#he also keeps EVERYTHING he could possibly stick in a scrapbook from an outing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rinkrats · 3 years

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🥺 that mike lange story. But also those tags #sid loooves christmas #he loves giving presents #looks good in red #piles on the pounds fast #post hockey career as santa 😂😂👌🏽👌🏽

he loves his mementos and presents and is COMMITTED to them. scrapbooking. matching jackets. little pills with hidden motivational messages~*~ his love language is gifts and neck smooches and stalking geno. relevant right now are some anecdotes i sent a friend earlier this year for dorky sid gifts fic fodder:

1. Crosby's constant thoughtfulness would be impressive from anyone, much less someone of his stature.

"Sid always texts me happy birthday, he's always asking me like, how's Russia?" Evgeni Malkin said. "We talk and message all summer. He asks me how my skates are. He knows, like, everything. He follows my Instagram, I think (laughs)."

In addition to having a handle on those little details, Crosby is constantly providing those around him with memories and mementos. If the team is on the road and goes, say, sightseeing or to a sporting event and takes a group photo, Crosby will later send a framed copy to everyone.

When Ron Hextall and Brian Burke watched their first Penguins game in person, Crosby is the one who approached head equipment manager Dana Heinze and asked for two used game pucks to give to the new GM and president of hockey ops.

After the Penguins won in 2009, Crosby had jackets made for the three players on the team who had scored a Cup-clinching goal in Game 7: Talbot (Pittsburgh), Ruslan Fedotenko (Tampa Bay) and Mike Rupp (New Jersey).

"They were blue jackets with gold buttons, and each one had a patch on it that said 'GWG Game 7,'" Talbot said. "At one of our first team meals the next season, he presented us with the jackets and did a big ceremony with the music and stuff. We had a private room in the restaurant. I still have the jacket."

-The Consummate Teammate, Captain and Ambassador, Feb 2021

2. Merz: My first interaction with Sid was when we were on the bench, guys were talking about a teammate, and the first thing this 15-year-old says is, “Hey, guys. Let’s keep everything positive. Don’t talk about your teammates that way.”

Salcido: When we were getting ready for nationals, he found these little pills that you could put a hidden message inside. They unscrewed, and inside was a tiny scroll. He gave one to every teammate. … He had everyone fill one out. He didn’t tell anyone what to write, but he made it known that we all knew what the goal was: winning nationals. So we wrote on our scrolls, rolled them up and put them in the pill thing. We kept them with us everywhere we went.

-‘Is this real?’: Stories of Sidney Crosby’s year at a Minnesota prep school, May 2020

3. On “Butterfly Boy” Jonathan Pitre:

Though the Senators are his team, Sidney Crosby has always been Jonny’s favourite player. After the TSN documentary airs, Tina gets a call from the Penguins. Sid needs Jonny’s measurements. He wants to have a suit made for him by his personal tailor, Domenico Vacca.

“It’s the kindest, sweetest gesture,” Tina says. “Sid heard that Jonny went to a lot of games, so he wants him to look like he’s one of the guys.”

“I want him to feel like a pro,” Crosby says. “Here’s a guy who is going through something so painful, and his first thought is always, ‘How can I help others?’ When I was young, I’d watch on TV the players coming to the rink in their suits. That was a cool part of being an NHL player. I want him to feel that, to make it as real as possible for him.”

Tina tries to discreetly measure Jonny while she’s changing his dressings. But he’s way too smart for that.

“Um, Mom, why are you measuring me? Am I going for surgery again?” he asks.

“No, no!” Tina replies, trying to reassure him and come up with a good lie, all in the same breath. “The doctor needs them just to make sure they have proper dressings next time you are in.”

A few weeks later, the sharp navy blue suit shows up at their front door, along with a couple of ties, an autographed stick and a handwritten letter from Sid.

“His eyes just light up,” Tina says. “Jonny always liked to be well-dressed, and he just loves having his own suit. It fits perfectly. He looks so good in it.”

-Beauties by James Duthie (2020)

4. Pascal Dupuis inspired his Pittsburgh Penguins teammates on their run to the Stanley Cup, and Sidney Crosby found a special way of driving that message home.

Dupuis retired in December with lingering health concerns because of blood clots. Despite his NHL playing days coming to an end, the veteran forward remained an integral part of the Penguins and was in uniform to hoist the Cup after Pittsburgh's six-game win against the San Jose Sharks in the Stanley Cup Final.

On Sunday, Dupuis brought the Cup home one last time as a player to share a special day with his family, friends and hometown fans.

"Yes, it does feel bittersweet a little bit," Dupuis said. "You get the Cup, you want to celebrate. But at the same time I got a gift by the mail [Saturday]. Basically, it's a book of all the pictures of all the good stuff we went through. It came from Nova Scotia, so you guys can figure out who it came from (Crosby), but he couldn't give it to me during the season, he saw me skating a little bit.

"And he sent it [Saturday], before my day with the Cup, so he knew what he was doing to get me right here," Dupuis said, putting his fist over his heart.

-Pascal Dupuis shares Stanley Cup with family, friends, Aug 2016

5. In 2011, Crosby was out of the lineup with a concussion, and the Penguins made their annual visit to Children’s Hospital.

Crosby got along so well with one boy there and was so touched that he later asked Bullano to go back... just the two of them, no cameras, no attention.

When Bullano and Crosby met for the follow-up visit, Crosby appeared clutching a pair of Toys “R” Us bags, filled with a Transformer toy the two had discussed.

“He literally bought every type of this toy they make,” Bullano said. “[Crosby] had never seen it before and thought it was so cool.

“There are no pictures of this. There’s no video. He was laying in the bed with the kid. They were just playing. We were there for over two hours. I got to know the mom really well because we were just sitting there.

“The kid had no idea. Didn’t expect it. They had no idea he was coming. We got there and he said, ‘Hey buddy. hope you don’t mind that I came back.’ The kid couldn’t believe it.

“[Crosby’s] crazy cool about stuff like that.”

What’s crazy is trying to recount the many times stuff like this has happened with Crosby:

• The Little Penguins Learn to Play program has been around for nine seasons, outfitting now 1,200 kids with free head-to-toe hockey equipment. Not only does Crosby serve as the face of the program — which the NHL has now adopted — but he helps fund it, too.

“There’s an awareness of what a person in his position can bring,” Penguins vice president of communications Tom McMillan said. “I think he activates that as much as anybody I’ve seen during his playing career.”

• After a recent practice, Crosby noticed a local family in the Penguins dressing room, approached them, introduced himself, learned their story and wound up giving them a signed stick.

Nobody asked Crosby to do that, and he wanted zero credit when discussing it a couple days later.

“For people who have the opportunity to come in here, people dealing with certain things, if you can brighten their day a bit or spend some time with them, it’s something that’s special for all of us,” Crosby said.

• A few years ago, through a team charity event, Crosby befriended a 4-year-old Amish boy with cancer. Crosby remarked to Bullano how much he loved talking to the boy because of how engaging the boy was and how he wasn’t consumed with technology. Crosby even tried to visit the boy but learned he had passed away.

• He learns the first and last names of the kids who attend his hockey school in Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia.

“Two kids came from Japan its first year,” Bullano recalled. “He was so blown away by that. He couldn’t wait to meet them.”

• Earlier this season, the Penguins welcomed Grant Chupinka, 24-year-old cancer patient, into the dressing room. Crosby chatted up Grant and his parents, Steve and Kim.

He spent his usual time — about two or three times the requirement. Gave the tour. Then found out the Chupinkas didn’t have tickets for that night’s game and decided he would pay for them to go.

“I’m sure he could just give them an autographed puck or something, but he takes his time to go out and see them and talk to them and get to know them,” Brian Dumoulin said. “It speaks volumes for him and who he is as a person.”

Spend any length of time with Crosby during his visits with those less fortunate, and a few things become obvious.

One, Crosby is really good at these. Smooth but not in a slimy way. Sweet. You know how when you’re around someone talking and they go out of their way to make eye contact with everyone around? That’s Crosby.

He’s also humble, always introducing himself like those he’s meeting don’t already know. Holding a hand is no issue. And Crosby is the rare 20-something pro athlete without kids who acts every bit like he does.

“It is not an easy situation to talk to someone with terminal cancer,” McMillan said. “A lot of people couldn’t do that. He has an amazing ability to do that and make that person feel good.”

Crosby has welcomed several Make-a-Wish kids and tries, if at all possible, to schedule such events for practice days — to maximize the time he’s able to spend.

He’s developed a special friendship with Patrick McIlvain, a soldier who nearly died when he took a bullet to the head in Afghanistan. McIlvain actually does physical therapy with one of Crosby’s sticks.

A former club hockey player at Cal U, McIlvain comes by every year, and the Penguins don’t even bother to tell Crosby. Either he already knows or immediately stops what he’s doing to come say hello.

“He’s not doing it to leave a legacy,” said Terry Kalna, Penguins vice president of sales and broadcasting. “His numbers leave the legacy. He’s just a down-to-Earth, good guy.”

Before a visit, Crosby has Bullano email him what is essentially a scouting report on who he’s going to meet. He likes to learn about them, their situation and what they’ve been through. As much information as he can ingest. Crosby never just swoops in, shake a hand and leave.

“As much as anyone has ever seen, he accepts the responsibilities of being not just a professional athlete but a star professional athlete,” McMillan said. “He views it as part of the job. Like coming to the morning skate. That’s just what you do.”

Put another way, “he owns those moments,” says Kalna.

Said Bullano, “He’s just a good human being.”

-When it comes to giving, Sidney Crosby does as much as he can, Feb 2017

6. When Crosby received a generous signing bonus on his Reebok deal, he wanted to share it with everyone.

“He gave everyone on the bus gifts,” says Oceanic radio commentator Michel Germain. “Him sharing his bonus with all the people he’d been travelling with for two years, that impresses me greatly. I think the most important thing about Sidney Crosby is his personality and the kind of human being he is. What he exuded. The inner richness he’d already developed.”

-Superstitious and generous, Dec 2006

7. also this simply because it makes me ;w;

Even in defeat — no, especially in defeat — Sidney Crosby proved why he wears the "C" for the Penguins.

After the game, with his heart sinking and his season over, the Penguins’ captain bent over, sank to the ice to pick up the puck, took it to linesman Tony Sericolo and then skated to his team’s handshake line.

I immediately thought of a View from Ice Level I’d written on Crosby making sure a retiring official was sent away from PPG Paints Arena properly. I knew picking up the puck wasn’t for the same reason that was, but I also knew, in some way, it was connected to Crosby’s awareness and respect of the game.

“It was for the Islanders,” Crosby told me after the game, his eyes swollen from a first round exit – by way of a sweep to make it worse. He told me how the winning team always wanted the puck, and it was his way of providing it for the Islanders.

Crosby looked me right in the eye as he told me this, just as he did with every other member of the media to come to him after the loss.

I could tell from those swollen eyes and the way he sat at his stall, by himself with his hands folded as he stared blankly, that Sidney Crosby is much more used to being on the receiving end of a puck when a series ends than he is at retrieving it for the winning team.

That scene. His swollen eyes. Staying in the locker room until most had left – talking to anyone who needed him. Most of all, though, picking up the puck that prompted my question in the first place and making sure the right people got their piece of their own history.

It all adds up to one thing: In victory and in defeat, Crosby respects the game above all else – just as he’s always done.

-Even in defeat, Crosby shines, April 2019

#anyway this was a nice walk down memory lane after the disastrous game rip #sidney crosby #pittsburgh penguins #hockey #text

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deepseavibez · 3 years

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A Star In Your Sky || JJK

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-> Picture Source - Pinterest

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A Star In Your Sky [Jungkook]

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Genre - Dad!Jungkook; Angst; Sadness; Melancholy; Drabble:

Summary - Helpless as he was, 'what you didn't know couldn't hurt you'... it would have to do. There was nothing else he could do.

Warning - Angst; Sadness; Major Character Death;

Word Count - 1.7k

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Jungkook woke up with a start at the blaring alarm. 5am - his phone flashed in red numbers. Snoozing it, he left it back on the table.

The fog on the windows signifying a cold morning, the dreary grey clouds overcast, the edge of dawn.

Wiping the sleep out of his eyes he righted his shirt, pulling his sleeves over his cold hands, ruffling his hair as he stretched his limbs and swung them over the couch.

The cold hit his bare feet as he stood up and started his way down the hall, switching the lights on as he walked, to navigate his way to the room right next to his.

Door slightly ajar, he pushed on it, the slight creak a normal sound, a part of the surroundings, the many years behind the action of tuning it out.

His eyes fell past the threshold, items he knew by heart, colors he had committed to memory, the scent and the surroundings - his home.

The curtains in this room were purple, deep purple, the hue something akin to indigo, silver moons and stars shone at the catch of even the tiniest bit of light.

There were posters of cartoons, drawings in crayons and paints, a basket of toys in the corner of the room, and Cooky, the pink plush toy staring back on the made bed.

Eyes scanning the toy he remembered the day it came home.

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'Dad, look what Uncle Jinnie got me,' Moon ran up to him, as she giggled in excitement, eyes lighting up at the plush toy in her hand.

Turning toward the sound of his daughter, he bent down on one knee so she could hop into his waiting arms. He held her easily, her form tiny and stable in his muscled hands.

Her momentary glance to the tattoo on his skin, a second nature, something that made her smile, as her name had been carved into his forearm, stars surrounding it with a Saturn ring.

She was Daddy's little girl and she loved every moment of it.

Meeting her fathers eyes, she held up the pink bunny in her arms, a prize worth every drop of attention he could give.

Smiling bemused he asked her, 'What about all the other teddy's in your room, babygirl?'

He nosed at her cheek as he teased her.

Her eyes went as wide as saucers, 'Dad!' she exclaimed in a mock whisper, 'They aren't Teddy's, they all have names.'

'Yeah, Jk, how can you call them Teddy's,' Jin played along, just as scandalized at his dongsaengs choice of words.

Mouth twitching, the mole on his chin, shifting at the movement, he raised an eyebrow at his hyung, 'I'm surprised you didn't get her the RJ.'

'Now, now, I did explain the perks of having RJ, but she is Daddy's little girl.' They smiled, endeared with the toddler between them.

It was the last proper, happy outing they had, ice-cream, feeding the seagulls, playing in the sand, her best days with her father and her Uncle Jin.

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‘I don't care what happens to me, I don’t care about the money! Just please save my baby, please!’ Jungkook was enraged, angry at the world, helpless, desperate.

Stage 4. She was only a child, her tiny body fit in his arms, her form only half of him.

It came out of nowhere, severe bruising and bleeding when she fell down, or got cut. Trouble breathing when she ran, nausea when she ate and sometimes not wanting to eat at all. Waking up to her cries in the middle of the night, sniffling quietly, at the pains in her body.

Too many symptoms, too many blood tests later, too many restless, sleepless nights, she was diagnosed with leukemia.

There were weeks of waiting for results, test after test, of having to sit her in his lap, and explain why she needed to see countless doctors and that things would get better, that it was just for now.

But as he stood opposite her doctor, his hyung holding his shoulder, he had to go home and tell her he lied. He lied.

He'd have to tell her that there was no turning back, and if it was too late for his daughter, the love of his life, the very center of his world, for him, there would be no way forward.

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He stood at the doorway of her hospital room, having just gone home to change up and get her favorite mac and cheese. The sight he met every single time, not something he had gotten used to, despite the number of weeks he’d been at the forefront of it all.

The tubes along her face, her nose, in her arms, something a baby should never have to go through. A parent should never have to think about outliving their child. It wasn’t the cycle. It wasn’t fair.

She deserved, to hit double digits, to find love, to have him fight the need to protect her from every mistake, to always be there for her, she deserved friends, memories, the chance to discover hobbies, she deserved more time.

The saddest part was that she was too young to think of any of those things, and yet, maybe it could also be a blessing.

What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you, right.

Blinking back tears he plastered a fake smile on his face, the brightest one he felt he could muster. ‘Hey, babygirl.’

She looked up, a small smile, slowly making its way up her cheeks, her face pale. Opening her mouth to speak, he shook his head at her. ‘No, no, shh, baby, don’t hurt your throat.’

Making his way over to her bed, he gingerly climbed in next to her, the nurses used to his presence, the doctors having no objection considering the care he had with her as he slotted himself protectively over her.

Pecking her on the head, he took note of the scrapbook in her hand. She looked at it everyday, pictures of her six loving uncles, Taehyung plaiting her hair, Jimin showing her tiny jewelry pieces, stick-ons for her ears, Namjoon with a bunch of block letters, a tower of it clearly having collapsed around them. Her Uncle Hobi always made her smile, as he had her on his back and his neck, walked her around the apartments like he was her personal chauffeur, Yooni holding her as she slept, light music playing in the background, and her Uncle Jin, her favourite Uncle Jin, always around, choosing school bags, spoiling her with anything she wanted, anything that caught her eye, especially morning blueberry waffles and her dad, Jungkook, her dad, the youngest, the one with the most time, the most allowance to make reckless decisions, the one who adapted his whole life around her inclusion in his life.

‘Hey, remember the story of your first birthday,’ His voice exuberant at her cake covered face,’when you didn’t want to wear the red jacket Uncle Tae gave you, and you cried for his instead,’ he petted her head as he searched her face for recognition.

She pouted at the mention of it, the story recounted so many times before,’Uncle Tae’s jacket was purple, Dad. How could I not want it,’ Her cheekiness earned her a light flick to her nose.

She upturned it crossly, a little zest in her eyes at the familiar chastising.

They paused, looking at each other, before the smile slowly disappeared from her face, the reaction apparently contagious as Jungkook sat up in concern. ‘Dad,’ she started softly, her eyes trained on the blanket covering her legs, ’are you gonna forget me?’

Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat at the innocent question, striving to show no reaction on his face. Moving swiftly, he worked his way around the cables and maneuvered her into his lap. They tried, he tried, and she had been so strong but even at her tender age she knew it, he knew it, the time for sugar coated words, and false hopes were over, acceptance was all that was left.

‘Close your eyes,’ he prompted, wiping tears he could no longer hold back, away from his eyes.‘Can you see me?’

‘My eyes-,’

‘No, keep them closed, can you see me,’ he reiterated, beside himself.

‘No, I can’t see you.’

‘But you can hear me right,’ taking note of her face, her nose, her cute cheeks, he waited for her answer.

‘Yes, I can hear you.’

‘Well,’ he sniffled, head falling against her forehead lightly, the contact needed, ’that’s what it will be like. I will always be here for you. I will always talk to you, and I promise,’ his hand found hers and squeezed it, ’I will never forget you. You may not see me and I may not see you, but you will always be the biggest part of me. And I promise, I will never, ever, forget you.’

He broke at his last words, pulling her into his embrace, holding his Moon, wishing with everything he had left, he would never have to let her go.

Moon passed that night, in her sleep, in his arms, as painless as it could possibly be. Knowing what was going to happen, couldn’t have prepared Jungkook for the real thing. But he knew he had to let go of her lifeless body, he knew he had to call the one person who could handle him or whatever came next for him, and as soon as he saw his Jin hyung, the one that named his perfect girl, he fell into his arms and cried, as his heart shattered into pieces.

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Standing at doorways were his thing these days, he thought, everything he did was not enough, not too much, like sitting on the fence, falling in the middle.

It had been a year, but he couldn’t clean out this room, he still woke up at 5am despite his flexible job because he had to take care of her routine, maybe someday he would have to stop coming in here, but right now, the made bed, the unused room, the stillness of it all, would remind him that even for a time, he had something beautiful, something worth all that pain, a human that he would meet someday again.

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#bts #bts jk #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jeon jungkook #jk #bts angst #bts drabble #bts writing #jungkook angst #bts sad #jungkook #bts au #bts au fic #bts aus #bts au fanfic #bts fic

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stupid-stew · 3 years

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WHEN YOU WHEN WHEN WHEEEEN

I'm alive I'm back OK TRAILER GO GO GO

i'm not using photos because i wouldn't be able to contain myself but this is in order of events in the trailer so like tee hee

ok so starting off, it looks like luz still has access to her phone, maybe it's still sending things, but i think camila might start to get an idea of what's going on pretty early in the season plus we still get to see her so like YES

the first shot with lilith and luz with lilith carrying hooty is definitely from echoes of the past, guess we found out that hooty does actually leave the house, even if it is in the form of a slightly smaller house backpack? yknow what good for him but the contents of the door where he was will haunt my dreams. thanks. and also lilith's palisman can fly!

the one with the "forbidden stacks" and luz and amity in front of the door is from through the looking glass ruins, PLEASE give me some alice in wonderland references i'm begging. along with that shot, i'm assuming the later ones with amity having her hair down and her employee id badge, both scenes with gus casting with what looks to be a fire glyph (those two are the same scene split in two i think), and the one with the creepy thing with the lantern are both from that episode as well.

there are three different scenes that are from the same episode as each other, possibly one that hasn't been announced yet because i can't place it, but the one with luz walking along the statues, the one with her and king where a hand shoots out and opens, and the one with some beasty climbing up the wall all look to be from the same one and that's terrifying.

now for separate tides, there's a bunch, anything with luz in the pirate outfit is probably from that, her casting the ice glyphs, her tied up, you get it.

i'm getting to belos, r, and camila just hold your horses. hold them.

ok owl mask, a bunch. my thing is that we see the one with luz jumping up onto a building, she has his staff, and a little cardinal on her shoulder which i think is cute, i don't think it's her palisman but that's up for debate. but she somehow got his staff, and that worries me deeply.

NOW NOW NOW OWL BEAST LILITH. ok so we don't see any owl beast eda in the trailer, but owl beast lilith, yes yes we do. not only do we see her like partially transformed and like dying on the ground, but the owl beast we do see greatly resembles a hoot owl. why does that matter? i will talk to you for hours about character names, but basically some translations of lilith's name are hoot owl and screech owl, and i am so unbelievably excited for this i'm shitting my pants but on the inside.

time to talk about r. if you don't know who r is, most people think their name is rayne? rain? i don't actually know but from what i've heard they're a confirmed non binary character? girl idek anyways the important part is that they were the person who had their face obscured in the photo of eda in her scrapbook from wilw, and they're now the bard coven leader. i'm just gonna say it, they are way too ominous and apparent in the trailer to not be important so do with that what you will but remember kids, in the scrapbook they signed their name with belos' mask on the end of the r. beware.

gwendolyyynnnnn ok so there's a bunch about her, first of all she's a cute little old lady so she's probably evil, from what we see of her she's totally a clawthorne, but she's a beast keeper, keeping in mind the age that eda got cursed that can be kind of yikes but yknow. she has what looks to be an eagle? falcon? idk if it's even a palisman but a bird is a bird and that's good enough for me. she has the same nails as lilith, and her boots resemble eda's, plus she has the gold jewlery and wild hair so like she's their mom alright. the thing that worries me the most about her is one of the flashbacks we saw, eda hiding from someone yelling, it could very well be gwen and i will in fact fight a bitch. that is all.

ok girl- what is up with the blights? i'm not even going to lie, odalia is kind of a baddie. all villains are hot she's no exception. but blight industries? we knew they had money and power but this kind of is different, and she seems to use the gun she had to cast an abomination monster that we see chasing luz around?

the coven leaders, why are they so attractive? and the plant lady seems like a older version of perfuma so like do with that what you will but like the abomination dude, is his hair an abomination? anyways, why is he hot? r is also a sight love that for them. though them like burning away while menacingly playing the violin has me............concerned.

break to talk about eda, we don't see a lot of her current self in the trailer, we see more of her in the past, and i am scared? where she at? shawty? but her with a pony tail and her with short hair? sheeesh.

there's a lot more glyph magic, a lot more exploration of if, but one of the scenes where lilith is casting the three ice glyphs and like drags them out is very similar to the way luz casts in the opening for season two. also someone said lilith looks like dying, her cheekbones are way more defined, more than they should be, like hey queen you good? it also looks like she has more of a presence this season and i'm here for it.

there are also two scenes where like everything is on fire, one with hooty and one with lilith, um- its fine ok everything is probably fine although i do hope lilith smacks a bitch with that stick.

ok nowwww i can talk about belos.

we have that one scene with owl mask, is that belos' shadow like morphing? god i hope so. those are his mask horns. he's an old man so he's got gray hair but i didn't expect it to be that long, you do you. with the portal he clearly has rebuilt it, but i think it's interesting how he mad his own key and luz still has the original one, it's kind of fu

WIAT OK I JUST REMEMBERED WHAT IF IN ECHOES Of th e past the shot with eda and her short hair is from hooty's pov and that's how they met

back to belos, there's so much happening in the trailer but like what if we see his face, and did the titan like explode?

i cannot do this anymore it's too late for this but leikIHJBEKJSFDKNFALKNLKNDFNOKNKEFAINOK

#the owl house #eda clawthorne #luz noceda #amity blight #gus porter #lilith clawthorne #hooty

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thebisexualdogdad · 3 years

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Cherrywood

It was five minutes to closing, the last of the diners patrons gone as Rosa helped Liz and Arturo clean up.

The bell of the front door dinged as someone stepped inside and Rosa instinctively ducked behind the counter.

"Sorry we were just closing up," Liz informs them.

"Oh I'm just looking for directions, I'm new in town and got lost," they say and Rosa immediately recognizes the voice.

She stands up from behind the counter in disbelief of who is standing in the entrance or the diner.

"Y/N?" She mumbles.

"Rosa?" You mutter back.

Eight months ago

"So this will be your room, dinner is in an hour and there will be a group therapy session after that. All residents are required to attend at least one of the three group therapy sessions every day as well as two private therapy sessions with our counselors every week. We offer plenty of activities including hiking and yoga for our residents and crisis counselors are on site at all times whenever needed. Welcome to the Cherrywood rehabilitation center Rosa Flores."

When the attendant left Rosa she sauntered over to her bed, dropping her bag to the floor and sighing as she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Heard someone was moving into Sam's old room, I'm Y/N your next door neighbor," you said startling her and leaning against the door frame.

"Rosa," she replied.

"What's your poison Rosa," you ask.

"Pills and booze," she states blankly.

"Painkillers," you say back, "tore my ACL on the soccer field when I was 16 and got hooked."

"I'm not here to make friends," she tells you.

"No one is but rehab gets real lonely so you might as well let someone in," you say but Rosa looks away, "I'll see you at dinner."

An hour later Rosa walks around the dining hall, tray in hand and finds an empty table.

She's pushing her food around with her fork when you take a seat next to her.

"The food here is pretty lame but on Friday's they order pizza," you smile at her but she just sighs.

She stays silent as you ramble on about life at the center.

"Carol even started a book club but everyone has to read different books because the library slash board game room slash television room doesn't have more than one copy of any book," you joke.

"Are you ever going to leave me alone?" She finally says.

"This is my third time here, I've seen people leave here on the road to sobriety and I've also seen people leave here and turn back to their addictions days later and those are the people who think they can go through this process alone," you explain, "you're not alone here and it took me two tries to realize that."

"Fine, you can eat with me but just stop talking," Rosa says in defeat.

"Deal, you going to eat your jello?"

Rosa pushes her jello towards you and you eat the rest of your meal in silence.

The next morning at breakfast is the same and so is the group therapy session.

Rosa rolls her eyes as you pull a chair up next to her and gives you a faux smile in return of yours.

New residents tend to feel awkward about sharing for the first time so when it comes to Rosa's turn you take the attention off of her.

"Y/N, twenty days clean," you start, "uh you know, I'm doing alright, I'm not feeling the symptoms of withdrawal as much so that's great and my bedsheets appreciate not being soaked in so much sweat."

Everyone gets a chuckle out of your joke and you see Rosa even crack a smile.

"I always tell myself I'm gonna stay clean and every time I fall back on my old ways but last month a good friend of mine overdosed and didn't make it so this time I'm trying harder than ever to stick to it for him," you confess.

People clap like they do whenever someone finishes sharing and Rosa takes a deep breath.

"Rosa, two days clean," she says nervously, "I don't really know what I'm supposed to say here I mean I never really saw myself here either… I guess I'm here because my sister is the most important person to me and the last thing I want to do is let her down."

"Thank you for sharing Rosa," the counselor says and people clap.

That night you knock on Rosa's door and she's sitting on her bed, pillow in her lap and staring at a picture.

"That your sister?" You ask.

"Yeah," she mumbles.

You walk over to her bed, sitting next to her.

"You guys look happy," you say about the picture of her, her sister and presumably her dad.

"This was the night our dad got a new jukebox for his diner," she says.

"Jukebox? Well that explains the 50's uniforms," you laugh.

"Hey that jukebox had third eye blind on it," Rosa replied.

"Oh yeah that's super impressive," you teased.

"Whatever," she smiled.

So maybe you weren't so bad.

Over the next few weeks Rosa slowly began to open up to you and you somehow talked her into trying yoga with you.

"Why am I doing this," Rosa groaned, stretching out into a lunging pose.

"Because yoga clears your mind," you tell her, "or would you rather be scrapbooking with Jen right now."

The instructor shushes you from the front of the class making you both chuckle.

Later on Rosa is struggling to stay upright during the tree pose and you end up catching her when she falls.

"You okay there," you laugh.

Rosa suddenly realizes how close your faces are and gulps, quickly getting back to her feet, "yeah I'm fine."

The instructor shushes you again and you taunt Rosa, "yeah Rosa shush and be perfect your first time doing yoga," but she doesn't laugh.

During the downward dog position Rosa looks over to you, there was no way she could possibly be having feelings for you.

"So you're sixty days clean tomorrow," you say as you put your connect four piece in the plastic game board.

"Yeah, my sister is coming to take me home," she says putting her own piece in.

"She's going to be so proud of you," you tell her.

"You think so?"

"Well I know I am," you say putting another piece in, "your first day here you couldn't stand me and now look at us, we're playing connect four like civil adults."

Rosa laughs and puts the winning piece in, "connect four."

"So what's next? We can play monopoly but half the pieces are missing."

"It's my last day here, let's go for a hike," she suggests.

"You got it."

You and Rosa go hiking through the trail behind the center, stopping to take a break before heading back.

"You won't be here much longer either, what are you going to do when you get out?" She asks as you guys sit on some smooth rocks and take in the view.

"Go back home to Albuquerque, show my parents I'm serious about getting sober," you tell her.

"I can't wait to see Liz again," Rosa says, "I just want her to see I'm nothing like our mom."

"I have a feeling she already knows, you came here and that's what makes you different from your mom," you ensure her, "so are you going to tell me where you're from or what."

"You know rehab's supposed to be somewhat anonymous right," she chuckles.

"So that's why you used a fake last name Rosa Flores?" You crack.

"What makes you think that's not my real last name?"

"Because I was too embarrassed to use my real last name my first time here too."

"I can't have people knowing too much about me," she says wishing she could just tell you the truth, "it's all a part of my mysterious flare."

"And what if I wanted to see you again," you say looking her straight in the eyes.

"Why would you want to see me again," she says low.

"Because I really like you and would like to keep getting to know you," you tell her.

Rosa is silent for a moment before leaning in to kiss you.

It's long and slow and everything you had been waiting for for the last two months.

When she pulls away she bites her lip and smiles, "if you really want to see me again you'll find me."

Present time

"Y/N? What the hell are doing here?" Rosa asks.

"I could ask you the same thing," you reply, "but I got a new job here in Roswell."

"New job doing what?"

"Security for some government facility, they won't tell me what they do there but I'm hoping it's some super secret operation for aliens," you laugh.

Rosa and Liz look to each other not sure what to say.

"Well welcome to Roswell," Arturo states, "let me make you a milkshake."

"Oh thanks but I thought you guys were closing up?"

"The kitchen is always open for friends of my daughters," he smiles.

"I like it here already," you say smiling at Rosa.

#roswell new mexico imagine #rosa ortecho imagine #rosa ortecho x reader #fic

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workofthediesel · 3 years

Text

The Long Way Home - Chpt 1

Read also on AO3!

(Chpt 2) (Chpt 3)

Summary: CB's plan was simple: escape. Run away and leave the pain and shame and humiliation of the crash in the championship behind him. It was supposed to be easy. No one was supposed to care.

It wasn't supposed to end up like this.

Word Count: 11,971

The setting of the sun had plunged CB’s house into darkness, much to his relief. The crash had left his head aching, and even the smallest shred of light had felt like it was trying to stab clean through his skull. But now, in the dead of night with the curtains drawn against the rest of the world, he could function just enough to put his plan into action.

The first order of business would be repairs. He’d been in enough crashes that he was decently experienced in patching himself up. Although, he thought, rooting skeptically through his first aid kit, none of those previous times had been anywhere near this bad. Cuts and bruises he could handle, and he’d even dealt with the occasional snapped axle or broken wheel, but he wasn’t even sure where to start with his current state.

The second thing he needed was somewhere to go. A new yard, far enough away where they wouldn’t know what had happened. It only needed to be a temporary spot, someplace for him to buy a little time. The story of the championship would catch up to him eventually, but he’d be long gone by then, moved on once again.

He’d need a new identity at some point. He couldn’t keep running forever, and the only way he knew to leave his past behind him was to become someone completely new. New name, new look, new personality if he could manage it. It would take quite a bit of acting, but it would be worth it if it meant CB the Red Caboose completely disappeared.

He was getting ahead of himself. For now, he just needed to get himself back in working order, or as near to as he could. He wanted to be out of here before the morning, which meant he had to work fast.

The cheap painkillers he had in his cabinet did almost nothing for him. Not that he expected anything different. They were store-brand, over-the-counter, and wasn’t it just his luck that he wouldn’t have anything good when he needed it? Still, he knocked back twice the recommended amount in the hopes that it would at least take the edge off and got to work.

The meager contents of his first aid kit were seeming more and more pitiful by the second. A few rolls of bandages, a handful of butterfly strips, a few small boards—enough to possibly fashion a makeshift splint or two—some saline solution, and an ice pack. It was nowhere near enough for what he needed to do. CB frowned, tipping the kit out onto the counter on the off chance that there was something buried in there that he had missed. Apart from a few loose strips of gauze, there was nothing else. CB fought back a sigh. There was nothing else to do; he’d just have to work with what he had.

It was a long and painful process, forcing himself back together all on his own. In the end, he ran out of supplies before he got himself completely patched up. Despite his attempts to be conservative with his supplies, there were still a number of painful dents, scrapes, and gashes that he wasn’t able to take care of. Not to mention the deep aches in his chest and back that had him worried about some sort of internal damage. Nothing to be done about those, he figured, tossing the empty first aid box carelessly back onto the counter. He was a far-cry from being okay, but he’d just have to manage.

He rolled back into his room, making a beeline for his closet. He threw open the door, squinting into the shadows to try to find what he was looking for. And there, all but forgotten in the corner, it was: his old bag. It wasn’t big, but he was planning on travelling light anyway.

He grabbed a handful of his spare bandanas, shoving them to the bottom of the bag. He didn’t necessarily need them, but it would be a while before he could get himself a new look and he refused to look unkempt until then. He saved one of the bandanas to tie around a long scratch on his arm. It wasn’t as good as a bandage, but he figured it would do about the same job. Plus, he realized with a wry smile, they blended in with his body perfectly. He could easily use them to cover the bandages so they wouldn’t be as noticeable. It’d be a useful trick if he ended up somewhere he needed to keep a particularly low profile.

His next stop was the kitchen. He’d be on the road for at least a few days, and he’d need something to eat while he was. He threw a few water bottles and as much dry food as he could carry into the bag, not paying much attention to what, in particular, he was grabbing. As long as it was edible, it was good enough for him.

There was one last thing he needed, and that was in his office. Radios were a hobby for him as much as they were a job. Even in his downtime, he enjoyed building and tweaking his radio systems, or even just hopping on the air and seeing who else was in range. His home system wasn’t quite as good as his official setup in the radio control room, but it was entirely his and he was proud of it.

He hadn’t come in here for any equipment. He was planning on completely reinventing himself wherever he ended up, so he wouldn’t take another job working radios. What he was looking for was his collection of maps.

Pinned up all over the walls, with a few extras and duplicates tucked away in drawers, were maps of all the different rail lines. Most of them were local, focusing on the tracks that led to and from their yard in particular, but there were a few maps of tracks across the country. He rooted through the drawers—taking anything off the wall would have been too obvious—grabbing any map that seemed useful. He wasn’t sure where he was heading yet, but that didn’t mean he wanted to end up lost in the middle of nowhere, especially if he ended up states away like he was planning.

That was everything. He poked his head back into his room and cast one final glance over it. There were plenty of things still scattered about that he wanted to take with him: a picture of him and Dinah, the scrapbook Poppa had made him for his last birthday, the chain Greaseball had given him after the diesel had gotten a new one. So many little things, so many important memories. CB swallowed thickly and closed the door behind him. Anything he took was just evidence of who he used to be. It all had to stay.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when CB crept out of his house. The sun wouldn’t properly rise for at least half an hour yet, but he was still pushing it more than he would have liked.

He took care to move quietly through the yard, sticking to the shadows as much as he could. He caught sight of Wrench’s work room as he snuck to the yard’s exit, and it made him pause. For a moment, he considered breaking in. He knew Wrench had brought tons of medical supplies with her when she came and, with any luck, there still might be some left. Of course, luck hadn’t been on his side lately, but it couldn’t hurt to at least check.

The yard was still. It was too early for anyone else to be awake. CB glanced over his shoulder—though he wasn’t quite sure what he was checking for—before sneaking over to the work room door.

The building itself was an old feature, dating back to when the yard was much busier than it was now. The yard had been home to at least a dozen engines then, and probably about a hundred coaches and freight cars. Their track had been an important one, too, and trains from other yards would always be stopping by, getting a quick refuel or taking a well-earned break, sometimes even staying the night so they could finish their route in the morning. CB had only the vaguest of memories of those days. They were happier times, he thought; he’d been happier, at least. People were nice to him, he’d felt like he belonged, and the future was worth looking forward to.

He couldn’t recall when or why things changed. Slowly, other trains had just stopped coming. Their track saw less and less use, and the visitors had petered out until suddenly it had been a month and not one new train had passed through the gate. Then, some of the yard’s permanent members disappeared, either transferred to newer, more important yards or decommissioned. Their numbers dropped steadily until there was just a handful of them left, seemingly forgotten as the rest of the world moved on to bigger and better things. A lot of the yard had fallen into disrepair after that. After all, there was no point in trying to keep it up; no one was using it.

The building Wrench had set her work room up in had at one point been the yard’s main repair station. In those days, the yard had employed their own repair truck. It had made sense then—with the number of trains working there or even just passing through, they needed to have someone on hand in case anyone got hurt. As the number of residents in the yard dwindled, however, that need had all but disappeared and their old repair truck had moved on to a busier yard. Now, if someone got hurt, they’d go to Poppa. The old repair building hadn’t been touched in years.

Outside the door, CB paused. It was still ridiculously early in the morning, so he didn’t anticipate anyone else being up, but he listened carefully just in case. He couldn’t let himself get caught now.

Silence. Silence all around him and, more importantly, silence inside the building. CB held his breath, reaching out for the door handle. To his dismay, it was locked.

CB bit his lip. He knew how to pick lock and he knew he could easily open this one. But… He dropped his hand with a sigh. It would look suspicious. He was trying to leave with as little fuss as possible. If he was lucky and didn’t leave any suspicious traces, it would be a few days before anyone noticed that he wasn’t just holed up in his house. That would buy him just enough time to get his plans in order, and that was all he needed. But if someone noticed that Wrench’s work room had gotten broken into, and if they noticed that some of her supplies had gone missing, it wouldn’t take them too long to figure out he was the one responsible. Someone would be out looking for him before the morning was over, even if it was only Wrench coming to get her supplies back.

He cast one last longing glance at the door. He really would have liked to get those supplies, but deep down he knew it wasn’t worth it. There were other yards he’d be stopping at before he found a new place to settle down; at least one of them would have supplies he could use.

CB took a deep breath, fighting to ignore the deep ache in his ribs that spiked into a sharp pain at the action. He tried to collect himself as much as possible. It would have taken him hours to make it to the nearest yard on a good day, and this was far from being a good day. It was going to be an unfortunately long and uncomfortable journey.

Well, CB thought, forcing himself to push out of the yard even as his heart screamed to stay. Better get started, then.

***

“What are you doing staring at his door? Again?”

Dustin jumped, swinging around to find Rocky 3 watching him as intently as he’d been watching CB’s door.

He bit his lip, turning back around to avoid Rocky 3’s eyes. No one had seen CB since the championship and the truth was, he was worried. As silly as it felt to say, he didn’t want to admit that. Especially not to one of the Rockies. No one else seemed bothered by CB’s absence, and he got the feeling that they thought he shouldn’t be bothered by it, either. The few times he had tried to bring it up, his concerns had been rather rudely dismissed. He didn’t think they were trying to be mean, but the Rockies had a tendency to be a bit rough with their words and their actions. Tough love, Flat-Top called it. The love Dustin liked just fine, but he had a few issues with the tough part.

He fidgeted in place for another moment, but Rocky 3 was still looking at him, waiting for an answer. “It’s just… He still hasn’t come out.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“And it’s been days,” he went on, wringing his hands nervously.

He could feel Rocky 3’s eyes still on him. “So?” Despite Dustin’s fears, there was no judgement in his voice, just a subtle prompt for Dustin to say what was actually on his mind.

Still, it took Dustin a moment to build up the courage to say, “So, what if something’s wrong?”

Rocky 3 didn’t seem particularly concerned. “What would be wrong?” he asked, as if none of the past week had happened; as if the championship hadn’t taken place; as if nothing in the yard had changed at all.

Dustin frowned. A week ago, Rocky 3 would have been worried about CB, too. He may have hidden it under some gentle ribbing or teasing, but the concern would have been there. He didn’t know how he could dismiss CB so completely now. “He got hurt in the crash too, didn’t he?”

Rocky 3 thought about it for a second. “I guess he did. He’ll be alright, though.”

“But how can you be sure? What if it’s bad? I mean, you saw how Greaseball and Electra were.”

“Yeah, but Wrench fixed them up just fine,” Rocky 3 said, like he wasn’t worried about it at all.

As much as Dustin wanted to be reassured by Rocky 3’s confidence, he couldn’t be. “But CB’s a lot smaller than them, and he’s nowhere near as strong. He had to have gotten hurt worse than they did. He’s got to need help. And if he hasn’t been out at all in days…”

“Poppa’s already been over to help,” Rocky 3 broke in. “CB didn’t let him in.”

“What if he couldn’t let him in?” Anxiety was flooding into Dustin’s thoughts, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably with all the terrible scenarios he could see in his mind. “What if he’s stuck in bed, too hurt to move? And he’s all alone, with no one to take care of him, and he’s just getting worse, and—”

“Alright, stop,” Rocky 3 cut him off. “This is really bothering you?” At Dustin’s nod of confirmation, he sighed. “I’m sure Poppa’s got a spare key to his house. If you’re really so worried, you can go in and check on him. Just don’t come crying to me when he yells at you for it.”

Even just having that small scrap of a plan made Dustin feel ten times better. “Really?”

“Is that what it’s going to take for you to feel better?”

Dustin nodded again.

“Then sure, whatever. But I’m telling you: he’s not going to be happy about this.”

In that moment, all Dustin could think was that CB’s anger would be nothing compared to the relief of just knowing that he was okay. “Oh, thank you, Rocky!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Rocky 3 said, brushing off Dustin’s gratitude with a wave of his hand. “Wait here.”

Without another word, Rocky 3 turned on his heel, rolling off towards Poppa’s house. Dustin, on the other hand, did as he was told and remained standing where he was. He kept watching CB’s door, just in case he came out before Rocky 3 got back. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he didn’t, but that didn’t have Dustin quite as worried as it had in the past few days. After all, in just a few minutes, he would be able to go in and see for himself how CB was doing.

It wasn’t long before Rocky 3 came back. “Here you go,” he said, holding up the key for Dustin to see before handing it over to him. “One key, as promised.”

The first thing Dustin felt as he took the key was a rush of gratitude and relief, but after a second of thinking about it, he paused. “Should we really be doing this?” It felt suspiciously like breaking and entering.

Rocky 3 shrugged. “Do you want to check on him or not?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Then this—” Rocky 3 gestured to the key in Dustin’s hand, “—is how you check on him. It’s not like you’re getting in any other way.”

Dustin was still hesitant, but he had to admit Rocky 3 had a point. His own reservations didn’t matter; this was what he had to do to make sure CB was okay.

He forced himself into a moment of bravery and shoved the key into the lock. He turned the key before he had the chance to second-guess himself and let the door swing silently open. He was about to take his first step inside when he realized Rocky 3 wasn’t following behind him.

He turned to look over his shoulder, finding Rocky 3 hanging far back. “Aren’t you coming?”

Rocky 3 shook his head. “I already told you: he’s not going to be happy about this, and I’m not trying to get on his bad side. I don’t need anyone crashing me the next time I’m out.”

“CB wouldn’t—” Dustin started, but the words died in his throat when he saw the look Rocky 3 was giving him. He turned away with a pout. Just a few days ago, everyone had loved CB. Now, they were acting like he wasn’t worth their time. Of course, Dustin knew that he had cheated against Rusty in the championship, but that didn’t mean that CB was out to get them. He was still their brother, and he needed their help.

He wasn’t brave enough to comment on it. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “Alright, I’m going in.”

“Have fun,” Rocky 3 said from behind him as he turned to leave.

That, once more, made Dustin pause. “You’re not going to stay, at least?”

“Why would I need to?”

Dustin frowned. “What if CB needs help?”

“That’s what you’re here for.”

“But what if I need help?”

Rocky 3 gave him a knowing, if slightly exasperated, look. “Dustin, if you want me to stay, just say so.”

Dustin wanted that. Very much so. “Please stay,” he said quietly.

“Alright,” Rocky 3 said, and that was that. He leaned against the front of the house, still refusing to go in, but at least he’d be there in case Dustin needed him.

Knowing that Rocky 3 was there was at least a little reassuring. Dustin took a deep breath and pushed himself into CB’s house.

The place was silent. He supposed he should have expected it, but it was still mildly unsettling. Dustin moved quietly down the hall, unable to shake the feeling that he was intruding.

The front hall emptied out into the CB’s living room. Dustin cast an eye around, hoping to see CB lounging on the couch, but the room was empty. Dustin frowned, trying to convince himself not to get too worried about that. He poked his head into the kitchen, only to find that CB wasn’t there, either.

Dustin’s unease was rising quickly. “Rocky!” he called.

Rocky 3 appeared in the front doorway. “What?”

“I don’t see him,” Dustin said, concern creeping up his throat.

Rocky 3 shot him a look, clearly of the mind that Dustin was being ridiculous about the whole thing. “His house has more than two rooms, Dustin.”

“I know,” Dustin said hesitantly. “But isn’t going through his house without permission kind of wrong?”

“You wanted to come in and check on him, right?”

“Yeah, but…”

“So, go check on him. He’s around here somewhere. Try his room, or his office, or… I don’t know, his bathroom or something,” Rocky 3 said, finally coming inside. “We already let ourselves into his house, looking around a little more isn’t going to make things worse.”

“But—” Dustin started again, only to be cut off.

“Just go and find him,” Rocky 3 said, giving Dustin a light shove to push him further into the house. “Then you can see with your own eyes that he’s perfectly alright and you can stop worrying about this. Okay?”

Half of Dustin was screaming at him to stay back, but the other half was too worried about CB to let him. “Okay,” he said hesitantly, rolling slowly down the hall.

Dustin had been over CB’s a few times before, but he’d never gone farther than the living room. All of this was CB’s private space, and the feeling that he was intruding doubled.

There were a handful of doors at the end of the hall. He felt a bit uncomfortable opening them all, but he knew that he had to if he wanted to find CB.

The first one he tried had been left cracked, and Dustin slowly pushed it open a few more inches. It led into what had to be CB’s home office. There was a radio set up on the desk, not too different from the one he used in the radio control room. The walls were lined with maps, and though on any other day Dustin would have been happy to spend minutes on end studying them all, they weren’t what he came here for. The room was packed with electronics and boxes and general clutter, but CB was nowhere to be seen.

The next door he tried was the bathroom. It was also empty, but there was an empty first aid kit on the counter that made Dustin frown. He knew CB had gotten hurt, but it didn’t feel good to be reminded of that.

There was only one more door to check. It had to be his bedroom. CB had to be there.

“CB?” he called, tentatively knocking on the door. He waited a few moments for an answer, but none came.

Dustin bit his lip. Contrary to Rocky 3’s assurances, the worry that CB needed help was getting stronger by the second. Going into CB’s room uninvited felt like a huge invasion of privacy, but at the same time, he needed to check on him. Hesitantly, he pushed the door open, poking his head into the room. “CB?” he called again. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, especially when I’m sure you’d rather be alone, but no one’s seen you for a few days and—”

Whatever else he was going to say died in his throat as he looked at the room in front of him. It was empty.

Empty? Dustin’s mind was reeling. No, that couldn’t be right. There was something he was missing here. There had to be.

The first thing he checked was the bed. The blankets were rumpled, and the pillows were strewn about carelessly. They could have easily hidden a sleeping form amidst their chaos, especially for someone as slight as CB.

But there was no one there. No fingers poked out from under the blanket; not a single tuft of hair could be seen. Dustin peeled back the comforter, tossing it off the bed like CB could have been hidden under a single corner, but it was of no use.

Dustin’s thoughts went racing, trying to think of something, anything, just a single explanation that would mean that CB was still here. Maybe he had heard them coming, and now he was hiding? Earlier, the thought that CB would actually hide from his friends when they were only trying to help would have stung, but now Dustin was actually hoping that was the case. He dropped to his knees, peering under the bed, silently begging for CB to be there.

But there was nothing.

Maybe his closet? Dustin rushed over and threw open the door, shoving CB’s things carelessly aside to check every nook and cranny of the space. But of course, it was pointless. CB wasn’t there.

Panic clawed its way up his spine, leaching through his limbs, turning his fingers shaky and his mind fuzzy. This couldn’t be happening. CB was hurt! He needed help! And now… Now…

Dustin stumbled from the room, pushing himself back down the hall on unsteady legs. His thoughts were spinning too fast for him to hold on to a single one. All he knew was that this was too much for him to handle on his own.

Rocky 3 was waiting in CB’s living room when Dustin burst in, looking incredibly nonchalant, as if the whole scenario truly wasn’t bothering him in the slightest. “Feel better now?” he asked before he got a good look at Dustin’s face. Seeing the panic there, a small frown tugged at the corners of his lips. “What? Isn’t he okay?”

Dustin shook his head, his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest. “He’s gone.”

***

Reaching the nearest yard had taken longer than CB had thought. It might have been a testament to how hurt he was that what should have been a relatively quick and easy journey had left him feeling drained and breathless, despite it taking him at least twice as long as it should have. If anyone came after him, he knew they would catch up to him easily. And this, being the only yard nearby, would be the first place they would look for him.

If he’d been in any better condition, he would have pushed right past it. As it was, he was tired and in pain, and his head was spinning so fast that he wasn’t sure he could follow a track any longer. He needed somewhere to recuperate.

He rolled to the yard’s entrance, leaning heavily against the fence as he tried to catch his breath. He took a moment to adjust his outfit while he was at it, trying to cover as many of his splints and bandages as he could. He was going to stay here for at least a day or two—possibly more, if he felt like risking it—and he wanted to make a good first impression, if only to keep the cars here from asking any uncomfortable questions.

While he was putting himself together, he took the opportunity to really study the yard. Just from where he was standing at the entrance, he could see most if not all of the yard’s space. The buildings were derelict; there were only a handful at most that could be used, and even those weren’t in the best shape. The whole place seemed dusty. It wasn’t at all the type of yard he’d ever want to stay at, but it was small and quiet, and that was what he needed most.

CB took a deep breath, trying to compose himself as much as possible. The pain and exhaustion were wearing him down emotionally as well as physically, but he knew that if he showed up as short-tempered as he felt, he wouldn’t receive the sort of warm welcome he was looking for. Putting on his old happy face was harder than it used to be, but after a moment of trying, he got it just about right.

When his image was as good as it was going to get, CB rolled his shoulders and pushed himself into the yard. It was, by his estimation, about noon, so the yard should have been breaking for lunch about then. He looked around as he rolled through, but the place seemed all but deserted. He wasn’t sure if, considering his circumstances, that’d be a good thing or a bad one.

Eventually, though, he came across the exact target he was looking for. A pair of workers—a steam engine and a bulkhead flatcar—all on their own, chatting quietly as they finished up whatever they were doing. CB wasn’t sure if everyone else had already gone off or if these were the only ones here and the yard really was that small, but at the moment, it didn’t matter much.

CB came to a stop at a low stone wall, leaning on it in a way he hoped looked casual and not like he was using it as a support—which, to be honest, he was. “Excuse me,” he called out, trying his best to sound friendly.

The bulkhead looked up. It was hard to tell from this distance, but CB thought he looked a little confused. The bulkhead turned his head to the side, exchanging a few words with the steamer next to him, before pushing himself up and rolling closer.

“Hey, there,” he said, sounding almost wary.

“Hi,” CB said. It took quite a bit of effort to make his voice sound bright and friendly. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I’m passing through the area right now, and I was wondering if I might be able to stop here for a bit.”

The worker looked shocked, and honestly, CB couldn’t blame him. This yard was even smaller than his own—his old one, that was. If it was a rare and special occasion for them to see anyone new passing through their front entrance, he could only imagine how much less common it would be someplace like here.

The bulkhead looked a little unconvinced, but the steamer who came up behind him seemed to be the one in charge. “Of course, you can,” they told him warmly.

CB forced a grateful smile in return. “Thank you.”

“I’m Crank,” they went on, placing a hand on the bulkhead’s shoulder, “and this is Gear.”

“My name’s Caboose,” CB told them. It wasn’t quite a lie—it was his name, he just never used it—but it was just generic enough to not be easily traceable to him.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Crank said, reaching out a hand for him to shake.

CB desperately wanted to skip the formalities, but he knew he needed to keep up a good appearance. “Likewise,” he said, returning the gesture.

Crank flashed him a friendly smile. “Have you been on the road long?”

“All morning,” CB said, seeing no reason to lie. “Like I said, I was looking for someplace to take a break in. Rest up a bit, you know?”

“Well, we’re just stopping for lunch,” Gear told him.

“Would you like to join us?” Crank was quick to follow up.

Honestly, CB wasn’t hungry. Still, he didn’t want to turn down their offer. He wanted them to like him, and after all, he needed more time with them if he was going to be able to talk them into giving him what he needed. “That’d be great, thanks,” he said, forcing a friendly smile. He slipped out from behind the wall, and for the first time, Crank and Gear got a good look at his current condition.

Gear frowned, looking CB up and down. “Are those bandages?”

CB’s stomach dropped. For a moment, he’d forgotten just how bad all of his injuries looked. He couldn’t let them get suspicious. “Yeah, I, um…” He let out a small, embarrassed chuckled, trying to look sheepish. “I derailed on the way over here.”

“What?!” Crank cried, rushing forward. They took CB’s face in their hands, peeling up his eyelids and looking deep into his eyes. Checking for a concussion, CB figured. “How bad are you hurt?”

“There’s an emergency repair center farther down the track,” Gear said, sounding concerned as well. “It’s not really close, per se, but we can get you there in a few hours if—”

“No, no! It’s not that bad,” he quickly interrupted, waving off Crank’s well-meaning hands. “It’s mostly superficial damage. I’ll be fine. I just need a few more bandages to keep everything closed up.”

Gear shot him a skeptical look. “Are you sure? Because, no offense, but you really don’t look so good.”

“Positive.”

Gear still didn’t look convinced. Neither did Crank, but they, at least, were a little more willing to trust him. “We might have a first aid kit that could be of some use,” they said, but they sounded a bit unsure.

CB couldn’t imagine that any sort of first aid kit they kept here would be particularly well stocked, but it would be better than nothing. “That would be great, if you have one.”

“I’m sure we do,” Gear said. “No promises about what’s in it, though.”

If that was the best they could do, CB would have to take it. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and all that. “Anything you can spare would be wonderful.”

“Alright,” Gear said, drawing the word out slowly and uncertainly. “It’s probably in the office. I’ll go check.”

Crank nodded, watching Gear as he left for a moment before turning back to CB. “What are you doing traveling on your own? Did you get separated from your train?”

Shit. He hadn’t planned a lie for that question. He needed a story, and quick. “No, it’s just me. Got transferred to a new yard,” he said, thinking on his toes. “It’s about halfway across the country, so I didn’t want to put anyone out by asking them to pull me all the way there.”

Gear tilted their head to the side, thinking. “Are they expecting you soon?”

CB shook his head. “Not for a week or so. I was planning on showing up early so I’d have some time to get settled, but I don’t think I actually told anyone that.”

“In that case, why don’t you stay with us for a bit? I’m sure you could use some time to recover.”

CB had to restrain himself from breaking out into a victorious smile. This was exactly the offer he was hoping for, and he didn’t even have to work for it! But he needed to keep up his act. He needed to be humble. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense. We have a guest room over this way,” Crank said, taking his by the arm and leading him through the yard. “I know we just said we’d get lunch, but why don’t you lay down for a while, instead? You look pretty beat. I’ll have Gear bring that first aid kit up to you as soon as we find it.”

CB allowed himself a small smile. “Thanks, I’d really appreciate that.”

The building the guest room was in was tucked away in the corner of the yard. CB was thankful for that, hoping it meant that he’d get a good bit of privacy. He followed Crank over to it and got hit with a wall of stale air when they opened the door. “I know it’s not much, but…”

That was an understatement. The room was small and dusty, and obviously outdated. The wallpaper was yellowing and peeling, the floral design that had been printed on it severely faded. It was incredibly tiny, just barely fitting a twin bed, nightstand, and a small dresser. If CB had been in any better state, he would have been loathe to stay here. All things considered, however, he didn’t have any better options.

“It’s perfect,” CB reassured them, slipping past them and into the room. He dropped down heavily on the bed and the springs squealed in protest. He could tell before laying down that the mattress would be thin and lumpy, the blankets probably smelly and scratchy. But they were all he had, and it was better than nothing.

Mindful of his injuries, he laid back on the bed. It was just as uncomfortable as he had imagined. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so he forced a smile onto his face, pulling off his hat so he could rest his head on the pillows.

Crank was watching him carefully as he got settled. “You sure you don’t want me to bring you to that repair center? It’d be no trouble to pull you over.”

“That’s a kind offer, but I’m alright. Really. I just need to rest for a bit.”

“Okay,” they said skeptically. For a moment, CB was worried that they would continue to press him on the matter, but to his relief, they turned to the door instead. “We’ll keep looking for that first aid kit. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.”

“Thanks,” CB said sleepily, his eyelids drooping as Crank quietly shut the door behind them.

Although the bed was far from comfortable, it was still a relief to be able to lie down. He was tired from his trip over, and his whole body was sore. He let his muscles relax, sinking into the lumpy mattress with a sigh. He was sure he’d feel better after a quick nap, sleep already overtaking him.

In the end, he stayed at Crank and Gear’s yard for four days. Despite his assumptions that the rest would give his injuries some time to heal, he only felt worse and worse. He was tired all the time, and a deep chill had settled in his bones. His head felt heavy and every time it was a struggle to push himself out of bed. His body had been aching since before he left his old yard but now the pain had escalated. It had also been joined by a constant feeling of nausea that left him unable to eat so much as a bite of anything. He tried his best to hide his worsening condition from Crank and Gear, but it didn’t work. They were clearly getting worried.

As desperately as CB wanted to stay, to have more time to recover in someplace safe and warm before he had to start spending nights on deserted tracks, he knew he had to leave. Crank and Gear had started talking behind his back about bringing him to a repair center whether he liked it or not, and he was certain that someone from his old yard had gotten suspicious of his absence by now. Whether or not they cared enough to come after him was a whole different question, but he didn’t want to risk it.

He was unsteady on his feet when he slipped out of the yard’s back entrance that morning. Much like how he had left his old yard, he made his second exit in the early hours of the day before anyone else was awake. He didn’t want anyone to see where he was going, and he didn’t want anyone coming after him.

He felt awful. Every minute he spent moving away, he wanted more and more to go back. He wanted to tuck himself back into bed, to have Crank and Gear fuss over him in the way that a couple of well-meaning strangers might. He’d even let them bring him to a repair center if they wanted.

A part of him he refused to even listen to wanted to go home.

But no. There was nothing left for him at his old yard. He’d made a plan to move on and he was going to stick to it. There was no way he was going to let himself get caught now.

***

They hadn’t been on the tracks too long—a couple hours at most—before Dustin called for them to stop. They’d come across the entrance to a small yard, and Dustin wanted to check it out. It didn’t look like much from the outside, but something in him was certain that this place would help them find CB.

Rocky 3 didn’t have the same conviction. “And what makes you so sure he went here?” he asked, peering skeptically past the gate.

“It’s the closest yard,” Dustin told him. “Where else would he go?”

“It seems to me like he’s looking to run away,” Rocky 3 said. That notion made Dustin wince—as true as it seemed, he couldn’t bear the thought of CB being so unhappy at the yard that he wanted to leave forever, especially without telling anyone. Rocky 3, however, was unbothered by that thought, and continued on, “and if he’s running away, he wouldn’t move into the first yard he came across. He’d know how easily he’d be found here.”

“But if he needed help…”

“No one said he needed help,” Rocky 3 said. “I’m telling you, he fixed himself up just fine on his own. All this chasing after him is useless. He’s had a six-day head start, and there would’ve been no reason for him to stop in a place like this.”

Dustin wanted to be as confident as Rocky 3 was that CB was okay. As it was, the twisty feeling in Dustin’s stomach hadn’t gone away yet, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that CB needed his help. “Well, it won’t hurt to just check.”

There was a protest on Rocky 3’s lips, but Dustin was rolling into the yard before he could voice it. Truthfully, he could understand Rocky 3’s skepticism: the yard was run-down and tiny, and it didn’t look like the type of place CB would like to stop. But if he’d come this way, the cars who lived here might have some information on him. Besides, like he said, it wouldn’t hurt to at least check.

The yard was small, and it wasn’t long before they came across someone who might be able to answer their questions. “Excuse me,” Dustin called, waving down the steamer. “We’re looking for a friend of ours. He left our yard a few days ago and—”

The steamer looked up from their work, eyes quickly landing on Dustin and Flat-Top. They seemed confused for a moment before they broke out into a bright smile. “Oh, hello! Of course, come in, come in,” the steamer said, ignoring Dustin’s implied question and ushering them further into the yard.

“Oh, thank you, but—” he tried again, but the steamer wasn’t listening.

“Hey, Gear! More visitors!” they called to someone further into the yard.

“Seriously?” came the incredulous reply. “Crank, you better not be lying, or I swear…”

“Why would I be lying?”

“I don’t know! I can’t read your mind. But it sounds fake.”

“Just get over here.” The steamer—Crank—said with no small amount of humor. They were chuckling lightly when they turned back to Dustin and Rocky. “You’ll have to excuse the excitement. We’re not used to getting so much attention.”

That seemed like a strange statement, and Dustin couldn’t quite figure it out—nor could he figure out how it related to what he’d asked them about CB, which was the main thing on his mind. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just unusual, that’s all.” Crank shrugged.

“Cars don’t usually stop here,” one of the workers—Gear, Dustin assumed—said, coming closer. “We’re too small, too out of the way, you know?”

“You don’t say,” Rocky 3 mumbled under his breath. Dustin elbowed him sharply in the side.

“But,” Gear went on, either oblivious to or politely ignoring their interaction, “we actually had someone staying with us recently.”

“And now here you two are,” Crank added, “not even a week later.” They chuckled softly. “I think we’re getting popular.”

Dustin hardly paid attention to what Crank had said. Gear’s mention of someone else stopping here had captured his whole focus. It was exactly the news he had been hoping to hear. “This other car that was here, what did they look like?”

“He was a small guy. Bright red, kind of boxy. Said his name was Caboose,” Gear said.

“That’s CB!” Dustin exclaimed, excitement setting in. His mind was already flooded with images of bringing CB home and the relief of having the whole yard safe and sound once more. “That’s our friend, the one we’re looking for. Is he still here?”

“No, he left a few days ago.”

And just like that, Dustin’s spirit sank. “Oh.” He supposed he shouldn’t have expected it to be that easy. “Do you have any idea where he went?”

“Not really,” Gear said with a shrug. “He left in the middle of the night. No one was up to see which way he went.”

“He’s probably heading over to his new yard,” Crank added. “Wherever that is.”

“New yard?” Dustin echoed.

“He said he’d been transferred to a yard halfway across the country,” they explained. “He didn’t give any names, though.”

“What? CB didn’t get transferred,” Rocky 3 said, sounding every bit as confused as Dustin was.

“Well, that’s what he told us.”

Dustin frowned. It didn’t make sense. Rocky 3 was right: CB hadn’t been transferred. Poppa would have at least mentioned it if he had, especially with how worried Dustin had been these past few days. But that just raised a whole slew of new questions: Why had CB left? And where was he going? Why had he lied to Gear and Crank? The part about him moving to a yard halfway across the country was just a part of the lie, right?

Unfortunately, Crank and Gear wouldn’t have the answers to any of those questions. Instead, Dustin asked something they would know. “How long ago did you say he left?” If it hadn’t been long, he and Rocky 3 might still be able to find him.

“A couple of days,” Gear said. “Two, maybe.”

Dustin sighed, his shoulders slumping. “In that case, we’ve got no hope of catching up to him.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Gear said. There was something in his voice that Dustin didn’t like at all. “I can’t imagine he’s been moving very fast.”

Dustin’s stomach swooped uncomfortably at those words. “What do you mean?” he asked, hoping he was misunderstanding something.

Gear and Crank were quiet for a moment. They exchanged an uneasy look before Gear went on, “He wasn’t looking so good when he showed up here, and he looked even worse before he left.”

“You mean he was hurt?” Dustin asked, the concern he’d been feeling for the past few days nearly doubling. Gear and Crank nodded, and his worry tripled. His every fear was being confirmed. Alongside the worry, a small spike of anger rose as well. “Why didn’t you take care of him? Why didn’t someone go after him?”

“We tried,” Crank said. “We fixed him up as best we could when he got here, but… well, we don’t exactly have the best supplies on hand. We wanted to take him to a repair center, but he wouldn’t let us. We were going to take him in, anyway—”

“Drag him in by the ear if we had to,” Gear broke in.

“But he left before we could.”

“Sounds like CB,” Rocky 3 mumbled.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Dustin had to agree. If CB’s flight from their own yard was anything to go by, he didn’t exactly seem willing to accept help, even if he needed it. That realization was worrying enough on its own, but coupled with the knowledge that CB was alone and hurt, maybe even stranded in the middle of nowhere, it made Dustin’s stomach twist into so many knots that he was starting to feel a little nauseous.

“We have to find him,” Dustin said, turning to Rocky 3.

“Dustin—” he started.

Dustin ignored him, turning back to Crank and Gear. “You really have no idea which way he went?”

Crank at least had the decency to sound apologetic when they said, “I don’t. But him leaving in the middle of the night—especially without saying anything—seems a little…”

“Sneaky,” Gear finished for them. “And if someone was sneaking, they’d probably go out the back.”

Even if it was just speculation, it was a place to start. “Which direction would that be?” Dustin asked.

“Over there,” Gear said, gesturing behind himself. “No one really uses that track anymore, so it’s probably in a pretty sorry state.”

“We’ll manage,” Dustin said with a confidence he didn’t quite feel. “Thank you for your help.”

He hadn’t taken more than a few steps towards the back of the yard when Gear stopped him with a hand on his arm and a meaningful look. There was a weighty second of silence before he said, “I hope you find your friend.”

Dustin swallowed thickly, the stone of fear in his stomach sinking even lower. “Me, too.”

He stayed there for a moment, just in case Gear had anything else to say, but all the bulkhead did was take his hand back, letting Dustin go. Dustin nodded once, then set off for the back of the yard.

“Are we seriously going after him?” Rocky 3 asked, following Dustin completely willingly.

“Rocky, you heard what they said. CB’s hurt!”

Rocky 3 groaned but he didn’t object any further. He followed Dustin to the back entrance of the yard, looking skeptically at the track. Gear’s warning rang true: the track had obviously been neglected for quite some time. The sleepers were weather worn to an alarming degree, looking like they could disintegrate at any moment. The rails wobbled concerningly under his wheels, no doubt because of the loose—and some places even missing—fasteners. Under normal circumstances, Dustin would have avoided using a track like this, but if this was the way to CB, this was the way he’d go.

“Come on, Rocky,” Dustin said, already moving down the track. “CB would do the same for us.”

Rocky 3 snorted. “I doubt it,” he said, but he joined Dustin on the track anyway.

Dustin wanted to reprimand him, to tell him to have a little faith in CB and to stop being so hurtfully negative. But when it came down to it, he just didn’t have it in him. He swallowed down all the words he couldn’t say and pushed forward. They could work out all their problems when they found CB.

***

Moving was difficult.

Every limb felt like it was weighted down with lead. His feet were all but impossible to pick up, and anytime he lifted an arm to swat a low-hanging branch out of his face, it seemed to move about two seconds too slowly.

The ground was rolling under his feet. What should have been a solid and steady forest floor was pitching up and down like a ship in a storm. It was throwing off his already precarious balance and sending his stomach rolling. A tide of nausea was pushing higher and higher, threatening to overtake him. Again.

CB struggled to swallow down the acidic knot in his throat. He’d already thrown up once today—at least, he thought it was today—and he didn’t want a repeat performance.

He wasn’t on a track. He wasn’t sure why that was. Weeds tangled in his wheels, trying to trip him up, making his already difficult journey all the harder. It was tiresome. Despite his best effort to stay upright, he stumbled. His leg buckled underneath him, and he could have sworn he heard something snap. A yelp rose in his throat as he fell. Short of breath as he was, it only came out as a strangled groan.

He laid on the ground in a state of shock for a moment before taking stock of his condition. He’d hit his head on something on his way down. The wound stung, and he could feel a trickle of blood trailing its way down his face. He winced as he pressed on it with the heel of his hand, trying to stem the flow. In a bit of a daze, he glanced down at his leg, but his vision was too blurry to get a good look at the injury. It hurt, but no more so than everything else he was dealing with. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself back onto his feet, setting off again with a pronounced limp.

Loose strips of fabric dandled from his arms and legs and chest, snagging on every branch he passed. It was annoying, and he longed to tear the fabric off, but something was stopping him. A small itch in the back of his mind told him that they were important, that he needed them for some reason. But whatever he was supposed to be using them for, he didn’t think they were serving that purpose anymore. Now all they were doing was irritating the deep gashes and sensitive skin they were draped over.

He pushed blindly forward. His vision was swimming, fuzzy around the edges, and he couldn’t make out more than an indistinct sea of greens and browns in any direction. Still, he was facing this way, so in this direction he’d continue to go. He didn’t know if he was going anywhere in particular, but something inside him knew that he had to keep moving.

He dragged himself forward another few steps. Just keep moving, he reminded himself on loop. It was the one thought that was keeping him going, and he clung to it like a lifeline. If he focused hard enough on that, he could almost block out all the other sensations. And that’s what he did, pouring all his attention into that one thought, trying to tune out everything else around him.

His shoulder slammed into something hard and he was sent reeling. His head was spinning even faster than before. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, trying to steady himself enough to take another step. He braced himself on his knees, ignoring the way his good leg trembled and his bad leg sent waves of sharp pain shooting up his body, both of them threatening to give out underneath him at any moment.

Shivering, he stood there for a moment. He was cold, so cold. And tired. And achy. And just generally miserable. He couldn’t remember why he was out here, especially when he was feeling so awful.

Keep going, he screamed at himself in his head. All of this complaining and feeling sorry for himself was pointless. It didn’t matter how he bad felt, he had to move on. He needed to get… somewhere. Right?

One foot in front of the other. That was all he had to do, that was all he was focusing on. One foot in front of the other. Keep breathing. Don’t fall. Don’t throw up.

Exhaustion was weighing down on him. His eyelids were drooping; keeping them open was getting harder by the second. His bad leg hurt more and more with each step. His head felt heavy, still spinning, and he wanted nothing more than to lay it down on something. Actually, he wanted to lay his whole body down. Maybe that would help with the pain, and the nausea, and the way all his muscles felt like they were turning to stone.

No, he couldn’t. He had to push through; he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know why, but right now it felt like the only thing he knew.

The pain in his leg was almost impossible to push through, now. He felt flimsy and weak; his feet were dragging, he could barely lift his hands anymore, and he was struggling to even just keep his head up. His eyes slipped closed, and it was a long moment before he was able to force them back open. Keep moving, he told himself. Nothing else mattered. Keep moving, keep moving, keep…

It’s no use, he thought to himself, leaning heavily against a tree trunk. He knew he had to keep moving, but he was just so tired.

A minute to rest, that was all he needed. He’d feel better after that, he was sure of it. Then he could go on.

Just a minute, he told himself, letting his eyes slip closed as he dropped to the ground. Just a minute.

Just a minute.

***

They’d been searching for hours, and so far, they had nothing to show for it. There were no signs of CB on the track, nothing to tell them they were getting close or even heading in the right direction. Every so often, Dustin would think that he saw something useful—an unexpected splash of color amongst the leaves, what could have been wheel imprints in the dirt—but it always turned out to be nothing in the end.

It was disheartening. All the dead ends were starting to wear him down. He kept at it, though. This was all for CB, and Dustin had promised himself that he wouldn’t stop until they found him.

Rocky 3 was clearly getting tired of the search, too, but he had nowhere near Dustin’s level of patience or concern for CB. “Don’t you think it’s time to give it up for the night?”

“What? No,” Dustin said. He was almost offended that Rocky 3 would have even suggested that. “We haven’t found CB yet.”

“The sun’s going to go down any minute now,” Rocky 3 pointed out, “and I don’t want to be completely lost in the middle of nowhere when it does. Let’s just go back to the yard.”

“But CB—”

“You heard what they said back there. He left days ago. He’s probably hit some other yard by now and is laughing at the thought of a couple of losers like us killing ourselves trying to find him when he’s not even in any trouble.”

Dustin pouted. It was such a horrible image of CB to have, and he couldn’t understand how Rocky 3 could actually think that CB was like that. No matter what CB had gotten up to during the championships, he just couldn’t believe that it meant CB secretly didn’t like them, or that he was happy to see them fail. CB was family, and it hurt to see everyone else so quick to turn their backs on him, regardless of what he’d done.

Rocky 3 must have caught Dustin’s look because he backpedaled, bringing his voice down into a gentler tone. “Look, let’s just go back to the yard. If you’re really so insistent, we can try again tomorrow, but I’m telling you there’s no point. He’s fine, Dustin. He just doesn’t want to hang around the likes of us anymore, and you need to accept that.”

“But… But he’s hurt, and…” Tears blurred the edges of Dustin’s vision, and he turned away so Rocky 3 wouldn’t see. No matter what CB had done, Dustin wouldn’t believe that it meant CB secretly hated them. He couldn’t. CB was freight; he was family. And the fact that no one else seemed to value that was baffling. Dustin knew they were all still mad at him for cheating against Rusty in the championship—and honestly, Dustin was a little mad, himself—but that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve a second chance. He couldn’t understand why everyone else was so quick to give up on him.

Still, he had to admit that Rocky 3 had a point. It was getting late and they’d have no hope of finding CB in the dark. Getting themselves lost in the middle of nowhere wasn’t going help anything.

Dustin gave the forest in front of him a final scan, desperate for any sort of clue to tell them to keep going. He was just about to quit, to accept that they wouldn’t find anything and go home like Rocky 3 wanted, when something caught his eye. “Rocky, look!”

Rocky 3 turned back. His eyes followed Dustin’s pointing finger, but to Dustin’s mild frustration, he didn’t seem particularly impressed. “What?”

“There’s a path, off the track! We have to check it out.”

Rocky 3 squinted at it skeptically. “Doesn’t look like much of a path to me.”

In all actuality, Rocky 3 was right, but Dustin was too excited to see it that way. “Look at how all the branches are broken. Someone had to have gone that way!”

“That doesn’t mean it was CB,” Rocky 3 fought back. “It could have been anyone.”

But Dustin wasn’t listening. He was already moving toward the path, his hopes rising for the first time all day.

Rocky 3 followed him, struggling ever so slightly to keep up, complaining the whole time. “Or even if it was CB, there’s no way we’re going to catch up to him. He would have come through here ages ago. He’s probably miles away by now.”

Dustin paid him no attention. Here, at last, was the sign he’d been looking for. Something in him just knew this trail had been made by CB. All he had to do now was follow it.

Moving over the forest floor was harder than Dustin had anticipated. It wasn’t a properly laid track and he felt off-balanced by the soft dirt and scattering of rocks. But none of that was important. He kept his thoughts focused on CB, on how they were finally on the right track, on how they were getting closer to finding him with every step they took.

CB was easy to spot. His bright red paint stood out against the greens and browns of the forest like a beacon. Dustin only had a split second of relief before he took in the scene, worry rising with every detail he noticed.

CB was on the ground, curled up at the foot of a tree. Even with his back to them, Dustin could tell that he was hunched in on himself protectively, though whether he was doing it because of the cold or pain or something else, Dustin didn’t know. There were a few dirty bandages wrapped loosely around his limbs, the ends of which had been torn off, caught on some near-by branches.

Dustin swallowed thickly, quickly closing the gap between him and CB, dropping to his knees next to him. It wasn’t the most elegant landing, and it must have caused quite the crash, because even in his poor state, CB felt it. He dragged his eyes open, looking around him without seeming to see anything. It was unnerving, the way his eyes were moving while remaining so distant and unfocused.

“CB?” Dustin said quietly, trying to pull CB’s attention onto him. It worked, to an extent. CB’s gaze ended up in Dustin’s general direction, but it didn’t seem like he was actually looking at him. There was no recognition in his eyes, and it sent Dustin’s stomach twisting into tighter and tighter knots.

There was a quiet rustle of leaves behind him as Rocky 3 finally caught up. “Dustin, what…?” he started, trailing off with a quiet swear as the scene in front of him sunk in.

“He’s shaking,” Dustin cried, reaching out for CB as if he had any idea of how to help. The heat radiating off of him almost made Dustin recoil. “He’s really burning up!”

Rocky 3 bit his lip, leaning to get a good look at CB over Dustin’s shoulder. He quickly took in the details of CB’s condition, finding them as worrisome as Dustin had. “There’s an emergency repair center not too far from here. I… I think it’ll be okay to move him.”

Dustin nodded, carefully gathering CB into his arms. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, but the caboose felt a lot lighter than he remembered.

Dustin looked up at Rocky 3, begging him to tell him what to do. “This way,” Rocky 3 said, turning on his heel and leading them back the way they came.

Dustin wasted no time in following him, constantly looking back and forth between his charge in his arms and the path in front of him. He was trying to be quick, but he still had to be careful. He didn’t want to jostle CB or upset his injuries in any way.

“You’re going to be alright,” Dustin said to CB, trying to keep his voice as soothing and as steady as possible. “Don’t worry. We’re going to get you to a repair center, okay? You just have to stay awake. Alright? Just stay awake, and we can take you and get you all fixed up, and then you can come home. Won’t that be nice? Coming home? So just stay awake, yeah? You’ll be alright, just stay with me.” He wasn’t sure CB could even hear him, but the caboose’s glassy eyes were still trained on him, and if there was even the slightest possibility of giving CB a little comfort, Dustin would take it.

He kept up the stream of words, barely aware of what he was saying. All he knew was that he wanted to keep CB’s attention on him. In his mind, as long as CB was awake—perhaps not lucid, but at least a little responsive—it was a sign that he would be okay. They could get him to the repair center, and he’d be fixed up before the night was out. They could take him home, and the yard would be whole again, and everything could go back to normal. Dustin clung to that thought like a lifeline as he rambled reassurances to CB, reassurances which were as much for his sake as they were for CB’s. “You’ll be okay,” he said over and over. “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay, I promise.”

Then, CB’s eyes closed.

Dustin’s stomach sank like a stone, plummeting to his feet before he had even fully registered what happened. “CB?” he said, giving the caboose a little shake.

Nothing.

Dustin shook him again. “Come on, now. Look at me.”

No response.

Panic was quickly flooding into Dustin’s chest. “Don’t do this, CB,” he pleaded, fear bleeding through into his voice. “Wake up.”

CB was completely still.

For a brief moment that felt like a small eternity, Dustin couldn’t think of what to do. Terror overtook his thoughts, turning them to static. “Rocky!”

Rocky 3 turned around. For a second, it was clear that he didn’t understand Dustin’s immediate spike in concern. Then he took in how CB’s eyes had closed, how he had gone limp in Dustin’s arms, how Dustin was clutching him hard enough it was sure to leave bruises, and a change washed over his face. Dustin could see his own fear reflected in Rocky 3’s eyes.

“Come on,” Rocky 3 said, his voice tight, “we need to hurry.”

Rocky 3 took off down the track as fast as he could, and Dustin picked up speed to match. He knew he’d never been the fastest car in the yard, and it had never bothered him before, not even in the championship. Now, though, he couldn’t help but curse his size. He needed to be fast. CB needed him to be fast. If something happened to him because Dustin couldn’t get him to a technician in time, Dustin would never forgive himself.

Rocky 3’s description of the repair center being “not too far” turned out to be relative. In the end, it took them almost an hour before Dustin caught sight of the lights in the distance. In that moment, he could have cried in relief. He didn’t stop to let himself enjoy it though. Terror was still a tight knot in his throat, and he kept on towards the lights, going as fast as he could manage. Adrenaline gave him a final burst of speed, and soon—though not soon enough for him—Dustin was carrying CB in through the emergency room doors, calling out as loudly he could for help.

Everything happened in a blur: technicians rushing in with a stretcher, taking CB from his arms and carting him away down long hallways and doors that swung shut behind them; the receptionist sitting him down and gently asking him about allergies and medical history and emergency contacts and next of kin; a stack of forms being handed to him and someone asking him to fill them out as best he could; him and Rocky 3 poring over the papers, the words running together before their eyes, asking them questions about CB that they had no idea how to answer.

At some point, it all stopped. The initial flurry of activity had long since died down, and the others in the waiting room had lost interest in the scene. Rocky 3 gathered up the forms—Dustin wasn’t sure if they had actually finished them or just given up—and brought them back to the receptionist. They talked for a minute, but they were too far away and their voices were too low for Dustin to make out what they were saying.

When Rocky 3 came back, he hovered uncertainly in front of Dustin. “I’m going to call Poppa,” he said quietly.

Dustin nodded. Of course, someone would have to tell Poppa. The rest of the yard might not have been worried before, and even now Dustin wasn’t sure they would care, but Poppa needed to know. “I’ll wait here, in case there’s any… any news.”

It was Rocky 3’s turn to nod. He couldn’t find the words to respond. The weight of the situation was clearly pressing down on him. Dustin could tell because he felt it, too. The tiredness in Rocky 3’s eyes resonated deeply in Dustin’s chest.

After another second of hesitation, Rocky 3 turned back to the reception desk. Dustin heard him ask where there would be a phone he could use and get directed to the hall leading to the building’s entrance. Dustin watched him go, distantly noting the slump of his shoulders and the reluctant dragging of his feet. His heart clenched with sympathy.

Part of Dustin wanted to go with him. It was going to be a tough call for him to make, and Dustin wanted to give him as much support as he could. When it came down to it, though, Dustin was just too tired. He sagged into his chair, exhausted now that the adrenaline had passed. He felt like he needed to sleep for a week, but at the same time, he was too scared to even close his eyes.

Alone in the waiting room, the silence was oppressive. Dustin could feel the weight of everything pressing down on him. He struggled to swallow down the lump that had risen in his throat, so big and heavy it felt like, pretty soon, he wouldn’t be able to even breathe around it.

Tears stung his eyes, turning his vision watery and blurry. He blinked quickly a few times, then squeezed his eyes shut, then dug into his eyelids with the heels of his hands; anything he could do to keep the tears from falling.

It was no use. First a single tear leaked out from the corner of his eye. After that, he couldn’t stop. His breaths came quick and heavy, and he had just enough presence of mind to keep them from turning into loud and ugly sobs. He was trying not to make a scene, but he could feel all the eyes on him all the same. For the first time in his life, all the unwanted attention didn’t matter. He was too tired, too upset, too scared to care that he was being stared at.

#starlight express #stex #stex fanfic #cb the red caboose #dustin the big hopper #rocky the boxcar #cb #rocky 3 #angst #read on ao3 for the full list of tags

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hayleyb100 · 4 years

Text

The Reunion... The end

*It’s a continuing story from The Misconstruction -> The Origin -> The Letters!

"Please wait here, Mr. Richard is absent at the moment to pick some herbs, but he will be back soon."

"Th... Thank you." As another rescuer guided Raihan inside the Pokemon Shelter, the Dragon Gym Leader smiled awkwardly. He came here to seek for his dad to put an end of inner turmoil but still doesn't know

"But I cannot believe the Tamer of Dragons is here! Boy, Mr. Richard would be so happy."

"Oh?" Do they know that I'm his son already?

"He is your biggest fan!"

What?

Raihan was thrown off. A what?

"In fact, he keeps whole scrapbooks on your battles, news, league cards, and everything you name it! He never misses your battle on Hammerlocke Gym and Wyndon Stadium on TV too! Hee hee, but when I found out Mr. Richard was keeping your scrapbook, he hid it and looked scrambled, saying it's embarrassing for someone to find out he is a fan at such age."

"...Oh." Raihan didn't know what to say. He just sat on the couch in the living room. The rescuer left soon after to attend the pokemons he is looking after.

Raihan peeked around to see if anyone's looking and sneaked upstairs. He knew that the old man's room was there because he came over to this workplace all the time to play. Upstairs were two doors, one belonged to Raihan's dad and the other used to belong to little Raihan. And it was clear which room belongs to the old man. A neat door decorated with dried flowers, leaves, branches, and pokemon's footprint - kind of like a room suited for Hattrems.

He gently opened the door. Thankfully, it wasn't locked. It was hard to get in since the door was so low. Considering how short his dad was, it wasn't weird.

The room too was mystic and charming like the door. It gave the vibe of Ballonlea. The first thing he saw was a photo frame on the desk with his family photo. His mom, dad, and Raihan beaming without a worry in the world. It just made his heartache. Next, he saw so many herb samples, powders, and extracts on the desk that he can't even name. But it wasn't what Raihan was looking for. He soon tore his eyes away from the desk to seek what he wanted in the bookshelf. It was packed with all sorts of difficult books on medicines, herbs, Botanics, Pokemon Biology, Pokemon Ethology, Pokemon Communications, countless journals, and more.

And at the topmost shelf, there were about 7 books that were wrapped in blue, written 241. Can't he be any more obvious? Raihan thought and pulled out one of them and opened it. And true to rescuer's words, it was indeed a scrapbook. Raihan slowly turned the pages.

It was incredible.

It was a well-organized Raihan history book. All his footsteps from his Gym Challenge at age 10 to his appointment as a Gym Leader and interviews were filling page after page. And on every page, small notes were saying how proud he was towards Raihan, and compliments that he couldn't convey to his son. Raihan couldn't believe how much his father was eager to convey his love. The letter wasn't enough. His love was quiet and still, but steady as a river.

"Raihan...?"

As Raihan was so absorbed scanning all seven of his scrapbooks, he didn't notice any indication of a person being around. Raihan shut his eyes close for a second, as he wasn't ready for this reunion in 10 and more years. He inhaled deeply and opened his eyes. There he stood. The man with the same but very different teal eyes. The eyes with everlasting kindness.

Richard just stood there without a word. He just stared at Raihan as if he is observing how much his son grew. Raihan knew his dad won't come near him, so he walked up to him. The day when Raihan left the home to set off the journey, he was looking up to his dad whenever he talked. But now, Raihan was looking far down at his dad. That just proved how much time passed.

Raihan just didn't know where to even start. The distance between them was as far as the time they spent away from each other.

Richard very slowly lifts his hand and started stroking his son.

"...Am I dreaming? I watched you over the screen so I did not realize, but my goodness, look how much my little boy grew." Richard tried to keep as calm as he can, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were dewy at his son, in person, right in front of his eyes.

Raihan too, slowly shook his head to say it isn't a dream. He desperately wanted to say everything. Everything that he got from his dad's dedication... the letters he received over many years. But instead, his mouth spat out unprocessed emotions in the most clumsy way possible.

"Why do you even keep these?" He snapped, pointing at the scrapbooks.

"Why do you keep these and send me letters when you're just gonna lie and say you're my fan, not family? Were you that embarrassed at me since I acted like a jerk to you?"

No. Stop. JUST STOP YOU FOOL.

You don't even mean that.

Raihan's heart screamed him to stop, but it was too late. The words are spilled.

To Raihan's surprise, Richard shook his head almost simultaneously.

"There is no way I would consider you my embarrassment."

No matter how much Richard tried, Raihan could feel his dad was almost choking with sadness.

"It is just... I would never dare to call myself your father unless you forgave me."

A complete silence took over the whole room.

Raihan just stood there and stared at his dad desperately holding back the tears. Raihan failed to believe what a person his dad was.

He still remembered it.

HE STILL FEELS GUILTY FOR THAT SLAP, EVEN WHEN IT WAS RAIHAN WHO CORNERED HIM TO DO THAT.

"Why!!"

Raihan shrieked, like that 8 years old boy who lost his mother.

"It's the point where you should be mad at me!! I was a complete bastard who cornered and hurt you!! I ditched all your letters, didn't give a damn to visit you, ripped your heart with all my words and actions!! Why are you... Why are you still loving me?!"

"...Because..." Richard started, voice shaking from holding back the tears.

"Because to me, you are a miracle. The most precious blessing that I ever received in my whole life. That one slap on your cheeks weighs heavier than any other wound I ever got. Sure, I missed you. But I never once was hurt by any of your actions, darling. I know you were also emotionally cornered, and I know you did not do any of it on purpose. And the fact that you returned offsets anything you did in the past. It is... like a long yearning dream came true to me."

Those words just disarmed Raihan in seconds. Absolute love. Those were the only words that could describe what Raihan was witnessing at the moment. All those years of wandering frazzled just melted down upon such clear-cut place to return to.

Just like his dad did all the time with his cape all those years ago, Raihan embraced his father with all his might. Richard gasped, but soon wrapped his arms around his son too. Both dragon men were overwhelmed with warmth.

Richard could feel his shoulder going wet. He knew what it was coming from, but he didn't turn to his son, because he knew he was a man of pride and Raihan will not accept anyone see him cry.

"Dad... I... I... I missed you... I was so scared that you would follow mom and leave me, but I was a coward not to come see you. Please forgive me for everything I did. I'm so sorry!! Sorry..."

All of Raihan's overdue emotions gushed out at once.

Why didn't he realized?

Why was he wandering around like a fool, when there was such a reliable shelter who will love him unconditionally?

Richard quietly stroked his son's back. He knew all the hardships and pressure Raihan was going through alone, and he too was so sorry he wasn't there for him.

"Everything will be alright, son. You are at home. You are safe here, my darling."

Raihan finally realized the difference between the love from his fans and love from his father. The difference between 'infatuation' and 'sincereness'. The difference between the affection where Raihan has to desperately try to achieve, and the mild, cozy love that is showered at him with no effort at all.

This is it.

This was what Raihan was stacking all his powers for. To protect this never-drying well of love. The origin of his dream he was looking for.

"...Welcome home, my son." tears streamed down Richard's eyes as well.

Raihan cried like never before in his life that day as if he is venting every fear and sorrow he built over the years.

______________________________________

-Several weeks later.-

"Mie!" Mildred pulled Richard's cape as if she is hustling him for something.

"Alright, dear. I am almost done. It is the last page of my scrapbook, so I have to do it neater than ever."

Richard finally finished sticking the last photograph on his scrapbook and pulled out a pokeball outside the shelter. Gale, his Noivern, happily gave his master a ride on his back and flew to Wyndon Stadium.

The stadium was packed as usual, as the crowd is excited for another big match of the Tamer of Dragons and the Champion.

Even Victor was surprised to see how Raihan was more determined than ever.

Raihan turned to look at the audience.

There stood his goal of life. He was determined to now engrave his son's history in his eyes and mind instead of the pages of the scrapbooks.

They beamed at each other, as the match began.

#pokemon raihan #raihan #gym leader raihan #pokemon oc #pokemon richard #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon gen 8 #pokemon generation 8

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ofbeastsandwizards · 4 years

Text

Cinderella - Sherlock x Reader

The First installment of my Happily Ever Never Oneshot Collection! Pairing: BBC Sherlock x Reader

Summary: Living in the sucluded, poor and rundown area of London, the young peasant girl never thought she’d meet the prince, the heir to the throne, of England. Nor did she think she’d meet his less popular, detective brother. And even more so, she’d never expect falling head-over-glass slipper for him either.

Warnings: fluff, lotsa angst, a bit of swearing. It’s also hella long so there’s that lol

Enjoy!

————

Her name was [Y/n]. The young girl lived with her stepmother and her daughter in her father’s old home on the edge of London. It was run down, but beautiful none the less. She would have had money. Would have been respected, if her late father hadn’t married the skunk that was sat on the living room armchair. [Y/n] was scrubbing relentlessly at the tiled floors, her clothing old and torn. She wouldn’t have minded working. She really wouldn’t have. If she was getting paid, or even working for somebody even a smidgeon less greedy than her current ‘employer’, who thought nothing more of her than a slave.

Sometimes that’s what [Y/n] felt she was to her. Nothing but a slave. It was sad sometimes, but she tried her best to maintain her composure.

Today, however, her stepmother’s daughter, Anna, had received an invitation from the royal family. As her father had been a once wealthy duke, the entire family was requested to attend, despite him no longer being alive.

Anna screeched giddily when [Y/n] had handed over the envelope. They hardly ever got mail. It was almost always over the internet nowadays, not that they could afford to even own a laptop or computer.

Her stepmother was stuck in the past anyways.

[Y/n] stood patiently until Anna’s ear-piercing screams were silenced. She bounded towards her mother. “Mum! Mum look! We’ve been invited to the royal ball!” She exclaimed.

Her mother examined the paper and grinned slyly. “Well! I suppose we’ll have to find you a beautiful gown now won’t we?”

[Y/n] frowned. She knew it wasn’t her place, but surely, she’d get to go? “What about me?” She asked quietly.

Anna’s screeches were silenced at her words and her stepmother sent her a deadly stare. “Did I say you could talk, brat?” She hissed.

[Y/n] began to boil and she bit her lip, staring at the ground, to keep from an angry outburst. “N-No, ma’am.” She mumbled.

She huffed, and stood from her seat brushing past the young girl. “Besides! I wouldn’t want you there anyways! Ruining my image! Are you insane?” She laughs.

The girl shook her head once more. “N-No...not at all ma’am.”

She scoffs. “Well you act it sometimes! Get ahold of yourself girl!” She tuts, hitting her shoulder harshly as she waltzes out of the room. She turns. “So, you are not going! You need to finish your chores! And I will not have a filthy girl like you be standing with me at the Royal Ball!” She exclaimed, exiting the room with Anna in tow, a small frown of pity on her face.

[Y/n] was left standing there, like a time-bomb, ready to explode into a million, fuming pieces. She turned and stomped her way up the steps to her attic room, and closed the door in anger, locking it.

She threw herself onto her bed and screamed into a pillow.

I’m tired of being treated like shit! I’m not some piece of worthless trash!

Then, she began to break down into tears, turning over, as she choked on silent sobs.

Am I?

She shook her head, lip quivering. Then suddenly, a knock on her door interrupted her self-loathing time. She sat up, and wiped her nose of her stained sleeve.

“What do you want?” She yelled. She realized she shouldn’t have sounded so harsh, as it may have been her stepmother and she braced for impact.

“[Y/n]. It’s Anna.”

She practically snarled at her pity-filled voice.

“Go away!” She hissed.

Anna frowned from the other side of the door. Despite being the child of that evil woman downstairs, she wasn’t all bad. Yes, she was greedy and selfish, but she also easily felt pity for those around her and ‘wanted to help the needy’.

“[Y/n] I’m sorry for what my mother told you. I convinced her to let you come with.” She murmured from behind the door. “The ball is tomorrow night.”

[Y/n] was silent then. She had never been that nice to her despite how nice she seemed at the moment.

“Oh.” “Make sure you actually wear something presentable.” She snarked, before her footsteps faded down the steps. [Y/n]’s frown deepened, and she held up her middle finger towards the door, sticking out her tongue childishly.

She frowned and lowered her hand, collapsing backwards onto her bed, sleep overtaking her.

———— time skip ————

It was morning now, and [Y/n] had woken up late, much to her stepmother’s distaste, who had a full day of shopping planned for Anna whilst [Y/n] was to clean the entire house to receive her ‘‘reward” of attending the ball.

[Y/n] had just finished doing her chores, and it was about 4 o’clock now. She had a few hours to spare, and so she took it upon herself to break out the only nice dress she owned. An heirloom from her mother, which was a beautiful baby blue gown, but the problem was, it was ripped and torn, and had blood stained onto the fabric.

[Y/n] wasn’t sure what the blood itself was from, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. Her mother’s past was all a blur to her. She was a beautiful woman, yes, but her father told stories of her adventures and how ‘badass she was when he met her’. She chuckled to herself, but grimaced at the sight of the blood once more.

“I can’t possibly wear that.” She grumbled, and tossed it onto her bed. She skimmed through her closet of bland sweatshirts, t-shirts, bandanas and jeans and frowned when she couldn’t find anything.

“Well this just sucks arse.” She bit her lip and stared at the gown laid out on her bed. The sleeve was ripped, and so it no longer laid upright but hung down. The tulle on the skirt was ripped and frayed, and there was a blood stain near the lower hemline, which could easily be concealed, but there was also a rather obvious stain on the chest area, about the size of her head, which colored the blue a wine red.

The idea of wine crossed her mind for a moment, and an idea struck her. She bundled the dress in her arms and raced from her room and down the stairs. She made her way outside and out the separate door and into the wine cellar below her house. She fumbled with the door, before it creaked open and she slipped inside.

The room was dark, and she could barely make out the forms of large barrels and bottles stacked throughout the room.

She reached to her left and flicked on a light, stumbling down the stairway and towards a large bottle of red wine, which matched the color of the blood stained onto her dress. She grinned and cradled it in her arms, stumbling back up the stairs and out into the courtyard, crossing back towards her house and making a b-line for her bedroom.

Once upstairs, she got to work. She located the area of the tulle that was ripped and slit it upwards on the skit, creating a leg slit that looked as through it was supposed to be there all along. She decided she’d hem the slit, and she got to work on the sleeves. She fixed their rosed covered fabric and stitched the sleeve back onto the body of it, re-adjusting it so it went off the shoulder. She stood back. Apart from the blood, it looked like it was supposed to be that way.

Then, she dumped all of the wine into a large bucket and dropped the dress into it. She would let it soak for half an hour and let it dry for another.

Once the first process finished, she dug around for the old clothespin that was buried somewhere in her room and strung it in front of the single window inside her bedroom. She brought the dripping gown up to it and clipped it on.

It sagged, having been still soaked in wine. [Y/n] held her nose at the strong scent of alcohol. She never was an alcohol fan. She suspected she never would be, as she’d rather keep her dignity.

She moved back towards her bed, but tripped on a scrapbook peeking out form under her bed frame.

“Ah!” She shrieked, falling forward and landing on the bed. She grumbled, sitting back up. She leaned over the bed and picked it up, examining the cover.

Her eyes softened as she read the front cover. In words written in glittery writing was the title; “[Y/n]’s Wedding Scrapbook!”

It was everything that she wanted her wedding to be like. She would wear a beautiful off-white gown, complete in a [favorite wedding dress style] style, and a beautiful flowing, floor length train. Everything was perfectly planned out.

Her hand turned a page and she saw her and her mother and father, sitting in the grass, having a picnic. It was an old Polaroid picture.

She remembered the most important thing about her wedding.

She’d have her father walking her down the isle, a proud smile on his face as she approached her soon-to-be significant other. She bit her lip, closing her eyes and tears piled up and out of her eyes, stinging her cheek.

Her lip quivered and she choked a bit, shaking her head and slamming the book closed. She slid it back under her bed, and laid her head back down on her pillow.

She waited for the dress to dry completely, but she grew too impatient, and she didn’t want her stepmother and Anna to see her fixing up the dress. So, in a rush, she collected the damp dress, holding it out in front of her to preserve her clothes best she could.

She reached the laundry room, and put it inside of the dryer, turning it on and waiting as it dried the dress. She hoped it wouldn’t shrink or rip, and took care to put the setting to ‘gentle’.

After the 10 minutes had passed, she took the dress from the dryer and examined it. All looked well and she grinned.

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of the front door opening. She gasped and went as fast as she could straight to her room, just as they stepped inside, her stepmother and Anna talking rather loudly from downstairs.

She pushed her door closed in a swift motion and it made a dull click. Then she heard her stepmother yell from downstairs.

“You’d better have something nice to wear to the ball or you’ll be staying here!” She screeched from downstairs. [Y/n] smirked to herself and rolled her eyes.

“You wanted nice. Let’s see your face when you see my gown then.” [Y/n] snickered to herself as she sat on her bed, facing the window. Her dress was still bundled in her arms as she giggled at Anna’s muffled attempts to put on her gown from just below her in her room.

[Y/n] decided she should get ready, and so she changed out of her stained clothing and pulled the dress over her body. It was a bit snug on her, but she didn’t mind. She approached the mirror in her bedroom and admired her reflection. The dress was beautiful, and wasn’t too revealing which pleased [Y/n], as she didn’t really like low-cut dresses, but the fit was close to perfect. She grinned but then her eyes met her hair.

It was a mess of tangled strands, dangling [above/below/at] her shoulders. She grumbled and ran a comb through it, until it looked presentable, wincing the entire time.

After her hair was mostly presentable, she looked herself over once more, and stretched her arm to the jewelry box sitting on the small indent of wall above her mirror. She clicked open the latch, and opened the lid.

Inside was a silver chain necklace with a beautiful silver locket, shaped in an intricate story-book like design. The book opened to reveal a tiny picture of her father and mother, back when they were young and carefree. She smiled warmly at the photo, and clicked the locket shut.

She swung the chain around her neck and struggled momentarily before managing to connect the other end. She nodded firmly to herself once giving herself another once-over.

Then, as if on cue, there was a knock on her door.

“Hey! You’d better be ready!” Anna exclaimed. [Y/n] bit her lip and snatched her trench coat from her bedpost, and buttoned the long jacket over her dress in an effort to cover it as best as possible.

She rushed towards her door and opened it, Anna had a scowl on her face and turned when she walked out her door. She turned and closed it and they made their way downstairs. Anna was clad in a turquoise gown, which was overly poofy, and resembled that of a pageant gown rather than a ball gown.

[Y/n] stuck out her tongue at her sense of style and rolled her eyes as they went outside to get inside of the pickup truck that her stepmother owned. She was already in the drivers seat, and [Y/n] squeezed her way into the crowded and dirty backseat.

Good thing I’m wearing a coat.

———— time skip ————

“Alright.” Her stepmother stopped the truck down the street from the palace. “I have some rules. You-” She waved a finger at [Y/n]. “Stay 20 feet away from us at all times.” She stated. “And don’t even think about talking to my prince!” Exclaimed Anna.

[Y/n] rolled her eyes. “Fine. I won’t.”

“Oh! And don’t you dare go near the ballroom. You are not to dance with the prince or any duke! Have at it with the waiters though, they’re all worthless blokes.” Her stepmother stated.

[Y/n] sighed and nodded. Her stepmother looked pleased, and they all exited the car. The mother and daughter darted straight down the street and towards the palace, leaving [Y/n] to scoff and follow after them, digging around for that letter to gain entrance.

Once they reached the gate, the guard looked over the paper and nodded, letting them inside. Her stepmother and Anna went straight inside and [Y/n] lingered behind, climbing the steps.

She entered, and pulled off her coat, handing it to one of the men collecting them, and took a deep breath. She listened to the distant music and laughing people down the hall. She strayed a bit away from the crowd and stayed on the outskirts of the ballroom. A man carrying a tray with glasses of water passed her. She gracefully picked one up and took a sip, thanking the man.

She then spotted somebody much like her, staying near the outskirts and leaning against a marble post. She approached him and leaned on the next post over, sipping her water.

They both stood in silence, before she looked towards him, examining him. He had brown- almost black, curly hair, and a defined face. He was wearing a suit, which was fairly casual for this style of party, yet still very formal.

His eyes were scanning the crowds of dancing couples, solemnly watching them dance. Then, his eyes landed on [Y/n].

She sucked in a breath and turned away, choosing not to talk to the man. Then, he broke the silence.

“I’m guessing you’re not a fan of party’s then either.” He stated. The music blared dimly in the background. [Y/n] sighed. “No, not really. You aren’t then?” She asked.

The man shook his head, eyes still watching the crowds. “No. My brother’s always forcing me into them.” He stated.

[Y/n] chuckled and followed the man’s gaze. “I’m sure he means the best. He can’t be any worse than my stepsister.” She stated.

The man was silent. [Y/n] turned and leaned towards him, her hand extended. “I’m uh, I’m [Y/n].”

He eyed her hand and looked back up, ignoring her gesture. “Sherlock Holmes.”

[Y/n] stiffened at the name. That detective prince guy? She cleared her throat, and leaned back, returning to her place, bringing her water up to her lips once more.

They stood like that for a while, before Sherlock made a sudden movement towards her, which startled [Y/n] half out of her mind.

“You haven’t left yet.” He observed. [Y/n] froze and gave him a cheeky smile. “Why haven’t you left yet?” He asked, a bit more concerned this time.

[Y/n] furrowed her brows. “You haven’t given me a reason to leave yet.” She stated, rather confused.

Sherlock studied her face and leaned back a bit, still examining her.

[Y/n] stood her ground under his harsh gaze before his eyes softened a bit. “Well, usually when people hear my name, they go running.” He stated.

[Y/n] shook her head. “It takes a little more than a name to scare me, Mr. Holmes.” She smiled, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes in contemplation. He then looked away.

“You’re very different from the girls that usually attend these types of things.” He said.

[Y/n] smiled crookedly. “Is that good or bad?” She asked, crossing her arms, whilst still holding the glass in her left hand.

Sherlock didn’t answer for a moment, before glancing back towards the ballroom, and looking back at [Y/n] with an intrigued smile.

“Do you want to dance?” He asked, sounding a bit unsure of himself. [Y/n] smiled, and nodded. “I’d love to.”

Sherlock let himself smile a bit wider, and [Y/n] stopped leaning on the wall, and placed her glass on a nearby table-top. The pair made their way to the ballroom dance-floor and stood near the center.

[Y/n] placed her hand on Sherlock’s arm, and her other connected with Sherlock’s. Sherlock hesitantly placed his other hand on her waist and they began to sweep across the floor gracefully. [Y/n] refused to meet his gaze, and instead decided to talk a bit to lighten the mood.

“So.” She started, her eyes barely flickering to his. “I take it you know how to dance then?” Sherlock turned to meet her eyes. “Yes, I learned when I was fairly young. And what about you?”

[Y/n] stifled a laugh and took a deep breath. “My father taught me when I was five.”

Sherlock nodded. “You had to have come here with somebody.” Sherlock mumbled, which seemed more of like a comment to himself rather than to [Y/n]. But the young woman caught his words almost immediately.

She smiled. “If you mean being left alone by my evil stepmother and stepsister, then you’d right.”

Sherlock hummed, and his gaze scanned the crowd. His eyes then widened as they met something in the distance. “Get down!” He yelled a bit loudly, pushing [Y/n] onto the ground as he crouched low to the ground as well.

Gunshots echoed through the hall, the crowd erupting in screams, people ran like wild and a few bodies were scattered along the floor. “Dammit!” Sherlock hissed.

‘‘What the hell?” [Y/n] was growing anxious and her body began to shake. She sucked in deep breathes and looked around at the screaming people. Sherlock turned. He now has a gun in his hand. It was pointed to the floor and [Y/n] eyed it suspiciously, before meeting his gaze as he spoke. “Listen to me. You need to get somewhere safe, and stay low to the ground.” He began to stand up, but [Y/n] grabbed at his coat tails hurriedly.

“No!” She stumbled on her words for a moment. “I-I’m not running away. I’m not hiding. I’ve been doing that all my life. I’m coming with you.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked her over, the screams growing louder. He groaned in annoyance but held out his hand for her to take. She offered a bittersweet smile, and took it.

Sherlock pulled her up, and the pair scurried into the hallway where they had previously been standing. [Y/n] picked up her glass from before, and smashed it against the marble posts, creating a fairly large and sharp piece of glass. Sherlock eyed her, and she shrugged, a smirk on her face.

He turned back around and held his gun in front of him, slowly making his way towards where the person was shooting from the staircase. [Y/n] held her shank in front of her, following in Sherlock’s steps as they made their way closer.

Sherlock cued her to go on the opposite side of the staircase and wait for him to give her the signal, (which was Sherlock firing his gun), and the young woman obeyed. Sherlock approached the man, who was clad in a trench coat and had a balding head.

Sherlock stood near him, and the man ceased his firing, the screams still filling the room from below. “Hey!”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Come to stop me Shirley?” He growled, pointing his gun at Sherlock. Sherlock shrugged.

“Not really.” Then, Sherlock pointed his gun to the ceiling, and fired.

The man let out a sickening laugh.

“You missed.” He snarled, a hideous smirk on his face.

“You’re right, I did.” Sherlock lowered his gun. ‘‘But she didn’t.” Just then, [Y/n] stabbed the glass into his back and the man gasped, falling backwards. [Y/n] stopped back and watched as he fell to the ground, gasping for breath eyes staring up at [Y/n] as Sherlock approached and looked down at him.

The glass dug deeper into the man’s back and he narrowed his eyes. [Y/n] dusted off her hands, which were now stained with blood, and joined Sherlock’s side.

“I hate you.” The man spat, blood pooling from under him. [Y/n] frowned, and hummed.

Sherlock put away his gun and pushed his hands into his pockets. [Y/n] looked to him. “What now?” She asked.

Sherlock looked her over at her, then looked towards the door. ““We should probably leave.”

[Y/n] laughed and nodded. “Good idea.” She smiled, and the duo made their way to the palace gates.

Once outside the large doors, they stopped in the garden. “We never did finish that dance, did we?” Asked [Y/n]. Sherlock looked down at her and smiled a bit.

“No, I suppose not.” “So....?”

Sherlock took [Y/n]’s hand and they began to dance again. The night was peaceful despite the commotion from inside. They danced in silence for quite a while, until they tired, and stopped dancing to walk about the garden.

“Y’know, I never thought something like this would happen to me.”

Sherlock glanced down at her as they walked. “What? Killing a murderer?”

[Y/n] snorted and looked away. “Well that, and-” She motioned is between herself and Sherlock. “This.”

Sherlock looked at her in confusion. They stopped walking.

“You’re a prince. I’m nothing but a common girl living in London.”

Sherlock looked a bit offended. “Like that should matter?” He asked.

“Well it usually matters to most people. I’ve never even danced with anybody but my own father. I never thought I’d even go near the palace. And yet here we are.”

“Exactly. Why does your social rank have to have anything to do with if you can meet new people, or dance with them?”

[Y/n] looked away. “I was raised by my stepmother to think that way, I guess.”

“Well you shouldn’t have to think that way.” He reasoned. [Y/n] smiled a bit. “Yeah, you’re right.”

They stood in silence for a while, continuing their walk. “Hey, Sherlock?” She asked.

Sherlock hummed. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

[Y/n] smiled. “For tonight, for the dance, for everything.”

Sherlock returned the smile, and [Y/n] leaned over to hug him. Sherlock froze and stood still while she clung to him. He rolled his eyes and slowly, hesitantly wrapped his arms around her form. “You’re welcome.”

Woahhhhh that was fun to write! :O

I don’t know! What did you guys think? Anyways! Let me know if I missed you on the tag list! I lost a few of the asks so maybe resend them if you get the chance! Thanks! :>

Comment to be added to the tag list! Happily Ever Never Tag List:

@timeladygallifrey @romeo-the-cactus @ewitsceleste @sammistout @starsinthepavement @solariiium @germansarechill @water13girl

#bbc sherlock #sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlockbbc #x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #cute #cinderella #fairy tales #british #bbc #glass slipper #hug #sherlock hug #adorable #murder #angst

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callumsmitchells · 4 years

Text

read chapter three here

It looks like an explosion in a craft factory. The table is full with glossy pictures, freshly printed and cut out. There's photos scattered everywhere, all spread out so Ben can see them all clearly. Glue is everywhere, and in front of Ben: a book. It's got black pages, though they were mostly already covered up with pictures upon pictures. Alongside the photographs, is Ben's neatest handwriting, scrawled in obnoxious silver ink that wouldn't be out of place on his mum's Christmas present tags.

Ben's been planning this for weeks now, after previously having no idea what to get Callum for his birthday. What do you get the man who claims he has everything he's ever needed? The idea was borne from something Callum said in passing. Lexi had been laughing at a photo of Ben when he was younger, around the same age that she is now, possibly even younger, and had innocently asked Callum if he had any pictures from when he was a little boy. Callum was calm about it, of course he was, but Ben could see the sadness that flickered through his eyes when Callum explained that his parents never kept photos of when he was a young boy. It wouldn't be the same, but it's something that Callum would be able to hold close to his heart; something sentimental that he would be able to look back on in old age, remembering the early parts of his and Ben’s relationship.

He looks at all the photos before he glues them to the paper, trying his best to put them all in chronological order. He picks one up, and notices that it's one of his favourite photos they share together, taken by Lola only a few months prior. They had just come in from their monthly date night, overtired from their day of looking after a sick Lexi. Their date night had been cut short, because Ben couldn't stop yawning, and when they walked back in, they had managed to reach as far as the sofa, before they collapsed asleep. In the photo, Ben was on top of Callum, both of them asleep in each other's arms, mouths hitched open in lazy, soft snores, hair flat against their heads. It looks sweet, and Ben can feel the love radiating off of them from the photo. He sticks glue to the underside of the photo, and sticks it to the paper, unable to stop smiling at it.

Also on that page, is another firm favourite of Ben's. It's one that he took of Callum, not long ago. Callum has a cheesy grin spread firmly across his face, dimples imprinted on his cheeks. He's got somewhat more of a stubble, because Ben convinced him not to shave that morning. He's cocooned in a blanket, hair disguised, bar from a few strands that escaped. Ben chuckles at it, remembering how Callum towered above him, holding the blanket under his chin, posing for a photo before he fell down on top of Ben, wrapping the blanket around both their bodies.

It’s weird, how photos can hold so many memories. Especially with Callum. He can remember every photo: where they were, why it was being taken. He can remember the joke Callum told him to make him smile for a ‘cute’ photo, which really just resulted in Ben rolling his eyes with a daft grin spreading across his lips, and Callum blurry from laughing that much he couldn’t stop moving. He can remember the photos taken on nights out, Callum's arms wrapped around his waist, their bodies pressed so close together that they couldn't even put a piece of paper between them. Ben picks up the pen, and draws a heart next to the photo.

In the end, the photo album is filled with memories and snapshots of Ben and Callum’s relationship. Ben had no idea how many photos they had together, or where half of them even came from, but there was a lot, judging by how long he was sitting at the table, even going so far as to check the clock every ten minutes, making sure that Callum wouldn’t walk in and ruin the whole surprise. He’s not one for romantic gestures, or so he believes, but Ben’s proud of this present. It’s sentimental. Made with love, for love. It’s something that Callum would keep forever, a memento of his memories collected with Ben, a small insight into their life.

Callum's birthday quickly approaches, and Ben is impatient in giving him his presents. It's exciting, being able to share something like this with the person he loves. Callum's barely awake, sitting on the sofa with his eyes drooping shut over a cup of tea every time he blinks. Ben sits down next to him, leg crossed underneath his body, and Callum instinctively reaches out to rest his hand on Ben's thigh. It's lovely, being this close. Ben leans in, his body just sinking in towards Callum, making his heart feel like an explosion of butterflies and happiness. It's embarrassing, really, how much Callum has the capability of making Ben happy just by being around. He presses a kiss to Callum's cheek, just above his dimple, and Ben can feel the blood rushing against his lips as Callum heats up under the embrace. Ben pulls back, and watches Callum for a moment, taking it all in. He can't believe he gets this now, forever. He gets to feel happy and giddy and in love, with Callum, forever. Callum takes another sip of his tea, and cocks an eyebrow, twisting his face to look at Ben.

"Have I got something on my face?" He asks, running his hand across his cheeks.

Ben shakes his head. "No." He leans down the side of the sofa, where he's previously placed Callum's present. He brings it up, all wrapped neatly and placed in a gift bag. "This is for you."

Callum leans forward, putting his mug down on the coffee table. "You didn't have to get me anything." He admits, shocked that Ben even thought to surprise him with a present. "Just being with you is enough."

"You're my boyfriend, of course you're getting a present." Ben rolls his eyes. "And I'll take you out tonight, if you want? Go and have a meal somewhere, just the two of us?"

Callum smiles, looking back at Ben. "That sounds lovely. Thank you." He reaches and gets the gift bag, letting the strings of it dangle over the creases of his fingers. He opens the bag, and retrieves the present from it, letting the empty gift bag fall to his feet, toppling over to lay on the carpeted floor. He places it onto his lap, and tears the blue paper away, revealing the scrapbook that Ben had spent hours making. Callum picks it up, heat rising in his face and tears bubbling away, threatening to spill out and make tracks down his cheeks. He gently runs his trembling fingers over the borders and around the rings on the edge. On the front page, Ben has written their anniversary date across the bottom and had placed their newest photo in the middle, pride of place.

"You like it?" Ben asks softly, inching closer to Callum, their thighs pressing together. He places an arm around Callum's back, hugging them together.

Callum turns his head, nose just brushing past Ben's face. "I love it." He admits, tears a permanent fixture in his eyes, threatening to fall. "You didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. You're my boyfriend and I love you, Cal." Ben admits, bringing his spare arm around as he presses his thumb to Callum's cheek, falling into place. They connect in a soft kiss, and Callum sighs into it, relaxing under the pressure of Ben's lips against his own. Ben pulls away, but keeps his forehead pressing against Callum's, eyes gazing into one another.

"What's in it?" Callum asks, eyebrows furrowing just a tad.

Ben pulls back, giving Callum some space. "Memories." He says, as if that explains it all. "I saw you, when Lexi was asking about your baby pictures. I get it. I wasn't happy then, but at least I have the photos that I can look back at, and say it got better. So I thought I'd put together our memories, so when we're old and grandparents, we can show the grandkids that we used to be quite cool."

Callum huffs out a laugh, bright and dizzy with happiness. "You're amazing." He leans forward and presses a kiss to Ben's lips unexpectedly, Ben faltering for just a moment before his brain kicks back into action and he kisses Callum back. "And I love you, too."

#ballum #ben x callum #ben mitchell x callum highway #ben mitchell #callum highway #myfic

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bittysvalentines · 4 years

Text

Going for Gold

To @allmylittleflaws

From @effyeahzimbits

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Dex/Nursey

“Will you fucking quit typing? I’m trying to sleep here.”

Nursey glanced up from the white glare of his laptop screen. The plane was mostly in darkness, but he could see his teammate’s golden eyes glaring at him from across the aisle. They were surrounded by the soft snores of other members of the United States Men’s Hockey team, and none of them had been disturbed by the clacking of Nursey’s plastic keys. He was pretty sure Poindexter just had it in for him.

Nursey couldn’t blame him. Ever since that match a few months ago where the Rangers played the Islanders, the budding rivalry between the two teams exploded to new heights, and Poindexter seemed to carry that grudge off the ice too. Nursey still wasn’t entirely sure what had kicked it off - something about the Rangers’ goalie and a wayward puck sent by an Islander’s D-man. Either way, a fight of epic proportions ensued, resulting in both teams nearly sacrificing their entire benches to the sin bin.

Nursey had been on the other side of the rink at the time, but he soon pelted over to defend his goalie. He’d only gotten halfway when he was suddenly tackled by Poindexter and sent colliding with the ice. It was a defensive tactic used to keep the pair of them out of the scuffle, but it was enough to raise Nursey’s hackles. He only managed to throw a couple of haphazard punches to Poindexter’s face before he was being dragged away by an official and that was that.

Or so Nursey had thought. Fans of both teams expressed their delight at the spectacle all over social media, and it wasn’t long before videos of the match went viral. ESPN highlighted his little brawl with Poindexter, and before Nursey knew it, his Twitter account blew up with notifications. False stories about some feud between the two of them spread like wildfire across the Internet, even though Nursey had never even said two words to the guy. Still, it felt harmless enough to Nursey, and he even joined in on the fun a little, pinging a few chirpy tweets Poindexter’s way. The other D-man didn’t seem to appreciate it though, even going so far as to tell one reporter brave enough to ask about it that Nursey needed to “grow the fuck up and start playing decent hockey.”

Nursey took offence at that. He took pride in his game and loved playing for the Rangers. However, he was strongly urged by PR to refrain from retaliating and the spat was left as it was. The two teams weren’t due to meet for another month or two, but that was the least of Nursey’s concerns. Not long after the fight he’d received confirmation that he had been chosen to play for the United States in the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing. He’d been ecstatic, that was, until he saw the name of another defenceman on that list. William Poindexter.

He’d tried not to worry about it too much. That was easier said than done though when practice sessions finally rolled around. It was a tight team, containing top players from all over the country and captained by none other than Kent fucking Parson, and Nursey was honoured to be a part of it. But working with Poindexter was tough. There was none of the smoothness Nursey had with his defence partner at the Rangers. Poindexter seemed to play by his own agenda, working against Nursey rather than with him. No words were spoken between them, but Nursey could see the contempt in his partner’s eyes every time they passed each other. If nothing else, it at least brought out Nursey’s competitive streak and made him play harder. And they must have been doing something right, because the Coach had placed them on the starting line together.

And now came a couple of weeks of hardcore hockey with the possibility of medals resting on his broad shoulders. He was excited, genuinely over the moon crazy kind of excited. But he was also worried. He didn’t want this weird spat to affect his game, and he also didn’t want people to make out it was worse than it actually was. He never had anything against Poindexter before all of this kicked off, but if he wanted to cause trouble while they were out here representing their country, then Nursey wasn’t going to stand by and let it happen. But for now, he was going to keep his head down and play good hockey.

“I can’t sleep,” he murmured in response to Poindexter’s snapped words. “I never can on planes.”

“So do something else. I can’t sleep with that racket in my ear,” Poindexter argued, nodding towards the laptop.

“Put earphones in then or something,” Nursey suggested. He couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Poindexter’s tone was starting to get his back up.

“What are you even writing?” Poindexter demanded, leaning in his plush seat to try and get a glimpse of Nursey’s screen.

Nursey glowered and tilted it away from him, instantly on the defensive.

“None of your fucking business.”

“Are you writing poetry?” Poindexter asked in what definitely sounded like a sneer.

“I said it’s none of your fucking business!” Nursey snapped, slamming the laptop lid down harder than he meant to.

“Hey!” A voice thick with sleep called over from a few rows away. “Both of you cut it out or I’ll have you run burpees ‘til you puke.”

Nursey bristled. The Coach was pissed now, and it was all because Poindexter was too precious to try and sleep with a bit of noise. Nursey clenched his jaw and physically turned away from the other defenceman. If he had to look at his stupid freckly face any longer, he’d punch it. He folded his arms in a huff and glared out of the window instead. There wasn’t much to see except expanses of thick, fluffy dark clouds but he concentrated hard on them, counting the rare glimmers of stars that glinted through. Thankfully, he managed to fall asleep.

He didn’t know how, but he was signed up to share a room with Kent Parson. He’d met the guy once at a benefit before practices started, and other than a suave “hey how’re you doing?” (to which Nursey blushed and stammered over his words like a dork), they hadn’t spoken. At practice Nursey could say with confidence that Parson was a solid captain. He took initiative, looked out for his team members on the ice and got shit done. But off the ice and in a dorm room in the Olympic village? Nursey didn’t know what to expect.

“Hey. You wanna see pictures of my cat?”

Okay, so it wasn’t that. But hell fucking yes Nursey wanted to see pictures of Kent Parson’s cat. He huddled next to Parson on his squeaky, scratchy mattress and peered over his shoulder at his Instagram. The cat was a huge fluffball of a thing with massive green eyes and a sparkly collar. If it was pink it would probably look like candyfloss with ears. Nursey wasn’t usually a cat person, but he thought he’d make exceptions for that one.

Parson didn’t stick around long. After ten minutes of cooing over the cat pictures, he announced he was meeting a friend and sauntered off, the epitome of cool carelessness. Even the way his hair flopped seemed effortlessly nonchalant. Nursey thought he had wandered off in the direction of the Canadian athletes’ dorm, but he couldn’t be sure. As long as Parson was back before the game tomorrow, it really wasn’t any of his business.

The dorm room seemed depressingly empty after that. It wasn’t very inviting to begin with, and after half an hour the dull, beige walls and stark sheets were suffocating. He shoved his boots back on and stowed his laptop under his arm, hoping there would be somewhere with a decent Wi-Fi signal and a good cup of coffee he could hang out at until team dinner. Most of the guys on his team had announced plans to nap, and Nursey didn’t want to disturb them in the hopes of finding a companion. In the immortal words of his Rangers captain – never wake a sleeping hockey player.

The Village was huge. He wandered past buildings that all looked the same, half following the multi-lingual signs and half following other athletes. It was an icy February, and he was grateful for the thick, padded duffel coats they’d been provided with. He hoped they could keep all the clothes they’d been given. It was pretty awesome wandering around with “Team USA” embroidered on everything. His mom was keeping a scrapbook too and he knew she’d love the Team USA dressing robe folded up on his bed.

He turned a corner and halted in his tracks at the sight of the recreation centre domineering the horizon. Banners adorning its walls boasted a theatre and a cinema, plus sports halls and exercise facilities and even a spa. Making a mental note to check that out after dinner, he went on the hunt for coffee and Wi-Fi. It was like a maze inside. He bypassed the McDonalds and instead headed for the official athletes’ cafeteria.

It was already bustling with people, all of them prattling loudly over the sound of scraping chairs and clattering dishes. Nursey had to take a minute to absorb it all and stop himself from getting overwhelmed. Breathing in check, he strode into the crowd. He emerged clutching the biggest takeaway mug of coffee he could find and a slice of cake the nutritionist definitely wouldn’t have agreed with. It was a bit harder to find a table, but eventually he located an empty one in a quieter corner of the room.

He people watched and nibbled his cake while he waited for his laptop to load up. It was incredible really, seeing the sheer amount of people gathered to play a few sports. The atmosphere was electric though. Everyone was clearly super excited to be there and play for their countries. Inspired by their enthusiasm, Nursey’s hands were soon speeding over his keyboard.

“More poetry?”

Nursey’s fingers froze. Feeling a weird sense of déjà vu, he raised his eyes to see Poindexter standing in front of him, clutching his own bucket of coffee. No cake though. He was wearing the same Team USA tracksuit they’d all been issued, but Nursey couldn’t help noticing just how well it seemed to sit on Poindexter’s broad shoulders.

“Blog post, actually,” Nursey replied, fighting to keep his voice cool. Poindexter’s tone hadn’t been snippy, but Nursey was still on the defensive.

“Oh. Cool.”

Nursey lifted a well-groomed eyebrow at him. Cool? Out of all the words that could have possibly tumbled out of Poindexter’s mouth, that certainly wasn’t what he expected. He wanted to document the entire Olympics process for his online blog to accompany his Instagram and Twitter reports, but he doubted it was anything Poindexter would be interested in.

Poindexter shrugged, and if Nursey didn’t know better, he could have sworn he saw the faint tint of a blush underneath those freckles.

“I saw your Twitter. You seem to write a lot.”

Nursey blinked. Was Poindexter actually attempting to have a conversation with him? It was a bit awkward with the other defenceman hovering over the table like that, but seeing how nervous he looked was kind of cute.

“Yeah. I majored in literature at college,” Nursey replied, taking a swallow of his coffee so he could do something with his hands. He couldn’t help bragging a bit. “Had a few poems and short stories published.”

“Oh. That’s awesome,” Poindexter replied, his voice quiet but sincere. “I uh, I did computer science. A bit different.”

Nursey nodded, managing a half smile. He was still a bit freaked out. Just this morning Poindexter had been snapping at him for typing and now he was striking up a conversation, albeit a slightly awkward one. Nursey didn’t quite know what to say to that though, and there was a minute or two of weird silence until Poindexter plucked up the courage to open his mouth again.

“I wanted to apologise. For this morning. I was tired, and a bit nervous, and took it out on you. So uh, yeah. Sorry.”

Well that was a turn up for the books. Poindexter was definitely blushing now, and Nursey wasn’t ashamed to admit to himself that it was a good look on him. Still, Nursey wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and if Poindexter wanted to make peace then Nursey was going to take it.

“It’s okay. It’s my fault too. I should have been a bit more considerate.” Nursey gave him another smile that was a bit more genuine this time. Poindexter seemed to grasp the mutual apology by both hands and nodded eagerly, his stiff shoulders relaxing with relief.

“Okay. Cool. No problem. Well, I’ll uh, leave you to your writing then. And I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Nursey watched him retreat, still a little bit dazed about the whole thing. He wasn’t sure what had made the guy change his mind, but he wasn’t going to question it. Maybe all Poindexter needed was a cup of coffee and a couple of hours sleep. He hoped the wary truce would extend onto the ice too, but he’d have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Their first game was against the Chinese hosts in the early afternoon, and Nursey was keen to get his skates on and win some matches.

Dinner was a quiet affair. The whole team was still exhausted from their long plane trip and exploring the Village. Nursey spent it sat next to a couple of vets who seemed to take him under their wing. He was grateful for their dogged insight and listened avidly to their stories playing for the USA over the years. He couldn’t help his eyes drifting over to Poindexter from time to time, but the man kept his head down and ate in the corner. Nursey was starting to think he was just a quiet kind of guy.

After they’d eaten the team split up again. Parson was the first to suggest hanging out at the bar, proposing they met up with a few of the Canadian and Russian team members. Nursey found it a bit weird to think he’d be playing against a couple of guys from the Rangers who just happened to be Canadian. He could easily imagine all the chirps that were going to be shared back in their home locker room in a few weeks’ time.

He declined the offer in favour of hunting for the spa he’d seen advertised. He was a sucker for a good steam room and a massage and hoped a little swim might help him sleep well. He returned to his room a couple of hours later feeling sleepy and content. Parson wasn’t back yet, but Nursey didn’t expect him to be. He stripped to his underwear and climbed into bed, flicking off the lights as he went. His hair was still damp, and he teased the curls with his fingers as he squashed a yawn and scrolled through his phone all at the same time.

He’d published his first Olympic blog post earlier that day. It had already been liked and retweeted hundreds of times by his loyal fans and his mom. Since the whole Rangers v Islanders fiasco, he’d turned off his social media notifications, but he still liked peering through the comments and mentions. Occasionally he would come across a heartfelt message or something that would make him laugh and he liked letting fans know they’d touched him in some way.

He trawled through the well wishes and memes, liking a few tweets and responding to a couple. A little banner appeared on the top of his phone to let him know WillDex96 has liked his most recent tweet. Nursey paused. Poindexter never liked his tweets. And his most recent tweet was the link to his blog post. Before his brain could even process it properly, his phone pinged with a direct message.

WillDex96 I liked the coffee too

Well, that wasn’t much of a conversation starter. Nursey had barely even mentioned the coffee in his blog, but it meant more that Poindexter had actually read it. Nursey smiled to himself and settled into his cushions a little more. He hesitated over the keys, then thought fuck it.

DerekDoesDefence Do you want to grab one together after the game tomorrow?

It was a bold move, and Nursey wasn’t sure it was the right one, especially as it seemed to take Poindexter an age to reply. Nursey just knew that he liked Poindexter’s awkward yet endearing demeanour and wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little more off the ice. His attractiveness was just an added bonus. Just when he was about to give up hope, a reply popped into his inbox.

WillDex96 Yeah okay. See you tomorrow.

DerekDoesDefence Goodnight

He didn’t get a reply, but he didn’t really expect one after that. Poindexter seemed to be a man of few words. Nursey put his phone aside and settled down, curling up and pulling the sheets around him. He couldn’t help the big, cheesy grin. It wasn’t a date, but he felt like he always did when he’d arranged one. It was probably a bit silly to even consider these things with the Olympic games right on top of them, but the thought made him giddy nonetheless. He fell asleep thinking of freckles and auburn hair and big hands.

The game was incredible. Nursey couldn’t remember the finer details, but he remembered the fanatic roar of the crowd, the bite of wind on his cheeks, the burning in his lungs and his calves as he raced across the ice. Every player in both teams seemed wired, like they had caffeine in their veins as they powered through each period. Playing with the Rangers was one thing but playing for his country set his blood on fire.

They won. It was a tight match and China played incredibly well, but USA just seemed to dominate the punk that little bit more and it made all the difference. Nursey’s team left the arena elated, cheering with the fans and rough housing as they made their way back to the Village. Most of the team headed to the recreation centre to burn off energy. Nursey followed them, feeling giddy all over again. Poindexter walked beside him, though he only greeted him with a subtle nod.

The team went their separate ways inside. A few of them headed towards the sports halls while others went to the spa for a post-game massage. Nursey watched Parson spearhead a small group into the bar where he could see a few of the Russian hockey players. Parson seemed to be friends with everyone, and Nursey didn’t know how he had the energy for it all. He and Poindexter headed towards the cafeteria, which was a lot quieter than yesterday.

They were silent as they retrieved their coffee. Nursey was pulsing with pent up excitement, but he couldn’t bring himself to string a sentence together. Poindexter had looked damn good out on the ice. His flushed, freckled cheeks and determined brow had made Nursey’s knees weak. It felt a bit weird looking him in the face now. They managed to grab a table by one of the huge windows, and it was a while before either of them found the courage to say something.

“That was a good game,” Poindexter eventually said, dragging his eyes away from the plastic tabletop and onto Nursey’s face. The half grin he managed made Nursey’s stomach churn.

It had been an awesome game, and Nursey wasn’t sure how it had happened, but something had finally clicked between them. They had worked in tandem out on the ice, analysing each other’s movements and tactics to form an unpassable duo. Their breathless teammates had slapped them both on the shoulder with each successful blockade, and the coach had been singing their praises in the locker room. The budding partnership had left Nursey as ecstatic as the win had.

“Yeah, it was. I think we finally played well together, Poindexter,” Nursey grinned at him over his cup.

“Finally,” Poindexter agreed with a snort of amusement. “And call me Dex. Anything else just sounds a bit weird.”

Nursey hid his grin behind his cup. He was probably making more of it than necessary, but the permission to call Dex by his hockey nickname just proved they’d made some progress. Fuck, Nursey wanted to kiss him. He took a big swallow of coffee instead and burned his tongue.

“You think we have a decent shot?” He asked to mask his pained grimace.

“Too early to tell,” Dex replied with half a shrug. “Especially with Canada’s line up. Zimmermann’s been on fire lately.”

Nursey hummed his agreement and licked the foam off his latte, only just avoiding making a mess. He looked up to find Dex’s eyes on him, his face bearing an odd expression. He swallowed and looked away quickly, hoping he hadn’t just made a fool of himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d humiliated himself in front of a pretty boy. He scrambled for something to say.

“You read my blog,” he said after a moment, figuring that was a safe enough topic.

“Oh. Yeah. It was fun to read. I wanted to make sure you were telling the truth about everything,” Dex grinned.

Nursey blinked. Was Dex…flirting with him? Or was it just a chirp? Though he’d once heard somewhere that flirting and chirping were just variants of the same thing.

“Um. Yep. Total truth,” Nursey replied eloquently. “No lies here.”

Fuck, he was such a dork. It made Dex snicker though, and he counted that as a win.

“I uh, I ended up going through your stuff,” Dex admitted, his eyes flitting away to a poster announcing the daily specials. “I really liked it. Especially the articles you did for your college magazine.”

Nursey lifted an eyebrow at him and tilted his head slightly in confusion.

“Those are all about bi erasure and hetero bullshit in the locker room,” he said slowly. To his surprise, Dex blushed so hard even his ears went red.

“Um, yep. They uh, really resonated with me. Especially the…especially the bits on internalised homophobia.”

Oh.

Nursey wasn’t quite sure how he managed to keep his mouth shut and his face straight. It wasn’t quite an admission, but it was as good as. Following Jack Zimmermann’s epic reveal of his sexuality after the Providence Falconers’ Stanley Cup win three years ago, only a few other NHL players had been forthcoming with their own. Parson had been one of them, and Nursey had been open regarding his as soon as he was signed with the Rangers last year. Things weren’t perfect, far from it, but the sport had been making progress and that was good enough for him. He could understand Dex’s reasons for being tight-lipped though, and he took a minute to think of something that would affirm everything without being too direct, for Dex’s sake.

“Well I’m glad they helped some people. That’s what I wanted, you know? To help bring a little peace and support.”

Dex nodded and a silence fell between them again. Oddly enough it wasn’t awkward, and Nursey allowed his tentative friend the time to process it. He wondered if he should ask if Dex wanted to talk about it. It sounded like he had a couple of issues that caused a little friction and Nursey hoped he could shed light on a few things. Before he could open his mouth though, Dex looked up and caught his eyes.

The look Dex gave him made Nursey’s heart leap into his throat. There was a spark of something between them that wasn’t there before, a spark that made the hair on Nursey’s forearms stand on end. He swallowed slowly, his mouth suddenly dry. He wanted to do more than kiss him. For a long, agonising moment, neither of them spoke. Then, Nursey threw caution to the wind.

“Do you…want to come back to my room?”

Dex nodded so fast his neck creaked. Nursey’s face split into a huge grin, the arousal already pooling in his gut. He shot to his feet in an instant, knocking his coffee cup flying. The lukewarm liquid splattered the table and both their clothes like watery paint.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Nurse.”

Dex’s laugh was quiet but carefree and obviously entertained. He threw a wad of paper napkins over the puddle and left it at that, leading the way towards the dorms. Nursey scrambled to catch up, nearly tripping up over his own feet. He ached to grab his hand as they powerwalked out of the centre, but he held himself back. They bumped shoulders along the way and the heat from that alone tented Nursey’s loose tracksuit pants.

The sex was mind-blowing. It was messy and hot and frenzied and had Nursey howling like an animal. Dex was an attentive lover, his mouth and fingers desperate to explore every inch of him. Nursey learned more about Dex in those couple of hours than he had in the few days they’d known each other. It left him wanting to know more, wanting to know everything. They lay curled up in bed together afterwards, flushed, breathless and blinking away stars. Nursey was suddenly very grateful they both lived in New York. It made the possibility of finding out just what made William Poindexter tick all the more enticing.

“I think I’ll write a poem about this,” he announced, his voice loud in the thick, sex-laden air.

Dex smacked him with a pillow.

#bv2020 #bitty's valentines #dexnursey #omg check please!

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facesofthefog · 4 years

Text

@shrouded-jed [TW: Torture, blood, degradation]

The small apartment was coated in silence except for the faint sound of ripping paper. Even without such an obvious clue, Olsen would have been able to realise something was wrong the moment he stepped into his home. Everything appeared to be in its rightful place, but the energy was different. It pulled him towards his bedroom, not letting him stay off course as if for just those few steps he was turned into a puppet. Once he opened the bedroom door, he was greeted with two out of place sights. One, being the black-haired male sitting in the apartment owner's chair with his legs stretched out onto the bed, and the other being his prized possessions torn or broken scattered on the floor like disposed bodies of survivors after an unsuccessful trial against the Ghostface. A suiting comparison considering how both were a sacrifice to the Entity who blessed the killer with his presence.

The Entity was busy holding onto a scrapbook dedicated to their lovely Sammy and taking in all the sights with great interest. He was so lost in observing the images, that it might have looked as if he did not notice Jed's return, yet he was fully aware of his presence and did not even have to look away from the object to know what sort of expression the other wore behind his mask.

"You must excuse the mess, I did not expect you so soon" he lied in a joking manner, a laugh at the end of the sentence. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

Whilst he spoke the last few words, he stood up from his seat and closed the scrapbook keeping it in one hand. He knew the ghost would not have stayed still without some help, but looking towards the man he was pleased to see the killer's own strands of black fabric, his connection with the Entity, working against him, keeping him nicely in place. Only once the man was wrapped up in the lovely "ribbons" did the assailant decide it safe to approach. With his human body not regenerating as quickly as he would prefer, he did not want to risk getting stabbed. Not when he was the one that was supposed to do the stabbing instead.

The book was placed on the table with great care as if not to damage even the cover and the Entity walked over to his killer, setting the chair by his side. Sitting the man down was not as easy as gagging him with the red ribbons, but it was something he succeeded in regardless. A lovely view indeed, the dominating being mused whilst he stepped back to take in the sight of his work. Only then did he remember that the true beauty hid beneath the mask - the possibly hateful glare covered by an eternal scream. That too was dealt with quickly, the hood pulled down to make removing of the mask easier.

"Ah, so beautiful my little one." A wide grin on his face spoke of true pleasure. His soft, cold fingers brushed against the man's cheek and just for a few seconds it was as if the Entity was lost in thoughts. "I know, I know. This was rather childish of me, but you see, if you touch and break my toys…" he glanced back towards the room to observe the shattered cameras and ripped articles that were previously so carefully stored in the draws or on display. "I will touch and break yours. And then I will do the same to you."

The energy shifted, the Entity being no longer amused. His black and gold eyes glistened with dark intent and spoke of rage that was yet to be released. A knife appeared in his hand and he brought the blade to the killer's face, pressing the blade into his cheek almost cutting the skin.

"You made a mistake with that one photo, my dear. Sammy is mine. Not Franks and most definitely not yours. I know how to share my toys, but I cannot stand a spoiled brat who wants to take everything for himself."

The blade was moved away from the skin and the Entity grabbed a fist full of Jed's hair to keep him in place. A threat was offered, move and your pretty face will not stay pretty for long, and then he began cutting into it. Letter after letter, two on his left cheek and two on his right. A perfect "LI" and "AR" decorating his face for as long as the Entity would want it to remain. Of course, Jed could have killed himself to make the regeneration progress quicker, but the killer’s owner doubted that the man would be capable of such an action. Then again, it would probably depend on which would hurt his ego more - dying or walking around with the newest addition to his lovely face.

"Now don't move, I will show you what I did in just a second." It was not as if the man could escape, but he preferred to give a warning regardless. He let go of the other's hair and used his now free hand to search the killer for the last of his cameras. The Entity knew that he always had one with him, documenting his kills and his tortures. Amusingly, the killer possibly never expected that he would become a model for the newest photoshoot.

"Smile" he ordered with a grin of his own. The flash brightened the room and blinded the killer for just enough time to develop the newest photo. Samuel took it in his hand and looked at it with a satisfied expression. Then he turned it over in his palm and showed it to Jed. "You should have smiled. It would have made you so much prettier."

A thought passed through his head, cut the smile into his face, but it faded just as quickly, as it appeared. What he already had on his face would be enough and there was more space on Jed's body to break skin in patterns. Carefully he set the camera to the side, leaving the photo on the floor so that his little pet could have a perfect view of it. The blade returned for more cutting, this time opening material instead of flesh, revealing the killer's bare chest.

"What should I do now, my darling? A word? Some cuts? Which would you prefer?" It was obvious that he would not get a proper answer from the gagged victim, but it was not like he cared about the male's opinion. He pushed the tip of the blade just below the collar bone and lazily cut the word "FAKE". Letters the length of half an index finger were supposed to be visible whenever Jed would look into a mirror. The Entity wondered if his pet loved to spend time in front of the mirror. If he did, he would stop doing so once they finished their little play session.

WEAK

FOOL

JOKE

BRAT

Four new words appeared on his torso accompanied by random cuts, some deep enough to stick a tip of the finger into them. Every so often the camera flash would return, and new photos embellished the floor documenting each new addition to the killer's body. This made the process longer. Cut, pick up the camera, take a picture, retake the picture if it was not good enough, return the camera to the bed and continue slicing. Sometimes the Entity would stick his finger into the wound, dig around, drench himself in the thrilling screams. Sometimes he would just stand and admire his work. Give the killer a few seconds to rest and return to the torture to make sure that the ghost did not get used to the constant pain.

"Who should I give them to?" He asked as he took another photo. "Frank? Sammy? All of the survivors?" Click, a new photo dropped to the floor, the Entity no longer caring about holding onto them or placing them down neatly. "Oh, I know. Why don't I make a whole article about our little play session? You would love that, wouldn't you? And it would also replace all the ruined articles. You could become a star once more."

The blade came close to the killer for the last time and the Entity wiped the blood off from it on the other's clothes. The ruling being was now much calmer, his bloodthirst quenched for the time being. The knife disappeared in a small cloud of fog and gold allowing Samuel to grab hold of Olsen's chin for the final photo. "This one will be a personal memento for me to cherish."

The newest print was then carefully folded in half and slipped into the pocket of the black trousers for later. No longer having any need for the camera at hand, he allowed his fingers to grow into claws and crush the brittle object with ease, letting the broken parts crumble to the floor and join the other of its kin.

"I know, she is rather addicting. No wonder you just can't help yourself and want our little Sammy all to yourself. But you should learn to share." He took a deeper breath as if the whole situation was tiring, as if he was the one that just faced an exhausting task. The ghost mask returned to his hand and he watched the white screaming face considering something that Jed could not have been ready for. "But I can be kind. I will permit your play sessions. I will let you do to her as you please, as long as you don't kill her out of trials. Instead, you will repent."

The mask in hand began to melt as if exposed to a high temperature. Drops of white and black stained the floor and any paper that stood in its way. He did not inform the killer that all of his other masks were destroyed too. He would learn in his own time and find out that his punishment revolved around having to take part in trials without his mask or memento moris available. There would be more trials too and only based on their results would he either heal up and have his items returned in normal shape or be left with scars and deprived of all that he held important.

"I will keep this too, for now." He stated as he took the scrapbook dedicated to Sammy. "Should you behave yourself, you will be allowed to retrieve it. You will know when the time comes. For now, behave yourself."

He walked over to the man and gave a pat to his shoulder. With that, the strands of fabric eased their hold and by the time the killer was released, the Entity was no longer in his proximity returning to his personal realm to focus on reading the notes the other formed on their favourite survivor. Jed was left with wounds and photos to remind him of their nice time together.

#shrouded-jed #tw: blood #tw: torture #tw: degradation #one-shot #entity event

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expolikestoart · 4 years

Text

Fam-ILY au headcanons post!

listen I love them a lot and I want to talk about them even if no one else really cares

Character Designs

Sleepover/Movie Night for the boys

The Picani Family

the Picanis have a day once every week where they all watch a few episodes of Avatar together. tis law.

Emile is genderfluid!! So sometimes they're Patton and Dee's dad, sometimes they're thier mom, sometimes they're their ren. Patton and Dee tend to just call them their dad though, just cause it's easier to explain to the other kids. And it doesn't cause Emile any issues so they don't mind. They were a pronoun braclet a lot. (tbh they're really just happy their kids sees them as a role model.) (He/Him, She/Her, They/Them, depends on the day)

Patton likes to play with his stuffed animals a lot!

his favorite blanket is his weighted blanket

Dee is HoH so the entiree family knows ASL and he wears hearing aids.

Dee's very passionate about octonauts and his favorite episode was the coral reef snake one. (his favorite character is tweak)

Patton and Dee are bio siblings but they're both adopted by Emile. Emile had a partner during the adoption but they broke up a few years later and he(the partner) never offically had any custody.

at the start of the storyline (maybe writing a fic) they just moved and Emile and him broke up.

Emile keeps pictures of them in his wallet and Will talk about them whenever someone asks.

Emile is a children's therapist in this AU, and specifically works with kids who deal with learning disabilities.

The Kingsley Family

When Remy was like. 17 he got in a relationship with this one girl and they did the do. When the twins were born, she left. He hasn't heard from her since.

His family wasn't that supportive except his Great Aunt Becca who's a wonderful woman. She lived with her partner for years until she died a year or two before Remy moved in.

So they all live with her now.

Roman likes to sew little costumes for his stuffed animals. Remy helps.

Roman begged Remy to let him join dance classes. Remy doesn't currently have the money to take so he's saving up to let him.

Remus is in that weird kid phase? You know the one where they're weirdly obsessed with like. Death and witches and shit? He's in that phase.

He also makes "potions" and shit outta stuff in the kitchen. 50% of them are probably poisonous. Remy lets him drink absolutely none of them.

Remy's Bi and proud. He hasn't really dated anyone since he was 17 but. He's open to dating again. But only if his boys like them.

Remy works at a few different places. He's the manager at a coffee shop when the boys are at school and at night when they sleep he works at a gas station. Neither has great pay but he's doing his best.

Roman and Remus have very active imaginations. It has led to them waking up Remy or Becca due to monsters in the closet more than they like.

Disney! And! Pixar! Movie! Nights!

Remy and Aunt Becca have most definitely made scrapbooks of the boys together. (even though Remy might deny it to keep up his tough guy image)

The Cogsworth Family

Brian showed the boys some of Star Wars: The Clone Wars and Logan fell in love with the show immediately. Virgil doesn't like it as much but he likes to see Logan excited so he watches it too.

Virgil freaking Loves Gravity Falls though. He likes to try and find monsters in the apartment complex and nearby park. He swears he heard a hide behind once. (Brian played the sound effect on his phone and placed a speaker in a tree to make him happy)

Logan only likes certain textures with clothes so Brian makes sure that when they go clothes shopping Logan feels them first.

Logan has a prosthetic foot (it doesn't show in the family portrait because his socks and shoes cover it up) ((he also has a barbie doll because her leg was a prosthetic))

Virgil likes to draw a lot, especially monsters and stuff that he sees on tv. It's really cute looking half of the time but sometimes it kinda worries Brian.

Brian is Trans! And Aro/Ace. The kids are his. He had them pre-transition. His family wasn't supportive of him transitioning so he doesn't really talk to them. Has been on T for 5 years. (He/Him)

Brian's a bit of a space nerd so he likes to watch documentaries on them and the kids will often curl up on him and watch too.

Brian's compiter has a metric fuckton of baby photos of the boys!

They go to the park because he tries to keep them as healthy as possible and hopefully his kids will make friends. Both are painfully shy.

He's a security guard/Janitor for Walmart's l a t e shifts.

The Sanders Family

Thomas isn't adopted y e t but god is Anton working on the paper work for that because bitch that's their son now and they love him.

Thomas still is the goofy guy we know, happy, enjoys Disney, likes to sing and stuff.

Since Thomas is old enough to join the school choir he did and he loves it.

Anton and Thomas met the others because Emile was Thomas's therapist and once Anton asked Emile the best thing he could do for their kid and Emile commented on how that they knew it was scary, cause they had the same thoughts when they adopted their kids.

Emile is no longer Thomas's therapist due to him no longer being impartial since that's his kids friend and that's kinda iffy so now their friend is.

Anton is nb and pan-romantic ace. (He/Him, They/Them)

Both of them are kinda chaotic at times and sometimes you can find the two of them trying desperately to bake but there's batter on the ceiling and flour in Anton's hair. (they can't bake but anton can cook so it's okay)

When Thomas gets adopted all the others will be invited to see the signing.

Thomas didn't get to watch most Disney movies while in Foster care so Anton is showing him everything.

He also didn't get to see the Barbie movies so guess what else he's watching because Anton insists.

Anton still has an appreciation for fine arts and has a painting hanging up in his Living room framed and right next to it in just as fancy a frame is a drawing Thomas made. (it's a family portrait that Thomas made with stick figures. When he gave it to Anton, Anton c r i e d.)

Thomas has two friends from before he writes to, Joan and Tayln. He writes them letters every few days. They write back and everytime he gets one he's like!!!!!

Anton's the most well off of anyone in the squad so he tends to give gifts to the others when they find something.

All of them

The Parent Group are all very supportive of their kids interests, and also have meetups while the boys have playdates where the drink they're preferred hot drink (Emile likes Tea, Remy and Anton like Coffee, and Brian likes Apple Cider) and bitch about the shitty PTA moms and work (not emile though he loves his job and has patient confidentiality so... no)

Roman and Logan both love Percy Jackson but in different ways. Logan read all the books. Roman read the comic book adaptions and listened to the Lightning Thief Musical.

Virgil and Patton like to hunt for monsters together in the apartment complex and park but everytime it happens they both get a little scared and run if something actually looks spooky.

When all the kids became friends they had Patton teach them ASL secretly for a couple of months to surprise Dee. They showed Dee and he c r i e d. Happy tears of course but he was so surprised that all of them learned that for him.

Virgil, Dee, Remus, and Roman all have the same Recess break on the little kids playground so they play pretend together a lot. Usually it's Roman and Virgil vs Remus and Dee, but sometimes they switch it up.

Patton, Thomas, and Logan are the Big Kids, but also are kinda the weird kids too so they don't have much friends outside of the group. But it's okay, because they got each other and they like to hang out.

Patton has punched some kids cause they made fun of either his friends or Dee or maybe his Dad. He will throw hands. Logan might hold him back. Thomas will hold him back but only after a punch or two.

Remy once joked about having one brain cell in front of the kids and all the kids who weren't his got very alarmed and started to make him realize he was smart but Roman and Remus went: yeah you do. He's never been so heavily burned before or since.

Roman and Remus don't do the weird twins finishing each other's sentences thing but Logan and Virgil do.

Patton still makes puns but not good ones because kid's humor is nonsensical so half of the time he'll go up to Logan and Thomas and try them on them and every time they're both like "???? what did you just say????????"

They will all go and do fashion shows where Roman and Remus will take the others and drape them in sheets and cutains and blankets and have everyone walk the fake runway while someone sits out and judges.

Remus, Dee, and Virgil try to do magic together. It doesn't always go well but they try.

Roman, Patton, and Logan will try to play demigod but Patton has no clue what he's doing.

Roman and Remus showed Thomas some Disney sing alongs he could play on his tablet. Anton thinks their son has a lovely singing voice but also. they doesn't like hearing him sing at 6 am when they're barely awake. Can someone hold a grudge against a kindergartner? Ask Anton.

#sanders sides #cartoon therapy #family au #emile picani #patton sanders #deceit sanders #remy sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #brian sanders #ts brain #logan sanders #virgil sanders #anton sanders #thomas sanders #All of them are babey and i love them a lot okay. like #please love them too I just have feeling

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ofaphrvdite · 5 years

Text

silence ! raise the royal standard, for the prince of russia and king consort of england, MAKSIM ROMANOV, has arrived. being 27 years old, he is out of line to the throne. many around the court call him the mutineer, by virtue of him being dexterous and maverick, while also being recalcitrant and brazen. — played by brenton thwaites.

- THE BASICS.

full name: maksim alexei romanov name meaning: maksim ‘the greatest’, alexei ‘defender’ known in history as: king in the shadows, the white wolf date of birth: june 21st, 1639/1992 age: twenty six star sign: cancer profession: freelance photographer (modern verse) / prince of russia, king consort of england (royal verse) loyalty: russia, house romanov, england and house windsor, the entente alignment: chaotic good mbti: estp spoken languages: russian, english, advanced french, intermediate german (royal verse) / english, russian, basic spanish (modern verse) mother’s name: tsarina tatyana romanovna father’s name: tsar ivan romanov siblings, if any: anastasia romanovna-du bourbon, dmitri romanov, vasiliy romanov, karina romanovna height: 6’0” hair colour: brown eye colour: dark brown

- BACKSTORY / MODERN VERSE.

it was an odd thing being born as one half of a whole. coming into the world knowing you would always have another at your side through every new experience. maksim and dmitri romanov were two sides of the same coin from the day they first wailed their first cry. growing up, maksim was determined to stick by his brother’s side for everything. for a time it had only been the three of them. just anastasia, dmitri and him. they had forged a bond early in those days, sharing absolutely everything with eachother that would translate into their adulthood. maksim was patient with his siblings, understanding and above all else, never judged them.

growing up under the roof of the infamous media moguls, tatyana and ivan romanov, meant that maksim came with a brand that would follow him everywhere. one that only grew when the family began starring on their own reality tv show. everything he knew about himself, he discovered on the cameras. his whole personality shaped around the person he was expected to be for a show. he was less keen of the cameras than his siblings, but his appearances often provided the comic relief with his brother and he became a hit with the younger audience. the first time he’d seen something he’d said on a t-shirt had still been pretty wild though.

because of the huge spotlight on the family, the twins were sent off to boarding school for their education where there would hopefully be less scrutiny. most of the kids there had parents far too rich to bother about another one joining their rankings, afterall. and it proved to be one of the most helpful periods of his life. boarding school offered him the chance to decide who he wanted to be because trying to work out who you were with a camera shoved in your face was near impossible. though he never consciously made the decision, he had constructed a character in his years on the show, one that would meet the expectations of viewers watching. if anastasia was going to play the part of overbearing older sister, then he would play the lovable but dimwitted jock brother. and for years that’s who he styled himself as.

in truth, maksim was all that and more. yes he liked rebelling and making trouble, but he was happiest at home with a good book or at the local art gallery. whilst he loved any and all sports, his shelves were filled with comic books and limited edition collectibles. it was away from the rest of his family that he could finally grow into himself. realise the things he truly enjoyed to do, the things that he was good at that he didn’t have to share with his other four siblings.

boarding school proved to be destiny in more ways than one. as maksim was finding himself, it led him straight to the love of his life. victoria was at the local girls boarding school, and it took just one school dance for him to fall utterly head over heels for her. they dated all throughout school, never once tiring of the other. she was a grounding force for him, encouraging him to focus on what he wanted and go for it. and in turn he brought thrill to her life that she lacked with such rigid family expectations. they were a perfect match all things considered, and so it was to no ones surprise ( and karina’s absolute horror ) that maks proposed. the couple are now planning for their wedding, which promises to be a grand summer spectacle to all those lucky enough to earn an invite.

whilst he had everything he wanted in victoria, his future still remained a murky mess. every year, maks would go to his careers interview with his school adviser. and every year, he would shrug his shoulders when asked what it was he wanted to do with his life. he knew that his mother was desperate for him to go off to university as anastasia had, and that all hopes were on him because there was no way they’d be able to wrestle dmitri into another classroom once he was off scot-free. and so, despite the fact that he had exactly zero interest in it, when the time rolled around maksim applied to study history. at least it would get the careers adviser off his back, and college might be fun - right?

wrong. maksim managed to make it through a month of studying before he went home to go to a concert he’d planned with dima months ago. and then never went back. literally never. sayonara to all those shiny pots and pans his parents had gifted him, and the macbook that had one half finished assignment on it and not much else. and so he was back to square one.

rather than sit around at home moping for the camera, maksim took off for a year and went travelling. sure the family had been on some pretty decent holidays over the years, but he wanted to see more. he sent various postcards home from his time in thailand, indonesia and brazil. with everywhere in between. eventually he settled in australia for six months, taking up odd jobs where he could and collecting a group of like-minded friends. all people running away from adult responsibilities for that little bit longer. so while his girlfriend was earning herself a useful degree, maksim was surfing and bungee jumping his way through his inheritance.

it was during his time in australia that he discovered his love for photography. he’d always loved art, and shown bounds of creativity growing up. whenever he grew too anxious or was failing to concentrate, it was drawing that often centered him. just doodles at first, then panels of his favourite characters from comics. but it was travelling where he really began to utilise the natural eye he had. what began as photographs to share on his instagram, turned into scrapbooks that he would send to victoria to keep her as involved as possible in his life. it was a happy accident that people began to take notice really. the odd person began asking him to take photos of this and that, offering to pay for a headshot here and a small wedding there. nothing major, but enough that maks began to consider it as a real career option. with ana’s persistent encouragement and help, he set up his first photography instagram and took the first step into adulthood.

upon his return to the states, maksim got serious ( as serious as he was capable ) about his career as a freelance photographer. he set up his own website and bookings flooded in. most were either mocking him for his family’s name, or fans, but enough that he could really begin to make a living out of it. with most of his inheritance depleted, it made the whole going out on his own thing all that more tangible and exciting. plus, the freelancing gave him the opportunity to keep up with everything else he wanted to do in life. never making him feel too tied down with responsibility. he could work his jobs around whatever holiday or event he had planned. he didn’t need to hang up his thrill-seeking for good in exchange for the not-so-promised land of being a grown up.

maks is still a photographer, and in the midst of wedding planning. he still makes frequent appearances on the romanov reality show with his other siblings, all of whom he keeps in very close contact with. he splits his time between his parents house and the home he shares with victoria and his pet, danya. finally, he has found his place in life and it’s one that is always changing. and thank god for that, maksim couldn’t bear the thought of an average life.

- BACKSTORY / ROYAL VERSE.

no romanov was born lonely. this could be said twice true of maksim, who came into this world minutes after his twin and thus claiming his destiny as the spare heir between two tiny red fists. one so intrinsically linked to a life of forgotten mediocrity the child would likely never escape. and yet he never felt that left out growing up. yes it was odd that he didn’t have the famed bright romanov eyes of frozen blue and green ( his did not shine, just two hazel pools ) but he had his father’s look about him. that unkempt charm that had warmed the russian people to him in the first place. still, the children at court teased him when the tsarina was not around, jesting that he was no true born romanov like his siblings, but tatyana set them straight with an icy glare. assuring her son that it was not a look he need possess; he was a romanov because of the blood in his veins, the love his family bore him and the loyalty they gave him.

still. the dreaded sword of the middle child hung over him the elder he grew. all around him, his siblings seemed destined for greatness. dmitri, the future tsar of russia, who would remain at home in russia as they all craved. anastasia, who would one day be queen consort to one of the greatest nations and alliances their mother could possibly bring about. vasiliy, a third son, was near ten times smarter than he would ever be and would prove an asset to any crown he advised, he was sure of it. and karina, the baby of the family and yet already so sure of her own mind, and so doted on as the youngest. maksim adored each and every one of them, and was proud to be brother to their eminence. he was a good man at heart, and cared for his family deeply as was the romanov way, taking up the mediator hand in hand with vasiliy to quell the chaos of their family. for though he was gifted with a boisterous disposition, he was far more level-headed than the elder two and often brought logic to otherwise ridiculous fights. but he lacked a purpose of his own. though he was quite the charmer, always flirting with ladies at court and wreaking innocent havoc with his elder siblings, there was no talent of his own to focus on. maksim was intelligent in his quiet way, a strategic mind just waiting to be sharpened if only someone offered him the chance. if someone would just look to him, just once.

the tsarina and tsar grew anxious for their lost boy. their other children all seemed so certain of their path, of their skills and talents, and maksim stood in the middle of it all with nothing of his own to claim. it was his mother ( she had always lavished affection on her third, never wanting him to feel lesser with two elder siblings already lining up for a crown ) that had guided him to a purpose. urging ivan romanov to encourage battle strategy and warfare in maksim, to forge him into a warrior and hero. at fourteen, his lessons began and maksim took to them like a duck to water. wielding sword and shield as if he had been born for knighthood, not life as a prince. though he still has moments of doubt about how useful he is to his family, at least now he had a skill to prove himself.

and he needn’t have waited long for a chance. war had raged throughout europe for long enough, and he had remained unaffected for far too long. when armies were called, both he and dmitri at just eighteen were sent with the imperial army into war as generals. and maksim would be given his first taste of war and combat outside of a tournament or training. and it was glorious. until it wasn’t.

the rush of the fight didn’t linger long, and months away from home soon sapped all that naive boyhood from his features. the brothers saw eachother through their first kill, steadying their twin soul until they could stand again at their side. maksim proved able of compartmentalising the worst of it all to deal with at a time where the horrors could rip him apart in the safety of his own home. for so long he had lived without responsibility, always the spare and never the heir, and yet it was war that forced him to step up. to care for his brother in the way he had always looked after him. years of loyalty, repaid at the worst time. still, the brothers managed to find glimpses of light, including rescuing two stray puppies that they hoped might keep the darkness at bay at night. they named the terriers danya and nadya, and vowed to keep them safe until they could return home.

the terrors of war left scars unseen on the young prince, despite returning home relatively unscathed. it was the brutal separation from his twin brother that had left the greatest trauma behind. they had been together all their lives, and together when they’d been parted - both with the matching scars as painful reminder. maksim had been knocked unconscious and awoke to the sharp realisation that his brother had been taken. when he eventually found his way back to camp, all the men turned to stare as if they’d seen a ghost, not a bloodied prince returning from battle. the romanov twins had been missing and presumed dead for days, and yet it had been the most useless one that straggled back. it didn’t take long for the tsarina to call maksim home, grieving the loss of her eldest and too fearful to lose another. maks returned to the winter palace with the two bundles of danya and nadya, the sole link he had to dima, and a promise to keep them safe in his absence. he was hailed a hero upon his homecoming for the strength he had shown in war, the sacrifices he’d made. but the medal pinned to his jacket had brought more nausea than it did pride. what good was dressed up metal when his brother hadn’t returned with him?

the months following passed in a blur. dealing with stately visits as the new elder in the family, with anastasia long since whisked away to france, in between the moments of solitude he sought where he would paint to ease the terrible things he’d seen or play with karina who so often clung to him in those first few days. even sneaking into vasiliy’s imposed quarantine when he could to keep his brother’s spirits high proved a much welcome distraction. it was only as the war came to a head, and foreign rulers from all over began to take note of the damage they had sustained, that things began to change.

a summit had been called at bern, and all foreign rulers were invited to attend in the name of peace. not only was this an opportunity for the tsarina to aid in ending the war and to reunite the family with their long lost russian princess, but to further her already fruitful alliances. karina was still unwed, as was vasiliy, and so both came with maksim to the summit in hopes of securing other strongholds in europe. maks, of course had long since been taken. from a young age, a betrothal with the princess of england, victoria, had been arranged for the young prince. they had met once upon a time as children, but had not taken to eachother as their parents had hoped. but the young couple were reunited at bern, their countries now on opposing sides of a war that their marriage could be useful in ending. maksim had been determined to dislike her, and so of course he had fallen for the fair victoria the moment he had laid his eyes on her.

it didn’t take long for love to grow between the two royals. maksim especially grew taken with her strong will, sharp mind and seemingly unreachable beauty. it was shaping up to be quite the fairytale, until the succession of england’s throne had been thrown into chaos with the queen’s deepest secret now uncovered. the future king charles, was of no royal blood at all, but a bastard born from an affair of the queen’s who swiftly lost her head for it. it was victoria who was now the heir, and that left maksim once again out of use, left out in the cold. england sought a better alliance now that victoria was now crown princess. though eventually things were settled, maksim proving he could be a worthy consort, this period of time left him feeling more insecure than ever of his true worth.

with the matters of succession sorted, maksim grew unsure about his future responsibilities. he had never really wanted a crown, only dreaming of the russian throne if it meant he could remain with his family forever. he doesn’t believe himself worthy of it in any way, certainly not good enough to stand at victoria’s side as her consort. he was a warrior at his core, an honourable one, but that made it no less true that his mind was not made for negotiating at high tables. maks doesn’t want to be any kind of king, but he wants to be with victoria. it is that undying need to make her happy and keep her safe, to do anything she asks of him, that has kept him by her side. even if it means making himself a reluctant ruler. this was only solidified by the attempt on her life during the pirates invasion of bern, an assassination attempt on the newly named heir to the throne. almost losing her was all the confirmation he needed that he would never leave her side. and a good thing too, for the time between their marriage and coronation was shorter than they could ever have prepared for. during the final days of the summit, the now infamous explosions struck bern, leaving multiple casualties in its wake. one of which had been the king of england, making victoria the overnight queen.

life was turned upside down once again with his arrival to versailles as the newly crowned consort of england. dmitri had resurfaced after years of them living with the belief that he was long dead. the romanov’s had come to terms with their loss, just barely piecing back together a heart that would always be missing a jagged piece. now maksim must struggle with the old and new parts of himself to reconcile with a man who wears his dima’s face but is not the brother he once knew. all whilst struggling with responsibilities he never asked for, and a wife who has lost more than she could ever deserve.

#! * INTRODUCTIONS.#! * INTRODUCTION / maksim.#is this your brother????#ALSO if anything is too god-moddy yell at me and i'll change it duh #but there was so many other characters to mention in this that i probably fucked something up #like there's a 50% chance i did #maybe 70%

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