#oh and most of that money is going to the local pd because of course it is

[dolfin]

a friend of mine is looking to buy a house now that his wife is pregnant and the shit ass place we live is raising property taxes by 70% 🙃

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 2 (Mafia AU)

Summary: In the aftermath of...well, spoilers, Rus is dealing with everything the best that he can. 

More MafiaAU for the win!

Notes: Because I am clearly incapable of actually writing a one-shot.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Chapter 1

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Read it here!

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Considering that having their shop destroyed was one of the more upsetting events in Rus's life, it was kinda insulting how bored the officer who was taking his statement looked. When they’d come in, guns blazing, it’d honestly been scarier than the whole event that caused all this and for a second, Rus was honestly afraid they were gonna shoot him.

His apron with its embroidered rose on the front panel finally seemed to clue them in that he was supposed to be here and he’d gotten out unscathed. Now that it was clear there was no one to arrest, both officers seemed more irritated than helpful. Rus wasn't entirely sure this guy was even writing any notes and wasn't instead scribbling a picture of Pikachu or something. The Pokémon would probably have been a better detective to show up.

Then again, Rus wasn't really much help. There wasn’t much for him to tell them about the shooter and he wasn’t sure exactly why, but he kept his description of Edge deliberately vague. Wasn’t like they could catch him in a lie, the only video camera they had was a plastic fake, more hopeful deterrence than anything useful.

Not that the police cared, anyway; violence against Monsters was common, especially outside of the Monster neighborhoods, or as the Human locals quaintly called it, the dust bowl.

"Brother!" Rus jerked at the sound of Blue's voice, turning to see him pushing through the front door. His steps slowed as he took in the floral carnage, his expression turning to one of aghast horror.

“hey, bro.” Rus said meekly, cringing. He’d only had a chance to send Blue a quick text before the officers came rolling in. His hasty ‘store got shot up, i’m fine, need to come in’ probably hadn’t been very reassuring. “looks bad i know, but we’ll get it cleaned up—“

Before he could finish, Blue marched right over to Rus, paying no mind to the glass crunching underfoot as he yanked him down by his apron front into a hug, sniffling out, "Thank the angel you’re all right.”

"bro, seriously!" The complaint that Blue was embarrassing him clogged in his throat. Not like the cops were paying any attention, anyway.

"This is why we have insurance, Rus," Blue whispered fiercely against the side of his skull. "You are irreplaceable."

"Speaking of insurance, here's the police report number for it," the bored-looking cop said, holding out a card. "If you want a paper copy, you can come down to the station in a coupla days."

"Thank you, officer," Blue said, finally letting go of Rus to take it. Probably only Rus picked up on his faint distaste. There were few Monsters without at least one bad run-in with the local PD at one time or another and Blue had the parking tickets to prove it.

The officers all shuffled their way out the door and left them there to deal with the remnants of Blue’s shop on their own.

Blue turned in a circle, taking in the damages again with a bracing sigh, standing up straight with squared shoulders as he said brightly, “Well! Let’s get sweeping, shall we, and you can tell me what exactly happened?”

Brooms in hand, they got to work, but truthfully, Rus didn’t have much more to tell Blue than he had the police. He’d been helping a customer when someone started firing into the shop and Rus hadn’t caught so much of a glimpse as to who. His attention had been on the rose, on Edge, and the only thing he’d seen was the wreckage of the aftermath. With the police, he hadn’t outright said it, but he’d heavily implied the customer was a Human to keep them from going out to look for Edge. To Blue, he admitted it was a Monster he’d been serving, one that he didn’t know, and the consensus from all was that it was a hate crime against Monsters, yawn, same old, same old, moving on.

Weird as it was, even with his brother Rus was strangely reluctant to talk too much about Edge. Blue didn’t usually come into the shop until the afternoon, too busy tending to the little patch of their garden in the backyard, coaxing them daily into new blooms for Rus to bring in. So he’d never been here when Edge came in before and maybe it was stupid, but Rus wanted to keep that little secret to himself.

Besides, it wasn’t like it mattered. He wasn’t gonna see his mysterious, dangerous stranger again outside of his refreshed daydreams. Even now a new mental script was getting its final touches and maybe this time when the shooting was over, Edge would scoop him up into his arms, carry him out of the shop and their kiss would be—

“Knock knock, anybody home?"

The voice floated in from the very broken front door that Blue was trying to decide how to board up until it could be repaired.

“I’m terribly sorry, we’re closed right now,” Blue bustled over. “There was a small incident, but we’ll be opening our doors again soon!”

He stepped back in surprise as a large Monster in paint-spattered coveralls shuffled inside. He was one of the Mole clan, his small eyes almost squinted shut against the bright sunshine coming in through the broken windows.

“Yeah, we know,” the Mole grunted. “An incident.” He leaned down to hold out a beefy hand that Blue hesitantly shook, “Name’s Murphy. We’re here to get working on it.”

“Oh, but,” Blue sputtered, “I’m sorry, I haven’t even contacted our insurance.”

Murphy pushed his baseball cap back, his broad, whiskered face placid. "Already paid for.”

“Paid for…? By whom?”

“Bossman.” Was all Murphy said, then a louder shout, “Get your asses in here, let’s get to work!”

From outside came a burly Bear Monster and another Mole, both carrying equipment. Blue stumbled back to stand with Rus, both of them watching with mirrored dumbfounded expressions as the three of them started on the broken windows. Well, Rus wasn't quite as dumbfounded; he had an inkling who their mysterious benefactor was and his name rhymed with pledge and ledge and sexy as hell.

They worked with brisk efficiency and by the time rush hour traffic outside was easing, the windows were replaced and a fresh decal declaring the store ‘The Flower Shop Around The Corner’ was affixed to it. Where or how they’d gotten it all so quickly, Rus couldn’t fathom, and Blue was as flabbergasted as he. All the broken planters and glass were swept away and although the store was painfully empty, all it needed was a fresh set of lovely arrangements and they would be back in business.

“New coolers will be delivered by tomorrow morning,” Murphy grunted, swiping at his brow with a rumpled bandanna. The other two were gathering up their equipment to carry it back out their brand-new door. “You got anything that needs an emergency loaner for tonight?”

“No,” Blue told him. His bewilderment was still obvious. “We’ve already put everything that could be recovered into the coolers in the back.”

Murphy nodded. “Good. This here is your invoice and some documentation of the damages.” He handed Blue a printout and an envelope stuffed with photographs that they’d been snapping along the way, quickly printed at the pharmacy across the street. “You give those pictures to your insurance along with that and you take the money they offer, you hear me?”

“Oh, but you said it was paid for?” Blue said uncertainly. “I’m not sure who would but…if it’s paid for, surely the insurance needn’t cover anything?”

A surprisingly wolfish grin for a Mole spread over Murphy’s face, showing off his prominent front teeth. “Paid for, yep, that it is. You pay your insurance on time?”

“Well, of course I do!”

“Never late?” Murphy prodded, “Hand over your hard-earned cash to ‘em to keep your little shop safe? Then you give them that and you take the money, you get me?”

“I think so,” Blue said slowly. He glanced at Rus who only shrugged. Any money from their insurance would be a welcome boon for the loans they were still paying.

“Don’t forget to add up what all your little daisies were worth, too.” With that, Murphy turned around and shuffled back out of their lives as quickly as he’d come into it. Rus and Blue watched him go, then turned to look at each other and the sense of a shrug was heavy in the air.

“Well! That was certainly…” Blue trailed off and shook his head. “Let’s go home, Papy, and get some dinner, shall we?”

“Dinner sounds great, bro,” Rus said honestly. His soul felt like it was gonna start gnawing on the inside of his rib cage.

“Wonderful! I was thinking of trying a new recipe from that book I got at the librarby…library,” Blue corrected, “I have most of the ingredients, I’ll only have to make a few substitutions.”

That gnawing hunger turned tail into something closer to a whimper and Rus tried not to let it show on his face. His big brother tried so hard when it came to the household stuff. Their tiny home was pristine, the old shabby wallpaper peeled away and replaced with sunny yellow paint, the curtains hemmed by hand and the garden, the most important feature of their carefully chosen property, was laid out in ruler-straight lines, each bloom coaxed to its fullest potential. That it was all hidden behind a tall fence with plenty of protection spells on it didn’t matter, it was lovely to see for them, all of it, and it was theirs.

Cooking, however, was where Blue’s endless enthusiasm hadn’t managed yet to make a dent. Rus still shuddered to remember the time he’d substituted ranch dressing for yogurt under the theory they were both white-ish. Might’ve worked better if he hadn’t been making banana muffins at the time.

Rus was almost ashamed of his relief as Blue went on, “…but I may have to leave that for tomorrow, it is getting late. How do you feel about sandwiches?”

“sandwiches are fine,” Rus said, trying not to sound too enthused. “peanut butter and extra honey?”

“You’ve had a long day, brother,” Blue told him. He leaned against Rus’s leg, his head at hip-level, and smiled crookedly up at him, “I’ll let you put the honey on yourself.”

“deal!” Rus laughed and he followed Blue out the door where their brass bell rang anew, pausing only to set the alarm as they headed for the van.

~~*~~

That night, Rus thought he might have bad dreams from what had happened. Turned out, his psyche was pretty unfazed by all that action. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow and he only woke to his alarm the next morning.

Last night, he and Blue came up with a plan over their sandwich dinners. He’d head in and get some basket arrangements started for any deliveries that came in from their website the night before. Blue would come out later in the van with fresh flowers and they’d finish the baskets together so that Blue could get working on the deliveries and Rus could unload the rest of the stock.

Rus showered and dressed in record time, heading out with only a little muzziness still lingering. His backpack was leaning next to the door and not where he’d slung it into a chair the night before and a quick peek found a bagged lunch ready for him. Another sandwich, he saw with relief, apple slices and a few carefully wrapped slices of cheese.

He’d left his stripes behind a while ago, but Blue hadn’t managed to dump all his big brother protectiveness yet, and if it was annoying sometimes, that irritation never included a tasty lunch.

At the bus stop, Rus kept his hoodie pulled up over his skull, keeping back from the Humans milling around the bench seat while he snuck a cigarette. Hopefully the smell would be mostly gone by the time Blue came into the shop and if it wasn’t, that’s why some clever Human invented Febreze.

A shame that most Humans weren’t clever enough to realize Monsters weren’t any kind of threat to them. Or maybe it was a lack of kindness that had the other riders sending glares at Rus as he settled into his usual seat at the front of the bus. Not all of the drivers were as distrusting as their passengers and this guy was one of the nicer ones, he’d offered Rus a nod as he tapped his bus pass. Sitting by the front where the driver could possibly intercede if anyone got riled up was safer and if they didn’t, Rus always knew a shortcut for a quick exit. He preferred not to use them in front of the Humans, but hey, in case of emergency, break minds, right?

His stop wasn’t too far away. Blue wanted the store in the Human shopping district to get more business, but not so far away it would be difficult for him to go back and forth from the garden. Rus hopped easily down the bus steps at the stop, his long legs carrying him quickly away from the crowd of Humans behind him. They wouldn’t be opening up until noon today to give Blue some time to drum up the inventory, so he had a few extra minutes. Maybe he’d stop up the street for a coffee, the scones were always fresh at that shop and—

He didn’t see the two burly Monsters coming up on him until they were both right beside him, squashing him in-between their large bodies. A faint sting registered at his cervical vertebrae, like an insect bite although Rus didn’t know any insects on the surface that could penetrate bone. He rubbed the spot automatically, trying to step away from the two Monsters, complaining, “hey, look out!”

Only they weren’t impatient commuters trying to push past him. They were guiding him along with painful grips, Dog Monsters, Rus realized, each dressed in a black suit and wearing sunglasses even though the sun was barely past the horizon. One of them growled out, "Boss wants to have a chat."

Rus’s ‘who the fuck’ never made it past a thought. A long gleaming black car pulled up directly next to them and before he could protest, he was shoved through an open door directly into the backseat.

He scrambled to sit up, his soul pounding, and he could feel the car pulling away from the curb the second the door slammed shut. Teleporting from a moving vehicle was risky but no more than staying in an unknown car after a random kidnapping, Rus figured. He concentrated, focusing his mental exit on their shop and…nothing.

He tried again, a sour taste rising at the back of his mouth. His magic was right there and yet somehow out of reach, what in the name of fuck was going on?

“you can go ahead and quit that,” came from the seat across from him, “i wanted to make sure we’d have a chance to chat before you toddled away. just a little concoction that suppresses your magic, it’ll wear off soon enough.”

“who are you?” Rus blurted. He couldn't see a face, there were glaringly bright lights shining from the ceiling directly at him, blinding him. All he caught was a fleeting flash of gold and a glimpse of three burning red eyes. Automatically, he thought of Edge but no, that voice was nothing like the smooth death-by-chocolate one that filled his recent daydreams. This voice was rough with damage, a harsh croak coming from the darkness.

The car was probably the nicest Rus had ever been in. Leather seats buttery-soft, the wheels gliding along the road effortlessly. A dark glass shield kept the driver from sight and there was probably a mini-fridge back here somewhere with bottles of Evian water ready to be mixed with an aged whiskey to cut the peaty smokiness. He might’ve even enjoyed the ride if that expensive interior wasn’t also filled with an aura of menacing and foul smoke, and Rus realized that third light was no eye, but a lit cigar burning.

“who i am don’t really matter.” A fresh rush of that cigar smell filled the air on an exhale and Rus held back a cough. “your name is papyrus. not very creative, pretty common name for a skeleton. you and your bro live over in the projects in the swap neighborhood. last year you two got a permit to open shop out with the humies.”

“that hardly seems fair, you know an awful lot about me,” Rus said warily.

“well, see, i been awful curious to see you,” that unseen person chuckled, “see, i checked into it and your little shop ain’t paid any protection money. normal cut is ten percent but, eh, out here with all this extra business, i’d say twenty’s more’n fair. and yet, not a nickel nor dime’s made it my way.”

“prot-we don’t need protection!” Rus sputtered.

“no?” A cloud of exhaled smoke on a chuckle filled the small space. “tell that to your little shop.” The seat creaked as the other Monster leaned forward, still showing nothing more than crimson eyes through the glare of lights. “you wanna tell me what your relationship is with edge?"

"how did you know—" Rus broke off. Well, that put the kibosh on outright denial, didn't it. “we don't have any sort of relationship. he shops at my store sometimes.” Impulsively, Rus added, “i don't think he'll be back again.”

"no? no kind of relationship, you ain’t on our list, but he threw together some boys to come fix up your place right quick. hm. interestin’.” He drew out the word like warm, bitter molasses, “in-ter-rest-in."

"i think he was being nice…who are you?" Rus burst out again. The little threads of his panic were starting to weave together and soon he’d be covered in a jittery blanket of fear. "and where are you taking me?"

That question was ignored. "huh, but you ain’t bad on the eyes. bet you’re even better on your back.” That rough voice lowered into a horrifying purr, “mighta offered you protection for free too, if you was part of the bargain. whatcha say, pretty? care to make it a double?”

Rus scooted into the furthest corner of the car, unable to swallow back his growing fear. He’d never felt so helpless, not even yesterday with the gunfire and glass raining down on them and where the comforting presence of his magic should be was only buzzing numbness, blocked away from him, he couldn’t, he couldn’t! "don’t touch me!”

That thin cry was less warning than a plea and around a rough chuckle Rus heard the hiss of a cigar being crushed out in an ashtray. "wouldn’t dream of it, precious.” Those eyes flicked to one of the tinted windows. "don't worry, we're almost at your stop.”

The car rolled smoothly to a halt without the wheezy squeal of the brakes their van always groaned out. One of the doors was almost ripped open, making Rus cringe from the sudden brilliance of the morning sunshine, and a hulking figure looming through the door only made him flinch back more. It took him a moment for recognition to hit, almost the same second the figure spoke.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing," Edge snarled.

"just havin' a little chat,” All light humor and absurdly teasing admonishment, that shifted like a whiplash to stinging fury, “which wouldna been necessary if you were doing your job right!"

Edge inhaled sharply through his nasal aperture, his teeth grinding together so hard Rus half-expected him to spit out a mouthful of dust. Instead, he turned to Rus and said curtly, "Get out of the car."

Rus scrambled for the opened door, half-expecting to be brutally yanked back inside. His would-be kidnapper didn’t make a move and Edge stepped back enough to let him get outside where he almost fell to the sidewalk, leaning against the pole of a street sign as he panted raggedly.

He resisted the urge to grab hold of Edge and cling to him like yesterday. That would be bad, right? Yeah, probably bad right now.

Edge only glared into the car, reaching in with one long arm. Instead of screaming or the sounds of blows there was only a rustle and Rus blinked in surprise as Edge pulled out his backpack, struck by incongruousness of the spongebob decal and the rattling anime pins against his expensive suit.

Edge viciously slammed the door shut and the car pulled away, blending back into traffic and gone as if it had never been there.

“thanks,” Rus laughed nervously, “my hero.”

He grunted in surprise and stumbled back a step as his backpack was abruptly thrust into his arms with a curt, “Go home.”

“but—" Rus gaped up at him, astonished. After all that, getting snagged off the street like some kind of heist movie, his shop getting shot up the day before, all Edge had for him was go home? Not damn well likely, “hold on a minute! i want some answers, here!”

“What you want doesn’t matter!” Edge snapped. His crimson eye lights blazed, his huge bulk looming over Rus, all of it a little too similar to the blank-faced asshole in the car and Rus swallowed back the renewed rush of fear. “What’s important is what I want, which is nothing! I don’t want your name, I don’t want your ridiculous flowers, I don’t want anything from you! Go home, go back to your little shop and your little life, and be grateful for it!”

Edge turned on his heel and stalked away, his expensive leather shoes strangely quiet on the sidewalk and Rus watched him go mutely, until he turned a corner and was out of sight.

He only realized he was crying when a drop of wetness landed on his hand where he was still clutching his backpack.

Impatiently, Rus wiped the tears away on his sleeve. Whatever, Edge obviously saved him from whoever that asshole was, Rus didn’t really have a right to complain that the rescue was a little less prince charming this time, did he?

Yeah, well, he was still gonna, even if it was only in his own head.

The day was warming up and Rus set his backpack down and stripped off his sweatshirt to stuff it inside, leaving him in his shirtsleeves and his work apron. If he had to use his sweatshirt as a quick Kleenex, well, he only better make sure he did the laundry this week.

A quick look around showed familiar buildings. He wasn’t far from the shop, Rus realized. They must’ve been driving around in circles. The coffee place with the scones he was craving was less than half a block away and Rus headed over because he damn well deserved it now. He kept his skull down and didn’t complain about the ‘Monsters Only’ line. Plenty of places still didn’t allow Monsters at all.

The barista refused to touch his travel mug, instead shoving his drink at him in a paper cup. She didn’t bother to even watch Rus drop his change in the tip jar. Once he was back outside, Rus poured the coffee into it himself, tossing the empty cup into the trash. One bite of his scone proved to be chokingly dry, probably leftover from yesterday. It followed the paper cup into the trash and Rus sighed as he started trudging his way to the shop.

Who would have guessed he could actually have a shittier day than yesterday?

At least car asshole’s prediction felt like it was coming true, that numbness where his magic should be was startling to tingle uncomfortably, his soul all one prickling itch. Probably soon it’d be back to normal. For now, it was time to get to work and maybe for today, he’d give the daydreams a rest.

The storefront at least still looked fine. Rus fished out his keys at almost the same moment a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, forcing him to turn. Rus sighed impatiently, “come on, guys, i don’t have time for this—"

The blow caught him off guard, pain blossoming across his face. Warm wetness ran over his mouth and Rus touched it with dazed, trembling fingers, staring uncomprehendingly at the redness on them.

That’s marrow, he realized numbly, droplets pattering down to stain his clean apron, they’d hit him but why—a second blow struck and the plastic mug tumbled from his hand, clattering on the pavement and splattered hot coffee across his shoes as Rus collapsed into darkness.

~~*~~

tbc

Go to chapter 3!

[sierraraeck]

Betrayal (Pt.1)

BAU x OC Aundreya

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: Partially inspired by 8x4 God Complex. Aundreya finally figures out who Spencer has been calling on the payphone. Story ten.

Category: Fluff at the beginning, then angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Normal CM stuff. Mentions of drugs. An internal identity crisis.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Please welcome Tara Lewis everyone. I know that she was never a part of this particular team, but she now has a guest appearance because I wanted her to have one.

“You have zero manners,” Morgan said.

“That is not true!” I snapped back.

“Yes. It is. You literally inhale your food in under ten seconds and just now you walked in here and basically yelled ‘I’m back, baby’ to the entire bullpen,” he pointed out.

“Okay, sure, but that doesn’t mean I lack all manners completely. I just have unconventional ones,” I countered.

“Unconventional?” Prentiss snorted. “You are one of the most uncivilized people I have ever met.”

“Fuck you, I’m civilized!” I said, flabbergasted. They both just stared at me with a knowing look and I wanted to hit myself. I slowly nodded my head, and clicked my tongue. “Yeah. I hear it now.”

Morgan gave a single laugh shaking his head and Prentiss just rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Ah, who cares? At least you keep things interesting,” a voice behind me said. I turned around to see a tall, gorgeous woman I didn’t recognize standing behind me.

Prentiss jumped up and hugged her, “Tara! It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you could join us for this case.”

“I’m happy to be here,” she said.

“Derek Morgan,” he introduced, holding his hand out. She shook it and then turned to me.

“Aundreya Chambers.”

“I know,” Tara said, extending her hand. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered, but I just brushed it off.

I was about to reach for her hand when Morgan interrupted, “Woah, woah, woah. You might not want to do that.”

I turned to glare at him, knowing he was going to make some dumbass joke about me ‘rubbing off on people’. But then I decided I’d not only go along with it, but I’d take control of it.

“Wait, why?” Tara asked, hand still floating in mid air.

“It’s because I have a highly contagious, chronic disease. I hope you have all of your vaccines,” I said before Morgan could jump in. He gave me a wide-eyed look, but shortly after, I saw him suppress a smile.

“Oh, really?” Tara’s expression was a mix between confusion and worry.

“Yeah, I’ve been battling it for pretty much my entire life. It’s gotten worse over these past couple of years, though,” I said. Emily frowned at me, but Derek was definitely enjoying himself.

“What disease?”

“It’s uh … It’s called uh,” I started, snapping my fingers like I was trying to recall the word. “Derek, what’s it called?”

“Being a bitch?” he offered, eyebrows raised.

“Ah! That’s the one!” I said, pointing my finger over at him like I’d just had a revelation. I winked at him and he couldn’t hold back his grin any longer.

Tara started laughing, but then quickly composed herself. “That sounds really serious, I’m so sorry to hear that. How are you doing?”

“You know, I manage,” I said, smiling at her.

She nodded, returning my smile. “Well, I actually lived with someone fighting that very same disease, so I’ve built up the antibodies. I don’t think one handshake will hurt.”

“Few. That’s a relief,” I said, finally shaking her hand.

“You will have to excuse her and her occasional antics,” JJ said walking by.

Spencer was right behind her, gesturing toward Morgan. “Yeah, and his. He’s not much better.”

“That’s a load of crap,” Morgan was quick to defend.

“Sure it is,” Emily said sarcastically.

Rossi walked into the room, already knowing that we were being unprofessional. “Guys, behave. Agent Lewis, I apologize for anything they may have already said or done.” He looked pointedly at Morgan and I. We both put our hands up in defense.

Tara still had a smile plastered on her face. “Don’t worry. I already like your team. I’m going to have no problem working with you all on this case.”

“And we already like you,” I told her. “I’m glad you have a good sense of humor.”

“What can I say? I enjoy trying to keep the mood as light as possible. Gotta have some sort of balance working a job like this,” she said. We all nodded profusely at her words.

When we arrived at the round table, Hotch was already there.

“So I see you’ve met Doctor Lewis,” he raised his eyebrows.

“Ooh. Doctor. Be careful Spencer, she’s coming for your title,” I joked.

“Oh, no! Definitely not. Under no circumstances do I want to compete against the genius,” she quickly corrected. Reid just shyly smiled.

“I think you should at least try and give him a run for his money,” I entertained.

“Aundreya?” Aaron intervened.

“Yeah?”

“Focus.”

“What is it with you people today, coming at me like this,” I let my hands slap against my thighs.

“Aundreya.”

“Yes, okay, I’m focused, god.”

He gave me that signature stone face and I gestured for him to continue. I saw Derek smirk out of the corner of my eye, so I swiftly made eye contact with him, scratching my temple with only my middle finger. He blew air out of his nose in a small laugh.

“We are going to be flying to Phoenix to revisit the Ken Keith case. As you all know, he was one of Phoenix’s most prolific serial killers and at some point we thought he had a partner, but the killings stopped after he was incarcerated, so we figured we had it wrong. Last night, there was another killing that partially matched Keith’s MO and signature,” Aaron explained.

“Partially matched?” Prentiss asked.

“When the body was found, they had all of their limbs, except their leg had been amputated and replaced.”

“Okay, so a copycat?” JJ asked.

“That’s what the local PD initially thought, but the victim had traces of tomato soup in her stomach, a ritual that was never released to the public,” Hotch said. ��Doctor Lewis will be aiding us in speaking with Keith considering that is her area of expertise.”

I leaned over and whispered, “Have fun with that.”

“I always do,” Tara replied.

“If this partner is anything like Keith, we need to catch him as quickly as possible. Wheels up in 30.”

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Ken Keith is what you would call a mad scientist. He spent five years amputating one of his victim’s legs, and then trying to replace it with someone else’s. When it didn’t work, he would cut off all of their limbs and dump their torso with their head. We never knew what he did with the rest of the limbs. After he got arrested, he refused to tell us why he did any of it. Hopefully Tara could change that, but if not, the rest of us basically started over with the profile.

On the plane after we had already discussed all of the information we had, I saw Rossi fumbling around with a Rubik’s cube.

“I didn’t take you for a Rubik’s cube person,” I commented.

He set the cube down in front of him with a frustrated sigh. “That’s because I’m not. I had an old friend give me this, challenging me to figure out how to solve it before he could. As you can see, it is not working out so well for me.”

I laughed. “I can help you.”

“You know how to solve a Rubik’s cube?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I have a variety of odd skills.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said, relinquishing the cube to me. “Have at it.”

Within the next thirty or so seconds, I set the cube back down, completely solved.

“I have to say I’m impressed,” Rossi admitted, picking up the cube to evaluate it, “I don’t know how you do that.”

“It’s really just all math,” Reid said, sitting down next to us, “See, there are a variety of algorithms that are used at various steps in the process, and many people have come up with numerous different ways that work. For example, there is one that solves for the entire first and second layer, then moves on to completing the top before the corners, and then there are others that do the reverse, completing the corners before the top.”

Rossi just stared at him, and if I had to guess what was going through his head, it was somewhere between ‘I have no idea what the hell you just said’ and ‘I’m not quite sure I care’.

“In other words, there are patterns you can learn that will help you solve it. We can teach you, if you want,” I offered.

“I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep up,” Rossi said. He slid the cube back over mine and Reid’s way.

Reid scooped it up and started fidgeting with it. “I didn’t know you could solve a Rubik’s cube.”

“I can. Not only that, but I can solve a two-by-two, and a four-by-four,” I said, content with my answer.

He looked at me with furrowed brows. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Tara. “Prove it.”

I looked up at her. “Gladly. When we get back, I will show off my cube-solving skills.”

She smiled, “I look forward to it.”

“Or she can just prove it now,” Spencer said, retrieving three cubes from his bag.

“Of course you would have those in your bag,” I chuckled. “Go ahead, then. Mix them up for me.”

“Okay, now I have to get in on the action,” Morgan said, reaching over Reid from the seat behind him and grabbing the biggest cube. I rolled my eyes.

Once the three of them thought that the cubes were sufficiently mixed up, I started solving. I solved the two-by-two first, then the three-by-three, then the four-by-four. I set them down in a row next to each other.

“I’ll be damned,” Morgan said, shaking his head.

“What? Did you ever doubt me?” I feigned offense.

“Definitely not,” he said with a wink.

“Well, it looks to me that you are now the one giving the genius a run for his money,” Tara said.

I scoffed. “Nope. I’m sure he could still kick my ass.”

“Willing to test that theory?” Derek asked.

“Absolutely,” I said, looking at Spencer expectantly.

“Sure.”

Tara messed up one of the three-by-three cubes for me, and Derek messed up the other for Spencer.

“Okay, I want you both to start at the same time when I say go,” Tara said. She teased us, making us wait on the edge of our seats in silence before finally saying, “Go.”

We both started solving and according to the lovely commentary provided by Derek, I was in the lead. Soon though, too soon, that started to change.

“Oh no. He’s catching up,” I said.

“How do you know that? You haven’t taken your eyes off of your own,” Emily asked. To her point, I hadn’t even realized she was there.

“I can hear it.”

“You can he-” Morgan started, cutting himself off. “Of course you can. Naturally.”

A few seconds later, I put my cube down, just moments before Spencer put his down.

“That’s unbelievable,” Rossi teased. He was resting his chin on his hand, an amused smirk on his face as he watched Spencer and I compete. All he was missing was a bowl of popcorn.

“I almost had you!” Reid exclaimed.

“You’re outta practice. Maybe next time, champ,” I said, patting his shoulder.

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Three days into our investigation, we had a possible partner’s name and body language confirmation from Keith. Garcia sent us his work and home addresses like the lovely queen she is, and we split up into two groups. Spencer, Emily, Rossi, and myself went to his work address while Hotch, Morgan, JJ, and Tara went to his home address.

“Can I help you?” asked a tall, black haired man.

“Yes, we are looking for Caleb Wheelan,” Prentiss said, holding out her badge.

“He’s not in today,” the man responded. “Is there a problem?”

“We just need to ask him a few questions. Do you know where he would be?”

“I’d assume at his house because he called in sick this morning,” the man told us.

We asked him a variety of other questions about his co-worker and even searched his cubicle and computer and found nothing.

“Thank you. Please give us a call if he turns up,” Prentiss concluded, handing the man her business card. The man nodded and we walked away, Reid already on the phone with Aaron.

“He wasn’t at his house, but there is nothing there that points to him being our unsub,” he said once he got off the phone.

“Okay, so we keep digging, and hopefully we’ll be able to find him and ask him some questions,” Rossi said, and we headed back to the precinct.

The next day, Caleb Wheelan called us.

“I just got off the phone with Wheelan, and he claims that he knew Keith before he had his psychotic break. They worked together and Keith tried to rope Wheelan into his experiments, but once Wheelan realized what was actually going on, he backed out,” Emily said, walking into the conference room.

“Do you believe him?” I asked.

“Yeah. The rest of the details he gave me, the fact that we found nothing at his home or work, and he only fits portions of the profile, suggest that he’s telling the truth,” Emily stated.

“Okay, great. What now?” JJ asked.

“Now we revisit the profile. Lewis is still having trouble getting Keith to tell us anything, so we should start coming up with ideas as to why he did this, and why this new unsub hasn’t escalated as much as Keith, only removing their leg not the rest of their limbs,” Hotch said.

We didn’t have much time to brainstorm because the deputy came in, informing us that there was another body.

We raced to the crime scene, a small, trashed alley, immediately noticing the change in MO.

“The victim’s name is Maria Rodriguez,” Morgan said.

“First time he’s operated on a woman,” Reid pointed out.

“And he transplanted the left leg this time,” Morgan said.

“She died from blood loss, there’s no gangrene on the transplanted leg which means the surgery’s fresh.”

“You think he still has the other woman?”

“It justifies his haste in dumping her here. Why didn’t he go to the desert or a hospital?” Spencer’s voice slowed on the last word, realization taking over his face.

“It also means he’s speeding up his surgeries,” Derek deduced. Without another word, Spencer walked away from us, reaching for his phone in his pocket. “Reid, where are you going?”

When he didn’t answer I called after him, “Reid!”

I turned back to look at Morgan, puzzled.

He shrugged his shoulders and asked, “What’s going on with him?”

“I have no idea. I’ve been trying to ask him about it, but I keep getting a bunch of nothing.”

“You don’t think he’s back on drugs do you?”

“No. This is a whole different kind of strange,” I said. Derek just sighed and turned his attention back to the victim.

I glanced back at Spencer right as he hung up, making eye contact with me for only a second before turning away. “Tara! Lewis, wait. Where are you going?”

This caught Derek’s attention and he looked back over to where Reid was now jogging toward Lewis.

“Hotch called. He wants us back at the station ASAP,” Tara said. I checked my own phone, realizing I had just received a text as well.

“Can you give me a ride to 5th and Main? It’s on the way,” Spencer asked.

What the hell?

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tara started wearily. “What’s at 5th and Main?”

That’s what I’d like to know.

“I need to talk to somebody,” Reid said, walking around to open the passenger-side door before any one of us could protest. Derek and I looked at Lewis, eyes wide, but she just shrugged.

“Oh, okay, sure.”

Not even concerned with personal privacy, I called Garcia.

“Hey Queen P. What’s at 5th and Main?”

“It’s a payphone. I don’t know why he asked for it either,” she responded.

A payphone? So he is back on drugs?

“Okay, thanks, girl,” I said, hanging up.

Derek and I got into the car and drove back to the precinct. The nice thing was that Spencer was right: 5th and Main was on the way. Once we got there, I decided I’d take a ‘bathroom break’. When I was out of sight of the rest of the team, I hauled ass to 5th and Main. I didn’t want to take any chances in case he was going to meet another dealer, considering how well that ended last time.

When I got there, I easily spotted him. I crept up the side of brick building just behind the payphone, getting as close as I could without being seen.

“Yes, thank you, exactly! That’s not an accident. He’s obviously using it as a cover to screen for something and that’s why I’m calling you. I’m hoping that you can help me figure out what he’s screening for,” I heard Spencer say.

What? Why is he discussing the case with this person? Clearly he’s comfortable with them because of how he’s addressing them.

My mind was racing.

“Yeah we worked doubling into the profile … I don’t know, actually … So you think this guy’s pursuing his own impossible cause …”

Who is this person? Who’s smart enough that Spencer’s going to them for help on a case? Not to mention close enough to him?

“Before he transplants, he turns them into amputees. That’s part of his experiment. What if there’s a condition the victim shares, something involving amputation?” he asked.

He’s calling them from a payphone like he did with his dealer, but this person isn’t a dealer. Could this be that friend I never followed up on that was being threatened?

“Unless it’s congenital, something that caused the amputation in utero?” A pause. “Exactly. So I guess the question is, what else causes birth defects?”

Okay, focus. He’s been calling someone on a payphone for at least a month, that I know of, so probably a bit longer. He has a secret friend that he really wants to protect. He was acting weird around Derek and I earlier tonight and asked Tara, the temporary member, to drive him instead of one of us. He’s showing no signs of relapse drug abuse.

I was racking my brain, trying to make sense of all of this.

Wait. If he’s calling this person on payphones, was he calling them right before we went to meet his dealer?

“What if we focused on what causes limb deformities specifically?” he asked.

This person is knowledgeable in the medical field. Surgeon, nurse, pediatrics, geneticist, epidemiologist, immunologist, infectious disease specialist…

“But there are a lot of different strains of herpes. You know, chicken pox, for instance. If a mother isn’t inoculated and she passes the virus in utero, can’t that cause birth defects?”

He’s literally solving this case with whoever the hell this is and the rest of us aren’t even included. He‘s talking with such passion and intrigue, his mind and mouth moving a million miles an hour, something he usually only did when he was bouncing ideas off of me or talking with me on the jet.

I checked my watch.

Shit. I’ve been out for five minutes.

I had to get back to the precinct and soon. The team was going to ask questions, and I couldn’t risk Reid getting back before me. I couldn’t wait to hear what else he had to say, quickly moving away from the side of the building, bursting into a full on sprint. I reached the precinct doors, somewhat out of breath, knowing the pink tint on my face was going to betray me.

I entered the conference room as casually as possible. Luckily, they were all deep in thought, wondering what we’d missed. I would’ve loved to jump in and offer what little information I heard from a one-sided phone call, but I knew I wouldn’t be helpful and all it would do would just let them know that I was eavesdropping. We’d just have to wait until Spencer got back.

When he did, he had the key information that we needed to narrow down our search. Apparently, we were looking for a man who married a woman that had limb deformities caused by chicken pox. The only one that showed up in Garcia’s search was a John Nelson. Rossi, JJ, and Reid headed over to his house to bring him in for questioning.

“What was that about?” Emily wondered aloud.

“I’d love to know,” I agreed.

“No, not that. Well yes, that, but I was more wondering about you.”

“About me?”

“Yeah. Is everything okay? You look stressed,” she pointed out.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I replied.

“You sure? You look a little flushed.”

“I’m good, I promise.”

“Alright. Let me know if that changes,” she said with a quick eyebrow raise.

“Will do,” I said. We both knew that was a lie.

Part 2

Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl

@kris-stuff

@wooya1224

[keshetchai]

I’m going to throw this under a cut, it’s mostly just personal stuff and idk. I don’t care who reads it particularly but also I think it’s nice to put rambles under the jump cut. 

I recognize I SHOULD reach out to my rabbi (not today, not right before shabbat, but in general just to talk because I need to talk) and I SHOULD find a therapist to talk to and I SHOULD do a lot of things but actually my brain is just a merry-go-round of “I’m okay, but I’m not? Things are okay, but they are bad actually?” i should be journaling in my real deal journal! but i’m not? 

I didn’t have my adderall refilled for a month and now i’m back on it again and am a little jumpy (this will usually settle away after a day or two). the med tech asked how i was doing with my anxiety and depression and it’s surreal to be like “oh my normal baseline clinical anxiety and depression are fine, it’s the situational part that is out of control” and try to have that...be understandable lol. 

I keep telling myself I, personally, am okay. I am secure in ways I wasn’t before b’’h. I am doing better. a LOT better. i recognize this. I feel like I have been...not able to engage as Jewishly as I really want which is upsetting to me. I’m not sure what to re-focus on doing so that I am engaged again. 

but also simultaneously, while I the individual am okay, there is a lot that is not okay that makes me...less okay? not just the world in general, but my little brother (19 yo) has been lying to family for months about various things (and usually gets caught out) for MONTHS. 

last fall he was supposed to be starting community college, he had a full time(!) job and I was so so proud. But then it began to unravel. He quit his job (partly because they fired his friend, and partly because they were disorganized and had no one to train him to do his job apparently?). Then without telling anyone right before the pandemic hit, he dropped out of school. (not even online classes, just dropped out totally. and lied.) 

then he started claiming he was dating this girl he met online (which is not bad PER SE) but she is maybe 16?? too young!!! at some point he took himself to the hospital psych ward, which is fine, he’s allowed to do that and get help if he needs. and then after midnight on my mother’s birthday in april he asked if he could just “Get out of the house” for the night and rent a hotel room “nearby”. my mom said okay, and let him borrow her truck. there’s many details missing here like our cousin M found out about his real plan and tried to stop him, told her dad, who tried to warn my mom i guess, who knows. well, come to find out that his “nearbye” was not in the same STATE even. He ended up flipping her truck in NEW MEXICO. he was fine, but he totaled her truck. 

mom gets new truck per insurance payout. brother is fine. except last weekend(?) my mom texts me asking if I heard from my brother, the answer was no. apparently he stole $4,500 from my grandparents by going to the atm with my nana’s debit card. when she called the bank to report fraud, she had to keep calling back for DAYS. she cried. my brother said nothing. she of course, filed a police report because an atm withdrawal doesn’t look like a fraud case, it looks like spending your own money. but once the police report is on file, the bank pulled the atm video records. and they have my brother on tape. 

so he committed a felony on tape (thinking I guess, that the bank would obviously just pay it back to my grandparents, all this money they saved and saved to replace furniture and make home repairs, they are broke, literally bankrupt.) and then I had to spend the weekend convincing my mother that davka even people caught red handed should demand to speak with legal counsel. (she was very “he is taking responsibility for this!!!” oh sure, but he still needs a lawyer.) 

anyways my grandparents kicked him out (rightfully so they fed and housed him for most of his life and he steals nearly 5,000??? apparently he is claiming he owed the money to drug dealers (if true, he’s an absolute radish brain. his mother works for the local courts, his grandfather used to be a prison guard, his uncle worked gang/drugs task force for the local police, like...i’m the first one who didn’t even ATTEMPT ROTC or law enforcement at some point)

the last updates i have are: 1.) the local PD isn’t jailing anyone for non-violent crime right now due to COVID, as long as my brother turned himself in which is why i told my mother he needs a lawyer 2.) he’ll probably be able to vote again in our state after time served or like...parole or who knows what but still, of course he gets likely charged with a felony before his first election, bc my grandparents will probably need to pursue this to get any money back 3.) my mom is staying with him in a hotel, and they’re hoping to get him into a shelter bc ofc he QUIT HIS JOB and my grandparents RIGHTFULLY kicked him out for theft. and he has nowhere to go. even if i wasn’t across the country, I can’t take a literal bank theft/fraud criminal in my home because I work for a Bank. My uncle can’t take him, he’s a cop. our other uncle lives in the side-house at my grandparent’s. Our dad is in Mexico, and you can’t leave the country if you don’t have a passport, which my brother doesn’t. 

I’m furious at him and furious at my mother who honestly, was enabling some of his behavior in ways I would’ve never EVER been allowed to do as a kid. 

I want to scream. uuuuughhhhhhh. I told my mother MONTHS ago he was out of line and I wouldn’t have gotten as far as XYZ but no, grand theft auto of her truck wasn’t enough she waits until he commits theft related to drugs. he is NINETEEN. 

[zoequeenz]

Won’t Get Fooled Again (Part 1)

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER 

3rd Person POV

“The forecast, plenty of sunshine through today with seasonal temperatures.” announces the man on the radio as Joe Reese sits in his car waiting. He turns off the radio right as Gil Clurman walks out to his car with a plain brown box in his hand. Joe then gets out of his car, he is angry.

“Clurman!”

Gil sets the box down on the top of his car.

“Why didn’t you return my calls, Gil?” Joe asks.

“Come on, Joe, give me a break.” Gil answers.

“I’m late for a meeting.”

“I left messages on every line.” says Joe.

“I even talked to your assistant.”

“Look, I’ve been really busy, okay?” Gil answers.

“We have a meeting scheduled tomorrow. We’ll talk then, okay?”

“That’s right, we will.” Joe says angrily.

“You blow me off again, it’s gonna get ugly, and I won’t be so understanding next time.”

Joe turns away, heading back to his car. Gil slightly frightened moves to get into his car. He grabs the package and BOOM! While Joe recovers he turns to see Gil screaming on the ground, in pain. His leg is missing.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

We are getting called in for a bombing case in Palm Beach. Of course the media has gotten their grimy hands on it and will spread massive panic. Not that the word shouldn’t get out but the media is the media and they don’t always have the right information. They also give the unsub what he or she wants. Fame. I walk with JJ into the briefing room. This would be the first case in a while where she would be joining us. Hotch and Gideon walk in shortly after. We get our files and start looking over the case.

“Pipe bombs.” Gideon says.

“Packed in cardboard boxes.” Derek says handing Gideon a photo.

“Package bombs.” Hotch adds.

“Sent through the mail?” Gideon asks.

“No. The other picture in your hand is of the switch ATF found. Same mechanism for both bombs, mercury activated.” Derek states.

“What does that mean?” Elle asks.

“There are contacts to the detonator on either end of a bent tube full of mercury.” Spencer answers.

“What it means is all you have to do is tilt the package to detonate it.” Morgan explains in more detail.

“So they couldn’t have been sent through the mail.” Elle states.

“The bomber had to deliver them himself.”

“Exactly.” I say.

“Strange way to commit an act of terrorism. Why go to all this trouble to kill just a few people?” Hotch asks.

“Let’s recommend not raising the terror alert level for now.” Gideon suggests.

“No reason to spread panic.”

“We got news.” JJ declares walking into the room. She then turned on the TV.

“This is just a local channel, but the coverage is everywhere now. CNN, Fox, MSNBC, Al Jazeera, you name it.”

“So much for not spreading panic.” says Hotch.

On screen was a reporter speaking about the bombing and the most recent victim. He got lucky. Badly injured but in ICU.

“If DHS doesn’t raise the terror alert now, they’ll look weak.” says Gideon.

“Make sure homeland security knows that this is everywhere.” Hotch tells JJ.

Just as she was about to leave another bomb exploded live on TV. Everyone looked around in shock.

“Looks like we are going to Palm Beach. Let’s meet at the airstrip in 20.” Hotch tells us.

While I was at my desk I overheard Hotch and Derek talking. Derek wanted to stay behind to look at the bomb fragments because he was the only one on the team with an ATF background. Hotch then kinda teased him for wanting to stay but knowing that it was only because Derek is still weary of Gideon.

“Hey Derek, just wanted to say goodbye before we leave.” I say walking up to him.

“Now Little One, goodbye is for forever. I prefer “see ya later” for this job.” He says.

I giggle but understand where he is coming from. Goodbye can mean forever but whenever I am separated from a part of my team I feel like maybe I should say something just incase.

“Okay then, see ya later.” I say hugging him.

“See ya later. Little One.” he returns welcoming the hug.

I pull away and smile up at him. Then I make my way to the jet.

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“The bombings occurred within three miles of each other. First victim was seventy four year old widow, Barbara Keller.” Hotch says setting her picture down on the table between Spencer and I.

“Two hours after that. Clurman got hit in his driveway, and forty five minutes later...well, we all saw that. Jill Swensom, thirty four year old housewife who lived across the street from Clurman. Of the three only Clurman survived.”

“Is there any connection between the victims?” Spencer asks.

“One. Clurman was a partner in a ten million dollar condo development deal in which Keller was an investor, and a few weeks ago the whole deal went bust.” Hotch answers.

“Went bust how?” Elle asks.

“Geologists discovered that the land was on methane, the condos never got built, the land became worthless. And Clurman lost a lot of people a lot of money.” Hotch tells her.

“So maybe one of them was mad enough to take aim at Clurman.” Spencer suggests.

“Oh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s a little too early to theorize about motive.” Gideon interjects.

“Then where do we start?”  Elle asks.

“From the beginning.” he replies.

“What do we know about bombers?”

“Mostly male, loners,” Spencer starts.

“History of criminal activity.” I add.

“About fifty percent of all bombers are actually the product of vandalism.” Spencer interjects.

“And more often than not, bombers end up accidentally blowing themselves up, so the first suspects you always look for in the bombing case are the victims.” Hotch adds.

“Clurman was the only male. Losing a large business deal like that it could be a powerful stressor.” Elle says.

“Well, then there’s the crime scene. Clurman was the only victim who didn’t get hit at his door. Why?” Gideon asks.

“What was different about this one?”

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We made it to the scene. Though the car was damaged it wasn’t as bad as I was imagining it to be. Focus on the matter on hand P. Come on girl.

“Before Clurman passed out, what he told the cops at the time was that he saw the package sitting on the stoop outside his kitchen door.” Hotch informs us.

“Why didn’t he take it in?” Elle asks.

“Why didn’t it go off until he got to his car?” Spencer added.

“It’s like fifty feet away.”

“Joe Reese, one of Clurman’s investors, was here before the bomb went off.” I say.

“The cops have ruled him out as a suspect, but he said he saw Clurman get in the car with the package.” Hotch adds.

“So maybe Clurman wasn’t receiving a bomb at all. Maybe he was on his way to delivering one.” Elle ponders.

“But he drops it or tilts it, and it goes off by accident.” Spencer says.

“I’d like to talk to Clurman. In the meantime, let’s get a warrant to search his house.” Gideon says.

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3rd Person POV

Back at Quantico Morgan is looking through photos of the bomb fragments. Garcia then walks in with a group of men who brought the fragments over.

“You have a package. Don’t worry, It had a police escort all the way from Palm Beach.” Garcia informed Morgan.

“Okay, right on time.” Morgan says getting up and going to the silver box.

“Thanks man, I got this.” he tells the man who brought in the box.

“These are my bomb fragments. We can start putting this bad boy together.” Morgan tells Garcia opening the box.

“Why bother? Don’t you just look at the pieces for prints and stuff?” she asks causing Morgan to chuckle.

“Garcia, what are you doing in the FBI?” he asks, smiling.

“I didn’t get into medical school?” she replies.

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Ouch. That’s what my father said.” she says playfully punching his arm.

“All right, I’m about to teach you something, so pay attention.” he tells her.

“Oh, it’s like school.” she replies unhappily.

“Look, how these things are put together can tell you how the unsub thinks.”

“You sound like Gideon.” Garcia tells him.

“Okay, ouch.” Morgan replies lightly nudging Garcia.

“Oh, you think it’s bull? Ok...all right. You see that section of pipe.” he says holding a small evidence bag up.

“That right there used to be part of the cap. It screwed onto these threads right here. But, see here’s the thing, it had to be done very carefully because even if one tiny grain of powder got onto those threads while he was working, that little bit of friction would have ignited the bomb. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! See ya later, unsub. Now, he didn’t have to use a powder that fine. He didn’t have to use threaded caps, and he didn’t even have to use a steel pipe, and it would have been a whole lot safer if he hadn’t. But the bomb wouldn’t have been nearly as deadly.” He explains.

So what does that tell you about our unsub?” Morgan asks her.

“He’s one sick puppy?” she suggests. Morgan laughs.

“ To say the least. One sick puppy that aims to kill. Not scare, not vandalize, or make some kind of political statement. Kill.”

They share a glance and then begin to take out the bomb fragments.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

After looking at Clurman’s car we decided to split up. Spencer and Gideon go to the hospital while I stay with Elle and Hotch to investigate Clurman’s home. As we wait for the lead detective Hotch tells an officer all the places to check for any evidence.

“Agent Hotchner?” ask a man.

“Yes sir.” Hotch replies.

“Detective Morrison, Palm Beach PD. I’m lead on the case.” he introduces himself shaking hands with Hotch. “ Nice to meet you. This Agent Greenaway and Chase. Agents Reid and Gideon are at the hospital. I think you met Agent Jareau at the station house.” Hotch says.

“Oh, yeah, she’s taken over the place.” Morrison responds.

“She does that.” Elle adds.

“ATF hasn’t found any hard evidence yet, just some kitchen times, tape, recorders, and electrical switches.” Hotch explains.

“Yeah. It is amazing how many household items count as potential bomb-making materials.” Morrison adds.

Just as we entered so did someone else.

“Hello?” she called.

“Excuse me!” she exclaims.

“Mrs.Clurman.” Morrison tells us.

“What’s going on here?” she asks.

“”Mrs.Clurman, my name is Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI.” Hotch introduces.

“What are you doing in my house?” she asks.

“There’s a copy of the warrant on the table. I know that this is hard to believe, but we just need to cover all our bases. We need to make sure that your husband was not involved in any way.” Hotch tells her.

“Involved?” she presses.

“My husband’s in the hospital with his leg blown off. What are you talking about?!”

“Mrs. Clurman, there are some questions that your husband needs to answer, and the sooner that we talk to him and clear him, then the sooner we can find whoever’s responsible.” Elle adds.

“Agent Hotchner?” someone from behind calls.

“We’ve got something.”

We follow him to the garage. We crowd around a small tool box that is filled with things that could be used to make a bomb.

“We found this buried on the back of that shelf.” one of the ATF guys says.

“Mrs. Clurman…” Hotch says.

“Do you know anything about this?”

She pauses and looks at the tool box. We wait for an answer.

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3rd Person POV

At the hospital Reid and Gideon are questioning Mr.Clurman.

“What can you tell us about the package, Mr.Clurman?” Gideon asks.

“I thought I knew what it was. Pot for an orchid. I collect them. I ordered the pot through the mail.” he explains.

“Why didn’t you take it inside?” Gideon asks another question.

NEXT CHAPTER

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #269

“why aren’t you scared of me, why do you care for me, when we all fall asleep, where do we go?”

What’s your sexual orientation? Bisexual. What are you obsessed with right now? lol y'all know my staple stuff I'm always obsessed with, so two recent ones are Skillet (I've been binging soooo hard) and drawing again! What piercings do you want? A lot, jfc. More than any, I want collarbone dermals once I lose enough weight to where they're prominent. I've been on a goddamn weight loss plateau for two years. What’s your favorite show to binge? None. I generally don't enjoy binging too much. Do you watch porn? No, not interested. Do you have a secret sideblog? lol this survey blog. Do you have/would you get your nipples pierced? No. I very briefly considered getting one pierced, but I won't. Are you angry with anyone right now? Not like... actively. But passively it's there. What tattoos do you want? I refuse to die until I'm P A I N T E D  F O R  T H E  G O D S. Do you like paper books or ebooks better? Absolutely paperback books. It feels more "real," something to dive into, and it's easier to see and understand how far you're in. We talked about this in Writing once, was an interesting convo. Plus the smell of books, aaaaaahhhhh. Do you still have feelings for any of your exes? Yes How many followers do you have? On here? *checks* 265. Do you read erotica? No, I'd feel SUPER uncomfortable. That's why 50 Shades has never appealed to me. Have you ever gotten into an accident with you parents’ car? No. Ever thought of just picking up and moving far away? Oh yes. What’s the wallpaper on your computer? My lock screen is the Halo of the Sun from SH, and my actual desktop wallpaper is my favorite closeup of my late pup Teddy. What is the last thing/person you took a picture of? Probably a stupid Facebook meme to show Sara or something lmao. Name a band/artist you like that isn’t that popular. Otep. Can you lift your significant other (your best friend if you’re single)? I'm sure I could. What is the first vehicle you recall your parents/guardians owning? Mom had a blue/greenish van for most of my childhood, while Dad had this old tan thing that he nicknamed "Frida the Cheetah" lmao. He had that damn car forever. Have you ever seen counterfeit money? Not knowingly. Have you ever lost a pet you were attached to? Well of course. I grew up with tons of pets. What was the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done? Probably texting back "fuck you" to Mom when she was being really shitty when I was having a breakdown. Pick one: laundry, dishes, or vacuuming? I'd pick vacuuming over the others any day. Have you ever moved and had to change schools growing up? No. You are forced to move out-of-state. Where do you go? I literally want to move to Canada. The highway and back roads take you to the same place; choose your route. Back roads, probably. You’re going to be a mom/dad; what do you think/do? Have a fucking panic attack. Are you more likely to give up or persist when you’re having trouble? It really depends on the seriousness of the situation, but in most cases I've actually faced, give up. Do you resemble one parent more than the other? I don't think so. Your best friend needs a kidney to survive; do you give them one of yours? If we're compatible, yes. Name a big life event that has taken place for you within the last 2 years. Nothing because my life is incredibly monotonous and stagnant. Name one difficult lesson you’ve learned. Life isn't fair, and life doesn't care. Name one thing you look forward to as you get older. Hey, let's hope I can be a functioning adult before I'm 70. Do you use your hands when you talk to emphasize what you are saying? Yes. Will you usually admit it when you’ve made a mistake? Yeah. Does stress ever affect you physically? If yes, how? Oh, yes. My stomach will absolutely hurt and I sweat more than normal (I say "normal" because I have hyperhidrosis). Did you have a money box as a kid? What shape was it if you did? I don't remember... I know we didn't regularly get an allowance or anything like that, but maybe I'm sure I stored money I was given somewhere? Has kids TV ever frightened you? As a kid, I both watched and feared Courage the Cowardly Dog, lol. Do you have any potted plants in your house? No. If you were born outside of your era, when would you want to be born and why? Early '80s! What a time for music, metal fashion, and fun. If you ran a store, what would you sell/have? IF I was more knowledgeable on more species, probably reptiles and more proper care materials and give advice that's not shit. Places like PetSmart and Petco just... disgust me. What part in a movie would you love to play? If I was confident in acting, probably the maniac lmao. I've experienced enough Crazy for that. What's the oldest article of clothing you own? I don't really know, but I do know Mom has a lot of my and my siblings' shirts as we've grown up to knit together a blanket one day. Fuckin cute as hell. What piece of furniture have you replaced the most? The couch. What instrument do you wish you could be more than great at? Guitar, with that electric twist anyway. What’s the best part of your favorite movie? When Simba roars atop Pride Rock in the storm and all the lionesses join in FUCK I get goosebumps out the WAZOO. What do you think is the most over-rated candy ever? Twizzlers, disgoosting. If you could only debate two topics the rest of your life, what would they be? LGBTQ+ rights is #1, then... hm... probably the pro-choice argument. Or just women rights in general. Out of your friends, who would you say you are most jealous of, artistically? Oh man, my friend Mini. She drew pretty well when we were young, but her skill like... increased exponentially with time. She doesn't draw in a *style* I'm envious of, but that growth tho. Most jealous of….intellectually? Girt. What is broken that you have, that you wish was fixed? My brain lmao. A famous person you have met? Nobody. Who were the last five people to text you? Dad, Sara, Ashley, Mom, and my grandma. What is your favorite book that you had to read for school? The Outsiders. Think of the last two people you kissed. Who was more fun? I've explained the "idk if *I* ever actually kissed Girt" before, but just for the sake of the question, I'll just count him. I tbh hated it only ever because why were your lips always wet, sir???? The latest person was Sara, and she kissed fine. If your house was burning down and you only had sixty seconds to grab one or two things, what would you grab and why? Roman and Venus because they're family and I adore them. Out of all the concerts you have been to, which band/singer was the best performer? Alice was great! When was the last time you went miniature golfing? For Jason's and my second or third anniversary, so a long time ago. What’s a song you like from a genre you hate? I always answer this question with a country answer, so let's go rap. Hm. OH, probably a Post Malone song. I actually don't mind him. If you had twin girls what would you name them? Alessandra indisputably, and then the other... maybe like, Josephine. Especially as twins, I'd want two gorgeous, less-heard names. What kind of condoms do you use? I don't use any because I'm not sexually active. Do you say years young or years old [ex: 16 years young or 16 years old]? Man, I miss the days I could confidently say "years young," lmao. Do you have any personality disorders? Avoidant, yes. I'm pretty convinced I have dependent PD, too. Do you shave your arms? Armpits, yes, but not my entire arms. What do you dip your fries in? Ketchup or honey mustard. Has one of your good friends ever moved away? Damn, yeah. I particularly remember this girl from elementary school in I think the 5th grade that I was very close with, yet I don't remember her name now. What color car are you when you play The Game of Life? Dude idr the colors at all. Which hair color do you find the ugliest? I've seen it be pulled off, but generally, yellow. Would you date a guy that wears more make-up than you do? Hell yeah man you fuckin strut that shit. Did you ever play M.A.S.H. when you were little? Ah, I remember that! Sure did. If you were getting married, who would be your maid of honor? My mom. If you have any pets, were they adopted from the humane society? No, but I would of course. Do you like home design, like picking out paint colors and furniture? Not any more than the average person. Do you chew gum on a regular basis? No. List all of your features that you have ever got compliments on: Do you mean just physical? If that's the case, hair, eyes, smile, uh... I feel like that's it. WAIT I can't remember who but someone once called my nose cute. Have you ever been in a hot air balloon, and if not, would you ever want to go in one? No; yes. What type of computer do you have? It's an Acer Nitro 5. Is anyone else in the room with you right now? My snake. Do you whiten your teeth with crest white strips? Not Crest, but a different brand, yes. I hate my teeth. Do you listen to local bands? Not really. I will sometimes listen to an old friend's band, at least bits of what they post on Facebook. Nova Mortis, check 'em out if you like pretty heavy metal. Do you have a pool in your back yard? No, but damn do I wish. Do your parents fight? Do they even talk at all? That's why they're divorced. They, especially Mom, avoid doing so whenever they can. Do you drink alcohol on New Year’s Eve? Usually. Do you wear rings? Just one, a friendship ring w/ Sara. Are there any restaurants in walking distance to your house? It'd be quite a long walk, at least by my standards. What was the last picture you uploaded to your Facebook? A picture of Mom and me. Have you ever listened to the same song on repeat for hours on end? YES. When I find a song I really like, I become VERY obsessive. Like I will play it and play it and play it for days. I in general have an extremely obsessive personality. Do you like staying in hotels? I don't have much of an opinion. It's a nice change of space, though. Are musicals interesting or boring? They're cheesy to me. What is your favorite scent of incense? (If you burn it) Okay, HEAR ME OUT. There is legit a kind called "monkey farts" that smells SO FUCKIN GOOD. Jason used to burn incense in his room all the time and that was my favorite one, so I use it now. Where do you normally hang out on the weekends? At home. I'm always at home, regardless of the day. Can you tune a guitar by ear or do you need a tuner? I never could. Do you like love songs? Generally, yes. They're sweet. Would you rather drink 7Up or Sprite? Fun fact: Sprite used to be my FAVORITE soda as a kid. I even had a fuckin Sprite shirt. Now, I hate it. I haven't tasted 7UP in forever. What is your favorite song as of right now? I'm seriously digging Halocene lately, esp their cover of "bury a friend." Have you ever sex texted? This is gonna sound so stupid, but I'm actually not *totally* sure what that is? Just like, dirty talking or like, virtually RPing sex? The former I did when I was fuckin 12 like a goddamn idiot, but not the latter. When's the last time you went out of state? A year and a half (I think?) ago to visit Sara. What was your favorite TV show last year? I didn't *really* have one, at least not actively. Like I didn't devoutly watch anything. Would you know who to talk to if you wanted weed? HAHA I sureeeee do. I wouldn't want any, though. What is your favorite Beatles song? "Hey, Jude." If you could kiss anyone right now, who would it be? I don't want to think about this. What is your favorite energy drink? I don't like energy drinks. Way too intense. Have you ever been to Hooters before? No. When's the last time you tripped? (Literally or, you know) HA, funny I take this survey today because my left foot is either broken or I seriously tore a ligament in it because I fell yesterday. I had to go up a dose on my medication that helps my nightmares, but it's notoriously for lowering your blood pressure, and mine is naturally low. I got up to go to the bathroom and grab breakfast and many times nearly passed out from being so dizzy until I finally fell and my foot bent forward. I couldn't even walk by myself yesterday and am still really struggling today. Our family friend brought the boot she wore when she broke her foot over just a while ago, but if this doesn't help, Mom's demanding I go to the ER. Can you touch your toes? I don't know HOW I can, but I can, I guess from when I did yoga daily and I could pretty much go under my feet. What would you say is the best feeling in the world? Being in love and knowing they're in love with you, too. Have you ever “spoken” to any celebrities via Twitter? No. Do you like croissants? YESSSSSSSSSSS. Do you get a lot of traffic outside your house or not? Yes. Mom explained to me why one day because I'd asked, but idr what she said. Do you eat cereal bars? No, I'm a granola bar person. Would you consider yourself healthy? Uh no. Assuming you could speak and understand the language, would you ever study in a foreign, non-English speaking country? Sure, for like a year or so! Doing that in Germany would be amazing. Are you on any prescribed medication? A lot. Do you know any immigrants? I know an illegal one that got deported. I probably know others. Have you ever lived in university or college accommodation before? No. If you haven’t already, are you scared of leaving home? If you have, do you like it? Very scared. I'm just very dependent and ignorant on how to be an adult. If you could only eat one vegetable for a year (not including potatoes) what would it be? Broccoli. Do you have a certain routine in the bath or shower? What is it? Shave, shampoo, facial scrub, this exfoliating brush for your feet, and then body wash. Is there anything that you loved a year ago but just can’t stand now? Hm. I don't really know. What’s the weirdest meat you’ve ever eaten? I took the SMALLEST bite out of it because I couldn't stomach eating it, but after a lot of convincing I tried a microscopic bit out of deer jerky. If you smoke, what brand of cigarettes do you smoke? If you don’t, have you ever tried? Don't smoke and don't want to. Do you like dried fruit at all? what’s your favorite type? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

[i4z-0892-il]

Monster House 5

Summary: Posing as Newlyweds Sam and Y/n set out to investigate what’s killing the visitors of a secluded Inn, and attempt to keep their working relationship professional.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Word count: 6750

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only, suggestive themes, language, smut

A/N:  Soooooo I went a little keyboard happy on this one. It’s a little longer than I thought it would be.

Immerse yourself in the story, Buy Sam’s Scent Here from @scentsfromthebunker (And damn does it smell goooooood)

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Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Yanking a brush through your hair hard enough that you would just tear any knots straight out of your head helped to keep your focus. It was hard to concentrate on the fact that Sam’s hands had been all over the lacy black panties you were now wearing when you were busy ripping chunks of hair from your scalp. Satisfied with it just being out of your face, bust still wild and barely tamed you stuffed the brush back into your bag and lamented on not having anything left to do to buy yourself more time. You’d have to leave the bathroom eventually. You’d have to look at him at some point. And you were going to have to do it while keeping your shit together which was difficult enough just through sheer proximity. Let alone being all cramped and squished against him, his frame towering over you, so large he could have swallowed you whole. Long strong arms keeping you up as if you weighed nothing, his hand riding dangerously low on your stomach, holding you in place against him. His hands all over your underwear, and in them. An all too familiar heat blossomed between your legs.

Gripping the sink and clenching your legs together as if you could hold it in or stop it completely you let out an exasperated sigh. This whole job was a bad idea. You should have come with Dean. Sure he’d have been obnoxious, but you’d still have fun, you’d still have been convincing. And most importantly you could walk away after the job was finished knowing that nothing had changed. Dean was great, but you’d had plenty of time to develop feelings for him, and nothing evolved. He was exactly where you wanted him to be. Platonic. Sam was another story entirely. And you were playing with fire.

There were a couple options on the table for how this whole job ended. Either you’d put on a show, keep your act together and go home to pine for him in secret- business as usual. Status Quo. Or you’d wind up coming on too strong, playing the game a little too well, embarrass the shit out of yourself and then have to live awkwardly around him until you had successfully humiliated yourself to death. There was no third option. Because the third option was completely off the table and nothing but wishful thinking. The night he nearly kissed you in the library was a drunken mistake, and a near miss. You had to find a way to shut down the way he made you feel. Which was simultaneously amazing and amazingly frustrated.

There had been a few times little things he did stirred you up so well and so agonizing that you had to go find some rando at a bar to go home with and alleviate the desperate need in you. But scratching the itch never brought real relief.

A short, soft knock on the bathroom door brought you out of your head and back into the real world.

“You ready? This class is starting in ten minutes.” Sam asked from the other side. Your cheeks burned at the sound of his voice, and the heat pooling low in your gut just kept smoldering away.

“Yeah. Be out in a second.” You answered, but you could have melted straight into the floor. Giving yourself another moment to collect yourself you sucked in a breath to clear your head, fixing your face stoic, and unbothered. Stepping out of the bathroom you tossed your bag of toiletries on top of the dresser. Sam was waiting for you wearing a teal and gold plaid button up, the one with the snaps instead of buttons. The one that made his eyes just pop. The one that hung so well on him, and over his broad, muscular shoulders. The one that you had spent many nights dreaming about ripping open.

“I have clothes on now, you wanna tell me what you found out?” He asked. You preferred him sans the clothes, but you wouldn’t be able to focus. Letting out a snort you rolled your eyes, as if it was all just ridiculous, as if you truly didn’t want to see him naked. If you told yourself you didn’t enough times, then maybe you’d start to believe it. You were going to handle this whole job through sheer force of will. And if nothing else you were most definitely a stubborn woman.

“Yeah so get this- it turns out that the guy who built this place, Wellington, didn’t die of the plague like we thought.” You offered clever and proud. Sam’s brow furrowed in slight confusion as his interest piqued.”Right? Turns out he died of Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy.”

“Broken heart syndrome?” Sam replied, incredulous. You answered with finger gun, click of your tongue and a wink. “That’s… Really? I mean, people don’t really die from that.”

“Hey, I’m not a doctor, and I wasn’t there when it happened. I’m just relaying the info. Besides, it kind of makes sense doesn’t it? Guy’s whole family dies in a matter of months. Wife was the last to kick the bucket, from bubonic plague no less. Sounds like a perfect recipe for a stress induced heart attack for me.”

“That might explain the disappearances. If he’s a ghost he could be abducting people, targeting the couples here.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“That doesn’t explain the body count in the woods though.”

“I mean… there is a very real chance that it’s just what the local authority thinks it is.”

“Animal attacks, and you buy that?”

“Why not? What are the odds of there being a ghost here and a monster out there?” You asked with a shrug. If Wellington was still haunting the halls of his home - which explained why it gave you the creeps, then you were willing to give the Garcia PD a little credit. Not to mention the fact that you were far more willing to take on a ghost case than a Wendigo or something else just as nasty. Ghosts were scary, but that was fixed with a simple salt and burn. And you were willing to put serious money on the fact that the Wellingtons were buried somewhere on the property. Gank the ghost, and go home before you did something you’d regret. Story tied up in a bow. End scene.

Sam was willing to run with your theory, albeit reluctantly. Because when were the odds ever in his favor?

“Okay guess we’re going to have to see if any of the guests have had any strange occurrences happen.” He said, moving to the door and holding it open for you.

“And where on the property they’re buried.” You added, continuing your thought as you walked past him. “I’m guessing Derek probably knows.”

Sam locked the door behind him, his body tensing when you dropped Derek’s name. Derek. He did not like him. There was just something about him that made Sam wary. Of course the designs he had on you was a factor in that feeling that he could not discredit. It was probably a majority of the reason if he was completely honest with himself, if not the whole reason. Of course, he wouldn’t blame you if you decided to make a move. He’d wind up just fucking hating the guy, but you were free to do whatever with whomever. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t been with other men before. Wasn’t like he hadn’t been with other women. And he wasn’t going to be selfish enough to ask you to refrain from doing what you wanted.

“Alright, so after lights out we’ll to an EMF sweep and see if we can’t turn up old Wellington.” Going on with your train of thought as you made your way down the hall, Sam right next to you. You were talking but he wasn’t listening, and you weren’t exactly paying attention. He was too focused on the idea of you and Derek together. All you’d have to do was show a little interest and he’d be on you like white on rice. And it was infuriating. Derek would touch you wrong, he wouldn’t worship the parts of you that should be worshiped. He wouldn’t hold you right, or kiss you right with the passion and fire that you deserved. He wouldn’t pay attention to the the tender spots that Sam wanted his mouth over for the last year and a half. Then you’d come back to him smelling like the other man, and only half as satisfied as you could be. And he would have to choke down the way it would crush him. The way it does crush him, knowing that this was only a job to you. The way it should have just been a job to him.

“Oh!” A little light bulb clicked in your head as you stopped in your tracks two steps up from the base of the staircase. Sam stopped and turned to look at you. You were two stairs up and only barely eye level with him. “I almost forgot. That dancing night thing on Thursday. Turns out that’s an ongoing tradition in place of the Anniversary Gala’s that Wellington threw for his wife each year. Also it’s a black tie event.”

“What?” Sam questioned, unsure if he’d heard you right through your rambling pace and the word vomit. “Black tie?”

“Yeah. I know and there’s going to be a bunch of people people here because it’s apparently a big deal in these parts. And frankly I am not willing to rub elbows with the Bourgeoisie. Aristocracy can kiss my ass, they’re not better than anyone else. So anyway, the sooner we burn the bones and get out of here the better.” You answered not even wanting to ponder the idea of having to squeeze into some fancy little cocktail dress and heels and pretend like it wasn’t excruciating, or that your feet wouldn’t be killing you. It made you shudder at the thought of having to be around some weak-chinned trust fund baby talking about the tennis match they played at the yacht club. Sam on the other hand was less focused on attire than he was your comment ‘the sooner the better.’ Ouch. That one stung. You were right though, the sooner the case was solved and you could all go back to business as usual, the better. Less chance of fucking up, less chance of things between you changing. Less opportunity for him to slip up and spill something he should have kept to himself.

“Right.” He replied quickly, clearing his throat and shifting his weight on one leg. “Yeah, you’re right. The sooner the better.”

It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it. Distant and aloof, unfeeling. And it struck you in the chest just a small pang of hurt. Turning your eyes from him so he couldn’t see the disappointment you looked down the hall off the foyer. You shouldn’t have been bothered by it, after all he agreed with you. But his answer wasn’t nearly as comforting as you had hoped. No it was exactly what you hoped for. Nothing. That was what you wanted after all, nothing. That was how it should be, nothing. Because if there was something…

An unmistakable head of curly ebony hair caught your attention in the hallway and you let out a perturbed groan. Fuck, this bitch again. Sam followed your gaze to Esmeralda chatting with another couple down the hall. Chuckling he turned his attention back to you.

“Not a fan?”

“No. You should have seen the look she gave me earlier.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it. Y’know you have a chronic case of resting bitch-face yourself.” Sam teased. Your jaw dropped in offense and you shoved his shoulder playfully.

“Wow, rude!” You laughed, shaking your head in good humored annoyance.

“Hey, your words, not mine.” He replied. Esmeralda finished up her conversation with the other couple and immediately caught sight of Sam. Like a fucking lioness stalking her prey, she walked over as if it was a mission from god. In her eyes you had already disappeared. Without thinking you slipped your arms over Sam’s shoulders edging in closer. His hands came to rest at your hips as he looked at you quizzically. Up till you laid eyes on her you had maintained your distance.

“We’re supposed to be married right?” It was less a question more a statement and he gave you a dimpled grin in agreement.

“Right, because it couldn’t be that you’re jealous?” He asked and you snorted.

“No! I am not jealous of her. But if I’m playing the part of wife I gotta act like it right? Besides what do I have to be jealous of?” You stumbled through your denial, hoping you sounded more convincing out loud than you did in your head. Jealous. HA! What? Of her perfect full bodied hair that probably smelled like really expensive conditioner? Or her skin that looked as soft as silk? Pfft. Please. You were definitely not jealous of her absolutely killer body. Or her bedroom eyes with curling lashes a mile long and thick as night. Nope, not a damn thing to be jealous of there. And most of all you were not jealous or threatened by her presence around Sam. Not even a little.

“Mr. Wesson, I trust your hike today was enjoyable?” Esmeralda said, with a voice as sweet and smooth as summer wine. And you wanted to gag. Or choke her. Or gag while you were choking her. Sam turned to face her with a smile, one hand still on your hip. You dropped an arm from around his neck letting it lovingly rest over his bicep which was so strong you could have kept hands there for all eternity.

“Yes, it was very enjoyable.” Sam answered in earnest. Less about the scenery, more about you. A few choice moments sticking out in his head as particularly enjoyable.

“Marvelous.” She enthused. “Well if you’re ready the gentlemen are playing cards and having drinks in the parlor, if you’ll follow me.”

Your whole body froze as mild panic rose in your chest.

“I’m sorry I thought this was a couples cooking class?” You asked letting out a nervous laugh. Sam was supposed to be there to keep you from burning the place to the ground because you way overcooked a pie. Or quiche. Or whatever the fuck they wanted you to make. Not to mention the fact that it was dumb to have a cooking class listed on a couples retreat itinerary.

“Yes, well it was originally. Unfortunately one of the guests partners has fallen ill and couldn’t make it to the class, and we certainly didn’t want to keep him from enjoying himself this evening. I’m so sorry for the mix up.” She answered but didn’t look away from Sam, and you were pretty sure you saw her face harden out of irritation that she had to speak to you at all.

“Well. Y’know, I’m pretty good at Texas Hold ‘Em myself I’d love to-”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Wesson, I’m afraid there is only room at the table for one more.” She cut, her eyes darting to you like daggers, taking you a back completely. Fucking rude.

“So then why don’t you come with me to the class anyway?” You asked Sam, though it was more telling than requesting.

“I’m sorry, that won’t be possible either, it would be unfair to the other guests.” Esmeralda interjected. Seeming to have an excuse for fucking everything. You smiled through grit teeth.

“Of course it would.” You said finding it difficult to mask your disdain. Derek emerged from the hallway to join the three of you at the foot of the staircase, a kind smile on his face.

“Y/n, we’re so glad you could make it. If you follow me I’ll take you to the kitchen, we’ve got an excellent array of desserts and cocktails to sample during the class.”

This time it was Sam’s turn to be uncomfortable, his grip on your hip tightening a little upon Derek’s approach and all to casual drop of your name. Like he’d known you forever, it was too familiar. Esmeralda took him by the arm slowly coaxing the grip you had on each other apart, and he let her with little reluctance. She walked him down the hall to the parlor, but his eyes stayed on you and Derek until you were out of view.

“Yep, sounds… just fantastic.” You lied. He offered his elbow for you to take and escorted you to the massive kitchen where there were four other women waiting and chatting with full glasses of wine.

Dropping your hand to your side you took a look around. Clearly you had severely under-dressed for the occasion, these women looked like they stepped straight out the Stepford wives. To be fair this was one of your nicest t-shirts, it was one of the only ones that didn’t have holes in it, and it had a little ufo on it with small text saying ‘I want to leave.’ It was accurate, and it was your favorite. You even put clean jeans on without rips in the knees, and your nice boots. So… they were lucky.

On the table where they sat was several trays full of macaroons, various cheesecakes, tiramisu, and tiny cupcake sized apple tarts but the apples had been sliced thin and turned into roses. A small banquet table sat nearby with three clear beverage dispensers. One of them was champagne colored and had peaches and mangoes and strawberries floating in it, the other was a lime green concoction with more matching fruit. The last was most definitely Sangria, and you made a beeline for it. Derek stepped in beside you offering a glass for you to pour your drink into, though opening the spigot and letting it pour directly into your mouth seemed like a better use of your time and energy than anything that was to come next. You were going to drink the entire damn dispenser dry, fruit and all by the end of the class.

“Hi.” A woman with blonde hair curled into flawless waves, not a single strand out of place. She eyed you curiously, like you were a circus act than a person who didn’t know there was a dress code for a fucking cooking class you didn’t even want to be a part of! “I’m Emily, pleasure to meet you. And you are?”

“Y/n, nice to meet you too.” You held your hand out to shake hers but she didn’t take it.

“Come meet everyone.” Emily suggested taking you by the arm and practically dragging you over to the table, and introducing you to the other women like she was the host of a quaint dinner party. “Y/n this is Ashley, Victoria and Charlotte.”

Victoria was a haughty woman with black hair, with secrets behind her dark eyes. Ashley was a cute slip of a thing, but something told you she wasn’t exactly as innocent as she looked. Charlotte gave you a big smile, and was the only one who didn’t look at you like you crawled out of a hole.

“How long are you here for?” Charlotte asked.

“About a week, maybe less.” You answered.

“Less? Why would you want to leave early?” Emily quizzed. You were put on the spot, and you did not like being the center of any kind of attention.

“Oh y’know, we’re from out of state so we might try to check out a few tourist spots on our way back home.”

“Where are you from?” Ashley asked.

“Lebanon. Kansas.”

“A long way from home aren’t we.” Victoria said not bothering to look at you, just her voice set you on edge.

“Uh, yeah. Guess so.”

“How long have you been married?” Charlotte asked.

“A little while now, feels like yesterday.” You joked, awkward, and uncomfortable.The questions were flying left and right. Nosy and asking for too many details, details that were too specific and you couldn’t be vague enough about. You found yourself quickly downing the first of many more glasses of Sangria. You and Sam had gone over some details of your backstory, glossing over a general picture, but there were plenty of blanks to fill. And you felt like you were being interrogated, or dissected by these women.

“Where did you get married?”

“Uhh, we eloped.”

“Any kids?

“None.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Y’know I would love to chat a little more about this later but I think we’re supposed to get started now.” You said, trying to find an escape hatch. All day you’d been lamenting having to cook, and now you were elated to start. Anything to shift the focus off of you and your fake marriage.

Derek showed you to a station set up and ready, and right in the middle of the island, but you were land-locked by Emily and Charlotte on either side of you. And that’s when the dread really kicked in. This was actually happening. They actually expected you to participate, not only participate, but to do it and actually be happy about it! Maybe you could feign sickness and go hide in your room. The raw ingredients in front of you taunting you but just being there. You downed your second glass.

“Ladies tonight we’re going to be making one of my favorite recipes Amaretto Apple Streusel Cupcakes.” Derek started. The only part of that catching your interest was the Amaretto part. Beyond that- what the fuck made a streusel? You started on your second glass of Sangria.

Derek led the class through the introductory steps, talking entirely too much about the ingredients we were using, but making sure you knew that there was plenty of wiggle room in the recipe to adjust to your tastes. There was going to be so much Amaretto in yours you’d get tipsy off of eating one. If you didn’t burn it first. He left plenty of room for talking among yourselves.

“So how did you and your husband meet?” Charlotte asked, big brown eyes moving from you to the mixing bowl in her hands.

“We just happened to be working together.” You answered quickly. “So, this place is kinda interesting.”

“Yeah, I guess so. The mountains are nice, and one of the lakes is like… perfect.”

“Sam and I went for a hike today, it was definitely something. I could have sworn I heard like… scratching earlier when we were getting settled.”

“Huh. That’s odd.” Charlotte said, preoccupied.

“Hear anything like that in your room?”

“Nope, can’t say I have, but I honestly haven’t spent much time in the room. Declan and I have been keeping pretty busy.”

“Right, of course. I think I saw some flickering lights earlier too.”

“Well, this place is like really super old. I’m sure the wiring is a conflagration waiting to happen” She answered absentmindedly, adding extra spices and such to her mixing bowl.

“Yeah, it kind of gives me the creeps, y’know.” You pressed but Charlotte just shrugged and continued on with her task. The mixture in her bowl looking smooth and creamy, while yours looked… chunky. Clumps of flour sticking together and unwilling to unstick and mix right. And you definitely added too much amaretto, because some of it was runny. How could something be runny and clumpy at the same time?

Derek continued on with the next steps and down went glass number four. Your fingertips were starting to tingle, your head pleasantly buzzing. Derek refilled your glass and set it in front of you, full lips curling into a smile.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He asked, and you replied with a nod taking a long sip from your glass.

“Mhmm, I uh, I don’t think I did this right.” You answered a little defeated, eyes landing on the lumpy and runny bowl of doughy batter in front of you. Derek responded with a chuckle, as he moved around the island to stand between you and Charlotte.

“It’s just not quite mixed in there yet.” He said, picking up a whisk and whipping the batter smooth like it should be. He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “See? Beautiful. Have you tried it yet, to make sure your flavors are where you want them?”

Shaking your head no he let his hand trail down your arm taking your hand in his and dipping your finger in the batter. Bright green eyes locked on you as he watched you lick the batter from your fingertip. Unfortunately for him you were five glasses deep, and less concerned about the sultry look in his eye, or the way he was biting into his lip than you were about being delightfully surprised that it actually tasted okay.

“Wow. I thought for sure this was going to be inedible.” You laughed. Derek chuckled, and smiled at you again, rapt by you, and you saw an opening. Leaning your hip against the island, and taking another sip you edged in, just a little closer. “So, that guy Wellington you were talking about earlier, he really had to watch his whole family go down?”

“Yes, it's really terrible. The plague is not an easy disease to watch someone succumb to, it takes hold quickly and they suffered before they passed.” He answered, more than happy to be in your close proximity.

“Yikes.” You remarked, half way through glass number six. “So if they all passed away in a couple months, that’s a lot of funerals to deal with. Did they have like a family plot around here?”

“Yes they did, there’s a clearing in the trees by the overlook where they were all laid to rest. Mr. Wellington put this property here for the views, I suppose it was what he wanted in death as well. I’m afraid its all a bit overgrown now. The groundskeeper refuses to set foot on it. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious, I’m all about that spooky shit.” You answered, putting your drink down, because pacing is a thing and you needed to exercise it before something else uncouth just fell out of your mouth. Derek laughed, finding your comment more endearing than anything else. “Anything weird happen around here?”

“Depends on what you mean by weird.” He answered, intrigued. You edged in, just a hair closer.

“You know, like… flickering lights, cold spots, strange voices in the night.”

“Ah,” he laughed again. “You want to know if this place is haunted.”

“Well, is it? Should I be worried? Have to break out the crucifixes?” You teased.

“This place is old, and there have been an odd thing here and there, but I can’t say that it’s haunted. If it is I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anything supernatural.”

“Bummer.” You said slumping back in your place, and turning your attention back to the batter in the mixing bowl. Derek gave your shoulder a light squeeze before moving back around the island and continuing the lesson.

The poker game was done, and Sam could have won every round, but threw folds every now and then, not wanting chance putting a tarnish on a good first impression. The five other men split off to chat sipping brandy like they were on the goddamn Titanic before the iceberg. Of the six only one of them caught Sam’s attention. He was sunk into a chair by the roaring fireplace, his cheeks sallow and gaunt, he was thin, too thin. Clothes didn’t seem to quite fit right, and he looked just tired. Sam picked up a glass and sat in the chair beside him.

“Nolan, right?” Sam asked, earning nothing more than a slow nod from the skeleton in the chair. “You uh, you okay man? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” Nolan answered, quiet, and distant.

“You sure?” He pressed, unconvinced. Nolan didn’t respond, he only took a long sip of the amber liquid in his glass. Giving up on pleasantries Sam decide to skip straight to the point. “So, you wouldn’t happen to have noticed anything weird going on here would you? My wife and I we’re kind of into the ghost tours and stuff, and we heard this place had some unexplained phenomena happen over the years.”

Nolan turned dim blue eyes to him leaning against the arm of the chair, beckoning Sam to move closer and lean in to share a secret that wasn’t for prying eyes or ears.

“If you were smart, you’d take your woman and leave.” Nolan warned, locking eyes with Sam not a single hint of insincerity on his face.

“What?”

“You believe in ghost stories?” Nolan asked, his voice falling to a hush. Sam nodded, eager and interested. “There’s something here. It moves in the night.”

“What do you mean?” Sam pressed. Maybe there was some serious credibility to your theory. A small hand clasped his shoulder before Nolan could respond, he turned eyes up to meet icy green ones as Esmeralda stood beside him smiling cheerfully.

“Mr. Wesson, I was wondering if you’d accompany me to the cellar.” She said sweetly. “There are a few more bottles of Brandy and Bourbon for tasting, but I’m afraid I only have two hands and can’t carry all of them.”

Sam looked back at Nolan before turning to Esmeralda and agreeing to help with a nod. But the conversation wasn’t over. Nolan had seen something, and he was determined to find out what exactly he’d seen. Setting his glass on the mantel above the fireplace and followed the petite woman down the hall. When they passed by the kitchen he peeked in to see you smiling, cheeks flushed, and standing a little too close to Derek who ran his hand down your arm. His jaw set tight, not thrilled in the slightest to see Derek getting a little too comfortable with you, his wife. Fake wife. Friend. Business partner. Platonic co-worker.

Swallowing down his offense and jealousy that formed a lump in his throat he had to remind himself that it wasn’t his place to have any say over what you did. No matter how much he wanted to just steal you away. It could never happen. This was just a temporary arrangement. And you always did have a way of getting information from men. It seemed easy for you to dial up the charm and flash those pretty doe eyes, and they’d melt like putty in your hands. He knew that fact from experience.

The cellar was relatively small compared to the grandiose of the rest of the Manor, but it was still impeccably stocked. Different liquors and wines from all over the world fit into the cedar shelving. One bottle after another Esmeralda placed them in Sam’s arms.

“I do appreciate your help Mr. Wesson.” She said, her fingertips leaving the last bottle and lingering over his forearm.

“You can call me Sam.”

“Alright then, Sam it is.” She agreed. His name dripping from her lips like honey. “So Sam, tell me, what brings you all the way out here to our neck of the woods?”

“Y/n and I needed a vacation. Heard about this place, figured we’d check it out and see if it as anything special.” He said flashing a quick smile. She tucked a bottle in her arms before turning to look at him curiosity writ on her face.

“And do you have any doubts that this place will live up to your expectations?”

“No, I think it’s shaping up to be exactly what we were looking for.”

The Apple streusel whatevers were just about done being cooked, and the smell from the oven was mouthwatering. You had finished glass number six and hoping that seven would be the last one for the night because you simply could not remain in that kitchen without a drink in your hand, but you were already drunker than you’d intended to be.

“Y/n, you seem nervous.” Victoria said from behind you, making you jump in surprise, the look on your face startled as you turned to address her.

“I uh, I don’t cook much. It’s really not my specialty.” You explained honestly. Since moving into the bunker Dean was the master chef, and when he wasn’t doing it you stuck to leftovers, or food from the 7-Eleven.

“You don’t cook for your husband at all?” She asked, and you scoffed.

“Nope, Sam’s a big boy. If he’s hungry he can fend for himself.” You answered and she looked downright appalled. Oops.Maybe that was a little too honest. “I mean, we’re not particularly domestic… so....” You shut yourself up with the glass in your hand.

“I see, that’s a shame. I’m sure he’ll be pleasantly surprised then when you bring these back with you.” Victoria said, there was no change in the pitch of her voice, she was speaking pleasantly and civilly, but there was nothing but disdain in her eyes.

“Yeah, he’s not going to believe it.” You laughed, she didn’t.

“Do you do anything for your husband?” She continued. What, were you supposed to be his maid or something?

“Nope, he married me for my charming wit and sparkling personality.” You quipped, unable to stop the sarcasm that oozed from your words.

The oven went off and it was the most beautiful sound in the world. You excused yourself from Victoria’s irritating company and moved to wrap up your cupcakes and get the fuck out of the kitchen. The whole ordeal hadn’t been a total bust, you found out where the Wellingtons were planted, and that none of the women had experienced anything inexplicable, which didn’t give you much hope that your theory was correct. Polishing off your last drink you tucked the box of cupcakes under your arm and slipped out of the kitchen just in time to see Sam walking down the hall to the parlor with Esmeralda struggling to keep up with his pace. Letting out a grumbling sigh you headed back up to the room, not wanting to have to deal with little miss perfect for a single second, you’d had too much to drink and your filter was about ten minutes away from being nonexistent. The second you hit the bed your eyes fell shut.

When he returned to the parlor Nolan was gone, the cooking class was done and the men left to go be with their wives. But you were nowhere to be found. And neither was Derek, a pit grew in his stomach, not wanting to entertain the idea of where you might have snuck off to and with who.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight.” Esmeralda said, handing him a bottle of Bourbon.

“Yeah, yeah thanks. It was nice. Is that guy Nolan okay? He looked sick.”

“Mr. Ross is a little under the weather, I’m afraid he may be catching whatever bug Mrs. Ross had.” She explained with a smile.

“Right, of course. Thanks again, I think I need to go find my wife.”

“Goodnight. Sam.” Esmeralda said, growing want in her voice, and unmistakable in her light green eyes. Sam nodded, and gave her a quick goodnight before exiting down the hall and back to the room. If you were off somewhere with Derek he did not want to take the risk of catching you in the act. He didn’t think he could stomach it, or remain collected afterwards.

When he locked the door behind him and turned to the bed he was more than pleasantly surprised to find you sprawled across the entire California King size bed. How someone so small could take up so much space he’d never be able to grasp, but it was endearing nonetheless.One arm was hanging off the edge of the bed, and the other was stretched above your head where your hair splayed out like a halo around your face so serene and angelic. Untying the laces of your boots he slipped them off your feet and dropped them on the floor before grabbing a couple pillows from the bed and a blanket to settle in on the floor.

He lay there for a while, unable to quiet his thoughts enough to fall asleep. Just happy that you hadn’t run off with someone else. Reaching up he took your hand dangling limp over the edge of the bed and ran his thumb over the buttery soft skin of your knuckles, a small smile playing over his lips.

Breath hitched in your throat as your back arched, chin tipping back and eyes falling shut. Running your fingers through his silky chestnut hair you rolled your hips unable to get enough of that delicious friction between your thighs. Each flick of his tongue over your clit blooming that pleasurable pressure in your core. His lips sealed over your sensitive bud sucking a crying moan from your lips as his long deft fingers pumped in your fluttering pussy, rhythmically and with ease covered in your slick. Legs quivered as you drew your knees up along his side, one hand gripping the sheets of the bed and holding on for dear life.

“Oh god… Sam!” His name fell from your lips like a prayer the deep humming moan he gave in response vibrating against your sex sent you careening over the edge, fireworks igniting behind your eyes as your body trembled under his unrelenting touch. Giving a desperate tug on his hair to bring him to you, wanting to taste yourself on his lips while he buried himself impossibly deep in your aching pussy. But the eyes that looked up at you were not Sam’s kaleidoscope hazel ones, but rather Derek’s misty green eyes.

You stirred in your sleep, a soft, pleased moan passed your lips, and your breath quickened drawing his focus from the warning Nolan had given him to you who must have been having an interesting dream. Another moan, and the rustling of sheets as you shifted in the bed. The sound of your euphoric whimpers left him more than curious.

“Oh god… Sam..” You whispered, barely audible but he heard it. Palming his hardening dick through his sweats he tried to keep himself in control. But there was no mistaking what you were dreaming about now. His name falling from your lips causing the smoldering embers low in his core to flick into a burning fire impossible to extinguish. The longer he laid there, listening to your sleep riddled gasps the harder it was to keep himself focused on anything but you.

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about you like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of you alone at night. But it was the first time there had ever been confirmation that you just might think about him too.

Unable to lay there any longer, cock throbbing and twitching with each of your rasping breaths he pulled himself off the floor and into the bathroom. Fisting his cock in his hand he pumped in tandem with the quiet mewling from the other room.

Sitting up with a shocked gasp, your eyes open wide and darting around the room in your confusion. That was more than unexpected. Countless times you’d had that dream but it was always Sam. It was never not him. And while Derek was handsome, you weren’t exactly skipping with enthusiasm for the chance to sit on his face. Running your fingers through your hair you let out a sigh, recollecting yourself, and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. You just drank too much. That was all. It was just the liquor messing with your head.

Taking note that you were still fully clothed you stood up to change into something more comfortable than jeans to sleep in, proud of the fact that you’d at least managed to take your boots off before passing out.

When you stood your head began to swim, the room spinning around you in a dizzying whirlwind. You’d drank plenty before, but you’d never been that drunk. This felt different. Your brow furrowed as your vision went black to a pinpoint.

“What the fu…” With a thud you collapsed to the floor in a heap.

Tags:

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[branlovestowrite]

CSJJ Day 15: Catching Snowflakes

Catching Snowflakes

Rating: T until the last section and then M because @kmomof4 bullied me into including some smut :-)

Words: ~5,000

Summary: Emma and Henry have just moved to Storybrooke from Tallahassee, and Emma is having a harder time adjusting than her son. She’d feel better about the cold weather if she could just see some friggin’ snow. She’d also feel better if she wasn’t so attracted to her neighbor, best friend, and local barman, Killian Jones.

Notes: This is my story for @csjanuaryjoy and was based on the prompt I’m walking home from the bar and it’s snowing and you see me trying to catch snowflakes on my tongue. As a resident of North Florida, I still remember the first time I saw snow falling and how magical it looked. I thought that magic would be perfect for our favorite couple.

Thanks to @shireness-says and @kmomof4 for being my betas. I love you both!

Also on AO3

Emma walked into the Rabbit Hole and settled on a barstool in the far corner. Placing her clutch on the counter, she pulled off her coat and laid it next to her. By the time she looked up, her savior had arrived.

"Swan," he said with a smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling adorably.

"Jones," she responded, flashing him a small smile of her own.

"Rum and coke?" he asked, already turning to grab the bottle of her preferred spirit.

"No soda tonight. Just the rum, on the rocks."

"Rough night?" He finished preparing the drink and set it down in front of her.

"You have no idea."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, leaning over and resting his hands against the bar. In doing so he gave her a tantalizing view of the thatch of chest hair peeking out from above the deep vee of his t-shirt. She picked up her drink and took a fortifying sip to distract herself from that line of thought. Killian Jones was off limits.

They'd met six months ago when she and her son Henry had moved into the apartment above his, after coming to Storybrooke, Maine, so Henry could be close to his newly discovered father. Before that, they'd lived in Tallahassee, Florida for the entirety of Henry's life.

Growing up in the foster system, Emma had never had anyone to rely on. When she met Neal, Henry's father, she'd fallen hard and fast. On a silly whim, they'd picked Tallahassee as the place they were going to settle down, which made her giddy with joy. She was a bright-eyed, naive seventeen year-old who'd thought she'd finally found her family.

Two days later she learned just how naive she'd truly been, when Neal set her up to take the fall for some jewelry he'd stolen. Because she had a piece of the stolen goods on her person (which he'd said was her engagement ring), she was arrested and charged with grand theft. Her sentence was six months jail time. They charitably released her just one month before Henry was to be born. Neal had disappeared in the wind. Emma had a faint hope that it had all been some big misunderstanding and that Neal was out there, somewhere, waiting for her. So, she scraped together enough money to get to Tallahassee, hoping one day he would find them.

Despite the unfavorable beginning, she'd been happy in Florida. After Henry was born, she met some truly good people who helped her get her life in order. These people became their support system. They helped her get a job, which led her to a career. She began as a secretary at the police department and worked her way up to deputy. She was able to cobble together a good life for herself and her son.

But their nice little bubble had begun to crack two years ago, when Neal made a reappearance in their lives. He was living in Maine, in a small town called Storybrooke where he'd apparently grown up, and found Emma on Facebook.

"How could you never have told me I had a son, Emma?!"

"YOU left me, Neal! You abandoned me to serve time for a crime YOU committed. How was I supposed to find you when I was fresh out of jail with a newborn?!"

Neal was chastened by her words. He backed off, but still insisted on being a part of their lives. He wanted them to move to Storybrooke to be closer, but Emma had refused. Their life was in Tallahassee. She couldn't just pick up and move.

That excuse had worked for about six months, but Neal kept pestering her. Then he convinced her to let Henry spend Christmas with him. Henry immediately fell in love with the town, but seeing snow had been what sealed the deal for him. He came home and talked about nothing other than how badly he wanted to live in Storybrooke.

Emma still insisted they stay put until she could find a job there. She refused to take any handouts from Neal. It took another year before she was able to secure a job as a deputy with the Storybrooke PD. The offer had come in the middle of a heat wave and the idea of moving to a cooler climate was extremely appealing. Emma still had reservations, but she decided to take a chance and accepted the job.

She was able to find an apartment - a large, industrial style open space with a loft area for Henry's bedroom. The place was owned by her new boss, the sheriff, David Nolan and his wife Mary Margaret. They'd lived there for several years before buying a large farm on the outskirts of town to accommodate their growing family. The building was an old warehouse Mary Margaret's family had owned which had been converted into a four-unit apartment building. The only other occupant currently was Emma's downstairs neighbor, Killian.

On they day they were moving in, she'd run into Jones - literally run into him, while she was carrying a box full of kitchen equipment. The bottom obviously hadn't been taped up very well, and the collision had not only knocked them both the ground, but had broken the box, scattering her utensils and tupperware all over the entryway to the building.

"Oh shit!" she yelled, already exhausted from the long drive and just ready to get the move over with.

"Are you alright, love?" he'd asked, his smooth, crisp, accented voice sending chills up her spine. She'd looked up and almost had her breath taken away. He was a gorgeous man, with inky black hair, striking blue eyes, and a chiseled jawline. His facial hair was a few days old, not quite long enough to be a beard, but still an extremely attractive look for him. The light coming through the door caught on his face, highlighting his stubble and revealing more than a few ginger-colored hairs.

"Oh… yes" she'd replied, finally coming back to herself.

"Mom! What happened?" Henry had asked, coming through the door with a box of his own things.

"Nothing dire, I assure you," her new neighbor had replied as he stood and offered her his hand. "Killian Jones, pleased to meet you. I assume you must be moving into the apartment upstairs. Emma and Henry, right?"

"Yes," Emma had responded, suddenly wary. How did he know their names?

"Killian! There you are," Mary Margaret had called out as she stepped through the door. "Whoa," she added as she took in the scene, "what happened here?"

"I bumped into him, I think."

"Okay, well, let's get this stuff picked up." Her new landlord bent over and began collecting the various items that had gone flying. "I see you've met Killian," she added, placing a few utensils into the now overturned box. "I stopped by yesterday and let him know you guys were moving in."

Mary Margaret, after unknowingly calming Emma's anxiety, convinced Killian to help them complete the move-in.

Almost immediately, Emma and Killian struck up a good friendship. He worked at a nearby bar, The Rabbit Hole, which he co-owned with his brother. Emma often found herself visiting Killian there on nights where Henry was sleeping over at his dad's house. That was where she met the other Jones brother, Liam, and his wife, Elsa. Emma took an instant liking to Elsa, and they became fast friends. As a natural result, she ended up spending a lot of time at Liam and Elsa's house, thereby seeing Killian even more frequently.

Over the last six months, she'd become close to Killian and had come to think of him as one of the best friends she'd ever had. There were more than a few romantic thoughts about him, but Emma refused to act on them. She didn't want to mess up their friendship, and she especially didn't want to get involved with a neighbor.

"Emma?" Killian asked, bringing her back to herself. She looked down and saw that she'd finished her rum while lost in thought.

"Can I have another?"

Killian smiled and grabbed the bottle to refill her glass. "Was tonight so bad that you lost yourself in thought while trying to figure out what to tell me?"

She chuckled nervously, afraid to tell him that her thoughts were actually about how she'd rather have been with him than anywhere else. Straightening her shoulders, she met his gaze, determined to be the master of her feelings. "No, nothing like that. It's just… well, I finally agreed to let Walsh take me on a date."

§§§§§§§§§§

Killian felt his heart stop at her words. She'd been on a date? Although the context led him to believe she hadn't had the best time out, he couldn't stop the jealous streak that coursed through his veins. What he wouldn't give to go on a date with Emma Swan, the woman of his dreams.

He'd been stunned by her from the moment they met, when she crashed into him in the entryway of their building. The way the morning sunshine illuminated her golden hair made her appear like an angel, but what truly did him in was the way she looked at him when their gazes met. He was mesmerized by her shining green eyes, creamy skin, and high cheekbones, but her expression was guarded, showing him a strong woman who would broker no bullshit. And few things were more attractive to Killian Jones than a strong woman.

As he got to know Emma and Henry better, he found himself falling hopelessly in love with them both. Henry was a wonderful child: curious, friendly, and smart as a whip. And Emma, once he got past her tough exterior, was one of the kindest and most genuine people he'd ever met. Emma cared deeply for the wellbeing of others, sometimes to the detriment of her own health, and Killian found his life's purpose lately was helping to make her life easier.

Despite the fact that she'd been set up on a few dates, he had sincerely hoped he and Emma could begin explore what he was certain was a mutual attraction. He wasn't oblivious; he saw how she looked at him when she thought no one was watching. But Killian also knew that Emma had to be the one to make the first move. For the last six months he'd been waiting for her to do so, but nothing had happened yet.

And now she was letting that simpering simian Walsh take her out. It was almost too much to bear.

He coughed to clear his throat. "I take it the date didn't go so well?"

"I mean… it wasn't the worst date I've ever been on, but definitely in the top five."

"What made it so terrible?"

"Well, for starters, he took me to Granny's."

"You love Granny's," Killian countered, remembering fondly the meal there he'd shared with her and Henry not even a week ago.

"I do, but not for a date. Granny's is where you go for family dinners. The place doesn't exactly scream romance."

"Don't let the Lady Lucas hear you criticizing her establishment," he admonished, while mentally filed away that little tidbit for future reference. "What else made the date bad?"

"He was just boring," Emma bemoaned. "He spent the majority of the time talking about his store and why he decided to start a furniture business, and how it was booming and how he made so much money on Etsy and blah, blah blah, blah blah. He and I have nothing in common." She drained her glass as if she were trying to wash away the very mention of him.

"Why did you agree to the date?" Killian refilled her glass as he spoke, refusing to make eye contact.

"I don't know… because he kept pestering me. And because he's so different from guys I usually go for. I thought maybe I'd have better luck with someone I normally wouldn't look at twice. And also this town is desperately lacking eligible men."

Killian couldn't help himself. "There's really no one more eligible than Mr. Ozman the furniture maker?" He lifted his eyebrows and threw her a wry smile.

"Well… yeah," she said, looking away as she took another sip. "I mean, there are maybe men in town that are more eligible, but they're not options for me."

"No one?"

"No!" she said, slamming her fist on the counter next to her nearly empty drink. "Pour me another, please."

"You're knocking those back rather fast, Swan. Are you sure you don't want some water?"

"Nope. I'm good with my rum. Fill 'er up barkeep!" She gave him a flirty smile, and, god help him, he couldn't deny her anything. The bar was empty, and entertaining Emma made the time pass by faster. He poured her another measure and set the bottle on the counter behind him.

By the time she finished her fourth glass, she was quite inebriated, as evidenced by her constant talking. Emma Swan was normally very stoic, but get a few drinks in her and she became a chatterbox. Killian surmised that she must have had a few beers at Granny's before she made her way to the bar.

"I mean, what even is this town?" she asked as she waved her hand in the air. "There are less than 3,000 people living here! That's so tiny! You know how many people Tallahassee has? 191,000! That's like six… sixty… you know, it's just a fuck ton more people, that's what it is!"

"Alright Swan," he said, walking around the bar to join her at her side, "I believe you've had enough. Why don't you come sit in my office while I wrap a few things up and then I'll walk you home?"

She stood and didn't protest as he grabbed her things and escorted her toward the back, but she also continued talking. "And the weather… what the hell is up with this weather? I've been here six months, and it's been cold as balls, but there's no fucking snow! That's not right! I haven't seen a good snowfall in more than a decade. If I have to deal with this cold weather, I at least deserve to see some damned snow, right?"

"Couldn't agree with you more, love." He settled her in his office chair and leaned over her slightly to grab the keys from their hook on the wall.

Emma smiled and blushed when he did so, but mercifully her mouth remained closed. He departed the office and went about closing up the few remainings items in the bar before returning.

"Ready love?" he asked as he stepped over the threshold twenty minutes later. He paused as he looked down and saw that she was fast asleep, her head pillowed on her arms as she leaned over his desk. Smiling, he stepped over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Emma? Love? It's time to go home."

She awoke with a groan. "Tired…" she mumbled into her bicep.

"I know darling. But we are only a few steps from home. You will be glad in the morning when you wake up in your bed rather than with a sore neck from sleeping on my desk."

"You're right," she said, sitting up. "Besides," she said with a yawn, "there are other bedroom things I'd like to do on this desk." She seemed to realize what she said a moment too late and looked up at him in shock, her faced flushing a deep red.

Ever the gentleman, Killian chose to ignore her words. He picked up her coat and motioned for her to stand up. She did so reluctantly, but he was able to help her into the garment and get it buttoned up. He looked warily at her shoes. There may not be snow on the ground, but there was still ice and he wasn't sure how he felt about her walking on slippery roads in four-inch heels.

Emma recognized where he was looking and stomped her foot defiantly. "I'll be fine, Jones," she said, reading his mind. "Let's go."

Killian set the alarm and locked up the building. Once everything was secure, he turned to see Emma leaning against the brick wall and staring at him unevenly. He smiled and grabbed her hand, threading it through his arm. They proceeded to walk the two blocks it would take to get to their apartment building.

As they walked along, he looked up at the sky and had to do a double take. Sure enough, flakes were starting to fall. Emma seemed oblivious, so he shook her hand a bit. "Look up."

She turned her head skyward and her face broke out in a grin so radiant it could outshine the moon. "Snow!" she squealed, pulling away from him and spinning in a circle. "I haven't seen snow since I was a kid!" She tilted her head further back and opened her mouth wide to catch a few flakes. Her pure, childlike joy warmed his heart.

"Finally!" she cried out, spinning once more. She stopped suddenly, dropping her chin and giving him a sultry look. Sauntering over, she grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket. "Aren't you happy for the snow?" she whispered, her mouth mere inches from his own.

"I'm happy to see you so happy, love," he replied, beaming down at her.

Emma stared into his eyes a moment longer before she surged forward and captured his lips with her own. The kiss caught him off guard, but he'd wanted it too long to push her away now. He returned the embrace, capturing her upper lip between his own and sucking gently. She moaned and opened her mouth wider, moving her hands to grab the back of his head and deepen the kiss. Time stopped in that moment, the only sound being their short breaths as they desperately tried to keep going.

Finally it became too much and she pulled away, once more holding onto his lapels and resting her forehead against his. They both gulped in deep breaths of air, the cold stinging their lungs.

Killian came back to himself and abruptly reared his head back as he recalled her drunken state. "Emma… I shouldn't have-"

"Don't," she interrupted, pressing a finger to his lips. "Don't apologize for what was the greatest kiss of my life. I may be drunk, but not drunk enough to kiss you against my will. I fully and totally consented to it, and I'd gladly do it again."

"Truly, you don't know how much of a relief it is to hear that." She smiled and lifted up on her toes to kiss him again, but he dodged her. "I'd still rather we waited for a repeat performance until after you've slept it off."

"Fine," she grunted, releasing him and stomping ahead a few paces. "Killian Jones, the gentleman, everyone!" She swung her arms around to gesture at him Vanna White-style. "Step right up and see it for yourself! A man who doesn't want to take advantage of a drunk woman who is dying to jump his bones! Truly a marvel!"

She was hurt, he could see that clear as day, but he would not relent. He quickened his pace and caught up just as her feet slipped out from underneath and she went tumbling to the ground. "Damnit!" she yelled as she struggled to pick herself up. "I'm such a klutz. No wonder you don't want me."

"Now wait a damn minute!" He raised his voice to stop her drunken spiral. "I never said that." Effortlessly he lifted her back to her feet, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. "I've wanted you since the moment I met you." His eyes pleaded with her as he spoke. "I just don't want you to have any chance to regret things between us."

Emma looked down with a huff. "You are such a… a…" she lifted her eyes once more and her gaze suddenly softened. "You're a good guy, Killian Jones."

He smirked at her. "Come on, let's go home." He pulled her into his side and continued their trek.

§§§§§§§§§§

The sunlight pouring through the window was blinding and Emma groaned, pulling her pillow over her face. She tried in vain to will her blistering headache to go away, thanking the fates that Henry was staying with Neal one more night, and she could stay at home and nurse her hangover while avoiding the world in the process.

She snuggled deeper into the plush bedding as her awareness slowly returned. Her eyes were still firmly closed, but she began to recognize the smell of the bedding. There was the distinct scent of man surrounding her. She ran a hand along the sheets and could feel they were made of a very tight weave, much nicer than her own. And the comforter was infinitely warmer. She'd have to make note of the brand so she could buy a proper one, rather than the light quilt she'd been using that only worked in Florida winters.

Taking another deep inhale, Emma realized she knew that scent. It was Killian's smell. Making a quick check, she found that, rather wearing her own clothes, she was dressed in a men's t-shirt and boxers. She groaned again and threw her arm over her pillow-covered head. What had they done last night?

"Good morning love," Killian said as he stepped into the room. There was the sound of a thunk, followed by the aroma of coffee, indicating that he'd brought her a mug of the amazing brew he liked to make in his french press. "How do you feel?"

"Lower your voice!" she hissed. His volume was not loud, but in light of her pounding headache, he may as well have been yelling. Taking a deep breath, she slowly peeled the pillow away from her face, keeping her eyes squinted while they adjusted to the light. Once she sat up Killian offered her a bottle of water and two ibuprofen. She smiled at him gratefully and took the painkillers, downing half the water with them.

"I'm sorry I was so drunk you couldn't even get me up the stairs."

"You were nearly asleep by the time we made it to building. I figured it would be easier to have you rest here."

"What happened? What did I do?"

He grimaced. "Do you remember any of it?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying hard to clear her mind and recall what happened just a few hours ago. It all came back in a flash. "I kissed you."

"Aye," he responded, reaching over and handing her the coffee mug.

Emma took a fortifying sip, enjoying the taste of the rich brew doctored with cream and sugar just how she liked it. They sat in silence for a moment, Killian watching Emma while she watched her cup of coffee.

"Do you regret it?" he asked, finally breaking the tension.

She took another deep breath before peering up to meet his eyes. "No. I don't."

"Is it something you'd like to do again?"

She looked pensive for a moment longer before cracking a smile. "Yes, I want to kiss you again, Killian." He began to lean forward, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "Not yet, though. I'd like to shower and brush my teeth first."

He smirked in response. "I think you'll find, Swan, that I am an infinitely patient man."

Their flirty banter, along with the water, painkillers, and coffee, had Emma feeling ten times better than when she'd woken up only moments ago. She tilted her head and looked at him coquettishly. "I think you'll find, Jones, that I am not a patient woman. Give me thirty minutes to get cleaned up, and then I'm gonna come back down here and rock your world."

"Oh, there will be coming, alright."

Emma broke into a full cackle at his words. "Seriously? I know you have better game than that, Jones."

"Go get cleaned up, darling, and then you can find out."

Emma practically leapt out of the bed, grabbing her clutch and racing upstairs. She showered quickly, but made sure to take a few moments for some body hair removal. The shower helped to shake off the last vestiges of her hangover. Standing in front of her closet, wrapped in only her plush navy blue bathrobe, she contemplated what the wear when there was a knock on the front door. She groaned at the intrusion, mourning the potential loss of time alone with Killian, before tightening her robe and moving to answer the knock.

She opened the door to find Killian standing there, looking sinfully sexy in a pair of low-slung jeans and a loose t-shirt. He stared down at her preditorially. "Swan," he breathed before stepping into her space and capturing her mouth with his own.

Emma stepped back and he followed, slamming the door and locking it behind them. He then spun their bodies, pinning her to the wall as his lips traveled down her jaw. "Not that I'm complaining," she said, pausing to moan wantonly, "but I thought we were going to do this at your place."

"I guess I'm not as patient as I claim to be," he replied, tracing her collarbone with his tongue. "Take this off," he commanded, tugging at her robe, and she hurried to comply. Her hands fumbled with the belt for a moment before it fell open, revealing her naked body. He stepped back and admired her as she squirmed under his scrutiny. "Gorgeous," he breathed before pushing the robe off her shoulders.

The cold air on her heated skin was a shock. Emma silently thanked herself for deciding not to wash her hair this morning. She could only imagine how much colder she'd feel with wet hair dripping down her back.

His hands warmed her body as they roamed over her breasts, across her stomach, and around to her rear before encouraging her to spread her legs and wrap them around his hips. With her core pressed to his own, he ground their bodies together while his mouth dove down to take a hardened pink nipple between his lips. Emma hissed at the sensation of his warm mouth on the stiffened peak, speeding up the motions of her pelvis. She could feel the erection underneath his jeans, and the combination of it and the ridge of his fly gave her just the right amount of pressure on her clit. She'd been so worked up thinking about him in the shower that it only took a few more minutes until she felt the first blush of her orgasm wash over her body.

"Oh my god… Killian… I'm gonna… I'm… ahhh!" she moaned, throwing her head back and crying out in ecstacy.

"You are so bloody beautiful, Swan," he said, gently kissing her as she came down from her high.

"Your turn," she said in a rush, placing her legs back down on the ground. She took a moment to steady herself before putting her hands on his shoulders and making to turn them.

"No, Emma," he said, his voice commanding. "I'm in charge right now, and you will do as I say. Go sit on the bed, on your knees."

Emma shivered, and not from the cold air in the room. "Yes sir," she replied breathily before complying with his order. When she was positioned how he wanted, he walked over and stood at the foot of the bed, removing his shirt and jeans until he stood before her in all his naked glory. She bit her lip as she looked up at him.

"See something you like, darling?" he asked, wrapping his long fingers around his cock and pumping slowly.

"Mmmm… yes sir," she moaned.

He crawled on the bed, placing his knees on either side of her hips. His hand slid down and lightly grazed her outer lips before he slid two fingers inside her. "Bloody fuck you're wet," he groaned. He pumped his fingers two more times before removing them and spreading some of the moisture on his cock. "Where do you keep your condoms, love?"

"I don't have any," she breathed. "The ones I had were expired and I threw them out before the move."

"Then it's a good thing I came prepared," he replied with a chuckle. He stood up and grabbed his jeans, extracting a foil square. Quickly sheathing his length, he slid back onto the bed, this time behind her, and wrapped his hands around her waist. With a squeeze of his hips he encouraged her to lift herself so he could position his aching cock just below her entrance. After a torturously slow few seconds, she sank all the way down.

They both moaned when he bottomed out. The feeling of being full was almost too much. His hands wandered, one landing on her breast and the other slipping down to her clit. He rubbed it in ever tightening circles before pushing her body forward, changing their position to doggy style as he pumped his hips faster. Emma cried out at the quickened pace of his fingers, and she once again felt the tinglings of an orgasm. They continued for a moment longer before, all at once, she was hit with another flood of sensation. She cried out and squeezed him tight, her release triggering his own. The room was filled with their cries as they both took their pleasure.

They collapsed onto the bed, Killian pulling her to him so that her back lined up with his front. They both panted heavily as their heart rates slowed. Once they were each more composed, Emma sighed contentedly.

"I guess I should be grateful for rum and the snow finally giving me the courage I needed to make a move."

"If you aren't, then I will be grateful enough for the both of us."

She smiled and lightly slapped his arm before settling more into his embrace.

"I am curious about one thing," he said a moment later.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"If it took rum and snow for that to happen, what will it take for you to act on the urge to do those 'other bedroom things' in my office you mentioned last night?"

Emma blushed momentarily before smiling to herself. "You'll just need to wait to find out."

@artistic-writer @bleebug @cat-sophia @courtorderedcake @distant-rose @flslp87 @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @initiala @jonirobinson64 @kmomof4 @kymbersmith-90 @laschatzi @lassluna @lillpon @nerdyhuntress @resident-of-storybrooke @rouhn @searchingwardrobes @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @snowbellewells @teamhook @thejollyroger-writer @thislassishooked @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @wingedlioness @wyntereyez @yayimallamaagain​

[downstvged]

“ oh. uh... you had your eye on that last laffy taffy, too ? ”   awkward. peyton reaches for the candy anyway. his fingertips close around the treat and nudge it closer to the person beside him. “ go for it. my favorite’s banana anyway. ”

or, alternatively : i have zero restraint & ‘tis i, linc, comin’ atchu w/ my third, peyton pellegrino !! resident senior class treasurer & lacrosse co-captain & theatre techie. he’s a wholesome boy but jeez... is new ham gonna break him. dun dun dunnnnNNNN .  ; )

✔ ┊❝ noah centineo. he/him &. cismale ) eighteen year old peyton pellegrino was listening to “no place like home” by marianas trench when the field trip buses turned around. rumor has it he’s on a missing children’s list in delaware & his dad is actually his childhood kidnapper, but who knows if that’s true? what we do know is that their friends describe them as suave & bona fide, even if they’re known to be a little restless & yielding from time to time.

i’m... not gonna do my long intro format for him bc ain’t nobody got time fo dat! and i’m lazy sfhiefh. but here we go !!

( tw: mentions of kidnapping, false death, anxiety, familial deceit )

AMBER ALERT, MILTON PD, DELAWARE —  MILTON TOWN POLICE HAVE BEEN NOTIFIED EIGHTEEN-MONTH-OLD JAMIE CLAVERTON WAS STOLEN FROM HIS MOTHER’S STROLLER IN BRUMBLEY PARK EARLIER TODAY. SUSPECT WAS NOT IDENTIFIED AT THE SCENE. ANYONE WITH INFORMATION IS ENCOURAGED TO CALL POLICE IMMEDIATELY.

spoiler alert : little jamie claverton never quite found his way home. with no witnesses to the kidnapping ( thanks to his mother’s ignorance... yikes ) ,  matthew pellegrino, age 30, was able to make an easy getaway with the child. in 2010, milton police closed jamie’s case. the clavertons, heavy-hearted, buried an empty casket for their lost boy, unaware that he was alive and well just two states away, living comfortably with his “ father ”  in west ham, connecticut.

peyton pellegrino’s mother abandoned her family shortly after peyton’s first birthday –– she’d struggled with postpartum depression & decided she wasn’t made out to be a mother. despite matthew’s pleas, his wife disappeared into the night. and just like that, it was just father and son. us two against the world, peyton’s father would say. they moved around frequently, spending almost each passing birthday in a different place. new york city, boston, miami, chicago, philly. it wasn’t until peyton’s seventh birthday that they finally settled somewhere long-term: phoenix, arizona. and, by the time his tenth birthday rolled around, they hopped across the country once more.

to west ham, connecticut. a dramatic change of pace. matthew had landed the position of fire chief, his record of improving local fire departments finally recognized. so ten-year-old peyton careened into fifth grade, then middle school. he fit right in. and west ham? west ham ate up the pellegrino family story. nobody suspects a thing.

in a hidden compartment locked under matthew’s desk lies the only record of peyton’s past. duplicated fingerprints. forged social security documents. fake passports, just in case. the key’s hidden somewhere in the house. but it’s the two of them, father and son, them two against the world.

and up until now? peyton hasn’t had the means to discover the truth.

peyton pellegrino, aspiring broadway set/lighting engineer:

inspired by “no place like home” by marianas trench.

peyton moved to west ham when he was 10, so i would love some long-term connections for him. his dad’s the fire chief, so he’s definitely... involvedˆin the smell stuff. more on that in the future.

he’s heavily involved in lacrosse, mock trial, theater, & student gov. he’s the senior class treasurer because freshman year, his pals on the lacrosse team joked he had the only face people wouldn’t be mad to hand class dues to. he’s been voted into position ever since.

will be attending eastern connecticut state university for a degree in theatre & theatre design !! he’s SUCH a techie and very unashamed about it, but he will get bashful if he gushes on too long about the importance of a crisp curtain or how much of a difference fading spots can make. he acts as well ( see his excellent performances in mock trial competitions ) but he’s got such a love for framing the stage, making his performers look good. making the visual effects an extension of the story.

works as a pizza delivery boi for one of the local faves — and you best bet this kid makes amazing tips. in the summers, he techs at a bunch of theatre camps and throws in a gig scooping ice cream just for some extra dough. it’s not that his dad doesn’t make good money as fire chief, but they struck a deal that peyton would foot at least half of the bill for college. so he’s trying to getting a jump on that.

one of those rare breeds that is hella involved and seems really relaxed about it? but... he does have anxiety & struggles with panic attacks from time to time. they were really bad when he was around 8 to 11, but they’ve calmed since being here. it’s one of the reasons why matthew looked for a position in such a small, calm town.

sike !!!!!  west ham ain’t calm no more !!!!

speaking of his dad. they’re fuckin’ best friends, alright? saturday nights are reserved for the pellegrino boys. foosball. ping pong. b-rate game shows.

he’s the kind of dude to go out of his way to help you and say it was no sweat. even if it was all the sweat.

if he loves you, watch him lay out his jacket so you don’t have to step in mud.

has a bad habit of nipping at the edge of pens. it’s one of the anxious ticks he hasn’t quite been able to shake. sometimes his right leg bounces, if he’s forced to sit still in one place for too long.

will likely join the committee on going home, if something like that arises. leadership courses through his veins, but peyton’s not really one to pursue it very much. he’s more content to chip in and help everyone else than sit at the top. but if someone close to him ( cough cough, @cvssndra​, cough ) decides to take the reins, he’ll be right there to support.

he eats his pizza rolled around the crust, like an italian taquito.

notable fashion choices include : leather bracelets, cuffed jeans, lots of solid colored and colorblocked tees. when he dresses up for mock trial, the girls kinda swoon. boy looks dashing in a suit. has a glasses prescription but always wears contacts. his dad says he looks sharper that way ( but it’s actually because, with glasses, he looks too similar to the claverton family. )  beat up chuck taylors, kind of untied on purpose. he’s got that whole loosely kept together, sleep deprived look down pat.

in middle school, he did a social studies project on milk carton kids. his project partner said there was this sketch from delaware that kinda looked like him. they both just laughed it off. young peyton came home and told his dad all about it over dinner. his dad laughed. the next day, peyton tried to find the same webpage, and was met with a notice that it had been permanently disbanded.

catch him longboarding around town like an absolute boss.

his favorite gum flavor is juicyfruit. it reminds him of go kart racing with his dad in arizona.

has functional knowledge of asl. he began learning at his school in chicago, and pursued it a bit further in arizona when he learned their next-door neighbor, patricia, was deaf. young peyton would walk the nice lady’s mail up to her door and learn a few signs from her each day, then practice them at dinner with his dad.

i imagine his dad’s reputation makes him fairly well-known around town. it’s likely peyton knows the owners of most businesses around here, so he’s the dude you stick near if ya want free shit.

he knows his dad’s disappointed he’s not pursuing a career in law enforcement or medicine. but peyton barely survived one day of junior firefighter training.

he actually just went back on anti-anxiety meds recently. so that’s gonna be interesting, when that supply starts going bye-bye.

people always assume he’s from cali, because of his overall vibe. his dad says he was actually born in ohio. peyton did a whitepages search in ohio for kenna pellegrino. the search came up empty.

his pals have a running inside joke where they hand him bottles of san pellegrino mineral water. it’s hilarious. and he hates it.

aight cuttin’ it short so i can hop onto this dash!! as always hmu for plots, bants, and good times !!  xx

[secondhand-sheep-shack]

This is what my Aska looked like in 2015. She was 19# and fluffy. I rescued her a second time this weekend when my boyfriend and I went back to my old residence to get her and another load of my stuff.  She’s still very much my Sponge cat, but she’s down to 12# and mostly bald. I offered to send the ex and his mom money to help with the cats. I was turned down saying and I quote, “Don’t worry we’ve got it since you just abandoned the cats.”  No, what I did was save myself. I couldn’t help anyone let alone the cats on $60 per week and zero chance for growth. I couldn’t help anyone with spiraling depression and no time to get therapy or medication. I couldn’t help anyone without helping myself first. So I made plans with my boyfriend to go see the ex, and get the cat and more stuff. And it turned out half as bad as I expected. We went to the house, I called the ex to let him know I was downstairs and he unlocked the door and disappeared. I go in to set down the 3 larger cat carriers I’d taken the first time I was there and he adamantly refused to allow my boyfriend in the house. Backed both of us out of the house (his right as his mom’s POA when she’s not there to overrule him), saying if I wanted my stuff and Aska I would have to get it myself, alone. No one wanted me in the house with him alone, least of all me.  Hell just being there was pushing my anxiety and trying to send me into a full blown panic attack. I held firm. We left. We went downtown and talked to a wonderful police officer at the local pd and he agreed to follow us out and talk to C and hopefully get B allowed in the house just far enough to at least help me make fewer trips. Because police were involved, C was much more compliant. B was allowed in on the tile (a 3′ x 3′ area inside the door) to help me unload and mostly to keep an eye on C to make sure he didn’t pull the same shit he tried last time I got stuff out. C went and got Aska and crated her for me. He would not let me upstairs. I wasn’t surprised. It was a disaster/nightmare the last time I was back on August 3rd when I “dealt” with the cat he didn’t feel like dealing with, when it died while he was on vacation. I could only image 2 months with zero outside help and a guy with zero desire to move let alone actually do care work for the cats. As I was putting stuff into totes C starts in on what ended up being a pity party for one, but in reality was like a kick to the ribs for me. “So you’re aware, it’s been a hard month here, but you really don’t care about anyone but yourself.” “The hell are you talking about? I offered money to help. I needed to take care of me, yes, for the first time in my life, I cared about me before anyone else.” “So the cats you’ve missed dying are: BigBoy, Madchen, Shy, Murmur, Geisha, Kenya, and Yuni this morning.”  “What? Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” “Why bother? You’d just post the story on facebook and I’d get chewed out or get death threats.” “So you kept the deaths of 7 cats to yourself because you didn’t want to get chewed out on facebook for something? Well yeah 7 dead in 60 days is more than one every 10 days - and you decided holding onto all that death and not saying a word to anyone on facebook or any of our mutual friends was absolutely the best course of action? Because you didn’t want to get chewed out? And so now you’re miserable, and depressed and I’m supposed to feel bad that you kept it all to yourself? You CHOSE not to tell me. This doesn’t make me the bad person.” “Oh just stop. You left them here, you didn’t take them with you, you didn’t care. The truck broke down and mom’s never home to let me even consider looking for work.” At that point I’d heard enough and I simply packed the last of the stuff I was going to take, grabbed Aska’s carrier and walked out to B’s car. I handed him the cat while I got in the car, he handed me the carrier and we left. Aska slept most of the way from the old place to the new - only chittering when I touched her butt, which is a little tender from being flea-bit. She had been flea treated but only within the last 3 days.  She spent the first three nights in the front room here, and tonight I brought her into my bedroom, where she’s currently hiding under the bed. She didn’t freak out much.  Ex is still not talking about anything with anyone and “supposedly” has someone coming in to help with the cats in the next few weeks. I’m not holding my breath, I’m sure his mom will tell me all about what has been going on when she calls to confirm my paying her back for a couple things I owe her for.  So yeah it was an eventful weekend. It’s my hope that Aska will be back to her fat, happy, fluffy self in a couple months without all the stress of living in that hell hole.

[howtohero]

#044 Contact Information

Superheroes cannot reasonably be expected to be aware every time a crime or supervillain attack occurs. They’re busy people! Or they’re very oblivious. Also, ever since that space shuttle full of alien robots crashed into that volcano it’s gotten hard to determine which giant robots strolling through the city are part of some evil scheme and which ones are just confused, but friendly, alien robot tourists who just got lost on their way back to where they parked their crashed spaceship. So sometimes heroes just don’t know when or if they’re supposed to spring into action all heroic-like. So it’s a good idea for superheroes to set up some sort of system by which the public, or certain elements of it, can get in touch with them. If you happen to have super hearing this isn’t really such a pressing issue for you. All you have to do is listen for someone calling your name. But for the rest of you, that only works if someone is screaming your name in your immediate vicinity. And what are the odds of that happening??? Probably they are very low. 

The first thing you have to do is determine who you want to be able to get in contact with you. Members of your own support-squad should definitely be able to call you when they need you and communicate with you while you’re out in the field. You should probably just all get matching communicators. That would be so fun! You could have a night where the whole squad gets together and everyone customizes their own communicators. You can get stickers and glitter. Just go all out on those Team Bat-Fish-Giant-Bird-Wing-Woman communicators. You’re also going to want other, unaffiliated superheroes to be able to get in contact with you. If you and all your super buds get your communicators from the same Radio Hut you could probably arrange to meet up on a separate channel which can be used to communicate with each other. Provided you’re in range of course. And can get a signal. It will always be hard to contact another hero when you’re underwater or in space. So think about that before you go off into deep water/space. Don’t dive right in and blast right off and then think to yourself “oh man, you know who would be great to have as backup here? Ny™@r3 the sagely horse who gives advice to troubled youths!” You need to have all of those thoughts before hand! Also if you try to get matching walkie-talkies with all your pals you become one of those “you can only reach me if you’re within a thousand kilometers of me and also if you shop at the same electronic stores as me” people and those people are always a hassle to get in contact with. Another thing you can do is to just casually give out the cellphone numbers of the people on your support team to anyone who asks and this way if someone needs to contact you they can call them and then they can determine if it’s an important enough message to relay to you. 

The next people who are probably want to in touch with you are (your parents go call them you jerk!) the police. Sometimes solving and preventing crimes is difficult. Sometimes the city doesn’t have enough money in its budget to train their cops to fight evil talking polar bears. So they give you a call. They don’t have to pay you anything. You get off on that stuff. (This is all presupposing that you’ve gotten past the awkward “is that guy in the costume punching other guys a criminal???” phase with the local law enforcement)/]. But how will the police contact you? Can they call you? Beep you? If they wanna reach you? An idea that might seem attractive in theory is to provide the local PD with some kind of giant spotlight that they can shine into the sky whenever there’s trouble. But just know that that’s stupid. That’s not an effective way to get in touch with a person. Like, at all. What if there’s an emergency during the day? What if you’re out of town or, I dunno, indoors? What if you’re not just staring at the sky?! It’s also a great way to let all your enemies know exactly where you’re going to be. That’s a great way to get murdered. If you don’t want to get murdered, don’t do that. 

Instead what you should do is set up some sort of hotline. But not the kind of hotline that gets advertised on billboard and park benches and indoor blimps at basketball games. You don’t want to get flooded with calls for help moving furniture or doing arithmetic homework or prank calls from supervillains. Don’t fly around the city dropping business cards with your number on them. Don’t hang up flyers in your local Pizza Shack. Don’t take out an ad in the papers. What you should do is give your number to a few key individuals, the mayor, the police commissioner, your parents, that guy who tipped you ten bucks after you saved his life that one time, the president, the chef at your favorite restaurant, attractive journalists, me, so that we can always contact you if there’s an emergency you need to be aware of. 

If answering calls isn’t really your thing –which I get, talking on the phone is hard- another thing you can consider doing is setting up an email address which people can use to contact you. Or have both the hotline and an email server and allow more people to have access to the email address while keeping the hotline reserved for just like, me and the president. Having an email setup is handy because you can just use the search function to find the most urgent emergencies. Searching keywords such as “monster attack” or “alien invasion” or “free ice cream, ends tonight,” can help you cut through the frivolous and the spam. You can also just assign interns to maintain the email account and then they can pass on the most pressing information directly to you. You can even let them craft fun responses to the emails! Stuff like “hey thanks for these pictures of your cat dressed in a cape we printed them out and hung them up all over the hideout,” or “hey, we know we said we liked those pictures of your cat with the cape, and we did. We liked them a lot. But you need to stop sending us pictures now. You’ve sent us over three thousand pictures of your cat in a cape. It’s not even different capes. it’s always the same cape. This is absurd. You need to stop.” Of course, that means letting a bunch of college kids represent you on the internet while also allowing them to decide which world-threatening emergencies are worth your time,  and there’s definitely a learning curve that comes with that, but they’ll probably get the hang of it quickly. 

You can also set up a PO Box which people can mail letters to. Or train pigeons to bring you letters! That’d be pretty neat! (If I had a pet carrier pigeon I’d name it Carrie, everyone call out your dream pigeon names in the comments!) This will cut down on the amount of adoring messages that will inevitably clog up your voicemails and inboxes. Make it clear to your legions of fans that you will only read love letters or fan mail if they are sent through your country’s esteemed postal services. (Also I guess this would be a good place to direct people to send pictures of their cats in human clothes.) This can also be handy if someone knows about a crisis that will occur in the future and thus, is not exactly urgent information now. Stuff like “My cousin just got a doctorate in mad science and also bought a bunch of bats off of the internet and I’m concerned,” or “The ghost of my grandfather’s college roommate appeared to me and warned me that an army of evil old-timey ghosts are going to attack the living realm in three months’ time,” stuff that’s important for a superhero to be aware of but not as pressing as some of the other stuff you need to be informed about.

No matter which method(s) you decide to adopt you’ll quickly find that allowing people to contact you to report crimes and/or emergencies will vastly improve your ability to actually be where you need to be to help people. Don’t be one of those chumps that just wanders around waiting to come across danger. I mean you can still do that too. That’s kind of proactive I guess. But also make sure people can get in touch with you when they need to.