#baseboard buddy

[luveline]

hii jade are u going to write something about hotchner!reader and spencer any soon?

—You panic when Spencer’s late for a date. He makes it up to you as best as he can. fem, 2.6k

cw implied past child abuse

You weren’t young when you were adopted, so you were instilled very quickly with the need to be grateful. How lucky you were to be given a second chance at a family. How you owed it to your new family to be the perfect daughter and sister to a father who didn’t like you and two brothers your senior. 

Family for you is complicated. It always has been. You didn’t get the unconditional love you’d hoped for in all of them, but you have one older brother who loves you as though you and him are two branches of the same tree, and maybe that’s enough for anyone. 

“Yes!” Aaron cheers, jumping up from the bench. 

You spin around with a grin that’s half shy, half ecstatic. “I did it!” 

Jack runs up to your legs. “You got a strike!” 

You pretend to give him a karate chop. “Boosh! Double strike.” You grin as Aaron sizes up the pins down the long ally. “Think your dad can get one before we run out of turns?” 

“No!” Jack laughs. 

You laugh at his easy answer. His father, determined now in the face of your disbelief, picks up a number twelve ball and stands at the arrows to take his last turn. You brace your hands on Jack’s shoulders and wait for the line to be put down again. 

You’re pretty sure he’s throwing his turns to let Jack win. You’d not done the same until you realised the yawning gap in the scores, and maybe you’d feel embarrassed for not noticing if Aaron ever made you feel bad for anything, but he doesn’t. 

Your phone rings as he pulls back his arm. You ignore it. “Good luck, dad!” Jack says under your hands. 

It’s that good luck that gives Aaron his strike. You cheer with Jack as the ball glides straight into the first pin and veers on a spin toward the third, creating a wave of noise and action as the pins go flying back toward the baseboard. 

Aaron turns around with a huge smile. “Jack!” 

“You did it!” Jack cheers back. “Not first, but you did!” 

You grab your phone from your pocket. “Couldn’t let me have it, could you?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Aaron picks Jack up from the floor to hold against his chest, pointing at the screen with love. “Look at that, buddy, you won! Can you see that? You got the most points!” Aaron kisses his cheek, high on happiness. “Wow!” 

You have two missed calls from Spencer. To Aaron’s begrudgement, you and Spencer are actually going steady. The first attraction didn’t fizzle, the dates turned to dating turned to exclusivity; Spencer Reid is your boyfriend, and he’s supposed to be taking you out to dinner in ten minutes. 

“Everything okay?” Aaron asks, creeping closer to you, Jack still in his arms. 

“It’s fine, he’s just running late.” You notice his small frown. “His mom’s doctor wanted to talk to him, that’s all.” 

“How late is he thinking?” 

The plan was you’d go bowling with your family and then meet Spencer outside to eat at the Chinese restaurant just across the parking lot, but it’s not seeming so sure now. 

“He said half an hour. I’m pretty hungry,” you say, “he’s gotta speak to a psychiatrist about something. I can’t eat though, right? That’s rude.” 

“That’s not rude, honey. You can’t help being hungry as much as he can’t help being late.” As you’d noticed his, he notices your small frown. “You can’t go hungry,” he says with a shrug, “so you’re gonna have to come and eat something, but Spencer can join us when he’s done.” 

“Right, because you’ll love that.” 

“I’ve been on more dates with him than you have.” 

You take Jack as he opens his arms toward you. “I forget. I always think of you as his boss, and not his teammate.” 

Aaron grabs Jack’s backpack off of the bench, and your empty cups off of the table to throw away. “I am his boss. Okay, Jack, what do you want for dinner? What sounds good?” 

You, Aaron and Jack leave the bowling alley and end up in the Italian restaurant opposite of your originally proposed restaurant. You carry Jack on your hip and text Spencer with your open hand, content to let Aaron guide you through what little foot traffic there is to your table. Aaron sits on one side of the booth with Jack, and you slide into the other side. 

Spencer’s texts are getting more and more convoluted. He says he’s sorry, and then he says he has to call someone else, and then he needs to talk to his mom. You nibble your fingernail. 

“You okay?” 

You nod slowly. “Yeah, uh… Yes, everything’s fine.” 

“Is Spencer okay?” 

“I think he might cancel.” 

Aaron flattens his menu. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. I think his mom is having a bad day…” 

“What else are you worried about?” 

Jack saves you for a moment, “Dad, can I have juice?” 

“Yes, sweetheart, I’ll get you juice. Apple juice?” 

Jack presses his cheek to Aaron’s arm, earning himself a hug. 

“Are you tired?” Aaron whispers. 

“No.” 

“Okay. Hey, there’s a table over there with some colouring pages and crayons, do you see that? Do you want to do some colouring?” 

“Can I go get some?” Jack asks. 

“Yes. Don’t bump into anybody, okay?” 

The table isn’t far enough to worry, but Aaron splits his attention between Jack and you fairly evenly, just a tad more worry following his son. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Aaron asks. 

“You don’t think Spencer would lie, do you?” you ask. 

“Lie about his mother? I doubt it very much.” 

You trust Aaron, and you trust Spencer too, but Aaron has earned that trust over years and years where Spencer has been gifted it. He hasn’t done anything to break it, but he hasn’t proved he should have it yet either. And really, truly, it isn’t actually about what you believe of Spencer. 

You feel a bit nauseous, but your brother is the best person in the world, so you tell him why without preamble, “I’m worried that he’s going to get sick of me.” 

“Why would he do that?” Aaron asks. 

You scratch at the menu beneath your hand rather than meet his eyes. Because you’re awful. That’s what your father instilled in you, and it’s what you’ve come to learn. Eventually, the people who love you get tired of you. Everyone except Aaron, and isn't that proof of something? He’s the only man good enough to pretend you’re someone worth caring about. 

If he could hear your thoughts he’d probably cry. It’s why you’ve struggle to tell him. 

You rub your thumb into the side of your index finger, feeling the texture of your skin. “I think people just do.” 

Jack returns quickly, with paper and a huge fist full of crayons, though there are four colours altogether. “Well,” Aaron says, helping Jack back into his seat, crayons rolling released from a small fist every which way, “I don't. And Jack doesn’t, Haley doesn’t. I see no reason why Spencer would feel that way.” 

“What don’t I do?” Jack asks, frowning at his dad. 

“You don’t think Aunt Y/N’s bad at bowling, do you?” 

“You’re great at bowling!” Jack's eyes go wide. “I’m gonna make us a photo, to remember. We got strikes!” 

You let your face fall into your hand as Aaron strokes hair up the side of Jack’s head. It’s a soothing thing to see, you know the soft touch of his hand well, having been petted and patted through a hundred different bad moments. 

Spencer probably isn’t lying about why he’s late, but he could be. You wouldn’t blame him. 

“She’s very good at bowling,” Aaron says, hugging Jack to his side. “And so many other things, that’s why we love her. Should we make a list?” 

He used to love doing that, too. 

Your father wasn’t a nice or kind man. Aaron doesn’t know how it escalated, only knows what happened to him, and how he’d come to see you and you’d burst into tears the second he asked how you were. 

If Aaron knew how bad it was at the time he would’ve forced you to leave, but you never told the whole truth. He assumed it to be a mixture of everything —school was awful, dad was worse, and you were more isolated than most. 

Make me a list, he’d say. 

The first time you didn’t get it. You were a teenager sitting on his couch, his wife in the kitchen, a weight on your chest. What for? 

A list of the stuff that’s bothering you. 

Do you need a list? you’d asked. He had a knack for knowing more than you could say. 

I think we should make one. 

You realise now it was a strategy to calm you down. If you could quantify the things that were depressing you, you could begin to understand it, and hopefully dismantle some of the bigger problems. It didn’t always work, but it didn’t matter. It made you feel better just to have you and Aaron on the same couch with a notebook and a number two pencil. Don’t see my brother enough, he’d written with a sad face. 

Brother, you’d thought with a secret joy. He’s your brother. 

Jack and Aaron make a list they won’t show you. You order drinks and then dinner, waiting for a phone call or a text back you don’t receive. It’s disheartening, and when your pasta arrives, you can barely eat. 

“Honey,” Aaron says, “why don’t you go call him? You can see if he’s alright.” 

You poke at a shell with a tightly gripped fork. “What if he doesn’t want me to call him? It sounds serious.” 

“Maybe that’s why you should call him. I think he’d appreciate it.” He looks like he wants to reach for you, but ultimately, he doesn’t. “Take a minute for yourself, if nothing else. Everything’s okay, I promise.” 

“Sorry.” 

“For what?” Jack asks. 

You smile regretfully. “I’m just feeling confused today, babe. What about you? Are you confused about where your mouth is?” you tease lightly. 

Aaron gasps a laugh and reaches over to wipe Jack down with a napkin as you slip from the booth. You take your phone, worrying that Aaron’s eyes are on your back as you pass by the host booth and back out onto the street. The breeze kisses your clammy skin. 

Why do you assume that no one really likes you? It’s difficult to comprehend. Your thumb hovers over Spencer’s contact photo, debating, and debating. Should you call him? He might be preoccupied, upset even, and what if you make it worse? But if you don’t call him, you can’t reassure yourself that you’re not in trouble. 

He answers on the third trill. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

“Hey!” There’s a sound like something heavy has been put down. “Hey, I’m so sorry!” 

“Don’t be sorry!” you say immediately. “It’s okay. Are you okay?” 

Spencer’s voice is a little high and fast, but beside that, he has a nice tenor. When he’s calm and feeling up to it, alone at night with nothing else to do, he’ll read to you from one of his infinite books, his syllables catching and tripping over air as you rub your nose into his arm. 

“I’m fine! There was a mixup with some medication at the sanitarium and they realised my mom’s dose of one of her antipsychotics has been charted higher than she was really taking, so she’s been having a hard time, it’s a total mess but I think we have it figured out now. How was bowling?” 

“Spencer, are you sure it’s okay?” 

“It’s fine.” He laughs softly, not a hint of condescension or derision for you, but an emotion you can’t name. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I mean, it’s fine if it��s not okay. I know you can’t help yourself sometimes, but you don’t have to tell me it’s fine if it’s not fine.” 

“Uh–” You cough around it. “No, it really is. You can’t help it. Family is important, right?” 

“It’s so important. Listen, where are you right now?” 

“I’m just standing outside of the Pasta Factory by the bowling alley. I tried to have dinner ‘cos I’m starving, but… I think I lost my appetite.” 

“What? Are you okay?” 

“I’m having one of those days, I guess?”

“What kind of day?” 

His voice is bouncing strangely, as though he’s talking near you. You pause, turning on your heel to look down the few stairs into the parking lot asphalt. 

Spencer’s walking up them, a bouquet of roses in his hands. 

“Hi,” you say, the phone still pressed to your ear. 

Spencer puts his away. “Hi. 

His hug is full, all-encompassing and warm as he wraps his arms around you, the bouquet a cacophony of crinkling against your shoulder. He smells like aftershave, his Tom Ford one with the woody tinge that has you pressing your nose into the top of his shoulder to just breathe. Your phone digs into his spine. He doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Hey,” he says softly, giving you a similar swaying, back and forth. “I’m sorry I’m late, I had to call them, but it wasn’t fair on you.” 

“Spencer,” you say, holding him tightly. “You’re my boyfriend.” 

“Don’t sound so unsure.” 

“No, but. We can be flexible, right?” 

“Of course we can, but I’m still sorry.” He peels back to smile at you, his eyes gently squinted. “So what’s wrong? What’s making it one of those days?” 

You can’t explain it to him. He likely doesn’t need you to. 

You’re expecting him to pull away —you’re in a public place and affection isn’t his usual expertise— but he doubles down. New boyfriend or not, this hug feels like it’s from somebody who’s loved you for years and years. 

“What’s making it a bad day?” he asks quietly. 

“I don’t know…” You rub your nose self indulgently against his shoulder. 

“Are you sure you have no appetite? Maybe that’s what it is? Stuff tends to feel bigger or more upsetting when we’re hungry because low blood sugar prompts your body to release more hormones that affect your cortisol level, and cortisol plays a big part in how your mind interprets your emotions.” Spencer pulls away, his hand sliding up your shoulder to hold you in place. He grins. “So I think you should still let me take you to dinner. Especially if you didn’t eat much.” 

Why would Spencer lie to you? you think, relieved. He wouldn’t. And the idea that he’s going to get sick of you, that’s rooted in bad lessons from a poor situation. It’s not a reflection on you. 

“We will,” you decide, “I just have to get my stuff. I left my bag, and Jack’s writing me a list.” 

“What list?” 

“A list of stuff I’m good at.” 

He doesn’t waver. “Really? Can I add stuff too?” You turn your nose up in an unsubtle prompting, satisfied when Spencer gives you a quick, smiling kiss. “Sorry,” he says, though his apology is distracted by a fond undertone, “I missed you.” 

You receive a few more gentle kisses for all your worries, and you begin to feel better. Spencer presses the roses into your hand and encourages you into the restaurant with his hand spread behind your back. 

[theknightmarket]

Chapter 1

<> Chapter 1 <> 'You Were An Oh-So-Generous Imbecile' <>

You were pretty sure you hated your uncle. Hate was a big word, but it was a big sentiment that you harbored against him. If he wanted you to hate him less, then he should have actually told you what you were getting into – but he hadn’t, so you didn’t. That didn’t change where you were standing, that being in the front lawn of a rotting, decrepit manor with annoyance and fear steadily growing in your heart, on a beautiful summer’s day when you could have been doing literally anything else. 

What a pain it was to be generous in this climate. 

You slammed the door of your pick-up truck a bit harder than necessary, but it didn’t do as much to quell your anger as you had hoped it would. Instead, the only thing it did was startle the Jack Russel that had been peacefully napping in your passenger seat. The little thing jumped up at the indication you had arrived at your destination, beginning to whine at being in the car without you for more than a second. You rounded the hood, swung the other door open, and watched your pet leap to the dry dirt. 

“C’mon, bud,” you muttered, mentally preparing yourself with a twist of your backpack’s strap, “let’s go see this damage.” 

Buddy yipped at your feet as he trotted alongside you, only picking up the pace to be the first one at the top of the stairs that led to the porch. For him, it was completely silent with his rise, but your weight warranted a few more groans and creaks from the old wooden boards. Hopefully they would stay put until you had unloaded the boxes you brought with you. If they were to fall through, you were pretty sure you would boycott this entire thing. 

However, for now, they were fine, meaning you were free to jostle the loop of keys that hung by your belt. The silver to your pick-up, the square to your apartment, the smooth to your work locker, and, finally, the rusted to the house. You eagerly shoved the key into the lock and twisted, not for want of seeing the interior, but more absolutely despising the texture of rust coming off on your fingers. With one hand, you pushed one half of the double doors and brushed the other off on your pant leg. It was the most you could do before putting on your gloves. 

Buddy marched in before you, nose to the air and nails skittering over the boards. The bridge of light marked by your entrance didn’t let you see far, but it was enough to know that this place was going to be, to put it lightly, a lot of work. In just the foyer, you could see splinters in the floor, furniture scrapings along the baseboard, and too many holes to count in the walls. Half of the banister that trailed unhelpfully up the staircase to your right was snapped off, and a chill spread through your fingertips to the back of your neck at the sight of an extremely spear-like section at the curve. 

You slung your backpack off your shoulder, landing it clean in the dust. Not ideal, but you were able to retrieve the notepad and pen that you had stashed in there from the depths, catching a flashlight and pair of gloves on the way out. Those went on before you pulled the bag back over your shoulder. The items left on the floor you brought with you when you stood back up straight, and, snapping the torch on, you noted down the damage in the notepad. Later, you would sort them out in order of importance, but now was time for inventory. 

Once all your things were in order, and you had figured out a music situation that wouldn’t stop you from accidentally getting attacked by a racoon from not hearing it sneak up on your or you having no hands to defend yourself, you set out on your mission. 

One that, by your count, took two hours, and that was just the first floor. 

Now, when your uncle had offered you the ‘opportunity of a lifetime’ – which, really, should have been the first red flag – you hadn’t asked many questions. Only the basics you got answers to, like where the place was, when you could start, and how big it was. He posed it as a business proposition, you believed it to be a favor, and where did that leave you? Standing in front of this busted-up manor with the unenviable task of fixing it up to a livable condition, that’s where, and with three entire pages of repairs, it was definitely unenviable. 

You flopped against the cardboard boxes in the back of your truck. Ceramics dug into your sides, and cushions cramped you into a box yourself, but it was the most you could relax in clear view of the second floor. A sigh forced itself between your teeth; to recount, there had been 11 rooms: a foyer, a kitchen, a living room, a dining room, an office, a game room, a library, a pantry, a sunroom, and two bathrooms, plus or minus a few storage closets. How this place had been considered a home and not a hotel was beyond you, but you did know that you would kill to live in a place like this. Currently, you were renting a one-bedroom apartment in the bad side of your hometown, though, your uncle was now occupying it while you managed the manor. 

Glaring up at the shaded windows of the second floor, you wondered if you had been tricked, even if you were somewhat to blame for not asking more questions, not least of all how he came into such a building in the first place. Your uncle wasn’t rich, he wasn’t particularly well-liked enough to have inherited it, the most likely scenario that you could think of was that he had broken in and decided you would be the best person to make it all better. 

You glared down at your hands; you were only getting yourself more worked up, and that was doing you no good. The best thing to do would be to check out the damage on the second floor, and then make your next plan of action, which would probably include setting yourself up in one of the bedrooms. 

And yes, you knew that there were multiple bedrooms, only because your uncle had phrased it as being a good place for the family to meet up without having to worry about getting home to sleep. But, knowing him, you wouldn’t put it past him to expect everyone to sleep in a tent outside. 

The size of the floor gave you some security in your idea, so you threw yourself out the cargo bed and strutted up to the front door again. As you passed, you tried to keep your eyes off the growing pile of rats, mice, and other pests that Buddy had been delivering to the porch. You had never been gladder to have a hunting dog as a companion, the suggestion of finding all those vermin yourself practically making you gag.

But the journey up the stairs damn-near made you flinch. That spiked section taunted you as you neared it, and, even when you’d moved away by five steps, it felt like you were just one wrong move from impaling yourself on it. You could already feel that being at the top of your list from mere discomfort alone, but that would have to come after looking at the remaining rooms. You only hoped that they would be better than the downstairs. 

When your feet came to a stop at the carpet in the hallway, you were greeted by the lovely sight of not-too-much-damage. It seemed to have been spared from the barrage of destruction that the rest of the house suffered from, with the walls looking good as new. No peeling paint, no scratches, no nothing could be seen in the dim light given by an overarching window. The decorations didn’t look bad either, with the only thing off being a knocked over vase, luckily, empty. The corners of your lips perked up in relief. This wasn’t so bad. 

Or, you had thought, before you took a couple steps forward and your left leg fell straight through the floor. 

You cursed and panicked and flailed, the jagged edges of broken floorboards jutting into your leg and pulling the skin from the flesh of your calf. Immediate lines of pain struck like lightning; the true damage hidden from you by your thigh getting stuck in the hole. The few spots of light that surrounded you only hinted that there was going to be splinters in your leg, and the stinging agreed with that. 

Alongside your squirming, your music played naïvely, not quite a mockery as it was a bystander not realizing they were a bystander. Past that, it was very quickly becoming a hindrance, clogging your brain with innocent lyrics, and tugging your attention in too many places. Your breathing hastened underneath the melody. 

You needed to stop panicking. You knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier, especially when you could feel the beginnings of a trail of blood flow down your leg. Your breathing was stuck between calming down and speeding up, mind desperately trying to keep up with your instincts. It was an unfortunate purgatory that you found yourself in while your body fought with itself to decide your next course of action. The second that you started to shift in the hold of the floor, pain leaped out and stopped you dead in your tracks. You tried to take in a deep breath but even that felt like the wrong move. A million and one questions sprinted through your mind; how were you going to get out, how long would it take, where was your dog, were you going to die? That one was unlikely, but you were understandably scared. 

Which meant that you needed to calm down, and that was somewhat easier now that the shot of adrenaline was emptying out of your system. So, planting your hands against the floor at your sides, you sucked in a breath, held it, and began the task of bringing yourself up. The first seconds were the hardest, since you were also taking the splinters of wood that were still attached to the boards with you. When they snapped, you, trusting that it wasn’t the sound of your bones breaking or something, managed to wedge yourself out and lug your body onto more stable ground. 

You couldn’t help but let out a pitiful laugh. The first day wasn’t even over yet, and you’d nearly fallen through the second floor. You could try and get some compensation for that, but then you wondered if this was even legal, and you were already too tired to deal with your uncle, let alone law enforcement. That left you lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, and hoping beyond all hope that there wasn’t a secret third floor. 

As you let your head loll to the side, another aspect was added to your hopes; that being that you hadn’t somehow gotten head trauma from this whole incident – because, standing at the end of the hallway, bathed in the light from your flashlight, was a person. A full, in-tact, random stranger, who was decked out in a black suit and white dress shirt. A similarly ashen cane was planted next to stainless dress shoes, giving the impression of high-class society. That, coupled with a ribbon on their lapel, hinted that they weren’t actually there. 

You rubbed your eyes with one, dusty hand, and then brought yourself to look in their direction again. They hadn’t disappeared.

Were they real?

You called out a shaky, “Hello?” to which they didn’t respond. 

Not real. 

They blinked. 

Real.

You collected yourself and stood to your feet, albeit without much confidence now that you were once more above the hole, but you managed to take a step closer. Again, they failed to react.

Not real. 

But they weren’t a trick of the light, and your head felt relatively fine, so what was causing this illusion? Was it an illusion in the first place?

“You… nobody’s supposed to be here,” you mumbled, barely loud enough for it to be heard. Nevertheless, it seemed third time was the charm, because this did earn a response from the suited stranger. That being, they twisted on their heel and walked into one of the adjacent rooms, not even the sound of their cane coming down on the floor trailing after them. 

Without much else to do, you pursued. 

“Hey, wait!” you called, skidding to a stop where they once stood, “I’m gonna need to talk to you!” Your own heartbeat overtook the sound of your shoes against the boards as you rushed to open the door that they had presumably closed behind them. “You can’t just—!” 

They were gone. There was nothing else to say, apart from that they were gone, like a fire’s smoke dissipating into the air. You didn’t know how, considering that you were only two seconds behind them, and there was no feasible way out of the room, apart from the door that you were obviously blocking. If there were some secret passage, it wasn’t visible to you, and they wouldn’t have had enough time to close a door behind them when you had gotten into the room.  

You hated this. 

But you still had a job to do, so, having the chance to brush yourself off, you whipped out the notebook and pen from your back pocket, put the flashlight in your mouth, and started to inspect the room. All the while, you tried your hardest to dismiss the stranger as an adrenaline-created illusion. 

It was pretty obvious that the room was another study, a lot like the one downstairs, if not smaller. That would have made it appear cozier, but the tighter constraints were only balanced out by the sparse décor. It was simple; a desk, chair, and – when you approached to grab at the string – a broken lamp were stationed underneath the singular, large window. The draws were entirely empty, save for a fine layer of dust that similarly permeated the air. In fact, everything was coated with the stuff, from the shelf and mirror at one end of the room, to the chest of draws at the other. Why such a thing was in there was beyond you, but, like the desk, they were all empty. It was a good thing, too, because, as soon as you pulled one of the handles, the whole thing collapsed in on itself, as if it had never been stable in the first place. Next to the note of its damage, you scribbled down a reminder to just throw the whole thing out.

Apart from that, the damage in this study was less unique. There were the common scratches along the floorboards and the peeling paint, though those could all be fixed just as the rest of the house. You left that room feeling infinitely more positive about your chances than when you ran into it. 

Those positive feelings were dashed as soon as you stepped foot into the room across from it. 

What looked like it should have been in a hospital instead of an old manor, also would have suited a dump better. Five beds, headboards aligned against the walls, gave the whole place an asylum-esque feeling. The cold metal outside, the spilled first aid boxes, a collection of pill bottles in the corner, and a stain on the floor that you wished was just weird-old-house-juice but was definitely just blood. A horror scene that had happened years ago. 

“Oh, what the fuck,” you sighed. You repeated this as you stumbled through a forest floor of old clothes and spare rags, not a single one looking useful anymore. Picking your way over them, you made your way to the bottles in the corner. It would give you an indication of the furthest this house could have been occupied. 

After locating one with a semi-legible label, you twisted it around to look at the expiration date. March 1995. March 1995. 23 years ago. You quickly dropped the bottle. 

Well, at least it explained the state of the place. 23 years was plenty of time for raccoons or bandits to come along and pick it apart, not to mention the damage it could have sustained from the owner themself, especially given that this specific room looked more like an infirmary than a normal bedroom. It was anyone’s guess as to what the entire manor was used for. 

Your shoes clicked at the door a few moments later, when you were entirely done looking over the room. They weren’t normally this loud, but, when the only other inhabitant of the building was your dog – who was who-knows-where – and a possible ghost, there wasn’t much else to fill the void. In fact, it was an eerie quiet, a worrisome quiet, a something-is-wrong quiet. 

Why had your music stopped?

Your hand trailed to your ear.

What happened to your earbuds?

You patted your backpack’s pocket. 

Where was your phone?

You didn’t have the time to have another freak-out, nor did you want to, so you elected to take a deep breath in and turn back to the infirmary room. You valued the thing that held all your information, contacts, and way out of the manor over your body not contracting some minor disease, so you retraced your steps to the best of your ability. It was like diving without a mask, you would keep coming back out of the piles of stained rags and medicine bottles to get oxygen, and then you’d go back down to try and find your phone amongst the wreckage. Along the way, you discovered a worrying number of bullet holes in the floorboards below – 13, you counted – and a couple cinder marks marring the baseboard. The piling concerns for the building’s integrity didn’t help the fact that you did not find your phone, but you had been sure that you had it when you first entered. Where else could it have been?

Sighing, you admitted that there was a lot of places it could have been, and your not-so-enviable task of searching for your phone was not-so-kindly extended. Ten minutes turned to thirty, thirty minutes turned to an hour, and then an hour turned to two, until you had wasted two whole hours looking in every nook and cranny, even the rooms you had yet to explore. After scouring the hallway, study, and the infirmary for a second or third time, you moved on to the rooms the other side of the staircase. 

The first were quick busts; two bathrooms that would have suited a haunted house more than there, with growing mold spots you were not excited to deal with. The porcelain of one of the sinks had been cracked so much that it would spill any water poured into it if the pipes worked at all. You doubted it very much so, especially for the second toilet that had duct-tape haphazardly wrapped around a portion. It also had you making a mental note to look up when lead pipes were banned. 

Next up was a bedroom. The master bedroom, you presumed, given the larger bed and the adjoining bathroom. You gaped at the red satin sheets when you first entered, marveled at the canopy drawn around them, which were an equally rich color, and let out an expected wolf whistle for the impeccable mahogany posts. Looking at it nearly brought tears to your eyes, not only because of the unimageable design, but because it looked untouched. No damage for you to deal with. You felt the bright light of hope claw itself from the depths of your stomach. If you weren’t still missing your phone, you would have collapsed onto the plush pillows. 

You shuddered with the burden of a sinner when you forced yourself to disturb the room to search – was it worth it, though – and you were quick to leave when you found nothing. When your boots stopped outside the room, you couldn’t help but laugh. What were you, a maid too scared to get caught in the master’s private quarters? 

You stopped laughing when you realized that was just what you were. 

Onto the next room! You scuttled from the master bedroom to the room opposite. What you thought was a room, anyway, a belief that was broken when you opened the doors to see the outside. A balcony that stretched from the door you had just stepped through to the room one over. That same mahogany danced the border between you and the rest of the world, the same as the bedroom, but with notable cracks and divots. Patterns were inscribed in the pillars supporting the roof above, and, for a brief moment, your shoulders dropped, your lungs exhaled, your weight disappeared just like that. With how creepy the manor appeared, you had forgotten that it was still a home. One that people lived their lives in. 

Carved into the banister were notes. Some were small, some were full sentences. ‘Don’t forget Tiny’s birthday’ – ‘violet, moss, garlic’ – ‘o’ slow-winged turtle, shall a buzzard take thee?’. None of them lined up in a manner of tone or handwriting, it just showed you how many people had taken to this place enough to leave something of themself there, ingrained in the wood. You would probably be passing this onto your uncle when you finished up, and, for some reason, that almost disappointed you. Sentimentality was a fickle thing, you had your ups and downs with it, and yet you rapidly found yourself wanting to make the same connection that these people had made, even though you knew it would be short-lived and painful. But maybe that was what it was like for them, too. 

You wished you could meet them. 

Pushing off from the balcony’s edge, you decided that this wasn’t something you needed to fix. Instead, you would focus on getting your phone to finish up the day. It was already getting late, with the sun dipping into the horizon behind you, so it was the most you could do to make use of the light. You only hoped you could find it soon, or else you’d be stuck for the rest of the night in the dark, alone. The mere thought made you shiver as you pulled open the other door along the balcony. 

And then you stopped. 

“Okay, then.” Your quiet muttering was left drifting in the air. You tried to conjure another thought to replace it, something more helpful, but you only managed another, “Okay.” 

The floor space was relatively empty in the room. A single leather chair sat next to a small table in the middle, while a bookcase leaned against one wall. In contrast, the walls were what caught your attention; from one corner to the next, the tanned wallpaper was splattered with mounted animal heads like bullets from a shotgun blast. The largest was a bison, complete with the two horns and furry head. Surrounding it was a wolf, moose, and elk separately mounted. Golden plaques were screwed in below some, though others had either fallen to the ground or disappeared entirely. As you side-stepped a crack in the floor that was barely hidden by a dusty rug, you were sympathetic to the smaller wolf head that had a clear bullet through its forehead, one not taken in its death. Whoever had been in there before you had an obvious distaste for the décor choice. 

The room itself unnerved you. The glossy eyes of dead animals both mocked and pitied you as you walked towards the centre, like the angels of death that couldn’t make up their minds. The lack of… well, anything made you grimace; there was no smell, no sound, no sight for the blackened edges of the room that neither your torch nor the windows could reach. But the feature at the head of it all, the one that had you debating taking off from the balcony behind you, was your phone on the table. 

Your phone, on the table, in a room you hadn’t even known existed. 

Why were you doing this again?

Oh, yeah, because you were an oh-so-generous imbecile. 

Your damn-near jumped out of your skin when your phone started belting a tune to an old song you thought you’d forgotten. It would have been nostalgic in any other situation, but you rushed forward to scoop the offending device up and jump to the door. The eyes of the taxidermized heads trailed your boots, burning holes into your back and bringing a cold shock up your spine. You didn’t look back, refused to look back, until you were safely crashing into the front seat of your truck. The door slammed next to you, making both yourself and Buddy – who had been peacefully snoozing away in the passenger seat – rear up like horses. 

“Damn it,” you mumbled, elbows on the steering wheel and the heels of your hands boring into your eyes, as if, if you pushed hard enough, you could gouge the fear out of your brain. It didn’t work. 

But the adrenaline was leaking out of you now that you were inside something that wasn’t an ancient manor dead-set on giving you a heart-attack. You even managed to crack a smile when you felt the wet texture of Buddy’s nose push against your side. Bringing one hand to scratch behind your ears, you steeled your nerves and stared daggers into the window opposite you. 

You weren’t going to be beaten. Not by a house that could be knocked down by a bad gust of wind. Not here, not now. 

“C’mon, bud,” you announced with a confidence that was half-convincing your canine companion, “let’s go set up shop.” 

You lugged the borderline camping gear out of the bed of your truck, Buddy helping by carrying his dog bed as best he could, and through to the foyer. It was only the question of where you would be sleeping. The bedrooms were no-go, the master was definitely out because you would feel like you were disgracing a 1600s lord, and you were not sleeping in a bathroom. Most of the downstairs rooms were out, as much as it pained you to say it, just from the concerning amount of bullet holes in the walls that meant it was as cold as a grave down there. That meant that the best bet was the study. 

So, that’s where you found yourself, ten minutes later, with an old mattress covered with a comforter you’d found buried in your closet draped over it. A flat pillow marked the top of the bed, while Buddy’s little nest sat next to the bottom. With him with you, you could find relief in there being no rats, at the very least.

It was when you were getting dressed into your nightwear that you received a message from the one person you had been dreading talking to, who was also the someone you’d missed a call from out of your panic.

Throwing your last shirt over the chair, you tapped on your uncle’s contact and skimmed over his message. 

‘Hows it going champ’.

You scowled. 

‘Really appreciate you doing this for me’.

Your fingers moved quicker than your brain, but, at 11 o’clock at night, with your physical and mental energy zapped, that wasn’t an accomplishment. 

‘I hate you.’

His reply was immediate. ‘I know’.

You flopped onto the mattress and pushed your face into the pillow. With your luck, maybe you’d suffocate before the morning. 

But that wouldn’t be the end of it. Not for you, because something in the manor was stirring. While you slept on the second floor, the first floor was alive with whisps of shadow, light, laughter, and graveness. 

This was not an uncommon occurrence. In the past 100 years that this house had stood, there had been many a meeting in its halls. Now, the dining room was being used as the hub for nine very uncommon individuals. 

At the foot of the table, on the right-hand side, sat someone only shadowed by the brim of their hat. A strap stretched from one shoulder to the other, the same color as the table at which they sat, and it ended at a satchel marred with soot, similar to the rest of their outfit. A button-up shirt and, noticeably, two different belts to hold up their pants. As was typical, a smirk was carved into their mouth, like they were getting just what they wanted, regardless of whether they knew what that was or not. What was not typical, however, was that it was closed. 

Opposing them was someone who looked vastly brighter and bubblier. No smirk, just a calm, welcoming grin, almost golden retriever like. Given the late-night mist practically pooling around their feet, their attire was the most suited to where they sat; a beige jumpsuit thrown over a spotless turtleneck, adorned with patches and badges that hinted at a wider experience than what was given by their disposition. A belt wrapped around their waist – just one, this time – but it was decorated with little machines with readings and logs and all manner of technical things that lit up once in a while. In general, they looked happy to be there. 

Next to the first person was a figure hunched over, calloused hands squeezed between their legs. A myriad of tattoos drifted up their arms, breached their neck and curved down their chest, not that all of them were visible. A plain white shirt blocked most, but that didn’t cover the scratches and bruises that dotted their face. A plaster here, a bandage there. Some looked like they had never fully healed, while some appeared as though they had been sewn into the skin. 

That was nothing, though, given who they were across from. The most notable thing about them was the bloodied rag wound around their eyes, the middle pushed in as if the sockets were empty. The trail of velvet dripped down from the cloth to the dress shirt to the collar of their trench coat, marrying the fabrics together. This figure sat straight, straighter than any of the others before them, and yet was just as relaxed. They found comfort in their knowledge, which scattered from their mouth with no sign of stopping.

Continuing on was someone situated diagonal to the blinded. Had there not been a constant flickering of light from their right, one might have thought they were hidden in the darkness, bathed only in the light of the shadows. They were completely grayscale, not a single article of clothing or expanse of skin was natural. A gray hat with a black band – the shadow it threw down nearly invisible compared to the rest of them –, darkened eyebrows that hinted at nothing but curiosity, a tie loosened around their own dress shirt that offered the strictest contrast. Their head was tossed to the side, but it was held aloft just enough that they were able to guide a glass of whiskey to their lips. 

Despite this phantasm being a contradiction of color in of themself, the one perched haphazardly in the seat over the table was an insult to their monochromatic scheme. They were dressed head to toe with a sugary motif, like cotton candy turned to silk. The two shared a drink, however, as one of their hands curled around a martini glass. The bright pink handlebar mustache was a surprise and the fluffy hair that dropped over their forehead threw the only darkness on their face. Even the air around them seemed to pop and fizz with eccentricity; fireworks on the fourth of July. 

A much more arrogant space wavered around the one on the next diagonal. They laid back in their chair, like it wouldn’t dare fall over with them in it, no matter how far they tipped it, something they did with proud elegance. Slicked back hair that tapered out at points less effected by product swayed as they rocked, not a single piece out of place enough to touch the collar of their shirt. Their outfit looked plucked straight out of a catalogue, nothing odd or unkempt or even ruffled. A deep crimson suit jacket sat atop the dress shirt, with a black bowtie peeking out between the folds. Although it appeared without fault, the person donning them looked like they would rather be wearing anything else; otherwise, the scowl was just a permanent quirk of their face. 

Their opposing guest dropped the vibrancy, settling, instead, for the classic suit jacket, shirt and pants that high-class society adorned. Slicked back hair, more so than the previous figure, but the only feeling expressed was a strict somberness. A prisoner accustomed to their fate, their eyes were trained on the reflective surface of the table, their hands fiddled with a cane that was their only tethering to this world. 

All of these phantoms of the night were gathered in the same place, for once in a blue moon, to discuss a single matter. Each had been questioned in turn, and, while some were let off without a comment, others were heavily berated. Often times, they weren’t sure of what these meetings were for, but there were the odd occasions, the rarest of the rare, that it was obvious. 

The dismal creature at the head of the table, sitting with their hands wrapped firmly around each other – as if the last speck of patience they held was caught in their fingers –, had announced the communion for one reason, and one reason only. The room flexed around them, and the blinking of red and blue lights struck lightning into the walls. Their grasp was so tight, not as if they were running out of patience, but because they were. Collected in a black shirt and white suit, ashen skin only rivaling that of the monochrome guest, it was easy to imagine it cracking. 

“Now,” they spoke, slowly rising to their feet in what felt like a millisecond, “what are we going to do about the new owner?”

And crack it did. 

[the13dreamers]

Dear West Street,

Where the garden beds are filled with sand. Where the flowers won’t grow, but the mint will. Where I bought my first car for $1,300 and lost the key three weeks later. Down the street and to the right is the pizza shop, where we sat on the Stairway to Heaven (which is really just a flight of stairs in front of the building). Do you remember? The sun buries its face in the breasts of the clouds. Nick played the song I loved best, but I can’t remember the name. You picked me up after I talked you down from the railing. Funny how my legs gave out while yours never trembled. I still think about the careless way your headlights never looked back. Did you forget about West Street? My first night in my apartment, you brought wine and the scrawny guy from the show. He sang Jolene by Ray LaMontage. He had a voice that even the wine couldn’t make sound good.

But that night, with Christmas lights tracing the baseboards, with only a rug to sit on and your parakeet laugh ricocheting off the walls, with my bruised knee & bad taste in jokes (and men), I made excuses for it. Maybe he never found the breath he lost climbing up the steps. Maybe this wine just sucks.

West Street is where I lost the keys to my house at least 7 times. I’d climb back inside using the window to my living room on the second floor. By then, I had a cat and a septum ring, and a fuck buddy who lived down the road. He taught me how to longboard and kiss real slow. I got bruises from both, so he showed me how to walk it off. We watched a Studio Ghibli movie he had on DVD, but I fell asleep right after the opening scene. I threw away that damn disk as soon as I stopped fucking him. You asked me to go for a walk across the Sundial Bridge, where you cried for all the trees that turned to ashes last year. You were funny in that way. One minute you’d be laughing about some girl you’d flipped off, or some guy you told to kiss your ass. And the next second you’d be crying for the rainforests that can’t weep for themselves to water their roots.

I love(d) you because when life gave you lemons, you’d sell them a buck each and use the money to buy a string of beads. I love you in a way that happens once or never at all.

[dcafanficrequests]

Becoming Aware

Relationship: Sundrop(FNAF) X Reader (you)

Prompt: Sun has a special soft spot just for you. He just doesn’t want you to know.

Includes: Fluff but Sun is slightly creepy. Might be interpreted as obsession. Hugs.

Requests are open.

You’d been in the boys room plenty of times before but it’s been awhile. When you first met them you were super excited to see it. But then the bareness of the space made you sad.

it was more of storage room than a place for the animatronic to greet guests so you understood why they did that. That’s why when you found an extra play tin you didn’t think to ask permission before trudging it up the stairs.

Nothing could prepare you for the sight.

The walls were covered with drawings. From the rubber baseboards to the popcorn ceiling papers were taped up and they had one thing in common: your face and your name.

You didn’t know if you should be horrified or flattered.

You coworkers already said that Sun’s AI sometimes got hung up on things. There was a strict rule of no stickers in the daycare due to the Stickerpocalypse of 2021.

But you never imagined that his next hang up would be you.

You shouldn’t be here. It seemed like you were invading his privacy and maybe your own. You dropped the play tin, not trying to focus on something that very clearly looked like an incredibly detailed portrait of your smiling face.

“Do you like it?”

The bright and chipper voice coming through a speaker made you flinch.

“Sun, I’m really sorry I should have asked.” The words came out of you like a waterfall.

“An animatronic cannot limit where human personnel go.” Sun said in an almost absentminded tone.

He swung his arms out and smiled at you, at least his body language became happy. “That’s okay, friend. Do you like it?”

You didn’t know what to say. He’s just a robot. He’s just a robot.

“It’s really nice buddy.” You finally squeak out.

That was the answer he wanted to hear and he envelopes you in a tight hug.

You didn’t know what to think, but Sun’s hugs always gave you a soft comfortable and warmth that soothed you.

It was just his harmless little fixation. As soon as a kid brought in a new toy, he’d move on from you to something else.

You gave his back a few pats, being careful of the delicate machinery back there and Sun responded by rubbing your back softly.

“Let’s go finish cleaning up!” You tell him, you have to clock out soon anyway.

Sun holds your hand instinctively and turns to give his room one last look over before taking you back downstairs.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I need an accountabili-buddy to make me write when I actually sit down to do so. Instead of scrolling tumblr, or making a snack, or cleaning my baseboards or whatever... 

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

I've tested just about every weird cleaning product — here are the 10 that were truly life-changing

The best cleaning products to inspire you to get your home in shipshape (Photo: Getty Images)

As a former Home editor at Real Simple magazine, I’ve come across my share of domestic products. Cleaning was one of my beats, so I was always testing out the latest mop or updated scrub brush. (What can I say, it was a glamorous job.)

And now that I’m a freelance writer and a mom of two amazing but ridiculously messy children, I’ve really put these cleaning products to use. I definitely have my favorites—the ones I reach for whenever soy sauce finds its way onto the walls or cracker crumbs invade my keyboard crevices (which unfortunately happens more than I care to admit).

So with spring cleaning right around the corner, I’ve decided to share my top 10 products with you. Some are the best of the basics — like these color-coded microfiber cloths. And others are brilliant new inventions, like a mini power tool for grout that looks like an electric toothbrush. To say these are satisfying is an understatement. Put some in your cart, and get to cleaning!

Magic Silicone Dishwashing Scrub Gloves

Magic Silicone Dishwashing Scrub Gloves (Photo: Amazon)

These might be one of my favorite inventions ever. BPA-free silicone gloves with built-in grippy scrubbers for cleaning dishes? Brilliant! They eliminate the need for a scrub brush, keep my manicure intact, and they can be tossed in the dishwasher.

Shop it: Magic Silicone Dishwashing Scrub Gloves, $11, amazon.com

Rubbermaid Reveal Power Scrubber

Rubbermaid Reveal Power Scrubber (Photo: Walmart)

I live in a rental apartment, and when I moved in, the grout around my tub was, shall we say, grout-y. Meaning, stains everywhere. Ew. This tool makes light work of scum. The company says it’s twice as powerful as manual scrubbing, and I have to agree. Use it on everything from faucets and grills to sliding door tracks—you won’t want to put it down. 

Shop it: Rubbermaid Reveal Power Scrubber, $20, walmart.com

Angry Mama Microwave Cleaner

Angry Mama Microwave Cleaner (Photo: Amazon)

I can’t count how many times tomato sauce has splattered in my microwave. And even though I know I should clean those splotches right away, I never do. The result? Crud. This gizmo uses steam to loosen all that baked-on grime. Just take off the hair, fill with water and vinegar, and watch Angry Mama get really pissed off as she spews hot steam all over the interior. Then wipe with a damp cloth. She’s incredibly fun to use!

Shop it: Angry Mama Microwave Cleaner, $9, amazon.com

Stainless Steel Kitchenware Cleaner Cast Iron Cleaner Chainmail Scrubber

Stainless Steel Kitchenware Cleaner Cast Iron Cleaner Chainmail Scrubber (Photo: Walmart)

I don’t like how traditional steel wool scrubbers always seem to leave behind steel remnants. (Once I found a little piece wedged in a burner on my stovetop, causing it not to light.) Then I found this medieval-looking cleaner and never looked back. It’s gentle enough for cast iron pans, but won’t scratch. And it happily hangs on a hook.

Shop it: Stainless Steel Kitchenware Cleaner Cast Iron Cleaner Chainmail Scrubber, $11, walmart.com

Microfiber Venetian Blind Blade Cleaner

Microfiber Venetian Blind Blade Cleaner (Photo: Walmart)

I can’t get enough of this microfiber blade cleaner. I use it on my blinds and my air conditioner fins—which get particularly nasty because I live in a city. Just spritz with a little water and go nuts.

Shop it: Microfiber Venetian Blind Blade Cleaner, $6, walmart.com

Hiware Drinking Straw Brush Set

Hiware Drinking Straw Brush Set (Photo: Amazon)

If I gave my kids only straws in their stockings for Christmas, they’d be thrilled. They ask for straws so often, I should buy stock in them. And now that reusable straws are all the rage (and with good reason), these tools get more use in my house than ever.

Shop it: $5 for eight brushes in two widths, amazon.com

Quickie Household Surface Microfiber Cleaning Cloths Variety Pack

Quickie Household Surface Microfiber Cleaning Cloths Variety Pack (Photo: Amazon)

The amount of paper towels I use daily is criminal. These microfiber cloths have drastically cut down my usage—so they save money and trees—and I’ve noticed they get surfaces sparkling clean. Designate one color for each surface: glass; stainless steel; wood; countertops. You can use cleaning products with them but you don’t have to, and I don’t—water works just fine. And they’re machine washable!

Shop it: Quickie Household Surface Microfiber Cleaning Cloths Variety Pack, $14, amazon.com

Scratch Free Reusable Nylon Pot Pan Scrapers

Scratch Free Reusable Nylon Pot Pan Scrapers (Photo: Walmart)

I eat eggs every morning, and I’m messy. So these two things together means my pan stays in the sink for most of the day and then I’m left with a disaster come evening. Before these brilliant gizmos, I’d grab a paper towel (see, I told you I used a lot of them) to clean off the egg remnants before using a scrub brush. But it’s gross and annoying. These pan scrapers are a breeze and can also be used for getting stickers off new glassware or plates.

Shop it: Scratch Free Reusable Nylon Pot Pan Scrapers, $7 for two (free shipping), walmart.com

Baseboard Buddy Extendable Microfiber Duster

Baseboard Buddy Extendable Microfiber Duster

Do my kids walk on the baseboards? They get so grimy that sometimes I think they do. And I’m not getting on my hands and knees for anything. The Baseboard Buddy is my friend, for both low  baseboards and high moldings. The head swivels to get into angles and can be used dry for dusting or wet for deeper cleaning.

Shop it: Baseboard Buddy Extendable Microfiber Duster, $15, amazon.com

OXO Good Grips Electronics Cleaning Brush

OXO Good Grips Electronics Cleaning Brush (Photo: Amazon)

I eat over my keyboard. There, I said it. This retractable cleaning tool makes me feel like a detective working on a top-secret case. I whip it out and brush crumbs from those keys, then use the silicone side to pick off any crud. Great for detailing watches, cameras, and cell phones too.

Shop it: OXO Good Grips Electronics Cleaning Brush, $5, amazon.com

Read more from Yahoo Lifestyle:

100 natural cleaning products that are worth the green this spring

The cheap cooking tool Taylor Swift calls a ‘game changer’

Amazon shoppers can’t stop buying this $17 packable backpack — here’s why

Follow us on Instagram, Facebook and Twitter for nonstop inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day.

[yelena-bellova]

Don't Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Epilogue

Epilogue

Series Masterlist

Plot: A look into the lives of the Damerons and their loved ones after the war.

Warnings: fluff overload, mentions of dead parents, reference to sex, this is one of the tamest chapters ever

Word Count: 7.1k (okay so it's basically a full blown chapter, so sue me)

A/N: And here we are at the end of the line...I'm gonna save my talking for the a/n at the end. Too emotional. Enjoy this last ride aboard the Solo x Dameron train.

----

THREE YEARS LATER

Something I didn’t know about peace was that it could last.

We’re about to come out of hyperspace.

“Thanks, buddy,” I addressed R2, flipping a few switches in preparation for coming into the planet’s atmosphere.

I’m going to stay with you the whole time you’re here.

I rolled my eyes lovingly, thankful for having such a protective droid but exhausted from having the same argument every time we made the journey. “R2, how many times have we come out here?” In the last three years, we’ve been out 75 times.

“Mmhmm, and how many times has anything bad ever happened?” If you’re counting the time that you broke your ankle from falling into that ditch-

“Self-inflicted incidents don’t count,” I interrupted.

Oh. Then none.

“Exactly,” I lightened up my tone, “So feel free to roam freely, I’ll be fine.” …Okay. We’re coming out of hyperspace.

I placed my hands on the controls of my starfighter, my body relaxing as the blue and white light of hyperspace faded and our destination came into view.

Chandrila.

Muscle memory took over as I made the familiar flight down to the planet, flying over the city until the buildings changed to fields and the occasional stream. It was a gorgeous planet whether you were in the metropolitan or rural areas. Where I was headed was a perfect combination of both. When the building that lay in the distance as a little dot came into view, I smiled. Not a smile that I put on days when addressing diplomats and donors as a general. Not a smile I gave on bad days when morale still needed to be kept up. This was a smile reserved only for the people and things I loved most in the world, and it only grew as I landed the ship.

I was home.

My childhood house looked the same as it always had, it had aged but with the fresh coat of paint that had just been put on a few weeks before, it looked refreshed. I unhatched the cockpit and stood up in my seat, breathing in the cool air.

“You’re late.” I smiled a little larger as I climbed out of the cockpit, landing firmly on the grass. “And you clearly don’t clean up for guests.” My brother let out a single chuckle and wiped off his hands with the rag he was carrying. His shirt was covered in splotches of some type of sauce, even his cheek had a patch caked onto it. “I was trying to make lunch,” he explained.

“Emphasis on the trying part,” I said, walking towards him and gesturing to the spots, “Definitely not hugging you till you’ve changed.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” Ben replied, extending an arm and giving me the perfect spot to settle into his side. I wrapped an arm around his back and we walked into the Solo family home together. “Have you made any more improvements?” I asked, walking through the front room where the Solos had spent most of their time together. I could still remember Dad teaching Ben and I sabacc but instead of betting with credits, we’d bet with whatever sweets were in the house.

“Just a couple,” Ben answered, removing his arm from my shoulders to point to the baseboards along the hall, “Cleaned those up, ripped out the carpet. Turns out there was some really nice tile underneath it the whole time” I laughed as we crossed into the kitchen, “Mom would be so mad if she knew you took out that carpet.” “You can’t deny it was ugly though” Ben threw the rag over his shoulder and made his way to the stove where there was a boiling pot.

“Oh, it was awful,” I agreed, “It looked like it was made out of Wookiee hair.” Ben returned to working on whatever dish he was making us while I wandered the kitchen. He hadn’t changed a lot from what I could tell. Mom had had the house personally designed which meant aside from her horrible taste in flooring, it was beautiful. I was about to sit down when I looked up to see Ben get hit by another splotch of sauce, he hissed in pain.

“‘Scuse me, chef,” I said, faux politeness filling my voice, “Is there any chance that you might need some help?” My brother glared at me with red sauce dripping down his cheek. “You’re a jerk.” “Yes I am,” I replied with a smug smile as I reached into the pantry for an apron I knew was there, “And you’re a sucky cook so budge over and let me finish whatever this is.”

With Ben setting the table and explaining to me it was some pasta dish that he had been trying to make, I improvised the rest of the recipe and ended up saving what my brother would have destroyed. Within twenty minutes, we were sitting at the table thoroughly enjoying our meal.

“What was the worst injury you got in this house?” Ben asked.

“Oh,” I wiped my mouth with a napkin and swallowed my bite of food, “Definitely when you dared me to jump off the roof of the shed out back and swing from the tree next to it.” “Oh, I forgot that one,” he laughed, “You sprained your tailbone and broke your arm.” “All that and I didn’t even reach that damn tree,” I grumbled, balling up my napkin and throwing it onto the table, “Poe wasn’t even there and he doesn’t let me forget that one.” At the mention of my husband’s name, Ben’s mood visibly changed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Poe, he couldn’t make a decision as to whether he liked him or not because he’d barely met him. Poe had allowed Ben at our wedding, but he couldn’t find it in him to say more than maybe two words to him. In the three years that we’d been married, not once had he agreed to come visit my brother with me. I never pushed him to accompany me, but I wished each time I mentioned I was leaving base for a couple hours to go to Chandrila that he’d have a change of heart.

“How is your husband?” Ben asked, looking down at the puddle of sauce on his plate. “He’s good, busy,” I answered, trying not to feel awkward about the topic, “He’s a phenomenal general, but it takes up a lot of time.” “But you guys split it with Finn, right?” “Yeah, there’s three of us,” I brightened up a little at the mention of my friend’s name, “We’ve got a good system going. If one of us can’t make something, the other one goes. If there’s some event or ball we’re invited to and someone doesn’t want to go, we send somebody else. It works well.” “You hate those stuffy gatherings,” Ben recalled from past stories I’d told him. While he was away training with Uncle Luke, Mom had taught me about the wonderful world of politics. That meant I’d been to plenty of snobby charity events where you had to wear uncomfortable attire and pretend that certain senator’s jokes were side splitting funny.

“And that’s why we send Finn to those,” I answered with a smile, remembering Finn returning to Ajan Kloss tipsy and full of decadent desserts after his first time representing the Resistance at a gathering on Coruscant. He’d eased up on enjoying himself too much, but I loved hearing his excitement as he told me what crazy buffets they had lined up or what dance he’d learned. “Poe and I prefer the behind the scenes work.” Ben laughed as he took a sip of his spotchka. “You’re married to the poster boy of the Resistance and you’re a galactic legend. Not very behind the scenes, is it? “I said we prefer it, I didn’t say we got it all the time,” I swiped a finger across my plate and sucked the last of the sauce off it. “But whatever we’re doing, we love it. It feels like we’re carrying out Mom’s legacy while carving out our own. I mean, not that either of us care about status or anything but it does feel good to know that we’re doing something that’s going to make an impact.” “I’m glad,” Ben smiled from across the table, “I hope one day…” “What?”

Ben shook his head before looking back up at me, “I hope one day I can meet him and…apologize.” I sighed and looked down at the table, “He needs time. He’s pretty stubborn, but-“ “But he’s justified,” Ben quickly finished my sentence, “I mean, remember the first time you came back here? I thought you were going to rip my head off.” The first time visiting my brother in our childhood home, surrounded by memories that so heavily featured our parents, my emotions got the best of me. Ben and I had done a lot of work on our relationship over the past three years and it had taken me a long time to separate him from Kylo Ren. Just as he had to come to terms with what he had done while under Snoke’s influence, I did too. Forgiveness hadn’t come overnight, it had taken a lot of talks between the two of us before I could look him in the eye and fully accept what had happened.

“Yeah, well, we have a unique history,” I replied, swirling the water in my glass, “But we got past it.” Ben nodded, “We did…” “As much as we can anyways,” I said, melancholy as the unpleasant image of my father falling down the Starkiller Base shaft came to life in my mind.

Ben sensed my shift of mood, he didn’t dare say anything. He knew he needed to let me ride the flashback out.

When I opened my eyes that had been screwed shut, I tearily looked up at him. “I miss him,” I said softly to avoid the lump in my throat catching my words.

It was contagious clearly because Ben matched my sadness, his own dark eyes getting watery. “Me too,” he answered, staring off into the distance and playing the same scene back.

These were moments where our relationship took a punch to the gut. I had stopped reacting with sobs and shouting at him ‘Why?’ or ‘How could you?’ We’d made as much peace as we could with his sins, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt sometimes to remember them.

Ben cleared his throat and sniffed the tears away, trying to shift the mood back to anything but what we were feeling. “So, are you going to keep the same workload or what?” I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion and reached for my glass, “What are you talking about?”

“You just said being a general takes up a lot of your time,” he responded, “You can’t expect to be running around day and night putting out all those fires while taking care of a baby.”

I choked on the water in my throat, coughing the rest up as I tried to deal with what he’d said. “What’d you say?”

“The baby,” he replied simply as if it was so obvious, “You’re pregnant, right?” The lothcat was out of the bag. I tilted and shook my head, staring back at him with a wondrous smile. “How did you know?”

“C’mon, you asked for water instead of spotchka,” Ben said, counting each reason on his long fingers, “You went back for seconds of whatever you want to call what we made and,” he gestured to my stomach, “Your kid is incredibly sensitive to the Force. I can sense them already.” I exhaled, listening to him intently. “My baby’s Force sensitive?” Ben nodded, “Ridiculously. When you got out of your ship was when I felt them, it was like two people were there. It still is.” My hand naturally rubbed my stomach, I wasn’t showing yet but I was acting as if I was. I laughed a little at the revelation, partially out of joy and also because of the bet that Poe and I had made long ago as to whether or not our kids would be Force sensitive.

Poe.

“I just found out. I haven’t even told Poe yet,” I chuckled, “Today’s our anniversary, we’re having dinner tonight. I was planning on telling him then.” “I’m sure he’ll be happy,” Ben said, a little bit of sadness creeping through his tone once again at the mention of Poe.

“Look,” I leaned my arms on the table, “Poe’s a forgiving man, really. He’s all about second chances and redemption. This one’s gonna take him a while, but I know he’ll get there,” I reached out and took Ben’s hand, “I want you to know your nephew or niece and be a part of their life.” Ben smiled at the warmth of the moment. “I want that too.” I squeezed his hand and leaned back into my seat, placing both hands on my belly. “As for your earlier question, I have no idea what I’m going to do when the baby gets here. I don’t know how to be a general and help Rey begin the temple and be a full time mom. I can barely keep track of things right now as it is.” “You’ll figure it out,” Ben reassured me, “You always do.” “Thanks,” I smiled before broaching a topic I knew was still uncomfortable. “Does Rey ever come by to visit?” Ben shifted in his seat, “Occasionally.” “Has she told you about the temple?”

“She has.” I raised my eyebrows, “So?” “I…” Ben shook his head slowly, “I just don’t think I’m ready.” “Ben, whatever you’re afraid of…it’s not going to happen. You’ve never once backslid over the past three years. You could help teach the padawans once we-“ “I’m not ready, Y/n,” Ben interrupted sternly, his tone quickly softening, “I’m not ready to be in the environment again when the last time was…” I sighed, regretting having brought up the topic period. As much as I wanted my brother to fully take hold of his redemption and join Rey and I in training up the next generation of Jedi, I had to remember why he was hesitant. Every time he’d see our temple, he’d only think of the one he destroyed. Each youngling would remind him of each life he took the night he’d committed himself to the dark side.

“You’re right,” I backed down, “I’m sorry. If you ever decide to join us, we’d love to have you. But it’s your choice.” Ben nodded, not in the mood to pay attention to the conversation any more and focusing on grabbing our plates and walking them to the kitchen. I stood and followed him into the kitchen, helping him to wash the dishes we’d used to make the meal. We worked in a comfortable silence, the tension of the last part of our conversation fading slowly.

“I’m surprised R2 hasn’t come in yet to make sure you’re okay,” Ben observed as he dried the last dish. “I told him he didn’t have to be my shadow,” I answered, drying my hands on a rag, “I can’t imagine what he’s going to be like when he finds out I’m pregnant.” Ben chuckled deeply, “I don’t think he’s the one you have to worry about.” I confusedly looked to him before arriving at the same conclusion he had, “Oh my gosh, 3PO…”

“Yep,” Ben continued laughing as I slapped my palm across my forehead. “Can he stay with you for the next seven months?” I whined.

“Um, no,” Ben said firmly, shooting down the idea down faster than lightspeed.

I growled in frustration as my brother laughed at my pain, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “C’mon, I want to show you something.” Ben led me out back to the living room, the two of us sat down and he pulled a box off of the table in the middle of the room. “I was planting a couple things the other day and I hit something while I was digging. Thought it was just a rock or something but turns out…” he placed the box in my lap and waited for me to open it.

I lifted the lid off and peeked in, various papers that didn’t look very important filling the box up about halfway. Upon further examination, I realized I was holding something more valuable than any possession I’d ever own.

“My adoption papers,” I said, awestruck. “Mmhm,” Ben nodded, remembering that time clearer than I could, “Keep looking.” Beneath the papers were birthday cards Ben and I had made our parents over the years, even a few we’d made for Chewie. There were small knickknacks Ben and I had collected over the years. Trinkets Mom had brought us back from other planets, a few spare parts from the Falcon I’d found fascinating as a kid, even a few rocks that Ben had found outside our house that he’d thought were cool enough to keep. Our whole childhood was contained in this box.

“There’s one more thing,” Ben added, pointing towards the very bottom.

I lifted out the contents to get to where he was guiding me, finding something I never thought I’d see again.

A picture of Ben, me and our parents.

Words failed me as I picked up the faded piece of film, Mom had always believed in relying on more than holos for storing memories. I couldn’t remember when we took the picture or how old I was, all I knew was that I was held in my dad’s arms and he was grinning at the camera. He only ever smiled like that when he was with his family. Ben was seated in my mom’s lap, looking slightly more composed than me but still wearing that signature Solo smile as my mom looked down on him proudly. I never thought I’d get to see a picture of our whole family together, now here it was.

“Why was all this stuff buried?” I asked through the tears that were forming.

“I can only assume that Mom did it before you left?” Ben answered, taking the picture from my hands and examining it himself, “It’s the only explanation I could come up with.” “It’s like…” I began, thinking it over in my head, “It’s like she knew one of us would come back for it.” “Maybe,” Ben agreed, looking down at the decades old photo of our mother, “She never lost hope. With anything.” “Even us,” I commented, hugging my body as I let the revelation sink in. My mother was notoriously optimistic even when she was realistic, she couldn’t have known her children would ever come back to their home but she had clearly carried that hope with her throughout her life. It made me think of all the times that I had given up on something, all my thoughts looping back to the biggest one. “I’m sorry I gave up on you,” I finally said after three years of holding it back, “That I didn’t make good on my promise to bring you home. There was always good in you but after Ilum…I wrote you off when I should have looked harder.” Ben furrowed his brow and gestured around the room, “Look around, where do you think we are?”

I chuckled as I turned my gaze to our surroundings. “I’m home, Y/n,” Ben continued, “You kept your promise. After Mom passed…the person that made me want to come back was you,” he paused to take my hand, “I know you think you have to save everyone but you couldn’t have saved me back then, hard as I know you would have tried. What’s important is that we’re here now, we’re both happy and you…” Ben placed a hand over my stomach, “Are going to be the best mom in the galaxy.” I tearily smiled at him, “Second best.” Ben looked down at the photo resting on our knees and smiled as well. “Fine,” he said as we both focused on our mom’s image, “Second best.”

I knew very well by now that I couldn’t save everyone, as much as I had tried over the years. The loss of my parents was proof. And while my mother’s death still caused a pain in my chest, I was grateful to her for bringing me and Ben back together. Her sacrifice had allowed my brother to come back to me, all I could hope for now that somewhere in the afterlife she was looking down on both her kids and smiling.

————

Figuring out how to tell Poe I was pregnant was no small feat. I didn’t want to just tell him casually, but I also hadn’t had the time or mental capacity (thank you, pregnancy hormones) to think up some big grand gesture. I settled on telling him over the dinner that I’d prepared in the base’s kitchen while the cooks were taking their breaks.

Poe was due to be back to our quarters any minute and I was still rushing around putting the finishing touches on the table I’d set up. I’d dressed in a long pale blue day dress, something I’d worn on our honeymoon years ago that had always been one of Poe’s favorite pieces on me.

Our wedding had been small and very soon after the end of the war. Around the time Rey and I had returned from our trip to Tatooine was when the aftermath of the war really started to be felt. The First Order hadn’t entirely disappeared and there was plenty of clean up that needed to be done. One weekend, having just scheduled a week’s worth of meetings and missions, Poe burst into our shared quarters looking determined as ever. “Let’s get married tomorrow.” Not needing any convincing, I’d packed up our overnight bags, we contacted the few people we wanted with us and took the Falcon to Naboo. I still had connections as the daughter of Leia Organa and the Queen was generous enough to give us full access to the palace’s gardens. Finn served as Poe’s best man while Rey was my maid of honor, Lando gave me away and Ben, Rose, Chewie, Kes and the droids watched proudly from their seats. I wore a stunning lace gown loaned to me by the Queen while Poe wore his military uniform, looking as handsome as I’d ever seen him. We exchanged vows to love each other till the day we died, placed simple gold bands on each other’s left hand and after sealing our union with the kiss of a lifetime, we were married. We were able to score one day’s honeymoon in the palace, with a true one being celebrated on our first anniversary. It had been, needless to say, perfect.

When I heard the beeps of our keypad, I ceased any fretting over the table cloth or the placement of the plates. The door opened and in walked my husband, garbed in his military style attire and sporting the beginnings of a very flattering beard. Our eyes met as soon as he entered, his body visibly relaxing as he registered my presence. “Wow.” I smiled and gestured towards the table. “I know I’m not the greatest cook in the world but I thought I should try, today of all days.” “I was talking about you,” Poe said, shutting the door and blindly tossing the data pad in his hands on a nearby table, “You look gorgeous.” Three years of marriage, a year of dating, and so many years before of friendship but he could still make me blush without even trying. “You don’t look so bad yourself, handsome,” I said, both of us crossing the room to each other. I stroked a hand over his cheek, “This is looking exceptional.” Poe laughed, his arms wrapping around my waist. “Sure it doesn’t make me look too old?”

“No,” I shook my head quickly, “Don’t even think about getting rid of it. I think I love it more than I love you.” “Ha ha ha,” Poe shot back sarcastically, though with a smile on his face. He inched his face closer to mine until our lips met in a warm kiss. Afterwards, he let them hover over my mouth. “Happy Anniversary.” “Happy Anniversary,” I smiled, pressing my forehead to his. “Three years ago, I actually tricked you into marrying me,” Poe joked, softly beginning to sway us to an imaginary beat.

“Mm,” I closed my eyes and let him move us, “Or did I use a mind trick on you and trick you into marrying me?” Poe laughed softly, “Either way, I think it worked out.” I pulled back and ran a hand through the curls at the nape of his neck. I analyzed his face, a few more lines decorated it than there were before the war’s end, the beard he was growing made him look a little more dignified, but when I looked at him, all I saw was the young, clean shaven pilot who had burst into the Resistance and my heart all those years ago. Mom had told me when I was a kid that when she looked at Dad it didn’t matter how old he was, she still saw the young man she’d fallen in love with. I hadn’t understood it until now, sometimes love was timeless…

“Yeah,” I nodded, “It worked out.”

Poe pressed a playful kiss to my nose, causing me to scrunch it up and eliciting a chuckle from him. “As much as I want to hold you in my arms all night, I also don’t want to let that meal go to waste.” “You’d better not,” I said, disconnecting my arms from around him, “I worked too damn hard on it.” The two of us sat down at the table, digging into the plates I’d concocted for us. It was one of my better attempts at cooking, the majority of it unburnt. Though even if it had been charred remnants of what used to be food, I knew Poe would have still told me it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. “How were things today?” I asked.

Poe hummed as he wiped his mouth, “Not too bad, you didn’t miss much. Finn and I ran the meetings, couple briefings. Honestly, he could have done it without me. He’s a natural.” “I know,” I agreed, it was like Finn was born to be a general, “I’m glad he’s here with us. He’s kind of killing the game…a Jedi slash general.” “Hey, you’re doing the same thing,” Poe waved his fork at me, “And you’re the one that taught him.” I chuckled, thinking back to Finn’s training days. He’d confessed to me and Rey that he was beginning to think he was Force sensitive the day after the Battle of Exegol, something I’d already suspected. We both began training him but with Rey away often, I took over the majority of it. Watching Finn discover his powers was like giving a little kid a present and watching their eyes light up as they open it. It was some of the most fun I’d ever had with him. “Heard anything from Rey lately?” Poe broke up my thoughts. I excitedly straightened up in my seat, “The temple’s almost done. All that’ll be left is finding padawans to train.” Rey and I finished our training together, nearly having been at the end of it when Mom had passed. We’d made the mutual decision to begin training the next generation of Jedi a year and a half ago, but between still working with the Resistance and wanting to do it right, it had taken time. Together, we’d made the choice to base the temple on Naboo, my one time home. It provided the peace that both Rey and I craved, while also giving the solitude that was needed for training. With the help of Poe and Finn, the four of us had constructed the temple from scratch. Rey had moved to Naboo already and was putting the finish touches on our hard work.

“When are you gonna head out to take a look at it?” Poe asked, finishing the last bite of his dinner.

“I was thinking about next week, if I can get away,” I answered, “I don’t want to take too much time away from work here but at the same time…”

“You can’t take time away from that either.” I nodded and went silent, the balance of being a Jedi and a general was harder than I’d expected. Adding on the upcoming addition to our family that would need all of my time and the result was a woman stretched very thin.

“I can’t be two places at once,” I commented, “I want to be here, doing what we both love. But I also want to be there with Rey. I don’t know how to do both…” Poe listened, reaching out to take my hand after I was done. He stroked the skin with his thumb, “You’ll make the right decision, you always do. I mean,” Poe gestured to himself, “You married me.” “Very true,” I replied with a roll of my eyes, “Though I feel like corralling a bunch of armed children will be a little less stressful than being married to you.” Poe removed his hand from mine and clutched his chest. “I am personally offended by that statement,” he said loudly. “Uh-huh,” I laughed, “Who crashed their X-Wing last week when he was showing off to the new recruits?” “That was an essential piece of education for those pilots,” Poe pointed a finger towards me.

“Yes, it was a great lesson on why barrel rolls are a bad idea,” I replied, folding my hands under my chin. Poe shook his head at me with a smile as I laughed at him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After a few seconds of warm silence, Poe tossed his napkin onto his plate and sighed. “So when do I get to give you your present?” “I’m gonna call first slot, actually,” I said, rising from the table and walking over to my nightstand. I pulled the small holoprojecter from the drawer with shaky hands, the reality of what I was about to reveal to him sinking in. I hoped that he would be happy, we’d dreamed about a family for so long, but the timing of it felt all wrong. We were busy beyond reason and now we were going to be parents. I turned to Poe and took slow steps back to the table. “It’s not wrapped and it definitely is going to surprise you, but hopefully you still like it.” “I’ll like it no matter what, promise” Poe said from his seat.

I pulled my chair so I could sit in front of him and held out the holoprojecter in front of us. Drawing a breath, I flicked the switch to reveal the image I’d left it on.

Poe’s eyes scanned over it, not registering what it was. “Okay, um, you’re gonna have to help me out here,” he said with a nervous laugh, “Is it a picture of…the Outer Rim? I’m not sure what cluster of planets this is.” I laughed under my breath, enjoying watching my husband compare my reproductive system to a planetary system. “That,” I dragged his pointed finger to the tiny body, “Is our baby.” His lips parted and his eyes widened slightly, the news washing over him. Poe was rarely ever caught off guard, but he was completely dumbfounded in the moment. “That’s…you’re…we’re…pregnant?” He stammered out. I nodded, grinning as I watched my husband connect the dots. “Yeah,” I whispered.

“That’s our kid,” he confirmed, looking to me with glee, “We’re having a baby?” “We’re having a baby,” I repeated. “We’re having a baby!” Poe cried out.

“We’re having a baby!” I shouted, finally allowing my tears of joy to release.

Poe and I embraced, him pressing endless kisses to my cheeks. My heart felt like it could burst between the love I had for him and for the child growing inside me. Poe broke our hug to look down at my stomach, placing two careful hands on it. “When did you find out?” he asked.

“Just a few days ago,” I answered, placing my hands over his, “I’m six weeks along.”

“We made a baby,” he said, astonished at the concept.

“You sound surprised, but the making process has never been a problem for us…”

Poe smiled at the joke, “No, I mean…I don’t know, sometimes I just remember all that we’ve gone through, all the times I could have lost you and here you are pregnant with my kid. It just…” he looked away from me and down to my belly, “I’m just lucky to have you.” More tears spilled over my eyes as I drew my hand to Poe’s cheek, bringing his gaze up to meet mine. “We’re lucky to have each other,” I whispered, recalling all the times I’d almost lost him as well. Being a general had slowed him down from going out on missions as much, but I still worried every time he went up in an X-Wing and left me. All I could do was trust that after all we’d been through and all the times the galaxy could have tragically split us apart, it would always conspire to bring us back to one another. Poe and I defied all odds.

I brought my lips down to his in a gentle kiss, nudging his nose with mine after. “I love you,” I said lowly, “So much.” “I love you too,” Poe said, pecking the side of my lips before dropping down to my stomach, “I love you both.” Just when I thought I couldn’t fall any more in love with him, I realized I was going to get to watch Poe be a father. And I didn’t think there’d be a better dad alive than him.

“So, it’s safe to say that I win ‘best anniversary gift?'” I remarked, keeping a hand on Poe’s shoulder as he stared in awe at my stomach.

“Well, obviously I can’t top this,” he looked up, “But I think I can come close. Come with me.” Poe draw me up out of my seat and led me to the door. He stopped before we could exit, “As much as I love this dress, you’re gonna need to change.”

Minutes later, Poe had changed out of his general attire and back into his usual leather jacket and fatigues. I changed into a similar outfit, wondering as I did how long it would take until I needed to get new clothes to accommodate my growing belly.

Poe led us through the base, smiling and nodding as people greeted us. He had settled into the role of general so well, despite initial nerves and I was so proud of him.

The two of us ended up in the shipyard, Poe guided me to where his X-Wing was docked. “Where are we going?” I asked as he unlatched the cockpit.

“Somewhere special,” he replied, jumping in and patting his lap, “Hop in.” Suddenly, I felt like the jungle of Ajan Kloss and everyone around us disappeared. All I saw was the two of us four years ago inside the hanger on D’Qar. The night when I couldn’t sleep and Poe took me out on a midnight flight. The night that everything had changed between us.

“You alright?” Poe asked. “I’m great,” I nodded, my eyes misty as I climbed into the ship with him, “Let’s fly, Dameron.” “Your wish is my command, Dameron,” he said as I settled into his lap, pecking the side of my head as he finished the pre-flight check, “Never get tired of saying that.” He took us up into the air and out of Ajan Kloss’ atmosphere, bringing us to light speed soon after. Very few things made me as happy as flying with Poe in his X-Wing, the closeness the small cockpit forced was heaven as far as I was concerned.

We flew for maybe thirty minutes before he took us out of hyperspace, revealing our destination as-

“Naboo? What are we doing here?”

“Just hold your questions,” Poe said as he guided us down into the planet’s atmosphere. We flew past the capital in the direction of where the temple was. He steered us a couple miles away from it before bringing us down for a landing in a large field. We dismounted and landed in the grass, I looked around as we dismounted to spot a large house built smack in the middle of the field.

“Alright, you’ve got me,” I shrugged my shoulders, turning back to where he stood, “Where are we?” “Well,” Poe started, “I know that you and Rey are setting up the temple nearby and I don’t need to be a Jedi to sense that I know that that’s where your heart is. And then I was thinking, well, where’s my heart? Obviously the answer was with you but secondarily, it’s with the Resistance. So I tried to figure out, how could we have the best of both worlds? And this is what I came up with,” he gestured to the house and took a few steps toward me, “Well, it’s part of it.” “Is this…” my head spun between the house and Poe, “Is this ours?” “Not officially,” he held his hands up to me, “I wanted to make sure you liked it but…yeah, this could be our home.” My heart leapt at what he was suggesting. “Wait, how could you stay with the Resistance if we’re on Naboo?” Poe took me by the shoulders and turned me around, pointing a finger out towards the horizon. “About ten miles that way is a perfect location for a second base,” I looked up at him and smiled, “Finn would stay on Ajan Kloss and I’d be here. The Resistance is growing so big, we’re really in need of one, regardless of your decision.” It still surprised me sometimes how well Poe knew me, that he could read what I was struggling to voice and not be afraid to say it. Or in this case, rearrange our lives around it. “Poe,” I took his hands, “I don’t want you to think that I’m abandoning you or the Resistance or Mom’s legacy…I just…I just know deep down that the temple is where I’m supposed to be right now.” “Sweetheart, the last thing I think you’re doing is abandoning me. You’re a Jedi, first and foremost, and I get that. Maybe I didn’t before…” he stopped, making a point to look me in the eyes, “But I do now.” My smile grew as he continued, “And besides, there’s no saying that I can’t run something by you occasionally. I know you, you won’t be able to stop yourself.” I laughed, knowing he was right. I’d never be able to let go of the Resistance entirely, it was a part of me too. But to be able to commit fully to working with Rey at the temple? That sent a thrum of excitement through my body that only came with doing something you were passionate about.

“The Jedi and the General, huh?” I said, peering up at him through my lashes with a smile.

“And the world’s greatest baby in a couple months,” he added, putting one arm around my waist and stretching his other palm over the expanse of my stomach, “And a pretty nice place to call home if Her Royal Jediness agrees?” “Oh, please,” I scrunched up my face, “I don’t even need to see the place to know it’s great.”

I remembered the conversation about our future we’d had three and a half years before, when Poe and I had flown back to the Dameron homestead for his birthday. We’d talked about our future children, the possibility of marriage, a home and what we’d do with our days once we were no longer fighting a war. Now that those days were here, it seemed almost too good to be true.

“So if I’m retiring,” I asked, “When is General Dameron calling it a day?” Still rubbing a thumb over my belly, his face turned a balance of joyful and serious. “When he can provide a safe enough galaxy for his family,” he answered.

“That could take a while,” I chortled, appreciative though of the sentiment. “True,” he tilted his head, “But I’ve still got a few things left to do before I’m comfortable leaving it all to Finn. And then,” Poe wrapped both arms around my waist, “It’s gonna be nothing but sleeping in with you every morning and teaching our kid how to fly-“ “Oh my gosh,” I gripped the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled his face mere inches away from mine, “No flying till they’re old enough. Wait…did you just say that because you knew I’d do this and be forced to kiss you?”

Poe smugly smiled and leaned down, “You have your mind tricks, I have mine…” I shook my head as I poorly contained a grin and pressed my lips to his in a soft kiss, one filled with promises of the everything we'd dreamed of having.

“I love you, Poe Dameron,” I said after we broke apart.

“I love you too,” he replied, pressing his forehead to mine and wrapping me up in his arms, “You and our baby are the best things that have ever happened to me.”

I tucked my face into his neck and breathed him in, no matter how many meetings and briefings filled his days, he still always managed to smell faintly of sweat and oil. Poe was the galaxy’s general, but he’d always be my flyboy.

“To think,” Poe said, “All it took was us getting split up on a mission to make you realize you loved me.” I pulled back and slid my hands down to his chest, “Yeah, well, that's never going to happen again. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.” “Sounds like a plan, sweetheart,” Poe smiled.

I hadn’t seen many happy endings in my life, I knew we lived in a galaxy that was more than often unfair. The fact that Poe and I had both survived the war and were free to reach out and take hold of the future we’d wished for was unbelievable. I’d watch couples be torn apart in the war, my own parents included, and with Poe and I being in the roles we were in, I had been sure at times that we’d be one of them. Yet here we were, hand in hand, standing outside the place we’d call home for the years to come. Poe and I had been through our share of troubles, but it was written as plainly as the stars above us, we were unbreakable.

----

A/N: Holy frack, it's over...I'm super emotional right now but I'm gonna keep going lol. THANK YOU TO ANYBODY WHO FOLLOWED THIS SERIES! I've been writing it since May the 4th 2020 and I didn't expect after taking long hiatuses to have many readers left, but here you all are! Thank you for sharing and supporting and commenting and just being amazing in general. You have no idea how much everything meant to me. I'm gonna miss writing Don't Be Afraid soooooo bad, this will probably always be my favorite series I've written. From the bottom of my heart, thank you thank you thank you. Poe Dameron and Y/n Solo-Kenobi, I salute you both!

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Star Wars Permanent Taglist: @paintballkid711 @katrynec @caswinchester2000 @theliterarymess @softly-sad @angelicadameron

[doberbutts]

Moving IMO involves so much cleaning. And when the house is empty... you can just go ham, hog wild. You can never clean that deep or that thoroughly all at once, ever again. It's divine, to make a house so completely your own, to scrub all all trace of the old owners off the baseboards and out from behind the stove. I wish I could help. But I'm disabled and live on the west cost, so, lol. Anyway, it's incredibly intense work so I hope you have someone as passionate about cleaning as me to help u

Oh yes it's great to walk into a new place and then just... wipe away everything from the old family and make it yours. I do feel somewhat bad, the folks that live in the house currently are renting it, so they're losing their home now that I'm buying it, and personally this whole thing has made me really not love landlords, but... a bitch needs a place to live.

I have a bunch of buddies who have offered to come help me get everything together once I close so hopefully when it's go time it'll be smooth sailing.

I have an inspection to watch in an hour and then we will see.

[inlovewithbuddyaurinko]

Any headcanons for passover? חג שמח!

Oh ho ho! You read my mind! I’ve got a handful floating around in my brain but the past few days have been hectic! Cleaning is no joke. Chag Sameach Pesach to all my fellow jewish followers! (Happy Passover holiday as a translation)

Buddy doesn’t do the traditional cleaning anymore. Normally, you’re supposed to scour your home for any traces of bread/non kosher food. Some people just do the kitchen, others just do the pantry, some, like my mom, take it as an excuse to do the most intense spring cleaning ever.

Buddy used to spend weeks with her mother scouring the house top to bottom, going over the baseboards with a tooth brush intense.

Since she isn’t the one eating Chamatz (forbidden food pretty much) anymore, it isn’t something she feels compelled to do.

If there are any requests for particular things or characters, please let me know. I will do ideas for anyone.

[lifeaftermeteor]

Bravo Quadrant, Residential Block L1-B10201 15-16 July 212

Duo had called off of work on emergency family leave. His team would be fine, he knew. And if the ESUN collapsed because he wasn’t herding cats, well.  Probably meant it was doomed to failure from the start.

He told himself that the dissolution of global government over the span of a week was an unlikely crisis scenario, but he also knew full well revolutions didn’t take much once you got one really going. 

But all of that paled in comparison to the days ahead. Heero needed him. Heero was strong and brave and harder to kill than anyone Duo had ever met, but… everyone had their limits. And the haunted look he’d seen in Heero’s eyes a few days prior, sitting there surrounded by what Duo could surmise was the story of his parents’ deaths… that was a lot to carry. 

Duo knew, since he’d carried it too. During their trip star-side, he had caught himself remembering the packet of information from L2 that had been dropped on his doorstep in Jakarta. The photo of a young woman with a lopsided grin and eyes like his and a name he didn’t remember. It had hurt so Goddamn-fucking-much that he hadn’t known what to do with himself except keep moving. He had mourned lost chances and had woken up with a bitch of hangover the next day, but had kept moving all the same despite the half-formed memories and ghosts whispering in his head.

Glancing sidelong at his partner as they checked into their hotel, he wondered what the ghosts told Heero.

*****

They spent the bulk of the next morning at the Preventers branch. Heero provided a statement and a blood sample, which the lab technician assured would provide an answer the next day. Heero’s Preventers buddy Nilsson did his best to lighten the mood and treated them both to lunch, a gesture Duo appreciated. Before they had even received their meals, the tension had bled from Heero’s shoulders and his smiles came more easily. 

But like all good things, this peaceful comradery would not last. As they finished their lunch, Nilsson cleared his throat. “I realize it wasn’t exactly protocol,” he began, “but I called the leasing office to the building. Same company as when this all happened, if you can believe it. The unit isn’t currently occupied. If you think it would…help, in any way… I’ll call ahead and let them know you’re coming.”

The offer hovered between them, dark and foreboding. But Heero eventually said, “I’d appreciate that.”

The trip to the old apartment building passed in silence. Whenever it tipped toward oppressive, Duo would reach down and take Heero’s hand in his. I’m here, it said and although the words were never spoken, the message was received—Heero would give his hand a squeeze back in acknowledgement and the weight of the silence between them would lift for a time.

The Blossom Courtyard leasing office—like their property—had seen better days, but the staff were friendly enough if perhaps a bit intrigued by these newcomers. Access key in-hand, an older portly man with a thick mustache and receding hairline guided Duo and Heero into the walk-up building toward the unit in question.  

Heero stopped at the railing overlooking the courtyard for which the complex was presumably named and asked suddenly, “What happened to the plum tree?”

Duo and their guide stopped and turned, startled by the question. The older man answered, “Poor thing got sick a few years back. We had to cut it down lest whatever got to it spread to other trees on-island.” He then turned and continued down the walkway. 

Heero acknowledged the answer with a nod but seemed to struggle to tear his eyes from the courtyard itself. Duo retreated several steps and took Heero’s hand in his own again. I’m here, I’m here. Heero shook his head and seemed to push back the memories that had infiltrated the present. Their eyes met and held for a long moment before they turned together and moved to rejoin their escort.

The man from the leasing office stopped in front of an otherwise nondescript door, unit number 27 if the number on the frame was to be believed. Turning the key in the lock, the door swung open and he gestured for them to step inside. 

How long the unit had been unoccupied, Duo couldn’t tell. The walls were painted, but flaking here and there. There was an old musty smell to the place, one that poked and prodded at Duo’s own memories of abandoned spaces. Not rotten or terrible, just...old. Unkempt, unloved, unlived in. A forgotten place where humans used to be. 

Duo turned to Heero and watched him take a few shuffling steps into the center of the room, his arms wrapping defensively around his midsection. Heero looked...small. Duo turned to the older man and asked, “Can we have a minute, alone?” Their guide hesitated as he sized them up but then nodded and stepped back, indicating that he wouldn’t be far away. Duo thanked him and shut the door. 

“Do you remember what you asked me, when you found out about your mom?” Heero asked, his voice bouncing around the empty room.  He turned to face him and Duo was startled to see the unshed tears welling in his eyes. “You asked if I remembered them, my parents.”

Duo nodded, taking a step towards him. “You said you didn’t.”

Heero gave him what Duo could only describe as a heartbroken smile. “I lied.” Before Duo could reply, Heero turned away again and began to move slowly throughout the apartment. “We lived here,” he said as he walked. “They died here.”

But then Heero stopped as he moved past the bedroom.  Ducking inside, he crossed to the closet and sat down just inside. “What are you doing?” Duo asked, gently as he crouched next to him.

Heero ran his hands over the baseboards, the paint flaking under his fingertips.  “There was something… a secret…” he muttered. He ran his raw fingernails over the seams of the false wood there but then clutched a section of the panel and pulled.  Duo winced at the popping and cracking of years of paint giving way, crying out against the abuse as…

A drawer slid forward.  Disguised and hidden in plain sight, the shallow drawer at the base of the closet wall was all but invisible to casual onlookers, its presence entirely disguised by the panel itself. 

Inside the hidden drawer were the remnants of a little boy’s most treasured possessions—a toy car, an action figure, a few well-used crayons and a roll of paper. Heero reached out and withdrew the paper, gently unspooling it in his lap so that they could both see.  Three stick figures holding hands, one of them much smaller than the others, smiled up at them. There was a tree with flowers in its branches and a building that looked like a crude representation of the one they currently occupied. There were lines at the top of the page juxtaposed with blue clouds floating in between them and the figures below, a child’s rendition of colonial living. 

A family. A happy family.

A strangled, broken sound escaped Heero’s lips and he dropped the drawing back in the drawer, his hands coming up to hide his face. Duo was on him in a heartbeat. He pulled Heero against his chest and whispered the words he’d only thought till now. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

*****

Heero was despondent the whole way back to their hotel. Together they had collected the contents of the drawer and stashed them away in various pockets to avoid questions upon their departure. Once bidding the leasing office goodbye and safely underway, however, Heero had pulled the toy car from his pocket and spun the wheels with his thumb. His eyes were unfocused, locked on some world Duo couldn’t hear or see and it worried him.  Shock, Duo told himself. 

Any doubts Duo had held in reserve about this excursion had evaporated with the discovery of the hidden drawer. Heero had had a loving family. And then they had been taken from him. That singular act of violence had only been followed by more violence. Years of hurt and death unmeasurable. One could argue that night had set Heero on the path to becoming a Gundam pilot… much as it had for Duo himself. He grimaced at the bitter taste in his mouth and instead focused on getting Heero home.

Once inside their hotel room, Duo bolted the door and guided Heero to the bed. “Strip and get in,” he directed, not bothering to turn on the lights. They undressed in silence and climbed under the sheets. Duo immediately pulled Heero flush against him, arms wrapped tightly around the man’s shoulders. Heero ducked his head under his chin, his breath ghosting over Duo’s clavicle.  

They lay together in silence for a long time, their breaths and beating hearts the only sound in the dark room.  

At last, the sound of Heero’s broken voice reached Duo’s ears. “I don’t know why he took me,” Heero murmured. “He was never unkind, but I don’t know why he took me. Why he didn’t kill me when he killed them. I don’t know why they didn’t run away, or at least hide with me. I don’t know why… why it hurts so much.

“How did you do this alone, while you were at school?” Heero asked, voice muffled against Duo’s chest.

“Drank heavily,” Duo answered with a grimace. But then he added, softer, “And I called you. That helped more than anything.”

The silence stretched between them again, this time raw and bleeding. Duo could feel hot tears against his skin but said nothing about them. He just held Heero tighter, kissed the crown of his head, and ran his hands through his hair. 

“I don’t want to come back here. Ever,” Heero said. 

“We don’t ever have to.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not,” Duo answered, knowing there was more to the request than Heero could ever say. “I won’t. I’m here.”

[webbedbugtreatment]

Bed Vermin Treatment - Just How to Get Rid of Them Step-By-Step

Bed pests are making a comeback, and also pest therapy and removal is starting to be a required wickedness in this century - despite where you live or how tidy you are.

Bed Vermin Therapy Begins With Prevention

The very best way to prevent a Orlando bed bug treatment is to maintain them from entering into your home.

Regrettably, bed pests are becoming an international trouble, and also because these little animals are fast as well as intrusive, it can be difficult to maintain them out.

When you take a trip, bring a flashlight. Examine the bed mattress where you're remaining for any type of small dark spots. Look in the crevices of the mattress, and also the seams. Inspect very carefully. It is unlikely that you'll see an insect, however you may see evidence of them. They will leave dark (blood) discolorations when they get squashed as the previous person rolled over, or they may just leave waste matter.

In either case, they're gross.

If you see proof of bed pests, leave the area instantly. If you can't leave, then make sure that your travel luggage is placed in the bath tub or boosted off the floor. This way the bugs can not climb right into your suitcase and hitch a ride to your residence.

Don't leave any kind of apparel or other items on the flooring where insects can hitch an easy ride to your home.

Bed Bugs Routines as well as Attack Evidence

I have a buddy who is a pest control operator. In speaking with him recently, he claimed that he had lately went to a seminar for pest control men. He told me, "Bed insects misbehave information. I would certainly take cockroaches any day over a bed bug treatment Orlando."

This is because efficient bed bug treatment Orlando is not just an easy application of chemical. This is mosting likely to take some mindful effort on your part to eliminate them.

Bed bugs sleep throughout the day as well as appear in the evening to eat blood. Humans are a preferred target, although they will additionally eat pets as well as cats. They are fast little creatures who can conceal in an area as small as the thickness of a charge card. These insects at maturation step about 1/4 inch long.

Picture a pest regarding the length of a solitary grain of rice.

Evidence of a problem can consist of bites on your individual. They will commonly feed in a little location, injecting an anti-coagulant compound under the skin to enable your blood to move quickly. You will typically see a little local area of several bites on your skin to suggest the existence of these pests.

1. Bed Vermin Therapy Step

First, get rid of any type of mess. You'll want easy access to everywhere that bugs can hide.

Bed pests therapy begins with a vacuum with a disposable bag. You're mosting likely to vacuum everything! You need a vacuum cleaner that has a lengthy pipe as well as a gap add-on.

Start by vacuuming where you've seen proof of the critters, like the cushion seams as well as fractures. Draw the mattress off the box springs and also vacuum them meticulously along with underneath the bed. Take apart the bed structure to eliminate any hiding places.

Vacuum cleaner the cracks where the rug fulfills the wall, and also anywhere you can see evidence of insects. Bed pests have actually been discovered to conceal behind loose wallpaper, switchplate covers, as well as even behind baseboard, so you might intend to remove these to vacuum behind them.

Look into furnishings as well, due to the fact that these bugs can live in sofas and also chairs as quickly as they can reside in bed mattress. You won't see several bugs, however your vacuum "offense" will certainly gobble any kind of eggs that might be waiting to hatch.

Once you have actually vacuumed every feasible hiding place, take the vacuum cleaner outside and also eliminate the bag. If you can blaze the bag, do so. Otherwise, put the bag inside a plastic garbage bag, link it safely and dispose of immediately.

2. Bed Vermin Therapy Action

Rental fee or buy a steam cleansing maker.

The vapor has to get extremely warm, due to the fact that bed bugs can endure temperature levels of as much as 113 levels. Attempt to obtain the vapor at least 120 levels.

Vapor tidy everything that you have actually just vacuumed in the previous step. Clean mattresses, box springs, couch, chairs, furnishings, carpet and baseboards. Do not miss anything!

If even one woman (egg-laying) bug is missed, you could find yourself dealing with a whole new Orlando bed bug treatment.

Laundry all clothes as well as bed linens in HOT water. Cozy or cool water is not enough to kill these pests. Laundry coats and also handbags, anything that can also from another location nurture an insect. Wash rugs and also coverings. Vapor clean your carpet.

3. Bed Bugs Therapy Action

This is the chemical and/or chemical action.

Chemicals can be caustic and trigger health issue, so you'll want to contact your regional pest control expert to see what she or he would certainly recommend.

If you have things that can not be cleaned, say a computer, cellular phone or various other device, there's a product called "Nuvan Strips" that can be positioned inside a plastic bag in addition to your thing. The bag is secured and the Nuvan Strips will certainly fumigate the within the bag, eliminating any type of insects that are concealing inside the computer.

The bag as well as strips normally take about 3 days to do the job.

Another all-natural alternative to chemicals is diatomaceous earth, or DE.

Diatomaceous earth is basically the ground-up coverings of little primitive animals. These coverings are very sharp to bugs. When an insect goes through DE, the sharp edges will certainly cut them, creating them to hemorrhage to fatality.

DE can likewise be utilized in your yard to battle other garden bugs. DE is safe to people.

If you select to use DE, sprinkle it freely around the area you have actually been cleaning up, when the mattress and also various other things are completely dry. Make sure to get it into the gaps and cracks of your bed mattress and other locations where you have actually discovered the blood/fecal issue stains.

Bed Vermin Treatment Does Not Mean You're a Poor Housemaid.

Someone with a cockroach infestation can sometimes be stigmatized as "filthy," or a bad house cleaner.

Bed pests, however, are not differentiating. They will certainly strike the home of someone who is a fanatical caretaker as promptly as they will a person who tends to be more chaotic or laid-back about cleaning.

If you've been the target of an invasion, take heart. This does not mean that you aren't a clean person. It does mean that you remained in the incorrect location at the wrong time, given that bed bug treatment Orlando will ride anywhere searching for a fresh meal.

If you still have not been able to eradicate your bug invasion even hereafter bed bug treatment Orlando, then please consult your regional pest control operator.

All American Pest Control

2014 Edgewater Dr #250, Orlando, FL 32804

(321) 559-7378

Orlando Bed Bug Treatment

[lyssismagical]

peter has a bad mental health day, forgets that it's lab night. tony helps out.

{TW for mental illness/mental health}

His phone rings.

It’s obvious from the moment he opens his eyes that it would be a Bad Day.

On Bad Day his brain feels like it’s rotting. It’s so dark, so heavy, and the world is grey.

He should answer his phone. He should go to school. He should pretend to exist. He should try to find a way out of the darkness his mind has shrouded him in.

But it feels pointless.

Everything around him feels pointless.

The idea of even trying feels pointless.

So he tugs his blankets over his head, wishes the warm air that he traps around him would suffocate him, and lets his phone ring.

Time doesn’t exist beneath his blankets.

His phone rings endlessly, but he doesn’t have the strength to find it. He just listens to the ringing, over and over again.

Probably his school, May, Ned, maybe MJ. Maybe even Tony if the school was worried enough.

Eventually, the rumbling of his stomach is too much to ignore and it grates at his ears, wishing everything would be silent so he could float and let time slip through his fingers.

He tugs on The Bad Day Sweater. It was one of Ben’s, a stupid blue sweater he’d won in a contest or something. Peter used to wear it to therapy after Ben died and May thought it was a good idea until money went tight. Now, it’s his Bad Day Sweater, worn and dull in colour, though Peter can’t tell if it’s really dull of it just looks dull because it’s a Bad Day.

Dry Cheerios are eaten tastelessly. Slowly, every bite like it’s as hard as lifting a bus.

Soft music plays out from another apartment, old 70s music. It’s nice. It reminds Peter of easier days when May and Ben used to dance around the kitchen to music like this.

His phone rings again, a constant in the world that spins recklessly around him.

He leans over the sink, knuckles white as he clutches the edge of the white basin.

He doesn’t recognize the person in the mirror staring back at him with dark, sunken eyes.

The face shifts and twitches, eyes widening and staring lifelessly. The figure’s mouth is downturned, glassy-eyed, slow blinks.

He doesn’t like the person in the mirror, the boy who looks dead or might as well be. The boy with the fear filling his dark eyes, matching the tears that well up.

Quick to turn away from the image, Peter sinks to the bathroom floor, phone ringing in the background.

Sobs escape his throat, an uncomfortable headache already forming behind his eyes, the paint of the world muddling together.

But all he can think about is the crack in the baseboard. It travels up through the white into the pale blue of the bathroom wall, an imperfection. Like he is.

He watches from outside his own body as he falls apart at the seams, nothing he can do to pull the pieces of him back together.

Eventually, he drags himself up off the floor, into his bedroom, and hides from the world beneath his blankets.

His phone continues to ring.

“Peter?”

That’s his name, he thinks, brain slowly whirring along like a broken machine. He knows it’s his name, but he doesn’t respond, burrowing further into his cocoon of blankets. His Bad Day Sweater still smells like Ben, covering the bottom half of his face.

“Pete?”

His phone rings.

His Bad Day Sweater smells like Ben – but not of metallic blood or cold rain like the last time he day he saw him.

“Kid?”

A gentle hand touches his shoulder through the blankets. It’s not grounding enough, not enough to pull him back from the floating place he’s receded to.

His mind is rotting.

His Bad Day Sweater is heavy, but not as heavy as his head feels.

“It was Lab Day today, kiddo. Went to pick you up from school and found out you didn’t go to school today.” The voice is quiet, soft, but it echoes in Peter’s head, cutting it’s way through the thick vines that’s encased his thoughts.

The blankets are peeled back from him and if had any more strength, he might’ve tried to grab them back. But even breathing feels like lifting the warehouse off of him.

“There you are, buddy.”

His mind is rotting.

His head is heavy.

Every breath feels like running a marathon.

His phone is ringing.

His Bad Day Sweater smells like Depression.

Tony sits above him. Realer than Peter could ever be. He helps Peter into a sitting position and one hand stays on Peter’s shoulder, like it’s trying to alleviate some of the pressure that fills his head.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Tony asks, so carefully like Peter’s made of glass.

He opens his mouth, but nothing escapes him, vines in his head tightening and everything’s so heavy.

Tony offers a smile, gentle and easy in a way Peter wishes he could pull off. He’s just so tired.

A hand is offered to him, and there’s no repercussions when Peter can’t find the strength to take it. Tony just grabs his hand anyways and tugs until Peter’s feet are on the ground. He sways, listing into Tony’s side when he finds himself too tired to hold himself up.

Luckily, Tony just wraps his arms tighter around Peter and leads him off to the living room.

Soon enough, Peter’s on the couch, curled up in the corner, his Bad Day Sweater pulled up over his nose, and one of May’s quilts over his legs.

And before he knows it, there’s a mug of hot chocolate in his hands along with a bowl of fruits sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, kid, I know… I know it isn’t easy, but I hate being out of the loop like this,” Tony says, trying to play it off nonchalantly, but the worry is evident in his voice. “Is it just…”

“Bad Day,” Peter says, voice hoarse. He can’t imagine how much the neighbors hate him after the crying he’s been doing and the ringing phone. He hopes Tony understands the capitalization.

Tony’s face turns down in a frown, worried eyes scanning over Peter’s face.

“Peter, do you- are you depressed?”

It feels like a strange question to be asked, but he can, from what he can remember from being in a Good Day mindset, understand the confusion. He’s always been a bubbly, cheerful kid. It’s easy to assume there’s no underlying problems.

Peter nods slowly, takes a sip from his hot drink and tries to focus as best as he can.

His mind is rotting.

His head is heavy.

His thoughts are in vines.

He’s floating.

His phone in ringing.

“Your friends won’t stop calling you,” Tony says, looking towards Peter’s bedroom where the ringing is coming from. “They’re worried about you and so is May. She had no idea you stayed home from school.”

Peter doesn’t bother answering.

“Please, kid,” Tony’s saying, almost desperately. “You have to talk to me. I don’t- I don’t know how to make everything better. This isn’t the kind of thing I can just buy my way through or ignore. But I- I’ve never…”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says. He wishes he knew how to make it better too. “Bad Days just are. It is what it is.”

Tony shakes his head, nearly too fast for Peter’s blurry brain to make sense of. “This isn’t okay. This isn’t just whatever. You don’t deserve it. I know what it’s like, kid, and it’s not fair for you to feel like you can’t do anything about it.”

Peter finally meets Tony’s stare, lifeless and heavy and rotting. “What am I supposed to do?”

Running a hand through his hair, Tony sighs without an answer.

“I used to go to therapy,” Peter says suddenly. He remembers it vaguely. He remembers being angry while there. His Bad Day Sweater still smells like that time in his life. “After Ben died… His name was Craig and he was nice enough. But money got tight.”

“Peter-”

Tears fill his eyes and he coughs, trying to hide the lump in his throat. He wants to get better. He wants to be okay. He wants to stop having Bad Days. He wants Tony to just erase all of the mental suffering he’s been enduring. But he knows it takes time and effort, and now, a Bad Day, he doesn’t have either.

Tony seems to realize this and his whole demeanor relaxes. “That’s okay, kid. We’ll figure it out another day, yeah? Come here.”

One of Tony’s arms wrap around his shoulders and draws him into a tight hug. His breaths are even and steady, hand steadying and warm.

Peter sniffles, tiredness washing over him. He lets go of the heaviness that sits in his mind, let’s Tony bear some of it. Lets Tony’s life and strength wash away the rot in his brain.

It’s a Bad Day and there will always be bad days, a hug and a strong force at his side will make the Bad Day’s easier, but it isn’t a permanent solution, it never will be.

But for now, it’s enough.

He takes a deep breath, basking in the easiness of following Tony’s.

“You’ll be okay, kid, I promise you.”

His phone rings.

[flock-you]

an update from the flock!

unfortunately just under 2 weeks ago we lost the oldest bird in the flock, Honey. she was an old Orpington hen whose egg production had gotten to the point she hadn't laid an egg in well over a year and she mellowed enough she went from boss of the flock to a more passive role last year. apparently the cold snap we had was just too much for her at her age. she was going on 8 and a pampered pet so she did have a good life. we also still have her daughter, Sweetie Pie, who is half silkie and the turkey's best friend in the flock.

everyone else in the flock is fine thankfully, which isn't surprising since the setup we have this winter is a much better version of the setup we had back when I still had my first turkey (who unfortunately turned out to be a broadbreasted bronze rather than a standard one) for a cold snap that was even worse than the one we had. Big Duck seemed a little down for the first week after we lost Honey. those two kind of got close last year after they both lost their best buddies in the flock (one to a hawk, one to health complications since they were a runt). fortunately she still has Sir Francis with her and being a good drake he gave her lots of extra attention and I caught him preening her more than normal. Sir Francis really turned out to be an exceptional drake, I swear. he's always been a sweetheart to Big Duck and the late Cinnamon Roll and when we still had that silkie rooster that was, to put it bluntly, a horny little bastard who could be a little too hard on the hens he'd run him off the hens when he was getting too rough with them even tho he never put the moves on the chickens himself. (except he didn't have to do that for Honey, Honey was good at putting that rooster in his place all by herself when she had to.)

as for Frosch and her beak that she cracked in a fight with a hawk, that's almost back to normal. it's grown past where the little bit of bone could be seen and just has to even up into a proper point again. I expect once the snow clears up and she's actively scratching around again it will wear back into a normal shape. given next week it's going to be in the 40's that should be soon enough I won't have to worry about trimming/shaping it myself.

Frosch is also very upset about being stuck in the shed and coop as much as she has been while there's snow on the ground almost up to my knees. unfortunately for the poor turkey since we added Brahmas into the flock last year we want to keep them out of the snow so their foot feathers don't collect enough snow and moisture to cause frostbite. she's sassy enough she pecks me just enough to let me know she doesn't like it and then wants to be petted and pampered. she's still good enough about pecking it's 100% clear she's pecking nowhere near as hard as she could (especially having seen what happened to a mouse that got in the shed and got noticed by the flock) and I do stop her if she starts pecking too hard.

the hooligans (the Brahma trio) are starting to lay again and we're getting about 1 egg every other day now. no one else is laying yet but the other girls are a duck, a turkey, and two silkie mixes so they're probably not going to really start laying for at least another month. Nine still bosses them around which is funny since they're big old Brahmas and Nine is a silkie/Sebright mix and barely larger than a Sebright, but then her biological mom was the late Lina the Squirrel Spooker.

as for me, I've been holding up but the weather has been hard on me, with the cold snap here causing my chronic pain issues to act up (especially the night it dropped WAY DOWN overnight in my part of Michigan). it also doesn't help yesterday we had no heat since my grandpa designed this house with hot water baseboard heating and we had no water because the cold weather caused a water pipe going under the road to freeze and it literally exploded (one of the neighbors had chunks of frozen earth the size of my torso blown into their yard when it happened as well as some bits of the pipe). still, once things warm up it'll be a bit better for me.

[blessyourhondahurley]

October 7 - Skype

[also on AO3]

Dean rolled his shoulders, huffing in frustration. The whole case made no sense. “I don't know, man, I got nothin',” he grudgingly admitted.

Sam whipped out his phone. “Well, let's ask Cas. He might recognize this thing's M.O.”

“Yeah, good idea. I can text him some pics...”

“I'll Skype him. We can walk him around the whole crime scene.”

“Wait, Cas uses Skype now?”

“Yeah, Dean, I taught him how to use Skype.”

Dean didn't know why, exactly, but the idea took him aback. Skyping with an Angel of the Lord. What even is his life?

“Huh. Okay, well, let's see what he says.”

~~~~~~~

Skyping with an Angel of the Lord turns out to be a very handy thing indeed. Soon Dean felt no trepidation about looping his friend in on a case whenever he needed an extra set of eyes.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. What do you need?”

“I was wondering if you've ever seen a sigil like this?” He angled his phone to show the symbol, a large and intricate one that seemed to have been applied with molasses or some other sticky, dark syrup.

“Hmmm. Step back a bit. Let me see the whole wall.”

“Better?”

“Yes, much. See those little dots down in the corner, along the baseboard? They're part of the design.”

“Whoa, you're right. Good spotting. So, do you recognize it?”

“Yes, it's Akkadian. Very old magic. The number of dots indicates the number of minutes the sigil will remain active.”

Gingerly, Dean touched a finger to one of the lines. “Well, the goo's still pretty fresh, but it's starting to dry, and I see... Six dots. So that means...?”

“Whatever has been enchanted, it should wear off very soon, yes.”

“Awesome. Thanks!”

“Of course, Dean. Any time.”

~~~~~~~

He wasn't even on a case the next time they Skyped. He'd left the Bunker for a big grocery run a couple hours ago, so it wasn't surprising that Cas seemed a little worried when he answered.

“Hello, Dean, is everything alright?”

“Everything's fine, Cas. Just wanted you to see this.” He scanned his phone along the horizon and heard the angel gasp.

“Look at that sunset!”

“Nice, huh?” “It's beautiful.”

“Yeah. Made me think of you." Dean kept his phone pointing outwards, towards the pinking sky and away from the rosy blush that now bloomed across his cheeks. "Um, I mean... You've been cooped up in the Bunker all day with no windows, I thought you'd appreciate a little hit of nature's splendor.”

“I do, very much. Thank you for thinking of me, Dean.”

“Any time, buddy.”

~~~~~~~

Dean's next call caught Cas in the middle of something.

“Hey, Cas. Uh, whoa!”

“Hello, Dean. What do you need?”

“Umm...” Dean struggled to form a reply of any kind, his thoughts racing while his eyes roamed his screen.

“Dean, are you injured??”

“No, sorry, I just... Lost my train of thought... What are you up to?”

“I'm in the gym. I felt the need to expend some energy, so I've been working with the speed bag and some free weights.”

“Oh, is that why...?” He trailed off again, distracted.

“Why what?”

“Why, uh, no shirt?”

“Oh. Yes, I worked up quite a sweat.”

“Yeah, I can see that...”

Cas quirked an eyebrow and waited expectantly for Dean to continue, but there were no words forthcoming.

“...Dean? Did you call with a question?”

“Umm... Yeah, but... Uh. I forget what it was. I'll call back later.”

~~~~~~~

Dean began Skyping him more often after that, often calling from the road, just to pass the time.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean. How are you?”

“Good. Bored. We finished the case. Sammy's out getting a beer and blowing off some steam.”

“You didn't want to join him and blow something off?”

“Uh, no, I wasn't in the mood. There's a classic Star Trek marathon tonight so I'm hanging out in the  room.”

“Star Trek... Which one is that?” The tilt of Cas's lips suggested that he might be teasing, but Dean was not about to take any chances.

“Cas! Unacceptable! Go to the Dean Cave and turn on the TV. It's on BBC America, channel 724. I'll catch you up.”

~~~~~~~

Late one evening, it was Cas's turn to Skype home from a motel room somewhere in middle America.

"Hey, Cas, what's up?

“Hello, Dean. I'm sorry, it's late. Did I wake you?”

“Uhh... Yeah, but it's okay. What's going on? How's your case?”

"It's going well. I've gathered all the necessary ingredients. I will be able to expel the creature in the morning, and then I should get home around midnight."

"I'm glad. I miss you so much, sweetheart." The words tumbled out of his still-sleepy brain and directly into Cas's ear. The blue eyes on the screen widened in surprise, and adrenaline flooded Dean's system. Suddenly wide awake, he stammered, "I—I mean, I..."

"I miss you too, Dean," Cas replied with a soft smile. "Will you be up when I get home tomorrow night? I'd like to talk face to face."

Dean smiled back. "Yeah, I think we have some things to talk about."

[woolspun]

          ooh, i just wanna lay right by your side,           we don't gotta love each other right —           we just gotta make it through the night !

     the cold, unforgiving shade of gray that her bedroom USED to be painted was in the process of being traded out for a warmer shade, a light pastel-like shade of... well, PEACH. his color being covered with her own. fitting.      a passing conversation with her father ( via facetime ) had led to where etsu was currently, paint roller in hand and splotches of the calming color dotting both her clothes and skin. the worst of it is a smear across her cheeks, though she’d gotten most of it to flake off.       her bluetooth speaker sits near the rest of her supplies, a quieter song flowing forth from the device’s speakers  — though the volume is cranked enough that the bass still can be felt from where the ram stands, busily admiring her own work. it was... REFRESHING to be busy like this, her day-in and day-out schedule of work, eat, minor chores, sleep starting to... get to her.       internally, etsu beams. she’ll have to get her dad something nice since he’d suggested she redo the room and had even given her pointers on HOW to do it.... given that the heroine had never tackled such a project like this on her own.       the furniture had been removed. sold. or thrown away.      the empty room then had gotten a proper cleaning. walls scrubbed. hardwood flooring thoroughly mopped. baseboards dusted. the sort.       a total reclamation of a space within her own home that she’d been too frightened of entering, most days. sparked from a lull in conversation that had gone long enough for liam to realize his daughter was still insisting on camping out on her couch.       ‘ time heals all wounds, my little fawn. that’s how the saying goes, but what matters is what you DO with that time. ‘      ❝ i know. and heesh, still using that name for me, dad ? ❞      ‘ guess i’m still holding out that you’ll get antlers instead of horns, heh. ‘      ❝ i’m twenty-six now, i don’t see them changing anytime soon. ❞      ‘ a man can hope, can’t he ? anyways... i think you should redo that old bedroom, finally. i’m tired of looking behind you and seeing all them blankets paired with that pillow on the couch. ‘      ❝ ah — dad, come on, i’m — ❞      ‘ none of that. you said it yourself that you’re twenty-six now. you’re a grown woman. petit a petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. ‘      the swap to french causes her brain to lag, just BRIEFLY. it’s been awhile, cut the poor girl some slack !      ❝ mmm.      little by little, the bird makes its nest. i understand. ❞      and understand she had. etsu taking some time off and texting a few friends that she had some old furniture that she’d need help moving, if they had the time to spare. the whole ‘ stripping of THE ROOM ‘ had actually been... fun. enjoyable. invigorating. hell, she’d even FINALLY agreed to throw her old ring out. though etsu has a sneaking suspicion that someone dug it out of the trash to sell and forward the money to her later, seeing as it mysteriously disappeared later.      a space the ram had avoided. one that filled her with anxiety just to STEP within.... she’d felt nothing. etsu had even LAUGHED in those four walls.       she checks the wall adjacent to the one with the window, the paint having dried long ago since it was the first wall she’d started with. perfect. the ( brand new ) bed was pushed up against it, cream sheets with a gray duvet. for extra measure, etsu added a knit blanket that was white in color, the handmade item dangling from a corner.       ❝ i’ll add some plants later... and i’ll probably play around with where i want the dresser to be. the rug can gooooooo... hmmmm !!!       i’m overthinking this. it’s my room. i can play around with where things go over and over again. ❞      ‘ it’s my room. ‘      it’s enough to make etsu smile, butterflies settling into her chest. the phrase is murmured a few more times, enough so that if anyone else were in the house, they’d probably think she was losing her mind.       taro brushes up against her leg whilst a pleased-sounding mewl is exclaimed, the cat’s head tilting upwards so he could peer at his owner’s face. the pleased mewl is followed by a questioning one as etsu scoops him up, her nose being buried into the animal’s fur.      ❝ what’d you think about maybe a cat tree in here ? would you like that, buddy ? this is our space now, and little by little, we’ll make it more comfortable. ❞      it’d be a space that, in due time, she’d be more willing to share with others — platonically, of course. and with a little more time, romantically... maybe. maybe. there were still self-inflicted wounds that needed to heal.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Seventeen: Skeleton Crew

“Don’t go out there... it’s death to go out there...” 

Coming off the high that was Different Seasons, and the low that was Night Shift, I wasn’t really sure what to expect with Skeleton Crew. I wasn’t super pumped to pick it up, but, it’s not like I have a lot else to do right now... I voluntarily cleaned my windows this week, and am fighting the urge to clean my baseboards. Someone send help. Or a burger and ten-cent martini from Don’s Diner. Either would be acceptable. 

But hey! Skeleton Crew was fun! There were a couple of stories that made me want to throw up in my mouth (Survivor Type, I’m looking at you!); but there were some really, really well done stories as well. 

I know I’ve harped on this before, so feel free to skim right past. But this collection was compiled in 1985, and several of these stories are timeless. You could read them, and assume they were written a few years ago. Their subjects (mass hysteria, school shootings, paranoia) are still important. Personally, I think that’s the mark of an excellent writer: timeless material. Even if Steve does comment that, “...a particularly good disease I have- literary elephantiasis”.

It’s cool, I’m here for it. 

The collection kicks off with The Mist; which is a novella about a deadly mist surrounding a town in western Maine, and a group of people trapped inside a grocery store, and unable to get out. 

Well, they can get out, but there’s a good chance they’re going to be killed by a large tentacled beast, or spider webs sharp enough to amputate limbs. 

Yeah.

Exactly what I want to be reading right now.

There’s a reason I’ve embraced Amazon’s Whole Foods grocery delivery these days... and no, that reason is not because I’m a boujee bitch... it’s because I hate people. 

Speaking of hating people, Steve makes a reference to the Flat-Earth Society. I was shook. I assumed Flat-Earthers were a relatively new phenomenon. But after a little research, I discovered the society started back in 1956. So stupid has been around a long time. If you’re bored during quarantine, I highly recommend the hilarious documentary, Behind the Curve. 

The Jaunt is a quasi-post-apocalyptic novel about the need for people to travel to Mars for clean water. Between 1960 and 2030, Earth poisoned most of its water, and needed to find the precious resource on other planets. Again... too much reality, too close to home. But the end of this little story is terrifying. 

So, then we get to The Wedding, a mobster story set in Illinois. This is the moment I push my glasses up, adjust my cardigan, and speak like the Midwestern expert I most certainly am (not). First of all Steve, there is no Moxie soda to be found in Illinois. It’s strictly an east coast thing. Second, a character wonders, “I don’t know what a member of the U.S. Navy was doing in Illinois...” Steve, Buddy, hi. Soooo, there’s this place, called Great Lakes Naval Base? It’s in Northern Illinois? It’s been there since 1906? It could explain why you see a TON of sailors walking around Illinois in the summer. I have been known to refer to the ones at Six Flags Great America, eating cotton candy as, “sticky seamen...” because mentally I’m a twelve year old boy. 

There’s a particularly good story, aptly titled The Man Who Would Not Shake Hands. It might be the most hilariously relatable (but not really) story in the whole collection. “I have known men whose horror of germs and disease stretched that far and even further... and so may may of you...” Love in the time of Coronavirus, am I right??

Survivor Type. My post-it note simply reads, “Baaaaaarf!” But Steve did consult with an actual doctor on this one, so I’ll at least give him credit for that. I’m not going to spoil this one, I’ll let you go in cold. 

Morning Deliveries (Milkman #1). Steve... I give you credit for a lot of things, and a lot of fears you’ve created. Let’s face it: clown-phobia wasn’t a thing until you made it a thing. Right now, there are few things in life that give me joy. But getting food delivered is one of those joys. It makes my life feel normal, and I like to order a pizza and watch The Masked Singer with my family every Wednesday. Please don’t take that away from me with spooky stories about delivery people. My fragile psyche can’t handle it right now. 

I think of the entire collection, The Ballad of the Flexible Bullet was my favorite. The theme of spreading paranoia is all too real right now. And I’m working my ass off not to buy into it. So, of course a short story about it is exactly what I should be reading! But seriously y’all, it’s good shit. 

This entire collection is such a masterful mix of gross-out horror, and finely-taut psychological horror. And to think, each story started with Steve thinking to himself, “Wouldn’t it be funny if...” This man has jokes for days, kids. 

There were no Wisconsin references (disappointing since one of the stories was set in Illinois). There were two Dark Tower references I caught, both in The Mist, “She had a can of Raid in each hand like some crazy gunslinger in an existential comedy...” and “It appeared to be red, the angry color of a cooked lobster. It had claws. It was making a low grunting sound...” Lobstrosities, yo! 

But there were also several Cujo mentions. Let me tell you... the town of Castle Rock has not forgotten about Joe Camber or his dog. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 14

Total Dark Tower References: 12

Book Grade: B+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Different Seasons: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Christine: D

Next up is The Bachman Books. I’m not sure yet if I’m going to give them each their own post, or lump them together into one. Stay tuned. And stay safe. And distanced. And wash your hands. 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, 

Rebecca