#i just am also running a garage sale so i have to keep pausing it

[coffeeisfortheresponsible]

dragons rising s2 moodboard

[starkeristheendgame]

hey!! im really sorry to bother but i really love your writing & saw that you were taking prompts!! i was wondering if you could do one where tony has a sort of kink for calling peter ‘kid’ in a way, if your comfortable of course! sorry if my English isn’t the best!

I’m so sorry that this got buried to the bottom of my inbox! I hope you’re still around and that you get to see this, and I’m so sorry again that it drowned! I hope you enjoy it and I can only apologise if you hate it 😂

Also; please, please don’t ever apologise for your verbal or lingual ability. Learning another language is hard, and English is noted as one of (if not the most) hardest languages to learn. Being bi/multi-lingual is something to be insanely proud of!

I hope you don’t mind, but all of my prompts recently have been in canon universe, so this is a neighbours AU with no powers. In which Tony is a rich ex-businessman who just wants to tinker on old cars in his (not) retirement and Peter is the high school kid that won’t leave him alone.

TW: ‘Kid’ kink (the term) | Underage character | Underage (SS&C) sex | Daddy kink

Someone had bought the house next to his over the half-term. Peter knew this because the sale sign went down and the garden was immediately de-turfed and a notice was posted through everyone’s door on Wayforest Road that ‘minor construction’ would begun within the next two weeks, from 8am to 5pm daily, save for Saturdays and Sundays.

Peter wanted to laugh in - and then punch - the face of whoever decided to term it minor. Abruptly on the following Monday, almost a full half-hour before his alarm was due to go off, Peter was awoken by deep, loud voices and the clanging of scaffolding poles as the workmen arrived.

Groaning did nothing. Neither did flopping about pathetically on his bed like a beached fish. Burrowing under his duvet and his pillow was also a lost cause; he’d left his window open to keep his room cool in the night.

Seething, Peter flung himself from bed, turned off his alarm, and hopped in the shower. The workmen were gone when he came back, but the house was now a big, ugly grey thing besides his own, and he paused on the sidewalk to eye it mulishly. “If you’re another crabby old man; I’m not helping you walk your groceries up to your porch” he announced loudly to the empty house, and scuttled away to the safety of his own home after being eyed balefully and judgmentally by Mrs. Witkin’s cat.

At the dinner table, the new house and its new occupants were all Aunt May seemed to want to talk about, despite the way Peter’s face resembled less of his usual ‘ :) ‘ and more of a ‘ -.- ‘ as she went on, guessing the features of their new neighbour animatedly around mouthfuls of mashed potato.

Tuesday morning found him jolting awake to a shout of “Jim! Jim! For fuck’s sake, Jim, get tha’ fuckin’ plank!” In a thick, overly loud Irish accent.

By Friday, Peter was ready to forgo just a punch to the face, and was willing to commit all out, planned murder. At somewhere around seven-am every morning that week, the workmen had woken him up with their clanging and their shouting and their existing. Friday evening he stomped around the corner with a glower, fingers tight around his backpack straps. Not even Mrs. Witkin’s mean old cat could deter him from scowling at the house the entire way to his door.

Town rumours be damned; that cat was just old and judgemental, like half the residents there. It was no trapped old lady or cursed young Prince.

Hopefully.

Peter crossed himself on his porch quickly just in case. It could never hurt to be a little superstitious. Especially not after the day that Mr. Herald proclaimed himself immortal and was then promptly wiped out by the tree in his yard collapsing.

By the following Monday, Peter caved and stayed at Ned’s for the night, for the first time in his entire life thankful to hear the music of his alarm and not a series of clangs or yells. It was even good enough that Ned’s snoring didn’t disturb him as much as it usually did. He felt chipper, refreshed. Right up until he turned the corner and found his street lined with vans, the workmen a little late finishing.

The next two months were cesspit of noise and strange men and sleepless days off. Apparently the person who had bought the house must’ve only liked the area and nothing about the house at all, because by week three, all that remained of it was the bare skeleton, gutted and stripped and ugly. But Peter was willing to concede that his new neighbour had good taste.

By the end of the second month the house had been entirely re-built, and Peter was convinced that his new neighbour was some very famous or important person looking for a secret hideaway, or a mob boss. There was no other logical explanation. What had once been a decent but generic detached property with a neglected garden was now a mini-mansion of sorts, all soft creams and light earth tones, with a stonewall front and staggered steps that led onto a half-gravel and half-grass front yard.

Large paned windows were already lined with thick curtains and plants and a sweeping gravel-scape led to a large garage, that seemed to be the most work of the renovation. It was huge, probably taking up over half of what used to be side garden and dead grass. No fence bordered the property, but the difference between Peter’s space and the new person’s space was immaculate and definitive.

“Huh” he mused aloud, blinking. Suddenly, he was less irritated at all those lost half-hours and more curious about who was going to be living there. They had money, for sure. Inheritance? Insurance claim payout? Illegal happenings? Aunt May’s two joking theories were suddenly looking less of a joke and more genuine possibilities.

As it would happen, Peter wouldn’t actually find out for another three or so months. The man moved in on a Saturday, quietly and with a small fleet of sleek SUV vehicles and fancy moving vans. Peter enjoyed a lazy morning, napping until the start of the afternoon and basking in the summer warmth, stretching in front of his bedroom window and looking down in time to see the last of the delivery and moving people packing down their vehicles.

Peter eyed all the bodies curiously, but it soon became clear none of them were his new neighbour, because they all stood around, flipping through paperwork, and then promptly left. Peter lingered under the pretence of dusting at his window ledge, but the street was quiet and empty.

Aunt May was anything but quiet when he finally dragged himself downstairs in search of food. “Peter! Morning, honey. Did you see the vans outside? Very fancy. Big enough for bodies, too, though” May hummed, flipping through the book she was currently reading.

Thirty Ways To Revive Your Youth.

Peter grimaced, and begun to rummage through the cupboards. “Not to question your intelligence, but. Why would a mob boss carry around his victims? Like a few teeth or knuckles ought to serve as good souvenirs. I don’t think carting around whole bodies is practical” Peter pointed out, settling on fruity oatmeal. Aunt May paused in her reading, nose twitching to adjust her glasses as she considered it.

“Hm. Point. Unless they bought the house because they run out of burial room, and these are fairly recent bodies they need the new soil for” she pointed out, and Peter pointed his spoon at her as he passed.

“Point” he agreed.

And so the weeks passed, but the mystery remained. No matter what time Peter tired to linger, or how early he awoke, his neighbour never seemed to be around. Here and there he would catch a figure roaming past the windows, kinda like a ghost, but never a clear view or a face. It was vastly disappointing, but his interest didn’t wane over the months that spanned between his rueful lack of sleep and now.

Now being a hazy Saturday morning, warm but not overly stuffy. Peter was coming back from a morning at Ned’s wherein they’d been steadily chewing away at the LEGO Galactic Supership. He was halfway down the street when a large trailer vehicle begun to drift down the street steadily, heading straight in Peter’s direction.

He paused on the sidewalk, watching it with interest. It was a transportation vehicle, and as it drew closer Peter could see there was a car on the back of it, heavily clamped down and chained to make sure it wouldn’t roll off. The vehicle passed him by some, and he got a clear view of the other car. It looked old, a little broken, rusted. Huge, though. Bigger than all the cars he’d seen before.

It pulled up right outside his neighbours house. Sensing an opportunity, and genuinely curious, Peter lingered, taking a few steps across the sidewalk to eye the car. It was a glossy red, though it had sun fade and was patchy. The chrome was glossy in places and dull, rusted in others. One headlight was missing.

The door of the cab opened, and Peter turned on his heel to see the driver getting out. The friendly greeting died on his lips as toned, thick thighs slid from the cab, followed by trim hips and a long, solid torso only half-hidden under a tank-shirt and overshirt. Broad shoulders prefaced the hottest man that Peter had ever laid eyes on.

He had a shaped jaw that was cut by stubble in a unique style that Peter had never seen anyone wearing before. He had sharp cheeks and dark, deep eyes with long lashes, tanned but not exactly browned and dark, dark hair with the barest flecks of grey at the roots, at his temples.

The man seemed surprised to find him there, pausing mid-way through pushing the door shut and peering around the street before looking back at him. One shaped brow lifted, and Peter stumbled to remember his manners, thrusting out a hand.

“Hi, Mister. Sorry - I was looking at the car. Is it for the new house?” He asked, forcing himself not to blush under the intense gaze. After a brief pause, the man took his hand, palm large and slightly rough, grip firm. He was even more attractive up close, slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes, dark lips and the strong scent of motor oil and grease.

“Would seem that way”.

And Ho-ly voice. Deep and with the softest of rumbles, soothing like a thunderstorm in the far distance. Peter clutched at his jacket when their hands dropped, coughing politely to hide whatever facial expression he’d pulled. The man strode past him and to the car, beginning to work on the many safety straps and chains.

“Did they…Is this theirs?” Peter asked after watching him quietly for several moments with a gesture towards the house besides them. Peter had discovered the house had a second parking bay on the other side, where a glossy black muscle car from the 60′s never seemed to move.

“Theirs’?” The man echoed, pausing in his movements to look up at Peter with curious amusement. It occurred to him then that it was likely some random car recovery guy had seen his new neighbour(s) before he had.

“Uh…Well. I’ve never actually seen them. So I don’t know if its one person, or a whole family, or…” Peter trailed off meekly, looking over his shoulder at the building. It looked as empty as it always did, no lights on and no figures moving behind the windows.

“Townsfolk say its some celebrity having a breakdown. Others say its some old widow using her husband’s life insurance. Even heard from someone that its a mafia lord, settling down in the middle of some quiet ass nowhere town” the recovery man grunted, hauling on a thick, heavy chain. Peter flushed.

Yeah. He was…Guilty of some pretty crazy guesses. But come on. Someone buys a house, spends upwards of hundreds of thousands doing it over, and then…Nothing. No new faces at the grocery store. Never seen, or even heard. Like a ghost.

“They’re not big fans of being…Seen. I guess? I mean, I know a guy with groceries comes around every Monday. Sometimes multiple times a week, but he always puts them in the garage and leaves. And this town is full of judgemental old people - Half of whom probably have mercury poisoning or something. There’s gonna be some pretty wild speculations going around” he pointed out, moving closer to look at what appeared to be a scratch in the paintwork.

The car gave a faint creak as the man released all of the holds on this side, snorting as he rounded the back of the vehicle and went to the other side with a loud, amused snort. Peter followed, and stifled a gasp at the sight of the other car. The man turned, eyeing him for a moment, before nodding.

“Got T-boned by an estate car. But she’s a tough old thing. Heavy metals and good steel; not like today’s cars. She came out better off” he mumbled as he worked on a thick strap, carefully taking apart the various clasps and buckles. Peter approached the car carefully, stretching up on his toes to brush his fingertips over the warped metal. He felt almost….Sad for the car.

He traced the flaking paint and the twisted, dented metal tenderly, and when he pulled away, the man was watching him again, movements slowed as he pulled the material through the metal. “Is this their car? What good is it now if its all broken up?” He asked curiously.

The man ducked his head, moving onto another thick chain. “Its just the one guy. I guess its a…Hobby. Of his. Bought her yesterday at a scrap lot”. He seemed uncomfortable saying it, but to Peter it was like gold trust. One guy. Huh. A big old house like that? That seemed rather lonely. Maybe it really was some rich old person retiring, enjoying a quiet place and a mechanics hobby.

Peter was going to ask more, but the car was freed with a grinding sound, and the man gestured him carefully back with his hand, holding it out in front of Peter to walk him back like a horse, to a safe distance. The man used two remotes to bring the car to the ground, Peter watching in fascination as rotors and rolling mechanisms moved it backwards and onto the tarmac of the road.

“How do you plan on moving it now?” Peter asked, and immediately regretted it as the man shed his over-shirt. Biceps. Shoulders. Forearms. His throat went dry and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

As it turns out, the plan was simply ‘push’. Peter scoffed, but was soon at a loss to anything but stare as the man leaned heavily against the trunk of the car, muscles bulging in the afternoon sun. Heavy or not, the car soon begun to roll, and after a moment Peter dropped his backpack and came up besides the straining man, leaning all his might against the metal.

It probably did fuck all, but the man gave him a wry grin all the same, chest heaving with deep, controlled breaths as they moved the car across the flat ground and onto the side-drive space. Peter’s shoulder ached and his arms and thighs suddenly felt like jelly, but the man slapped him across the back.

“Good effort, kid” and then moved away, heading towards the front door. Peter gaped as the man simply grasped the doorhandle and pushed the door open, and floundered on the drive. “Wait! You’re just gonna walk into his house?” He called, and the man paused mid-step, looking back at him.

“Well. I ought to just ‘walk in’. Its my house”. And with a lewd, perfect wink he was gone. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself, flailing on the driveway with error logs flashing behind his eyes. That was his neighbour. His neighbour was some rich, late-thirty something hot-hot-hot guy who fixed broken classic cars.

“Oh my god” Peter muttered, stomping down the driveway to get his bags. Four months. He’d lived next to this Playgirl model for four months.

He decided against telling Aunt May. It felt selfish, but it also felt good to know he was the only person to have seen him. Even though he realised not long after reaching his room that he hadn’t even gotten his name. Peter waited by his window for hours, but saw neither hair nor hide of the man again. By morning, the transport truck was gone and the cherry red car was presumably inside the garage.

The damned guy was magic. There was no other explanation. Fuelled, Peter spent the Sunday morning in the kitchen, furiously baking with narrowed eyes and a plan. The muffins were done by mid-day, and Peter iced them carefully before boxing them, and stomping across the sidewalk to his neighbour’s house.

Peter knocked, and waited. Knocked again. Waited. “If you don’t answer the door then I’m just going to sit here” he announced loudly, knocking again before plopping down onto the porch just to prove a point. Several long minutes passed before his neighbour appeared around the corner, from the garage judging by the grease steaks up his arms, scowling.

“Kid. Here’s a life tip; if someone doesn’t answer the door, its because they don’t want company” the man huffed, but his eyes zeroed in on the box with intense curiosity, and Peter shrugged, smug.

“You came out, though” he pointed out, pushing himself to his feet. The man scoffed, but allowed him to follow, leading the way around the building where a small side-door was open.

“I came out about thirty years ago, kiddo. If that’s a congratulations cake, you’re a little late”. Peter tripped over the gravel, fighting his legs to remain upright and his stomach did a weird knot inside him. Oh. Not only was his neighbour hot, but he was at the least male inclined, too.

Very interesting.

“Actually, these are just welcome muffins. Chocolate and orange” Peter murmured, stepping inside the garage. It was bigger than it seemed, and the cherry red car stood in the centre, sanded down and clearly being worked on already.

“Peter, by the way. Peter Parker” he added after a pause, and almost offered his hand for a second time, but settled instead on thrusting the muffin box at the man. He raised a brow, but delved inside to pull one out, clearly eager at the prospect.

“Tony” he offered simply, and Peter tested it on his tongue, enjoying the shape. For now; he’d let the lack of a last name go. Good things in time, after-all. Choosing to invite himself to stay, Peter perched primly on top of the edge of the workbench, electing another raised brow, but Tony’s mouth was too full of muffin to object.

Tony begun to work as he ate, and Peter sat in content silence, watching as Tony and his bulging arm muscles took each wheel off the car and begun to strip it of all its chrome features. Peter checked his phone after a while and was surprised to find that around four hours had passed. May would be home from her sewing group about now. He ought to head home.

“I’ll be back tomorrow” he announced, and jumped at the same time Tony did, the man smacking his arm off warped metal with a shout. Tony whirled on him, eyes wide, gaze flicking between him and the door, before he looked…Confused.

“You’re still here?” He asked, and Peter snorted as he dusted off his pants, heading for the door with a shake of his head. May came home shortly after he did, and Peter supposed he ought to let her know that he’d be visiting Tony again tomorrow.

“So he’s not a mafia boss? Or a celebrity?” She asked around a mouthful of roasted chicken, looking rather disappointed as Peter shrugged and shook his head.

“He just seems…Aloof? I don’t know. Maybe he’s some business tycoon or something. But he seems nice. I’m just going over to help him with this car he’s got. It’s real nice, too” Peter hummed, and Aunt May narrowed her eyes at him.

“Are you sure? I mean, you don’t know him. He’s a stranger. Albeit a hot one, apparently. And you have school tomorrow, too. You shouldn’t be hanging around strangers. Unless…If he happens to be single…I’d be open to his number” May shrugged after a pause, and Peter blinked.

May was surprisingly easy to placate, and he assured her that if she wanted to, she could march right over to Tony and give him a Mother Hen Talk after dinner, but she decided against that, and in favour of a hot bath. School on Monday rolled around quicker than Peter could say ‘garage’ and he decided against telling Ned about Tony.

He wanted Tony all to himself. At least…For as long as he could. It was strange, but he found his heart thumping as he marched down Tony’s driveway and up to the garage door this time, knocking on it loudly. He’d brought lemonade and sandwiches this time.

The garage door opened, and Tony looked equally as startled to see Peter there as he had the day prior, gaze raking his body before frowning, and stepping aside with a sigh. “You’re like a mosquito, kid. I came here to get away from people” Tony announced pointedly, and Peter founded on him with an unimpressed gaze and an arched brow of his own.

“If you truly wanted to get away from people, you’d have moved out in the mountains or something. Now, get back to work. In an hour you can stop for supper. I brought chicken sandwiches” he ordered, taking his seat from the day before and pulling his calculus homework from his bag.

He kept his gaze down as Toy stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times, before he went for his wrench, muttering to himself as he lay down on a wheeled bench and rolled under the car. Peter smiled quietly into his papers. A little over two hours later - he lost count, sue him - Peter pushed himself to his feet and strode over to the car, kicking Tony lightly in the ankle that stuck out.

“We can eat now” he announced, walking back over to his pack and taking out the tupperware he’d packed this morning. He could hear the sound of the wheels moving, and he turned, holding out the box. Tony looked perplexed, but approached and took it, still looking puzzled even as he bit into his own portion.

“Not that the pattern of snacks isn’t appreciated, kid, but…Why are you here?” he asked after he’d swallowed, and Peter actually had to think about it, flushing as his mind conjured up inappropriate responses like ‘I want to lick your arms’ and ‘You look like the hot mechanics in my pornos’.

He settled on a shrug, chewing slowly for more time. “You’re interesting. You’re my neighbour. You’re not a mafia boss or a broken down celebrity” he pointed out. Tony twitched on the last one, but gave a hum and moved away, scarfing down the last of his sandwich and returning to the car. This time, when Peter informed him he was leaving and would be back tomorrow again, Tony neither jumped nor looked surprised.

It became a pattern. Three out of seven days a week, Peter would sit in the garage with his homework or revision and Tony would work on the red car, which Peter came to learn was a 1958 Plymouth Fury. “Just like in Christine” Tony had huffed proudly, and had then been quickly appalled when Peter had simply stared blankly.

That night, Peter had watched the movie, and his next visit was spent talking animatedly about it with Tony, discussing their favourite parts and what it might be like if it was ever re-made. After a month, Aunt May picked her way across the gravel to finally meet the man her adopted son kept disappearing off to be with, and Peter had the unfortunate experience of watching them flirt together, Tony in a cheeky, smooth, outrageous manner and Aunt May like a school-girl. When he begun to gag in the corner, Tony threw an oil rag at him.

One day, a week before the summer holidays, Peter rounded the corner to find Tony stood on the porch, looking angry and tense and talking to a tall woman with red hair, tied up in a ponytail. Peter stopped and lingered, unsure of what to do. Besides him and May, he’d never seen anyone else talking to Tony. Even the grocery delivery guy simply put the bags in the garage and left.

After a while, the woman turned away, looking sullen and displeased, and slipped into a sleek black SUV, pulling off with a screech of her tires and the rev of her engine. By the time Peter reached the house, Tony was back inside, and he knocked quietly, leaning closer to the door.

Tony didn’t answer.

“Mr. Tony? I’m not sure what happened, but…If you’re not up for hanging out today, its cool. I brought soup, but I’ll leave yours on the porch. It might be hot, so…Be careful”. Peter stooped and left the thermos close to the door, before leaving. He felt uncomfortable for the rest of the day, longed to go see Tony, but everything in his gut told him to let him be for a time.

Whoever that man had been, he was clearly someone Tony didn’t like or want around.

Almost a whole week passed in which Tony didn’t answer the door, and by the Saturday, the first official day of the summer holidays, Peter was moping. Not to anyone that asked, but it was clear to even Ned that he’d been a little down lately, declining a celebratory LEGO fest in exchange for slinking up to his room.

No sooner had he toed off his shoes, the doorbell rung. Peter groaned, turning on his heel and abandoning his sweater on the staircase. It was probably another of Aunt May’s Amazon orders. Since she’d discovered the wonders of online shopping, Peter had learned their regular post-man was named Greg, he had two kids and a poodle, and was allergic to shrimp.

“What has she bought this ti- Tony?” Peter paused mid-sentence, eyes widening at the sight on his doorstep. Tony looked rough, dark circles under his eyes, his face looking more lined than before, but he gave a weak smile up at Peter, still stiff and unsure.

“Hey, kiddo. Figured you might…I made spaghetti. And I still have your thermos. Was gonna work on the car a bit”.

Peter recognised it for the attempted invitation that it was, and didn’t bother to fight off his broad grin. “Lucky for you, I love spaghetti. I just gotta grab a sweater on” he beamed, practically flinging himself up the stairs. Tony’s spaghetti was amazing, with some kind of pink-ish sauce, little chunks of shrimp and prawns, all tangy and sweet.

He even let Peter help with the car. Or…Well. He let Peter hold the torch. And the wrench. But still.

He was still grinning when he skipped home that evening, and when he crawled into bed his dreams were filled with oil-stained arms and a low, rumbling voice. He gasped awake in the early hours, cock hard and leaning against his hip, Tony’s voice echoing in his skull.

He shouldn’t.

He bit his lip and reached down, whimpering as he wrapped a hand around himself. He was too hard to last more than a few minutes, stifling his yell of “Tony!” Into his pillow as he came. When he arrived at Tony’s house later in the day, he could barely look the man in the eyes, flustered and shy.

The holidays continued in a similar fashion. They hung out almost every day in the garage, often for an entire day. Peter felt guilty about abandoning Ned, but looking at Tony’s broad smile, listening to his quips, watching his abs flex under his shirts as he lifted things...It was worth it.

By the fourth week of his holidays, after numerous days of lounging together with takeout and Tony helping him with his homework, Peter piped up.

“Peter”.

“What?”

“My name. It’s Peter” he repeated, nudging Tony gently where they lay together on the floor of the garage, staring up at the underside of the car. It was almost complete. Something to do with the clutch, and then all it needed was new paint. “You keep calling me ‘kid’. So. Y’know. In case you’d forgotten” he hummed.

Besides him Tony stilled, only briefly, before relaxing and swatting at him. “You are a kid, though”.

“I’m sixteen. I’m not a kid” Peter huffed, rolling onto his side and kneeing Tony in the thigh. Tony let his head loll, looking across at him with dark, dark eyes, and Peter’s breath hitched. Tony was close enough to kiss. And god, Peter wanted to kiss him. Had spent the past few weeks staring at his body, his mouth when he talked, waking up at night hard and aching.

Peter let his gaze drop, to plush lips outlined by dark stubble, and then he pushed himself up, momentarily hovering over Tony as he got his legs beneath him. “And you’re an old man” he tried, teasing, tugging at a lock of hair at Tony’s temple.

For the briefest, briefest of moments, Tony’s gaze went even darker. Hungrier. Peter thought about it in the shower that night, two fingers stuffed inside himself with too-little prep, mewling against the shower tiles. Almost as if…

He begun to get bolder. Touched Tony more. Stood closer. Any excuse to be in his space. If Tony noticed he said nothing, only giving lingering, unreadable looks and only ever turning away with a poorly hidden smirk whenever Peter said anything just a little too obvious.

On the last week of his holidays, Peter was kneeling half over Tony, dabbing gingerly at a slice on his bicep while the man clutched an ice-pack to his knee. The cherry red car was out, and an old, 1957 Chrysler Saratoga was in. And apparently, angry.

“Kid, seriously. I’m fine” Tony huffed, swatting at him as he dabbed away another crust of blood, peering at the wound. It wasn’t that deep, but it had bled something fierce. Peter lifted his gaze, scowling at him.

“I’m not a kid!” He snarked, pressed a little too hard on the wound just because he could. Watched Tony flinch under his touch and instantly felt guilty. He pulled away the cloth and ducked down, pressed a kiss to the wound before he could ever think about it. Aunt May had always done it for him, kissing his ouchies better. He froze, lips against jagged skin.

“Kid” Tony rasped, looking down at him with wide, dark eyes. Peter jerked backwards, and huffed.

“Keep calling me kid, I’m gonna start calling you ‘old man’“ he scowled. He was about to say ‘Or worse, Dad’, but…That was a bumpy road and he wasn’t ready to loose whatever he had built with Tony. Not yet. The older man snorted back at him, eyes rolling, and reached out, fingers closing around his jaw gently to shake his head a little.

“Look at you. You are. That little baby face. And you’re so small, like a cat. All slender. Couldn’t even lift up the gearbox. All big eyes and too must trust. I could’ve been an old pervert or sex criminal and you just walked right up to me and wouldn’t leave” Tony murmured, voice half-gone and gaze fixed on where he held Peter’s jaw.

“Wouldn’t - Did not” Peter managed, though he was already getting hard, his breathing was already a little shorter. Sharper. Tony gave a deep breath, fingers flexing against his jaw.

“You’re just a kid. A little baby. All soft-cheeked and gentle. You’re a kid now and you’ll be a kid for a long time. Nothing like me”.

And. Huh.

Peter blinked, jaw still clasped in Tony’s grip, and he relaxed his body, inching a little closer. “What is it about that, then? Why is that such a bad thing?”

“Its not. Its not bad. I’m just…I’m the bad one. Christ. Kid. You’re - You sit here doing homework. You don’t even have facial hair yet. I bet you haven’t even popped a stiffy before”. The words startled Tony as much as Peter, both visibly jolting, and Tony immediately looked like he wanted to die.

“Hey! Not true! Every night this holiday I’ve done more than ‘pop a stiffy’ over y-”. Peter bit down on his tongue, hard, watched the way Tony’s eyes widened. Fuck. They both jerked backwards, equally as taken aback by the revelation. There was no doubt as to what Peter had been about to say. Now way he could laugh it off or change it; though the subject was bad enough.

“I…”

“Kid…”

Peter huffed, leaning back on his haunches and dropping the cloth. “What, you got a kink for the word or something, Mister Tony?” Peter grumbled, but he could see Tony physically tense up opposite him, and he looked up, watched the almost shameful way that Tony turned his gaze away.

It hit him.

“You…Do” he huffed numbly.

“Its not…Christ. Peter. I’m not a…I’m not attracted to kids. I don’t know what it is. I just…Fuck. Maybe you should be calling me an old pervert. Fuck. I…Peter. You have to believe I don’t..I’ve never touched a kid. Never. My youngest partner was twenty when I was thirty. She was a hooker in Dubai and…Wait. You’re a fucking kid. I shouldn’t be talking about hookers and swearing and-”

Peter clamped a hand over Tony’s mouth, shaking his head. Jesus. He knew it was true, though. Tony was a recluse and laughably inept at anything social, but he wasn’t some scorned kiddie-toucher banished to a quaint little town.

“I know, Tony. I know. And I believe you. But if its not that, then…What is it?”. Tony only blinked at him slowly, for several beats, and it was then that Peter realised that his hand was on Tony’s mouth, and the man couldn’t speak. Though he could well have moved it himself. He let it drop, flushing.

“I don’t know” Tony croaked helplessly, and he looked so small, so lost. It was instinct that had Peter leaning forwards, gathering Tony in a tight embrace. The older man stiffened, but then relaxed, hand hesitantly falling to Peter’s side, featherlight like he was scared to touch him.

“Its…You’re so delicate. So…Untouched. Like a painting. Pretty. You shouldn’t be touched. Not yet. Not by me. But I want to”. It made Peter’s spine tingle and arch, letting out a surprised breath against the curve of Tony’s jaw. Tony made him sound like the Mona Lisa or something.

“I’m not a good person, Peter. I’m…All these months, you don’t even know my last name. Half the town thinks I’m a murderer or some kind of lunatic. But I’m worse than that”. Tony practically breathed it into his shoulder, head falling. Peter clutched at him, suddenly scared. Worse than those things?

“Tony Stark”.

Peter paused. Was silent for such a long time that Tony tensed against him again, before he begun to pet gently at Tony’s shoulders. “…Who? I mean, the name is vaguely familiar. But…Who?”

Tony pulled away, leaned back, looking up at him with glossy eyes and a ludicrous expression. “Stark. Tony Stark”.

Peter raised a brow. “Bond, James Bond?”

“What? No. The weapons company? Stark Industries?” Tony asked after a pause, like it was information Peter ought to know. After another pause of his mind being ridiculously blank, Peter sat upright, head tilting.

“Oh! Yeah. Stark Industries. But…What about it?”

Tony blinked at him, slowly, like there was a punchline he’d missed, and then he was reaching out, crushing Peter to his chest to the boy fell half over him with a yelp, squeezing him gently.

“You’re - Unbelievable. Never change, kid. I’m…I did bad things. I killed people. Carried on the family name despite spending my life trying to outrun it. I…I was betrayed. So I fixed it, and I left. And I was supposed to keep my hands off anything good. Anyone good. And here you are”.

“Okay. Firstly? You gotta stop calling me ‘kid’ now I know its a kink and you don’t intend to do anything about it. Secondly…I don’t know what you did. Or what happened. But I know what you’ve been since you got here. Who you’ve become. And I think you’re a good man” he breathed, adjusting so he was no longer straining, half-straddling Tony.

“You shouldn’t…” Tony didn’t finish the sentence, and there were a million things he could’ve said. But Peter chose to ignore them all, squirming his way closer until he really was sat in Tony’s lap. And this was more than they’d ever done.

More than the one-armed hugs and lingering touches, more than leaning shoulder-to-shoulder eating noodles. More than Peter listing against Tony’s side in the early morning hours, maths homework forgotten on the bench and Tony sitting still, so still, so as not to wake him.

“I’m old enough to know ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’, Mr. Stark. Besides. This is just…Hugging. Right? Innocent” he hummed, even as he deliberately shifted on Tony’s lap, a little heavier than he ought to, spread his legs wider around Tony’s hips.

“Ki- Peter” Tony huffed against him, fingers tightening around the hem of his sweater. It wasn’t until Peter shifted again that he realised; Tony was hard. Well. Getting there, but hard enough for Peter to recognise it. To feel it, digging into the round meat of his asscheek.

“I don’t touch kids” Tony repeated, and Peter snorted softly, shaking his head as he gripped at Tony’s broad shoulders, muscle honed by years of hard work. Muscle that led up to rough stubble, a sharp jaw that Peter nosed at.

“Good thing I’m not actually a kid then, Mr. Stark. That means you can touch”.

Tony surged forwards on a growl, lay Peter out like a feast on the garage floor; but still hovered over him. Reluctant. Uncertain. Peter lifted his legs, wrapped them around Tony’s waist, tight and steady. “Kiddo…”

“Mm. Your kiddo. Or I could be. If you kissed me” Peter grinned, breathless and bold with the sweet taste of Tony so close. Mere inches. “Kiss me” Peter repeated, and Tony growled as he surged downwards.

When Tony came, it was with ‘kid’ sharp and electric on his tongue. And…Well. Peter felt a little mollified, so naturally, it led to round two, pressing Tony down against the concrete, milking him for all he was worth as a broken ‘Peter!’ cracked on his tongue like a prayer.

The rounds after that were just…Well.

Purely selfish.

[booksandeverything-in-between]

My journalism journey

... has only just begun! 

This is my post for the “Life Narrative” assignment for JTC 326. I’ve added a “keep reading” tab because I hate putting extremely long posts on my dashboard! Keep in mind too, I’ve formatted this to fit the platform, so it’s not strictly professional. 

Also  — this is the first time I’ve shared my Tumblr with anyone who is not my sister, but it’s the perfect platform for this. 

** All pictures were taken by me unless otherwise specified, some taken from my old blog posts on here. 

A note before I start: When I first thought about this assignment, I had so many things I thought I could share, a lot of them deeply personal, somewhat dark and just not the right fit. I had a bit of a crisis; I cried a little. There is so much in my past that makes me, me, that I’ve only ever really shared with my therapist, but have generally wanted to write about. But it’s hard, and I don’t know how. And a whole lot of other stuff. BUT THEN

I realized I could share a story that I have always wanted to share! It perfectly relates to our class too and basically everything anyone would ever need to know about me! It’s amazing! I’m so excited! I hope you like it! 

(line break) 

It’s the summer before sixth grade. That’s how I define, or sort, my life, in my memories. It’s the year of school, or it’s the summer before/after. It’s not my age, or the calendar year; it’s school. For a long time my whole identity revolved around school, so it fits. 

Anyway, I’m bored. My older sister and I can only do so much Netflix-watching (because we didn’t have cable) on the Wii (because this was 2011), and I need something to stimulate my active mind. Here comes books! 

I’ve always, always been an avid reader. I was the first person in my first grade class to start reading chapter books  — something I liked to brag about a lot back then. But I’m about to be a middle schooler, so I need to find something a little more mature. My parents decide that I’m at an appropriate age to start reading some of my sister’s old books, which were originally marked for garage sale. 

One of these books has a long, juicy title, with a teen girl posed on the cover in a preppy school uniform, hand on her hip. I don’t have to look this up to remember; it is forever in my mind. The book is I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You by Ally Carter. Juicy, right? AND I LOVE IT. Seriously. Love. It. 

Photo: I’d Tell You I Love You, But Then I’d Have to Kill You by Ally Carter. 

... And I guess I move on. That part is a little fuzzy. Enter: Back to School Night, sixth grade. I always would go with my mom, because I loved school, and nights like those I thought were super cool. So, I’m hanging out with my best friend Sydney by the stairs, and she has this book from the school library with her. 

Do you believe in fate? Was it kismet? I do not know; I will not guess. But I do know, I freaked the f*ck out. Because it was the book, by Ally Carter!! I loved that book! When I asked Sydney where she got it, she said in the library, and there were a bunch of other books like it. 

That made me pause. Honestly, I couldn’t believe it. Because, what do you know, it was a series!! There were three other books to be read! How, oh how, did I not know this? It had to be fate. 

I can still picture exactly where the books are, in the Preston library. The smaller shelf, up against the wall, right by the opening into the conference/meeting room space (I don’t know what we called that room???). Bottom shelf. 

Who knew a series about teenage girls going to a spy school would set me on this path? 

Suddenly it’s the summer after sixth grade, and once again, I’m bored. But, I have access to a netbook, that my grandpa gave us. Something entices me to start Googling these books. I find Ally Carter’s website. I found out that there are going to be two more books in the series. And I stumble upon this Google search suggestion, with the word fanfiction. 

And wow. 

Stories, countless stories, about my favorite books. Eventually, I make my own account on fanfiction.net, I try my hand at some of my own stories, I get a smartphone and make this very tumblr account when I turn 13, I find a place where I can express all my nerdiness in peace and all-caps, without any sort of ridicule fear. 

But that’s not the end, nor the point, of this story. 

Photo: The first four books in the Gallagher Girls series by Ally Carter. 

(line break) 

So here I am, spending all my free time secretly reading fanfic and trying to write it, and hating my life sometimes and thinking about what I want to study in college because that’s my best chance at escape from this life that I feel I’m stuck in. 

But I can’t think of anything to write! I love to read; I enjoy writing; I am learning more about grammar because my dad has me grading his grammar quizzes he gave his JTC 300 students; but still, something isn’t right. I viscerally hate English class. 

But! There’s a way I CAN write, without it being creative! My dad is going to school for photojournalism, my sister took a high school journalism class, and now it’s my turn to register for classes in high school. I sign up for Journalism 1, the precursor to Journalism 2, which is the class that houses the student newspaper. It’s a great plan. It was a good class.

I was looking through my old journal the other day, and I came across this line dated from September 23, 2014, just into the beginning of my freshman year of high school. “I want to be a journalist.” 

Photo: A journal entry that reads, “I want to be a journalist.” 

My sophomore year of high school, I take Journalism 2 and join the paper. I’m kind of terrified because there are a bunch of people I don’t know and now I’ll actually have to go out and report and talk to people ... but we do some really fun team-building, and people seem to like me, and I relax. I feel, just a little, like a really belong. 

And I had felt that way before, during band, and with some of my friends, but this thing, this journalism thing, I’m actually good at it. And there’s this one moment that sticks out to me still. 

It’s probably 7:20 a.m. I’m trudging up the steps to Spanish class, and I do not want to be there. It’s not that I don’t like school, or I don’t like my classes, because I do. But I’m tired, and it’s not what I want to be doing. I think, if I could spend the entirety of my day in my journalism class, I would be happy. 

To this day, as a college student, I am jealous of the people who get to spend their whole days doing journalism. 

I’ve found more than a home. I’ve found a place where, for what feels like the first time, I can speak my mind. I can be sarcastic, I can make a pun and I can also point out when there’s a bad typo somewhere and have that be appreciated. 

Halfway through my first year writing for the paper, I’m given extra responsibilities and get to start copy editing articles from the students in the J1 class, and I start to learn how to redesign/maintain our Wordpress site. I go on a class trip to Los Angeles, an amazing feat of independence for me, and I feel valued. And then, I’m award the position of Copy Editor for the next school year! It’s amazing. 

I learn my junior year that the freshmen whose articles I edited were afraid of me. Afraid, of me! (For reference, I am five feet tall). But once they met me, they were like ‘Woah, Serena’s not scary!” and now we’re good friends. I’ve since learned to be less harsh/blunt in my editing. 

My senior year, I was Editor-in-Chief. That was something I dreamed about as a freshman, but wouldn’t let myself actually fathom. And even though I felt like I could have done a much better job, and I had a lot of personal sh*t to do with too, by the end of the year, I knew that I was leaving behind a strong legacy. 

It’s really something special when people you love give you a speech, crying, telling you how much you welcomed them, how much you made them feel like they had a place to grow, to be, and how much you’ve inspired them. 

Because journalism, especially student journalism, is about so much more than the news. It’s about a community. It’s community with your fellow reporters and editors, it’s comradery while kicking ass, it’s creating a community with your readers and your peers, it’s learning about the community you live in and sharing the ups and downs of life. 

Photo: A screenshot from my Instagram account of my high school journalism family, taken at our end of the year picture my junior year of high school. We had this running joke that I was going to be a world-dominator type person (because I’m so tiny and quiet) and my teacher said, “Okay, Serena now push Katie over” because I was taking over as EIC. Photo credit goes to my teacher (not going to post his name here). 

(line break)  

I have a lot of setbacks, too. I have anxiety. Like, a lot. Of anxiety. I haven’t been formally diagnosed with General Anxiety Disorder, but I think I should be. 

I used to think I was just shy. And that was partially the case. But I grew from it, in large part because of journalism. I went from not sitting in my designated seat at the beginning of class because there were older kids in the way my freshman year, to leading the entire class three days a week my senior year. I liked high school journalism because I could get away with asking my friends for quotes, or just not really quoting anyone at all. 

I spent one quarter at the University of Denver last year, and it was somewhat the same thing. They didn’t have any strict standards on a number of sources, and I wrote articles that didn’t require speaking to a lot of people. But then, I took over nine months off from school in what should have been my freshman year of college, and thus took nine months off from journalism and reporting. So starting at The Collegian was a challenge. 

I am still damn proud of myself for getting up the courage, on the second day of classes at CSU, to go down to the newsroom and ask about reporting. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t, and I love where I am today. 

To think that wasn’t even a year ago ... 

Photo: Here I am, remote copy editing for The Collegian, the week after Spring Break. Photo cred to my dad. 

When I started at CSU, I felt good. I was nervous, but transferring was a really good decision, and I’m from Fort Collins, so I felt more comfortable. And at first, my reporting felt really good.

But then I got too stressed with school and work, and that stress led over to increases social anxiety when I was reporting. I went to this community meeting and tried to talk to people there, but I felt helpless and quiet and I left and cried to myself. I then conducted my interviews over the phone. 

I even had to take a break for a few months last semester, because I had a panic attack with the mere thought of approaching people I didn’t know. 

But I worked through it. Aided by Xanax and peer support, I interviewed a bunch of people at the Eva Schloss event and felt really good about it. I also saw my high school journalism advisor, because his wife works at CSU Hillel, and talking to someone who knew my struggle felt good. 

For a long time I’ve doubted if journalism, if news reporting, is something I’ll actually be able to do. It’s the only real thing that makes me feel like I have a purpose, the only thing that makes me not feel depressed about life, but I am still so worried I’ll hold myself back in some way. 

That hasn’t happened yet. 

(line break) 

It’s the summer before my junior year of high school, and I am about to go meet up with the other members of the new leadership team, Katie and Kathleen, at Starbucks. I’ve recently got my license and it feels really good to be driving myself around. 

I go to Target and buy a fancy looking notebook with the last $15 I have to my name, because I don’t have a job yet. I go to Starbucks and discover I like drinking tea. I talk with Katie and Kathleen and we brainstorm what we want the journalism class to look like next year. What we want to change, how we’re going to get students to know that we exist. 

It’s the summer before my senior year, and I bring this same notebook to a meeting at Dazbog that I have with our leadership team to get ready for the school year. I’m in charge. It’s weird, but in a good way. There are a lot more people there, and I fill pages upon pages of ideas, and agendas I want to start the first weeks with. 

So much had changed in a year. My parents got divorced, I started working a lot, I was looking more seriously into college. But so much was the same. The same people, the same work, the same purpose. It was good. 

It’s the second semester of my first year at CSU, my sophomore year of college. I’m at home, cleaning my room, procrastinating because I don’t want to write my final essay. I get a text from Laura, asking if I’ve heard back about the editorial board yet. I had shut my phone off because I was checking my email so obsessively. 

And there it is. I am going to be the 2020-2021 News Editor for The Rocky Mountain Collegian. I still don’t fully feel like I know what I’m doing, even though I have all this experience. News is happening, but it’s summer. Do I write about it? Do I ask other people to write about it? Can I express the authority and knowledge I know I have, to people who have more experience at the paper than I do? It’s still early. 

The day I get the news, I pull out an old, blue notebook that’s barely filled. It’s the perfect place to start brainstorming the things I want to change on the desk and the things I think are super important for Laura and me to talk about. 

I forgot that I had notes from my Editor-in-Chief days in there. 

Photo: The notebook!

It feels like I’ve completed a circle. Like all the highs and lows of my last few years have led me to here, right back to where I’m supposed to be. Where I’ve always known I would be. 

I know who I am; I know where I belong; I know my place and my purpose in this world. 

Ally Carter’s Gallagher Girls series brought me to writing, and writing brought me to journalism. In my obsession with those books, the unofficial motto of the CIA really resonated with me. “And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.” 

Community and truth, that’s journalism. 

I want to be a journalist.

I am a student journalist.

I am a journalist. 

[findmeinpops]

FindMeInPops’ 12 Days of Ficmas: Day One - Pen Pals

I’ve actually tried to post this twice already today but it keeps glitching? I don’t why but hopefully third time’s the charm 🤞🏻.

It’s that time of year again where I try to pump out a drabble or one-shot for each of the twelve days leading up to Christmas! I have a couple already written but some of them will be written by prompt and on request - I have a prompt list that I’ll reblog now, if you want to take a look - so bare with for any editing errors! Enjoy, my loves, and have a happy festive season :)

And a quick fyi for those who prefer AO3, my 2019 12 Days of Christmas collection is at this link and should be uploaded with an hour of this being posted.

Prompt: Two friends have exchanged letters since a childhood letter exchange program and one delivers their Christmas letter in person this year

Ship(s): Cheryl Blossom x Toni Topaz

Rating: T

CW(s): reference to child abuse (not detailed)

‘Dear Cheryl,

Merry Christmas, gorgeous! At least, I hope this will get to you before Christmas. Can you believe that we have now been speaking for seven years… It seems like yesterday that I sent the first letter. Eleven year old me had no idea that that one letter could lead to the best friendship that she would ever experience.

Right now I am actually sat at the table in my trailer, it’s not very warm, what with the snow beginning to fall, but I managed to get hold of an old oil heater from a garage sale which helps somewhat. If it gets too bad, Jughead and Betty have me to stay with them for a while but I feel bad with taking up their spare rooms when there are Serpents more in need of it than me. Once I’ve written this I’m heading to the Whyte Wyrm for the Christmas party, they often have a fire going so I can hide in the warmth there for a little while.

How’s the new house? At least it’s big so you don’t have to interact with your mom too much. As for a job, you could try a local corner store or bar, at least until you’ve got a little money under your belt.

I’ll be having a similar Christmas to you. Jughead and Betty have invited me over, I’ll probably just pop in for Christmas dinner and leave it at that. I don’t know what I’ll be doing otherwise but I will be thinking of you. I wish that I could get you out of that house, maybe I can come over to NV when I have saved more money from these jobs I’m taking on and help break you out. Maybe the bar’s open over Christmas, they should pay more for that, right? I won’t have anything to do so might as well put my time to good use.

I love you so much, Cheryl, hang in there, we’ll work something out together and, if not, the Serpents may be able to lend a hand, especially if you head back here with me.

Merry Christmas, my love,

TT x’

I held the letter tight in my hands, the paper crumpled from the number of times it had been folded and refolded it, the corners fiddled with, and pulled in and out of my bag.

I was doing the correct thing, right? I wasn’t insane or delusional...right? It was too late for that, I tried to remind myself - I was here now.

I readjusted the large holdall digging into my shoulder, as I tried to work up the nerve to knock on the door. I had raised her fist so many times but could not seem to actually do it.

The lights were on inside so, in theory, she should be home.

What if I had the wrong address? Oh God, what if she didn’t even want to see me?

Movement inside jolted me from my thoughts as heavy footsteps shook the small building, the lights switched off as keys jangled inside.

Half of me considered bolting but there was no time and nowhere to hide.

The front door swung open, almost hitting my nose and I stumbled back almost slipping in the frosty grass.

“Hello, can I help you?” A familiar sweet voice asked.

I recognised it from the one time I had snuck away from my mother when we had been in town and made it to a payphone. We had never managed it since but I still remembered that voice like it was yesterday.

“Are you alright?” She questioned further before pausing. “Hang on, let me turn the porch light on, I can’t see you.”

With the click of a switch, a blinding light turned on above me before Toni appeared in the doorway. Goodness, she looked better than the picture she had sent me last month.

She no longer had the pink stripes, but her black hair still fell in soft curls down to her waist, delicately framing her face. She was dressed to go out for the evening, it was Christmas Eve after all. Smokey makeup and pretty pink lipstick, a tight black dress hugging her figure, paired with fishnets and heeled boots, she looked drop-dead gorgeous.

“Wow,” was all Cheryl could get out in disbelief that her TT was actually in front of her.

All the fighting and struggle seemed worth it for just this moment: to be free from my she-witch mother and to be in the presence of my love. Yes, I loved her and it was only confirmed by finally being able to properly see her and hear her voice - all I wanted to was gather her in my arms and hold her.

Without TT, I did not know how I would have gotten through the last six years.

“Cheryl?” Toni’s jaw had dropped open, her body frozen in shock as she tried to process what she was seeing. “Cheryl? Seriously, is that you?”

She suddenly moved, flying down the steps and jumping down so we stood in front of one another; she grabbed my arms, holding me at a length in front of her, thoroughly inspecting every aspect of me, no doubt seeing the doozy of a bruise which decorated my cheek, curtesy of mother dearest.

“Yes, it’s me TT.” My voice barely a murmer but it brought her gaze back to my face, her eyes flitting between each of my eyes, her mind probably running a million miles as hour.

“Oh baby.” She whispered, tears beginning to slip from her eyes as she ran a thumb over my unmarred cheekbone before throwing her weight at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face against my chest. Despite the throb it brought about in my injured leg, I happily took the burden. TT was here, she was in my arms.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” She kept whimpering against my shirt, it broke my heart.

Dropping the hold-all onto the frozen floor, I reciprocated her embrace, one hand finding its place in the small of her back and the other on the back of her neck.

“It’s alright, I’m here.”

I wasn’t alright an hour ago, but now I was. I was still just as beat up and everything at ‘home’ was still as it was but I was here with TT in my arms.

“You’re here.” Toni whispered pulling back, wiping tears from her cheeks before noticing the smudged eye make-up on my top and deciding to give up her futile efforts.

“You’re here...how are you here?”

“It’s a long story.” I answered. “One for inside in the warmth but, long story short, I’m eighteen and stole some money from a visiting rich uncle, taking the first flight to New York.”

I crouched down and picked the bag back up before swinging it back over my shoulder, wincing slighly as it met yet another developing bruise.

“Alright,” Toni offered her hand, which I gladly took,, “let’s go inside and get you into some clean and comfy clothes. We’ll drink hot cocoa and you can tell me what you need to but I’d also rather like to take you to the doctor,” at the rapid shaking of my head she backtracked, “or at least Mr Jones, he won’t ask too many questions and will be able to sort him out but you can trust FP, he might even left you join the Serpents.” She squeezed my hand before leading me back into her trailer.

Not all was right in the world but I was with my TT and that was all that mattered.

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 57

Valentine woke me before dawn. “Bad news, Holmes.”

I sat up and saw the Minuteman standing behind him. She saluted briefly, “Sorry to wake you, sir, but it’s urgent.”

I thought I recognized her, “Proceed… Nash, wasn’t it?”

“Yessir,” she smiled at my recollection before somberly stating, “there’s been trouble in Sanctuary.”

She had my undivided attention, “Explain.”

“A squad of Brotherhood camped out in Concord without us knowing. They sent a soldier into Sanctuary for recon, but he was discovered by one of those robots Sturges has been working on. Fight broke out, Minutemen joined the fray, no Brotherhood survivors. Colonel Garvey thinks they didn’t have a chance to send a distress signal. According to the orders present on one of them, they were to wait for Maxson’s signal to attack.”

“He has his people in position,” I sighed, irritated. “We’re out of time."

"The hell we are," Valentine huffed. "There's still a maniac out there setting psychotic robots loose on the Commonwealth, and the Minutemen aren't gonna just stand by and let the Brotherhood walk all over them. We finish the job we started, and take what comes."

"You're right," I jumped up and started getting ready to leave, an urgent energy I hadn't felt in too long surging through me. "Find Ada and wake Cait, we'll breakfast on the road. We haven't a moment to lose."

We hurried north, reaching Goodneighbor a few hours after sundown. Cait requested we stop for a moment so that she could speak with Hancock. I agreed; I also wanted to speak with Goodneighbor's mayor, especially considering the war's imminent arrival.

We found him in his office, as expected. Unexpectedly, he was in the middle of a heated discussion with a visitor.

"Bad enough Diamond City isn’t doing anything, why don't—“

“What am I supposed to do, Piper, huh? Brotherhood come for us, let ’em, we’re ready to defend our walls, but if I lead a crew against a skyscraper full of soldiers, how do you think that’s gonna end?”

“We could use Zhao’s missiles or—“

“I ain’t convinced that submarine’s really going to be able to strike all the way out here, assuming it’s even still there. Ain’t willing to risk my people’s blood on it, that’s for sure.”

Piper groaned, frustrated, “Fine, sit here if you want, but I have to do something, there has to be some way I can help. Blue’s in Jamaica Plain last I heard, maybe I can find him.” She turned and saw us coming up the stairs. To my surprise, her gaze went straight to one of my companions rather than me. “Cait!”

Hancock rushed to the doorway to see for himself. "Well," he grinned, "Welcome back."

Cait was suddenly withdrawn, another stunning development, "Hey."

“You ok?” Piper asked.

“Fine,” Cait shrugged, “Never better, actually. Uh. Thanks, for worryin’.” She huffed and regained her usual confidence, “We can talk an' all later, but Holmes has business with ya, Hancock.”

“Why do I get the feeling this business ain’t the fun kind,” Hancock said with a swagger, “despite what the outfit suggests?”

“Maxson will give the order to attack soon," I said, "possibly in a few days, possibly in a few minutes.”

“C’mon, you ain’t gonna be in character this time? I’m disappointed, Shroud.”

I ignored him. “Did I overhear mention of a submarine?”

“There’s a Chinese sub in the bay,” Piper explained. “It’s been stuck there since the War. The Captain turned ghoul, been living there ever since.”

“We helped get him seaworthy, and for payment we get a single shot of his missiles,” Hancock said.

“You sure you two ain’t been sharin’ a bad batch of somethin’?” Cait asked.

“You know Piper won’t touch chems,” Hancock scoffed.

"I have an idea for how those missiles would be extremely useful," I said.

"Ask me like the Shroud," Hancock broadly smiled, "and we'll see what we can do."

We continued our trip north, this time in the company of Piper. Hancock didn't want to leave his town on the eve of war, and I didn't attempt to convince him otherwise. Cait and Piper continued on toward the airport while Valentine, Ada, and I went to the RobCo Sales & Service Center, where Ada reported the Mechanist’s lair was hidden.

"A robot-building villain hiding out in a run down robot shop?" Valentine commented as we stepped inside and saw a showroom for RobCo-brand terminals, most of which were long destroyed.

"I doubt this was ever simply a shop," I said.

"You mean because the Mechanist had to get the robobrains from somewhere, and they sure weren't selling those to the public?" Valentine asked as he went behind the service desk.

"We should look in the garage and see if there's any indication of a hidden entrance."

"Laser tripwire behind the 'employees only' door seems a good place to start."

I hurried over, Ada following. After disabling the tripwire, we passed through the corridor to a basement area with a blastproof door, a strange device to the side of it.

“Allow me, sirs,” Ada approached the door and activated the M-SAT device Sturges had installed from Jezebel’s plans.

The door opened, and we entered the underground facility.

What we found was the remains of a nightmare. Criminals housed in cells were later operated upon to remove their brains, which were then wiped of memories and run through a series of tests before being mounted to any number of devices. Many brains were still preserved, thus providing the Mechanist with necessary material without needing new subjects. According to the terminals, not all of the memory wipes were successful. Minds that woke, panicked in the dark, were destroyed. One transcript showed a psychopath unconcerned with his new lack of body and firm conviction that every scientist in the facility would be killed was seen as a prime candidate for a tactical team. Even before the War, there were indications of the robobrains misinterpreting orders, the flexibility of the human mind rewiring itself to fit what it thinks is the more efficient option. This place was the perfect example of the military and their scientists being so focused on whether or not they could accomplish their goal, they never stopped to wonder if they should. Then at some point this Mechanist found the facility, and picked up where they left off.

I don’t want to dwell on what we saw down there. I noticed a decontamination corridor as we entered, leading to an elevator with an access terminal requiring voice authorization. Imagining we had no choice, we fought our way past a variety of robots guarding the facility until I was fortunate enough to find holotapes recorded by the supervisor of each department. I hoped that these would be enough to trigger the vocal recognition and unlock the elevator. I was correct.

The elevator took us to a control room with computer banks all along the walls, each terminal manned by a small robobrain that rapidly typed orders to run the facility. The room was filled with the noise of terminal keys clacking, and there in the middle stood a figure in the costume of a comic book character - The Mechanist.

“Well, hell, Shroud, you were right,” Valentine muttered.

“Impossible!” The Mechanist declared as we were spotted, “I control all points of access to this room!”

“You underestimated me,” I said. “The Silver Shroud is no common criminal.”

The Mechanist was confused, “The Silver Shroud?” Confusion turned to disdain, and furthered my suspicion of the Mechanist’s mental instability, “I cannot believe someone so respected, so honorable, would come here and destroy my robots. Your reign of terror ends here, Shroud!”

I had to think quickly, “The Shroud, as always, walks the path of justice. It is you who has fallen, Mechanist.”

“Lies, Shroud! Lies! The Commonwealth has suffered more than its fair share of injustices because of you.”

“The Silver Shroud is no villain. The only guilty here are you and your relentless automatons.”

“My bots would never violate their protocol!”

Valentine had had enough. “Those bots are killing innocent people!”

“My friends were simple traders,” Ada said. “All dead at the hands of your robots.”

The Mechanist was shaken, “No. The robots are programmed to protect. Their subroutines are clean: observe, evaluate, and react accordingly.”

“They're misinterpreting orders,” I tried to explain. “Your own robobrain said as much. They're saving people by killing them.”

“Saving by... killing? I don't believe you. They can't alter their programming. They're programmed to save people, not kill them. And the data! They were always reporting hostiles killed and lives... saved.” The Mechanist paused in a moment of horrible realization. “No, it's... the logic... it's there... I can see it now. I was hoping it was the robobrains, an issue with their memory wipes... but you're right. Their primary directive was flawed.”

“Memory wipes?” Valentine asked.

The Mechanist nodded, “Yes. The human brain has a way of… rewiring itself. If not properly maintained, it can… corrupt.”

"Corrupt?! That's the understatement of the year.”

I tried to keep the Mechanist focused on the truth, “A serious flaw, and a dangerous one at that.”

“It is,” the Mechanist agreed, “but the process is thorough. They're wiped after each mission. They're... I found it's best to not let them recall what they've been through.”

Ada spoke, “The introduction of a human brain creates too many unknown variables. You can’t claim to know them all.”

“There's probably a reason these robots weren't in mass production,” Valentine muttered.

We had gotten through, but the Mechanist was still in denial. “I… I need to think. I took every precaution…”

“You know we are telling you the truth,” I said. “Your robots are dangerous. They had to be stopped.”

The Mechanist shook his head in disgrace, “... the hero unknowingly became the villain. I wanted to help the Commonwealth… and robots are all I know. I found this place and figured I could do my part. I accept full responsibility. I can’t take back what I’ve done or even atone for it… but this doesn’t have to end in violence.”

I was relieved to hear it. I gave the Shroud one final moment; “Though your action initially appeared felonious, your intent was not. Seek redemption, Mechanist. You have much to atone for.”

With a sigh of relief, the Mechanist declared, “Done. Consider it done. And you won't regret this, I promise. None of the Commonwealth will.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, and removed the hat. “Permit me to introduce myself properly. I am Sherlock Holmes, of Valentine’s Detective Agency, and General of the Minutemen. This is my partner Nick Valentine, and our friend Ada.”

The Mechanist, with great trepidation, carefully removed the mask to reveal a young woman. “I’m Isabel. Isabel Cruz.”

“Can I ask why the Mechanist get-up?” Valentine gently asked.

She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m… not good with people. The Mechanist gave me a way to put myself out there without really being out there at all. I grew up on a settlement, I’ve seen how good people struggle against raiders and super mutants. I never wanted to be counted among them. But all my technical knowledge, all of these resources, and I still failed. I only ever wanted to make the Commonwealth a safer place.” She held out a holotape, “Here. Take this. It's the password to the mainframe. Use the password to shut down the security. After that, the base is yours.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Cruz, I think you should stay,” I said.

“What?”

“You want to help the Commonwealth? Work for me as a resource for the Minutemen, and you will have a chance to do just that.”

She was stunned. “The Minutemen? You… you want me to build robots for your army?”

“Units to support troops will be extremely helpful, but primarily I thought you could put your efforts to good use creating defenders for settlements.”

“There are still many rogue robots roaming the Commonwealth,” Ada pointed out. “The Minutemen will need all the help they can get, especially once this war is over.”

Ms. Cruz nervously nodded. “I’ll… I’ll try my best. Maybe I can fix some of the damage I’ve done.”

The facility's security was disabled, and Ms. Cruz gave us a proper tour of her assembly line and her capabilities. She is a nervous young woman, now guilt-ridden, but with determination and drive. I promised she would hear from my Chief Engineer soon.

Ada asked to speak with me. "While not wholly unexpected, that outcome was not the one I believed to have the highest probability."

No, it certainly wasn't. "Are you disappointed I let her live?"

She sounded concerned, "I do have conflicting outlooks, but I trust your judgment. The guilt of her actions is a punishment in itself."

"You don't quite believe that," I observed.

"I do trust your judgement, but yes, I also have doubts concerning Isabel's… potential. She could use a companion she didn't build herself."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Yes, sir. The mission was a success; the Commonwealth doesn't have to fear the Mechanist any longer. I would like to stay and make sure it never does again. She will also need help working for the Minutemen, and I will assist however I can."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Ada. For now, I wonder if we might be able to convince the newly reformed Mechanist to provide a few scrapbots for our use?"

[cwnerd12]

“Meteor Showers” David and Jack sleep curled up in bed. Morning light shines over them, and outside their window, Shiloh wakes up. David opens his eyes and looks out over the scene. He takes it in for a moment, and then turns to Jack. He kisses him gently on the forehead. Jack opens his eyes and looks up at David. David grins at him, “Good morning.” Jack grins back, and kisses David on the lips. They enjoy a long, slow kiss, and David moves to get on top of Jack. There’s a knock at the door, and David rolls off. Thomasina’s voice, “Sir, you have a meeting in ten minutes!” David rubs his face, “Okay, thank you!” He looks back over at Jack, “Sorry. I have to go do king shit.”

David pulls a sweater over a button-down shirt and a clean pair of blue jeans. He adjusts his collar as Jack looks on. David, “Not the most kingly outfit in the world, but it’ll have to do until I get some fancier clothes.” Jack, “Sexy!” He smack’s David’s ass. David laughs and looks at Jack for a moment. He goes over and kneels down so he can be eye to eye with Jack, “I really wish I could do to therapy with you today like we planned.” Jack, “Okay.” David, “Listen, if you need me, don’t hesitate at all. I’ll come to you, no matter what else is going on.” Jack, “Don’t worry.” David kisses Jack’s forehead, “I love you.”

Thomasina waits outside the door. The door opens and David steps out. Thomasina, “Good morning, your majesty.” David, “Oh, Jesus, don’t call me that.” Thomasina, “It’s your title. You should get used to it.” David, “Sorry.” Thomasina, “Don’t apologize, either.” David, “S- I…” he sighs in defeat, “Okay.” Thomasina, “Ms. Hatch, Rabbi Levinson, General Mendoza, and Ms. Broadnax are in the council chamber, waiting for you, as you requested.” David, “Thanks.” Thomasina, “Is there anything else you need?” David, “Uh, I’m good, I-” he thinks for a moment, “Well, I… There’s one thing.” Thomasina, “Yes?” David, “I have to be able to take care of Jack. I mean, he’s going really well with his recovery, but… he needs me, sometimes. I need to be able to go to him. No questions asked, just drop everything and go to him.” Thomasina, “That can be tricky, but it can be done. King Silas would do the same when Princess Michelle was sick.” David, “Good! That’s great! I’m really glad!” He smiles brightly at Thomasina, and she gives him a small smile back. David, “I really appreciate this. I mean, scheduling a coup can’t be easy, but you’re doing it.” Thomasina, “I’m serving my country, sir.”

David goes into the council chamber, wearing a sweater and blue jeans. The gallery is empty, except for Rose. Abby, Asher, Shay and Monique sit around the center table, all dressed rather casually. David, “Good morning. Uh, I know I should probably be dressed a little bit nicer, but uh, the only nice suit I have right now is my uniform, and it’s starting to smell kinda funky.” Monique, “First of all, that’s what dry cleaners are for, and secondly, I already have a team of tailors set to work.” David, “Oh, sweet. So, what’s on the agenda?” Asher, “We need to fill the rest of the ministry positions.” David, “What else is there to fill?” Asher, “Minister of defense, Minister of health, Minister of infrastructure, Minister of education, Minister of Treasury, Minister of communications, minister of agriculture, minister of land, minister of energy, and…” he pauses, “There’s the whole issue with Joel.” David, “Okay, well, I guess I don’t need to fix what isn’t broken, so set up meetings with the old ministers from under Silas, if I think they’ll do good, they can keep their position.” Abby speaks up, “There’s also this.” She raises a remote and turns on a TV. The old Minister of State, Claude Sorenson, talks on a news channel, “NEPOTISM! I’ve diligently served Gilboa for nearly twenty years, I have negotiated countless deals and treaties for King Silas and King Linus, and now, suddenly, I’ve been replaced by a little girl with almost no experience!” David, “What? That’s bullshit, I wouldn’t have appointed any of you if I didn’t know that you’re good at what you do. And, I don’t know this guy, I have no relationship with him, he doesn’t know how I work or what I want, but Abby does!” Monique, “The minister of communication would be the one to say all this.” David, “Do you want to be the minister of communication?” Monique, “I can’t run two ministries at once, and I’d rather be in arts and culture.” David sighs heavily, “Okay, well, I guess that’s the first position I’ll try to fill.” David looks back up at Sorenson on the TV, and sighs, “Can I also say that with Gilboa being almost constantly at war for over twenty years, Sorenson was doing a pretty shitty job?” Rose speaks up, “You don’t want to use those exact words, but you can say as much, easily.” David looks up at her, eyebrows raised in surprised. Rose goes on, “And you’re right to choose Abby over Claude. He’s a moron.” David, “Thanks.” He turns back to everyone else, “Okay, what’s next?” Shay speaks up, “How the fuck are we gonna integrate the AFG into the army?” David, “Ooooh, yeah, that’s gonna be tough. I guess we should put our AFG veterans as priority number one, until everything’s integrated, at least. I want AFG vets given preference in leadership positions.” Shay, “We’re gonna get a lot of bitching from old army soldiers if we do that.” David, “Well, they shoulda thought about that when they stayed on Silas’s side!” Rose, “Do not say that.” David sighs, “Well, am I wrong for not wanting the army to lead a coup?! My AFG soldiers have stuck with me through some shit, I want to reward them for that.” Asher, “Rewarding loyalty is a quick way to ensure that everyone just gives you what they think you want rather than what you need.” David, “This is different, and you know it is. You know what the AFG’s been through, what we’ve sacrificed. And…” he sighs, “It won’t be straight-up favoritism. If the old army officers can prove that they deserve their positions more than my AFG officers, they can keep them. But I’m not bad for not wanting a coup, okay?” Shay, “Okay, that’s fair. It’s still gonna be a bitch of a job, but I’ll see what I can do. Is there anything else you want me to cover?” Asher, “I think just focus on filling in those minister positions.” David, slightly hesitant, “Actually… I do kind of have an idea about who to appoint as minister of defense until Jack can take it over.” Asher, “Who?” David, “Caesar Reinhardt.” Asher, “…Are you serious? David, “I know it seems crazy but… I did kind of get to know him when we were roomies, okay? He’s actually smart, and he knows what he’s doing.” Shay, sarcastically, “Yeah, what were you saying about not wanting a coup? No way Reinhardt doesn’t try to kill you two weeks after you appoint him.” David, “It’s temporary! Like I said, it’s only until Jack is recovered enough to take the job over!” Asher, “When is recovered enough?” David, “I don’t know, Dr. Hussein said that we should have an idea of what his abilities will end up being at about a year after the injury, so another six months?” Abby, “David, recovery can take years. Dr. Hussein also said that his recovery can stop at any time. We don’t know how much he’s going to recover.” David, “Well, as long as he’s still making progress, I intend to give him that position, okay? You all know that he’d be good at it! In the meantime, Reinhardt, at least, I know respects me, and will be respected by the old army men, and can maybe even help us end both of these wars without a complete surrender.” Asher, Abby, and Shay exchange looks. Asher, “You’re the king, man.” David, “I’ll talk to him, at least, okay? Is there anything else to discuss right now?” Asher, “What are you going to do about Joel?” David, quietly, “I don’t know. I’ve still got to think about it.” He looks up at Thomasina, “Schedule appointments with Reinhardt and all the old ministers, I’d like to talk to them today and tomorrow, if that’s doable.” Thomasina, “Right away, sir.” Abby, “Shaw wants to talk to you today.” David, “What?” Abby, “Shaw wants to talk to you. If you’re serious about the whole peace with Gath thing, you need to talk to him.” David, trying to push his anger away, “Alright, alright. I’ll talk to him. What about Warner? Does he want to talk?” Abby, “I think he’d rather just keep fighting. We’ll probably have to be the ones who insist on talking.” David, “Okay.” Thomasina, “You have some coronation gifts you might want to take a look at, and there’s someone you should meet today.” David, “Who?” Thomasina, “You’ll know who they are when you meet them.”

In the palace garage sits a shiny, bright red vintage convertible. David enters with Asher and Thomasina. Immediately his eyes widen in delight, “YES!” He runs up to the car, “Oh, this is nice!” Thomasina, “It’s a coronation gift from Dwight Garner.” David hugs the hood, “I like being king!” Asher sighs disapprovingly, “David, this is a bribe.” David shoots up, “No! This is too nice to be a bribe!” Asher, “You have to give it back.” David, “NO!” Asher, “If you keep it, it’ll look like you’re for sale.” David, “I’m not for sale! I just like getting nice cars!” Asher, “So when Dwight Garner asks you for a political favor, are you going to say no?” David, “Of course!” Asher, “Are you sure?” David, “I’m sure!” Asher, not convinced, “Give it back.” David, “I deserve a nice car! I’ve earned it!” Asher, “Give it back.” David, “Oh, come on! Please?!” Asher, “Give it back.”

Thomasina leads David down into the dungeons. David looks around and shudders, “Ugh, I remember this place.” Thomasina, “There’s someone in here for you to meet.” She unlocks the door to Vesper’s cell. David goes in, and stops when he sees Vesper, “Oh, shit.” Vesper, “Hello, your majesty. Do I need to introduce myself?” David points at him, dumbstruck, “You’re the guy I was talking to when I was in here.” Vesper smiles, “I seem to remember a certain young man bravely facing his death. I knew that if I ever spoke to him again, he would be king.” Bewildered, David sits down, “I knew I’d have to deal with some weird shit being king, but I honestly had no idea how weird.” Vesper, “I promise you, it only gets weirder from here.” David sits and stares at him. Vesper, “Do you play chess at all?” He moves the board towards David. David, “I know how to play but I’m not that good.” Vesper, “You out-witted both Silas and Linus, I’d venture to say you’re good.” David, “Silas killed himself so Shaw wouldn’t kill him, and Joel Bronikov was the one who got Abner. I didn’t do any of that.” Vesper, “Don’t fool yourself, David, none of that would have happened if it weren’t for you.” David, chagrined, “A lot of awful shit wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me.” Vesper, “I’ve had fifteen years to sit in a cell and ruminate over my bitterness and regret. I have a lot more things to regret than you, so believe me when I tell you, dwelling on a past you can’t change won’t do you any good.” David, “I’ve inherited Silas’s war with Ammon, and it’s not going well.” Vesper, “The night I arrived here, I warned Silas that Warner won’t rest until Carmel is his. Kings are inherently greedy bastards. Warner’s self-righteousness only makes him worse.” David, “Yeah, no shit.” Vesper, “The things you learned about me in school were true: I was an absolutely terrible king. I believed I was doing God’s work, but I ended up doing things I can only describe as unholy. I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you what not to do. Silas seemed to take heed of the advice I gave him, but, you saw what happened to him.” David, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. At this point, even bad advice is better than nothing.” Vesper, “Well, then, you know where I’ll be.” David, “I’m gonna send my minister of state in to talk to you. I think she’ll have a better idea of what to do with you.”

David walks down a hallway, mulling over what just happened. He reaches a door, opens it, and goes into the waiting area outside of the king’s office- now his office. Liam and Adam are waiting for him. They both stand up. Liam, “Your majesty!” David smiles sheepishly at him, “Yeah, that’s what people are calling me these days.” Liam, “Come on, man, we’ve kind of earned the right to say it.” David, “Yeah, okay, you have. Let’s talk in… well, fuck, now I guess it’s my office.” He opens the door and leads them in. Nothing has been touched since Abner last stepped foot in it. David goes over to the desk and sees the papers still stacked there, “Ah, fuck, someone’s gonna have to sort this shit up.” Adam looks up at the skull on the book shelf, “Is that thing real?” David looks up, “Uh, yeah, actually, it is. It’s not just real it’s Nicholas Achison.” Liam, “Are you fucking kidding me?” David, “Silas was a sick fuck, what can I say?” Liam, “Wonder what he did with Vesper Abbadon.” David, “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Anyway, sit.” He sits down at the desk. Liam and Adam sit across from him. David wiggles the seat a little bit, “Shit, this is still really weird. I spent plenty of time in you guys’s spot, and when I was there, I honestly never once thought that I’d be sitting on the other side.” Adam, softly, “What are we here for?” David gets a little bit more serious, “Look, I’ve got a lot of positions that I’ve gotta fill, and I honestly have no idea who’s gonna fill most of them. However, when I started thinking about who should be working where, right away, I knew who my first appointments would be. Adam, I want you working as my spokesman for the army. My old job.” Adam, nervously, “Seriously?” David, “Yeah. Liam, You’re gonna be doing something similar, except instead of speaking for the whole army, you’re gonna be speaking for the AFG.” Liam, “Yeah, I can do that!” Adam, “Wait, what- what is this job, and why do you want us to do it?” David, “Like I said, it’s my old job. You go in front of a TV camera, you represent the army, tell people what’s going on.” Adam, “Like, on TV?” David, “Yeah. You don’t have to do it, but… it’s a good fucking job. I mean it. I’m not just putting you guys there so you can be there indefinitely, it opens you up to connections and possibilities you didn’t even know were out there. I mean, fuck, look what it did for me.” Liam, “I’m in!” David, “Awesome!” Liam, “I just got one question, why does Adam get the bigger job?” David, “Well, if I have to be brutally honest, Adam has a few more hero points. He did blow up a tank, right? That seems to be the biggest qualifier for this job.” Liam laughs, “Yeah, okay, man, sounds good.” David glances at Adam, “What do you think?” Adam, “It’s… a lot.” David, “You don’t have to decide right away. I can give you a week or two to think it over.” Adam, “No, no, I appreciate this. I really do. This is a huge favor for me, and It’d be really stupid of me to turn it down.” David, “Hey, I just thought you’d be a good fit because the hero shit made you pretty popular. If you don’t want to do it, I can easily find you another really good job you’re better suited to.” Adam, “No, I- I’m willing to do this. I can do it, I just…” David, “What?” Adam, “I’m not gonna have to lie to people, am I?” David, confused, “What? No. All along, I’ve said that I won’t lie like Silas did. You’ll probably have to report some difficult stuff, but, it’ll be the truth.” Adam nods apprehensively, “Okay.” David, “But, hey if you want something else, it’s no problem.” Adam, “I’ll do it. I’m glad to serve my king.” David grins ear to ear, “You have no idea how happy that makes me. Really. I wanted something good for you guys, and this is it. This is gonna take you to amazing places. Just don’t end up trying to overthrow me, okay?” He stands up. Liam and Adam both stand. Liam, “It’s an honor!”

David leads Liam and Adam out of his office. Reinhardt sits in the waiting room. Adam sees him and halts, his smile faltering. Liam spots him, too, and says to David, “What the fuck is he doing here?” Reinhardt, “Nothing like a warm welcome.” David, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just exploring some possibilities, okay?” Liam, “Seriously, man?” David, “You guys don’t have to worry about it, okay? I’ll see you later.” Liam and Adam exchange glances, shrug, and the leave, saying, “See you.” Once the door closes, Reinhardt says, “So is this a job interview, or am I on trial?” David, “We’ll talk about it in my office."

Int he office, Reinhardt sits down across from David, “You’re gonna re-decorate, right?” He glances over at a framed photos on the desk: one of Emma and one of young Silas and Abner as buddies in the army. David grabs the photos and stuffs them into a drawer, “Yeah, but, I’ve kind of got a few more pressing issues to deal with.” Reinhardt, “You keep saying that, you’ll never get around to changing anything.” David, “You’re aware that I have a lot of people saying you should be hanged, right?” Reinhardt, “Yes.” David, “I don’t entirely disagree with them. It’d be kind of fucked up if you get away without consequence.” Reinhardt, “Is that’s why I’m here? You wanted to give me a death sentence in person?” David, “I’m not handing down death sentences. All citizens of Gilboa are going to be guaranteed the right to a fair trial.” Reinhardt, “So am I charged with anything, then?” David, “I’m gonna give you a chance to redeem yourself.” Reinhardt, “Oh?” David, “I want you to be my minister of defense, at least until Jack’s recovered enough that he can take it over. If you go a good job and help me get out of Silas’s wars… I’ll let your past slide.” Reinhardt, “Seriously?” David, “This government’s killed enough people. I don’t want to keep spreading misery.” Reinhardt, “Well, you’re king, and your word is law.” David, “So, will you take the position?” Reinhardt, “Can’t really turn it down, can I?” David, “I guess you can’t.” David’s phone buzzes. He takes it out of his pocket, sees the call is from Abby. David, “I should probably take this.” Reinhardt, “Go ahead.” David answers, “Yes?” Abby, outside of Vesper’s cell, “VESPER FUCKING Abbadon?!” David, “Okay, first of all, this is Silas’s fault, and secondly, can we use him as leverage?” Abby, “You could have at least fucking warned me before you sent me to talk to a genocidal psychopath!” David, “I’ve talked to him a few times, and he’s actually kind of chill?” Abby, “What part of genocidal psychopath did you not understand?!” David, “It’s your job to figure out what to do with him.” Abby, “No, fuck you, you are not passing this off on to me! You’re the one taking on Silas’s problems, and this is a massive fucking problem!” David, “I’m giving it to you because you’re the one who’s going to know what to do. If we want to get out of war with Ammon without handing over all of Carmel, we should consider using him as a bargaining chip.” Abby sighs and rubs her face, “Oh, fuck.” David, “You didn’t actually think this whole minister of state would be easy, did you?” Abby, “No, but it would have been nice to at least have gotten a fucking warning before you sprang this shit on me.” David, “I didn’t get a warning, either.” Abby, “All right, I’ll talk to him, try to figure something out. Are there any other weird Silas secrets that I need to know?” David, “Probably, but I don’t know what they are, either. I’ll talk to you later.” He ends the conversation. Reinhardt, “Oooh, you just found out about Abbadon, didn’t you?!” David, “What?” Reinhardt, “Right after I rescued all those soldiers, Silas invited me up to the residence for some drinks, and he ended up telling me a bunch of shit that he probably shouldn’t have. That was when I knew that he liked me.” David, “He invited me up for drinks once, but he just ended up yelling at me about art, and then made me play the piano.” Reinhardt, “Ha, see, he didn’t like you.” David, “He brought me out to meet Seth. Did he do that with you?” Reinhardt, “Seth was still an infant when I was going through my hero phase, I don’t think he’d let anyone meet him at that point.” David, “Yeah, sure, you keep telling yourself that.” Reinhardt rolls his eyes, “Is there anything you want me to get started on as your minister of defense?” David, “I’m meeting with Shaw in a little while. Might be a good thing if you were there.” Reinhardt, “All right.”

David stands out on the back balcony of the palace, looking out over the landscaping, deep in thought. Abby approaches. He looks over at her, “Hi.” Abby leans against the wall, “I’m officially terrified of what else Silas might have been hiding.” David, “I told Thomasina to take Auclaire’s skull out of my office. I couldn’t do any work with it staring at me.” Abby, “I’m sure Shaw would love to have it back. We just can’t act like we’re desperate to get rid of it.” David, “Good idea.” He leans his head back and sighs, “I’ve been dreading this meeting.” Abby, “You already faced Shaw at Council. This we can at least do over video conference.” David, “I know, but it doesn’t get any easier. I listen to Jack speaking, and I know he wants to tell me things, but he can’t. He gets so frustrated, and when I see it, all I want to do is make Shaw pay.” Abby, “Well, considering Gath is currently kicking Gilboa’s ass, he kind of has the upper hand.” David, “He’s gonna rub it in our faces, too. He’s nothing if not petty as fuck. Which is kind of why I want Reinhardt for minister of defense. Shaw hasn’t hurt him, he can’t pick at him like he can with me.” Abby, “You’re king, David. You can do whatever you want.” David, “I want to take Jack and get the fuck out of this place, that’s what I want to do.”

David, Abby, Shay, and Reinhardt sit in the council chamber, video conferencing with Shaw. They’re all exhausted, and the sun is going down outside. David, with his fingers pressed against his forehead, “CrossGen is not going to resume manufacturing in Gath!” Shaw, “And why not?” David, “Because you fucking shot the person who owns it!” Shaw, “You say you want a peace agreement, and these are my terms.” Reinhardt, “If you think that just because we want peace, we aren’t willing to fight, you are very mistaken, Your Excellency. I’ve been on the wrong end of the Army of Free Gilboa before, and believe me, you don’t want to be there.” Quietly, without being noticed, Rose enters. Shaw, “If you wish to keep fighting, that’s your decision.” Abby, “I know you’re willing to make compromises, otherwise you wouldn’t be speaking to us. I’ve made deals with you before, and I can do it again. I know being able to put Premier Auclaire properly to rest means an awful lot to you and your family, and we very much want to give that to you, but we need something in return.” Shaw, “I’ve waited twenty years. I can wait longer.” David leans back, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop being such a dick!” Rose hurries up behind David, “Good evening, Gerald. I know how much you love dragging these meeting out, but it’s getting late, and I have dinner waiting. I’m afraid we’ll have to pick this conversation up again later.” Shaw, “Coming to the rescue, Rose?” Rose, “Consider yourself lucky that David believes in peace more than he wants revenge, because he’s not the only person in Gilboa who’d love to see your palace in flames. David doesn’t owe you a single fucking thing, and to act like you’re the one holding all the cards is simply absurd. We’re going to go to dinner now. Good night, Gerald.” She turns the TV off. She looks down at Shay, Reinhardt, and Abby, “You all go home. Abby, I know Michelle is waiting for you.” They all look at David. David, “She’s right, go home. Get some rest.” Shay, “All right. See you tomorrow, David.” Reinhardt, “When are you going to make an announcement about my position?” David, “I dunno, whenever I can. I still need a minister of communications.” Reinhardt, “I’ll be back tomorrow, then.” He leaves. David turns to Abby. Abby, “The fact that nobody’s crying is a good thing. We actually did okay today.” David, “Yeah, I hope.” Abby gives him a big hug, “You really are doing good.” David, “Thanks, Abby.” She steps back, “Go enjoy your dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow.” David, “Okay, see you.”

Rose and David stand in an elevator together. Rose, “You have to shut Gerald off, or else he’ll drag things on forever.” David, “Yeah, I’m starting to realize that.” Rose, “He’s difficult to contend with, but not impossible. Right now, he’s looking for your weaknesses.” David, “He knows my weaknesses. He saw what happened at Council.” Rose, “All the more reason to know when to cut him off.” David, “Do I get to call him Gerald?” Rose, “You can, but Silas did it because he wanted to insult him." The elevator dings open, and they go into the residence. The furniture that was once in their apartment has been moved in, but lots of things are still packed in stacked boxes. Jack sits in the kitchen with a large pizza on the table. He smiles up at David, “Hey, babe.” David, “Oh my god, pizza sounds so good right now.” He kisses Jack on the cheek and then reaches for a slice. David and Jack chow down on pizza while Rose eats a salad. David, “How was speech today?” Jack, “Good.” Rose, “Jack’s making good progress. His therapist says there’s reason to be optimistic.” David, “Finally, some good news.” Jack gestures around to the space behind him, “Stuff came.” Rose, “Everything’s been shipped over from the apartment.” David, “I spent two months building us the perfect apartment and you only got to spend one night in it.” Jack struggles to say what he’s thinking, “Stuff… here.” David, “Yeah, we’ve still got the stuff, but the apartment had a nice open concept and great acoustics.” Rose, “You’re the king. You can knock down a few walls.” David, “Most importantly, I had everything custom-designed to be assessable for Jack. This place has an upstairs and a downstairs, and he can’t handle stairs yet.” Jack, “I will.” David, “Yeah, I know, but I still want to at least get an elevator installed.” Jack, annoyed, “Don’t need.” David, “Yes, you do, even when you can walk again, you still get dizzy spells, remember?” In frustration, Jack tries to change the subject, “You?” David, “What?” Jack, “Your day.” David, “Oh,” he sighs heavily, “It’s been a long one.” Rose, “It’s not going to get easier.” David, “I know. Leading the AFG never got any easier, I don’t expect leading Gilboa to be any different.” Rose, “I know you think the last six months were the worst months of your life. I’ll tell you right now, you’re wrong. The next six months will be. That’s how it was for Silas.” David, “Can I at least enjoy my pizza before you get into how miserable I’m gonna be?” Rose, “You need to hear it.” David, “I know, I know.” Rose, “You need to look out for yourself. You need to know when to say no. You need to know when to lean on those who love you.” David, “Laura said as much to me when I met her.” Rose, “She was right.” David, “I spent all afternoon talking to Shaw. I can’t look him in the face without feeling like I’m back there on Mt. Gilboa…” he drifts off, and then changes the subject, “Sorry. I should probably talk about this with my therapist instead of you two.” Rose, “We both know what happened. There’s no use in pretending it didn’t.” David, “Doing the right thing absolutely fucking sucks.” Rose, “Gerald is testing you, and you stood up to him. He knows that you’re serious about peace, but you won’t just capitulate to his demands.” David groans and rubs his face, “Yeah, I stood up to him today, but it’s not gonna be the last time I have to deal with him. My confirmation Council is coming up.” Rose, “If you’re scheduling things, already, you should decide who you want to do your first interview as king.” David, “What?” Rose, “Journalism is the first draft of history. You have reporters lining up to be the first to interview you, many of whom work for news outlets willing to pay you quite a good bit of money.” David, “I have money.” Rose, “And a palace living space that needs remodeling.” David thinks for a moment, and then says, “Do you want to be my minister of communications?” Rose, “Pardon?” David, “I need one, and you seem to understand this whole being royal business pretty well. Would you be up for the job?” Jack, “Do it!” Rose, “I don’t want to be in the business of flattering you.” David, “I don’t need someone who’s just gonna flatter me, I need someone who’s gonna be able to say what I need to say. You get to be the one who acknowledges it when I fuck up.” Rose, “You can’t fuck up when you’re king.” David, “Silas fucked up plenty of times.” Jack, “Plenty!” Rose, “I’ll consider it.” David, “Well, hurry it up, will you? I need to be seen doing shit.” Rose, “Fine. I’ll take the job.” Jack, “Yes!” David, “It’s good to know I can get at least one thing done.” Rose, “I will take the job on the condition that when I give you advice, you actually listen to me.” David, “Are you gonna be giving me orders?” Rose, “Advice, not orders.” David, “So what more advice do you have?” Rose, “Plenty. I know you’re the self-sacrificing type. You always put yourself last. You won’t last a month as king if you keep doing that. You have an entire country that depends on your well-being, so now you have to take your well-being seriously. Be selfish and know when to step away.” David, “Is it a bribe if I accept a really nice car as a coronation gift?” Rose, “It’s not a bribe if you pay for it.”

A fake press podium is set up on a set draped with AFG flags. An announcer, “And now a word from King David of Gilboa…” The comedian version of David steps up to the podium, and the TV audience cheers with unbridled enthusiasm. Comedian David raises his hand and the cheering stops. Comedian David, “First of all, I would like to apologize to Queen Laura of Moab, you are no longer the hottest North American monarch.” Curled up with David, Jack laughs. Davis makes a face of displeasure, “Jesus, that’s so sexist.” Jack, “Funny!” David rolls his eyes. On the table beside him, his phone buzzes. David, “Shit!” He grabs it and looks at it. Jack, “What?” David, “Oh, it’s nothing. The Perseid meteor shower starts tonight. I set a reminder because I wanted to go watch it with you.” Jack concentrates, “Don’t…” He tries to say the next word, but it doesn’t come. He sighs with frustration. David pulls the cover over the keys, “I’m tired. Are you ready for bed?” Jack, “Yeah.” David gets up, goes over to Jack, and helps him get up, “Let’s get you in there, then. At least we can sleep in our own bed tonight.” Carefully, he leads him towards the stairs. Jack clutches the railing and leans his weight on David as, slowly, shakily, one by one, they mount each step.

David and Jack lay in bed together, Jack curled up in David’s arms. David sticks his nose into Jack’s hair, and strokes his head. Jack puts his hand on David’s arm. David, softly, “Things would be a lot better if I’d at least had a little bit of time with you. Joel could have at least waited a couple of weeks to kill Abner.”

Thomasina once again waits outside David and Jack’s door, this time joined by Abby. The door opens and David comes out. Thomasina, “Good morning, sir.” Abby, “I’ve outlined an entirely new foreign policy towards Gath, you need to look over it.” David, “Did you get any sleep last night?” Abby, “I’ve only been outlining a policy towards Gath in my head since I was twelve.” Thomasina, “Premiere Shaw is ready to speak with you.” David, “Already?” Thomasina, “He hates waiting. General Mendoza and Minister Reinhardt are already speaking to him.” David, “I kind of have a few people I’d like to talk to this morning.” Abby, “Talk to them. With my new policy outline, I can bullshit Gerald for hours!” David, “You do that, then. I already have someone waiting for me.”

Out on a balcony, Jessie sips a cup of coffee and looks out over the city skyline. The weather is grey and overcast. A door opens, and David steps out. Jessie looks over and sees him, “Hi, baby!” David, “Hey, Mom.” He goes over and hugs her. Jessie, “I just got this cup of wonderful coffee.” David, “Yeah, they have good stuff here. I can get those whenever I like.”  Jessie laughs, “It’s good to be king!” She looks out over the city, “This view is incredible!” David, “Not many people get to see it.” Jessie, “Thank you so much for inviting me up here!” David, “Hey, Mom, I um, I wanted to ask you something.” Jessie, “What is it?” David, “Do you think you’d like to live here?” Jessie, “Oh, don’t kid with me like that. Me? In a palace?” David, “No more ridiculous than the idea of me in a palace. There’s an empty apartment where Emma Abner used to live, I want you to have it.” Jessie, “I really am fine where I am.” David, “Yeah, well, my security team isn’t. And besides, the king’s mom can’t live in a tiny crappy apartment by herself. You can visit me every day. Have lunch with Jack. I know he’d enjoy that.” Jessie, “That does sound nice. But what would I even do here? You know how much I hate having nothing to do.” David, “The palace needs a hostess. Used to be Rose’s job, but she’s gonna be minister of communications now. You can be in charge of all the fancy dinners and greeting foreign leaders.” Jessie, “Oh, you know I’d be terrible at all that stuff. I’m the least fancy person in the world!” David, “Yeah, but, you’re my mom. Trust me, that earns you a few fancy points.” He smiles. Jessie has to laugh, “Am I going to have to wear a tiara?” David, “Only at state dinners and formal galas.” Jessie, “Are you serious?!” David, “Oh, yeah. Michelle explained it to me a long time ago, there’s a whole protocol for wearing tiaras.” Jessie laughs some more, “You know the last time I wore a dress was the day I married your father.” David, “We’ll have to get you a stylist. Trust me, between Monique and Jack, you will always look good.” Jessie laughs some more, “Oh, David.” She gazes adoringly at her son. David grows more serious, “Besides, I feel awful about everything I put you through. This doesn’t come close to repaying it, but it’s a place to start.” Jessie, “You don’t have to repay anything.” David, completely serious, “I want you to live here, Mom.” Jessie leans against David’s arm, “Okay.” David, smiling, “You will?” Jessie, “Yes, I will.” David, “Oh, thank god!” Jessie, “Can I have lunch with you today?” David, growing serious again, “Uh, I’m busy today. Jack has therapy in the morning and in the afternoon, but I think you can grab some lunch with him. I’ll have Thomasina set it up. Jack will actually be really glad to hear you’re moving in.” Jessie, “What’s got you so busy today?” David, “I, uh- I’m negotiating a cease-fire with Gerald Shaw.” Jessie, “Oh, baby.” David, “It’s okay, Mom. I talked to him yesterday, and I sat across from him at Council. I can handle it.”

Joel sits in David’s office. The door opens, and David enters. He sits down across from Joel without saying anything. Joel, “So am I off the team, or what?” David, “You betrayed my trust. It’s really hard for me to get around that.” Joel, “You want an official resignation, or are you dismissing me?” David, “No. What would I even be dismissing you from? Nothings’ really official yet.” Joel, “So why am I here?” David thinks for a long moment, and says, “Gilboa needs a declaration of rights. It’s one of the most basic things I’ve promised. I don’t know how to write one. I don’t know anyone else who knows how to write one.” Joel, “The University of Shiloh has plenty of legal experts.” David, “Yeah but… none who have fought next to me.” They exchange looks. David, “The Minister of Justice is going to be the most important position in my government. You’re going to be in charge of the police, and the courts, and the prison system. You’re gonna be the one who tells me what I can’t do.” Joel, “David, the only time you need someone telling you no is when you’re standing in front of a tank. You’re a fundamentally good person, and even if someone tried to corrupt you, the’d end up disappointed.” David, softly, “You could have at least waited.” Joel, “I really wish I could have.” David, “I want to see a draft of your declaration of rights, and your ideas on the first legal reforms that need be made.” Joel, “I can do that.” David, “If you ever disobey my orders again, it will be bad for you.” Joel, “I won’t disappoint you. I swear.” David, “I’m gonna try to believe you.”

Shay waits for David outside of a conference room. David approaches, “Sorry I’m so late, I had a few things I had to take care of.” Shay, “Abby’s in there having the time of her life. I honestly think even Shaw’s getting tired of her. If you want a break, she can go for hours.”

Another exhausting afternoon of arguing with Shaw. Outside, the sun is beginning to set. Abby argues passionately, “It’s absurd to demand more territory, you already have the borderlands Silas gave you and the Port of Prosperity, if we gave you any more land, we’d be handing over Shiloh!” Shaw, “If you want peace, you have to pay the price!” David, “The peace itself is the price! Gath and Gilboa won’t lose any more lives over, god, I can’t even remember what the hell this war started with.” Shaw, “Silas demanded I give him your head, and then you ran away before I could give it to him.” David, “Then why the hell are we fighting? This is just war for war’s sake, it’s absurd! How much more suffering are we going to inflict on our people?” Shaw, “It’s funny how quickly war becomes absurd when you’re the one losing.” David, “Fuck this! You don’t want want peace, you don’t want to settle, you just want to argue and make everyone miserable! I’m ending this, and I’m not speaking to you again until you’re ready to make an actual deal! In the meantime, as I don’t want Auclaire’s skull in my office, and as you clearly don’t care about getting it back, I’m going to order it destroyed and disposed of!” Shaw, “Wait! I didn’t say that I didn’t care about it, I just said I was willing to wait for it.” David, “Well I’m not going to let you wait. You either make some sort of deal right now, or I’m having it destroyed.” Shaw takes in a deep, angry breath, “I’ll agree to a cease-fire. It’s not peace, just a cease-fire.” David, “Good. I will return Auclaire’s skull to you when you come here for my confirmation council, after you’ve confirmed me without causing any drama.” Shaw, “You said you wanted peace.” David, “This is part of it. I’m still the one who owns the skull.” Shaw, “Fine. I’ll confirm you.” David, “Good. I will see you then, and I don’t want to see your fucking face until then.” He turns the video feed off and mutters, “Fuck.” Abby, “You just got Shaw to agree to a cease-fire, that’s a fucking diplomatic miracle.” Shay, “We really needed this cease-fire, too. Now I can actually try to integrate the AFG without just throwing everyone into combat together.” Reinhardt, “I have to admit, I’m impressed.” David, “Yeah, we’ll see how long this cease-fire lasts. Go home, get some rest.” Shay, “Can’t, we’ve got a cease-fire to implement.” David, “What do I need to do?” Abby, “You gave the order, we’ll do the work.” Reinhardt, “Go have dinner.”

David enters the residence. Jessie is making dinner while Jack watches TV. Jack, “Hey, babe!” Jessie, “I hope you’re hungry for meatloaf!” Jack, “Hey, babe!” David, “Thank you, Mom. Are you gonna be eating with us?” Jessie, “No, of course not! I want the two of you to have some time together. You need it.” David, “Are you sure?” Jessie, “Are you kidding? I get to order from the restaurant for free! I’m having lobster tonight!” She goes over to David and kisses his cheek, “This is for you and Jack. I want you two to have a nice home-cooked meal. You’ve got a very hard job ahead of you, and you need to be relaxed and well-nourished” David, “Thanks, Mom.” Jack goes over to the dining table. Jessie, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” David, “Okay, see you then.” Jessie leaves. David goes over to the table and sits down across from Jack. He looks out at the meal spears out before them, “I guess there’s a few things I still get to enjoy, huh?” They both laugh. David begins serving himself. David, “How have you been?” Jack, also serving himself, “Good.” David, “Great. I promise you, some time soon, I'll be the one making us dinner. I’ve just got so much stuff going on, it's hard to know what’s gonna happen from one day to another.” Jack, “Busy.” David, “Yeah, I know, but when I’m not busy.” Jack, “Always.” David sighs and thinks for a moment. Suddenly he says, “You know what? Fuck it. Eat your dinner, and when you’re done, I’m taking you out. I want to do something fun.”

David and Jack sit in the back seat of the fancy vintage convertible, snuggled up and watching meteors streak across a brilliantly clear country sky. David, “The meteors are what was left behind by the Swift-Tuttle comet. They’re called the Perseids because they go in the same direction as the constellation Perseus.” Jack, “Nerd.” David, “What? This shit’s fascinating!” he points up to the sky, “See, there’s Perseus. He had to deal with a lot of king bullshit, too.” Jack, “King bullshit?” David, “The only way that I know how to describe what both Perseus and I have been through is king bullshit, okay? His grandfather, a king, had this oracle about being killed by his grandson, so when Zeus got his daughter pregnant, he tossed them both in a crate into the sea, and then they got rescued by a fisherman whose brother happened to be another king. The brother king was an asshole who made Perseus go out and bring him back the head of Medusa. So Perseus goes out and kills Medusa, and on the way back home he rescues Andromeda from this terrible sea monster and then marries her, and then he gets back home and accidentally kills his grandfather and becomes the king of Mycenae.” Jack looks at him, confused, “What?” David, “Fuckin’ Greeks, man.” Jack, “Nerd.” David, “Shut up!” Jack lays his head on David’s shoulder, and they watch the meteors in silence for a moment. David strokes his arm and kisses his forehead, “Having you around makes this king bullshit a lot easier.” Jack smiles brightly, and David kisses him. Jack looks up into the bright meteors up above him.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

Faithfully

A/N: Part 8 in the “Hunting for Home” Series.

Dean Winchester x Reader;  Reader x Gabriel; Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Jody Mills, Iris Petrakis (OFC)

Song: Faithfully by Journey

Each chapter includes a song and dialogue prompt when requested.

Summary: A month into the shock of their lives and things at the bunker isn’t exactly what she’d hope they be. Dean is leaving her out of the loop again, so its time she sets off on her own to get answers about Iris, the prophecy and why Crowley wanted her in the first place.

A/N: Thank you to @kazosa for being most of the reason this series has gotten as far as it has. She’s been my beta on this from the start, and I’d be lost without her. xox. 

Incantation from SuperWiki (I’m not that clever). Gifs not mine, credit to owners. Banner made by me :)

Warnings: Canon Divergence, mild angst, pregnancy smut, 18+

Words: 8.8K

SPN Tags: @his-paradox  //  @sorenmarie87  // @lefthologramdeer  //  @grace-for-sale  //  @becs-bunker  //  @docharleythegeekqueen //  @geeksareunique  // @soythedemonqueen  // @kazosa  // @tiquismiquis // @mrsbarnes-rogers  // @teller258316 // @spnhollis // @sweet-things-4-life // @hobby27 // @sweetlythoughtfulbird // @theoriginalvicki // @dreamchester67 // @xxwarhawk // @babykalika2001 // @negans-wife // @superwhovianfangirl81 // @toobusynerdfighting // @vickyfarley // @missihart23  // @letsby // @ravenangel33 // @mirandaaustin93 // @22sarah08 // @distressedpanda // @deansenwackles 

You tip-toed through the bunker and made it safely to the garage without anyone seeing you. Popping the trunk, you added the bag that was slung over your shoulder and quietly closed it. Once you revved Blanche’s engine, it would only be a matter of time before Dean would be in the garage questioning where you were going. So, the quicker you could get gone, the better. You’d deal with the fallout when you returned.

Being back at the bunker after your accident felt much different now than it had before. You tried to settle back in the best you could, but it was much easier said than done. Everything sort of felt, off. Dean was on constant high alert from the minute he brought you back from the hospital. Any intimacy had been put aside, he was constantly checking up on what you were doing and where you were. You could barely go to the kitchen to make a sandwich at first, without him following you.

As for hunting, that just wasn’t allowed. You’d been imprisoned in the bunker for the foreseeable future, and you were starting to resent him for it.

Dean had become increasingly overbearing and controlling. Didn’t matter if it was for a job or a run to the grocery store, Dean barely let you out of his sight for more than an hour at a time. This is how things went over the month that you’d been home from the hospital. Your recovery from the fall was lightning fast, and you knew that was of some concern. Nothing happened like that without some sort of divine interference, and that was most certainly the reasoning behind Dean’s secretive nature.

Dean and Sam spent most of their time with their heads together, talking in hushed tones that always got pushed aside when you entered the room. A few times you’d come into where he was, and he would quickly end a phone call, or begin to whisper to whoever was on the other end of the line. The only thing you had been able to overhear from any of them was the name, Gabriel.

Castiel would bring updates, but you were never told what they were. Iris worked diligently on decoding the tablet Cas had recovered from Hell, hoping there was more on it about the prophecy she had. So far though, she wasn’t able to find anything.

You knew Dean was up to or investigating something he didn’t want you to know about. But, you knew Dean well enough at this point to also know, straight up confronting him about it would get you nowhere. He would just find a way to divert your attention to something else. If you wanted them, you’d have to get your own set of answers.

You were just about to slip into the front seat when you saw the door to the garage opening.

“Dammit,” you mumbled and considered ducking behind the trunk before you could be spotted, but then realized it was only Iris coming through the door. She had her sweater pulled tightly around her, her eyes wide with concern.

“What are you doing?” she whispered harshly. “Where are you going? You’re not going to do that thing we talked about, are you? I don’t know for sure if he’s alive, it’s not a good idea!”

You sighed. “I need to get out of here for a bit. The warden isn’t looking, so I’m seizing the opportunity. That’s all.”

“He’s gonna kill you,” she snorted.

“I know, and I feel terrible. But,” you paused, the frustration you felt with Dean rising, “no—you know what? Screw him. I am an adult and should be able to come and go as I please. Just because—”

“Because of what?” Dean’s voice carried in from the doorway. “Because you’re pregnant?”

You bit down on your lower lip to keep yourself from replying. When you met his gaze, the simmering anger you saw there elevated your own, and the atmosphere of the garage instantly changed.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna go find some breakfast,” Iris mumbled and quickly excused herself, not even looking at Dean as she buzzed past him, closing the garage door behind her.

Dean stood there, his hands crossed over his chest, his gaze burning holes in you. “Well?”

“Well what, Dean?”

He took his time to be careful, calculating his tone and words. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Y/N, I don’t want to fight with you. I really don’t. But you can’t just, go out.”

“Why? Because I am pregnant? That’s horseshit. I’m ten weeks along, barely even showing yet, and you’ve been treating me like I’m gonna break in half. I need to get out of here once in a while. Breathe in the fresh air. Feel the sunshine…”

“I know you feel cooped up, so if you wanna get out, let’s take a drive. Just the two of us. We’ll go, I don’t know, anywhere you want. As long as we go together.”

“So you can watch my every move? What in the fuck are you so afraid of happening, Dean?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” he roared, his resolve finally giving into the frustration boiling below the surface. “How about getting kidnapped by the King of Hell?! Or, maybe getting pushed over a third-floor balcony by a God-damned poltergeist! Y/N, it’s my job to protect you both. I can’t do that if you’re not here, or if I’m not with you.”

“See, that right there is the problem! I’m not a job Dean, I’m supposed to be someone you love! But since you found out about the peanut here, I’m more of a prisoner than your girlfriend.”

“What do you expect me to do? Hmm? Cas and Sammy got bloodied by demons. Then, friggin’ Crowley decides your worth taking. We never did find out what the hell that was all about, except that both things tie into our baby and this crap Iris keeps saying. If you don’t think I’m going to do whatever I have to, to keep you safe... then you don’t know me at all.”

“I just want some air, Dean,” you sighed, feeling guilty for the partial lie. “I want to go to the store or take a walk in the park. I want to go hunt something, dammit. I’m not someone who can sit still for this long. I took a break after the vamp debacle. Fine. Great. It helped. But then, Harley dies, and I take another break. Then everything sort of spiraled and now here I am. I feel like I am losing myself here.”

His expression softened and in it, you could see him sympathize. Dean embraced you, and despite being mad at him, you hugged him back. He curled his arm up around your hair and kissed the top of your head. “I know, and I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel like that. But you understand where I’m coming from, right?”

“I do, actually,” you said and pulled back from him, “and I love you for it. But—”

“But?”

“Yeah, but… this doesn’t work for me. Your overprotectiveness is going to be what makes me leave, for good. Not just for the day.”

Dean’s brow furrowed into an expression you’d never seen before as he stepped back from you. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, you either trust me that I can take care of myself and this baby or lose us both. You seem to forget that I am here because you asked me to stay. After Harley, you brought me back here to grieve, and I loved you for that. I was scared to leave, then, by the time I was ready, all this crap started going down with Crowley and demons, and then Iris.”

You paused and tried to calm yourself before you said something you wouldn’t be able to take back. “This isn’t my home. I have an apartment two states away, plus Harley’s house that still needs to be dealt with. I’ve stayed because I fell in love with you and I didn’t want to be far from you. Now, suddenly I’m pregnant and I’m not allowed to leave the bunker?! There aren’t even any windows in here Dean. How can raising a kid here be a good idea?”

“It’s not forever, just until—”

“Until, what? That’s the other thing. You’re being all secretive again. I asked you not to shut me out, yet, here we are. What are you and Sam after, hmm? I know you’re chasing this prophecy thing. You won’t tell me what Cas knows, Iris is still trying to decipher the tablet and I feel like I’m losing my mind! Do you know what it’s like to have people digging into your life and not tell you what they find?!”

You were near tears now, and regardless of the half-truths you were telling about why you wanted to leave, all the emotion coming to the surface was genuine and needed to be said. “I just need a break, so I am taking one. I’d really like you to let me without it getting ugly.”

You’d never see such anger flash in his eyes before. Dean’s whole body tensed, and his fists clenched in and out. He wanted to respond, but there was nothing he could say at that moment that would have helped. Weeks of pent-up emotion was unraveling, and you weren’t sure if you could stop it.

“So, I’m gonna get in my car now, and I’m gonna leave for a while. I will be back,” you said, calmer now.

Dean didn’t respond. He just watched you get in your old Chevelle and start the engine. You had no intention of putting yourself in harm’s way, but you had your own questions that begged for answers. Dean wouldn’t talk to you about what he was doing, so it was time for you to do some digging of your own, and you knew just where you wanted to start.

Reversing out of the garage, you flicked on the headlights and they illuminated Dean’s form, still in the spot you left him in. Arms again folded over his chest, scowl living on his face. Finally, up and out of the tunnel, Blanche saw sunlight for the first time in far too long. You rolled down the window and leaned your head out to feel the warmth of it on your face. Hating how you left things with Dean, you tried to remind yourself that this was as much for the baby as it was for you and his anger was something you’d have to deal with later.

Once you were a few miles clear of the bunker, you pulled off the road and took out your cell, dialing the only number you thought may be able to help you. It rang a few times before Charlie’s voice came through.

“Hello?”

“Charlie, its Y/N—”

“Hi!” she exclaimed before you could say more. “How are you feeling? How’s the baby?”

“We’re both great, thanks. Any chance you might be able to meet me somewhere, I need help with something.”

“Yeah, absolutely! What’s the deets?”

As you and Charlie chatted briefly about where to meet up, you felt a rush of anxiety and anticipation. And for the first time, the slightest flutter of movement in your stomach.

 Dean stormed forcibly into the kitchen and threw open the refrigerator door violently, causing the bottles to rattle in their place on the racks.

Sam and Iris looked up and shared a knowing look. “Everything alright?” Sam asked hesitantly, and sighing in frustration when Dean grabbed a beer and popped the top. “Dude, it's barely morning. Gonna add that to your cornflakes?”

Dean paused and gave him a warning look. “Back off, Sam. Not in the mood.”

“What happened?” he stood up from the table and met his brother in the middle.

Dean looked passed him at Iris, who was watching them talk. “We’ll talk later.”

“Don’t stop on my account. I know why she left. Don’t need to be a prophet to have seen that coming,” Iris mused and took a bite of her cereal.

“Excuse me?” Dean growled, forcibly moving Sam out of the way and stalked towards Iris. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Just that you were like her prison guard, that can’t be fun for anyone. Much less a super anxious pregnant lady.”

Dean glared at her for a minute. “Don’t you have an angel tablet to read or something?”

Iris shrugged and finished the last of her cereal. “Don’t you have a girlfriend to chase?”

She put her bowl in the sink and headed out of the kitchen. Dean turned to Sam and shook his head, “Why is she still here? Shouldn’t she be back in Chicago by now?”

“Easy tiger,” Sam said, going back to his own breakfast. “She’s not entirely wrong. I mean, I get why you keep Y/N close, but man, you’re sounding a lot like dad these days.”

“Well, it kept us alive, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but she’s not your kid.”

“She’s carrying my kid. That’s not enough of a reason?” Dean barked, his face twisted in defiance. Realizing he was taking it out on the wrong person, he took a deep breath before continuing. “Look, Sam, I am not going to apologize for wanting to protect my family.”

“No one said you should.”

“Y/N did. She left, by the way. Said if I didn’t let her get out for a while, she’d leave for good.”

“Whoa, what? Where did she go? And really, I can’t imagine she’d leave you… not now.”

Dean slumped into the chair next to his brother and exhaled deeply. He ran a hand through his hair and reached for his beer.

“I know I can be stubborn. But after everything that’s happened so far, its hard to just trust she’ll be alright.”

“Man, I can’t even imagine. Trying to be any sort of normal in our lives is hard enough but knowing there’s a kid on the way…” Sam sucked air through his teeth and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe, just let her be for right now. We need to figure out the rest of this prophecy, and what, if anything, Gabriel has to do with it.”

“Cas says that from what he learned upstairs, Gabriel appears to be dead. So, if he was Iris’ M.I.A. archangel, it would explain why she was unprotected. But I tell ya, Y/N’s doc from the hospital, the more I think about it, the more I can’t shake I know her… but not her. If that makes any sense. The eyes were familiar… it’s what brought Gabriel to mind in the first place.””

“Makes complete sense, actually,” Sam said as he threw his stuff in the sink. “Not like he hasn’t messed with us or made us think he was dead before. Let’s get crackin’ while she’s on sabbatical. Who knows, maybe we can even get it all resolved before she gets back and then, there won’t be a reason to keep her under lock and key.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his brother and followed him out of the kitchen and down to the storage unit where they’d been keeping most of the supplies for summoning and various other spells.

Once in the unit, they flipped on the light and Sam went right for the closet to retrieve a book he’d left there. He paused when he saw that it hadn’t been locked properly.

“Uh, Dean? Did you come in here recently?”

“No, why?”

Sam pulled the door open and surveying its contents. “Shit.”

“What?” Dean joined him by the door and peered inside. “What’s wrong?”

“The holy oil is gone. Did you leave it in the trunk?”

“No, man. Haven’t touched the stuff.”

“Y/N or Iris?” Sam asked, hoping that he’d say Iris took it to study.

“No, Iris doesn’t even know what it is. Y/N, however…”

They shared a look of understanding and realized that her need to get out wasn’t so much for fresh air and sunshine like she said, but just maybe she was going in search of her own answers.

Before either of them could say anything more about it, they heard a sound of someone knocking at the main entrance. Just as they made their way back up to the War Room, Iris was opening the door up top and talking to someone. Taking the steps two by two, Dean’s face broke out into a wide grin when he saw Jody standing there, casserole dish in hand and trying to convince Iris to let her in.

“Iris, its fine, Jody is family. Get in here!” Dean said and pulled the heavy door open further. “So what, you’re allergic to phones now? Can’t call and warn a guy you’re coming?”

Jody absently passed the dish to Iris, who examined it curiously as Dean yanked her into an embrace.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of this unannounced visit?” he asked cheerfully, but Jody could hear something off in his voice.

“Is that your way of saying you don’t appreciate the ‘pop-in’?”

“Normally, no, they are the worst, but you are the exception. Especially when you come with food,” Dean grinned and took the dish back.

“I know how to make my boys happy,” she teased and playfully pinched his cheek. “Actually, I was talking to Sam the other day, and he made it seem like you guys were up against it, so I thought I’d take a trip down and be of service.”

After Sam hugged her warmly, they made their way downstairs and into the kitchen where Jody was officially introduced to Iris. Sam put on the coffee and Dean told the tale of how they came to meet Iris, and they’d rescued her and Y/N. As the story went on, Jody listened, wide-eyed and surprised. She had gotten the broad strokes of it, but when they got to the first mention of the baby, her face turned bright red and an expression of fury flashed on her face before it gave way to a giant grin.

“Dean Winchester! How DARE you not tell me Y/N was pregnant! I’ve heard so many things about this woman I’ve yet to meet, and now she’s having your baby!” She rocked back in her seat and slapped her knee. “I can’t believe this!”

Sam chuckled beside her and passed a gleeful look at Dean. “I said you should’ve told her…”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean grumbled. “I know Jody, I’m sorry. It’s been… a lot to process.”

“Well, yeah! A baby IS a lot to process dummy. So, alright, where is she, I need to meet her now. She’s carrying my grandbaby after all!”

Dean snorted, “Your grandbaby? Um, is that how genetics work?”

“You, shut up,” she passed a warning look at Dean. “You boys are family to me, and, yeah, your mom can’t be here to claim that title, then I will, dammit.”

Dean’s expression softened, and for the first time in a while, felt a genuine smile touch his lips. “That works for me.”

“Good. Now, where is she?” Jody clapped her hands together and jumped up towards the kitchen door.

The smile faded from Dean’s face as he passed an uncertain look at Sam. “You might as well sit back down, Y/N’s gone.”

“Gone where?” Jody asked, looking between the three of them curiously. Iris just sat back in her seat against the wall and avoided eye contact, and Sam kept his gaze on Dean, silently urging him to answer Jody.

“I don’t know. We got into a fight this morning and she left.”

“She left? Why? What the hell did you fight about?”

“Dean’s acting like a warden and Y/N was tired of it,” Iris finally spoke up, and ignored the narrow-eyed glare from Dean. “Sorry, but you were.”

“This true?” Jody asked, her arms folded over her chest, her eyes fixed on Dean.

“What? I’m not gonna be sorry for trying to protect her, not after all that’s happened!”

“Ok, fine. But there are better ways, Dean. You can’t tell her she can’t leave the premises. You’re lucky she didn’t knock you on your ass. ‘Cause I woulda. Being pregnant is hard, and holy shit does it mess with your hormones.”

“I know, but—”

“Oh no, no buts… You need to apologize. Good intentions or not, you were wrong. That woman is going to do something that will forever change her body, her mind and her spirit. You need to support her, not control her. She’s a hunter, right? Trust that she knows her own instincts.”

Dean sighed, and suddenly felt simultaneously attacked and guilty. He couldn’t find the words to respond, though he tried several times.

“Also, doesn’t help that he’s not telling her what’s going on,” Iris spoke up again, and this time smiled in retort to the dirty look Dean threw her way.

“What is with you? Huh? You really don’t like me, do you?” he asked her.

“I like you fine. I just think you think you need to control everything. Let the woman be. She’s gonna be fine. Anyway, my opinion is moot. You love each other, that’s all that should matter. Both of you need to stop being stubborn, tell each other what’s going on and work together. She’s just as bad as you are.”

“I like this girl,” Jody mused, unable to hide the smile that formed. “You should listen to her.”

“Please, don’t,” Dean grumbled and sat back in his chair. He knew Iris was right, Jody, too. He had been a dick, and though he felt he had his reasons, he could see Y/N’s side of it all as well.

His anger faded and now he just wanted her to come home, so he could see her and touch her; make sure she and the baby were ok.

“Ok, so no idea where she went?” Jody asked, looking between Sam and Dean.

“No, just that she took the holy oil,” Sam answered quietly.

“For what purpose?” Jody asked with a shrug, her brain shifting into cop mode to examine the facts of the case.

“Only thing you’re gonna use holy oil for is to trap an angel.”

Jody was thoughtful for a moment. “Castiel?”

“No, Cas has been all over trying to help us find answers,” Sam replied. “Gabriel.”

“I thought you said he was dead.”

Dean and Sam shrugged in unison. “That’s the party line. Who the hell knows really.”

They batted around some further theories for the next hour, but nothing could be settled without more information. Iris finally took her leave and went back to decoding the rest of the tablet, while Sam, Dean, and Jody caught up on the whirlwind life had been over the months since first meeting Y/N.

Eventually, Sam went to make up a guest room for Jody and left her alone with Dean, who by now was feeling sadder, and more contemplative about Y/N and where she could have gone.

“You gotta hang in there,” Jody said as she got up from her seat. “She’s going to come back, safe and sound.” Dean sighed and rested his chin to his hand. Jody grabbed his other hand and gave it a squeeze. “I promise. She’s going to be fine.”

“How do you know that?” he asked, more amused than accusatory.

“Because, you’re in love with her, right? In what world would Dean Winchester fall in love with a weak woman?”

Dean snorted a laugh and shook his head.

“None that I know,” Jody said and winked. “Now, let’s go start getting this place ready for a baby.”

  Charlie had beat you to the meeting place and was out, leaning against her bright yellow Gremlin when you parked the Chevelle and killed the engine. She clapped her hands excitedly and yanked you into a fierce hug.

“Hello baby!” she squealed and put a hand to your belly. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, that was so rude!” she pulled back and you grabbed her wrist. Chuckling, you placed it back on your stomach and smiled at her.

“Now you stop, the baby needs to know their Aunt Charlie, so you have touch permission,” you said with a wink, and her face broke out into a huge grin.

“Aunt Charlie. That’s got a badass ring to it,” she was beaming, but once her eyes met yours, her smile fell away and she bent down to talk closer to your stomach. “Unless Daddy Dean finds out that I am helping mommy without telling him. Then Aunt Charlie may be perma-banned.”

“Never, you know that. You’re a sister to them. Me, however, I may be excommunicated if he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, about that, why the secrecy? I thought you were working on this together. Iris is decoding the tablet, Cas is doing his angel thing, while you Sam and Dean—”

“Correction, Sam and Dean. I’ve been left out of the equation,” you interjected with a sarcastic grin.

“Oh,” Charlie winced. “I guess Dean is doing that whole overprotective thing again?”

“You’re familiar with it?”

“Of course, I think you have to go through it to become an honorary Winchester. Consider yourself officially part of the family.”

“Great. When do we get matching jackets?”

“I can see why you two work, you’re just like him” she snickered. “Ok, seriously, are you sure you want to do this?”

You leaned back against the Gremlin next to her and started chewing on your lower lip. The baby did a little somersault, causing the butterfly ripples to tickle your insides. That’s when you knew, you had to get to the bottom of things, regardless of what Dean wanted. It was your body, your life, and your baby, too. You had just as much a right to protect him or her as he did.

“I’m sure. Do you have the incantation?”

Charlie pulled the paper from her jacket and held it up. “Got it.”

“Good. Let’s do this.”

You and Charlie proceeded into the empty warehouse you had picked to summon Gabriel. After you heard Dean and Sam talking about it one day, you did a little research and then remembered Dean telling you a little about him. He had been killed years before, but when you prodded Iris, she said that something told her he wasn’t dead. At night, you’d get up and page through the volumes of research in the library and what Sam had pulled together.

You knew the holy oil would contain the angel, what you didn’t know, is if he would really show. Having no other options other than summoning Crowley, you figured this would be the best shot.

Charlie cleared a place on the floor and made a circle out of the oil. When it was complete, she placed the container safely out of the way and sidled up alongside you.

“Ready when you are,” she said, uncertainty coating her tone.

You pulled out the paper with the incantation on it and cleared your throat. The first few words came out broken and weak, but another ripple from the peanut inside you and you found a source of strength you didn’t realize was there. Lighting a match, you threw it into the circle of holy fire, pushed your shoulders back and started the Enochian again. This time, even Charlie noticed the power in your words and took a step back to give you room to work.

“Zod ee reh doh noh koh an beh rah ma geh nah zod peh sah geh”

Charlie then threw the match into the bowl, bringing on a brilliant flash of white light. A small bit of smoke swirled between you, briefly obscuring your view of the fiery ring.

“Did it work?” Charlie asked fanning the smoke from in front of her face.

“I don’t know,” you coughed a little and took a step closer as the obtrusion dissipated.

“You know, all you had to do was call,” Gabriel smirked from the middle of the ring. “Cause, you’ve got a frieeend,” His vessel’s eyebrow raised, and an impish glee penetrated from his hazel eyes as he sung out the last word.

“Gabriel.” His name fell from your lips in a breathy exuberance, which clearly pleased him.

“You really are alive,” Charlie spoke up, more to herself than the room.

“Of course I am. You really think I’d let that asshat big brother of mine take me out? Puh-lease. Have some faith in me ladies. By the way, if you wanted to chat, all you had to do was pray to me. I’ve been lingering for ages now.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you asked as you stared at him curiously.

“It means I know how to lay low; not being picked up on angel radar. But when my prophet’s number came up, I was supposed to be on active duty and kinda forgot. When I finally did peak in, I saw she had already met Crowley. Realizing what why he wanted her, then seeing a Winchester was involved, I decided to play the game a bit differently. How could I not cheat juuuust a little?”

You turned to look at Charlie who was just as confused, yet mesmerized, as you were.

“Um, any chance we could put the fire out. This place is, well, awful. Would love to go somewhere a bit cozier to chat.”

“Ye-Yeah, sure. You’re not gonna bail, right? Cause I have questions…”

He tilted his head and held out his arms as if saying come on…. Deciding to trust him, you went about dosing the ring of holy fire so Gabriel could set out and move around. Once free of the confines he approached Charlie and gave her a good once over.

“Well, aren’t you fun?” he smiled and winked at her, twirling a lock of her bright red hair between his fingers. “I can see why Sam and Dean are so fond of you.”

“Yeah, I like girls,” she bit back with narrowed eyes and a tone full of snark, only making Gabriel chuckle.

“Me too,” he winked again, much bigger this time and turned his attention back to you.

“Do tell Iris I’m sorry about the whole Crowley thing. It was nothing personal, honestly. Just a little oops on my part. But, I knew she’d be fine.”

“So, you are her archangel?” you asked.

“Yep. Screwed the pooch on that one, huh?” he chuckled and shrugged. “Again, nothing personal.”

“And, my fall? You healed me, didn’t you?” you had nothing but a gut feeling on this one, but you still knew he had.

“Guilty as charged, kitten. Couldn’t let the next generation you have there get snuffed out because of an accident. That kid’s gonna change everything.” His tone changed on the last few words and the grin he wore was both proud and righteous. You could see by his expression that he held all the answers you needed, but it also made you somewhat wary of what those would be. Suddenly, you wondered how much you really wanted to know.

You swallowed thickly, trying to decide if you should keep prodding or not. Gabriel took your silence for shock. “No need for the stress lines, Y/N. Uncle Gaby’s got you and the little peanut M&M.”

“Holy shit, it really was you,” you mused in disbelief. “Dr. Shari… you were her. That’s how you healed my back and made the pregnancy symptoms almost nothing. God, I was hungry that day, and for a week after. I barely had morning sickness, my fractures mended in a matter of days. That was all you?”

He shrugged again, but his smirk was less playful and more serious. “Dean isn’t my biggest fan. And this,” he motioned towards your abdomen, “is waaay bigger than him. So, I did what I had to.”

“Well, don’t pat yourself on the back too hard,” Charlie scoffed. “Dean knew it was you in the hospital.”

“Good for him” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Did he Sherlock his way into figuring out the rest? Hmm?”

“No,” you said, clearing your throat of the emotion you’d felt. “He’s having Iris decode more of the Angel tablet, hoping there’s something about this prophecy she had. Any chance you just wanna fill me in on that? I mean, I think of all people I have the right to know. Why did Crowley want with me?”

“The tablets aren’t gonna tell ya bubkis. That prophecy came straight from Dad and is centuries old bedtime story that the angels have heard since humans came into existence. How or why Iris was just hearing it now, I couldn’t tell ya.”

“Care to share?” Charlie asked.

“Ehh, let me remember it…” Gabriel began pacing around the room, looking up and trying to remember the phrasing. He was mumbling to himself and turned back towards you and Charlie once all the words came back to his recollection.

“Ok, right… when you little creatures were put here in the first place, Dad thought it would be fun to tell a little story to go along with his new creations.  A child of emerald eyes created from a lineage direct from these first humans will be born to a man and woman who carry great strength, bravery and resolve. Infused with wisdom and powers of persuasion, this babe will become the light and the dark of the universe. He who harnesses their immense energy will become the one to rule over creation and fulfill the role of God and creator to worlds beyond this one.”

You felt the strength leave your knees, but Charlie was right there to put an arm around your waist, then help you find a seat safely.

“You wanna repeat that?” she asked.

“Would you? It’s kind of a mouthful. Be lucky you didn’t have to be the one to memorize that in Enochian. Yikes,” Gabriel chuckled and clapped his hands together. “But, hey, not bad for trying to remember a centuries-old Sunday school lesson, right? None of us, Archangels or otherwise, thought it would ever be true. It was a story. Until it wasn’t.”

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to understand what any of this could mean for your baby. Then the questions started… Why you? Why Dean? Why were the two of you chosen to create this child? You wanted to ask him, needed too, but you also realized that doing it on your own was wrong. You and Dean should be doing this together and you shutting him out was no better than what he had been doing to you.

“But why now?” Charlie asked, sensing your reluctance to ask anything more.

“Kiddo, if I knew, I’d tell. Or not. But I don’t know. All I do know is that I was off living the high life hiding in some really kick ass places, my prophet is on deck, I check in once and hear that little story being planted in her mind while she just happens to have visions, too. Lo and behold, there’s a Winchester involved, so I get curious, do a little digging and find out the other side got the memo that,” he paused and gasped for dramatic effect, “It’s Happening!”

“Before, you said my baby would change everything. What does that mean?” You couldn’t imagine any answer he could give that would make you feel any less scared, but you had to ask anyway.

“They’ll be powerful. The influence, they’re going to have over… everything will be immeasurable.”

“What’s the catch?”

“Ah, there’s always a catch isn’t there? Well, it's like this kitten, this kid will tip the scales one way or another and you can bet your sweet ass Crowley will try to tip them in his direction. You know, please for the black eyes. There’s a war coming. Who wins will be decided by who gains the favor of your kid. The will be the one that ultimately ends this war. To the victor go the spoils.”

“But, Sam and Dean, they stopped it. The apocalypse… it won’t happen now.”

Gabriel pursed his lips together, “Pfft. Apocalypse. Please. That was just the opening act. We’re talking Woodstock, here. The Beatles, Live at Bohudakan kinda big. That little tussle between my idiot brothers, that was nothing. What your kid is meant to do? That’s the big leagues.”

“Stop,” you spoke up, quietly. “Just, stop. I’ve heard enough. Charlie, let’s go,” you found your footing and stood, grabbed your bag and started to pack up the supplies and holy oil. “I need to go home… I—I need to talk to Dean.”

Charlie nodded and helped you get everything together. Gabriel watched, amused as you cleaned up any signs of your presence there.

“Hey, kitten. Demons are going to want you. Angels are going to want you. Well, the peanut, anyway.”

You froze. “So how do I know you’re on the level and not just vying to get us first? How can I really believe anything you’re telling me? If this is all true, why linger… why not just show up and tell us what was going on?”

“I guess… you don’t!” he smirked and tilted his head. “You’ll just have to trust me. I don’t owe you, anything. I healed you because I care about what side of the line that kid falls on. I answered this summoning, for the same reason.”

You snorted a laugh. “Right. C’mon Charlie.” You grabbed her elbow and speed walked towards the exit.

“I’ll be around if you need me!” Gabriel called after you as you made your way out of the abandoned warehouse. “Call me!” Was the last thing you heard as you left him behind.

Back at the cars, with the warehouse far behind you, you finally felt able to breathe again. Charlie sat with you in silence, unsure of what to say.

“Y/N… you need to talk to Dean,” she started and stopped when you looked up at her. Your expression said all she needed to know. “Ok, good.”

“Thank you for your help. I won’t include you in my recanting,” you said, trying to smile but falling flat.

“No, tell him I was with you. So, he knows you weren’t alone. That may help to lessen the blow. I can deal with whatever nonsense he throws my way.”

You hugged her tight and promised you’d check in with her once you got back to the bunker. Once she took off, you got into the Chevelle and turned the ignition. When the radio came blaring to life, you turned it up and began fiddling with the stations. Music had a way of streaming into your life whenever you were trying to process something important. Right then, you needed to just process what Gabriel had told you, how you were going to tell Dean, at the same time anxious about how he would be when you got back to the bunker.

Now that there were answers, at least some about the baby and Iris, you needed to find a way to deal with staying safe, and not hunting. As much as you hated to admit it, Dean was right. If Gabriel was being truthful, it wasn’t just a matter of the jobs themselves being dangerous anymore. There was a much deeper threat.

Putting Blanche in gear, you turned the wheel and cut out to the highway, giving her just a bit too much gas, and feeling her tires slip a little. As she fishtailed onto the pavement, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline spark inside you, something the little peanut felt too.

The endnotes of Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” died down on the radio, and without skipping a beat, “Faithfully” began pouring through the speakers. Your breath caught in your throat the moment Steve Perry’s voice filled the confines of the car. You started to sing along, belting out the words and trying to quell the emotion they elicited.

 “Highway run into the midnight sun

Wheels go ‘round and round, you’re on my mind

Restless hearts sleep alone tonight

Sending all my love along the wire”

 The increasingly familiar flutter of the baby caught your attention. You were overwhelmed by a rush of love for this unknown little creature that you hadn’t quite had yet. From the moment you found out, until that day, you realized you hadn’t thought much about it. Sometimes, even forgot it was there. But now, it was all you could think about and feel, especially as the song continued to blare through the speakers.

 “They say that the road ain’t no place to start a family,

Right down the lines its been you and me…”

 That’s when the rush of tears started and wouldn’t stop. You carefully pulled the Chevelle over, and just let them fall for as long as they needed. The song played on and you thought about what this new life was going to look like. The one where it wasn’t just you and Dean anymore. There was another person now that you were both responsible for protecting. You hated yourself at that moment forever telling him you’d leave. You couldn’t. If it meant living in the bunker for the rest of your life and raising your child there, protected, you would do it. If it meant you and Dean could be together and keep your family safe; you’d do and sacrifice anything.

By the time the final chorus was playing, you were able to see through your wet eyes again and drew in a deep breath. You needed to get home… now. As Blanche found her route back to the highway, you were shakily humming along…

 “Whooa, oh-oh…

Faithfully,

I’m still yourrss…

I’m forever yours…”

   The door to the bunker clunked behind you. You stopped and remembered to turn the latch before you began descending the stairs. You didn’t see the Impala in the garage, so you were sure Dean wouldn’t be there.

You were wrong.

Halfway through the War Room, you noticed his silhouette sitting in the dimly lit library. Dean’s back was to you, but you could see he’d been drinking. His hand slowly reached out for the crystal tumbler at his side and drained what was left in it.

There was a lot for you to talk about, but you didn’t want to right then. Right then, you just missed him and wanted to be with him. Maybe it was the hormones or the fact that he hadn’t touched you in almost two months. It didn’t really matter, you loved him and missed his touch.

You quietly went up the small staircase and into the library. He finally sensed your presence and looked up just in time to see you come ‘round in front of him. You expected him to get angry, start going off on why and how you left. Instead, he said nothing. Dean watched you for a moment, then turned to the decanter on the table and refilled his glass halfway with the whiskey.

“I’d offer you some, but…” his eyes went to your abdomen and he shrugged.

It was your turn to watch him now. He sipped at the liquor a couple times before putting the glass back down. When he gazed back up at you, his features were still soft, no sign of anger in his expression. You stepped closer and gently took his jaw in your hand. His eyes turned serious for a moment, curious as to your intentions.

You bend down closer to his face and saw a spot of whiskey that remained. Craving the taste of it, and him, you leaned over like you were going to kiss him, instead, licking the droplet from his lips.

The moment your tongue brushed against him, his hands were tight on your hips and pulling you in. You fell onto his lap as his hand grabbed a fistful of your hair. Pushing your mouth to his, your tongue tasted the whiskey and greedily inhaled as much of him as you could.

Dean was pawing at your clothes between a barrage of fierce, deep kisses, his breathing heavy and intense. Once your shirt was off, his hands ran over the fabric of your bra and across the flesh of your chest. His fingers wrapped up around your neck and guided you back down to his mouth. He kissed you deeply, growling as your teeth scraped against his bottom lip as you pulled back from him again.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered roughly.

“Bite your lip?” you teased, but there was nothing playful about how he was looking at you.

He shook his head lightly. “No,” he rasped. He sat up from the chair, making sure you were safely on your feet first. He gingerly pushed you back against the table, so you were now sitting on its surface. He planted himself firmly between your thighs and you wrapped your legs around him.

Dean took your face in his hands and stared into your eyes as seriously as you’ve ever seen him. “Don’t ever talk about leaving me like that again. I don’t think I could do any of this without you, either of you.”

He gently laid you back on the table top. Lightly placing each of his hands on your sides, he bent down and gingerly kissed the slight swell of your stomach. The scratch of his stubble tickled your skin, but you didn’t laugh. You closed your eyes and relished in how it felt. It had been so long since you felt him like this. Your hands went to his head, as he remained there, trailing kisses down your abdomen to the top of your jeans. He unbuttoned them and roughly yanked at them until they were off and tossed aside along with your underwear.

Dean stood back and took you in. Nearly naked, laying before him on the table, he held your gaze as he slowly took off his flannel, then the Henley, casually tossing them to the chair he’d just been sitting in.

You sat up and grabbed at the waistband of his jeans, fumbling with his belt, suddenly desperate to feel him inside you. As you were helping him get free of his clothes, you looked up, unable to hide the sly smile unfurling across your lips.

“Hope no one is due home soon.”

“They’re not,” he replied, his eyes now regaining that devilish gleam you loved so much. “Not ‘til tomorrow.”

“I guess I came home just in time.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed on you as he pushed you back to the table and bent his head down between your thighs. He didn’t tease or taunt, his tongue went straight for the depths of your folds and licked straight up to your clit. The roughness of his tongue sent shivers coursing through your nerves and a whimper from your lips. He lifted your hips up, so your legs wrapped up around his shoulders, while his relentless tongue lashing against your pussy raged on.

“Fuck!” you screamed, loving the feeling of being able to be as loud as you wanted. He loved it too and sucked against your clit before letting his fingers thrust up into you. Dean was bringing you close already, but you didn’t want to cum yet. You just needed to feel him as close to you as possible,

As much as you hated for him to stop, you reached down and lifted his head from between your legs. He didn’t fight you but made his way up your body with lingering kisses. He palmed your breast in his hand, brushing your nipple with the pad of his thumb and you could feel his cock pressing against you, nearly begging to slip inside.

You kissed him fiercely, the taste of yourself and whiskey on his breath making you ache for him. He moved your hips further down the table, and slowly let himself slip inside you. He growled lowly, his eyes fluttering shut. When they opened again, they were not only blown back with lust but full of power you felt like love. Dean’s fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs as he moved in and out, sometimes slipping out and teasing your clit with the head of his cock.

He smirked at how you writhed beneath him when he did, almost like he was punishing you while pleasuring you; he knew how that drove you crazy. But then, he was tired of the games and just wanted to have you. He quickly thrust back up into you sharply. You grabbed the edges of the table to hold on, as he moved in and out methodically at first, but as he went faster, more erratic.

Dean hung his head, his mouth slacked open as he watched you move below. He shifted his hand from the outer part of your thigh and used his thumb against your clit as he fucked you.

“Fuuu, baby… holy shit!” you couldn’t catch your breath, you felt your orgasm flood around him, your overstimulated folds electrified with each continuous brush against his hand. You tried to pull it away from him, but he was stronger and refused to stop. Your back arched, driving him deeper inside you. Reaching up, you grabbed him and pulled him down, his mouth finding yours easily.

Primal groans and grunts emanated from his chest. He stopped kissing you, unable to do that and keep his quickening pace. His breaths were ragged and sharp; you knew he was close. Dean hovered over you, his hips still rocking back and forth, fitfully now, as the head of his dick drug against your folds as he came, leaving your body near convulsing under him, while your name exploited from his mouth.

The room was near silent, only the sounds of you both trying to find your breath again filled the cavernous space. Dean rested his head to your chest and delicately kissed the soft swell of your breasts. He moved down your body to your stomach and kissed you, both hands rested gently upon the small bump that lived there.

He stepped back and helped you sit up, then found your clothes and handed them to you with a thoughtful grin. You dressed in silence, but your eyes kept finding each other and that’s when you knew that despite the argument, and all you still had to discuss, you and Dean were going to be fine. There was love there, and no matter what the future held for your little family, you’d face it together.

He slipped the Henley back over his head, just as you finished buttoning your jeans. Dean leaned back against the table and brought you into the safety of his arms. “You alright?”

You simply nodded and smiled softly. “So, where is everyone? I’m surprised Sam and Iris are out, together.”

“Jody took them on a quick road trip. They’ll be back sometime tomorrow.”

“Jody? Your sheriff friend, Jody?” Suddenly you felt nervous. She was someone you’d heard so much about but hadn’t gotten to meet yet.”

Dean chuckled. “The very same. She popped in to say hi today. Now she’s on baby duty.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm, she’s determined to help us get everything ready. I hope that’s okay.” Dean ran his tongue nervously over his bottom lip. “I mean, I don—”

“Dean, stop. It’s fine. I know we have a lot to talk about, but if you don’t mind, could it wait? Tonight, I just,” you sighed, trying to find the right words to explain what you needed at that moment, “I just want to be with you, no one else. I don’t want to talk or make plans. I want to watch a movie, and have you rest your hand here so you can maybe feel her move.”

Realizing what just came out of your mouth, you and Dean both froze. A dopey sort of smile touched his whole face as his hand when to your stomach.

“Her?”

“I don’t know where that came from… just came out.”

“Well, her is better than it. And, I don’t know, the idea of a little girl. It’s kinda nice.”

You smiled playfully and slipped your arms around his neck. “Very nice, until she’s eighteen and brings home a boy just like dad.” His expression changed instantly from wistfully happy, to panicked. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Don’t worry, I’ll set her straight.”

“I’m sure,” he said and shook his head. “Before we take this into the kitchen for snacks and a movie, I want you to know something. I love you. I think I’ve loved you since that damn Halloween party. I know that this shouldn’t work. Being who we are and doing what we do, but it works. WE work. We, will make this work,” he lightly pressed against where your baby laid.

“I love you, Dean, and I love her. We are going to make this the best, safest home for our girl.”

“Damn straight,” he said, and kissed you again, before taking your hand and leading you down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Tags are open! Drop me an ask if you wanna be included!

[vrepitsorrynotsorry]

Fic: Location, Location, Location

Title: Location, Location, Location Rating: G Pairing: Eventual Shotor Characters: Shiro, Lotor, guest starring Keith, and a couple unmemorable OCs Author’s Notes: I’m not dead! I’m just glacially slow. I’m trying to write at least a sentence every day, but that ain’t much, so I apologize. Hopefully, it’s good? Part 1 of Physician Heal Thyself and follows more or less directly after “Ready Set Bake”. Keith and Shiro are found family in this and refer to one another as brothers but are not genetically related. Keith knows he’s part Galra but has not yet met his mother, which is not really relevant to this part, but of note for later. Lotor worked in engineering research and development for Galra Inc. before he quit. He also did other things for the company and apart from the company, but that’s for later, too. I know very little about either real estate or running a business. Please excuse my ignorance and vagueness.

After the competition ended, life didn’t, so it was a couple of weeks before both Shiro and Lotor had free time to discuss their bakery project. Finally, they settled on an otherwise free Saturday and planned to meet up early and discuss looking at available properties. They had decided to establish the bakery near where Shiro was living. Lotor assured the other man that he would not mind relocating at all. In fact, he was looking forward to a fresh start, and had already found his own apartment in the area.

The night before the meetup, Shiro’s mind had been running a mile a minute, so he didn’t sleep well and was up earlier than usual. He tried to be quiet so that Keith could sleep, but it wasn’t long before the younger man came shuffling out of his room, half awake.

“Why are you up?” Keith grumbled, followed by a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Lotor and I are going to talk about locations today. You know, for the bakery? I guess I’m just...restless.”

Keith’s expression shifted by an almost unnoticeable margin, but Shiro liked to think he’d gotten pretty good at reading Keith over the years they’d known each other. Keith was excited that Shiro was finally on board with opening his own bakery, but he wasn’t too keen on Lotor. To be fair, Keith wasn’t too keen on most changes or new things. 

“You have the day off from the garage, right? You could join us, if you want.”

The offer was carefully calculated to give Keith the dual opportunity of keeping an eye on the new stranger in Shiro’s life, which Shiro knew he really wanted to do, and if Shiro was lucky, to get a little more accustomed to him. If Shiro was really honest with himself, he was also a little nervous about spending an entire day alone with Lotor. They’d almost always had other people around during their interactions before.

Keith shrugged. “Okay. When’s he stopping by?”

Shiro opened his mouth to answer and then realized that while finally settling on a day, he and Lotor had forgotten to nail down a time. “Umm...”

There was a soft knock at the door that they might not have heard without the awkward pause in the conversation, and Shiro couldn’t help thinking “speak of the devil.” It really was Lotor at the door, slouching nervously on the stoop with a cardboard drink carrier holding three cups steaming in the cool morning air in one hand and a battered paper folder under the other arm.

“Am I too early? I was already up...”

“No,” Shiro assured him, inviting the other man in with a sweeping arm gesture. “We’re awake.”

“I brought hot beverages,” Lotor mumbled, though the cups were pretty obvious.

“Shiro doesn’t drink coffee,” Keith told him. “Who’s the third one for?”

“You,” Lotor offered with a small shrug, “assuming you would be awake. Otherwise, I would drink it. Caffeine is less effective a stimulant to Galra. Shiro’s is a green tea latte.”

Shiro scooped up the cup Lotor had indicated was for him. “Thanks.” He took a sip and realized that Lotor had gotten it made with coconut milk and a little honey--just how he liked it.

Keith was still looking back and forth between his own coffee and Lotor suspiciously. Shiro cut off further anticipated interrogation by explaining, “We talked about coffee preferences, or lack of them in my case, one day on the show when we were making coffee cakes. What’d you get for Keith? A triple-shot or something?” Keith already knew that Shiro had mentioned his own Galra ancestry to Lotor.

“Quadruple. They call it ‘the Defibrillator.’ It’s black, but I have some sweetener packets, if you’d like to add some.” 

“No, this is fine. Thanks.” The last word was a little grudging, but Shiro appreciated the effort he knew it represented.

After a few more moments of silent sipping, Shiro gestured to the folder Lotor was still clutching tightly to his side. “Did you do some research for today?”

Lotor cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed. “Yes, I um, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands recently...” Shiro knew he’d quit his job at Galra Inc. before the competition, but he’d never thought about what the other man might be doing before the bakery project could really get moving. He didn’t seem like much of a “hobby” kind of guy, except of course for the obvious enjoyment of baking, but there was only so much of that one could do.

He pulled a city map from the folder and laid it out on the coffee table. It was peppered with small adhesive circles in different colors. In fact, most were carefully paired halves of two different colors.

“Based upon listings both online and in print, red are properties that do not currently have kitchen facilities, but could be altered to have them, green are currently fitted for some form of food industry, yellow are on the lower end of the cost scale, but not necessarily in highly trafficked areas, and blue have regular foot traffic, but are more expensive.”

“What’s purple?” Shiro asked. There were quite a few of those. 

“Competition.”

“Do you know which ones are leases and which are for sale?”

Lotor dipped back into the folder. “It was getting a little cluttered, so that information is on these overlays.” He produced transparent sheets with dots in black and white. “Black is for lease and white is for sale,” he explained as he carefully placed the stark circles over their more colorful counterparts.

“Wow,” Shiro remarked, “that’s...”

“Obsessive?” Keith muttered.

“Thorough,” Shiro finished with a warning glance. “Sounds like you’ve got this pretty much covered.”

“Not entirely.” Lotor tapped the map. “When it comes to basic logistics and analysis, yes, I’m quite comfortable doing the research, but there are two things I can’t do. First, a place on paper or a screen is quite different that seeing it in person. I figure we can narrow it down some based on these factors and then go see the remaining places.”

“I agree.” Shiro nodded. “What’s the second thing?”

“The human element,” Lotor admitted with a sigh. “I very much dislike dealing with people, especially those who will inevitably be trying to sell me something. I’ve hardly looked into the associated Realtors and agents at all.”

Shiro shook his head and chuckled, and Lotor arched one brow. “Sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” Shiro hurried to reassure him. “Lucky for you, I’m more of a people person.”

Both Lotor and Keith’s eyes widened as Shiro retrieved his own folder from a desk along one wall. “I’ve been looking into ratings and reviews for different property management companies and Realtors. It shouldn’t take us long to cross reference information, and then we can make a few calls and hopefully see a few locations.”

Keith looked back and forth between the two of them. “I’m not sure the universe can handle you two working together.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to tag along?” Shiro asked playfully.

“Oh, I’m going with you,” Keith insisted. 

He left briefly for a morning run while Shiro and Lotor compared notes and made some calls. Well, Shiro made a few calls. Lotor would occasionally offer a whispered question for him to relay to the person on the other end of the call, but he declined to participate otherwise.

“It’s better this way, believe me,” he declared. “My social interaction skills are limited to three things: avoiding people, which defeats the purpose entirely, saying whatever I think they want to hear, which could end badly where property is involved, and manipulating situations, which I’ve been trying very hard not to do after cutting ties with my family. Besides, I don’t have enough information on any of these places to do it effectively, yet.”

“That’s what the calls are for,” Shiro pointed out. “You ask questions to get more information.”

“I’ve been told I don’t know how to ask things politely, and I make everything sound like an interrogation.”

Shiro let it go because he really didn’t mind doing this portion of the work, and Lotor had obviously spent a great deal of time collecting and organizing other information. 

By the time Keith returned from his run and took a quick shower, they had a short list of five places to visit first. One location oddly wasn’t connected to any of Shiro’s research but seemed very promising.

Several of the locations were in areas with limited parking options, so Lotor offered to drive them. Keith declined, preferring to take his own bike.

“Don’t take it personally,” Shiro told Lotor as he climbed into the passenger seat. “He doesn’t even like it when I drive. I think he likes both the combination of being in control and the open air.” Lotor just shrugged it off and headed toward downtown. He was a very cautious driver. Very.

“If you’re worried that Keith needs to follow you, he does have the address of the first place.”

“Hm?” Lotor shot him a puzzled glance. “He passed us some time ago.”

“Well, you are driving awfully slow.”

“It’s this ground traffic.” Lotor huffed. “It’s so claustrophobic, and movement options are ridiculously limited! Get me out in open space, and I assure you, things would be very different.”

“There’s nothing quite like flying in space,” Shiro readily agreed.

When they finally pulled up in front of the first place on their list, both Keith and the location’s realtor were waiting for them.

“Did you get lost?” Keith asked.

“No,” Lotor answered simply, and Shiro decided not to add any comment.

The first location had formerly been a small cafe styled like an old diner. The kitchen space would need to be totally renovated if it were to become a bakery, as it had two large grill tops, but only one small oven that had definitely seen better days. It was for rent, so any changes would have to be approved by the property owner. Shiro also couldn’t help but notice that it was midmorning on a weekend, and he’d seen hardly any foot traffic outside the large windows along the front of the building. It had looked much more appealing on paper.

The second location was equally unmemorable, though Shiro had talked Lotor into letting him drive there.

At the third location, Shiro finally got a taste of what Lotor had meant about all his questions sounding like interrogations. In this case, however, Shiro felt it was kind of justified.

It wasn’t like Shiro hadn’t expected a few of the property agencies to exaggerate or fudge a few small things. After all, this was business, and they were in it to make a profit like anyone else would be. This, however, was not just a little gilding of the lily.

It was immediately obvious that the published pictures of the storefront were not current. In the listing, there was a lovely, glass entry door. In person, there was a piece of plywood chained into the frame with a large padlock and decorated with some rather risqué graffiti. This was also the location without a pre-researched contact.

The last time Shiro had seen Lotor get angry there had been no yelling. Instead, the other man went intensely quiet, and Shiro could see that Lotor’s expression had gone completely blank.

“Tell me,” he asked in an icy tone, “don’t you think this is something that should have been mentioned in the listing?”

The property manager blinked, but her wide smile didn’t waver. “Ah, yes. This is unfortunate, but it happened only recently-”

“How recently?” Lotor interrupted. “The listing I looked at was posted only a few days ago.”

“There is an allowance included to replace the door,” the woman continued, skirting the question. “This is a great neighborhood. There’s-”

“How great a neighborhood can it be if it’s prone to property damage and vandalism?” Lotor cut into her presentation again.

“Well, just look at the other-”

“Is there something you’re not disclosing about this particular site?” He took a step forward and she took one back. “The interior description was rather vague. Should we expect it to be in

a similar state to the door? How long has this property actually been vacant? Was the information provided intentionally scant because of some kind of past incident?” Lotor was leaving very little time between questions for the woman to respond, and she was beginning to look increasingly alarmed.

“Should one of us step in?” Keith asked quietly from beside him. “She looks like she’s about ready to call the police or something.” He wasn’t wrong.

Shiro gently placed a hand on one of Lotor’s shoulders and he tensed, head whipping around to turn his piercing gaze on Shiro. His expression softened and then became quizzical.

“You think maybe you should ease up a bit? I see what you meant about coming across badly when you ask questions.”

Lotor’s eyebrows shot up and he turned back to the property manager, seeming to see for the first time how she was cowering away from him. He looked lost and a little hurt, but Shiro figured damage control took priority at the moment.

Shiro walked over to the rattled woman hands out in a placating gesture “I’m sorry about that. He’s just a bit...” he trailed off, searching for exactly the right word.

“Galra?” she suggested with a scowl.

Shiro frowned back. “I was going to go with ‘overly assertive’, actually.” He took a calming breath and made another attempt at diplomacy. “You can understand why this was an unpleasant surprise, can’t you? I’d like to think you have an explanation for all of this, and I’m willing to listen.”

This was turning into some kind of absurd property good cop, bad cop. He could see it all in his mind...

“Help me help you, ma’am,” he would say, expression concerned. “This kind of thing really upsets my business partner. I don’t know what he might do.”

“I ought to report this to the Intergalactic Business Bureau,” Lotor would mutter ominously behind him while glaring at the woman, “and I’m leaving a truly nasty review on Yowl.”

“Just tell me what we want to know. What’s really up with this place? Save yourself a lot of trouble.”

The woman’s fearful expression relaxed, and for just a moment, Shiro saw her analyzing the situation shrewdly before her expression turned neutral. “Well, I suppose that makes sense.” She must really, really want to move this property.

“I would like to apologize.” Lotor’s voice cut into their conversation at that point. It was the exact opposite of his tone from before. It was soothing and absolutely nonthreatening. “Clearly, I overreacted badly. I’m moving on from a life where corruption and deceit were commonplace. To believe I was seeing the same in the life I’m trying to start over was...deeply upsetting, but I had no right to take it out on you. If you’re still willing, I would love to see inside the building.”

If you looked up “contrition” in the dictionary, Lotor’s face could be the picture next to it. In fact, it was so perfectly sorry, Shiro’s mind instinctively distrusted the intent, but the property manager seemed to accept it.

She finally had a chance to formally introduce herself as Karen, which Shiro already knew from their brief phone conversation, and explain that she was a lawyer and didn’t usually do this kind of work, but had been managing the property for her brother, who had recently decided to sell. He and his wife had tried to start a restaurant together, but neither the business nor the marriage worked out. After it sat empty for months, they decided to sell the restaurant and split the take. Also, the door hadn’t been broken--the wife had had it made special and decided she was taking it with her.

Inside the building things were actually in pretty decent shape, though neither Shiro nor Lotor were particularly pleased with some of the decorating decisions. Those could be redone, however. There was a very nice, large oven in the kitchen they were told had been primarily used for dinner rolls and desserts. The property was also priced to move quickly. It would be more expensive than leasing initially, but both quite liked the idea of not having to answer to a landlord or property manager.

They decided to take a break for lunch after sending Karen on her way, but it was the middle of lunch rush on a Saturday, and they were having trouble finding a table anywhere.

“My apartment isn’t that far, if you’d like to grab something and eat there,” Lotor offered. Shiro and Keith both agreed, and Shiro suspected curiosity played a large factor in the decision.

The apartment really was quite close, and it was only a few minutes before they pulled into a parking lot beside a modest building. Shiro hadn’t necessarily been expecting anything extravagant, but he was fairly certain Lotor could afford an apartment a good deal larger and nicer than the small studio to which he escorted them. Lotor was clearly still in the process of unpacking, and the majority of the boxes still stacked against one wall appeared to be labelled “books.”

There was no formal dining space, so they crowded around a coffee table in the living area. Even though the seating looked comfortable, the table was low enough that it was easier to sit on the floor. For a few minutes, they were all focused on eating; wandering all over town to look at potential bakery sites was hungry work.

Eventually, Keith broke the comfortable silence by asking, “So, have you two thought of a name for the bakery, yet?”

Lotor and Shiro looked at each other. “Well, no,” Shiro admitted.

“We thought that was a step that could wait for a little while,” Lotor added.

Keith shrugged. “Okay. Just so long as it’s not some horrible pun.” He leveled a playful glare at his brother. “I don’t believe for a minute that you haven’t thought of like a dozen really awful ones.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Shiro replied, all obviously false innocence. “I would never even think about naming a legitimate business something like ‘Bake It Or Leave It’.”

Keith groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Or ‘Flour Power’. Definitely not anything like ‘Crumb and Get It’.”

“Stop! Please!”

“Or,” Lotor interjected, face completely deadpan, “we could make it a really pretentious bakery and call it ‘The Upper Crust’.”

Both Keith and Shiro stared at him shocked silence for a few moments before Shiro burst into a fit of laughter so strong he choked on the bite of food he taken right before the unexpected joke.

Lotor’s eyes went wide and he apologized profusely. He hands fluttered between hovering uselessly in front of him and reaching toward Shiro as if to help but unsure how and back. Once he had enough air, Shiro assured him that he was fine. They locked eyes for a moment, and then both were laughing.

Keith watched them. They seemed genuinely happy, and there was warmth in their expressions. He might not be totally sold on the idea of Lotor working with Shiro yet, but there was no denying they had a connection. Suddenly, the tiny apartment seemed extra crowded.

“I don’t think I’m going to join you to look at the two places left on the list,” Keith announced. Like he had flipped some kind of switch, both of the other men’s demeanors changed from content to nervous.

“Why?” Shiro asked. “Is something wrong?”

“We’ll stop making puns,” Lotor added. “I promise.”

“I’ve just got a couple of things I need to do,” Keith hurried to explain. He had no idea why they suddenly seemed so uncomfortable with the idea of being left alone when they were getting along just fine seconds ago. He hadn’t even been meant to accompany them in the first place! 

Keith was reminded of when he had applied for his current job at the garage. It hadn’t sounded like an interview would be required, so he had been a little nervous when the owner had called to arrange one. Keith didn’t hate people--well, not all of them--but he wasn’t great at interacting with strangers, and he hated small talk. He knew he came across as abrupt and unfriendly to many. Shiro had talked him down and accompanied him to the interview, waiting outside the office until he had finished, and that had only been one of many times Shiro provided unwavering support. What would it really hurt to return the favor in a small way?

Also, Keith realized, if he were to leave now, Lotor would think it was because of him. He still wasn’t anywhere near one of Keith’s favorite people, and he wasn’t sure how much they should trust him, but if nothing else, Keith was certain he intended Shiro no harm.

“It’s not urgent,” he said and watched the other two men visibly sag in relief. “I guess it can wait until after we see the other locations.”

The fourth option was also for sale fairly inexpensively and had once been a bakery, but it was a foreclosed property, and the previous owners had stripped everything they could realistically carry away and even a few that seemed decidedly unrealistic.

“Wow...” Shiro let out a low whistle as he stared at the void where a large oven had once been situated. “They must have really liked that oven.” It had to have been terribly heavy and getting it through the doorway must have been challenging to say the least.

Lotor wrinkled his nose at the state of the floor that had been underneath the former appliance. “They apparently couldn’t be bothered to clean up after themselves though, hm?”

The property might be affordable, but they would have to invest a great deal into making it workable again--maybe even more than at some of the locations they had already seen.

They never even got to see the inside of the last location on their list--it had just been leased before they got there.

Since they had eaten at Lotor’s place for lunch, Shiro invited him to eat dinner with him and Keith so they could discuss the four locations they’d seen that day. They ended up ordering pizza.

“Honestly,” Lotor admitted with a sigh, “I’m leaning toward that for sale property, as much as I’d rather not have to deal with Karen.”

“Is it the sketchy business practices or the xenophobia?” Shiro asked, only half joking.

“A little of both, really. I can’t imagine it would be terribly pleasant, and it’s at least partly my own fault.”

Shiro shrugged. “We won’t really know unless we give it a shot. We can always expand our short list and keep looking.”

“It really was a decent location,” Lotor argued. “I’m not certain how long it will remain on the market. We may only get one shot at it.”

“We don’t want to rush into a decision, though.” Karen had made it sound like the owners wanted to sell fast, but she may have been exaggerating to put them under an increased sense of pressure. Then again, they had missed out on the fifth place on that day’s list. “What do you say we sleep on it and see how we feel about it tomorrow?”

The next day, both agreed that they would make an offer on what they had started calling the “Open Door Property.” Lotor vowed to be on his best behavior, though Shiro thought he rather preferred intensely disapproving Lotor to the diplomatic but rather insincere mask he wore while “behaving.”

“You know I don’t really care if you’re perfectly polite to Karen, right?” Shiro asked. “I mean, you shouldn’t be intentionally rude or anything, but I don’t expect you to be a model citizen at all times. Just be yourself.”

Lotor arched an eyebrow but did not comment.

This time, they met Karen at her office. They had scarcely exchanged pleasantries before she informed them that she had already received an offer of the listing price.

Shiro and Lotor both knew that the property was priced on the lower end of the pricing scale for the area of town where it was located, so this was not entirely surprising. They made a higher offer and left with the uneasy knowledge that it was now a game of waiting and wills.

Unfortunately, it dragged on for several days. Every offer was countered, and the price crept upward. Eventually, they reached a point where they weren’t certain they wanted to go much higher, but the thought of losing the location after all that trouble was also unappealing. 

They discussed it and settled on a maximum price they were willing to pay. It came as quite a shock when Karen called to tell them that the other interested party had just offered the exact same number.

Shiro’s shoulders slumped. This was it. They were going to have to start the process all over again. It was probably just the bitterness talking, but he thought Karen seemed pretty pleased at their disappointment, smiling from her end of the video call.

“What if,” Lotor suddenly said, startling Shiro a little, “we could match that offer but make a generous downpayment in cash?”

Karen’s eyes glittered, and Shiro was certain she wanted to ask how generous but refrained. “Could you do that?” she asked.

Shiro turned so his face was not visible and mouthed, “Could we really?”

“We could,” Lotor affirmed, cool as a cucumber. “However, that will require a trip to the bank, which cannot be done until tomorrow, and such a large withdrawal will require some paperwork. I would prefer not to go through all that trouble unless we have some assurance that this would close the deal.”

“Let me see whether the other party is willing to raise their offer, and I’ll get right back to you.” Karen’s face disappeared, and they were left to wait again.

“So, cash, huh?” On some level, Shiro had always known that Lotor was wealthy, but he hadn’t ever really made it obvious.

“In my experience, it is generally difficult to resist.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Shiro was extremely curious about those experiences, but before he had time to ask, Karen called back.

“If you can have your cash downpayment to me by five o’clock in the evening tomorrow, it’s yours,” Karen told them. She seemed somewhat skeptical that it would be possible.

“Five o’clock,” Lotor acknowledged, and Karen terminated the call.

Shiro went with Lotor to the bank the next day. “I’ve never seen a large amount of cash in person before. I’m curious.” He then added, “Besides, it feels wrong for someone to be walking around with that much money alone.”

“How would anyone know?” Lotor asked with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “I won’t be carrying it out in the open.”

“Briefcase? Duffle bag?”

Lotor laughed. “I believe you watch too many movies. It won’t be in small bills and really won’t take up that much space.” He gestured to a small, leather messenger bag he had slung over one shoulder.

“Sliding a briefcase across the table would look more impressive.”

“Do you own one? No? Well, neither do I.”

Shiro wasn’t sure why he expected the bank to be some grand, old building--probably the movies again--but he had to admit he felt more comfortable in the one they actually went to for the money. The fact that there were only three tellers meant they had to wait for a while, but there was a bowl of hard candies.

“I need to speak to Mr. Hargrave, please,” Lotor told the smiling woman behind the counter and then they went back to the candy dish.

Shiro was just explaining to Lotor how he really didn’t know whether root beer was available in barrels like the candies anymore when the door to a side office opened and a small, nervous man appeared.

“Ah, Mr. Hargrave. How are you?” Lotor greeted him politely. “I’ve come in today to-”

“Is this about the automatic transfer incident?” Hargrave interrupted, wringing his hands in front of himself. “It is, isn’t it? I know I should have contacted you immediately, but it turned out to be a false alarm, and-”

“What incident?” Lotor cut the other man off in turn.

“It was merely a computer system error. The transfer went through as expected, and the message only appeared briefly, so I had hoped you might not have noticed,” the banker confessed. “But, if that’s not why you’re here?”

“No,” Lotor told him, “but I would like to discuss this further. Perhaps in your office?”

Shiro found himself forgotten in the main lobby in the wake of this mysterious money issue. What Lotor did with his money was really none of Shiro’s business, even if he was curious. He distracted himself reading pamphlets about loans, lines of credit, and similar financial topics he discovered near the candy dish. He was in the middle of “Do You Know If You Have Saved Enough for Retirement?” when he heard the office door open again.

“I’ll arrange for your withdrawal to be transferred from the main branch,” Hargrave was saying. “I’m afraid we don’t have that amount in cash on hand today. Would you like to wait here, or have me give you a call when it arrives?”

Shiro must have looked dismayed at the idea of hanging around in the bank lobby much longer because Lotor quickly asked, “How long do you think it will take?”

“An armored transport makes the rounds from branch to branch every few hours. They should be by within the hour.”

Lotor requested to be called and they walked to a café down the street to wait.

“So,” Shiro attempted to ask casually, “is everything really okay with that transfer Hargrave was talking about?”

“Yes.” Lotor answered simply, expression revealing nothing. Oh well, it was worth a shot!

“Exactly how big a downpayment are we making?” Shiro changed the subject. “I mean, if they didn’t have it on hand, it must be a fairly large sum.”

“It’s about half of the cost of the property.”

Shiro almost spat out a mouthful of tea. “Half of the total cost?” he repeated, somewhat stunned.

“I thought that might keep dear Karen from trying to change her mind. Why? Do you think it should be more?”

At first, Shiro thought he was being sarcastic, but Lotor appeared sincere. “That should be plenty,” he finally replied. He wasn’t certain he’d ever had that much money in his own bank account all at once. “Are you sure you want to spend so much right away? I feel like I’m barely contributing.”

“You will going forward,” Lotor reassured him. “It’s an investment. I’m certain we’ll earn it back and more besides.”

A short time later, Hargrave called, and they returned to the bank. Shiro felt vaguely like he was a part of some kind of heist as he watched the banker place neatly bundled stacks of bills into Lotor’s satchel. They also both signed papers for a loan on the remaining property value.

Shiro insisted on driving on the way to Karen’s office because the money made him feel like they had a target painted on them and he wanted to get there faster than he knew Lotor would drive.

Karen’s eyes widened fractionally as she was handed the money, and Shiro was relieved that he wasn’t the only one unused to dealing with this kind of situation. There followed a great deal more paperwork, and then the key was rather anticlimactically slid across the desk to them. The deed would be sent later.

“Congratulations,” Karen told them, “it’s all yours.”

The sun had already set by the time they exited Karen’s office. They should probably just go home, but...

“Hey,” Shiro asked, nudging Lotor’s arm, “wanna go by the bakery?”

Lotor grinned. “Yes!”

They realized after they got to the building that there was currently no power. They went in anyway.

“In the dark this place is kind of...”

“Creepy?”

With only light from the streetlamps outside for illumination, the dinginess and disrepair the property had fallen into was starkly highlighted, but it was theirs now, and that counted for something.

“Well, step one down,” Shiro declared. “We have our location. You know what step two is, right?”

“Buy a new door?” Lotor asked cheekily.

Shiro snorted. “I guess that’s part of step two: get this place ready for business.”

“It’s going to be a lot of work.”

Shiro grunted in agreement. “Yeah, but that’s one of the things friends are good for.”

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

23 things on 'The Office' you've never noticed before

The Office is truly the show that keeps on giving.

Though the NBC comedy has been off the air since 2013, the discussion surrounding it is still very much alive. To this day, fans keep finding new, hilarious Easter eggs in the show.

The more than 750,000 diehards who come together on r/DunderMifflin to chat about the program are experts at pointing out the hidden details they pick up mid-rewatch. 

We've compiled 23 of the best. Find out how well you really know your stuff.

SEE ALSO: The 65 absolute best moments from 'The Office'

1. David Wallace *also* has a world's best boss mug

If you thought Michael Scott was the sole best boss in the world, you're wrong! At least according to the desk mugs ...

Turns out David Wallace, chief financial officer of Dunder Mifflin, has a World's Best Boss mug on his desk, too. It's visible in the Season 2 episode, "Valentine's Day." It's black and has a more obnoxious font than Michael's. It's unclear whether David Wallace bought his own mug.

Will the real World's Best Boss please stand up? Oh look, it's Michael!

Image: the office/netflix

2. Michael uses his own brand of salad dressing

In the second episode of Season 4, Michael and Jan are chatting about ageism in his office while eating salads. Everything seems normal until you look closely: The salad dressing on the table is Michael Scott's own personal brand, "Great Scott."

Great Scott!

Image: the office/netflix

The jar is adorned with a homemade label featuring Michael's face and a bowl of salad. Thanks to a deleted scene from the previous episode, "Fun Run," we know all about it. 

"What do I look like to you, Paul Newman? That's actually not a good example, because I have been compared to a young Paul Newman, my eyes and my face. And I make my own salad dressing," Michael says in the deleted scene, which starts around 4:10. "I mix Newman's Ranch with Newman's Italian. Sell it at flea markets for a slight loss. I could make ... I could make a profit if I changed one of the ingredients to Wishbone, but I won't do it."

3. That Dunder Mifflin Newsletter was trolling us

In Season 1, Episode 4, viewers get a glimpse of an old Dunder Mifflin Employee Newsletter. The Easter egg lies within the text.

In a classic move, the people writing the words didn't take the time to crank out a full article. Rather, they wrote a bit of sensical information followed by absolutely anything.

"A lot of useless information"

Image: the office/netflix

"Welcome to yet another exciting edition of the Dunder Mifflin Employee Newsletter," the article begins quite reasonably. But by the second paragraph, things get meta.

"As anybody can easily tell, this newsletter doesn't really have a lot to say. It's really just a prop to fill some space and sort of look like a newsletter without really being much of a newsletter at all ... In fact, at times we can probably get away with not using real English words, such as kjgavbiwiwpo..."

This isn't even the only time The Office writers did this. Now you know!

4. Jim signs Meredith's pelvis cast "John Krasinski"

Remember when Michael hit Meredith with his car and she had to get a cast on her pelvis? John Krasinski does! Because in Season 4, Episode 3, he signed it ... as himself, not his character Jim Halpert! Whoops.

Hmm ...

Image: the office/netflix

5. Stanley's resolution was, um, telling

In "Gossip," the first episode of Season 6, Dunder Mifflin Scranton learns Stanley's been cheating on his wife, Teri, with some woman named Cynthia. In Season 7, Episode 13, it's crystal clear that hasn't changed. Stanley's resolution card literally says, "To be a better husband and boyfriend." Boy, have you lost your damn mind?

To be fair, everyone's resolutions are a lot.

Image: the office/netflix

6. Oscar's drinkin' prop wine

Oscar was so excited to drink the wine in Season 8, Episode 12, no one realized the prop label was still on the bottom of the bottle. If you pause the episode you can clearly see a piece of tape with the word "Oscar" on that bottle of, um, Chateau Galmon?

"I am Bacchus, God of wine!"

Image: the office/netflix

7. Michael keeps his broken plasma on the wall for a while

Michael and Jan broke up after all hell broke lose in the Season 4 episode, "Dinner Party," but he held onto a key reminder of his ex well into Season 5.

In "Dream Team," Pam visits Michael's place to start the Michael Scott Paper Company, and his pride and joy — the mini plasma TV Jan shattered by throwing a Dundie Award at it — is still mounted on the wall. The most hilarious part of the situation? Michael clearly got a new television, which he placed directly under the broken flatscreen, neglecting to trash the old one. 

Could it be he wasn't ready to let go — or that Jan mounted it on the wall and he had no idea how to take it down? We may never know.

Two TVs ...

Image: the office/netflix

8. He then attempts to sell the broken plasma

Finally, in "Garage Sale," Episode 19, of Season 7, Michael is finally ready to part with his tiny broken plasma. But rather than throw it out, he attempts to SELL IT at the warehouse garage sale. Come on, dude.

Nope.

Image: the office/netflix

9. Return of the clown art

Speaking of that warehouse garage sale, another familiar object was for being sold: That creepy clown painting that used to be stuck to the walls of Jim and Pam's house (aka, Jim's parent's old house). Wonder how they finally got it off the wall ...

No one will buy that clown painting.

Image: the office/netflix

10. Bob Vance was possibly a marketing genius

Any fan of The Office knows that Phyllis' husband, Bob Vance (of Vance Refrigeration), loves to plug his business whenever he gets the chance. 

But one theory considers the idea that Bob Vance wasn't simply trying to market Vance Refrigeration to Dunder Mifflin employees — instead, perhaps he was constantly repeating his company name for the cameras filming the Dunder Mifflin documentary in hopes that if the footage ever aired it'd be free advertising. Genius.

11. Michael ate tiramisu from the trash

This one's kind of a long story, but in Season 5, Episode 10, Jim gives Pam a piece of tiramisu as a peace offering after going out to lunch with Michael.

Pam rejects the offering and throws the tiramisu away, but in a later scene we see Michael eating a piece of tiramisu at his desk. Though some speculate Michael also brought tiramisu back from the restaurant, he's seen walking into the office alongside from Jim empty-handed and even claps at a joke.

Michael later takes a shot at Pam, scolding her for throwing away "perfectly good tiramisu" just because it has a hair on it, so all signs point to him digging Pam's dessert out of the trash.

12. This extremely deep paper clip find

In Season 5, Episode 1, Michael introduces Pam to the office's replacement receptionist, Ronnie, via video chat, explaining that Ronnie is unable to find "those little colored paper clips" he likes so much.

Somehow, an Easter egg mastermind discovered that Jim and Pam's license plate, CHD-0032, is the model number for those clips Michael likes. (If you Google the plate number, they come up.) 

13. Jim's title in Stamford was "Assistant Regional Manager"

Dwight spent season after season begging for the title "Assistant Regional Manager" instead of "Assistant to the Regional Manager," and all Jim had to do to get it was transfer to the Stamford branch. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In Season 3, Episode 6, Jim falls asleep at his desk, and we get a peek at that nameplate, baby!

The real deal

Image: the office/netflix

14. Creed's fake name is the actor's real name

In Season 4, Episode 4, Creed Bratton — the character on The Office played by actor Creed Bratton — explained that whenever he gets into financial trouble, he transfers his debt to a man named "William Charles Schneider." Turns out William Charles Schneider is actor Creed's real name, and there's a good chance that's his real passport.

15. Michael's wallet looks like a '90s DIY project

Does Michael Gary Scott carry around a bedazzled wallet? That's absolutely what it looks like...

16. Jim wears a wig in Season 3

John Krasinski's received some feedback on Jim's floppy hair over the years, but if things looked a little off in Season 3, it wasn't his fault.

Krasinski had to cut his hair short for his role in the film Leatherheads, which gave him no choice but to wear a wig during the last six episodes of The Office's third season. Krasinski further explains his hair challenges in this interview starting at around 2:15.

Wig Tuna

Image: the office/netflix

17. St. Patrick's Day celebrations were lit

Season 6, Episode 19 is dedicated to St. Patrick's Day, and the office really goes all out. For example, did you notice Michael has an Italian flag on his desk instead of an Irish one, or that they dyed the water in the community water cooler green? LOL.

The closest the Irish get to Christmas

Image: the office/netflix

Image: the office/netflix

18. Andy's Call of Duty username is extremely Andy

Viewers get a glimpse of Andy playing Call of Duty in Season 3, Episode 5 of the show. If you look closely you'll see his username is a very fitting "Here Comes Treble" — named after his college a cappella group, who we later hear about in the Season 9 episode, "Here Comes Treble."

Image: the office/netflix

19. Creed possibly has a mugshot hanging at his desk

Does Creed casually have his mugshot hanging above his desk? Honestly, we wouldn't put it past him.

20. Jim's last name is misspelled on his wedding sign

Congrats to Pam Beesly and Jim HalpRET on their wedding. Was this a typo or an intentional joke? We can't keep track anymore.

Hmm...

Image: the office/netflix

21. Wait, who is that?

You know when TV shows like actors so much they bring them back to play other roles in the future? How about when they replace a character with a different actor and expect viewers not to notice or to be totally fine with it? The Office is guilty of doing both of those things.

Image: the office/netflix

Dwight's nephew in the show's final season was also an extra in Season 7's "WUPHF.com" episode. Elizabeth, the stripper hired throughout the course of the show, appeared in the "Ben Franklin," "Fun Run," and "Finale" episodes, yet not everyone seemed to remember her. Andy's parents and Pam's mom were recast throughout the series. And Dwight hired Devon, the employee Michael fired in Season 2, back in the finale.

22. John Krasinski shot the opening Scranton footage

This one's less of a "did you notice?" and more of a "did you know?" but John Krasinski, the man you know and love as Jim Halpert, is semi-responsible for the iconic Office intro. According to TV Guide, Krasinski shot scenes from the opening credits sequence while on a research trip.

23. There's a nod to the UK version of the show

What would the U.S. version of The Office be without a reference to the UK version of the series? 

The address of Dunder Mifflin's Scranton office is 1725 Slough Avenue, Scranton, PA, which is special because there's a town in the UK called Slough, where the UK version of the show just so happens to take place. 

Image: screengrab/google maps

And that's not all. When you search in the Scranton branch's address in Google maps it shows Pennsylvania Paper & Supply Company, the building that's featured in the intro footage, and Poor Richards Pub, the Dunder Mifflin employees' go-to place for Happy Hour.

So there you have it, fans. The writers, cast members, and show runners of your favorite comedy were even more clever than you realized. Now it's time to re-watch the show and see if you can spot any other hidden treasures.

WATCH: What is the cast of ‘The Office’ doing now?

[iamgreez-greezjournal]

"$#!+" Amanda exclaimed and then she get off her car to check the lights, because she bumped on a taxi cab. "What the hell?!" You are not looking on your way? You should pay for this!" she said madly. Then a taxi driver get off his cab and say patiently, "Miss Beautiful, I won't pay for that, in any angle, you are the on who bumped me and not me." "I don't need you explanation, what important is, this is a new model of Porsche, you should pay me" and Kevin says "Okay." but he is not yet finish on what he was saying, Amanda abrupted him "Okay, don't pay for it" and she went in her car and horn loudly, that means go to the side cause I'm running late.

Amanda Watson is a half-Filipina and a half-British, a supermodel type of body, beautiful and a business woman. She's an only child and she live in a silver spoon since she was a child. And her mom died in a cancer a year ago, and she is living to her father with a lot of meetings and business trips.

She arrived in their house when her maid called her and said "Your father is here" but before she steps on the staircase her father saw her. "What was I heard in a news, that you have an accident?" "No, Dad, it's not an accident, it's a merely accident. I just bumped on a taxi cab lately, and it's all fine" she said. "Poor Amanda, for now on I am giving you, your own driver for your safety." her father said. "What?! Dad, it is all fine" I don't need a driver." she said "No, Amanda you are the only precious on me and I won't let that happen again. Tomorrow, you have your own driver." he said. "Okay" Amanda sighed.

"Miss Amanda, Miss Amanda" her maid waking up her. And she stretched on her bed and still sleepy but when she saw the clock, "It's already 9:00" she said in shocked. "I need to rush, I need to go in my boutique at 10:00" she drank her coffee on the tray that held by her maid. Then she rushed in to the bathroom. "Miss Amanda, your driver is already at the garage waiting for you" maid said. She didn't mind it and open the shower.

She was rushing to open the garage when she saw a 6 footer man, dark and handsome yet gorgeous. The man is standing beside of the door of her car. When... "You?! What are you doing here?!" Amanda exclaimed "I am your driver and also your body guard" Kevin smiled. "Your father told to my father that his daughter needs a driver, so now I'm here." "Okay" she rolled her eyes.

And they arrived in boutique at exactly 10:00am "Whew!" anda sighed after she looked her wrist watch. "Miss Beautiful, keep safe! I'll be here at 5pm. See you!" Kevin said. She walked to her boutique and she saw her two sales clerk. "Did Mr. and Mrs. Manhattan arrived?" Amanda asked, "Not yet, Ma'am her secretary texted me that Mr. and Mrs. Manhattan will be late." Abigail answered "Oh , that's good! Let's be prepared, Abigael, separate the color of the hanging clothes and Claire, you wipe all the mannequins".

An hour ago, Mr. and Mrs. Manhattan arrived in the boutique. "Good Morning! Mr. and Mrs. Manhattan" the two sales clerk said it lively. "Let's go to the room". Amanda said it politely. "Hi! I'm Amanda Watson, the owner of this Amanda Boutique" she said formally.

Mr and Mrs. Manhattan were in mid-forties who is a senior talent manager. The couple was here to have a business talk to Amanda because they are proposing to Amanda a one year contract of Maybelline New York Cosmetics.

"Thank you for choosing me as your new model of one of the famous cosmetic brands here in the Philippines." Amanda said. "Your always welcome. My wife really likes you to be the next model of Maybelline and finally we got you." and Amanda gave them a warm smile.

When Kevin arrived, she get in the car. While they are in traffic jam, "How's your meeting?" Kevin asked. "Just fine" she answered. "Anyways, Ma'am I brought your new model of Porsche car in mechanic, Don't worry, I'm the one who will pay for it. I already tell it to your dad" Kevin said. "Oh My God! He didn't know it yet but because you are talkative he already know. For sure he is mad right now" Amanda said in high tone voice. "I just want to help and I thought you will be happy" Kevin said in low tone voice. "Well you're not helping, you are just making things complicated. Well, just thank you for the payments." she said madly "And..." she paused "you stop talking that you think we're close. Okay?!" rolled her eyes and take to the side of the seat and close her eyes. "I'm sorry" Kevin said.

When they arrived at home her father is standing at the front door "What happened to the car huh?!" her father said sarcastically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mention it to you, I was tired that time." Amanda said, "It's not the problem, you know what it is? That car has a sentimental value to us. That was a gift by your mom before she died. And then you won't take care of it." "I know dad, I know how important and the value of that car. But you've never ask me when I was hurt or not the important to you was that I save the car sometimes I think that I'm your treasure also so you will take care of me. "And then Amanda received a slapped to her dad. "You are wrong!" shocked on what he did, "You are grounded using the cars, for now you are commuting when going to work." he said Amanda went to her room and there she cried all over. Someone's open the door of her room, and that's their old maid named Sharon. "Don't cry baby" Sharon said pathetically. "I never felt that I really exists to this family. When I was a child, I never have a bonding with them coz they are always in business trips. I can count how many times I celebrate my birthdays with them." she sobbed. "Yes baby, I'll understand you, but they are your parents and they know what's the best for your future." Sharon said. "Yes, but we are already achieved those things. I just want a simple life with my love ones, not this." Amanda sobbed. "Don't worry baby, time will come" Sharon said and she brushed Amanda's hair. and when she looked to Amanda, she fell asleep.

The next morning, it is her schedule for a pictorial in Studio Eighty-Nine in SM Megamall. One kilometer away from their house, a taxi cab stopped to her and she let her in, "Good Morning!" he said, "Good Morning too" she answered while she is texting. "I just want to say sorry about what happen last night because of me, you are grounded. I'm really sorry" he said. "It's okay" she said. "What time you are going home?" "12noon."

He parked his taxi cab and went to Shakey's, "Can I reserved this table for two?" He asked to the waiter and the waiter nod. "Can you serve it for me at 12:30pm?" he asked "Sure, sir put some red roses on the table, please. Make it romantic. Thank You" he smiled. "Oooopss, I need to go, it's already 11:30am" he looked with his wrist watch.

Before he go to the place, he change his clothes in smart casual attire and then she came."

"Oh, sorry how long you'd wait?" Amanda said, "Got arrived few minutes later." he said "Where we'll be going? That's the parking area?" Amanda was confused, "I just want to invite you for lunch?" they keep walking until they enter in Shakey's. Where the place is so romantic with three red roses on the table. And there's a slow-mellow music. She never say anything but in her eyes. You'll see that she is surprise and felt romance. "May you sit down, my Queen" while he make a space to sit his Amanda. "What are these?" she said surprisingly. "Wait a minute" he said and went outside. Then, the orders arrived, a family size Hawaiian Pizza, two soups, two spaghetti, two carbonaras and a two iced teas. "What's happening she asked to the waiter, still clueless of what happened. And he just nod and smile and Kevin comeback with bouquet of red roses. She was really surprised of what was happening because it's not her birthday and it's not her boyfriend to give her some flowers.

"What's happening" she asked with mad in her voice." I just want to apologize and also to be with you" he said sincerely. "I already forgave you" Amanda said. "My father said that you love pasta and Hawaiian pizza" he said and Amanda smiled at him. "The real reason that I brought you here because the last time our car bumped in Makati, I already fell for you that time." Kevin says, sincerely while looking at her eyes. She was listening "Then.." he says "I'm so happy that my father is your family driver and your father told my dad, that you need a driver. I never hesitate it." he continued. "I don't rush for your answers, I can wait.I tell this to you, to know how much I love you." he said it and hold her hands. She felt something spark with his hands when he touched her. This is the first time she felt with her past boyfriend that will never last for three months. Her last long relationship which lasted for two years. His named was Jake who has been unfaithful to her and at the end her bestfriend was the third party. After that she don't want to be in relationships and focus herself in her business.

"How's your date?' his father asked him, "very fine and romantic. I said what I really feels. I love her since the day we met" Kevin said happily. "Follow your heart, because heart knows your real happiness" his father told him.

Lying on her bed she's looking up the sky and stars, reminiscing what Kevin said to her, it always repeating it in her head the way his hands touched hers until she fell asleep.

"Good Morning!" Sharon said while she is opening the curtain, Amanda commanded that every morning that open the curtain even she still asleep, because she loves the warmth of the sun. "Good Morning too, Sharon", she smiled widely. "Anyways, your dad has a business trip in London for three months" she said, "Okay, there's nothing unusual", she said.

She go to dining area and her phone beep.

"Good Morning! It's Sunday, are you want to go in church? - Your King :)"

texted by him. "Good Morning too, Yes! ;)"

she replied.

"Okay, I will wait you outside your house" then she heard a horn outside their house and when she looked down at the window there He is, waving at her and she just smiled back.

In church, she looked at Kevin and realized that Kevin is different from all man that she know. He is God-fearing man, thoughtful and gentleman, his looks is a plus-plus. They are officially relationship after dating for almost a year.

It's their anniversary. When Kevin took her again in Shakey's where did Kevin tell his feelings but this time the place is dark and private. They are only inside the party place. There is a two seater table with candlelight, a three red rose and some petals scattered on the floor. A Man in suites that is standing three meters away the table and a young woman who wears a tube silk dress besides the man and she holding a violin. When they walk to the table the corner lights, lights on and the man started to sing the "Everything I do, I do it for you" by Bryan Adams and the young woman starts to play her violin too. She was really surprised and overjoyed.

When they sit a guy in an American suit bring a bouquet of red roses. "Ma'am this is gave by the love of your life" he said formally "Wow! Thank you!" her eyes where shining and smiled brightly. There's a letter in the bouquet and when she opened it. It was wrote in "Will you Marry Me"❤️ Kevin" She was really surprised that time , She looked at Kevin with smile in her lips and say Yes"

They kept their relationship to her father but this time they are getting to marry and they want it to tell to her father. "Dad, I have something to tell you" Amanda said "Yes" he said. "We are getting to marry on..." they not yet finished the sentence her father slapped her infront of him and said "Are you crazy? Amanda her father said madly. "This guy is just only a driver what future he can bring it to you?" her father said sarcastically. "For due I respect, I'm only a driver but I can do anything just to make is alive" he said formally. "To make us alive? What the hell? She can live without you and your efforts, you just want to get money from this family" he shouted madly. "Dad... " she's crying and want to tell her father to stop it. "You go to your room" pointing to the staircase to go to her room. commanded by her dad. but she just stop there while crying and then Kevin shouted that "I will marry you Amanda, wait for me to comeback, I love you so much" Kevin said while the guards are holding his arms nad pulling back to the door. "Go to your room" commanded by her dad. The only thing she can do is to cry out loud.

It's been two years when Amanda and Kevin have no communication and not seeing each other.

His dad retired to his work because he can't worked anymore and got an arthritis. And Amanda opened 50 stores nationwide and launched her new clothing line the Amanda Sensual Wears.

After that, when she got home, she baking a cake, while her maid is cooking spaghetti. It's her Father's Birthday. That's why everyone is busy preparing on her dad's birthday.

After she baked the cake, she called few friends of her dad to celebrate it. "Dad, come down, Let's eat" she knocked on his room but when she hold the door knob, it's not lock so she enter to his room. He just sit on the edge of his bed. "Come Dad, it's your day. Don't ruin it, some of your friends are on the living room, wait for you. Let's go" she said "I'm sorry my dearest Amanda to tell all the things I've done to you mostly, it's when I disagreed your engagement to Kevin, I'm so sorry" he said in low voice. "That's okay, the important is your birthday" Amanda smiled and hugged him. "I also invite Rosales Family" her father smiled "Dad, really?? Is that okay After all? Amanda shocked. "It's okay for your happiness, you already found the right guy" her dad smiled. She texted their family driver also known as Kevin's dad.

They came but Kevin wasn't there, Kevin father said "Kevin was in Japan, will come home on December." A sad in her eyes and she just focus herself in her business and to her father. She planned that this coming Christmas and New Year, to have a vacation out of town with her father and visit their relatives in Australia.

The day of her flight. She locked her room and his father's room and their luggage where in the living room. "I'm so excited to see my cousins there" Amanda said excitedly. "Yeah, I've heard that Cindy born her first child." her dad said. "Let's go, I'm so excited for our White Christmas" and they put their luggage in the compartment.

Someone was standing on the gate and Amanda noticed her but her father talked "How are you?" her father said, "Where are you going?" he said, "We planned to have a vacation in Australia this holiday season, we also celebrate New Year there." Amanda said "I have one question, Will you still marry me?"Kevin said with a 24k White Gold in his hand and kneel, she looked at her dad and her dad jist nod and says "Go on, say yes" "YES" she replied, and "I love you so much" he said. They kissed each other.

After the holiday vacation in Australia. On the next day, they got married on the same church where she answered Kevin to be her officially boyfriend.

"Do you accept Kevin Rosales as your husband" the priest said "I do"

After that they Kissed again and the guests applaused and Kevin carried Amanda from Altar to the car. The bridesmaids tossed of red roses petals at the car they leave and Amanda was waving to them.

The End

[hangonimevolving]

***SPACE BAR!!!***

When my sister and I were young in the 1980's, we used to love - LOVE! - this game on our old, gigantic Macintosh II computer. It was called Crystal Quest.

So in the game, the player used the (giant, roller-ball) computer mouse and single, rectangular button to control the cursor (the white circle thing in the center of the above image), as it tried to navigate this black field full of diamond shaped crystals (good), random mines, obstacles, and "bad guys" that made the most hilarious noises ever. Once in awhile, this shiny, massive crystal would pop up on the screen and start bouncing around crazily, and you got beaucoup bonus points if you could capture it - but the risk was running into aforementioned mines and bad guys, some of which shot bullets at you, multiplied, "pooped" out mini-bad guys that acted as more obstacles and mines, and some even exploded when shot. Amazing, amazing game.

If you're dying to see this in action - view here:

Anyway. As you leveled up in the game, obviously things would get hairier and more difficult, and my sister and I had limited talents overall in the video game department... suffice it to say, we never got very far. We never "conquered" the game. The only reason we got as far as we did was because of ***SPACE BAR!***. This became our "safe word" to each other while playing - b/c when things got hard enough, if you were lucky enough to have aggregated enough points or crystals or whatever, you'd start earning the right to "bombs," which were these "clear the palate!" deals that you'd detonate in the game in order to clear the entire field of bad guys and mines that were bothering you. You only had a limited number, so you couldn't do it often, and my sister and I were so untalented at the game, that neither one of us was ever really coordinated enough to control the mouse and the space bar at the same time, hence the need to shout SPACE BAR! at each other so that the person not playing would hit the space bar for the other one! But anyway. They were a saving grace when things got just too complicated and overwhelming.

So. Why am I bringing this up?

A few weeks ago, Dr. Spouse and I officially hit the Space Bar for our family.

After about 100 days on the market, we finally got a real offer on our house. A serious one. We'd had a few others, but none felt serious, and/or negotiations didn't go very far with them. But this buyer really meant business - and they were in a huge hurry. From the time of their offer till our closing date and move-out, only about 17 days elapsed. It felt like the blink of an eye. Funny, b/c there was hardly a moment to waste simply blinking eyes. We had to HUSTLE to get the house packed up, our movers organized, and most of all - to figure out where the $%^& we were going.

Because, our family likes to make things as complicated as possible :)

The truth is, we actually bought a house. We had a house that we were able to buy, and we are OVER THE MOON about it. I'll talk way more about it soon, but suffice it to say - it is my DREAM home. I am so excited about it.

But. New house is a FIXER. We are looking at ~6 months of renovations at that house - renovations so significant, that living in the home is going to be impossible for a time. So we were going to need somewhere else to put up for awhile during this whole remodeling thing. With our two children, and our cat. Eep.

Cue Dr. Spouse IMMEDIATELY launching a great short-term rental apartment/house hunt. Which lasted approximately two days, because we really just didn't have the time for it to last longer, and the silver lining of our situation is we knew that whatever rental we chose, it would only be for a few months.... so. Happily, he found something that we could all live with quite easily: a 3 bed/3 bath, split-level townhome with a one-car garage and a small balcony, with all hardwood floors throughout. The boys would be able to share one of the larger bedrooms, and the main bedroom with en suite separate bath was a generous size for the two of us. The third bedroom would serve as our homeschool classroom, Pixel's nighttime abode, and our "just in case someone has to come stay with us even though Covid is pretty much guaranteeing we won't have guests" guest room. Best of all, the apartment is only about 3 minutes from our new house, so we can keep an eye on the renovations. It's also zoned for the same public school that the house is, so in the event that we are still living here by next school year (which OMG, we better not be - the house better be finished by then!) - the kids could enroll in the school, and then continue going there even once renovations are done and we move into the house.

Soooo many FaceTime tours of apartments provided by Dr. Spouse....

As he tackled the "where will we live" question even while working an extraordinarily busy few weeks at work, I did my best to handle pretty much all the other details. I dealt with all the paperwork and communication with the realtors about the sale of our house. I got estimates from three moving companies, found a storage unit for the 60+% of our household belongings that we wouldn't be bringing to the apartment, and I worked on some household repairs at the old house to get it in shape to hand over to the new owners....

Honestly.... I feel the need to give you all an EXTRA moment of time, to take in and appreciate this haute couture ensemble I am rocking as I use my power sander to smooth out the drywall compound that I've slathered onto our TV wall mount holes. Just look at me. I'm a vision, in my Amazon Basics T-shirt, jean shorts, pink flying elephant apron, Isotoner bedroom slippers, and my protective eyewear and mask. Rawr. Sexy beast.

The glamour didn't stop there. Then came the Packing Up of the Shit. Decluttering, tossing out trash, donating stuff, then boxing up the contents of the universe. BOXES, BOXES, BOXES. I was swimming in them. And, it wasn't just the boxing. It was the decision-making. Because, as I mentioned earlier -this was a complicated-ass move. We were moving from one house, into not one, not two, but THREE different locations: the temporary digs during renovation, the storage unit that would house all the shit that wouldn't fit in the apartment, and then we made the decision to have all of our outdoor patio furniture and crap delivered directly to the backyard of the new house. So, one point of origin, THREE points of delivery with this move. COMPLI-CAAYYY-ted. I developed this elaborate numbering/color-coding system. For real. Numerous round colored stickers were involved.

Okay, Tumblr is being weird and saying I've exceeded the number of pictures that is permitted in a single post.... so I'm going to pause here, and continue in a sequel!

[eatbreathewrite]

The Adventures of Todd and Granny

(Alternatively: “I Saw Granny Ethel with the Devil”)

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V

Grocery Store

Todd the demon is a he, now, if only because Granny Ethel insists upon using copious ‘Dear boy, keep trying’ and ‘Atta boy!’ critiques to varying degrees depending on how well his needlework, crochet, and knitting attempts progress.

Gender isn’t a concept the demon concerned himself with before. If Todd had been, say, a girl named Tonya, he supposes he’d be a she instead. If Todd had been gender-neutral and properly communicated with his grandmother, he supposes she would call him they or child, appropriately. Granny Ethel isn’t one to discriminate. Even when she properly wears her glasses and sees his obviously un-Todd-like appearance, only shaking her head and smiling with a good-natured “kids these days” on her lips. But he wouldn’t mind if Granny Ethel called him boy, girl, thing, or abomination, so long as she stayed happy.

Granny Ethel is a patient woman. Todd simply can’t understand why or how she’d become the black sheep of her family, especially after a full week of living with her hospitality. Through the constant baked goods and the modest but satisfying three-meals-a-day; the careful (oh-so-careful) dusting of trinkets and bookshelves with tiny cloths and feather dusters not fit for large claws, which he insists upon doing while she looks on in worry before brewing more coffee; the midday television re-run breaks spent sealing cash donations into envelopes and discussing human rights issues instead of watching old shows, he simply can’t think of her as anything but a paragon of her kind.

It’s a problem with them, he concludes. Not her.

It isn’t a decision he makes lightly.

Spending such a brief time with her, he’s already learned so much more about humans than he ever would have cared to know, beyond perceiving them as vessels or a means to an end. There is much suffering in the world—sometimes even more than that in Hell—but there is also kindness.

He’s known that, but he witnesses it first hand during their first trip outside of Granny Ethel’s home.

“Come, now, Todd, we have much shopping to do. I’m afraid my pantry isn’t stocked appropriately for the upcoming food donation drive and I can’t just skip it this month.”

Todd remembers addressing an envelope to the local food bank—most people would stop there, figuring their good deed was done.

“I also have to stock up on this week’s groceries. Feel free to buy whatever you want, dear. I can cook anything, you know! At least, I try. I suppose you’d like some snacks, too. But I am so glad you’re here; think of all the bags we can carry between the two of us!”

There is no car in Granny Ethel’s driveway, or a garage to store it. He wonders how they’re going to make it to the grocery store as he waits for her to lock the door behind them, as she hobbles down the two small concrete steps with her cane in hand.

It isn’t until she’s halfway down the sidewalk that he realizes they’re walking. In public.

An old crone in black and a demon at her side, wearing a handmade shawl so lovingly stitched with various, terrifying occult symbols.

He isn’t the only one who sees a problem with this—the neighbor’s dog, a small, bug-eyed thing, yaps indignantly at them from the front lawn as it bounces around the dewy grass at its owner’s feet, soon erupting in warning yowls and howls, before falling silent mid-yip when Todd locks eyes with it. The neighbor—Maurice, if he remembers Granny Ethel’s gossip correctly—stands frozen, watering can dangling limp from his hand as he overwaters the begonias at his feet, mouth hanging open in undignified disbelief.

“Good morning, Maurice!” Granny Ethel calls with unmitigated cheer, and a hint of pride. “Nice morning, isn’t it? Oh! Have you met my wonderful grandson Todd? He finally came to visit! We’re going shopping now. Will you watch my house?”

Maurice simply stares, dumb with shock.

Halfway down the block, another neighbor’s car brakes with a squeal before they make it out of the driveway and they stick their head out of the window to gape.

Shutters crack open. Curtains are shoved aside.

Before Todd knows it, they are the cul-de-sac’s center of attention.

Granny Ethel doesn’t pay it any mind and continues obliviously on, waving to each face in turn as those faces pale, yet hers remains rosy.

“My, such a busy day today. I haven’t seen everyone out like this since the Fourth of July block party. Oh, if you’re still here during summer, Todd, we should definitely take part. Maybe we should start knitting an American flag for the occasion. What do you think?”

He can only nod.

They make it to the grocery store without incident—aside from the broken fire hydrant caused by a distracted driver and the one, single person who ran away screaming, and the handful that crossed themselves, and the one person bold enough to snap a picture with their phone before Todd grabbed it from their hands and threw it while Granny Ethel wasn’t looking, too distracted with how well the city’s roadside flowers were blooming—and Todd, ever the gentledemon, takes a small shopping cart from its line and trails behind Granny Ethel as she consults the list taken from her purse.

As expected, those within the store stop and stare. Even the calming elevator music jolts to a pause.

A young man in an employee vest, who looks high, shoots Todd the demon-horn hand sign and smiles before swaggering away to the frozen food aisle, and the manager meekly approaches them, skirting around a fresh fruit display.

“Ma’am, is there—is there something I can—do you need help?” he asks, sweating from his receding hairline to his neck as he tugs at his collar and straightens his frumpy tie.

“Oh! I’m so glad you asked. I didn’t see any sales circulars by the door—what kind of specials are on right now? Particularly on things like pizzas and cereals and whatever else young men like to eat.” Granny Ethel leans in close to the man, close enough to loudly whisper, “See, my grandson here is a quiet, shy boy despite his appearance, and I don’t think he’d ask me himself, but I bet he’d love to get some junk food to snack on between meals.”

The manager’s eyes widen, blood-shot, as he looks to Todd, who only smiles—which comes off as terrifying, he’s certain, with all the sharp teeth and red eyes involved.

“S-SURE! Junk food. Right. Um—uh, w-well, I think there’s a BOGO—buy one get one free—deal on the frozen pizzas. Uh…most cereals are marked down right now…th-there’s a sale on potato chips…hot dogs…” His voice trails off, too burdened with trembles and fear as he continues to hold Todd’s gaze. “And—you know, I’m sure some other employee can help you, ma’am. I’m not one anymore as of this moment. I QUIT.” That said, he yanks the flimsy plastic nametag from his shirt and runs for the door, followed by half of the shoppers who abandon their carts and drop their baskets, scattering groceries everywhere.

Granny Ethel watches him go, then sighs. “He must have been overworked and stressed. I almost walked out on a job a long time ago for the same reasons, but I needed it. You be careful of corporate America, Todd.”

He takes her words to heart, and he fully agrees.

Shoppers that remain in the grocery mart avoid them at all costs as they meander through the frozen food section, the bread aisle, the junk food corner—and Granny Ethel pays them no mind, filling the cart to the brim with refills of groceries she needs back at home and treats she thinks Todd needs more of in his life. He supposes he does, if she says he does. Far be it from him to contradict her adolescent-savvy wisdom.

Even so, the single shopping cart is far too small for all of the spoils—halfway through the shopping list, he finds them in need of another. It isn’t an issue. Many are left scattered, abandoned, around almost every corner. By the end of the list, both carts are full to the brim, and Granny Ethel is simply beaming.

The checkout lines are deserted—they have their pick. Although only one station is manned by a clerk, and it greatly narrows their choice.

As Todd wheels the two shopping carts to the register, he recognizes the young employee from before, who once again shoots him the demon-horn hand symbol.

“Love your poncho, dude,” Sam (as his nametag reads) comments with a bit of a tired drawl, and there are dark shadows under his eyes as expected from an overworked youth on minimum wage, but he is otherwise energetic, quickly scanning each of the items set on the conveyor belt, and smiling at demon and old woman in turn. “Did the little lady here knit that for you?”

“Crocheted!” Granny Ethel corrects with a grin, preening like a proud parakeet. “It does suit him, doesn’t it? Of course, I would never make something that didn’t suit my dear grandson. He must always be well-dressed.”

“You seem like a really supportive gramma. That’s cool. When I was in my super hardcore death metal phase, mine just dragged me to church every Sunday.” A digital beep accompanies nearly every word as he skillfully rings up each grocery down the line.

“Oh, I would never do that. Mainly because I no longer belong to a church. And also because Todd seems so averse to discussing Bible passages, so I never force him.”

At this, Todd gives a wry smile. He places the final handful of groceries onto the conveyor belt and sidles around Granny to the other side of the checkout, bagging the groceries that have already been scanned. It seems the official bag boy has fled in fright.

“I can imagine. Never one for religion, myself. Oh, and you’re eligible for the senior citizen’s discount, so let me just…” Sam pauses a moment to key in a code on the register and it dings. “Aaand, there. Your total comes out to $204.56. Stocking up for the winter already? It’s only March.”

“Oh, dear, no. Half of this is for the food drive!” Granny Ethel chuckles good-naturedly as she leans her cane against the counter and digs through her small pocketbook and produces a checkbook, then dives back in to search for her favorite pen.

Sam turns to Todd while awaiting payment. “By the way, dude, that costume is killer. I’ve never seen anything so realistic, with the added bonus that you scared the boss away! Totally made my day. My week, even.”

Todd gives a nod, happy to be of service, even if it isn’t a costume. He can’t exactly say it aloud. Perhaps one day he’ll learn how to speak English coherently, but for now nonverbal cues work just fine.

Finally, Granny Ethel finds her pink, plastic jewel-encrusted ballpoint pen and makes out a check to DeVille-Mart, even going so far as to take one of the heavier paper bags for herself, never one to make Todd carry all of the groceries himself. “You have a wonderful day, young man. Thank you.”

“Y’all have a great day, too, Ma’am.” Sam offers a toothy smile, and it seems sincere enough as he sees them off with a lazy wave “Hope to be seeing you shop here again.”

Todd isn’t so sure they’ll ever return once upper management hears about this visit, but it’s nice to know they are accepted by at least one individual.

“Now, Todd, let’s get to the food bank. We have such a long day ahead of us. But there’s a reward at the end of it—I bought ingredients specifically for chocolate turtle brownies!”

If the visit to the food bank is in any way similar to this excursion—and it will be, he decides, as yet another gawking driver’s car slow-collides with the corner vending machine when they pass through the automatic doors—they have a long day ahead of them, indeed.

[ourmrmel]

Mel Feller Examines Handling Your Real Estate Calls

Mel Feller Examines Handling Your Real Estate Calls

Mel Feller, MPA, MHR with Offices in Texas and Utah

Mel Feller Seminars, Coaching For Success 360 Inc. /Mel Feller Coaching          

See www.melfellersuccessstories.com and www.melfeller.com

 LET’S ASSUME YOU have run an ad geared toward generating calls from sellers.

The first question is, how is the call answered? I do not know about you, but I do not have time to sit around waiting for my phone to ring, so my phone is answered by voicemail. The caller is required to leave a message if he wants to talk to me.

 To me this accomplishes two things. First, it will help to determine motivation level. If they are motivated, they will leave a name and number. Now some people may call and not leave a message. In addition, that is OK with me. I figure that the people who do not leave messages have their reasons. One might be they are not motivated. Another might be that they were tire kickers. They may also have a penchant for secrecy, so that even if I managed to get their number, when I try to call the SECOND time, they may well screen the call. So again, I do not worry about the people who call and do not leave a message.

 Staying in control

 The second thing answering by voicemail does is give you a name and number you can call on your own terms, at your own time. What I mostly do not do is to answer my phone. Why? When you answer your phone, the caller controls the conversation at the outset. You are unbalanced because you do not know what the caller is calling about. When you get good at handling the telephone this is easy to handle, but for beginners it is much easier to collect calls on a voicemail.

 Now you have a name and number of someone who called an ad designed to produce sellers. You are ready to call back. What do you say? I would start something like this.

 Mr. Smith, my name is Mel Feller. You called on an ad in the Metropolitan newspaper that said "I Buy Houses." How can I help you?

 What does this do? It throws the ball to the seller. He is now required to give you an answer to an open-ended question. In other words, he cannot answer by saying “Yes” or “No.” He is required to talk. You are now firmly in control of the conversation. The next thing you do is shut up and listen! Allow the seller to take the conversation where he wants to go. Do not interrupt!

 Your agenda

 Just because the seller is now talking does not mean you do not have an agenda. You do. Here is your agenda. You want to determine if the seller has a property for sale. If he does, you want to determine the details of the property such as location, number of bedrooms and bathrooms, garage, basement, and overall condition. You want to determine the details about the existing financing on the property. What type of loan is it, what is the loan amount, what is the interest rate, when was the loan originated, what are the monthly payments, is the loan current, etc. You want to determine the seller’s perception of the value of the property, how quickly he needs to sell. You want to determine the motivation level of the seller. This is your agenda.

 Until you know the answer to these questions and others, you cannot know whether there is a deal, or have any clue as to how to do the deal.

 Get answers before you look at the property

 The above agenda should be firmly in your mind as the phone conversation begins. If you cannot remember it, have your questions written down on a piece of paper next to your phone? Your goal is to get the answers to all of these questions BEFORE you make a decision to get up out of your chair to go look at the property.

 If you run into a problem and forget what you, want to ask. DO NOT PANIC. Simply tell the seller you have another call coming in, and place the seller on hold. Now you sit quietly at your desk and review your notes. When you are ready get back on the line with the seller, apologize, tell him your phone has been ringing off the hook today, and ask your next question. In fact, this will help to strengthen your stance. Everyone likes to do business with someone who is busy. You might try putting people on hold for that reason alone.

 Here is where the call gets more complicated. The seller is talking but he may not be talking about what you want to know, or in the order that you want the information. That is OK too. Take notes on what the seller is saying. Periodically summarize. Then ask your next question. “Mr. Smith, so you have a 3 bedroom, 2 bath home and the roof leaks. How old is the furnace?” Your questions are a track to run on, a place to come back to when the seller strays. “Mr. Smith, coming back to the financing for a second, does that monthly payment include taxes and insurance?”

 During the phone call, the seller may ask you questions. It is OK to answer a question, as long as you reestablish control following the question.

 Example: “Do you charge a commission?” “No, Mr. Smith, I don’t. I am not a real estate broker. I simply buy houses as investments. (Pause) How did you determine that particular value for your property?”

 Example: “What would you pay me for my house?” “Mr. Smith, it would be impossible for me to know that right now before I know your situation completely and before I have seen the property. What did you want for the house?”

 Who, what, where, when, why and how

 Remember the five W’s? Who, what, where, when, and why. Add to these the word “How” and write them down by your other questions. These are powerful words. These are probing words that enable you to find out more information about the seller’s comments. Use these frequently.

 “Why do you need to sell so quickly Mr. Smith?” “Where will you be moving if you sell your house, Mr. Smith?” “Why do you say that Mr. Smith”? “How did that happen Mr. Smith?”

 Notice that these words force open-ended answers….in other words the seller cannot answer with a simple “yes” or “no.” Open-ended answers ALWAYS produce more information than the answer to a close-ended question.

 Your job is to ask all the questions necessary to get a complete picture of the property, together with financial information regarding the property, and a psychological picture of where the seller is. Keep asking questions until you have this complete picture. Then, and only then, will you know whether the pre-conditions for a deal exist.

 Depending on the answers, you may wish to make an appointment to see the property. On the other hand, you may wish to handle it differently. “OK, Mr. Smith, here’s where we go from here. I will need to do a little homework on my end to figure out if your property meets my criteria. If it does, I will need to see the property. When would be a good time to call you back?” This buys you some time to evaluate whether it is in your interest to go look at the property. However, do not take too much time with this process because, if the seller is motivated, he will sell the property quickly.

 The perfect phone call

 The perfect phone call is one where the seller is talking, and you are listening. The perfect phone call is one where your questions are giving you information, and the questions are leading the conversation to its conclusion. The conclusion of the perfect phone call is either setting an appointment to view the property, or informing the seller that you have no interest in the property. The purpose of the perfect phone call is not to make a verbal offer. Last time I looked, an offer cannot be signed over the telephone. The perfect phone call elicits information, which enables you to determine whether you want to pursue the deal.

Mel Feller a Texas /Utah Personal Development, Business, Real Estate, Realtor Trainer, Branding, Business Funding and Finance Coach.  In addition, Mel Feller has served in a variety of executive leadership roles for medium and large organizations, including multiple Fortune 500’s.  He is a charismatic leader who has facilitated change and growth in all sized organizations, including non-profit and Board development.  Mel Feller has successfully led organizations in the areas business development, marketing, real estate and Realtors, sales, team building, operations, and the like. Mel Feller is in Texas and Utah with offices, staff and investments in both states.

 Mel Feller is committed to serving.  In the Texas / Utah community, he chairs several organizations.  Mel Feller volunteers his leadership at two churches in a variety of ways, including serving on council, bible study facilitator, and more.

 Mel Feller has been a featured speaker for career professional is groups, business leaders and continuing education sessions, and aspiring business startups.

 When he is not coaching, you can find Mel Feller reading, listening to podcasts, exercising, fishing, or with his kids and grandkids exploring the greatness God has gifted us all.

 Mel Feller states, “An effective coach is someone who tells you what you may not want to hear, helps you navigate around your blind spots, and helps you identify opportunities…so that you can be who you’ve always known you can be” Mel Feller

 Mel Feller’s purpose is to add tremendous value to those business owners/entrepreneurs by helping them reach their potential.

 Mel Feller is an effective, charismatic and powerful speaker, corporate advisor, and best-selling author. In 1998, Mel founded Coaching for Success 360 to help professionals worldwide design subtle changes in their presentation, attitude and leadership style that increases their personal and professional effectiveness and subsequently their financial status. This also includes both real estate as an agent and/or investor.  See www.melfeller.com  and www.melfellersuccessstories.com .  Now with offices both in Texas and Utah.

 As a business, executive, personal development, and real estate coach, I work with a wide range of professionals and offer a highly personalized approach tailored to each individual in concert with the organizational environment.  In a supportive atmosphere, I work to build trust and support the professional in the attainment of goals and measurable outcomes.  

 Mel Feller offers sessions, both in-person and virtual.   We will start with an initial assessment to clearly define your short and long-term goals, everything from communication skills to personal acceptance. We will use these goals as a foundation to create a strategy and build the path for attaining these objectives. Change is typically a major component of reaching goals and sustainable change becomes more likely in a coaching partnership.  

[analogguyinadigitalage]

Minimalism...

“The things we own ending up owning us.” Tyler Durden in Fight Club

     I am a firm believer in the old adage: when the student is ready the teacher will appear. The teacher can appear in the form of a person, a book, a song, a documentary, a film, or a chance encounter. Some would call this divine intervention, fate, karma, or life teaching us lessons. Whatever you wish to call it, there is no hiding the fact we sometimes are tapped on the shoulder by some life force to show us a different perspective. 

     Recently by accident I happened upon a documentary on Netflix called The Minimalists. While watching it I had an a ha moment in my life. The documentary is about two thirty something best friends who, realizing they have dream jobs, six figure incomes, huge houses, and huge debt and are living what most consider the American dream, decide to walk away from it all by becoming minimalists. When I first heard the term minimalist, I thought, hmm what’s this some guy living in a tent? In reality however it means living within your means without a lot of junk to clutter up your life giving you more time to focus on the really important things in your life.

     Everything they talked about in the documentary rang true to me. Here’s where the teacher/student adage mentioned above comes in! The most important message I got was to explore this lifestyle and the innovative ideas these two bright young men discovered and were living. They were clearly “walking the walk.” Minimalism is not a one size fits all, cookie cutter recipe, so I decided to explore a bit more. Being a reader, I discovered they had published two books, so I jumped on Amazon and ordered them both. 

     While I awaited the arrival of the books, I began thinking about some of the  messages in the documentary. I began asking myself questions about the things I had acquired over the years and what purpose they served then and now in my life. My eyes opened. I started with my closets, and embarrassingly found myself filling seven 30 gallon trash bags with clothes I no longer used or wore! Talk about an eye opener! Realizing I had shirts, pants, and coats which I hadn’t worn in years got my head wrapped around just how much “stuff” I had accumulated to clutter up my life. 

     And so after a few trips to the local clothing donation box, I felt a twofold satisfaction, first I was actually going to help someone who possibly had no clothes, and second I was un-cluttering my life. This was just the tip of the iceberg. I mean does one man really need fifty baseball caps? I’m a single guy who lives alone, could I possibly need 25 coffee mugs? Probably not. Questions I would ask myself again and again as I started to un-clutter my very cluttered life. 

     In a few days, the books arrived and I flew through the first one in no time knowing I would read it again and again, and savored the second to read slowly and digest the thoughts and ideas. While this was going on, I began the slow and laborious process of going through my house room by room, cabinet by cabinet, drawer by drawer and cleaning house literally and figuratively. To my amazement, it got easier the more the momentum was gained with each discarded item. 

     But what was I going to do with all this “stuff” I didn’t need anymore? I mean the clothes were easy I donated them to a local clothing bank. The idea hit me to have a tag sale and sell things I was no longer using. Items I felt at some point in my life that I just had to have to be happy, content, satisfied. The tag sale would help me un-clutter my life and any money I made would go directly to paying off debt.

     And so with each item I picked up, I asked myself three questions; had I used it in the last 90 days? Would I use it in the next 90 days? And if the answer to both of those were no, then I would ask myself the all important question, did the item add any value to my life? Realizing some were sentimental items this question became very tricky. Yes they were sentimental items, but did they add any value? This one question above all is without a doubt the hardest I had to ask and answer when cleaning house. 

     I heard a voice from the documentary and the book which basically said, our experiences are with each other, not with inanimate objects. Wow! Talk about a cultural shift in beliefs! As I began to ponder this posit, it meant letting go of an old tried and true belief I had which was I must hold onto “things” in order to have a relationship with the person who gave it to me. So if I threw out the cracked coffee cup someone gave me five years ago sitting on the shelf covered in dust did that mean I didn’t have a relationship or experience with that person? Hell no! It was a dusty, inanimate object cluttering up my life. It was my belief system that was holding me back. My belief that in order to hold onto or keep a bond with someone required me to keep items they had given me was ludicrous to say the least. 

     Let me pause here and say I’m not advocating throwing out any/all sentimental items if they serve a purpose. I kept family pictures and items which were sentimental AND served a purpose. A beautiful clock adorns my bookcase which was a gift from my godfather. It has sentimental value and it serves a very utilitarian purpose. It’s the bric a brac and stuff I never looked at, let alone used that I deep sixed! Over the years I had confused adding value with sentimentality. I found items stuffed on shelves in the back room in the back of bookcases which I couldn’t honestly recall had been gifts, or if I had purchased them at some point in my life. Realizing I had moved those “important items” from the front room to the back room to make more room in the front room for more “important items” was a sign it was time to get rid of stuff. It’s a vicious cycle of not being able to let go of anything because I was associating more pain of throwing the item out than I was pleasure of having an un-cluttered life. Each sentimental item I picked up made me realize that my experiences with the person who gave it to me existed in my mind NOT in the physical thing in my hand which I hadn’t looked at or used for years. My experiences with friends and people I love will forever be etched into my mind and I don’t need an item stuffed into the back of a closet to enable me to enjoy those experiences or remind me of them.

     I’m sitting in my living room looking at six big plastic tubs filled with stuff, next to them are six cardboard boxes of books, and next to them are another five large cardboard boxes filled with more stuff. These items are lined ten feet into my living room from my front door and these don’t count the things I can’t fit into boxes! There’s hat racks, a desk, several chairs, paintings I’ve taken down from the cluttered walls to name a few. How did I ever accumulate so much stuff I ask myself? I’m a single guy who lives alone in an 1100 square foot house and yet I have all of this stuff packed up and ready to sell and in all honesty it looks as if I’m getting ready to move out, but my house doesn’t look empty by any means, it looks much more open that’s for sure. 

     The garage is next and it takes me the better part of a day to pull down metal automobila signs, gather tools I haven’t looked at in twenty years, and sort through things I know I’ll never use and that are also collecting dust as the things in the house were. I find brand new “just in case” items still in their packages neatly sealed awaiting the apocalyptic emergency I was sure was going to come when I purchased them. I realize I have purchased many items over the years for a one time use and could have borrowed them from a friend had I just had the foresight to ask rather than run out and buy it as I’ve been conditioned to do all my life. 

     Being a musician means I have LOTS of musical stuff some of which I haven’t touched in years, others which I touch daily and with love and creativity. I ask my three questions and list a bunch of musical equipment for sale online. Keeping just the instruments I know I play and create with, means they add value to my life. Selling instruments that lay under my bed in cases collecting dust gives me great pleasure and hopefully some well needed cash. Luckily, I find a buyer who wants to buy the whole lot, lock stock and barrel! I come home that night and pick up my Martin acoustic guitar and strum a chord and hear the beauty of the space I have created around me both physically and mentally. This guitar is a keeper, it is truly one of my passions. In the days that follow, I find I don’t even miss the instruments that are gone. 

     The tag sale day arrives and it’s taken me nearly four hours to unpack everything, put it on tables, price it and move it outside. For two days I watch stuff go and I feel great about it. The joy of seeing people getting excited about getting a “deal” on my stuff is exhilarating. It was a lot of work, but at the end of the day most of the stuff sold and the stuff that didn’t sell, went to my neighbor who is having a tag sale in another month or so at another location. I couldn’t be happier, she couldn’t be happier. Three boxes full of books were donated to the local library without much fanfare, I simply went there when they were closed and put them by the front door, a gift to the librarian and anyone else who gets to read some of the magnificent books I had already read and was keeping for no good reason. 

     While my house is much emptier than it was, it certainly is not comprised of empty rooms and barren walls. It’s much nicer looking now, much easier to clean and much easier to spot things I no longer need, want or that don’t add value to my life. As I look around I wonder if having so much stuff made me a hoarder. I mean I’m wasn’t ready for A&E to come shoot their show at my house, but the fact sinks in that I had way too much stuff. I was a bit of a hoarder, albeit a very anal retentive, OCD one! 

     The really good news is that in a little over two weeks time I was able to pay down my debt to the tune of $5000 just in selling things I hardly looked at or used! It’s incredible what I was able to do with just the slightest change in my behavioral pattern and belief systems. This journey for me isn’t over, it’s a never ending one. Once the clutter was gone from my physical surroundings which was a very cleansing and liberating experience, it allowed me time and space to focus on what’s really important in my life; relationships, and embracing and following the passions that I have which are music and writing, which have become center stage for me. 

     Relationships that were toxic or relationships in which I wasn’t seeing a mutual sharing of respect needed to be reevaluated and in some cases terminated. One case in point involved someone who I would constantly call to see if they wished to go out to dinner or to spend time together and they always found a convenient excuse not to be able to go, however, when they needed money or a favor, I was the first on their call list. I realized I needed to distance myself from this relationship. While not entirely severing it, it was time for me to take a break from being the one who always initiated contact and invitations. Will it survive? Who knows? What I do know is I know have more free time to dedicate to those relationships where I do get mutual satisfaction. 

     To date I’ve learned some valuable lessons while embracing minimalism: 1. There is a big difference between need and want 2. Most of the things we think we need, we merely want 3. A person can get by without 80% of the things they own 4. Experiences exist with the person NOT the object 5. Sentimentality does not equate to adding value 6. The things we own end up owning us 7. Ask better questions, you’ll get better answers 8. Un-cluttering your life is liberating and cleansing 9. Relationships can be burdensome, get rid of the bad ones 10. New habits and behavior patterns are worth looking into if it leads to positive changes in your life

[piecesofscully]

Cancer Arc, part 3: I See You

This is the third installment of my Cancer Arc Series.  

Part 1: Mint Chocolate Chip

Part 2: Love Me Tender

Author: @piecesofscully

Rating: PG-13/R

Timeline: season 4-5ish

A/N: Thank you to the beautiful @kateyes224 for the beta and unconditional love, and thank you to @2momsmakearight and @thegilliantimes for the unending support and brainstorming. 

Weeks Later

“He said that the tumor hasn’t grown, and that the cancer hasn’t metastasized.  That’s good news, Scully, real good news,” Mulder says as he turns the key in the ignition.

“He also said that it hasn’t decreased in size,” I mutter.  I instantly regret allowing the words to fall from my lips, my negativity effectively launching him into a speech that borderlines a sales pitch regarding homeopathic therapies and their healing benefits as he steers us out of the parking garage and onto the open street with such a finesse that only a number of recurring instead of recurring visits could produce.  His voice filters through the stale air of the car that’s rapidly growing warmer, an occasional phrase catching my attention more than others, hanging so briefly in the space between us then disappearing just as quickly, like the blinking of fireflies in an open field.

Probiotic foods, immune system boosting supplements, juicing.  I feel myself visibly flinch when I hear the words “coffee enema.”

I can’t help but smile.  It is times like this that he sounds just like Melissa, so much so that I can practically hear her saying the words as they leave his mouth, making the dull ache I feel in my heart evolve into a sharp stabbing reminder of her profound absence.  As he barrels on to suggest meditation as a stress reducing technique, I find myself wondering if he has, in fact, received a visit from beyond the grave.  Perhaps he’s searched her out, seeking her guidance in how to best help little sister Dana, via séance or Ouija board.  I momentarily consider interrupting his infomercial-worthy monologue to ask if he has a preferred method for contacting the other side, but, instead, just nod in agreement to whatever he’s saying, suddenly wondering if he’ll try to contact me once I’m gone.

I reach over and graze my fingers against his thigh, suddenly desperate for contact, and his hand immediately vacates its position on the steering wheel to grasp my hand and pull it close.

As I watch the world pass by in a grayish blur behind the passenger side window, I strain my eyes in an attempt to focus on one simple landmark through the stretch of glass just inches from my face.  Streaks of vibrancy fade into the bleak backdrop that’s laid out all around me, the once vivid scenery is now dull and subdued. I sigh as a familiar ache creeps up the length of my back to my neck, a dull headache recently taking up a semi-permanent residence in the base of my skull.

“You ok?” He asks, squeezing my fingers.

I nod slowly, and then shrug my shoulders.  “I’m fine.”

“Scully.”

“How much longer?” I ask, knowing that we have approximately 5 more minutes until we arrive at the front door of my apartment building, but I want to change the subject.

“About 5 minutes, and you said you wouldn’t do that anymore.”

I sigh again.  “Do what, Mulder?”

“Dismiss the question by saying you’re fine.”  His jaw is clenching, and I can tell that he’s struggling to keep his voice even which makes my blood boil.

“What do you want me to say?  I have a headache, Mulder.  I always have a headache.”

“Do you want something for it?”  His voice is low and gentle, just a breath away patronizing, though I try to remind myself it’s unintentional.

“No.  You know I hate taking those pills.”

“But they’ll help-“

“I said no,” I reply through gritted teeth.

“Scully, you were prescribed them so that you don’t have to live in pain.”

“Live?  Live?!  You call this living, Mulder?  Doping myself up on pain medication to alleviate the horrendous side effects of my treatment?  Turning my brain into such mush that I can’t even think straight, just to be able to function through the pain caused by the treatment for the cancer that is slowly killing me?”  

I pull my hand away and squeeze it tightly between my legs. 

 “You’re just an observer, Mulder, warming the bench on the sideline with no actual idea of what’s going on in the game.  I’m living the game.  I may look fine from the outside, but inside it’s a completely different story.  I’m a fucking zombie when I take those pills.  I take half of one and it makes me so foggy that I can’t carry on a conversation.  I take a whole one and I can’t even stay awake long enough to eat dinner or shower myself.  I’d rather be in pain and able to focus, than a debilitated fucking lump on the couch that has to pretend to watch the latest special on Oprah.  Please, tell me how that is living.  I’d rather die in pain, than doped up and unable to feel.”

I feel him glance over at me as he pulls up to my apartment building and I have my seat belt off before he comes to a complete stop.

“You don’t get to have an opinion on this one, Mulder.  This is my decision.  My life,” I add as I thrust my door open.

“Scully,” I hear him call as I step outside.

“Go home, Mulder.”

I slam the car door with all of my might, and I hear it click gently behind me as I turn to walk away.

So much for making a statement.

He walks into my apartment ten minutes later, and wordlessly hangs his jacket on the back of the chair, dropping the car keys on the table.  I stare out my window, waiting to feel the dip of the couch as he sits next to me, but hear him walk to the back of my apartment instead.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I flick my eyes in his direction when I hear the water begin to run in my bathroom.

He’s drawing me a bath.  Bastard.

I keep my eye sight trained on the window, refusing to acknowledge him as I feel him approach me and pull the blanket from my legs, dropping it to the floor.  He pulls me up to stand in front of him, his hands rubbing up and down my arms as he presses a kiss to my forehead.  The simple gesture melts my anger in an instant, dissolving it to a puddle like the blanket at my feet, and I simultaneously love and hate him for it.

Steamy warmth immediately envelops me when we enter the bathroom, the only light coming from the small plug-in nightlight over the vanity.

“Just the nightlight?” I ask as I allow him to undress me.  He wraps one of the bath blankets around my shoulders to keep me warm while the tub fills with hot water, the steam curling up the tile walls.

“Didn’t want to waste time searching for the candles in the closet.  That will have to do.” He begins to undress himself, and my eyes lazily graze over him, appreciating the lean muscles of his body, the sleek planes of his back that lead to the curve of his ass. I’ve never been happier to be of clear mind than I am in this moment.  The long-lost sensation of desire floods throughout my lower abdomen as the muscles along his shoulder blades flex while working his jeans over his feet; a feeling I’ve wondered I was even capable of anymore.

Goose pimples spread across my arms at the sudden loss of warmth when the towel falls to the floor, and he guides us both into the tub.  The skin of his chest feels soft and slick against my back as he pulls me against him, my head resting against his collarbone as I’m settled between his legs.  I can’t contain the moan that escapes my lips as his fingertips trail lightly along the peaks of my breasts, sending beads of water cascading down the sides of my ribcage.

“Talk to me, Scully.”

“Mmm, don’t wanna fight,” I reply as I close my eyes and nuzzle into the surrounding warmth of him and sink further under the bathwater.

“Me either.  Just talk, I’ll listen.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

I feel the soft fluff of the loofa compress against my shoulder and water stream down my arm, but he says nothing.  His slow breaths tickle the skin of the side of my face, and I concentrate on the feel of the rise and fall of his chest beneath me, matching the pace of my own breathing with his.  In the quiet of the room, the only sound I can hear is the muted thud thud thud of his heartbeat, and it almost feels as if we’ve become one.

“I’m losing my hair, Mulder,” I whisper, resisting the urge to touch the dampened strands around my face. “I’m in desperate need of a fresh dye job, but my hair is thinning and I’m afraid to color it.  I don’t want to damage what I have left and risk losing more.”  I pause for a moment, worrying my lip between my teeth.  “I know that you’ve been cleaning out my brush, and cleaning up the hair that’s left on my pillowcase each morning, and I appreciate it.   I don’t want to see what I’ve lost.  Anyone else, I’m sure, wouldn’t be able to notice, but I can.  I see the difference every time I look in the mirror; feel the difference when I run my fingers through it.  I know how all of this must sound,” I say with a forced light chuckle.  “Terribly vain, but I’ve…my appearance was something I’ve always taken pride in.  And now…”

I sigh.  His fingers lightly trace my hairline across my forehead and behind my ear, and I lean into the kiss that he presses against my temple.

“As a medical doctor, I understand that these side effects are expected and that they could be much worse, but as a woman… Mulder, my skin is so dry at times that no amount of lotion will keep it from itching, and the dryness appears to have extended to… other regions of my body. Again, it’s to be expected, but it’s disheartening nonetheless.  I, um…I tried to test my theory myself the other night when you ran to your apartment, but...”

I squeeze my eyes shut, thankful that from his position behind me that he can’t see that my face is reddening from embarrassment.  “I couldn’t make love now, even if I had the energy for it, without some sort of lubrication assistance.”  

His arms snake around my middle just under my breasts, and squeeze me gently.  I can feel his unspoken words brimming at the surface, desperate for release, but he’s holding true to his word and keeping quiet.

“The pain in my joints can get so extreme that it’s crippling, and my sense of taste has lessened to such a degree that eating has become more of a chore, something I’m unable to even enjoy.  I’ve lost so much weight from the lack of appetite and vomiting of what I am able to force myself to swallow that I don’t even recognize my own body anymore.  In every aspect, I’ve become unrecognizable, a stranger,” I say, my voice breaking when speaking the last word.  “How am I supposed to die with dignity and self respect, when I don’t even know who I am anymore, Mulder?”

I can feel his exhale rush out of him with the strength of a hurricane, and I brace myself for the impending “you’re not going to die” argument.

“Can I talk now?” he asks, and I nod.

“You are Dana, loving daughter of Maggie and Ahab, and sister to Melissa, Bill Jr., and Charlie.  You are Dana Scully, M.D. who specializes in forensic pathology, rewrote Einstein, and has the steadiest hand in the field.  You are Special Agent Dana Scully, fiercely loyal partner to one Fox Mulder.  You’re Scully, who pushes me, inspires me, to be a better version of myself every minute of every day.  No matter what you lose in this process, you won’t lose that.  You won’t lose who you are.  You might not be able to see yourself anymore, Scully, but I do.  I still see you.”

A sob breaks free from my lips, betraying the air of resilience I’d been trying hopelessly to project as he spoke.  “I’m broken, Mulder.”

“No, Scully,” he whispers.  “You’re not broken.  You’re just doing  a little remodeling.”

I laugh, then.  Through the tears.  I laugh so hard that my cheeks hurt and the muscles along my ribcage twitch.

Xxxxx

I can hear him fussing around in my kitchen as I reread the same sentence of the scientific journal that’s positioned in my lap for the fourth time.  Exhaustion has made my eyes lose focus, but still I strain to make sense of the words printed before me, determined to finish it before falling asleep.

“You up?”

I smile and nod once, taking off my glasses and setting them on the nightstand.  He pads into my room, one of my soup bowls in hand.

“What’s that?  Not more soup, I hope,” I say, my nose scrunched in mild disgust, and my stomach begins to churn.  I can still smell remnants of the last round of chicken noodle that was flushed a few hours earlier.

“Not soup,” he says with a smirk as he sits next to me on the bed.  “I read that those going through treatment for cancer can sometimes require stronger tasting foods.  I thought this might do the trick.”

He gently pushes the bowl towards me and lifts the spoon.

I feel my eyebrow rise.  “Mint chocolate chip ice cream?”

“Try it.  The peppermint might also help to ease your nausea.”

“Mulder…”

“Please, Scully? Just a taste,” he says encouragingly.

The hope in his eyes shines brightly as I take the spoon, bringing the minty green ice cream to my lips, letting a small dollop slide into my mouth.  He watches me intently as I let it melt thickly against my tongue, the few harder bits of chocolate brushing against my taste buds, and for a moment I think I can taste faint traces of the mint.

The crushing weight of disappointment sinks into me as I realize that I can’t, but he’s still watching me, still so optimistic, so I force a smile.

“Can you taste it?” He asks, his own smile broadening.

I swirl the flavorless cream in my mouth, then swallow without chewing the chocolate chips.

  “Yes,” I lie.  “Pass me another spoonful.”

xxxxx

Continued in part 4, which will be posted...eventually.

[itsworn]

Original Owner Still Enjoys His Unrestored 1968 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28

Darn Mick Yonkers! Leave it to that rascal to go and buy the exact car Joe Koski wanted a 1967 L79 Chevelle, down to the color and all. Both gearhead guys ran together on the loud streets of Chicago, growing up during the 1960s. Among their friends and Chevy-lovin’ crew, there was one take on performance: small-block. “They seemed to deliver lots of horsepower without breaking as much as the big-blocks,” explains Joe, who still lives in the Windy City. “Of course, we all knew the great things Grumpy Jenkins and Dave Strickler were doing with them at the dragstrip.”

When 1967 rolled around, Joe was ready to buy his own car (returning his dad’s 1965 Impala). He searched high and low for what he wanted most, a 1965 L79-equipped Chevelle. “I liked the power, and a lot of that was due to the cam, pistons, and the Holley on an aluminum high-rise manifold,’ he says. “Those small-block motors sound and perform great. I still dig the sound of a car with a performance camshaft at idle.”

Shortly after buying the hot car, Joe Koski added an alarm, complete with mercury switches and an ignition cutoff. Gas station staff were foggy on the Z’s equipment, but thieves weren’t. “I didn’t want to lose the car to burglary or somebody with a tow truck,” says Joe. “Chicago’s nice, but I wanted to feel secure parking it on the streets.”

Turns out, he wasn’t alone. Even used, those special Chevelles were few and far between, leaving Joe no choice but to pony up and order one new. “I finished the spring college semester, returned home, and was all prepared to go place my order,” he says. His family’s dealership of choice was nearby Brigance Chevrolet, home of Chicago muscle car sales icon Mr. Ed Schoenthaler.

Then came the news of Mick Yonkers and his shiny new ride, and Joe’s plan screeched to a halt. “I always took Mick for a Mopar man since he drove and raced his father’s 1965 426 Wedge Coronet,” says Joe. “Turns out, he liked Chevys, too.”

Mick’s move ended up being a blessing in disguise. It led Joe to the car he would come to cherish for life.

Wanting to be different from his pal, Joe waited to see what the 1968 Chevelle redesign would bring. His hopes rose when news broke that they’d have the L79, but those hopes dropped fast when he learned it would lack the aluminum intake and Holley carb. “Back to the drawing board I went, thinking, How else I could get that combo?” Ruling out the pricy Corvette, within the Chevy lineup those power parameters zeroed his search to just the Camaro Z/28.

Any time the car needed maintenance, Joe easily got it in the Brigance Chevrolet service department. “Several mechanics were buds, but no motor work was ever done. It has never been apart.” Joe estimates that there’s around 15,000 miles on the car. The odometer broke at 11,780, and he never bothered to fix it.

Joe was in a great spot to see those cars up close. That summer (and the summer of 1969), he worked at Brigance. Most days he could be found in the parts department, then the service department, answering customer calls, bringing cars to mechanics, and occasionally filling in as a service writer and drafting work orders. The daily tasks changed but not the high-powered machines constantly around. “All day long I was surrounded by nothing but performance,” he recalls. “The dealership was moving 435-horse Corvettes and 396/375-horse Chevelles, Camaros, and Novas all day long. I’d come to work on Monday, and first thing in the morning we’d be loaded with cars that had been to the track on Sunday and already needed repair.”

One of the guys responsible for moving that Chi-town muscle was salesman Len Dudas. He was the Koski’s go-to guy, and naturally, Joe sought him to order his 1968 Camaro Z/28. Joe was all of 19 that May, with his birthday just around the corner.

This photo, dated July 1968, shows Joe’s Camaro still wearing its window sticker. He took delivery of his Camaro on Memorial Day, which means he either left the sticker in the window for weeks or, more likely, it took a while to finish the roll of film.

Black was his first choice of paint color, but because it was unavailable, he selected his second favorite, Cordovan Maroon. “That matched Dad’s Impala, also ordered from Len,” says Joe.

Most of his limited teenage budget was taken up by the car’s base price, but he dug deep and tacked on a few options, including tinted glass and an AM radio. Like most heavy right footers buying these cars, Joe left off power steering. “Any added belt on the drivetrain was robbing horsepower,” he recalls with a smirk. “That’s not something I wanted.”

The sports car was delivered on a glorious Memorial Day weekend. Right away, Joe saw firsthand how little people knew about the new Chevy offering. “Driving home, I pulled into a Shell station to refuel.” A curious attendant came out and recognized the car, but because of the stripes he couldn’t figure out just what in tarnation it was. “He walked around and around then finally saw the fender badge,” Joe says. “He paused, looked up at me, and said, ‘What’s a Z-2-B?’”

While many folks Joe encountered sought to know what the car was, many more cared to know what it could do. “People constantly wanted to see how fast it was on the street. I always made sure the motor was in tune, just in case something came up.”

He got plenty of street time to dial it in, but even more on sanctioned strips. On any given warm weekend, he’d be at Oswego Dragway in Oswego, Illinois, competing in the E/Pure Stock class. “You’d remove the hubcaps and trim rings, pop on your seatbelt, and with street tires and closed exhaust, you’d be off and running.” The gearhead was constantly lining up against 400 Firebirds, Road Runners, Super Bees, and ram air 4-4-2s, fighting to be competitive.

“The Z’s tires weren’t wide enough for getting off the line well,” Joe remembers. “I’d pop the clutch at 3,000 rpm and feather and dance with the throttle. Once they hooked and I got going, I’d be fine.”

Although they were close to home, the track’s pits weren’t paved and were quite dusty. “It was never fun lying under the car in dirt.” After hearing of Union Grove, Wisconsin’s Great Lakes Dragaway and its asphalt-coated lots, Joe started frequenting there, as well as the US 30 Drag Strip, just over the state line in Indiana.

His biggest boost in top-end power came from a trip back to the dealership. “Once the car had its 1,000-mile warranty check-in, off came the smog pump and belt,” says Joe. “The parts department sold plugs that fit perfectly into the exhaust manifold.” Another trick he did was swapping in six-cylinder distributor springs, which were stiffer and kept better timing.

When Joe slowed down, he’d be found cruising to the local Topps Big Boy on Ogden Avenue. “I’d back in with the parking lights on and watch the other muscle cars parade through.” The joint was known for juicy burgers, but Joe would instead grab a steaming-hot pie from down the street at Villa Nova, a pizzeria still in business today.

Summertime in the Z was splendid, but come those frigid winters things got dicey. “With those skinny tires, that engine power, and rearend, I’d spin on frost,” Joe recalls. Helping him further take it easy was the 4.88 gear he installed in the rearend. He did it to own stoplight romps, but it did make his highway drives more relaxed. So much so that on December 22, 1969, Joe was interstate cruising, heading home from college, when his mirrors lit up blue and red. “The officer pulled me over for going under the speed limit. I explained the situation and the state trooper laughed, letting me go with a warning.”

Joe would go on to get his degree, leaving Brigance Chevrolet and moving on to his teaching career. His first position was teaching math at the Thomas Middle School in Arlington Heights. Now with a 30-mile commute, Joe sourced a well-loved 1957 Chevy Nomad to drive daily.

Decades haven’t changed Joe’s passion for his Z-2-B (as some called it).

Wedding bells tolled for Joe in 1975, followed by four kids in the years to come. The new dad kept the Camaro around, always figuring out a way to keep it garaged. “My single buddies, like Mick, would go from one fast car to another, kidding me that it was time for something,” says Joe. “I’d always reply that my kids are going to drive my car. Sure enough, it’s been around long enough for that to happen.”

Special thanks to model Eva Le Rouge and car owners Mark Knecht, Chuck Casey, Bob Cyr, and Mike Kohanski for taking part in our photo shoot.

At a Glance 1968 Z/28 Owned by: Joe Koski Restored by: Unrestored Engine: 302ci/290hp V-8 Transmission: Muncie M20 4-speed manual Rearend: 3.73 gears with Positraction Interior: Standard black vinyl bucket seat Wheels: 15-inch steel Tires: P215/60R15 Goodyear Eagle ST Special parts: Sun Super Tach

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