#inside of his scrambled brain through the pages of his journals...

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I'm thinking about the progression of Bucky's memory journals (and so you all are going to have to suffer with me through these thoughts, too, because Pain)

I imagine the very first few journals Bucky gets his hands on--compelled to write by the desperate urge to cling to any of the memories, false or true, that crash into his head and shatter moments, leaving him chasing the fragments slipping through his hands like gains of sand--are incoherent. A word or two strung together. No sentences. Short. Choppy.

In these first journals, these single words are sometimes written so tiny, it's near impossible to discern what the word is. It may just be a charged scribble, not a word. Then, other times, the words are scrawled so large, across an entire page, even two pages, that despite the messy print caused by his shaking hands, it's clear what it reads. Ink may pool on the page, making the letters thick and pressed deep into the page, tearing through. Or the words may be light, as if he was afraid to write the word and give it existence. What would it make him if it's true? What will it do to him, though, if it remains in his head? Words come in English and Russian and words from languages he doesn't recognize.

As he sorts through and regains more memories, his entries stretch longer. He keeps tearing through journals. He has stacks of them. Entries become less single words, disjointed and incomplete, and more sentences. A few chucked together. Still clunky and confusing, but more.

Then, further, they stretch into paragraphs.

Paragraphs into pages.

Pages into hours and hours of nonstop writing until the serum can't even mend the ache in his shaking fingers. He can't see the page anymore, at that point. The memories are so vividly smeared across his vision, chopped together like reels of different films cut and taped together.

Suddenly, when he reads his entries back, the longer memories string together awkwardly but underscored by a relatively constant tone. He's scrambling his voice back together. Written, but still his voice.

The longer Bucky has his journals--stacks of them, they're hidden everywhere, always with at least one blank one on his person--and the longer he goes unpunished for admitting his remembrance, the more he spills. His honesty with himself grows, spreading until he's able to reach back and tug and pull and unravel memories that would've repulsed him in the beginning. He wouldn't've been able to admit it to himself, not even in the privacy of his journals, but now he can. He's learning about himself again. He's learning to be comfortable with himself again.

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Astor just sighed to himself as he walked down the castle’s long hallways.

The windows on this level of the castle spanned from the floor to ceiling, with natural sunlight dripping in through the gold trim. His eyes squinted at the light, and he let his hair fall closer to his face. I should get a hood one of these days.

His footsteps were mostly quiet and unnoticable, which unfortunately for him, led to a less than ideal collision with someone as he turned the corner.

“SON OF A—”

The man ran straight into Astor, his papers scattering across the floor. He shook a fist at the prophet, angrily—he was some old soul with blond hair with bits of grey, and a weathered round face with a set of furious blue eyes. 

“Watch where you’re going, you clod!” Ligero yelled. “I have half a mind to report you for interfering with sensitive documents!”

Astor leaned down, picking up the papers—seemingly just full of various recorded tax benefits—and rolled his eyes, mumbling. “Yes...and we wouldn’t want you to stress yourself working on only half a brain…”

“What was that?”

“Mm...nothing…”

“You youths...I hate mumbling…” 

Astor fitted the papers into a neat stack before handing them back to Ligero, which he snatched up, flipping through them carefully. The prophet gave a shallow, shallow bow. 

“My deepest apologies...Lord Ligero.”  

Ligero suddenly stopped reading, raising an eyebrow and looking him up and down for a moment. “Do I...know you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “If the stars had aligned correctly, this would be our first and last meeting.”

The Lord wagged a finger at him as his eyes lit up. “Ahhh...you’re that crazy star seer. The one aways snuggled up in the queen’s shadow…”

“Gh…...I’m not—”

“Yeah…” Ligero rubbed his chin. “You’re that sickly twig that’s been whining about our deaths and such...always making a fuss since Elane died.” He chuckled to himself, while Astor scowled.

“Her Majesty’s...passing, puts the future of Hyrule on a path of certain doom. I believe I’ve made my predictions of past clear, that the princess will not awaken her power in—”

 “Ayap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap…” Ligero opened and closed his hand like a mouth in mockery. “Listen boy, you won’t win any favours by spewing your miserable thoughts at every meeting.”

“Maybe I don’t desire your favour.”

“Well then who are you looking to please? Cause I’m afraid it’s a little late to cuck His Majesty any further.”

“Excuse me?” Astor took a step forward, but the Lord stood his ground with a smile, cocking his head to the side. 

“I mean, that’s the only reason some nobody like you is here in the first place, isn’t it? Royal connections? Lovely pity on a scrawny useless orph—”

“I’m here to do my job.”

“Aw, don’t live in denial, boy. I have an eye for this sort of thing. And I’m always partial to helping a lad in need…”

Astor was already turning to move past Ligero, but suddenly stopped. He smirked to himself in amusement. “Is that so…?”

“Oh sure. My own son I’ve raised to be the peak of perfection. Striking young man, dashing blond—like me—and skilled. Rising up the knight’s ranks faster than an octo balloon! That’s all me, all my parenting right th—”

“And which son is that?”

“My oldest, my…...one, son.” He glared at him with a frown. 

“Hmm…” Astor could barely hold back from snickering. “And what do you think of this oldest son then?”

“Oh, too much of his mother’s child, if you ask me. But much better than I in some regards, though of course, not all of them. Ohoho…”

“Yes…” Astor smiled to himself. “You’re a funny man, Ligero Hartell…”

Ligero finally stopped laughing to himself. “But you see, perfection like that isn’t born. It’s made and nurtured, you have to coax it out of them.” He poked Astor’s chest, and he flinched away in disgust. “Quit your mumbling, your babbling, your little grief stricken dreams, it’s all useless. No one cares for it.”

The Lord went to pat his head, like a puppy, but Astor dodged out of the movement with a verbal “nope” as he whipped behind him. Ligero just shrugged. “If you can’t churn yourself to be a better man, then you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. You want to be something more? Something of actual merit? Taken more seriously than some child that was dragged up these polished steps out of a late woman’s mercy?” He flicked his wrist, adjusting the cuff of his pristine white sleeve. “Stop chasing the dead. Don’t be blinded by replaceable things like compassion and the sort. Find a wealthy friend or something, get rich, get power.” 

Ligero turned to continue walking down the hall. “Besides, even if it is like you say—then all the more to ride the sayings of, ‘You only live once.’”

Astor glowered, watching Ligero walk away. He scoffed, and started to turn back towards his own destination, before the Lord called out once more—  

“And cut your hair or something! You’re no Rito, quit with the braids. It’ll get all greasy and frizzy...Trust me, I knew someone with hair like that, once.”

Astor’s expression softened just a bit—nearly undetectable—before immediately being replaced with a darker scowl.

He kept walking, his deep purple robes dancing just a finger-widths above the stone polished steps. He opened and closed his hand to himself, miming Ligero’s speaking.

“Always partial to helping a lad in need...gods, seems childhood memory has still captured him to perfection.” Astor came up on the wooden door, and walked inside. 

The ceiling was a stone dome, littered with old parchment maps, and Sheikah charts, along with chalk that outlined ancient constellations and designs. There was an old chalkboard—stolen, from the Sheikah department—with further sketches and notes, torn out pages from old journals and texts pinned to the board and walls. Even the window was covered by hanging gyrospheres and astrolabes, twirling in infinite suspension. Since they blocked the window’s hinges, they were probably the reason why the room smelled so musty.

Astor closed the door, and flopped down on an old velvet bench, staring at the ceiling in silence.

“BOO!”

“GAAaaAAAh!” Astor shot up, whipping his head at the dangerous intruder, only to find a giggling, blonde girl.

She was doing her best to muffle her laughter by holding her hands to her mouth. “Gotchu again, Mr. Astor!” 

He sighed. “What are you doing here?”

The princess shuffled towards his desk, hands already bored and ready to play with the nearest pointy object. “You took so long to get heeeeree….why was that old guy even talking to you?”

He fixed his hair behind his ears, not really paying attention. “Oh? You heard all that, then?”

“Yeaaah, the halls are—” she cupped her hands over her mouth, “—ECHOEY, Echoey, echoey...echoey….” Her voice grew fainter at each repetition. 

“Stop shouting in my study. You’ll attract the rats…”

“I like rats!” She ran back up to Astor, sitting on the other end of the bench. “They’re like dogs! But small!”

“They’re rodents. Think more possums and mice.”

“Like that old guy, right?” She played with a loose thread on her dress. “Last week you called him a gross...virgin? Vermin… Velvet…? I forgot the word—”

Astor suddenly scooped the young Zelda up under her arms, holding her out in front of him like she was a disease. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, alright? That’s our secret.”

“Put me doooooooown!!”

“No. Get out. I’m working.”

The princess struggled in his grip so much that by the time he reached the door with her, she was nearly upside down. He opened the door and she craned her neck up, pleading at him with an upside down frown.

“Pleeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase let me stay??? Dad never bothers to look for me here….and your room is so cool! Even mom hung out here a lot…” Astor physically flinched, and Zelda took that as an opportunity to let loose some puppy eyes. “Pweaaaaaaase????”

Astor was so ready, so ready to shake her off his arm and let her possibly break a bone tumbling down the steps. “Oh! It was an accident, Your Majesty. She was so busy talking and talking and bouncing off the walls she forgot how stairs worked! I tried to stop her but she used her superglue prank again! Oh what a shame!” It would have been so easy…

Instead, the prophet just sighed, turned around, and let her topple onto the room’s floor. She yelled a “Yay!” before scuttling towards the windowsill, adorned with sparkly objects. Astor made his way to his desk, muttering.

“You can stay for five minutes. But don’t touch anything.”

Zelda immediately started touching and spinning the gyrospheres around in her hand.

The princess pranced and sat and played and pondered around the room—five minutes, ten, fifteen, and twenty. Finally she hobbled up to Astor, her arms full of shiny orbs and trinkets. She peered at his desk.

“So whatcha working on?” Zelda asked, looking at the weird sketches. “You seeing the future and stuff?”

“Something like that,” he replied stiffly. Silence resumed in the room.

Zelda set down her arm full of collectables, before standing on her toes to catch a better glimpse. “So what’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen in the future?”

The prophet rolled his eyes, still trying to focus on his work. “Oh, you know. Death, doom, destruction. You’ll fail to awaken your powers, everyone perishes...the usual sort.”

Zelda crossed her arms and sat on the ground with a huff. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“Oh yeah? Well if you can see the future, then WHAT am I gonna do next? Betcha can’t tell!”

“You’re going to attempt a backflip.”

“I’m going to do a b—” Zelda had jumped up, her arms already in the air, before she let them drop and sputtered angrily. “H-Hey! How’d you know that?!”

“Because that’s what you always do to try and disprove me.” He nodded towards the broken chair beside the door, along with a broken shelf, and a broken footstool.

“Hmph!”

“But that’s not how telling the future works anyways.”

“Oh yeah, well how am I supposed to know if you never TELL ME!” She suddenly scrambled into Astor’s lap, trying to steal his papers. 

“H-Hey! Get off you insolent—”

“Tell me what your jooooooob issssss you never doooooooooo anything despite having the coolest room…” Zelda palmed her face on his papers, refusing to move.” 

Astor was just about pulling his hair out, before taking a deep breath. “If I tell you, will you get off me?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Ugh. You’re insufferable…” Astor leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Well it’s like this. Every choice and possibility exists. Every universe and timeline with every outcome and conclusion you could imagine exists in the grand unknown. There’s a universe where you’re a boy, there’s a universe where you don’t exist, there’s a universe where you’re quiet and don’t bother me all the time—”

“Is there one where my mom’s alive?” Zelda leaned her head back and looked up at him.

He was silent for a moment, pondering his words. “...Yes. There is.” 

He finally raised an arm, gesturing to the decorated ceiling. “See now, predicting the future is all a matter of trying to identify exactly what kind of universe you’re in. You look to the stars—gifts from the spirits, who roam as a constant in all timelines. You look to dreams, and magic, and visions...your surroundings, the people...there’s a pattern and predictability that I can use to identify what universe we’re in, and how the future will play out.”

“So you think we’re in the one where the Calamity wins?” Zelda raised an eyebrow.

“From what I’ve seen, I’m almost certain. Yes.”

“That sucks.”

“It does...suck.”

Zelda jumped up and went back to playing with the gold and silver trinkets. “Why don’t we just go to a universe where we don’t lose?”

Astor turned back to his work. “Because that’s not possible.”

“Really? You sure?”

Astor stopped, pondering for just a moment, before shrugging and continuing to work. 

“Probably anyways. I imagine millions of people have tried before, millenia ago. And from the looks of things, nothing’s worked.”

Zelda fiddled with an Ancient Core. 

[badatjokezz]

Haikyuu!! Rare Pair Fic Recs

i’ve been so hype about some Hq rarepairs lately now imma list some of my fav fanfics, mostly OiSuga mwehehe.... 

(probably gonna add some more in the future)

Oisuga (Oikawa x Sugawara)

1. Stuck in the Middle With You by overlymetaromantic

It's not the kind of blossoming relationship either of them would expect, but maybe, just maybe, it could lead to something good.

1. In which Suga and Oikawa run into each other on a late night convenience store run.

2. In which Suga and Oikawa inadvertently switch bags and end up with the other’s uniform.

3. In which Suga gives Oikawa the lecture he doesn't want but probably needs, and Oikawa might accidentally be a little in love.

4. In which Oikawa won't shut up about Suga, and Iwaizumi plays matchmaker just to make him stop.

5. In which there is not a date, and Suga likes spicy things much more than sweet.

6. In which Karasuno and Aobajousai hold training camps in the same neck of the woods, and the trip back proves to be more revealing than it probably should.

7. In which there might just be a future to this after all.

(Dis is so fluffy i might die)

2. moving on (growing up) by _helios (neocitz)

‘I’ll do it,’ Suga says, walking into their prep school and dropping his bag on the floor next to Oikawa. He shoves the melon bun and drink forward into Oikawa’s hands, and stands there looking down at him because he knows that he needs to not chicken out.

‘You’ll do what?’ Oikawa looks up through his glasses, eyes wide and confused as the other students stream in around them.

‘The fake dating thing, I’ll do it.’

‘Fuck. Yes.’ Oikawa says with a fist pump.

(It’s been AGES since i read Fake/Pretend Relationship fic, this one is goood)

3. how strange, to be remembered by venusintwelfthFandoms

"He is not formed of the type of dust that makes up stars. Suga is not the type of person that stays in the mind of one like Oikawa Tooru, ten years later. He is formed of the type of dust you shake off, the type that settles into the ground."

Ten years after Suga last steps off a high-school court, Oikawa recollects a "Mr. Refreshing" in a post-game interview, and Suga is left scrambling.

(Cute one-shot, Oikawa still remember Mr. Refreshing from Karasuno)

4. all the small things by Authoress for lemedy

Sugawara Koushi.

Oikawa’s brain supplies the name of the person standing at the other end of the aisle before Oikawa can even register him, attuned to spitting out facts about other volleyball players on a second’s notice, even after all these years. Karasuno High vice-captain. 174 cm…no, more like 176 now. Skilled at raising morale and bringing an element of surprise to their strategy. Troublesome. Refreshing. Setter.

The enemy.

(Single Dad! Oikawa, cuuutee ugh)

5. Win Some by kingdra (aroceu) for Icie

Tooru does not have a problem, its name is certainly not Sugawara Koushi, and he is not going to the Karasuno practices just to watch him. Regardless of whatever Iwa-chan says.

(High school romane~)

6. Even as bright as you are? by BKAKCANON

That night when he goes to sleep, he includes "the safety of fairies" on his prayers, making a promise to whoever was listening him, that he'd protect all the fairies and keep their secret safe forever.

[Where Oikawa meets Suga when they are kids and Oikawa believes Suga is secretly a fairy and decides he has to protect his secret all costs.]

(This is basically matches my headcanon)

7. getting to know you by oisugasuga

Suga feels like he’s back on the court then, his heart thudding hard in his ears… so hard he almost misses what Oikawa says. Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t.

"My, my. What a surprise," Oikawa Tooru says. And then… "Hello, Mr. Refreshing."

(Haven’t finished yet but DAMN I LOVE OIKAWA AND SUGA IN HERE, single dad! oikawa, and Suga babysitting oikawa’s kid, def slow burn. Imma follow this fic till death)

8. Dear Reader by hyirule

No one seems to read the paper anymore. But Oikawa likes to for the sports section. One day he finds himself reading a section called "Dear Reader" and finds a submission he can relate to.

Basically messages sent through a page on a newspaper brings to unlikely souls together, who maybe have more in common than they first thought.

(Cannon compliant, simple and... refreshing(?))

9. rest by shicchaan

Tooru looks at the sleeping person beside him as he waits for the lights change into green. The growing fringe of his husband started to cover his eyes but he can still see the beautiful birthmark under the silver haired's left eye.

(Established relationship, fluff fluff!!!)

10. long is the road (that leads me home) by ichweissnichtauch

He thinks about himself, deleting contacts from his phone and throwing coffee cups away without even looking at the string of numbers scrawled in Sharpie ink underneath, and he’s tired of hiding, tired of carefully treading the lines he’d drawn for himself all those years ago.

Just this once, Tooru wants— he thinks he wants to be brave.

Oikawa Tooru is not a stranger to wanting.

(like... 20% Oisuga but i like the way this story follows the Cannon till he get to Argentina)

11. It's Always Been About You by mintycarrots

Every time Tooru had envisioned meeting his soulmate, it was a confession of love, filled with tears of happiness and a lot of making out. It would be a faceless petite girl that would support Tooru in whatever he chose to pursue and would understand when Tooru prioritized volleyball over all else.

It was never a boy on the rival team.

(Soulmate AU)

12. a play in three acts by venusintwelfth

"The first time Sugawara Koushi sees Oikawa Tooru play, he thinks that if he wasn’t so set on volleyball, he’d do well in theater."

the first seijoh x karasuno match through the eyes of suga.

(Kinda poetic i guess, well written af)

13. colors by dazeful

Sugawara Koushi's colorful life as an archer.

(this is like the perfect oisuga one shot ive ever read)

___

IwaSuga (Iwaizumi x Sugawara)

1. And so the moon cried by iwriteinpenFandoms:

The hillocks are the domain of unearthly creatures. Creatures of rot and fog, of music and dance. Like ghosts in the night they travel without leaving footprints, they disappear in a flurry of long dresses and pale hair. Those who are fated to see them risk curses far worse than death. You may hear them, a giggle in the wind. You may smell them, the smell of the fog rolling in through the trees. You should pray you never see them. Iwaizumi Hajime is a simple man. He works a simple farm job and enjoys simple things. After one morning where he woke next to a perfect circle of death and only the memory of brown eyes and cold hands, he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the forest. Will the tales of his childhood play out with him at the center or will he have to disregard all reason?

(Danish Folklore AU)

2. Cry Just A Little by DreadfulMind

Suga was whistling a tune to himself as he opened the door to the bathroom, so he didn't hear the muffled crying through the door. But he could hear it clearly once he was inside. He heard the sharp sob of someone trying to stop.

"Iwaizumi?" He asked, "are you sure you're alright?"

(Simple but c u t e)

3. Generations by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor), mozaikmage

Professional sports blogger Sugawara Koushi writes an article about a volleyball match that bears special meaning to him and his former kouhai: a showdown between Kitagawa Daiichi and Yukigaoka Middle School, ten years after the teams faced off for the first time. He doesn't plan on capturing the attention of the world of sports journalism, and he certainly doesn't expect himself to end up having a thing for one of the coaches involved, one Iwaizumi Hajime.

(Time-Skip, I loved it)

___

KuroTsuki (Kuroo x Tsukishima)

1. Invictus by Chiru

Kuroo T. » So let me get this straight (gay?) Kuroo T. » You want me to pretend to be your perfect and fabulous boyfriend, so that your little freckled friend will stop trying to set you up with cute little highschool girls? Tsukishima Kei » yes Kuroo T. » Aha. Tsukishima Kei » you'll do it? Kuroo T. » I don't know. I missed the part where I get something out of it. Tsukishima Kei » you get to annoy me. Unfortunately Kuroo T. » Tempting, Tsukki, very tempting indeed.

(Fake/Pretend Relationship, some fluff, some angst, i read this in the middle of the night and cried, fortunately happy ending)

2. hold onto hope if you got it by nekolyssi

"Now, in the beginning of their third year of high school, the obnoxious hollering and incessant spirit of his teammates became normalcy to Kei. And now, normalcy is this. Weekly psych meetings. Pharmacy waiting rooms. Prescriptions. Refusal of prescriptions. More prescriptions."

(Not finished yet but yep prolly gonna put this one to one of those best haikyuu fics ive ever read. I wasnt so interested at first but i really like the idea of mental ilness etc, this is g o o d!!)

3. [KuroTsuki Fest Week 2017] Traces by Heartythrills 

Kuroo’s disappeared for a little over a week now, and suddenly a 4 year old who looks like him appears before Tsukishima’s apartment.

(Age regression, fluff)

4. I swear by xArtemisx

Like the shadow that's by your side I'll be there

"What are you doing here, Tetsu? It's cold." Kei asked softly. Tetsurou smiled. Hearing his name came out of Kei's lips is always music to his ears.

"Nothing. I just came to think that whatever memory we make, may it be happy or sad memories, the bright moon and the starry night sky is always there to be the witness. Did you notice?" The alpha answered and Kei nodded. He also noticed it.

"Yes, I did noticed it."

(I love agony and sad ending....)

5. Honeybee by ClosetGoblin

Tsukishima has trouble sleeping one night during a Third Gym Camping Trip. So, he takes his acoustic guitar and passes the time with some music, and gets a visitor. Maybe he doesn't mind Kuroo's voice as he does the screeching that Lev and Hinata call singing.

(Simple but sweet)

6. Say You Like Me by the_madame21

It's been three months. And Tsukishima Kei is going to see Kuroo Tetsurou.

(light angst and.. s m u t. Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamic)

7. trying to get to you by mytsukkishine

Everything came crashing down on Kuroo when Kei had left him alone with nothing but the moon shining down on him.

Wherein, Kuroo was struggling to move on and decided that he wouldn't mind being with Kei again.

(sad beginning? yes. sad ending? y e s. you’re a masochist? come get your juice)

8. Please Hold by ThemooncatFandoms

Kei was expecting Kuroo to do one of two things; Send a text to the office saying that they will have to call back another time and continue what they started, or excuse himself from Kei to answer the call, which was most likely. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Kuroo does neither of those things.

(short but hot. what’s hotter than quiet sex?)

___

Ushijima x Oikawa

1. This Insignificant Pride and Prejudice by Mysecretfanmoments, Pouler (poulerslashes)

Oikawa Tooru graduated high school with the burning desire to succeed in his college career. He'd hoped that might include taking down his arch-nemesis along the way, but when he finds that his college team hosts an offensively familiar face, he can't help but think that the universe might be conspiring against him. After all, what could be worse than playing on the same team as Ushijima?

(It was funny for me reading oikawa/ushijima fic with that “you should’ve come to Shiratorizawa” joke at first but somehow i found this one... endearing :3, cute poor ushiwaka)

___

Atsumu x Nishinoya

1. All the things I love about Yuu by KilluCoulomb

Atsumu Miya is fixated in Nishinoya. The way the boy acts, talks, plays. He Carefully observes from afar, but he slowly warms up to the Libero. Friendship becomes more and more intimate. Atsumu realizes Nishinoya is not that simple guy he met three years ago. And he loves it.

(pro volleyball players AU)

2. i'll see you then by noyabeans (snowdrops)

Nishinoya Yuu and Miya Atsumu build a rivalry and something more.

“Oh, it's Karasuno’s libero,” he says, mildly surprised to see Nishinoya’s face staring back at him from the brochure, grinning wide with his arms folded over his chest.

Contains spoilers for the current manga arc, up to chapter 380.

[skarsgard-daydreams]

How do you think The Kid would act/react when the reader in Sound and Color has to finally go back to work?

Note: This takes place after “On the Nature of Daylight” and "Quantum Entanglement.” It’s a little too long for a drabble, but not quite long enough for a story.

“Theory of Relativity”

Eight hours. That’s how long she said she would be gone, but he had no way of knowing if it had been eight minutes or eight years since she left. Time, for Henry, did not follow a linear pattern. It could slip suddenly and twist back in on itself, going retrograde, or stretch from the gravity of his emotions, lengthening the distance he had to travel to move from one second to another. She had given him instructions before she left for work—a list of things he could do in her absence to keep himself occupied—but they hadn’t stuck in his mind and he couldn’t remember where he’d left the slip of paper she’d scribbled on when his responses went from hums of understanding to a blank stare as he retreated into himself.

It wasn’t that he always needed her direction. He had established a sort of routine that he followed. When the sun began to filter through the curtains around his bed in the morning, the little orange cat he had rescued would wake him up by chewing on his hair, letting him know she wanted breakfast. He would go downstairs and measure out her cat food. She was skittish and watchful while she ate, and if he wasn’t there, she usually became too anxious to finish her meal, so Henry sat beside her and buried his fingers in her soft fur, scratching her behind the ears now and then until she was done.

That’s where the woman usually found him when she came into the kitchen in her bathrobe and started to make coffee—sitting on the floor with the cat. She always smiled at him and sometimes he felt the corners of his lips twitch reflexively in response. She would scramble some eggs while he made toast, and then they would eat together in comfortable silence.

After breakfast, he moved through the house like her shadow as he completed his own rituals. He sat under the window in her office and laid out the newspaper on the floor so he could scan over the pages, searching for words that stood out to him as though they were printed in bold font. Power. Penitent. Pisces. Pangborn. Possession. Plural. Parabola. When he had gone through each page, he would reassemble them in reverse order and leave them on her desk while he went to take a bath.

Sometimes after lunch he played piano or cut a length of string and laid on the floor watching the cat go wild over it. When the sun started to go down, the woman would flick on a lamp next to the couch, and Henry would curl up under a blanket and read about brain elasticity in a medical journal until his eyes grew heavy and he found himself sinking into the haze of sleep.

Now, without her there to anchor him in time and space, he couldn’t put the events of the day into order. He shuffled through every room in the house as though he might find her hiding in any one of them even though he knew she was gone. He felt her absence pull at him like a tether. He thought if he followed it like a rope in the darkness, he would find her at the other end, but she had told him to stay in the house. When he couldn’t think of what to do next, his mind circled back to that simple command, and he focused all of his energy on obeying it.

The dog crate in the basement had long been disassembled and hauled to the dump. She had tried to ask him once why he’d locked himself inside of it while she was gone. He felt a strange kind of pain radiate from her when she searched his face, trying so hard to understand. It wasn’t her own pain, he realized. It was the pain she thought he should feel, but he only felt disoriented and exposed by the cavernous space of the living room with its two-story windows that looked out onto the moonlit lake. He tilted his head to the side. “It was quiet,” he told her without meeting her eyes. “I was quiet.”

Henry’s fingers brushed over the cool metal of a doorknob. He pushed it open without thinking, stepping over the threshold into her bedroom. It felt haunted by her presence even though she wasn’t there. Her scent hung in the air, something warm and sweet and dappled with shades of pink and white. He padded over to the bed in his mismatched socks and pulled back the covers. It felt strange to be in her room without her, but he knew she would forgive him his trespasses. Sometimes she knew what he needed before he did, and right now, he needed her.

He crawled onto the bed and burrowed down under the blankets, inhaling the scent of her floral shampoo on her pillow. His mind went still, no longer ruminating on how long it would be before she returned. She had been here before, leaving an indelible imprint on time and space. He could feel her radiance somewhere in the universe, resonating at the same frequency as his own. If he wanted to, he could grab hold of the tether and pull her back to him. But she had told him to wait for her. She had promised he would be okay, and that she would be home as soon as she could. Her words replayed over and over again in his mind. He held onto her pillow tightly and listened to the ticking of the clock in the hall. “Trust me,” she had told him before she left. And he did.

(part of Sound and Color: a series of The Kid/Henry stories/drabbles)

@girlinthecorner @hiddlelecki @skrsgardspam @scxrsgxrd @grandpa-sweaters @stevesharrlngtons @upirs

[redneckangelsdrinkmoonshine]

Heaven Forbid/ 5. November, 2021

Chapter 1 - "When It Rains, It Pours" (draft)

It was almost as if the Georgian skies were falling apart; rain poured down freely while the wind wailed like a banshee that was hiding somewhere off in the distance. It seemed to carry the same promise of death and destruction.

The wipers of the Impala squeaked and screeched like never as they struggled to fight off the Tsunami that was gathered at the bottom of the windshield. Sam thought that he should maybe turn them off, at least then his brother wouldn’t have to get new ones because these were bound to break any second. However, that was the least of their concerns, and they seemed to have plenty. Surprisingly, the storm with chances of a tornado wasn’t one of them either. What was, was currently bleeding out on the backseat while Dean’s shaky hands applied pressure to the wound on the poor creature’s abdomen while holding him at a weird angle so neither his back or stomach were in contact with the seat. Creature, because they had no idea what Cas was anyway.

Castiel started coughing violently when he and Dean jerked to the side due to the harsh turn. Dean wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing, but he decided it was a good thing; if Cas had enough air in his lungs to cough then he was going to be alright. “Okay, Sammy, we’re gonna go down Chestlehurst road, pass two churches, cross the bridge that goes over Keg creek, then at the end of the street you’re gonna make a left. Then we go down, the farm is on the right.”

“Go a bit faster, Goddammit! Would’ve been faster if we carried the freaking car there!” The last part was muttered under Dean’s breath, his wide, green eyes skimmed all over the place, from the red of Cas’s blood to the scenery that passed by them, always searching for the signs on the highway, showing which miles they passed. Dean’s free hand cradled Cas’s head closer to his chest as his other hand pressed down even harder, letting out a barely there sigh when Cas muttered some nonsense under his breath, “Ey buddy, just hang on a little longer, alright? You’re a tough son of a bitch, the toughest one I know.” Castiel's shirtless self was shivering hard, which was understandable, he had lost a lot of blood. Dean paused before he buried his face in Castiel’s dirty, tousled hair and planted a careful kiss on the top of his head, “Don’t you dare prove me wrong, you hear me? I know you hate to disappoint me, you’ve never done that so don’t start now, okay?”

The older Winchester continued to track the plates on the highway, making a mental check to make sure they were heading the right way. He sighed in relief when he saw the exit, along with the sign that said “sixteen”, “Here! Right here!”

Dean cursed under his breath when he felt the blood soak through the handkerchief and seep into his hand like ink, he didn't even want to think about the open wounds on his back which were left to the mercy of the air, “Alright Sammy, I don’t care about the freaking damage from potholes or whatever, Baby can handle it, however – look, the shock absorbers are stronger than Cas right now so just go freaking faster.”

They were almost there but it still felt as if it would take ten more hours. Just when Dean started to fear the worst because Cas was way too quiet for way too long and almost completely unresponsive, the farm came into view. He patted Cas’s shoulder as his younger brother breathed out a sigh of relief, “It’s okay Cas, we’re here, we’re gonna be okay.” Just when Dean was ready to let out a colorful combination of curse words, relief washed over him when he saw that the storm had taken care of the gate that would’ve been in their way was it otherwise. Sam went all the way to the house, parking the car on the side. He opened his door as Dean gave him instructions, “Tell them we need help, I don’t want to move him unless I know exactly how to.” Sam nodded as he scrambled out of the Impala and rounded the side of the house. Dean took in a shaky breath and all of the air left his lungs when he noticed that Castiel was way too still for his liking, “Cas? Castiel?!”

The door to his side opened and there stood Sam, a man with a white beard and a guy who looked way too much like Bobby. They helped get Cas out of the car gently, somehow Castiel didn’t even grunt in protest, and once Dean was somewhat stable on his feet, he accepted the weight of the fallen angel in his arms. The older man spoke,”We’ve gotta take ‘im to the infirmary, from what I see we don’t have much time.”

-

The storm had calmed, but not the one inside Dean’s head. He was sitting on a chair, his eyes were unfocused and his dull nails were picking at the blood that seemed to be almost like ink that was deep under his skin. The rain outside was nothing but a calm drizzle, however it caused them nothing but anxiety. Sam was pacing back and forth, shooting worried glances at his brother, but Dean didn’t even have the energy to tell him he was fine. Maybe because he wasn’t, he was far from it.

The scene from earlier that day played in his mind on repeat, over and over again. His own terrified scream made his ears ring and his head pound, the vision of Castiel chained up like a rabbit with zero signs of life showing. Surprisingly the only threat was a deep wound in his abdomen that made both Sam and Dean fear that he had already lost a lot of blood, but thankfully that wasn’t the case. It was almost like Cas had fought so hard to stay alive just so he could make sure they found him so he could say goodbye.

The brothers finally regained their control and returned to the plan, they had to get Castiel out of these chains and into the Impala. Dean stood in front of Castiel yet again, ready to catch him before he fell. However, when Sam started to undo the restrains, Castiel’s eyes opened but he didn’t seem to see a thing. His mouth was open in a silent scream, ready to fight whoever was in sight which made Dean equally terrified and proud. But then Castiel’s eyes finally met Dean’s and he immediately calmed down. He tilted his head to the side in his typical Cas way before he breathed out with a barely there smile, “Dean?” With that, his eyes rolled back and Dean accepted Castiel’s limp body into his arms when the last chain was undone.

Of course, they couldn't have nice things. They found Castiel, he was alive, but the wound on his abdomen wasn't the only major one.

When Dean cradled Cas’s face in his shaky hands, his vision was blurry with tears. Sam started to undo the chains while Dean got in the right position to accept Castiel’s weight, but then Sam jumped back with a startled "Son of a bitch!". Of course it didn't sound well, so Dean went to stand next to Sam. The sight in front of them was gruesome: there were six slices across Castiel's back, parallel to one another. The longest set was seven inches long and about three inches wide, the other two were about five inches in length and two inches in width. The longest set was the one in the middle, the first row was on the shoulder blades and the third was maybe just shy of the small of Castiel's back. Slightly underneath them, on either side of Castiel's loin, about eight inches under where the third set of cuts ended stood another set of wounds, but in a round shape. They were slightly burned, almost as if whoever made these cuts decided to seal them shut. Their attempt to stop the bleeding was more or less useless, because blood still oozed and trickled down slowly but steadily.

When the two week marker of Castiel’s absence hit, Dean decided to look for clues. However, he had no idea where to begin. Thankfully, when Dean used his heart, Sam used his brain.

All types of feelings burned in his veins. Dean was overwhelmed with sadness, anger, hurt, and hopelessness, but the worst of it all was grief. What was he going to tell Claire and Jack? Why did Cas go off somewhere in the first place, without even telling Dean? That son of a bitch had to have the nerve to die before answering Dean’s many questions.

Dean had no idea how it was so hard for Cas to learn. Through the past thirteen years, whenever Castiel or any of their trio, sometimes even the extended crew, whenever anyone didn’t tell the others what they were up to something bad happened. But Castiel always took it to the next level. The thing with the Leviathans was bad, then Naomi, Metatron. From bad to worse. However, Cas getting stabbed and not having the ability to heal himself? That only meant one thing, Castiel’s grace was damaged or completely gone. He was no longer an angel. Dean decided that Castiel had scraped the absolute bottom.

Back in the beginning of it all, when their father had disappeared and Dean went to look for him with Sam, they looked for clues in John’s journal. Ever since they found the bunker, they no longer used that thing. Whenever Castiel was around and they didn’t have a case, he would sit around with a book. Castiel was the only one who had read all of the books, some of them even more than once and whenever he left the bunker, he would come back with even more books, some were normal novels, others were books they could use for research. That one thing Castiel loved to read more than anything was John’s journal. When Dean noticed that his friend had read the journal for the fiftieth the time, the next time he went out to get more beer and some pie, he stopped by the bookstore he knew Cas liked and bought a travel journal. The thing looked quite thick, it had enough pages for Cas to fill with his smartass thoughts and discoveries. Dean even bought a bunch of pens and some pencils, along with a sharpener and an eraser, for all he knew Castiel was a hidden Picasso. The only reason Dean had bought that journal was because the leather covers were the same beige as Castiel’s trench coat and the silk string that separated the pages was the deep shade of blue that was Cas’s newest suit.

Castiel was stunned, he opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water. He carefully peered inside the bag and a child-like innocence lit up his face. His eyes were wide and Dean decided to ignore the way his heart started beating faster. He shrugged as he pushed himself away from the door frame, “At this point you’ve read dad’s journal a hundred times. I’m sure you’re an expert now and I, I decided it’d be a good idea to create your own journal.” Castiel’s lips trembled slightly before he beamed with an adorable, sickeningly-sweet smile on his face, the type of smile that made his nose scrunch up and the corners of his eyes crinkle, “Thank you.” Dean nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck. He sighed before he reached out and patted Castiel’s chest gently, “Alright, get in the shower, you smell like crap.” Castiel rolled his eyes with a hint of a smile before he stepped back enough to close the door.

Dean knew he would always remember Castiel’s face when he gave him that journal. He had it in a simple paper bag, Cas was in his room in the bunker, the number fifteen was no longer black, Cas had changed it to gold when he claimed the room as his own.

Cas and Dean never knocked on each other’s doors. When he opened the door, Dean was taken by surprise when he saw Castiel doing handstand push-ups in perfect form, “Damn, I don’t know if I should come back later or go get some popcorn and a drink.” Dean had to mask his laughter with a cough when he scared Castiel so badly that he crumbled to the ground with a squeak, “Y’know Cas, I thought angels were supposed to be graceful-” “And I thought humans did that thing where they knock and ask for permission before they enter a closed door.” Dean tried to look wherever but his eyes were glued to Cas's naked, sweaty upper body. The fact that he wore some of Dean's old sweats didn't help at all. Maybe the angel knew what he was doing because he purposefully lifted himself on his hands before he set down his feet and slowly straightened up to his full height. Dean cocked his head to the side in surprise, “I didn’t know you have a tattoo.” Cas looked at the ink on his ribs as he scratched it, “Got it back when I was human. Angels were, as you say, on my ass, and I needed to protect myself somehow. It hurt like hell but I ended up liking it. I could heal it completely, remove the ink from my body if I wanted to, but I don’t mind it.” He undid the strings of his pants to redo them and Dean found it nearly impossible to look Cas in the eyes, “What’s up, is there a case?” Dean shook his head as he licked his lips, “Nah, we’ve got a day off, for now. Look, I've, uh, I’ve got something for you.” He held out the bag with a small smile.

Castiel loved that journal way too much. He carried it everywhere and wrote in it a lot. He would sit at the big wooden table, surrounded by books and he would write whatever he found important in a notebook, then write it in the journal and he would even separate the different subjects and highlight important things. From thoughts to detailed sketches here and there that made John’s sketches look like doodles done by a toddler. Dean knew all of that because Cas would show him his progress from time to time. Of course Dean waited until Cas was not around so he could read whatever was on Cas’s mind. There was a single section of the journal that was written in Enochian and the fact that Dean didn’t understand it pissed him off, but he never asked what any of these words meant, because he respected Castiel's privacy.

Looking through John’s journal helped them find him so Sam was sure that if there was a place where they’d find any useful information it would be in Castiel’s journal. Dean had found it in the pocket of Castiel’s trench coat which was folded on the foot of Castiel’s bed. That was a huge red flag since Castiel never took it off and never went anywhere without the journal unless he was going to get in some real dirty business.

The man moved on, this time talking about Castiel's recovery, "We need to be sure he’s going to make it through the night, when he wakes up we’re going to turn the respirator off and we're going to figure out a way to make him rest on his side so he wouldn't have to put pressure on his back. I suggest someone stays with him all the time, I will also send one of my daughters from time to time to check his vitals. If all goes well, he should wake up tomorrow, well, today by noon. Worst case scenario, he'd be out for days, but he should pull through.” Sam sighed as he put a hand on his chest, sincerity dripping from his tone, “Thank you so, so much and I apologize for coming so late, but you were the only option we really had. We were sure you would be the best shot.” Dean nodded as he shoved his hands in his pockets, “Yea, really, that guy there? He’s family. We‘re really, really grateful for what you did. Every single second you spent working on him. Thank you.” The elderly one nodded his head, his deep eyes showing nothing but kindness and sympathy. “Thank me when he wakes up, son. I’m sorry about Bobby. He was a good man, such a shame he’s no longer with us.”

The door to the living room opened and the brothers looked at the newcomers. The man from the earlier walked inside, followed by a woman with kind eyes and blonde hair. The man was still wiping his hands on a towel, smears of Castiel’s blood stood out his snow-white shirt. Dean quickly got to his feet as he turned to the man, ignoring the warning look his brother sent him, “How is he? Is he going to be okay?” The man gave a single nod as he replied, “He is stable. I have fixed people up before, but I wasn’t really sure if he’s human at all, not that I wouldn’t have helped him, I just needed some time and information. Your guy is a lucky one, people with his injuries usually don’t last as long as he did. He’s going to be okay.” Dean sighed as he allowed his chin to fall against his chest while Sam slapped his back in victory. They returned their attention to the man when he spoke up, “He’s under right now, the medication I fixed in his IV is going to make him rather drowsy for a while, but his body needs to rest. There were multiple stab wounds, cuts, and bruises. Clear signs of torture. The stab wound in his abdomen is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, the ones on his back... I had to operate, but it should heal nicely. For now we’re keeping him on a respirator, better safe than sorry. There's an extra cocktail of pain killers because until he wakes up, he has to rest on his back and even if the removal was done nicely -" "Wait, removal?" Dean stepped forward as he pointed military-style, all five fingers pointed at Hershell, "What do you mean by removal?"

The older man was quiet for a second, trying to choose his words wisely, "If I'm not mistaken, your friend is an angel. A Seraph, judging by the count of the wings. I'm a religious man and to be completely honest, I have no idea how they did what they did... But the easy explanation would be that your friend had his wings and uropygial glands removed. I can't say anything else now until your friend has woken up and I've been able to run an actual check-up. There are zero traces of grace, of anything holy for that matter. He was turned mortal in a surgical way, something I've read about in some Norse myths." Dean lifted his hand and wiped his mouth, struggling to bottle the fear he felt. Sam had gone visibly pale and he was gaping like a fish out of water, so Dean could only guess that the news had hit him just as hard.

A moment of silence followed, Dean had to bite his tongue to swallow the urge to roll his eyes at the man and his wife when they did the “cross my heart and hope to die”. Dean reached out his hand as he introduced himself and his brother, “I’m Dean, this is my brother, Sam. The guy back there, his name is Castiel, but we call him Cas for short.” They all shook hands and then the man put a hand on the woman’s back, “I’m Hershel. This here, is my wife Anette. She pretty much did most of the work, thank God she’s a nurse, just like our youngest, Beth. These two are the brains, I’m nothing but a Christian man and a vet with a little bit of basic knowledge.”

Both Dean and Sam gulped at the same time. They shared a look, “A vet? Like... You mean a military doctor or-” Sam paled while his brother simply stood speechless, “-you mean veterinarian.” Hershel nodded before he shot a look at his wife who was struggling to hide her amusement. Dean cleared his throat as he pointed towards the door, “You, do you mind if I go check up on him? Y’know, just to make sure you haven’t attached bunny ears to him or some-” The “thing” came out in a grunt when Sam elbowed his brother a bit too harshly. Hershel gave him a nod as he stepped out of the way.

-

Mud stuck to Dean’s boots and he cringed when he saw that he had already left a print or two on the white tile floor of the infirmary. He paused to take them off by the front door and just as he was putting the left boot next to the right, he heard a voice, “Hey, don’t worry about it, I’m going to clean up in a second.”

While the girl got back to wiping the floors, Dean took his sweet ass time in front of the door that separated him from Castiel. He was afraid his heart was going to burst from anxiety. He bowed his head as he allowed his body to shake off the nerves, “Alright, stop acting like a chick.” He breathed in through his nose before he almost angrily gripped the door handle.

There was a girl that reminded him of the human version of Bambi. Her blonde curls were up in a messy ponytail with a fell braids here and there, her big blue eyes were almost like skies on a hot, summer day.

She had a kind smile on her clean, round face, such a comforting smile that Dean felt his own lips quirk up, “Don’t want to give you any more work, I’m sure we’ve already made a mess.” The girl was almost offended by Dean’s comment, “No, no! It’s okay, really! Like Daddy says, a good Christian is always there to help people.” Dean’s smile flattened a bit, but he made sure it wasn’t obvious, “Sure, I agree, I guess. Hershel is your dad, which probably makes you Beth?” The girl nodded with a soft "mm" sound as Dean awkwardly padded his way over to her in his socketed feet. He felt almost naked without the comfort of his boots but he tried to ignore it, “I’m Dean.” They shook hands, Dean was surprised by her firm grip and slightly calloused, warm hand, “Thank you for what you did to help our friend. His name is Castiel, by the way.” Beth’s smile softened, sympathy overtook her angelic features. “Oh, don’t even mention it!” She did a quick once-over and a childish mischievousness showed in her eyes, “I should probably let you get to him, would be nice for you to be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. Goodnight, Dean.” Dean paused before he decided to ignore it and instead flashed her a smile, “Goodnight, Beth.”

Just as he opened the door, he stopped like a deer in headlights. Once he snapped out of it, he closed the door so he could give them some privacy. Well, himself. Because he didn’t want to break down in front of Beth.

Castiel looked so small, he almost disappeared in the bed. The machines beeped, one dripped, the scariest of them was the one that hummed as it blew air into something that was like a muzzle, hiding that beautiful face. Castiel almost didn’t look like himself, the hospital gown was way too huge on him and he looked like he was drowning in that clothing.

There was a cut over his left eyebrow, another cut that seemed to go all the way from his bottom lip went down to his chin. He was wearing a shiner, his cheekbone was a sick, dark purple with red dots all over it, the corners of the bruise were already an ugly shade of green. However Dean knew that these injuries were nothing compared to the wound on his abdomen.

Dean lowered himself on the chair by Castiel’s bedside. His panicked eyes roamed all over the room and then over Castiel. He took a shaky breath before he reached over and took Castiel’s hand in his, “Alright, Cas, you son of a bitch. No matter what happens, no matter what you did, we’re gonna figure it out. You, me and the gang. You just need to wake up. That’s all, that’s all we need from you.” He furrowed his eyebrows as his eyes finally settled on Castiel’s closed ones, “That’s all I need from you. I need you.”

Dean’s hand went up to drag his palm over his face before he ran his fingers through his hair and pulled, hoping that pain would wake him up from whatever nightmare he was in. Even if Castiel’s injuries weren’t that bad, Dean knew that the emotional damage would be hard for Castiel to handle.

Castiel was drowning in guilt as an angel and angels weren’t supposed to feel emotions. Sure, Castiel was different, almost special, but he was still an angel. Angels were God’s soldiers. There was no thing such as a military man that walked away with all of his mentality. PTSD, depression, anxiety, that was just some of it. Castiel was once God's best soldier, a commander of his garrison, not to mention how many times Castiel proved that even if he was protecting the humans on Earth, his biggest priority was to serve God. Well, it used to be. Dean saw it all happen with his own eyes, the day Jack became God was the day Castiel gave up on religion and instead chose family. However, his past was still heavy on his shoulders. Dean was one to know God’s ways weren’t fair, so he didn’t even want to know, didn’t want to think of what Castiel had to do in Chuck’s name. Not to mention the things he did after he joined Team Free Will, the things he was so guilty of and the ones that once made him consider suicide.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Not Part of the Plan

Peter Kavinsky x Reader

Words: 2669

Part 1 of 2

Summary: You aren’t the type for spontaneity. But when your best friend Peter convinces you to go on the school ski trip, all of your lists and planning journals are thrown out the window. Especially when you discover his feelings for you and you come to the realization that maybe you no longer want to be just friends.  

Notes: You knew this was coming at some point. (this is also going to include some mentions of harassment and cyber-bullying, so just a warning on that)

You furiously scribbled bulleted lists and monthly plans and daily tasks into your journal- all color coordinated, of course. Just as you started drawing a calendar for December when your journal was snatched out of your hands.

“Peter!” You exclaimed, reaching for the book, but he held it out of your reach.

“Not so fast Squint.” He smirked, using the nickname that you hated. When you were little, you refused to wear glasses no matter how many times your mother tried to make you. So in order to read the board in class, you had to narrow your eyes to see the letters. Everyone used to call you Squint to bully you, but now it was just Peter’s affectionate nickname for his best friend. “I am adding something to your schedule.” He wrote in big letters, filling up an entire weekend. When he finally gave your journal back, you shook your head.

“I am so not going on the ski trip.”

“Aw come on Y/N.” He groaned. “I could finally show you my moves on the slopes.” He leaped over the back of the bench and sat next to you.

“Surprisingly, that makes me want to go even less.” You snarked, but you knew that there was one way he could be able to convince you.  Don’t make the face. Don’t make the face. Don’t make the face. Surely enough, Peter pouted his lips and his brown eyes widened sadly.

“Please Y/N.” He begged, the puppy-dog-face slowly starting to work its magic. You rolled your eyes, closing your journal in defeat.

“You’re bringing the snacks for the bus.” You ordered. He grinned and forced you into a hug.

“You are not gonna regret this, Squint.” He promised. You pushed away, but you couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. He draped an arm over your shoulders as the bell rang and the two of you headed inside for first period.

Peter had been your best friend since middle school. You met when he would put the papers on top of your head when everyone handed their assignments up to the front to be graded. Ever since you’d been inseparable. Well, except whenever he was with Gwen. Peter’s now ex-girlfriend constantly tried to make sure Peter never spent time with you. Whenever you made plans, she would find a way to make him cancel. But now she had dumped him for some college guy and he was trying to move on. Somehow making you come to the ski trip would help him do that.

You still had a week to work the trip into your schedule, not that you had anything planned. As Peter loved to point out, you were a bit of a recluse. Besides him, you didn’t have many friends. You mostly stayed home journalling or watching old TV shows. Maybe a bit of fresh air up in the mountains would be good for you. If only you knew how to ski.

As you packed your suitcase you could feel Gwen’s icy stare burning into the back of your head. You hurried onto the bus, getting more uncomfortable by the second. You should be at home, curled up with a book in front of your TV watching Friends. Your eyes scanned the seats for Peter until you found him saving a seat for you toward the back of the bus.

“I know you like the window seat.” He beamed, lifting the snack bag that he’d used to save the seat. You started to put your carry-on bag in the overhead storage when a pair of jocks bumped into you on their way to the back. You lost your balance and fell forward into Peter’s lap. Your face turned bright red, but he just laughed. “Hi there.”

“Shut up.” You scrambled over him to your seat and he continued to snicker. The bus jerked forward and so did your stomach. Peter nudged your shoulder.

“Come on, Y/N, where’s that smile?” He dug through his bag. “I brought your favorite travel snacks.” He coaxed a bag of the treats in front of your face. You stuck out your tongue at him and snatched the snack from his hands. He dug through his bag again, only this time, he pulled out a notebook. “Okay, so here’s the plan. I know how much you love your schedules, so I made this.” He flipped to the first page and showed you the little calendar he’d drawn for the next couple days, complete with snowflakes and a tiny ski-lift connecting the days together. You looked over his attempted calligraphy and felt your heart swell. He did this for you?

“What does, Super Secret Special Activity mean?” You asked, pointing to the very last thing listed.

“Well I can’t tell you if it’s called super secret, now can I?” He scoffed, poking your side playfully. “Everything on there is mandatory. No staying in your room except for the specific times I set aside for you.” There was a half-hour time slot in each day titled ‘Y/N’s lame alone time’.

“Peter this is…” You couldn’t really describe it. As much as you dreaded the thought of actually having to be social with other kids in your grade, the fact that he’d spent the time planning all of it made you feel something you couldn’t quite identify. It was warm and sweet, like drinking the perfect cup of hot chocolate. And for a moment you thought maybe it was… no. It couldn’t be. But the way he was smiling at you made your heart pound.

You chalked it up to just more nerves over the trip and stared out the window. The snow-covered city slowly changed into the forest. You’d always appreciated nature. That wasn’t the problem. It was the spent over two days with a group of teenagers in the middle of the mountains. And in the moment, it was the snide glances you were receiving from across the aisle where Gwen was planning your demise. This was going to be a long weekend.

Your room was nice and cozy and, most importantly, secluded. You were one of the only students that got assigned to a third-floor room so there would be little chance of any accidental run-ins with Gwen. You had just settled into your bed when a knock at the door intruded on your quiet oasis. Groaning, you stood up to see who it was. Peter grinned at you through the peephole and you remembered his list of activities.

“Come on, ya hermit!” He shouted through the wood. You opened the door with a scowl“You and I are going hiking so bundle up.” He threw himself onto your bed and closed his eyes blissfully.

“Guys aren’t supposed to be in girls rooms.” You pointed out. He lifted his head to look at you and you both knew that rule meant nothing on this trip. The chaperones were always too busy drinking wine or whatever it is adults do on vacation. You’d overheard someone saying that more kids lose their virginity on the ski trip than they did on prom night. But you and Peter wouldn’t be doing anything like that! Peter was your best friend. You couldn’t even imagine him like that. Well, there was that one time at a pool party… But that’s beside the point. The point was that you didn’t have feelings for him. You just weren’t blind to his attractive physic. That’s all.

When you’d put on at least three layers of clothing, Peter dragged you out onto the least snowy trail that was still open. There were a few other kids from your class, but they walked ahead of you or snuck off in the bushes to make out. With every freezing step, Peter promised that the journey would be worth it, or at least, that’s what he’d read in one of the brochures. He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, which was making you more agitated than the cold. You hated surprises.

“See, Squint, a little adventure every now and then is good for you.” Peter bumped you with his shoulder.

“I can be adventurous…” Even you knew that was a lie. You’d never done anything that you hadn’t explicitly written down in your journal. Maybe you hoped that if you hadn’t written it down, then nothing bad would happen.

“I think it’s up here, come on.” Peter took your hand and pulled you through a grove of trees. You both froze, staring out at the scene in amazement. It was a glistening lake, still enough that it mirrored the mountains above it perfectly on its shining surface. Everything smelled like pine and earth and lake water.

“Wow.” Was all you could manage to say, your mind still trying to take everything in.

“Told you it would be worth it,” Peter whispered, his voice laced with awe. You stepped forward, your foot getting caught on a tree root. You braced yourself to hit the icy water, but a hand latched onto yours, pulling you back, sending both you and your rescuer tumbling into a snowbank. You landed hard on Peter’s chest, knocking the breath out of you.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry.” You stumbled, climbing off of him awkwardly. Peter just stared at you with a smirk on his face, sitting up. He shook the snow out of his hair and helped you up. You were standing so close, you were sure that he could hear your heart pounding wildly. The trees above you cast shadows across his face, but the sun still made his eyes sparkle. You could feel yourself being drawn closer to him and before you knew it, he was leaning in as well and your lips inevitably met. Wait. Your brain frantically tried to process what was happening. This was not part of the plan! This was most definitely not part of the plan!

You pushed away and before Peter could even open his mouth to talk, you were rushing back down the path. You couldn’t handle this. This wasn’t written out in your journal or on Peter’s list. This was unexpected and you didn’t do well with things that you couldn’t see coming. It happened so fast. You didn’t have time to set up your wall to keep unwanted emotions out. How could you have foreseen that you’d be falling for your best friend?

You spent the rest of the day in your room… with your journal… alone. Just like Peter said you would be. Your phone had been blowing up with texts and calls, but you’d ignored all of them. Maybe you were just afraid he thought it was a mistake. It was definitely a mistake. Peter was your best friend. You couldn’t admit to yourself that you had feelings for him, let alone act upon them. But now they were just out in the open, ready to be dissected and picked apart by the vultures known as life and love.

You were about to start a Harry Potter marathon when there was a quiet knock on your door. You debated just pretending that you were dead.

“Y/N?” The voice greeted. “It’s Lara Jean. I think we need to talk.” You walked across the wood floor, feeling the dread building in your chest.

You were almost as close to Lara Jean as you were to Peter. You spent many summer nights watch old movies with her and her sisters. When you opened the door, she immediately pulled you into a hug.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” She muttered, pulling away. You groaned.

“Does everyone know about it?” She nodded solemnly. You covered your face with a pillow.

“Gwen’s been sending it to everybody, but I know that it isn’t true. I mean, Curt is a total jerk and you wouldn’t have gone out with him let alone-” You brought the pillow down from your face slowly.

“What are you talking about?” Her eyes widened.

“You don’t know?” She looked down at the floor, suddenly very uncomfortable. She took a deep breath. “I guess it’s best that you hear it from me.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and pulled up a post on one of Gwen’s social media accounts. There was a picture of you next to Curt Landon, a boy on the lacrosse team that you’d gone on one date with last year. Lara grimaced as she swiped to the next picture. This time, the two of you were sitting in his car… and his hands were up your shirt.

The caption read; I just had a very interesting conversation with Curt about his date with Y/F/N Y/L/N. To quote; “She was a total fireball She wanted to do things that you wouldn’t believe. And let’s just say I obliged as best as I could, but hell man, I’m only down for so much freaky in one night.” You could practically hear his cocky, playboy voice. But it was Gwen’s closing line that stung. I guess it’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for.

You sat in silent shock. Lara Jean took your hand.

“It’s total bullshit, I know.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe she would post something like this. What could you have possibly done to-”

“Peter and I kissed.” You blurted out. Her jaw dropped.

“You-you what?”

“We kissed.” You stood up, feeling your heartbeat pick up as your breathing became rapid. “Somehow she must have found out. She must have gotten Curt to make up some story that we slept together. But we didn’t!” Panicked tears started to build up in your eyes. “We went on date and he tried to make a move on me and shoved him off. I should have know his friends were taking pictures for their messed up memory book or whatever those creeps have.” Lara Jean stood in front of you.

“Okay, Y/N, just calm down. I’ll find Peter and we can figure this out.”

“No. I can’t face him right now Lara Jean, I just can’t.” You started to pick up your things from around the room, clutching your journal in your arms. “I have to get out of here.” You threw your clothes into your suitcase.

“The bus doesn’t leave until tomorrow.” She pointed out. “It’s not like you can just walk home, Y/N. Just stay and we can figure this out-”

“I have some cousins that don’t live too far away from here. He can give me a ride home. I just have to get a permission slip.” You opened the door with a shaking hand. You felt the stares of your classmates as you made your way down to the lobby.

“Hey Y/N!” One of the jocks yelled down to you. “I heard you were down for some crazy stuff, so how about you come one up here and we can get freaky!” Him and his group of friends laughed.

“Will you shut up Noah?” Another voice barked. Peter was at the top of the other stairs, looking at you. You walked faster. “Y/N wait!”

“Look who it is…” Gwen snickered. “I heard some of the guys wanted a threesome, maybe you should meet up with them.” You pushed passed her.

Peter finally caught you and you couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“Y/N, come on, just talk to me.” He begged.

“I can’t deal with this right now, okay Peter?” You whispered, feeling the shame and embarrassment rising up in you. You clung to the journal in your hands, wishing you could disappear between it’s pages. But instead, you were forced to stand and listen to your classmates taunt you as your best friend’s face contorted with hurt.

“Please… just stay and we can do this together.” Without a word, you shook your head and left to find your teacher, blocking out everything. Including the boy calling your name.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Blaine Anderson 2.0″ (Rated PG13)

Summary: Blaine Anderson is getting a start on his brand new life with the help of Kurt, and surprisingly, Sebastian, too. (1509 words)

Notes: Takes place after 'The Emancipation of Blaine Anderson'. Warning for Blaine friendly.

Part 60 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan?” Sebastian asks, sitting down at the breakfast table with his boyfriend and his new boarder, Blaine. He watches the boy sitting primly on the opposite end of the table, tucking into a plate of scrambled eggs with a fork and knife, which offends Sebastian on principle. There’s a part of Sebastian – a small part, mind you - that still thinks he’s insane for offering the boy who is clearly in love with his boyfriend (and who also happens to be perfect for him, in Sebastian’s opinion) a room at his house. But he wouldn’t go back on his decision even if he could. For one thing, inviting Blaine to stay with him was the human thing to do, and he’s been trying to act more like a human and less like a walking turd ever since he and Kurt got together. Plus, Blaine’s not a bad guy. It kills Sebastian to admit it but, in a different universe, he could see himself crushing on Blaine.

A little.

Not all that much.

Like if Sebastian happened to have the flu with a high ass fever and he was hallucinating, and Blaine was around, then he might think Blaine was cute.

But only then.

Besides, the moony eyes Kurt makes at Sebastian are more than worth the aggravation.

Like now, when Kurt is staring at him all lovesick, serving him pancakes from the platter in the middle of the table – pancakes Kurt made special to celebrate Blaine’s first breakfast at Sebastian’s house, but which he added chocolate chips to because he knows those are Sebastian’s favorite.

Oh yeah, Sebastian thinks, leaning over for a kiss on the cheek. He could get use to this.

“Well, I wanna go get some new clothes,” Blaine says, passing over a plate of bacon after helping himself to a slice. “Something a little more me.”

“Ooo! Shopping trip!” Kurt passes the bacon to Sebastian and blows him another kiss. “I’m definitely down for that.”

“Also, I want to buy a new car.”

Sebastian’s head snaps in Blaine’s direction, more interested in this development than Kurt thinks he should be. “You’re getting rid of the Mustang?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking of trading it in and buying a Prius. They’re way more environmentally friendly considering all the traveling I do. The last competition I did in Pennsylvania was a killer fuel wise. I can’t imagine the damage I’m doing to the environment every time I fill it up.”

“How much do you think you could get for it as a trade-in?”

Kurt’s eyes pop between his boyfriend and Blaine, curious as to why this matters to Sebastian so much.

“Not as much as I want, honestly. It’s a classic, completely rebuilt from the bottom up. My dad and I …” Blaine pauses, toying with his slice of bacon, tearing it slowly while he chews over the memory “… we did the work ourselves. But I don’t want to take the time selling it. Not in this economy. It’ll probably be sitting on Auto Trader forever.”

“My dad might be able to help you …” Kurt begins, sympathizing with his friend, but Sebastian leaps over him with his own offer.

“Let me take it off your hands.”

Both Blaine and Kurt shoot looks his way.

“Are you serious?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah.”

“But, didn’t your uncle just buy you that Audi?”

“Yeah, but it’s too new for someone who just got their license. I keep worrying about scratching it up and shit. Besides …” Sebastian bites his lower lip. He knows the next words out of his mouth might shut down Kurt’s moony eyes for a while, but he can’t help it. It’s too good. Plus, he’s not wrong “… Kurt likes your Mustang.”

Blaine straightens in surprise, turning to his friend who’s suddenly gone pale. “You do?” he says in a voice that makes Sebastian think that revelation may have lost him the car.

“Wh---what?” Kurt stares at them, eyes darting back and forth between the two, cheeks burning. “No. I … I didn’t say …”

“Sure you did,” Sebastian continues with a devious smirk. “You can admit it. We’re all friends here.”

“I … I may have mentioned that I admired it,” Kurt backtracks, looking at Blaine, begging him with his eyes to believe him, not his boyfriend. “You know, from a mechanic’s standpoint. It’s an exceptional piece of American craftsmanship.”

“Kurt, you said that car was so sexy that if it were a guy you would …”

“Sebastian!”

Blaine turns his head and laughs at Kurt’s indignant squeak, and even though Kurt glares Sebastian down as if he’s about to leap over the table and throttle him, cancel every scheduled make-out they have from now till next year, Sebastian has the audacity to wink at him.

“So, whaddya say, Blaine? I’ll give you whatever you think is fair. Cash.”

Blaine smiles, catching a hint of Sebastian’s smug ‘tude, only mildly disappointed about the deal he’s about to make. “I’d say you’ve bought yourself a car.”

“Great!” Sebastian digs into his delightful smelling pancakes with a shit eating grin. “And Kurt?”

Kurt stabs at his food, demolishing his pancakes until they’re unrecognizable. “Yeah?”

“You’re welcome.”

***

“Are you guys almost done in there? It’s been over two hours!” Sebastian flails in his overstuffed chair, making a scene in front of two moms waiting for their sons to come out.

“Stop your complaining!” Kurt calls. “Overhauling one’s life can be a lengthy and exhaustive process. It should not be rushed.”

“How much more lengthy!? I’m so hungry, my stomach’s about to recede!”

“You just polished off three pretzel dogs and a trough of lemonade!”

“Kurt, I am an elite athlete! I burn two thousand calories sitting and breathing. Three pretzel dogs isn’t going to satisfy me!”

“But complaining obviously does. Sit tight. He’s trying on his last outfit.”

Sebastian breathes in deep then groans unhappily into the air, unfazed by the glares aimed in his direction. This is revenge, he thinks, for what he said over breakfast. Sebastian doesn’t feel sorry for that, though. He was right. Even with daggers in his eyes, Kurt took a good long look at Blaine’s Mustang parked in Sebastian’s garage before they left, running his fingertips lightly over the hood, supremely focused on its leather back seat.

Yup.

Sebastian definitely made one hell of an investment taking that car off Blaine’s hands.

But as images of Sebastian and his half-naked boyfriend making out in that car run through his brain, another thought makes him jerk upright.

“Wait … Kurt? He’s not changing his entire look, is he?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s not trying on new chonies with you in there, is he?”

“If you don’t sit still and keep quiet, I won’t tell you,” Kurt sings.

Sebastian seethes. “That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes either. Now hold on to your socks. I present for your consideration the new, not improved, Blaine Anderson!”

Kurt opens the door to the dressing room and hops out, gesturing dramatically inside like a ring master presenting an exciting circus act. Slowly, shyly, Blaine walks out, eyes trained on his hands as he smooths down his shirt, straightening seams that don’t need to be straightened. He looks happy, yet slightly insecure, and Sebastian, certain his boyfriend strong-armed him into this decision, shakes his head.

“Kurt! Christ! Couldn’t you let the man dress himself?”

“I did!” Kurt’s hands find his hips and lock on in a defiant pose. “I didn’t pick out a single thing except the bowtie, and that’s only because he asked me to!”

Sebastian looks Blaine over again from head to toe. Gone is the leather jacket, the white t-shirt with the dress shirt over it, the torn jeans, and the combat boots. Instead, the boy standing in front of him is wearing a pair of crisp, khaki slacks; a short sleeve button down; a sweater vest; a bowtie; boat shoes; and an off-white fedora.

Sebastian doesn’t want to say it, but he’s dressed a lot like the last picture Sebastian saw of his grandfather playing bocce ball a week before he died.

Kurt doesn’t dress this way, but he’s tried to get Sebastian to … politely suggesting during a few of their online shopping excursions that khaki slacks in this particular cut or boat shoes might suit him. And here Blaine comes, out of the blue, and dresses himself with no prompting like a page out of Kurt’s style journal.

“This” - Sebastian gestures at him in disgust - “is your style?”

“Yup. Always has been.” Blaine beams at Kurt, that nugget of insecurity evaporating inside his smile. “God! It feels good to finally wear what I want for once!”

“Oh dear God!” Sebastian covers his eyes and slinks down in his chair. Just when he thought Blaine Anderson couldn’t get any worse - as in any more perfect for Kurt - he pulls this.

Dammit!

That Mustang better be worth the money he spent!

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

Cyrus’ Dictionary

1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7

Summary: Cyrus has always been good with words; there’s a reason English is his favorite subject. But with TJ, he seems to be at a loss for words. When they get paired up for a summer assignment, Cyrus slowly starts to build a new dictionary. One that involves TJ and everything they do together. Along the way, maybe he’ll find the words to tell him how he feels.

Chapter 7: Mamihlapinatapai

Word Count: 4175

Read on AO3

“I’ve been meaning to tell you this for a while,” Cyrus started, gazing up with his warm eyes, “I like you so much TJ, TJ, TJ . . .TJ. . .

“TJ!”

“What?” TJ snapped awake, his leg involuntarily kicking the castle in front of him, “oh,” he muttered, upon seeing Amber in front of him.

She looked at him knowingly, pushing the pieces from the broken castle aside. “You had that dream again didn’t you,” she stated simply.

Groaning, TJ flopped back down, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “Leave me alone to sleep,” he muttered, pulling the blanket on top of his head.

“It’s like half-past noon, TJ, I’m not going to let you-”

“-wait what?” he pushed the blanket aside, scrambling to find his phone, “did you say half past noon?”

“Yeah?” Amber questioned, looking between her brother and the clock on the wall, “why? You’re late for a date with Cyrus?” she joked, heading back up the stairs.

“Not the time!” she could hear TJ call as he frantically rushed to tear off his pajama pants and slip on some shorts. “Crap,” he muttered to himself, grabbing his phone and headphones and rushing up the stairs. He slipped on sneakers, and quickly left the house, running down the sidewalk towards the basketball court. All he could hear was the quickening of his breath and his feet pounding the pavement. He could barely start to make out the trees around the court when he remembered.

His journal. It wasn’t in his pockets, and he knew he was probably going to need it today. Exhaling a frustrated breath, he started jogging back home, realizing that he was probably going to lose to Marty if he kept up at this rate.

Before he went inside, he took a moment to compose himself. He had a plan; walk in, grab the journal, leave. He took one step inside and was greeted by his mother, holding his journal in her hand.

His journal.

The one where he wrote about Cyrus and how much fun it was to be around him. He could feel his throat seizing up, breathing now becoming the second most important thing. The first was getting that journal into his hand.

“What’s this?” she asked, her voice low and quiet. That usually meant she knew something, but she was waiting for TJ to tell her what it was.

“My. . .journal,” he choked out, “for my journalism class,” he added. He felt like he was going to faint, each word taking an immense amount of effort. Dizziness overcame him, and he had to casually lean on the wall for stability.

“Hm,” she hummed, flicking mindlessly through the first few pages, “there’s a lot about. . .that kid in here,” she noted, her tone with a bit of a bite to it. TJ felt like he was going to be sick.

“We’re partners,” he breathed out, swallowing thickly, his hands starting to tremble against the wall, “and . . . we write about the day’s activities. I, uh, I’m going to shoot hoops with Marty, so can I,” he gestured vaguely to where she was standing.

She stared at him for a moment, her tired eyes trying to read him, but his gaze was on the small book in her hand. “Just,” she paused, extending her arm out, “be careful around him,”

“Yup,” he squeaked out, swiping the journal from her grasp and running out the door, regaining a sense of relaxation. The nausea that came with being around his mom whenever Cyrus was concerned slowly eased away. Again, he ran down the sidewalk, the familiar sight of the trees in the distance putting him at ease. As he pulled up to the court, he took a second to catch his breath before waltzing out with as much confidence as he could muster.

“Kippen, where’ve you been?” Marty asked him, “it’s,” he looked at his watch, “almost one in the afternoon,”

“You missed me whooping his ass,” Buffy piped up, poking his side gently, to which Marty burst out in a fit of giggles, pushing her away.

“I wouldn’t use that terminology. More like, you slightly edged me out, but only because the sun was in my eyes,” he defended, crossing his arms.

“Right,” Buffy mumbled, looking at TJ like he was a camera on The Office, “so, long night?”

TJ nodded. “I went to bed kinda late last night, almost 4 I think? I just. . .couldn’t sleep,” he lied, grabbing the basketball from Buffy’s feet and dribbling it absentmindedly.

“Something on your mind?” Buffy prodded, breaking out into a full grin.

“. . .something like that,” TJ muttered, shaking his head slightly, “so, how are your journals coming along? Considering you spend every moment attached at the hip,” he mused, twirling the ball in his hand.

“Pretty good,” Marty supplied, pushing his hair back, “We already have a bunch of entries in there and a ton of pictures,” he chuckled, giving Buffy a look, “how about you?”

“Oh it’s. . .great,” he lied, nodding, “it’s been fun, hanging out with Cyrus and, like, actually doing things. Makes the summer go by a little faster,”

Marty nodded in acknowledgement, taking the ball from TJ. “Did you invite Cyrus to come watch us play?”

TJ shook his head. “It completely slipped my mind, considering I slept in,”

“We should all go to the Spoon for lunch, then,” Buffy suggested, “you can invite Cyrus,” she added, waggling her brows.

“You’re being weird,” TJ groaned, pulling out his phone to text him, “but yeah, I’m in. I didn’t have breakfast so I could use something,”

[Me: hey do you wanna go to the spoon w/ buffy and marty?]

The text back was almost immediate.

[Underdog <3: i’m actually omw there rn! I’ll meet up with u guys]

“He’s already heading there,” TJ informed them, following behind them. Marty had taken Buffy’s hand and was now swinging it. If he strained, he could just make out Buffy’s blush when she turned towards her boyfriend. He sighed, popping in his headphones and turning on his music loud enough to block out everything else that was happening. TJ seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, trying to block out everything and create an instrumental barrier for himself. His mom had told him that it ‘wasn’t healthy for someone to block things out with music’. She acted as though he was addicted to it like a drug, which, in retrospect, he probably was. And it wasn’t hurting anyone, unless you counted that one time that he flailed his arms so hard he’d hit Amber.

There was this persistent sound though, that didn’t mesh with his music. Glancing up he say Buffy saying something or rather mouthing something, since he couldn’t really make out what she was saying.

“Huh?” he said, pulling out one earbud.

“I said Cyrus is waiting inside,” she pointed inside to a table where Cyrus was sitting and chatting with one of the waiters.

TJ paused his music, taking out both of his earbuds and putting them in his pocket. “Oh, right,” he murmured, carding his fingers through his hair. Marty held the door for him, briefly taking note of TJ’s expression. He met his gaze for a split second, but looked away immediately.

“Okay, no you did not kick my a-”

“-I so did! You’re just denying it beca-”

“-that’s a lie and you know it!”

That’s how things went for a while. Buffy and Marty tried to catch Cyrus up with what happened on the court, but they kept getting bogged down in details, so the story hardly progressed. Cyrus looked as though someone was telling him directions in a foreign language. His face portrayed that yes, he was listening, but no, he had no idea what was happening.

Luckily, the waiter came back during one of their arguments and brought them their food; two large orders of baby taters, two vanilla milkshakes, one strawberry, and one chocolate.

“I’m gonna be honest, I didn’t get at least half of that,” he admitted, dipping a tater into the chocolate shake, “but I swear I was paying attention and there was indeed some basketball terminology in there,”

Buffy shook her head, taking a long sip of her strawberry milkshake. “In short, I kicked his ass,”

“Language,” he muttered, playing with the straw mindlessly.

Buffy snorted, effectively spilling some of her shake on her. “I’ll get some extra napkins,” Marty said, scooting out of the booth and going to find some napkins.

“I’m gonna try and clean up in the bathroom,” Buffy grumbled, “on one of my favorite shirts too,” she whined, excusing herself to go to the bathroom

Cyrus drummed his fingers on the table, taking a small sip of his shake. “So, how was the rest of your yesterday after I left?” he asked, putting his hands in his lap.

TJ shrugged, taking a sip of his vanilla shake as if to clear his throat. “It was alright. After we left the park, Amber and I went into the basement and built, like, this insanely cool castle from a Lego set we had years ago, just to kind of clear her head with the whole,” he lowered his voice, almost scouting the establishment, “breakup. And I didn’t fall asleep till late, like really late, so I was late to go and shoot hoops with Marty and Buffy because I forgot my journal at home and my mom-” he paused, popping a tater in his mouth to buy himself time to find the right words.

“. . .my mom gave it to me, and then I had to run to the courts, but I’d already missed Marty and Buffy playing and then they asked me if I wanted to go to the Spoon for lunch because I didn’t have breakfast and then they asked me if I wanted to invite you and-”

He stopped for a breath, but once he met Cyrus’ eyes, it was like a computer virus had overridden his brain. All he could think about was how beautiful Cyrus was from this distance, and how much more beautiful he probably was when he was a little closer. And yeah, he knew he was staring, but Cyrus didn’t break the gaze, so neither did TJ.

And by some universal, and probably magical, force TJ could feel himself moving forward, ever so slightly. For a split second, his gaze flicked to Cyrus’ lips before quickly returning to his eyes. Gosh, he could stare at them forever, and in that moment, it felt like they were in a little bubble. It almost looked as if Cyrus was getting a little closer too, although that could have been TJ’s imagination. He didn’t flinch, he just held the gaze, as if he was waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to initiate something.

“My shirt’s all wet, I need napkins, Marty!” Buffy’s voice shattered whatever moment was building between the two of them. They immediately jumped back, hearts beating like a rabbit’s, and sat as far away as possible on the booth seat. It was as though they’d been touched by fire, their bodies burned. TJ could hear his blood thump in his ears, and Cyrus felt as though he’d just been jump scared.

“For my lady,” Marty presented the napkins like a knight, bowing down slightly, “to help with. . .that,”

Buffy smirked, giving him a quick peck on the cheek and graciously accepting the napkins. “Why thank you,” she chuckled, sliding into the booth with Marty and looking across at the other boys.

“Something’s off,” Marty mouthed to her, looking between TJ and Cyrus, then back at Buffy, “we’ll I’m hungry,” he blurted out, grabbing a few tater tots and munching on them.

“Oh yeah, me too,” Buffy quickly jumped in taking a loud sip of her milkshake. Cyrus barely picked at the taters, rolling one around in his hand instead. TJ moved his straw up and down in his glass, his gaze occasionally flitting to the empty basket of baby taters. Marty and Buffy tried to make banter, but only one word answers from both boys.

“I think. . .I’m gonna go shoot some hoops,” Marty decided, dropping a few crumpled bills on the table, “TJ, you wanna come with?”

He nodded silently, pulling out a few dollar bills and setting them on the table. “See you guys later,” he said, giving Buffy a nod before heading out the door. Once he was out of earshot, Buffy leaned her body against the table.

“What was that?” she hissed, looking at Cyrus with wide eyes.

Cyrus shrugged nonchalantly, breaking a tater in half. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he lied, “nothing’s going on between me and TJ,”

Buffy opened her mouth to say something, but clamped it down, breaking into a mischievous grin. “I didn’t say that there was anything going on between you and TJ. You did,”

Cyrus felt his face go hot, and opted for taking a few sips of his milkshake. “Whatever, you were implying it and you know it,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“Aw, you’re so cute when you’re smitten,” she teased, sipping her shake.

Cyrus nearly choked on his drink, coughing and sputtering to try and regain his composure. “I’m not ‘smitten’,” he choked out, tears budding from the corners of his eyes from hacking up his lungs.

“Hm, fine,” she sighed, dipping a tater in her milkshake, but dropping it accidentally, “crap,” she groaned.

“That’s what you get for being nosy,” Cyrus scolded playfully, sticking his tongue out in retaliation.

Buffy rolled her eyes, grabbing another tater. “But come don’t you think that he, you know,” she waved her hands a little, grabbing a second tater tot, “likes you?”

Cyrus snorted, shaking his head and leaning his arms back against the booth. “You’re delusional, Buff,” he chided, “hate to break it to you, but TJ’s as straight as Iris’ hair,”

Buffy pursed her lips, drumming her fingers on the table. “More like as straight as my hair,” she muttered, popping both taters in her mouth.

Tired of the topic, Cyrus pulled out his journal and started writing for his journalism class. It was at least some sort of distraction.

6/12

Today I spent part of my morning working on my homework for the summer. Towards the middle of the afternoon, TJ and I, along with Buffy and Marty, went to the Spoon for lunch. We--

Buffy craned her neck to try and read what he was writing, but Cyrus immediately shut his journal, putting it under his leg. “I saw TJ,” she said in a sing-song manner, raising her brows.

“We are literally partners for this assignment,” he deadpanned, finishing off his milkshake, and pulling out enough money to pay for both their meals, “I got it, but you gotta stop bugging me about T-”

“Hold that thought,” she muttered, her phone buzzing in her pocket, “Marty’s taking me to a movie for a date tonight,” she cheered, smiling down at her phone and firing back a text, “I swear I won’t bug you about him for,” she paused, “the rest of the week,” she decided, slipping out of the booth and towards the door, “bye Cy!”

Cyrus gave her a salute as a goodbye, and once she was gone, he pulled out his journal again to finish writing his entry.

We had the usual, baby taters and milkshakes. Buffy spilled some of hers so Marty went to get her extra napkins while she tried to wash up in the bathroom. So it was just me and TJ for a little while and

He stopped, carding his hand through his hair. What was he supposed to write? That they stared at each other for a little while and then stopped?

and then Marty and Buffy came back. We all ate, and then TJ and Marty left to play basketball, so it was just me and Buffy for bit. We talked about

Another groan, another hand rubbing his eyes.

about our friends for a little bit. Then she got a text from Marty that they were going to go to the movies on a date. Today was pretty uneventful, but I’m sure more will happen in the coming days.

He shut his journal, still thinking back to that moment where he and TJ were just staring. Not like when you zoned out in class and you were fixated on one point, but truly staring, like the kind in the cheesy movies. It was like. . .they were both waiting for something to happen, or at least Cyrus was. But neither of them moved; they were both cemented in their place, and then Buffy came and whatever was happening was broken.

“And there’s probably a word for that,” he mumbled to himself, pulling his phone out and typing out his search entry.

what do you call it when two people kinda look at each other and want something to happen but neither of them does anything

It took him three seconds to find the word, and approximately three minutes to figure out how to pronounce it, but when he did, he scrawled it in the back of his journal.

mamihlapinatapai: a look shared by two people, each wishing that that other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin

Yup, there it was, A perfect description of that perfectly awkward moment between them. The waiter came by to collect the money and take away the empty glasses. Cyrus thanked him and headed out, walking down the street back towards his home. He flicked back to the end of his journal, reading through his little list of words. TJ would probably think it was the lamest thing in the world, and that was precisely why he, along with the rest of his friends, was not going to find out about them.

“So,” Marty began, “you and Cyrus?”

TJ nearly tripped over his sneakers as he tried to make a shot, but missed completely and airballed, thanks to Marty. “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled, inhaling deeply and exhaling while Marty fetched the ball and threw is back to him.

TJ took another shot, having it bounce off the backboard and into the hoop. “What about me and Cyrus?”

Marty took the ball for a layup, and then threw it back to TJ. “You guys are, you know. . .” he hand waved, as if waiting for TJ to finish his sentence.

“Dating? You think we’re dating?” he asked incredulously, taking another shot, but missing.

“I mean, I guess yeah,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck, “I thought it was pretty obvious,”

TJ scoffed, passing the ball to Marty. “In my dreams,”

Marty raised his brows, a sly smile splitting his face. “Aha! So you do like him,” he countered, dribbling the ball absentmindedly.

TJ rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Yes, Marty, I do like him. I really think you’re catching on here,” he sassed, grabbing the ball from him and shooting, making it with the help of the backboard.

“So why not ask him out?” Marty suggested simply, dribbling the ball back to TJ, “what’s stopping you?”

TJ pretended to think it over for a minute, become coming to an artificial eureka moment. “Oh, well when you put it like that,” he mused sarcastically, “I would only be ruining my friendship with someone who’s really important to me,”

Marty lightly punched his arm, making goo-goo eyes. “Aw, TJ Kippen is so smitten for Cyrus,” he cooed, earning a glare from the captain.

“Say one word about it and you’re dead,” he threatened, but his face was anything but unhappy, “either way, it’s not important. I like him, but he just wants to be friends, and I’m totally cool living with that constant pain,”

Marty frowned, holding the ball between his torso and his arm. “How do you know he just wants to be friends?” TJ opened his mouth to reply, but Marty beat him to it. “You don’t,”

TJ sighed, taking the ball from him and spinning it in his hands. “I just feel. . .different when I’m with him,”

“Good different or bad different?”

“. . .both, I guess,” he decided, bouncing the ball a few times, “I don’t know, man, feelings just suck,”

Marty nodded, swiping the ball away from him and shooting it, making it through the hoop. “I win!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.

“We were just shooting hoops! There aren’t winners and losers,” TJ practically whined, crossing his arms and pouting like a child.

“There are always winners and losers,” Marty insisted, running over to the bench and texting, “I’m going to see a movie with Buffy to celebrate, but I’ll catch you around,” he said, giving him a fist bump and jogging down the sidewalk.

TJ picked up the ball spinning it around in his hands for a moment. He dribbled it out to the three-point line, squinting. The sun was starting to set, so its oranges and yellows were nearly blinding TJ. He wanted to stay and shoot hoops for a little while more, but all he could think about was that moment with him and Cyrus. Him and Cyrus, staring at each other, neither one of them making a move. They almost. . .

“No,” TJ muttered to himself. He and Cyrus did not almost kiss. Any movement that had happened was all in his imagination; there was no way that Cyrus could even want to kiss him. He let out a frustrated breath; this was going to be one hell of a journal entry when he got to writing it.

So there he stood in front of the free throw line, the remainder of the sunlight pouring through the trees that he always seemed to find peaceful. He took a shot, missing and hitting the top of the backboard. Groaning, he grabbed the ball and tried again, hitting the rim this time and having it fall to the ground, without going through the hoop.

“Shit,” he sneered, tossing the ball against the fence as hard as he could, his breathing a bit heavier than before. Even though he really didn’t want to admit it to himself, he wasn’t making any of his shots because all he could think about was Cyrus. Cyrus, whose brown eyes were so warm and inviting that TJ could stare at them forever and never get bored. Cyrus, whose hands probably fit his like a glove, even if they were occasionally dry during the winter. Cyrus, who was quite possibly the kindest person he’d ever met. Cyrus, who was intelligent. Cyrus. Cyrus. Cyrus. It’s all that his mind could seem to chant.

He found himself in front of the free throw line again, bouncing the ball a few times on the ground. “Give me a sign,” he said, more to himself than the universe, “tell me things are gonna be okay,”

Bracing himself, he took a shot, and the ball rolled around the rim once. Twice. Three times. It teetered for a moment, and TJ knew it wasn’t going to go through. He quickly turned around not willing himself to see himself miss again. He started walking home, hearing the ball bounce a few times on his way out.

If only he hadn’t turned around for a few more seconds, he would have seen it fall through the hoop.

“So, how was hoops with TJ?” Buffy asked as they waited in line for popcorn, “did he kick your ass?”

Marty smirked, putting his hands on his hips with pride. “Actually, I beat him,” he boasted, dusting off his shoulders.

“Color me impressed,” she joked, moving up a few steps, “you guys were there a while. Did you talk about-”

“-him and Cyrus?” they finished together.

“Yeah,” Marty admitted, scratching the back of his neck, “I mean, I don’t think I’m in the position to tell you what he said, but yeah, Cyrus,”

Buffy nodded, picking at the remnants of her nail polish. “Cyrus and I talked about him too,” she added, “not sure if I can say anything either, but I think we probably know things that they don’t,”

Marty groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t even get me started. I told TJ that I thought he and Cyrus were dating,”

Buffy shoved him slightly, causing him to bump into the lady in front of him. “You’re kidding,” she wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye, “you didn’t,”

“I did,” he admitted sheepishly, making his way to the front of the line, “I’m such an idiot,”

“I know, and that’s why you’re paying for the snacks,” she said though laughter, almost unable to compose herself.

“If you laugh through this movie, so help me,” Marty mumbled, paying for the popcorn and water bottles.

“Dating,” Buffy choked out, stumbling towards the theatre with awkward steps.

“Dating,” Marty mocked, the two of them taking their seats in the cinema. And yes, Buffy laughed throughout almost the entire movie.

Tag List: @shortstackofpeaches || @seanna313 || @geekingbeautytx || @heavenlybyers || @ginnychrises|| @wlwandimack || @giocondasstuff || @lemonboytyrus || @adorejrizzle || @swingsetboys || @ifellintotyrushell || @idk-dude-17 || @rbf-lesbian || @marianara-sauce || @kaptainjinxz || @alex-poster-pizz || @quietmarvel || @blueberry-my-hero-macadamia || @broadwayitbitch || @tjsmuffin || @tjthekippen || @idpleasesir || @hi-hello-hey-there || @bingewatchingenthusiast|| @booklove-2 || @illbeyourreasonwhy || @birdiesandflowers || @whistlepunk || @phinallyjackie || @thedampjofangirl || @tyrus4eva || @tj-is-a-lemony-boy || @tj-goodman-bittersweet-boy || @dis-app-oin-tme-nt || @nessarinthegay || @breadisticks || @typewriter-riz || @gobletofash || @bluemuffinboy || @sofuuh || @cheesystars || @tjmuffin || @multifandom-bxitch || @allylovessadie || @hithatsmyname || @tyrusinarush ||

[ain-t-bovvered]

Serendipity 13

RE-POST  EDITED: @waywardbaby

A/N 1: so I’m slowly getting back in the writing thing, I first need to finish to re-post this act so I don’t get overwhelmed by the others too. Bear with me while I finish this I NEED to get this done, then I’ll get back at the others.

Pairing : Dean X Reader

Characters : Dean , Sam , Castiel and Jack

Warnings : slow burn guys…slow burn . Also some fluff, humor,feels and angst.

a/n : this was my first ever spn writing. It started as a one shot and I couldn’t put it down to rest and kept writing and writing. Don’t know what else to write honestly….this is my first born and I love it, I hope you do too.

summary: You were minding your own business at work, in your little town.Your world was small and uneventful, work,studying,gym,netflix, a devastating heartbreak, the need to travel, the craving of freedom, adventure…just something different. You just knew you needed more .

Suddenly an American green eyed stranger walks in and, like someone heard your prayer ,your life won’t be the same.

Masterlist : Serendipity

catch up! : Part 1   Part 2   Part 3    Part 4    Part 5   Part 6   Part7  Part8   Part 9 Part10  Part11  Part12

You didn’t sleep. Not that you thought you could, so nothing surprising there. That has been unbelievably pathetic and sad.

How in the hell were you supposed to go and meet them this morning? You groaned knocking your head on the bus’s window, too tired to drive. Almost missing your stop, you pushed people out of your way and managed to get off just in time.

It was a sunny day again but you couldn’t enjoy it. Your mood was foul, because of lack of sleep, too many people around and a massive awkward time awaiting. So if the sun was out and singing you couldn’t care less. From across the street, you saw them waiting. Sam massaging his temples and Dean faking reading the bulletin board.

“Ok, you can do it. There are monsters in this world, you fought a ghost and met a witch. You can definitely face one Dean Winchester”.

Balancing your journal and your trustful gigantic thermos full of hot coffee and milk, you took a deep breath and crossed the street.

“Hi guys!” you chirped behind them. They both spun around startled. Nope, one Dean Winchester was much more intimidating.

“Y/N, morning,” Sam said weakly.

“Oh wow! Sam, you look ….awful. I brought you coffee. You’ll thank me later”

Dean stayed silent but nodded at you, hands in his pockets.

You nodded back and said nothing.

Yeah!

What possessed you to think you could face one Dean Winchester looking like that.

Sam stared at both of you frowning. “Alright I’m too hangover for this” he sighed. “Shall we?” he motioned you to go ahead.

Once inside, Sam looked like a child in a candy store. You laughed tiredly and turned to Dean to make a joke but it died in your throat. He had stayed behind peering outside a window with a bored look on his face. Sam called after you, shifting your attention to him, and you didn’t see Dean’s gaze fixing on you.

“We should ask for this book, this one, that one and that one too…also ask if they have some of these documents and these records”. Sam gave you a long list of names for the assistant, who after reading it frowned. You laughed it off nervously, scurrying to the table where Sam was slumped on the chair, head leaning over his arm. How bad must he be feeling right now?  

You took out three mugs out of the bag you had brought from home and started to fill them. The aroma filling your nose and slowly, very slowly, Sam’s head lifted as the fumes called to him. Plopping down on your seat, you let the smell lull you, giving you life again. With your eyes closed, you enjoyed the first sip, leaning your head back letting out a long groan of relief as the coffee already worked its magic. Coming back from your little moment of ecstasy, your eyes met Dean’s. He was looking at you longingly, and as he crossed your eyes he instantly looked elsewhere. Sam was again caught between this exchange and eye-rolled grabbed his mug taking a sip.

“This is great,” he said smiling contently, deciding that it was too early for all that.

“Y/N, here’s your books, and I found some of those records you asked. Anyway what kind of exam are you preparing?” The library clerk stopped by your table unloading the pile of dusty books. You paused, your brain panicking. “Uh... I’m writing a paper on how some old Italian families are connected to esoterism”

“Oh ok,...weird...but okay. Well, enjoy” he nodded at them.  “Just remember to write the time you finish. Here are the gloves”

“Thanks”

You were nose deep in books and papers for hours, while Sam looked more and more like a human again, avidly asking you to translate phrases, helping you with some of the Latin and filling other blanks in your journal.

Dean…

Dean was gone. He had announced after the first half-hour that he was going to stretch his legs and breathe some real, fresh air before, ‘we could pass him the nerdiness’ he had said. Every now and then, your eyes would search for him.

“Don’t worry. He’s always like this”

“I’m afraid it’s because of me“

He snorted.  

“I really don’t think so”

Sam watched you nibbling your lips and sighed,’ these two idiots’ he though. “Here, the sooner we finish the sooner we’ll join him”.

“And that should cover most of everything. I’ll let Castiel fill you in on the angel parts”

“But he’s not here. How can I ask him if he’s coming to pick you up tomorrow?”

“You can pray to him and if he’s free he’ll come”

“…texting is so 2018”

Sam chuckled while scrolling through papers and documents. You saw him freeze and he quickly got up and walked to the window. Narrowing his eyes he brought a yellowed page closer to his face.

“What is it?” you asked on your tippy-toes, trying to see. He smiled and turned the document to you, “I don’t see it”, you frowned scanning the document.

Lifting a gloved finger he pointed to the corner of the page.

“Look closely”. Squinting behind your glasses, you looked where he was pointing. In the top, right corner was a faded sigil.

“That’s not a hunter’s sign,” you said confused.

“No, but it’s a Men of Letters’ one. This proves there is a branch here too. There are a few names listed here. We can trace their legacies and hopefully, we’ll find their locations. This way …”

“-this way I’ll have someone to contact” you whispered.

This was exciting. Your heartbeat faster and you looked at Sam, eyes glistening feeling like you had actually found something to look forward to.

In the next hour you discovered there were still some families left, but if they were active or not was your job to find out on your own.

You and Sam were still discussing the best approach while exiting the library that you almost passed by Dean who was waiting for you, leaning with a bored look against the wall.

“Dude, where have you been?”

“Took a stroll in the castle and since I was there I searched for ghost activity, just in case.” His eyes shifted on you and said: “Guess what?” He wiggled the EMF device, grinning satisfied, “ No more ghosts”.

“Nice” you smiled back, and then your tummy protested and Dean’s one followed.  You both looked down.

“Nice to see you two getting along again” Sam chuckled.

“So guys, when are you going to call Cass?”

You had suggested having lunch where you worked since you had tonight’s shift so starting early in order to gain some extra cash seemed like a good idea.

“First thing in the morning should be fine. We can use these few hours as a vacation. I don’t remember the last time we did this, Dean?”

“There was that time we went to that lake, that lasted what? Maybe less than a week? I don’t know”

Sam scoffed “Oh yeah! Hadn't you just come back from the dead?”

“Yeah. Which time was it?”

“Ah, no! Right!  I think I had just cured you from being a demon”

“And some monsters had busted your arm”

“I swear you guys make the weirdest conversations” you interrupted, shaking your head.  “Here we are. It is warm enough to sit out. Is that ok?”

Just as you started to sit down two arms grabbed you from behind and a high pitched shrill drilled into your ear as Sam tensed and Dean stood up alarmed.

“Y/N!”

Your friend squealed again in your ear “You're still alive? How did that night go? You didn’t text me back”

“Hey” you said, disentangling yourself from her tight embrace. “Sorry, I forgot.  I’ve been busy “

Her smile widened dangerously, “Oh, I bet you were”. She lowered her voice a bit.  “Sooo, was he that good to you?”

You blushed and looked briefly at Dean who luckily didn’t understand a thing but wore a curious expression and your blushing got redder. Her eyes followed yours and she gasped.

“Is that …?” she looked at you again, “Oh my god he was! Right? Oh my god! What the hell? He’s hot! And...”, her eyes shifted to Sam, “Who is the exquisite giant?”

“This is Dean and Sam Winchester”

You said in English so as to include them. “Guys, this is Y F /N, my friend.”

She pushed you aside, scrambling to shake their hands taking particular interest in Sam who, by now, just wanted his hand back as she leaned into Dean.

“So... Dean…I hope you gave my girl a good time”. She elbowed him and winked. He looked at her confused and then slowly smiled smugly as his eyes settled on your panicked face. “She needed it so bad, like, I think she hasn’t seen a d-”

“Y/ F/N!”, you yelled in panic, dragging her away from Dean. “What the hell?! Nothing happened!!”

“Oh. Well maybe I coul-“

“Shut up...” you snatched the menus from her hands, “...and come back in a few minutes for our orders”

You turned to the boys embarrassed, Sam chuckling and Dean casually looking anywhere but you.

“..um, sorry about that…”  mumbling with your face hidden by the menu.

“That was amazing, I’m gonna miss this when we go back to our normal fast food diet” you watched as Sam patted his tummy satisfied.

“Hey!! I cook for you!” Dean said as he was still stuffing his face.

“No, please!! I can’t eat anymore” Sam whined as he saw your friend coming back with more plates.

“Don’t be rude Sammy” Dean said with his mouth full.

“Sam, please.  I’m gonna treat you for helping me and as a goodbye gift”

“Is that pie?” Dean’s eyes sparkled pushing to the side what was left of his meal as Y/F/N put the plate in front of him. “Oh, hell yeah!”

“This is our region traditional pie. You all like chocolate, I hope?” The pie had a crunchy chocolate and almond bottom and the filling was chocolate biscuit soaked in coffee and light mascarpone cream. All of this covered with a thin sheet of dark chocolate flakes.

“You better order some more if you want to eat too because he’s gonna eat it all by himself,” Sam warned eyeing his brother who was cutting a thin slice, pushing it to Sam and diving into what was left, not even caring that his mouth was covered in chocolate.

“This is awesome” he said mouth full. “Sorry. You wanted a slice too?” and by the look on his face you could tell he didn’t really mean it.

“I’m good”, you chuckled, tapping your fingernail on the small cup of coffee.

“Y/N we should get the check “

“Nonsense! My treat. You spent the morning babysitting me”, you hushed Sam, looking at your watch.

“Well, this is it! I’m gonna stay here and start my shift earlier. I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your ‘vacation’”, you said tying the maroon apron around your waist.

“We could come for a drink later,” Dean said, “if you want, that is.” You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread on your face. You really were not ready to say goodbye.

“Yeah…I’d love that, we’d love that”

“Yes please do! I need something nice to look at!” your friend shouted from behind the counter as you walked them to the door.

You watched their backs as they walked away. Dean glanced back and you smiled brightly waving. He smiled back too and all seemed to be back to normal…Well, at least close to how normal these last few days had been.

Y /F/N hugged you from behind, her chin laying on the top of your head.

“Damn Y/N” she said dreamily and clearly watching their asses by the way you felt her head tilting to the side. “Where did you find them?”

You both signed.

She grabbed your shoulder and spun you around to face her.

“…what the hell is wrong with you? What did not happened with Mr Freckles?”

“…I don’t know! I froze and he only tried to take my hand.” You smiled, bitterly, shrugging. “I’m hopeless. I guess I’m still hung up on...well you know...“

“Yeah, yeah I know and the fact that you can’t even say his name is a clear sign”. Now her face was serious. “How can you still be? It’s been months!”

“After almost 7 years, I’m sorry if there’s no switch off button”, your voice broke.

“Yeah, but you are so hung up on someone that never existed anyway. He just played the part and you were too blind to see it-”.

You avoided her gaze. You knew she was right. You had said those things to yourself too.

“-and you are also doing nothing about it!” She grabbed your face.

“I know it’s hard but, you need to start living again”, her eyes softened, “he sure as hell has. You are so stuck in this hole you dug yourself and I don’t want you to suffocate in it, losing whatever chance on happiness comes your way because you are stuck down there.” Tears pricked at your eyes and you felt a lump in your throat. She hugged you tightly and whispered in your ear “I care for you too much to let you do that to yourself; you deserve the world that he wouldn’t give you. So snap the fuck out of it ”

“Okay!”, you smiled weakly.

“Promise me”, she said grabbing your shoulders and shaking you hard.

You laughed, cried, and sniffled… whatever.

“I promise!”

“Good! Now, tell me, is Sam single?”

You pushed her away laughing and went inside.

“Hey bitch! I’m serious!”.

It was the middle of a busy shift and you both were juggling around the tables, not a moment to catch your breaths when out of the corner of your eyes you saw the Winchesters coming in. They certainly stood out of the classic crowd, tall and burly, wrapped in plaid and leather. They radiated that foreign aura everywhere they went. Sam and his impressive height and long hair, Dean with his bowlegs and striking green eyes.

Yep!

The Winchesters were a rare sight and probably the most exciting thing that had happened to your sleepy town during that time of year. As you waved back at them you couldn’t help but catch some curious and envious stares from some of the customers and the brothers chuckled as you almost crashed into a chair on your way to meet them at the counter. Embarrassed, you indicated the bar stools, the only seats available.

“Hey guys! Sorry busy night, it’s going to quiet down soon”

“No problem” Sam smiled at you.

“What can I get you?”

“Beer’s fine for now”. Your heart leaped in your throat at the sight of Dean, looking as gorgeous as ever. You on the other hand probably looked like a mess, sweaty and flushed, apron covered in stains, part of your shirt wet with beer that had spilled over you and pretty sure your braid hang sad and disheveled on your shoulder.

“Coming right up”

Later you were able to spend some moments chatting with them when you heard the door opening again. Before you could turn to greet the new customers, Y/ F /N stopped you.

“Eer, don’t worry about that Y/N. I got it.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. You already have too many orders to serve”

“No I-”

You didn’t let her finish and walked away grabbing the menus.

“Oh, shit!” Dean heard Y/F/N say.

“What is it?” he asked.

“The ones that came in….Y/N‘s ex is one of them”

“Oh…”, they both mouthed.

“No, no this is bad. It’s her first time seeing him after..” she scratched her head “…after a year. Fuck!” she began panicking “I shouldn’t have let her go”

“Hey guys, you already know what you want or should I leave th-“

“Y/N”

You froze.

Shit.

“...Hey” you managed to say. You felt your entire ex-group of friends’ eyes on you.

“…w-what do you all want to order?”

You took their drink orders mechanically and turned around but he grabbed your wrist preventing you from getting away. At that moment, you crossed eyes with Dean sitting at the bar.

Dean watched how she stiffened. Even from behind, he could tell she was uncomfortable and her body screamed that she wanted to run. She still took their orders, but when she turned to walk away, the bloke grabbed her wrist blocking her as she turned around and locked eyes with him.

She was livid, her bottom lip trembled and her eyes were hollow. He wanted nothing but to go there, twist his hand and set her free, but before he could do anything, he saw her closing her eyes, taking a big breath and turning around.

“Why doesn’t he let her go? “ Dean growled feeling uneasy at the whole thing happening before them.

“I don’t know, they look like they are talking”

“Does she look to you like she wants to talk to him?” Sam asked worriedly.

“..No! I don’t know what to do. I can’t go there and pull her away in front of everyone.  Her boss is here. She’ll hate me”

Dean watched as she squirmed under his grip again, more fervently and then she flinched in pain.

“HEY WE’RE DRY OVER HERE!!” he shouted. He saw her pulling free and running to them.

He barely had time to look at her expression. She looked like a hunted animal, but before he could say or do anything, she hurried past him and disappeared in the back room. He got ready to follow her but Y/F/N stopped him.

“Give her time. She doesn’t want to be seen like that, trust me”

Dean sat back slowly, him and Sam sharing a worried look.

“Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip”, you were pacing in the middle of the storage room, your chest felt tight and tears threatened to spill. Sighing, you leaned against the cold wall and threw your head back hoping the gravity would stop the tears that were threatening to spill. When the buzzing in your head stopped, you smacked your cheeks with both hands and took a long shaky breath.

“Ok girl, you got this!” You walked out and met the others.

“Hey, you ok? I’m sorry! I should have gone instead of you”

“please. This is my job. Besides, it would have happened eventually, right? We live in the same city”. She gave you a quick hug and resumed her work not before throwing another worried look in your direction. You walked behind the counter, stopping in front of the boys. You quickly glanced at them and smiling weakly, you grabbed the first bottle within reach, poured a generous amount of whatever that was and gulped it all down.

You grimaced and shivered, “That was disgusting….ok,” you slapped both hands on the counter, “So, where were we?”

“Err…Y/N you want…to talk about it?” Sam began.

You laughed.  “Nope”.

Sam scoffed peering at Dean, who responded with a mouthed ‘what?’.

“So, how was the rest of your day?” you continued rubbing your wrist without thinking.  Dean’s eyes did not miss it.

After talking with them you started to relax. They told you about the Men of Letters and the bunker that they call home and you finally got to ask about Jack after you had insisted.

“He sounds….nice,” you said not entirely convinced. He was still the son of Satan.

“Apparently the Antichrist likes nougat,” Dean said sipping from his bottle.

“Y/N …”

Your face fell…apparently, the boy can’t take a hint. Sam and Dean turned to the source of the voice.

You acknowledged him, “The bill?”

“Ah…yes, thanks”.

You moved to the cash register. Dean watched how you rubbed your hand on your jeans before grabbing the piece of paper with shaky hands.

“ 40 in total, cash or card?”

Dean did not understand what were you saying but your voice was steady and flat as you gave him his card back.

“Thank you and goodnight,” you said glad that this was over.

“Wait Y/N!”

“NO!!” you snapped, few heads turned your way, “no” you repeated, lower between your teeth.

“I don’t understand, I did nothing for you to be this angry”

You stared at him. You knew he was genuinely confused like he had always been. Never did anything, nothing was ever his fault; the others can’t understand, all the bad in the world was on his shoulders.

“Exactly. You did absolutely nothing”

You peered at Dean who sat closer to where you were, eyes darting between you two, evaluating the situation. “Listen, this is unnecessary…just go please”.

“God!! You haven't changed a bit”, he scoffed unpleasantly. That blow landed perfectly and suddenly it was hard to breathe and your face was hot.

“Is there a problem here, pal?” both your head and his snapped up to Dean who had turned around in his seat.

”Dean it’s ok –”

“No it’s not. I don’t understand what he is saying, but I can tell it’s making you uncomfortable, so…,” he snarled back looking at him, tilting his head, smiling coldly. “What’s up, big guy?”

He looked at Dean and then at you sneering.  

“Oh I see!” he leaned closer over the countertop.

“Is this how you get off? You must be thrilled. Tell me. Do you speak in English when you get f-“

“Hey!” Dean grabbed his upper arm stopping him from leaning further into you. Sam startled, stood up too putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“You paid, time to go buddy!”

He tried to unsuccessfully wriggle out of  Dean’s grip.

“Tell your lap dog to keep his hands off me”.

You put a hand on his arm. “It’s ok Dean. He’s going, right?”

Dean’s grip softened.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going”

He snatched his arm back, massaging it and walked away. He stopped at the door.  “I’m sorry”, he said looking at you.

“No…No you are not. You've never been sorry in your whole life”, you smiled sadly and his face fell.

“Y/N…” you heard Dean’s voice close, but your eyes were glued to the now closed door. He put a hand on your shoulder and you jumped, startled.

“Y-yes?”

“You okay?” he asked, peering at your face.

“Yeah”

That sounded weak. You cleared your voice.  

“Yeah, I’m fine”

He kept staring at you, lifted his hand to cup your face, his thumb wiping the wetness under your eye. “Then why are you crying?”

“What? I- I’m not” you backed away and touched your cheeks. You were indeed crying. Your face was wet and the tears wouldn’t stop. You maniacally wiped them with your sleeve. “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t know why…I’m sorry”. You ran past him and out the door, Dean calling after you.

He easily found you later, sitting nearby on the edge of the marble fountain facing the old church.

“Can I?”, he asked and you shrugged. He sat beside you, his warmth radiating and you suddenly felt very cold.

“So…uhm…the ex”

“Yep”

“Yeah, break ups, uh?” he bumped his shoulder into yours. “Tough sons of bitches, am I right?” he chuckled nervously.

“I wouldn’t know. This is my first”

“Oh!” his brows shot up.

“Yeah. Maybe, that’s why it’s so hard now. Maybe the next won’t hurt this much”

He signed loudly “...not sure about that kid, they all suck in their own way”

“Awesome!” you saw his hands fidget and you smiled bumping into him too.

“It’s okay. I’m okay...In fact, I think that was the closure I needed “

“What?”, his grin returning, “No car windows smashing, trash his house, poop mails?”

“Nah, I don’t need that and he doesn’t deserve it, really” He really didn’t. You rubbed your wrist again, lost in thoughts.

“Does it hurt?” He said reaching towards you but stopping. Instead, put his hand on his knee.

You peeked at his face as he was awkwardly watching some of the few people walking by and then your eyes fell to his hand. You stroked the crystal that was now constantly around your neck and holding your breath you reached and intertwined your fingers with his.

@curly-haired-disaster @time-travel-bouqet    @dean-winchesters-bacon     @babyimp1967      @wingedcatninja      @imma-winchester-addict       @ravenangel33     @maimalfoi      @purpleskiesandcherrypies        @marilynnlew       @mariekoukie6661    @wayward-and-worn       @thewinchestertales    @raelady1184       @mah1c       @spnskinnyballs      @starfirerules       @missjenniferb       @hunterswearingplaid       @sculptorofbeginnings      @younoeatcheeseyounobefat       @theangelwinchester       @missihart23       @weathergirl83       @ravenhg      @soloarcana       @itsstillnotwhatyouthink       @sexykitten253       @ackleholicwinchester       @clarinette07      @biawol       @snffbeebee       @daskleinevolk       @demonic-impala        @icequeen6666      @hobby27         @sandlee44       @formulafun    @linki-locks11      @tw1721boobear      @thatsnotwhoifuckingam      @thisismysecrethappyplace      @katiecurls75       @bcfangirlthatswhy    @flipperjanga11    @srsllydunnodoncare   @katriel-tumbles   @henrietteoaks   

[blaithinwrites]

May the Best

Summary: A year ago Bucky lost his arm and his memory in a motorbike accident. Somehow his journey back to normality involves pretending to date the rich and troubled Tony Stark.

(loosely, so loosely, inspired by to all the boys I’ve ever loved with a lot more angst)

Chapter 1 (AO3)

Bucky was angry.

He was always angry these days. The feeling was a hot itching madness that churned under his skin. He burned with it, his teeth clenched, his muscles screaming after hours held in tension,

And Brock Rumlock seemed determined to break any sort of control he had.

Bucky punched his hands into the pockets of his hoodies, fingers curled into fists. He could imagine himself letting go, swinging up and punching Brock’s smug, sneering mouth.

Brock, unaware of how close Bucky was to knocking him down, rocked back drunkenly on his heels, gesturing wildly. Liquid sloshed out of his red cup, drops flying out to land on Bucky’s cheek. Bucky breathed in slowly through his nose, almost deaf due to the roaring inside his skull.

“Barnes! Nice to see you’re all in one piece.” Brock’s eyes dropped to Bucky’s covered right arm. Even with his hoodie, the stiff, unnatural, metal edges of his prosthetic were obvious. Brock snorted, “Well almost one piece.”

Bucky surged forward. The movement sent Brock stumbling backward, caught off guard by the sudden invasion of his space. He staggered and scowled, his eyes narrowed, hazy and bloodshot.

“Buck!”

Steve was stood at the centre of the party, illuminate gold and silver by the flickering bonfire as he waved his arms to get Bucky’s attention. Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the small boy, drowned in the Bucky’s oversized coat.

Beside him, Brock snorted, “Still hanging around with that weirdo then?”

“Don’t talk about him.” Bucky hissed, snapping back to Brock. Brock was visibly wobbling now, eyes unfocused as he stepped closer to Bucky. Repulsion and irritation sizzled through Bucky at the sight.

“You know Barnes, you’re different,” Brock said, flicking the dangling cords from Bucky’s hoodie. “Did you scramble your brains when you lost your arm?” Bucky’s fist landed solidly on Brock’s nose, bone-crunching beneath his fingers. Brock crumpled to the ground, cursing and heaving in pain. Bucky stepped over him, energy thrumming through him.

“Bucky!”

The red mist that had swallowed Bucky evaporated slowly at the sound of his name and Bucky was suddenly aware of the lull in sound. Behind him the party had ground to a halt and Bucky could feel the eyes of the party goers on him, judging as they whispered to their friends.

Bucky could imagine what they were saying, James Barnes was back and he had already broken the nose of the star quarterback.

Bucky stuffed his hands back into his hoodie, ducked his head and strode away. He didn’t run but it was undeniably a retreat.

He didn’t stop until the party was a distant flicker of lights and sounds on the horizon. Bucky crouched down, dropping his head into his hands. He had found the shadowy edges of the woodland, far enough away from the illicit high school party to avoid any wandering partygoers.

“To be fair, I think its fairly common to punch Brock Rumlow when you first meet him.”

Bucky glanced up to see Steve standing above him. He was smiling but the skin around his eyes was tight, worried. Bucky was getting really of people looking at him like that.

“Coming here was a mistake.”

“Leaving you with Rumlow was a mistake,” Steve retorted. He dropped to the ground next to Bucky, sitting close enough that their shoulders pressed together. “And that one’s on me.”

“He knew there was something wrong with me. He asked if I had scrambled my brains. I just got so mad.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Pressed up against him, Bucky could hear the faint rattle in Steve’s chest. He could feel the way Steve’s chest was over expanding, heaving. Bucky hadn’t thought about how Steve had found him so quickly; he must have run flat out to catch up.

“Take your inhaler,” Bucky ordered, and Steve smiled weakly, digging through his clothes to comply.

“You haven’t changed that much,” Steve told him after a moment. “You always used to tell me to take my inhaler and you always gave me your jacket when I was too cold.”

Bucky snorted, “How long I have been doing that for?”

“Since we were toddlers.”

“Then why haven’t you learned to bring a coat yet?” Bucky demanded and snagged Steve around the neck, rubbing his knuckles into the boy’s hair. Steve choked with laughter, sharp elbows flailing into Bucky’s face.

“Mercy! Mercy”

Bucky let Steve go and a moment of perfect, happy silence strung out between them. Steve’s body was a bony comma curved against his and the lights from the party crackled before them, illuminating the dark, cloudy sky. Bucky felt the restless, anxious part of himself simmer down and wished that they could stay like this forever, just him and Steve. No crying parents or prodding doctors or cruel schoolmates.

A twig snapping behind them was all the warning they got.

“Woo!” A male voice called out in surprise. He was walking fast, running right over Steve’s outstretched legs. His arms flailed and a wild arm slapped Bucky around the head. The boy stumbled onwards, cursing as he tried to find his footing and coming to a wobbly stop before them.

Bucky jumped to his feet, hands curling up at his side, his teeth bared. For a moment he thought it was Brock but a second glance at the figure showed the boy was too young, too small to be Rumlow.

The boy held his hands up at the expression on Bucky’s face. His eyes were huge, luminous despite the darkness. He seemed amused by the entire affair. “Hey, at least half of this unexpected encounter is on you two – sitting in the dark in black clothing.”

“We wanted some privacy.”

“Uh huh.” The boy said in a way that Bucky suspected meant he was wiggling his eyebrows.

“Not like –”

“I’m not judging! Whatever floats your boat, man. Just be careful of frostbite, some things don’t recover from that!”

“We’re not –” But the boy was already stumbling off, waving lazily behind his back.

“Who the hell was that?” Bucky demanded, staring at the wavering figure.

“Oh, that was Tony Stark,” Steve said.

There was something in Steve’s voice, a note of flatness that Bucky hadn’t heard yet. He glanced down at the boy, but it was too dark to make out the expression on his face.

“Do I know him?”

“Oh, No. He transferred just before your accident, I don’t think you ever met him.”

“Huh…”

“Let’s go home. I’m freezing.” Steve said, getting to his feet.

Bucky glanced back towards the party. Tony was a tiny, barely distinguishable dark figure in the distance. The golden glow of the party haloed him as he stretched out his arms, a showman making an entrance.

“Didn’t you want to go to this party?” Bucky asked. The party, a prelude to the school year starting, had been Steve’s idea. A soft way of introducing Bucky back to his schoolmates and a way of filling him in on the people he was meant to know but could no longer remember.

“Nah, I only come to hang with my friend and here you are.”

Bucky turned away from Tony’s dramatic outline and smiled down at Steve. He nudged the shorter boy, unable to quite express the churn of relief and gratitude he felt as having Steve as his friend.

“Alright then, let’s go. Hopefully, Brock won’t remember that I punched him.”

It had been near Christmas when Bucky had had his accident.

Not that Bucky remembered much about it, just flashes of snow and falling, of pain.

His first proper memory was of waking up in the ER. He remembered the smell the most, the overpowering scent of disinfection, the tang of blood and burning skin. He remembered pain, unbearable, impossible agony radiating from his arm. He had looked over, trying to see what was hurting. Hanging from his shoulder was a mangled, bloody mess, unidentifiable as an arm.

There had been a flurry of activity around him, hands holding him down, pinning him still as he tried to fight, to get away. They had injected him, to put him under, but those few seconds had seemed to string out for infinity. Never-ending moments of pain and panic and confusion.

Bucky had known what they would do, he had heard them say amputation and he had tried to protest to beg them not to. But his throat was raw and the anaesthesia made his tongue numb.

His arm had been amputated, but that wasn’t what the doctors were most concerned about when he’d woken up. In his accident, he had hit his head and there was swelling on his brain. Bucky didn’t understand the technical terms, but he did realise that his memories weren’t right. He hadn’t recognised his family, he hadn’t recognised Steve.

For months Bucky had been confined to the hospital, carefully monitored and put through rehab for both his physical and mental injuries. Physically he had made an amazing, unpredicted recovery and some rich businessman had heard of his accident and had paid for him to be fitted with the state-of-the-art SHIELD prosthetics.

But his mind.

It had been eight months and Bucky’s memories were still half hazy, like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing. He could remember people but rarely the times he had spent with them. The doctors treated Bucky like a science project, an interesting specimen they had found and captured. The last visit had resulted in a memory journal where Bucky was meant to write anything new he remembered but Bucky had stopped regaining memories months ago and to fill the blank pages Bucky had just started writing about the people around him.

He wrote about how his mother cried at night and how he hated the pity in her eyes. He wrote about Steve, wrote about how they were best friends but how sometimes he looked at Steve and wanted more than friendship and he wondered if he had always felt this way or if it was just after the accident. He wrote about his nightmares of his amputation, the panic attacks he had been having, how he sometimes looked at his metal prosthetic and got so mad that he wanted to tear the world apart.

Steve was too polite to say anything but Bucky had figured out he hadn’t been this angry before the accident. People had described him as carefree, as charming. Now they were wary,

Bucky was getting tired of feeling like he was somehow failing to be himself.

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 3: Six Months, Eight Days, Fifteen Minutes…

“Are you ever planning on getting out of the car?” Gert bluntly asks, finally breaking the silence between her and Nico.

“Yes,” Nico huffs in response unable to pull her eyes off on the rustic wooden cabin through the windshield.

“This century?”

“Funny.”

Gert lets out a weighted sigh and runs her hand through her newly dyed purple hair. “Nico--”

“Don’t.” Nico glances over at Gert and for the briefest of moments, a hint of fear flashes across her face. She doesn’t need to say another word. Gert gets it.

A silence falls back over the two of them once again for another moment or two, then--

“All right. Well, I’m going in cause this is torture,” Gert exclaims with s sudden resolution. She starts to get out of the driver’s seat, but then stops and gives one last look in Nico’s direction. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“I know,” Nico quietly replies as she continues to stare through the windshield.

Gert gives a quick nod of her head. “See you inside.”

With that, the car door shuts and Nico finds herself alone for the first time in over two days.

The phone call had come out of the blue. An unknown number from Denver, Colorado. Gert had almost let it go to voicemail given the sheer strangeness of it, but a nagging feeling deep down inside of Nico told her that they needed to pick up.

That finally it was time.

And Nico had been right. The voice on the other end of the call had been Alex. He briefly filled them in that their plan had worked. Their parents had been apprehended by the FBI and the charges against the five of them had been dropped. Pride, at least for the time being, was something they didn’t have to worry about anymore.

But before Nico could ask think of asking any questions, Gert was demanding that Alex put Molly on the line and the call turned into an impromptu reunion of sorts that left everyone involved teary eyed and emotionally drained.

After the initial call, things seemed to move at a breakneck speed.

In a matter of hours, Gert and Nico had wrapped up all loose ends with their temporary lives in Portland, packed their belongings, and managed to find decent enough transportation, thanks to a neighbor who was willing to part with his prehistoric looking car. There had been no time to think, let alone process, what was to come.

But now…

Now it was all consuming.

Nico’s fingers mindlessly wander towards the threadbare bracelet on her wrist, twirling the string around… and around… and around again. She can’t seem for the life of her to will her legs to move.

So Nico simply sits and stares at the cabin, letting her thoughts run rampant.

Minutes pass by with no signs of movement whatsoever and, just when it seems like nothing will change, suddenly--

The cabin door slowly open and there she is.

“40…” Nico whispers under her breath as a faint smile spreads across her lips.

A matching, yet slightly more timid, smile crawls across Karolina’s face as she makes her way down the front steps and over towards the car.

Nico’s limbs spring in to actions even before her brain can fully process what’s transpiring. She scrambles to open the car door, fumbling with the handle as if it’s the most complex task in the world, and manages to just get herself out as Karolina closes in.

“Hi,” Nico exhales with nothing more than a whisper, unable to bring herself to fully meet Karolina’s sky blue eyes. She holds her breath, awaiting a similar response but instead—

Arms.

Warm, lengthy arms. They wrap themselves around Nico’s tiny frame and pull her inwards, into a practically bone-crushing hug.

And that’s all it takes for Nico to break. Tears fall freely from her eyes as she lets herself collapse against Karolina’s body. “I’m so sorry…”

Karolina simply wraps her arms even tighter around Nico, letting her bury her tear soaked face within her chest.

They stand like that for a moment or two, within each other’s arms and then--

“Lets go inside,” Karolina replies. She reaches out and ever so gently wipes the tears away from Nico’s cheeks with the pads of her thumbs and then offers up a timid but reassuring smile. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Nico gives a slight nod as she quickly regains her composure and mirrors Karolina’s smile. “Okay.��

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Finally,” Karolina exhales with a sigh of pure relief. She closes the bedroom door and slumps against it, relishing in the silence for a moment. That was--”

“Intense,” Nico offers up as she takes a seat on the queen-sized bed. Her fingers dance along the frayed edges of the comforter, itching for a distaction -- any distraction -- from the given situation.

Upon first entering the cabin, Nico had been all but accosted by Molly, then followed close behind by Alex and lastly Chase. Each one offering up their own unique way expressing the last six months worth of emotions.

There were questions, mainly from Molly, and some swapping of anecdotal stories from their travels. Chase explained why he was now sporting a noticeable scar above his eyebrow and Gert filled everyone in their brief attempt at raising chickens.

But mainly, it was two long hours filled of brief glances and the occasional exchange of smiles as Nico couldn’t seem to pull her eyes away from the one person she wanted to talk to the most.

“Yeah. I didn’t think Molly would ever stop with the questions.” Karolina runs her hands through her short, messy locks as a timid smirk crawls across her lips. “I love her, but sometimes she just doesn’t know how to take a hint.”

“Yeah.” Nico continues to play with the frayed edges, unable to bring herself to fully look Karlonia in the eyes. It’s all just too much.

A moment or two of awkward silence passes and then--

“Is it new?” Karolina asks with a small nod of her head.

“Huh?”

“The jacket. Is it new?”

“Uh… Sorta?” Nico shifts a bit, tugging on the sleeves of her jacket in the process. “I’ve had it for a few months now.”

“I like it. It suits you.”

Nico feels her cheeks start to redden upon these words. “Thanks.”

“I actually like your whole look. Not that I didn’t like the way you looked before… I just mean… It’s just…”

“Your hair’s awesome,” Nico blurts out, interrupting Karolina’s rambles.

“Really?” Karolina reaches up and self consciously tucks a loose strand behind her ear. “You like it?”

Nico matches Karolina’s smile and gives her an ever so slight nod.

The awkward silences settles back in as Nico desperately struggles to find her words. There’s just so much she wants to say and yet, here in the moment, it all feels trivial. There’s simply no amount of apologies or explanations to make up for the split second decision she made all those months ago.

Karolina lets out a nervous breath of air and then makes her way across the room towards a half open suitcase. “Sorry for the mess. We only got here a few hours before you guys and kinda just crashed. Bit of a long drive from the panhandle.”

“You were in Florida?”

“Yeah. We found this small beach town only an hour outside of Tallahassee. At first we weren’t going to stay but then Chase managed to get a job at this local bar and--”

“Of course pretty boy would be a bartender,” Nico says with a shake of her head.

“I know. Kinda predictable, right?” Karolina digs through her suitcase, flinging clothes every which direction. “How about you? I heard Gert say you two were in Portland?”

“Yup. Portland freakin’ Oregon.”

“How was it?”

“Rainy and overcast.”

“So it was perfect for you then,” Karolina quips with the tiniest of smirks.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But, yeah, it wasn’t that bad.”

Karolina surfaces from her suitcase with a worn, leather bound journal in hand. She makes her way back over towards Nico and with the ever so slightest trepidation, offers it up to her.

“Kar, what is--” Nico asks as she carefully flips through the pages of the book.

“It’s for you. I started it the day after we left. There’s at least one entry for every day. Some are super short and stupid, but I--”

“190.”

“What?” A look of bewilderment sweeps across Karolina’s face as she tries to process the words that Nico has just said. “How did you…”

“I’ve been counting. Every moment since… Since the last time we--”

But Nico doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. Karolina’s lips descend upon her own, conveying six months worth of mixed emotions in a singular kiss. It’s tender and yet laced with an underlying passion. A promise of what’s to come.

After a moment or two, Nico pulls out of the kiss and rests her forehead against Karolina’s. “I’ve missed you.”

“Not as much as I’ve missed you,” Karolina replies with a heavy exhale of breath.

“Kar, I’m so sorr--”

“Don’t. Okay? We’re together now. That’s all that matters.”

“Please.” Nico moves backwards, creating a bit more distance between the two of them. “I need to explain.”

Karolina simply sits herself down next to Nico and takes hold of her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she does. “Okay.”

“Do you remember the night before we split up? When I couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“It turned out Chase couldn’t either. We stayed up til 4am that night talking.”

“You and Chase?”

Nico nods with a hint of a smile. “Took about half a bottle of whiskey but we finally discovered that we’ve got one thing in common.”

“What’s that?”

But Nico doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she finds her fingers once again making their way to the frayed bracelet around her wrist as she takes a deep breath or two. Then--

“That we both love someone so much that we’re willing to sacrifice our own happiness in order to keep them safe,” Nico quietly says with an underlying tremble to her voice. She closes her eyes, bracing for the inevitable anger and heartache that sure to come next.

The silence seems to all but engulf Nico, allowing for her anxiety to creep back in, taking over her every last thought and feeling. She skin crawls with anticipation as she fights the urge to say something more.

And just when Nico’s body begins to scream uncle, unable to withstand another second of the suffocating silence--     

“I know.”

Nico’s eyes instantly pop open as a wave of shock crashes down upon her. Out of all the scenarios that she has played out time and time again in the depths of her guilt-ridden thoughts, this response has never occurred to her. “How…”

A warm, comforting smile slowly crosses Karolina’s lips as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ears. “Chase. He got shitfaced one night and it accidentally slipped out.”

“Of course,” Nico exhales with a slightly defeated shake of her head. “Pretty boy could never keep a secret.”

“Nope. But I’m glad he told me.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Karolina reaches out and ever so gently places her fingers under Nico’s chin, lifting it upwards so that their eyes finally meet. “And for the record… I love you too.”

And with the mere utterance of these words, six months worth of underlying fears and anxieties instantly melt away, leaving Nico with a sudden, newfound sense of security.

“Kar, I--”

“We’re done talking,” Karolina replies, cutting Nico off once again. “At least for tonight.”

Karolina scoots herself backwards further onto the bed, tugging Nico with her in the process. Their bodies naturally fall into place, limbs entwining with one another, like two long lost puzzle pieces.

Nico rests her head in the crook of Karolina’s neck and lets out a sigh of pure and utter content. “Okay.”

“Good.” Karolina relaxes herself even deeper into Nico, giving in to her exhaustion.

As Nico feels herself giving in as well to her own pending tiredness, a hint of smile slowly crawls across her lips. After what seems like an eternity, the waiting is over and there’s no more counting needed…

She’s finally home.

[unfoldandfall]

Grip

We’ve all done it. As children, we’ve sunk into a shifty bean bag, staring up at glow-in-the-dark stars strewn half-hazardly across the ceiling. The room’s glow laced with a sister’s gentle breathing makes the perfect recipe for candy-laced dreams and conjured up fantasy lands.

Growing older, we shed our innocence through our skin and energy through our baby teeth. The world around us darkens, hollows, decays. Rose-colored glasses are smashed in pieces on the ground we walk barefoot across.

We grasp at the edges of these undefined but ideal worlds we’ve crafted. Of all that leaves us, our soul blankets stay wrapped around our shoulders, helping us cope with the evils we thought we’d never face.

No one understood this better than Marrett. She’d learned it from her mother.

She tugged her skirt over her bony knees, tucking away her secrets under the guise of a high school girl. Marrett was used to watching things slip away from around her, but in the halls of her school, she didn’t grieve the experiences, the people, or the stories that ran away. 

“Mar, wait!” called a voice from behind her. Her heart froze along with her feet. Ember, she thought. Something she couldn’t let slip.

“You need shorter legs. I was about to call an Uber just to catch up,” he said as he finally caught up. She wasn’t sure if his panting was theatrical or sincere.

“Sorry,” Marrett breathed.

“Man, not even a pity laugh?” Ember nudged, suddenly shy. Slipping.

She fought the urge to offer another sad “sorry.” She was always saying sorry.

➵

Marrett’s mother had wild eyes.

On bad days, Marrett thought they looked wicked. As she made her way down the stairs, careful to skip the fifth and seventh steps—they were the creakiest—Marrett said her silent prayers that she could successfully creep past her and make it to school. 

She felt her mother’s eyes before she saw them. The heat of her glare raged beneath Marrett’s skin. Her slimy smirk made way for a toothy grin as Marrett tried to grab an apple and get out the door.

“Soon, Marrett,” her mother said, her lips moving but smile unwavering. Baptised with a wave of cold sweat, Marrett caught the bus.

➵

Mar belongs with the sirens Ember thought. She was a hurricane that disseminated as a gentle, fresh mist. Soothing and inviting.

He made his way toward her locker as he did every morning, shrugging off yesterday’s interaction in favor of a new day. Ember couldn’t move without hope.

He saw her mouse-blonde hair, almost grey, swinging around her shoulders as she made her way down the hall. She was slow to approach, using every trick in the book to appear to walk normally.

She hated it about herself, but to Ember, she was precious: A baby bird waddling through the world, discovering. She’d buy special shoes to fit her bum foot, but her long skirts always hid it anyway. He never wanted her to feel ashamed. 

“You just think I’m strange,” she’d said one day. “That’s why you can’t look away. Your brain can’t process it.” 

There was a part of her statement that wasn’t wrong: Being in Marrett’s presence felt like a rapture. She was an enigma, a contradiction, a poem: feral and clean. Everything about her made his face turn white-hot and half-wild.

“But why does strange, to you, mean not beautiful?” He asked. Marrett looked up at him with empty eyes. “Because you are. Beautiful, I mean,” he confirmed.

It was the only time he’d seen the river of blue veins behind her translucent skin fade, the faintest red taking its place across her cheeks.

He’d held onto that single sign, even today as he finally met her eyes when she approached.

“Hey,” she’d said, her face softening. He saw the faintest shadow of a dried tear on her cheek, something he would have missed if the light hadn’t hugged her face just right. 

Ember decided to be bold. He grabbed her icy hand as gently as possible, feeling the slender bones lace between his own fleshy fingers, igniting a flutter of energy between them.

They made brief eye contact, and Ember noticed something clouding the emptiness in Marrett’s eyes. Something like hope.

➵

Marrett never cut her hair because she was tired of letting things go.

More than anything, Marrett longed for something to sink her teeth into. Relationship or ritual—it didn’t matter. She just wanted something that wouldn’t rip and ruin her fingernails as she lost her grip.

She was starting to think Ember could be that something.

They were perched side by side on the warm asphalt by Ember’s beat up red LeSabre. Their backs to the dented door, Marrett finally felt a semblance of safety.

“What’re you thinking, Mar?” Ember asked finally. He started with a whisper, as if taking extra care to be gentle when willing away the quiet.

“Why do you call me Mar?” Marrett asked. It wasn’t what she was thinking about. Ember shrugged in response.

“Just a nickname. Short for Marrett.”

“Shouldn’t it be Mare, then? Like an old horse,” there was a disapproving acceptance in her voice.

“No. Mar.” They welcomed the quiet back like a baby blanket, gripped at it with their shaking, metaphorical hands. Finally, Ember spoke.

“You’re the sea,” he said, turning to face her. She could feel his eyes burning into her cheek, but she didn’t mind.

“What does that mean?”

“You’re brilliant. You’re gorgeous and rough. You’re hard to see into, but easy to get lost in.” 

Marrett looked down shyly, unsure of how to respond, but more so savoring the moment for what it was: love, belonging, security.

“And you persevere. You’re here and you’re you—no matter what. And, because of that, I don’t think you need to hold onto life so tight.”

➵ 

She thought maybe she had a death wish. Then again, she thought that was something people usually felt certain about. Enmeshed her mother’s world, though, Marrett wasn’t sure of anything due to the hollow void where her identity should have grown.

But sitting cross-legged on the attic floor, having just scrambled up the unstable staircase she’d pulled from the ceiling, mothballs falling in her hair, she felt a lot like a person with a death wish.

She leafed through the pages of her mother’s tattered journal, unsure of what exactly she was looking for. Clouds of pencil lead decorated her clammy fingers as she traced them across the darkened drawings.

Black, spider-y trees loomed over an infant in her crib, characterized by light shading over college-ruled paper. Underneath, scrawled in almost illegible letters, was the name, “Marisol.” There were several iterations of this drawing regenerated across most of the pages.

As she thumbed further through the notebook, the drawings evolved before her. Something sinister devoured the pages, swallowing up the newborn in its crib. As the darkness changed from looming to laying its heavy hand, she saw the scraggly letters change: Marisol to Marresol to Marrett. 

She dropped the notebook, suddenly startled though not exactly sure why. She didn’t have the courage to pick it up again, but willpower is stronger than bravery. She flipped to the last page, this one without any drawings. Just words.

 Child

Mother

Love

Taken

Stolen

Hurt

Marisol

 On the other side of the page, another grouping of words:

Imposter

Oaf

Drown, no, slit

Gray

Replacement

Evil bitch

Hurt Marrett

 Marrett gasped, this time not dropping the notebook so much as throwing it. Descending the staircase as quickly as her damned foot would allow, she launched the stairs back to their place in the attic, securing it shut. Barefoot and dizzy, her vision tunneled, highlighting the large oak door that stood between her and freedom.

Not just freedom she thought. Refuge.

She prayed once more as she made her through the living room, thanking God for the alcohol that paralyzed her mother who slept heavy in the tattered arm chair by the door. As she left her childhood home (two words she didn’t identify with) for the last time, a glint of shiny silver caught her eye. She was in no place to look back and confirm, but she was certain it was the blade of a paring knife resting on her mother’s lap.

➵

“Please let me help you,” Ember pleaded. Anyone else may have thought it good luck that Ember drove down the rainy street where Marrett fled. Maybe even divine intervention.

But Marrett found it unfavorable.

“I don’t need help,” Marrett scowled, with a subconscious understanding of how ridiculous that sounded as she dragged her bare feet across the bumpy asphalt, her white nightgown soaked through with rain, revealing the body no one taught her to care for.

“Mar,” Ember said, softer this time. It filled Marrett with a rage she didn’t know she had in her. What was once a comforting warmth now seemed to scorch her skin.

Ember stopped walking toward her.

“What happened to you? Can I do something? Did I do something?” he pleaded.

She shook her head as an expression she didn’t quite recognize crept across her face. It looked like understanding.

 “I’m too much,” he said, somehow both sadly and sympathetically. “I’m burning you up.”

Marrett didn’t speak.

“The girl who could never let go. I singed her fingers one by one.” 

“It’s not you,” she responded, fighting the lump in her throat. “I was never meant to be here. I don’t belong. I don’t know how.”

Ember couldn’t find right words for her. Before he had a chance to fumble through it, Marrett turned and began walking—slow and steady—down the rainy street. Moving forward, she built pink castles and cotton candy clouds around her. Conjured the glow of sunset to fill the empty spaces inside her.

She traded the things in her pocket—safety, love, hope—for the one thing she’d never had: Control.

[the-resurrection-3d]

Alright, here’s the preview. Chapter three is now at 9k words and counting so...yeah, it’ll be awhile. Trying to get a hold on Borb and Toofbreaker’s dynamic now that a) Drool is probably gonna be executed soon and b) there’s this young clone of him also walking around.

Boy do I love my fictional  daddy issues.  No content warnings for this one! Anyways, let me know what you think c:

Edit: tumblr fucked the formatting and it won’t let me fix it, so read it here if it looks funky to you. 

-

With the journal tucked under his arm, Borb leaves his brother to snore and steals into the hall, tip-toeing past the dungeon doors now decorated with monochrome pictures and randomly-colored scribbles and name tags, letters the teeth of smiling yellow paper faces, as if they were merely staying in the hall of a college dorm.

From each door comes the sounds of heavy snoring, of spring squeaks as bedfellows re-adjust position. A cool breeze blows through the open ribs of the monster whose carcass houses them all – had housed his father, too, a fact Borb pushes to the back of his mind as he rounds th –

A door opens.

Borb blanches, pressing himself against the cold stone wall because he knows who it is, even before his protracted yawn confirms his identity.

Borb wishes he still had the toe, if only so he could phase through the walls – or maybe even meld him into the walls, a swift end to this whole debacle.

Footsteps, coming towards him. Cursing under his breath, Borb whips his head about, searching frantically for any escape.

A vent cover. Bingo.

Borb bites the notebook betwixt his teeth and rakes his hands down the wall, looking for a stone uneven enough for purchase. Once he does, he scrambles up the stones like a spider, grip held only through sheer force.

The footsteps, slow and clumsy, grow only louder as the seconds wear on.

Maybe he’s only sleepwalking again.

Not gonna risk it. Borb grabs the vent cover by its thick, rusty bars and feels it give ever so slightly as he lefts himself dangle. The screws look stripped, if he just had a screwdriver and a rubber band he could -

An electric pulse pounds through his arms, and both he and the vent cover promptly crash onto the floor.

“Ow.”

“Someone there?” his father’s voice (younger, more adenoidal yet unmistakably his) calls. “You alright?”

Borb jumps, catches himself on the shaft’s ledge, and pulls himself inside with the force of a mouse forcing itself out of a trap.

He can hear him calling again – crapcrapcrap he should have put the vent cover back on, no matter, he rounds a few corners and hopes the darkness is enough to conceal the trail he’s left in all the dust and grime.

He certainly can’t see behind him to check, but he knows the layout of the hallways well enough, so it can’t be too hard, right?

He only gets lost for about twenty minutes, give or take, so Borb counts that as a win. A coward’s win, sure, but not every battle is worth fighting.

That’s what Borb tells himself, anyway.

When he finally sees the soft cerulean light of the library, striped by its own bars, Borb breathes a sigh of relief – followed quickly by an echoing sneeze, because the eons’ of dust archived inside the labyrinthine ventilation system have turned his nose on like a faucet, so much so he can practically taste all its foul secrets on his tongue. He’d had to take the notebook out of his mouth solely so he could breathe, sticking it instead down the back of his sweat pants.

Once at the vent cover, however, he slips the book between the bar like a note in a locker, listening carefully for a muffled thud.

Instead, he hears a voice say, “Got it. He gone.”

Borb has never been so happy to hear his brother’s voice. It takes a few kicks, but finally he manages to loosen the cover enough to push it aside and jump down, landing at Toofbreaker’s feet.

A ripping sound, something white extended to him. Borb snatches it up and tries his best to sop up all the excess mucus, before realizing that the material against his face is too sharp to be a napkin.  

“Did you –“ Borb grimaces as he tries to unfold the stained page, but breathes another relieved sigh as his inspections finds a once-virgin page. “At least you didn’t ruin any of my hard work.”

“I not stupid,” Toofbreaker snaps as he throws the notebook into his brother’s chest. “You welcome.”

“You’re welcome, Toofbreaker, you’re. You. Are.”

“You be sorry when I bash your head in like robin’s egg.”

An exaggerated huff. Borb knocks Toofbreaker’s shoulder as he passes him, stealing towards the computer console now currently occupied by a mound of orange fur.

“Least I am no coward.”

Borb stiffens.

“Oh, like you’re any better,” he quips back, harshly dusting off the smut clinging to his clothes. “What did you do this time, strangle him until he passed out?”

“Least I am strong enough to strangle!”

Borb bites down on his outrage and instead spins again on his heels, merely grousing, “I don’t have time for this,” as he bats the Floyd the cat off the keyboard.

Borb falls down into the wooden chair as the computer begins to boot up with a dim blue light.

Long moments unfurl between them, punctuated only by the loud, tinny clicks of the old hard-drive.

“Thank you for the – uh, napkin,” Borb says finally, arms still crossed, face still etched in a harsh rictus.

Toofbreaker shrugs.

“Did he see it was you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

They lapse back into silence. When the computer is done yawning to life, Borb fishes his ear buds out his pocket and plugs them in, pulling up his usual podcast as he props the notebook open against the monitor.

Bored, Toofbreaker pulls a slim volume down off the closest of the nearly two hundred bookshelves, putting it back just as quickly. The letters still crawl across the page like frenzied ants, and with all the legibility, too.

He’s been meaning to ask his brother to teach him – Fred Bone, however much nicer a teacher, would assume the jumbled moon-speak he pours over with such relish is as easy to take up as a sword.

Borb, he’s sure, would at least understand his needs, even if he would also mock him relentlessly every step along the way.

But therein lies the problem, doesn’t it?

Borb seems currently unaware of his sibling’s plight; the only sound from him  is the furious scribbling of his pen, the jiggling of his leg.

He doesn’t even know what he’s actually listening to, Toofbreaker realizes. He’s not sure why, but the fact that he’s never felt the desire to ask seems...wrong, a tiny scratching at the part of his brain that senses danger, even before he does.

But why? He’s never had a problem with their – well, their non-relationship in the past. Not much, anyway.

Then again, a lot of problems lie here, in this angry silence.

[nerdwaifuu]

The Elemental Experiments (A crappy fanfic I'm writing on FanFiction.Net)~ Chapter 1

Tick tick tick tick...

All the students stared intensely at the clock, as if it was a ticking time bomb ready to explode once the period was over. As the teacher spoke and no one listened, all watched the minute hand slowly making it's way to the 6 while the hour hand was moving in between the 2 and the 3. Once the hand touched the 6, the bell rang. The room then erupted in talking and shuffling of papers and other supplies.

"Alright kiddos, remember to read pages 208 to 214 and answer the Section Assessment questions. These are due as soon as you walk into the door." Mr. L told the students, triggering a chorus of complaints and groans.

One student with blonde, slicked back hair and vibrant icy blue eyes shook his head as his classmates complained as if Mr. L gave them a 20 page report they had to do by tomorrow, not just seven textbook pages and five easy questions asking about minerals where the answers could be found in the text.

All the students flooded out into the hallway, rushing to their lockers with the eagerness to head home. As the blonde teen exited the room, two of his friends came strolling, or rolling in one's case, up to him.

"Hey Zane!" The caramel brown haired boy exclaimed as he rolled by on his new blue heelys that he got himself for Christmas.

"Greetings Jay and Cole." Zane responded, his thin lips forming a small smiled as he examined the two boys. Both were very sweaty because they just got back from gym, and Cole had his now longer hair in a bun and was already carrying his stuff since he stayed after for football. Jay on the other hand, even though he was clearly either too tired or lazy to change out of his gym clothes, but still had enough energy to act like his usual energetic self.

"Alright, heelys squad! Let's go!" Jay shouted, rolling away from Zane and Cole. Cole shook his head and followed Jay with Zane right behind. They both shook their head as some older students noticed Jay rolling through the hallway and soon glare at the other two.

"Oh come on guys! Don't put those heelys to waste!" Jay exclaimed before reaching his locker. Both Zane and Cole promised to at least wear the white and black heelys Jay bought for them, but neither of them ever took part of Jay's "Heely squad" during school hours,

"Woah, Jay, no need to embarrass yourself in front of the seniors... being a freshmen is bad enough." a spikey, brown haired teen with a red hoodie, who just reached Jay's locker, told Jay. His brown eyes hidden behind the black lenses of his sunglasses. Jay rolled his eyes as he and Zane opened their lockers and gathered their stuff.

"Oh shut the eff up Kai. I don't care what the seniors think of me, especially now. All I need to worry about is that damn Bio test coming up..." Jay started to trail off in the end. One thing most freshmen worried about was the upcoming Biology, or Living Environment, tests.

"Oh well, that's your problem... except the Bio part. Ugh, why couldn't I be in honors classes last year... lucky you Zane." Kai grumbled, tugging at his red backpack. Out of the group of friends, Zane had high enough grades to be in Biology in 8th grade, even though Jay was also qualified. Instead, Jay got put into the other honors course. Earth Science, which Zane had to take this year.

"Oh well. Any whoooooo, you guys wanna come over to my parents summer house? I need help setting up that halloween party for this Friday." Kai asked the other three. Unfortunately, all of them shook their heads.

"Got Football practice, then my dad is dragging me to dance classes."

"Nah fam, I need to study for Bio and got a book re- I mean, "literature analysis" for language arts."

"Sorry Kai, I wish I could... however, my father is actually going to be home for once. Echo wants me to spend time with them."

Kai let out a sigh and shrugged.

"Okay, totally understand. Maybe Lloyd or Skylor are free tonight..." Kai responded, before walking away. Jay then cleared his throat and said "Don't have too much fun Kai."

"With which one though?" Kai winked before disappearing into the crowd. Jay chuckled and shook his head as he closed his locker.

"Well, see you guys tomorrow. Zane, tell Dr. J and lil' Echo I said hi. Cole, have fun at practice and acting like a ballerina. Heelys squad OUT!" Jay said before rolling away, also disappearing into the crowd. Cole did a little face palm before walking the other direction to the gym.

"Bye Zane. Also tell Dr. Julien and Echo I said hi." Cole said and quickly waved goodbye before disappearing as well, leaving Zane alone. Zane shot Cole one last smile and then found his way outside. He headed towards the bike rack, grabbed his old white bike, and quickly made his way to the nearby middle school. He put his bike onto the bike rack and jogged over to the car loop. He searched through the few children until he found his copper brown haired brother in the crowd. Unfortunately, after many times of trying to get his brother's attention by waving at him, Zane soon resorted to yelling his name.

"Echo Julien!" Immediately, Echo turned towards him and sprinted through all the kids until he reached Zane, wrapping his arms around his thin waist.

"Big brother! I thought you forgot about me! You were 25 minutes later than usual..." Zane grabbed out his phone to check the time. Echo was right, he was super late this time. Probably standing around while Jay and Kai talked wasn't the best idea...

"Oh... um... sorry about that..." Zane rubbed the back of his head as Echo giggled.

"It's fine. Let's head home. Hopefully mean old Stepmother isn't home today..." Zane smiled as he lead Echo to the bike rack and Echo hopped onto Zane's bike, his arms around Zane's waist.

"Yeah... hopefully not..." Zane responded before he started pedaling towards home. Both boys didn't enjoy the woman their father decided to marry after Echo was born. Once Echo was born, their mother unfortunately died in child birth. Their father thought they still needed a mother figure to help out, especially since Dr. Julien would be at work until late at night. However, the woman he chose to marry, Elizabeth Snow, drives the boys insane.

Luckily, when the two reached the driveway, their stepmother's car was not present.

'Oh hallelujah...' both of them thought as they went inside the house. The house wasn't much, but it had just enough for the whole family. When they walked in, the smell of tea filled the whole house. Yep, their father was definitely home.

"Father!" Echo squealed as Dr. Julien exited the kitchen with a cup of tea in hand. The young Julien ran over to Dr. Julien and hugged him as tight as he could. A huge smile appeared on the older man's face as he hugged his son back, but only with one arm. Echo then soon let go of Dr. Julien and dragged Zane into a big group hug. Their father began to laugh as he held his sons close to him. After a minute, they soon released and questions began to flood out of his mouth.

"So, did you discover anything new? Any new inventions? Did anything explode? What project are you and Borg working on now? Are the coffee machines fixed yet? Did anyone d-" Zane covered Echo's mouth before he could finish the last question. Dr. Julien started to chuckled.

"Oh you are so precious. But, I can't release any information about my projects yet." Dr. Julien said, booping Echo on the nose. The soon to be 12 year old tried to use his puppy eye strategy, but it had no effect on Dr. Julien.

"Well, no more talk about the lab. It's family time." Dr. Julien told the two boys, picking up Echo and carrying him to the dining room table where a game of clue was set up. Then, from there, the three played a couple rounds of clue until they heard a car pulling into the drive way. When the headlights shone through the front window, Zane and Echo scrambled to their rooms and worked on their homework while Dr. Julien quickly cleaned up the game before his wife opened the front door.

"Hello honey." The two overheard Dr. Julien say quickly to Elizabeth as she set her bag down on the now cleared dining room table. Soon enough, the parent's voices became muffled and quieter so Echo nor Zane could hear what they are now arguing about this time.

Both sigh as Echo goes into Zane's room and works in there until Dr. Julien came in, a frown on his face. He sighed before telling Echo to leave for a second so he can speak to Zane alone. Zane and Echo exchanged confused looks before Echo obeyed, closing the door right behind him. Many questions raced through the blonde's mind. Usually his father did this after his stepmother told him something about Zane.

"Son..." Zane was ready to hear it. All this school year, he has been avoiding home. He knows he's strange and doesn't fit in, nothing Dr. Julien could say could change other's opinions. Everyone thinks he's depressed. Everyone makes fun of him. What could Dr. Julien try to tell Zane about this time?

"You care about Echo... correct?" Zane's heart skipped a beat. Such a strange question...

He nodded slowly. Dr. Julien grabbed out a small leather journal and stared intensely at it, like the students in Zane's Earth Science class at the end of the day.

"Zane... promise to me... if I'm ever gone, make sure you are always there for Echo. Keep him safe, and always be careful. And..." He pointed at the cover of the journal.

"Find this journal. No matter what happens. Echo and this journal should be your first priority..." Dr. Julien tells him with a stern voice. Zane can clearly see the fear in his eyes, yet his whole face was not showing any clear emotions from what he could observe. His stomach felt like it was in a knot, his mind was spinning as it tried to figure out the reason for this conversation. Although, Zane just nodded and acted like he understood. Then, Dr. Julien put the journal back from where he got it and left the room. Fear and confusion filled Zane's body as he went back to his homework. His brain was trying to wrap around what he was talking about.

These thoughts continued to swarm in his mind even when he decided to try to go to sleep.

"Find this journal. No matter what happens. Echo and this journal should be your first priority..."

'Why? What will happen?'

A/N: Well then... why am I even posting it here??? Hopefully you like it. Btw, this is more of an alternate universe, so things will not exactly be like in the show. Also, I made Zane and Echo human, so yeah. Hope you all like it.

[rikki-lynn]

(via What It’s Like to Live A Day with ADHD)

Writing about a day in the life of someone with ADHD is a tricky thing. I don't think any two of my days look alike. Adventure and (somewhat) controlled chaos are my constant companions.

As someone who runs a YouTube channel called How to ADHD, who’s engaged to someone with ADHD, who has ADHD herself, and who talks to tens of thousands of ADHD brains, I can tell you this — if you’ve met one person with ADHD, you’ve met one person with ADHD. We’re vastly different creatures.

We do have a surprising amount in common though, especially when it comes to the stuff we experience on a daily basis. Most days, it’s:

a rollercoaster of successes and failures

some moments feeling like a genius, and others feeling stupid

both distractibility and hyperfocus

good intentions gone off the rails

little emotional wounds from being judged by the outside world — or ourselves!

the healing from being understood and accepted for who we are

I hope this peek into my experience of one day with ADHD helps with that understanding.

The morning scramble

I wake up suddenly, search for my phone — what time is it??

Oh, okay. Still early.

It takes me awhile to fall back asleep — restless legs — but as soon as I do, the alarm goes off. The snooze button and I trade punches until my fiancé turns it off.

I jolt awake — what time is it now??

I scramble for my phone. 11 am.

SHOOT. Totally missed my morning yoga class, and now there’s not even time to shower. I growl at my fiancé — “why did you turn off the alarm??” — and stumble toward the dryer for clean clothes … which are still in the washer. I start a new cycle, then dig through the hamper, literally sniffing for something to wear.

I throw on semi-decent clothes, deodorant, mascara, take my meds — I’m almost out, SHOOT, gotta make an appointment to get another prescription — grab a Fiber One bar on the way out the door …

And then I run back inside to grab my phone. 11:15. YES! I’ll still make it to my meeting!

With time to spare, I run upstairs to kiss my fiancé goodbye and apologize for my morning crankiness. And I’m out the door! Woot!

I run back inside to grab my keys. 11:19. STILL GOOD!

The part where I wish time machines were a thing

As I jump on the freeway, I remember to call my psychiatrist — also that I forgot to charge my phone last night. Gotta decide between my headphones or my charger (thanks, iPhone 7).

4 percent battery? Charger wins. I wish wireless headphones were an option, but I have a hard enough time not losing regular headphones. And technically, they’re on a leash.

I try using the speakerphone but it’s too noisy on the freeway, so I hold the phone up to my ear as I call. The receptionist says there’s only one appointment available before my meds run out — do I want it? “Um … let me check my calendar … ”

Shoot. It’s the same time as coffee with Anna. This would be the second time in a row I’ve canceled on her. Not much choice though.

I’ll make it up to her, I vow … somehow.

I bring the phone back to my ear and see police lights in my rearview mirror. I panic and wonder how long they’ve been following me. The receptionist is halfway through confirming my appointment — I hang up and pull over.

One policeman eyes the dirty plates on my passenger side floor — I call these my car dishes — as the other hands me a ticket. As soon as they turn away, I start bawling. But I’m very aware I deserved it and weirdly grateful for being called out. I’ll definitely drive safer from now on.

Wait, 11:45?!

I get back on the road and check Waze obsessively to see whether I can make up for lost time. I drive faster, but Waze is annoyingly accurate. Eight minutes late as predicted.

Well, not terrible … you don’t really need to call unless you’ll be more than 15 minutes late, right?

Except I still needed to park … and fix my mascara … and walk over.

12:17. Ugh, I should’ve called. “SO sorry I’m late!”

My friend is unfazed. I can’t decide if I’m grateful he isn’t annoyed, or depressed that he expected it.

I tell him that, half joking. But he takes me seriously and says, “I used to have trouble with that, too. So now I just leave early.”

But this is what I hear: “I can do it, why can’t you?”

I don’t know. I try. It never seems to work out. I don’t get it either.

He starts pitching an internet project he wants me to write and I’m having trouble focusing. I’m doing a good job of pretending, though. I’ve got the thoughtful nod down.

Plus, my meds should kick in soon … Seriously though, does he have to talk that slow?

I see a server hand someone a check and I wonder how much my ticket was for. When do I have to pay it by? Do I have to pay by check? Do I even HAVE checks anymore? Wait, did I set up autopay for my new credit card?

I’ve missed half of what he’s saying. Oops. I start playing with my spinner ring to ground my attention. Focusing gets easier, but this doesn’t look as good as the thoughtful nod. I can tell he’s wondering if I’m listening now. Ah, the irony.

Honestly, this project sounds cool. But something feels off — I don’t know what. I have good instincts, but I’m kinda new at this whole “success” thing. I failed pretty regularly the first decade of my adult life.

It’s weird being successful enough that other people want to work with you. It’s even weirder having to decide whether or not they get to.

I awkwardly end the meeting.

Back on schedule — let’s try to keep it that way

I check my bullet journal, the only planner I’ve ever been able to sort of stick to, to see what’s next. Research from 2 to 5pm, dinner 5 to 6pm, writing 6 to 9pm, relax 9 to 11:30pm, bed by midnight. Totally doable.

My meds are in full effect, my focus is good, so I decide to head back home and start early. I should maybe eat lunch, but I’m not hungry. The table next to me orders fries. Fries sound good.

I eat fries.

On my way home, my friend calls. I don’t answer. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to get another ticket, but I know it’s because I don’t want to disappoint him. Maybe I should do his project. It was a cool idea.

Back home, I cuddle up with a soft blanket, and start researching — and realize why I didn’t want to do the project. I reach for my phone and can’t find it. The hunt begins — and ends with me giving up and using the Find My iPhone feature. A loud beeping emerges from my blanket.

I call my friend. He answers. Does anyone else find that slightly weird? I almost never answer when people call. Especially if I might not like what they have to say. Call it phone anxiety, but a text to announce a phone call is the only way to get me to pick up — maybe.

But he answers, so I tell him why I don’t want to write his project: “Because YOU should write it!” I tell him what he said that made me realize it and walk him through how to get started. Now he’s excited. I know he’ll crush at this. I feel successful for the first time today.

Maybe I do know what I’m doing. Maybe I — I hang up and see what time it is. 3:45.

Oops. I’m supposed to be researching dyslexia for an episode.

I throw myself into the research until my alarm goes off at 5, reminding me to stop for dinner. But there’s stuff I still don’t understand yet. Ehhh, I’ll just keep going until 6.

It’s 7 and I’m starving. I grab way too much food — wait, wait.

I bring the food to my desk and begin typing furiously: “Turn ‘reading with dyslexia’ into a game …”

I write half the episode.

I get a better idea.

I start working on that one — WAIT — laundry! Not gonna beat me THIS time!

Switching the clothes to the dryer, I realize my workout clothes aren’t in there. Argh, I missed today so I have to go tomorrow or I’m not gonna feel good.

I grab my yoga pants and a bunch of other clothes off the floor of pretty much every room in the house and start a new load. I remember to set a timer!

I sit back down to write, but the idea doesn’t seem as great now.

Or maybe I don’t really remember it.

ADHD, the after hours

I can tell my meds are wearing off. It’s getting harder to hold all the thoughts in my brain while I work with them. The page in front of me is a random tangle of words. I’m getting frustrated.

The timer goes off. I gotta change the laundry — except the dryer’s still going.

I set the timer for another 10 minutes and head to the couch to hang upside down and try to get my brain to work.

Upside down, I remember I’m trying to get better about work-life balance and wonder if I should stop, even though I haven’t gotten much done. But tomorrow’s super busy, especially now that I have to work out, and — BZZZ.

I race back to the laundry room, take a corner too sharply and run into the wall, bounce off, grab the dry clothes, dump them on my bed, switch over the wet ones, and start the dryer. I race back and check the clock. 9:48.

Okay, I’ll keep working, but I’ll stop at 10:30. And fold the laundry. And relax.

10:30 comes and goes. I find a way back into that idea and I’m in a flow. I can’t stop. This is hyperfocus, and it can be both a blessing and a curse for those of us with ADHD. I write and write, and rewrite and rewrite, until my fiancé comes to check on me and finds me passed out in front of the computer.

He carries me upstairs, sees the pile of clothes on the bed, pushes them aside, and tucks me in. I promise to do better tomorrow, to make more time for us. And to fold the clothes.

He kisses me and tells me that clothes are just clothes, but the stuff we make lasts forever.

I hug him, hard. And see the time over his shoulder — it’s 3am. I’m gonna have to choose between sleep and yoga. Tomorrow’s gonna be another scramble.

Written by Jessica McCabe on July 27, 2017

[head-under-water]

phasmophobia.

The laughing potion, boy! Drink it quick, I can’t hold this much longer!

The words echoed through the air, rattling the decrepit cabin walls around Cetus as she stood frozen in the corner. His eyes were wide, fear gripped his heart while a floating creature draped in rags clawed at her own head. Phineas Laurel, the department veteran, had cast a bubble-head charm to contain the scream for now, but the old man’s magic was weak. It wouldn’t last very long. It’d be up to Cetus to cage the spirit properly, yet he there he stood, frozen like a deer in headlights.

For bloody sakes, Mulciber, d’ya want yer head t’explode? DRINK THE RUDDY POTION! Laurel’s gravely voice pierced the the shock which’d captivated Cetus and he quickly padded down for the little kit Mr. Laurel made sure he brought with them. He could see the charm begin to waver and he gulped down its contents just as the bubble popped. In an instant, the sonic scream filled the room. The unseen force of it made Cetus nauseous and he nearly doubled over. But there was no time to rest. The wailing woman rushed at him with her death-pale hands like claws coming for his face…

—

It was the abnormal paranormal that summoned Cetus and Mr. Laurel to the Outer Hebrides. A being Laurel said he hadn’t wrangled in many-a-year. I’d send you up by yerself, but if this report carries a shred of truth, best I goes up witcha. It was just as well, considering there were only a dozen families strewn about those islands and Laurel spoke the language. Cetus couldn’t imagine a posh lad like himself trying to calm down a fisherman’s family that only spoke Gaelic. The idea alone ruffled his feathers. Counselor was not part of his job description. But as he gazed upon the hauntingly silent property they were to set foot on, Cetus thought that maybe, perhaps, he should’ve taken more consideration when it came to calming nerves.

“They aren’t supposed to do this, Mr. Laurel. Why is this happening?” As the men approached the small cabin on the bluff, Cetus posed this question to which the old man simply huffed and scratched his chin. For some reason they couldn’t apparate directly onto the property so they had some time to chat.

Someone musta disturbed her bones. Only reason I can think of. As Phineas Laurel mused quietly, racking his brain for other potential explanations, Cetus noticed a Border Collie just within his peripherals. It was nestled in the tall grass gnawing on a rather large bone and it made Cetus pause. Bones indeed… The sight left him with a chill he couldn’t shake, but he was drawn to the dog, curiosity urging him forward. He knelt down in front of it, introduced himself by offering the back of his hand for the dog to sniff then quickly plucked the bone from its grasp. A splintered femur it looked like and there were others under the animal’s paws. Judging by this plot of land many bodies were buried here. He put it in his bag then jogged off to rejoin Laurel as he approached the house…

The letter had been a tale of no ordinary creature. Banshees themselves were few and far between. As Celtic cultures got pushed further and further to the outskirts of their respected homelands, there were fewer reports of their messenger of death on Ministry record. But this particular spectre was told to have crossed corporeal and spiritual lines unheard of before. We cen hear ‘er cries in the middle of the nigh’ then the next morn she kills ‘em. Any of ‘em. Long bruises their wee necks. All the little ones. She keeps killin' the little ones… A weeping mother described the horror their family had been experiencing.

Cetus and Laurel listened intently only to immediately cover their ears in pain from a screech off in the distance. A yelp that could only belong to a dog was quick to follow and the family shivered with fear. They huddled together while Mr. Laurel and Cetus looked at each other. They needed to act quickly…

—

The last thing Mulciber saw before he ducked under the flying spirit was a flash of her pale facade as she zoomed just over him. Quickly his gaze shot up, Laurel’s stiff body contorted up on the floor, blood seeping from his orfices. Cetus’ breathing became quick and shallow. Panic threatened to take hold. He was safe from her scream, but she was hellbent on causing him physical harm. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.

She turned around. He had only seconds to act. Cetus scrambled to his feet, but as he did so, the contents of his satchel tumbled out. Vials shattered, the pages of his journal fluttered about, and the bone he’d so easily forgotten about rattled against wooden planks. In that moment both he and the banshee paused. Their attentions attached to that bone. A split-second and Cetus made the connection. It was hers. The torment, the deaths, attacking the children. Someone had dug up her bones just like Mr. Laurel had guessed. Synapses fired in his brain faster than he could comprehend. Cetus leapt to his feet and pointed the wand at the femur just as the banshee went for it.

Infernus…

A flame hotter than that of typical fire was needed to burn bone. The banshee cried out, her shrillness breaking what glass panes were left in that tiny cabin. That wouldn’t stop her fully. Cetus knew there were other remains keeping her tied to this plane. But the damage would hold her off just long enough for him to out run her. Her hold on these grounds was fierce, still not allowing him to apparate. So he bolted out the door towards the spot where he saw the dog. Whatever stun effect he’d accomplished quickly faded and the banshee flew after him. Her ethereal, inhuman gliding was closing the distance between them far quicker than he would’ve liked. The strength of her screams, though not fatal, created tremendous pressure inside his head. He felt the veins pulsing atop his skull and in his neck as he ran.

Just beyond that bend he could see the dog’s corpse in a pool of coagulated blood. Its fur matted. Precision mattered not and the spell left the tip of his wand once more just as a cold hand grasped the back of his coat. Never did five seconds seem so long. As the curse traveled towards the dead dog and banshee bones, the spirit turned him around and closed her hands around his throat. Cetus had no choice but to look upon her face, her eyes gone with only shrunken sockets staring back at him. Skin gray and taut clung to her bone structure as she squeezed and squeezed, Cetus clawing at her limbs.

But the curse finally hit her bones and the banshee instantly began to writhe painfully. She dropped Cetus to the ground, leaving him raspy and gasping for air. He scurried back, his chest heaving, as he watched the terrible sight. Her aura was alight, mirroring the burning of her remains. Her hair and rags on her body blew back then singed until there was nothing left except a rotten form beneath. Then that too disintegrated. She screamed all the while, piercing through the laughing potion and forcing Cetus’ brain to release the pressure as blood seeped from his nose.

He didn’t move until the last bit of her was gone and even then it was uncontrollable tremors. Somehow he eventually managed to stand up, subconsciously touching his throat and feeling the tender flesh there. He swallowed and looked back to the house. Laurel’s body was in there somewhere. He’d have to retrieve that. The family most likely was either dead or fled once the banshee appeared. Honestly Cetus wasn’t sure. He and Mr. Laurel ran straight to her once she made her presence known.

Shakily, Cetus exhaled and smoothed his hair back with his free hand. He walked back towards the house to finish the job, his consciousness mentally checked out as his mind attempted to recover itself. What happened next he couldn’t say. In fact, he didn’t remember much of it. But by the time he returned back to the Ministry with Laurel’s body, in the report it was said the amount of blood loss was substantial. Phineas Laurel hemorrhaged to death due to the effects of the banshee’s scream. Cetus was offered leave, but he just took the next day off just to come back into work like nothing happened. He cleared off Phineas’ desk like he didn’t exist and no one batted an eye when he wrote the most vague report acceptable. The comings and goings of the Spirit Division usually went unnoticed anyway.