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talesofstyles · 4 years ago

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

Text

First Date

Summary: The reader accidentally sends an angry email off to a co-worker but winds up with a date instead...

Pairing: Landscaper!Dean x reader

Square: First Date

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, fluff

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo . Enjoy!

_______

You yawned as you trotted out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand down to your home office. You plopped down in your chair and got on your computer, checking your email with a tired hum. You saw an email from the facilities manager and sighed.

“Oh come on,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m work from home now, jackass. Refund my parking pass. That was like five hundred bucks.”

You growled and typed out an angry email in response, getting so fed up when you finished you knocked your coffee all over your computer.

“Shit!” you said, grabbing some tissues and moping it up.

You saw a sent message appear on screen and you shook your head.

“No. No. No, I didn’t send that. Recall, recall,” you said, shoving the tissues aside. It’d already been opened though and the recall failed, your jaw dropping. “No! I just moved into this house! I can’t afford to get fired.”

You grabbed your phone and decided to bite the bullet, trying to dial the guy when you got an email back.

As highlighted in my original message below, your refund will show up next month along with all other refunds to staff now working from home.

You hit reply and started writing an apology, praying he didn’t report you to HR.

I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I wrote it to express my frustrations and had no intentions of ever sending it. I’m deeply embarrassed, Mr. Winchester, and apologize once again.

You bit your bottom lip and waited a minute, getting a response back.

Thank you for your apology, Ms. Y/L/N. Seeing as today is my last day and it was a mistake, I see no reason to pursue this further.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” you said. “Now let’s deal with this coffee.”

Two Weeks Later

“So what’s the damage?” you asked. The man in the flannel and baseball cap wrote up a tally on his clipboard before looking back at the house and yard again.

“Normally, for total lawn maintenance, that includes your weeding, trimming, spring and fall clean up, etc. for a lawn this large, you’re looking at around eighty a week,” he said. “But we’re trying to break into this neighborhood so let’s call it fifty a week. We get ten yards around here, we’ll knock it down to forty. How’s that sound?”

“Fifty for everything?” you asked. “Including the snow removal?”

“We’ll negotiate a separate contract for that but I’d call that about 350 for that season,” he said. “So. We have a deal?”

“For fifty bucks, you got a deal,” you said, shaking his hand.

“Perfect. I will have a contract written up and sent over to you this evening,” he said. He dug around into his back pocket and pulled out a business card.

“Super Natural Lawn Services,” you said. “Winchester.”

“Hm?” he said, writing something down on his clipboard.

“Name sounds familiar is all,” you said.

“Used to be in charge of managing the grounds at a local place until they decided to have their staff work from home. Ms. Y/L/N,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh my…” you said, Dean chuckling. “I am so-”

“I like running my own business a lot better,” he said. “Besides, you apologized. We’re all good. We’ll get that contract straightened out and I’ll get a team over Friday morning to start on your landscape design.”

“I really am sorry, Mr. Winchester. I-”

“Y/N. It’s good. I promise. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nodded and he headed back to his car, giving you a wave as he drove off.

Two Weeks Later

“Hey, Dean?” you called from your front porch. He poked his head up from where he was head first in a notebook, staring at the dirt edge around your house. “You want a drink? It’s really hot out.”

“I’m okay,” he said, sweating pouring off of him.

“You want to come into the air conditioning for a minute?” you asked. He was about to say no when he took off his hat and his hair was soaked with sweat. “Come on.”

“Alright. Just for a minute,” he said. He hopped up onto the porch and stepped into your foyer, letting out a sigh. “Okay, that’s nice.”

“You like lemonade?”

“Sure,” he said. He took off his boots and followed you to your kitchen, taking a seat at the table when you waved him down. You brought over a large glass, Dean gulping it down. “Do you have a minute? Now that your lawn is in good shape, I have a few ideas for landscaping near the house if I could pick your brain.”

“Sure,” you said. He flipped open his notebook and showed you a drawing, your eyes wide. “You drew that? It’s great.”

“Do you like that kind of style? It’s minimal upkeep but it’s not barren out there this way,” he said.

“I love it. How much does that cost?” you asked.

“It’s part of your weekly bill. I have a few other ideas in here you can take a look at and tell me which you like best,” he said. You flipped through the notebook with him, still liking the first one the most. “Alright. We’ll get that going for you then.”

“My neighbor was asking about you the other day. I gave her your name,” you said.

“Fingers crossed we get a bit more business around here then,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the drink, Y/N.”

One Month Later

You hummed as you sat on your front porch with your morning coffee, watching Dean across the street and walk around a yard with his team. They’d already done your yard for the week and you knew Dean was up to about six or so houses in the development. With a big stretch you glanced over to your car and saw something on the windshield. You got up and walked over, plucking off a note.

Found a problem with one of your plants. Rabbits were eating it. I’ll replace it later today.

You looked across the street just as he looked over. You gave a wave and he returned it before you headed back inside.

Four hours later you were getting home from the store to find another note stuck up against your front door.

Plant should be all good now. Enjoy your weekend.

“Hey,” you heard behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Sorry.”

“Hi, Dean,” you said. “S’alright. I got your note.”

“It was a simple fix,” he said. “I actually am looking for my work gloves. I either left them at your place or the Jones’ but I didn’t find them over there.”

“Are they black?” you asked.

“Yeah. You find them?” he asked.

“Maybe they’re near my new plant,” you said, nodding your head. He looked over and they were on the grass beside it.

“Ah. That’s what I get for taking calls while working,” he said. He grabbed them and started to leave, pausing at the driveway. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“You single?”

“Why?”

“Cause if you’re dating someone, I don’t think my odds of getting a date will go very far,” he said as he spun around. You smiled and leaned against the porch post. “Single?”

“Why would you want to date me? I was very rude to you once.”

“You were pissed about throwing money away for no good reason. Trust me, I got plenty of emails that day. You’re the only one that apologized. Plus you may have once told the grumpy guy in the cafeteria to go do a job that makes him happy.”

“You knew who I was when I emailed you, didn’t you.”

“Yeah. I looked you up at work. You were nice back then. You always offer my crew cold water if you’re home. I just like you,” he said.

“Pick me up at seven,” you said as you spun around. “You decide what we’re doing.”

“Alright,” he said. “I wouldn’t advise a dress and heels.”

“Now I’m intrigued. I’ll see you later then, Dean.”

“Yes you will, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” said Dean when you opened your front door just before seven. You laughed when he held out a packet of flower seeds. “They’ll go great in a planter on the porch.”

“Thanks,” you said. You put the packet inside and locked up, following him to his car. “So what are we doing?”

“I figured we could do something and grab a bite after if that’s okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “Were you thinking of a movie?”

“Hopefully it’s more fun than a movie,” he said. “Trust me.”

“Okay, that is the most fun I’ve ever had on a first date,” you said, Dean chuckling as you both turned in your helmets. “I did not even know there was go-karting in this town. Like really nice go-karting too.”

“We could come back sometime,” he said. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

“Same,” you said.

“Well follow me then,” he said, walking past his car in the parking lot and headed for the street. He took your hand and you walked across over to a diner, Dean walking the two of you inside and to a booth by the corner.

Twelve minutes later you had a double bacon cheeseburger with jalapenos in front of you along with a basket of fries and onion rings. You dug in, Dean smiling to himself as he enjoyed his own burger.

“Too much?” you said.

“Save room for dessert. They have out of this world sundaes,” he said.

“If it’s as good as this burger, I’m sold,” you said. “So what made you want to have a landscaping business?”

“I get to be outside, do some hard work but some mental work too. We’re doing pretty good for our first year,” he said. “I didn’t like my old job very much.”

“It sounds like this one is working out for you.”

“It is. Probably would have taken me longer to ask you out if I hadn’t sort of known you already but I don’t mind,” he said, taking one of your fries.

“You flirt with all your customers or just me?”

“Just you,” he said. “How’s it working out so far?”

“Pretty good. Want to go catch the music fest downtown after our meal? Main act comes on at nine,” you said. “Unless you’re not into rock.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You and me are gonna get along just fine.”

_____

#spndeanbingo #dean x reader #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean x #dean x you #dean #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

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scorching-passion · 2 years ago

Note

💭

Send 💭 to see one of my muse’s earliest memories or a flashback to a pivotal moment in their life! ACCEPTING

Age: 19

The bitterness was strong today. A baffling lump impossible to swallow.

Bile rising, and frothing into his gullet for the longer he would attempt to keep busy, to maintain face before those looking down at them from their ivory tower and comfortable seats chortling over false achievements and the cost which came crashing down on those beneath.

They didn’t care. They never had. Not for the common man, the infantry, SOLDIER… the people living out in the midst of the mako metropolis. Greed and corruption infected this place, a virus alongside conspiracies of First's who sprout balding wings and simply flying away.

If only it were that simple.

Where were his wings then? Where were his to glide across the ocean never to be seen again?! More lies crushed into the plethora of bullshit the company would dump into the mouths of the public.

To think he had lost them so suddenly; Sephiroth, his commanding officer, the leader of the Alpha cohort of which only very few were left remaining, including himself, and Zack Fair, a treasure of a man, an exceptional SOLDIER, a warrior of light if ever Roche had known one.

Dead or simply missing, the blond did not have definitive answers to these questions, certainly none which could be considered even remotely satisfactory. All tight lips and stiff backs whenever the subject was broached.

Did he not have a right to know? Was his existence here within the tower so mundane, so insignificant that he be kept in the dark?

The wrench in his hand formed indentations upon his bare palm, enough to have him notice when the pressure was released and the blood would rush, prickling into the pastel white flesh. A sensation that, if nothing else, would prove he wasn’t completely numb from the brow downwards. But it wasn’t enough to quell that deep rooted anger, the white-hot cage of despair clinging to his cold frail heart.

The bottom of this powder keg was about to blow out.

The wrench was first in the firing line, clattering into the void of the garage, colliding first with the corrugated steel door before coming to land on the oil slicked cement. Satisfying… but not nearly enough.

It was never enough. It was never ever going to BE enough!

The work bench nearest, filled with spare parts belonging to all manners of vehicles stored here for servicing, swept onto the floor with the broad swing of both arms, sharp edges cutting into the flesh, heavy objects threatening to bruise. Fine, yes! Pain, we like that! Bring it on.

'BRING IT ALL!'

'LET ME FEEL IT!'

'REMIND ME THAT I’M HUMAN!'

The bare bones of a motorcycle not yet fully rebuilt, thrust onto its side via the hard sole of his boot with a deafening crash and the sickening crunch of metal against metal beneath. Bits of broken body work, the hard steel of a brake lever bouncing into the room, ricocheting off hanging chains and other bodies of metal in the vicinity. The raised hood of a car, torn from its hinges and tossed into the black, scraping against the concrete as it landed and crashing to a halt against the steps entering this place.

It hadn’t occurred to him at that moment that the blood curdling scream ringing in his ears was his own, paying no mind of the hot tears cleaving clean paths over gaunt, exhausted cheeks.

But when it was done, and Roche would stand there amidst the carnage, throat raw and panting, the sweat stinging his eyes… it all felt the same. The release had only compounded the fact that he was here still… and he was alone… again. No one was coming to save him from himself, not this time.

No one to turn to. No where to run.

But even as Roche dropped to his knees then he swore this would be the last time ShinRa would take from him. The last time. Never again. Never again.

#cloudvii #we really must do this again - ANSWERED ASKS #You turned the key... - HEADCANON'S #tw: death mention

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doingthingsthewriteway · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll Be Home for Christmas pt. ii

Summary: Lee keeps popping up.

A/N: cross posted from ao3

True to his word, Lee had her car towed up to her parents house. It was a nice house for a perfectly nice family that just so happened to bring out the worst in each other. He could tell, he had an eye for dysfunctional.

Her pa had already left for work when the tow truck pulled in, his squad car following right behind it. Y/N's mother all but pushed her out the door hissing instructions of "zip that coat up so you don't look like a-"

"Morning, Sheriff!" Her teeth chattered and her cheeks were rosy. Hands stuffed in her pockets, she felt the card he gave her the night before. It burned her hand with the weight of something she couldn't quite figure out yet. Lee thought of all the ways he warm her up, fix her so she was just right.

"Morning to you too little lady." A toothpick rolled between his teeth. "Old man home?" She shook her head. A minor infraction he had no choice but to let slide for now. "I decided to cover the cost of the tow. Ronnie here-" the driver threw up a hand in greeting- " says he can fix it in his shop if y'all cover it."

"That's awfully kind of you. Are you sure?"

"Public road under public payroll. Besides Mayor owes me a favor anyway."

Hesitant, she agreed. Lee tipped his hat with a smile. "You run along back inside, can't have ya freezing to death."

Y/N obliged and life was relatively normal. She heard through the grapevine that a substitute teaching position was open with the possibility of being rehired in August. Perfect set up to hold her over. In her best dress, she went down to the grade school with her resumé and left with a smile on her face.

A treat would be a nice way to celebrate her new position. Popping in the bakery, she dusted the snow off her coat, curls bouncing slightly. She assured the cashier she'd let them know when she was ready as she browsed the cases. Always giving in to her sweet tooth, she chewed on her lip as she assessed the goods. Pies, tarts, and pastries all looked tempting but it was Christmas and Christmas meant gingerbread men.

The cashier-who she was sure she went to school with but couldn't quite place a name- wrapped her box in twine when the bell above the door jingled. "Sheriff! Picking up donuts for the station?"

Y/N couldn't help her reaction, head turning to see Bodecker stomping the snow off his boots in the doorway. He shook his hat, holding it in his hands. "Boys deserve it and yours the best." Debatable take, Y/N thought, thought she reasoned he had public relations to up hold.

"Let me go get a box for a dozen-"

"Keep servicing the pretty lady, I got time." Lee flashed a grin at her, almost stalking his way forward. Propping an elbow on the counter, he peeked inside her parcel. "Gingerbread, huh?"

She almost felt pathetic mumbling out, "It's Christmas." Her cheeks flushed under his stare. "I like the icing."

Lee chuckled, a full belly laugh that shook his tummy which strained the bomber jacket he wore. "I got me a sweet tooth too, dolly."

The cashier cleared his throat, "Your change." Y/N grabbed the coins, opening her purse and sprinkling them inside.

"Thank you." She flashed both men a smile. "Merry Christmas!"

"Wait a second, Miss Y/N and I'll walk you to your car." There he did it. His move was made and there was no going back. It was clear to Y/N now that Lee Bodecker was far from the sleepy small town sheriff.

"Oh that's not necessary." Y/N took a step closer to the door; Lee gave her wrist a squeeze. A firm look in his eyes. There was no choice but to comply.

He took his time selecting donuts and if he wasn't who he was, she might have found it cute. Minutes later, Lee held the door for her whilst balancing his box. Lee walked incredibly slowly, taking his sweet time.

"Heard from the principal, you got yourself a job. Ya know, that teacher lady you're taking over for is on maternity leave. Husband's a buddy of mine and they're thinking it's time she's a stay at home momma."

"Good for them."

They reached her car, Lee whistling lowly at the parking meter. "You're five minutes over." He leaned against the hood of the car. "I'm gonna have to write you a ticket."

"Oh come on! You kept me in there, I would've made it."

"You've got nerve." He sat the box on the hood, leaning forward to grab her arm pulling her slowly towards him. "Typically, I hate that shit in a woman but on you it's mighty endearing." A pause. "Tell ya what, let me take ya out Friday night and we'll call it even."

"That's extortion."

"That meter is ticking. Can't imagine home being too pleasant when you come home with a ticket after blowing out your tire."

Y/N huffed, stomping her foot in her kitten heels (which stirred something inside him). "Fine." She wriggled out of his grasp. "But you gotta tell my parents."

"Well shit, I can do that." He gave the car an affectionate tap. "I'll stop by tonight after supper."

The uplifting hope of a way out felt suffocated. She encountered men like the sheriff in school. Bold, overly masculine, and aggressive, these men mostly ignored her. The occasional project where they thought they knew more than her (which always ended up with her submitting her own copy or saving the day with a Hail Mary last minute revision) was her extent. Artsy guys held her eyes and she would simply die if anyone found out she did some modeling for the art department because a boy with dimples asked her to.

No, Lee Bodecker was not that man. Or any man she had met. Perhaps something broke him, twisted up his insides, or perhaps her parents tainted her toward any affection. She didn't know. Hiding from her mother was difficult, but Y/N managed to kill the afternoon working on her sewing and listening to the radio.

Her pa arrived shortly after the sun started to set. They'd eat dinner (like the TV dinners Lee would heat up if he didn't grab a burger at the drive thru so he'd have to teach her how to cook but that could be done). Then, the family would putter around watching Walter Cronkite deliver the news.

Lee knew when the best time to show up was and decided to take full advantage of it. He knocked just before darkness finally hit, hat in his hands, charming good ol boy smile on his face.

"Sheriff?" Her father answered, eye brows furrowed.

"Here on unofficial business." Lee gestured inside with his hat. "Mind if I come in?"

Her mother was already scurrying around to "clean up". Lee had seen a hell of a lot worse than a stack of newspapers stacked on a coffee table. "Ma'am you've got a lovely home and a lovely daughter."

Y/N shifted from her spot in the doorway, partially wanting to run and hide let the older adults talk amongst themselves. Yet, she slinked into the living room. "Hi, Sheriff."

She tried not to look at his eyes, the way they shined at her like she was the prettiest damn thing he'd ever seen. "I'll cut straight to the point, I'm taking your daughter out on Friday."

"I don't know-" her mother was cut off by Lee shaking his head.

"No, I'm taking her out. I've asked and with a little convincing she agreed." He took Y/Ns hand, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "She's a grown woman, I just thought you should hear from me. I'm Sheriff, you can trust me, hell y'all supported me in my election trust me enough to run this town. Your little girl will be safe with me."

Y/Ns surprise was evident when her parents relented. Never able to do anything, she suddenly could do this. Lee winked at her as he tipped his hat out the door. He made it to the driveway before her mother started in on her.

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker imagine #lee bodecker imagines

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agathaharknes · 4 years ago

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yennaia + gamer au

This was supposed to be three sentences and definitely not crack but I just had to... sksjsjssksjjs.

Yennaia prompt: Gamer AU.

LINK TO ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN IN THE REPLIES.

Word count: 1.8k+ Pairing: Yennaia. Rating: T.

Tissaia really had no idea why she was doing this. Perhaps to appease Rita. Perhaps because her addiction to nicotine had worsened over the course of one year of a bloody Continent-wide pandemic and she was loath to use her credit card every time she needed a new pack of cigarettes. Perhaps she was going through a midlife crisis to cope with the fact that being the Chancellor of Aretuza College was already stressful enough without half the generations there trying to fool her subordinates into thinking cardboard replicas or even mannequins counted as attendance or simply because the rest of the Board of Governors (Stregobor) couldn't differentiate between what could be said through an email and what required her to clean her entire house so the background of her call was pristine.

Her controller vibrated in her hands, (Why, for the love of the Gods, couldn't that setting be turned off?) her knuckles turning white from gripping it so strongly. "Oh, for fu- heaven's sake." There, she had been ambushed. Again. A funny and wholly unexpected thing happened, though, one of the users turned on her companions, offing the lot of them with clean headshots the brunette definitely couldn't pull off in the span of twenty seconds.

"Uhh..." What does one say when your virtual saviour just betrayed her entire party on a whim and was being cursed at obnoxiously loudly and vulgarly for it?

Yennefer ignored Sabrina calling her names that absolutely applied to her and her hormonal reaction to a lovely blue-eyed MILF the likes of which she had only seen in her dreams. "No thanks needed, love. I was getting tired of seeing you frown like someone had keyed your car every time you got killed. A pretty thing like you should only have cause to smile." Oh, Gods, now she sounded like a creepy old man that lived in his mum's basement. Great. Good job. Her Social Studies major was an absolute hit. Fuck her life. Fuck Oxenfurt College. And fuck Sabrina's witch-like cackling while she was at it. "Name’s Yennefer." She choked out miserably.

Tissaia scowled at her laptop. Hackers. Amazing. This was the best day of her new normal life. "Mind telling me how you broke through the most expensive antivirus in the Continent, dear? Because now I really need a refund." Now she also needed to contact Aretuza’s IT team on a Saturday night, because she was not about to mess any further with these blasphemous machines, thank you very much.

Wait, what? "That wasn't me... You left your camera on." The woman legitimately squealed at that, her oversized jumper sliding down her left shoulder and exposing just a glimpse of her collarbone as she pinned up her hair into a bun with... were those pens fashioned as swords? Oh, bugger, this was so not the time to get turned on! "Are you alright?" Mercifully Sabrina, Renfri and Phillipa were already accosting someone else, else she was sure the brunette would've completely lost it, more than she already was doing, anyways. "Hello?" No answer.

Tissaia was fishing for her boots when she started ranting, “Oh, don’t you worry! I’m fine! Just dandy! This is exactly how I wanted my life to go.” She motioned with her hand to the space around her. “I wished for nothing more than dealing with complete morons from nine to six, five days a week, whilst trying to make sure my sanity doesn't desert me.” Biting her lower lip for a moment she began checking that the ends of the laces were the same length when she pulled them up. “Running right after to my local grocery store to buy more instant meals that are probably going to give me cancer in five years if the bullshit articles my mother keeps sending me-”

Yennefer had told herself she wasn’t going to allow this wasn’t going to get any creepier than her misguided comment but she still had a gift code for that nice liquor store which conveniently had retailers popping up every six blocks everywhere for the last few months, especially in Thanned isle, only Gods knew why. “This bloody succubus of a twat that is my best friend has been forcing me to constantly use this cursed game by changing the password for my email and then Aretuza’s server and then-” Bingo. One text to Philippa and they had her IP address, with a mortified Triss already calling Jaskier since she was the only one that had managed to get a decent scholarship at that posh college.

This was her future wife who was about to jump from a bridge from the looks of her and they just had to do humanity a great service by saving her from herself and from sobriety.

“Can you believe that tosser? I am a lesbian! I spent my teenage years clad in flannel until my girlfriends staged an intervention kind of lesbian! Yes, Vilgefortz, I will sue you for harassment in the workplace and I will blacklist you. No, Vilgefortz, I don’t want to break quarantine to go on a date with you and I definitely do not want your disgusting cologne anywhere near my-” Tissaia’s head shot up, her doorbell was ringing and she pinched the bridge of her nose, reaching for a new, disposable, mask.

“You stay right there.” She threatened the girl, who had the most beautiful violet… Perhaps she really ought to let Coral get her a therapist. It rang again. “Gods-damn-it.” She thought.

Her plan was going marvellously. She would only have to sleep with a knife under her pillow for a few weeks for blackmailing Sabrina (Who honestly hadn’t the slightest talent to pass off plagiarism as a sudden stroke of genius in her final project without her aid.) into going along with this. The blonde was lighting the candles around the monitor without trying to burn her hair off and had given away her best bottle of cheap but still good wine for the cause. Thanks to Renfri and her frankly psychotic, owl obsessed, girlfriend she already knew what she would be replacing her trauma-ridden last name with! Splendid!

The brunette shut the door on Jaskier’s face after taking the brown paper bag from his hands, spraying the bottle of vodka inside it with so much disinfectant that it dripped down onto her carpet. Taking off her gloves and disposing of them, she grabbed a knife from the counter and ignoring the annoying blue light that came from the kitchen table, “Oh, shit. You’re soulmates. I’ll tell the rest of the girls we’re all fucked.” Tissaia cut off the upper part of the glass in one smooth hit, like Calanthe had taught her when the then teacher could still be considered fun by her groups of friends.

“Shut up, tiddybug!” She heard Yennefer sing-song.

Feeling like being crass the blue-eyed woman took a rather large swing directly from the bottle. Sitting back down, she sighed. Yennefer took a dignified sip from her wine; she could do balanced when her significant other to-be needed to let loose. “Did you like the bottle? It has good reviews from… wait a minute… apparently several alcoholics who don’t know what a budget is.”

Tissaia’s face paled. “I thought you weren’t a hacker.” The woman muttered. She didn’t fancy getting kidnapped and… No, no, no. Fucking Rita. What was the cost of moving, again? If she slept four hours less a day and split her cleaning time in two she could probably trade this house for Stregobor's in-

“I am not!” Yennefer cried. Bloody hell. “You just mentioned that you worked at Aretuza and-” Sabrina had probably started a group call and Phillipa was indeed hacking into her computer to save her arse. The Redanian was currently writing a script for her to follow. “Your username in the game is your surname. My friends and I tried to get into that school a few years back and I do remember that the Chancellor is a woman and that her last name is de Vries.” Her username wasn’t her last name, it was actually something that suggested she was an Ice Queen of the highest order. Queen Elsa from the movie Frozen would be intimidated kind of Ice Queen.

“Everyone is aware the highest-ranking members of the faculty live in chalets near the castle, pardon, the building.” True. According to Triss, that was a part of their contract that if unfulfilled prohibited them from working there ever again. To Yennefer that seemed borderline cruel, forcing them to be available at all hours like circus animals for juniors that didn’t deserve their spots.

“My best friend is a student there and she knows which one is your home because she wants to eventually be a teacher.” Partially true. Until that day came, Triss, like any rational individual, avoided the Chapter’s Village like the plague lingered inside, and wouldn’t be caught dead there unless she had to stop Sabrina from doing something stupid because of the anarchist phase she was going through. Jaskier was an acquaintance of hers of sorts because Triss had tutored his boyfriend Geralt in Biology and being daddy’s boy, he knew which one was Tissaia’s house because he had almost gotten expelled like fifteen times.

“I honestly just wanted to do something nice for you, you sounded like you needed it and… I know quarantine hasn’t been lifted once in Temeria since it all started.” Philippa wrote then that she would probably make for a decent actor without flashing her breasts to the audience every five minutes. She pursed her lips and replied in the mock post-it note to fuck off.

“I… I… Thank you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed- I’m sorry, darling.” Her pale cheeks flushed at the term of endearment that slipped her tongue and Tissaia bowed down her head, red-painted nails caressing the glass bottle almost reverently. “Say, why don’t you tell me what your email address is and I send you my mobile via chat? The explosions in the background aren’t that, uhm, comforting to listen to when I’d much rather be hearing your voice.” Should she have looked up she would have seen the smile that threatened to split Yennefer’s face. “Only if you want to, of course! I- what am I even saying? Never mi-”

“No! Wait!” She placated. Sabrina squeezed her shoulder as she went to retrieve her phone charger, offering her a genuine smile. “I’d love to.”

“Okay.” Said Tissaia, an awed sound leaving her throat when blue finally meet with lilac. Gods, she was drop-dead gorgeous. Rita could have whichever bottle, all the liquor she wanted from the school’s cellar for indirectly enabling this.

Was one week a proper enough courting period to then buy the engagement ring? Or should she just have Philippa get her the best, costliest one from that jewellery eshop they all liked through some minor fraud that would take her like half an hour at most, today? “Good.” Yennefer de Vries had such a nice ring to it.

#yennaia #tissaia de vries #post: ask #ship: yennaia #writing*#sityiatwru*

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keyboard-cowgirl · 4 years ago

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Host, Interrupted - beta request

hey so, I'd like to a find a beta reader for my westworld, dolores/reader, wlw fic. It's been a million years since I've had a beta, but I really want one for this massive project. Let's see... you definitely need to be familiar with all three seasons of the show and comfortable reading heavyTM shit. I don't need much (if any) help with the plot. I need error fixes. I'm real chill to work with and I will happily assist you with any project of yours in return. My story is FINISHED. It's 170k words and the first work in a two-part series. Just to give you an idea of what my writing level is and what the story is about, here's the summary. The first chapter and trigger warnings for the entire story are under the cut. (Yes, my fic title is a play on the movie Girl, Interrupted. Yes, that is very much on purpose)

Non-con, suicide, death, murder, violence, gore, holy shit gore, depression, PTSD, self-harm, eating disorder, alcohol abuse, the works, it’s dark guys but *points at source material* *points at self*

Part I: The Devil is in the Details

“Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world.” ― Jeanette Winterson

Chapter 1:

You have the whole train car to yourself. The magnet rail moves at amazing speeds with the kind of grace that feels like you aren’t going anywhere at all, but you are. You’re going to Westworld, the crowning achievement of the tech colossus: Delos Incorporated. The park put them on the map, quite literally after they bought an island in the South China Sea. Some 500 square miles of it is reserved for Westworld alone, the rest is divided between the other parks. You forget how big they are, but none of them are as large as Westworld. No matter how large it is and easy to get lost in, you aren’t going to up and forget why you’re here. You can’t. If you could, you’d have no reason to be on this monorail at all, relaxed into the pristine white seats, sighing at the darkened window.

Minutes pass, and your consciousness has gone somewhere you don’t have to think. A place where there’s no boredom and no worry. You snap to attention when the window lights up to show the interior of the train station. A melody of notes plays from the speaker above your chair. The voice is soft, feminine.

“Welcome to Westworld. Live without limits.”

When the doors slide open, you curl your toes and try to wake them from their fuzzy sleep. Your first steps are tired, unbalanced, and you cover your mouth to hide a yawn. As you walk off the monorail, you glance around the station. It’s just as bright as the train, and you pity the janitors for all the black scuffmarks they have to buff off the tile before you remember that the most tedious labor goes to the hosts.

The hosts – there are a dozen of them, evenly spaced out and waiting to help the guests. But there’s no one else coming off the train, just you. Dressed up and impossibly still, the hosts don’t even acknowledge you. It’s like they’re sleeping with their eyes open. They’re not here for you, but it’s weird that they’re here at all. You scour the area for a safe space when you find your welcoming committee near an escalator.

The two men stay put, but the woman gives you an excited wave.

“Harper!” Your name echoes through the station and you wish she hadn’t said it so loud. Still, you force a smile because this is a friend, and you are happy to see her. You’re happy. You’re happy…

“Hey, Elsie. How are you?” you ask as she crosses the floor to meet you. You barely have time to react before she wraps her arms around you. You can’t get your arms to hug her back, and you tell yourself it’s because she’s squeezing you too tight.

“I’m good, I’m good! How are you? I feel like it’s been so long- but it hasn’t. You lose track of time down here.”

Elsie is rambling, and you find it odd. Elsie isn’t the wordy type. She’s crass, direct, and extremely insightful, but this Elsie is stumbling over herself to make small talk. In a rare display of assuredness, you pat her on the shoulder.

“I’m alright,” you lie. “I didn’t think I’d see you today, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Elsie smiles bashfully, then turns as the others arrive. You recognize the pair she’s with – Bernard Lowe and Robert Ford. One is Elsie’s boss, the other is family.

Bernard adjusts where his glasses sit on his nose before he welcomes you. “Hello, Harper. I hope the ride wasn’t unpleasant.” You shrug. It was nice to be alone after your parents insisted on dropping you off. You can understand their concerns, but you’re not a child. Haven’t been one of those in a long time.

“I wish I could stay,” Robert suddenly interjects. Until this point, you’ve avoided looking at him. He’s an old man now, soon to face the trials of time that a mortal body can’t win. You wonder why he hasn’t died yet. A heart attack could do him in at any moment. Lucky bastard. “But there’s a project that requires my attention.” Go figure he’d leave at the first opportunity. He shouldn’t have come at all, but you let him speak. “I merely want to impart upon you how wonderful it is that you’re here, Harper. Don’t think of this place as a park or a game. It doesn’t have to be that. Westworld,” he raises his arms, displaying the pearly gates to the kingdom behind him, “can be whatever you need it to be. Here, you are awake in a dream.”

You manage a nod, and then his back is turned. His brown leather shoes clop across the floor as he disappears into a service exit between escalators. Seriously, why did he come at all if he was going to leave thirty seconds after seeing you? Maybe some things can’t be mended despite what your mom said.

You, Elsie, and Bernard stew in the silence left by one of the original founders of the park. Dr. Ford is an enigmatic man at the best of times. At the worst, he’s driven by a singular focus to achieve ever loftier goals. His ambition cost him his family once. Really, it’s a miracle you’re here at all, but other, more important people in your life have forgiven him.

“Come on,” Elsie finally says. “Let’s get you ready for your stay.”

As you weave between the sentinel hosts, the three of you leave the train station behind. Bernard takes the time to remind you the rules of the park. He doesn’t have to, you remember them.

“Now, the hosts can’t hurt you. In fact, they’ll do everything they can to keep you from true physical harm.” It isn’t the physical harm that concerns you about your stay here. “The guns are coded to differentiate between human and host. It’s going to hurt if you get shot-”

You clear your throat. “I remember, Mr. Lowe. The internship didn’t end that long ago.”

“Right, right,” he confirms. He plucks his glasses from his face and cleans his lenses as you guys walk into a large closet. Closet isn’t the right word. The place is more like a small storefront. Racks of clothes line the walls and accessories lay in display cases spread throughout. Everything is tailored to be exactly your size, but the collection isn’t fine-tuned to your taste. If it was, the vibrant, lowcut saloon style dresses wouldn’t be here. As you browse, aware Elsie is watching you choose, your mind travels back to the last time you were a part of Delos Destinations.

The internship…

The internship was a means to an end. Just this year, you worked with Behavior, you learned about host coding, and you met Elsie – who mentored you. For three months, you lived underground with the rest of the onsite staff. Everyday was a chore, but at the end of it your grandfather agreed to pay for your master’s degree. Now, you’re back three months later. You aren’t here to work, and you can’t leave until your stay is over.

You select a pair of grey breeches and find a muddy red, button up shirt to go with it. For shoes, you pick the comfiest looking boots you see. Most of your internship was spent in the workshops, but for the next few weeks you’ll be above ground, kicking around in the dust of the “Old West” as imagined by Delos. To hell with looks, you want to be comfortable. You imagine yourself not to care about your appearance, but you still pick out a belt with a holster that matches, and a leather jacket.

When you come upon a case full of guns, you hesitate. The selection of pistols is immaculate, like everything else you’ve seen so far. Everything is so damn clean, and it irks you. The more Delos tries to sell itself as perfect, the more you want to make a mess of everything. You lift the glass cover and grab a silver revolver. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, but it fits in your hand so well. That’s the thing about guns that’s always bothered you. You shouldn’t want to hurt people, and you don’t – for the most part – but every gun you’ve ever held feels like it was made for you.

Elsie and Bernard step out so you can change. When they return, Bernard is back on his tangent of explaining how this trip works. “Now, you’ll start in the center of the park. Sweetwater. Things are tamer there, but there will be plenty to see and do.”

The behavior tech raises her hand to cut Bernard off. “I got it from here, Bernard. I’ll make sure she’s good to go.” Bernard nods and wishes you well before he leaves. With that, Elsie takes a deep breath and adjusts your collar a little bit. “Finally, we’re alone.” You face warms, remembering your past with her. “I know how much you hate this place,” she states. “But I really hope you find some peace here, Harper. You’re gonna have the whole park basically to yourself, take advantage of it.”

You huff and take a step away from your friend. “The perks of being Ford’s granddaughter,” you muse.

Elsie folds her arms over her chest. “Yeah, and if our places were reversed, I’d be taking that old man for everything he’s got.”

You let that statement hang, untouched. “How is it I have the whole park to myself anyway?”

“Brass is going through their yearly audit, and they oh-so-graciously decided to give everyone a three-week vacation this time,” she mocks. “We’re running on a skeleton crew right now, but then the rest of us get to take our vacation whenever we want. I’m thinking Christmas or something else equally inconvenient for management. Maybe every Tuesday for the next 15 weeks. What do you think?”

“Hm, one week for Christmas and ten weeks of Tuesdays.”

Elsie laughs. “Oh, that’s devious, Harper. Love the way you think.”

She’s always been a bit of a flirt with you, but under all her jokes and bravado, you know there’s a brilliant but lonely woman beneath. Unfortunately for her, all you can be is a friend, and probably not even a good one at that. Like right now, how you’re not responding to her. What kind of friend just stands here in awkward silence like this? Where the hell is your mind today?

“I don’t know what all you’re going through,” Elsie muses a moment later, “but you’re not alone, okay? I made Bernard give me this assignment. He and Dr. Ford picked out a lot of the narratives and hosts you’ll come across, but they’re going to be too busy to watch you. I’ll be checking on you from time to time.”

Her sympathy doesn’t feel fake, and that almost hurts. This is the time to push a smile, but you can’t do it. “What hosts? What narratives?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you, but it’s gonna start with a bounty hunter. He’ll take you out to hunt down some bandits. From there, you’ll get the choice to side with the bandits and- and are you sure you want to know this? I feel like I’m spoiling the biggest Hollywood blockbuster of the century.”

You huff out a laugh. You don’t care about spoilers. “Stay away from the bounty hunters and bandits,” you list. “Got it. I’m just not interested in my grandfather’s games.”

Elsie straightens her blazer. “Yeah, but still try to enjoy some of it. Okay,” she tries to psyche you up. “You ready?”

“I hope you’re getting a bonus for this.”

Her hand rests on your back as she guides you forward. “The bonus is knowing I’m helping a friend.”

Your stomach drops. This definitely hurts.

You’re on another train. This time, the steel cage rocks beneath your feet and it’s not empty. Hosts are spread throughout the car, planted in their seats, or taking a drink at the bar. You don’t talk to them; you don’t even look at them. You know how real they seem, and despite what your grandfather has planned for you – you’re not interested in what Westworld can offer you. You’ve already got plans, big plans. You’re going to hole up in the nearest tavern and self-medicate until your three weeks are up. You don’t need Westworld to cure you of your ailments. Not that you aren’t sick, you just don’t think it can. Since a young age, the doctors said you had depression. Now that you’re older, 23, they’re not satisfied with the easiest explanation. Now you have another disease.

In a world surrounded by screens and pixels, the experts needed a new term for the bleak existence suffered by the modern man. They call it ‘Tech Fatigue’ but you’re pretty sure it was invented by the Delos marketing team. Medical professionals like to slap that diagnosis on anyone with a designer smart watch and dark rings under their eyes. Rich people – circling their second divorce and an equal number of midlife crises – seek out therapy inside one of the parks. Delos gives the doctors a fat kickback, and bam, the cycle is born. Tech companies like Delos make the problem, the solution, and profit off both. You don’t know that’s what’s happening, but it wouldn’t surprise you.

It’s ironic, really. In order to get away from a world of tech, internet, and social media, you’re taking the first train to the most manufactured place on the planet. In the mile of dirt below you, there’s a whole structure full of tablet-carrying technicians making sure the machines around you work flawlessly. Just because you can’t see the wires, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

You wish you didn’t exist.

Suddenly, the train whistle screams. You’ve pulled up to the station in Sweetwater. As the locomotive comes to a halt, you get to your feet and grab your leather messenger bag. Nothing in that sack is yours. Except for the odd prescription, guests aren’t allowed to bring personal items into the park. You don’t have any medications because you quit all of those a while ago. Still, you need more than the clothes on your back.

You walk off the train between a flurry of host bodies. For the most part, none of them pay attention to you. They go about their loops, avoid you when you step into their path – all except for a man in a grey tweed frock. He tips his hat as he approaches you.

“Miss Harper? I’m Teddy Flood. Your grandfather paid me to keep an eye on you.”

So it begins. You look him up and down more carefully. He looks like he was plucked right off the cover of an old-timey, cringe-laden romance novel set in the Wild West with his chiseled features. But his eyes are kind, and you’re not sure how to ditch him yet so you play along as best you can.

“That’s me.”

“Can I take you somewhere? A hotel to find a room? I’ve got horses saddled for us if you-”

You hold up a hand. “Okay, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Just… go away. Or whatever it is you do when you’re not with a guest.”

He tilts his head. “I’m afraid I can’t abide by that request, ma’am. I was paid to keep you safe, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Of course you are.” Your shoulders sag, weighed down by more than your luggage. “Fine, but we’re not doing any of your… narratives.” You should’ve asked Elsie for more details on what your grandfather and Bernard have planned for you so you could avoid it. During your internship, you worked in a different park. Park seven, the newest addition to six others. You don’t know the storylines of Westworld past what you know about old American history. Admittedly, it’s not much.

With a sigh, you press forward and walk right into another cowboy. The stranger grunts and turns, hand hovering over the pistol on his hip. Teddy steps between you two. When the guy sees that his assailant is a woman with someone to defend her, his hostility fades.

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Though everyone so far has a very natural Southern drawl, the ‘ma’am’ thing is weird. You try to smile in acceptance of his apology, but you know your lips aren’t upturned. You used to be so much better at controlling your expression, your emotions, too. What happened to you?

Confrontation avoided, you continue into town. You almost ask Teddy where the hotel is, but as you become more aware of your surroundings, your question fades. The buildings on either of the dusty road aren’t chic. They aren’t glass and concrete monoliths reaching for the sky. In fact, most of them aren’t even two-stories tall despite the false facade that rises up from the roof like an ornate parapet. Here, everything is made of wood and clay. It’s painted in muted, earthy tones by hand, and it’s like stepping back in time. Horses of every color are hitched on posts outside, and now you kind of wonder where Teddy was going to take you on horseback. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

They’re not real horses, you remind yourself. Teddy isn’t a real man. And nothing in Sweetwater is natural, except maybe for the flies buzzing around a pile of horse dung. Surely, your grandfather isn’t crazy enough to have manufactured insects. Then again, the robotic horses are producing waste that truly, and disgustingly, smells like shit… so anything is possible.

You tell yourself that this whole experience is too much, and you’re going to find the nearest place you can have a drink before you have a panic attack. That place is the Mariposa Saloon. You push through the batwing doors, and Teddy catches them when they spring backwards as he follows you. You told yourself to be ready for the sensory overload you’d face inside, but you’re still slightly overwhelmed. Cigarette smoke wafts under your nose, people are muttering about their card game, glasses are clinking on the bar, and a piano is chiming away in the corner of the room without anyone sitting at the keys. It’s a lot. You can understand how some people would feel alive in a place like this, but it’s not for you.

Still, you push yourself to the bar. Bottles of tawny brown, gold, and clear liquor are calling you forward. You set your hands on the black counter, but the man with the twisted handlebar moustache is serving someone else first. You don’t know why you’re waiting. You’re the only person here who thinks for themselves. You can be as rude as you want to be, and no one would remember it once they were reset. You wait anyway, and one of the brothel girls see it as an opening to take a chance.

The woman’s dress is a deep ocean blue, cut so high you can see the tops of her thighs and the intricate stockings she wears to cover the rest of her legs. You hope she’s going for Teddy, but she stops beside you and grins.

“You’re new.” She reaches up and slowly caresses your face. Between the lace of her fingerless gloves and the warmth of her hand, you’re surprised at how real it feels. “Not much of a rind on you. I’ll give you a discount.”

Turning away from her hand, you clear your throat. “Thanks, but I’m just here for a drink.”

The young woman doesn’t seem too upset by your refusal. “What do you want to drink, darling?” She snaps her finger at the bartender. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, the man finally notices you.

You order a whiskey. When he asks you what kind, you fumble. Did they have different kinds of whiskey in the past? How are you supposed to know?

Teddy chuckles under his breath and answers for you. “Rye. None of that corn homebrew you try to pass off as liquor.”

The saloon girl looks past you and at your tall, handsome company. “Wise choice, Mr. Flood.”

He tips his hat, before glancing at you again. “Nothing but the best for my friend.”

You scowl. “Teddy, we aren’t friends. You don’t even know me.” This is too strange. The bartender sets out two small glasses and fills both halfway. You can’t pretend like this is normal when your normal is leaps and bounds different from the here and now. A drink at home meant serving yourself, and you poured your chilled, name brand whiskey to the top of your glass, then you drank it alone.

Teddy throws his shot back and swallows it all in one go. “I know you better than you think, and I’d like to get to you know more than that.”

You shudder. Oh god, did your grandfather put him for you to… For you two to… You can’t finish the thought. The idea of your grandfather interfering with your sex life is way more than you can handle. Before you even take your first sip, you smack your finger down on the counter – showing the bartender where he can put the whiskey when you demand it.

“Leave the bottle.”

The young woman beside you places a hand on your shoulder and you tense up as she whispers in your ear. “I’m here if you change your mind, beautiful. If I’m not your type, and neither is he, look around. Find something that strikes your fancy.”

You grab the neck of the bottle and pour another shot. Westworld is not for you, you’ve decided. It’s only three weeks you remind yourself. The hat you picked out is making your forehead itch, so you take it off and set it on the bar. Then you hear a loud pop. An older cowboy pushes through the batwing doors, a wash of red blooms across his vest as he stumbles into the saloon.

“They’re here,” he coughs out. “Hector… Escaton and his posse.”

More gunshots sound, and it’s like some miscreant lit firecrackers in the street. The saloon explodes with activity. Working girls scramble to hide behind tables. The bartender grabs a sawed-off shotgun. Teddy puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk before he tells you to get somewhere safe or be prepared to use your weapon.

It’s only three weeks.

#westworld #dolores abernathy #beta request #beta reader #help me help me dear god help me i don't even know what to tag this with #don't judge my writing by the request. i'm nervous y'all. read the summary and the 1st chap #thaaaaat's what you can expect and i'm genuinely proud of it but it has mistakes :( and it makes me sad i can't catch them all #anywayyyy #if you like my stories and you haven't seen westworld yet what are you waiting for?#git #<3

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coppicefics · 4 years ago

Photo

Masked Omens: Week One

New chapter here, or read from the start here!

(Right click picture and select ‘View Image’ or ‘Open Image In New Tab’ for hi-res version.)

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads 'Masked Omens'.

Image 2 - A newspaper page from the Capital Herald, dated Saturday, 26th December, 2020. Full image description and transcription below the cut.]

The Capital Herald, Saturday 26th December 2020 News, page 11

GODLEIGH MANOR RESTORATION SET TO BEGIN YouTube Community Comes To The Rescue Of Historic House In Unprecedented Donation Spree Restoration work on Godleigh Manor, Little Dyvyn, is set to proceed at last after years of stagnation – thanks to an unexpected influx of donations from interested members of the public. A house has stood on the site since at least the early 13th century, but most of the current building was constructed in the 18th century by its then owner, Lord Michael Godleigh. It remained a private residence until 1914, when it was commandeered as a military hospital for officers injured in the First World War. When the war was over, the officers went home, but the Godleigh family had suffered severe losses, and those who had been involved in treating the injured officers had many bad memories associated with the place. What was left of the family moved out, and – barring the operation of a second temporary hospital during the Second World War – this once-busy house has remained empty and silent ever since. Left to its own devices, the house began to crumble. Water found its way through the roof, and weeds forced their way up through the floor. By the time the deed to Godleigh Manor was passed on to its current owner, Lucy Godleigh, in the mid-1990s, barely a few rooms were anything close to habitable. “I set up in a mobile home on the grounds,” Godleigh told The Capital Herald, “and basically just started trying to secure the few rooms that hadn't been completely exposed to the elements. Then I contacted a restoration expert to find out what could be done for the rest of it.” The experts' verdict wasn't what she wanted to hear. “There was no chance I could pay for it myself. The rest of the family opposed me moving back here; I was on my own. And to get the whole place back to the way it was, we were looking at anything from fifty million to three hundred million pounds. I was going to need help raising the funds, so I started campaigning. But it was slow going. Nobody's keen to put their hands in their pockets to restore a stranger's old family pile.” And, for over two decades, it seemed that a pile would soon be all that was left. Godleigh moved into Little Dyvyn, and the property was abandoned once more to the tender mercies of the elements and the frequent trespassers who came to explore. “I'd go up a few times a week, but it hardly seemed worth it. I'd all but given up. But then one of those visitors saved the day.” A YouTube personality known as Sergeant Shadwell, famed for his urban exploration videos and the occasional paranormal investigation, contacted Godleigh to ask to film in the house. “I said yeah, whatever, do what you like, it's a mess,” Godleigh recalled, “and he saved it. He saved my home.” Shadwell uploaded a video of Godleigh Manor in the last week of November. In it, he speaks frankly about the challenges and benefits of preserving such old buildings. “I don't know about there being ghosts here,” he tells viewers, “but there's a lot of wasted potential. Stately homes like this can and should be used, and it'd be a real shame for this one to crumble. I'll add a link to the fundraiser in the video description.” The Wytchfynder Army, as Shadwell's fans call themselves, have so far contributed £80m to the Save Godleigh Manor campaign. The fundraising page is filled with messages of encouragement and support, attached to donations ranging from £5 to £1500. Some donors have even explained that they raised the money through sponsored swims, bake sales, and car washes. “It's enough to get started, to make a really good start,” Godleigh explained, “I can't thank him – all of them – enough. They really came together to help me – a complete stranger – and it means so much, it really does.” So what's next for Godleigh Manor? First, says Godleigh, the surviving rooms will need to be stablised. Then the house's ground floor will be restored to its former glory, and Godleigh hopes to work with local historians to ensure that it is both a functional and educational space. “I won't charge people any more to use it than I need to cover the cost of maintaining it,” Godleigh said. “How can I? It's being restored by this huge community; it belongs to the community, and to Little Dyvyn. It's going to be a great space for everyone to enjoy.” Work is now set to begin on the Godleigh Manor restoration project as early as April this year, depending on local planning committee approval of plans first drawn up in 1998. MARY HODGES. To find out more, or to contribute to the renovation costs, visit www.savegodleighmanor.org.uk.

[Image Description: A sepia photograph of a large, grand house. Inset, a colour photograph of a hole in a wall, through which weeds can be seen growing. End ID.] [Caption] NEGLECTED: Godleigh Manor, pictured above in 1980, was once the heart of a thriving community. Inset, weeds grow in what used to be a service corridor to the rear of the main building. (Photo: Annie Spratt on Unsplash. Inset: E. Diop on Unsplash.)

THE NEWS IN NUMBERS 800 years of a house on the site 300 years in its current form 23 generations in the same family 29 bedrooms 40 acres of land £50m lowest estimated renovation costs £300m highest estimated renovation costs 198k subscribers to Wytchfynder 291 Wytchfynder videos 10 years Sgt Shadwell served in the Army £80m raised by the Wytchfynder Army £91m renovation funds raised so far 15 years estimated to complete renovation

[Image Description: a rectangular ad with a picture of Dr. Raven Sable. His name is signed beneath his photograph. Text reads: Don't settle for a balanced diet when you can have a SABLE DIET. End ID.]

Corner Cuppa with Esther James

[ID: Photo of a young woman's face. She has black hair cut into a bob, and slightly gothic makeup. End ID.]

Why do we know you? I'm the captain of the Red Roses, which is the England Women's Rugby Team. What are you passionate about? Rugby! Also, my girlfriend Jane (Adams, also on the squad), and my charitable causes, of course. I support the NSPCC and the Albert Kennedy Trust, in particular - both fantastic charities helping young people who've been let down, in many cases, by the people they should most be able to rely on. I'm really glad to be involved with them. What's your favourite holiday of the year? Pride! I love getting dressed up and going to the parades – most of the time Jane and I get to march, these days, which is great. Last year we even got to ride on a float at one of them, which was really surreal – we got to cover ourselves in rainbow feather boas and just have a laugh waving at people. What a great time! What's been your proudest moment? So far, it's a tie between coming out as bi in a press conference – which was really scary at the time but which led to such good things and such good conversations – and being made captain of the Red Roses. It's an honour just to be selected for the national side, but to be chosen to lead from such a talented group of women is even better. I was walking on air for a week! If you could do anything in the world once, what would it be? Only once? I'd hate to do something and enjoy it and never get to do it again. But, OK, hypotherically... Something completely different and mad, like getting up on a stage and performing a song like I really mean it, or bungee-jumping. What scares you? Bungee-jumping! Which is exactly why I'd like to do it. I think it's good to get out of your own head and your own comfort zone and just do something that scares you, if you can. What's your ideal day? Taking a day off of training and just lying on the sofa watching films with Jane for the whole day. We love what we do, but we don't get a lot of downtime to just relax and snuggle. But then, when we do get a day off, it's usually at the same time, so that's lovely; we're always together and it hasn't started getting on our nerves yet! If you could go anywhere in the world right now, with no complications or restrictions, where would you go? I've always wanted to go to the Eiffel Tower, but somehow whenever I end up in France I don't find the time. Jane's never been to Disneyland, so I think we'd have to combine the two if we got a no-holds-barred trip somewhere. And, obviously, I wouldn't exactly hate getting to meet Mickey again! What's the best advice you've ever been given? My gran was as tough as old boots, and proud of it. She once sat me down, when I was quite young, and she said, “Essie,” which is what she called me, “Essie, you'll do all right in life if you remember this simple rule. Make sure you keep your nose clean, but don't be afraid to get your boots dirty.” I'm not sure she meant me to take it quite so literally! But I think what she meant was, don't get into trouble unnecessarily, but don't be so scared of getting it wrong that you can't do anything right. That's stuck with me, I've held onto it all these years, and I think it's a good motto to live by. What's one thing you wish someone had told you when you were younger? I wish they'd told me it was OK that I fancied girls, that things were getting better. I think we've still got a long way to go, as a community, but I never could have dreamed that a bisexual woman could captain England when I was a little girl. Let alone that it would be me! Finally, what's one thing you'd like to tell younger people now? Be true to yourself, be true to your friends, and be kind. I think the world will turn out fine if we all just try to be kind to one another, above all. Next week's cuppa: Ligur Mortice, head of the Ligur fashion house.

[End of page.]

#masked omens #very much fake news #mo week one #fanart

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siremasterlawrence · 4 years ago

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Fan project requested and co-written by pleasentreviewbystarfish

Ryan Alexander Taylor is a well-known, and coveted CEO of a popular online services company. The company has been doing very well, and received a lot of interest from investors. Ryan has been looking to further grow the company by buying a new startup specialized in virtual reality. Ryan travels to meet the management of the company to discuss a deal. Ryan’s car arrives a half hour earlier than scheduled - very precise, good, I like someone who knows how to conduct themselves appropriately, but soon, real soon, he will learn to appreciate my way.

Ryan exits his car observing the location in disgust – the building appears to look like a run-down office building which has not really been maintained. The area appears secluded, and somewhat vandalized. There are lots of graffiti on walls and there are no shops in the area. He says “What a dumpster area this is, I cannot even believe that I am here, this is no place to do business dealings. I am not impressed at all by this disaster area, and yet here I am, somewhat intrigued.” He enters the building and is welcome by a secretary, who brings him to the visitor room to wait while her boss arrives. She brings him a drink while he waits before leaving. Ryan drank the drink, not suspecting that the drink was spiked.

The door suddenly locks and the light goes off. Ryan is in the room alone, in the dark, with only his face being lit up with light. Suddenly a voice can be heard coming from the speakers:“Welcome Mr. Taylor! We are so pleased to have you with us today! It is a great honor for us to have you, and we are very excited at the range of opportunities for us to work with you, or should I say… to work on you”.

Another voice – this time somewhat familiar – says:“Oh, don’t worry, we will take this nice and slow, so that we can enjoy every minute of this. We also do want to make sure you get everything that we will be cramming down your brain.”

Before Ryan can figure out what happens, the light comes back on but some static noise can be heard, causing a buzzing sensation within Ryan. The room is fading away before Ryan’s eyes leaving only a white appearance boxing him in. Ryan begins to shout for help, trying to cover his ears but the buzzing goes on.

After a while the buzzing stops. Before Ryan can sigh in relief, a voice can be heard:“Before you leave us, I would really like you to meet the man who has paid a huge sum of money to acquire you as his new slave. I believe you have already met – Jake Templeton!”

Ryan is confused. “Jake Templeton? Wait, he is the employee that I fired last year for stealing company property and for trying to sell company information to our competitors? What do you think you are doing?”

“Hello Mr. Taylor, or should I say Ryan since you are no longer my boss. I am flattered that a busy man, like you, remembers my name, but you will soon learn to appreciate me for who I am! Can you blame me for trying to make some money? I came up with a concept of immersive virtual experience 3 years ago, and you canned it because the prototype development would cost $500,000, and you said it was not ‘cost-effective’! So yeah, I tried to sell my research to competitors, and you fired me! Now I will show you what my concept, properly funded, can do. Yes, I found someone willing to take a risk and invest the money to build it and found some nice practical applications to it!”

Some colors start to flash in the room and a buzzing sound can be heard.“Now I want you to listen to my voice.... feel yourself going deeper... listen to my voice... only I can make you feel this good... you like listening to my voice... imagine yourself on stairs...I want you to walk slowly down those stairs...as you take each step, you will get more relaxed and obey my voice...you want to obey my voice because it makes you feel so good...that’s it, continue going down the stairs...feel your body floating...there is no pain, only pleasure...relaxing...pleasure...my voice brings you that....relaxing...pleasure...

I would not worry about my words at the moment, focus on the sound of fire buzzing through the room, how it is in tune with the colors in the room. Notice the colorful change of sequences on all four walls. Your eyes are getting more and more tired, the drink you took when you came in took care of that. Just relax, your eyes can’t focus on anything else except the sound of my voice, your memories slowly draining away and disappearing, and the world before you is brand new”.

The lights continue flashing and the buzzing continues for another hour or so.A young man, in his late twenties, watches the events from the safety of his private laboratory as a camera was filming everything happening in the room.“Time to see the efforts of my fruit and labor!” He says flipping a switch on his console that makes a door suddenly appear in the solid white room where Ryan is. The door slides up to the ceiling as he walks into the room, in awe of his own genius.

“Now, I hate to toot my own horn, but ta-da! And bravo!” He claps at himself as he stands face to face with the former business titan. Ryan is standing motionless.The young man cups his chin turning side to inspect him. The drool is very apparent dripping all over his face. The young man says “Pathetic! Look at you now – once a Harvard Business graduate, now covered in your own drool.”

He lets go of Ryan’s face, pondering what else this man has accomplished in life. Ivy League education, successful business ventures, award-winning and well regarded in the business world, but now nothing but a statue. A toy, to be used. Coming back to his sense, he begins smacking the man in the face knowing there is no longer any response going to come. Ryan just stands still returning back to the position after his feet lose balance.

He proceeds to grope Ryan’s private parts and give him a spanking, but Ryan still stays motionless. He inserts his hand within Ryan’s shirt and begins to move his hand, brushing his hand across Ryan’s torso to get a good feeling and smiles as he is satisfied with touching Ryan.

The young man removes his hand as he hears someone approaching, then laughs in a mocking tone at the sight of a shadowy figure descending down the stair case. The young man says “It’s about time you arrive to pay and pick up the main man of your dreams.”

Jake appears and says “Well, despite everything that happened and me losing my job because of him, I do find he looks dreamy, so yeah, he is the man of my dreams”.The young guy says “Well, I am usually more into muscular and bodybuilders, but I do find him very handsome. I like the boyish looks. I was not expecting much but he is actually in good shape. An excellent choice for a slave. I would certainly do him. Would you mind sharing him with me?”

Jake laughs and agrees “Sure, you were very helpful so I can lend him to you for an afternoon. What do you want to do?”The young man says “well, the more I look at him, the more I find him hot… Would love fucking his straight ass.”Jake responds “Don’t we all” and proceeds to kiss Ryan passionately while Ryan still staying immobile.

Jake then hands the young man a white envelope with a generous payment. The young man says asks “so what will you do with him now?”

Jake responds “Ah, I have waited a long time for this moment! He will be my obedient slave and serve me, cook for me, clean my house, and when he is not serving me, maybe he can be my footstool or a nice statue in my bedroom. Let’s see? Basically, anything that is humiliating to a straight guy, so of course he is going to get fucked a lot.”

The young man then says “Sweet. Ok, just a reminder. This is still an experimental device and there are lots that we have not tested out yet. You should use the brainwave device on Mr. Taylor maybe once every 24 hours to ensure that he does not wake up or even begin to get back some memories. It is unlikely but you just never know.”

Jake chuckles, “Could be fun if he does wake up actually, realizing how much he has been used, and then bringing him down again just as he tries to escape.”The young man responds “Yeah but be careful” before walking away.

Jake proceeds to grab Ryan by the tie and places Ryan on a cart leaving him like a statue standing in normal position. He is then carted out to the car, Jake rummages through his pockets looking for his keys, and he opens his car trunk. He plops Ryan into it, locking Ryan in the car boot as he goes to the driver’s seat and begin driving off elsewhere.

“Enjoy the tunes, Mr. Taylor, or whoever is left inside that mushed up head of yours.” He taunts through the speakers one last time.He turns the dial on the radio activating the car trunk’s brainwashing station. The back of the trunk has speakers out blasting white noise, and Ryan is motionless the last of his iron will is gone. The noise produced is a quickly changing binaural sound which breaks Ryan’s mind and leaves it blank.

Once they arrived at the destination, Jake opens the car trunk and brings Ryan inside.Unaware of his location or even who he used to be, Ryan’s body lay on the wall, asleep. Jake presses a button on the oddly small remote the man gave him as he left the facility. The remote lights up, blaring a multitude of colors like a kaleidoscope of colors. He points it at Ryan’s head. A red beam is aimed directly at his head, the light then turns green, and a voice can be heard.

“Initiating, initiating, initiating, ... processing.” “Activation code please.” Jake then realizes that the voice is actually Ryan’s voice. Jake smiles, licking his lips. He answers “Ryan Taylor Is A Bot”, awaiting the acceptance, Ryan says “Accepted” and then Ryan’s eyes pop open.

“I am Ryan Taylor the Bot, human-cyborg slave and I am here to serve you. What is your name?”Jake laughs. “I’m Jake Templeton, but you can call me Jake.”Ryan’s expression never changed as he replied in a dull, empty tone: “Yes Master Jake, I am ready to serve you. Please put me through my paces,” responds Ryan.

“Who am I?” asks Jake“My Master,” replies Ryan.”And what are you?” asks Jake”I am your slave, Master,” came as a reply.“Yes, you are my slave. You exist to serve and obey me. I own you. Your mind and body are my property. You have no thoughts because you are a slave. Slaves are mindless. Slaves just obey. You are my slave. You obey me. You must obey your Master. Obeying and pleasing your Master is your only purpose. You love your Master. I am your Master and I own you.”

“Yes, Master Jake, I understand” came as a reply.“Tell me the truth of your purpose, slave,” he now ordered.Ryan responds “I live to obey and serve you, Master,” he began. “I am your sex-slave. My body belongs to you. I exist to pleasure you. Your pleasure is my only desire, my Master.”“You just can’t make this stuff up even if you tried… Very good, my slave, now kneel and lick my feet, slave.”

While Ryan is licking his feet, Jake was thinking what to do next. What should Ryan wear? Maybe continue wearing a suit as my butler? Or maybe wear nothing but a tight speedo? Or a jockstrap? Maybe make Ryan get some tattoos? That could work. Like the word ‘bot’ on his chest? Or ‘maybe ‘slave’? No, that would not look nice on Ryan. Maybe a tattoo on his arm instead? Like a tribal tattoo? Or Chinese characters on his arm, like "bad boy" in Chinese?

Suddenly Ryan’s phone starts to ring and Jake takes it from Ryan’s pocket.“Well, well, looks like your girlfriend is trying to phone you. She is no longer of concern to you. I will send her a text message later telling her you are breaking up with her and are no longer interested in her. Now, on the left of this room there is a table with three pre prepared paperwork. Sign each giving me everything you have, and then I will finish the process.”

“Yes, Master Jake, I understand” came as a reply.“From now on, Ryan, you will seek to please me at all times and exist only for me. You are a robot who will live like any pet would. My robot human dog hybrid.” Jake smiles as the drool is descending from Ryan’s mouth.Jake adds “Let’s go to my room now where you will strip for me and then I will fuck you”.

The end.

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wafflewarriors · 5 years ago

Text

Runaway Winchester

Through all your years with the Winchesters, after running from demons and vampires and ghosts. After sticking up for one another and having each other's backs, it had never crossed your mind that you might run from them.

Here you were, bare necessities held by straps on your shoulders. A silver knife at your waistband and a loaded gun on your hip. A vial of holy water, a little bag of salt, an iron poker, all in your drawstring bag. Flannel, jeans, and steel toe boots were your current friends.

You stopped at a nearby bus stop. It was an hour wait until the next bus came, but you were confident you were far enough from the boys to relax a bit. Most shops were closed, so you just quietly minded yourself on the bench, admiring the crickets' songs and the soothing dark of the night.

To most hunters, the night was their enemy. But you couldn't see what was to blame it for. Despite the chaos that occured with monsters in the night, they also lurked the same amount in the day. There is an equal enough balance of time of day and monsters' activity that it was stupid to fear it. Fear the monsters, not the dark.

You were going to stay alert for this last trip and then crash at the next motel. You were covering your tracks alright, you thought. You had ditched most of your identification, minus your backup one that they weren't aware you even owned. You had set your phone to the bare minimum apps, only still with you to call emergency services if it ever came to that.

You were tired. Bone tired and ready to sleep, but not so exhausted that you couldn't wait an hour. You had to wait an hour. This was your only shot to cover up your trail. You'd been purposely leading the Winchesters east awhile, but you planned on do a 180° on them. You had a rough idea of what you wanted. To go far west, lay low in the country, help out at a farm to earn some kind of pay.

And avoid hunting at all costs.

Because that would lead the Winchesters right to you.

It wasn't that you hated them. It really wasn't. They were the bravest, best men you'd ever met. A little too selfless, a bit harsh, maybe... but good-hearted and well-meaning.

You just… you just didn't mix.

Specifically with Dean Winchester.

He said your music taste was terrible; he said that you were too girly, that he didn't want the chick flick moments; he always rejected your attempts at hugs, which usually were more for yourself than anything, and it made you feel worse when he withdrew and gave you stupid excuses; he offered you no reassurance when you failed at something because 'there's no room for mistakes' even though he made them everyday, more so than you ever did.

He was just so frustrating.

There were arguments. Over everything. So many long, tiresome circling arguments of the same topic like you were both in a time loop. There was always something to blame about you. You were too careful, or too pushy, too confident, too determined. Your personalities were polar to his and it led to heated discussions like whether they should gank the seemingly moral werewolf, or to run in a vamp nest on a whim.

Dean would always throw it in your face when you were too reckless. They would throw it in your face when you were wrong, and when you had screwed it up. Like you didn't know it already. Like you didn't tell yourself again and again a million times in your head, each day, every night. Reminding yourself of your failures so repeatedly that there was a rhythm to it. No, they didn't need to do it for you. That was already your job.

After those terrible arguments of raised voices and mean, glaring eyes, Sam would then try and console you. Honestly, it just made you feel worse. Even if he didn't try to, he always took Dean's side in the long run. He'd tell you what Dean really meant to say, without his swearing and impulsive wording.

And every single time, you were in the wrong. It seemed as if the world was spinning in the opposite direction as you were.

So you left.

In fact, you didn't really question it. You just wanted to clear your head for a while. You didn't know how long… just… a while.

You knew they would look for you. And as much as you were a friend, you were also a responsibility. A chore. Something to save and protect and hoard. But you knew that if you waited long enough, a larger, meaner priority would come along and rip away their attention. And hopefully, they would slowly forget about you.

At least, that was your plan.

Still curled up against the bench, you felt a drizzle of rain against your face. And as your flannel began to soak with cold water, you wished you were still in the warm safety of the bunker with a leather jacket around your shoulders. A little laugh bubbled up and you let your hair shake and drip down onto your jeans in hilarity.

It was a stupid wish.

///

After Dean called your name for the third time with no response, he was fed up. He was already livid; you had, once again, run into danger even though Dean had specifically told you to wait in the car. It wasn't that he didn't trust you, but the ghost had been disemboweling young women for the past two straight weeks, and he had been admittedly nervous for you. Was that too much to ask?

He got out of his chair, throwing the useless, stupid research on the glowing table map thingy that he hadn't really named yet. He went marching over to your room, irritation carved into every feature of his face. He said while throwing open your door, "I swear if you don't come out of here, we are going to have some issu—"

You weren't there.

He spent several seconds blinking at the scene, and it took several more to connect the dots. Dean ended up standing there for twenty seconds, bow legged and leaning against the doorframe. His irritation quickly melted into a look of utter bafflement. Where..? Nobody was in the kitchen. Nobody was in the war room. Nobody was…

Your room was empty. Too empty. Kind of a spotless empty. You weren't a very neat person. There was always a little clutter, usually a flannel or two thrown about. You weren't a slob, you were on the road too much for that, but you were never this excessively clean.

From bafflement, came fear. His eyes widened, his mouth too, and soon he was shouting your name through the bunker.

Dean's heart stuttered when he heard footsteps. He breathed, "Oh, thank—"

But it wasn't you. It was Sam.

"What is it?" His brother asked.

The million dollar question.

Sam became concerned as the silence grew and he continued to observe the panic drawn in Dean's eyebrows. "Dean?"

"She's gone," Dean blurted. "She's… she's… her room's spotless, and her gun, and her knife, and her—" Dean tugged at his hair and swore. Loudly.

"Hey, calm down. We'll find her."

Dean shook his head. "We taught her all there is to know about hiding."

"Yeah. We taught her. We know all her tricks."

"Knowing her tricks and knowing how to get around them is a lot different, Sam! How are you going to track a disabled cell phone? Huh? And how, pray tell, are you going to track someone who usually makes all the ID scams? She probably has ID's we don't know exist! Sam, she could be anywhere."

Sam look lost in thought. "She always liked the country," he murmured.

"What?"

"Dean, come on, think. Her country music that you always complain about? She grew up on a farm before she started hunting. Come on, you know that. She loved it."

"Doesn't ring a bell."

"Of course it doesn't. God, Dean, no wonder she left! You don't pay any attention to her!"

He scoffed. "Course I do."

"Yeah? Then what's her favorite color?" Sam asked quietly. He looked down at his brother with a disappointed look.

Dean decided he hated that look. "Her favorite color? Come on, what are we, second graders?"

"You don't know," Sam whispered in an uncomfortably sad awe, like Dean forgot his birthday or something mushy like that.

Dean decided he did not like that at all. "Blue," he said, trying to sound confident. But as Sam's face fell further, and all that confidence deflated like a popped balloon. His brother had on those stupid puppy eyes of his and it was giving Dean a headache.

"It's green," Sam told him. "You know why?"

"Why."

Sam leaned up against the wall, amazed. "She likes your eyes. She thinks they're nice."

Dean's ears must have malfunctioned. "What?"

"I can't believe you are that clueless. For someone who constantly dishes out pickup lines and hooks up with girls, you sure can't read her, can you?" Sam shook his head and decided to lay it out as flat and as plain as he possibly could for Dean's sake. "She likes you, idiot."

Dean's face was unreadable. His stupid head wasn't computing any of this. All his mind could do was could do was ask stupid, stupid questions. Why did she leave? She liked me? Do I even listen to her? Do I yell too much? Do I dismiss her? But there was one he couldn't help but single out. One he couldn't help but pour his focus to: Why didn't I take it easy on her?

Dean's face finally broke into one of overwhelming regret. "What have I done, Sammy?"

///

Just three days after settling at an orchard with the Carter family, you were finally finding yourself again. Finding your usefulness. Sure, the days stretched long and hot, but each one was as rewarding as the last. You were healing from the hunts, slowly, but surely.

It felt really good. Like, really good. Healthier than you'd been in weeks. Rich, homemade meals, and no fast food made you feel incredible. You even managed a regular sleep schedule, and while it wasn't perfect, it was something. Nightmares still plagued you, but they felt far away. Unreachable in such a wonderful home and environment.

You forgot how much you missed the country.

The Carter family was extremely kind to you. You simply had asked them for a bit of shelter from the rain and they took you in under their wing without question.

They were so wonderful that the Winchesters probably would have been suspicious. And as much as you didn't want to be skeptical, the hunter side of you was screaming. This punch in the gut feeling that something wasn't right, something wasn't normal. And you couldn't shake it.

But this happened all the time with hunts, didn't it? And then you would screw everything up to a gut feeling. So maybe this time you could just forget it. You were sick of messing up. You deserved this. This little bit of happiness.

They were older, late sixties, but so pure and kind hearted. Mrs.Carter made pies, and it reminded you of Dean. While Mr.Carter would often read in his lonesome, and you couldn't help but think of Sam.

Was this what they were? Replacements?

This? This gut feeling was just a little home-sickness. You weren't used to the eerie silence; you were used to blasting 80's music, the rumble of the Impala, or the tap of keys on a laptop. Hell, you were used to Dean shouting at you.

Here, you were without the faint smell of whiskey and instead sweet hay. The country had become so unfamiliar that half of you had shut down. You had locked the door and chucked the key into the farthest reaches of your mind, because it hurt. You lost your home and farm to supernatural creatures, and had lost yourself in the world of hunting. You forgot the peaceful life that came with the country.

You traced the symbol carved into the bed frame. Where had you seen this before? It was clearly old, and you'd seen it several times throughout the farm. On the barn doors, the mailbox, even the front door. What was it? Why couldn't you remember?

See? Again, here you were, doubting the Carters. You couldn't believe yourself.

You opened your phone. Six missed calls from Dean were painfully lit up on your lock screen. Biting your lip, you turned off airplane mode. Hovering your finger over the 'call' button when you heard someone shouting your name.

It was dinnertime.

You had tossed your phone on the bed, scoffing at how ridiculous you were, doubting such wonderful people.

You made your way to the kitchen, where a beautiful meal was laid out for the family. You were just amazed at how fantastic the food was. It was like a dream Thanksgiving. Heavenly mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy, stuffing, and a large, golden roast. You didn't know where to start.

"Wow," you whispered.

Mr. Carter patted you on the shoulder. "Please, eat as much as you'd like."

The food was good, as always. Really good. And after you were satisfied, you began to excuse yourself and walk to the sink to put your plate in.

"Where are you running off to?" Mrs. Carter asked. "There's still desert!"

You paused. "Oh, no, I'm okay—"

"I insist," she said, putting a plate of pumpkin pie at your seat. Just as you were about to protest, she set a spoonful of whipped cream on top of the giant slice.

A bit reluctant, you sat back down, carefully picking up your fork and taking a bite of the pie. You supposed you could eat it, if it would make her happy.

She beamed at you. "You were such a scrawny thing when you came here. Now look at you! Full meals! I nice bed to sleep on!"

You slowly nodded. "Thank you for all this, really, but I think I'll get out of your hair tomorrow morning." Something felt off. You didn't really know. But this gut feeling wasn't disappearing.

Mr. Carter sighed. "Unfortunately, we can't let you do that."

You were completely frozen. You had your fork in your mouth, staring up at them in something akin to terror. You were internally cursing yourself for not trusting your instincts.

THIS IS EXACTLY WHY THE WINCHESTERS WERE RIGHT, something inside you screamed.

You had thought something in the whipped cream tasted funny. Good thing you just kept on eating, idiot. This is why Dean is so harsh on you. This is why you shouldn't have run away.

"Just let it sink in. You'll feel so much better," someone cooed in your ear. "So much better."

You didn't like it. All you could hear was the rattled sound of your panicked, shallow breath, and you realized your eyes were closed.

"So much better."

///

Sam and Dean were on their own little search party for three days.

Dean was antsy. "Sam, I don't know, maybe she's not here. There are so many other towns with farms."

"This is where the bus got off. Dean, look: I mapped out the entire bus system and this is the shortest and easiest way to get anything near the country. She has to be here."

"I know, it's just, where is she then? We checked twenty-two families already. Twenty-two, Sam!"

"I know, but I have this… I dunno, this gut feeling that we missed her, and I—"

"The Carters'." Dean cut Sam off, eyes flashing with horrified realization. "That—that symbol on their front door. I couldn't put my finger on it, but those are for pagan gods, Sam."

Sam shifted his feet. "How do you know for sure?"

"Don't you remember the scarecrow? The… the… That town that took couples and sacrificed them? There was that book on pagan gods. But I saw that symbol." He shook his head. "I knew I had seen that symbol somewhere, damn it. I should have said something."

"You're saying the Carters' could have kidnapped her?"

"It's a start."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jeez."

"Yeah, no kidding."

///

You came to with a blazing headache. You managed a squinty glare, keeping what little dignity as you watched your captors defiantly.

"There you go, little hunter." Someone's hand, their cold, clammy hand, rested on your shoulder. "We saw your little bag. You're a hunter, aren't you?"

You didn't respond, finding little reason to.

"Yeah, we thought so."

This guy was getting on your nerves fast, so you decided to bluff. "Sam and Dean, they're going to be pissed when they find me. I'd watch out if I were you."

Mr.Carter came into view. "I don't think you believe that, do you? You came here to hide. And it sounds to me like you did a pretty good job of it."

Your jaw clenched. "They're coming."

"Sure they are. You keep telling yourself that," Mrs.Carter murmured. "Hope they come soon. Our boy, here? Trust me, he's very hungry. A century of fasting does that to you, dear." Her smile was deceivingly warm. "Think he'll like that pumpkin pie, dearest?"

Mr.Carter grinned. "How couldn't he?"

You were so uncomfortable and lost and scared. How did you get here? Why couldn't you have just chosen the next farm over? Why does stupid hunter luck always lead you to monsters? From their conversation, it sounded like they were making a sacrifice. And something was going to eat you. Alive.

Through your evergrowing panic also came disappointment with this reality. Maybe this was God's will. Maybe he wanted you dead. Maybe this was good—you wouldn't be a problem for the Winchesters any longer, right? A lone tear tracked down your face—God, I don't wanna die.

The Carters would see to it that you did, though.

And this time, the Winchesters weren't going to find you. You had made sure of it. Your tracks were covered, so unless they got really innovative, they weren't going to track you down. To find you, you'd have to practically map out every route you could have taken.

As if they had the time to do that.

You worked your hands at the bindings, but your wrists and ankles were raw and sore. The knife stored in your pocket was too far from your hands to reach, so you were helpless. How the hell did Dean escape all the time?

You hurt a rattle of chains in the caged room in front of you. It was a dark cell, and the light was too murky to see what lied beyond the curtain. But there was a silhouette, and from what you could see, it wasn't human.

"It's a rabid werewolf, if you're curious." Mrs.Carter cooed at you, tracing your chin. "It won't hurt all that bad. Really dear."

Liar.

It was then that a chime rang through the house. The doorbell. The Carters sent you a wide eyed look, but before they could threaten you, you let out your loudest, shrillest scream.

///

Sam brought his hand to the doorbell, hesitating. "Dean, if she's not in there, we'll just be attacking an innocent family. Are you sure those markings are legit?" He couldn't see beyond the door of old wood and screen, only that the light was on and there were, in fact, people home. That wasn't much to go on.

"Sam, I'm sure. Let's do this, c'mon. Ring the doorbell. She could actually be in trouble right now."

Sam swore under his breath and pressed the button, listening to the soft chime echo throughout the house.

And after a pause, they heard a scream.

Both their eyes flashed. Dean kicked down the flimsy door, shoving past the kitchen to the source of the noise. As did Sam.

///

To your relief, you heard a thud from upstairs. The Winchesters had actually found you. They had kicked the door down and they were coming for you. They were coming. That was the only possibility because the Carters were petrified.

The cage jolted behind you. Before you could let out another yell for help, you were slammed to the ground. Mrs.Carter forced a cloth into your mouth and you gagged around it. She brought a belt around your neck and pulled, choking you and lugging you toward the cage. You struggled, kicking your feet at nothing and clawing at your throat, but whatever monster she was, she was much stronger than you.

By the time your face was red from a lack of air, there was a rapping of shoes against the wood of the stairs, and finally Sam was sprinting down the staircase. He wielded a stake in his right hand. Dean came down a second after. Sam lunged for Mr.Carter while Dean took on Mrs.Carter.

Both (pagans, you now assumed) fought hard, hissing and spitting at the hunters. But the Winchesters were trained fighters. Dean staked Mr.Carter right in the chest, growling as he twisted the stake into the monster's flesh. Mrs.Carter, however, wasn't staked in time, because she managed to snag the cage's lever. The cage yawned, and there was a pause. Then, the beast flew out at Sam, howling and slashing.

You gasped, grateful, but terrified. "Werewolf!" You hoarsely called. "It's a werewolf!"

Dean took a second to process that, but the second he did, the werewolf had two silver bullets to the chest.

The beast rocked, freezing in confusion and pain before it fell back.

"Timber," Dean said sarcastically. He made his way over to you, stepping over the corpses. "Are you… good? They didn't hurt you?"

You coughed, rubbing your sore neck but mostly alright. "I think I'm in one piece."

"Good." He threw down a hand.

You took his offer, wincing as he helped you to your feet, and you wavered a little.

He sent you that look.

You were quick to assure him. "Uh… she was dragging me. Lifted my shirt and scraped my back against the floor." You adjusted your rumpled shirt. "It's nothing."

Dean crossed his arms. "It's not nothing. None of this is nothing. Why the hell did you leave?"

"Because I screw everything up! I'm a liability, Dean. Every hunt you either bench me or I get captured or hurt or something, and that makes me a weakness in the next hunt. I'm pulling you down. I can't even leave right! I can't do anything without you having to swoop in and keep my ass out of trouble." You took a long needed breath, feeling weightless. "I don't want you to feel like I'm your responsibility. Like I'm just another chore."

Sam's face tightened. "You don't actually think—"

"I was trying to make this easier. I was trying to stay hidden, so that you two would give up and actually move onto things that are important. You guys constantly have things on your mind and you can't afford a distraction."

Dean and Sam's frowns both deepened.

"Look, I'm really grateful for this. I literally almost got fed to the wolves, here. But how in hell did you find me?"

Sam shifted. "We tracked all the routes you could have taken. I figured you'd always loved the country. We talked with a few families—"

"Twenty-two," Dean cut in.

"—er, yeah, twenty-two. Um, but Dean remembered the pagan symbols, so we figured this was the place. Turns out we were right, thank god."

You deflated. "I... saw those. Didn't think they meant anything." They always mean something. Do your goddamn research next time instead of blindly trusting a family that so generously takes you under their roof. You really thought people other than monsters would do that?

You brought your eyes up, observing them. And then a little part of you thought, they did that.

Yeah, they did. The Winchesters took you as their own. Maybe that's why you put your blind faith into these monsters, because they had reflected your life with the boys. Maybe the monsters did that on purpose, luring in their prey with things they loved and missed.

The Winchesters were confused and hurt, and probably didn't understand, but you were still family. With time, they would work around this.

"We'll work around this," Sam said, as if he had read your mind.

Sometimes, you wondered if this life was just a dream. That all these events were so coincidental, that there was always a monster around the corner and a Winchester at the next, ready to save you.

"You're not a burden. You're family and you're a hunter. That means something. If nobody made mistakes on hunts, there would be nothing to learn from. Nothing to grow off of. Listen, you can't have possibly made more mistakes than Dean or me, and you certainly aren't less forgivable. You do remember I started the Apocalypse, right?"

"We both did, Sammy," Dean said, nudging him. He looked at you thoughtfully, and then pulled you into a tight hug.

You were too shocked to say anything.

"Hey I’m really sorry if I made you feel less important. That’s not what I wanted. You just scare the hell outta’ me and I don’t know… I get scared for you. I know this hunter life is scary and unpredictable, but nobody can do it alone. Nobody. That's a lesson Sam and I have learned after years and years of mistakes in this life. The mistakes don't end, and neither do the monsters, but if we got each other, we can learn to solve these problems together, alright? You got me?" He kissed your forehead. "God, I love you kid."

You allowed yourself a little happiness in his arms. But after a moment, you couldn't help it. "Damn." You paused. "Did you just have a chick flick moment?"

"No."

"You totally did!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sam, back me up here."

Sam laughed. "It's okay, Dean. We all know you're a softie."

Dean scoffed, but soon he was laughing too. He clapped a hand on your back.

"Let's go get some pie. Pie solves everything."

He was right. It did.

And by God, did he blast country music the whole way home.

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years ago

Text

Stark Spangled Banner Ch 58:You Have To Go Through The Worst To Get To The Best

Intro The Time Heist worked, but at a cost. Natasha gave her life for the Soul Stone. Following a promise to make her sacrifice worth something, the Avengers continued their plan and succeeded in reversing the Snap. But along with everyone else, the biggest threat the Avengers have ever faced re-appeared.

Thanos.

Now Steve and Katie, along with the rest of their team are locked in a fearsome battle, between light and dark, life and death. Simply put, it’s a battle which they cannot afford to lose because they’re in the Endgame now…

Warnings: “Language!”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist

Sorry for your loss.

4 words that Katie was already sick of hearing. Sorry. I mean...what did people have to be sorry for? It wasn’t like it was their fault. Still, she acknowledged the sympathies that came her way, completely automatically, almost emotionlessly. She barely registered the fact she had spoken to Fury and Hill, two people who had been dead 5 years ago, she didn’t have the energy to wish she could knock Ross’ head off his shoulders and had no idea how long she had walked what was left of the compound...maybe an hour or so? Who cared anyway? She simply did what people asked her to do to help out, whilst Steve hurried around organising everyone and barking orders.

Nevertheless, when the crowds of Emergency Services, Armed Forces and Support Staff that had flooded the Compound left, she suddenly felt alone and found herself in their compound apartment, sat on the bed, staring at the wall. Just staring. It was quiet, but her mind was anything but. Her brain was screaming all sorts at her, but she couldn’t really understand any of it. She simply felt broken.

“Katie…”

She looked up to see Steve in the doorway.

“Hey.” she gave him a soft smile. “Pepper just spoke to Happy…the kids are fine. All 3 fast asleep. He’s going to wake them in a few hours and bring them back.” “No.” Katie shook her head “I want him to bring them now.” “Honey its almost 4 am.” he said, and she frowned. Ok, so she’d been walking around a little longer than she thought, then. “Let them sleep. We can go, get cleaned up and…” “Plan how we tell them their Uncle is dead.” she said softly, gazing back down at her hands.

Steve took a shaky breath. He felt beyond guilty. Guilty that he got to go home to his kids because of the fact that Tony wouldn’t. Steeling himself, he made his way to the bed, sat down next to his wife and wrapped his arm around her as she lay her head on his shoulder.

“What’s everyone doing?” she asked softly.

“Rhodey is in with Ross and President Ellis…” “Ellis is here?” she frowned.

Steve nodded “Rhodey’s giving him a brief on what’s happened. They’re gonna need to put an announcement out so…”

“Suppose it was probably a shock everyone re-appearing again.” she said quietly. “What about everyone else?”

“Well Lang, Parker and Bruce already left.” he said as his hand gently rubbed up and down her arm. “And there’s a chopper on the way to take Pepper home and a couple more following to take the rest of us to the Tower. The roads are completely jammed, apparently there’s impromptu parties taking place all over. Might be a while before we can get back through to Brooklyn.” The thought of partying seemed alien to Katie, but as she thought about it, it wasn’t surprising. People would be greeting lost loved ones, celebrating the fact the world has returned to normal.

For them anyway.

“Clint will want to go home...” Katie nodded “He’ll be desperate to see Laura and the kids.” “We’ve got a jet on the way for him so he can go as soon as possible.”

If ever Katie was grateful for having a husband with Military organisational skills it was now. He’d literally thought of everything. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into him even more, seeking out comfort like a child, as they sat in silence until they were ready to leave.

****

“I guess this is strange for you too, huh?” Steve said as they made their way into the Tower, Bucky and Sam each carrying one of the bags of stuff they’d brought with them from the Compound, Steve the other. “Yeah you could say that.” Sam shrugged “one minute everyone was in Wakanda and then the next minute it was just us, and the jungle had changed and then that Strange dude turns up and tells us it’s been 5 years and we needed to go fight one last time…”

“Has it really been 5 years?” Bucky asked.

Katie nodded

“So now you’re older than me Stevie…” he grinned.

Steve chuckled a Katie gave a small smile. “Shut up.”

They made their way into the elevator and FRIDAY greeted them, somewhat forlornly, as Katie asked for their floor. The elevator fell silent as it scooted upwards, pinging open. Katie stepped out first, followed by Wanda then the men.

“Where do you want-“ Bucky began but he stopped dead, Sam bumping into him.

“What the hell Frosty?” he said, frowning as he followed Bucky’s eye line, his eyes growing wide. Wanda was also gazing, mouth open, and Steve immediately knew what they were looking at- the large framed photo on the wall in the living room.

Even though their home was in Brooklyn this was still very much their apartment. Katie sometimes stayed if she had a big meeting, or on occasions they would crash here when they grabbed a rare night out in Manhattan. And it was for that reason that the photos in the apartment had been updated as their lives had moved on. The wall their friends were gazing at contained two photos. The first was one taken by Katie at the hospital when Jamie was hours old, the same photo also adorned the wall in the lounge at home. It showed Steve asleep in the chair by her hospital bed, hair unkempt and he was unshaven with his baby son clutched to his chest as they both slept. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, one snapshot moment out of God knows how many, all of which the 3 people stood in front of him had missed. The second showed a younger Emmy with her then 6 month old brother, both grinning at the camera as they sat on the sofa at home.

“You….” Sam gasped as Wanda and Bucky turned to them, mouth hanging open.

Steve nodded “Yeh, err, did no one tell you?” he asked, rubbing his neck.

“No.” Bucky breathed.

“But then it never really cropped up in conversation whilst we were fighting Thanos…” Sam said, a little sarcastically and Wanda thumped his arm.

“How old…” she asked.

“Emily is 16 this year.” Katie said, looking at the photos smiling softly “We adopted her after the snap…long story.”

She looked at Steve who smiled, knowing she was allowing him the task of revealing their boys names to two of the men he was named after.

“And Jamie’s 3.” he said, looking at Bucky.

“Jamie?” Bucky asked thickly.

“Or to give him his full name James.” Steve said, nodding at Bucky who swallowed as he looked back at his best friend. “Anthony-“ then Steve turned to Sam “Samuel.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look, the pair of them floundering for words.

“Cap…” Sam swallowed, his eyes misting over “Wow, I’m so happy for you guys.” “I can’t wait to meet them.” Wanda beamed.

“You might regret saying that.” Steve chuckled “He can be a handful. Stubborn, opinionated, won’t back down- don’t even say it.” he pointed at Bucky who had opened his mouth.

“He’s awesome.” Katie said softly “They both are.”

Her eyes moved round the apartment and fell on a photo of her and Tony taken at her wedding, and suddenly she couldn’t be there anymore. Excusing herself she headed into their bedroom. She shed her boots, cat suit and made her way straight into the en-suite now feeling utterly overwhelmed, and still struggling to make head or tail of her emotions. She should have been celebrating like everyone else in the streets was doing. Their friends and trillions of other people were saved, but she couldn’t because again, just like the other day when they had grieved for Natasha, there was one person who wasn’t coming back. Her brother.

She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand, an attempt to sooth the pain she now felt in every inch of her body. But whilst some of it was bruising from the multiple batterings she had taken, some of it was coming from inside. The pain of losing her brother was physical, and hard. Closing her eyes she lay her head against the tiles, allowing the water to beat down on her, lost in her memories. “I got full marks on my English essay Tone!” her 10 year old self grinned up at him as he leaned against the car, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.

“Get you, you little brainbox!” he ruffled her hair “That’s awesome, so awesome in fact I think we need to stop for pizza and a shit load of ice cream on the way home…sound good?” “You’re the best!” she beamed as he took her pink back-pack off her and dropped it into the trunk as she climbed into the passenger seat of his BWM.

“Oh no, you are not going out wearing that!” he said, standing up as she walked into the living room of the house.

16 year old Katie rolled her eyes “Tone its boiling hot outside, what you want me to wear? A pair of jeans and a fucking coat?” “Not that!” he scoffed, looking at the rather short denim skirt “Young lady,I can see what you had for breakfast.”

“Oh bite me Tony.” she shot back, hearing the guffaw that Rhodey gave out from the sofa before she shot out of the front door to greet her boyfriend who had just pulled up the drive.

Then she was 18, cruising along the cliff in Malibu, laughing, her hands on the steering wheel of her convertible bug, Tony in the passenger seat sipping an iced tea, the pair of them singing as loudly as they could to Drops of Jupiter- their song.

“Mr Rock and Roll over there, listen to you!” she laughed as the song finished and it changed to AC/DC Thunder.

“If you ever tell anyone about my love of Train I will kill you.” Tony looked at her over his sunglasses and she snorted, grinning.

“I’m so telling Pepper.”

“Err you know I can still pull my funding.” he glared “You can kiss goodbye to going to Oxford…” And speaking of Oxford, at 21, she was there, accepting her first class honours in English Literature and Mythology. As she smiled for the camera, she could see Tony stood up in the middle of the hall, whistling before he punched the air “That’s my girl!” he yelled “Katie Maria Stark. That’s my girl! No I won’t sit down...what did you just say?...” and he began arguing with the person behind him.

At 26 she was crying, tears of happiness as the ramp on the aircraft carrier opened to reveal her brother. His hair was longer, he looked thinner but he was alive. He was barely at the bottom before she flung herself at him, not caring that his arm was a sling.

“Hey Kiddo.” he said softly as she buried her face into his neck.

“You fucking ass hole!” she sobbed “next time, you ride with Rhodey, you got that?”

“Trust me, there will be no next time.” he chuckled as she pulled back “Afghanistan is a shit hole.”

A year later she was crying again, sobbing even, as Tony sat with his arms around her, gently shushing her as she sat up in her bed “How could he do that to me Tony?” she sniffed, her tears dampening her brother’s t-shirt as he rubbed her back, laying his head against hers. “I thought he loved me…but…” “He isn’t worth your tears kiddo.” he sighed “Grant cunt-face Ward doesn’t deserve them, or you. No one ever will…you got that? No one will ever be good enough for my Kiddo.”

And then she was walking up the aisle towards her future husband, her arm linked tightly around Tony’s. He pressed a kiss to her head.

“Just remember, just because I’m giving you away doesn’t mean I won’t kick his ass if he ever hurts you.” he mumbled and she snorted, turning to look at him. “I love you to the stars and back, Katie, remember that…” Like she could ever forget. Tony hadn’t been everyone’s cup of tea. Hell, at times they’d been completely at odds with one another, siblings estranged for 2 years at one point. But she had never, not once, stopped loving the man who had brought her up as his own. Her brother and father all rolled into one.

She finished washing her hair and stepped out of the shower, the tears still not arriving. She began to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She’d cried more when Natasha died. She pulled on a towel robe that was hanging behind the door and began to dry her hair, squeezing the water out of the long strands.

“I remember when you used to do that for me.” She grinned, watching Tony as he sat with Morgan between his legs on the lounger round the pool at her Brooklyn home, rubbing her wet hair ferociously with a pink beach towel, making the 3 year old cackle with laughter. I remember…but Morgan won’t.

And then the cry ripped from her chest, like someone had reached down her throat and pulled it from the very depths of her heart.

***** Steve made sure the guys were settled in the spare apartment, the three of them opting to share, none of them particularly wanting to be alone. Making his way back into theirs, he headed straight to the bedroom and heard Katie turn off the water to the shower. With a groan he stripped off the top half of his uniform, dropping the grubby item to the floor and then reached to pull off the compression shirt.

But before he got chance he heard a noise that chilled his every bone. It was a cry. A primal, raw, broken scream. Quick as flash he crossed the room and pushed open the door to the bathroom and found his wife slumped on her knees on the floor, screaming and crying uncontrollably.

“He’s gone…” she screamed “He’s gone, he’s gone…” He’d known this was coming and it broke his heart that he could do nothing to help, nothing to take away the utter desperation and pain and anger she was feeling. Without hesitation he dropped to his knees and she turned to him, fisting her hands around his top as he pulled her close, one arm round her back, the other in her hair.

“Let it out…”his voice was croaky as he rocked her, gently stroking her hair as his cheek pressed against the top of her head. “I got you…I got you…” How long they stayed there for, with Katie screaming and crying over the soft sounds of his soothing, Steve had no idea, but eventually her sobs became sniffles as she regained some form of composure.

“Steve…” she managed to stutter as she pulled back to look at him” He’s gone…he’s gone…” “Oh sweetheart…” his voice cracked, his own heart ached with grief and sympathy and love as he dropped a kiss to her forehead, pulling her onto his lap as he settled on the floor, making no attempts to move her. He buried his face into her hair, his own sobs catching in his throat.

Eventually she stopped crying, and she truly thought at that time her body had run out of tears to shed. She pulled back to look up at Steve, his eyes wet as she took a ragged, deep breath.

“All my life Tony has been there…” she said gently as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, brushing away her stray tears, “Even when we were apart those years I knew that if I needed him, he would be there…but now…he’s gone and I don’t know what to do.”

“You do what you always do.” he said gently “You get up, you dust yourself off and you act like the amazing, strong, beautiful woman you are. My wife, my baby momma.”

She gave a watery splutter of a laugh before she buried her face into his t-shirt again, and simply breathed him in. His warmth and familiar smell, even if he wasn’t as fresh as he could be after the exertion of battle, was a comfort, a balm to her broken soul. Tony was gone, she knew that, but she wasn’t on her own. She’d never be on her own as long as she had Steve.

****

“Don’t be sad Momma…” Jamie said, as Katie’s tears tickled down her cheeks, her son on her lap, Emmy sat on her father’s, despite her age meaning she was normally way past that stage, as she cried into his chest, his arms gently cradling her. “Uncle Nee isn’t on his own.” “What do you mean baby?” she asked, sniffing as he played with a strand of her hair.

He looked at her with his baby blue eyes and shrugged, as if the answer was obvious “Because he’s with Auntie Nat-Nat.”

“Yeah…” Katie said, a soft sob escaping her “You’re right. But I’m still sad, but you don’t need to be worried about that ok?” He nodded “I can kiss it better” he said, and she smiled as he leaned up connecting his lips to hers with a loud smacking noise.

“All better.” she smiled, wiping her eyes.

“When can we go home?” Emmy asked, sitting up slightly.

“Soon, I promise.” Steve said. “I think we’ll stay here for tonight, your mom and I both need a rest.”

Emmy nodded “I expect kicking alien butt for hours takes it out of you.” Steve snorted. “A little.” “You did it though.” She said softly “Everyone came back.” “Yeah, and on that note…” Katie picked up, “We have some people we’d like you to meet. That’s if you’re feeling up to it.” “Is it them? Bucky, Sam and Wanda?” Emmy asked, her wet brown eyes opening wide.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled “If it’s ok with you, we thought we could all have breakfast together…”

“Pancakes?” Jamie asked hopefully and Katie nodded, dropping a kiss to his head.

“Pancakes” she affirmed.

“Now?”

“Do you ever think about anything but this?” Katie chuckled, prodding his tummy. He pondered for a second.

“legos.” he said, nodding “I think about my legos sometime.”

Emmy snorted and Steve let out a laugh “Pancakes and legos eh son?” he reached out and ruffled Jamie’s hair “Sounds like a perfect combination.”

A short while later Steve, armed with a selection of his clothes and Katie’s for the 3 adults headed down to fetch them, whilst Katie started to make breakfast. Pepper, as caring and thoughtful as ever had sent Happy back with a selection of food knowing that Manhattan was in utter chaos and going out in public was the last thing Steve or Katie wanted for fear of being mobbed. That, combined with the stash they had in the kitchen meant it was easy for Katie to whip up a batch of batter and throw some bacon in the pan.

She set Emmy to work chopping fruit, and never one to miss out, she stood Jamie on a chair in front of her and gently guided his hand as he held the whisk to stir the batter. Katie was literally grabbing the ladle to drop the first load into the pan, the door to the apartment opened and Steve’s voice carried in to the kitchen.

“Hey guys…” Jamie squealed in excitement and Katie moved so he could get down. He shot out of the kitchen, barrelling into the lounge where he skidded to a halt by his dad and gazed up at the 3 strange adults in front of him.

The first thing that hit Bucky was just how like post-serum Steve the little boy was. Stocky, bright blue eyes and a shock of dark blonde hair. But his nose, his nose was distinctly like his mother’s.

“He looks like you.” he said, nodding to Steve.

Katie stepped into the room with Emmy and smiled.

“Jamie, Emmy….this is Bucky, Sam and Wanda.” Emmy raised her hand shyly “Nice to meet you all.”

Meanwhile, Jamie simply gazed up at Bucky, his attention focussed directly on his metal arm and Bucky suddenly began to worry that it would scare him. That was until Jamie stepped forward with all his usual boldness and pointed.

“Is that metal?” “Jamie…” Steve said, his tone soft. He couldn’t scald his son for being curious, but at the same time he had seen the apprehension in Bucky’s eyes. Apprehension that had now turned to amusement.

“Yeah it is.” He said, crouching down so he was eye level with his namesake. He held his left hand up, wiggling the fingers “Wanna touch it?” Jamie reached out and placed his palm against Bucky’s prosthetic and grinned, looking up.

“Dad…that’s really cool. Can I have one?”

“Absolutely not.” Steve shook his head with a grin.

“You think that’s cool you should see my wings.” Sam said, crouching next to Bucky.

“You have wings?” Jamie’s eyes grew wide “I want…”

“No!” Katie said with a snort.

“Fine I’ll just ask Santa.” Jamie shruggged and Sam let out a loud laugh.

“I like this kid!” he grinned, standing up.

“You can have him…” Katie winked, as Bucky stood up straight and grinned “Saves me sending him to Kiddie Prison.” “Morgan told me there’s no such place.” Jamie looked at his mother, and Steve let out a sigh. The threat of Kiddie Prison was their biggest bargaining chip when he was being naughty. Especially as the naughty step wasn’t an option, because the first (and last) time they tried that they caught him climbing up the staircase and sliding down the bannister nearly giving the pair of them a heart attack.

“I told you short stuff, it does.” Emmy said, with a roll of her eyes “I lived there before mom and dad adopted me. And all they give you to eat all day is slugs and slime…” Steve shared a look with Bucky and let out a loud laugh.

“Don’t…” Bucky shook his head with a grin.

“You gave Becca nightmares for days with that story!” Steve laughed as he recalled Bucky telling his sister about a hole in the ground where bad kids went “She wouldn’t go near a manhole for months!”

“I can still feel the blow round the ears my Pa gave me…” Bucky said, reaching up to rub at the back of his head. The chatter continued as they made their way into the kitchen. Steve went to brew the coffee as Sam, Wanda and Bucky took seats round the table with the kids, chatting away. Occasionally he caught the odd snippet as Jamie told Bucky about his toys at home, Sam all about his friend at nursery, whilst Emmy was chatting to Wanda about school and what she wanted to do in the future. But all the time the soldier had one eye on his wife as she stood, silently, cooking enough pancakes to feed a small army. Which, to be fair, was probably what they would need with 2 super soldiers and a hungry 3 year old to feed. He slipped his arms around her waist.

“You ok?” he asked, before he sighed “Sorry, stupid question.”

She chuckled and shook her head “No it’s not stupid. And no, I’m not. Not really. But I will be, in time. I hope.”

Steve dropped a kiss to her cheek and winced as a loud “GET A ROOM!” sounded across the kitchen and he turned to glare at his son, Bucky and Sam exchanging gleeful looks with one another. Steve raised his hand and pointed at Emmy accusingly. “That was not me!” she said, indignantly “It was Bucky that told him to say it…” “If this is the impression you have on my kids after all of 15 minutes James Buchanan Barnes then I’m going to have to seriously consider letting you near them again.” Katie said as she dropped the plate of pancakes into the middle of the table.

“Why did you just call him James?” Jamie asked, frowning

“Because my name is James too.” Bucky answered for Katie.

“No, it’s Bucky.” Jamie frowned.

“He only gets called James when he’s been bad, bit like you pal.” Steve chuckled, placing Jamie’s plate of food in front of him “Now eat that, and then you can show Buck your lego.”

“My legos are here?” Jamie said, grinning.

“Yeah they’re in your bag.” he dropped a kiss to his son’s head.

“What the hell is a Lego?” Bucky asked. The room feel silent as all eyes turned to the man who glanced around, suddenly feeling very self conscious. “What?” ****

“I know there is much speculation surrounding the events of the last 24 hours, and it is for that reason I find myself addressing you all once more, with regards to the Decimation…only this time I am happy to greet you all with much better news. Thanks to the brave actions of the Avengers and countless others who fought in a ferocious battle Upstate, the Vanished have been returned to us in the same state in which they left. But it isn’t without cost. Unfortunately, I do bring some sad news amongst the happy, as I can confirm the rumours are true. Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff both lost their lives in the mission to bring everyone back. My sincere condolences and thoughts are with the rest of the Avengers, in particular the Rogers and Stark families, and I’m sure I speak for the entire world when I say we will be forever indebted to the two fallen heroes for their brave sacrifices which ensured that friends and families across the globe could be reunited. To allow you all some time with those who have been returned to you, I’m declaring today and tomorrow a national holiday. So be with your loved ones. And now I speak to those who have been returned to us. For the past 5 years the world has become a very different place to the one you knew. Please be patient with us whilst we try to make sense of the fact you have all been returned to us and don’t be too hard on us if we seem a little, well, astounded. Thank you all, God Bless America, and God Bless the Avengers.”

President Ellis’ address rang out across the nation at 3pm that afternoon. On every TV and Radio channel there was. Rhodey had popped by to give them a heads up, and also inform Katie that they were talking about honouring both Tony and Natasha posthumously. Katie had merely shrugged, not entirely sure what Tony would have said about any of that, until Rhodey made her laugh about the last time he had received an honour, getting stabbed with the pin by the Senator awarding it to him. Senator Stern. Who had turned out to be Hydra.

That night fireworks exploded across the skies of Manhattan. The current occupants of the tower sat on the roof watching the symphony of colours and explosions as it light up the sky-line, Jamie opting to sit on Bucky’s knee instead of his father’s, because of course Bucky was now his favourite person on the planet. But Steve didn’t mind, well, not too much anyway.

The next few days passed them by in a bit of a blur. They moved back to the house in Brooklyn. Sam and Bucky came with them but, surprisingly to Steve (but not to Katie) Wanda opted to head to Clint’s after the archer called and offered her a room. Steve’s time was divided between speaking to the UN, various people in the senate and government along with Rhodey as they stared to make plans to help those people who had returned and found themselves in tricky situations. Some found their wives or husbands had re-married, others found themselves homeless as new occupants had moved into their flats post them being vacant in the past 5 years. Two of those people were Peter Parker and his Aunt May, who were now residing in the Tower until Katie could find them an apartment. And then there were the kids who had been adopted suddenly found themselves with two sets of parents, although Emmy’s foster family never came looking for her. And it was a good job, as they would have been met not only by her parents but a former deadly assassin and an ex Para Rescuer ready to kick the shit out of them having learned from Steve and Katie one evening about the girl’s past.

No, reversing the snap had swung up a whole cacophony of different problems, but for the time being Katie had no time or energy for anything other than planning Tony’s funeral with Pepper, and a service of sorts for Natasha with Clint. Natasha’s was to take place first, a small ceremony at Clint’s farm where they would be planting a red maple tree in her honour. Tony’s was slightly more tricky. The Billionaire had led a very public lifestyle and naturally (even if unfairly) was attracting the most public interest. They’d been approached by President Ellis, who had asked if they would be open to the service being shown on larger, outside Televisions across Manhattan to avoid public crowding the area. Katie had been horrified at first, until Pepper had snorted and reminded her that the Old Tony would have loved the attention and fuss. But New Tony wouldn’t. Which was why they compromised and chose to celebrate the two sides to Tony’s huge personality. For the Genius, Billionaire, Play-Boy, Philanthropist they would hold a service at St Patrick’s Cathedral and for the husband, father, brother, friend they would then hold a more intimate wake at the house. Pepper was also going to plant a tree by the lake house, where his ashes would be scattered eventually. And there was also the matter of his will to go through as well, but they decided that could wait.

It was draining, emotionally and physically, so it was no surprise that Katie was constantly tired and a little irritable, Steve feeling the harsh side of her tongue on more than one occasion. But he never bit back, he knew how she was feeling. He’d had to do it with his Ma. Instead he listened to her bounce ideas off him, helped with the organisation, and simply comforted her when she needed it.

On the 6th day post the return of the Vanished, things on the surface had returned to some kind of normal. Almost a half-way-house between what it had been like before the Snap and what they had become post the Snap. But what was noticeable to all of them was that they were persistently mobbed in the street, people wanting to thank them constantly. Jamie found the whole thing hilarious, waving to people as he walked with his Father one morning to the play-ground. Steve, however, after half an hour had returned home because he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“It’s mad.” he said with a sigh, flopping onto the sofa “I mean…”

“It’ll die down.” Katie yawned, “Just take a while.” “You still feeling crappy?” he asked, watching as Jamie sat on the rug with his trucks.

“A little.” she said

“You thrown up again?” “No” she shook her head “I don’t feel sick anymore just drained. I don’t think it’s anything serious. Probably just the stress of all the organising and stuff.”

But as she said the words something in her mind clicked.

Tiredness. Sickness. Haywire emotions.

“Shit…” she whispered, sitting bolt upright and he looked at her. “Bruce’s Snap…”

“What about it?”

“What if it brought everyone back?” “Well we know it did…” he said, not following her line of thought.

“No I mean…” she took his hand and placed it on her stomach “everyone…”

It took him a second to cotton on, and he blinked, looking into his wife’s wide eyes.

“Shit…” he stuttered.

“Language.” Jamie said, almost immediately, but both parents ignored him.

“I didn’t…” Steve swallowed “I mean, I didn’t even consider that a possibility…do you think…”

Katie took a deep breath “I dunno, I mean the first snap took it away…”

They stayed still for a moment, simply looking at each other, both thinking the same. If one snap had taken their baby, the second snap could quite as easily have brought it back.

“I think I need to go to the store.” Katie muttered. Less than an hour later husband and wife were stood in the bathroom looking down. Down at four different tests. Four different tests that all told them the same thing.

“I can’t believe it…” Steve whispered, looking at his wife as she glanced up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Me neither…” she whispered.

“I’m gonna be a daddy…again.” he reached out to Katie, his eyes shining as she gave him a smile.

“And I’m gonna be fat again.” There was a pause before Steve’s face cracked into a huge grin and he pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms round his neck and he hugged her close, the pair of them laughing through their tears.

“I like you fat with my kid.” he said, pulling away and wiping the tears that were trickling down her face with his thumbs. She smiled and returned the gesture, brushing the back of her hand over his wet cheeks.

“I love you. So fucking much, my baby momma.” he said softly as he dropped a kiss to her lips and she whispered into his mouth

“I love you too, my baby daddy.”

And for the first time in days, Katie’s heart felt a little less broken. Tags

@the-omni-princess @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13 @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @navispalace @patzammit @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @disneylovingal @madzmilllz @sgtjaamesbaarnes

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #captain america #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #sam wilson #falcon #tony stark #iron man #natasha romanoff #black widow #clint barton #hawkeye

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