#that couple of months where i had no bedframe just a mattress on the floor was like heaven to me

[evandore]

I HATE MY STUPID ASS BED FRAME !!!!! it creaks with EVERY ! FUCKING ! MOVEMENT !!!!!! all my beds ever were like this and i HATE it so so bad . seriously considering dismantling this rn

[user21340]

my only exception

(i don’t own this gif or any of the characters in this fic)

summary: you and nat are separated when in the Red Room. you both are reunited. after holding onto a couple things to give her for a couple years you both realize love is well and alive.

warnings: violence, abuse, swearing, lil angst, fluff

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

word count: nearly 1.8k

a/n: omg i don’t know what to say! thank you for all the support on the stuff i’ve released so far. it’s super crazy seeing some of my favorite writers following me. thank you so so much for 30 followers! much love 💕💕

(italics in dialogue mean the person is speaking russian)

sorry for any mistakes i wrote this at 3am and have to get up for school at 6 😪 no bueno

It was a cold and stormy night as the power in the Red Room continuously flickered on and off even with the help of a high powered generator.

You and Natalia had been waiting for an event like this to occur so you could break out. Even though both herself and you lived only a small bit of life outside in the real world before you were taken in and trained to become a weapon, both of your humanly morals knew right from wrong. The Red Room’s treatment definitely being a wrong.

Madame B and the other monstrous staff at this facility put all you girls to bed roughly an hour ago. Nat and yourself undid your cuffs connecting your wrist to the metal bedframe so you could pack the few things you both owned before you made your escape. Both of you had talked this plan over through and through so you both were on the same page as soon as you saw that flicker of a power outage surge though the site.

At the moment you both were eighteen years old meaning both of you had proven yourselves worthy enough to hone a spot at this academy and had graduated a couple months prior.

GAME PLAN

Some information you had gathered which the staff weren’t aware of was every time the power flickered off, it disarmed and unlocked the exit door/s for nearly five seconds. The weather has been dry but cold lately not making this discovery too useful. The plan was to sneak over to uncuff yourselves in the middle of the night when these brief power outages were occurring, pack your items, and as you were about to escape bang on the wall of the large room where the girls kept at the academy would sleep to create enough of a distraction before you were out and free for good. Easy right? How wrong you’d be.

When it was time for the distraction, Nat stood by the door waiting for the next surge of lightning of whatever broke the electricities stability as you walked to the far side of the sleeping quarters where you were sure you’d have enough time to bang on the walls and sprint out of that door.

You heard a crash of thunder so you knew your escape chance would be soon. As you were about to start banging on the walls you see a door knob parallel to Nat but far away none the less start turning.

BAM

Lightning strikes, what seems to be right outside of the building. You sprint for the door only to have your arm caught by one of Madame B’s henchmen.

Just like that the power flickers.

five.

Without much thought you break away from the man’s grasp lunge at Natalia who happened to be at the door.

four.

“We’ll meet again Natalia.” you speak softly

three.

You shove her out of the door with all of your might.

two.

You use all of your remaining strength that you can muster up to slam the heavy metal door closed.

one.

Click

The door locks once again.

“You stupid little bitch. Get over here NOW!” the man practically growls.

You slowly and steadily walk over to the man as he gruesomely pummels and kicks you.

Sure the beatings, mind torture and manipulation hurt, but you’ve never experienced any kind of pain on the same caliber to what being separated from Natalia feels like.

Madame B is more than disappointed, enraged and annoyed with one of her ‘star students’. You receive daily beatings and long, tiresome training hours for helping Natalia escape. Although everyone is ‘replaceable’ in the minds of the staff as well as Madame B, they just lost Natalia so they couldn’t afford to lose you as well.

Months later the beatings finally slow down to a couple a week which you are able to endure. Madame’s mission now is to make a monster out of you by pushing you to and past your limits when training.

One night you finally drift off to sleep. You hate sleeping. It’s a constant replay of your last night with Nat. Only hoping that she made it to civilization safe and sound and is living a normal teens life. However, tonight’s dream is different. In this dream you see yourself shoving your packed-escape bag between your mattress and bedframe as you are bleeding out on the ground from the beatings. You wake up in a cold sweat and manage to kneel on the ground and slowly lift up your mattress only to find that same, small bag filled with the few, but important belongings of yours and Nat’s. You open up the bag forgetting all about what you both had packed. The most important items you see is a picture of Natalia as a toddler with alongside her mother and father, a small metal ring which you had made for her after stealing a small teaspoon at dinner, banging it against the concrete floor with a rock to flatten it out as you’d continuously bend it back and fourth so only the thinnest part is of the spoon is left which you bend into a ring before surprising Nat with it after you know she had a pretty rough day training, and lastly Nat’s papers containing important info about her such as her full name, birthplace, parents names, and birthdate.

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

November 22, 1984

You make sure you have this date burned into your head, latching onto any important information about her you can learn.

You hang onto those three items keeping them hidden.

Two and a half years later...

It’s late at night when you hear gunshots and fights breaking out throughout the facility. You quickly get up out of bed (once again undoing your cuffs) and grab those three items from under your mattress. You place them in your pocket getting ready to make a break for the outside world. As you reach for the door you turn back taking one last look at the place you’ve been living for pretty much the entirety of your life, only before a man in a funny red, white, and blue costume enters your view.

You bring your hands up ready for a fight.

“Look kid, I’m not here to fight you. We are breaking you out.” the man ensures

“Who even are you?” you sternly question

“Steve Rogers. But the public calls me Captain America.” his gaze settles on your figure, “Mind telling me who you are?” he pushes

“Names y/n, but look I’ve got places to be ma-“ you are cut off when Captain America’s jaw drops.

“No, we both know you don’t. But, you ARE coming with me.” you know there isn’t much room for protest but that won’t stop you from trying. You lunge at him and push him to the ground as you wave a small goodbye and sprint towards the door only for your body to fall on the ground limp. Realizing you’ve been stunned by something temporarily.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” you shriek, he only chuckles.

“God, Nat was right about you.” she shakes he head with a small grin on his face.

“N-nat?” you whisper as you vision fades black.

You regain consciousness and look around only to find yourself in a weird windowy, loud vehicle type thing. You see a group of people standing around you but you see one particular familiar face hovering directly over yours lightly combing through your hair with one one hand and gently outlining your jawline with the other.

“NAT!” you screech, your brain is feeling too many emotions to comprehend at the moment.

Once she sees and hears you are awake she pulls you into a bone crushing hug.

“Y/n/n I’m so sorry I left you and you had to stay in that hellhole for so long alone I don’t know how I would’ve help up it if that-“ you cut her off

“Natalia, all that matters is I’m here with you right now.” you reason.

After getting off of what you learned is a ‘plane’ you and Nat spend hours together clinging onto one another as if, as soon as you separate you will be absent in her life for another couple years, vice versa.

Months pass by. Even though you and Nat have yet to label yourselves as a couple your hearts belong to one another after being attached to the hip to one another for pretty much every activity or mission you both do. In this time you were also recruited as an Avenger due to your skillful hand to hand combat and your masterful types of fighting you have nearly perfected from your time in the room.

The date just happens to be November 22. You are pretty sure no one in the compound is aware of Natalia’s birthday, hell, you aren’t even sure if she’s aware.

Today is the day you decide to return the missing items from her bag that you recover after she left.

You wake up next to her and wake her up with a long, graceful, soft kiss on her lips to which she responds shortly after by kissing you back as you feel as tiny smirk against your own lips.

“Hey, what was that for?” she asks playfully

“Ohhh nothing. Just maybe it’s for my favorite girl’s special day today.” Nat blushes.

“H-how’d you know?”

“Oh honey, I know e v e r y t h i n g.” you reply

Before she can respond you pull her to sit up on your shared bed and hand her an envelope containing her papers as well as he one and only photo of herself and her family.

As soon as she sees both items she sobs into your chest. (more because of the picture, you really only included her papers so she too would know all the most crucial parts of her life pre-red room era.

“Uh, uh, uh’” you tut,”One more thing.” you reach for her hand slowly and tell her to shut her eyes. You slowly slide the makeshift ring on her finger.

“Open.” you instruct

To which she gasps at the sight and just like the day you both were reunited you hugged and kissed for hours on end.

“Nat, will you be my girlfriend?” you ask with a sheepish smile.

“Of course y/n/n, I thought you’d never ask.” she takes a breath,“I know love is for children, but you are my only exception.”

“Ditto.” Natalia chuckles, “That is what the Americans say, right?” you backtrack with flushed cheeks.

She holds you tighter and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Sure.” she breathes out.

[secret-kpoplibrary]

Unexpected Pt. 3

Pairing: Jimin x Reader, Hoseok x Reader & Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: well- mentions of kidnapping; also there's a somewhat cliffhanger

Genre: mostly fluff; minor angst

Summary: Working as a medic for the police you've seen your fair share of interesting situations, to say the least. So when you find yourself tasked with helping 3 omegas following an underground fighting ring bust you absolutely don't think any of them would get attached to you, let alone all three. But now that they've decided you're their alpha it seems you've got a few changes to make.

***

"Jungkook you don't have to carry all of that at once!" You yell at him as he tries to stack boxes to take into your new home.

"I can handle it!" Jungkook yells back.

"I know sweetie but there's no need to overdo it! We've got time and there's four of us!" You tell him, though he's already carrying his stack of boxes when you turn back towards him and all you can do is sigh.

"I got it!" He yells heading inside.

"You know he can't be reasoned with." Jimin smiles as he grabs a box.

"Yes I know. He's quite ridiculous sometimes." You scoff.

It's been about a month since Hoseok, Jimin, and Jungkook started living with you. Turns out, finding a house you like and moving your entire life from one place to a new one, ended up being a bit more complicated than you anticipated but you've finally sorted it all out. You found a nice house that might be just a little too big for just the four of you but you figure it's perfect for the long term. Better too big than too small.

"Y/n, the mattresses are already here- did you know that?" Hoseok asks from the front door.

"Yeah I was here when they dropped them off yesterday, the bedframes don't come in until next week though so I hope yall don't mind sleeping on the floor." You say walking inside.

"Honestly having a mattress is better than nothing." Hoseok shrug. It takes you about another hour or so to finish unloading the truck with the guys' help and by the time you're done it's about time for dinner.

"Wow- new house." Jungkook says sitting on the couch while you guys wait for the pizza you ordered.

"Weird- I honestly thought I'd be in that apartment for a lot longer. Maybe not forever but- longer." You muse.

"Really? You didn't plan on moving out?" Jimin asks.

"No reason to. I was living alone and not really dating so- why would I." You shrug.

"We've- kinda just been migrating for most of our adulthood." Jungkook shrugs.

"What do you mean?" You frown.

"My pack sort of had to scatter for safety reasons and I met Jimin shortly after. We never had a reason to stay in any particular place so- we kept moving around. Just going where the wind blows." Jungkook shrugs.

"I've always been on my own, until I met Jungkook I mean. My parents weren't ever really part of a pack so-" Jimin explains.

"I've been on my own too. When I was little something happened- I don't remember it very well but I ended up separated from my parents so- I had to figure things out myself." Hoseok explains.

"And none of you ever found a place that you wanted to settle down? Nowhere made you want to like- call a place home?" You ask.

"Not really." Hoseok shakes his head.

"Uh I guess Jimin and I just decided that we were always home if we were together so- we never prioritized staying in one place." Jungkook shrugs.

"So- I've avoided asking this because I know it was really hard for you guys to go through it and talking about it is certainly not going to be easy but- how did you guys end up taken by that underground fighting ring?" You ask.

"They got me first. I was leaving a convenience store one night and they just- grabbed me. They travel a lot, I was with them for a couple of months before Jimin and Jungkook came." Hoseok explains.

"I uh I just spoke to the wrong person. I was out and I saw someone who looked like they needed help so- I tried to help and it ended up being a ruse." Jimin sighs.

"I went after him. When he didn't come back after going out I went to find him. Took me two weeks to locate him, but I underestimated what I would find when I got there and- well the rest is history." Jungkook shrugs.

"Well I won't ask for more details about what you guys went through there- but it's good to know more about you guys." You tell them.

"What about you?" Hoseok asks.

"What about me?" You frown.

"Well- you're not part of a pack either. Why not?" Hoseok asks.

"Oh- yeah, being a female alpha can be complicated. Too many people had issues with the whole idea of me taking over from my father so- I just left. Especially since I wasn't sure I'd even be able to 'produce an heir' anyhow."

"Wait why wouldn't you be able to have a child?" Jungkook frowns.

"I mean it's not that I'm unable- it's more that finding a mate is- not all that easy. Men can be weird about the power dynamic." You shrug.

"That's weird." Jungkook says.

"Weird but unfortunately pretty common." You say.

"Do you miss them then?" Hoseok asks.

"Sometimes- but I'm still in contact with my family and leading a pack wasn't something I wanted it was just something I was supposed to do." You wave it off.

"Well- as much as all that's happened kind of totally sucks at least now we have each other. That's nice." Jimin smiles. The others voice their agreement just as there's a knock on the door so you get up assuming it's your pizza. You suppose it is nice to have them around, it's taken some getting used to and you're sure the new house will further affect that but- you've enjoyed the last month living with them- even if it was kind of an unexpected turn in your life.

*~*~*

It takes the four of you like 3 weeks to finish unpacking all of your stuff and buying things you need for the house but at least now you can say you've fully moved in and it's starting to really feel like home. Jimin, Jungkook. and Hoseok seem to be adjusting well too. Each of them has gotten a part time job in the nearby area. Jimin works at a coffee shop, Hoseok is working at the local daycare, and Jungkook works in the mall at one of the clothing stores, the name of which you can never remember. They're all content with their jobs and you're glad they've found things to pass their time- especially with how hectic your own schedule can be. You'd feel bad leaving them with nothing to do when your shifts can run up to 48 hours long.

You're getting off of one of those 48 shifts now. You groan tiredly as you pull into your driveway and park your car. When you get out of the car you frown slightly- something feels odd. You can't exactly put your finger on it but you feel something is off before you even walk up to your door. It's early evening and you can't remember Jimin, Jungkook, or Hoseok's work schedules so you're not sure who will be home. You pause just before you unlock the door- it's ever so slightly ajar. You know none of the guys would leave the door open like that and because your ears don't pick up on any movement in the house you're even more worried about the open door.

With all of your senses on high alert, you slowly open your door. It's very quiet, the house is obviously empty. You step on an envelope that you didn't notice right away. You pick it up and see it's not addressed to anyone. It doesn't immediately look like anything has been stolen and nothing seems out of place as you walk through the house with the envelope in hand. Once you're sure that you're alone you open the envelope and pull out a folded piece of paper. You scan the words scrawled messily across the page, almost like they didn't have enough time to write it. Your heart drops as you read the words.

You really thought we'd be that easy to get rid of us. Unfortunately for you it'll take much more than a police raid to truly get rid of the ring. You've taken great care of the omegas for us- too bad we'll have to break them again, well bad for them. We'll have fun. If you ever want to see them again you'll do good to call 435123664. You might get them back if you get some of our guys.

You almost crush the paper in your hand after you finish it.

"What the hell." You mutter. You're shaking.

"Okay- think. You need to calm down." You say to yourself. You force yourself to take a deep breath, and then another before you grab your keys. You have to do something. The boys are in trouble and you can't just twiddle your thumbs and panic.

***

Part 3/???

Tagged Users: @wickedblue34

[capseycartwright]

I wish you'd write a fic where... backwards cap!Buck is roomies with Taylor. They're bffs! He currently works in a bakery/coffeeshop. She's trying to work her way up through the reporter ranks. There's a fire in their apartment building.... enter firefighter Diaz. Sparks fly! (...literally AND metaphorically) Maybe miscommunication/pining, maybe not.

listen i LOVE the idea of this so here's a lil snippet of how that world might look

His apartment building going on fire wasn’t exactly how Buck wanted his day to go. He’d worked the opening shift, at the coffee shop, starting his day at the truly horrendous hour of five am, to get in and get the first round of pastries and breads baked before their seven am open, and he’d been dreaming of his bed ever since – and to dream about the crappy IKEA mattress and less than sturdy bedframe he currently called his sleeping quarters was a miracle, in itself.

They’d be rich, one day. That’s what Taylor told him, at least. He’d met her in Florida, and they’d decided to head across the country to Los Angeles together – dreams came true, in Los Angeles, Taylor said, journalism degree tucked firmly under one arm, ambitious in a way Buck couldn’t help but admire. She had dreams, and Buck just craved a sense of belonging – and he hadn’t found that in Pennsylvania, or Georgia, or the half dozen other states he’d lived in before his brief stint in Peru, and back to Florida, so he figured he might as well give LA a try.

It had been a month – a month – and their building had already caught fucking fire. If Buck was a superstitious man, he might take that as a sign.

“Hey – hey, sorry, man,” Buck tried to grab the attention of one of the firefighters, Diaz emblazoned across the back of his jacket. “I know – I know you’re working, I just wondered – is 5B okay?” he asked, hoping he looked pleading enough for the other man to let him know if his apartment had burned to the ground, and if the meagre number of possessions he and Taylor had begun to gather to decorate their cramped two-bed had been reduced to dust.

Tugging off his helmet to reveal the most attractive man alive – and no, Buck wasn’t dramatic – the firefighter spoke, his mouth quirking up in the beginnings of a smile. “5B?” he hummed. “Have you got a truly horrific life-sized teddy bear sitting on your couch?”

Buck snorted, thinking of the ridiculous bear he’d forced Taylor to agree to buying on their most recent IKEA trip. “It’s my roommates,” he lied, enjoying the way the firefighter laughed.

“Sure,” he hummed, good-natured in his disbelief. “Your apartment – and the bear – are safe. It looks like the fire stayed pretty contained to the first-floor kitchen we found it in,” he explained. “You should be back inside in a couple of hours.”

Buck breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” he said, grateful. “I’m uh – Buck, by the way,” and listen, if you asked him why he’d felt the need to introduce himself, later, he wouldn’t be able to give you a good answer; he was just face-to-face with a beautiful man who’d stopped his apartment building burning down, he wasn’t thinking straight.

“Eddie,” the man offered in return. “I’m Eddie.”

(Buck applied for the Los Angeles Fire Academy a week later.)

tell me what kind of fic you'd like me to write

[arrowflier]

I wish you would write a fic where I+M go shopping for a new bed. I'm not okay with them sleeping on that old mattress for longer than a couple of nights haha

Nah, they gotta get one of those fancy ones Mickey wants. 😂 I know that was a shock value joke, but I take it very seriously.  Briefly alludes to ch 2 of my ongoing fic, which revolves around the mattress.

"You sure this is the place that guy meant?" Mickey asks as they go through the front doors.

Ian sighs, hanging an immediate right to head toward the hanging sign that says "Bedroom".

"His name is Chris, Mickey, and he's not just a guy, he's our neighbor."

Mickey shrugs, eying the people around them. They're all dressed in pressed slacks and pastel shirts, hair neat and skin practically glowing, and it makes a chill go down his spine.

"So what?" he asks, suppressing a shudder. "This place is bougie as hell, I thought he said it was gonna be reasonable."

This time Ian snorts, and stops to turn around and face him. "Did you just say bougie?" he asks, almost laughing, and Mickey shoves at his shoulder to keep him moving.

"Shut up," he mutters. "It's creeping me the fuck out, man."

Ian relents, but still looks amused, walking backward now to keep his eyes on his husband.

"We're here to buy a fancy-ass bed, Mick," he points out. "The one you wanted so bad, actually, so it's really your fault we're even here."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm fuckin' regretting it," Mickey says.  “So let’s find the fuckin’ thing and get the hell outa here.”

Of course, a sales attendant chooses then to spot them, hurrying over with a bland, too-wide smile.  Her beige, heeled choes clack against the floor as she approaches, and Mickey balks.  But before he can make an escape, she’s there, raising a hand in greeting.

“Well hello gentlemen!” she says brightly.  “What are we looking for today?”

“The fuck do I know what you’re lookin’ for?” Mickey answers, brows furrowed, and Ian elbows him not-so-discreetly in the side.

“Ignore him,” Ian tells the woman, turning on the charm.  “We’re interested in a new bed, one of those adjustable ones?”

Her eyes had widened when Mickey spoke, but she was all smiles again already.  “Of course, right this way!” 

She leads them toward the bedroom section, speaking as she goes.  “Now what kind of adjustable are we looking for, exactly?” she asks.

Ian and Mickey look at each other.  Mickey raises an eyebrow, and Ian just shrugs helplessly.

“Um,” Ian starts hesitantly, “there are different kinds?”

The saleswoman doesn’t seem phased by their lack of knowledge.  “Oh, of course!” she says.  “We have the usual adjustable bedframes, and course, that can work with a variety of mattresses, if you’re not looking for a full upgrade today.  But we also have special mattresses that can adjust firmness and even temperature, if you’re so inclined!”

“The fuck is the difference between a bedframe and a bed?” Mickey hisses to Ian, who doesn’t reply.

They’ve reached the display by then, and it’s completely overwhelming.  Bed after bed stretches out before them, all different sizes and styles and even shapes.  Some have remotes attached at the side--those must be the special ones, then--but all look a good deal better than anything they’ve slept on together before.

The salewoman takes their silence as a sign, thankfully.  “Why don’t I leave you to take a look around?” she offers, almost kindly.  “My name is Bethany when you’re ready, and make sure to tell someone I helped you today!”

Then she was off, and they were left staring into an abyss filled with cotton, down, and memory foam.

“I guess...,” Ian murmurs, eyes wide as he takes it all in.  “I guess we should get started.”

Mickey just nods.

---

They leave that day the proud owners of a new adjustable bedframe, for getting Mickey’s ass in that position Ian likes.  They also leave with a sleepnumber mattress with customizable firmness (can’t have it soft all the time, Gallagher, too damn bouncy and not enough leverage) and temperature control (you’re like a fuckin’ furnace, man, either shell out for the special cooling shit or sleep on your own side of the bed).  They even pick out a headboard, one with thick wooden slats, and a matching footboard (you need me to explain that one, Red?).

“Good thing business is picking up,” Ian mutters as they head back out to the ambulance after arranging for delivery later in the afternoon.  “We just spent more on that bed than two months of rent.”

“Ey,” Mickey admonishes as he opens the passenger door, “don’t pretend you ain’t excited, man.”  He raises an eyebrow.  “I know you got plans.”

Ian doesn’t bother hiding his smirk as he climbs in and turns the key.

That he has.  They’ll be sleeping well tonight for more reasons than one.

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

When We Went From Friends to This - a. beauvillier

One day late, but here it is! I’ve been studying for the LSAT, but finally took it today, so I’ll have some more time to be writing more regularly now. Title is from Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings. I loved getting to write this, so please please let me know what you think, my inbox is always open! Reading the tags is one of my favorite things to do, and reblogs help me know people are liking my work.

word count: 7.7k+

September 18 (sat)

Astride Leclair was the kind of person you always wanted on your side. She’d drop anything for a friend, always be the first to reach out, and would never give up on something — or someone — without a fight. She was also incredibly stubborn. Astride had also always had a penchant for adventure, which is how she found herself in a new job 600 miles and one international border from her hometown. And she hated asking for help, it really didn’t matter the circumstance. Which is how she found herself alone, trying to heft an armchair up the stairs of her new apartment building after being very rudely informed by the width of the elevator door that it wasn’t going to fit. 

The lump sum her firm gave her for relocation was enough to cover a fair amount of the furniture for her new place and she tried to bring as much as she could on the drive down, but it wasn’t like she was about to rent a U-Haul and there was only so much a Honda Civic could hold. And Astride was still her father’s daughter, still would rather step on a rusty nail than pay Ikea for assembly, so by God she was going to do it herself. And “doing it herself” apparently meant dragging an 80 pound box up three flights of stairs in 90º heat in September, when New York City seemed to have not quite yet gotten the memo that the rest of the Northern Hemisphere was now in fall. 

Astride finally managed to get the chair in the door, propping the door open with one of her moving boxes, unceremoniously pulling the box through the entryway as she scooted backwards into the living room. The 600 square foot expanse of her apartment was covered in boxes, more boxes, and for good measure, extra boxes. There were moving boxes, furniture boxes, shoeboxes filled with anything except for actual shoes. There was her guitar leaning against the microwave, three suitcases worth of clothes in the barely-assembled bedroom, and her dog in a crate in the corner, who had started to whine. 

“I know, baby, I’ll get you out soon,” Astride said, shooting a sympathetic glance towards the beagle mix. She had adopted Poutine a little over a year ago, soon after starting her first job out of university. It was never a question whether or not she would make the trip with Astride, and thankfully it was much easier than she anticipated to find a dog-friendly apartment in Brooklyn. It wasn’t too long a walk to Prospect Park, a little under a mile, and she was looking forward to getting out with Poutine later in the day. If, that was, she actually finished unpacking enough boxes to function like a normal human being. She had picked up her mattress-in-a-box earlier in the day, but it was still sitting in the corner of her bedroom and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to a night on the hardwood floor. 

---

Three hours later, Astride had finally gotten all of the boxes out of her car and began to make decent headway on assembling the chair, finally having let Poutine out of her crate. The beagle trotted around the apartment, sniffing the baseboards, boxes, and single bag of groceries Astride had picked up from Whole Foods earlier in the day. The rest of her Ikea order was coming the next day, the actual bedframe and couch along with a couple of other larger furniture pieces that she had had to leave in Montréal. Whatever she couldn’t order online she’d find at a thrift store. 

Astride looked tiredly over at the kitchen. She really wasn’t in the mood to cook, and was in even less of a mood to dig through all the boxes until she finally found her set of pots and pans. She really should have taken her mom’s advice and labeled everything, but Astride was stubborn as a mule, and once she was stuck in her ways, there was precious little anyone could do to convince her otherwise. Pulling out her phone, she navigated to her Uber Eats, feeling a tiny pang in her heart as she switched her location to New York. Not the language, though. Astride was so hungry that she literally clicked on whatever place could get there the fastest, which ended up being a Chinese place a mile or so away. After placing her order — she got an extra box of chow mein so she wouldn’t have to deal with breakfast the next day — she settled back into the hair, the only fully-assembled piece of furniture in the whole apartment. Her finger hovered over her Instagram for a moment before she clicked on it, liking a few photos before going to post one of her own. It was a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge as she crossed it that morning, Poutine’s head lolling out the front window. One tap and one caption later, it was posted. 

---

Anthony flopped onto his bed, his duffel landing with a satisfying thump on the floor beside him. Training camp had just ended, and while he’d certainly been keeping up on his workouts over the summer, the hours upon hours of skating had nevertheless made him more than a little sore. He grabbed his phone, opening up Instagram and scrolling through the new posts, only half paying attention. Astride’s new photo caught his eye.

Sometimes, needing a change means a new haircut. Sometimes, it means a new country. Very excited to start this next chapter in my life. Salut, New York! Anthony quickly clicked onto her profile page and read her bio. International economics analyst. Eating my way through the world one pancake at a time. BCom McGill. MTL-NYC. He read the last line over and over again. MTL-NYC. He swiped back to the photo; she had tagged herself in Brooklyn. Brooklyn. She was less than an hour away, not even thirty if the traffic wasn’t bad. But she hadn’t told him, she hadn’t said anything. Anthony felt a pang in his heart. Astride knew who he played for — obviously — and she knew that of course he’d want to see her any time they were even remotely in the same place. She knew that. Right? 

He spent the next twenty minutes typing out a message to her. Then deleting it. Then retyping it. Then continuing the type-delete-retype cycle until his head was spinning. This was his best friend. Why was he so nervous to talk to her? Because she was his best friend, and as much as he hated to admit it, he really wasn’t sure where they stood. He hadn’t been sure for a long time. Hey Asty! He internally cringed at himself at the use of her old nickname. I saw you moved to New York, that’s amazing! I’m over on Long Island, so I’d love to catch up with you for coffee or something when you get a chance. It’s been too long :) 

It might have been a little petty — scratch that, it definitely was petty — but Astride didn’t respond to his text that night. She didn’t have read receipts on, thank God, but it sat in her messages, without response, like something she was too scared to confront. And she didn’t even know why. Okay, fine, she knew exactly why. She had moved and suddenly they were in the same city for the first time since they were kids and he was, had been, her best friend, but why now of all times? It’s not like he was never in Montréal during the year, or like they couldn’t have committed to a weekly FaceTime or something, or at least texted more than once a month. He could have done something. And that something, that lack of a something, was what kept her from responding until the next morning, tapping out a text as she halfheartedly made her way through a bowl of oatmeal. Hi, Tito, just saw your text! Lie. I did, an opportunity for a transfer came up and I decided to take it. I figured you were pretty close by, so it would be great to catch up. I don’t start at the office for a week, if you’re free any time between now and then. That much was true. She wasn’t stupid, she knew the Islanders played on, well, Long Island, and as much as she wanted to still hold a grudge against him, her heart ached at the prospect of finally being able to see him again. 

Anthony responded almost instantly, Astride having just closed the door to the dishwasher — a luxury in New York, she was told — before seeing her phone light up with the telltale bubble. I’d love to, we just finished up training camp so I’m more or less free aside from practices. A second later. Is brunch still your favorite meal?

Astride laughed. It didn’t surprise her that he remembered, but it was still touching to see him say something about it. It is.

How about Tuesday? I’ll send you the directions. It’s this little café in Flatbush, I think you’ll love it. 

I’m counting on it. 

September 26 (sun)

Brunch had turned into dinner, which had turned into going to a Broadway show — Anthony had insisted the moment she told him she’d never been — which had turned into him coming over for Saturday night movies, an old habit of the pair’s from their days back in Québec. Which had turned into two movies and two bottles of wine, which had turned into Tito sleeping over on the couch instead of driving the thirty-odd minutes back to his apartment. Poutine sniffed him curiously, nudging one hand with her head. Astride stifled a giggle, opening the door to the balcony. “He’s very sleepy, Poutine. It’s not good manners to wake up your guests.”

“Even when they fall asleep on your couch and steal all your blankets?” Anthony said sleepily from behind. 

Astride wheeled around, greeted by a half-awake Anthony Beauvillier, who was indeed bundled in all of the blankets she owned that weren’t actively on her bed. “Tito! Oh my God, you scared me. How’d you sleep?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, about as well as can be expected.” He tapped his phone, cursing when he realized it was dead. “Do you know what time it is?”

She glanced down at her watch. “8:52, why?”

Anthony jumped up, throwing his shirt back on and grabbing his still-dead phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mat for breakfast at 9:30, and the place is,” he paused for a moment, running through the grid system in his head, “probably half an hour away? I’m never the late one, can’t break that streak now.” 

“Gotcha.”

He grabbed his keys, looking back at her. “Why don’t you come? You’re already dressed, and you remember Mat, right?”

She wiggled her hand. “Kind of?” She crossed the room, letting Poutine back in. “You only want me for my charged phone and navigation system.”

“You got me,” he said, laughing. 

---

“You named your dog Poutine?” Mat snickered, taking a bite of his eggs. 

“Would you rather I named him Tim Horton?” Astride deadpanned. “He’s a good Canadian boy with a good Canadian mom. He needed a good Canadian name.” 

Mat raised his coffee mug, tilting it over towards her. “Touché.”

Anthony waved his hand in front of Mat’s face, trying to catch his attention from where he was utterly preoccupied with destroying his sourdough toast. “Hey, Mat.”

“Mmm?” He glanced up. 

“Did you know that Astride lives right by Barclays? Like, right by Barclays?” 

His eyebrows rose. “No way?” Astride nodded. “That’s a great area, would have been awesome if you were here a couple of years ago. Short walk to the games.”

“That’s what I told her yesterday,” Tito responded. 

---

“You’re kidding,” Anthony said, looking up at her building, then across the street to Barclays, then back to Astride, one hand tangling through his hair. “We used to play right across from here.” 

Astride laughed. “I thought about that,” she said. “You know I still watched your games, right? Even after we fell out of touch?” Anthony shook his head. “You were still someone I cared about, are still someone I care about, even when we only talked a few times a year.” 

Beau stood there, unable to formulate a complete sentence. As far as he knew, the last Islanders game she watched had been the 2016 opener, his NHL debut and her first year at McGill. Why did he assume that? Why did he assume the worst? You can care about people even when they’re not in your life anymore. And sometimes, if you get really, really lucky, they come back. 

October 9 (sat) 

“Ebs is having a barbeque thing over at his house this weekend, just stuff to celebrate the beginning of the season if you wanted to come. No pressure if you’ve got plans already, though,” Anthony said over the FaceTime. 

Astride nodded enthusiastically. “That sounds great, I’d love to come! Just let me know when to show up and what to bring, and I’ll be there.”

 It was almost a fifty-minute drive for Astride from her apartment in Prospect Heights to the house in Garden City, but there wasn’t too much traffic and besides, she had always liked driving. So she set off in her Civic, plugged her music in, and headed down 495. Anthony met her outside of the house, greeting her with a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek as he cocked his head towards the backyard. “Party’s this way. Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

Astride dutifully followed, trying not to let her nerves take hold of her. Everyone might have already been Beau’s friends, but she didn’t know them, or the dynamic of everyone’s relationships, or really, what to expect at all. 

He noticed her apprehension, stopping her with a feather-light touch on her arm just before walking through the back gate. “Hey, Asty. What is it?” 

She let out a little huff, still upset that he could read her like a book even after all this time. “I’m just worried that I’ll feel like I’m intruding on everything, like everyone already has their friends and a group and everything, and here comes some random Québécoise who’s a friend of Tito’s—” 

He laughed, turning her around to face him. “Astride, they’re going to love you. As long as you’re the hilarious, witty, caring person I know you are, they’re going to love you as much as I do, and you’re going to fit in just fine. Do you trust me?” 

She gave a tiny nod. “Yeah.” 

He smiled, squeezing her hand. “Good, now come back, everyone’s waiting.” 

They walked through the gate, greeted by a crowd of smiling faces as Anthony brought her around to everyone to make their rounds. There was Anders, he was the captain, and his wife. There was Jordan and Lauren, and she already knew Mat, and JGP — who was excited to have another person to speak French to — and a dozen or so others, along with their respective partners and children. Anthony had gone over to talk to Mat and some of the other players, while Astride had wandered over to the drinks table. Some of the other women were chatting nearby; one of them caught Astride’s eye and waved her over to join them. 

“Beau didn’t tell us he was bringing anyone!” one of the women said, pulling her over to the group with a bright smile and handing her a glass of sangria. 

“Mhm,” she replied, taking a sip of the drink. “I’m new to the city, obviously, so I think he wanted me to have some people I know outside of just work.” 

They all nodded. “How long have you two been together, though?” another asked. “I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone, did you?” She looked around at the others, who shook their heads as Astride’s eyes bulged. 

“Together? No, no, we’re not together. We’ve been best friends for ages, but,” she shook her head. 

“Could have fooled me,” Lauren said with the smallest of winks. 

Astride suddenly became very interested in the floating berries in her sangria. She looked over at Anthony, who was throwing his head back, laughing at something one of the rookies had said, and smiled. But Lauren’s words kept lingering in the back of her mind. Could have fooled me. Okay, it wasn’t like it was the first time they had been mistaken for a couple; whenever she’d make the trip up to Shawingan to visit him when he was in the QMJHL, more than once she’d have to explain to his teammates that no, she wasn’t Beau’s girlfriend, they were just best friends who had known each other forever. Just best friends. 

Astride had always equated her lingering feelings for Anthony to the nostalgia of a childhood crush, the safety and security that came with remembering something from a time that seemed so simple and so easy. But childhood crushes didn’t last for ten years. And that wasn’t something she hadn’t wanted to come to terms with, something she’d been putting off for years if she was being honest with herself. 

“You didn’t tell me Astride was coming,” Mat commented, seeing her mid-laugh in conversation with the other girls. 

Anthony nodded. “Yeah. She didn’t have any plans for the weekend and I thought it would be nice to introduce her to everyone. I remember how shitty it felt to be in a new city away from your family, don’t want her to be lonely. Plus, I genuinely think she’ll fit in great with everyone.” 

Mat hummed his agreement. “She’s changed since Switzerland, don’t you think?” he asked appreciatively, referring to over five years ago, the last time he had seen her in person.

“Don’t even think about it,” Beau mumbled to Mat, seeing his eyebrows go so far up they were hidden in his hairline. 

“I see a hot girl, I appreciate a hot girl,” Mat shrugged. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything. I know she’s off-limits.” 

The rest of the afternoon passed quicker than she would have thought, and after a few hours and more good conversations, it was time for Astride to leave. “Have a safe drive back,” Anthony said, giving her a hug. 

“I will,” she responded. 

He opened the driver’s side door for her. “I’m really glad you came, you know. Everyone liked you, you fit in great.” 

“It wasn’t all me,” she said, sliding into the seat, turning her head to Anthony to continue the conversation. “Everyone really did seem to go out of their way to make me feel included, I think they understood the feeling of moving to a whole new place without a big support system and wanted to do what they could to help mitigate that for me.” Astride consciously left out Lauren’s little comment, four words that had been bouncing around in her head for hours since they had been said. He didn’t need to know. She didn’t need him to know, it could confuse him and complicate things when they were just getting back into the rhythm of friendship, of being each other’s person. 

Anthony tapped his fingers on the car door. “I’m glad.” 

“Me too.”

Beau went to sleep that night, Mat’s words bouncing around in his head. “I know she’s off-limits.” It’s not like Cass was his sister or something, someone who would inherently be barred from his best friend’s dating pool. But Mat seemed to know right away, without having ever been told, that she wasn’t someone he could ever even consider pursuing. Why? And what did Mat seem to know that he didn’t?

November 12 (fri)

It was early November, and Anthony and Astride had just settled down at a table in Prospect Park, coffee cups warming their hands through the late fall chill. “How do you feel about last night?” Astride asked teasingly. He had a three point game, two goals and an assist in a 4-1 win over the Canes, so there really wasn’t any question that he was still riding on the high. 

Beau rolled his eyes. “Good, obviously. It would have been nice to get a hat trick, but I know that’s asking for a lot and I didn’t want to tempt fate too much. They made a really good push late in the second.”

“But you won,” she said, poking his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around her mocha. 

“But we won,” he agreed. He suddenly got quiet, the kind of quiet where, if you know the person well enough, you can tell that something’s up. That they’re thinking of something. And Astride was right. “Do you ever think about Switzerland?” he asked. 

Astride looked at him from the side, knowing right away that he wasn’t asking about the country. “All the time,” she admitted. 

---

It was the spring of 2015, and they were in Lucerne. By they, Astride meant her, Tito, and the rest of the 2015 Canadian U18 World Cup team. And by in Lucerne, she meant crowded into someone’s hotel room with no adult supervision. Anthony wasn’t sure where any of the coaching staff had gone, but if he was being honest, he was riding on way too big of a high to even care. They had clinched the bronze medal earlier that day, celebrating with the family and friends who had made the trip out, gotten dinner, and then packed into the first team room they came to. Well, technically, Astride, Tito, and Mat had made a stop at the grocery store before meeting everyone else back in the room. The drinking age in Switzerland was 16 for everything but spirits, and everyone was planning on taking full advantage of that. The cashier gave them a look as she took her and Anthony’s French licenses and Mat’s English one, but the charge went through just fine, and fifteen minutes later they were walking back through the doorway with three cases of beer and a few bottles of sparkling wine for good measure. Astride had never been so grateful to have her own checking account. 

“You ever drink before?” Mat asked her as they opened the cases. 

Astride shrugged. “Not really. A glass of wine every now and again back home with my parents, but nothing too crazy.” 

He held out a bottle for her, fishing around in his pocket for the bottle opener they had picked up at the store. “Have fun.” 

And have fun Astride did. She had finished off two of the beers, and one of the younger teammates — she didn’t remember who — had popped open the wine. In his slightly inebriated state, it took longer than it should have to twist off the muselet, which then led to foam all over the floor and fifteen sixteen and seventeen-year-olds running to the bathroom to grab towels to try and mop it up with. And then running back to the bathroom to get the water glasses because they needed something to drink it out of, right? And then to everyone else’s rooms because they quickly realized that two cups definitely wasn’t enough to go around, and then everyone was back in the room, on the beds and around the beds, finally letting themselves celebrate. Astride was just finishing her glass when Mat spoke. “Anyone up for never have I ever?” Nobody said otherwise, so two minutes later, they were all arranged in what could very generously be called a circle, fresh drinks in hand. After a solid five minutes of repeating the rules — there was always at least one person who seemed to genuinely struggle with the idea that you drank if you had done the thing, not if you hadn’t — they were slowly but surely making their way around the circle. 

Questions ranged from the mundane — “Never have I ever gotten detention” — to the raunchy — “Never have I ever had my parents walk in on me” — neither of which Astride or Tito drank to. 

By the time it was Mat’s turn, he had had plenty of time to think, looking around the group with a conspiratorial grin. “What is it?” Tito asked skeptically. 

He shrugged. “Never have I ever...kissed anyone in the circle.” As expected, nobody drank, but apparently that wasn’t expected, not for Mat, at least. He looked between Anthony and Astride incredulously. “Seriously? You two have never kissed?”

Anthony shook his head. “Nope.”

“How? You’ve been friends for, like, a million years, not even when you were little or anything?” he asked. 

“Never,” Astride said. “Kind of hard to kiss your best friend when you haven’t kissed anyone before.” She barely even realized that everyone was still listening in. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” Anthony asked, surprised. 

Astride looked down at her hands, sipping her beer. “Nope.” She gave him a brief smile. “I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, but no. Just hasn’t happened yet.”

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe it was feelings buried so deeply in Anthony’s mind that he didn’t think would ever see the light of day, let alone have to be confronted, that made him say what he did next. “I could—if you wanted—you don’t have to, but—” he stammered.

Astride laughed, looking at him curiously. “What is it, Tito? You’re not normally one to stumble over your words like that.”

He picked at his fingernails, an old nervous tick from his childhood that his mother was never quite able to get him to break, keenly aware that the whole room had decided to listen into their conversation. “I was just trying to say...I could do it, if you want. Kiss you, I mean. If you just wanted to get it over with, or whatever. I just figured. You know me, you trust me, you’re comfortable with me. Better that than some idiot at school who doesn’t care about you.”

Her cheeks burned as she looked over at him, but even though it took her nearly a minute to respond, she had her answer after five seconds. “Why not?” Astride flashed him the purest, gentlest smile, the kind that let him know just how much she cared about him and how deeply she trusted him. And the look on her face meant the world to him. 

Anthony leaned in, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder, his fingertips just barely touching her cheek as their foreheads leant together. “You sure about this?” He needed her to be sure. 

She nodded. “I’ve had a couple of drinks, and I never imagined my first kiss would be in front of an audience,” she paused to giggle at the rest of the team, who were giving the scene their full attention in a way that somehow wasn’t uncomfortable at all, just wholesome and supportive, “but yeah. I’m sure.”

That was all the permission Anthony needed to lean forward, pressing his lips against hers, in a kiss that was soft and sweet and somehow everything Astride needed all in one. He pulled back after a moment, a goofy smile on his face. “How was it?”

Astride couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Good, it was really good, Tito. Thank you for that.”

“What are friends for?”

---

“Friends are for kissing each other, apparently,” Astride giggled, leaning into Anthony on his couch. 

He laughed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb over her arm. “Did you ever think something was going to happen between us?” Anthony asked curiously. 

Astride shrugged. “At some point, yeah. I think it was kind of hard not to, with our parents and literally everyone we spent time with saying we were destined to fall in love.” She looked down at her hands, trying not to give away the fact that at one point, she had believed them. 

November 30 (tues)

“Do you want to come over Friday?” Anthony asked, sprawled out across her couch on one of his rare nights off. He had made the drive over to Astride’s apartment, cooking salmon and roasting vegetables while she took the much more daunting task of picking what to watch on Netflix. She settled on Back to the Future. “I can order in Thai, I know we’re trying to work our way through the Mission Impossibles.” 

Astride grimaced. “I actually...kind of have a date Friday night,” she admitted. 

Anthony made a hum of surprise. “You do?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so shocked, Tito. There are men in this city of nine million who want to take me out.” 

He sputtered. “It’s not that that shocks me, Asty. You’d have men lining up around the block for you if you’d give any of them a second glance. It’s just that. You never seem to bother actually going after any of them. What made this one different?” 

“I mean, honestly hour?” Astride said, shrugging. 

“Honestly hour.” 

“I haven’t been on a date since I left Montréal, you know that. It had been a few months there too. And I’ve loved hanging out with you more, getting to know Mat and the team and everyone’s partners, but...I needed something different, too. Something that felt like a part of my life that wasn’t directly connected to the team. Which, don’t get me wrong,” she added hastily, “I love them, and it’s been so nice to be a part of that group, I just…” Astride trailed off. 

“You can’t let that be the only part of your life. I get it,” Anthony added helpfully.  

“Yeah,” Astride agreed. “So enter Cole. He works in a different division of the IE department, I’m obviously Europe and he’s Asia, mostly does work with Taiwan and Singapore. Um,” she said, her eyes turning towards the ceiling, “he seems really nice, did international business at UPenn, which is a great program. Speaks fluent Mandarin, uh, I think he mentioned he’s got a few fish at home.” 

Anthony snorted. “What’s wrong with fish?” Astride asked defensively. 

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong with fish,” he said. “Just seems like an odd choice. Maybe his building doesn’t allow pets or something.” 

“Maybe,” Astride responded. “I wouldn’t know, he lives in Manhattan, over in Tribeca. Bikes to work.” 

Tito laughed again. “I don’t trust people who bike to work in New York City, Asty. They have zero regard for their own lives or safety.” 

She giggled. “That might be true. But I’m looking forward to it, the date, I mean. I really am. It’s been a while since I’ve really put myself back out there, and I’m ready for something good. Something real.” 

He gave a half-smile from his side of the couch. “I’m happy for you, Astride. I hope you have a great time, and I hope he treats you right. If he doesn’t, just let him know that you can sic an entire professional hockey team on him with a single phone call.” 

“I will,” she said. “I’ll call you when it’s over, tell you how it went.” “

I’ll be waiting,” he said. 

Anthony thought back on the conversation as he sat on the corner of his bed that night, about to go to sleep. He turned his phone over and over in his hands, his eyes fixating on the chip in the crown molding that he hadn’t gotten around to fixing yet. He wasn’t lying to Astride when he said he was happy for her. He was, of course he was, who wouldn’t want their best friend to be happy? But while he wanted nothing more, nothing more, than to be able to give his full-throated support for her date, and the potential the future held for her and this Cole guy, he couldn’t do it. There was something stopping him. And the worst part of it all was that Anthony was starting to realize what it was. 

---

Astride had said that their dinner reservation was at 7, some brasserie in the West Village. “That’s a French thing, right?” Cole had asked. 

“It is,” Astride responded, gearing up for her translation skills to be used for the first time in months. She spoke almost exclusively French around Tito, and with JGP and Brassard, but the majority of her day was spent in English. Cole said that the restaurant had come highly recommended from one of his Wall Street friends, something that should have been the first red flag. 

“Never trust the finance bros,” Reese, a German specialist and one of her friends at the office, had said. “They all think they’re God’s gift to mankind when I can guarantee you they ain’t shit.”  

She had said it was at 7, so Anthony wasn’t expecting to hear from her until much later; honestly, he would have been surprised if she had called before 10. He tried not to think about what it could mean if she didn’t call at all that night. She had said it was at 7, so when he heard a knock at his door at half past nine, he practically jumped out of his skin before scrambling to open the door. His eyebrows rose when he saw Astride on the other side of the door, then his face contorted into a look of sympathy as he saw the sad smile on her lips, her jacket slung over one arm. 

“Can I come in?” she asked. He nodded without question, holding the door while stepping out of the way. He padded to the kitchen, bringing out a bottle of Moscato and two glasses. Astride smiled gratefully at him as he uncorked the bottle and poured. He knew that she couldn’t do red wine when she was upset, and she was upset. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively. 

Astride shrugged, sipping the wine. “Not much to tell other than it was probably the worst first date I’ve ever been on.” 

That piqued Anthony’s interest. He’d never be happy that she was upset, but something told him the story wasn’t quite that simple. “What about it was so bad?” 

“Where do I begin?” she sighed. “He was on time, but that’s pretty much the only thing Cole did right the entire night. He was rude to the waitress when we had to wait all of ten minutes until our reservation was ready, because the couple ahead had gone long. Then he ordered the most expensive bottle of red wine they had, without even asking me to see what I wanted. He really just was trying to show off that he could afford it. And it was a Sangiovese, and you know I hate dry wines, so I was just trying to choke the whole thing down. And then he insisted on ordering for me, which is probably the most chauvinistic thing I could think of, I mean, who does that anymore?” she asked incredulously. 

Tito shrugged. It was disrespectful, absolutely, but more than that, it was just weird. If women have mouths that work, then they’re more than capable of doing something as simple as ordering their own food. 

“And he kept trying to pour me more wine after the first glass, even when I told him a million times I was good.” Anthony’s grip on his glass tightened. Astride rubbed her temples with her free hand. “He just kept going on and on about work, and this big promotion he’s insisting he’s going to get even though I know for a fact that they want Maria for it. I could barely get a word in edgewise. That’s when I just decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I faked that Jean-Claude was calling, grabbed my jacket, and caught a cab over here.” She looked up at him, the same disappointed expression she had worn when he opened the door. “I was really hoping this one would pan out, Tito.” 

He felt an ache in his heart. He may have been less than thrilled about the prospect of Astride going out on a date, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less to see her so despondent. He leaned over, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. “I know, Asty. And I’m sorry it didn’t.”

December 13 (mon)

Anthony and Mat were the last ones in the locker room after a morning practice. “I found this new place nearby last week that’s got great smoothie bowls, want to get one after you finish packing your stuff?” Anthony asked, looking over at Mat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Sounds good,” Mat nodded, half-listening. 

Anthony glanced over at him, a weird look on his face. “You good, dude? You sound distracted.”

Mat spoke abruptly, looking over at Tito with a laser-focused expression. “How long have you been in love with Astride?” 

Anthony’s eyebrows jumped a foot. “In love with Astride? Why would you think that?”

Mat gave him a look, the kind of look that let Anthony know he was dead serious about what he was saying, and more than that, that he believed it. “Tito, I’m dumb, but I’m not stupid.”

Anthony leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “It’s that obvious?” 

“Yep,” Mat said, popping the p. 

“Do you think she knows?” His voice had dropped to barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” Mat said, shrugging. “I don’t think so, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to really be able to know about something as big as that and not address it. Doesn’t like to keep things bottled up, it’s not really her style.”

Anthony nodded. “It’s not.” He raked one hand through his haid, his head still leaning on the other one. “God. How do you tell your best friend you’re in love with her?”

Mat put one hand on Beau’s back, comforting him as best he could. “I don’t know, Tito. I wish I could help. What I do know,” he said, “is that you’re going to have to eventually. Because it’s going to tear you up if you don’t.”

December 18 (sat)

Astride tossed one final empty can into the garbage bag. “I think that’s it,” she said, giving his living room a cursory look. What had looked like a warzone only less than an hour before now more closely resembled the somewhat-messy but perfectly respectable bachelor pad of a man in his 20s, like it should have. With the holidays approaching, Anthony had decided to take it into his own hands to host a party — alongside Astride, who he had practically begged for help — intent on showcasing his newly-acquired skills by playing bartender the whole night. He was surprisingly capable, Astride had thought, if her Sazerac was anything to go by. 

He smiled at her. “Thanks, Asty. And thanks for staying and helping clean everything up, you really didn’t have to.” 

She tied the bag off and set it by the door with the other one. “I wanted to. And besides, I’m staying over,” she said, looking over at Anthony, “so what did you think I was going to do? Lock myself in the guest room while you cleaned up the whole apartment by yourself? What kind of a woman do you take me for?” she asked in mock offense. 

Anthony laughed, sitting down on the couch with a satisfying thump, pulling Astride into his side when she settled next to him. 

“I’m so glad we got back in contact,” she said, muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m so glad we’re friends again.” 

He felt guilty; more than that, he knew that the guilt, at least some of it, was deserved. “I should have done more,” he lamented. “I should have done more to keep in contact, more to show you I cared, more so you’d know that your friendship is one of the things I value most in my life.” 

Astride gave a small smile. “It’s a two-way street, Tito. Sure, I won’t lie and say that you really put all that much effort into keeping in contact. You didn’t.” He winced, she shot him a sympathetic look. “I love you, but you know me. I don’t mince my words. But I definitely could have done more than text you congratulations or leave a thirty-second voicemail on your birthday. We both could have done more. We both should have done more,” she said, correcting herself. “What do you think happened, though? Where did we go wrong?” As much as she might have hated it, Astride was that kind of person. She went through every bad decision in her life with a fine-toothed comb, needing to know what went wrong, needing to know what she could have done differently. 

“I think,” he began, “that it was just so easy to get distracted from ‘back home’ things. From our friendship, from my relationships with my family. From the important things, the things that I should have made an effort to prioritize even when the season got hectic and games got hard. And I’m not trying to make excuses,” he added quickly, “but there was just something about where I was, physically and mentally. I was 19, a rookie in one of the biggest cities in the world, and I think I just lost sight of things. Between the practices and games and going out and community events and trying to get in more than five hours of sleep a night, it was a lot,” he admitted. “It was stressful, probably weighed on me more than I wanted to admit. And I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m well aware I was — and am — living a life thousands of kids would kill for, but there’s a lot that goes on behind the scenes that you don’t really understand unless you’ve been through it. I don’t have many regrets from my rookie season, or really many in my career so far. Don’t regret moving for minors, don’t regret going to the Isles, don’t regret any of the contracts I’ve signed or plays I’ve made. Well,” he smirked, “maybe a few. But the one big one? The only real regret I’ve had? Letting you go.” 

Astride swallowed hard, choosing her next words carefully. “What do you mean, letting me go?”

Anthony let out a hard sigh. He’d put it off for long enough. He couldn’t do it any longer. “Never telling you how I feel.”

“How you feel?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, her fingers tangling in the fringe of the fleece blanket that was slung over the couch cushions. 

“Like I love you so much my heart could burst.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How long have you known?”

He looked at her with a soft smile. “Ever since Switzerland.”

“Six years?”

“Six years.” He reached out slowly, so slowly, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she didn’t move back. They sat in silence for a moment, and when Anthony spoke again, his voice wavered. “Asty? Say something.”

Astride’s lifted her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I knew since I was 15.”

His face split into a grin, wider and wider until she was sure she’d never seen a bigger smile. “You did? You do?”

She nodded, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat fluttering butterfly-fast underneath her fingertips. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since I knew what love was, Tito.”

He pushed forward, pressing his lips against hers for the first time since 2015, the first time since Switzerland. It was gentle and meaningful and somehow communicated all of the love and emotion that had been built up between the two of them in the past six years. Anthony pulled back after a minute, his lips pink and slightly puffy. “Tell me where your head’s at, Astride.”

“Is it too cliché to just say that this might be the happiest I’ve been in years?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.” But there was something that she wasn’t quite letting go of. “What is it, Astride?”

Astride sniffed. “I want this. You and I, I want it so mad it hurts. I just hate the idea that we’d turn into some sort of cliché. Childhood friends who grow up and fall in love, but something goes wrong and they split up and suddenly the dynamic of everything is messed up and I don’t want that, Tito. I don’t know if I could deal with you hating me because of how things ended.” 

“But things don’t have to end, Asty. Every broken heart, every date where some asshole has stood you up has led you to know that you deserve more. You deserve so much more, Astride, you deserve the sun and the moon and someone who would hang them in the sky for you. It doesn’t have to end in heartbreak. It doesn’t have to end at all.” 

Astride had always been someone who was cautious, someone who thought before she acted and never spoke without thinking through every possible outcome. But this was one of the times that she couldn’t do that, one of the times when, as much as she may have hated it, she needed to take a leap of faith. And so she did. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Anthony asked, his voice lifting. 

She nodded, the happiness on her face unmistakable. “Okay.”

And as Astride and Anthony FaceTimed her parents to break the news, her mom slapping her dad’s shoulder, claiming that she had “called it” back in 2014, Astride was filled with a sense of undeniable, irreplaceable joy. The kind of joy that the poets write about and artists put brush to canvas trying to depict, the kind that most people go their whole lives only hoping to get a glimpse of. The kind that made Astride more certain of one thing than she had perhaps been in her entire life. It didn’t have to end in heartbreak. And this one didn’t have to end at all. 

And as they stood two years later in a little church in their hometown, promising in front of their family and friends and the entire New York Islanders to love each other for the rest of their lives, Astride finally believed it.

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 186-187

September 13-14 It's been a couple of difficult days and I'm pretty tired, so who knows how long I will type tonight. It's funny, sometimes I start to journal and really get on a cathartic roll that makes me feel better, while other times I just pound out enough to let me feel I have done my job in chronicling my life for another day. And it's really hard to tell ahead of time which is going to be which.

Sunday was supposed to be the day when we finished the kiddo's room, but he got very little done even with my help. He melted down a couple of times throughout the day while I was trying to get him to do even a little work on his room, and then again at bedtime when he decided that he hated everything about the new bed and it was terrible. He wound up sleeping on the couch, which made my life more complicated because he did not want any noise or lights when he was sleeping on the couch. At least he did eventually go to sleep, I guess. I ended up snapping at him once when he didn't deserve it and had to apologize, and had to word my apology very carefully inside my head so it didn't come out sounding like "I'm sorry I'm at the end of my rope because you drove me crazy today" because that would be a pretty shitty apology. I think I said something about it being a long day and I was tired but I should not have snapped at him. We were okay then but I was frustrated at myself and the world in general. 

Husband has been having some health issues lately as well, old problems acting up in new ways, worrying both of us and making it hard for him to get peaceful rest. He's seen a couple of doctors but they haven't been particularly responsive so far. My biggest line item for tomorrow is going to be goosing the doctor's office for the referral he needs, just so he can stop worrying! We could all use a few less worries. 

Today we had the kiddo's annual checkup with the doctor, which we started prepping for on Friday. Last year's checkup was a DISASTER because I did not know there was going to be a blood test involved and the kiddo is not on board with needles any time for any reason. Today was better because he got over being upset on Friday and we spent the weekend building up the idea that it was going to be okay. Yesterday we spent some time finding funny Avatar: the Last Airbender meme compilations on YouTube so he would have something distracting to watch on my phone, and discussing how when it comes down to it, kitten claws are probably more painful than a flu shot, which he was also due for today. 

Anyway, the needles today went all right, he did a very good job considering his level of needle anxiety. Anxiety was sort of the theme of the day actually; talking with the doctor about how he's been feeling and what's been going on, and how sometimes it seems so hard just to keep the kiddo on an even keel. The doctor, who is an excellent doctor and takes a lot of time during the annual checkup especially, said that he's heard a whole lot of this going around, and the pandemic has been incredibly hard on kids this year. We talked about everything we're already doing and some new things to try, and we're going to go back in a month. The visit was exhausting, but good I think. We celebrated with a trip to McDonalds, the kiddo's favorite treat. 

Since by the time the appointment was over it was too late for class anyway, we headed straight down to the IKEA in Norfolk to do some room stuff shopping. Kiddo was in a much more rational mood about the new bed today when he wasn't so tired, and I sweetened the deal by helping him pick out some stuff for it. He got sheets for the bed, along with an incredibly fluffy faux-fur pillow that he adores and a string of little lights for the bedrail. We also talked about how we can make the ladder rungs more padded and less ouchy, as well as the possibility of doing what I always did with my loft bed and use other pieces of furniture (chair, dresser) as a step up ladder. Unfortunately, IKEA currently seems to be sold out of basically every kind of large dresser. We were hoping for a six-drawer MALM, but they were out of every color. Five drawer MALMs were gone too, as well as the similarly sized HEMES. They said they've been having a lot of problems with their supplier, and that they hoped to get some in at the end of next week. The tags we looked at on the floor said they were planning on being restocked September 13, which is yesterday, so I'm not super optimistic. Still, if we don't find something this week, I'll probably go back down there. 

Despite this frustration, we were able to successfully get the office chair we badly needed, as well as a large assortment of odds and ends including Lilleplutt III. Lilleplutt is the name of Ikea's small-medium stuffed cat, an ideal fake mama for lonely kittens. Lilleplutt I did yeoman's work with Latte, one of my singleton fosters last year, while Lilleplutt II went into service with a tiny fuzzy feral baby we picked up in the street a couple months ago. Lilleplutt III will likely end up in a similar occupation, though in the meantime she will keep the kiddo company as part of his stuffed toy coterie. The IKEA restaurant was closed, bummer, but I at least took home some lingonberry jam. 

After IKEA we ran across town and did the mystery shop that subsidized the gas for the trip to Norfolk. The kiddo is an old pro at mystery shopping now and is a little bit hilarious when he tries extra hard to be Friendly Local Child. He ended up getting most of our shared milkshake and was happy. There was surprisingly little traffic on the trip home, but after such a long day and a bunch of driving and shopping, I was very stressed out. Especially when Husband called and I realized that 24 cups of water had not been enough for the beans I was trying to slow simmer all day and they were ruined. Ugh, very disappointing! 

But he had Taco Bell for dinner and the kiddo and I were full from shopping, so it was generally not terrible. We put the kiddo's new mattress up on the bed (it arrived in the mail yesterday but needed 24 hours to recover from its travels) and made it up with the new sheets. I put his fan on the old dresser to put it high enough to reach the bed, and we discovered that with the low-slung purpose-bought mattress, not only was there more room to move around, but he can sit on the bed with a couple inches of clearance to the ceiling and has basically no risk of rolling over the bedframe and off the bed. He actually went to sleep in his bed tonight, hurrah! 

I guess this is one of the nights where talking things through was helpful. There's a lot going on and it makes sense to be stressed out, no matter what my brain tries to tell me about being lazy and not doing enough stuff. I'm going to try and take the advice I keep giving the kiddo and get some sleep. Tomorrow is another busy day and I think we'll all need it. 

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Violin- Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Characters: Wanda Maximoff

Warnings: N/A

Request: @violarobics​ - Hi! Would it be possible to get a Imagine for Wanda Maximoff? Word being violin? Thanks so much!💞 

Word Count: 427

Author: Charlotte

Today was a big step in your relationship with Wanda. You had been dating for quite a while and with both of you already looking for somewhere new to live, you decided it was a good idea to club together and share an apartment. It was a little daunting to move in together, but you were excited to spend more time together and have a place to allow your relationship to blossom. It was quite a humble apartment, neither of you having too much money to get anything fancy but it was in a nice area and with a little work it would be the home of your dreams.

All it seemed like currently was an ocean of cardboard boxes and black bags, labels no longer assisting enough for you to actually know where half of your belongings were. You were sure which large box contained the bedframe, so instead decided it would be for the best to just put the mattress on the carpet in the bedroom and try and get as many boxes emptied to give you space to actually move around. Seen as you had come from two apartments previously, there would be duplicates of stuff and too many things that you probably didn’t need but together you would make your way through it all and hopefully have a liveable space within a couple of weeks.

The two of you started in the bedroom, emptying any boxes that were labelled for that room. It was mainly clothing that needed to go in the wardrobe or the chest of drawers, even though a couple of drawers were still lost amongst the other boxes. You emptied out a box of linen into the airing cupboard before you heard Wanda call your name. You turned around to see her holding your violin, a look of confusion on her face, the case discarded onto the floor.

“I didn’t know you played the violin,” she said, looking at the instrument.

“I took classes for years. I’ve not really played any for a few months, but I hope to get back into playing at some point,” you shrugged. “I was kind of good at it but saving the world tends to get in the way of anything else.”

“Could you play for me?” She asked with a big smile upon her face.

You didn’t know how you would be able to say no to such a sweet smile. You took your violin before playing her one of your favourite songs, just happy to see her smile grow as you played.

[shygirl-00]

Winter Song Chapter 1: Haunting memories

Song: Control by Halsey; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YzoNRAX_SOw

Warnings: Nightmares, mentions of torture, human experimenting, mind-wiping, mentions of murder, blood, some soft fluff, akward conversations.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song or the pictures/GIFs. Credits to the original owners.

They send me away to find them a fortune A chest filled with diamonds and gold The house was awake, the shadows and monsters The hallways, they echoed and groaned

The girl hugged her knees as she stared at the grey wall across the room. She didn't feel the cold of the floor anymore.

How long had she been sitting here in her dark cell? After the numerous times she was thrown in here, she didn't bother anymore to count the endless hours she had spent in isolation. Just as she didn't bother to try to get comfy on the thin mattress she had to get some sleep on. She was lucky one of the rusty springs of the bedframe hadn't yet poked into her skin during her few hours of sleep.

I sat alone, in bed till the morning I'm crying, "They're coming for me" And I tried to hold these secrets inside me My mind's like a deadly disease

Crazy as it sounded, these hours in her cell were the only moments of peace that she knew in this hell hole. In here she could at least try to forget all the torture of needles, shocks and burns she had received on a day.

Here she could be alone with her thoughts for a moment before that door would be slammed open and those Hydra soldiers would drag her out again for another round of torture and experimenting.

I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

Hydra... The organisation that had destroyed her life. They had killed her parents and taken her, had dragged her single-handedly into a world of pain and misery. And every time she thought it couldn't get any worse, the next time Hydra would top it. And that over, and over, and over again.

And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

Even when she was allowed to have a moment of rest, she could barely close her eyes or the nightmares would already start. The things they made her do, the killing, the spilling of innocent blood...every night she could hear the screams of her victims and when she would wake up, she could still see the blood on her hands, she would smell the smoke of guns. After that she would always taste familiar sourness in her mouth before she would throw up.

I paced around for hours on empty I jumped at the slightest of sounds And I couldn't stand the person inside me I turned all the mirrors around

She had dreamed of escaping. Had even tried it a couple of times, but that only resulted in being captured and being more tortured and experimented on. So it stayed with dreaming. She had heard of the soldier with the metal arm. The man who managed to finally escape Hydra after years. The Winter Soldier...best friend of Captain America...James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes...

I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

(Y/n)… Her own name. (Y/n) (L/n)… Hydra had even tried to take that away from her. Her future was already stolen from her, her memories were scrambled, but for some miraculous reason she had been able to cling onto her name. Every time they put her in that torture chair, they had hoped that she would finally permanently forget it and every single time she would disappoint them.

After a while she would remember her name again. Her name was (Y/n) (L/n), no matter how many times thy would fry her brain in that chair, her name. was. (Y/n) (L/n).

And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

(Y/n) jumped when the door was suddenly slammed open and a group of five Hydra soldiers barged in, lead by Brock Rumlow. Since the death of Alexander Pierce, by the hands of SHIELD, he sort of became in charge of Hydra on the matter of physical missions and attacks, while Helmut Zemo became in charge of the tests and experiments. Both monsters, not afraid to tear people apart, mentally and physically, to get what they wanted. (Y/n)'s tormentors...

“Good morning Asset.” Rumlow sneered as he stared down at her. Asset...that's all she was to them. A puppet, and Hydra was her puppet master. (Y/n) didn't answer him and looked away.

“I said…”, Rumlow pulled her up by her hair, “good morning. Have you never heard of manners?!” He spat in her face as he threw her back onto the floor in front of the feet of the soldiers who manhandled her to her feet again and held onto her.

People would raise an eyebrow at the sight that five soldiers were holding a girl, but thanks to the experiments, (Y/n)'s strength had majorly increased. The last time she was escorted by only two guards, they eventually had to tranquilize her because she almost escaped them and even now sometimes five guards struggled to hold her down.

Rumlow nods at the guards. “You know where to.” Immediately, (Y/n) was dragged out of her cell into the hallway. She already braced herself for what was to come. Most likely more experimenting and serums being injected into her...

I'm well acquainted with villains that live in my head They beg me to write them so they'll never die when I'm dead And I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head They beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead

But...they went another way. And she knew which way this was...one she dreaded more than any other room in this whole facility... She tried to control her breathing that caught in her throat as she was dragged through the halls.

I'm bigger than my body I'm colder than this home I'm meaner than my demons I'm bigger than these bones

As they entered that dreaded room, (Y/n) was met by the familliar sight of several scientists and assistants walking around the room, working on who knows what kind of projects. But the thing that she was most afraid of stood in the middle of the room: that godforsaken chair that ripped the memories from everyone who was forced into that thing.

And next to that horror device stood her other tormentor, Helmut Zemo.

"Why hello there, malyshka. I hope you slept well.” Zemo cooed as he petted (Y/n)’s cheek. She jerked her head away as she scowled at him. "Tsk tsk, as hostile as ever, are we?” Zemo tutted as he grabbed her chin so she was forced to look at him. He shook his head.

“Well, malyshka, if today is a success, we don't have to deal with that attitude anymore.” He grinned at her as he walked away to retrieve something from the table next to the chair.

“Wh-what do you mean by that?” (Y/n) spoke as she tried to not let her voice tremble too much. She felt her blood turn into ice as Zemo turned, seeing what he had retrieved from the table; a black book with a red star stamped on it. Her 'programming book’ as some liked to call it. Whenever that book came out, she prepared for the worst.

Zemo chuckled when he saw (Y/n)'s scared face. “Oh do not worry, malyshka. I thought these out very carefully.” He held an amused grin as he watched confusion mixed with fear etched onto the girl's face. “And it will not be that difficult. They're just...ten...simple...words…”

All colour disappeared from (Y/n)'s face. Ten words...ten...words...they were...they were going to… Her train of thought was cut short by a short scentence that left Zemo's lips that left her freaked out.

“Prep her.”

And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

Never before, in her whole life, did (Y/n) struggle more than at that moment. She screamed, kicked, thrashed, she tried everything she could as the guards hauled her into the chair and began strapping her down. Several scientists began starting up the machine that would soon enough rip her memories from her.

(Y/n) clamped her mouth shut as they approached with the mouth guard. But one firm slam of Rumlow's fist in her stomach left her coughing and gasping for breath, which was used to shove the mouth guard into her mouth. Last but not least, they strapped her head down.

(Y/n)'s breathing came out ragged as her chest heaved up and down. Her eyes flashed from one side to another as she watched the people surrounding her. Then an all too familiar whirring sound filled her ears. Zemo looked down at her.

"Just relax, malyshka. All you need to do is listen...” He purred as the cold metal clamped around her head. The whirring sound became louder and louder. She saw Zemo's mouth move as he read from the book. She knew her brain would process the words as anything else was ripped from her. They would continue this until worked.

But the only thing she heard, a sound that filled the whole room and echoed through the hallways, was her own screaming...

And all the kids cried out, "Please stop, you're scaring me" I can't help this awful energy God damn right, you should be scared of me Who is in control?

Gasping for air, (Y/n) shot up in bed. Sweat was beading her forehead as she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get her breathing under control. She took shaky breaths as she rubbed her face. Giving herself a moment to calm down, she laid back down on her bed.

The day they implanted her triggerwords...that was the most recurring nightmare that had been haunting her night and night again. Even now, six months after The Avengers had saved her from that hell hole, it felt like yesterday that they put those damn words into her brain.

(Y/n) looked at the time that was being projected on the wall. 04:00 am. With a sigh (Y/n) kicked the sheets off of her and sat up, sliding her feet into her slippers. She knew that, even if she tried, she would not be able to fall asleep again. She wrapped her blanket around herself and quietly shuffled out of her room, on her way to the living room in The Avengers tower.

Ever since they rescued her, (Y/n) had been living with The Avengers at their compound. When they found out that, after they rescued her, she didn't have any family she could turn to, they took her in and they practically became her family. And she couldn't be more grateful for them.

Steve Rogers, the Captain himself, had been acting like a father or a big brother to her. He was usually the person that held her when she was having a panic or anxiety attack, she could cry on his shoulder when the nightmares became too much. He would be one of the first people to notice if something was wrong.

Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, together with Bruce Banner, were like the “nerd-uncles” you didn't know you needed. While Tony loved to tease her sometimes, he had a huge soft spot for the girl and he would be there for her whenever she needed him. Pepper Pots, his girlfriend, would scold him often if he teased (Y/n) too much to her liking. She was like the sweetest aunt ever. Bruce regularly checked on her physical but mostly her mental health and treated her wounds if need be.

If (Y/n) needed a hug, she could always count on Thor. Being the God of Thunder or not, he loved nothing more than picking her up and giving her a good hug, mostly one in which she could shield herself from the world for a moment.

Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff, two women who you didn’t want to get angry, became like big sisters for (Y/n). They and Pepper would chase the boys out of the living room so that they could have a girl's night every once in a while. They would just chat and laugh together every once in a while, but they also trained her in order to get her powers under control.

Pietro Maximoff and Clint Barton, those two were like the chaos cousins whose goal it was to cheer (Y/n) up. Pietro loved to carry her around and then run all over the place until both of them were out of breath, him from running, she because her breath was taken away by the speed. Clint was more serious than Pietro, but he was often in for a prank or two.

Then Sam, the uncle who was sometimes teasing her even more than Tony would, but he would never let anything happen to her. Eventhough him and Tony would not always see eye to eye, they would once in a while tease (Y/n) together about her feelings towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm...

James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes... even after six months, (Y/n) still didn't know what Bucky was to her. They were friends, that was for sure, but she would be lying to herself if she hadn't wished that they could be more than that, more than once. But she would be rather damned than to admit that.

Not only would Sam and Tony not let her hear the end of it, but she would never forgive herself if she destroyed Bucky's friendship with her by admitting what she really felt for him. After all, Bucky had had enough on his plate with his own history with Hydra; he didn't need her damaged life also on his shoulders.

Little did she know, that a certain, metal-armed, super soldier had the same thoughts about himself, and had the same feelings for her...

Damaged. That's what (Y/n) called herself. Improved, that's what Hydra had called her. Well, for their sick games perhaps. Now, (Y/n) was scared of herself. She had seen the file that The Avengers managed to take with them. It stood there, everything Hydra had put in her and what she was now:

(Y/n) (L/n), Asset 107. Enhanced strength, speed, durability and flexibility. Powers of remnants of Mind Stone present. Trained fighter with guns, knives and hand to hand combat.

And there they were, those cursed triggerwords. Steve had quickly taken the file out of her hands. Her nightmares were already enough torment. And he had a point.

Quietly, (Y/n) opened the door to the living room and slid inside. She quickly popped into the kitchen to get a glass out of the cabinet and fill it with water. She took some sips to at least get the adrenaline, that her nightmares always gave her, down. She sighed. Would she ever be able to get rid of those horrific nightmares…? She turned to go sit on the couch.

“Can't sleep either?” A voice called out. (Y/n) jumped and shrieked, letting go of the glass in the process. A quick, silver hand swooped the glass out of the air, catching it before it would break on the ground. "Careful there, we don't want any accidents.” (Y/n) looked up to meet a pair of ocean blue eyes looking into her (e/c) ones.

"You okay?” Bucky Barnes put the glass back on the counter and raised an eyebrow when the girl in front of him stayed quiet. "Hello, Earth to (Y/n)?” He waved with his flesh hand in front of her face.

(Y/n) blinked. “Uh...yeah, fine! I mean...ahum...yeah I'm okay.” She quickly took her glass and went to the living room with it. This was what she always feared. Making herself look like a complete fool in front of Bucky. And now she had just done that...great.

With a soft sigh, she flopped onto the couch, tugging her blanket closer around herself, sipping on her water. She eyed Bucky as he came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. When he saw her looking, he gave her a soft smile. (Y/n)'s cheeks coloured bright red. She quickly hid her face behind her glass of water, hoping Bucky hadn’t seen it.

But of course Bucky had seen it. With his enhanced abilities and his training as a spy, he could pick up the smallest details.

He had only one issue; he was never taught how to work with feelings for another person. Sure he knew about friendship and such, his long lasting friendship with Steve never seemed to falter, but no, they never told him how to approach a person when the idea of more than friendship came up. Yes, in his old days, he had flirted with some dames, but that was all it was, flirting, not, Bucky gulped at the tought, love.

“Bucky…?” He was awakened from his thoughts when a soft voice called his name.

He looked up and saw that (Y/n) was looking at him again. "W-what? You said something?” She smiled softly. “I asked why you couldn't sleep. Since you said can't sleep either.”

Bucky let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, taking a sip of his coffee. “Oh, ehm...nightmares doll...same old I know-” Bucky cut himself short when he saw (Y/n)'s face fall. Then he realised he had called her doll. Shit, did she not like that? It just slipped out...

“Well I'm at least not the only one…” she mumbled as she sipped from her water. Wait...she wasn't talking about the word doll, was she?

Bucky could almost hit himself when he realised. She had nightmares, just like him. Logical, she had been in Hydra's hands, just like him. And she had also been damaged...just like him… Bucky clenched his flesh hand around his coffee cup while his metal one squeezed a pillow.

Damaged like him...Bucky immediately pushed his personal feelings away and focused on her. “You have them too, huh?” She nodded. "One recurs more than others though. The one in which they…they implant...” her voice faltered.

"Hey, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to…” Bucky said as he looked at her. Heck, he knew the feeling all too well, when people wanted to know exactly what was going inside his head, wanted him to repeat his nightmares over and over again. Man, how many times he had wanted to bash someones nose in for that...

"How do you do it?” (Y/n) suddenly asked. Bucky looked up. “Hm? Do what d-?” he quickly swallowed the last word.

“Cope with them...the nightmares.” (Y/n) looked at him over the edge of her glass. Bucky sighed.

“I don't know. I just...do it. I do stuff and try to get as much sleep as I can. Steve often helps me by waking me up if he hears me screaming.”

(Y/n) smiled softly. Steve had often done that with her as well. He would hold her as she sobbed into his pyjama-shirt, until she had calmed down enough to talk.

“Yeah...yeah I know...he does that for me as well. Poor guy must have had some rough nights with us heh…” she smiled a small smile that got a bit bigger when she heard Bucky chuckle. His chuckle was like music to her ears...God she had it bad for him...

“Well yeah, he has always been a momma's boy, but I think he missed the memo that that doesn't mean you need to act like a mom.” Bucky commented dryly, receiving a giggle from the girl across from him on the couch. Her smile made him involuntarily blush...man was he head over heels for her.

"Maybe his head is still stuck in the 40's?” (Y/n) chuckled, making Bucky laugh out loud. “Maybe you have a point there, (Y/n).” He still refrained himself from calling her doll.

And that's how the rest of the team found them hours later when they came down to get some breakfast, Bucky and (Y/n) talking on the couch and laughing at each other's remarks.

“Hey Buckaroo, having a conversation with the girlfriend?” Sam commented as he gave Bucky a pat on his shoulder. Bucky swatted him away. “Shut up, Birdbrain!”

Steve focused on (Y/n). “Nightmare again?” he asked. She nodded, sad. “Same one again.” Steve sighed.

“Why didn't you come to me? I told you, you could always wake me up when you need me.” (Y/n) looked down at her lap. “I don't want to be a bother, Steve...”

Before Steve could answer, Sam commented: “She had the perfect talking partner right here!” Immediately after that he had to duck because Bucky had thrown his coffee cup at him.

“You know, just because I can afford it, doesn't mean you have to destroy it, Tin Man!” Tony remarked from the kitchen as the breaking of ceramics could be heard.

"Come on you two, get dressed otherwise no breakfast for you.” Natasha remarked as she ushered Bucky and (Y/n) out of the room. Steve followed Bucky while she followed (Y/n).

“Sam did have a point though, you two talking is a nice sight.” Natasha remarked, sitting on (Y/n)'s bed as the latter was changing behind the doors of her huge closet (thanks Tony).

“I have no idea what you're talking about, Nat.” (Y/n) commented as she threw her pyjamas on her bed and put on jeans and a blouse.

“Just saying, you two would make a cute couple.” Natasha remarked. She received a pair of socks against her head as an answer.

“Come on punk, just drop it allright?” Bucky huffed as he stuck his head through the opening of his maroon coloured sweater. Steve leaned against the doorpost.

"Buck, why are you so hesitant about it? You like each other's company, that's a good start.” "Shut it Steve, don't pretend you're now all-knowing about relationships!” Bucky commented as he folded his pyjamas and put them under his pillow.

“Then tell me what the issue is, Buck!” Steve sighed, eyeing his childhood best friend. The brunette sighed and sat down on the bed. 

"Listen up punk...”

"Nat, I know you mean well, but even if there is a truth behind your remarks...”

“...even if you somehow miraculously have found the answer to helping others with relationships…”

“...why would (s)he want a damaged person like me?”

Holy macaroni, first chapter finally done! I'm nervous as all heck because I love Bucky/Sebastian Stan so much I want to do him justice. Plus I hope that you liked it as well. If anyone wants to be tagged, just let me know. Thanks for reading, lots of love! ❤️

Translation: Malyshka = little girl

Taglist: @jtargaryen18, @sherlocked-bitch, @on-your-left-birdie, @tcc-gizmachine

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Come Into the Water (1/15)

Summary: Sarah, after a mental break, gets a fresh start in a small Northwestern town with a lot of secrets. (AVA/SARAH)

Warnings: Implied past rape, semi-graphic self harm, implied depression

The first box is the easiest.

Sarah sets it down in the middle of the floor and subsequently spends a few long minutes just staring out the slider as waves crash against the shore not too far away. Far enough that the high tide won’t attack her, but close enough for nothing to obstruct her view of the rolling blue under a sky of marine layer thick like the fog over her head. Bringing the box in was easy, putting it down is easy, but she’s suddenly confronted with the fact that she is not on a vacation, as eager as her mother had been to paint it that way. She gets it, in a way. Everyone would like to believe this is just a vacation, herself included. That’s what her old therapist had said, anyways. They’re still going to call every couple weeks, but she’s supposed to be seeing someone new in town twice a week.

All the boxes in the middle are a little harder, but the hardest is the last box because it forces her to confront the fact that everything she owns fits into only six cardboard moving boxes. One of pillows and blankets. One of towels. Two of clothes. One of plates, bowls, cups and silverware. And one of books and trinkets. Six boxes contain her whole life, or at least what she’s managed to salvage of herself. Sarah just looks at the last box, not bringing it in, while the movers supply her with freshly bought furniture courtesy of her mother. A couch, a dining room table, a few chairs, a bedframe and mattress, and a dresser are put in their places. Then the movers bid her a stiff goodbye and drive off, leaving her to numbly look at the box on the front porch in front of her.

In theory, it’s easy. Pick up the box. Carry it inside. Put it next to the others. It’s a little heavy, but nothing she can’t handle, in all honesty. She’d managed to build some muscle a few months ago, and while it’s begun to wither away, she’s still more than capable of carrying in the box. All she has to do is pick it up. Pick it up. Pick it up. Her hands are in her hair, pulling but not hard, yet. Eyes shut. The weight of her body is too heavy on her feet. Sinking into the concrete porch. Pick up the box. She just has to pick up the box. But instead, she thinks she might be crying. Wasn’t this supposed to be over?

The next thing she knows, she’s sitting on top of the box, pulling absentmindedly at the bandages on her forearm. However, absentmindedly has an implication of something peaceful. Habitual and familiar, absentmindedness is pleasant the way so many talk about it. A forgetful college professor rushing into class, a mother spreading peanut butter on her phone, a kid scuffing his shoe on the pavement. This is a different absentminded, the way her fingers dig into the edge of the white gauze and pull at it with fervor. But it’s still absent, still unintentional and without the awareness with which she has taken to approaching a great amount of her life lately.

She finds herself watching the sun fall into the horizon over the waves, and scours her mind for when she got here. It was morning, she thinks. The sun was low in the sky, the fog still drooling onto the land from the restless waves. Now the day has escaped her, and she’s torn open the first layer of bandages on her arm. For this very reason, there are three or four layers of spirals before her skin.

“Sorry to interrupt, but you’ve been sitting there all day.”

Several things happen in the span of one second; Sarah’s heart skips a beat, her hand tenses on the bandages and rips another layer, her feet skid on the pavement in her effort to get up, and she bursts into frustrated tears. It’s too fast, or perhaps simply feels that way to her because the world has gone too fast lately. Breathing is a chore, the only one she seems capable of handling today, and for a few labored breaths, she stares at the stranger in front of her, a kind woman with rich brown skin, downturned eyes, and a low ponytail. She’s the sort of woman Sarah would like to trust.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman says. She extends a hand tentatively, the way one holds a hand to a dog to sniff before they try to pet it. “I’m Maggie, I live next door.”

“Sarah.”

With a deep breath, Sarah forces herself to shake Maggie’s hand. Her voice is as sweet as the caring expression on her face, one of a woman who has spent a lifetime looking after others. A nurse, or a daycare worker, or someone like that. Someone good. It would be so nice to know someone good instead of cutthroat, but the fear is there. She’s sizing Maggie up, she realizes. Trying to decide if she’d be able to overpower Sarah if she really wanted to. It’s a bad habit she’s supposed to be getting out of.

“Let me carry that in for you, and if you want, I’ve got leftovers in my fridge. We can eat together, or you can just take them. You could use them.”

Maggie picks up Sarah’s box, carries it inside, and sets it with the others. Heat sears into Sarah’s cheeks because she knows how it looks. Six measly boxes. Each labeled in neat handwriting, revealing how little of herself remains. She had been more, she thinks, at some point. But a lot of her died in an office packed with books and journals and photos of a daughter who had made it into the world. She is empty now. Her thumb digs into the center of her bandages. It doesn’t hurt, but she’d like it to.

“About dinner-”

“Thank you, but I really-  I can’t. Maybe another time?”

“Another time,” Maggie agrees. Her eyes trace Sarah’s face too closely. She wants to die on the spot just so Maggie will stop looking. “If you ever need anything, I’m just to the left, so don’t hesitate to come over. And if I’m not home, my wife probably is.”

“Okay.” 

With that, Maggie lets herself out and shuts the door gently, once again leaving Sarah alone surrounded by her miniscule life and furniture she didn’t pick out. She looks around the space and finds herself drawn to the slider again. Darkness edges in above the horizon, and she scrambles forward to close the cheap plastic blinds. They’re not perfect, but they block the window so no one can see in. She gets the kitchen window too and finds the switch for the light in the dining room, one of the only ones the house came with. It allows her the light she needs to tear open the towel box and grab one, a soft bath towel in a forgiving dark red. As of yet, she hasn’t gotten any soap or shampoo, a tooth brush, anything. But she goes to the bathroom anyways and spends a good five minutes figuring out how to turn on the shower and get the hot water she craves going. The crumpled towel earns a home on the toilet seat as she all but tears off her clothing. No laundry hamper yet, either. That’s fine. 

The hardest part of this is taking off her bandages to prevent them from being soaked and contracting an infestation of mildew or worse. She doesn’t want to look as she unwinds the cause and peels up the cotton pads, which join her clothes on the floor in a mess Sarah just doesn’t have the energy to deal with right now. 

Somehow, she’s staring at it. Most of her arm is healed, a splatter of dark pink skin that has scarred, but there’s plenty only beginning to scab from her most recent attack, if that’s what one were to call it. She doesn’t mean to, but when she’s anxious, caught in her head, upset, existing- she finds her right fingernails digging into the tender skin of her left inner forearm. Cutting her fingernails short, wrapping herself in bandages to protect her arm and its scabs, they’re supposed to help. 

She looks at the scabs for a long time before dragging herself into the water and letting it wash over her like it’s washing away her pain. The coating of school and stale white walls melt off of her, spiral down the drain, mesh together to remind her exactly what forced her into this otherwise quaint little cottage. It would be a nice home, had she picked it herself and come voluntarily. Perhaps she’d put art or photos on the walls, which would be painted a warmer color than the current murky dark green-grey-blue. 

When the water soaks through her curls to drizzle over her scalp, she comes back to herself.  As much as she can nowadays, anyways. There’s a thin layer of plastic sheeting between her mind and body, and no matter how hard she tries to break it, it stands impenetrable. Sarah wonders if it’s for the best. It protects her, at any rate. She’s better off on this side of the barrier, she tells herself, and turns off the water. Going out, she isn’t any cleaner; she didn’t wash her body or her hair- which isn’t even totally wet yet. 

Sarah wraps the towel around her, more as a blanket than anything to actually dry herself off. It’s soft, comforting around her. She checks, as she drags her exhausted body into the main area, that all the windows are covered so that anyone walking by can’t see her. So he can’t see her. Sometimes, invisibility feels like the safest thing in the world and she needs more of it than she could ever have.

She lays down on the floor, surrounded by her boxes, although she knows come morning she’ll regret it. It’s only fitting. Regret is the main emotion she deals with nowadays, when she manages to feel anything at all. Her eyes lock onto a little crack where the wall meets the trimming, thin and probably in danger of mold when she’s this close to the ocean. Her mother had said something about keeping the house aired out, but Sarah hasn’t listened to her in quite some time.

By the time she falls asleep, orange has begun to disrupt the sky outside.

-

Taglist: @bookreader525 @sextonsharpwinhalstead @sarahreeese @bipeteypie

[ramenrains]

please help me get back on my feet after moving?

hi. i’m roxie.

if you don’t know much about me, i’m 25 & an aquarius. i use they/them pronouns and consider myself bisexual (this is relevant to my situation, i promise).

i am also autistic and have been in cbt for anxiety and talk therapy for depression for the past two years. i used to write a lot of fanfiction, namely for kpop fandoms, the walking dead, wwe, and night at the museum (don’t ask). i had a couple of really popular fanfics for the until dawn fandom, and even though i haven’t completed a fanfic in a while, i do enjoy writing them in my free time.

i’m currently a part time librarian assistant and get inconsistent work at the local arena doing security/guest engagement stuff. i am currently in a place where i don’t feel like my jobs are demanding too much of me, but unfortunately they don’t pay super well and i’m considering getting a second part time job or going back to school, but right now i’m still in the process of weighing the options.

the past year was very rocky for me in terms of income and mental stability.

here’s what happened

i was at least living in a place i thought was relatively safe.

it started slowly, as my roommates, at first, were an older couple, their son, and sometimes his girlfriend. then the boy invited his girlfriend to live there, the husband invited a coworker and his daughter to move in, and the wife moved one of her cousins in after that cousin’s boyfriend was imprisoned and she was evicted. pretty soon there were 8 people living in a three bedroom house, 6 of us sharing one bathroom. it was cramped, but tolerable.

then, a few months ago, my newer roommates started making homophobic comments towards me after seeing a pride flag in my room, making me feel unwelcome and vaguely threatened. they started using my things, breaking my things, stealing my things (like literally constantly using them and then claiming they were never mine when i confronted them about it), and telling complete strangers to me visiting about my sexuality derisively.

they later 'apologized' and the more aggressive behavior stopped when i sat them down and confronted them about it, but this was almost immediately followed by one of them in particular (the elder husband of the couple who had originally been living there) making uncomfortably sexual comments towards me in regards to me dating women. among other things, he began joking that he should be involved if i brought any women home, or that i should at least film it and provide him with a copy. he also started coming into my room without warning, and flirting with me when his wife wasn't home. this behavior got worse when he drank, and i began to fear a line might be crossed.

one night, he and i were the only ones home and i was locked in my room, playing video games. he began banging on my door, begging me to let him in and talk to him, audibly intoxicated. when i stayed quiet, hoping he would get bored and leave, he instead went around to the other side of the house and started banging on the window, removed the screen, and tried to pry it open, demanding to know why i was ignoring him and implying he was going to force me to ‘spend time with him’ once he got in. around that time his elder son got back to the house and started yelling at him to stop, which he did.

i decided i was really no longer safe there and started exploring other options, even though his son and wife apologized to me. it seemed like his wife kinda resented the attention he was directing at me? i mentioned to her i was planning on moving out, and she told me i would have to be out by the first of august or i would owe her another month of rent. and she just generally began being very short with me when she had always been very kind before.

luckily, i was able to move in with a great friend who is charging me a completely doable monthly rent. however, i had to be out of work on two weekdays i was scheduled in order to make the move happen before the first. i effectively lost out on 12 hours of pay.

another thing is, i have no furniture. i am sleeping on a borrowed mattress on the floor, which i am grateful for (it's a comfy mattress) but i would also just... really like a bedframe, and maybe a dresser so that storing my things can be a bit easier.

the last thing is, i am behind on a couple bills (car insurance and phone bill) and will probably continue to be so for a while because of the hours i will be short on my next paycheck.

as a result, i am just asking for help to balance everything out after the move. if i can recoup the cost of rent and maybe make up on the pay i missed out on in order to move, i can use that to catch up on bills, save next month's rent from my next paycheck and then start to save for some furniture and get back on track to where i can save to move out and get my own place. i'm pretty optimistic that everything will turn out okay, if i can get back on the right track. at the high end, i'm estimating that 400$ would get me exactly where i need to be.

to be upfront, this is not a crisis situation. i will scramble to catch up on things without help, and this might give me trouble when my time here is up and i need to get back out on my own. but i am safe here. i am not at risk of losing my housing here, or being abused, or sexually harassed. i am so grateful for all the help that has been given to me so i could find this safe place. if you feel any assistance would be better geared towards people in crisis situations, i totally understand and respect that.

but if you have the means to help me out a little, i would be immensely grateful!

here's how you can help me, if you want:

-signal boost! the more people see this, the more likely i will meet my goal, and the fewer people would have to donate to reach it.

-donate! my paypal is blindgumby@gmail.com, but i will also create a gofundme for the sake of complete transparency, which can be found here.

-check out my wishlist! right now, it’s just a couple of furniture items, but i will be adding on, especially as it gets colder since i don’t have a good winter coat.

-message me! if you wanna let me know you've signal boosted or donated, i would love to thank you personally. if you wanna vocalize your support, i would love to hear it. i'm not exactly in the throes of despair anymore, but it's nice to hear people cheering me on regardless. if you have questions, send them my way! i'm happy to explain as much as i can to ease your mind. tell me about your day! honestly, getting to talk to y'all will ease my mind for a bit. even if you have questions you need answered to clarify or understand, please hit me up. i don’t mind at all.

PAYPAL // GOFUNDME // WISHLIST

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Starting Over (2/?)

Summary: A Lost/Once Upon A Time crossover.Three years after leaving the island, Kate and Claire’s search for a quiet town in which to make their permanent home brings them to the peaceful idyll of Storybrooke, Maine, where new friendships are forged and new relationships tentatively kindled - although nothing is ever plain sailing.

Eventual Claire/Gold, Kate/Ruby, with appearances from lots of Lost and OUAT characters.

Rated: T

[One] [AO3]

====

Starting Over

Two

“You know, considering that the two of them started completely new lives after leaving the island three years ago, I have no idea how they’ve managed to accumulate so much crap in that time.”

“Miles, you’re one to talk. You have an entire closet devoted to punk music memorabilia.”

Miles and Richard’s argument continued all the way up the stairs as they manhandled one of Claire’s bookcases up into her bedroom. Claire and Frank, waiting to follow them up with the boxes of books that would go onto the bookcase once it was vertical again, just looked at each other, trying not to laugh. Frank shook his head in good-natured despair.

“You know, with the amount of bickering that goes on between the two of them, I have no idea how they actually manage to not only live together but actually have a vaguely functioning relationship.”

“Ah, bickering’s the best part of any relationship, Frank, didn’t you know that?” James came past them with a box of kitchenware. The predictions of him driving a u-haul up the east coast had come true in the end, but he’d been more than happy to help them pack up their lives in New York and make the move to Storybrooke.

It wasn’t a decision that they’d made lightly. It was a huge amount of upheaval to go through, especially for Aaron, who was at the age where he was beginning school and beginning to make lasting friends. Now he had left all those behind and was going to be starting a new school in a brand-new town in a brand-new state. Even though it had taken them a lot of time to actually make the move, Claire had known that they would end up in Storybrooke as soon as she had set foot in it for the first time. As she had wandered along by the docks and looked up and down the high street, she had known instinctively that this was a place that she could be happy in. It was a big change from New York, and it felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Of course, there were the odd few who had given her and Kate strange looks when they had entered places, the two of them and Aaron, but she knew that there were going to be people like that wherever they ended up going, whether it was a small town like Storybrooke or another big city.

The town was large enough and modern enough that it didn’t feel like they were trapped in a place stuck in a stifling past, but it was blessedly quiet, and there were no planes flying overhead all the time. There was an almost constant breeze blowing off the Atlantic Ocean, and Aaron had had great fun watching the fishing boats in the bay when she had taken him out there during the second morning of their short scouting stay there.

“All right, all right, move along, you’re blocking the hallway.” Kate came in from the trucks outside carrying a precarious box full of china, and Frank and Claire made their way upstairs with the books. In Claire’s bedroom, Richard and Miles were still arguing about Miles’s collectibles as they slotted the shelves back in the bookcase. Aaron was running around with the toolkit, and Claire grabbed him before he could do himself an injury on any of the moving furniture.

“I guess we should probably put your bed back together,” she said, taking the toolkit from him and letting him pull her through the house to his room. “The books can wait a while.”

“Claire!” Kate called up from the kitchen. “Which box did we pack the coffee in?”

“It’s in my purse!” Claire yelled back. “I figured we’d need it easily accessible!”

“Thanks!”

Claire got to work setting out the screws and tools and making sure that none of the pieces of the bed had been left behind in the old house in New York. Aaron watched her intently, handing her all the right pieces at the right times.

“It’s easier with Legos,” he observed as Claire screwed the legs of the bed on.

“I don’t think that Legos would make a very comfortable bed though,” Claire said. “You know how much it hurts when you step on them.”

“Yes, but if you put the mattress over them then they’d be ok. It’s simple really.”

Claire pushed her hair out of her face. “Now that’s a problem-solving logic that I think you get from your Mommy Kate. Speaking of which, do you want to go and ask her what we’re doing for dinner? It’s getting near time and we’re not done bringing things in yet. I don’t think we’re going to have time to go grocery shopping. If you see one of the guys, tell him I need some help with the bedhead.”

Aaron trotted off downstairs as Claire continued to put the bed together as much as she could without an extra pair of adult hands, and she heard his imperative ‘go help Mommy Claire with the bedhead, Mommy Kate what’s for dinner?’, giving a sigh.

“I swear we raised you better than that,” she muttered, counting out screws and making sure she had enough. Sure enough, a few moments later she heard footsteps on the stairs.

“I’ve been instructed to help with a bedhead.”

It was a Scottish accent, but not Desmond’s voice, and Claire looked up with alarm to find Mr Gold standing in the doorway. She’d only met him once, when they’d signed the paperwork and he’d handed over the keys when they’d leased the house off him.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry about that. When I told him to find someone to help me, I hadn’t expected that he’d accost a stranger.”

“It’s no matter. I just came over to see how you were getting on with the move in.” He came in and held up the headboard without comment, and Claire got to work on screwing it in place, grateful that she didn’t have to look at him in her embarrassment.

“We’re doing well,” she said. “We can’t find anything, but that’s par for the course. We’ll probably still be unpacking in three weeks’ time. Thanks. You can let go now.”

She sat back on her heels and finally looked up at Mr Gold. Her first impression of him hadn’t really been favourable or unfavourable. It had been a business transaction and their interaction had been a purely professional one. All the same, she had been quite impressed that he hadn’t batted an eyelid at Aaron playing with his toys in the background whilst she and Kate were signing and sealing on their new home.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

He helped her manoeuvre the mattress onto the bedframe and gave her a brief smile.

“I’d better go now and leave you in peace. The last thing that you need is the landlord hanging around and breathing down your necks whilst you’re unpacking. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“We will. Thank you.”

He left the room just as Desmond poked his head round the doorframe and the two men exchanged greetings, obviously knowing each other from Desmond’s last stay here.

“I’m going to the diner to get food for everyone,” Desmond told Claire. “Want to come?”

“I don’t know, I’ll feel bad taking a break whilst everyone’s still here working.”

“Everyone’s having a coffee break that’s going to turn into an extended dinner break,” Desmond pointed out. “Most of the stuff’s out of the trucks now, it’s just a case of reassembly and getting everything out of the boxes. Come on, it’ll be good for you to see some more of the town.”

Claire considered it for a moment longer before nodding. “All right. Aaron’s bed linen can wait till later. At least he does actually have somewhere to sleep tonight.”

In fact, it would probably only be her and Kate sleeping on the floor. Desmond and Penny would be on their boat in Storybrooke docks and the others had checked into the inn for the night. Beds could wait. At this point, Claire was sure that she was going to be so exhausted by the end of the day that any vaguely flat surface would do for sleeping on.

She left the house with Desmond, picking up everyone’s dinner orders on the way. Miles and Richard had resolved the memorabilia argument and were now discussing the correct way of stacking bookcases.

“I didn’t realise that there was a wrong way, to be honest,” Desmond said, “but it just goes to show that you learn something new every day.”

Claire knew where the diner was; they’d eaten there on their first trip to Storybrooke when they’d just been getting a feel for the town, but it felt safer going in with Desmond, especially when the owner greeted him with a smile and an admonishment for staying away for so long. It gave her hope. If Desmond could be so easily accepted after spending comparatively little time there, then there was every chance that the same could be said of her and Kate and Aaron.

“How are Penny and the little one?” the woman behind the counter asked. She had grey hair and a matronly air about her, and Claire knew that she had to be the eponymous Granny that the diner was named for.

“They’re doing grand, thanks, although Charlie’s not so little anymore. He’s shooting up like a beanstalk. They’ll probably be in tomorrow, you can say hello to them then.”

“That’s good, I’d like to see them. Are you staying long this time? You know that you’re always welcome here.”

“Not long, Granny. We’re just here helping a move-in. This is my friend Claire, she’s just come to live here. Claire, this is Mrs Lucas.”

“Everyone calls me Granny.” She shook Claire’s hand over the counter then began packing all their food into carrier bags. “You were up here a couple of months ago, weren’t you, looking at property. You and another lady and a little boy.”

Claire smiled. “Yes, Kate and Aaron. We’re moving in today.”

“Where are you living now?”

Claire gave her the address and Granny nodded sagely.

“That’s one of Gold’s places.”

“Yes, it is.”

Claire got the feeling that there was something hanging unsaid in the air, something that Granny wanted to say but didn’t feel like it would be appropriate. She kept looking at Claire closely, and not for the first time, Claire wondered if she could read minds, and was somehow unlocking all of the secrets that she’d been guarding ever since the island. Considering the somewhat strange and secretive circumstances that they’d been living in for three years, Claire wasn’t exactly surprised that she might look suspicious and that everyone else wherever they moved to would want to try and get to the bottom of it, but Claire remained tight-lipped. She hadn’t been here long enough to start divulging information to practical strangers.

“Well, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me,” Granny said, handing over the food. “Anything at all.”

Although it was reassuring to know that they already had a willing friend, there was something about the gesture that made Claire feel rather uncomfortable, and she had the feeling it was something to do with Mr Gold.

“Desmond,” she began as they were walking back towards the house. “What do you know about Mr Gold?”

“The one you’re renting off?”

“Well, yes, unless you know of any other Mr Golds in the town.”

“I don’t really think that there’s all that much to say,” Desmond said. “I don’t know him well. No-one does, I think that’s the point. He owns a lot of property in the town and as far as I can tell he’s got fingers in a lot of pies, but he seems to keep himself to himself for the most part. There are all sorts of rumours about him, but I think that you get that anywhere.”

“Granny didn’t seem to like him.”

“Well, you can’t please everyone. I think the general consensus is that he’s a strict landlord but as long as you pay your rent on time you shouldn’t have any trouble with him. He’s been pleasant enough on the few occasions that I’ve spoken to him, I don’t think that you’ll have anything to worry about. And if you do have any trouble, Granny will sort you out. She has a crossbow, you know.”

Claire just looked at Desmond. “I really didn’t need to know that. Besides, I think that Kate and I are more than capable of taking care of ourselves. After the island, I think that we can handle an irate landlord.”

It wasn’t really Granny’s cool reaction to Gold that had her worried. It was more that she was trying to gauge what the town’s reaction to her and Kate was going to be once they were established and the residents of Storybrooke knew that they weren’t going to be going anywhere in a hurry. They had seemed welcoming enough so far, but if they were suspicious of Gold keeping himself to himself, then they were likely to be even more suspicious of her and all the strangeness that surrounded her.

They arrived back at the house and Claire was distracted from her train of thought by the necessaries of doling out food and drinks to all the hungry unpackers. The house was a complete mess and despite all the furniture having been brought in, there was nowhere to sit, so they had a picnic on the floor, Aaron and Charlie playing in the corner with the few toys that Kate had managed to unearth from a box.

“I understand that Aaron managed to second the landlord into helping you do DIY,” James said.

Claire groaned at the memory, ketchup-dunked fries halfway to her mouth.

“Yeah, don’t remind me. It’s bad enough moving to a new place and trying to make the right impression without things like that happening.”

“It sounds like the beginning of every cheesy rom-com,” Frank said, sounding almost wistful. “Single mother moves to new town, child plays matchmaker with the landlord, classic Hollywood ending.”

Claire shook her head. “That would be great, Frank, except I’m really not looking for a Hollywood ending at the moment. I just want to be able to get on with life with no distractions and nothing to worry about. Something nice and peaceful, you know.”

“I know, I’m just teasing. Don’t dismiss it out of hand, though.”

Unpacking continued after dinner, with Claire continuing to set Aaron’s new room to rights so that he could start back on his usual routine as soon as possible. There were still a few cases with clothes and books to unpack by the time he was in bed, but that could wait until the morning once she and Kate had got a bit more of their own lives sorted out and put into new places. It had been hard to get him to go to sleep; he was so excited about being in a new town and a new home that he was practically bouncing up and down on his mattress. Once he was finally asleep, Claire stayed hovering in the doorway for a long time, watching him breathing.

There was something about Frank’s words that had touched a nerve somewhere within her that she hadn’t even realised still existed. After everything that she had been through, first with Thomas leaving, and then with Charlie dying, and then with going mad on the island on her own, Claire had thought that romance was officially over for her. She’d had her chances and they’d not turned out, so she wasn’t going to get anymore.

She hadn’t really thought about it until now. After the island she’d been too focussed on getting herself better and getting herself back into a position where she could take care of Aaron. She’d been so reliant on her friends, especially Kate, that she hadn’t entertained the idea of perhaps finding someone to love again. She had Aaron after all, and he was all she needed.

It was only since Frank had mentioned it so casually that she had been considering the possibilities. This was a fresh start for them after all. A new life in a new town, away from everything that had been holding her back in New York. This was supposed to be the last stage of her recovery and her reintegration into a normal life. Why shouldn’t a relationship be a part of that?

She shook her head, moving out of the doorway and going back downstairs to where the others were still talking. It could never work. She’d been through too much to be any good in a relationship. She wouldn’t even know where to begin, and even if she did find someone, there was no guarantee that they would be able to handle her and all the baggage that she came with, not only Aaron and co-parenting with Kate, but also all the mental baggage that she was going to be carrying around for the foreseeable future.

“Everything ok?” Kate asked.

Claire nodded. It had been a good day, although tiring. It was only her own thoughts that were turning against her now, and she could deal with those.

At length, the others left for their beds for the night and Kate and Claire were alone in the living room, sleeping bags spread out side by side. It was just like when they had escaped the island and had been hiding in the Others’ safehouse in Guam whilst Richard tried to get their lives back on track and reintegrate them into society with as little fuss as possible. Claire didn’t like to remember those days. As well as the overwhelming sense of euphoria that had accompanied her final escape from the hell that she’d been living in for the past three years, there was also the horrible, crippling dread of returning to a world that she had been so far removed from. Would she ever be the same again? Would she ever be able to see Aaron again?

Of course, those fears were null and void now. She was much better than she was before, and Aaron was here and calling her Mommy and she couldn’t have asked for anything more.

Except maybe an off switch for her brain when she was overthinking everything.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Kate asked from her sleeping bag. She reached across and took Claire’s hand, and Claire squeezed back.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “Just lost in thought, you know. Do you think that we’re going to be happy here?”

Kate nodded. “Yeah, I think so. We can wipe the slate clean and start again, none of the worries of New York.”

“Starting over. We could almost be normal.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever be normal.” Kate laughed, but Claire didn’t.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she muttered.

Kate squeezed her hand again. “You’ll get there. We all will. I promise.”

Claire closed her eyes. All she needed to do was have a little faith, and perhaps, normality would come.

[sockablock]

From Where We Came (Ch. 2, Caleb)

Campaign 2 backstory fic, this time focusing on Caleb. (Read Ch. 1 for Jester here!) Thank you for reading, and kudos to those who get the very not-subtle Patrick Rothfuss reference! 

Word Count: 3,295

From Where We Came (Ch. 2)

Caleb cannot sleep.

 There are exactly four hours until sunrise, though for the life of him he can’t figure out how he knows this. He also doesn’t understand why random details from the day keep playing themselves out over and over and over in his mind with excruciating accuracy.  The specific pattern of clouds that danced over the fields this morning. A raven’s sporadic cries in the afternoon. Father’s warm hand on his shoulder. His sister’s freckles. His brother’s skinned knees. Mother’s sad smile as she told them, again, that tonight would be cabbage stew and water from the well.

 Caleb shoves his face into the straw mattress. His head pounds, and he feels like if he can’t get these memories to stop soon there won’t be any room left for anything else, he can’t form thoughts anymore, his brain is going to explode with anything and everything from a month’s worth of experiences, a barking dog and hard mud underfoot and rough grains and falling rain and the rust on the well-pump and—

 His weak bedframe sinks with the weight of another, and he feels his mother’s worn hand rubbing circles on his back. His focus immediately sharpens to the sensation, and he finds that he can think again.

 “Are you alright, love?” She whispers. “You looked like you were having a nightmare.”

 Unsure of how to respond, he just nods.

 “Don’t worry,” she moves to hold him close. “It’s alright. I’m here now.”

 Caleb does not understand what just happened. But with his mother by his side, he closes his eyes and eventually he falls asleep.

 The barrage of memories never ends, but over the course of a sleep-light week Caleb learns to push them into his subconscious, just below his surface thoughts. He figures out how to pull them back out, and between the repetitive chores that farm work brings, he can let his mind wander into the past. His parents note that he’s much more efficient than before, though more prone to daydreaming. That isn’t exactly what he’s doing, but he agrees.

 About a month after this, a visitor comes to their farm. Caleb thinks he is the most boring man he has ever seen, and the most incredibly fascinating man he has ever met.

 His name is Ben, he’s as thin as a rail, carries a frayed, dirty-looking sack, and wears an old brown cloak.

 Ben is a wizard and was actually brought to the farm by Caleb’s father, who found the man passed out on the edge of the fields. Given his overall appearance, and the way the war had ravaged the Zemni Fields, it was probably from hunger. And despite their own meager pickings, his parents are too selfless to pass over someone in need.  

 Caleb gives up his bed for the stranger to recover on. Mother and Father work too hard to sleep on the floor, and the twins are too little to have to forfeit theirs. Caleb is perfectly happy to sleep on old clothes in a different section of the sleeping room, especially if it means that the wizard will stay with them longer.

 Ben speaks Zemnian surprisingly well for a foreigner, so once he recovers enough to withstand it, Caleb peppers him endlessly with questions. Where was he from? Where was he going? Why was he travelling? Why was he here? Why was he alone? Did he have a family? A wife? Children? What was his last name?

 Ben was frustratingly cryptic with his responses to these questions. He was from neither here nor there, heading to nowhere in particular. His family was some ways away, and the empire was very big, wasn’t it? He was here because Caleb’s father brought him here, and he was alone because nobody else was with him. Needless to say, a young and inquisitive Caleb was not satisfied with these answers.

 What he did find boundless delight with were Ben’s explanations of magic.

 “Magic is a living idea,” says Ben one evening after cabbage soup had been eaten and chores had been done. The two of them were walking along the edge of the barley fields, the older man waving his hands in the air as he spoke, and Caleb bouncing with excitement.  

 “It exists naturally on the Prime Material Plane—that’s where our world is—and is fed by the beings and forces that fill the other planes. Some creatures in our world are attuned to this magic, and can use it to—yes, Caleb?”

 “When you say ‘some creatures,’ does that include people?”

 Ben smiles at this. “Well, yes, and no. I was mostly talking about things like dragons and the like. But there are some people called ‘sorcerers,’ that can harness the arcane arts through their blood.”

 “Ew,” says Caleb.

 “I mean, they inherit it. The way you got blue eyes and red hair.”

 “But you said you’re a wizard,” says Caleb, “not a sorcerer.”

 Ben nods. “Astute as ever, young man,” and Caleb preens. “I, and I suspect the same is true of you and your lovely family, was not fortunate enough to have magic come to me just like that. I had to learn it through schooling. Though if you ask me,” and he leans in closer to the boy, “that just means I understand it much better than those sorcerers. And I can learn as many spells as I want.”

 Caleb opens his mouth to respond, but before he can Ben suddenly winks and says, offhandedly, “I think I’ll stay here a few more days. And, if your parents’ hospitality lasts that long and you can convince them to agree, perhaps they might allow me to teach you a couple spells.”

 Caleb’s eyes go wide. “I’ll convince them,” he promises.

 Ben is an evocation specialist, and so after two days of learning the basic theory, copying text into a little parchment-book that Ben fashions for him, practicing the movements, and memorizing the words (which only takes seconds, to Ben’s immediate interest), Caleb learns the evocation cantrips Dancing Lights and Firebolt. His parents are supportive, if confused, by their son’s new hobby. They gratefully accepts Dancing Lights as their new alternative to going blind at night due to a lack of candle-money, but also tell him, somewhat sternly, that they will not tolerate another Firebolt accident that close to their home. Ben and Caleb both apologize profusely.

 Eventually, after the best five days of Caleb’s life, Ben informs the family that it’s time for him to move on. The twins are disappointed that the weird dirty man won’t be around to pester anymore. The parents are sad (though a small part of them, the budget-strained part, is relieved) that Caleb’s teacher is leaving. Caleb is devastated.

 “I have so much more I can learn, though!” He cries into Ben’s cloak. “And I think you’re really cool and I don’t want you to go.”

 Ben pats him on the head as Caleb’s father pulls the boy off of him. “Don’t you worry, young man. I’m sure you’ll discover plenty on your own.”

 Caleb never sees Ben ever again, but he will never, ever forget him. And that night when he finds a frankly ridiculous amount of incense, charcoal, and herbs, alongside directions for a spell called Find Familiar shoved under his bed, Caleb gasps with amazement and gratitude. There’s a note along with the components that reads:

 I know I never taught you this one, but you’ve a Keen Mind. You’ll figure it out.

 There’s no signature. There doesn’t need to be one.

 Caleb names his scraggly new cat “Frumpkin,” and reassures his parents that Frumpkin does not need to be fed (though he sneaks parts of his meager dinner to the magical tabby anyways). The twins absolutely love this new addition to their family, and Caleb sleeps with the cat near his head every night. Sometimes, when the barrage of memories gets overwhelming, he strokes his new friend’s fur until he falls asleep.

 Many years pass, and the Empire seeks out soldiers to fight along the borders of Xhorhas.

 “The devils of those lands are threatening the peace of our people,” says the recruiter who passes through Caleb’s sleepy town and stops to talk to the now-older boy as he moves sacks of grain into a cart. “If you’re interested in joining up, or if you know of anybody who wants to, come down to the Weathered Flagon after lunch. I’ll have the sign-up there. It’s a great life in the army.” He looks up and down, not very subtly, at Caleb’s disheveled appearance. “You can make something of yourself,” he says.

 Caleb bids his tearful but proud family farewell. He tells the twins to be good. He promises his parents to write frequently, and silently promises himself that every copper he earns will go back to them.

 The recruiter is taken aback when, in this dirt-filled peasant town, a young boy in a scraggly tunic signs up with penmanship neater than a captain’s. When he recites his oath flawlessly. When, as the surprised recruiter asks for special skills, the boy flicks his wrist and his hand bursts into flame. He is enlisted as a warmage. He is sent on his way to Xhorhas.

 Private Widogast immediately proves an asset. Along with the other warmages, he effortlessly launches balls of fire into enemy lines. He illuminates the night sky with crackling flames. He counts victories in the distant sounds of screams, and knows he is protecting his people. What his sergeant really finds impressive, though, is the way Widogast can send a cat, or sparrow, or bat, unsuspected into an enemy camp, and relay back the racial makeup of the enemy soldiers, their numbers, their supplies, the presence of commanders, their weapons and spellcasters, even their plans on occasion. And Widogast himself, with his ability to cast Detect Magic and Disguise Self, and his perfect, perfect memory, ensures an almost permanent tactical advantage in the field. He excels. He starts getting invited to strategy meetings. He takes point in formations. He teaches others his skills. And, after a little while, he  meets a fellow private whose hands are warm and whose chest is firm and whose breath is sweet. He is honored by the sergeant.

 Caleb knows that his is a ridiculously dangerous job, but it’s also necessary to ensure the protection and continued prosperity of the empire that has always done so much for him. He has seen his fellow soldiers lay down their lives for the Crown, and he finds honor in that. He thinks of all the people he is saving, his fellow countrymen, every time he sends a Xhorhastian up in flames. Besides, it pays more money than Caleb has ever seen in his entire life. On Paydays, he likes to sit in his tent and count out each coin by candlelight, imagining his parents’ faces when they get the money, back home. The things they could buy! They could hire more help, fix the roof, afford new beds, get stone (stone!) floors, send the twins to schools! He is Making Something of Himself, as his father would say, helping the empire and helping his family at the same time.

 Lieutenant-Commander Widogast of the 47th Regiment of the Army of his Majesty King Bertrand Dwendal, Crown of the Empire, cuts a striking figure as he walks slowly on the dirt path of a nowhere town in the eastern Zemni Fields. He is nowhere near the top of the command chain, but he has climbed the ranks incredibly quickly for someone as young as he, especially someone who never attended the academy. His superiors have hinted, however, that should he keep this up it could be arranged for him to spend some time at Soultress, reading and learning spells to his heart’s desire. He hangs onto that promise like a lifeline. For now, he marches towards his childhood home, somewhat self-conscious of the crimson robes he’s wearing. Warmages are always extravagantly dressed, so the enemy knows which ones to fear, and their fellow soldiers know which ones to protect. But the gold thread, golden buttons, and shining lieutenant-commander insignia blazing on his breast pocket make him stand out even more against the dusty backdrop of his hometown. He is here for a week’s leave, before his unit gets sent to a special mission, led by a general. He doesn’t know the details yet, but he is honored to have been chosen.  

 His parents cry when they see him. They are so, so proud. He cries when he sees that they all are wearing nicer clothing. The floors are indeed stone now, rather than the hard-packed dirt of before, and his parents finally got a new bed for themselves. They gush over his uniform, and marvel at his rank. The twins are older now, no longer small children, but still delight over Frumpkin (A sparrow, at the moment. Not preferred, but better for recon.) who chirrups happily at them. There are a few books in the corner of the bedroom. They are eating meat. Caleb has done a magnificent job, they tell him, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

The new posting, rather than being on enemy land, is actually within the empire. It’s in a small mining town called Coalbend, close to the border and in a diverse region that the General says is suspected of colluding with Xhorhas. People living here are apparently unhappy with the tithe the empire requires to ensure their safety. Caleb’s unit is tasked with going door to door, seeking out information and searching homes for hints of suspicious activity. They are to start in this town and work their way north from there. Caleb and his men enter every single house and search the rooms thoroughly. Nobody is left untouched, especially given the severity of the accusation that hangs over Coalbend: treason.

 The citizens do not take kindly to their intrusion, and despite Caleb’s loyalty to the empire, he can understand why. Still, when a group of angry villagers storm up to their camp demanding answers for why they’re being accused, Caleb and his men do as they’re told and imprison the intruders. Then they march into the town square, and the General orders them to make the captives kneel before the town.

 “Your fellow townsfolk were caught infiltrating our camp to send information to the enemy,” says the General and Caleb’s stomach turns because wait, that isn’t what happened.

 “They have intruded on an encampment of the King’s Army, and therefore have shown themselves to be traitors to the crown.”

 The crowd murmurs at this, and Caleb notes that though the majority of those gathered are human, there is a significant number of tieflings, half-orcs, and others of the less common races in the north. But many of these multicolored faces suddenly pale when the General unsheathes his sword—a beautiful, unstained, overly ornate thing—and points it towards the closest prisoner. “The punishment for treason, of course, is death,” he says.

 The crowd’s whispering grows louder and a few of the craftier ones in the back start trying to sneak away, back into their homes. Then the General sheathes his sword and looks at the town amicably.

 “I know there are more of you,” he says. “Come forward now, and you and your co-conspirators will simply be imprisoned, rather than executed. I imagine most of you would prefer being spared a gruesome death, no?”

 A minute passes. Caleb’s heart is pounding against his ribcage, and he can’t help but hope that there really are real traitors out there in the panicking crowd.

 “Lieutenant-Commander,” barks the General, and a terrible silence hits the town square. “Incinerate this man.”

 Caleb balks, and whips around to face his superior. “I-Excuse me, sir?”

 “Incinerate this man, Lieutenant-Commander. And once you finish with him, you and your soldiers will set this town on fire. Traitors to the crown will not be tolerated. We need to make an impression on these treasonous idiots.”

 “I can’t do that!” Caleb protests. Behind him, people are running back to their homes now. But the heavy footfalls and sharp shouts of their frantic retreat is drowned out by the blood rushing past Caleb’s ears. “I can’t just burn him!”

 The General gives him a look, and then breaks into guffawing laughter. “Of course you can! You’re a warmage, and one with a spotless record. You’ve been setting soldiers on fire since you enlisted. You’re just closer-up. That’s all.”

 Caleb lowers his voice. “But that man is innocent, General. You know this. They came to us to express their opinions—”

 The General shakes his head and shakes off Caleb’s concerns. “These are just peasants, son. They don’t have opinions. Especially not about what the empire should be doing, and especially not about what I should be doing. Now execute this man.” He leans in closer to Caleb. “Disobeying orders is a crime in the eyes of the crown, Lieutenant-Commander. And the crown knows everything there is to know about you.”

 I can find out where your family lives, was not said. It didn’t need to be.

 Caleb watches the kneeling man in front of him scream and writhe as the flames slowly burn away every inch of his flesh. It takes too long, much too long, but eventually a charred husk of a person falls to the ground before Caleb’s feet. He can feel the image being burned into his mind. The smell makes him want to retch. He has done this before, he tells himself. He has done this before, but never like this.

 Every time has been like this. He just didn’t see it happening.

 And as people scream and try to run for cover, and as his regiment unleashes firebolt after firebolt into what used to be the town of Coalbend, as the General claps him on the back at a job well done, Caleb understands.

 Now he really knows why warmages are treated so well, why they’re so coveted, why they’re dressed the way they are and why they were called specifically for this task. The General wans to beat this region into submission, whether there are innocents here or not. And what would leave a more terrifying impression than soldiers who can reduce entire towns to ash with a simple wave of their hands? Warmages wear their flame-red coats so the enemy knows which ones to fear.

 That night, Caleb cannot sleep. There are exactly four hours until sunrise, and he feels like he’s choking on ashes.

 He sits up in his cot. He has his own space, a luxury afforded to him because of his rank. He throws on his ostentatious coat because it’s the only thing he has, but he rips the lieutenant’s insignia off of his chest. He throws his boots on, grabs his component pouch and two hard-won spell books, then slips out of his tent and towards the woods.

 At the first chance he gets, he throws himself into a muddy riverbank to hide the glimmer on his clothing, his scent, as many facial features as he can. He makes sure his books are untouched. He considers throwing the insignia into the river, but for some reason he can’t bring himself to get rid of it. Instead, he swears to himself that he will never, never do anything for the empire again. And with one final, defiant smear of mud across his face, Caleb Widogast carefully picks up his books and disappears into the forest.

[beautifulpieces]

Greasy Floors

The diner is the town’s roadside attraction, truckers and travelers alike stop in for a greasy but wholesome all-day breakfast or our famous burger, fry, and shake combo. We acquired this establishment after the previous owners decided to move somewhere tropical in their retirement. The diner was a bit run-down but full of charm and potential.

What really attracted us to this location was the size of the land, the diner is situated near the road, but a couple hundred meters back is our house. The convenience has been super helpful as we’ve only been here for a few months and are still getting settled.

The washed-out counters and peeling wallpaper were the first to go. We were able to reupholster the benches and keep the booth seating but everything else had to be changed; the overreliance on fluorescent lighting and lack of décor left a lot to be desired.

As I’d be spending the vast majority of my time here, I wanted the space to feel as comfortable as possible. Coming from the city, big windows are my favorite feature of the modern buildings. But we didn’t stop there, we tried to hide any artificial sources of light just to move away from that glaringly bright late-night diner look.  

Since it’s been a lot of go, go, go, I actually have yet to really settle into the house, most of my time has been spent working on the diner. Funny enough, I don’t actually have a bedframe yet, it’s been a mattress on the floor in an empty room; I like to think of the diner as my first home, and the actual house as my second home. For this reason, a lot of the décor here is just stuff that I was planning to move into the house.

The diner is divided into areas where the inspiration for design changes with each. For as long as I could remember, I loved bicycles, so I had to dedicate an area to that. I was worried about clutter at first, but I think it turned out well. It’s also been popular with the local biking community. I wanted this place to be something of a window into my mind, all the things I’d rather be doing when I’m not serving up bacon or shakes. Turns out a lot of customers are fascinated by the junk I’ve piled in here; some have even brought their own stuff for display only to be disappointed when they find out the diner’s policy is my junk only.  

[thatshankcallednewt]

The Maze Runner: High School AU - Gally: Together - Part 6

If you missed Part One//Part Two//Part Three//Part Four//Part Five

You slide into the booth your friends chose after ordering your food just in time to hear yet another dirty joke from Minho. Turns out Minho’s track practice was cancelled, so he could make it to your little gathering for very unhealthy food; which he disagrees with but still snacks on, on the odd occasion.

After a few topics of conversation, one bubbles up that you didn’t quite expect. “Do you lot want to go check out the football game this Friday night?” Newt waggles his eyebrows, “I’ve got myself a girl to introduce you to.”

Everyone cheers enthusiastically, a couple slap him on the back even. And everyone agrees that it would be a good idea, all except for Thomas. “I don’t know, some of those guys would get pissy if I showed up.”

You raise an eyebrow, “How come?”

“Because I’m from the lacrosse team. I know it doesn’t make sense but we’ve had beef with them for the longest time. Plus, this kid called Gally has it out for me.”

You blink slowly, almost forgetting that Gally would be there at the game. In the game, actually. You go to say something along the lines of a question as to why Gally would “have it out for him” but Minho cuts you off. “Oh yeah I forgot about that time he tripped you up in the hallway.”

“Or when he hid your clothes after Phys Ed.” Newt adds.

“He really did that?” You ask without thinking. You might have thought that he’d do stuff like that before, but for some reason, you don’t think he’d be the type of person to just actively go around and bully someone. Would he?

Thomas eyes you for a second, “Well, yeah. Have you seen him? He looks like the kind who would.”

“I… I guess, I just thought those kinds of things didn’t really happen in real life.” You know it was a weak save, but some kind of save nonetheless.

Thomas turns to Newt, “He’ll probably be too busy with the game to notice me anyway, so I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’ll come, don’t worry.”

Newt grins, “Awesome!”

Suddenly your phone starts to ring, so you slip out of the booth unnoticed amongst all the chatter and eating. You stop walking until your outside the burger place and answer your phone. “Gally, what’s up?” The words feel strange on your tongue as you remember the weird sort of fight you had last night.

“I… I know you’re just supposed to be my tutor but, I’m in a bit of trouble.” His voice is slightly worn and crackly, like he’s struggling to just talk.

“What kind of trouble? Are you hurt?”

“Well… Yeah, I guess I am. I just need a place to crash, and I wouldn’t ask you if I had nowhere else to go.”

You swallow and glance back at the gang through the window; Thomas catches your eyes, but only for a second. You turn away. Can you let him stay the night? You’re not sure. No, you know your parents would say no in a heartbeat. And you have only known Gally for a few days… Would this be a bad choice? Let some Senior sleep in your room? In a matter of seconds, you make your decision. One reason for becoming a tutor was to help people. If Gally needs help, that’s what you’ll give him. “Where are you?”

“Your house.”

“I’ll be there right away,” you start to move but stop immediately, “Can you just answer me honestly on one thing?” You wait for a reply but it doesn’t come, “Does this have anything to do with the guy from last night?”

A breath. A sniff. “No.”

You say goodbye and then hang up the phone, you then quickly dash back inside to grab the rest of your things.

“Everything alright?” Thomas asks, eyebrows creased worrisomely.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s cool, just got some stuff I need to sort out.” You sling your bag over your shoulder and wave them all a goodbye, “Thanks for the hang out, I’ll see you on Friday for the game!” You’re not sure if that’s a risky move but it will keep them happy if you keep trying to meet up with them. At least you hope it will.

It’s not a far walk to your house, and soon you’re in Gally’s presence. He wears the same jacket that signs off on his apparent coolness, a beany, and… A black eye.

“You’ve got a black eye.”

“Thanks for letting me know, I hadn’t noticed.” He rolls his eyes.

You cross your arms over your chest, “You want a place to sleep? Don’t be a smart ass.”

He frowns, eyebrows knitting together, “I… It’s been a long damn day. I’m sorry.”

You step in closer and feel the wariness of your closeness emit from his body. You touch the skin around the purple bruise, “I’ve got some ice for that, it must be painful.” You lead him inside the house and up to your room where he puts away a backpack of stuff deep into your closet.

After you hand him an icepack, you clean your room up a little just to keep yourself busy. You don’t really want to think how he could have gotten that, but you’re sure it has something to do with that man, even if he said it didn’t. What else could have caused that?

“Your parents alright with me staying over?” His voice is still gruff, but you can sense a lot of exhaustion within it.

“I haven’t asked, and I’m not going to.” You turn to look at him, “You’re just going to have to be as quiet as possible. Alright?”

“Where will I sleep?”

You set down a box of things near the window seat, “In here, I have a spare mattress under my bed. My parents never enter without knocking first. And, I can steal some dinner from you when they go off to watch some TV. Also, they sleep in the bedroom downstairs because they can’t be bothered climbing stairs after chilling out for so long on the couch beforehand.”

“I can’t use a spare room?”

“And have one of them casually waltz in on you while you’re in there?”

“If they don’t use the upstairs part of the house as much…”

You sigh, “Look, I’d just feel better if you slept in a room I can control. Like I said, this is my area and I have my rules that even they agree to follow.” You lean in over the window seat to unlatch the window doors before pushing them both wide open, “why are you acting as if sleeping in here is the worst thing in the world?”

Gally sighs as he sits onto the floor, back against your bedframe, “Alright, alright, I’ll sleep in here.” He rubs the back of his neck, “And it’s not the worst thing in the world, I just don’t want to be a pain in the ass by invading your room. But if you think it’s the best way to go then okay, you’re the boss.”

You sit down on your bed and look at the texts on your phone from the group chat; all of them talking about what time to meet and where for the game on Friday. You open your mouth to tell Gally that you’ll see him playing football but then think better of it, maybe that might be weird for him. You are just his tutor.

“Can we listen to some music?” Gally asks quietly, his knees pulled up to his chest.

You quickly connect your speaker to your phone and then play the same album you’ve been listening to over the past month, the one you listened to with Gally. He smiles at your choice, which you knew he would.

“Y/N, about last night… I’m sorry you had to be around for that.”

You feel as though you sink further into your mattress, “I… It’s alright, I won’t say anything about it to anyone. You can trust me.”

“It’s not that, half the town knows me and my family anyway –they wouldn’t be surprised if they heard something like that.” He shakes his head, his arms hugging his legs tighter than before, “I saw your face after he left, you were scared. I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” suddenly he turns to face you, one of his hands resting on your mattress in some kind of urgency, “You know that right? I would never mean to scare you, or hurt you. So I’m sorry.”

You’re not too sure how to reply to that, so all you do is nod. He nods back.

You both turn to your textbooks and study together even though the subjects are not the same. But you help each other, and the thoughts of the mysterious man slowly disappear as the night goes on.

Later that night once Gally’s been fed and his bed has been made, you put down your homework and crawl into your bed. Silence fills the room, especially after you turn the lights off. But you manage to muster up enough courage to speak. “Gally?”

“Yeah?”

“If it wasn’t that guy, then who was it?”

“Who was what?”

You turn onto your side so you face him, even if the only light comes from the hallway outside, barely seeping through under the door, you can still make out most of his face. “Who was it that gave you that black eye?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Okay.” Minutes go by in a deep silence, “Are you okay?”

“I- He doesn’t seem to finish his sentence. You see him shake a little underneath his quilts, the lack of breath escaping his body. You know he’s crying because that’s exactly how you would have imagined him to cry; so nobody would notice.

You practically roll out of your bed and then onto the floor next to him, and reach out to him for a hug without saying anything. He doesn’t quite grasp what you’re doing until your arms are around him. He hesitates, but soon he embraces you too. His chest shakes and his fingers press hard against your back, you keep silent and he seems to appreciate that.  

The sound of shuffling and blankets moving pass over, and soon you both fall asleep in your own beds to the quiet rain and the steady breathing you both make.

“Y/N! You do have school today; you know that right?” Your Mom’s voice echoes into your room and you’re up and awake in a matter of milliseconds.

When you move quickly from your bed, your foot gets stuck in wrapped up sheets and you fall onto the floor with a loud thump. You hear your Mom asking if you’re okay but you haven’t got time to reply; Gally needs to get out of here as soon as possible. You shake him awake, his green eyes flash open and soon become just as wide as yours as you hear your Mom’s footsteps climb the stairs.

You pull him up with much effort and practically shove him into your wardrobe, his face still half-sleepy. You stare at him for a moment as your hand leaves his chest, you try and calm your breathing as you motion for him to be absolutely silent as your fingers press against your lips. You shut the wardrobe and slide his mattress back underneath your bed.

Your Mom knocks on the door, and while you start opening your drawers on the other side of the room you say, “Yeah?”

The door swings open, “Oh, so you are awake. Next time I’d like a reply, especially when I hear weird noises.” She turns to go but then hesitates, “What was that, by the way?”

You blink as you pull out underwear and other clothing to make up an outfit for today, “I… you’re shouting scared me; I fell out of my bed.”

She laughs lightly, “Well next time be up before I start to shout at you.” She takes a step towards the doorway when the smallest noise, like a moving coat-hanger or shuffling of clothes comes from within your wardrobe.

She frowns, “Did you hear something?”

You try your hardest to keep your poker-face on, “No… why?”

She narrows her eyes at you for a moment, like she’s scanning you for a sign –a sign that you’re lying maybe. You’re not sure, but those few seconds were the most frightening seconds of your life. “Never mind then, make sure you have breakfast on your way out. I’ve got to take your Father to work because his car broke down yesterday so I’ll see you later on. Okay?”

You try to smile as normally as possible, and keep the relief off your face that they’re leaving; which will make things way easier for you and Gally. “No problem, see you tonight.”

You wait until her footsteps disappear from the staircase and her car to leave the driveway before you even walk near the wardrobe.

When you slide the doors open you see pure terror on Gally’s face. “That,” he shakes his head, “that was the most horrifying minute of my life.”

You attempt to pull him out of the wardrobe, especially since he refuses to move himself; convinced that if he does your Mom will come racing back to pour her wrath on him. “Gally, the car is gone, please come out! We’re going to be late!” You grab onto his arm and tug, but he’s a lot stronger than you thought. “Gally, don’t be such a baby!”

“Alright!” He steps out and races to the window to check for the missing car himself, “Alright. It’s all okay.”

You giggle heartily, “Didn’t you tell me once that you’ve had someone chase you out of their house before? With a gun?”

Gally pouts as he picks his backpack up, “Maybe.”

“So that, hiding in my wardrobe, was terrifying?”

“Yes! The suspense of waiting to find out if she was going to whip open those doors and call for her husband was horrible!”

You shake your head as you laugh harder, “Why on Earth did you make that noise then!”

He frowns, eyebrows drawing in close together, “Doesn’t matter.”

You follow him out of your bedroom and manage to stop him from entering the bathroom, “You’re not showering until you tell me.”

He looks up to the roof, “There was a huge spider.”

Your eyes widen, “A spider in my room!” You look at him intensely, “You have to kill it.”

“No way! I’m not going anywhere near that thing.”

“Gally, I can’t have a spider in my room!”

He looks at you seriously, eyes piercing but nervous. “I… I don’t like spiders.”

“Well neither do I.”

“Can’t you just get someone else to kill it later? Like after school or something?”

“What if it hides someplace else and we can’t find it? I won’t be able to sleep knowing that there could be a spider hidden in my room.”

Gally looks to the side and then over your head into the bathroom, and in one quick movement he slides past you. You manage to stumble into the bathroom with him, but he quickly grabs a hold of you and starts to push you back out.

You push against him with all your strength, “There’s no way you are forcing me out of my own bathroom!” You use the last of your strength to shove him violently, he slips and pulls you down with him onto the cold bathroom floor.

Thankfully he doesn’t hit his head because otherwise you would feel extremely terrible, but you do have him trapped underneath you.

He twists his body and then pushes you off of him, keeping you pinned to the floor instead. “You are seriously crazy.”

You grin evilly up at him, “And you’re seriously crazy for thinking you could beat me!” You roll out from underneath him and then jump into the shower, you turn the cold water on full blast and grab the removable shower head and spray him.

“Y/N!” He holds his hands up in front of his face and comes towards you. You squeal as you try to slip out of the shower to dodge his incoming hands but miss your chance. He traps you between him and the shower wall, and easily takes the shower hose out of your hands.

“You’re so going to get it now,” he holds it up high out of your reach, him being extremely tall gives him quite the advantage. You try to reach for it but instead get practically drowned in cold water. You blindly push at his chest, and your heart flutters weirdly when you feel the pulsing muscle under his shirt.

“Say you’re sorry for shoving me and soaking me!”

You laugh but your mouth gurgles with all the water pouring down your face, “I’m sorry! Really, truly sorry!”

You hear the tap behind Gally turn off and the shower head click back into its place on the wall. You try to wipe the water from your eyes as best as possible but Gally’s face is still quite blurry and muddled, however you notice he holds something out for you. A towel. You thank him and dry your face as you both step out of the shower.

You put the towel down and look at yourself and him in the bathroom mirror, you both look like drowned rats. But you laugh, and so does he.

“I don’t think I need a shower anymore.” He dries off his jet black hair with a towel, drops of water still speckled across his forehead and lips. “So I might have time to get rid of this monstrous spider then.”

You smile up at him and he smiles back, and then walks passed you out of the bathroom. “You might need to change your shirt though; I can see your bright pink bra!” He turns only for just a second to wink at you and then disappears into your bedroom.

You turn as bright pink as your bra and do as he says; change your outfit.

[dean-the-smol-bean]

62 Minutes (Pt. 1)

Pairing: Dean x Reader (extremely flirty, but not for a while, kiddos)

Characters: Dean, Reader, John, Sam, Bobby

Word count: 3.6k

Summary: Deans dropped off at Bobby’s for the first time in forever only to find that there's a new addition to the singer household. (Set in 1995; Sam is 12, reader is 14, Dean in 16)

Warnings: cursing, very very extremely vague mentions of masturbating, porn magazine (?)

A/N: This is the first part of the fic I was talking about in this post, and will span over lots of future chapters (throughout the seasons with extra stuff added in as well). I’m gonna tag all the people that said they’d read this at the bottom just so they know it’s happening but if any of you would like to be taken off (since only one person requested that specifically) I totally will. Alternatively, if you’d like to be added to the tags feel free to ask and I will! Also thank u v v v much to @isometimeswritesomethings for helping me edit this it love u 💞

Have a Request? Message me! I want to get back into writing and requests would be amazing help

Your name: submit What is this? // <![CDATA[ document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', myHandler); function myHandler() { var v = document.body.innerHTML; var input = document.getElementById("inputTxt").value; v = v.replace(/\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, input); document.body.innerHTML = v; } // ]]>

   Dean’s life was quick and slow all at once. 

   It was quick, jumbled movements, from town to town, school to school, motel to motel. It was quick thinking and plans changing and punches thrown and bullets fired and stabs avoided all in a single instant.

   It was slow, agonizing nights, weeks- months even, where he stayed up night after night waiting to hear from his dad, or when he couldn’t sleep because it wasn’t safe, and he had to watch over Sammy. It was long car rides, where the landscape stretched on for hours, dull and monotonous as it flew by his tired eyes, desperate for something to catch his interest.

   And it was somewhere in between this muddle of quick and slow, fight and flight, hope and despondence, company and isolation, that Dean had fallen in love. 

   He wasn’t quite sure exactly when it had happened, and he hadn’t even noticed it until he was in too deep.

   “Dad I can help.” Dean implored but his father ignored his son's pleas. 

   “No, Dean. This is too dangerous. You're not experienced enough.”

   “But I am, I’ve been going on hunts, and I’m really friggen’ good, you know that! I don’t want to just wait around like some baby!” He exclaimed, and Sam cut his way into the conversation, 

   “Hey! I haven’t gone on any hunts. I’m not a baby,” He said, offended. Dean rolled his eyes. 

   “Stay out of this Sammy. And yes, you are.”

   “Hey-”

   “Dad, just, just let me come with you. I wanna help kill the sonofabitch-”

   “NO, Dean. It’s too dangerous, you’re not skilled enough, and I have no idea how long it’ll take. You’re going to stay at Uncle Bobby’s. That's an order.” his voice was stern, commanding. Deans appeals silenced and he shut his mouth, straightening his back, dropping his arms to his sides defeatedly. 

   “Yes, sir.”

   “Dad, I can help!” you laughed half-heartedly trying to shove Bobby off to the side and out of your way. 

   “You just called a spanner a socket. I ain’t lettin' you near this thing until you know what you're talkin’ about,” he said, turning back into the engine tightening something out of your view. You laughed, giving him another shove. 

   You were currently working on your future car- a gorgeous, 69’ 429 Boss Mustang. Well- as gorgeous as you could be after sitting in a salvage yard under a tarp for 16 years. You’d found it while exploring out back when you were a little younger, out at the very back of the yard. You’d immediately ran back inside, asking if you could have it. You were 13 then, and Bobby had laughed at first, saying you wouldn’t be driving for a long time anyways. After a couple days of begging and whining and pulling at his sleeves, he caved, but he made you promise you’d work on it for as long as it took until she was mint. You did so, eagerly, wanting to restore such a beautiful piece of machinery for your own as soon as possible. 

   “Oh please, you know I know what I’m talking about. So my words got a little mixed up! It happens to all of us- you especially, old man.” you joked, and he turned back to scowl at you.  

   “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. You’re like a million, or something.” You rested your hand on his shoulder, gazing up at him with an exaggeratedly fake sympathetic stare. 

   “Hey, it’s alright to let go. You’re time's passed, make room for the next generation, paw-paw,” You said, and Bobby seemed like he was almost actually offended. Almost.

   “Paw-paw-? I’m forty-five, ya’ idjit,” you snickered as he chided you. “I’ve still got plenty of time in the spotlight, thank you. And, I could ground you, talkin' to me like that, you know.” He joked, and you chuckled, snatching the socket wrench away from him playfully, rolling your eyes.

   “Oh, I’m sure you will. Now get outta here, gramps. The kids have got this covered.” You said, and he huffed, though a smile couldn’t help but pull at the corners of his lips. 

   “Fine, but you be good to her. No mixin’ any parts up.” He said, wiping the grease from his hands on an old rag as he made his way back inside. You laughed, shaking your head, joking. 

   “Yes, sir.”

   The Impala’s wheels skidded to a halt in front of Bobby’s house, and John glanced back at his sons behind him.

   “You boys be good, you hear?” He watched as they hiked their duffels onto their backs, hopping out of the car. “That means you, Dean,” He continued, and his son nodded. 

   “Yes, sir.” he responded, and Sam nodded beside him. 

   “Yes, sir.” he mumbled, softer than his brother.

   And without another word, John was off. 

   Dean sighed, glimpsing over at his little brother, who was watching the car intently. His gaze strayed from his brother to the old house behind them.

   They hadn’t been to Bobby’s in about a year now, and though he’d never admit it, Dean missed the old coot. 

   “Come on, Sammy. Dad’ll be back in a month or so, but uncle Bobby’s gonna take care of us until then. It’ll be fun.” speaking, half to Sam half to himself. Sam remained silent, reluctant. 

   After a moment, he nodded, picking his duffel bag up and making his way towards the house. 

   They didn’t bother knocking. Bobby knew that they were coming.    “Bobby! We’re here!” Dean called, dropping his duffel by the door.

   “Bobby-?”

   “Hush! I heard ya the first time, ain’t gotta keep yelling.” Bobby said, emerging from the office. Dean chuckled, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

   “Sorry, Bobby.” 

   Bobby shook his head, snickering. 

   “Ah, shut up, it don’ matter. C’mere, boys.” Bobby said affectionately, yanking the two of them in for a hug. “It’s been a while,” Bobby said, pulling back, his hands resting on their shoulders. 

   “Yeah, I know. But we’re back now, at least for a couple months. That’s what Dad told us.” Dean said, and Bobby nodded, following him into the kitchen. 

   “Yeah, your father's got a real big lead. Some demon case down in Alabama. He’ll be back as soon as he can, the man’s a great hunter.” Bobby praised, and Dean smiled sadly. 

   "Yeah," He began, his voice soft, "the best." 

   "So," Sam cut in, clearing his throat, "can we get settled? It was a long ride, and I'm kinda beat." 

   Bobby nodded. "Course. Usual room, boys, you know the drill. Go on, get comfortable. You're gonna be here for a while, might as well." 

   Dean and Sam both picked up their bags, making their way to the room they stayed in every time they came to Uncle Bobby's for an extended stay. 

   Their room was upstairs, at the end of the hall across from the stain glass windows, just diagonal to Bobby's room. It wasn't much, just two beds, on either side of the room, two nightstands, two dressers, a bookshelf- the basics. Dean flopped down onto his bed, his was in a small nook, closest to the (only) window, and tossed his duffle bag onto the floor next to him. 

   Sam, however, set his bag down quietly, unzipping it and beginning to place his belongings neatly in his space. (The book he was reading on the nightstand, his clothes in his dresser, etc. etc.)

   Dean sighed, making himself comfortable, reaching under the mattress he was lying on and pulling out a slightly out of date skin mag. Sam groaned.

   "Come on Dean, seriously?" he accused, but Dean just grinned at him.

   "What? Come on Sammy, like you said, it was an awful long car ride, and that waitress at the diner we stopped at was pretty smokin'-"

   "Oh my god, stop talking. Please." He zipped up his now empty duffle and tossed it impatiently under his bed. "I'm leaving. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me, though... please don't." He said, and Dean laughed as Sam made his way out with a huff. 

   "Come on Sammy, I was only kidding! I mean, she was hot, but I would never do anything with you here!" Sam just mumbled a quiet 'ugh' shutting the door behind him, and Dean couldn't help but giggle. 

   "Aw, poor kids so sensitive." He whispered to himself, joking. 

   He sat there for a while, flipping idly through the magazine, staring half-interestedly at the pictures of topless women he'd seen so many times before, now tired of the repetitive figures. Damn, he needed some new shit.  

   Finally succumbing to his boredom, Dean stuffed the magazine back between his mattress and his bedframe, and made his way out of his room, wandering idly through the quiet halls. Sam was downstairs, probably getting a snack, and Dean assumed Bobby would most likely be researching in the office. Naturally, Dean needed to find something with which to occupy himself. 

   He took a left, making his way down the hall to a room that he thought used to be a dining room. It now housed endless crates and shelves full of books, herbs, and jars of unknown substances that Dean wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. It also happened to hold the ladder to the attic. 

   When he entered, to his surprise, everything was unexpectedly organized. 

   The shelves were all in order, the jars were now labeled, the crates stacked neatly, and the room was easy to navigate, most notably there was now a clear pathway to the usually surrounded ladder (which could also be mistaken for an extremely steep staircase, since it was quite sturdy and connected to both floors). 

   Confused, Dean climbed his way up the creaking wooden steps hopping up onto the wooden attic floor. 

   Even more bewildering than the before, was the attic. What once housed the oldest, most obscure books, tools, and ingredients, that Bobby owned now was completely void of clutter. It currently looked liked what seemed to be a teenager’s... bedroom? 

   The fuck?

   Dean ventured further, glancing around the room. It was clearly the room of a teenage girl- posters adorning the walls, accessories hanging, and clothing and shoes in the open shelving against the attics fence. The posters varied- from AC/DC and Metallica to Captain America and Lord of the rings. There was a stack of books on the nightstand by the bed, and many more scattered throughout the room and on the shelves. There were plenty of plants and candles, as well as a string of fairy lights strung across the walls, and a desk in the corner. 

   What. The. Fuck. 

  Dean didn't know what to think. Bobby's attic had suddenly been transformed into what seemed to be the bedroom of a teenage girl. His brow had remained stubbornly creased, and he made his way back downstairs, glancing back into his room as he made his way. 

   Sam, it seemed, had returned, and was now fast asleep on top of his bed. The kid wasn't lying, he was beat. Despite his confusion, Dean didn't want to wake him, so with light footsteps, he made his way downstairs to ask what the hell he'd just seen. Bobby wasn't in the office like Dean had expected, and with Sam sleeping upstairs, he didn't want to go yelling around the house. Instead, he continued to snoop around quietly, eventually making his way to the garage.

   Dean skidded to a halt once he arrived, eyes landing on a halfway beaten muscle car. Then, with ever growing confusion, his gaze drifted to what was under it. 

A girl. A girl who was talking to herself- or rather- to the car.

   He listened to her intently, straining his ears over the sound of her boombox, which was playing his favorite Led Zepplin song. 

   “Come on Sexy, I know you can do this. I believe in you, old girl, show me what’cha got. Come on… Dammit!” The sounds of the car sputtered to a halt, and Dean heard the girl hit the bottom of the car frustratedly. It began revving up again a second later. 

   “Come on, sweetheart, you got this��� Yes! That’s my girl!” The engine revved to life, and the girl underneath the car celebrated. Finally deciding to try and figure out what the hell was going on, Dean spoke up. 

   “You call your car Sexy?” He asked, and the girl scoffed, picking up a wrench from next to her. 

   “Well, yeah. That’s what she is. Might as well call her that.” 

  Dean laughed, nodding. He was thoroughly confused, but he liked this chick. She had good taste in music and good taste in cars. Maybe she was cute, too, at which point he'd be golden. 

   “Fair enough.” He said, and she reached out from under the car, grabbing for her socket wrench. It was just out of her reach, though, and Dean crouched down, picking it up for her. 

   “Who are you, anyways?” she asked, and Dean smirked, holding out the wrench to her. He wanted to know the same thing, but he'd answer her since she got to the question first. 

   She slid out from under the car as he spoke. 

   “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

   Your fingers slid over his just as the mystery boy came into sight, wrapping around the wrench that he held out to you. 

   Both of you let out a breath like the wind had been knocked from your lungs. 

   “Whoa,” you sighed. You couldn’t believe you’d just ‘whoa’d’ at someone out loud, but my god this boy was pretty. Those lips, and that jaw, and those eyes- Dean chuckled, cutting into your thoughts. 

   “Hi there.” He breathed, before flashing you a deliciously mischevious grin. If you weren’t sitting on a creeper you were sure your knees may have buckled. Jesus, you’d just barely met the boy and he was already making your head spin. 

   “Are you... planning on telling me your name?” He asked, and your eyes widened realizing you’d been staring. 

   “Oh- oh right!” you made to jump up so that you were standing, but your creeper skidded, and you stumbled forward instead, falling right on top of 'Dean', who fell backward with you, the wrench you’d both been holding clanging to the floor.  

   “Whoa there, easy tiger.” He laughed. “You alright?” he wondered, and even though you hadn’t sustained any physical injuries from your fall, you couldn't say the same for your dignity. You’d have to say no, to that one. 

   “Uh, yeah- yeah! I’m fine, sorry. Jesus.” you lied, pausing. You let out a breathy laugh. “I’m, I’m Y/N, by the way.” You said, and Dean grinned below you. 

   “Hi, there Y/N. I’m ‘awfully close for just having met’.” He joked, and your eyes widened as you realized you were still lying nearly completely on top of him. You jumped up quickly, this time remembering how your legs worked and standing easily. 

   He followed after you easily, bouncing to his feet effortlessly, laughing. 

   “Oh my god I’m- I’m so sorry I have no idea what's going on right now, I’m not usually so...”

   “Adorable?” He asked, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I'm used to beautiful girls falling for me.” He joked a shit-eating grin spread across his cheeks. It took you a minute to bounce back from “adorable”, “sweetheart”, and “beautiful” all at once. You had to hand it to him, the boy was smooth. 

   Once you had recovered, though, you couldn't help but burst out in laughter. 

   "My god- How many times have you used that line?" You questioned, and he snickered, almost embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

   "Just about every time I've been tripped on. So like, twice- but you gotta admit, that's good shit." He said, which only caused you to laugh more. 

   "I haven't decided yet. It's either terrible or amazing."

   "I say amazing." he grins and you roll your eyes. 

   "You would," you chided, and he sniggered. 

   “That’s fair,” he said, raising his arms in surrender. It was then that you remembered he was a strange boy. In your house. 

   “So, as much as I’ve loved introducing myself to you from under a car and then falling on top of you... who the hell are you?” You asked, crossing your arms as you did. Dean raised his eyebrows. 

   “See, I was fixin’ to ask you the same thing, honey,” he said and you quirked your eyebrow at him. 

   “You’re in my house.” you said, and deans eyes widened, for a moment, before narrowing again, like something had clicked in his mind, but was quickly followed by even more questions. 

   “So that's your room upstairs?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes. 

   “No that's Legolas’s room. Yes, that's my room- wait, why the hell were you in my room?-” You stopped abruptly, remembering something. “ -ohhh. Right. Shit. You’re Dean.” You repeated, emphasizing his name as though it had just revealed all of the answers to your confusion. 

   “You’re Y/N.” Dean mocked, though he was mostly confused. 

   “Dad told me about you two- your brother’s, Sam, right?” you asked, and Dean nodded, no less confused than before. 

   “Yeah. But how did you...?”

   “Bobby- he told me you two were coming. I completely fuckin forgot. Shit. He said a hunter friend of his was dropping off his sons sometime while he went off and they’d be bunkin’ with us for a while. But that was- what? A fuckin’ week ago? How was I supposed to remember?” You said, more to yourself than Dean. 

   “I... don’t understand. Who are you exactly?” He asked, and you rolled your eyes. 

   “I’m Y/N. My parents passed away a couple years back,” you paused, swallowing. “anyways, they were real close with Bobby, so he took me in. He’s like a second father to me. I’ve been living here for a while now.” You said, and you watched Dean’s face as everything seemed to snap into place all at once for him. 

   “Oh,” He breathed. “I’m sorry.” 

   You smiled softly, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

   “Eh, it’s fine. It was a while ago.” You answered. Though you didn’t particularly sound fine, Dean and you had only just met. It wasn’t his place to press. “Plus, Dad’s- I mean, Bobby’s good to me. He’s family, I mean, I call him ‘Dad’ for Christ's sake.” Dean chuckled. 

   “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said, trailing off. 

   Like he’d said. You’d just met. He wasn’t going to start spilling about how his father feels like more of a drill sergeant than a father, and Bobby felt more like a dad than John ever really did, and how he has to take care of his little brother more than himself, and he never really got to have a real childhood because of it, and now he already has this impossible weight on his shoulders- 

   Yeah. No. 

   “Anyways, I’m gonna be here for a couple months at least, guess it looks like you and I are gonna be spending quite a bit of quality time together.” He said, and then the motherfucker winked.

   “This is one beautiful car you’ve got here.” He complimented, changing the subject before you could snidely respond. You sighed. This, you could talk about. The two of you turned to take a look at the engine, the hood still propped open. 

   “Thanks,” you beamed. “I found her out back under a tarp. Bobby had just... left her there! She was a bit rusted and beat up when I found her, but she had most of her original parts. I’ve been workin’ on her for about 8 months on and off now."

  Dean let out a whistle. 

   "You must really know your way around a car." He said, and you smirked. 

   "Yes, sir." Dean turned back to the intricate mechanics, rolling up his sleeves

   “May I?” he asked, nodding to the cars engine. You hesitated for a moment. 

   “I don’t know, do you know your way around a car, Winchester?” You quipped, and Dean grinned coolly. 

   He would never admit it, but he liked it just then when you gave him the impromptu nickname of his last name. He wasn’t completely sure why, but he liked how familiar it made the two fo you sound.

   “Like the back of my hand, sweetheart. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.” You squinted accusingly at him. 

   “Hmm... fine. But be very careful,” you squinted accusingly at him. He laughed 

   “I’m watching you.”

     Just an hour later, the air between you and Dean had completely changed. As it turns out, bonding over something you're both passionate about- in this case being cars- is a really good way to become comfortable with someone really quickly. 

   I mean, you weren’t in love or anything, but the body language and the way you spoke to each other was already significantly different than it had been just barely 60 minutes ago when you’d first met. 

   Dean was a flirt, you’d learned. Even more so than you anticipated. He liked making sly comments and flashing winks whenever the opportunity arose. He had good taste in music, a lot like yours (though yours was much broader. Sure you loved classic rock, but not only classic rock), and you both loved cars. He was clever, charming, and just a little bit cocky. You liked him. A lot. It was odd, actually, how much you liked him, and how effortlessly and comfortably you talked to him for how little time you’d spent with one another. Something told you the same went for him. 

   But you wanted to get to know him more. More than, however productive it may feel, 62 minutes can accomplish. 

   You didn’t know how long he was staying, or who he was, not really. But you were determined to figure him out before he left. However long that took. 

Tags: 

@daydreamingintheimpala @policeofficerdean @peroquenotevean  @crystallstaircase