#my local police is no longer bothering to pretend to give a shit

[wyrd66]

I just want it to go on record that having your identity stolen is the most lonely thing in the world. There is no support. No cure. No one cares. It will just keep happening forever and no one cares.

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Good Things Come to Those Who Talk

It’s been a long time since I’ve written, but the muse visited this week, so here is a fluffy and smutty Captain Swan one shot. I’m sure this trope has been written one millions ways, here is one million and one. Hope you like it. Although I am not around as much as I used to be, CS still remains my OTP and always will. 

ao3          ffnet          rated M          8.9K

Summary:  Emma Swan is so over her brother, he warns every cop he knows to stay away from her. She's pined for so long though, she wants Killian Jones, it's just double bad luck that he's a cop and he happens to be David's partner. She decides her brother's wrath is worth the risk to find out if there's something more for her and Killian. Now all she needs is a new dress and a plan.

“Emma Swan, you little slut! What has gotten into you?” Ruby screeched as Emma pulled the door to her home open.

“Is it too much?” Emma asked with just a touch of hysteria coloring her voice. She hurried back to her bedroom to give herself the once over… again. Running her hands down the newly purchased, skin tight, black mini dress, she followed each and every curve that was on full display.

“Girl, I would do you if I didn’t already have a girlfriend.”

“Not helping, Ruby!” 

“Emma, you look fucking hot, there is not a man on earth that could turn you down in that.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” she mumbled under her breath. Tonight was the night. She’d danced around the longing and heat between her and Killian Jones for long enough. She’d been pining for this man for longer than she could remember, half the time they spent together felt like they were a couple anyway. She already knew her stupid brother, David, had warned Killian Jones to stay away from her, but there was nothing stopping her from putting the moves on Killian Jones. She just hoped Ruby was right, that no man would be able to resist her, including the one who’d been threatened with death if he so much as laid one finger on her. Emma was undeniably hoping for far more than one finger. A shiver jolted through her and she was brought back to the present.

“Someone’s got it baaaad,” Ruby teased. “You gonna make your move tonight?”

“That’s the plan,” Emma said as she grabbed her knee length black leather jacket and tied it closed. She pulled her flowing, golden tresses from the jacket and tossed them over her shoulders. 

“Well then let’s get this party started!” With that, Ruby grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her back to the front of the house and out the door. 

The Rabbit Hole was their favorite local pub, and the only place to celebrate the hot shot detectives who’d made the biggest bust this city had ever seen. Of course it was the hot shot team of Detectives Nolan and Jones to bring down the infamous Robert “The Deal Maker” Gold and his outfit of miscreants. Earlier this morning, both men had received the Medal of Valor, for extraordinary acts of bravery and heroism, performed in the line of duty at extreme life-threatening, personal risk, their Captain had said. 

Emma remembered that day three weeks ago, when she’d received the call from her sister-in-law. The baby had been wailing in the background as Mary Margaret had tried to tell Emma, through choked sobs that David was in the hospital. No doubt the little guy had been so upset because his mama was having a justified meltdown. 

When Emma had arrived, Killian was in the waiting room, a little bloodied, bruised, and banged up, but he’d insisted on waiting for her before letting the doctors examine him. He’d wanted to let her know that David was in surgery, but he’d be okay, and Mary Margaret had just left to drop her two year old off at Belle’s so he didn’t have to wait in the ER. It wasn’t until Killian’s body had slumped against hers that Emma realized he wasn’t doing as well as he’d pretended. She’d found out later, Killian had been hit by Gold’s car as the fiend had tried to make a run for it. 

Emma doesn’t like to think about the panic she’d felt as he was hauled behind the swinging doors of the ER. She doesn’t like to remember the tears that had fallen when the thought that she’d never gotten to tell him how she felt for him, crossed her mind. She especially doesn’t like to think about how he’d been out of the hospital for three weeks now, and she’d still been too chicken shit to even ask him out on a date, let alone tell him that she’s crazy about him. 

Once Killian’s internal bleeding had stopped and he was cleared to go home, she’d helped him convalesce through a dislocated shoulder and severely bruised ribs. He’d gotten remarkably lucky considering he was hit by a car. Hours of flirting and bantering, movies on his couch, meals together, and she hadn’t scraped together the courage to tell him how she felt. She’d picked him up and attended the medal pinning with him today, and still she couldn’t find any words to tell him how she felt. When he’d come down off the stage, walked toward her and scooped her up into a bear hug, all she’d come up with was how proud she was of him. Even though it was true, there was so much more she wanted to say. And she’d known long before any of this had happened, she’d just never considered moving past her fear of rejection or risking their friendship for a chance at something more until she’d felt like she might lose him. 

That thought made her feel pretty shitty. But that’s when she’d decided a few things. Emma Swan was shit with words. Actions speak louder than words. Tonight was the night. And she needed a new dress. 

Taking a deep breath as the car pulled into the parking lot, to center her thoughts, fortify her determination, and get her collective shit together, Emma stepped out of Ruby’s car with something akin to hope.   

Upon entering the noisy bar, she searched for the woman who’d be lending her an assist tonight. Regina and her husband Robin, a retired police officer, now owned this bar. They were close personal friends with Emma’s brother’s family, as David’s former partner, and by extension, with the whole group. Regina would be the one taking care of their party tonight. Emma needed to square some drinking details away with the woman and then she’d be mission ready. After talking to Regina, she glanced around the crowded bar, searching for the man of the hour. Whatever confidence or hope had been building, promptly deflated as she located Killian, only to find him sitting at the bar with some handsy redhead whispering in his ear. 

“Emma!” She heard Mary Margaret’s voice call out from across the bar, but she couldn’t turn, she was transfixed, watching as the woman ran a finger along Killian’s jawline. It gave her just an ounce of pleasure when he removed her hand from his vicinity and placed it on the bar. The mystery woman was undeterred though as she placed her hand on his chest next. 

Mary Margaret called her name again, louder this time, and Emma noticed it caught Killian’s attention as he began to scan the bar. When his eyes met hers, they immediately lit up and he mouthed the word help, with desperation in his every feature. Emma’s confidence restored, she sashayed toward him with renewed determination. 

Goddamn, she thought as she appreciated how Killian’s royal blue button down shirt and black slacks were tailored to his body.  She bit down on her lip when she noted that he definitely had his customary one too many buttons undone and was displaying that magically delicious thatch of chest hair she’d imagined running her hands through just a couple times. Sauntering right in between the two, she settled in the spot of his perpetually manspread legs and placed her palms on his thighs, leaving her back to the other woman.

“Hey Sexy, where’ve you been all my life?” she asked in the sexiest tone she could muster while also trying not to crack up as she laid it on thick for the woman trying to steal her man. What?

“Right here, waiting for you, love,” Killian answered, wrapping an arm around her waist. The man didn’t miss a beat. 

Emma couldn’t be bothered to feel bad as she rubbed her palms over his muscular thighs which currently rested on her hips. She had a mission tonight, and this floozy behind her had been throwing herself at Killian.

“I’m so lucky someone didn’t come and scoop you up before I got here.”

Emma almost melted when he came right back with, “No one else is you.”

She knew this man, had known him for several years. She knew when he was playing a long con, when he was bullshitting, when he was joking, when he was serious, and when he was sincere. Her heartbeat stuttered as his earnest expression dared her to believe him. Just at that moment, the drinks Killian had ordered arrived. “Come on,” she said, grabbing the three beer bottles in one hand and taking his hand in her other. 

“Let me order a couple more, now that the rest of you are here.”

Emma leaned in to whisper in his ear, “And leave you at the mercy of Hands, I don’t think so.” If she wasn’t mistaken, Killian actually shivered, and she wondered how bad it had gotten before she’d arrived. When she stepped back though, she noticed a bright flush along Killian’s cheeks, and she wondered if she wasn’t causing that shiver and blush. “I’ll order when the server comes around.” 

Emma was positively rippling with anticipation of what Killian would think of her dress as they walked over to the private room Mary Margaret had reserved for tonight. The bar had several private rooms off each corner of the bar, they were a little less noisy, and perfect for celebratory drinks. This one had a large round booth and table in it, so Emma slid in next to her brother, pulling Killian in behind her. Strategically speaking, she was hoping David couldn’t stare daggers at Killian from this angle, like he always did when Emma and Killian were hanging out and getting too close for his comfort. She didn’t need her stupid brother ruining her plans.

“Here love, you can have this beer,” Killian offered as they sat down.

“That’s okay, I can wait for the server.” Emma was not in the mood to get drunk, at least not drunk for real. “Are Will and Belle still coming tonight?” Emma asked as she untied her jacket and leaned forward to take it off while still seated in the confines of the booth. 

Killian audibly choked on the swig of beer he’d been taking when he caught a glimpse of all the skin Emma was now showing. One false move and there could be a nip slip, really.

“Hey, Jones, you okay there buddy? Emma, quick, give him mouth to mouth, he’s choking,” she harassed. 

Emma shot her a look before slapping Killian on the back a couple times. “My ribs,” he croaked once he’d finished hacking and coughing. 

Emma preened as she noticed he still hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “You gonna be okay?” she asked, turning fully toward Killian as she soothingly rubbed her hand along his rib cage.

“Love your new dress, Ems,” Ruby exclaimed, adding fuel to multiple fires.

“New dress? Are you sure you got the whole thing?” David fumed. “Looks more like a tank top to me. And yes, to answer your question from before, Will and Belle are coming, their Lyft was running late.”

Emma looked over her shoulder to scowl at her brother, and he scowled right back. “I happen to like this dress, David,” she said, saying his name as pettily as any sister could, “what about you Killian. Do you like my new dress?”

Killian’s hand immediately shot up to scratch behind his ear, but before he could even speak a word, David leaned forward, peered around Emma and stared those oh so familiar daggers at Killian. 

“Oh stop it, David,” Mary Margaret chided her husband. 

“Oi mates, hope you didn’t start the party without me,” Will shouted as he and Belle entered the room. He and Belle scooted into the booth next to Ruby and Mulan, and Emma was thankful they’d arrived before David could start ranting about not wanting his sister to date a cop.  

Emma, Mary Margaret, Belle, and Ruby had all been promised a play by play of the Gold bust now that the case was finalized, Gold had been sentenced, and everyone was healed. Will and Mulan hadn’t been injured, but they’d been part of the task force, and instrumental in the take down. Emma tried not to concentrate too hard on the fact that she was the only female here who wasn’t technically a significant other. Besides, maybe that would change after tonight.  

A round of shots was ordered to start the evening and Regina brought them to the table, handing a shot of rum to each guest. They toasted to the takedown of the felon who had run rampant like a virus, for far too long. The story was intense to be sure, and a second round of shots was ordered to toast the health and safety of David, Killian, Mulan, and Will.  

When the live band started, they headed for the dance floor and Emma was thankful to have a bit of privacy, albeit in the middle of a crowded dance floor, with Killian. “You cut quite the figure in that dress,” he whispered into her ear. 

The band was covering a latin number and Emma melted as Killian pulled her in close. His left hand was on the small of her back and the other held her free hand. Her free hand rested on his chest, right at the juncture of his too unbuttoned shirt. 

“I don’t know exactly how to do this… dance,” Emma mumbled as Killian began to move his feet. They were connected at their hips as they swayed with the beat. 

“It’s called a mambo; there’s only one rule, pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

She’d danced with him before and it never ceased to amaze her how well the man could move his body. If he was this fluid and skilled while dancing, what could he do in bed? 

“I can see your mind working, Swan. What are you thinking about?”

Emma tried to stop the blush, but she’d definitely been caught ogling him. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Perhaps I would,” he admitted while sweeping a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You are blushing,” he added as he trailed the finger down her cheek.

“I was just thinking, if you’re this good on the-” Emma’s breath was knocked from her as David and Mary Margaret careened into them. 

“Hey guys,” David shouted over the music, “time for shots.”

Emma just barely stopped herself from yelling at her brother to stop being a cockblock. Instead, she settled for stomping on his foot as she led Killian off the dancefloor. They all lined up at the bar and Regina doled out more shots. 

“I’m ready to go home,” Emma slurred into Killian’s shoulder several hours later. “Take me home?”

“Aye, love.”

“I thought Ruby was your ride,” David interrupted.

“No can do, Davey,” Ruby mumbled. “Me and my baby are staying at the hotel across the street so we don’t have to drive and we don’t have to come back for the car tomorrow. 

“We will take you home,” David proclaimed, as if someone had died and made him king.

“That’s ridiculous, we’re already taking Belle and Will home,” Mary Margaret told her husband. “Killian hasn’t been drinking for the last two hours, he can take Emma home.”

“Bu-” David started.

“I know we have five seats, but we don’t need to squish five adults into them, when Killian can give Emma a ride.”

Emma snickered at the way Mary Margaret effortlessly handled David.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” David muttered. 

After the group said their goodbyes, Emma let Killian lead her to his truck. She pretended to need much more help getting in than she really did. Under the guise of being drunk, Emma found she was much braver. If he turned her down, she could always pretend she was so drunk she didn’t remember, and if he was a gentleman, which he was, he’d never mention it. 

Reaching across the space between them, Emma brushed the hair away from his forehead. “I was so worried about you when you were in the hospital,” she whispered, making sure to slur a word here and there.

“I’m sorry I worried you, lass, but you needn’t worry about me.”

“I do worry about you, Killian. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, in your inebriated state, I’m sure it’s hard to imagine, but I am sure you’d manage.”

“What a horrible thing to say! I would not be okay if I lost you, I would never be okay.”

Killian clasped his hand over hers, which had been idly stroking his cheek. “Shhh, love, there’s no need to discuss this topic anyway. If there is one thing I am good at, it’s surviving.” 

Killian pulled into her driveway and hastily exited to help her down from the truck. She definitely put more weight on him than was strictly necessary and sloppily handed him the keys to unlock her door. 

“Someone is going to be feeling like shite in the morning,” Killian laughed. 

Emma played it up, and allowed Killian to get Tylenol and water for her as she stripped out of her dress and hopped into her bed. 

“Call me if you need anything, yeah?” he checked as he set her hangover supplies on her nightstand.

Emma caught his hand as he went to put it in his pocket. “Stay with me?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Please,” Emma asked sweetly, looking up at him with all the hope she felt inside written clearly on her face.

Killian exhaled a long sigh as only a man who knows he’s lost can. Circling around the bed, he started to climb in behind her. 

“You’re not going to sleep in jeans, are you?”

“I don’t exactly have sleepwear at my disposal, Swan. And you’re sleeping in your dress.”

Emma laughed at that, that’s what he thinks. “Take off your jeans, boxer briefs are just like shorts.” She grinned triumphantly as she heard the metal of his belt and the rustling of pants being dropped. 

Once he was settled in her bed, she turned over and snuggled against him. The groan he emitted when she did so shot a bolt of heat straight to her core. She knew he was just as affected as she was, and that was hot. 

“Emma, please, you’re making it very hard fo-”

“That’s kinda the point,” she giggled, pressing her body against his and snaking her free hand into the opening of his shirt to rake it through his chest hair. 

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

“Yeah?” 

“Poor choice of words,” he corrected as he scooted away from her advances. “We can’t do this.”

Emma immediately felt the sting of his words in her chest, like someone was gripping her heart, or worse, like someone had taken it and she was hollow. A flurry of emotions ran through her as she tried to assure herself she still had her failsafe of “being drunk”. She searched for words. “Why? Because of my stupid brother?” she demanded, her voice a little more watery than angry.

“This has nothing to do with your brother, Swan.”

“Then… why?” Emma sat up in bed and pulled the blankets tightly around her body, as if they’d protect her from whatever hurtful reason he had for not wanting her.

“Because you’re drunk and-”

“Well-” Emma interrupted.

“No, wait, let me finish. Before I lose my nerve.”

Emma frowned at him, but complied by sitting quietly.

“You’ve been drinking all night love, and I would never forgive myself if I took advantage of you in this state and then you regretted it in the morning, if you regretted me. I… I’m crazy about you Emma, I have been for a long time. I don’t want a drunken one night stand with you, hell, I don’t want any kind of one night stand with you. I want… more.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” she asked softly.

“Short answer? I’m a coward.”

“What if I want to know the extended version?” she asked as she patted the seat next to her and offered him part of the blankets so he could join her.

Killian got back into the bed and sat up against the headboard as Emma was. “I guess I’ve hid behind your brother’s warning to stay away from you. I mean, he’s not wrong, it can be a hard life being with a cop. Look what happened with Gold. I also worried about jeopardizing our friendship, especially if you didn’t feel the same way about me.”

“Why now?”

Killian chuckled before answering her. “You being drunk gives me the courage to say how I feel, because you might not even remember this in the morning.” 

Emma dropped all pretense of being inebriated and leaned forward so she was looking straight into the depths of the eyes she dreamed about almost nightly. “Let’s get something straight, okay? I could never regret you, Killian Jones.” Placing a hand softly on his cheek, she smiled at the awestruck look on his face. “And also, I haven’t had a drink all night. I paid Regina to fill my shots with apple juice. I just needed the cover of liquid courage to try and seduce you because I am shit with words. And I figured if you didn’t feel the same, I could always pretend that I didn’t remember the next day.”

Killian’s warm laughter startled her a bit, but then she was laughing with him. “I usually have a flair with words, Swan, you just do something to me that brings me to my basest form. I’m a goner for you, and I wish I’d have told you sooner.”

“Well, get used to me not being great with words. I’m sort of caveman-like. I mean, I’m not gonna point and grunt, but I definitely use action over words. But if I can paraphrase a great wordsmith, ‘I’m crazy about you, Killian, I have been for a long time’.”

The smile that lit up Killian’s face, dimples and all, was worth the hell she was going to go through with David. 

“In the spirit of full disclosure, I never got a chance to answer you at the bar. I love your new dress, may I see it again,” he asked, gently tugging at the blankets she’d wrapped around herself for protection a few moments ago.

“Hmmm, sorry, not right now...” Killian immediately dropped his hand from the blanket and began to tell her it’s okay, when she peeled away the blanket, and continued, “because I’m not wearing it anymore.” 

“Fuck me,” he murmured before biting down on his lip hungrily.

“Still the plan.” 

♡~♥~♡~♥~♡

“Stand up, love, let me see you.”

Emma complied, standing up and bearing herself to him. She was clad in nothing more than lacy, black panties and a matching bra. Watching as he perused every inch of her body, from the swell of her breasts, to her lean torso and soft belly, then down to the apex of her thighs, she could see his length swelling under his boxer briefs, and every part of her wanted him. Crooking her finger, she beckoned him to her, and it was his turn to comply. 

Once Killian stood before her, Emma unbuttoned the remainder of his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, to the floor. Then she did something that shocked her a little bit, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him close and just held him; he immediately reciprocated, both arms encircling her and bringing her close. The feelings they’d just spoken floated around them and  flowed between them.

Threading her fingers into his hair, she guided his mouth to hers and kissed him, softly and exploratorily at first. But as lips gave way to caressing tongues, and roaming hands, heat built and Emma found herself panting and breathless.

Killian unclasped her bra and pulled it away and she was never more grateful for that barrier to be gone, as his chest hair delicately tightened her nipples and sent sparks shooting to her core. She wanted more and made it known by grabbing his ass with both hands and hauling him firmly to her. Killian glided his hands down her back and over her firm ass while sucking a nipple into his mouth. She moaned his name at the sensation of his wet mouth laving at her breasts, and his fingers and palms caressing the smooth expanse of her ass. Emma wanted that last barrier gone, she reached between them to remove first her panties and then finally his boxer briefs.  

She was not disappointed when she finally got a look at what her Detective was packing. Emma licked her lips as his cock stood at full attention, straining with the need to be touched.

“See something you like, darling?” 

There was that hint of cockiness that she loved so much. “Yeah,” she breathed as she dropped to her knees. Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, Emma stroked up and down a few times, relishing in the hiss that left Killian’s mouth. When his head dropped back, she pounced, taking him deep and swallowing once, before pulling back and then setting a slow rhythmic pace.

Killian lifted her from her knees and attacked her mouth with kisses, between trying to speak, “You don’t have to do that.”

Emma pulled her head back to stare at this man in front of her. What guy turns down head? “I know I don’t have to, I was enjoying myself,” she said, then she pushed into his frame, guiding him backwards until he could sit at the edge of the bed. She dropped to her knees again, and  smirked before descending on him once more, but before she could even set a rhythm, he was halting her ministrations again.

“Okay, that’s twice. What’s up, Jones? Do you not enjoy getting head? Do I suck at it, and not in the good way?” Emma sat back on her calves, folding her arms around herself.  

“On the contrary, you are magnificent at sucking my cock, Emma.”

She grinned mischievously at the compliment, a swarm of relief flooding her mind. “Then what gives?”

“I haven’t...” Killian trailed off, and an actual blush colored his cheeks as he tried to find the words he was looking for. 

Emma put her hands on his knees and gently squeezed. “What is it? You can tell me.”

“I haven’t been with anyone in a while, I’ve kind of been saving myself for this brilliant lass I know. Plus, I’ve been hard since you took your jacket off at the bar and I don’t wish to finish before you,” he admitted. He rubbed nervously behind his ear as he waited for her reaction.

Emma was a little speechless. At no point in her life had she ever been with a man who was so dedicated to her gratification, he would deny his own. She’d definitely never been halted in the middle of a blow job so that her needs could be met. She stood up, taking Killian with her and then turned them around so that she could lie down on the bed. Holding her hand out to him, she pulled him down next to her and then scooted so that they were laying face to face. “Make me come, Killian.”

Needing no further guidance, Killian captured her lips in a fiery kiss while situating her on her back. Their tongues slid together effortlessly until he broke the kiss to blaze a trail down her body. She would definitely have marks, but he was careful to leave them where only they would see. As he paid special attention to her breasts again, delighting way too much in the noises she made, Emma finally caved, begging for more.

Scooting down between her legs, Killian took stock of the pretty picture splayed out for him. “Absolutely gorgeous,” he murmured. Ever so gently, he ran the tip of his finger along her glistening folds, parting them as his finger ran further down, exposing her clit to the cool air. 

“Please Killian, touch me.”

“As you wish.” 

Emma keened in half relief and half need as his tongue finally made contact with her clit. She thrust her hips, needing nothing short of penetration, and again, she was obviously hoping for more than just one finger. She wasn’t disappointed when Killian filled her with two digits as he worked her clit with his tongue.

Emma fisted a handful of Killian’s dark hair as he brought her a pleasure like none she’d experienced before. It was hot as hell to have him watching her with those devilish blue eyes gazing up from between her thighs as she fucked his fingers. 

Emma had never been much of a talker in bed, but she found it easy with Killian to ask for more, to ask for it harder, and because of that, he had her falling over the edge of oblivion quickly.

“Get up here, now,” she panted, once her mind came back from the haze of post orgasmic delight.

“Gods, you taste divine,” he praised as he moved over her body, settling between her legs so they were face to face.

“You are really good at that, better than I could ever have imagined.”

“Oh, Emma,” he began as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit down gently before letting it go, “do elaborate on ‘imagined’,” he smirked before grinding his hips down so his thick length slid through her folds and over her clit. 

A breathy moan rushed past her lips as he teased her. “Yeah? You want to hear all about how I get myself off while thinking of you?”

“Aye, lass, tell me.”

“Mmmmm, sometimes it’s quick and dirty, fucking my fingers, wishing they were yours. Other times I imagine you bend me over your desk at the precinct and take me roughly. But the best is edging while wondering if you’re lying in bed thinking about me, stroking your hard cock. I always finally make myself come, pleading your name as I picture you making yourself come all over your chest, calling out my name.”

“Christ, Emma, I’m going to come all over your chest if you tell me any more.”

In a flash of motion, Emma flipped them so she was on top, staring down at Killian. “We can’t have that.” Leaning down, she kissed him roughly, demanding his tongue, while situating his cock so she could sink down on it. “Oh… fuck you feel so good,” she gasped as his full length hit a depth she’d never felt without toys. Her hands found purchase on his chest as she adjusted to his size. 

She let Killian set the pace after he grasped both her hips and guided her along. He was mesmerized by the way his cock slid in and out of her wet heat. “You feel so good wrapped around me,” he praised.

Killian pulled her down for a kiss again, and flipped them so he was on top. Emma whined as he withdrew from her completely and sat back on his haunches. “I’ve just realized I don’t have a condom,” he said defeatedly.

“That’s okay, I’m on the pill and I’m clean. You clean?”

“Aye, lass. On my honor.”

“Then put every inch of that cock back inside me,” she demanded as she pulled him back into the cradle of her thighs.

Emma laughed lightly as Killian groaned loudly while pushing back into her. “Just so you know, love, this feels so much better than any time I’ve ever taken myself in hand while thinking of you. And I always come with your name on my lips.” 

Her answering smile turned into a low moan as Killian pulled out and then thrust back home. He changed the tempo, long deep passes, quick pounding thrusts, grinding his hips into her sometimes, and pumping shallowly others. She made sure to let him know what felt good and what felt better, and especially what was, “Oh fuck, yes, right there!” 

Despite never having been together before, the combination of Emma knowing what she liked,  being comfortable enough to ask for it, and Killian listening to her and taking care of her, had them riding the same wave, feeling, exploring, loving. 

In the end, Killian had both her legs pulled up high around his waist, arms under her shoulders, and his face buried in the crook of her neck as he methodically drove into her, determined to make her come again. 

Emma had her legs wrapped tightly around his torso, her arms around his neck, and her head thrown back into the pillow. They were a hot sweaty mess, and she was sure she’d never been wound this tight, she’d never been this turned on,maybe there was something to sex with feelings. His hot breath against her neck caused a tightness in her nipples and a tingling in her clit. Killian’s thrusts were punishing, hitting her deep, and she was so close and she knew he was close and she really wanted to come again.  

“Touch yourself, Emma, I want to feel you come all over my cock.”

An errant bit of relief flooded her as she realized Killian was not intimidated in asking for what he wanted either and he wasn’t too macho to ask her to help get them there. Now was not the time for reflection though, and so she pushed those delightful thoughts to an area for later. Reaching down between them, Emma gathered the arousal that coated her thighs and started rubbing her fingers over her clit. “Almost, Killian, almo- Oh, Ooooh,” Emma cried. 

It was almost ridiculous how in sync they were, each gracing the edge of ecstasy before plummeting off one after the other, calling the other’s name like a benediction. She’d been right, his moves on the dance floor had definitely foreshadowed his performance in bed. And just like the attentive gentleman he was day-to-day, he was the same in bed, making sure to guide her through every aftershock, and hold her as she came down from on high. 

“Bloody Hell, why did we wait so long to do this?” Killian panted against her neck, before rolling off of her. “Come here,” he said, pulling Emma against his side. 

Instead of nestling into him, Emma stood up and stretched deliciously. “So, I guess, I’ll umm... see you around?” A mixture of shock, disappointment, and embarrassment crossed his face before he quickly jumped out of bed. The look was priceless, she really did feel heartless, but she couldn’t resist teasing him a little. 

“Right, love,” he mumbled as he turned from her and grabbed his slacks off the floor.  

Emma tiptoed behind him and circled her arms around his waist, his whole body was taught. “I’m fucking with you, Jones,” she said gently, pressing her cheek to his back. “Join me for a shower?” As his body relaxed, she placed a few kisses between his shoulder blades causing him to shiver. 

He turned in her arms and took her mouth in a hungry kiss. “You are a devilish little minx, aren’t you?”

“I couldn’t resist,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Come on, let’s go get clean… and dirty.”

“Do you promise to tell me more dirty little fantasies?”

A blush ran up her body as she remembered telling Killian her favorite fantasy about him. 

“Don’t get shy now. For someone who says they’re shite with words, you were certainly very chatty in bed.

“Oh my gosh, Killian.” She rolled her eyes and smacked his chest as mortification coursed through her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the shower, but found herself being swung back into his chest.

Killian wrapped his arms around her middle and pressed his front to her back in a sensual embrace. “Don’t you dare ever feel ashamed to tell me exactly what you want, love. If you want it harder,” he thrust his hips against her ass to elaborate, “if you want it deeper,” he growled, sucking at the lobe of her ear, “if you want my mouth between your thighs…”

Emma moaned as Killian continued rutting his hips against her ass and caressing her with his strong hands. She hung on his every word.

“If you want to watch me stroke my cock,” he said huskily, “just say the words.”

“Fuck, Killian. I want you to fuck me again,” she responded breathily. Taking his hand and pulling him toward the shower again, she met no resistance this time. 

Reaching into the shower she turned the water on full blast and then turned around and jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist to kiss him while they waited for it to warm up. 

He took her again, against the wall of her shower, then they made out until the water began to cool, before they both fell into bed, sated and exhausted.

♡~♥~♡~♥~♡

Emma hummed happily as she stood at the stove making pancakes. Killian was still sound asleep in her bed, the hint of a smile playing at his lips, and a hard case of morning wood if the slight tent of the sheets was anything to judge by. As much as she’d wanted to wake him up with salacious activities, she’d also wanted to let him sleep in. So she’d silently slipped into her black silk robe and headed to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast. Her mind kept jumping to different parts of their evening together, and how much she hoped for a repeat performance.

An unadulterated smile broke out across her face when Killian’s husky voice broke through her morning musings. “Something smells delicious.”

The way he nuzzled into her made her weak in the knees as she protested the compliment. “It’s just from a box.”

“Mmm,” he hummed against her ear, “I’m not talking about the pancakes.”

Emma spun in his arms and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her mind was spinning, it was a little shocking to her that she wasn’t panicking at all about how much they’d discussed last night and how deep their feelings ran for each other. She realized she wasn’t afraid because what they had was worth taking the risk for. Breaking the kiss, she peered into his beautiful blue eyes. Eyes full of emotions that she knew mirrored her own. And the absolutely boyish grin gracing his face made her heart soar. 

“What?” he asked as she continued gazing at him.

“Nothing, I’m just... happy.” 

“Aye, love, me too.”

Emma leaned in to kiss him again, this time parting her mouth and begging entrance to his as she stroked the seam of his lips with her tongue. “To hell with the pancakes,” she muttered when he opened to her, tongues tangling together. Carding her fingers through his hair, only their breathing and wet kisses filled the air as she pushed him back toward the table until he was sitting with her nestled between his legs.

 Untying her robe, Killian caressed his hands up and down the lush skin of her torso before greedily pulling her against him, showing her how ready she had him, not that it was hard to tell through his boxer briefs.

“I smell pancakes. I thought we were eating on the way to the zoo?” a masculine voice said, cutting through the moment. 

“David!” Emma gasped.

“Your brother has a key, good to know,” Killian muttered. Emma dropped her head into Killian’s shoulder, willing this to be a dream. That was quickly shattered when she heard Mary Margaret’s voice. 

“Are we interrupting something,” Mary Margaret asked, eyes wide as saucers and a smirk begging to be let out. 

“EmEm! Killy!” little Leo cooed. 

David’s hands had immediately found his hips, as they quite often did before interrogating a suspect. Although the look on his face looked more like he was preparing to beat a perp. “What the… I mean… What’s go- Why the hell is he- Goddammit!” he roared, throwing his hands up in the air, and the toddler snuggled in Mary Margaret’s arms immediately started crying at his father’s outburst. “I thought I said she was off limits?”

“Hey!” Mary Margaret and Emma both yelled. As Emma stepped away from Killian to give her brother a piece of her mind, Killian quickly grabbed her wrist and pulled her back. Neither missed the huff of exasperation from David, but both ignored it. Killian quickly folded Emma’s robe over and tied it closed before giving her an attempted wink.

She smiled that happy smile at him before returning a scowl to her brother. “I am not a possession, David. You’re not my father, you’re not my husband, and you’re not my keeper! You don’t get to tell me who I can and cannot be with.” She was outright yelling as she finished.

“I’m not,” he boomed. “I’m telling Killian he can’t be with you. I don’t want you with a cop, Emma!”

“Why is being with a cop good enough for your wife, the one you share a love so pure with and would lay down your life for, but being with a cop isn’t okay for me?”

“It’s not like that, Emma,” David argued.

“Oh yeah? Then what’s it like? I’m dying to understand,” she retorted.

“I’m just trying to protect you.”

“From what?” When David made no move to answer, she shouted her question louder at him. “From what!?” 

“Daddy, EmEm, no fight,” Leo cried. 

“Emma,” Killian called softly and she turned to look at his calming blue eyes. He was quite the site, clad only in his skivvies, both hands strategically placed over his package. “Let’s get dressed. You both could use a minute to calm down.”

“That’s a great idea,” Mary Margaret piped in. “Take five, we’ll finish making breakfast. You still have that leftover ham from the other night?”

Emma nodded at her sister-in-law, then she and Killian headed toward her bedroom.

“Where are you going, Jones,” David seethed.

“Where the fuck do you think his clothes are, David,” Emma cursed.

Once in the bedroom, Killian pulled Emma into his arms. “Hey, we are going to make him understand, okay. There’s no reason to fight with him. Let’s make him understand. Hear him out, whatever his reasons, and then show him why he’s wrong.” 

“No, Killian. He’s being an absolute dick. He has no right to tell me what to do. And I hate whatever his reasons are. I don’t care.”

Killian placed a hand on each of her cheeks and looked into her eyes, before planting a soft kiss to her lips. “Yes you do, love. And we can figure this out.”

Admittedly, some of her anger faded as Killian talked of understanding and explaining and communication. She walked to her dresser and pulled out one of his old t-shirts she’d borrowed at a party at his place. 

“You still have this?” he chuckled.

“It smelled like you for a long time after I borrowed it, I like sleeping in it.” 

“That party was over a year ago,” he mused.

“I told you, I’ve wanted…,” she paused, trying to find a better word for how she’d felt for so long. “I’ve really liked you for a long time, Killian.”

He slipped the t-shirt over his head before descending on her and kissing her fully. “Maybe almost for as long as I’ve fancied you.”

She just giggled at that, hugging him for fortification before taking his hand and heading back out into the battle zone.

“Wait, I still don’t have pants.”

Emma led him to the guest room.“David and Mary Margaret keep extra clothes here for when they don’t decide early enough who is going to be designated driver.”

“I don’t think Mary Margaret’s pants will fit me, darling.”

“Shut up you goofball,” she laughed as she threw him a pair of David’s sweatpants.

“Let’s sit down and eat, and discuss this like adults,” Mary Margaret, always the mother, ordered everyone when Emma and Killian emerged. 

She’d finished cooking the pancakes, whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs, and was just finishing frying up the leftover ham. David was pouring a round of coffee for everyone and holding Leo who was happily babbling now that he had a pancake in his hand and no one was yelling.

After strapping the baby into the portable high chair they kept at Emma’s place, everyone sat down at the table and dug into breakfast. 

“Can you just tell me what you think you’re protecting me from?” Emma asked. “I mean you trust Killian with your life, literally. Why don’t you trust him with my heart?”

David’s stoic expression lightened at that. “Does he have your heart, Emma?”

Killian glanced toward Emma and smiled knowingly. They didn’t need to call it love right this instant, but they were definitely invested in each other. 

“Answer the question, dear,” Mary Margaret prodded. “Otherwise they don’t have the truth, because trusting Killian has nothing to do with it, and you know it.”

“Fine,” David sighed. “You dealt with abandonment by your own parents, by every subsequent foster parent, by the only friend you made as a child, who turned out to be a fraud, and then with Neal’s betrayal, which almost broke you. I don’t want you to ever experience that abandonment again.” David’s voice broke as he finished explaining. Tears rimmed his eyes as he contemplated even trying to understand what she’d been through. And he would be damned before it happened again, especially by someone who he’d introduced into her life. 

“What?” Emma asked incredulously. “That has everything to do with trusting Killian,” she argued. “Why do you assume he’d abandon me.”

Leo quieted as the tension between siblings started to grow again and Mary Margaret looked around the table, jaw clenched and a warning in her eyes to every adult at the table to not upset her baby again. 

Killian placed his hand over Emma’s white knuckles where her fist lay balled up on the table. “I don’t think he means I would intentionally leave you, Swan.”

Emma looked between her brother and Killian, a confused furrow cocking her brows. 

David chuckled, “See, he gets it.”

“Explain, David. Make her understand where you’re coming from,” his wife urged him.

Wait, Emma thought, it was supposed to be the other way around. She was supposed to be making him understand why she and Killian were a good, no great, thing. Before she could speak though, David started up again.

“Emma, you really think no one sees how much you two are into each other? You really think for almost two years, no one has watched the way you pine for each other, flirt off the charts, tease each other like kids on a playground? You’re like an old married couple half the time, we’d have to be blind not to see it. Killian is a good man, I understand he’d never purposefully hurt you, he’d have to deal with me if he did. But you have to understand that officers die in the line of duty all the time. Being with one means you accept that risk. I couldn’t bear the thought of you losing one more person you loved, especially if it was someone I brought into your life.”

A tear or two trailed down Emma’s cheeks as she listened to her brother. As she really heard what he was saying. For the first time, she understood where he was coming from. It finally made sense why he didn’t want her being with a cop. And it relieved her mind that it had nothing to do with Killian personally, especially because she wasn’t giving him up. 

“EmEm, you sad?” Leo asked.

A small laugh turned cry-hiccup escaped Emma’s mouth. “No baby, I’m happy,” she smiled. 

Leo clapped his hands, his innocent celebration of an adult human being happy, bringing a smile to everyone’s face. 

Emma unfurled her balled up fist under Killian’s comforting hand and interlaced their fingers, giving him a strong smile. “David, while I am thankful that you explained your reason for not wanting me with Killian and I even understand where you’re coming from, I could walk outside tomorrow and get hit by a bus. There are no guarantees in this life.”

David nodded his head as he glanced between her face and her and Killian’s intertwined fingers. 

“He has my heart, David, would you deny us that?”

David sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest as he often did when contemplating something. After a full minute, at least, he exhaled a breath bespeaking acceptance, albeit reluctantly. “I’m beginning to see that. And I could never deny you happiness, Emma.” 

Emma beamed at her brother, understanding that while his actions may have been off kilter the reasoning behind them was fueled by brotherly love. 

Mary Margaret leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek before flashing Emma and Killian a smile. “Glad we got this settled,” she giggled.

“So, just what are your intentions toward my sister, Jones?”

Emma scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes at David’s attempt at big brother intimidation tactics. But when she heard Killian’s answer, she was kinda thankful to her brother.

“Well Dave, whatever happens between me and Emma is as much up to her as it is me. But I’m in this for the long haul if she’ll have me.”

“Good answer, partner,” David laughed as he threw his hand out across the table in an offer to shake Killian’s. “Two rules,” he added as he squeezed Killian’s hand tighter, “you are never allowed to kiss and tell around me, and if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” 

Killian let David have his moment of brotherly protection, because he understood how important it was to cherish Emma. He was the one who’d fancied her for almost two years after all. 

“All right, enough of that,” Mary Margaret sighed as she wiped Leo’s hands and face. “Let’s get everything cleaned up, and then we are headed to the zoo as planned. Emma you are free to bail, you and Killian probably have a lot of catching up to do for the last year and a half.” 

Emma waggled her eyebrows at her sister-in-law and Killian had the good sense to not dispense with his usual abundance of innuendos, while David just cast the evil eye at his wife. 

“What,” Mary Margaret asked, holding her hands up in mock innocence and confusion, “what’d I say?”

“Ga-dammen!” Leo shouted and every head whipped around to look at the little boy as he tugged helplessly at the lap belt of the high chair. “Up, up,” he pleaded. 

“Way to go, dear, looks like he’ll have your charming vocabulary,” Mary Margaret scolded her husband.

Not having any kids of their own had Emma and Killian struggling not to bellow out loud at the little guys antics. 

“No, no, Leo,” David told his son as he unbuckled the lap belt and picked him up. “That’s a… that’s a daddy word.”

“David! What kind of lesson is that?”

Emma and Killian just looked at each other and started cracking up. “So what do you say? Stay in or join these crazy kids at the zoo?” Emma asked Killian.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am doing,” Emma deadpanned. “I’m asking you out on a date with me, my brother, his wife and kid, and the monkeys too.”

“Sounds delightful as long as you’ll be there,” Killian answered as he pulled her into his embrace and pecked her lips. 

“Hey, let’s just take it slow,” David interrupted, “I’m not quite there yet.”

“Oh relax, she’s 28, not 16, they’ve obviously already done the deed, how are you going to get squirmy over a hug?” 

“Not helping!” David pleaded with his wife, rubbing his temples in a soothing motion. 

“He’s such a baby,” Mary Margaret cracked up. “How about you guys meet us there? No rush,” she added conspiratorially. 

“For fuck’s sake, do you want to lay out a trail of rose petals to the bed for them?”

“He’s too easy,” she continued laughing.

“Fuhfuh sake!!” Leo shouted.

Mary Margaret’s laughter cut off immediately as she stared daggers at her husband. “Watch your mouth, he’s a parrot these days!”

“Gonna be a fun day,” Emma said, once the Nolans had departed. She was most definitely trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

“It’ll be brilliant, love. You and me, that is the only requisite for my enjoyment.”

“I bet you say that to all the other girls.”

“There are no other girls. Only you, milady.”

“Good,” Emma whispered before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Mmm, let’s practice mating like the animals, Swan.”

Emma laughed so hard her stomach hurt. “I have no doubt David is now timing the drive to the zoo and adding it to the time he thinks it should take us to be ready.”

“I can be quick,” Killian purred as he thrust his hardening length against her stomach. 

“Or we could take our time and really freak him out?”

“Your heart’s desire, Swan, I promise, that’s all I want you to have.”

Emma stared into the intense gaze of Killian’s eyes, the blue shining with truth and sincerity. “The long haul, Killian, that’s what my heart desires. You and me.”

The End

Tagging @laschatzi @xhookswenchx @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @hollyethecurious @jennjenn615​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @apromisednightcap​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @wordsmith-storyweaver​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @nikkiemms​ @deathbycaptainswan​ @gingerchangeling​ @thisonesatellite​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @tiganasummertree​ @cocohook38​ @snowbellewells​ @andiirivera​ @searchingwardrobes​ @timeless-love-story​ @artistic-writer​ @kday426​ @imagnifika​

[wayward-mikaelson]

Come Back pt 4

Word Count: 2997

Characters: Dean, Sam, and Reader

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (laying next to each other)

About: The Reader and Dean have been having lots of hot sex, to Sams knowledge who pretends he doesn’t care. But all that crumbles when the Reader finds Dean with another woman. Sam does damage control and when Dean finds out, he isn’t happy.

18+ CONTENT so if you are younger SCROLL ALONG.

Warnings: Bondage, Smut, Protective Sex, Angst, Language, Cheating, Fluff, Fighting

A/N: If you want to be tagged in future posts let me know in the comment below!

ENJOY

I yank at the restraints that bound me to the bed until my wrists hurt. What the hell kind of knot is this? I think in between gasps as Dean licks up whatever slick mess is left over from my orgasm. I look down to see Dean kiss the inside of my thigh. He slowly crawls up kissing my stomach, kissing both of my breasts, kissing my neck and then my jaw line, only to tease a kiss to my lips with his. He lingers them above mine for a few seconds longer than he normally does. I lift my head up and take his bottom lip with my teeth. Dean reacts by thrusting into me without warning causing me to scream out.

"Oh my god," I breath out and drop my head down on the pillow. I love when he did that but I knew what was next. Dean normally pulls out just as fast. I quickly wrap my legs around him and tighten them so he wouldn't pull away. "I got you now," I say managing to use all my body weight to roll the both of us over. Which is nearly impossible but after a few attempts I'm on top of up him but not much can happen since my hands are still bound together.

"I was not expecting that," Deans face shows that he is even more turned on. I feel him twitch inside of me. He reaches up without breaking eye contact with me and loosens the rope. His first mistake. I pull back and take and rope and tie his hands up. In the same exact knot. I slowly begin to roll my hips up and down. I watch his eyes close and as he tighten his jaw. Dean tries to pull his hands free as I feel him trying to take over to finish himself off.

"Now you know what that feels like," I saying leaning in to brush my lips along his jawline to his neck. I start to feel his body twitch and tense up. I knew that he was close. I begin to pick up the pace only to hear the rope snap and have Deans arms around me and sitting up thrusting a few times before falling back down.

"I need you to take over more often," Dean says rubbing my back as I roll off him.

"I need to find a rope that wont snap," I say looking at the remains of the rope.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. "I got a case," Sams voice is on the other end. "If you two are done in there, we should talk about checking it out."

"Well," Dean gets up and gets dressed. I follow suit and before leaving the room, Dean has me up on the wall pressing his lips hard on mine. He pushes his tongue passed my lips and I feel myself get excited. "That's for probably the best orgasm I've ever had." Then Dean leaves the room leaving me collecting myself before seeing Sam out there.

Since Sam found out that Dean and I were sleeping together, he said he didn't care and that he had dropped the chasing. But I can tell in his eyes that whenever he looks at me, he wishes that it was him pleasuring me and not his brother. So, Sam would try and avoid me and when he couldn't, he wouldn't acknowledge me. I pretend that this doesn't bother me and most of the time having sex with Dean helps. But on the nights that I don't, I think about Sam and contemplate leaving the boys. But I don't.

I make my way to the library where Dean and Sam are huddled over Sams laptop. Sam looks up and I can  see the pain still but, at least he gives me a small smile. I return the smile. Maybe he's slowly accepting the idea that he and I won't ever be a thing. "So," I say sitting across from them, "Where and what is this case?"

"Looks like simple shifter case, in downtown Chicago." Sam says leaning back and crossing his arms. "Some people have reported seeing a dead loved one or someone who had died recently and once they caught up to them, a pile a goop was all they would find."

I nod. "I'm down for this." I lean my arms on the table. I see Sam takes a deep breath and his eyes look away from mine. Dean is too busy looking at the laptop to notice so I lean back in my seat. "We haven't been on a case in almost two months. We really need to get out. I'm sure we all are rusty on our fighting skills."

"Agreed," Dean says getting up and making his way towards the kitchen. "I've been itching to shoot at something."

*****************************************************************************************

Right at seven in the morning we load everything into the impala and take off. For the next eleven hours it's Deans music, the smell of gas station burritos, and small talk when the music got annoying. We rolled into the motel parking lot right at six. Just in time to check in and get settled before going over the plan for tomorrow.

"I think our best shot is having YN and you talk to the police while I go out and talk to those who made reports," Sam says leaning back in the chair.

"Sounds like a plan," Dean says getting up and grabbing his jacket. "I would like to check out the local bar around the corner. YN, would you like to come with me?" Dean looks at me with that smile he know I love.

"Sure, let me get out of these clothes and into something fresh," I get up and grab my bag and make my way to the bathroom.

"Sweetheart," Dean says looking me up and down. "You look hot. Just go as is and if anyone gives you shit, I'll kick their ass."

I look down at my clothes. I'm wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. On any other night, I would be okay but, "That's sweet," I say walking into the bathroom. "But, I have been on the road for eleven hours with the both of you and after you guys get some of those gas station burritos, well, its gross. I need to get it all off me."

The boys stare me. "Okay, then, just wear something nice and a little flashy." Dean eyes the lace underwear that had fallen out of the bag.

"Screw off Winchester," I say grabbing it up off the floor giving Dean a playful smile. "Save me a seat at the bar."

"Will do," Dean dips out of the room.

After my shower I dress in something light. I throw my hair up into a hair tie because a few drinks in, Dean and I were most likely going to end up in the alley way behind the bar. I make my way towards the door when Sam stops me.

"Hey," he says gently. "I'm sorry for being a dick. Truce?"

"What brought this on?" I ask pocketing my wallet.

"I see the way Dean makes you happy. I see the way he looks at you. I see it all and I don't think I can compare to that." Sam doesn't make eye contact with me. "So I'm sorry."

"Sam...I don't know what to say," I take a step towards him but he turns to me and smiles.

"Go have fun tonight, for me okay?"Sam waves me on and I get this gut feeling that something was going to go down.

"Do I need to stay here and watch you?" I ask.

"Nope, just go have fun."

I walk out of the motel room and make my way to the bar around the corner. I still couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go down. Sam looked sad and pained when he had said what he said. But I guess that he was finally giving up at trying to win me over. I shake my head and cross the street. I head towards the bar only to have the dude at the stop me.

"ID?" he asks holding his hand out.

I reach for my wallet and pull out my ID. "What, I had short hair then. Sue me." The dude lets me in. I look around for Dean but couldn't see him. Normally he would be at the counter but I don't see him there. Maybe he went to use the bathroom, I wonder. I walk up the to the counter and ask for the bathroom and the bartender points to a small hallway around the corner. I smile and thank him. I make my way over there while sending a text to Dean. The moment I turn the corner, my heart falls out of my chest and my body gets cold when I see it.

His lips are hook to hers. His hand trails down her side and picks up her leg to hook it around his waist. He walks her into a wall where she wraps her arms around his neck and lets a hand run through his hair. He kisses her jaw and neck and I'm too numb to move or to do anything. I just stare until I see her look at me. I drop my head and take in a deep breath. I hope to God I was seeing things. I look back up just in time to see Dean slowly turn to me.

"YN!" The blood falls from his face.

"You know her?" the woman says with disgust.

I spin around but Dean already has my arm in his hands. "YN, stop." He says spinning me back around. He looks horrified but I wasn't the one getting too friendly with someone that wasn't him.

"Touch me again and I'll make sure you never walk again," yanking my arm back.

I make my out of the bar and fight tears all the way back to the motel. How could he do something like that to me? I did nothing to him to deserve seeing him kiss someone else like he was. Maybe it was because I told him that Sam kissed me? Maybe he saw that it was easier to get into my pants if he played that he felt the same way about me? It could be almost anything and I all I want to do is put him six feet under. Alive.

I storm into the front office of the motel and demand a room. "Aren't you with those guys?" the dude at the counter asks.

"Yes, just get me my room, or I will jump over this counter and get a room myself." I can tell my voice is close to breaking. The dude hands me a key and I quickly rush back to the boys room and storm in slamming the door behind me. I grab my bags and just as I am about to leave, Sam walks out of the bathroom. He's in just a t-shirt and sweatpants.

"What happened?" He sees my bags and the look on my face when I turn to see him. "What did he do?" He knew Dean did something.

I try to say something but the long awaited tears start. Sam walks  up to me and takes my bag from my hands and pulls me into a hug. "I'm so fucking stupid," my voice breaking against his chest. "So fucking stupid to let him in like that." Sam rubs my back and tells to let it all out. Sam stands there holding me for nearly half an hour when I finally stop cry over what happened.

"Want to tell me what happened now?" Sam ask letting me pull away.

"Once i'm in my new room," I wipe my eyes. I must look like a red puffy mess but the way Sam looks at me, he doesn't care.

Sam nods and picks up my bags and lets me lead the way to my new room. Which on the next level and has a single bed. Sam sets the bags down and grabs the Chinese take out menu off the dresser. "What do you want?" he asks already on the phone.

"Surprise me," I say plopping onto the bed and staring into space. Even thought nothing sounded appealing, I knew that I should eat something.

"Okay, ordered." Sam sits a the foot of the bed.

"He was kissing another girl." I say sitting up. "I don't want to talk more about it. I just need space from him or I'm going to do something that might kill him."

"Okay," Sam says. "Want to watch Game of Thrones? I have my laptop so we can start where we left off or we can start over."

I smile a little. "That would be great. Let's start from the beginning since I don't remember what happened."

Sam is back in five minutes. Sam pulls a few phonebooks from the motel room drawers and sets them on the bed and had his laptop up and running. Just as we were about to hit play theres a knock at the door. Sam gets up and opened the door. It's the food. Sam brings in two bags and I just stare at him.

"What?" he smiles. "You said to surprise you so I ordered what I thought you would like."

Sams sits on the next to you and he starts to place containers on the bed. I grabbed the spicy beef lo mein and a fork. I couldn't use chopsticks if meant saving my own life. I see that Sam is still sitting a few feet from me on the edge of the bed. I pat the spot next to me. "Dude, sit right here so you can see the screen better. I won't bite you."

Sam moves closer and I hit play on the show. Its not until I finish eating that I am aware of how close Sam is to me. He's so close I can hear his breathing over the show. Sam leans ups and stretches his arms and sits back and I see that he had been tense. I scoot a bit closer.

"Don't bite me," I say. "Relax your shoulders. You won't get those knots out like that." Sams shoulders drop and relax. I take my hands and before I place them on him, I think twice, but then again, I'm about to do it anyway. I place my hands on his shoulders and begin to rub out the few knots in Sams back. Sam takes a deep breath and drop his head down. I stop and sit back.

"That actually feels so much better," Sam loosens up his back some and sits back next to me. We sit in silence for a few minutes just letting the show play. "Thank you for being with me, Sam. Otherwise I would have ripped Dean a new one." I shiver and Sam, without thinking, puts his arms around me. I curl up next to him and lay my head on his chest. I can hear the sound of his heart quicken and his body tense up some. Soon it relaxes and he tightens his arm around me and plants a soft kiss on the top of my head.

I wake up the next morning to pounding on my door. I sit up to see that Sam was sleeping on the small motel couch. I smile a bit but that quickly fades when the pounding of the door continues.

"YN!" Deans voice calls out. "I know you're in there. The guy in the office said you were in this room. Can we talk?"

I sit on the bed and hear the pain in his voice. Sam stirs and sits up and see my face. Sam's about to speak until the pounding starts again. "Dean I assume?" he asks and I nod. "Let me get it."

I get out of bed and stop Sam. "No, I got it. Just make coffee." I unlock the door and open. There stands Dean, in yesterdays clothes, reeking of whiskey. I see the pain and regret in his eyes. "Okay, what do you want?" Dean walks in passed you and stops as he sees Sam making coffee.

"I see what this is," Dean rubs his face. "I do something stupid and you think revenge is the answer."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I ask closing the door. Sam continues to busy himself making coffee.

"Sam, YN! Why the hell was he sleeping here?" Dean angrily gestures towards his brother.

"First off," I take a step towards Dean and cross my arms. "Lower your voice or I'll tape it. Second, nothing happened between me and him." Other than the fact that Sam held me for three hours last night while we watched our show until I zonked out. "Sam helped me to the room and hung out with me. We watched a few episodes of  Game of Thrones. I passed out. Sam stayed on his own accord. He was comforting me while you were screwing the local hooker." No, Sam stayed just in case I woke up and wanted to go out and throttle Dean or have angry make up sex. "So you can pipe it down."

I grab my bag and head to the bathroom and Dean grabs my arm. "YN," he whispers hoarsly. "I'm sorry."

"No," I take my arm back. "You're not. Now get out of here or so help me I will kick you out and over the railing. I gotta get ready so we can finish this damn case."

Dean raises an eyebrow and scoffs. "Alright, then." Dean slams the door causing me to flinch. Sam walks over to me and hugs me and thats when I notice that my body was shaking with anger.

@donnaintx​ @myinconnelly1​ @elansaidaris​ @magssteenkamp​ 

[rgrettes]

heyy, I hope I'm not bothering but I've seen that you used to post about faberry and faberry fics like Shafd, and since I'm trying to find some faberry fanfics to read, could you please recommend me some of your favorites? Thank you :)

OKAY so this took me a whole lot longer than anticipated because I didn’t want to make it be like 500 fics long! But here, in no particular order, are my top 10 faberry fanfics! [excluding SHAfD of course bc whomever asked this definitely knows SHAfD!]I will be including trigger warnings/content warnings! Please be sure that you can handle the subjects before reading the content! Be safe and put your mental and physical wellbeing before a work of fiction!

10. Dirty Little Secret by patchesofink

Chapters: 77/77 [208k]

This fic would actually happen to be the first faberry fic that I ever read. I felt my little 15 year old self cry several times throughout this fic. It’s what first got me into writing fanfic, because I wanted to write as well as this author! There is a content warning so please be careful reading it if you are sensitive to topics mentioned!

Rachel has a secret and Quinn has figured it out - but will Quinn use this knowledge to exact revenge on Rachel for telling Finn that Puck was really the father or will she use her own experiences to help. WARNING - language and sexual content, r*pe.

9. I’ll Be by stix04

Chapters: 20/20 [330k]

God I was such a sucker for fake dating au’s as a young teenager and I’m most definitely a sucker for them now. This one I didn’t read right when it came out, I didn’t actually find it until it had finished but it still makes my top 20 because it’s just too good not to talk about!

Can Quinn pretend to be in love with Rachel just to get out of Lima? Can Rachel pretend to love Quinn so she's not so lonely in New York? And what happens when both girls realize they're no longer pretending?

8. Long Way to Happy by patchesofink 

Chapters: 42/42 [104k]

This is the sequel to Dirty Little Secret and makes the list for being just as good as the original. This author is so talented and the story just resonates in my soul! 

warnings for sexual content, language, violence and potential ptsd triggers!

Sequel to Dirty Little Secret. Rachel still has some healing to do as well with dealing with becoming a mom. Quinn has her own issues to deal with. Can their fledgling relationship deal with the ups and downs of life and cope with senior year? Quinn learns to open up and Rachel deals with motherhood and not letting her past define her. It's a Long Way to Happy.

7. Leather Jackets and Bad Coffee by antonius

Chapters: 11/?? [75k] [has not updated since 2018 :(]

Bikers, 50′s style diners, and good girl/bad girl pairing. Literally who could ask for anything more? I’m super sad this one hasn’t updated in a long time but it’s still such a fun read!!

warning for violence!

Ninety miles and nearly two hours from the heart of New York City, just off of PA-33 North, is the little town of Belfast, Pennsylvania: population 1,257. Right outside the city limits sits Moe's, a small 24-hour diner whose newest waitress, Rachel Berry, has taken her best friend Kurt's advice and started a calm summer temp job away from the hustle-and-bustle of busy city life in order to rest up before her final year at NYADA.During her very first midnight shift, she encounters a group of rowdy regulars led by a pink-haired woman with piercing hazel eyes. Quinn Fabray is the leader of the Skanks, a small but well-known local biker gang that doesn't take shit from anyone.So began the strangest summer of Rachel Berry's life.

6. Talk by saintdyke

Chapters: 17/? [43k] [last updated may 2019]

This is another one I’m sad hasn’t updated in a while! This honestly stole my heart to a point that in the time I found it in mid April 2019 and June of 2019 I have re-visited the fic 105 times, rereading it at least half as many as that. I’m really hoping the author comes back to the fic, because it was keeping me on the edge of my seat.

warning for violence, abuse mentions and depictions, homophobia and ptsd triggers!

(Previously titled Grease Stains, Starry Skies) Famous actress Rachel Berry’s car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. A pretty blonde with a blue truck rescues her from the side of the road, and just so happens to own an Auto Repair shop in town. Quinn is frustrating and mysterious, and Rachel is just as stubborn. Together, they start a revolution.

5. Just off the Key of Reason by iamapanda

Chapters: 30/30 [129k]

This one is another absolute classic in the Faberry fandom, and is another fic that has stuck with me throughout the years! It has a fantastic softer take on Quinn that I truly appreciated because everyone back in the early years of the fandom would make her so angry and bitter and she’s just so soft in some interpretations

Rachel Berry is a successful Broadway star with a new roommate, the very odd, naive Quinn Fabray. It starts with a note on the fridge and a childishly scrawled doodle of an elephant. Everybody has a little crazy in them.

4. Still off the Key of Reason by iamapanda

Chapters: 37/37 [185k]

The sequel to Just off the Key of Reason! Still as soft and as crazy! I can’t mention one without having the other in the list as well! I can’t explain how it feels to look at the ff.net pages after so long, my heart is transported back to 2011 and I’m sitting on my bed after I’m supposed to be in bed. I miss the days where I could just spend time reading these fics and not having adult responsibilities.

Quinn is thundering her way through vet school. Rachel is enlightening the west coast with her talent. The story continues with a wedding, dogs in tuxedos, and Pooh Bear vows. Crazy never fades.

3. A Million Miles of Fun by Jade8Devlin

Chapters: 12/12 [103k]

This one is a little different from the last ones! It isn’t my favorite because of its literary genius, but because of how fun and out there it is! It’s concept is fresh and dark and something I honestly didn’t expect to see but it quickly grew to be a favorite for me!

warning for violence, abuse, mentions of murder! the whole story revolves around The Unholy Trinity + Rachel murdering Quinn’s family so please take that into consideration!

And in Lima, Ohio, a man and woman were killed earlier today during what is believed to be a home invasion. Russell Fabray was last seen leaving Gas'N'Go at two o'clock; his wife, Judith, from a grocery story an hour earlier. Police are linking the double homicide to the area's recent surge in breaking and entering – though these appear to be the first fatalities. The victims are survived by their daughters; Quinn and Stacey."Jessalyn Briggs shuffles the papers on her desk, clearing her throat. The somber expression on her face seems to float off her as she turns towards camera 3."Otis-the-Otter finishes today's news headlines as the little critter that could. Abandoned by his mother and found foraging for scraps in the Nelson family's garbage cans, Otis has proven; if you can't teach an old dog new tricks, teach them to an otter! Otis placed second at this year's Ohio Dog Show after last year's well-documented struggle by the Nelson family to allow Otis to be included. Well done Otis, we here at Channel 43 salute you.

2. The Silence of Silence by your.kat

Chapters: 31/31 [135k]

This one... I can’t describe why I liked it, I just liked it.

warning for mental health, and trauma [possible others, please read with caution]

Quinn and Rachel meet at Haverbrook under unusual circumstances. Why is Rachel silent? And why does Quinn care? "You can hear," Quinn said simply, "but can you speak?"; "Yes," Rachel signed. "I can speak. But silence is a friend who will never betray."

1. Kissing Quinn Fabray by vondrunkaton

Chapters: 6/6 [45k]

This one just makes me super warm and fuzzy inside. I don’t think I can say it’s entirely changed my life but it’s just so soft and i love it

Quinn comforts Rachel after Finn says something oafish. Rachel is surprised by how sweet Quinn is. There's also some making out in delicious detail. Fluffy getting together fic.

I am super open to talking about more fics I love/like and other pairings! This was a ton of fun to talk about and sent me down memory lane! I went searching for two hours on a vague memory of a fic that I think has been deleted by now. But if anyone wants to help me track it down! Hit me up and I’ll give you the details!

[wykart]

Does it Matter? (It’s Klaus)

Part 2 of Fifty-one years (and one day) later (read on ao3) 

I've made this a sequel rather than the next chapter of the fic because I was really happy with the way that 'Fifty-one years (and one day) later' ended, and wanted it to be read as a self-contained (relatively short) story. However, I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen next in this version of events! 

So, if you want more of this timeline, and are ready for some MAJOR angst, then continue at your own risk :) I hope you enjoy!

Summary: The truth comes out, and Klaus must come to grips with the fact that his entire life of happiness with Dave was taken away by his own brother.

2 days, 16 hours

He took the briefcase back up to his room after he was done lecturing them all. He finally had them all gathered in one place, and he had a lead on who was going to cause the apocalypse. He’d had to… circumvent a couple of things to get them all here, all ready for what was coming, but it was all trivial in relation to the extinction of the human race. Well, that’s what he told himself anyway. He dusted off the case and tucked it under his bed. The shrapnel still embedded in his side sent a pulse of white hot pain through him as he bent over. He couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he would be no use to the others if his wound got worse and he was put out of commission for hours, even days… that wouldn’t do. He resolved, however reluctantly, to talk to Mom about patching it up. She may have been a robot, but her first aid training was impeccable.

...

2 days, 14 hours

Five had sent the other three off on errands of their own – Diego and Allison to dig up data on Harold Jenkins from the local police station, and Luther to search through Dad’s research for something about that impending apocalypse good’ol’Reggie would always work into the odd lecture or grandiose speech. Klaus, on the other hand, was useless. He couldn’t be trusted with anything important, and for good reason. Five had said that all of them needed to be together to stop this thing, but Klaus felt like he could’ve slunk away into the shadows without any of them noticing. He’d turned up after being missing for a day, a few shades darker, hair shorter, new tattoos and muscles and everything, and Five had been the only one who’d noticed.

That’s where he was going now, to see Five. He wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help – not that he particularly cared about helping – just to clear his conscience so he could laze around guilt-free. There was that, and the fact that Five seemed hurt. He’d been clutching his side earlier, limping like he was injured. He wasn’t the sort to admit when something was wrong with him, to show signs of weakness.

It was strange to see Five’s old room occupied again, they’d kept the door shut for so many years, never wanting to renovate or reuse the space, never wanting to admit that he was really gone. There was some crazy math shit on the walls that made Klaus’ head spin, and that creepy mannequin was smiling at him from the bed. He didn’t want to think about what his little (way older) brother and that mannequin got up to at night.

The bed was covered in dirt, and Klaus followed the trail down to the floorboards, leading under the bed. There was a pretty battered looking black briefcase under there, but Klaus knew better than to open it this time. So Five had one after all, then why had he been so angry at Klaus for destroying the last one? And why had he bothered using a fake briefcase just yesterday when he met up with those psychos from the motel? He turned the object over in his hands, there was damp, dark mud covering the bottom corners – and it was fresh. There were sticky strips all over it, where duct tape had been pulled off, taking some of the black coat with it. It was scratched up, worn out, not like the pristine, perfect box Klaus had used. In fact, he could have sworn that pattern of scratches where the very same that Klaus had dug in with his nails during his nervous nights in the jungle, clutching it, reminding himself of where he’d been, and of what he’d decided to give up but never brought himself to let go. One of the latches was missing from the top of the case, as if it had snapped off at the axis. Suddenly, a rush of recognition shot through him and he rummaged in the pockets of his military vest, puling out a black hunk of plastic he’d found back in Vietnam. It had been lying in the jungle on the path back to the tent… just sitting there at the edge of the clearing where Klaus had lost everything. It fit perfectly in the space that the case’s missing latch had left behind – clearly, this was where it had come from. Had Five stolen this case from another of those time travelling bastards?

“Hey Ben, take a look at this,” He beckoned his brother over, who’d been leaning in the corner of the room, bored. “I found a piece of this case back in 1968, so whoever Five took this from was there that night.” He was perplexed - what would Five’s old time travelling buddies want with - “Dave.” He said, eyes staring off, far away, to another time. He heard the racket of gunfire ricocheting around his skull, the whistle of bombs dropping, the thundering of helicopter blades, screams and cries of triumph. His voice, strained against the uncaring din, screaming for help...

“Klaus?” Ben asked, leaning over him, his face knotted with concern. Klaus pulled his hands from over his ears, wiping away the beginnings of tears that had been forming in his eyes.

“I’m okay,” he lied. “It’s just, Luther said that Five’s old employers were all about ‘correcting the timeline’ or whatever. I stole their briefcase time machine thingy, and I’ll bet they knew about it too.”

“So you think, what-“

“They came to kill me, or at least get the case back.”

Ben thought for a moment. He hadn’t been there with Klaus during those months, being negative-twenty-one years old and all. He’d only spent a night wondering where Klaus had gone when he’d disappeared on the bus, wondering if he would ever rematerialise. He’d been so happy when he found Klaus again, knowing that he wouldn’t be banished from this plane of existence for good, wouldn’t have to face the fact that he no longer existed in any real sense. He’d been happy, until he saw the blood on his hands and the hurt in his eyes - the tan and the tattoos and the fresh wave of grief he was drowning in. Of course, he’d never met Dave, but he could tell how much he meant to Klaus - a shred of hope and normalcy found in the least normal of situations - and even that had been taken away. “So you think they killed Dave?”

“I think they came to kill me, and Dave just got in the way.” They way Klaus was looking at him, begging him to prove him wrong, it was heart breaking.

“I... don’t think that makes a lot of sense,” he considered, pacing around the room. He used to spend so much time here as a kid, with Five and sometimes Vanya, taking a moment of peace away from their more rambunctious siblings. “They’re supposed to be professionals, I doubt they’d miss. What if they were trying to get the case back here, to the present where it belonged.”

“So then, they killed Dave?” Klaus was trying to puzzle it out. The fact that such an organisation existed at all was a troubling notion. It might have even caused him some form of existential distress if he wasn’t already so deep in a pit of self-loathing and nihilistic indifference that he didn’t care anymore.

“Well, wasn’t he the reason you stayed? You told me you only stuck around because of him, what if they knew that?” Ben tried to pretend that he wasn’t hurt by this notion - he was dead, after all, and didn’t make for great company. Would Klaus really have abandoned him? More importantly, would he really have abandoned everyone else?

…

“Klaus?” Five was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, watching Klaus fiddling with the briefcase he’d stowed under there. He was muttering to himself, like he so often did. A shot of panic ran through Five’s thoughts, but he promptly reminded himself that there was no way that Klaus could retain any memories from his un-lived life, there was no way he could know. “What are you doing?”

Klaus jumped and looked around to see Five standing there, the shrapnel now removed from his gut and bandaged up. “Oh, hey there Five, I thought you’d be busy, you know, stopping the apocalypse and all.”

“I came to get my gun, In case you forgot, I have someone to kill today.”

“Right, of course,” he hummed to himself for a moment, clearly not getting the hint that Five wanted him to leave, “won’t that look a little suspicious though, I mean, you’re a little schoolboy walking down the street with a hunting rifle,” he giggled, “might turn some heads.”

Five knew that Klaus was just trying to get on his nerves, it was one of his very few talents, but Five didn’t rise to the bait. He only sighed and walked over the threshold, Klaus’ eyes trained on him all the while.

“Where did you get this?”

“What?” He sighed, not looking forward to another trivial discussion.

“The briefcase.” Five’s stomach turned. “What about it? I got it from my employers, same place Hazel and Cha-Cha got their’s.”

“Looks a bit battered up though, wouldn’t you say, not like Chazel and Ha-ha’s at all.” He looked up and began muttering to himself, as if an invisible person was standing by his side - maybe there was. “See, I’m not traumatised, I don’t even remember their names,” he laughed, hollow and forced. Five rolled his eyes.

“Get to the point, Klaus, I’m kinda busy here.”

“I just want to know who’s briefcase this is. See this,” He held up the broken off piece of the latch, waving it in the air, “I found this in the middle of a battlefield in the Vietnam war.” Five shrugged his shoulders, doing is best to feign disinterest.

“Huh,” Klaus murmured, studying Five’s expression, “you’re not surprised?”

“What are you talking about?” He was on edge, had he slipped up, was it possible that Klaus knew something?

“Well, I never told you I served in Vietnam, all I said was that I went back in time.” Shit. “You’re smart Five,” he continued, a smirk on his face at catching Five out, “but you’re not a mind reader - as far as I know anyway. And if you are I think you’re obligated to tell me because my thoughts are pretty fucked up and I’ll have to remember to tone them down for your young, naive ears.” Again, that laughter, the sound that masked the truth - that his mind was falling apart.

Five tried his best to mask his shock and think up a quick reply, but it was too late, his expression had already betrayed him. “Look Klaus, you’re a mess, I know it, you know it, we all know it,” Klaus nodded eagerly, smiling fondly to himself. Was this man capable of taking anything seriously? “You told me about Vietnam,” he lied, “you probably just forgot about it.”

“Did I?” He asked quietly, to no one in particular. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He rounded on Five again, dragging himself to his feet. “Tell me the truth Five, it’s okay, I’m not Luther. I’m not going to lecture you about how,” he pouted, puffing our his chest and putting on a comically deep voice, “murder is wrong, number Five.” He paused, obviously expecting Five to laugh. “Okay,” he shrugged, murmuring under his breath again, “tough crowd. At least I know you appreciate me.” A moment of silence, then Klaus hissed at the empty air.

Five was starting to panic. If Klaus really did suspect him, why on earth was he being so cool about it? He knew that Klaus used humour as a coping mechanism, it was his defining characteristic, but this was a step on the side of lunacy. “What are you getting at?” He said, coldly.

“I’m just saying, if you killed this bastard, I want to know!” He exclaimed. Five realised he wasn’t talking about Dave. He thought that Five had killed the previous owner of the briefcase, the agent that he suspected had killed Dave instead. It hurt, a twist like a knife to the gut, that Klaus hadn’t even entertained the idea that Five had been the one to pull the trigger. “Come on Five,” he cooed, “did you kill the bastard who owned this case?”

“I did... in a way.” Because the man that Klaus had become was dead, fifty years of his life gone in a moment. Fifty years of happiness... But it had to be done. Allison and Diego would be back any second now with the information he needed, if he could just stomach this conversation for a moment longer, he could leave facing the consequences to another day. For now, it was essential that they all stick together, no matter if all that held them in place was lies.

“Well, congratulations man,” Klaus’ earnest smile made Five feel sick. He trusted him, completely. Klaus looked down at the floor, the light in his eyes suddenly drained out. “But that means,” he murmured, “that means it really was my fault.”

“What?” Five asked.

“Well, if those guys go around correcting the timeline, then they were there for me - God I was so selfish,” he put his head in his hands, burying his face, trying to hide away. “I thought I could just stay there and forget about all of this and I loved him and then... he died for it. He died because of me. This is all my fault.” His shoulders shook with silent sobs. It tore Five apart. “Why do I have to ruin everything?” He muttered, breaking down. “Why couldn’t I just leave him alone, he was better off, everything would be better off if I just-“

“Klaus.” Five said, trying to get through to him.

Klaus seemed to remember that Five was standing there, watching all of this unfold. “Fuck, Five I’m sorry,” he sniffed, trying compose himself, “thanks for what you did, even though you didn’t do it for me or anything, I mean, why would anyone do that?” He laughed again, that same hollow, pleading cry for help.

“Don’t say that,” he muttered, but Klaus didn’t seem to hear. “Please, please don’t say that,” because Five could feel his will unravelling.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so useless with this whole apocalypse thing,” Klaus said, “I’ll get my shit together, okay? I’ll actually be useful for once, just give me something to do.” And there it was, Five had him right where he wanted him - but he couldn’t take it. He’d been a fool to think that forty-five years away from this place had desensitised him to all the weakness that came with love and empathy. Despite everything he’d tried to bury, when loving had been too painful, Five still cared. It was as if two facets of himself were locked in a game of tug of war, the part that had suffered through the future and knew what had to be done, and the part that couldn’t stand seeing his brother broken like this; the way he blamed himself and felt indebted to him despite the damage Five had done to him. Was the world worth this? No matter the cost, he decided that it was.

Klaus was still standing there, smiling tearfully, and despite everything that Five stood for, that to love was reckless, that it brought only danger and pain, that the truth was worshipped like a false idol, relative, irrelevant, his to twist to more important ends... he couldn’t stand it any longer.

“It was me,” He muttered, barely more than a whisper. Klaus looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. There was no turning back now. “I killed Dave.”

[hvndcvffed]

“ let me just –– can you –– uh. ”  grizz clears his throat and raises a finger. because this? oh, boy. stomaching this shit without laughing mandates a breather.  “ hold that thought for a moment while i collect myself. s’been quite the day and i want to give you my undivided attention. ”

or, alternatively :  yo yo yo, party people ! guess who finally made it ?  i’m lev / linc ( she/her/hers ) , comin’ atchu from the ever so lovely est timezone with ya boy, the tru ledge, grizz visser! click on that read more to read some headcanons i’ve got goin’ for west ham’s resident handcuff-owning, intellectual beb !

[   g    r   i   z    z        v    i     s     s     e    r    ––    B O Y   O N   F I R E .

✔ ┊❝ ( nick robinson. 18. he/him &. cismale ) rumor around town is that gareth “grizz” visser was on one of the buses that left for the field trip. they’re the eighteen year old that resides in new ham. over the summer news spread that he purposely botched his chances to win a football scholarship to a local uni because he applied to several ivies behind his parents’ backs, but who knows if that’s true or not? what we do know is that their friends describe them as well-read & piquant, but who knows when they’re known to be elusive & misanthropé from time to time. 

( &&. general information )

full name: gareth visser

nickname(s) or alias: grizz

preferred name: grizz –– call him gareth and he will... not be happy.

current age: eighteen

astrological sign: leo

gender: cismale

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual preference: homosexual ( but closeted )

romantic preference: demiromantic

home environment: a quaint three-bed / two-bath house with his parents. a positive, almost sickeningly sweet home: family portraits all over the place, cheesy “ home is where the heart is ” décor all around from his mother’s many trips to pier 1 imports.

current occupation: student, student athlete.

language(s) spoken: english, french, a tad of latin. wants to learn more hebrew, but that shit is complicated as heck.

native language: english.

current relationship status: single.

( &&. background )

reason behind name: y’know, he’s asked his parents this countless times. why gareth? why. gareth. and each time he’s just gotten the same vague response: they liked it. it sounded respectable. ack.

birth order: only child.

ethnicity: american. west ham born & raised, baby!

nationality: american.

religion: agnostic. goes to church with his mother as a way to keep the peace, but... the idea of a god out there saying homosexuality’s a sin gives him a bad taste in his mouth. he’d rather discount his whole existence and uphold morality than accept that there’s a bigoted big guy in the sky. sees the bible more as a literary exercise to instill human value. did jesus really walk on water? heck no. but it makes a good fable.

political views: very, very liberal. doesn’t subscribe to labels, but as close to democratic socialist as you can get in this country without causing riots. anti-brexit. anti-trump. anti-bullshit, basically. maybe socialism or communism done right wouldn’t be a terrible idea.

financial status: very, very comfortable. his parents earn well and know how to save / spend frugally. the vissers are modest in living so they can pour more into experience. for grizz’s twelfth birthday, his parents took him hiking through the adirondacks. they’ve gone on some awesome trips together, and most of their vacations include some aspect of super cool nature. unbeknownst to grizz, his parents’ planned grad gift for him was a month-long backpacking tour through new zealand.

hometown: west ham, connecticut. cool beans.

level of education: high school senior. but he’s one of the learned folk: ap literature on lock. he took some college courses at the local community college last summer, because his job as a summer camp counselor wasn’t exactly intellectually stimulating. leading kids on hikes is fun ‘n all, but... not as engaging as college-level philosophy.

( &&. physical appearance )

looks like (or face claim, if applicable): nick robinson. with longer hair. reference [ here ] . 

height: 6′0 ( jack’s shorter, but nick’s my main fc i’m workin’ with so i decide to bump it up. plus, height? football? makes sense. )

weight: 158 lbs

shoe size: 10.5

figure/build: athletic build. muscular. broad shoulders, lean waist.

hair colour: deep, deep brown. almost black. natural.

hair length: about jaw-length. curly. ( REFERENCE. )

eye colour: brown with an overlay of hazel-y jade-green. his campers over the summer compared his eyes to moss a lot. it kinda felt badass. “moss boss” had a ring to it.

glasses?: nope. 20/20 vision. but he’s been known to steal friends’ glasses sometimes, just for funsies.

skin tone: light, but not necessarily pale – spends a lot of time outdoors. no freckles.

tattoos: none, yet. would love to get a quote from walden. or a pine tree, if it wasn’t so cliche.

piercings: none. but getting an ear pierced has always intrigued him.

birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: some miscellaneous scars on his hands from whittling incidents growing up. a faint line across his arm from stitches, when he broke it in the peewee football league in fifth grade. 

dominant hand: left-handed, but very recently learned he’s marginally ambidextrous for important tasks.

if painted, what color are their nails?: never painted. he keeps them short.

usual style of clothing: letterman jacket. jeans. tall socks, boots. pants tucked into socks, because why the hell not? flannels, hoodies, utility jackets layered over plain white tees. pendant necklaces, leather bracelets. occasionally he’ll wear a statement button-downs that looks like your grandmother’s upholstery, but somehow it’ll work really well. varsity t-shirts. hats of all varieties. if he could, he’d showcase some edgier styles. but he’s paranoid. he’s got a stanford hoodie buried in his closet. and a yale one, too.

frequently worn jewelry:  leather bracelets. a silver ring strung on a chain, engraved with “ for sylvie, with love ”. he found it on a hike, and... figured he’d be sylvie for a day, or something.

describe their voice, what accent?:  he has a light, gentle voice. a soft autumn breeze. laced with some gravel. strong, resolute. kind.

what is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)?: often speaks slowly, surely. not always keen to fill silences. but words are some of his favorite devices of deflection. if he’s unsure, he’ll cut himself off, leading to some choppy and hard to follow sentences. he very rarely mumbles. not afraid to speak eloquently, but will certainly match his speaking style to those he’s around, to an extent. rarely seems bothered. he masks it well.

describe their scent: amber, sandalwood, musk. vague hints of cinnamon. 

describe their posture: grizz holds himself proudly. shoulders broad, chin up, chest open. it makes his vulnerable moments very easy to spot.

( &&. legal information )

any speeding tickets?: nope. this kid drives by the book. probably because he very much prefers to walk or bike around town, when he can help it.

have they ever been arrested?: never. he’s only been to the police station once, to drop off some promotional donuts for the homecoming football game.

do they have a criminal record?: nah.

have they committed any violent crimes?: no sir.

property crimes?: no.

traffic crimes?: nope! unless you count accidentally cutting cars off with his bike, because that’s happened a handful of times, when he’s been deep in thought.

other crimes?: just breaking hearts.

( &&. medical information )

blood type: o negative.

date/time of birth: july 26, 1997. 3:23am. during a rainstorm.

place of birth: west ham hospital.

vaginal birth or cesauren section?: vaginal birth.

sex: male

smoker? / drinker? / drug user?: no / yes / marijuana.

addictions: does good lit count?

allergies: sulfur-based antibiotics. bullshit.

ever broken a bone?: his left arm in fifth grade. right foot at the seventh grade dance –– the girl he asked to slow dance tripped and grizz, wanting to show off his cool socks, wound up with a stiletto heel to the talus. ouch. collar bone, freshman year of high school: he climbed a tree to save his neighbor’s cat and slipped.

any physical ailments/illnesses/disabilities: nope.

any medication regularly taken: allergy meds. sometimes he gets the sniffles.

( &&. personality )

direct quote from them:  UNO.  DOS.  TRES.  QUATRO.

positive traits: charismatic, cunning, introspective, virtuosic.

negative traits: cataclysmic, self-destructive, reckless, careless.

likes: classic literature, trail mix, synth vibes, 60s/70s/80s rock, the beatles, radiohead, faith by george michael. old vinyls. bob ross. vanilla-cinnamon candles and jasmine tea. wind-rustled leaves. fresh fallen rain.

dislikes: bitter coffee. the disappointment just after sunrise. katy perry. cleaning, laundry. the warmer side of the pillow. waking up without a hand to hold. gareth. secrets, but he harbors a few big ones. pretending. hiding. transitively, himself.

strengths: can be quite resolute but sometimes about the wrong things. his ability to analyze and respond to complex literature is… uncanny. intelligence. deduction. survival facts. he’s a postmodern bear grylls trapped in suburbia.

weaknesses: impatience. do-it-yourself attitude.  fear of rejection. fear of acceptance. fear of others. fear of himself. 

insecurities: what if people in west ham discover who he really is? how’s he supposed to postpone that?

fears/phobias:  irrelevancy. book-burning. ignorance. time.

habits:  playing with his fingers. biting his bottom lip and twisting it between his teeth. humming when he thinks no one is listening. going for late-night walks through the emptiest parts of town. staying up ‘til 4am to read and re-read and read again.

quirks: rarely settles his gaze on anything for more than a few seconds, except for other peoples’ eyes. eye contact is probably one of grizz’s biggest conversational strengths. probably why he makes such a good liar, when he needs to. he’ll finish a pint of ice cream and just sit there for over an hour sucking on the spoon, lost in thought. licks his lips when he’s nervous. plays with his hair a lot. you know he’s nervous when he keeps tucking his hair behind his right ear. chuckles to himself, even when things are the pure opposite of funny.

hobbies: jotting notes in book margins. he dabbles in poetry but feels like his shit is too beat-generation to be that cool. wandering through the woods and attempting to generate his own maps, then checking them for accuracy. lighting matches in the cold, mid-evening air just to watch them burn.

guilty pleasure: peanut m&ms. twizzlers. burned marshmallows. apartment tour videos on youtube.

desires: to prove he’s… sometime more than this. something more than a footballer destined to pretend.

wishes: he could come clean about college. wishes he could come clean about himself. wishes he could work up the courage to ask a guy to prom.

secrets: he purposefully botched an interview he had with central connecticut state university’s football recruiter because he doesn’t want to play in college. he wants to go to yale, or stanford, or brown. to study literature. classics. philosophy. his sexuality. but it’s getting harder and harder to keep that locked down.

turn ons: intelligence. genuine, pure intelligence. sharp-witted humor. dimples. dorky laughs. gentle touch. someone who doesn’t bother with worries ‘bout tomorrow.

turn offs:  idiocy. khakis. people with too much pride. line cutters. naggers. people who don’t think the proper way to eat bugles is by fashioning crisp-claws first and pretending to be edward scissorhands. people who overlook adrienne rich’s poetry, or claim dante shouldn’t be taught in school.

lucky number: 0.

pet peeves: hearing people scratch their scalps. sniffly public transit users. people who don’t use earbuds. cold fries. nail-clickers. knuckle-crackers. people who slurp from straws like they’ve never had a drink before in their lives. 

their motto:  “ i’m surrounded by idiots. ”

( &&. favourites )

food: curly fries with cajun seasoning.

drink: half-oreo half-chocolate milkshake. extra whipped cream. two cherries. please.

fast food restaurant: he’s not huge on fast food, but he can fuck with five guys.

flavour: anything chocolate and peanut.

word: fuck !!!  or zephyr: a soft, gentle breeze.

colour:  a nice, deep forest green.

clothing: his letterman jacket. his deep green flannel’s a close second.

accessory: “ for sylvie, with love” . silver ring. he likes pretending he’s sylvie and that someone cared enough to get his name etched into a precious metal forever.

candle scent: the connecticut homesick candle. it smells like cinnamon and nutmeg and vanilla and fireside bliss. and pine trees. yum.

game: monopoly. but only if he wins.

animal: fish. they’re so graceful.

holiday: halloween. boo.

weather: sunset, just after rain. golden rays peering through deep gray clouds. it makes the greens of trees practically scream against the sky. it’s glorious. it’s heartbreaking. grizz loves it.

season: late fall.

book: le petit prince by antoine de saint-exupéry. it was the last book his grandmother ever read to him, on his fifth christmas eve.

artist: edvard munch. or van gogh, simply because he chopped his ear off and mailed it to his lover. now that’s modern romance.

band/group: the divine comedy, radiohead, pink floyd, the beatles, the rolling stones, the kooks. the avett brothers. belle & sebastian.

song: high and dry, radiohead. elephant, tame impala. anything by the beatles.

movie/film:  mr. nobody. eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. the first time little grizz saw alice in wonderland, he wouldn’t shut up about it for two weeks.

tv show: he grew up watching wallace and gromit. he’s still got a soft spot for it.

sport: football.

possession: his dad’s collection of beatles original release vinyls.

number: 0.

person: henry david thoreau.

( &&. skills )

talents: writing, but he won’t admit it. football. wood-whittling. gardening. navigation.

ability to drive a car?: yes.

can they ride a bike?: yes, and will frequently do so with no hands.

do they play any sports?: football.

anything they’re bad at?: juggling. sleeping. pretending to like gross food.

do they have any combat training? why?: grizz once yahoo answered how to punch somebody to the moon, after one of his best friends got made fun of in grade school for accidentally wearing a costume the day before halloween. he’s still waiting for an answer to that post.

( &&. firsts )

childhood memory: waging what was left of his fruit gummies during a game of fireside poker on the first visser camping trip.

crush: matty kerrington, pre-k. his hair smelled like strawberries and his smile reminded grizz of the hot honey that clung to his mum’s spoon after stirring tea. but to this day, he’ll say his first crush was amanda vander-voss, because her hair was pretty in braids and she reminded him of the pretty deer from bambi.

email address: grizzlybear@aol.com

job: camp counselor at a hiking / adventure camp based in west ham.

phone: a nifty samsung with a slide-out keyboard. made him feel like a god.

kiss: jessica winthrop, in a game of third grade truth or dare.

love: tess de luca ( @tessdl )

sexual experience: with jessica winthrop in the woods behind the middle school, three years later. jess got poison ivy in all the wrong places. grizz thought it was hysterical.

( &&. childhood )

best childhood memory?:  honestly? wearing that boa in dance class. his mom was quick to stop that.

worst childhood memory?:  nearly breaking his nose on the neighbor’s front porch, while attempting to ding-dong ditch with his friends. he’s not sure what gave them away more –– his blood staining their pavement, or the fact that he blubbered the whole run home.

what were they like as a child?:  grizz tended to poke his nose into all the wrong matters, landing him in oodles of trouble. he’d steal from the snack cabinet, sketch constellations across the walls… even stole his dad’s old walkman so he could listen to music under his covers past his bedtime. tried to sneak into the library after hours to get his hands on another thoreau novel. but it was all harmless. the vissers weren’t very firm disciplinarians: they just loved that their son was engaged and passionate about knowledge.

any crushes growing up?: oh, loads. more than he’d like to admit.

( &&. this or that )

expensive or inexpensive tastes?: inexpensive, but lasting.

hygienic or unhygienic?: hygenic.

open-minded or close-minded?: open.

introvert or extrovert?: ambivert. thrives in social settings but the mood has to be right.

optimistic or pessimistic?: pessimistic with a weak optimistic veil. pragmatism, is how he’d put it.

daredevil or cautious?: cautious daredevil.

logical or emotional?: a blend of both, but emotions often influence his actions more than he’d like to say.

generous or stingy?: generous.

polite or rude?: polite when it’s socially mandated. but if there’s no threat of repercussions? a bit rude, if he has to be.

book smart or street smart?:  both.

popular or loner?:  popular, by proxy. but grizz vibes with some solid solitude, especially to recharge.

leader or follower?: leader. follower, though, in the high school structure of things. it’s a way to ensure his place and avoid potential fallout. he’ll call his friends out if they’re up to no good, though.

day or night person?: night. definitely night.

cat or dog person?: both! prefers cats just a smidge more.

closet door open or closed while sleeping?: open. maybe his demons wanna cuddle or some shit.

( &&. social media )

do they have a facebook? twitter? instagram? vine? snapchat? tinder/grindr? tumblr? youtube? yes to instagram and (begrudgingly) snapchat.

if so; name on facebook: none.

instagram user: grizzvisser

snapchat user: grizzybear

( &&. musical tastes )

theme song: kimochi warui ( when? when? when? ), car seat headrest. god... get him OUT of this town.

makes them sad: blackbird, the beatles. his grandparents used to sing this when he’d sleep over/ they’d be in the kitchen early in the morning trying to convince him to eat his cereal. they’d change the lyrics and snap slightly off-tempo, all smiles and coaxing gestures. ave maria. he’s not sure why. it inspires melancholia.

makes them dance: hazy miss daisy, kid bloom. anything with a sick beat and erratic synth. take on me, a-ha. good times bad times, led zeppelin. 

loves the most: fool of myself, the band camino. it’s a song he can throw his head back to, close his eyes, and sway in the breeze.

( &&. miscellaneous )

do they have a fake i.d.?: yep, used to, but now that’s not necessary!

are they a virgin?: nope siree!

describe their signature: it’s unapologetic on the page. takes up more room than it should with lateral squiggles and grandiose swirls. G and V are decipherable, but everything else is convoluted by its own physics. a muddled mess. beautiful in its self-collapsing structure.

how long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?:  he’d outlive everyone. survivalist visser, right here.

do they travel?: yes, but he wants to do more, see more. the grand canyon would be cool. or maybe the alps. he’s always had a dream of hiking yosemite. 

one place they would like to live: anywhere but here.

one place they would like to visit: new zealand. australia. hawaii.

celebrity crush: young johnny depp. emma watson.

what can you find in their pockets/wallet/purse: tic tacs, but never the mint ones. only the odd flavors.

place(s) your character can always be found:  anywhere with trees. rooftops. alleyways. the football field. coffee shops. the local diner. roadside sunflower fields. his parents’ garden.

when does your character like to wake up?:  with the sun.

what’s your character’s morning routine?: blink at the ceiling for about 20 minutes. wash his face, brush his teeth. annotate a few lines of whatever book he’s reading. push-ups, pull-ups, crunches. run a mile or two. rush into the shower. grab his lunch from the fridge and bike to school (and barely make it).

what does your character eat for breakfast/lunch/dinner?:  grizz’s mom loves to cook, so they’re always trying some new paleo trend. some of it’s awful. but he’ll try to eat it and if he can’t, he’ll sneak a granola bar later. if the school’s serving smiley face fries, he’ll have those. he really likes green apples and those little clementines.

how does your character spend their free days?:  hiking. reading. writing. lying in the sun and just... thinking. lately, he’s been daydreaming a lot about an ivy league education. something more engaging than west ham’s high school snoozefest.

what’s your character’s bedtime routine?:  some kind of pre-bed stretching routine. wash his face, brush his teeth, curl up in bed with a book. fall asleep with it still open on his chest.

what does your character wear to bed?: boxers and a t-shirt.

if your character can’t fall asleep, what are they thinking about?: the past. mistakes. time ticking away.

what is their idea of perfect happiness?: he’s still workin’ on that bit.

on what occasions do they lie?:  very rarely, if he can help it.

most marked characteristic: his hair. it’s all russet waves. untamed. some days, his hair truly has a mind of its own. it screams free spirit. it doesn’t let on that, inside, his soul is burning.

what is one thing they’d most like to change about themselves?:  honestly? it’s not so much what he’d want to change about himself as it is about this town. 

how would they like to die?:  well-read.

do they snore? not unless he’s got a head cold. then there may be a few soft snores here and there.

can they curl their tongue?: yes!

can they whistle?: yes indeed!

do they believe in the supernatural?: not really. but it’s fun to indulge on halloween.  did he move your cup, or did the ghouls?!  s p o o k y .

has anyone ever broken their heart?:  no. haven’t had the opportunity to.

have they ever broken anyone’s heart?:  yes. little marsha lapone’s, at summer camp. she was 8, he’s 18. he told her there was no chance, and she cried into her pb&j. tough.

are they squeamish?: no. 

have they ever seen anyone die? what happened?: just in films.

are they a lightweight?: heck no.

that was a very lengthy thing but... yeah! hit me up for plots! i’m gonna get to crafting and replying to starters v shortly!

[violetsystems]

#personal

I’m off work today but don’t have any real plans to go out anywhere.  I came home early from work yesterday to a bunch of my neighbor’s packages.  I’ve gotten into the habit of either locking them in our foyer or delivering them outright.  I don’t have the privilege anymore of feeling like I can have anything delivered to home to me personally like that.  My packages disappear instantly even after the delivery takes the photo.  Just mine.  I made a joke that somebody really must want coffee and pore reducer.  That was after somebody sent a meme making fun of my sebaceous glands.  I get my packages anyway dermatology notwithstanding.  I just have to walk to a pickup location to get them.  I don’t often get stuff sent to work because it isn’t appropriate.  I did get the Stranger Things drop sent there.  I consider that a piece of fashion.  Only one person recognized that Hawkins logo when I wore it to work.  It was a painter in the stair well.  They seemed genuinely excited to see it in the flesh.  Caleb McLaughlin has done some shoots for Undercover so I thought it was kind of appropriate.  I’m making a Spider-man shirt to wear to the movie.  Nobody really talks to me or invites me anywhere fourth of July notwithstanding.  On the flip side of that I travel to New York alone and nobody really bothers me.  I usually take the train by my house to the next suburb over outside of the city to see movies.  I sit in the front by myself.  Kids pretty much know who I am around here at this point.  I never really feel out of place where it matters.  I had to walk to University of Illinois at Chicago to pick up a screen printing frame I ordered.  I don’t usually go out after work or leave the house anymore.  I ate dinner and took the next neighborhood over.  Chinatown is the other way about the same distance.  I walked through Greektown and took the train back home.  It’s a lot less convenient in some ways to not be able to get deliveries.  But then again the city is never all that inconvenient for me.  It likes to try.  In America it seems everybody likes to try.  But they can’t ever successfully bring it to you.  If this were China or even North Korea, this would be a different story probably.  Though I often wonder if my packages would be delivered safely.  I get a lot of respect overseas for being a safe person.  But here I don’t think anybody respects how much that has been worth to people all over the world.  Maybe today of all days is a time to reflect on that.  Alone in my apartment home of the brave.

If I sound a bit bummed I am.  But this doesn’t exactly mean I’m sad or anything.  I realize how ironic it would be to talk about Hong Kong when America escaped the commonwealth.  Just as ironic as it is for Nike to release a shoe celebrating the Thirteen Colonies.  Some conservative in Arizona got offended and threatened action.  California just laughed at them.  That’s still all America.  Illinois just legalized recreational Marijuana.  We did that by voting on a referendum.  That’s at least how it started.  The governor signed it into law.  That’s how it ended.  At least in 2020.  For now I can still play fuck the police in my apartment while getting high.  I drink coffee and smoke weed.  That’s it.  When I stay in New York I don’t smoke at all.  When I’m in New York I feel the most free.  I often take that feeling back with me here to Chicago and walk around like I own the place.  That’s what you get when you share power with people.  Some people don’t share back.  They take and they write you off.  That’s a normal thing in America.  How conspicuous it is that only your packages get stolen?  Only you have this dark cloud floating over your head?  Or is it a halo?  Being written off in America has kept me out of trouble.  But it’s been largely myself who has done the keeping out of the constant shit.  I train a lot.  I’ve trained seriously since August.  I made a lot of commitments to myself back in August.  I became aware of a lot of things in my life too.  I’ve lived side by side with those dreams and goals every day since then.  They’ve grown into something indescribable to most people.  People often try to find out but they never dig deep enough.  Part of being buried in the last year for me has been realizing nobody actually remembers.  Most of the time it’s the people you consider friends around here that forget what makes you tick.  You start to realize people barely know who you are at all.  People around my block know who I am.  I took the garbage out in the Hawkins shirt the other day after saving the packages.  In Chicago we have alleys.  Roads behind buildings.  Roads that are not roads.  My latino neighbor is a mechanic and hangs out in his garage.  He’s always listening to country songs about drinking.  He and his friend with a Harley were drinking beer when I threw out the trash.  We talked a bit about the weather and the far South Side.  We disagreed on the chance of rain.  I always err on the side of caution.  It ended up pouring for an hour shortly thereafter.  I’m sure nobody blames me for checking the weather.  Package deliveries may be a different story.

If you ask me if America is working for me I’d probably tell you I’m working for America.  America is often a freeloader in my life.  It’s also incredibly egotistical thinking it knows what I am about.  I am for the most part about America.  I was born here.  I am a citizen.  I don’t think that’s any of the government’s business to know on a census.  I also know that the longer I resist the harder it gets to prove me wrong.  Because America has fucked up with me more times than I can count.  The level in which I’ve resisted things has been written about for years on Tumblr.  I was actually kind of impressed the whole Taylor Swift narrative unfolded down here.  How she called out Kanye for being misogynistic and rapey.  How men control the music industry.   It’s neither here nor there that Universal films the next house over.  I have no ties to anything.  Brands don’t give a shit about me.  Some do.  But what does that say about America when you can rely on brands more than your local government?  It says a lot when politicians are bought.  And I live in a state where a billionaire won the election.  A billionaire from the hospitality industry.  Who just legalized weed and gambling.  This is America.  We have a president who bought his way into office too.  I could never imagine being president or running for office unless I sold out to a party.  I never want to be president or run for office mind you.  I’ve already done enough ineffectually for my country.  Or so it would seem.  If you ask me what I know I often pretend to know nothing.  It’s in my signature line at work in both Korean and Chinese.  I don’t know anything.  That’s what it says point blank.  It’s said that for years.  When people ask who I am working in concert with I always tell them I sleep alone.  Every night.  I go to bed and wake up every morning forgotten about.  Or so it would seem.  Only in America right?  Only in America am I free to keep all the secrets that I hold dear and it’s none of your fucking business.  How did we get to this place?  I was born here.  One side of my family came here from Sweden and became lutheran ministers.  The other side were Gypsies and Bohemian Germans.  There’s still people who think I’m Irish because of my accents.  I used to be a jungle MC.  Wicked man.  That’s some commonwealth bullshit.  These days I just play games, watch tv and wish somebody would realize the work I’ve put in.  America home of the free.  Where I’m brave enough to save other people’s packages but nobody looks out for me.  Most people are only ever around to watch my next move and talk shit about it.  Everybody else stares in either horror or support.  Pink is a pretty loud color in that respect.  And honestly pink is my favorite color over red white and blue.  I don’t wear much of it.  I leave that to the troops.  I’ll be out mowing the lawn Saturday in my Hawkins shirt for my mom.  I never really hear much of the talk.  I don’t give any of that bullshit the time of day.  I’m free to do that.  One fourth of July at a time.  One screen print at a time too.  No matter how much intellectual property I steal.  <3 Tim

[kootenaygoon]

So,

When I first sent off my application for the Nelson Star in April 2014, I was living in a Victoria basement suite with my partner Paisley and our latest pet, a nine-pound Maltese named Muppet that we’d acquired from a small farm on one of the Gulf Islands. My year-long book publishing internship had taught me a lot about the industry, but mostly it had convinced me I wanted to pivot back into journalism as quickly as possible. I felt this insistent desperation to be a reporter again, to be out in the world taking pictures and asking questions, handing out my business card to strangers.

After scrolling through the listings on Jeff Gaulin I sent out a flurry of resumes to papers all over the province and ultimately received multiple offers. When I asked Paisley where she would prefer to live, she instantly chose the Kootenays over our other options — she’d always dreamed of living there, having grown up in Calgary. I knew a little bit about Nelson from working nearby at the Trail Rossland News during the summer of 2010, and I’d even helped the current reporter Cass Barkley land her gig by putting in a good word with the editor, who had since moved on. Cass and I had previously worked together at The Martlet, UVic’s student newspaper, and now that she was leaving her position she worked to return the favour by putting in a good word for me with the new editor, Calvin Miller.

During the weeks I was deliberating, I reflected on where I was at in life. Nearly 30 years old, I’d spent the previous decade perma-bouncing from one location to the next, never staying anywhere for longer than eight months at a time. Though I’d been offered a generous scholarship to complete my Master’s in Journalism at Ryerson, I worried that I was needlessly pushing back adulthood by cowering safe within the confines of academia. Initially our plan was to take the Star position for the summer before heading off to Toronto in September, but immediately upon receiving the job offer I asked myself the following question: why am I going to school for journalism if I can just get a journalism job and do it? 

I believed the old maxim that journalism is like a hangover — you can learn about it and talk about it all you want, but you can’t really understand what it’s like until you experience it for yourself.

Around this time things were a little drastic at home. I’d recently started taking antidepressants under the supervision of a mental health counsellor, Paisley was going through some debilitating health struggles, repeatedly ending up in the hospital, and both of us were vibrating on uncomfortably high frequencies. I felt like we were victims of our stagnant lifestyle and the Star opportunity seemed like the exact thing I needed to jump-start my career and vault into a better, more fulfilling future. I told my Dad before leaving that I knew I’d be working for some rinky dink paper way out in the bottom right-hand corner of B.C., but I was going to pretend like it was The New York Times — and conduct myself accordingly. Paisley and I decided to make it our goal to live there for three years straight, giving us a chance to actually belong somewhere and become part of the community. 

We’d been rootless too long.

It was early May when I loaded my newly acquired RAV with all my possessions. I was expected to start within a few days of receiving the offer, so I left Paisley behind on the island while I drove across the province with Muppet in my passenger seat. I was under-slept and stressed after days of arguing, but I was also convinced this move would be a turning point — it wouldn’t be the first time I’d tried to solve a spiritual problem with a geographic solution. Muppet was antsy, exploring through our piled belongings in the back and yelping when she got stuck, so I stopped along the side of the highway multiple times to let her get her bearings. I’ve always enjoyed taking care of things that are smaller than me, and I tried my best to bring her stress level down, but she was trembling and nervous — kind of like me. 

Cold wind pulled at my clothes. Together we stood at the crest of the hill overlooking Christina Lake, wondering what kind of story was waiting for us at the end of this trip.

That evening we arrived at Cass’ house around dinnertime. She lived on a gentle slope facing Elephant Mountain with her husband Elliot. When I knocked at the front door we heard frantic barking, and when it swung open we were faced with Cass’ yapping puppy Winston. He whined and leaped, basically losing his shit, jumping for attention. Halfway through the entrance he flew up into my face, clawing happily, while Muppet panicked and shrieked. She shredded at my shins until I pulled her up to my chest, squirming, and accepted directions into the closest bedroom. Feeling awkward that I hadn’t properly said hello, I stroked Muppet and held her to my chest until she calmed down a bit — but as soon as I left she threw up and peed on the bed. My poor girl.

As it turned out, Cass had a friend who worked for the local SPCA and lived only a few blocks away. She made a phone call and within half an hour a friendly dude named Rob Andrew sauntered up to the house with a calming lavender spray and a tight “thunder coat” that was supposed to help with anxiety. He spoke to Muppet in a kind, reassuring voice and gave me instructions on how to help her cope. I was stupid grateful, and he didn’t even ask for money. When he left again I told Cass I couldn’t believe that he’d been able to just magically appear like that, and she told me there’s a spirit of helping in the Kootenays that’s unlike anything she’d ever experienced in the big city.

“My car has broken down twice,” she told me. “Both times all I had to do was get out and stand there for a minute or two, and eventually someone stopped to help.”

When Cass left her position at the Nelson Star she was one of the paper’s longest-serving employees, having spent half a decade there. She was a natural journalist, one of the best I’ve ever known, and her mind had become a swirling whirlpool of information. She was a tiny woman with a loud voice, and couldn’t stand bullshitters. She had worked successfully under the former editor Rob Wall but found the latest one, Calvin, to be insufferable — he was a right-wing hockey fan who liked to micro-manage his reporters’ time while she was a strident left-wing feminist who didn’t like being bossed around. Before I even met Calvin I’d already heard lengthy tirades about what a nightmare he was, incompetent and annoying, but she was convinced he would be gone in a matter of months. She said if I could last long enough Calvin would have some sort of breakdown and leave town. According to her, he wasn’t handling the stress well.

“You know how lazy he is?” she asked me. “We had a bank robbery two weeks ago and he couldn’t even be bothered to leave the office to go take a picture or ask a few questions, even though the bank is two blocks away from the office.”

“Like a real, legit bank robbery? In this town?”

“Yeah. It was this couple from Salmo who apparently have a bunch of children. They’ve been leaving the kids with baby-sitters and going out to rob pharmacies, banks, places all over the Kootenays. They hit the currency exchange in town here a while back and the dude actually fired his shotgun, like into the door of the vault.”

“Who caught them?”

“Well, the husband? He was the one doing all the heavy lifting. He took off on a bicycle at first, but then he got into a getaway car and led the police on this high speed pursuit out towards the highway to Castlegar. They had him cornered on this bridge and he jumped off, trying to get away from them.”

“What, into the river?”

“No, there was nothing but rocks beneath him. Apparently he broke both his legs.”

“Crazy.”

“Yeah, they say he threw the bag of money into a tree and it burst open raining bills down everywhere.”

“Holy shit. Were they unemployed or what?”

“Drugs,” she said. “Addiction’s a big thing around here. I think it was meth, or maybe oxy, something like that. They needed to score.”

As Cass drove me all around Nelson, pointing out landmarks and monologuing about stories she’d written over the years, I noticed she had a slightly frenzied vibe, like she was struggling to keep everything ordered in her head. She rattled off names of people I would need to know — John Dooley, the mayor, Tom Thomson, the chamber boss, Michelle Mungall, the MLA — and went on at great length about the many small-town feuds I would need to keep track of. She drove me through the different neighbourhoods (Rosemont, Fairview, Uphill), and filled me in on construction projects and community controversies. We looked at the mural of Roxanne, a Steve Martin movie from the 80s, then swung by the historic fire hall where a bunch of it was filmed. Down by the mall there was a miniature pirate schooner called Obsidian anchored off-shore, and Cass told me when it sunk to the bottom of Kootenay Lake the community raised funds to resurrect it with a crane. There was one large-scale development project called Stores to Shores that ran right through the middle of downtown, there was a municipal election coming up, and she figured I’d end up writing about an ongoing court case around a recently shuttered and then reopened bar called The Royal.

Another thing: I had to keep in mind that there were two polices forces in town, the Nelson Police and the Nelson RCMP, and that they were actually quite different.

“Nobody will tell you this, but there isn’t any budget for traffic enforcement within the city limits,” Cass told me. “The RCMP deal with the highways and the Nelson Police are too busy with everything else to deal with giving out tickets and that sort of thing.”

“What’s the police chief like?” I asked.

“Oh, his name’s Wayne Holland. He came up from Vancouver and he’s real chummy with Dooley. You’ll hear him talk a bunch about mental health, because the cops are spending all their time dealing with street vagrants. That’s what the whole dog bylaw was about.”

I’d heard about the dog bylaw — at one point it made national news. Decades previous the council had banned dogs from downtown in a move designed to rid the sidewalks of buskers and panhandlers. Nelson had caught a lot of flak for it, but it was still on the books, which meant I wasn’t allowed to walk Muppet downtown. Cass had written several stories about it.

“That’s pretty much the biggest controversy in town,”she said. “The conflict between the businesses who want to clean up downtown and all the social justice types who want to help the marginalized and bring in more services, all that.”

Eventually Cass started talking about Paul Hinrichs, a local music promoter who had worked at the Royal before it became entangled in legal disputes. She spoke about him with a saint-like reverence. Now operating out of the Hume Hotel, he was responsible for booking the vast majority of the musical acts coming to town, including big names like Sloan. She had relied on him for arts stories throughout her time at the Star, and considered him to be the most important contact in the arts community. Now that she’d left the paper, she’d picked up some work promoting shows for him.

“You know, I’m not actually that into live music,” I admitted.

“You will be. It’s just contagious. There are so many artists in town, so many musicians, that you can’t help but pick up on the vibe and get into it. And the arts scene is so busy in Nelson you can pretty much be busy every night of the week going to the museum, concerts, literary events — did you hear we just got our own movie theatre?"

“No, that’s amazing.”

“Yeah, it was a community project. It’s independent. That’s unheard of in a town this size. The guy that runs it, Jason Asbell, he gets a pretty good mix of indie films and the big blockbusters. It’s got this old-old-time feel and it’s all paid for by the community.”

“Right on.”

“And then there’s all the music festivals,” she said. “There’s like six or seven of them, but Shambhala is by far the biggest. You can get media passes, if you ask. I find they’re always good for photo spreads.”

I asked her about pot, because I’d heard Nelson was the weed capital of B.C. She wasn’t a smoker, had never been, but she knew plenty about the local industry. Paisley and I had started smoking regularly in Victoria but it was still pre-legalization, which meant we bought from a friendly dude named Papa Andrew rather than from a storefront dispensary. I was excited to experience Nelson’s signature export firsthand.

“It’s funny, it’s always the last person you would guess who run the grow-ops. It’s not the hippie stoners you see in the street, it’s the well-dressed rich people who seem like they would never touch it. And that’s their whole disguise, since they don’t seem like weed people,” she said.

“You’ll find people talk about it differently here. You’re supposed to call it cannabis. Most people talk about it as a medicine, and it doesn’t have the same stigma as on the coast. But then it’s also created this intense class division between the growers and everyone else, this hatred. The big thing is they don’t pay taxes.”

“Right.”

She told me I should be prepared to feel pseudo-famous, working for the Star, because the town was so small and there were only three reporters. She also told me to expect certain people to engage with the newspaper to a scary amount. It was a magnet for kooks.

“This is a town with lots of big personalities, which is another way of saying there’s shitloads of mental illness. You’ll find that the way people dress, the way people talk, the things people do — it’s all stuff you could never get away with anywhere else. But in Nelson there’s the underlying counter-culture, I mean it’s got a lot to do with the black-market weed industry, where people are more open and forgiving of things,” she said.

I knew Cass had struggled with her own mental health in the past, and she also knew about some of my depression and substance abuse issues. We’d pushed each other to extremes while working together at the Martlet, constantly competing with one another for jobs and assignments and attention. We were known for bickering viciously in the newsroom and had even dated for a brief time. But now she was married, and so was I basically, and our lives had quieted as we transitioned from our chaotic twenties into respectable grown-up reporters. I knew Paisley would be suspicious and intolerant of me spending too much time with Cass, but I felt a deep gratitude for how she’d finagled this job for me. She would be my first phone call when I needed to figure something out, my main back-up. As we drove the sunny tree-lined streets I felt a fearful optimism that this would be a turning point, the first page of an epic new chapter in my life.

The Kootenay Goon

[lorainelaneyblog]

This is God, this is God, this is God, this is God, and recently a follower on Twitter misunderstood that Loraine Laney was purporting to be God himself, she isn’t, she isn’t, she isn’t, she isn’t, she isn’t, she isn’t, and I, God, am here to tell you that she isn’t.

This is why we are writing today, to let everyone know that the apartment adjacent is still in the possession of the police of Ottawa, because a day or so ago, the place began to re-reek of cat piss, a joke shop product, says God. Loraine Laney has no need to investigate, she can tell right away if something is toxic enough to harm her, she has no need to travel to St. Laurent mall to the joke shop and see what the substances are, she has experienced, personally, in this very apartment, the one assigned to her by ODSP, the notorious Vicki Dionne, whose voice changed about the time her homicidal landlord was arrested, around two Christmases ago, Julio Margulies, who is a gangster today, running the place, killing the roaches, sealing the roof, where the former Julio had left it open to freeze the occupant of #15 ‘like a rat in a cage,’ says God.

I am God, and I say the following is true, Loraine Laney is, lucky to be alive, though she would rather be dead, she would, she would, she would, she would, but, like most people, when put to the test, the will to live is profound, and she was no different. Julio Margulies went to prison and died of his own torture methods, because, for two reasons, he smelled so bad that nobody would let him shit, knowing, as they did, that he was the reason for many deaths in Carlington, and he was, his own toll of casualties, in a war all his own, and I am God, and I say this is so, was exactly six thousand and five, save Loraine Laney, and many who escaped, Loraine Laney did not escape, but saved herself by instructions from Patrick Crean in heaven, a thirty with God, and Loraine’s own step father, put in a marriage with her mother, by God, to be there when The Cycle of Heterosexuality was put forth, mistakes though it may have, according to the highest editors, it will be fixed, because she realized it herself, over time, and perhaps never, because, nobody pays her copyright, and she no longer gives a shit, if anyone understands or doesn’t understand, and that’s a fact, according to God. 

50 Cent still cares for Loraine Laney, but, and it is not widely known, he makes no move without the behest of God, and that show, Loraine, where, it was not made known in the press, twelve 'apostles of Loraine Laney,' actually rogue gangsters in the same age group as Loraine Laney, from the Hell’s Angel’s, stormed the stage of 50 Cent, calling out the name ‘Loraine,‘ was given free reign to book that show, but, he neglected to ask one thing: was this the best avenue to meet Loraine Laney? and God didn’t tell him, because his priority was the show, not to meet his dearly beloved, the little Loraine Laney, the little messiah, and, though she is forty seven, she still looks youngish, because she has a baby face, and that annoys some people, and she has stayed away from the sun, for the most part, since a stint in Spain made her realize the effects of constant sun on the visage. 

50 Cent does love Loraine Laney, but, he is at the behest of God, and he will do nothing until my say so.

50 Cent has done much for Loraine Laney, in secret, within the bonds of friendship, though, he hears the clicks on the line and knows that the police are tapping his calls. Loraine Laney was recently done by a CRA analyst who was pretending to be involved in a scam, to see, according to police, if she would fold over personal information, should she ever be awarded the billion dollars which she is due for years and years and years of captive torture by her local police departments, which, as mentioned, by God, me, writing through Loraine Laney, continues to this day.

I am God, and this is what I say through my messiah, my little, new, messiah, Loraine Laney, she is with her family by no means, they have left her to die many times, and, 50 Cent, has been apprised of this, that they will have no means to intervene, except one, the community treatment order, which is upheld by police, for one, small, lame, infraction, which was to throw a TV and several electronics out of the window in the middle of the night, on a freezing night, when there were no cars in the parking lot, because Julio Margulies the first, had failed to rent most of the suites on that side, preferring, as he did, to kill with the ventilation and heating ducts, with chemicals, and that’s what he did, almost kill her, even to the extent of, I have told her and I am God speaking through herself, Loraine Laney, stepping over her unconscious body, lying, without furniture, save a bed brought by a tenacious gang bang boy, who wanted a piece, and he knows who he is, and he is a fan to this day, but he will not lose his job, because he did nothing wrong, as Loraine Laney wouldn’t let him, though she wanted him too, on the floor.

The floor was her bed that night, because she keeled over, after eating a plate of corn, the sugars were too much for her fragile health and she was overcome by sleeping sickness, and fell over, after imbibing no more than four beers, and, anyone who drinks, especially beer, and they are a vilified class because the drinking can be constant, but the effect is minimal, she was drinking seven a day in the shelter, while walking, and sitting in parks, and sitting God knows where, on old construction sites, and trying to rest without dealing with her crazy roommates in the shelter, and they were crazy, crazier even than Loraine Laney herself, more suicidal, more, pardon the expression, defecating, this is an expression to define those who use countless mediums to annoy, even her favorite roommate would touch her feet every time she went out the door by the end of her bed, to the bathroom, driving Loraine to distraction, and even rubbing blood on her blankets, and this was Loraine Laney’s favorite roommate, a sweet, duster-huffing woman who would have done better on speed. And, to their credit, to avoid the pitfalls of Vancouver, and Toronto, the Ottawa Police have allowed the proliferation of speed on the streets of Ottawa, to avoid, because it is impossible to harden fentanyl, deaths from a heroin, “opiate,” overdose. ~ God

There have been noises all night from both the Kanata airfield, and, rest assured, this bitch has been tortured for years, and she sleeps right on through it, so don’t even bother, but you, the pilots, are torturing families close to the airfields, to the extent, and, yes, Loraine, the children’s ears hurt more, the families with children most of all, so, since you have all done well, and, unlike my messiah, Loraine Laney, who has always used condoms, save the pregnancy at six years of age, from the crime of pimping a youngster, such as it was, and such as it is, though Loraine Laney, herself, may not believe that it should be a crime when, and only when, the child is capable of communicating such desires to an independent board of assessment, including priests, social workers, psychiatrists and the like, overall the Ministry of Relationships and Sexuality.

I am God, and I say that Loraine Laney, and Doctor Sigmund Freud were right, child sexuality is a precious investment in the future, and it must not be ignored nor taken advantage of, but be at the behest of God, and for the advantage of the child, this includes, and this bores Loraine, just as it bored Sigmund Freud, children’s sexuality, because, though Doctor Freud had children, they asked for nothing, and were not ready for sex until at least fifteen, so he had no need for his own theories, and Loraine Laney, though she had a little crush at seven, and, let’s not undermine it, a crush is real love, it was to go nowhere since the little boy was not ready himself, and, I am God, and I will say, that precious few boys are ready for either sex or relationship at early ages, though girls sometimes are, especially what we call, which is, I admit, and I am God writing through my sage, Loraine Laney, ‘pedophile babies,’ which are girl children, and girl children only, homosexual relationships always involve social and sexual equals, while these relationships involve a sexual superior, the girl, with a social superior, the man. Loraine Laney was not wrong that the normal association between men and women is a social superior with a sexual superior, that is why, and this is a mistake, the man sometimes chooses a woman who is too dumb for him, but that is not social superiority, that is intellect, and I am God, and I say, that, even though Loraine Laney is practically dumb from brain damage, and everyone who knows her, knows this is true, she is an intellectual, and is, would be, a good partner for her husbands, and, in particular, for 50 Cent, who pales at the illogic of women, Loraine Laney, he does. And, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, God, Loraine Laney is the holder, today, because she is a gang bang girl, and because she is an intellectual, and because she has been alone most of her life, and has had to live off of multiple men, of one hundred percent logic, and that is, it is, Loraine, and I know, I see that you are bored, such a salve to a man like 50 Cent, who has, as you know, dealt with so many women, and heard the emotional intelligence, which, as you know, sometimes goes nowhere, unless there is a man to translate it, and he has been that man, so many times that he cares not, he cares not, he cares not, when he heard, ‘I think men should throw money at me just because I come from a rich family,’ his first thought was, ‘that’s fine, where is your dad?’ And he asked ‘where is your dad?’ and she said, and this is a quote, ‘he has resigned responsibility for me because I was such a slut in high school, I was an incorrigible slut, and--

Loraine Laney is pissed because she has kept herself, mostly, decent and clean, and even 50 Cent thinks he’s too good for such a nice girl, she thinks, but he doesn’t, Loraine Laney, says God, he thinks nothing of the sort, he was worried, and he was prepared to deal with another slut, as long as she would listen and behave, but she is pissed, she is pissed, she is pissed, she is pissed, because the least that an incorrigible player can do for a woman is to play her too, and he won’t, he won’t, he won’t, he won’t, he will, Loraine, he will, Loraine, he will, Loraine, and I want to wrap soon, so I will finish by saying the following, Eminem Mathers is a big fan, Loraine, so don’t neglect him in your fantasies, because he will be part of the family, and a number two in the line up of husbands and he loves you so much that he can hardly even think straight. So that’s it for now. Wrap, please, unless anyone has something to say, says God.

50 Cent wants to say something, says God.

‘That woman who thought she should get something for nothing, because she put my condomed penis in her mouth for two seconds, is that you competing with me, Loraine?’

‘Yeah, fuck off, actually.’

‘Yeah, fuck you, Loraine. At least you actually get oral, Loraine.’

‘And it’s beautiful.’

‘Fuck you, Loraine.’

‘I’m bored.’

‘I have something to say. This is what I wanted to say, when that girl said she had a rich father and then came clean that he had abandoned her, I felt vindicated, Loraine, because manys the woman had come to me with her tale of woe, and I just wanted to say that you have never done that, never, you have sucked up all the pains of your life, and there are many, and come to me with an open heart, and your pussy is not all messed up, and that’s all I have to say. Me. 50 Cent.’