing has changed at all, they know each other inside and out and it’s so clear how much they love each other, in all the ways you can love someone.

And other times they’re both with other people, getting their needs met. That’s how he thinks of it, anyway. The girls he’s taken home haven’t been people he wanted to get to know. To be fair, he hasn’t gotten the impression they’ve wanted to know him either.

But Ginny leaving with that blonde the other night was more of a wake up call than it should’ve been. He should’ve been prepared for this. He should’ve known she wasn’t going to be celibate and at his beck and call forever. That’s insane for several reasons. He knows that.

God, he’s selfish. He’s a selfish ass. He should’ve let her leave when she wanted to after he broke up with her in the middle of tour. How could he not let her leave?

He thinks about the things he said to Brian the other night after Ginny left the bar. They sat in a booth, liquor in hand, talking quietly. Brian’s rarely serious but he knows how to pull it together when he sees Shawn needs him. He hasn’t seen Shawn look quite so needy in a while.

“Why did you end it then, man? I don’t get it, none of us do. You guys… I mean, I know you weren’t together long, but fuck. You know?”

Shawn wades through Brian’s jumbled question in a way only a longtime friend can. He nods miserably, shifting a hand into his hair. He tugs hard to ground himself.

“I think…” Shawn answers shakily, downing another glug of whiskey, “God, Bri, I think she’s the one. And I got scared. I’m not ready.”

He can’t stop thinking about that. He’s never let himself think about it that way, much less say it out loud.

He feels like a fool. Millions of people, his beloved fans, have watched him blubber for years about wanting to fall in love, wanting to feel his heart break so he could write about it. He’d stiffen at the way they’d roll their eyes at him and mutter to be careful what he wished for. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to feel. He wanted to love. He wanted to hurt.

He ran away from it the first chance he got.

He closes his eyes and sighs. The disappointment is stifling. So he does what he knows will bring him comfort now, more than anything else.

Shawn: hey how’s home :)

+

Shawn reaches up and taps the ashing tip of the joint against the ceramic plate on the nightstand. He tries not to jostle her as she rests against his chest, her head on his shoulder, her legs between his. She shift anyway, accommodating the flex of his arm.

Since they’re almost down to the filter and have smoked the whole thing at once, they’re both more jello than human, naked in bed in Vienna. He’s playing a show tonight. She has a bunch of calls to make and errands to run.

Shawn’s free hand wanders her body curiously, dipping in between ribs, swirling around her belly button, cupping the full warmth of her breasts while he holds the joint to her lips. She wraps her hand around his wrist and he pulls the joint back, inhaling deeply as she exhales. He smiles with the smoke filling his tired lungs. He likes that they always feel in sync.

Ginny makes a murmuring noise when he skims over a ticklish spot by her collarbones. He slows the path of his hand to soothe her. Her shoulders that went slightly tense soften. Her eyes drift closed. Her lips part with her soft breaths.

Shawn tilts his lips against her ear. “You make me so fucking happy, baby.”

Her eyes open. She drifts into a smile. “Good.”

“All day every day,” he assures her, nodding to himself. She chuckles, bouncing their bodies against the mattress. He’s stoned so it makes him laugh, too.

“Sometimes it’s scary, though,” he confides without thinking. After a beat, Ginny turns her head to look up at him.

“I think if it’s not a little bit scary, we’re not doing it right, my love.”

+

Shawn and Ginny are to meet in New York at Tiffany’s studio space in Williamsburg for his final tux fitting before the Island Records Anniversary Gala on Wednesday. It’s quite the event -- Shawn’s whole team gets to go, including Gin. Tiffany helped her pick a dress and had her fitted when she was passing through London last week during the week off.

The studio is hot and sticky just like the rest of New York City is in late July, which is why everyone and their sister is in the Hamptons this weekend. The city is unusually quiet. Williamsburg is dense with humidity and short on people. Tiffany’s delighted -- she can get here on the Subway in only 20 minutes, she says through a mouthful of pins.

She sits cross-legged at Shawn’s feet, yammering at him like she does when she’s pinning in his trousers or measuring the breadth of his shoulders. He doesn’t know how the hell she’s able to focus when she’s muttering to him like that, but she does a great job, she always does.

Ginny is in the hall on the phone with Anna. He’s got a facial scheduled this afternoon, strategically wedged in a few days before the gala as all estheticians would recommend, and Ginny’s trying to find a time to get him in with Anna for a haircut. He finds, against his will, he’s listening closer to Ginny’s warm West London brogue, thicker after she’s been home for a few days with no Canadian or American accents tainting her speech.

Tiff nudges his leg and he blinks quickly, looking down at her.

“Oh, sorry,” Shawn murmurs, “What?”

Tiff smiles patiently. “I asked if you looked at the ties I sent you.”

“Oh, uhhhh…”

“I like the black,” says Ginny, punctuated by the heavy steel door shutting as she walks back into the room with a placid smile. Shawn can’t help but smile back.

“Let’s go with black,” Shawn murmurs. Tiff offers a conspiratorial wink and goes back to pinning his trousers.

Shawn can feel Ginny’s eyes as she rounds his body, surveying the fit of the tux.

Tiffany’s got him in a deeply blood red Paul Smith tux with slim fitting trousers and, soon, Ginny’s choice of a black silk tie.

“Gin,” Tiff prompts, standing and wincing at her crackling knees, “Did you like the bowtie or the necktie?”

Shawn smirks. Tiffany has dropped the charade of asking him because she knows he’ll just ask Ginny for her opinion. Might as well cut out the middle man.

Ginny wets her lips and cocks her head at his throat, buttoned down under a crisp white shirt.

“Can I see both?”

Tiffany busies herself getting both the ties out. Shawn tugs at his lapels and feels Ginny’s eyes everywhere.

“You look amazing, love,” she assures him, tugging at a wrinkle in his shoulder. He smiles and rocks heel to toe.

“Can you believe I have to wear real shoes and not boots?”

Ginny looks down for confirmation and giggles. “Yeah, but look how shiny them things are! I can see my face.”

He snorts. “You get so much more British when I leave you home for a week.”

She looks up and wrinkles her nose, making her little gold septum ring wiggle. “Cause I don’t have any Commonwealth folk around to bugger up my Queen’s English.”

He rolls his eyes and looks back at himself in Tiffany’s big mirror. He wets his lower lip.

“Have you talked to her at all?” he asks softly, steeling himself.

“Who?” Ginny replies, sounding absent as she inspects the pressing of his trousers.

“The blonde from the bar.”

Ginny’s heart drops out of her body and flops onto his shiny shoes. She blinks rapidly.

“Bianca? N-no. I didn’t even get her number.”

Shawn’s relief is plain on his face. He can feel embarrassed about it later. He locks eyes with Ginny.

“Oh.”

She swallows. “It was just… I dunno. A night.”

Shawn’s lips twitch around words he shouldn’t say. “A good night?”

Too late.

Ginny’s expression doesn’t change. “It was lovely. But… yeah.”

Shawn doesn’t have time to say whatever stupid something was about to roll out of his face next before Tiffany appears with both ties.

He tries on each, or more accurately he lets Tiffany tie them for him, and they all agree the bowtie is more appropriate for the event.

Ginny takes a picture of him beside Tiff to send to Andrew with the caption “Pre spotty boy face!” which makes Shawn elbow her in the side which makes Ginny squeal and threaten to step on his “stupidly shiny shoes.” Tiffany, as referee, ushers Shawn into the changing room to relinquish the suit for final tailoring.

“You two are impossible,” Tiffany huffs with a laugh.

Ginny smiles down at her phone, flipping through her ever-growing inbox. “Don’t I know it.”

+

Unlike many of his industry friends, Shawn loves these kinds of parties. He likes the passed hors d'oeuvres, the expensive champagne, the women in gowns, the men in tuxes. He likes the glittering view of Manhattan out the windows -- they’re so high up in this midtown skyscraper ballroom that he can barely make out the taxis on the gridlocked streets below. He likes the grandness of it, how big and important he feels being passed around from person to Very Important Person.

He likes getting to share it with people, too. He knows some of the guests. He’s said hi to Nick and Demi and The Vamps guys and almost swallowed his tongue when he bumped into Pete Wentz earlier, but he loves living nights like these through his friends’ eyes the most.

Brian is on his right and Andrew is on his left. Geoff is walking around somewhere. Even his whole band is here, chatting it up, rubbing elbows.

So where’s Ginny?

He knew she was planning on coming separately. Tiffany had sent her assistant Erika to help her with her dress. She was supposed to be here half an hour ago. He’s tried texting her. He’s not nervous yet, just antsy.

They make rounds, talking to executives and meeting artists on the Island roster he hasn’t gotten to know yet. The music is predictably great, playing a mix of classics for the older crowd and a blend of hits from the Island family both past and present. He preens for Andrew’s and Brian’s Insta stories when “Lost in Japan” comes on. He grins for boomerangs, tossing back champagne and canapes.

But he wishes she were there. He always wishes she were there. She usually is.

The music changes from The Cranberries to something more familiar. Sweet, ethereal vocals, something close to magic. He smiles and lifts his half-drunk flute of champagne, glancing around again.

He looks up the glossy black staircase to the platform where one of the bars is set up. Beside a crowd of partygoers, beneath the shimmering words of “You’ve Got the Love” by Florence + The Machine, he sees her.

She’s got her wild curls half pinned up, smooth and elegant. She’s draped in black satin that shines proudly under the ballroom’s chandeliers. It’s fitted perfectly to her shape, off the shoulders to display her collarbones and stunning cleavage, hugging close all the way down to a trumpet bottom.

He forgets his sip before he takes it, lowering his glass again. The corner of his mouth lifts. She’s already found him, watching him with a crinkly-eyed smile. He ducks his head shyly, shaking it with a chuckle. He steadies himself and looks back up to see her laughing too.

As the music picks up, Shawn parts through a gap in the crowd and takes the stairs one at a time until he’s standing just below her. From this close, he can smell her coconut oil and see the winged eyeliner that complements her perfect red lips. He takes her hand with a squeeze.

“Wow.”

Her nose twitches. She lets him guide her carefully down the stairs to the amusement and gentle applause of their friends. She laughs and dips into a little curtsey at the bottom of the steps. Shawn lets her go.

“Virginia Dresden, you’re a vision,” Andrew says warmly. She leans up and pecks his cheek in thanks. Each of their many male team members, all of whom have gathered to her like moths to a flame, gush over her appropriately and fawn until more cocktail servers appear with booze and food and they’re distracted again.

Only Shawn remains at her side, smiling like he had something to do with how fucking great she looks.

“You look smug,” she points out.

“Me? Smug?”

“You, smug.”

Shawn exaggerates a disbelieving face because he’s had a little too much champagne for this early in the evening. “Never, Gin. Just proud to be standing next to you is all.”

“Well, by all means, show me off, then.”

Shawn will take that opportunity. Hell yes, he will.

More rounds are made. Andrew appears beside them, and helps to facilitate more official introductions. He and Shawn tag team the “Ginny Dresden Is the Future” campaign, talking about her right beside her like she’s the best thing to happen to artist management this century. She does them proud, she’s no shrinking violet, doling out firm handshakes and engaging in conversation in a way that feels so genuine it’s not schmoozy at all.

Shawn has to actively remind himself she’s not his to be proud of. She’s hers. She’s all Ginny. (But he still feels proud.)

They get separated eventually. Ginny rounds through The Vamps, whom she’s known for a few years, and even gets to chatting with Demi Lovato and her manager. Business cards abound. The night is enjoyable and profitable -- those rarely go hand in hand.

She lets herself sit for awhile because her Jimmy Choos are pinching and the night is running long. She starts to gaze around for her team. Andrew is by the bar with some exec types. The band and Brian have stuck together with The Vamps boys. Geoff is god knows where.

And Shawn…

Ginny feels her brow furrow slightly. She sees him standing a few yards away. His lips are parted. He’s looking over a sea of people. From this angle, Ginny can’t quite tell where, but he looks… entranced.

Her heartbeat picks up curiously, though she reminds herself she doesn’t know what or who he’s looking at.

He starts moving. He’s sliding gracefully through pockets of the rich and famous, single-minded and focused. As he gets further, Ginny’s body edges closer to panic mode, again, she reminds herself, for no reason.

He stops. He bends down slightly, hand outstretched. Ginny sees her hand first. It’s pale and supple with nude, well-kept nails and a simple silver claddagh around the middle finger. He’s looking at the woman who owns it. Ginny’s stomach lurches and she has to cover her mouth because it’s actually, physically dropped open at the look on his face.

She must invite him to join her because he moves to sit and Ginny can finally see her. She’s radiant, glowing pale skin in a white high-necked silk gown studded around the collar with gold accents. Her hair, naturally red, Ginny can tell, is swept half up. She looks as taken with Shawn as he does with her, crossing her legs toward him, leaning onto her elbow to hear him speak.

Ginny doesn’t know how to explain how she knows from ten seconds of watching -- maybe it’s how well she knows him, maybe it’s woman’s intuition, maybe it’s the black magic of a broken heart knowing it’s about to get hurt again. Shawn is not looking to take this woman home tonight. He’s not looking for one night, he’s not looking for a quick and polite goodbye tomorrow morning.

He’s looking at her like he wants to know her middle name, her favorite book, her earliest memory, her scariest nightmare. He’s looking at her for real. He’s looking at her like he wants to see her again.

And she’s looking right back in just the same way.

+

Shawn bounds off the stage, heading straight for her. She braces herself, bending her knees and pressing her short-heeled boots into the floor so she’s ready when he barrels into her, sweeping her up off her feet.

She slings her arms around his shoulders, gripping him hard because he’s slick with sweat. He’s panting in her ear, warm and steady. He doesn’t let her go when they lose the momentum of their spinning bodies. He doesn’t notice the way Andrew taps his shoulder to get him to head toward the dressing room because their bus call is earlier than usual and they don’t have time for this.

Shawn swallows hard and releases a long slow exhale, blowing her curls out of his face. She holds him tighter.

“I love you, Ginny.”

They’re pressed so close he can feel her heart skip a beat. He’s never really felt that before. He thought it was something people make up. When it comes back, it’s pounding harder, thrumming like a hummingbird.

“I love you too, Shawn.”

+

Her name is Sara. She’s 27, from Queens originally, and works in the marketing department at Island. She wants to be an executive someday and call some shots. She’s wearing a Badgley Mischka gown from Rent the Runway and she tugs at the straps and giggles when he asks her slightly more personal questions and it makes him giggle too.

She’s beautiful and she’s sweet and she likes his music and wants to take him out to breakfast at some secret place she knows tomorrow morning.

And it’s so, so easy.

Please support my whole wheat almond croissant habit and buy me a Ko-fi (link on main page)!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @grittyisathot @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @sauveteen

[chokememrstark]

The Flexible Bullet // Thorki (CH2)

Words: 2k (Chapter 2)

Summary: Once more Thor is forced to throw away the opportunity for a better life for his brother and once more Loki just doesn't seem to understand that all Thor tries to do is find a way for them to be happy.

Warnings: implied underage, alcoholism, drug addiction, drug abuse, substance abuse, dubcon, implied noncon, implied suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, graphic depictions of detox, smut, lots of heavy angst, guilt, toxic relationships

Note: You can find this fic on my AO3 too! I won’t link it directly because tumblr is a little shit, so head over there if you prefer that.

Thor walked into the police station, wearing his best suit and trying to look as confident and unfazed as possible. On the inside he was boiling with both anger and fear, but he couldn’t let any of this show if he wanted this to end well. When he took the call he expected a friend or maybe his dad who promised to contact him this week, but he surely didn’t expect to be greeted by someone introducing himself as Officer Wilson and being informed that his brother had been arrested for drug dealing and possession.

It wasn’t the first time Loki got into trouble, but so far he always stayed away from getting caught by the police. He wasn’t dumb, after all, even if he used his intelligence for the wrong things in Thor’s eyes. Was it a surprise to get this call in the early morning hours? Absolutely. But sooner or later it was bound to happen and Thor had been naive to think Loki would manage to stay out of this situation forever.

“Officer Wilson?” Thor said firmly after walking up to the counter, effectively putting the suitcase he had brought with him down. “My name is Thor Odinson, I’m here on behalf of my brother, you called me this morning.”

“Odinson?” the officer raised his brow and checked his computer. “We have no Odinson here.”

“His name is Loki, Laufeyson,” Thor said and raised his chin to look down on the man. “He is my step brother, I’m here to bail him out.”

Officer Wilson looked at Thor for a moment before nodding and checking his files once more. “Ah, yes. Loki Laufeyson, arrested for possession of heroin, cannabis and for dealing with speed. Mother deceased, Father unknown, brother Thor Odinson, working at…” he stopped for a moment and Thor couldn’t hide a smirk. “I’m sorry, Mister Odinson. Come this way, please.”

Thor followed the man into the back of the office complex where he was introduced to the chief, a man named Willow. He sat down, the suitcase casually resting on his thighs and waiting to be left alone with the one in charge.

“Mister Odinson, I apologize for the early call,” Willow said quickly and shook Thor’s hand, who just nodded silently.

“I assume you are aware of my position,” Thor said calmly, finally snapping the suitcase open and turning it around to show its content. “I would prefer if this little incident could be handled quietly. I would hate to bring my boss into this, but I hope my request is enough for you to consider taking care of this the right way.”

“Of course, Mister Odinson,” Chief Willow said, eyes glued to the bundles of money in front of him. “I think we can handle this decently. Your brother hasn’t come in contact with the law yet, it should be no problem. You just have to fill out the paperwork and he will be ready to leave.”

“I hoped you would say that,” Thor said and nodded, closing the suitcase again and immediately catching Willow’s attention. “Of course I will take care of the necessary paperwork, how about you leave it here with me while you fetch my brother?”

“A good idea, yes,” Chief Willow nodded frantically before pulling out a big file from the drawer to his right and putting it on the table. “Please, help yourself. I should have a pen somewhere, I-” there was almost a hint of panic in the man’s eyes when he began searching for his pen. Thor smirked when he reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out an elegant black pen, engraved with thin blue lines that left no doubt about its origin. The chief’s eyes widened slightly when Thor put it on the table and looked at him.

“Anything else you need from me, Chief Willow?” Thor asked patiently, folding his hands. The chief looked at him for a moment, then back at the pen and shook his head.

“No, nothing,” he quickly said and nodded. “I will get your brother.”

Thor waited until the man left the office, then let out a huge sigh of relief. His heart beat so fast and loud in his ears by now that he had to force himself to listen to the chief’s words. He picked up the papers with shaking hands, fingers brushing over the pen that made him stop for a moment. Something so simple and yet… it created so much fear in those rightful men that had sworn to protect their citizens from harm. What would his boss say if he found out that Thor, a small light in the group that was completely replaceable, had used his name to intimidate the police chief just to get his junkie of a brother out of jail?

Thor shook his head and quickly grabbed the pen to fill out the papers, hoping his little sharade wouldn’t blow up just yet. He wanted to leave as soon as possible and get away from this place, maybe even from this town while he was at it. This bluff was more dangerous than it seemed, considering Thor had never met the big boss himself and used his reputation for his own advantage. He could only imagine what horrors would await him if he found out and Thor was still in town.

Ten minutes passed before the chief came back, a handcuffed and visibly wrecked and tired Loki behind him. Thor stood up and put the suitcase on the table, nodding at him. The chief returned the nod slowly before unlocking Loki’s handcuffs and handing him over to his brother. Thor didn’t say anything when he took a hold of Loki’s wrist and didn’t look at him, but there was no need to see the self sufficient smile to know it was there.

“Thank you, Chief Willow,” Thor said and made a step towards the door before stopping and turning back around. “One more thing,” he said, raising a hand. “I would prefer if we could keep this little incident between us. It would be a shame should my brother’s name be tainted because of something so trivial, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely!” the chief quickly said and nodded approvingly. “I will make sure no one else hears about it. After all, I wouldn’t want to ruin such a promising young man’s future because of a small mistake.”

“Yes, it would be a true pity indeed...” Thor said, each word rolling off his tongue like a dark, poisonous promise. He heard the chief swallow behind him as he left the office and made his way outside, closely followed by Loki, who still stayed silent. Thor maneuvered his brother into his car and drove out of the parking lot as calm and confident as possible.

They made it halfway to their apartment before the tension in Thor’s body finally faded and his hands began to shake. He parked the car at the side of the road, killing the engine and just staying with his hands around the steering wheel as he tried to calm himself down by breathing. A minute passed, then two, and while the thoughts ran wild in his head, Thor wondered why on earth he decided to get himself into such a huge mess in the first place.

When he suddenly felt something tickle the sensitive skin behind his ear, Thor jerked out of his state. For a second he still stared out of the window, before slowly turning his head around to look at his brother. At first, Loki’s smirk was solid, but the longer Thor looked at him, the more his brother’s confidence crumbled away.

“Do you realize the amount of fucking up you achieved this time?” Thor asked, his voice sharp and angry. For a split second Loki’s lips jerked, then it stopped.

“I didn’t think the guy was a cop?” he said, giving his brother the laziest excuse he could have thought of.

“You got arrested, Loki,” Thor growled and gripped the steering wheel tighter in his hands. “Arrested! Is this some kind of joke to you?”

“It was just speed, brother, relax,” Loki said and let out a laugh, but Thor didn’t join him. “I didn’t kill anyone, okay?”

“Oh no, of course not,” Thor huffed and shrugged annoyed and frustrated. “You didn’t kill anyone, no, everything is fine and dandy! Do you know how I got your sorry ass out of jail? I used my boss to intimidate the cops so they would let you leave and had to bribe them with stolen money!”

“And?” Loki asked, shrugging. “It worked, or not? I’m free.”

“Yes, Loki, it worked! It worked so well, I’m literally shaking with excitement!” Thor said, gritting his teeth. “And you know what’s even better? As soon as my boss finds out I took fifty thousand from him and pretended to be his right hand he will come over and celebrate with us, because he loves nothing more than someone stealing his fucking money and use his name to intimidate the police! It worked, Loki. It worked perfectly!”

Loki stayed silent after his brother’s outbreak and Thor hoped he would remain like this until he managed to calm down again. He wasn’t sure if he could resist punching his brother straight in the face if he dared to make another cocky remark. For several minutes, Thor forced himself to breathe as focused as possible, before finally turning the car engine back on and making it back onto the road. Loki stayed silent until they reached their apartment complex, only then he spoke again.

“Are you mad at me?” Loki asked quietly, almost sounding ashamed. Thor wasn’t sure if it was just an act or not, but he didn’t think it would have changed anything.

“Yes, Loki, I’m mad,” he huffed and pulled the keys out. “I’m so mad, actually, that I thought about just leaving this shithole alone and letting you rot in jail!”

Loki’s eyes widened at this and he looked at his brother in utter shock.

“W-what?” he gasped.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Thor asked and leaned over the wheel, glaring at him. “I had the chance to be something big here and I wanted it, not for me, but for us. And I asked only one thing of you.”

“Thor, I-”

“Uh uh uh,” Thor cut his brother off sharply, holding up one of his hands. “One thing, I asked one thing of you and one thing alone. Do not get into trouble. That’s all I asked of you. I didn’t ask you to get a job, I didn’t ask you to stop doing drugs - which I should have, but I didn’t and that’s on me because I was naive enough to think you’d give a shit - I didn’t ask you to donate any organs or whore yourself out so we have some more cash. All I asked of you was to stay out of trouble, just this once.”

“I didn’t try to get in trouble, okay? Do you think I’m that stupid?” Loki asked hurt, and the look Thor gave him said more than words ever could.

“You know, I’ve asked myself the same question.” Thor fell silent and got out of the car, quickly followed by his brother. When he looked back at Loki across the car, his face was a stern mask. “Either that, or you’re just having a lot of fun seeing me struggle and suffer and at this point, I’m not sure what’s worse.”

And with this, Thor slammed the car door shut and walked towards the house, leaving his brother alone next to the car. Loki just looked after Thor as he disappeared inside, unmoving and in complete silence. It was the first time he had seen disappointment in his brother’s eyes and he didn’t know how to react or how to stop this horrible ache in his chest that kept getting worse and worse the more often he repeated Thor’s words in his head.

[huntertales]

Part Three: Not All Hope Is Lost. (Frontierland S06E18)

Episode Summary: While searching for a way to defeat Eve, the Winchester brothers and the reader stumble upon Samuel Colt’s journal. Realizing Samuel might have the answer to their problems, the three of them ask Castiel to send them back in time to meet the man himself. While Sam and the reader are reluctant to time travel, Dean is beside himself with excitement to return to the Wild, Wild West. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 6,294.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

There will always be a motive for why people do what they do. And that also included monsters. It didn’t take much effort to figure out why Elias Finch hunted down the judge and sheriff to turn them into ash and bone. Because he wanted revenge on the men who tried to put him six feet under the ground. And if you weren't fast enough, the deputy would be next. He was the last missing piece you could use against Elias for him to come to you. Along with saving a life. The only problem with the plan was trying to find the deputy and for him to agree with the plan before he tried to run against something that would get him eventually.

You and Dean tracked down the whereabouts of the deputy and decided to pay him a visit before he even thought about skipping down. Because he wouldn’t make it too far. You knocked on the door of the boarding room the deputy lived in. Lucky for you, the idiot responded to see who to it was. You looked over at Dean, who stood next you, urging for you to go along with this stupid plan he made up on the spot. Clearing your voice, you spoke in a soft and feminine voice. “Candygram for Mongo.”

You felt like an idiot for what you agreed to, but it worked. When the deputy answered the door to see what he presumed was a pretty face, he was taken back in surprise to see he was staring down the barrel of two guns. He tried to pull out his own to try and make himself appear just as threatening.

“Howdy, pilgrim.” Dean greeted the man.

The deputy’s face scrunched up slightly from what he thought was an insult. “I ain't no pilgrim.”

“All right, back up.” You ordered at the man as you waved your loaded gun slightly for him to get into the room so you and Dean could enter. When the deputy wouldn’t move, you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “Is that any way to…” You nodded your head to Dean, who pushed back his jacket slightly to show off the gold star pinned to his vest. Dean offered for you to take it, you gladly let him live through his fantasy a little longer. “Greet your new bosses?”

“Missed you at the posse this morning. We were a two-man wolf pack, thanks to you.” Dean said. The deputy scoffed and returned back to his bed where you saw an open suitcase and a pile of clothes he was furiously shoving inside quick as he possibly could go. “What's going on here?”

“Going to visit my sister.” The deputy said as he continued to pack his suitcase fast as he could go.

“Well, she'll have to wait.” You informed the man of the change in plans. The deputy stopped for a moment to look at you with an almost panicked expression when he realized why the two of you were here for. You weren't going to let him skip town, even though he tried to tell you that his life was in danger. And so would others if he didn’t do what you told him to. “Finch said he was coming back for the former Sheriff, Judge Mortimer, and you. That's two down and one to go.”

“Then just let me go! “ The deputy pleaded.

“You really think you can outrun him? He is going to kill you. Unless…” Dean told the man the bitter truth of how things were going to work out if he tried to bolt. The deputy looked at the both of you with an uneasy expression from what Dean was about to suggest. “Unless we gank him first.”

“‘Gank’? What's ‘gank?’” The deputy asked with an utmost confused expression at the strange language he had never heard of before. “Mister, you're crazy. No way. You're on your own.”

“We’re not asking you to throw down with him. I'm asking you to play your part.” You explained to him in terms that he would understand. The deputy still looked at you with a funny expression as he asked you what his part was. The question made a smirk spread across your lips. “Bait.”

+ + +

Ten minutes until noon and Sam was still nowhere to be in sight. You let out a sigh of nervous frustration as you peered out the window for the third time in the past few minutes. Sam was a punctual person. He was always on time when you told him you needed to be somewhere. Why, out of all the times it counted the most, the man was dragging ass? If all of you didn’t do this by twelve p.m., all of the effort you put into this plan would be a waste. You would be right back to square one. And you couldn’t afford to be back at the starting line.

You stepped back from the window and wandered back to the desk Dean was sitting on the edge, mindlessly fiddling with a iron screw he found. You placed your hands on your hips with one resting on the holster holding your loaded gun, a subconscious effort to make yourself feel prepared for what you were about to go up against.

You’ve faced a lot of things before over the years, a phoenix who could turn a human body into ash with a simple touch was a new one for you. Most creatures at least had to give up a fight if they wanted to live. It was the reason why you were a bit nervous to be going up against him. While Finch may be powerful, he had something to take him down. Everyone had a weakness, including a phoenix. You might have figured it out, but if you were wrong…

“So this is your big plan, huh?” The deputy paced around the jail cell you threw him into after he was unwillingly dragged here. You rolled your eyes from his constant bellyaching from your plan that he thought was going to make him a sitting duck for the enemy to burn to a crisp. “Just let me rot in here till Finch comes.”

"Pretty much." You said. You had to admit this plan was pretty risky. You would never be the one to dangle an innocent person as bait for a monster to sink its teeth into. But you had an overwhelming feeling that revenge wasn't what really fueled this situation. There had to be more nobody was telling you. "Why's he coming after you, anyway?"

"I guess you missed the part where we hung him, lady?" The deputy said. You looked over your shoulder and narrowed your eyes on the man from the tone of his voice. He took it as a subtle threat for him to stop pacing and change his attitude around you.

“No, I’m thinking, to a thing like Finch, that’s no big deal.” You turned around in your spot to face the deputy so you could get ot the bottom of this situation. Finch seemed like the kind of monster who kept his head down and tried not to cause too much trouble. If he got convicted of a crime, he would probably take the hanging and be off on his way before causing some more trouble in another town. But he stuck around to pick off the people who punished him. “If I was him, I would’ve just blown town, but he came back. That seems personal.”

“I’ll tell you what,” The deputy tried to strike up a proposition with you. You raised your brow slightly, wondering if he thought you were an idiot like he was to fall for such a deal. “You let me out of here, we’ll talk.”

“No can do.” Dean told the man.

The deputy huffed out a few nervous breaths as his demeanor changed for a split second into a man scared for his life. He thought that he was a trapped man with little time left to live. Only he didn’t think it was going to end so soon. You saw his face drop into a panicked expression when he stopped staring off into the distance and something from behind you. You looked over your shoulder when you heard the door click shut. As the deputy backed away, Elias Finch slowly took off his gloves, his cold and stony glare on the man he was set on killing like the rest.

“Open up that cell.” Elias commanded in a calm tone.

“Open it yourself. You melt people’s faces off. I bet you got the juice to tear that apart easy, don’t you?” Dean asked the other man. Elias didn’t respond. He suddenly froze in his spot and stood there for a moment. You could read the ever so subtle hint of hesitance when he noticed the bars were made of iron material. Something he couldn’t touch.

“Unless you can’t. Just like you couldn’t break those cuffs when they strung you up.” You said. Dean tossed the iron nail he had been holding straight at Elias, who managed to grab it without an ounce of hesitance. However, when the iron made contact with his skin, it sizzled, causing him to drop the nail to the ground and wince in pain, proving your theory right. “Iron shackles. Iron bars, iron nail. See a pattern? Well, don’t worry. Most creatures we meet can’t get it up for iron. It’s a common monster problem.”

“So you’re a hunter.” Elias gathered from the way you were speaking about him.

“Slash sheriff.” Dean added, showing off his badge to the man.

“You know what this son of a bitch did?” Elias asked. You quickly glanced over at the clock to see it was five minutes until twelve and Sam was still nowhere to be seen. You looked back over at the man and shrugged, deciding you had some time to hear his side of things. “I was married to a woman. Good woman, human. We lived outside of town, didn’t bother anyone.”

“Sure.” Dean said, pretending to buy the story of an innocent man. “A freak with a heart of gold.”

“You wanna call me ‘monster,’ fine. But all we did was go into town. I go into the bank for five minutes, I come out, she’s gone. Then I heard her scream. This man...had her pinned in the alley. I go to stop him, he pulls out his gun, shoots me, then her. She died in my arms.” Elias told his story of how things really happened. He looked away from the scum that killed his beloved and to Dean, asking a simple question. "I felt her take her last breath before she was gone, forever. Now tell me, have you ever suffered a tragedy like that?"

"Yeah." Dean admitted. You found yourself drifting away from Elias when you heard what the older Winchester say. He changed slightly into a solemn expression at the memory he tried to fight off. Back when you just defeated the apocalypse, minutes away from death. "Yeah, actually I have."

"Then you know how much I wanted revenge on those bastards. He thought he got away with this. Of course, I don't die." Elias said. He stood in front of the iron bars and stared at the deputy who ruined his life. He smirked when the little man cowered in fear. "The shots brought the sheriff. Next thing I know, I'm in iron. That's why I want him just where he is. Trapped, scared. I saved the best for last."

“Is that true?” You questioned the deputy behind the iron bars. He responded with a shrug and a mildly guilt ridden expression. There was no use of lying with the truth out in the open.

“So tell me.” Elias said. “Are you two really willing to die to protect this piece of filth?”

"Honestly, I could care less about him. He's a coward and dick." You gave the honest truth about how you felt about the man behind the iron bars. It seemed the deputy found the insults a bit hurtful. You gave him a look of disbelief before you rolled your eyes. "But this isn't about him. I know what you are. And we gotta kill you. It’s nothing personal.”

“If you know what I am, then you know you can’t.” Elias said.  

You looked away for a split second to look at the time, thinking you might need to check on the rate of how things were going before you bragged about Samuel Colt and the gun he would be bringing. Only you didn’t realize that was probably the stupidest mistake you could have done. Your focus went straight back to Elias when he grabbed a gun hanging from a wooden beam just a few steps from the cell he was standing next to. His revenge didn’t come in the form of burning his wife’s killer alive, but a shot to the heart. You watched as the deputy fell to the floor, dead before he hit the ground.

“Wow,” You heard Dean quietly mutter to himself. “I should've seen that coming.”

You decided to make up a new plan on the spot. Suddenly you were thanking your past self for choosing iron rounds to fill your gun instead of silver like your original plan. You drew out your gun from the holster and pointed it at Finch. You needed him alive to get the ashes, but you had a feeling things would be a little bit easier if he wasn’t capable of holding a loaded gun. You pulled down on the trigger, expecting for a round to go off, but all you heard was a soft click. You furrowed your brow slightly and tried again...only to realize your gun was jammed.

You were about to curse underneath your breath and try to pull the trigger again, but Dean didn’t want to stick around to see who was faster. Finch looked in your direction and realized what you were about to do. Suddenly you felt someone grab you from behind and yank you towards the window to make a quick escape. Dean threw himself out of the window with a tight grip around your waist. You landed on the ground, Dean’s body cushioning you from the broken glass all over the ground. The both of you scurried up to your feet and bolted straight forward for cover.

Finch shot off two rounds in attempt to try and slow either one of you down before you could get away. You and Dean managed to take a breather when you found cover behind a wall. You took a second to figure out what the hell was causing your gun to jam. You realized guns back in the day were a bit more complicated than the ones you were used to. Dean offered a helping hand when he pushed down on a switch he called the hammer. Unlike the guns you used back in your time, they didn’t need to be constantly fiddled with. You could shoot off one round and not have to worry about something like that. You finally got your gun ready and waited for Finch as Dean slowly peered over the wall, trying to see if he could spot the other man.

You found your attention being pulled away from trying to find Finch when you heard a familiar voice quietly call out your name. You looked straight ahead to see that Sam was finally back from his journey, you waved a free hand at him to come quickly and quietly. You scanned the area to see if you could find anyone else trailing behind the man, but it appeared that Sam was alone.

“Where’s Colt?” You asked the younger Winchester.

“He’s not coming.” Sam informed you and his brother. If you thought today couldn't get any worse, it did. You stared at him with a defeated look at how doomed all of you were. But Sam didn't come back empty handed. You glanced down to see him pull out something you hadn't seen in a while, changing your attitude right around. "But he sent this."

Your lips stretched into a smirk at the sight of the infamous colt itself, live and in the flesh. Dean greedily grabbed the gun from his brother’s hands and inspected it for himself. “Hello, beautiful.” He inspected the weapon for a second after Sam took the other one off his hands. Dean put the colt into the holster and pushed the two of you to start walking. “All right. Come on.”

Dean had a plan to draw out Finch, and you didn’t have time to draw out a better one in the last few minutes you were going to be here. You and Sam were told to keep out of sight as Dean walked out into the open, where not a single soul was found except for the three of you. Dean decided to have a little fun. And you knew exactly where this was going when he started to yell for Finch to get out here. Sam, however, thought his brother was being a bit reckless.

“What are you doing?” The younger Winchester asked in a slightly concerned tone.

“I have a feeling Dean’s about to live out his wildest dreams.” You said, peering out from behind a few barrels that were about tall as you. You could see that the older Winchester’s shouts were noticed, a few moments later Finch stepped out from the sheriff’s and out to the open. “Looks like we’re about to witness a Mexican standoff, Sammy.”

“So this is how you wanna die.” Finch said, stepping down to the dirt road so he could face the man that was about to see another bloody end. Or so he thought.

You could feel your teeth sinking into the skin inside of your cheek in nervous anticipation from what was about to unfold. All of you had precious seconds before you were going to be pulled back into the future and Finch was still alive. The man now stood straight across from Dean, the two of them staring each other down, each of their hands hovering inches away from their guns, waiting for the first one to make the move. You looked over at the clock tower to see there was only a minute left until noon. It was now or never to figure out who had the faster draw.

Finch might be a powerful creature as a pheonix with the ability to turn people into ash, but he would never be a match for Dean Winchester. A man who dreamed about this moment his entire life--and a hunter with lightning fast reflexes. Dean reached for the colt, and before Finch could even point his own gun at the older Winchester, Dean pulled down on the trigger and put a bullet right in Finch, giving him a bit of his own medicine.

The colt worked its magic on Finch, turning him into nothing more than ash as he slowly caught on fire before bursting into ash. Dean took a moment to rival in his victory, blowing off smoke from the barrel of the gun. While it was exciting to see his plan had worked, you still had one more step to complete before you could go home.

The loud chiming from the bell tower reminded you that time was up. And just like that, you were reminded that you needed the ash of a phoenix to defeat Eve. Your feet worked faster than your brain. You went running fast as you could, figuring out the details of how you would carry the ash back home when you got later. Dean realized what you were doing, and in a panic move, he accidentally dropped the colt to the ground and fetched out a glass jar to help you. You dropped yourself to the ground and skidded across the dirt, you were so close to touching the smoldering hot ashes...and when you thought you did, all you felt was carpet.

You blinked, and just like that, you found yourself kneeling on the ground of Bobby’s house. You looked up from the ground and frantically prayed you were still in the wild west. But you weren't. You were greeted with the sight of three emotionally drained faces from the trouble they had to go through to get you safely back home. You looked over at Dean, who was down on his knees next to you, holding a bottle that was empty. All of that trouble you went through, all for nothing.

You pushed yourself up to your feet and inhaled a deep breath, trying your hardest not to do something stupid out of pure anger from what you couldn’t complete. You wanted so badly to throw something. You resorted to the stupid cowboy hat you’d been wearing for a day straight. You threw it straight to the ground and walked away, your fists clenching together.

The boys were disappointed themselves at what happened. Sam leaned himself against the doorframe as Dean quietly paced back and forth. Cas was psychically drained from what he had to do in order to get you back home. Bobby offered a way to power back up the angel, but even that took every ounce of his energy to help. Josh was a bystander to all of this. He could only offer a sympathetic smile, which you brushed off with an eye roll.

“You gotta send us back.” You couldn’t help yourself when you told the angel to do something you knew he couldn’t quite do right now. You stared down at him with an angered expression, even though none of this was his fault. You were more upset at yourself at what you couldn’t accomplish, he was just the poor bastard standing in your way. Cas returned it with one of his own before looking away from you.

“Y/N, look at him.” Sam said. “He’s fried.”

“I never wanna do that again.” Cas declared in a tired, mumbled voice.

You let out a quiet sigh when you finally took into consideration how badly Cas was. You looked away from him and to the other man sitting behind the desk. He appeared to be worse than the angel. You quietly spoke the man’s name in a worried tone. “I’m still kicking, Annie Oakley.” Bobby reassured you and the boys. But it still didn’t make you feel any better about the situation and what you put the two of them through. “Be back good as new in a decade or two.”

“And we screwed the pooch.” Dean muttered. “Bobby, I’m sorry.”

The older Winchester was about to apologize for all the trouble the three of you caused for nothing, but his words remained on the tip of his tongue when something interrupted him. There was a knock on the door. You furrowed your brow slightly, wondering who was here. You looked over at Sam to see the both of you shared a suspicious feeling about this. You followed behind him to answer the door. Who stood on the porch was someone you weren't expecting at all. It was a delivery guy with a package in his hands.

“Is there a Sam Winchester here?” The guy asked, looking down at his clipboard. Sam decided to play it on the cautious side, wondering who wanted to know. The guy broke out into a half smile from what he was about to say. “Look, this is nuts. Me and a couple guys made a bet. So this thing’s been laying around the office since...ever. Uh, with a note on it saying to bring it here today. It’s from a Samuel Colt.”

Sam stepped forward at the sound of a familiar name he wasn’t expecting to hear from this stranger. He stepped forward to claim the package, mumbling a thank you to the delivery guy  before heading inside. You gave him a smile and backed into the house, not giving him a chance to get a signature before you slammed the door in his face and quickly trailed behind the younger Winchester back to the library. You didn’t know what was inside the package, but you had a good feeling about this. Maybe it was the colt. Perhaps you could use it on Eve and it would work just as good.

The younger Winchester put the box on the desk and didn’t waste a second in opening up the paper packaging and sliding out the wooden box that was wrapped up. All of you exchanged a look of anticipation from what was inside. Sam slid off the opening of the box to reveal a note was lying on top. What the first thing he pulled out was his cell phone. You gave him a slightly confused expression as to why it looked so beat up and dirty. Sam put it down and grabbed the note to read it.

“‘Dear Sam, I go this address and date off your thingamajig...and I thought the enclosed might come in handy.  Regards, Samuel Colt.” He read the letter out loud, only making your suspicion about what he was going to pull out of the box grow more. Sam moved a few pieces of what looked to be hay that helped cushion the fragile package from breaking and pulled out a glass bottle. You felt yourself breaking out into a smile when you notice the content was black. You had seen that just a few minutes ago to realize what it was.

“Is that what I think it is?” Bobby asked.

“Ashes of a phoenix.” Dean answered the older man’s question. “Know what this means?”

“Yeah.” Bobby said. “I didn’t get a soulonoscopy for nothing.”

"Yeah." Dean agreed with the man on his point. But that wasn't the most important thing of them all. "And this means we take the fight to her."  

"Yeah. And means we take the fight to her." Dean said. All of this effort was for something. You had a way to take down Eve once and for all. The man was feeling a bit confident at the victory all of you could celebrate. Dean slowly put back on his cowboy hat and grew a smirk. “Yippee ki-ya, mother--”

“No. No, you’re not going there.” You cut off the man before he could say something untasteful. You stared at the man for a second or so until you broke out into a smile, suddenly feeling all sorts of relief from what you managed to pull off. You had one problem taken care of for now. But you still had another one that needed your attention. “Now, I don’t know about you guys, but I need a shower.”

+ + +

Memories are fragile things people take for granted. Sam couldn't remember anything from the year he was soulless, you blacked out on a handful of occasions and woke up in circumstances that left you feeling scared. The difference between you and the younger Winchester was that you didn't have an excuse to what was going on with you. You didn't spend a year soulless. But you had a monster coming for you. Talking about torture and revenge. About things you couldn’t remember for the life of you. You had this problem since you were a little kid, and while it went away, you had this feeling...there was something here.

You let out a sigh as you stared at the three boxes Josh had taken from the attic in your house you hadn’t been to in months. The contents inside were of old medical documents your mother insisted on keeping, and for some reason, you didn’t ever throw them away or look back at them until today. Today you were determined to go through every piece of paper until you found out what the hell was going on with you. You would do all the research and figure out why you were being accused of things you would never do. Maybe they were connected to your blackouts, maybe this was all a cheap trick by Eve to get all of you riled up.

“You sure about keeping this on the down low?” Josh asked. He stood by your side and stared at the intimidating amount of boxes he agreed to go through with you. You nodded your head. You didn’t want the boys to know about this and get worried over nothing. “What the hell are we looking for, anyway?”

“Honestly…I don’t know. Guess I’ll know when I find it.” You admitted, shrugging your shoulders.

You picked one box to go through, Josh took another. The both of you sat in silence for the next hour mindlessly shuffling through what felt like hundreds of documents that were half medical, other things like school report cards and old essays you wrote to billing statements from twenty years ago were stuffed in here. Your mother was a pack rat. She kept on to everything from the past. You felt like you were never going to get to what you were looking for.

You were halfway through your box when you found a folder labeled as “Y/N’s drawings ‘85.” Doing a quick mental calculation in your head, you were about four at the time. The year your life changed dramatically. You moved away from your old home in Kansas, left your best friends and started a new life. You remembered that you were big into drawing at the time. How else was a kid supposed to past the time? The question was, why did your mother keep them in a folder. You reached inside the box and found there were a few more that were labeled the same. They all spanned from ‘83 to ‘86. You grabbed the one from ‘85 and placed it in front of you.

You didn’t know what you were expecting to find when you opened up the folder and examined the first page. You furrowed your brow slightly when you stared down at a piece of pink construction paper with crayon markings all over the page. It took you a second to realize that these were drawings you made when you were younger. Mothers loved their children’s artwork through the years. But you doubt one would go through all this trouble to keep them dated and neatly organized. You pulled out the drawing and examined it for a moment. It seemed your four year old self had tried to draw what looked like a happy family with a sun in the top right corner and a house in the background. You smiled slightly and pulled out another one.

Your smile faltered slightly when you stared at the next picture. You pulled out another one...and another...until you had three different crayon drawings on multiple colors of construction paper. The people you drew might have looked like a happy family. Mom, Dad and kid. Only the disturbing part about it was that Mommy’s eyes were replaced with an “X” mark. To represent as if she were dead. Daddy had black eyes, like a demon. Another picture looked like what people thought an angel would look like, halo and wings. Somebody wrote bad in big, black letters. The last picture you pulled out was just a person. But, again, the eyes were replaced with big black eyes. Like a demon. And beneath the picture someone wrote “good.”

"Hey, Y/N," Josh broke your concentration away from the crayon drawings when he called out your name. You looked up to see what he wanted. He raised a brow as a smile spread across his lips. You looked to see that he was holding an old VHS tape. "Want to watch a movie?”

+ + +

Ella watched as her daughter quietly sat at the table with a new box of crayons  and a rainbow of construction paper she picked up from the store on the way here. She nervously watched as Y/N quietly continued to draw a picture of her family like the psychologist kindly asked her to do. Ella reached out a tucked a piece of hair out of Y/N’s face, smiling slightly at how much concentration Y/N was putting into the photograph. She was so much like her father. She put effort into everything she did, and took everything so personally.

The move from Kansas to Y/H/S was tough. Her daughter had to say goodbye to everything she loved. Her best friends, her childhood home she grew up in and a chance at starting school Y/N was so excited to attend after taking a tour of it for next year. But Ella couldn’t stay. There were too many memories in that house, too many reminders of what she did. The reason why she moved halfway across the country was for a fresh start. She expected Y/N to have a hard time adjusting. All the parenting books she read was that there was to be expected outbursts and silent treatment from Y/N.

However...Ella didn’t read about the part where her daughter got so angry she blacked out and wouldn’t wake up for ten minutes, having no recollection of the outburst. The doctors said that Y/N just merely overworked herself and anxiety was to blame. She was going through a lot from processing her father’s death and the big move.But then it happened again a few months later.

It was one weekend afternoon, a few weeks before school started, the two of them were at the playground enjoying the sunny weather and making friends. Y/N was playing on the swing set with a possible new friend while Ella chatted away with the mother. All of it seemed like it was going well until she looked over and saw her daughter to see how things were going. Hopeful that Y/N was having a good time as she was, Ella was taken back in horror when she witnessed her daughter grab a fistful of the other little girl’s hair and threw her to the ground.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She didn’t laugh at what she was doing, she didn’t kick the girl like how most bullies would. She just stood there with a blank expression on her face while the girl let out a scream. Her mother bolted for her child as Ella did the same. She pulled Y/N away from the little girl and shook her. She shook her daughter so hard she broke her out of another one of her spells. Y/N came back around, and when she heard her friend crying, she suddenly became worried at what happened. Y/N didn’t realize it was her fault.

Ella tried not to think much about it. Perhaps her daughter learned a thing from John’s kid when she watched them during their time when he was out on hunts. She was happy now they were out of her life. But she couldn’t let out a breath of relief just yet. Because it happened again a week later while Y/N was playing with her dolls. Ella had been watching her, but as she stepped out for a minute when a neighbor came to the door to return some tubberware from a party she threw the other night. The two of them talked for only a few minutes, she left Y/N alone for two minutes tops.

When she came back to check on her daughter, Y/N sat in the middle of the floor, all of her dolls were lined up in a row. But all of their heads were ripped off, their synthetic hairs were all over the floor. Y/N had managed to steal a pair of scissors from the kitchen to chop off her dolls hair before beheading them. Her daughter had that same blank expression on her face...only when Y/N came back around to see all her favorite toys were destroyed, she burst into tears. Because all her friends were dead. And when asked if she did it, Y/N didn’t remember. Ella decided that enough was enough. Something was going on with her daughter.

Ella spent a few days tracking down the best child psychologist in the state. She and Y/N’s pediatrician did all sorts of medical tests when this started happening to her. Y/N was healthy as a four year old could be. There was physically nothing wrong with her. But she was still having these outbursts. Next part would be testing her daughter for a mental disorder. Ella feared the worst. She was raising a future sociopath. The psychologist she met laughed at her concern and reassured her that it was too soon to tell of such thing. They didn’t know her daughter wasn’t conceived the natural way. Azazel did something to her daughter. He had to.

The psychologist decided to start off their first session in a more relaxed state before asking all sorts of questions. Ella would sit with her daughter as she made a few drawings of things she liked and disliked like how the psychologist asked, Y/N smiled from ear to ear and agreed. Ella tried not to look into the two-way mirror that showed her reflection. Behind the glass was a video camera and the psychologist. The psychologist thought it would be better for all of this to be put on tape to look back on to figure out what triggered Y/N. Ella let out a sigh and put a smile on her face, reaching for a pink colored construction paper of the family Y/N drew...

[Next Part]

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[flyfireflyfly]

Wait - Part 1 of 3

The paper in your hands felt as delicate as a flower petal. You stared at the words, reading them over and over again. They excited you and terrified you at the same time. It would be a new starting point in your life. "Breakfast!" You smiled and carefully folded the letter before slipping it back in to the envelope it came from. Then you climbed off your bed and headed downstairs. You found your mom in the kitchen, setting dishes on the table. "I'm gonna to the work experience." you proclaimed. She paused and looked at you in surprise. "What?" You sat in one of the chairs and helped yourself to a pancake. "I decided to do it." "Oh honey." She sat down next to you. "Are you sure? I mean, moving out of the country and.." "Mom, I'll be fine." you assured her while grabbing the syrup. "And you know this is a once in a lifetime thing." She sat down as well and sighed. "I don't know." You pouted while whining, "Mom!" You sat the syrup down with a huff. "You said I could when I applied! I mean, this is huge. I get to work and go to school at the same time, and the company is taking care of everything. And we can still call each other, and I can visit for a weekend, and.." "Okay, okay!" your mom exclaimed to silence you. Then she let out another sigh. "Alright. If this is what you really want to do." "It is." you stubbornly declared. You cut your pancake and took a bite, as if your mouth being full of food signaled the end of the argument. At that moment, you heard the front door open and a voice called out. "Hello!" "In the kitchen!" replied your mother.

Youngjae entered the room with a plate wrapped in foil. "My mom sent me over with cookies." he stated while placing them on the table. As he eyed the other food on the table, his face lit up and he swiftly sat down in one of the empty chairs. "Help yourself." your mom told him with a chuckle. He grinned at her and stacked two pancakes on to a plate. "Thanks mom." This brought about another chuckle from the older woman, but you merely rolled your eyes. Youngjae and you had grown up together with him living next door. With each other constantly at the other's house, the boy had quickly learned the best way to get what he wanted from your mother. Lots of cuteness and affectionately referring to her as 'mom' always earned him extra snacks and sweets. "When are you going to take that old tree house down?" your mom suddenly asked. "What??" Youngjae's mouth hung open, syrup smeared on the corner of his lips. You looked out the window in to the backyard. The large tree in the center had a rope ladder hanging down that lead up to a small tree house. Youngjae's dad had built it for the two of you years ago. You and Youngjae had spent countless hours in your 'secret fort'. Turning away from the window, you faced your mom and said, "It doesn't need to come down." "It's so old now though, it can't be very safe. I'm sure the wood is rotting." "No it's not." Youngjae piped in. "It's fine. It's not falling apart at all." He stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout and whined at your mother. "Please don't." "Aish." She reached over and pinched his cheek. "Alright. But I'm going to have your dad look at it." Youngjae smiled at her, but then smirked knowingly at you. You pressed your lips together to suppress your own smile. Your mother falling for Youngjae's antics did have it's benefits at times. You hurriedly finished the rest of your pancake and stood up. "I got to send my reply before they pass it on to someone else. The deadline is in a couple of days." "Wait, what reply?" Youngjae asked as he furrowed his eyebrows. Without bothering to answer, you quickly left the room and ran back upstairs.

You examined the rope ladder for a moment before climbing up it. When you reached the top, you careful crawled on to the landing and then through the doorway. It was dark outside but the light bulb next to the back door shone in through the tree house's window. The wood was a bit worn from all the years, and smooth from walking on it. Sitting back against one of the walls, you recalled all the memories you had made here as a child. Of course you were going to miss your family and your home, but you were definitely going to miss this place too. A noise caught your attention and looked over to see Youngjae climb in to the tree house. "Hey." you greeted with a small smile. When he didn't reply though, the smile faded from your face. He moved to sit across from you before narrowing his eyes. "Why are you leaving?" You blinked at him in surprise. "What? You know I applied for the program. Why.." "Don't leave." he interrupted. "Just tell them no and stay here." "What??" This was unbelievable. Out of everyone, you never would have suspected for your best friend to be so unsupportive. "No! This is huge. You know how many people would kill to be my place?" He leaned forward eagerly. "So let them have it! We can just go to a university together here. Like we planned before." You scoffed a bit at that. "We were just kids when we said that." His head jerked back slightly, his mouth widening. "So?? I meant it." That was rather surprising, but you shook your head dismissively. "This is a great opportunity. I can't just throw it away." "I don't want you to go!" "I don't care!" Silence descended on the two of you as you sat there glaring at him. Your anger instantly cooled though as you watched his eyes water. He looked down at the wood floor as he pressed his lips together and swallowed. "Fine. Leave." he sneered. Then he went to the doorway. "Youngjae, wait." You reached for him but he roughly shoved your arm away. He disappeared down the rope ladder, leaving you alone. Guilt caused your own eyes to water. Your mood abruptly changed again though and you wiped the tears away. You didn't do anything wrong. He was the one being unreasonable. He didn't even wait for you to explain how much this meant to you. If he was any kind of friend to you, he'd want you to do this. So screw him and whatever feelings of his that you hurt.

The next couple of days were fine. Youngjae never called, or messaged, or even showed up at your house, which was exactly what you wanted. You didn't want anything to do with him. It wasn't until the days turned in to a week, and then two weeks, that your emotions swung back around. As your departure date crept closer, the harder it was to hold on to your stubborn pride. You broke down and sent him a message telling him when you were leaving. You also told him you wanted to hang out before you left but you never got a reply. Finally you were loading your suitcase in to the car and reminding your dad to mail the boxes you had marked. Your gaze wandered over to Youngjae's house and part of you hoped to see him running out of the door to see you off. "We have a few minutes." your mom stated. "Go ahead and go say goodbye." You hesitated for a brief moment and then hurried over to his house. You entered the front door without knocking to find his mother sitting in the living room with a pile of laundry she was folding. "Oh, hello dear." she greeted with a bright smile. "Hello. Is Youngjae home?" She shook her head. "No. He headed out early this morning. Why?" It took a bit for her words to sink in and then your chest constricted, making it harder to breathe. "Oh." you uttered dejectedly. The older woman stopped doing her task and looked at you curiously. "What's wrong?" You swallowed past a growing lump in your throat. "I... I'm leaving. Today. And I just... wanted to..." "That's today?? Oh goodness I completely lost track of the days. Have you tried calling him?" Pressing your lips together, you shook your head. "I-I should go. My parents.." "Hold on. I have something for you." She stood up and hurried to the kitchen. When she came back, she had a few cookies wrapped up. She grabbed your hand and pressed them in to your palm but didn't let go, holding your hand instead as she looked you in the eye with a soft smile. "You're going to do wonderful and I am so proud of you." Your eyes watered slightly as you smiled back at her. "Thank you." "And if you ever need anything, you can call me too, okay? Don't hesitate to ask. Promise me." "I promise." you replied and only then did she let go of you. With one last farewell, you left the house and started to head back to your driveway. You slowed to a stop though as you spotted the tree in your backyard, and the tree house in it. More tears welled up in your eyes. If only you could go back in time. You would have tried to reason with him more instead of yelling at him. Tried to get him to understand what this meant to you. Then you would still have your best friend.

Part 2->

[atlaswriting]

“You strangled her.” It isn’t a question and he doesn’t flinch at the words. I don’t hold them behind teeth, don’t swallow it down because the sharpness is too much for my throat. Instead he shifts in the chair, unbuttons his three-piece and leans back, elbows over the edge of leather. “It’s not something you’re denying either, is it?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be bias, Doc?” the smirk is lethal—much more deadly than the weapon strapped to his waist. Sergeant Jacobs leans his head to the side, licks his lips and straightens out his face, “I’m not going to deny it—I did. To be fair, she was going to tell my wife that we were sleeping together. She was going to show her the videos we made—the pictures, the gifts from Paris. That whore was going to ruin everything I’ve ever worked for, everything I’ve ever built.”

For the first time since we started our sessions three weeks ago I see a glimpse of the real Tom Jacobs. A man who jumped out of the pages of a fairytale: strong chiseled jaw, blond hair and a honeyed smile that would entrap even the strongest bees. For the first time I see the monster peaking out of his throat, rot-black and sulfuric, just itching to come out. I see a fallen God and the man who tried climbing his way back to Olympus.

“You mean,” I pause, shifting through the papers in my lap, “everything your father has ever handed you?” I wait beat, heart jumping into my throat—the man has at least eight inches on me, half my body weight and refused to leave his gun at home like I’ve asked. His fingers twitch and the lines on his face contort. “Frankie was an escort you met during a sting operation, right? She was—fifteen at the time? And you began your affair roughly six months later, which tells me that you don’t care about your wife or the law, you just don’t want to lose your title. So you thought you would—,”

“Is this an interrogation or is this—,”

“I’m not finished, Mr. Jacobs,” I sharpen my voice on a whetstone—sit up straight, uncross my legs at the ankle and try to appear bigger. I steady the thunder rolling through my veins, will my heart to slow and I continue, “You thought you would try to murder Miss Hargraves because you believe your pride to be more important than her life. Is this correct?”

He doesn’t answer, dark eyes not breaking their grip on me—intimidation of the most intimate kind. Tom unclenches his fist only to curl his fingers—he drops his hands by his waist and my eyes fall to the gun. A dare bubbles up my throat—I wish you would—sitting at the tip of my tongue.

“If you had the choice between your life or someone else’s which would you choose, Miss Keene?” He asks, “Frankie isn’t dead. If I wanted her dead, she would be and I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, I’d be on some Island in the middle of nowhere. I let her live because I wanted to—because I’m gracious. If she thinks she’s going to get a cent out of this lawsuit, she is going to make a lot bigger enemies than just me. That’s the thing about the police academy,” he explains, “us before them.”

My tongue moves wildly behind my teeth, hand gripping my pen so tight that my knuckles ache, “I think that’s all I need to hear, Mr. Jacobs,” I tell him through a clenched jaw, “I will enjoy seeing you in court next week.”

I mimic him standing, spine pulling me painfully straight as I walk him to the door. He stops just short of stepping out and takes my hand, “I really hope you tell our truth, Doc. I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

♡ ♡ ♡

then.

Smoke sits thick in the air, mixing with the nauseating stench of thrown up whiskey and cheap perfume it takes a fifth shot of tequila to calm the storm in my stomach.

I’ve been coming to Sal’s in southie since my Freshman year. Sal—also known as Sally to her customer’s is a broad, short woman whose multi-colored hair is always pulled up into a bun at the top of her head. She’s been in her fifties for at least thirty years—but I’ve seen her force unruly truckers out of their stools and into the frozen streets of Boston with only one hand.

“You’ve been here since three.” Sal finally says, setting a glass of water down in front of me, “I haven’t seen you eat all day—just stare. I love ya, kid, but you’re kind of creeping me out a little.” When I don’t move, she forces the glass closer to me, “Now I ain’t gonna ask again.”

I pick it up and force down half with her eyes still on me, “I don’t know if I’m made for this, you know? Digging into people’s mind, hell, I don’t even want to go into my own.” She snorts at this, “I’m serious, you know! It’s messy. I’ve had enough mess. Maybe I should become a baker.”

“Can you bake?”

“I can—but it being edible, that’s a different story.”

Sal leans on her elbows, “Darlin’ now I’m not saying this to be an ass—but that’s bullshit. You’re scared and you’re being a little bitch because of it.”

“You’re an awful friend.”

“And an awful bartender—yet you guys keep coming back.”

She stops talking when someone sits next to me, “Sorry sweetie, but I’m not about that underage life. What’re you 15?”

He laughs—something throaty and deep, “Eighteen, but thank you I’m just here for—,”

“He a friend of yours?” Sal turns to me, ready to toss him out like a used toothpick, “brother?”

“Something like that.” I look over at Jude, “How did you even know I was here?” Everything slows—his laugh, my blinking, and the same old Fleetwood Mac songs that play on repeat. I feel the few peanuts that I ate when I first sat down start to climb back up my throat.

Jude doesn’t miss a beat; he leans down and picks up my bags, throws my arm around his shoulder and lifts me up. Tennis shoes offer little to close the height gap between us and as we walk toward the front door, I stumble even more than if I were talking alone, “You texted me, remember? Said you couldn’t drive home. Here I am, to save the day.”

♡ ♡ ♡

now.

I should have said no.

Should have told them that I knew him on a personal level, that it was a conflict on interest—should have told him that my heart was the conflict.

But I didn’t. Put my hand over

my mouth and swallowed the warnings like a shot.

“You’re nervous? You don’t get nervous—should I be nervous?” Kea sits behind her desk in front of my office, “this guy isn’t a serial killer is he? Oh my god—Geo, I told you, stop taking on killers. I don’t have my will drafted up.”

I roll my eyes, unclench my jaw and shake my shoulders, “He isn’t a serial killer, Kea. He isn’t violent.”

“Except on the ice.” She says, “listen those blades are sharp. Maybe he has a few bodies in his closet, you don’t know.”

The door opens and Kea’s mouth falls open with words she no longer wanted to say, “now I can tell why you’re nervous.” She whispers, “Hide the ring—or hell, don’t, he can kill me with his hockey stick any day.”

“Shut it.” I whisper back, nudging my elbow into her side. “Jude,” his name fits in my mouth like a glove—the familiarity of the letters never left my mouth, “Judah—Mr. Shepherd, please come in.”

We don’t say anything—the only noise punctuating the silence is the ticking of the clock on the wall. His stare never falters and I do everything in my power to look anywhere but at him: the papers in my lap, the window overlooking buildings with a straight view to the beach and to his hands which lay on top of his shaking leg.

“You’re feeling angry I see—I—uh,” words die in my throat before I get a chance to say them, lips moving too fast and tongue sitting too heavy. “How are you?” I finally ask, “I meant to call when he told me you were coming to LA. I meant to catch up with you.” We both know I’m lying. I’d never been good at closure, foot always on one side the door, a suitcase always packed. I think of all the dinners I’ve purposely missed, texts that have went unanswered and voicemails that were deleted.

[thelaurynpetrie]

"The Aristocrats" by Lauryn Petrie

Tonight Greg R.S. Uzelac invited me to tell my very own version of the legendary joke "The Aristocrats" at Catland in Brooklyn. I highly recommend this show, it’s going to be a monthly called “The Aristocracy” where a different comic gives their take on the classic joke at the end of every show. ————————————— Here’s a transcript of what I said: First of all, I'd like to say that telling this joke is an honor. I'd like to thank my Mother for destroying my self-esteem, and my Father for throwing me into freezing lake's while holding onto rocks to teach me how to swim, and all the boyfriend's I ever had that raped or beat me. Seriously, it's okay to laugh. But mot of all, I'd like to thank Chris Cornell for his suicide as it has inspired me, to make his death abut me. And to be a better artist, all around. Thank you, Chris, for inspiring me to take The spotlight of you as long as they'll allow me to be on stage. Now, I give you my version of “The Aristocrats”: It was a usual morning at the Trump household in the 1980's. Ivanka Trump awoke early as usual to clean her father's urine soaked third bedroom. This is where she got her "working Moms" work ethic she would brag about so much as an adult. Every Tuesday night after family dinner she would dutifully engage in the family tradition of strip teasing for her father so he could get it up to fuck her aging mother. As time went on this all became routine and she learned how to disassociate. To toughen his sons up he would have them "practice" by taking turns on the family great Dane. One after another filling the dog with their spoiled rich boy Cum as Ivanka stripped and Donald looked on as he tried to Fuck Ivanna. This became as routine as wiping his ass and bankruptcy. Fast forward to Inauguration Day. We all saw it. The open secret of Melanie’s abuse. The country being taken over by sith lords. But what we didn’t see, was the night of the inauguration. As Tuesdays in the Trump family had always been a tradition of incest, sucking, and fucking since Madonna was on the airwaves, none of that changed. What did change was that now they had secret service, members of the trilateral commission, members of the Bohemian Club, and men in black to join in. And did they ever. Since Melanie had recently tweeted something passive aggressive abut her husband, he made his anorexic and least favored daughter Tiffany throw up in Melanie’s mouth repeatedly- like a baby bird until he reached climax, at which point he would unlock the suitcase with the nuclear codes. pick a button, and cum all over it, secretly hoping that the force may be enough to ignite one of the missiles. Due to great advances in science in this year of our lord 2017, Trump is now able to achieve climax multiple times a night due to over the counter-dick pills which his poor family endures repeatedly every Tuesday. You may be asking yourself, "Why Tuesdays?" Well, the truth is, I have no fucking idea. It’s just what they do on fucking Tuesdays. Just like any other addiction, the need for more excitement grows over the years. Just R Kell-ing a girl with piss isn’t enough anymore. Watching his wife eat his daughter's vomit isn’t enough anymore. Watching his sons fuck the taxidermied corpses of wild animals from Africa, isn’t enough anymore. Occasionally, he would order Kelly Anne Conway on her knees in the oval office where she is gladly passed around like a cum bucket all in the name of job security. As if this wasn’t enough, he often makes Sean Spicer eat the cum out of Conway’s ass. "SUCK HARDER" Trump screams. His dick in one hand, a remote control aimed at FOX News in the other. Still, Trump's sexual appetites grew. Do you know the grave of the unknown soldier? Can anyone actually prove that there’s a body buried under that eternal flame? Well, earlier this month, Trump asked that same question. The formaldehyde filled corpse was dragged into a secret room under the Lincoln bedroom where he and other ex-republican presidents took turns skull fucking the cadaver until they were interrupted by Dancing With The Stars. (Which for some reason they are all huge fans of.) As soon the program ended, they all immediately went back to filling the cold, rotting body full of their warm presidential seed. Laughing, the next day - they took away our health care and dreamt of how many other even more meaningless corpses they could fuck in the future together. In 2018, after a culmination of police brutality, the pharmaceutical companies raping America, and general civil unrest, a fall out "storm the bastille" style attack was launched on the white house As America collapsed into civil war, Trump, using all the brains in his head, nuked his own country to: And I quote: "Threaten all those peasants with swords." Then, like clockwork, Tuesday night rolled around. And in the trump family, a tradition is a tradition. It doesn’t matter if you have to do deals with the mob and bury bodies in the cement of your towers. It doesn’t matter who you have to lie about or what handicapped people you need to make fun of. When Tuesday comes around, it’s “Scat and Incest night” TRADITION. As part of the white house fell off burning into a smoldering pile of rubble, the Trump’s began their Tuesday night tradition. Tiffany assumed the position and promptly began vomiting into Melania’s cold Botoxed mouth. The boys began fucking taxidermied endangered animals, as Ivanka FINALLY sucked her father’a cock, knowing that this was probably the end. Being a working Mom her whole life, (even from jobs she could never be fired from) she knew how important it was to finish the job. Unfortunately, Trump’s dick pills had been destroyed in the fire. As helicopters landed behind them shooting innocent civilians, his dick grew harder. He then told his youngest son to stand in front of him. One hand on his throbbing member, the other on a commemorative pistol. (The one rumored to have been given to Nixon from Elvis.) Knowing that this was probably the the end of his legacy, and that he had lost. With the radiation seeping into his already deranged skull, he shot his autistic son right in the forehead. Somehow, the boy fell over but didn’t die. Amazed, Trump’s hard on went down. His son, bleeding profusely, pulled down his pants, revealing that he still wore diapers. Melanie took a moment from swallowing Tiffany's vomit to gasp at the faux pas. Barron, having what seemed to be a moment of clarity, began to pull his diaper off. He grabbed handful after handful of his own shit and began to massage it gingerly into Ivanka's hair as she tried to get her father hard again with a sad blowjob. As they fucked and sucked each other to exhaustion, Trump began shooting his family members one by one. Suddenly, out of the rubble, Stephen Colbert burst up, covered in blood and dirt. He looked on, with a tear rolling down his vomit soaked shirt, he realized that there was nothing he could do. COLBERT: “STOP! WHY ARE YOU KILLING THEM? I MEAN, YOU'RE ALL HORRIBLE BUT LOOK HOW MUCH CUM YOU TAKE FOR EACH OTHER. My god...you're worse than I ever imagined...YOU'RE THE ARISTOCRATS.!" Then Trump promptly shot him in the forehead. He then took another shot at Barron. This time the boy was definitely dead. Trump looked down, with what could almost be construed as a look of guilt. He then turned to his two grown sons and said: "You know what this means." "Yes, Father" they responded dutifully. They then began fucking Barron's head wound, as the city continued to burn. The end.

[wordygertie]

I knew it had been a long time since I’d blogged when people started expressing concern over my whereabouts and well being, haha!

Nope…I’m not dead and the last three months have actually been quite adventure-packed to say the least, to the point that I hardly had the energy to write or delve into what was going on in our lives.

Where to begin? I suppose the beginning would make sense…

Things were going as per usual for us here in China back in April–the oldest was in school, the husband was traveling a ton, and I was fully immersed in Ironman training. But toward the end of the month my father-in-law’s health had taken a turn. He’d been suffering from early-onset Alzheimer’s for the past decade or so (I wrote a little about it here), but his overall health had been rapidly deteriorating within recent months. Tom flew out to spend some time with his family while I stayed back with the kids, but about a week later it was apparent things weren’t looking so great. I was on the phone with Tom at about 8:00 a.m. on a Wednesday and we decided it would be best if the kids and I came out as soon as we could; he saw there was a 12:30 p.m. flight that day, so I told him to book it, hung up, proceeded to throw some random crap into two suitcases, and the kids and I were out the door and in a cab 30 minutes later headed for the airport. Sadly, Tom’s dad passed about an hour before we landed. It was an incredibly trying time for his family, but it was amazing to hear about all of the blessings they experienced; blessings that let them know the Lord was there, and that helped to make such a difficult experience just a little bit easier to bear. Tom’s father was such an amazing man, and I’m grateful to see so many of his best qualities in his son.

While Tom had to head back to China after the funeral for work, the kids and I decided to stay with my mother-in-law for the next three weeks; we already had plane tickets booked for the entire summer, and had planned to be in Michigan at the end of May for my brother’s wedding; rather than fly back to China and then back stateside a few weeks later, it was great to be able to spend that time with her.

Since I’d only packed enough stuff for a week or so (and most of it was random and completely useless considering I did it in a half hour…), we ended up buying a lot of crap back in the US (I would be surprised just how much crap when we had to pack it all for our return trip back to China three months later…).

We flew to Michigan at the end of May for our already planned six week stay with my parents, and it was an amazing visit. I must say I really enjoy our summer exodus out of China, and I’d been really ready for a break prior to our travel back. Don’t get me wrong, Shanghai is an incredible city and I really enjoy the little life we’ve built here, but I’m not a city girl at heart, and after awhile I need blue skies and fresh air and mountains and lakes. I need to not smell rotting garbage. I need to not bump into a million people on the sidewalks. I miss having a car. And US Amazon.com. All of those things. Our time back home is such a rejuvenating time in contrast to the madness and chaos that is expatriate life in one of the world’s largest cities.

But anyway…

Our trips to Michigan are always somewhat of a whirlwind. We spent lots of time on Lake Michigan,

celebrated my brother’s marriage to an amazing girl,

spent so much time with family,

went up north (if you’re from Michigan you know what that means),

I did my first half Ironman in Indiana and did an Olympic Distance triathlon in Detroit,

took the kids camping for the first time,

watched the kids race in their first track meets (proud mama moment) and their first ever swim lessons,

spent a lot of time between splash pads and pools and the zoo and children’s museums,

we visited lots of friends,

and I did a lot of early morning/late night swimming and biking and running (thanks mom!). I also got published for the first time in copy as I’d just begun freelance writing for the magazine Shanghai Family back in China.

Come the middle of June we were on another plane heading back to my in-laws for four weeks. My kids loved getting to spend so much quality time with their cousins,

and I absolutely adore spending time with my brother and sister-in-law.

We took a trip up to McCall

and another trip down to Burley for the Spudman triathlon,

and then on down to Utah to visit our old stomping grounds and some of our favorite friends.

Overall another amazing visit! Tom came out the last couple weeks, which was amazing after not having seen him for almost eight weeks!

Having him around was also a welcome help for the long haul back to China, which is never easy and always much longer and more brutal than I remember. After three months and jaunts from Idaho to Michigan back to Idaho, we’ve just made the insanely long journey back to Shanghai (with all 9 of our suitcases, lol. I told you we bought a lot of crap).

Our kids travel splendidly by this point, but an hour and a half flight to Seattle + a four hour layover + a 12 hour flight to Shanghai isn’t easy on anybody, and the jet lag monster kills us softly every time (the kids have been up at 4:30 a.m., 4:00 a.m. and 2:00 a.m. the last three nights, respectively…why are they getting up earlier every night?!).

So what’s it like being back?

It feels like coming home. It’s awesome to be in our own home with our own stuff and I’m excited to not have to pack/unpack suitcases for awhile (at least for a month until we travel again, lol). I found that I missed the convenience of having everything right at your fingertips, I missed my scooter, I missed our friends.

What didn’t I miss? Living in a country with a billion people and how crowded everything is. The smells. The heat…oh holy hell the heat…and humidity. I ran in 99*F weather yesterday morning with 80% humidity…at 7:00 IN THE MORNING. On the brightside it’s excellent training for Kona.

All in all it’s good to be back, and I’m grateful for all of the amazing memories and good times we had this summer. It’s tough living so far from home, but getting to spend three months living with your parents/in-laws is fairly uncommon for most people I would think, so I realize how lucky we are to be able to do that.

Here’s to settling in and getting our days and nights figured out 🙂

Where Have I Been the Last Three Months?! Our Crazy American Summer I knew it had been a long time since I'd blogged when people started expressing concern over my whereabouts and well being, haha!