#let me tell you i've had a hell of a month. oh man. nightmare. of all the months ive lived through this has definitely been one of them

[kcamberart]

Well I'm 19 days late to the party due to life getting in the way but happy pride month from all my gay cowpoke rabbit people characters from my gay cowpoke rabbit people game (including all those not depicted here)

[allthingsfangirl101]

A Man of Mistakes – Gator Tillman

Masterlist

Everyone makes mistakes in their life. The biggest mistake I made was trusting Gator Tillman. We have been together since high school. At the beginning of this year, I found out I was pregnant. I don't think I've ever seen Gator more excited.

But that's when he started to change.

He didn't change toward me or the baby. He came home later and later. When he did finally come home, he was angry and jittery. I tried talking to him about it, several times. Each time, he'd brush me off and tell me he was fine.

Things escalated.

I was about six months pregnant when Gator came home drunk.

~•~

I jumped when the door was kicked open. I looked over my shoulder to see Gator struggling to take off his shoes.

"Son of a bitch!" He yelled.

"Gator?" I took off my blanket and slowly stood up. I couldn't help but place my hands over my belly.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered loudly. "Did I wake you?"

"Wake me? Gator, it's 5 o'clock."

"Oh," he chuckled. "My bad. Time got away from me."

"Where were you?"

"Hanging with my dad," he slurred.

Oh no.

"And he took you to a bar," I said instead of asking.

"Duh," Gator scoffed. I jumped when he threw his gun belt over onto the table.

"Gator," I hesitated.

"Don't start with me, Y/N," he snapped. He brushed past me, slightly bumping my shoulder. My heart sank when he went to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

"Are you sure you should. . ."

Gator cut me off by throwing the completely full beer at me. Luckily he was drunk so it hit the wall to my right instead of me. I looked at the broken beer bottle before turning my shocked eyes to my boyfriend.

"Get out."

"Y/N. . ."

"Get out!"

~•~

Gator came back the next day completely sober. He apologized and begged me to take him back. I was firm and clear about what he needed to do if he wanted to be a part of our child's life. He swore that he would do everything.

At first, it seemed like he really meant it. He started coming home right at 5:10. He'd bring home dinner and a gift for the baby. He was with me when I went into labor and he stayed by my side until we brought our daughter, Annabelle, home. Everything was going great. I actually started to believe that we could build a life, a family, together.

I woke up from that fantasy real quick.

It only took one shoot-out at the grocery store that Annabelle and I got in the middle of for me to kick him out for good.

~•~

"Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?"

"We needed more diapers," I said slowly, still shaken from the shoot-out.

Gator looked down at Annabelle in my arms. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw her still asleep.

"Damn," he chuckled. "This little babe can sleep through just about anything."

My anger took over when he reached for her. I used my arm that wasn't holding her and pushed him away.

"I'm done," I said through my teeth. "Stay the hell away from me and my daughter."

"Y/N. . ."

"This wasn't a normal police shoot-out," I cut him off. "You and your crew were wearing masks. What were you doing? Robbing the place?!"

"No," he said slowly.

"Then what. . ." I didn't need to finish my question. "You are just like your father," I said under my breath. "And I will not allow my baby girl to be around someone like him."

~•~

Ever since the store shoot-out, I've ignored Gator's many attempts to see me and our daughter. I also haven't slept. I kept having nightmares about that day. I looked over at the clock and sighed when I saw it was almost two in the morning.

I got out of bed and went to the kitchen. I made some tea to hopefully help me sleep. I had barely started my first cup when I heard sirens. I didn't get nervous until the lights started bouncing off my kitchen. I jumped when the front door was forced open.

"Y/N!" Gator yelled as he ran to me. "I'm so happy you're okay. I can explain. . ."

"Gator! There's a baby in this house!" I yelled, pushing him away from me. "You can't come barging in here with the lights going and the sirens blaring as our two-month-old daughter sleeps!"

"I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I was just. . . I can explain."

"I can't wait to hear this," I scoffed as I crossed my arms over my chest. "Please, explain."

"We need to get you and Annabelle out of here." He started to walk toward her nursery, but I pushed him again.

"That's not an explanation," I said through my teeth. "And I am not taking her anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

"Okay," he sighed. "Look, a while ago I arrested a guy connected to a pretty big drug smuggling ring. And now. . ."

"Now what?"

"They threatened you and Annabelle."

"Wait, what?" I asked, taking a step away from him.

"They left me a message that if I don't release their boss, they'll come after my family."

"So, what are you saying?" I asked my voice low.

"I need to put you in protective custody," he said. I opened my mouth to say something, but he cut me off. "I'm sorry, but I have to make sure you're safe. They threatened you, Y/N. They threatened our daughter. I know you and I are working through some things right now, but that doesn't mean I am going to sit back and let them take you from me."

"Gator," I sighed. "Why would you get involved with those kind of guys?"

"My dad. . ."

"Would you stop with that?!" I snapped. "Gator, you are not your father!"

"I want to be!"

"You shouldn't," I said, strangely calm. Gator's face fell as I took a small step closer to him. "You have the ability of being better than your father. He did his job horribly. You know that. You know how many people got hurt, how many criminals he let slide. When I told you I was pregnant, do you remember the promise you made me?"

"I promised to make the town safe for our daughter," he answered, his voice soft.

"So let me ask you something," I said, softening my own voice. "Do you think you've done that?"

Gator opened and closed his mouth. I could see the tears threatening to spill.

"I haven't," he admitted. He quickly added, "I can start though. If you and Annabelle come with me, I can keep you guys safe. And once the threat is gone. . ."

"There will be another one," I sighed. "You can't fix these types of things, Gator. Once you get started down that road, it's nearly impossible to go back. I can't keep my daughter close to trouble."

I started to walk away, but Gator grabbed my hand. "What are you saying?" He stuttered.

"I'm saying that my top priority is keeping my baby safe," I said, my voice breaking, "even if that means taking her away from here."

"Away from me," he said slowly.

"It's not like it's an easy decision," I scoffed. "You have to understand why I would make it, Gator."

"I do," he stuttered. "But that doesn't mean. . ."

"I've been having nightmares."

"You what?" Gator gasped, stepping toward me. "What are your nightmares about, baby?"

"That day," I said, my voice breaking. "At the grocery store. It's one of two dreams. Either I get shot or. . ."

"Or?" Gator gently pushed as he cupped my cheek.

"Or Annabelle."

"Shit," he mumbled. He took another step closer to me and gently grabbed my arms. "I'm so sorry, baby. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," I said softly. "I just. . . I don't want to have them anymore."

Gator pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around me. He leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

"You know," he whispered, "sleeping next to someone who would take a bullet for you helps get rid of nightmares."

"That's kind of hard when the person next to you is mixed up in what's causing your nightmares," I said softly as I pulled out of his embrace.

"What if I wasn't in a job that gave you nightmares?"

"What?" I stuttered. "Gator. . . You can't. . . Are you. . ."

"Sir?"

Gator sighed when we were interrupted. "What?" He snapped at the officer.

"We should really get your family out of here," the guy said slowly. Gator turned toward me with pleading eyes.

"Please," he whispered. "We will have this conversation, I promise, but can we do it at a safe house?"

"I'll go pack a bag for me," I said softly. "Will you pack some things for Annabelle?"

"Of course," he said letting out a sigh of relief.

He leaned in and quickly kissed me before jogging to the nursery. I messed with my hands as I went to my room. My mind was swarming with questions and what-ifs as I packed a bag. When I was done, I put it on the kitchen table and went to check on Gator.

I froze in the doorway when I saw him in the rocking chair, holding our daughter. My heart jumped into my throat as he softly sang her favorite lullaby.

"I see you haven't started packing her bag," I said my voice almost a whisper. Gator looked up at me and smiled.

"She woke up," he smiled. I walked over, leaned down, grabbed his face, and pressed my lips to his. I had tears streaming down my face as our lips moved in sync. I broke the kiss and pressed my forehead against his.

"I've missed you."

"Really?" He asked as I leaned back. "I've missed you too, baby. And our little girl. I promise I will do whatever it takes to protect both of you. Even if that means leaving my job and this town."

"This is everything you've ever worked for, Gator. You'd really walk away?"

"For you and Annabelle?" He whispered. He stood up, still holding our daughter, and pulled me into his side. "I'd do anything to protect my family."

[thegeminisage]

well, it is star trek update time. last night we watched ds9's "whispers" and tng's "lower decks."

whispers (ds9):

this episode was really really really really good but it sent me into an absolute existential FIT

i don't usually like episodes where they string us along and don't give us enough clues to figure the thing out for ourselves. and that's what this did because really WHO could predict that. however the ending did gut punch me so i forgive them except i never want them to do that to me ever again

red herring with the coffee. he ordered it so many times i was sure there was something in his coffee

i feel so bad for the replicant. i feel SO BAD FOR HIM. also, did you know this is the only time in trek they use the word replicant

action hero obrien, even under false pretenses, was very very very good. he literally can kick ass and he's smart as hell too like he's so cool???

"tell keiko i love her" JESUS CHRIST. anyway!!!!!!!!

lower decks (tng):

this episode was ALSO pretty good...i really loved especially the dual poker games

i also love the waiter in ten forward who got to go to BOTH poker games, king, but where tf is guinan?? i miss her sm

riker is your worst nightmare. alexa play poker face

worf was also very good in this...he loves and supports his little guys so much. siskocore.

picard was as usual the devil incarnate. i cant believe he yelled at this girl just to see if she could take the pressure of a dangerous mission because he had RACIALLY PROFILED HER and then he, who has been tortured by cardassians, let an ensign SEVEN MONTHS INTO HER FIRST ASSIGNMENT do this covert ops shit. AND THEN SHE DIED!!!! i hope he feels bad forever

i liked her so much :( which i know is the point, but

i kind of wish that unlikable guy who was trying to suck up to riker had died instead because that would be a gut punch in a different way

ALSO NURSE OGAWA'S MAN RUNNING AROUND ON HER?? and then beverly is like oh thank god he proposed GIRL that doesn't mean you didn't see him talking to another woman! just bc you let picard do that shit does NOT mean you don't let alyssa know what you saw!!! smh

i'm still not looking forward to the show lower decks...the art style is so fucking ugly and reminds me so much of family guy, the unfunniest show ever to air on television. as in, even south park was funnier. but maybe if the plots are a little like this it will make it slightly easier to tolerate

EDITED TO ADD: i nearly forgot to mention, the vulcan this episode was CHANNELING mister leonard nimoy. i recognized so many of his little acting tics. absolutely delightful.

TONIGHT: ds9's "paradise" and tng's "thine own self" which i know has AMNESIA!!!!!! i've been in bed since i got home from work but i got out of it specifically for this reason. it better be good

[perspectivestarters]

Perspective's Sentence Starters; GUTS by Olivia Rodrigo (Part II)

LOGICAL

God, you're so good at what you do.

I'd put myself through hell for you.

I fell for you like water falls from the February sky.

No, I couldn't get out if I tried.

It was all in my mind.

I'm the love of your life.

No, love is never logical.

You built a giant castle with walls so high I couldn't see.

And all the things you did to me...

The sky is green, the grass is red, and you mean all those words you said.

I'm sure that girl is really your friend.

Our problems are all solvable.

Loving you is loving every argument you held over my head.

You brought up the girls you could have instead.

Said I was too young, I was too soft.

Said I can't take a joke, can't get you off

Oh, why do I do this?

I know I'm half responsible and that makes me feel horrible.

I know I could've stopped it all.

God, why didn't I stop it all?

GET HIM BACK!

I met a guy in the summer, and I left him in the spring.

He argued with me about everything.

He had an ego and a temper and a wandering eye.

He said he's six-foot-two, and I'm like, "Dude, nice try".

He was so much fun.

He had such weird friends.

He would take us out to parties, and the night would never end

When hе said something wrong, he'd just fly me to Francе.

I miss him some nights when I'm feeling depressed.

I remember every time he made a pass on my friend.

Do I love him? Do I hate him? I guess it's up and down.

I wanna get him back.

I wanna make him really jealous.

I wanna make him feel bad.

I really miss him, and it makes me real sad.

I want sweet revenge.

I write him all these letters.

I miss the way he kisses and the way he made me laugh.

Everyone knew all of the shit that he'd do.

He said I was the only girl, but that just wasn't the truth.

When I told him how he hurt me, he'd tell me I was trippin'.

I am my father's daughter.

Maybe I could fix him.

I wanna key his ca.

I wanna make him lunch.

I wanna break his heart, then be the one to stitch it up.

Wanna kiss his face with an uppercut.

I wanna meet his mom just to tell her her son sucks.

I'll get him back.

I'm gonna get him so good, he's not even gonna know what hit him.

He's gonna love me and hate me at the same time.

Get him back, girl.

You better get him back!

I got him really good.

LOVE IS EMBARRASSING

I told my friends you were the one after I'd known you, like, a month.

Then you kissed some girl from high school?

I stayed in bed for, like, a week when you said space was what you need.

Waited by my phone like a goddamn fool.

Now it don't mean a thing.

God, love's fuckin' embarrassing.

Watch as I crucify myself for some weird second string loser who's not worth mentioning.

I consoled you while you cried over your ex-girlfriend's new guy.

My God, how could I be so stupid?

You found a new version of me and I damn near startеd World War III.

Jesus, what was I even doing?

I give up everything.

I placed my bets, and it's not worth anything.

I keep coming back for more.

I'm planning out my wedding with some guy I'm never marrying.

THE GRUDGE

I have nightmares each week.

One phone call from you and my entire world was changed.

Took everything I loved and crushed it in between your fingers.

I doubt you ever think about the damage that you did.

I hold onto every detail like my life depends on it.

My undying love, now, I hold it like a grudge.

I hear your voice every time that I think I'm not enough.

I try to be tough, but I wanna scream.

How could anybody do the things you did so easily?

You know I can't let it go.

I've tried for so long.

It takes strength to forgive, but I don't feel strong.

The arguments that I've won against you in my head.

I fantasize about a time you're a little fuckin' sorry

I try to understand why you would do this all to me.

You must be insecure, you must be so unhappy.

We both drew blood, but, man, those cuts were never equal.

Do you think I deserved it all?

You built me up to watch me fall.

You have everything, and you still want more.

But even after all this, you're still everything to me.

I know you don't care, I guess that that's fine.

It takes strength to forgive, but I'm not quite sure I'm there yet.

PRETTY ISN'T PRETTY

I bought a new prescription to try and stay calm.

There's always somethin' missing.

There's always somethin' in the mirror that I think looks wrong.

When pretty isn't pretty enough, what do you do?

I'd always feel the same.

Pretty isn't pretty enough anyway.

You can win the battle, but you'll never win the war.

You fix thе things you hated, and you'd still feel so insecure.

I try to ignorе it, but it's everything I see.

It's on the poster on the wall, it's in the shitty magazines.

It's in my phone, it's in my head, it's in the boys I bring to bed.

I don't know why I even try.

I bought all the clothes that they told me to buy.

I chased some dumb ideal my whole fucking life.

None of it matters.

You just feel like shit over and over again.

It'll never change.

TEENAGE DREAM

When am I gonna stop being wise beyond my years and just start being wise?

When am I gonna stop being a pretty young thing to guys?

When am I gonna stop being great for my age and just start being good?

When will it stop being cool to be quietly misunderstood?

Got your whole life ahead of you.

I fear that they already got all the best parts of me.

I'm sorry that I couldn't always be your teenage dream.

When does wide-eyed affection and all good intentions start to not be enough?

When will everyone have every reason to call all my bluffs?

When are all my excuses of learning my lessons gonna start to feel sad?

Will I spend all the rest of my years wishing I could go back?

They all say that it gets better.

It gets better the more you grow.

But what if I don't?

[astro-rain]

delicate; b. barnes

chapter thirteen - “sober desires & the reminiscence of a winsome smile”

delicate masterlist

word count: 4k

synopsis: wakanda gets a visit from our favorite captain, two drinks is too much rum for a reticent psychologist, and bucky knows (& feels) more than meets the eye.

pairings: bucky x fem!reader

[A/N]: this took so long to write but WHEW this chapter!!!! pls let me know what you think >:D

The knock on the outside of his hut was followed by a deep accented voice, one that he had heard before.

"Sergeant Barnes?" it called.

Quickly enough Bucky was outside, facing the king of Wakanda himself. He wasn't sure exactly what to say. You see, the majority of their past interactions included the Black Panther trying to kill him. T'Challa was kind and Bucky trusted him. It was just... a little awkward given the history.

"Your highness," he greeted.

He smiled bashfully at the title.

"I have some news for you."

Bucky's head cocked to the side, curious. News? Should he be worried? He hadn't been expecting anything.

"Captain Rogers is on his way here. He was alerted about our recent complication with N'Jadaka," he said, referring to who Bucky guessed was who Y/N called Erik Killmonger, "and he asked to come check in, make sure you're okay."

Steve was coming. His mood was immediately uplifted. He hadn't seen his oldest friend for months. It was weird to have Steve feeling the need to make sure Bucky was okay; it was usually the other way around. Nonetheless, he was excited. And he had the sudden urge to tell Y/N.

- - -

READER

"Sharon. Hey," she said into the phone.

The friends hadn't spoken since Y/N left for Wakanda - security measures since Sharon helped Steve and betrayed the... well everyone.

"Y/N!" Sharon greeted. "How is everything? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, no I'm totally okay. The Killmonger thing was more the royal family's deal than mine. I was just hiding out in some bunker with Barnes."

Concerned weaved its way into Sharon's voice. "Oh my god. Did anything happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, historically, stress hasn't affected him well..."

She wasn't sure why she almost got offended. "No... he was completely fine. He doesn't lose control out of nowhere and turn into the winter soldier. It's a lot more complicated than that... We were fine."

"Oh, that's good. Listen... I'm actually on my way to Wakanda right now."

"You're-... what?"

"Steve needed to check in on Bucky after Killmonger. Wilson and I are coming too."

They must all be together. It makes sense considering what happened after the disaster in Berlin, and then the airport fiasco in Germany and then... everything in Siberia.

Aw, they're in hiding together, Y/N joked in her head. She almost laughed out loud.

"Oh. Is that safe? For you? For everyone?"

"I've been careful. We've all been careful. But, things don't always go as planned. And T'Challa feels bad about putting you guys in a dangerous situation when he was supposed to protect you."

"It wasn't his fault."

"I know. We all know. But, it's kind of his way of making up for it: letting us stay so that Steve can check in on Barnes and we can cool off for a bit."

"Was Rogers mad?"

"Well, he wasn't thrilled that his best friend was trapped alone in a country that just got taken over..."

He wasn't alone.

"...he was mostly worried," Sharon continued. "Still is."

"Right."

"Alright, well I got to go. We'll be there in a couple hours."

"I'll see you. Be safe."

"See you."

- - -

BUCKY BARNES

"Hey Buck," the happiness in Steve's voice was genuine as he patted his oldest friend on the back in the middle of an embrace. "How you been?"

"A hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you, that's for damn sure," Bucky smiled.

Sam Wilson stood next to the star spangled man with a plan. Bucky briefly glanced at him.

"Wilson," he deadpanned.

"Barnes," he returned the greeting.

"I was worried when T'Challa told me about Killmonger," Steve said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that they let you stay here, but I just didn't think I'd have to be worried so soon."

"It's alright. Everything turned out okay and I was fine the whole time. You don't have to lose your head."

"I'm not losing my head."

"You never had it in the first place."

The blonde changed the topic of conversation.

"You were with that therapist right?"

"Yeah."

"What do we think about her?" he asked with equal parts caution and suspicion. "Do you trust her?"

Bucky wasn't sure why he was almost offended.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you know what happened the last time you were with a psychiatrist..."

"Yeah well, this one doesn't have a personal vendetta against the Avengers."

"You sure she's alright?"

He looked serious, and Bucky could see the genuine concern etched into his friend's face. Steve was truly wary.

"I'm positive. She's helped so much since I've been here. I really trust her."

"Okay, if you say so. I trust you."

Bucky smirked. "Hey uh... is Sharon with you?"

Sam said nothing but radiated a smirk to match Bucky's perfectly, a kind of smirk that only a ball-busting best friend cracks.

"She is..." Steve replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh nothing. Just wondering, that's all."

"She said she wanted to talk to a friend."

"Oh, she's probably with Y/N."

"Who?"

"Y/N. Dr. Y/L/N. 'The therapist.'"

"I didn't know they were friends."

"Why do you think Sharon recommended her?"

"She said she knew 'the best' person to help."

"That true. She's crazy smart."

"As long as she can do the job, I'm all for it, no matter whose friend she is."

In a short-lived thought, Bucky wondered what Steve Rogers would think of who else Y/N was friends with. He wondered if Steve would think it was strange to be friends with your doctor, or if he'd be pleased that Bucky had gotten close to someone, anyone else in this world.

"How long are you guys staying for?" Bucky asked.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Honestly, we were only planning on staying for like a week or so. We've been moving throughout Europe, and the other day, when we were in Prague... it was almost really bad."

"We need to stay low for a while," Sam added.

"What did you do?" Bucky asked, used to Steve getting himself into trouble.

"It's a long story..."

"What did T'Challa say about it?"

"He said to take as much time as we needed," Steve filled him in.

"You know, I'm startin' to really like this guy," Sam nodded, smiling. "Obviously when he went all cat murderer on you, he was a bit of a pain in the ass. But now? Guardian angel."

Bucky shook his head at Sam's nonsense. What an idiot, he thought. He wondered what Y/N would think of Sam, but then a more pressing question popped into his head.

"Where are you guys gonna stay?"

"I'm guessing there," Steve said pointing behind Bucky.

When he turned around, Bucky was shocked but he also wasn't. Behind and around his hut stood three more just like it, but slightly smaller. He could've sworn those weren't there yesterday, but that's the beauty of Wakanda. They were ten steps ahead of the rest of the world and he guessed that included speed building as well.

"I will never stop loving this place," he admired.

-

He tried not to sound too eager when he knocked on her door. She looked shocked but didn't really try to hide it.

"Oh," she sounded confused. "Hi, Bucky..."

"Hey," he grinned. "I have a proposition for you."

Her eyebrows lowered as her lips twisted into the most devilish smirk. She could communicate an entire joke with just her face.

"Not like that!" he exclaimed.

She laughed, smirk morphing into an endearing smile. "Like what then?"

"Steve wanted to have like a bonfire sorta thing to catch up since we're all together for once. You know, just like drinks and stupid stories from the forties. D'ya think you could part with your paper work to grace us with your presence?"

"Oh, uh... are you sure?"

"Of course. I'd love to have you there."

She wrung out her hands. "I don't know, Buck. Is that really appropriate? To have your doctor hangin' out with your friends?"

"That may be, but that's not what I'm asking. I want my friend to 'hang out' with my other friends."

Out of her composure seeped a meek smile. The air felt softer to him.

"And maybe you can analyze Wilson and tell me what his biggest fear is later," he added.

She snickered.

"Okay. Lead the way, James Buchanan."

-

The fire was a monster, roaring and crackling with all the life in the world. Bucky loved it. He loved the warmth, the heat, the lack of cold.

"I'm gonna get another drink," Y/N said. "You want anything, Buck?"

"I'm all set," he smiled, gaze lingering for only a second too long.

"Sharon?" she turned. "You?"

The blonde shook her head. "Oh, I think I've had plenty."

Surrounding the fire sat five chairs. All but one was empty as Y/N went to get her second drink. Of course they were in Sam's hut, Bucky thought. After all, even though it was Steve's idea, Sam was most excited about the whole thing, actually sitting down and just relaxing instead of fleeing from belligerent governments.

"Therapist's pretty," Sam noted with a smirk once she was out of hearing range.

"Y/N," Bucky corrected, mind going completely elsewhere. "She's so smart."

"Smart enough to call you Buck..." Steve said, catching on to Sam.

"What?"

"She calls you Buck."

"Yeah, so? You do too."

"Yeah, but I've known you longer. And I'm your friend."

"She's my friend too," he shrugged.

"She's your doctor..."

"And I'm a hundred year old man with one arm trying to get un-brainwashed in a country that the rest of the world doesn't even know exists. None of this is conventional."

"...fair," Steve said, with only a little bit of skepticism. "Are you guys close?"

Does spending hours alone talking with someone in a hidden bunker make you close? Does them comforting you after a nightmare and then subsequently allowing you to get the best night sleep you've had in forever? What about making daring voyages to quaint waterfalls and laughing a kind of laugh that makes your heart swell? What about-

"Buck?"

He shrugged. Again. "I guess so."

Sam narrowed his eyebrows. "How close?"

"Wilson," Sharon admonished exasperatedly. "Y/L/N's his doctor, come on. That's inappropriate to suggest."

Sam put his hands up in mock surrender. Briefly, just briefly, Bucky imagined kicking the leg of Sam's chair and watching him fall back. He didn't, obviously. But it would have been funny if he did.

The seemingly never ending conversation was cut short when Y/N returned, drink in hand, and took her seat next to Bucky.

"What'd you get?" he asked, demeanor subtly but swiftly changing into something lighter, something happier.

"I don't know, but it has rum in it," she shrugged sardonically before clinking her glass with Bucky's.

"Cheers," Sam raised his glass, trying to engage.

Y/N wordlessly, and with a half-smile, raised her glass in his direction.

"So," Steve started, comfortably crossing his legs and leaning back into his chair before asking Bucky, "you wanna know what actually happened in Prague?"

"Do enlighten me. I've been waiting all night."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

The rest of the night went on sort of like this. The group took turns telling stories and then listening. Cracking jokes and then laughing. Everyone but Y/N, Bucky noticed. She just... sat and drank, livelihood only extending to the borders of her seat.

He hadn't seen her like this before, and he found himself stuck halfway between confused and worried. Had something happened? Had something wrong been said?

He kept an eye on her as dusk melted into night. He told himself it was because he was concerned, but that was only in addition to the way he was magnetized to how she looked with the light of the fire gleaming on her skin.

After she would finish a drink, she'd stare into the fire for a little while, before leaving to get another. When he made sure no one was looking at him, he'd look at her. Discretely. At her eyes. The reflection of the fire in her pupils made him wonder if she would burn the fire before it could ever burn her. He was all too aware of the heat that accompanied her gaze. It was a ravishing burn that made him ache for the searing feeling as soon as it was taken away.

He didn't dare think of it for too long or else he would get distracted. And someone would call his name, pulling him out of a trance he didn't want to be caught in. A trance he wasn't sure he wanted to admit that he was in.

The night remained as such until someone - he couldn't remember who - said they were tired, and everyone bid their farewells, and wished their good nights.

Y/N spared about a side hug to Sharon before walking off on her own. Bucky half volunteered, half insisted on tending to the fire to make sure it went out, only to ignore it as soon as everyone was gone and follow after his psychologist.

He caught up to her as she was in the middle of opening the door to her living quarters.

"Y/N."

She turned around in the spot, door wide open, staring up at him.

He bore into her eyes, looking at something, noticing her dilated pupils and hazy stare.

"You're drunk," he said, but it sounded more like a question.

"Yeah."

"But you don't seem drunk?"

"I'm not wasted," she padded into the room, carelessly leaving the door wide open for him to walk through. "Just drunk enough to remember why I didn't drink in college."

She rubbed her eyes.

"Think I want another one," she sighed, heading for the door with a bitter smile. "More rum."

Bucky gently closed the door, maneuvering himself in front of it, and blocking her from exiting. Another drink is definitely not a good idea.

He changed the subject. "Why didn't you drink in college?"

Her eyebrows raised, introducing a look that said Really? You think I don't know what you're doing?

"Wow, look at you being the voice of reason for my otherwise inebriated brain."

Nevertheless, she cooperated.

She sighed. "It just... makes me miserable. I'm a sad drunk."

"Better than a mean drunk," he offered.

"Possibly. It's a real mood killer, though."

"That why you were off all night?"

"Off... ? I don't know, I guess so... I'm usually pretty inconspicuous when I'm drunk. Didn't think anyone would really notice."

There was no hesitation when he spoke.

"I did."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry. Just... why did you keep drinking if it only makes you miserable?"

"Alcohol is a depressant," she breathed mechanically, as if speaking was difficult. "It depresses your nervous system, then you get disinhibited. Then you don't care about rationality and just drink! Then in the moment it feels kinda good... but then it makes you sad... and then you need more to blur the feeling away. It's like... the worse you feel, the more you need to drink... but then the more you drink... the worse you feel..."

"How are you drunk but still talking... sorta still like you usually do?"

She smirked, looking like she was trying not to laugh. He was glad she was smiling.

"Maybe you're not the only one with heightened metabolism as a result of the serum..."

He looked at her quizzically, amused. She wasn't making total sense, but he couldn't find it in himself to give much of a damn. She smiled, again.

"Kidding. I just have outstanding self-control."

She plopped down on the floor, deciding that she no longer wanted to use her legs. Fine motor function was overrated for intoxicated people.

He sat down with her, next to her.

"If I tell you a joke will you be less sad-drunk?"

"I already am 'less sad-drunk.' I wasn't before, but," she took a breath in, "now you're here, so... improvements have been made."

"That's good 'cause I was worried before."

She glanced up at him with brazen eye contact. Her face held a mixture of what looked like a confused and pained expression, as something changed. Some sort of realization or reality check.

She wiped her hands over her face. "God, this is so ridiculous. I'm sorry. You shouldn't be worried about me, that's not your job. I'm sorry. I should just go to bed, and you can leave..."

"I know it's not my job. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I was alright- it... it's not like I was crying at the fire or something. I was fine."

"After your second drink, you were silent almost the entire time."

"You were counting my drinks?"

Not exactly.

"I was paying attention."

"To what?"

To you.

"You completely turned into yourself. Your elbows and legs were drawn in close to your body: unrelaxed and almost apprehensive posture. You were nonverbal, didn't make any jokes, no sarcastic commentary. I was literally purposefully saying things I knew you would correct or tease or laugh at and nothing. I was waiting for a 'smartass' or a 'there's a reason behind everything' explanation or anything science related. But there was nothing."

Her face was blank. It took her a second to catch up. Blinking slowly, she shook her head, eyebrows furrowed, all emphasis on the word. "Why?"

Her tone was truly confused. It was like she, in her heart of hearts, for the life of her, could not believe he was concerned.

"Y/N you're my friend," he chided. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She averted her gaze. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know."

"Look," his voice was soft. "I know you know everything and you know my mannerisms and micro-expressions and you know when I'm lying and whatever else 'cause you're a genius psychologist. But is it really that hard to believe that, after all the time we've known each other, I know you a little too? That I saw you for once instead of you always seein' me?"

"I think you're the only person who sees me."

The words leaked out before he thought to analyze them, tone lower than a whisper.

"Well I can't seem to look at much else."

He had never felt such potent silence. Did he just fuck up majorly? They just sat, on the floor, eyes glued to each other like twenty year old dried cement. He didn't think he could move away if he tried.

"I see you now," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Blue," she breathed. "Your eyes are so blue. I don't... think I've ever seen that shade of blue."

It happened exponentially slowly, but the closer her face got to his, the more his chest felt like it was going to burst in the best way possible. As if liquid light poured into his lungs, inflating his chest and igniting every nerve with adoration.

Her lips hovered over his so lightly it was as if it wasn't even happening, like her affection was a ghost. But it was happening, and he could feel it. He could feel the softness in her lips and the smell of the rum she drank as they combined into the wondrous dual sensation that permeated throughout his brain.

They weren't kissing by any stretch. Their lips were hardly touching. However, in that moment, he was at her mercy. He was prepared to bend the laws of nature to her will if she would allow the continuation of this feeling for even a fraction of a second more.

Until it stopped and she waned away like the moon bidding adieu to the morning sky.

Her voice shook. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't... it's-"

"No. It's not okay. It's not okay."

He leaned back, examining her face. She looked confused and embarrassed and scared.

"Y/N, it's fine. It's okay, seriously, don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry, I'm... I'm drunk and I'm disinhibited and it's affecting my judgement and making me impulsive. I'm sorry."

He couldn't be exactly sure, but it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince him.

Neither of them moved a muscle.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

She was silent, frozen. It reminded him of a past conversation about the fight or flight response.

Bucky stood up and offered his hand to the woman sitting on the floor in front of him. "Here."

She took it gingerly and stood up with him before wide eyes stared into his apologetically.

"Please don't feel bad," he pleaded. "Barely anything happened."

"Still..."

"Why don't you just get some sleep and we can talk tomorrow. I promise it won't seem like such a big deal when you're sober."

She nodded but they both remained motionless, hands still together. He knew they needed to let go, but her hand didn't move, and she just kept looking into him.

"Okay," she whispered.

She walked him to the door, hand still in hand, and until he was forced to let go of her to open it. He stepped, ever so slowly, out of her room and onto the grass outside. He looked up at her, the doorway between them suddenly feeling like worlds of distance. They stood on opposite sides of the open door like statues. Bucky didn't know what to do and he wasn't sure what to say.

He settled on a, "Goodnight."

He tried not to make it sound so weak and timorous but he failed entirely. He didn't want to leave her like this. Guilty and alone. God knows he knew what it felt like.

Her voice was dry and quiet. "Goodnight."

He wasn't sure when the door shut or which one of them had shut it. The only thing he was sure of was the feeling of formidable regret pooling in his stomach.

On one hand, there was regret for letting her lean in and get so close because now he was scared that their dynamic was ruined and worried that Y/N felt awful. On the other hand, there was regret that he just let her pull away. Regret that he didn't lean in more and shamelessly drown in her. Regret that he didn't unapologetically suffocate himself with the softness of lips, the inebriating smell of rum on on her tongue, and the utterly bewitching taste of her he was sure would follow.

He wasn't sure what he felt, to be honest. He was a muddle of emotions of which he had no idea how to sift through. Momentarily, he wished he was drunk so he wouldn't have to think so hard. Then, he remembered the saying, "drunk words are sober thoughts," and he was damn glad he was stone cold sober; he could only imagine the things he would say to her if he was drunk.

This lead him to pondering, it got the gears in his brain turning. It made him wonder. Maybe... just maybe... if drunk words were sober thoughts, then what if drunk actions were sober desires?

Thinking like this could cause him read the situation completely differently. Thinking like this could make him read the situation in such a way that conceived the slightest sliver of hope for emotions gone repressed. Hope is dangerous...

Hope is dangerous, so Bucky shoved it down into the deepest cavern of his brain, the very same cavern where his feelings for her resided. It was a monster in a cave, growling and hissing menacingly. Intensely.

It scared him, this intensity. It scared him so much that the only way he could fall asleep was by thinking about the way James Buchanan sounded when she said it with a winsome smile.

delicate taglist: ​@bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @nickkie1129 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @quxxnxfhxll @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf

[astraltrain]

watching tommy's exile meeting vod from december 2nd, will update with things i find interesting as i watch

"if the roles were reversed, i wouldn't even think about exiling you" - tommy. haha foreshadowing for the actual exile haha

tommy: you have bees.

tubbo: i do have bees!

tommy: if they all died, that'd be fuckin...

tubbo: that'd be awful. probably all of humanity would die with them.

...

"i am addressing the elephant in the room, which is me. although i am not the size of an elephant. in height i am! not in weight. if i was the size of an elephant though -" *laughs* "if i was stretchy, this world would be real different right now." what goes on in tommyinnit's mind.

tommy preemptively preparing everyone for him to fuck up the meeting and no one listening... tommy knowing he was going to ruin it for himself and knowing he'd somehow let tubbo down.... fuuuuuck

tubbo: minutes man, we summon you!

ranboo, materializing in the seat next to tubbo with a book and quill in hand: hey

tommy: what the FUCK,

we all talk about wilbur's acting with his facecam, but tommy does it a lot too. the way he rolls his eyes and shakes his eyes with a confident smirk every time dream speaks, the way he looks shocked when things go wrong. goddamn

jack manifold watching the whole meeting, listening the whole time, just following them around with very little input. hmmmm

he was taunting him. the fucker knew

tubbo desperately wanted a way out for tommy. he wanted to give him probation to escape whatever dream had planned. he never ever wanted to do what he had to do.

dream: "tommy, let the adults speak." hmm, sounds familiar... almost like a line techno would repeat almost exactly a month later, when talking with dream about the favour.

he was taunting him the whole meeting. trying to provoke tommy into snapping.

"this isn't some "insanity arc," i'm not following down wilbur's path!" ouch ok tommy

the way tubbo's voice flattened in tone when he said "you're speaking out of line." he knew tommy had fucked it from the moment he brought out spirit.

god, the second it seemed tommy knew what he was doing, fundy and quackity were on his side. tubbo was the only one who remained serious the whole time, knowing dream had something up his sleeve.

everyone turning on tubbo the second it seemed like they were winning because he was the only one to realize something was wrong. fuck, man

"i don't give a FUCK about spirit." holy shit way to pop off with the voice acting???

the fact that c!tommy genuinely can't imagine being unable to care about things because himself and c!dream are such polar opposites when it comes to attachment. tommy loves with ALL his heart, he cares so deeply and so warmly and so fiercely. dream cares for nothing unless it gives him an edge, an advantage. that's why tommy was certain that holding spirit's remains over dream would help them win. he couldn't picture being unable to care about anything.

"l'manberg can be independent, but l'manberg can't be free." *dream leaves the call.* DANGGGG

tubbo, very softly and calmly: "tommy. you had one job." hoooly shit

the way tubbo snapped at quackity and fundy and began to argue with them while tommy zoned out and stared at dream as he began to extend the walls upwards in disbelief. god

"you couldn't do one thing for me! you couldn't do one! you couldn't do one thing, and it was for your own good! so yeah, if the roles were reversed, you probably wouldn't have exiled me - because i would have actually listened! i would have had a couple ounces of respect! ... you've messed this up for no one but yourself." *pause* "you're selfish." c!tubbo.... :stress:

RANBOO STANDING UP FOR TOMMY???? RANBOO SPINE ARC??????

"tubbo, you said that tommy was selfish. that he doesn't care about anyone else. that's not true. i robbed george's house too. i did it with him. but in court, he said that it was just him. he could have pinned the blame on me, he could have said it was me, there was evidence it was me - but he didn't. he's not selfish. he can't be selfish. me and tommy robbed george's house. we didn't mean for it to burn. we didn't want to burn anything down." HOLY FUCK WHY HAVE I NEVER SEEN THIS SCENE BEFORE

tommy: tubbo, you can't become what you hate. you can't become the next schlatt. if you exile me, you're following in that man's footsteps.

tubbo: .. ok. well, if i can't be the next schlatt, you can't be the next wilbur.

ouch

tommy: the only thing dream wants is the one thing i care about. *realizes, glances at ranboo* well, not the one thing.

tubbo, deadpan: mhm. the one thing you care about.

literal chills from tubbo's voice acting what the FUCK

"what do YOUUU think, connoreatspants?" ok now we're onto the lighter stuff thank god hakshsksjk

fundy: so if eventually the people choose not to exile tommy... what happens to l'manberg?

tubbo, about to come up with a serious answer: i guess -

tommy: it gets fucking simpsons movie'd, bro, we get boxed in

tubbo, immediately breaking character: I LOVE THAT MOVIE

tommy: this guy's a wrongun, ranboo.

techno, literally just vibing: •_•

tommy explaining server history to ranboo? telling ranboo that techno was at fault for the crater of l'manberg? wuh oh

"wilbur died in action, so he didn't live long enough to face the consequences." o h

tommy taking ranboo to the bench to watch the moon go down, not turning to see the sunrise like usual. hey i could make symbolism out of this

TOMMY THANKING RANBOO FOR STICKING UP FOR HIM.... ALLIUMDUO REAL

c!tommy has nightmares about wilbur, huh. interesting interesting interesting interesting

"i knew that if tubbo was president... it would pull us apart, ranboo." IMAGE OF A CAT CRYING HERE

ranboo and connor's first meeting being tommy getting ranboo to help him evict connor from his house hsksbskdjsk

connor: "never trust a british man. that's what my parents taught me, in the 1800s." IMMORTAL CONNOR HAS ALWAYS BEEN REAL WE WERE ALL SO BLIND

LITTLE PENIS LAND

FJDKDHDK JACK APPEARING TO ADVERTISE MANIFOLD LAND

"hey jack you've actually just been exiled from this land here" "no" I FORGOT HOW FUNNY THESE TWO WERE

monkaS

tommy: i've never seen dream that angry.

ranboo: well, this is the first time i've actually ever heard him speak

tommy: oh

OH MY GOD WAS THIS THE DAY THAT TUBBO MADE THE JOKE ABOUT C!WILBUR BEING DEAD TO FUNDY AND HE ENDED STREAM AND LEFT BAHAHAHA

"this is a very wide taco stand" i love dream smp lore

"i don't wanna go. there is no wilbur anymore. i'm on my own. i don't want to be on my own." OK NEVERMIND GO BACK TO THE TACO STAND LORE

wow ok that really was just IT, huh. what the hell man that was heartbreaking

in conclusion. ouch

[acklesterritory]

That Kind of Love Never Dies_Chapter 1

Hey guys, Now that more voted to split my fictions in 2 parts, I'm back with the first part. I hope you like it. Don't forget to leave me feedbacks. I'll always appreciate them. Love you all.

This is for writing event @tvdspngirl314

My quote is "That kind of love never dies"

Dean x Reader series (just 2 parts)

This chapter words: ~5k

Series warning:

Angst, fluf, smut, angry Dean, hurt Reader, hurt Dean, there's some more but I hate spoilers so I insist on "Angst & Hurt"

It all started with a stupid argument at home. What was it? Three months ago? Sam couldn't remember the exact date but after years, it was the first time this awkward coldness between Dean and Y/n had started to build. He could remember the first time he and his brother came across Y/n like it was yesterday, they were hunting a very nasty creature who used to kidnap young and lonely women at night, then got them wrapped in ropes and ties on a bed in a warehouse to rape, torture and feed on their blood until the victim either died or accepted to turn into one of his kind.

Sam could remember the helplessness in people's eyes too. The pain of the victims' families, the frustration and anger on cops' faces when no one could find the criminal yet, even after the sixth missing girl.

"Sammy, he just kidnapped another girl. And I think I know where he's gonna take her. Let's hunt this son of a bitch."

When Dean was saying that, Sam never expected him to fall in love with the woman they would save that night. Well, unfortunately they weren't fast enough to prevent any harm to the girl. When they arrived and Dean killed the nasty creature, Y/n was almost dead. The monster had already raped her, tortured her … and when he felt the hunters enter the place, he drank almost all of her blood, to gain more energy to fight. So as always, Dean was up to blaming himself. Of course only in his own eyes, not anyone else's.

"Call Cas to come home. Tell him it's an emergency."

Dean told his brother when he finally could get Y/n out of those ropes. And Sam knew he was right. At that point, no one could save Y/n unless God or his angels. Maybe she was not so lucky coming across a nasty supernatural creature like that but she was lucky enough that Cas arrived just on time and healed her. However, angels can only heal physical wounds. But Y/n was hurt much more than that. She couldn't just move on from the things that the bastard had put her through. Even after Cas tricked her brain to forget some certain things, she still had bad nightmares and had this dark shade of hopelessness in her eyes. Soon, she started to eat and talk less and less. And Dean just couldn't let her go. He really wanted to fix all of that for her but she kept shutting him out… until the depression hit her. It was so bad that Cas felt the need to tell them to prepare themselves for her death. Because after all those days and unlike everything else in their lives, The Winchesters were already used to her presence around them; like the way a lonely person can get used to a wounded cat more and faster than anyone else.

"I'm not gonna hunt until I'm sure she can live her normal life." When Dean stated that, Sam really thought he was joking. But after a few days he started to believe it. Dean truly would do anything to keep her alive. From cooking vegetables to laughing at his own dad jokes in front of Y/n to make her smile. That was when Sam started to feel that they can be more than a random hunter/rescued victim relationship! It felt like his brother had finally found his motivation in life: "Saving Y/n."

Gradually Y/n started to respond to this special attention from Dean with trust and smiles. Soon they became a power couple that could motivate each other so easily that sometimes Charlie would call them out. And honestly Sam had no problem with it. In fact Y/n had become his other sister.

"My God, Dean! You're burning up!" It was two day after a werewolf hunt in which Dean had got hurt. At first it was just some scratches on his arms and chest. Yet as the time passed, more symptoms started to appear: headache, pain, fever, cold sweat, even nose bleeding and before they could figure it out, Dean fell unconscious. Apparently the claws of the werewolf were poisonous. However Sam wasn't sure. The only thing he got no doubts about was the fact that it was already too late. Dean couldn't make it to the hospital. So either Sam had to do anything possible to save him or Cas should've picked up his God damn phone.

"No. no, no, no, no. Dean … Dean!!!"

That was when Sam got to hear Y/n's helpless cry and see her true feelings. She was already in love with his brother.

Luckily, unlike typical love stories; no one died that night. Sam's antidote worked. And Dean opened his eyes an hour later.

"Sammy … Y/n?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Y/n grabbed his face and put her thirsty lips on her beloved hunter's, letting the tears stream down on her face… and then his.

"Never do that again." She begged, breaking the kiss, her trembling hands holding Dean's face so she could look into his eyes.

Sam couldn't stop his smile remembering how cute they were. Y/n literally had Dean wrapped around her little finger, to the point he accepted to teach her how to hunt and soon she was part of their team too. Until … a few months ago. After two years of them being constantly close to each other, Sam could tell something was off when Dean started to go out without eating breakfast with Y/n. Of course she got suspicious after the third time and that was when their endless arguments started.

"Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

"Because nothing is wrong, Y/n."

Actually there was. Something was VERY wrong. Anyone could tell that just by the change in Dean's eyes whenever he wanted to look at Y/n. Day by day he was getting more quiet and cold. Now they didn't even eat pie together or watch movies late at night. And Sam couldn't ignore his brother being grumpy or drunk on hunts, not anymore.

"Ok man, I've had enough. You either tell me what's wrong with you or next time I won't make any excuses so you can leave Y/n out of our hunt plans. I'm serious, Dean, I'll tell her the truth." He finally said, when they were alone in the impala, on their way to do their next hunt.

"She wants more."

"More?"

"Yeah. Sometimes it's like she sees more in me. She thinks we can have a different life. There's no need for any saying, I can see it in her eyes whenever we accidentally come across some family at a diner that try to feed their kids or people's wedding photos whenever we go to talk with some witnesses or whoever during the research! Sometimes she even looks up wedding dresses or kid stuff on the net!" Dean blew his anger out of his nostrils and sighed, shaking his head.

"Wow." Sam couldn't find the proper word to say but he couldn't hide his surprised face either.

"What?" Dean gave him an annoyed look.

"I mean …" Sam chuckled. "… are you telling me you're actually angry with her for imagining the things you always dream about?!"

"Sam …"

"No, really. I'm just curious. What's wrong with you, man?" Sam asked genuinely, waiting for an answer.

"What's wrong with me?! You think something is wrong with me just because I'm the rational one in this relationship; who's actually able to see the difference between a dream and the reality?"

Yeah, anyone could take that earnest speech, but not Sam. He'd seen and knew enough about his brother.

"What's the reality? Aren't you and Y/N living that dream life already?"

"What?! No. No … that's not the same." Dean shook his head.

"Really? How is it not? It's been two years, Dean. You two are constantly with and/or around each other. Always worried when the other one is in trouble and still looking at one another like there is nothing in the world that can make you happy as much as this relationship. So … excuse me if I won't buy your pretty speech; man ." Sam said, Rolling his eyes.

"Ok, let's say you're right but ... is it gonna be like that forever? With all the supernatural crap that we have to take care of … and the constant danger and chaos in this hunter life we have… I …"

"You what?" Sam asked when Dean didn't finish his sentence. He was lost in his thoughts, staring at this unknown point in the depth of the road. Finally he blew out his despair.

"I just can't let her fall for the things I know I can't provide for her. It's not fair, Sammy. It's not fair to lock her up in this dark life with me just because she loves me … especially while I know there is a whole bright future out there waiting for her."

"Here we go, the old Dean's self-doubt" Sam thought to himself as he took a deep breath before finding the best words to wake his brother up from this nightmare

"Yeah, I know but I don't think it's your call. If Y/n wants to go to hell with you instead of living in heaven with someone else, it's her choice. Not your responsibility. Right?"

Dean shook his head while his lips curved up a little to fake a smile but he never answered or said anything about that conversation ever again. He kept his silence for like three weeks … until someone new showed up: "Gary Smith". A tall man with the most stylish haircut and the most perfect teeth and smile.

They saw him for the first time at their hangout bar, as the new bartender who almost jumped in Y/n's way as soon as they entered the bar.

"Oh my God, bunny! Is this really you?" He said, pulling her in his embrace. Like she was the long time missing piece of his beloved puzzle!

"Bonny? You're wrong. Her name is Y/n." Dean said, pretty annoyed by the way Gary tightened his arms around Y/n's little shoulders, making him chuckle.

"No, uh … it's just a nickname." Y/n said as soon as the guy let her go.

"Yeah, actually the most fitting nickname that I could think of. I mean … you have to agree. She got the most cute little ears in the world." The guy explained, chuckling and pulling on her little star earring. Well, if Sam wanted to be honest, he had to agree with him. He never paid any attention to it before but now that Gary mentioned it, he could tell Y/n's ears were truly small.

"I see … So … I guess this means you were close friends?" Dean said, already hating the way Y/n e's blushed with hearing her old nickname.

"Uh … well, no. Actually more than that." The guy grinned, ruffling his own hair while he was awkwardly laughing and looking at Y/n. Just like a proud embarrassed teen!

"We used to date." Y/n said.

*oh* Sam tried his best not to let that stupid grin sit on his lips but Dean's frown and his sudden heavy silence didn't let him do so.

"Yeah. We are kinda each other's first. Like … you know? prom date." The man added, giving Y/n a wink while Dean's gaze was still locked on his large arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah. It's been years, Gary."

"I know. But believe me, bunny. you still look the same." He said, bending to put a kiss on her right cheek.

Dean would kill him. Sam just knew that. Because his brother's eyes were already burning with jealousy.

"By the way, don't you wanna tell me who these gentlemen are ?" The guy asked Y/n, giving her his softest smile.

"Of course. This is Sam and this is Dean. My colleagues who are my friends now. I live in their place."

After they met, everything got even more complicated. Y/n, the girl who was still trying to get old-happy-days Dean back suddenly stopped whatever she used to do. No more complains, no waiting at nights to see Dean before going to bed, no more effort to get involved in hunts, no nothing. And despite what Dean had claimed before, it was making Dean even more frustrated. Day to day he and Y/n were getting colder towards each other and there was nothing he could do to fix it. That was what made him even more furious. Sam already knew all of that and he still had to live with both of those grumpy faces. So last night when they began to fight, he could see this was coming: Y/n left the bunker after Dean let some hurtful things out of his mouth, just because he didn't know how to deal with all the heartache anymore. He now was convinced that Y/n didn't love him anymore. Yet the next day after drinking whatever strong drink they had, he begged Sam to come with him. Apparently Jodie texted Dean about Y/n being in her place for that night. Just to make sure that her crazy step son won't sell his soul over a tracking spell! So Dean almost begged his brother to be there with him, cause Dean believed that as much as Y/n didn't care about him, she still respected Sam and cared about him. Like a little sister and her elder brother.

So here they were, In Jodie's living room, in front of her and Y/n.

"Considering your sleepy eyes, I think we caught you at bed time, huh?" Sam asked, checking Y/n's obvious eye bags.

"Who says that? I'm totally good, Sam."

She said with a small smile, looking much more in control and stronger than before. So Sam knew it was a lie. Y/n Just had made her peace with what had happened last night. The realization۹ kicked Dean in the gut. Y/n always used to be stronger and bolder when she got hurt.

"I'm gonna make some coffee for us. Why don't you guys take a seat till I come back?"

Jodie interrupted, to ease the heavy and sharp silence that suddenly had fallen over all of them.

Y/n gave her a smile.

"Of course."

It was so fake. Her smile didn't even curl her lips completely. She was still badly hurting.

Sam swore in his head when he looked over his brother who sank silently into the nearest seat at the end of the table like a broken shell that he was too . One of Dean's hands was in the pocket of his jacket, the other formed a fist on the table. Sam was sure Dean knew it too. He knew everything was almost past saving. "Almost". Sam tried to stick to their small chance.

"So …" He cleared his voice before he put some (semi fake) hope into his words."You're … you're gonna come back home today or did Alex and Claire made you promise them otherwise?" He laughed and tried to make it funny but the truth was he asked this for Dean's sake, knowing he already was struggling to find the words … to let Y/n know how much he wanted her back … to ask her to come back.

"To be honest … I don't think I can live in the bunker anymore." Y/n said and as Dean's head snapped up to look at her in horror, she raised her hand to stop his (likely) protests.

"I applied for a job 3 weeks ago and to my surprise they called me this morning to tell me I'd actually got it."

*What?*

No one had to ask it. The question was already hung in the air. She snored mockingly in her nose. "Perfect timing, right?"

She moved her gaze from her interlocked fingers on the table to Dean's eyes.

He didn't answer, he didn't move but he got tense. Still staring back at Y/n.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Sam asked, once again saving Dean from asking the question he was itching to ask with some other words that for sure couldn't be nice.

"I wanted to but I didn't think I could actually get it and even if I did, I never figured out how to tell you. Besides, I never considered the "move out" option before..." She looked at Sam for a second before she turned her gaze on Dean. "... But I actually appreciate that you bring it up. I think now I can take the advice. I'm gonna move on."

Sam's heart dropped in his stomach when he heard those words. Because he knew what this meant. It felt something like having to watch Dean get stabbed in the heart.

"Is this … because of that Bartender?" Dean asked, staring deadly at Y/n with his bloodshot eyes. He was already chewing on his bottom lip. And Sam knew a heavy storm was on its way to hit them.

"I don't want to answer that question."

*shit*

"Why? Because you can't just simply say no?" Dean scolded and Sam could see how it pushed on Y/n boundaries.

"No. Because it's not your fucking business and it's not Gary's business either. But at least he knows his limits."

*well, fuck*

"By "limits" you mean when he drools on you just because for God knows whatever the reason, you started to wear leather jackets when we go there?"

"WHAT?!"

*Oh, fuck* Sam thought to himself, watching Y/n rise from her seat.

"You think … you really think that I …" she laughed nervously and Sam could tell she would punch Dean in the face if she wasn't a sweet, super nice person.

"How you can even …"

"I can even what, Y/n? Are we now going to pretend like I'm a blind man who can't see how you got attracted to your ex again? Did you really think I couldn't see how your hands were shaking when his filthy face lighted up by seeing you for the first time after all these years?"

Sam wanted to interrupt him or at least leave the room but everything was happening so fast.

"So what? Why and since when you care about my private life?"

"Since you stopped drinking bunker's beers just because you rather drink those crappy poisonous cocktails he makes at the bar!"

Dean was on his feet now as well. And despite his will, Sam couldn't stop his smile. He never saw his brother this jealous before. It was fun.

"Poisonous? … You … of all people, you are the one who says this? cause as much as I know, you're the one who puts dormitives in my guest's food so the poor guy gets tired and can't spend his time with me!"

"Yeah, because your poor guy is not welcomed in MY PLACE!" Dean yelled, punching the table with so much power that made everyone almost jump out of their skins.

"Dean!" Finally Sam interrupted but as soon as he stood up, someone rang the doorbell and Sam could hear Jodie welcoming someone inside.

"Guys … I know it's not my place to interfere but you two really need to sort things out somewhere private … of course that's when both of you can be much calmer than this."

"No, we have nothing to say or to talk about, anymore. Your brother was clear enough when he said he wants me to move out, so I'll move out. And that's it."

Y/n declared, looking at Sam to resist any eye contact with Dean, probably to make him even more crazy.

"And that's it? You wanna ignore that part where you were too eager and ready to accept that suggestion and leave the bunker instantly like your pants were on fire?!"

Dean retorted while Y/n was shaking her head like she couldn't believe him.

"Whose pants are on fire?" Jodie interrupted as soon as she re-entered the room with the coffees she'd made, this time a man was with her. Y/n's guy. The famous bartender.

*Oh, No!*

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a second so the guy couldn't read his face.

"Obviously not mine." Dean hissed through his teeth, looking first at the guy and then at Y/n with such a disappointment and rage that no one could ignore.

"Hey, what's wrong?" The guy asked, choosing the worst spot to stand on: right next to Y/n.

"My typical life I guess. Nothing's new." She mumbled in reply to him but her eyes were still on Dean.

"No, nothing is wrong with your life, Y/n. It's about your choices. That's what's wrong with you. As always." Dean said bitterly. As sharp as a knife, as cold as ice. Sam could see how it drained color from Y/n's face.

"You better watch your mouth, buddy." The Gary guy warned Dean and Sam could tell that if it wasn't for the sudden thud sound that stole everyone's attention, Dean would throw a fight right there. But …

"Y/n!" Jodie almost screamed. Y/n was laying on the floor, seemingly unconscious.

"Oh, God." Sam said as Jodie rushed to her.

"Y/n? … Y/n can you hear me?"

As she sat next to her, Gary's fingers already were on Y/n's carotid pulse point. So Sam couldn't stop himself from looking up at his brother, who was still standing where he was. In shock.

"Oh, shit!" Gary's worried voice made Sam check Y/n's pale face again but Jodie was the one to dare ask the question which was on everyone's minds.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Her pulse ... too faint." He said before turning to Dean: "Is she bleeding?"

"Bleeding?" Dean blinked and mumbled in confusion.

If it was up to Sam, he'd ask *What bleeding?* & *Why are you asking this from my brother?*

"Oh my. You still don't know. Do you?" Gary sneered.

"Know what? What's happening?" Jodie was freaking out now and Sam actually felt the same. He didn't like the way this stranger pretended like he knew her better than them. However what happened next was much more unexpected. And … rude!

To everyone's surprise, the guy reached out to Y/n's jeans and drew his hand between her legs but before anyone could react, he spread her legs open so it could be possible for everyone to see that big red stain there. Then he raised his hand. It was all wet and red in blood!

"She's having a miscarriage." He revealed.

Sam's gaze instantly caught Dean's ... Burning. Dean was burning inside with his heavy silence.

"Don't you worry. It's not mine." Gary added more fuel to that hell with such a mocking tone, staring right back at Dean's eyes.

Now Sam could feel it. The storm was there: rising in his brother's roar!

Before Sam could've moved any muscles, Gary was already pinned to the wall, Dean's hands on his now-ripped-out collar.

"Dean, no!" Sam jumped in, trying to catch his brother's arm before his fist make any contact with the guy's nose but all he could do was changing the direction of the punch which landed on Gary's shoulder, making a painful cracking sound.

"I said no … Dean, stop it." Sam had to literally cage Dean in his arms so the furious man couldn't tear Gary apart.

"Get off me, Sam. This son of a bitch has to learn his place."

"Enough!" As Dean just broke himself free, Jodie's scream stopped everyone in their tracks.

"It's enough!" Jodie warned all three men, pointing at them one by one.

"You want to fight? Not here. Not in my house!"

"But ..."

As soon as Dean opened his mouth to protest, Jodie cut him:

"And you … you should know Y/n is pregnant with your twins. So … you'll be a responsible man who will try his best to save them or you can get the hell out of here and never come back!"

"What?" Sam was too shocked to suppress his reaction while Dean couldn't even find any words to say. His confused look darted between Jodie's face and Y/n's figure while his parted lips kept moving without making any noise, just like a dying fish on the shore!

"I promised her not to tell anyone but it was a promise under normal conditions, not this." Jodie sighed, struggling to keep her emotions under control. Sam saw the worry in her frown. Like a real mother, worried for her children. However it was nothing in comparison to his brother's blank eyes and pale face.

"Dean, It's ok. We just need to take her to hospital. … it's ok, man. I promise."

He had to grab Dean by his jacket, as his brother was struggling to process all of these in his head.

"Come on, man. We got no time. Do I need to do this alone or you'll …"

"Get the car, Sammy."

It was just a simple sentence. Yet it had enough power to make Sam's heart sank. Since Dean had put the car keys in his hand saying that, Sam couldn't stop thinking about that tone. Dean never had called Baby a "car" In years. And Sam had never heard that crack in his voice since their Dad's death.

"You ok?" He finally let himself ask, two hours after they arrived at the hospital.

"I want to be." Dean closed his eyes and put his head against the cold wall, letting the dim light to darken the shadows under his eyes.

"I'm sure she'll be good. She's strong, Dean. You know that."

He smiled and Sam looked away not to watch him. He knew that smile. Dean used to give him that, whenever everything was gone so wrong that Dean couldn't promise him anything good. Like when both of them were still kids. Hungry, cold and all alone in a rusty motel room where John had left them on their own for a one day long hunt but then a heavy snow had crashed the roads and kept them apart for half a week. So Dean had to wash the dishes and do the laundry in the motel to rent the room for another day and provide some snacks so they wouldn't starve to death. But after three days, the hotel managers didn't want them to be around. And Sam could vividly remember that smile on his brother's face when he asked: *Where should we go then?*

"You were always such a father material. You know?"

Sam admitted with a broken smile on his face.

"You were always responsible, kind and caring with me as a kid. And I can't imagine anyone who deserves to be a father more than you."

Dean took a deep breath and opened his eyes without looking at him: "But I don't want ... I really can't, Sammy."

All, it certainly wasn't the response Sam had expected. He used to believe that Dean would never turn down any chance to start a family with Y/n. Especially after everything in the world was back to normal.

"Are you kidding me? You always wanted this."

"No …" Dean finally turned his gaze to meet his brother's confused eyes. "No, Sammy. Not like this. I don't want to raise another kid without his mom. I'm not that strong anymore."

Dang. Once again Sam's heart dropped in his stomach. Dean was really helpless.

"Mr. Winchester?"

Dean was on his feet as Sam just realized the doctor's presence.

"It's me."

Sam prayed for any good news as doctor took a glance of Dean and fixed his glasses on his face …

"To be continued …"

READ CHAPTER 2 HERE

tag list:

@jay-and-dean @adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278

The next and also ultimate chapter will post on Sunday, April 25. Thanks for reading.

Feedback are always appreciated.

[bellakitse]

I've got the remedy

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

+

Derek gets sick with werewolf flu, and Stiles is left to watch over him. Their mutual crushes come to a head.

“Werewolf flu?”

Stiles Stilinski looks at his friend Lydia Martin dubiously as she stands in front of the stove, heating up soup. She’d called as he barely crossed back into the town lines – home on break from school, with an SOS text telling him to get his ass out to the Hale house. That wasn’t the surprising part, even being away at Berkeley didn’t stop the wolfy emergency-related texts. However, he could admit that their dear Alpha had a better handle on things these days, and he didn’t get too many ‘the world is coming to an end; we need your google-fu, Stiles’ call these days.

Not that Derek was willing to call his impressive skills ‘google-fu’ in the first place, no matter how much Stiles insists. Just because the big guy had mellowed out over the years doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a sourwolf.

Lydia rolls her eyes at him, probably because she has explained twice, and he’s still not getting it. “Peter didn’t precisely tell us – “

“What?” he drags out sarcastically. “You mean Peter Hale was vague about something?”

Lydia shoots him another look, more annoyed than the last, and Stiles smiles delighted, riling her up is one of his favorite pastimes. “Yes, shocker,” she says, returning his tone. “And he didn’t call it werewolf flu, but that’s essentially what it is, and Derek has it.”

Stiles frowns, looking up at the kitchen ceiling like it’s going to open up and show him their Alpha. “Is he okay?”

Lydia rolls her eyes yet again, and Stiles is starting to worry for her eyesight if she continues this way. “Yes. He’s just more irritating, if that’s even possible. Werewolves barely ever get sick, so he’s handling it oh so gracefully,” she tells him. The aggravation in her voice makes him wince.

“Where is everyone?” he questions. He knows the pack arrived days ago, him being the last one to come back to town due to a late paper he had to hand in.

“Far away,” Lydia answers as she turns off the stove. “I called Deaton. He said that while rare, the werewolf flu is contagious to other werewolves, so I sent them away because I couldn’t bear the thought of dealing with more supernatural whiny babies.”

Stiles snorts loudly at that. “Can’t Derek hear you right now?”

Lydia raises an eyebrow at him. “Like I care about the big bad wolf?” she asks, her mouth quirking upward when a growl vibrates through the house. Stiles shakes his head, amused. It’s times like this when he remembers why he was in love with her for so long.

“Okay, so why did you call me?” he asks, instantly regretting it when she gives him a bright smile. “No.”

“Stiles – “

He shakes his head quickly. “No, you just said he’s moodier than ever – “

“He needs someone to make sure he doesn’t drown in his own snot,” she says patiently, and the house shakes again with another growl.

“His betas – “ he tries over the huff Lydia lets out.

“Will get sick if they come near him,” she reminds him. “You really want to deal with a sick pack?”

Stiles lets out a sigh of his own as he reluctantly shakes his head. Scott alone used to be such a nightmare when he got sick before his wolfy transformation. “What about Allison?” he questions desperately.

Lydia looks at him like he’s stupid, and he knows why. Even years later, Allison and Derek aren’t particularly close. She’s pack because she’s Scott’s mate, but she’d probably just end up putting Derek out of his misery before bringing him tea with honey.

“You?” he questions in a last-ditch effort, knowing it useless by the way she looks at him.

“What exactly do you think I have been doing the last three days when I should have been studying, Stiles?”

“We’re on break,” he argues.

“You don’t win a Fields Medal by slacking off,” she shoots back with a flip of her hair. “Besides, I’m not Florence Nightingale.”

“And I am?” he asks. “What makes you think that leaving me with a sick and, per your words, grumpier Derek Hale is a good idea? I’m just going to annoy him more than usual, which I’m sure is not going to make him feel better faster.”

Lydia gives him a look that Stiles has come to know as her ‘Stiles, you’re such an idiot’ face. He’s used to it, but he’s not sure what he’s said right now to warrant it.

“What?” he questions when she continues to look at him like that.

Lydia rolls her eyes because it seems irritation is her default setting for the day and starts to make her way out of the kitchen into the living room to gather her jacket and purse. “The soup is ready. Make him drink plenty of water, and there are these herbs Deaton gave us. It’s already brewed. He has to drink that too. Word of warning, he says it tastes like death, so he’s going to pout about it. Make sure he drinks it in front of you. The first day the big baby poured it down the toilet.”

“Lydia, please,” he tries again as she puts her jacket on and heads for the door.

“Stiles, go upstairs and take care of your guy,” she tells him as she turns to face him once more, sighing loudly when he starts to stammer.

“My guy?” Stiles squeaks, and he hopes Derek is too loopy to hear this conversation or the way his heart is racing. “I don’t –“

Proving that she can be even more unimpressed with him still, Lydia rolls her eyes in a way that makes it seem it’s with her whole body.

“I don’t have time for your panic, so let me lay it out for you,” she says, not waiting for him to speak. “You two talk over the phone all the time. When you and I talk, you end up talking about him, and you get stupidly excited about making him laugh. He softens around you like no one else. You like each other, Stiles, and while it’s amusing for the rest of us to watch this little mating dance of yours, it’s also tedious as hell. Now, Derek has been a pain in the ass the last few days, and I guarantee you that you being here will put him in a better mood. So, I repeat, go upstairs and take care of your man.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but nothing comes out as he tries to process the truth bomb Lydia just dropped on his head. Seemingly taking his silence as an answer, she smiles, pleased with the havoc she has just wreaked, and walks out of the house, leaving him alone with a sick werewolf.

“Right,” he says to himself after a moment, closing his mouth and the door. He heads back to the kitchen, working on autopilot as he serves the soup Lydia heated up, pouring some of the herb-tea Lydia mentioned that does indeed smell like death and some water, placing it all on a carrying tray. All the while, he thinks about Lydia’s comments and the truth behind them.

He and Derek do talk all the time, sometimes for hours, about nothing and everything. He does get a ridiculous amount of joy when he can make the man laugh, and he’d been looking forward to coming home and seeing him, hoping to see and hear that laugh in person. There’s also the undeniable fact that he’s had a crush on Derek since high school, something he thought he’d manage to hide pretty well, but if Lydia’s words were true, then maybe not so much.

He feels his face go hot at the idea that the pack might be aware of his feelings, or worse, Derek. Because even if by some chance he wasn’t aware of them before, there’s no way he’s lucky enough for Derek not to have heard Lydia now.

Every part of him is screaming at him to get back in his jeep and drive home where he could hide under his bed until it’s time to go back to school. Instead, he grabs the tray and starts to make his way up the renovated Hale house. He’s faced scarier things than his feelings since learning about the supernatural, and it’s not the first time he’s been interested in someone wildly out of his league.

It’s his M.O.

Besides, there’s no way he could actually leave a sick Derek alone to be miserable if he can make him feel better. Lord knows the guy has had enough misery in his life. With that in mind, he pushes the door to Derek’s room with his hip, ready to deal with whatever is inside.

What he isn’t ready for is how good Derek looks. Stiles hasn’t seen him in person in months since his last break, and he looks amazing. Leave it to Derek Hale to get some strange supernatural cold and still look like a GQ model.

Derek is sitting up on the bed, and except for an impressive bedhead and unusually flushed cheeks under his scruff, he looks as gorgeous as ever.

“Life is truly unfair,” he whispers to himself, getting a raised eyebrow in return.  “What? Of course you would look this good while sick,” he says with narrowed eyes. Frankly, he’s annoyed by just how beautiful Derek is sometimes. “Can’t be like us lesser mortals who look like death when we have the flu? Do you just have to show us up?”

Derek stares at him for another moment before giving him an impressive eye-roll of his hazel-green eyes. “Why are you the most ridiculous person I know?”

Stiles snorts. “That’s simply not true. You also know Scott,” he answers as he makes his way towards the bed, tray in hand, silently apologizing to his friend for the dig.

Derek’s lips twitch for a second before he schools his features, but Stiles still catches it and celebrates the win with an amused grin of his own. It softens a bit as he sits down on the side of the bed, placing the tray on the bedside table to get a better look at Derek.

He stands by his original opinion that Derek Hale is just way too gorgeous in general, much more for someone sick with a magical flu, but this close, he can see the bit of bruising around his eyes from the lack of sleep. His cheeks are rosy-pink from sickness, and before he can stop himself, he reaches out to press his hand against one.

Derek lets out a surprised sound at his touch that startles Stiles into realizing what he’s done. He goes to take his hand off the werewolf, ready to apologize for overstepping when Derek gives him a surprise of his own by leaning into his touch, his pretty eyes fluttering shut, a peaceful look coming over his face.

Stiles holds his breath as Derek lets out another lovely rumbling sound from deep in his throat.

“Your hand is cool,” Derek murmurs softly, his eyes slowly opening to look at him. “It feels nice.”

Stiles bites down on his lip, feeling his stomach clench when Derek’s eyes drift to them, and he licks his own.

Holy shit, Lydia was right. This whole time he had figured that this was just one-sided. That it was him once again developing feelings for someone who would never return his affections. But looking at Derek now, he sees the same want and longing he sees in the mirror every day.

“Oh, screw you,” he breathes out, tightening his hold on Derek when he tries to pull away. “Nope, you don’t get to retreat now, sourwolf,” he warns him with narrowed eyes, proving his suspicions real by the way he listens to him. “You heard Lydia earlier,” he challenges with a raised eyebrow.

“I have good ears,” Derek grumbles back.

“So you heard her when she said we have feelings for each other,” he says, his heart beating faster than usual with anxiety, and he knows Derek can hear that too. Derek’s almost timid, hopeful expression when he gives him a single nod helps ease that worry as he starts to feel hopeful too. “Only all this time, I thought I was the only one with feelings here.”

“I thought you were the smart one,” Derek murmurs, a small grin playing on his lips when he sputters indignantly.

Stiles huffs loudly, even as he’s unable to stop the silly grin that takes over his face.

“Your heartbeat sounds happy,” Derek tells him softly as he looks down to his chest.

“You like me back,” he answers, letting out an incredulous laugh when Derek smiles at him, not denying it. Instead, he looks at him fondly, causing Stiles’ heart to skip a beat at being the recipient of such a rare and special look. “I’m more than happy right now, Derek,” he shakes his head. Happy doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Derek smiles again, pushing off the mountain of pillows behind him, reaching out for him. Stiles does the same, placing his hands on Derek’s bare shoulders, playing with the edge of his white tank top. His face gets inches away from Stiles’ when he stops.

“Wait – “ he starts as Stiles already shakes his head.

“No, no waiting,” he whines, wrapping his fingers around the material of his shirt, leaning forward. He rubs the tip of his nose against Derek’s even as he tries to close the last inch of distance between their lips. “I have had a crush on you since like junior year, Derek. No waiting, no wasting any more time, kissing now.”

Derek chuckles slightly. This close up he can see Derek’s eyes shining with joy, and Stiles wants to be responsible for that from now on.

“I’m sick, remember?”

“Affects werewolves, not humans,” he mutters as he brushes his lips against Derek’s, sighing at the feel of their softness. His sigh turns into a low moan as Derek gives in, hauling him onto his lap, proving that werewolf flu or not, his strength is still superior.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck as he cradles him between his legs. He kisses him slow and deeply, thoroughly, it being such a long time coming. He sinks his fingers into Derek’s hair gripping it harder than he intended, pulling on it on reflex when Derek gives his bottom lip a bite. The pleased growl Derek lets out against his mouth vibrates down his whole body, making his spine tingle. He breaks the kiss to take a breath, only for it to turn into a gasp when Derek ducks to kiss his way down his neck.

“Totally worth the risk,” he gets out, moaning as Derek traces his moles with his tongue.

Derek laughs against his throat. He pulls back to look at him, smiling widely. “You say that now, but don’t complain later if you do get sick.”

Stiles shrugs his shoulders, not really worried or caring right now when he’s in Derek’s arms. “If it happens, we’ll stay in bed together until we’re both better,” he answers, his eyes lighting up as he speaks. “Actually, that’s a great idea. Let’s stay in bed.”

He waggles his eyebrows, grinning when Derek huffs, rolling his eyes at him.

“The most ridiculous person I know,” he mutters right as he rolls them over, ignoring the yelp Stiles lets out at the sudden movement.

Stiles blinks up at the ceiling while Derek throws an arm and a leg over him, settling around Stiles like he’s his own personal body pillow.

“What about the soup?” he questions even as he starts combing his fingers through Derek’s silky hair, scratching at his scalp with blunt nails.

“Mhmm,” Derek hums out, his face tucked into Stiles’ neck, already sounding half-asleep. “It will keep.”

Stiles laughs softly, but still, he wraps his arms more securely around the sleeping wolf, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead because he can now, closing his eyes too.

The soup can wait.

[hollanderfangirl]

Let me go |Harry Holland|

Pairing: Harry Holland x Therapist! Reader

A/N: so I'm not a therapist and I've never been to therapy, well if you don't consider the sessions with my psychology teacher. All of what I've written comes from what I've learnt in psychology class, reading books and listening to other people's experiences.

Warnings: talk about death, panic attack and it's just really sad

Word count: 3.3k, this is my longest fic yet :)

(Sorry for the shitty moodboard I just had to post this fic or I would have lost my mind)

Harry Holland walked through the halls of the clinic, not really sure why he was here. Well he knew why he had come to see a therapist but he wondered how he put himself in this situation. He had been locking himself inside a glass cave built out of hopelessness for months, his friends and family were greatly concerned about him but he refused to take any help. He had always been stubborn, he never asked for anybody's help. He hated the look of pity on people's faces. He hated people showing him sympathy. He was more than this. He didn't need anybody. He can pull himself together, he just needed time.

But it wasn't helping. Burying your feelings in has never helped anybody. Putting on a smile everyday in front of people and crying himself to sleep, Harry found it more and more difficult. His mum had sensed it and told him to go and see a doctor. He had resisted it at first. 

"Please do it for me, Harry. I cannot see you like this, at least for my satisfaction," Nikki had said. "Just go for a trial session and if you like it then you can continue," but of course he wasn't going to continue. 

Now as he stood in front of the receptionist, he was reconsidering his decision. 

"Yes, do you have an appointment, sir?" 

"Huh?" he seemed lost. "Yeah..yeah" 

"Just wait here, I'll inform Dr Y/l/n" 

"Your know what, cancel the appointment. I- I don't need help" 

"Oh but this is just a trial, Mr Holland" 

"Yeah but I don't-" the receptionist was already at the door, muttering something to the woman inside. 

You step outside to see a curly headed man, he looked pleasant but his eyes looked sad. Those were the eyes of a person who had seen immense grief, someone who had been miserable for a long long time. 

"I'm sorry but I don't need therapy… I didn't realise this before, I -I shouldn't have come here" 

"Oh Mr Holland, this is just a trial right? Let's just have some coffee. This isn't therapy yet" you smile at him. 

"No I really-" 

"Okay then, give me half an hour. If you still feel the same way, then you can leave. Half an hour is all I want from you, Mr Holland" 

"Alright" 

You lead him into your chamber, closing the door behind you. He sits down on a couch across from you, your desk separating you both. The first step of therapy- resistance. People always resist therapy at first, they feel like they don't need the help or maybe seeking help makes them weak. They don't feel like opening up to a complete stranger. How can they? How can they open up their most vulnerable state to a person who they barely know? But slowly and steadily, a rapport is made. A therapist has to be very careful and empathetic. They have to be trusting. Someone who people can turn to. Someone who they can relate to. Someone who understands them. Someone who would just listen. 

"So, your mother sent you here. Right, Mr Holland?" 

"Just- just call me Harry" 

"Okay then Harry, tell me" 

"What do you want me to tell you?" 

"Everything. Start from the beginning" 

"Well I- do you… do you really think I would-" he hesitates. "Who do you think you are? Why do you think I should pay you to listen to my goddamn life story here?" 

"You're not here to tell me your life story," you say politely. "I'm here to help you and I can do that only if you would let me" 

"Well guess what? You cannot help me, I knew I was wasting my time," he gets up and starts to walk away. 

"I asked for half an hour of your time, Harry" 

"Well I don't fucking care" 

"Harry, please listen to me. All I ask is half an hour" 

Little did he know, this half an hour was going to change his life. 

Something about your tone made him stay. He sat back down on the couch, turning away from you. 

"Okay, so if you're not going to talk, I will," you sigh. "So, you have suffered a great loss, someone you loved dearly?" 

"Yes," he still didn't look you in the eye. 

"Who was it?" 

"My…my friend. Girlfriend" 

"And when did this happen?" 

"A year ago" 

"How have you been holding up?" 

He thought of giving another vague answer. How the fuck do you think I'm holding up? I'm fucking dying every single day. 

"Uh- it's been a little better, I guess. It's not as bad as it used to be" 

"Well that's a start. And do you still think about her?" 

Every goddamn minute, lady. What do you want from me? "Yeah sometimes" 

"And how have you been sleeping?" 

I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly for months. If I sleep I see her coming back to me. "Alright I guess" 

This wasn't going anywhere. You thought of recommending him another doctor but something about him charmed you. He was a man who should have been living a great life but his grief was tearing him apart. You had to help him. You felt a strong connection to him, you felt determined. No, I have to help him. I just have to.

"Harry, do you feel like you're responsible for your girlfriend's death?" it was a straightforward question, you had been trying to get something out of him but he wasn't ready to. 

He looked at you dead in the eye, yet could not get any words out. You could sense the anger building up inside him but it wasn't projected at you, he was angry with himself. 

"I….. " he took a few deep breaths, clenching his hands into fists. "Yes" 

"Why is that so?" 

"Fucking hell! Are you for real? She died, okay? And I wasn't there… I wasn't there.. " he was tearing up. "I should have been the one to die! Not her! Not anybody! Everyone just leaves me in the end!" he was full on shouting, letting out everything he had been holding inside himself for a whole year. He had tears in his eyes.

You handed him a box of tissues and he was gasping for breath. When he had calmed down, you both sat in silence for a few minutes. 

"You know, Harry, my friend died the day we had a fight. She was my best friend. I knew her ever since we were three. It was a silly argument. We should not have fought about it. But we did and I told her I wished she would just go away… and then she did" it was painful for you to remember this, but time does heal everything. 

"I'm sorry," his voice was low. "And I'm sorry for all those things I said" 

"No it's alright, that's what you're here for. And besides, it's nothing compared to your loss, Harry" 

"No. It- it's not a competition. Suffering is not a competition. It must've been really hard for you, Dr y/l/n," this was the first time he had addressed you. 

"Call me y/n," you smile at him. "And yeah that's very true. We often blame ourselves, you know, it's very common. We cannot be angry at them so we get angry with ourselves. Even though we know deep in our hearts that there was nothing we could have done" 

There was a long silence. 

"She went out for a drive, that bastard drunk driver," he spoke up. "And I was just resting. She asked me so many times to join her but I wanted to sleep" 

You nod at him and he continued. "That's…the reason I'm not able to sleep. Every night I close my eyes, I think I'll wake up to that phone call" 

"Well yes I don't blame you, our brains sometimes don't process things that come as a shock. And then it just keeps on haunting us forever. Do you believe in life after death, Harry?" 

"Well I don't know what to believe" 

"Have you- felt her? After she was gone?" 

"You'll think I'm crazy" 

"I'm a therapist, it'll take you much more than that to convince me you're crazy" 

"I sometimes talk to her. Like what would she think about this particular situation. Or just that I miss her so much. I don't get any responses but I just try to think like her?" 

"Yeah, that's quite normal actually. People think they need to 'get over' someone's death. But that's not true. You can never really get over something like death" 

"And what does getting over even mean? Like you just forget them? Moving on with your life just means that you think they were never a part of it" 

"Well you're both right and wrong. Yes we must remember our loved ones who are not with us anymore but at the same time, we have to let them go" 

"How? It's too painful" 

"I know. But do you believe in the concept of souls, Harry?" 

"Yeah I mean," he shrugs. 

"The soul is considered to be immortal. And groups of souls tend to travel together. Even if you don't know it, some way, somehow, they're always with us" 

He says nothing but his eyes looked softer now. 

"And just think about it, think of her seeing you like this. Do you think she could have handled you being so miserable?" 

"She would have been heartbroken" 

"Exactly. So do it for her, for yourself. For both of you to feel peace again" 

"Yeah" 

You look at your watch. Half an hour was up. 

"So, Harry. Your half an hour is up. Is there anything else?" 

"Yes, um we can talk about it in our next session?" 

You smile at him. "Of course" 

                          ----------------

After that one half an hour session, Harry was a changed man. He was still mourning, he was still miserable but he had hope. For the first time in a long time, he thought he could actually go on with his life, he could finally feel peace.

The week went by smoothly. Harry tried to make himself busy, by surrounding himself with people and always working. He was still getting nightmares but he was determined to sleep. He was sleeping light, afraid of what deep sleep might show him.

Meanwhile your life was exactly the same, you went on with your day treating people, talking, helping them. You loved your job, you loved the sense of satisfaction you got after patients they told you they were finally better. Every person was a challenge, and you knew there was a gem hidden inside every one of them. All of them had immense potential but life hadn't been kind to them. You felt disturbed and it broke your heart to see people hurting. And you would do anything to make it better for them. To help them.

You couldn’t keep Harry out of your mind. You were thinking about him all day long, awaiting your next session with him. What if he cancels? What can I do if he does? Why am I thinking about him? He had this air around him, a magnetic pull, which was pulling your closer and closer towards him. And why is he so damn attractive? No I should not think about him that way. It was the first and foremost rule of your profession. Never get emotionally attached with your clients. It was a professional relationship and must remain that way.

When he came into your office the following week, you could sense the change in him. You felt proud that a single session made such a difference. There was no arrogance in him, he didn’t seem angry anymore. He was calm and better.

“So, Harry. How was your week?”

“It was good, I’ve been shooting my new short film and it’s coming out to be okay so far”

“Alright and how have you been sleeping?”

“Not that good to be honest. I still get dreams, uh bad dreams”

“What do you see in these dreams?”

“I see the accident scene….again and again, it’s the same dream. Sometimes I see her, she talks to me and all that”

“Hmm and have you talked to your family? Your friends?”

“Yeah I talked to my mum…and my brother”

“What did they say?”

“They said they are here for me and will always love me”

“Yes and I don’t doubt that, Harry. You have a lot of people in your life who love and support you. Embrace that”

The session went by smoothly, he opened up to you about his life, everything about the girl he loved so much. About his family, his career. You found yourself staring at him, taking glances at his hands which he constantly moved while he talked. You noticed he was shaking his leg the whole time. Stop staring, y/n.

Wow she’s so beautiful. And thoughtful. And funny and understanding. What am I doing? She’s my therapist….but…why couldn’t I have met her before? Why didn’t I meet her when I was normal? Would things have been different? But then again, I would have never met her if I was normal.

Things seemed to get better, as the weeks progressed, Harry was becoming more and more like his old self again. But there was a feeling of regret, he thought this was wrong as if he were forgetting her. But you were there to guide him, to tell him that this is what life is. It never stops. No matter what happens, you will heal. Someday, sometime. And each day we progress towards it.

And then it happened. The call came at 1 am in the morning. You were sleeping and you were tired, you had been working all day and just needed some rest. You wouldn't have picked the call up but something told you it was important. That you should pick it up.

“Hello?” you yawn.

You just hear muffled breathing for a few seconds.

“Hello? Who is it?”

“It…it’s me…Harry”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” you thought what could have happened at this time of the night.

“I just- can you-” he sounded like he was choking.

“Harry what’s wrong, you’re scaring me”

“I… can’t… breathe,” you hear him sobbing. ”I had… that… dream, I feel like I’m…going to…die”

“Harry, listen to me. You will be okay. Yeah? Just take deep breaths and sit tight. I’m coming to you”

You search through his file to look for his address. When you find it, you rush through the front door and drive to his house. You were on the phone with him the whole drive.

“Just keep breathing, Harry. Deep breaths, okay?”

To your surprise, the front door was unlocked. It looked like he had gone out into the street in the middle of the night. You search through rooms to find him, and you see him curled into a ball at the corner of a king size bed. You touch his shoulder and he flinches.

“Hey, hey it’s just me. It’s alright”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know who else to call,” he was crying, with the tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes looked small and they looked red from the lack of sleep and of tears.

“It’s alright, Harry. Just come here, it’ll be alright,” you pull him towards yourself him and he buries his face into your chest and you held him, stroking his hair and telling him it will be alright.

“That’s it. Let it out, Harry. It’s okay to cry”

You both stayed like that for another 15 minutes. He couldn’t stop crying and you knew he needed that. He had been holding everything in for so long and it just came out like an explosion tonight. You wiped his tears and made him meditate for a few minutes.

He fell asleep and you stayed up all night, looking at him. He looked so innocent while he slept, and cute too, you thought hiding a blush, even though nobody was there to look at you.

That night, Harry finally felt at peace. He was finally able to sleep. He had no nightmares, just a peaceful dream. He saw his girlfriend, running away from him in a white dress with her hair flowing in the wind.

Please don’t leave me, darling. I love you.

I know you do Harry, but you must let me go. I will always be with you. I will always love you. It is time you start caring about yourself, you must let me go. It is time.

No! don’t leave me!

And he woke up. Something about this dream told him that she was right. It was time. He was finally ready to let her go. For both of their sakes.

He went down to find you sleeping on the couch. He was hesitant at his thoughts but deep down he knew he was falling for you. Am I just using her to cope with my loss? Or do I really love her?

You opened your eyes, looking at Harry sitting on the ground, pushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“Good morning, how did you sleep?”

“Better. Really really better. I- I don’t know how to thank you, y/n and I’m so sorry”

“Hey it’s alright, and I’m glad I could help,” you smile. “I should go now, I have to get to work”

“Let me make breakfast and let me drive you to your house”

“Oh no it’s okay I can-”

“I owe this much to you, y/n. Let me”

“Okay”

                              -----------------

It wasn’t until another week when Harry had his next session. You had been thinking about him all the time, you were confused, it wasn’t supposed to go this way. But he….who am I kidding I’m in love with him.

When he walked through the door on a Thursday morning next week, he looked healthy and happier than ever. You felt a sense of happiness yourself, therapy is always beneficial to both the patient and the therapist. Every person is a deep universe, their thoughts, experiences, pain, joy, everything. Empathising with clients is a great learning experience, it becomes a part your personality. It becomes a part of you.

“Hey y/n”

“Hi Harry”

“So my week as been as it’s always and I’ve been feeling a lot better ever since that day…and that dream” he had told you about the dream he had the night you watched him sleep. He seemed to completely change after that, he let go of the intense emotions he had been carrying around.

“That’s very good and you’ve made a lot of progress since our first meeting”

“Yeah…I have”

The session went on as usual, he talked about everything that happened, he started fighting with his brothers again, which he hadn’t done in a long time and even though they were pissed off at him, they were happy to have him back.

“Um Harry,” you say at the end of the session. “I think-” you try to choose your words correctly. “I think it’s about time you start seeing another therapist, yeah?”

You see his face drop. “wh-why? I’m doing so much better, is..is it because of that night? I’m so sorry y/n”

“No it’s not that. You and I both know what’s happening between us, it’s wrong for a therapist to get emotionally attached with her patient. I’m sorry, Harry”

“So you’re saying that you’re becoming emotionally attached with me?”

“I..I’m-“

“It’s alright. I understand y/n”

“Yes, thank you. This has been great”

“So… now that you’re not my therapist, can I meet you for coffee this evening?”

“Harry-“

“Half an hour, Dr y/l/n. Just give me half an hour of your time, if you still feel the same way, I’ll never bother you again”

“Uh-" you hesitate. You knew you should have said no. You were going to say no. Yet the words which came out of your mouth were “Okay then, it’s a date”

--------------

Taglist:

@mischiefmanaged011 @notsosmexy @perspectiveparker @justanothermarvelmaniac @amorhollands @thisetaernallove @halfblood-princess-505 @spidey-reids-2003 @peterspideysstuff @musicalkeys @theliterarymess @ilarbu @hollands-weasley @tombob2005 @tommysparker @god-knows-what-am-i-doing @parkerpeter24 @more-like-reyna @hollandbroz-n-haz @aqiise

[mistress-of-odd-pairings]

Sam was actually scared at how fast things had gotten out of control. He had no idea where Dean or Cas were, and while he was worried, he needed to get out of this hell hole first.

What had started out as a routine ghost chase had turned into a nightmare of the shape-shifting witch veriety.

Unfortunately as he tried to feel along the walls in the pitch black for a door, a flashlight fell on him.

"Sammy?"

"Dean?!"

"Sammy! I've been looking everywhere! Are you okay?!"

Sam nodded shakily.

"Just a little freaked out. Did you find an exit?"

Dean shook his head.

"I was looking. Cas is looking the other direction. We were looking for you."

Sam frowned. Something was wrong. But he didn't want to let on yet.

"Well a flashlight will be useful. Thanks. Let's go find Cas and he can fluttershy us out of here...

They began to look around again, though it was fairly clear that "Dean" wasn't actually looking.

"You know, I'm surprised he didn't come to my calls. Did he forget he's an angel again? I mean i know we just got married but shit, he can't be bored of me that fast right?"

He chuckled. Of course this was a complete lie.

"Heh."

Was the only reply. After a few more moments of the silence meandering through the dark wet basement, Dean suddenly turned him.

"Hey Sammy I have a confession. "

Sam did not like where this was going.

"Oh, like...what? Don't you wanna get Cas and get the hell...."

He grabbed Sams chin roughly and pulled him down i to a deep kiss.

"Dean!"

Sam fell back against the wall, wiping his mouth out with his shirt. That was definitely not his brother. In fact, in horror he watched as the figure began to crack and split and the image of his brother was ripped away only for a copy of himself to appear. His chest heaved, his head swam.

"I'm not just a shape shifter. I'm also a witch and I needed your hair for the final ingredient. I no longer need you. So please, go quietly to your death with your brother and your lover."

Sam was too scared and too shocked to move as he raised a dagger to stab him when suddenly there was a blinding light. He shielded his eyes as his doppelganger exploded.

"Cas?!"

When the light faded he looked up and all his breath was sucked out as he saw Lucifer standing there, wings spread, pulling an angel blade from the steaming body. His legs felt like jelly and before he could do anything more than whisper a soft "no", he was out, sliding down the wall.

There were a lot of emotions going on as he slowly opened his eyes. He heard a soft voice and felt gentke fingers.

"I'm sorry Sam. For everything. I had a really long talk with dad and we forgave each other. I know i have so much atoning to do."

Sam was shivering, chest heaving as he tried to catch a breath.

"Don't...hurt me. Please."

At this, Dean and Cas burst in.

"Okay get out. You're just scaring him."

Lucifer looked down at Sam a moment with a soft frown.

"Tell me how i can make it right."

Sam looked up at him, having a little more strength with his brother in the room.

"I don't know. I don't know if i believe you. I shouldn't. But...you saved my life..."

He swallowed hard and watched him leave.

Over the next few months Sam got less scared of him. He really was proving to have turned a new leaf. He went on hunts and served as Sam's personal guardian. One night the four of them sat drinking in the bunker and Sam was in a very good mood. Finally Lucifer felt confident enough, and decided to do it with the others to make Sam feel safe. Not pressured. He looked up from his shot.

"Hey Sam, truth or dare?"

Sam chuckled.

"Oh no, the last time i chose dare Dean had me streaking the girls camp in tenth grade. Okay okay, truth."

Lucifer side eyed Dean who looked away with half a chuckle. He might have been kind of a dick to Sam sometimes.

"Would you ever consider dating me?"

Sam stared at him for a moment.

"Wait, are you serious?"

Lucifer nodded a bit nervously.

"I know it sounds weird. But getting to know you, i...kind of fell in love with you. It's...it's okay to say no..."

Sam thought about it for a moment.

"Okay. Tomorrow nighf I'll give you a chance. If you can prove to also be a gentleman, I'll consider a second date."

Dean looked up.

"Sam, you don't have to do this."

He nodded.

"I know. But he's a really different person. And he is pretty attractive. He hasn't entirely made up for everything but he's genuinely working on it. What i want...is a man who's romantic, but not too sexual."

Dean raised a brow.

"Yeah okay i think imma head to bed before i start hearing stuff about my little brother that I don't want to hear."

Sam half chuckled.

"I could tell stories about you and your girlfriends."

Dean waved him off and headed to his room. Cas looked after him but then back to Sam. Sam nodded.

"I'll be fine. Go ahead."

Cas soon ran after Dean, leaving Sam and Lucifer alone together.

"Hey uh Sam...can we start tonight? Just cuddling....making kissing?"

Sam cautiously sat beside him. Lucifer leaned over and kissed his lips softly. That was pretty much all it took and Sam was hooked. They fell asleep together on the couch, Sam resting his head on Lucifer's chest, draped over him.

Dean sighed the next morning as he found them.

"Thank god they're still dressed..."

He mumbled and Cas elbowed him.

"He's happy, shut up."

Dean nodded and threw the blanket over them.

"I know. And that makes me happy. But you gotta do me a favor. If he ever, and i mean ever once, turns on us, promise me you'll kill him."

Cas nodded.

"Well i guess it looks like both of us bagged a couple of angels."

Cas kissed Dean softly and took his hand.

"Let's not wake them."

As they went into the kitchen, Lucifer cracked an eye open for half a second and pulled Sam a little closer. He would never take the Winchester for granted again.

[deliverydefresas]

moving step by step (together)

second and last thing i posted on wp that i haven't posted here ((i think)) feel free to ignore if you've read this on wattpad already, as i'm just posting it in case i need to refer to it later.

(not proofread. it never is)

prompt(?): domestic!simbar deciding to move in together (toanothercountry)

When her day began, she didn't imagine it'd end up the way it did. In fact, to Ámbar the day felt like an endless nightmare.

Between her washing machine breaking, one of her kitchen cloths accidentally catching on fire when she was making her breakfast, her car not starting and thus being late to her first class, forgetting an important paper at home and losing 1/5 of her grade for one of the toughest classes in her semester; Ámbar just wanted to call it a day and forget she even had to endure it.

"The professor told me he'd let me turn it the paper, as long as I added 10,000 words more; and hear this: he won't give me the 20% of the grade, but a 15%, tops." She still needed to get her laundry done, so she'd opted to come by Simón's loft (and Nico and Pedro's too) when her classes had ended. While she waited for it to be done, she'd grabbed a glass of wine while venting her boyfriend's ears off. "So now I need to find something to write about that's worth 1000 words of coherency, otherwise I'll be lucky to even have a 10%. And God knows I need it."

Simón kissed her head sympathetically, adjusting her head - previously leaning on his shoulder- a little bit closer to his neck. "You will, little gem. You're the smartest one in your class, I'm sure you'll find something and, it's penultimate semester, you can do it."

She groaned, "I wish it were as easy as that." He kissed her cheek this time, and she snuggled into him a bit more, needing his support to make her feel less stressed. "Enough of me, how was your day?"

He chuckled, "not as interesting as yours, I'm afraid. Did a little songwriting, had a video-call with a magazine, changed my sheets..." he winked at her, making her laugh.

"Aw, do you want me to give you a gold start? Maybe I should call your mom, tell her her little boy is a nice young man who makes his own bed." Simón leaned in to bite her cheek, causing her to and almost spill her wine all over the couch, and to prevent this, the red liquid ended up on her shirt. Technically, it was one of his, since today's clothes had been thrown in the washer with the rest of the laundry, but still, spilling wine on her clothes wasn't nice. "Simón!" she scoffed him, which only made him laugh at her. He told her to grab another of his old shirts, while he refilled her glass.

She stood up then, cursing him all the way to his room to grab one of the 'pajama' shirts he kept in his top drawer. Ámbar heard him call to her once she had put it on; "hey, is tacos okay with you for dinner? Or do you want me to order you something else?"

"What are the guys having?" she questioned, to prepare herself in case the others ordered less than what their stomachs wanted to eat, and later lead them to steal her food.

"Pedro's staying at Delfi's and Nico is out with his fling, so nothing." Simón answered her, entering his room with his cellphone at hand.

"Then the usual." She told him simply, her boyfriend nodded. "Hey, can I use your laptop to check my e-mail? My phone died."

Simón nodded again. "Sure. Hello? I would like to order two pastor gringas..." he left the room again, not before pointing at his desk, where his laptop was sitting on. She quickly turned it on, taking it to the living room to wait for Simón to finish the call.

Her boyfriend was one of those people who didn't put a password on the device itself, but on the archives in it (which were mostly lyrics, tracks, and unreleased songs), so it didn't take long until she had the browser opened.

Ámbar tried to ignore whatever Simón had open in his last tab, but the images displayed caught her attention.

No, it wasn't porn, nor was it anything compromising. At least not in that way.

Her boyfriend had a Real Estate website open, showing apartments in sale. However, that wasn't what surprised her – he'd talked about finding his own place before-, but that all the options listed Mexico City as their location.

He'd never mentioned moving back to Mexico. They'd planned vacations to his hometown Cancún, sure, but somehow in all their talks about the future she'd had assumed their plans took place in Buenos Aires, close to her family instead of his. She could deal with him going on tour for weeks – she didn't bear months as well as she did weeks, and for this he always flew her in- but to live in two different countries? How was their relationship supposed to work in that scenario? Would it even work out? Sure, she was almost over with her degree, but-

"Little gem," her eyes snapped from the screen to where Simón was standing, by the kitchen's door, "I ordered you an almond horchata, is that okay?" she kept staring at him. "What? Is my laptop giving you problems? Your mail?"

She sighed. "No, I actually haven't opened my mail yet." He gave her a confused look.

"Then what's it? You've been staring at the screen for at least two minutes."

"When were you planning on telling me you're moving to Mexico?"

His mouth shut, his eyes showed surprise and an underlying regret. "Uh... soon?"

"So it's true, then? You're moving there?" Ámbar didn't want her voice to sound as hurt as it did, but she couldn't conceal it, either. After all, this was her boyfriend, the guy she was in love with, and who she'd loved for years now... to imagine him living so far away from her, it hurt her deeply.

To find out like this, instead of from his own mouth, was like salt to the wound. Her already shitty day was turning for the worse.

Simón sighed, his demeanor showing he was ashamed of it. "It's an option." He pursed his lips slightly, walking over to the couch, taking the device off her lap to turn her body towards him. "I was planning on talking to you about this sooner than later, I promise."

"When? When you had already bought it? Or when I had to say goodbye at the airport?" she couldn't help but dab at him, her temper was talking for her right then, "and what do you mean with 'it's an option'? You're looking for a place already, surely it's more than simple 'option'."

Simón let out a sigh, a sign he wasn't sure how to explain it to her, "I- have you noticed how most of our label meetings have been taking place in México?" She nodded, it was hard not to. The boys and him didn't really leave the city unless they absolutely had to, which could be summed up in three reasons: touring, vacations, and meetings. She'd always frown a little when those meetings took place, because she couldn't really understand why they had to leave when their label had offices in BsAs, but never really dared to ask Simón, afraid she'd come out as clingy for not wanting him to leave her for a couple days.

"I just assumed all the 'important' people chose to meet there instead of flying down here."

He scratched his nape. "It's a little bigger than that. Their HQ has always been up there, and their offices here have worked on a smaller scale for years; however, they've wanted all their more... 'recognizable' artists to be closer for a while now."

"So, they're making you move there?"

"Yes and no. They've been nagging us since the beginning to move to Mexico City, but it's only now we've – well, I've- considered it as an option."

"Why? Don't Pedro and Nico want, too?"

Simón grimaced. "They've already been considering it for a couple of years." Oh. Now that she thought about it, Delfina had hinted multiple times over the months 'the possibility' of working in another country. She'd always assumed she meant taking international jobs for a short period while Pedro was out on tour too, but now she guessed she'd meant for her to imagine that possibility, too.

It seemed like she'd assumed lots of things, and it stung to know she'd been in the dark far longer than everyone else. Even Delfi – who'd been dating Pedro a considerably less time than she'd been with Simón- knew of this before her.

Which made her ask him once again. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because you're still in uni, little gem, and I didn't want to move somewhere else while you were here; I still don't. I had a plan, honestly; I was going to wait until you neared graduation to slowly get you used to the idea, and, well, I also wanted to wait in case we didn't work out." She pursed her lips as she was still mad, but knew he had a point. He always did.

"You could've talked to me sooner, though. We could've planned this way sooner, make it easier for both." Ámbar sighed out, trying to get her anger out with it.

"I know, I get it now, and I'm very sorry." He apologized sincerely, grabbing one of her hands to kiss it. "This in no way is me telling you I'm moving tomorrow and leaving you here, little gem, I'd never do that. Hell, I don't even think I could. It's just..."

"An option." She finished for him, sighing again. "I guess I- I don't know, maybe I could start looking at internships in CDMX? When- when would this take place anyway? And I have to talk to my mo-" her eyes widened, "God, my mom! What do I tell her if we go? She'll be all alone here!" Her voice sounded panicky even to her.

"Hey, it's okay, there's no hurry. We've already postponed this for years with the boys, another year or so won't change anything, in fact, we'll need all we can get to get papers and stuff in check. And your mom can always come with us if you're worried about her, no biggie." He told her, as if the three of them moving countries wasn't a big deal, or, y'know, extremely expensive.

"Do you seriously want my mom living with us, Simón?" she snapped at him, and immediately felt bad to do so. He was just trying to help her and then here she was, bitching on his offers. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just... overwhelmed, sorry." He shrugged it off.

"I was actually thinking of you two getting your own apartment but since you're oh so kindly offering to live together..." Her eyes widened once more, shocked. She hadn't realized she'd implied that. "... I guess we can either buy or rent one for ourselves and rent another for your mom."

"That's not what- I mean it's not necessary. An apartment for my mom and I would be okay if she even agrees to move."

Her boyfriend started pouting. "Are you saying you don't want to move in with me?"

"No, no, that's not what I mean-" she stopped talking once she saw a teasing grin on his face. "You're messing with me."

He shook his head, silently laughing as he reached out to sit her on his lap, hugging her waist tightly. "I'm not. I'm actually happy you asked me to move with you, so I don't have to when the time comes."

"I didn't ask you." She felt the need to point it out. "You just assumed I did."

"Because you assumed we'd live together. It's okay; if it were up to me I'd be living with you in a heartbeat, I've thought about it for a while."

She gulped. "You have?"

"Yeah, but since I'm living with two dudes and you're living with your mom... it just isn't viable." That got her thinking.

"Why haven't you gotten your own apartment yet? Any of you?"

Simón shrugged, leaning into their coffee table to grab their glasses. "Rent is cheaper when you divide into three, and all of us have been saving up to get our own pads for when we moved to CDMX."

"It was never a matter of 'if', was it? It was always a 'when' you moved." She already knew the answer, of course, so she didn't wait for him to answer. "What took you so long to do so? I'm sure you could've done so years ago, and now you're waiting for Delfi and I, I guess, but before? What held you back?"

He pondered it for a minute, didn't speak immediately. "Something always came up. At first, we didn't have enough money saved, then Nico's mom had an accident, Pedro wanting to stay until his little sister finished high school... then you. My guess is the universe was waiting for us to meet to let me leave the city." She couldn't help but laugh at this.

"You're such a corny guy."

"Only for you, little gem, only for you." Ámbar took a sip of her wine before snuggling closer to his chest, earning her a kiss on her hair. "So, are we doing this?"

She pushed the anxiety of the unknown to the back of her mind, she knew that if she overthought about it she'd find reasons not to. Instead, she took a deep breath, intoxicating herself with the smell of soap and lotion that lingered on her boyfriend all the time.

"Yeah," she sighed, "but we're doing this together."

"Together," he repeated, giving her hand another kiss. "I like the sound of that."

[buddha-in-disguise]

I have so much to unpack from last night's Supergirl episode. Since it ends at 3am UK time, I often tweet a little before I finally fall asleep. But it is now midday, so here goes on further thoughts on it all. I know this is going to be pretty rambling but I hope it makes sense.

First. Up until this half of the season, not only did Supergirl consistently trend in the UK, so did other words associated with it, most notably Kara and Lena.

Since 5B began, the trending has failed to materialise in the UK. The hiatus of two those blocks almost immediately on top of each other hasn't helped, but it is still a salient point.

Now for the rest. I'm not even sure where to start, but I will try my best.

The opening scenes in the bar.

No Nia. No Kelly. Where were they? Nothing was even mentioned. It wouldn't have taken much to have Alex say if Kelly was working, or running late. Anything. Hell, they had Kelly/Dansen and Nia meet up in a bar scenario in 5A. Why suddenly are they not there? They wouldn't necessarily need dialogue (I mean, Kelly has barely had any since Crisis anyway, so what's new?)

Yet in walks William and suddenly Alex is teasing Kara about inviting him. Winn is also there saying, hey it's okay. You barely know the guy, you had a shitty relationship beforehand, but go ahead, date the dude.

We had a prime opportunity for the Danver sisters to do karaoke together. Instead it was with William. At the expense of sister time (so many would’ve loved the sisters singing together).

So much here is wrong for me as a viewer.

If you have a show about female empowerment, yet the lead of that show is having to be told by others that dating a guy she has barely shared any positive moments with, let alone any romantic feelings for beyond a really awkward moment the episode before; that is not empowering a woman.

All too often Supergirl (as the lead in the show) is looking at dating, but not being capable of making her own romantic choices without the interference from others around her.

The only one I can think of who didn't need that was S1 James and to some degree Adam. Kara showed interest, but ultimately made the decisions on her own. Kara also recognised that with Winn, they were better off as friends. Yet S2 began and inexplicably Kara and James had broken up, and the need for Kara to get told to go for it by others began.

Mon-El was extremely problematic. As is William. Both were allowed to lie, to treat women like garbage at times with immunity. Yet here is another double standard. Kara and the Superfriends lied to Lena for 3 years, yet Lena is a bad person for reacting. I will repeat what has been said I don't know how often about Lena's reaction. It isn't without issue in how she is dealing with it. She isn't evil, but she has handled it badly. Her own emotional trauma, that was partly unpacked in 5A helps though explain why she behaved as she has.Yet, Mon-El faced no consequences for his actions. William can be a complete nightmare in how he treated Kara in 5A, but all is suddenly forgotten about or forgiven because of the reset? That is a cop out if ever there was one.

This hypocrisy is what annoys me the most, and frankly it is misogynistic all too often.

I actually pity any woman who believes it is okay for a man to behave as many do towards Kara. The message it sends is awful. I know the men in my family would be horrified by the actions of these love interests. I know of some men watching the show who feel the same way.

As for Lena and Kara. The trauma both have faced has shaped them. Yet Kara appears unaffected by losing her world a second time when Earth 38 was destroyed. On losing Argo. Sure they got it back, but as a changed merged World. You expect us to believe having to watch an antimatter wave destroy those you love has no effect? That being trapped for months with only the other paragons and Lex didn't cause trauma, even with a positive outcome. That seeing Krypton destroyed the first time wasn’t traumatic enough. That’s not something that just goes away. Add in losing Jeremiah, losing Astra (again), the trauma Supergirl must face when she can’t rescue everyone, that has a lifelong impact.

Lena has shown her emotional trauma has also been lifelong, albeit in a different way. To dismiss the emotional abuse Lena has suffered to attack her actions now is pitiful. Winn even suggests to Kara, that in the future, Lena does come through this, and isn't evil personified some want to make her out to be.

Yet Mon-El gets excused, William gets excused. Ugh. I’m sick of the double standard.

So, let’s unpack this further. Kelly Olsen was in the military. She wasn't just trained, but had an active role in the army. She recounted an event at a checkpoint where she was serving in S4. So she had active service, and it was in that moment when Kelly decided she wanted to help others more.

Kelly also knows the stress of keeping an important part of your life secret. She then also fell in love with a woman, someone who was her Sergeant, who was then killed on patrol (another reason we know Kelly was on active duty). It devastated Kelly who hadn't even told James of her relationship.

Later, upon completing her service, Kelly became a psychologist specialising in trauma.

Nia is also someone facing problems. Not only did her becoming Dreamer lead to discord with her sister, as well as the tragic loss of her mother, she has problems with Brainy. Nia offered to be there for Kelly when she was upset over watching Alex get hurt, but we saw nothing to suggest they had a heart to heart. Azie posted something that suggested they filmed a scene that did this, but it never made it on the final edit. Instead, once again we had William taking screen time.

So anyway, the point of all this is: guess who is placed to actively help Lena and/or Kara with the problems?

Kelly. Who apparently doesn't know Kara is Supergirl yet. So while Kara wonders if she should tell William, she could have the exact same conversations with Alex, only substitute Kelly for William. Overall, the plot could easily be maintained, and the established cast get good solid and plausible screen time. She could even talk to Nia about it, yet doesn't.

Another thing I find hard to understand is why haven't they used the link of Kelly, working at Obsidian North, where they could establish the Leviathan link.

If Lex has made the connection to Leviathan, you are telling me, even without Brainy helping them, Alex, Nia, J'onn and Kara haven't made the same connection? C'mon. Two investigative journalists, one who has won the Pulitzer, two DEO trained agents, and if Kelly was brought in, someone military trained; aren't able to make the connections? J'onn has all those computer banks in the tower, and while none of them are Brainy or Winn, he can't use said computing power? Why bother having it, if they are only props in the background. They could even ask Lena to help, since she has shown willingness to work with them if the reasoning was good enough. Leviathan is someone she knows (after all, Lena could have her memories returned by J’onn too). She knows the danger Leviathan poses. She could use the leverage to still get the lens from Obsidian in a similar way to now, but through Kelly if needed.

Actually, if they are using the tower, how does J’onn afford to pay for all this? I can only assume being as old as he is, he made some great investments over time, allowing him to be independently wealthy? But again nothing really suggests this.

Oh as for Alex leaving the DEO, great. After all, she was the Director but hasn’t been able to lead the DEO in all that time. Let alone some of the morally grey areas the DEO skirted around all too often. Still, where will she get her income from? Does she get paid as part of J’onn’s PI firm? Kara barely makes rent and food costs (at least she says her apartment is rent controlled so wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise), so no way can she afford to help Alex out financially. Kelly might be able to support her, but again I cannot imagine it would be sustainable.

I feel like banging my head against a brick wall.

Onto Nia. I've said this a few times now, but here I go again. Back to William. I get the reason he came along in regards to Russell and so the Andrea connection. That story made sense. What hasn't made sense - William being used as a journalist, when Nia is right there! Nia has barely had any screen time, and virtually none as a journalist; you know - her actual job. I'm not sure what the minutes on screen ratio has been this season between the two, but it has felt completely slanted towards William as a viewer.

Instead of Kara and Nia investigating Leviathan after William was 'exposed' in 5A, now Nia is sidelined again, because they want Kara to team up with William to investigate Lex. Why do they need that journalistic pairing of William and Kara, when Nia - who as a Superhero, is better placed if danger from Lex occurs. But no, they're making it about Kara having to work with William because Lex threatened to kill him. Plus Nia was being mentored by Kara. Is she no longer being mentored by Kara? Are they a team? Even if the mentoring has ended, Nia is still not being utilised as a journalist. As the saying goes, make it make sense!

As for Lex. I love Jon Cryer. I’ve loved his version of Lex, but once again I feel Lena is just as well placed to take on his role in bringing down Leviathan. Why add another villain to this plot? We were told it was Leviathan who were the bad guys for this season, but once again we barely have a glimpse of them, but all the screen time on Lex, also to the detriment of Lena. We could be using this time to begin to mend Lena’s relationships with not only Kara, but the Superfriends. Instead we are getting bit and pieces, that seemingly bear little resemblance to the ‘fight for Lena’s soul’, or the ‘Stronger together, weaker apart’ tag lines the SG team used to market the series in 5A. (See attached photo). So again, this is frustrating for us to watch, as there is absolutely no cohesion to the storytelling. We know it is the ‘nothing is as it seems’ season, but to have no really coherent storylines so far this late on? It is baffling for me.

The sidelining of Nia and Kelly also brings to the fore the way the LGBTQ characters are being treated.

Dansen feels like a long lost legend from the mists of time. As I said earlier, there was a perfect opportunity for a Dansen scene in the opening part of the show, yet we might as well watch tumbleweeds fly past, for all the screen time Dansen or Nia have had. Well, rather haven’t had.

It seems we shouldn't ask for justification as to why William is on the show, but when we say the LGBTQ characters are being sidelined, that it doesn't matter one jot how diverse a cast can be; if said cast are not being given credible storylines or screentime, and if we say as much, we have to continually justify why that is the case. We get told to take what we are given. To insist on better, is oppressing white CIS men (in some cases CIS women have argued the same). This isn't oppressing anyone, but asking that if we get given relationships, given characters we want to invest in, they get the storylines to accomplish that. Supergirl is failing the LGBTQ audience so badly at the moment. So many have the same complaints it is ludicrous to suggest this is just one section of a fandom or trolls.

What I'm taking from all this at the moment is that 20% of the main viewing demographic as per GLAAD figures (and more besides, as I've seen straight viewers recognising the problems as well), have serious concerns with Supergirl.

But keep telling us we are overreacting. Or we should take what we are given. Or that we are delusional. After all, it is the kind of crap we have sprouted at us continually away from Supergirl, why shouldn't it be the case here.

I look at S4, heck even 5A, to what the show is doing now and it feels like an unmitigated disaster. Episodes are running out fast, so even if they increase Dansen, or Nia's screen time, it won't be enough to make up what has been lost. They're running out of time to give us a solid ending that ties up the mess they've created.

I really don’t know where this will end? CW Supergirl - do better. You have some phenomenal actors and actresses in your cast. Do them and your audience justice. Because right now you aren’t at all.

[the-unshaped]

CHAPTER ONE: WELCOME BACK TO BEACON HILLS

Chapter Text

"How's the first day back?"

Stiles Stilinski grinned as his oldest friend, Scott, slapped a strong hand on his shoulder. After what felt like a million years away from each other, he was back, his best friend standing beside him. It was a fantastic feeling.

Walking into the school was bizarre. He had felt nostalgia in the past but nothing to this extent before. Maybe it was because his last school was so much larger, but it seemed like every year they were making noticeable changes. Beacon Hills, on the other hand, was exactly how he remembered. The same white and black speckled linoleum floors, same painted mascot on the walls, same old lockers, same trophy cases lining the main hall.

Stiles was stoked.

Even the classes he'd taken so far, which would have ordinarily bored him since he'd learned a lot of what they were going over already, left him feeling almost giddy. The teachers didn't seem to share the sentiment, but fuck them. He wasn't going to let Finstock calling him Billinski a million times drag him down today.

Stiles and Scott had met up the day before, his dad surprising him with dinner and his childhood best friend as a gift for finishing all his unpacking, but it was even more exciting to know he was going to see him every day. They had talked at least once a week after Stiles finally broke and got Facebook eighth grade year and even more when they both had online gaming, almost every day. It was like they'd never stopped.

Stiles had been begging his dad to move back since the day they left, and he only got more persistent after his reunion with Scott, but no matter how hard he tried to convince him, no dice. That is until his dad's college friend, Adam Wilder, let him know that the Beacon Hills was offering full ride scholarships to the college of their choice to the top 5 graduates and was in need of a new sheriff. Not even John could refuse that kind of help. Despite his worry that he wouldn't be accepted as a transfer, he took a chance and put in an application. A month later and a million moving boxes later, Stiles was leaving his fancy Sacramento apartment and on his way home.

"Not bad, Scott. I've got Dad, my best bud, and my nightmares of a poorly-aged Lydia can finally be absolved because she is still as much of a goddess as the day I left, dare I say more. All is right with the world," he said, eyeing the lean strawberry blonde haired girl down the hall. Scott winced, and pulled at his lock, freeing it from the metal loop before opening it and shoving his math book inside. "I definitely missed this place. What more could I ask for?”

Scott scoffed and scuffed the toes of his shoes against the floor. "I can't imagine why anyone would miss this place."

Stiles eyed him, unsure if he was playing around or not. Leaving Beacon Hills, for him, felt like tearing off a limb, leaving something messy, jagged and bloody in its place. Sacramento hadn't been bad, per se. He made awesome grades and was in a club or two every year. He had some people that could pass as friends he hung out with occasionally, but it wasn't the same as the life he had in Beacon Hills. Also losing a limb, Stiles had survived the initial pain and adapted, but at the end of the day, he knew that it wasn't there and could feel the ache of its absence.

Stiles knew he was meant to be there. It was where he was born m. Where he learned how to tie his shoes and write his name. Where he and Scott made a terrible mess in the kitchen making treats for a fundraiser, and Melissa made them clean all day after school, scolding them even as she ate the last remaining cupcake. It was home.

The only difference between losing a limb and losing Beacon Hills was that there was always a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he could get it back, if only he could convince his dad. It was only a few hours away, and he would eventually be able to choose where he lived. Luckily he hadn't had to wait that long.

Stiles shrugged off Scott's dismissal. "I'm sure you'd miss it once you left."

Stiles closed his locker, and noticed Scott had gone quiet. He took a peek over his shoulder as he clamped his padlock shut and realized he had his eyes trained on an adorable brunette talking to a fierce looking blonde he had noticed earlier in their math class. Stiles looked between them a dorky smirk spreading across his face.

"You are so obvious, man. Your tail is practically wagging."

Scott's eyes shot up, eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"That girl. The brunette. You have your 'unrequited pining' look on your face," Stiles explained, shutting his locker door. Scott frowned, crossing his arms, even as he snuck another peek at her.

"It's not that obvious," Scott muttered.

"I've literally only been here for," he looked at her phone, then back up at Brennan, "three hours and forty-five minutes and I knew the moment you looked at her."

Stiles looked at Scott's downtrodden face then brightened. "Wait, is that Allison? Like love of your life, scary but amazing, Allison?"

The blonde glanced over at them, smirking at Scott. Stiles didn't seem to notice. Even if he had he would have no reason to suspect that she could hear anything he said, but Scott knew differently. He flushed, wrapping his arm around Stiles shoulder, whipping him around to face the lockers in a huddle.

"Dude," Scott hissed. "Keep it down."

"It is her! Holy crap," Stiles laughed. Scott just pouted, his eyebrows still pulled together.

"Yeah, yeah. You're brilliant. Can you shut up now?"

"Come on. You act like people are listening," Stiles said, craning his head around to look at the near bustling halls. "Trust me, we aren't that interesting."

"Speak for yourself. I'm plenty interesting."

"Oh yeah? Let my go ask how interesting you are," Stiles teased. "Yo, All-!"

Scott clamped a hand over his mouth, and Stiles was quick to retaliate.

"Did you seriously just lick me? How old are you? Stiles. Stop it!"

Scott dropped his hand with a scowl, wiping it on his dark jeans.

"I'll have you know, licking people could solve approximately 80% of the world's problems," Stiles said, hitting Scott suggestively. "Speaking of licking, how the hell did you get so built? I thought you sucked at sports."

Scott's scowl bled into a full blown grin, ignoring Stiles' sexual remark. "That was last year. A lot has changed. Now hurry up or we're going to miss lunch. And please try to control yourself a little, okay?"

Stiles gave him a questioning look, but didn't ask. He followed Scott through the halls, weaving through the people, trying to connect names to old familiar faces. Some people were easier to remember than others. He would catch flashes of memories from t-ball and baseball practices, or stories her dad had told him on the car ride here. He had only ever really been close to Scott before they left, but the familiarity was calming in a way he hadn't expected.

Stiles couldn't help but grin when they pushed through the heavy doors to the cafeteria.

The walls were a less than white white, dull and slightly grimy with age. They had long rectangular tables instead of the faux wood round ones at his old school, but honestly he liked these better, even if it was just a bit too much white all together for his taste. Too much like a hospital.

"Wow it hasn't changed at all," Stiles chirped. "I bet Mrs. Green still has that wild chin hair, too."

As if she could hear him, Mrs. Green looked up at him with a scowl. He waved at her excitedly, a lopsided grin painted on his face, and Scott shook his head in amusement.

"Hi, Mrs. Green!"

As they made their way through the food line, Stiles reminisced over the meatloaf and asked if they still had the breakfast pizza with white gravy and sausage balls he loved so much. Scott couldn't help but get secondhand excitement. It had been so long since he had felt normal like this. Not that he didn't like his life or that he didn't enjoy things the way they were, but having a friend that wasn't constantly caught up in his problems was nicer than he had expected it to be.

Stiles continued chattering excitedly up until the moment Scott sat down. At a table. With people. Very hot people. Stiles looked down at Scott with wide eyes, his mouth agape. Lydia Martin. Scott was friends with Lydia fucking Martin? How had this not made it into their text messages?!

Scott cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed.

"Guys, you remember Stiles, right? Stiles, that's Lydia, Allison, Isaac, Jackson, Boyd, and Erica. Cora normally sits with us but I think she-well, actually I'm not sure where she is today."

Stiles' eyes followed down the line, his face flushing. What the fresh hell? Scott was attractive in a totally platonic, nothing sexual way, and he would be blantantly lying if he said he hadn't noticed how fit he was now, but how the hell did they go from being the lanky dorks in class to Scott having supermodel-esque friends?

He immediately recognized some of the faces. Lydia, obviously. Scary hot blonde and Scott's crush, obviously Allison, from the hallway. Then, if his friends being hot wasn't weird enough, he realized with a start who the thin muscular guy was.

"Jackson. Jackson Whittemore? As in the Jackson Whittemore who shoved my Batman figure down the toilet?"

Stiles shook his head incredulously at Scott, like he had been personally victimized by the very thought of his seating partner, and Scott buried his face in his hands. Allison laughed, a musical sound that he had heard about in many different phone calls.

"You shoved his Batman down the toilet?"

Jackson smirked, shrugging slightly.

"Poor guy. So you were always a dick," Erica teased, peeking over the lip of her glass of water.

"We were like 6. I'm sure he's fine," Jackson said, leveling Stiles with a less than pitying glare.

Stiles muttered the contrary gruffly under his breath.

"You sure look tasty. Why didn't you tell us he was so fine, Scott?"

Stiles flushed at the blonde's words, not knowing how to comment to that. He looked to Scott for help, but he just shrugged as if to say, "she's always like this."

The man beside Erica, Boyd if Stiles recalled correctly, rolled his eyes, a knowing look on his face. He wrapped his arm around her and whispered something to her that made her giggle in delight, and Stiles was kind of scared to know what he said to make that noise come out of her.

Stiles, shifted back and forth on his feet, still standing awkwardly near the table holding his tray. He looked at the spot beside Scott, unsure. Out of everything he had prepared for today, this definitely wasn't it.

"You going to sit down Stilinski?" Jackson sneered.

"Actually I was thinking of enjoying my food standing up," Stiles shot back, biting into his roll dramatically. "I'd hate for anything else I love to end up in the toilet."

Scott grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him down onto the bench with strength Stiles didn't know he had. He scowled but kept his mouth closed.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Stiles," Allison said. "Scott talks about you a lot. Like a lot a lot."

"Well isn't that a coincidence, because-" Scott jabbed him in the ribs as hard as he could under the table. Allison smiled bashfully and Lydia rolled her eyes.

"Ow! Stupid overnight muscles," Stiles muttered, rubbing his side. "Not fair."

"You know you aren't going to be eligible for Valedictorian or Salutatorian right?" Lydia asked suddenly, clamping her compact mirror shut. "The policy is that you have to be present for the entirety of your Junior and Senior year to qualify."

Stiles shrugged, trying to keep his overeager inner 9 year old self at bay. "Yeah my dad wasn't thrilled about that, but I told him I didn't care. My GPA is all that really matters. Well, that and my SATs and ACTs."

Lydia gave him an adorable half smile. "Its a shame. It will be nice to have some competition around, regardless. Scott says you're quite the diligent student."

Stiles gave Scott a look that he was too busy ogling to notice. That was strange. That was the second time they mentioned Scott talking about him, yet he knew nothing about any of them. "Is that right?"

Lydia quirked her head, looking between the two, and made a mental note of it.

The rest of lunch went by fairly smoothly, but Stiles couldn't really focus on the various conversations going on around the table, too busy trying to figure everyone out. He could tell that obviously Erica and Boyd were a couple, despite the remark about his attractiveness. Even surrounded by friends, and them frequently chatting with other people instead of each other, he could almost see the personal bubble they had around themselves, so thick it was almost tangible.

From what he could see, Allison and Lydia seemed to be best friends. He wasn't exactly surprised, pretty people always seemed to attract other pretty people, but the vibes they gave off were very different. They were constantly having silent conversations between themselves, checking for opinions as they listened to other people's stories and laughing at inside jokes together. Luckily for Scott, he noticed her eyes would stray over to him frequently, especially when he would start to laugh over something silly.

The most interesting observation seemed to be that while Stiles was away, Scott, Jackson and Isaac had gotten pretty close. Stiles didn't really remember much about Isaac, but he seemed nice enough. He was actually a lot like Stiles in that he was fairly smart, sarcastic, and generally nice to be around, but he had a air of newly self-built confidence around him.

Jackson was the opposite, but to Stiles' surprise, he wasn't as bad as he remembered. Jackson exuded cockiness, that he expected, but he could tell that Jackson was a lot less of a jerk than he used to be when he handed the rest of his food to Isaac before he even had the chance to ask for it. Stiles figured he would be the hardest one to understand, because nothing he said was actually what he meant.

Stiles' thoughts were interrupted when Scott tried to reel Stiles into a conversation about lacrosse, but Stiles was contented to listen to the three guys recap the season so far.

Stiles gradually started feeling a bit more comfortable than he had in the beginning, but something kept nagging at him in the back of his mind: why had Scott told his friends so much about him, yet Stiles was clueless about them? He had heard about Allison, mostly because that was all he talked about, but why hadn't he ever heard of his friendships with the others, especially after Stiles found out he was going to be moving back? They all seemed close. Really, really close. They talked about hanging out on weekends, going to movies, and playing video games all weekend, yet Stiles couldn't remember a single time Scott ever mentioned them.

It was strange. Stiles knew that it was crazy of him to make assumptions from a few passing comments, but something in his gut told him Scott was hiding something.

"Do you have any classes with us?" Isaac asked, holding out his hand expectantly. Stiles shifted so he could pull his schedule from his back pocket and handed it to him. Isaac and Allison looked over it intently, and Jackson snuck a peek, trying and failing to look like he didn't care.

"Chemistry with Scott and Isaac, Math with Scott and Erica, most of the classes with Boyd or Erica if not both, AP classes with Me and Lydia. How did you manage not to have a single class with Jackson?" Allison asked.

"Lucky I guess," Stiles grinned.

Jackson rolled his eyes and Scott elbowed him again. Stiles sucked in air through his teeth and rubbed it until the pain faded. #WorthIt.

"So Scott said your dad is the new Sheriff," Boyd said. It was the first time Boyd had spoken out loud.

"Yeah, he was a deputy here when we lived here before. I guess enough people remembered him from back in the day that when he was nominated, people accepted him."

"Did he tell you how the position opened up?"

Everyone at the table stopped, and eyes were on him. If they were trying to seem subtle, they had definitely failed. Fortunately, though, this Stiles had anticipated. He considered whether he should divulge his true opinions or keep his ideas to himself. After an encouraging nod from Scott, he shrugged.

"Dad told me what they are telling people happened, yeah," he said.

Boyd's flitted to Scott, then he forced a small smile.

"You say that like you don't believe the story."

"I don't."

Boyd looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to elaborate. Erica squeezed his arm gently, not tearing her eyes from Stiles, keeping her expression soft. Scott gave him a look and Stiles relented.

Stiles sighed. "My Dad is going to kill me." He looked up to the ceiling as if he were praying for strength to survive. "They are saying it was a mugging or something near the park. That the guy was at the wrong place at the wrong time, got his stuff taken and killed for his trouble."

"That's what I heard too. Sounds reasonable enough, right?" Allison asked, laughing nervously.

Stiles scoffed. "Sure, if he was getting mugged by Wolverine. I haven't seen the crime scene photos yet, but from the conversations I've heard the last few days about the absolute carnage left behind, I don't see how it could be just a simple mugging. They're missing something, they just don't want to admit it yet."

Stiles pretended not to notice Scott tensing beside him. It was no secret Scott wasn't a fan of blood, but he didn't want to embarrass him by pointing it out.

"What does that even mean?" Lydia asked.

"What does what mean?"

"Mugged by Wolverine?"

"Wolverine. You know. X-Men. Wolver-you don't-you don't know who Wolverine is?" Stiles asked, his hands flailing then falling flat on the table, his eyebrows furrowed in distress.

She gave him an incredulous look, her perfect curls bouncing as she shook her head. He ran his hand down his face.

Jackson handed Lydia his phone and her lips turned down. "Man in tights. Not bad."

Allison rolled her eyes and the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

"Nice to meet you, again, Stiles," Allison said again, grabbing her bag and pulling it over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, it was truly a pleasure. I need to borrow your calculator so let's go," Jackson said, ushering her away. Scott huffed beside him, and Stiles rolled his eyes. Scott was as oblivious as always.

*****

Everything was messed up.

Cora honestly couldn't decide which was worse, living states away with a bunch of strangers that she couldn't get along with to save her life, or finally being able to come home and dealing with all the frivolous drama that came with it.

Don't get her wrong, she was glad that Derek allowed her to come back home. She loved him and she was really glad that finally someone was starting to treat her like an adult, but having to deal with school and her brother's complicated Pack dynamics was stressful.

Being back home was annoying. Living in South America was worse.

Being away from her home, the last bit of family she had left, it had almost killed her. She didn't want to eat. She couldn't sleep. When she did sleep, it was interrupted by nightmares. Often times she would wake up in the dark, thinking the smoke had enveloped her completely. If that weren't enough, she felt more isolated than she had in her whole life. She was the only human in the Pack, which she was used to, but at least when she was home she was bonded with her family.

She sat in the library, head in her hands, trying not to think about all of the homework assignments that were piling up. Derek had said school was one of the conditions to her moving back in with him, but what exactly did that mean? What was he going to do when she got her grades back? Was he going to ship her back off like Laura had? Would he even feel bad?

She sighed. That wasn't fair. Derek had never wanted her to go, but when Laura decided on something, there wasn't really anything anyone could do to change her mind. As much as Cora didn't want to, she was going to have to talk to him. Good thing talking about feelings was a Hale family specialty.

When the bell rang for lunch, she rolled her eyes. As if her brother and his Pack didn't have enough to argue about, Scott's token human friend was supposed to have his first day today. Not that she wasn't curious what all the hype was about, but she didn't understand why Scott was fighting so hard to let his friend in on all their secrets when he was constantly pointing out how dangerous it was to let Cora stay here.

So, just to spite him, she was here, continuing to work on homework she didn't know how to do, and was too stubborn to ask for help with.

Before she knew it, lunch was over with only a little bit of progress to show for it. She walked begrudgingly to Chemistry, knowing that Harris was probably going to pester her about her revisions from their lab the previous week.

Cora walked to her spot, sitting down, dramatically opening her Chemistry book. Her up and coming best friend, Nina, nudged her with her shoulder has she settled in beside her.

"Did you hear there was a new senior?"

"Unfortunately," She replied icily, pulling a snack from her bag. Nina gave her an odd look. She interpreted it as "what the fuck is up with you?" despite the fact that Nina would never actually use those words. "Apparently he's going to be hanging around my brother's group."

"Oh," Nina smirked, knowingly. "The Hot Hale Harem?"

Cora almost choked on her granola bar, making Nina's smirk grow to a full on grin. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"You love me."

Cora rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but laugh with her. Nina was different, but she honestly found it kind of refreshing. It was hard for her to remember to think about normal things like boys and shopping, but Nina didn't mind pulling her into her normie girl stuff.

"So, I was thinking," Nina started.

Cora took a deep breath. "No."

"You didn't even hear what I was going to say," she pouted.

"Fine. It'll still be a no, but continue."

"So you know how we have that test on Friday? I was thinking we could invite the guys to study with us."

(Find the rest on AO3 href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27811303"><strong>The Unshaped</strong></a> (16100 words) by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infernal_panda"><strong>Infernal_panda</strong></a><br />Chapters: 2/?<br />Fandom: <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Teen%20Wolf%20(TV)">Teen Wolf (TV)</a><br />Rating: Not Rated<br />Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence<br />Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes<br />Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd, Erica Reyes, Sheriff Stilinski, Melissa McCall, Peter Hale, Cora Hale, Laura Hale<br />Additional Tags: BAMF Stiles, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pining, Underage Drinking, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Romance, Friendship, Humor, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Supernatural Elements, mentions of abuse, eventually, Happy Ending<br />Summary: <p>After leaving Beacon Hills at age 8, Stiles never stopped feeling the indescribable pull, beckoning him back home. A new Sheriff position opening up gives him the chance to move back, and it’s everything Stiles ever wanted. He has his dad, his best friend, and he’s back where he belongs. </p><p>His first day back doesn’t exactly go as planned, and now he is finding that he was even less normal than he thought. </p><p>****</p><p>A Hale Pack fanfic with all of our lovable characters as they try to integrate Stiles into their wolfyhood and crazy monster-filled lives with Stiles as their unknowing magic friend, and a bit of intertwined fates to keep things interesting )

[cyberwavelit]

Gamer's Debt (Short Story)

"Crap, all I wanted was the gold chest so I can buy some extra lives. If I don't get any more extra lives, I'll lose all my gold when I die. How am I supposed to win if I have to pay for every damn thing?" Joden stepped down the ramp of his Blourgan cruiser and surveyed the alien landscape. It was barren except for the remains of a small village that he had just annihilated with a two-ton necro-missile.

"That's life. People are generally selfish, impatient, and insecure. Game companies use these weaknesses to motivate players. Maybe you shouldn't have blown up the village, is all I'm saying." The pilot of the cruiser, Jershamalama, spoke through his comm.

"But how does anyone get the hell out of this game if they can never win? I've been stuck in this hell hole for thirty days! My body’s back in the real world, rotting away.”

"Hey, you wanted to play, didn't you? Maybe if we travel to a non-npc sector we can trade off some of this junk we get every time we kill an enemy.” His pilot stared at him from the cockpit.

Joden looked back, “I feel like a slave. That garbage is only worth a pinto cent. It’ll take decades to get to the end game. And besides, that's if we can take off with all that junk. It'll take us a few hours to get back into the atmosphere. It's like a Fetch-22."

"You mean a fetch quest?"

"Yeah, something like that." said Joden taking out his cent-o-meter. It consumed his health bar as it scanned the surrounding sector. His eyes darted around his visor interface, looking at all the blips and bubbles that pinged. “I wish I could afford the Super Hyper Gold Jetpack that all the booster players use.”

“They only release that on the first Wednesday of every other month with a sign-on fee, an option to buy stocks in EternaEntertinament, a monthly fee, a mental evaluation, and maintenance fees when your able to grab it from one of the random places it spawns, like the Hell planet Infernum or the planet Madness Descent. Plus, I hear they only give you like a 3 second jump.”

“What?!” He nearly tripped over a crumpled alien body. “You can’t be serious. My mom’s going to kill me. I told her I was going to school. I figured I could just sign up for a few games, try my hand at Galactic Teamslayer, and be back at the rent-a-plex by nine. That was a month ago!”

“Relax. They won’t even notice you’re gone. Most parents have been sucked into this new thing called Binge Child Raising. EternaEntertinament created it too. It’s a simulation where adults can raise children and not have them become reclusive, angst-ridden failures. They’re really gouging everyone for money, real and fake, young and old.”

Joden was too focused on the horizon where a few blips were going off. They were purple, which meant that they were low-value targets. Everything seemed to be purple. “I never asked--how long you been here?”

“You shoulda seen it when it was it first came out. The servers would never load and you had to sit there, in the darkness, watching a timer run out as they patched their simulation. It was like holding your breath under water.” The pilot sucked his teeth. “Hang on a sec. Have to rate the game again—after this ad.”

“Yeah, I hate doing this every hour.” The astronaut picked up a child’s toy from the clutched hand of a sloblarian. “Wonder what this is worth. I heard that we used to play with things like this, not just video games where you pay to win. Up, hang on a sec, got an ad playing.”

Joden’s reality changed. He was sitting on a park bench. A duck came up to him, honking and pulling at his pants. The countdown to the end of the ad appeared in his peripheral. It quaked and quaked until Joden threw down a few coins to skip it.

Back in game world he was still holding the toy. He threw it down with distain and a lack of remembrance for such physical trifles.

He was then asked to rate the game. He voted as he always had, giving it a one-star out of three. There was a chime and a message: “We’re sorry you’re not enjoying your time in our game world. Perhaps if you were more openminded and understanding of the fact that you may not always get what you want, you might have a better experience with our merchandise. Please lower your expectations. Thank you.”

Joden coughed to drown out the message he had heard a hundred times. “I’m so tired of game companies stealing from us. Don’t they realize that it’ll only make the game suffer?”

“Yeah,” responded the pilot, “let’s go steal something.”

“I’m so tired, Jersh. I just want to go somewhere where we can kill an alien race and grind their bones into dust. What’s so wrong with that?”

“If you only knew, kid. On its launch the game world wasn’t even finished. Eterna used the gamers to construct most of the planets using the build-and-play incentive. Those gamers signed a contract that said that they had to make at least four hundred ‘products’ before they could actually the game. They called it the ‘fix-it-later’ release. The products they were referring to was one galaxy. Those designer gamers are probably still waiting…”

“Four hund--?” Joden held up his fist to the pilot, who had been watching from the ship’s windshield. “That’s extortion!”

“Welcome to the world. They get away with it because it’s a game world. You can do anything in the game world like gambling, murder, blackmail, forced labor, and forced sodomy. Nothing’s real so nothing matters.”

The astronaut had disembarked about five hundred meters from the ship. Steam bellowed from its worn exhaust. “Why did you call me kid? How old are you? I mean I know you have the same avatar as me…”

“Age doesn’t matter either. Yeah, I couldn’t afford the customizations either.” Jersh tapped his helmet. “So, I guess we both have the same face.”

“And same weapons, gear, armor, boots, ships, weapon skins, and abilities.” He noticed a large oval blob on his visor’s HUD. It was moving closer behind a small series of stone pillars.

“Oh no, I have the blue-skinned Rigormortis rifle. It’s got this badass blue stripe on the side. Cost me 20,000 gold, 200 platinum, and 4 of my lifesaving’s accounts. If I didn’t have this stripe, I’d probably go insane or worse, color blind.”

“Shut up, dude. Something’s coming. I think it’s a surviving sloblarian. I hear they get angro really quick. I don’t want to die here, man. I never bought a 600-gold resurrection pack. It’ll take sixty days to load back in…”

Jersh responded, sounding distracted, “You’re fine. Just cap it in the head or something.”

The purple blob was twenty meters away. If it wanted to attack it would have to come out into the open and charge him. He could tell there was movement but it was more restless than threatening. Joden took out his rifle and fired at the rock tower. The gun exploded in his hands, sending his obliterated fingers in multiple directions.

“Ah damnit! I forgot about the maintenance fee!”

The figure bounded from the pillar and slunk slowly towards the enemy astronaut. It skulked across the yellow, Phallusian sand with its omni-dexterous flippers. Arriving to the hunched-over human its tugged at his spacesuit and motioned for him to come closer.

“Gross dude, it wants to talk to me. What should I do?” The rounded head bobbed up and down like a rubbery ball. It seemed to be injured or at least miserable.

Joden heard distinct crunching noises emanating from the pilot’s mouth. “IDK. Step on it I guess.”

The polymorphous blob at his feet opened its crevice-like mouth and appeared to gasp for air. But it wasn’t gasping. It was whispering. He leaned down and listened.

“Dunk…prrray…Donk pppreeeey.” It was saying, and gargled as its lips flapped. “Doooonnk plllaaaaay. Chooose nut to pprraaaaay. Fyind sumting essl to do wilth yourg tyhme.”

“Oh, hell no!” shouted the man, as he squashed the creature’s face with his boot. It was like stepping on a water balloon filled with pebbles. He looked at where his hands used to be and screamed into the sky. “What does it all mean? Why do I always have to be punished! I’ve been in the same place for too long!”

"It's not good to live in a dream.” More crunching came from the ship. “You sometimes forget what life is like."

Virtual blood splashed onto the dry dirt from his nubs. A few splatters mixed with the alien’s internal fluids. The reflective pool at his feet showed his avatar’s face, the same face of his pilots. He searched rapidly for any signs of wealth or material possession. There was nothing but ooze and viscera. Tattered cloth around the dead alien’s head was smushed and torn.  

He turned toward the ship with a look of bewilderment. “How many gamers are trapped here? We can’t be the only ones. This game isn’t anything like what they advertised. They lied to us! Who would want to be stuck in this perpetual nightmare of pay-to-play, pay-to-build, pay-to-live, pay-to-pay mechanics?”

“I don’t think you get it.” The pilot was still eating. “Companies do this to consumers because consumers let them. The general belief is that consumers are very smart but when’s the last time you heard someone say: ‘I won’t buy that because it goes against my code of ethics?’ None, no one’s ever said that. People like spending money. It’s in our blood. Its our nature to trust rich people. They seem to have all the right answers even when they don’t. They make the truths that we all follow. Besides, how could they get all that money if they had bad intentions.”

Joden used his character’s remaining strength to rush back towards the Blourgan cruiser. He felt a draft of air coming in the direction of the ship, and heard the engine roaring to life. “What the hell are you doing?”

The mercenary vessel hovered three feet off the ground and its nose pointed at the runner. Its pilot could be seen through the windshield, “Sorry newb, you’re becoming to be a real downer.”

“I thought you were my friend!” he whimpered, his nubs heaving back and forth.

The ship elevated to ten feet. “None of us are really friends. We’re all just trying to make a living. And I need one more kill for the Slayer Award. We’re all just numbers.”

As he came to the plateau where he had disembarked, he held up his invisible hands to shield his face. “I just want to go home! I just want to go home.”

A cybersonic laser beam burst from the cruiser’s forward cannons. He felt the hot bathing light of the beam and then felt nothing at all.

“I can’t get out…I can’t…” He awoke in darkness. A screen appeared that read the same message he received hundreds of times, “You have died. Looks like you have low gear and feeble weapons. Would you like to buy a booster pack?”

“No.” he responded.

“A looter box?”

“No!”

He said the same words over and over before. The message continued, “You have elected to refuse game-provided assistance. This is a poor decision. In order to continue gameplay without using game-provided assistance please insert thirty-seven-point-one resurrection tokens.”

He wanted to cry but said, “I don’t have any.”

The automated voice paused and spoke again after popping up a sixty-page form. “Well that sucks. In order to continue please complete the loan agreement in front of you. The loan is for $6,000. Sign here, here, and here.”

Joden lowered his shoulders and looked at his current debt. It read: “-387,000.” He breathed out, collapsing his chest, and grew red-faced. “No!” he shouted.  

There was another pause and the form disappeared. For several moments there was darkness and silence. “Very well.” The automated voice returned. “You have chosen reincarnation. Goodbye.”

“No!” he screamed defiantly. “No!”

Then, all of a sudden, he felt strange. He looked out through oddly-colored eyes. His hands had returned but they had three fingers instead of five. When he tried to speak, he could only gasp through what felt like a straw. The sand that he walked on grew hardened in his webbed feet. An alien girl danced toward him, carrying a toy. She hugged him with pencil-thin arms and turned towards the sky. Tattered robes fell along his arm and he patted the girl’s head. He looked up, to where the girl was gazing and saw a massive fireball break through the atmosphere. A necro-missile came out of the fiery plume, heading straight for their small, stony village. 

[punkscowardschampions]

Chloé & Buster

Chloé: McKenna Buster: What do you want? Chloé: I have some bad news Chloé: well not news, but a reminder, unwelcome, I'm sure Buster: I don't wanna hear anything you've got to say Chloé: Naturally Chloé: Did you not have any qualms about letting your sister 'date' James? Buster: The fact that my little sister was able to take your man from you is nobody's problem but yours, babe Chloé: Good to see you're as dense as ever Chloé: Cast your thick skull back and remember the last conversation we had, yeah Buster: No thank you Chloé: The reason you should've given more of a shit Chloé: because you see, that really brought back some old pain for me, made me remember some things I tried desperately to forget Chloé: like the fact we slept together, almost exactly to the day by the way, exactly nine months before Jay was born Buster: I ain't taking responsibility for your kid 'cause you fucked up your marriage Buster: Your husband finally growing a set of balls was a surprise to all of us, like Chloé: Hmm, his lack of really highlights his inability to be the father, no Chloé: not to mention he was a good three weeks too late but that can be glossed over easily enough at the time Buster: Fuck off, Chlo Buster: The entrapment didn't work all those years ago and it ain't gonna now Chloé: What entrapment? Chloé: I'm already engaged, divorce pending Chloé: and I've given up the kids Chloé: that ones yours, you should know Chloé: James does, I've already told him Buster: You already told me she was and wasn't Chloé: When I had to raise her, I was not going to do that with you Buster: When I had to know you, I never believed a single word that came out of your mouth Buster: Guess what ain't changed Chloé: Don't do the right thing then Chloé: I have Chloé: he should be getting a DNA right about now Buster: You've done the right thing for yourself, yeah Buster: That ain't news to me either, babe Chloé: I've told you the truth Chloé: if you don't want to fight for your daughter, you don't have to Chloé: he wants to keep her regardless Buster: She ain't mine, regardless of how many times you say it now Chloé: Whatever, McKenna, I can't be bothered with this back and forth Chloé: I know she is, James will have proof she's not his Chloé: could even use his girlfriend's DNA to prove she's yours if he fancies Chloé: you've been given the information, do or don't Buster: Shut up and leave my sister out of your sick games Chloé: She involved herself in this, it has nothing to do with me Buster: She ain't involved herself with you, I mean it, leave her alone Chloé: I've got better things to do with my time Chloé: though you've apparently not grown up in the last six years, the rest of us have Buster: Like planning wedding number 2, yeah? Buster: You actually gonna bother to raise any kids you have that time around or what? Buster: Give it a few years and you can come back around to convince James they're his Chloé: That's truly not your business Chloé: worry about your own Chlo��: there's an idea Buster: I can't wait to take you to court for wasting my time with this bullshit Buster: Hopefully whoever her actual father is will be more receptive once you've copied and pasted this convo to him Chloé: N'awh Chloé: here's hoping you don't get dumped this time Chloé: must make family meals so awkward Buster: I forgot how hilarious you were Chloé: I can assure you your wife/cousin won't have forgotten Chloé: good luck, truly, you're going to need it Chloé: James is a good dad, despite his other faults Chloé: and just fucking your sister, not his own Buster: Get over the fact that Nance didn't wanna fuck you please, it's been years Chloé: Not exactly how I remember it Chloé: though I see why you two would want to rewrite your history Chloé: didn't exactly go how you planned, did it McKenna? Chloé: Poor boy Buster: Well, nobody knows better than me how selective your memory can be Chloé: It was convenient for you to believe me the 2nd time, not the 1st Chloé: you have no one to blame but yourself, likewise, should Jay ever meet you, she'll have no one to blame but you, for abandoning her Buster: It was convenient for you to fucking assault me, except it wasn't really, was it? Buster: None of that went how you planned, did it, Chlo Chloé: Assault you? Now who's funny Chloé: you couldn't wait to fuck your sister by fucking me Buster: You, still so gutted we ain't celebrating our wedding anniversary, hilarious that is Buster: And the fact you reckon I couldn't wait to do anything with you other than fuck off far away from you, ain't even that, it's just tragic Chloé: I'm afraid I don't have time for your delusions Chloé: though the fact you still fantasize about me after all these years- oh wait, no, that turns my stomach Chloé: you should know a thing or two about restraining orders by now, yeah? Chloé: Get me one against you and have a nice life Buster: So little time, so many lives to try and ruin Buster: And yeah, 'course, but so do you after that one Nance got against you, which you're bound to have had framed, like Buster: It didn't really work too well, and neither would any you tried against me if you also try and fuck with my life again Chloé: I didn't even hear about it Chloé: What extraordinarily sad, close little lives you do all lead Chloé: Your life, and how fucked it is, has nothing to do with me Chloé: you best hope James never decides he doesn't want her Chloé: that child is a nightmare Buster: She's yours, what else could she ever have a hope in hell of being? Chloé: Mutual Buster: Don't Chloé: I've said it, no amount of denial fronted as bravado changes the fact I have and you know it's true Chloé: and now you have to deal with everything you did and didn't do Buster: Nothing's true until the DNA proves it Chloé: I'm under no illusion he's going to report his findings back to me, McKenna Chloé: and I'm certainly not acting as your go-between Chloé: no doubt your sister is already well aware and all over that situation like a rash Buster: Cry about the breakdown in communication between you and your whipping boy on your own time Chloé: Yes, I'm heartbroken Buster: The only person that's surprised a 17 year old kid has more to offer him than you, is you Buster: You never really got past the mental age you were when I first moved to Chelsea, did you, babe? Chloé: We're all aware what she's offering him, I'm not surprised, I was left when he HAD to go to rehab before his daddy cut him off for how expensive the coke habit got Chloé: you were all much of a muchness to me Buster: Poor you Buster: It won't be long before your 2nd husband is driven to drink and drugs either, I'm sure, so it's a good thing you're used to that particular martyrdom, like Chloé: It's a good thing he's got more about him than any of you ever did Chloé: he can handle and take responsibility Buster: You better hope and pray he ain't or he won't stick around for the vows Buster: He'll definitely wanna hold his hands up to what a mistake it was regardless though, yeah Chloé: As I said, your jealousy and obsession is truly disturbing Buster: Says you & it's so rich that I could afford another house Chloé: Mhmm Chloé: you can go now Buster: It's richer still that you reckon you can tell me what I can and can't do Buster: You'll be hearing from my lawyer one way or another, even if all I can fuck over your new life with is maintenance payments for a kid you don't want Chloé: Of course I will Chloé: Goodbye Buster: Always a pleasure, Chlo Chloé: Not mutual Buster: Let's leave it longer than the 6 years next time, yeah? Chloé: Try never again Buster: Suits me

[raindrop-on-a-spiderweb]

On The Street Where You Live, Part 3

Last part guys. After this I will try and work on the main story. Hope you enjoyed this crazy AU!

***

Patience stared at the bathroom wall, tears welling in her eyes.

Her period always came like clockwork, every second of the month. It was the fourteenth, and she was late. This morning she had woken up nausea so severe she vomited in the toilet. And the nausea had struck again in gym class.

Someone rapped irritably on the bathroom door. "Are you done in there?"

"NO!" She burst out. 

She heaved silent sobs, burying her face in her hands. There was graffiti on the bottom of the door. EVAN AND BETH FOREVER surrounded by a heart.

She wondered who Evan and Beth were. They were probably a happy couple, waiting to graduate and marry. He would probably have a good job, and her parents would like him, not like Patience and Salvatore.

She pressed the heels of her wrists into her eyes and let her sobs overwhelm her.

***

It was a bright afternoom at the butcher shop, and for once, the only thing that was being chopped there was meat. A black-haired young man was taking inventory when the front door jangled and he looked up.

As soon as Salvatore saw who it was, he appeared frustrated. "What the hell are you doing here, Leo Angelino?"

The boy looked about as out-of-place in the butcher shop as a lion would on a Kansas farm, with his uniform and carefully coiffed hair. "I am not frequenting your lovely establishment for the charming array of services you offer. I am here to speak to a certain person, that person being you."

"You coulda just said 'I'm here to talk to you.'"

"Yes, but then I wouldn't be able to see the charming look on your face as you attempted to the decipher the big words in my speech."

"What the fuck do you want?"

He put his elbows on the counter and leaned forward until his nose nearly touched Salvatore's. "I hear you're dating Richard Winslow's daughter."

Salvatore looked disgrunted. "Well, I was for a while. Don't know where she's gotten to as of late."

Leonardo toyed with the edge of the frayed paper menu. "I think, for the good of you both, you should stop seeing her."

"That ain't none of business, you god damn faggot. What do you care?"

"Just look at you. You already have a criminal record, you work a dead-end job, you have no prospects. You're just a hooligan from the wrong side of the tracks."

He leaned closer, and Salvatore stood his ground, but his fists were clenched and trembling.

"She deserves so much better than you and you know it. That's probably why she's not seeing you anymore. She realized that you're no good, Salvatore. It would be best if you simply... moved on."

"SHUT UP!" 

He pushed Leonardo backwards. "If you ain't buying, you got no reason to be here. If you don't get out right now I'm gonna throw you out."

Leonardo held up his hands, backing away, but kept that irritating smile on his face. When the door swung shut, Salvatore turned and punched the wall, his fist crumpling the cheap wood.

His father barked at him to get back to work, and he did so slowly.

***

Leo was there. He was always there. She wanted to punch him as soon as he looked over at her and smiled.

"Patience honey, welcome home. There's a sandwich in the fridge for your lunch. I'm making pot roast tonight." Marilyn crossed one leg over the other, and Patience noted she wasn't wearing pantyhose. "Can you take the clothes out of the drier?" She flipped her hair ostentatiously, eyes on the young blond man beside her.

Tormented by her thoughts, she trudged down the basement. Her mind was whirring, caught in a circle like a broken toy, and she didn't notice someone enter in after her until the door clicked shut.

She whirled around. "What are you doing here?" Her blood pressure spiked as she recognized the golden-haired menace that had ruined her life.

 "Just here to help with laundry. I'm always around the house, so it's just natural that I help with chores."

The basement was really more of closet. There was enough room for a washer and dryer and that was about it. So he and Patience were stuck very close, so close they could not help but touch as they unloaded the drier. His hand skimmed her breasts, bottom and back, all under the pretense of accidence.

"Stop it!" She snapped. "Just--just hold the basket!"

After she was done loading the clothes, she turned to the door, he held it shut with his arm. He stood there, face an inch from her own, staring intently. He cocked it. "Patience."

For some reason she was afraid, even though he had no way of telling, that he had found out about her pregnancy. He's going to blackmail me. Just another way he has power over me.

"Why don't you like me?"

She started. It sounded like an honest question. Maybe it was. "Because you're sleeping with my mom and making her run around on my dad."

"Hmm. Well, maybe that can change." Leonardo hoped on top of the washing machine, staring down at her. "You really want me to stop fooling with your mother?"

"Yes, I do! Just leave her alone! Leave my whole family alone!"

"Well. Maybe we can come to an agreement." He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "How about this. I stop with your mother... and you take her place."

She stood frozen, teeth gritted and body made of stone. "I--" and for a moment she thought, then Mom and Dad will stay together. I'm pregnant, he can't do anything to me like he was threatening to. Maybe just--just to keep him away from Mommy--

He took her by the arm and pulled her forward. "My father is very rich. I'm going to Yale next year. I'm an even an Altar Boy at The Church of the Holy Virgin

That boyfriend of yours is no-good and you know. I can buy you anything you want, get you a house, take you to Europe."

He sounded like he was giving her more of a sales pitch than asking her to be his lover. She studied him closely, at his fine, delicate features, his high cheekbones and arched nose and long eyelashes. Could she wake up beside him? 

She just focused on his features, trying to ignore everything else about the boy, all her memories of the way he had slammed her against the wall and forced his way into her, about how her mommy looked at him with adoring eyes, on the disgusting words he had whispered in her ears that fateful night, and just focused on those blue, blue eyes.

He leaned down slowly, giving her time to pull away, and cupped her face. When his mouth was a fraction away from hers, and his breath was spilling over her lips, she yanked away, her gorge rising. 

"Get lost, Borghese. I'm never going to be your girl," she snarled resentfully, her bitterness taking over as she carried the basket of laundry out of the basement.

***

"Well, hey there, Pat. Haven't seen you around lately."

Jack Salandra was sitting outside the butcher shop in a folding chair, smoking a cigarette.

"Do you know where Salvatore is?"

"He's in the back talking to someone."

"I need to speak with him."

"He's busy. You should come back in an hour, I think he'll be closing up."

"No. You don't understand. I REALLY need to speak with him."

Something in her trembling voice gave him pause, and he put out his cigarette and stood up. "Give me a minute."

Soon after, Sal emerged, looking livid. His butcher's apron was stained with blood. "What the fuck is your problem? First we go to the prom together. Then you ghost me for a whole month, leaving me wondering what the hell happened to you. And now you're showing up at my door begging to talk to me?"

She swallowed hard and looked down the street. "It's... it's really, really important. Is there somewhere where we can be alone?"

He led her to an alleyway behind the butcher shop, occupied only by a dumpster where she assumed spoiled meat was dumped because of the smell.

She took a deep breath, skin prickling, and when she spoke the words, the shocked silence was so loud it buzzed in her ears.

"I'm pregnant."

Salvatore's face settled into a blank look of shock. His eyes were so wide around his black iris that it was ringed by white.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yeah. My mom had the same symptoms when she was pregnant with me. And it's--the timeline adds up. I know... it's yours, Salvatore."

Salva slowly sank to the ground, shaking. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Vaffanculo..." and he began to sob.

Him crying make her start to cry too, but she lashed back. "What are you crying for? You're not the one who's pregnant!"

He wiped his tears off with his bloody apron.

Patience felt the weight of despair crush her, a woman barely into her teens and saddled with the child of the last person she'd want to be pregnant by. How could she finish high school now? What would her parents say? Did she have to get married? She didn't want to marry Salvatore. She wanted to go to college and be a police officer like her father. How could she do that with a child, and married to someone she'd more likely arrest than not? He smoked. He skipped school. He hit her. That 'bad boy' image he gave off that had so charmed her at first now alienated her, disgusted her. How could she marry someone like that? 

Life was going too fast for her. She wanted this to be a nightmare she would wake up from.

"What are we gonna do, Salvatore?" 

"I gotta tell my mom. Fuck, she's gonna kill me. It's all over. You better tell your parents too."

The thought of introducing Sal as the father of her child made her feel sick. She often hated how long the walk back to her house from the butcher shop was, but this time, she wished it were longer. Every step she took was weighted down by concrete blocks.

When her two-story green townhome came in sight, her heart began to pound. When she pulled the door open, she saw her father in a sweater, reading the news, and her mom watching television.

When her father saw her, he got up to hug her. She hugged her father, inhaling his familiar smell. She never wanted to let go. 

"I'm sorry I've been away for so long, baby. Work's been rough. But the Chief is giving me some time off this week. What do you say you, your mom and I do something this weekend? Go to an amusement park? See a movie?"

Oh, daddy. If only you knew.

"That sounds good, Daddy." She kept the sob out of her voice, but it welled up again as she sat down beside her dad to watch TV. Harry Truman was giving a speech. Every single word out of his mouth might as well have been gibberish.

"Honey, have you been crying?" Mommy looked up. She was in her favorite dress, the red gingham one. Patience remembered her wearing it a lot as a child. Her apron was smeared, like she had just been cooking.

 "Are you all right? Did Mr. Oleson yell at you again? Tell your mommy."

"No." She wiped her eyes. "I--I--I need to, talk, to you. About something?"

"What is it, junebug?" Daddy looked down at her, worry knitting his brow. His green eyes, just like hers, were filled with concern as more tears streaked down her face.

"I'm--" her voice caught in her throat like a stone. "I'm pregnant."

For a moment, all she heard was Harry Truman's voice crackling through the speakers.

Then two things happened.

Her father leaped up and started shouting, and her mother began to sob.

"You're fifteen years old! You are fifteen years old! How did you let this happen?"

"No, no, oh god, please no, Patience--"

"How could you ruin your life like this? You were going to college! You're on the honor roll! How, how could you be so--" Richard was shouting, red in the face, and he took her by her shoulders and shook her.

"How did it happen? Who did it? How old is he? Was he your teacher?" Mommy was still crying, but she got her questions rapid-fire.

"No," she managed to get out between sobs. "I-It wasn't. He--was--he's in my high school. He works at the butcher shop around the corner, the one on Franklin Lane. He--his name is S-Salvatore Mallozzi."

The room went silent again, the calm before a storm, and then the storm crashed down.

"SALVATORE MALLOZZI? I arrested that boy for assault and theft! He spat in my face! You're telling me that you let him--"  Richard was shaking hard, and Patience wondered whether he would collapse. He was gripping her shoulders so hard they erupted in pain.

Mommy had lapsed into crying again, except this time, more desperately. When she spoke again, her voice was a scream. She slapped her errant daughter so hard her face exploded with pain. "Why are you acting the whore? Where's your common sense? I thought you would have learned from your Aunt Minnie! A dago? Why did you let some FUCKING Italian--"

"You're one to talk!" She shouted back, holding her aching cheek. Her fury and agony was bursting, making her lash out. "What with you and Leonardo!"

The moment she let those words leave her lips, she regretted it more than anything in her life.

Her daddy loosened her arms, slowly, and turned to his wife. "Marilyn," he said, his voice sapped of emotion.

Mommy looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "I was going to tell you," she whispered.

He sat down, shaken and pale. "Why?" He asked simply. "Why Silvio's son?"

"You were never here," she said. "He was. He told me I was beautiful. He--" she stopped and looked away. "I know I can't explain it to you. I know nothing I can say would explain it. But it's so lonely without you."

Richard said nothing, but buried his face in his hands. 

Patience sat, frozen, aware distantly of her  life crumbling around her. She felt like she was floating above the room, looking down at a bunch of strangers.

"Richard," Mommy said, "I'm leaving you. And I'm taking Patience."

This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

Richard walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. He chugged his first few swallows straight from the bottle. Then he took a crystal glass and poured a generous amount in it.

Harry Truman was talking about the Soviet Union.

The three sat in absolute silence, the only sound the clinks of Daddy's glass and the occasional sniff of Mommy's.

How much time had passed, she did not know, but Daddy finally drained his glass and sat up before making his way purposefully to the door.

Patience jumped. "Daddy, where are you going?"

He did not answer, but she had a forboding feeling she knew, so she followed him out of the door.

Richard took step after step, and although he was staggering drunk, his mind was laser-focused on one thing. He ignored his daughter's pleas as he headed for the one place Patience feared--the butcher shop.

As soon as it came within sight she seized his arm, but he shook her off like a fly. One hundred and fifty pounds of Massachusetts rage bulled his way into the butcher shop.

Salvatore was sitting at a table, holding an icepack to his cheek. Opposite him was Malone, and a smattering of other undesirables. Richard marched up to the table and decked Salvatore.

The crack was louder than anything in the room, and Salvatore was flung backwards onto the floor. Richard was shouting drunkenly, drowning out the pleas of Malone.

"Winslow! Calm yourself! The boy's mother is crying in the next room!"

"YOU FUCKING DIRTY CRIMINAL WOPS--"

"Winslow! Winslow! The boy has agreed to marry the girl, there nothing to be upset about!"

"As if I would let my daughter marry one of you people! Patience is fifteen! I have my handcuffs here and I am arresting him and taking him to jail! I'm putting him away on statutory rape charges!"

Salvatore had scrambled back on his hands and knees and had his back against the wall, trembling with blood pouring down his face. Malone was in front of him, blocking him from Richard's wrath.

"Daddy," Patience pleaded, hanging onto him. "Please stop this, let's talk, please stop yelling--"

He shook her off, knocking her a few steps back. "My daughter," he snarled. "Is not marrying that boy. She is going to an unwed mother's home, and when the baby is adopted, she is coming back and she is finishing her education. Put the god damn handcuffs on!"

He lunged forward, and Malone pulled a bat out from behind the counter. They clashed with the thud of wood on skin.

Patience sat there, sobbing quietly as her father fought fiercely, throwing punches and shouts against weapons.

And as the other people in the butcher shop closed in, she didn't want to see her daddy beaten within an inch of his life, so she backed out of the butcher shop, her shoulders against the glass.

She ran home, the sky waning on her and the sky beginning to warm with orange on the horizon. Each thudding step she took jolted her to her brain.

The home she saw looked alien now--it held no comfort for her. When she pushed in, heaving her breaths, her mommy was on the phone. She heard the word Leo.

When she came inside, her mommy put down the phone and looked up. She opened her mouth to say something, but said nothing.

Patience stood there silently. 

Surveying the wreckage of her life and the ways it would go from now on, she made the wisest decision of her short life.

***

Patience shoved handfuls of her clothes into her suitcase, breaths trembling and frantic. She stopped by her parents' room and swept the emergency money in the bedside drawer into her suitcase.

She clicked the suitcase shut and ran downstairs, her shoes thudding on the steps. Her mother met her in the living roo, saw her suitcase, and she panicked. "Where are you going, Patience?"

"Away. I'm going away, mommy, I'm leaving, and I'm not coming back."

Marilyn seized her daughter's arm. "Don't do this, Patience! Don't do this! Please, come with me, don't leave me alone!"

"Why'd you do it, Mommy?" All Patience wanted to do was bury her face in her mother's skirt and cry. She wanted to be a little girl again, when her parents loved each other and her.

"You don't know what it's like. You know your daddy is never here. I had to raise you by myself. You think he's the hero? You know why he's gone so often? So he doesn't have to deal with the responsibility. I'm lonely, Patience. And I've been alone ever since I had you. I'm fed up with it."

"But why did it have to be him?"

Her mother said nothing, but there were tears in her eyes too, and an enormous unsaid weight between them.

Patience looked at the face that was so like hers, the tiny nose, the heart-shaped face, the pink lips. 

"I love you, Mommy. But you made your choice. And I can't stay here. I will not live with that man. I'm not going to an unwed mother's home. And I'm not marrying Salvatore, either."

She pushed past her mother, into the road, and chose a direction and started running, away from a broken home she would never return to.

***

Patience walked down the highway, thumb sticking out. Car after car passed her until a rattling sedan with a loose license plate slowed down. "Are you looking for a lift?" Called the driver.

The car was in such bad shape she almost refused, but the sun was going down and she needed a ride before nightfall. "Sure."

She put her suitcase in the backseat and hopped in the front seat. As soon as she slamed the door, the sedan was rattling off down the highway.

The driver was a young man in an ill-fitting gray suit and tie. He had slicked-back blond hair that was graying along the temples, despite his youth. "Where are you headed?" 

"Just outside of town. What about you?"

He laughed bitterly. "Garland City Courthouse. I'm divorcing my wife. You know what the real ironic thing is? I'm actually an attorney. A public defender. But because I don't know jack about divorce proceedings, I had to hire my own. And I really can't afford to spend the money."

The car coughed, like it was agreeing with him. "I'm sorry to hear that. Why did you split up?"

"Because she's not satisfied with the money I make. She always wants new fur coats, new pearls, new nights on the town. Women are never satisfied. It's always something with them."

Patience had a distinct feeling that that was only half the story, but did not pursue it.

"I understand. My parents are leaving each other, too."

"Is that why you're out here all alone?"

She looked ahead as rain began to speckle the windshield. "Yeah. Well, that, and--" she thought of Salvatore, and the baby, and instinctively cupped her stomach. "Other reasons."

"You should go back. I bet they're worried stiff. If my son disappeared on me, I'd lose my mind. Of course, he's only two, so there's not a lot of places he could go."

Patience thought of her mother, lost, staying up nights worrying desperately about her daughter. About her father, coming back to an empty home without his wife and daughter. She rubbed her eyes. I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry, Daddy.

I guess I was just too much of a coward to deal with this. So I ran away instead.

Then she thought of Salvatore, of what he would think, how he would wonder what happened to his child. Would he wonder? Or would he just be glad he didn't have deal with the trouble anymore?

The night was beginning to fall, turning the sky blue-black. Patience spotted a bus stop through the shield of rain, right besside the sign stating Robichaux National Forest. "Drop me off here. I'll catch a bus."

The man slowed down. She hopped out and took her briefcase.

The man propped up his elbow on the steering wheel. "Which way are you headed, kid?"

She shielded her eyes against the rain. The trees towered above her like black, watching sentinels.

"California," she said. "Yeah. California sounds good." Somewhere far, far away, as far as she could get. "Thanks a lot, mister. I never got your name."

"Charlie Sawyer." He shook her hand. "And you?"

On the spur of a moment, she chose a false name, one that, considering who she was talking to, spared her a lot of suffering. "Beth Evans."

"Well, Beth. Best of luck to you."

"Thanks. Best of luck to you too, Charlie."

Patience watched his blinking tail lights vanish into the darkness, and sat down in the sanctuary of the bus stop, waiting for the rain to stop.

She slid her hand underneath her shirt and held it there, as if she could feel the heartbeat of her unborn child.

It's just you and me now, baby. Just us, in this big bad world.

The rain poured down harder, as if it would never stop.

THE END