#you start out just wanting to source some beer reliably

[roach-works]

Why did wheat become a widespread staple crop given that it's difficult to harvest/transport/etc? This is not meant to be snarky or combative in any way, it's a genuine question. Are there any books you'd recommend for learning more about this kind of economic and technological history? Thanks.

sorry, i've long since forgotten all the actual books i've read about it, but i will always recommend This Guy:

also as very much a non-expert, my semi-informed opinion on Wheat is that growing complicated and difficult compared to going to the grocery store, and doesn't stack up very well to living in a food forest like north and south americans managed, either.

however, wheat is a grass, and grass grows in a lot of places that people also like to live in, and so wheat farming isn't as crazy a venture as it might otherwise seem.

in a lot of climates, it's possible to plant the grass, harvest the grass seeds, and store the seeds long enough to get you through the part of the year where there's nothing much to eat. if you manage your social and material technology right, you can store a lot of the seeds, and you can even transport them around before they rot, meaning you can now export the seeds from places where grass grows into places where it doesn't. the stalks of the grass that you can't eat provides food for the animals you need to help you grow the grass. and transport the seeds, too.

the social structure required to grow wheat in bulk (a steep and violent hierarchy) does three things: feeds everyone in it with enough extra that the guys on the bottom of the organization can survive to grow more wheat next year, and allows the guys on the top can sequester the rest as profit, consolidating their power. the third thing is that as land is converted to wheat fields, it stops yielding any other food but wheat, which locks people into the system for good. once a people depend on a staple cereal grain for their main source of calories, there isn't an easy way back: forests are chewed away for more wheat fields and those woodlands that remain are shifted towards hardwoods for agricultural tools, rather than food forests with fruit/nuts/shrubs, and even those maintained as game preserves still can't support the needs of entire villages.

in arid and semi-arid conditions, it's even harder to step away from dependence on grain farming because there the agricultural development is along rivers where the land can be irrigated, and the population of people supported by grain production is extremely concentrated into those small areas rather than spread across the entire biome.

in the northern parts of eurasia where grain couldn't be produced at scale because it was too rocky and too cold, people mostly went fishing, and when they grew stuff it was hardy root crops like beets and turnips.

DISCLAIMER: this is all very approximate. but now you know as much as i know.

P.S actually here's the last thing about wheat: it probably all started as a way to reliably source and produce beer, which was invented a long time before bread. bread was invented from wheat when the guys who were producing the beer seeds wanted to start exporting beer seeds to people who wanted beer far away, so they baked the seeds into tablets you could easily transport and then ferment with water once you got to your destination. eventually the traders who were transporting the beer kits started eating them, too, and crackers as a snack food really took off. look up the wikipedia article on beer if you don't believe me.

[maniculum]

Meadmaking

Hey all, Zoe here - the other half of this blog, and I decided to try my hand at posting - particularly my little mead-making project. Even though Mac is the medieval drinks expert, I just like mead as a drink and I feel like a potion-brewing witch when I make it. Beer was the more popular drink during the middle ages, as it was cheaper and more widely available, but I think it's nasty and who doesn't want to feel like Early English royalty?

As I dug into mead-making, I fell into a SUPER deep medieval-mead-making rabbit hole. I'm not a mead expert, and I'd highly recommend Susan Varberg's blog, Medieval Mead & Beer, for a very, very in-depth look at how to make medieval mead. HOWEVER, all that said, I did collect some research and played with it myself. Plus, I made some of my own recipes.

So. Mead. What is it? Fermented honey water, in its most basic form. Honey-wine, it can be called to those who aren't familiar. There's a lot of other names mead has when it's mixed with other things:

Mead – water, honey and yeast

Sack Mead – mead made with extra honey

Short Mead – low honey and low alcohol yeast to be drunk quickly

Hydromel – watered down mead (in period, another word for mead)

Braggot – (period) ale refermented with honey; (modern) malted mead

Melomel – mead made with fruit

Mulsum – mead made with fruit

Cyser – mead made with apples

Metheglin – mead with spices

Pyment, Clar – mead made with grape juice

Hippocras – spiced wine, sweetened (but not fermented) with honey

Botchet — caramelized honey mead

Really, though, when you see it on the shelf, a pumpkin melomel will be marketed as "Pumpkin Mead," so really only the brewmasters get into the weeds on the names. I was really curious as to how the ingredients were sourced in the middle ages - nowadays, brewers get really into where they source their ingredients (there's a bazillion different yeasts you can use!), but after doing some research, turns out the medievals were too!

Honey.

The medievals categorized honey in different ways. The best quality honey was called "life honey" and was the honey that dripped freely from the wax when pierced. Grades of honey diminished as the honey became harder to get out of the hive. The dregs of honey (collected by heating the frame in water to blend the honey but not melt the wax) was given to servants and was not preferred. Honey was also categorized by location - Egyptian honeys were very popular and expensive. Honey from different regions in Spain were considered of different quality - one merchant got particularly fussy when one of his batches was "spoiled" by mixing honey from a better region with that from a worse region. Finally, honey was categorized by flower type. One monetary requested honey made only from lavender. Since hives were highly mobile frames or skeps, it would have been possible for apiarists to move their hives to lavender fields.

Water.

Water is, well, water. Right? Not quite. Medieval recipes do specify using fine, spring water. The water and honey were often boiled together - likely to kill bacteria. However, the wording on "boille" is not super clear. Mead-masters knew that honey shouldn't be boiled (it kills natural yeast), so whether or not the must (the water/honey mix) was boiled in the modern sense or just warmed is unclear. Perhaps the need for "fine, spring, fresh water."

Yeast.

While modern brewers and vintners have a wide variety of yeasts to choose from, medieval brewmasters didn't have as many options. There were a few different options, however. Baking yeast (like a sourdough starter) was one option, while other recipes call for the leftover lees of wine/mead batches. Hops were also used. Of course, yeast is also naturally occurring, so brewers could fairly reliably rely on the natural yeast to kick-start itself.

I'll dump my own mead pics here and then get into the details of a Middle English mead recipe in part two, I guess. I'll talk a bit about the mead-making process, too. Mead is made by mixing honey and water into a must. Then, yeast is added. Modern mead-makers also add yeast nutrients and other additions to ensure their batch doesn't get infected.

A newly made bottle of mead. Notice the cloudy colour characteristic of new mead. As the yeast eats the sugars, they'll create a bottom layer of debris and the mead will clear, as seen below.

After the primary fermentation has occurred (you can tell when the bubbles of gas, telling you the yeast is eating, have stopped), mead-makers will re-reack their mead. This involves moving it from one jug to the next.

At this point, the mead can be put into a closet and age for a while. The best meads have high clarity - that is, they're clear! The example below is only about 2 months old. It has a way to go, but has good clarity already. Notably, the sagas state that the best, oldest, clearest meads were served to Odin and the gods.

Anyway - that's the basics of mead-making. I'll make a part two about older recipes! Sources:

Beekeeping in late medieval Europe: A survey of its ecological settings and social impacts. Llu.s SALES I FAVÀ, Alexandra SAPOZNIK y Mark WHELAN

Trade, taste and ecology: honey in late medieval Europe. Alexandra Sapoznik, Lluís Sales i Favà & Mark Whelan

Of Boyling and Seething: A re-evaluation of these common cooking terms in connection with brewing. Susan Verberg.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Flirt: 13 Oct. Suptober

deancas ust, s9 au, human Cas

"So what'd she say?" Kevin was helping Cas unload the pizza, breadsticks, little cups of cheese sauce, and an iced dessert the pizza joint called Pumpkin Spice Nugs that Cas had just brought down the staircase and into the bunker library.

Cas was wise to Kevin's sly expression. Beatrix, their usual waitress, was a reliable source of local gossip.

"Bea told me it turns out Nathan's not the father of his second child, the one born last year." Cas parceled out four paper plates and napkins and was happy to see Dean and Sam strolling into the room. "The actual father may be his ex-wife's brother in law." 

"You been watching Jerry Springer again?" Dean accidentally bumped Cas in the hip as he slid into a chair and grabbed the largest slice of pepperoni. "Whoops, my bad."

"It's fine." Cas sat too. Having put a single plain breadstick on his plate, he took the time to brush off the greasy cheese dust coating the foodstuff. It tasted, he was sorry to say, the way dirty socks sometimes smelled.

When he looked up, the other three were staring at him, each with a variant of amusement on their faces.

Dean shook his head and was the first to start eating without comment.

"What I meant was," Kevin said around a mouthful of nug, "did Bea ask you out already?"

Cas would have answered if he hadn't been suddenly worried Dean was going to choke to death.

"You need the heimlich?" Sam asked his brother, who was coughing but able to drain a bottle of beer in one breath.

"I'm good," Dean rasped out, hitting himself in the chest with the flat of his fist.

As any danger seemed to have passed, Cas told Kevin, "She did not ask me out." He took a bite of the breadstick and chewed thoughtfully. "She wanted to know if I ever went bowling."

"That was an opening," Kevin groaned. He slapped a piece of supreme on his plate and huffed. "She wanted you to say yes, and then she could've said something like, 'If you ever want some friendly competition, let me know.'" He affected a higher-pitched voice for the part that was supposed to be like Bea talking; it made Sam shake his head and laugh silently. 

"But I don't bowl," Cas said.

He eyed the cheese sauce with wariness. The last time he'd tried it, it had been cold and thick, like a lump of congealed banshee blood. He was about to reach for one of the small cups anyway when Kevin said, "That's not the point."

"Hey, maybe he's just not that into her," Dean said before taking another forceful bite of pizza.

"Bea seems like a lovely person." Cas was somewhat perplexed at Dean's grouchy tone of voice. "But I don't wish to go bowling with her."

Sam, eating his pizza slice without incident, said, "Euphemistically or otherwise, huh."

Cas considered this. "Yes?"

Kevin rolled his eyes and sighed. "Your loss." He ate another nug, as if to emphasize Cas's mistake.

Dean knocked his foot against Cas's under the table and left it there. He didn't apologize for bumping into Cas a second time. It didn't bother Cas. He knocked Dean's foot in return. Dean ducked his head with a little smile at his plate.

Sam snorted, for some reason, and exchanged a look with Kevin, who muttered, "Hopeless."

Cas wasn't bothered by either of them either. 

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

Nothing.... Just 🎀CobraBaby🎀 Thoughts...

Specifically thinking about when they're older, and Nancy's old man has given the house to her and Ace once he's passed.

Nancy loves her home, and she loves that it's hers and Ace to start a life in.

Ace also loves fixing it up, he likes keeping himself occupied and working, so if his wife complains about a rickety step or creaky door, he's on it.

And while he's fixing things, Nancy loves working in her garden or planting flowers, she could spend hours out there- and she usually does till Ace gets home from work, and everytime she's always unsuspecting of him as he sneaks up from behind where she's hanging laundry to dry, and wraps her in his arms and carries her off into their house, leaving the discarded laundry in its basket as she dropped it when she got startled.

Oh... And the minute he finds out she's pregnant... It's like a switch suddenly flips.

He can go from snarking off with his old friends on the front porch with a foul mouth, and the minute she waddled out with beers or food for em he's all soft spoken and sweet talking her. He's also very proudly showing her off wherever they walk or drive.

He also likes showing off and carrying everything for her. He's trailing behind her with a large back of soil over his shoulder as she points to places she wants it, or holding all the groceries in one trip AND grabbing the door for her... He'll also carry her up stairs- any stairs, even if it's just like- three steps. He's 'not taking any damn chances.'

Speaking of which he's very overprotective the whole time she's pregnant. He's watching her like a HAWK at all times. It's one of the reason he use to stay extra busy at work- cause if he wasn't, he'd literally pack up his tools and drive back home. He also wasn't a fan of when he came home and saw his 7-month pregnant wife standing on a counter trying to reach for some cake flour on the top shelf. Man nearly had a heart attack after that.

He loves to tease her too as she got bigger and bigger, he'd always make a comment like 'Jesus Nance how many you got in there?'... Little did HE KNOW-

He's also doing a LOT of late night drives to town for cravings. Mostly sweets and sodas. He's a tired fella with it all, but he loves it more than anything.

He's also excited, don't get me wrong! He's working on making her a rocking chair and the baby's crib the whole 9 months cause he's so impatient to meet the little tike. And while he builds, Nancy will decorate, fixing up what used to me her mothers old reading room into the nursery for their baby... Or babies.

They were completely unaware of the fact they were having triplets either till very late notice, or not at all [still need to find a reliable source of when ultra sounds were made and used for babies] so when they were born, the newborns spent a lot of their first few months sharing a bed with Nance and Ace. Ace would always complain and say he couldn't wait to get the other cribs done for em and get his bed all to himself again... But once he finally got the girls in their own room and cribs... And the second they were for a good week or two she'd find him home from a late night at work sleeping on the floor near the girls cribs, a little hand reached through the bars holding his finger.

Nancy color coordinates the girls with bows or dresses in their colors, Lena is baby blue, Lila is baby pink, and Lottie is sunshine yellow.

Ace loves and I mean LOVES Sunday drives to the riverside for picnics or to just go fishing, carrying three little baskets with his girls in em. He always brings his pole but the line is quickly forgotten cause he's trying to make his daughter's giggle and smile, or he's necking with his wife.

Im not done I'm still so plagued with thoughts but its late and HERE HAVE THIS WHILE I THINK OF MORE YAYYYY

[schraubd]

Giving Myself an "Atta Boy"

  Confession time: I'm not much of an exerciser. I played rec sports as a kid, and while I enjoyed it, I was never serious about it. Same in college -- I enjoyed playing intramural floor hockey, but that was really about it. Once I graduated and the sort of automatic opportunities to play sports went away, I was never someone who wanted to join a pickup basketball game or anything like that. And things like running, or going to the gym? Forget about it. Always found them to be incredibly boring. But without consciously working out, being a professor is a pretty sedentary lifestyle. As a graduate student things were a little better just because I lived about a mile's walk from campus -- just the right amount to get some steps in without it being too much of a drain. But then the pandemic hit, and nobody saw the sun for a few years. That corresponding to me hitting my mid-30s was not a great combo. I tried a few things. We bought a "RingFit" for the Switch -- didn't really catch on. I tried doing sit-ups each morning or using a "stepper" machine, but they didn't really take. One problem is that I have recurrent knee and lower-leg problems, which meant that the shock even of jogging very quickly caused terrible pain. So it was in particularly really hard to do any cardio, which is what I really thought I needed but could never fully motivate myself to do in earnest. But this summer, my wife and I bought a recumbent bike. And I really like it. More importantly, I've stuck with it. I can get genuine cardio without destroying my knees, which is something that had always been my white whale. And after years of never getting past (extremely) sporadic exercise patterns, I've been able to commit to riding the bike almost every day. I'm not smashing any records or anything like that; my goals have been modest -- at first, just trying to go 10 miles in 40 minutes (the length of one Hell's Kitchen episode). More recently, I kicked that up to 11 miles in 40 minutes, and today, for the first time ever, I did 12 miles in 40 minutes. Again, nothing objectively impressive. But it was a big achievement for me, and so I'm very happy about it. One of my initial ambitions when I started using the bike admittedly was to lose some weight -- not so much for aesthetic reasons, and more that I have a whole closet full of perfectly good pre-pandemic suits that I'd love to fit back into rather than having to buy a new wardrobe. That hasn't really happened -- my weight has stayed remarkably stable, which is less of a disappointment than a source of profound confusion: I don't feel like I'm eating any differently, so it seems to defy physics that I have the same inputs, can add working out six days a week to my daily routine as outputs, and yet not have it have any effect on my body mass. Newton, hold my beer. But I've decided to stop thinking of it as "not losing weight" and start thinking of it as "a heroic holding-of-the-line against the ravages of middle-aged metabolism." But really, that's all of secondary concern. The fact is that after years of essentially not exercising at all, I have for the past several months been extremely diligent and reliable in exercising most evenings, and I feel really good about that. So I'm giving myself an "atta boy". What are you atta boying yourself for this year? via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/1D7lrca

[the-firebird69]

Her son has an idea and he put it out there once he didn't say it this way and we're getting approval and they're saying we have to have a caveat and the caveat is our who cannot drive this fast or handle this type of weight should not

Thor Freya

I want people to create a group so they can help me create a group to start the lambo project of mine here and what it will be is a lot of people who cannot afford transportation will get some kind of wheels that are reliable and fast enough that you can escape people rather than get caught like a mouse and it is for people like me but it's a ridiculous car and it says it but that's why we would do it. I can't seem to get together a group but if it starts and becomes a project meaning that you get together with groups of people and you create these Lamborghinis out of hopefully Volkswagen and you make a blog and then you start combining a blog and you're telling me how you doing it and it grows into a movement of people getting themselves transportation that is effective not just a cardboard car that goes 80 cuz those are dangerous and so this would be sort of a consortium it would be a compilation of ideas kick car manufacturers and sourcing online and it would be a place we could find several different kits and we'll start with just Lamborghini any of the models usually contacts. And four five people get together one person can get the chassis and have the motor and chassis checked out whether he's a mechanic or has a mechanic look at it you look at the Volkswagen for compression and things like that then the next person can source out the fiberglass and get all the parts needed and from there you come together to form a consortium to make this kit car with your five people you find one of you has a place it's your grandma's garage and she's tickled pink that you guys will be around and she is kind of plump and not really wrinkly and Sunday is a lot she is out back sundaything a lot and she drinks beer and yeah I ran into that down here it was Grandma's who drink a lot of beer. So you want to go ahead and make your group up and all of you can try and figure things out as you go but you want to find a kit that works and when it's complete and you split the cost and it's called drive sharing and they've done it in the past you have a car it only seats two but you have five people so really it's not for commuting but it could be meaning if you have bicycles and things like that you trade out the days when you're using the car and it inspires you to build more Lamborghinis and the kid is not that much by the way there's things you can do to make it less expensive some kids you can keep most of the interior almost all of them actually they can't tell you you can't as long as it fits and you just drop it down on it you have to cut the top off and it comes to the frame but so then you have this car and it's worth a lot of money there's a few things you can do and the consortium would list that you can sell it I usually you can get $150,000 to $250,000 people like to look the speed if it's done well with decent craftsmanship and it looks very nice like a Lamborghini so buy it probably 100 Grand if you keep the VW interior but the interior you can do later and so you take the 150 Grand and you make five kids it's enough for four or five kids or 200 Grand really and then you each have one but you you know how to do it and then you're all driving them around and so on and some people some people will sell them locally and that's how it works too it's a small business and the website is for lambeau project people only and these guys like to get on there and pretend and stymie and make all sorts of crap up and then all sorts of other people start getting on and find out they have tons of money and they have to join with the program because they're losing right now or they get their ass kicked

Zues

I have another way of saying it's a consortium where you are building Lamborghini kit cars and each of you has a portion of the car cost and you divvy it up then your car share ride in the future with two people car share then on to the next two people and you do it like that then you can build more and with the car driving around you can earn more money and you can also get the parts easier and things like that that's a great idea and I think it's terrific it's like side job and a sidecar and money so I'm all in and he wants me to form up a group with my characters with his character not necessarily all me of course but he wants to have several but my characters have several groups and he's going to do it and we're going to get going on this now

We're finding it to be annoying out here they fly the stupid police helicopter over him once a day and the assholes breeze by him all the time I want these people out but yeah we're going to form up another group and we're going to do this consortium I do see what it's about these flakes are here doing this dumb s*** all the time they need to be pummeled where everything go to disgusting idiotic animals

Thor Freya

Just sitting here pressing him in every way they can now we're going to come down on them and we're going to butcher these m************ and we're accepting people as volunteers for the lambo project because people like Tommy f and others who are poor as hell and stupid as hell sit there and jam it to our son and our son is going to get them back in the max he's going to stick it right in their face the other one have anything to do with them and they're going to be weeded out all the time and new people are going to be doing this Lambo project and he wants friends we're going to do things with him so he's encouraging people who are trying to send money for one reason or another to form up roofs and create your Lamborghini and they're going to do it and it's going to be fun and we're going to do it too

And we're going to get that Bradley GT going it's a different project it's a different type of thing and we're going to start it and Frank Castle hardcastle are going to play the part of his brother and sister-in-law and really it's the closest thing he has to a brother is it now he's kind of a father figure and Thor is like a brother figure and okay that's great news and it's Freya narrating but all right now we know that it's going forwards now

Olympus

It's good news but it's true but I'm going to act as his brother did but it's going to be helping us they're going to try and make it go the other way and it's perfect we hear it now that's what we need to hear

Frank Castle hardcastle true here too much but he's saying it too just turn it all the way up so you have to do something and we're going to do it

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Uncle Bucky (Part 1) | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You and Bucky are best friends and he’s like an uncle to your daughter, maybe even more like a father figure to her. Will your relationship ever be more than friends? 

A/N: I got this inspiration after watching the finale of TFATWS and I just knew I had to write this. So here is the first part! Please let me know what y’all think. xx 

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“How am I going to do this, Bucky?” You ask with tears rolling down your cheeks. You were scared, more like terrified. After a one night stand with a guy you’d met months ago, you began feeling horrible. It had been Bucky, your best friend, that suggested you might be pregnant. 

However, you knew the two of you used condoms, but like Bucky said, they sometimes break. He drove you to the store and bought the pregnancy tests and then he drove you home and waited by your side until you saw the results. 

“Doll, you’re going to do fine.. you’re going to be fine.” you hated Bucky sometimes for his calm voice and ability to stay calm in dire situations. His hands cupped your cheeks, “You’re going to be a great mom.” 

“What if I’m not? What if motherhood isn’t cut out for me?” You ask, starting to freak out once more. 

Bucky leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, before locking eyes with you, “You listen to me. You are going to be a great mother. You’re going to be the best you can be and you’re going to rock it. That’s your anxiety talking and it’s not a very reliable source. But me? Your best friend, I’m a reliable source.” He cracks a smile and it makes you laugh, “You’re going to do amazing.” 

“I don’t want to do this alone.”

“I’m going to be there, every step of the way.” He wipes a tear and finally lets go of your cheeks. He didn’t lie, he was there every step of the way. 

He was there for the ultrasounds, the late night cravings, he was there for the morning sickness and the ups and downs of your hormones. He was there when you would decorate the nursery. He and Sam were the ones to put together the furniture, which ended in some arguments between Sam and Bucky on where the pieces went. 

He and Sam painted the nursery since you didn’t need to be around the toxic fumes. He was there for the false labor, rushing you to the hospital but only to be told it was braxton hicks and you could go back home. He was there for the real labor, staying by your side, rubbing your back, feeding you ice chips and keeping a wet cloth on your forehead. He even stayed during the actual birth, even if he thought he was going to pass out. He made you a promise and he wasn’t going to break it. 

Hours later Bucky fell asleep on the couch in the delivery room when a nurse came in to check on you and the baby. She couldn’t help but gush at Bucky. 

“Your husband did great during this..” The nurse gushes to you with a smile, “Lots of men we see check out and don’t do near as much as he did. You got yourself a lucky one.” 

You didn’t correct her, but gazed at Bucky’s sleeping figure, “Yeah, I do.” 

The moment you’d seen Bucky hold your new baby girl, it was the moment everything clicked with you. That was the moment you fell in love with him. 

The doctor placed that small baby onto your bare chest as she wailed. Multiple hands were wiping her off and clearing her throat. Bucky was grinning from ear to ear and had kissed your head, gushing to you, “you did amazing doll. You did so well.” 

The nurse took the baby for a moment and wrapped her in a blanket, before coming back to you and Bucky. “Would you like to hold her?” She directed her question to Bucky who looked down at you for approval. 

You gave a soft nod and watched as the nurse placed her in his arms, telling him how to hold her. “make sure you support her head..” 

He looked terrified, like she would break in his arms. He didn’t hide the fact his eyes burned with tears, “Hi there..” 

And in that moment, you knew you loved him. 

~

Soon after you found out you were pregnant, you and Bucky decided Brooklyn wasn’t the plan anymore and moved out to Delacroix to be with Sam and his family. They were all the two of you had left and you wanted to be with them, especially Sarah since she had already raised two boys on her own. You needed someone like that in your life and this move would provide that. 

A few days later, you were released from the hospital and you sat in the back of the car with your little girl, who you chose to name Ava, and Bucky drove home. However, his grip on the wheel was so tight you could see the knuckles of his flesh hand turning white. He was terrified of something happening and drove under the speed limit. 

“Bucky... you’re driving like an old man.” You tease. 

“We have precious cargo.” He says, looking at you in the rearview mirror, “Plus I am an old man.” 

When you two arrived to your shared home, Sarah, her boys and Sam were there waiting. They’d put up a sign in the yard and were waiting on the porch for y’all. 

Bucky carried the car seat in, you following close behind and Sarah gushed immediately at the sight of the tiny baby in the carseat. 

After the two of you made your way inside and got comfortable on the couch, Bucky stood in the doorway and Sam approached him with a beer. 

“Thanks.” Bucky says, taking it and taking a swig. Bucky gazes lovingly at you where you’re seated next to Sarah on the couch. He watched as you fixed Ava’s hat while she laid in Sarah’s arms. He couldn’t believe you’d done it, given birth to something so perfect and looking so gorgeous during it all. 

Sam takes notice of the love in Bucky’s eyes, “Congratulations, man. She’s beautiful.” 

“She’s not mine.” He says, taking another drink of his beer. 

“Which one?” Sam asks, patting his friend’s shoulder. He knew Bucky loved you, there was no denying that. Bucky confessed he was falling in love with you about 6 months into your pregnancy. He was getting a sneak peak into what a normal life could be for him and to see that life with you? He wanted it. 

You knew that he had to be in love with you, no man would stand by your side during all of this if he didn’t. You were scared though, scared if you acted upon those feelings, would your friendship change? Would it become awkward? What if it didn’t work out and you were left losing not only your lover, but best friend. 

You couldn’t imagine a life without Bucky by your side and you didn’t want to risk it. 

comments, reblogs and likes are always appreciated! xx 

Marvel tag list: @hommoturttle​ , @iheartsebastianstan , @5jacobm5​ , @lovely-geek​ , @fangirl-swagg​ , @1-800-thanos​ , @jessyballet​ , @katiaw2​ , @yaskna​ , @dpaccione​ , @peachyxlynch​ , @kaitieskidmore1​ , @gengen64​ , @mela1648 , @white-wolf-buckaroo​ , @nikkixostan​

All my works tag list:  @blossomreed​ , @mggstyles  , @simonsbluee​ , @thewolf-and-thesheep , @obxrafejjwhore​ , @abbiesthings​ , @itstaskeen​ , @reniescarlett​ , @liliannna​

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

butterfly effect: one

His mouth is slightly ajar, surely shocked to be seeing the girl of his past so far from where he had left her. I myself try to compute what I am seeing, but my brain is running so fast from the adrenaline, the gravity of what is occurring hardly registers.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Word Count: 6k+

Includes: mob!h, mentions of blood, scary dudes late at night, and the set up for my favourite story I’ve ever written!

A/N: guys I am so excited about this story! I swear writing this is the only thing holding me together (so don’t let it flop lmao). It is 2AM pray for me.

My inbox is open for anyone who wants to chat about this series! I love to gab, and constructive criticism is very much appreciated. I want this to be as good as possible!!

butterfly effect masterlist // my masterlist

now

It is not until it is already too late that I realise I should have just ordered an uber.

Alex was very insistent that I order one home from my late shift at the pub. He had even offered to split the cost, knowing without needing to ask this was the cause of my hesitation. It wasn’t that I couldn’t afford it. Strictly speaking, I could. I was just keenly aware of the amount of material I could buy with the amount a late night uber in London would cost me. I would never take him up on his offer. He needed the money just as much as I did.

“It’s okay, I’m good for it,” I gave him a little smile. He was sitting in front of his mirror in his room, midway through getting ready for work. I had simply come to say goodbye before I left for my shift when he had grabbed me by the hand and demanded I ordered an uber home.

“Babe, you have to promise me.”

“I promise!” I stared exaggeratedly into his eyes as I spoke, emphasising my honesty.

In that moment, I made peace with the money I would be losing from my fabric budget. I calculated this budget, of course, by subtracting living expenses from my weekly income. My best friend wanted to make sure I got home safe, wanted the peace of mind while he was working that I would be fine. Who was I to say no to that?

“Make sure you text me when you get into the uber and once you make it up to the apartment.” My chest flooded with warmth at the love and care in his voice. It was moments like these I really sat back and thanked my lucky stars that Alex was in my life.

So, of course I was just going to bite the bullet and order the uber. Of course.

Except, well.

I couldn’t help but think how quickly I got from our place to work. We had picked the apartment just one short month ago, heavily considering the advantage of its walking distance to my work. The King’s Arms was just one block up and down the road. It was barely a fifteen-minute walk. Shorter than that if I took the shortcut down the alleyway back to our block, saving me from walking further down the road and looping back around. It would probably take me longer to get home via uber, once you account for the time spent waiting for it to arrive.

A ten-minute walk home wouldn’t kill me, surely.

The contemplation was pushed from my mind for the duration of my busy Saturday night shift. It was my least favourite shift of the week, as I spent each week chasing after middle aged men getting rowdy in the excitement of watching whatever sport was on TV. The King’s Arm was small, but it was a local favourite known for its homey pub meals, reasonably priced pints and good atmosphere. Much to my contempt they didn’t keep a large staff pool, preferring a smaller, well-trained, reliable bunch. Which was great in theory until it left me to run around like my hair is on fire on a night as busy as tonight.

I was capable of serving everyone well and in a timely manner, but it wasn’t exactly a stroll in the park. More like a seven-hour long sprint, with a half hour break in the middle.

As the final game for the night ended, the crowd slowly but surely thinned until just a couple of small groups remained.

“Hey y/n, are you okay to lock up by yourself if I head home in five?” my manager, Rachel asked me half an hour before close. “I have some time I need to take back,” she added in explanation.

“Of course, you go get out of here.” I knew she wasn’t lying when she said she had some time to take back, putting in all sorts of extra hours to keep the place in tip top shape. I liked Nicola, and I had certainly been working there long enough to handle a couple of customers and lock up by myself. Even if I didn’t like Rachel and thought she was slacking off, I couldn’t exactly argue. She was both my boss and the owner’s daughter, probably not far off becoming the owner herself.

“Are you sure?” She asked, eyeing the few men still seated, probably triple checking she didn’t think they were any kind of threat.

“Yes,” I laughed, “now scram, before I change my mind.”

“Alright if you insist,” she said, already making her way towards her bag.

“Ring me if you need anything! Good night!” She called over her shoulder as she exited through the kitchen door. The cook had gone home ten minutes earlier, the pub serving only drinks the hour before close at midnight.

“Night!” I called back.

I made quick work of what little cleaning there was left to do, and gently reminded the remaining patrons we closed in half an hour. To my surprise they were agreeable and friendly, one of them instantly assuring me, “Don’t worry love we’ll be out of your hair soon, won’t make you stay back late.”

Usually the kind of people that were in the pub this late had no care for closing time, believing that pertained simply to whenever they decided they wanted to leave.

True to his word, everyone was out with ten minutes to spare and I was able to clean their dishes and tables with the remaining time they had granted me. I locked the door to The King’s Arms at 12 o’clock on the dot and riding the high of such an easy close, took not a moment in deciding I was in fact going to walk home.

To Alex: Just ordered an uber!

I felt guilty lying, but I would rather lie than have Alex worrying over nothing. I would be home in a flash, keys secured firmly in between my knuckles the whole way. I felt far safer on the move than waiting out the front of work for an uber anyway.

I kept a fast pace, left only to debate whether I took my shortcut or stuck to the street. I checked over my shoulder, and seeing absolutely no one around, made a quick right turn into the alleyway between two buildings.

I grabbed my phone from my back pocket as I heard the ding of a text notification. I glance down at my screen, reading as I walk.

From Alex: Amazing! I should be home in a couple hours, text me when you get home safe. Love you x

I don’t register the hushed growling tones as I continue making my way down the alley, still looking down at my phone as I type a simple ‘love you’ in reply. It isn’t uncommon to hear the conversations of tenants on the lower levels of these apartment buildings as you walk down the street. Walls are thin and many windows generally left open. It is easy to consign this particular conversation among the other non-threatening city sounds until I eventually look back up from my phone.

I am immediately faced with a most unfavourable scene, under the single light that illuminates this alley, are the two men who I now recognise to be the source of the argument I had barely registered. The first man is tall, dressed in all black, thick muscles protruding through his t-shirt. He towered over the second man who contrasted him starkly in his bright red adidas tracksuit. The tall man’s presence would be dominating the space, even if he didn’t have his dark forearm pressed firmly against the smaller man’s throat.

I clamp a hand over my mouth, stopping myself from yelping stupidly and drawing attention to myself. They haven’t noticed my presence. A witness to whatever it was that was occurring here.

“See all I’m hearing is excuses, bruv,” the tall man’s accent is distinctly that of someone from South London. His tone is aggressive, but even. He knows he has the upper hand and it is clearly not his first rodeo threatening people. This is exactly the kind of person I could’ve avoided encountering by simply ordering an uber.

I snap out of my shocked daze and start to turn to make a swift and stealthy departure. I’m no fool. I know there is a definitive gang presence around here. I also know, if you leave them alone, they too shall (hopefully)leave you. All hopes of making such an exit are of course foiled as soon as my foot connects with an empty beer bottle on my first step.

The two men’s heads snap towards me instantly. I expect the shorter man to ask for help, to say something, but his mouth remains clamped shut. Gang business. He is in a bigger mess than someone like me can ever save him from. The taller man’s eyes narrow. After the briefest moments of standing there frozen, caught, I spin on my heel and run as fast as my feet can carry me.

I run back to the route I should have taken, cursing myself all the way for being naïve enough to believe that nothing bad could happen to me on something as simple as a walk home from work. That women who were raped, kidnapped and murdered from off the street were somehow removed from me. That was something only on the news in my world. Not something that was possibly about to occur.

My heart hammers in my chest as I make the split-second decision, I am safer running all the way home than running as far as I can from the scene of the crime. I’m going to run all the way up the stairs to my fifth-floor apartment, and I am going to lock the door behind me. I turn the corner back up to my block, not slowing down for a second.

I am so quick in fact, that as I come flying around the next corner towards my apartment, I nearly barrel straight into someone. He was clearly walking with some pace too, because he narrowly prevents us crashing into each other head on, but he is a second too slow in his reaction time because I trip straight over his feet. I hardly even see him, even as I am falling straight over him. All I see is brown hair and a dark suit before I’m staring straight at the pavement flying towards my face. I barely manage to throw my forearms out to break my fall as I hit the pavement at speed.

“Jesus,” the man mutters, but the only thing I can hear is my heavy breathing and my own blood pounding in my ears.

I’m on the ground now, I register for a second before my flight response kicks back in.

I don’t even feel the sting of the scrapes with the adrenaline coursing through me, already attempting to scramble up and get as far away as possible from this stranger. “I’m so sorry!” I manage to call as I pick myself and my keys up, gearing up to get moving once more.

“Honey?”

No. It absolutely could not possibly be. There was only one person on this planet who had ever called me by that name.

I stop dead in my tracks. That voice. It’s deeper than I remember but undoubtedly familiar. Familiar seems too simple a word. That voice had echoed around the halls of my brain for years. Even now, six years later, it was not gone but buried, waiting for a simple trigger to spark my memory and bring that beautiful sound back to the forefront my mind. Some days I swear I remembered it like I had just heard it moments ago.

Except now, I really had heard him.

Slowly, I turned to face him.

His mouth is slightly ajar, surely shocked to be seeing the girl of his past so far from where he had left her. I myself try to compute what I am seeing, but my brain is running so fast from the adrenaline, the gravity of what is occurring hardly registers.

It’s Harry, and he’s here and the two of you need to get out of there right now.

Before he can verbalise any of the questions on the tip of his tongue, I grab his hand in my own, and yank him forward as I continue running home.

Realistically, I know that we now outnumber whoever it was that may be coming after me and I know even six years since I’ve last seen him, I am always safe with Harry. He proved that in many ways, and more than once, while I knew him. I was not, however, willing to risk the tall man pulling a knife on Harry. I didn’t even want to put him in a situation where it was a battle of fists. Though I did know from experience he could more than hold his own.

“What’s going on?” he yells as we run down the street, rapidly approaching the exit of the alleyway I had fled.

I gradually reduce our pace until we are speed-walking past the alleyway. Tempted as I am to see if they are still there, I keep my eyes trained forward, praying they aren’t there watching us as we pass by.

As soon as we have cleared it, I’m straight back to my running pace, forcing Harry to accelerate speed once more.

“I’ll explain inside,” I call over my shoulder in answer to his earlier question.

Now that I felt a degree safer with Harry’s presence, I had the capacity to feel thankful I had opted for a boiler suit and converse for tonight to accommodate for the Saturday night rush. This run would have been hell if I had worn a skirt and a heeled boot instead.

“Inside where?” He’s laughing as he speaks and as the fear loosens its grip on me, the déjà vu begins to battle for dominance. That laugh had brightened my every day for long enough to leave a mark on my soul. Fleeting as it was, that single sound reignited the shine it had once left.

His question was answered when we came to a screeching halt in front of my apartment. It took me two tries to input my security code correctly, my brain and hands both moving quickly, but not quite matching up. Eventually, the door clicked, and I was able to swing it open, tugging Harry in after me.

I didn’t stop dragging him along behind me until we had taken all five flights of stairs up to my apartment two at a time.

“y/n…” he attempted to grab my attention when we first entered the building, but I was not to be deterred until we had reached the absolute safety of my apartment. I shushed him, not wanting to receive a noise complaint from my new neighbours. I supposed having such a thought was a good sign, my consciousness beginning to register it was not in any imminent danger.

I huffed and puffed as we landed at the doorstep of apartment 5B, the place I loved to call home. Harry, I noticed, was barely short of breath. He had always been a runner when we were in high school. I wondered if he kept up the habit even now.

My hands shook as I located the correct key on my chain, body still shaking from the excitement of the events of the past five minutes. I struggled to align the key with the lock with my left hand, unthinking of the fact my right was still firmly in Harry’s hold.

“Let me,” he murmured, already moving his right hand to take the key. I said nothing, simply surrendering it over to him.

His hands were steady as anything as he turned the key, granting us entrance into my home. I released a breath I didn’t realise I had been holding. I finally stopped just past the door, my back to Harry as he shut it behind him. I took a few deep breaths, trying so desperately to ground myself.

Was any of this even real? The sketchy characters I could believe in a heartbeat, Harry Styles’ presence, however, was harder to grasp.

But there his hand was, in my own, even if I couldn’t see him.

Harry stood back and let me take this moment to myself, keenly aware of how much I needed it. He knew I needed to take pause and re-centre myself otherwise I would only shut down. He was also aware of my injured state though, even if I wasn’t.

“y/n, you’re bleeding.”

“Oh,” my head snapped back to look at my arm. In the rush to get home, the blood from the scrapes on my arm had run down my arm and dripped into our connected hands. I quickly released my grasp on him. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”

“A little bit of blood never hurt anyone,” he quickly dismissed. “Unless you’re the one that’s bleeding, in which case you better get cleaned up as soon as possible.

“Luckily you have me here to play nurse. Just lead the way to the nearest bathroom,” he gave me a little cheeky grin, clearly trying to lift your spirits. The subtle playfulness is not as natural as it once was, but it is certainly reminiscent of our old dynamic. The surrealism of this whole thing goes straight to my head, clouding my ability to form full, coherent thoughts.

Somehow, I manage to come out with, “I think you mean our only bathroom,” in response.

He grunts a laugh, but he hasn’t missed the use of the word our.

I walk like a zombie, leading him through the hallway past the living room and the kitchen to the bathroom. I hold my forearms up in an attempt to redirect the flow of the blood and prevent it from dripping from my fingertips onto the floor. As I slowly came out of survival mode, my awareness of the stinging of my forearms became increasingly prominent. I was sure my hip and knees were going to be bruised pretty badly too. I really hadn’t managed to slow down at all before all my momentum came crashing into the cement.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” He asks upon our arrival to the bathroom.

“Under the sink.”

My eyes trail over the mess Alex and I had left in our rush to get ready.

I tend to procrastinate getting ready for as long as possible, busying myself with just about anything else. Generally, it will be tidying up the mess I’ve made during the day, only for me to create a whole new one in my hurry to get ready for my shift on time. Alex on the other hand, always leaves plenty of time to perfect his look before leaving for the night. Despite having the time to do so, he never cleans as he goes. Leaving his many products and deliberated outfits spread far and wide. Luckily most of his mess was confined to his bedroom, the only trace of him in the bathroom skincare and hair products (though there wasn’t a limited amount of those, either).

“I’m sorry for the mess,” I speak quietly watching Harry get his bearings, standing helplessly as I bled, hands still raised.

“Nonsense,” he doesn’t look at me as he speaks, jumping into action.

Harry turns the faucet on in the sink before opening the cupboard door and grabbing the first aid kid out. It was actually sort of a miracle Alex and I had one. It had been on a list of “Things You Need for a New Apartment” I had googled, scared we were missing important things. At the time, I had deliberated longer than necessary over whether to get one. I couldn’t remember the last time I had required anything more than a band aid for any given ailment. The deciding factor had been the memory of Alex getting into a couple of scrapes while out over the years. It had never been anything major, the worst injury he ever sustained being a bruised jaw, but it was better to be safe than sorry, I decided.

Turns out, that decision was for the best.

He gently touches his fingertips to my right arm, which had copped the brunt of it. With the softest touch, he delicately guided my arm under the stream of water. As I stepped forward to lean over the sink and wash away the dirt of the footpath, he stepped backwards, giving me my space.

I winced at the initial contact of the water as it ran red. I risked a glance at my reflection. Sweaty brow, the light lazy work makeup I had applied half off my face. I quickly diverted my gaze back to my injured arm. This was not exactly how I pictured our reunion. I had hardly ever even pictured it, I was so sure that I would never see Harry again.

I wondered if this silence was as heavy as I thought it was. Everything about him felt so familiar, yet so different. Up until this moment it felt like being in the presence of a friend, but now I realised, he was closer to a stranger.

I knew the person he once was, a sweet but fucked up kid who had been forced to become a man too early. Someone who had his walls a mile high around almost everyone. Almost. The boy who painted his nails on lunch breaks and was friends with everyone but somehow also no one. Until he was friends with me. Then he was the boy who always sat to my left from the first bell of the school day to the last. Back then, I knew him from the inside out, just as he knew me.

He was my greatest joy of those years. Then he was my greatest heartbreak. Now, he was just some guy I used to know who I had plucked straight up off the street, looking very out of place in what was clearly a designer suit in my tiny apartment.

He looked through the first aid kit as I ensured the entirety of the scrape was rinsed. It extended most of the way from my elbow to my wrist, but more pressingly in my mind, it now stung like a bitch. Once the water rain clear as it ran off my arm, I moved onto the much smaller and shallower scrape on my left elbow, working quickly to get it clean.

Most of the bleeding had stopped, only a few spots on my right arm still dotting with blood. I leaned over the sink to prevent the water from dripping onto the floor.

I cleared my throat, nervous to break the silence.

“Can you please grab me that towel?” I nodded my head towards the black hand towel hung behind Harry.

His eyes snapped upwards from the first aid kit he had been busying himself with. I was sure he had been surveying it more thoroughly than strictly necessary, trying to detract from the awkward energy which had crept up on us. We made brief eye contact through the mirror. My breath caught in my throat. The moment was over as soon as it began as he turned wordlessly to grab the towel.

He holds it in his hand, hesitating before handing it over, “Did you want me to…?” he trails off, growing awkward in his offer. He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. She barely knows you, back off, he tells himself.

“No that’s okay,” I speak gently, and he quickly passes the towel to me. I get to work patting my arms down delicately.

“Thank you though,” I add, hating the unsure look on his face. I meet his eye, giving him a smile I hope is reassuring.

“Okay, let’s get you sitting down so I can fix you up,” he returns your smile with a slight upturn of the right side of his mouth.

I relocate to the little dining table Alex and I had bought at Ikea just a week prior. Harry isn’t far behind, washing his hands before joining me to tend to my wounds. He lays out everything he is going to need from the first aid kit before holding his hand out. Like an idiot, I stare at his hand without moving for a beat too long before jerkily offering my right arm up.

He laughs silently as he turns my arm over, analysing it carefully.

“So, do you often go for runs at midnight?” He asks as he unscrews the lid on the Vaseline.

“Yeah all the time. I just don’t normally take people from the street with me.”

“Is that all I am? A person on the street?” He tries to keep his tone light, but I can tell he was hurt by my choice of words.

I expect to feel guilty, but a burst of anger I thought I had long gotten over flares in my chest. It isn’t as red hot and overwhelming as it had been years before – I’d definitely had my fair share of time to cool off – but I’m still surprised by the sting of it.

He was the one that made himself a stranger to me, and now he’s upset when I’m stating the fact that he made a reality.

Despite myself, I tried not to come across too harshly in my response. I was never one for confrontation.

“I mean, I haven’t heard from you in six years.”

He is very careful not to lift his eyes from my injuries as he carefully applies the petroleum jelly. I stare down at him, desperate to catch his eye.

There’s a pause as I wait for him to offer some kind of explanation. Some perfectly good reason why my best friend and first love left town without telling me why, or where he was going, and then never contacted me again.

When he doesn’t fill the silence, I sigh as quietly as I can manage. You don’t really know him, I remind myself. I practically kidnapped him, I can’t just go asking him to rehash history. It was so clear that he was what he had wanted me to be. History.

“I just mean, I don’t really know you anymore. I’m sorry I grabbed you like that, I just,” I hissed at the sting of his first aid, “I was walking home from work and I saw these really sketchy looking guys.”

“Sketchy looking?” He finally looked up at me, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well I guess they didn’t really look sketchy in their appearance particularly, it was more the fact that one of them was practically choking the other. They were arguing over something. I think it was something to do with some of the gangs around here,” I attempted a nonchalant tone, not wanting to worry him. The less phased I seemed, the better. I had caused him enough trouble. The only thing that was probably stopping him from running for the hills and never looking back (again) was guilt.

I go on to explain how I’d kicked that stupid beer bottle and taken off running, “which is when I ran into you. I’m really sorry about that, by the way. I’m so glad I didn’t take you down with me I think I would’ve died of a mix of guilt and embarrassment right then and there.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ho-“he cut himself before his mouth could form that name he had so affectionately given you. “I’m the one who feels guilty, if not for my big, slow feet you wouldn’t have bit the dust.” I laugh at his turn of phrase.

His face suddenly grows serious. “Your head is okay, right?”

Instinctively, my left hand shoots up to the back of my head, ghosting over the slight bump hidden under my hair. The scar tissue was ever so minimally raised, only perceptible to a knowing touch. I retract my hand bashfully, slightly embarrassed by my knee jerk reaction.

“It’s fine,” I match his serious tone, before lightening it up, “as you can see, I managed to break most of my fall,” I gesture to my right arm he has paused work on.

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, discerning whether he thinks I am downplaying anything. He picks up the dressing, moving onto the next phase of his treatment plan.

“And they don’t feel broken? You can move your wrists okay without too much pain?”

My heart swells at his concern. I stamp out the small joy as soon as it flared up. It’s guilt that’s fuelling him. Nothing else.

I shake my head no. He looks up once more, having missed the gesture in his concentration. “Sorry! No. All bumps and bruises. I’m fine honestly, I probably majorly overexaggerated the whole thing and freaked out for nothing. I’m really sorry about all this, its so late at night.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says firmly. “It’s not your fault and you did exactly the right thing by making a break fo’ it. You never know what could’ve happened. Ya’ know. Out late. By yourself. In the dark.”

My face burned red with shame, but also defiance. I knew what I did was stupid and extremely risky, but I also didn’t think I needed a lecture about it in this moment. The fear still coursing through me and my scraped-up arms were surely lesson enough.

“I could say the same thing to you,” I countered.

We both knew my argument didn’t hold up very well. He was a man out alone at night. There was obviously a risk there, but it wasn’t the same.

We also both knew, I wasn’t really trying to start a debate. Just signalling to him I didn’t want to get into it and wanted to move on.

“I was walking to the tube from a mate’s place,” he explained simply, letting me off the hook.

He had begun to tape the dressing down to my skin, securing it safely. He worked expertly. Even if I didn’t already know, I would have said this was one of many times he had done some at home first aid.

“In a designer suit?” I questioned. There were two things I was asking, but also not saying. Was this the kind of ‘mate’ you wine and dine before going home with them? And what happened to that poor kid from Holmes Chapel I once knew?

“I came straight from work.”

Jesus he wasn’t giving me a lot to work with in the way of details.

“Oh,” I say lamely, not wanting to pry. As much as I could tell myself (and him) that I didn’t really know him anymore and he was basically a stranger, it still hurt to be treated like one. We used to be so open with one another. The one thing I ever kept from him was how I truly felt about him.

“I work in finance,” he offers up after a beat of silence. “It uh- I’m pretty lucky to have the job I do,” he alludes to his financial standing, obviously wanting to acknowledge the contrast comparative to how I knew him. A boy not even of eighteen, fending for himself while trying to complete his high school education.

My face practically split in two with the size of the smile on my face at his words. “I’m so happy for you, Harry,” I say, hoping he can see how genuinely I mean it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you happy, H?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Internally, I kick myself. Externally, I try to keep my face neutral, yet interested. That’s a perfectly normal question to ask. Totally.

“Um,” he switches to my left elbow, making quicker work of the smaller wound. “I think so. In my experience you never realise how happy you are until you aren’t. But still, I think I am.”

“Good,” I say firmly. “I’m glad.”

“What about you?” He turns the questioning back on you. “What’s your story?”

“Oh, you know. The sad story of the girl chasing a dream,” I nodded my head towards the sewing machine stationed at the other end of the table.

“Don’t say that!” His tone jests, but he is serious as he speaks. “I think it would be far sadder if I discovered that your talent was going to waste. I’m really glad to hear that actually,” he half says the last sentence to himself, concentrating on fixing his dressing properly on the more difficult angle of my elbow.

“There you go,” he gleams as he admires his handy work. “Good as new.”

“Thank you so much, Harry. I’m so sorry for all this-“

“Not your fault,” he quickly dismisses.

“Even so, I’m sorry for all the trouble. I’ll pay for an uber home for you or something,” I try to come up with something to offer him that can even begin to repay him for his help.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” His brow creases in concern.

“Oh, Alex should be-“ I smack a hand over my mouth, realising I never texted him to let him know I had gotten home okay.

“Oh fuck,” I remove my hand from my mouth. I gingerly fish my phone out of my back pocket, muscles beginning to protest, the impact of that fall settling in.

Four missed calls and a flurry of text messages. My phone had automatically turned onto ‘Do Not Disturb’ mode as scheduled at 12:30. I hadn’t been notified of any of it and he had definitely assumed the worst.

“Is everything okay?”

“I forgot to text him and let him know I made it home okay,” I don’t look up as I speak, opening our text chat.

From Alex: I’m coming home

Received ten minutes ago.

“Your boyfriend?” He questioned, keeping his face impassive. That had my head shooting up.

“Uh-“ I began, but cut myself off as the unmistakeable sound of heeled feet running up the stairs to our apartment ran out loud and clear.

Shit.

Before I could even think what to say next, Alex’s key was in the lock. The door swung open, smacking the wall with the force of it.

Both Harry and Alex’s brows hit their bloody hairline I swear. Or more accurately, Lexie’s.

There my best friend and roommate stood, in full drag, light catching the sequins of the pink mini-dress I had sewn myself. If I weren’t standing there with the guiltiest expression of my life, I would be thinking about how stunning she looked.

Harry looked between the two of you, as Lexie did the same. Both trying to catch their brains up to what they were seeing. I myself was at a loss for words. I probably should have started with, “Lex, I am so sorry,” but Harry broke the silence first.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he breathed, transfixed by the look Lexie had created. Drag was an art form, and she was quite the artist. He was not the first to become enchanted upon first look, and he certainly would not be the last.

Lexie narrowed her eyes at Harry, jaw falling slightly open at the audacity of the acknowledgement in this moment. She had little patience for besotted strangers in moments like this. Her narrowed eyes moved to mine, face filling with rage.

“Lex-“ I begin, but am cut off for what seems to be the millionth time tonight with the simple raise of her hand. The close of my mouth is instant. I was not about to make this any worse.

“Bitch, if you do not have a very good explanation for this,” she breathes deeply, trying to gain her composure, “I am going to fucking kill you.”

                                   ********

As soon as he is out of your apartment and onto the street, his phone is in his hand. Fingers not able to press to type the message fast enough for his liking.

From Harry: We need to talk. I saw her.

As soon as the message was delivered, he was returning the calls he had silenced in y/n’s presence. The moment she had turned her back and left him to wash his hands, he had turned his phone to airplane mode.

“Jesus Christ bruv, I thought you were dead,” Michael joked as soon as he picked up.

The two of them had parted ways for what should’ve been five or ten minutes. Harry hadn’t seen it happen, just heard the clatter of the beer bottle as it skated along the ground and the screeching halt in the argument. He had been waiting patiently for Michael to finish working in the shadowy doorway to the side. He hadn’t seen a thing, and he was sure from his concealed position, whoever had seen Mike hadn’t seen him. So, he obligingly offered to take a walk, ensure she hadn’t gone calling the police.

He had just been bored. Ready to go home and have a drink with Michael so he could have a bitch and a moan about work. It always left him feeling better when he returned on Monday. He was killing time, that was all. He hadn’t expected to stumble over the girl who had changed everything.

Harry didn’t take time to explain his extended absence, moving straight along to what he had called for. Just like Mike, he preferred to skip the pleasantries.

“I need you to subtly divert as much traffic from this block as possible,” he didn’t ask. He never asked. It was always an instruction with him. In this business, asking nicely didn’t exactly lend itself to going far.

“What’s this about?” Harry gritted his teeth. He did not enjoy having his authority questioned. The only reason Michael would get away with it was because of their pre-existing friendship. Even then. Harry was not exactly in a forgiving mood. Made all the worse when Mike added, “This isn’t about that girl from the alley is it?”

Michael had his answer when Harry said only, “Get it done or I’ll have your fookin’ head.”

chat with me about butterfly effect!

[mi6-cafe]

WEEK 3 DRABBLES ARE HERE!

Now, let’s refresh your memory about the prompt

We have asked our writers to write between 100 and 150 words of an acrostic drabble for NO TIME. (We wanted each paragraph to start with the given letters.)

THEY DID SUCH AN AWESOME JOB!

Now, how to vote?

Yup, that’s pretty much the method, although the writing of the individual feedback full of love is very much optional. (And yes, we’re reusing this meme from last week.)

Read the drabbles below the line (or on wordpress) and GO VOTE when you’re done!

#1

Title: Little Prick Author: sorion Warnings: none Summary: Just some bondy banter.

Now, that was just rude, Q thought, sipping his tea with his eyes on the computer screen and giving a weak attempt at not looking amused.

Other than the potted plant in the corner, nobody was convinced of said attempt, and neither was Bond at the other end of the satellite connection, and he couldn't even see Q.

The hand gesture Bond waved at the hidden camera was still rude, though less original.

"I can hear you laugh into your tea; don't think I can't," Bond's crystal-clear voice echoed through Q-Branch.

"Mmm," Q hummed in agreement. "I have to get my kicks from somewhere, Bond, and you're usually a reliable source."

Ever the gentleman, Bond conceded with grace. "Alright, you win," he said. "Provided, of course, that you stop laughing for long enough to get me out of here, so I can come home."

#2

Title: White Knight Author: sunaddicted Warnings: none Summary: bratty agents really do get on Bill’s nerves

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

Tanner arched an eyebrow at the raised tone of voice 009 was directing at him: he definitely didn't appreciate being talked to in such manner by a bratty agent - how the man was Q's favorite (besides Bond, of course), Bill would never know.

 "I'm not messing around with the line-up just because you want to go to Malaysia." 

M cleared his throat from the entrance of Tanner's office, looking coldly at 009. "Of course you're not. You should go get kitted for your own mission, 009: I believe R is waiting for you in Q-Branch."

Exhaling loudly, 009 pursed his lips and left with a stiff and parting nod - it was absolutely satisfying to watch. "You didn't have to come and save me," Bill pointed out, smiling up at the other  even as M bent down to kiss him. "Thank you, though."

#3

Title: Another Door Opens Author: soufflegirl91 Warnings: None Summary: Eve contemplates a door, and what led her to it

Now or never.

One way or another, things were about to change forever. In a way, everything from the moment she had shot James Bond off that bridge in Turkey had been leading to this.

The door loomed ahead, waiting for her to take the next step. There had been a time when she thought that with that one shot, she had ruined things forever. That any opportunity she had to prove herself in the field, any chance of a career, had crashed into the water with Bond’s body.

Instead, it had merely opened another door for her. Given her a chance to learn things she never would have in the field. The people, the politics. All the little games the field agents never saw.

“M,” her secretary greeted.

Eve nodded back at her, and walked through the door to her new office.

#4

Title: Inside Information Author: starrboned / MrKsan Warnings: content warning: alcohol Summary: Bond is back again and bets are placed.

“No,” Q said over his glass of gin, finishing it off in one swig. “Not doing this again.”

“Or you could stop being such a wet blanket and place your bet already,” Moneypenny said, poking him in the ribs. He swatted at her, scooting closer to Tanner. “We all know Bond will ‘retire’ soon enough.”

“That’s all everyone’s talking about,” Q huffed, staring at his empty glass. “He’s back, he’s off again - it’s a never-ending cycle.” Almost wish he'd stay gone, he didn't say.

“It is,” Tanner sighs, nudging his half-full pint towards Q. “But even Mallory wagered a full six months."

“Mallory did?” Q almost choked on Tanner’s beer. “That’s - that’s unusual of him.”

“Eh, said something about how ‘Bond has something to prove' this time around.“ Tanner grinned. Q felt his cheeks warm under his knowing gaze. "Maybe he has some inside information, huh?"

#5

Title: No Time Like The Present Author: storm_of_sharp_things Warnings: none Summary: Felix had been wondering if it was ever going to happen

“Not that you need to answer, but did you ever sleep with him?” Felix looked up from his glass as MI6’s Chief of Staff dropped into the chair next to him at the bar and quirked an eyebrow. It wasn’t how Felix would’ve started this conversation, but...

“Once,” he admitted. He tossed back the rest of his drink. “You?”

Tanner nodded, his gaze distant. “Once,” he said with a faint smile. “Seemed a good idea at the time.”

“I don’t regret it,” Felix said. Then he shrugged and smirked. “I think we’d have shot each other if we’d really tried to make it work. But I do miss him.”

“Me too.” Tanner paused long enough that Felix wondered if he’d follow through. “Listen, I’ve got some good bourbon back at mine. Want a drink where it’s quieter?”

“Easy answer,” Felix grinned. “Hell yes, thought you’d never ask, let’s go.”

#6

Title: Entanglement Author: Nana-chan Warnings: Summary: In which 007 and Q trade places...

“Now take your clothes off slowly,” said Bond softly. “Goddammit, Q, I said slowly.”

“Oh, do piss off, Bond,” Q hissed, dropping his shirt to the floor while Bond continued to watch him through the CCTV live feed. “Now, help me with the leathers.”

“That actually sounds very sexy, coming from you,” Bond said conversationally, his eyes drifting all over Q’s bare midriff before focusing on the contraption strapped to him.

“I suppose it does, yeah,” replied Q archly. “Never mind my predicament.”

“Mm-hmm,” said Bond, unfazed. “Not enough time. The straps will have to stay for now. I’ll start, then.”

Entanglements such as this were usually Bond’s lot, not his, but what was he to do when someone had attached an IED to his person? At least he’d dispatched his would-be kidnapper. He sighed, relieved, as Bond typed in the code he’d devised to remotely disable the ticking bomb.

#7

Title: Time Well Spent Author: IrishWitch58 / captain-magicalkitty Warnings: None Summary: A conversation over coms.

“Nine bloody days and the target hasn't moved at all.” Q could almost see the exasperated expression. Bond hated the need for surveillance and made his displeasure known.

“Once he does, I'm sure the resulting excitement will more than make up for your current boredom,” Q soothed. He managed to hide his smile from the rest of the branch late shift.

There was a disgusted snort from the coms. “You'll have to do better than that to make this up to me.” The tone was suggestive but only in the general Bond default setting. Q wasn't concerned about anyone overhearing.

“If you're still angling after an exploding pen, dream on.”

“Miser,” Bond accused, fond tone at odds with the statement.

Eventually the target would move and Bond would get the job done. Until then, they enjoyed time spent together, even far apart.

#8

Title: N O T I M E Author: hexiva Warnings: Character death Summary: Bond confronts Blofeld.

No time to think as James rounds the corner, gun in hand, and comes face to face with Blofeld, with Franz. 

Only hatred in Franz’s eyes, he reaches for his gun.

Trigger burning against James’ finger, all he has to do is pull it, end this, end this, but - 

Ivy leaves underfoot, the sky blue above them, and they’re bickering but they’re just children still, not the killers they will become, and Franz laughs as James trips, and he reaches down to offer him a hand - 

Many years ago, they were brothers. Franz knew him before he was 007. He’s the last man left who did. Everyone else is gone, and James is tired of being alone and tired of being a killer.

Every muscle in his body aches with weariness as he lets his gun drop. And he looks Franz in the eyes as Franz pulls the trigger.

#9

Title: A Change of The Story Author: scarytheory Warnings: (a little bit of) sci-fi Summary: She has seen the future. What she’ll do with it is up to her.

No time to waste when she’s got a glimpse of the future. She had seen Bond devastated by loss and full of rage. She had seen Q who was absorbed in his job, bitter and sad. And herself – composed and nice and so, so lonely. Or was it possible to change it? She decided to go to that beach instead of Bond. But before she left, she whispered to him: “You’ve got a secret admirer in the Q branch.” Will it be enough? And the girl on the beach… will she manage to save her? “Tracy!” she screamed as she was trying to get her out of the water.

“I don’t know you.” Not yet.

“Moneypenny, Eve Moneypenny.”

Eve decided that this time she wasn't going to let them be burned by the inevitability. This time, Tracy would live.

#10

Title: Let the Record Show Author: anyawen Warnings: None Summary: They've read the same reports, but have arrived at differing conclusions.

"No, I don't think so," Q disagrees with forced lightness. "Not this time."

"Oh, honey," Eve sighs, not fooled in the least. She reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. "Every time. He always comes back."

"There's no reason for him to come back, not anymore," Q insists. "M is dead, and he's finished the last mission she ever gave him. He can retire now. Live a peaceful life with a beautiful woman. And a beautiful car."

"If you think he'll be happy with a peaceful life, you don't understand him as well as you think," Eve laughs.

"Maybe he doesn't want peaceful," Q allows, "but we've read his file. He doesn't want m— this either, or he wouldn't keep trying to leave."

"Eventually, he will come home. And when he does," Eve says, sitting back and angling to speak to someone over Q's shoulder, "you should tell him."

#11

Title: TO DIE Author: Merc / moon_of_mercury Warnings: This one is depressing. Sorry! Summary: The End.

Never again...

Observing from behind his screen, Q takes in the smoking, crumbling scene of destruction. Police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens swarm the streets. A familiar silhouette blends in with the by-passers, slipping out of his view around the corner.

This is the last time James Bond holsters his gun, dusts off his suit, and heads for the airport to catch a flight Moneypenny arranged for him.

“It’s done,” Q says into the expectant stillness of the room. It hurts a little, even though he’s relieved. The showdown could have gone so much worse, but this is just as final.

Memories of this mission will haunt him for different reasons than usual. Their blazing victory is a bittersweet consolation.

Everything ends here; even those things that never began.

#12

Title: Mission Goal: Ideas Author: Venstar /1amvengeance Warnings: none Summary: well someone had to think of something.

“Now you're just showing off.” James’s voice drawled against Q’s ear.

“Oh, I'm showing off. Did you have any other ideas? No. Spies should have faster reflexes than asking me to 'Quick hide us!' My time and equipment are very expensive.” Q hissed quietly. They were still on a mission after all.

“That kiss was a far better idea than anything I had in mind. I'm happy to pay your asking price. Are you okay Q, your face has gone all red.”

“I will murder you in your sleep. I will end you. I will scatter your body parts to the farthest corners of the globe as a warning to those that think about blaming me for coming up with all the ideas!”

“Maybe instead of murder, you should think about our target. He’s escaping.”

“Escaping my arse. Someone is going to pay for your lack of ideas.”

#13

Title: Losing and Having Author: solarmorrigan Warnings: None. Summary: Bond reflects and knows he can't have it any other way.

Never in all his life had Bond felt quite this level of terror.

Or – well, no. That wasn’t quite true.

There had been one other time.

In the murky water, watching everything he’d allowed himself to love and depend on slip away into oblivion. The fear had clutched him then, shaken him and wrecked him.

Maybe he should have listened to his own damn self when he’d designated the heart as nothing but a target.

Even so, even knowing this, Bond clutched Q’s hand, eyes locked on his bruised and battered quartermaster who had only just returned to him, and knew it was worth it. The fear of loss was nothing against the euphoria of having.

#14

Title: Dreisamkeit (Or: Bliss comes in threes) Author: Misha / artsytarts / jelly-mish Warnings: Sickly sweet fluff, watch out for cavities Summary: Della, Felix and James are toying with the idea of having a lazy day in.

Nestled between the warm bodies of her boys, Della felt content.

“Occasionally, I’d like to just... stay here. All day.”, she said, letting her fingers brush through their hair in lazy strokes. James tightened his grip around her and made an approving noise.

Then the beeping started. Felix moved, banging his fist on the alarm clock. “Gosh darn it,” he growled. Della pouted in response, until a thought struck her. What if they took a sick day? Food poisoning? Good enough story. She suggested it out loud.

“If you take the blame,” James mumbled sleepily.

“Me? If anyone, it’d be Felix,” Della grinned at her husband's dirty look and carried on: “Remember when you forgot to add water to the pasta? The fumes were noxious.”

Eventually, reluctantly, they broke up their haven of safety and rolled out of bed. Della sighed. There never seemed to be enough time.

#15

Title: Augment Author: oldestcharm Warnings: n/a Summary: Every week Q argues his case and wins. "No," M says, squinting and displeased. "Absolutely not."

"One million," Q attempts with a half-hearted smile, but he knows well enough that it wouldn't work in any other situation. He's not even trying that hard at this point, because he knows he'll win this argument every single time. "It's not that much. I should probably ask ten times that with the amount of shit Bond breaks. Remember last week? I deserve a better budget."

"Then stop supplying him with expensive equipment," M suggests, unsympathetic at best.

"I'll have you know he'll get his hands on it whether I supply it or not," Q says crossly.

"Maybe you aren't doing a good enough job at security."

"Exactly, I need a better budget!" Q insists, eyeing M with a bit of a manic expression as he sets down the tablet in front of him. "Now sign it or deal with the consequences."

Go Vote!

[milazka]

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟑𝐤+

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 : —

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐚/𝐧 : 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠. 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭 ! 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬...

─── °• ❀ ───

When I first saw you, I saw love

And the first time you touched me, I felt love

And after all this time

You're still the one I love

The stars were twinkling in the indigo sky, not a single cloud was covering them. Some firebrands were trying to rise towards the sky but were dying along the way. The warm flames of the fire made your cheeks redden, although, the bottle of cheap beer in your hand must have been partly to blame as well. It was normal in the Outer Banks to see fourteen-year-olds drinking alcohol, especially on the Cut.

Sitting on one of the logs, a smile slipped on your lips as you saw your friend Pope running towards the sea, completely naked. A few of your friends whistled at the boy who let out a scream as he entered the salty water. John B had the brilliant idea to play truth or dare with the Pogues and a few other people from The Cut. You all had finished school today and it was a way of celebrating the beginning of summer.

Like she always did, Kiara acted up like the ‘mama’ of the group and got up to threw her beach towel to Pope so he could dry himself before returning into the circle around the campfire.

“Y/n, truth or dare?” A boy named David asked you.

“Dare.” You answered before you took a sip of beer without taking your eyes off him.

“I dare you to kiss JJ.”

You spit out your beer, splashing John B on the way. You were expecting everything, but not this. JJ was your best friend, you couldn't kiss him, it would have been weird.

“I can’t.“

“Oh c’mon, Y/n! Don’t be a prude.” David shouted to provoke you.

You've never been a coward in your life and this wasn't the night you were going to start being one. Everyone started to cheer you, shouting and clapping their hands while you made your way to the other side of the fire where JJ was sit on a log. Your eyes met his ocean-blue eyes that were sparkling from the number of beer cans he had drunk since the beginning of the night. You knelt on the sand with your hands resting on JJ's knees so you wouldn't lose your balance. The alcohol flowing in your veins was taking effect and you were definitely tipsy.

“It’s just a kiss, Y/n/n.” JJ said, cupping your face with his hands as he leaned down. “It means nothing.”

His lips gently touched yours, almost as if he was afraid of hurting you with them. He tasted like a mix of weed and beer, a taste you would have normally hated, but which kind of turned you on in the moment. You felt the tip of his thumb flattering your skin as his tongue slipped into your mouth to move in sync with yours. A feeling of emptiness settled inside you when you separated from each other, completely out of breath. Your eyes met his and for a second, everything around you seemed to have stopped.

─── °• ❀ ───

Lying on the dock, your head resting on JJ's stomach as he ran his fingers through your hair, you couldn't help but think back to the way you felt when your lips collided the other night.

"What's on your mind?" JJ asked you, clearly seeing something was bothering you by the way you were chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Nothing.”

“Y/n, your my best friend and you’re also the worst liar that I know.” He giggled, making you bless your poor lying talents.

“You remember when we kissed yesterday?”

“Yeah.” He whispered, placing his arm behind his head so he could lay rest on it. “It doesn’t change anything between us, if it’s what bothering you.”

"No no, it's not that..." You replied, playing with the edge of your hoodie.

“Then what is it? You know you can tell me everything, Y/n.”

"I don't want it to mean nothing because it was my first kiss." You whispered, willfully neglecting to tell him you had found out that your feelings towards him were more than just friendly.

“Really? I thought you kissed John B during seven minutes in heaven.” JJ said, surprised.

“We made everyone believe that we did because he wanted to make one of the girls jealous." You explained, sitting cross-legged on the wooden dock to face JJ.

“Well, I’m glad I was your first kiss, it’s definitely a much better experience to kiss me than John B.” He laughed, pulling you into a hug.

At that moment, you couldn't be more grateful that the lights were all off because your cheeks were peony red. While still in JJ's arms, you made a promise to yourself that you would never let your feelings for him get in the way of your friendship because it was the most precious thing you had.

Looks like we made it

Look how far we've come my baby

We mighta took the long way

We knew we'd get there someday

Like most days of the summer, you were sitting at the front of the HMS Pogue driven by John B. He came to pick you up first since you were the one who lived closest to the Chateau. Since his father's disappearance, you had gotten closer; you were there to listen to him when he needed it or to comfort him when he cried late at night. This had caused you and JJ to drift apart a little, but it was better that way, especially for your feelings towards him. He was still your best friend, the most important person in your life, but over the past few months, girls had become his top priority and your heart was breaking a little more each time he told you and the Pogues about his steamy nights.

JJ was sitting on the side of the boat, rolling one of his joint. It was probably the moment when the boy was most concentrated, you had never seen him frown his eyes brows like this during an exam. John B slowed the boat down as you approached Pope's dock. Dressed in his infamous cap and barely buttoned shirt, he was sweeping the quay under his father's stern gaze.

“Pope, get in, we’re goin fishin!” You exclaimed as you slid your sunglasses over the tip of your nose.

“I can't, I'm grounded because I came home after curfew yesterday.” The boy pouted, glancing at his father.

“Okay, we’ll see you later!” You replied before JJ or John B spoke, not wanting to get your friend in more trouble.

Once you were far enough into the marsh, John B dropped the anchor in the water. The sun was particularly hot that day, obliging you to take off all of your clothes and just be in a black bikini. JJ also took off his sleeveless shirt, exposing you to the sight of his tanned and perfectly cut body. Thanks to your sunglasses, you were able to check him out without him noticing. Your eyes landed on the scratches on his back when he turned away from you to grab a beer in the cooler.

“Did you sleep with a tiger last night?” John B mocked him when he saw the scratches.

"Dude, she was so into me! I made her come twice in-" JJ started but was cut off by your forced cough. “What?”

"Nothing, the beer didn't go down well." You said innocently, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to run down the corners of your eyes.

The blond boy kept telling you and John B about his night with the wild girl, never forgetting to mention all the details. A sharp pain appeared in your chest, as if your heart was being torn in two, when he said he was planning on bringing her on a date soon. It was too much, you couldn't take it anymore.

“Fuck, my mom just texted me that she needs me at home.” You lied. “Could you drop me at my dock?”

"Yes, I'll pull up the anchor and we will be good to go." John B kindly smiled at you, knowing that it was just an excuse to get away from JJ, but didn't said a word about it.

─── °• ❀ ───

The trees seemed to be moving on either side of the road which did not look as straight as usual. Everything was a bit blurry around you until you blinked a few times. The almost empty rum bottle in your hand was the cause of this. Since you came home this afternoon, you'd drowned your emotions in alcohol, the best way to stop feeling anything according to a reliable source; you. You don't remember how or when you decided to leave your cozy bed to end up on the dirt road leading to the Chateau. When you reached the front of the house, you made your way to the backyard, taking a few sips of the cursed liquid that burned your throat.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" JJ's voice reached your ears, almost making you drop your bottle on the floor.

You were standing on the stairs of the house porch so your back was facing him since he was lying in one of the hammocks. Your hand tightened around the glass bottle as you brought it to your lips one more time.

“I-i’m here to see JB…” You managed to say, despite the sob that was caught in your throat.

“You know he’s at Sarah’s house, he told you this afternoon.” JJ said.

You could hear his footsteps getting closer to where you were, making your heart rhythm increase.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asked you gently putting his hands on your bare shoulder.

“Don’t call me that!” You exploded in anger as you pulled away from his embrace.

“What the fuck Y/n?! Are you drunk? Did I do something wrong?” JJ questioned you, his frowning eyebrows reflecting his misunderstanding.

“Did you do something wong? DID YOU DO SOMETHING WRONG?! You are fucking blind, Maybank.” You shouted at him, staring at him with guns in your eyes. “I've been repressing my feelings for two years, two fucking years! Every time I see you leave with a girl after a party, my heart breaks in a million pieces. And when you talk about what you do with girls, I envy them because I wish it was me. I wish it was me you were talking about with stars in your eyes, I wish it was me you were kissing so passionately, I wish it was me you would hold in your arms.”

You were breathing heavily, tears were running down your cheeks and you couldn't control them. JJ was speechless, shocked by what you just revealed to him.

“Y/n…”

“Don’t say it J. I can’t take it anymore.” You whined, not wanting to hear him reject you.

Without trying to glance at him, you walked towards the main street, ashamed of what you had just said to him. You couldn't take it back, you would have to deal with it once you'll have sober up and that wasn't appealing at all. It was once you were walking in the middle of the main road that he stood in front of you, putting his hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving. Head bent down towards the ground, you didn't have the strength to lift it up to face his gaze.

“Please, look at me.” JJ whispered, softly placing his fingers under your chin to lift it up.

Your eyes blurred by the tears met his ocean gaze through which you could get lost for hours. A soft smile made his way to the corner of his lips, those damn lips you had dreamt about more than once.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, I never thought that you had feelings for me.” He apologized, rubbing his thumb on your cheek drenched by the tears.

"I don't want to lose you, Jay. Just forget what I said and let's go back to being best friends." You sighed as you wiped the corner of your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“I can’t, Y/n, I can’t forget about what you just said because I’m fucking in love with you!” He exclaimed, a tear running down his cheek. “I never said anything because I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I never go further than one date with the girls I sleep with because my heart has always been taken by you.”

You didn't waste one more second before you crushed your lips against his. Your hands made their way to the back of his neck while his hands slipped automatically to your hips, pulling you closer to him. It was passionate and wild, you'd been waiting for this moment for so long, you had needed this moment for so long. His tongue requested access to your mouth and came dancing sensually with yours. A grunt slipped out of his mouth when you bit his lower lip while running your fingers through his blond hair that were still a bit wet from his surfing session with John B. Breathing heavily, you split up briefly before he hugged you tightly, your head lying on his chest that was rising promptly.

“I’m never letting you go again, sweetheart.”

They said, "I bet they'll never make it"

But just look at us holding on

We're still together still going strong

Tears were flowing down your cheeks and there was nothing you could do about it. The sight of your boyfriend shocked face while you were being handcuffed like him for a crime you didn't commit was destroying him. You both were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the cops wouldn't listen. Being from the Cut had its good sides, but also its bad sides and being constantly doubted by the police was one of them.

“Get in the car.” Ordered Deputy Shoupe, opening the back door of his car.

You didn't even dare to think about what your parents were going to say when they would found out that you we're being held in custody. They had never approved of your relationship with JJ, telling you he would bring you more trouble than love. Your father always said that your relationship wasn't going to last, that it was temporary because you would realize soon that JJ wasn't good enough for you.

Once you were sitting on the uncomfortable little bed of the cell, you let your head fall back against the cemented wall. Eyelids close, you let a long sigh exit; you couldn't believe that what was supposed to be a cute date with your boyfriend turned into nightmare when you ran into Rafe and his two pocket dogs.

“Baby?” Your boyfriend’s voice echoed from the cell beside yours. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.”

“Hey, none of this is your fault, love.” You rectified him as you made your way to the grid and passed your hand through it.

JJ's hand slipped into yours, squeezing it to comfort you a little. Just his touched made you feel a bit better and more confident.

“We’re gonna make it, Jay, we’re gonna prove them wrong.”

You're still the one I run to

The one that I belong to

You're still the one I want for life

You're still the one that I love

The only one I dream of

You're still the one I kiss good night

Morpheus arms were about to grab you as you let yourself go to sleep. You were somewhere between the world of dreams and reality when a boom in your window made you jump. Another knock against your window forced you to get up quickly, not wanting to wake your parents who were sleeping in the next room. You narrowly avoided a worn black boot by bending down quickly after opening your window.

“JJ? What the hell?” You whispered loudly at the sight of your boyfriend standing on the ground down your window.

“Get dressed and join me.” He simply said to you with his stupid smile. “And don’t ask questions.”

You quickly put on a pair of mom jeans, your eternal orange converses and a hoodie that belonged to JJ. The scent of your boyfriend soaked in the cotton made you smile stupidly; it was your favorite odor. Without making any noise, you closed the front door behind you and went straight to JJ who was already on his bike, helmet in hand.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked as you passed the helmet over your head.

“You’ll see. Now, hop on, baby and hold on tight.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, using the opportunity to feel his contracted muscles over tin shirt. The wind was pounding against your skin, waking you up. Riding with JJ on his bike was one of your favorite thing to do, it felt like the world was yours.

You loosen your embrace around his waist when he decelerated in the middle of nowhere. The road was only lit by an old lamppost, no sound could be heard besides the sound of your own heartbeat.

“What are we doing here?” You asked the blond boy as he grabbed your hand.

He didn't say a word, leading you to the middle of the road where he turned to face you.

“Exactly one year ago today, we shared our first real kiss here.” He smiled at you. “Happy one year anniversary, my love.”

Your heart melted when you heard him say those words. You tiptoed yourself so you could press your lips against his. He pulled you closer to him, his hands sliding under his hoodie that you were wearing. The coldness of his hands against your warm skin sent shivers down your spine. You rested you forehead on his, getting lost inside his blue eyes.

“I love you, Jay.”

TAG LIST IS OPEN, JUST ASK IN THE COMMENTS TO BE ADDED!

@milaonthemoon @spilledtee @thebutterflyonhischest

milamaybank’s masterlist

[amythystraine]

9 Cards ~ lots going on here

So, I've basically spent this lazy hot Sunday wrestling with Microsoft word doing final edits on my ninth book.  I'm actually tired, it's almost like it was a physical wrestling match rather than a pitting of my wits against technology. But after a nice cold beer, very refreshing, and some calm moments at the dining room table with my new tarot deck, I feel ready to take a look at the cards and see what all they have to say to us --  nine cards, that is.  Here we go...

1.  There is someone who appears to have lost their equilibrium as well as their identity and their honest sense of self because they're so over-burdened by something in their life it has taken over.  If this is you, what has thrown you for such a loop?  How did you get to the point where you just accept it without question?  What would it take for you to ground yourself and find your center?  What would it take for you to put down the load you carry, or delegate some of this responsibility?  

2.  There is someone who is really stuck in their ways; I mean they hate change with a vengeance, and boy are they fighting it.  If this is you, how long has this struggle and resistance gone on, and how long do you think you can keep it up?  Transformations are never easy, and you are only going to make it more difficult and more prolonged if you remain resistant.  Most people around you only see a very stubborn and illogical person when they look at you, but I see someone who is terrified of this change.  I see someone who is struggling to keep their peaceful and consistent world around them unchanged.

3.  There is someone who is facing a financial question, or dilemma, or change.  If this is you, know that you have two really good offers coming in.  These are sound financial opportunities, both from reliable sources, and they both have good intentions behind them... but (there's always a but), the cards are telling me that you should choose:  1)  the older individual making this offer; 2)  the older more established institution making this offer; 3)  the individual that's been aware of and working on this situation the longest.

4.  There are two individuals who couldn't be more opposed or opposite each other.  The cards tell me that because of this stubborn opposition and the fact that neither one of you will back down and compromise, you might never reach a satisfying and happy conclusion.  Do you really want to stand their with your feet dug in, expending so much energy to hold your position?  It's making me tired just looking at the cards, you both must be exhausted, and when you keep something like this up, you miss out on a lot of happiness that passes you by.  The cards tell me that there is a happy ending in sight, really, there is.  The question is, which one of you is going to take the first step towards respectful negotiation?

5.  This is a hard one.  It involves a great transition, and it involves a very humble starting over.  Someone may actually be starting over minus an influence in their life that gave them much encouragement and positive direction.  It involves something so life altering that I, for one, would have to draw more cards on this situation.  It looks like someone is going to learn independence the hard way, by being thrown into the midst of life, expected to find and stand on their own two feet.

6.  There is someone who's done more than their fair share for so long.  You've just about worn out your shoulders from the burdens and responsibilities that other people have expected you to carry, and you've done this for so long -- and quietly, without complaint.  It's going to be a total shock to the people who have benefited from this when you literally throw off those shackles and discover new found freedom.  The cards tell me you shouldn't feel guilty about putting your life first, really, you've done more than enough.  The thing I'm curious about, what's it going to be that prompts you to do this?  It looks like it's something really -- really -- big.

[tansypoisoning]

(Un)Conditional - Part 2

I Came Out to Have a Good Time and I’m Honestly Feeling So Attacked Right Now

You didn’t remember how or why you found yourself in Ransom’s bed in the first place, but now, poor, pregnant and desperate, you had your reasons for putting up with him, and they weren’t noble. His reasons for staying with you weren’t noble either.

Hey, long time no see... This took me longer than it should because I wasn’t sure about the dialogue. Still not sure about it. Some of you might have missed the polls I posted so you could help me decide the future of this series, so here they go: Whether or not I should redeem Ransom and What gender the baby (or babies, damn) should be. Democracy is important :)

Anyway: Reader meets the Thrombeys...

Story warnings:  Smut, abusive relationships, mentions of past sexual assault, talk of abortion, daddy kink, drinking, mention of drug use (Will add more as the story goes on)

Chapter 1 - Truce

Chapter 3 

Fandoms: Knives Out

Ships: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Chapter warnings: The reader and Ransom joke about incest and Ransom jokes about selling the baby to pay his grandfather back for all the money he lend him; people drink wine; there’s mention of drugs and people doing them; The Thrombeys are being particularly shitty.

You were off to the clinic to get an urine exam the next day. Ransom had encouraged you to get a more reliable test to make sure you were pregnant, but he wouldn’t accompany you. He was busy, he said, but he didn’t say with what. Probably begging his granddaddy for more money or chasing after another pair of legs.

The clinic would call you in a couple of days to let you know the results. The wait was killing you. The longer you waited, the harder it would be for you to get an abortion. At some point the pill would stop being an option, and you would have to go under the… knife? Scalpel? Coat hanger? Whatever the procedure entailed, it was bound to be more stressful than just taking some meds.

What was most concerning, though, was the possibility of you becoming attached to the fetus. Your misgivings originated from a fear that you might be doing something you shouldn’t, but you had no particular regard for the thing growing inside you. You might as well be carrying a rock – it certainly tired you like one. Some day that could change, though, and the moment it did you knew it would be game over.

The first thing you did when you got home was take off your coat, kick off your shoes and fall face-first on the couch. That was also the only thing you did. According to the sources you checked, fatigue was an early pregnancy symptom, but you weren’t sure it was meant to be this bad. Good thing you weren’t behind on your freelance work; you didn’t think you could handle doing anything that evening. You were hungry, but didn’t have the energy to even go to the kitchen. Your cellphone started ringing at some point, but you had dropped your bag by the entrance. Maybe something else happened too; you didn’t know, you fell asleep soon after.

You were roused from your nap by a cacophony of car honks right outside your window.

You jumped from the couch and stumbled to see what the commotion was about. You expected to find a car crash in front of your building, but all that was there was a familiar vehicle.

You stepped into your slippers and left your apartment. Ransom was still abusing the horn of his BMW when you came out onto the lawn.

“What are you doing?” You cried out, jogging to his car.

He put his head out through the window. “You don’t pick up your phone anymore?” He complained.

“I was sleeping.” The reason why you didn’t answer didn’t matter. This was a distraction. “Why are you here?”

“I came to pick you up, what else?” He seemed to notice you confusion and explained himself “I’m going to introduce you to my family. They’re having a dinner party tonight at my grandfather’s house. If I show up there with a kid before they even know the mother, my mother’s gonna kill me.”

That gave you pause. Introduce you to his family? That had never been in the cards before. Ransom had always been against anything that could hint to intimacy that went beyond sex, because intimacy entailed responsibility, and he was allergic to that. Your relationship was more of an arrangement, one in which he was the one with the most to gain.

Perhaps this would be your chance to really get something for yourself, something other than the occasional orgasm. Although Ransom’s charms and your proclivities were the biggest reason behind the start of your odd relationship, you’d be lying if you said his grandfather’s accomplishments didn’t affect your interest in him. Having been an avid reader of Harlan’s books back in high school (when you still had time and motivation to read) and now working as an assistant editor in the mystery fiction imprint of a large publishing company, you had hoped that maybe being involved with Ransom would give you the chance to meet him.

Even when it became clear Ransom didn’t like you like that, you still stuck around. He was inflexible when it came to your relationship’s dynamics, but you still had a sliver of hope that one day you’d get to meet his family. In the end you were right, and all you had to do to get your wish was let your idol’s grandson raw you after a couple of beers.

“I’m not even sure if I’m pregnant yet.”

“After five tests? Come on.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m gonna keep it.”

“If you don’t, you don’t. Just let me introduce you before you decide. It’ll be awkward otherwise.”

You couldn’t argue with his logic. Ransom’s family wasn’t likely to think well of you if he introduced you as “the chick I knocked up by accident”. Your family wouldn’t be happy about it either, and yet you had to find a way to convince him to meet them at some point. You knew they weren’t going to like him, but it was better than trying to pretend it was a case of Immaculate Conception. They wouldn't fall for it anyway.

“Go get ready so we can go.” He said.

You nodded and ran back inside. He looked like he was in a rush, so all you felt comfortable doing was retouching your make up and putting on a different pair of pants. When you came back down, Ransom was pouting at his wheel.

“About time,” he said “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“I took like five minutes.”

“Eight.” He tapped the watch in his wrist.

You decided humoring him wasn’t worth it, so you got into the passenger seat without a word. Ransom took off, his tires squealing as he did a u-turn on your sidewalk. He always drove like a madman, most of all when he was in a hurry.

“How long ‘til we get there?” You asked.

“I can make it in half an hour.”

“I mean safely.”

“In that case, thirty minutes.”

Shame on you, forgetting Ransom was convinced he was immortal.

“Is there anything I have to know about your family before I get there?” You asked, trying to take your mind off the traffic lights flashing by at an alarming speed.

“I could never do them justice,” he snickered.

“At least give me something to work with.”

“You are going to have talk to my parents at least,” he mused “Just nod and agree with whatever my father says. You gotta be smarter with my mother, but avoid challenging her. Joni and Meg are annoying, Walt’s creepy, and there’s no point in talking to Donna and Jacob; they’re gonna hate you no matter what.”

“And Harlan?”

The question put a grimace on his face.

“Be honest. He’s gonna like you.” There was a minute pause before he added “We just celebrated his eighty-fifth birthday, so if you can bring up how good he looks for his age without being obnoxious, he’s gonna love it.”

“Eighty-five? When was that?” You liked Harlan’s work, but you didn’t like it enough to bother learning his birth year. You expected him to be younger, what with all the books he was still pumping out on a yearly basis.

“Last week.”

“Your family is big on get-togethers, then?”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately.”

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” you offered. You weren’t sure you’d get along with your parents as well as you did if they didn’t live in another state.

“Sucking does too.”

“But I thought you liked people who suck?”

That was a twelve year old boy joke, but it got you a chuckle.

“Already know what I’ll be trying today: Hey, Joni, blow me.”

“That’s your aunt right?” You asked and received a nod in response “I can’t wait to see you asking her for a blow job.” You didn’t really think he would go that far, so you weren’t worried you were goading him on. If he did it anyway, it would be because he decided the amusement he would get from pissing his aunt off would be worth whatever she could do to get back at him.

“Fuck, I’d accept one from my grandfather at this point.” You two had had sex just yesterday, but that was fine, you supposed.

“I think I’m going to regret this, but since we’re already in too deep and none of us knows when to stop, where are your parents in the Joni-Harlan blowjob scale?” This question might’ve offended anyone else, but Ransom was made of sterner, more horrible stuff.

He replied without missing a beat. “Oh, my dad wins easy. I don’t fancy getting bit.”

The throwaway line about his mother killing him if he just announced your pregnancy out of the blue came to mind. You wondered if she was as terrible as he made her out to be. You wondered if any of his relatives were as horrible as he made teem out to be.

“Hard to think you’d be scared of anyone in your family with all the money they lend you and you never pay back.”

He snorted. “I’m not scared of any of them. Wouldn’t be going if I were. I already owe Harlan more ‘one-pounds of flesh’ than I weigh.”

“Good thing he doesn’t charge interest.”

“Who says he doesn’t?” His eyes flicked to you for a moment, comically wide “What do you think I want the baby for?”

“You- you want the baby?” You knew he meant to jest about selling your child, and perhaps the bit about wanting it was said in the spirit of the joke, but you couldn’t help but hope it was a Freudian slip. Why did you hope that?

His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he considered your question for a few seconds. “I said I would help you with it.”

“No, you said that at first, but now you said you want it. I didn’t even ask for help, I just thought I should tell you. Why did you offer to help in the first place?”

He shrugged. Something about the gesture felt off, less cocksure than his usual self. “Because it felt right.”

“But do you want to do it? Do you even know what raising a child means?”

“Do you?”

No, you didn’t. You might have even less knowledge of the subject than Ransom, weird as that seemed. You hadn’t said you wanted to have the baby, though. You weren’t sure what you wanted.

“Do you want me to drop you off at a clinic? Because we can end this now.” Something about the way he’d said it made it seem as if he was talking about more than just the pregnancy.

“That’s not what I meant.” You whispered.

Edifices were replaced by trees as Ransom drove on. It was easy to focus on the changing view, now that he wasn’t talking to you anymore. You had broken one of his unspoken rules: never get emotional around him. You knew he wasn’t in it for something as trivial as feelings, but now with the pregnancy thing you thought… Well, you weren’t sure what you thought.

The rest of the trip went by in silence, seeming to take forever in spite of the scenery flying by. By the time you arrived at your destination you were disheartened – lucky you that the house Ransom parked in front of was the stuff murder mystery fiction dreams were made of.

Harlan’s mansion had been plucked from one of his books, it had to have been. With its red bricks and the Gothic Revival style, it looked like it’d been taken straight out of “Around the Corner and Down the Lane”. It was a magnificent, giant, mysterious house you could easily imagine multiple murders happening inside.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Ransom left the car, slamming the door shut on his way out. You had to hurry after him to get to the porch as he was knocking on the door.

You didn’t have to wait long to hear sounds coming from the other side. There were footsteps against a wooden floor and the shuffling of keys, and then time seemed to slow down. When you woke up that morning, you’d never have thought you would end up meeting Ransom’s family by the end of the day. Were they anything like him? What would they think of you? And what would they think about the thing? You weren’t going to talk about it today, but still…

The door opened, revealing a slim woman with an old fashioned bob-cut. She looked confused when she saw Ransom, and even more when she spotted you. She opened her mouth, but didn’t get the chance to say anything.

“Hey, Frannie,” Ransom greeted. If you didn’t know him better, you’d assume he was being friendly. “Take this for me, would you?”

He removed his coat with the speed you’d come to expect from him when it came to taking off his clothes and shoved the mass of fabric into her arms. He walked inside, brushing past her, ignoring the outraged look on her face. You followed after, and her expression was no kinder towards you. It wasn’t the first time someone got mad at you for something Ransom did, but what were you to do? It wasn’t as if you could control him.

As Ransom walked through an arch on the left and the woman scurried through a door to the right, you stood on the spot right in front of the entrance. The gargoyles sculpted in the wood of the stair railing paralyzed you, the lights from the ornate chandelier blinded you, and the memories of books read long ago, hiding under the blankets with a flashlight when you were supposed to be sleeping came rushing back to you. This was much more than you had been expecting.

The inside of the house was dark and sinister like the outside, but there was a sense of warmth you hadn’t anticipated. The soft lights, the lavish rugs, and the numerous trinkets scattered about gave it a lived in feeling. The decoration somehow split the difference between “home” and “haunted house” right down the middle.

Why was it that Ransom didn’t like visiting his grandfather again?

“What are you standing around for?”

Speak of the devil…

Your forced your feet to move and followed him deeper into the house. Something inside you screamed at you to just ditch Ransom and this stupid dinner party to explore by yourself, because you got the feeling he would end up dragging you to a place that looked much more boring. You needn’t have worried – the living room was adorned in much the same way as the hall, cluttered and discordant and fascinating. Every piece of decor seemed to selected based on its own merits rather than any common theme or style, but it somehow all worked together.

You had started making your way to a windowsill, from where a model of a carousel with fish instead of horses called to you, when a voice stopped you in your tracks – a voice you had never heard before.

“Who’s that?”

You whirled around to see a man standing just a few feet away from Ransom. The age was about right, and with the two standing so close together, it was hard to deny the similarities between them.

“That’s my date,” Ransom said with a shrug.

“Date? You brought a date?”

“Nice, Richard. We don’t want to make her feel too welcome.”

At that, the older man looked back at you with a grin that would be charming if not for the utter shock reflected in his eyes.

“Hey, there,” he greeted, extending a hand “Richard Drysdale, father of this,” he glanced behind himself to look at Ransom, who was busy messing with a figurine in the mantelpiece “rascal.”

You offered your hand to him (his handshake was strong, professional) and introduced yourself.

“I gotta say, this is really something else,” Richard said “Ransom hasn’t brought any girls home since high school.”

“I bring girls home all the time, I just don’t live with you anymore.”

The meaning of his words didn’t go unnoticed. You already knew he fucked other women on the side – or rather, there was no “side”; you guys weren’t a thing, and it wasn’t as if you only put out for him – but Richard understood him as well.

“Is that the kind of thing you say in front of your date? I thought we taught you better than this.”

“No, Richard. We really didn’t.”

You looked to the source of the voice, and spotted the woman who had to be Ransom’s other progenitor.

“Linda,” she extended her hand to you, but not a smile. Her handshake was even stronger than her husband’s.

Richard joined his son by the fireplace to fiddle with a pewter box, looking downright chastised. Ransom, for his part, seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh.

He had said his family was a mess, and that he found it all terribly fun. Up until now, you weren’t really sure you believed him.

“Whatever this” Linda pointed from her son to you, then back to him again “is about, I hope it ends soon, for your sake.” The last bit, she’d said while looking at you, then she left through a different archway than she’d entered from.

It seemed Ransom had inherited the charm from his father, but the ability to put the fear of God in those who crossed him came from his mother.

“Who else is here?” Ransom asked once Linda was out of earshot.

“Mostly everyone is in the library,” Richard replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, all the former friendliness leaving him like a deflating balloon “your grandfather locked himself in his office with the nurse, and who knows where they put Wanetta. Meg’s not coming.”

“What excuse did Joni come up with?”

“Schoolwork. Essays, whatever. I mean, it’s a Friday, it could wait.”

“She’s going to spend at least half of the evening doing drugs with a friend, easy.”

“Dope.”

Ransom snorted “Like she’s shooting up.”

Richard fixed his son with a disbelieving look. “No. Dope is weed. Dope was weed just yesterday.”

“It used to be.” Upon seeing the defeated expression on his father’s face, Ransom shrugged “World’s passing you by, man.”

That didn’t help. Richard looked back to the pewter box, turning it on his fingers like he was trying to find the best angle to see his reflection. Ransom stared at him for a second longer, then stepped away from the fireplace and exited through the same way his mother had.

He didn’t call you, so you assumed you weren’t needed at the moment, but then, what were you going to do with yourself – watch a man have an existential crisis?

You didn’t have to wait long to find out. You had been standing there, watching Richard sigh to himself for maybe a minute when three other people entered the room. The first was the woman who had opened the door for you; the second, a younger woman, with something almost doe-like about her, and the third…

Well, Harlan Thrombey didn’t need introductions – at least, not to you.

He was the first to speak, looking at the woman Ransom had called Frannie. “Seems like you aren’t going mad, Fran. Unless we all are, which is possible. Can you see her too?” And at that he turned to the other woman, who smiled at him. It was hard to tell whether her smile was fond or embarrassed.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

“Since you’re just standing around with this idiot,” He said. Richard gave a tight smile and tapped his fingers against the mantelpiece “I’m going to guess idiot number two left you to fend for yourself?”

This wasn’t the kind of welcome you’d expect when meeting your not-boyfriend’s family, but Ransom was eccentric, so maybe his relatives were as well. Maybe it was a rich people thing.

“I’m used to it, when it comes to Ransom” you offered.

Harlan grinned at you, but then again, he had been smiling since he entered the room. There was something very Ransom-like about both expressions.

He ambled to you, extending a hand which you rushed to grasp. His smile grew, but maybe that wasn’t good.

“I’m Harlan, the proprietor of this” he gestured to the room with both hands “little menagerie of horrors. And these,” he turned to the women “are Fran, my housekeeper, the only one who can keep this mess in order,” the woman who’d opened the door smiled and raised her hand in greeting, but she still seemed suspicious of you “and Marta, my caretaker. Heaven sent, I would already be dead if not for her.”

Marta had smiled at you as she was introduced, but frowned at the last comment.

“Don’t say that,” she admonished “you’re strong like a horse, you’re going to live for a million years, I’m sure.”

Harlan whimpered theatrically and extended a hand as if trying to grasp at something.

“Marta, is that you? It’s so dark, I can’t see. Oh, is that a light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Really? You’re impossible.” Marta huffed, and Harlan laughed.

They seemed close. Close enough that they’d forgotten all about you in their banter.

Once he was done with his joke Harlan turned back to you.

“I promise you I don’t get any more charming, but you get used to it with time.”

Time. Did he think you’d get to be around long enough to get used to anything there?

“Let’s... get this party started,” he said with a wink “I don’t ask you your name because I’m dying to see how my grandson will introduce you, and I don’t want to get attached.”

That answered that question.

You followed the party of three into another living room(parlor?), then another(fainting room? How many rooms for sitting could one person need?), then finally to what you presumed was the library (that could easily double as a living room), given the floor to ceiling bookcases in every wall that wasn’t occupied by a window. The room was large, large than any room in a house needed or had a right to be, and there were so many books on so many shelves there was no way Harlan would’ve been able to read them all, even accounting for his age.

Despite the exorbitance, the place was cozy and interesting, not at all a monochromatic art installation behemoth the likes of the Kardashian-West mansion (Which you didn’t care about in the slightest… one of your coworkers had shown you the pictures, it was all), the sort of thing you expected from people with too much money and no sense of comfort. The library was furbished with plush seats, nooks where one could hide in to read in peace, even a mezzanine, and– was that a sculpture inspired by “A Thousand Knives”?! Excessive, very excessive, and somehow also really cool. You were sure you could spend hours perusing books and examining baubles, but there were other people already in the room, and you had been raised too well to just ignore them when it was obvious you had already seen them.

Linda leaned against an open window, balancing an unlit cigarette between two fingers, and looking out, as if debating whether or not to have a smoke and whether or not doing so inside. There were a man and a woman on a pair of matching high-backed chairs, looking nervous and annoyed respectively as another woman talked at them, and a teenager speaking to Ransom in between typing things on his phone. He was the first to notice you’d entered the room and he directed a brief glare to you before his eyes landed on Marta.

“Well, no need to stand up or anything,” Harlan spoke from behind you, waving his hand as he passed.

“Dad, plea-” the sitting man began, but he stopped once he saw you. After a moment of confused staring by both parties, he looked back to Harlan “Is that-”

“Don’t know; she came with your nephew.”

All eyes were now on Ransom. He was enjoying the attention, if the stupid smug grin on his face was any indication.

“I brought a date. I figured I had to be the first to do it, since Meg thinks all sex is rape and Jacob’s an incel,” that earned him an elbow in the gut, which he barely reacted to.

“A date? Boohoo,” Harlan spoke, and you almost winced “I expected something more exciting from you.”

“Would you rather she was a notorious diamond thief and I brought her here to steal every red penny you own, old man?”

“That would be more on brand.”

“That’s it,” Marta said, placing her hands on his shoulders and directing him to an armchair in front of the knife sculpture “I’m putting you to bed earlier, abuelo.”

“Not without me throwing a tantrum, you’re not.”

Ransom’s uncle looked back and forth from his father, then to you, then to his nephew, before settling on you and standing up. He picked up a cane that was resting beside the armchair and wobbled toward you, smiling.

“Hello. I’m Walt, it’s a pleasure to meet you…”

You gave him your name, exchanged proper greetings, shook hands; his fingers were trembling slightly, but the length of the hand shake was very appropriate.

“I hope you like it here so far. Any friend of Ransom’s is welcome here.”

“You say that because you never met any of my friends.”

“You know what Ransom,” Walt turned gave him a sarcastic smile “I’m surprised you have any friends at all. You sure you not paying her to be here?”

You didn’t know exactly what it was that Walt had said, but something had set Ransom off.

“Why, you want a round with her? Don’t think you could afford it right now, pal.”

Walt’s lips were still pulled up into a smile, but his pupils were darting from side to side like he was searching for escape routes. That was fair, so were you.

“Don’t speak to my husband that way,” the woman who hadn’t said a single word to or even acknowledged your presence so far, gripped the seat’s armrest as she seethed at Ransom “it’s not his fault that-”

At that she fell silent and turned to Harlan, who was looking at everything with mild interest.

“Actually, you don’t have a job either, do you Donna?” Ransom continued. You knew that look; he was getting steam and you didn’t want to know what would come next.

“I think we’re all just a little stressed with everything that’s been going on,” the woman who had been silent so far – Ransom’s other aunt, you presumed, the one he wanted to suck his dick – mercifully cut in before he could get anything else out “I think we need to roll things back, maybe start over? I can go back to the car and get my crystals so we can do a-”

As if on cue, Fran entered again, a tray with a wine bottle and glasses in hand. She left everything on a coffee table, then walked by Marta, whispering something that convinced the younger woman to move to a more secluded corner of the room with her.

Donna perked up when the drink touched the table, and, smiling the well practiced smile of a hostess who did her duty with no joy, she started pouring drinks and handing them around. When one of the glasses was placed in your hands, you weren’t sure what to do. You rolled the stem in your fingers, pondering as the other adults drank and Jacob sulked.

“So,” Joni began, giving you an easy grin “you and Ransom have known each other for…”

As she trailed off, Linda chuckled, but she wasn’t looking at you.

“Eight months, give or take.” You answered.

The answer seemed to surprise her “Eight months? And how long have you been dating?”

“Oh, I’m not...” you turned to Ransom for help, but he was looking at his nails as if they were the most fascinating thing in the World or as if he really didn’t want to take part in this conversation “I’m not sure. We haven’t exactly made things official.”

It looked like she was fighting to keep her smile in place “And you met-”

“What do you do?” Linda interrupted, still looking out the window “Do you actually have a job or are you just expecting to scam someone here?”

You turned to Ransom; he had placed a hand over his heart and was looking at his mother as if he found her comment deeply offensive.

You hadn’t thought about what you would say if Ransom’s family decided to grill you, deciding it would be best not to overthink things as he’d suggested. A question about your job was expected – it was just harder to process it when it had been asked in such a manner.

“No, I- I’m an assistant editor at Little, Brown and Company.”

There was a splashing sound, and you looked just in time to see Walt trying to rub off a stain from his sweater with one hand, while holding his wine glass with trembling fingers. When he noticed you looking at him, he offered a stiff smile.

That was the wrong answer, it seemed. It was the truth, of course, but the reactions around you were discouraging. Linda huffed, Harlan chuckled, Joni nodded mechanically, Donna seethed as she wiped at her husband’s clothes with a napkin, Walt trembled, Jacob’s scowl deepened, the sound coming from Fran and Marta’s corner of the room ceased, and Ransom’s grin was the widest you had ever seen on his face.

“Really?” Linda asked, now focused on her son “Where do you find those people?”

He laughed. “What? I’m very charming.”

“I need to use the restroom,” you squawked. You didn’t really need the restroom, just any place other than there.

“I’ll show you where it is,” Marta said, as quickly as you had. Her eyes told you everything: she was also dying to get out.

You handed your drink over to Ransom and followed Marta out of the room, the two of you almost running down the hallway.

She led you to a lavatory, where you turned on the faucets to cover the sound of you whimpering and heaving inside. After splashing your face with some water, you exited the room to find her still waiting for you outside. She offered an apologetic smile.

“So…” you started, not sure of how to best broach the subject. Good thing she already knew what you wanted to get at.

“They aren’t always like this,” she said “they’re all good people, but things have been a little… you know how it can be with family, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s just a little… seems kind of a bad time for me to be showing up.”

“No, I think it helps. They are better behaved when there’s company.”

But that’s true of everyone.

“Ransom didn’t tell you about…? Anything?” She asked.

“No. He said it’d be fine.”

Marta’s expression was of doubt, but she didn’t say anything to discredit him.

“Are you okay to go back?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

She nodded and stared leading you back to the room.

“They’re good people, but can be a little much sometimes. You get used to it with time.”

“You- I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but you don’t look that used to them yourself.”

She shrugged “I guess I just… haven’t been around long enough.”

The scene you returned to was different from the one you had run from. Linda had abandoned the window and reclined on one of the armchairs. Richard had made his appearance, leaning against a bookcase behind Linda; He kept a respectful (perhaps even safe) distance between the two. Walt, Jacob and Donna were squeezed in on a single couch, looking like they’d just been plucked from a stuffy family portrait. Joni lounged on a window seat, leaning her chin on one hand and swirling her wine with the other. Fran was nowhere to be found. Harlan, sat atop the chair in front of the halo of knives, looking every bit the magnanimous patriarch. Ransom had taken his place on an armchair, just beside another empty one. On his other side was a small table with two empty wineglasses. His legs were crossed and he had a wide, satisfied smile that you knew well – so you knew it couldn’t mean anything good.

You sat beside him and angled your body in a way you felt would rend a pretty picture, because that seemed to be the game they were playing, while Marta made her way to a corner and stood there, doing the most not to draw attention to herself. Smart.

“So,” Harlan began as you settled into your spot “I think you were telling us about your career?”

“Yes, but there really isn’t much else to say.” Unless they wanted to be bored, that is. You had more tales of spotting typos than of interesting literary works.

“You said you worked at Little, Brown and Co?” He asked and you nodded “How long have you been there?”

“Two years. It’s about all the experience I have working in the field, other than internships in college.”

“Ah, College.” He grinned, but didn’t explain what he found so amusing “What did you major in?”

“English literature, with a minor in communications.”

“Good, good. Topical. You two bonded over books, then?”

You turned to Ransom, who was looking at you with a lazy smile. You had never told him about your job, let alone what you had studied in college.

“Yep,” he said. You two talked about books sometimes, but you didn’t think those conversations had helped with any bonding.

“You know, I think it’s so good to see Ransom has found a positive influence,” Joni said. The affectation in her voice and mannerisms was suddenly much more noticeable, and it felt like an omen.

You turned to Ransom. His lips were pressed together into a thin line and his chest was swelling like he was gathering oxygen for a screaming match or something worse. The longer you spent around these people, the more you were convinced he wasn’t the only one who liked to needle others.

“Honestly, I-” the words tumbled out of your mouth and you could only hope they were the right ones “I’m not sure if he’s influenceable.”

Ransom was still scowling and for a moment you were afraid you had only made things worse, but then his mouth opened and he let out the air in his lungs with a low chuckle. Much better than being in the middle of another argument.

Fran walked back into the room before anyone else could start a scene and announced that dinner was ready. Apparently Harlan hadn’t been exaggerating when he said she was the only one who kept his house in order – all around you tense shoulders relaxed and frowning brows smoothed with the promise of a meal. You must’ve looked happy as well, given you hadn’t eaten a thing since lunch and your stomach was starting to hurt. There was also (and you wished the thought hadn’t run through your mind, but it did) the chance that Ransom and his family would be much less likely to speak if their mouths were stuffed with meatloaf.

You wished you didn’t have those sort of intrusive thoughts about people you had just met, but they weren’t making it easy for you. Marta had alluded to a “family situation” that had left them on edge, but you had never seen people react this badly to strangers. This was the stuff or nightmares, or at least of “Florida Man” news reports. They were supposedly worse when there wasn’t company? How much worse could they get?

Ransom had told you not to worry about dining with his family. Maybe he was so used to them he didn’t think the way they acted was all that strange; maybe he knew his family would behave the way they had but he decided not to warn you for purposes of fuckery; it didn’t matter all that much. The worst thing was knowing that they sucked as hard as he liked to say they did. If you chose to go on with your pregnancy, this is what you would be bringing your child into.

[dindjarindiaries]

Thunder - Chapter 3: Humidity

summary: Frankie, Luciana, and the boys head to a bar for the night, where the boys get a little too drunk and the other two start to give into rising tensions.

warnings: drunkenness, sexual themes

rating: R

word count: 3.789k

masterlist

chapter 3: humidity

Frankie may not like parties, but he’s always game for a good night at their local bar. Mulligan’s has been the home of many of Frankie’s favorite memories—especially the wilder ones. Of course, he’s never the one at the center of the action. His memories come from his perspective standing at the bar or in a corner, laughing at either Benny or Santiago making an idiot of themselves. Many of those memories come along with Luciana’s laughter in the background, whether she’s standing next to him or joining in the fun. Luciana will let herself be a little looser at bars than at parties, and Frankie doesn’t mind. She never lets herself get out of control.

Luciana’s gone out with her friends outside of the group a few times before, but Frankie never usually caught her leaving or coming back. She’s confessed something about it to him before: she wears different clothing when she’s with the girls, because it’s a different kind of experience. With the guys, she’s not out to impress anybody. With the girls, anything’s fair game.

This has stuck in Frankie’s mind for a reason he refuses to acknowledge.

But now, he’s curious—because Luciana’s coming into the kitchen where everyone’s gathering, and she’s wearing something Frankie would consider to be in her “with the girls” wardrobe. She has a deep v-neck lavender-colored shirt on that hugs to her body and crops just above the waistband of the cut-off denim shorts that are much shorter than anything Frankie remembers seeing her in. He tries not to make his studying of her too obvious, but he can’t help it. He’s not judging—he’s admiring. It’s showing off things Frankie never paid much attention to before. It’s not helping with everything he’s trying to keep buried within.

So, why is she wearing it?

Frankie assumes that Luciana’s probably meeting up with her girl friends at the bar. He feels slightly disappointed at the thought of it, wishing they could stand together and make fun of their idiotic friends, but he also wants her to do whatever she wants to. Frankie wouldn’t hold her back. He could try to keep up with the not-as-drunk-but-still-shitfaced Tom and Will—or stand in the corner on his own. It wouldn’t be the first time in his life he’s done that, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Frankie?” Luciana’s voice suddenly snaps Frankie out of his thoughts, and he blinks a few times before looking to the source. She’s standing a few steps away from him, waving her hand gently under the brim of his hat. “You awake? The night hasn’t even started yet.”

Frankie chuckles, tucking his thoughts away as he focuses on her amused yet concerned gaze. He makes an obvious point to look there and not anywhere else—specifically the assets she has on display. He wouldn’t want to disrespect her. “I’m—yeah, sorry,” Frankie manages to finally answer, watching as Luciana lifts a doubtful eyebrow. “Just thinkin’.”

“About what?” Luciana presses curiously. Her brow then furrows into further concern, and she looks around to make sure the boys are properly distracted before taking a step closer to Frankie. “Are you okay? Do you need to talk?”

Frankie gives her a reassuring smile, feeling a warmth in his chest at her eagerness to comfort him. “I’m alright, Luce,” he assures her softly. “It wasn’t anything bad. I just…” Frankie sighs, trying to find the right words to be honest with her, “… I was wondering if you were meeting up with your other friends.”

Luciana’s face relaxes, and she shakes her head at him as she steps away. “No, we weren’t planning on it. Why?”

Frankie hesitates, trying to think of an excuse quickly. “I—.”

“You’d really miss me that much, Flyboy?” Luciana chuckles, an amused twinkle sparkling in her eye. Frankie nearly breathes a sigh of relief.

“Don’t flatter yourself like that, Luci,” Frankie jokingly scoffs, earning a punch to the shoulder. “Maybe I was hoping I’d get some time away from you.”

“You fucking asshole,” Luciana curses, pushing him backwards a bit as she laughs. Frankie also laughs gently but keeps an eye out to make sure no one’s witnessing the exchange actively. He’s satisfied to see Tom, Will, and Benny lost in their own conversation. Thankfully, Santiago’s usually the last one to come downstairs—who knows how long it takes him to gel his hair just right and put on his four layers of cologne—and so he doesn’t have to worry about increasing his suspicions.

As if on cue, Santiago walks into the kitchen, and everyone grumbles with divine-directed gratitude as they start to file out the door. The bar is on the other side of the street from the dive, and so they all decide to walk there. It’s safer for everyone and it allows them to drink as much as they want. For Frankie, the latter incentive doesn’t factor, but he doesn’t mind the walking; it always calms him.

That is, until he realizes how humid it is. It’s been a little over a week since their last storm, and Frankie wonders if the spring’s about to bring them another one. He even has to undo an extra two buttons on his tropical-printed shirt to allow himself more room to breathe. Sweat has already started to coat everyone’s foreheads, but it remains ignored as the group makes casual conversation.

Once they get to Mulligan’s, the usual routine starts to run. Frankie holds on to his reliable bottle of lite beer while the others down shots to get started. Luciana even joins in with them, and Frankie has to hide his smile at the sight of her having fun with them. He also has to swallow back the way he feels upon seeing her take them so powerfully, as if they don’t affect her at all. She’s even tougher than her brother. Frankie likes tough.

He shakes his head, looking down into his bottle. Frankie has no idea what he’s looking for. Or at least, he wishes he didn’t.

Frankie only looks back up when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he meets Luciana’s sparkling gaze right away. “You should take one, Frankie!” Luciana encourages him, raising her voice over the hum of the bar’s many guests and the music playing much louder than it probably should.

He laughs and gives his head a shake. “You know me, Luce,” he responds, also having to raise his voice. “That’s not my thing.”

“Just one!” Luciana pushes, giving him a small smile. “I won’t make you do it if you don’t want to, but if you do, you’d only have to do one!”

Frankie sighs softly, searching Luciana’s gaze for a moment. It’s full of such fun, excitement, and hope—hope that Frankie will at least try to take a part in all of that, too. He doesn’t want to let her down. Plus, it’s not like he’s never done a shot before. Maybe he could use a little change. “Alright,” Frankie finally agrees, causing Luciana to whoop in delight. “Hit me with it.”

Luciana leads him closer to where the boys are still going, and they give a loud cheer as Frankie approaches. He tries to keep the heat away from his cheeks, putting his beer bottle onto the bar as he accepts one of the shots that’s sitting there. Before he takes it, Frankie looks over at Luciana, throwing her a wink that he wishes was more confident as he throws his head back and lets the alcohol burn down his throat. He scrunches his nose upon identifying the liquor as tequila. He thought it would’ve been vodka.

“What a fuckin’ legend, Fish!” Benny hollers from behind him, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving his body a few shakes. Frankie laughs at his friend’s dramatic reaction, tipping his hat on his head as he reaches for his beer bottle again. “I bet you could do, like, ten of those in a minute.”

“I probably could,” Frankie agrees, placing his hand on Benny’s shoulder. “But then I’d be dead.”

Benny laughs—harder than he probably should, but Frankie knows his liquor’s already kicking in—and steps away from Frankie. “You’re hilarious, man.”

Frankie shrugs, taking a swig from his bottle as he stays on the outskirts of the group. He watches and rarely comments as they dare each other to drink more or try their luck with girls, witnessing as they slip further and further out of sobriety and start to gravitate towards the livelier part of the bar. Mulligan’s has a larger space left for dancing than most bars, which is part of the reason why the group loves it so much. Frankie’s never partaken in that. He hasn’t wanted to.

Frankie watches as his friends lose themselves in the crowd, some staying together while some split off and find some pretty thing to dance up on. That’s their way of relaxing, enjoying life, and de-stressing. Frankie has other ways, like watching his friends have fun and taking solitary walks. He can’t be as open as they are because he’s closed himself off. Frankie used to be funny and hyper. And then life caught up to him—it surpassed him.

He still hasn’t caught back up to it.

The only thing grounding him has been people like Santiago, Luciana, and the boys. His shell protects him from experiencing any further damage, but he lets them see underneath it. They understand it. They don’t try to peel it away. So, when Frankie stands here and watches his friends dance the night away like he might’ve had life been different, he doesn’t feel left out or sad. He feels… relieved. At peace. Happy that his friends won’t make him feel like he should be doing something he doesn’t want to.

But then Luciana gives his arm a tug, and he looks over to see her glancing up at him with that sparkle in her eyes—and he knows she’s about to ask him something out of the ordinary. It doesn’t anger him, though, or make him uncomfortable. He trusts her. “I love this song,” she tells him, and Frankie tunes in to hear “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC playing through the speakers. “Will you dance with me?”

Frankie’s eyes widen a bit. “Luce, I… you know I’m not—.”

“I’ll guide you,” Luciana insists. Frankie knows she’s more buzzed than usual—he can tell by the glossier texture of her eyes. But she’s still partially sober. She’s conscious of what she’s doing. And that makes him question things. “Don’t be scared.” Luciana reaches to ease Frankie’s nearly empty bottle onto the bar, taking his hand and gently pulling him in the direction of the dance floor.

“Luci, what about your brother?” Frankie starts to panic. “If he sees us, my ass is grass.” There’s a million other things going through his head right now, and he’s not sure what to do about it. His brain’s screaming at him to remove himself from this situation and think off on his own, but his heart’s telling him to enjoy this moment—like he might’ve used to.

“He’s absolutely hammered and completely invested in that blonde chick over there.” Luciana jerks her head on the opposite side of the dance floor, where Frankie observes Santiago practically falling onto the blonde who’s dancing on him. He lets out a sigh, looking back to see Luciana’s hopeful gaze.

“Alright. I’ll… uh, try.” Frankie often finds himself lacking confidence, but he’s never felt less confident about anything than he does about this. Dancing—with a girl, even if it’s one of his closest friends—is definitely not his strong point. Frankie can feel how stiff he is as he attempts to move in sync with Luciana, who’s easily able to move her body to the beat in ways that have him feeling a little dizzy. All she’s doing is standing right in front of him, and his heart’s beginning to race.

It doesn’t take long for Luciana to pick up on his rigidity, and she lets out a soft laugh as she places her hands on his shoulders. “Hey, it’s alright, Frankie,” she soothes, and Frankie can feel some of the tension roll off his shoulders at her touch. He nearly feels numb when her hands move to his hat, flipping it around on his head so that the brim’s backwards. She then places her hands on the sides of his face to pull his forehead to hers, forcing him to look into her faded yet lively brown gaze. “Relax. It’s just me—just us. Move with me.”

Frankie tries to keep himself from trembling at this odd yet comfortable moment of intimacy. He watches as Luciana releases Frankie’s face and lets them separate again. She turns around so that he’s facing her back, and she looks over her shoulder as she moves to the rhythm of the classic tune. Frankie attempts to mimic her in a masculine way, trying to drown out the rest of the crowd so that he’s only thinking of himself and Luciana. He doesn’t want to share this moment with anybody else, and if he starts thinking of the other people present, he’ll lose the tiny shred of confidence Luciana’s attempting to give him.

The rest of the bar truly disappears the moment Luciana brings herself closer to Frankie, eliminating the gap between them until she’s right up against him. With every movement, she’s brushing up against him, and Frankie’s sure now that it’s not just the exercise of the dancing that’s making his heart beat out of his chest. He doesn’t know what to do—where to look, how to act—and he feels frozen again. Luciana senses this, and Frankie hears her release another chuckle. She reaches over her shoulder with one arm to capture the side of his neck, bringing his ear to her lips as she reassures him. “It’s alright, Frankie.” Luciana pauses, using her free hand to take one of Frankie’s and gently ease it onto her waist. “You can touch me.”

Frankie swallows back his hesitance and does what she says. He lets his other hand meet her waist as well, and soon his grip on her becomes firmer. It feels natural to him. Frankie swelters in the heat of the moment as Luciana leaves her hand on his neck, her lips instead beginning to brush over the perspiring skin of his neck as they keep moving together. He never would’ve expected something like this to feel so right, as if that line between friendship and something more has been blurred for a lifetime. He never would’ve expected he’d be looking down at her like this, admiring the way she moves against his body. He never would’ve expected to be eyeing the way her shorts ride up and reveal more of the assets he’d tried to ignore before, or the view he has down her shirt from this angle.

But what Frankie truly never expected was the way she turns herself around so that her chest is pressed against his, unfastening one more of his buttons before she firmly brushes a hand over the skin there. She’s reciprocating. And that insecure part of Frankie wants to tell himself it’s because she’s had too much to drink or that those shots hit her harder than usual. But he knows that’s not true. He can look into her eyes and see that she’s still there, maybe not completely sober but still entirely aware of what’s happening. Frankie’s always thought she was beautiful—in a way he couldn’t match. He knew that one day, she’d fall into the arms of a man who was equally as attractive. Instead, out of all the people surrounding them at the bar, she’s chosen to dance with him, to give him all of her attention, to make him feel as if he’s the only person in her world.

He can’t process that. Frankie doesn’t make himself process it.

He absorbs the moment he’s in now, losing himself in her gaze as his hands draw her waist even closer to him. Frankie feels bolder now than he ever has before, and he clings to that shred of confidence Luciana’s actions have brought him. He even lets his touch fall a little lower, getting closer to the fringe of her cut-off shorts. Still, Frankie hesitates, wanting to make sure Luciana consents with everything he’s doing. Once he earns a small nod, he lets his hands fall farther, until the soft skin peeking out from under her shorts is brushing against his palms.

The temperature of the bar rises even more now, especially as Frankie hears Luciana release a pleasured sigh at the feeling of his hands against her. Her hands that have come around his neck give the hair peeking out from under his hat a tug, and Frankie tries to bite back a pleasant grunt as his grip on her tightens in response. Luciana draws herself even closer to him, her hands easing his head back down until her lips are brushing against his ear.

“Frankie,” Luciana’s soft voice begins, the tone balancing between something kind and something sensual. It drives Frankie crazy to hear her say his name in such a way. “Has anyone ever told you…” she pauses for a moment, sliding one of her hands onto the skin of his chest and rubbing over it, “…how sexy you are?”

Frankie almost chokes upon hearing the words, but instead he ends up releasing a growl as her one hand grips his hair yet again. He tightens his grasp on her ass in a way that he’s sure will leave marks for at least a few minutes, causing Luciana to hide her face in his shirt-covered shoulder as she releases a half-gasp, half-moan. Frankie doesn’t know whether to blame the liquor or some instinct deep within for the full confidence he’s now gained, especially as he whispers back in her ear. “I only want to hear you say it,” he states lowly, almost like a demand. “As many times as you want to.”

Luciana lifts her face from his shoulder, her eyes darkened so much that they’re almost black. She bats her lashes up at him, and Frankie feels a bead of sweat drip down the side of his head. “I’ll say it as much as you want me to,” she assures him, her hand running over his chest once again before she secures it to the back of his neck. Her eyelids then flutter closed, as if she’s placing herself into a daydream. Frankie brushes his thumbs over the mixture of skin and denim he’s holding in his grasp, causing her to wince in delight as she hides her face in his shoulder again. “Fuck, Frankie.”

“I know,” Frankie assures her, his lips brushing against her ear in the haze of it all. Her body has never stopped moving against his, no matter how firm his grip’s gotten or how many times they’ve spoken to each other—and it’s put Frankie in a daze. This shouldn’t feel so right. This is something Frankie didn’t even know he had buried deep within him. This is an admiration for one of his closest friends that he never knew existed—or at least, that he attempted to keep under lock and key. Now, it’s loose, and Frankie doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to put it back in its cage again.

And then, just as suddenly as the long moment began, it ends. Luciana turns her head rapidly to the side, and Frankie follows her stare to see her brother and the other guys starting to head back in their direction. They separate quickly upon noticing that, and neither one of them speak as they help the stumbling men get back to the house safely.

The whole way there, Frankie can still feel himself buzzing from the excitement of what he and Luciana just shared. At the same time, he can’t stop worrying about it. Things have to change now. They can’t deny the way they just acted with each other, the things they just revealed without even having to say the words. What’s brewing between them goes deeper than friendship—even deeper than the plain admiration Frankie thought he held for Luciana, and vice versa. This was more than a “date” for milkshakes at the dive. This was more than a night spent in Frankie’s truck eating pizza and listening to classic rock. This was touching, and gasping, and confessing, and bringing each other to a feeling that’s not easy to come back from. Frankie can only hope he hasn’t ruined things for them by giving into these tensions.

He’s afraid he has up until they start to get settled in for the night. When the boys are properly distracted by completely passing out in their beds—though Bennie only made it to the couch, and needed to be dragged up the stairs—Frankie passes Luciana in the hallway and has his arm caught by her hand. He immediately stops, looking her in the eye to see nothing but the same fondness she’d shown him moments before the heat intensified at the bar. Frankie relaxes as he waits for her to speak.

“Thank you, Frankie,” Luciana whispers, trying to make sure the guys—regardless of their states of consciousness—don’t hear what she’s saying, “for such a fun night. I’m glad you loosened up. I had a really good time.”

Frankie ends up biting back a smile at her words, taking a moment to form his own in his head. “I should be thanking you for helping me to loosen up,” he retorts, earning a smile from Luciana. “I had a good time, too—a great time, actually.”

Luciana says nothing, choosing only to widen her smile and give his arm a gentle squeeze before she walks off towards her room. Frankie stares after her for just a moment, letting his eyes soak in that final view of her assets before he disappears inside his own room. He flops onto his bed and releases an airy sigh, staring at the ceiling and letting his smile grow.

Frankie wonders if this is what it feels like to finally fly, because he’s sure his spirits have never risen higher than they have right now.

next part: chapter 4: dark clouds

thunder tag list: @youhavereachedtheendofpie @charmantbarnes @theindiealto @fangirl-and-stuff @phoenixhalliwell @maybege @amarvelousmandalorian @seawhisperer @mrsparknuts @saltywintersoldat @softpedropascal @i-hide-inside-my-head @sunshinepascal @domino-oh-damn​ @thirsty-flygirl​ @awesomefandomsunited

permanent tag list: @mikahid @theforceofdarkandlight @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @lavenderl3mons @cable-kenobi

[lightningbugqueensfics]

A Magical Time of Year

Happy Holidays from we the Supernatural fandom! I present to you a fluffy fic of family, gift exchanges, coming out, and copious amounts of Destiel. Minor angst, because I can't resist, but a happy ending all around.

Destiel, No Archive Warnings Apply, and there are spoilers from the finale.

Thanks so much for the help @themoosegoes-deanicandothis!

Link

“Dean, we have to go,” Cas called out, “Sam just texted me that Claire got here, and we still need to get presents for Jody and Charlie!”

“Alright, let’s just do one last check that we got everything,” Dean said back loudly over the din of the mall. It was December 24, 2020, Christmas Eve, and the pair were finishing up their present shopping.

“Dean Winchester, I have gone over that list five times, we have everything!”

“Humor me?”

“Fine,” Cas grumbled, faking annoyance at his boyfriends antics. Dean really did love Christmas, and was actually enjoying himself in this enormous place. Everything was magical during the Christmas season. There were lights everywhere, everyone seemed happier, and snow made everything unreal. Especially this year, when nothing even resembling an apocalypse was occurring, December was Dean’s favorite month. Even the shopping required by it.

“New hat for Bobby, the blanket with the green creature on it for Charlie,”

“Baby Yoda, Cas!” Dean interrupted, “I showed you the first episode, you know who it is!” Cas smiled to himself. Dean was sure he did that just for his boyfriend’s reaction.

“A silver knife set for Jody,” he continued, “And nunchucks for Claire,” Dean grinned at the last one. It had been his idea, and after extensive convincing, Cas had finally given in and let him buy them. The pros of finally dating.

“We already have the hair products and gun cleaning set at home for Sam, along with Eileen’s new gun, books for Kaia, a new bear for Jack, a pasta maker and hair pins for Donna,” Dean had been particularly proud of Donna’s present. The hair pins could be removed and turned into silver daggers, perfect for hunting, “and that book on mythology and medicine for Alex. And for you a-”

“No, remember Cas, not supposed to tell me,”

“Right. Yours is a secret, but just from you. Are we missing anything, Dean?” he finished sarcastically.

“Nope, we got it all.”

“Good, then let’s get out of here,” Cas grabbed Dean’s elbow as forcefully as an angel could without hurting him, and steered him towards the door.

“Cas, I was thinking maybe we could go grab lunch in the food court before we go?” Dean ventured.

“Dean, I love you very much,” Dean flushed and ducked his head, “but I would rather not spend another second in this godforsaken hellhole.”

Dean conceded, knowing fully well about Castiel’s fear of crowds. It had taken some kissing and pleading to even get him to come today. The hunter nodded his head and threaded his fingers through the angel’s, joining him on their way out.

They left without another word. Dean stayed silent until they got in the car, and let go of Castiel’s hand. He wasn’t quite pouting, per se, but he was very hungry! Halfway home, Cas turned to him.

“We can go get burgers if you’d like…?” A smile broke out on the hunter's face as he jerked the car around. Burgers at the local diner had become the pair’s staple date, so much so that the owner knew then by name.

As they sped off to get their grub, the smile widened on Dean’s face. He reached out and grabbed Castiel’s hand in his own, happy to be exactly where he was.

The enormous metal door clanged open, prompting excited outbursts from Charlie and Donna. The two had taken a surprising liking to each other in the week they had spent together in the bunker, and at this point it was strange to see one without the other.

“Boys!” Donna called out, “Get down here, and tell Jody that the Southern Ocean is totally a thing!”

“The what?” Dean asked jovially. Everything was brighter in the bunker with their family around, the air felt like it was doused in joy.

“The southern ocean,” Jody said, “Donna claims that there’s an ocean around Antarctica called the Southern Ocean, but I know for certain that it didn’t exist when I was in school,” Jody, Donna, Charlie, and Bobby were seated around the war room table. Despite their supposed argument, Donna’s feet were settled comfortably in Jody’s lap, and they were smiling at each other lovingly. Dean would never admit it, but they were a really cute couple.

“I’ve never heard of it,” he supplied as he walked down the stairs, Cas close behind. It earned a “Ha!” from Jody, who pointed at Donna victoriously.

“Jodyo, that doesn’t mean anything! Deano here barely got an education--no offense, sunshine--we should ask a more reliable source!”

“Hey!” Dean called out. He may not have gone to college, but he still went to school. He went unanswered.

“I’ve never heard of it either, and I’ve been around longer than anyone here,” Bobby put in.

“And yet you thought Australia was part of Oceania yesterday,” Charlie said with a cheeky grin. Dean had no clue where all these geography based arguments had come from, but he would be the first to admit they were hilarious.

“Listen here, ya idjit, this ‘Oceania’ didn’t even exist when I was young. Don’t be ageist,”

Charlie scoffed and tried to snark back, but Jody interrupted her.

“Alright, fine,” the sheriff said, “Cas, you’re an angel. Is the Southern Ocean a thing?”

“Yes,”

“See!” Donna exclaimed.

“But,” he continued, “It was only established in the year 2000. So I think you’re both right. Jody didn’t learn about it in school, but it is real,” The women stared at each other, not quite knowing how to react.

“Huh,” Jody said eventually, “Cool, I guess,”

Charlie rose and sidled up beside Cas.

“I tried to tell them that,” she whispered, “Even looked it up on my tablet. But nooooo, they only trust the angel,” she said it all with a smile on her lips, despite the tone of her voice.

After Jack restored everyone and released all his power back into the world, the boys found out he had done them one last favor. Not only had he brought back the Charlie from apocalypse world, he also revived their Charlie, the one killed by Styne. It was awkward at first, but the two actually made fast friends. Apocalypse Charlie had decided to spend this Christmas alone with Stevie, like Patience had with her dad, so it was just the original Charlie hanging with them this year.

“Alright,” Dean said, “As weird and nerdy as this conversation has been, Cas and I have some presents to wrap,” he held up the bags in his hands to prove his point.

“Have fun, boys,” Donna waved them away, and the two headed towards their room.

They stopped in the kitchen along the way, greeting Sam and Eileen who were working on the stuffing, which Dean had assigned to them. He had taken charge of all the cooking this year, working all of their guests to get ready for the feast he had planned. Dean snagged a beer for himself and Cas from the fridge and signed a quick Have fun, Moose Sam’s way before heading out. With Eileen back, the residents of the bunker had all gotten much better at sign language, and Dean was very proud of how far he’d come.

They passed Claire and Kaia watching Home Alone in the Fortress of Deanitude. They stopped by to give them a quick greeting and hugs, but left them to their movie. Claire had said she wanted to educate her girlfriend on the culture she’d missed, but Dean was sure it was just an excuse to cuddle with her. Lord knows he’d done the exact same with Cas.

Jack was wrapping presents in his room, and Dean had to remind him again to keep the door closed while he did.

“But why, Dean?”

“I told you, they’re supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we wrap them, so it kinda defeats the purpose if someone sees what it is before it’s wrapped.”

“Why is it a surprise?”

“Because that’s part of the Christmas spirit. Random things that someone might not even want wrapped in colorful paper stuffed under a dying tree.”

“Okay!” he said with a smile.

Finally, Cas and Dean made it to their room. They had decided on Cas moving into Dean’s room when they got together, considering Castiel spent barely any time in his and Dean’s mattress was better.

They wrapped in silence for a while, before Dean spoke hesitantly.

“I think I’m going to tell them, tomorrow,”

“Tell who what?” Cas turned to him and put down the blanket for Charlie. Dean’s tone was worrying.

“Tell everyone here about us, that we’re dating.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Then why haven’t you told them yet?”

“I’m scared,” Dean and Cas had made a rule the day after they got together. They would be completely honest with each other. Not more lies, tricks, or deception. They were so bad at communication that they pined after each other for twelve years before getting together, and Dean was determined to never let anything like that happen again. Hence the honesty.

“Why?” Cas moved forward, pulling Dean’s hand into his own, “You don’t think they think two men being together is wrong, do you?”

“Nah, of course not. There are more gay couples in our family than straight ones. I’m scared that they won’t want me to be with you because you’re an angel. We’re hunters, babe! Hell, I tried to kill you when I first met you. I know they love you, but what if they don’t think you should be with a human like me?”

“Dean, tell me. What was Sam’s reaction when we told him?” When Dean finally told Sam, a week after Jack brought Cas back and Dean kissed him for the first time, the man’s reaction had essentially been, “finally, you idiots!” It was so much better than Dean’s insecurity had told him that he nearly started crying. Nearly.

“He said we were idiots and was proud of us for finally getting together,” he grumbled.

“And Eileen?”

“She hugged us and gave me a link to something called ‘Archive of Our Own’ that had creepy stuff about us written on it.”

“Jack?”

“He asked if that meant we were really both his dads now,” Dean had actually started crying that time.

“So do you really think the rest of them won’t approve?”

“I know, I know. It’s stupid, but there’s this voice in the back of my head just telling me that they’ll leave me, eventually.”

“It’s not stupid, love, it makes sense. Dean, know that I will never leave you again. And nobody out there will. We love you, we’re your family. Dean Winchester, I promise you that not a single person in this bunker will ever leave you out of choice,”

“Thank you,” the hunter whispered, then leaned forward to kiss his angel softly. Minutes later, after they finally broke apart, Dean made a decision.

“I’m going to tell them. Tomorrow, when we open presents. I love you Cas, and I need people to know that.”

“I’m proud of you, my love,” Cas smiled kindly, cupping Dean’s chin, “Now, let’s finish wrapping these presents, then maybe we can join the girls and watch that movie. I find Marv very funny,” Dean pulled him in for another kiss, then went back to Claire’s nunchucks. He wrapped them in copious amounts of tissue paper, shaping it like a wrapped shirt. Pranks on Claire were his favorites, and tricking her into thinking a weapon was some kind of disappointing Christmas sweater was going to be fun .

The next morning, Jack bounded into their room at six o’ clock sharp. Dean had made the mistake of telling the kid that he couldn’t wake them before six, assuming he would sleep in like every other morning and get them at nine, maybe. Apparently not.

Jack flopped on the bed on Cas’s side that was regularly empty. Not like Dean would ever admit it, but the both of them loved cuddling. It was a rare occasion that Dean woke up without Castiel’s back pressed comfortably to his chest.

Gone were the days when Dean snatched a gun from beneath his pillow if he was startled from sleep. Cas could do that to a man. Today he just grunted tiredly.

“Dean! Cas!” Jack whispered excitedly, “It’s Christmas! Like, actual Christmas, not the one we had with Ms. Butters!”

“Yeah, kid,” Dean grumbled, lifting his head to look over Castiel’s shoulder, “It is. But the sun also hasn’t risen yet, so could you give half an hour?”

“Okay!” Jack said, not fazed, “I’ll go get Jody and Donna!” Dean nodded, brain still addled from sleep. A thought occurred to him.

“Wait, Jack,” he called out, “Be quiet, and only wake up Donna!” Dean had seen Jody in the morning, it wasn’t a good idea to wake her against her will.

Jack nodded, still excited, and rushed out of the room. Dean shoved his face back into Castiel’s neck, breathing in the comforting scent of honey and ozone. He actually wasn’t sure how their guests hadn’t noticed them sleeping together, but they hadn’t mentioned it, so he guessed they just never felt the need to venture to this part of the bunker so late at night.

Exactly thirty minutes later, after Castiel had woken and the two had made no effort to leave their cozy bed, Jack reappeared in their doorway.

“Ready?” he asked, smiling as bright as ever.

“Sure, Jack,” Cas said, very excited for his first Christmas as well, “why don’t you get everyone together in the war room and we’ll meet you out there.”

“Okay!” he said before rushing off again. Dean didn’t know how he had so much energy so early in the morning.

“You ready for this?” Cas asked, giving his boyfriend a peck on the cheek and standing up.

“Yeah,” Dean said, “I actually think I am.”

“Then let’s go,” Cas said determinedly before grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him up beside him. They headed out the door side by side, clad in scooby doo and bumble bee pajama pants with old band t-shirts on top.

The war room held what Dean thought his heaven must really look like. Sam and Eileen were curled up in one of their brand new armchairs Dean had chosen to sit by the tree, signing at each other with lightning speed. Jody was on the ground with her legs stretched out, Donna’s head in her lap and a cup of coffee in her hands. Claire, Kaia, Alex, and Jack all sat as close to the presents as possible, and Dean didn’t miss Jack trying to peek into a bag with his name on it that Dean had put there last night. It seemed like the girls were trying to explain some of their favorite Christmas traditions to him, but the nephilim just looked lost.

Bobby was seated in the other armchair, and Charlie leaned against its leg. Their family was all here, and it was a beautiful sight.

When Donna caught sight of the pair, a big smile split her face.

“Deano, Angel Boy!” she called out, “Don’t be shy! Come on over here, there’s plenty of room. Maybe Jody’ll even let you put your head in her lap too!” From the look on Jody’s face, Dean didn’t think that was going to happen.

Cas headed in in front of him, and settled himself down right beside Donna. Dean joined Charlie leaning against Bobby’s chair.

“Dean,” Jody grumbled, “that boy of yours woke me up at the asscrack of dawn saying that you told him it was okay.”

“I told him to wake Donna up,” Dean gave a meaningful look at Jack, “because I know she’s an early riser. I specifically told him not to wake you, so I’m wondering why exactly he did?” Dean, Cas, and Jody turned to Jack while he heard something that sounded suspiciously like “Oooooh, someone’s in trouble,” from Claire. Dean shot a glare her way before turning back to Jack.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” he explained, “I was super excited and I really only meant to wake up Donna but I think we talked too loud and woke up Jody too. I’m sorry,” and there were the puppy eyes. Damn kid had learned them from Sam, and who was Dean to resist.

“Alright, Jack, I’m not mad at you,” he gave in, “Just remember to never wake Jody up again. Capeesh?”

“Yes, I capeesh,” Jack nodded, repeating a phrase Cas had obviously taught him. Jody smiled at him kindly, letting him know that she wasn’t still angry at him. No matter how grumpy Jody could be in the morning, she was one of the kindest people Dean knew.

“Not that this hasn’t all been just touching,” Eileen said and signed, “But could we open presents now? I got up this early for a reason, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Dean said, “Go ahead and start handing them out, kid.”

Jack scrambled to grab the first present he could get his hands on, and thus the present exchanging began. Some families did it one at a time, taking a moment for each present. Not the Winchesters and company. They ripped into their gifts at lightning speed, only taking the time to fawn over the present and thank the gifter profusely before moving on.

Kaia loved the books from the brothers and Cas, and squealed when she saw the warding necklace Claire made her, kissing her girlfriend cheerfully. At the same time Donna was thanking Alex for her “#1 Sheriff” mug while Jody protested that she, in fact, was the best sheriff. Their exchange was interrupted by a shriek of “ Nunchucks!!! ” from Claire, which caused Jody to glare at Dean for ten minutes straight. Charlie leapt up and hugged Dean and Bobby when she found a Baby Yoda blanket and working futuristic gun side by side. Bobby loved his new hat as much as Sam loved the beanie Jack got him, and Jody gave Donna a big kiss for her new gun. Alex loved her mythology and medicine book, and Eileen actually got two guns due to miscommunication. She couldn’t have been happier. Cas gave Kaia and Claire an enormous hug to thank them for a new tie, this one stitched with wings and halos. Towards the end, Dean gave Cas a bumblebee beanie and Cas gave Dean socks with pie on them. Dean had to hold himself back from kissing the man on the spot.

Finally, once the present exchange had died down, and everyone was left admiring their new possession, Dean had no more reason to put it off. He had shifted over to sit beside Cas while they all opened their gifts, so he turned to Cas, whispered in his ear what he was going to do, then took a deep breath.

He started to stand up, felt awkward, then sat back down. He cleared his throat, scratched the back of his neck, and couldn’t for the life of him start talking.

“Spit it out, Dean,” Bobby grumbled.

“Heh?” he asked.

“You’ve been shifting around for five minutes like you’ve either gotta pee or you need to say something. I’m betting on the latter, so don’t keep me waiting.”

“Oh, um,” Dean started, his stomach in knots, “Well I do actually have something I need to tell you. All of you. Except for Sam, Eileen, and Jack. They already know, see… And now I need to tell the rest of you because it’s very important but know that I think about it I’d rather not--”

“Dean,” Jody said gently, “You can tell us anything. I promise.”

“Ok, well, um… ok. So, you remember the whole Chuck infinity snap everyone dies thing?”

“Vividly,” Donna said.

“Well we lost Cas right then too. Not for the same reason, that’s a story for another day. Anyway, we lost him, It was…” he started to get choked up. Head in the game, Winchester , he thought, “It was horrible but Jack brought him back and after that the two of us kinda started… dating? Like, we’re together now,” he finished with a grimace, disappointed with his… well, talking skills. Cas grabbed his hand comfortingly, and smiled at him with eyes that said I’m proud of you .

“Uh, Dean,” Claire said, breaking the silence, “We know.”

“Huh?”

“Honey,” Donna cut in, “You two aren’t exactly subtle. To be honest, I thought you two lovebirds were together from the moment I saw you together, and Jody had to convince me you weren’t. Recently though, it’s kinda obvious, sweetheart. You’re both so much happier. You still do the staring thing, but it’s less intense. Castiel’s ASL name for you is literally ‘freckles.’ And you really think we didn’t notice you sleeping in the same room? We thought you knew that we knew.”

“You… knew?” Dean asked, shocked. Donna nodded, “And you’re like, okay with it and stuff?”

“Dean, why wouldn’t we be. I’m dating Jody, Claire’s dating Kaia, why the hell do you think we wouldn’t approve?”

“No, no, not that. It’s just, Cas is an angel. Literally and figuratively. I thought you might not like that we’re not the same… species?” By now Cas’ arm was wrapped around Dean, and he had slouched into his side.

“Well, you were obviously wrong, weren't cha? None of us could ever think Cas is a monster, and you two obviously belong together,” Donna said kindly.

“I'm proud of you, boy,” Bobby added, making Dean duck his head and grin.

“Thanks Donna, Bobby,” he said, “I’m sorry I doubted you. And were we really that obvious?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said in his gravelly voice, “I’m fairly certain we were. I thought they knew already at first, but as you are more well versed in human interaction, I trusted your judgement over my own,” at this, Claire cracked up, quickly joined by Alex and Sam.

“Not that this hasn’t been the most awkward conversation ever--except a certain dinner--” Dean and Sam shuddered at the memory, “but I would really appreciate some breakfast. And I was promised pie?” Claire said with a smile, cutting the tension in the room with ease.

Hours later, after breakfast and pie had been eaten, and Jody had already taken away Claire’s nunchucks until further notice, Dean and Cas were left alone in the war room.

“That went a very different route than I expected,” he said quietly, wrapping his arms around the angel’s waist and leading him towards their room.

“That seems to happen often in our lives, Dean,” Cas replied.

“Is it a good thing?”

“Right now, I think it is.”

Dean stopped Castiel in the doorway of the hall, and looked up at the plant hanging above their heads.

“Mistletoe,” he said, then drew his angel in for a kiss.

Christmas truly was a magical time of year.

[endless-array-of-tom]

better than any movie {marvel avengers x reader}

Pairing; Avengers x Avenger! Reader

Genre; Fluff / Comedy

Word Count; 2,169

Summary: What happens when the Avengers just can’t choose a movie and Thor suddenly arrives with Asgardian liquor? Along with Loki? 

Warning/s: Nothing besides the use and mention of alcohol, thank you... mostly involves loki x reader and natasha x reader. hope you enjoy it !! Slightly inspired by; @imaginethatalena ��s post here

"Can we just make a decision? Please?" Natasha groaned, leaning against the armrest of the sofa as she stared at the group of males, refusing to pipe down.

"No. Not until this is over," Tony huffed out, turning to Steve. "As I was saying, tonight's movie should be--"

"Horror," Bucky intervened, walking out from the kitchen and taking a sip out of his hot cocoa. "I would love to watch something that involves a jumpscare--"

"Are you nuts? (Y/N) can't handle scary movies, you're going to give 'em a nightmare," Clint defended, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh yeah," Tony began, "Why are you even here? Last time I checked, you had a family on your own..."

You groaned as the group of men continued on, fighting over which movie to watch on your Sunday night.

"I swear, at this point, we won't even watch a movie," You whispered to Nat. "I'll be too out of it to even pay attention."

"They're all sucking the energy out of me, honestly," Nat replied with a small smile towards you, draping an arm around you, hugging tightly.

"They're just being idiots... all men are anyway," she joked, drawing a hearty laugh from you as you leaned back. Suddenly you were pulled from the ground, by a tall, masculine figure.

"The fun has finally arrived," Thor announced loudly, laying you back onto the couch a bit roughly, though you knew he didn't have exactly complete control over his strength. "And I've brought alcohol..." his eyes darted to the entire room staring him, down.

"For the grown-ups," Thor added, patting your head softly. "Sorry, Lady (Y/N), it seems you are still too young..."

"I'm eighteen, first-off. Secondly, I don't think I want whatever you have," you mumbled, before the seat next to you became occupied.

"You're absolutely correct," Loki began, before leaning in to whisper softly in your ear. "It's Asgardian liquor, and at least 20x stronger than their regular suit." A maniac laugh erupted from his throat, ruffling a hand through his hair as he stared at his brother pour Stark a drink.

"Whoever drinks that will probably be wasted with a sip..." Loki cackled, staring at both Nat and you. "Things might get heated, so I suggest that the three of us," he began, gesturing the three of you to come closer as he began to reveal his plan for the night.

"Oh my god, look at Tony!" You screamed as you began to laugh like no tomorrow, holding Nat's and Loki's hands to prevent you from falling out of your chair. The three of you watched as Tony stumbled throughout the kitchen, grabbing onto everything closest to him.

..

"Can I just say!?" Tony yelled at the top of his lungs, a finger raised as he stumbled over his words. "That Steve has one hell of an ass..." he finished, toppling over the couch as he fell to the ground, giggling to himself.

"I don't want it to come out the wrong way," Tony defended, slowly steadying himself up as he took another sip out of his glass. "But it's true... and I'm just amazed."

"Might want to stop while you're ahead, Tony," Banner sluggishly suggested, though, in reality, he had only taken a sip of the liquor Thor had brought along with him. Unlike Tony, who seemed to drown a bottle of it down before he began to feel the effects.

"I thank you, uh, really..." Steve replied, a bit uncomfortable as he was the only rational one who decided to just down a few beers, though he knew it had no effect on him at all. Thor was alright, though he also had the tendencies of falling here and there, stalking the kitchen as he searched for more food, or PopTarts.

Tony laughed again, cackling as he wrapped his arms around Thor.

"You have to bring more of this next time! Of course, when (Y/N) isn't around," he slurred, "We can't have them see how much of a bad influence we can be after all... I'm their father, after all!"

"You're (Y/N)'s father? Please..." Thor burped, hoisting himself up and away from Tony. "Everyone knows I'm their favorite, who else could it possibly be?"

An idea sparked in your eager mind as you grabbed both Loki and Nat's hands in yours, smirking.

"We're out of popcorn, whoever loses at rock-paper-scissors has to grab the refill..." Nat's lips tugged into a smug grin, her attention directed towards the Asgardian God.

"You're on," Loki challenged, his hand already extended out and ready, his gaze fierce and just as intimidating as Natasha's.

"It's settled then..." you smiled, joining your hand into the groups. "Rock, paper, scissors, SHOOT!" You screamed, all three of you staring at the set of hands in front of them.

"I win," Loki announced triumphant, leaning back against his chair.

"Loki..." you immediately clung onto desperately, knowing that you had lost. "I don't want to go down there and see them, it'll only stir up more trouble."

"Your point?" Loki questioned immediately, his eyebrow raised. "It'll only be more entertaining for the both of us--"

"What if I get hurt? They're being out of control and I don't know what'll happen--"

"You can fend for yourself," Loki interrupted, staring at you in disbelief. "If you think that your excuses will make me go you're wrong."

"I don't want to go. I don't want all of them to suddenly crowd me..." you dragged on, your arms subconsciously coming up to wrap around your chest as you glanced at the screen, seeing all of the men fight and scream about you.

"I don't want to upset them, nor answer their questions right now. I'm not afraid of them or what they'll do... it's just--"

Before you could finish the door to the security room had already shut, the popcorn bowl gone. You gasped as your eyes turned to the corner of the screen, seeing Loki's figure walk through the halls swiftly, making a beeline towards the kitchen; a smile made its way to your lips.

"You know, I don't exactly like him, or forgive him," Nat began, her eyes focused on you, as she slushed around the soda in her grasp. "But it seems he has an incredible soft spot for you, it's amazing..." You grinned up at her before turning to the screen, waiting for what was to unfold.

"And how are you (Y/N)'s favorite?" Tony spat, hands extended out though he could hardly get his eyes to focus. "You barely even see her--"

"She comes to my lab to talk sometimes," Banner countered, "I'll have you know that you're not exactly the best father figure... especially when some of the issues concerns you--"

"Like what? Huh? Name one," Tony demanded, coming closer to Banner as his adrenaline increased. "Both of you aren't ever fit of being the best father. I am!"

"Says the one who brought the alcohol, all you do is baby her," Bucky groaned, rolling his eyes. "And don't even get me started on the number of times--"

"You're not any better, Buck, you aren't even here a lot," Steve pointed out, making Bucky twist his head in anger. "Who's side are you on?"

"No ones," Steve answered plainly, downing another gulp of beer. "I think you all aren't perfect, and (Y/N) thinks of you all equally--"

"Of you all?" Clint cut short, "Does that mean you hold yourself above us all?"

"Now don't twist my words," Steve warned, "I didn't say anything like that."

"Didn't have to," Tony spoke again. "We all know you probably think you're all high-and-mighty--"

"Weren't you the one who was appreciating my ass about an hour ago?" Steve brought up. "Seems like the alcohol is getting to you--"

"Loki!" Thor's voice boomed, his footsteps loud and quick as he grabbed his brother, dragging him towards the room and away from the kitchen. Loki dropped the bowl on the counter as he was being dragged.

"What do you want?" He complained, "I have to make popcorn."

"Of course, brother, whatever you want..." Thor proclaimed, releasing his grip on Loki, who turned away.

"Thank--"

"After you answer my question!" He ended, turning Loki back around and pushed him forward into the mix, "Who do you think is the best father-figure to (Y/N)? I know you'll make the right choice!" Thor smiled.

"Tell them."

"He's biased," Banner retorted. "He's your brother--"

"Who's incredibly blunt," Thor added, walking around the room slowly. "Who will no doubt give his honest opinion, whether we like it or not. So I believe he's a credible source, he's seen us with (Y/N), has he not?"

"All right, Reindeer Games, who is it?" Tony asked, his hand twisting his glass over and over again as he sent him a glare. "Who's the best dad?"

Loki let out a choked laugh, hands raised in the air.

"I don't think I'm a reliable source. As Barnes said, I'm highly biased--"

"No, I'd like to hear what you'll say," Tony announced. "Give it to me, who's the better one? You obviously can't be it, you're more of a glorified uncle--"

"I don't want any part in this," Loki debated. "I have nothing to--"

"Funny how you're usually so talkative but now all you want to do is shut up," Clint taunted. "Why? And why can't we just ask (Y/N) about this? Where is (Y/N), anyway?"

The microwave suddenly beeped, making Loki grin awkwardly as he began to step backward. "Well, it was an absolute pleasure to see you all like this, really, you can't even imagine. But I have to return to the popcorn and then--"

"And then?" Thor quizzed, a frown settling on his face. "You don't think I'm the best fatherly figure to (Y/N), do you?"

"Brother... you know that's not true," Loki began coughing up a storm, his pace quickening as he made his way to the kitchen, before banging into a chest behind him.

Your heart lunged in your throat as you watched the scene unfold through the cameras, even Nat giving you a worried stare.

Loki turned around, face-to-face with Bucky and Tony. Gulping, a nervous laugh came over him once more, being completely surrounded.

"Gentlemen... I'm sure we can all handle this, in a civilized fashion..."

"Who's the best father? I don't think any of your tricks will work this time," Clint said. Loki turned to Steve, who only shrugged.

"I'm not drunk, but I'd genuinely want to hear your opinion."

"Well then..." Loki's voice dropped suddenly, starting everyone around him. "I think... you all fell for my... tricks, you like to call it, once again..." Loki snickered, before completely disappearing without a trace.

"Dammit!"

"Don't worry," a voice said from behind the men, making them turn. There, stood Loki, with his bowl of popcorn and other candies, grinning like a mad man.

"You all are equally incapable of being (Y/N)'s father..."

"LOKI!"

You laughed once more as all the Avengers began to chase after Loki, watching through the cameras as you recorded it all. The door swung open, sharply closing it afterward. Loki, walked in casually, his hand full of popcorn as he sat himself down, his eyes glued to the screen.

"Aren't you being chased down by them?"

"Oh yes, technically I am." Loki agreed, "It's almost sad how many times they fall for the same old illusion," he raised his head in the air, eyes moving back and forth as he metally did a calculation.

"Stark's been tricked at least a few dozen, along with the rest of them. You'd think they'd learn by now..." he judged, shaking his head before turning to you. "Just know, people are complete fools. They're blinded by anything you show them," he said as a matter-of-factly, drawing a loud laugh from Nat, as she took a handful of popcorn.

"I have to say, I slightly understand why you love to pick on them so much, it's entertaining."

"Oh, it could be more entertaining if you'd like, we have the cameras and me, after all. We could have them running all throughout the house until they just drop. Not dead, of course. What do you say? Care to join me?" He nudged your shoulder, giving Nat a glance too.

"Count me in," you said excitedly, grabbing Loki's hand and intertwining it with yours. Turning to Nat, you had your hand extended out, giving her a small pout.

"Fine," she caved in under her breath, "As long as no one dies."

"Perfect!" Loki declared. "Now, all we need is a new distraction, something to really bait them..." And just like that, the elevator had dung.

All three of you watched the elevator expectedly, anxious to see who was behind that door.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, everyone. I had to finish a project for school and Aunt May... hello? Is anyone home?" Peter said, looking around perplexed to see the main room vacant.

"Perfect," you and Loki said simultaneously.

That night was so much better than any movie...

[latibulx]

Sana - anemone, angelica, basil, chamomile, chrysanthemum, fern, heliotrope, hollyhock, hydrangea, lavender, marigold, pansy, peony, poppy, rhododendron, rose, salvia, sunflower, violet

❥     𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒    [   𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂    ]ㅡ closed ㅡ @jaebbongi

anemone :   how does your muse view the world ;   as a cruel   &   unforgiving place ,   a land full of wonders ,   or something in - between ? where does that world view come from   (   what experiences ,   life lessons ,   etc .   ) ?  

Sana has experienced both bad and good sides of life. She has known the struggle of having no family and nobody to rely on, but she has also learned what it meant to be loved and cared for. She is all too aware that all kind of things happen in this world whether they’re hardships or beautiful moments, so she doesn’t really have an “all black” or “all white” point of view on the world. She knows that it’s much more complicated than that, that there’s more happening beyond her knowledge. All she can do is try to live her life as best as she can and enjoy every single second of happiness she is granted. 

angelica :   where does your muse draw inspiration in life ?   what motivates them ?

Inspiration and motivation both come from the people she cares for and loves. She wants to protect them the same way her father has protected her when he has adopted her. And even though she knows that she doesn’t have to pay him back for that, one of her biggest motivations is definitely to show him how grateful she is for everything he has done for her for so long. 

basil :   does your muse have a love - hate relationship with anyone or anything ?

With her femininity. While at times she is entirely comfortable with how she looks and how her body is the proof of everything she has experienced, there are other times where she thinks that she is too muscular, too boyish, not enough delicate and not enough pretty. She tries to be more positive but sometimes she looks at other girls and she just feels upset because she’ll never be like them. And there are times where she looks at other girls, then at herself, and she’s just happy to be who she is.

chamomile :   what is your muse likely to take away from a painful experience ?   are they one to be haunted by adversity ,   or to use what they’ve gone through to become stronger ?  

Sana is definitely going to use a painful experience to channel it into a strength, mostly a physical one that can be used on a boxing ring. That’s how she has been taught to deal with her negative emotions: instead of keeping them to herself until she explodes, she releases them into physical exercises until she feels calmer, until she can finally listen to her own thoughts without feeling overwhelmed by them.

chrysanthemum :   how does your muse express romantic love ?  how do they feel about love as a concept ?  

It’s all fun and flirt until things start to get serious and she catches real feelings, haha. Sana’s love language would definitely be acts of services, because she enjoys taking care of others and be there for them. Whether it’s a pack of beer to enjoy at night or a breakfast to share early in the morning, that’s how she expresses romantic love. For her, (romantic) love, is something she didn’t think was for her even though she secretly yearned for it.  

fern :   does your muse believe in magic or cosmic forces ,   or are they more likely to think their life is ultimately a matter of their own control ?  

She has never encountered magic in her life, and she has been taught by her father that things happen because they make it happen, not because of fate, destiny or whatever. That’s why if Sana wants something, she’ll do anything to get it instead of waiting to see if it’ll eventually come to her. 

heliotrope :   does your muse believe in soulmates ?

Not really. It’s a pretty concept for her, but it’s more of a fantasy, something that comforts people and gives them hope that they’ll not end up alone for their whole life. She prefers to think that people just happen to cross paths at some point, and those paths can either go on together for a long while or eventually come apart. Rinse and repeat.

hollyhock :   how strong is your muse’s sense of ambition ?  what’s something they strive for in life ?  

Oh lord, she’s quite the ambitious one! How can she not when she attends as many boxing competitions as she can? She loves the thrill that comes with it, she loves the preparation it takes and the fact that they’re all fighting for the first place. Even if she breaks a wrist or a knee, nothing will stop her to get that damn golden belt. Sana’s ultimate goal is to win an international boxing competition and perform in the country she was born: the USA. 

hydrangea :   how much does your muse value communication in their relationships with others ?  are they prone to being misunderstood ?<

She isn’t very good with words and knows that it’s something she has to work on. But opening up and communicating possibly means being vulnerable and that’s not something she exactly feels vulnerable doing, even with the people closer to her. So she can’t blame the other party if they don’t communicate much with her regarding their relationship. Misunderstandings, being misunderstood... It definitely happens with Sana and she doesn’t always know how to resolve them. It tends to anger her and instead of talking it out, she just waits until they all move on. 

lavender :   how easy is it to gain your muse’s trust ?  once their trust is broken ,   how might one go about mending it ?  

She has a big heart behind her strong appearance, and trusts easily. She can look rough at times, but she’ll do anything for someone she trusts. That’s probably why it hurts a lot when that trust is broken, and if someone wants to mend it, it’ll ask for a lot of patience and effort on their side for Sana to stop feeling wary about them. But it also possibly could never be the same as when she first gave her trust, no matter what they do. She can be quite resentful. 

marigold :   is your muse prone to jealousy ?  how might they handle envious feelings ?  

Oh yes, Sana is definitely the jealous kind of girl that steams from her own insecurities. She handles it the same way she handles every other kind of intense emotions: she goes and punches a punching bag until she feels relieved of such feeling. It might remain at the back of her mind whether she likes it or not until she’s entirely reassured/comforted that there’s nothing to be jealous or envious about. 

pansy :   does your muse often reflect on their own actions ?   do they ever think a lot about the past ,   and what they could have done differently ?

Not really, she doesn’t really enjoy looking back. Of course it’s inevitable and, for example, if she has argued with someone she’ll think about what she could have done differently, but she’s someone who’s more focused onto the present moment and the future. She prefers to look ahead than remain in the past. What’s done is done and there’s nothing she can do to change that. 

peony :   what would a   ‘  happy life  ’   look like in your muse’s eyes ?

She’s already pretty happy with her current life! There isn’t much she wants to change about it. She likes living with her father above the gym, she likes that she is able to train every day and go to boxing competitions. She even has a boyfriend! (winks) Honestly, she is already living her happy life and it could hardly get any better. 

poppy :   what comforts your muse ?

Her father’s embrace or pat on her head. Whether she wins or loses, whether she feels happy or sad, he is honestly the one she’ll turn to whenever she needs comfort. No matter what happens in her life, he is her biggest source of comfort.

rhododendron :   is your muse receptive to warnings   &   advice given by others ?

While she can be stubborn, she doesn’t head into a situation head-first without having listened to advice and warnings if there’s some. It usually happens before fights, so of course she has to listen. In her daily life though, I’d say she’d listen her own self a bit more even if that means running into troubles. It honestly depends of the circumstances, but overall she listens to others. 

rose :   how much does your muse value other people ?   do they wish to have many friends ,   lovers ,   and/or associates ?   are they an easy person to love ?

Sana is quite the social butterfly and she likes knowing people, she likes having many friends and acquaintances and she even had her fair share of lovers, whether it was for a night, a week or a few months. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t care for them though, because she appreciates every person that comes into her life even though some don’t stay. Sana’s fun to be around, she’s always up for any kind of adventures and I think people like that about her. Moreover, she’s a reliable friend, someone who will show up at three in the morning with beer and ice cream if you were sad, or with snacks and sodas if you just wanted to have some fun. 

salvia :   is your muse possessive over people or things that matter a lot to them ?  how do they express that possessiveness ,   or lack thereof ?

Oh god, yes, haha. She can go feral if anything happens to someone or something that matters to her. It shows in the way she might spend more time with them if it’s a person, and if it’s something, she’ll keep it close to her, where she can see/hold it at all times. 

sunflower :   what brings your muse the most joy in life ?  

Being with the people she loves and winning important competitions. 

violet :   how does your muse respond to betrayal ?

Not good. She’ll be extremely furious and hurt and she’d probably want to punch the heck out of whoever has betrayed her. And what’ll be the most upsetting is that there’s nothing she can do about this except try and move forward. But if someone betrays her, she’ll probably permanently remove this person from her life.