#Double Sided Mattress Toronto

[furnberry1-blog]

The stylish quality bedroom sets that you've been dreaming of and buy a fantastic selection of discounted bedroom furniture for the home.Online Companies are offering sectional sofa bed Canada at highly competitive prices, but it's advisable to do some research to ensure you are buying the right option to meet your specific requirements.

[healthnotion]

Ernest Hemingway’s Advice on Camping Out

Editor’s note: Throughout Ernest Hemingway’s life, he maintained a love for the outdoors and for outdoor pursuits. This love was inculcated early, as his father took him into the woods as soon as he was able to walk, and taught Ernest the rudiments of hunting and fishing when the boy was only a toddler. Hemingway Sr. further instructed his son in how to build fires, make wilderness shelters, tie fishing flies, and cook wild game; he always insisted that Ernest eat whatever he killed. Hemingway continued to relish hiking, backpacking, camping, and fishing as a young man, and these pursuits would prove healing after his experience in WWI and throughout his adulthood.

Before he broke through as a novelist, a twenty-something Hemingway worked as a staff writer for the Toronto Star Weekly, and penned this non-fiction piece for the paper in 1920. In it, he shares his well-earned advice for old fashioned camping, including the very best way to fry trout.

“Camping Out” By Ernest Hemingway

Thousands of people will go into the bush this summer to cut the high cost of living. A man who gets his two weeks’ salary while he is on vacation should be able to put those two weeks in fishing and camping and be able to save one week’s salary clear. He ought to be able to sleep comfortably every night, to eat well every day and to return to the city rested and in good condition.

But if he goes into the woods with a frying pan, an ignorance of black flies and mosquitoes, and a great and abiding lack of knowledge about cookery, the chances are that his return will be very different. He will come back with enough mosquito bites to make the back of his neck look like a relief map of the Caucasus. His digestion will be wrecked after a valiant battle to assimilate half-cooked or charred grub. And he won’t have had a decent night’s sleep while he has been gone.

He will solemnly raise his right hand and inform you that he has joined the grand army of never-agains. The call of the wild may be all right, but it’s a dog’s life. He’s heard the call of the tame with both ears. Waiter, bring him an order of milk toast.

In the first place, he overlooked the insects. Black flies, no-see-ums, deer flies, gnats and mosquitoes were instituted by the devil to force people to live in cities where he could get at them better. If it weren’t for them everybody would live in the bush and he would be out of work. It was a rather successful invention.

But there are lots of dopes that will counteract the pests. The simplest perhaps is oil of citronella. Two bits’ worth of this purchased at any pharmacist’s will be enough to last for two weeks in the worst fly and mosquito-ridden country.

Rub a little on the back of your neck, your forehead, and your wrists before you start fishing, and the blacks and skeeters will shun you. The odor of citronella is not offensive to people. It smells like gun oil. But the bugs do hate it.

Oil of pennyroyal and eucalyptol are also much hated by mosquitoes, and with citronella, they form the basis for many proprietary preparations. But it is cheaper and better to buy the straight citronella. Put a little on the mosquito netting that covers the front of your pup tent or canoe tent at night, and you won’t be bothered.

To be really rested and get any benefit out of a vacation a man must get a good night’s sleep every night. The first requisite for this is to have plenty of cover. It is twice as cold as you expect it will be in the bush four nights out of five, and a good plan is to take just double the bedding that you think you will need. An old quilt that you can wrap up in is as warm as two blankets.

Nearly all outdoor writers rhapsodize over the browse bed [a “mattress” made by layering the fans of evergreen boughs]. It is all right for the man who knows how to make one and has plenty of time. But in a succession of one-night camps on a canoe trip all you need is level ground for your tent floor and you will sleep all right if you have plenty of covers under you. Take twice as much cover as you think that you will need, and then put two-thirds of it under you. You will sleep warm and get your rest.

When it is clear weather you don’t need to pitch your tent if you are only stopping for the night. Drive four stakes at the head of your made-up bed and drape your mosquito bar over that, then you can sleep like a log and laugh at the mosquitoes.

Outside of insects and bum sleeping the rock that wrecks most camping trips is cooking. The average tyro’s idea of cooking is to fry everything and fry it good and plenty. Now, a frying pan is a most necessary thing to any trip, but you also need the old stew kettle and the folding reflector baker.

A pan of fried trout can’t be bettered and they don’t cost any more than ever. But there is a good and bad way of frying them.

The beginner puts his trout and his bacon in and over a brightly burning fire; the bacon curls up and dries into a dry tasteless cinder and the trout is burned outside while it is still raw inside. He eats them and it is all right if he is only out for the day and going home to a good meal at night. But if he is going to face more trout and bacon the next morning and other equally well-cooked dishes for the remainder of two weeks he is on the pathway to nervous dyspepsia.

The proper way is to cook over coals. Have several cans of Crisco or Cotosuet or one of the vegetable shortenings along that are as good as lard and excellent for all kinds of shortening. Put the bacon in and when it is about half cooked lay the trout in the hot grease, dipping them in corn meal first. Then put the bacon on top of the trout and it will baste them as it slowly cooks.

The coffee can be boiling at the same time and in a smaller skillet pancakes being made that are satisfying the other campers while they are waiting for the trout.

With the prepared pancake flours you take a cupful of pancake flour and add a cup of water. Mix the water and flour and as soon as the lumps are out it is ready for cooking. Have the skillet hot and keep it well greased. Drop the batter in and as soon as it is done on one side loosen it in the skillet and flip it over. Apple butter, syrup or cinnamon and sugar go well with the cakes.

While the crowd have taken the edge from their appetites with flapjacks the trout have been cooked and they and the bacon are ready to serve. The trout are crisp outside and firm and pink inside and the bacon is well done–but not too done. If there is anything better than that combination the writer has yet to taste it in a lifetime devoted largely and studiously to eating.

The stew kettle will cook your dried apricots when they have resumed their predried plumpness after a night of soaking, it will serve to concoct a mulligan in, and it will cook macaroni. When you are not using it, it should be boiling water for the dishes.

In the baker, mere man comes into his own, for he can make a pie that to his bush appetite will have it all over the product that mother used to make, like a tent. Men have always believed that there was something mysterious and difficult about making a pie. Here is a great secret. There is nothing to it. We’ve been kidded for years. Any man of average office intelligence can make at least as good a pie as his wife.

All there is to a pie is a cup and a half of flour, one-half teaspoonful of salt, one-half cup of lard and cold water. That will make pie crust that will bring tears of joy into your camping partner’s eyes.

Mix the salt with the flour, work the lard into the flour, make it up into a good workmanlike dough with cold water. Spread some flour on the back of a box or something flat, and pat the dough around a while. Then roll it out with whatever kind of round bottle you prefer. Put a little more lard on the surface of the sheet of dough and then slosh a little flour on and roll it up and then roll it out again with the bottle.

Cut out a piece of the rolled out dough big enough to line a pie tin. I like the kind with holes in the bottom. Then put in your dried apples that have soaked all night and been sweetened, or your apricots, or your blueberries, and then take another sheet of the dough and drape it gracefully over the top, soldering it down at the edges with your fingers. Cut a couple of slits in the top dough sheet and prick it a few times with a fork in an artistic manner.

Put it in the baker with a good slow fire for forty-five minutes and then take it out and if your pals are Frenchmen they will kiss you. The penalty for knowing how to cook is that the others will make you do all the cooking.

It is all right to talk about roughing it in the woods. But the real woodsman is the man who can be really comfortable in the bush.

The post Ernest Hemingway’s Advice on Camping Out appeared first on The Art of Manliness.

Ernest Hemingway’s Advice on Camping Out published first on https://mensproblem.tumblr.com

[infiniteshawn]

Tied Up

Oneshot

warning: kinky!Shawn with the use of a sex toy, constraints, and everything filthy. 2k of nastiness. dont say i didnt warn your little virgin ass

He was a sight to be seen, laying back, chest heaving as his amber eyes raked over your almost-naked body. 

He’d been away touring for weeks, only home for a few days because he was playing in Toronto. He was supposed to go out with his buddies tonight to catch up after months of being away, but you had other plans in place.

When Shawn was touring, he got needy. It drove him crazy to be away from you, and you always did something special when he got home after weeks of being apart. Not knowing what to expect, he texted you when he landed and took a cab home.

As soon as he walked through the door, you greeted him with a needy kiss in your satin slip and robe. His hands dropped the bags he was holding as they found your hips, wandering lower and snaking their way into your house coat.

His lips moulded to yours as he grabbed a handful of your ass, shuffling his feet to pin you up against the back of the door. Your hands found his strong chest as you applied pressure, pushing him off of you. His eyes met yours as his brows raised in confusion.

“Oh no, Shawn. Not tonight,” was all you said, establishing dominance as a smile crept its way onto your lips. Normally when he’d been away he liked to come home and call the shots, taking control over you. Having missed your boyfriend so much, you decided things were going to flip tonight, and you had just the thing in mind. 

“What?” he said, letting out a breath as his lips formed a smile.

“You heard me. Now, are you gonna be a good boy, or do I have to make this difficult?” you asked, a stern look forming on your face.

His eyebrows raised again and though he loved being in charge, you could feel his growing hard-on pushing up against your hip. He nodded at you, his grin growing wide as he took a step back. He was going to let you do what you wanted, completely submitting to your actions.

You licked your lips, eyes raking down his perfect body. A button-up hugged his torso in all the right places, strong arms down at his sides. His jean-clad thighs were thick as ever and you couldn’t wait to take a seat.

“Bedroom. Now,” you spat, to which he promptly turned around and walked into the room you shared. Walking into the room behind him, you reached out, lacing his fingers with yours.

He smiled against your lips and you took the opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth, lips dancing against his. You nipped at his bottom lip and pulled away, looking into his chestnut eyes that had now grown dark and pushed him back onto the mattress.

A smile reached his lips as he looked up at you, shimmying himself upward so he could rest his head on the pillows. You raked your eyes over his body, an idea popping into your head as you quickly darted into the walk-in-closet the two of you shared. Grabbing two of Shawn’s black ties, you stuffed them into your pocket and went back into the bedroom.

“You okay?” Shawn asked from where he was laying, hands folded behind his head.

“Yeah,” you answered, climbing onto the bed and crawling on top of him. “I’m fine,” you smiled, leaning down to place a kiss on his lips. Shifting your weight on top of him, your hands reached between your bodies as you began working apart the buttons on his shirt. Shawn released a deep moan into your mouth as the top button popped open, clearly excited to be getting naked with you, finally.

You smiled against his lips, continuing on your mission to get him out of his clothes. Your hands worked their way down his torso as you reached the last button, undoing it as his body slightly lifted from the mattress, allowing you to pull his shirt off of his arms and out from under him. His body was warm against your hands, light brown hairs scattered across his chest. Your hands found his, guiding them up above his head. Your right hand held his left against the headboard as you pulled a tie out of your pocket, slipping it around his wrist and looping it into a tight knot.

“Babe, what are you doing?” Shawn asked, an alarmed look plastered on his face.

Your hand reached for his jaw, gripping his face roughly. Your head dipped down to his as you said, “I thought you were gonna be a good boy for me.”

He gulped, adams apple bobbing in his throat, “Yes, baby,” he croaked, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply.

“That’s right” you said, reaching up to constrict his other hand to the headboard. He exhaled slowly, equally angered at not being able to use his hands but in awe of your burst of confidence. You settled on his crotch, grinding against him through his jeans. He let out a breathy moan, hands pulling at the ties to break free. You sat up, breaking the kiss and grabbing his face.

“Don’t fight it, Shawn,” was all you said, shimmying down his body to undo his belt buckle. Once you had his jeans open, you tugged them down his legs to reveal his strained boxers. Slipping out of your robe, you sat on his torso and began kissing along his jaw, licking your way down his neck. His breathing was short and quick, hands pulling frantically at the knots you constrained him with. Your lips worked down to his chest, planting hot kisses along his abs. His stomach muscles contracted at your touch as your hands found the hem of his boxers, tugging them down his thighs. His throbbing cock slapped his stomach, precum already leaking down the tip. He was so hard for you, whimpering at the feeling of your fingertips on his skin. You slipped the satin minidress over your head, revealing your almost-naked body. 

“Please, Y/N,” Shawn cooed as you lowered your face closer to his dick, grabbing the base and licking a hot stripe up his shaft. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan, causing you to feel the wetness in your panties. “Please just let me touch you,” he said, fighting the hold you had him in.

“Not just yet, baby,” you responded, crawling off of the bed and slipping into the closet once again to grab another tie, and then to the washroom to grab something else. Resting in a bowl of warm water, you had a surprise for Shawn. He was never really a kinky guy, but tonight you wanted to change that. Grabbing the lump of warm rubber, you slipped it into its casing and picked up the bottle of lube you had resting on the counter. “Close your eyes,” you called out to Shawn, and surprisingly, he obeyed. You hopped up on the bed and hovered over him, lifting his head to wrap the tie around his eyes. Securing it with a double-knot at the back of his head, he let out a sigh.

Slipping out of your panties and grabbing your things from the nightstand, you put a few drops of lube on your right hand and reached for his dick, making sure to thoroughly coat it.

You set yourself down on his right thigh, your wetness making contact with his skin as he let out a deep moan. “That’s it, baby, ride me,” he said, bucking his thigh up against your core.

Without warning, you let go of his member and placed the entrance of the toy on his tip, pushing it onto him. Slowly you began to pump it up and down, matching the pace sliding against his thigh. A look of confusion crossed his face as he spoke, “Babe, is that, is that umm, what I think it is?” 

“What do you think it is, Shawn?” you responded.

“Umm, a fleshlight?” he asked, completely lost.

You giggled in response, picking up the pace with your hand as you fucked yourself on his leg. He began letting out little moans with you, surprisingly in sync because each pump of the toy matched your thrusts on his thigh. You had fun with it, slowing down and speeding up, only stopping once to re-lube him. Pulling it almost all the way off and then pushing it down warranted a beautiful reaction, his abs contracting as his forehead crinkled, low moans escaping his lips. You moved it up and only fucked his tip as he cried out in pleasure, his leg shaking against your heat. The friction became too much for you as you felt your stomach heating up, a knot forming in your lower abdomen. It hit you in waves as you called out Shawn’s name, fucking yourself into orgasm on his thick thigh.

“Baby, babe, stop, I’m so close,” he said in between breaths, your hand continuing to work the toy on his pink cock. This was your cue to pull it off him, setting it down on the bed and placing a leg on either side of him. Facing his toes, you guided his dick into your sensitive lips, lowering yourself on his cock. His moans were shaky as you picked up speed, the sound of your skin slapping his abdomen filling the room. It wasn’t until you felt a massive hand slap your ass that you realized he had freed himself from being tied up.

You craned your neck to look back at him, meeting his now-uncovered chocolate eyes. Both of his hands took purchase on your ass cheeks, guiding you up and down the length of his cock. His hips pushed up into you, thrusting himself deeper inside of you until you stopped moving, letting him take over from there. His head pushed back into the pillows, mouth falling open as his eyes crinkled shut. You gripped his legs just above his knees as he continued to bury himself inside of you, grunting a string of curse words with your name mixed in. His thrusts got harder and rougher, only slowing down once they grew sloppy, losing the rhythm he had built.

“Mmm, Y/N, Y/N I’m gonna come,” he cried out repeatedly, and you soon felt his cock twitch inside of you, releasing warmth into your body. Exhausted, you collapsed on his legs, laying there until he spoke. “Hey, come up here.”

You shifted off of him, scooting up to crawl under the covers as he did the same. Pulling you close, he planted a kiss on your forehead. His face pulled away from yours, a tattooed hand reaching for your chin and tilting it to look up at him. “Where the fuck did that come from?” he asked, still out of breath.

“I just missed you, that’s all,” you smiled, closing your eyes and nuzzling your face into his chest.

“No, that,” he said, motioning to the sex toy laying on the covers beside him, a lazy smile spreading across his rosy cheeks.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, piecing together what he was actually referring to, growing a little embarrassed. 

“Because I’m just wondering why the hell we didn’t get one sooner,” he stated, pulling you flush against his warm body. 

You chuckled to yourself, failing to mention the cock ring you had also purchased, deciding to save it for next time.

im going to hell

[thehazeltonhotel]

The Hazelton, Toronto’s first luxury boutique hotel, remains the city’s iconic landmark of all that is chic, glamorous and luxurious. Designed by internationally renowned design firm Yabu Pushelberg, the hotel offers 77 luxurious rooms and 15 exceptional suites with a splash of 1940s inspired Hollywood glitter suites. From private meetings to conferences, to events or celebrations, our variety of extraordinary spaces aims to exceed your expectations.

 Rooms

Deluxe Room

Hazelton’s Deluxe has everything you need. The 464 - 568 square feet room flaunts its zebrawood dressing room, galaxy green granite ensuite with heated floors, deep soaking tub and separate rainfall shower.

Luxury King Room

Hazelton’s upgraded deluxe room. Having the same features as the deluxe, Luxury King Room boasts its separate seating area with either a comfortable chair or a two-seater sofa and a 536 - 707  sq. ft. room to stretch out.

Luxury Queen Room

Uniquely designed for guests who love their space more than anything else. Luxury Queen features its two queen size beds, LCD television integrated into the bathroom mirror, and a zebrawood dressing room. This 623 - 684 sq. ft space also has its own Juliet or walkout balcony.

 Suites

Executive Suite

Hazelton’s magnificent suite that offers nothing short of exquisite has a spacious sitting area with 764 - 857 sq. ft. The luxury extends to its galaxy green granite ensuite with heated floors and double vanities, 80 sq. ft. zebrawood dressing room and a 47" LG HDTV in the bedroom and seating area.

  Avenue Suite

This luxurious suite stands out with its 450 square foot windowed seating area that showcases panoramic views, king size bed with serta presidential pillow top mattress, separate dining area and an available interconnecting room.

Hazelton Suite

A first-class entertainment room that is suitable for special occasions. Hazelton Suite’s 450 square foot rotunda living room, a separate dining and powder room, a 47″ LG HD televisions in bedroom and living room areas, and an available interconnecting room.

Bellair Suite

A spacious room fitting for a god. Bellair Suite unrivaled 800 square foot rotunda living room with panoramic views and two lounge areas, a separate dining area capable of seating up to 10, media centre and touchscreen remote media controller with piped stereo system is the largest one bedroom suite situated at the hotel’s fourth floor.

 Meetings

The Yorkville Room

An intimate gathering of up to 78 people is perfect for this space. Private Gatherings, meetings, happy hours, special dinners or a small elegant party is conducive to have in The Yorkville room that can be split into two rooms which has elevated ceilings, luxurious panels and an extravagantly exclusive hallway.

The Neil Young Room

An exclusive meeting or gathering can be held in The Neil Young Room as this is the perfect area that can accommodate 16 people with the sense of comfortability. The grandiose glass doors and the red velvet walls of the room will leave you and your guests in awe.

Executive Boardroom

A private room that is complete with all the necessities of a meeting. It can accomodate 10 people comfortably. The Executive Boardroom is made to encite new ideas, improve performance and enhance efficiency.

 The Silver Screening Room

A room that is filled with the latest development in technology. The Silver Screening Room can sit up to 25 people who will enjoy a surround sound Dolby Digital equipment and the new and improved 35mm projection which is best for viewing, screening and exhibiting anything.

 Dining

One Restaurant

An exquisite place to get meticulously prepared appetizers, main courses, sides, drinks and desserts. One Restaurant offers in-room dining and a vibrant dining space experience for all who want to savor the quintessential elements of various taste temptations.

 Wellness

Spa by Valmont

An urban retreat made possible by indulgent personalized treatments which are designed to make you feel special. Spa by Vermont is complete with facilities where you can plunge for a blissful relaxing experience that will leave you asking for more.

 Conclusion

 Toronto’s Yorkville area has been known to be the city’s most amazing and stylish district, with fabulous shopping and dining where The Hazelton Hotel is ideally located. With the hotel’s various offers such as ONE Restaurant, helmed by chef Mark McEwan and The Spa at The Hazelton by Valmont, will surely make your stay worth every penny.  

[suelandfurnitureassembly]

Getting an Assembly Company for your Needs !

Once you've packed all your furniture and are ready to move, you can breathe a sigh of relief. You are about to be loaded into trucks or vans to transport your belongings to the desired address. Remember that lifting heavy objects (such as sofas, large drawers, dining tables, etc.) can seriously endanger your health. The furniture assembly toronto is a place where you can get professional help for the assembly of your furniture.

It is for this reason that it is recommended that you hire a professional agency during the relocation, whose workers will, for you, complete the loading and unloading of items. In case you are moving in your own direction, there are some tips for you to do as best you can. Plan ahead what will load first and last. Most professional companies have loading ramps and trolleys of different sizes that can make loading easier for you. Make sure to place heavy and large pieces of furniture on the floor of the truck, and smaller and lighter ones on top. Secure all furniture securely so that it does not move during transport and cover the truck floor with a blanket. When you have finished loading, cover all things with a blanket or plastic sock to protect them from dirt and dust.     Objects such as refrigerators, dishwashers, washing machines, stack up    against the front wall of the truck.     Sofas and mattresses get stuck between other heavier items.     Long pieces of furniture, like mirrors, are placed against the side walls.     When all the heavy furniture is loaded, the empty space is filled with large boxes.     Small boxes are used to fill the space in the front of the truck.     The remaining boxes go into the back of the truck.     The empty parts of the truck are filled with pillows, blankets and other soft and flexible materials. It is essential to remain unharmed     Do not rush!     Load multiple times to avoid overloading.     Lift objects carefully out of the squat, reducing the load on the spine.     Rent a bigger truck where you can easily move and manipulate.     Double check that everything is well secured before the truck leaves.     Never try to lift heavy objects by yourself. Always seek help.     Keep the furniture you are picking up.     Take breaks between lifting.     Lift and carry objects straight and do not twist your arms.     For heavier pieces (such as refrigerators), you can use a trolley.     Always keep your furniture intact but keep your health.

In order to make things easier as much as possible, make sure you get all the furniture disassembled and then assembled by professionals who know their job. This will make the transport a lot easier and will protect all the elements from damaging. Make sure not to try anything by yourself if you are not sure that you know what you are doing. This can cause huge consequences and you will end up paying more or buying new furniture. Find the best Furniture Installation Contractor by logon to  salespider, profilecanada and cylex .

[the-chubbiest-dumpling]

Endings and Beginnings: Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Recovery

Summary: You’re just an ordinary 25-year-old photographer working in a small studio in downtown Toronto. Your life is as normal as it could possibly be, except the fact that you are given an opportunity most people only dream of.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 13 124

Warnings: Swearing. There will always be swearing.

A/N: Wow I wrote a lot.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue

Tags: @shamvictoria11

The first thing you realize when you wake up is that you have dry mouth. And one hell of a headache.

You painfully stretch your legs and shut your eyes even tighter as you shift in your bed. You can hear the beeping of hospital equipment, and a light muffling sound. It’s too bright behind your eyes to open them, but you know you’ll have to. You shield your eyes with your palm, and blink several times to clear the sleep and crust from your eyes. You groan loudly in the back of your throat, changing your position to sit up a bit.

Your entire body feels like lead. You’ve never felt this drowsy and exhausted in your whole life. Working for eight hours plus a two-hour workout plus an unintentional all-nighter doesn’t even come close to this. This is on a whole other level of fatigue.

When you gain control of your sight, you look around, and see multiple people in white lab coats coasting around. You can’t tell which ones are doctors, nurses, or surgeons. They all just kind of mix together. You still feel kind of dizzy, so nothing is blending well together at the moment. Your ears feel stuffed, so you plug your nose and pop them. A doctor notices you’re awake, and makes his way over to you.

“Welcome back, _______,” he says, sitting down next to your bed. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

“Y-Yeah,” you reply, your voice raspy. You clear your throat and swallow, but it still doesn’t feel right. You scrunch your nose in discomfort. You delicately touch your face, and feel a tube going up your nose.

Is this a feeding tube?

He flips through the chart he has in his hands. You’re just remembering now that you got shot in the leg. You pull the covers back to inspect it while the doctor speaks.

“The wound was surprisingly clean. There was no exit wound, so we needed to perform surgery to remove the bullet. You lost about two pints of blood. You required a blood transfusion, which happened to end two days ago. You also needed a feeding tube and an IV to keep you alive. Seven days without food and water can be pretty dangerous. We’re going to remove it soon, since you’re awake, but your IV shall remain there until I say otherwise.”

You nod in understanding. But, really? You need a feeding tube? It makes sense, but it doesn’t mean you like it. It’s uncomfortable as ever, and what happens when you sneeze? It’s taped to your nose, but will it blow out still? How far up your nose is it? The doctor continues on as you have a small moment of dissatisfaction.

“I got the full report of your situation from a… Miss Knox. She mentioned that you had alcohol in your system before morphine was administrated to you.” He pauses to give you a look. You don’t even notice. Your bandages are more intriguing. He continues on. “Morphine and alcohol are a dangerous mix. You experienced dehydration, an irregular heart rate, and blood pressure changes. You could have fallen into a coma, stopped breathing, and died. Do you understand, miss _______?”

You stop inspecting your injury and silently complaining to yourself when the doctor says that. You look over at him, a range of emotions crossing your features. You could have died? You know one thing for sure now: you’re never drinking again on a mission. Or, at all. If it comes to that. You look down at the mattress and nod. He notices your change in expression. He sighs and sets his clipboard down.

“I do not mean to worry you, miss _______,” he says. “You could not have known. It is not your fault. But I am obligated to tell you the truth. And truth is, if you didn’t get here when you did, you could’ve died. When you were brought to us, you were already unconscious. I feared that you had already slipped past the point of bringing you back. I will skip the medical jargon and break it down for you. Before your surgery, I managed to stabilize you. The side effects of the morphine and alcohol were taking too much a toll on your body, and I was afraid of what might happen in the case that I treated your gunshot wound first.”

“Death?” you guess aloud, shifting in your bed again. You’re feeling all sorts of aches and pains in your lower back now. A small price to pay in order to recover.

“Yes,” he affirms. “My team also stopped the bleeding long enough for me to do my work. It’s a hell of a process to go through, making sure your patient doesn’t go into a coma or die. But you did neither, which I am eternally grateful for. It’s very assuring to see you awake and moving around. But you won’t be doing much of that for a while, I’m afraid.”

“Am I paralyzed?!” you say out of shock, clutching the sheets.

“Oh no no no,” the doctor reassures you. “You still have mobility. I’m saying that you will need a pair of crutches for some time before you regain your strength to walk on your own again.”

“Oh.”

Walking around by the likes of crutches? Of all things? Can’t they just give you a wheelchair or something? Crutches are hard on the armpits and a bitch to deal with. You would know. Breaking your ankle back in grade seven wasn’t the most pleasant experience. And now you’ll have to relive it all over again. But he said the IV will need to stay in you until he says otherwise. Does that mean you’ll have to drag it around with you while you’re trying to walk? Or maybe he means it’ll stay there long enough for you to recover somewhat and then you’ll be using crutches. Whatever he means, it sounds awful.

“Perfect,” you say indignantly.

“You will also take part in rehabilitation sessions to improve your mobility. A few weeks until you’re able to walk on your own and the wound has fully healed.”

Double perfect.

All of this, just because of a bullet wound. And morphine and alcohol, apparently. You yawn widely and scratch at your eyes. You can’t tell if you have a headache, or if it’s a hangover. Or if it’s from the morphine and whatever else kind of sedatives they gave to you. Which ever way, you just know that you’re tired and annoyed.

“Anything else I need to know?”

“Because you were unconscious for seven days, your body is going to need time to heal. I would like to keep you here for a few more nights to keep an eye on your well-being. Your bandages will need to be changed on a daily basis to avoid infection. My staff shall take care of that until I give you the go-ahead to change them on your own. And when you do, I shall provide you with instructions on how to properly apply a new dressing. Do not rush–I repeat–do not rush yourself. Recovery takes time, so you will remain here at the compound until further notice. I will prescribe you some medication for the pain when you’re out of that bed.”

“Awesome,” you say sarcastically. “That it?”

“Mr. Stark asked me to inform him when you woke up. He shall be here momentarily.”

“Oh goody.”

This isn’t going to be pretty. You didn’t tell Tony, nor any of the team that you went on a mission. Sam is the one that received that crucial piece of information first. Then everyone came out and started arguing about it. All you remember is acting like an idiot while everyone had their moment of craze. You mentally prepare yourself for Tony’s scolding. He can be on-point with his reasons sometimes, and it pisses you off when he’s right. He’s one of the most hot-headed, rude, antagonizing people you’ve ever met. But you also know that he’s a person that always tries to right his wrongs. And it’s hard to hate him when he’s like that.

It’s no surprise when you can see him walking down the stairs; the whole med lab is made up of glass walls and doors. You can’t tell what kind of mood he’s in. He’s wearing one of those neutral expressions that makes it seem like he’s mad.

Oh yeah. Resting bitch face.

His eyes are on you the whole time, never breaking eye contact. He crosses his arms as he stands at the foot of your bed. You back up a little in your bed, slightly worried that he’s just going to explode and let you have it. Your eyes trained downwards, he finally speaks.

“How ya feeling?”

Whoa. You were not expecting sentiment.

You peek at up him. He’s completely serious, though his expression has softened. A little. You shrug and face him fully.

“Can’t complain, I guess,” you answer. “I’m alive and awake.”

“But how are you feeling?”

Does he mean it as in how am I feeling about myself going out alone to a solo mission without telling anyone? Does he want me to tell him how happy or angry I am with myself about the whole thing? Or does he actually want to know how I’m feeling right now?

You take the safest route.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Good. Because starting today, you’re on house arrest,” he says, pointing a finger at you.

“Oh, come on, Tony,” you whine, rolling your eyes.

“What were you thinking, taking that mission on alone?”

“Mr. Stark,” the doctor starts calmly, already knowing where this is going. “I would prefer it if miss _______ not be put under any unnecessary stress until she’s fully recovered.”

Tony acts like he didn’t hear him and keeps going. The doctor decides to leave the room until you and Tony have cooled down.

“But I wasn’t alone! I was–“

“But you thought you were alone, didn’t you? He sent you in there, alone, and didn’t do a damn thing until the very last second. You could’ve died in there, _______. Do you get that?”

“Yes, in fact, I do!” you yell. “Firstly, it’s a solo mission for a reason. Secondly, I know I could’ve died! I knew the risks! I know I could’ve gotten my back blown out and been paralyzed or killed if that other agent hadn’t stepped in and done something! I know, Tony. I know. But you know what? I’m here. I did all I could do. I thought out all the possible courses of action to take at the time. I thought of the people in the club. I knew it would kill me if one of them got injured or caught in the crossfire. I acted on my own, and did the best I could to keep myself from getting murdered, along with agent Knox. And it turned out okay! I’m fine, agent Knox is fine, and we arrested a couple of criminals to boot! So don’t talk down to me like what I did was the most horrible thing in the world!”

Your chest is heaving after letting your anger pour out from you. Letting Tony be on the receiving end of your fury only satisfies you somewhat this time. Your headache is a major bitch, and yelling doesn’t help it at all. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. The side effects of the morphine have worn off, but they’re still hanging on by a thread. You’re sweating more than you should, and you feel your mouth go dry again. The pounding dizziness in your skull is the most irritating, and you wish you could just go to sleep again. But you need to reassure Tony that everything is okay.

Breathing through the pain, you raise your head and look tiredly at him.

“I’m fine, Tony,” you say gently. “Can you not just be happy about that and worry about the collateral damage later?”

You know you’re right. You just hope Tony agrees too. He likes to put the details out in the open, and keep them there, open for discussion at any given time. He’ll subtly–and annoyingly–remind you about your blunders and past mistakes to scramble your way out of making a similar decision to the former ones you’ve made.

For his sake, he better not do it this time.

His shoves his hands in his raggedy jeans and looks at the floor, then back to you.

“All right, fine,” he agrees. “I’ll let it go this time. But the next time that this happens, don’t expect me to sugarcoat things and laugh along to your story and make memes out of it. Yes, I know what memes are. You’re talking to the leading innovator in technology, here. Come on.”

That makes you smile more. Hearing him joke about things that are actually funny makes you feel better about everything. It doesn’t stop the physical pain, but it warms your heart. Tony Stark. Big guy in a suit of armour. Annoying, snarky, and witty, but still caring and compassionate. Truly a two-faced bitch.

“Cap and the others visited you during your unexpected trip to the land of the unconscious,” he adds, pulling up a stool. “Day in and day out. Checking to see if you’ve moved a finger or if you’ve had a leg jerk. Wince, groan, cough. Anything to indicate that you were still alive without relying on the beeping of the machines.”

“Oh,” you say. You expected that to some degree, but Tony’s making it sound like it was a life-or-death situation for the team if you didn’t pull through. “I hope I didn’t worry them too much…”

“Worry?” Tony repeats, smiling slightly and shaking his head. “Listen here, Hell’s angel. Rogers held a full conversation with you as if you were answering him. Wilson even joined in at some parts. Wanda and Nat would tell you about their day. Vision would… come to think of it, I don’t really know what Vision did. He just stared. But like, into you, y’know? Anyway. And Barnes just sat with you. Stared a lot too, like Vision. So I’d say ‘worry’ is an understatement.”

“You forgot something,” you mention.

“What’s that?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What’d you do? No offence, but you don’t seem like a person to bring me tea when I’m sick or sit down and talk to my unconscious body.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“So you are.”

“Are what?”

“The kind of person to sit down and talk to my unconscious body.”

“You got it all wrong. See–“

“It’s not a hard question, Tony.”

“There is no question, _______.”

“Yes there is.”

“Then what is it?”

“Did you, or did you not, do something in similar fashion like talk to my unconscious body?”

“Fine, alright! Yes! I did! Happy now, you zombie?”

At the end of your bickering with him, you nod in satisfaction.

“I am,” you confirm. “I know it may not matter to you, but thanks. I hate worrying people, but I appreciate you and everyone else watching over me.”

Tony folds his hands over the end of your bed and nods, muttering a small “yep”. You smile more. Another thought comes to mind.

“Speaking of which,” you say, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “How mad was everyone?”

Tony taps his thumbs together as he thinks out-loud.

“Ummmmm. You ever see Banner go berserk?”

“N-Not in person no…”

“Rogers was about this close to going on a manhunt with the wrath close to that of Banner in his green rage monster mode.”

“Yikes…”

“’Yikes’ is right, kid.”

He gets out of his stool and starts pacing the room.

“Everyone had their own moments of anguish over this, but he’s the only one that almost got physical about it. Hearing that you might fall into a coma and die isn’t exactly what someone wants to hear at one in the morning. It could potentially trigger deep-seeded emotions. Barnes on the other hand… he was the complete opposite. Distant. Kept to himself. Didn’t know what to think or do. Like it was his first time seeing a person with a gunshot wound. But who knows what goes through his head.”

“You don’t say.”

The thought of Bucky being ambivalent about his feelings makes you a little sad. Tony’s right; who knows what he’s feeling? But it’s nice to hear that he was worried. Everyone else too of course, but… him especially. What a bias you’ve created.

You sigh and lay back against the bed, and hiss when you can feel the prick of your bullet wound. You lift up the blankets again, and delicately run your hand along the gauze. This is going to be a pain to take care of.

“Stings, doesn’t it?”

“No doubt. It didn’t hurt at the time because I was high on adrenaline, but damn. This sucks.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, opening a desk drawer and pulling out some peanuts. “I’m sure the team will be more than willing to carry you up and down the stairs.” He tears open the package and pops a few in his mouth. He holds some out for you, but you turn them down. Food isn’t on your mind at the moment. It’s sleep. You yawn again and cover your mouth. You lay back down comfortably and pull the sheets over your chest.

“Get some rest, kid,” Tony says as he backs out the door. “You’re gonna need it for when Cap sees you.”

“Thanks for the tip.”

Tony travels back upstairs to let the rest of the team know that you’re awake and well, but going back to sleep. You know it’ll piss some of them off, Steve especially, but you’re exhausted still and need some real sleep. Being under doesn’t necessarily mean you’re asleep. So now, you’re going to take control of your own conscious, and fall asleep on your own accord. You wave to Tony when he reaches the middle of the stairs, and close your eyes, hoping that when you wake up, you’ll feel that much better.

The next time you wake up is four hours later, about midday. It was a terrible feat trying to fall asleep with all the bright lights on, but sometime during your sleep, someone was gracious enough to dim them for you. Truly, a kind soul.

You feel better, only in the slightest. Your headache has slowed to a dull thud in your head, and you don’t have dry mouth. A few positives to start your day. You’re alone, you notice. All the medical staff must be taking a break. That’s not too bad. Gives you a minute to relax without anyone asking you the same questions over and over.

You stretch your arms above your head and yawn, then scratch around your hand where the IV tube is. Despite its job to give you nutrients and sugars, it’s not the most comfortable thing to be piercing your hand. And apparently, your stomach isn’t very comfortable either.

It growls loudly, disappointed that it has nothing to digest. You sigh sadly, wondering if you’re allowed to have solid foods yet. Or even liquid-y solids, like pudding and ice cream. The doctor said that you had been unconscious for a week, and needed a blood transfusion and an IV drip. That would certainly do the trick to make you hungry as hell. The feeding tube is still in you, so you have no idea who to call to take it out.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” you call out weakly.

“It is good to hear your voice, miss _______,” the A.I. says.

“Yeah, me too.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Can you call one of the doctor’s back?”

“Certainly.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice rings overhead, delivering the message, and you wait for the doctor to come back. Considering your circumstances, he should be here on the double. But since you’re doing well, he may take his time. You fiddle around with the many tubes protruding your body in the meantime, and also think about all the therapy you’ll have to endure. Within a few minutes, your doctor returns with a smile on his face.

“Miss _______,” he greets you as he enters the room.

“Doctorrr… Markson,” you greet back after squinting at his nametag. He takes a seat beside you and folds his hands together.

“How are you feeling? Better?” he asks.

“More or less,” you say, giving a non-committal wave of your hand. “I was just wondering if you can take the feeding tube out yet? I know you mentioned removing it earlier, but I just wanted to know when.”

He looks at the time on his watch, then flips through a few papers from your charts. He nods his head at what he reads and looks at you.

“I believe it would be alright to remove it,” he says, making you smile. “Hopefully the IV will only stay in until tomorrow. After I remove the tube, I shall bring you something sufficient to eat.”

“That’d be great.”

He sets the charts back down and washes his hands, while you sit up and bend your good leg. You can still move your wounded leg, but the best you’re going to do right now is wiggle your toes and bend your knee little by little so your thigh doesn’t feel that much pressure. As Dr. Markson dries his hands and puts on his gloves, you can see and hear Steve running down the stairs, followed by Wanda and Natasha.

Here we go.

You muster a smile for them, because you’re genuinely happy to see them. Steve has concern written all over his face; and he has a right to be. He didn’t get to see you when you first woke up, and was a little peeved that Tony was first in line. But now, he pushes that all aside because he’s so relieved that you’re okay.

“Heyyy guyyyyys,” you say as they walk in.

“_______,” Steve says, speaking before anyone else. “How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, Steve,” you reply truthfully. “Maybe a little off-balance still, but otherwise, I’m doing pretty good.”

He smiles that dad smile that warms your heart. You can never be mad at Steve when he throws his charm in the mix. He’s just too soft and selfless to be angry at.

“Does it hurt?” Wanda asks, crossing her arms and looking at the floor.

How are you so adorable?

“Not as much as it did before,” you smile sweetly. “The painkillers are taking care of that.” Wanda nods and smiles back quickly before letting her expression drop again. She’s content that you’re conscious and seem to be doing fine, but it really took a toll on her when she saw how still you looked on your bed. You were the closest thing she had to another sibling, and she’d be damned if she lost you too.

“That was quite the show you put on,” Natasha quips, taking a seat in a corner of the room. “For not using a gun, it was remarkable you got out of there alive.”

“You saw?” you question. “How?”

“Coulson had surveillance for the duration of your mission,” she explains. “He deemed it as an instructional video to examine your mistakes.”

Goddamn that Coulson.

“I see,” you say, irritated. “I probably should’ve expected that, with him being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and all. So secretive and conniving.”

She nods in agreement and leans forward in her chair, elbows resting on her knees.

“It’s good to see you again, _______,” she says.

“Likewise.”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone’s attention is drawn to Dr. Markson. He snaps his gloves on and stands beside your bed.

“I am about to remove _______’s feeding tube,” he explains. “I would advise you step away to give her some room.”

Wanda and Steve nod, backing away against the wall to give you some space. You sit up more and face Dr. Markson as he prepares to take it out.

“I will warn you now to be prepared for gagging, coughing, and overall general nasal discomfort as I remove the tube,” he says.

“Awesome,” you say with a nod.

He gives you a protective pad, and you stuff it in the front of your gown. He unpins the tube from your gown, and loosens the tape securing the tube to your nose. You raise your hand and give the top of your nose a little scratch, the tape itching your skin. He then turns off the suction, and disconnects the tube from the syringe. He pinches the tube near your nostril, and tells you to relax as he pulls it out. You close your eyes as he does, not wanting to see a four-foot tube come out of your nose. You wince as it all comes out, and gag a bit when you can feel it hit your throat. You stick your tongue out in disgust, and cough a bit to rid yourself of the remaining taste. Nat, Wanda, and Steve smile in amusement.

“Well that wasn’t nasty at all,” you comment as Dr. Markson cleans the end of your nose. He disposes the tube, removes his gloves, and washes his hands again. You get used to having a clear nose, and repeatedly rub the end of it to try to settle it back to normal.

“The irritation will wear off well within a few minutes,” Dr. Markson assures you. “Your nasal cavity should feel fine after that.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, now tapping the side of your nose to get rid of the feeling that the tube is still in there. For now, you breathe in and out evenly, trusting your body to get rid of the leftover irritation.

“I’ll go bring you your food now,” Dr. Markson says.

“Okay.”

He leaves the room to go to the cafeteria, leaving you under the watchful eye that is Steve Rogers. Natasha and Wanda have already settled down, and are just grateful that you’re still there with them. Steve, however, gives you a stern look.

“Why would you do that, _______?” he asks. Straight to the point. Might as well lay it out in the open again.

“Because I wanted to,” you sigh, getting sick of repeating yourself. “I got offered a solo assignment and I took it because I wanted it. I knew the risks involved and I was successful in taking down multiple criminals in the process. The civilians got out unharmed, as well did agent Knox, along with myself. Yes, I was shot in the leg, but I’m fine now, Steve. And I don’t wanna keep repeating myself a thousand times. I already got read the riot act by Tony.”

Steve sighs and wipes his hands down his face. Leaning against the glass, he gives you an amused look and crosses his arms. Even he can’t be mad at you.

“Look, _______,” he starts. You know this is the beginning of a lecture. “I admire you for wanting to go out on your own and do missions by yourself. But next time, let us know, okay? That way we won’t have a row when you come home bloody and unconscious.”

“I will,” you agree. “But you better not think about stopping me if I want to go. No matter how dangerous it is, I’ll make the decision myself if I want to go or not. Missions from S.H.I.E.L.D. seem shoddy enough with everything they didn’t tell me, so I’m keeping my eye out for that.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve smiles. Just then, Dr. Markson arrives with a tray of typical hospital food for you: jello, milk, and pudding. You raise a brow, but otherwise say nothing. It’s simple enough to eat after having the feeding tube removed. And you’d like to keep it that way.

“We’ll work our way up until you can eat larger portions,” Dr. Markson says as he notices your reaction. “For now, you’ll be eating puréed foods and small meals until further notice. In your case, it shouldn’t last for more than two days.”

“Fantastic,” you retort, picking up your spoon. You decide to eat the pudding first. The jello has more taste to it, plus it’s fun to eat. You’d prefer water over milk, but getting protein is important too. You wiggle your feet as you eat, smiling widely as you get to eat something real since your little accident. Your small moment of peace is only slightly ruined when you see Sam coming down the stairs. You swallow what you chewed and shamefully look down at the bed as he walks in.

He’s a mix of disappointment and relief. He can’t believe everything that transpired within a week since your return home. He’s glad, of course, that you made it out alright. But he’s going to lecture to you too before he gets to that.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” he says, shaking his head at you. “A late night fast food run doesn’t take four hours, _______. Then you don’t bother to tell me anything between the time that your mission was finished and the drive back to the compound. Not one phone call telling me that hey, you got shot in the leg and need the surgeons to be ready, or that the mission was for S.H.I.E.L.D.? You really scared me.” He grips the foot of your bed and heaves a sigh through his nose.

“I didn’t really lie,” you defend quietly. “I got you your food.”

“That’s not the point, _______,” he snaps back. “You lied to me about where you were going. At first I thought I’d go out looking for you when two hours went by. But I thought ‘nah it’s cool she can handle herself’. Meanwhile you’re getting shot in the leg and almost dying.”

Now you feel really guilty. Sam was the one to come find you bloodied and beaten, on the verge of death. It makes sense that he’d be the most guilt-ridden about not going after you when he should have. You stare at your tray of food in humiliation for making him this upset.

“Sam, I’m–“

“However,” he cuts in, raising his head with a toothy grin on his face. “It was pretty awesome to see you give two grown men a well-deserved beating. It was kickass to see you like that, Spyro.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile, and soon you’re giggling from how impressed Sam looks with you.

This is how it should be.

“I mean, at first I was a little worried while I watched the surveillance video,” he admits, taking a seat in a rolly stool. “I could tell that you hadn’t done a mission before where you had to flirt your way in.”

“Hey!” you laugh.

“What? You’d honestly rather die than play it up with the likes of someone like him.”

“Yeah, I would have. But I did the best I could.”

“The best you c– Listen, Spyro. I got nothin’ against ya, but seeing you try to flirt was about as impressive as a dog standing on its hind legs.”

You cross your arms and pout, but you can’t really make a comeback because he’s right. Your game is so weak; Wanda would probably have done a better job. In fact, she’d probably make it out of there without as so much as a bruise. You shake your head. What’s done is done, and thinking about how everyone else would do it won’t get you anywhere. It’ll only generate envy and contempt towards your teammates. And no one needs that.

Sam keeps talking about how he reacted while he watched the video, and even goes as far as bringing it up on screen to show you. You cover your eyes and shake your head, not wanting to see how badly you embarrassed yourself. But you watch it anyway, with Wanda, Nat, and Steve in the room. Steve manages to get a few laughs in; you do as well, but your heart skips a beat when Vision comes strolling in from the ceiling.

“Vision!” you yell, a hand over your chest.

He stands off to the side once he’s finished his dramatic entrance, giving you a head nod in greeting.

“Miss _______.”

“Vis,” Wanda says. “You gotta stop doing that.”

He looks back at her, then to you, then to everyone else in the room. He recognizes his troublesome habit and addresses it.

“I apologize,” he says. “I was not quite aware of where I would end up.”

“Just… stick to doors, Vision,” you tell him.

“Understood.”

You smile at each other before Sam rewinds the whole video and begins it again. However, one minute into the footage, another guest makes their appearance.

“I look away for two seconds and suddenly there’s a party?”

Your shoulders slump and a playful smile creeps onto your face. The whole atmosphere of the room seems to change from hearty laughter to a teasing exasperation. Steve is always the most expressive when Tony walks into a room. His smile could fall completely, turn serious, or could even throw a few wise cracks around. This time, since everyone is in the med lab solely for you, Steve’s good-natured humour remains, and welcomes Tony in.

“Doesn’t seem fair when you don’t get first glance, does it?”

“Well I already got first glance, first talk, and first lecture. So I beat you there, Cap.”

“Sure did.”

“So what’re we doing?” He turns to the side and sees the footage of your mission. “Oh. This is always a good watch. We starting from the beginning? You sure you know how to work that, Wilson?”

“I got it.”

Sam, once again, starts the video from the very beginning, and everyone settles in to watch it as Dr. Markson observes from afar. They all give their own commentary, along with snarky tips from Tony. You eat your pudding and jello, and almost snort out your milk when someone says something too funny. There’s definitely enough banter to go around, and plenty of embarrassing moments for everyone (Tony) to use against you for shits and giggles. Having everyone here with you is great and all, but there’s still one person missing.

Bucky.

You know you can’t ask where he is out-loud without ruining the mood. And if you do, Wanda might give you another look that makes it seem like she knows something you don’t. And you feel like Steve would give you a similar look; or maybe a soft smile. He’s good at those. For now, you keep your mouth shut and let your friends make fun of you while you silently ponder where he is.

It’s as if a portal opened up out of nowhere. When Bucky came out of his room from having a nap, everyone had disappeared. The kitchen, living room, training room; they were all empty. he ran his metal hand through his hair and wondered where they would all go. Granted, he didn’t really care; he enjoyed the peace from time to time. But this was just weird. As he keeps wandering around, F.R.I.D.A.Y. takes note of his confusion and enlightens him.

“The team has gathered in medical laboratory, Mr. Barnes,” the A.I. announces. “They are visiting miss _______ as she is awake.” Bucky looks up at the ceiling, and all around, wondering where the hell Tony installed this thing. He taps his fingers on the counter, nodding his head. He pulls the corner of his mouth, wondering if he should go down. If he does, he absolutely knows he’s going to break up the party. The giant elephant in the room, though there’s not even a problem. He’s still new to people actually being nice to him and not trying to blow his brains out or slit his throat.

Biting his bottom lip, he looks down the hallway to the stairs. He’ll go and have a quick look. If it’s too crowded for his liking, or if he feels he’s unwanted, then he’ll go straight back up the stairs and to his room. Without having an argument with himself, he struts down the hallway and finds his way downstairs to the med lab. Having only been there once, he remembers the way. When he reaches the door that leads to the basement, he creeps along the wall, and peeks through the glass window. The only thing he sees are the glass stairs leading down to the laboratory. He grabs the doorknob, and quietly opens the door, listening in.

“No no no. You see. You should’ve torn a part of your dress to wrap around their faces.”

“You honestly think I’d have the time for that, Nat?”

“I’d say you had a sufficient amount of time, since you were dilly dallying around while talking to that guy.”

“Oh give me a break, Sam. Why don’t you try wearing a dress and try to discreetly rip it while talking to a guy that has a face that looks like someone tossed it in a blender?”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Oh ho ho. I do not need the sass on that from you, Tony. You gave me enough.”

“She’s right, Tony. What she needs is reform. And flirting lessons.”

“Steve. Honestly.”

“I agree.”

“Not you too, Wanda!”

“I’m sorry, _______. But I’ve seen better flirting from animals biting each other.”

“Now now, everyone. Miss _______ has been through quite enough. She does not need any further insults being directed at her.”

“Thank you, Vision.”

“However, if I may make one suggestion–“

“You may not!”

Everyone erupts in laughter as your face contorts to a mixture of frustration and amusement. But even you can’t stop laughing. You’re kind of lucky that you got shot in the leg and not the abdomen; otherwise you probably wouldn’t be able to laugh like you are right now.

Bucky’s mouth is in a tight line by the time everybody is laughing. He quietly closes the door and sighs. He knows, he knows he wouldn’t be able to walk in there without having at least one or two faces fall upon his arrival. And since he’s made the decision to go back upstairs, he won’t have to see it. But it’s good to hear that you seem to be doing okay.

He returns to his room, firmly closing the door shut and flopping on his bed. His brow furrows as he stares at the ceiling. He wonders if he should pay you a visit later, when the team has left and won’t notice him skipping back down to you. It’s only one in the afternoon. Should he wait a few more hours, or until nighttime when everyone is in bed? But then there’s the most important factor: you. Would you be asleep? Bucky knows you need your rest; you got shot in the leg for Christ sakes. He’d want some peaceful rest too. But you seem like a night owl to him. Maybe it’d be okay?

He shakes his head when too many thoughts come crashing together at once. He reaches under his bed and pulls out the iPod you gave him with the most popular hits over the past few decades. He hasn’t stopped listening to the playlist since you gave it to him. It was a nice gesture on your part, but he didn’t realize how much he’d actually appreciate it. Hearing songs from his childhood (from the fragments he can remember) to his teens and adulthood was a godsend. And even though his mind was constantly played with and erased, the melody of the song and the lyrics would strike a cord in him, old memories and emotions surfacing. Some nights he would let a few tears slip out because it felt so familiar to him, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moments in his life where a song would make him feel so emotional. And he hates it. But, in all honesty, the power of the song overcomes his hatred no problem. Even more so, because you did it because you wanted to. You didn’t want anything out of it; you just wanted to help him.

With an affirmative grunt, he’s made a decision. He would go visit you later that night, where he could speak to you in private. For now, he’ll attempt to have another dreamless sleep.

Back downstairs, the team has settled down some after getting their teasing out of the way. You’re still wiping away a few tears because you were laughing so hard. Tony has since closed the surveillance video, since he got his mocking words of praise out of his system. You managed to finish your meal, and set your tray aside to enjoy the company of your friends.

“Okay okay okay,” Steve starts. “In all seriousness, I’m proud of _______ for taking things into her own hands. She fought well, thought on her feet, and got a few arrests under her belt.”

“Oh my god, Steeeeve,” you whimper, covering your face in your hands. You cannot take him seriously sometimes. His puppy dog behaviour and big dad smile makes your heart melt every time.

“Hey, I’m just laying down the truth for ya,” he says, smiling widely. “I’d say we give you a couple cheers for your hard work.”

There’s a few groans, which only makes Steve laugh and egg them on.

“Come on, guys. You know she deserves it. We don’t have any drinks, but I think a few congratulations are in order.”

You just shake your head and grab your milk carton, raising it up in the air. Steve claps a hand on your shoulder, and squeezes.

“Congratulations on your first successful solo mission, _______.”

There’s a chorus of “congrats” and “good job”s. You happily sip on your milk, your cheeks turning pink from slight embarrassment. You look up at the ceiling when F.R.I.D.A.Y. joins in on the conversation.

“Miss _______, you are receiving a Skype call from Maeve.”

Your stomach drops, and your smile disappears. You’ve done a decent job at keeping Maeve up-to-date on things going on in the compound, with yourself, and everyone else. It’s been a week, and you haven’t had the chance to call her. She’s probably freaking out right about now.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself. The thought of Maeve letting you have it is more terrifying than getting shot in the leg. Your heart beats uncomfortably fast and hot in your chest.

“You alright, kid?” Tony asks.

“Yeah,” you wave him off. “I just… I haven’t spoken to her in a week because of me being here. She doesn’t know what’s been going on.”

“Would you like some privacy?” Steve asks.

“Ye–Actually, no,” you reply after giving it a quick thought. “No. You guys can stay. I think she’d like it. Take her attention away from being mad at me.”

The team looks at each other, but you pay them no mind. Maeve is the only one who knows about you being here; everyone else, including your family, has no idea what you’ve been doing. And you’d like to keep it that way.

“Miss _______. Shall I accept the call?”

“Everyone get over here,” you say first, waving your arms. “Come on, come on!” The team does as they’re told, and surround your bed. Once you think everyone is in the picture, you tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to accept the call.

“On screen, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

“Skype call on screen.”

When the call is accepted, all you see is the empty living room of your shared apartment with Maeve. You cock your head to the side, wondering if the screen is frozen.

“Maeve?” you call out.

“Oh! Look who finally decided to pick up the phone!” she yells from the kitchen. “I can’t believe you! You know I was actually worried, right? I thought huh, maybe she just wants some time to herself, or she’s on a really long mission. But a week, _______? Really? And not a single update?”

“Uh, Maeve–“

“And don’t even get me started on the fact that you haven’t sent me any SnapChat updates! Absolutely nothing! No workout rooms, no briefings, not even goddamn food! Did you get hit in the head again?”

“Meave–“

“I bet you did. And that’s why you haven’t been showing me those glorious pe–“

She stops herself when she finally comes into view and sees just who she’s been talking to. You give her a bashful smile and a little wave.

“Surpriiiiise!”

You’ve never seen Maeve so awestruck before. Her mouth is gaping open, she’s frozen in place, and she keeps moving her eyes left and right, but not her head. You’re a little awestruck yourself.

“Maeve? Maeve?”

“_-_______?” she stammers, walking closer to her laptop. She sits down and sets the computer in her lap. There’s a long moment of awkward silence, with you expecting more of a reaction, while everyone else is confused. Maeve covers her mouth with one hand, and finally speaks again.

“You’re… you’re in a hospital bed. What the hell happened? Is this why I haven’t heard from you?”

You’re honestly sort of surprised she’s not freaking out more about seeing The Avengers, but you guess you’re her priority right now.

“Uh, y-yeah. I got shot in the leg and–“

“You got shot in the leg?!” she screams. “Holy shit, _______! How did that happen?”

“I went on a mission alone,” you answer, taking it slow. “The mission was a success, but I got shot in the leg in the process. And I sorta… I was unconscious for a week because of some alcohol and morphine problems, but I’m okay now! I can’t walk by myself for a while, but it’s all good.”

She snorts and makes a bunch of incoherent noises, shaking the laptop screen.

“All good? All good?!” she yells, exasperated. “You’re in a hospital bed, _______! You got shot in the leg and you’re in a hospital bed surrounded by every… one.” She’s just realizing now that not only is she speaking to you, but also Sam, Steve, Tony, Wanda, Natasha, and Vision. She stops rambling and gives a wave to the camera.

“Uhhh. Hi! I-I’m Maeve.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Steve smiles. “Well. On screen, anyway.”

“Y-Yeah, same here!” she squeaks. Now she’s getting excited. Her eyes flit all over the place, smiling more and more at each face she sees.

“I’m just–wow. It’s so awesome to see everyone like this. Well, not like this this, because _______ is confined to a bed and all. You know what I mean. Just… wOW. I can’t believe this! _______, I’m really happy that you’re okay. And I’m sorry for yelling. I just–“

“Don’t even worry about it,” you interrupt, holding up your hand. “You can have your moment.”

Sitting back, you let Maeve talk to the team. Tony is a little adamant about it because he doesn’t really like outsiders prying into the compound and The Avengers’ business, but since it’s your personal friend, he’s not being as stubborn about it. The conversations go on for well over an hour, and you can’t believe it. It almost feels kind of nostalgic, the whole situation reminding you of when you would get together with your friends and talk the night away. Sharing stories, gossiping, and just plain enjoying each other’s presence. It’s a nice reminder to make you relax and be thankful for what you have.

“And man, you would not believe the pictures she takes,” Maeve continues, making you blush.

“Stop bragging about me already,” you complain, rubbing your forehead.

“Please, do,” Tony adds, giving you a smirk.

“Shut up, you,” you snap back.

“I hate to break up this reunion,” Dr. Markson speaks up, after remaining silent the entire time. “But _______ is going to need a lot of rest tonight. Tomorrow she starts her rehabilitation lessons, and I would advise that she be well rested to be prepared for it.”

There’s a loud chorus of “aww”s from everyone, though Tony’s is more sarcastic than anything. Though he did enjoy this little get-together, the doctor is right. You need your rest.

“Okay, everyone,” he announces. “Time to wrap it up. Let’s go.”

Wanda and Natasha come over to give you a hug, Sam gives you a firm handshake and a back clap. Vision nods his head, Tony waves, and Steve gives you a kiss to your temple before they all file out. You wave enthusiastically, and laugh when Maeve gives them all a giant goodbye. She gives you a pouty smile when it’s her turn to bid you farewell.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” you tell her. “After I do my therapy. Hopefully I don’t fall down the stairs.”

“Knowing you, you probably will,” she chuckles. She smiles sadly, and rests her cheek on her knee. “I hope you get better soon, _______.”

“Mm. So do I,” you agree. “Slán go fóill.”

Bye for now.

“Slán go fóill, mo chara.”

By for now, my friend.

She ends the Skype call, and then you’re surrounded by silence again. Dr. Markson fills out a few papers, and you have nothing better to do. You’ll be confined to your bed until tomorrow, but you’ll be damned if you go to sleep again. You’re too awake to do that. You see a remote sitting on one of the desks. Might as well ask.

“Dr. Markson?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I get TV in this room?”

“Of course.”

He turns around in his chair, grabs the remote, and shows you how to use it, since it’s Tony’s technology. And even some of that you don’t understand. He shows you the basics, the TV being projected on the glass wall in front of you. A regular TV would do you just fine instead of having so many projections coming on at once. After fiddling around with it for a few minutes, you settle for a movie that’s half an hour in. You sit back and relax, but you feel something funny going on in your stomach. You lift the sheets, looking at your lower half.

“Um,” you start, not knowing how you should say this. “Can I… go to the bathroom? Or is that being taken care of?”

“Hmm? Oh,” he smiles. “Yes. A Foley catheter has been draining your bladder since your accident. I’ll take that out tomorrow as well, before your rehab session.”

You nod your head and put the sheets back down. Having your insides being taken care of isn’t all that bad. Especially this; you don’t know how well you’d fair trying to walk to the bathroom to do your business, let alone trying to sit down. A blessing in disguise.

Reclining your bed to a good TV watching position, you keep the remote by your side, remaining still and silent when Dr. Markson does a few check-ups on you. You can’t really complain; he and his team saved your life, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut until someone asks you something. For now, you sit back and watch your movie.

Back upstairs, everyone goes to their own separate spaces, but Steve immediately goes to see Bucky in his room. He looks behind him to see if anyone else is coming. When there isn’t, he knocks on the door.

“Buck? It’s me.”

When he doesn’t hear an answer, he knocks again, only louder.

“Buck? You in there?”

He hesitantly opens the door, peeking inside. He sees Bucky sitting cross-legged on his bed, back hunched over, earbuds firmly in place. Steve opens the door wider and smiles, leaning against the doorframe. Steve slaps his hand on the wall a few times. Bucky jumps and tears the earbuds out and looks behind him.

“Steve,” he half laughs, half scowls. “Don’t do that.”

“Hey well, I tried knocking,” Steve counters. “You didn’t hear me.”

“Guess not.”

Steve looks down at the iPod in Bucky’s hands, staring curiously at it. Bucky takes notice and holds it up.

“iPod,” he says, turning it in his hands. “Plays music.”

“I know,” Steve says. “Better than the radio, isn’t it?”

“Leaps and bounds better, I’d say.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“_______ gave it to me.”

“Ohhhhh.”

Bucky tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at Steve. He knows that kind of “oh”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’,” he says. “Just nice to hear that she’s getting you invested in the latest technology too. I’ve had my share, now it’s your turn.”

“I guess,” Bucky sighs. “This is it for now.”

As Bucky scrolls through the songs again, Steve crosses his arms and observes his best friend. He seems really invested in his new iPod; it must be why he stays in his room for so long, only coming out to get food or to train. This image of Bucky not being afraid of technology warms Steve’s heart. A baby step for Bucky, but it’s a step nonetheless.

“We missed you down there,” Steve says. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I didn’t want to make the room come to a complete stop with me in there,” Bucky explains, leaning against the wall.

“No you wouldn’t, Buck,” Steve retorts. “_______ would’ve loved to see you there with everyone. And so would I.”

“I dunno, Steve,” he shrugs. “I’m not quite there yet.”

Steve sighs, knowing as well as Bucky that he’s right. Even though he’s been here for a little while now, he hasn’t gotten into the groove of things. Tony and Sam put him on edge, and he doesn’t want to risk anything else horrible happening while he’s thrown into the mix.

“Okay,” Steve says softly, halfway out the door. “Will you see her sometime, then? For her? I’m sure she’d appreciate it, and love to hear about how much you’re loving your gift. Maybe even keep her company for a while until she gets back on her own two feet.”

Bucky looks up at him and is about to protest, but he just pulls his mouth to the side. He was going visit you anyway, but he might as well let Steve know. He’s asking, anyhow. Playing babysitter doesn’t exactly sound that exciting to him, but someone’s got to look after you when everyone else is away on a mission. Who knows. Maybe he’ll enjoy it. Finally, he nods firmly, then plugs his earbuds back in. Steve takes that as his sign to leave. He closes the door softly, smiling to himself. He decides to go to the kitchen to make himself some victory lunch, silently wishing Bucky the best.

When seven o’clock rolls around, you’re told that it’s dinnertime, and then bedtime right after. You’re tempted to keep watching TV until your show is over, but you’re not in the mood to hear parent-like remarks coming from the medical staff. Sighing in defeat, you turn off the projection and put the remote down on the desk beside you. Reclining the bed to a comfortable eating position, you accept the dinner tray and start eating your mashed potatoes and cream corn.

Once you’re finished, you give the tray back to one of the nurses and put your bed back into a horizontal position. Yawning, you rub your eyes and shift a little farther down your bed, careful not to disturb your wounded leg. It’s been quite interesting, sleeping on your back. And when you say “interesting”, you mean shitty. No amount of turning your head from side to side is going to save you from the hell that is complete horizontal positioning. With no other choice than to just endure it, you close your eyes and idly wave goodbye to Dr. Markson as he takes his leave.

“Rehabilitation will be at eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he says, halfway out the door. “Be ready.”

“Mm. I will,” you reply sleepily.

“Goodnight, _______.”

“Night.”

Dr. Markson dims the lights as he turns down a hallway and out of sight. If anything should happen to you during the night, they have 24/7 surveillance and alarm systems to warn them if anything serious is going on. You’re in the safest place in all of Los Angeles, and all of the Avengers are above you, if needed. Most likely not, but it’s a soothing thought. After several shifting attempts, you manage to fall asleep on your left side within the hour.

Around nine o’clock, Bucky decided to pay you a visit without being noticed, clad in his sweat pants and white tank top. But when he got downstairs, you were already asleep. He debated whether or not to stay, since he didn’t want to disturb you. However, he pulled up a chair beside you anyway, and silently watched you sleep peacefully.

That was an hour ago. Now, you’re twitching more in your sleep, your brows furrow in frustration, and your lip quivers. You’re sweating hotly, and grasp the sheets in despair. Your harmless dream has turned into a haunting nightmare, and your body is reacting accordingly. Bucky watches on, knowing that countless times he’s slept like this: fearful and aggravated. He always woke up in a cold sweat, dazed and confused about where he was. From time to time he’d get lucky and dream a dreamless sleep, but those were rare occasions. There’s too many horrors in his mind to poke and prod at him when he’s supposed to feel safe.

In your dream, you’re at club Death Row, with Marko Snyders standing over you. He had already shot and killed agent Knox. Your ears are ringing from explosions outside the club, and from hitting your head on the floor. Your vision is hazy, your body weak, your mind frail and vulnerable. Everything seems to move in slow motion; from Marko waving his gun, to the two bodyguards leaving with agent Knox’s body. You start seeing double, and the club glows red. You reach your arm out for agent Knox, and Marko laughs in your face.

“Sorry, darlin’. You ain’t gettin’ out of this one.”

He starts backing out of the club, and holds up your lighter, lighting a flame. You try to scream, but no noise comes out. Trying to stand won’t work either; your body is firmly planted to the floor. Just as Marko is at the door, he drops your lighter and the whole room goes up in flames. You keep opening your mouth to call for help, but it’s just utter silence. You’re helpless as the fire catches you, engulfing you and the club in a roaring fire.

Your body reacts terribly to this, as you cry yourself awake, and jolt upright. You cry out in pain from stretching your leg too quickly. You hunch over and hold it delicately, breathing hardly. Looking up, you take a moment to remember where you are. Bucky remains in his seat, but is ready to take action if need be. You put a hand over your chest, and breathe deeply to calm yourself down. Something feels off, so you look to your left.

“B-Bucky?” you stammer.

“Hi, _______,” he says calmly. “You alright?”

Your gaze moves from the floor, to the walls, and ceiling. Then you look down at the hospital bed, your gown, and the electrodes attached to your chest.

Right. I’m in the compound. Recovering. I’m alive.

Coming back to earth, you take deep breaths as you gently rub your temples. Bucky leans his elbows on his knees, holding his hands. You wipe the tears from your face, and lay back against your bed again. Having Bucky witness you crying yourself awake from a nightmare isn’t anything less than embarrassing. Though you suppose it’s alright; he’s probably woken up in a similar fashion before. He could empathize. After calming down from your breakdown, you turn your head to face him.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

“Hi,” he replies.

You look at the time on the wall to your right, then back to Bucky.

“What’re you doing down here so late?”

He clears his throat and avoids eye contact with you for a moment. It’s a little strange to visit you while you’re asleep, but he wanted to visit you alone. Without the judgmental eyes of certain people. Seeing as you clearly already know the answer to your question, he answers truthfully.

“I came to visit you.”

You smile softly, but it turns into a full-on grin the more you look at him. He smiles back and turns to the floor, licking his lips apprehensively.

“Thanks,” you speak up, saving him the embarrassment at the fact that he came so late. “Better late than never, right?”

“Better late than never,” he agrees, smiling shyly. He eyes all of the medical equipment that’s keeping you alive at the moment. You tilt your head to the side as he does so. You look at the machines with him, then down at yourself. You huff a laugh.

“Y’know,” you start, regaining his attention. “I’ve never had to stay in a hospital bed this long before. I mean. Yeah, I had to sit on one for when I broke my ankle and fainted after giving blood but… this sets a new record.”

Bucky shakes his head, but a small smile curves at his lips. You’re so different from everyone else; so carefree and titillating. You say strange things at times, just like now, and he finds it extremely amusing, but also a little weird. But hey, aren’t they all?

You laugh at his reaction and continue on.

“All these things,” you say, gesturing to the machines in the room. “I’ve never had this many things attached to me. I had a feeding tube in me not too long ago. It was so nasty when the doctor took it out. I could feel it coming out of my stomach and up my throat. I gagged so hard. I’ve never been so grossed out. But I still got my IV tube, though. Gotta get those sugars and nutrients. Ummm. I had a blood transfusion, and a Foley catheter is emptying my bladder for me. Pretty convenient, if you ask me. Saves me the trip to the bathroom. Theeee microwavable dinners aren’t too bad, but man. What I would do for some of Wanda’s chicken paprikash right about now.”

Bucky nods along the whole time, not daring to interrupt you. Listening to you drag on about the pros and cons of hospital care keeps a tender smile on his face. Your enthusiasm is infectious, and he’s definitely caught it. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t not stop smiling. You sigh at the end of your rant, and he takes that as his turn to speak.

“So how’ve you been, other than what you just said?”

“You mean about getting shot in the leg?”

“…More or less.”

You shrug indifferently. Peeling back the sheets and pulling up your gown, you show him the giant gauze wrapped securely around your thigh. You pat the skin above it, and cautiously move your leg around as you explain.

“Firstly, and I think this goes without saying, that getting shot at is terrifying.” You look at him, and he nods in agreement. Smacking your lips together, you play with your gown as you share your experience with him. “I don’t think it helped my cause that I drank so much. The nerves were getting the better of me and I just needed to relax. I don't know if this is true, but I bet it was a factor that because I drank so much, I was a little slow on things. At least for my mobility and reaction time. Anyway. I managed to get the target to me, and kept him talking and distracted, long enough for me to almost get him out of there. Almost. I don’t know how, but he knew that I was there for him. He put a gun to my back, and my dumbass didn’t bring one because I thought I wouldn’t need it. Rookie mistake there. Nearly got blown to bits if that other agent wasn’t in there with me.”

You pause to stretch your neck and sigh tiredly. Bucky thinks him being here is keeping you awake from the rest you need, and asks if you want him to go.

“No, no,” you say, shaking your hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t really talk to any of them about this. They just watched the video.”

“Video?”

“Yeah. Coulson had surveillance cameras in the place. Didn’t bother to tell me about them.”

“Would it… would it be easier for you if I watched it instead?”

“Probably, but. I feel like if I don’t talk about it now, then I won’t get another chance. It’ll be pent up inside me, and I’ve done that way too often to know how much it hurts not to say anything.”

Bucky thins his mouth into a tight line, knowing exactly what you’re talking about. He never wants to talk about anything that he’s been through. Past, present; it doesn’t matter. The only willing person to listen is Steve, and even then he can’t bring himself to tell him anything. Being his best friend, he thought he’d be able to. But the horrors he’s done and been through are terrifying and ugly enough to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t want anyone else to go through what he did, and talking about it is only going to include people in his fears and repulsion. So he’s not going to open up any time soon.

“Okay,” he finally says. He pulls his chair a little closer and leans in, willing to listen.

“Thanks,” you mumble. You get back on track, digging your fingernails into each other. “Sooo. Yeah. The second agent. Didn’t tell me that either. Though it was deemed a solo mission, I was hoping there’d be at least one other person on the inside to guide me. Um.” You rub your forehead, trying to remember exactly what happened. It was seven days ago, and being hyped up on morphine and alcohol at the time isn’t the best combination. Especially when it comes to remembering things. Even though you watched the video with the team a hundred times just a few hours ago, your mind is still a little hazy.

“You know what. I’ll just show you this part instead. I can’t quite remember the details.”

You tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to pull up the video again, and play it from the part that agent Knox holds a gun to the back of Marko’s head. Nodding in remembrance, you talk over the video to give Bucky the run down about what went on in your head.

“Having a gun pressed against my back isn’t the most pleasant thing in the world,” you say, eyes fixed on the screen. “Honestly, I almost started crying because I was so scared. But agent Knox came in and helped me out. She took care of him while I had the heavy task of taking down two grown men. I didn’t think I’d be able to do that either, but I did. Surprisingly. Nat gave me gun lessons, and did some self-defence training, but I couldn’t remember all of it. I did what I did from what I could remember from YouTube videos I watched instead.”

He turns to you in confusion, having not heard that name before.

“It’s a uh, video-sharing website. I’ll tell ya about that later.”

He nods in understanding and turns back to the video like you do.

“Obviously, I had to act quickly. No time to think. Just do. I had guys the size of Steve to overthrow, and I didn’t think I’d make it. Seeing his gun scared the life out of me. And I’ve never been so high on adrenaline either. I guess it kinda kicked me in the ass to get myself moving and out of danger. All was well until–“

You stop to let Bucky hear the gunshot.

“I get shot in the leg. I didn’t really feel it at first. Kinda felt like something was weighing me down. Well, obviously, because I’m on the floor.” You wave yourself off and cross your arms as you watch the rest of it. “Everyone got a little tense while watching this part. They know I don’t die, but when they saw it for the first time… I felt kind of guilty for making them look so worried. But they got over it, because I took my opening and lit him up.”

Bucky’s eyes light up in surprise when he watches you set Marko’s arm and face on fire, then swiftly put yourself in front of agent Knox to protect her. You quickly pick up your lighter and surround Marko and his bodyguards with flames as agent Knox picks up the discarded gun and keeps them from moving also. The video ends when all the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents come filing in and make the arrests. You click your tongue as the video fades off the screen.

“Soooo yeah. That’s how my first solo mission went.”

“I think you did pretty well,” Bucky comments without missing a beat, now staring at the blank glass wall. “A good strategy, no hostages, no injured civilians. Despite the execution being a little sloppy, you came out alright, doll.”

You blink in surprise when he calls you that again. You could get used to it. He doesn’t seem to mind using it either; that, or he’s silently screaming inside for letting it slip out again. You don’t dwell on it though, and just let your cheeks and ears go bright red in embarrassment.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you say. “It really makes me feel better about myself when someone tells me I’m doing things right.”

“No problem,” he says, giving you a firm nod.

“Mm. But the story doesn’t stop there I’m afraid,” you scoff. “A gunshot wound doesn’t usually make you fall unconscious.”

“So, what happened?”

“Well. I told you I was drinking, right? Very bad move on my part. Getting shot didn’t help me at all. When all was said and done, I was going to go with some paramedics to get treated. But me, again, being a dumbass again, said ‘no, just get me the morphine and I’ll be on my way’.”

“And why’s that?”

You take a shaky breath, laughing a little as you scratch the back of your head and peek up at him.

“I had to make a McDonald’s run.”

That certainly earns you a reaction. His eyebrows raise, his eyes widen, and his mouth drops in utter astonishment. He cannot believe what you just said.

“A McDonald’s run,” he repeats. “You declined medical attention for a gunshot wound because you had to go to a fast food restaurant in the middle of the night?”

You nod.

“Are you serious?”

“Well I kinda lied to Sam about where I was going,” you explain. “So I said I was going there instead and I asked if he wanted anything. I had to go pick it up, Bucky. The man needed his nuggets.”

He sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. He gives you the side-eye, trying to look cross, but he just ends up laughing to himself and shaking his head.

“You sure are something,” he says, letting his hand fall in his lap.

“I’m getting a lot of that lately,” you say. “Though I take it as a compliment.”

“You should,” he jokes. After getting over his initial shock, he gets you back on track.

“So you got the nuggets and then what?” he questions. “You wanted to go for a late night swim, too?”

“No!” you laugh. “’Course not. I just didn’t want to come home empty handed, is all.”

“Riiight,” he nods. “Because having a bullet wedged in your thigh isn’t as important as four little nuggets in a box.”

“He wanted twenty nuggets, Bucky,” you tell him.

“Twenty?!” he damn near yells. “This guy wanted not four, not ten, but twenty chicken nuggets? Who the hell does he think he is? Either he’s stupid or greedy. I’m betting on both.”

“Oh come on,” you chide. “I’d want twenty nuggets as a late night snack too! Can you really blame him?”

“…Yes.”

You laugh out-loud at his response. This is probably the most Bucky has spoken to you in one sitting, other than the plane ride back from Wakanda. Before he would just grunt and have one-worded answers. But now he’s a chatterbox. It’s a great relief to see him in such a calm, blissful, chill mood. He must be having a good day.

“Okay, anywayyy,” you start, getting back to the story. “So I go with Coulson to McDonald’s and get Sam’s order then drive home. I was drugged with quite a lot of morphine I’d say, but I vaguely remember pushing myself out of the driver’s window to threaten the person working at the window to give me all the kid’s toys or I’d burn the place to the ground…”

Bucky stares at you blankly. You shrug.

“Yeah. So that was me. Then he dropped me off at the compound, I went upstairs, and everyone was yelling. Then I fell unconscious. Into you. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“’S no problem.”

He thinks about mentioning what you said to him before you passed out, about him helping you with the mission, but he keeps his mouth shut about it for now. He’ll ask about it later. Maybe.

“Still… Then the real problems began. Out cold for seven days, all because of a bullet? I don’t think so. Apparently, injecting morphine into an alcohol-stained system is very, very dangerous. The doctor told me that I could have fallen into a coma and died. Not exactly what anyone wants to hear, but luckily it didn’t happen. It must’ve been a mess, though, trying to stabilize me and treat my wound at the same time. But he and his team managed to do it. A week and a blood transfusion later, I’m here. Alive and well. For the most part. I got rehab tomorrow, so that should be fun.”

“Sounds like you had a hell of a time,” he comments, now staring at the gauze wrapped around your thigh. “I imagine the pain wasn’t what you were expecting, either.”

“I didn’t know what to expect, to be honest,” you reply. “I know that different sized bullets all have their own pain threshold. Like, a shotgun won’t give you the same amount of pain as a pistol or revolver. I got shot with a semi-automatic handgun, and it stung like a bitch. When I first woke up, the painkillers were doing their job pretty well, but whenever I move my leg I can still feel it. No more rigorous activity for me for a while.”

“And it looks like I’m your new playmate,” he remarks.

“What do you mean?”

“Well. Since you’re out of commission for the unforeseeable future, I’m the only one you’ve got to keep you company.”

“Ohhh.”

This is some of the best news you’ve heard all damn day. You don’t show your excitement, because you don’t want Bucky to see just how thrilled you are about it. Instead, you smile fondly.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you tell him.

“So is Steve,” he adds in.

“I imagine,” you agree. “He kept telling me that I need to have someone with me so I don’t get too lonely or whatever.”

“Sounds like him.”

You nod in agreement, leaning back in your bed and closing your eyes. You throw an arm over your face, and cough quietly, suddenly feeling boiling.

“Heh. Is it hot in here or is it just me?”

Sweat drips down your neck, your back, and down your legs. Waking up from your nightmare caused you to break out into a sweat, but you pushed it aside to talk to Bucky. Now that you’ve said what you wanted to say, your attention is back on your bodily problems.

Bucky watches you take short breaths, and kick the sheets away because you’re so uncomfortable. He looks at his metal hand, wondering if he should help you cool down. That’d be okay, right? He’s not going to hurt you, and that’s never going to be his intention when he uses his left arm. He purses his lips in anticipation, ready for you to smack him away. He slowly gets out of his chair, and hesitantly extends his metal arm over your head.

“_______, can you move your arm?”

You flop it down on the bed without saying a word. Bucky swallows nervously as he gently presses his palm against your forehead. You gasp at the contact, but sigh from how much better you feel.

“Oh god, that feels so much better,” you say, placing your hands on top of his. Shivers go down your spine the more you touch his arm. You keep your eyes closed so you don’t feel weird about manhandling his arm to cool down. Bucky can’t move without letting you go, and since you have your eyes closed, he takes this short time to look at you.

The way your hair sticks to your forehead and neck as you continue to sweat. Your chest rising and falling in short breaths. The shakiness of your fingers as you clutch his arm. The way your good leg twitches every so often, and how you bite your bottom lip from the occasional pain from your wound. He absentmindedly brushes his thumb along your forehead, and tilts his head to the side as he watches you calm down. When you’ve had your fill, you squeeze his hand and finally peek up at him.

“Thanks, for that,” you mumble, taking his hand away. “Though I imagine your hand’s all sweaty now.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, retracting his arm. “As long as you feel better.”

“Trust me, I am.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

You pull the blankets back up to your knees, and shift your body again until you’re in a comfortable position. You smile at him, happy that you got to be able to spend this time with him. Bucky stands up again as you fiddle with your fingers, taking that as his leave to go.

“Later, skater,” you call as he starts to leave.

“Goodnight, _______,” he returns, smiling. “Good luck with your rehab.”

“Thanks. See ya tomorrow, couch buddy.”

He nods as he walks out the door, making sure not to produce any additional noise as you try to find your way to sleep again.

E/A/N: I don’t know when I’ll post the next chapter, since I like to have several chapter finished in advance so I don’t have to rush anything. Chapter Twelve is done, and I’m just starting to write Chapter Thirteen. I have a few more plot ideas in mind, so all I have to do now is put it all into words 😂 Thank you to everyone that has stuck with me so far, and I hope you’ll be with me ‘til the end of the line ❤️

[rhiannedelacruzewc]

PUBLISHED WORKS

Novels:

The Edible Woman; McClelland & Stewart, 1969; Andre Deutsch, 1969; Atlantic Little-Brown, 1970.

Surfacing; McClelland & Stewart, 1972; Andre Deutsch, 1973; Simon & Schuster, 1973.

Lady Oracle; McClelland & Stewart, Simon & Schuster, Deutsch, 1976.

Life Before Man; McClelland & Stewart, 1979; Simon & Schuster, Cape, 1980.

Bodily Harm; McClelland & Stewart, 1981; Simon & Schuster, Cape, 1981.

The Handmaid’s Tale; McClelland & Stewart, Houghton Mifflin, 1985; Cape, 1985.

Cat’s Eye; McClelland & Stewart, 1988; Doubleday, 1989; Bloomsbury, 1989.

The Robber Bride; McClelland & Stewart, 1993; Bloomsbury, 1993; Doubleday, 1993.

Alias Grace; McClelland & Stewart, 1996; Bloomsbury, 1996; Doubleday, 1996.

The Blind Assassin; McClelland & Stewart, 2000; Bloomsbury, 2000; Doubleday, 2000.

Oryx and Crake; McClelland & Stewart, 2003; Bloomsbury, 2003; Doubleday, 2003.

The Penelopiad; Alfred A. Knopf Canada, 2005; Canongate, 2005.

The Year of the Flood; McClelland & Stewart, 2009; Bloomsbury, 2009; Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2009.

MaddAddam; McClelland & Stewart, 2013; Bloomsbury, 2013; Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2013.

The Heart Goes Last; McClelland & Stewart, 2015; Bloomsbury, 2015; Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2015.

Hag-Seed, (The Tempest revisited, Hogarth Shakespeare Project) Hogarth/Penguin/Random, 2016

Short Fiction:

Dancing Girls; McClelland & Stewart, S&S, 1977; Cape, 1979.

Murder in the Dark; Coach House Press, 1983.

Bluebeard’s Egg; McClelland & Stewart, 1983; Houghton Mifflin, 1985.

Wilderness Tips; McClelland & Stewart, 1991; Doubleday, 1991; Bloomsbury, 1991.

Good Bones; Coach House Press, 1992; Bloomsbury, 1992; Doubleday, 1994.

The Tent; McClelland & Stewart, 2006; Bloomsbury, 2006; Doubleday, 2006.

Moral Disorder; McClelland & Stewart, 2006; Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2006; Bloomsbury, 2006.

Stone Mattress: Nine Tales, McClelland & Stewart, 2014; Bloomsbury, 2014; Nan Talese / Doubleday, 2014

Children’s Books:

Up in the Tree; McClelland & Stewart, 1978.

Anna’s Pet (with Joyce Barkhouse); James Lorimer & Co., 1980.

For the Birds; Douglas & McIntyre, 1990.

Princess Prunella and the Purple Peanut; Key Porter, 1995; Workman Publishing, 1995.

Rude Ramsay and the Roaring Radishes; Key Porter, 2003; Bloomsbury, 2003.

Bashful Bob and Doleful Dorinda; Key Porter, 2004; Bloomsbury, 2004.

Up in the Tree (facsimile reprint); Groundwood Books, 2006.

Wandering Wenda and Widow Wallop’s Wunderground Washery; McArthur & Co., 2011.

Graphic Novels:

Angel Catbird, Dark Horse, 2016

Poetry:

The Circle Game; Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1964; Contact Press, 1966; Anansi, 1967.

The Animals in That Country; Oxford University Press, 1969; Atlantic Little-Brown, 1968.

The Journals of Susanna Moodie; Oxford, 1970 illus. by Margaret Atwood; illus. by Charlie Pachter, Macfarlane, Walter & Ross, 1997.

Procedures for Underground; Oxford, 1970; Atlantic Little-Brown, 1970.

Power Politics; Anansi, 1971; Harper & Row, 1973.

You Are Happy; Oxford, 1974; Harper & Row, 1975.

Selected Poems; Oxford, 1976; Simon & Schuster, 1978.

Selected Poems, 1965-1975; Houghton Mifflin, Oxford, 1976.

Two-Headed Poems; Oxford, 1978.

True Stories; Oxford, 1981.

Interlunar; Oxford, 1984.

Selected Poems II: Poems Selected and New, 1976-1986; Oxford, 1986; Houghton Mifflin, 1987.

Selected Poems 1966-1984; Oxford University Press, 1990.

Margaret Atwood Poems 1976-1986; Virago Press Limited, 1991.

Morning in the Burned House; McClelland & Stewart, 1995; Houghton Mifflin, 1995, Virago Press, 1995.

Eating Fire: Selected Poetry 1965-1995; Virago, 1998.

The Door; McClelland & Stewart, 2007; Houghton Mifflin 2007; Virago 2007.

Non-Fiction:

Survival: A Thematic Guide to Canadian Literature; Anansi, 1972. Reprinted 2012.

Days of the Rebels 1815-1840; Toronto, Natural Science of Canada, 1977.

Second Words: Selected Critical Prose; Anansi, 1982.

Strange Things: The Malevolent North in Canadian Literature; Oxford University Press, 1995.

Negotiating with the Dead: A Writer on Writing; Cambridge University Press, 2002.

Moving Targets: Writing with Intent 1982-2004; Anansi, 2004.

Curious Pursuits: Occasional Writing; Virago, 2005.

Writing with Intent: Essays, Reviews, Personal Prose 1983-2005; Carroll & Graf, 2005.

Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth; Anansi, 2008.

In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imagination; Signal/McClelland & Stewart, 2011; Virago, 2011; Nan A. Talese/Doubleday, 2011.

Small Press Editions:

Poetry:

Double Persephone; Hawkshead Press, 1961; pamphlet.

Kaleidoscopes Baroque: a poem; Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1965.

Talismans for Children; Crankbrook Academy of Art, 1965.

Speeches for Doctor Frankenstein; Cranbrook Academy of Art, 1966.

Marsh, Hawk; Dreadnaught, 1977.

Notes Towards a Poem that Can Never be Written; Salamader Press, 1981.

Snake Poems; Salamander Press, 1983.

Fiction:

Encounters with the Element Man; Concord, New Hampshire, Ewert, 1982.

Unearthing Suite; Grand Union Press, 1983.

Bottle; Hay Festival, 2004.

I Dream of Zenia with the Bright Red Teeth; The Walrus / Coach House Press, 2012.

Television Scripts:

“The Servant Girl”, CBC, 1974.

“Snowbird”, 1981.

“Heaven on Earth” (with Peter Pearson), 1986.

Radio Scripts:

“The Trumpets of Summer”, CBC Radio, 1964.

Recordings:

“The Poetry and Voice of Margaret Atwood”, Caedmon, 1977.

“Margaret Atwood reads from The Handmaid’s Tale”, Caedmon, 1985.

“Margaret Atwood reads Unearthing Suite”, American Audio Prose Library, 1985.

Rude Ramsay and the Roaring Radishes, Bloomsbury, 2006.

“Margaret Atwood reads from The Door”, Houghton Mifflin, 2007.

Edited:

The Best American Short Stories (with Shannon Ravenel); Houghton Mifflin, 1989.

The Canlit Foodbook; Totem Books (Collins Publishers), 1987.

The New Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in English; Oxford University Press, 1982.

The Oxford Book of Canadian Short Stories in English (with Robert Weaver); Oxford University Press, 1986.

The New Oxford Book of Canadian Short Stories in English (with Robert Weaver); Oxford University Press, 1995.

Theatre:

The Penelopiad – The Play; Produced by NAC / RSC; Script by Faber & Faber, 2007.

[trustafarian-theserialfiction]

“trustafarian” part 3: dans le maison February 12, 2016

Dan was lying on a mattress, staring at a ceiling.  It wasn’t really his mattress, and it wasn’t really his ceiling.  He’d spent four months before the holidays resting in beds, staring at ceilings. This was the worst bed, dirtier than the hostel and uncomfortable.  Dan was beginning to think it was just a boxspring.  It hadn’t even occurred to him someone might put a sheet on a boxspring. Apparently it was from the side of the road, and ‘probably’ didn’t have bedbugs because it’d been sunblasted on the balcony last summer before getting dumped in the guest room—and apparently most people were immune to bedbugs anyway.  Dan’d never seen a bedbug.   Jean-Paul had told him to pray, not haul in remotely suspect mattresses, and get some diatomaceous earth.  That last part sounded like hippie pseudo-science but Dan hadn’t asked his phone to check.  Jean-Paul’s shtick seemed more post-apunkalyptic than airy-fairy but it was Dan’s general impression that the two crossed paths with regularity, and he felt content to remain skeptical of any fringy-seeming scene.  It’d instantly become clear, when he saw the house, that this was a fringy scene. It might be a scene people disappeared into, never to be heard from again. He didn’t have sheets of his own yet but there was a space heater in the room and the blankets and stuff the room had come with didn’t smell violently gross.  The ceiling was clean, but unnerving—it was weirdly low, and composed of a series of corrugated plastic squares taped together and held into a non-flat something (insulation, maybe) with screws.  It was a really large room though, and had huge south-facing windows, overlooking Dundas West.  The surrounding neighbourhood was full of yellowy buildings covered in a dusty film, which extended across the roads as well, particularly at the corner with the sev and the deeply retro burger place.  Toronto seemed to have a weird time-warp quality that most of Victoria didn’t have—Vic was so small and new building was so restricted that most of town had already been revamped since any-given-era.  This whole strip the house was on was all weird in the same way—it all looked like place-setting shots from a late 70’s movie about near-urban New York or Chicago.  Further down the road was gentrified, it had some kind of cutesy neighbourhood name like everywhere else he’d been in Toronto.  Dundas went on forever, they were actually somewhere north of Bloor and High Park.  It took about an hour to walk into the core of downtown and Dundas was similarly commercial (and peculiar) all the way—more so at their end and then again where the road dipped down and ran parallel with Queen West.  It took 15 minutes to walk south to Bloor from the house and from there Dan had found his way onto the subway each time without paying, so it took about half an hour to get to anywhere in town, for free.  Toronto somehow felt smaller than Victoria, because it was more accessible, but also endless, because it was massive.  A metropolis.

Dan’s loaner room didn’t have any lights, but there was a desk lamp on the floor next to the bed, leading from the single outlet.  Dan originally plugged his laptop into this outlet, but he hadn’t opened it since arriving.  Heat was more important than being well-positioned to stop avoiding email; even though he’d now been asked several times how he’d ‘brought the West Coast Winter’ with him, it didn’t feel much like one in this room.  His things were in and mostly around his suitcase, which was open on the floor in front of the door.  He hadn’t used the door at all, because there was a bunch of sticker graffiti (hi my name is ABSRD, Hello I’m ZEROone, hi my name is…) around the edge that would be ruined if he opened it, and he’d been asked to use the ladder leading from his room through a raw hole in the ceiling, which meant that if he wanted to stand on the landing outside his door, he had to climb the ladder, double back above his room through the common room, take some excessively DIY stairs down, and skirt a bunch of stored junk down a narrow hall over to the east-facing door.  His room was on the second floor, the Northerly half of which, outside his room, was obviously the household’s random-drawer.  There was a suspension machine, a spearfishing gun was hanging on the wall, and looming at the top of a pile of dusty boxes at the back was a collection of fake tropical tree branches.  There was a cue-ball embedded in the wall, with a large pentagram drawn around it. There was one tiny dusty window and the light that came into the room had a sickly apricot tint.  That part of the house felt forgotten, or haunted. It’d made perfect sense to Dan after being shown above the first floor, that Jean-Paul’s apartment was on the first floor. Facing the street and leading from a separate entrance was a pottery studio that apparently got rented out by the hour from the owner of that unit.  There was a kiln room on the other side of the wall from Jean-Paul’s “bachelor suite”—the week Dan had moved in, he hadn’t needed a heater. Pre-valentine’s rush.  It was a weird proposition, this heap of a house with a commercially-zoned front-end condo thing stuck to it.  Jean-Paul had told him over coffee, behind the kiln room, that his friend was in charge of the building except the pottery place, which was owned by someone other than the owner of the rest of it. The owner of the part they lived in tenuously knew their resident “building manager,” Bruce, and more importantly, she was happier the freakier the residential portion became, because she wanted to buy out the tiny front part, reno, and sell the whole place.  Of course, no one living there wanted to scare away the pottery place, really, and it seemed a non-interference policy was in effect between the pottery people and the weirdos scuttling around, coming and going through the other door. Everyone in the residential portion seemed to be on different schedules, which made meetings in the kitchen unusual, at least as per Dan’s nearly continuous observation since landing on the shittiest bed.  He’d been timing his excursions to the world outside his room so well that he’d avoided running into anyone so far. But since just before six that morning Dan had been hearing people or a person on the floor above his room.  The sound wasn’t directly over his bed, because directly over his bed was a steep segment of scuffed half-pipe covered in junk. It was back by this room’s door, where the kitchen was on the next floor.  Who is it?  Jean-Paul introduced him to three of his friends the day he’d brought over his stuff, but only two were residents.  One was Bruce, and one was “Mouse,” who appeared to be a teen runaway.  Bruce had told him the house name was Maison Rokkoku, which maybe was an in-joke he was supposed to care about being invited in-on but didn’t.  It sounded like a euphemism for “crack den.”  The non-resident was Andre, some sort of 12-months-of-fairys-calendar-shirt-gothabilly/soft-grunge goddess who appeared to be dating Bruce, who didn’t appear to deserve such an SG caliber babe.  Apparently there were other permanent roommates, but so far they hadn’t made themselves visible between absences from the house. Dan was invisible himself, and he almost never left. Who seems like a morning person?  The cellphone—still, still, still in airplane mode—said 7:05.   Bruce was nice enough, Dan supposed, but as a massive chronic he was an unlikely candidate for early riser.  He was barely a candidate for easy rider. Possibly pretty Andre, making breakfast for herself, or a work lunch.  She was a barista some days and a bike courier others, she was hardly ever over and Dan wasn’t even sure she was Bruce’s girlfriend, except that she’d acted like she was when they met, like she existed in a universe that could be seen from his but didn’t occupy the same material plane, and everyone in that universe had decided it was impolite to stare.  He hadn’t interacted with her much when they met, but she was his bet out of the faces he knew to pin to the sounds of life upstairs.  The little one, Mouse, seemed like someone who might have an erratic sleep schedule, so he couldn’t be ruled out, but he hadn’t made much of an impression. Andre, however, he could picture easily, making some offensively fair-trade, super-foody, sprout-milk-based sorta-soylent before taking off on the obnoxiously pastel vintage racing bike she always locked out front.  Apparently she had an entirely different bike locked downtown for couriering, the ugly bike was just her “look” bike.  Dan had worked this out from seeing her with a regular looking bike and hearing half a conversation about how cheesed she was to be on delivery by the park when she had to go all the way to the dispatch office near the river on the other side of town right after that to get her paycheque.  She just seemed like the kind of person who was up cruelly early. Between 4:30 in the morning and about noon, the house could usually be relied on to display no sign that anyone but Dan lived there.  If it had been somewhere he wanted to live, at least that would have been something. This break in routine felt like a further loss.  His feeling that it was Andre complicated the tension.

[jasmineramosblog-blog]

Between Two Worlds

The author, Anais Granofsky, has suffered due to her various identities. In the article, “Between Two Worlds” Anais has mentioned her struggle throughout her life from having parents from different ethnicities, causing complications within the family. Anais also suffered from the guilt due to her different identities, she enjoyed living the wealthy lifestyle than being supported by welfare with her mother.

Anais’ mother, Jean Walker, was born in 1949, within a black family on a farm in Ohio. Jean had 14 siblings sharing a two bedroom house. There was never enough food or money to go around, but the family didn’t feel poor. Anais’ father is Stanley Granofsky, he was descended from Jews who’d fled the Russian pogroms at the beginning of the 20th century. Soon after, their relationship started to blossom. As a young adult, Jean was told that she had a blood condition that would prevent her from getting pregnant. As a result, she and Stanley thought they didn’t have to use protection and within a year, she was pregnant. Winter of 1972 is when the couple drove to Toronto to break the news to Stanley’s parents. Unfortunately, they did not accept their grandchild. They were baffled that their first grandchild was going to be a half-black American Methodist. Before Anais was even born, her grandparents disowned her, not wanting anything to do with Jean and Stanley. Anais’ parents were hard working to make ends meet. Due to the lack of guidance from their parents both Jean and Stanley, struggled to support themselves and a newly born baby. As a result of the pressure from Anais’ grandparents, Jean and Stanley weren’t able to bring happiness to the family. “Life at home wasn’t much better: my parents were exhausted, fighting endlessly over unpaid bills and dashed dreams. After about a year in Toronto, my dad returned to India.” Anais’ parents unfortunately divorced. The burden of having a perfect life was unimaginable. “When he split, my mother went on welfare. We couldn’t afford our meagre rent, so we moved into a crumbling rooming house...My mom and I slept on a mattress together. She wept through the night, stalked by fear and instability.” Without the support from either grandparent, the couple wasn’t able to financially provide causing problems and complications within the family.

A few years after, Shirley, Anais’ grandmother decided to re-bond her relationship with her granddaughter. Anais and her mother took the bus to Don Mills, where her grandmother picked her up in her salmon-coloured Cadillac. At first, Anais was uncomfortable being with her grandmother because she hasn't visited her in a long time. Eventually, she let her guard down to let her family in. Anais loved it at her grandparents’ house due to a large amount of fortune they received. This environment is a new experience for her. “My grandmother bought me new clothes that I would keep just for their place. Lace-trimmed dresses, pressed and folded. Shiny patent-leather Mary Jane shoes. I never told my mother about the new clothes. I could never admit how happy I felt away from the grinding pressure of her disappointments." Anais received gifts from her wealthy side of her family, making her feel as if she shouldn't tell her mother because of the guilt it brought her. “I felt guilty leaving my mother behind but always looked forward to my time with my bubbe. I quickly learned to shift who I was in each of these worlds.” It was as if she was two different people, living the double life. Anais’ mother was not as upscale as her grandparents. With her mother, she learned to keep her mother “emotionally afloat” to need nothing, not to burden her further.

In conclusion, Anais has suffered tremendously due to her many identities. From having parents from different ethnicities, causing complications within the family and the guilt she felt when living the double life with her mother and grandmother.

[flauntpage]

NBA Summer Vacation: Emotion of the Oceans

There is motion in the SVW ocean and by that I mean an awful lot of dudes are way out in the wild blue yonder this week. A few did it really well—I mean really well, like an impending humanitarian award is on the way well—and a couple should stick to spending the rest of their summers on the dry side, lest they wanna become completely washed in the annals of these hallowed, a-little-sticky-from-aloe-vera-sun-balm halls.

Marc Gasol

Marc Gasol, who just a week ago was keeping tabs on the organic garden he planted in his yard last summer vacation, was out in a dingy rescuing migrants stranded in the Mediterranean. There is no joke here. Marc Gasol spent the last week volunteering with the NGO Proactiva Open Arms and much of that was spent out in the open water recovering the bodies of migrants and helping to bring survivors safely to land. The NBA is a progressive league, it gets talked about a lot, but it is occasionally without due credit given to the players who make it that way.

Rating: Just Marc Gasol, absolutely doing the most.

JaVale McGee

A nice transition into our regularly scheduled tittering and trash talk on the way player’s choose to spend their offseason is JaVale McGee pretending to pick up his daughter’s play phone and totally tear a new one to the would-be caller on the other end.

Rating: 9021UH OH!

James Harden

What’s UP James Harden in a trashy, regular ass tank top, flipping the hang loose hand while laser strobe lights illuminate your face?! Turns out all it takes to set James Harden free is setting him loose on the shores of Ibiza with Real Madrid Captain Sergio Ramos and frankly it’s dumb of all of us that it took this long to figure out!

You’ll be happy my sleuthing skills have peeled back another layer in this euro-rave onion, specifically why is Harden wearing that top, because from Ramos’s own documenting of this night we can see they are not just at some regular party, they are at a FOAM PARTY.

Rating: The big buildup that lasts for close to three minutes before the beat drops and every whistle is blasting and the foam cannon is pilin’ up the suds around you like so many cloud castles in heaven.

Steph Curry

We cut live to Steph Curry now, jumping fully clothed off the top of a boat. While we are not here to judge all selfless actions this summer vacation we are certainly going to judge this one. He doesn’t have trunks? He’s got to do this in what appears to be like, athletic technology warm up pants that probably shrink wrap to your legs once you hit the water?

Rating: Oh (splash) brother.

Dwyane Wade

Wade is in China, and we can only hope it’s because he’s hot on the heels of the Mr. Hyde of SVW, China Klay. In any case, he’s paused on his hunt for a quick round of golf and I am not a fan nor knowledgeable of that sport but could they not get him a taller club?

Rating: Fore out of five.

Manu Ginóbili

Aside from being in Vancouver, this looks like a nice trip for Main Manu and the entire Ginóbili family. I like to think that he’s getting familiar with the places DeMar DeRozan once set foot in before coming to Toronto for the main event, so he will have some skin in the conversation when Deebo brings up all the things he misses about Canada.

Rating: I’ll let my famous saying about Vancouver speak for itself—“Once you’ve sea-n one wall, you’ve seen ‘em all.”

Giannis Antetokounmpo

Oh my goooosh, look at our little gladiator ROMEin’ around, checking off all the sights and staying, considerately to his GF and the general public, low to the ground. My only hope is that we get a shot of Giannis high-fiving Christ in The Last Judgement, on the ceiling of the ol’ Sistine. He’d only really have to stretch on tip toes to do it.

Rating: Watch out, Eternal City, there’s a new cooler, younger, taller, Pope in town.

Lou Williams

Paris continues to be big and so does standing or sitting on some type of plinth. The supposed 6th man of the year (Fred VanVleet was robbed) has chosen either onyx or ebony, could also be a big Bose speaker just flipped around, to stand on and do the funny gag. Look how happy he is.

Rating: 6th man to attempt this gag on this particular day, maybe.

Boban Marjanović

Here’s Boban in a quarry of some kind, stalking toward the camera with his socks pulled high. Wouldn’t it be incredible if he gets really into BMX culture this year and is constantly almost caught wheelie-ing the white hot sides of the L.A. River? The LAPD are stumped, who is this giant shadow racing away every time on a tiny bike, leaving wet tire tracks all the way back to the Staple Center?

Rating: They’ll find some fancy pegs in Lonzo Ball’s locker, L.A. Boban rides again.

Jaylen Brown

Jaylen Brown is in Bali doing tarps off and fanny pack on, doing the kind of nervous smile one does on vacation when someone has pushed you into something you aren’t quite comfortable with. Out of frame I am imagining a pack of monkeys glaring at him with their beady eyes, rubbing their little paws together over what kind of gear they are going to nab off this guy.

Rating: An up-to-date rabies vaccine and one long look at the warnings, I hope.

Mirza Teletović

Ah yes, exactly the scene the Turkish folk poet Yunus Emre was attempting to set in his 13th century banger "Mirza at the Grand Bazaar."

Rating: Gives a whole new meaning to telenovela am I right?

Willy Hernangómez

Here we got a great, extremely contoured shot of Willy’s back as he soaks up the sun in the ancient port city of Cádiz, Spain.

Rating: How sweaty are you getting just looking at this? The answer is extremely.

Tim Hardaway Jr.

Double feature for THJ! What I wouldn’t give to get this in a slow-mo video but you gotta take your summer refreshers where you can get ‘em, folks. This is the exact yin to Willy’s yang (get your god damn minds out of the gutters) up there.

Rating: How quenched are you getting just looking at this? The answer is extremely.

Taj Gibson

Somebody wants to be this summer’s solo banana boat boy! Taj is floatin’ in the ocean off the coast of Pesaro, which is way up on the back side of the top of Italy’s boot, on what looks to be a rescue device but is maybe just some kind of Euro pool floatie more streamlined than the traditional mattress. In case there was any doubt that he’s fully in the Eat portion of his Eat, Pray, Love offseason, here he is giggling and having some spaghetti,

Rating: He’ll be sad when it’s time to say goodbye to this trip.

Malcolm Delaney

The Hawks guard has scooted a little farther south for a break in Miami where he’s getting some assistance getting on, or else a chauffeured ride on, this jet-ski. No reason to be out here having fun but not being safe.

Rating: As the SVW rhyme goes—“A ski on land, hold a friend’s hand. A ski on the water, let’s not repeat Sean Kingston’s mistakes.”

Sam Dekker

Double Dekker’s just the latest to be captivated this offseason by the Greek Islands, but this dude’s on ‘em for his honeymoon. One thing’s for sure, I’ve never felt less cool than when I realized Sam Dekker and I have the same style of jumping off things into pristine waters, that is, somehow bunched way the hell up in our bodies and plugging our noses like little loser babies. Congratulations, Sam!

Rating: Enjoy all that water up your nose while Sam and I breathe easily from ours!

Matthew Dellavedova

Here we have my and summer’s natural enemy, Matthew Dellavedova, holding onto a hammerhead shark with his eyes squeezed shut, praying for the photo to get taken so he can put it down. You know what, Delly? Why even pick it up in the first place? How would you like it if someone was hanging onto you by the butt and the back and lofting you high above your home? Come to think of it that must be what dunking feels like, but without the debilitating terror because the ball is not a misunderstood creature. Not that you would know what it feels like to do that.

Rating: I won’t.

Cameron Payne

Wherever Payne is—and he looks as confused about it as I am—he should stay there as long as possible, in that exact same shirt, wearing those exact same steampunk shades, squinting off into the exact same middle distance, because lord knows what’s happening to and for the Bulls this season.

Rating: If thou gaze long into an infinity pool, the infinity pool will also gaze into thee.

Marco Belinelli

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but I can’t help picturing Bellinelli fluttering out this big, Turkish beach towel for two in a place called “Fliper & Chiller” on the Balearic Islands as the same welcoming gesture he will make to my eternal guy DeMar DeRozan this season back in San Antonio. Belli I’ve never needed you more.

Rating: Sobbing. But this beach looks nice.

John Wall

Like catching someone mid-sneeze, blowing out birthday candles, or the second they start to hurl going down the last huge hill on a roller coaster, the moment this photo was taken it became Summer Vacation For John Wall.

Rating: Extremely end of July.

NBA Summer Vacation: Emotion of the Oceans published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[furnberry1-blog]

It can relax you and make you feel cozy and comfortable. Choosing the right sectional sofa bed Canada depends on taste and ones needs. Choose the right shape and size of sectional sofa bed. Some of the popular shapes are semi-circular, U-shape and L-Shape.

[indmngowoodfurn]

Astonishing Argos Sofa Beds For Sale 58 With Added Best Jay Be Folding Bed 2. Furniture. Folding Bed Argos. Jay be mattress argos. Couch bed argos. Folding chair bed argos. Folding foam mattress argos. Furniture

Incredible argos Couch beds Available 58 with Added Finest jay be folding bed Two

Astonishing argos sofa beds for sale 58 with additional best jay be folding mattress Two

Jay be mattress argos. Sofa bed argos. Folding chair bed argos. Folding foam mattress argos. Folding bed argos. Argos jay be beds that are folding. Folding mattress argos. Single folding bed argos. Folding camp mattress argos.

Astonishing argos sofa beds for sale 58 with additional best jay be folding mattress Two

The present astonishing argos sofa beds for sale 58 with additional finest jay be folding mattress 2 uploaded beneath folding mattress argos and furniture thing as a consequence getting labeled with jay be cushioned mattress argos, folding sofa mattress argos, folding seat bed argos along with folding foam mattress argos.

In addition, this astonishing argos sofa beds for sale 58 with additional finest jay be folding mattress 2 was uploaded by admin at January 16, 2018, alongside other wonderful 29 furniture pics like purchase hygena seattle right hand sofa bed corner collection charcoal at folding camp argos 69b096cc86fd20f1b93169d1117, leather sofa beds at argos centerfordemocracy org cushioned foam mattress cheap couches black fernando corner linking to, double futon sofa bed argos okaycreations internet fo, hygena argos brand new sofa bed in brighton east sussex gumtree fold foa, along with home lucy sofa mattress blackchocolategrey leatherfabric from lone fold argos s.

Listing 30 Ideas in Folding Bed Argos Gallery

purchase hygena seattle right hand sofa bed corner collection charcoal at folding camp argos 69b096cc86fd20f1b93169d1117 . . . . ➥

leather sofa beds at argos centerfordemocracy org cushioned foam mattress cheap couches black fernando corner linking to . . . . ➥

double seat sofa bed argos okaycreations net fo . . . . ➥

hygena argos brand new sofa bed in brighton east sussex gumtree folding foa . . . . ➥

home lucy sofa mattress blackchocolategrey leatherfabric from only fold argos s . . . . ➥

astounding argos sofa beds for sale 58 with additional top jay be folding mattress 2 . . . . ➥

sofa mesmerizing argos corner mattress beds with storage only folding good looking stunning 73 in 3 s . . . . ➥

sofa glamorous argos bed double jay be folding beds breathtaking inspirational 68 for limelight triton . . . . ➥

amazing sofa beds argos purchase 80 on cheap alloy activity jay be folding . . . . ➥

sofa mesmerizing argos corner mattress beds with storage folding foam delig . . . . ➥

argos brownish cloth metal spring double sofa bed in chandlers foldin . . . . ➥

only futon sofa mattress argos centerfieldbar com gearing camp new in 16 for your chester . . . . ➥

affordable sofa beds uk argos scifihits com jay be folding good metal framework 42 on mattress sale . . . . ➥

greatest cost sofa in toronto tags argos corner cushioned mattress pret . . . . ➥

sofa stunning argos bed image 1200×621 folding camp sexy king size red leather stunning foam filled with couches centre wedding de . . . . ➥

couch lovely armchair mattress argos folding . . . . ➥

sofa glamorous argos bed double fo . . . . ➥

argos leather sofa beds memsaheb mesh folding camp mattress maxresde . . . . ➥

argos sofa bed double surferoaxaca com fold tray great 56 with additional large be . . . . ➥

3 seater sofa beds argos centerfieldbar com folding foam mattress fresh 1 seat 85 with additional . . . . ➥

folding sofa mattress argos centerfieldbar com tray magical argosbrowns . . . . ➥

purchase lily cloth metal action sofa mattress lotion at argos co uk folding aeab3fb9f71a0e4db3f65cc94c8 . . . . ➥

sofa glamorous argos bed double sided seat fascinating exceptional corner 44 with additional bedrooms hom . . . . ➥

ottomans only ottoman beds for sale uk cheap in leicester the folding bed mirror argos king size black trend corner sofa hand furniture pi . . . . ➥

convertible sofa mattress by istikbal in colins brownish folding argos 10 arg s1 . . . . ➥

home patsy leather effect clic clac sofa bed chocolate from folding camp argos s . . . . ➥

at couk folding sof sensational ding futon warehouse melbourne sofa mattress argos . . . . ➥

little corner sofa bed sofasofa modern amazing fold tray argos blue . . . . ➥

sofa cool little bed ikea only fold out l shaped argos fold . . . . ➥

argos tessa cloth metal action sofa bed charcoal in southsea jay be folding mattress . . . . ➥

Gallery Photos of Folding Bed Argos

Facebook Comments on amazing argos sofa beds for sale 58 with additional finest jay be folding mattress 2

Lift Top Coffee Table Black

Black Leather Ottoman Coffee Table

Clear Plastic Coffee Table

Contemporary Computer Desk

White Leather Sleeper Sofa

from indianmangowoodfurniture http://www.indianmangowoodfurniture.co.uk/astonishing-argos-sofa-beds-for-sale-58-with-added-best-jay-be-folding-bed-2-furniture-folding-bed-argos-jay-be-mattress-argos-couch-bed-argos-folding-chair-bed-argos-folding-foam-mattress/

[thehazeltonhotel]

 What to Expect from a Luxury Hotel

  The Hazelton, Toronto’s first luxury boutique hotel, remains the city’s iconic landmark of all that is chic, glamorous and luxurious. Designed by internationally renowned design firm Yabu Pushelberg, the hotel offers 77 luxurious rooms and 15 exceptional suites with a splash of 1940s inspired Hollywood glitter suites. From private meetings to conferences, to events or celebrations, our variety of extraordinary spaces aims to exceed your expectations.

 Rooms

Deluxe Room

Hazelton’s Deluxe has everything you need. The 464 - 568 square feet room flaunts its zebrawood dressing room, galaxy green granite ensuite with heated floors, deep soaking tub and separate rainfall shower.

Luxury King Room

Hazelton’s upgraded deluxe room. Having the same features as the deluxe, Luxury King Room boasts its separate seating area with either a comfortable chair or a two-seater sofa and a 536 - 707  sq. ft. room to stretch out.

Luxury Queen Room

Uniquely designed for guests who love their space more than anything else. Luxury Queen features its two queen size beds, LCD television integrated into the bathroom mirror, and a zebrawood dressing room. This 623 - 684 sq. ft space also has its own Juliet or walkout balcony.

 Suites

Executive Suite

Hazelton’s magnificent suite that offers nothing short of exquisite has a spacious sitting area with 764 - 857 sq. ft. The luxury extends to its galaxy green granite ensuite with heated floors and double vanities, 80 sq. ft. zebrawood dressing room and a 47" LG HDTV in the bedroom and seating area.

Avenue Suite

This luxurious suite stands out with its 450 square foot windowed seating area that showcases panoramic views, king size bed with serta presidential pillow top mattress, separate dining area and an available interconnecting room.

Hazelton Suite

A first-class entertainment room that is suitable for special occasions. Hazelton Suite’s 450 square foot rotunda living room, a separate dining and powder room, a 47″ LG HD televisions in bedroom and living room areas, and an available interconnecting room.

Bellair Suite

A spacious room fitting for a god. Bellair Suite unrivaled 800 square foot rotunda living room with panoramic views and two lounge areas, a separate dining area capable of seating up to 10, media centre and touchscreen remote media controller with piped stereo system is the largest one bedroom suite situated at the hotel’s fourth floor.

 Meetings

The Yorkville Room

An intimate gathering of up to 78 people is perfect for this space. Private Gatherings, meetings, happy hours, special dinners or a small elegant party is conducive to have in The Yorkville room that can be split into two rooms which has elevated ceilings, luxurious panels and an extravagantly exclusive hallway.

The Neil Young Room

An exclusive meeting or gathering can be held in The Neil Young Room as this is the perfect area that can accommodate 16 people with the sense of comfortability. The grandiose glass doors and the red velvet walls of the room will leave you and your guests in awe.

Executive Boardroom

A private room that is complete with all the necessities of a meeting. It can accomodate 10 people comfortably. The Executive Boardroom is made to encite new ideas, improve performance and enhance efficiency.

 The Silver Screening Room

A room that is filled with the latest development in technology. The Silver Screening Room can sit up to 25 people who will enjoy a surround sound Dolby Digital equipment and the new and improved 35mm projection which is best for viewing, screening and exhibiting anything.

 Dining

One Restaurant

An exquisite place to get meticulously prepared appetizers, main courses, sides, drinks and desserts. One Restaurant offers in-room dining and a vibrant dining space experience for all who want to savor the quintessential elements of various taste temptations.

 Wellness

Spa by Valmont

An urban retreat made possible by indulgent personalized treatments which are designed to make you feel special. Spa by Vermont is complete with facilities where you can plunge for a blissful relaxing experience that will leave you asking for more.

 Conclusion

 Toronto’s Yorkville area has been known to be the city’s most amazing and stylish district, with fabulous shopping and dining where The Hazelton Hotel is ideally located. With the hotel’s various offers such as ONE Restaurant, helmed by chef Mark McEwan and The Spa at The Hazelton by Valmont, will surely make your stay worth every penny. 

[furnberry1-blog]

A rounded seating arrangement is best if more people are to be addressed. It is important to take exact measurement of the room before buying any sectional sofa. Before choosing sofa beds, do consider your budget. To save money, look for sofa bed sale Toronto. When buying a sectional sofa, comfort level matters. It should be constituted of breathable material.