#also I'm debating on moving the story to AO3

[thebonevault]

Hey it's been a bit since I've drawn this big guy huh?

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

He Fell First (She Fell Harder)

A You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes (I'm Not a Game You Want to Lose) Oneshot

Past!Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader, Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: The Five times Bitsie couldn't keep her eyes (and thoughts) off Jake and the One time Jake couldn't keep his eyes off Bitsie.

Disclaimer: Female!Reader

Warnings: This fic encompasses the entire timeline of the events happening in You Play Stupid Games, You Win Stupid Prizes. As such, there are mentions of cheating, some cursing, sex, sexual themes, as well as a look into Bitsie's mental state during the rough non-consensual sex mentioned in Love Has No Limits, Part Two of the main story.

The content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting taglist requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story. I do my best to portray adult relationships in this fic. Please do not interact with this story if you feel you are not ready to read about these themes.

Word Count: 7202 

A/N: Hi All! So remember when I mentioned I wasn't ready to let Jake and Bitsie go when I ended the main series? Here we are! I'm so happy to share this new installment in their story with you all! It's also my first time writing a 5 plus 1 style fic, so I hope you all love it.

A lot of this story will not make sense if you've not read the main part of the series linked below.

Thanks to @horseshoegirl and @desert-fern for reading over this oneshot as I was trying to figure out how to write a 5 plus 1 style fic!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

1. Before Bradley Bradshaw

You're not sure why the blond on the other side of the aisle at the Commissary is staring at you. He's beautiful. You know that for a fact because you have eyes, and you're a little weak at the knees at the sight of how he fills out his khaki uniform. He’s probably only staring because you're a mess, with your hair in a messy bun, standing in the commissary wearing a ratty, holey T-shirt and ripped-stained jeans. Moving sucks. It feels like your spine is just stretching out again after hours in the car. Honestly, you’re not sure why you decided to have all your things shipped to Lemoore instead of directly to North Island. Three trips in your car later, and you’ve got everything you need with you, but you now have an avalanche of boxes waiting in your living room to unpack.

Your entire life in boxes is another reason you’d retreated to the commissary. It’s already 6 in the evening, and you want nothing more than to eat something and flop onto the sofa for the night. You’re hoping, at the very least, to pick up a few important groceries, such as milk, bread, eggs, and cheese, to tide you over until you can run to Whole Foods or Wegmans off base. It’s as you’re debating what type of cereal you should buy that the blond first catches your attention. It’s a Wednesday, and there are a surprisingly large number of khaki-clad navy personnel walking up and down the aisles collecting items they need. You’re probably one of the few in casual clothing, but that doesn’t warrant his staring.

It takes far too much effort to turn your attention back to the two cereal boxes in your hands. You can still feel the prickle of his gaze against the back of your neck.

“Y’know, if you’re deciding between Honey Bunches of Oats and Frosted Mini Wheats, I have to tell you that you’re probably thinking too hard.”

You startle, fumbling with the boxes, and stumble back into a broad, firm chest. His laughter is warm and musical as he steadies you with big, warm hands. 

“I’m sorry.” You’re flushed and hoping that you’re not as sweaty and disgusting as you feel with this Adonis of a man so close to you.

“I startled you, huh?” His grin is crooked and wicked, making you grin sheepishly.

“Yeah, you kind of did.” You turn and gesture at the cereal boxes. “So, what makes you think you know the best cereal?”

“Well, I've been eating it my whole life, you know?” His eyes seem to twinkle as he responds.

“So have I. I happen to like Honey Bunches of Oats, you know?”

“All that tells me, gorgeous, is that you haven't put something truly delicious in that pretty little mouth before today.”

You squeak a little because you're not sure you've ever been so close to a man before.

“So, I would suggest Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It's sweet and spicy, just like you are.”

You can feel yourself flush, even as he reaches past you, pulls the correct cereal box from the shelf, and places it in your cart.

“See you around, beautiful. I hope you enjoy your time on North Island.”

You’re a flustered mess as you checkout at the counter several moments later. You think about this flirty stranger as you unpack your house and put everything away for the rest of the week and most of the weekend. A part of you isn’t sure how to handle such casual flirting. Could that stranger have been serious? Did he actually want to see you around North Island? Or was that just something he was saying to be kind?

2. Befriending the Daggers

As silly as it seems, you feel like you can taste cinnamon sugar on your tongue when you and your team are introduced to the Dagger Squad in one of the hangars at North Island.

The reason why is simple. The blond who had been haunting your thoughts all weekend is standing at attention in the front row. His cocky smirk makes your knees weak, and you’re sure that his eyes on you make you stutter as you introduce yourself. Throughout that first briefing, you can feel his gaze track across your form as you take notes in your spiky hand. You think you see him smirk when your hand cramps, and you need to shake your fingers out. Still, it catches your attention in a fleeting moment, not keeping it for longer than a few seconds before the briefing grabs you again.

What follows is a day full of briefings, the problem with the laser targeting system setting your mind ticking into overdrive. Looking at the faces of the others on your team, you can see hints of the same curiosity and the same drive to solve this problem. Of course, it would be asking a bit much to be able to view the plane telemetry data and hardware logs and hear the comms recordings so soon after your introduction to the team. Something tells you you’ll have to wait for that. 

“So, you’re joining us for drinks, right?” It’s one of the female lieutenants, Trace, you think her name is, who invites you out. “We go to this little place on the beach called The Hard Deck. Penny’s amazing!”

“You should join us, Bitsie!” His voice sounds just as good in the hangar as at the commissary, if a bit less worn and tired. The nickname is new, but coupled with the grin he’s leveling in your direction, you’re willing to accept it. You smile sweetly at the blond as he walks up behind Lieutenant Trace. 

“I’m Jake, Jake Seresin. How’d you like the Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

Before you can respond, though, Trace muscles her way back into the conversation. “Stop making her feel awkward, Bagman.”

You smile gently over her shoulder at Jake as Natasha walks you away, talking a mile a minute. The Hard Deck is a surprisingly homey place. It’s warm and brightly lit, smelling of lemon polish and faintly of yeasty beer. It bothers you a little bit how Natasha doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Jake’s been waiting, sweetly, this whole time. You want to thank him for his cereal recommendations. But she’s introducing you to the others, and you're actually having fun.

Before long, you find yourself in a circle of women, and you’re surprised by how nice it feels. Mara, you've known and worked with for years, but you've never been close. Callie and Natasha are like two sides of the same coin. Both of them are whip-smart and take no shit. They’re the perfect counterparts to you and Mara.

 Looking back, you've never really had many female friends. Most of your colleagues are males, males who don't want anything to do with you outside of seeing you every day and inevitably getting shown up by you. So it’s nice standing at one of the bar’s high-top tables while getting to know your new colleagues and hopefully your new friends.

You’re laughing and smiling, vacantly swaying to the song's beat pouring out of the jukebox when the song cuts out. You startle, then hum as you hear the plunking of keys from the piano on the other side of the bar. When you’d walked in, talking to Natasha, you’d thought the piano was just an ornament, something defunct and unplayable. The tune leaves the wooden instrument echoing with age.

Natasha crows with glee at the sound; all the Daggers roused into a festive mood in moments. “C’mon, you two! You’re in for a real treat tonight!”

The raspy voice that starts singing melds beautifully with the old instrument, lustily belting the words of an old song into the air. It seems to be a normal occurrence. As Natasha dances and pulls you into the fray surrounding the piano, you feel relaxed enough to dance along awkwardly in her wake. The other Daggers are arrayed in a half-moon around the back of the piano, facing a man with auburn curls wearing a cheerful printed shirt. You recognize him as one of the Daggers you haven’t been introduced to yet. He’s feeling the jazzy beat of the song as his fingers dance across the yellowed ivory keys. 

When he peers over the rims of his RayBans, his eyes meet yours. In that instance, the world stops because his smile takes your breath away. You’ve never felt this seen, this beautiful. His eyes sparkle, the color of the whiskey in the glass atop the glossy wood of the piano. You’ve never heard this song before, but damn, if you don’t want to learn the lyrics via osmosis just to see him smile at you for singing along. You’re not sure when the song ends, or even that it does, notes echoing in the suddenly quiet expanse of your mind. You swallow when he stands up from the bench and downs the watered-down whiskey, tracking a droplet of the amber liquid as it drips down his neck. You have to remind yourself to be cool, to avoid glancing at his mouth as he swaggers up to you.

“Hi,” His voice is like woodsmoke, dark and gorgeous as it drips into your ears. “I’m Bradley Bradshaw, but you can call me Rooster. I’m one of the Daggers, but if I’d met you before now, I’m not sure I would forget.”

“Bradley…. Bradshaw?” You’re not sure when Natasha, Callie, and Mara moved away, but when you look, you’re all alone in the corner of the bar with just Bradley Bradshaw for company. 

“It’s a family name.” He drags one of his big hands through glistening curls, his bicep bunching alluringly in the frankly silly shirt he’s wearing. “My dad wanted the alliteration. My mom loved him too much to say no. So here I am.”

“It sounds like you love them a lot.” 

His smile falters at your earnest words, a frown dipping his lips down for a few seconds before the smirk rises back into place. “Yeah, I did.”

Your mind churns, because you feel like you’ve pressed unwittingly onto a still un-healed old wound. You feel like you should apologize, like you have to apologize, but he doesn’t let you. The play of emotions on his face is lightning-fast. Before you can think, he’s already leading you to the next conversation topic: you.

“But that’s enough about me. Tell me about you.” 

You flush and let your life story, a highly edited version, drip off your tongue. You’ve never felt like this before. You feel seen and inexplicably gorgeous, faced with a six-foot-tall man whose eyes seem to see right through you. He makes you feel giddy. 

“What’re you doing tucked away in this corner with Bradshaw, Bitsie?” Jake’s voice makes you smile in a completely different way than when Bradley was making you giggle earlier.

“We were just chatting, Jake.”

“Yeah, Bagman.” It surprises you to see the nearly cruel look on Bradley’s kind-looking face. “We were just chatting. Piss off.”

Jake lifts his hands as he backs away, though you don’t miss how he mouths, “Later, pretty girl” to you over Bradley’s shoulder. You don’t miss the frown creasing on his handsome face, either.

“Does he call you Bitsie often?” Bradley sounds surprisingly concerned as he curls one of his big hands around your waist.

“He just started today.” 

Bradley’s face makes you bite your lips. “I’m pretty sure he’s just teasing me, Bradley. It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not.” You can hear the rumble of his voice in your chest as he leans closer. “Sweetheart, he’s making fun of you. He doesn’t take you or your job seriously. He took your cute, little introductory speech and turned it into a mockery!”

“He isn’t making fun of me, Bradley.”

“Yeah, he is, sweetheart.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ears. “Bagman makes fun of everyone and everything. He doesn’t know how to give a compliment seriously if he tries.”

“He’s just going to hurt you, gorgeous.” 

“No, he’s not.” You scoff.

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

You turn as bidden, expecting to see Jake looking at you with that same sweet look on his face. Instead, what you see is Jake smirking down at a gorgeous willowy blonde with big boobs and sweet, dainty features. 

You, in your frumpy little business casual pants set, look terrible in comparison. When his eyes rise to meet yours, the smile falls a little, but it grows into something smarmy and ingenuine as his eyes meet the man standing behind your shoulder.

“See, sweetheart? The man flirts just to flirt. That’s all he means when he calls you Bitsie. He’ll flirt and then go home with someone else. You’re not his type. But luckily, you’re mine.”

His words make you smile, and you devote the brunt of your attention to Bradley Bradshaw again. You can feel the itch of eyes on you all night long. But when you sneak furtive glances over your shoulders at where Jake is standing with that blonde bimbo draped all over him, his attention always seems to be on her. But you can still feel the itch of his gaze in between your shoulders. 

3. Dating Bradley Bradshaw

After that first night, you keep a close eye on the Daggers, especially how they interact with each other. Jake Seresin always seems to be on the outskirts of the group. Only Coyote goes out of his way to include Jake. Even when he is a central part of the conversation, Hangman seems to prefer biting commands and witty repartee, which doesn’t endear him to his squadron. You hear them all, though, noting the jokes that are so sly and cerebral that they pass the others by. You notice his concern, the tightly wound worry in every muscle as he tries his best to ensure everyone comes back home safe and sound, even in the midst of training.

Something about his attitude still bothers you, though. Or maybe it’s how he always insists on calling you Bitsie instead of your name. He can’t seem to bring himself to give you any respect, either, and it’s starting to piss you off. If you didn’t know differently, you’d assume Jake Seresin didn’t believe you belonged here, working on this team and completing vital work for the Pentagon and the US Navy. So, you dread walking into the pilot’s ready room on base for coffee. You’ve been dragging all day, and you have it on good authority that the pilot’s ready room has the best coffee on base. 

Well, your thermos from home is empty, and you could use the pick-me-up, so you head over there, hoping you can avoid Jake Seresin. All you want is a decent cup of coffee before you’re back to staring at flight diagnostics until your eyes bleed.

The ready room is quiet, barring the ever-present roaring hum of jet engines in flight, and to your satisfaction, there is a pot of coffee waiting for you. You sniff at its contents, a little disappointed because there’s only enough for half a mug once you’ve assured yourself of its relative freshness. You make your mug happily, doctoring it to your satisfaction and taking the time to look around. Bradley and Nat have told you about the days they've spent here between hops while training for the Uranium Mission. The walls are covered in pictures, and you take the time to examine them as you sip your coffee.

When the radio flickers on with an echoey buzz as it connects to the comms of the jets in flight, you startle and whirl around.

“If you’re looking for the Chicken, he’s up in the air.” You have to fight to keep your dismay from showing on your face. You must be at least a little unsuccessful since there is an imperceptible smirk growing on Hangman’s face as he looks at you from one of the sofas. “At least you’ve found the coffee.”

“It’s the best coffee on base, after all.” 

You refill your mug and try your best to ignore Hangman. But when you go to take another sip, you’re met with only the dregs at the bottom of your mug. There’s silence between you as you scramble into the cupboards, looking for the fresh coffee. When you measure the beans into the grinder and fire the grinder up, you deliberately avoid looking for the aviator lying supine on the sofa. You find a modicum of your composure as you measure the grinds into a new filter and fill the carafe of the coffee maker with fresh water. You hit the buttons decisively and hum appreciatively as the scent of fresh bitter coffee wafts from the pot. From the radio set, you can hear Phoenix and Bob on the comms, mostly Bob, as he clues his pilot onto unseen perils in the sky. On occasion, you can hear Phoenix’s measured tone and Bradley’s rough rasp, too.

“So, Bitsie, how do you take your coffee?”

 You startle, sending crystals of sugar skittering across the countertop as Hangman’s voice gets even closer to you than it was before. You’re always impatiently waiting for the coffee to brew, so you always add the creamer and sugar to the bottom of your mug before pouring in the coffee. Hangman chuckles when he sees the sugar dripping lazily out of the torn open packet in a glittering stream. 

“Sugar, huh?” He pushes you away and begins to wipe the sticky substance away but stops once he sees the bottom of your mug. “Fuck, Bitsie, do you pour any coffee into your mug at all?”

“Oh, trust me,” you snap, on the defensive at the sound of his voice so close to you, “I desperately need the caffeine to put up with you, after all.”

Something about the joking look on his face fades away at your tone, though the smile doesn’t. 

“I drink my coffee black, you know?” He chuckles, leaning against the counter as he holds your mug hostage on the other side of him. “I like my coffee hot and full-bodied, a little bitter, but oh, so smooth on my tongue.”

He takes two measured steps into your space. With how close he is, you’re inundated with the scent of his cologne and the bitter tang of jet fuel. “Coincidentally, I like my women like that too.”

“And how do they like you?” One of his eyebrows rises at your statement. “Your women, Bagman. How do they like you?”

“Oh, honey.” He grins as he fills the mug up and turns around. “I promise they don’t have any complaints.”

He sips insolently out of your mug, tongue lapping at the traces of coffee left on the spoon he used to stir the steaming beverage before handing the mug filled with hot liquid back to you. Your mind stutters as Jake Seresin stares you down like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “Your coffee isn’t half bad either, Bitsie.” You can feel the warmth of his touch where his fingers brush against yours. “A little sweet, but it figures when the drinker is as sweet as you are.”

When you sip from the mug with your face on fire, it tastes even better than when you make it for yourself. You slip out of the room when a crackle of feedback attracts Jake’s attention. It doesn’t occur to you until you’re sitting in your chair and staring at the after-action reports of the Uranium Mission that you’re placing your mouth exactly where his was in an indirect kiss. 

For the rest of the afternoon, you find your mind tracking to green eyes and a sweet smile bared genuinely in your direction. Your brain feels like a stuck record, trapped futilely in the crosshairs of his gaze from when he’d been teasing you about your coffee preferences.

Worse than the bonfire lighting up in your stomach, there’s the guilt swarming in your belly after what happened. What happened with Jake in the ready room could classify as cheating, right? You’re not exactly sure because you’re not the most experienced. You also don’t want to tell Bradley because what if you have been unfaithful to him? You can’t confide in Natasha either, because she’s Bradley’s best friend. 

Suddenly, your coffee goes from tasting like god’s ichor to tasting like ash on your tongue. Fucking Jake Seresin. Why did he have to go out of his way to make your life miserable?

4. A North Island Night Out

The more time you spent around Bradley Bradshaw, the more it felt like you could fall in love. Bradley’s sweet and kind, and he never once makes you feel bad about your career choice. Sometimes, in those long afternoons stuffed inside a hangar with ceiling fans barely pushing at stagnant air, you wish you could say the same about Jake Seresin. The worst part is how he has reasons to be as cocky and arrogant as he is. He flies his jet like a man possessed, or maybe like a man with nothing to lose. Some of you can’t help but wonder what you would have faced if you'd been going out with Jake instead of Bradley. You're not sure you would have been enough to change his ways.

Bradley, on the other hand? He's like your knight in shining armor. He never minds your rambling or how you babble when you get sucked into a conversation. In fact, you'd argue that Bradley Bradshaw is the first person who has ever taken you seriously. He makes you feel superhuman, like there is never any problem you can't solve. His smile still has butterflies taking flight in thick, cloying swarms in your stomach. He makes you laugh, and god when he kisses you? You feel radiant, like one word will have you taking off faster than an F-18.

A part of you can’t believe him, even now. He hadn't laughed when you'd told him how inexperienced you were, in truth, what you wanted him to give you for your first time.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He'd groaned into your ear, “Just let me make you feel good, on your terms, as fast or slow as you want me to be.”

You know what he's offering. As fast or slow as you want me to be is his way of telling you to take your time. But you're sure you will explode if you have to make out with Bradley Bradshaw again while rubbing a wet patch into the thigh of his jeans, while his fingers massage over your nipples and his tongue tangles languidly with yours. 

You’ve had sex with him before, the sweet, gentle missionary kind. In fact, you’d argue that it was the perfect way to lose your virginity. But you can’t help but wonder if there isn’t more to sex with a man you love than a few slow moments in bed. You’re not even sure you orgasmed that night, or at least, it never felt like how you’ve made yourself climax. But ever since then, he’s kept you at arm's length. Sex was supposed to be the last step before all of the walls came down between the two of you. Maybe you can finally get Bradley to give you what you want, then? If only this date weren’t starting at The Hard Deck, though if you think back, most of yours do. It’s not like the Hard Deck isn’t a nice bar - it is. But The Hard Deck isn’t the most romantic of venues. 

When you drive up to the Hard Deck in your little car at promptly six in the evening, you’re dressed to the nines, wearing a cute little sundress with a flared skirt and fitted bodice. It pushes your tits up and is nearly completely backless. You’re not wearing much under the dress, just a little lace-edged thong and strappy heels elevating you a few inches. Stepping through the door, it seems like the entire bar falls silent. For several long moments, all you can hear is the tapping of your heels against the floor. People seem to float out of your way as you greet Penny, grabbing your drink from her, a soda in a glass bottle dripping condensation, and walk towards the pool tables in the back of the bar.

Heads turn as you walk past, and you can feel a smug smile curl your lips. On any other night, the arrangement of the Daggers around the pool table would have been normal. You’d be joining them by now, taking your place next to Bradley to hang besottedly on his every word. You’d be the only one not in uniform.

 Tonight, there isn’t a uniform in sight. Tonight, you’re dressed to impress. But you’re not dressed to impress the other Daggers, only Bradley. You hope your sexy little dress will be enough to have the romantic moment you’ve been longing for, finally. All your boyfriend needs to do is turn around and see you. 

Nat and Bob confer in hushed tones as Bradley racks up against the pool table with the cue in his hand. He’s wearing those jeans that you adore, the pair that fits like a glove and with fabric so worn that it’s soft against your hands. Hangman and Coyote are on the other side of the pool table, identical frowns on their faces as they strategize over the configuration of the balls on the worn felt emblazoned with jets.

But it’s Hangman who sees you first with a clattering of his cue as it impacts the floor. His eyes bug out, mouth parting as his eyes rake over you from head to toe. His reaction causes silence to ripple outwards with him at its epicenter. Dagger after Dagger pauses to stare at you. It’s a gratifying feeling. Nat and Callie wink at you, and Nat carefully prods a pink-cheeked Bob into resuming their conversation. The only person arrayed around the pool tables who doesn’t seem to know you’re there is the man you dressed up for. Jake is nearly mute as you clack forward, sipping on your drink greedily because something about his gaze has you feeling hot and flushed. The only time he backs off is when Bradley seems to realize you’re right there.

“Fuck, baby.” Your boyfriend groans in your ears. His voice makes your skin flare hot, and a desperate ache starts between your legs. “Look at you all pretty and gorgeous for me. Let me finish this last round, and then I’m all yours.”

One round turns to two, and then three, and before long, you’re left all alone in a corner of the bar while the Daggers, including Bradley, party like you don’t exist. All of that effort to make it a romantic night, and you’re sitting here like you don’t exist. If you have to watch another badge bunny drape herself all over your boyfriend, you are going to scream or do something drastic. Maybe making out with Jake will get his attention.

“It’s a shame, you know?” You nearly topple off of your stool at the words emanating from next to you. “You look so pretty, Bitsie, and Bradshaw can’t even open his eyes to see his girl waiting for him.”

Hangman sounds so sure of you, so sure that you’re better than Bradley Bradshaw deserves.

“He just wanted to grab another drink.”

“That was three hours ago, Bits.” When Jake chuckles, you can feel your hackles raise. “Didn’t you have dinner reservations or something like that?”

Before you can respond, because yeah, you did, Bradley’s standing there.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Bagman?” Bradley is slurring his words, listing from side to side as he stares the other man down.

“She’s mine, Bagman. Don’t you forget it!”

“If she’s yours, why are you ignoring her and walking around with badge bunnies draped all over ya?”

You can tell by how red Bradley’s face gets that he is one more word from launching himself at Jake. You’re unsure what prompts you to step in, but you do, sliding your hand up to the sweaty curls at the base of your boyfriend’s neck and whispering into his ear. You breathe your need, your want for him, into his ears. You have to ignore the scent of alcohol and sweat wafting sour from his skin, but you succeed in grabbing his attention. 

But a part of you wishes your seductive ploy hadn’t.

You got your wish; your need to have sex with your boyfriend granted. But it’s not anything like you expected it to be. Bradley left bruises on your skin and bruises on your heart. He’d been rough with his touch and his words. But more than that, you can’t help but wonder if this would have happened with Jake. If he’d make you feel better than Bradley ever could. Isn’t sex supposed to feel good? 

Faced with Bradley’s fumbling, you’d been anything but wet between your legs. You’d only started to get there when you thought, selfishly, of Jake. There was no foreplay, no making sure you’re alright. No kissing, no touching. There were no hallmarks of any of the care and gentleness Bradley usually treats you with. The whole experience has you feeling worse than you did in the car as he called you a slut for talking to a colleague and friend. Slut. It’s a word he’d used often with you in bed that night, too. A word that makes you feel guilty, dirty, and disgusting all at once. 

What does it say about you that you had to think of a colleague and friend to get wet instead of your boyfriend?

Whether you realize it or not, that’s the first crack in the shaky, perhaps already crumbling, foundations of your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw.

5. After Bradley Bradshaw

You have work to do; you know you do. But it’s been under a day since you told Jake Seresin how your relationship with Bradley Bradshaw imploded easier than if it had been bombed. Realizing Nat had known, known what he did and condoned the betrayal, his cheating, is another stab to the back that you weren’t expecting. You can't believe how Bradley could harbor less remorse and guilt over having sex with Britney than you did over some harmless, practically meaningless flirting.

What happened to ‘sisters before misters’ and all sentiments to that effect? You’re thankful, truly thankful, that Jake didn’t know and that Mickey and Mara were unaware as well. Being so far away from North Island has given you a sense of clarity you never thought you were missing. 

You’d be lying if you said Jake Seresin doesn’t have something to do with your newfound clarity, too. 

One night, a bushel-load of tears and an unburdening of your heart, and he’s already raised himself in your esteems. It’s in how he’d listened to you, which has your thoughts spinning. Back when your relationship with Bradley was still rock solid, you'd thought Bradley was the only man who could make you feel like the most important person in the world. But you didn't realize how often Bradley’s eyes would glaze over when you got excited. You’re not sure you’ve ever been able actually to talk to your ex. 

Jake let you cry, cry like you’d lost your reason for living. He’d held you while your suppressed grief had unleashed. He’d heard you spill your heart out to him and release all of your pain into the squalling storm winds. Then there was the rage in his face, in his voice, the rage he’d held tightly coiled in the corded muscles of his arm, in the jut of his proud jaw, when he found out Bradley had broken you, dominated your spirit, for a bet. 

You’re not sure why he’s been so nice. He has nothing to gain by being kind to you. He didn’t when he wanted to get you off deck in the middle of the storm last night. Though uncharitably, you’re sure he’d likely wanted you off deck so he could get off deck himself. He didn’t have to make you a cup of coffee or raid his own special stash of granola bars, either. But more than anything, you’d love to know why he let you cry snot and tears all over his uniform when it was well past lights out. You keep thinking back to how it felt to be in his arms, how good it felt.

Unbidden, you pull out the paper Jake had handed you while you were eating lunch in the commissary with Mara and Mickey. It’s nothing special, just a note written in ballpoint pen on run-of-the-mill lined notebook paper. The paper is silky smooth against the pads of your fingers, the edges ragged like he’d ripped the page out of a notebook he had lying around. You can feel the indentations the pen had left on the other side of the page. You can see how the letters slur across the page as he’d written, the ink smudging imperceptibly as he wrote hastily. They’re just lyrics transcribed on the page, and they shouldn’t be thought-provoking. 

It’s from a song you’ve heard a thousand times before, played ad nauseam on the radio with a catchy tune getting stuck in your head. More than the song lyrics, it’s the thought behind those lyrics. Honestly, you’re not sure how he got them for you. He called his sister in the middle of the night when he likely had to get special permission to do so just so he could get some stupid lyrics for you.

You can still see the twinkle in his eyes as he blushed crimson. He’d seemed proud, proud he was the reason for your laughter, proud that he’d pulled the wool from your eyes and showed you how ill Bradley had actually treated you. That look on his face made you feel like levitating. 

You can’t deny it anymore. Bradley Bradshaw may have made butterflies swarm in your stomach, but Jake Seresin made you feel like lightning arcing through the air. He makes you feel wild and free.

+1. The Day Easton is Born

A part of you feels like you should be angry that it took only four years before you stopped being the sole item of your husband’s attention. But you’d be lying if you didn’t feel the same way that Jake did, especially because the cute little thing that’s caught his attention has caught yours, too. 

He’s about four hours old with squishy cheeks, a red face, and a voice that would make his daddy proud. You’re sure that his voice is just like his dad’s, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard Jake’s voice ever hit the octaves this adorable sweetheart hits. It hurts a little bit that you’ve been ordered not to move, too, because everything in you is itching to pick your baby up and hold him in your arms. But Jake’s on baby duty at the moment. If it’s a poopy diaper, you’re more than ready to let him take that burden on.

You tilt the bed up until you’re reclining and tip your head gently to the side until you see the heart rate monitor reassuringly blinking your vital signs at you. When you turn your head to the other side, Jake's standing over the small changing table in your room, leaning down and looking into it. His face looks gentler than you've ever seen it, soft, like a man stripped bare to his basest parts. He has no walls up, no fears, just wonder as he stares down at the little bed. Well, maybe he’s looking a little less awestruck and a little more disgusted because your newborn son does, indeed, have a soiled diaper.

He’s not wearing a shirt. This fact doesn't surprise you because Jake wanders around your house half-naked all the time. At the same time, you’re both in a hospital, and it’s at least 10 degrees colder than it should be. You’re wrapped up in a soft pajama set and wearing a thick cardigan, but you’re still cold. When Jake hefts the small wriggling body of your son into his arms and settles him against his chest, now clean, your heart swells. The baby coos, a little snuffling exhale of breath that squeaks a little as he settles into Jake’s arms. Jake doesn’t seem to realize that you’re awake, either.

“Awww, hey, Buddy.” His voice is a tender rumble, big hands cradling precious cargo with the same surety he flies his jet. “Let’s not wake up Mama, huh? She’s so tired.”

“You took us by surprise, our sweet boy. We weren’t expecting you to show up in the middle of a Longhorns game, for sure. I will say that your arrival was a little more exciting than a game-winning touchdown. I wonder if your Uncle Javy will let Daddy watch the game on his DVR when you’re home? In any case, I do not look forward to replacing my Longhorns rug. You had to pick that rug to make your appearance on, didn’t you? Say, East, what’s the likelihood that your Mama would let me keep it if I wash it off?”

You have to stifle your snickers because the baby chirps and half burps in response. You can vaguely see the dark blue of the baby’s eyes as he blinks in Jake’s firm hold. East’s lips purse and part, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be in need again. But you’re so in love, and hearing Jake talk to your son might be your newest favorite thing.

“Yeah, I had that feeling. You’ll learn sooner or later that your Mama’s words are law. She’s going to be the disciplinarian between the two of us, for sure. You’re already wrapped around my fingers. I’m not sure I could tell you no for anything.”

He sighs, sounding choked up as he trails a finger down the baby’s soft cheek. “I’ve got so much I want to teach you. How to smile and utilize those perfect Seresin dimples. How to talk your way out of any problem you face. How to make your Mama smile (and maybe cry) every Mother’s Day as we show her how amazing she is.”

He presses a soft kiss to the top of the baby’s head and rocks slightly back and forth on his heels, an action that doesn’t soothe your son even a little. East is squalling already, and you have a feeling he will ratchet up a bit higher in volume if he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Hey, Cowboy.” Your voice is soft as you get Jake’s attention.

“Morning, Bitsie-baby.” His smile is wide as he stares down at you.

“There’s no way it’s morning, Jake.” He shrugs and rocks back and forth a little more as the baby objects a little louder with each sway. “And gimme my son.”

Jake smirked as he transferred the baby, eyes softening as you situated East against your chest, snickering as the baby latched hungrily onto your breast for his midnight snack. 

“So he’s your son when you want him, but he’s mine when he’s got a nasty diaper?”

“Sounds about right, Seresin.”

“Well, he’s a Seresin, alright.” Jake snickers when you swat at his abs. “Made right for your tits, and aren’t they a pretty sight.”

“Not in front of the baby, Jacob.”

“Well, I dunno when I’m going to see them again one on one!”

“Try me when East’s two years old. Because I’m going to need that long to recover from having your big-headed child.” Your voice is as dry as the Sahara Desert as you laugh at your husband.

“Fair enough.” He tucks a wild strand of hair behind your ear and settles on the edge of the hospital bed. You snuggle into his side as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

“I’ll take beautiful over the complete mess I probably am.”

“You look gorgeous, Bitsie!”

You snort. “Jake, I haven’t showered in 48 hours, I was in labor for most of it, and I just had a baby. So what about me looks beautiful to you at this moment?”

“Everything.” He presses a gentle kiss to your temple. “You’ve given me the best things in my life. You gave me your heart and a second chance with you. You gave me a family in you and our little Easton. You’ve changed my life.”

“If I didn’t find you gorgeous because of all of our relationship, then I’d definitely argue it is the memory of the lingerie you were wearing under your dress at last year's Navy Gala.”

“I think that lingerie was pretty life-changing for both of us, Cowboy.” You cradle Easton close and gesture for one of the many burp cloths arrayed on the table on Jake’s other side. “I’m about 90% sure that was the night we made East.” You pat the baby’s bottom gently, grimacing when he lets loose a surprisingly loud belch before cooing angelically. “Well, you certainly burp like your dad, don’t you?”

“Hey!” Jake tugs the baby out of your arms, swaying side to side as the baby’s eyes droop closed. He snuggles East close before laying him into the crib. You watch approvingly as he pulls the crib closer, the same worries about your newborn son in his mind as yours. “I’ll have you know, kiddo, that your mama loves my burps.”

“Don’t lie to our son. He’s not even a day old, Seresin, and you’re already lying to him!”

“Am I lying if I’m telling him the truth? His mama does love me.” You wrap your arms around his waist as he settles back into the hospital bed next to you.

“Yeah, she does.” You kiss his torso, nuzzling in close as he holds you close.

“I love you so much, Jake. I fell in love with you a long time ago, and I’m not likely to stop now. Having this,” you gesture to the hospital room at large, “is better than my best dreams. Though, I would prefer it if you could convince your mom and sister to let us have some time with East alone before they descend on us.”

“You got it, beautiful.” He runs his hands gently up and down your back. God, you're not sure you can give him up, not anymore. Right now, you're pretty sure that if Jake gets out of the hospital bed, you'll freeze solid.

“You were always my dream, Bitsie baby. Forever and always.” You barely hear the words, sleep pulling you under riptide-fast. But a part of you knows Jake doesn't mind. It's always been a not-so-secret fantasy of his, having his family at arm's reach. 

Honestly, you could get used to it too. Your Jake Seresin pillow is the best of the best, after all.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@greenbaby12 @eli2447 @the-romanian-is-bae @luckyladycreator2 @lunamoonbby @angeliccks @daisydaisygoose @inky-sun @fighterpilothoe @pulisvertz @wildxwidow @angelbabyange @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @dempy @shanimallina87 @abaker74 @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @callsignspitfire @roosterforme @mak-32 @beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27

[musings-of-a-rose]

Hi, congratulations on 1000 followers, you really have no idea how much your writing helps me, thank you.

Can I request 15, 16 and 45 from the Fluff Prompt List? with Frankie? thank you, again <3

I'm Right Here

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 1k+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I hadn’t intended to be the one writing for my 1k followers, purely because I have a lot going on (I’m good - it’s just life!) and I knew I wouldn’t have the time to dedicate to writing a ton of prompts. But I wanted to write this one! Initially, I saw something very angsty with these prompts, but considering you chose them off the fluffy list, I decided to stick with a fluffy theme.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Frankie Morales Masterlist

“You’re hurt. Please, just let me help you.”

Frankie shakes his head, immediately groaning and rubbing his temples.

“I’m o-”

“Don’t you dare say ok. That guy got a few good hits in.”

Frankie cracks open an eye to glare at you. “I won that fight.”

“Ok, Benny. You may have won but that doesn’t mean you aren’t hurt.”

“I can do it mysel- fuck!!” Frankie tries to stand from the couch but slumps back, hand clutching at his side. 

“I’m right here, you stubborn ass. Let me help you.”

Frankie sighs, finally giving in, shoulders slumping back, wincing at the motion. “Ok. You win.”

You pull out a small first aid kit, grateful that you had one stashed in your bathroom. Your hand comes up to gently hold his chin, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin as you dab at the gash on his cheek. His eyes are on your face, as if he’s taking you in. 

“Why did you fight that guy?”

Frankie is silent a moment. “He was a jerk.”

You chuckle. “I’m not debating that but why fight him? He was twice your size. You’re a skilled fighter which is the only reason you’re walking away from this with a handful of injuries. What did he say?”

Frankie’s eyes don’t quite meet yours, looking away. He shifts nervously where he sits. “He- he was just saying jerk things.”

“Frankie?”

“Don’t worry about it. Ouch!” You had dabbed a bit of rubbing alcohol on his cut, making sure it was disinfected from the other man’s rings that had gouged into his skin.

“It’s not like you to just fight a guy, Frankie.”

“Look, just-” He moves his face from your grip “-forget IT HOLY SHIT WARN A GUY!”

You had cut him off by placing ice on his bruised ribs, causing Frankie to nearly jump out of his skin. Laughing, you move your hand and replace it with his to hold the ice in place. 

“Don’t be a baby. It’s just ice.”

“It’s fucking cold.”

“That’s what will help the bruising. But don’t change the subject.” You fix him with a look and his eyes soften.

“I-I don’t want to say.”

“Frankie, I’m a big girl. I can take it. What did he say?”

Frankie’s eyes meet yours. “When you turned him down, he said a bunch of terrible shit about you. I’m not going to repeat it.”

“So, wait…did you beat that guy up to..defend me?”

Frankie nods, looking down at his hand that was holding the ice. “Yeah. I wasn’t gonna let him talk shit about you.”

“Oh Frankie. Why would you do that? I mean, I appreciate it but it’s not worth you getting hurt over it.”

“Is it not obvious?” He’s speaking to me but his eyes remain on his hands.

“Isn’t what obvious?”

He’s silent now, obviously nervous about whatever he wants to say.

“Frankie, look at me.” He sighs, bringing his deep eyes up to mine. 

“We’ve known eachother since what, the 3rd grade? You yelled at Timothy Mattheson when he pulled on my braids? We’ve been best friends since then. You can tell me any-”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I- you’re what?”

He sighs, nodding slightly. “I’m in love with you.”

“But..for how long?”

“Since the third grade when I yelled at Timothy Matteson.”

Tears well up in your eyes. You had had a crush on Frankie since then too, but you’d always told yourself it was one sided. There was no way that Frankie liked you in that same way and you were too terrified to lose him as a friend to ever ask.

“Look, you don’t have to feel the same way about me. It’s ok. But could…could you just…hold me? For just a moment. Before you break my heart?”

As if I could ever hurt you.

“If I hold you, I’m never letting you go.”

Frankie’s eyes snap to mine, a slight glimmer of hope in them. “What?”

“I love you, Francisco Morales. And I have ever since we met.”

Frankie throws his ice pack on the couch, wincing as he sits up, his hands coming up to hold your cheeks. He hesitates only briefly, his eyes studying yours before he pulls you in, lips gently brushing against yours. Losing yourself in the kiss, you reach forward blindly to grab at his shirt, but your fingers poke at his bruised ribs and he breaks the kiss to swear.

“Oh my God I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok.” He lets out a breath of pain. “I want to kiss you so bad but maybe we should wait for this-” he gestures to his ribs which are turning a dark, angry purple color “-to heal a bit?”

“I think that’s fair.”

Frankie beckons you to him, cuddling you up on his opposite side. You swear you can feel him practically purring with happiness and you’re sure he feels the same from you. 

-------

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics  

[gioiaalbanoart]

MIXED FRIED WRITING SHARE

(last line,writing share, friday whatever day share, etc)

💗 Thank you @aintgonnatakethis (X) @wyked-ao3 (X) and (X)

@kaeru483 (X) + @the-golden-comet with this open tag 💗

You know what? I'M TAGGING YOU BACK (np) and adding in the mix : @saturnine-saturneight, @davycoquette @cowboybrunch and @tragedycoded

+ open tag of course and a much needed drink 🍻 🍻🍻

****

It's so hot here that I can't even think, light edited because meanwhile I'm melting 🥵🥵🥵

Wip The scarred angel under the cut. There is a tag list for it let me know if you want in 👇

......

"To answer your request" Herrera cuts Morales little play off, or maybe he just had enough of everybody at this point : "I'm afraid I have to disappoint you, Miss Salinas."

Chief's fingers drummer on the little space left free by paperwork on the desk.

"I mean, you can stay few more days, of course, join again my men on patrol if you wish. But I can't let you get lost in the middle of hell. Don't take it badly, I'm afraid you're not experienced enough and I wouldn't take this responsibility."

The tone is adamant enough to let little to not opening for discussion, makes Amy clenches her teeth. 

Of course doesn't take a genius to understand she's a fish out of water but he's definitely giving her a different side of the defeated and overwhelmed man she has seen until know, not that Amy  knows him well.

She find it irritating enough though and doesn't want give up yet so she goes for a blind shot : "What about Ashley Knox then?".

Herrera narrows eyes : "Look, I really don't have a clue where she hangs out...."

"Let's not forget that she fucking smuggles" Morales interrupts again, clearly wanting to have his saying.

At least the fucker lets knowledge slide, Amy will give him that.

She arches a brow at that last bit of information  : "Is she into smuggling drugs?"

"Minor stuff." Herrera waves a hand as to minimize the fact, goes even to move a stack of documents on the desk uselessly from one spot to another, clearly not too keen to go any deeper into that subject.

Then, whatever it's because Morales is tsking again or Amy's mute question showing on her face he grudgingly breaths the answer out : "We busted her with weed last year."

"And you let that slide with no charge !" Morales points out with an accusatory tone.

"She was just carrying and we were busy with other problems." 

Amy notices the chiefs apologizing tone and finds that curious at the very least. 

Is he apologizing to Morales for a questionable decision or he's apologizing for admitting that Ashley was in fact accountable of charge?

"We just never caught her selling, yet! " Morales insists.

"I'm pretty positive she doesn't." Herrera retorts.

While the two men bicker Amy leans her gaze at the notepad still on her knees, she didn't write a word, of course.

Her fingers fidget with the pen while considering what she could say next and find her options pretty close to none. She also thinks that even if Ashley Know were smuggling they wouldn't be able to catch her and she couldn't explain why she's so sure about it.

Noticing the silence Amy lifts eyes and catches Herrera observing her with a curious look, as if he's internally debating.

So that he does startle her when, after the millionth sigh of the day, he finally tells the story.

"Last year, about same period, we were investigating a human smuggling network that operated in large parts of southern US" Herrera's facial expression darkens : "One of many".

"We had a tip about a repurposed water tank that was suppose to be crossing the Colombia bridge. You can imagine those people held inside...."

Again, Amy doesn't want imagine, she just hopes for Herrera getting to the point, whatever that is.

"As Morales here just pointed out." he glares toward the man an edge in his voice : "Smugglers trafficking networks and cartel fear nothing and have no shame whatsoever. But even for their standard that kind of move is bold. Probably they managed more than once..."

Amy senses a shadow of shame coloring the chief's words and she can relate to that, feeling ashamed is something she's used to. 

Herrera carries on : "The tip for finding the people came from Ashley. Until then she was nowhere around to be seen and we never knew how she got the information in the first place, of course. Except she was the one leading exactly to the one tank packed with the illegal immigrants. The conditions in which they were held were, well, awful. Not all of them made it out alive."

"And then we busted her too!" Morales stubbornly points out again and Amy debates in her head if the man speaks out of passion of the law or if he's just acting as an asshole because some other reason on which she can't put her finger on.

She would, not objectively, opting for the latter option.

This time Herrera almost rolls eyes voicing Amy's thoughts : "Detective, leave that go, would you?" he blurts out : "She had less then two ounces of marijuana, for heaven's sake, against twenty five people that were held in the fucking tank!"

Morales settles lips, scorn still all over his face : "Whatever" he mutters, not daring Herrera further but still wanting to place the last word.

"She didn't even try to hide the weed! " Herrera scoffs, almost talking to himself and implying that as a point of honor. 

Amy is eager to ask for more but doesn't feel comfortable to do so with Morales there.

Almost as he was playing mind reader Herrera surprises her again : "Detective, I'm almost finish here with Miss Salinas" his gaze is intense.

"I know we have matters to discuss. Go refresh yourself a little and come back to report then, I'm sure you can use a little break."

Morales stares at his chief definitely not happy about the proposition that is actually 'an order' and sounds more as a betrayal to him.

He almost puts hands on his hips as to underline what he's about to counter but acknowledging Herrera's face darkening decides against it, for once. 

Probably his first wise decision for the day.

Amy feels a spurs of gratitude towards Herrera and almost cheers internally when Morales actually turns and takes the door to finally fucking leave. 

......

🔪💗🔪 TSA tag list : @wyked-ao3, @tragedycoded

[omies-odd-writing-spot]

Lifeboat 13 Good Luck Fairy

Story also on Ao3! Have some cozy GT? [will ad link once Ao3 is back up] (Also I'm shamelessly yonking @horseyneigh2002 's idea from their ADDC story about unraveling fabric for string <.< >.> ;3 hi fren!)

.

All things considering, Lana was impressed with what had been done with her new space so far. She had to giggle to herself a little bit at a few things. At how the offered ‘long tables’ were consistently the same size. As well as just being better counters rather than tables. Very stable too. 

A little bit of color difference between them, but Lana had a little kitchen corner. Not so much running water but had several clean jars with lids that had water for now. Including one larger one near the door that was more like a…pool? Small pool, not really a tub, but Lana could lift the thin lid to scoop any water out when needed. Only thing was that there was no inside bathroom, but Lana did not mind having to walk out and around the crate a bit to the new little ‘out house’ if it was needed. 

Lana walked around the space, not really home as she knew it, but it was almost like it. She even rearranged several of the counter tables to put all the pumpkins on them. The young woman snorted a bit, pausing to look, it was honestly not that different from the ‘empty’ family condo she lived in. Lots of room for cooking and plants, and her bed hidden in a corner.

It was probably the first time Lana had a bed that was queen sized, instead of a twin. Some of the scraps of fabric Sesa had gotten were carefully cut to make loose sheets, and another thicker cloth was working as a blanket. It was nicely heavy at least, and would be hopefully warm at night. 

Lana looked over at the door, smiling at the not so little to her pattern of green and blue swirls. Something that might have been an accident in dyeing for the giant weavers but, Lana loved the tie dyed like look. Enough that the rest of the ‘scraps’ had become sheets, and after that folded to be set aside. Lana got up and walked over to pick up one of the folded bundles unfolding and then walked over to what would be her dining table, carefully spreading it out and smiled at the swirling shades. 

It was a nice color to stand out against the wood all around, and once the dishes were all placed on the table it could be cute.

Not that Lana had a lot to be picky about, but the splash of color was helpful. Dishes were a bit miss-matched over all, Sesa had seemed mildly alarmed about that after she recovered from the idea, new concept, about pumpkin pie. Lana was highly amused as she walked around the still mostly open space. Debating on how to use the support pillars now to the sides, half tempted to add some of the cloth on those too.

Distant sounds drew Lana’s attention away and back to the present. She stood up, hesitated, realized there really should be a door in the ‘back’ of the crate. Lana would have to ask Sesa about that, she peered outside the door. Hesitated at taking in just the massive scale of the room again. 

Not as bad as early that morning after Lana woke up, but the scale was so… odd. Lana looked around at the cabin, pretty sure a whole neighborhood could be on Sesa’s big dining table. Pausing to grin wide at the tray that now had many ‘small’ flightless birds, lingering to look at the silly and temporary ‘front yard’ that was in front of the crate. 

Lana leaned on the side again, still feeling that bemused and awed feeling watching the almost turkey sized creature. She had seen dinosaurs yesterday, and sea monsters fished, but watching Sesa trying so hard an hour ago to move ‘garden birds’ from the pots with trees to the tray had been… hilarious. Though seeing live, chittering dodos had finally sealed the reality that Lana was just… not home. Being in what very much in a different world, not just she spontaneously gotten smaller. 

Plus, the Lifeboat was the same size too.

At least the dodos seemed happy to scratch around in the giant tray looking for bugs or something else to nibble on. Lana stood up, recognizing that there were a few new eggs compared to what she had found in the pots before Sesa stepped outside. Three of the dodos were still firmly settled on the nests that had been moved.

Were dodos like chickens to lay an egg a day? Somehow? Lana tried to remember any information on dodos, just coming up with they were from an isolated island.

Or… did dodos originally come from here? Yotin?

That was an interesting thought.

Did some mega fauna come from Yotin, or came to it from earth?

The young woman got up to walk around the crate, thinking about this. The dodos had water and should be fine. Lana sighed as she eyes the big crate, she definitely needed to ask her host about a back door. It was tolerable to get to the ‘outhouse’ and could be dealt with like this. Yet it would differently get to be a pain real fast if Lana found any food she was sensitive to here. Walking around the crate took a minute, leaving Lana in a surprisingly calm cubby-like space. With the warm tones and textures of the wood now behind her, the earthy tones of the towering clay pots on either side.

The light that came in was warm too. As if softened, like through a canyon, the pots even had some color differences in the sides. Like a little hidden pocket of a back in the city but with a view of greenery and sky over the edge of the windowsill. It took a minute or so to walk around the semi sheltered space, letting her imagination go wild for a bit.

Would there be prisms here? 

The warm tones and cubby but still big, to Lana, space would be really pretty with rainbows in the morning.

Would there be prisms that could be used inside the crate?

Lana walked over to the warm windowsill, the just massive table she and her new home were on, was right against the wall, with barely a foot of space between the edge and the wall. The sill had an edge that hung over the table though by a few feet, and Lana was just able to fold her arms over it and peer at the window. The vast panes of thick glass did not have as much of a tint to it as the smaller glass jars in the crate, or the jug of water Sesa liked.

How was she going to climb up there?

Lana made a face, the edge of the sill was almost at neck height. She could even sit up to peer at the Not impossible to climb up on, just uncomfortable. Lana sat back, looking around and then peered outside. Seeing Sesa moving around the outside of the barn building.

The giant woman seemed to have her attention caught, and was focusing on something to Lana's far left as if she heard something. Out of sight of the window, but for a moment the human paused trying to climb as she stared at Sesa. With the distance again it was easier to take in some of the details of the giant woman that were lost on Lana when up close and small enough to fit in a hand.

Sesa had paused at noticing whatever, mid motion of taking out the impressive braid. It showed that what Lana noticed before was true. Sesa had recently lost a lot of weight, still had muscle but it seemed leaner then she should be. How her shirt was not fitting just right. That there was not a lot of good fat on the bigger woman, in the face, in the arms.

Lana lowered her arms, holding the edges of the windowsill. Suddenly reminded of how an aunt that had cancer and had lost weight rapidly.

Only Sesa did not have that underlying sickness, but had lost weight. How bad was the last ‘bad winter' really? Lana wondered as Sesa pulled her now loose hair into a loose ponytail. Calling out to something out of sight before moving. The giant woman looked confused but not seemingly upset or offended by whatever it was. If anything, Sesa looked startled before brightening up and calling out.

“Hello traveler!” Sesa called, voice just making it through the thick glass, but not the words of a second voice. Lana froze after a few seconds, sliding down and stopped trying to get on the windowsill.

Curious about what was happening, but not wanting to be spotted by a stranger. Lana looked around, but there was not anything to stand on. Lana grasped the edge of the sill again to peer over, seeing the fencing around the barn. It was built into the trees that were as big as Sesa, and bigger trees, making a paddock for the Parua. 

Buck was coming trotting over from farther away inside that paddock. Two other purua were by the fence (the girls?), having been getting attention. Buck was letting out a long luu-ing sound that Lana could hear through the glass. Sesa was listening to who must be talking but it was just a murmur around other animal sounds.

Curiosity finally won out and Lana jumped a few times. Looking around and trying to find some hand holds in the wood of the windowsill, Lana paused and walked to her far left. The outhouse was to the right. Using the edge of the pot to help brace against and slowly climb up to the windowsill, pausing to catch her breath. It was notably a little warmer here on the windowsill even though the sun was no longer directly shining against the glass. It was comfortable warmth up here, Lana decided as she looked at the space behind the crate from this angle. 

Looking up, Lana could see a tree hanging over the pot she was by, it looked like a pretty old willow that was very happy. Even starting to bloom on one side. The few trees Lana had glimpsed in the pots above seemed to be just as happy. 

She could not wait to see the trees in the smaller pots the dodos came out of. Lana was pretty sure that she had spotted two apple trees. 

Lana realized the windowsill would be a good place to try growing some of the pumpkins. The wood containers were being soaked in water in the sink across the cabin in the kitchen. There should be something to fill the gaps in them. Hell the acorn-like shells could be turned into decent sized pots to get plants started. Sesa seemed confident to be able to make or get more of the, to her giant self, berry containers. 

The muffled sounds of outside the window drew Lana's attention back to why she climbed up. She did not get up, watching in fascination as a wagon like Sesa's was being pulled into the open space between house and barn. Only it seemed newer and longer, needing a pair of big Parua to pull it. The new giant seemed like a woman too from the distance, stepping down from the loaded wagon. She was dressed in a leather jacket and was a good head and shoulders shorter than Sesa. It looked like cages were stacked up inside the wagon, like wood framed kennels almost, with two or three ‘small' creatures inside. To the giants in scale, and with the distance, it was like rabbits were inside the cage-kennels. 

There was also another dinosaur type following the wagon. 

…triceratops?!

Lana forgot to listen as she crawled over to the vast glass window. Focused on the creatures, taking in the quadrupede stance. They were bouncing around the open space, even the three adults that were twice as big as what must be juveniles. They were all happy to have new space to play, and nibble on the grass and corn mix. 

Maybe not triceratops, but they were relatively short, being at most knee high to the stranger and shin height to Sesa. Colorful crests were on the adults, flashes of metallic purple, orange and dots of red that Lana could see from the house. With smaller little horns on the colorful crest, not the head. The adults were a mottled color pattern of brown, black and thick golden stripes down the back. The half sized juveniles were darker, a black or dark brown shade with gold or silver spots down their sides. Not unlike how chicks were different colors from parents.

There had to be eight or ten little ones, they were, well, frolicking around too much to do a good head count from Lana’s spot. Almost like goat antics from the agriculture college. It had Lana smiling before looking over to catch the bemused expression on Sesa as she talked to the stranger. Now that there were no lifted voices to call out, it was almost impossible to hear words. 

Lana looked around, trying to see if there was an opening anywhere in the window but it was very solidly made. She looked back to watch how the stranger was waving at the wagon, and the interest that Sesa was showing while talking.

For a moment, Lana wondered what they were talking about. Then facepalmed after that moment. The animals, duh. Sesa was motioning to the ones bouncing around, then turned to look up at the mountains that took up half the sky. She asked a question turning back, and Lana could imagine the same curios but dry tone sesa had in the stores they had been in. 

The stranger seemed to be highly amused, waving at the not triceratops dinosaurs. The body language seemed like she was making an offer that was done many times. Then shifted to shock as the taller woman just nodded, likely with her agreeing sound.

There was a long moment before the stranger seemed to ask something. Sesa turned and pointed at the back of the wagon, likely wanting something in there as well. The stranger stared, and then lit up as she laughed in clear delight and got very animated compared to Sesa. Who looked very confused about the reaction, but not offended.

Lana smiled at the look Sesa had. This giantanic, impressive woman that fished for sea monsters…and all but gave fish to kids, really did not know much about interacting with her own people. Better with one on one like now compared to when Sesa had gone through that farmer's market like space.

Sesa was hesitant with Lana too, but that seemed to be nervous about her size. 

Hermit indeed.

Lana blinked where she sat by the window. Wondering if her host was a severe introvert. That would make sense. Lana guessed whatever stories Sesa heard about ‘bitta' made it easier to talk with her.

Also riding in someone's bra was weird, but kind of effective bonding time. Heat aside.

Lana turned her attention back to watching the interaction outside. Smiling as she was able to watch Sesa as her and the stranger talked about likely trade. How the stranger looked at her Parua, and then the excited Buck, Lana wondered if the trade would be a stud fee. Or stud cover? 

The two Parua pulling the stranger’s wagon looked like the girls with Buck on the paddock. Somewhat smaller, not having the arch in Buck’s neck after his shoulders. Just not nearly as round as the pregnant… cows? 

Sesa waved at the now contentedly grazing creatures that were almost but not quite triceratops. Then the barn with a head tilt. Both her and the stranger walked into the massive barn, after the wagon was secured. Brakes? Some of the creatures happily followed the two giant women, the smallest it looked like. While the three biggest were now fully focused on grazing on what Lana was sure was more one that wild growing, and altered corn. Some stalks seemed even bigger than from where Lana had been gathering on the side of the road the evening before.

Lana hoped she could get some ears of corn from those bigger plants. Having some seeds from them, able to test the growth rate and yield. The corn so far was colorful and a few ripe, not dried out, pieces she tried were still sweet.

There was likely enough corn mixed in with the tall grass in Sesa's yard to make her giant host some cornbread and just… another truck load after that.

Corn she knew could get upwards to ten or twelve feet on the larger scale. Some stalks that Lana was seeing to the side of the yard were about that high without any flowers or ears yet. 

Lana wanted to explore out there as she got up on the windowsill. Not wanting to find more of the aggressive, hungry wildlife though. Exploring outside of the tentative safe of Sesa’s home did not seem wise. Hell, getting off the table as in going down on the ground level was more than a bit daunting. Lana was okay with staying at this level for now. Walking along the windowsill was enough adventure on her own for now, and Lana got a better look outside and of the room once she was past the planting pots in the middle third of the table. She made it to the far left of the window, getting to see the side of what looked like a garden space. 

Big leaves of squash plants spilling over and through a fence. Big enough to match the giant squash now on the kitchen counter, and Lana giggled at the realization that she could likely fit inside some of the flowers she could just barely see.

Lana wondered if those flowers were edible too, like what she was used to. Hells they were big enough the pedals might be used like noodles, or dumpling wrappings.

Did sesa like stuffed squash flowers?

Now Lana was hungry again at the thought of what could be done with one blossom.

…Could she make tea with the flowers? She had some edible flowers in her seed collection in her backpack. Like marigolds, camomile and some pansies. Some sunflower seeds too.

How does one hand pollinate sunflowers?

Lana froze at the thought, and at catching movement outside. She slowly sat down as the two giant women were back at the wagon talking. The stranger seemed to be in full explanation mode, Sesa's attention fully on her. While at the same time, Lana was doing a mentalist of what seeds she had, knew what could be hand pollinated, what was possible but hard to do like tomatoes that needed a soft paint brush.

Lana reached up, touching her short hair, wondering if she could use her hair to make something like a brush for pollinating. Then trying to remember what was needed for hand pollination. She had been a part of a side group project, going over the theoretical ideas of farming in something like Fallout. 

The young woman pulled her legs up, settled on the windowsill to watch the giants again. Tensing as the stranger looked at the house and window. Pointing at the house, motioned to the wagon and at a crate. 

The stranger missed Lana just sitting in the corner. Was she too small? Just still enough in the corner to be missed? Sesa did not seem to see her either.

While the stager was turned away, Lana moved to the side of the windowsill. Made sure the distance was the same as well as the table was still there before sliding off and back down to the table. Just in case she would rather not be the novelty ‘fairy 'bitta' to sma stranger. It was hard enough to wrap her mind around the idea that Sesa saw her like that, but at least her new… friend? Guardian? Did not keep fussing about it. If anything sesa seemed comfortable to start teasing a bit.

Lana really did not feel like good luck, she felt no different than normal. Yet Sesa was oddly sure about it.

Looking around the cabin from this new vantage point. She only walked the full length of the table earlier in the morning, before Sesa woke up. It felt good to walk, though it was not a hiking trail. Still a good flat hike. Lana covered the open distance to the things Sesa had tried to neatly stack there earlier. What looked like crafting supplies, even an open woven box of some fabric scraps for a giant. One was a familiar texture that Lana could feel between the cracks of the weaved material. 

She hesitated, debating on climbing up. Sesa said they can use any of these things that were set aside for now, for her new home. It was just moved aside until the crate and planter ‘pots’ were in their permanent home once the crate was settled. Lana took a breath and got a good hand hold, then second a one, bed climbing up the side of the container. Basket? 

Lana could peek outside, hearing laughter from the giants. But they were going back into the bar with the rest of the creatures that had been grazing. Each had a crate in each hand, well the stranger was carrying two cages, Sesa was managing two in each hand. Another six storage crates were stacked in the front yard near the cabin porch. Lana flopped into the basket of fabrics and could not help but giggle. Then gasped as she found something that was a good few yards long for her but soft like silk.

The young woman pointedly did not want to know what made the silk yet. That was for later when her curiosity got the better of Lana. She hoped it was something like silk moths, not anything like spiders. 

Giant spiders did not sound good for Lana's health. 

Lana settled to keep an ear out for the cabin's main door. Just in case she needed to hide if the stranger came in. For a little bit distracted by unburying the fabric she had spotted before, setting pieces aside, or carefully tossing fabric that would be useful for her lol into one spot. Lana made herself inadvertently a not so little hiding spot when she tugged a nice long piece of fabric… lace? It seemed like something that had been trimmed off the more Lana studied it. The price was at least as long as her arm span. So around five feet and change? Maybe a bit bigger, and some three feet wide?

Lana ran her hands over the very loose weave, able to tease one long thread off the long side, it was not thread thing as she knew, but compared to Sesa, it seemed very light and thin, if not delicate in comparison. Lana rubbed the string over her fingers, coming up with the memory of playing with the string used on animal feed bags. 

Something useful.

Lana was only half aware of what she could use it for, but something subconscious was trying to poke her brain. It was partly lost in translation, so to say, but the idea should pop up later. The loose string was wrapped up and put in her back pocket. That piece of loosely woven cloth was tossed to the keep pile. 

It took a bit to finally get down to the spot the woman found the thicker, warm fabric, having to unbury it. It was almost like the fluffy expensive towels, but bigger than Lana. There were a few pieces of it!

One longer piece reminded Lana of long runner rugs, and she wrapped herself up in the fabric. Angle to imagine having a nice big towel, and something on the ground beside her bed. If she had a nice rug or two she might not have to worry about splinters.

Maybe there would be some equivalent of… polish or coating. What did people use to make wood floors smooth and splinter free?

Lana puzzled over that, unable to resist smuggling down in the massive pile of clothes until she was comfortable. The not so sudden temptation to take a nap was very strong, as Lana had been awake since just before dawn after all. She shifted in the basket, sitting beside the wall of it and giggled despite herself. Taking advantage of the softness all around to just relax. Lana peeked through the weave of the basket to the window, spotting movement of the stranger and Sesa walking up to the porch with those storage crates. 

She pulled another few more clothes over her, Lana wanting to hide from this stranger still. Instinct maybe, something whisperung in the back of the mind that just because Sesa was kind so far, did not mean that the other gigantic beings were nice. If not being giant predators of some sort. 

Hells, if humans were technically endurance predators, what did that make these giants? Sesa could eat raw sea monsters after all. 

Lana was grateful for her hiding soloist as she heard muffled voices before the main door opened.

“-inside is the best place Sesa, the eggs need a stable temperature. Most of these I've candled already as firtal. Oh looks like you just came clack from town. Nice!” The stranger's sude loud voice had Lana jumping a bit, but she held her breath a moment to not yip. This new person was placing a storage crate on the floor beside the others. 

It was longer and a bit shorter than those that Sesa had made. About half or two thirds the height from what Lana could tell. Looser so to say with gaps between the slats that showed some kind of straw. Lana wanted to investigate what kind of straw, or grasses would be in there not with the stranger here as she took the crate from Sesa's hands to carefully stack on the others. 

“Most of these will hatch in two, or three groups.” She was saying, “you'll need something with solid walls and shallow water. You can fence in a section of your front yard that has soft grasses and ferns for the chicks. If one of the older girls can get in they might adopt the chicks. Oh and be sure to handle the chicks as much as you can to imprint them on you.”

“And they won't bother the parua?” sesa asked, worried as she scanned around. Looking for Lana on the dining table. 

The stranger mistook the worry as she sat up, “Oh don't worry, if anything I noticed Parua being protective of them. They bond or recognize each other as herd I think. With your two cows about to give birth they should see the eggers as babies. Now let's get those other eggs inside, they'll be fine at room temperature like this. Most should hatch as female with being a little cooler temperature.”

The stranger pushed the taller Sesa back outside, still talking. “I'll write out what an incubator shed needs while at the trading post. And find you a good male for these girls.”

Lana blinked from her spot, then again and giggled softly into some fabric to herself. Suddenly recognizing the interaction as an extrovert that had adopted an introvert. Sesa was confused but not stressed like she had been in town. She knew this person enough to be gently bullied and not fight it. The stranger was confident as her voice was still heard, not quite but almost information dumping. Promising to write out things and to come back to help make things for the ‘eggers’.

Lana made sure she was well hidden, trying not to move even though there was some good distance between her spot and the giants.

All six crates were stacked inside, plus one more from the wagon as they talked.

“This box is the one I pulled eggs from this morning before leaving, I haven't candled any but they should be fresh enough to eat.” The stranger spoke as the last of the crates were carefully stacked. 

“Candle?” Sesa asked, looking puzzled.

“You don't have to use a candle.” The stranger assured as she pointed to the drying dishes. “Use a cup or mug that's not clear. Put a light stone inside and the egg on top. The older the eggs in incubation the thicker the shell and darker it is. Infertile eggs and fresh will let some light through.”

“Will the older two… older ‘eggers’ give fertile eggs?” Sesa asked, looking over the boxes and setting the one of supposed eating eggs on the counter of the kitchen. Lana wondered what the eggs looked like, as they seemed buried in the straw-grass. Definitely not at an angle that Lana could see between the woven basket's side. Was it just tall grass like the ornate breeds where she was used to? Or something that was also a massive size that fit with the scale of the giants?

“Maybe for two months if there's no males around, after that you only get anything fertile.” the stranger said, stretching her back and then left shoulder. Not seeming to pay attention to doing so, an old injury perhaps.

…what could injure a giant being of that size? Lana wondered if it was gravity, an animal, or someone else? Sesa had a lot of scars too, Lana remembered.

“If I can't find a male for whatever reason,” the new giant woman continued speaking as she started walking to the front door again. Pausing as she noticed the table and grinned at the cute display of plants that seemed a work in progress. “I'll be heading to the far southeast trading post in two weeks. I won't let you down for what the breeding of my cows are worth. Are there any color breeds for the eggers you want me to keep an eye out for?” 

“Not really Bear, just consistent layers. Doesn't even have to be bigger meat ones.” Sesa shrugged awkwardly, looking around once the other woman, ‘bear’ had her black turned. Lana was not anywhere in direct line of sight at least so that was good.

Sesa was pretty sure Bear would not hurt Lana, or try and take her, but knew the shorter woman did talk a lot. Trusted her as a neighbor but the novelty of a real life bitta might be too strong of a temptation to talk about.

There also might be a bit of a selfish edge to Sesa that she did not want to share it with anyone. Yet? Maybe… maybe if she had to trust someone it would be John, he was kind and as much as a hermit as herself. If not more.

“Oh, before I forget,” Bear was turning to look back up at Sesa, “If you see him before I do, could you tell J'onn to come see me at the ranch down mountain?”

Well, that was an interesting coincidence, Sesa blinked, baffled once again at the eastern Torsi' accent of John’s name. “Ah, oh, yes. Sorry. I can. For anything in particular?” 

“Yes, after this last winter, I and my girls would like to trade for or buy some good furs before next winter. My grandchildren are going to get big enough to have their own beds soon.” Bear sighed and ran a hand through her brown hair. “Three are going to be teens far too soon.”

“...has that much time gone by?” Sesa asked in mild, not full alarm, “The oldest weren’t that big that long ago?”

“They weren’t,” Bear groaned, and then sighed, “They’ve been growing far too fast, even my daughters did. Ari is expecting her third this time next year.”

“Uhhg,” Sesa made a face, then sighed, “I remember holding Ari as a baby, Tia too. Well, at least the oldest if you all think they can, send them up here with something to trade and I can send them back with some sort of goodie. Get them going farther out but safe?”

“I appreciate that Sesa. I’ll do that next week if the girls are okay with it.” Bear smiled, “It’s a straight shot, almost, up the mountain and they’ve come to the trading posts with me before.”

“I’ll keep an ear out for them.” Sesa promised, slowly following Bear to the front door, glancing at the table and then back. “Maybe… if they won’t hurt them, get them to bring me some more garden birdies, or those different sweet little barries. I like both, and nuts.”

“Just not tiny bags eh?” Bear laughed as she smiled up at the taller woman, then over at a big netting bag that had been left for her at the cove. It was more than enough to make two pies once shelled. “Got to be worth it,” Sesa smiled a bit, glancing over. “If John’s not at the trading post, I’ll see him in the next few days, I got some things for him from town.”

“I’m glad you make sure he’s taken care of.” Bear sighed again once on the front porch, “I know a lot of people in town don’t like him, or many of us on the mountain. But he’s a kind man, for all the fighting he did in the last two wars.” 

“He is.” Sesa glanced back at her table.

Bear laughed, patting the taller woman on the arm, “I’ll let you get back to your project, Sesa. If I don’t come with the rest of the eggers for the breeding of Buck, then one of the twins will.”

“Keep an eye on your cows in the next two weeks.” Sesa said, not minding walking the slightly older woman back to her wagon. Pausing to pick up a fresh laid egg that had a marble of blue shades,  in the yard, hearing Bear laugh at seeing it. “...soon as they start showing signs of heat, bring them up. They might need to stay a few days or a week to be sure they take, so you can plan around that. I’ll make the arena bigger if I have to.”

“You give your Parua enough space to graze around.” Bear snorted, lifting the breaks and climbing back up into her wagon. Rains in hands she smiled, “I’ll be back if not tonight then tomorrow from the trading post, I’ll see what I can find for the rest of the cost for the stud cost for both girls!”

“...maybe see if there’s more… breeds with pretty egg colors?” Sesa stepped away with that half request, waving a bit and seemed bemused, but gave a small wave with her.  

Bear breamed wide, finally getting something other then ‘lots of eggs’ from Sesa, “Will do love! See you on the way back!”

Sesa made sure the other woman got turned around safely and back to the wagon trail that connected her home to the main roadway like path that went up to the mountain pass. She looked around, then peered at the egg in her hand. It was palm sized, she noticed it weighed not that much more than Lana. The woman stood up and walked to her garden, careful of the fresh, shiny egg, and picked another squash that was like the one she picked. More white with brighter speckles across it.

She came back to the cabin, thinking fist that one of these squash, gourds, might work to be… pie. Then eyed the open forest on the other side of the somewhat neglected garden, if she was careful, that might be a good spot for the so-called ‘eggers.’ to have a nice big grazing area and a small barn for them between the live trees. Those trees would also give them the needed shade mentioned in the summer. 

“...Lana?” Sesa called carefully, making sure her front door was closed and no lizards got in. “Bear left, are you okay?”

Was the bitta still here…?

“Here!” a soft, little voice called from the table still, thankfully. Sesa walked over, and looked startled at a few bits of scrap cloths were tossed out of the basket she put them in. 

She blinked and the woman smiled before coming over to look inside, and bit down the soft sound Sesa almost made. Almost crooned at seeing Lana wrapped up and holding tight to a longer stretch of thicker cloth. “Cold?”

“Little.” Lana admitted, but seemed quiet happy as she was struggling to push the thicker fabric over the side of the basket. Then spotted the new thing from the garden and brightened up. “That’s a BIG pumpkin!”

“Pumpkin?” The woman perked up, shifting to set it on the table, and at seeing Lana struggling a bit to get back out again. Sesa slowly offered her now free hand to the bitta, holding in the thrill that came as Lana climbed up onto her fingers with less of a hesitation. Maybe tired enough of sinking in the scraps, as it looked like Lana had been picking through the scraps for bits that were big enough for herself. “...like the pie you mentioned?”

Lana giggled, looking up at the giant, and then giggle again, mostioning to the kitchen’s general area. “You know what, sure. If there are eggs here that can be eaten and not half developed.”

“Got at least one.” Sesa moved the blue marble egg closer to Lana to see, trying to be careful of both handfuls of fragile. Smiling wide at the gasp that came from the bitta. 

“Is that real?” Lana asked, sitting up then shifting to lean on SEsa’s palm for balance. “That’s so pretty- and huge!”

“Almost as big as you.” Sesa chuckled, shifting to sit down in her chair and rest her hands on the table top. Not minding waiting for a few more minutes as Lana’s excitement was a bit contagious. “You’re lighter though.���

“I could almost fit in that shell! It’s like those…well egg chair things. And it's such a bright blue! Blues?” Lana slid off one hand and padded over to Sesa’s other hand as the giant woman rolled the eggs into the curve of her fingers. She reached out, touching the still warm shell, it had an odd texture of being like a thick chicken egg and leathery. Or it was trying to harden.

Sesa smiled, hesitated a moment and thought, “Can shells be cleaned?”

“Egg shells where I am can be.” Lana looked up, “Do you have an idea?”

“Maybe.” Sesa looked at her crafting things, then looked at the kitchen. “But after pie?” 

Lana giggled, “Okay, after pie. Do you have a sweet pie crust recipe?”

Sesa nodded, brightening up, “I have some, what my grandmother left me, and what I’ve found in the papers they wrap my things in from the store. Wait, sweet crust? You can do that?”

“I have the feeling I’m going to introduce you to so many desserts.” Lana noted as she was nudged to climb up into Sesa’s left hand, past the egg. She thought of the yesterday in the bathroom of the store. When seeing Sesa’s ribs then, as well as earlier that day as the woman changed shirts. Maybe that was not a bad thing. “Can I see your spices? Seasons? See if I can find something similar to what’s needed?”

“Yes.” Sesa nodded, grabbing the white gourd and careful of her left hand walked over to the kitchen area again. Glanced at the crates and perked up some more. Gently setting down the gourd, squash, on the counter, then letting Lana hope down to it, setting the egg down beside her. “I’ll get the new ones too.”

Lana was poking and investigating the egg again, admiring the almost shimmery color. Then looked up and gasped as Sesa set several more eggs down on the counter near her. Most had the same blue-green colors, but two were almost orange! Lana shamelessly moved to look at those as well. Lana looked over as Sesa was moving the crates to find where the rest of the seasoning jars were packed in that she had not gotten to. They were set on the counter on the other side of the box-crate of eggs. 

Something caught Lana’s gaze as she moved to one of the orange and tan eggs as it shifted? Just a faint rocking. She reached out to touch it, both hands spreading on the shell, it was a lot thicker, more firm then the newly laid egg. If it was stood up right instead of on its side, it would come up to Lana’s middle. Maybe lower chest. The shell was warm, and Lana felt… a crack?

The spot between her hands was stressing, and Lana’s eyes widened as she felt something moving inside. Then yelped as the stress marks audible cracked and a piece fell off. Lana stared in shock as the tan and dark spotted thing inside… squeaked at her, a big, golden colored, and warm looking eye opening to blink at her.

“...oh my god, I love you.” Lana gasped, staring at the baby dinosaur, as she felt Sesa’s heavy steps coming back rapidly in response to the yelp. She looked up at the giant woman from where she was now sitting beside. As her hands were set beside the opening, feeling a damp, warm, soft nose nudge at her. “Can I keep them?”

[copiousloverofcopia]

HI there Ghesties!!!

I know it's been another long one since I posted, but your girl has soooooo much on her plate right now.

it's been really hard to find time to do my stories justice and I don't wanna just give you guys anything that I am not happy with.

So, thank you all for being so patient with me and I am back with some Hunter's Moon celebrations with our beloved Secondo x OC Marcus content for the lovely @ashley-ghuleh

Commissions are OPEN, please see pinned post for Carrd info!

💗 Special thanks to @gothdaddyissues for the beautiful dividers!

The Hell Torn Heart

After a recurring dream leaves Marcus, a half-demon/half-hellhound, dealing with the ghosts of his troubled past and visions of a place he has never been. He is unexpectedly thrust into an unknown world. Guided by a mysterious couple to the Ministry, surrounded by ghouls and siblings of sin. The once outcast struggles with what haunts him and learning to find himself—until he meets Secondo.

Chapter 5: Hunter's Moon

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven’t started yet? Read from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

The sound of the ice clinking in the glass filled the otherwise hollow of the room. Secondo sat sullen at his desk, pulling out his bottom drawer and retrieving an old, leather-bound ledger. A group photo tucked inconspicuously inside. Between the faded and tattered pages—a totem of times long passed.

He sat back against his chair, looking down at the old Polaroid held in his right glove. Recognizing the handwriting of his elder brother—Samhain celebration. The year written now faded into a smear of ink. With only the faint hint of 19 still visible.

It was bittersweet now to look at it. More bitter than sweet if Secondo was being honest. A group of clergymen, all much younger than they were now, dressed in their best robes for the autumnal festivities. Primo, Secondo, Terzo, and even Nihil all in attendance, but it was the man standing just beside Secondo that held his attention. The man that held that bitter taste that lingered in Secondo’s mouth. James, his once good friend and colleague—Marcus’s father.

He had been sitting with the knowledge of Marcus's lineage for weeks. Holding in close to the chest while he waited for the right time to reveal it to his brothers. Debating to himself on whether or not Marcus would be safe if he chose to reveal it to the whole of the Ministry. After all he wasn’t the only one who James had betrayed. 

Staring at them in the picture. The perfect portrait of gluttonous fools who were high and mighty in both their lust for power and pursuit of sin. Each of them at one time like brothers to one another. Even James who at one time even Nihil considered a “son”. 

The pain of his betrayal still ached deep inside Secondo. A thought he had worked hard to push deep in the recesses of his mind. Finally, he became sick of looking at it. Crumbling up the photo in his hand and tossing in the dusty forgotten corner of the room. 

“Satana, potrebbe davvero provare a tornare?” he whispered to himself before finishing up the watered-down spirits in his glass. Just as he resigned to moving on with his work, there came a knock at the door. Secondo letting out a deep sigh as he called them in. His brothers just on time. 

“Fratello. You asked to see us.” Primo said, stepping into the office. Head held high and prideful as expected. He was always such a source of knowledge and reassurance for Secondo. Having practically raised both him and Terzo for their entire childhood, Primo was a father figure unlike anything Nihil could ever be.

“That I did, thank you for coming. I know it's a busy afternoon for us all.” he acknowledged watching as Terzo came following shortly behind. Secondo’s head had already begun to pound. Rubbing at his temples before motioning for his brothers to take a seat—they had much to discuss. 

“What's this about? You know I'm missing confessional for this.” Terzo huffed, slouching down in his chair like a petulant teenager who had convinced himself he had better things to do with his time. His annoying, although all too predictable behavior, sending Secondo and Primo’s eyes both rolling in their skulls. Knowing that the only reason Terzo would be miffed at missing his duties at the confessional, was because he was planning on spending the day fucking inside it. 

“There is a situation that has been brought to my attention and I think you all should know.” Secondo began, his eyes traveling over to the crumpled-up photo. Terzo, noting it. Hopping up from his chair to retrieve it, unwrinkled it to see the daunting image staring back at them. 

“It's…” he began, his mind flashing back to the night of James’s uprising. A night that his head was inches away from being served on a platter. Handing over the photo to Primo for him to see. The air in the room turned ominous as they all sat in a moment of silence. 

“He is Marcus's father.” Secondo admitted, breaking the quiet between them. Both Primo and Terzo's eyes widened at the news. 

“Oh cazzo. You have to be fucking joking.” Terzo sighed, taking a seat on the edge of Secondo's desk. Primo allowed himself to slowly sink back into his chair. The audible sounds of his bones and joints settling filling the space between them. 

“Are you sure?” He asked him, even though he knew that Secondo would not be the one to joke about such a thing. Understanding that for Secondo, it was especially devastating, if their new resident Hellhound and his brother’s unsung lover was the spawn of one of the Ministry’s, and the Emeritus line’s, greatest adversaries.

“I'm sure. He told me himself. Seems that he finally managed to summon a Hellhound of his own.” Secondo explained, exhaling hard with his words.

“More like found her, knocked her up, and took advantage of her, it sounds like.” Terzo hissed.

“Do you think he knows? Is war on the horizon for us?” Primo asked, worried that Marcus's appearance at their Abbey had been no coincidence.

 “You don’t expect James to just come strolling back, do you?” Terzo asked.  

“If he is being used to infiltrate us, I can assure you, he knows nothing of it.” Secondo groaned, realizing what Primo was implying. It was certainly something he himself had considered in the beginning. From the moment Marcus told him, there was always the fear in his mind that they were being set up. However, he couldn’t bring himself to think Marcus was involved. 

His feelings for the wayward dog were growing stronger with each passing day. Though he had yet to fully admit it to anyone. Maybe Marcus was trying to get close to him in order to give his father the upper hand. It would be his former best friend who would be most devastated to be betrayed once more by him again. He just couldn't bear to think it—something told him Marcus was genuine.  

“Aware or not…this spells trouble. We need to talk to him, find out more…”

“In time Terzo, I don’t think it would be wise to bring it up before the celebrations. Maybe after—until then we will need to keep our eyes open and our ears to the ground. I suggest we notify the clergy of possible threats and have the ghouls keep a keen eye out until we know more.” 

“I agree, no need to ruin the Hunter's Moon Hunt over sheer speculation.” Primo began, rising up from the chair so that he and Terzo could get things settled, “but fratello, make no mistake, we have to do something soon.”

“Agreed.” Secondo nodded as they headed out the door. 

The night sky was illuminated with brilliant shades of indigo, amber, and vermillion. The sun, having begun to set as the Hunter’s Moon hung high in the above. The enchantment, circling the grounds, emanating a haunting, green light. It had become something of a sport for the Abbey to celebrate this night. The night of the Hunter’s Moon—a time honored tradition. 

It started as a celebration of the feral nature of all Hell beasts. A time when their powers would be at their utmost capacity. Usurping the otherwise willfulness of them to be tamed—to follow commands. Now it had now become an opportunity for bets placed and gleeful indulgence. Everyone, excited to see who would be caught and when. 

The ghouls would be “hunted”—chased down and caught once again by their prospective Papas. The evenings celebrations, all culminating in a night of sin, power, and depending on the relationship between them, carnal desires and lust. The entirety of the Abbey, benefiting from the Hellish impulses and debauchery the night created. A perfect and proper display of their faithfulness of sin, meant to please Lucifer himself. And tonight, Marcus would officially join the pack.

Far down in the bowels of the Abbey, the dungeons were filled with ghouls. All of them snapping and snarling as they waited for Sister Imperator's command for the gates to be open. Releasing them onto the grounds while Primo, Secondo, and Terzo awaited them. Cardinal Copia, along with Aether and Dew and the rest of the newly summoned ghouls watching in awe. Their time to come once Copia would be allowed to ascend. Leaving them for now to be delighted spectators to the night's events. 

“Well now.” Primo remarked, noting the list of ghouls taking place in the hunt. “I see that although Copia brought him in, Sister is allowing the Hellhound to run for you huh fratello.” he finished, smirking at Secondo. The three Emeritus sons already prepared to take off on horseback after their ghouls. Like an old English foxhunt, ready to capture their prey. 

“I think we all know why.” Terzo jabbed back, “...seems the old man has grown quite smitten with the puppy.” 

“Ah…non riferirti a lui in quel modo.” Primo chided, worried about Terzo's lack of decorum towards their brother’s new charge. 

“It is alright Primo. It's a term of endearment...I think.” Secondo winked, knowing that the ghouls too called Marcus, “puppy”. A friendly nickname given to the new guy who they had only ever accepted as their own. 

“Whatever you say then fratello.” Primo nodded as Aether, Dew, Copia, and Sister Imperator approached them. The mass of siblings, clergy, and remaining ghouls, all filing in on the back courtyard as they waited. 

The sound of anxious hoofs, shifting around on the old stone pavement echoed in the cold autumn night. Secondo exhaled as he waited patiently, his breath just visible in the air. All of them all bundled in their winter vestments. The hint of pinkened noses noted just beneath the brother’s papal paints.  

“Well now, have we all placed our bets?” Copia asked, smiling with his ledger and quill ready in hand. He was honored to be serving as unofficial bookie for the event. The Ministry, choosing to “look the other way” at the betting practice. It was a position that had long since been held by the Ministry treasurer. Which at this time, and for many years now, had just so happened to be the Cardinal. 

“We all know who's getting caught first.” Terzo chuckled, popping his neck from side to side, ready to ride. 

“That's because the two of you just want to fuck each other's brains out… no respect for the sport of it.” Primo scoffed. It was always Omega, Terzo’s ghoul and lover, that was caught first. The two of them barely able to contain themselves long enough before they would spend the evening entangled with one another, and usually a very willing sister, deep in the western wood. Showing more appreciation for lustful endeavors than they ever did for the Hunter's Moon celebration itself. 

“Pff.” Terzo shrugged, smirking once more as he still knew it was true. The youngest Emeritus son winking to Sister Jillian who stood amongst the crowd. The obvious choice for their lascivious plans with her ample bosom and bedroom eyes.

With Omega surely on his way to being “caught” first, it was more exciting to see who would be caught last—the one to hold out the longest. Would it be one of Primo or Secondo's ghouls? Would Marcus even have a chance of out running Secondo? Only the night would tell. 

“Ok last call for bets!” Copia announced as he finished up inscribing the last bit of guesses from the siblings and, although she was officially not supposed to, Sister Imperator. Who had discreetly managed to slip Aether a 20. 

“My money's on the dog." she winked. Aether, chuckling to himself as he quickly took the bill from her and made his way over to Copia. 

“Best betting pool the Abbey has seen in decades.” Father Jim delighted as he Copia and Dew stood at the bottom of the steps in the courtyard. Aether approached them, sending a wink to Copia as he handed him the money. Nodding in Sister’s direction as Copia immediately caught on. Jotting down her initials in the ledger. 

“Sí, Mammon would certainly be proud.” Copia said, nodding as well back towards her.

Marcus was absolutely feral. Teeth bared as drool rolled from within his mouth. His full Hellhound visage on display. Staying true in form along with all the ghouls around him. Their usual glamours, falling to the wayside as they all roared, hissed, and growled. Ready for the indication that the hunt had begun. Releasing them from their hold within the dungeons. 

“That old man better be ready” he growled. Pacing back and forth along the dirt floor.

“Don’t get too cocky, Cucciolo. That old man is one of the best I have ever seen.” Earth snapped. Playfully nipping at Marcus like they were a pair of hyper littermates. Playing with one another to prepare for the hunt. Marcus’s tail, wagging with excitement as he waited anxiously for things to begin. 

Then it happened, the shot rang out from Sister Imperator’s gilded pistol and the gates lifted. Unleashing them onto the Abbey grounds. Taking off full force into the woods beyond them. Only moments could they hear Sister Imperators voice on the megaphone.

“Let the Hunter’s Moon Hunt begin!” she called, allowing the Papas now to take off after them. Following them deep into the woods to be tracked and caught. Marcus began panting and howling as he ran. Deeper and deeper into these woods he had only recently come to know. Still a novice as he allowed his wild nature to take over—guide him on his way. 

He had never felt so alive. The cold wind, flowing through his hair as he ran. The light of the moon, highlighting his silhouette in an eerie reddened hue. Marcus, feeling his true power. What it really meant to be a Hellhound for the first time in his life. Unabashed, wild—free.

I don’t care what the others might say. The old man will never catch me, he thought. Reveling in this newfound freedom. Losing himself as he began frolicking, prancing, and running. Paying little attention as each of the Papas managed to capture a ghoul or two around him.

Marcus didn’t care. He was thrilled to remain uncaught. Feeling smug with his ability to evade his would-be captor. Feeling confident enough in his lead to stop. Hollowing up at the orange devil in the sky. Barking and running in circles when he heard the faint snap of a twig from behind him. It was Secondo, jumping down off his horse to pursue him on foot. The “old man was surprisingly fast for his age.  

“You will only get so far, Cucciolo! My track record is perfect.” Secondo yelled into the woods, only seeing a small speck of his target running in front of him. 

“Sure, old man, we'll see about that!” Marcus snarked, tongue hanging from his mouth as he panted his way up a hill.

A group of ghouls; Water, Earth, Alpha, and some of the others joined him on each side. All of them happily ran beside him. Stopping again for only a moment together to howl at the moon.

“Gotcha!” Terzo beamed, snagging up Omega swiftly and with ease. The big ghoul, who had shockingly held out longer than expected, melted into his Papa's touch as they kissed against a tree. Marcus couldn’t help but blush at their fervidness and passion. Wondering if he would allow himself to be caught. If only just to have Secondo once more in his arms, his mouth—.

Back at the Abbey’s courtyard, the crowd waited for the return of the ghouls and Marcus. Primo proudly had caught all of his ghouls in record time. Terzo was still, as expected, in the middle of the woods with Omega. Sister Jillian, now suspiciously missing from the rest of the group. Secondo too had managed to retrieve everyone—everyone except Marcus. 

“Cucciolo! Torna qui, piccolo stronzo!” Secondo yelled out. The whole of the Abbey listened as he spouted his frustrations in strings of profane Italiano. His boisterous rant pouring over the wind scorched trees and echoing towards them. The lot of them, amused at his vexation. 

Secondo couldn’t care less what they thought. Still hoping to get the jump on his new pet. The young Hellhound, however, was proving to be more of a challenge than he'd imagined. Feeling the age difference between them in a way he never had before.  

“How long should we let this go on?” Copia asked, struggling to hold back his own amusement. Watching as Marcus managed to evade Secondo's every move. His tail wagging behind him as Marcus did everything he could to mess with him. The siblings, clergy, and the rest of the ghouls all became dizzy as they watched Marcus running in circles around one another. 

“Just a bit longer….one of them will fall out.” Sister Imperator hummed, satisfied with the turn of events. Reaching back to grab her lump sum of winnings from behind her from Aether as she smirked. 

“When this is over I am never letting you off the leash again.” Secondo hissed. Angrily tapping the wrapped-up leash between his hands as he saw Marcus along the precipice of the woods. 

“Is that so?” Marcus grinned, running back inside. Secondo gritted his teeth. He needed to catch his willful pup, lest he’d never hear the end of the ribbing from his brothers. He yanked back on the reins, tapping his horse. 

“Yah!” Secondo yelled, the horse taking off fast after Marcus. The sound of its hoofs, loud in Secondo’s ears. Gaining on Marcus quickly. Delighted that he finally seemed to be slowing down. 

“Oh fuck!” Marcus yelped, looking over his shoulder to see Secondo following closely behind. He continued to run, flying past the blur of trees and brush. Secondo, still maintaining a close distance behind him when suddenly the sound of hoofs stopped. Marcus halting in his position and slowly turning around. 

Sniffing the air around him for Secondo’s scent. The air, so muddied with the scent of all the rest of the ghouls and the Papas, including Secondo, that it was almost impossible to discern him. Marcus, panting hard as he frantically searched his surroundings for a sign of movement. His ears piqued to any noise from within the trees. Reverting to his human form, wiped from all his expended energy. 

“Gotcha!” Secondo proclaimed, snatching Marcus up by his collar and throwing him up against an old corkwood tree. Marcus, turning to face him as their mouths came crashing together like ferocious waves. Tasting, needing—desperate for one another. 

“I need you.” Marcus moaned. As Secondo began undoing his belt. Marcus naked as the day he was born in the chilling air. The heat between them, keeping him warm.

 “I need you too.” Secondo groaned as he freed his hard cock from his pants. Leaking and throbbing with his intentions. Marcus practically salivating at the sight of him. 

“Then take me.” Marcus purred, turning around to rub his ass against the swelling of him. 

“I will do with you as I please.” Secondo hissed, attaching the leach to Marcus’s collar as he licked his lips. Sinking his own teeth into his young lover's shoulder—asserting himself as the dominant one between them. 

“Ah fuck.” Marcus mewled. Secondo, already nudging his cock against the tightly ribbed opening. Using his hand to smear the wealth of precum along his shaft. Easing his swift gliding straight into Marcus’s ass.

“Make no mistake. You belong to me now.” Secondo groaned as he began fucking him. His cock, quickly spreading out his hole to house him deep inside. Withdrawing back only to slam harder and deeper inside him.  

“Mmm…yes Papa….” Marcus moaned, bending further forward. His new position, allowing Secondo deeper inside. 

“Such a good pet you are, taking my cock so well. I’ve dreamt of this moment.” 

“Mmm...Secondo…ah! Fuck me too.” Marcus cried out as Secondo reached around to take Marcus's cock in his still gloved hand. The cool leather slick from Secondo’s cum along Marcus’s shaft. 

“That's right you little mutt, cum for your Papa. Cum in my hand while I cum in your ass.” Secondo demanded as he yanked back on Marcus’s leash once more. Railing him into complete submission. The sounds of his lap pounding against Marcus’s ass surely heard all the way back at the Abbey.  

“Oh yes! Yes!” Marcus called out, tears streaming down his face with the mix of pain and pleasure. Secondo, buried deep in his asshole. Practically impaling him on him, pressing hard along his weak spot. Marcus, quickly cumming all over Secondo’s hand. Face bright red and eyes almost crossed as he burst in his hand. 

Soon Secondo too couldn’t help but cum. Thrusting and pounding harder and harder until the warm liquid from Marcus’s orgasm ran over his wrist. The feel of it sending him over as he slammed Marcus’s ass down hard against his lap. Pouring ropes of cum deep in the back of him. 

When it was all said and done, they both laid spent on the ground. Breathing, slowly settling as Marcus laid his hand against Secondo’s warm chest. His Papa, wrapping them both in his vestments as best he could. The cold, now beginning to settle in as the sweat from their efforts evaporated from their skin. 

“You were amazing tonight.” Secondo hummed. 

“Really?” Marcus asked, a bit surprised that Secondo was so impressed with him. Both of them, still reveling in descent from their orgasms. 

“Truly. Everyone else had been caught tonight before you. You should be proud, Cucciolo.” Secondo explained. Marcus felt warm inside. Proud of himself for his efforts but completely enamored with Secondo that the victory paled in comparison. 

“Thank you.” was all he could muster. Secondo, pulling out a cigarillo to puff on before they’d head back in. 

“You’re welcome.” Secondo began when the post-coital reality began to set in. There was still so much to learn about Marcus—and if he truly knew about his father. Secondo knew he would have to tell him, but tonight was certainly not the night. For now, he would enjoy this moment between them—a rare moment of happiness.

“Happy first Hunter’s Moon.” Marcus smiled in his adorable naive, but charming tone. 

“Happy Hunter’s Moon.”

Notes: Satana, potrebbe davvero provare a tornare?- Satan, could he really be trying to come back? non riferirti a lui in quel modo.-do not refer to him like that.  Cucciolo-Puppy torna qui, piccolo stronzo- come back here you little shit.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside. 

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact. 

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager. 

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”  

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked. 

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~ 

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.     

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don’t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. 

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me. 

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras. 

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean. 

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.” 

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”  

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina. 

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same. 

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet. 

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try? 

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.” 

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late. 

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary. 

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down. 

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright? 

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return. 

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago. 

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I’d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.” 

I’d kept my promise. 

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

“Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.” 

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date! 

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions. 

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey. 

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away. 

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp. 

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat. 

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.  

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus. 

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth. 

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin. 

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath. 

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.” 

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming. 

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie. 

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open. 

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere. 

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean. 

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the  basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~ 

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El.  What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to.  Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again.  It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due. 

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger. 

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year. 

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer. 

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice. 

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going.  I just want to tell you that I love  need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean  

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam. 

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

[notsogreatpotoo]

1, 7, 13 and 17 for your ask game!

hello!! thank you for the ask friendo :]

ask game link for reference

1: favorite or funniest nicknames you've gotten

I haven't gotten a ton of nicknames that I've liked, bc usually nicknames are based off of your 'real' name and I'm closeted to most people I know irl, but one of my friends nicknamed me Emsy, and some of my friends used to call me Mouse in middle school bc I was a very wide-eyed and confused child. but I do really like nicknames when I get them :]

7: an excerpt from your funniest, weirdest, or worst essay from middle school or high school

okay so freshman year of high school, we read romeo and juliet, and i had read it before but not in an academic context and so when my teacher said we were going to write an argumentative essay on which character was to blame for the whole... situation, i was like. no. that's not the point. so i very spitefully wrote an essay that i ended up getting an A on, which was cool because it very much did not fit the prompt. here's the intro:

Placing the blame for the deaths of Romeo and Juliet has been debated for centuries. Their tragic fate leaves the audience wondering: who was most at fault? Can the blame even be fairly shifted onto only one person? In the play Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, two people become infatuated with each other, but their families have an ongoing feud that limits their relationship. Many characters have expectations set for the two, whether those expectations be that they should be enemies or that their love will fix the feud. They eventually take their lives as the result of a misunderstanding. However, it is clear that Romeo and Juliet’s deaths are ultimately caused by the toxic society and surroundings their own families helped create, and the arbitrary laws of society that their families enforced.

idk, i just think it's funny that younger me was like, i don't want to do this. i'm not gonna blame one character, that's not the point of the story. fuck society.

13: something you really want someone to ask you about

i could literally talk at you forever about my oc insert hunger games fic, the first part and the second part (wip) (i have three parts planned) are currently almost 46000 words and the main character is the closest thing i will ever have to a child. i've decided i'm gonna post the first chapter of it on ao3 in a few days and then figure out a regular update schedule after stuff gets straightened out (i'm moving), but if you ever want to get distracted send me an ask about literally any of it

17: government assigned ao3 tag (choose one you really like, one that seems accurate to your life, or find a generator)

one i really like: Mutual Pining

if i'm in the mood to read fics with ships, i'll find one of my fandoms and sort by mutual pining. i love these fics bc usually the complications are internal emotional complications instead of things like cheating. (note: i do not support censorship. just because i don't like reading about cheating does not mean i support censorship of that sort of reading material. curate your own experience, do not attempt to control others'.) i also like fics that have a little bit of emotional build up through pining or smthn bc it helps me get more invested :]

one that seems accurate to my life: Alternate Universe - College/University

mostly self explanatory (i'm in college and it feels like a different universe)

generator assigned tag: Historical Inaccuracy

as a History major that's hilarious

thank you again for the ask!!! :]

[ironwitchau]

So, hello. I'm alive. Before I get started, this is a minor project I've been working on because the brain rot has been... intense. I'll probably also post this to ao3 at some point with some more edits, so if you see it here first and then on ao3 it might be worth a re-read. Idk. Anyway, here's a one shot of an AU that immediately took over my brain and refused to let go. If you see any typos, no you didn't.

The Beast in the Woods:

It was the closest thing to a normal morning as one could get on the TARDIS. Mostly because things like ‘normal’ and ‘morning’ weren't relevant on the TARDIS. But things were calm in the alien ship, and Rose Tyler had just finished a human’s average sleep cycle and stepped into the control room where the Doctor fiddled with the panel, readying the TARDIS to leave the vortex.

They went about their usual banter for the day, if not a little more strained than in days past. The Doctor couldn't really blame the human though. She had been more… restrained after their visit to 1987 London. But anyone would be if they had just watched a member of their family die, even though they tried so hard to save them. So he tried not to think too much about Rose being quieter than he was used to. There was a moment of silence between them as the Doctor debated on where to take them. He was pondering taking her to the universe’s largest library when Rose gave a suggestion.

“We should go on vacation.” She said, leaning against the railing.

“Vacation?” He repeated. Because, was she not already on vacation? A break from her mundane little life in the estates?

“Yeah,” she smiled that one smile, the one where her tongue stuck out just a little, “take a break from all the danger.”

The Doctor hummed. He quite liked the danger. Danger made life interesting, danger meant he could help others. Danger meant he could fix his broken promise. But humans were different, he had reminded himself. No matter what, humans couldn't run forever the same way he could, couldn't keep going head first into the life threatening situations with the same ease he did.

“There’s this great spa planet in the 31st century.” He told her, already moving around the console. “I’ll set course for a few years before it gets popular, avoid the crowd-”

“No. I don't want any aliens.” He tried not to take offense at that. “No distant futures either.”

“What do you want, then?” The Doctor huffed.

Rose moved closer to him. “Someplace where nothing happens. No alien threats, no experiencing a historical moment. Just a place to relax.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Exactly.”

Fine, if Rose wanted boring, he’ll give her boring. Although, as he thought over the given criteria, she never said anything about the place having history. A grin found its way onto his face as the Doctor danced around the control panel.

---

Luz Noceda decided that she hated Gravesfield, Connecticut. For one, it was a small town and incredibly boring. Even worse, it was a small town where everyone knew everyone and everything. People stared at the Nocedas, whenever the family went anywhere, like they were about to commit a crime or something.

Then, there was how Grandpa couldn't move with them. Back home, Grandpa would come over for family dinners every Friday night, where he would put Luz to bed and tell her stories about when he was young. Now, he lived 3 hours away and, even though her parents promised they would still visit, Luz hadn't seen Grandpa at all in the month since they moved there.

Although, Gravesfield’s biggest offense against her was it took her Papi from her. Sure, he was busy back home as an ambulance driver, but he still had time for her and Mami. He would spend his weekends with them, doing whatever they wanted. Now, days he weren't working were spent at the big fancy hospital that was nearby. Luz really did try not to be bitter about it, the hospital was supposed to help Papi get better, but she missed how her family was before they moved.

Luz was contemplating calling Grandpa as she walked down the empty streets. It was still summer, maybe she could convince him to come pick her up and take her home. Mami would probably be mad but Grandpa said it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, Mami and Papi had talked about having her live with Grandpa before the move. They didn't know Luz was listening in on them at the time and they ultimately decided not to, but maybe it was still an option.

She took out her phone, a flip phone because Mami and Papi said she wasn't ready for a phone phone, and had gotten to her contacts when she heard it. The sound was hard to describe, a mix between a ‘whoosh’ing sound and a ‘vroom’ was the best she could think of. The curiosity she felt was overwhelming, so she really couldn't be blamed.

She ran up the street, just barely putting her phone away safely, to find the sound’s source. It had ended when she rounded the corner and all she found was a blue box, a few feet away. Luz was about to keep moving, when two people stepped out of the box.

The first person was a man with dark brown hair and blue eyes. He had large ears that seemed to stand out more thanks to his buzz cut. He wore a battered black leather jacket, a dark colored V-neck, dark pants, and boots.

The second was a blonde woman, who seemed much younger than the man, with brown eyes. She wore a plain white shirt, a pink jacket with a hood, faded jeans and sneakers. Luz wasn't sure how the two could be wearing jackets, considering it was on the warmer side today. She pushed those thoughts aside as the two began talking.

“Gravesfield, Connecticut, 2015.” The man said, stressing the year the same way Mami did when Luz got the date wrong. Then there was his accent, while similar to some she had heard, it didn't sound quite American to her. British, maybe?

“And what happens?” The woman asked with a similar accent.

“Absolutely nothin’.” He told her. “Gravesfield’s ‘bout as borin’ as it gets.”

“Fantastic!’

Luz frowned. She didn't understand why someone would want boring. Boring was the worst. It was just so… boring! No, Luz would much rather adventure.

She was going to listen in more, maybe even go up and ask them questions (like who on Earth would want boring), when her phone rang. She took out her phone to find ‘Mami Calling’ in bold blocky words staring up at her. She slid back around the corner and answered.

“Mija, where are you?” Mami asked as soon as the call connected. “It’s almost dinner time.”

Shoot. She hadn't realized it was that late. Although, in her defense, it was hard to see the phone’s clock with the numbers so small. “Sorry, Mami, I got distracted.”

She heard Mami’s exasperated sigh. “Just hurry back, ok?”

“Ok!”

With the blue box and strange people forgotten, Luz made her way back to the house.

---

In the dead of night, a loud roar echoed through the quiet town of Gravesfield. Most people ignored it, slept right through the disturbance, but three people tensed. One was a little human girl that had woken up to get water. The other two were time travelers, an alien and his human companion, who were on their way back to their spaceship.

“Maybe it's a bear?” The girl from 2005 suggested.

The Time Lord shook his head. “That was no bear.”

---

Luz stood just outside the forest near the house. The sound from last night sounded like it came from here and it terrified her. Because what the heck could make that noise? No animal that Luz knew of, and Grandpa made sure to teach Luz about all kinds of wild animals while Mami did the same for pets.

She could still run, get back to the house and pretend nothing was wrong. What could she do anyways? She was just a little kid.

“Sometimes you've got to do the scary things, because it means protecting your family.” Grandpa’s words echoed in her head.

If she left this alone, whatever it was, there was the chance it could leave the forest and enter the town. What would it do to the people? Would it leave them alone or attack? Would Mami and Papi be in danger?

That thought alone spurred Luz to grab the largest stick she could find, giving it a swing. She wouldn't let anything hurt her family. She would be like Grandpa and protect them. She marched into the woods. Thunder rumbled over head as storm clouds seemed to swirl and a cold breeze tried to make her shiver.

Luz came to a stop as she came across an old house. It was a, clearly abandoned, two story house with white walls and a brown roof that had a large hole in it. The door was in the middle of two broken windows to either side of it. There were four pillars at the front of the porch, acting as support. The stairs up to the porch were worn from years exposed to the elements.

Luz had never seen this place before. Then again, Luz hadn't gone this deep into the woods before. She turned to keep moving, when she saw it. The creature.

It was big, maybe the size of a bear or car, and had an animal body with a horrifyingly human face. It had completely black eyes, grayish yellow sharp teeth and long orange fur protruding from equally long, pointed ears. Its body was covered in burnt orange fur, or maybe those were feathers, and it had two dark brown wings and black feet that resembled a bird of prey’s.

Luz yelped and stumbled back, to put more space between the two of them, as she raised her stick. Ok, so maybe this wasn't her best idea.

---

The Doctor was a bit too confused to really listen to whatever Rose was going on about. He just didn't understand why something was happening now and here. The only truly eventful thing that was supposed to happen in Gravesfield should have already happened in the decades following the town’s founding. The town takes part in the witch trials and two brothers go missing, that was it.

But now, they had some strange creature making a ruckus, which led the two time travelers to the edge of a forest.

“There’s a residential area nearby.” Rose pointed out.

“The Wittebane cabin should be in there.” The Doctor said in response.

“Why are we checking a cabin?” She asked.

“‘Cause it’s thought to be a hot spot of weird things.” There and the old graveyard but that place was flooded so it was easier to check the cabin first. Honestly, he was doing Rose a favor.

“Do we really need to do this? Might not be anythin’ at all.”

As if to prove her wrong, a shriek emanated from the forest. It sounded young, and that was all the Doctor needed to know to start running. He didn't even bother to look if Rose was following him, he just ran.

The shriek led them to, what the Doctor was sure was, the Wittebane cabin. A large creature had cornered a child on the cabin steps. The child held a jagged stick in one hand and looked terrified.

“Rose!” The Doctor turned to his companion to see her bent down and picking up a rock.

“On it!” she told him.

The Doctor was on the move again. He was about halfway there when the rock flew by him and hit the creature. Rose must have a good arm because there was an audible thud and the creature reared back. The Doctor took his chance to scoop up the child and kept running. Rose would catch up to him, he was sure. He held the child to his chest, their chin resting on his shoulder.

He didn't know how long they ran for, only that he stopped when he came across another clearing near a small stream of water.

“Are you ok?” He asked as he put the kid down.

“Mhm.” The kid looked up at him in awe before seeming to analyze him. He took a chance to do the same to them.

He didn't trust his knowledge of human ages enough to guess but they were definitely young. They were tan-skinned with brown eyes and dark brown hair that went down to her shoulders. They wore a pink short-sleeved collared shirt with a blue overall skirt on top and a pair of muddy yellow rain boots. The child seemed fine with the exception of a small scrape on their right knee.

“Good. That’s good.” He sighed. The scrape might not have anything to do with the creature, could just be a consequence of them being young. The child stared into his eyes intensely.

“You looked like my Grandpa.” They said suddenly.

They said it so suddenly all the Doctor could do was let out a meek, “What?”

Because what? What did they mean he looked like their grandpa? That shouldn't have been possible, he hadn't even been thinking about the earth or a person when he regenerated into this face. No, he had been thinking of war, regrets, and how badly he never wanted another travesty on par with the Time War.

Sure, there was always that small possibility that there was a human out there that looked like any of his faces but running into their family was less likely. And the possibility percentage just kept lowering as he narrowed it down in time.

There was only one person out there who could recognize him as a grandfather, someone who’s mere mention of a thought of them could cheer him up, no matter how grumpy his face was. Susan, his actual granddaughter. Susan, who always seemed to recognize him.

But the Doctor wasn't even sure if Susan was still out there. Much like himself, Susan got called back to Gallifrey at the start of the Time War, and, even though he had tried his best to keep them away from her, she answered them. The last time he had seen her, in his 8th face, where she had been running from Daleks and he dropped her off on Kasterborous, was still during the war, before The Moment. He didn't know if she was still on Gallifrey, fighting in the front lines like himself, when he ended it all. By the end of the war, he was too scared to go look for her. If she had, could this young child be her? It wouldn't be surprising if she regenerated. They all did, eventually. But would she really have regenerated so young?

“Yeah,” the child continued as if she wasn't causing him an internal crisis, “you have the same look in your eyes that Grandpa has.”

“Oh.” The Doctor wasn't sure if he should be excited or disappointed. On one hand, they weren't Susan but on the other, they weren't Susan.

“I’m Luz.”

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor who?”

The Doctor couldn't help but smile at that. Such a response never got old.

“Doctor!” Rose ran up to them and had to take a moment to catch her breath. “We need to get out of here, that thing wasn't too far behind me.”

The Doctor and Luz looked in the direction Rose came from and, sure enough, there was the creature. It stood at the edge of the clearing, glaring at them, but not moving.

“Why isn't it attacking?” He thought out loud.

“What?” Rose turned to look at the creature. “It's just standing there.”

“But why?” There was no reason as to why it wouldn't attack. The three were just standing there.

“Could we maybe figure that out somewhere away from the giant thing that wants to kill us?” Rose tried.

“I suppose.” No matter how much the Doctor wanted answers, there was a child with them. He couldn't put them at risk like that. He turned to Luz. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“But what about the monster?” Their voice wavered enough that he knew they were scared.

“Me ‘n’ Rose’ll take care of it. No need to worry.” The Doctor picked Luz up and help them to his hip.

“Yeah,” Rose chimed in, “we do this kind of stuff all the time.”

“Really?” Luz looked at them with child-like wonder.

“Yup! So you can go home, watch some telly and leave this to us!”

It was rather easy to get Luz back home after that.

---

It was when they had made it to her house that the thought occurred to Luz.

“What if it was protecting its home?” She asked, her keys left in the lock.

“What?” The blonde, Rose, looked confused.

“Yeah! Mami says that some animals react poorly to people in their home.” Luz snapped her fingers together. “She said they were terri- terr- terre-”

“Territorial?” The Doctor suggested as she struggled with the word.

She pointed at him. “Yeah, that!”

“That is a possibility.” The Doctor agreed.

“But then, what is it?” Rose crossed her arms.

“It definitely doesn't originate from Earth.” The Doctor said instead of answering.

“Like an alien?” Papi would be so jealous if it was and she saw it before him. He loved anything to do with space.

“Most likely.”

“Pretty mindless for an alien.” Rose quickly added, “Compared to the ones we’ve seen.”

“You've met aliens?!” Now she was a little jealous. Meeting aliens sounded so cool.

The Doctor chuckled at Luz and patted her head. “And you have too.”

“Oh, yeah.” She guessed if the creature was an alien, she technically had met an alien.

“As for the creature, it's likely around the same level as Earth’s wildlife.” The Doctor told Rose.

“Does that mean those animal cop people can take care of it?” Of course Luz didn't know if Gravesfield had those but they should, right?

“Ya mean Animal Control?” The Doctor asked and Luz nodded. “I doubt it. They dunno what it is.”

“Do you, Doctor?” Rose repeated.

He shook his head. “I've never seen a species like that.”

“Wouldn't be the first time.” The blonde sighed. “Can you figure out where its from? Like with the Slitheen?”

“Slitheen? Is that a kind of alien?”

“Maybe if we went over what we knew.” The Doctor shoved his hands into his pockets.

“If you're gonna do that now,” Luz turned the keys in the lock and opened the door, “would you like some chips?”

“God, I would love chips.” Rose gave a toothy smile.

---

Turned out Rose did not love chips, Luz found out as she dumped a few of the small chip bags Mami sometimes gave her for snacks.

“What are these?” Rose asked, sounding a little offended.

“Chips.” Luz took one of the bags for herself. She halfheartedly hoped that Mami wouldn't notice the two extra missing chip bags. She, also, really wasn't supposed to have people over without a family member there.

“These aren't chips.” She said, taking a bag and holding it out, as if Luz didn't know what was in her own house. “These are crisps.”

“What are crisps?” Luz asked genuinely.

"These!"

"But those are chips."

Rose was about to say something when the Doctor raised a hand.

“Rose, remember, this is America. Crisps are chips here and chips are fries.” He took a bag as a light bulb turned on in Luz’s mind.

“Oh! You wanted fries? I’m pretty sure there’s some in the freezer I could make.” She then added after a moment. “But someone will have to turn on the oven. And put them in. and take them out. And turn the-”

“It's fine, Luz.” The Doctor patted her head. “The crisps work. Right, Rose?”

“Yeah, was just a bit confused.” The blonde gave an apologetic smile.

“Ok!” Luz opened her bag.

“So,” The Doctor put his bag back down, “what do we know?”

“It walks on all fours?” Luz tentatively offered, a chip in hand.

“Right, that narrows it down some.” The Doctor nodded. “What else?”

“It’s big.” Rose said. “Maybe the size of a bear?”

“Narrows it down. What else?”

“It's that terri-thingie.”

“Territorial.” The Doctor corrected. “Narrows it down. What else?”

“It's got wings.”

“Narrows it down.”

Luz looked into her chip bag. Only crumbs were left. She shrugged, lifted the bag to her mouth, and shook it.

“The face looks human.” Rose added.

“Narrows it down.”

“It’s light sensitive.” Luz flattened her now empty bag.

“What?” The Doctor straightened.

“How do you know that?” Rose asked.

“It’s eyes.” Luz grabbed some stray papers and a pencil that were used to make grocery lists. She made a quick drawing of the creature’s face the best she could. She filled in the eyes completely. “They're all black. Grandpa told me that animals with these kind of eyes are sensitive to lights, so they only come out at night or on really cloudy days.”

“Why does your grandpa know that?” Rose asked.

Luz shrugged. Neither Papi or Grandpa really ever explained how Grandpa came to know such things. Luz asked once about it and then didn't ever again when Grandpa got a far away look in his eyes.

“That’s really helpful, Luz.” The Doctor told her. “Maybe this way, we can deal with the creature without causing too much injury.”

They kept talking, trying to figure out where the creature came from, with varying success. They didn't have too much to work on, which according to the Doctor made it hard to really figure out where the creature came from. That being said, the Doctor was confident he had enough information to try and deal with the creature.

“So, what are we going to do now?” Luz dusted her hands after throwing away three empty chip bags.

“Me ‘n’ Rose are gonna deal with the creature and you stay here to watch some telly until your mum and dad come home.” The Doctor said firmly.

“But I can help!” Luz argued.

Rose bent down, so that she was eye level with Luz, and put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, Luz, what we do can get dangerous. And the Doctor just doesn't want you to get hurt.”

Luz huffed and crossed her arms. “I found it! I should be able to help you.”

“And you have!” Rose looked to the Doctor.

“If not for you, we wouldn't know about the eyes.” He told her. “And that alone is a massive detail that changed things.”

She pouted at them but stayed quiet.  Rose pulled her into a hug, which Luz returned despite her annoyance. It was nice. The blonde pulled away and gave her a smile. “Everything’ll be ok.”

“I know.” Luz tried to hide her resentment at that phrase. She had heard it a little too much recently.

The Doctor gave her shoulder a squeeze and then the two left. Luz watched as they made their way back into the woods and wished she could join them on their adventures. It would be a nice break from dull, boring Gravesfield. Then Luz remembered the blue box that was too small to comfortably hold two grown people. She barely waited before running out the door to act out her impulsive thoughts.

---

Luz made it to the box and took it in. It was a dark blue wooden box with dirty yellow windows. Near the top of the box was a black sign with ‘Police Public Call Box’ in white. The worn white sign on the left door with a bunch of stuff Luz really didn't care about. The most important thing was the ‘Pull to Open’ at the bottom of the sign.

She pulled the door open and had to blink. Luz stepped into the box and stopped about where the box would have ended. Unsure, she took another step, expecting to run into a wall or something. That didn't happen. Nothing stopped her.

“Magic box!” Luz gasped and ran around the room.

The best way Luz could describe the inside was, having a coral theme, with coral support beams. The walls were colored gold and had small hexagonal impressions. There was a raised platform in the room’s center with some kind of six-sided console filled with so many random devices Luz wasn't sure what to mess with first.

Luz had to smack her cheeks to bring herself back into focus. She came here because she wanted the Doctor and Rose to take her on an adventure, like what they denied her. She was sure the box belonged to them and so she’d use it to ambush them into taking her. To do that, she needed to hide.

Too bad Rose and the Doctor took longer than Luz originally thought. By the time they got back, Luz had fallen asleep in her hiding spot.

[suite-purgatory-a-hh-what-if]

Plans for what will Hazbin Hotel rewrite/Suite Purgatory be like?

Ok so while I could have made this update on Saturday and not Sunday I still wanna share some of my plans for Hazbin Hotel Rewrite/Suite Purgatory(which I'm debating if that would be the name of the Hazbin rewrite or I still wanna call it Hazbin Hotel but that's a discussion for another day.)

I wanna talk about what the seasons be planned out; I have decided that this story will be written out; mainly in fanfiction form(I do have an Ao3 account so I will be posting it here) I will be posting links to the story for my Ao3 account on here.

Two I mainly have an idea for what the first two seasons will be like, primarily that season one will focus on Hell's world. Rather than having the heaven conflict in season 1, it will be moved to season two, and the episode counts for this series will be doubled from 8 to 16 for both of the seasons so we have more time to get to know the world, plan out the story and arcs and some world building and a lil bit of filler fluff.

So season 1 will take place from a January of 20xx(2024) to January 20xx1(2025); the main idea would be that Charlie wants to try and get these sinners to become better people and help with the conflicts that got them into hell with the guests being Angel dust, Crymini, and Baxter; while that happens VeeCorp(aka the vees but mainly Velvette and Valentino and a lit bit of Vox) are concerned that if this plan is somehow a success then they would lose potential souls (aka fresh new souls or half soul contracts) so they send a spy(not sir pentious) to investigate and get dirt so that they can make the hotel look pathetic but the spy soon becomes conflicted; while also small side arcs for characters will happen.

Season 2 will take place from January 20xx1(2025) to June 20xx1(2025); mainly this will be the season with all the heaven expansion and the fight between heaven and hell at the end. This season Charlie would be struggling with a few things mainly Heaven new extermination deadline, trying to convince Heaven that the hotel somewhat works, dealing with Angel Dust's deadly disease, and many more(but also still dealing with getting more sinners to rehabilitate, etc etc

Those are all the ideas I have so far I would like to see what Hazbin Hotel has in store but for now, these are the plans for the current time. I am mainly gonna try to plan this for around 4 seasons AT MAX, and by the end of the summer I'll give you guys an update when I post the fanfic and the first 8 chapters (basically the first four episodes)

(Re-blogs are allowed but no tagging them with Antis in them please)

[twotangledsisters]

You're comments on Ao3 are annoying

I start almost every ask with: I love this question.

This is not a question nor do I love it.

In fact, my first instinct upon reading this was to crawl under my bed and never come out again. But that's probably my social anxiety and not me, so let's quickly dissect this!

So, I'm not in the slightest bit surprised people could find my comments on Ao3 annoying. Because I ramble a lot and I'm a bit all or nothing....

Like... look at this comment I left on Tangled: Between the Kisses:

I had to zoom out to 25%... and I actually left two comments on this chapter. (It was a really good chapter, okay?!)

So yeah, long, rambly, annoying.

I get it.

It's fine.

But umm... I like long comments? As an author, getting long comments is amazing and fun... And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that boat. Lots of authors like long comments, right?

Now, I don't know if you (person asking this) are an author or a reader.

I try to be very good at pointing out to authors that it's okay to tell me my comments are annoying and I will stop commenting, OR leave shorter comments! Like, I'm perfectly happy to write: "Great chapter! Enjoyed it, keep up the good work!"

No complaints here.

Here is a snippet from a comment on Moonrise where I do just that! (another great fic, I'm a chapter behind, need to go read that)

On BTK I couldn't find myself asking this, I thought I had. But I have spoken privately to one of the authors, @the-writer1988 and from my understanding, the long comments are not an issue.

So, if you're an author, and you find my comments annoying, that's fine. Please, reach out to me and tell me and I will stop leaving long comments!

I would genuinely be super thankful if you do, because then I won't have to stress over which of the fanfics I'm currently reading and commenting on I should be changing my commenting method.

If you're a co-author and don't want to make that statement publicly because you don't know how other authors feel, PM me, I'm not going to share this info with anybody else. I'll just switch up my commenting method to whatever suits you best!

I have no issue doing that.

Now, moving onto the second scenario, which I like to think is more likely... You're a reader.

You enjoy browsing comment sections and I have these really long comments, using block-chains to make following the comment easier for the author but maybe making a very repetitive read for a reader.

If that is the case, I apologize that this annoys you.

But I think the added value for the authors is more important here.

You don't have to read the comments I leave.

In fact neither do authors, but that's an entire other story.

You can browse past.

I can understand it might be annoying...

I wish I could give you a solution. I just went to test out Ao3 Enhancement Suit to see if hiding authors also affected comments and it did not.

So, I don't have a solution.

But I stand by the fact my comments are more for the authors, a love message for their work, than for other readers. Not that I wouldn't love to interact with other readers. I just think, if something is giving any joy to the person who creates this fic we both enjoyed, that should be more important.

But, maybe I'm wrong, maybe there is a pov I am not thinking about, if so, I'm always open to debate.

I did think about leaving this ask unanswered.

But, I've been very nervously questioning which of all the fics I comment on has incited this.

I've been asking myself if I should stop commenting in case I am annoying to certain authors.

And I feel like it's a lose-lose situation if I were to do that. I'd feel upset over not being able to express my full love for the writing of another, and the other person would not receive that love to begin with.

Whereas, communicating my willingness to be flexible feels more productive than stopping altogether.

Despite that, has this shaken me up a bit and activated social anxiety mode?

Yes.

I could lie and say no, I'm not affected whatsoever by negativity, but it'd be a lie.

So if my comments hold a slight tenseness to them moving forward, it's because my mind is overthinking, and has nothing to do with the amazing stories put out there by the many members of the fandom!

And, in case it wasn't obvious, I'm open to all reviews, long, short, grammaticaly incorrect, want to throw an entire fanfic into the comment section? Do it. I'll read it. I'll love it.

Every person is different though and I'm fully open to interacting differently with different people.

Now... I'm going to go eat some chocolate because this response took waaaay too long and I have earnt a treat.

[organchordsandlightning]

20 questions for fic writers!

tagged by @bluejayblueskies!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?  175, all told! Looks like twelve anonymous.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 

3,404,353!

3. What fandoms do you write for? 

Currently I have ongoing longfics in: Phoenix Wright M*A*S*H* Malevolent House, MD

But I've also recently written for Pentiment + Pathologic. Big previous fandoms include TMA and Disco Elysium. I also really want to start writing Sherlock Holmes again, tbh.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Moving Forward, Circuit by Circuit (DBH) (💀)

Some Air (Nimona)

The Catacomb Killer (Disco Elysium)

Tenth of a Second (Disco Elysium)

To Spare Little Revenges (Our Flag Means Death)

(it's so so so funny that none of them are Malev + TMA)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I do! Around once a week I'll go through and try to get them. Sometimes I can't think of what to say, sometimes it's a quick 'thank you!'.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? 

I can think of two: Catacomb Killer explicitly ends with war breaking out after the case is solved. I debated on this for a long time, but in the end, one of the main decisions the protags make in the end is to give a sensitive piece of intel to what would be the rebels, knowing that it might encourage them to act quickly. And, you know! Consequences.

road trip of the damned (an ode to good cows) doesn't end angstily necessarily, but the entire fic basically ends with 'and Jon gets home and goes to his grandmother's funeral and grieves'. The fic didn't revolve around grief until about halfway thrugh outlining it.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 

Lighthouse might take the cake - many characters are back from the dead and living in an extended family situation. The Prodigal (or, a Planet Called Petunia) is one of my biggest 'from rock bottom to right on top' stories (because god bless, even Arthur Lester only gets the gift of having more horrors once he scrapes himself off the pavement).

8. Do you get hate on fics? 

Every once in a while! Usually not anything intentionally malicious, though. Mostly people not reading the room.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? 

Typically not exclusively smut! A sex scene every once in a blue moon, though, if the characters vibe. I think subconsciously I include a similar amount of sex that is in the source material.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? 

Not regularly, but a few! I've cross-overed Mistholme with TMA once, and Monstrous Agonies with TMA + Malevolent.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

aw man let's hope not

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

I have! Incredibly kind, it always makes me want to learn the translated language.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

I have not!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? 

I think Spirk is the one that will always stick with me, but Johnlock and Jonmartin have had such an impact on me.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? 

I've got two Holmes longfics all outlined out that really excite me, but... oh, man. For some reason sitting down to write them hasn't happened. I also have a Malevolent longfic based on the original stories of the King in Yellow book - which I do want to finish, but it will be horrifically long.

16. What are your writing strengths? 

I think I'm decent with 'oh, so this is what the story's about' moments - like, oh, this story is about discovering meaning or falling in love or learning forgiveness or w/e. I like big, flashy finales. I've also been told my pacing is very good, and generally speaking, I think I'm halfway decent with humor.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? 

Sometimes I think in my drive to push the plot along, I strip away a lot of the fluffier character-buildy moments - and emotional throughlines for characters can be a bear. I've also noticed a recent thing where I'm, like. Omitting a very important part of the scene and just writing a reaction to it. Which is wild and fun to edit with.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? 

Sometimes! Usually when there's no direct translation (or the 'direct translation' is way too stiff).

19. First fandom you wrote for? 

BBC Sherlock, 100% positive.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh, I don't know if I could pick a favorite! Catacomb Killer was so fun to play with the dialogue, and doing the research for formaldehyde and i'm afraid to come home in the dark was cool. I think I might actually pick Interim? (I Hardly Know Him) just because my usual longfics are angsty-ish, but writing Wooden Overcoats fanfic was like writing a sitcom. Was fun!

tagging @magnetarmadda, @romanticslimecreature, and @shadow0haven if y'all want to do it!

[iturbide]

same anon as the not exaggerated joke but not joke about robbing plegia. God I love awakening, I really love chrom and robin and all that. But I am also facinated by Gangrel and Validar (and to a lesser extent Henry and Tharja (and also Mustafa and to an even lesser extent the various plegian officers you fight) Like there could have easily been an interesting exploration of any of those characters. Gangrel's a much less subtle example of how an ATTEMPTED GENOCIDE affected him. He went mad and is lashing out at those who both caused and did not take accountability. Like there's a lot there to unpack and look at, especially when you consider his general dismissal of the grimleal cult. Validar is one I really wish we saw more of (Validad wishful thinking in my brain). He was likely a part of the grimleal since before the war, being a failed vessel; how did he view the genocide, was he moved by what happened to other plegians, did that give him conviction, did he care at all? Did he see grima, or his own child as a means of retribution or even as a saviour for his people. There is so much that could have been done there. Also maybe Tharja and Henry should have more to say about their country being brutalised in 3 whole wars. Also also, please just acknowledge Mustafa he was so fucking cool and deserved a larger role in the story, I'd love them as a continuous antagonist/anti-hero who RIGHTLY points out the hypocricy of the ylisseans while still showing himself to be an empathetic and just leader. Fuck it make him in charge, put him on a council with Validar. Can you imagine the political debates between those two?

Anyway I'm gonna start reading Affectionately Yours to stimulate the part of my brain that awakening didn't

Look, I am deeply and utterly fascinated by Plegia. I have been for a long time. Roughly half my Awakening works on AO3 hinge on some extensive Plegian worldbuilding because Awakening really didn't bother with it and I'm too fascinated to leave it alone.

I have a lot of thoughts about Gangrel. I have a lot of thoughts about Validar. I have a lot of thoughts about who they could have been in different situations, and why they turned out the way they did. I honestly think that Gangrel could have been handled better in Awakening canon: I think his mother was killed by bandits when he was young according to canon? But imagine how much more potent his role in the story becomes if he lost his mother in the attempted genocide -- he was a direct victim, and that unaddressed trauma festered and turned him into the Mad King. (I have a whole post of backstory headcanons about that.) And I think that Validar is underexplored as a character, especially considering that he outright admits he's a failed attempt at creating a vessel for Grima, and what something like that would do to a person. (I have yet another post of backstory headcanons for him.)

Henry...Henry not really having something to say doesn't surprise me. Henry was a victim of basically every system he'd ever been part of. He doesn't have a stake in society, but he's culturally Plegian because it's how he was generally brought up. Tharja, though -- she I think should have things to say about the situation, because even if she does adopt a measure of disinterest in the general situation, that's her home. She's lived through these nightmares and been a witness to their aftermath. The fact that her being Plegian and how that's affected her was entirely squandered is an absolute crime.

and don't get me started on Mustafa. I love Mustafa so much. Mustafa gets a role in basically all my fics, I love him so much. He's in Affectionately Yours. He's in Cursed Fate. He's in both Crown of Shadows and Shrouded Throne. He's in my works in progress, he's in my backburner stories, he's everywhere. I absolutely adore General Mustafa and what he says about Plegia as a country, even though the game tries to pretend that people like him don't exist as soon as we finish out Chapter 11.

I have a lot of Plegia thoughts okay. And a lot of Plegia stories.

also please let me know if you have any issues getting into the fics, I locked them as a precaution against AI data scraping but I am 100% willing to unlock them if you want to read but don't have an account

[tnc-n3cl]

The Realm Walker announcement thread

General purpose announcement post for my LoZ fanfic, "The Realm Walker."

I've finally gotten around to locking all my stuff on AO3, due to all the AI skimming BS. You now have to have an AO3 account to view it. I'm debating also moving all future story posting to only AO3 instead of cross posting there and on DA.

Needless to say, The Realm Walker is on hiatus until I finish TotK. However, all future updates on the project will be posted to this thread to keep things organized. I will likely make separate posts to announce when new stories have been posted, but progress updates and other announcements will be made here (either through edits or reblogs).

Update: Hiatus over! Attempts to TotK-proof The Realm Walker have failed. Expect references to TotK to trickle in as new chapters are posted. Also I'm going to include little "click for more details" content warnings on each chapter. These will appear with a little arrow you can click to see specific warnings, or you can ignore them to avoid spoilers. I'll also go back and put some in TBoK especially...

Current Progress: "The Ballad of Kass" (TBoK) 15/? chapters posted as of 9-2-24, "The Amnesiac Hero's Quest" (TAHQ) 14/14 chapters posted, "Shifting Tides of Fate" (SToF) 7/? chapters posted as of 9-20-24, "The Tale of the Realm Walker" (TotRW) 2/? chapters posted as of 8-23-24.

The following are links to my old announcement posts.

Direct Story links:

The Realm Walker series page: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2907246

The Ballad of Kass (M for Mature): https://archiveofourown.org/works/39148101/chapters/97941150

The Amnesiac Hero’s Quest (T for Teen): https://archiveofourown.org/works/40362366/chapters/101105286

Shifting Tides of Fate (M for Mature): https://archiveofourown.org/works/46454830/chapters/116966107

The Tale of the Realm Walker (M for Mature)

[bcbdrums]

The Voice - ch. 3

Previous Chapter | First Chapter Read on: FFn | AO3

A Drakgo (Kim Possible) suspense and hurt/comfort story. Spoilers here, lol. Enjoy.

A/N: So like....my writing style... When I first wrote this I wrote it as one giant narrative, like most my stuff. So breaking it into chapters is kind of tricky. If it feels like they start and end abruptly or something...it's cuz this was never meant to be chapters. But posting 50K word fics in one lump (like I prefer...) is kinda frowned upon I guess, lol. So chapters it is. Anyway, hope y'all are enjoying.

Part 3

He paused a moment before standing as the cave opened up, catching his breath. Dragging Shego with the rain pouring down on his face had been difficult.

After he stood and carried Shego into the larger chamber, he debated a moment before setting her down at the highest and driest spot, propping her up to face the side of the room with the puddle and the ray of red sun that was bringing a bit of light to the cave.

He sighed shakily when the task was done and reached up to wipe his face...and then paused as he found one of his gloves to be muddied. He looked at Shego and saw streaks of mud on her legs and on her arms and middle from where he had carried her. He moved to kneel in front of her and started to wipe the mud off.

"I'm just...getting the mud off of you," he said, looking to where her head had lolled to the side. He also noticed that the four bleeding wounds had darkened where the blood was starting to coagulate. He couldn't decide if it was good or bad...because if her body's functions slowed more gradually, it would only prolong her suffering.

He scowled and took his gloves off and tossed them aside, and then took off his lab coat, which was covered in mud. He noted that the inside was still dry and clean, and after a moment spread it out against the wall. He almost moved Shego to sit on it until realizing that she was still wet. He would move her when she was dry.

He picked up one of the bags of chips and was about to tear into it when he realized it would be unfair to eat in front of Shego when she couldn't.

She would never eat again.

Feeling sick to his stomach, he tossed the bag aside. He pushed his hair out of his face, and then did the same for her. He thought a moment and wrung the water out of her hair, and then lifted her head to try to lean it in a way that was more upright.

"So...so the paralysis...will last a long time," he explained. He tried to think of what she may be thinking and what questions she would ask. "I'm not sure how long since...we don't know how much venom the spider injected."

He looked at her still face. In his mind, he could hear her yelling about how it was all his fault, and how if he knew about spiders then he should be doing something to solve the problem.

"Um...when the rain stops, I'll try to fix the hover-car again. And then we'll go to a hospital. We're close to home. I know it hurts, but...it won't make a difference if we wait."

He stood up quickly and moved out of her line of sight as he felt the threat of tears in his eyes again. He was lying to her, but he also wasn't. It wouldn't make a difference to wait...because nothing could be done.

He turned and looked down at her again and made the decision not to be quite so selfish. He sat down next to her and cautiously held her gloved hand in his bare one. He moved near enough to press his dry shoulder into her wet one, and reached up again to brush the damp hair back. That time he pulled it all the way back so it wouldn't fall in her face again, and he stared at her half-lidded eyes.

"Would you like your eyes open, or closed?" he asked. He knew she wouldn't be able to answer. "If it keeps raining...and we have to sleep here, then I'll close them for you. Uhm..." He looked down to where he held her hand. He wondered if she wouldn't like it, and if she would rather he wasn't leaning up against her side. "If...if you don't like me being so close, you can...use me for target practice later. I was just thinking...if the spider had gotten me and I was paralyzed, I would want someone...I would want...you...close to me."

He bit his lip and mentally kicked himself. There couldn't possibly be a worse time to be talking about his feelings.

They had been on three dates. Only three. And each had only gone 'okay' as far as he was hoping. Shego hadn't left the dates early or set anything on fire, but she hadn't seemed as thrilled as he was either. None of the dates had ended with her smiling. But, she kept saying yes to his invitations... They were supposed to have gone on another at the upcoming weekend.

Tears filled his eyes again as he realized it would never happen. He would never get to tell her...that he loved her.

He wiped his eyes as quietly as he could with his free hand. He couldn't do it... He couldn't tell her something so important when she couldn't respond, and when she was dying... It wasn't fair. Especially if she didn't feel the same, then it would only make everything worse.

He sighed and looked back at her still face. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could see wetness at one corner of her mouth. Rain? Saliva? He held his breath and set his fingers beneath her chin and felt for her carotid artery...

"I'm just checking how fast your pulse is..." he said as he stared into her half-lidded eyes. The fear that he could have been talking to a corpse for the past twenty minutes nearly choked him, and he sighed in relief as he felt her heart beating strong, but far too rapidly beneath his fingers. He let himself gently stroke her cheek before he returned his hand to his lap, and then mentally kicked himself. That could have been very unwelcome.

"Sorry..." he said.

He took a deep breath and thought about what he would actually do when it stopped raining. He would have to fix the hover-car eventually...since he wasn't about to leave Shego to find help without any transportation. And not when giant monster-spiders were around, and perhaps even worse things.

"I think I can have the hover-car fixed...pretty quickly, when the rain stops. I really think it was just a blown fuse... I can replace it with another from a non-essential feature..."

Drakken's brow furrowed as a memory suddenly struck him. Of all things to think about, on the very worst day of his life...

"That actually reminds me...of this one camping trip with Cousin Eddie... I know you don't like him, so...so you'll like this story," Drakken continued. "It was the summer before I moved to Colorado. He said I needed to have one last adventure since I had...become so nerdy and lame, and that he was going to rekindle my wild side. He did that air guitar thing, you know, where he plays it really lamely... That's how he described me.

"It started badly since he insisted we just take the bikes, and I knew we couldn't take enough camping gear on motorcycles. But he insisted. He said we didn't need tents, that real men just slept in the dirt... We started at a camp site and then hiked out to be in the woods and somewhere more private. I was glad for that since the camp site was full and...it was embarrassing just to come in on motorcycles with almost no supplies. And there were...some really cute girls at one of the camp sites. Th-that's important."

Drakken swallowed nervously as he recalled the memory. He wondered if it was okay to talk about past romantic interests with Shego... His chest tightened in pain again as he realized that his relationship with Shego was over. He tried to shake off the thought and continued talking.

"And...I promise I'll get to how this is relevant," he said, knowing Shego would be complaining if she could. "It was all fine at first... I was cold at night since we didn't have sleeping bags, and Eddie ate all of the snacks that first night. And drank most of the booze... Not that I wanted much, I was never much of a drinker... And I was nervous since we didn't have any tents or other protection. Eddie told me that real men wrestled the bears into submission."

Drakken rolled his eyes. He glanced at Shego. "I'm rolling my eyes right now... So anyway...the next day Eddie went for a ride while I had no food. I had already decided the trip was worthless and was getting ready to leave. But then Eddie came back and said the cute girls from the other camp site were in the lake...s-skinny dipping. And he hauled me up onto the back of his bike before I could say no, and we drove to the lake. Eddie..." Drakken sighed in disdain, "didn't waste any time. He took his clothes off and stepped out of trees in full view of the world... He has a very overrated opinion of his body, if you want to know. I was so mad at him that I...nyeheh...I pulled out one of the fuses on his bike and tossed it away into the forest. It only took a second, he didn't notice. But then he had turned around and grabbed me and...started pulling my clothes off too. Please...don't picture that, I looked awful before college.

"So Eddie pushed me out of the trees with him to join the girls... I think he had been drinking that morning too... I kept trying to hide behind trees, and the girls saw us and...after they'd hidden themselves in the water they started laughing. Eddie tried to play it off... Tried to make jokes about how good he looked... He wouldn't let me go, so I finally ran down into the water to hide. Eddie stood up on a large rock and started flexing, and posing. The girls kept laughing and Eddie finally got in and approached them. He was actually able to strike up a conversation. But when he tried touching one of them they got into a splash fight. Two of the girls ran off, but the others stayed... One of them even apologized to Eddie for the splashing, which I thought was completely absurd... And it turns out— Ah...I won't get ahead of myself.

"Anyway, Eddie is talking to them and then he mentions me... He said that between the two of us we could...we could satisfy all of them. I have never wanted to kill my cousin more than that moment..." Drakken grumbled. "And one of the girls said that wouldn't be a problem, that we'd already given them enough entertainment. They said if we came near them again they would call the police. And then they got out of the water and left. Eddie tried begging...and cat-calling them... I was too embarrassed to even look. And after they left I ran back up to where the bike was parked. Do you remember...I said two of the girls had run away before? They stole our clothes. The others were just distracting us. They stole my clothes and I hadn't even done anything! But..." Drakken sighed, "remember I had pulled out a fuse and thrown it away? We couldn't find it. We searched for over an hour. So we had to walk...back...to the camp grounds. Naked. Eddie yelled at me the whole time for how uncool it was for me to sabotage his bike, and I yelled at him for forcing me to join in on all of his stupid ideas... We've never gotten along as well after that."

Drakken sank back against the rock with another sigh as he finished the story. The memory wasn't nearly as amusing as he'd remembered.

"I'm sorry, that...probably wasn't a very good story after all..."

He looked at Shego's still face. He felt her pulse again and found it a bit slower. He wondered if that meant she was relaxing...or dying.

[penwrythe]

Working on moving on from Twitter also how do social media work yeah????

So, the last week and this week have been wild, eh?

My stress levels have increased badly over the past few days just seeing the fallout of the latest Twitter debacle. I feel now is the time for me to just let go of Twitter completely.

If you follow me on Twitter (either through Worldofrelics or PenwrytheArts), I thank you for following, sharing, and liking my art. I'm not a large artist, but I am thankful for every small interaction I get for my art! Even with a few (even major) setbacks, I still had fun interacting with other artists there.

I know I don't have to write all this over the Twitter thing, but I have spent six years there as PenwrytheArts and another year and a half as Worldofrelics. I want to say thank you to everyone who supported me and my art! And, also, if you are also stressed over this whole thing, remember you are not alone. Things will be okay!

Now then, what's next? Well, I just started backups on my accounts and, hopefully, if Twitter does not do another fuckywucky, I'll get them soon. I'll slow down on art and lore posts on my Twitter accounts, only to post the occasional reminder that I'm on other platforms. Since Twitter deletes inactive accounts after 30 days, I cannot make either of my accounts into art archives. I'm looking at WordPress as a place for uploading an archive of my art and the Internet Archive to upload my art and tweets from Twitter.

Once the archives are created, the reminders will cease and I'll just let Twitter's inactive account policy take my accounts.

Tumblr (Penwrythe) is where I will be the most active. For my other accounts, I'm thinking about reviewing how I upload my stuff online.

Tumblr (main) will have most of my activity once I close down my Twitter accounts.

Tumblr, Newgrounds, Blogger, Cohost, Pillowfort, and Artfol will have a combination of both final art and work-in-progress stuff since they have blogging formats like Tumblr. All these will have similar posts between them.

Gallery-wise for completed art: that will be my portfolio, Behance (once I figure out how to set it up), Instagram, Newgrounds, Toyhouse (for characters), and WordPress. World of Relics content is included in all this by the way, but I like the idea of creating WorldofRelics dev site to show progress, either on Tumblr or WordPress. WorldAnvil is its current home for lore and worldbuilding.

And while I'm currently on DeviantArt, I'm debating on whether to delete it or just keep it as an archive with no new uploads at a certain point. I'm still not sure about the state of that site since they still allow AI art to be uploaded there, along with other issues I have with the site.

Not only that, I'm looking for somewhere to upload stories from World of Relics, like Altostratus. I'm looking at AO3 (for original fiction), WordPress, Wattpad, Toyhouse (I think they allow written work), and WorldAnvil (maybe, some of its story features are behind a paywall, tho). Tumblr, Cohost, and Pillowfort are also obvious choices, but I want to keep my stories on at least three websites to avoid having to visit 10 sites just to make a spelling correction from the original draft.

Anyway, that's the plan going forward! Once again, I'm thankful for everything! Good luck to those who are also moving from Twitter, as well!