#sorry my pic quality went out the window

[simlit]

Chapter Eight // Shatter // 29

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[animefreak1145]

The Brilliance of Break On Through

Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War Mission Break on Through—An Analysis

I have replayed the campaign of COD:BOCW numerous times—too many times truly. Did a whole playthrough where it was Hardened and soon I’m sure I shall do Veteran(something I have never done for any COD game. Not even Hardened.).

All missions have their own unique qualities—parts where the player gets a little rush of adrenaline depending on the kind of mission and how they choose to play it (Nowhere Left to Run just a plain shooting match while Brick in the Wall you can choose to remain stealthy like the good spy you are or go crazy like an eager homicidal maniac).

Even within the safehouse, there are plenty of little details to discover if you take the time to look around and observe everyone. Or, everything. (The radio if turned to a Russian station/correspondence, Adler changes it back immediately before Da Nang mission. Watching Park’s body language, as you talk to Adler and she periodically looks over to you two. Adler suspicious when you go to the Red Room or the locked room with the arcade. The T.V. being turned on in the Red Room)

But the amount of details, details, in the mission Break on Through is outstanding. I have played this mission more than any other due to me wishing to look at all the details. There’s so many, I think I may miss some. And I can’t show them off all to you cause I suck at creating gifs and don’t know how to transfer that from Xbox to my phone.

To lighten it up a bit, I won’t focus on the four different scenarios you go through—at least not each one. That would take too long and I do not have gifs/pics to show it off since Tumblr limits it to ten anyways.

I will, however, try to guide to what parts of the game you all can explore if you choose to do so. As well just how detailed they did this mission.

I am going to start with the different statements Adler says to you throughout all the Scenarios(17, 6, 11, 1). We only go through four in the actual game—but the fact it goes up to 17 or possibly more shows just how far they went in and messed with Bell’s mind.

Now, Adler seems to be a bit bipolar on how he talks to you whether or not you listen to him and all his directions. Either totally blasé and cold to giving you and pumping you up with more MK or meds, or actually a tad concerned and patient as he guides you through.

If You/Bell Stands Still/Does Nothing:

Example 1

“So you did nothing? What were you, in shock?”

He throws the words callously, mocking. As if Bell isn’t confused and lost at what is going on. He even sounds irritated that you might actually be in shock due to these memories that are just fake—not even real. Not like what he has.

Example 2

“What’s wrong with Bell?” -Adler

“I’m not sure. . .” -Park

“I guess we’ll just wait on you to proceed, Bell.”

The contrast is dizzying. He sounds concerned when he asks Park on what could be wrong with you. If he pushed you too far and now you’re just frozen. And, instead of rushing you due to how the fate of half of Europe is at stake, he decides to give you space. Just wait for you and you’ll come out of it soon enough.

He does these sort of reactions numerous times. Jumping from intimidating to the Adler we knew as the player, as Bell—kind and always in your corner that believes in you. He switches tactics based on what he believes will work really—or he just felt really on edge at times and threw the farce that you two were friends out the window.

Other examples include:

Scenario 11–Napalm Strike-in the lab in the room where you were brainwashed

“Christ, what’s happening with them?”-Adler

“A mild seizure. Sims, past me a benzodiazepine.” -Park

Again, concerned. Worried. Almost…at unease?

In the lab—tripped up on drugs. If you run through the tight shrinking hallway back and forth like so(I suck at making gifs, I’m sorry):

“Why is Bell repeating themselves?”

Or

“Bell, stop speaking in circles.”

Now, as others may have suspected, Bell is talking to everyone as they’re stuck in this horrible loop of mental torture. Most likely muttering, hands clenching and arms pulling against the straps of the gurney, moving their head back and forth depending on what they’re seeing. I always saw Bell as muttering quickly in Russian as they go through all of this—their mother tongue where it may comfort them as they’re panicking and speaking to Adler.

It’s just a nice detail showcasing how exactly Adler knows that Bell is on script—Bell saying what they’re seeing and doing and what’s going on. It shows also just how hard they put Bell through the ringer(badum tss. I’ll leave now).

All the details too when the game shows how the drugs they put in Bell affects you. Like so. The hallways appearing long. The lights looking yellow. You feel so fast—look how quick you can run. Run towards the Red Door that Adler so desperately wants and maybe this can stop. Ah, why is it running away from you? What’s going on?

I don’t know about you, but I was so lost and confused at what was going on my first playthrough. For the majority of this mission, the possibility of me being brainwashed didn’t reach the BACK of my mind till probably I actually saw the flashes of scenes about Vietnam and calling Bell a subject. So like right here.

I personally thought that I had a repressed memory or something due to me going through the Vietnam War. That whatever I saw with Perseus, I—or rather Bell—repressed it from our mind due to how violent or horrible what we saw or experienced was. And that Adler suspected and just really wanted to know about it.

I didn’t expect for the man to actually brainwash my character—us—Bell! The game made Adler your mentor, who always defended you from Hudson and believed in your skills very highly. How he and Bell were basically perfect partners when the two of you were together.

It’s amazing—cause I think that’s what the developers were going for. The absolute trust. The loyalty. The denial that ‘maybe Adler is being a little harsh but hey, this is to help Perseus so it’s okay?’ It’s perfect. Because I’m sure that is what Bell actually felt in real time.

Yet, if you go through the total rebellious choice of not listening to Adler, some thing’s make sense. The Rebellious Side shows you way more than if you just listen to Adler like a Dutiful Soldier.

You go through this room if you choose the rebellious route, the T.V.’s automatically turning on the closer you get. Of Vietnam. And now, all those T.V.‘s that turned on by themselves(the Red Room, Lubyanka, Cuba) make sense. You were actually being brainwashed. Poor Bell probably can’t ever have a turned off/broken T.V. again. The trauma.

Said trauma being shown multiple times too. Not just the T.V.‘s. But the absolute terror that Bell felt, before they became Bell, with Adler.

Like do you see this? This terrified me when I saw it at the end of the hallway. I just saw a red shadow in the distance and I legit thought I was about to be chased. Call of Duty became a horror game(I also went through the door to the ground too my first playthrough, so before this I went through zombies and I think my heart was going to jump out my chest) I thought. I didn’t want to get closer. I had to, with each step I see that it’s not a shadow but a body. And than I see the familiar jacket, the sound of whirring in my ears and see it’s Adler’s head being twisted back and forth, side to side, up and down, in a speed that in inhumanely possible.

Makes one wonder if Bell themselves sees Adler as inhumane. Not human. Adler seeming to just be a god in their head. All the Adler shaped rocks/boulders you go through and see. Even one point the V.C. becoming Adler and you killing him over and over and dead bodies of Adler being everywhere.

The man has entered Bell’s head and won’t leave. Just like Adler won’t leave Bell alone.

Heck, there’s one point in my playthroughs of this mission I was by the bridge yet there were parts of the lab by it. I jumped towards it, noticing down below there were different floors of the lab that eventually reach the ground. I jumped to reach the next floor and missed and I died.

And Adler mocked Bell committing suicide.

That was the kicker really that Adler truly is indifferent towards Bell. Like complete disregard. I know it’s fake. We know it’s fake. Adler knows it’s fake—but to Bell, it felt real. That’s the crazy part. All of this—this whole sequence feels real to Bell so each time they die they actually feel it. It’s insane. It’s cruel.

But we all know that Adler isn’t known for his kindness. Still like his character though, he’s layered.

I don’t have the exact quote he said, didn’t wrote it down like the others. I was shook he said it at all.

Moving on to the final details I’m going to talk about.

When you go through the room, I believe this comes out for both rebellious and dutiful, really depends. You see it filled with post it notes, articles, plans, and newspapers. And you see once more just how Bell has been scarred.

I don’t know Russian or German, but I imagine the notes are similar to what the English one’s say. If I’m wrong, please point it out.

There’s also post it notes which I believe is in code as well due to all the numbers—I’m not sure what those could mean since I am no decoding expert.

Poor poor Bell. And with all these pictures and plans—of Adler included—it begs the question that Bell may have been warned about the famous America’s Monster beforehand. Had to have—since Adler is basically Perseus’s adversary due to how stubborn the American man could be. It just adds more to the story, despite Cold War having quite a short campaign, they made it up somewhat with all these details everywhere.

When you finally and actually reach the room.

As you grow closer to the table, to your chair in the conference room while everyone else seems to have their own spots, there’s something I noticed.

There’s glasses. As well as a hat. And it’s Bell’s. Or at least, it used to be. Why else is it on their side of the table? By their chair? I believe it might be reading glasses due to all the decryptions Bell does, whether on paper or through a computer, it’s hard on the eyes. (I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed this. For look at @second-vtoroy ‘s Bell)

I believe through the brainwashing, Bell might not need glasses anymore. After all, apparently they were a smoker like Adler before too but they took that out of you. What else they changed of Bell? It makes one wonder how far they truly went into molding a person.

Which just adds onto how mind boggling this mission is—this game is. This is my favorite COD game, despite how short it is. The details and choices and interactions with everyone and able to create your own character(albeit it’s very standard and not specific but it’s good enough for me) is AMAZING. I’ve always been a sucker for RPG’s and able to get that even a little in a COD game? Truly wonderful.

I couldn’t touch on everything because it would’ve gotten long, but the fun of the Break on Through mission never gets old. It’s genius multiple ways you can do it. All the details. The feelings you feel as a player as you go through it.

They truly did a unique job with this and I hope they continue with this type of game storytelling. Hopefully longer as well.

Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this rant basically!

Gifs made by me and used the video down below to help.

https://youtu.be/t6QkmkGGHSQ

[oblivionlotus]

So, I’ve decided to go ahead with my thoughts on giving Leto a home of sorts, based in an abandoned factory. I actually went & made it on TS4! Below the cut you’ll find some pics of it (sorry for the quality) with some details!

The entrance to Leto’s secret home is protected by a locked rolling door which they’ve painted on the interior side.

Since the building is abandoned, Leto has installed a generator for electricity, which they use sparingly. They never turn on the lights in order to preserve gas but also due to the bright lights irritating their eyes - so they have a lot of candles throughout instead. Most of the rubbish has been cleared but some scrap is left around, for possible future use.

The alcoves on the right wall are decorated with sculptures, wall hangings, seashells, and crystal geodes. Is the skeleton real? I’ll leave that up to your imagination.

Leto sometimes drops their clothes on the floor rather than hanging them up. They aren’t the neatest of people.

Though the bed is creaky as hell, it’s actually very comfortable. The dream catcher was handmade by Leto.

The fireplace is long gone, even before Leto arrived, but the mantle and chimney was left untouched. Leto has a small electric heater for any guests that complain of the cold. The TV is rarely used and can only access public channels. Leto’s love of horror is shown here by the classic horror posters, as is their sense of irony, shown by having a crucifix on display.

The record player is used a lot of course. Again, Leto’s preferred tastes of film & music are shown. Their little chess set is also used a lot, for practice. This is the only clock on the premises but it is broken.

Leto’s sewing area, featuring a retro sewing machine. Here Leto also types notes they might leave in public, & applies make-up.

The only windows present in their home are large but the wooden shutters can keep out most sunlight when desired.

The only restroom on location but of course there is no active water supply. Leto will leave containers on the roof to collect rainwater for washing themselves, brushing teeth, & hand washing clothing. Leto does not require a functioning toilet & guests are (to quote from a movie) “free to piss in the garden”.

[ehbunnehsblog]

Hello hello peeps today I will be talking about childhood trauma now before anyone thinks "wait what does Bunneh mean childhood trauma" no I am not talking about the serious childhood trauma today although if anyone has ever went through any childhood trauma I just want you to know I see you, hear you and feel you but today I am actually going to be talking about shows and such that were traumatizing to me as a child. A few years or so back Youtubers I watched were making videos on things that scared them as a kid so I got the idea from there and thought it was neat since as a kid I had plenty of things I was scared of and with that said let's get into the post. Also TW: If you are triggered by toys that move, make noise and just look creepy don't read this also I use the f word in this post so if you don't like swearing whether it be one word or multiple this post isn't for you with that said read on!

1. The THX sound

This one doesn't even need an intro if any of you have watched VHS tapes as a kid you all know what I am talking about. That annoying sound that would start movies up to show you how good the sound quality was and to kinda just get your attention to know when a movie would start. The sound did kill two birds with one stone but at what cost? I mean this scared a lotta kids lol but really I just absolutely hated this sound it always just made me so uncomfortable and creeped out.

2. Gemmy Singing Hamsters

If it sang or danced get it the hell away from me far, far away from me. This will be something you see A LOT on the list really just anything that sang and moved made me scared I think a part of it was due to the fact it sounded loud and the other part was just because of how I was afraid someone would scare me with it at night. Now I think these toys are absolutely cool but as a kid toys like this were new to me and made me creeped out I also don't remember the sound quality being amazing but It really wasn't all that bad. The toys had charm it just did vibe with me as a kid.

3. This damn singing Christmas Tree

Pardon my french I apologize but I still fucking hate it. Omg this is absolutely terrifying I am so sorry y'all had to see this. I remember one year this was downstairs I believe its eyes moved and shit and I cried! I was absolutely petrified of this damn thing no joke my dad had to take it away I think. You should see it on its side it looks creepier! Who thought this was okay? Dude I can't. I can't. I also heard this is also gemmy? Gemmy guys what's going on? Why were you guys out to get me as a wee tot? Anyways when I searched this up I was honestly still surprised this still creeped me tf out.

4. Those damn Wiggle Puppets

Like most kids growing up I loved the Wiggles, they had some awesome music and I enjoyed the colors but one day they decided these puppets were okay.

I am positively sure that everyone was creeped out and scared by these puppets. I love puppets I they are cool but these were just very creepy and unsettling I remember everytime these things came up on my screen when I was watching the wiggles VHS tapes in my bedroom I would get up get behind my bedroom door and wait until it was over. I was terrified of these things I really was its because of the eyes not that if it changed it wouldn't be creepy but because the eyes are so big and so are the mouths even though these were meant to look friendly they just didn't.

5. Robo baby

Hasbro why? Please Hasbro just, just tell me why? I don't who let this pass but I hope you make better choices now. Now lemme say this not that this isn't a good idea it's just the execution alright. This toy just creeped me out a lot because of the eyes if they came out now I think what Furby did a few years ago could work for this and make this a whole less creepier. One time I was in my older sisters bedroom and idk who or what happened but this toy was making noise and moving I think and I hoped up on the bed which btw was a bunk bed and I held onto the railing on the top bunk until my mom turned off the toy and took me out of the room. I am positively sure this toy got hidden away because it scared me badly.

6. VHS tape coming out of VCR

Sometimes late at night I wouldn't take a VHS out and so the VHS would come out and as dumb as it sounds the noise would scare me because it was just pretty loud and annoying but that's me being a dummy because I could have just took the VHS out of the VCR in the first place.

7. The puppets from Allegra's Window

Now don't get me wrong I bet Allegra's Window was a lovely series but when I was a kid I saw a video just talking about old shows and this pic unsettled me. I never watched this show but it was mostly the cat and Allegra that spooped me in this photo. Maybe one day I will actually try checking it out who knows.

8. Mrs. Goodbee Dollhouse

I just had to save the best for last. So how did this dollhouse scare me? Well as a kid I stumbled on a YouTube video that made this dollhouse look absolutely terrifying and than I thought I dreamt it to find out that this dollhouse is real but really not as creepy as the video made it seem still creepy though. I do think this dollhouse is cute but I still probably would never get it for my kids if or whenever I have kids.

I apologize if this post is short or a tad cringey I was a kid weird things scared me but there is probably a lot more things that scared me as a kid but that will be for next time. And if you have read all of this well now you can see how much I was scared of toys that moved and talked lol idk where I got it from really I just always got creeped out by them but anyways

☆with all that said if you liked this post please give me a like and a follow I post a lot about nostalgic things and I will see ya later☆

[that-crazy-five-foot-two-chick]

Summary: Winry sat in the optimal place to study in the school cafe for the entire fall semester. Then spring came, and suddenly some self-entitled twit who dressed like off-brand Gerard Way decided it was his territory. He was so not going to get off easy.

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.8k words of coffee shop/college AU with a side of enemies to almost-lovers

A/N: It's finals week, I posted this on Ao3 at almost 5am, and if the rest of the sentence didn't make it obvious, I'm writing from unfortunate experience. Not beta-ed or proofread, although I happened to see one thing to fix when I woke up this morning. Feel my raw power. Rawr.

It wasn't that big a deal.

It kind of really was, though.

Every Thursday morning during the fall semester, Winry sat in the same spot at the same school coffee shop. It was the spot sent by the entire patron pantheon of cram papers. Maybe one person didn't need an entire booth, but it was in the corner, and the tops of the bench seats had opaque plastic barriers that just so happened to be perfect for minimizing excess visual chaos. For the most part, there weren't loud conversations, and the jazz music that came through the speakers helped her tune out people ordering coffee. Add to that the fact that she could use campus flex dollars and not her own bank account that was begging for mercy, and it was the perfect spot to get papers done.

But apparently not this spring.

As soon as Winry walked in, she noticed him in the corner. Some emo wannabe guy on his computer. Probably on Reddit complaining about how women didn't appreciate the amazing pics he sent them on Tinder. Or at least, it was a fair guess based on the sour look on his face. Why did this guy of all people have to steal the holy grail spot? Ugh. She was still gonna get her coffee, darn it.

"You know the deal, Sciezska. Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer."

"On it! You paying in flex?"

"Yeah." She scanned her student ID and lowered her voice. "Who's off-brand Gerard Way in the corner?"

"Who's Ger—"

"The punk kid."

"Ohhh. I can try to get his number for you, if you want."

"No, he looks like a total tool! And not the kind I like dealing with!"

"Which means you think he's hot. I didn't think you were into that type, but you're not wrong."

"For the last time, no, Sciezska! He took my spot! And I'm trying very, very hard to keep this to a stage whisper, but if you keep trying to set me up with some random creep, I won't be able to!"

A distinctly male voice grumbled, "I'm not a creep."

"Keep telling that to the girls on Tinder. I'm sure they'll understand eventually."

"Yeah, and I'll bet if you look at your 'Live, Laugh, Love' sign a little more, you'll understand it eventually." He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Mr. Nice Guy?"

"Lay off, it's eight in the morning. I said the only reason I even have a Tinder account is because my roommate stole my phone while I was going to the bathroom."

"Well, if you didn't want it, why didn't you delete it?"

"Eh, I figured if I really got sick of being single one day, it'd already be there."

"Never would have guessed you were single," Winry said dryly.

"Come on, it's way too early to be rubbing that kind of crap in. Who says I'm not fine with being single anyway?"

Sciezska timidly spoke up. "Medium roast with espresso and vanilla creamer?"

Winry thanked her as red jacket boy continued. "'Edward Elric, Bachelor.' Almost sounds as good as 'Edward Elric, Bachelor of Science.'"

"B.S. degree. Sounds about right."

"About time you stopped acting like I'm an idiot!"

Winry snorted. "That's not what I meant."

"Hey!"

"And with that, I'm going to go find some other spot to write my paper."

Edward, as his name apparently was, scoffed and mumbled something that sounded like "good riddance". Maybe the librarians wouldn't get on her case too much for bringing in coffee.

-----

A week later, Winry walked into the cafe, assuming the circumstances of the previous week were an anomaly. They were not.

"Medium roast with a shot of espresso and vanilla creamer," she grumbled and sulked in the direction of the corner seat.

"Hey, don't start with me again, blondie. I've had a whopping four hours of sleep and I can't promise you'll like what comes out of my mouth."

"We're at a coffee shop. Get some coffee. I can't help it if you're too hung over to be polite."

"Now look, genius. I did not stay up until 4 A.M. working on a stupid chem paper for that sadistic pyromaniac excuse for a professor just for some random chick to accuse me of being hung over."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And for your information, coffee doesn't really help me wake up. It just helps me focus on homework." He lifted up his empty cup and gave it a shake.

"That's the weirdest thing I've ever heard."

"ADHD is a weird thing, and yet, here I am."

"Huh, interesting."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to pick up where I left off with the same stupid ten page paper I started last night."

"Oh right. Sure," Winry stammered. "Listen, I'm really sorry I just assumed things about you. It was wrong of me, and I'd like to make it up to you, if that's okay."

Edward eyed her suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well...I could look over your paper once you're done writing it? I've got a paper of my own to write while I'm waiting, and I can sit right across the table here so you don't have to come get me. I won't try to talk to you or anything. Neither of us need that kind of distraction."

"Alright, alright. Get your coffee and sit down. The girl at the counter's been up there waiting for a good minute or two while you've been at confessional over here."

"Wait, she has?" Winry's eyes widened, and Edward laughed at her expense. He was kind of attractive when he wasn't scowling...wait what? She pouted and got up to retrieve her coffee. When Winry returned, she plopped down on the bench opposite Edward and opened her laptop. Peeking out from behind it, she added, "By the way, I'm Winry. I figured you ought to at least know the name of the person who's proofreading your paper."

"Well, Winry, you're the one who volunteered." The corners of his mouth twitched upward. The two worked on their assignments in silence, occasionally speaking up when necessary.

-----

Edward was in the corner again the next week as well.

"Hey, Edward! Mind if I join you for homework again?"

"Normally, I'd say no, but you didn't bother me too much last week, so you might as well." He turned away slightly.

"Great! Have you gotten your coffee yet? I didn't see a cup, and you got something the last two times."

"Eh, I haven't been here long. If you're going up and getting yours, would you mind ordering a caramel macchiato for me?" He asked, sliding his ID across the table.

"Yeah, no problem. I'll be back in a sec."

She returned and slipped his ID back before pulling out her computer. "Do you have anything for me to look over this time?"

"Not this week. But if you have anything you need looked over, I can do that, too."

"Actually, I do, if you wouldn't mind."

"Winry, I just volunteered. Just send the paper to my school email. Mine's 'elricedwa'," he instructed as he proceeded to spell it.

"Medium roast and a caramel macchiato?" Sciezska called out.

"Coming!" Winry replied and turned to Edward. "I just sent it, so you should be able to start while I'm getting our stuff." Eyes glued to his laptop, Edward gave a thumbs up.

Once she returned with their drinks, Winry sat down and wordlessly set Edward's drink next to him.

"Thanks," he muttered distantly. His lips mirrored the words he was reading. Though his lips weren't plump by any stretch of the imagination, they were shapely. His steely concentration made the air leave Winry's lungs. To top it all off, the first rays of sunlight came through the window just right, hitting Edward's hair in a way that made it positively glow.

What was she thinking? Those were only the sorts of things people thought when they had a crush. She'd only had two positive interactions with him, including this one. ...well, maybe it was a crush. She could certainly do worse than someone with a questionable fashion sense. After all, he worked hard, and he got good grades, if the quality of his writing was any indication. Okay, fine. He was also drop dead gorgeous, if you could see past his clothing choices. Yeah, she had a crush.

"Did you hear anything I just said?"

"...no."

"Figures. I finished reading your paper. It's not bad, I just left a few suggestions for sentence structure. Now I am going to enjoy my caramel macchiato." He took off the lid and breathed in the steam with his eyes closed, nearly drooping into the cup in content. When he opened his eyes slowly, Winry was awestruck by the similarity between the color of his eyes and his drink.

"What?" Edward furrowed his eyebrows.

"Nothing. I didn't say anything. At all. Nope."

"Okay." He shrugged. She reopened the document and went through his suggested edits. Gnawing her lip in concentration, she leaned forward a bit to settle in and tackle the editing.

"...hey, uh, Winry?" Edward gulped. "Are you going to drink your coffee?"

"Oh! Yeah, I almost forgot. Thanks, Edward!" she smiled.

"No–no problem. And you can call me Ed, you know. Most people do. Except for that excuse for a professor that calls me pipsqueak. Can you believe he's my advisor? I mean, come on, I'm a grown man. I'm not that short."

Winry made a poor attempt at containing her laughter. "Okay then, Ed. Prove it. Stand up."

"Fine." He slid out of the booth and stood. Winry followed suit and appraised their respective heights.

"Well, I'd hardly call you tall, but you're at least taller than me by a few inches, for whatever that's worth."

Edward grinned as if he had won some sort of prize. "Time for shorties to sit down now!"

"Watch it now. You're not too far from that label yourself, mister."

They both returned to their positions in the booth and worked steadily for the next hour. At the end of that time, Winry closed her laptop. "Ed, are you okay? You seem distracted."

"ADHD. I'm always distracted," he dismissed.

"No, like, are you sick or something? You did get more than four hours of sleep this time, right?"

"No comment." Ed's mouth twitched. He mumbled barely loud enough to hear, "Wouldn't have mattered anyway."

"Are you sure? If you're not feeling well, I can drive you over to the health center."

"N-no. That's not it." He exhaled, then slid a napkin across the table. His hands trembled slightly. "Anyway, here's my number. In case you need me to look over a paper. Or whatever. I've got a class soon."

Winry blushed, but tucked the napkin in her laptop. "Thanks, Ed. See you next week?"

"Yeah. Next week."

-----

Winry: This goes with your major, right?

Edward: Blocked

[laurawritesandgames]

For Beetlelands Week 2020

Title: Write Like the Wind

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: T

Ships: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara

Prompt: One Bed

Summary: Adam wants to do something for nerd-kind now that he has ghostly powers. Beetlejuice and Barbara help out. Spoilers for The Winds of Winter.

When Beetlejuice returned from the Netherworld, he came back powerful. Barbara wasn’t exactly sure how—the story changed with each telling. 

But he returned with enough power to teleport her and Adam pretty much anywhere he could visualize. Thanks to Google Street View, he could visualize quite a few things.

Being able to teleport was very helpful when Adam had a specific request.

The ghosts and demon appeared inside a very fancy home, with sunlight streaming in the windows. Beetlejuice was hovering between Barbara and Adam, holding their hands. Barbara suspected this wasn’t strictly part of his teleportation ability, but it was a nice excuse to hold hands.

The demon shimmered in and out briefly, wincing.

“Everything okay?” Barbara asked.

“Teleporting all the way to New Mexico is a lot. We’re definitely gonna need to stop by a bolt-hole on the way back.” According to Beetlejuice, undead travellers could recharge in places with a lot of “death energy”—graveyards, usually, or famous battlefields.

The clicking of a keyboard drew the three of them to an office where a large, grey-haired man sat in front of his computer.

Adam sucked in a breath. “There he is,” he whispered.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. “Sexy, you’re dead. He can’t hear you.” Sure enough, the writer hadn’t turned around at the sound of Beetlejuice’s voice.

“Oh.” Adam looked a bit disappointed. “I guess I just assumed that he’d be attuned to the supernatural. He’s a master of the sci-fi/fantasy genre! Anyway, let’s go see what he’s working on.” He crossed his fingers as the three of them huddled around the author’s computer screen.

Barbara felt a bit awkward reading over someone’s shoulder, and looked politely aside. She’d never gotten into sci-fi and fantasy the way Adam had; he’d know better than she would what they were looking at.

Her husband’s face fell. “Wild Cards?!” he spluttered. “Wild freaking Cards! I know he only edits the anthologies, but they’re a distraction!” He ran his hands through his hair. “Just write the books, George!”

“I can take over his computer and threaten to start deleting files until the books are done!” Beetlejuice crowed. “Make it seem like he’s got a computer virus!”

Adam’s gaze flicked between Beetlejuice and the author’s computer a few times.

Barbara cleared her throat.

“No, of course not,” Adam said quickly. “Thanks for saving me from myself, sweetie.” He kissed her cheek. He focused on the author, holding out his hand. “Sorry about this.”

The author stopped what he was doing. He saved then exited out of the document. Adam searched through the computer files for a moment then made the author open up a document titled The Winds of Winter.

The document opened after a few moments. ‘Want to pick up where you left off?’ Word asked helpfully, and the author clicked on it. There were a bunch of unfamiliar words and names on the page that showed up.

No sense in me reading this. Barbara decided to look around a famous author’s office. She’d expected him to have a bunch of memorabilia from the TV show, but the furnishings were really quite ordinary. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of bookshelves filled with books.

There was silence from the author, whose fingers were poised over the keyboard.

“C’mon, Sexy, get writing.” Beetlejuice hovered in mid-air, bobbing slightly. He was also eyeing the author’s office, but he was probably wondering where to put spiders.

“Er, there’s no way I can give him partial control, can I? I can’t write the next book!”

“Not how it works, newb.”

Adam sighed. “Okay. Um, my thoughts definitely won’t be his, but maybe I can make a start. Barbara, you took that course in creative writing in college, right? Do you have any tips?” Adam was an amazing man with many good qualities, but pure creativity wasn’t one of them.

“I can try, but I wasn’t writing award-winning fantasy novels back in college.” Barbara dredged up some memories of the TV show. “Maybe you should make the White Walkers show up! You know, inject some tension.”

“It’s an Arianne Martel chapter.”

Barbara had no idea what that meant. “Um…have a dragon show up?”

“I appreciate the thought, but Arianne is going to treat with Young Griff, and the entire point is that he’s a supposed Targaryen that doesn’t have dragons.”

Beetlejuice spoke up. “Have some brothers and sisters bone. Shove a little smut in there.”

“Not only does that not work in this chapter, I’m also not comfortable with that.”

“Or skip to a Dany chapter,” Barbara suggested. “I just want good things for her. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Not well.” Adam made the author pull up a Dany chapter. He watched the blinking cursor for a few moments, frowning in thought.

Beetlejuice added, “You could write a bunch of dialogue in what’s basically a white room and see where it takes you. That’s an A-plus writing strategy, right there.”

Adam sighed, rubbing his forehead. After a few more moments of intense concentration, he looked away from the computer screen.

The author shook his head, blinking a few times.

“Maybe just having the document open will prompt him to write?” Adam asked hopefully.

The author closed out of The Winds of Winter and went back to a document called Wild Cards_edits.

Adam’s shoulders slumped.

Beetlejuice hovered closer. “Just casually mentioning that we can take out the phone, snap some pics of these new chapters, and threaten to leak them if he doesn’t write the books.”

“Photos of chapters over his shoulder?” Barbara said. “That’s pretty terrifying.”

The demon chuckled darkly.

“Ah. And that was exactly the point.” Beetlejuice might have changed a lot since his return from the Netherworld, but his love of fear and chaos that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“No, Beetlejuice,” Adam said. “It wouldn’t work anyway. What kind of writing would you get if someone was bullied into it?”

“Bleh, you’re no fun. Where to next, Sexy? That Rothfuss guy?”

“Let’s just go home.”

“Have to make a quick stop first, but okay.” Beetlejuice grabbed their hands and teleported them away.

They landed in someplace pitch black. Beetlejuice lit a match of neon green fire, revealing a small underground crypt barely large enough for the three of them. Every surface was draped with dust and cobwebs. A half-open coffin showed patchy, stained velvet. If there was a door to this crypt, the match didn’t reveal it.

Beetlejuice tilted his head. “Ahhh, that’s better.” He frowned slightly, as if listening to something. Barbara couldn’t hear anything. “Yep, think it’s still sandworm free! Lemme just recharge for a while.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked.

“Nah, but I saw drawings from some ghost hunters back in the Netherworld. Ghost hunters can go topside to bring ghosts back, and they need places to rest, too.”

“So, ghost hunters are ghosts who hunt other ghosts?”

“Yeah, and they’re the worst. The Bureau of the Dead won’t let anyone go topside unless they’re a boot-licker. But it was good to know a few of their tricks when I got banished up here.”

Barbara glanced at Adam, who normally would’ve loved Netherworld lore. It wasn’t every day that Beetlejuice opened up about a place that was, in his words, “total Meh-ville.” But Adam wasn’t even listening. The gloomy atmosphere of the crypt fit his gloomy expression perfectly.

“Hey,” Barbara said softly. When Adam turned her way, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to.”

“I guess art just has to happen at its own pace. You can’t force it. I just feel bad for all the other dead readers who’ll never get to read the end of the series. All they’ll have is the TV show’s ending.” He snorted in disgust.

“Maybe you planted a seed. Who knows? Inspiration is a funny thing.”

“And there’s always fanfic,” Beetlejuice added.

“It’s not the same,” Adam said with a sigh.

“Heh, speaking of fanfic….” Beetlejuice hopped into the coffin. “Oh noooo. There’s only one bed!”

Barbara and Adam stared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about.

Beetlejuice huffed. “Oh, come on. None of you ever read a romance fic? Hell, a romance novel?”

“No,” Adam said.

“Not really my thing,” Barbara added. She was a fan of biographies and autobiographies of famous people, personally. “And, also? Not a bed. It’s a coffin. And sleeping in a coffin is also not my thing.”

“Jesus, so picky.” Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, and the coffin became their bed at home. “Get over here.” He hesitated then said, “Please.” Barbara and Adam had had conversations with him about asking instead of demanding; happily, it looked like those conversations were sticking.

Beetlejuice had just done them a huge favour, and a little cuddling might cheer Adam up. Barbara went to join Beetlejuice, shooting a questioning glance at Adam. He followed them, though he was still brooding.

She and Beetlejuice let Adam slide between them as the three sorted themselves out. (Sometimes, Beetlejuice would throw in extra limbs or a few clones just for the added challenge.) After some scooching and wriggling, Barbara’s cheek rested on Adam’s shoulder as she stroked his chest gently and held his left hand. Beetlejuice had one arm over the two of them and was, for some reason, nibbling on Adam’s hair, which sometimes became kissing the top of his head. After a while, you got used to a certain amount of weirdness.

Gradually, Adam began to relax. First, the tension left his shoulders. Then, he cracked his neck and his jaw untightened. (He’d needed to wear a mouthguard when he slept when he was alive. He was always grinding his teeth.)

“Maybe…” he murmured. “Maybe I could write the ending to the books. It’ll be fanfic, but it’ll be something, at least. I can work on that project while the Deetzes are asleep. I’ve never written fic before, but I could try. It’s not like I need to eat or sleep. And I’ve been looking for a new project ever since I finished the model.” His model of the town had a place of pride in the attic, which the Maitlands had cleaned out and repurposed into an arts and crafts room. They still kept up with their hobbies, but they had fewer now that they were busy rehabilitating Beetlejuice and parenting Lydia.

“I’m sure it’ll be great, hon.” Barbara kissed his cheek. “I’ll help however I can.”

“And I can tell you all about what fic tropes you can put in!” Beetlejuice said. “Or what fic tropes we can do ourselves.” He must’ve been thinking about some sexual ones, for he chortled and squeezed Adam’s butt. “Gotta keep the rating PG-13 for Beetlelands Week, but…you know which ones.” He winked at no one in particular, it seemed. Sometimes, he pretended he had an audience; Barbara and Adam just ignored it.

Beetlejuice moved to nuzzling Adam’s throat. After a few moments, he began patting Barbara’s hair.

Barbara giggled. “Aren’t you supposed to be recharging?”

“It’s called multitasking, baby.” Idly, he commented, “Shit, fluff is hard to end. How do you even end something that by its nature has low stakes and minimal conflict?”

What was he talking about? Barbara shrugged.

Adam thoughtfully said, “Maybe with a kiss?”

“Hah!” Barbara couldn’t help but grin when Beetlejuice laughed like that. This wasn’t an evil cackle or a dark chuckle, but an open, cheerful sound that she’d been hearing more and more since they’d started dating. “Perfect! You’re so ready to be a fic writer, Sexy!”

Beetlejuice kissed Adam on the lips, and the cuddling in a false bed in an underground crypt continued.

Not for the first time, Barbara reflected, My afterlife is so weird.

But it did have its perks.

[andinewton]

Victor x MC(Reader)  Bake My Way Into Your Heart

Fandom: MLQC

Pairing: VictorxMC(Reader)

Warnings: None I can think of

Summary:  You ask Victor’s advice on baking.  He doesn’t trust you not to screw it up.  He was right.  

MC - 10.47am: Sorry to bother you…do you happen to have a foolproof recipe for sugar

cookies?

MC - 11.02am: Don’t worry, I think I found one!

Victor - 11.03am: What do you mean?

MC - 11.04am: I mean I found a recipe that looks simple enough!

Victor - 11.06am: You’re trying to cook?

MC - 11.09am: I’m not trying.  I’m going to succeed!  I’ll send you pics when I’m

done, and if you’re lucky I might bring you one!

Victor looked from his phone to his schedule and sighed.  He pressed the intercom on his phone and spoke clearly.  ‘Goldman, cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.’

‘Are you going somewhere, sir?’  Goldman asked as he looked over all the important meetings lined up.

‘Yes.  I’m going to stop an idiot in distress before it happens.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

You wiped your hand across your forehead as you looked at the dough in your bowl.  It was supposed to be in one solid lump.  The only way you could describe the mess in front of you was crumbs.  Sighing heavily you resigned yourself to starting over, picking up the bowl only to have it slip through your floury fingers, making you squeal as you preempted the crash and mess to follow.  But, to your surprise, it didn’t happen.  The doorbell rang as you stared at the bowl just hovering in the air just a few inches from hitting the floor and you realised why.

‘Come in, Victor!’  You called before plucking the bowl out of the air and putting it back on the counter.

‘What a mess.’  Victor remarked as he looked over the flour-covered surfaces, his eyes finally falling on you as you turned around.  ‘And I see it’s not just the kitchen.’

Wiping your hands on your apron you wished you had a mirror.  You had hastily caught up your hair into a messy ponytail and thrown on torn jeans and a loose t-shirt, not something you would have chosen if you knew Victor was coming over.  It wasn’t that you had a crush on the man in control of your company’s funding, it was that you were all out in love with him.  But that was fine, you told yourself.  It was a professional relationship, you didn’t see him outside of work…except you did…and more than once he had come to your rescue.  He irritated you enough that you knew it wasn’t hero-worship, but damn if he didn’t look hot with fire in his eyes and ice in his words.

‘I’m trying, okay?’  You replied, clearing up as best you could.

‘I know you are.’  He huffed out a breath.  ‘Show me the recipe.’

You pointed towards the tablet on the side, the screen long since locked as you tried to bring the mixture together.  ‘It’s on there.’

‘Passcode?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Idiot.’  He replied as he opened the tablet and read over the recipe.  ‘This is incredibly simple, I can’t believe even you couldn’t follow it.’

‘I think my flour is out of date.’  You admitted.  ‘And I didn’t have the right sugar.’

‘Are you trying to kill yourself or just give yourself food poisoning?’  He put the tablet back down.  ‘What exactly inspired this ill-gotten idea?’

‘I used to make cookies to hang on the Christmas tree with my dad.’  You replied with your head down as you concentrated on wiping down the counter.  ‘I thought it would be nice to make some to give to my friends and colleagues.’

Victor knew you missed your father and he couldn’t fault that your heart was in the right place.  Your strategy and execution of the task, however, were incredibly flawed.  ‘I’ll help you.’

Your eyes shot up to meet his out of sheer surprise.  ‘You want to…help…me?’  You never thought you’d hear those words from him, let alone in reference to baking.

‘Of course.  If I let you perish in some baking-related accident then I’ll have to start training some other dummy.’

‘But I’ll have to go buy more ingredients.  And are you sure you have time?’  You offered him an out, knowing how busy he was.

‘You’re good.’  He walked back through to where he had left a bag by the door, full of high-quality ingredients he had collected from Souvenir on his way over.  ‘So you can throw all of that out of date danger food in the trash.’

You blushed faintly at his obvious-to-you concern.  ‘Thanks, Victor.’

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ he replied, ‘I’m not helping you clean up this mess.’  He waved his hand at the countertops and you blushed harder at him having seen your place in such a state.

‘I’ll get on that right away.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

A little under an hour later, the kitchen was clean, and the dough looked like it was supposed to, coming together slowly but surely.  Victor had supervised, at times having to hold himself back from taking over, knowing this was important to you, but as the mixture began to take shape he could hold back no longer.  His jacket, tie, and waistcoat were long since gone, draped over a chair, and his sleeves neatly folded back above his elbow.

‘Don’t be afraid of it.’  Victor’s voice was suddenly so close to you, the low tone rumbling through you as his arms curved around your body to join your hands in the bowl.  ‘Some things require a more gentle touch, like meringues, but dough can stand a firm hand.  It thrives on it.’

You swallowed hard at the warmth of his body against yours, trying to remember if you had heard him move, if he had made a sound at all, or if you had been too engrossed in your work to notice.  It didn’t really matter which it was, if any of them, but you wish you had had some warning, even as the heat crept up your neck and to your cheeks.

‘Firm hand, got it.’  You nodded to show you were listening, but the movement made your hair brush against him, reminding you once again of his proximity.  And then your mouth spat out what you were thinking without meaning to.  ‘I guess you’d know best in that respect.’

His hands froze in the mixture over your own for a moment before moving it for kneading on the countertop.  ‘And why would that be?’

His breath rustled your hair and your breath stuttered in your throat.  You really hoped he hadn’t heard that.  ‘Because...you know about cooking!’  You replied confidently.  ‘If I had to whip meringue I’d probably give it a good thrashing and completely wreck it!’

Victor swallowed heavily at the image her innocent words brought to mind and he shifted his pelvis just enough to relieve the burgeoning discomfort caused by them.  ‘When are you going to learn,’ he murmured, his voice unusually soft, ‘that if you ever want some pointers I’m more than happy to oblige.’

‘You’re just so busy.’  You replied in an equally hushed tone, making the moment more intimate somehow.  ‘I want to be able to cook better but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your valuable time.’

Victor’s hands slid from the dough to cover yours and you heard him draw a breath, as though he was about to speak, but then he stepped back, his hands withdrawing.  ‘That’s ready to roll out now.’

You swallowed heavily before replying.  ‘Right.’

🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪

You made tea while the cookies were in the oven and served it to Victor at the little two seater table that sat in front of the window.  You just couldn’t settle enough to sit as Victor’s actions had both your heart and stomach fluttering.  You had so far asked if his tea was okay, offered him milk, sugar, honey, lemon, and boba; offered to make him something to eat, not that you thought for a second anything you made would be up to his standards; offered to pay him for the groceries he brought with him; and busied yourself clearing up what you had used and preparing the wire rack for the cookies to cool down.  Eventually Victor evidently had enough.

‘Sit.’  He said firmly, and you were in the seat opposite him before you realised it.  ‘That wasn’t an order.’  He smirked before sipping his tea.  ‘Just like this isn’t.  Drink with me?’

‘Sure.’  You smiled slightly before sitting in the seat opposite and picking up the teapot and pouring yourself a cup.  ‘I don’t know if I said already, but thank you for coming to my rescue.’

‘You don’t owe me thanks.’  He rested his teacup down again.  ‘I couldn’t leave you to potentially burn down half of the city, could I?’

‘It wouldn’t have been very responsible of you, it’s true.’

You sat quietly for a few moments when Victor spoke again.  ‘Do you plan on decorating the cookies?’

‘I bought some pre-prepared frosting with a piping nozzle, and some seasonal decorations.’

‘You probably won’t come to any harm doing that.’  He mused.  ‘But I’ll stay and help you, just in case.’

‘If you have somewhere to be, you don’t have to.’  You assured him.  ‘I’m sure I already caused chaos with your schedule because of this as it is.  Goldman is probably sticking pins in a little me voodoo doll even as we sit here drinking tea.’

Victor laughed so suddenly you almost spilled your tea.  ‘He wouldn’t do that.  He likes you.’

‘At least someone does.’  You quirked him a sideways smile.

‘Just because I’m firm with you doesn’t mean I don’t like you.’  He frowned.

‘I think harsh is more the right word.’

‘Sometimes you need a little push.’  He teased.

‘So if it’s only a little push why do I always feel like you’re throwing me into the deep end?’

‘It builds character, and I know you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for.’

‘I appreciate the fact you have faith in me.’  You said quietly as you stared into your teacup.  ‘But I guess it also makes me feel like I’m not doing a good job if you have to set me straight all the while.’

‘You’re doing a good job, for the most part.  You just need…polishing.’

‘I guess that’s a nice way to put the fact I don’t do a good enough job.’

You didn’t see the look Victor gave you, a gentle one of consideration.  ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

‘You are.’  It was only when the words left you that you realised what you had said, your eyes darting up to meet his as you felt heat rush through you in an embarrassed wave.  ‘That is to say, I mean…’  You stammered, which was when the oven timer went off.

‘Saved by the bell.’  Victor murmured, quickly getting to his feet, and for a moment you thought you saw a pink tinge to the top of his ears.

Swallowing down the panicked lump in your throat, you hurried to grab the oven mitts as you came up with a logical response in your mind.  That logical response, however, turned into a spew of Victor appreciation.  ‘What I meant was you’re an amazing businessman, you can cook, you have an awesome evol, you dress nice, you know your stuff, you’re handsome, you…ow!’

In your rush you lost concentration for a moment and caught the inside of your wrist on the rack above as you removed the first batch of cookies.  You didn’t drop them, thankfully, but your wrist stung like hell.  Depositing the tray none too gently on the stove you shook off the oven mitts and blew on your wrist.

‘Idiot.’    Victor’s voice came from close beside you and you glanced up to find him beside you, his hand reaching for yours.

‘It’s okay.’  You murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but his fingers curved around your hand regardless, pulling you towards the sink where he immediately turned on the cold tap.  You gasped as the cold water hit your tender skin but Victor held you in place, his grip firm yet tender.

‘You need to be careful, pay attention to what you’re doing.’

‘I know that.’  You replied, watching as he concentrated on your burn.

‘I won’t always be there to help you, you know?’

‘I know that too.’  You looked up at him.  ‘But you always are.  Even if it’s with a sharp word or two.’

‘Does it hurt?’  He replied quietly.

‘No more than any of your normal quips.’  You shrugged.

Victor’s lips quirked in a small smile, realising you had misunderstood.  ‘This.’  He tapped your wrist with the damp cloth.

‘Oh!  It tingles more than hurts.’

He examined the mark closer, his fingers warm against your skin.  ‘I think we got water on it fast enough.  It shouldn’t blister.’

‘So I don’t need to dress it or anything else?’

‘No dressing, no.  What’s the anything else you would consider treating a burn with?’  He asked.

‘Uh…I don’t know.’  You replied hesitantly, before thinking of an answer.  ‘A kiss better?’

He raised an eyebrow at how forward your suggestion, realising it was entirely innocent as your cheeks darkened.  ‘You want me to kiss it better?’

‘Oh, no, no, no.’  You shook your head rapidly.  ‘I just meant…’

Words failed you as he looked you dead in the eyes and brought his lips to your wrist, the gentle touch barely noticeable over the burn itself, but it had your heart beating a mile a minute.

‘Did that help?’  His voice was low, impossibly intimate in such close confines.

You swallowed hard and tried to speak twice before any words came out.  ‘It stung a little.’  You whispered.

‘Then maybe that’s not what I need to kiss to make you feel better.’

At that point, you swore your brain melted as you seemed to forget how to function, that or your internal wiring blew a fuse.  Then it blew completely when his palm caressed your cheek, his thumb grazed your skin.  You had a moment of clarity when you realised what was about to happen, then his lips were on yours.  In all the times you had fantasised about kissing Victor, gentle had been the furthest from your assumptions.  Passionate, demanding, fiery, yes, yet nothing about this kiss was aggressive.  He kissed you like you were fragile, as though you could break or disappear at any moment.  Fingers touched your hair like they were the finest silk, lips brushed yours so softly it was barely a touch at all, yet still consistent in their task of caressing yours.  His other hand tentatively splayed on the base of your spine, yet he didn’t draw you closer, rather he kept a respectful distance between your bodies as though he was waiting for reassurance that this was truly what you wanted.  And there was no doubt in your mind that it was.

Your fingers hand found their way to the front of his shirt, grasping the material as much to anchor yourself as to keep him close, and you fought with yourself to keep the kiss as innocent as it was.

His lips left yours on a sigh but you kept your eyes closed for a moment before opening them to find Victor filling your vision.  His eyes flickered from side to side, searching your face for any sign that would clue him in as to how you were responding.

‘That does feel a little better.’  You admitted huskily, making him chuckle.

‘Maybe we should transfer those cookies now.’  He suggested.

‘I think they can wait a couple more minutes.’  You smiled, before closing the distance between you, the smile on Victor’s lips a hundred times sweeter than the cookies you had made.

[2612-1802]

Busy(6) - Worst type of Busy

Busy & Busy(2) & Busy(3) & Busy(4) & Busy(5)

“Umm Oppa, this is really delicious!” Chaerin smiled as ChangMin sipped on his beer beside her in the snack tent.

“I knew you would like it! Here, there’s something on your cheeks.” ChangMin picked up a tissue and cleaned the red sauce off Chaerin’s face. A small moment of life, but forever in pics. “ZZZZZZZZZ” your phone has been vibrating for a long time. Thinking that it was the alarm, you just ignore it, trying to get more snooze before you are really getting late. “WHATTTT?” your voice dragged loudly as you picked up the phone. “Just 5 more mins please. I’m not lateeee”

“Listen up you dumb bimbo.” A familiar voice struck. “While you’re sleeping, your boyfriend is out with some other girl.” Your best friend shouted on the phone.

“What are you babbling about, Hyorin?” Your eyes suddenly widened at her remarks, you turned to look at the clock on table it’s 6am and turned again to look for him but he was not on the bed or anywhere else in the house.

“I’ve sent you pictures. Check your telegram. Ask him about it. And break up if you need to. Cheating man don’t deserve second chances.” Hyorin coolly ended the call and you looked through all the pictures she sent you.

“They been here since 4am. I’m a few tables across and he didn’t seem to notice me at all.” the text read after all those pictures. Pictures you wished were just photoshopped.

“Were they always this close?” You thought to yourself. “So this is what they do every time they meet?” Your eyes were glaring forcefully at the pictures, the one she held his arm, the one she put her face close to his, the one she feeds him, the one he cleans her face.

Just as you were cursing through the pictures, the front door unlocked, and you hear him walking in. You wanted to walk out and confront him. With the pictures in your phone. But all you did was just lay in bed, your back facing him, sleeping near the edge, picking a distance furthest from him.

There were many thoughts in your head, but you just couldn’t put them together. As your thoughts deepened, time passed and the alarm for school rang. You quickly left the bed and dressed up for school.

He was up early too, even after that late-night cheating, ChangMin was up at the same time as always, 7am just before you leave for school. You ignored his every move, pretending like he didn’t even exist. At least that’s what you decided to do before coming up with a plan of action. You didn’t want to be reckless. But you knew inside you, this relationship will come to an end soon. There’s just nothing left to work on. You left for school, quickly and quietly, and rushed for the bus. School was stress as usual but your thoughts keep drifting to those images. “And he told me he wasn’t hungry. But he still went out to eat with her?” you scorned at that conclusion. The conclusion that you just ain’t his priority anymore.

“So? You want to go for it?” Hyun pushed his face into your sight cutely.

“Go for what? Sorry I was having some thoughts.” You replied sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head.

“Do you want to go for a ride in my car later? My brother gave me his old car. But don’t worry it’s not that old. You don’t have to wind up the windows.” You let out a loud laugh at his last remark.

“Sure, it sounds like fun. Where are we going?” You were thinking of somewhere fresh, and free like a big grass patch or the lake. Just any place that will not remind you of ChangMin.

“How about we just drive aimlessly? Sound good? Just get some mileage in. We’ll get food too. So we can eat while we cruise!” excited as his own suggestion, Hyun jumped up from his seat, making you laugh even more. You agreed to his little idea and for once, was actually looking forward to ending school. For weeks now, you’ve been just alone at home after school, hoping to spend some time with your beau but he was hardly home.

Just as class was ending, your phone was vibrating like mad again. The texts just wouldn’t stop coming.

“Oh my god, he’s finally dating?”

“He has a girlfriend now?”

Similar texts were just popping on your notification bar and a repetitive online news article. “TVXQ! ChoiKang ChangMin finally dating again.”

Pictures were just what you saw in the early morning, just with better quality and different angles. Paparazzis indeed.

Your heart just sank though you already knew about this in the morning. Trying to control your tears, you switched off your phone to redirect your attention to your little outing with Hyun.

“Shall we?” Hyun giggled and the bell rang, indicating the end of class, and end of school to be exact. Grabbing onto his arm, you smiled and the two of you set out for drive-thrus and aimless cruisings on the road.

[blazerina]

Road Trip Ready (Ethan x MC)

Road Trip Ready (Ethan x Allie – Open Heart MC)

Word Count: 1638

Summary: Another regular day in the life of Ethan & Allie – Allie begging Ethan for something he doesn’t want to give in to…will she get her way in the end? Read on to find out.

Author’s Note: I did another one of these a while ago just for fun and was so pleasantly surprised by the response I received. This is in response to a prompt request from @mrswalkerwritesagain about Ethan & Allie going on a road trip but I spiced it up a little bit. Hope you enjoy! I love these two. xoxo Also tagging @parkerattano because I know she’d want to see this and she’s my biggest supporter - love you girl!

--

Allie glanced at her watch and sighed as she looked out the window of the moving train. She yawned and closed her eyes for a few minutes, leaning forward and resting her head on the back of the seat in front of her. Her last shift had turned into a very late night and she had contemplated sleeping at Edenbrook. But instead, she tried to get home to see maybe she’d be able to catch Ethan for a few minutes. She was unsuccessful in her attempt to spend a few moments alone in person with him.

Suddenly, she felt her phone vibrate in the cross-body bag she wore. Through heavy eyelids, she glanced at the text. It was from Ethan:

Allie smiled and placed her phone back in her bag when she realized this was her stop. Another day was starting. Another day full of people to heal, co-workers to encourage, and another day NOT see her boyfriend. It felt weird calling him that. He had first been her mentor, then her teacher, also her boss and then…it just happened.  He seemed too dignified and too mature to be considered her boyfriend - but that’s what he was.  

She missed him. Being a doctor herself, she knew all too well the realities of their hectic schedules and the very real issues that kept them both apart.  After all they had been through and overcome together as a couple, there was no way they would let a little lack of quality time, drive them apart. They’d been there, done that. 

However, she knew that both of them were in desperate need of time away. They needed a vacation.  Together. And a few moments to relax and unwind from the stress they were each under every single day. She asked him earlier if they could have a little getaway and that text on the train was Ethan’s reply. 

She picked up the pace as she entered the hospital, realizing she was a little later than she thought. Since their only way of really communicating throughout the day was text, she tried her best to keep him up to date on her day and he did the same with her. She always sent long and elaborate messages, his were short and sweet, but he had made comments on more than one occasion about how much he appreciated them, so she knew they made a difference.   Allie stopped at the entrance of the locker room and snapped a pic – immediately sending it on to Ethan:    

He was always incredibly slow to respond but Allie was especially proud of herself for being so darn punny this early in the morning.

She almost forgot the most important news from her morning and quickly typed out another update for him, this time getting a reply pretty quick:

Allie laughed out loud and said hello to a few fellow doctors changing clothes, while she made her way out of the locker room in search for her first patient of the day. She checked in at the nurses’ station and was making her way to room 604 when another text came through for her.

Finding a supply closet to suffice for a brief photo session, Allie replied by sending Ethan this picture:

Update – decision made. This is what I went with…photo creds - Belinda in pediatric oncology. She says hello.

Still pleased with herself, Allie walked quickly toward her patient’s room as the ache for her partner grew more and more heavy within her.

--

A few hours had passed since Ethan heard from Allie. The past few days he was living more and more for these texts from her. It felt as though they were in a long distance relationship as of late with both of their commitments at the hospital piling up more and more, keeping them apart longer than either one of them wanted.

“Damn.” He thought to himself as he realized it was his turn to respond to Allie. He had forgotten.

Seeing her dressed in scrubs would forever be his weakness. He had decided that long ago. Smiling as he frantically typed, he loved teasing her and realized with every message, just how far he had fallen for her.

“Saw you for 5 secs in the cafeteria but got called away…filling up the big one again?” He asked, and then followed up with:

  Ethan sighed as he remembered he had a few dozen case files to review in his office. He had about an hour between appointments and meetings so he rushed to his desk to see how much he could get done. His eyes were burning from the sting of the screen when the familiar hum of his cell phone shifted his focus from one electronic to another.

“hi.” The text from Allie read.

“this is what I look like…in case you forgot…😊”

“Took this the other day before going out with the girls. Miss you.”

Ethan felt his heart leap within his chest upon the sight of her and he quickly replied once again:

Shaking his head but not at all surprised by her response, he continued to focus on his work for a few more minutes before being distracted by an idea; a way to surprise her, that she would never see coming.

--

“Jeanine – could I have a post it note please?” Allie asked, hanging half her body over the front of the nurses station on floor 5.  

Allie wrote on the note for a few seconds before placing it inside the folder that held all the charts on Mr. Flores in 543, one of Ethan’s most difficult patients – one she knew he had been struggling with for a while.  

She caught a glimpse of Dr. Ramsey chatting with another doctor a few moments earlier. Her heart stopped seeing him right in front of her, but she could quickly see just how tired he was and could tell by his posture alone, that he was exhausted.

Being nosy, Jeanine opened the file and read the note:

“Honey, you two are so sweet. What is it the kids say these days? Couple goals? You’re it.” She patted Allie’s hand and winked at her before Allie said thank you and went about her business.

--

Later in the day, it was getting close to the end of Ethan’s shift and surprisingly enough, Bryce (who never texted let along communicated at all) sent Allie a message:

“U on floor 4? Get here now its going dwn”

Curious, Allie raced to the 4th floor just in time to see and hear Ethan chewing out a new intern. Even though Allie had experienced it for herself and knew it was for the betterment of the student, his patient and the overall experience for all involved, it was still hard to see Ethan act this way. 

She bit her lip and winced a few times when Ethan made point after point about using your head and thinking through the details, railing the intern about how people’s lives were at stake. When the worst was over, Allie text Ethan again:

Stealing away in the same supply closet where Belinda took Allie’s scrub picture earlier that morning, Ethan sighed and decided to give in to Allie’s wishes. But today had been longer than he anticipated and he still had so much work to do. He was grateful for her and the ways she helped him focus on what really mattered in his life. He adored Allie’s sense of humor and tried to match her in his response:

“You’re so full of it.” Allie responded with the eye roll emoji.  

Ethan snickered as he sauntered back to his office, praying he could have some peace and quiet in order to get his work done.

--

Not even a few minutes into more work on case files, Ethan’s phone was blowing up – message after message pinged, driving him crazy. He suspected a group message but was wrong.

Girl. Everyone knows my man Ethan is (fire emoji) but check this guy out. Yum. (eyes emoji) (drool emoji) He can train me anytime…know what I mean?! (heart eyes emoji)

Another message:

Shit. Ethan!! That was for Jackie.  And Sienna. Oh God. I AM SO SORRY. Love you? 

Another message:

OMG NO QUESTION> FORGET THE MARK. I meant: LOVE YOU. Mean it!!!!!

Ethan replied.

Pausing to think just a few more minutes, he then typed out his plan and sent it, knowing Allie would be stunned but also happy.

Also, we are going on vacation. Just you and me. Not sure where, but after your shift, come back to pick me up. We’ll swing by the apartment to pack and then we’ll hit the road.

Allie sent back a “happy dance” gif and Ethan knew he had made the right decision. He needed time with her. She needed time with him. They needed time together and far, far away from the hospital.

--

A few hours later, Allie was in the parking lot of Edenbrook, waiting on Ethan. 

She was beyond excited about spending some time with him. She didn’t know how long they’d have but even just a few hours would feel like an eternity compared to what they’d been given the last month. 

She snapped a selfie in car and captioned it Road Trip Ready!! Jenner’s here too.

Ethan practically ran out of his office, down the stairs and out to her car, smiling more than Allie had seen in quite some time. 

He threw open the passenger side door, slammed his body into the seat and quickly kissed her, tenderly at first with the kiss turning into one of longing and desire.

“Hey.” Allie whispered, breathless at the sight of him.

“Let’s go.” Ethan responded, holding her hand and kissing the back of it as his fingers laced with hers.

--

Later that evening, Allie posted this on social media for all the world to see:

Trapped alone in a car for hours on end with Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Some may say it’s torture but for me -- this is my happy place. Don’t be jealous. #bouttime #roadtrippin #lovehim

 THE END.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

A View To A Winchester (Part 9)

Series Page

Summary: Julie’s starting a new life after divorce in a home with a very nice view.

A Dean X OFC story. I got this idea staring out the view of my home office window and thinking how nice it would be to have Dean Winchester to ogle.

Section Word Count:  4,982  

Section Content: fluff, flirting, arousing, kissing, R-rated language, drinking, Suit!Dean, Dean’s heavy foot, Dean singing

~~~~~

On Wednesday, Julie and Kelly had a late work lunch at one of their favorite little spots off Market Street. The gyros there were fantastic. The restaurant’s tiny back patio, wedged tight and cramped amid the other brick buildings, was quirky enough to be a distraction from the daily doldrums of the downtown banking atmosphere. A thick aroma of spices and grease drifted out from the kitchen’s open window off the patio. An occasional pot clanged or the cook barked out a loud directive to someone.

“If I have to sit through one more of Leslie’s Zoom presentations about balance sheet protocol,” Kelly was still ranting about the meeting that made them have to wait for dolmades and spicy hummus.

Julie’s phone vibrated on her lunch tray atop the iron latticed table, shaking her silverware. She swiped away, still semi listening to Kelly, and dipped her gyro in the tzatziki sauce ordered on the side.

Hey, Jules.

Julie grinned at the screen and tapped. Hey, Dean. She chomped down on the gyro before the sauce made a mess. It was hard to grin and chew, but she found it difficult to not have a smile on her face most of this week. And the reason for her glee could be traced back to him.

“Oh. It’s him again.” Kelly shoveled more hummus into her mouth with a pita chip. A hand curtained her chewing and simultaneous commentary. “He’s like clockwork.” She tipped a wrist to stare at her smartwatch. “Yep. 1:30. He’s probably got an alarm on his phone to message you at this time every day.”

Julie couldn’t argue the fact that the man seemed to have a routine. He’d texted her every day since Saturday night. And it always seemed to start after 1:00.

“Aw, crap.” Kelly rose and grabbed her tray. “I’ve got to get that transaction detail report straightened out before the end of day. Shannon has dance practice tonight, I can’t stay late to finish it. Damn Leslie.”

Julie was about to get up.

“Finish lunch. I’ll see you back in the office.” Kelly nodded to Julie’s phone. “Give you two some privacy. No sexting.”

Julie shook her head and waved, then focused on his text.

I made a reservation at Makenzie’s for Friday. I hope seven is good.

Seven is perfect. Makenzie’s is kind of formal, though.

Yeah, as I was told by the hostess over the phone. No jeans. Suit jacket required.

You good with that?

What, you don’t think I own a jacket? I clean up pretty good.

I have no doubt about that.

His retort only took a couple seconds to display. But I can be pretty dirty, too.

Julie bit her lip and checked over her shoulder to make sure she was still the only person on the patio. The narrow interior of the restaurant was bubbling, not boiling, with activity. An overcast threat hanging in the sky over most of that day kept all the patrons inside. All but Julie.

Not gonna bite? Dean continued.

How dirty?

As filthy as you want.

They had skirted towards the edge of this type of texting all week. Kelly hadn’t been that far off in her deduction. Dangling innuendos had promised to plunge into descriptions of hundreds of sexual acts and favors. It never went over the edge, though. And that had driven Julie insane with thoughts of Dean doing everything she could think of to her.

Daydreaming had sidelined and confused any ability to respond. It was a minute before Dean typed back. Sorry, I didn’t even think to ask if you were busy working before laying it all out there.

Hey, at least you haven’t sent me any NSFW pics.

Hold on.... Dean punctuated the text with a wink emoji.

No! Dean!

She tapped the screen off and dropped the phone like a hot potato. Chewing on a mouthful of lamb gyro with her eyes shut wasn’t enough to distract her from the buzz a minute later. She swallowed, heart racing, and an itchy finger went to see what he’d sent.

It took a second to process what she was looking at. Baby Dean?

He’d taken a picture of a picture… a polaroid to be exact. The muted colors dated the photo by decades. As did the mint green shag carpet under a naked toddler, mooning the picture taker.

You were a cute baby.

Yeah? How about that ass?

Julie giggled. Chubby cheeks. With a hint of diaper rash.

Well, I can tell you that the rash has cleared up. Cheeks are still a nice handful, though.

I guess I’ll have to find out for myself, won’t I?

Sure as hell hope so. The bubbles hopped for a bit before he finally dropped another line. You alone right now?

Julie swallowed. Yeah.

I’ve been thinking about you. A lot. I’m getting a little worried.

The idea that she could be occupying this man’s thoughts as much as he was hers heated up her skin. A pulse in her core made her shift in the patio chair. He was going to turn her into a puddle just in time to return to work. She’d be slick the entire walk back if she didn’t stop in the restaurant’s bathroom and clean herself up.

I doubt you’re thinking about me as much as I’m thinking about you.

You’re making it hard for me to fall asleep.

She smiled and inserted a raised hand emoji.

And, when I do get to sleep, I’m waking up in the afternoon… after dreaming about you.

Dean’s texts had become confessional-like the past week. Perhaps the anonymity of messaging made him more comfortable to express things he wouldn’t in person or verbally? It had always been that way with her preferred method of communication. But, the weak spots in this man’s wall were weathered and flaking away in random spots, with no rhyme or reason.

She inserted a raised hand emoji again. Except I have to get up early for work. Why haven’t you come over to see me then, if I’m taking up all this time?

Told you the other night, I don’t trust myself to stop once things get past a certain point.

That did it. Her flood gates had officially opened down below.

He continued. So, consider this a warning. I won’t likely adhere to that three-date rule before I have my way with you. I never have followed rules that don’t make sense much.

Julie grinned. We’ll get you off on a technicality. We can say we’ve already had three dates. Dinner on the patio. The cake we shared at your place. Bourbon and pie at mine.

You’ll get me off? Surprised emoji.

Julie giggled, then reddened when she turned and noticed a twink busboy cleaning up the only other table on the patio. She straightened up in her seat and tried to act how she thought a forty-year-old woman should in public.

Can’t wait. Dean offered a wink emoji. Listen, I’ll be away for a couple days. But back in time for our date. I won’t miss it.

I’ve been told I can slap you if you do.

Sweetheart, you can even spank me if I do.

~~~~~

“Dammit, Leslie.” That was Julie’s response to the distant doorbell ring drifting up the stairs to her bedroom. She was gliding on lipstick when the sound made her hand jump. The berry red careened over the lip liner she had spent minutes applying with the utmost precision.

Her nose wrinkled at the current state of her mouth. She cursed and grabbed her phone, dialing Dean’s number. Her stomach knotted up tight.

“Hey.” The one word greeting from Dean melted her insides. She hadn’t heard that deep voice, or the gritty undertone, in almost a week.

“H-hey.” She frowned at her mirrored reflection. The foundation did nothing to hide the red heat blooming over her skin. “Is that you at the door?”

“Yeah. Are you alright?” His voice held concern. “Don’t tell me you aren’t coming out and I have to break the door down?”

She laughed. God, why is that such a turn on? “No. I’m just running late. Work took longer than I expected… I had back to back meetings all day.”  

“Take your time, I’ll wait in the car.”

“Makenzie’s might not wait, though, if we’re late.”

“Let me worry about the reservations. You go get dolled up, doll.”

It was an antiquated and condescending term by today’s standards. Yet, hearing that endearment from his mouth made her grin like a schoolgirl. “Okay.”

“Let me know when you’re coming down.” He ended the call.

It took another fifteen minutes on Julie’s end to get “dolled up.” Her indecision annoyed her since she’d gotten home. Nothing had gone as planned the entire day. Plus, the little black dress she thought she’d wear had a grease stain on it upon closer inspection. She had to go with a flowy black skirt and off the shoulder, three-quarter, scarlet red sleeve top. The combo hit her at the waist in what she considered an unflattering manner. A belt only seemed to make it worse so she kept accessories to a minimum.

She raised her hands in defeat at the top to toe look in the full-length mirror. At least she had some confidence in her choice to slip on a pair of classy black heels. She traipsed down the stairs. Upon a second check, everything she needed for the evening was in her clutch. A meditative inhale and exhale with closed eyes prepared her to see Dean. Finally ready, she walked out the front door and locked up behind her.

The Impala idled in the driveway. Rays from the setting sun hung low in the sky and sparked off the car’s blacktop. Baby was literally glowing. The white halo effect obscured much of Julie’s view around the car. She walked down the path to the driveway, dropping keys into her clutch.

A squeak and slam of the front door rattled in her ears. “Hey. I thought you were going to let me know when you came down.” She heard his voice. “Was going to do the proper date thing and meet you at the front door.” His figure emerged from the light and bounded up the two path steps like he was the lightest thing ever to stand on two feet. She halted at the sight.

She noticed the brown dress boots first as they settled on the concrete. Their beautiful worn quality juxtaposed the slim tan khakis immodestly advertising the pronounced curve of his bowlegs. Her gaze dared to travel upwards. Her breath hitched. The man was wearing a well-tailored navy-blue blazer. The jacket enunciated every damn syllable of his perfect torso, from the ever so slight taper of his waist to the broadness and sharp angles of his shoulders, to the forearms and biceps straining against the fabric. A pale blue button-down shirt, with a micro checkered pattern peeked out from under the fastened blazer. He dared to leave two of the top shirt buttons undone. The sharp, crisp collar rested around his muscled neck. His hair was parted in a more formal style. He’d even taken a razor to his scruff and was clean shaven. But every other aspect was the enticing and irresistible Dean Winchester she had been blessed to experience.

He strolled up with a grin plastered on his face. “Worth the wait.” He added, upon similar ogling of her figure. He had the audacity to produce a jaw clench under those smooth cheeks along with everything else he was throwing at her.

Her mouth opened, its interior the only dry thing about her body at that moment. She squeaked out, “Thanks.”

He nodded to the car. “Come on and meet my girl.”

Julie smiled and followed him down the path. Her gaze held on the curve of his ass, wrapped in khaki, teasing her from under the hem of his blazer. A waft of his cologne breezed past. Jesus, is that scent called ‘Fuck Me Right Here And Now’?

He opened and held the passenger side door. His fingers clenched the door’s frame, a bit tighter, when she skirted past him. “You smell nice.”

She smiled, all intelligence drained from her brain. Only instinct and arousal remained. “You too.” The bench seat dipped when she sat. A coil poked from under the massive cushion into an ass cheek. Once she got situated, he closed the door with a firm click and wandered around the large corners of the vehicle. It seemed like an eternity. Her hand searched for an expected belt up by her shoulder. When Dean finally joined her in the interior, she got a better idea of the expansiveness. They were feet away from each other and he dangled his legs open in a comfortable posture. He smiled. “What are you doing?”

“Seat belt?” she questioned.

“Oh.” He scooted over and dug a hand into the cushion crevice by her ass. His stare held hers. Fingers took their time in their search and his other hand swiped over her waist. He grazed the curve of her hip and whispered, “Lap belts.”

She swallowed and heard the click.

His hands retreated, but his stare didn’t. “There. Not goin’ anywhere.” He moved back to his original position. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer and shifted into reverse, rolling down the driveway.

She was going to ask if he was going to put on his own seatbelt, then realized Dean Winchester probably didn’t. She filed that away for a discussion for another time if… If what? You think you might be able to convince this man to wear a seatbelt? His hands caressed the gears and steering wheel like Baby was a well-known lover. I’m getting jealous of a car.

“I’m gonna have to go a little faster than I was intending, if we want to make it in time for our reservation.” He launched up the neighborhood lane.

Julie reacted to the push and pull of the direction change. “It’s ten of seven.” She offered. “Twenty minutes to get there, when there isn’t traffic.”

The right side of his mouth arched up. “Trust me.”

~~~~~

Dean was none too pleased about the valet service that was a requirement at Makenzie’s. “Don’t get a mark on her.” He narrowed his eyes at the young man with the high-pitched voice that he had to relinquish Baby over to.

They had made it in time for the reservation, with a minute to spare. The entire ride was a blur of landscape and roadway. Julie had struggled to find some part of the car to clutch during those nine heart stopping minutes.

The dinner had gone by in a blur as well. His company was wonderful, easy and unassuming. And his presence hypnotized her across the candlelight and white cotton cloth draping their table. He laughed at the salad placed in front of him prior to the main course, with its curled carrots and frisee lettuce, calling it rabbit food. But there was nothing but reverence and admiration for the large glass of ale, massive t-bone, baked potato, and green beans. He moaned quite a bit during dinner, smirking every time. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The one weird coincidence had been meeting the talkative dog walker from the park from a couple weeks ago. Ina was their water pourer, along with the three other servers it took for the entire meal. She smiled and reintroduced herself to Julie. Her face was taken aback by Dean, as Julie was now getting used to that reaction. They chit chatted a bit here and there throughout the meal. Dean offered her a killer smile, but not much else in terms of information.

She noted the stares and gazes that followed the man strolling behind her as they left. When Baby rolled up beside them Dean opened the door for Julie again and stuffed a bill in the kid’s hand. “I’ll be back if there’s a scratch.” He threatened. Julie frowned at the fear on the boy’s face. But she didn’t pay him much thought after that. The two glasses of wine had mellowed her. The fire in her core continued to get stoked by Dean, however.

Dean appeared comfy and content sliding into the driver’s seat, with his unbuttoned blazer and his collar a tad askew. He’d downed a good two pints over the last hour and a half. “That was nice.” He commented as he drove out of the parking lot. The streetlights glowed above them in the dark.

Julie nodded. “It was. Thank you.”

“Night’s not over. May not want to thank me just yet.” He shifted in his seat taking the turn out into the avenue. He drove at a respectable speed now, adhering to the limit. Restaurants littering the streets lit up Julie’s view from the passenger window. Her eyes returned to stare at him, though. Blue light danced over the contours and slopes of his face and that devastating figure. He looked straight out of a noir film.

At a red light, he leaned over, flipping open the glove box with a tap and rifling through it with his fingers. He pulled out a cassette tape, punched the compartment closed, then eased the tape into the player. He immediately hit the rewind button.

“So, that crash course in classic rock...” His fingers turned the dial up as he took the ramp onto the highway. “Let’s see what we’ve got here to school you on.” He rolled down his window, the night air blowing into the car as his speed picked up for the merge. He cocked his head quick to the left to gauge his opportunity to change lanes and slid over with ease. His finger pressed the play button, then hovered over the volume in wait. Eyes narrowed in anticipation. He gave her a quick glance and grinned before his eyes went back to the highway in front of them.

Julie watched his smile light up in the grey. The volume went up even more. Strums from an acoustic guitar filled the cabin. He bellowed over the rush of wind and the music. “Ah, yes. This, young lady, is Led Zeppelin.” She grinned at his use of the word young. “Robert Plant, Jimmy Page, John Bonham. And, just so you know, on any given day, this,” he pointed to the tape player, “is probably my favorite song.”

His fingers tapped on the curves of the steering wheel to the rhythm. Large in diameter with narrow bars, the Impala’s steering wheel was wrapped in an old school leather cover. Julie remembered watching her dad wrap the steering wheel of his Mustang when she was little with a similar one. People who took that kind of time with their car loved them on a whole other level. Dean loved his car.

His head bobbed and he mouthed the lyrics in silence. And it was beautiful to behold.

*** For now I smell the rain

And with it pain

And it's headed my way

Ah, sometimes I grow so tired

He pointed to the tape deck again and raised his brows for emphasis. “Here’s Page coming in with the electric guitar.” He hopped a bit in his seat, driving down the road without a care.

But I know I've got one thing I got to do

Ramble on

And now's the time, the time is now

To sing my song

I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl

He flashed a glance over at her after that line and smiled, wrecking her again.

And though our health we drank a thousand times

It's time to ramble on

A guitar solo took him somewhere else. As the lyrics continued and Julie listened with more intent, she heard mention of Mordor and Gollum. She wanted to ask him about the “Lord of the Rings” reference but didn’t want to break the spell and complete bliss he was under.

Ain't nothing I can do, no

I guess I keep on rambling

I'm gonna, yeah, yeah, yeah

Sing my song (I gotta find my baby)

With a sudden and unexpected tug, he grabbed at her hand in the shadows. He leaned over and brushed his lips over her knuckles, then settled with his hold on her, tight and secure, back on the bench between them. With one hand on the wheel, he drove and fearlessly started to sing along. It wasn’t in tune, but it was pure and flowed with an ease of having done it a thousand times. He tapped her hand into the cushion.

I gotta ramble on, sing my song

Gotta work my way around the world baby, baby

Ramble on, yeah

Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, my baby

The track faded out and Dean turned to stare at her reaction. “What’d you think? Awesome right?” He nodded.

“Awesome.” She repeated and ran her thumb along a callous on his hand.

He squeezed back at the gesture, then retreated from the hold. The stereo volume went down. Hands switched on the wheel so he could roll up the window. “Sorry, I get a little carried away when it comes to Zeppelin.”

She shook her head. “Don’t ever apologize for allowing yourself to enjoy something that much.” She smiled. “The performance wasn’t bad.”

“Being sweet. Performance sucked.” Dean cleared his throat and gripped the wheel with both hands. “Only a couple constants in my life. No matter what, I could always just pop in a tape and drive.” He stared hard at the road.

Julie sat with him in comfortable silence for another song. He provided no commentary or details on the tune. They were both along for the melody and the drive. A cowboy riding his sturdy, trusty steed. Julie grinned to herself. He took a familiar exit ramp off the highway. She knew they’d be home soon. Home. Mine? His? Any effect the wine had mellowing her disappeared in a moment. The reality of what might be transpiring the rest of the night sped up her heart. The few bars of a well-known song began.

Julie giggled. “Journey? Is that classic rock? Cause I know Journey.”

Dean smiled and seesawed with his hand. “Debatable. A guilty pleasure, and very catchy. I’ve found this song on every jukebox in every bar I’ve stepped into. It caters to the lowest common denominator.”

“Drunks with no taste in music?”

He grinned. “People wanting to have a good time and forget their troubles. And, you know you’re going to hear this multiple times if you do a pub crawl.”

Julie nodded. “Plenty of experience with bars in my college years so I’m very well versed in Journey.”

He raised a brow and turned the volume back up. “Oh, yeah?”

She tapped fingers on her skirt to the beat. “Yep. Who hasn’t sung this offkey with hundreds of random strangers?”

They hummed along for the first couple verses. By the time the midnight train was going anywhere, Julie got the nerve to sing along with Steve Perry. Dean smiled in appreciation and then accompanied her when things went on and on, and on, and on. He let go of the wheel on a straight stretch of road to air guitar before turning into the neighborhood. A late-night dog walker that Julie recognized got an earful of them both belting out Don’t Stop Believin’ as Dean swerved past. The song, on cue, faded out when Dean pulled into her driveway.

Dean turned off Baby’s engine. “Definitely better when you sing it with someone.” His smile was stuck on full blast as Julie was sure hers was.

She nodded to the front door. “Coming in?”

“Oh, you know I am.” He grinned ear to ear now. Julie grabbed the door handle. “Ah, wait.” He ejected himself out of the car and jogged around the Impala. From the other side of the open door, he watched Julie rise from her seat. “Trying to score as many brownie points as I can.”

“We already had dessert at the restaurant. Still hungry?” Julie took the lead.

He shook his head, closing the car door, then following her up the path. “You’re dangling the carrot right in front of me with these comments.” He added.

She stopped abrupt in the path and stared over her shoulder. His pace broke and she definitely caught him checking out her ass that time. “Really? Coming from you? Dangling the carrot?” She grinned.

His shoulder tipped up.

She sighed. After what felt like forever fumbling, she unlocked the door and gained entry. Julie dropped her bag and keys on the telephone table. Without being asked, Dean peeled off his suit jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. He scooted past her in the hallway and wandered into the living room. Fingers worked at the cuff buttons on his shirt. Julie swallowed. Jesus, he’s not wasting any time. Getting right to work. “D-do you want some bourbon?”

He turned, rolling up a sleeve so it hit just under his elbow. “Sure.”

“Be right back.” This is happening.

She expected him splayed out on the couch when she returned with the two glasses. Instead, he stood peeking out the curtains into the backyard. He turned to her. “You really do have a nice view into my yard.” His outstretched hand grabbed the glass and toasted hers before sipping.

He’d gone full Dean, rolling up both sleeves, untucking and unbuttoning the checkered shirt to reveal a white tank. “You should see the view from my office.” She stated, paying more attention to his tongue licking his bourbon coated lips rather than heeding what spilled out of hers.

“Okay.” He agreed.

“Hm?”

“Well, I turned down a tour the first time it was offered.”

“Okay.” She took a sip and debated where to start.

Dean smiled. “Taste of bourbon growing on you?”

“I like it with you.” God, cheese much?

He began to walk toward her, forcing her to make a decision on her indecision.

She tapped her heels on the wood floor. Hugging the back of the armchair she waved a hand in the air. “I think you’ve seen most of the first floor already.”

He nodded and pointed past her. “Kitchen, dining room, and bathroom are that way.”

“Down the hall past the bathroom is the guest room.”

He smiled. “Brigida uses that when she stays over?”

“Yep.”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling. “So, your office is upstairs? And, your bedroom?” That grin and those eyes were telepathically transmitting nasty notions into Julie’s brain.

“Uh-huh.”

He downed the rest of the bourbon with a dramatic flair in one slow gulp, showcasing his Adam’s apple. It took only one long stride for him to stand in front of her. “Gonna finish your drink?”

A small sip was all she could manage, leaving some bourbon. His warm fingers wrapped around her grip. Prying the glass from her hand, he then finished her pour and placed their glasses on a side table. “After you.” He motioned to the stairs, a softer smile on his lips now.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Her heels echoed up the steps to the first landing. She clung to the rail for dear life and continued upwards. The creaking floorboards under his boots, close behind, amplified in her buzzing ears. One of her table lamps had timed on hours ago at the top of the stairs in the spacious landing.

He inspected the surroundings in the warm light and met her in the middle of the floor atop a circular area rug.

“This is kind of my little loft. Closet over there.” She cleared her throat. “Behind you is my office slash other guest room.”

Dean did a quick 180 and strolled through the darkened doorway. In a second, he’d found the light switch. “Ah. Wow, it really is very... officey.” She smiled at the description and wandered in behind him. He looked with his hands as well as his eyes, touching the spine of random books on the bookshelf and tapping a key or two on the keyboard. When the lock screen appeared, he tisked. “Not gonna make it easy for me to snoop with a password.” He strolled over to the large cork board mounted on the wall, filled with photos.

Julie provided an explanation without being asked. “That has been with me for the past twenty or so years. Not much has changed on it since the turn of the century.”

His eyes squinted and he leaned in closer, ducking and rising to take in all of the randomness of her younger years. Concert ticket stubs and postcards scattered amid celebrity crush pinups, childhood moments and class photos. He smiled and pointed at one picture. “That you?”

Julie walked to his right and confirmed. “Yep.”

“A bowl haircut, huh?” He chuckled.

“I was six. Not like I had much say.”

“You were a cute kid.”

She was about to thank him when he turned to the windows with the shades drawn. “So, the view is pretty great from here?”

“It is.”

He leaned against the front of one couch cushion, then propped a knee upon it. He grabbed at one of the strings and pulled. He frowned at the darkness revealed. “Can’t see much now.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Dean released the cord. The shade dropped back in position. Without warning, he eased from the couch lean and shuffled over to halt inches in front of her. Big hands cupped under her chin and tilted her face up and up. So damn tall. She had no choice but to meet his stare. His words came out serious and slow. “I’m going to kiss you now, Julie.”

~~~~~

*** Lyrics are from "Ramble On" by Led Zeppelin - co-written by Jimmy Page and Robert Plant

Part 10

Series Page

[caroline18mars]

A Man On Fire - Chapter 48

Crowded restaurant, crowded club, too many smartphones about with a lot of cameras, so you ask for a vip area but what do you do when practically everyone in the club is in that VIP-area? Val, no stay away from me, we're being recognized already, or at least I am. “Val..come on, don't” he protested as she tried to put her arm around his waist and push herself up to him, as if to say, this one is all mine, we're an item, “don't what?” she flapped her eyelashes at him all innocently. “We're not an item anymore, Val, there's too many cameras about and I don't want to get into trouble with Harper, and neither do I want to have to explain things that might upset her because she might get the wrong idea” he took a step back to put enough distance between them. “Harper? Cool name” she deviously smiled at him, sipping her cocktail, “I'm serious Val, I think Harper is the one, I don't want to risk losing her over some stupid misunderstanding, so if you're looking to cause trouble, then it isn't going to work, ok? I appreciate you as a friend, I do, but you and I..nothing's ever gonna happen between us again, I just want to make that clear”. Val just shrugged to his statement “yeah yeah fuddy duddy, can we go dance now? Besides from what I saw on your Insta, she's too busy painting to make ends meet anyway, so she's not all that selfmade woman as she claims to be, she did need a little shoutout from sugardaddy to get some kind of career started, didn't she?” her sarcastic laughter bellowed loud over the music, making heads turn. “That's not..” he protested but she just spun on her heels, “Val?!..” he tried getting her attention but she ignored his plea, grabbed his wrist and pulled him over to the dancefloor.

A light knock on the door pulled her out of her concentration, no first this one piece of shade before he will just start  babbling again, another impatient knock “hold on Sean, I'll be right there” she yelled in the direction of the door, what did he want now? Oh fuck this, she dropped the brush with a sigh and jumped off the scaffolding to open the door. God, she was getting sexier by the day, it took him every ounce of willpower to stay calm “hey, just thought I'd drop by and tell you the news” he smiled under her awkward, disturbed stare and brushed past her, not waiting for her to invite him. “Come right in” she snapped “what news?” she followed him into the kitchen where he was already raiding her fridge in search for a beer, it wasn't even noon yet, “Shannon called..” he smirked as he put the bottle to his mouth, “oh..” was all she could mutter as she started washing the paint from her hands. “Yep, apparantly they're in dire need of extra crew..so he asked me to join again” he sat down, “oh” she said again, she was a little shocked..and happy that he wouldn't be around to bother her anymore, but on the other hand she'd be alone in NY again and if and when she decided to fly back to Jared, her nemesis would be there too, she just couldn't win. “You clearly accepted, so when are you leaving?” drying her hands she avoided his stare, “tonight” he took another swig from his beer, “are you gonna say something other than just 'oh', come on, 'fess up, something is clearly bothering you”, ugh was that ugly smirk on his face really necessary?. “There's nothing bothering me, except for the fact that I was in the middle of something, so if there's nothing else..” she avoided his stare. “It's nearly noon, I'm hungry and so are you, I know because you're cranky, so why don't we go out for some lunch? We'll talk some more, and it'll give us some quality us-time before I leave again” his arm wrapped around her waist, wowww, wait a minute, don't you touch me, not after everything you've done and said. “Sorry, no can do, my muse is calling” she lied, it had stopped calling an hour ago, she just didn't want to go out with him, being forced to listen to his ranting about himself..it just threw her stomach in knots, she'd rather go out and have some lunch by herself and collect her thoughts. “Oh..” yes oh, now get out of my flat, you prick, “shame..ok, well I'll leave you to it then” he put his bottle down “am I still gonna see you before I leave tonight?” he was on the verge of pouting, “I'll call you, alright?” will you just go now?. Finally he followed her as she escorted him to the door, “Harp..” he tried again, clearly feeling uncomfortable, oh good, “why don't you come? I bet Jared is missing you already given the way he's behaving already, he's been acting like a frikking lunatic”. The mention of her lover's name made her head shoot up “huh? What do you mean?” don't listen to him, he's only trying to get under your skin with his bullshit, “uhmm..no, nothing, forget I said anything..” goddammit..no, don't fall for it, ignore him, “ok..well, have a safe flight..I'll see you when I see you” she flashed him an insecure smile, “I'll say hello to Jared” just GET OUT! “ok you do that! Bye Sean”, the slamming door nearly hit him on the ass, why was she so angry all of a sudden? Just because he told her the truth about that nitwit that was her boyfriend, pfff, whatever, I'll see you soon enough.

And there you had it, trouble caught on a couple of nosy cameras, he could already see the headlines and tweets, it was only a matter of seconds, he pulled out of her embrace that felt like a bodylock and stomped off, “Wait! Jared, come on, where are you going?” Val hopped after him, giggling and pushing herself a way through the crowd, “I'm not gonna do this here” he snarked when she grabbed his elbow and jumped in front of him, “do what? What is the problem, we were just dancing” that godawful grin of hers, she just refused to take anything seriously. “No we weren't, wait no, you weren't planning on just dancing, you had this planned all along, didn't you? You knew what you were doing and you knew there were gonna be cameras about, private club? my foot!” he hissed, no, don't give her the satisfaction, just stay calm and get out of here. Outside the club the rain was pouring down mercilessly, where was that car on stand-by when you needed it? No cab? Fine, he would just walk then, he needed to cool down anyway! Walking down the street his heart hammered, he was so sick of being around all those people who loved causing drama, this was supposed to be an innocent night out, some alcohol, some dancing moves that needed to be tested, catching up with old friends and all of a sudden she'd turned it into some kind of sleazy freakshow with groping and grinding, performing her own little porn video in front of eager cameras. Harper baby, I miss you, sure I want to be the understanding boyfriend of a multitalented artist who needs time to herself, but I don't know if I can for much longer, I don't even want to think this but I hope the inspiration dries up a bit, so you can finally come over, god now I really sound like the egotistical jerk/boyfriend. He should call her, that video is gonna be all over social media and what if she sees it..a limo splashed through the driving rain and lowered speed next to him “yo, Cinderella, why don't you get in the car?” the window lowered and the head of his drunk brother appeared. He stopped walking and tried to see who else was in the car, there was Stevie..oh fuck it, a warm and dry car sounded like music to his ears now, so he hopped in, “Val's looking for you” his brother had to suppress a giggle, “just shut up Shannon” he snapped as he pulled off his jacket, soaking the leather seat next to him. “You're the one who said it would be fun having her around” Shannon shrugged, “guess I forgot how much trouble she is, I want her off this tour” his little brother pulled his long hair up into a wet, messy bun. “I thought you loved trouble, looks like Harper's got you on a tight leash already” Shannon raised his eyebrows, he wasn't particularly fond of proverbial leashes, not on himself and not on his little brother. “Not that it's any of your business but I'm not on anyone's leash, alright? Harper's my girl and Val still thinks she is, I won't let her destroy what Harper Coco and I have, nope! So you got her on this tour, you can get her out of it as well, is that understood?”.

Should he send her an e-mail? A text maybe, that was a lot quicker in putting her and his mind at ease that everything was ok, and that she probably would never see the pics of him and Val, right a text it was. On the other side of the ocean, Harper pushed the last asparagus around the plate, she was feeling the fatigue of being cooped up all day inside the loft, and from being in the same position too long, it was good to be out and even better being without Sean, a bleep interrupted her thoughts. 'Wish you were here, I miss you so bad..<3' aw Jay, you hopeless romantic, 'I miss you too, but the question is: what are you doing up so late, I know for a fact that it's the middle of the night there right now' she put the phone down and then quickly  picked it up again to google the time difference, see? 5 AM..no time for Jay to be up yet. 'We all went to this club and I just got back, a lot of drinks and people who like to pretend they're 'with the band', but all I really want is to be with YOU!', aha parties parties parties, it was moments like these that she actually realized that the man who she was dating was famous, and it never ceased to be weird..and fun, but the drama that surrounded him she could do without, and there was drama, she could read it in the text. Sean's words hammered through her head, he was acting like a lunatic he'd said, uh enough with the texting, the only way to find out if something happened was to call him, she could always hear it if he was upset or angry. His phone rang just as he was sliding into bed, “You ok? Did something happen? I'm a bit worried” her voice danced in his ear, and his entire body instantly reacted, “oh babe, I'm so glad you called, you don't have to worry..how's things back there? I'm just trying my very best not to miss you too much, or I would get on a plane back to the States right now” he pinched the bridge of his nose, if she knew what happened back in the club. “So..did Sean arrive safely?” he could hear her swallow hard, “huh? Sean?” what? Where?, “Yeah Sean, you know, you invited him back on tour..I just don't understand  ..”, her voice was so hard all of a sudden. “I honestly don't know anything about that..maybe Shannon asked him..” he heard the fast beeps of a second call coming in, whoever it was it would just have to wait, his girl always had priority. “Oh..” was all she said, he wasn't gonna let this conversation turn in to a a flaming row, “babe, I honestly don't know anything about it, I'll talk to Shannon in the morning, ok? Let's not talk about Sean right now, let's talk about us, how about that mail you sent where you were being just a little bit horny” he tried to change the subject and gladly, phonesex was not the real thing, but right now it was better than no sex at all, missing her this much was simply unbearable. “Well played, Leto!” she giggled a little and it was music to his ears “but I'm too tired, I just want to go to bed and sleeeeeppp, been a long day, just tell me everything is ok over there and you're fighting every temptation that I'm sure is surrounding you there” her voice rolled calm and sweet in his ears. “Everything is ok” no hesitation, you have to sound convinced and put her mind at ease “I don't have to fight, because there is no temptation, and if there was, all you have to remember is that I chose you..in a hundred..a thousand lives I will always choose you, I love you Harper Coco and there's nothing you can do about that”. A tear trickled down her cheek and she let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding “I love you too, so much..I'll be with you before you know it” she smiled through her tears “Dream about me when you go to sleep, I'll do exactly the same”. Jared closed his eyes “Promise, talk to you in a couple of hours? Call me when you wake up? Goodnight gorgeous..” they both whispered their goodbyes until the inevitable dry click of a disconnected call followed. He put the phone back on the nightstand, rolled on his side and turned off the light, what he didn't hear was the door opening and someone tiptoeing into the room, he was just too tired and he was already sinking into a deep sleep when he was rudely awakened by a body sliding into bed with him, a hand snaking around his chest, a warm breath against his ear “you can't escape me now”.

[istheresomebodywhocanimagine]

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 12

Now that you’ve done what you came to do, what comes next? Where do you go? How do you cope?

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here | Read PT. 4 here | Read PT. 5 here | Read PT. 6 here | Read PT. 7 here | Read PT. 8 here | Read PT. 9 here | Read PT. 10 here | Read PT. 10.5 here | Read PT. 11 here

TRIGGER WARNING: BIG SAD. also low quality pic of roger hehe

The last of your measly belongings were packed tightly into that folded up box you’d stuffed into the closet a year ago, the clock reading some time around 2 in the morning as you took a deep, shuddering breath. A few tears escaped your eyes, and you reached up to quickly wipe them away. This was it.

Weston had explained everything from the beginning, pausing only to let you cry it out. He was patient – a bit irritable, but not outwardly, and he always waited until you were calmed down a bit to continue. He was understanding, you thought, as you made your way down the hallway to Roger’s room, which was still empty. Roger wouldn’t be back for a good 6 or 7 hours, leaving you plenty of time to process what Weston had said.

Roger was the universe’s punishment for your involvement in Weston’s creation. He had manifested the time portal, through some sort of quantum physics mumbo-jumbo you hadn’t even pretended to understand. He did it for his childhood friend, a redhead that went by the name of Abigail. She was beautiful, and all the boys chased after her, including Weston. But he had the upper hand as her best friend, and he squandered it away by pining after her silently until it was too late – Abigail was gone, victim to an IRA car bomb that detonated yards from where she was standing, outside of a pub. She was killed at the ripe age of 16, before he could even say goodbye.

“So you made a time machine to save a girl you were obsessed with,” you deadpanned in between crying sessions, Weston’s face twisting up in annoyance and agreement as he struggled to form a comeback.

“Well, when you put it that way…. I guess.”

He’d studied for years, running algorithm after algorithm, test after test, until a successful run in 1993 – he found himself thrust back into the 1970s, at the same exact time, in the same exact place. Roger and Freddie became background characters in his quest to fix what he saw as an error in the timeline, people who just happened to be there every time he came back to try and fix it again.

But that was the problem both of you had – you saw the tragedies as erroneous, but as traumatic as they were, they were not errors. It took Weston years to finally realize there was no way to fix it.

“I spent all of my time from 1993 to 2010 trying to figure out what I was doing wrong,” he’d quietly remarked, tugging on a string that was frayed off of the knee of his baggy jeans. “Turns out, it wasn’t my place to try and change history anyways. Abi wasn’t meant to be with me, as much as I wanted it to be true.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, not sure what to say. It was overwhelming, all of it, and an excessive amount of shame and pain washed over you as you realized that you were not the only one chasing something that wasn’t yours, that didn’t belong to you. A small part of you still wanted Roger, but the common sense in you knew it wasn’t in the cards.

Weston was silent as he stared at the floor just past his knees, chewing on the inside of his lip before he stood up and brushed his jeans off absentmindedly. “I spent 2010 and on trying to convince Dan that it wasn’t worth it. He caught me one time, coming out of the closet door. Wouldn’t leave until I explained, shit a brick when I did.”

“But you let him?” you countered, furrowing your eyebrows as you looked up at Weston.

“It’s hard to say no to someone who offers to pay double the rent for an apartment that only offers you pain because of a time portal you can’t get rid of. And I figured he’d get the message eventually. I never imagined….” He trailed off, looking down at you as he tried to find the words to say that wouldn’t offend you. It was clear that he found you incapable of dealing with the consequences, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he cleared his throat and shook his head. “I didn’t think he’d send anyone else.”

“I get it,” you muttered, standing up as well as tears once again threatened to spill out of your eyes. “I’ll just pack up my things.”

And now here you were, standing in the middle of Roger’s room, silently crying as you took one last look. It was a mess, clothes laying across the bed that wasn’t made, an ashtray with an abundance of cigarette butts near the window, and tons of crumpled papers with scrapped songs on them – but it was home to you. You approached the desk, picking one paper up that seemed to be an abandoned love song. Those weren’t typical of Roger, so you folded it up slowly and pushed it into your pocket, sniffling once before grabbing the pen and a discarded paper, writing out a note to your boyfriend. Could you call him a boyfriend now? It was all so confusing.

I did it. I love you forever. Please keep writing music, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine – you just keep being the best drummer out there. Queen is going to do numbers, I promise. Gotta go now.

Placing the note on his bed, you walked back out of his room to where Weston was waiting, his arms crossed as he watched you wipe away the last of your tears.

“Ready to go?”

The apartment wasn’t like you remembered it. When you and Weston walked back through, it was an unfamiliar layout, complete with a mirror in front of the door that you nearly broke upon opening the door outward. But Weston shoved through, strolling into the bedroom as if it was his own. Which, you quickly realized, it was. Pictures of him with a strange redhead girl you recognized as Abigail were on the dresser, coupled with some stacks of papers with equations and diagrams that looked like another language to you.

“Wow. Guess you really did do it. Wonder where Dan is,” he remarked, mostly unfazed by the fact that it had returned to his own apartment. He looked around for a moment, then turned to you and nodded. “Uh, sorry about your boyfriend. I know what it’s like, so if you ever need anyone to, uh, talk to-“

“It’s okay,” you cut him off, a bit more sharply than you intended, but the rim of red around your eyes was enough to keep him from being offended. “I’m just going to go.”

He was quiet, just nodding in response and heading for the door so he could open it for you. “Okay. Hope everything works out.”

“Okay.” You took a deep breath, then hurried out of the door with your box of belongings. It felt heavy in your arms, heavier now that you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, but you managed to make your way down to the street, the church’s shadow looming over you like a death sentence as you hailed a cab that took you all the way to your mom’s house. It wasn’t home. Not anymore.

When you arrived at the small house on the other side of the city, you saw the driveway had your car in it, plus an unfamiliar junker that looked like it might fall apart if you shook it a little bit. Furrowing your eyebrows, you eyed the car suspiciously as you paid the cabbie with the pocket money you had left. It wasn’t yours, and it sure as hell wasn’t your father or mother’s, so whose was it?

Stepping out of the car, you shifted the box to your hip and stared up at the house. It seemed dirtier than you remembered, but maybe it was a year without seeing it that stained your eyesight, so you walked up to the door without another thought. Your feet dragged just a bit as you ascended the stairs, the reality of finally seeing your mom again after a whole year hitting you like a freight train. What if she was still an invalid? What if nothing had changed?

“Y/N?”

The front door swung open before you could even get to it, the familiar voice of your mom flooding your ears. But there was something off about it, a slowness to the way she spoke your name that made your ears ring as you looked up to find her standing in the doorway, leaned up against the frame.

Jesus, she was a mess. She looked at least 20 years older than she should have been, her collarbones jutting out of what used to be a healthy, toned body. In fact, all of her bones were sticking out, a sickly pallor discoloring her face and making her seem as if she was a ghost as she smiled lazily at you, her eyes a bit bleary and unfocused as she searched your face.

“Mum?” you asked unsurely, still standing at the top of the stairs as you stared at the woman who had taken care of you for the last 20-something years, a shell of what she’d been when you saw her literally hours ago, young and relatively unscathed.

“Can you go get me some Guinness? I’ll give you the cash.”

Staring blankly at her, you sat the box down on the porch and nodded slowly. She wasn’t drunk. This wasn’t the body of an alcoholic. This was something else you couldn’t put your finger on, something worse. Registering your nod slowly, she shut the door again and left you out on the porch, reeling from the interaction that had just taken place. Seconds later, she came back with a wad of cash, your phone, and your keys. Walking out to you, or rather, wobbling, she gave the handful to you with a shaking hand, then picked up your box and carried it inside without another word.

“What the fuck?” you whispered once she’d shut the door, still shocked from what had just happened. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?” you continued anxiously, slowly turning on your heels to walk out to your car that was waiting in the drive. What in the fuck had just happened?

Opening the car door, the familiar peony and cherry car freshener assaulted your nostrils as you dropped in, closing the door behind you and shakily unlocking your phone. It was still March, maybe 30 minutes after you’d went in to the portal, and yet, you felt like it had been forever since you’d been here. There weren’t any notifications, just the time and the date staring you back in the face from your iPhone.

Dan. He would know what’s going on. Opening your phone, you quickly pulled up his contact, calling him and pressing it to your ear as you listened to it ring, ring, ring. But he never answered, eliciting a string of curses out of you as you called him again, refusing to quit. And he finally answered on the third ring, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

“What d’you want?”

The words tumbled out of you before you could even think, pouring out of your mouth like a torrential waterfall of stupidity. You would regret it in a moment. “I did it, I went back and stopped William and Ted, and I thought mum would be alright, but now I’m here again in 2018 and I just-“

“Jesus, what are you on about? Did your mum let you shoot up with her, finally? She let you in on her stash of smack? Fuck, no wonder your dad took off, you’re both so cracked out. You both still owe me.”

“Wha- I-“ You were floored, so many truths attacking you at once you could barely comprehend the situation. “Smack? Owe you?”

“You’re high,” he accused, sounding even more annoyed than before, if that was possible at all. “And you owe me 700 fucking pounds. Remember that? Don’t fucking call back until you got it, you and your fucking thief of a mum. Fuck you.”

The line went dead. Stunned, you stared at your phone as it returned to the home screen, still devoid of notifications, and for some reason, you didn’t cry. You just breathed slowly, almost heavily, a hundred needles poking into your heart while you watched the screen go black after your inactivity. Smack? Your mom was a heroin addict? That explained the sluggishness, the harrowed appearance, but didn’t explain why? What had you done wrong? This wasn’t supposed to be how it happened. You were supposed to come back to a normal family, a normal life, not an addict mother and an uncle that despised you, plus a still-absent father.

No tears came, still. All that overtook you was a need, a desperate one at that. You needed his name to pop up on that phone, to call you and ask you if you were okay, because you weren’t, not anymore.

You needed Roger.

Roger. Roger, fuck, where is he? Scrambling to open up your phone, you opened Chrome and typed in his name faster than you’d ever typed in your life, hitting search even though you misspelled his last name in your haste, and feeling a flood of relief when you saw his Wikipedia page pull up. For a moment, you felt like at least something went right. But, as your luck would have it, you were wrong.

Roger Meddows Taylor was an English musician, singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist, best known as the drummer for the rock band Queen.

Was?

Clicking on the Wikipedia link, you waited a few seconds for the page to load before you were met with a picture of Roger, one that was slightly unfamiliar due to the shorter length of his hair. He looked middle-aged in the photo, the caption indicating it was taken around the mid-90’s, but you didn’t pay attention to it for too long before the death date caught your eye.

August 3, 2000

“No, no, no, no,” you whined, a tear immediately springing forth out of your eye as you scrolled down to the Personal Life section of his Wikipedia. What awaited you there was crushing, and you continually swept tears out of your eyes as you read it, so distraught you couldn’t even make a sound.

Following the 1997 release of No-One but You (Only the Good Die Young) and Deacon’s departure from Queen, Taylor unexpectedly committed himself to an unnamed institute, allegedly in the countryside near London unexpectedly. Remaining Queen member Brian May, speaking about the situation on a talk show later in 2000, cited ‘personal issues related to grieving,��� mentioning Freddie by name. He also briefly mentioned an old girlfriend from the early days of Queen, although this story is unconfirmed and no evidence of this relationship was brought forth upon public doubt. Taylor passed in 2000, leaving behind five children with two ex-wives.

“Oh, fuck me,” you sobbed as the tears finally began to fall in full force, your phone dropping to your lap as you pressed your hands to your face. Roger was dead. Your mom was just as fucked. Dan wanted nothing to do with you. Your dad? Might as well not exist. Everything was somehow worse than before.

Forgetting completely about the Guinness, you curled up in your car and sobbed for a good hour, the sky darkening to the point where you could barely see your hands in front of your face when you finally pulled yourself together, sniffling and wiping your nose on the back of your hand. Locating your phone, you grabbed it and shoved it into your pocket, neglecting to grab the keys out of the ignition before you wobbled back inside, overwhelmed with grief for both of the lives you had lost – one here, and one with Roger.

When the door on the porch opened again and you saw the outline of your mom lit by a single dim hallway light, you cursed yourself silently for completely forgetting what she’d sent you to do.

“Did you get it? Took you long enough.”

Her selfish, stinging words hit you like a slap to the face as you fully stopped in your ascension of the stairs. In her hand, she held the dress from Biba, the one Roger had bought you. “Give me my dress,” you immediately demanded, hopping the rest of the steps in one leap and coming to stand in front of her. She stared at you like an alien, eyes still bleary, probably from shooting up while you were busy mourning all of your mistakes in the car. This was not her fault, but as you stared at her offended expression that was chastising you for what you did, you couldn’t help but feel like it was.

“Where’s the fucking beer?”

“Fuck you!” you spat, snatching the dress from her hands and taking off for your car again as she yelled after you, berating you for being ungrateful and a thief and every nasty name under the moon. But you ignored her, climbing back into your car and starting it before ripping out of the driveway and peeling off down the street. Fuck her.

The dress laid in a pretty pink heap on the passenger seat, tossed over there hastily and taunting you as you drove aimlessly through the London night, not sure where to go. You didn’t even know where your dad was, so that was out of the question. And you were as good as dead to Dan. Maybe your friends? But how would you explain that? Hey, so I went back to 1971 to save my mom, but then I came back and she’s just a fucking druggie now, and my boyfriend from the 70’s is dead, and my uncle hates me, so can I crash on your couch? No. You were officially homeless.

So you went back to Weston’s. Parking on the street outside the building, you stared up at that church, the same one that had been so lofty and imposing in the 70’s now seeming small and pathetic as you examined the cracked brick, the crumbling stairs leading up to it surely being a safety violation. Your hand found the dress blindly, resting on the soft, velvety fabric and giving it a small pet. God, how desperately you could use a hug from Roger right now.

You weren’t sure was propelled you up to Weston’s door, or how you even made it up there, but a few minutes later, you were knocking on his door rapidly, your free hand clutching onto the dress desperately. When he opened the door, he didn’t even look remotely surprised to see you, though his words were polite enough.

“Hey. Back so soon?”

You groaned softly at the greeting, not sure whether to smack him or run away or both, but you shook your head and pressed your palm to your forehead. “I have to undo it. Everything. You were….. you were right.”

“Could have listened to me half a year ago, but okay,” he sighed, opening the door fully and letting you in. You beelined for the bedroom, not even stopping for a moment to explain the situation to him. It had to be done. You had to erase this reality, to start over. Your mom was too important. Roger was too important. Everything was too different. You should have listened.

And so, in you went again, plunging in to the darkness of the closet with only a few pounds and a dress on you, plus an all-too-familiar idea of what came next. As you opened the door to the 70’s décor in the hallway of the building you’d come to adore over the past year, you sighed.

Here we go again.

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4 PT. 5 PT. 6 PT. 7 PT. 8 PT. 9 PT. 10 PT. 10.5 PT. 11

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[flaaffy]

we have power!! no internet bc we have to have them come out and repair it but for now i'm tethering my phone's access to my laptop. anyway here is the formal post on why i've been away.

monday, may 27th, 2019 a tornado went over our house. never did anyone here in dayton think we'd get a tornado, especially not an ef-4. our lot got lucky; there's minimal damage to us overall, but damage nonetheless. below the read more are pics and more info

^ the front yard; a limb is leaning on the house and window. as far as we know there’s no window damage anywhere. (sorry for poor image quality)

^ tree limbs in the yard as well as some neighbors. shingles from the house across from us, as well as the one that caved in due to a business going into it (and perhaps the street behind us)

^ looking out from our house to the right we see more of the street and our neighbors. more shingles and the limbs in our yard

^ our patio and backyard. here’s where we think we got it worse in the back than the front, apart from the limb situation. mostly everything is okay, though we have SOME damage to things like the shed, roof, fascia, gutters, etc.

i may post pics of down the street and around the neighborhood (if so i'll link here as well) but my aunt and uncle got it worse. good thing is their insurance is covering a lot of stuff so there's less worry! if anyone reading this was in the tornadoes or any for that matter, i'm glad you're safe and okay. it sucks hearing what sounds like a freight train then rotation. it's so scary you think you're gonna lose your house and everything, or even worse.

[angelaiswriting]

The Assistant (2 of ?) | Vladimir Ranskahov x reader

[original picture: pinterest + no new banner today bc i don’t want to risk to spend the rest of the day analyzing these two hands haha]

✏️ Pairings: (eventual) Vladimir Ranskahov x fem!reader | Anatoly Ranskahov x OC (Paulina) | probably other pairings

✏️ Requested by @kellydixon01 : Y/N–hacker, big mouth, even bigger attitude–is the new addition to Fisk’s team. Sent to help the Ranskahovs, she immediately gets on Vladimir’s nerves. But as time passes, they start to take a liking to each other, even if none of them is willing to admit their feelings. Yet.

✏️ A/N: I wanted to post this before lunch, but I got carried away but Vlad’s tattoos HAHA I’m a fucking Master Procrastinator (but it could be useful for the story, who knows. If I find the pics I was referring to last night, I might even research them all bc as of now all we have are dark photos since Daredevil is what it is...)

✏️ Warnings: none that I can think of tbh

✏️ Word-count: 2,823

REQUESTS ARE OPEN IF YOU WANT ME TO WRITE FOR YOU 💛

<< chapter one <<

CHAPTER TWO: UNPLEASANT NEWS

Weirdly enough, the meeting was going to be held in a new location, one that had been kept a secret until an hour before its beginning. Commonly enough, though, the location was another building still in construction and owned by Fisk’s company, for he wanted to be sure to be on safe ground. No police, no complications. He wanted one clean operation so as to not blow up his cover.

It wasn’t going to happen anyway, the Ranskahov brothers reasoned. They cared about their money and their traffics and even though they weren’t exactly that excited to be working with Gao and the Yakuza, they weren’t going to complain. As long as money poured into their pockets, they were fine.

What they weren’t fine with, was a spy.

What had previously been a simple rumor had later turned out to be, in fact, the truth. The girl Wesley was going to bring along was a hacker–hence, in Vladimir and Anatoly’s dictionaries, a fucking spy.

Why did that girl have to be there, none of them had a clue. Was it because of the failed shipment two months ago? It couldn’t be: they had had three other meetings with Fisk’s man and the problem hadn’t been brought up. It hadn’t even been addressed because it hadn’t been their fault.

And yet, the real question was: where the fuck were the Asians? Their absence felt weird, a stinging aftertaste at the back of their throats. They had always been present because they were part of the deal and part of the business. They dealt with drugs and the Russians with weapons and human beings. They were symbionts: they worked together because they benefited from the others’ work.

Unless, of course, this was Fisk’s way of removing them from the chessboard. He acted like its king, he felt as though he was its king: what was going to stop him from killing off the Russian side of the traffic?

Vladimir gritted his teeth, the smoke of the cigarette finding its way out from his flaring nostrils. The fingers that held the cigarette trembled, but not in fear. He wasn’t at ease, he didn’t like to stand and wait in an unknown place, unaware of its emergency exits and hiding corners. Unlike his older brother, much more composed, he felt like a caged animal. He could smell the people on the other side of the bars, even though he could barely see them, and the more he waited, the more that cage shrank in size.

It was almost like being six again when he had been trapped in that damn elevator that never worked like it should have. He had grown up in an old building–old, and dark, and stinky. He saw shadows everywhere, even if he wanted to show a brave façade in front of his brother and father. After all, Vladimir Ranskahov was no pussy. The truth was, though, that he had been terrified by that creepy junkie that lived down the corridor, or by the man that, two doors from his own, yelled at any given moment. And so, he never took the stairs. Hopping from one foot to the other, he always jumped into the elevator, forced its doors closed so as to not let anyone else inside, and punched the button that would bring him up to the sixth floor. It was always an endless ascent: that metal box smelled like cat piss and the neon light above his head flickered and threatened to switch off. He had felt a jerk, that day, and he had bumped his head against one of the four walls but hadn’t immediately realized what had happened. It had taken him a couple of minutes, for it was weird that the doors hadn’t opened yet. And so he had understood and pressed the button with the yellow bell, hoping and praying that someone would come.

It had almost been like being in a movie: the hot guy and the hot girl ended up in the same elevator, which would soon break, and they’d end up kissing and touching. But he was not a hot guy and there was no hot girl and he had felt an invisible fist squeezing the air out of his lungs, leaving him breathless as his mind worked at the speed of light.

It had been the longest four minutes of his life before the doors finally opened and the building’s technician welcomed him onto the corridor.

Even now, as he paced back and forth on the ugly and bare cement floor, inhaling the smoke of his cigarette as though it was pure-quality air, he felt confined inside the four walls of that elevator, locked in there like a sardine in its can.

He wasn’t good at this. The only thing he was capable of doing when he felt trapped was fighting. He fought with kicks and fists, he bared his teeth like a wild animal, he turned into the beast he had been back–don’t go there–back there. And it didn’t matter that that place was just that–a place–nor that he tried his best to pretend it didn’t have a name, because deep down, in the deepest part of his mind, it still had–Utkin.

Fuck, no.

“Where is that fucking doormat?” Those words were a canine growl at the base of his throat, burning with the fumes of his third cigarette in the last fifteen minutes. It scratched his throat with its dusty fingers, it knotted his stomach, it set his brain on fire, slamming it into survival mode.

Anatoly turned towards his brother, more concerned about his compulsive smoking than he was about Wesley’s tardiness. He didn’t like the guy, so he was happy he wasn’t there yet–his lateness also probably meant that the meeting would be cut short because, as he always loved to put it, “he was a busy man”.

He spat to the ground and wasn’t able to stop his head from shaking. Fucking rat. How could someone really expect someone of his caliber to take orders from someone who couldn’t even clean his own ass? His fingernails split the flesh of his palms, but he was too busy worrying about his brother to even notice.

The night before Vladimir had come home late–and Anatoly knew that just because he had asked–ordered–Petya to tail him. He had supposed he still hung out at illegal fights’ rings, but before that day it had only been just that, a supposition. He thought… He had been foolish enough to believe that…

What do you do when you find out someone you love is still attracted by the wrong people like a magnet? He didn’t know, not anymore; probably he had never even known for sure. Not once did he delude himself into thinking he wasn’t one of ‘the wrong people’ because–damn!–he was, and Vladimir was, too. But he and Paulina had tried to help him endless times–or, better, they had deluded themselves into thinking they could indeed help him, when all he knew was fighting and how to fight and how to win a fight–and they had always failed. Vladimir kept going back to his own special drug and while Tolya had believed he had stopped fighting, Piotr had proved his convictions wrong: Volodya fought and he fought well, he hadn’t lost his skills.

Faced with the news, he thought he had lost his brother.

And even now, as he stared at him, it felt like staring at a stranger. He couldn’t recognize his face, nor his ugly scar, nor his bruised knuckles. He sighed–he hadn’t meant to, so it had probably been his subconscious’ response to the terrible feeling of failure that threatened to drown him.

Right then, Vladimir turned, one eyebrow cocked into a questioning expression, and Anatoly couldn’t understand how he had managed to hear that sound above what he knew had to be the screams of his own thoughts. “I’m going to give the moron five minutes: if he’s not here by then, I’ll leave this fucking place and go home.”

“No Russian here, please.”

The brothers turned into the direction of the voice just to see Wesley walk into the open and half-built space, a young woman trailing behind him with an annoyed smirk on her face.

“No newbies here,” Anatoly retorted, mocking Wesley and throwing his own cigarette to the ground. “She can wait outside, whatever it is.”

“Unfortunately I fear this is not what my boss wants.” The man shrugged his shoulders, almost sorry he couldn’t fulfill Anatoly’s wish, and his words gave the girl the courage she needed to take a few steps forward, to better look at the brothers.

Vladimir groaned. He turned towards the city, visible through the missing windows, just as the night breeze slipped in, blowing the smoke of his cigarette in his face. His eyes closed on reflex even before his brain had the time to send out the order and the man inhaled deeply before reopening his eyes. “Make this quick, we don’t have whole night.” And, unable to help himself, he let a muttered ‘mudak’ slip past his lips.

“This is Y/N.”

Anatoly greeted her with a curt nod of his head, his eyes scanning her whole form. It wasn’t just to take her in, but also to check if there was any visible trace of a weapon poking out from somewhere. Wesley had eventually put his mind at peace, for the Ranskahovs would never leave their guns at home when they went to one of his stupid meetings, but they weren’t going to accept some unknown newbie to be armed in their presence.

“She works for us,” Wesley went on. He had clearly expected some different kind of reaction from the brothers and had been disappointed by its lack.

“We don’t care who works for you,” Vladimir spat, finally turning around and letting his cigarette fall to the ground. “We have our men and your boss has his. We do not care.”

They both hated Fisk’s bootlicker, with his tiny eyes and rectangular glasses and his stupid hair brushed back. He was annoying, he believed himself important when all he was, was a doormat. What role did he have in Fisk’s business? He never got his hands dirty–nor stained with blood. He was just a pawn. And yet, he always presented himself with that stupid expression plastered all over his face, screaming slap the shit out of my eye sockets.

Dick.

“Well, actually…” Wesley’s smirk grew bigger. At its sight, Vlad felt his blood boil through his veins, turn into a furious stream, threatening to blind him. “She will be working with you from now on.”

For a second it was as though time had stopped and dilated. The brothers turned to stare at each other with silent questions passing through their brains and over their eyes, and Anatoly saw Vladimir’s fingers twitch in the attempt to not close his hands in fists. He then watched him swallow–slowly, almost painfully, saliva as thick as blood as it slid down his brother’s throat.

Then, when he least expected it, Vlad let out a cold, robotic laughter. Tolya had feared he’d take his gun and shoot James Wesley between his eyes, yet his reaction chilled him to the bone.

“We will not work with woman,” he declared, nodding in Y/N’s direction. She had been standing there, staring at him with her clever eyes shielded behind her pair of glasses, and he hated her examining stare, almost as though he was some weird animal that needed to be studied. The scar on his face, the one Utkin–fuck–gifted him for his twenty-fifth birthday, burned almost as though he was back there and then, blood still spilling down his face like his mother’s tears. “We have all men we need. She would be useless.”

“Actually-” The girl had tried to speak, but Wesley stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“Our boss,” and he emphasized on the adjective, “was pretty disappointed by your failure, two months ago.”

“He should have spoken up as soon as it happened,” Anatoly cut in, taking a step towards his brother to stop him with his presence from doing anything stupid. “It has not happened ever since,” he smirked, breath coming out loud from his nostrils, head slightly tilting to one side. “How could this girl,” and he stared down at her, his gaze accusatory and mouth set in an annoyed sneer, “help?”

Vladimir chuckled and the sound somehow came out harsher than his previous laughter. It made Anatoly’s hair stand up on their ends and Wesley’s satisfied smirk fade. “Unless she’s good at sucking dick, she’s useless.”

“I know more than you do,” the girl cut in, too tired and annoyed by the Russians’ words. “And I will not trouble myself with your tiny dick, so you might as well find yourself someone else. Maybe you could even resort to your own hand.”

Vlad’s face contorted into a sneer, air coming out boiling and furious from his nose, hands wrapping up into fists. Anatoly had to hold him back, for he knew his brother would smash that girl’s head on the floor if he let him take another step forward.

“Come on, guys, come on.” Wesley had taken a step back, leaving Y/N alone on the front line. “This decision is unnegotiable. Y/N will come to your garage tomorrow morning and my boss expects to not hear one word from you,” he pointed to the Russians, “and not even you, Y/N. Work your problems out without killing each other and you might even earn a reward. She will check your clients, help you with commissions and business and if you let her do, a bigger portion of the business will be waiting for you.”

Anatoly nodded, forcing his brother to turn his back to Wesley and the girl. Unconcerned by the man’s first words upon meeting them that night, he switched to his native language. “I don’t want her with us either,” he confessed, grabbing Vladimir by his arm. “She could be sent to spy or God knows what else. But it’ll do us no good if she hacks into our shit and tells everything about our business to this dog or to their boss. Let’s play their game for a while and see how it goes.”

“It’ll all go to shit, brother!” Vladimir could hardly see straight. That fucking shipment had failed because the Asians had insisted on doing it their way and yet it was them that had to put up with a stupid babysitter. “Whatever she’s been sent here for is not to help us. Where’s Gao? Or the Japanese? This is a fucking trap and this stupid American and his boss only want to sack us, give our part of the deal to someone else and drop us somewhere on the bottom of the Atlantic.”

Toly turned to glance at the girl, who was staring at them both with an annoyed frown settled upon her otherwise sweet features. “Look at her, she looks just as annoyed as we are, though.” As Vladimir turned to make sure his brother’s words reflected the truth as his mirror welcomed him with the ugly reflection of his scar every morning, Anatoly continued with his reasoning. “If she really can hack into our shit, she wouldn’t be sent to work with us.”

“So what? You think she’s not a real hacker?”

Tolya grunted. “What I’m trying to say is, let’s wait and see. If anything goes wrong or is she tries to do something, we can still kill her.”

“Why don’t we do that now? Give me five minutes alone with her and no one will ever find her corpse.”

His brother was so stupid, Tolik thought. How couldn’t he see beyond his nose? Maybe he had left what little brain nature had given him back in Utkin, he reasoned, and that had to be the real reason behind his stupidity. “Why make her work with us if she can end us with her computer?”

Vlad peeked a glance at Y/N one last time before turning to stare at his brother. “Is Ivan sure she’s a hacker?”

Tolik nodded. “We can use her to know things about the people she works for, too.”

“I’m trusting you on this, brother,” Vladimir sighed, finally turning towards Wesley.

The man wasn’t just annoyed, he was pissed but, for once, he chose not to make any remarks about the men’s use of a language he did not understand. “Are you done?” he simply asked.

Anatoly nodded his by-now-throbbing head while his brother grimaced at the presence of the girl he was apparently forced to work with. “I want you at the garage tomorrow morning at five. We hate latecomers.”

>> chapter three >>

*

HAHA I can’t wait for you to read the beginning of chapter three (and for me to start it) bc Y/N will be pissed HAHAHAHA

Thoughts? Suppositions? Suggestions? I’m all ears.

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Bratva (people not on the lists but that might still be interested): @sweetvengeancee @theranskahovs @brobachev

[bearpillowmonster]

Spider-Man PS4 Review

 I just finished the game so here's my official review. I've been taking some notes throughout playing it so don't think I didn't have time to think it over or anything. This will be a long post so bear with me. (NON SPOILERS)

I started by wondering if I should get this game, E3 looked hype from the trailers but it never stood up front the crowd, losts of speculation from me. A few months ago I watched a video where these guys got to play it early just to share game mechanics (I think it was GameSpot or something) I know what they meant in a lot of things they were talking about now. Now here's the kicker, there's DLC. I hate DLC, never get it despite a lot of it looking cool, however I saw Black Cat as one of the DLC. I have a soft spot when it comes to Black Cat, I just have to check it out when she's involved...leading me to not only buy the game but the deluxe edition as well.

Let me start from the intro of the game. It is actually very visual oriented and easter egg filled. It explains the story of Spider-Man, where we are, and the timeline in less of a minute without saying a word. A spider drops down from the window (Pete getting powers) There's a pic of Uncle Ben and May and Peter then one of Mary Jane and Harry (they've met, been friends, graduated) Next picture has only Peter and May (Ben's death). There's a notebook with concepts for a web shooter (throwback to the 2002 movie sketches) A magazine with Norman Osborn that's labeled "Secrets" with some green nerf darts (Green Goblin is the secret (hence green darts) so not yet introduced) There's a wall of newspaper clippings with some of the villains on them (The big ones that have already been fought in this timeline) Next is a series of post-it notes but the most visible says "RENT DUE". (Peter owns his own place and is struggling) Now that's what I call an intro (it gets more epic right after but i wont spoil)

One complaint I see is the graphics. "They aren't as good as we saw at E3" or something along those lines. BOI this game has great graphics for starters and second How noticeable is the texture on a wall or a puddle compared to the actual character models? This game has a perfect excuse for toning down some ever so slightly. It runs better. It's an open world game and there's maybe one small loading screen and then this bad boy of a town is all yours, If these cutscenes were prerendered (a select few are but for the most part) then it would seem weird going from that to a loading screen. THERE ARE NO LOADING SCREENS AFTER CUTSCENES! It's straight into the action. Seamless. Having the graphics of both cutscene and gameplay match each other just enhances the experience for me so good on them! Also you can look in most windows and actually see stuff in there like computers or if the light is on or chairs/tables etc. That's next level! There are tips on the few loading screens you have (such as if you start a side mission, which I'll get to here in a minute) and they go by so fast you can just barely read the tip, it's that quick for me.

Next complaint I don't see much at all anymore but saw when this game was announced was the voice cast. Yuri Lowenthal wasn't the first pick for a lot of Spidey fans but he does an excellent job in this game like I mean they all do but you can really tell that the cast went all out for this game, it's great. Yuri even shares a name with one of the characters so yay. Also he voices older Ben from Ben 10. Even though it would be cool to have different voice actors for different suits such as Tom Holland for the Homecoming suit, Yuri does a nice job. Jameson is in this and he hosts a podcast that plays sometimes while you're swinging, that's a good modern take on him but nobody will ever beat JK Simmons just saying.

The Spiderman juggernaut that was Spiderman 2 (preferably the GC version for me) was a big game to stack against, nothing has beat it until this game in my opinion. Spiderman 2 I could get lost in just doing side missions, I would literally spend my time saving people hanging from roofs, getting mugged and car chases and still be satisfied with that game, it was that good! (also I wasn't too good at knowing what to do in games as a kid so eh) The swinging, the jumping, all felt natural and fun. This game can perhaps even beat that even with nostalgia, the web swinging is the best we've seen, it applies parkour and acrobatics and gravity and momentum to define what I say is the word to describe this game "F-L-O-W". Everything has a flow and it feels good for it to flow. It does a good job of trying to keep what everyone liked with SP2...even a few character chase sequences, which I've always hated and still do but it's still nostalgic and would probably be missed if it wasn't in there. Wallrunning is a lot simpler and easier, web shooting is a lot more fun and gives you control, lots of different variety, lots of different unlockables. Also you can actually unlock that super jump like in SP2 and I love it! You don't get stuck nearly as often, if you're swinging, you don't lose momentum if you run into stairs or a building, he goes straight into wall run mode or just swings around it, feels so good. There's actually a throwback to the Spiderman 2 train sequence where he mentions "That worked last time" when trying to use his webs to stop a train.

I made sure to give a fair amount of effort to do as much as I can in this game. I did all the landmark missions, backpacks, black cat stakeouts, collected most of the suits, unlocked every skill, tried different play styles with webbing and such. (I can actually recognize how someone's play style is different than mine when I watch because I've played it so much) You don't like the white spider suit? Well you can unlock others and play as those instead, you barely have to use the white spider suit but doesn't go without saying each suit interchangeable quirks but not making any more powerful than another. Use the environment to your advantage, there's some stealth involved here but you don't have to use it, it's actually pretty fun. You can throw trash cans and concrete mix and shock people with stuff. You can crawl in vents.

Side missions and side stuff. Are they fun? I'd be lying if I said every single one was great but there are a lot of really good ones, some even bring in certain characters that I shuttered when I saw. Backpacks were awesome because it's always a mystery where they'll be as well as what's in them, plus it unlocks a certain suit. Black Cat missions, obviously I love, get a suit out of that too. Landmarks are kinda fun, I didn't think I'd like it much but I just did it and was like "Wow that's actually a really cool shot" it makes me feel like a photographer (Have yet to try Photo mode though). But here's something cool. If you go to a side mission, it will take you out of your current situation so you don't waste time or get distracted by certain elements and puts you in a separate but same version New York and if you're in a phone call with someone and you go to do a side quest during it, Peter will say something like "Sorry about that, continue" and it will either pick up where you left off in the call or rewind a little bit so you remember. Here's something I didn't think I would see though. Minigames. Yeah...so apparently you can scan an element for it's components and you have to match the lines and then there's one for the neural interface which has you making a path from one side to another, and it's not the best but whatever, it does what it does.

The story is on par. If it were separated into a movie, it might actually work, it's of that quality. The characters are great as well, each being unique to this story without breaking their comic origin too much. Spidey actually got me to laugh quite a few times with his quips. I want to go in depth with the characters because I really like how some of them are handled but I don't want to spoil who all is in this game. The AI is pretty good, I like that it tells you if an enemy can see you and can highlight where all the enemies are by pressing R3. I even had the final boss dodging some of my attacks, I had nothing but respect for that though, no salt.

Now this game is among the greats but that goes without saying there are some aspects that could be improved upon. People complained about Quick Time Events when this was revealed and I didn't blame them but now I do because I see a few scenes that look like "Aww I wanna play that" because it was probably a scene meant for QTE but they took it out because of fan backlash (QTE is still in there but not a lot fyi). At the end Peter is faced with some decisions and that's what Spider-Man is about, we even see it at the end of the first Spider-Man movie and done masterfully. This one is done really well but I almost wish we could've played that, and made the decision for ourselves just to see what the outcome would be then go and play it again to do the other route. The problem with that is this isn't a "Mary Jane will remember that Telltale/Detroit" kind of game so putting that in right at the end would feel a bit cheap. Just like the Marvel movies, there's a post credits scene so stay tuned for that. Overall a really good game, highly recommend it and await the the DLC/sequel?. I'm over 80% done with the game after finishing the story so I might as well just 100% it and complete all side missions and stuff.

[drabbles-and-shit]

The Mailman is Really Attractive and Dean is Smitten

When Dean first saw the new mailman that Saturday afternoon, his body had such an immediate and visceral reaction, he had to excuse himself to his bedroom for a little quality time with his right hand.

Seriously, it was insane; nothing like that had ever happened to Dean. He only figured out that he was attracted to both guys and guys about a year ago, but he’d never even had that sort of response to a girl. And what’s worse? It was one of the best experiences he’s ever had jacking off.

Like, no shit, that mailman was the hottest human Dean ever laid eyes on, and he wasn’t even Dean’s type! Dean had always gone for the petite guys, because you know, he was a dom. Well, with guys he was. He had actually started experimenting letting girls top him, and much to his own embarrassment, he actually really liked it. There was something about someone else being in control that was hot as fuck. But, just girls. He wanted nothing in his asshole, ever, thank you very much. But anyway, even though he only ever had pursued twink-types, the mailman was buff as fuck. He had looked like he was about Dean’s height, and the summer heat-induced sweat made for a uniform that clung to his body just so Dean could see rippling muscle underneath. And the shorts, no matter how silly looking for being as short as they were, let Dean see the legs of either a runner who swims in his spare time or just the legs of an actual Adonis. And his forearms! God, so strong and tanned and--Dean noticed he was developing another situation down south and forced himself to concentrate on gross things like old people making out or his brother Sam’s face. Good, good; the situation went back down.

~***~

An uneventful week later, and Dean was back looking out his front window, shamelessly watching and waiting for the new mailman. He had no idea if he was actually going to come around again; hell, he might have just been filling in that one day for the old guy that Dean normally saw bringing the mail.

But Dean’s curiosity was rewarded, because after about ten minutes of casual spying, he noticed the mailman walking up the sidewalk with his messenger bag over one shoulder, radiating sexual appeal. God, he was just as hot as last week.

Oh my god, wait, he walked by the mailbox and towards the door. He was coming to the door. He probably had a package or something. But not the porno kind. Shit, what if he saw Dean last week? Dean jumped behind his couch as fast as humanly possible and tried to not breathe, because nobody was home. No one. Was. Home.

The doorbell rang, and Dean sucked his breath in and froze. Shit, the TV was on. He had completely forgotten it, and now the sexy mailman was going to know he was hiding like a kid afraid of Jehovah’s Witnesses, and he was going to judge him ughhhh. Suffice to say, Dean was fucking embarrassed.

He waited a solid five minutes before sneaking back to the window and checking the mailman was gone before opening his front door and grabbing the package off the step. His embarrassment was forgotten quickly, because it was his Star Trek phaser from ThinkGeek! Charlie was going to be sooooo jealous, and he couldn’t fucking wait to gloat. He snapped a picture of it and shot it off to her.

Dean: Looks like I win the gayness contest, because I can set phasers to STUN #2fab4u

Charlie: Oh my god, it came!!

Charlie: You had better bring that to work Monday so I can play with it

Dean: Only if you promise to not break it

Charlie: Btw did you see the hottie today??

Dean: Duh where did you think the package came from?

Charlie: DID YOU TALK TO HIM?!?!

Dean: You kidding? No way, Jose

Charlie: Ugh you’re no fun

Charlie: Wait. I have an idea! You should write him a letter and put it in your mailbox so he can read it when he brings your mail!!

Dean: Do you even know me? Charmando, I wouldn’t do something like that if my life depended on it

Charlie: You’re such a scaredy cat, Winchester

Dean: And proud

~***~

Drunk Dean sometimes did things that Sober Dean had to pay for, especially when his best friend/arch nemesis Charlie was involved. They always went for drinks together after work on Fridays, and somehow Dean always ended up being the only one of the two of them that did stupid, drunk person stuff. He was beginning to suspect that maybe she didn’t actually even drink, just pretended to so that she could talk his more malleable alter ego into doing what she wanted him to. Like, just a random example, writing a note to the sexy mailman.

He was going to kill her. Saturday morning met him with a skull splitting headache, and more importantly, oodles of regret. Because yes, he could vaguely remember sitting down with a pen and a piece of paper last night and writing… something. God, he couldn’t remember what the hell he had written. Maybe he had enough time to run out to the mailbox and take it out before it was too late!

Dean pulled on his sweatpants and charged out into the painfully bright midday sun. Despite his body’s many protests, he made it to the mailbox in record time, but it was for nothing, because when he opened it up, the note was gone and had been replaced by what looked like a bill and some coupons for pizza. He couldn’t really be sure, because his eyes felt like he was stabbing them full of needles. He defeatedly walked back into his house and pulled out his phone.

Dean: Dude. What happened last night. Tell me or I’m going to send your girlfriend your prom photos

He waited for a response while chewed discontentedly on a piece of cold bacon from the fridge and sipping a glass of water. He didn’t have to wait for long though, and he soon heard the telltale R2-D2 beep that was Charlie’s text alert noise.

Charlie: You were so plastered, my man. It was wild.

Charlie: I take it you only just woke up and didn’t have time to get the letter out of the box?

Dean: Shit, so that really happened? Dear god, tell me I didn’t write anything too embarrassing?

Charlie: You politely told him you wanted to suck his dick

Dean: I’ve got the picture ready to send!

Charlie: Ugh, fine. No, all you said was that you thought he looked nice and were wondering what happened to the old guy who used to bring your mail. Tbh it was pretty cute. I love drunk you

Dean sighed in relief. It was still as embarrassing as balls, but maybe the guy will think Dean has a kid or something and they wrote it. He can only hope at this point.

~***~

When Dean got home from work Monday evening and opened up the mailbox, his hopes that the mailman would just ignore the letter were proven useless.

Sitting there in the box, on top of a classic car magazine he subscribed to, was a small blue envelope with no stamp and just his first name in rather lovely script in the middle. He ripped it open before he even got inside, because holy fuck, there’s no one who would drive by his house just to put a letter in my mail other than Mr. Sexypants. It read:

Dear Dean,

I’m guessing by your handwriting and subject matter that you’re either a child or a drunk man. If it’s the former, please tell your parents that I am not a pedophile. Please. If you’re an adult and just have terrible handwriting, I’m sorry for touching on a sore subject.

Anyway, Cain, your previous mail carrier, was only working your route temporarily. He actually is one of the higher-ups for the USPS and was delivering mail as a sort of extended vacation from management. Odd, I know.

I appreciate that you think I look nice, and if you’re the adult male who lives at this address, I think you do too. If you’re a child, I’m sure you look nice, but in a non-pedophilic way.

Yours,

Castiel

Oh my god, Dean was in love. Haha, just kidding. He’s not in love; what are you talking about? Totally not in love. Nope, not at all. He lunged inside, pulled off his jacket and tie, and began furiously debating whether or not to tell Charlie about this. On the one hand, she’s his only real friend besides his younger brother, who is constantly busy with lawyer-things. But on the other hand, she would totally gloat about this for the rest of her life. But fuck it, he needs to talk to someone about this, because he never has romance in his life!

Dean: Omg you’ll never believe what happened\\

Charlie: Ooh! What??!

Dean: Mr. Double Stuffed Hotness is named Castiel, and I might want to marry him

Charlie: HE WROTE BACK?!?! It’s fate, my young grasshopper

Dean: I’m gonna send you a pic of the letter he wrote back so you can help me figure out what to write back

\

Charlie: You had better let me be your best man!! AND let me officiate!!! I’m already planning my speech

Dean: Don’t get ahead of yourself… but I’m actually kind of psyched rn

And so the planning began. Eventually, they decided on a note that read the following:

Dear Castiel,

As you deduced, I was drunk. Don’t worry, I’ll tell my parents you aren’t a pedophile anyway, just in case. Of course, they’re both in their 60s and will probably also assume I’m drunk, but better safe than sorry.

Thank you for saying I look nice, though I can’t imagine when you’ve seen me. I’m normally at work when you bring the mail (around 1:30pm, right?), so have you seen me on a Saturday? Okay, you don’t need to answer, just in case you’re actually a stalker or something. It’s never good to confront the bad guy in horror movies, and I’ve learned my lesson.

Hey, is your name really Castiel, or is that a pseudonym? I googled it, and it’s the name of the Angel of Thursday? What’s so special about Thursdays?

Live long and prosper,

Dean

~***~

Dear Dean,

I’m very glad I won’t be going to jail for calling a child attractive. You can probably hear my sigh of relief from there.

I can neither confirm nor deny when/where I have seen you. Also, are you calling me the antagonist of a horror film? If so, please enlighten me on which one, because I’m rather a fan of being scared shitless, and I’m sure seeing myself as the murderer will make an horror viewing experience even more terrifying.

And yes, my name is really Castiel. Let’s just say my parents were hippies. Many people call me Cas, though, and my siblings call me Cassie. I don’t like my siblings very much.

What about you? Why are you named Dean? Did your parents hope you would create a list of exceptional people? Or perhaps they wanted you to grown up to resemble Dean Martin?

I’m sorry, I don’t know where all that rude sass came from; it’s been a long day.

Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan,

Cas

~***~

Mr. Spock,

I had a girlfriend named Cassie once! Sort that information away for a future test, I suppose. How many siblings do you have? I one brother, and he can be such a bitch sometimes, so I definitely get where you’re coming from.

As it happens, I’m named after my grandmother, Deanna. And I swear to god, if you make fun of me for that, I will, um, do something… I don’t know exactly what yet, but I’ll figure it out, and it’ll be awful, I promise!

So, is it really that hard being a mailman? (You said it had been a rough day.) I’m a mechanic, by the way. If you ever need to know anything about cars, just hit me up, and I’ll be happy to help. For a price… Ha, just kidding. Maybe…

Dammit Cas, I’m a mechanic, not a doctor!

Dean

~***~

Bones,

I find it slightly perturbing that my nickname is also the name of your ex. But I always ace tests, so I guess I’m glad to know it anyway.

I have 5 siblings. I know. Hippies don’t believe in birth control, I guess. But yes, family of 8, from Michael the oldest, down to Sam the youngest. Since I’m on the subject, I suppose I might as well list off all my siblings. There’s Mike, Gabe, Luce, me, Anna, and Sam, ranging in ages from 37 to 21. Oh, I’m the ripe old age of 29, by the way. Not that that matters. Jesus, this entire letter is me talking about my family, sorry.

And no, it’s not hard being a mailman, but it is hard having to take your beloved cat to the veterinarian because they’re refusing to eat, not having bowel movements, and rolling around on the floor, meowing in pain. The poor guy had a blockage and almost died. It was a tough day.

I might just take you up on your offer to help explain things about cars, because I am completely clueless about them. I drive an old clunker that eats gas money like nobody’s business, and I really need to get a new car as soon as possible.

Have you been at the Romulan ale again??

Cas

~***~

Castiel,

I know I signed my last note with a Bones reference, but make no mistake, I am 100% Kirk, and I would appreciate it if you referred to me as such. Thank you for not forcing me to pursue legal action.

Dude, my younger brother is named Sam! Well, technically he’s named Samuel, after our grandfather, but still. Weird. And I’m 32, so that’s cool I guess.

I’m sorry to hear about your cat; that sounds pretty awful. I’ve never really had pets, and I’m actually allergic to cats, but I remember when Sammy’s dog was hit by a car and how distraught he was. I’m guessing your cat is all right now, though? If so, I’m glad. If not, sorry for rubbing salt in the wound.

Dude, do not drive that car. Like, stop it now. Please, for the sake of car lovers everywhere. Take it down to Singer’s Auto Salvage Yard; Bobby is a friend of mine, and if you tell him I sent you, he’ll give you a good price for it, and then you can use that money to buy something that’s not a piece of shit.

*funny Star Trek reference here*

Captain James Tiberius Kirk

~***~

Jim,

Can you sense me rolling my eyes? Because there’s some serious ocular oscillation going on right now in reference to your threats.

And I shortened my Sam’s name, too. His full name is Samandriel. Hippies, am I right?

Yes, my cat is fine, thank Talos. He is my best friend, and I don’t think I would be able to function properly if something happened to him. He’s a black shorthair named Toothless, by the way. Yes, I’m a basic bitch. Bite me.

I’ll try and take your advice about the car. I think my car is actually the automobile form of Sauron’s ring of power, because every time I’ve tried to get rid of it, it talks me into keeping it. I know in my heart that it needs to be torn apart for scraps, that it is taking advantage of me and should be destroyed before it does something terrible, but it’s mine. My own. My...precious…

Oh, my biggest problem is that if I sell her, I don’t know anything about buying cars, so I’m afraid someone will take advantage of my naivete and sell me an equally shitty car for a ridiculous price. Any suggestions?

*I can do this too*

Spock Spock Spock-ity Spock

~***~

Spockity,

God, I wish my parents had been hippies. Instead they were hippos. Yep, I was adopted by a pair of hippopotami at the age of four. Don’t believe me? Ask the Topeka Zoo, and they’ll corroborate my story. (Please don’t actually do that; they might remember me from when I was a teenager and broke in there to try and pet the giraffes.)

And I will never judge anyone for loving How To Train Your Dragon, because that movie was legendary. Toothless is the cutest dragon probably ever, and Hiccup is such a dreamboat.

Um, we definitely need to get rid of that car. Do not take me for some conjurer of cheap tricks! I’m trying to help you. And speaking of helping you, if you find a car and want to know just how swindled you’re going to be, just send me the information, and I can let you know if you should buy it or not!

So… what kind of music do you like? I’m a big classic rock fan, and if you aren’t I will become determined to change that about you.

Can we up switch references? Maybe Princess Bride or something?

Princess Buttercup

~***~

Buttercup,

I find your story inconceivable. But did you truly grow up in Kansas? Personally, I grew up in the wilds of Washington; Seattle, actually.

And good; I would be very upset with you if you didn’t love Toothless and Hiccup, though I must say Hiccup is not exactly my type. I like my men a little older than he (recall that I’m not a pedophile), and I think any man I may date should definitely be my size or larger, or else I might kill them accidentally in bed. Huh, I guess we haven’t really talked about sexuality ever, so sorry if that made you uncomfortable.

I would greatly appreciate it if you would actually send me your phone number or email or something, so I could send you the information on a car I’m seriously considering buying. If you’d rather not hand out such personal information, I completely understand though.

I confess I haven’t listened to much classic rock. I mostly listen to classical music, though I’ve been delving into the genre of lofi hiphop, and I actually really enjoy it.

As you wish,

Vizzini

~***~

Vizzini,

You keep using that word; I do not think it means what you think it means…

Yes, I grew up in Kansas, a little town called Lawrence to be precise. And the bit about breaking into the zoo was real too, so please don’t report me.

And honestly, I’m kind of in a weird experimental stage with my sexuality right now. I know, that’s supposed to happen during college, but maybe I’m just not a normal guy, all right? Anyway, I think I’ve officially decided I’m bisexual, but who knows? Romance is tiring, but sex is fun, and I don’t really mind who the hole belongs to. Jesus, that sounded awful and disgusting; sorry. I’m not even really like that any more. I haven’t had a hookup for like three months, which has got to be some kind of record. Sorry, this I should stop writing while I have the chance.

Totally send me the deets about the car, man. My number is 1-866-907-3235

Dude, I’m going to indoctrinate you. You fucking need to listen to classic rock; it’s the stuff of gods. Maybe I’ll make you a mixtape or something so you can listen to all the best songs. Weird question: do you have a tape player? I’m kind of old fashioned, so yeah, I’m going to make you a cassette tape with my favorite Zepp tracks on it.

Mahwage, dah bwessed awangment,

The Dread Pirate Roberts

~***~

For some reason, it was taking Cas a long time to get back to Dean. They had kind of worked out an unspoken schedule by this point; one of them put a letter in the box Monday, the other responded by Wednesday, and then the first sent back a response the Friday of the same week. Basically three letter a week for the past month or so. No, that’s not weird or creepy for two adult men to do at all.

Dean had dropped off that last letter on a Monday, but no reply came on Wednesday. He tried to not let it bother him, thinking Cas was probably busy or something. But then there wasn’t a reply Thursday or Friday either, and he started to get a little miffed. The least Cas could have done was to text him now that he had his number, but noooo. Unfortunately, Dean had to be out of town that Saturday, so no confrontation could happen over the 1:30 mail delivery.

The next Saturday rolled around with no word from Cas again, and Dean was starting to get legitimately worried. He would have understood if the guy took some time off maybe for being sick or something, but two weeks? Nobody takes two weeks off, especially without telling their… friend? Suddenly, Dean’s ridiculous number of insecurities started blaring at him. What if he and Cas weren’t friends? What if he didn’t actually mean anything to Cas at all? He probably was just another drain on Cas’ time, and Cas had finally decided he’d had enough and didn’t want to talk to Dean anymore. Hell, he might have requested a different route because Dean was harassing him. Shit, of course all this was too good to be true. Dean never made friends; Charlie was the only acception to that painful trend, and he had no idea why she still hung out with him.

Dean knew those thoughts too well; he knew his own self-loathing always came around and wouldn’t leave until he started thinking about other things. So, he thought about Cas. It was almost 1:30, two weeks since he’d heard from him last, and he decided to camp out at the mailbox and wait for whoever came. He had to know if Cas was all right, at least. The guy was his friend, even if maybe Cas didn’t see him as one.

He didn’t have long to wait before seeing his old mailman (Cain, was it?) peddling a sleek bicycle down the sidewalk with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

“Um, hey, sorry to bother you. Cain, is it?” Dean fidgeted, feeling awkward as fuck.

“Yes, that’s me. Can I help you with something?” Huh, okay, Cain seemed like a pretty chill guy. Maybe Dean could actually avoid a panic attack from doing something this wild.

“Uh, yeah. Do you know Castiel? He brought mail on this route for a while? I just haven’t seen him in a while, and I was worried that something happened.” Dean was talking too fast, but he couldn’t help it, okay?

“I know Castiel, and I know he took off a few weeks. Don’t know why though; maybe a vacation or something. I wouldn’t worry about it though, if I were you.”

Oh Dean was gonna worry about it, no doubt about that. Because wow, he was glad Cas was all right and not dead somewhere, but Jesus, what kind of douchebag friend goes on an extended vacation without so much as a goodbye?? So yeah, Dean was going to worry about what he did wrong and why he never could keep friends, and why he was such a fucked up excuse for a human being. Awesome.

~***~

Dean was depressed. Charlie tried cheering him up but to no avail. He was just depressed. He actually took the day off on Monday, because he was such a fucking sissy who couldn’t deal with anything. God, no wonder Cas didn’t care about him. No one should care about him; he was so pathetic.

The doorbell rang. Dean lifted his head from the pillow it had been buried in for the entire first half of the day and decided he probably ought to answer the door, seeing as there was a 98% chance it was Charlie with pie and beer and a chick flick to make him feel better. God, she was too good for him; he didn’t deserve such a good friend.

He pulled the door open and was greeted by the invisible man; wait no, there was a package and a pile of mail on the front step. He sighed and picked it all up, then promptly dropped it all on the floor, shut the door, and collapsed on the couch. He didn’t feel like looking at the mail. He didn’t feel like doing anything except for sleeping. Ugh.

But maybe that package would cheer him up. He rolled his eyes at the tiny optimistic voice in his head and then rolled right off the couch and crawled to the pile of mail. He grabbed package without so much as glancing over the letters, probably all bills, and violently tore it open. Ooh, it was those custom leather-bound journals he ordered off Etsy. One was embroidered with his Hogwarts House logo (Hufflepuff and proud!) and the other matched it but had Charlie’s House (Ravenclaw, more like Raven...dumb! Good one). One of the few things he was ashamed of about being a sissy was doing things like buying matching things for himself and his best friend, or having sleepovers with his best friend, or planning his future wedding with his best friend. ANYway.

Okay, cool, the opening the package plan had worked! Dean was feeling better already. But then he saw it. Underneath the topmost bill was a little blue envelope. Dean’s hand had never moved so fast (yes, never).

Sure enough, it was from Cas. But unlike all the other letters Dean had gotten from him, this one was stamped and had both mailing and return addresses on it. Without stopping to think about what the fuck that could possibly mean, Dean ripped open the letter and read:

Dear Dean,

I am so sorry I haven’t written you in so long. To put it succinctly, my father had a heart attack, and I had to go to to Washington to be with him. The past two weeks have been about family and rekindling our relationships with each other. My father passed away two nights ago, and the funeral was yesterday. I know we never really talk about serious things, but I hope you won’t mind if I tell you this.

Honestly, as heartbroken as I am to see my father pass, I’m grateful that it has brought my family back together. All of us were there with him at the end, all of us were gathered around his bedside as he breathed his last. And he went peacefully, so I’m also grateful for that. I’ll be staying up here for another few days before flying back, and then I’ll be back to work as normal. I put my address that I’m staying at while I’m in Seattle as the return address, but I’ll add my home address too at the bottom of the page; it only feels fair that since I know where you live, you should know where I do too.

Again, I’m sorry if I made you worry at all. I know you might not see me the same way, but you’ve actually become one of my closest friends over the past month. What that says about my personal life? That I’m very awkward and antisocial, that’s what it says.

I hope to talk to you soon,

Castiel

Thank the fucking lord. Dean let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and grabbed his phone.

Dean: Cas is okay!! His dad died but he’ll be back soon

Charlie: Wait, his dad died, but he’ll be back soon? Who is he, god? I mean, Jesus. Whatever, I’m not required to make good religious jokes

Dean: Haha, very funny

Charlie: But yay!! I’m so glad for you!! Maybe now you’ll stop sulking like a little lost puppy

Dean: I make no promises

~***~

As promised, Cas was back by the end of the week, and Dean couldn’t stop grinning when he looked out his window Saturday to see Cas walking up to his mailbox.

He pulled the door open and ran out, unprecedented behavior from the man afraid to make eye contact with girl scouts selling cookies outside the front of the grocery store.

“Cas! It’s good to see you, man!” He went in for a hug, but then it got a little too real, so it ended up being one of those awkward side-hugs that no one really likes but everyone has to deal with.

Cas smiled back widely, and Dean got a little lost in his eyes. Wow, he’d never actually seen Cas up close, and now that he did, he could tell that Cas was actually the most attractive man alive. His ocean blue eyes drew Dean in, and he found himself completely phasing out to the point that Cas had to repeat a question three times before he could respond.

“Sorry, um, what was that?” Was the response. Classic.

“I asked if you were all right; you look a little phased.” No shit, Sherlock.

“Uh yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

“I was a little worried I’d scared you off with my last letter, seeing as how you didn’t write back.” Shit, Dean had forgotten to.

“Fuck, I totally forgot that I had your address. I guess I’m not used to actually properly sending letters, not just putting them in the mailbox.” They shared a quiet laugh before Dean went on, somberly. “I’m really sorry about your dad. My mom passed a few years back, and I know how painful it is.”

Cas smiles sadly. “Yeah, it was rough, but like I said in the letter, it really brought my family together, and I’m sure dad would have been happy to see the impact he had on us.” He paused, and Dean could there was something more rolling around in his mind, so he decided to stay silent and let Cas finish his thought. “It’s funny, he was such an absent father when we were growing up. I know he was different when he and my mom were first married; I think he was a carpenter or something, and he was always at home with Mike and Luce when they were little. But then his business took off, and by the time I was in diapers, he was hardly ever around. Business trips, late nights working, early morning meetings, it never ended. It kind of tore our family apart, bit by bit. First, Gabe ran away when he was 16. He didn’t get in touch with any of us for almost a whole year. Later, he told me he just couldn’t stand to see all the arguing and pain in our family. Then it was Luce, angrily storming off to college and refusing to answer our calls or emails. He loved all of us, his siblings so much, and I think watching dad’s absence affect us younger kids really took a toll on him.”

Suddenly, Cas’ eyes flashed up, and his cheeks grew pink. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’ve just been standing here, telling you my life’s story. And fuck, I’m on the clock; I really need to run.”

Before Cas could move, Dean grabbed his wrist. “Wait, can you give me your phone number? I put mine in my last letter to you, but I’m guessing you didn’t get that.”

They exchanged numbers as quickly as possible, and Cas ran off towards the next house on his route. Dean grinned as he watched his run away and immediately send him a trial-run text.

Dean: If you gave me a fake number, I’m going to go to your house and shave your cat

Off in the distance (only about 200 feet, to be perfectly honest), Cas stopped and looked down at his phone, and Dean could not hold back a huge laugh.

Castiel: Toothless would kill your sorry ass

~***~

Regina George,

Oh my god, you’re so fetch.

Sorry Cas, I don’t know why, but I really felt like I had to change our theme to Mean Girls. Sue me. (Also, you better have fucking watched Mean Girls, or there will be hell to pay.)

So, my friend Charlie talked me into this, but I guess I kind of agreed with her that I ought to do it. And you can totally say no thanks, not interested, and it’ll be completely fine! But, I was wondering if maybe you’d be interesting in going on a date with me sometime…?

Wow, I am a child. Well, a teenage girl, to be precise. Oh shit, and you keep telling me you’re not a pedophile, so you’re definitely not going to want to go out with me now that you know my true identity. Well this is a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into.

Have you sold that car yet? You should really get on that.

Yours forever,

Amy Poehler

~***~

Mother,

Of course I’ve seen Mean Girls, I’m not that out of the proverbial loop.

And would you please thank your friend Charlie for me? I’ll admit, I’ve wanted to go on a date with you for a quite a while now, but ye ole’ social ineptitude wouldn’t let me ask. Maybe text me when you get this, and we can work out a time/place? Saturday nights are usually best for me, considering I’m always off Sundays.

Please Dean, if you’re a teenage girl, then I am too, and then it’s not pedophilia.

And no, I haven’t sold it yet, because I haven’t decided on a new one to buy yet, because in case you hadn’t noticed, my life has been a little hectic lately. I’ll try and text you the details on the car I’m looking at soon, though.

Fours yorever,

Reginers

~***~

Saturday night is there before Dean can get his shit together. He had frantically texted Charlie minutes after making the date with Cas asking her what he should wear and how he should act and whether he should just run away and never come back. You know, normal stuff.

In the end, he and Cas had decided on meeting an a small burger place near Cas’ place, so Dean knew he shouldn’t wear something too fancy. But he didn’t want to wear just his every minute of every day bluejeans, t-shirt, and flannel combo. So, with some sagely advice from Charlie, he’s decided on his most flattering pair of grey jeans and a button down maroon shirt, freshly ironed. Honestly, not half bad, even by his self-degrading standards. He toyed with the idea of a grey tie with the top two buttons of his collar undone, and decided it was too snazzy for him to refuse.

A 15-minute drive later, he was walking into the restaurant and looking around for Cas. And boy, did he find him. Cas was wearing a tight pair of black jeans, an Egyptian blue button down, and a black waistcoat, and holy fuck, Dean was having another southward situation just at the sight. He repeated the words ‘puss, flesh, old-people skin,’ in his head for half a minute until everything was hunky dory again, then made his way to the bar where Cas was standing.

“You look great, Cas.” Dean grinned when he saw Cas blatantly checking his ass. The good old grey jeans never fail.

“As do you, Dean,” Cas responded, his pupils mildly larger than probably normal.

They made their way over to a small corner booth and waived down a waitress. Adorably enough, they both ordered the same bacon cheeseburger, and in the time it took for their food to arrive, they discussed possible future heart health and how they were both going to die eventually, so it might as well be from eating delicious food.

“Dude, if bacon’s what gets me, I win,” Dean remarked right before taking a huge bite into his burger.

Cas harrumphed in agreement, then moaned around the first bite of his own burger.

Uh oh. Turned out, visual Cas is nothing compared to audible Cas in terms of making Dean’s nether regions all kinds of interested. To put it simply, Dean was sitting at a booth, on a first date, a burger in his mouth, almost completely hard. Awesome.

“Dean, are you okay?” Shit, Cas apparently noticed the panicked look on Dean’s face, and Dean’s face burned red.

“Um, yeah, I’m fine. I, um, just kinda have a little… situation. Downstairs. God this is so embarrassing; I’m soooooo, so sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

Cas was quiet for a second, then burst out with infectious laughter, and Dean couldn’t help but join in. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious. Was it become of the groan I just made or…?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair before responding, “Um, yeah. Fuck. Look, I haven’t gotten

laid in close to three months, so cut me a little slack. And honestly, I’m really sorry. I wanted this

to be a really special first date, but I feel like I kind of ruined it.” Like Dean ruined everything.

“Oh, no no no! Really, I understand much better than you’d think,” Cas assuaged his fear and sorrow with a comforting pat on the back on the hand. “It’s honestly fine. Now, do you need to go to take a trip to the bathroom, or are you all right now?”

Dean informed Cas that apparently humiliation was not one of his kinks, and the situation had resolved itself, and they were able to go on with their dinner like it had never happened.

But you know, it did happen, and Dean hadn’t had sex in months, and Cas was the hottest date Dean had ever had. SO yeah. Things happen.

~***~

After an amazing evening of burgers, pie, beer, and literal hours of conversation, they decided it was definitely time for them to part ways. Cas had walked to the restaurant, so Dean offered to drop him off on his way home, and Cas gratefully accepted.

The car ride was normal, if slightly tense. They were both slightly buzzed and totally attracted to each other, after all. But it was chill.

Dean pulled up to Cas’ home, a cozy-looking apartment complex, and parked his car in one of the visitor spots. They both climbed out and walked together up to Cas’ door.

“So, I had an awesome time tonight,” Dean half-mumbled, really trying his best to appear like he wasn’t desperate to go out with Cas again as soon as possible. “You think you might want to do this again sometime? I mean, really, I totally get it if like I’m not your type or you’re just not into me or you think I’m too--”

Cas slammed their faces (particularly their lips) together, effectively cutting off Dean’s self-abusive train of thought and filling his mind with only the pure bliss of Cas’ warm mouth on his, their tongues fighting for dominance. Cas’ mouth tasted amazing, like apple pie and happiness. Dean hungrily chased the flavour, and he couldn’t get enough. They broke for air for just a minute before Cas wheeled Dean around and up against his apartment door, weaving one hand into his hair and grabbing Dean’s own hand with the other, pinning it up against the door above his head.

Dean had never felt less in control, and it was amazing. He could feel the strength in Cas’ body shoved up against his own. He felt vulnerable, but for once in his life, he was okay with that vulnerability.

Cas moved his mouth down from Dean’s mouth to his neck, peppering the skin with hot, wet kisses. He settled on one spot, the meaty place between Dean’s neck and right shoulder and assaulted it with licks, kisses, nibbles, and sucks. He was driving Dean crazy, and Dean honestly couldn’t stop himself from moaning out, “Uhhhh, Cas…”

Maybe it was something about how he broke the silence, but Cas suddenly stilled and looked up at Dean, alarm filling his eyes. “Oh my god, Dean, I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before; I don’t know what came over me.” He stepped back from Dean and rubbed his hands over his face.

“What? Why’d you stop?” Dean replied, feeling suddenly abandoned.

Cas locked eyes with Dean and said very seriously, “I have no idea what I’m doing, Dean. I’ve never had sex; hell, I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a week. And you’re this amazing, attractive man who has had so much sex and knows all about it, and I’m just going to embarrass myself and it’ll be terrible and--”

This time, Dean satisfies the cliche, cutting off Cas’ river of doubts with a kiss into which he poured all the words he wanted to say but didn’t know how: that Cas made him feel safe and comfortable and like he could be himself and still feel appreciated and cared for and special and important.

Cas seemed to get the message, and he quickly took control once again, holding Dean tight in his arms and kissing him with more passion than is in an entire episode of Casa Erotica.

Dean had been hard for a while now, and as Cas clung to him, he could feel that Cas was in about the same spot as he was. But shit, if Cas was a virgin, that would put a lot of weight on Dean’s shoulders, right? He wanted to make it perfect for Cas, because that’s what Cas deserved.

But apparently, Cas had a completely different idea. He pulled away from Dean, and with his pupils completely blown wide and dark, moved his mouth to Dean’s ear and whispered, “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Huh, well, Dean realized at that moment he was completely, 100%, no doubt about it, a bottom. And apparently, Cas’ self-confidence boosted itself threefold when he was horny, so yeah. That was pretty sweet.

Cas fumbled with his apartment keys and opened the front door before pushing Dean inside and slamming the door behind them. He kiss-walked (that thing where people are joined at the mouth but still manage to move around, that’s honestly kind of impressive if you think about it) Dean to what Dean assumed could only be his bedroom and shoved him onto the bed before climbing on top of waist and resuming kissing him like a man dying of dehydration and Dean’s mouth was a fucking water fountain.

Without breaking their lip lock, Cas scrambled to get Dean’s tie off, and Dean did his best to help with the clothing removal process, but his efforts were mostly futile.

Finally, after a  pathetically long and unromantic struggle, they were both naked, and Dean was basically drooling at the sight of Cas’ dick. Like, holy hell, it’s not like Dean himself was small, but Jesus, he was embarrassed of his own length in the presence of Cas’ massiveness.

Cas grinned with a hungry look in his eye as he took Dean in, and Dean felt suddenly self conscious as Cas scanned him so carefully.

Cas noticed the change in Dean’s demeanor and guessed the source quickly. “Dean, you are so beautiful,” his husky voice reassured before leaning in and capturing Dean’s lips once again, this time with a contrastingly gentle and loving kiss, and for once in his life, Dean let himself actually believe that about himself.

The kiss soon got more heated, and Cas’ hands began exploring Dean’s body, starting in his hair, traveling down his chest, over his hips, and down his thighs. Dean moaned and realized that, much to his embarrassment, he was actually close.

Fortunately, Cas seemed to sense he should advance things, and he trailed his hands back up to Dean’s throbbing cock. Dean let out a punched groan at the first touch to his hot member, squeezed his eyes shut tight, and clenched his fists behind Cas’ back. “So good, Cas…”

Cas’ hand left his cock for a minute, and Dean heard the telltale sounds of someone spitting before the hand returned, slick and tight. Just a couple tugs and Dean was coming with a shout. “Oh, Cas, oh fuck, Cas!”

He had never come so quickly in his entire life, but Dean couldn’t even find it in himself to be ashamed, especially as he heard Cas grunting as he followed directly behind him.

“Cas, that was…”

A sudden worried look fell over Cas’ face. “Was it bad? I’m sorry, I know we both came really fast.”

Dean laughed and tried his best kiss the pouting look off of Cas. “No, it was amazing, Cas. Jesus, that was the most vanilla shit I’ve ever done, but it was perfect.” Dean sighed and steeled himself before continuing. “And actually, I think the reason it was perfect was because, well, it was with you, Cas.”

~***~

“Honeybee, I’m home!” Dean stripped off his big winter coat and hung it on the hook by the front door.

“I’m in the kitchen, Dean!” Dean stalked through the house and up behind his husband, snaking his arms around the other man’s broad chest and leaning over his shoulder to give him a peck on the cheek.

“How was work today?” Dean asked, glancing around the kitchen and noticing with a grin what looked suspiciously like the mess left after someone has baked an apple pie.

“Work was lovely, thank you. Of course, that was mostly because of the letter I got from my favorite stop on my favorite route.” Cas grinned and spun around to give Dean a proper kiss.

“I’m your favorite?!” Dean grinned and pulled back before Cas could kiss him

Cas rolled his eyes, “No, I’m talking about our neighbor, Mrs. Tran.”

“I love you too, babe.” Dean finally let himself be pulled into his husband’s eager arms and smiled into the kiss. Fate was kind of awesome.