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collecting-stories · 3 years

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2am - Daryl Dixon

Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could write something similar for Daryl as your one shot "small talk" maybe set in another night of that time where they were on watch, the reader telling daryl about something (some random fact about anything she learned before, i was thinking about sleeping cycles but it's totally fine if you use any other idea) until they finish their shift and go to sleep (1/2)

(2/2) if it helps you can use one or some of your prompt lists: “I saved a piece for you.”“It’s 2am, I think that’s enough of that.”“Tell me again.” “You’re so cute when you’re tired.”“Your hair is so soft.”

A/N: I hope this was what you had in mind? Really just some drabble/fluff.

The Walking Dead Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The screen door creaked shut as you slipped out onto the porch of the house that you were squatting in. The group looked a little different these days but everything else felt the same. That lingering sensation, that loss was just around the corner. Waiting to catch up if you let yourself be too happy too often. It shouldn’t have even been a possibility, the uncertainty of the future looming just ahead, but as you stepped outside you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

“Want some company?” You called, keeping your voice low. The woods around you were virtually silent but you were cautious anyway, just in case an unexpected walker was lurking behind the trees.

“Ya should be sleeping,” Daryl replied, turning his head just enough to look over his shoulder. “We can’t keep lingering here and I ain’t listening to ya bitch about walking through the woods cause yer tired.”

“I do not bitch.” You sat down beside him on the steps of the porch, pulling a saran-wrapped piece of cornbread out of your cardigan pocket for him, “you should be showering me with compliments Daryl, I saved a piece for you.”

He looked at the piece of cornbread for a moment, as if he was confused about where it had come from, as if he hadn’t been sitting in the kitchen with you while you made dinner from scraps that had been gathered and hunted. After a beat, he took the cornbread from you, unwrapping the corner so he could take a bite and wiping crumbs away when they clung to his chin afterward.

You took a seat, turning in close so that you could watch him and looking more like a couple enjoying the night air than two people on watch for walkers. “I used to get cornbread from Whole Foods all the time; it was addictive. This is the first time I’ve made it myself...”

“Ain’t hard ta make.”

“Have you made cornbread before?” You asked, pulling a second piece out and unwrapping it.

“Ya sound surprised.”

“You aren’t exactly Gordon Ramsey, I mean...the most I’ve seen you cook is meat and that’s usually just to char it over an open fire. No offense.” You tried to imagine another world, one where Daryl could cook more than a rotating animal carcass over a fire pit, but it wasn’t easy. He had never struck you as the “baking in the kitchen” type though you were sure he scrounged up his own food the same way back then as he did now.

“Dunno who that is but cornbread’s pretty basic.” He shrugged, attempting to play off the admittance that he had cooked before as nothing special. He certainly wasn’t going to go around announcing the skill to everyone there.

“I can’t believe you can cook.” You still sounded in awe of the idea, “will you cook me something sometime?”

“Not a lot ta cook around here.” He replied, “this ain’t bad.”

You glanced at the cornbread in his hand, a beaming smile crossing your face at the simple compliment. Pulling any conversation out of Daryl was tricky but a compliment felt next level, especially these days. He’d felt more reserved than before, maybe not around everyone else but around you.

“Why thank you, what a compliment.” You teased. “So, will you cook me something?”

“Cooked ya squirrel that time at Hershel’s,” he mentioned, scanning the perimeter.

“Again, roasting a squirrel over an open flame isn’t exactly cooking Daryl. I mean like with spices and shit,” you replied. “Like a proper meal.”

“Might be a can a dog food left over, could pour some dill in it for ya.” He scoffed when you smacked his arm, “go nice with the cornbread.”

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d hate you,” You muttered, scooting closer to him.

Daryl turned his head just enough to look at you, a scrutinizing expression as if he had never heard the words before. In the early hours of the morning, when he was just starting to wake up or right before a run that threatened to be the last time the two of you saw each other you might say it, just above a whisper, but never so casually, never while you were out on watch, talking about cornbread.

“Tell me again,” he asked, voice quiet in the dark. He looked away quickly, biting at the tip of his thumb out of nervousness.

You smiled, hand slipping around his arm as you leaned in close to him, “I love you.” You said, brushing some strands of hair behind his ear so you could kiss his cheek. “Your hair is so soft.”

“A’ight, I think ya need sleep, yer losing yer mind.” He replied.

“I’m not,” you insisted, “just making a point. Besides, I came out here to finish up watch with you, I’m not gonna bail.”

“I can finish watch, ain’t nothing going on.”

“Yeah, but when I wake up again in the morning there will be something going on and,” you shrugged, silently conveying that once things got going in the morning there wouldn’t be a quiet moment for the two of you for hours. There were things to do, responsibilities of being part of a group out in the open but you couldn’t help feeling a little selfish. Longing for the days in the prison when you could sneak off to a quiet corner for a few minutes with him.

He nodded his head but didn’t say anything. Daryl was never very forthcoming with how he was feeling and you hadn’t expected any sort of explanation in return.

“I read this article once about this woman who slept in cycles instead of sleeping straight through the night.” You mentioned, laying back on the porch and looking up at the sky. There were more stars than you had been used to years ago but you weren’t sure if it was the dwindling population or just the fact that you were in the country. You hated thinking of the former, it felt a little too much like eugenics. There was still a lot out there, more ground that you hadn’t covered, new woods that you hadn’t surveyed, and keeping watch just felt like something that was supposed to happen. “I don’t remember it totally but I think she did like 4 hours of sleep and then 8 hours awake. Wouldn’t that be nice...four hours of undisturbed sleep.”

“Ya slept through last night.” Daryl replied, “think ya got plenty a shut eye.”

You turned your head to the side, looking over at him. “How would you know? You were on watch for most of the night.”

“Don’t like being locked in with everyone else.”

“Should I be offended by that?” You asked, “or am I the exception?”

“It’s 2am at least, ya oughta sleep. Certainly had enough a this nonsense.” He replied, though when he looked down at you there was a hint a grin on his face. Too dark for you to actually see him but it was there.

You sat up again, moving into your previous position so that you could lean against him, enjoying some physical contact before anyone was awake to see it. “I’ll go in soon,” you promised, knowing that he was right, you were feeling tired, “just wanna spend some more time with you.”

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#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon au #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead imagine #twd imagine #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fic #collecting stories imagine

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august-bleeds-red · 3 years

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Texas Heat (Part Two)

Alpha!Tommy x omega!Reader (AFAB). When you find yourself trapped within the Hewitt family’s web of murder, violence and pain, the last thing you expect to do is fall in love.

Warnings: implied non-con, gore. NSFW in later chapters.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Dinner that night is stew.

You help Luda cut the vegetables, but the meat is already simmering in the pot by the time you come down. Thomas is nowhere to be seen, and when you ask where he is, as casually as possible, Luda answers with a sly grin.

“Oh, he’s probably workin’ down in the basement. Often doesn’t eat ‘til later, ‘specially when we have guests. He’s awful shy, you see.”

You don’t mention the way he’d stared at you upstairs – more domineering and intense than anyone else you’d have described as “shy”.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say, but she’s already nodding, clearly anticipating your next words.

“His face?”

You nod. Setting down the knife she’s using to slice the carrots, she adjusts her spectacles and glances towards the door you presume leads to the basement.

“He’s awful sensitive about it. We don’t usually talk about it, but I don’t want you to be makin’ any nasty judgements ‘bout him.”

“Of course not, I wouldn’t.”

She pats your arm and continues chopping the carrots. “I found him when he was just born. Some cruel no-goods had left him to die in a trash can. Lord knows what filthy things he was exposed to in there before I took him home. He started gettin’ skin complaints when he was a boy. Real bad. The other kids used to tease him for it, call him ‘diseased’. Got too much for him so he took a knife and . . .” She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry, still gets to me.”

“I understand,” you say, your heart aching empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

She pats your arm again and sighs, “You’re a good girl, Y/N.”

For some reason, she says this with a note of sadness which makes you uneasy again. You don’t have long to dwell on it, though, before Hoyt enters the room.

“How’s that stew comin’ on, Momma?” he asks jovially.

You help set the table and bow your head respectfully while Hoyt says Grace, accepting your bowl of stew with a grateful smile. The meat is tender, with an unusual flavour you can’t quite place. You figure it must be some kind of game animal you’ve not tasted before, or herbs mixed in with the broth. It’s good, whatever it is. You help yourself to the cornbread Luda offers you and try not to be disconcerted by the way Monty is staring at you.

He’s just a dirty old man, you try and convince yourself. Ignore him.

Though it’s not that late by the time your plate is cleared, you claim tiredness and go upstairs to your tiny room. Closing the door behind you, you wish there was some kind of furniture you could prop against it; the chest of drawers is far too heavy for you to move inconspicuously. You don’t feel quite comfortable enough to change into the camisole you usually wear for sleeping, so decide to remain in your shorts and T-shirt. One night won’t hurt. You brush your teeth in the tiny sink, making a mental note to rinse your toothbrush with clean water before using it again, and curl up on top of the blanket. The air is thick and humid, and you’re soon wishing you could just sleep naked. Your own scent hangs heavy in the air and you curse your time of the month. Even with the precautions prescribed to you, your heat was always strong, but it never has this much of a toll on you. You remember your first – you were ten, an early bloomer, and it had hit you at summer camp. It was the height of August, and the counsellors had found you whimpering in a corner of the dorm, hugging a pillow and grinding frantically against it.

That was the last time you went to camp.

Could it be because of Thomas? Is that why your body is reacting so strongly?

Growling in frustration, you reach for your bag and grope inside for your pills. The doctors only advise taking three pills in a single day under extreme circumstances, but being under the same roof as an alpha as intimidating as Thomas Hewitt strikes you as pretty damn extreme. It takes you almost three whole minutes to realise the awful truth – the pills aren’t there. You know you put them back in the inside pocket earlier, the same place you always do. They’re definitely gone.

Your heart starts pounding and you feel that prickling sense of danger creep over you again. It would have been easy for Hoyt, Monty, or even Thomas to come in here and take the pills while you were downstairs helping Luda. Which means they know. Perhaps you were kidding yourself that you could lie to them.

You decide not to take any chances. Even without your car, there was no way you could stay here. Your parents would understand. Perhaps you could even call the cops when you got to the next town and ask them to fetch it for you. Gathering your belongings as quietly as possible, you open the door just a crack and peer out down the darkened hallway. All is still. You manage to make no sound all the way to the top of the stairs, taking care not to step in the centre of each step as you tiptoe down.

You’re almost at the door when you hear it – a low, keening moan.

You turn glacially slowly to look at the basement door. You could kid yourself that it was a dog, but you know in your bones that’s not the case.

“Please . . .” the voice calls plaintively. A girl. “Help me . . .”

Fear washes over you like a bucket of ice water. You should go – you know you should go. The door is right in front of you.

“Pleeeeease . . .” the voice sobs.

Your parents’ faces swim before your eyes. You think of what they’d suffer were you to never come home. You brother, your sister, your friends . . .

“Oh God, help me . . .”

“God damn it,” you whisper through gritted teeth. With a quick glance upstairs, you tread as light as a spider down the corridor towards the basement. The girl’s voice gets louder – it’s definitely coming from down there. The door is unlocked when you twist the handle, pulling it towards you just enough to slip inside and down the rickety steps beyond. A large pool of water is gathered at the foot of the stairs, too large for you to avoid. You wince as the damp soaks through your sneakers and socks.

Two large hunks of meat are hanging from hooks along the wall. You think they may have once been pigs, though the head and limbs are all hacked away. You find the girl – a petite blonde in a short blue dress – on a filthy mattress, roped to a pipe in one corner of the room. She looks as though she’s been there for days, weeks, even. Her skin is bruised, and you can tell by her frightened scent that she’s a beta. You can also smell Hoyt’s potent musk on her – in her hair, in the smears of congealed fluid between her legs.

She smells you before she sees you, eyes searching disbelievingly in the half-dark. You quickly stifle her mouth with your hand before she cries out.

“Keep quiet, okay?” you hiss. You pick at the tightly-knotted rope, breaking a fingernail in your attempt to untie it. “Fuck.”

“Oh God,” she gasps.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m gonna—”

“NO!” she screams, her body falling into a fit of panicked flailing. Her eyes are big and brimming with fear, staring over your shoulder.

The scent reaches you just before Thomas’s fingers do.

You duck and back away from the captured girl, who continues screaming like she’s being sliced apart. Every nerve in your body is yelling at you to flee, to fight, to do anything besides what you are doing – which is staring like a deer in headlights up at Thomas approaching you. His scent is almost overpowering, and despite the terror seizing you, you feel a warm stream of slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

He gives a sharp intake of breath and rumbles deep in his chest. Your knees tremble, and you unconsciously breathe in the heady aroma surrounding the enormous man. Your breath shudders as it leaves you. Your instincts are commanding you to stay, to submit, to give yourself to this alpha; you can already feel your body leaning into him.

The basement door slams open and Hoyt’s angry voice preceeds his heavy footsteps.

“Nuff of this dang caterwauling, some of us’re tryin’ to sleep!”

He stops dead at the wall of scent surrounding you, and a sly grin takes over his rugged features. “Well, lookee here.”

Reaching inside his pocket, he pulls out a small foil strip that you recognise instantly.

“Guess somebody’s not just a plain ole beta after all, huh?”

“You asshole,” you spit, your disdain for Hoyt overriding your lust for just a moment.

“That’s not very polite now, is it?” he says. He moves casually towards the whimpering blonde, who stares in terrified anticipation up at him. He reaches down and strokes her hair, and she cringes away from his touch. “Tommy, why don’t you teach this little bitch a lesson in manners?”

Thomas takes two short strides towards you, but you dart out from under his grasp and sprint towards the stairs. The girl you’re abandoning screams after you, but all you can think of now is to escape, battling the nagging tug at the back of your mind that’s still desperately reaching out for Thomas.

You somehow make it up the steps and through the door, your footsteps crashing on the boards as you fly down the hall. You throw your entire weight against the front door, splintering the wood surrounding the lock as you burst out into the night.

You breathe in lungfuls of air as you sprint across the field, heading for the road. You’ve never been a fast runner, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins has you practically leaping like a gazelle. Your feet catch on stones and loose earth, threatening you with a fall, but you just manage to keep your balance. The sound of pounding footsteps behind you sends a sharp spike of fear into your gut, and if you weren’t running you may have vomited.

You vaguely recognise another sound – a deep, mechanical roar – but you don’t want to risk glancing over your shoulder to see if it is what you think. He’s getting closer, you can smell him, you can hear his laboured breathing, you can feel his fingers grasping at your hair—

He overshoots you by a good ten strides when you fall to the ground, scraping your hands and knees on hard soil. Turning to face your supine form, he brandishes the growling chainsaw clutched in his massive hands.

You’re dead. You must be. How can you possibly expect any other outcome from this situation? Scrambling to your knees, you try to rise, but the metal teeth of the chainsaw brush too close; you can almost taste your own blood. Thomas’s eyes, black with rage, focus on you. His chest is heaving, his muscular arms flexing as he prepares to deal the killing blow—

“Alpha!” you shriek, the word spilling from your tongue before you can recognise its meaning. “Alpha, please!”

He freezes, arms aloft, staring down at you in surprise and disbelief.

You crawl forwards, reaching out a shaking hand to touch his booted foot. “Please . . . p-please don’t kill me.”

He glances up towards the house. You can tell he’s not used to making decisions without approval, but Hoyt isn’t here to spit poison in his ear.

“I’ll . . . I’ll be yours.” You can’t believe the words you’re saying. “Please, alpha . . . you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

He steps back and shakes his head angrily, but not in refusal – more like he’s trying to rid your honeyed words from his head as a bull might dislodge a persistent fly. Taking your life in your hands, you slowly rise to your feet and proffer your sweating hands towards him; the scent from your wrists glands is strong, unavoidable. The chainsaw powers down, and his arms slowly fall to waist-height. You take careful hold of one wrist and detach his fingers from the chainsaw handle. Keeping your gaze locked with his, you part your dry lips and press the flat of your tongue against his own wrist, licking a long, slow stripe. His skin is salty with sweat, the musk beneath deep and earthy, hitting the back of your throat like spice. You feel a shudder pass through his body and go one step further – baring your teeth just enough to nip the tender, swollen skin. The chainsaw falls heavily to the ground as he grabs you, one hand twisting the skin of your wrist, the other securing the back of your neck, fingers knotted in your hair. You stare up at him, heart dancing, skin tingling, fear and lust seeking dominance in your stomach. His teeth are bared behind the gap in his mask, his brow furrowed in bewildered rage and desire. You lift the hand still free from his grip and, as tenderly as though handling a baby sparrow, touch the gland at the nape of his neck. The skin is raised and warm, and his eyes close almost in reverence at the contact.

“What in Lord’s name’re you doin’, boy?!” Hoyt’s furious voice startles you both. He’s hurrying up behind you, shotgun under one arm, glaring between you and Thomas.

In a swift, one-handed movement, Thomas pulls you flush against his body, your nose filling with the metallic scent of blood imbedded in his apron – which, it occurs to you, is undoubtedly human blood.

Hoyt stops in his tracks, assessing the situation before him. You, pliant and submissive in Thomas’s arms; Thomas, dominant and possessive, ready to protect you from the threat Hoyt poses. The older man sighs, chuckling softly.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Swinging the shotgun to rest on his shoulder, he shakes his grizzled head. “Y’sure, Tommy? She’d taste mighty sweet with Mama’s hot biscuits.”

Thomas’s grip tightens and you whimper – he’s about to break your wrist. His fingers immediately loosen, and you see a flash of what could almost be called concern cross his face. Hoyt rolls his eyes and turns, heading back towards the farmhouse.

“Come on, then.”

Before you can protest, Thomas sweeps you up into a bridal embrace, pressing your body against his broad chest. Tears prick your eyes as you’re brought back to the place you fought so hard to escape from. As you’re carried over the threshold, Hoyt shoots you a nasty grin.

“Welcome to the family, Little Miss Omega.”

Comments are greatly appreciated because I’m a needy little trashbag.

#thomas hewitt #tommy hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #tommy hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slashers #slasher lover #slasher fandom #slasher community #the texas chainsaw massacre #tcm #tcm the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre the beginning #slasher fic

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waywardbeanie · 4 years

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A Man of Letters - Chapter Ten

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: It started as a simple hunt for Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean didn’t realize that this single case would change his life forever. Now they are on the biggest mission of their lives, and without the use of cellphones, the only way he can communicate with the love of his life is through old fashioned letter writing. He has done everything in his power to keep her safe, but will it be enough? Word Count: 7212 (ish)

Series Warnings: Language, slow burn, angst, smut, alcohol consumption, fluff, SPN typical violence (individual chapters will contain relevant warnings) a little meta Chapter Warning: IT’S CHRISTMAS, humor (Is that really a warning?) and a little bit of sweet.(Always), angst, spicy (smut), unprotected (ish) sex

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this series so far, I have loved writing it and watching the characters grow. I appreciate EVERY ONE OF YOU who are taking this journey with me. We are a little less than half way there so BUCKLE UP!

Thank you to my beta @winchest09 and my mind melder, idea bouncer and my cheerleader @whatareyousearchingfordean I would be lost without you both!

Thank you to @talesmaniac89 she is the gif MASTER!

MASTERLIST A Man of Letters

If you’d like to be tagged, my list is open. Just send me an ask HERE: **Make sure you check out the playlist, it is updated every chapter and an essential part of the story**

Spotify Playlist : A Man of Letters

Catch up here >>>>>>> A Man of Letters Masterlist

This series is ongoing!

No Gif’s are mine

Y/F/N “Santa’s Little Helper” Y/L/N

127 Washington St

Lincoln, NE 68506

Babe,

I will tell you it took me a few minutes to read your letter because I just wanted to look at the pictures that you sent. You're right, one of us in bed being lazy is my new favorite. The way you smile in that picture is exactly how you smile at me when you wake up in the morning. I love it on the one hand, but it's sad too. If I close my eyes and it's quiet, I can almost imagine myself back there. I love the one at the bonfire. That hangover was awful, it's a great picture, and we look like we are having fun. How do you think I would forget the beach picture with my favorite bathing suit? I can tell you that you went to the edge of the water to wash your feet and legs off. I called your name, you looked at me over your shoulder and blew me a kiss, right before you laughed and I took the picture.

Thank you for sending them, just like with all the photos you take they tell a story, I'm just lucky enough to be in your story. That first Thanksgiving together was awesome, we had so many people we care about there. Sam and I had a real Thanksgiving meal that wasn't from a gas station or TV dinner. Of course, thinking of that makes me think about Christmas. You went out of your way to make it memorable. I had never had a real tree that I remember, but cutting down my own? I didn't realize what I was missing. Christmas morning was still the best. I still can't figure out how you and Sam were able to pull it off.

We have gone on three raids since your last letter and have come up with a lot of nothing. They knew we were coming, that is the only thing I can think of. Sam and I talked about it, we have an idea that maybe someone around here is running their mouth, so we are locking shit down. Unless we need to go for supplies, everyone stays here; if they go out, it's in pairs now. We did find a couple of ledgers that were left behind. Charlie is putting them all into a computer and will try to make sense of them or decide if they were left there to throw us off the trail. We are still training; sometimes, I get so angry; it's what gets me through.

I sat down with Sam the other day and finally told him my plan. I was going to wait until this job was over, but I honestly thought this job would have already been over. He blew my mind when he told me he was surprised I hadn't done it already. He said he knew by that first Christmas that it was just a matter of time, that I would leave this life behind within five years. He knew I couldn't walk away until we wrapped things up as neatly as possible, which, as you know, is why I'm on this job. I no longer feel like I'm walking away from my brother, but that I'm walking towards something, I'm just fucking ready.

Before I sign off, I want to tell you how proud I am that you were chosen again as the official photographer! You are so good; there is no one else they could have picked! I hope I have better news next time, but unless something breaks soon, I won't be back in time to help with the parade this year, but I know you will be great! Watch your back until I can.

I Love You,

2 ½ years ago

Tink: Sam, I need your help with something.

Sam: Are you okay?

Tink: Yes, I'm fine; it's about a present for Dean. Can you talk?

Sam: He is sitting right next to me.

Tink: Can you get up?

Sam: We are in the car

Tink: You didn't tell him it was me texting you, did you? I want it to be a surprise.

Sam: No, but he is starting to give me weird looks.

Tink: Can you see the face I'm giving you right now, Sam? This is a SECRET

Sam: okay well stop saying shit that makes me laugh because he just asked me who I was texting like a schoolgirl

Tink: Ugh!. Can you call me when you guys get to the motel, but it should be before or after Dean calls. Please. Shhh a SECRET

Sam: I'll call before because you guys are on the phone half the night, and I'm not staying up that late.

Tink: I'm STILL giving you the face Sam

Sam: Okay, I'll call. I got to go. Dean just rolled down the window and is giving me a look. I'm not going to lose another one of my phones so ttyl.

Standing side by side, arms crossing their chest in matching poses, they studied the tree that they put in the stand in the front living room window.

Y/N pressed her lips together in a line, "I think it needs to go on the back porch; it's too big."

"What!" Dean cried, "It's perfect. I just might need to trim it a little."

She shook her head, disagreeing with him, "It's wider than I am tall at the bottom and-" she gestured to the ceiling laughing, "-it's all scrunched up at the top, like by a foot. We would have to put a dangly star ornament as a tree topper. The tree is actually bent over."

"Okay," he chuckled, "It might be a little bigger in this room than I thought it would be."

"Dean," she pointed to the tree, "there is actually a picture window behind that tree, but you can't tell because it's so…" she gestured her hands around.

"Fluffy?" Dean suggested.

Y/N giggled, "first of all, hearing you say the word fluffy, makes me laugh. Second, if we light a fire in the fireplace, that tree will go up in smoke."

"You know, Babe," Dean said, bumping her hip, wiggling his eyebrows, "fluffy could be our safe word."

"Really?" she questioned, rolling her eyes with a smile, "since when do we need a safe word? I don't need one. Do you need one?"

He pulled her into his arms, brushed her hair away from her face as he dragged his teeth along her jaw; he continued to kiss down her neck, his scruff marking her neck.

"Codeword," was her breathless response.

"Huh?" he pulled away looking at her.

With a smirk, she focused on his face. "Fluffy should be the code word to why we can't ever get anything done when you are here."

"That sounds like you're complaining."

"Uh...no that is not complaining, it is an observation." She flashed him her brightest smile as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Complaining would be bitching that I could sit in the kitchen; and hang ornaments on the tree." Dean took that moment to look at her, to appreciate the woman in his life. She made his heart sing whenever she was near. Not wanting to waste another second, he hauled her body to his, crushing his mouth to hers, swallowing the gasp of shock; taking the opportunity of her open mouth to deepen the kiss. His tongue dancing with hers, he moved his hand up, pulling off her knit hat and entangling his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull, pulling her closer as a moan rumbled through his chest. With her hands fisted in his jacket, they broke away, catching their breath. Her lips quirked up in a smile as she looked up at him.

"See?" she pointed out, "you distract me with all of your flannel lumberjackness."

He chucked, "Well, I did just chop down our first Christmas tree, even if we had to wait for Christmas Eve to do it."

"Hmm," she hummed, eyeing the tree out of the corner of her eye. "Do you need help with whatever we are doing with it?"

"Nah," he said, pulling his gloves out of his back pocket, "Sammy will be here soon, he can help me with it. I'm just going to drag it back outside".

"Hold on," she said, pulling her phone out of her back pocket, "let's take a picture in front of the tree first." They stood in front of the tree, as she snapped the selfie as they both wore matching cheesy grins.

Sam got to Y/N's bungalow just as Dean finished bringing the tree out the front door. They worked together to cut it down, shaking all the snow off before bringing it back into the house. Y/N was in the kitchen, pulling out the cornbread she made to serve with the chili that had been cooking all day in the crockpot. After they ate, Dean helped her get the ornaments out of the attic. She had already decorated the rest of the house weeks earlier but wanted to wait for him to get the tree. After dinner, Y/N turned on the Christmas music as she made hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps; she brought it into the living room, standing back to watch Sam and Dean pass the lights back and forth, wrapping the tree with them.

"Hey Babe," Dean looked back at her, motioning to the tree, "what do you think? Pretty great, huh?"

"It's beautiful," she smiled. "I made some hot chocolate," she gestured, holding up the Santa Claus mugs, "to drink while we hang ornaments." They both looked at her with matching scrunched noses and raised eyebrows.

Rolling her eyes, she held out the mugs, "Try it, before you start making those faces at me. "Have I ever made you anything you didn't like?”

"Butter beans," Dean mumbled.

Y/N exhaled a long breath. "Does it look like I'm trying to give you a mug of butter beans? Whatever-" she set the mugs on the coffee table, "you guys are missing out." With that, she wrapped her hands around her cup and took a long drink.

"Y/N, don't be mad," Sam said, picking up the mug. "I'm sure it's good hot chocolate." Taking a sip, his eyes grew large. "Damn, Y/N, these taste like Girl Scout cookies."

"What?" Dean questioned, picking up his mug, "I love Girl Scout cookies."

"No kidding." Y/N deadpanned.

Taking a swig, he licked his lips, "It tastes like the Thin Mints."

"You don't say," she said looking over the rim of her mug as she took another drink.

"Well, you didn't say you made hot chocolate that tastes like cookies."

"Anyway," she set her mug down, "I got you both something, I want you to open before we hang up ornaments.” She walked over to the fireplace decorated with pine garland, multiple sized white candles scattered over the entire mantle. Tucked in the corner, were two small gifts wrapped in white tissue paper. She handed Dean the one with the red ribbon and Sam the one with the green ribbon.

"Wait," Dean said, turning the small package in his hand, "Are we doing presents now?"

Y/N shook her head, "This is just a small thing I made for you guys, go on, open them."

She bit her lip as she watched them pull the ribbon and tear open the paper. Inside they each found an "S" and a "D," respectively made of thin wood with a ribbon attached at the top. On each was multiple pictures of themselves decoupaged on the letter.

"I forget how many pictures you take," Sam said, holding it up by the strip of cloth as he studied it, "it's an ornament, right?"

"It is," she smiled. "I wanted you each to have your very own ornament to hang on the tree too."

As Dean stared at the ornament, studying the pictures, he mumbled almost to himself, "I can't remember ever having my own ornament before."

Before she knew it, they had both engulfed her in a hug, squeezing her. "I. Can't. Breathe," came her muffled plea.

Sam stepped back, his hand rubbing her upper arm. "Thank you, Tink, this means so much."

Dean took the opportunity to pull her against his chest, his lips brushing the shell of her ear squeezing her just a little tighter "Babe, you have no idea how special this is.”

They turned the Christmas music up as they hung ornaments on the tree with a couple for refills of the spiked hot chocolate and the cookies she had made earlier. After they finished, Dean built a fire in the fireplace as Y/N put all of the presents under the tree. They sat around the living room, the only illumination from the tree and the fire. Dean settled in his "spot" on the couch, draping his arm over the back, Y/N lying next to him, with her toes tucked under his thigh. At this point, it was a habit; it's how they always sat there together.

Sam sat across from them on one of the comfy chairs. She shared stories of when she was a kid at Christmas, and Sam and Dean shared some stories of how they spent their holidays. She made them tell her a couple of stories twice. Her favorite was of them bursting into this Rent-a-Santa trailer because they thought he was murdering someone, but he was just smoking pot, getting drunk, and watching porn, so they sang Silent Night to get out of it.

Standing up, Sam stretched his arms over his head, yawning. "I'm going head to bed."

"Night Sammy," they said in unison.

Raising his eyebrows, he shook his head at them with a huff of laughter, "Yeah, see you two in the morning."

He made this way to the second bedroom of Y/N's bungalow. It was her office, but she had also made it into a guest room for him. He quietly closed the door, pulled off his clothes, folded them, and placed them on the chair. He pulled on his flannel sleep pants and a clean t-shirt. He slipped into the crisp sheets of his bed; he laced his fingers behind his head and settled into his pillow with a smile. He could hear the hum of voices from the living room as he let his mind wander.

Sam could see the changes in Dean since he met Y/N, especially when he was here. Dean was very tight-lipped about her unless it was just the two of them, but he could tell Dean was trying to put things in order. He knew he wasn't going to leave things unfinished. Now that Gabriel is back, it was just a matter of time before they could open the rift again to get Mom and Jack. After they were home safe, he knew Dean was going to walk away from hunting; his priorities had changed. It wasn't that Dean didn't want or think people needed saving; he was just tired.

Dean talked more to Sam about how he felt since Y/N came into their lives than all of the years before. There were little snippets here and there, but Sam paid attention. It was the little things that he said and, maybe louder, were the things he didn't. Sam knew Dean had sacrificed so much, had saved him so many times, hell, they both had, but this time he knew it was going to be for good. Once Dean walked away, he would never come back. That didn't make him angry, it scared him, if Dean wasn't there he had some big shoes to fill, Sam wasn't sure that he was good or strong enough to do what Dean has done for all of these years, but Sam was willing to try because after everything his brother had done for him, this was the thing he could do for Dean. Closing his eyes with a smile, he listened to the murmur of their voices and the soft sound of Christmas music as he fell asleep.

Standing up, Dean reached his hand out to Y/N, slipping her hand in his, he pulled her from the couch.

"Come on, Babe," he smiled as he led her in front of the fireplace, the twinkling lights from the tree bouncing around the room.

Dean pulled her to him, took her right hand in his and rested his hand at the small of Y/N's back. "Dancing with you, this is one of your favorite Christmas songs."

She tilted her head to listen, hearing Michael Bublé singing, "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

As he rubbed his thumb across the top of her hand, she smiled up at him as they moved around the living room.

"Dean, you hate dancing."

"But, you don't," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips, "besides, I don't hate dancing. How could I hate something that means I can have you right here in my arms."

It was in that moment that Y/N’s heart swelled, an overwhelming feeling of admiration and love for the man holding her flooded her soul. She pulled back slightly, capturing the look of his green eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I lo-” she began, her mouth snapping shut as her lips closed, heat creeping up her face as he raised his eyebrow. Her mouth hung agape for a second, as she tried to find the words to cover up her stumble. “I-I love this song, this time of year,” she stammered, lowering her eyes to fixate on the collar of his shirt. She reached up to start fixing it, “so, so much,” she finished in a mumble.

Dean slowed the dancing, his eyes not once moving from her face as she fumbled with the clothes he was wearing. He knew he needed to do something, they had been dancing around the ‘L’ word for months but this is the closest one of them had come to saying it. The silence in the air was palpable and Dean swallowed hard. Before he could even begin to take an action, Y/N cleared her throat.

“Anyway, I think that’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard come out for your mouth,” she chuckled, her nerves engulfing her as she rested her forehead against his chest.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Eh, I've had better lines, and worse," he chuckled, deciding to let the near slip up slide.

"Great."

"Come on Babe, you know it's not like that anymore, I flirt if I need information, but that's it."

She lifted her head to look at him, "I'm not worried, Dean. We talk pretty much every night, and you come here every chance you can, even when you are all banged up after a job. I mean, I never thought I would learn how to stitch a person up." Rubbing her hand up and down his back she smiled. "The women don't concern me, they can't help themselves. I mean, look how they act around here, and I'm with you.”

"They are just trying to be helpful."

"Hmm," she hummed. "Yeah, they want to help you do something."

"It doesn't matter; I usually don't notice until you start laughing." He smirked

"Exactly! That's what makes it so funny. They are falling all over you, and you don't even notice. Then I start laughing because it is so obvious and that's when you start looking around. That's one of the reasons I know I have nothing to worry about. Women aren't my concern; it's your job." She ran the back of her fingers along his scruffy jaw, looking into his deep green eyes. "I can't imagine anyone is as good as you are; it just scares me sometimes. I know you went to Hell and the Mark of Cain, what if something happens like that again?"

He stopped swaying to the music as he captured her hand and held it against his face. "Y/N, I would be lying if I didn't say what we do isn't dangerous, I'm not going to blow smoke, but it isn't like it used to be, I know I have Sam, but now I also have you. I know what is important."

"Dean, what if you don't have a choice?"

"There is always a choice, Babe. Team Free Will and all, I'll be fine."

"Just come back to me, please don't make Sam have to make that phone call."

Leaning down, he kissed her tenderly. "Always Babe. I will always come back to you."

"You better," she sniffed.

"Hey," he chuckled "No, crying, it's Christmas."

"I'm not crying," she smiled through her tears, "I have allergies."

He wiped her tears with his fingers, then wiped them on his jeans. "You know we have danced to like three songs by now."

"Well, I guess that will at least get you to New Year's Eve" she laughed

They blew out the candles and tapped down the fire, leaving the tree lights on and headed to bed. Dean stripped down to his boxers, and Y/N changed into a t-shirt with her boy shorts. Crawling under the covers, Dean turned off the bedside lamp and pulled her into his side, her head resting against his chest and listened to his heart's steady beat.

Dean blinked open his eyes as he found himself lying on his side, Y/N's back pressed against his chest, his arm draped around her waist. He breathed deep, his nose ghosting her exposed neck. Then she did it again, she began to push against him, and grind into him in her sleep, a soft moan escaping her lips as she felt his erection pressing against her, inflaming his need. He pulled her body tighter against him as he rubbed his hardness against her, eliciting another moan from Y/N. She woke up and turned her head to him with a sleepy smile before he captured her lips with a deep kiss. Rolling her on her back, he began to kiss down her neck, his shirt that she had claimed from him months ago in his way. Sitting back on his heels between her legs, he grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and unceremoniously yanked it off and threw it on the floor. She had gotten him so worked up that he was on a mission. Running his hands up her thigh, he settled his fingers in the crease of her legs, his thumbs brushing against the material of her boy shorts. A gasp escaped her lips as his thumbs continued to rub her through the cloth.

"It looks like I wasn't the only one getting worked up this morning," he grinned. Y/N tried to move closer, but he held her in place. He leaned down, ran his tongue alongside the band of her underwear, pulling a whimper from her as her hips involuntarily bucked.

"Dean," she whined, "stop teasing and get moving, I'm about to lose my damn mind here.”

He pulled off her underwear in one swift move. As his eyes focused on her hip, he stopped moving; an eerie growl rumbling through his chest. Mesmerized, his fingertips reached out, tracing the ink there. The tattoo is the size of his fist and is an anti possession matching the one on his chest; his eyes snapped to hers as he sees a vulnerability in her as she watches him, the need to protect her exploding inside of him.

"When did you do this?" he rasps.

"Sam helped me two weeks ago," she whispered, now not so sure by the look on his face that she had done the right thing.

"Why?" he croaked.

"Because you were worried about me, and-" she stuttered, "-and I thought if I did this, you wouldn't be as stressed out."

His heart beat hard in his chest as his vision danced between her new ink and her eyes. Y/E/C orbs that were clearly showing Dean her raw feelings for him. It was then that he questioned why it took him so long to tell her how he felt, always running away from others who tried to share their heart with him. Yet maybe it was because Dean was always running to her, even before he even knew she existed. As he ran his thumb over her hip, he knew he needed to tell her; he had to, his chest ached at the thought he had kept those words to himself for so long. A slow, peaceful grin spread across his face he laid down next to her, pulling her into his arms. She slowly brushed her finger over the tattoo on his chest.

"Dean?" she questions with an anxious tone, her heart sinking, afraid that she had gotten it all wrong.

He swallows a lump in his throat as the words his heart demands that he speak, wage war within him. What if in telling Y/N, the forces outside his control tear her away from him? But, if he doesn't tell her soon, will she walk away with the belief that none of this was real?

He brushes her hair away from her face as he cups her cheek, lifting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes are glassy as she blinks back at him; she feels lost. Usually, she is strong and fierce, but she feels on the verge of despair right now. Smiling softly, he tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"I want you to be safe; I need you to be, you to know you can always count on me.”

"You can count on me too, Dean, always."

He nodded his head, his smile never wavering, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he pulled back.

"I love you, Y/N.” His words whispered against her skin, “I've loved you for so long that it's hard for me to remember when I didn't. You have changed my life in ways I didn't think were possible." He pulled in a shaky breath, feeling the weight lifting off his shoulders as he found the courage to tell her. "I want you to know that I am all in Babe, I want it all with you."

A sound between a sob and a laugh escapes her lips, tears roll down her face, but the smile she gives him is like the brightest sun in a clear blue sky. He looked down to notice the pure joy radiating from her.

Bringing her hand to his cheek, she tries to speak, her throat clogged with emotion. "I love you too, Dean. Oh my God-" she laughs, “you have no idea”

He rested his forehead against hers, voice cracking, "I love you so fucking much, Babe."

He pressed his lips softly to Y/N's before deepening the kiss. He urged her back onto the mattress, holding his weight above her on his elbows just as a loud banging sounded on the wooden bedroom door, shaking it in its frame. Breaking the kiss, he looks towards the door, "Sam; I swear to God-"

"-get your asses up," Sam calls through the door. "It's Christmas, and we have presents to open."

"Sam!" he barks, "Not now."

He can hear Sam's laughter through the door while Y/N is chuckling underneath him.

Turning back to her, a quirk to his lips, he whispered huskily, "We were having a moment here."

"He has radar remember," she giggles a little louder.

The pounding on the door begins again, "Let's go!"

“We will be out in a minute!" Dean snaps.

"I don't believe you," Sam continues to bang on the door with his fist. Consistent, not stopping.

Dean moves off the bed jerking his jeans up off the floor, tugging them on as Y/N scrambles to pull on her shorts and t-shirt. Storming over to the door, Dean grabs the doorknob and whips the door open.

"Dude," he snarls.

"Morning," Sam smiles, taking a drink of his mug of coffee, "you guys up?"

Dean looks incredulously at his brother, "You're kidding me right now?"

A burst of laughter comes from behind him as Y/N tries to squeeze her way through the doorway, pausing to plant a kiss between Dean's shoulder blades. "Come on, let's get some coffee and I'll put the cinnamon rolls in the oven," she says, speaking against his naked back.

"Oh, good," Sam chuckles, stepping back, "I'm starving."

Walking back in the room, Dean grabs his shirt pulling it over his head, mumbling, "I hope you choke on them, Sammy, I hope you choke."

Standing around the island, they each had their second mug of coffee in their hand, the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls drifting through the kitchen.

"Hmm," Y/N hummed, "You know what sounds good with cinnamon rolls."

"Bacon," Dean announced.

"Exactly," she smiled, setting down her coffee, making her way to the door, "I think I have some in the garage freezer. Let me go check."

Sam shook his head at Dean, "Dude; I think you broke Tink."

"Huh?"

"I think you broke her. When we first met her, she made egg white omelets with spinach and mushrooms and now-" Sam gestured to the garage, "-she is making bacon and cinnamon rolls."

Making his way to the coffee machine, he points his mug at Sam. "First, I'd like to think that I helped her, but honestly, I think she still eats that crap when I'm not here."

"Oh, you mean healthy."

"Whatever," he visibly shivered.

"Maybe she will bring you over to the light side yet."

"Sammy, vegetables are the work of the devil, I'm not doing it."

Sipping his coffee, he smiled, "We'll see."

Glancing at the garage door, he looked back, catching Sam's eye. "Hey, I owe you one, man."

"What are you talking about?"

"Y/N, you helped her, you know with the-" he motioned to his hip, "anti-possession tat."

"You know, it was her idea," he shrugged. "She was a champ too, she barely flinched."

"Yeah," Dean smiled, "my girl is a lot tougher than she looks."

"Tink has to be," his brother smirked, "to put up with your shit."

"Really, Sam?"

"I'm just saying." He gestured to Dean

"Well, Sammy, that door swings both ways," he smirked, "speaking as someone who has been stuck in the car with you."

Sam opened his mouth to reply when Y/N burst through the door, waving a large package of bacon in her hand, the garage's frozen air following her.

"Found it," she announced, "and it's fucking cold out there."

Peering out the sliding glass door Dean took in the expanse of snow-covered tundra, "Damn, I think it snowed a foot last night."

"Just in time for Christmas," she smiled.

She put the bacon on a cookie sheet and slid it into the oven. Dean made her a fresh coffee, and she set the timer as they made their way to the living room to gather around the tree. Dean announced that he was going to be "Santa Claus" and hand out all the presents. The three of them sat on the floor as he began to hand them out. Y/N's heart felt very full as she watched the two brothers' faces light up with sheer delight. The anticipation of having a real Christmas with all of the festivities, to include presents under the tree that didn't come from the corner gas station.

Sam was the first to open his gift from Y/N; wrapped in a Christmas paper of Santa and Rudolph taking selfies. Pulling the paper and red ribbon off, it revealed a laptop zipper sleeve printed with a multitude of pictures, flipping it over in his hand; there were pictures of him, Dean, Bobby, Cas, Jack, Mary, Jody, Donna, Claire, Alex, Patience, and Garth.

"This is amazing, where did you get all of these pictures?" he asked in awe.

Y/N grinned, "Jody helped me with the pictures, then I put them all together and printed on the laptop cover."

Pointing to the gift in Dean's lap she said, "open yours next." He pulled the green ribbon on the paper covered with muscle cars decorated with Christmas lights. He ripped the covering, and flipped open the box. Lifting the tissue paper he stared at the object inside.

"Babe," he choked, emotions clogging his throat.

"What did you get?" Sam questioned as he attempted to peer over the box lid

"Do you like it?" she whispered.

He leaned over, sweetly kissed her, and sat back, he pulled the picture frame out of the tissue paper, turning to show it to his brother. It was the picture of Dean and Mary, she was standing behind him, with her arm around him. The photograph had been restored and framed in a black frame. Instead of putting it back in the box to take back to the bunker, he stood up and walked to the long entertainment stand where Y/N had lots of pictures of her and Dean displayed; he moved some other frames around placing the one of he and Mary among them. Y/N blinked back tears because she knew that if he set the frame up here, he must consider being here his home. Walking back to his seat on the floor, he pointed to one of the presents in Y/N's lap.

"Babe, open the one from me next."

She picked up the small one wrapped in brown kraft paper with a smiley face with a Santa hat drawn on it. She started to pick the tape, careful not to rip the paper.

"Y/N, just rip it open," Dean groaned

Squinting her eyes with a sly smile, she said, "I'm trying to save the paper."

"Well, just hurry up," he grumbled as Sam laughed at his impatience.

She pulled out the small box and opened the lid to reveal a plain black leather necklace with a silver clasp. Dean watched her closely as she pulled the jewelry out of the box; she saw a delicate metallic charm. Cupping it in her palm, she stared at it, the tears that she had blinked away moments ago quietly ran down her cheeks. It was a gorgeous pendant with her and Dean's initials intertwined.

"This is so beautiful, did you make this?" she breathed.

"I did," he announced proudly.

She stood up, holding the necklace out to him, "can you put it on me?"

He took the necklace from her as she turned around, lifting her hair. He placed the jewelry around her neck and clasped it; Dean kissing the skin where the clasp had settled.

Turning around she wrapped her arms around him, “I love you,” she whispered against his lips.

Dean groaned as he crushed her against him, capturing her lips with his, instantly deepening the kiss as she clung to him.

As Sam cleared his throat, Dean pressed her closer with one hand as he held a finger out to his brother, telling him to wait a minute. As they broke apart a little breathless, Dean cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, he looked into her eyes as she stared into his deepening green ones.

"I love you, Babe."

A crash came from the kitchen as they stepped away from each other.

"Oops...Sorry!" Sam called, "the timer went off, and I was getting the bacon and cinnamon rolls, while you two were," he waved towards them, "you know."

Y/N's face began to heat as she remembered that Sam was in the room, and she was so into the kiss she didn't even hear the timer. She quickly gathered the paper plates with poinsettias and started to serve the food. She handed Dean’s to him first, and he made his way back out into the living room. As she gave Sam his he held her hand so that she would look at him.

"Tink," he murmured, catching her eye. As she looked up at him, he smiled, "You are the best thing that has ever happened to my brother. You have shown him there is more to life than what he has ever had and you truly love him despite all of the shit in our lives, thank you."

The smile radiating from her face confirmed to Sam one of the many reasons his brother loved this girl so much.

"Come on!" Dean yelled from the other room, his mouth full of food. "Let's open the rest of these presents!"

Making their way back in, they began opening the rest. Sam got Y/N a new leather portfolio to display her photographs for presentations and when she opened it up, on the inside left corner was a little embroidered Tinkerbell with her magic wand. Two of the remaining presents were identical packages wrapped in Elvis wrapping paper for the brothers. Dean opened his gift to find a Led Zeppelin box set. Sam began to open his to find a Celine Dion box set.

"I don't understand," Sam shook his head brows knitted, "I don't even like-"

"-lies!" Dean cackled, Y/N's laughter joining his.

"Fine," Sam's lips quirked. "Can we please keep it between the three of us now since Dean doesn't know how to keep a secret."

Y/N put her hand up, still giggling. "I swear if anyone asks me, I will say your favorite singer is Elvis."

"You two suck," he grimaced. "I mean I love it, but you still suck, you have the weirdest sense of humor."

His announcement was met with thundering laughter.

The rest of the day was followed by watching Christmas movies and eating a ham dinner with all the delicious sides. Y/N packed everything in containers to go after that had eaten because she knew that they were leaving early the next morning. Sam went to bed first with the excuse that he knew they had a long day tomorrow.

Dean sat on the corner of the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist lost in the thoughts of their next steps to open the rift to get out Mary and Jack.

Y/N walked in, closing the door behind her. The towel was gripped to her chest as damp hair cascaded down her back. She regarded him as he was staring at the floor, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was almost dry from the shower as she watched the muscles roll in his back. Tilting his head up to look at her she could see the sadness he had hidden from her all day in his eyes. Moving over to him, he sat up and pulled her between his knees. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head against her chest, taking comfort in her heart's steady beat. Drawing him closer, she ran her fingers through his hair in an effort to ease his burden.

Y/N broke the silence with a whisper, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Nuzzling into her, he shook his head slightly, "We have talked too much about it, tomorrow is when we put it all into action. I just want to enjoy tonight with you."

"Whatever you need, Dean."

He lifted his head, looking up at her, he had a way of seeing right into her soul with just a look that always took her breath away.

"I need you," he rasped.

She bent to brush her lips to his; Dean swiftly took the lead. Hooking his finger at the edge of her towel, it dropped to the floor as he deepened the kiss. Dean flipped his towel open scooting back further on the bed, pulling Y/N with him, she straddled his hips. He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers in a silent question. She nodded her head once before he drove up into her, their moans muffled by their open mouth kisses. Her forearms rested on his shoulders as her hands fisted in his hair. Dean's hands were gripping her hips, one palm covering her new tattoo, fingertips digging in as they moved together at a reckless pace.

It wasn't about making love or marathon sessions; this was about dampening the fire in both of them. They were both worried about what tomorrow was going to bring, and this was the way they would connect without words. Quiet, fast, and hot is what was required. Dean could feel the tightening in his spine and knew he was close, but he knew Y/N needed a little more, sliding his hand between them he used his thumb to brush against the bundle of nerves and with a gasp she threw her head back. His lips moved along her neck, marking her at the spot between her neck and collarbone.

She whined his name, letting him know she was close, he sucked a little harder on her throat as he used a bit more pressure with his thumb. She broke apart in his arms as he felt her flutter around him, he drove into her a few more times before he found his release. Still buried inside Y/N, he held her trembling body, his head resting against her shoulder as they caught their breath.

"I didn't realize how much I needed that," she huffed, shakily.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "I guess I didn't either." He helped her stand up before they both moved to each side of the bed and crawled between the sheets. Y/N lay on her back with closed eyes as Dean lay next to her, his head propped on his elbow looking down at the woman he loved. The necklace he made her settled against her skin, slightly past her collarbones. With his finger, he lightly traced the intertwined initials. Y/N didn't open her eyes, but a soft smile played on her lips. She sighed his name in her blissful state. Leaning down, he gave her a sweet kiss.

"Thank you for everything today."

Cracking one eye open, she whispered, "This was the best Christmas I have ever had, we will be telling these stories forever."

"You're right," he agreed, as he laid his head on the pillow and pulled her against him as they fell into a peaceful sleep.

Dean crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Y/N. It was still dark out, and he and Sam had to get on the road. He got dressed without the benefit of a light. Walking over to Y/N, curled up under the covers, he stood and watched her for a moment, emotions swirling through him. He brushed her hair back from her face.

He bent and kissed her on the temple as he murmured, "I love you, Babe, always."

He made his way out to Baby, where Sam was waiting, throwing his bag in the back seat. He slid into the driver's side, placing his hands on the steering wheel, his mouth set in a firm line. Sam started to speak, but Dean shook his head.

"Sammy," he grumbled, "just give me until we get out of town, and then we can talk about whatever you want," he glanced at him and added, "within reason."

He cranked the ignition and slowly started to back out of the driveway. He stopped at the end and looked at the little bungalow. The Christmas lights that he had helped Y/N hang up after Thanksgiving twinkled in the dark, bouncing off the snow. He could see the sparkle of the tree through the front window. He pressed that picture in his memory; Dean didn't know when he would be back this time. This house and the memory of his girl looking at him pure love were the two things he would keep close to get him through until he could return. He pulled out onto the street and headed out of town to meet with Rowena and Gabriel. The only noise in the car was Baby's powerful engine growling through the early morning light.

Chapter 11

Tags: @winchest09 @katehuntington @whatareyousearchingfordean @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva1@superfanficnatural @deanwanddamons @janicho88 @talesmaniac89 @anathewierdo @compresshischest09 @supernatural-bellawinchester @jensengirl83 @this-is-what-im-reduced-to @ellewritesfix05 @moron225 @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @unicornqu33n17 @swinchester27 @deans-baby-momma @squirrelnotsam @clumsy-nerd104 @sarahbaker2010 @supernatural-love14 @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @angelhearts1012 @nothinbuttrouble2 @cookiechipdough @lady-pswrld @peachyafshawn @notan-applepielife @linki-locks11 @atc74 @divadinag @dvnmbabe @michellethetvaddict @stoneyggirl

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #reader insert #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #slow burn #dean winchester series #a man of letters #waywardbeanie

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dojan-dog · 5 years

Note

lydias girlfriend Emma have dinner with the family, only for the gang to find out... she can see ghost too (this would be so cool as like a few paragraphs, but i dont care haha)

(good god that was the longest case of writer's block I've ever had... Well anyway, I like the prompt, I like the name, let's get funky and writing. I have zero knowledge of Emma's personality so I'll be writing her as I envision the scene going down)

Dinner was served.

Delia and Barbara had really taken it upon themselves to cook the very best meal they could, no doubt to impress Emma, and maybe dupe her into thinking that dinner was like this every night. Before Emmas eyes were trays of mashed potatoes, green beans, chicken, pot beef, shrimp, and a steaming boat of gravy. A salad bowl fought for elbow room on the already crowded table, presenting it's feta cheese and cucumber delights. Out of sight, in the kitchen, was a dish of apple pie. It's aroma drifting into the dining room and teasing the diners did nothing to help ease their growing appetites.

Lydia, an eyebrow raised at a shrimp dish, thought back to yesterday morning, when breakfast was a half baked piece of toast she had made in a rush to get to school. No doubt she had inherited an easily satisfied palate. She glanced at Emma.

Her girlfriend sat next to her, turned towards Delia. The two were chatting about some recent fashion designer scandal that Lydia knew little about. She wasn't involved with that sort of stuff, but Emma was. She smiled, watching Emma excitedly discuss the fashion scandal, her hands wringing the hem of pastel blue skirt, a quirk that she often exhibited when talking about anything of interest. Lord knew Lydia saw it very often on their first date.

"Lydia."

Barbara was next to Lydia, bent down and whispering in her ear. Lydia, playing off any surprised reaction (she had a persona to keep up,) turned and whispered back. "Barbara?"

Barbara waved a hand towards the kitchen. Through the doorway, Lydia could see Adam drizzling the apple pie with a generous amount of glazing. His glasses were slipping off his face, and he made no move to push them back up, so concentrated was he.

"Listen, the apple pie seems a bit lacking," Barbara murmured, forgetful of the fact that breathers couldn't see or hear ghosts. Lydia whispered back, because breathers could definitely hear her:

"If you call that lacking, then you must have the biggest sweet tooth in the world."

Barbara gave a small giggle, then said, "Adam and I will bake another pie. I have a recipe from my mother; it's called the 'Someones Coming Raspberry Cake.' It'll be done in twenty minutes, tops. Is that alright? I just want your girlfriend to have choices.."

Lydia gave Barbara a thumbs up, and looked back towards Emma, who had twisted in her seat to ask Lydia her opinion on the fashion designer scandal.

Barbara, smiling at the two girls, glided back into the kitchen.

Finally, Delia set down one last basket of cornbread, and they all could dig in. Emma, ever the extrovert, complimented each dish. The beans were steamed to perfection, the chicken flavored wonderfully, the gravy was rich... Emma kept up the conversation.

Delia looked ecstatic. Emma was so different from Lydia, who refused to talk in anything but sarcastic comments. The flattering remarks about her cooking were quite a nice change as well. There was one last factor- her hostess skills, a topic she needed validation from.

"So, Emma," Delia said nonchalantly, passing her some shrimp. "You seem to really like this dinner. Tell me, is this a dinner party or what?" She gave a quick laugh to cover up any awkwardness. To be fair, any sense for awkward was now directed towards Emma, not Delia. Emma's moment of Truth was upon the party.

Emma loaded some shrimp onto her plate, scrunching up her nose as she thought. "Well," she set the tray down and looked up, a pleasant but curious look on her face. "It's a very wonderful party, and the cooking is really very good."

Delia's smile stretched from ear to ear. The girls tone sounded genuine.

Lydia first looked to her father, who had his eyes on Delia, a smile hidden under his neatly groomed beard. Lydia then turned her attention to Emma, and felt herself blushing a bit when Emma looked at Lydia, her girlfriend's curious eyes boring into her own.

"I was just wondering..." Emma started, her eyes moving from Lydia's, and looking past her. Why was she looking behind her? What could be back there-

"Why won't the other couple eat with us?"

Lydia's eyes widened.

Charles' shoulders tensed.

Delia's little gasp of breath sounded as loud as a gunshot in the silence.

In the kitchen, where Emma's eyeline had been directed, Adam and Barbara looked up. The couple looked just as shocked as the Deetzes. They seemed frozen, Adam still holding a raspberry he had been about to place on the cake, almost comically.

The silence stretched even further.

And further.

It felt like they had all forgotten how to speak.

Delia was the first to attempt communication, waving her hands and sputtering. This obviously didn't answer Emma's question, and she stopped at the gentle touch of the hand Charles placed on her back.

Lydia was looking at her girlfriend, eyes still as wide as the dinner plates sitting before them. She finally managed to choke out some words. "You- you can see them?"

Emma nodded. "Well, yes. Can't you?"

Lydia nearly started to collapse, but Emma quickly grabbed her hand and let out a laugh. "Oh, silly- of course I know you can see them. I saw you whispering to the blonde lady earlier, and I saw the man folding the dinner napkins and rearranging forks and knives. I know they're ghosts-" (Delia and Charles both let out a sputter. In the kitchen, Adam gasped,) "-and I know because my basement has a little ghost cat. He disappears when he sits in sunlight sometimes, and he once brought back some weird striped worm when I let him outside into the yard."

The impromptu reveal was met with even more silence. Emma's grin began to fade, Lydia noticed, and Lydia did not want her girlfriend feeling uncomfortable. A discreet glance at Delia and Charles proved they thought so as well.

She fought the overwhelming urge to spit out her millions of questions and to focus on just one. She squeezed Emma's hand.

"Emma."

"Yes?"

"Would you like to meet them?

#beetlejuice memes #beetlejuice fanart #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice #betelgeuse #bjtm

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 4 years

Text

Moonlight Chapter 11: Rumination

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 11/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Ten+

Chapter Twelve+ >>

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

Trigger warning: Brief allusion to miscarriage.

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

Twilight was falling as Miranda slowly approached the beautiful Scottish Deerhound. It was loitering near an ancient ring of stones scratching itself and, as yet, unconcerned about its human observer. The air was cold but, as there was no wind, the temperature was not yet so unpleasant as to make outdoor tracking uncomfortable. Miranda started to ease her wand out of her pocket and the dog started, skittering a few feet and halting by another stone. She froze and waited for the dog to settle again, then she pulled a baked pig’s ear out of another pocket. The dog sniffed the air and began warily circling back towards the temptation.

Miranda squatted down and held out the treat, motionless except for her breathing. Little by little the dog came closer to her, until finally it snapped up the pig’s ear and bounded a few feet away from her. It stared at her for a moment and then plopped down on the ground to chew at the morsel. When it was fully engaged in gnawing and ripping the pig’s ear, Miranda managed to draw her wand. She waved it at the beast, lips pursed in concentration as she attempted to force the possible animagus into human form. Nothing happened. She sat back on her heels and sighed. She knew she was wasting her time and it irked her. She felt as though she had tracked every large black dog in England, Scotland, and Wales. Now she was on the Isle of Man and she was planning to cover Ireland next. She had no idea how long Albus Dumbledore expected her to keep up this charade, and she was starting to lose her patience with the game. She was also growing concerned about the state of Lucius Malfoy’s patience. He had decided to be amused by her performance at his Manor rather than admit that she had outwitted him. She suspected from their most recent meeting that his amusement was gradually turning into anger. He’d made a few passing remarks about how numerous and exposed her family was. She knew that America was only a port-key away and that he had the power and the resources to do whatever he wanted to them. True, the Rose clan was more dangerous than your average No-Maj family, but she knew that if Malfoy decided to take them out, there wouldn’t be much they could do to stop him. She couldn’t be everywhere at once. She had thought of asking Aaron for help putting some sort of MACUSA detail on them, but she trusted MACUSA to be about as competent as the Ministry of Magic. She also knew her family too well to imagine that they would be any good at being baby-sat. She would have to play this game out to the end. The dog finished its treat and padded over to her, hoping for more. She held our her hand and it sniffed her, cautiously at first, but soon it decided that she was a friend. She scratched it behind its ears and then fished out another pig’s ear for it. This time it sat down at her feet, happy to have company during its chew. She obligingly continued to pet the animal, and tried unsuccessfully to keep her thoughts form turning yet again to Severus Snape. He was on her mind constantly these days and it exasperated her how much she missed him. He was a spy. He was an ass. He was the most irritating man of the face of the earth and, if he were suddenly to appear and crook his finger at her, she would fall back into his bed, no questions asked. She missed his hands. She missed his body. She missed his dry humor and their verbal sparring. She missed his rare smiles and the way he studied her when he thought she wasn’t looking. She didn’t completely understand why he had ended things so abruptly at Prospero’s. She found it hard to believe that he had only just become aware of the risks of their association, but maybe that was the case. Or maybe he was just afraid that she would blow his cover. She knew him well enough by now to understand that he hated not being in control of everything. And she knew herself well enough to understand that she wasn’t very good at taking orders or being predictable. At the end of the day, maybe that was the real issue. She was probably too wild for him. She had thought there was some part of him aching for freedom but, even if that were the case, he was firmly resolved to see out his mission to the end. If she had been more to his taste, maybe he would have been willing to put up with the risk. As it stood, whatever fleeting pleasure he had had with her simply wasn’t worth the cost. It was a bitter pill, and she was doing her best to swallow it. She gave the dog a final pat and stepped away to Apparate back to the mainland. She was due to have Thanksgiving dinner with the Lees and she was looking forward to Aaron’s complaining about the difficulties of procuring proper supplies in England. They had insisted she come by frequently after that night at the club, supposedly to ‘cheer Rachel up.’ She knew it was more about them trying to cheer her up, but she was happy to have the company all the same. It was good to have a pair of familiar faces in this sea of strangers. Severus’s memory would fade in time. She just needed time.

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“Do you know how hard it was to find canned pumpkin?” Aaron said with a laugh as he distributed pie and rye-laced coffee after dinner. The three of them sat companionably around the farmhouse table in Lees’ airy kitchen. Aaron and Miranda had stuffed themselves with turkey, cornbread, sweet potatoes with bacon, cranberries, and rice. “I had to go to five No-Maj grocery stores. I finally found a can in the back of a Waitrose and I had to elbow three No-Maj grannies to get it,” he added. “I’m glad to know you’re not above elbowing old women in your pursuit of comestibles, Aaron,” Miranda quipped. “Aw, they were armed. I was black and blue from their canes and umbrellas by the time I got home.” “He was,” Rachel agreed, smiling wanly. She had only managed to eat a few bites of rice at dinner. She declined the pie and nibbled at a piece of toffee from the tin Miranda had brought. She had dark circles under her black eyes and her face looked rather sallow. “He earned that can, no doubt about it.” Miranda smiled at Rachel but she was a bit worried about her friend. She hadn’t seemed herself these last few weeks. “Are you feeling any better?” Miranda asked. “I know this gloomy English weather can get anybody down.” Rachel exchanged a look with Aaron and he said slowly, “Well, about that. We’ve got something to tell you, Miranda.” “Yes?” Miranda sincerely hoped this wasn’t going to be bad news. Aaron’s face became very serious. “We’re going to have a baby.” “What? Really! Congratulations!” Miranda cried. “To be fair, I’m going to have the baby,” Rachel clarified. “Aaron’s going to try not to faint during the process.” “I’m so happy for you! When are you due?” “In the spring.” “And, is everything going…” Miranda’s voice trailed off. She was well aware that the Lees had been having a rocky time trying to start their family. “Everything is going fine,” Rachel said firmly. “I’m exhausted and can barely stand the sight of food.” “That’s wonderful! I’m ecstatic for both of you. I can’t think of two people more suited to being parents than you both.” “And we were hoping you’d agree to be godmother,” Aaron said. “Of course! It would be an honor. I’ll even go to confession first.” “I would expect no less,” Aaron said mock-seriously. “And there’s one other favor we’d like to ask.” “More than looking after your child’s immortal soul? Do tell.” “There’s this party I have to go to for work at the end of December. I know that’s a long way off, but it’s a highfalutin pure-blood shindig and I have to answer the invitation now. Do you think you could behave long enough to be my date? Rachel wants to take it easy gestating this time and you know she hates this sort of thing.” Aaron took his wife’s hand and smiled kindly at her. “Are you sure I’ll fit in?” Miranda asked, her eyes twinkling wickedly. “You know how to behave when you choose to,” Rachel said. “And I really would appreciate it. I’m in bed by eight o’clock most nights and this thing doesn’t even start until nine.” “You know I’d do anything for the two of you. When and where?” “It’s on the twenty-eighth of December,” Aaron said. “We can meet here at say eight-thirty, tuck Rachel into bed, and head over to Malfoy Manor together.” Miranda dropped her fork. “Did you say Malfoy Manor?” “Yes. It’ll be about as exciting as watching grass grow, but the house is something else. We can snoop and see how many priceless works of art we can admire while everyone else gets sloshed.” Miranda swallowed hard and forced a smile. “Sounds divine. I’ll be there with bells on.” *****

Severus grated the Snakewood meticulously, careful not to waste a speck. Several cauldrons bubbled next to him, each filled with the base for a healing potion. He’d completed the anti-venom and had turned his thoughts to something more global. He had read through the book of American magic that Miranda had given him in September, and he was incorporating some of the ideas he had gleaned into his repertoire. He began adding specks of Snakewood to the first cauldron, recording the amount and the number of times he stirred on the scroll next to him. Fortunately, he was quick enough to duck as the potion exploded out of the cauldron, shooting into the air like a geyser. “Evanesco,” he muttered, vanishing the mess and making a note on the scroll. He moved to the next cauldron and a memory came to him, unbidden. …….“Nice one, Sev” Lily was giggling as his potion exploded. They were in their fourth year, and Professor Slughorn had allowed them extra time in the potions room for their own projects. Severus couldn’t remember what he had been working on that day, but he vividly recalled the shade of the green scarf holding back Lily’s hair and the way she had smelled of cinnamon and pomegranate juice. “It will work next time,” he had muttered as she vanished the mess……. How he hated this room. It had not been so unbearable when he had first started teaching, flush with the importance of being the Dark Lord’s spy and creating a brave new world for wizards. He had enjoyed terrifying his students and playing at creating a new world order. After Lily’s murder, there had been a long period during which he could go no where at Hogwarts, especially the potions room, without seeing her before him. Eventually, that had faded with regards to most of the school—but here—-she was always here. It had been particularly awful since Harry Potter and his friends had come to Hogwarts. There was Ron Weasley with his ridiculous red hair—as though Severus had not had enough of teaching Weasleys to last several lifetimes. Hermione Granger—the muggle-born witch brighter by far than any of the other students and bold like Lily had been. And, of course, there was Harry Potter himself—strutting about the school like a second James Potter, just as arrogant, just as unteachable. Except, once in a while, when Harry would be focusing intently on his work, and his eyes would gleam like Lily’s had when she was working. It was in those moments that Severus hated Harry Potter the most; when the child unwittingly crucified him with Lily's eyes. Severus finished adding the Snakewood, stirring, and taking his notes. It was Saturday evening and he would come back in the morning to take the first cauldron off the flames. He packed away his supplies and went to his rooms to sleep. His rooms had been the one place at Hogwarts where he was not constantly assaulted by memories of his youth. They had been the one place in the world that he considered his, the one place that was private and safe. Now, however, they were filled with memories of Miranda. It had been more than a month since he’d left her at Prospero’s. He knew it had been the the sane thing to do, but sometimes it was almost impossible to resist the urge to find her and drag her back to his bed. He told himself that she had probably returned to America and would soon forget him. It had been a mad fling, and it was best that it were over. The logic of this reasoning did not stop him from hoping that she would suddenly appear. Every time he entered his rooms he half expected to find her sitting in his armchair. He could almost see her, looking up from her book and smiling at him; saying something that would make him want to smile and kiss her. Frequently, when he woke from sleeping, he would be sure that she was next to him in the bed. He would keep his eyes closed, dreading to open them and see that he was alone. But eventually he always did open them, and he always was alone. Soon it would be the Christmas Holidays. Usually he looked forward to this break from most of the students and many of the teachers. He could stay at Hogwarts, work on his own projects, and not have to return to Spinner’s End. This year he was dreading them. They stretched before him as ominously as the summer had, full of idle time and memories. Why was this his life? Why had he never been anywhere but Cokeworth and Hogwarts and London? He had never even been to the Continent. He sat down in his armchair, intending to read until he nodded off. He couldn’t seem to focus on his book and found himself staring into the fire, brooding about Lily and Miranda. He had loved Lily so much that losing her to James had felt like dying. He knew, however, that he had lost her before that. She had been horrified by his interest in the Dark Arts and that, combined with his own brutish behavior, had driven her away. He still loved her so much that it took his breath away. That was why he continued on this path that Albus had set for him. If he kept Lily’s child alive, if he helped to vanquish the Dark Lord, then—-someday—-Lily would forgive him. Thinking of Lily always caused him a comfortably familiar feeling of pain and guilt. He had carried it so long that not feeling it was unnerving. Thinking of Miranda though, that tended to make him dizzy. She had burst into his life and he had felt off kilter since the moment he had met her. She was like a force of nature and he had been swept up in her madness. Even his fevered adolescent sexual fantasies about Lily had paled in comparison to the carnal pleasure he and Miranda had shared. He sometimes thought that Miranda understood him better than Lily had or at least accepted him. She saw his dark side and did not seem to be bothered by it. Many of the qualities that had driven Lily away from him seemed to draw Miranda to him. Part of him envied Miranda her freedom; her ability to accept the uncertain without anxiety or complaint. She seemed completely unconcerned for her own safety, but not because she was unaware of the risks that she faced. She was intoxicating, but he did not want to bear the guilt for her death if, or when, it came. Sometimes he would let his thoughts roam, creating fantasies of a more perfect life. A life where he had avoided all of the many mistakes he had made. In his younger days, he would imagine that Lily had forgiven him his callous words, and that he had won her long before she'd married James, or he had made the desperate choice to join the Dark Lord's circle. Since he had met Miranda, the fantasy had mutated into one where he had never heard that blasted prophesy in the first place. Lily had her perfect little family and they had all grudgingly reconciled. Severus dreamed of having met Miranda the first time she had been in England. She would have swept him up in her madness again and, because this was a dream, the Dark Lord would be dead and buried. Severus felt that Lily and Miranda would have liked each other. And Miranda would have hated James with him, and he would have quit teaching and joined her in her ridiculous bounty hunting business, and….. Severus shook his head to stop his idiotic flight of imagination. His life was what it was. Nothing would change that. Dreaming was a waste of time, and Severus hated waste

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

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Ten+

Chapter Twelve+ >>

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape #snape #snape fanfiction #snape x oc #severus snape fanfiction #american magic #ilvermorny #thanksgiving #pie #espionage #spying #breakups #romance #adventure #second wizarding war

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unfurledwings · 6 years

Text

And now, after nine thousand years, I’ve finally finished that piece with Wilhelm and I that I said I was going to put up. I know I’ve been really quiet here (I’ll try to be more active here soon!), but I still hope you all enjoy this. Read it under the cut!

Title: The Dinner Party

Fandom’s Involved: Xenosaga

Rating: G? Maybe T, just to be safe, though there isn’t anything explicit or violent going on here.

Pairing(s): Wilhelm/Me

Summary: Never, ever think that Wilhelm won’t annoy you if you know the truth about him and go to one of his company dinners.

If you’d known who was going to be sitting next to you, you would have thought twice about accepting Shion’s offer to a big, formal Vector dinner.

“Allen says that events like this make him sick to his stomach, so we have an extra spot for you, if you want to join us. Even my bosses say it’s okay, so I’m sure you won’t get in trouble.” You thought about whether or not you should go for a moment, since it was a big event at Vector, of all places, but you didn’t think that Wilhelm would be around, so you happily agreed to come, a big smile on your face.

Unfortunately, not only did Wilhelm make a rare, semi-public appearance at the dinner, someone-probably him, even if only indirectly-had decided to seat you right next to him, far away from Shion, and among a group of strangers. You’re a little awkward among new people, but you handle the conversation just fine, even if you do feel bad about the fact that you’re quiet and don’t have anything interesting to talk about (being a cook onboard the Elsa, while interesting and a decent way to pay the bills, doesn’t give you much to talk about, especially in a setting where you can’t talk about anything illegal or grim.). It’s the man sitting to the left of you that’s the problem.

Even though he looks rather calm and genial, you’re sure he’s feeling smug and amused about this whole situation right now, which just pisses you off even more. It’s not like you haven’t known chaos for a long time now. It’s not like the two of you are in a relationship of some sort, the kind where you would follow him to the ends of the universe and back if you had to. It’s not like he quietly told you about what he could remember of his past one quiet evening that felt like it was dipped in melancholy, when you two were alone in the kitchen, long after everyone else had gone to bed, drinking tea and pouring out your complicated, wounded hearts to one another. It’s not like he told you about the person who now calls himself Wilhelm, of what he once was to chaos, Mary, and their friends, and how he turned his back on them, manipulated them, and killed the people they considered their dearest friends.

“I understand why he did it,” chaos had said, his quiet voice two steps away from being a groan, still flecked with blood, and the solemn, haunted expression on his face looked like it belonged in an abandoned church in the dim lighting, “but understanding doesn’t always erase the pain. He killed everyone, and I was the sole reason why.” As you held chaos and gave him whatever comfort you could, your heart ached and bled out with his, even as a burning, screaming, poisonous hatred for this man was born in it, and that hatred never died away, even as the days passed and you began to wonder whether or not Wilhelm was actually hoping for humanity to defeat him and break the cycle, whether or not he was choosing to be the villain so that everyone could move on someday. On the contrary, that idea simply stoked the fire in your heart, threw your head into a burning daze, and made you feel like punching him the moment you met him.

If Wilhelm actually wanted the Recurrence to continue endlessly, no matter the cost, if he was truly the cold-hearted man he pretended to be, it would have been easier to wrap your head around him. You still wouldn’t have liked him, but you could have felt like you had a handle on him somewhat. This new theory introduced the idea that Wilhelm wasn’t cold at all (at least, not completely), that he wished for humanity to rise above his solution, even if he saw no other way to do that than to be the villain in this story. Hell, the theory didn’t rule out the possibility that he enjoyed his self-made role somewhat or the fact that he was the one mostly penning the events in this story, for better and for worse, which wouldn’t surprise you, given what chaos had told you about him. It makes you think that there are layers of maddening pretension surrounding his true core (and even that might be more than a bit pretentious), and that frustrates you to no end, since you want to wrap your head around this man. You want to understand him, like some Lovecraftian protagonist who tries to understand the horrors around him and is doomed to madness for his efforts, but instead of insanity, all you get is speculation-some of it plausible and some of it not-and a pounding, aggravated head for your troubles.

So, sitting next to Wilhelm at this formal, polite dinner, knowing what you know about him and having to pretend you don’t loathe his guts is hard enough, but trying to analyze his motives for seating you next to him annoys you even more. Did he simply do it to get under your skin, or is he trying to mess with chaos, who knows all about your plans for this evening? Or both? Some lovestruck people might say that he did it because he likes you and wants you around whenever possible, despite the story, the play he’s trying to construct, but you’re ninety-five percent certain that that’s not the case. You can’t think of any reason why Wilhelm would be in love with you, and from what you understand, he’s too much of a sadist to derive pleasure from that sweet of a motive.

Despite your growing irritation and desire to punch Wilhelm’s face, you make it through your beginning salad course and move onto your main one: a plate of baked, breaded catfish, fried squash, and a hefty slice of cornbread. It is here that Wilhelm finally makes his move.

He orders a plate full of sticky ribs and coleslaw, a choice which everyone-including you-thinks odd for him, though only one woman sitting across from him actually comments on it.

“I know they may not fit with my professional image,” he replies with a chuckle and a grin that further frustrates you, since you can’t tell whether it’s genuine or not, “but it’s been a long time since I’ve had them, and I felt in the mood for them. Sometimes, all you want is a simple, good meal.” As the people around you heartily agree with this and use it to pave the way for a new conversation, you quietly dig into your dinner as you listen and observe, unsure of whether Wilhelm is being completely honest with his explanation, though you can’t think of much-or anything-he’d have to gain from lying about his meal choices.

About fifteen minutes into the main course, Wilhelm puts down one of the ribs he’s just finished eating and politely sucks on the middle of each of his fingers before moving his hands down to his lap like he’s going to wipe them on his napkin. Except he doesn’t. He times his actions perfectly so that it matches up with the moment you move your hands to the napkin in your lap so that you could wipe off the residue from your cornbread, and instead of wiping his hands, he presses his fingertips against yours, under the table where no one can see.

The indirect-and passionate, given that he sucked on his fingers-kiss takes you completely by surprise, and you quickly jerk your head towards him, unable to stop yourself from glaring at him, and while you try to pull your hand away, he quickly takes ahold of it, giving it a little squeeze as he gives you an amused, warm look packed full of possible meanings. Is he amused because he knows he’s bothering you and likes it? Or because he’s messing with someone that he knows chaos cares for? Or…would a romantic heart actually be right here? Or is it some combination of these answers? You’re not completely sure, but the possibilities make you feel dazed and dizzy, like you’ve had too much to drink, and whether you realize it or not, the glare on your face melts away into something more confused and puzzled. You just hope you’re not blushing without realizing it, since you wouldn’t want to give Wilhelm, of all people, the satisfaction of seeing that. You realize that this little stunt puzzles you more than it annoys you. While you’re not certain whether Wilhelm knew you’d react like that (he probably did), you have no idea how to feel about the implications of your feelings. Thankfully, the guy sitting across from you notices the looks on yours and Wilhelm’s faces and speaks up, a sly grin on his face.

“What’s up with you two? You look like Mr. Wilhelm just proposed to you.” The moment he speaks, Wilhelm lets go of your hand and continues eating like nothing ever happened.

“Nothing! I’m alright.” You reply, trying to get ahold of yourself. “Wilhelm just reminded me of someone I work with onboard the Elsa.” Of course, your relationship is more than that of just two coworkers, but you can’t tell these people that. Despite how old he truly is, chaos looks like he’s sixteen, tops. “I guess I just got lost in thought thinking about him. I’m not going to marry Wilhelm, though.” You say, trying to make your tone sound joking. “I’ve never even met him before today!”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Nearly coos the elderly woman sitting to the right of the man. “You two would be such a cute couple. Have you ever thought about getting married, Mr. Wilhelm?”

“I have, actually.” Wilhelm replies, pausing in the consumption of his dinner, and as you continue yours, you wonder, yet again, whether or not he’s telling the truth. If he is, who did he ever think about getting married to? Mary? chaos? Someone else? A long list of people, some of whom you know, some of whom you don’t, and all tossed aside in favor of the grand play and role that he wished to put on? You can’t imagine a guy like him having a really successful love life, considering the stunt he just pulled on you, knowing what your feelings towards him are, and what chaos has told you about him. “But I’ve never been able to find the right person, and I’ve been so busy lately that I simply haven’t had the time to mingle with other people.”

“Then you should grab the bull by the horns while it’s sitting right next to you!” The old woman cries, and your whole being lurches, knowing what’s about to pop out of her mouth and what Wilhelm’s response will be, the sadistic motherfucker. Now you have a better understanding of why Wilhelm seated you next to him, but, like chaos said, understanding doesn’t always erase the pain, especially in this case. “How about you go on a date with this lovely young lady?”

“Well,” Wilhelm says, genuinely sounding like he’s just discovered a gem that had been lying right under his nose this whole time, “that’s not such a bad idea. What do you say, Miss Langley?�� He asks, turning to you with a friendly, warm smile that would charm anyone who didn’t already know the truth about him. For better or worse, though, you do, and you want to rip out all the teeth in his lying, pretty little mouth. “Would you mind gracing me with your presence next Thursday at nine o’clock?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” You reply, forcing yourself to sound flattered and excited about the idea of a date with the enigmatic, handsome Mr. Wilhelm, instead of sighing and sounding like a sullen fifteen-year-old. What makes this even worse is the fact that you’re ninety-five to one hundred percent certain that Wilhelm knows what your true feelings are about the matter. “It’s not that I don’t want to go out with you, but the Elsa’s always busy running odd jobs in all sorts of places. How about you give me your email, and we’ll work the details out there?” You might not be able to tell Wilhelm no, you might not be able to scream for him to go to hell in this polite setting without looking like an insane bitch, but you’re not going to just let Wilhelm mess with you like this without trying to get some information out of him.

“There’s no need for that.” Wilhelm replies, still grinning like he’s talking with a long-lost friend. “I already have your email, so I’ll send you a message later. I hope you’ll be able to find an opening in your schedule, though, Miss Langley. You seem like an interesting person, and I feel like I truly would be missing out on something if I let you slip through my fingers.”

“I’m not sure about that.” You reply, wishing you could strangle this man right now. So much for getting some good information out of him. “I tend to be a pretty quiet person, even around people I like. But hopefully Captain Matthews can let me go for a little while so that I can get to know you better. And, even if he can’t, I’ll still be able to message you and annoy you with a million personal questions.” You say, letting a trickle of your true feelings show with a teasing, mischievous look, though Wilhelm still looks perfectly and frustratingly friendly.

“And I’ll be able to share some songs I’m quite fond of with you. Do you like Wagner, by any chance?” Before you can tell him your opinion of Wagner (which, you predict, is nearly the complete opposite of his), the elderly woman across from you sighs happily.

“Ah, young love! You two enjoy it, now! From what I understand, it’s so much harder to find a good lover when you get older. Not that I would know. We may be old, but Thomas and I still enjoy ourselves like we aren’t a day over twenty!” While you’re not entirely pleased with this woman for being the catalyst of your date (though you know she’s not the one to blame), you still can’t help but be amused by her comments. You’re one thing, but while Wilhelm looks like he might be only five or ten years older than you, both he and you know that he’s as old as chaos, as old as Christianity. At least she gives you a new direction to take this conversation in. As you give the woman a friendly little smile, you secretly pinch Wilhelm as hard as you can under the table, where no one else can see. He doesn’t react, since he probably saw that you’d do this in his Compass, but it’s the least you can do to return the favor. Tit for tat.

“Then it’s good to hear that you two are still happy. What kind of person is Thomas, though? Hopefully he doesn’t mind going on long, exciting adventures with you!”

“Oh, no, not at all! Thomas loves to travel, and he can never sit still, so we’re always up and about from one place to another. It really is quite exciting. Not even the Gnosis can put a damper on our spirits while we’re traveling!”

“Isn’t that dangerous, though?” Asks the man sitting on your right as you start to seriously tuck back into your dinner. “There’s nothing wrong with traveling about and seeing the universe if you can, but you can’t let your traveling highs blind you to danger. I’d be horrified if the Gnosis ever did show up on one of your vessels.”

“Oh, relax.” The woman laughs, and as she speaks, you slowly become the listener in the conversation again. Not that you mind, since you’d like to finish eating, but you hope that Wilhelm doesn’t have anything else in store for you. Being a listener is like being the goalie on a hockey team sometimes. If you’re not alert enough or zone out, you might not be in time to stop something horrible from getting past you, and as sadistic as Wilhelm is, both willingly and not, one wrong turn in the conversation that you weren’t able to prevent might spell doom for you or those you care about. “We’ve never actually seen the Gnosis while we’ve been out and about. Besides, Thomas and I have talked about it, and we both feel that, even if the Gnosis were to come onboard one of our ships, there wouldn’t be anything we could do about it. It’s like worrying about a random comet suddenly hitting you. Worry or not, it’ll still come!” She says, laughing again, and while you still don’t like the way she roped you into a date with Wilhelm, you know where she’s coming from here.

You don’t have to worry about the Gnosis now, since chaos protects everyone onboard the Elsa, but even before you met him and started working for Captain Matthews, you didn’t worry about them for exactly the same reason-there was no point in doing so. Not that you really want to die, but you don’t think there’s any sense in worrying about things you can’t prevent. Wilhelm could decide to send in one of his workers to kill you in the bathroom after dinner, but there’s no point in worrying about that because you can’t do anything about it. You might be a weird human, but you’re still a human without any special powers (at least, as far as you know.).

Thankfully, as the conversation starts to die down and dinner draws to a close, your imaginary scenario in the bathroom doesn’t come to pass. Wilhelm’s presence decides not to follow you into the bathroom, so you can pee and wash up without yet another thing to deal with. When you come out and find Shion in the reception area, though, he decides to mess with you again. Not immediately, though. Like a patient hunter who’s stalking the wariest antelope in the universe, he lets you and Shion talk about your meals, how much fun you had, and doesn’t even come into the picture when Shion starts, a confused look on her face.

“I heard that Wilhelm asked you out on a date next Thursday. How did you manage to make that happen? I didn’t think he had much in the way of friends, much less romantic interests.”

“I honestly have no idea.” You reply, lying through your teeth, though you try to look surprised about your new outing. Happy, but excited, despite the truth of the matter. “Wilhelm mentioned that he’s thought about getting married, even though he can never find the time to look for the right person, and the woman across from me joked that he should go out with me, since I was an open opportunity and we’d make a cute couple. I guess he decided to take her seriously, and I didn’t see any reason to turn him down. I don’t know him well enough yet to really say ‘no’ to a date with him.”

“Well, from what I know, he shouldn’t ever give you any reason to say ‘no’.” Shion says, though she looks a bit awkward discussing romance with you, though you can understand why, given her position. You don’t imagine that too many people grieving the loss of a lover would be comfortable or completely happy talking about someone else’s romantic prospects. “Of course, Wilhelm doesn’t make too many public appearances, but I hear that whenever he does, he’s always a perfect gentleman to everyone, no matter who they are.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then I guess I don’t have anything to worry about.” You reply, forcing the fake grin to stay on your face. You know that there’s more to Wilhelm than he lets on, but you can’t go on about that here. At least, not without looking like a complete lunatic. “I just hope I don’t bore him to death.”

“Don’t worry! You won’t! I don’t think Captain Matthews is allowed to hire anyone who isn’t interesting, considering his crew. Speaking of which, you should probably stay at my place tonight. I can’t think of any transportation service that’ll come all the way out here without charging you an arm and a leg for it.”

“I’ll admit that there aren’t that many good services that’ll come out here without charging you out the wazoo, but there are a few more than you might think. I’ll just keep calling around until I find someone to take me back to the Elsa. I really appreciate the offer, but I know that if I’m not there to cook breakfast, I’ll never hear the end of it from the Captain.” It’s at this moment that Wilhelm chooses to strike again, quietly sidling up to you two like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you two are actually friends of his and he’s not planning on messing with you two or harming you or your loved ones later on.

“Forgive me, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” He says to you, a warm little smile on his face that might have been endearing if you didn’t already know the truth about him (or at least most of it.). “If you really have to go back, I could always ask one of my shuttles to take you home, free of charge.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, eighty to ninety-five percent sure that Wilhelm is planning to use this little gesture of goodwill for something, even though you know that you can’t refuse without looking rude, insane, or both in front of everyone. “I really don’t mind calling around. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“There’s no need to worry about that.” He replies, and while you know that you might be acting overly paranoid, you’d swear that Wilhelm’s little grin looked sadistic for a moment, like he knew something that was vital to the survival of the human race, knew that you knew he had it, and enjoyed only giving you bits and pieces of his information at a time, like you were a dog or cat to be played with. “It wouldn’t be an inconvenience for me to know that you made it home safely. Far from it, really. You seem like a lovely person. I would hate to lose you, and I especially wouldn’t want my date to die before we exchanged a single email.”

If you two were alone, you’d probably hit him at this point and yell that you never would have agreed to go on a date with him if he didn’t set this whole scenario up and knew that you couldn’t refuse in front of a bunch of other people without looking like a weird, crazy person. But, since you’re still in front of other people, Wilhelm’s best weapon against you this evening, you grit your teeth and try to respond like a normal, grateful girl, like nothing’s wrong at all, like Wilhelm hasn’t bothered you all evening.

“I’m not going to die just from calling shuttle services until I get lucky. It’s more likely that the Gnosis will take me out, and I don’t even worry about them. But, if you really don’t mind, then I’ll take you up on your offer. People or Gnosis, I can’t die until I learn a little bit more about you, Wilhelm.” Wilhelm, with his eternally perfect poker face, nods at you. If Wilhelm was a normal person, you’d joke about it, saying that he should use it to win or steal millions of dollars out of people instead of setting up the biggest company in the universe (after all, he does have the looks for a phantom thief), but, for better or worse, he isn’t.

“Even though you don’t worry about the Gnosis, you should still worry about Humans. Dangerous times tend to bring out the worst and best in people, and if you’re overly careless, they might do something horrible to you. Thank you for accepting my offer, though. It truly is a weight lifted from my mind. Follow me, and I’ll show you where the shuttles are. And, Miss Uzuki?” He asks, turning his attention to Shion.

“Oh? Yes sir?”

“Please keep up the good work with KOS-MOS. Her systems have shown a lot of improvement while you’ve been working with her, and we’ve acquired a lot of good data while you’ve been out in the field with her. I’m sure whatever new upgrades you come up with next shall be truly magnificent.” You have no idea whether Wilhelm’s just trying to pay Shion a compliment (for whatever reason), hint at a new and-possibly-sinister upgrade that’s going to occur thanks to him, or both, but the compliment does make you wonder (normally, it might make you a bit more suspicious too, but you’ve found that worrying about and being suspicious of Wilhelm all the time just wears you out, and you’ve been so suspicious this evening that you’re too exhausted to worry about any more of Wilhelm’s machinations unless they’re staring you right in the face.). Of course, since Shion’s unaware of the potential danger and who she’s dealing with, she just gives Wilhelm a shining, proud smile.

“Thank you very much, Sir! It really does mean a lot to hear that from you, considering everything we’ve put KOS-MOS through. I’m not sure what we’ll come up with next, and there aren’t any real-world testing scenarios we can put her in at the moment, but I hope we’ll exceed your expectations, whatever we all decide to do next!”

“There’s no need to worry, Miss Uzuki. I’m confident that you will.” With that, Wilhelm turns away from Shion and starts to walk out of the room. You follow him, since he’s supposed to be taking you to a private shuttle, but the moment you two are alone (at least, as far as you can tell), you try to relax with a long, low sigh, letting your rock-hard mask of a friendly, happy smile finally fall away so that you can genuinely express your feelings of exhaustion, distrust, and dislike of Wilhelm. As you walk through a few metallic hallways, you consider seriously grilling Wilhelm about why he set you two up on a date, but after a few moments, you decide against it. It’s not that you don’t want an answer, but you know that you can’t fully trust anything that comes out of Wilhelm’s mouth. You’d have more luck asking chaos about it later, assuming he was even monitoring Wilhelm this evening to make sure he didn’t do anything uncouth to you.

So, you two walk in silence until you both come into a large ship docking and takeoff room with various ships and shuttles of different shapes, sizes, and colors all scattered about the place. As you follow Wilhelm, you can’t help but look around, your head swiveling about like a three hundred and sixty degree camera. Everything just looks amazing, and you’re sure that if your mother were here, she’d get a kick out of examining and exploring every craft here. If Wilhelm is amused by your antics, he doesn’t show it (though he probably knew that you were going to do this long before you did it.). He simply leads you to a small, violet-colored shuttle before turning back towards you, a smile on his face, though you have no idea how genuine it is. “Go right on in. The Captain of the Vorabend has already been made aware of your situation, so just give him the coordinates of wherever you wish to go, and he’ll take you there, free of charge.”

“Thank you. I guess I’ll talk to you later, then.” As you reply, you wonder whether or not Wilhelm set this part of the evening up with one of his Testaments or Vector employees beforehand, since you didn’t see him typing on any devices to fill anyone in on your situation while you two were walking here. It’s possible that he just asked someone to meet the two of you down here so that they could take you home before he spoke to you, but..considering that this is Wilhelm, you think there’s only a five to ten percent chance that possibility is actually a reality.

“There’s no need to guess. I know we’ll see each other again, Miss Langley.” You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you simply smile and nod at Wilhelm as you hold in your anger and board the shuttle from the bottom entrance, which leads you into a small storage room that looks like it doesn’t get much use. It looks like there’s only about five or six boxes in here, and there’s no way for you to know how long they’ve been here or how long they’ll continue to be here. On the plus side, though, the lack of clutter makes it easy to see the door on your left-hand side, which you might not have been able to find if this shuttle were in general use (you suspect it isn’t). God knows it can be nearly impossible to navigate the Elsa’s cargo hold sometimes, after Captain Matthews has finished loading it full of junk.

The next door opens into what looks to be a combination of a kitchen and a rec room. It’s bigger than the storage room, but it’s still not big enough to put a bed in without taking up a decent amount of space. Instead, on the rec half of the room (which is the part the door leads you into), there’s a long, cozy sitting area bolted into the wall that’s wide enough for people to lie down and sleep on. It kind of reminds you of an old R.V., or a tour bus that a band might have used while Earth was still around. To the right of this sleeping area, there’s a long, brown table and an old television behind it, though you wouldn’t say that they get a lot of use either. This whole room feels just like the storage room-there are no personal effects or books anywhere, and the whole place feels cold, abandoned, and unloved. If Wilhelm were here, you’d joke around, saying that he needed to pick a better ship if he was trying to impress you, or that it’s an insult to your intelligence and your sense of taste if he thought you were going to be impressed by such an unloved ship.

But, since he isn’t, you walk through the room and open the door at the north end, which finally takes you to the bridge. Not that the bridge is very big, either-it’s only big enough to contain an all-purpose command module and controls for transportation, communication, connecting to the U.M.N. (which is necessary for all sorts of reasons), offense, just in case the shuttle is under attack at some point, and anything else that’s necessary for piloting, observing, and protecting a ship, along with a second offensive module on the right, just in case the-possibly nonexistent-co-pilot’s combat services are required to shoot down other craft and Gnosis while the main pilot guides the shuttle through rough space, and two chairs in front of each module, one of which is currently being occupied by a man with short, light blue hair and a cold expression wearing a black shirt, blue pants, brown boots, and a navy blue jacket. He may or may not be happy to see you, but at least his tone is somewhat cordial, even if it does sound a little forced.

“There you are. You must be Miss Langley. I’m Kyle, the pilot of the Vorabend. Wilhelm told me you’d be here eventually. Just tell me where you want to go, and we’ll be right on our way.”

“Ah, al-alright then.” While you do your best to give Kyle the coordinates to the Elsa as coolly as you can, your voice falters and stutters a few times, which just makes you feel like yelling at yourself. After all, it’s not like you don’t know who this guy is. He’s either a Vector employee who’s in the know about Wilhelm, or one of his Testaments (though you suspect the latter more than the former). There’s no reason to feel anxious or falter around this guy logically. It’s just hard not to emotionally stumble when someone is looking at you like Mrs. Danvers. You’ve half a mind to ask whether or not this guy is genuinely in love with Wilhelm, but, you get the feeling that the half-joke would probably piss him off, even if he decided not to show it or act on it (at least for the moment), so you don’t. You just try to calm down and get your feelings together while Kyle inputs the coordinates and gives you a frosty smile.

“Thank you so much, Miss. I’ll take it from here. You can go in the back and rest until we get there.” You quietly sigh to collect yourself before you reply, hoping that Kyle doesn’t notice, or, if he does, doesn’t completely understand or care about why you’re doing so.

“Thanks. If I fall asleep, just shake me, and I’ll be on my way. You don’t have to carry me all the way back to my bed on the Elsa.”

“Of course.” Kyle replies, his smile still as chilly as before. “I was planning on doing that anyway.” You can’t think of anything else to say, and Kyle both has to fly the Vorabend and seems to have a low opinion of you at best, so you head back to the rec room and sit down on the sleeping area, pondering whether or not you’re tired enough to actually fall asleep. You don’t think you do, but there’s nothing else to do on this ship. Plus, your back could probably use a rest. So, you sigh and curl up on the sleeping area, smoothing out your skirt so that Kyle won’t accidentally get a look at anything, before closing your eyes and doing your best to relax your being, playing a calming song in your head that always makes you feel sleepy.

It must work at some point, even though it feels like you’ve been lying there for three hundred years, because at some point, someone shakes you awake, even though you didn’t even realize you’d fallen asleep. With a little groan, you open your eyes and see Kyle standing over you, the cold, semi-mocking smile still on his face. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Langley,” he says, even though he sounds like someone who just found their worst enemy in the most venerable and embarrassing position imaginable, “but I just landed inside the Elsa. We’re here.” He adds as you sit up, like you’re a moron who can’t figure out what landing inside the Elsa means for you. You do your best to glare at him as you rub your eyes before getting up and stretching a little-but not so much that it gives Kyle more ammunition to mock you with.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“You probably will, Miss Langley.” Not only is that similar to what Wilhelm said to you before you left him, Kyle says that in the most mocking, patronizing tone imaginable, like he’s speaking to a stupid maid working at his manor who dreams of being a rich mistress herself someday, even though she’s too stupid to look after cattle, much less run an estate. You have to grit your hand as hard as you possibly can to stop yourself from just punching or letting loose on this guy. You hate Wilhelm, but even he wasn’t as cold, patronizing, or rude as this asshole.

“We’ll see.” You reply, your voice cold enough to instantly freeze twenty men, as you head out of the shuttle and into the Elsa’s dock. You speedwalk out as quickly as you can so that the shuttle can leave as soon as possible, and as you head up to your bedroom (which is just your own little section in the woman’s sleeping quarters), you idly wonder who let the Vorabend in, since it is getting pretty late, and since Captain Matthews tends to wake up early in the morning, everyone else tries to go to bed at a decent hour so that they don’t have hell to pay in the morning (the only person he goes easy on is chaos, who, ironically, sleeps in more than anyone else on the ship, including your passengers.).

Probably chaos, though you don’t really feel inclined to check the men’s sleeping room to be sure, just in case you’re right and everyone else is asleep in there, or the bridge. Normally, you might, if you had a better night with different people and wanted to share some of the dinner highlights with him, but you had an awful night with Wilhelm, and it’s likely that he already knows about it. Plus, you’re not really in the mood to have a good, objective conversation about Wilhelm and his awful pilot with chaos, someone who doesn’t have a burning hatred of Wilhelm, but can also neither completely like or trust him anymore, while also remaining aware of his feelings and issues. Instead, you just head to the woman’s sleeping quarters, slip off your shoes, and head to the kitchen for a good cup of tea. You need to unwind and relax before you can even think about going to bed. You’ll tell everyone about your ordeal-sans what Wilhelm did, which’ll be for chaos’s ears only-tomorrow.

#self-insert #self-shipping #f/o #Wilhelm #fucking kismesis #fanfiction #fanfic #Xenosaga

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renegade-diamonds · 6 years

Text

SO I decided to write out a goddess/reincarnation whink AU I’ve had stuck in my mind for a few weeks. Let me know if you wanna see anymore of it, I have a plot pretty well thought out so I wouldn’t mind continuing it if you guys like it :)

Please forgive any typos or grammar issues, it’s 3 in the morning and I’m tired.

From the time she was young, Wylla knew she was different from others.

Her parents had always told her the story of her birth; they spoke of her calmness as a newborn, and of the faint diamond shaped birthmark that was oddly located on her forehead.

But even weirder was the frightening advice the village shaman had given them, telling Wylla’s parents that she would die if any of the great goddesses ever set their eyes on her birthmark.

From that day on, they lived disconnected from the rest of the world, too scared of drawing attention to their daughter - a tiny cottage on the outskirts of their small town being the only thing Wylla would know for nearly twenty years.

“Do you have everything?” Wylla’s mother fussed over her daughter’s appearance, “Money? Food? Is your mark covered?”

“Yes mama,” Wylla chuckled. “It’s not the first time I’ve made the journey. I’ll be back by the morrow.”

Her mother sighed, “I know. I just worry that’s all. You’re sire would normally accompany you.”

“Sire is not well,” Wylla put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s better she stay here and regain her strength.”

“Very well,” the older woman sighed. “Just remember to find the best prices, the currency for the market should be able to cover everything we need to get through the winter.”

“I’ll make sure to get everything,” she checked her bag, making sure she had a fresh change of clothes and the money. “I’ll be back in no time, don’t worry.”

“Make sure you don’t remove your headband,” her mother reminded. “I don’t want you drawing any attention to it.”

“You seriously took that shaman’s words way too seriously,” Wylla rolled her eyes. “The goddesses aren’t going to smite me for having a birthmark.”

“I know you think us foolish for being careful,” the older woman sighed. “But the shaman has never given a false prophecy.”

“Whatever,” Wylla leaned in and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “I promised to follow the rules, not matter how dumb I think they are. I’ll be careful mama.”

“Good. Now move quickly. The trip to the castle market will take several hours by cart. Make sure you get settled in at the inn before nightfall.”

“I will,” Wylla chuckled as she exited the cottage. “Be back soon!”

The wagon had already been readied earlier in the day, and their horse was eager to go.

Hours quickly passed as they made their way up the road; many other travelers were out and about too, but luckily none of them gave her a second glance.

As night approached, the town quickly came into sight.

Wylla experienced no trouble finding a place to store her family’s wagon, and tipped the stable-master after finding a vacant spot for her trusty steed.

The tavern inn her family always stayed at looked the same as ever- inside and out.

With a huff she slid into a seat at the bar, the innkeeper immediately coming to her spot, “Can I get you anything?”

“Do you have any rooms available?”

The old woman laughed, “Of course! A single, I presume?”

Wylla nodded, “That’ll be fine. And a plate of whatever you’re serving tonight.”

“Alright sweetheart,” the innkeeper stepped back a grabbed a key hanging off the wall with a line of others. “Five coppers.”

Wylla dug through her bag, pulling out the correct amount. The keeper took the currency, before handing over the key, “Room 13. I’ll have your food out in a moment.”

“Thank you,” Wylla smiled.

The innkeeper left and the young woman was left alone at the bar.

Almost subconsciously, Wylla reached up to adjust her headband- making sure her odd birthmark was completely covered.

The tavern was fairly crowded, and she knew most of them were staring in her direction.

Wylla’s looks weren’t common to the area, and while she could explain her icy-blue eyes off because of her sire’s own eye color- her striking white hair was a different matter.

Plus she was pale and tall; her mother had once joked that she was probably shaped from the clouds due to her unique looks.

Luckily, no one caused any trouble, and Wylla thanked the innkeeper when they brought out her dinner.

A large bowl of stew and cornbread that had her stomach practically growling in anticipation.

It didn’t take long for her to finish eating, and she gathered her things and headed for her room- making sure to move as quietly as possible so that she did not attract any unnecessary attention.

It was easy enough to find her room, and Wylla settled in for the night- making sure to hide away her money in case anyone tried to break in.

After ensuring everything was properly protected, she climbed into the small bed. The noise of the town continued well into the night, and some part of her missed the gentle quietness of the forest that surrounded her family’s modest cottage.

Despite the noise and her own discomfort, Wylla eventually managed to slip into a light sleep.

And like almost every night, she found herself dreaming of pink diamond-shaped eyes that glowed with an intimidating yet familiar power.

~~~~

The following day Wylla was able to collect almost all the goods that her family would need for the winter.

With the exception of one annoying root that is.

“You don’t have any left?” Wylla gazed unbelievably at the vender, “You’re the last store available, all the others don’t have any either.”

“I’m sorry madam, but we’re all out,” the old lady smiled sheepishly. “The root of the sunset lotus sells fast during these times.”

“Is there anywhere else I can go?” Wylla asked desperately, “My sire needs this root for her medicine. She’s very ill.”

“Well,” the shopkeeper scratched her chin. “There’s always the Diamond Temple of the High-Goddesses. They have a garden in the back and I know they grow the lotus there. You might be able to procure some roots there.”

Wylla hesitated at the sentence, her parents had always been very adamant that she stay away from temples. She’d never even seen any statues of the goddesses.

But without the root her sire’s condition could worsen, and that was something Wylla would not allow.

“Where’s the temple?”

The vender pointed north, “Follow the main path that way. It’s to the left of the drawbridge, not far from the river. Can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” Wylla placed a small tip on the stall. “For your help.”

“It’s no problem,” the vender laughed and waved her off. “Now I’d get going, young miss- before it gets busy around here.”

It wasn’t hard to follow the directions she’d been given, and true to the vendor's words’- the temple was impossible to miss.

The building was huge, and loomed almost threateningly over the town.

Inside, Wylla could see priestesses milling around and other people offering tribute or praying before the huge statues of the high goddesses.

As she entered the open building, she looked around and saw a priestess who seemed available at the end of the massive hall, standing off to the side of a tall statue that Wylla couldn’t recognize.

Not one to waste time, she promptly walked swiftly towards her, “Excuse me?”

The priestess turned and bowed her head in greeting, which Wylla respectfully returned.

“How can I help you?”

“I need the root of the sunset lotus,” Wylla explained quietly, mindful of the solemn atmosphere. “Nowhere else has it, and my sire is very ill. Without it, she won’t survive the winter.”

“We don’t have much of it left,” the priestess looked hesitant. “I’m not sure we can part with any.”

“Please,” Wylla begged. “I can pay. I only need a pound.”

The priestess sighed, “Very well. But we do not take payment. If you wish to reimburse us, I implore you to donate any coin you may have to the temple.”

“Of course,” Wylla promised. “I will gladly do so.”

“Very well,” the priestess turned to enter a side room. “Wait here, and please remove the headband. You are not supposed to wear such things in here.”

“Oh uh,” she reached up and felt the headband, hesitating for a moment before carefully removing it. “Forgive me, I didn’t know.”

The priestess did not reply, already having left her presence.

Wylla figited anxiously; she’d been away from home for two days and had already broken two of the most important rules.

One- she’d entered a temple.

Two- she’d removed her headband and exposed her birthmark.

With shaking hands, she pushed her bangs over the mark and hoped it covered enough of it. While she wasn’t one who necessarily believed in such nonsense like her parents did, Wylla certainly hated when her normally covered forehead was left exposed. It stripped away a feeling of security that she had developed over time.

Trying to act as nonchalant as possible, she looked around the temple.

The statues of Pink, Yellow, and Blue Diamond stood proudly and well-kept- countless worshippers hovering around their feet.

However, the statue she stood next to seemed to be largely forgotten.

With some interest, Wylla looked up at the massive figurine.

The unknown goddess looked regally over the temple, even with dust settling on the unkempt stone, the statue still seemed to give off an aura of solemn power.

With surprise, Wylla noticed the diamond mark that sat upon the woman’s forehead- one hand coming up to brush against her own birthmark as she saw the similarities.

The sound of light footsteps scared Wylla out of her shock, and the young woman turned as a cloaked woman approached the statue.

She couldn’t see her face, but long hair spilled out of her hood, and her voice was solemn.

“Do you know who this statue is?”

Wylla gulped uneasily, one hand covering the mark on her forehead, “Uh, I don’t actually. This is the first time I’ve ever been in a temple.”

The lady chuckled, a low and sad sound, “That is odd, but not surprising. I’m afraid many have lost faith in recent centuries.” She looked up at the shrine, and Wylla could see a faint gleam of tear tracks on her cheeks, “But I have always made sure to pay my respects. Her sacrifice will be remembered.”

“Who… who was she?”

“Her name was White Diamond,” the woman lowered her head. “The greatest of the goddesses. Over time, her name has been lost. But I remember. We remember.”

Wylla had an uneasy feeling building in her stomach, “What happened to her?”

For a moment, the woman seemed to hesitate, “Once… once there was a great war between the goddesses and an insurgent group of minor gods. In the final battle, White Diamond tried to kill the leader, only for her power to deflect of the rebel’s shield. It hit Pink Diamond, and the goddess was killed as a result.” The woman shuddered, “For centuries the heavens were in disarray, until a young priest with healing abilities appeared.” She chuckled, “At first the goddesses hated him, for he was the son of the rebel leader- however, over time he was able to soothe the cracks in the authority, and eventually he discovered a great secret.”

“What was it?” Wylla blinked, feeling a strange sense of deja-vu.

“Pink Diamond had not been completely destroyed,” the woman clasped her hands together. “A portion of her soul lingered. To revive her, he needed a massive amount of energy.” She looked up at the statue, staring sadly at the face of White Diamond, “The high-goddess offered a large portion of her life-force, and he was able to resurrect Pink Diamond.”

“That’s why they call her the twice-born?” Wylla asked.

The stranger nodded, “You did not know that?”

“I’ve never even seen any statues of the goddesses until now,” Wylla crossed her arms, cheeks coloring red. “My parents are very withdrawn from society, never taught me much of them.”

“I suppose that is understandable,” the lady hummed thoughtfully to herself.

Wylla noticed with some suspicion that she had still not even seen her eyes, but chose to ask more about White Diamond- something within her stirred, a festering need for more information, as if it was something she knew would be important, “So what happened after Pink Diamond was revived?”

She could feel the depressed aura practically radiating from the woman, “For a while everything was perfect. Pink Diamond had returned and stability was established throughout the heavens.” Her voice turned strained, “However, White had used too much of her energy when reviving Pink, and every day became weaker and weaker. The other diamonds tried to help, and the young priest offered to try and trap her soul on the mortal plane in order to restore her to power like they did with Pink.”

“Did it work?” Wylla asked, hanging on to every word.

The woman shook her head, “In order to do such a feat, another goddess would have to sacrifice their life-force, and White Diamond refused to allow that to happen. So the decision was made to allow her to fade into the afterlife, where her immortal soul would one day be entered back into the cycle.”

“That’s…” Wylla felt nauseous, the beginnings of a fever no doubt appearing. “That’s sad…”

“Yes,” the lady looked back up at the statue, raising a hand as if to caress the face. “Blue and Yellow Diamond were incredibly distraught, but knew they could not fall apart a second time.” Her aura seemed to darken, “However, Pink Diamond, White’s lover, was inconsolable. No one knew how long it would take for the cycle to reincarnate the lost goddess, and Pink could not stand the fact that they seemingly traded one goddess for another. She performed her duties as well as she could, but she cares little for anything without White by her side.”

“You…” Wylla backed away, “You talk as if… as if you were there…”

The woman rose to her feet, turning to stare directly at the white-haired woman- her diamond shaped blue eyes seemed to burn into Wylla’s mind.

“I sensed a familiar presence when you stepped into this temple,” her voice was wistful. “I thought it to be impossible, but now I see it’s not. You bear her mark…”

Wylla slapped a hand over her birthmark, pure fear coursing through her veins, “It’s nothing! Just a worthless birthmark!”

“Oh how excited Pink will be,” the lady approached slowly, time seemed to slow. “She’s spent centuries searching- she’s been waiting for you, we all have.”

Wylla could barely move, it felt as if the world was pressing down on her. But before the lady could touch her, she managed to spin around and run.

Only to ram right into the priestess.

“Ow! What’s gotten into you!?” the woman screeched as they went tumbling to the floor. The sunset lotus root rolling on the ground.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Wylla sputtered and looked over her shoulder, only to realize the creepy blue lady was now nowhere to be seen.

With shaking hands, she pulled coins from her bag, and dropped them into the priestess’s hand, “Here, for the donation.”

Then she grabbed the root off the ground and ran out of the temple.

Wylla climbed into the wagon, and took the reigns, spurring her horse to trot.

She kept nervously looking back over her shoulder, as if the woman would suddenly appear behind her.

The sun shined bright in the sky, but now the rays scalded her skin- as if Yellow Diamond herself was staring down at her.

Her birthmark seemed itch and burn, and she could feel herself becoming more and more feverish.

Something inside her was awakening, but whatever it was she could not tolerate. It felt as if her soul itself was trying to break free of it’s mortal coils.

If the goddesses ever lay eyes on her birthmark, the girl will die.

Wylla angrily wished she hadn’t been so skeptical.

Because she was sure she’d just had a full length conversation with the mystical Blue Diamond, goddess of the oceans.

#white diamond #blue diamond #goddess/reincarnation au #im so stupid why am i starting ANOTHER au #cause i can that's why #this is gonna be #whink diamond #su fanfiction #this is super AU #but i think some people might like this lmao #bellow diamond too but they'll show up next time

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lgbtfalloutwinterholiday · 6 years

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[fic] Veronica Santangelo/Christine Royce

Happy Holidays!

Here is @nomette ‘s submission for @ffferris with Veronica and Christine.

Pairing: Veronica Santangelo/Christine Royce Summary: Veronica & Christine have a happy holiday together, can be set during any time (like past, in-game, or post-game), bonus if you want to throw in other characters also having a good time but no need to feel obligated to do that, & bonus for incorporating trans headcanons. Word Count: 2,542 Rating: Safe for work

It’s the 24th of December, and the Lucky 38 smells of tamales, pine needles and a mysterious mix of fruit that Raul’s been boiling for hours. Veronica and Arcade must have tracked down every package of Dandy Boy Apples in the Commonwealth to make this drink, but she doesn’t mind. It’s the holidays. Arcade’s put up some kind of weird candelabra he calls a menorah, and there’s a pile of presents sitting in the Rec Room and a bunch of lumpy stockings nailed to the walls, courtesy of Lily’s knitting needles. The V on Veronica’s stocking looks kind of like a U, but she’s not going to complain, not when Christine’s stocking is hanging next to hers.

Veronica pauses in the doorway to the rec room and leans against the doorway, enjoying the moment. Cass and Boone are playing pool, Rex is sprawled out on the floor, and the Courier and Christine are hanging spent bullet casings on the Christmas tree. Christine’s hair has just cleared two inches, and it sits in a little fuzzy lump on top of her head. Veronica feels a little kick of delight every time she looks at her. She can’t believe she’s gotten so lucky. Christine didn’t come back from the Sierra Madre the same- she barely talks now, and her hair has only just begun to grow back out, and her scars- but she’s still Christine, and Veronica still loves her, every piece.

“You going to come help?” the Courier asks. She’s a skinny, half-feral little thing who doesn’t talk much and doesn’t like to sleep in the same place more than once. Veronica’s always finding her asleep in random corners of the casino, her little hammock dangling between chairs or casino tables. Veronica doubts she’s seen two decades, but Benny’s bullet knocked half the memories out of her head, so there’s no way to know.

“I carried that thing halfway across the wasteland,” Veronica says. “I think I’ve done my bit.”

“But it’s fun,” the Courier says, puzzled. “Boone’s showing me how to identify the different kind of bullet casings. This is a .38, see?” She holds up a mangled piece of metal, beaming.

“Good job, kid,” Boone says.

“I’m more of a Power Fist kind of girl,” Veronica says, flexing to show off her weapon. The Courier contemplates Veronica, then glances back at the tree.

“We could put it on top,” she says, sounding kind of dubious. Christine makes a muffled snorting sound and bursts into laughter.

“No way,” Veronica says, wrapping a protective hand around her power fist.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Christine manages between giggles. “You have to admit, it would match the tree.” The tree- a scraggly looking young pine Veronica dragged all the way from the mountains near Jacobstown- is covered in bullets casings and caution tape. Several glowing bottles of Nuka-Cola Quantum have been wedged between the branches. The tree looks like it’s ready to come to life and stage an uprising against humankind.

“I don’t know,” Cass says thoughtfully, and smirks around the rim of her glass of whiskey. “I think it would look pretty good with Boone’s beret on top.”

“No,” Boone says.

“It is colorful,” the Courier says thoughtfully.

“No,” says Boone, and Veronica takes advantage of the distraction to slip away.

Arcade and Raul are in the kitchen, along with a alrge pot of what Raul calls “ponche” and an even larger pot of tamales. Rex is sprawled out in front of the oven, keeping an eye on the large chunk of Brahmin which has been roasting since this morning. He catches sight of Veronica and whimpers and wags his tail.

“Don’t listen to that faker, we’ve been giving him scraps all day,” Arcade says cheerfully.

“When are you going to give me scraps?” Veronica asks, and imitates Rex’s mournful face. Arcade gestures to the stove.

“There’s unmashed potatoes, refried beans, apple pie, carrot cake, Cass’s jalapeño cornbread, Cass’s go-blind eggnog, and ponche. Knock yourself out.”

“Unmashed potatoes?”

“Well, I haven’t mashed them yet,” Arcade says. “I’ve been busy with the tamales.” He and Raul have made what looks like about a million tamales to Veronica, and they’re only partway through the huge tub of masa. There’s a whole assembly line on the table- masa, leaves, stewed brahmin, chickpeas. Raul looks up from his current tamale and grins.

“You wanna eat, mija? You better work. Those tamales aren’t going to fold themselves.”

“Oh-fine!” Veronica says. It’s this or get robbed of her power fist, she supposes, and she’s always liked mashing potatoes. Halfway through mashing, she feels a warm pair of arms around her waist, and looks back to find Christine, her head leaning against the small of Veronica’s back.

“Hey there,” Veronica says happily. “You come to bust me out of this life of labor?”

“Nope,” Christine says, and stands on her tiptoes to peer over Veronica’s shoulder. She’s so small. Back in the day, Veronica used to pick her up and cart her around the bunker at every possible opportunity.

“Hmmm,” Christine says, and sneaks a bit of potato onto her finger and licks it off. A small smile sneaks onto her face, and Veronica can’t help but blush. She’d mash a hundred potatoes just to see that smile. She leans over and plants a kiss on Christine’s cheek, and Christine flushes and ducks away, smiling.

Neither Raul nor Arcade say anything; Raul is engrossed enough in his tamales that Veronica doubts he’s even noticed, but Arcade gives her a wink. It’s nice to be among friends. Christine settles down next to the Raul at the table and pokes at one of the finished tamales.

“So, how do you make one of these?” she asks Raul.

“Well, you start with the leaf…” Raul begins.

It takes them another two hours to get through all the tamales, and everyone is hungry by the time they sit down at the table and start serving food. Lily has a custom-made seat just for her, an early Christmas present from Raul and Boone to allow her to sit at the table with them. Veronica, Christine and Arcade are on the right side, Boone, Cass and Raul on the left. The Courier sits at the head of the table, food already piled on her plate.

“You want to say grace, mija?” Raul asks the Courier.

“Grace?” she asks, a little line appearing between her eyebrows.

“It’s traditional to thank God before eating a big meal,” Arcade explains.

“Uh, sure,” the Courier says. She clasps her hands together, then begins to speak. “Thank you Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth, for growing the crops, and thank you Hermes for my good luck, and thank you Hades for my life. I promise to kill a legionnaire in your name before the New Year, thank you, amen.”

“Fascinating,” Arcade says, and gets elbowed by Christine. The courier is a little weird, but so is Arcade, and he doesn’t have the excuse of being a teenaged ex-slave. “Uh, amen,” he says hastily. Cass looks like she’s trying real hard not to laugh. Boone lifts his glass and grins.

“To killing legionnaires,” he says, and everyone around the table echoes the sentiment. They clink glasses, and everyone digs in. Raul’s punch is fruity and sweet, with a faint hint of sunset sarsaparilla, almost almost worth the trouble it took Christine and Veronica to find twenty boxes of Dandy Boy Apples. There’s a mountain of tamales, some heinously spicy cornbread, moonshine, apple pie, pinto beans stewed with molerat, carrot cake, eggnog, roasted brahmin, gravy, and mashed potatoes.

Back at the Brotherhood, they mostly ate variations on carrots and potato, since they couldn’t get much to grow around the bunker. Fried potato, mashed potato, boiled potato, potato soup, potato salad- every potato and then some. Veronica skips the mashed potato and goes for the cornbread and roasted brahmin, and sees Christine do the same next to her. They grin at each other, and Christine serves Veronica a slice of pie.

“What’s in this?” Arcade asks, shoving a piece into his mouth. “I thought Raul used all the apple in his ponche.”

“Mutfruit,” Cass says matter-of-factly. “Some other stuff too, but I don’t kiss and tell.”

It’s quiet for a while as everyone stuffs their face. At first, the Courier had to be bullied into eating with a fork instead of with her hands, but she came around after Veronica pointed out that if you carry a fork and knife with you, you can also use them as back-up weapons. The Brahmin is spicy and savory, with a crisp outside and a juicy inside, and it vanishes as fast as people can cut pieces free. Everyone has at least one of Raul’s tamales, and Boone has three. The man puts away food like a refrigerator.

Afterwards, when they’re all full enough to burst, one of the securitrons comes in and clears the plates, and Rex finally gets his plate of scraps.

“I feel like the casino is going to collapse under my weight,” Cass says, groaning.

“Could that happen?” the Courier asks. She doesn’t look worried, only curious. Veronica supposes that once you’ve been shot through the head, a little building collapse probably doesn’t sound too bad.

“Probably not,” Arcade says hastily. He starts in on an explanation of how architecture works, but Veronica doesn’t hear any of it, because Christine has reached out under the table and taken her hand. One by one, she laces their fingers together. They used to do this back at the dining table in the hall, but back then it was one part bravado and one part fear. Veronica isn’t scared anymore. It doesn’t matter if anyone sees.

But she doesn’t need to show them. It’s enough that she and Christine know. Christine runs her thumb gently over the edge of Veronica’s hand, and they stay there like that, smiling, together at last. Dinner conversation turns from mutfruit to apples to weird things they’ve eaten, and Cass disgusts them all with tales of some truly dubious liquor. She and Boone are well on their way to being smashed, which bodes poorly for the midnight fireworks they promised the courier.

Only the Courier’s excited demand to get them all to the Christmas Tree for presents dislodges them from the table. Veronica and Christine walk, hand in hand, to the rec room, followed by a slightly staggering Boone and a very staggering Arcade, who got stuck supporting him. The debate about the star has been settled by ED-E nesting on top of the tree like a very strange bird.

Veronica settles onto the couch, and Christine settles onto her lap. Christine is light, a pleasant weight, and she grins when Veronica sneaks a kiss onto the side of her face. The Courier, oblivious to the people watching her, tears into her first present. It’s a framed piece of paper- nothing more than a contract, really. The Courier isn’t very good at reading. She looks at the paper, her lips moving as she tries to sound out the words.

Arcade, ever thoughtful, underlined the relevant part.

“... the undersigned Ca-Can-tra-ta,” the Courier says, frowning. “Cantrata. What does that mean?”

“Veronica and I did some research,” Arcade says. By research, he means that they broke into a privately owned building, but no one needs to know that. The man at the front desk of the Mojave Express deserves it for being so unhelpful, anyway, and it’s not like they stole anything valuable. “We looked up the records from when you were hired, and found what you signed as. It’s your name. Cantrata. I think it comes from Cantare, to sing.”

The courier looks at the paper, then at Arcade.

“My name,” she says, and repeats it. “Cantrata.” A strange look crosses her face. “I used to sing,” she says to herself, then gets up and launches herself at him. Arcade wraps his arms around her and pats her back.

“Hey, I helped,” Veronica says, and Arcade gestures for her to join in the hug. The three of them squish awkwardly together on the couch, and for a moment Veronica is on the verge of having a real Christmas feeling.

“Thank you!” Cantrata says, and wiggles out of the hug. “I got you something too!” Whatever it is, it’s apparently too big to fit under the tree, because Cantrata runs out of the room. There’s a loud clunk, and then she comes back hauling a huge power fist painted entirely in teal and pink.

“It sets off explosives when you punch people,” she says solemnly, and hands it to Veronica.

“Uh,” Veronica says, and picks it up. One side has a yellow warning sign on it. The other side has Veronica’s full name written on it in beautiful pink calligraphy, complete with a little heart dotting the i. There’s little rhinestones around the cuff. The courier must have hired someone to bling it out.

“It’s beautiful,” Veronica says solemnly, and Cantrata grins.

“Open your next present,” she says.

There’s a matching dress.

Veronica’s final haul is a power fist from Cantrata and a dress from Arcade and Cass, a new waist pouch from Boone, a blanket from Raul, a lumpy sweater from Lily, and one more thing. After the festivities have died down, Veronica and Christine go back to their room and shut the door.

Christine’s presents come in two colorful little bags. The first one is light. Veronica lifts it out to find a cute little bra and underwear set. There’s not very much of it.

“You can wear it under your dress,” Christine says, flushing.

The second pair is a set of shoes, likely looted from some vault. They’re a little dusty, but they fit well. Veronica slips her feet into them, and remembers. Back when she and Christine were kids in the bunker, it was a common game to talk about what you’d do when you left. No one ever left, of course, but it was fun to pretend that you would. Some kids wanted to be ranchers, some wanted to be singers, some wanted to be gamblers or rangers or deathclaw tamers. Veronica wanted to be a princess. She wanted to have a pretty dress, and live in a colorful, safe place where they never had to eat potatoes or worry about raiders. She wanted someone to love her, not for what she could do for them, but for who she was.

“A glass slipper, for my princess,” Christine says, smiling.

“I could be in rags, and you’d still make me feel like a queen, Christine,” Veronica says, and crosses the room. Christine’s hands are so small in her own. “But the pretty dress sure helps.”

“You were a princess when we were in a hole in the ground,” Christine whispers. “But you finally made it to your tower. Merry Christmas.”

On the roof, Boone, Cass and Raul are drunkenly shooting off fireworks. The sound rings through the air. Outside the window, sparks rain down over the strip in showers of gold and green, but Veronica only has eyes for Christine. Their lips brush, and for a single perfect moment, the world is exactly as Veronica has always dreamed.

#nomette #ffferris #veronica santangelo #christine royce #fallout #fallout new vegas #submission #fanfiction #long post

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justalittlebluetiefling · 7 years

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Chapter 58: Sometimes I Can’t See Myself

Rating: T Fandom: The 100 Pairing: Bellamy x Clarke Chapter: 58/68 Word Count: 3274 Words

Chapter Summary: Almost everyone stays for the holidays, so Clarke, Raven, and O throw a Christmas party.

Also on AO3; Start from the beginning on AO3

By noon, there wasn’t a place in her house that Clarke hadn’t found mistletoe. Raven and Octavia were obsessed with the stuff. It was literally everywhere. When she found it in the bathroom, they had gone too far.

She walked into Raven’s room, holding it up. “The bathroom? Seriously?”

Raven shrugged. “You never know who’s going to want to bang in the bathroom. We have to give them an excuse.”

Clarke glared at her and threw it on Raven’s dresser before going back to decorating the living room. The two of them seemed to think that hanging the mistletoe in progressively crazier places was a fun game. The only way Clarke was going to win was to stop taking the stupid things down.

Christmas Eve was going to be bigger than it had been since she had met them all, and Clarke hoped it was the start of a new tradition. The only person who got enough time off from their jobs or internships to go home for the holiday was Harper. When she came by drop off her gifts the week before (and, Clarke learned later, to give Raven and O the mistletoe), she was actually disappointed to find out what kind of party she would be missing.

Jasper claimed that he had too much to do over break for his senior research project, but everyone knew he was staying for Maya. Of course, this meant Monty stayed, too, although she thought there was an ulterior motive for that as well. Clarke didn’t think she was the best at sniffing out crushes, but Monty had been acting a little suspicious over first quarter.

When the three of them arrived, Raven had already kicked Clarke out of the kitchen and insisted that she could handle everything. It meant that Clarke was there to greet them with Octavia and she had to endure the awkward half-hug from Maya, who clearly did not want to be a part of it. Thankfully, it was her first time at the house, so Octavia saved the day by offering her a tour.

Monty shot Clarke a look as they sat down in the living room.

She glared back at him. “It’s not me. I’m trying.”

“Are you trying hard?”

Clarke bit off a retort at the sound of the door opening. Bellamy and Miller walked in and she couldn’t contain her grin. She jumped up and ran over to hug Bellamy, who chuckled and squeezed her back just as tight. As soon as they let go, Maya burst back into the entryway and ran up to grab Clarke’s hands.

Octavia threw her a thumbs up as she ushered everyone else into the living room. Bellamy held back laughter as Clarke was pulled into a conversation about brush techniques, charcoal versus pencil, and Maya’s favorite artists. William Blake was a little darker than Clarke was typically drawn to, but she could appreciate the symbolism in his work.

“So, Octavia showed me some of your new pieces and they’re amazing.” Maya smiled earnestly. “Do you mind if I tag along to your art show in a few weeks? I’d love to see everything.”

Clarke put on a smile. She was glad that she had found some common ground with Jasper’s girlfriend, but her head was still spinning a little from the sudden change in their relationship. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all. That would be great.”

In spite of the pleasant conversation, it was such a relief to see Bellamy poke his head into the hallway. “Princess, Raven’s falling apart in the kitchen and she won’t let me back in. Care to give it a shot?”

Maya smiled at the promise of continuing their conversation later and moved into the living room while Clarke followed Bellamy down the hall. Clarke bumped him with her elbow. “Is she really having a meltdown or were you trying to be heroic?”

Bellamy grinned at her and pushed open the door to the kitchen. Clarke’s jaw dropped. Raven had found a fluffy pink apron with lace around the edge somewhere, but it was covered in sauce. Hair was coming out of her ponytail and there was flour all over her face. When she saw them in the doorway, she pointed her spoon at Bellamy.

“I told you to get out.”

“Raven. Honey.” Clarke crossed the room slowly and pushed the spoon down. “Where did the flour come from?”

“There’s flour?”

“On your face?”

Raven touched her face with her free hand and then stared at the dusting of flour on her fingers for a moment. Finally, she pointed at a bowl with a few ingredients in it. “I wanted to make cookies, I think.”

“Okay. Go take a shower.”

“But, I’m helping you—”

“You were a huge help and got so much done. Go take a shower and then hang out with everyone. I’ve got this from here.”

The trauma in her eyes as she handed the apron to Bellamy made Clarke wonder if Raven would ever cook again. He smiled at Clarke as he balled it up and set it on the counter. “What do you need me to do?”

Clarke surveyed the room with her hands on her hips. Raven really had done quite a bit of prep work, but had stretched herself too thin. She pointed Bellamy toward the lasagna while she tried to figure out what cookies Raven had intended to make based off the ingredients surrounding the bowl. In the end, she had to throw out the contents and start over, even though she was pretty sure it was for sugar cookies.

Once she had the batter in the fridge and Bellamy had the lasagna in the oven, they worked together to finish up everyone’s traditional Christmas sides. Jasper and Monty needed macaroni and cheese with hot dogs. Raven wanted a “butt-load” of mashed potatoes. Miller wanted jalapeño cheddar cornbread and Bellamy and O wanted chocolate chip waffles. It was an eclectic mixture, but at least everyone would be reminded of home one way or another.

After everything was finally finished, they walked into the living room to get help carrying food into the dining room. Clarke started to speak, but stopped abruptly. Everyone went silent as soon as she and Bellamy walked through the door. She glanced over at Bellamy, who looked equally confused, before looking back at everyone else. Raven, who looked clean and much more relaxed, wiggled her eyebrows. A sinking feeling took over Clarke’s stomach as she looked to Lincoln and Octavia. O just grinned and pointed up.

Clarke gasped. “How the—” Somehow, they had managed to pin mistletoe up on the high ceiling and she and Bellamy were standing right underneath it.

Bellamy chuckled weakly, his face pale. “So, uh… dinner’s ready. We need help getting everything into the dining room.”

“I don’t think so!” Jasper practically squeaked and Monty elbowed him.

Miller crossed his arms with a small smile on his face. “Mistletoe means you kiss.”

“And if you two don’t follow the rules, it’ll be complete chaos going forward. You’re our shining example.” Wells grinned and Clarke stuck her tongue out him.

“Come on, you guys,” Bellamy said. Clarke wondered if she imagined the shaking in his voice or if it was the blood rushing through her ears. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s a sacred rule,” Lincoln said, crossing his arms to mirror Miller. “I think you should probably uphold it.”

Clarke rolled her eyes and turned to face Bellamy. She tried to smile, but it felt awkward with everyone staring at them. Of course, it probably wasn’t any better than Bellamy’s expression. His eyes were wide, his jaw tense… he looked like a deer in headlights. She licked her lips and glanced back at O and Raven, who were waving her toward Bellamy. When she looked back at him, he licked his lips and her stomach flipped.

For a second, she thought about kissing him. Really kissing him. Grabbing him by the stupid collar of his stupid shirt and pulling him down and just kissing him. In spite of whatever game everyone was playing, it would definitely freak them out. It would probably freak Bellamy out, too… and herself. The way he was looking at her was freaking her out, all sincere and endearing, telling her with his eyes that he would follow her lead.

In the end, she set a hand on his shoulder, used it to help herself onto her tiptoes, and then kissed him right where his cheek met his jawbone. The blush on his cheeks meant that she had to be red up to her hairline, so she spun away from him and started back toward the kitchen.

“Dinner is ready, assholes.”

Half their friends booed and the other half cheered as she half stormed out of the room. Mostly, Clarke needed to get away from Bellamy for just a minute, even if she knew it wasn’t possible. Like always, he was a half-step behind her. It was only moderately reassuring that he looked as off-balance as she felt.

Like always, in the flurry of everyone helping transfer food, plates, and silverware out of the kitchen, she ended up seated next to him at the head of the table. It was what she had expected; what she had wanted. It wouldn’t have been so awkward if not for the fucking mistletoe. Even after a few beers and a shot of Monty’s moonshine, the tension hadn’t dissipated.

At a normal dinner, he would have nudged her with his knee when Jasper said something no one else (except for Maya) thought was funny, but it wasn’t normal. When their knees brushed, it felt like he lingered and she couldn’t tell if she was projecting. Their hands brushed more than once when they reached for something in the center of the table and Clarke’s appetite disappeared. When she made fun of him for eating four waffles, instead of bumping her foot, they both turned bright red.

Once dinner finally started to wind down, they both rushed out of the room, followed closely by Raven. The three of them agreed that since they had cooked (or tried to, in Raven’s case), Octavia could spearhead the cleanup and put the cookies in the oven. The conversation was stilted and Raven seemed to sense the awkwardness, trying to pick up the slack. As the others trickled in, things started to feel a little lighter. Monty and Octavia brought out more shot glasses with his moonshine and it came out that somehow, Octavia had tricked him into kitchen timer duty for the cookies.

“So, what’s on the agenda now?” Maya asked once everyone was settled.

Clarke opened her mouth to suggest a movie so they could play a drinking game, but Jasper jumped out of his seat first. “I have something awesome in the trunk of the car!”

Everyone exchanged looks, but Maya and Monty both shifted awkwardly in their seats, which scared Clarke. It turned out that she was right to be afraid. Jasper ran back inside clutching a thin, white box to his chest. The heat rose back into Clarke’s cheeks and she glanced at Bellamy, who suddenly looked like he might throw up.

“Twister!” Jasper shouted as he hoisted the box in the air.

“No way,” Bellamy said. “We’re adults. This is not happening.”

“Come on, Twister’s an adult game. It’ll be fun.”

“You can go first and get it out of the way,” Wells offered.

“No.” Bellamy crossed his arms and leaned back into the couch.

“Dude,” Raven said, kicking Bellamy’s thigh. “You’re not going to win. Just play.”

Jasper shot her a not very discreet thumbs-up and started to set the game up in the middle of the room. Clarke stared in horror as the future unfolded before her eyes. She wanted to protest, she kept trying to form the words, but nothing came out. An elbow jostled her out of her motionless terror and Bellamy slid a shot glass into her hand.

“I’m going to spin the wheel,” Jasper said. “First group is Bellamy, Raven, Miller, and… Clarke.”

“And don’t fall down on purpose. I’ll be able to tell.” Octavia directed her words and Bellamy and Clarke, who threw their shots back before joining Raven and Miller on the floor.

If they thought standing at opposite corners would help their chances of not ending up tangled together, they were wrong. It wasn’t the first time Clarke realized that their friends were trying to push them into… something. It wasn’t even the first time that night, but it was easily the least subtle any of them had ever been, and it made her curious. Curiosity was a dangerous thing to feel around Bellamy.

Still, she tried her hardest to outmaneuver Jasper. When she moved closer to Miller instead of Bellamy on right-foot-green, Miller ‘slipped’ on the next turn. Jasper called out left-foot-red when Raven was blocking a majority of the red circles. The only red circle Bellamy could move to put him closer to Clarke. On Clarke’s left-hand-yellow, the only open spot was near Bellamy’s shoulder, and he somehow received a right-hand-yellow shortly after.

Her anger and frustration were sidelined by how distracting Bellamy was. Their arms were touching, she could smell his shampoo, and her foot was in between his legs, because Jasper had obviously rigged the fucking game. Clarke was more sure of that than ever when she glanced up at Bellamy and caught him staring down her shirt.

“Bellamy,” she whispered, strained. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m… kind of sorry. I tried looking the other way, but it hurt my neck.” He whispered back. “Twister is definitely an adult game.”

Clarke choked back laughter and reached up to smack his shoulder. She succeeded, but the process threw her off balance and she slipped. The sudden weight of Clarke knocked Bellamy off balance as well and they fell, legs tangled together, and almost everyone else in the room couldn’t stop laughing.

Before anyone could say anything, she pushed herself up and yanked the spinner out of Jasper’s hands. “Next up! Jasper, Wells, Lincoln, and Miller.”

Bellamy was right behind her and swiped it out of her hands. “Agreed.”

“What about Monty?!” Miller protested.

Clarke hesitated. She wanted to put Monty and Miller out there together, because she thought Monty blushed any time she mentioned Miller. However, Monty also was the only one not to endorse Jasper’s actions and was frantically shaking his head, which solidified her suspicions.

“Monty’s watching the cookies. He doesn’t have to take a turn.”

“What about Octavia?!”

Clarke turned to O, whose triumphant expression melted into fear. “She’ll get her turn.”

Lincoln muttered something about the lack of room, but accepted his fate. Wells and Jasper exchanged shrugs and Miller pouted, but finally stepped up to the mat again. While Bellamy kicked Octavia out of her spot on the loveseat, Clarke grabbed the moonshine out of Raven’s hand and poured two more shots. Before she settled in next to him, she handed Bellamy one of the shots and he accepted enthusiastically.

Then, the game truly started.

Clarke couldn’t sleep. All she could think about was Bellamy on the couch downstairs and how a year ago, he might have been in her room. Another dangerous thought. The only thing that stopped her from texting him to see if he was awake was the fact that he wasn’t alone. The only two people who left at the end of the night were Maya and Jasper.

Maya had offered to be Jasper’s designated driver, but in the end, he was still fine to drive. They were going to her parents for Christmas in the morning and he was worried about being too hungover. Monty, on the other hand, had ended up quite drunk near the end of the night and decided as they were leaving that he wanted to stay and go to Clarke’s mom’s in the morning with everyone else. It meant that Clarke was able to convince him that Wells should sleep on the loveseat so Monty and Miller would have to take the air mattress. It was almost another form of payback, because Miller was blushing as much as Bellamy was earlier. Only almost, because he did look pleased with the situation in the end.

In spite of everyone else in her living room, she couldn’t think about any of them. She couldn’t pull her mind away from Bellamy and the way his body had felt underneath hers or the way his hands felt on her back when he tried to catch her. The way his cheek felt under her lips… she wished she had been braver in that moment.

Fuck. Her whole body was warm, even though she was in a tank top and shorts. After a few more useless attempts to clear her mind, she threw off the sheets and snuck downstairs. Sneaking was a little unnecessary. Everyone else had enough to drink that they would probably be out for a while. Clarke thought about drinking more. It might help her sleep, but she had stopped drinking after that last shot during Twister for a reason. The same reason she couldn’t fucking sleep.

Clarke pulled milk and a Tupperware full of frosting out of the fridge and settled on the counter next to the cookie jar. The clock on the microwave told her it was 1:27 and she was grateful that her mother wasn’t expecting them until around noon. The shower schedule alone was going to be a nightmare, even with two bathrooms. She dipped a cookie in the frosting before biting into it and sighed with relief. She was glad that none of the cookies were eaten earlier, because they were good.

Footsteps from the hallway made her pause with a second cookie halfway to her mouth. Bellamy padded in as he finished pulling on a shirt and made his way to the sink. It wasn’t until he reached toward the cabinet to grab a glass that he noticed her and jumped, but he recovered quickly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He whispered, but sounded a little too alert.

“No.” It was a minor comfort that he was awake. “You?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t it a little late to be sitting on the counter in the dark, dipping cookies in frosting?”

“Is it ever too late?”

A smile spread across his face and he glanced down at his feet. “I guess not.”

Clarke stared at him. His hair was messy. It was always a little messy, but she could tell he had been tossing and turning. She wondered what kept him up at night; if he thought about the same things she couldn’t get out of her head. Hope and fear spread through her chest before she could push the thought away. She was so lucky to have him in her life. He was her best friend and he had been her family when she felt like she had nothing.

Instead of giving in to what kept her awake, she smiled at him. “Care to join me?”

Bellamy grinned and hopped up on the counter next to her. Once he had a cookie dipped in frosting, he tapped it against hers. “Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

With him next to her, she felt safer, less threatened by the possibilities. Nothing outside of the moment existed and she liked the moment they were in. She could scoot closer to him and lean her head against his shoulder, because that was how they always were. It was how they always would be. “Merry Christmas, Bellamy.”

#bellarke fanfiction #bellarke #modern au #sometimes i can't see myself #my work #erin writes

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livingmybestfakelife · 6 years

Text

Southern Hospitality

summary: You had caught the eye of a local pretty boy that comes from an old money family, and he attempts to woo you at any chance he has.

(Takes place in 1928 in South Carolina)

“That cornbread sure did come out good YN” your cousin Sarah Jane tells you as you put it on the counter to cool, you smile and look at her “Thank you, but just because it looks good don’t mean it will taste good, you know how picky the old folks are about who cooks the food” she chuckles and rubs your back “I’m sure it came out just fine” you sigh and say “And if it doesn’t then I’ll never hear the end of it” she shakes her head “Not as bad as Mrs. Fords from up the street, granny still reminds her of how bad it was” you both laugh thinking about it, it wasn’t not secret that the middle aged woman wasn’t the best cook, she offered to make the cornbread for one Sunday dinner months back and no one was even polite enough to pretend that it wasn’t bad, you could even see how nasty it was, it was dry and runny at the same time, from that day on your granny still tells the woman that the only thing she better bring to Sunday dinner is something store brought or nothing at all. Your granny wasn’t the one to hold her tongue, always speaking her mind, she was sweet but didn’t let anyone try her, but you never saw that side of her when it was just you both alone, you were her favorite, “my ladybug” is what she called you, she always wanted the best for you, spoiled you when you were a young girl and as an adult had a big stash of money hid for you in the floorboard of her closet, she told you that when she’s gone for you to get it, you didn’t know how much it was but you knew it was a lot, when your granddaddy passed on he left her more money than she could spend, along with their big house and huge chunk of land. “YN YN YN!” shouted your two younger cousins as they ran into the house “Ya’ll stop running in this house” Sarah Jane told them, stopping them in their tracks “Now what is it?” she continued “YN’s boyfriend is outside” “He has flowers” “And a big box of chocolates, not the cheap kind either, these are the fancy ones” they said “He ain’t my boyfriend ya’ll” you said after all three of your cousins gave you a teasing look “Go see what he wants YN, invite him to stay for supper” Sarah Jane eagerly pushed you out of the kitchen.

When you made it outside and onto the front porch you saw your Uncle Ruben talking the young mans ear off "And then I socked that boy in his eye, he knew right then and there that he couldn't be out here talking shit to Ruben Dubois and there not be any consequences" "Ruben hush up you know damn well that boy knocked your high yellow ass on the dirt" says your aunt Sally, everybody laughs and you cover your mouth to hide your own chuckle, you then notice that he was looking at you. Chadwick Boseman, a member of the Boseman clan, one of the wealthiest black families in the state, you had caught his eye about two years back when he moved in three streets over, he first saw you at the local market picking up fabric to make a dress, you were familiar with the Boseman name but never seen any of them in person until that day, at first you didn't even know he was a Boseman or anyone of importance until you really looked at how fancy he was dressed, and also how the white men who worked in the store showed him respect, almost as if they were afraid of him "it's on the house Mr. Boseman" the clerk told him when he went to pay for his cigars, the first time he came by your house he came with a big brown paper bag full of peaches that he knew you'd like, he was always smooth and had a sense of humor.

"Hello Chadwick, what brings you by here this afternoon?" you ask making him smile "Well I just wanted to come by and say hello, I got you these" he says holding up the yellow roses and chocolates, you go to take them and smell the roses, they smell fresh and you knew they costed a pretty penny "Thank you Chadwick, you shouldn't have" "Course I should, you deserve it" "Ooooo" you hear your younger cousins tease in the back, you turn around and give them a look and turn back to Chadwick "Thank you again, umm I'm sure you have other important things to do, but would you like to stay for supper?, "I would love to" he says without hesitation. While inside everyone hangs out for a while as more people show up "So, what can I say or do to make you finally let me take you out on a date?" Chadwick asks, you both managed to break away from everyone else and gotten a moment alone in the entertainment room "Chadwick, I thought I already told you that I'm not interested in having a man" he smirked and looked down for a second then back up at you "You did, many many many times before, but I thought that eventually you'd come around, I just wanna take care of you YN, give you the world" you smile and lean back on the couch "I can take care of myself Chad, when are you gonna get over me and go chase after some other girl?" "Never, I already know you're the one...look, I'm sure you've heard stories about my family, how we do business, but we're not bad people YN, we don't hurt people-" "Only when it's necessary right?" you cut him off, and he gives you a regretful look "Look, how you deside how to live your life is up to you, I'm not going to try and change you, but I just don't want no part of it, we live in the same community so we have no choice but to see each other, and I'll still be your friend, but I can't see myself being a Boseman woman" he looks dissapointed but nods, he then holds one of your hands in his much bigger ones, it's warm but a bit rough, he had to be one of the Boseman men who did more of the physical work instead of doing the book ones "If that's how you feel then I guess there's no changing your mind, but just in case you do, know that I'll always be here, YN Boseman has a nice ring to it" he gives you a kiss on the cheek and you take your other hand play with his tie a little, that's when Sarah Jane slides open the door, you remove yourself from his grasp and Sarah smirks then says "Foods ready ya'll, come on" you stand up and smooth down your skirt, you and Chadwick follow her out to the dinning room where everyone is already digging into their meal.

"YN why don't you just go on ahead and marry that boy, he's crazy about you" says aunt Sally and uncle says "Yeah, that boy got money, ain't too many rich colored men round here, so snatch him up while you can" you roll your eyes and your granny smiles to herself and says "Ruben quit talking with your mouth full, I ain't raise you in no barn" "Yes mama" he says after swallowing "My ladybug can have any man she wanted, rich or poor" and aunt Sally snorts "Oh please you damn well you ain't gonna let YN marry no poor man, you'll have a heart attack if some sharecropper tried to push up on her", everyone kept rambling about money, asking Chadwick how much he made in a year and where he got his fancy car, getting their nosy asses to shut up wouldn't work so you just tuned them out, and instead ate your food, you occasionally glance at Chadwick who seemed to be enjoying himself finding the whole thing amusing, you might just take him up on his offer just to have the chance to move away from the madness.

#chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman #gangster chadwick au

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365daysofj2 · 7 years

Text

There Goes My Hero (Library AU, NC-17)

Thursday night, after Jensen finally gets off from work, Jared calls him. “Hey, Jared,” Jensen says warmly when he answers the phone. “How was your day?”

“Pretty good,” replies Jared. “How about yours?”

Jensen sighs. “Larry was in quite the mood today. He was telling Kathryn about restaurant managers he’d like to kill.”

Jared’s jaw drops. “You’re not serious. What’d you do?”

“Told him we’d have to report him to the police if he kept making threats like that,” says Jensen. “He shut up quick. Hell, Felicia even shut him down this morning. I couldn’t believe it.”

“What’d she say?” Felicia’s notorious for not standing up to anyone, even people who are actively yelling at her.

“He started to repeat himself, the way he always does, and she snapped, ‘I heard you the first time, Larry.’”

“Wow.” Jared sits down on the couch. “Did it work?”

“He seemed pretty stunned,” says Jensen. “He actually did shut up, and he wouldn’t go back to her the rest of the day.”

“Good for her,” replies Jared. “Tell her I said ‘way to go!’”

“I will.” He hears Jensen turn the phone to speaker and pour some liquid into a glass. “So, was there something you wanted?”

“Yeah,” says Jared hesitantly. “There’s something I wanted to, uh…get your opinion on.”

He hears Jensen take the phone off speaker. “If it’s something comic- or cartoon-related, I’ll do my best, but I make no promises.”

Jared shakes his head. “Not exactly. It’s just…I was wondering if you would be up for a little role-playing next time we get together.”

“Dungeons and Dragons role-playing or the fun kind of role-playing?”

Jared’s eyes widen. “You know about Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Only that my parents thought it was Satanic,” answers Jensen, and Jared can practically hear his eyes rolling. “I take it you were talking about the latter.”

Jared grins. “Sure was. I was thinking superhero and tied-up hostage.”

“Tied-up as in bondage?”

Jared swallows hard. “Light bondage. Just wrist cuffs, unless you’re up for more than that.”

“You got more than that?” Jensen sounds surprisingly intrigued and not hesitant at all.

“I’ve got ankle cuffs and a mattress kit,” replies Jared. “But that’s a little advanced.”

Jensen’s quiet for a long moment. “Yeah, just wrist cuffs to start. I can’t believe you can even bring geekdom into the bedroom.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” says Jared with a smirk. “And many costumes, as well.”

“You mean—you know what, I don’t even want to know,” says Jensen. “So, you wanna come over tomorrow night? I’ll throw some chili in the slow cooker and make some cornbread.”

Jared smiles. “That sounds awesome. Yeah, text me when you get home and I’ll come by.”

“Sure thing.” Jared hears Jensen’s jazz music turn on in the background. “Well, I’m gonna eat and have some more wine. Have a good night, and I’ll see you tomorrow after work.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jared leans back and grins. “You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to punish you if it doesn’t go well,” Jensen says, his voice dropping into a terribly sexy low register.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” replies Jared.

Jensen responds in the same sexy voice. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Jared swallows hard. He adjusts his jeans and says, “I guess you will.”

“Good night, Jared,” purrs Jensen.

“‘Night, Jensen,” says Jared in a slightly strained voice.

* * *

The next night, Jared’s knees shake slightly as he steps up to Jensen’s front door. He’s got on a Batman hoodie and black jeans, baggy enough to allow for his Batman boxer-briefs with attached cape, and the cowl his college friend Sandy knitted him is in his Batman backpack along with his wrist cuffs and fasteners. He’s also got something he bets Jensen will never wear, but he’s gonna give it a shot anyway. He’s a little embarrassed now that he’s actually contemplating explaining his fantasy life to a buttoned-up jazz-loving librarian stereotype.

It could be worse. At least he doesn’t insist on playing a Batman porno in the background. He’s perfectly fine with a custom music playlist he keeps on his phone. He got that from the same person he got Jensen’s potential costume from—Sandy’s roommate Sara, who singlehandedly put on a midnight showing of Rocky Horror every year that included students acting out the movie in front of the screen. Jared starred as Brad all four years, and kept the corset and black lace panties. He figures if they fit him in college, they should fit Jensen now. Jensen’s a lot narrower in the shoulders and hips than Jared ever has been. Sara was also a slash fanfic writer, and he’s embarrassed to admit that most of what he knows about gay sex he learned initially from her fanfic before he started experimenting on his own.

Jensen answers the door, still dressed in his library clothes, a crisp maroon button-down shirt and black pinstripe trousers. His eyes light up when he sees Jared, as if he wasn’t expecting him, which is kind of ridiculously charming. Jared grins and steps past him into the townhouse. “Hey, Jensen.”

Jensen closes the door behind him. “Hey yourself, Jared. You can throw your bag on the sofa till we head upstairs.”

Jared does as he’s told and follows Jensen to the dining room, where steaming bowls of chili and a basket of cornbread are sitting out, along with bowls of sour cream and grated cheese. Jared grabs Jensen’s belt loop and pulls him in for a kiss. “This looks great, thank you. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

Jensen beams. “No trouble at all.” He motions to the chair that Jared has started to think of as his own. “Sit. I bought some craft beer, since that seemed better for chili than wine.”

Jared raises an eyebrow. “Have you ever bought craft beer before?”

“I went to college and grad school, you know,” replies Jensen, but Jared thinks the annoyance is feigned. “Yes, I’ve bought craft beer before. Fuck, I’ve bought kegs of Yuengling before. I’m not that much of a snob.”

Jared takes a sip of the beer. It’s a local one from the brewery at the PA Ren Faire, an oatmeal stout that’s quite possibly the best beer Jared’s ever had. “Wow,” says Jared. “This is great.”

Jensen smiles, clearly pleased. “See? I’m not totally hopeless.”

“I never said you were,” retorts Jared.

“No, but you were thinking it.”

Jared takes a bite of his chili. It’s got plenty of heat and meat, the two things Jared likes most. He dips his cornbread in it, as does Jensen. “So, you haven’t totally lost the Texas, I see.”

“No more than you have,” says Jensen. He takes a sip of his own beer. “You’re right, this is pretty damn good. I just bought it ‘cause it’s local, but it’s better than I was expecting.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome.” Jared shovels more chili into his mouth. “I swear, someday I’m going to move in here just so you can cook for me every day. This is the only place I ever get real, home-cooked food.”

Jensen’s eyes twinkle in the light of the candlesticks he’s placed in the middle of the table. “You want to move in already?”

Jared almost chokes on his food. “N-no, I was just—it was a joke!”

Jensen puts his hand over Jared’s. “Relax. I know that.” He takes a sip of his beer. “But, down the road, it’s definitely something I want to talk about.”

Jared nods. “I live in a shithole. Believe me, when you wanna talk, I’ll listen.”

Jensen goes quiet then, and the two of them eat their dinner in relative silence except for the music in the background, which Jared suddenly realizes is the Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets soundtrack. “You bought new CDs?”

Jensen nods and smiles. “Yeah, after the concert. You don’t mind?”

“No, not at all!” Jared pats Jensen’s knee. “I’m glad you opened your horizons to something different.”

“Someday we’ll see the movie,” says Jensen, looking to Jared for reassurance.

“I’ll bring it next weekend,” says Jared. “We can marathon the first three. Then I’ll let you catch up in your livres des français.”

Jensen beams. “I started French lessons on Duolingo,” Jared explains.

Jensen gets up and kisses the top of Jared’s head. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

Jared smirks. “Hold that thought.”

They finish eating and do the dishes together. Then, Jared retrieves his bag and they head upstairs.

Jared sets the bag down on Jensen’s desk chair and pulls out the cuffs, the ties, and the “surprise.” He feels his cheeks grow hot as he hands Jensen the corset and panties. “You don’t have to wear these, but man, I’d love it if you did.”

Jensen turns them over and considers it. Just when Jared thinks he’s going to say no, he grins. “What the hell, right?” He motions towards his bathroom. “I’ll go change, and then you can tie me up.” He rubs his chin. “There’s a sentence I never anticipated saying.”

Jared lets Jensen leave and then pulls off his hoodie and jeans. He fastens the cuffs to the headboard of Jensen’s bed and waits for Jensen to come back in. He hooks his phone up to Jensen’s Bluetooth speakers and starts his playlist. Hawksley Workman’s “Striptease” starts playing and Jared starts to get hard just from the Pavlovian conditioning. He fucked almost half a dozen guys to this song during college, including a different one after each performance of Rocky Horror. The first time it was Milo Ventimiglia, the guy who played Eddie. That was probably the only pairing in the whole show that wasn’t supported by canon. Even Jared couldn’t make a compelling fanfic case for that one.

Jensen comes back wearing the black flowered corset and lace panties. Somehow it manages to make his pecs look flawless and his thighs almost obscene. Jensen takes one look at the cuffs and swallows hard. “Do your thing,” he says, his voice slightly raspy.

Jared fastens the cuffs around both of his wrists. His arms are spread out at a sixty degree angle, which he’s not going to leave him in for long. It’s too painful the first time. He turns around and says, “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Jared dons his cowl and turns off the lights, leaving only a small desk lamp lit. “Call for help,” says Jared in his normal voice.

“Help?” Jensen sounds unsure, but then he seems to get into it. “Help me! I’m trapped!”

Jared turns around. “I’m coming!” he shouts in his deep Batman voice. He sees Jensen bite back a laugh, pressing his lips firmly together.

He climbs on the end of the bed. “Where are the others? Where are they?”

“I don’t know,” replies Jensen, sounding rather convincingly terrified. Jared wonders if Jensen has some theater background he’s not aware of.

“Who did this? Did you see?”

Jensen shakes his head. “He had a mask on. Covered his whole head. And then he covered my eyes.”

Jared rolls back on his heels. “I need to search the building.”

Jensen swallows. In a shaking voice, he responds, “Do what you have to do. Just—come back soon?”

Jared reaches out and strokes Jensen’s hair. “I’ll be quick. I promise. I’m not leaving you.”

Jared jumps down and lies on his belly on the floor to hide from Jensen. On the stereo, the song switches to George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” He has a momentary pang of guilt thinking of the singer's posthumous status. He lets the song play through and then gets up.

Jensen’s struggling against the bonds, not hard, just for show. “Help me! Please?”

“I’ve secured the area,” rasps Jared. “But I’ll have to pick the locks. It’ll take time.”

“Just don’t leave me again,” murmurs Jensen, and he actually sounds hurt.

Jared fiddles with the cuffs. They’re only Velcro, but they’re strong, and Jensen can’t get out of them on his own. He rests a hand on Jensen’s shoulder as he pretends to fiddle with the one on Jensen’s left wrist. “I’m not leaving. I’m here. I’m taking care of you.”

“I’m scared,” Jensen says in a small voice, and those plush pink lips turn out in a pout. Jared adjusts his rapidly-hardening dick inside his briefs.

“Don’t be,” he says in his Batman voice. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

Jensen leans forward and brushes his forehead against Jared’s bicep. “You’re so strong,” he simpers. “You have such big muscles.”

“Comes with the job,” he rasps. He reaches down with one hand and traces the neckline of the corset. He starts unfastening the hook-and-eye closures down the middle one by one.

Jensen’s eyebrows shoot up, like he didn’t realize they were there. But he fights it down and drops back into character. “You’re so brave. But I guess that’s part of the job too.”

“Can’t be a superhero if you’re not brave,” Jared agrees. He unhooks a few more fasteners. He trails his hand down to Jensen’s crotch and feels the damp rayon of the panties that cover Jensen’s rock-hard cock. He’s enjoying this, too. He slips a hand under the waistband and flicks the tip of his thumb over the slit. Jensen arches his back and thrusts his cock further into Jared’s grip. Jared pumps it a few times and, as a courtesy, slides off the panties. He tosses them over the side of the bed and licks a bead of precome off the slit. Then he runs the tip of his tongue underneath the sensitized head, making Jensen buck his hips and nearly hit Jared in the forehead with his pelvic bone.

Jared takes Jensen’s cock further into his mouth. He laves a thick stripe up the underside of the shaft, then releases it and slides a hand up Jensen’s pelvis to the lower hem of the corset. Jensen squirms. “Ja—I mean, Batman, please, have mercy!”

“You like that?” Jared rasps. He unfastens another couple of hooks and slides his hand over to tease at Jensen’s left nipple. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger, coaxing it into hardness. Jensen drops his head back and moans.

Jared leaves Jensen’s wrists bound, since he doesn’t seem to be disliking or resenting the restraints. “You’re just so pretty,” he breathes, sliding his hand to Jensen’s other nipple and teasing it into hardness. “No wonder the Joker went for you. He likes the pretty ones.”

“And what do you like?” gasps Jensen.

Jared smirks at him. “The grateful ones.”

“I’ll do anything you want,” says Jensen, breathing hard.

“Anything?” Jared raises an eyebrow.

“I owe you everything,” murmurs Jensen. “I want to—to express my gratitude.”

Jared flicks open a few more hooks. “You would do anything?”

“Anything at all.” Jensen honest-to-God flutters his fucking eyelashes. “Anything for you. You’re my hero.”

Jared reaches behind Jensen’s pillow where he hid the lube. He squeezes a generous amount on his fingers and runs one around the outside of Jensen’s hole. “Let me fuck you?”

“Absolutely,” gasps Jensen.

Jared slides one slick finger into Jensen’s tight hole. Jensen’s breathing hard and it takes him a minute to relax and let Jared past the ring of muscle. Jared reaches his other hand up and cups Jensen’s chin. “Relax, baby. I gotcha.”

Jensen nods. “I know. I trust you.”

Jared slides a second finger in. Jensen tips his head back, exposing that long, freckles expanse of golden skin, and Jared presses his lips to it. Jensen moans as the warring sensations dazzle his senses. He goes boneless in Jared’s arms, completely open to Jared’s desires, and Jared’s never been so horny in his life.

He adds a third finger, scissoring open Jensen’s hole. He reaches under the pillow and retrieves a condom, then tears it open with his teeth and rolls it over his thick, straining cock. He pulls his fingers out of Jensen’s hole and spreads some lube over the condom. “You ready, babe?”

“Fuck yeah,” gasps Jensen.

Jared pushes his cock into Jensen’s slicked-up hole and Jensen groans with pleasure. He presses in as far as he can, past the ring of muscle, and Jensen just leans back and lets him in. Jared starts to thrust, establishing a rather intense rhythm, and Jensen tips his head back and lets Jared do as he pleases.

Jared captures Jensen’s hot, dry lips for a kiss as he plunders Jensen’s ass. Jensen bucks against the restraints but doesn’t complain, just gasps and moans as Jared fucks him as fast and hard as he dares. Seeing Jensen like this, totally vulnerable and yielding to Jared’s every demand, is just about the hottest goddamn thing he’s ever imagined.

Jensen breaks the kiss and tips his head back on the pillow, panting so hard that Jared falters momentarily. “I’m okay,” gasps Jensen. “Fuck, just—just like that.”

Jared continues to thrust and Jensen continues to fight against the restraints, but not in a way that indicates distress. Jared comes with a stuttering shout and spills his load into the condom. Jensen bucks his hips and Jared takes his quivering cock in one hand and jacks him through his own orgasm as he’s pulling off the condom with his other hand. Jensen comes with a hoarse groan that Jared swallows by covering Jensen’s mouth with his own. He ties off the condom and throws it away as Jensen shudders through the aftershocks. Finally, he releases Jensen’s wrists and Jensen immediately throws his arms around Jared, who collapses next to him on the mattress. “That was incredible,” breathes Jensen.

“You liked it?” Jared’s breathing hard, but he manages to smile.

“I loved it,” replies Jensen. “I kind of want to try it from the other end.”

“You gotta ask nicely.” Jared nuzzles Jensen’s temple with his nose.

“Please can I tie you up and fuck you next time?”

Jared smirks. “I’ll think about it.”

Jensen kisses his temple and rubs his wrists, even though Jared knows the cuffs don’t chafe. “That’s all I ask.”

#j2 fanfic #j2 #j2 au #365daysofj2 #roleplay

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son-of-a-duck · 7 years

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April 7, 2017

This morning I woke up, got ready, made my lunch and dinner (which were the same thing), ate a quick breakfast, and headed to the coffee shop to meet my practicum supervisor. I got there and didn't see her so I sat at a table and waited. While I waited I wrote down my ideas for improving our personalized reading list form. I'm not the librarian in charge of that but I have a vested interest because I have to deal with people who submit personalized reading list requests. So when I have ideas I pass them along.

By 9:20AM my former practicum supervisor still wasn't there so I sent her a text. She didn't respond (because she recently had to reset her phone) but she did show up a few minutes later. She had apparently almost gotten to the coffee shop and realized she had forgotten her laptop so she went back to get it. To be fair, she sent me an email to let me know, I just didn't think to check my email. And I got some good ideas written down while I waited.

The meeting itself lasted about thirty minutes and it went well. We figured out the basic outline of the presentation and we're going to work on our parts and meet again in a couple weeks to do a dry run and hope everything goes well because the conference is in three weeks. I'm not that worried about it, which is kind of weird, but maybe I'll start to feel it when it gets closer.

The only thing I didn't like was that I was in the coffee shop for an hour and for the rest of the day I smelled like a coffee shop. Coffee shops stink. It would be sweet if they smelled like coffee beans but they don't.

After the meeting I went to my Mom's house to eat my 10:00AM lunch and watch Star Trek: Next Generation. Eating lunch at 10:00AM always sucks but Star Trek is always good times. The Ferengi are ridiculous.

When I got to work I was on desk for two hours and I filled that time completely but can't remember everything I did. One of the things that came up during my meeting with my former practicum supervisor was the adulting series we're doing at the library next Fall. I had mentioned it the first time we met and she told me that there were some librarians at her library that were interested in promoting it and possibly collaborating. So I sent her the schedule as it is now and our ideas for the Spring semester. We've got a pretty good relationship with the university library and we're always trying to have more collaboration with them and the community as a whole so hopefully this works out.

I had enough time off desk that I was able to finish shifting all of the oversized books. Good grief. Some of them are just so big. So unnecessarily big. I went with my plan of starting at the end and working my way back, which worked out much better. Throughout I found a lot of random books out of order, which is annoying, but at least for the time being they're all in order. And they look so much better in this new arrangement. I was also pretty much spot on with my math. I ended up about an inch off, which is one book, but it's not obvious unless you get a ruler out, so I'm pretty happy with it.

When I go to my Mom's house for dinner (at 4:00PM) I take an off ramp to get to her house. On the other side of the road that crosses over the highway, about a half a mile or so past it, there was some sort of big accident. I couldn't see what was happening but there were a lot of emergency vehicles. When I was going back to work the cars headed in that direction were backed up past the off ramp. It was kind of crazy. I also got behind a cop who was a frequently a fan of driving five miles under the speed limit. Not cool, cop.

I refilled my DVD display a few times today. The display is on a little, three-shelf cart. Typically there are three DVDs displayed on the top shelf, two on the middle, two on the bottom, and then a row of five or six DVDs on the middle and bottom shelves. I've been going with rows of eight when I refill it but I'm still having to do it twice a day. So tonight I got rid of one of the displayed DVDs on the top shelf and replaced it with another row of eight DVDs. My hope is that it will last the weekend.

I spent a decent portion of my night looking up Twinery resources because that class is happening next week. No one is signed up yet, and I don't know that anyone will, but I need to have something just in case. I'm still not entirely sure how I want to present it. Should I do a more in-depth instructional beginning before letting people dive in or do I just walk them through getting into Twinery, let them start creating, and answer questions as they come up? I'll figure it out.

I came across a couple pretty cool games built using Twinery and ended up playing those for a little while. Purely for research purposes. One of them involved having a pet that was only alive for sixty seconds, with an actual timer. The other was a space game that had stats for the ship and crew, and randomly generated planets and other text. I was really impressed.

When I got home it was still kind of light outside so I took the opportunity to pull the weeds out of the middle of my driveway. I left two in the little rock area near my garage door because I couldn't tell if they were weeds or not. I'm almost certain they are but I couldn't see in the low light so I left them. I need a second opinion.

After that I ate a bowl of Raisin Bran and I had a piece of cornbread with mustard, because I still have cornbread. I then watched a bunch of YouTube videos and clicked around the internet. And now I need to record my audio journal so I can go to bed.

I need to get over to my Mom's house at a decent time to do laundry tomorrow because I am having a movie and pizza night with two of the librarians I work with. We're going to watch Easy A, which I haven't seen in quite awhile so I'm looking forward to it.

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captivesrp · 7 years

Photo

Archora wakes up dizzy on a bed of luxuriant turned soil, the sky above bright enough to prompt a dagger of pain as she blinks up at it but too dim to really illuminate the very bottom of the pit, where she redirects her aching eyes. Despite the gloom, she picks out the shape of someone sitting back against the opposite wall. Something about the person's position---arms limp, hands turned upwards, legs splayed out---inspires an understanding of harmlessness in Archora, and she studies the figure curiously and without fear.

Boldly, she rolls over onto all fours and patters the additional pace until she can sit beside her pit companion, a boy nearly twice her size. She nudges him with an elbow.

"You ran into some bad luck too, huh," Ora says as the boy blinks blearily into life.

The boy makes eye contact with her and starts away, but then recognition flashes in his eyes and he relaxes back. "I am glad to see you conscious," he says.

Ora puts her head back gingerly against the wall of the pit and looks up. "Not sure I am glad to be conscious, to be honest."

"I'm---I'm Ffrewgí." The boy hoists himself to his feet, staggers, and bows.

Ora stifles a giggle. "My lord," she says, inclining her head as if in respectful recognition of his introduction but more relevantly to hide the grin that spreads across her face. She bites her lip and quells her amusement, taking an additional breath before standing before her lordly companion.

"Archora daughter of Adyrra," she says lavishly, "at your service."

The boy blushes. "You're making fun," he says.

Yes, she had been. "No, no!" Ora protests. "A formal greeting just caught me off guard, surrounded as we are by, uh, dirt and brigands."

"It's okay," says the boy quietly. "I probably deserve it."

"Buck up, Flurgy! You are very noble. I am sorry for laughing."

The boy breaks eye contact. "It's Ffrewgí."

Ora drops to one knee and places her arms out behind her in surrender. "Ffrewgí, noble host, forgive me. I---" She winces, regretting her inclusion of the unnecessary and, she fears, mocking title. She breathes in deep and fights to keep flowers from her words. She relaxes her arms and looks up at Ffrewgí's brown eyes. "I am sorry, Ffrewgí. Sometimes I can't help it---and . . . and it felt good to smile. You are very kind."

Ffrewgí smiles and offers her a hand. "It's okay. Thanks, Arkora."

The laugh breaks from Ora even as dizziness fights against the ease of rising with Ffrewgí's hand. She reels against the pit wall. When she opens her watery eyes Ffrewgí is looking at her with a mixture of confusion and concern plain upon his face.

"Sorry, sorry. It's probably just your dialect. What tribe are you from?" A wave of dizziness, with pain like ducks riding upon its back, washes over her. "I'm just going to sit down," she says.

Ffrewgí remains standing for another moment before joining her on the ground. "Did I say your name wrong?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

"This ain't war paint," says Ora wryly, gesturing weakly to the bold colour upon her jaw. "And yeah, it's 'Ar-ch-ora', with a bit of a guttural."

"Did they do that to you . . . Argchuora?"

Ora giggles and lolls her head back and forth on the pit wall. "No," she begins, before laughing again. "The witch was treating me from the edge of death when they came." Tears trace paths through the dirt around her eyes. "I hope they don't need us for any heavy lifting." Abstractly, Ora recognizes that the substance behind her amusement is likely insubstantial, but the realization does little to dam her laughter.

"I---" starts Ffrewgí before pausing to gape in concern at Ora, who continues to laugh hysterically. "I do . . . wonder why they have captured us."

Ora is not sure if pain is driving the laughter or if her laughter has triggered pain. In any case, she responds, "Hopefully not for any heavy lifting," without remembering that she has already made that comment.

Then her consciousness retreats, or shrinks, until she is looking at the scene before her eyes as if up through the mass of a still, cloudy pond. A mild rain disturbs its surface; this is her tears. The surface trembles; her laughter.

Night falls over the scene.

* * *

When Ora wakes, she wakes on the surface of the pond looking firsthand through her own eyes. She looks from above the waters at her thought villagers, each standing upon firm ground going about their usual business, undisturbed by storms.

Morning having yet hardly tickled the pit with warmth or sunshine, and her fellow captive fast asleep, Ora turns her eyes inward and walks, in the next movements of the sun---whose fingers creep slowly down the side of the pit---among her thoughts in conversation. Primarily these dialogues involve concerned curiosity; everyone wondering why, what, and when. It is during an introspective conversation with the thought of escape that she notices a strange stone enclosure in the center of her mind village.

"When was that built?" she asks.

"Overnight, I believe," responds the thought of escape. "Look, the mortar is still fresh."

Ora feels the surface of the stone. A dartle of pain in her head accompanies a sensation of hot, rough rock and still-wet mortar. "So it is," she says.

"Don't touch it again," says the thought of escape. "It isn't strongly constructed. In fact," the thought continues, "we should avoid it altogether. Tell me more about the pit."

Ora obliges, and they both turn away from the igloo of stone.

She is only able to entertain the thought of escape for a little while longer before it becomes tired, so she sees it to bed and opens her eyes to the outside world, where she notices a portion of food---dry cornbread and gristly chicken---lying next to her. Hungry, she eats it, noticing after polishing off most of it that Ffrewgí is awake.

“Was this half of your rations?” she asks, swallowing the last bit of the cornbread. “You are really noble.”

Ffrewgí shrugs humbly, averting his eyes. Ora is tempted by this reaction to go overboard with her thanks, but fights the urge.

She moves over to a bucket of water, remarking, “I’ve never heard a name like yours before.” She looks at the brown, still water in the pail. “This water’s okay, right?”

“It’s a bit muddy, but safe, I think,” the boy says.

More out of social obligation that curiosity, Ora wonders aloud after taking a drink straight from the pail, “Ffrewgí . . . Are you an Yffewelden?” She picks a tribe at random.

Ffrewgí proves to be more engaging, and certainly more realistic, than the thought of escape had been, responding with interest to her conversation, and their path of discourse ends up allowing Ora to showcase her---surprising, even to her---knowledge of tribal politics:

". . . the Mculdre were assimilated by the Refellwn and the Refellwn are the neighbour of the Breacalles and the Breacalles are a blood ally of the Woldens---that’s my tribe! " she says as her grand finale. “I guess storytellers really aren’t just for children.”

Ffrewgí is suitably impressed.

* * *

Ora is no longer participating in conversation with Ffrewgí by the evening, but his stomach is certainly saving the pit from falling into silence. It reminds Ora rather of some of the warriors from her village with similarly limited vocabularies---Grunt grumble, would say one. The other would squint and reply, Rumble groan, and they would both laugh as if a joke had been shared.

There is no laughter in the pit. Ffrewgí is clearly suffering and has been making occasional, pitiful eye contact with Ora, though she recognizes that he is resolved to suffer nobly. He is not, but she appreciates the clear effort, the poor boy.

The most energy he shows all day is when their rations for the day are tossed in: two tiny loaves of dry cornbread and the carcass of a chicken Ora would wager a fortune was either butchered long before its prime or was fathered by a sparrow. Ffrewgí is crouched over the offering before Ora even registers he moved. He looks up at her.

“Legs or breast?” he says. “Each option comes with a wing; I think that’s the fairest and easiest way to divide it.”

Ora shrugs. “You can pick first. I ate this morning, so I’m in no hurry.”

Ora is impressed with the patience and delicacy of Ffrewgí’s activity as he extricates the legs and one wing from the bird. He passes these to her and then reaches back and passes her one of the hand-sized loaves.

“Thanks,” says Ora.

“You’re welcome.” Ffrewgí watches her for a moment then collects his food and shuffles back to sit against the pit wall, where he eats with shaking hands.

Ora nibbles through her dinner, certainly not drawn to speed by its flavours of dirt, smoke, and gristle (the chicken) or lack of flavour altogether (the cornbread). She still has a leg of chicken left when she looks up from the floor of the pit and makes unintentional eye contact with her pitmate. He pops a finger from his mouth self-consciously. She stands and moves over to Ffrewgí to offer him the singed meat.

“In return for your kindness,” Ora says.

He reaches up to take it and they share hold of it for a moment before he slowly pulls it away.

Ora nods and moves back to her side of the pit, where she sits and puts her head back to stare up into the deep blue sky. The thought of escape pokes its head from its bedroom but disappears as Ora observes the burly brigand sitting just in view through the pit mouth, and alone then in her mind village the fear of tomorrow strolls boldly and loudly, all night long.

#archora #chapter three

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ketocraft · 7 years

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OF WANTINGS, CRAVINGS, WILL, AND DESIRE

Warning: If you are triggered by reading about non-ketogenic foods, please do not read this post as I do describe some non-keto foods.

On Wednesday, March 8, I made my way to my parents’ house where I would be staying for two nights and going home on Friday the 10th�� Today March 11th. Unfortunately, that is not how things worked out. I don’t say unfortunately because I don’t like being here or anything, I only say unfortunately because it really has been an unfortunate experience. My first week being ketogenic went swimmingly. No cravings no wantings nothing. I didn’t really eat much, and didn’t have anything pulling me to “cheat” at all. I felt I was doing great! Along with this greatness apparently came the hubris that I could not be tempted and I would be just fine at my parents house. All I can say is that I should have known better and I should’ve planned better for this experience. When I set off, in my Keto arsenal I had the following: F bombs, protein powder, um… yeah that’s it. I didn’t think that I would need anything else but bulletproof coffee and protein shakes to get me through my day. I was going to bring some pork rinds but thought better of it because I didn’t want them to get smashed on the way there and I figured I wasn’t really hungry most days. I love my family, but I absolutely have hated this experience.

Day 1: I arrived on Wednesday and that was a pretty easy day. I had my protein shake, my dad made me chorizo spam, I explained to him a little bit about my ketogenic diet, and for dinner he made chicken with deliciously seasoned skin. So when I got to the house and I put my protein shake in the freezer to cool, I immediately saw the Baskin-Robbins ice cream cake that they had purchased for him for his birthday. “We saved you a slice from my birthday party.” Great. Just flipping great. These are my favorite types of cake. That’s OK, I had already prepared for this, I put my shake in the freezer and didn’t even give the damn thing a second look. I had already decided that I was not going to break my budding ketosis over ice cream cake. I politely thanked my dad and never thought of it again. So I scraped by day One with my ketogenic diet firmly intact. Even though I knew there were old temptations there (The fruit I always ate, Hawaiian sweet rolls, ice cream, chips, soda, etc.) I was doing fine and I felt like just maybe I had prepared myself mentally enough to go into this war zone. I was greatly mistaken.

Day2: Every other morning that I have been at my parents house at some point in the early morning my mom will tell me that there’s coffee. Usually 15 to 20 minutes later I’ll stumble into the kitchen get my favorite coffee mug… “My” (as in I bought it for their house) coffee mug… pour myself a cup and go about my day. This morning was not the case. This was the beginning of every goddamn thing that could go wrong, did. I got up fairly early when people were still getting ready for school and work and walked into the kitchen. My dad said there was coffee but then kind of shook the coffee pot like well, there’s not much coffee sorry. So there went my first meal. I was already kind of feeling beaten down by all the things I had turned away from, so having a bulletproof coffee really would have helped that morning. As the house begin to clear I begin the first bout of the hangrys. I was acting like a child inside. Whining about all the stuff I couldn’t have, angry that there was no coffee left for me, angry that my mother threw out my coffee mug for no reason! I just had had it, but I couldn’t be angry at my family because it’s not their fault or their problem. Usually making another pot of coffee is no big deal, but I could not for the life of me figure out how to use their coffee maker. So after even more kicking screaming and tantruming in my head, I finally asked my dad just to make me some coffee. After a bulletproof coffee I was back on my game again. I hid out in my parents room most of the day watching movies while my dad and his friends hung out in the livingroom. That night, I heard my dad say something to somebody about making lasagna and I flipped out. I thought fast and called my mom and told her that Dad was going to make lasagna but I can’t eat lasagna. I told her not to tell my dad, because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I had explained keto to my dad already, but I don’t think he quite understood. My mom called my dad and told my dad that instead of making dinner we would go out to dinner. Music to my ears let me tell you! Went to a local place called Johnny’s Shrimpboat. It’s been a restaurant we have gone to for years, and I always get the same thing… A hamburger. This time however, I would keep it Quito and get it with out the bun wrapped in lettuce which I only ate some of. The burger was delicious and I had been wanting a burger for a while, so this was good. I thought I was going to go home at some point on Friday because either my mom would take the day off to take me to the station or home, or I would just Uber to the station and take the train home. I however found out that that was not to be the case because my train had been discontinued (this is a common Metrolink practice and I wish they would stop).

Day 3 Day three just seem like one folly after another. So let’s be perfectly honest here, so I have been dodging temptations left right and center and I live in California and occasionally, especially around my boys, get high. So I’ve been dodging all of this crap completely stoned sometimes and rather than eating I’ll just go to sleep because really there’s nothing else to do there. So most of the day I spent hanging out on my parents couch with my family (those who indulge in such activities) hanging out watching movies kicking back. Unfortunately, this was to be the day that I would be the most tested. Early in the morning I made my bulletproof coffee getting through my first meal. Well I was sitting on the couch, my dad came into the living room and asked me something about how to make cornbread. In the old days, I used to make it for him a lot for special occasions. It’s one of his favorite things to eat. This time, I think it was his first time making it. I didn’t make it, but I advised him where he needed advising, and went back to my happy little stoner land. Then, I found out that there would be lasagna for dinner. The expletives that ran through my head had to be made up because there weren’t enough to say all of the ones I thought. So here I am completely mellowed and sitting on the couch and my dad comes up to me with a napkin and what I knew was piping hot cornbread off of the oven pan. Without even hesitating I looked up at my dad and politely said “no thank you I’m good” kind of proud of myself, and kind a wondering how the hell I had just done that. We all set around and I worked on some of my sudoku for a while and then dinner time came around. For the past couple days I really haven’t had much to eat except for the occasional piece of turkey bologna which had no carbs. Mind you, I really hate bologna, but it was acceptable to my diet so I went with it. So even though I’m hungry most of the time, it wasn’t enough to throw me into a spiral… Until dinner. So there was a big pan of lasagna on top of the stove along with the cornbread and I think my dad had even made garlic bread to go with dinner. I thought it would be fine as long as I stay out of the kitchen so I relegated myself to the dining room because my parents were eating in the livingroom. By this point I was cranky, hungry, and really not handling things well. I was sick of being tested, sick of being tempted, sick of not being able to cook for myself and give myself a proper meal plan. I took full responsibility for my lack of preparedness and swore not to let it happen again (just for context, I started writing this at their house and I’m just finishing it now). I was hungry and I had to do something so I went into the kitchen, cut up a lemon, and decided I would eat that. Got three pieces into my lemon and then I decided to log it on MFP. I didn’t expect that a lemon would be any carbs, because the lemon juice that I use is zero carbs. Somehow however, a lemon is five carbs and that just really took a baseball bat to what was left of my resolve. I told myself if I went into the kitchen as long as I didn’t look at the stove I was fine just fine. At this point my hangry must’ve been showing like a battle flag because my mom pointed it out to me that I apparently had a problem. So as to not argue with my family and try to enjoy the last remaining hours there, I decided I would take a shower and go to bed. So I took a shower, and came out pretty relaxed, but still hungry. I had already had my protein shake for the day and couldn’t afford another. I went to throw my towels in the laundry room and I looked at the goddamn stove. I felt like I had turned to stone as I said fuck it and grabbed the piece of cornbread that have been offered to me earlier. It was a 2 inch piece of cornbread which I logged into MFP and it said 18 carbs, but I don’t know if that takes into account the fact that it was made with sucralose. I ate it, somehow felt vindicated, and went to sleep. I think I had had it and I was done. I woke up the next morning to my mom tapping me on the shoulder and telling me they were taking me home. I guess my hangry episode the night before gave them the hint that I needed to be out of there because when I open my eyes and looked around, they were both already showered and dressed and ready to go. I love my parents, I love going to their house. Being around my family gives me a sense of balance especially when I feel off kilter. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a horrible experience there, and I know that it was due to me being ill prepared. I don’t cook at my parents house because frankly I don’t feel comfortable. I didn’t really spend much time in that home and it doesn’t feel like home to me. I kind of feel like an out of town guest when I’m there and it’s not anything they’ve ever said to me, but more the fact that I’ve never felt that place was home. I take full responsibility for the hell that I had to go through there, and I know that next time I will be better prepared. I’m still a keto rookie, and I’m still going to make mistakes. I refuse to give myself hell for that piece of cornbread because it’s over and done with and it’s not like I make a lifetime habit out of cheating. I think the fact that I made it through as long as I did with as many old habits as there were laying at my feet is still something I am proud of. It has long been my motto that failing to prepare is preparing to fail and I should have heated that warning a little more closely. Since this incident, I have not had any extra cravings or anything, I just kept on with business as usual. Now, in the middle of my third week of keto, I still don’t have cravings for the things I used to eat, but I know now that when they are around me in droves I need to have something to combat them. I’m fortunate enough that I live in a home where I buy my groceries and so if I don’t wanted in my mouth it’s not in my house. I can’t control the food in other peoples homes, so I need to control myself in other people’s houses. It was a learning experience and I’m glad for it, I know more about myself now, and I know more about my will to stay on this diet. This experience was also full of distinctions: wantings versus cravings, between will versus desire, between mouth hungry and stomach hungry. There were so many lessons and distinctions rolled into this experience I really just needed some time to sort them all through. This is my first mistake, but it won’t be my last. I will write about another (totally keto friendly) mistake I made later. I hope this blog post can be a help to somebody somehow, because then maybe it’ll make this experience worthwhile. Thank you to everybody who has followed me thus far and thank you to everybody who is taking the time to read my blog posts. I really appreciate everyone of you!

#keto diet #ketogenic #keto #ketocraft #ketosis #ketofam #ketolife #ketonewbie #ketones #lowcarb #lchf #hflcfood #newtoketo #ketoonthego #Keto Craft

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