#asphalt dump in kitchener

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Long Walks

Darry and Pony were arguing again.

Soda heard it start while he was in the kitchen washing dishes. It started as bickering, but their voices got sharper and louder. Soda felt his shoulders rising. Unlike some of the others in the gang, he didn’t mind yelling. It was a running joke between him and Steve that Soda talked far too loudly for his own good. But it was different when it was his brothers.

They had promised Soda to argue less. No more fighting . It worked for a time, but Pony was still healing from Windrixville. He was feeling so many emotions and he didn’t know how to deal with them properly. And Darry… Well Soda knew how worried he was about Pony. Change takes time, he was still learning how to show it properly.

Soda had learned to tune out the contents of their arguments, but it was next to impossible to ignore the voices shouting. Soda clenched his teeth together as he put away the final pot. Hearing his brothers arguing made him want to scream, it made him want to rip his hair out.

So Soda did the only thing he could think of to get rid of the feeling in his bones. He took a leaf out of Pony’s book and walked right out the front door. His brothers in the living room didn’t notice, too caught up in their argument.

He didn’t know where he was going, he just shoved his hands deep into his pockets and stalked down the street.

“Ey, Pepsi!” He looked up to see Steve sauntering towards him with his typical swagger. “What are you doin’ out this late?” Steve picked up into a light jog to reach his side and then fell in step beside him.

“Just needed to take a walk,” Soda said softly. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.

Steve looked at him strangely. Soda knew Steve wasn’t naturally the most affectionate guy, but he still reached out and put a hand on Soda’s shoulder. He leaned into the touch with a sigh, “Dar and Pony are arguing again. I just didn’t want to hear it any more.”

Steve nodded, keeping his hand on Soda. The two of them walk for a little while, just meandering down the street. Steve moved his arm to be slung around Soda’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze into his side.

Soda smiled, “What’re you doin’ out so late?”

Steve sighed, “My old man got sick of me. Didn’t even say why, just told me to get my ass out.” His voice was thick with exhaustion. It had been happening more and more lately, Soda would wake up to find Steve on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” Soda said. A sick feeling grew in his stomach. Here he was, complaining about his brothers arguing while Steve got kicked out again. “You gonna crash with us?”

“Y’alls couch is the most comfortable bed in Tulsa, didn't cha know?” Steve gave him a light shove as he flicked on his lighter to ignite his cigarette. He took a long drag and then blew smoke in Soda’s face. That was enough to break Soda out of his stupor, reaching out to swat Steve on the back of the head.

Of course that meant Steve jumped at him in retaliation. It only took a few moments of roughhousing in the middle of the street for Soda to start laughing. He wrapped Steve in a headlock, waiting for him to tap out before dumping him on the asphalt.

Steve gave him a look, “You made me drop my cigarette.”

Soda rolled his eyes and reached down to help Steve to his feet, “Maybe that’ll teach ya not to smoke.”

Steve grinned. “You ready to head back home?”

Soda swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

Internally he thought that it didn’t really matter. Darry and Pony probably didn’t notice him leaving. In all reality, Pony was now sulking in his room and Darry was making himself busy to avoid thinking about it.

As they walked back to the house, Steve and Soda chartered absently about work and the car they needed to fix the next day. It was enough to calm the thoughts zipping through Soda’s mind. Steve was good at that. Sometimes there was so much noise in Soda’s head, his brothers and Steve could always make it quieter.

Back at the house, Soda couldn’t hear any shouting inside. He and Steve exchanged a look. Soda took a deep breath and bounded up the stairs.

Before the door even shut behind them, Sodapop had an armful of his little brother.

Pony clung to his waist and squeezed him a little too tight. Soda hugged him back on instinct. “I’m sorry,” Pony said quickly, almost stumbling over his words. “I’m sorry we were fighting. It was stupid.”

Darry appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, his brow furrowed in a hard line. His gaze met Soda’s over Pony’s head. In the single glance, Soda could see the regret and guilt in his big brother’s eyes. Soda leaned his head on Pony’s, “It’s okay, baby. Just needed to take a break. I’m not mad atcha.” He looked at Darry again, “Neither of ya.”

Soda kissed Pony’s head and pulled back. He kept a hand on Pony’s head as he steered him further inside.

Steve rounded them and jumped onto the couch, kicking his shoes off. “Want some dinner, Randle?” Darry asked with a laugh in his voice.

“You do room service?” Steve asked cheekily as he stretched out.

Darry snorted, “Yeah right. I’ll stick something into the microwave.”

As he disappeared back into the kitchen, Soda kissed Pony’s head one more time, “I’ll be right back.” And he followed Darry into the kitchen.

Darry was fussing around in the fridge, pouring leftovers onto a plate and covering it. Soda just watched him for a moment. Darry just straightened up with a sigh, “I don’t need to talk about it.”

Soda scoffed. He leaned against the counter beside Darry. “When did y’all notice I was gone?”

Darry swallowed thickly, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Pony went back to his room. I-I came in here to apologize to you and you were gone.” His lips were pressed tightly together as though he was trying to keep any emotion from coming out. “I got…” He sighed, “Pepsi, I got real nervous.”

Soda couldn’t resist hugging his big brother then. Darry had been more anxious after everything that happened. He’d been pretty good at hiding it, but Soda could tell. He got a little shaky, a little more overbearing when he didn’t know where his brothers were. And he seemed like he’d start crying with relief when they were home again.

Soda squeezed Darry just like how Pony held him earlier. Darry sighed and wrapped his arms around Soda. One of his hands raised to the back of Soda’s head. “Why does everyone in this family like running so damn much?” Darry asked.

Soda laughed against his shoulder. The two of them pulled back as the microwave beeped. Darry sighed again and pulled the plate out, shouting for Steve to come get his plate. Darry squeezed the back of Soda’s neck, “You’re a good kid. I don’t think I tell ya that enough.”

Soda preened under the praise. Pony leaned around the corner into the kitchen as Steve meandered to get his food. Pony walked over to Darry, looking up at him, “Sorry.”

Darry ruffled Pony’s hair, “Me too, honey. You want anything to eat?”

“Nah.” Pony reached out and dug his finger through the mashed potatoes on Steve’s plante. He shoved it into his mouth and sprinted out of the room as Steve shouted after him. Soda laughed, leaning against Darry.

“They’ll kill each other eventually,” Darry chuckled. “You should probably go save Pony.”

Soda grinned. He patted Darry’s shoulder before running after the other boys.

Notes:

Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!

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[alphareleasemedia]

Daily Drabbles for 1/27/24 - 1/31/24

1/27/24 Taylor sighed as she dropped her school bag on the table. Her homework and textbooks spilled out across the wooden surface. Tyler was away at a sleepover, Mom was working late again, and Dad was out… somewhere, hopefully for a while, Taylor finally had some peace and quiet to focus on her schoolwork. It had been a delicate balancing act for the past few weeks, between family, school, saving the world, and tennis, Taylor was feeling stretched thin. But she was sure it was all worth it. At the very least it would all look great on a college application.

1/28/24 Kess clicked the flashlight on and off several times. Its light was dull and flickered even after she tried smacking the top of it. Finally, she gave in and unscrewed the bottom, dumping out three D sized batteries. Kess grumbled to herself as she stomped around the house pulling open various drawers and trying to remember where they even kept the batteries. Eventually, she found just about every other size of battery in a drawer in the kitchen, but the Ds ended up hiding out in the cabinet where they kept all the printer stuff. An oddity Kess couldn't explain.

1/29/24 Emily held the match up to the candle wick, but it wasn't lighting up. The fire slowly burned up the stem of the match as Emily continued to ineffectually press it against the candle. Finally, she had to pull her hand back and shake out the fire before it could burn her fingers. Emily grabbed the candle and picked at the wick, scraping off the wax. When she was satisfied with her efforts she lit another match and tried lighting the candle again. It took a moment, but this time she was successful. The candle burned with a bright flame.

1/30/24 Anna crouched close to the ground, carefully examining the asphalt. The orange glow of the streetlamps threw the world into a sharp contrast with the dark shadows. Appropriate for Halloween night. Anna knew her quarry couldn't be far. She had been tracking him for some time, following the trail of bodies he left in his wake. He had eluded her so far, but now she was closing in. Anna stood up and cast a wary eye over the parking lot. She cast her mind over everything she knew. The truth was right in front of her. The killer was… Death.

1/31/24 Gabby picked at her cuticles while Derrick droned on oblivious to her. He got like this sometimes, feeling the need to launch into a full lecture whenever Gabby had the misfortune of being factually incorrect. He'd never let her take his word for it and move on, Derrick just had to explain in excruciating detail how he knew exactly what he was talking about and Gabby didn't. She'd learned to shut up and let him get on with it; it made life much easier that way. He'd be done soon enough. Then they could return to talking about Star Wars.

[high-caliber-bitch]

Brain dump: My ideal type of community set up, like let's say you have an apartment block or some neighborhood suburbs even. You have your housing obviously, ideally they have good natural lighting. Thinking more along the lines of an apartment complex, in Korea, a lot are built in big squares that have a park in the center, with a play ground for kids, maybe even surrounded by a nice track (those made out of that bouncy mixture, like rubber asphalt.). The first floor should be shops, like a bakery, maybe a small produce stand. Some community rooms for gathering. Possibly a communal kitchen. But most importantly, especially in densely populated areas, I think living complexes should have shop rooms. Like at minimum a fully outfitted wood shop. Obviously the logistics around that would be difficult, legal responsibility, theft prevention, etc. But like those gated communities in Florida for old people, have like a tool room, where you can check out tools and return them, so that everyone doesn't have to have their own, or you don't have to drop $1000 for one project. If you have a shop area, you could limit noise pollution. If it was in an apartment complex having a dedicated space would be so much nicer than trying to figure out how to make something in 800 square feet. I like the idea of a communal kitchen, or a place where a community can volunteer to cook and make meals for others, because others might struggle to make food or eat regularly and it's just a nice thing to have. It would be good for multi generational living.

But honestly all of this highly depends on people. You could build utopia and there would still be people who destroy it because they can.

The only way for something like this to work is to have the community you're trying to cater to, build it with you. Like barn raising.

There are so many places out there, neighborhoods in disrepair due to being low income areas that would be so much better if you could just, go out and interview everyone, see what their needs are, and then design a space for them. Instead of gentrification, and building something new to push out the poor people. You build something new for them, with them and then once they're rehomed in the new building, you can tear down the homes rotting from the inside and build a park or a community center, a church or retail area.

It's so easy to breathe life back into places. But it requires things not found in government or building codes and regulations. Empathy and a sense of time.

[wabashmfginc]

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[latent-thoughts]

An Offering, A Connection...

Summary: When a little boy gets lost in the woods in England, what hope does he have to return to his home safe and sound? Who will come to his rescue? Well, a very chaotic entity that loves kids.

Author's Note: I usually don't write RPF, but I felt compelled to write this one. This concept had been rattling in my head for a while, but I never felt a push to actually write it. Until now, until today, when I had been down in the dumps, thinking I had lost my writing mojo for good. I guess Loki approved?

Category: General

Warnings: None

...............

Golden, rowdy curls... unsure, confused steps.

The child was… lost, for certain. He had looked around and tried to act brave at first. But soon, it all devolved into panic and fear.

He was now crying. No, he was a sobbing mess. Crying out for his mother, looking around with frantic, wet eyes.

He was deep in the woods and there was no help in sight.

Were his parents not around? Why wasn't anyone looking for him?

The hidden, shadowy figure moved closer to the boy as his sobs grew louder, drawn by his distress. Not a sound was heard, but a rustling of wind through the trees.

Slowly, the inky shadow took on a more solid form, though the shape looked like a mirage. Ever changing, never settling.

The boy hadn't noticed the presence yet, for he was far too perturbed with his immediate surroundings.

Finally, on a whim, the shifting mirage settled on a form, just as his footsteps squished the fallen, half rotten leaves on the wet ground.

It had rained not long ago, and it might as well start pouring again.

Not that it mattered. To him, it didn't…

But the child would be soaked, and it wouldn't bode well for him. Children were fragile little treasures, after all.

The boy turned around just as he heard the wet footsteps approaching, his eyes wide and terrified.

They were a lovely shade of blue, big and expressive.

He smiled, stopping before the boy, letting him observe him.

"W-Who are you?" he asked, his voice cracking with nerves, his little body shaking in response to both fear and the evening chill of the woods.

"That's irrelevant, dear heart. Are you lost?" he asked the trembling boy, extending his hand towards him as an offer.

The boy didn't move, eyeing his hand with apprehension.

He didn't trust him. That was wise. Trusting strangers in the woods was bad form.

But in this instance, there was little room for choice.

Ah, but he knew he had to be patient. Children were delicate beings. Innocent from all wiles, they held a special place in his heart.

Bending down on one knee, he asked the same question again.

"Are you lost, my child?"

It took him a beat, but the boy finally gave him a little nod, his lips trembling as the tears once again escaped his eyes.

"I want to go home," he mumbled, barely audible.

"I see." The proffered hand still extended towards the boy. "Come then, we shall find a way back."

Patience unlike which he usually possessed took over then, as he let the boy take his hand in a slow, measured approach.

"My mum says that I shouldn't trust strangers," the boy stated, even as he grasped his hand with his little fingers.

"That's all true and wise, but your mum should've been here to protect you."

He did feel a certain ire towards irresponsible parents.

"It's not her fault. I ran away and got lost," the boy said contritely, lowering his head. "I didn't listen to her. I just wanted to run, to feel the wind on my face. I didn't see where I was going."

"Ah, I see. So you were being rebellious." He smirked as he rose to his full height. "How very chaotic of you."

The boy grew less scared and weepy and more loquacious as they began to walk, the sun setting behind them, darkening the woods.

"Is that bad? Being chaotic?"

"Not at all. Chaos is but an aspect of life. Without it, nothing would move, nothing would stir. Nothing would grow."

"So… why did I get lost then? Why do bad things happen with chaos?"

"You think it's a bad thing, but perhaps it isn't. For what it's worth, I found you."

"Yes. But what were you doing in the woods? Were you lost as well? Or were you looking for something?"

A chuckle escaped between them. The boy was a curious creature. Good for him.

"No. I wasn't lost, neither was I looking for something. I simply love wandering in the woods. I'm at home with nature."

"Where do you live?"

"Far from here, but close enough to visit these woods every once in a while"

"You sound like a riddle, and you talk in a weird way."

Another chuckle. "Do I?"

"Yup. But I like it."

Slowly, they walked in a straight line and reached the edge of the woods, stepping onto the familiar grey asphalt that served as the pathway for all the manner of modern human conveyance.

"I recognize this road!" the child claimed with newfound enthusiasm, pulling at his hand as he tried to cross over to the other side.

He let him pull him, smiling down at him as he chirped about his house, which was only a block away.

Of course, it was.

Hand in hand, they reached the boy's home in no time at all.

"Come inside," the boy urged, still hanging onto his hand as they approached the house's main door. "Please?"

He let out a sigh. "I must not, dear. I have places I need to be"

The boy pouted. "But you said you just wander around."

"Not without a purpose. I do have things to do."

The boy looked down, then sideways at the door to his house, letting out a little sigh of disappointment.

"Alright. But I want to thank you."

"I accept your thanks."

Shaking his head, the boy looked up at him again, one hand still hanging onto him while the other fished something out from his pants pocket.

"Here, please have it. I wanted to give you something more, something bigger, but that's all I have right now." He raised his hand up, offering him a confection.

He recognized it--chocolate, one of his favoured sweet treats.

"Please have it."

Well, he wasn't the one to reject an offering. Especially so innocently given. But… an offering given so freely had to have its consequences.

Silently, the confection changed hands.

"I shall take my leave now." He bent down on his knee again, stroking the golden haired head of the boy, uttering a blessing audible to no one but him, spoken in a tongue as old as time itself. "Be good, and don't spread too much chaos and mischief. At least, not until you grow up a bit. You'll get plenty of opportunities when you do."

The boy nodded, though his eyes grew sad. "Before you go, can I at least know your name, sir?"

Lightning sparked up in the sky behind him as he rose, illuminating his pitch dark tresses as he gazed down at the boy, a kind smile gracing his sharp features.

"I have many names, but you may call me Loki."

Thunder rumbled then, loud and cracking as the rain came down in a heavy downpour. "Till we meet again, Tom."

Patting his head again, he turned around and walked away, disappearing into the sheet-like rain.

"Wait… how did you know my name?" the little boy called out in confusion, only to receive silence in response.

Silence and the clamouring rain…

-------

[Present Day]

"Tom? Hello, you still there?"

A blink, and just like that, his thoughts scattered, leaving the shadow of the memory behind. He pulled it back under lock and key, like always. This one wasn't meant to be shared with anyone.

"Yes, I'm here. Sorry, bad connection."

"Ah ok. As I was saying, Disney is going ahead with this thing, and it's going to be pretty big. They want new stories, and they're very eager to have one with Loki."

That was… a surprise. He hadn't been expecting this.

"Loki?"

"Yup."

"As much as I want this to happen, he's… well, he's dead."

He had to say that with a very heavy heart, even apologizing silently to the one he knew was certainly alive and watching over him.

"We'll figure something out. Are you game for it?"

He rubbed his palm against his face, closing his eyes. He was pretty certain that he heard a chuckle echo around him, light and effervescent and almost inaudible.

"You have to be gentle with my heart, Louis, I can't keep saying goodbye to him. Be still, my heart."

"I understand, man, but this time, you'll get the reins. Tell his story in a more fleshed out way, it's gonna be a whole series."

"A whole series, you say?"

"Yeah."

Tom opened his eyes and smiled, shaking his head in disbelief and joy.

"I'm in."

Just as the call disconnected, he went to his kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out a dark chocolate bar.

"Thank you," he murmured softly, smiling to himself as he placed it on the counter and went off to take Bobbie out for a run.

He knew that it'd be gone by the time he'd return. Just like it always did.

The End

[mocacheezy]

Things that made watching Transformers (2007) easier and even enjoyable:

[note: B'verse gets the treatment that it gets by fandom for good reasons. There are tons of posts that dissect the bullshit of these movies far better than my second-language-english-non-american self could ever tackle, so I am not doing that, or plan on doing that. But if I decide that I'll get through every continuity of the franchise I will find a way to make it fun for myself. And so, this is my search for golden nuggets in these movies, because they did bring in new fans to the franchise and that's why we have other continuities that we might not have otherwise. Credit where it's due, and some positivity for those that did find B'verse at least amusing if nothing else. ]

🍴🥄🔪🍴🥄🔪🍴🥄🔪🍴🥄🔪🥄🔪🍴🥄🔪

Frenzy

Anytime Frenzy was on screen made me smile because his movements and personality were hilarious, he is just so expressive despite looking like someone super glued a bunch of knifes together. I wouldn't know it was Frenzy if I didn't go to the Wiki, but no matter that, he was funny and that's what matters.

The original Cybertronian robot modes

We don't see them for long, but the glimpses were glorious. Just look at Optimus

Gorgeous. What I wouldn't give to see the details up close. Maybe I'll go looking eventually, but this is just so nice.

We also get a "sexily rises from the pool" scene with Ironhide (probably unintentional and I am biased due to being a robofucker. In any case, very very nice and Cybertronians look so good as aliens)

"Excuse me, are you the Tooth Fairy?"

You see this kid?

This little girl was the only human I cared about in the movie until I saw just how badass Mikaela is, and how cool the military dude is. I don't like kids, but I would lay down my life for this girl.

This one scene just makes me think of what would happen if her parents showed up way earlier. Ironhide would be her guardian and it would be both adorable and hilarious because "Honey, you have to drive in a sentient alien that looks just like our car because the goverment men said so or there will be consequences and potential alien threats."

There are so many joke potentials there; the cultural barrier, the "I am the ine that is supposed to keep her safe" glaring contests, there is just so much shenanigans that could happen.

Also, tea party with the kid. Tea party with the kid.

Sam Witwicky actually reacts like an average human would when faced with the situations he finds himself in

Do I like Sam Witwicky? No, he is the kind of character that I would want to punch irl because of his personality and actions. He is disgusting. But watching him scamper and scream and stutter when faced with giant metal robot aliens that can squish him like a bug? Good, that was a beliavable reaction and I enjoyed it a great deal.

Megatron. Just, ✨Megatron✨

(the best screenshot of the few I could take while watching, no, I am not going back for a better one, he looks perfect like this)

I also laughted at how they kept him frozen like a popsicle. And not even well, like, they COULD'VE made an actual freezer and pop him in instead of using those couple of tubes just so he was displayed for all personell to gawk at. HE CRASHED IN THE ANTARCTIC!

The design looks so good, because it looks ALIEN and POINTY and AGH!!! The colors? There are no colors that would make him stand out, he looks like someone opened a cutlery drawer, mixed up what's inside, threw in some extra knifes for a good measure and then shook the whole thing until this guy materialized from the pile. It is both incredibly annoying and satisfying.

🔪

Mr. Welker did an amazing job with his voice, I don't know what the directions were, but oh man it sure sent shivers down my spine. That is the kind of voice that spells "You are going to die" and I already have my coffin picked out.

EDIT: SO APPARENTLY! IT WAS NOT WELKER THAT VOICED MEGATRON.

It was Hugo Weaving, and yes the man did am amazing job, but I apologize a million times, I was CERTAIN that THE OG VA OF MEGATRON WOULD ALSO HAVE VOICED MEGATRON. LIKE, OKAY BAY, OKAY!

🔪

LOOK AT THE AMOUNT OF ICE! With how quick he came back fully online once Frenzy turned off the freeze liquid tubes, I bet he was half awake through the whole thing. Systems just below idling or something, in any case, AGENTS YOU ARE SO DUMB! WHO WAS GIVING SUBPAR FUNDING TO THEM, THEY BETTER BE FIRED!

I also was glad that Sam refused to call him by the name the sector asigned to him, despite Megatron being in stasis. And that he insisted they use the correct name. Good job Sam, acknowledge the threat by the actual name and show respect to a fellow sentient lifeform. Even though said lifeform is hellbent on destruction of the universe and your world.

ALSO, AND I CANNOT STRESS THE LAUGHTER AND AMUSEMENT HERE; the sheer DISRESPECT! They don't disassemble Megatron's corpse. No, these idiots, these absolute morons decide to dump him into the ocean, letting him sink to the lowest possible point (not sure if they did say it was the M' Trench or not), where there are proper freezing temperatures - good! You're learning, good job!! - just... In full. Full corpse. What's left of him. Just blup! Down with the fishies he goes!

I understand that they probably didn't know how to approach Optimus about it, but... At least behead the guy. He came back ONCE, who is to say he won't come back again?! Safety precautions my dears.

They also completely disregard what a giant extraterrestrial metal alien rusting away on the bottom of the ocean could do to the ecosystem at large. Like, I find this incredibly amusing, because this ISN'T something most folks think about when watching a movie but we have giant squids down there. We have so much weird things down there, the ocean isn't even fully explored AND YOU WANT TO CHUCK AN ALIEN CORPSE DOWN THERE?!

Now the real question: is he a looker? *looks at the pictures* hmmmm, depends on if you like knifes. Like, really like knifes. Like really, really REALLY want to get it on with a fine assembly of kitchen knifes that were exposed to the elements but somehow haven't rusted away completely.

I think he's neat.

Needs a good long powerwash though. Preferrably with something to help the whole "I was frozen for more than 50 years and sprang back to action as soon as I woke up" thing that happened.

My man needs to take a moment and get his bearings, like dude. Please. You can conquer the world after some energon and slow system boot-up period. The strain on the systems my dude, you ain't young.

Also love that this "death" was probably reused in TFP because lord golly, do we love our faves ending up under the sea. (Though Megan took a much bigger fall, Bayverse WAS PLOPPED INTO THE WATER LIKE A NEWLY ACQUIRED FISH I CAN'T YOU GUYS I CAN'T!)

In short: I love the comedy of american military giving such disrespect to an Alien Warlord. These guys are really sealing their fate.

I loved the way they got the Witwicky family to be important to the plot

The whole "selling my great great grandpa's glasses on e-bay" thing gives us a very good self insert/OC/rewrite/movie AU potential. Don't like Sam and his disgustingness? Find a way to write a cousin or some far off relative or hell, even just someone who buys the glasses off e-bay and go wild with it!

Archibald was also clearly an inspiration for Isaac Sumdac as far as I can tell, what with both of them using Megatron as a means of helping technology advance.

Only difference being one of them lived and actually talked to Megatron after he came back online and the other got driven to madness and death due to the amount of information beamed into his brain. Isaac also acquired a space baby daughter, so the guy is absolutely luckier of the two.

Mikaela being fucking competent and badass throughout the movie, and not being just fanservice eyecandy

I could do without the fanservice, but her personality? I loved it. I loved that she wasn't crawling to Sam and wasn't being "hard to get". Which is also why I was very displeased at the very sudden "oh yeah, romance! She returns his feelings after he took her for a ride and let her vent her frustrations!". The movie is 2 hours long and they could throw in some moments where these two connect?

Welp, it is an action movie, boy gets girl no matter what, can't complain about the staple in the genre.

However, Mikaela x Optimus? Now THAT is something I considered as soon as the two locked eyes and interacted. Like, even taking my shipping goggles off, these two could have a very interesting dynamic and Mikaela could be a very good protagonist. I wonder what the movie would be like with her as the lead and Sam being the fucking moron she has to drag along with her.

BUT ALSO! Can we talk about the horrible, excruciating fact that her and Bumblebee drove around with Bee's damaged legs dragging over asphalt all the time he was shooting at 'Cons? There were sparks flying! SHE WAS DRIVING BACKWARDS! She took command of the situation and did what she could because Bee still wanted TO FIGHT!

Also, they way she beat up Frenzy? Gorgeous, I want to slap Sam's non-existent balls off for not atleast saying "thanks". The dude would be sliced thinner than cabbage if she wasn't there.

The millitary man we are supposed to care about because his wife gave birth while he was on duty and we see his baby three times in the whole movie, actually being a pretty awesome and well-written character

Look, personally, I was a little confused at the reason why we were seeing his wife and baby interacting/the scene where she thinks her husband is dead. Mostly because I don't like kids, so scenes like that, when I don't even know who the character is, have no impact at all. Him having a baby isn't going to make me like the guy more, unless I know his character. Him being absent because he's on duty doesn't mean he'll be a good dad (though he looks like the kind of man that will try his best, and I like that in a man). So seeing his wife and kid at the start of the movie seemed pointless to me.

BUT! FOCUSING ON THE POSITIVES HERE!

Lennox is a good character and whenever he was on screen I was invested in what is going to happen to him. He's the kind of action movie lead that would have me invested, despite my meh interest in mainly gun fight oriented action movies.

Essentially, loved the guy, would love to see more of him while also being able to tell what's happening on screen. Also the comedy scenes he was in were usually funny.

~

Okay so these are the things I like about the first movie! It was very long, had to watch it on 2,5x speed because it simultainously dragged while ALSO giving me too much information, but the moments like these and the way my imagination latched onto characters I liked made it watchable. It isn't a movie I'd use to introduce someone to the TF franchise, but it provided me with lots of material for my imagination to run wild.

[batterycityghoul]

Boys Like You (Steve Harrington/Reader)

Summary: You’re sure Steve Harrington will never notice you. Billy Hargrove sets out to prove you wrong. 

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Inspired by the song Boys Like You by Kids at Midnight. This is my first Steve Harrington fic, so I’m a bit nervous about this. If you like this, then letting me know would make my day. 

Masterlist / Read on AO3 / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

"Harrington again? Really, Y/N?"

"Shut up," you muttered, clutching your journal closer to your chest.  

Billy shot you an unimpressed look before glancing pointedly at the journal. Or maybe he was looking at your chest. With Billy, it was always a little hard to tell. 

"He's never going to stop sniffing after Wheeler," Billy pointed out as he dropped down into the seat beside you. "So, you should probably stop pining away for him in your little diary."

"Shut up," you repeated, shooting him a glare before you turned to drop your journal into your backpack.  

"I'm just saying," Billy started as he leaned closer to you. "I wouldn't mind helping you get over your broken heart."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, unaffected by his attempt at a come-on. "Just get your textbook out. We've got work to do," you reminded him as you flipped open your math notebook.  

You weren't really thrilled when Mrs. Green asked you to tutor Billy Hargrove. It wasn't even because you knew he was a shameless flirt and would attempt to get in your pants at every turn. It was because he was truly apathetic about the subject and you knew you would have your work cut out for you.  

After the first few sessions, you were more than a little surprised to realize that you were bonding with Billy. He always came off as a smart-ass who couldn't give less of a damn about school or anyone in it. It didn't take you many after-school tutoring lessons with him to realize that it was mostly just a façade. He acted tough and gave everyone shit, but there was something else going on with him. You just weren't quite sure what it was yet.  

When he caught you watching Steve and Nancy do their little heartbroken dance around each other, you were more than a bit worried that he would use your pathetic crush against you.  

Instead, he scoffed and shook his head before slinging his arm around your shoulders to steer you away from the former couple. "You can do better than Princess Steve, Y/N."

"What?" You were shocked by his words. He almost sounded like he cared.  

"Harrington has his nose stuck so far up Wheeler's ass," Billy continued with a roll of his eyes. "You deserve someone who's going to give you every ounce of their attention," he purred, a smirk forming on his face.  

"And there it is," you muttered before shaking off his arm from around your shoulders. "You're shameless," you told him before you walked away from him, ignoring the sound of his laugh as it followed you down the hallway.  

Now, Billy was considering you with an expression on his face that nearly had you concerned.  

"Okay," he drawled before he nodded his head.  

"Okay?" You couldn't help but wonder what he meant.  

"Okay," he confirmed before he opened his textbook and began to idly flip through the pages.  

"Okay?" You repeated, worry leaking through in your tone.  

His pleased smirk did nothing to reassure you about his intentions.  

You really should have known that he would find a way to fuck you over, though. It didn't happen until your third period math class the next day. Billy had taken to sitting in the seat next to yours. He claimed it was because he wanted to copy your work, but you couldn't help but start to suspect that Billy might actually think of you as a friend.  

You were waiting for him to drop down into the seat next to yours, but instead you noticed he took Steve's usual seat near the front.  

"Billy," you hissed in an attempt to get his attention.  

Billy glanced at you over his shoulder before sending you a wink. He then leaned across the aisle to start talking to Steve's usual neighbor, feigning interest in her backpack of all things.  

You were going to attempt to drag Billy to his rightful seat before you noticed Steve walk into the room. You felt your face flush as you dropped your gaze down to your notebook. You toyed with the cover, nearly ripping off the corner in your desperate bid for a distraction.  

"Move it, Billy," you heard Steve demand as he pulled to a stop near his desk.  

"Don't be rude, Harrington," Billy told Steve as he gestured towards the girl across the aisle from him. You noticed she looked nearly dazed at having Billy Hargrove's attention solely on her. "We're talking. Just take my seat today."

You shook your head and wished that you were brave enough to fling your notebook at his head. You really didn't want to draw any attention to yourself, though.  

You heard Steve huff out a defeated sigh before he continued down the aisle in your direction. You noticed Billy track his movements, a satisfied grin on his face, before he nodded at you.  

You bit your lip, burying the urge to yell at him as Steve slid into the seat next to yours.  

"That guy is a real asshole," Steve grumbled as he slumped further down in his seat. "How do you stand him?"

You froze for a moment as you racked your brain for a witty reply. Wasn't that why Steve liked Nancy? She was clever and funny and intelligent and beautiful. Even though she was with Jonathan Byers, he still seemed to be so smitten over her. What if you didn't quite measure up?  

"Uh," you managed to get out before glancing quickly to him. "By only listening to about ten percent of what he actually says?"

Steve studied you for a moment before he snorted in approval. "He's lucky you give him that much," he observed before he pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the front pocket of his coat and slipped them onto his face.  

You weren't sure if you were meant to say anything else, so you turned your attention towards the front of the class. You were aware of Steve twirling a pencil between his fingers as he waited for class to start. You wanted nothing more than to reach into your backpack and grab your journal. You had started a sketch of Steve the day before that you wanted to finish. There was an expression on his face now you longed to capture, but you wouldn't risk it with him sitting right next to you.  

It was bad enough that Billy had caught a glimpse of the sketch, but if Steve happened to see it?

You didn't think you would manage to live through that kind of humiliation.  

You were distracted for a moment by the sound of Billy's laughter. You couldn't help but wonder if he had another motive besides playing wingman for you with Steve as he leaned in closer to the girl next to him.  

You rolled your eyes before you shot a helpless glance at Steve.  

You were surprised to see that he was already considering you.  

"Sorry," he told you when he realized you caught him staring. "It's just..." he trailed off before shooting a look at Billy. "Aren't you two together?"

"No," you hastily denied with a quick shake of your head. "I'm tutoring him," you simply offered as an explanation. That wasn't really the right description for your relationship with Billy now, but you were hesitant to throw the 'friend' title around. Billy Hargrove didn't really seem the type to have friends and you didn't want to assume you were anything more to him than a way to get a better grade.  

"Huh," Steve breathed in acknowledgement.  

When he didn't offer anything else, you tried to think of a way to further the conversation. You longed to talk to Steve. You didn't really care about anything trivial like his previous status as high school royalty or his looks or perfect hair.  

No, your crush reached all the way back to elementary school when Tommy Hagan accidentally bumped into you at recess in second grade and sent you sprawling on the asphalt of the basketball court. You had tears in your eyes as you looked down at the scrapes on your knees, blood beginning to well in the cuts.  

Steve had been there to pick you up and escort you to the nurse's office. He stayed with you until the nurse assured him you would be fine.  

It only took one act of chivalry to spark a crush that would persist for ten long years.  

Over the years, you shied away from Steve. He had everyone wrapped around his finger and you couldn't help but think that you were nowhere near cool enough to warrant his attention. You spent so many afternoons in your kitchen lamenting your crush on Steve to your mom. She always tried to console you with a promise that you were far too special to hide from a boy you would forget about once you graduated high school.  

You knew better, though. You didn't think there would ever be anything or anyone capable of overthrowing Steve's reign over your thoughts.  

It didn’t help that things had changed. Steve had changed. He shook off his ‘King Steve’ status during junior year after he started dating Nancy Wheeler and started an unlikely friendship with Jonathan Byers.  

You knew you still didn’t stand a chance, but once word of Nancy dumping Steve started circulating around school, a foolish little flame of hope started to spark within you.  

You never would have thought that Billy Hargrove would be the one to try to keep it lit.  

When class started, you thought you lost the opportunity Billy had gifted to you. You were sure that Steve would zone out during class or attempt to listen to Mrs. Green’s lesson.  

You startled when the paper ball landed on your desk just a few minutes into Mrs. Green's lecture.  

You glanced to Steve in question, but he had his head tipped back as he seemingly stared at the ceiling.  

You slowly uncrumpled the piece of paper before reading the note scribbled on the page.  

You getting any of this?

You couldn't help the tiny smile that stole across your face at seeing Steve's message.  

You carefully wrote your own reply before slipping the paper back onto his desk once Mrs. Green's attention was back on the chalkboard.  

You managed to keep a conversation going with Steve for the whole class. You felt a little thrill whenever he chuckled or grinned at whatever you had written in response to his words.  

A part of you couldn't help but think that this was finally it. Steve had noticed you and you were finally having a conversation. Better yet, Steve seemed invested in what you had to say.  

By the end of class, you were starting to crave his responses. You hated that you had managed to go from hopelessly crushing on Steve to hopefully anticipating more of his attention.

You took your time packing up your things in a vain attempt to stall. Your next class was sadly Steve-free and you wished for one sign that you weren't being misguided to think that Steve wanted to keep talking to you.  

"So, hey," Steve started as he turned towards you. "I think..." he trailed off, his focus turning towards Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers as they passed by the doorway of the classroom.  

"You think?" You prompted when he didn't seem like he planned on elaborating.  

"I'll see you later," Steve mumbled before he hurried from the room. You felt yourself practically deflate at the sound of him calling Nancy's name.  

"Come on," Billy coaxed as he grabbed your backpack. "I saw you passing your little notes to Harrington. Fess up, Y/N. You got a date yet or what?"

"No," you answered as you reached out to try to take your backpack from Billy.  

Billy carefully held your backpack just out of reach as he turned towards the door. “Well, something must’ve happened,” he pointed out as you trailed dejectedly after him.  

“Nothing happened,” you told him before you finally managed to pull your backpack from his grasp.  

"Ah," Billy mused when he led you out into the hallway and caught sight of Steve talking to Nancy. Billy clapped a hand to your shoulder and began to lead you away from the pair. "Tough break, kid," he muttered, completely ignoring the fact that you were the same age. "We'll just try harder next time."

"Please don't," you pleaded as you tried to forget how mortified you felt in that moment. You didn't think you could take more heartbreak or a possible rejection from Steve. You would simply live out the rest of your senior year with your head down and ignoring your feelings for Steve Harrington. They hadn't gotten you anywhere in a decade and you doubted they would be much use to you now.  

"Too late," Billy responded with a shake of his head. "I can't take you moping about anymore, so if it's Harrington you want, then it's Harrington you'll get."

You considered Billy for a moment, wondering why he was so adamant about fixing you up with Steve. As far as you were aware, they hated each other. But one look at Billy's earnest expression had you caving.  

"Fine," you finally conceded with an exasperated groan. "Do your worst."

"Oh, I plan to," Billy assured with you a smug grin that did nothing to quell your nerves.

Author’s Note: Part 2???

[amer-ainu]

by Chetanya Robinson | December 9th, 2020 Visitors to the Duwamish Longhouse and Cultural Center in West Seattle have to navigate poor sidewalks and a treacherous stretch of West Marginal Way that lacks a crosswalk and pedestrian signal.

“People go up and down West Marginal Way at 60 miles an hour — it’s like a freeway,” said Jolene Haas, director of the Longhouse.

Visiting the Longhouse might become safer next year. The Seattle Department of Transportation (SDOT) will build a temporary pedestrian crossing by the Longhouse in summer 2021, followed by a permanent one a year later. The department will also build a new sidewalk — meeting Americans with Disabilities Act accessibility requirements — and fill a gap in the biking trail there.

“I was delighted,” Haas said of the new improvements, which the Duwamish have long requested. “We just never thought this was going to happen in a million years.”

The Longhouse, which was constructed in 2009 from Western red cedar with traditional Salish architecture, is the centerpiece of the Duwamish tribe’s efforts to survive culturally and economically. It includes cultural objects, a space for performances and a kitchen for preparing traditional foods. Before the COVID-19 pandemic, it hosted regular events, educational programs for children and walking tours of the history, geology and biology of the Duwamish river. Limited tours are still available.

The Longhouse stands across the street from an archeological village site and the Duwamish river. “We’re so happy to be here, to be close to the river and close to one of our sacred sites,” Haas said. “There isn’t any other place we’d want to be. But we just feel like the city should help us create equal access and safe access to getting here.”

The hazardous traffic along West Marginal Way has created financial barriers for the Duwamish. “People don’t want to rent our facility or come here for a workshop, because the access to get here is so difficult,” Haas said. “Then how are we supposed to survive in this economy and in this city?”

In March, the city closed the West Seattle bridge after an inspection found alarming cracks. As traffic was diverted toward other bridges, it increased along West Marginal Way. SDOT lowered the speed limit on the road to 30 miles per hour in May and installed radar feedback signs in September to control speeding.

Ironically, the bridge closure probably ensured the crosswalk and other projects were funded and installed more quickly.

The Longhouse pedestrian safety improvements — the sidewalk, crosswalk and bike lane — already had $1.25 million in funding for planning and design from the 2020 budget. With the closure of the bridge, it became important to quickly mitigate the impacts of detouring traffic along West Marginal Way, said Dawn Schellenberg, spokesperson for SDOT, in an email.

“It’s sort of a glass-half-full outcome of the bridge closure,” said Councilmember Lisa Herbold, who represents West Seattle. “This year, we leveraged the fact that we have this crisis with the bridge closure to get the city to fully fund the project.”

Herbold has supported the Duwamish tribe’s efforts to get a crosswalk built for years, starting when she worked as a staffer for Councilmember Nick Licata. She lives nearby and has frequently visited. “You go to a meeting at the Longhouse and have to cross that crazy road,” she said.

It’s taken so long to build the crosswalk and implement other improvements, Herbold said, because of the City Council’s lack of “prioritization around the need.”

According to Schellenberg of SDOT: “Unfortunately, up until recently, a lack of funding for these improvements in that location did not make it feasible for us to provide them.”

That didn’t stop the Duwamish from advocating for the improvements, including recently seeking funding through SDOT’s Your Voice, Your Choice participatory budgeting process for street improvements. The tribe’s proposal received wide community support in West Seattle.

SDOT has narrowed traffic into one lane on either side of the Longhouse and installed paint and posts. But at first, the city said there wasn’t enough funding for the crosswalk, and the industrial location was a challenge, Haas said.

“It wasn’t going anywhere, so we basically held everyone’s feet to the fire,” she said.

After the bridge closure, Haas feared the Longhouse safety program would get pushed aside, and she joined the West Seattle Bridge Task Force to keep the project alive.

In the end, the project was fully funded through SDOT’s Reconnect West Seattle, which is intended to mitigate the impacts of detour traffic in Duwamish Valley neighborhoods.

SDOT will build a temporary pedestrian crossing signal by the Longhouse in summer 2021, followed by a permanent one the next year. The permanent crossing will take a year because it requires reconstructing the BNSF rail crossing at that location, and the company needs “a long lead time” to review designs, according to SDOT.

In spring 2021, SDOT will install a new asphalt sidewalk on the west side of West Marginal Way where there’s now an overgrown path.

SDOT will also build out 0.4 miles of biking trailway to create a full path for cyclists getting to the Longhouse. The department is considering design options for the southbound curb lane, which extends from the existing Duwamish Trail Crossing signal to the Longhouse, and will have discussions with the public and stakeholders about options.

Haas is happy the pedestrian safety projects will soon become reality. Next, she hopes King County Metro will create a bus stop near the Longhouse; the closest one is about a mile away. “That would just be, to us, a dream come true,” she said.

“With the billions of dollars that’s being dumped into the city by all the tourists that come here, they can’t get on a bus and get here,” Haas said. “So we’re sort of being left out in the cold, we feel.”

The Longhouse receives an estimated 10,000 visitors per year on average, and Haas wants to make it easier for more people to visit.

“There’s no other place in the city of Seattle that represents the first people of Seattle but this longhouse, and tells our story,” Haas said in reference to Duwamish representation. “I just feel like people should have access to get here.”

A bigger dream in sight

An even bigger dream for the Duwamish is the possibility that the new Joe Biden presidential administration will grant them federal recognition.

In 1855, tribal leaders in western Washington, including Duwamish and Suquamish leader (and Seattle’s namesake) Chief Si’ahl, signed the Treaty of Point Elliott. In signing the treaty, the Duwamish gave up their homeland of most of King County in return for a reservation and fishing and hunting rights. Several Washington tribes were granted land and federal recognition as sovereign tribal nations, but not the Duwamish.

Federal recognition would allow the tribe to create their own laws, be exempt from taxes, and receive services from the federal government, like healthcare and subsidized housing.

The tribe has pursued federal recognition since 1977, which it almost received in the last days of Bill Clinton’s administration, but then President George W. Bush swiftly took it away because of a technicality based on stricter criteria from 1978, which have since been updated twice.

Haas believes there’s a greater chance it could happen under a Democratic administration, and the tribe is preparing to petition the Biden administration. That said, the tribe had high hopes for recognition under President Barack Obama, and it never happened.

“We always have hope,” Haas said. “It’s never going to be over for us until we are granted our rights under the treaty that the tribe signed.”

[whump-cravings]

Bird in a Ditch

saw a prompt about someone being dumped on the side of the road and an idea started to form. I’ve also wanted to try a BBU type thing, so here it iiiiiis

Content Warnings: BBU, pet whump, winged whump, nonhuman whump, fantastic racism referenced, extreme disassociation, past torture implied, tbh this piece is pretty mild

Lemon shook xir head to try and clear fatigue, keeping xir eyes on the road as xe leaned forward to manually roll the window down. Cool air blasted xim in the face and behind xir neck, sending refreshing shivers down xir spine.

Something glowed gold on the road and xe jerked the wheel, sliding into the other lane. "Feathers?" xe said, throwing xir gaze to catch another glimpse of the obstacle, already pulling over.

A downed barn owl? xe wondered, flicking the hazards on. Getting xir phone out, xe searched the cabin for a blanket or something to wrap the little dude in. If it wasn't dead, anyways. I better hurry. Another car could come by at any time.

"Probably already dead but just in case—" Lemon muttered to xirself, trying to forestall disappointment before it began. Xe surfaced with a canvas tarp and hustled out into the night, boots hitting asphalt. Xe was a little ways away from the bird...

As the phone's flashlight caught feathers again, Lemon frowned. That looked a lot bigger than an owl. Maybe an eagle, or—

Maybe a whole goddamn person? Xe stopped at the side of the ditch, looking down in shock at the humanoid body connected to the wings. Xe'd never seen any birdfolk up close. They were rare in this part of the world, where everybody was pretty damn racist.

That was neither here or there. Lemon shook xir head, dropping the canvas and propping the phone and its light up before carefully finding the top of the person’s outstretched wing and trying to gently-gently-gently fold it towards their body.

How did I mistake them for an owl? These are huge! Xe felt soft clicking underneath hands through the feathers and bone. Now up close, the feathers didn't seem to shine with the golden luster Lemon had seen before, but were instead dull and dirty.

"Sorry, sorry," Lemon murmured, though the person hadn't stirred. Concern buzzed in the back of xir head as xe stepped around to the face-down body.

Lemon crouched, slipping a hand down the side of neck and searched for a pulse. Still warm—there. Xe let out a sigh of relief at the rhythm beneath xir fingers. "Didn't want to have to report a dead body tonight," xe chuckled.

Xe moved xir hand to the bird person's shoulder, gently shaking. No reaction. "Of course, you wouldn't be lying in a ditch if you could wake up," Lemon muttered, straightening. Xir gaze traveled down, and xe picked up the phone to get a better look.

The bird person was wearing only boxers, so there was a lot to see. Mostly, they were dirty. And the wings looked terrible. Whole patches of feathers were missing, and the ones that remained—Lemon suspected those weren't supposed to look so bedraggled. Xe shook xir head, sympathy turning in xir gut. Poor thing. Had they been mugged and then dumped, or maybe crash landed here?

The situation presented a problem. It’s one thing to bring home an animal, xe thought to xirself. This is a whole person. If they were awake, Lemon would have given them a ride to wherever they needed to go and the little cash xe had on xirself.

Xir mother's voice rattled in the back of xir head. It wasn’t as dangerous for Lemon to pick up people off the side of the road as for xir sister, but their mother always had some new story about somebody being shot and having their car stolen when they mentioned picking somebody up.

Xe waffled. I could wait until they wake up... Assuming they didn’t die of exposure, and assuming xe didn’t want any sleep tonight. Xe glanced around at the dark road, then back down at the stranger. If they were unconscious like this and didn’t smell of alcohol, they probably weren’t that dangerous. And somebody who felt less neutral about birdfolk might come along to finish them off.

Lemon sighed, already knowing xe couldn’t leave them here and trying to figure out how to get them over and into to the truck. Maybe xe could carry them there, but the wings would probably drag. Xe tried imagining walking backwards while carrying them from the front. Could xe lift them high enough? Probably not.

"Tch." That wouldn't do. After a moment's consideration, xe looked back at the canvas.

It took some pulling and maneuvering, but soon Lemon was pulling the bird person across the road on top of the canvas. Xir sweatshirt was tucked underneath their head, keeping them safe from rocks.

"Expected you to be a lot heavier, honestly," Lemon said. Maybe the weight was normal for adult birdfolk.

It would have been way more comfortable for them, Lemon was sure, to be in the cabin, but xe wasn’t sure xe could manage that without damaging their wings further. So, xe carefully lifted them by the front and laid them face down in the truck bed. It was not graceful and xe was a little relieved they weren’t awake for it. Xe tucked the sweatshirt back under the person's head.

"Home is just a few minutes away," xe promised as xe tried folding up their wings, worried about the wind catching them or about hypothermia setting in. Xe unfurled the canvas with a shake, then draped it over the bird person's body and wings to block the wind, securing the cloth at the corners with bungee cords.

Looks like I'm trying to hide a dead body, Lemon thought when xe put the tailgate up. "Hang in there, buddy."

Lemon would have liked to speed home, but the bed's occupant had xem driving far more carefully than normal, particularly around corners. When xe got to the apartment, xe pulled into xir spot in reverse. It was a much shorter distance to carry somebody from the truck bed to the door, so Lemon did—xe wasn’t entirely sure xe could get them through the door otherwise. It was already a hassle to get them past one door, the next, and then settle them on the floor of the small bathroom against the wall.

Xe closed and locked the front door, then flicked lights on. As xe stepped back into the bathroom, careful to avoid any errant limbs, xe started.

The bird person's eyes were open.

"Hey, you're awake," Lemon exclaimed.

But the person didn't seem to hear Lemon--they hardly seemed aware of their surroundings at all, staring straight forward. Shit, had they been awake the entire time and Lemon just hadn’t noticed? How awkward that would be! And...

Xir realized their face was covered in scars. Unable to help xirself, xir eyes were drawn down. Mottled bruising covered their ribs, long-healed scars past that and the dirt. Same with their legs. What had happened to them? Was this just the result of being birdfolk here?

Xe took a steadying breath, crouching down. "Hey, can you hear me? Can you look at me?"

Finally, the tiniest response. Topaz eyes slid fractionally towards Lemon's center of mass, but nothing else. Their expression and muscles remained listless.

"Good, that's—no no no, come on, don't do that," Lemon cajoled in gentle frustration as the bird person closed their eyes. What am I supposed to do with this? Xe scrubbed xir tired face with one hand. What were the symptoms of a concussion?

"Let me get you something to drink," xe said. "And maybe eat?"

No response. The only sign they were still alive was the gentle rise and fall of their chest.

Lemon wearily got back to xir feet, ambling into the kitchen for a glass of water and some—did bird people eat normal food? They looked plenty human. But what if they were allergic to stuff? Xe grabbed a small variety of snacks—string cheese and pepperoni from the fridge and a little baggy of trail mix. Bundling the food into a paper towel in one hand and holding the glass of water in the other, xe returned to the bathroom.

"Here we go," Lemon said as xe returned, kneeling at arm's length to set down the array of food. Xe set the cup of water closer still. "Little bit of food, little bit of water."

Their eyes were open again, looking down at Lemon's offerings. Maybe. It was hard to tell for sure, since they seemed unfocused. They made no movement to accept.

"Does your head hurt?" Lemon tried. "If you have a concussion, we should..." Xe trailed off. I don't have money for an emergency doctor visit. "Have you lie down, probably."

It's like talking to a rock. "I'll give you some space."

Getting back to xir feet, Lemon went back into the kitchen and washed xir hands. Xe probably should have done that earlier, but if they haven’t died of dirt already, they probably won't from a little on their pepperoni.

"Might as well prep a meal," xe mumbled, since xe couldn’t sleep until xir guest was settled. Xe took a moment to draw up some videos online about birdfolk and birds in general, then got to work with the food.

About twenty minutes later, everything was assembled in the pressure cooker. Lemon hadn't heard anything from the direction of the bathroom. Anxious, xe checked on xir guest.

I'm going to have someone die on my floor of starvation and atrophy, Lemon thought. The bird person was in the same exact position xe’d left them. Their tourmaline-brown gaze still rested on the food and water.

Lemon chided xirself. They could be a paraplegic for all xe knew. Maybe their eyes were all they were able to move. It would explain their weight.

This thought in mind, xe crouched a little closer to them. "Hey," xe said. "Can you blink twice if you understand me?"

Their eyes slowly rolled back up to Lemon's chest. Noticeably, they didn't blink.

Lemon laced xir fingers together and pulled them apart, repeating the motion a few times while they thought. Could be he was a paraplegic foreigner? Hells.

Reaching out slowly, Lemon tapped their hand, before picking it up and turning it over. Xe froze.

On their wrist was a black barcode.

After staring for far too long, Lemon let out a shaky, "O-oh."

I'm going to have someone's slave die on my floor. Xir anger towards the Box Boy industry stirred—a regular feeling. The legalized trafficking wasn’t something xe could do much about, other small donations here and there to liberation and activist groups.

Who had dumped this poor bird on the side of the road? Where was the owner? Lemon's eyes went to their patchy wings.

"Can't be sure they didn't do this to you," xe said softly, jaw clenching at the idea of it. They could have very well escaped and ended up in that ditch on their own, just to get away from the abuse written on their body. It matched up with the stories Lemon had heard and read about how owners fucked their slaves over.

Fuck, and it wasn't even like this man was nondescript. Birdfolk were rare enough, a Pet bird was sure to be noticed in a crowd. Stealing a Pet was grand larceny, and Lemon didn’t want to think about how much an exotic specimen might go for.

Calm down. So far all you've done is provide aid. That's not theft.

But Lemon's hands shook as xe held onto the bird person's, because xe knew xe couldn't—

That's a problem for Future Lemon, xe decided, taking calming breaths. There were groups xe could contact, but not tonight. Tonight, this poor bird needed a safe and calm place to recuperate. Lemon could provide that.

[fallingappleshurt]

63 with Wilbur and Techno. Bonus if it's a flashback to their childhood after wilbur's death.

Hi yes I write things I swear

So the second part of the request is more directly implied than outright stated so oops but yeah! Also this takes place in some modern AU because the SMP is tiring me

all that’s dead and gone and passed tonight

TW: swearing, major character death (already dead not- they are just grieving)

Techno felt like he was watching himself in a painting, a shitty, hazy painting. One where the artist got frustrated and gave up halfway through, smearing the paint up and down and across the canvas in rage.

He couldn’t focus- the smudges on his glasses were distracting and unwanted tears building up in his eyes were blurring the words on his assignments together.

The sky was screaming, the wind whipped at the trees and slapped at the house, thunder shook the clouds and lightning slipped through the cracks. It was raining so hard Techno couldn’t see out his window.

Sharp and painful feelings that he tried so hard to crush were bubbling up along with tears in his eyes- he couldn’t do this. He had at least 3 assignments due at midnight and 2 missing ones that he couldn’t find the motivation to do, he should probably shower, he felt gross- and the rain made him think of Wilbur-

Oh god Wilbur.

If Wilbur were here he’d make Techno take a break after teasing him for awhile, hanging upside down on Techno’s bed and commenting on his fantastic posture.

He jammed his hands in his hair, nails getting caught on the tangles and coating his hands with grease, pulling and digging his fingers into his scalp. This was the last thing he wanted to think about was Wilbur- fuck- his stupid fucking hair was getting in the way.

Phil had tried to get him to take care of it again but even brushing his hair felt like a hassle and Wilbur wasn’t there to braid it. Techno knew how to braid and care for his own hair- but Wilbur would always do it- he used to.

His chest was tight- ribs mending together and crushing his lungs- no he had to focus- just get these assignments done- the thunder cracked outside again.

Tears burned his face, he was tired, so tired, he knew he didn’t have the right to be but he was- he went to grab his pencil only to accidentally jerk at his hair again.

He snapped, shoving his papers and books off the desk, jumping up so fast his chair fell over.

Techno pushed his door open and stomped into the bathroom, rummaging through the drawers in the dark like a mad man, washcloths and toothbrushes and bandaids being shoved aside until he found the scissors.

He grabbed a chunk of his hair- yanking it so he could see it better- and lined the scissors up. He paused, tears clouding his vision to the point where he could barely see himself- did he really want to get rid of it? Of something that took so long to grow- something Wilbur liked so much?

His eyes flickered to the small nightlight on the wall.

He bit his tongue and sliced through his hair.

Iron filled his mouth as he threw his hair on the floor, snipping wildly at the other parts, ripping them away, feeling the jagged ends brush against his face and neck.

Techno dropped the scissors, he stumbled out of the bathroom and back towards his room- it felt unfamiliar but homey at the same time- it smelled like dust and ink.

He collapsed on the already made bed, it was soft and enveloped in him in a cool but familiar sheet of grief.

He wrapped his arms around the pillow, that smelled like the shampoo that Wilbur had insisted on using, holding it to his chest, and somehow fell asleep.

“You’ve been sitting there for the last 3 hours, I thought you’d be finished by now.” Wilbur commented, flopping down on Techno’s bed.

“Shut up.”

Wilbur snorted, “You’re in a mood.”

Techno gripped his pencil tighter, “Go away- I’m busy.”

“You’ve said that a lot recently-”

“Cause I’ve been busy so fuck off!”

Wilbur rolled off the bed, setting his hand on Techno’s shoulder, “You need a break-”

“I need to finish this project-”

“It’s due on Monday, you’ll still have the rest of the weekend to finish it, now come on, we’re going on a walk.”

“But it’s raining,”

“So? That’s what makes it fun, besides it's basically summer so it’s warm.”

Techno let Wilbur drag him out of his room, past Tommy who was passed out on the couch with the TV blaring, and through the kitchen towards the garage.

“Leave your shoes.”

“What?”

“Walking barefoot in the rain feels much better than with shoes, now come on! You’re so slow!”

They walked out of the garage and were immediately pelted with fat drops of water as the sky dumped buckets on them. Wilbur grinned and they continued down the driveway and down the sidewalk.

Techno felt like an idiot, walking in the rain in shorts and a t-shirt with his twin, but strangely, he didn’t mind it. Wilbur closed his eyes and put his head back, smiling widely, letting the rain hit his face and drench his hair.

Barely anybody was out, Techno could see faint light filtering from other peoples windows but the streets were clear, he watched leaves and twigs get swept down the little rivers that ran down the curb every time it rained.

Wilbur grabbed his hands suddenly, spinning them around, Techno was barely able to stop himself from falling.

“What-”

“Come on Tech! Move your feet, get your blood flowing!” Wilbur twisted them around again, laughing. His laugh was like little drops of sunlight in the sea.

Techno snorted, trying to keep up with Wilbur’s rapid pace.

They spun themselves at a shitty old field by the middle school, where the buses would park over the summer and the people would let their dogs run. The asphalt was gray and cracked, huge potholes filled with water and pebbles.

Wilbur pulled him along, urging him to go faster, until they were running. They ran through the puddles, splashing muddy water on their legs. Techno ran and ran, feeling the wind in his hair that was simultaneously sticking to his forehead, his feet hit the ground so hard he thought they might bleed but he finally felt like he wasn’t wrapped in a foggy haze.

Wilbur nearly tripped twice and Techno couldn’t see out of his glasses but for the first time in months he felt like he could breathe.

Eventually they went back home, creeping through the house Techno went to get changed and dry himself off, once he did he sat back down to work on his project again. Only for Wilbur to poke his head through the door, droplets of water still clinging to his hair.

“Oh no you don’t, I just got you to loosen up, you gotta stay loose. Come here,”

“I really should be working-”

“Shut up and let me braid your hair.”

Techno found himself in Wilbur’s room sipping a cup of hot chocolate, curled up on the bed with Wilbur running his fingers through his hair, sectioning it off for braids.

It was still pouring outside, rain pattering against the window, the ceiling fan creaked and rattled mixing in with the TV’s soft melody of a cheesy old show Techno hadn’t seen in years. The multicolored Christmas lights Wilbur had taped to the wall were glowing softly but still brighten the room.

When Wilbur finished the last braid he leaned against his twin, his hot chocolate forgotten on the desk, “Stay the night with me?” He asked quietly, “It’ll be just like old times.”

Techno nodded and Wilbur laid his head on his shoulder, just like old times.

Phil had been worried when he woke muffled thumps and bangs coming from the hall but after quickly investigating found that they were safe.

He felt the panic flare up again for a moment when he peered in and saw Techno wasn’t in his room and it was in complete disarray but relaxed when he found him in Wilbur’s room, curled up, fast asleep.

He wondered if he should wake him and ask if he was alright but ultimately stopped himself, he couldn’t do that to him, even in the dim light Techno looked more at peace then he had in months.

It had been months since Wilbur died and Phil’s chest burned everyday, there was a piece missing from his home, his heart, his family, he lost his songbird.

He knew it affected his other sons too, Tommy flipped between loud fits of rage and sadness, screaming or sobbing softly, while Techno was barely managing to scrape by as human.

Wilbur and Tommy were close but Wilbur and Techno had been by each other's sides since birth.

He remembered Wilbur refusing to leave Techno’s side when he was sick and how Techno never missed one of his concerts. The paper crowns and crudely made flags and swords as they decided they were the most fearsome duo that would conquer the land one day.

They never got that far.

Phil knew Techno tried to put on a brave front but it was cracking, piece by piece, baggy eyes, slipping grades, and forgetting to eat. He had tried to help but nothing seemed to be working, Techno was slipping into a husk of himself.

Wilbur may have been in a casket but any fool could see Techno was the dead one.

[stellarboystyles]

Make a Move

Harry’s a bartender and she’s a waitress, a match made in heaven. That is, if they weren’t constantly pining over each other like idiots.

4.2k !

She and Harry closed almost every weekend.

Why? Because there wasn’t really anyone else that was willing, so they’re always picking up slack. They were even more short staffed before Y/N came along, and given that she was the only waitress who actually gave a shit about her job, she was always the first choice whenever someone called in sick or quit unexpectedly, which, unfortunately for her, was quite often. Not that she’s complaining, because she and Harry always work the same shifts so it’s always fun. She was so kind to every customer but as soon as any of them were crossing a line she’d be the first one to tell them to back off. Harry was the best bartender on the strip, and everyone local knows it, too. Word travels fast, and his drinks speak for themselves. They make a great team. The rest of their co workers claim that the pair always get better tips, and even though they aren’t wrong, Harry and y/n like to indulge in the private joke that maybe if everyone else didn’t do their job half ass then maybe they’d get the tips that they get every night. Their boss is lucky to have both of them working for him. 

But Harry was just as lucky to be working there. 

That’s exactly what it was. Pure luck. 

When Harry’s mum Anne told her husband that she was pregnant with him, he promised her that he was going to change and be home more often, for them. And he kept his promise, for a while. Harry was such an easy baby, easy going and hardly ever cried. However, three months later things swiftly took a turn when she quickly realised that he was going to be a colicky baby. Seeing her little baby boy in pain, screaming and inconsolable just simply broke her heart, but it just meant that he needed a little more attention. She’d quickly learned his favorite remedy was a warm bath and a comfy swaddle, followed by some cuddles and he’d be right back off to sleep. She still thinks the reason that they’re still so close now is because of that extra bonding time. 

Harry’s dad had always been distant from him. He was never home, And when he was, he wanted Anne’s full attention, and when he wasn’t getting that anymore, because, you know, she was busy raising an infant by herself, he grew selfishly jealous of the child that he created. When he hit her in front of her son, that was it. She made the split decision that she didn’t want this life for Harry, or for her. She waited until he fell asleep that night, packed what she could, took her baby and left. Moved to London and never saw or heard from him again.

Harry was six years old when his mum first got sick. It started out as headaches and a fever that would come and go, but it got worse. To be specific, an autoimmune disease that was attacking her muscles and joints. It got so bad that she couldn’t even brush her hair, let alone take proper care of a six year old. Long story short, Harry learned quickly and at a young age how to take care of himself. when Harry wasn’t in school all he wanted to do was take care of her. He’d always wake up early on the weekends and make her second favorite breakfast...waffles. Her first favorite was pancakes, but he couldn’t make those, only because he knew that his mummy said the stove wasn’t safe and that he couldn’t use it by himself, because he could burn his fingers. 

Three years go by and things are really tough. Anne could no longer work, so without her knowledge, Harry began to improvise. He started selling some of his toys to his friends at school during playtime. By the time almost all of his toys were gone he’d managed to gain thirty five dollars, and he was so proud of himself. But when he saw one of the medical bills totals on the kitchen counter, he knew he was going to have to try something else. Every monday his mum gave him five dollars to pay for lunch at school for the whole week. So instead of eating lunch, he kept it in his backpack with the other thirty five. His friends always shared their lunch with him so that he wouldn’t go hungry all day, and no one ever found out. Week by week the amount seemed to add up quickly. Before he knew it it was the end of the school year he had one hundred and ninety five dollars. He counted it twice just to be sure, but it didn’t matter because it still wasn’t enough.

He was sad, extremely sad and angry. Three more years go by and his mum is in the hospital recovering from surgery. He couldn’t help feeling so many things all at once. His mum was his best friend, why on earth was this happening to her, to him? 

One afternoon Harry was walking home from school. It was gloomy and dreary, typical London weather. He wanted to get home faster so he could get to the hospital to see her, so he chose to make a quick shortcut down an alley to his left. As he walked he noticed a group of boys older than him, maybe fourteen or fifteen, on the side of the alley. Before he could turn around or walk past them, of course, they surrounded him. It felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

He was getting jumped.

“I-I haven’t got anything.”

One of them held his arms in a tight grasp whilst another one yanked the backpack off his shoulders, dumping the contents, including the wads of cash, onto the asphalt.

“Ooh, what do we have here?”

Harry’s eyes instantly widened, struggling with all the strength in his body, desperately trying to get free. He couldn’t let them do this.

“No! Please, please don’t. I’ll do anything you want, but I need that money!”

“So do we.”

A fist landed against his cheek and before he knew it he was on the ground being beaten senseless.

“It’s not for me!” he tried, throwing his hands up in front of his face in an attempt to defend himself. “It’s for my mum, she’s sick.”

“Hey! How many times have I told you to quit causin’ trouble back ‘ere?!”

Harry was wide eyed as he saw a man, probably a store owner since he came around the back corner. They quickly ran off empty handed. The man’s face changed from angry to bewildered as he saw Harry’s face.

And as if on fucking cue, it started to rain. Pour, actually.

“No, no, no…”

Harry scrambles to his knees and crawls forward, trying to salvage the dampened green paper, shoving it back into his backpack.

“Are you alright?!”

That was the moment that Harry’s life changed forever. 

The man, who Harry quickly learned was named Joe, did more than just clean up the young boy’s bloody face. They started talking and Harry told him everything. About his father, the piling medical bills, everything—and in that moment Joe knew he had to help him. 

Every day after that, after school Harry would go to Joe’s bar and work for him. Small jobs—sweep the floor, clean the tables, things like that. He took Harry in, looked after him when his mum couldn’t and gave him advice like the father he’d never had. 

The day Harry turned seventeen was the day his mum was officially in remission. Harry had been saving every single penny he’d made over the last five years, which was enough to really help out with their situation until his mum could go back to work. He was over the moon, he didn’t think he’d ever see the day that she’d be feeling like herself again. 

Harry didn’t really plan on going to college because even if his mum was better, he always wanted to be able to visit and check on her. After he graduated, he moved into the apartment upstairs above the bar, and the rest is history.

And that leads us to now. Four years later at twenty one Harry is everyone’s favorite bartender, who's crushing hard on this truly one of a kind girl that walked into his life only a few months ago, and he can’t remember what life was like without her in it. 

Despite how the job sounds, they both loved every second of it. Especially when they worked together. When they weren’t busy, they were constantly messing with each other, usually it was him teasing her whenever she tripped over her own feet, almost spilling a plate or glass and when she’d come back behind the bar he’d be smirking “y’not drunk are yeh?” and she’d mumble a “shut up.” making him chuckle. 

But they were incredibly soft for each other, there was no way around it. 

One time, Harry called in sick, and if he would’ve seen the look of disappointment mixed with sadness on her face, he might have just said fuck it and came in to work just to make her happy or at least see her smile, despite the food posioning. 

That’s what she did to him. All rationale was lost, even if it was just for a moment. 

When he came back, his co-workers filled him in, telling him that she was all sad and pouting through the whole shift. It made his heart ache, made him want to kiss the pout right off her lips, 

because her lips were so pretty. 

But it also made his heart beat a little faster. 

He caught himself staring more and more as the months went by, their friendship torturing him day by day. It was truly a sick joke—being her friend but not being able to feel her soft skin under his touch, kiss her anywhere, anytime he wanted. 

Was this karma? What did he do to deserve this?

He’s never been a day dreamer, until now. She’s in his head all the time and he can’t stop thinking about what his life would be like if he could just muster up enough confidence to tell her that he loves the way she pushes her hair behind her ears, or how he’s been dying to kiss her since she walked in the door on her first day. 

He remembers that day like it was yesterday. 

***

Harry was wiping down the bar, cell phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he listened to his boss tell him about his newest hire being a new waitress.

“Hope this one sticks.” he mumbled, a small smirk appearing on his face as he dried off the inside of one of the glasses. “M’not gettin’ paid to wait tables, Joe.”

“Oh piss off, I’m payin’ you more than that.” a laugh was shared between the two before he continued.

“She’s already been trained, but it’s her first day by herself, so be nice.”

“M’always nice. It’s those other vultures you’ve got to worry about.” 

Harry wasn’t exaggerating. The other waitresses were like wild animals, they’d either attack you or try to have sex with you. 

“Just look out for her, will you? Don’t want her bein’ eaten alive on her first day and then she’s too scared to come back.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine, I’ll keep y’updated. Have fun on your holiday.”

“Thanks again for taking care of everything, I really appreciate it.”

“S’the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” the humor in his voice slowly faded, his tone becoming more serious.

Don’t get soft on me now.” his response to Harry’s sentiment makes him chuckle.

“Okay, okay. But m’serious, don’ know where I’d be without your help.”

When he hung up the phone, as if on fucking cue, he hears the front door open. 

***

Everything about her was perfect. Her hair looked like silk, even if it was tied back while she was working with some baby hairs falling around her face. Her skin was flawless—he loves it when she doesn’t wear any makeup, like today. He found her rosy cheeks and naturally long eyelashes to be undeniably adorable. 

“H?” 

His head snapped up at her voice. It was sweet, like the sugar he always puts on the rim of her glass when he makes her mojitos some nights after they close up. Harry thinks he’d do anything she wanted if she asked him nicely.

“Earth to Harry.” she jokingly waves her hand in front of his face. “It’s almost two.”

“Oh, shit. Wasn’t even lookin’ a’ the time.” he chuckled. “Thanks, love.”

“No problem.” Her cheeks were splashed with pink, looking at her shoes before turning to walk away. 

To this day, Harry doesn’t know what on earth possessed him to do this. But for some reason, three words popped into his head.

Make a move.

“Hey.” he stops her from walking away by taking her hand and pulling her towards him.

“What?” she giggles as she turns her head to look at him. 

“C’mere.”

The look on his face was giving her butterflies. He blinked slowly, a small smile curved across his lips.

“Got a new drink idea, can I try it out on ya?”

She lets out a nervous giggle before nodding her head. 

She felt like an idiot because she really thought that he was going to kiss her. She wanted to feel his lips on her lips, her skin. And god, did he want to kiss her. He felt like an idiot because that wasn’t really a move. He wanted to kiss her, so fucking bad but he got nervous. How couldn’t he? She was his friend, and so, so beautiful. What if she didn’t want to be more than friends? It was a scary thought, rejection. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their friendship, he cared about her too much to ruin that. Wouldn’t it be awkward, if things didn’t work out, or she didn’t want him in the first place, and they still had to work together? Harry just might have to crawl under a rock.

But she wore her heart on her sleeve, so she couldn’t really hide the sadness in her eyes as her gaze fell to her hands as he was mixing the contents that were going to go in the lowball glass. It pained him to see her anything but her usual bubbly, sweet self. 

“S’wrong?” Harry frowned, but she shook her head. 

“Nothin’. Just waiting on you, like always.”

His mouth fell open at your accusation. 

“Since when?” he scoffs. “M’always waitin’ on you.”

“When?” she challenges, eyebrows furrowing.

Harry playfully rolls his eyes. “When we were goin’ t’that festival, or anytime we do somethin’ outside of work, yeh always take forever to get ready.”

Because she wanted to look super cute for you, you idiot. 

“I messed up my makeup, okay? Gimme a break.”

She’s sitting on the bar stool and he’s behind the bar, leaning onto his elbows and stopping what he’s doing to look at her.

“Y’dont need tha’ stuff.” 

She gives him a sheepish smile, but Harry’s not having any of it. 

Here goes nothing. 

“Hey.” he reaches over and puts a hand under her chin, finger brushing the skin of her jaw and his touch gives her butterflies. “Look a’ me?”

Her eyes flicker up to meet his, earning a smile on his pink lips. 

“S’true. You’re beautiful and you don’t need it, okay?”

A soft smile graced her lips, making his small smile wider. “Okay, okay.”

“Alright, here.” he slid the glass across the bar top towards her. She takes a sip and her eyes light up, making his do the same.

“Mmm, it’s so good!” she looks up at him, eyes widening, making him laugh. 

She loved his laugh. 

“Know you like to start off with the fruity stuff.” 

“Careful.” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “I know how much you love those cranberry vodkas.”

“And they’re delicious. Especially mine.”

“Definitely yours.” her comment makes Harry giggle, looking at his hands and you’re positive it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He looks at her, flicking his head.

“C’mere, I’ll show yeh how t’make one.”

Her whole face lights up. “Really?” and her excitement is so adorable he can’t help but mirror her expression with a laugh.

“Mhm, c’mon.”

She’s standing behind the bar and Harry’s standing behind her, showing her the ropes, as he called it. But when she felt his chest pressed against her back as he went through the steps, she could no longer focus on anything he was saying, which worked in his favor because he stumbled across his words quite a bit at the feeling. They were physically closer than they’ve ever been and she smelled so fucking good. He rests his head on her left shoulder, gripping the bar top in front of her. 

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears, and he finally speaks up. 

“Wanna try?”

He picks up the lowball glass, bringing it up to her lips. He moves his hand, tilting the drink to meet your lips. The interaction was so intimate, and you could feel his breath on your ear.

“Good?”

His voice was deeper, sending shivers down her spinal cord. She nods and he moves beside her, (much to her disappointment) and leans one of his elbows onto the surface beside him. She turns to him, and takes the glass out of his grasp as he’s taking a sip. 

“S’not nice!” he laughs as she takes a drink, giggling as he gets in her face.

“S’your turn to make me a drink now.”

One hour later and she was three drinks in, which meant that she was on the verge of drunk. She made him two replicas of the cocktail he’d helped her make just before, and he claimed that hers were just as good, but she still wasn’t too sure if he was letting her win or not. She wasn’t drunk, though. 

“Promise me.” 

“I promise.” the smirk sliding up his lips told a different story. 

“Liar!” she giggled, and she tries to walk towards him but her legs betray her as she trips over her own sneakers and falls into his chest. 

“Okay, you’re drunk.” he confirms with a chuckle, catching her by her forearms helping her to stand again. 

“M’not drunk, shoelace is untied.” she tries to lift up her leg to show him the definitely loose laces, but she loses her balance and nearly falls onto the wood floor, and if Harry hadn’t grabbed her hand when he did she would’ve definitely had a sore backside. 

“Maybe I am drunk.” she mumbles, pouting when she hears his chuckle. “Not funny, H.”

His stomach drops when he sees that she’s looking right at him with tears threatening to spill onto her soft cheeks. 

“No, m’sorry love. Didn’t mean it, okay? Promise.” He uses his thumb to brush the skin just under her eye. “Please, don’t cry.”

The rest of the tears subside at Harry’s comforting gesture. They stood like that for a while, eye contact refusing to break before she spoke up. 

“Do you like me?”

Did she really just say that? Was he that drunk? He was definitely more than tipsy, but did she really just say that?! Was he dreaming? Please let this not be a dream. 

His heart thumped in his chest when her fingers started playing with his. 

“Now what’s not to like about you, darlin’?”

That’s sweet, but not what I asked, she thinks to herself.

She could not believe the level of bravery in her blood right now. She wasn’t even that drunk and words that she thought she would never say were spilling out. 

As she was about to respond, she lets out a yawn, her previous thoughts quickly slipping her mind.

“Tired?’ he questions as he cocks his head to the side, a grin sliding up his lips.

“Mhm. Still need to walk home.” she frowns and his eyes go wide.

“Can’t let y’walk home alone-”

“I do it every other night.” she protests, clearly getting frustrated.

The thought of her walking back to her apartment alone at 3 am, sober or not, made his stomach turn. He ignores her attempt at convincing him that she’s fine, because there is no way he’s letting this happen.

“ Y’can stay with me? S’just upstairs.” 

His voice was quiet and it took a moment for her to register what he’d said. 

“Wait, what d’you mean upstairs?”

“There’s a flat upstairs, s’mine.”

The confusion on her face made his heart want to melt.

“C’mon, I’ll carry you.” 

She feels another yawn coming and he picks her up—one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back. She lays her head on his shoulder, and he’s so warm—she can’t help but nuzzle her face into his neck and he thinks he could very well pass out, but he won’t, because he’s holding her, obviously. 

He sets her down onto his bed, and tells her she can pick whatever looks comfy from his dresser to wear as pj’s. 

“M’gonna go get some water, okay? Be right back, love.”

She picks out a stones t-shirt and changes into that because honestly, it’s one of the first things she sees and it smells like him and she’s tired.

He comes back upstairs and she’s laying down on his dark sheets, her back to him with her hair fanned out on his pillow. He walks around to the other side and sits down next to her. She feels the bed dip, opens one eye and pouts when she sees the water bottle in his hand.

“I know love, just drink some for me? Y’know it’ll make you feel better tomorrow.”

He encourages her to sit up and he doesn’t let her lay back down until she’s had at least half, and then covers her up with his blanket before 

“I’ll just be on the sofa. If y’need anything in the middle of the night let me know, alright?”

“No, stay.”

His breath hitched inside his throat. He swallowed thickly before replying.

“You want me to stay?”

She nods. “Don’t leave me.”  

She wants him to stay.

“I won’t, s’alright.”

After a small freak out episode in the bathroom while he changed, he gets into bed next to you.

Harry always had trouble falling asleep, but tonight it only took a few minutes and he was softly snoring into his pillow.

The light peeking through the curtains was what slowly pulled her out of sleep. 

“G’mornin’ sleepyhead.”

She couldn’t help the lazy smile across her lips, letting out a giggle as she stretched.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. Do you want somethin’ to eat?”

“Can I have some waffles?”

So, he made her some waffles. Some for him too. Harry didn’t have a dining table so he insisted she stay put while he make them breakfast in bed. He watches her take her first bite and he swears that this is the moment when he truly fell in love with her.

“Mmmm.” she hums, eyes closed with a dopey, syrupy smile across her lips. “So good.”

The reaction made him quite literally crack up laughing, because those waffles were from his bloody freezer and she was acting like Harry had just ordered room service to their hotel room in Paris. 

He’d take her to Paris.

“So, how’d you end up living here?” she wondered out loud, breaking Harry out of his daydream.

He proceeded to tell her everything. About his piece of shit dad, his mum getting sick, getting jumped, and how Joe took Harry in and was the father he’d never had. When he’s finished, her hand is on the back of his neck pulling him into a protective hug, lightly toying with his hair.

“I’m so sorry, H.”

Her voice is just above a whisper and it makes Harry’s eyelashes flutter.

She pulls away and they instantly find each other’s eyes. He gives her a small smile, as if to say, it’s okay.

She looks at him with doe eyes and he can’t help but reach over and pushes her hair behind one of her ears, the space in between their faces becoming smaller and smaller, until his nose brushes hers. 

“Can I kiss you?”

She gives him a small nod.

He cautiously presses his lips to hers. The kiss is everything both of them have ever dreamed of and so much more. Her hand is still on the back of his neck and he’s moved to cradle her cheeks in his hands, and they fit perfectly.

Neither of you want the kiss to end, both of them breathless as Harry’s forehead is pressed against hers.

“I really, really like you, had feelings for you for a long time.” you heart flutters in your chest at his sweet words. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as he waited for you to say something, anything.

“I really, really like you too.”

This is my baby, be nice to her. I’ve pulled many all nighters to make this as close to perfect as it can be so I hope you love it <3

Thank you to @oh-honey-styles​ , @for-fucks-sake-h​ and @andwhenshesays​ for putting this Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge together, I’m so glad I could be a part of it!

BIG THANKS to my babies @goldenfeelin​ , @bfharry​ and @avhrodite​ for truly hyping me up and being so supportive, I love you. <3

[king-finnigan]

Starman (Waiting in the Sky)

(This was written for the Witcher Flash Fic Challenge nr. 22!)(And yes, this is my first official Jaskel fic!)

Also on Ao3

---

He can feel the heat rising from the asphalt as he steps out of the bus. It takes him a second or two to let his ears block out the noise of the city – the car horns blaring, the humdrum of people in the distance, the constant sirens and buses and metros, crates being loaded out of a delivery van down the street.

It’s been five months since he moved here with his boyfriend Jaskier, and still Eskel can’t get used to all the noise. Sure, he’d known beforehand that New York would be a lot louder than the countryside but still, the sheer amount of it still manages to startle him every single day.

He tips his head backward, basking in the shadow of the tall buildings surrounding him for a few seconds, though the stench of fumes quickly distracts him from the peaceful moment and he opens his eyes again, heading to the door of the apartment building.

There’s a trash bag next to the door, he notices as he fumbles with the key, trying to unlock the rusty door that was once painted a dubious shade of green. The black plastic has been ripped down the side, spilling its contents all over the sidewalk, spreading its stink everywhere. He sighs. That’s the fifth time this week someone left their trash next to the door instead of in the big garbage container at the side of the building.

At least it isn’t diapers today.

He finally manages to open the door, closing it quickly behind him in a futile attempt to keep the summer heat out. To no avail; it’s as warm in the stairwell as it is outside.

With a deep, wary sigh, he starts his trek up the stairs. The couple in 2B is arguing again, he hears, something about beer cans. The baby in 3C is wailing, the mother clearly desperately trying to shush him – though if the 2B couple keeps arguing that loudly, it might take a while until the baby finally falls asleep. Loud music is coming from 4A and Eskel takes a second to stay on the floor, knocking on the door a few times.

“Hey, Kenneth, can you keep it down a bit?” he asks through the door. He waits a few seconds but eventually the music is turned down a notch.

“Sorry, Mr. E!” Kenneth yells from inside. Eskel smiles softly and reminds himself to check up on the kid later; his mother is working three minimum wage jobs and has asked him to keep an eye on Kenneth from time to time, just to make sure he’s alright.

He fumbles with the keys again when he reaches his own front door – 5D, on the highest floor of the building – and lets himself inside.

He’s greeted by humid, warm air, the scent of chicken nuggets, and David Bowie.

He dumps his bag on the threadbare, faded sofa as he makes his way to the back of the apartment, where the kitchen is. There, he leans against the doorframe as he watches his boyfriend for a few seconds.

The back of Jaskier’s neck is wet with sweat, the small brown hairs at his nape curling slightly, even though he’s only wearing a tank top and a shorts, legs bare as he moves from one foot to another. He's holding a spatula in one hand, the other swinging loosely by his side as he belts along to the radio.

“Good evening to you too,” Eskel says, interrupting David Bowie.

Jaskier makes a slight jump – always startled so easily – and turns around with a bright grin on his face.

“Oh, hello! You’re back early.”

Eskel glances at the clock – 7 in the evening, and still it’s as warm as it was this afternoon. He’s actually quite late, but there was an emergency at the vet where he works.

“Forgive me for not hugging you.” Jaskier has already turned back around, poking at something in the frying pan in front of him. “It’s just so warm and I don’t wanna get even more sweaty.”

“Hm, I understand completely,” Eskel says slowly as he detaches himself from the doorway, trying to keep his footsteps silent as he stalks towards his unsuspecting boyfriend. “It is way too warm for a hug.”

Jaskier squeals as Eskel plasters himself to his back, arms wrapping around him, face buried in the heated skin on the side of Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier struggles in his grip. “Get off of me, you big brute!” he laughs, palms pushing at Eskel’s forearms. “I don’t wanna cuddle, you’re all sweaty!”

“Oh, and you’re not?” Eskel mutters into his skin, pressing a small kiss against the underside of his jaw.

After a few seconds, Jaskier sags, poking at the chicken nuggets in the frying pan again. He slowly starts swaying from foot to foot and Eskel moves along with him, closing his eyes contentedly as Jaskier softly continues singing to the song on the radio.

“There’s a starman waiting in the sky. He’d like to come and meet us but he thinks he’d blow our minds.”

Eskel sighs softly, letting himself sink into the moment. There’s a car honking in the distance, and he can hear the distant murmur of people drifting in through the window, along with the scorching breeze, a bead of sweat rolling down his neck and into his shirt. Jaskier in his arms, singing along to an old song in their crappy apartment in the middle of the hottest summer Eskel has ever had the displeasure to experience. The baby starts wailing again downstairs and Kenneth has turned his music back up and they’re both penniless for the foreseeable future.

And yet, he’s never been so happy.

“He told me, let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie,” Jaskier sings softly, before humming the melody of the guitar.

“I love you,” Eskel whispers softly into his ear, and he can feel his love smile more than he sees it.

“I love you to,” Jaskier responds, craning his neck so he can give Eskel a kiss - hot, slick and slightly sweaty.

“Love?”

“Yes, dear heart?”

The scent of burnt food permeates the humid air around them. “The chicken nuggets are burning.”

“Oh, fuck-“

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (6/8)

If you’d like to read this on AO3, go here. 

October 21, 2018

It had been years since he'd had to employ tradecraft. Mulder pulled to the curb one block over and two blocks up from Darlene's. He triple checked that his Glock was loaded and dashed across the lawn of the house he'd parked in front of, running past the house and through the backyard, vaulting over a low fence and into another backyard. A black and white cocker spaniel came running at him, angrily barking, but lost its nerve when it got within biting range, opting to jog alongside Mulder as he ran through the yard and then down a sidewalk, eventually losing the dog as it reached the end of its invisible fence.

He slowed as he got to Darlene's block, scanning the street for any sign of an idling car, a criminal, an accomplice. He saw nothing but Scully's car -- the one Lily had lately been borrowing -- parked in Darlene's driveway, the hood still warm.

He was quietly approaching the side yard when a shot rang out, and then another.

Heart in his throat, Mulder vaulted over the small railing that bordered Darlene's small patio and skidded to stop in front of her sliding glass door which had been left open, the curtains fluttering outside on the breeze. He moved on tiptoes, waiting until the curtain blew away from the doorway, showing him a clear view into the house. He saw nothing. He entered, gun-first, his breath coming in adrenaline-laced gasps.

He heard a shuffle from further inside the house, then a low female curse.  

When he quiet-stepped his way past the kitchen counter and looked into the dining room, he saw Darlene slumped against the wall, a hand pressed to a blood-soaked shoulder. The arm that had been shot hung limply at her side, her fingers still curled loosely around the handle of a pistol. Her brow was pale, laced with sweat. They made eye contact.

Darlene held up a blood-soaked finger. One. "In the bedroom," she mouthed, and he nodded at her, moving cat-like on rubber-soled shoes, wishing he could feel the snub-nosed steel of Scully's Sig backing him up.

He could practically feel the movement on the other end of the hallway, the air tense as an execution chamber, the whispered rustling of clothing, the sharp smell of cordite still hanging in the air.

When he finally got to the bedroom doorway at the end of the hall, it took him a second to see the man in the room, crouched down next to the bed, the gun hidden behind his back.

"Come on out of there, princess," the man said, softly, like he was coaxing a hissing cat.

Mulder felt a blaze of red-hot anger, a parental rage so acute it felt like a tuning fork had pinged off his bones.

"Hey," he said, more of a hiss than a word, and the man's eyes went wide and his gun swung up just as Mulder fired, three times center-mass. The man fell back on a spray of blood.

Mulder threw himself to the floor on the other side of the bed.

"Lil, it's Dad," he said, "Look at me."

Lily was prone under the queen-sized bed, face-down on the other side, but she was looking at Mulder, wide-eyed, but apparently unhurt.

"Are you injured?" he asked calmly.

She gave a quick shake of her head and licked her lips, and Mulder could see that she was about to turn to look at what was left of her attacker.

"Come this way, baby," he said, holding out a hand to her while she shimmied slowly toward him. When she finally reached him, her hands were like ice. He pulled her the rest of the way out and onto her feet, where she stood, dazed, touching her hair and getting her bearings. He moved his body in between her and the dead man on the floor on the other side of the bed, ushering her quickly out of the room and down the hallway.

When they got to the dining room, Darlene was breathing quickly but was still conscious, and she tossed a keychain at Mulder, which he caught one handed. There was a smear of blood on the ring, which he wiped on his shirt.

"Silver CR-V, two blocks east," Darlene wheezed, "don't stop for anything."

Mulder, not heeding her advice, stopped by where the phone hung on her kitchen wall and dialed 911, stretching the cord as long as it would go and pressing it into Darlene’s hand. He pressed his gun into the other and kissed her cheek.

“Thank you,” he said seriously, then grabbed a shocky Lily by the hand, pulled her through the theater-curtain of the breezy drapery and out into the daylight.

XxXxXxXxXxX

They'd had go-bags packed as a matter of course -- Scully had thrown them into the back of the CR-V in the parking lot of the defunct Family Video where Mulder told she and Will to meet them.

He’d leaned over and thrown open her door for her as Will swung into the backseat. He was driving before she’d even buckled her seatbelt.

“Plan C?” Scully asked. Mulder had been checking the rearview mirror more than he was checking the road. He nodded once, curtly. “We should head East,” she went on. “If they’re tracking our phones, let’s let them think they know where we’re going before we lose them.”

“On it,” Mulder said, merging onto the highway.  

After a few miles, the tension in the car eased slightly.

"Hey Dad?" said Will from the back seat. Mulder looked in the rear view mirror and connected eyes with his son. "What about the cats?" the boy asked.

Mulder thunked his head back against the head rest. "We'll figure it out, bud."

"Travis could probably do it," Lily volunteered shyly.

"How do we know Travis wasn't the one who tipped them off to our location?" Mulder asked, barely keeping a rein on his anger and fear.

"Mulder," Scully admonished quietly from beside him. She peered back at their daughter who had tears in her eyes.

"Because it was me," Lily quietly, whose face then crumpled.

Mulder slammed on the brakes and pulled the car over hard to the shoulder of the highway, gravel and dirt spitting out from under the tires. The cars that had been behind them honked liberally as they flew by. He craned his neck back at his daughter before the car had stopped moving.

"What?!" he said.

"I -- I," she started, then took a deep breath and continued, "I did a search in a university computer lab a few days ago. Then someone started following me. I lost him-"

Mulder and Scully both interrupted her at the same time.

"-What did you search-" "-And you didn't tell us-"

She looked between the two of them, clearly trying to figure out who to answer first. Finally, to Scully she said, "I wasn't even really sure he was following me. And I didn't want to scare anyone. I did what you taught me to do -- I shook him and then I went to Darlene. I didn't want to lead him home." Scully reached back and put her hand over her daughter’s, who clutched back at her desperately. "And now Darlene might be dead!"

"I think Darlene is going to be okay, Lily," Mulder said. She would have reached out to the Gunmen first thing, who would have sent someone in to protect her. “I called 911 -- she was shot in the shoulder --" he looked to Scully, passing off the conversational baton.

"Was she conscious when you left her?" Scully asked. Lily nodded, sniffing. "Shoulder gunshot wounds are easily survivable. I'm sure she'll be okay,” Scully ‘finished, sounding more sure than she felt.

Mulder took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel like a vice.

"Lily, what did you search?" he finally asked, his voice as calm as he could make it.

The girl sniffed again and looked up. "You," she simply said, looking at her father.

Scully looked at Mulder and could feel his heart breaking for his daughter from where he sat. He sighed heavily.

“Pass up your phones,” he finally said, “everybody.”

The kids complied, handing over their phones to their mother. Mulder looked at Scully, then signaled and pulled back on the expressway when there was an opening.  “Can you pop the SIMs?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Good,” he said. “Think you can make a Faraday bag, Scully?”

“What’s a Faraday bag?” Will asked.

Scully was studying the phones, looking for the SIM trays on the side of each device. “It’s an enclosure used to block electromagnetic fields,” she said without looking up.

She looked to Mulder and smiled briefly. “I’ll only need a few supplies.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder pulled the ball cap low over his face and donned a pair of sunglasses. While the car was filling up, he went inside the gas station and grabbed a small shopping basket, filling it up with junk food and bottles of water, aluminum foil from the small kitchen section, batteries. On his way to the register, keeping his face down to avoid the cameras, he grabbed one large foil-lined bag of potato chips and plunked them all on the counter, paying for the lot in cash. He muttered a thank you as the cashier handed him the plastic bag of loot, and he whisked through the door of the station, pulling out the large bag of chips as he made his way back to the silver CR-V. He wordlessly handed Scully all the food but the chips as she was resecuring the gas nozzle and closing the car's gas hatch. Mulder tore open the bag of chips, dumped the contents in the waste bin next to the gas pump and jumped in the car with the empty bag. He pulled out of the gas station so quickly that the tires chirped on the asphalt.

"Mulder," Scully said shakily, a warning: calm down.  

Three miles later on Southbound I-69, he pulled illegally into a utility pass-through. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone, and handed it to his wife.  

“Last one?” he asked, and she nodded. She had the other three phones up on the dash, their SIM cards already removed.

She went through the supplies he’d gotten at the gas station and looked critically at the empty potato chip bag.

“Do you have what you need?”

She nodded. Five minutes later, her work complete, she looked up.

“Done,” she said.

He took the bag from her, dropped the phones inside and shoved it into the console. They turned north.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder pulled the CR-V to a stop when a sapling in the middle of the two-track made further driving impossible.

"End of the road, guys," he said, and cut the engine. "Get your bags out of the back," he said to his children, "Will, I want you to carry your mom's."

"'Kay," said his son, and made his way to the trunk.

Lily had been quiet for hours. He moved around the car to help Scully out and she gave him a look. Give her something to do . He nodded.

He pulled the handwritten map that Lauren had given him out of his back pocket and handed it to his daughter. "I'm going to stick with your mom," he told her, "see if you can suss out this map."

Lily nodded and looked around to orient herself. When he came back to Scully's side, she gripped his arm and took a bracing breath. Alarmed, he bent his knees to try to look into her eyes.

"Scully?" he said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice, "you okay?"

She nodded after a moment and gave him a toothless smile.

"Just… feeling heavy today," she said.

Moments later, Lily led the way and he lifted a low hanging hemlock branch for his wife to pass beneath. He tried not to think too much about how slowly she moved through the duff.

XxX

When they broke through the clearing, the autumn light was waning, and the shadows lay long upon the ground. They were all of them covered from the knee down with burrs and leaf detritus, and though the cabin looked low and shabby and damp, it did offer the eyes a break from the monotony of forest, and for that it was a welcome sight.

It was a small structure, the original part of it a log cabin hewn from large hardwoods, with an addition on the south side of what looked like a combination of particle board and tin that had been at one time painted red. The corners of the addition -- held up by several two-by-fours nailed together -- did appear to have been chewed on at shoulder height, supporting Lauren's handyman's assertion that moose had been here.

Above the door of the main cabin, which was secured with a latch and rusted padlock, was nailed a grey and weathered sign, hand carved with "Camp Hi-Early."

"Come on guys," he said, taking Scully by the elbow and digging his other hand deep into his pockets to pull out the key Lauren had given him months back in a polished high rise in DC. It felt like a lifetime and another world ago.

It took several tries with the key before he was able to unhinge the creaking lock, and he then had to drive a shoulder hard into the door, where the wood had expanded in the damp and stuck to the doorframe. It knocked back into the interior wall and he finally stumbled inside.

It was dark and smelled of old mold layered with the pungent brine of red cedar — the wood of which was frequently used in construction to ward off vermin. Mulder hoped it had worked. The floor was an old grey linoleum scattered with grit and bits of leaves which had blown in from the small crack at the base of the door. To the right of the doorway stood a tall newer looking gas can which Mulder found was nearly topped off when he bent down to pick it up. Next to it was a long black Maglight which he handed to Scully. He held up the gas can as she stepped into the cabin, her face one of skeptical distaste.

"I'm going to go fire up the genny," he said, as she clicked on the flashlight and shone it into the cabin's dark corners.

The generator, out back on the far end of the cabin near the outhouse, rested on a sturdy-looking wooden platform, and appeared to have been serviced at least somewhat recently. He was more than a little relieved when it started after only three tries.

When he came back into the cabin a moment or two later, Scully already had the overhead lights switched on, and was having the kids pull tarps and coverings off of the bunks in the cabin's addition. She was standing in front of a cedar cabinet, cautiously sniffing at several wool blankets that were folded within it.

"There are some mice droppings," she said, nodding toward the interior of the space, "but it's not bad. Needs to be swept and given a good scrubbing, but I think we'll survive."

Mulder nodded at her and eyed the pot bellied stove that took up most of one corner. There was a chill and it lent the cabin a dank, depressing air. The sooner they got the place warm, the better.

"There's a woodpile out back," he said, "see if you can get the kids to bring in a few armfuls."

She nodded brusquely and then braced her hand against the cabinet for a moment.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said when she sensed his concerned gaze. "It's nothing."

When she appeared to move about normally, Mulder peered around the cabin as the kids headed out for the wood pile. The walls were mostly bare, but for a handful of cheap Kmart picture frames with fuzzy black and white stills of men dressed in flannel and Stormy Kromers standing next to the rigor-stiff remains of various woodland creatures. There were several mounted deer heads, most looking glassy-eyed and mangey, but for one 12-pointer on the far wall who had a dusty, archaic looking rifle balancing on his impressive rack. In the kitchen, on the wall above the yellowed, bowing countertop hung one color picture -- the patina of the paper suggested it had been developed sometime in the mid to late 70's -- of Clio with her arm around the shoulder of a raven-haired, gap-toothed child, who Mulder instantly knew to be Lauren, whose hand was resting around the barrel of a rifle that was taller than she was. It looked to be the same firearm decorating the taxidermy.

Scully gave a sniff from over his shoulder and he turned to see her looking at the piece.

"Think it still shoots?" she asked.

The thing probably hadn't been cleaned in thirty years, inside or out.

"Think I'll stick with your Sig," he replied. Though his wife had better marksmanship, she'd handed over her service weapon when they'd arrived, deferring to his instincts and the fact that he was currently more fleet of foot. Mulder had left his own weapon at the scene at Darlene's, pressing it into her hand with a quick kiss to her cheek and an inadequate thanks.

He had carried in not only his own pack of clothes and toiletries, but also the meager supplies that they'd picked up in a small IGA outside of St. Ignace, just over the bridge to the Upper Peninsula. It was mainly powdered Lipton soups and Ramen, crackers and Gatorade mix; lightweight supplies that were high in calories and easy to store and make with water from the hand pumped well just outside the cabin's door. He kept them in the zipped duffel he'd carried them in and left it on the small counter that served as the cabin's kitchen.

The kitchen itself was meagerly supplied with a couple of old pots and pans, plastic cups with the scratched and faded visage of Bozo the Clown on them. Thin, hand-me-down plates and bowls. A colander. A ceramic pitcher. In the middle of the countertop, in front of a small window was a large porcelain basin that served as the sink, under which, behind a faded gingham curtain sat an old, gummy bottle of Dawn, a gallon of generic white vinegar and an old metal pail.

Reconnaissance completed, it took him several minutes to figure out how to open the flue on the pot bellied stove and he built a small fire, hoping nothing had built a nest or somehow otherwise stopped up the small metal chimney. When it seemed to draw okay, he added more wood -- which was well seasoned and fairly dry, considering -- until he had a roaring fire. The wood popped and crackled as it burned, cheerful.

XxX

“The seat in the outhouse is fucking freezing,” Lily said as she came in the doorway.

Dawn had barely broken and the light outside the cabin was cold and gray. It had been a long night. The woods surrounding the cabin weren’t quiet, and everyone was jumpy, having slept fitfully on the creaking twin beds in the bunk room.

Mulder looked to Scully, who normally would have at the very least leveled a firm look at their daughter for language, but Scully merely sat there, and when she caught him looking at her, said:

“It is, though.”

By noon, cabin fever had set in. They’d played Hearts with a deck of cards Scully had found in the kitchen with a Joker sitting in for a missing five of spades. They’d eaten lunch. Mulder had massaged Scully’s lower back when she complained of pain. The minutes passed like hours.

By the time it was early afternoon, Will had found a long stick in the trees near the cabin, the end curved like a hockey stick, which he was using to hit pinecones into the side of the structure, each tatty thud further fraying already scattered and jumpy nerves. Mulder finally had to go outside and tell him to find two saplings to aim through because one more thunk into the wall outside where the rest of the family sat and Lily was likely to try to break the stick over her knee and impale him with it, and as far as Mulder and Scully were concerned, no jury would convict her.

Boredom was getting the better of them. Will sat on a bed in the bunk room, running the improvised hockey stick round and round though his fingers in a circle on the floor. Scully fitfully napped, Lily sulked and cracked her knuckles. Even Mulder felt the occasional pang for the dopamine hit of a checked handheld screen.

Mulder stood.

"I'm going to run out to the road," he said, "try to check in with the guys."

Scully, who was laying on her side on a cot that Mulder had pulled closer to the potbellied fireplace just for another place to sit, opened her eyes.

"Are you sure that's wise?" she asked.

"I'm sure the guys have buried the signals on our phones by now," he said. "And I should check in with Lauren -- it's been a while."

"Be careful, Mulder," Scully said, and gave him a significant look.

He nodded, looking at her a long moment before looking away.

Scully had dark smudges under her eyes -- she had slept worse than anyone, the old mattresses dipping her abundant hips into uncomfortable positions. She had reached the stage of pregnancy where everything was swollen and sore. Mulder couldn't think of a more miserable situation for her, his chest clutching in sympathy.

"Can I come?" Will piped up suddenly from where he sat.

"Me, too?" asked Lily, who was looking wan and morose from the small dining table in the corner.

"I want one of you to stay with your Mom," Mulder said, looking at Will when he said it, who got the message and smiled sweetly at his mother.

"I'll stay," he volunteered.

Lily shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans as she rose and shuffled to the door. Once they were outside, she turned to him, but didn't make eye contact.

"Lil," he said, anticipating what she was about to say, "we'll check on Darlene."

His daughter pulled her lips into her mouth and nodded, sniffing once.

XxX

Mulder pulled the phone out of their improvised Faraday bag and stood on the side of the road, turning it on on a surge of adrenaline. The guys would have known to scrub the phones and whatever voodoo that was needed so that they couldn’t be traced, but he still felt anxiety. Lily stood beside him, hugging her arms around herself. It was October and cold, and she was only wearing a long sleeved tee shirt.

Once the phone was booted, he looked at the screen. There was hardly a signal, which he supposed wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He walked up and down the road a few paces to see if the signal got any better, but it only ever got worse, losing bars completely. Finally, he stopped and dialed the number for the Gunmen that he’d memorized for emergencies. There was a click after only one ring, and then a buzzing sound. Finally, he heard Langly’s voice, though it was garbled from the bad signal.

“Talk to me,” Langly said.

“Are we clear?” he asked.

The first few words of Langly’s answer were cut off. “--s okay, you’re good. Do not relay your loca--” he was cut off again.

“What’s the status of Melvin’s sister?” he asked, cutting his eyes to Lily.

“--going to be okay.”

He nodded at Lily and gave her a reassuring smile, at which point Lily visibly relaxed.

“Ears to the ground,” Mulder said, “what are they hearing?”

“--put -- unconfir -- danger. If you -- wife -- do not --”

The call dropped. Frustrated, Mulder squeezed the phone in his hand and walked further up the road, his daughter tailing him like a puppy. He tried a further three times to connect back to the Gunmen without success. He was about to turn off the phone again when he realized that he owed Lauren a check in. He decided to try to text her instead, hoping it would go through.

Plan C, he wrote, FM. He pressed send. The phone’s ‘sending’ message shone for at least thirty seconds when he thought he heard the approach of a car over the rise to the west. He quickly shut off the phone and threw it back into the potato chip bag, grabbed Lily’s elbow and they darted into the trees lining the road.

A minute later a truck roared past, pulling a trailer nattily painted in homemade camouflage.

“Dad?” Lily whispered from where she was crouched next to him when the truck was long gone.

“It’s fine,” Mulder said, standing. Lily rose next to him. “Lots of sportsmen up here. It’s almost hunting season.”

They trudged along the two-track as they headed back to the cabin and Mulder put the bag with the phones back into the glove box as they passed the car. Before they left it, Mulder asked Lily to help him cover up the reflective lights and license plate with brush. That finished, they walked on in silence.

They weren’t far from the cabin when he finally spoke.

“You know none of this is your fault, right?”

"What?" she asked, as though she didn't hear him.

He stopped walking and so did she, looking at him in question.

"None of this is your fault, Lily."

"I don't-"

"Lily."

Realization started to dawn on her and he saw tears form in her eyes.

He said it again: "None of this is your fault, Lily. Darlene, being at this cabin, none of it. Your mother and I don't blame you, and no matter what happens, we never will. None of this. Is. Your. Fault."

With that, tears fell from her eyes and she launched herself at her father, pressing her head into his chest and squeezing him around the middle tightly. "It's okay," he whispered into her hair, brushing it back from her forehead. Her breath hissed out from her as though from a release valve. He held her for a very long time.

[19mrs-barnes17]

Tossing & Turning

Summary: Early morning conversations and confessions over tea.

Part: 1/1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: insomnia

Word count: 943

A/N: A little fic, enjoy! I gave @cantnkrusshedevil​ pairings and prompts to match. This is 6 of 9. (prompt is bold)

~

Stirring in your bed you turned to look at your clock, 2:07AM. Groaning you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and made your way to the door. This called for a midnight tea to calm your overworking mind. 

The kitchen was dimly lit by a few overhead lights that illuminated a slumped figure stirring a spoon in a mug at a sluggish pace. It was a sight you were far too used to stumbling across, earlier and earlier each time. The man seemed to have a similar disposition when it came to a sleep schedule, insomnia taking over the process. Between his posture and pace the poor guy looked as though he had been up for thirty years. But to be fair the man had slept for 70 years, so perhaps his mind was giving him payback for those decades of slumber. If so, he was in for a hellish ride.

“Hey there sleepy giant.” He smiled slowly, but must have been too exhausted to do anything more. “Is that coffee?”

He smiles sheepishly, eyes guilty as you swipe the sup from the counter top and dump the liquid down the drain. He makes a pained sound, absolutely exasperated by your actions.

“Bad Steve. Coffee is going to wake you up more and fuck over our already wack sleeping schedule.” He was still staring at the drain as though the coffee was going to magically resurface.

“Couldn’t let me finish the cup?” You shook your head, turning back to your electric kettle and pressing down on the switch to start the heat. “What a waste of perfectly good coffee.”

“That’s on you for even making it at this hour in the first place.” You smirk over your shoulder but he’s still staring at the sink longingly. “So dramatic.”

“Your fault.” You arch a brow at him and he raises his arms half-assed in defense. “I was banking on you sleeping through the night.”

“Ooh, bad bet dear.” He smiles softly turning his gaze to meet yours. “Insomnia’s a bitch, but she’s a consistent one.”

Grabbing the two mugs you carefully slid them across the counter and sat on the adjacent bar stool, blowing softly on your drink. You could feel his eyes watching as you rested your forehead onto your forearm, a quiet falling over the room.

“Still could have let me finish the last bit of coffee.” You sipped your tea and narrowed your eyes before shoving the sleepy man off balance and nearly off the chair itself.

Training was limited in light of Steve’s lack of concentration from his night and morning of tossing and turning. Everyone was becoming worried about the poor guy when he called it a day late in the afternoon. Bucky was the only one who seemed to understand why he was so out of sorts but he refused to tell you.  

A soft knock on Steve’s door and you were soon sitting on the edge of his bed as he lay on his back staring at the ceiling. Moving to sit next to him you began to flip through Netflix before landing on Gilmore Girls and putting on a random episode. After a few flew by you glanced down at Steve, still singing along to the theme as your eyes scanned his peaceful face. His breathing was even and calm, his head resting on your shoulder.

Hours later you awoke to a shifting of weight on your shoulder and your eyes met his sleepy blue ones. 

“Guess you just gotta watch some Gilmore Girls to drift off.” Steve smiled softly and shook his head as he sat up, arms stretching out wide. 

“Well your singing was like a lullaby, I couldn’t help it.” You began to follow him to the kitchen, watching him curiously.

“I’ll take that as a complement.”

“Please do.” He tore his gaze away as he spoke, rubbing his neck as his cheeks flushed. 

As he readied the kettle to boil he turned to find you pulling two waters from the fridge before handing him one. He smiled gratefully and mumbled a thank you as he began to simply stare openly.

“Do I have something on my face?” His brows furrow at first but soon his eyes widen in realization, eyes casting to the kettle as he poured the water and dunked the tea bags. His demeanor was becoming increasingly more nervous as he waited for the tea to steep. Quickly taking a sip of the fresh tea he worked up the courage to return his gaze.

“Oh-I-uh…”  Setting your water down you cocked your head to the side, eyes studying his as his nerves began to build. One more sip and he was beginning to relax.

Steve shook his head, almost seeming to shake off his nerves as well before taking a step to close the gap.

“Can I kiss you?” 

“How tired are you?”

“Wide awake.” Shocked at his sudden boldness you nod slowly, his hand cupping your cheek and his lips gently colliding with yours. He tasted of peppermint, the tingling sensation of the tea dancing from his lips to yours. Forehead resting against yours he released a heavy sigh, as though the mere thought of the action had him completely restless.

“So that’s why Bucky wouldn’t tell me what’s been keeping you up all night.”

“I can’t shut my mind down when all I can think about is kissing you.” 

“Maybe now you won’t have to make coffee at two in the morning like a madman.” Steve chuckles and hides his face in the crook of your neck, his arms holding you close.

“Maybe not.”

~

Tags: @qtmeryr​ @broken-hearted-barnes​ @asphalt-cocktail​ @gstran18​ @justanothersidebl0g