#Outback Happy Hour

[starsainzjr]

Lights, Camera, Action

Pairing: Lando Norris x director!reader Faceclaim: Gemma Chan

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yourusername posted a story

f1wags

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f1wags Meet YN YLN! YN is a successful Hollywood director and producer with movies like Barbie (producer), Boston Strangler (director), and Little Women (director) under her belt. Earlier this afternoon in a Tweet, a fan working as a makeup artist on an undisclosed movie set claimed to see McLaren driver Lando Norris on set with a bouquet of sunflowers.

An hour later YN posted a a picture of a bouquet of sunflowers to her Instagram story with the caption "Pleasant surprise at lunch 🥰" (pictured above). Could it just be a coincidence? Sure. But we may soon have a new WAG in the paddock!

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marissa.lancaster4 Hi! I'm the fan that posted that Tweet. Because of the NDAs that I have signed as a part of my employment I cannot say what movie I am working on nor who the director is. But I can confirm after speaking with several of my coworkers that it was Lando I saw on set earlier today.

f1wags Please DM me if you have any more information that you can share!

mickieslaren Am I the only one that gets a bit weirded out by how we treat celebrities' love lives like this? Maybe Lando was visiting a friend or something. Either way it's none of our business what he was doing on set

landoslove It is a bit odd but, then again, both Lando and YN live in the public eye. There are always going to be little things like this that get scrutinized mickieslaren I just wish they could have a bit of privacy is all landoslove That makes sense. But this is out of our control

nowinsnorris YN is literally so stunning. Lando has some serious game if this is true

landoslove He's trying so hard to beat the norizz allegations

yourusername Hollywood

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yourusername Halfway through filming! I have a never ending supply of sunsets and sunflowers 🌅🌻

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florencepugh Come to my hotel room I have a mini champagne bottle I can't get rid of by myself

yourusername I'm omw simuliu Am I invited? florencepugh Sure we need someone to supervise I suppose

americaferrara Go do incredible things! Cannot wait to get my eyes on this once its done

yourusername There's a bucket of popcorn with your name on it!

landoslove Sunflowers she says? 👀

nowinsnorris She's not as slick as she thinks she is

haveyougotpubesyet No bc I'm confident Lando would follow YN around like a lost puppy in the paddock

landoslove I cannot wait for this to get proven real mickieslaren Or we could just leave them alone and let them live their lives haveyougotpubesyet We're not harming them, just having meaningless fun trying to connect invisible dots landoslove Yeah. We're not, like, cyber bullying them or anything mickieslaren I'm just saying it probably can't feel great to have random people poking around in your love life

landonorris Santa Monica, California

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landonorris Ready to rock 🤘🏎

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oscarpiastri We really need a McLaren emoji

landonorris 🍑? oscarpiastri I'm taking your phone away landonorris 😨

carlossainz55 Welcome back to the real world

landonorris I don't like it I wanna go back charles_leclerc We have the easiest lives ever get it together. Both of you landonorris Yes, father. Carlos come get your teammate carlossainz55 Nah, this could get fun

landoslove SANTA MONICA

landoslove YN just posted from Santa Monica

nowinsnorris This is me not getting my hopes up buuuuut YN is a director and she lives in California... landoslove Lalalalala I can't hear anything lalalalala

yourusername The Outback

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yourusername Out of the studio for the back half! So unbelievably happy to be back in Australia 🦘🌏

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simuliu Yeah yeah pretty pictures can you come kill the spider in my room now please?

simuliu YN I'm serious, I've been texting you for 30 minutes I know you're seeing these simuliu YN IM NO LONGER ASKING yourusername @/florencepugh do you hear anything? florencepugh Nope. All quiet. Not a peep simuliu Very funny. When I die who are you going to get to finish your movie? yourusername I am on my way to humanely get the scary spider out of your room and put it outside simuliu Hurry up it's staring at me florencepugh With how many eyes?

nowinsnorris I'm already in love with her. I might love her more than I love Lando

landoslove YN YLN - Daniel Ricciardo team up 👀

ynsaction I've never been one to gatekeep but if these F1 delulus keep coming near my wife I will actually lose my mind

yn.florence No literally! She is a feminist icon who has said multiple times in interviews that she's not looking for a partner and focusing on directing and producing. Pls stop shoving her into a WAG box ynsaction I'll always welcome more YN fans but every other word in these comments is about Lando Norris. I'm about to scream landoslove Hi, sorry isn't feminism about women being able to do whatever they want? YN is allowed to change her mind if she met the right person yn.florence If you'd been paying attention you'd know the last interview she made her wishes clear in was a week ago which, according to the calendar, is after people started trying to tie her to Nowins or whatever his name is

landonorris Australia

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landonorris Good to be back! We'll continue to work and push and get stronger as the season goes on. Thanks for having me, Australia! 🦘

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oscarpiastri The garage used to be so quiet

landonorris You missed me, admit it

carlossainz55 Bit rusty there, mate

landonorris Says the man who got his third consecutive P4 finish. You ever gonna bump up to the podium? carlossainz55 At least I finished in the points charles_leclerc Guys I cannot keep doing this please

landoslove My boy is back and better than ever

haveyougotpubesyet He looked so happy to be back!

nowinsnorris I'm gonna have to change my username this year, aren't I?

landoslove YES YOU ARE norizz481 Here's hoping I get to change mine too landoslove YOU'RE BOTH GOING TO HAVE TO CHANGE USERNAMES I'M SPEAKING IT INTO THE UNIVERSE

yourusername Perth, Australia

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yourusername A week and a half left of filming and I cannot wait to celebrate all we've accomplished with these two! Behind the scenes dump coming soon 😉

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americaferrara Congrats all of you! So so unbelievably proud

yourusername Wish you could've been along with us on this ride! See you soon my love

florencepugh My favorite project in a long time! Let's finish this out strong!

simuliu No not that picture 😭

yourusername Listen, it's too good not to share with the world simuliu I'm a superhero, I don't need this kind of harassment yourusername Cope

ynsaction This one is going to be so so good I'm physically vibrating I need it

yn.florence Mother! She's going to win yet another Oscar for this one, I can feel it

ynsaction Our girl don't need no child race car driver

nowinsnorris I'm becoming such a huge fan of YN. She and Lando would be perfect for each other

landoslove Shhhhh you'll scare the fragile film girlies ynsaction God, the f1 delulus are back. I was hoping we got rid of them yn.florence I don't think we're that lucky

f1wags Perth, Australia

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f1wags Picture taken of Lando this morning in Perth, Australia coming out of a florist shop. Not pictured is a bouquet of sunflowers. This is the second time this month that Lando has been spotted with a bouquet of sunflowers.

Lando has been linked to director YN YLN who is wrapping up her new film in Perth. Only time will tell if YN posts some sunflowers in the coming days 👀

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haveyougotpubesyet He is the definition of boyfriend material I swear to god

landoslove Getting closer and closer to beating the norizz allegations

landoslove IS HE BRINGING HER SWEETS TOO??? This boy is going to be the death of me

nowinsnorris What do I need to do to get myself a Lando

mickieslaren Just reminding everyone that Lando does in fact have sisters who were in attendance at the race this weekend and may also enjoy getting sunflowers from their brother

landoslove Jesus, take your negativity away from us who are trying to have fun mickieslaren Yeah it's fun for you now but what about Lando who is trying to go about his day without having some delusional fangirl losing their mind over him buying sunflowers? If you were really a fan of his you would let him live his life landoslove He's a celebrity! His fans are just trying to connect to him mickieslaren When I hear that Lando has gotten a restraining order against a fan I will not be surprised when you suddenly get very quiet

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Hollywood

Liked by americaferrara, florencepugh, landonorris and 671,209 others

yourusername This is where the fun begins 🎞 Three months of editing coming up

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florencepugh Im omw with more coffee

yourusername I love you

americaferrara Ahh keep the Excedrin close by

yourusername There's a whole bottle in the corner

simuliu I hope you're making me look good

yourusername Yes, I'm including the scene where the spider crawled up your arm and you screamed like a baby simuliu You're definitely my favorite director, I love working with you yourusername You are also definitely the star of this movie and have more screen time than Flo simuliu Hey, I will always be willing to have less screen time than Flo

ynsaction YES I have been missing YN editing content so bad recently

ynsaction She is such a mood when she's editing she gets so unhinged

landoslove Unhinged YN editing plus Lando being generally unhinged 👀 ynsaction Jesus give it a rest already

yn.florence I, for one, am chasing to focus on incoming unhinged YN posts

nowinsnorris LANDO'S IN THE LIKES EVERYONE

landonorris China

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landonorris So close to a podium finish! We'll make adjustments as needed and push on. See you in Miami!

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oscarpiastri So my days of quiet garage are definitely over?

landonorris You're stuck with me forever, mate carlossainz55 Good luck, Oscar landonorris WOW

landonorris @/charles_leclerc your teammate is being mean to me

charles_leclerc You think I have control over him?

ynsaction Not YN in the likes I had such high hopes

landoslove Genuine question; why are you against her finding someone she likes to be with? ynsaction I'm not against her finding someone she likes to be with, I'm against all Lando's fans trying to shove her into a WAG box when she's spoken so much about not wanting a partner at the moment. Especially when it was as soon as a month ago landoslove Okay, that's valid. But we're not trying to shove her into a box. This is just harmless shipping. I'm sure you do it with fictional characters you like ynsaction YN is an idol to me. I'm protective over her, I'm sorry if I've been bitchy landoslove I've been bitchy too, I apologize as well

mickieslaren I still don't like pushing into celebrity love lives

yourusername Miami, Florida

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yourusername First time out of the studio since editing started. Thank you @/f1 for hosting me!

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f1 Anything for our favorite director!

florencepugh Did you see The Guy???? 👀

yourusername It's not too late to make the movie about Simu simuliu YES... I mean, yeah did you see The Guy???? 👀 yourusername You're both blacklisted from my film sets

mclaren Give us a heads up next time you come! We'll set you up in the garage!

yourusername Oh that would be incredible! Thank you so so much!

ynsaction She always looks so adorable I am in love with her

yn.florence Mother is Mothering

ynsaction all hail

haveyougotpubesyet McLaren sipping after her too now

ynsaction Who wouldn't simp after her tbh

landoslove Just soft launch already

landoslove Florence and Simu chirping her about seeing The Guy I'm DYING

nowinsnorris The Guy is 100% Lando. It has to be at this point

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg Hangin'

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charles_leclerc You caught me so off guard

carlossainz55 Best picture in the middle tbh

yourusername posted a story

yourusername Monaco

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yourusername Beautiful day in Monaco made even more beautiful by this wonderful boy! Congratulations, @/landonorris I'm so proud of you!

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florencepugh THE GUY. SHE PULLED THE GUY.

simuliu YESSSS NO MORE LATE NIGHTS DRUNK TALKING ABOUT HIM

yourusername Way to call me out, guys, thanks for that. You do remember I'm technically your boss right? florencepugh Movie wrapped, love. You can't tell us what to do anymore simuliu At least until we sign on for another one of your projects

landonorris Awww you drunk talked about me 🥰

yourusername I'll chase you

landonorris Monaco

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landonorris I have the best date for the party @/yourusername

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yourusername Best weekend ever

landonorris Only because you were here

oscarpiastri Here's hoping the garage will be quiet again

landonorris No shot but nice try yourusername I'll do my best to keep him quiet for you oscarpiastri YN is my new favorite

lando.jpg

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lando.jpg You have a movie coming out tomorrow. I am so incredibly proud of you @/yourusername. Everything we've been through together, I cannot believe what a kind, strong, beautiful woman you are. I love you, I can't wait to see what you're going to do next

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yourusername I love you so so much, darling. Thank you for being there through everything

lando.jpg My dream woman

florencepugh Yes!!!! Drinks on Simu at the afterparty!

simuliu Drinks on me!!!

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[inkievoid]

Young parents but it's re2 leon or re4 leon... he has a cute and sweet girlfriend but he ended up getting her pregnant by accident (ahem) and now he needs to learn how to take care of his pregnant girlfriend.... (He watched Twilight and was worried about the possibility of she breaking like a stick like Bella.) 👛anon.

(RE4 Leon is 27, you think 27 is young?? I'm 27 bless you 👛anon 🥺)

This would probably fit better with RE2 Leon. A rookie cop who accidentally knocked his girlfriend up. Obviously he's happy regardless, you two love each other and he knows he'd want a family someday. It just so happens to be sooner than he thought.

I'd picture him going bat shit insane. Talking about how you'll snap like a twig and you're just staring at him like 🤨 babe... We're not have a vampire baby.

Yeah, but like WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS!?

Would definitely buy every parenting book he sees. He wants to be prepared. Extra precautions after you move into his shoe box of an apartment cause he wants you close by. Definitely walking around putting up those corner covers they have for counters and tables so kids don't cut their heads. Even though you're a grown ass woman... He's just scared you'll bump your belly and hurt you or the baby.

The moment you start getting cravings he's on it any time of day.

You want cookies at 3am? Insomnia cookies here he comes.

You text him that you want noodles while he's sitting at his desk at work. He's an hour late coming home from work because he stopped at two different markets to get any flavor of instant noodles he could find so you'll be able to enjoy your meal.

You want grilled steak in the middle of fucking winter?! BABE GET YOUR COAT, WE'RE GOING TO OUTBACK!

Definitely overwhelmed with all the responsibilities he puts on himself because he refuses to let you do cleaning or anything to requires lifting. And yes, even if it is light!

Leon put most of the nursery together (cute little alcove in the living room until y'all can find a bigger apartment or rent a house). Quite literally only let you supervise, which irritated the hell out of you but he loves you and you know he's just paranoid.

Once the baby comes though, he's awake for days... You're recovering and he's taken on the role of father very seriously. So sleep deprived he's probably stared at the baby thinking he can't see their chest move. But they wiggle their little arm and his stomach nearly falls out of his ass he was clenching so hard.

At one point he'd be rocking the baby to sleep during your recovery and close his eyes for 2 seconds and suddenly it's morning. The babies not in his arms and he starts freaking out. So freaked out he looks under the damn couch for his kid. But you come out of the kitchen carrying a bottle and the baby in one of the swaddling scarves and he can breathe again.

But all in all Leon would be a fantastic father!

[mister-eames]

Secret Saito 2024

Happy Secret Saito to you all, I hope you're having a great holiday season x

This is my @secretsaito gift for @motionalocean, whose prompt was lurid. I hope you enjoy this darling <3 thank you for the prompt!

Prompt: lurid Pairing: Arthur/Eames Word Count: 5.4k Warnings: Alcohol, post-break-up, make-up, miscommunication, some angst but with a happy ending, mild drunkenness and anxiety, blink-and-you'll-miss characters and references from dated 90's movies, trust me they live happily ever after.

----

Eames tugs the lapels of his jacket and squares his shoulders, projecting an air of confidence that he isn't quite sure he really feels. Knows he doesn't, in honesty, otherwise he wouldn't be trying it on.

But it doesn’t matter, really; he can fake anything for long enough to fool who counts. Eames once convinced the Prime Minister of Australia that he was raised by a red kangaroo in the red soils of the outback after being abandoned by his mother. He once convinced a travelling group of tourists that he was the next in line for the throne. No doubt about it, if he's assured of anything, it's that Eames can convince a bunch of people he doesn't even know that he is a confident, wealthy, self-made man.

Two out of three isn't bad.

He pushes the door to the ballroom open and feels his mouth stretch into the genial smile of a man with his shit together.

---

The noise around Arthur is near deafening. A live band plays a rotation of top forty hits from the last several decades and the countless surrounding conversations of too-loud family make for an incomprehensible cacophony. He’s only been here for an hour but his head is already pounding like a pick into an ice-shelf.

The venue is noisy. The decorations are showy, a riot on the senses. It's all very gauche. Very Cohen family. Very Aunt Edith, who he must lovingly admit this is very fitting.

By means of having attended here alone Arthur has found himself in the orbit of some group of people he only vaguely recognises, three drinks in already, trying to politely refrain from checking his watch for the right time to excuse himself. Although he’s long tuned out, he’s still nodding at all the right places, interjecting with the odd "Oh, really?"

Hand to god he's not normally such a drinker in social settings, especially not the bottom-shelf spirits and wine that this bar is serving, but—well. He tips his drink back, emptying the flute in a single gulp. It doesn't bear thinking about.

"And what do you do for work?" a young woman holding a full flute of champagne asks Arthur.

"I'm a freelance consultant."

"Nice," she says, eyeing him up and down with interest. "In what industry?"

The reply rolls practiced off his tongue. "Quantum technology."

Arthur doesn't even know who he's talking to anymore. His third cousin's second born partner, maybe. Could be. Aside from his immediate family Arthur couldn't name most of the people here. It’s sloppy of him, perhaps. At least from a security standpoint, maybe. But Arthur isn’t on the job anymore, and he’s grown weary of watching all the exits and having eyes in the back of his head for events like family birthdays all the damn time. His nerves are so burned out they're beyond resurrection.

"Who's that?" someone asks.

He looks to the entrance. His stomach drops to his feet.

"What the hell is he doing here," Arthur mutters under his breath, feeling his face heat up. Someone grabs his arm and shakes it.

"Eames is here," his Uncle Sandy says excitedly. "I thought you said he wasn't coming!"

"He said he couldn't make it," Arthur says through his teeth. He said he wasn't going to be here. 

He watches as Eames takes an offered glass of an amber drink, smiling widely as he is greeted by relatives and their partners, people who Arthur, still, can hardly name. He looks hale and healthy and whole, shoulders relaxed, making easy conversation like it's his own party.

By the time he's noticed, Eames has already looked up and met his gaze.

Eames raises a toast to him.

He barely refrains from raising his middle finger in return.

Arthur is going to kill him, that little fucking liar. Arthur is going to kill him in front of everyone here. There will be so many witnesses and Arthur will go to jail but it will be so worth it. That smarmy, little prick, look at him. Schmoozing and disrupting Arthur’s entire night like the little liar he is.

He tosses back his own drink, finding it somehow already empty.

Easy fix, Arthur thinks, unlike everything else. He abandons whoever is speaking to him to march over to the bar and orders a martini.

---

It takes all of five minutes for Eames to lazily wander over and side up next to Arthur, gesturing to the bartender for a second drink. He is wearing a suit Arthur has never seen him in; something so immaculately tailored and well-made that it can't be new.

"You said you weren't coming."

"Actually what I said was that I'd rather masturbate into a cheese grater than show up, but as you would know," Eames affects an air of disinterest, "changes of heart are just so common." 

“You really should have done yourself a favor and gone with the first idea.”

“Yes, well. After very little deliberation I came to the realisation that I have as much right to be here as you do."

"It's my family."

"Funny," says Eames humourlessly. "I thought I was family too."

Arthur clenches jaw, retort dying in the back of his throat. Eames isn't wrong. Eames is practically part of the furniture at his family functions, and has been for over ten years. Up until---

"Besides," says Eames. "Aunty Edith likes me best. And I have her gift."

"Whatever," Arthur pulls the lapels of his jacket, squaring his shoulders. "Just stay out of my way."

"I intend to," Eames replies.

"You better."

"I will."

"Good."

"Great."

Arthur turns his body away, his skin crawling like a horde of ants were underneath it. "You can go back to your corner of the room now."

"Ta ta," Eames says, easily plucking the olive from Arthur's martini glass. "Pleasure seeing you, Arthur.  Parting is such sweet sorrow, etcetera."

"Go find yourself that cheese grater." 

Eames leaves with a satisfied glint in his eyes. Arthur sips his oliveless martini, uncaring. He hates olives, anyway.

---

“Why aren’t you here with Arthur?”

A fabulous question, really, considering no one here is a blood relative of his, or even a friend, besides the birthday girl.

"Well," Eames tells Arthur's drunk cousin, Barry, perhaps a little drunk himself. He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "But we had a falling out recently, see. We're not together anymore."

"Really?"

Eames nods. "Over post-it's, if you'd believe."

The crowd of four he's speaking with pause in unison, aghast, as they no longer pretend they're not eavesdropping. 

"Post-it's?" Someone repeats, incredulous. 

Emerging from the bathrooms, draped in a fabulous red feather boa is the birthday woman of the hour. Arthur’s Great Aunt Edith. She is resplendent amongst pomp and circumstance, a withering cigarette in one hand, wine in the other. She spots Eames and waves him over.

"Long story," Eames says, downing his drink. "Anyway, nice seeing you." He waves back to Edith and heads over.

"Eames, my dear," Edith embraces him. "So good to see you."

"And you, my lovely lady," he kisses her flushed cheeks, feeling a knot in his upper back come loose. "I hear it's your eightieth birthday," he pulls back, assessing her. "You don't look a day over fifty."

"Oh, stop," she swats him away. "Where's Arthur? I've hardly seen him all night."

"Ah...I'm sure he's about," Eames smiles mildly, immediately feeling the knot coming back. "You know how he is. Can't sit still, that one. Anyway, tell me what you've been up to."

As he eagerly anticipated, she puts on a show, eyes widening with all of her witnessed tales: The headliner: Distress, despair, drama. She clutches his arm, steering him away from the crowd.

"Oh, Eamsie, darling, where do I even begin."

---

It's been two whole hours. Arthur hasn’t stuck around a family function this long since his youngest cousin’s Bar Mitzvah in ‘02.

"I haven't seen you since you were this high," his aunt Michele exclaims, gesturing to her bra-line. "Still, you barely look a day over twenty, you Cohens and your genes. I'm so jealous. Who are you wearing, Armani?" 

"Tom Ford," he blinks. 

"And what are you doing here all by your lonesome, hmm? Where's your beau?"

"My ex, you mean" he says, a little more drunkenly than he intends to, wiping his sweaty palm down his tie. He turns around on his stool and picks Eames out by the far end of the room and points to him. Luckily, Eames doesn't notice, or doesn't acknowledge this.

"No. When did you break up?" She looks genuinely sad.

"Like, yesterday."

"Oh my god."

"Yep."

"You two were, like, so cute together. What happened?"

"Post-it's,” Arthur mutters murderously. “Post-it's happened." 

"Huh?"

"Pretty ballsy of Eames to show up here at a family function like that if you’re not together," Barry says, cutting in. “Y’know. Considering.”

"...He is family," Arthur says quietly, eyes sliding to the small crowd Eames has amassed, each lured and falling to his natural charm. He fits right in, he always has. Like a missing piece of a prevailingly incomplete puzzle; he's as much a branch of the family tree as Arthur is. "...Even if he and I are not... anyway. Leave him be."

He lets that hang in the air and slides off his stool, and heads to the bathroom. Eames seems to have wandered off elsewhere, Arthur notes. Not that he was looking or anything.

---

Eames has just received a dollop of fancy-smelling soap in the palm of his left-hand when the bathroom door swings open. He's lathering it over his fingers when he looks up at the mirror and meets Arthurs gaze.

A thunderous look overtakes Arthur's features as he stalks to the urinals at the far wall, looking pale and unsteady despite his visible agitation.

Well, whatever. Ignoring him, Eames waves his hand uselessly in front of the sensor tap, failing to elicit a stream of water, Eames can't help himself, Arthur is fucking swaying on the spot. "Had a bit much, have you?"

The reply is instant.

"Fuck off."

He fucking hates these things. By the time Arthur has finished taking the world's longest piss Eames is still wriggling his soapy fingers towards the sensor without success. 

It prompts a huff and a bitchy "Jesus christ," before Arthur is leaning over and waving his hand under the stupid handlebar structure that Eames thought was decorative, eliciting a stream of cold water.

"Stupid fucking things," Eames mutters, dipping his hands under the spray.

There's an awkward moment where they finish washing their hands at the same moment and reach for the same paper towel dispenser.

"New suit?" Arthur gruffs, wiping his hands roughly.

"It is actually," Eames mutters, heart drooping like a forsaken house plant. He'd bought it six months ago, intended for their anniversary next month. He'd been hoping to surprise Arthur with it. 

In a way, he supposes he has. Just not the way he'd envisioned.

He checks the state of his hair in the reflection. "Not up to your high standards, Arthur?"

In the mirror Arthur rolls his eyes as he bunches up his paper towel. "I just didn't take you for a bow-tie man, is all."

Arthurs hair is down; long and curly, just the way Eames likes it. Used to like it. Compliments and insults gather and tangle amongst themselves on the tip of his tongue. He wants to say something between fuck you and you look unfairly lovely in that suit. He wants to say he's sorry, that he wishes more than anything he could reach his hands into time and reverse the clock, to go back and not say the things he did.

"You always did profess to know me better than you do," is what he says instead.

Ten years down the fucking drain. He turns then and, much like he did not so long ago, leaves. 

---

Arthur thinks his suit might be too tight.

Or maybe his tie is too close to his throat. Maybe someone has sucked all of the air out of the room, there's too many people. It's hot in here, too hot. In any case, Arthur is finding it harder to breathe than he did twenty minutes ago.

Trembling fingers worry with the knot of his tie for the nth time as he attempts to draw in a deep, heaving breath but finds his lungs refusing to expand to capacity. And it's as if someone has turned his hearing up to a hundred; the ballroom both quiet and deafening at once, he's sure everyone here can hear his galloping heartbeat, they all seem to be looking at him. Maybe he's making all the noise. He can't remember.

Maybe he has had too much to drink. 

Arthur has always been a bit of an outlier in his family. Never like his cousins. Too trapped in his own head. And now he's turned up to this party and everyone knows he's been unable to save his marriage, that it's back to baseline at his age when all of his cousins are having kids. Arthur is at one of these things alone again even with Eames swanning about, avoiding each other like they are strangers.

Intimacy has a fatal backlash, and this is it.

He has to get out of here.

Pasting on a smile, he finds Edith by the bar. She's graciously shared half of her feather boa with Aunt Michele as they speak.

"I'm heading out," he interrupts them, embracing Edith. "Happy Birthday, again. Thank you for inviting me."

"Oh, Arthur dearest," she says, her hands finding his shoulders, her rouged lips sloping into a frown. "So soon?"

"I have an early morning," he lies. "A work thing."

She shares a look with Michele. "Could you please do one thing for me before you leave?"

"Sure."

"I'm feeling a bit of a chill. Would you be able to retrieve my coat from the cloak room?"

It's the least he could do dipping out early on her special day. "Of course."

"Number sixteen,” she passes him a paper ticket. “Lime leopard print, you can't miss it."

The cloak room, if he recalls correctly, was in the grand hall, out of the ballroom, towards the entrance.

So close, but so far, he thinks wryly, heading in.

---

It's quite stuffy in here, generously sized for a glorified closet, he has less room than he'd like, but it's hot work, rummaging around the large coats and jackets.

It's as he's spotted the lime leopard print monstrosity, way at the back, when he hears a tell-tale snick.

He drops the item and lunges for the door handle. It doesn't open. 

“No, no, no…” He jigs the handle, twisting it this way and that, bile rising up his throat. It's locked. He can't open it. Either this is a huge mistake or some fucker has just locked him in here. "Is anyone there?"

He calls out again, louder. No one answers him.

Then he kicks the door.

It doesn't budge. He pulls his phone out with nervous, shaking hands, desperate enough to call Eames to get him the fuck out of here. Not even Eames is petty enough to leave him in the lurch in a situation like this. He tries, but it goes to voicemail for each time Arthur tries.

No service. Of fucking course. Why would anything go right for him.

His eyes slip shut briefly and suddenly he is in an elevator; a tiny, cramped elevator that is going to descend and crash at any moment. A wave of vertigo washes over him so suddenly that his knees buckle, taking him to the floor.

The tie is loosened, and wrested from his person and thrown to the ground.

"Fuck," he says to himself. He buries his head in his hands and laughs, eyes burning, suddenly very, very sober.

---

If asked, Eames would generously say he is mostly a fan of Arthur's family. His mom, bless her memory, was a darling. Sandy, Michele, Edith, all gold star members of the Cohen clan, whether outsourced or made in-house. But some of them, however, are insufferable.

A dominant Cohen trait, it would seem.

He's been stuck speaking to some old fart who is drunkenly admitting to having a mistress while some other, older fart next to him nods and openly shares stories of sneaking gropes of the younger women who work in his office. 

"Well, that's depressing," he mutters, downing the rest of his champagne, skin feeling greasy simply by proximity. "Nice talk, chaps."

He leaves that circle of degeneracy to find someone more up to his speed. But as he turns, and turns, and turns, there doesn't seem to be anyone to fit that brief. He can't even see Arthur. Perhaps he left already. Without saying goodbye, or even a middle finger, that scoundrel. Not that Eames cares. 

He smooths a hand down the front of his shirt and considers that it is perhaps time to leave.

The birthday girl finds him before he finds her.

"Oh, Eamesie," she kisses his cheeks again. "You heading out, are you?"

"I am," he takes her hands in his, pressing a kiss to the back of each one. "Early morning, see."

"Worst news of the night! You'll come visit me soon, won't you?"

"Of course. We have to do happy hour."

"Of course! Can you do one thing for me before you leave?"

He smiles, fond, a happiness to indulge her blooming brightly in the cracks inside of him. "Of course."

Her shoulders shake with a theatrical shiver. "I'm feeling a bit of a chill... would you be able to retrieve my coat from the cloak room? Number sixteen."

---

Arthur estimates that he's been sat on the floor, staring into nothingness, for at least twenty minutes when the door to the cloak room opens.

He's instantly on his feet, a thank god on his lips, when he sees that it's Eames who's come to his rescue.

Eames is staring at him, dumbly. "What are you doing in here?" he asks, the yellow light of the bulb above his head giving him a halo. “Did you pass out or something?”

“What?” Arthur pauses. "What are you doing here? Then it occurs to him exactly what Eames is doing in here. The blood rushes out of his upper body. Then he says, "Fuck."

Snick.

“Did—?”

Hysteria wells up where hope has vacated as he watches Eames whirl around and re-enact the same thing that Arthur had done earlier in trying to get the door open.

"It's locked," Arthur informs him.

"It's locked," Eames exclaims as if he hasn't heard him, roughly shaking the door handle. "Arthur, it's fucking locked. We're locked in." He pounds on the door and calls out, but no one comes, even when Eames resorts to bellowing for help.

Arthur sighs, head pounding.

Eames whirls around, anger writ over his face. "Are you going to fucking help or what, Arthur?" He takes his phone out of pocket, "Useless. I'll just fucking---" he taps the screen roughly. "No service? How is there no fucking service?"

"I've already tried that."

Eames rummages through the racks of coats, trying to look for something. "Surely there is something to jimmy that fucking door open." He pats himself down in a panic. "I don't have my fucking kit with me. The one day I don't have my goddamn kit."

Arthur knows. He left his lockpicking kit at their house, along with all of his other possessions.

"Did Edith ask you to get her coat?"

Pausing his assault on the door Eames sends a suspicious, caged look. "How did you know? Did you fucking plan this?"

"What the fuck?" Arthur blinks, taken aback. "Why would I plan this? Do you think I want to be stuck here with you?"

"I don't know, do you?"

"I don't want to be anywhere fucking near you," he snaps. Unbelievable. “This is the last place I want to be in." He punctuates this by pressing himself to the furthest wall, a whole four feet away from Eames. "Edith asked me the same thing," he swears. "What did you tell her?"

"I didn't fucking tell her anything, just that we split up."

"And what else?"

"I didn't tell her to lock me in a fucking closet with you if that's what you're asking," Eames snaps. "No doubt this is her idea of a joke."

More like her idea of a daytime soap. "I'm not laughing," Arthur mutters darkly.

"I suppose you wouldn't be," Eames says, mouth twisted in a facsimile of amusement. "Can't run away when someone's got you locked in."

Arthur strips his jacket off in angry motions, suddenly very warm, and drops it to the floor beside his tie. Beads of sweat roll down his back as the walls seem to close in with every verbal jab. 

"Rich coming from you. I'm not the one who ran away."

"I left after you left me." Eames adds.

"I didn't fucking leave you!" Arthur snaps, wishing he were anywhere else, that the floor would open and swallow him whole. He's so sick of talking about this. "God, you're so self-absorbed! You can't ever be wrong, can you?"

“Oh, are we doing this now?” Eames' arms cross over his chest. "What part am I wrong about—"

"—All of it—"

"—was it the note you left on the PASV that said 'I can't do this anymore'? Or was it the second that said 'I'm leaving?'".

"Leaving for a job for fucks' sake!" Arthur frustratedly wipes his hands down his face. "You weren't back from Berlin yet!"

"You'd been ignoring my calls for an entire week," Eames says. “If that’s not precisely what you meant, what was I supposed to think? That you’d announced your departure for milk and eggs down the shops?"

"You were supposed to ask me! Like, 'Hey, Arthur, what's this about?'"

"So you could break up with me to my face?"

Arthur shakes his head. "You always do this. You always cut the goddamn cord when you think someone is going to let the other end go first. I wasn't breaking up with you, asshole. You misunderstood."

"Yes, well," Eames huffs defensively, "it was only a matter of time, wasn't it? It was always going to end this way. It always does."

Arthur doesn't think so, but is too angry to bother refuting him. His fingers, slippery with sweat, struggle to unbutton his cuffs. He gets there and pushes his sleeves up messily, then works on the first few buttons of his shirt. He takes hold of the fabric and pulls it away from his chest, using it to fan himself.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm--" he wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's too hot. I can't breathe." The room is too small. The room is too fucking small, there isn’t enough air—the elevator is falling—

"...sit down." Eames voice is muffled. "...sit down, Arthur."

His legs abruptly collapse beneath him at the command, knees buckling like a puppet that had its strings cut. Curling in on himself Arthur buries his head in his shaking hands again so he doesn't have to see.

Several long, quiet moments pass before he hears Eames shuffle and sit in front of him, clothes shifting noisily before him.

"Do you remember when we broke up over stamps that one time?" Arthur says into his hands when it feels like he’s not going to fall anymore, when there is a little more oxygen in the room. 

“Yeah.”

"I thought that was the dumbest reason for anyone to break up and nothing could ever top it.” He huffs darkly, laughing a little. “I was wrong."

"To be fair, they were my Uncle Micks' stamps."

"Your Uncle Mick was an asshole."

"Yeah but his collection was worth a mint. Until you threw them out."

"I didn't realize what it was,” he says sadly. “I thought it was trash."

"You misunderstood."

He presses his fingernails into his hairline until it hurts. "Yeah, I guess I did."

---

Every second that it takes for Arthur’s breathing to even out Eames counts out. Each of those seconds he wishes the closet door would magically open and give them both what he can’t, a solution to everything wrong between them.

"You're never going to forgive me about following Dom, are you?" Arthur says after a long time. 

"It's not that I haven't forgiven..." Eames swallows, tracing a line over the curve of his thumbnail. "There was never... I've forgiven you. Long ago."

“Then why did you say—? Yesterday. Why did you...”

Maybe Arthur was right, that it was Eames looking for an out this entire time. Maybe he wants some benevolent force to open that door so Eames can flee for good, unable to stand this peeling back of his skin, the under surface exploration that has never become easier, even after all this time.

Finding the right words is like digging for gold in a bargain bin at a discount store. In all of the white noise he tries to find the words; but they come out clumsy; insufficient. "When you left that time. It was...it felt..." He feels stupid even saying it, "...it hurt so tremendously that I think it took out a part of me."

"Eames."

"And the only way I could cope with that was to shut off that part of myself that cares with the same ferocity. To just turn it all off. I think I never put myself back together quite right. And every time I start thinking you're going to leave again..."

"You do what you think you need to to protect yourself. "

He shrugs, profound shame heating his face. "I do it before I know I've done it. I can't feel left behind if I convince myself I don't love you anymore."

"And you don't?"

"I only convince myself long enough to get out the door," Eames admits for the first time out loud. "It's pride that he keeps me from walking back in. I don't know if I can fix it."

"I wasn't going to leave."

It’s been forty hours of the same argument. Eames is beyond tired of this. "Then what the fuck does 'I can't do this anymore' and 'I'm leaving' mean, Arthur?"

Out of the corner of his eye Arthur looks awful, more awful than he did when Eames walked in. Ten years older and barren of any human vitality; smaller. "I was leaving for another job. It was going to be my last because I'm quitting."

Eames blinks. "You are not."

"I'm done. No more dreaming, no more consulting. None of it."

"You wouldn't last five minutes without it."

"I knew that's what you would say," Arthur fiddles with his hands, not meeting his eyes. "But I am. I mean, aren't you tired of it?"

"I was tired of it five years ago, Arthur. Remember, before you pulled me back in for the Fischer job?"

"I wish I'd quit then. Right after Mal." He laughs, darkly. "I wasted so much time. I fucking regret it. We could have had more time; now look at us."

"I can't believe you wrote that on fucking post-its," Eames wipes a hand down his face. "Why didn't you write 'let's quit dreamshare', you stupid idiot."

"It was only a first draft. You were home earlier than I expected. You weren’t meant to find them."

A long silence passes between them, taking up all of the available space in the tiny cloak room.

"You're right," Eames nudges their knees together, heart breaking a little. "This is way more stupid than the stamps break-up. Or the time with the bagel."

"I hadn't eaten in three days," Arthur says, ire momentarily flaring like a stoked fire as Eames knew it would, bringing a bit of life back to him. "Fuck. I was so mad when you ate that. I was so hungry."

"It was a stale bagel, for what it's worth."

"...I'm sorry you found the notes like that. I didn't think-- I didn't think. I was just trying to plan what to say. I was scared it was going to be a deal breaker."

"I suppose it was, in a way."

"Yeah."

An uncomfortable silence passes between them. In the far distance the can hear echoes of the ballroom music, but no voices, or footsteps.

"Eames?"

"Mm?"

"I..." Arthur visibly appears to take a moment to measure his words. "When you said yesterday that I was a flake looking for the next out... I'm not a flake."

Regret slides down Eames throat in a hard, solid lump. "I shouldn't have said that. I know you're not."

"And I shouldn't have said that you weren't in this to begin with."

"I was, you know," he says.

"Yeah."

"But this up and down thing," Eames says, finally loosening his bow-tie, the old aches in his knees and the small of his back making themselves known. "I had it wrong, but I had it right. We can't keep doing this.” 

“No.”

An air of sadness and finality permeates the room so thickly that Eames can't take it. He isn't going to let post-its of all damn things be their end. So he does what he does best, and takes a gamble.

“...We'd need to do something different."

The dividends are paid out in Arthur blinking at him in surprise, the ghost of a hopeful smile tugging at his lips. 

"Yeah,” he agrees. “Like... not working in an industry we resent?"

"Or not getting mad over stamps."

"Or bagels."

"Or not seeing family you like often enough."

"Not explaining things clearly," Arthur concedes, inching closer. "I was wrong, Eames. I messed up, big time. I am an idiot."

"Will you write that on a post-it?"

"A hundred times over."

"I do love you, very much, for what it's worth." Eames tells him. "I can't unlove you. I've tried. It doesn't stick."

Eames did try. But in a rush of blinding colour Eames can see at once the worth of the immaterial; the cost of his own self-preservation, or the risk of further turbulence with Arthur. A lifetime of missing the shape of him, of waking up beside him. Of being known by him. No part of Eames has known or longed for another since Arthur; and he feels it still, at this moment, pressed thigh to thigh, alone together, two inches and two thousand miles apart. Eames would be okay without Arthur, but he's so much better with him.

"Me too." Fingers thread through his. Arthur’s palm is slick and his fingers faintly tremble with lingering adrenaline.

Despite all of it, this simple point of contact threads some part of Eames back together. 

"Fourth time has to be the charm, don't you think?"

"I'll do it as many times as needed," Arthur says, his other hand coming up to cup Eames cheek. 

A chaste kiss is pressed to his mouth.

"Which coat is the best to shag on, do you think?" he mumbles against Arthur's lips after a moment, dirtying up the kiss with a swipe of his tongue.

"There should be some genuine mink in here, I think," Arthur tugs on Eames' bow-tie. "It's a shame we're going to crumple this suit. It's gorgeous."

Eames doesn't think it's a shame at all. It was the purpose of him buying it in the first place, after all. It was always intended to end up in a rumpled, crinkled pile on the floor.

And it does.

---

One year later.

"Oh, don't you two look cute," is the first thing his Aunt Michele says at Edith's 81st birthday party.

"I'd prefer devastatingly handsome," says Eames, linking his arm with Arthurs.

Michele blinks. "Okay. Nice seeing you!" Then she's off, chasing another woman calling her name.

"I prefer dapper," says Arthur, looking at Eames, seemingly somewhat offended. He gestures to their suits. "This is not cute."

"Au contraire, my dear," Eames begins walking them forward, waving across the room to some of Arthur's cousins, "we are the cutest. I could pinch our cheeks."

Arthur fixes him a look that halts a hand wandering downwards that intends to do just so. Recovering, Eames only smiles placidly at him as they approach the bar, where Edith is already flirting with the bartender. This year she's in a studded leather jacket and a red sequinned dress with a dramatic, sultry slit up the side. It’s tacky. It’s as lurid as the rest of the venue. It’s perfect.

"Didn't think either of you would show up," Barry mutters into his drink, face scrunching up as if he'd just tasted something sour.

"Oh honestly, how many times must we apologise for that little incident," Eames waves him off, referring to the previous room when Barry was the one to find them in the cloak room, post-coitus, having thoroughly defiled the gaudiest of outerwear.

"You haven't even apologized once."

"Well, if we're honest, nothing about that incident was little," says Arthur.

"Right you are," says Eames.

"I'm leaving," says Barry.

"Oh, how I missed you two," Edith smiles brightly welcoming them into her embrace as Barry departs. She kisses both of their cheeks. “Tell me, darlings, what’s news?”

Arthur shares a look with Eames.

It hasn’t been a year without setbacks; to be expected, of course, when quitting dreamshare and recharting the trajectory of their lives. Not without quibbles and slammed doors, sneers and snarls and fucking spectacular make-up sex. But it’s been the best year of Eames’ life, so far, he would put good money on saying, full of making up things as they go and plain old making up and out, over and over. Growing up and older together, more stable than they’ve ever been before. 

Arthur squeezes his fingers.

Eames slips his other hand into his pocket, feeling for the folded up piece of paper he knows is in there. A post-it that simply reads I love you.

“We’re thinking of relocating nearby,” he announces. “A change of pace.”

Edith's gasp is genuine in its delight. “Oh, that is the best news of the night!”

Arthur’s voice is soft. “Yeah,” he catches Eames gaze, smiles fondly. “We’re pretty damn happy.”

They are.

[reigningqueenofwords]

The Call

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 2,190 Warnings: Character death

Read on AO3

Humming to yourself, you kicked your feet up on the arm of the couch and looked through the pages of an old copy of Rolling Stone. “Hey, sweetheart.” Dean smiled, walking into the living room. You’d bought the house together right after the birth of your oldest son, DJ, and had been living there for nearly 5 years. It had seen your marriage to Dean in the backyard, and then the birth of your twins- a boy, Levi, and a girl, Nicolette, who were three.

“Hey, handsome.” You looked over at him. Seeing the state of him, you groaned and got up, tossing your magazine on the coffee table. Dean still hunted on occasion, much to your dismay, but you gave up fighting that battle years ago. “You’re so lucky the kids aren’t home!” You hissed at him, earning a sheepish look.

“Well, I know DJ’s at school, where are the twins?” He asked, pulling off his jacket.

“Daycare.” You reminded him. “Remember, I signed them up for part time to get used to playing with kids other than each other? They go three days a week. Today is their first day.”

He thought for a moment and nodded. “Shit, that’s right.” He chuckled. “I’ll go get cleaned up before they’re home.” He told you, leaning over and kissing your cheek. “You know you love me. Covered in blood and all.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah. I married you, didn’t I?” You teased. “I go pick them up in about an hour, by the way. If you want to go.”

“Of course I want to go!” He told you excitedly. “I’ve been away from home for three days, and I miss my kids.” Dean was an excellent father, and very hands on. “Oh, Sam says hi, by the way.” He told you.

“I’ll text him later.” You told him. “Now, go shower before I drag you outback and hose you down!” You half threatened.

At dinner that night, you raised an eyebrow at your husband. “If you shove any more of that in your mouth, I’m pretty sure you’ll choke.” You teased him, with a chuckle.

“Daddyyyyy.” Nicholette giggled at her father’s face. You’d made home made mashed potatoes, baked chicken, and green beans. He had shoved some chicken and potatoes in his mouth and currently reminded you of a chipmunk. “You so silly!” She grinned.

He slowed his chewing, blushing slightly. Licking his lips, he swallowed before sipping his beer. “Sorry.” He gave you a bashful smile. “This is just so much better than eating on the road.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I take it as a compliment, but remember, we have three small Winchesters who look up to their Daddy…” You motioned to the three kids who were a bit messy.

“Good point.” He motioned at you with a fork. Hearing his hunting phone ring, you both furrowed your brows. “What the he– heck?” Dean corrected himself when you shot him a look. “Let me go get that.”

It worried you, as he never got called in that close together. Most of the time, it was weeks, or months, between hunts. Never, ever this soon! “I’m sure it’s nothing.” You told the three kids who looked at you with curious green eyes. They had very little knowledge of hunting, and you wanted to keep it that way as long as you could.

“I gotta go, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He rushed in, a panicked look on his face as he kissed your cheek. You looked at him, scared. “I know, I know. I never take hunts this soon after I get home.” Dean sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ll call you tonight and fill you in. I promise.”

You nodded, knowing that was his way of saying he didn’t want to say anything in front of the kids. “Alright. Kids, say bye to daddy.” You gave them a small smile.

“Bye, Daddy!” They yelled in unison, tugging at his heartstrings. “Love you!”

Moving to them, one by one, he kissed the top of their head. “Be good for mommy, guys.” He told them firmly. “Or I’m not gonna be happy when I get home.”

They looked at each other, wide eyed. “Uh oh.” Levi breathed. “We be good, Daddy!” He looked over at Dean, who was trying so hard not to laugh at their expressions.

After dinner, you’d cleaned the kitchen up, bathed them, given them a bedtime snack, and managed to get them all into bed. By the time you sat down from housework, it was nearly 9. You had a glass of wine, and had the Food Network on a very low volume. You’d changed into a pair of Dean’s sweats, and a t-shirt, your socked feet up on your coffee table, and your cellphone on the cushion next to your leg. Once you spoke to Dean, you’d likely crawl into bed, wanting to recharge for another day of parenting three small children alone.

It was mid Master Chef rerun when your phone vibrated, lighting up with your husband’s smiling face. Sipping your wine, you smiled softly as you picked up your phone. The bottom of your glass clicked gently on the side table when you set it down, putting the phone to your ear. “Hey, handsome.” You greeted him.

“Hey, sweetheart.” You could hear the grin in his voice. “Sammy says hi.” He chuckled.

“Tell him I’m mad at him!” You joked, tucking your feet up to the side. “But, I still say hi back.”

He relayed the information to his brother as they drove down the highway. “So, I’ll spare you the gory details for now. I know you aren’t a huge fan anymore.” He teased you lightly, remembering how the month after you’d had DJ you’d thrown up hearing the details. You just couldn’t stomach them much anymore. “We’re thinking ghouls.” He sighed, and you made a face. “I know you’re scrunching your nose, so…yeah. Exactly.”

You chuckled. “You know me too well.” You pointed out.

“That I do, Mrs. Winchester.” He replied, chuckling. “How was bedtime with the kids?” He asked, wanting to talk about something on a lighter note for the remainder of the call. He’d be wanting to get home more than usual, as this was sooner than he would have wanted to be gone.

Sam sat back in his chair with a groan. The sleeves to his button up shirt were rolled up to right under his elbows, the top button undone, and the tie loosened. Over the back of his chair hung his suit coat as his laptop was open in front of him. “I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this isn’t out type of case?” He looked over to where Dean sat on the bed closest to him. “We’ve been here two days, and we’re still at square one.” Sam pointed out, sighing.

Sipping his beer, Dean licked his lips. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me I’m missing time with my kids for nothing.” He shot his brother a look. “You called me saying there was a case, and that you needed me. Don’t make me call my wife and tell her that I’m missing time with my family for nothing.”

“I’m sorry, man.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’ll go grab some take out and see if I hear anything.” He got up, rolling his shoulders. “There’s a place down the street, Chinese. What do you want?”

Holding his gun aimed, Dean moved through the large house, his heart beating his in chest. Sam went another way, trying to cover more ground. Feeling his phone vibrate, he licked his lips and pulled out his phone. “What?” He hissed.

Sam was quiet on the other end of the line. “Dean, it’s not fucking ghouls!” He snapped, making Dean pause. “It’s not ghouls.” He repeated.

“Then what the fuck is it?” He ground out.

There was a moment of silence before Sam spoke. “This isn’t our type of case, man.”

Dean’s face paled, knowing that humans could be so much worse than monsters. “Are we dealing with fucking Hannibal or somethin’?” What the else could it be? They were finding people with parts missing. Sometimes whole parts, sometimes just pieces. “If that’s the case, then I–”

Sam furrowed his brows when Dean’s voice cut off. “Dean?!” He panicked. “Dean??” Hearing the phone drop to the floor, his stomach sank when he knew it had been stomped on. There was no other explanation. “Shit.” He knew he couldn’t do this alone, but his hunter friends were beyond limited. Many were dead for all he knew.

You were giving the kids a bath when your phone rang. Seeing Sam’s number, you felt like you’d be sick. You picked up quickly, your eyes on the kids. “Hello?” You answered, terrified that you’d be told Dean wouldn’t be coming home this time. It was the same fear you’d had for years.

“Shit, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure who else to call.” He replied quickly. “I need you to come out and help.”

“I have three kids, Sam! What the he–heck am I supposed to do with them?” You asked, shielding yourself from some bath water.

He sighed. “Do you have a friend that can watch them? Just tell them that it’s a family emergency.”

You ran your hand through your hair. “It’s just a ghoul, Sam, what happened?” How could the two of them not handle that?

“It’s not a ghoul. It’s human, and they have Dean.” He told you seriously.

“I’ll call my best friend.” You snapped. “Text me where to meet you, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.” You had a harsh look on your face.

It felt like an eternity had passed from when Sam called you, until when you met him at the start of the dirt road. The house that Dean was being held in was fairly large, and the only one for two miles (at least) in every direction. You wore jeans, a t-shirt, boots, and a jacket. Your old hunting gear. “Sam.” You greeted him with a curt nod.

“You know I hated having to call you.” He gave you those puppy dog eyes.

Your eyes were full of fear as they met his hazel ones. “Let’s just get my husband back.” You weren’t angry with Sam, per say, but you had to keep yourself in check.

Running his hand through his hair, he nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.” He motioned towards the house before the pair of you started moving quietly through the trees on the property.

Dean grunted against his restraints, his eyes covered with a dark blindfold. He’d heard his captor speak, and he knew the voice, but the name just wasn’t coming to him. It was so familiar, yet sounded like a stranger. It was pissing him off, and he wanted this to all be over. As much as he kept telling himself he was done hunting, he knew it was a bluff. He’d never send Sammy away.

“Dean!” Hearing your voice, he froze. “Oh, God.” You slid to your knees near him, pulling the blindfold off. As you worked on his bindings, your heart raced. “We’re getting you the hell out of here.” You told him. He worked on the rope around his ankles, panicked.

“Oh, look, you brought guests. Pretty little thing, too.” Came a man’s deep voice.

Dean snarled. “Show yourself, Hannibal, you sick son of a bitch.” He spat, putting himself in front of you slightly.

When the bald man stepped out, you saw Dean falter. “Is that anyway to talk to your Grandfather, Dean?” He smirked.

His jaw was tight as he spoke. “Samuel.” He glared.

“Dean?” You glanced at him for a split second, gripping the back of his shirt.

“How do you know my grandson?” Samuel asked, slowly moving closer.

You swallowed, watching his every movement. “Why should I tell you?” You countered, holding your head high. Being bullied by him wasn’t something you intended to do.

“Because I’m the one who holds both your lives in my hands.” He pointed out, pulling out a gun. “Now, normally I prefer other means, but you’re leaving me no choice.” Samuel sighed, aiming at Dean.

Without a second thought, you moved in front of Dean, the searing pain happening in an instant. Your hand went to gushing wound. “Fuck.” You breathed.

Sam stumbled, fighting to keep his eyes open, and leaned on the doorway. “You calculated wrong.” He ground out, making Samuel turn to look at him. To the best of Sam’s ability, he lifted his own gun and fired as he slid to the ground, groaning. His eyes were heavy with what Samuel had dosed him with, and they moved to where Dean was cradling you.

“Come on, baby.” Dean sobbed, putting his hand over yours, feeling your blood seep between his fingers. “Don’t you dare die on me. We got three kids that need you. I need you.” He breathed, feeling a pain that ate at his soul. “Please, baby…”

[ravendruid]

Hi there! I’m new here and would like to ask for your September prompts, Critical Role, Vaxleth, number 28 please

Hi!! Welcome in! Thank you so much for sending a prompt, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry it took me a few days to write it, I hope you like it ^_^

A Slice of Life

(Read on AO3)

Vax’ildan is not used to being the first one to wake up but since the heat of the Zephrahn summer has been unbearable on him, Vax has been waking up shortly after dawn for the past two days thanks to the already sweltering heat that makes it impossible for him to be under the covers with Keyleth, who, by herself, is already a naturally hot person. Vax doesn’t usually have to wait too long for Keyleth to turn in bed, face him, and kiss him good morning with her sleep-crusted eyes and hoarse voice, but for some reason, his usually morning butterfly of a girlfriend is enjoying the softness of the sheets this morning, so Vax takes the chance to stretch out like a cat and pads quietly out of the bedroom.

Their house is not big. It’s a one-bedroom cottage near the center of Zephrah, not too far from the building that acts as what some might call a town hall. It was an easy choice once Keyleth saw the vine and moss covered walls, the small but cute garden outback shaded by a large oak tree with a wooden swing hanging from a thick branch, and the pebbled path surrounded by bee and butterfly-friendly flowers. It didn’t matter much to Vax where they would stay in regards to proximity of work or what the house would look like as long as Keyleth was happy, but he has to admit that the charm of the run-down cottage has grown on him, especially with the work and hours Vax and Keyleth have put into repairing it.

The proportion of the rooms is not too far off with the house itself. The kitchen has limited counter space that has taught Vax to cherish storage spaces, with a small stove and oven, a sink and an ice box big enough for both of them; the living and dining room is one single area where they keep a high table with two stools behind the back of the soft, green couch. There was no room for Keyleth’s favorite armchair, though, so they opted to let it remain at her father’s house, but Keyleth affirmed she would not leave her favorite plush rug behind, so that is now decorating the floor between the couch and the fireplace. They also purchased a handmade bookshelf from a local woodcarver, who, when told who this order was for, carved their initials on the wood at the top. It now stands against a wall, holding the majority of Keyleth’s books—everything from Alchemy and Herbs, to romance and fairytale books—and all the trinkets Vax has collected over their years of adventuring. Their bedroom is probably one of the largest rooms in the house, with a big glass window that faces the backyard and the mountains. Keyleth had fun decorating it in a way that would include both their tastes and personalities, which Vax loved, and adding more ivy and plants everywhere she could. Sometimes Vax feels like he’s still sleeping under the canopy of a forest and not in a house.

Vax looks at the ice box when he steps into the kitchen area and he’s already shaking his head because he knows he will find it practically empty. Keyleth has had to travel to Vasselheim quite a lot this week, so they haven’t had the opportunity to get many homemade meals, and because of that, their groceries are lacking. However, Vax still finds enough to whip up something: a small carton of eggs Korrin brought over yesterday, a little bit of milk left from Vax’s breakfasts, and even a few slices of bacon. It’s not much, but it’ll do. As long as they have coffee, Vax knows he will be safe.

So Vax puts on the black apron Keyleth made for him, the one where she embroidered Kiss the Rogue on the chest area in red with a fanged mouth—she will never let him forget how his first instinct was to charm the Briarwoods to get out of trouble the first time he encountered them—last Winter’s Crest, and he starts preparing breakfast, which doesn’t take too long. 

Vax was fully expecting the smell of fresh brewed coffee and crispy bacon would be enough to rouse Keyleth, but it seems like his druid might be having a bad case of lazy morning because when he cracks the bedroom door open to check on her, she is still sleeping, snoring lightly while sprawled out on the bed with the sheets bundled at her feet and her red, messy braid falling on his pillow. Vax can’t help but chuckle at the sight as he crosses the bedroom to open the window. It doesn’t do much to stave off the heat (if anything it brings even more heat), but at least the singing of the birds is louder and the room feels more in-tune with nature.

“Kiki,” Vax calls softly, brushing a strand of hair from the little of Keyleth’s face he can see. The woman doesn’t stir, so far out she is to the world. Vax can’t blame her with all the work Keyleth has had, with the nights she’s been staying up, looking up information, reading reports and other documents, until Vax says ‘enough is enough’ and drags her to bed. Keyleth needs this rest, which is the biggest reason that Vax decides to try only one more time. If she doesn’t wake up, then it’s because she clearly isn’t ready to.

“Keyleth,” Vax shakes her shoulder lightly this time. Finally there is a sign of recognition as Keyleth stirs and hums. “Morning, beautiful,” Vax brushes Keyleth’s hair, speaking softly when she starts moving her long, sprawled out limbs. He watches as the druid curls into herself and, for a moment, Vax regrets waking her up, but then Keyleth slowly opens one eye, followed by the other, and he gets to see those bright, green eyes he loves so much, and every thought leaves his head.

“Uhm,” Keyleth hums, turning on her back and stretching out like a starfish as long as she can, which makes Vax laugh. He’s never seen her like this, so sleepy and relaxed. It’s adorable. “No,” Keyleth grumbles, bringing her bottom lip up in a pout when she sees Vax. 

“No?” 

“Come back to bed,” Keyleth orders. Vax laughs again and shakes his head, saying, “It’s too hot, and I made breakfast.”

The last word seems to be incentive enough to make Keyleth open her eyes wider and focus on him, and Vax can practically see the cog wheels of her brain dust off the rust and start working. 

“Coffee?” She asks.

“Coming right up,” Vax kisses her forehead before he steps out into the kitchen, where he grabs both mugs of coffee and brings them back to the bedroom. “Would you also like breakfast in bed, your highness?” He jokes. Keyleth doesn’t reply until after she grabs the coffee mug from him, takes a large gulp and sighs from the quick boost of caffeine. 

“Yes, please.”

“Sorry it’s not much,” Vax apologizes when he brings a plate with eggs, toast and bacon. “We’re running out of food.”

“It’s everything,” Keyleth smiles like a little kid on Winter’s Crest. “It tastes good too.”

“I’m glad,” Vax kisses her cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a stone.”

“I could tell. You were snoring really loud. I think everyone in town heard you.” Vax jokes, waggling his eyebrows at her. Keyleth gives him an offended look which Vax can’t take seriously due to the piece of toast hanging out of her mouth. 

“Liar. I did not snore,” Keyleth admonishes him. Vax snorts into his coffee and gives her a wink over the rim of his mug. “Did you sleep well?” Keyleth asks.

“Too hot. Seriously, why is it so hot here?” Vax complains and to emphasize, he takes off his sweat-damp tunic.

“Not a lot of wind to cool things down,” Keyleth explains. “I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense, considering we are the Air Ashari, but the protective barrier that keeps all the bad weather out also keeps out most of the winds that are characteristic of the Summit Peaks, which means it can get pretty toasty in Zephrah.”

“Can you do something about it?” Vax asks. Keyleth can do a lot of pretty awesome things these days—one of her most recent tricks is being able to turn into a dragon, which almost sent Vax to an early grave from admiration the first time he witnessed it—so maybe she can do something about the heat.

“Technically, I can, yes, but I would need the agreement from the rest of the elder council.”

The stupid elder council, Vax thinks. The group of older, wiser people that ensure the wishes of all citizens are met, or at least heard. They would never allow Keyleth to change the protective barrier to allow more wind through to lower the town’s temperature because, in Vax’s opinion, they are all a group of stuck-up, ancient old bags who hate change and keep rejecting every single proposal Keyleth has brought to the table when it concerns the development of Zephrah (including the creation of an elite group of soldiers whose job would be to protect the town, and technically the Tempest, from external threats). 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Keyleth promises when she notices Vax’s downcast gaze. 

“You know… things would be easier if you’d just allow me to have a little talk with them,” Vax mumbles. It’s only here, in the safety of their home, that Keyleth feels free and secure enough to voice her thoughts and, on several occasions, she has voiced how much she hates the council and their blocks to her plans, and it’s not that Vax prefers violence, but he has offered his assassin services to her on multiple occasions… or at least just enough to scare them off. 

“This is my battle, Vax,” Keyleth replies sternly, as she always does. “But thank you. I appreciate the offer.” She leans in to kiss his cheek.

Vax picks up Keyleth’s empty plate and mug and sets them on his nightstand with his empty dishes. “You know my services are free for you, right?” Vax says, slowly crawling towards Keyleth. 

“Oh? They are?” She smirks. Keyleth hooks a finger under Vax’s chin and pulls him until he’s kneeling between her legs. “What kind of services are we talking about, then?”

“Oh, you know… All sorts of… services,” Vax teases feather-light touches over Keyleth’s shoulders, dragging down the thin straps of her nightgown. “Oops,” He smiles as the fabric falls down Keyleth’s torso and pools at her waist, exposing her breasts.

“I hope these ‘services’ are also exclusive for me,” Keyleth cocks an eyebrow, amused. 

“Of course, love,” Vax murmurs, locking his mouth with the column of Keyleth’s neck. She twists her head to the side to allow him an easier access, which Vax gladly takes.

“I assume… you don’t have to… rush to work… this morning?” He asks, trailing kisses up her jaw between words.

“I took the day off. I felt like I had to compensate you for all the late hours,” Keyleth manages to say with a raspy breath. Vax smiles victoriously as he reaches her mouth. 

“Well. We should make the most of this free time, then.”

Every day, Vax finds a different reason for why he loves Keyleth so much, and every day the woman finds a different way to show him just how much she loves him. Today she does it not only in the form of a somewhat lazy morning, spent with their naked bodies intertwined in bed, but also in the form of a nice, summer breeze coming in through the open window, cool enough to make the newly-added heat of their bodies more bearable for Vax.

[astragreenwoode]

♡Truest Treasure (Adventure Time Petrigrof AU)♡ PT 4/?

(A/N: Part 4. We're getting into heavy angst territory, so be prepared. Sorry to put you guys through heartbreak.

If you are sensitive to themes such as child loss/miscarriage, suicidal ideation, extreme grief, and hospitals, either proceed with caution or feel free to avoid this part altogether. Remember to look out for yourselves.)

♡ My AU where pretty much everything is the same as in canon except Betty is unknowingly pregnant with her and Simon's daughter when she jumps through the portal.

Italics - A/N

Slashed Text - NSFW

Bold Text - Sensitive Topics

A Bump in the Road

♡ When they got to the Emergency Room, the nurses immediately wheeled Betty to an examination room once they saw the trail of blood behind her and Simon. But they needed him to stay behind. They needed help from the hospital security to practically pry them away from each other so they could treat her.

♡ After an hour of waiting when Betty was finally stabilized, Dr. Olson, came out to give Simon the bad news; Betty experienced a late miscarriage. But during their treatment, they had to strap her down to the bed and give her a sedative so she wouldn’t worsen her injuries.

♡ Betty’s situation was time-sensitive. She was in danger of getting an infection, so after updating Simon, Dr. Olson performed a surgical evacuation immediately.

♡ "Princess, we can have another baby. But I can't have another you."

♡ Given Betty’s medical history, a recorded suicide attempt when she was 13 years old, and how she was so distressed that they had to sedate and restrain her, Dr. Olson put her on Suicide Watch, just to be on the safe side.

♡ Up until this point, Simon didn’t know her struggles with her mental health were this severe.

♡ In the meantime, he called Betty’s mother and told her what was happening. She was at the hospital within five minutes.

♡ Alice Grof had trouble warming up to Simon from the beginning. She never liked how he stopped Betty from going on that trip to the Outback. But her daughter was happy, and that’s what mattered the most. And while their relationship wasn’t the warmest, they respected each other. She comforted Simon whilst Betty was still in surgery.

♡ Betty recovers in the hospital for five more days, drained both physically and emotionally. When she first wakes up following the procedure, she’s unresponsive, almost catatonic, and withdrawn from reality to process all the trauma of the whole situation. Simon and Alice make sure she’s never by herself during those five days.

♡ Alice stays with her daughter one day so that Simon can go to their apartment and bring some of Betty’s stuff to the hospital to help her not be as anxious during her stay.

♡ The day before they were ready to go back home, Alice offered to tidy the place up so Betty could recover in a clutter and stress-free environment. She cleaned the blood off their sheets and carpet, made everything neat, stocked their fridge and pantries with food, and made sure their bathroom had the necessary medical supplies to help the healing process. She also hid all items related to their lost baby in a trunk in their hall closet, out of sight, and waiting for whenever Simon and Betty were ready to try again.

♡ When they came back home, they took three weeks off of work so they could mourn their loss together.

♡ Betty returns to taking all her regular antidepressants and antipsychotics. They stabilize her mood and help keep her focused and ‘normal’ when she returns to work, but she’s still numb and withdrawn for a while.

♡ She visits with her mom more frequently, going over to her and her partner Suzanne’s house once a week. The visits help her in her grief.

♡ When Betty started getting her period again, her heart shattered all over again. Simon asked her mother to come over for a few days. 

♡ Proceeding with caution, Simon asks her about what he discovered in the hospital. He wants to understand her past struggles with her mental health; the suicidal ideation in her childhood, the self-harm tendencies, the OCD, the ADHD, the bipolar disorder she inherited from her mother, her past of pain, all of it. He wants to know so he can fully understand how to help her if she spirals again in the future. 

♡ It’s hard for her to open up about that.

♡ Betty avoids intimate and vulnerable situations with Simon for a while. He doesn’t mind at all and is willing to wait as long as she needs. The farthest she’s willing to go is cuddling with him in her underwear. Two months after coming back from the hospital, they graduate to taking showers together again.

♡ At night, Betty still holds Simon’s hand to her stomach as they sleep in bed.

♡ She can still feel their baby kicking from time to time, like experiencing phantom pain after losing a limb.

♡ In an effort to help Betty heal and get back to her old self, Simon surprises her by taking her on a two-week vacation to Ireland; Betty’s dream trip.

♡ A week into the trip, they retire to their suite early after having dinner at the hotel restaurant along with a bottle of wine. And for the first time since their loss, Betty lets Simon all the way in. That night, they unknowingly conceive their future daughter.

♡ The day before they fly back home to Seattle, Simon proposes. Betty says ‘yes.’ And after three months of sitting with their heartbreak, they feel hopeful for what the future might bring them again.

♡ Two months into their engagement, Simon embarks on a solo journey to follow up on a lead for an especially rare artifact.

♡ We all know what happens from here; what was meant as an innocent and playful gesture sparked earth-shattering consequences.

♡ Betty is absolutely petrified by her fiancee’s abrupt personality switch once he puts on the mysterious crown. That wasn't her Simon. So, when a portal to the future opens showing her the fiancee she knew and loved, she doesn’t think twice before she impulsively jumps through a thousand years and into the land of Ooo.

♡ She's blissfully unaware that she didn't jump through that portal alone.

Reblog, follow me, and come back for Part 5!

[charlesandmartine]

Sunday 17th November 2024

As we sat having breakfast in our little back garden and reading the UK news on our phones, we note all the similarities here. Midwives are threatening industrial action over pay, politicians are admitting taking freebies, trade tariffs with Trumps USA are a worry, housing shortage, 3 year waiting time for operation on public health system, banning under 16s from using social media, high inflation, moaning about paying £1/ litre for petrol/ diesel..... The list goes on.

The next stop is Cloncurry, only a couple of hours up the road, through endless outback with nothing of note on route. Except for Mary Kathleen. In the late 1950s, this was a town, an almost utopian town.

On Sunday 4 July 1954, Norm McConachy and John Walton were making their way along a dry creek when their truck broke down with a loose lead on a spark plug. McConachy is said to be the one who actually took the Geiger counter out of the truck and turned it on. As he continued walking up the dry creek bed, the instrument needle reportedly went off the scale. McConachy then called John Walton who was coaxing their broken-down vehicle back to life. The ore body was then discovered by following a 1.5 kilometre trail of radioactive boulders along the drainage system. The claim was pegged, and an application for a mining lease was lodged at the Mining Warden's office in Cloncurry

The deposit was named Mary Kathleen in honour of Norm McConachy's wife, who had died shortly before their discovery. And so it was that the very valuable commodity Uranium was discovered. The town of Mary Kathleen was constructed in just one year to serve the mining operation which commenced in October 1956 with the treatment plant commissioning in June 1958. The contract was to supply UK Atomic Energy Authority with £40M worth of Uranium Oxide. In the first five years, 4080 tonnes were produced, shipped in 44 Gallon drums to England.

The community built in Mary Kathleen comprised 1,100 families and 200 single men. The town was well equipped with an Olympic size swimming pool, schools, churches, pubs, restaurants, library, cinema, sporting club, general stores, two banks, milk bar, cafes, and hospital. They really did have a modern town, with everything they needed. Rio Tinto, their employer, charged families $8 per week for a 2 bedroomed house, free electricity, no rates, free amenities, and good pay. During the years 1956-1963, a 23 acre market garden was established to provide fresh fruit, veg, and eggs for the town. All they had to was go mine large quantities of a nasty radioactive substance like Uranium.

By 1963 the contract with the UK had been satisfied. A second phase of mining was completed between 1974 and 1982 shipping Uranium Oxide to Japan. After that, the production finished, the buildings were dismantled and sold leaving empty streets of concrete slabs, dwarf walls, tumble weed and a monument to the town's completion. Very little now remains that could demonstrate the vibrant town that once stood there, the lives that it would have represented, the vitality of human day to day existence, testimonies of happy enriched lives, or even tales tinged with sadness, gone with so little to show for it.

Once again, Mr Europcar would've slept uneasily as we followed the brown sign and uphill to the quarry along a very poor road, partially paved, partially unpaved, but together with the grandaddy of all potholes. The nuts and bolts shuddered and shook until we reached a distance of 6km and felt compassion for the Ford and completed the rest of the journey on foot. So we trudged, hatted, up the stony road a further kilometre until the vista opened and there in its glory was the long disused quarry with its pyramid stepped sides of sheer granite leading down and down to assure blue waters, lying so still far below us. The use of this place was dissolved in 1982 and has lain undisturbed, dormant, relatively unvisited ever since. Apart from 4x4 vehicles, it is unapproachable, largely unsigned, on the tourist trail, but difficult to find or access. In the time we were there 3 other 4x4s managed the distance and poor roads. But for us, the experience was well worth the effort, to see the abandoned town where the people who worked this place lived their lives and then the relic of their labours now living its eternity in peace and tranquility now the big earth/ rock movers, the dust, the dirt have now long gone, a monument that tells its own story if anyone can get to listen to it.

Completing our journey to Cloncurry was simple once we managed to find our way out of the abandoned town. In their flight, all signs back to the Barkly Highway had gone!

Happy Birthday, Karen x

ps. We went out for a little walk around the little town at around 8.30 tonight, so warm, and it's like a ghost town. All shut up for the night. These Aussies really are party animals. Worst thing is the Cloncurry Baker's. We'd heard nothing but good things about the famous Cloncurry Curry Pie. Disastrously, the appalling news stuck to the baker's window stated that due to some miscreant member of staff not showing up and letting everybody down, let alone the whole town down, the Cloncurry Bakers will remain closed!!! Bang goes my pie then.

pps. It has to be stated firmly here that this is definitely a neat, tidy, clean, and comly town of charming character. It is a complete surprise and exceeds our expectations by quite a long way. We shall do well here, I feel on our two nights.

[bears-ao3-blog]

(TF2 x TLOU) Dead Mann Walking - Prologue: When All Hell Broke Loose

(Edit: Small Clarification - You do NOT need to know anything about The Last of Us to read this fic!! I made sure to write this in a way that did not make that a requirement. Ok love you bye)

Chapter 1

CW: Implied Violence, Explicit Violence, Injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Mick didn't remember anything about Australia. No surprise, he wasn't even a year old when they moved to Massachusetts. The only pieces of his country of origin that he really carried with him were his shoddy accent - compromised by its mix with a Southern drawl - and borderline stereotypical phrases, both of which he picked up from his parents, of course. 

He was young – barely pushing on two years old – when  it  happened; when monsters emerged from the confines of their own homes, ripping the ones they love to shreds with snarls and howls and sobs. He didn't even remember the day of the outbreak, but he knew plenty. His parents were gentle souls, but they were also honest ones. So, when he asked, they told; even when the answers were far from pretty. They would often combat the grim knowledge they’d have to bestow on their only son with times before the infection. Tales of potlucks and kids playing in the street. Tales of stores filled to the brim with anything you could ever need one hundred times over. Tales of birthdays. Of his own birth. His short childhood before everything happened. 

He often wondered what his room looked like at the time. What color the walls were. What sort of childish paraphernalia littered it. He wondered what his favorite toy was. He wondered what it was like to live without that constant fear of death and destruction of not only yourself but the people you care about. Sometimes it provided solace but, more often than not, it simply made him sad.  

He wondered what life was like for Dell; before his grandpa was infected and he had to blast the old man's brain to bits with his own shotgun. Before he joined their family. He wondered if he was happy before the outbreak. For Mick, it's all he's ever known. His parents used to joke about how there's no reason to feel homesick anymore because things then weren't too different from the deep Outback. The isolation. The danger. The need to fend for yourself because there's no help around for miles. They used to say it was almost nice; "Like we're right back at home!"   

Mick knew it was all bullshit. They never would have immigrated to America in the first place if they wanted to live in a place like that. His parents’ experience proved fruitful, however, and it was their teachings that served as the only reason Mick and Dell had been able to survive so long on their own. Mick felt guilty that Dell wound up being stuck taking care of him. The man had barely been on the cusp of being a legal adult when everything happened. When his parents… 

He doesn't like to think about it, despite the watch on his wrist being a constant reminder. Just another piece of them to carry. It had been his dad's since before the outbreak. Cheap but effective. It even had a small hinge that revealed a compass underneath the timepiece. The images of those trembling, weathered hands pressing the cool metal into his own; that hoarse voice of his father’s telling him "Keep it. Reckon I'm not gonna be around ta use it meself."; his mother wrapping him up in a hug with trailing tears and quiet sobs; Dell adding another two to his list of “guardians I’ve had to shoot dead”: it's something he won't ever be able rid his mind of. Watching your parents die right in front of you is something no seven-year-old should ever have to go through, but that’s just life. The timepiece didn’t even work anymore, but Mick still got plenty of use out of the compass with the hours him and Dell spent scanning maps, looking for their next town and praying it hadn’t been stripped to nothing; praying they got to survive another week. 

And then, a whopping 8 years later, they finally ran out of luck. It had been a tough winter. The snow had been insistent, blanketing and pillowing every square inch of land their tired eyes could see. The chill was extra bitter, nipping at their skin, their flesh, their blood ; their resolve. The two very quickly began to feel the effects of improper sleep and nutrition once the shivers began to wrack their frames, desperate to find any sort of reprieve. They had miraculously stumbled across a town so small it may as well have been a village, and further on, an abandoned taxidermy shop. Mick remembered the beady little eyes of every creature in that old building, strewn about. Some half-hanging off the wall, some littering the floor; the pungent scent of chemicals that still lingered in the air despite none of them being put to use for over a decade, if not longer. He had asked Dell if they could find somewhere else to sleep for the night, but it was so, so cold, and the shop was the most insulated, even if that didn’t say much. So, they pulled out their thick blankets and plopped right onto the ground, and in mere minutes the two were out, the promise of safety from the elements and the things that went bump at night finally letting their bodies surrender to slumber. 

A slow, drawn out, crooning “Oh Mickyyy~. Time to wake uuupp~” had roused Mick from his deep sleep, and he had awoken to two lifeless, black orbs right in his face, surrounded by the old, grimy fur of a dead raccoon. It had scared him so badly he screamed, and in his panic, he had kicked the possessor of the dingy taxidermy, Dell, right in the leg with such force it had sent his kneecap right out of place with a sickening pop. Dell’s snickers were swiftly replaced by his own scream as he collapsed to the floor, holding his leg and breathing through his teeth. Mick’s blood ran cold and before he even had a chance to fully wake up he was scrambling over, his hands cupping the air around the other’s knee, horrified at what he had just done. Dell had just kept saying “its alright, Stretch. It’s alright. I’ll be ok, I’ll be alright. It’s alright-“ in that soft, comforting voice and it just made Mick angrier at himself. And then Mick heard it. That drawling croak that had been a source of white-hot dread time and time again: the clicking of a clicker. Dell and Mick had both looked straight at each other with wide eyes, and the two of them fell dead quiet in a rigid tensity. But it was too late, the damage had been done. The croak turned into a screech, and Mick realized in terror that it wasn’t just one. It was multiple infected. Mick looked over at the small window of the door and he watched as three figures sprinted towards them, janky and uncoordinated. Air was sucked into his lungs in a jarring motion as fear iced his bones over, freezing him in place. They were already so close- 

Dell had shot up, using the wall behind him as leverage, and grabbed Mick, tugging him close to harshly whisper as he began dragging the younger across the room. He kept nearly tripping on the taxidermized animals beneath his feet with his lame leg in his urgency. 

“We need to get the fuck outta here, now! Cmon, let’s g-“ 

The already weak door proved to be a meager safeguard as it easily broke off its hinges as the weight of 3 bodies slammed against it, the infected crashing onto the floor with cries and groans on top of the sad piece of wood. Mick barely had time to look around before a vertigo overtook him and he was being thrown into the back room across the hallway, his shoulder painfully nicking the doorway. Mick cried out quietly as his heavy knapsack thudded into his chest, his arms barely making it in time to catch it. He looked up to see Dell already turning to face his three opponents and wielding his gun and machete with a grim but determined look on his face. Mick felt his heart drop and bile rise as Dell turned back around and shouted. 

“Go! Run until ya can’t run anymore, ya hear me? Run! ” 

Mick would never forgive himself for his cowardice. He listened. He ran. He ran until he couldn’t anymore. And when he couldn’t, he walked. And when he couldn’t, he dragged himself until he saw the geometric outlines of man-made buildings once more. He collapsed as soon as he saw the figures of watchmen looking over at him.

He had stumbled across the Boston Fortress.  

He was finally safe for the first time in his life. 

And it had cost him everyone. 

[writing-i-cant-sleep]

My first crush, Hallie Mills.

In third grade I was dorky. Spending my time overturning rocks and hopping in creeks. I never had an affinity for team based sports no matter how my parents marketed them to me. 

At the start of the year I was happy to have my best friend, Stephen Highmore, in the same class as me.

He was the sporty one of the two of us, playing tee-ball, soccer, and most importantly, Stephen was the fastest kid in the grade.

Stephen’s house was surrounded by forest and became the destination for almost all of our adventures. Stephen was an only child with a divorced mother who was always at work. He lived in a nicely sized house along with his grandparents who, after retiring from their position of lawyer and professor, spent their days sitting in the study reading old law books. Every few weeks Stephen’s eccentric artist of an uncle would take up residence in his basement studio and hole away working on meaningless projects. Given that Stephen’s father moved to Vermont after the divorce he was not around at all.

As you can see, Stephen’s house was a kingdom of no supervision.

One summer Stephen discovered his uncle’s hidden studio-stash of illicit items. Being the unruly boys we so often were, the stash of contraband became our main source of entertainment for years to come. Ignoring the cartons of cigarettes, oddly scented vase, and half finished bottles of various liquors, we found the most usefulness in the colorful array of lighters. After strategically stealing two of the Bic lighters, we would fill our pockets with action figures and walk into the woods in Stephen's backyard. For hours we would watch the plastic figures burn into nothing more than a bulbous puddle of carcinogens. 

Still I wonder what has had more effect on my health between the cowboy killer cigarettes I smoke or the black stringy plastic smoke I inhaled throughout the years of our friendship. 

Stephen’s mother, Heather, was a lovely caring woman. she would never hesitate in giving me a ride to my dreaded sports practices or letting me spend the night at their house. On special occasions Heather would load Stephen and I into her Subaru Outback that was coated in dog hair. We would drive to a diner to meet her “friend”, who later Heather revealed, through a post on facebook, was her partner. Our drive would continue deep into New Jersey to a farm she worked at. Stephen and I would spend our days as any boys with few rules would, catching frogs, subjecting ant hills to nuclear levels of devastation, and playing with the horse whips we would sneak from the barn. My days during this time were care free and simple. No concepts of money, the future, or women clouded my innocent view of the world. 

Of course, this all changed when Hallie Mills was put into Stephen and my 3rd grade class. Hallie was a pigtailed, olive skinned, athletic girl who’s hand worked on a spring mechanism when the teacher asked questions in class. It was love at first sight, or, the equivalent for a third grader who still assumed babies were left for families on doorsteps. Without the faintest idea of how to garner the attention of this sweet girl I had heart eyes for, I relied on the age old technique of throwing wood chips and running away. The results were lackluster to say the least. 

One icy winter Saturday after Stephen and I had been sledding on the hill in his front yard, Stephen taught me a secret of the world which firmly embedded itself into my developing brain, pornography. Still damp from melted snow with rosy wind burned cheeks, Stephen took me into his mothers office and signed himself in as a guest on her desktop. 

“Wanna see something?” 

The proposition was seemingly normal, but the feverish grin that took over his face told a more devient tale. 

Sitting shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip on Heather Highmore’s office chair we explored the filth that hid in plain sight on the internet. 

‘MILF takes HUGE cock’

‘Interracial BLOWJOB’

‘ANAL ADVENTURE’

‘Amature GANGBANG’ 

In an attempt to seem cool I acted as though these titles were old news to me. To Stephen, I had a long history with internet porn. In reality, my perception of women and brain chemistry changed forever at this exact moment, for the worse. As we watched in silent awe my mouth watered and blood pressure hit critical rates. 

As soon as I started feeling the new sensation of tightness in my underpants, Heather came home. 

Stephen then taught me another vitally important lesson in 5 quick steps…

how to clear a computer’s search history.

In an attempt to act normal, we donned our snow gear. Still sopping wet from our sledding expedition, we stepped into the cold, snowy, pornless wooded area behind Stephen’s house. Uncomfortable speechlessness fell onto us like a bookshelf onto the curious baby of negligent parents.  

With the surrounding world dampened by the lush snow, our trudging foot steps crunched intrepidly into our eardrums. 

I was picturing frames from the videos we had watched. More likely than not, Stephen was doing the same. 

We walked in imaginative silence for a while until plopping ourselves down in a snowless divet in the ground, formed and sheltered by the roots of a fallen oak. 

Stephen broke the silence.

“Have you ever jacked off?”

I answered the question with quizzical eyebrow movements.

Stephen continued “It’s when you watch porn and rub your… you know.” he sealed the statement with a suggestive hand wave. 

“Oh. I haven’t.” I said, feeling my ears heat up to the point I thought it would bring upon an early spring. 

Stephen and I were still best friends with no care in the world. 

In fact, this instant of sitting quietly in the frozen dirt, our heads swimming with smut, would be the closest we had ever been and sadly the closest we would ever be. 

“Don’t tell anyone, but I have a crush on Hallie Mills. Do you remember her? The girl in our class?” Stephen kept a locked gaze on his snow covered boots. 

The realization of what Stephen had said hit my gut with the speed and precision of a peregrine falcon striking a pigeon out of the air. Of course I knew who she was, I was absolutely in love with her, or at least as in love with her as a third grader who just discovered sex could be.  

My stomach pushed itself forcefully into the back of my throat, almost cutting off my ability to breathe, a feeling familiar to me now, jealousy. 

I managed to swallow my digestive tract back into its rightful location.

I tried to say something as anger and sadness fought for their place in the forefront of my next words, both became tired and plaintive. Self-pity took the helm.

“So do I.” 

The words slid off of my tongue and were seemingly frozen by the cold air, hanging motionless between my mouth and Stephen’s ears. A second passed, my words thawed, another second passed, and Stephen spoke the final nails into our friendship's coffin.

“You know she likes me right? You aren’t sporty enough for Hallie, and your haircut is stupid.”

My head spun for the next two days. 

I couldn’t argue with Stephen that my haircut was stupid. I had skipped out on actual haircuts for the last couple of years, letting my brown hair grow long, only occasionally I’d have my mother’s hair stylist thin out the mass of thick hair and shorten my bangs to keep hair out of my eyes. My odd haircut routine led to something that resembled a mullet with less appeal, more awkward cowlicks, and a worse shape. My hair swallowed my neck, nearly perfectly matching the width of my shoulders giving my skinny frame the appearance of explorative plants growing from a hanging pot, my lanky legs mimicking the spindly vines searching for support. It didn't help that I almost exclusively wore very skinny jeans that were ripped at the knee.

I thought they made me look like a cool skater kid. Sadly, they only reinforced the fragile plant look as the ripped threads mimicked desperate roots in arid waterless ground. 

I walked with an air of timidness as though everyone and everything was out to get me. My self esteem was nonexistent at such an early age, pushing me deeper and deeper into a shell of shelf hatred. The only reason one would consider me an ‘old soul’ or ‘ahead of my years’ would be because at only 9 years old, I had the self hate and angst of a 17 year old who just discovered the smiths. 

Stephen, Hallie, and I still had class together for the remainder of the year. Stephen and I still considered one another friends, but the friendship was strained by the love triangle. We fought over Hallie endlessly. Our time hanging out was no longer filled with boyish exploration, but instead discussion of who will make the next move. Not only did Hallie definitively like Stephen back. She made it very clear, with messages passed by her friends, that she did not like me at all and found me quite unattractive. 

Those whispered words from the girls have never left my ears, no matter who I become they will be with me. 

Every month my teacher, Mrs. Langine, would reassign the seating arrangements in class as a way for everyone to get to know one another. Seating was announced like an NBA draft, when your name got called you would go and sit in the chair closest to where the teacher was standing. This was your new seat. The second to last switch was where my active pursuit for Hallie’s heart turned into me wallowing in puddles of dejection. 

Mrs. Langine began to call out names one by one.

“Rebecca.” 

She takes a step to the right, “Matt.”

Another step, “Hallie.”

My heart skipped a beat, if my name was called I would finally have a chance to get to show Hallie that I wasn’t the ugly weird kid she so vocally saw me as. My eyes were pinpoint focussed on Mrs. Langine's lips. My ears waited anticipatedly for my name to be called. In a second of over confidence, I picked up my backpack as preparation to take my rightful seat next to my love.

“Stephen.” 

Mrs. Langine threw his name out there with an overly casual nature. It was as if she didn’t care at all of the destruction she caused to my naive heart. 

Stephen took his seat and smirked in my direction. 

My young brain flitted through emotions and phrases trying to pin down the best one to fit this exact moment. “Dang you” my brain thought, the third grade equivalent of a slur, the worst word I knew.

“Dang you.”

The school year went on.

I made other friends while ignoring the ‘relationship’ Stephen and Hallie had gotten into. I also made a huge effort to ignore their mean remarks about how skinny jeans are “for girls”, but it didn't work. I often cried to my mother about what they had said. 

I was self conscious about myself to the point I wasn’t able to make a change. This is where jealousy first planted itself in my head and my inner voice picked up the habit of putting me down. 

No matter how much I hated my stupid hair my inner monologue would remind me,

Getting a haircut will look even more stupid and everyone will judge you.

My skinny jeans were tattered and I despised them, but I’d be in my head,

What? Wear shorts? Then your skinny legs will be more visible, you’re a joke.

Even the thought of a girl crushing on me was shut down, 

You are unwanted and weird. People are uncomfortable looking at you, let alone have a crush. 

That little voice got really good at making me feel like shit, it was as if it knew exactly what I was thinking.

[ash-rik]

Saw this tag game, but I didn't want to bother anyone so it's tagless. Feel free to do this with your bg3 ocs and tag me or not 🙈

Name: Boon

Pronouns: He/They

Orientation: He's a transmasc enby who's demi and loves women. Sometimes attracted to men but rarely.

Nickname(s): 

Wyll humors Boon when he asks to be his sidekick. They're currently workshopping his sidekick name to go with the Blade of Frontiers because Crossbows of the Outback isn't cutting it. 

When Gale cooks, he tries to explain magic theory to Boon, but only some of it sticks. They refer to each other as master and apprentice for fun. 

Karlach will sometimes call him a rascal and ruffle his hair (they sibling bonded on sight). 

Shadowheart calls him the idiot bard or just an idiot when he does something really stupid, which is often enough that it could be considered a nickname (they're besties). 

Boon's heart warms whenever Jaheira calls him cub. 

He gets hit right in the kokoro when Lae'zel starts calling him “my joy”. 

Star sign: I dunno much about star signs but from a quick search maybe Gemini???

Height: 5'11

Race: Tiefling

Romancing: Lae'zel. They're the classic tale of opposites attract. Boon was drawn to her confidence and honesty, even if it's of a rougher variety. She speaks plainly, which is refreshing for someone in his line of work (thief). Her kindness takes a warped form due to her upbringing, but it's there. He sees it and tries to draw it out. He's gonna serenade that heart of stone of hers.

Favorite fruit: Grapes. He loves the crunchy ones and enjoys piercing into them with his fangs

Favorite season: Spring when it's not too hot or cold and he gets to feel the sun on his skin. Boon loves his crop tops and will go out walking barefoot in the grass or on the beach.

Favorite flower: I'm thinking violets. His mother was a follower of Lliira who favored them. She'd have violets all around the house. Boon has fond memories of tending to them with her.

Favorite scent: The smell of fresh bread and pastries always gets his mouth watering. His parents didn't have a lot of money, but the bakery was one place where they'd let him indulge on occasion.

Coffee, tea or hot chocolate: Coffee and tea. Coffee with a bit of milk and sugar helps him sleep. With tea, he loves that there are so many kinds and likes to try out new blends from different places. 

Average sleep hours: He'll sleep for as long as anyone will let him. So it's more dependent on what's currently going on in his life. Being a thief had him up at odd hours and made him a light sleeper.

Dogs or cats: Both. Every dog he sees, they're a puppy in his eyes. Young or old, big or small, he's happy to shower them in a ton of affection. And he'll spend forever finding the specific way a particular cat would like to be loved and do just that. But if he had to choose between dogs and cats, probably cats. He enjoys figuring them out and being chosen by them. Also, all the purring is very calming. 

Dream trip: Boon hasn't been to any cities outside of Baldur's Gate. He'd find it fun to take a road trip to the major cities along the Sword Coast.

Amount of blankets: Whatever number keeps him snug as a bug in a rug. He enjoys the feeling of being tucked in. Doesn't need as many if he's got someone to cuddle with.

Random fact(s):

Class: Bard/Rogue  

His tail is very flexible and is just as prone to theft as his hands.

He just broke out of prison after getting betrayed by his crew when the nautiloid snatched him up. The crew took him in when he was a kid after his parents were killed, but they didn't think twice to make him a scapegoat. And they didn't really treat him well, which is something he slowly starts to learn and unpack while being with the tadpole crew. Despite being a bunch of weirdos, the tadpole crew treat him far better.

He mistakenly thought Chicken was the name of the owlbear cub because that's what they called him back at the goblin camp. By the time Halsin tells him the truth, the owlbear already responds to the name. Just hoot hoots on over whenever he hears the word chicken. The little guy associates the word with getting loved on.

His dream guardian looked a lot like his mom, which is part of the reason he started munching on tadpoles. The main reason is because he felt incompetent compared to the tadpole crew. You've got a wizard prodigy, a hero of the Sword Coast, a githyanki warrior trained from birth, a vampire spawn, an archdevil's champion, and a Sharran spy/warrior. Then there's him, just some guy with a lute and sticky fingers. He wanted to keep up with the others, be useful to them, and not drag anyone down.

Sometimes when he tries to get out of doing something he doesn't want to do, he refers to himself as “just a little guy”, inferring that he's not up to the task. This ploy works 0.5 percent of the time. 

His parents named him Boon because he's a little boon to their lives given to them by the gods when they asked for a child.

[imyourbratzdoll]

“Searching for Eden.”

(no subject)

P

Paarthurnax

to me

6 hours agoDetails

“Searching for Eden.”

A person sitting on a motorcycle

Description automatically generated with medium confidence

Hugh Jackman x Reader (future), Chris Evans x Ex-wife!Reader

Introduction: Back in 2004, you married Chris Evans, the love of your life. Or so you thought. You two had been married for three years, until Chris started becoming more distant and bitter towards you and you two began fighting more. Things grew worse until one day he admitted to cheating and falling in love with another girl, then asked you for a divorce. He then made you sign a non-disclosure contact that you would never be able reveal Chris’s infidelity to the media. He made threats to your family and told you that you would never work in Hollywood again. After Chris got you to sign the contact and the divorce, he then forced you to pack a bag and send you back home to Wisconsin, with very little money and prospects, because Chris didn’t want you to work during those years you were married. Never in your life had you felt more destroyed.

Six months later in 2007, you got role on a new movie being filmed called “Searching for Eden” about a biblical, post-apocalyptic world where a wife and husband fight for survival together and trying to find some form of salvation in a hellish world taken over by demons. As you get on the movie set, you meet the actor to play your husband. Hugh Jackman, the Australian heart throb, and your life-long celebrity crush. As the movie production moves forward, the two of you grew closer and feelings start to surface. You were starting to feel happy and whole again after developing a deep, profound friendship with the talented aussie. When filming ended, you ask Hugh if he wanted to come and visit you in Wisconsin. He accepted and came to the bitter cold tundra you call home. He came a week after you invited him and met your family, who seemed to be quiet taken with him. One day, your younger sister was surfing the internet and saw the engagement announcement of your ex-husband, Chris was now engaged to the girl he cheated on you. Distraught, you run out of the house, but not without drawing massive amounts of attention.

Hugh, hearing this news, rushed to you and comforted you during your grief and hurt. You start to open up to him more about your divorce and told him about how he cheated and forced a disclosure contract to keep his public persona of “America’s golden boy” intact. Hugh decided that you should come home with him to Australia for a while and meet his family. They welcome you with open arms and you spend majority of your time getting to know his father, siblings, in-laws and nieces and nephews, and falling in love with the beauty of the outback of Australia. Over the next few months, you and Hugh grow even closer to one another. He tells you more about his home life and opened about his own childhood and his broken relationships. Eventually, your schoolgirl crush develops into something that runs deeper than what you never thought possible since your divorce.

Love.

Whether they are reciprocated? You could not say. The man is almost 13 years older than you. He was far out of your league with him so kind, intelligent, hardworking, funny and one of the most successful actors in all of Hollywood. No way on this planet he would really want someone like you. A shell of a woman who’s first husband cheated on her and shattered her trust in love all together.

What you didn’t know was that Hugh loved you just as much, from the very moment he met you. If it weren’t for your own grief and sorrow, you would have noticed on how Hugh always looked at you. Like you were God’s gift to the world.

He smiles sweetly whenever you enter the room. How he never could shut up about you to his father if he tried. He adored your laugh and how in awe you are from the beauty of his home country. The kindness and good-nature that never wavered and poured out of you like a river. Amazed he was by how intelligent, talented, and knowledgeable you were at a young age. He laughed and found it hilarious when you tried to fight off dangerous bugs in his home visiting Australia.

Often blushed like a schoolboy when he saw you undress for the movie you did together to perform a love making scene. Hugh wished that he really could do it for real, to be intimate with you in way that any man on this earth would have the privilege of experiencing.

How could that idiot yank cast aside such a perfect human being like that? For another girl that was not nearly as amazing as you? He would think to himself on more than one occasion in regarding to Chris Evans.

Can You get over your broken marriage, the dramatic heartache?

I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS! I CANT WAIT FOR WHEN YOU POST MORE!😩 the angst, the heartbreak, it’s everything we need

[antis-hell]

*dropkicks the qnappb at you like i would dropkick a child*

if you could go on vacation anywhere, where?? also, why, and what things would you do there?

-🦷

*scurries ferally across your screen*

Me(Anti): I want to go back to Ireland weirdly, I have some really nice source memories of it, but they were all from like the 19th century so I wanna see what it's like now! As for what I'd do, I'd probably go to like the proper cities and stuff cus they'd be cool to check out, but I REALLY wanna go out to like the forests and out just in the middle of nowhere cus honestly that's my happy place

Yancy: he wants to go back to America and travel around in the more deserty parts, mostly because it reminds him of his hometown. He likes road trips or just driving for hours on end out nowhere, so he'd probably drag us all to do that lol

Darky: He's actually quite happy(if that's even possible/lh) where we are right now. He's more comfortable in certain situations over places(if that makes sense). It's a boring answer ik but I couldn't drag anything else out of him

Ray: he wants to go somewhere like Japan or Sweden, somewhere cold cus he grew up in a warm place, so he always likes going to a place that's cold(preferably with snow). He said he would want to swimming in the water over there (because he's fuckin insane) and probably go mess around in the snow

Marvin: somewhere like New Zealand or somewhere with massive forests cus he likes the peace and all the animals that live there. She said that they'd like to stay out in a cabin really far away from other people so they could just wander for hours without interruption(honestly, I'd like to do the same one day)

Illinois: probably the easiest to fulfil, he wants to go really far west to the middle of the outback and camp out for a few weeks near fuck knows. He said cus it reminds him of when he used to just be dumped out in random places and expected to find shit and bring it back by himself

-anti💚🗡

[angel-on-parole]

In response to this ask, list 5 songs you enjoy listening to, post them publicly ! And send this ask to the last 10 people in your notifs (if you want).

You would make me choose like this. You would make me choose in such a broad category-

I'm jk lemme give u a list in SMALLER categories based on hyperspecific emotions I've experienced lately!

Entropy - Arrows in Action

This is for the fact I have... felt very stuck. I have several things I want to do, but they're all dependent on other factors that have to come to fruition first that I have no control over. Whether I should give up and do something more instantly gratifying specifically. It also evokes my feeling I've experienced lately regarding DC if anyone remembers that post.

2. Somewhere Only We Know - Keane

This is... somewhat related to the above. I don't know if it's the feeling of foreshortened future brought on by the trauma, or the perspective I have regarding how humans don't live very long at all really, or that it feels like the world is headed for an end soon. But, I do know I just wanna curl up somewhere with the people I love and just enjoy it. I feel far older than my body would tell you (even my joints who insist I'm 60), and I certainly feel like things are far more limited as far as time. I just wanna spend it with the people and the things I do that make me happy. I don't wanna live in capitalistic need like we've been forced to (at least within the states).

3. Seventeen - The Heathers The Musical Soundtrack

Oh, god, where do I start here? There's a few factors this one was brought back to me lately, getting back together with my highschool sweetheart (Bunny) being one of them. (I guess if anyone wants that story? Ask??) It's for mourning a youth lost, where I was parentified and made my mother's therapist. It's for being so anxious about ever being in trouble and mourning every missed opportunity to sneak out and live for a change. It's for the fact I was 19 when I met my abusive ex and went from the frying pan (my mother) into the fire when I moved in with him (13 hours away from any family in either VA or SC) and didn't realize what I'd gotten myself into. I want it all back but I know it's far too late for that.

4. Goddess - Cephied ft. Nonon

Since I moved back home (well, one of two places I could consider as such on a people basis), I've... kinda been lacking in my craft because of everything I've had to get settled even months later (like I voted!! I've never had the opportunity to do that before and I had to get my ID sorted for that shit!!). A lot of the time, meditating (one of my most frequent forms of not just decompressing but also for "tuning in" really) for me looks like bedrotting. I put my headphones on, I curl up in bed (usually in the dark), and I maladaptive daydream. Yes, sounds unconventional. But it's how I've adapted my practice to my capabilities. But also I mean, my daydreams in this fashion sometimes go off the rails from what I want them to be and I feel like I've managed to adapt it into a form of oneiromancy (for those who may be confused by the term: divination through dreams!). This is probably my most often used form of it for digging up memories of past lives I have, others being tarot, the conventional form of oneiromancy, and more broadly (to give me a starting point) using a pendulum for those I feel like would be a good source to ask. I have yet to actually put my bones for osteomancy (aka bone throws) to use. (... I degreased exactly seven bones that I saved from a plate of ribs from the outback.) ... this ended up being very much a ramble about my magic practice oopsie.

5. Over It - Arrows In Action

Alright. Alright. I know. I already put Arrows In Action on this list. But also the entire album Built to Last on top of their new song Cheekbones have been obsessions lately. I blame the fact I've been hyperfocused on Vampire the Masquerade lately and my character in the solo chronicle Bunny's running for me is literally just me if I was a vampire and that the album + Cheekbones is just applicable to in and out of game stuff lately. (Seriously, go listen to at least the stuff listed individually listed here if nothing else. Their music FUCKS-) But also, specifically, this brings me to where I recently mentioned to Bunny and Puppy that there's a few different mindsets I vacillate between. I'll just paste the text for the two relevant ones. "I am a teenager/young adult who feels utterly shattered by the burdens life has placed on me. I contemplate whether it's worth it to try and keep going. My clothes smell like nicotine and I crave the release of alcohol to make things feel a little lighter." "I am an ageless being that predates man. I have seen them rise, fall, and get back up again to repeat the process for millennia. I have such disdain for some aspects, even individuals, but then I also have an overwhelming love for them."

[reigningqueenofwords]

How So?

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x daughter!Reader Word count: 1,301

Read on AO3

Part 15 of Looking for the Captain

“What’s that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Steve’s eyes watched you as you got closer, putting your hands on his hips. And then you were kissing him. It took him a moment to register what was happening. When it clicked, he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer. He tangled his other hand in your hair, deepening the kiss. Your hands moved from his hips so you could wrap your arms around his neck. Kissing him felt natural.

After a few minutes, the pair of you pulled apart a bit. Steve rested his forehead against yours. “I’m glad you aren’t upset.” You breathed. “I was worried you’d push me away.” While you’d been hoping you were reading things right, a small part of you was worried Bucky got into his head. In which case, you would have had some choice words for your father.

He smiled, his thumb rubbing your back. “I’d never push you away.” He promised softly. “I’m glad you got the courage for that, because I’ve been trying for a bit now.” There was a tint to his cheeks. While he was generally confident, getting things started was the hardest part of things.

You giggled at that, pecking his lips quickly. “I am, too.” Where would this one kiss lead? Would your friendship blossom into more? A relationship? Friends with benefits? While you weren’t exactly a huge fan of friends with benefits (for yourself), for Steve you would. 

“Maybe once everything blows over, I can take you on a date?” He asked, hopeful. “Take you out to a nice restaurant or something.” He was already starting to plan something perfect in his mind. Maybe he’d have Nat take you to get a dress and get pampered beforehand. You deserved it.

“I don’t need to be wined and dined. Do you forget I’m a 22 year old who previously dated guys my age. They weren’t exactly rolling in the dough.” You said teasingly. “A burger and fries is just fine for me.” A simple date was all you needed, you didn’t want him thinking he had to go above and beyond. Hell, just having dinner together at the tower would be enough for you.

“Doll, I’m not some 22 year old, though. There will be a lot of differences.” His voice went low, sending a chill down your spine. You loved it. It made your mind go to all those naughty places. 

You smirked. “Oh yeah?” You bit your lip. “How so?” You breathed.

He leaned down, his lips next to your ear. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” With that, he stood up. “I believed I promised you dinner. How about you take Goliath outback while I cook?” He was amused by the flustered look on your face. It was nice to see you be the flustered one instead of him. 

You nodded. “I’m sure he’ll love that.” While Goliath was perfectly happy at the tower, you had a feeling that having a yard would make him very happy. You’d brought all his toys, too. You wondered if you’d ever be able to own a house like this for him to have space. 

That night dinner at the tower felt incomplete. Even if you and Steve ate elsewhere, you were still in the tower. Now you were hours away. They couldn’t just have the two of you come down for dessert or anything. “Let’s look on the bright side. Maybe this will push them together.” Nat mused after a bit, trying to break the silence. 

“If this doesn’t, nothing will.” Tony noted. “So, I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“What do you mean?” Wanda asked, brows furrowed. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” She wouldn’t put it past him to have come up with some plan.

He took a sip of his drink before answering. “What kind of cabin are you picturing? I’m guessing since it’s mine, some large lavish 7 bedroom deal, right?” He was clearly amused as she nodded. “Nope. It’s a small one bedroom cabin. Sure, the bunker underneath that’s full of supplies is huge, but I wanted the cabin itself to not stick out.” The more luxurious it was, the more it would stand out. That’s not something you wanted at the end of the world. 

“Oooooh, the whole one bed thing.” Clint chuckled. “Did you plan that?” He asked, clearly amused.

“Nah, it just lined up that way.” Tony shrugged. “I did think getting her out of the tower was for the best.” He assured them.  “And there’s less windows there. Harder to get in. I told them both how to trigger the lock down, and if they do that, I’ll get alerted.” The cabin was connected to the tower. 

“Hope you also stocked them with condoms.” Sam joked, his laugh getting cut off when he saw the look Bucky was giving him. Clearing his throat, he looked away. 

“Why couldn’t Nat go with her?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why did it have to be Steve?” He clearly was not happy with any of this. He felt that anyone else could have gone with you.

Nat rolled her eyes. “She trusts him, and I have a feeling she’s the most relaxed with him. Sure, she likes spending time with us, but it’s different with him. So, why not Steve?” She countered. “I’m serious. Give me a good reason, and not the usual ‘because she’s my little girl’, or ‘because he’s my best friend’, or ‘it’s weird!’.” She kept her eyes locked on his, not backing down.

He shook his head. “Fine. They’ll distract each other. Instead of being alert, they’ll be too distracted, letting a threat get too close.” He told her, feeling that was an excellent reason. The last thing he wanted was finding out you were hurt, or worse, because Steve was too busy to keep you safe.

Clint, however, shook his head. “I don’t think so. If anything, I think he’ll be hyper aware. He might look distracted, but he’ll be aware of everything going on around them.” He shrugged. “The other day they were talking and I threw a wad of paper at him. He blocked it.” That was pretty impressive to him. “And I have a feeling that if it was one of us in serious danger, or her…and only one of us could be saved? He’d save her in a heartbeat.” 

“He’s got a point.” Tony agreed, which Bucky didn’t like. He’d feel better when this was all over with, and you could live your life. 

After dinner, you and Steve washed the dishes together while Goliath napped on the couch. “After this, do you want to sit out back and watch the stars?” You asked, glancing over at him. “They’re way clearer out here.” You’d lived your entire life in the city, and never got to see the night sky this well. 

Steve smiled, nodding. “I’d like that.” He agreed. “Maybe we can do that every night while we’re out here?” He pictured cuddling up next to you, star gazing.

“That would be perfect!” You grinned. “Maybe you can use that time to sketch sometimes? The light from inside should be enough, right?” 

“It would, but I think I’d like to just watch the stars. I’ll have plenty of time to sketch.” Ideas were already coming to him, and a few involved you. “Is there anything you’d like to do while we’re out here?” He didn’t want you just focusing on things he wanted to do. You were the one that was yanked from the life you were used to.

Smirking, you felt brave again. “You.” You said casually, despite the butterflies in your stomach. Sometimes you felt so brave around him, and other times you felt so nervous. 

[awkwarddystopianwarlord]

Dear Universe Gods, Go to Bed

Me and my mates went up island for four days two weeks ago today and the trip was great. It was raining the whole time but that didn’t really affect us too much. We had a wonderful time and life was chill and peaceful and nice. We should have known that this wouldn’t last. Life tends to dismantle our happiness and stability far more than necessary and it did just that after our trip ended. 

We have another overnight trip planned for next week on the mainland. We’re going to a fan expo and the plan was to get photos with an actor we love from Stranger Things. Alas, the man cancelled due to filming schedules. This was depressing, but we still have other things to do there and two of us are delusional enough to assume it’s because he’s filming season five of Stranger Things despite dying in the last season, so his cancellation seems reasonable. We could manage this loss. 

Then smaller inconveniences happened. One friend immediately burnt her thumb upon her return home from our trip. I nearly flooded my house because my toilet clogged when I got back. Days later, she broke her Converse. Another friend had an allergic reaction to tuna despite not being allergic to tuna and only peanuts. A couple days ago, a necklace I love broke at the chain and now I have to figure that out. This morning, the friend who was mildly poisoned by fish accidentally slammed her hand between a cart and a bin. I’m not disabled enough to be taken seriously as disabled. My rent went up and my credit card paid itself off and the combination of the two has left me with less than two hundred dollars in my main bank account. It took three years of living on my own but I will now be surviving paycheque to paycheque which is fucking disappointing.

But the biggest, worstest, fuckiest absolute inconvenience of all that happened last Thursday was the sudden resignation of our precious nurse practitioner. The woman who all three of us saw every two weeks, who went way over our scheduled time to ensure we were taken care of and heard, who listened to us and helped us. She was gone even though we had an appointment scheduled the coming Monday. That was cancelled and we have been in hellish limbo ever since. With that hitting us among the other inconveniences, we have been in a dreadful fragile state. We have been hit, yet again, with the curse that plagues our group and forces us to remember what suffering feels like regardless of the fact we rarely stop suffering. I was ranting to myself for half an hour after learning that my one healthcare professional who is worthy of her title was gone. I was punching my couch and yelling and getting choked up and pacing around. I couldn’t get ready for bed because I was so riled up. 

We’ve all tried to figure out why we are fated to be slammed over the head by life so often. Were we all dictators and murderers in a past life? Do past lives work like that? Is the universe straight up after us just because? Are we secretly evil? I’ve tried convincing myself I’m a terrible person, because horrible shit keeps happening, the same way I’ve tried convincing myself I was attracted to women, because that’s what people assumed when they saw me. I’m not, though. I’m not gay for women even though I often wear flannels and want a Subaru Outback. I’m not a terrible person either, I’m completely average. 

I’ve heard these misfortunes are supposed to make us stronger, humble, enlightened, grateful, in some way improved. I am not a better person because of this, any of this. Any of what’s happened recently and what’s happened over the course of my life has not made me better. I’m angry and bitter and jaded and tired and I don’t have time to help others because I can barely help myself. I don’t like my fellow humans any more now than I ever did. In fact, I despise them more than I ever did. I don’t have any more of an appreciation of my life now than all my yesterdays. I find it increasingly horrendous and unacceptable. 

All any of us have control over is consuming food. That’s what we drown our sorrows in. I have devoured cupcakes, cookies, ice cream, and timbits. Food is the only thing we can guarantee. It is the only consistent comfort. I had to watch the Barbie movie just to cry all my stress out because I was so overwhelmed and I lost track of how many cookies I added to my bowl of ice cream for I couldn’t see through the tears. You know how Oppenheimer quoted “Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds”? Now I am become void, the destroyer of sweets. 

I’m gonna have to write a strongly worded letter to the head office of the universe because I am dissatisfied with the results of life and would like compensation because eating my feelings is bad for my health.