#of my personality but Chevy thinks that that’s being truly kind

[cherrysnax]

was talking to my butch last night about feelings and self perception and it’s weird that ppl see me as kind. not nice, but kind

[stories-of-the-strange]

Country Roads

Story submitted by Nicole Anderson on April 10th, 2002.

This happened years ago. Over a decade now, in fact, so forgive me if I spare you the details. Though I am reasonably confident I remember the most important parts correctly... for better or worse.

So I like to travel. Specifically by car, always did, always will. Ever since I was a little kid my parents would take me on road trips across the Appalachian roads. Make no mistake, I understand the dangers of the old country roads. Hell, when I was 12 we almost got killed in an ambush. Only my grandfather´s quick thinking got my dad to immediately turn around and run the second he saw the tree blocking our path. You´d think I would have been traumatized, but no, those roads still filled me with a profound sense of freedom and adventure.

But, more on topic. I don´t like to travel alone. Especially not nowadays. And, when this happened, I was travelling with a friend by the name of Zachary Watson. We had known eachother for a few years by that point, and had grown quite close since we met at a cheap bar in some rural Texan shithole. I even asked him out at one point, but he refused. Honestly I think he was into guys. Never asked him about it though, felt inappropriate. Though now, I will never know. Isn´t that strange? How you never truly know someone, and usually only realize how much you never knew about them once they are gone? ...anyways, back on topic.

We were driving to Cornwall in the summer of ´91 and it started getting late and very dark somewhere in the boonies of West Virginia. Now, here´s the thing, I thought that we would find a motel where we could sleep „any time soon“ and wanted to get to our target as soon as possible, so I ignored the one we saw at around 9 PM. And the next day I was proven decidedly wrong when I pulled my blue Chevy Blazer into some run-down motel parking lot past midnight, after having to seriously consider just sleeping in the car in the middle of the woods.

Zachary was, understandably, pretty pissed. A sentiment I wholeheartedly shared, and we ended up getting separate rooms to avoid the inevitable fight that would have otherwise broken out. Unsurprisingly, the place seemed to be completely abandoned except for us and the staff. I still triple-checked to make sure my door was locked, and was about to close the curtains when I saw it.

I thought it was a naked person, and went to open the door. After all, as I said, these roads are dangerous, and who knows what could have happened to them. After I did, I immediately waved and shouted at them to get their attention. Now, they were only dimly lit by the edge of the light radiating out from the lamps of the parking lot, so I couldn´t get a good look at them. But I could see they were tall. Easily 6 feet, if not more. That´s when the situation went from weird and worrying to… a reason to share the story here.

They broke into a sprint and ran faster than I have ever seen a human run before or since, and in the blink of an eye they went from one end of the parking lot, to inside Zachary´s room at the opposite end. They didn´t break the window mind you. They just… slid, through the small opening created by virtue of it being left slightly ajar. I cannot describe how quickly this all happened. Less than 5 seconds. Hell maybe less than 3.

I quickly went for the gun I had on my bedside table, but by the time I got back outside my room, I had heard the sounds of conflict start and end, and decided against investigating just now. I reached into my pocket for my new cellphone to find it empty. I must have had forgotten it in the car as I checked every pocket on me to find them all equally empty. I was not going outside until daylight. Whoever won, I would find out in the morning, and in the light.

I didn´t sleep that night. I spent the whole night repeatedly watching that window, checking my lock, desperately looking for any kind of phone in my room, and making sure my gun was loaded. And, when the first rays of sunlight came, I had mustered up enough courage to go outside and try and quietly get to my car.

I made it about halfway across the parking lot before I saw someone emerge from Zachary´s room. I thought it was Zachary at first, but the closer he got, the more… wrong he was. I´m not quite sure how to describe it. He wasn´t taller, he was always tall, it´s more like he was… shrunk in a washing machine and stretched slightly? His movements were stiff, and his face was covered in scars. I thought that he was simply bruised from the fight and wanted to run to him and make sure he was alright. But I couldn´t. I was just filled with a profound sense of unease and wrongness as I saw him approach. Eventually he got close enough that I could see his scars had already mostly healed. And by that time I knew it was far too late to run.

The thing that wasn´t Zachary eventually got to about 4 feet away from me, and extended a hand with a heavily scarred wrist towards me, as if to shake my hand. The skin around it seemed thin, and I could make out even small blood vessels very clearly beneath it. My hands started to hurt from the force of my grip on the handle of my gun when I was shaken out of this terrified stupor by 4 cheery words coming out of the smiling mouth of… the thing that was not Zachary.

„Hello, I am Zachary.“

I didn´t run. I had worked with dogs before and I know the look they give you when they want to play and are just biting at the bit waiting for you to make a move before they go completely buckwild. That was the same look that this unblinking, grinning thing was giving me. I slowly, painstakingly, backed away, not lowering my gun, until after what felt like half an hour but couldn´t have been, made it to my car, and got in.

Even as I put the keys in, I could see that glassy-eyed thing grinning at me in my rear-view mirror. I started the car and accelerated faster than I ever had before or after, almost crashing into a lamp-post as I drove away and didn´t slow down until I reached Rockport.

[johnhardinsawyer]

Loving God through Adoration

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

11 / 6 / 22

Psalm 63

Matthew 26:6-13

“Loving God through Adoration”

(Sacred Pathways – Week 8)

Maybe I’m showing my age, but there is a movie I love that came out a long time ago.  The movie is called Say Anything.  Probably the most memorable scene from the movie is when Lloyd Dobler, played by John Cusack, gets out of his Chevy Malibu with a boombox and plays a Peter Gabriel song under his girlfriend (Diane’s) bedroom window.  It’s kind of a 1980’s Romeo and Juliet moment.  Lloyd holds the boombox over his head and lets the music play and play – an act of pure devotion and adoration . . . Lloyd loves Diane.  It doesn’t matter that he is an underachiever who has fallen in love with the academic fellowship-winning valedictorian.  When asked what he wants to do with his life, Lloyd basically just wants to be the best possible boyfriend to the girl of his dreams.

You may have never had someone wake you up with a boombox, playing a love song under your window, but I hope that there has been a time in your life when you felt properly and completely adored by someone else.  And if you’re not sure whether or not you have ever been adored by another person, I want to share the good news with you that you are adored by God.  

As we have been exploring in recent weeks as part of our Sacred Pathways sermon series, there are different pathways upon which we encounter God – or, rather, places where God finds us and connects with us in meaningful ways.  Some people gravitate toward certain sacred pathways to connect with God, while other people might be walking any combination of pathways, seeking the Holy.  There is a whole school of Christian spiritual practice that involves people entering into a state of mind, and heart, and spirit where they contemplate the ways that God loves them and the ways that they love God back.  This is kind of an adoration feedback loop – God loves us, we love God, God loves us more, we love God more . . . Maybe you get the idea.

Now, this spiritual practice – which, incidentally, does not require one to hold a boombox over one’s head – might not be your “go-to” practice for trying to draw close to God – it might not be your personal “sacred pathway” – but there are faithful people throughout the centuries who have taken up the practice of contemplation and adoration and have found it to be a beautiful way to enter into a deeper spiritual life that causes us to act, and think, and love in deep and beautiful ways.

We see this at work in today’s scripture reading about a woman who – in an act of almost scandalous intimacy – adores Jesus and offers her best to him in the form of an expensive jar of ointment.  Back in those days, sweet smelling perfumes and oils were very rare and valuable.  They were used sparingly, in most cases, and a little would go a long way.  So, when the woman pours the whole jar of oil out onto Jesus’ head, it is a shocking thing to do – especially at a dinner party.  But this unnamed woman adores Jesus, and so she offers the very best of what she has, pouring out the oil as an ancient sign of marking someone as special, and beloved, and set apart for a certain purpose.  In the story, Jesus acknowledges that he is being prepared for all that will take place in the next few days – his arrest, and death, and burial.  And all along Jesus’ difficult path, I imagine traces of this special oil, fragrantly accompanying Jesus along every step – a reminder to him, and to all who encountered his fragrance, of just how special, and beloved, and set apart he truly is.  The love and adoration of this nameless, but unforgettable, woman go with Jesus as a blessing.  Just as the love and adoration of Jesus go with us – blessing our every step, our every breath, our every thought and act – whether we are open to experiencing this blessing or not.  Jesus adores each of us and is always inviting us to be adored.

There was a man named Augustine who lived in North Africa about 400 years after the time of Jesus.  Augustine was trained as a philosopher and was well on his way to becoming a famous scholar, but God had other plans.  Augustine fell in love with the God who adored him.  Now, you should know that there are some things about Augustine that I find to be head-scratchingly mean and overly-strict,[1] but the earnestness of his love and faith is an inspiration and there are passages of his writing that are absolutely beautiful.  In his autobiography, which he called his Confessions, Augustine wrote:  

What is it then that I love when I love you [God]?  Not bodily beauty, and not temporal glory, not the clear shining light, lovely as it is to our eyes, not the sweet melodies of many-moded songs, not the soft smell of flowers and ointments and perfumes, not manna and honey, not limbs made for the body’s embrace, not these do I love when I love my God.

           Yet I do love a certain light, a certain voice, a certain odor, a certain food, a certain embrace when I love my God: a light, a voice, an odor, a food, an embrace for the man within me [known as Jesus], where his light, which no place can contain, floods into my soul; where he utters words that time does not speed away; where he sends forth an aroma that no wind can scatter; where he provides food that no eating can lessen; where he so clings that satiety does not sunder us.  This is what I love when I love my God.[2]

Augustine is writing about the wonder, and beauty, and comfort of God’s presence – God’s Spirit – within us.  These are words of a love that go beyond something that we can discover with our five senses – a love that is truly lasting, all-encompassing, and life-changing.

All of this leads me to wonder, what do you and I love when we love God?  There are those who might answer this question by turning inward – spending more time in prayer, and meditation, and contemplation – adoring the God that is at work, revealing the Holy in our hearts and souls. And, while there is no one method that can or should be used for this, one possible outcome of spending time adoring God is that we might just start to adore those whom God adores.  

Let us fast-forward sixteen centuries from Augustine on the northern coast of Africa to Louisville, Kentucky of all places.  The year was 1958, and a monk named Thomas Merton, who lived at a nearby monastery, had gone into town on an errand.  He found himself on a crowded street corner and had a remarkable vision.  He later wrote:

Yesterday, in Louisville, at the corner of 4th and Walnut, [I] suddenly realized that I loved all the people and that none of them were, or could be, totally alien to me . . . I am still a member of the human race – and what more glorious destiny is there for [humanity], since the Word was made flesh and became, too, a member of the Human Race.[3]  

Now, of course Thomas Merton was a member of the human race – just like you and I – but the connection that Merton makes between loving all people because Jesus was a person, too, is rather remarkable.  Contemplating the love of Jesus can lead us to extraordinary conclusions – if we are open to contemplating the love that is planted at the heart of everyliving person.  When you go to vote in the Midterm Elections this coming Tuesday – and I hope you will vote – and you see the people who will be holding the campaign signs for candidates that you would rather die than vote for, ask yourself:  “Is it possible for me to love these people who are not voting the same way as I am going to vote?  Is it possible for me to love them because they are human beings, and so was Jesus, and Jesus loves them, too?  Is it possible for me to adore them because God adores them?”

This can be what contemplating the love of God can end up doing to us:  loving – adoring – those whom God loves (yes, even those people we would rather not like, much less love or adore).  

Today, as we come to the Lord’s Supper, we are invited to contemplate the God who adores us and gives God’s own self to us in the bread and the cup – the broken body, the life poured out, the strengthening, and healing, and forgiving presence at work within us.  This is a feast that is open to all who want to know the God who adores us – the God who shows us how to adore a world full of people who are longing to be adored.

Friends, know that you are loved – know that you are adored by the One who gives you grace upon grace.  May the God who adores you fill you with the Spirit of adoration.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

--------

[1] Augustine’s treatment of his longtime lover (and the mother of his son), along with his theology of “original sin” and view of human sexuality may be viewed as particularly harsh when read with 21st-century eyes, but he was a product of his time.  

[2] Augustine of Hippo, The Confessions of St. Augustine – Translated by John K. Ryan (New York: Doubleday Books, 1960) 233-234 – X.6.(8).

[3] Michael Mott, The Seven Mountains of Thomas Merton (New York: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1984) 311.

[blissfulparker]

Driving First class→T.H

Parings: mechanic!tom x reader

Summary: A bitter fight with your now ex has you taking your car instead of a train for a business trip. Although out of your pettiness and anger, your car breaks down and you are left in the middle of nowhere but luckily Tom sees your distress and the man who works on the car is your best rescue. But he works on you other ways both Physically and emotionally

Warnings: Dom!tom, sub!reader, degrading(only slightly), sex on top of a car, squirting, oral, unprotected sex (this is fictional please use protection!), orgasm denial, power struggle, Tom being scared of women for two seconds

Word count: 5.5k

A/n: yeah so idk why I got so horny all the sudden and wrote this. Tbh...I like this version of tom, whatever this is I kinda like it. Let me know what you guys think, if you want to see more or less but I present to you: the first full fic I’ve written in months!(also I know barely anything about cars so I’m sorry if it’s cringy😭)

“Fuck! Shit! Dammit! Fuck! Fuck!” You scream. Hitting your hands against the steering wheel. Such a stupid idea with a stupid end result how could you not expect it?

Taking a car instead of a plane or a train across the country to avoid your ex on a business trip. Thinking you were being more bold and brave, proving you never needed him in the first place when now you sit stranded out in the middle of nowhere with a smoking engine and only hours until sunset and you’re sweating your ass off in a suit. A suit, who the hell wears a suit on a road trip?

Your Phone only having one bar and giving you 20%, you’re doomed. Doomed to be stranded out here and either killed by a maniac or killed by a bear. If London even had bears you would be killed by one. Wanting to cry and scream and maybe a train seat next to your ex who cheated was a better option than crying in your grandpa’s old Chevy that you thought was a better idea than the Tesla or the BMW. Anything would’ve been a better idea than this one but for once you couldn’t let go of the fiery side to you and just got in a car with your middle finger to your ex thinking you were so much better than a first class seat with expensive champagne.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You say to yourself. Your hands run over your face. As dramatic as you can be you think you feel the end coming. The smoke from the engine never dies down and the sun is getting hotter and hotter. No more bubble gum pop plays from the radio but instead the sound of birds chirping and your paranoia of a bear eating you eats at your ears. You think maybe you should’ve sent that drunk ‘I miss you’ text to your ex back two nights ago when you were drunk to maybe just feel his dick once more and get on a stupid train with him but now you are—

“Miss?” A knock at your window causes you to jump. Screaming as you are met with the face of a man and grabbing your pepper spray from the keys and pointing. Even though the window was rolled up you still point and he backs up with his hands up.

“What the fuck!” You scream as you lower the pepper spray. You don’t know when, don’t know how, but now pulled in front of you was a black SUV that was in much better shape than your car. A man who wore a tight white shirt and had sweet chocolate brown curls stood with a scared look on his face.

“I-I’m sorry! I-I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve seen your smoke some while back and...and you were slumped over your steering wheel and needed to make sure I didn’t need to call police.” He explained very rushed. You place your hand over your heart, calming yourself as you reached to roll down your window so you can properly talk to him. A harmless boy who was probably on his way home.

“I’m fine.” You almost groan as you put your pepper spray back down. Running your hands over your face once again. Tom takes in how nice you look, black suit and neatly painted nails, you looked expensive so what was such an expensive girl like you doing in such a dirty old car like this?

“You got smoke coming from your car, you don’t look fine miss.” He looks at the cloud that still comes from your car. He has a worried look. You hate that you make the assumption of him being a man so he will know how to fix it but at the same time he was an Angel sent from Heaven,

“The engine blew out...at least I think…” you trail off. Honestly you didn’t know anymore, The last time you worked with a car was when you were 15 and before your grandpa died. The only person who truly taught you about cars now seemed to be reincarnated into the Greek god in front of you.

“Mind if I take a look?” He asked and you nodded as you popped the hood.

Stepping out of your car you join the boy in the front. Taller than him in the heels you wore having him look up at you as if you were the Angel sent down in the moment.

He doesn’t hesitate to dig his fingers into your car. Feeling the overheated engine and you watched as his eyes went in shock and his sigh. You were fucked. Utterly fucked and no, it wasn’t by some hot guy on a plane like you wished in the moment.

“She’s busted.” He looked at you. You almost want to roll your eyes and go ‘thanks’ as if you already didn’t know that. “I might be able to fix her up, gotta take her back to the shop and see what I can do but other than that she’s no good for a ride.” He placed his hands on his hips and looked up at you again.

“You mean it’s like broken broken down?” You start to panic even more. Ruining the BMW was far more worth it than the ‘57 Chevy you drove. No one made a car like this anymore and you adored it. Every chip of paint, every dent, each faded seat you loved as your own.

“I can see what I can do.” He shrugged. He starts to walk to his car, opening the trunk to hook your busted vehicle up to his and drag it back to where he just came from. As he starts to hook up your car you only just stare, watching as he does his work. He rubs his now oily hands on his pant leg before he looks up at you.

“You wanna hop in the front?” He asked and you started walking to your car and he let out a laugh. “No I meant my car, Angel.”

The random man that pulls over on the side of the road, has you pointing your pepper spray one moment ago now has you acting like a idiot as he was so pretty and a gift sent just for you.

“Right,” you walk around to the passengers seat. “Sorry.” You cleared your throat as you sat and waited in silence. Waiting for him to come around and when he does he doesn’t say anything but just starts up the car.

“You’re not going to kill me are you?” You looked over to him who has a goofy grin on his face.

“No sweetheart.” He shakes his head and you sigh in relief. As if he would even tell you that he was going to kill you. “You’re not going to kill me are you? With that spray you’ve got?” He teased and you shook your head.

“No, and sorry, I was just panicked and you are—“ you started but he lets a low laugh that you find so attractive.

“No I get it, you’re fine.” He stared back at the road. You were so use to the city, the tall building and the blinding lights you never really got to see the beauty of London outside of it. The gorgeous countryside you never knew existed actually did. But the countryside only lasted for so long before you were in a town filled with some of the cutest shops and was like a small city. So cute and so tiny.

“You wear heels on a road trip?” He broke the silence again and this time you’re looking at the four inch shoes.

“I-well-“ you looked and sounded like a proper idiot. You worked for one of London’s best businesses and now you were stumbling over your words, “well...yes? I’m on a business trip.” You admit and he looks back at the busted vehicle.

“I don’t know what business you work for but them sending you in a—“ he starts and you shake your head.

“No, no, that is mine. I thought—I didn’t want to go on a train and—it’s just complicated. A complicated stupid mess.” You tell him and he tilts his head as if he was agreeing.

“Well, I’ll see how well I can get you out of the complicated stupid mess.” He flashed a smile before he turned into what looked like a garage. A large garage that was filled with cars of all types, from new to old there were cars that had looked like they had been worked on for days as Tom pulled his car up and turned it off.

“We have some water in the front if you need some and there's a bathroom in the back. Make yourself a home, I'll get started.” and so for once, instead of just staring at him as if he was a piece of art hanging in the louvre, you search for the bathroom and the water he was talking about.

Leaving him to pop back open your hood, you walk into the bathroom and run cold water over your face. Feeling yourself relax at the feeling of finally getting the heat from the sun out of your face. Facing yourself in the mirror, you stare long and hard at yourself. The dimly lit bathroom, the achy feeling in your feet from being so stupid and wearing heels, the fact you broke down in god know what part of london but now you are in a mechanic shop and you are letting some random person fix up your beloved car.

“Should’ve just gotten on the train.” you groan as you take a paper towel and dry your face. Reaching for the door and walking back out to the garage where tom was now in a white tank top that was stained black all over, he had a towel over his shoulder as he worked at your car. You try to swallow the lump in your throat as you are completely mesmerized by the man in front of you.

Should've gotten on the train. Should've gotten on the train. Should've gotten on the train.

“Fuck!” Tom almost hits his head on the hood of the car as he sees you. You think he had curly hair at the start, now he had hair that kind of stuck to his forehead from the heat and sweat of your car. His hands are covered in black oils and he wipes them on the towel. “You scared me.” he lets out a breath as if he held it in and you take a seat at the stool next to the table filled with tools as he walks over to it.

“Sorry,” you say as you look at the car and try not to make it obvious you want to fuck him right now. A complete stranger that picked you up, you want to fuck. What if he did want to kill you? What if he had a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? Or a family of kids? What if-

“You hear me?” he was closer to you than ever and you felt your whole body go weak.

“I'm so sorry,” you shake your head. “What did you say?’

He lets out that stupid pretty laugh of his again as he puts tools back in the tool box. Cleaning up the mess he just made he repeats himself.

“I said, your car is so old that they don't make the part I need to fix her up anymore. Luckily I know a guy who has the part but it will take a few days to come in. the engine is completely busted and i think if i go a year up in model I can put it in just right. But for now she needs to cool off. She’s not gonna be able to drive for a while.” he gives you almost a pout and you slouch your shoulders.

“So I'm screwed?” your brows raised and he gave you a pressed lipped look.

“Im sorry angel, I got a spare room at my place or there is a bed and breakfast up the road I can drop you off at but for now there is nothing I can do.” he says and you sigh. Maybe you want to cry, scream, throw something but Tom notices it all at once as he watches your head drop.

Tom grew up around boys. His whole life was wrestling with his brothers and working on cars. He never dealt with girls crying. Even when he had girlfriends they typically left when they were crying but now he has a crying girl right under his roof after he worked on her car. It did take everything in him to not ask why she used the old thing but he knew a lot more was happening than just a beat down old car.

“I'm sorry. I should thank you, not cry.” you sniffled as you looked up at him who was on his knees crouched down for you. Face to face, he had a concerned look.

“I have a feeling that car isn't why you’re crying.” he didn't know how to play therapist and mechanic but tonight he would.

“I was so stupid not to just get on the train. God, I would have already been there by now and all because I didnt want to sit next to my stupid cheating ex who I thought I was so much better than if I just got in this old thing and drove there myself.” you wipe your eyes and he hands you a tissue but you shake your head.

“He sounds like a shit guy.” He spoke and you nodded.

“He is, but he was the only one that gave a shit about me and now I'm here like an idiot. Well, not an idiot...no, yeah. An idiot. You're really nice and sweet though so thank you.” you try and give him a smile and he stands up.

“Get up.” he groans a bit as he stretches his legs. “C’mon sweets, get up. I’m not going to let you cry over a guy who treated you like shit. You drink?” he asked and you nodded. “I have some beer in the fridge, you already had a shit day let's not cry about it.”

You don't know if you wanted to throw the wrench at him or if you needed him to say that. Either way he sets an ice cold beer in front of you and pops open the top for you.

Probably making more money than everyone in this town, you never thought you would plop down on a nearly broken bar stool in the middle of a car mechanic shop and drink away your feelings with a random man you just met today. You didnt even know his name, nor did he know yours but he listened to everything you had to say about your ex boyfriend who was probably fucking some model right now while you for once felt like you didnt have to play pretend nice in front of someone. How you don't know what god above sent this man in front of you but he did and he listened to each of your problems, nodding and not saying anything back as he just listened to everything.

“I used to work on cars too.” you look over at the cars and he raises his brows.you had finally stopped crying so much, realizing what was happening and where you were but you felt like a weight was taken off your shoulders when you told him everything. Not even your best friend could make you feel like that.

“Penthouse princess used to work on cars?” he teased and you only nudged his shoulder.

“Wow, penthouse princess?” you repeat back to him with a playful smile and he nods.

“Never got your name and you live in a penthouse and act like a princess.” he takes a sip of his beer and you finally extend your hand to meet his.

“(y/n).” you shook his dirty one but wow were his hands thick. You could feel each callous and feel each crooked finger. Your mind went to dirty places and you think maybe he caught on as he watched your legs cross over themselves as you shook his hand.

“Tom.” his thumb swiped over yours as he shook your hand. The feeling made you swallow hard and him smirk just a bit for himself. Before you could get too comfy you walked over to a truck that already had its hood popped open. You stumble a bit in your heels and the uneven ground and Tom is quick to follow you to make sure you don't hurt yourself.

“That's the engine.” you point. And he nods, his hand is on his hips as he watches you point and explain. “That's the brake pad, that's where you put in the oil…” you trail on and Tom nods as you get everything correct.

“Very good, darling.” he nods impressed and you look over at him with a smirk.

“What? No penthouse princess?” you're close to him. You didn't realize how close he was to you before you turned around and are almost chest to chest with him.

“Mmh, you have a preference?” he teased and you look down at your feet. You're still taller than him, but you think even without the heels on you would be either taller or the same height as him. You were always told that you were the one in control, always the one in demand which seemed to be a complaint by your ex.

“Mmh,” you lean in close enough to where your chest is gently pressed against his. “I'm not sure yet.” you let your hand go to the strap of his tank top, its dirty with oil before you let your hands go down and touch the muscle. Feeling just how strong he was, he was pretty tanned too. He was both toned and tanned as he watched your hands trail down to the bottom of his shirt.

His hands rested on your waist. Holding you tight in place and maybe in the moment he was the shorter on but he was always in control. Always.

“You seem so indecisive, do you want to drive or get on a train? Get back with a man or stay away? You don't even know where you want to sleep at night but you still act like you're so in control.” he almost mocks, giving you the same pout you had throughout the entire night and it shocked you.

“I know what I want.” you nearly snarl back and he clicks his tongue.

“Yeah?” he almost whispers as he leans in for your ear. “Prove it.”

You don't know when or how but his lips quickly land on yours. In a rough fight for dominance he has his hands wrapped around your thighs and has you picked up and laid down on one of the cars with a hood down. You don't realize it's your car with his hood down until you brace yourself on the hood. Stripping of your suit jacket and fiddling with your pants button but tom is already on it. He's down on his knees, undoing the straps of your shoes as he lets his hands go up and undo the buttons of your pants. Having you nearly completely naked in front of him, that's not exactly what he was going for as he picks you up from the hood as has you on your knees in front of him.

“Was so cute, you thought you were going to get exactly what you wanted.” his hand was dirty as it stroked your face but landed a grip on your chin. Pulling you in close, your head in between his thighs looking up at him with pleading eyes. You almost whimper, you were on your knees for a man you didn't know and you were almost whimpering.

“Dont act stupid.” he nearly spit at you as he leaned back. Your hands are going to unzip his pants but he stops you. Forcing you to rest your hands on his thighs as he pulls himself out of his pants. You swallowed hard as he was bigger than you had expected--far bigger than your ex as you felt like your mouth was watering as he used his thumb to stroke over the tip.

“Stick your tongue out.” he told you. You gladly stuck your tongue out with your mouth wide and ready to take him. He had one grip on your jaw and the other guiding his cock into your mouth. You start to suck but that's not what he wanted. He held your jaw in place as he thrusted up into you.

“Thats a good girl,” he hissed as he used your mouth as if it was his own personal toy. You reached to stroke what couldnt fit in your mouth and he let out an airy laugh. “What a little whore you are.” he shook his head. “So desperate, is this not enough for you? Sucking on my cock not enough for you?” he taunted you and you only moan—or at least try to moan and he laughs.

“What was that darling? I can't seem to hear you?” he teased and you only whined more with your mouth around him. You play a game with yourself where you think you can make him cum like this. Making him cum this early would mean that you always were more incharge from the start. But you barely know him, you don't know how long he can last.

“Get up.” he pulls your head off of him. His cock still hard as it fell onto his stomach and you were drooling with his precum. Your eyes don't even look up at him you look at the redness of his cock, how you want more of it and maybe you were the whore like he said.

“Look at me,” he pulled you up, now face to face with him. His hand that was free slips in between thighs, teasing as he gets closer and closer to your core and he clicks his tongue again. “Such a dirty girl, don't even want to look at me, say thank you, you just look at my cock wanting more. You want more?” he strokes your cheek and you nod. “What was that? A moment ago I thought I was talking to one of the richest girls in London but now I feel like I'm talking to just some whore--” he starts to talk but your lips are already on his. You straddle his hips. Extremely unsturdy but he quickly picks you up and flips you over. As much as he'd loved to see what you look like on top of him. Tits bouncing for him and trying to hold on, here was not the best place. He would get a better view later, he just knew it.

For now he flips you over on your stomach. You're pressed up against the car as he wraps his hand around your waist and uses his fingers for a bit.

“So fucking tight.” he slides in slowly at first. Making you gasp and him hiss. “That other boy fuck you like this?” he asked but you were too busy trying to feel more of him. His hand comes down to your ass and in shock you yelp. “I asked you a question, don't say you don't know manners either.'' He was close to your ear and you shook your head no.

“No!” you nearly cry out as he pushes into you. Completely filling you up. You feel tears perk at the corner of your eyes for how desperately you needed him. You even push back on him and he lets out a soft laugh. “H-he's never fucked me like this, god tom please move!” you cry out. His hands come to your waist and he clicks his tongue again.

“Since you asked so nicely.” he teased as he pulled himself fully out and pushed himself fully back in. you cry out, not caring who heard you, you cried out as he fucked into you like you two were the last people on earth.

“Fuck youre so tight.” he threw his head back as he held on to your hips. You felt yourself give up under him. There was no use in you trying to take control anymore when he did this to you. Had you dumbed down just for his dick.

“I need to cum tom.” you cry out. You try and open your eyes to look back at him who has created a rhythm for your body. His head is thrown back and he shakes his head.

“No.” was all he said and you nearly cry more. “Not yet.” was all he said as he went faster.

“Please, please, please.” you begged between a mixture of moans and cries. Reaching back to hold his hands but he quickly moved them to wrap around your waist and touch your clit. Using his thumb to rub gentle circles you nearly

“So cute when you whine like that.” he chuckled. You felt him twitch, knowing he was close too, you clenched your walls around him. You could barely hear his gasp but you have your cheek pushed up against the hood of your car that got you here in the first place.

“Fuck,” he struglld to moan out. “C-Cum for me.” he sped up and your whole body went numb. You swear you pass out for a moment as all you hear are his moans and the sudden feeling of him stopping.

Both heavy breathing you slowly move yourself to get up, at least turn yourself around so you can face a clearly stunned tom. His mouth open just a bit and his eyes are wide.

“Y-you squirted.” he tells you and suddenly you go from feeling like the sexiest person alive to feeling your body heat up in full embarrassment.

“I-i'm so sorry i-i didn't know-” you start to stammer as you reach for your shirt to clean him up but he shakes his head still trying to catch his breath.

“No, It was hot.” he says as his shock turns into a small smirk, cocky that he was able to do that. “Fuck, have you ever done that before?” he asked.

Your cheeks heated up, even though he couldn't see the clear embarrassment you nodded. One time, years ago when you were by yourself. You hadn't touched yourself in over a month and it was just the highest setting of your vibe and the hottest porn star you could find that had done it to you. Never ever had an actual man been able to make you do that. Hell, you were lucky if your ex even made you cum.

“O-Once, once but I was by myself.” you swallowed hard, you could already see the smirk on his face as he knew he was so much better than anyone you had ever had. He didn't even know your ex partners but if he could get you to do that the first time he fucked you then even you knew you didn't need anyone else.

He uses his clean shirt to clean you up. Helping you slip back on your underwear and making sure that you could still walk--you barely could. He helps you into his car. Letting you cool down a bit before he drove out of the garage, driving down the road and it was only about a minute until you arrived at the cutest house you had ever seen.

He lifted you out and brought you inside, passing you clothes that were far better to sleep in than a suit and your completely ruined underwear, you found yourself getting comfy under his bedsheets.

“So im guessing im not going to the bed and breakfast for the night?” you nuzzled into the sheets that smelt of ocean spray and cedarwood. This man was some sort of god, you swore on it.

“Hmm, no. unless you still want to.” he slides under the sheets himself. His hands dont touch you but you gladly lean in and wrap your arms around him. He at first stills, stiffens his whole body before he relaxes for you. He didn't even know what he was thinking. First he helps the pretty girl he worried was dead on the side of the road and now he has her in his bed after having one of the best orgasms of his life.

“No,” you hum against his chest. “If you don't mind.” but it wasn't a question. This time you take control over the situation and fall quickly asleep in his arms. He only lays there, waiting for you to find yourself fully asleep.

Fuck that stupid train, fuck your stupid ex, and fuck him.

-

Dark roast and sizzling eggs fill your nose. You wake up with puffy eyes, from crying last night embarrassingly in Tom's arms you look down and see you're only in a random stained tee and your underwear. In a way,you thought you hit your head hard enough on the steering wheel that all of this was a dream but it was real. You lay in a grey sheeted bed and hear the sound of music come from the kitchen.

Ideally, if you got on the train, you would have woken up in a hotel with a view of the city and probably eat half of a bagel and drink rich coffee from the breakfast bar before being off to your first conference of the day. But you were instead naked in the bed of a man who was helping you fix your car.

You stumble out of the bed, your legs wobbly, feeling as if you did a hardcore work out you nearly wince. What the man did was something you swore was only in porn. You don't know what kind of magic fucked him over while he works on cars but his fingers were skilled.

“Woah, woah,” Tom came over to you. Plaid boxers and no shirt, you think you died and went to heaven. Your car exploded and you died and went to heaven and if this is what it was then you were perfectly okay with that. “You okay?”

You nod, sitting at the island and only watching him. You knew you had to say a word soon but you didn't know what to say.

“Not so sure how you liked your eggs so I made them scrambled because that's personally how I like them but I can make them any other way you like-” he starts to go off and you only nod.

“No, I like scrambled.” When was the last time you had a breakfast like this? You grew up with servants and your parents are always gone. You never had a breakfast as simple as this.

He gave you a smile, you walked over to the coffee machine and poured coffee into the mug that was already out.

“Not sure if you were a coffee or tea type of person, if you-” before you could listen to his ramble again you shook your head.

“I like coffee. Coffee for the morning and tea typically in the evening.” you tell him and he gives a smile and a sweet nod.

“Me too.” was all he said before he remembered what was happening. “Hey, when do you have to be at that business trip? Or whatever it was?” you nearly spit out the coffee as he brings it up. You knew everything that was happening but honestly you were holding on to the concept you died and went to heaven but you had a conference in probably an hour and who the hell knows where you are.

“You know what,” your heart suddenly calms down. The panic subsides as you take another sip of that coffee. “Fuck them. They have waited for others before and they can wait for me. Fuck the trip, fuck the car and fuck my ex.” you felt good saying it. Tom slid you a plate of eggs and toast and you smiled.

“The car is still better than the train?” He remembers how all of this is about you and your ex fighting and you not wanting to sit on the train next to him.

With a smile, with everything that had happened within the past 24 hours, you pick up the plate and turn to tom.

“I don't think I should've taken the train.”

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Tagged for mechanic!tom: @londonspidey

[babbushka]

Mrs Z! Thank you for doing a Flip special!

What about throwing Flip a big surprise party with lots of people and he’s not happy about it. You make it up to him by letting him have his way with you before you cut the cake. Maybe he’s too into and gets carried away with being loud and noisy or gets caught somehow and that’s his birthday party, is his guests cheering his bedroom antics or roasting him.

2.6k; humor & NSFW (blowjobs/face fucking, hair pulling, come swallowing)

“I don’t remember you forgetting anything here.” Flip frowns, as he pulls the Chevy into his usual parking spot at the CSPD.

It’s his birthday, and he hadn’t taken the day off of work to avoid drawing any suspicion, so he’s a little irritated that when he gets all the fuckin’ way back home to you, finishes having the delicious dinner you cook for him, and he’s just about to ask if you want to engage in a little birthday love-makin’, that you groan and announce that it’s urgent he take you back to the station.

He already gets sour enough on his birthday as it is, but he had hoped that he could enjoy a quiet -- or maybe not so quiet -- evening in bed with his wife, just the two of you tucked up against one another to distract him from the passing of time.

“It was my Pyrex, I left it in the breakroom, it should be in the sink unless someone moved it.” You’re too determined to get the damn thing back, and Flip loves you, so Flip drove you in his truck that he parks, eyeing his work.

“And you want me to go in and get it?” He complains, deep voice too gravely for it to be a true whine, “Can’t I wait in the car?”

“You’re going to abandon your most beloved wife in her hour of need?” Your eyes are wide and clear and he hates how he gets lost in them, how he meant it when he said he’d do anything for you. He hates how you know it.

“That’s not fair.” Jabbing a finger in your direction, you only lean forward enough to cup his cheeks in your hands, sweetly pressing chaste kisses to his lips, your lashes brushing against his cheek as you draw him in with the smell of your perfume.

“Please?” Your voice is breathy in the way that makes Flip go weak in the knees, and even though he knows he’s being manipulated, he’s not mad about it.

“Fuck, alright fine.” He gives in, making you brighten up immediately as he turns the car off so the engine doesn’t idle, being sure to keep the windows cracked even though Colorado in May is a balmy sixty-five degrees. “You just, I don’t know, sit here and keep being pretty.”

“Yes sir.” You wink, and Flip isn’t so sure he likes the twinkle that he sees in your eye.

Walking through the CSPD lobby, he notices it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

No one is calling in emergencies, no one is typing away at their desks, no one is chatting by the water fountain. Something must be very very wrong, and Flip halfway wonders if there was some kind of national announcement, if Ford was making a speech somewhere.

His suspicion only grows, when he turns the corner to the break room, and opens the door frowning to himself and muttering, “Why are all the fuckin’ lights turned off?”

When he flicks the light switch, he’s so startled that he takes a step backwards, as seemingly the entire station jumps up to shout in his face a big loud, “Surprise!!”

“What the fuck -- ”

“Happy birthday Zimmerman!” All his friends and co-workers are there, the guys from the narcotics division, the folks down at homicide, all the higher ups, secretaries, rookies and seasoned pros alike.

Everyone gathered in this room that is way too small for them, organized by someone to give him a goddamn heart attack. A hand gently rubs at his back, and Flip whirls around to see you there.

“Is this your way of saying you want a divorce?” He jokes dryly, making the entire room chuckle, because really only Flip would have this sort of reaction.

“For the record this was not my idea.” You say, not wanting him to think the blood is on your hands, “Ron insisted. I tried to tell him.”

Ron steps forward then and hands Flip a card, one that he’s not going to open now because he’s sure he’d die from the embarrassment of floundering with the envelope in front of all these people, but he does bring Ron in for a hug.

“It’s signed by all of us here.” Ron gestures with one of those big handsome smiles of his, the kind that shows off all his teeth, and Flip doesn’t have the heart to be angry about all this attention to his face.

“Thank you.” He says instead, feeling so fucking out of his depth, completely out of his element, palms sweating as he reaches for you with a quiet pleading, “Ketsl?”

“I’m right here.” You whisper as you take his hand, grounding him in the present.

Everyone is looking at him, and it reminds him of when he had to give presentations in school. He doesn’t know what to say, the tips of his ears going crimson red.

“You guys didn’t have to do all this.” Flip pulls you tight against his side, his arm stretching across your shoulders. Maybe if he just holds you close enough, he can use you as a human shield for conversation, he thinks.

“We had no idea it was your birthday! No one ever can figure it out -- but don’t worry, we’ve put it in your file so we know for next year!” One of the older secretaries, Ms. Rosie, cheerfully pipes up, making dread creep up Flip’s spine.

He looks down at you, and you give him a sheepish smile. He wants to complain like the grouch that he was, but then his attention shifts to the big table of food and drinks that is spread out on the table against the wall of the break room.

“...Is that chocolate cake?” He tries not to sound too hopeful, and the break room laughs again, because even the strongest most stoic man truly can be lured in by cake.

“I made it for you special. We’ll do candles after everyone’s had a bite to eat!” You announce to the room, patting Flip’s back as the crowd begins to murmur excitedly amongst themselves, a queue forming for the hot fresh pizza. You lean up to whisper in Flip’s ear, “If you can play nice, I’ll give you one of your presents before we get to cut the cake.”

Raising his eyebrows at you, he blinks a little. The surprises just kept comin’, didn’t they?

“Can’t I get it now?” Flip tries, but you only chuckle and shake your head.

“Go say hello to everyone, and then meet me in the back of the file room.” Patting his back once again, you slip away, an incentive for him to get this over with as soon as possible.

Flip doesn’t think he’s ever shaken so many goddamn hands, or kissed so many cheeks in his life. On the one hand, it felt nice somewhere deep down inside, to know that so many of his co-workers decided to take part of this party. He felt valued and appreciated, even if he would have rathered this never happen in the first place, would have rathered to be in bed with you right now...which brings him to the other hand; he’s achingly hard in his fucking jeans, thinking about what’s waiting for him in the file room.

He doesn’t have to wait much longer though, because soon the last person has been spoken to and thanked, and he’s excusing himself to go to the “bathroom,” heading in the complete opposite direction of the bathroom.

“Ketsl, honey?” Flip prompts softly, looking around for you in the low light of the room, “You back here?”

“Took you long enough.” Your voice sounds from around the corner, and like a glass of cool water on a hot day, there you are, arms reaching out for him.

“Would’ve been sooner if you hadn’t invited so many fuckin’ people.” Flip lets himself be wrapped up in your embrace, his palms smoothing around your sides to caress your back, one of them dropping down to give your ass a firm squeeze.

“Ron did, not me. Like I said, he insisted.” You remind him, kissing your husband deeply, licking into his mouth, voice soft and breathy, “Let me make it up to you?”

The hair on the back of Flip’s neck stands up when you sink down to your knees, not breaking eye contact. He holds his breath, his cock twitching at the implications of that motion, pulse already starting to pound a little harder.

You rest your cheek against his strong thigh, popping open the button on his jeans, sliding the zipper down tantalizingly slow, making a real show of it. Flip hums, pets at your hair, smooths his palm against your cheek as he watches your eyelids grow heavy. You nuzzle against the palm there, suckling on his fingers just a little bit, teasingly, playfully.

“Oh fuck yes.” He quirks a little smile at you.

When you finally pull his dick out, you’re licking your lips, wetting them, drooling over yourself. He’s just as affected, pre-come already leaking out of the tip of his cock, and he groans when you swipe it up with your tongue. Time is of the essence here, and as much as you would like to drag this out, you can’t, so you cut right to the chase.

“Shit -- your moth’s so hot.” He grunts as your mouth opens wide wide wide for him, tongue flattening as you suck the head of his cock between your lips, careful of your teeth.

One of your hands braces yourself on his thigh, while the other holds the base of his cock, keeps him steady. Flip has a tendency to buck and choke you when he’s too wound up just like he is now, so the grip holds him in place as you swallow him down inch by inch.

Fuck, your husband’s dick is big! It’s not just long but thick too, the girth of it always something that has your jaw aching. You open your mouth wider to take him, relaxing your throat so that he can slip deeper and deeper, breathing through your nose. Never once looking away from him, you can see how antsy, how impatient Flip is getting, and if you could smile, you would.

But you can’t, because your mouth is filled to the absolute brim, so you tap the side of his thigh to signal that he can start moving.

“Yes!” He says maybe a little too loudly, “That’s it, oh fuck that’s it.”

And oh, does he fucking move. The second you’ve given him permission, he’s gripping your hair and thrusting hard. Moans and grunts pour out of his chest as he holds your head in both of his hands, keeps you snug against his groin. Your nose is nestled in his dark thatch of hair, and you can’t deny the way the musky smell gets you flustered, gets you wet. He’s not going to have time to fuck you properly here, but that’s okay -- this was only the preview of the evening to come.

“God you feel so fuckin’ good, my good girl, fuck -- ” Breathing hard and fast, Flip fucks your face hard, keeping you steady so that you don’t accidentally take him down at a wrong angle and splutter and cough.

Relaxing for him, you let yourself be used, the salty sweaty taste of his cock running over your tongue, plunging down your throat soothing and familiar in a fucked up way that only over a decade of marriage can bring.

“Fuck!” He snarls when your tongue wriggles against the veins that throb along his shaft, sucking down hard everything that you can, one of your hands moving to cup and roll his balls, “Oh baby that’s it, just like that, keep doin’ that, oh god your tight fuckin’ throat feels good.”

Tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes when it becomes so much that your jaw aches, and you squirm, wanting to be touched, wanting to be fucked even though you know you can’t have it yet. Right now is about him, about the pleasure he gets from the way you suck him down, and then you’re swallowing hard, and the friction has him cursing loud loud loud, coming down your throat.

“Damn, ketsl!” he pushes his cock all the way down your throat one last time, before pulling away to watch his come shoot all over your tongue, your lips, your chin. Painting your face with it, he grunts, pulling your hair to angle your face up some more, a better view. You stick your tongue out for him, and another pulse of come bursts out of his cock from the sight, his filthy fucking whore of a wife, love of his life, on your knees like his own personal pornstar.

You fucking look like one anyway, and you sure as shit sound like one with the way you’re moaning and breathing hard, nipples so hard that he can see the way your blouse peaks out from over them.

Wiping away the come on your face and licking it off your fingers, swallowing every drop of evidence that you can, you and Flip grin at one another, his orgasm having him in a much more pleasant mood.

“We should get back out there, huh.” He gives you a hand and hoists you off your knees, pulls you close and kisses the taste of his come off your lips.

“People are gonna wonder where you went.” You smile, giving him your lovey-dovey eyes, glad that he’s enjoyed at least one part of this surprise. “You can’t disappear at your own party. How do I look?”

“Too beautiful for your own good.” Pinching your nose and giving you face a little shake, the two of you leave the records room behind.

“Well well well, if it ain’t the lovebirds!” Sergeant Trapp announces the second that you and Flip walk back into the main lobby of the station where everyone has spread out with their food and drinks.

“You two really can’t go two seconds without goin’ at it like rabbits, can you?” Ron laughs, teasing in a way that has Flip’s scowl coming back after all your hard work.

“Mrs. Z I gotta admit I’m impressed you’re still standin’, that sounded like quite the time.” Jimmy winks at you, and you slap a hand to your face. You hadn’t even thought about the noise that you must’ve made -- all the shelves moving, the grunts and groans, the cursing.

“Watch your mouth Jim, or I’ll be forced to do something about it.” Flip warns, but there’s something warm in the threat, playful. You’re fuckin’ glad for that, the last thing you needed on Flip’s birthday was him getting fired for beating the shit out of his friend.

“Oh yeah like what? I’m surprised you’ve got the energy for threats, old man.” Jimmy only eggs him on, all eyes on the two of them.

“That’s it -- ” Flip lunges immediately, making you rush forward and grab him by the scruff of his neck, preventing a wrestling match, even if a friendly one.

“Boys please, have some cake and maybe you’ll calm down.” You roll your eyes.

“You know,” Flip says later, when you lead him through to the breakroom where someone’s lit a fuckton of candles in an attempt to guess how old he is, and you’re curled up on the couch next to him as he licks the frosting off of his fork, “I’m starting to think there never was any Pyrex.”

And it’s all that you can do to just kiss him and shut him up, letting him get away with being an idiot because he’s your birthday boy.

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

Tagging some Flip friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars

[kwop-kilawtley]

**this is just an analysis that is like pretty obvious to a lot of you but I wanted to just write down while it’s fresh in my head**

So, I’ve been rereading breaking dawn (I did not want to as I hate breaking dawn. but the last time I read it was a decade ago & I was desperate for content after finishing eclipse) None of this is really anything new, it’s all stuff I’ve felt before & we all kind of know but I want to write my thoughts on it since it’s fresh in my mind & I’m reading it as an adult.

I knew it always sucked but reading it with a pair of fresh eyes has made me realize exactly what I hate. I also read it more objectively & tried to be open minded. I put my personal bias aside & tried to read it just as it is & understand why people like it or fucking why Smeyer wrote it lol. I thought “maybe I hate this book Bc I cannot relate to motherhood Bc I am not someone who wants a child” so I tried to just read it with actually trying to understand Bella thinking this was a miracle or some sort.

Let me start off by saying I actually enjoyed reading some parts of the honeymoon, Jacobs POV & Bella’s absolute brutal transformation. I also like the first chapters of her living as a vampire. While I enjoyed reading them, there were so many issues between those pages & sure I can enjoy reading a fanfic but doesn’t mean it feels right. The book just does not fucking feel right whatsoever.

I think the big draw to Twilight is that a human & vampire should not have fallen in love in the first place. But they did, which is where it drew us all in. The taboo, the strain, the literal agony between Edward & Bella is what I always liked. Romeo & Juliet style shit. Drama. Passion. Otherworldly love that just doesn’t exist. Throw Jacob in the mix with the constant torn feelings between immortality & someone who truly loves you & could be human with. I am completely obsessed w Bella being with two guys who both fill something in her in very different ways & it matures her. They’re the only books that truly fucking ignite something in me as dumb as that may sound to some. It was also my first introduction to anything like this as a kid. So the magic still lingers in the pages as an adult. The nostalgia. I truly fucking LOVE Twilight lol. So with that being said, when Bella finally makes a CHOICE, of course we expect the magic to die a little bit at least. Of course it had to end somehow & yes it makes sense she becomes a vampire. So that in itself is where some of that passion dies a bit & the chapter ends because it HAS to. This was expected to be felt in Breaking Dawn. BUT.. I truly believe that it is very much true that Meyer literally killed the magic in her series. It didn’t just like simmer down naturally, the way it should have. She straight up picked the magic out with the way she wrote the plot in BD. It doesn’t feel like the same series.

I felt this in the very beginning of the book when Bella is driving a car other than her Chevy. Sure, it’s just a car & characters will get new cars. But it was a rare sportscar that hasn’t even come out yet, something she’d never pick or even want. Like it just felt so wrong reading that.

I felt most of the wedding stuff was literally against her will. I tried viewing this in a diff light & was happy she did actually end up enjoying it & think Bella deserved something nice. But it was the first indication her personality was being stripped away. The most emotion I felt with the wedding was when Jacob came. I didn’t feel like I was reading a story about the same person anymore it was weird.

I had many feelings of this just being something a lonely older woman who wishes she was young again was writing. Like a fanfic fr.

The honeymoon, I liked parts of it. It was nice to finally get some intimacy between them. But then it’s just like, too ridiculous. Not once in the whole series has Bella even mentioned having her period. Why didn’t we get that in the previous books tho.. like even SUBTLY. She’s dating a fuckin vampire for crying out loud who slept w her every night. Some more physical human Bella with Edward just entirely not understanding other than just eating/sleeping. IDK! Maybe I’m reaching lol but ya

Ok then the baby growth thing just obviously throws me off completely. Her being pregnant at all just sucks which we know but you don’t get enough time to even really comprehend it as a reader. Like yes this is a fantasy series I get that. But it literally goes against everything we know about the characters & vampires physically.

I am def not someone who wants a baby, but I do have maternal feelings that I project on my family, friends & animals. So I tried really hard to understand Bella. There were times I did. I think when she initially first had thoughts of it being some sort of miracle, I kind of understood where she was coming from. She knew she wasn’t going to make it out human with the baby. But IDK something that bothered me SOOO much was how she was like wishing it only looked like edward.

I started to understand that she didn’t exactly WANT a baby, but felt she had to because it was the only time she possibly could have a chance at having one & she didn’t want to deny herself of that. It was like she found a loophole & thought she shouldn’t have passed it up.

The fact that everyone is against it honestly helped make the pregnancy parts much more tolerable. They all thought Bella was nuts which was like okay, so not everyone has just lost their shit. I think Esme should have been just as involved as Rosalie since she actually had given birth.

If Edward was for having the baby, there’d be no way I could even tolerate to read it. So I kind of liked Edward & Jakes alliance & how they hated it lol. Definitely grounded it & made me feel a little less like I was reading something completely different.

I also obv love Jake & I loved his perspective & reading his growth. There was nothing more gut wrenching when Jacob thought she died. Shit killed me. I wish we got that part in Edwards POV as well tbh.

The imprinting I don’t have to say anything about. I hate it. There’s nothing that can make me think it’s okay. It’s genuinely fucking disturbing reading that the character I loved so much basically is now gone. Like I wanted Jake to grow up but not forced into this sick shit. We basically lost him & are force fed to feel that imprinting is okay. When it’s just fucking weird.

Perhaps Smeyer should not have made imprinting seem like a romantic thing throughout the series. You can’t just like take that back. It’s where everything went from “meh” to fucking wrong.

Had Jacob not imprinted on Rigatoni & just met someone else, I don’t think I’d hate this book as much. This is obvious stuff I know but again this is from the most non bias objective view that I can possibly have.

Him imprinting is not only fucking wrong. It makes Jake & Bella’s love seem all for nothing & like that was the point. Smeyer thought maybe that was good to tie it off, but in reality sort of just makes the previous books dimmer. Which again is why BD feels like a completely separate thing.

Now to vampire bella. Listen okay I thought the transformation was awesome and brutal. I also liked hearing how she saw the world. Was good in the first few chapters of part 3. But it wore off fast. The fact her human memories were dim sucked. The fact she had incredible self control sucked. I wanted her to fucking suffer. Like really suffer. Not just burning a little bit & able to forget about it. I wanted feral bella that almost kills Rigatoni. I wanted her to have to be locked away & have Edward train her. It would’ve even been cool if she got to a human, maybe even a friend of hers. Maybe that’s too much for some people but honestly, all the shit she has gone through and all the constantly talk of fear of being a vampire. The cullens were supposed to be exceptions. They were able to control themselves after centuries living the lifestyle.

It would’ve been cool if she got to a human friend which sort of snapped her into reality a bit & made her remember all her human past. I think the rest of the book after Bella’s transformation is just people being like “wow, incredible, I’ve never seen anything like it”

Like why tho? Why does she get this? Why did we read 3 fucking books of warnings of vampirism & longing & pain & how much Edward hated what he was for Bella to turn out to be perfect? It made no sense. Perhaps it could make sense that her being a shield contributes to her self control but whatever, makes for a boring book.

The whole Volturi thing was an easy way to end it I guess. You can really tell when Smeyer is just rushing to finish the thing. You can feel her just rush through very dumb explanations. Total loss of passion in the most crucial part of the saga & she just seriously blows it.

Everytime Bella says “my” or “our” daughter, I get thrown off. Everytime Resource speaks in full sentences, I get thrown off. Rushed. & just nonsense honestly.

Rigatoni should’ve never been born or if she was, Jake shouldn’t have imprinted & she should’ve died within a few years. It literally only makes sense.

A lot of this book should have stayed in Meyer’s head. It shouldnt have been canon. The timeline is completely fucked. But I will say that I enjoyed reading it more than I thought I would. Like I thought I wouldn’t be able to but surprisingly there were moments that I liked. There were moments where it did feel canon. Usually the little things. But I don’t regret rereading it, I just probably will not do it again for another 10 years lol.

Anyway, that’s all for now. If you read this I’m sure you thought most of this was very obvious lol. But I needed to just write my immediate thoughts out. Can’t wait to reread the series again tho & cleanse with new moon.

[taking-over-his-life]

Colt

 Written by my internet friend Colt many years ago.

     I woke up to the intense pain like that of a migraine headache.  I could feel every hair on my body it seemed, with an undertow of muscle aches all over my body.  My mind was spinning round and round, trying to figure out where I was.  The room was dark, I could sense that the room was strangely familiar, but I couldn’t make the connection.  Oh, the pain, how I wished it would go away.   As I grappled to sit upright, the pain instantly started to tighten its grip on my head.  My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room.  Fear and panic started to run through my mind, this just wasn’t where I remember going to sleep.

       The last thing that I remember was that I had gone to a friend’s party.  I had started feeling strange at the party so I had left and went home.  I vaguely recall entering my house and going to my bedroom and falling face first onto my bed.  And that was all I wrote. 

       But, now here I am in this room that I have no idea how I came to be in.  My eyes started adjusting to the darkness of the room.  I could make out that there were two small kids sleeping on cots, and another person that I could hear breathing but couldn't place where they were.  I realized that I was now sitting up on a sleeping bag that was on the floor.  My brain struggled to figure out where the hell I was.  Completely paralyzed by the fear I felt continued its grip on me.   And the ungodly pain in my head.  I couldn't even wish that much pain on even my worst enemy.  Yet, for some reason, the surroundings were so familiar, but I couldn't make the connection with my excruciating level of pain.  I must be having one of my migraines and hallucinating at the same time.  That was the only explanation that I could think of at this point.

       When I quit trying so hard to remember my surroundings, the answer hit me with a vengeance.  The room I was in was my Aunt and Uncle’s basement.  Their basement had a one very large room with a pool table, tables, couches, and a bar.  Ok, I must be dreaming, this just can’t be real.  It didn’t make any sense to me.  As I sat up on the sleeping bag, I realized that I was wearing full biker leathers.  Judging by what I could feel against my skin, I had on a pair of leather pants tucked into tall boots, a leather shirt, a leather jacket and tight fitting gloves on.  The leather felt very warm, moist, and sweat soaked against my skin.  The leather felt like it fit me like a glove all over my body which felt soothing on my ragged nerves. My eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and I could see well enough to get around the basement.    

       I NEED air!  I couldn’t make any sense of how I come to be in these surroundings.   I was still petrified of what has happened to me, and maybe some fresh air will help.  I carefully stepped around the obstacles in the basement, acting like a cat trying not to make a sound as I made my way upstairs.   The boots and leathers I was wearing started to make plenty of noise, so I did my best to adjust my movements to quiet down the leather creaking.  It seemed as though my hearing abilities were magnified greatly over normal, it must have been the fact that it was dark in the room and of course the fear I was experiencing.  It seemed to take forever climbing up the non-carpeted steps without making any discernable level of noise.  After climbing up the steps, I found myself in the kitchen.  I needed something to drink to my quench my dry mouth.  I carefully opened up the fridge and grabbed a Mountain Dew (I almost did not recognize the Mountain Dew can) and left the kitchen.  Finding the back door to the house, I gently opened the door so as to not wake anyone up.  I stepped outside onto the cool patio cement floor, it was obviously summer time.  I set my Mountain Dew down on the patio table.  The night was deafening to me, it just seemed too quiet for some reason.  As I sat down on a bench on the patio in the bright moonlight, I could see something that almost gave me a heart attack.  In the driveway were my cousin’s Torino, '40 Ford and my Uncle’s Dodge truck that they had back in the early 70s.  Also in the driveway were two Harley Davidson motorcycles.  The Harleys could explain why I'm clad in full biker leathers. This can’t be real!  I went and looked at the license plate of truck, and it had 1973 stamped into it.  Looking out towards the front of the house, I could see my Dad’s GMC pickup truck with its camper shell on it that we had back then too.  In front of Dad's truck, was a Chevy Malibu.  It looked as though we were on one our annual summer vacations back to Denver Colorado.  I could feel something in one of the pockets of my jacket; it was a pack of Marlboro reds in a box that were just a bit smashed.  I managed to pull out a few cigs without breaking them.  The cigs were not totally damaged, just a bit bent from being squished a bit in my jacket from laying on them.  My hands were very shaky trying to strike a match to light up that magic first Marlboro.  My leather covered hands finally made the match come to life and lit that first Marlboro.  I took a very slow and deep drag, feeling my tenseness starting to subside 

somewhat.  Exhaling slowly making smoke rings in the night air with the bright moonlight casting its light on the rings.  The smoke rings against the bright moonlit night fascinated me for a few minutes distracting me from my situation.  I was completely puzzled, trying to figure out a rational explanation for my predicament.  I could only remember that when I went to sleep last night, the year was 2003, 30 years from where I was now.  And all of a sudden I realized I’m NOT the same person.  In the summer of 1973, I was only 9 years old, how could I be this adult sized person?  As I finished that first cig, I started to panic again with a new found fear, I lit another cig.  Then I popped the top of the Mountain Dew can on the table.  I took a big gulp of the magic Mountain Dew, cooling my throat all of the way down to my stomach.

       Realizing that there was something in one of the jacket pockets, I reached into the pocket pulled out a wallet.  I slowly opened the wallet, afraid of what I would find; I hadn’t even looked at myself in a mirror yet.  Using the bright moonlight, I looked at a driver’s license for someone that never existed, yet here it is.  The license was a Florida driver’s license.  Well, my family used to live there in 1973.  I carefully inspected the license, looking at the picture, the printed information, realizing that I must truly be this “new” person.  The name printed on the license was Kirk Derek Colten McCormack; the birthday was October 15, 1956; and the address was where we had lived in Florida at that time.  OOOOOh my God!!!!!  I must be somebody else, but in my own family?  The Twilight Zone was REALLY  happening to me I thought.  My hands still shaking, I lit another cig.   Right now, I couldn’t get enough nicotine to alleviate my fears and anxieties.  At that point, I couldn’t discern one reality from the next.  I was in a REAL Twilight Zone.  Where was Rod Serling?  He had to be around here somewhere telling the television audience of my predicament it seemed.   Did I really look like the guy in the license picture?  My curiosity compelled me to run over to my Uncle’s truck to look in the mirror to see what I looked like.  The reflection startled me so much that I jumped back a bit after the initial view of myself in the mirror.  It was ME, the guy in the license picture and in the mirror.  Yikes!  I could swear I must be having a nervous crack-up or something. 

       I know I must be dreaming this whole thing.  I thought I should just go inside and go to sleep and I will reawake in the year 2003 where I belong as Jeremy McCormack.  Quietly opening the back door to the house, I slipped inside.  I decided to lay down on the couch in the family room.  To my relief I fell asleep rather quickly. 

 Chapter Two

       I awoke suddenly to someone shaking my shoulder.  I opened my eyes slowly, hoping that I had just been experiencing a vivid nightmare and that all was back to normal.  My Aunt Ruth and I made eye contact and it startled me.  Oh, my God!  It looked as though I was going to continue to suffer this mind bending nightmare.  Aunt Ruth was talking to me, but I really couldn’t make sense of what she was saying.  She repeated what she had just said to me.  Aunt Ruth kept saying that I didn’t look very well, and that I appeared to have a very high fever.  Her hands were like ice on my face.  Aunt Ruth said it must be all of the leather I was wearing.  I think I was delirious to say the least.  All of a sudden, my “brother” Jeremy and sisters Rebecca and Jeanette popped their faces in front of me asking me if I was alright.   I jumped back a bit again, seeing my “own” self in front of me. At that moment I was truly freaked out and jumpy to say the least.  It seemed like everyone in the house (my parents, cousins, brother and sisters and my Aunt and Uncle) were surrounding me like I was the star attraction, looking at me making their own diagnosis of the situation.  I could sense that they must have thought I was high on something, because of the way I was acting (not realizing at the moment that Colt experimented with drugs occasionally).  Finally I sat up, still feeling dizzy.  I finally convinced everyone that I had a migraine last night and just needed to take a shower and clean up and that that would help me feel better.  I somehow managed to stand up even though I was a little disoriented and negotiated the steep staircase to the basement.  I now realized that I was feeling the same way I did when I went asleep in 2003.  Someone must have slipped me some kind of drug back in 2003, and I was just having a brilliant nightmare.  My thoughts were that I must go with the flow of this “dream” so I could survive it and then it would be over and I could return to who I was originally. 

       I went downstairs into the basement.  I found where "my" stuff was which was in a duffle type bag next to a sleeping bag on the floor near my Uncle's pool table.  I opened up the bag to go through the duffle bag looking for some clothes to change into after I took a shower.  Somehow I had to get some time alone, to try and get my wits together.  While I continued to be in deep thought, Dad walked over to me asked whether or not that I felt good enough to still go on our planned motorcycle ride.   I quickly answered that I thought it sounded groovy. Going for a motorcycle ride would most definitely give me the time to sort things out without too many interruptions.  I could then deal with my situations without my family thinking that I was an absolute stoner and high on something.

        I went back to rummaging through the duffle bag so I could get a better idea of who I was now, that is when I discovered quite a surprise.  I had mostly motorcycle leathers, 3 or 4 pairs of leather pants, several pairs of tall boots, several pair of leather western shirts, a leather vest and several motorcycle jackets completed the leather gear.  The scent of the leather gave me a momentary "high" that I could never get enough of to tell the truth.  I was rather stunned for a minute.  The leather gear was very soft and actually rather stylish for the time.  Several pairs of the leather pants, some were the 70s style bell bottom styles.  A couple pairs of pants were vintage (to me any how) motorcycle styled with zippered pockets instead of the regular kind of pockets.  What surprised me was the fact, that there were motorcycle leathers in the suitcase.  My last “lifetime,” we didn’t own any street motorcycles, just an old dirt bike. The rest was the usual 70s styled clothes and stuff of the like.  There was also a small box that was full of Indian turquoise silver jewelry.   

       I settled on a set of leathers similar to what I was already wearing.  A sleeveless black leather western shirt, a pair of breeches, and a pair of highly polished knee high engineer boots (which I had on at the moment).  I went to the bathroom, closed the door, and began to take off my sweat soaked leathers.  I started with taking off my gloves. On my fingers were several Indian silver rings and a wide silver bracelet laden with different colors of turquoise.  When I slipped off my jacket, I noticed a wide black leather watchband.  I sat down on the toilet and pulled off my glossy boots.  When I took off my leather shirt, I felt that I had a few silver necklaces around my neck.  I pulled off a leather strap that held my long hair into a pony tail.  I felt a thick mustache on my face that was shaped like an upside down horseshoe.  I finished getting undressed and turned on the hot water to the shower and slowly entered the stream of hot water.  The hot steamy water of the shower beating down on my face felt so refreshing.  

I soaped myself up thoroughly not paying attention to my "new" body.  I did notice that when I was washing my hair that I had several earrings pierced in my left ear.  I must be really into jewelry.  My life in 2003 I could have cared less when it came to any kind of jewelry.  The hot water soothed and relaxed my entire body.  After I was rinsed clean I stepped out of the shower and dried myself off.  That was when I noticed that there was a full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door.  I took a towel and cleaned the steam off of the mirror.  I looked in the mirror, and I noticed my “new” body was quite attractive.  The reflection of my “new” face in the mirror was a young teenager and those pearly whites were flawless looking.  I stood probably about 6' tall and my body was very muscular as though I spent years lifting weights.  My straight, thick, long, dark brown hair fell between my shoulder blades.  My long brown hair was so soft and silky.   My face had chiseled features with a pearly white smile that was just flawless.  My thick soft manicured mustache made me look like a rock star with my long hair.  I could now see the ear piercings in my left ear.  My darkly tanned skin was smooth, tight, with a soft and fine covering of dark brown hair all over.  My eyes were an unusual purple color that could mesmerize anyone.  My strong hands started feeling all over my body sensing the newness of it all.  My hands of course found their way to my crotch.  My hands found my cock with huge balls and started working it over a bit.  In just seconds, it stood tall and proud at least 12 inches long and nicely thick.  Within another minute, I shot a huge load all over the full length mirror on the back side of the bathroom door.  The orgasm seemed to last for minutes, and a release that I so desperately needed.  At that moment, I froze for a moment as I shockingly discovered that I was staring at TWO cocks both hard as a rock.  When I had shot my load, it came from BOTH cocks.  Ok, so now I am some sort of freak was the next thought on my mind.  But then I realized that two cocks were better than one, with double the pleasurable sensations.  I guess it won't be that bad being a freak.  

 Chapter Three

        My mind realized that I had better finish getting dressed.  I slipped on the cool black sleeveless western leather shirt.  The shirt fit like it was tailored for a perfect fit.  I only snapped the front of the shirt about halfway exposing the valley of my chest between my well defined pecs and the brilliant silver necklaces.  I placed the wide watchband on next.  I kept all of the jewelry on while I took my shower as didn't want to deal with that detail.  Then I slipped into the black leather breeches (these breeches were non-flared) making sure that I adjusted for my cocks, one down each leg.  The fly was made with exposed metal snaps from the crotch all the way up to the waistband.  Rather sexy looking I thought.  My thighs filled out the legs of the breeches so smoothly.   I tucked in my smooth black leather sleeveless western styled shirt.  Then I snapped up the fly of the breeches and buckled up the wide basket weave belt.  The pant legs, now that was a different story.  Each leg had a zipper that extended from crotch to the bottom of each pant leg.  I put on a pair of socks and then I zipped myself tightly into each leg of the breeches.  The leathers that I had just shoehorned myself into were the tightest leathers that I had ever remembered wearing in my other life.  At the bottom of each leg was an elastic stirrup that looked like it was designed to keep my breeches from bunching up when I sat or stood up.  The breeches fit perfectly like the shirt.  The breeches fit so smoothly that there was no way I could put much of anything into the pockets.  Next, I pulled on my highly polished tall engineer boots which the boot shafts came to just under my knees that were made by Dehner Boot Company.  The closest way I could describe how I looked for the most part was that of Maxwell Caulfield in the movie "Grease 2" when he was in his slick full leathers at the end of the movie.  I stared at myself in the full length mirror on the door admiring myself for a few minutes and absolutely delighted with what I saw.  I was a little narcissistic for a few minutes at my killer looks.  I finished getting ready by brushing my hair and teeth.  I tied up my long hair into a pony tail with a strip of black leather with a snap on it.  I was as ready as I could be to face more of my continuing dream.

       Mom (who wouldn’t be my Mother this time around obviously - because Mom and Dad hadn’t gotten married until 1961), knocked on the door to see if I was done, so Dad could clean up.  I told her a few more minutes and I would be done.  I quickly cleaned up my mess and finished getting myself together. 

       I went back to my sleeping bag and grabbed my 50s D-pocket styled motorcycle jacket which I noticed was lined in a light weight red perforated leather and a pair of black tight fitting gloves.  The gloves I placed into my breeches back zippered pocket about half way in.  I gently placed my mirrored aviator sunglasses on the front of my leather shirt where it was snapped up halfway.  Where I placed the glasses drew attention to my exposed chest.  These few details such as the gloves in my breeches pocket, and hanging the sunglasses onto my shirt just seemed to flow out of me naturally.  I could feel my raw sexual energy emanating from my body which I had no control over.  There seemed to be an overwhelming power over me on how I carried myself (as Colt).  My movements seemed to be guided by that power that I couldn't put my finger on.  I guess it must have been Colt's sub consciousness that was controlling me.  It seemed as thought my mind was an overlay on top of Colt's mind. 

       I double checked to make sure my wallet was still in my jacket and grabbed another pack of Marlboros and matches which I put into a pocket of the leather shirt.  I went upstairs to the kitchen where Aunt Ruth offered me breakfast, but I decided on a couple of cans of Mountain Dew instead.  My nerves were too shot to eat anything right now.  My sisters, brother (me before this dream started), and Mother were in the kitchen eating breakfast with my Aunt.  Dad was downstairs in the basement getting ready to go on our ride.

       I went outside onto the patio with my smokes and the cans of Mountain Dew.  Sitting there on the patio smoking and taking big gulps of Mountain Dew my mind was doing quick flashes of my "life" as Colt.  The temperature was warming up quickly.  It must have been around 80 F now, sunny with brilliant blue clear skies.  The time was probably around 10:00 am.  The warmth of the day made my leathers start to glue themselves to my skin.  The sensations of the leather against my body began to turn me on.  I was becoming highly aroused at this point. 

       I decided to find a distraction to suppress my hormones for a while.  I turned to my mounting curiosity to check out things around the house to see if I could remember more.  So I decided to walk around and check things out.  I walked around the house to the front yard and was checking out what I thought was a Malibu that I saw last night (I was a car enthusiast back in 2003 so this car was intriguing).  When I got closer to the car, I noticed that there were not any Malibu or Chevrolet nameplates on the car.  There were a lot of differences from that of a Malibu.  At first I thought it was a customized car but there were nameplates that read Beaumont SD and 396.  The nameplates had a maple leaf on them.  The car must be Canadian.  I thought what a strange name for a car and perplexed as to why it was in the States.  As I did a quick look over of the car, it became apparent that I was beginning to "remember" more and more of Colt (and less of my former self) and that the Beaumont was mine.  The Beaumont was red inside and out and appeared to have every gadget you could possibly order on a car back then when it was new.  The car just plain sparkled. I must have been a stickler for keeping it looking impressive all of the time. 

           As I returned to the patio to sit down, everybody except Dad and I were leaving to go visit our Grandparents.  I lit another Marlboro and opened the other can of Mountain Dew. I sat transfixed upon the gleaming Harleys sitting in the driveway.  One of the Harleys was a red and black Electra Glide with a bunch of accessories and goodies on it.  The other Electra Glide was silver and was a bit more spartan.  My mind was flashing more bits of Colt's memory.  I then knew that the red and black Electra Glide was mine.  It was a '70 model that I paid cash for.  I thought how could a teenager pay cash for a late model Harley?  I probably would remember the answer to that question soon as well.  The silver Electra Glide belonged to Dad and it was a '65 model (the first year of the electric start Harleys).  I noticed that the driveway was clear of the cars and truck.  Everyone but my Aunt must have gone to work.  On the far side of the garage was a trailer.  I suddenly remembered that Dad had towed the trailer from home.  Dad brought the Harleys in it and some of our luggage.   

       Dad called out to me from the back door of the house.  He said he would be ready in about 10 minutes.  I went inside and grabbed my jacket.  I slipped on my 50s motorcycle jacket.  The red leather lining felt terrific against my naked arms.  I stuffed my smokes into my shirt pocket.  Gently pulling my sunglasses from the front of my shirt I slid them onto my face adjusting them for the perfect position.  I grabbed my black leather gloves from the back pocket of my breeches and slowly worked each glove onto my strong hands.  I found the keys to the Harley in one of the jacket pockets.  I moaned softly with the pleasurable sensations of being totally engulfed in tight fitting, shiny, and highly polished black leathers.  DAMN!  I knew at that moment that I was HOT looking exuding sexual energy at full power.  My cocks started to snake down each leg with considerable strain as my tightly leather clad legs were doing its best to prevent it.  I knew that it would be just a matter of time before I would shoot a considerable size load of cum down each leg.  At that point I didn't care, I welcomed it actually. 

I loved it!  I went outside to the bikes and started my Harley.  Dad walked out of the house (and locked the door) fully clad in glistening black leather from his neck down.  I realized that I had an air of confidence that I had never felt or experienced even in my "previous life" being around my Father.  Dad's personality was totally different from my last "life".  Dad and I (Colt) seemed to have a very tight knit bond between us in this life.  Dad was now a very cheerful person and was insistent on having fun whenever possible.  He also had a very different physical build of his body.  He was much more muscular than he was in the other realm.  We both seemed to feed one liners to each other so we were laughing a lot. 

  Chapter Four

       Dad strutted over to his bike fluidly.  It was almost sexy.  He started his gleaming silver Harley Electra Glide.  My bike was pretty much all warmed up and ready to go. Oh the feel of the exhaust pulsating from the two Harleys just made my pulse quicken and start my adrenaline pumping.  Oh I was pretty excited about going for the ride.  I told Dad told me to lead the way as I knew how to get to Evergreen by going the long way.  We were going to have lunch in Evergreen and then cruise around and head back to my Aunt and Uncle's house in Westminster.   Dad thought our ride should last about 4-5 hours.  I then lowered myself on to my vibrating Electra Glide.  The vibrations made my cocks come to life again.  I slowly zipped up my 50s leather jacket up to the snapped lapels.  I reached up and turned up my collar to look "cool".  This ride is going to be great I thought.  I kicked my bike into first gear and slowly let the clutch out and I was heading down the driveway.  I gently eased the bike onto the street with Dad behind me.  Once I was on the street, I had to just let loose on the throttle and raced Dad to the end of the street.  Dad was right beside me.  Oh, my gawd, this was certainly better than the Harley I had in 2003.  Just feeling the raw power of the Harley going down the road was thrilling my senses.  We headed over to the Boulder Turnpike and went towards Boulder.  The warm sun beating down on my black leathers and the wind in my face and from the speed going down the highway was so invigorating.  I surely enjoyed the wind blowing through my long hair. Between feeling the heat from my leathers to the vibration from the engine of the Harley, I suddenly shot copious amounts of cum down my legs in my leather breeches.  Oh that felt so good!  What a way to have an orgasm!  I didn’t care that I was going to have a mess to clean out of my breeches when we were done with our ride. 

       As Dad and I approached Boulder (it sure looked different from what I remember in 2003), my mind was starting to remember more memories of Colt the “brother” I had become.  I was beginning to see more and more memories flashing in my mind.  It was so strange to feel my two lives becoming one.  More memories began to come through the more relaxed I became.  My old life was starting to fade to where it was beginning to seem like it was the dream.  The real Colt personality was taking over my old personality little by little.   I could feel the transformation take over me.  I was feeling so revitalized with more energy and drive, but with a sense of a responsibility that I was here to accomplish something that I couldn’t do previously.  On the west side of Boulder, Dad and I turned onto Hwy. 93 heading south towards Golden.  Oh, the thrill of it all.  Everything seemed to be making more sense and I started feeling more comfortable with myself being Colt.  I decided to let my mind relax enough so that I could remember more of Colt's memories.  Being on the motorcycle with the wind in my hair I now was able to be by myself to where I could just let the memories flow through.

[another-snape-story]

Some Things Need Treatment

Chapter XVI

“Eyes still a little swollen,” Snape smiled softly, once he met you at your door. Being the first person he saw in the morning, you filled him with strength and desire to make it through the day.

“And you’re still limping,” you answered sympathetically, shyly hiding your face.

“Last night left unpleasant reminders,” he agreed.

He was right. But these would vanish soon, while something more important would remain indelible. This was the price you payed to find out the man you so much cared for cared for you no less. After the long midnight talk you still didn’t know much about each other, but connection between the two of you got stronger. None of you was perfect – you both had dark spots in your past, but nothing of that mattered, unless your hearts were capable of remorse and compassion.

“But I like the way it ended, anyway,” you looked up at him, hoping he was the same opinion. Although his glance fled far ahead, the corner of his mouth slightly leapt up. “Thank you, Snape...”

“You know my name, don’t you?” His tone lacking in expressiveness was back again, and sarcastic arch of an eyebrow so typical of him. With this, you felt the remnants of strain and tension which still nested inside swiftly and lightly flit away.

“I think so,” you chirped playfully.

“Maybe it’s time to finally start using it? Just an assumption.”

“Highest time! But I like calling you Snape,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes.

“How’s your leg? Hurts too bad?” So discomposed you were the day before – you didn’t ask him if he was all right. Even he himself forgot about this minor inconvenience.

“I can bear it.”

“You’d better visit Poppy,” you insisted, seeing how much pain it actually caused him.

“I’m fine, I’m telling you!” Snape groaned displeased. “Besides, I’d prefer keeping it undisclosed.”

“Oh I see! You want me to help you with it,” you giggled.

“What?” he frowned. “NO!”

“Ugh! Come on! I won’t faint seeing your wound!” you puckered, jokingly moving fingers before your face in a sinister manner, as if it was one of the most terrible things in the world.

Snape coughed. “I don’t like the way this conversation unfolds.” He looked embarrassed, which highly amused you.

“Severus… You need treatment!” through with fooling around, you suddenly got serious again. “I mean it! I have some really good remedies…”

“I am a Potions master. Do you believe I can’t make one myself?” Although his expression suggested nothing bur annoyance, Snape’s heart melted at the sound of his name coming from you.

“Please?” you didn’t take your pleading glance off him, and resolute, adamant, menacing Potions Professor had to give up.

You spent the whole day – apart from classes you regrettably couldn’t skip due to being a teacher – brewing an improved Wound-Cleaning Potion by your own recipe, which you hoped Snape would not only appreciate as a token of your attention, but also asses it from professional point of view. Making something for him was extremely enjoyable – beside all your efforts, you seemed to put a grain of your soul into this process.

It was late in the evening when you set off your office right to the dungeons, a vial with purple liquid in your hand. You haven’t seen him for too long and were impatient to finally meet him.

“POTTER! GET OUT! OUT!” you heard familiar voice thunder through the hallway, which – unlike its usual measured tone – now seemed to reach the highest point of irritation.

Luckily, it happened when you were about to go downstairs, and therefore saved you from roaming the castle in search for your colleague so dreadfully stern-looking, but really kind and understanding. Smiling to yourself, you headed for the source of the sound.

Meeting Harry sprinting back to the stairs was no surprise.

“What are you doing here?” you stopped the boy, who looked at you wide-eyed.

“Just wanted my Quidditch Through the Ages back,” he explained, short of breath.

“Immediately return to your dorm,” you railed strictly, “it’s too late for reading!” but tumbling to the reason he needed this very book before the upcoming match added leniently:

“Moreover, what you might find there won’t considerably affect your performance during the game, while the lack of sleep definitely will.”

The boy beamed, eventually finding your argument convincing and wishing you good night hurried away.

“Thank you Filch, I’ll handle it myself,” Snape was saying, when you stepped into the staff room.

“Professors,” pressing crumpled blood-stained fabric to his chest, the old caretaker bowed slightly and left.

You understood at once what he and Filch were doing here. You didn’t feel hurt Snape rejected your help, but accepted his. You were even glad this procedure escaped your intervention. Not that you found it repugnant, of course not! – you only wished to refrain him form any kind of distressing experience.

“Is everything all right? You missed dinner.” Snape awkwardly adjusted his frock-coat.

“Oh, did I? Lost the track of time working on this,” with a proud smile you handed him the vial. “Don’t worry, I’m not insisting you use it right now,” your voice so soft and somehow reassuring.

“What a relief,” he grunted not without sarcasm, taking a closer look of the bottle’s content. Internally Snape was deeply touched by your kind gesture. Used to being neglected his whole life, he found it hard to believe that someone might care for him, and even harder to express his gratitude. On the other hand, the man hated showing his weakness, he hated even thinking of it, thus your excessive attention to his wounded leg made him feel a little uncomfortable – really uncomfortable – no less grateful though. The prisoner of this highly embarrassing situation, as he would classify it, Snape let his defensive habit take over.

“You’re welcome,” you flopped on the sofa, expecting him to join you, what he leisurely did.

“Thank you,” he uttered quietly after a short pause.

Your hand landed on the furrowed cord cushion, unconsciously shortening the distance between the two of you. “Don’t mention…”

“How are you?” The question bothered Snape the whole day. “Feeling better?”

“I guess,” you sighed. “But I’m still thinking... If it were not for me…”

Snape’s hand found yours. “What is done – is done. You can’t change it. But you shouldn’t feel responsible for everything that happens in the world you can’t change!” He leaned back, looking at the ceiling, yet his mind travelled somewhere miles away. “The guilt,” he spat, hating the anguished experience standing behind a short simple term. “It will eat on you. Destroying you slowly. Mercilessly. Unless there’s nothing left but an indifferent, apathetic carcass.” His fingers tensed as he spoke the last words.

He was far from being indifferent, you could tell. What he had to go through? Poor, poor man. Hiding his pain, he convinced himself he was incapable of having feelings, but you can’t fool one’s heart. The whole time you’ve been here, you tried to perceive why he appeared so distant, so cold and reserved, why he showed no particular interest or concern about his surrounding, but now you seemed to find the answer.

You wished you could help him, just as he did the night before, take the burden off his shoulders, relieve his heart. But was there any chance he would accept it? No way, you knew it for sure.

“Let’s get drunk,” you suggested ardently, shoving all the troubles aside for a while.

What Snape truly appreciated, that you’ve never pressured him, trying to fish out what was his bother. He couldn’t explain how you’ve always managed to make him feel better with just one phrase, which, however, fitted the situation surprisingly perfect.

He turned his head towards you, a subtle smile on his lips.

“I have a bottle of firewhiskey in my chambers,” you put a convincing argument into his consideration, before he could say something.

“Do you realize you’ve just invited me to your private quarters?” his eyebrow gave a leap.

“I just said there’s a bottle in my quarters, and we’re drinking in your office,” you stated cheekily, “because mine lays in the other part of the castle. Come on!” You started up to your feet, pulling his hand.

Was it inappropriate? Was it wrong? Snape didn’t give a damn. He just trusted himself to your will, wishing to stay with you the longer he could, without thinking of the consequences. Without thinking of anything else.

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[lovemesomesurveys]

What time are you starting this? It’s 3:49AM. Name? Stephanie. Nicknames? Steph or Sis. Date of birth? July 28th. Sex? Female.

Height? About 5′4.  Eye color? Brown. Where were you born? Somewhere in California. Number of candles on your last birthday cake? 32. D; Pets? I have a 4 year old doggo named Princess Leia. Hair color? Dark Brown. Piercings? Just my earlobes. Town you live in? I’m not sharing that. Favorite foods? Eggs, ramen, chicken tenders, garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings from Wingstop, pastas, turkey or bologna sandwiches, potatoes in various forms, and pizza. Ever been to Africa? No. Been toilet papering? No, and I’d never participate in something like that. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes. Been in a car accident? No, fortunately. Croutons or bacon bits? Croutons. Favorite day of the week? I don’t have one really since my days seem to just blend together. Favorite resturant? I don’t have one. Favorite flower? I don’t have one. Favorite sport to watch? None. Favorite drink? Coffee, Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink, Coke, Cherry Coke, Dr. Pepper, Cherry Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi... lol clearly I like the cherry flavored sodas. And *gasp* I like Coke and Pepsi, highly controversial I know. Favorite ice cream flavor? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, cookies and cream. Warner Bros. or Disney? Disney. Favorite fast food restuarant? I guess Jack in the Box because I really like their chicken strips. Carpet color in your bedroom? Tan. Whom did you get your last email from? From one of the stores I’m subscribed to. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? I don’t wanna max out any credit cards. What do you do most often when you are bored? I do the same things regardless: scroll through Tumblr, do surveys, check social medias, watch TV, read, color, play The Sims... Most annoying thing to say to me? I hate being told to “calm down.” Bedtime? I fall asleep in the early morning hours. Favorite TV show? I have several. Last person you went out to dinner with?: I haven’t gone out to dinner in quite awhile. Been out of country? Once when I went to Mexico. Believe in magick? No. Ford or Chevy? Ford. What are you listening to right now? An ASMR video. Have you ever failed a grade? No. If you have, what grade did you fail? -- Do you have a crush on someone? No. Do you have a bf/gf? No. If so, what is their name? -- How long have you been together? -- What are you wearing right now? A t-shirt dress. Would you have sex before marriage? I don’t plan on getting married, I just want to be in a long-term committed relationship with someone I’m in love and feel comfortable with before engaging in that. Have you ever had a crush on any of your teachers? Nope. Are you a virgin? I am. Do you smoke? No. Do you drink? No. Are you a player? Np. What are your favorite colors? Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow. What is your favorite animal? Dogs and giraffes. Do you have any birthmarks? Yeah, one on my right elbow. Who do you talk to most on the phone? My mom. I don’t talk on the phone except for quick calls from my mom or sometimes from my brother who call to ask/tell me something real quick or my mom might call on her lunch at work to talk for a bit. They’re just brief calls. Have you ever been slapped? No. Do you get online a lot? Yeah, I spend a lot of time online. Are you shy or outgoing? I’m very shy. Do you shower? Yes. Do you hate school? I’m not in school anymore, but no I wouldn’t say I hated it. Well, not overall anyway. I definitely felt that way at times, but there were parts I liked.  Do you have a social life? Nope. How easily do you trust people? I don’t really have a trust issue, I just have a hard time opening up and expressing myself to others. That even includes people I’m close to. Would you ever sky dive? Nooo. Do you like to dance? I don’t dance except for like nodding my head to the beat or moving my arms or hands a little.  Have you ever been out of state? Yes, a few times. Do you like to travel? I do. Have you ever been expelled from school? Nope. Have you ever been suspended from school? Nope. Do you want to get out of your hometown? Yes. Are you a brat? I feel like I’ve been acting like one nowadays. I’m just so irritable and moody and snippy all the time. :/ Have you ever been dumped? Yes. Do you like snapple? Sure. It’s bee awhile since I’ve had it, though. Do you drink a lot of water? Not nearly enough. What toothpaste do you use? Sensodyne. Do you have a cell phone? I do. Do you have a curfew? No, I’m 32 years old. I actually never had a curfew, though. There was no need to set one because I didn’t go anywhere.  Who do you look up to? My mom. Are you a role model? I wouldn’t say so. Have you ever been to Six Flags or Cedar Point? I’ve been to Six Flags several times. What name brand do you wear the most? I have a lot of Adidas clothes, shoes, and accessories. What kind of jewelry do you wear? I hardly ever wear jewelry, but if I do it’ll likely be bracelets. What do you want pierced? Nothing. Do you like takin pictures? Not of myself. Do you like gettin your picture taken? No. Do you have a tan? I have a slight tan from my beach trip earlier this month. Do you get annoyed easily? Yes. Have you ever started a rumor? No. Do you have your own phone or phone line? I have a cell phone. Do you have your own pool? No. Do you have any siblings? I have two brothers. Have you ever been played? Yes. Have you ever played anyone? No. Do you get along with your parents? I do. How do you vent your anger? By crying. Have you ever ran away? No. Have you ever been fired from a job? No. Do you even have a job? Nope. Do you daydream a lot? I suppose so. Do you run your mouth? No. What do you want a tattoo of? I highly doubt I’ll ever get one. What do you have a tattoo of? I don’t have any. Are you rude? I truly don’t mean or intend to be, but like I said I’m so moody, irritable, and snippy nowadays that I feel like I probably am kind of rude at times. :/ What was the last compliment you recieved? On my hair, I think. What is your lucky number? I don’t believe in luck, but my favorite number is 8. What does your hair look like right now? It’s really short. Could you ever be a vegetarian? No. Describe your looks? Really short dark brown hair, brown eyes, some freckles, thin, about 5′4... quite average, nothing special. Would you ever date someone younger than you? I’d much prefer someone older but in my range. I wouldn’t date anyone younger than 30. Would you ever date someone older than you? Yes. When was the last time you were drunk? Almost 10 years ago on my birthday. How many rings until you answer the phone? I don’t answer after a certain amount of rings. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No, and I have no desire to ever do so. If yes, when was the last time? -- When was the last time you went on a date? It’s been a few years. Do you look more like your mother or father? My mom. Do you cry a lot? I feel like such a crybaby nowadays.  What phrase do you use most when on the phone? I don’tave a certain phrase I always use when on the phone. Have you ever been chased by cops? No. What do you like most about your body? Nothing.

What do you like least about your body? Everything. When did you have your first crush? When I was in 3rd grade. When was the last time you threw up? It’s been a few years. In the opposite sex, do you prefer blondes or brunettes? I don’t care. Do you ever wear shirts do show your belly? No. What about cleavage? No. Is your best friend a virgin? No. What theme does your room have? It doesn’t really have one. What size show do you wear? I wear a size 6 in women’s US. What is your screen name on AIM? Aw, rip AIM. How are you feeling right now? Tired and hungry. When was the last time you were at a party? Back in June for my bro’s grad party. Has there ever been a rumor spread about you? No. What is one of your bad qualilties? One of many is that I’m very stubborn. What is one of your good qualilties? I’m understanding. Would you marry for money? No. What do you drive? I don’t.  What kind of music do you like? I like variety. Would you ever bungee jump? Nooo. What is your worst fear? Losing my loved ones, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life. Would you ever join the army? No. Do you like cows? Sure. If you were to die today, what would you do? Uhhh. If you had one last word to say to someone before you die, what would it b? I would tell them I love them and thank them for everything. Do you like to party? I like small, chill get togethers.  Hearts or broken hearts? Uh, hearts. Moons or stars? Stars. Coke or pepsi? Both. Favorite scent? I have a lot. Favorite band? One will always be Linkin Park. Would you ever dye your hair red? I was dyeing my hair red for the past 5 years and plan on doing so again when my hair grows out more. How many languages can you speak? I’m only fluent in English. What time are you finishing this? 10:47AM. I fell asleep at some point so I finished this later.

[tashaalyssa]

Our Earth-Bound Angel: An Open Letter to Misha Collins

September 18, 2008. It was a Thursday.

A simple, ordinary day. Most of us went to work, or school and when we came home, we were so excited to sit down and watch the new episode of this little show we were all kind of obsessed with called Supernatural. You might have heard of it, two annoyingly handsome brothers, a ’67 chevy impala, saving people, hunting things, the family business? Yeah, that’s the one. All I remember is having a ton of uni work to do, and Supernatural was always one of my favourite ways to procrastinate starting my assignments. Little did I know that on this particular Thursday, I and the rest of the world, including the Winchesters, would be introduced to a strange, stoic, ocean-blue-eyed, trench coat wearing being by the name of Castiel, Angel of the Lord.

As I sit here today, in November of 2020, hands down the strangest year I have been alive to witness and fifteen years after this incredible, groundbreaking show aired, I wait with anticipation, heartbreak and a grateful heart as the final episode hits our screens. I’m on the rollercoaster of emotions, as is the rest of the SPN family. Sam and Dean Winchester, and Castiel, have been so much more than television characters to so many people. They’ve been role models, safe places, escapes, friends we could always turn too when we felt alone. They’ve fought heaven, hell and everything in between, all while helping us fight the demons that a lot of us deal with everyday; depression, anxiety, repression, silence, violence, cruelty and bullying. Which brings me to why I'm writing this epistle. 

While Supernatural and it’s characters have been a crux of support, for me, there has been one soul at the centre of what I can only describe as a shift in perspective, mindset and spirituality that has changed the way I think, the way I live my life, the way I perceive the world and the way in which I am consciously aware. That soul is Misha Collins. 

Misha is the kind, genuine, incredible, humble human being who brought Castiel to life. He took this iconic angel through his journey from stoic, unwavering, unfeeling solider to the caring, loving, brave, loyal man he is today. Cas gave all of us who lived in the shadows a voice, he was a lost soul who fought for good, for love and for family at every turn. He discovered himself, he figured out right from wrong, figured out emotions, how to be and how to love, he figured out what truly made him happy, his love for a single human being. Cas is the embodiment of growth, of acceptance and of love. He is, and will forever be, one of the most groundbreaking characters to ever grace our screens (pun not intended, but I'll take it), and it's an astonishing and beautiful legacy to leave behind.

But the real earth-bound angel is Misha, the person. 

Misha has impacted and changed so many lives all around the world, not just with his character, but with who he is, what he fights for, and how he inspires. When he speaks, we listen. Where he leads, we follow. He has changed my life in monumental ways and it's interesting to think that a single person, who I've never even had the privilege to meet in person, has been able to change my entire life for the better. There is nobody quite like Misha; he's a change maker, an advocate, an educator, an activist, a philanthropist, an absolute force to be reckoned with. I’ve never seen someone who uses their power and platform of celebrity the way he does; to fight for good, to fight for change and truly make a difference on both massive and small scales. He has brought about more kindness, and more social and political change than I ever thought possible. 

In 2010, Misha, with help from the SPN Family, founded a non-profit organisation called Random Acts, which was the result of an immediate need to help those who had been affected by the earthquakes in Haiti at the time. Random Acts is an entirely volunteer-run organisation aiming to inspire change and help make a difference in people’s lives through acts of kindness. I have been working at Random Acts going on four years now. In that time, I have seen and been apart of so much good, so much kindness, it has truly lifted my soul and filled my heart at a deep level. I’ve been able to work with some of the greatest human beings on the planet, and many of them who have become close friends. Those who I can talk too when things are rough, those who know life can be hard, but they always have your back. I cherish them, I feel blessed everyday to know them, and without Misha and his desire to do good, I would never have found this amazing family. How does one even begin to say thank you for that?

For those of you who don’t know much about Random Acts, we are a non-profit organisation dedicated to conquering the world with kindness, one act at a time - and let me tell you, that’s exactly what we’re doing. The people in this organisation work tirelessly to save the world every single day. We’ve helped suffering communities rebuild their towns, homes and schools, our partnerships with GISH* and The Legacy of War Foundation* in the Change A Life project has seen over $750,000 raised for those in need. Let’s also not forget the development of the  Random Acts COVID-19 Support Program and the SPN Family Crisis Support Network*, which is dedicated to promoting awareness and providing resources to all those suffering from mental health issues, self-harm, depression, bullying and addiction. This year we are celebrating 10 years of kindness, and if you would like to know more about how to get involved or contribute to our anniversary campaign, you can do so here: https://www.randomacts.org/ten-years-of-kindness/  

But wait, there’s more, because that’s just who Misha is, like I said, a force to be reckoned with. Let’s face it, 2020 has been a nightmare on an epic scale; COVID,  racism, violence, the U.S presidency and the election, you name it, we’ve done it. Throughout this year, most of us felt our hope slip away bit by bit, the more we tried to fight, the more it felt like we lost. It felt as though the world was burning and we couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. I think I finally understood how Sam, Dean and Cas felt at the brink of every apocalypse they ever faced, because that is truly what this year was; the apocalypse. But whenever things got really tough, whenever I didn’t know what to do, or how to react or how to make it better, I knew I could turn to Misha, because he would have the answer. His light, his wisdom and his capacity for hope and goodness was never short of a miracle, and it was what got me through most of those gut-wrenching, 'I can’t do this’ days. 

Misha is the type of person who acts on what he believes in, he is the person encouraging people to vote, providing resources and the information needed to make sure your votes were counted. He has had Random Acts volunteers bring snacks to people who were waiting in voting lines, he rallied his friends and the SPN Family to set up the SPN Phone Bank, he hosted the SPNVotes Zoom GOTV rally and episode watch party, and has provided us with Senate candidates and House of Representatives candidates lives and zoom talks so we can be as informed as possible. And that was just for the election. When the Black Lives Matter movement was at it’s height, Misha did everything in his power to educate, to assist and to fight for the rights of others: the GISH Change A Life project raised over $50,000 to fight malaria in Africa with Nothing But Nets and over $122,000 for Cut50 and Dream Corps' to help fight for criminal justice reform, he also provided us with access to discussions with senators and prominent leaders in social change so that we can be educated and so we can educate others on the serious issues that plague our society. 

I could go on and on about this man, because the above only scratches the surface of what Misha has done for the world. I have never had someone impact my way of thinking and way of being on such an epic scale. Most of you who know me know that first and foremost, I’m an actor and I’m a writer. The inspiration that Misha has brought to my creative process is a feat in itself. To be able to watch an actor take a guest-star role and turn it into not just a main character, but a phenomenal example of development, growth and creativity has forever changed the way I approach a script and a character. The choices I’ve seen Misha make as Cas, all versions of, have both truly astounded and surprised me, I look up to Misha as an actor because he’s so uniquely creative. He’s not afraid to try things, he’s not afraid to push the envelope and get out of his comfort zones. He knows character and story so very well, he knows exactly how to use the full spectrum of emotions exactly when needed, and he has what I can only think to describe as ‘presence’, as ‘energy’ that radiates off the screen. Watching Misha play, develop and grow the essence that is Cas’ has been an educating and enlightening experience to watch as an actor. 

For me as a human being, Misha has flipped the way I view the world and humanity on its head. He has this unbridled passion for life - and I don’t just mean in the sense that he loves life - I mean in the way where being around him, or listening to him, makes every person accountable for kindness and responsible for change. It’s not possible to follow Misha as a person and as an actor without being so heavily impacted by his views, his life, his art, his work, his capacity for good, everything. You don’t see that everyday. We don’t have enough of those kinds of leaders in our lives, and in a world where division and chaos is rife, people like Misha are our chance to save it. He is already so heavily impacting the way in which the next generation is going to behave, they are turning to him now to see how to be, what to do, how to make the world better. And he is teaching them and showing them the way and I couldn’t be prouder to call this man my idol.

So this is my thank you, in the best way I know how. In case nobody’s told you lately Misha, you are one of a kind. They broke the mould when they made you. You are the kindest, most inspiring soul and this world is so lucky and so blessed to have you. I feel privileged that I get to share a planet with you, and that I get to be living on this earth at the same time as you. You’ve changed the world, changed me, and changed all of us for the better.  You’ve opened our eyes to issues and concerns, whether it be social, environmental, political or otherwise that we may not have understood or given much thought to before you showed us why we should. You’ve made us feel safe, you’ve given us the space and room to be ourselves, to not be ashamed of being different or unique. You have never judged us, but you have always encouraged and supported us. You have this beautiful way of talking to people, of using words to encourage and inspire and motivate us to be the change, to do the good, and to fight the fight.  You light up any room you’re in or screen that you’re on, you make us smile and laugh, and when we feel down or low, it is you we turn too. Maybe you truly do have angel grace inside of you. You are the example to which I live my life by, and the standard to which I hold myself accountable. I hope one day to be even half the human being you are. I’m beyond grateful for everything you’ve taught me, about life, about acting, about being a good human, about being yourself and being the good you want to see in the world.

Thank you for Cas. Thank you for Random Acts and the Crisis Network. Thank you for GISH and the Change A Life project. Thank you for teaching me how to be better. Thank you for caring about the world. Thank you for your hope, wisdom and kindness. Thank you for changing the world. Thank you for saving our lives. Thank you for changing my life. Thank you for being you.

Some heroes don’t wear capes, some wear trenchcoats. 

You are my hero. You are truly an angel, there is no fiction about that.

I love you.

xxx

* GISH: The Greatest International Scavenger Hunt, also founded and run by Misha, is an annual event that mixes the weird, the magical, the strange and the brilliant into one big machine that uses playfulness and creativity to spread kindness: https://www.gish.com/ 

* The Legacy of War Foundation: Co-founded by the incredible soul that is Giles Duley, to help empower and rebuild the lives of those who have been affected by conflict and violence: https://www.legacyofwarfoundation.com/ 

* SPN Family Crisis Network: Founded by Misha and fellow actors, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki upon listening to the stories told to them by the fans about their  personal struggles with mental health issues, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts/attempts, self-harm, and addiction in order to support and help fans cope with such issues: https://www.imalive.org/, https://twloha.com/, and https://www.randomacts.org/random-acts-support-network/ 

[ejzah]

The Agent and the Lawyer, Part 12

A/N: Hopefully this chapter isn’t too much of a mess, but I think it kind of might be. It’s been a bear to deal with. I based it around a modified version of “Little Angels” from season 2.

***

Deeks was sitting on the edge of his desk, facing Sam and Callen while they chatted. He’d finished all of his paperwork and setting up his online accounts. He now had limited access to several federal databases (of course only after being threatened with life imprisonment if he discussed the contents with anyone). There wasn’t much else he could do until someone gave him further instruction.

“So how’d the firearms training go?” Sam asked Deeks, smirking at him in a not entirely friendly way. Scratch that, there was nothing friendly about it. Deeks had known Agent Hanna would be a hard sell from the moment he met him, but he wasn’t sure why the other man had so much animosity for him. Even his lack of experience didn’t explain it.

“It went fine,” Deeks answered, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Kensi was talking with Hetty in her “office”. Likely talking about him. Somehow he didn’t think Hetty would be overly impressed with his progress at the shooting range.

If she made it a point of contention, he would reference his freshly signed contract, which made no mention of firearms training. He’d double checked.

“Really?” Callen said condescendingly. “So you fired inside the lines?”

“Yes.” Deeks wasn’t sure why he felt the need to defend himself. He didn’t even want firearms training. It would actually probably work in his favor if he played up on his lack of ability, but there was something infuriating about the two agents’ superior attitude. They immediately assumed he would fail and that annoyed him.

“Where?” Sam asked, his voice leading.

“Right shoulder,” Deeks said, not mentioning how close it had been to the very edge.

“Ha, knew it!”

“You do remember that this was my first lesson, right?” Deeks didn’t expect them to have any sympathy, and he was right.

“Deeks, I had better aim than that when I was a kid,” Sam said. And so had he, Deeks thought bitterly.

“Well to be fair, not all of us were overachievers,” Callen said, his tone teasing. He muttered something that sounded like “mathlete” under his breath and Sam glared at him warningly. “In any case, Deeks, I hope you’re seeing that this isn’t a game. It’s a hard job and it takes dedication.”

“Never thought it was,” Deeks said with a bitter smile. He saw Kensi coming back down and remembered their bet. While chatting, he’d been silently thinking of ways to distract her enough to make her touch him. Based on the past few weeks, it wouldn’t be all that difficult.

A piercing whistle echoed through the room, distracting him from his nefarious plans, and they all turned towards the stairs where Eric and Hetty were waiting. Each day Eric had announced his presence in a different, and often bizarre, way. Personally, Deeks preferred the day Eric had yodeled his way down the stairs. The song was unrecognizable and sounded truly awful, but Deeks appreciated the variation. Not to mention, the irritation on Sam’s face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, make haste,” Hetty said gravely. Deeks followed everyone up the stairs, moving to the back of the room as Eric pulled up a man’s military ID on the big screen.

“Commander Jason Rehme designs and maintains the cryptographic logons used by the department of naval personnel with the highest security clearance,” Eric began.

“Commander Jason Rehme is missing,” Hetty added. “He had a department meeting at 0600. He never showed.”

“He hasn’t answered any calls, texts or emails.”

“Does NCIS normally handle missing person cases?” Deeks asked, wondering why a case like this wouldn’t be handed down to a lesser agency.

“The Commander isn’t just any missing person,” Eric answered. “Rehme has access to nearly all of the navy’s confidential information. He’d be a prime target for domestic and international terrorists.”

“Ok, that’s definitely not good.”

“Indeed, Mr. Deeks.”

“He’s been missing for an hour and a half,” Callen said, glancing at Eric. “Send me his last known whereabouts. Let’s move.”

“What do you want me to do?” Deeks asked as he jogged down the stairs behind Kensi.

“You can hang out with Eric,” Sam suggested. “Maybe he has some files that need to be burned or something.” Deeks frowned at the back of his head, pursing his lips.

“He really does not like me,” he muttered as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Kensi stopped beside him.

“He’ll come around eventually,” she said. She reached to knock his shoulder, but pulled her hand back at the last second before she made contact. “But until then, don’t try to annoy him too much.”

Deeks didn’t comment on that, watching as Kensi grabbed her Sig and slipped it into her waistband.

“Be careful,” he said, leaning towards her. Her eyes widened for a second as he dipped his head. “I wouldn’t want anything to interfere with our date.” Kensi’s lips parted for a second, her body drifting closer to his for a second. Then she abruptly pulled back with a smirk.

“I think you mean you don’t want anything to interfere with my tacos. Because I’m definitely not losing this bet.” She walked backwards for a few steps, looking extremely pleased with herself.

“Touché,” he shouted after her.

***

The three agents returned looking subdued, and on Sam’s part, extremely angry. He headed to Hetty’s office immediately without saying a word. He had a fierce, singleminded look about him that immediately put Deeks more on edge than he already was.

“We found the Commander, but his daughter-“

“Is missing,” Deeks finished for Kensi. “Yeah, Eric told me.” He’d also shown him the video the Commander received from Amanda’s kidnapper. The sounds of her panicked screams and pleas would likely fuel Deeks’ nightmares for some time to come.

“Do you have any idea who might have done it? Eric said that there was a guy who killed three other girls this way, but that he was still in prison.” Kensi shook her head, biting at her bottom lip.

“No. It has to be a copycat. We’re stalled right now because this is technically the FBI’s case. Sam’s asking Hetty to let us take over or at least assist the FBI,” Callen explained with a deep sigh. “This is not going to be a pretty case. And the longer this takes, the less time Amanda has.”

“We have co-lead on the case,” Sam said, jogging down to the bullpen. “Let’s see what Eric has.”

“The Angeles National Forest is close to 650,000 acres,” Eric said a few minutes later when they were all in the operations center. “If Amanda’s in there, finding her is going to be next to impossible.”

“What about using infrared?” Kensi asked.

“She’s buried, her body temperature is dropping. It’s not going to work.” Deeks silently watched as they tossed around suggestions, moving with a single-mindedness he’d yet to witness. He felt useless amidst the urgency.

“Can you bring up the kidnapper’s video again?” Callen requested. Deeks could have lived without ever seeing it again. Eric pulled it up along with the video of the other three girls.

“The camera angle’s the same on every one, same size box,” Deeks noticed, earning a surprised look from Sam who added,

“And those are the same blue surgical gloves.”

“I’d say whoever killed the first three girls also has Amanda.” No one contradicted him.

He took a step back again as Eric searched for the Chevy Malibu that had left the park in the wee hours. It was amazing how quickly they were able to narrow it down the owner once Kensi noticed the damage and link it to Lucas Maragos’ brother, Andre.

“Kensi, go out to the US penitentiary at Victorville and see if you can make some sense of this,” Callen instructed.

“And take Mr. Deeks with you,” Hetty added, silently stepping into the room as she observed the various pieces of evidence on the screen.

Kensi looked just as surprised as Deeks felt, but she didn’t question Hetty’s instructions.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Callen asked. Personally, Deeks had wondered the same.

”This seems the perfect situation; I’m sure Deeks has interviewed many a criminal while in prison.” She looked to him for confirmation and he nodded.

“I have.” Just not ones who were serving life sentences for burying children alive. “I can handle it.”

“Good,” Hetty said, gesturing for them to go.

***

“So what do you want me to do?” Deeks asked, glancing around the cool jail cell. A guard had escorted them to the room a few minutes ago and directed them to sit at the table while he retrieved Lucas Maragos. It was oddly lit, the sunlight streaming through the window creating an almost sunset feel to the room. Somehow it only added to the overall creep factor.

Although he’d been a part of more serious criminal cases, particularly while he was finishing law school, he’d never defended a killer before. He wasn’t really looking forward to meeting a man capable of torturing little girls and their families.

Kensi didn’t respond, her gaze focused on her phone and he nudged her with his shoulder. She’d been mostly silent during the drive to the penitentiary. Although he’d felt the urge to break the tension with humor, he’d controlled himself. This wasn’t the time for distraction.

“Callen and Sam found the Malibu in Andre Maragos’ garage,” she told him, brows furrowed.

“That’s good, right?” Deeks asked. “I mean, it’s horrible in that this guy is probably a serial killer too, but it means that we’re closer to finding Amanda.”

“Andre and his wife claim they don’t know anything about the car. Supposedly their personal assistant is the only one who uses it. Callen and Sam are going to check out a camp in Angeles Forest that Andre and Lucas went to when they were kids.”

“That’s good, Kensi,” he said encouragingly. “It means we’re getting closer.” She turned to face him, her eyebrows drawn forward with worry.

“Callen also said that Eric calculated how much air is left in the box Amanda is buried in. It’s less than nine hours now Deeks. That’s not enough time,” she said, sounding distraught.

There was nothing else he could say that wouldn’t be a pointless platitude so he simply took Kensi’s hand and squeezed it. She smiled gratefully, squeezing back, her hand cool and firm in his.

“Wait a second,” she said after a second, her expression turning suspicious. She dropped his hand abruptly. “You’re trying to make me lose the bet, aren’t you?”

“That honestly was the very last thing on my mind,” he told her, amazed that she thought his mind was on anything other than Amanda at the moment. Kensi looked momentarily abashed before she gathered herself again.

“Oh, sorry. But keep your hands to yourself for now. We don’t want to give this guy anything to work with.”

“Which brings me back to my original question, what do you want me to do?”

“Just follow my lead.”

“That’s super helpful,” he muttered under his breath. Despite what most people thought, he liked to plan before he acted, particularly when it came to interviews.

The outer door buzzed and two prison guards brought Maragos through. His hands and ankles where both bound with chains.

Beside him, Kensi sat with her back perfectly straight, appearing professional and detached. There wasn’t a hint of the uncertain woman from a few minutes ago. It was amazing how easily she could flip that switch.

“Mr. Maragos, do you know why you’re here?” she asked, once the guards left.

“Another girl was kidnapped,” Marago said. “Which means that I might not have to spend the rest of my life in here.” His arrogance amazed Deeks and he couldn’t help himself from saying,

“It’s interesting that you know about her, given that you’re in prison and haven’t had any visitors in weeks.” Maragos just shrugged. For a second, Deeks thought he’d gone too far.

“Was the MO the same?” Maragos asked after a moment.

“Exactly the same,” Kensi confirmed.

“You got a partner on the outside?” Deeks followed up.

“Oh no. No, no, no,” he answered, his tone almost mocking which just fueled Deeks’ quiet rage. His resolution to follow Kensi’s lead was completely forgotten. “Check my call records and my email.”

“We did,” Kensi said shortly. “The only phone calls you make are to your brother Andre.”

Lucas Maragos shifted, showing the first sign of discomfort, if it could be called that, since he’d entered the room.

“Is that it? You and your brother like killing together?” Deeks wasn’t sure where the question had come, but he saw the slightest flash in Maragos’ eyes. It was enough to make him continue. “Yeah? Bury the girl and then sit there giggling with each other while they suffocate to death?” He heard Kensi inhale sharply, but didn’t look away from Maragos.

Lucas shook his head, glancing away, like Deeks’ words has somehow affected him.

“I didn’t kill those girls,” he insisted.

“Course not,” Deeks whispered. Maragos moved his hands, for what purpose he wasn’t sure, but Deeks felt a moment of sadistic pleasure when the chains prevented him from moving further. His jaw clenched, a hint of anger showing for the first time. Good, they were getting to him.

“Is there any evidence at all that points to my brother? He could have committed all these murders,” he suggested.

“Your DNA is all over the victim’s bodies,” Kensi said, her tone short and pointed.

“We’re related, the DNA’s gotta be close. Nobody checked my brother’s DNA.” Sighing, Kensi ignored Maragos’ attempt to distract them.

“You and your brother went to the same camp in Angeles National Forest. We think the latest girl could be buried there.”

“I help you find her, you reopen my case,” Maragos said. Deeks answered before Kensi could.

“You have nothing to do with it, sure.” Maybe it wasn’t his place to make promises, but he knew the importance of limitations. He’d seen enough guys get off because of loopholes. And he was 95% certain this guy was involved in the kidnapping and murders in some way.

“When we were kids, there were feral cats all over the place. Andre? Well, André used to spend hours catching them and strangling them.” It sounded like he was telling a bedtime story and Deeks felt his stomach clench. There wasn’t any sign that Maragos felt any remorse for his brother’s supposed actions.

“Wow, the golden summers of a sociopathic’s youth,” Deeks whispered. Kensi knocked his knee under the table. Maybe that had been going a bit far.

“I know where he buried them,” he insisted.

“Ok, then show us,” Kensi said.

“That was...impressive,” Kensi said half an hour later as they waited for Maragos to be loaded into transport. Deeks had wanted to draw up a legal document for Lucas to sign, making his offer to help binding. Kensi insisted that they didn’t need to, pressing time as a main concern.

“Yeah, sorry. I got a little carried away,” Deeks responded, scratching at his beard. She didn’t sound upset with him, but he had sort of hijacked the interview.

“You sounded a lot more like a cop than I expected.”

“Yeah, well, I guess I’ve spent enough time watching interrogations. And that didn’t seem that much different from when I have someone up in the witness stand,” he explained, then smirked at Kensi who looked worried and distracted again. “Of course, usually the witness is suing someone for scratching their Porsche or reneging on a business deal.”

“I’m glad you were there,” Kensi admitted, surprising him. “He gives me the creeps. If I was on my own, I might have punched his lights out.”

“Always happy to be of service. Any update from Sam and Callen?”

“They’re questioning Andre now. He wasn’t home last night.”

“Mm, well that doesn’t bode well for Andre. Hopefully Lucas actually knows where the body is and isn’t just taking the opportunity to get his first day trip in two years,” he said bitterly.

***

A/N: Obviously some event were changed or left out from the actual episode to suit my purpose. The next chapter will deal with the second part of the episode.

[tinywordsblog]

Plants That Breathe

Transcript: 

Sir Richard is my favorite plant, but I’d never admit that to the others. If you were wondering where the name came from, I’m not sure what to tell you--the name just seemed right at the time. Regal, I think. When I bought him, he was small enough to fit in the cupholder of our Chevy Impala. He had eight leaves on 3 stems, and the stems were short enough that they stood firmly upright, sticking straight out of the soil. 

Two years later, I’ve had to move Sir Richard to the top of my highest bookshelf, and his stems cascade past 5 shelves’ worth of books. The gravity of these stems means I had to plop his pot into a heavy glass vase after a few brushes with death---or, I guess a few brushes with the carpet when his greenery sent him tumbling off of my shelf. He has too many leaves to count, but if I had to guess I’d say the number is around 60 to a hundred. (I’m not very good at guessing, though.) Instead of four stems, he has dozens. 

And the family has grown from one small cup holder-sized plant to a family of about fifteen, and growing. On top of that, I’ve learned to propagate--to clip leaves from one plant and create a whole new one. Giving clippings to others has given new meaning to “gifts from the heart” -- something that truly stems from the heart and soul. 

At times and especially at this moment, life gets just a bit overwhelming. Work piles on, responsibilities line up behind you, and it can feel like progress is hopeless. You come to a stand-still. I noticed this happening lately to myself. The sensation of drowning takes over. I notice laundry going undone, meals being replaced with takeout, assignments waiting until I’ve just about arrived at the due date. I notice the leaves of my houseplants start to droop, and realize that I’ve forgotten them a bit, too. 

But did you know that plants can breathe? When you water them, or change their light, or change their spot in the room, the plant adjusts themselves to the new conditions. The leaves move slow enough that we can’t see them in real time. But the changes are there. Slow movements toward the light or into the shade. Standing up taller as water fills the roots. Spreading out and away as new leaves unfurl. 

Plants take the biggest breaths after a period of neglect. If the soil is bone dry and the leaves are wilting, you’ll notice the day you water it again that it takes a gulp of life. In that case, the smallest bits of attention bring dramatic changes. 

This was a learning curve for me. Perfectionism takes all forms and invades all spaces. One fallen leaf was another failure for the books. But it’s a comfort to know that my plants breathe around me. That along with oxygen they give off life. Their breaths fuel mine, no matter how far underwater I may feel. 

If you’re in the market for a reason to swim to the surface, I and my plants would suggest a tiny breath. Start small, start from the roots. Find the sunniest spot in your home and rest there for a while. Or maybe that isn’t what you need. Maybe you need a cool, dark place, a place to curl up and readjust. If that isn’t it, find the thing that will reinvigorate you, that will ground you more firmly in the soil. 

Having plants taught me patience. Kindness. Caring for a small bit of life within the big jungle. Change doesn’t happen in an instant. It happens one leaf at a time. Sir Richard started his small life as one of a hundred plants with a few leaves each among the masses of a nursery. From a sea of green, it was my careful choosing and devoted care that allowed him to grow to what he is today. You may have listened to this whole video and thought to yourself, “Really, who names a plant?” You may also wonder “Who talks about a plant in the third-person?” 

If you do, I would urge you to find your own Sir Richard. Find the thing that breathes around you when you feel like nothing else will. And when you do that, notice what breathes life into your own roots. Recognize that no matter what piles up, you, too, are breathing without realizing, making your own tiny changes no matter the situation.

[therainroguefanfiction]

🎃 Frightful October Act III, #8 ~ What I Want (Wonho / Hoseok Lee)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Crossover, AU, Angst, Fluff, Romance, Supernatural, Halloween, Autumn

Word Count: 2,327

Pairing: Reader x Hoseok

World: Monsta X feat. Supernatural

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

Your eyes fluttered open and you took in your surroundings. It was dark, the only light coming from a small window near the tall ceiling. You could hear drops of water hitting the ground every few seconds and the smell of mold and dried up blood made your stomach turn. The room was large, the walls made of metal. It was empty, aside from a large piece of machinery behind you and chains hanging from the ceiling.

You struggled against the thick rope binding you to the metal chair, but all it did was constrict tighter around you. Where the hell were you? How in the world had this happened? You let your head fall back, closing your eyes.

TWO DAYS EARLIER

You worked as a waitress at the local diner in town. It wasn’t an ideal job, but your co-workers were friendly and the regular customers were kind. Though it frustrated you sometimes, most days you enjoyed the simplicity of it all. It was mundane, boring, but that’s how you liked it.

The bell on the door chimed and you looked up, greeting the two men that entered. “Welcome! Would you like a booth or a table?”

They answered simultaneously, but their answers were different. “Booth.” “Table.” They glared at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation.

“Um, would you like a minute to -”

The tall one rolled his eyes. “A booth, please.”

The shorter one smirked in triumph, sending you a wink. You chuckled, “Right this way! What can I get you to drink?”

“Water,” the tall one answered.

“Coke.”

“Coming right up!” You scurried back to the counter, grabbing their drinks before returning. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to see if you’re ready to order.” You went around the diner, checking on the customers, refilling drinks and cleaning up the empty tables.

The bell chimed again and you looked up with a smile which faltered only slightly. This one was a regular customer, one that visited every day. He was kind enough, very generous with his tips, but something about him unnerved you. Maybe it was how attractive he was, with his porcelain skin and slim but firm body. He wore all black, the clothes tight and hugging him in all the right places. His slicked-back hair was black at the roots, the length white while the tips were blue. Various piercings decorated his ears and his eyes were dark and mysterious, seeming to carry the knowledge of multiple lifetimes.

“You’re staring,” he chuckled, his voice flowing like silk past his plump lips.

You felt your face burn. “I’m really sorry! Would you like your usual seat?”

“No need to apologize,” he smiled. “The usual is fine.”

The counter allowed for several customers to sit there on stools, letting them watch the waitresses run back and forth while also getting an open view of the kitchen. His seat was near the end of the counter, towards the register.

You didn’t even have to ask him what he wanted. He had been coming to the diner for a year straight, never missing a day, and he ordered the exact same thing every time – chicken breast with white rice and a glass of ice water.

You set the glass down and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They mesmerized you, making it hard to look away. He stirred the water with his straw, eyes never straying from yours. “How has your day been, Y/N?”

“It’s been good,” you cleared your throat, cursing him for having such an effect on you. “What about yours?”

“Better now that I’m talking to you.”

You tilted your head curiously. He seemed… tired. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should pry.

“Order up!”

You offered him a smile before grabbing the plate and taking it to its owner. You returned to the two men from earlier. “Ready to order?” You noticed the change in their demeanor pretty quickly. They were far more tense than they had been previously, but what had triggered the change?

“I’ll have the house salad, dressing on the side.”

“The double cheeseburger.”

“Sure, it’ll be up soon,” you scribbled the orders down and headed for the counter, passing the paper on to the chef. You turned around, expecting Hoseok’s eyes to be on you like they were every day, but today was different. He was exchanging heated looks with the two men and it was obvious that there was some serious tension between them. Your brow furrowed in confusion. You had never seen the two men before and you were pretty sure they were from out of town, so how could they have beef with him?

Sensing your concern, Hoseok turned his gaze to you, eyes softening as he sent you a smile. “If you keep scrunching your face up like that, it’s going to freeze.”

You pouted at him, folding your arms. “That’s a myth and you know it.”

He raised a brow, looking shocked. “Is it, though?”

You were silent for a moment, wondering if you should ask him about the men. They were pretty well built, you noticed. Were they troublemakers?

A hand reached out, resting on your cheek which grew warm at the contact. His eyes roped you in, leaving you breathless. “Don’t worry, they won’t be a problem.”

“Who are they?”

He was silent for a moment, “Old acquaintances.”

“Oh…” you glanced at them, their hard stares now focused on you.

“I’m afraid I have to leave early,” he stood up, leaning over the counter towards you. “I promise, you will be safe.”

You wanted to question him, but he was already walking out the door. The two men followed moments later and you couldn’t help but feel worried.

5 HOURS EARLIER

You yawned as you pulled the diner door shut, locking it. The autumn air was cold, making you shiver when a breeze blew past you. It was ten-thirty and the streets were empty save for the homeless and those that had passed out from too much alcohol. Most of your nights were spent closing up and then walking home alone. It was something you did thousands of times before and you never once felt any danger, but that night was different. It felt eerie, like you had just stepped into the plot of a horror flick. 

You shivered thinking about Jason jumping out from the darkness or Freddy appearing to tell you that you were having a nightmare. It had been a long, stressful week and you convinced yourself that it was the cause of your current sense of doom. You would soon find out how wrong you were.

You caught movement from the corner of your eye and glanced up. A chevy impala was parked on the side of the road, the short man from earlier leaning against the passenger side door. You assumed he was waiting for his friend, so you didn’t spare him any mind, but when he saw you, he pushed away from the car and offered you a charming smile.

“Hey, finally off work?”

You stopped short, brow furrowed. “Um, yeah. Waiting for your friend?”

“I was waiting for you, actually.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. We just need your help.”

“We?” You swallowed hard, stepping back. Something firm was behind you and you squeaked when the taller of the two put a rag over your mouth and nose. You fought as hard as you could but he was too strong and your world soon went black.

PRESENT TIME

You groaned, feeling annoyance rising within you as you thought back. You wiggled again, feeling the ropes rubbing your wrists raw, but you just wanted to be free of your bonds. Why was this even happening? You didn’t understand. He said he needed your help, but how was being tied to a chair in a metal room helping?

Your blood ran cold. ‘Am I… Am I bait??’

The large metal door flung open, making a loud screeching sound as it did so. A small bit of light entered through the door, the dull yellow of a nearby street light.

Hoseok rushed into the building, his dark eyes searching frantically. They landed on you and he made a relieved sound as he rushed over to you, his rough hands grasping your face as he searched for any wounds.

You noticed the various scratches on his skin and his lip was split, dried blood covering the wound.

When he was convinced that you were uninjured, he breathed out and rested his forehead against yours, eyes sliding closed. “You’re alright… You’re alright…”

“Alright?” You scowled at him, wiggling violently. “I was kidnapped and tied to a chair! What the hell is going on?”

“Calm down, darling,” he tried to calm you down but you refused to listen, still struggling against the bonds. “Y/N!” he raised his voice, your name coming out as a demand. The weight of his tone made your body instantly still, eyes widening. He smiled sadly, rubbing your cheek. “This is all my fault.”

“Look,” you took a deep breath to slow your racing heart. “Get me out of here and then we can talk.”

He nodded, standing up to go behind you. You were pretty sure he didn’t have a knife, but he was able to easily cut through the ropes like it was butter. His eyes told you not to question. You stood up, legs shaking from the long period of inactivity.

“I’ll carry you.”

“No, I’m fine,” you responded, holding up your hand to stop him. Stomping your feet a few times, you felt the familiar pickling as they started to wake up. Your nose scrunched in displeasure, making him chuckle. “This is hardly the time, Hoseok.”

He smiled softly, “Its your fault for being so cute.”

“Don’t believe anything he says!”

You quickly turned around, finding the short man standing in the doorway, green eyes narrowed at Hoseok.

“He’s lying to you, telling you what you want to hear.”

Hoseok scoffed, placing his body between you and the man. “That’s rich coming from you, Winchester. Are you not supposed to save people? Kidnapping an innocent person is hardly noble.”

“No one ever said we were noble. We do what we have to stop monsters like you.”

“Even at the expense of others,” he shook his head. “You truly are your father’s child. Determined to destroy everything non-human no matter who gets hurt in the process!”

“Non-human?” you muttered, furrowing your brow.

The man smirked at you. “He’s a demon.”

Your blood ran cold at the thought and you quickly removed your hand from Hoseok’s back, taking a step away. “Y-You’re crazy…”

“Maybe I am,” he shrugged. “Do you want to take that chance?”

“Darling,” Hoseok’s voice was strained as he tried to hold himself back. “I want you to run and not look back.”

“I -”

“Go!” He commanded, glaring at you over his shoulder.

With fear filling you, you quickly turned and ran in the opposite direction, bursting through a side door and into a narrow hallway. You could hear yelling behind you, the sound of metal and cries of pain. It made you run faster, heart pounding against your ribcage. You were terrified and confused, not knowing what to think or believe. You always knew Hoseok was sinful, but a demon? Did they even exist? 

The hallway was long and dark, and you ended up tripping more times than you wanted to admit, but you finally came to a set of double doors. You slammed your weight into them, nearly falling out into the night. The air was cold, the autumn air whipping around your body as you ran.

You don’t know how far you had run, but your legs were burning and it hurt to breathe. You entered a park, falling onto the bench. The cold metal seeped through your pants, making you shiver. The adrenaline was wearing off and you felt exhausted, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and pretend this was all just a nightmare.

You felt a body next to yours and you cried out on instinct, nearly falling off the bench. A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back onto the bench.

“It’s okay, darling,” Hoseok’s soft and comforting voice reached your ears. “You’re safe now.”

“Am I?” you breathed out, closing your eyes. “Are you really…?”

“A demon?” he sighed, releasing his grip on you. “Yes, I am.” Your body tensed and he frowned. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“How can I trust you?” you tried to keep your voice strong, but even you could hear the fear lacing it.

“I’ve had plenty of chances to harm you,” he answered, his face blank as he met your gaze. “Not to mention I was nearly sent back to hell trying to rescue you.”

“Why… why did you do that?”

He chuckled, running his hand through his hair. “You really are oblivious, aren’t you?”

“Hey!”

“I want you,” his voice was different now, filled with warmth and love that you had never experienced before. His dark eyes were burning.

“Want me for what?”

“Oh my Lucifer,” Hoseok groaned in frustration before grabbing the back of your neck and slamming his lips against your own. You could feel the cut rubbing against your lip and you caught the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. A groan escaped your throat and he smirked, breaking the kiss. “I want you to be mine, Y/N.”

“Oh.”

“Is that really all you have to say?” he deadpanned.

“I’m sorry, it’s not every day a demon tells you that they want you,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest and turning away from him. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

His lips found the skin under your ear. “Don’t worry, darling, I don’t disappoint.”

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

[indomitablemegnolia]

He growled, his eyes rolled, I had finally pushed him onto his uncomfortable place; "My imagination, my wants, my needs are simple; I just hunger to be near you. I would love to just sip coffee and kisses for days; make out like mad teenagers; I want nothing from you; all I require from you, all I ask of you, all I want is for this sliver of a moment, a simple time away from time."

He stopped, a look crossed his face as if something inside was daring him to tell the unvarnished truth; I simply waited for that idea that struck so suddenly his jaw dropped as though he had a revelation, he looked away letting out half a chuckle, finally he came to a resolve; "I realize to rip your attention away, to cast these doubts away is to lay it all out; I finally understand it's my turn to lay it all out bare; I have to be as unashamedly honest, to let you know what my imagination screams: I hunger for you," he raised to his knees crawling over my legs, "I need to touch you; I am lost to it," he crawled slowly up my body, "I want you, all of you;" he locked me in place as his arms braced his frame planted on either side of my head; "your eyes, your lips, your mind," he sighed, kissing me soft, "your heart, your body," he nestled himself between my legs, "sensually," he kissed me harder doing things with his tongue that made my breath leave in a moan; "sexually," he ground suggestively against me "I want bury myself so deeply in you;" he stopped looking a little ashamed, he kissed me, holding me close, "I want you, simply as a man wants a woman; simple, no rules, no expectations, no explanations just simple, basically, I am willing to take as much as you are willing to give." He kissed me softly, slowly, undressing my soul; "I ask you in return, why not you? Why me?" I must have given him that look again, he set his jaw, "Seriously darling, why me? How did you find me acceptable?"

"Simple," I rolled to where he had left my journal, he tried to reclaim it from my fingers, I slapped lightly at his hands, pulling it farther away from him when he reached for it I carded through until I found the dress piece; "Read, I knew you, I loved you well before we met." I pushed the look under his nose, he read, his eyes flairing; he looked up. I nodded, "Yup, I wrote of you long before the possibility of you seemed real. Look at the date." I pointed over the cover at the left corner. "Ages ago, fifteen years; back when I had friends and they spoke to me of their wedding plans; a friend was belabouring the cut of the dress, the flavour of the cake, how the brides maids would behave; but always ignoring the fact that her intended was a jerk, who ended up beating her; I wrote that to satisfy my soul; solidly believing that no such human existed; that I was safe; then there was you."

"How, how, I doubt anyone knew me; I didn't even know me, then." I watched him read it again, "I gather you thought these were impossibilities," he rolled to his side as close to me as possible, that long leg laying over mine like a downed tree; he began reading in that dramatic voice; "I was listening a friends diatribe about trying to find the perfect wedding dress… It has to have a bit of this, or an overlay of that. She was fussing and fawning over the bow details when the Person about to stand opposite of her was of inadequate material. So I started mulling over who, if ever anyone, I would stand opposite. I thought I would fuss over the important things.

Accepting NO less than the sum of all of these traits.

I imagine it like walking up to the service counter a lot like a cosmetic counter, kind of playing paper dolls. I would like him have eyes of green and blue; he must be tall like Clint Walker;" he was holding caressing my journal in one hand in the other he began counting the qualities he possessed; "he would speak with a strong Baritone like Marshall Dillon; he would have the sensibilities of Sargent Tyree, 'no ma'am I don't chaw and I don't play cards'; in essence no conformity and no lying;" his leg began caressing and rubbing where our bare skin touched; he looked to me, "I am sure our current understanding does not count in that" he looked into my eyes as I confirmed with a nod, he counted three; "the ideals of Steve Rogers. Boots and Hat would be nice, Cowboy, Mountie, fireman or other.' Hiking boots, I hope, count," he held up five fingers; "He must love dogs, cats, goats and well most animals except killer whales.' I have a dog, don't mind cats, never met a goat and we will come back to the whale thing; 'I’d like a man who can speak at least one computer language and two audible languages.' Check and check." He held up another completed hand of qualities.

"Someone who gets String theory, science jokes, bad puns and delicious entandre." His eyebrow raised deliciously on the last word, understanding what I was inferring. "Who loves all kinds of music, or at least who can stomach my musical schizophrenia, entailing all of, but not limited to: rock, punk, classical, country, especially older country, psychobilly, regae.' Oh, darlin you know I do;" he kissed my cheek; "The ability to laugh at himself is a MUST, laughing at my jokes…. still a maybe, I know they are bad.' You will have to believe me, but yes, I can. 'He has to enjoy singing and dancing, even if done badly.' I am charmed by your sing along and dances actually when it comes to the dances I am more than charmed, it's more of a turn on, and you know I dont hold back that much either; 'I would like a soul who loves whimsy, doing the funny walk up Market Street, singing and walking in the rain and willing to do the insane and comical, including moving every item in the house to center around a new precious gift.' I never thought about it, but I am game to try, 'I would hope he would like to cook; observe good etiquette, open the doors for me;' at all times, 'he should know the ignition timing for a ‘64 Chevy 283.' Not that exact information, but I like to tinker and grease monkey around in cars; 'I hope he would understand me when I tell him that simple things like a french toast breakfast for dinner using almond extract instead of vanilla, washing my hair or checking my engine fluids, means 'I love you' as well as hand written notes, cards made of glitter and cardboard are as romantic as diamonds in the right setting.' Anyone else I would doubt, but you, you are that anomaly."

"'He has to know how to say things that cut through to the heart of the matter, either romantic, apologetic, inspiring,or just truth and mean every word.' I have left the days of part measures behind. 'He has to like pancakes and breakfast for dinner' more of a waffle guy but I do understand, 'and ice cream in the morning. He has to value my thoughts BUT not weigh them too heavily,' you just watched my transition, 'debate especially HEATED debate is fun (and more than a little sexy),' Sounds fun. 'I would love someone who adored words as much as me, I always wondered if it was hoping too largely to hope for someone who could pick up my favorite books and know the passages that strike my very innermost being, maybe read them aloud to me with the longing and emotion I myself read them with,' Oh what a fun game that will be. 'Money wouldn’t hurt but neither is it a must, it is not important to me, neither are looks, according to most I do have an odd taste in beauty anyways.' Odd taste? I must probe that later, 'Most of all He has to take me as I am because I can’t change myself for anyone else. I was 12 the one time I tried to be someone else, I have never wanted to be anyone other than what life has shaped me into. He has to appreciate my laughing snort, my funny ugly toes, and the fact that I will laugh when he trips or falls, stubs a toe, or any other slapstick comedy-esque routine injury that doesn’t involve blood…He has to find my oddities, eccentricities and idiosyncrasies, the fact i wear oversized thermals as my sexy night clothes, t-shirt and ripped sweats, flirty dresses and sparkle jeans as sexy as fishnets and a bustier…. But most of all He has to laugh with me, love me even when he’s mad at me and not mind a lot of residual radiation…. Until then I don’t care to even think about bows, bustles, frocks or hoops, I want a hero, anything less would be completely inacceptable and uncivilized' god I love how you laid it all out exactly like playing paper dolls."

He kissed me long and deep, "So, you think I stack up pretty nicely do you? The ideals of Steve Rogers and the voice of Clint Walker. So, you like cowboy shows?" I nodded, "eyes of green and blue, so, then k mmm I assume for you this has been oddly easy for you?"

"Not in the least, I have to trust in hope, and we are not on speaking terms, I had to trust that you were not some figment, some dream, I had to trust in the universe; just this once. Too often, especially of late, hope has dangled dreams just beyond my fingertips simply to pull them away, just as I almost touched..." I sighed, still mourning the loss of my last dream; "so, when you appeared I assumed this was another hard lesson to be learned. You made that easier by being you." I pulled him down to me kissing him sweetly.

He sighed, finishing reading, "Damn darling. I am stunned. How did I make it easier by being myself?" His eyes got glossy and he drifted away.

"The cupcake, I didn't even think you were truly real until you did the most thoughtful thing I had ever seen personally." I kissed him sensually with a subtle roll of my hips; I pressed hard to him, it was his turn to let loose such an erotic sound, half moan, half growl. He pressed me hard down feasting on my soul. He almost let himself run with the moment; he slowed fingers soft, lips cajoling; slowly he edged to a stop, pulling away.

"Where did you go?"

His music changed again, Billie Holiday singing kiss me once, god, his smile, "I imagine recapturing that first kiss, no stumbled step just a surrender; you naturally, fiendishly moving against me; god, that first kiss we shared, the laugh, it wrecked me." He tucked my hair back behind my ears, I cuddled my cheek into his palm. "I want to see in your eyes, when that simple truth, that in this give and take, that you give yourself to me freely, that you take equally greedily; not because you have to, or because I asked you, but because you want it too. I want that mad passionate love. Mostly, I want you, any way you will give, the only way I get you."

He pressed me back into the bank of pillows, "Now, of course, for such a gem, I offer all that I am," I moaned as I felt his weight settle into my body. "I offer you freedom; a pure and total freedom; freedom from the drudgery of that other everyday life." He laced his fingers through mine, kissing each fingertip. "I offer freedom as an abstract ideal. I can't offer a freedom from pain." He ran his hands delicatly over my body, lingering in places "I offer you a freedom from responsibility, from guilt, from regret; momentarily a freedom from sadness. I offer you moments of pleasure, moments to be happy. Oh, I can offer you pleasure likes of which you have never known."

I rolled my eyes closed, pleasure already making my soul free. "No, please, don't close your eyes;" my eyes snapped open, "I need you to look at me." I let a slow breath out, "I want to see the realization in your eyes that I am offering you my love." Slipping along the deep V in the robes neck, his skilled hands teased my flesh, his deft tongue pulled my eyes. I felt so very alive, his fingers moving at a slow, a tantalizing pace, pressing the edges of the robe out, exposing more of my flesh; I was already drowning in lust and need; his eyes holding me captive. "Ah there it is, all of me is what I offer you, all of you is all I ask of you."

I had been so lost in this feeling I had forgotten to be self conscious, I notice finally, his fingers caressing some of my scars, angry red welts I have never let anyone see. I stopped breathing but then I saw his motion, his revrence, "Gods, you see them and you are not revolted?"

He shook his head, then I watched his lips caress the welt that transacted my sternum. "Nope, not even a little. All of you, it's all I ask of you."

"Kiss me until I forget how terrified I am of everything wrong with my life." God, did he, the man's kisses were amazing I felt his hands his tongue, both working in unison; I gravitate toward him, longing for, wanting to use my hands in such a delicious spell; thirsty for more contact. My awe apparent in my voice, as he pulled away, almost a whisper, "wow," I smiled. He was magnificent.

"Well, my sweet you never really defined, 'really, very good,' for me..." he kissed me almost in passing, "maybe we can work that out together." He kissed me, soft, asking, "or you tell me your favourite food."

"Chinese." I giggled,

He laughed, oh, that gorgeous marvel of deliciousness, pulling me to my feet, starting a sweet waltz, "I do love a good chinese dinner," he danced me in a soft circle, he buried his nose in my neck kissing at first; his tongue lightly licking, "I want you, I need you in the purest ways, the longing in my bones howls to be near you, to be with you;" he pulled me closer his hands, his lips, his tongue becoming more insistant; my arms slid along his wide shoulders caressing his neck my fingers playing with the soft curls there, he started with soft bites. I gripped the robes lapels, "I want bring all of your senses alive;" his hands began to move over the thick terry cloth, soft, looping circles he traced in the opposite direction of his tongue; pulling him closer, I let out a breathy sigh. My breath hitched, I slid my hands under his robe, sliding along his silky skin; "tell me sweetheart, total honesty, tell me how you feel about what I said."

"Hmmm, nerves, I never knew I had, are all on fire; I am lost on this ocean adrift on sensuality and revrence; I want more, to be honest no one has ever told anything like the intoxicating words the dreams you have been laying at my feet; like Yeats; I feel as if this is not one of those times hope isn't playing me for a fool. I am no longer unsure, afraid; we are alive in a way that I have never experienced; alive, I am having trouble making up my mind which I want the most; I crave your words, but that sweet haunting revrence of your touch," his hands moved with more intent, beginning to grip pulling the robe, holding me close, his lips with intention, I moaned unashamedly, living in the friction of his fingers using the terry cloth to excite, "mmm, the trailing fluidity of your hands creating punctuation for your crafted sentences, natural aphrodisiacs. Oh, those words followed by the delicious brush of your hands; oh, feeling, that feeling." Duet of the flowers started as if by Devine intention; "Apt moment for this particular aria, the quiet end of one flower, my fears, and the resurgence of beauty in this; these moments."

Kissing me breathless he bent me back taking advantage of the parting robe, his lips feasting along the edges of the terry cloth; I sighed, I bucked, I strained backwards, shuddering gasps escaped. "I love how you react instantly, honestly, you senses on edge, your shiver at my voice, your bend to my touch."

His revrent hand glided up my neck, dipping his thumb between my lips; words were pulled from me; "The way your touch softly glides, fingertips delicately trace the furrows, the hollows for those words to sweetly flow." I licked his digets, caressing the pads with my tongue; "the texture of those large, luscious, calloused hands, each of your fingers touched with just the perfect roughness; each finger pressed softly, trailing against my aching, hungry skin. The gentle veracity, the keening desire, your lingering breath weaves our tale." As I spoke I have been licking and kissing his glorious chest running my hands fore the skin of his shoulders.

His hands traced soft but insistently along my body over the robe; his lips sweetly asking for more. "Oh, sweet darling, please believe me your words flow so deliciously, just keep talking and I promise I will only follow your lead."

His sweet asking pushed me to a bold move; I traced my hands from his chest to his abdomin, his delicious breath hitched then shuddered his hands stilled; "Your kisses craft slowly flowing paragraphs; long languorous passages; savory, sensuous stanzas of will and want;" I found his sash and pulled it slowly, determined, it came loose, his robe falling open; he half moaned, half sighed in relief; my hands grew bolder at his reaction, my eyes skimming along, what can only qualify as the most beautiful specimen of human male I had ever seen, complete with perfectly bleached white jockey shorts, "the hushed whispers of the soul allows the movement of our bodies to create the chapters of our own perfectly written novel. Your eyes spoke to me of the extent of your will, I am shaken;" his hands now bold, reciprocated, pulling my sash, my robe fell open, I shivered, my soul had been standing here naked for a while, finally phisically I matched, dropping my arms letting it slide from my body; the steps to our dance had turned to soft swaying; he pressed our bodies close. His breath sucked in through his teeth, mine left in a gust of a sigh; "though, I confess not disappointed." He hooked his foot behind my knee and pushed; with a squeal I landed on the soft duvet, his weight delightfully covering me. I giggled.

"For long moments there, I could not speak," his lips soft on mine, his words an echo of my soul, "the fate of the world could have hung in the balance of my one uttered syllable and I would have been unable to even whisper acknowledgment." His hands revrently sliding mine gripping along his warm delicious frame; "I wish I could say sorry for falling over you, but you are just so delicious, this communication, so honest like blatant souls." I giggled as his fingers tickled, turning quickly to a hiss of air between my teeth, his lips caressing the scars lacing my abdomen, shocking myself I didn't try to push him away, instead I continued letting my lips kiss every piece of skin it found. "The more I get, I just want even more; tell me more, please, just keep talking."

I licked my hungry lips, surreptitiously making sure they had not fallen off completely. His glorious mouth drifting revrently over my scars, resting and reveling in my hungry skin; the things he was doing his hands, lips and tongue were deliciously driving me wild, he wasn't kidding about waking every one of my senses, "Oh, I watched as your eyes spoke, I was drowning in those green seas of desire; now, hearts, souls slowly burn. Gods, now I admit freely, it is you that I want; it has always ever been you, believe it always will be you." I gathered his robe pushing down his shoulders, running my fingers light over his soft skin, letting my nails lightly trail, his growl played across my skin. "In fact, I will fan the flames, I want to let them burn, right through my skin, right through the heart of me. I want to burn in this sunspot moment."

Our eyes locked, the look in those fathom deep depths stilled my breath; will and want and something more simmered deeply; he pulled me close, our bodies pressing sliding conforming to eachother; his mouth moved along my sholder, his tongue tracing lightly the length, gripping softly pushing my face to the left; his lips taking full advantage of the opened space. Legs winding, my hands growing even bolder, gripping his bum, his fingers danced across my skin, they flitted, butterfly soft over my breasts; I arched off of the bed, my breath shuddering; I clutched at his shoulders; we melt together, like two links remembered and fused again together; "we thirst, hunger, want, need, crave … lust. How wonderful to be alive." I kept the words from flowing, but how will hurt when we are through?"

He slowed, pulling lightly away, as if reading my mind, "No one knows the if's, when's, or how's, we should just bask in the is;" his breath coming in deep billowing pants; keeping in complete contact; "I need to know how far I should go."

Panting, I try to quip, "I dont know, how far do you think you can make it in this storm?"

He laughed, delicious feeling rushing over my senses, my bare skin. "You know exactly what I mean, do we, you and I, go all the way, no regrets; we will just fall asleep together when the night is burnt and tired, and I want, I want, I want... you, I have wanted you, I want to finish this day feeling your pulse pressed against mine just so we know we are both alive, in this beautiful second. I want… I” he took a breath; "but to hell with what I want, if you wish we can just sip coffee and kisses, until the storm is past."

I took a deep breath, and willed myself to answer with every ounce of sexuality I had, in a very Lauren Bacall style; I angled my head seductively, stretching an arm over my head saying rather with a bored tone, "Here I thought my laying naked and panting in your arms would have been a clear indication." I yawned, "Take me to bed or lose me forever." God his laugh, "I want it all, if we were at a restaurant I would be ordering the lobster with out checking the price, or even looking at the chicken." I ebbed away losing steam, I wound up to let loose one of my nervous, inane topic traversing tirade.

He pressed his finger to my lips, "Shhh, yes, I know you are nervous, but seriously listen. You hold the power, be that hurricane you showed me, that amazon queen."

He nuzzled and kissed my neck sending delicious butterflies dancing through me. I hummed a solitary note of praise, "Gods, the way you see me, I. .." I trailed off as he worked deliciously on the sensitive nerves where shoulder meets neck, I went slack, I clung to him.

@iamhisgloriouspurpose this is the continuation to the last part.

@keeper0fthestars. @pedeka @writernotwaiting

@sweetfairy1 @fromthedeskoftheraven

[tastefullynefarious]

Torment never looked so goddamn fine

Chapter 1 / 10 - Survivor - Eye Of The Tiger

So... this happened... Season 3 got me feeling all kinds of ways :))

Quick sneak peak into what you’re heading into if you do decide to read this little story of mine.

1) About the 'reader’, she’s one of the kids from the MKUltra project thing, though she’s not nearly as powerful as El. I decided to give her a name instead of the whole Y/N thing, thought...well, you’ll see :))  10 points to your house if you guess where she picked the name from, hehehe

A little disclaimer about her powers: I actually took the idea from a book i love - Vicious by V.E. Schwabb, so not my idea at all, just borrowing.

2) Wanted to make this ANGST!!! All the angst, but keeps slipping into mushy romance, so I guess it’s somewhere in between :)))

3) Writing this for fun and to give Billy more time to shine. Gone, but never forgotten!

Words: 3,037 

Warnings: Really? There’s gonna be a lot, just not in this chapter I think... Also, beware of the aesthetics/moodboards! I live for them.

That being said, hope you enjoy!

Risin' up, back on the street

Did my time, took my chances

Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet

Just a man and his will to survive

Windows rolled down and sunglasses on, she made a sharp turn to exit the highway after checking the map for the hundredth time. It still seemed surreal that her mission was bringing her to Indiana of all places, but she got more and more excited as she approached her destination. Six missing persons reports, one confirmed death and another supposed resurrection, the latter being the last drop that made her come all the way across country. Something shady was going down in that otherwise uneventful town and if it was what she hoped, she would finally put an end to sleepless nights and anxiety ridden days. No more looking over her shoulder wherever she went and perhaps, one day, she'd finally be able to settle down somewhere, have an actual life.

She passed the town sign in a blur. Hawkins, Indiana, Population 30.000 - the last chapter of her epic quest, if fate was on her side, which it usually wasn't. Still, she was hopeful. She deserved a break and most of all, closure. She parked her Chevy in front of the motel just outside town and checked in for the whole week. Now that she was older it was easier to travel, less questions raised. The ID she had was entirely fake, not that she knew the truth to begin with. There were perhaps a few years added to her age if her calculation were remotely correct, but not too much that she'd get comments about it and just enough to go place freely. A smile always plastered on her face and replies like 'visiting family' and 'don't want to impose on them' always gave her a free pass. Motel 6 was no different and before she knew it, she was in her room - lucky number 13 - ready to set her base of operation.

She placed her duffel bag in the middle of the room and checked around. The room itself was nice, though nothing special. There was no option for a room with any kind of kitchenette or even a refrigerator which was a bummer. The bed was queen sized and the mattress comfy, not that she ever slept much. If she worked fast enough, that would hopefully change. The first floor offered enough privacy and opportunity to escape if needed. The bathroom also had a window large enough for her to squeeze through, but the bathtub was what caught her eye. Or the lack of one to be more precise. She was longing for a hot bubble bath, but she'd have to make due with a steaming shower instead. She thought that could be some kind of metaphor for life or something, make due with what life hands you, but didn't dwell on it too much as she went back to her bag and took out a smaller map and her notebook. It was time to get to work. The more time she wasted, the more opportunities 'papa' had to find her. Even in her own mind, the word dripped with venom.

She spent the next 20 minutes reanalyzing the map of Hawkins and reading the news reports on one Will Byers, the boy who came back to life. Her fist guess had been that the lab was taking people again for experiments, but there had been no obvious pattern in the missing people and the girl that died was in highschool, too old to take as a project on and too young to test on. Unless of course she was pregnant, which was still a possibility. The truly weird thing was the boy. Had he escaped? Was the initial 'death' a cover up, but the mother found a way to prove her son was taken? Every news outlet let the world know that the people responsible had been punished, but none mentioned Brenner. Was he still running the place? She circled the empty area on the map where the lab would be and decided she should scout the place out. As she got up from where she was laying on the bed and went to pick up her keys her stomach growled. She'd scout the place, right after she'd eat something.

The store came into view fast, the map of the town already burned in her mind. She parked the car fast and darted inside, the cool air pleasant on her heated skin. She had been wandering for a while from isle to isle, not entirely sure what she wanted to get, when she stumbled upon a girl trying to reach a box of cereal way out of her reach.

"Damn it!" She smiled at the girl, probably not older than 13 and moved towards her.

"Here, I can get that for you."

"Thank you." The girl smiled back kindly and put the box in a cart, barely managing to push it. She watched her for a moment, wincing when the small redhead almost crashed in another customer. Normally, she'd help without question, but she wanted to keep as low a profile as possible. But wasn't not helping even more suspicions? Besides, she was just a child; surely there was no harm in helping one kid.

"Hey, you alone here, kid?"

"I'm alone. Well, my shitty brother was supposed to help, but his lazy ass stayed in the car."

"I can help with the cart if you want."

"You don't have to…"

"Don't be silly, I want to." She moved to push the cart instead, letting the girl hold her basket instead.

"It's really nice of you, thanks. Name's Max, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Max. I'm Sandy." There had a been split second when she thought not go give her name, but almost laughed at the concept: a fake name for her already make-belief one on her ID. They shook hands, the little girl smiling brightly. Sandy wondered if she was usually so open to strangers or was she really dreading to haul herself against the cart any longer. "So, do you still need to get stuff?"

"Just a few." The little girl got a piece of paper out of her back pocket and lead the way through the store. Sandy couldn't help but look at all the products in the cart. Vegetables, milk, flour, at least three types of meat, condiments, all things used to prepare some proper meals. She wondered when was the last time she ate anything besides fast food and chips. As if on cue, Max's voice brought her out of her daydreaming about a steaming plate of Ground Turkey Sweet Potato Skillet. Ah, with lots of garlic! Sandy's mouth was watering from the mere thought of it.

"Is this all you're getting?" She was brought out of her little food fantasy and eyed the items in her own basket: cheap beer and chocolate chi cookies.

"I guess." She smiled sheepishly, biting her lover lip as the little redhead watched her with a raised eyebrow. Sandy raised her shoulders in defeat and just a hint of embarrassment. "I decided I will go out to eat tonight. I think I saw a nice restaurant a little back down the road." The girl's face lit up with the genuine curiosity that came with youth.

"Oh, you're not from Hawkins either?"

"I guess I'm not. And here I was hoping you could tell me if there are any cool places around town." If anyone was going to know know anything about secret lab in the forest it was going to be the kids in town: reckless and not completely aware of the consequences. Maybe that was what happened to the Will boy.

"The Arcade is nice, but other than that I haven't explored much. Basically everything you'll need is downtown though, so you're in the place."

"Thanks, kid." They approached the register and she helped the girl bag her stuff and even carry them since there was no way she could on her own. She was lost in thought again, wondering if she should check the lab first or go eat, when Max spoke again.

"You said you're staying at a motel, right? What brought you to Hawkins if not relatives? You planning to move here"

"Nah, just passing through. I'm a bit of a wandered I suppose."

"That's so cool. You must have been in so many awesome places. And with no one to constantly pester you." Sandy smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She always felt weird when someone complained about their parents or family in general, when she never had any of her own. But she also never could retort that being raised in a lab was worse than having your mother make you clean your room and finish your homework. Still, she tried to be nice to the kid.

"Ah, you'll see they mean well, your parents."

"It's… it's not my parents. I mean I love my mom, but my step dad and his son are awful." So she was coming from a broken home. Sandy would have given anything even for that distorted version of a family. No matter how annoying and mundane, it would have been 'normal', everything that she wasn't and probably never will be, even after she'd slayed her demon. But she wouldn't let her bitterness show. Max was just a kid, she would grow soon enough and see that family was a bound you found nowhere else. Bld was thicker than water and all that. "And now we moved all the way here. At least when we were in Cali I could still spend weekends with dad."

"I'm sorry, Max. I'm sure you'll see your father will visit when he can. And if not, you'll be old enough to go to him before you know it."

"Not sure Neil would like that very much." Sandy was about to ask if Neil was the step dad, but the girl continued almost immediately. "And then there's the devil himself." She followed her gaze to the blue Camaro and the boy standing on its hood, eyes glaring daggers at either Max or herself.

"That's your brother?"

"Yeah, it's Billy." They were still pretty far from him, but Sandy could see he was, like all devils, a handsome one. From the way his jeans wrapped tightly on his thighs and his opened button shirt, his whole attitude screamed confidence and there were few things sexier than that.

"Well hot damn."

"No, please, not you too. He's a complete tool."

"Hm, most pretty boys are, you'll see soon enough." They giggled as they approached the boy, Sandy sneaking a few looks at his car as well. A tool maybe, but he had good taste.

Billy had been bored out of his mind, despite having parked for only a few minutes. What was taking that little shithead so long to buy whatever Susan had put down on that stupid list? He knew, in the back of his mind, that there was no reason to be so angry, especially at Max, who hated their situation just as much, if not more. After all, her father was still back home and actually wanted to spend time with his kid. Somehow, that thought drove him even madder. His knuckles turned white around the steering wheel, jaw clenching so hard his teeth began to hurt but he didn't mind the pain, he hadn't for a long time. He eyed the store's door, hoping to see Max, but of course he wouldn't, she'd left just a few minutes prior. He just hated waiting, hated being alone with his thoughts in daylight where he knew he would eventually snap at someone, most of the times the little shithead herself. He hated he was so angry all the time, but that only got him angrier still. He was like a bull who fluttered the red flag in front of his own face. Hopeless and useless, he deserved the pain and he deserved being brought all the way to Nowhere, Indiana. They'd been there for only a few days and he was already going stir crazy. The people were idiots, the girls were boring and the whole place was just shit.

He got out of the car for air, closing the door with a little too much force and regretting it immediately. After the hell he went through to getting that Camaro… He let out a long sigh and pressed both hands on the hood, his head hanging in between. He had one year of highschool left and then he could go back to California. He didn't care he had no actual place to stay or plan to make a living for himself. All he needed was his car and some money for gas and food. Once there, he'd figure things out.

When his temper cooled down, he lifted his head and his eyes landed on a red 67 Chevy Impala. It didn't compare to his Camaro, but it was still a beautiful car, despite looking like it had seen better days. He noticed one of the back doors was dented in, the passenger window slightly cracked and the rust eating here and there, definitely in need of a paint job. But otherwise it was in pretty good condition for such an old car. The last thing he noticed was the registration plate - 007 DOL, Florida - and a small turtle sticker placed besides it. His fists clenched as his mind wandered to the beaches again. Why couldn't they have moved closer to any ocean? Florida would have been far away from Max's father to placate Neil and close to his only solace, the beach.

He turned to go after Max at the thought of getting home late and his fathers temper, but stopped when he saw her coming out of the store, a young woman on tow. Both had their hands filled with paper bags, one in each hand. Had the shopping list been so long? He hadn't cared enough to even check. Arms folded as he propped himself on the hood of his car and stared at the girl besides his stepsister. There was nothing particularly impressive about her. She was wearing an ugly plaid shirt, at least twice her size, stuffed in some equally baggy jeans and worn leather boots. He wondered momentarily if she had stolen her father's shirt, before shaking his head and putting her out of his mind. He doubted he would have noticed her if she wasn't in Max's company so there was no need to give her a second thought. But as the two neared him, all giggles and whispers, he saw a glint in her eyes as she looked him up and down and couldn't help the smirk on his lips. Even if there was not much to her, it was always exhilarating to be the cause of that lust-filled stare and even more thrilling to play with it.

"You must be the infamous stepbrother."

"Yeah, thanks for helping her. I'm Billy." He extended his arm to take the bags from Max, but she only gave him the largest one, all while glaring at him. He ignored her, eyes barely leaving the young woman as he popped open the trunk of his car. "And you are?"

"A complete stranger." She was smiling, playing hard to get, but he saw the way she checked him out. She closed the space between them and placed the bags she was holding in the trunk as well. "These are all yours." She smirked as her eyes wandered, accentuating a little cut on her upper lip, barely visible until then. He was about to thank her again, but Max beat him to it, all bouncy and smiling.

"Thanks again for the help, you're a lifesaver." Max handed her the smaller of all the bags and when she wrapped her left hand around it, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal some intricate tattoo on her left wrist. "Maybe I'll see you at the Arcade some time."

"Don't mention it, Max. And sure, I'll check it out later" She then moved her eyes on him and he couldn't help but stare at that little cut on her lip as she spoke. It was oddly appealing and if anything it actually made her stand out from the millions of pretty faces.

"Maybe I'll see you around as well, Billy." She winked at him and waved at Max and to his utmost surprise she hopped in the Chevy he had been admiring earlier, 'Eye of the tiger' barely audible from within as she rolled out of the parking lot.

"Who was that?" He had half a mind to follow her as he got in his car and started the engine. He would have if the little shit wasn't with and if Neil wasn't waiting for them to get back. The girl was direct enough to make him believe she was up for a good time. Max rolled her eyes at him, but he let it slide. Who knew the little shithead could be a chick magnet?

"She's new in town too." There was a small pause, her eyes going back and forth from the road to him. "Just passing through though, so don't get your hopes up."

He scoffed, but didn't argue with her, the little shit was obviously lying. The girl was staying long enough if she was making plans to check the Arcade. Long enough for a little one night stand on the back of his car. Or maybe even hers. He had two purposed now. The first, dethrone the so called King Steve. The second, bang mystery Florida girl. Billy decided that if he was going to be stuck for a year in Indiana, he would at least make the most of it.

[charmingturkeysandwich]

I Could Use a Love Song - Ch 1: givin’ up on love, hey love’s given up on me

Summary: Emma Swan, small town orphan and up-and-coming country singer, is known for her voice, her penchant for leather, and her overall (earned) anger toward the world. She’s had a rough go of it – rough enough that every single song of hers is angry or sad – but on the road something (or someone) happens that might change her tune.

(Spoiler Alert: it’s Killian. Cue the gasps of shock.)

Also on AO3.

---

The upside to a truly shitty adolescence? Lyrical inspiration.

Emma Swan grew up a little bit all over the place, but primarily in a small town that was most definitely above the Mason-Dixon line and yet half its population spoke with some kind of southern-esque drawl. Confederate flags were common on Chevy trucks. Friday nights in the Fall were dedicated to high school football and absolutely nothing else. Their town’s only radio station was country, though it played seven different church services on Sunday mornings. To say that the whole town’s dynamic read like a cliché country song… it was more obvious than Emma’s bright red leather jacket in a crowd of cotton camo.

So no one was particularly surprised when the beautiful, damaged orphan with the voice of a (really pissed off) angel hit the road with a country band.

They might not have been surprised, but oh did they talk. After her falling out with the pastor’s son and her quick escape to Pittsburgh, she was every negative stereotype of famous in a small town you could conjure. Lily, the closest thing she’d had to a friend outside of Neal, son of Pastor Gold, would keep her updated on the rumors and the hearsay. Not that she wanted to know, necessarily. She’d rather imagine that her name had simply fallen out of the collective memory of that god forsaken town. But it hadn’t. Her story was on the tongues of every bar patron, Baptist, and boy scout leader north of I-80.

It wasn’t her story, though. Not really. The tales they told of Emma Swan always somehow ended up with her as the villain and not the fairy tale princess, the lost girl with no choice but to suffer at the hands of assholes.

Her parents had been shit. Drug addicts, apparently, and she’d been taken from them. She’d been passed through the foster system from ages 3-12, the best foster parents mostly ignoring her and the worst… well, she couldn’t afford the therapy to even attempt to go there.

She’d wound up with an OK but definitely half-crazy woman by the name of Sarah just before she turned 13 and that’s where she’d stayed, that hick town that just couldn’t get enough of her little sob story. That’s where she’d met Neal, the charismatic son of one of the town’s pastors. His dad had seemed nice enough, did a lot of community work and even owned several businesses, boasting of his commitment to boosting the local economy. For once she’d thought she’d found some people who didn’t suck who might make her life at least somewhat normal.

She, as usual, was wrong. Pastor Gold was… well, off. Way too angry for a dude preaching the New Testament each week. But at least he’d never hurt her. No, that privilege was reserved for Neal, who would beat her to a bloody pulp and then tell his daddy’s flock all about saving his sweet girl from a drug deal gone wrong (poor thing ended up like her parents despite the best efforts of the system, you see).

It was pathetic. And after she went to jail for having the gall to defend her own life from that sociopath, well, that was it. She dropped out of high school during the homecoming pep rally and hopped a bus to the city.

That had been years ago now, of course, but it was her origin story, as they say, and something very important to her on-stage personality. And her internal struggle.

Life had fucked her over and she was pissed. And so for five years after leaving that sleepy, secret-filled little town, all she ever really focused on was her anger. She’d write lyrics on truck stop napkins and sit in a half-stranger’s basement strumming chords on the guitar she’d stolen from the church rectory (she wasn’t sorry). She started out performing at open mic nights and then somehow found some of Her People, those who loved country music but maybe hadn’t grown up in a Dixie Chicks song (if only she could have Goodbye Earl’ed that son of a bitch high school boyfriend of hers before he ever laid a hand on someone new…).

(At least he ended up in prison. You know, eventually.)

(And, hey, her rage got her out there and selling records. But that was on her, not him. Nobody saves me but me, she always said. And she wasn’t about to thank a monster just because she survived slaying it.)

Tonight’s show was in a dive bar in upstate New York and Emma was so damn ready for it. She and Ruby had done a few shots of tequila before slipping on their tight jeans and leather jackets, and David had just finished setting up their brand new sound system that made them sound like they could actually be on CMT and not just playing from someone’s garage. David and Mary Margaret, they were like Johnny and June with their sweetness and Emma could hardly stomach it. But they were her friends, her actual honest-to-god, wouldn’t-rat-her-out-to-the-forest-service-for-underage-drinking friends and she loved them. She loved them and Ruby and even Graham in the only way she knew how: teasing insults, cases of beer, and not running away in the middle of the night even when she was feeling like her whole world could crash town with one wrong word from herself or anyone else.

(She really did need therapy beyond the catharsis of angry singing to half-drunk strangers. Someday, maybe.)

Friend love was a strange, but manageable thing. Well, mostly. But romantic love? Absolutely fucking not. After she left Neal and that town, after she drank away the pain and the frustration, well she thought maybe she’d give romance another try. Turned out the next guy was even worse, somehow, leaving her bruised and bloody when she turned down his marriage proposal at a fancy restaurant in Cleveland (yeah, those exist). The physical pain she had been used to, but the emotional… he called her every name she didn’t deserve and a few that she probably did, and when he finished her off with a few choice comments about the baby she’d lost after Neal threw her out a moving car, well she was done. For good. Never ever would she trust a man again. Preacher’s son or furniture salesman – they were all just… evil. She couldn’t ever again take that chance.

But tonight – tonight she wasn’t thinking about romance or even the past, not beyond the bits and pieces that had made their way into her songs. She was happy, buzzed, excited. Their little tour bus (well, van) family was rising in the ranks and soon she could move far away and get her own apartment overlooking the thriving streets of Nashville. Soon she would be so busy with interviews and music video shoots that she wouldn’t have a single second to spare a thought to those who had hurt her. Soon she would be so rich she wouldn’t ever feel lonely because she’d always have male company in the form of all her Benjamins she’d backstroke through like Scrooge McDuck.

The previous night Mary Margaret had tried to set Emma up with the singer of their opening act, a guy they called August who carried a typewriter instead of a guitar (who she’d definitely seen leaving with a drunk after she’d turned him down, by the way), so Emma had already had her monthly I Don’t Want Love chat with her hopeless romantic friend. Meaning today she was free and clear to just… enjoy this new life she’d spent years building on the bones of all the good girls she could have been.

She high-fived Ruby and David kissed her on the cheek as they took the stage, starting the guitar riff as Emma sauntered out to the opening words of the song. This was one of her crowd favorites, a good one to set the tone for what kind of show to expect, and she was melting into her confident, badass, devil-may-care persona easily by the time they hit the first chorus.

I’m goin’ home, gonna load my shotgun

Wait by the door and light a cigarette

He wants a fight, well now he’s got one

And he ain’t seen me crazy yet

A few people in the front row were singing along and her heart was bursting with pride that she was on this road, that she’d turned such a goddamn nightmare of a life into something positive and productive and while overall it still wasn’t healthy… she damn well was on the road to actually being someone. To finally shutting up the idiots back in Pennsyltucky who were convinced she wasn’t going to amount to anything but a statistic just like her parents (despite having never even tried any drug beyond alcohol and nicotine, the judgmental fucks).

One thing that entertained her beyond reason was listening to Mary Margaret sing backup vocals on the songs Emma wrote. Emma liked to call Mary’s on-stage persona Snow White Trash and Ruby insisted that be the name of the band’s first mainstream album when their big break finally came and Emma actually fucking laughed in the middle of performing her angry song that night because she couldn’t stop thinking about the mismatch.

So when the song was over she apologized to the crowd, told them how much she loved her band and her friends, even the hilariously innocent of them, and asked someone to pass her a beer so she could stop the chuckles from trickling out during the next song.

Next on their set list was one that had been co-written by Emma and Ruby, two girls from two very different small towns, who still had so much shared experience. It used to hurt her to sing it, the depressing nature of where she came from threatening to swallow her whole, until Graham came to her one night after the show, quieted her tearful sobs with a kiss and told her to just pretend it was a movie. She was just telling a story. It wasn’t her town or Ruby’s… it was nothing but fiction.

And that’s how she belted it all out totally devoid of those pesky feelings that made her wish she could just crawl under a rock rather than relive her trauma for the seventy third time this fucking year.

If you ain’t got two kids by 21, you’re probably gonna die alone

At least that’s what tradition told you

This song was a lesser known of theirs so they don’t have as many mouthing the words back, but the energy in the crowd is still so high, despite this song being a little more bummer than banger. So she scans the crowd, watches the faces of the drunk, the joyful, the brooding, and best of all, those who understand.

Off to the left, just at the edge of the stage, she saw probably the hottest man she’d ever seen in real life. Black leather jacket, artfully mussed hair, a smirk that could charm her pants right off if she let him.

It’s not that hot guys didn’t come to their shows. They definitely did. But they were usually more the Jake Owen or Luke Bryan type, the ones that look like they were ready to meet your mama by the third date. This guy, he didn’t seem the take-home-to-parents type (just the kind for her, having no parents and all).

But there was something else different about him. Standing just off stage, standing alone, glancing toward David every so often. He looked a bit too confident, comfortable, like he already had some kind of connection to her makeshift little family, and that set up some red flags.

She was not accepting applications for any new friends at the moment. Or maybe ever.

She’d been staring just a little and people tended to notice stuff like that so of course he eventually locked eyes with her, for just a fleeting moment, and there was something in that one glance that told her he knew what she was singing, how she felt, on a level that most others just… didn’t.

So naturally she broke the gaze and didn’t look back.

Jack and Jill went up the hill.

Jack burned out on booze and pills.

Mary had a little lamb.

Mary just don’t give a damn no more.

From there, Mary Margaret had taken over lead vocals, her cover of Strawberry Wine a nice balm to the mood-dampener that Merry-Go-Round always was. And every show without fail, she always took that transition to gloat about how she’s most definitely not the Mary from that song because she has David and loves him so much and Emma almost always makes the universal gesture for “gag me” to the crowd eliciting laughter and a few errant woo’s.

She didn’t tonight.

First taste of love, oh

Bittersweet

And green on the vine

Like strawberry wine

(sorry Deana Carter, but there wasn’t always some sweet.)

They closed the show with Kerosene, like they always did: high-energy, twangy, and true-to-form for their actual fans. The whole bar was on their feet, jumping and swaying and shouting and spilling their $4 beers on the guy beside them but no one really cared because they were sharing a moment, Emma and each of them, singing out their anger and sadness and ten years of life’s-not-fair.

Crazy how a three minute song could effectively patch the wounds of a whole life.

And, yeah, maybe it wasn’t really patching anything. Maybe it was just distraction. Maybe she was just as much a drug addict as her parents, but her drug was the stage and the music and the connection she shared with every other person in each and every bar who didn’t get the benefit of a first love like any kind of wine.

She sang her song from the diaphragm – broadway voice – but it was like it came all the way from her toes. It was always her anger that defined her, drove her, made her feel alive.

Why not lean into it?

I gave it everything I had

And everything I got was bad

Life ain’t hard but it’s too long

To live it like some country song

Trade the truth in for a lie

Cheating really ain’t a crime

I’m giving up on love, cause love’s given up on me

Songs sung, merch sold, and bar tab closed, Emma headed toward the crew’s van, ready to sleep off the liquor in the third row seats while the lovebirds took the hotel room above the bar and Ruby and Graham found someone’s bed to put their boots under for the night.

It was odd, feeling like the fifth wheel when truly there was only one couple in the band. But Ruby and Graham, they were so in sync with where they were in their life – jand it was just not what Emma was looking for – that she still ended up left out.

Which was fine. Everything was just fine.

Until her path to the van was obstructed by the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life, the smoldering-eyed, confident guy who’d nearly made her forget her own lyrics before she’d promptly remembered to forget him and any other person who might possibly hold the potential to make her heart skip.

(Hearts aren’t meant to skip. That’s not love; it’s a trip to the cardiologist.)

He was definitely about to annoy her, so shouldn’t he look properly… annoying? Not like a goddamn model. That was distracting her from her annoyance and inevitable hate. Because a girl like her? Every song lyric and leather jacket was a clear message: leave me the fuck alone.

He clearly wasn’t receiving the signal.

“Swan, I presume?” he finally spoke, her eyes certainly glaring daggers at him despite her tiredness and BAC.

“Uh, obviously? What do you want.” (It wasn’t a question.)

“To introduce myself, of course! Killian Jones, at your service.”

She stopped a few feet from him, one hand on her hip and the other reaching for the cigarettes in the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’m not interested in any services beyond handing me a lighter. Can you manage that one?”

He smirked at her and reached into his jacket, the click of the zippo lighter in his hand echoing off the brick alley the van was parked in. With a quick flick of his thumb there was a flame and he offered it to her, his eyes burning with something other than the reflection of the fire.

“Ah, yes, that’s something even a one-handed bloke like me can manage.” He clicked the lighter closed and deposited it back in his jacket, only to reveal his left arm – ending at the wrist – from where it had been tucked behind him.

Emma deflated a little, some compassion left inside her despite the unwanted nature of his approaching her. “OK, Captain Hook, what exactly do you want from me?”

(She had compassion, but also very little candor. For the record.)

“Ah, yes, I’ve never heard that one before,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and finally looking like he was receiving her please-go-away signals, but he still soldiered on. “I was meant to be here before the show started, but I had some trouble finding this hole-in-the-wall. I presume by your attitude that Dave didn’t warn you I was coming?”

“You presume correctly. Can you please get on with whatever garbage is happening here? I swear if they put you up to asking me out or something I’m going to kill them. Mary Margaret especially. Because we just talked about this and I know that it’s not your fault that they’re such meddlers but I swear I’m pretty much the same girl who sings on stage in real life and I absolutely want nothing to do with men. Or women, for that matter… I’m not a person who dates and if they thought..”

“Love, please stop. No, I’m not here to ask you out. Believe me, I know I’m not what you need. I mean, technically I am, but not in the romantic sense.”

He paused and waggled his eyebrows and Emma was too tired to roll her eyes so she just closed them, willing the moment to pass. “I’ve been hired to work for you. All of you. Roadie. Can’t play notes on a guitar anymore, but I can haul them in and out of these dumps you lot perform in.”

Ah. He was the guy David had suggested they hire but the group had then rejected the idea and apparently David decided to overrule them all because why would Prince Charming listen to a democratic band vote, anyway? (Ugh.)

“Can you maybe stop insulting the patrons that pay us since that same money is going to be what pays you?”

Drunk laugher and electronic music pulsed out of the back door of the bar they’d played in not long before. Almost closing time now. Emma needed to get out of the open before she had to break someone’s wrist for drunkenly groping her. Again.

“Ah, of course, love,” he replied, finally seeming to be at least somewhat chagrined. “Now if you could point me in the direction of our sleeping quarters, I’ll leave you to your business.”

“First of all, I am not your love. We’ve covered this already and I need you to keep up. Second, do you really think we make enough to have quarters? I’m not entirely sure how we’re going to both pay you and eat. So.”

“So, what exactly does that mean for you or I, Swan?” he emphasized her last name in an effort to prove he was capable of using titles other than ridiculous British terms of endearment.

“Well, Jones, that means that either you go shack up with David and the missus (10/10 would not recommend; Mary gets very horny while drunk and her voice carries), or you do like Graham or Ruby and find a local to make gross sex noises with. Or whatever they do. Don’t know, don’t ask, don’t care.”

“And you, princess?” His tone was a challenge. He wanted her to object to the sickly sweet nickname. And she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

“I sleep in the van. And I do not cuddle.”

“Oh, it’s not cuddling I’m looking for,” he purred, waggling his stupid eyebrows again. (This time she did roll her eyes, annoyed enough to expend the limited energy she still possessed.)

“Then go find someone willing, buddy. Like I said.”

He shook his head and laughed, already turning back toward the van. “Damn. David said you were difficult, but I wasn’t expecting this. I’ll sleep wherever you don’t. Unless you snore?”

“No, I do not snore!”

“Great. Then we’ll get along just dandy.” He waited next to the van until Emma pulled out the fob to unlock it, sliding open the big door a second after the beep-beep to signal entry. “After you, not anyone’s love.”

“Thanks, Captain. I’ll be in the back. Touch me at your peril.”

They each crawled into the van and settled at opposite ends. Emma tossed Killian a blanket and Killian tossed Emma a pillow that had been lodged in the front seat and they both drifted off to the sounds of Garth Brooks on the Pandora radio Ruby had bought her to ward away the nightmares that inevitably accompanied the silence.