#so it's just floorboards no insulation nothing

[desolatespring]

Dissident

CW: yandere themes, mentions of kidnapping, suicidal thoughts (only the very last sentence, nothing too explicit), mentions of murder, language

Note: I wanted to focus on fleshing out reader more and her inner turmoil with yan Chrollo so this is a little different than my other works.

“I apologize in advance, but nonetheless I utter my next words with the absolute, utmost sincerity. Eat shit, Chrollo.”

The tension is palpable and the only thing to cut it is the terse smile that stretches across Chrollo’s lips. The contentment doesn’t reach his eyes. It almost never does. He always seems so dissatisfied and devoid of life. After a moment Chrollo gestures to your seat across from him with an open palm.

“Now please sit back down. You’re causing quite the scene.”

You give a brief look over the establishment. Sure enough multiple people were staring back at you. Some with concern, most with mere curiosity and amusement. The rich rarely ever cared unless they were being paid to, yet the observation miffed you regardless. Even dressed to the nines, without a single hair out of place you knew you didn’t belong in a place like this. The rug alone was probably worth more than the entirety of your old apartment, yet here you were tracking mud all over it.

Chrollo clears his throat, promptly dragging your attention back to him. The more and more time you spend with him, the more often you lose yourself in thought, desperate for any break from reality. You considered your sanity to be slipping, he considered you to be more beautiful.

Realizing you were beginning to do it again, you respond. “That’s why I said it politely.”

“Politely? Sure. Quietly? Far from it.”

Seeing emotion finally creep back into his eyes had you on the brink of sitting back down. Your legs shook with the strength you were using to keep them from buckling. Chrollo rarely got angry, but right now you could tell you were treading in water you’d surely drown in if you kept at it.

Steeling the last of your willpower you double down. Hopefully you’ve learned to swim. “I’m leaving.”

Chrollo watches you walk towards the front entrance of the restaurant. He briefly considers paying for the tab before he follows you but quickly decides against it. Any reputation he was trying to build for these people you had ruined by your outburst.

By the time you’ve made it out to the parking lot he’s already caught up to you. The gravel crunching underfoot has you nauseous, is that how your legs would sound when he inevitably breaks them for you taking off like this? No, he wouldn’t hurt you. He hasn’t yet. But this is the first time you’ve so blatantly disregarded him.

The car door shuts and it causes you to jump. Terror feeding your already overthinking mind had you unaware of the way he ushered you into the vehicle. Within seconds he’s seated behind the wheel, his knuckles white from the force he’s gripping it with.

The drive back to your shared hideout is silent. You come to two possible conclusions. Possibility number one: he’s just finding the right string of words to scold you with, or (you fear this is more likely) possibility number two: he’s determining the best way to dispose of you.

All too soon he’s removing the keys from the ignition. He rounds the hood of the car and opens your door for you. Normally, this is a simple act of chivalry on his behalf. Though now you’re almost certain he’s staying near to you in case you try running. His grip on your wrist as he escorts you inside only supports your theory.

The cabin you’ve made your temporary residence in is dingy to say the least. Thick layers of dust varnish the floorboards and cabinets, each step kicks it up into the air, stinging your nose. Shivering, you note cobwebs is the closest this place has to insulation.

At the very end of the hall on the right hand side is the room you’d been sharing with Chrollo the last few nights. Leading you to the bed he motions for you to sit down before finally speaking. In the brief moment before any words leave his lips you think your fear might kill you before he has the chance to.

“Do you understand why I brought you to dinner with me tonight?”

You nod, eyes downcast.

“Help me on one heist. That’s all I asked of you. I buy you a new dress for the occasion, jewelry to match, even the highest quality makeup. Yet you can’t do me this one favor in return. Your little tantrum garnered us too much attention, and now this mission is as good as over.”

You fight the urge to snap back at him. Accepting the blame by choice might let you off the hook more easily. Plus at this point you no longer trust your own instinct. Maybe you were in the wrong, maybe he was. At this point what does it matter? You’re going to be made out as the bad guy anyway.

“I’m sorry…”

You whisper so quietly you doubt he could hear you. The apology was sincere though. You were sorry. Sorry for whatever choices you made that condemned you to a life like this.

“I thought I had made so much progress with you.” He sounds almost sad at the confession. How typical of him. No empathy. The only sadness he ever felt was for himself, lately you’ve felt you had that in common.

Once again the shutting of a door pierces through your thoughts. This time it’s followed by a click as he locks the bedroom door. Leaving you in solitude. Ah, so this is what he meant by progress.

When he first whisked you away. Abducted you, that’s what it is. He abducted you. Stop down playing your trauma. (Admittedly, doing so was a fault of yours long before you ever knew Chrollo.) When he first abducted you, you were locked in his bedroom for weeks, overtime he started letting you gain more freedom if he believed you’d earned it. It started with being able to cook your own meals in the kitchen, to small walks around the block while he accompanied you, even taking you shopping on occasion. But now you were back to square one, all because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

The anger felt like it could tear you in two. It practically boiled in your veins, you could feel the heat rising to your face and prickling at your eyes, begging to be released. So you obliged. Tears streamed steadily down your cheeks, screams tore from your throat.

Self-hatred and malice towards Chrollo had you ripping at your dress and necklace, desperate to get them off of you. Pearls clank and scatter across the floor, fabric rips, and your chest heaves. Once undressed you haphazardly pull your pajamas on, not stopping even when you notice the white t-shirt was placed on backwards.

I’ll show him a fucking tantrum. The room holding you prisoner is covered in a similar dust to the main room of the cabin, you make sure to drag your dress through the dirtiest parts of it. The baby blue fabric now tinged grey and brown. The matching heels he’d bought you are promptly snapped and whipped at the locked bedroom door, hitting the ground with a resounding thud. You lean against the wall and slump down in a similar fashion. You sit with your knees close to your chest, soon burying your face in them and crying harder.

If he thought he could buy your love he was an even bigger fool than you initially thought. If he thinks I’ll ever love him at all he’s an idiot.

You give a small glance around the room and look at all the gifts you’ve destroyed. In that moment you swore to break everything he ever gave you, ruin every “date” he took you on, scoff at every sign of affection. If he was going to treat you like an untrained dog, then God be damned you’d show him rabid. Maybe one day if you were lucky enough he’d just put you down.

#chrollo x reader #chrollo #yan chrollo #yandere chrollo

[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Spy X gn!Reader: Like A Wolf Among The Lambs

Warning: Mild NSFW

You could barely breathe as you treaded through the clearing, your lungs were starting to burn from the cold.

The snowy veil concealed the hiking trail back to the base. You pulled out a stopwatch given to you not that long ago to briefly check the time. As expected; it was only two hours until the sun would dip below the horizon. It was things like this that reminded you Miss Pauling was more of an adult than anyone you ever knew. Had she not thought of every single thing then the stopwatch she gave you — would have never alerted you that you only had mere hours.

The blanket of snow draped across the mountains was like something out of a storybook. Only the gentlest, softest strokes of paint would make up this landscape if ever realized upon a canvas. You did not hear one single animal on your way. Minus the occasional rustling of foolish bird species who decided against migration. Those birds were a problem for you, and for a good reason.

This was enemy territory. This was Redmond Mann’s side of the battlefield. The badlands weren’t the only things the two bothers found worth fighting for. Indeed, the gravel of the mountains somehow tickled their fancy as well. If you weren’t hyper alert of every single detail, or every sound, you could potentially come face to face with a fellow mercenary wearing opposite colored clothing.

Although you were wearing layers of blue clothes, you were still cold. The base was too far for comfort and your other hand held the Red intelligence by its handle. The red coloring stuck out like a sore thumb in the white snow. If they couldn’t hear you first then they will certainly see you. Finding no other option, you retreated to the nearest run down broken shelter. There were many mining facilities in the 1800s upon this mountain. Thus an incredible amount of run down structures. Most of which didn’t have anything of value. Maybe a few graffiti here and there from rambunctious kids.

You set down the briefcase, and pushed some loose wood panels aside with all your might to catch a glimpse of the inside and your lips immediately curled into a frown at the sight. It was with no doubt an abandoned summer home. What hid its identity so well on the outside was the thick branches of low trees surrounding it. Although ransacked, it was spacious and still had a ripped up painting on the wall of the nearby lake with lush green foliage. It was dusty and barely had any more of its once bright color that welcomed countless families. You hauled the heavy briefcase inside and your eyes went from left to right. Still feeling obnoxiously anxious over the fact you were intruding on enemy land. Atop of the lingering feeling that this depressing place was once alive with happy memories. It almost felt like you were desecrating a grave.

Whatever type of insulation this house used was no more. It would be proven useless after you saw the back door — or the lack of back door for that matter. All there was, was an empty frame of where the door should have been. A hole.

Much like the hole this house had where a family should have been. It was reduced to nothing because time was marching onward. For all you knew, the people of this household were nonexistent anymore and obscured by the forever thickening fog of history. You sat in the corner away from the breeze that blew through and took off your light backpack. Given that you were sent out to retrieve the intel while the other mercs played as distractions, the contents didn’t have anything heavy. All there was, was a few protein bars, a blanket, some candles, and god knows how much ammo.

You threw the blanket over your own head, and struggled to light the wick of your candle. This basic survival setup would suffice for a while. You’d rather die by oncoming gunfire than slowly from hypothermia.

You shoved the lit candle into the cracks of the floorboard just under you. Holding it until it finally decided to stand upright. You sighed, knowing full well that you wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. The risks were too high. If you built an actual fire you’d risk being seen, and if you went to sleep, you’d risk failing to detect someone coming across you in time.

You crossed your arms and stared at the candle. The heat from the fire was slowly warming up your little temporary blanket hut. A few minutes felt like hours. You could see through the outside of the blanket getting darker and darker as night approached. The light ceased and all that was left was your candle. You found yourself slowly nodding off a few times. Barely able to keep your eyes open.

Until….

Vvvvoooosshh…

No. That couldn’t be. Could it?

You jolted awake, covering your heavy breathing with your gloved hand. Every single nerve in your body was sounding off the alarm. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t be so sensitive but this was different. You had the intelligence, and either you were going insane or you just heard the very distant noise of a spy decloaking.

Surely this was your tired mind drifting off into REM that played a trick on you, right? Nothing more than the cruel chemicals in your brain that had been trying to process the information of the day. For your own safety you decided it just shouldn’t be shrugged off. Had you been a little kid afraid of the dark then maybe things would have been different. But monsters under the bed were easy. They could be scoped out and properly taken care of. Fear of the unknown can be dealt with if you discover it. But this was Spy. Spy wasn’t somebody you could shine a light on and identify. He was every little child’s worst nightmare. A monster that could not be discovered. A faceless wolf in sheep’s clothing. Danger that hid itself by mimicking something else, camouflaging into the wall for example.

You felt heart palpitations kick in. Trying desperately to open your ears to every single noise in the room plus the outside. Your breathing was short, swaying branches created white noise you couldn’t hear over, and the candle fire danced unsteadily. Threatening to blow out. Part of you wanted to reach out of the blanket and grab the intel next to you but the rational half wondered if once your fingers met that handle — it would meet someone else’s fingers as well.

You heard the floor creak. It was a miracle you could hear it in the first place. Perhaps the sheer terror you felt had heightened your senses. Then another creak…

Then another..

Somebody was walking slowly in the spacious house. The realization hit you like a thousand bricks to the face. You were in a very noticeable corner of the living room and you began praying to whatever gods above that the intruder had bad eyesight or simply chalked you up to a useless piece of trash covered with some sort of tarp.

Thoughts of impending doom were peaking their ways through the cracks of your faltering hope as you heard two more creaks not too far spaced out from each other. As if the intruder was becoming more bold and ceasing his light footwork.

There was only one man you knew capable of carrying himself that lightly.

You suddenly came to your senses, realizing the candle was still lit. If he sees the light underneath the blanket then you were beyond muerto. You make a hasty and uncaulcated decision to blow the candle out. In mere milliseconds you realized your oversight too late. A swift hand lifted up the blanket the moment you did so, and you met eyes with who was undoubtedly the Red Spy. Even in the cold darkness you could make out his red attire. Which would soon be stained with yet another victim’s blood.

“Ever so bold with priceless information as always I see.” His accent was thick. But not in a pleasant way.

You swore you could’ve had a heart attack then and there. But you went into shock. Like your body somehow accepted and came to terms with it being the end. You could feel his butterfly knife’s blade barely grazing your adams apple. Threatening to cut you if you made any sudden movements. He carefully reached over and slid the intelligence to his side by its handle. Kicking it to the side where it wouldn’t be touched.

“I knew where you were the moment I walked in here. You’re worse than my counterpart. Luckily, I have respect for naive youth. Believe it or not.” Spy said, looking up and down you.

You were speechless. Your body couldn’t move. It was rather unsurprising that anybody younger than his weird definition of adulthood — which was undoubtedly old — would be considered apprentices in his eyes. You could almost make out his lip twitching into a smile. He was clearly enjoying the adrenaline he was shooting through you. Yes indeed; it would seem that Spy smelled fear.

He basked in the glory of your terror for a few more seconds before removing the melee from your neck. Spy hauled himself up from his crouching position and picked up the intel. Showing a surprising amount of strength to carry a briefcase of that weight.

“Take it from me, mercenary work is no profession for children.” He said, even know you were clearly an adult.

“Adieu.” He dusted his suit off and you watched him swiftly cloak away. Leaving faster than he came in. But not before rudely throwing the blanket back on your head.

To be honest, not only did you have to sit in silence after that, but you also had to rethink how horrible your tastes were in men. He had managed to make your heart flutter. In a good way. You decided to chalk it up to your stupid brain mistaking adrenaline for arousal.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #spy x reader #spy tf2 #medic x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #tf2 x reader #tf2 x you #sniper x reader #pyro x reader

[semperergoveritas2024]

Nobody Cried

Shaheen scrambled into the dark, dusty attic, taking in the musty odor of forgotten boxes and faded memories.

               She and Ibrahim had taken over the house a few weeks ago. He’d been given a promotion at the Home Office and this house came with it. She knew it had been a Jew house as there were still the marks of the things they put on the doors – she had no idea what they were called or what the purpose was other than they easily marked the home of a Jew.

               In the attic she had found the hidden door behind a pile of old boxes filled to the brim with tatty clothes and well-thumbed books. She would have to make sure it all got taken away and destroyed once she told Ibrahim what she’d found.

               She tried to think back to a time when there were Jews in London, perhaps twenty-five years ago? She knew that something had changed back then, first in the ever-increasing protests and then the silent coup of 2025, after which the Grand Imam had proclaimed that the UK was now a part of the greater European caliphate, and everyone was subject to sharia law. She had known no different, it was normal.

               Shaheen had no memory of her parents struggle to accept the new reality or how easily, calmly it had happened. The pro-Palestinian movement had grown and grown until it numbered in the millions and her mother had told her that many of the Jews had escaped to America, where there were still more Jews than Muslims, especially in Southern California. Israel was long gone, torn apart by an unwinnable war and an Iran that had been allowed to build nuclear weapons they were happy to use at the first opportunity. No one blinked an eye.

               Still, she had a good life. There’d been no school to bother with and no one looked at her or bothered her. She only left home fully covered – she could have been a sack of potatoes with legs for all anyone knew.

               And then Ibrahim came into her life when she was 14. Even though her parents tried to soften it, she knew what was happening. Arranged marriages were the norm and she was no different to any of the other girls that gathered in the park near her parents’ house and giggled the day away, being careful to watch out for the Religious Police so as not to get a beating.

               The doorway was more of a small hatch though which a person might just squeeze with a little effort. She peered inside and shone her small torch around the space. It was a room cleverly hidden at one end of the eaves space of the house. Perhaps 3 meters on a side, with a raised, rough wooden floor that had a small rug placed in the far corner. There was yellowing insulation poking up between the floorboards and she spotted a lone light hanging from a rafter. She looked around for a switch. The light flashed on, casting a dim red light that barely touched the corners.

               Then she saw the dark stains on the floor, black at first but then her torch picked out the faded red – it looked like dried blood, she thought. What had happened here? She shivered as she guessed that someone’s life ended here, in this tiny, bleak place.

               Pulling back, she exited the attic, pulling herself quickly through the doorway, and ran to the kitchen, trying to catch her breath as her heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t know how long she sat there, numb, unable to comprehend that someone had died in the house, right above their heads.

               The clock on the wall chimed 11 am and she snapped back to reality. There was only one person she could talk to about this – her mother.

               She quickly dressed, covering her blond, shoulder length hair and leaving only her bright blue eyes as evidence of a human being wrapped in the black swaddle.

               Her cousin, Adeel came as soon as she asked – he was a good man and very protective of her. He walked her to her parents’ house as he talked at her about nothing very much. He couldn’t see that she was upset, and she didn’t betray that feeling, staying silent, as was the custom, on the journey.

               Her mother opened the door to their tidy brick house and Shaheen hurried in. Adeel went into the kitchen and waited for her. He sensed that she’d made it clear she needed some privacy with her mother, and he wasn’t going to get in between those two! He made himself a nice cup of tea, and sat at the ancient kitchen table, munching biscuits, thinking nothing very much at all.

               Shaheen’s mother teased the story out of her as they sat heavily on an old brown sofa that had seen far better days.

               Her mothers old name was Maude, but she’d been given a new name years ago. Aadila. She was told it meant honest and just. The local Imam had been given the job and appeared to get bored very quickly, handing out names at random. Still, she got used to it, eventually.

               “You’re a very lucky person to have been given a husband like Ibrahim, he’s a great provider.”, she said quietly, sipping her tea. “And that house! Well, I’d have killed to get a house like that!”.

               Shaheen was well aware that her mother was just the teeniest bit envious. Her father, a hard worker, never had a chance of promotion after the coup. White men were lucky to have a job at all. It was only his skill that saved him – plumbers were a vital resource.

               “But what about the blood?”

               “Are you sure?” her mother asked.

               “I’m pretty sure,”, she replied, “I just hate to think that anyone could have died in that small space in MY house!”, she emphasized the ‘my’ as if to let her mother know that she knew how she felt.

               “Anyway,” she continued,” I have to tell Ibrahim when he gets home. He’ll know what to do.”

               Her mother looked at her and tears fell from her faded blue eyes. She bent her head and said in small voice, “I know who died in that house. Don’t tell Ibrahim anything, please.”

               “What do you mean? How do you know about a random house? How can you know?”

               “I knew the people that lived there, I visited many times. It was before the coup, when I was a nurse. I often went there to help.”

               “Mum, you’re being crazy. What are you talking about?”

               “There was a time,” her mother wiped her eyes and drank some more tea, “before all of this, when the country was still England and cream teas and days out and the Royal Family.”

               Shaheen stared at Aadila as she became more animated.

               “When we still had Jews and when the police protected all of us from harm until they started protecting those that would harm us. That was when the coup happened – when the police stood by and did nothing!” she spat the last, her voice full of spite and anger.

               “It was a Jew house. Nice people, hardworking, quiet. They had children, a boy, and a girl. Beautiful children. The boy was a typical little scruff, always running everywhere, torn trousers, scuffed shoes. The girl… she really was beautiful, blond curly hair, deep blue eyes, and an infectious laugh. I loved that little girl. I was there when she was born and worked for the family, helping to look after you as the mother became quite unwell. Who could blame her?”, she said bitterly.

               Shaheen had gone silent and sunk back into the sofa, feeling very small – this was all too much.

               “What happened to them?”

               “The blood you saw… it was theirs. They hid in that room because they couldn’t leave, and they weren’t able to get the children out.”

               There was silence for a moment.

               “How... “, Shaheen didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t want to.

               “They shot them, in cold blood, laughing at them as they cowered in a corner, praying, covering the children. I was there, visiting when they came, and they made me stay and watch. Then they told me to get your father and clean up. Perhaps because I was a nurse, they thought I’d know how to do that or perhaps they were just too lazy to do it or simply didn’t care. I was shaking with fear and shame.”

               “Later, maybe an hour or so, we came back. We decided to bury the bodies in the garden, near the end where there are trees now. When we moved the mother and father, we saw that the little boy was dead, but the little girl was not. She was breathing but unconscious, a bullet had grazed her head and there was blood. The men must have thought her dead or they would have certainly finished her off.”

               “Mum?”

               “Yes, you were that little girl. You were theirs and now you are ours. We couldn’t turn you in or say anything.”.              

“Nobody cried for the Jews, and they weren’t going to cry for one little girl”, she hesitated, “but I did”.

#future #israel #jewish #truth #uk #am yisrael chai #jumblr #judaism #jews #we will outlive them

[robotslenderman]

Is Australia known for bad building standards??

Not from outside of it, but to people who already live here, yeah. Especially my state, NSW, where it's absolutely awful. I don't know how the other states compare other than "Victoria is better," but I'm saving for an apartment deposit and when I was doing my research I was hearing so many fucking horror stories about brand new builds.

If you want a good example, read up on the Opal Tower. It's not the only one with this issue, there's other places with the same problem.

But basically if you buy an apartment you have to be really careful to make sure to buy an older one (20+ years), otherwise you might be stuck in a situation where:

You have a huge structural problem with your apartment building

You can't sell it for how much you bought it because 1) that's unethical, and 2) even if you were fine with that, no one is going to buy an apartment with massive structural issues.

You still have to pay a mortgage on it.

So you can't stay because the place has structural defects, but you also can't leave because how the fuck are you going to fund that?

Houses aren't built to any better standards, but at least with a house most of the value is in the land. My parents' house is shit and worth over a mil from the land value alone.

But yeah, Australian houses are made of shit. You know how when people melt in heatwaves and we make fun of them and they're like "your houses are built to withstand heat?" No they're fucking not, they're cold in winter but also stupid hot in summer because insulation doesn't just keep a place warm, it also keeps it cool, so we bake in summer as much as we freeze in winter unless you have air con. (That video that probably made you send me this ask? The dude's hand wasn't exactly stopped by any insulation, was it? Straight through the wall, nothing in between. In my parents' living room you can look straight through the cracks in the floorboards to the garage below. When our houses ARE insulated, it's shit insulation.) I have talked to SO MANY BRITS who told me that they're colder here in Australia than they ever were in the UK. Double glazed windows are the exception, not the norm, here. People buy apartments that are straight off the plan and six months later they're doing repairs.

Our buildings suck so fucking much ass you have no idea and I'm going to have my work cut out for me getting a place that isn't shit.

#Australia #auspol

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Power Armor Punch Part Fifty Five

Masterlist

Gardio: *nods with deep understanding for their plight* I used to take in kids for a settlement I ran all the time. I know how hard it can be. *sad smile* Do what you can in the moment to help… that’s all any of us can do.

Nick: *not letting her win this round. He’ll keep that bottle in until she’s drunk every drop of broth*

Donovan: (Opens his eyes again, flashing Gardio a thankful smile) “Yeah, you’re absolutely right.” (Looks to Jas again, grateful she’s too distracted to hear this conversation so she doesn’t get triggered)

Jasmine: (Growls again at Nick but she starts drinking the broth as she can see that he’s not giving in to her demands anytime soon)

Ma: (Returns with tray that’s has a large pot of tea and some cups with the baby bottle full of warm formula in her apron pocket) “Here, some herbal tea if anyone wants some, and some honey or milk to add if that’s your style.”

Gardio: *takes a cup with a smile and nods again at Donny*

Ma: (Hands Nick the new baby bottle) “I’ll take Lucille her cup tea now.” (Walks back out of the room)

Jasmine: (Had gotten about ¾ of the bottle in her stomach when she sees the new one, making her get all hissy, huffy, and squirmy once more)

Donovan: (It’s still taking him off guard that Jas has reverted to communicating like a wild animal, or more accurately a feral kitten who’s just been picked up from the side of the road and being given healthcare while they hiss and mewl in protest)

Ma: (Comes into Lucille’s little nook, happy to find that it’s staying warm inside thanks to her improvised insulation) “Lucille, honey? I have your tea…” (Sets it down on her nightstand, smiling warmly again at the younger woman) “Do ya need anything else?”

Lucille: *wiggles enough to look up at Ma* Not to sound like a kid, but could my dad come and keep me company? *takes some of the tea and sips it. It helps her feel a little more at ease. Just a little*

Nick: *holds her still as he keeps the bottle in her mouth* Stop this, Jas. You’re not an animal.

Jasmine: (Keeps huffing and snarling while trying to break free from her swaddling, sipping down the rest of the broth in the process)

Ma: (Nods her head at Lucile’s request) “There’s nothing childish about wanting to be with your parent, especially after a long and hard day. I’ll go fetch him for ya.” (Starts heading down back into the guest room and she walks over to Gardio with a beaming smile) “Your daughter would like you to keep her company up in the attic, I think she’s feeling a bit better now.”

Gardio: Oh- I’ll be right up. *gets up and heads there immediately. As he climbs up he knocks on the floorboard* Lucille, sweetie? 

Lucille: Come in, Dad. Behind the curtain. 

Gardio: *peeks in and beams at his daughter before ducking in and sitting on the edge of the bed* How’s my little light? 

Lucille: …A little better…

Teshteal: *gathered everything and walks out, throwing the shirt and outfit he wore in the hamper and the remaining bath stuff in the basket* 

Nick: *to Jas* You don’t have to answer this but do you think I’d be doing this if I were trying to hurt you? Hm? 

Jasmine: (Clicks her tongue, pulling away from the empty bottle and snapping her mouth shut. She’s just in rebellious and stubborn mode as she almost always is in, if she was afraid of Nick harming her she’d be completely frozen in fear)

Donovan: (To Nick) “Unfortunately for you, when Rosie doesn’t want to do something, she’s hellbent on getting her way and wouldn’t back down until she could do as she wished. Don’t know what’s her reasoning now because Ro-Ro has decided to be one with the feral cats and speak their language but I can tell ya that she’s not exactly used to being told “No” and having an adult stand their ground.”

Jasmine: (Aggressively hisses at Donny)

Donovan: (She reminds him of a small child throwing a tantrum because they are too tired and fussy) “Trust me, her mom really tried when she finally caught on. Then when she was gone and Rosie got more rebellious, her aunt took it up a notch but couldn’t even get her to stay inside to keep her grounded. She’d jump out of her damn window if she was confined in her room.”

Ma: (Heads back downstairs to finish washing the clothes as the first load should be ready. She gathers Teshteals outfit from the hamper on her way there, frowning at all the holes)

Nick: *to Don* Hold her. *shoves the baby formula bottle in her mouth as soon as she hisses again, resorting to prying her mouth open just enough to get it in there* 

Jasmine: (Goes absolutely feral and ballistic with whatever energy she has left in her weak and tired body. Hissing, screeching, yowling, kicking, the whole package. She even tried to bite Nick while he pried open her mouth to send the message that she does not want to take this bottle with baby formula)

Donovan: (Has to pull Jas in his lap and lock her in a bear hug with one of his legs over hers in order to keep her still) “Rosalinda! This is getting ridiculous! For crying out loud, calm down before you hurt yourself!” (Again, he’s never seen her act so untamed and wild in a hysterical sense, she was at least verbal and somewhat level headed when snapping back at adults)

Jasmine: (Is actually so damned tired and feels like she’s about to collapse at any moment, but she’ll keep up is masquerade as long as she can hold)

Nick: *snaps* Just take the damn bottle already and stop fighting us! You’re only making this more difficult on yourself! *keeping the bottle in her mouth*

Teshteal: *climbs back in the pool with the baby chicks because they’re cute and he likes them* 

Ma: (Smiles at Teshteal on her way to the laundry room) “You can feed them if you wish.” (Points to a small bag of chick feed on the table that has two small dishes besides it, one that’s filled with water and one that’s empty for food)

Teshteal: *eyes turn into saucers in awe of this permission before he grabs the feed and fills the bowl, gently setting them down for the chicks to eat* 

Baby Chicks: (Peep with happiness and they all bounce on over to their bowl to start pecking at their food and water, stumbling over each other in the process)

Teshteal: Aaww… *dopiest grin as the little fluff balls get their food* 

Jasmine: (Makes a desperate noise of struggle when she still can’t get it her way)

Donovan: (Blinks down at Jas, feeling her muscles relax several times throughout her kicking and fighting, watching as her bottom lip starts to tremble) “Hold on….” (Guides the bottle away from her mouth and he takes her pillow and fluffs it up with one hand, keeping the other arm tightly wrapped around her)

Jasmine: (Shrieks when the bottle is finally out of her mouth, trying extra hard to pull free now that she’s not being restrained so much)

Donovan: (Uses his strength to lay back with Jasmine still held close, forcing her to lay down as well)

Jasmine: (Her entire body relaxes and the fight starts to drain out of her when it hits the luxurious soft sheets and the goose down pillow, a small whimper leaving her mouth as her eyes partly close)

Donovan: (Sits up but keeps a hand on her as she’s still struggling, but she’s now obviously showing signs of exhaustion that she had kept hidden earlier) “Listen to your father and drink your milk, Rosie-Posie. You’re by far worn out to the bone and sleepy, you don’t have the energy to fight us anymore.” (Nods at Nick, sitting up Jas so she’s reclined back and not flat on the mattress)

Jasmine: (Lightly fussing like a tired toddler who’s being settled down for the night, still wrapped in a burrito. The more she fusses, the more the mattress and blankets eats her and brings her closer into its warmth and coziness)

Nick: *holds the bottle out to Donovan* Maybe she’ll take it better now that she’s relaxed.

Donovan: (Takes the bottle from Nick and gently prods the girls lips with it to coax her into opening her mouth) “Cmon Rosie, you need this.” (Squeezes her jaw slightly)

Jasmine: (Whines as the bottle is put back in her mouth, but she finally gives up and starts willingly drinking as tears go down her cheeks from how tired and frustrated she is)

Donovan: (Almost starts laughing with relief) “There you go Rosalinda… Take it slow.” (Would wipe her eyes and the little milk that’s dribbling out of her mouth but he has to keep a hold on her and the bottle)

Jasmine: (Finishes the entire thing in no time, whimpering and sniffling with tears as she pulls away. Her stomach twists with all the liquid that was put in it and her mind blares alarms, but she feels a little better now that she’s not dehydrated or starving)

Donovan: (Puts the bottle aside on the table) “I think we can unwrap her now, she probably doesn’t even have the strength to move.” (Lays the trembling teen back down completely and stands to allow Nick to take over)

Nick: *carefully loosens the blanket so it’s merely draped over her* There, kiddo. Get some sleep. *doesn’t get in the bed and walks over to the regular bed next to hers* 

Lucille: Sorry I’m not much conversation. 

Gardio: It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re doing better… 

Jasmine: (Quietly whimpers and she would reach out for her Dad to come back but she can’t move her arms anymore. Hell, she can’t even cry out that loud, it’s barely audible)

Donovan: (Kisses her head, tucking in the other pink blanket over her so she isn’t cold while she sleeps. He wipes her eyes and mouth with his handkerchief, so glad she took the bottles) “Good night Rosalinda, I’ll see you tomorrow.” (Gives a tired wave to Nick as he heads off to his own room to get some much needed rest. He would want to sleep on one of the spare beds to be near Rosie but he doesn’t want to intrude)

Jasmine: (Panicking on the inside because she feels trapped in her own body and can’t move or speak. She starts to fall into deep sleep anyways, the ringing in her ears slowly fading)

Lucille: *passes out again, this time for the night* 

Gardio: *kisses her forehead. Softly* Good night, starlight. *switches the light off and goes back to the guest room and heads to bed*

Teshteal: *sneaks back in, curling up in the top bunk of the other bunk bed, snoozing away and for once dreaming of something sweet, laying a among baby chicks and for some reason the face of a girl standing over him and smiling sweetly. He’s not sure who she is- seems really familiar* 

Lucille: *sleeps well into morning the next day*

Donovan: (Blacked out on his bed the moment he dumped himself on it without even changing first, he’s as worn out as Jasmine and still has to do clean up in the morning)

Jasmine: (Ma’s prediction from the previous night has unfortunately come true, she’s fussing restlessly on the bed and burning with a new fever in the morning. Sweat is glistening on her forehead while she whimpers and groans quietly, throwing the blanket over her face in her half sleep so she’s hidden)

Ma: (Downstairs making brunch for everyone with the radio on. She got the laundry done last night before she went to bed, now all that’s left is patching up the clothes and ironing it which she already gotten a head start on. A heavenly aroma of sausage, eggs, and pancakes drifts throughout the house, the sizzling from the pan and the gurgle of the coffee maker practically screaming, “hella tasty breakfast on the way!”)

Lucille: *comes down, rubbing her eyes* Is that prewar sausage I smell…? 

Gardio: *helping by doing the dishes* Not exactly. More like unmutated sausage. *smiles* 

Lucille: Can I help-?

Gardio: *stops doing the dishes and pours her coffee and gives her one of the first pancakes to munch on* You can by sitting and relaxing. 

Lucille: I can do small things. Please- I don’t want to be a burden. 

Teshteal: *helping Joyce with the chickens and some of the live stock* 

Nick: *treating Jas’s feaver with a damp cloth. Frowns* 

Ma: (Wipes her hands on her apron and sets the table with canned berries, butter, whipped cream, syrup, a pitcher of coffee, a pitcher of chocolate milk, and large bowls and plates of the prepped food so everyone else can serve themselves. The pancakes are all adorably heart shaped as she finds them cuter to serve that way) “Yes, you can start helping by eating all this dang food before it gets cold! Donny is always going on and on that I make too much and we end up having leftovers for days on end!” (Winks at the young woman then turns back around to start scrubbing the kitchen down) “Just eat for now my dear, then maybe we can find some small chores for ya to help with if that’s what you really want.”

Pirate: (Sitting like a good girl on the floor by her food bowl, waiting for her breakfast)

Joyce: (Went outside a little while back and left the strange devil man with the chicks and chickens. A few minutes later she casually strolls back in through the front door with a whole ass baby cow in tow that miraculously only has one head) “Mama, she’s cold again!” (Pats the poor shivering thing that looks a little too small and frail)

Ma: (Looks over at her daughter and the little calf in her living room, nodding) “Get some blankets for her then bring her close to the fireplace, I’ll get the milk and you come to sit down and eat.”

Joyce: (Opens the closet and pulls out a blanket that’s used for their cattle and a pair of knitted ear coverings. She tenderly drapes the blanket over the calf and places the ear muffs on its head, leading it to be closer to the fireplace)

Jasmine: (Whines as she sniffles, her nose feeling as stuffy as her head and her entire body feels like its on fire)

Donovan: (Walks into the guest room fully dressed and washed, his face filling with concern when he sees the little girl shuffling uncomfortably on the bed) “Oh no, is Rosie alright?” (Moves closer so he’s standing by Nick, flicking on the lamp and examining her) “Fever? Did you take her temperature?”

Nick: Pushing about 100 degrees. *filling a clean baby bottle with water to give it to her* 

Lucille: *through a mouthful of pancake her dad gave her* Well, that’s a start. *starts to dish up, making sure to get plenty of sausage and eggs along with a few pancakes* 

Gardio: *whipes his hands on a towel, just finishing up the first round of breakfast dishes* Now where did Teshteal run off to? Does anyone know? 

Dogmeat: *just following along Pirate. Doesn’t know if he’ll get fed but he’s hopeful at least* 

Joyce: (Shrugs her shoulders at Gardio) “He was just by the chick pool watching the chicks and me with fascination. I’m gonna go upstairs to wash my hands.” (Heads up the stairs to the bathroom there despite there being a bathroom right besides her)

Ma: (Takes out a giant bottle meant for cattle that’s filled with cows milk, walking over to the little calf) “Donny is probably up checking on Rosie, I should call them down to join us for a group brunch. Perhaps we can get some proper introductions done as yesterday was too hectic for those.”

Calf: (Eagerly starts chugging down her milk with little adorable moos of approval)

Ma: (Gently encourages her to drink all her milk, giving her lots of pets when she does. She rises to her feet again and heads up the stairs in search of everyone else, frowning when she gets to the guest room and finds the two men standing over a feverish Rosalinda)

Jasmine: (Whimpers again on her bed, tossing around with how miserably burning hot she is. Again, she’s so used to being freezing cold all the time so this is torture. Thankfully the cool rag is helping a great deal)

Ma: (Comes over to stand by them) “Oh the poor child.” (Puts a hand to the girls forehead, feeling how dreadfully warm she is) “Brunch is served downstairs, why don’t you two head on down and I’ll stay to tend to Rosie for a bit?” (To Nick) “She’s still drowsy, and considering how much she panics when you’re not near her you may not get another chance later to take a breather.”

Nick: I’ll leave her in your care. She needs to get used to other people caring for her in order to grow. 

Gardio: *notices her choice in bathrooms but doesn’t say anything about it. Could just be preference. He heads out to the coop* Having fun, Tesh? 

Teshteal: *looks up* Tesh? *tilts his head in confusion* 

Gardio: I get tired of saying Teshteal but if that’s what you prefer- 

Teshteal: No, no. It’s fine. Sorry, I just really like the chickens.

Gardio: Is that all?

Teahteal: What do you mean? 

Gardio: You were staring at Joyce earlier. 

Teshteal: I- er… I was just watching her work. *looking away* 

Gardio: *quietly smirking at him*

Teshteal: What?!

Gardio: Oh nothing. Breakfast is ready, come in and eat when you’re reading. *walks away* 

Ma: (Nods and takes the baby bottle with water from Nick. She sits on the edge of the bed and starts stroking the girls hair to soothe her) “Shh, little Rosie. You have a fever, but don’t worry, we’ll put the pep back in your step in no time.”

Jasmine: (Whines and kicks her feet, tossing her arms and legs around like a restless toddler)

Donovan: (As he heads out of the room) “She’s got this, Ma is one of the greatest caretakers and nurtures on this blasted planet. I’d like to hear someone say otherwise.” (Starts heading downstairs, following the aroma of delicious food)

Nick: I believe it. *walks down to kitchen, only briefly glancing up at Lucille as he gets his pancakes* 

Gardio: *sitting across from his daughter, happily dishing up himself a big plate of eggs, pancakes, and sausage* 

Teshteal: *comes bounding in and sits next to Lucille at the table, ready to get his food* 

Gardio: Teshteal, please wash up before you eat. 

Teshteal: *pouts and quickly does so then runs over to dish up, taking his share of food* 

Joyce: (Took a little too long in the bathroom for someone who was just washing their hands. Her eyes are now red and puffy, she’s obviously been crying but she smiles at the group as she starts to pile her plate with food)

Donovan: (Starts serving himself a plate also, but stops in his tracks when he sees the look on Joyce’s face) “Joyce…? Is there something wrong?”

Joyce: (Pouring herself some coffee) “Nope!” (Takes a seat next to Teshteal)

Donovan: (Gives his sister a knowing look) “Are you sure?”

Joyce: (Forced smile while she waves her hand) “Yes, it’s silly and stupid issue, no biggie!” (Lays a napkin on her lap. However, instead of eating she starts stalling by picking at her food or rearranging her beverages and utensils)

Jasmine: (Starts crying when she wakes a little more and senses that her father is no longer in the room with her, the crippling weight of anxiety from being separated from him comes pounding down)

Ma: (Gently unbraids the girls hair so she can flair it over the pillow so her sweaty scalp can breathe) “Ssh, sweetie. Detective Valentine just went downstairs for a bit, he hasn’t left you.” (Carefully blots her forehead with a cool rag)

Gardio: *looks at Teshteal pointedly as if suggesting he should apologize* 

Teshteal: *looks even more guilty cause he already feels like he made her cry. Apologetic smile while looking at Joyce nervously* I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier. I didn’t mean to make you cry- *suddenly really nervous and doesn’t understand why* 

Lucille: *just eating, watching this unfold* 

Nick: Wait- have I missed something…? Do we even know why she was crying? 

Gardio: Come to think of it, not exactly. I assumed it was Teshteal’s doing. 

Teshteal: *hadn’t considered that* I- if it’s not that, I promise if it made you cry it isn’t as silly as you think. What’s wrong? *gone into supportive mode, particularly because he’s still kind of unsure if it’s his fault* 

Joyce: (Nervously) “I wasn’t crying… Uh-…” (To Teshteal) “It’s not you at all. Like I said, it’s just some stupid guy…” (Halts and stares off at nothing)

Donovan: (She’s not a very good lier) “Jojo…?”

Joyce: (Gets even more teary all of a sudden) “I’m a homewrecker!!!” (Slams her face down on the table dramatically, causing a dull thud) “My God, what have I done?!?!”

Donovan: (Walks over with concern and confusion on his face, setting down his plate in the spot besides her) “What?”

Joyce: (Runs her hands through her hair without lifting her head) “And now those poor kids are out in the Wasteland scared and confused while their parents marriage is ripped apart before their eyes! What if when they grow up they decide to hunt me down for ruining their lives!?!”

Donovan: “Wait, slow down for a moment.” (Missing so many pieces because he’s certain that Joyce broke up with her previous boyfriend awhile back and based off the way she acted it was on good terms. But now he’s starting to doubt that, and this ex-boyfriend definitely didn’t have a family of his own to speak of so he’s unsure if who Joyce is even talking about)

Joyce: “I’m never gonna get their faces out of my head! They’ll haunt my dreams for the rest of my damn life!”

Jasmine: (Squirms uncomfortably on the bed and crosses her legs, motioning to the door)

Ma: (Notices and puts it together quickly what’s wrong) “Do you need to use the restroom, sweetheart?”

Jasmine: (Weakly nods, tugging on her hair)

Ma: (Carefully lifts the girl in her arms and carries her into the small half bathroom just across the hall)

Jasmine: (Grabs onto the counter when she’s set down to keep herself upright, swatting Ma away when she attempts to help her with her nightgown)

Ma: “Okay, I’ll be waiting outside. Knock if you need some help, alright?” (Closes the door but leaves it unlocked and leans on the wall with her hand, listening for trouble)

Jasmine: (Finishes up quickly before she limps over to the sink to wash her hands, wincing and gasping at each movement she makes. Her whole body feels like it’s being stabbed with burning pins and needles, and her head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls)

Teshteal: *stunned at the outburst then calmly extends his hand and very lightly places it on her shoulder* Joyce, was it? Look at me and just take a moment to close your eyes and breathe, okay? *takes a deep breath, trying to help her calm down* Can you do this for me? *very practiced, slow and deep breaths* 

Nick: *watching this unfold* 

Lucille: *also watching this play out. She’s not going to say anything until she’s got more information* 

Joyce: (Sniffs, then turns her head to look at Teshteal, smiling at him warmly) “Aw, you’re so adorably sweet. Why can’t every guy be like you? Slays mutants to protect a little girl, handles animals with love and care, then comforts strangers while they have a crisis?” (Pats his hand affectionately) “I’d give you a kiss but I’m all icky now.” (Sits up straight and adjusts her clothes) “I’m cool. I’ll be fine.” (Lowers her head again with a heavy sigh, not even convincing herself)

Donovan: (Still trying to figure out what the hell is going on with his sister) “Brody didn’t have kids, though. And I don’t think I believe the part on you being a homewrecker, that does not sound like you.”

Joyce: (Groans at that name, like its a whole other open wound and subject) “I’m gonna have bad karma for life!”

Donovan: (Puts an arm around her) “Do you want to go talk about it outside?”

Joyce: (Shake her head as she eyes the feast in front of her) “I just want food…” (Reaches over and confiscates the bottle of syrup, dousing her entire plate with the sticky sweet goodness, getting the eggs and sausages soaked too. After that she slathers whipped cream on everything as well, never mind how unhealthy it is. She snatches her fork and starts shoving forkfuls in her mouth, chewing slowly)

Pirate: (Whines and puts her head on Joyce’s lap, staring up at her with puppy eyes)

Ma: (Knocks on the door) “Rosalinda? Are you alright, sweetie? Do you need some help?”

Jasmine: (Knocks on the countertop to signal that she’s fine while turning on the faucet. She looks up, catching her dreaded reflection and her breathing hitches)

Ma: (Hears the water running but can’t hear Jas moving. She knocks again) “Rosie?”

Jasmine: (Doesn’t respond this time as she turns off the faucet, she’s too repelled and disgusted by her own reflection. She feels herself lurch forwards while her stomach flops)

Ma: (Listening intently for noises of trouble as she frowns, hand on the doorknob)

Jasmine: (Horrified when she starts puking up up vile on her pretty nightgown as she buckles and falls to her knees, having no reaction time to at least lean over the sink)

Ma: (Quickly opens the door and guides the girl over to kneel over the toilet, swirling her hair back so it doesn’t get in her way) “Sshh, it’s alright, let it all out.”

Teshteal: *blushes at the compliment* Thank you. *eyes dilate subconsciously. Suddenly remembers food exists and puts whatever on his plate again, not even paying attention. He’s too distracted by the fact a complete stranger just said something NICE to him* 

Gardio and Nick: *share a glance, both silently agreeing there’s more here than she’s letting on* 

Donovan: (Sits down besides her on his seat, patting her shoulder) “Do I have to be worried?”

Joyce: (Picks up her plate and tilts it in her mouth so she can drink all the syrup that has formed an ocean at the bottom)

Donovan: (Sighs and takes a forkful of eggs off his own plate to eat) “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

Joyce: (Wipes her mouth with a napkin) “I have bigger things to worry about.” (Pats Pirates head)

Donovan: (Gets up to finally feed the dogs, knowing immediately what she’s talking about) “I told ya not to worry about that.” (Takes out two dog bowls and fills it with food, sprinkling some sausage on top as a reward for finding Jas yesterday)

Pirate: (Barks excitedly and spins in circles, chowing down on her share when Donny sets the bowls on the ground)

Joyce: (Doesn’t answer her brother and continues to stuff her face with her now sugary sweet breakfast while staring off in deep thought)

Jasmine: (Pukes out whatever is in her twisting and knotting stomach which is mostly liquid, bracing herself on the top of the toilet)

Ma: (Rubs small circles on her back, gently encouraging her to relax and breathe steadily as she starts dry heaving) “There we go sweetheart. All done.” (Kisses the top of her head assuredly)

Jasmine: (Gags and coughs over the toilet bowl as she finally finishes, her mouth and throat burning from the foul taste of vile. Her ears start to ring and her eyes water while she stares off at nothing like a zombie)

Ma: (Flushes the toilet and closes the lid, lifting the girl up from under her arms and setting her down on the closed lid. She helps her take off the now solid nightgown, tossing it in the laundry hamper to be washed)

Jasmine: (Puts her arms around her waist and whimpers, rocking from side to side slowly while she softly cries out for her Dad)

Ma: (Helps the poor shivering and sniffling girl wash up and rinse out her mouth, stopping her from picking at her arms whenever she tries to do so) “Let’s not do that to ourselves, hm?”

Jasmine: (Croaking out weakly now that her throat no longer hurts) “Daddy!” (Reaches for the door while trying to stand up to leave)

Ma: (Sighs and kneels back down, gently rubbing Jas’s shoulder as she pushes her back down) “Your father is busy at the moment, Rosie. Don’t worry, he’s still nearby and would never leave you….”

Jasmine: (Dramatically) “Nooooo!!!” (Claws midair for the door and her father like a kitten)

Ma: “Shh, Rosa-Marie. C’mere sweetheart.” (Pulls the feverish girl into her embrace, carefully rocking her)

Jasmine: (Initially fights the embrace but she tiredly gives up after a few failed swats and clings onto Ma as she blubbers a couple of incoherent words that may be insults at herself, but it’s hard to tell)

Teshteal: *suddenly feels like an idiot for getting wrapped up in his ego because of a compliment. Also remembers most people don’t eat the way she’s doing right now unless they’re stressed. Very calmly* Joyce, would it be alright if you, Donovan, and I talked about this later? 

Nick: *raises both eyebrows at how tactful Teshteal’s being* Look at you being the mature mediator. One would think you were a therapist. 

Teshteal: *forced laugh and a grin, suddenly remembering that his training involved lowering people’s guard to get information out of them* Just another fxcked up prewar mad person, hehe! *eyes have gone to slits in his panic. The question “Am I trying to hurt her?” Starts playing on repeat in his head* 

Donovan: (Sits back down again) “I’ll get it out of her later, she’s still new to this whole freedom and being her own person thing.” (Notices Teshteals sudden change but doesn’t say anything, remembering that Jas did the same thing)

Joyce: (Rests her cheek on her left hand, picking at her food again. She doesn’t seem to have heard Teshteal, she’s lost in her own little world) “Those Teen Life magazines were right…“

Donovan: (Turns to Joyce again when she speaks, setting down his cup of coffee) “Hm? What was that?”

Joyce: (Staring off at nothing blankly, looking like a zombie or a robot) “Fries before Guys…”

Donovan: “…Are you talking about the breakup or what you just said now about being a homewrecker?” (Still very confused on that part)

Joyce: (Doesn’t answer, she’s stuck in a trance) “Sisters before Misters….”

Donovan: (Shakes his head, holding up a hand) “Wait a second Jojo-…”

Joyce: (Cuts him off) “All Foods before Dudes…”

Ma: (Gathers the teen in her arms and stands, walking out of the bathroom. But instead of taking her back to the guest room she walks into her own bedroom so nobody accidentally comes in and so she can hold the girl while sitting on a chair)

Jasmine: (Doesn’t notice that they aren’t going back to the guest room, she’s weeping too hard for her Dad to come and get her)

Ma: (Sits down on her plush rocking chair with the fevered girl cradled in her lap, gently tucking Jas’s hair behind her ears) “Shhh, little one… You’re alright now. It was just a small spit up, you’ll be okay and your father will be here for you soon.”

Jasmine: (Shakes her head and trembles as she covers her face with her hands, still disoriented and dizzy) “Daddy! I want Dad…”

Ma: (Pats her back and slowly coaxes the sobbing girls hands off her face so she can breathe properly)

Jasmine: (Puts her thumb in her mouth in an attempt to self soothe, kicking her feet midair)

Ma: (Blots the teens face again with a cool rag, planning on trying to give her the baby bottle of water once she’s calmed down)

Teshteal: *eyes widen, briefly catching the new person bit before his mind is flooded with self doubt again. What if he IS trying to hurt an innocent person? Should he keep his distance from her? Is he a bad person-?*

Lucille: *sweetly* So you’re a synth, then. Did you come here in search of Acadia? *pops a forkful of egg in her mouth* 

Nick: *close to being done with his breakfast. He glances up at the mention of Acadia briefly* 

Donovan: (Answering for Joyce because she’s dead inside) “Actually no, we found her a little ways south from here and didn’t even know about Acadia when we first moved here until about six months ago. Heck, I’m not even sure if anyone else is aware Joyce is a synth, not that we’re hiding it.”

Joyce: (Continues her sayings without acknowledging anyone, sounding more and more defeated with each line) “Bras before Brahs.”

Donovan: (Turns his focus back to Joyce, frowning) “How many more of these do you have? And what’s the point you’re trying to make here?” 

Joyce: “Snickers before you take off your knickers….”

Donovan: “Please stop and just tell me what happened, it’ll be easier on everyone. Where the hell did you even read these from?” (Wonders if he needs to get Ma to give Joyce a pep talk)

Joyce: “Bros before Hoes…”

Donovan: (Rubs his temples tiredly when he hears that one) “Oh dear lord have mercy, she’s broken again and I don’t even know why.”

Donovan: (Shoves a forkful of eggs from off his own non-contaminated plate into Joyce’s mouth to stop her from finishing) “Okay that’s enough from you. There’s a child upstairs.” (Gives her a look while putting another forkful of pancakes in her mouth) “We need to work on your people skills.”

Ma: (Tenderly pulls the girl into another hug, placing a kiss on the top of her head)

Jasmine: (Ends up snuggled close to Ma with her head under the sweet woman’s chin, catching the scent of lavender and laundry detergent on Ma’s house dress. She whimpers and sniffles on her tears, biting down on her thumb a little)

Ma: (Rubs some floral scented lotion on her hands, warming them up) “Hush now, precious child. All will be well in the end… You’ll see.” (Starts rubbing Jazzy’s stomach in a soothing clockwise motion with the lotion, avoiding putting pressure on any of her wounds while she hums a soft tune)

Jasmine: (Tears up more and absolutely melts at the comforting gesture that her own mother used to do whenever she had the chance, especially when one of her kids was sick with something. She relaxes as she sobs, enjoying the close physical contact and gesture while her eyes shut again)

Ma: (Not aware that Jasmine often throws up her food after eating it. To her, Jas puking is just part of the fever she has)

Teshteal: *stuck in his own hell* 

Gardio: Teshteal…? Are you okay? 

Teshteal: *sing songy joking voice* Of course- the jester of the court is always okay! Wouldn’t you say? 

Gardio: That forced smile doesn’t full me, officer. What’s going on? 

Teshteal: A meal! A good one! *pulls a heart shaped pancake in front of him* Practically heart warming- 

Gardio: Linus-

Teshteal: *cowers and squeaks hearing his old name.* I’m sorry. I’ll stop. 

Joyce: (Through her mouthful of food at her brother) “I’m four!”

Donovan: (Partly distracted by Teshteal and Gardio) “And that’s why I’m patient with you, you’re still learning. Do ya want some milk?” (Holds out a glass of chocolate milk)

Joyce: (Nods and take the offered glass of milk, chugging it down to clear her sticky and sugar coated throat)

Donovan: (Frowns when he sees Teshteal droop down and give in quickly)

Jasmine: (Chokes on a cry when she thinks of her Mamá who’s now forever gone, the fear and guilt getting its deep claws back into her again)

Ma: (Syncs her gentle shushes with each pat on the back she gives the girl, making a soothing rhythm) “Ssh, Ssh, Ssh….” (A little worried that Jas is crying too much, she’s already puked and is still severely anemic with almost no fluid intake. Maybe sending Donny to buy fluid from the Doc in Far Harbor is still a good move to make)

Jasmine: (Cuddles closer to Ma when she feels the weight of terror push down on her even further, making it harder to breathe. She starts back up whimpering for her Dad)

Ma: (Takes the baby bottle and gently tries to coax the girls mouth open so she can drink)

Jasmine: (Whines in protest when the bottle is offered to her, turning her face away while she starts kicking the air again)

Ma: (Frowns and continues to rub the teens stomach to get her to settle down again, wondering if she should call up Nick now in desperation. She can eventually get Jazzy to drink from the bottle with gentle massages and soft words, but she can’t stop her from crying for her father. And right now Jas needs to preserve all tears and energy so she can get stronger)

Nick: Better go check on things upstairs. *heads up. He frowns when he doesn’t find jas in bed, then checks the bathroom. Then finally finds the two in Ma’s room* I’m gathering there was an incident. I think we may have to hook her up to an IV if she can’t keep anything down. 

Teshteal: *stopped eating* I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry-

Gardio: Teshteal, where are we right now? 

Teshteal: I- *looks at the food then around him* A house. 

Gardio: And what are we doing? *takes a bite of a pancake* 

Teshteal: *eyes lock on the pancake* Eating breakfast. *nods and relaxes some* 

Gardio: Good! You have a plate of delicious food in front of you, don’t you? 

Teshteal: Yeah. Yeah I do. *smiles* Thanks for the reminder. *shoves a whole sausage in his mouth*

Gardio: Now, what was bothering you so much a moment ago? 

Teshteal: *swallows* I was worried I was trying to hurt someone innocent without intending to. *pokes his food* Like the monster I am. *stabs a pancake right through the center with his fork* 

Lucille: *finishes her food then gets up and washes her dishware* I’ll be in the attic if anyone needs me. 

Ma: (Sighs and looks down at the sobbing, mewling and trembling girl in her arms, still rubbing her stomach and patting her back) “Unfortunately yes, Rosie vomited not too long after you left and I can’t get her to take the bottle of water.”

Jasmine: (Cries out louder and reaches for her Dad when she hears him enter the room under her haze) “Daddy!”

Ma: (Stands to hand the girl off to her father) “She’s been crying for you since you left for breakfast, I can’t get her stop for long before she picks it up again. Not that it’s a surprise, children often develop extreme separation anxiety after a traumatic event occurs in their life.” (Rocks Jas as she holds her out to Nick) “I don’t think being abandoned twice in her life is helping Rosalinda’s situation all that much.”

Calf: (Came over to the table with the blanket still on her back, sniffing at Gardio curiously with a moo)

Donovan: (Still has his arm around Joyce, keeping quiet for now)

Joyce: (Now aware of her surroundings and she looks at Teshteal, noticing that he’s poking at the pancake) “Ma’s food is the best, isn’t it?” (Smiles at him, having no idea that he just had mini breakdown too) “Although, I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”

Gardio: *turns to pet the back of the calf’s neck* Hello there, dear. 

Calf: (Moos with approval, sniffing for the syrup on the table)

Teshteal: *looks up at Joyce and smiles* Very. Shame I suddenly lost my appetite to my nerves. *chuckles. He did also grab a lot of food and made a sizeable dent in his portion. So he did get plenty to eat* 

Joyce: “Aww, that’s too bad. But we can always save the leftovers to eat later.” (Looks down when the small satchel she’s wearing around her chest starts moving. She opens it and out pops a little ferret who yawns sleepily) “At least you haven’t forsaken me, Gilbert.” (Holds the noodle raccoon to her face, kissing his head)

Donovan: “Ouch. What about me and Ma?”

Joyce: (Turns to her older brother) “She’s my mother and you’re my brother, you’re obligated to love me no matter how many times I make you carry me home when my feet hurt.”

Donovan: “I wouldn’t have to carry you so much do you didn’t insist on wearing those ridiculous heels all the time.”

Joyce: “But they’re pretty!”

Donovan: “I don’t think pretty is worth pain, you can’t even walk in them properly.” (Notices the calf trying to get on the table) “Why is Milly inside?”

Joyce: (Takes out her ferret and holds him like a potato sack) “Because she’s cold and she’s too skinny to keep warm. We’re waiting for the sun to heat the pasture back up before taking her back.”

Teahteal: That’ tr- *eyes turn into saucers to match his pupils at the sight of the noodle in her satchel* A ferret…! Aww. He’s just a wittle baby! *absolutely fawning over the animal* 

Nick: *holding his daughter* Can we send someone to get some IV bags? 

Jasmine: (Clinging to her Dad while she whimpers and whines from the pain of the wounds and the misery from her fever)

Ma: (Nods as she leaves the room, handing him the bottle on her way out) “I’ll send Donny into town to pick up the fluid, but we can do a blood transfusion immediately.”

Joyce: (Holds out Gilbert to Teshteal) “Wanna hold him?”

Gilbert: (A very looooong noodle baby)

Teshteal: *eyes nearly sparkle and he immediately expends his arms to recieve one wiggly long boy* Of course! *makes grabby hands at the ferret* 

Ma: (Comes down the stairs, a serious expression on her face) “Donny, love? Can you be a dear and run down to the harbor to pick up some fluid for Rosie?”

Donovan: (Immediately rises from the table and rushes over to grab his coat when he hears that) “Yeah, of course. Is Rosie doing alright?”

Ma: (Rubs her hands together) “She’s still responsive, but she can’t keep anything down at the moment.”

Donny: (Taking out some caps from the bin in the closet, gathering his gun and the keys to the boat) “I’ll be quick, and if that Allen punk gives me trouble I swear I’m throwing his ass into the sea.”

Nick: Ssh, doll. Ssh… *pops the bottle in her mouth the moment he sees an opportunity* Here. Drink this- it’ll help cool ya down. *sits in the chair* 

Jasmine: (Willingly starts to drink from the bottle after a few noises of complaint, being too tired and burning hot to argue with her Dad. She squirms and cries out when her mind and body don’t agree with this decision, but she keeps slowly drinking anyways)

Joyce: (Hands Teshteal Gilbert and sits back on her chair with a bright smile)

Gilbert: (Yawns lazily, it’s take a lot of work to be this squiggly and noodly 24/7)

Teshteal: *holds his long fluffy body up and beams at the long rat of a creature* Fluffy noodle! Cute wittle guy! *does a little shake, making Gilbert’s lower body sway*

Donovan: (Opens the side door and pats his side to summon his faithful pup) “Pirate! Cmon girl! We’re making an emergency run!”

Pirate: (Perks up and rushes to follow Donovan out the front door as he heads to the boat)

Ma: (Starts cleaning up after breakfast, putting away the leftovers from the big plates into containers as she mutters under her breath worriedly for the little girl upstairs)

Dogmeat: *watching them about to leave* 

Nick: There you go. That’s my girl… 

Jasmine: (Not drinking much, she’s only getting a few droplets at a time. She grips onto Nicks dress shirt while she mumbles, feeling miserable again but at least she’s with Dad finally)

Gardio: Would you like me to come with, Donovan? 

Donovan: (Stops at the doorway) “Ah, no thank you I think I’ve got it…” (Looks at Ma who’s rushing about like a busy bee, then at Gardio to silently ask him to lend her a hand)

Ma: (Has to clean the kitchen then the living room that had housed the chickens followed by the med room that’s still bloody and disorganized from yesterday. She’ll leave the outside cleanup to her kids, but there’s still so much work to split. She turns on the radio to help ease her nerves, tying on a new apron to get started)

Gardio: Understood. *nods and starts clearing the table to start on dishes again* 

Gilbert: (Licks his nose, his eyes partly closed)

Joyce: (Stands suddenly, remembering that she has chores to do) “Aw crap, the animals!” (Glances at Milly who’s going for the syrup again) “Milly! No!”

Donovan: (Over his shoulder to his sister as he leaves) “Don’t try milking the cows! It was a disaster for you last time.”

Teshteal: I can help! *stands and carefully slinks Gilbert back in his pouch* 

Gilbert: (Curls up in his snuggly pouch, going back to sleep as he only briefly woke up at the smell of food)

Joyce: (Getting ready to lead Milly back outside to the pasture, frowning at the realization that she has to clean it after the storm probably blew gunk into it. They can’t have any of their prized animals munching on whatever blew in from the sea or forest)

Donovan: (Gets to his boat at their dock and turns it on, pulling out of the docks to head up to the harbor)

Jasmine: (Quivers and cuddles close to Nick with her weak arms gripping him tighter, a sharp pang going through her heart when there’s a string of sudden thoughts that bursts through all the cotton balls that are stuffed in her head. That damned voice telling her she’s worthless and deserves all this shit is yelling stronger… It’s making her feel more sick and queasy. “Worthless” and “Mistake” are still the loudest, and there’s hard evidence to back it up and say that it’s true…)

Nick: *figured the second abandonment probably had to do with her aunt cropping her out of the photos so he didn’t think much of it when Ma said so. Now that he thinks of it, he’s not exactly sure if that’s what she meant. At this point, he’s not surprised that she’s been abandoned multiple times. The girl hasn’t been able to catch a break since day one*

Ma: (Smiles gratefully at Gardio as she sways along with the radio playing “Happy Times”) “Well aren’t you a darling with good manners, your daughter takes after you.” (Smirks and gestures to a hanger with several frilly and floral aprons) “You need one?”

Gardio: Yes, thank you, ma'am. *puts on one with cartoonish flowers on it and continues cleaning it up*

Ma: (Chuckles at Gardio and wipes her hands, suddenly remembering something she left in the laundry room) “I’ll be right back.” (Heads off to the laundry room and goes up to the shelf, taking a soft and clean Winnie off from one of the drying shelves. She takes out a special perfume bottle and sprays the bear thoroughly, making sure the scent isn’t too strong. Next she goes into the med room to grabs Jasmines Pipboy that was left in there during the chaos, giving it a good wipe down. With those items in hand she heads up the stairs to find Nick and Jas who are still in her room) “I have this for her, I hope you don’t mind that I went poking through her bag while I was searching for her clothes.” (Gently places the stuffed bear in Jasmines arms)

Jasmine: (Hugs the stuffed toy to her face with one hand while the other remains around her Dad, taking the familiar scent of perfume and the clean laundry detergent)

Ma: (Smiles at her, a hint of sadness in her eyes) “The perfume, it’s the one her mother would use. Rosie had a bottle in her bag as well, I assume she found it and would put it on her bear. Heh, clever girl, its an old soothing technique.”

Jasmine: (Opens her tear filled eyes and blinks at her stuffed toy, then softly sniffles and hides away in Nicks shirt again with both of her arms around his neck and Winnie cuddled in her lap. She stopped drinking from the bottle when those thoughts came to attack her)

Teshteal: *walking out with the calf* How do you guys have prewar animals running around? *starts picking up a bunch of seaweed, drift wood, and sticks the storm blew in from the pasture. Wonders if he can make something out of them*

Joyce: (Shrugs her shoulders as she opens the gate) “You’ll have to ask Ma or Donny about that, something about having tight connections with people who breed them from vaults I think. Take my words with a grain of salt as I’m not too sure.” (Looks around at the cleared area thats littered with salty whatnot, setting her sights on the barn and the coop) “Lets get Milly inside so she doesn’t try to lick anything.”

Teshteal: Yeah, all that irradiated salt can’t be good for her. *flicks his tail to exaggerate his point*

Joyce: (Opens the barn door and carefully shoves Milly inside, closing the door quickly so no animals rush out) “There, she’ll go with her Mama and sister on her own.” (Turns to Teshteal) “You can go inside with the others, I have to start cleaning up.” (Starts walking to the shed to grab a rake)

Teshteal: I can help clean. I don’t mind. *grinning from ear to ear at the thought of helping a new friend*

Joyce: (Grins right back at Teshteal, grateful for the help as Donny isn’t here to lend a hand) “That’s wonderful, you’re such a sweetheart! Grab a rake then. We can start by getting all the sludge into one pile to roll out of here.” (Takes a rake for herself and starts doing just that, her nose wrinkling at the stench of rotten sea muck)

Gardio: *put up the food and cleaning the kitchen for Ma*

Nick: I figured as much… *looks up at Ma. He’s not removing the bottle. Perhaps she’ll suck on it to soothe her anxiety causing her to drink more water in the process* What did you mean when you said she’d been abandoned twice?

Ma: (Gets a somber look on her face when Nick asks the question) ”Her Aunt Debbie, she was so tired after losing-…”

Jasmine: (Wails loudly at the mention of her other aunt whom she hates the most right now, kicking her feet while she trembles and tries to desperately scratch at her arms and sides)

Ma: (Reaches out to stop the girl from kicking her feet by holding her legs down) “Maybe now isn’t the best time to talk about this. Poor baby is having a rough enough time as it is even without the news, she just needs to be comforted.”

Nick: *nods at the mention of her aunt. He had a feeling it might have been her based on the photos he saw. He begins to rub her stomach gently with his other hand to help soothe her just as Ma did*

Jasmine: (Hums a soft note under her sobs and settles down when she feels this comforting gesture, halting her kicking and scratching completely. She closes her eyes tightly and nuzzles closer to her father with her arms back around him, matching her breathing with the calming motions of his rubs)

Ma: (Lets go of Jas and leans forwards to wipe the girls face with a handkerchief) “It’s alright Rosie, you can relax now. You’re safe here.” (Smiles warmly at Nick) “You are a wonderful father, Detective Valentine.”

@lucilleandherrobots

#I swear we are having so much fun describing the ferret #I mean. I’m not stopping or complaining #Have you ever seen or held a ferret??? We are doing a pretty good job describing those little noodles #fallout 4 #fallout #fo4 #nick valentine #fallout original character #fallout oc #fallout roleplay #fallout rp

[thegoosewiththemost]

Sick

Summary: request for @nak3d-snak3 , Feral BJ and sick reader. Hope you get better soon!

Why not have the best of both worlds by having feral BJ make you sick?

eyyy thanks for answering me! For a request I would love either more feral bastard! BJ orrrr BJ with a sick reader (im sick rn so im projecting). No rush babe and hope you have a great day!

It was deep winter and BJ had had the brilliant idea to steal your fluffy nightgown and slippers away from you sometime during the night. Your room never had the best insulation as it was and the chill wind that morning made it no better.

You fumbled around searching for your coat as the alarm rang, being careful to not catch a cold as you transferred yourself from the warmth of the blanket to what you hoped would be the snug fit of your gown. But you couldn’t find it. Frowning, you wrapped the blanket around closer to yourself, suspecting foul play and also refusing to expose yourself to the cold.

You had been sure to leave it hanging by the bedside as you did every night before you went to sleep so you looked everywhere around the bed, under the blanket, on the floor and in the dresser where a stack of Bio-Exorcist flyers were half-scattered on the inside of the drawer.

Ah. So it was going to be one of those days. Sighing with frustration, you realised there was nothing to be done but get up or risk being late to work.

Betelgeuse sure knew how to pick the worst possible time for his antics, and while they remained relatively harmless, you noticed that he was becoming bolder by the day as he tried to test your limits. You figured that maybe it was his way of communicating his need for your attention.

Reluctantly, you placed your feet down on the false timber floorboards, feeling the cold seep up your legs. You dreaded needing to walk into the tiled bathroom which was always undoubtedly freezing more than anywhere else in the house.

Shivering, you ditched the blanket in exchange for a much lighter coat, a bad idea, you figured after you realised just how much the temperature difference was when wearing it. It felt like placing a thin shift on in the middle of a rainstorm and expecting it to block out all the wet and cold.

A loud sneeze like a tornado siren rose up out of you as you realised you lost the battle. You would at the very least be cursed with a runny sniffly nose the whole day and as for the cherry on top, work was fast approaching. You always left just enough time for you to have a warm cup of tea or a hot breakfast, but that morning it seemed that neither would be possible when you found that all your mugs and bowls had gone mysteriously missing from their places in the cabinets.

“Ohhh someone’s got a runny nose today! What’s the matter, babes? You look like death.” Leaning against the front door was Betelgeuse, lounging in your fluffy gown and slippers with all the charm of a voice like nails on chalkboard and the entitlement of a freeloading roommate.

“I would say that I’m keeping all this warm for you, but I’m dead cold, if you know what I mean.”

#beetlejuice x reader #musicaljuice x reader #request

[bloodypeachblog]

Aaaaand my roof is leaking

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshiiiiiit!!!

Ok ok, so the inside for the most part, the house I live in is normal. Few cracks here and a few wall dents there, maybe a busted window or two (not shattered, the top window just refuses to close anymore), but nothing to worry about. Perfectly habitable. But when you get to the back room....

No ceiling. Exposed fiberglass insulation. Exposed support beams. Severe cracking of walls and ceilings in the hall towards the back room. Chipping drywall. No floorboards, only exposed plywood and a long rug. An old water heater that bubbles every time you use the hot water. Exposed wires.

(DM me for photo proof if you wanna see for yourself)

It's just downright awful and very concerning.

Some house damage has been dealt here. A year or so ago, a small stool toppled over and landed on a water pipe, breaking it open and causing water to flood that area. Luckily I was able to get it under control and it's fixed. But not without the water I couldn't dry up sinking into the house, potentially causing damage or mold.

But that's not the focus. The focus is the ceiling. So today it was raining. A lot. I figured it was a normal day of rain, nothing going bad.

Then I heard water drips from inside the house.

I follow the sound and I'm led to the water heater. The big metal pipe to the ceiling is dripping with rain water and some water drops independently from behind the insulation.

And when it started to pour, more water dripped in.

I was able to at least stop the water in its tracks by putting towels on top of the water heater do the water doesn't hit the floor (which I feel is a SERIOUS fire hazard, but I had no choice).

The main reason for this problem is that our roof tiling is practically destroyed. We had to clean up roof shingles all over the yard over the years. No one gave a shit enough to get it fixed, and I certainly can't afford it. Legally, it's not even my house, it's my mom's!

I've been worrying about this all day. But now another worry just popped up.

Black mold.

Even if we fix this, there's still a very high chance of black mold growing in the house due to damp wood.

Plus there's evidence that the ceiling in some places is starting to cave in from water damage.

This house is dangerous. I have to move out. I need to for my own safety. I'm trying to look for low-income apartments, but it'll take a long time to get one. Plus affording one in this climate is a shit circus already. Also, I have no car.

And everyone here is going 'aw please stay it'd be a shame if you left us' and my mom would trap me in a basement to prevent me from moving out if she could (we don't have a basement).

I can't live in a house that could hurt me or my cat. I can't live in a house that has exposed shit and fire hazards. I just can't.

But I'm stuck right now and I'm trying to form a plan, but coming up short. I don't know what to do.

Me right now:

(Tag list to let people know: @fatgumsupremacy @etherness @omniuravity)

#house problems #danger house #need help #want to leave but can't #leaking roof #anxiety post

[tuulippworld]

𝕹𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝕮𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖙

Three red drops in my egg drop soup, and I am dropped through the floor with them. It takes you a second to notice: primary colours are everywhere. Yellow dumpling skins binding up leeks and mushrooms. Red chillies scaling the sides of stir-fried aubergine. A blue fruity cocktail. Yellow ribbons of egg. Blue eyes. Red lanterns. Red tablecloth. Red blood. One is not like the other. 

We don’t know each other well enough yet for something like this. For you to hold my face, to stroke it with a washcloth, to pinch my nose shut when my arms have fallen asleep, to tell me where to find them. So, I am left to pick my body from the floorboards, and leave you alone with the bits of my body in the soup. Black dress. Black napkin. Thankfully, nothing will stain. 

We know each other well enough for you to tell me wives’ tales. White lies. Little ones. “Tilt your head to the ceiling- it’ll help.” But then again, strangers tell each other little white lies all the time. The homeless man outside Aldi tells me “God bless you” and I say “thank you, you too” like a serpentine televangelist, or an insecure agnostic child. It depends on how bad you think it is to lie about blessings. Called through a cupped hand as we all disappear in our bodies’ over-sharing: “It’ll help.” 

I wasn’t sure if getting on dating apps would make London feel bigger or smaller. Going down the stairs like a lucky penny makes it feel so big, because I find I can do it effortlessly. I realise I descend and ascend in the tube every day looking at nobody and nowhere at all. I used to look at everyone on my commute, but I learned quickly that a girl of my temperament doesn’t have the heart to take it. Falling in and out of love again and again as the slideshow of people cycle through turnstiles and subway cars like some sickly-sweet, sexy zoetrope, and we’re all just trying to not trip when getting off the escalator. 

I find myself in the bathroom mirror, and London feels small again. I’m surprised that she’s here too, in a floating Chinese restaurant in Camden Town. We’re so far from home, and I can’t help but wonder if we’d be handling it all better if we lived a life more like the one our childhood prepared us for. Frizzy hair, leave-in conditioner, endlessly damp strands. “Good morning,” “I’m good, thanks,” “Have a nice day!” Cold aloe vera, sunburned skin peeled off secretly. It never scarred like my mother said it would, and I’m relieved that my mirror shows me my shoulders as confirmation. If I was still in my hometown, where it was so humid that my nose never bled, would my first dates retain enough detachment to whet my heart with performative intimacy, but keep the organ’s makeup in place? To stay with you at the table, laughing so lovely, and not two stories below? Mascara. Flesh. Drywall. Insulation. Dirt. 

London will feel smaller when I’ll be nervous every time my subway idles at the tube stop you live on, even after enough time has passed that I can’t remember how much you actually looked like your pictures. Every young person could be your friend. Every old one could be your parent. I’ll peer over the other commuters to the window across from me, and my mirror will check my nostrils for fresh blood. The aridness of the tube will make me grateful that Florida’s limestone aquifers forbade me from growing up with an underground, but not so grateful that I’d stay on to the end of the line and catch a plane back home. I’ll dehydrate and shrivel into a dried fig, and for the rest of the day, no one will sit in my seat, uncertain of what I really am. A newspaper will be tossed next to me. 

As I spend longer in the bathroom, and the wads of red toilet paper propagate, our settings, stretched through the future, atrophy like tendons into dental floss. To try to come back to this restaurant would make the gangway to Feng Shang Princess into a game piece. To reconvene with the sun on a rare, beautiful spring day in the nearby park would make the path shrink to a hot stone. Embarrassment renders threads of possibility incapable of fastening even a teardrop-sized button. In a few weeks, when an aimless wander oscillates to coincidence, swinging me to outside University College Hospital, I’ll wonder if any of your other first dates have bled lately. All of London will be held in a bead of saline on the tip of an IV needle in the bed that will be next to mine an hour from now. You can only exist in the places I know you’ve been, for I’m too busy right now dabbing my face and trying to preserve my lipstick to fill in the rest of everywhere. Scribbling out my medical history on a clipboard. Attempting to eye-fuck the commuter across me on the ride home and forgetting there’s cotton stuffed up my nose.  

I’m in love with every man with a dog in Regents Park, and with every busty nurse in the emergency room bay:

“I know it may be nothing, but I’ve been bleeding so long and I really had to check.”

#text #creative writing #original writing #writers on tumblr #writing #london #lgbtq #lgbtq fiction

[neovexinous]

Emergency Situation!

So, after asking around on a sub-reddit (by suggested to many to do so) it seems this situation my boyfriend and I are in have gotten so bad that we have no choice but to move out of here ASAP. I am already contacting Animal Rescue to resolve his mum's animal hoarding issue and I plan to contact authorities as soon as I can. I hate that it befalls to me to do this since we were really hoping his mum would finally see how fucked we are and actually try to help us improve the situation, but.. nope. She'd rather bitch about it and do fuck-all. I know hoarding is a seriously difficult issue to take care of and often requires intervention and, sadly, this intervention will be one hell of a rude awaking for his mum because we may lose this house. So yeah, I have no clue what Demir and I can do currently, we don't really have anyone that can give us a temporary place to stay and we don't have the money to just.. up and leave so I don't know what to do. We just... can't keep dealing with this forever. It's already affecting my health and is probably affecting his and his mum's. Half the house smells, badly, of cat piss and the entire house is falling apart, this cannot continue any longer. I do also know his mum may go into a fit of rage and kick me the hell out for doing this, but what choice do I have? She refuses to do anything about it, even when we've tried to get her to improve and tried to tell her that hoarding cats is making the living situation so much worse. Most I can do is ask to donate to my Ko-fi to help us out so.. here we go: https://ko-fi.com/littlesoftspacefluff ...I just hope this doesn't tear me and Demir apart. Basically, this is what one commenter has said (and all agree with them): "this is a really tough situation to be in but if i were in that situation, my actions would come down to one issue: safety. safety of those animals, and (despite her anger) safety for your boyfriend's mother. if floorboards are in danger of caving in, if water is leaking into the house, if animals are sick and suffering, someone has to step in to be a responsible adult here and it seems like that's fallen to you. floorboards are the least of the house's problems: your number 1 issue is that roof. any water coming in will weaken wood and cause mold, which will sicken the animals just as much as the humans there. water coming in could cause an electrical fire because water and power don't mix. even though you lack resources and transportation, if you call adult protective services for the safety of the humans and the ASPCA for the safety of the animals, then you all can get health and safety squared away. for APS though, i'm sure his mother will refuse to let anyone inside so you need to physically open the door for them and give them permission to come inside. you live there and have the power to invite them in. her owning the house means nothing. you say you want to fix up the house, but i need to tell you honestly, that its going to take hundreds of thousands of dollars to fix a house where floorboards are rotten through and every wall has mold. know how i know this? my family home where i grew up was left to sit for a few years while the housing market "stabilized." during that time, a pipe burst but because no one was living there, the house grew mold for an undetermined time period. the home insurance paid nothing and half the house was affected. as it turns out, the mold it grew was so toxic that no one was allowed inside without special suits and respirators which had to be stripped off after exiting the house then sent to be incinerated for safety. a quote to rip out all the walls/insulation/flooring/etc without treating the mold or rebuilding ANYTHING was going to cost 250k. if you are not in a place to spend that kind of money which you don't have, you all need to get out of there and sell the property as is so it can be torn down." EDIT: My boyfriend pleaded with me to hold off for a bit longer to try and push his mum to do some kind of improvement, I really didn't want to but.. I caved in since I am aware that if I do it immediately, he'd have a panic attack. This is still an emergency situation, I don't want to hold off for much longer. I won't be as active on here and I'll be putting off everything to focus on life, I can't just sit around and do nothing.

#help #looking to move #emergency

[luxuryflooringau]

What is the Best Flooring Material for Extreme Temps?

Did you know that extreme temperatures can result in floor damage? For this reason, your home's climate must be part of your consideration when floor shopping, especially if you live in an area with extreme temperature disturbances. For example, extreme heat or cold can cause wooden floors to warp.

The best flooring materials that work for extreme temperatures depend on your geography. Whether it's too hot or too cold, the environment impacts the floors differently and could affect your comfort, too. Look at your flooring options for different climates.

3 Best Selections for Drier Climates

Some flooring types react to dry air, resulting in disastrous outcomes. Some of these problems include cracks, gaps, or material shrinkage. If you want to avoid these issues, the following flooring options can minimise problems:

Vinyl Planks

Nothing beats vinyl planks when it comes to durability and versatility. This was built to resist scratches, water damage, and stains. It's also effortless to clean and maintain. You will enjoy shopping for vinyl because it comes in a broad range of finishes from natural stone to hardwood.

Engineered Hardwood

Engineered hardwood is your best bet if you want to enjoy the look of hardwood in a dry climate without worrying about cracks. It comes with protective layers on top of natural wood. These layers provide stability to prevent breakage in dry areas.

Tile

This is a versatile option for most climates because it has inherent insulative properties. This remains cool underfoot, so it works marvellously in dry and hot areas. You can also satisfy your design dreams as this comes in a plethora of styles and colours.

3 Best Selections for Hot and Humid Climates

High humidity means a lot of moisture or water vapour in the air. Unfortunately, untreated wood products will expand and warp in these conditions. That's why you typically don't find natural wood in warm and wet areas of your home, such as the bathrooms. If it's hot and humid in your locality, the following flooring options are better:

Hybrid floors

This is an excellent alternative if you want the look of hardwood in humid areas because it is 100% waterproof. If hybrid flooring is installed and maintained correctly, it can last for the long haul. It has many design options similar to vinyl, but it works better because some vinyl brands are not entirely water resistant and react with humidity, unlike hybrids. If you're concerned about moisture, this is the number one choice.

Porcelain Tile

Another top choice for humid places is porcelain tiles. That's why you'll find porcelain fixtures and tiles in bathrooms because this material handles water well since it won't expand or contract. You don't have to worry about warping because it doesn't absorb moisture. It's a durable material that you can't go wrong with.

Waterproof Engineered Hardwood

If you live in a very humid place but still want all-natural timber on your floors, the better alternative is waterproof engineered hardwood. Go for engineered hardwood with a water-resistant or waterproof top layer. This quality assures better performance in humid weather.

3 Best Selections for Cold Climates

Do you live in an area that's prone to snow and ice? If you live where the weather gets frigid, you need floors that resist moisture because snow and ice can be tracked inside. Also, you want a flooring material that won't freeze your toes. Instead, choose the flooring that provides some cosy warmth in winter. Check out these options for cold climate flooring.

Hybrid flooring

Hybrid flooring is a rockstar in cold locations because it is entirely waterproof. It has four layers: protective, design, core, and acoustic backing. As a result, you've got a stable floorboard that won't warp or cup. Hybrid flooring also feels stellar underfoot. This flooring material is the most excellent choice for colder climates because it's not just durable and affordable, it also comes with a wide array of design options to suit your home's theme. 

Vinyl planks

Vinyl is an adaptable material that warms up fast, making it a stellar flooring choice for temperate zones. More importantly, it has water-resistant properties, and high-end brands can be waterproof. If you want warmth and comfort, this also feels stellar underfoot even in cold winters. If you want to feel toasty warm in your home, even if it's freezing outside, vinyl planks won't let you down.

Laminate

Laminate is another affordable flooring option that's very easy to install. If you're doing a renovation project, the click-lock system can help installers "float" this on top of an existing floor. Hence, you save on time and labour costs. Moreover, laminate is made of composite wood, offering a lot of natural insulation. It can expand and contract without issue if it is correctly installed. It can handle a bit of water if you quickly wipe up any puddles or spills. Laminate is an excellent choice if you want to stay warm even if it's cold outside.

Regarding your flooring options, you must consider the climate, especially if you live in an area subject to extreme weather conditions. If you need help, call us; we can explain the pros and cons of flooring materials based on the climate in your location. We have a large selection of quality floors available. Check out our product gallery -  https://www.prolinefloors.com.au/

These extra ideas might be worth considering!

The Best Flooring for Extreme Temperatures

Extreme temperatures can cause unexpected damages to floors. That’s why your location’s temperature and climate should play a role in the flooring you choose, especially if you’re in an area that experiences extreme temperatures.

The best flooring for extreme temperatures depends on your specific climate because each harsh environment affects floors differently. Let’s look at the top flooring choices for various climates:

Here https://www.builddirect.com/blog/best-flooring-for-extreme-temperatures/

Source: https://luxury-flooring.blogspot.com/2022/12/what-is-best-flooring-material-for.html

[villageandcottage]

Can You Have a Log Burner Upstairs?

Log burners have been around for centuries, and they’re still one of the best ways to heat your home. They use wood logs as fuel and are controlled by a damper, which lets you control the airflow through the firebox.

But can you have a log burner upstairs? You can have a log burner upstairs if it’s connected to your chimney, well ventilated and installed on a non-combustible hearth.

As the logs burn, they release heat that is distributed throughout your home via flues or ducts. You can also add water to your logs before burning them in order to create steam that will heat your home even more effectively.

Lighting log burners are great because they provide lots of warmth without using electricity or gas. They’re also super-efficient: once you get one going, you won’t need to add any more fuel for hours. Plus, they create an amazing ambience in your home—and who doesn’t love that?

They can incredibly beautiful, and are available in a variety of styles – so they fit right in with any type of decorating style you might have going on. They can also add value to your home when it’s time to sell!

Can a Log Burner Fully Heat a Second-Story Building?

Yes, log burners can heat a second-story building. Heat rises, meaning the heat evolved from the log burner will inevitably make its way up to the second floor.

However, it’s important to note that the second story will likely not be as warm as the first story.

Heat is inevitably lost to the surroundings as it makes its way up and through your home. Furthermore, the heat from a log burner can be very localized (if you don’t have a network of flue pipes installed), meaning it will often only provide considerable heat for the room in which it’s located. 

If you have a second-story loft or bedroom, for example, you may want to consider installing an additional heat source in those rooms.

Which brings us to our next question…

Can You Have a Log Burner on a Second Floor?

Yes, in short, there’s nothing to stop you from installing a log burner in the second story of your home. There are obviously a few important things to consider, some of which may prove impractical:

In order to have a log burner on a second floor in a building, you’ll need to make sure that it’s connected to your chimney (may be difficult in most buildings from a second storey) and that your chimney is in proper working condition, and is properly insulated and ventilated.

The log burner would need to be installed on a non-combustible hearth. The upstairs floorboards would also need to be compliant with non – combustible regulations, and work would need to be carried out where necessary.

Upstairs rooms can be more enclosed, and less open to regular airflow and ventilation. In order to protect against the risks of carbon monoxide poisoning, care would have to be taken to ensure the upstairs space is well-ventilated.

If you’re still interested in installing a log burner upstairs, just make sure you get a building inspector to have a look first and determine if it would be safe.

Additionally, make sure you get a professional to carry out any of the required work/installations.

Can You Put a Log Burner Anywhere?

Yes, in theory, you can install a log burner anywhere in your home. However, in practice you might find it extremely difficult to install a log burner in certain rooms in your house.

You’ll need to make sure that these rooms have chimneys or flue pipes that connect to your home’s main chimney, or directly to the outside. Otherwise, you might struggle to keep carbon monoxide levels low enough to meet safety standards—and this could be dangerous for everyone who lives in your home!

In general, the best place to put your log burner is in the living room or kitchen. This is because the majority of the heat produced by a log burner will go towards heating these rooms and areas that tend to be the busiest.

Living rooms and kitchens are also often open enough and safe for a log burner installation.

If your installation is compliant with everything outlined in the previous paragraph, you should be completely fine putting a log burner anywhere in your house.

source https://villageandcottage.com/log-burners/can-you-have-a-log-burner-upstairs/

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

twould be motherfucking spectacular if i could get more than three uninterrupted hours of sleep

#it is genuinely difficult to tell if a person or a dog is walking around the kitchen #ah the fridge opened it's a person #but my landlord watches late night talk shows until like eleven thirty #lets the dog out around one-one thirty #gets a snack around two thirty-three #and wakes up to make a full breakfast at six #like my guy you have classes to teach when do you fucking SLEEP #part of the issue is that the beautiful exposed beams in this apartment are bc the contractor (or my landlord) didn't want to make #the effort to put a real ceiling in #so it's just floorboards no insulation nothing #and bc it's dry and col they have contracted a smidge and sometimes there is grit on my kitchen counters from ppl just walking around #upstairs. and i don't wanna tell them they can't walk around in their own house! #but by god this is a less than compatible living arrangement and it would bother me less if i wasn't trapped here 24/7 #since we're full on whinging now (why are you still reading this) i feel like i have tride very hard to be gentle and understanding #during these unprecedented times and the same has not been extended to me #~*i gotta start regular therapy again but that's a whole fucking conversation with my boss*~ #tbd #frank don't reblog

[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n

[carry-the-sky]

17 for the touch prompts ❤

crashing in a million years late ayyyy!

based on the prompts: a touch after an argument + person a wants the air on because they're overheating while person b wants the heater on because they're freezing

also on ao3

rated e. 

.

The room is milky with shadow when Karen blinks her eyes open, just light enough for her to trace the outline of Frank next to her. He must have kicked off the blankets sometime in the night—her gaze tracks the gentle slope of his chest, then drifts lower. He’s wearing boxers, but the rest of him is bare.

Karen tugs the comforter around her. Winter is still weeks away, but she can already feel it settling into the bones of her poorly-insulated apartment, leaking up through the floorboards and the worn weather stripping beneath her door. The cold reminds her of Vermont, dredges up old, brittle memories, but Frank sleeps better in it. She suspects he dreads the heat the same way she does the cold—it exhumes all the ugliness he’d rather leave buried, Afghanistan and Kandahar. Sand and blood.

That’s the only reason she hasn’t cranked the furnace. Instead, she’d pulled all her spare blankets from the closet last week and relocated them to the bed.

You cold? Frank had teased, the glint in his eyes turning molten when she replied, Why, you want to warm me up?

As it turns out, he did.

Heat blooms in the pit of her stomach at the memory. She aches to touch him, but he so rarely sleeps this peacefully—she can’t quite bring herself to wake him now.

Slowly, she starts to untangle herself from her cocoon of sheets and blankets, pushing up onto her elbows. She’s halfway to sitting when he stirs, rolls over so that he’s facing her.

“Mornin’,” he says, husky and low.

“Hey,” she says. “Did I wake you? I was just—”

Frank reaches for her, gently tugs until she’s folded into his side. One of his hands cradles her skull, fingers sliding into her hair, while the other slips around her waist. Pressed this close to him, Karen can feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. She anchors herself to that rhythm, to the familiar warmth of his arms around her. It’s been roughly a year since he showed up outside her door with roses and an apology, but mornings like this make her want to pinch herself.

She curls closer instead, toes sliding under Frank’s leg. He hisses, then huffs a laugh. “Shit, your feet are cold.”

“Good thing I have my own human furnace,” she replies, nuzzling his shoulder.

Frank snorts. “You tryin’ to tell me we should turn the heat on?”

“I grew up in Vermont, remember? This is nothing.”

“That right?” He juts his chin at the comforter still twisted around one of her legs. “You’re just sleepin’ with every blanket we own for the hell of it?”

It’s her turn to laugh, mouth curving against his neck, and she doesn’t miss the slight pulse of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. Sparks skitter up her spine. “If you have other suggestions for staying warm, I’m open to hearing them.”

Frank hums, thumb teasing the waistband of her leggings. “Just don’t want you to be uncomfortable on my account.”

There’s an edge in his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago, as clear to her as a flashing neon sign. She props up on one arm to look at him, all other thoughts momentarily driven from her head.

“Frank,” she says gently.

His gaze dances across her face in response, achingly soft in the dim morning light, and her chest constricts. Even now, that’s his path of least resistance: punish himself for something as benign as the apartment being slightly too cold. His war is over, but he’s still carrying it around with him. Still cutting himself on those sharp edges that time hasn’t managed to dull.

“Okay, you win,” she says. “I’m a little cold. But—” she leans down and kisses him gently. His mouth is warm, lips slightly chapped. Familiar landmarks to her now. Her hands bracket his face as she pulls back, pressing her lips to the bridge of his nose, then his forehead. “It’s hard to complain when it gives me an excuse to do that.”

Frank’s mouth crinkles into a grin. “Think I’m lettin’ you off the hook that easy?”

Karen slants her mouth over his again, deep and lingering. They’re both breathing a little heavier when she breaks away.

“You tell me,” she murmurs, hovering just above him. His breath fans across her mouth, lips brushing against hers, and then there’s no more space between them.

Karen weaves her arms around his neck, chasing the kiss. She can’t pinpoint the moment it goes from slow and soft to something else, something hungry—her teeth graze his lower lip, and Frank growls, tongue sliding into her mouth. His hands splay over her waist, warm and firm like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets her go.

She shifts her weight, caging his torso between her knees. Her hair falls around his face like a curtain, and his fingers skim over her breast as he reaches up to push it behind her shoulders. She can’t help it—her eyes flutter shut, a soft grasp breezing through parted lips.

Frank’s mouth drifts lower, trailing down her neck. He sucks at the soft skin above her collarbone, a teasing pressure that quickly turns primal as she rocks her hips flush with his. He bucks upwards, and the movement grinds her against the hard ridge of his erection. Hazy-hot desire jolts through her. She can feel every inch of him through the thin fabric of her pajamas, but it’s not enough.

Frank seems to share the sentiment. His hands slide up her spine, tugging her shirt over her head. Karen holds his gaze as she slips her pajama pants off, then her underwear. His eyes never leave her face, pupils blown wide and dark as oil spills.

In one fluid motion, they roll together so that she’s on her back. Frank dips his head and kisses her deeply, fingers tangling in the halo of her hair against the pillows; then he moves lower, his mouth finding the bud of her nipple. Karen moans low in her throat as his tongue works, licks a tightening spiral down her torso until his head is between her legs.

Frank groans, teeth grazing her thigh. Karen arches into him, breath coming sharp and quick, and his palms curl around her legs, steadying her. Then his mouth is on her, tongue slow and slick. She screws her eyes shut and tries to breathe. The world shrinks, everything going concave until it’s just Frank and his mouth and the hot tension coiling in her gut. She’s on the edge, fuck, she’s close—

“Wait,” she gasps, hands in his hair, pulling his head back. “Frank—”

He snaps his eyes up to her. He looks completely wrecked, lips swollen and wet. He’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Want you,” is all she can manage, still half-breathless, but her meaning is clear as crystal. Frank surges up, captures her mouth in a searing kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue. Dimly, she’s aware that he’s shucking his boxers off; his cock springs free, dragging across her thigh. He sinks into her with a smooth, long stroke.

It should feel like muscle memory by now, but she’s not sure she’ll ever get used to this, Frank above her, around her. The delicious stretch as he starts to move inside her. Sometimes it’s rougher than this, sometimes softer, but the way he touches her is always the same. Always reverent, like she’s something to be worshipped.

Karen wraps her legs around him, urging him on. He’s got one hand braced above her head as he begins to pump faster; the other slides around the column of her throat, angling her neck so he can bury his face there. His breath is jagged like the edge of a knife as he pants into her ear, his voice all gravel and smoke—I got you, I got you sweetheart, fuck, you’re fucking perfect, Karen, love you so much—

His hips snap, grinding up against her clit, and the guttural moan that rips from her throat is entirely involuntary. She’s so close she can almost taste it, pleasure welling up from the apex of her thighs—then it’s cresting, washing over her in waves of white heat and static. She lets it carry her away.

Through the haze of her afterglow, she feels the moment Frank follows, warmth spilling into her. He hovers above her, forehead tipped to hers as his breath evens out. Then he rolls off of her and onto his side. Karen’s arms wind around him, hands skimming the familiar topography of his back. For a moment they stay like that, tangled up together.

I want there to be an after. Words rolling off her tongue like water, every inch of her buoyant with hope. I want there to be an after, for you.

She pictured this. A future that felt impossibly distant, and now they’re using two hands, holding tight to it like it’s the only thing that matters.

“So, uh—” Frank’s voice cracks over his words, and he clears his throat before trying again. “Where’d we land on cranking the heat?”

Karen laughs softly. “Unbelievable.”

Frank pushes up onto an elbow and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. “Think I prefer keepin’ you warm this way.”

“Agreed,” Karen says, brushing her lips along his jawline. She feels a shudder ripple through him. It does something to her, knowing he wants her again even though he just had her. “It’s more cost-effective, obviously .”

Frank snorts, and then his mouth is on hers, and Karen can’t believe she was ever cold in the first place.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #kastle fic #my fic

[maiz-of-light]

Oh, great.

Exasperation and trepidation in turn claw at the merchant’s already-pounding skull. There’s absolutely no mistaking the green hat and tunic, stark against the wintry background; much less the black hilt protruding from beneath the knight’s fur-lined cloak. The sword itself is not an unusual accomplice to the man in green, but the cinder-skinned demon striding tall by his side…

Well, it’s not exactly a welcome sight. Nevertheless, when it comes to economics, beggars can’t afford to be choosey – and neither, for that matter, can Rupin.

Chords stiff with cold, he musters as cheery a greeting as he can manage.

“Welcome back, gentlemen!”

“You’re looking well, Rupin,” comes Link’s response, surprisingly smooth considering the way the air bites. There’s a subtle ruddiness to his cheeks.

“Thanks abound, dear boy! So tell me, will you two be buying or selling today?”

“Mostly buying, I think.”

A chill seems to catch in the merchant’s lungs, his mind grasping frantically for a tactful reply. While Mother wouldn’t dare deny the demon service so long as he remains in Link’s respected company, Rupin himself is sure to get an earful of her distaste for the creature once the pair have moved on.

“… Right,” is all he can manage. “Follow me, please…”

A bell chimes softly as the door slides inward, stray whisps of snow blowing over the threshold. Immediately beneath the entering humans, a burlap rug sits matted to the floor, its rough surface quick to catch the grime from their shoes. Several other rugs of far more lavish design catch and guide one’s eye towards a series of wooden frames and pedestals – and it’s here that Goselle’s sacred merchandise is lifted up on display, unfettered, ornately threaded glory for all in which to bask.

The woman herself, on the other hand, is somewhat less inviting.

Despite the chill, the windows remain open, and still Goselle fans herself. It’s unbelievably satirical, how someone so thoroughly insulated could exhibit so cold a glare as this shop owner now bestows upon her most recent customers. Boasting a haughty, deep-set frown, Mother glowers at their demonic patron with uninhibited contempt.

“Link,” she spits in icy acknowledgment, sunken eyes never leaving the knight’s companion. “I hope you are doing well.”

“We are,” he answers, though surely he senses the singularity of her blessings.

Goselle persists in her fanning as she speaks, ultimately favoring finance over revulsion.

“Is there something in particular that you are looking for?”

“Blankets.” Link’s boots thud lightly as he approaches the shelves built into the far wall, perusing with feigned interest. “Cushions. Maybe a rug-” he casts a glance towards his accomplice, who nods without nuance, “yes, definitely a rug.”

At the store’s opposite end roams the pale demon in his crimson mantle, perfect shoes soundless against the floorboards. It’s nothing short of eerie, how the creature carries himself. Since the last of his kind were driven out, now nearly four months ago, rumors unnumbered had been passed from ear to ear about the one who still remains, more often than not riddled with dark speculations and unflattering tales of his role in the war. Whether he had, in actuality, attempted to slay the Goddess herself seems a little farfetched, leastwise to Rupin, considering Zelda herself was the first to advocate for the demon. Even so, every time the merchant’s gaze is assaulted with that tall frame; that inhuman flesh; those dark, hate-filled eyes, part of him wonders what the creature truly isn’t capable of.

What really remains unclear, and surely not just to Rupin, is the nature of this being’s relationship with his knightly companion.

Mother’s features grow wary as that crimson-clad figure draws closer towards the doorway of her office, but he remains beyond its boundary, preferring to scrutinize a silver-trimmed tunic made of violet-dyed wool. Steadily, his gaze drifts towards a shelf lined with trousers, lingering on the darker-colored garments before eyeing the fanciful article with its matching cloak.

Arching a golden brow, Link deviates from his mission exploring rugs, hovering instead by the demon’s side.

“I thought you didn’t get cold?” he inflects with genuine curiosity.

Though his features hide behind his mantle, the demon’s tone conveys a solid lack of amusement. “Am I not allowed to look nice?” he retorts.

Link starts like a deer caught in lantern light, hand instinctively rubbing at his neck. “U-um,” he stammers, “I mean, it’s just…,” a shrug and a smile, “you always look nice.”

Almost reluctantly, Goselle emits a sharp laugh.

“That was quite a nice save, young man,” she croons, hiding her grin behind her fan.

*

My rough draft is done; still working on the whole ‘editing’ bit.

Almost there, loves!

Ye Who Enter Here

#ghiralink #skyward sword #legend of zelda #ghirahim #ss link #loz #tloz #what am i doing

[cursed-or-not]

Merry Christmas @dreamnovak  from your Secret Santa!! You’re truly, truly The Best and I’ve had sm fun writing for you <33 happy holidays to everyone!!

It’s a slow day at the Roadhouse, and the cold has crept in through the rickety doors and floorboards. Dean shivers behind the counter.

He thinks one day he’ll have to get around to fixing the insulation.

The air feels like snow.

Across the counter, Cas watches him intently.

“You look cold,” he says finally.

Dean shrugs. “Not too bad. Feels like it’s gonna snow, though.”

Cas’ head tilts in confusion. “How do you predict snow with just a feeling?”

Dean stares back at him, affronted. He couldn’t explain how, but he’s spent enough time driving around the Midwest to recognize the heaviness of the air and smell of an oncoming storm.

“It’s in the air, Cas! Don’t look at me like that. I know what it feels like before a storm.”

Cas seems to decide to back down.

“Well, I hope it’s a good thing,” he mumbles.

This time, it’s Dean’s turn to look puzzled.

“The snow?”

Cas nods.

“Jack decided to keep all four seasons. I believe he said something about maintaining authenticity.”

“It’s a good thing,” Dean assures him simply.

Cas barely nods in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the empty tables. Dean picks up on his gaze.

“If you really wanna fix something, it wouldn’t hurt for Jack to give me a few more customers,” Dean quips, knocking his knuckles on the counter where Cas sits alone.

“We can’t force people to support your business,” Cas grumbles. “I thought you believe in free will.”

“Woah, I was just saying it’d be nice,” Dean defends. He wonders if Cas can tell from his face that the comment elicited the exact response he’d been looking for. Dean has found over the last few months that there’s no one he’d rather banter with than Cas.

“Well, you might do better to attempt to attract customers on your own.” Cas says it so sincerely that Dean knows he’s just doing it to tease him.

“Hey!” Dean responds, making his voice as wounded as he can manage.

When Cas just smiles, Dean leans towards him, resting his elbows on the counter, and continues.

“I mean, at least I know there’s one customer I can always count on to show up,” Dean says with a smile.

“If you’re referring to me, I don’t come because of your incredible business practices,” Cas responds, and Dean can’t tell if it’s an insult to his work ethic or a compliment to his personality.

Dean decides to take whatever it means and push his luck.

“Yeah? What keeps bringing you back then?”

At that, Cas looks up, and any teasing is gone from his expression.

“You know the answer to that,” he says simply, and Dean can feel his face burning.

He’s been dancing around this every possible chance.

“Cas…” Dean says softly, eyes fixed firmly on the counter.

“Dean,” Cas echoes, and Dean can practically hear the sad smile behind that tone.

Dean risks a glance up, and Cas’ eyes are searching his face. Dean looks back down.

“It’s okay, you know” Cas says simply. Sincerely.

Dean lets out a breath.

Cas continues, “I know you need more time. I think it’s a testament to how much you’ve grown that you were even willing to tell me that much, and I appreciate your honesty.”

Dean shakes his head barely perceptibly.

“Hey,” Cas says gently, and his hand moves like he might reach out before it falls back. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

God. Sometimes Dean wishes Cas wouldn’t make everything seem so easy and so difficult at the same time. He wishes it didn’t always have to be so complicated with them.

He wishes Cas wouldn’t tell him that it’s okay when Dean is still struggling to work up the courage to be happy.

Dean looks up.

“It’s not,” Dean says, and Cas looks ready to object, so Dean just pushes forward.

“I mean, some of it is. I’m not saying I’m not worthy or I did something wrong, but I’m saying I didn’t do it like I should’ve and I--” Dean pauses, searching for whatever it is he wants to say. “I’m not sure it was fair to you,” he says carefully.

Cas’ expression softens.

“Dean,” he says, and he always manages to say Dean’s name like it’s more than it is. He always manages to put so much meaning into it. “I’ve waited my entire life-- a millenia-- for you. A few weeks is nothing.”

Dean feels like he’s had all the air knocked out of him. Before, he couldn’t look Cas in the eye, but now he can’t stop searching his face.

Dean takes a breath to steal himself, and he feels his resolve crumble. He reaches across the counter to catch Cas’ hand in both of his.

“I’m never gonna deserve you,” Dean tells him, and his throat feels almost too tight to get the words out.

“No,” Cas objects. “No. Dean, I meant every word I told you that night. Not just the ‘I love you,’” Cas says, and his voice is so fierce that Dean can’t help but look away. Cas’ other hand comes up to rest on Dean’s, too.

“You’re a hero, Dean,” Cas says simply. “And the best brother, father, and friend in this universe or any other. And,” Cas adds with a smile, “you’re an above-average bartender.”

“Above average, huh?” Dean asks, eyes still prickling with tears but chest less tight than before.

“The best of the mediocre,” Cas confirms, and Dean lets out a snort at the deadpan humor.

He lets the moment hang in the air for a moment before speaking up.

“Maybe I just need a good business partner,” Dean says slowly, watching Cas’ face carefully.

Cas waits for Dean to say more, and Dean supposes that’s fair; it’s his turn.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this alone anymore,” Dean says, forcing his voice to sound more matter-of-fact than he feels. “None of it.”

Cas’ face softens again, looking impossibly fond.

“You always have me,” he says with such conviction that Dean chokes out what could pass as a laugh.

“Thanks, man.” He clears his throat. “Thank you. But, uh, I was thinking maybe we try to do things differently. Only if you want,” Dean says, heart pounding. He hopes Cas doesn’t feel his hands shaking.

“Differently?”

Dean shrugs, doing his best to look indifferent.

“As I said, I’m with you no matter what, but if you wanted to specify…” Cas trails off expectantly.

Dean clears his throat again, looking down to where his hands previously held Cas’.

“Differently, like, maybe we see each other more. Not just here, but-- dinner and stuff,” Dean finishes lamely.

Cas narrows his eyes.

“We already do eat dinner together sometimes.”

“You’re killing me, man,” Dean huffs a laugh before taking a deep breath and trying again. “Okay, so, maybe we also… live together?” Dean says nervously, risking only a quick glance to see Cas’ face.

“I’ve already lived with you, in the bun--”

“Cas, I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you,” Dean snaps.

Cas’ eyes don’t leave Dean’s face as he responds with a simple, “Oh.”

“‘Oh?’ What the hell does ‘oh’ mean?!”

Cas almost looks amused.

“You already know I love you, too,” he points out, and Dean hates how rational a thing to say it is.

“Things could’ve changed,” Dean points out in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

‘They haven’t,” Cas says, and Dean can’t help but stare at him in wonder. “They won’t.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Dean says hoarsely. He wishes he could only blame the cold for the goosebumps on his arms.

“Thank you for talking to me,” Cas murmurs, and Dean feels himself melt at the softness of it.

Dean thinks he couldn’t have put this off any longer if he tried.

“Thank you for being… you,” Dean responds, and something in his chest aches at the fondness in the look Cas responds with.

Dean’s hand finds its way back to Cas’.

“You were right, you know,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean waits for him to specify. “It started snowing a couple minutes ago,” he mutters, and Dean laughs at the reluctant confession.

He looks out throught the fogged-up window, and the snowflakes swirl lazily downward. Circling and then falling.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me for a little while,” Dean says with a smile.

Neither of them point out the fact that Cas has his wings back, nor does Dean acknowledge that the few flakes outside aren’t nearly enough to prevent anyone from driving.

“I guess I am,” Cas responds. He glances outside. “Through tomorrow too, I expect. Just in case the storm continues.”

Dean nods in mock solemnity. “Probably safest for you to stick with me for a month or so, actually. Maybe the next year or two. You never know with storms like this.”

They watch the snow keep coming. Cas squeezes Dean’s hand.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says, and Dean’s not quite sure what the gratitude is for, but he accepts it. He leans farther across the counter, squeezing Cas’ hand.

“You, too-- for everything. Thanks, Cas.”

“You still look cold,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“Well, guess you’ll have to keep me warm,” he responds smoothly.

“Until the storm’s over,” Cas agrees.

“Oh,” Dean says, pretending to check his watch as he leans in closer, “I think longer than that.”

Cas breathes into the small space between them, and then Dean bridges it.

Around them, the snow keeps falling.

Settling.

#I wanted to do smth w claire for you but i Could Not make it work so I'm really hoping this is okay!! and I'm sorry it's not much!! #but you're truly one of my favorite writers and ppl on here mae just so you know #I was both elated and terrified to find out I was your secret santa lol #spnfamsecretsanta #destiel #spn fanfic #supernatural #mine