#her driving away and switching the radio off every time a sad love song plays??? calling her MOM about emma?????? come ON

[just-spacetrash]

giys im watching marianne and if that fucked up writer and her assistant dont makeout before marianne kills the assistant im suing

[levithestripper]

What Kind of Music Do the Scouts + Marley Warriors Listen to in the Car?

✩ Masterlist! ✩

✩ Taglist: @myglitteringstardust @alicchi @sleepysnk @waywardsongbird3 @aestosia✩

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✩ Warnings: Modern AU! ✩

Eren listens to either rock music or whatever just happens to be on the radio at the time. I hate to be basic here but he listens to bands like The Beatles and Led Zeppelin, but he's not opposed to bands like Arctic Monkeys and The Cure. He's one of those guys that wear those low-cut underarm tank tops and bashes his head to the song while he's driving.

Armin, on the other hand, prefers softer pop songs like Ricky Montgomery and Lewis Capaldi. He likes to listen to the slow, sad songs that aren't totally straight forward with the message. Mostly so he can cry over them in the car when he's feeling down or depressed. He does that a lot.

Mikasa likes those classic sad emo girl songs like Paramore's 'Emergency' and 'Perfect' by Simple Plan. Eren makes fun of her for this like you have no idea. When they're in the car together, Eren skips all of the songs until he reaches the end of her playlist, switching over to his.

Jean likes heavy rock like Eren and soft emotional songs like Armin. This man has a playlist with such different genres of music on it that it'll give you whiplash. It'll go from Green Day, to Dear Evan Hansen, Hamilton, to All Time Low. Sometimes there's a few Disney classics thrown in there to spice it up. The first time you take a car ride with him, it freaks you out and simultaneously amuses you how one man could have so many music interests.

Connie likes rap music of any kind. He thinks he's the best shit since he can 'sing along' with it, but he can't. He just mumbles out a bunch of garbage that he pretends are the words. Don't tell him that though, because he'll either get defensive or he'll cry there's no in between.

Connie and Sasha may be best friends, but their tastes in music can't be more different. Sasha likes to listen to K-Pop and anime theme songs. No, there's no convincing her that they're all not as good as she thinks they are, just let her enjoy them.

Hange likes hard rock/screamo music. They'll blast Pierce the Veil out of their room at all hours of the day, making Levi lose his fucking mind. He'll knock on her door until she turns it down or until she opens the door for him and he marches inside to turn it down for them.

Erwin listens to Christian pop music. This is the hill I choose to die on. He unironically sings it in the car, the shower, the kitchen when he's cooking. Hange and Levi can't get away from it. They want to rip their ears off. Send help.

Levi, surprisingly enough, has the same/similar music tastes as Eren and Jean. He likes to sing along to Disney songs -especially the musicals- like The Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, dare I say Frozen. He is a grown fucking man that listens to 'Love Is an Open Door' in the shower and sings along like a five-year-old hyped up on Pixy Stix's. Imagine this, you see him driving down the street and are stopped next to him at a traffic light. He rolls down his windows. You expect to hear heavy metal based on his appearance, but instead 'That's How You Know' from Enchanted blasts from his window.

Mike listens to dub-step. He hooks his phone up to his car and plays an hour long video of dub-step mix. He has a playlist of just dub-step remixes of songs and puts it on shuffle sometimes. He likes to be able to bob his head when he drives, at least now he doesn't look crazy.

Reiner is the king of crying himself to sleep with sad love songs. Lewis Capaldi, Adele, 'Be Alright' by Dean Lewis, the 'If I Die Young' cover by Michael Henry and Justin Robinett. Please get him therapy. Or a girlfriend. Both. Probably both. He sits in his car at night and plays them on repeat until he cries, it helps made him feel better.

Pieck is a basic bitch that likes the generic pop songs that air on the radio. She doesn't care what she listens to really, as long as the beat is nice she'll enjoy it. Whether it be Taylor Swift-esc songs or the occasional rap song, sometimes even Jason Derulo.

Porco likes to think hes all tough and manly by saying he listens to rap and hard rock, but in reality he likes 5 Seconds of Summer and All Time Low. He listens to the alternative channel (think Alt Nation on SiriusXM). He wants to be a drummer for a band at some point, so he's definitely that kid that taps his pencils against the desk or drums his fingers on his steering wheel.

Falco thinks he's cool because he listens to Alt music that the 'plebs' haven't listened to yet. He's that poser everyone has in their middle school classes that makes fun of people that are content with the music on the normal channels.

When I say Colt is a big softie, I mean he is a big softie. He and Armin like to take late night drives places, talking about nothing and everything which Ricky Montgomery playing in the background. They go and get McDonald's together and sit in the parking lot, chatting away until they realize it's three AM.

Annie actually really likes techno/electronic style songs. She's really picky about the ones she listens to though. Most of the time she dances to them though, or she jams out to them in the car if she's alone. But overall, she's not the biggest music fan.

Udo unapologetically enjoys folk/country music. Falco makes fun of him so much for it like that child is an asshole- Udo will be in his room and blast 'Black Lung' by The Dead South until Falco screams across the hall. He may be quiet, but he's 12 years old and an asshole.

Zofia likes Rihanna and Ariana Grande. She's actually respectful and puts in headphones when she listens to her playlist, unlike her two asshole neighbors.

Bertolt is a sweet boy that listens to mainstream pop music and video game songs. He likes to listen to the nature noises and background music of open world games, they help calm him down if his anxiety gets really bad, and they help him fall asleep. It's a big comfort/coping mechanism for him. He falls asleep with his earbuds in almost every night. This sweet boy. This sweet boy, just tuck him in and kiss his forehead when you put him to bed.

[kpopmalereader]

dessert ; lee taeyong

• summary: taeyong meets your parents for the first time, and it doesn’t go so well • pairing: lee taeyong x male!reader • word count: 2094 • to do

You tap along the steering wheel. A song plays quietly on the radio, barely heard even in the silence of the car. You breathe out and shake the thousands of thoughts running through your head around. 

“Okay, I’m going to give you the run-down on some things.”

He watches you for a second, waiting for you to continue. He hopes for something to calm his nerves, but instead, you begin warning him of everything your mom may do to make his life more difficult.

“So, don’t serve yourself first. My mom is going to say you should get food, but you’re going to decline and smile that pretty smile, and then after everyone else gets food, we’re going to get some. And you don’t start eating until my dad takes the first bite.” You think over everything you’ve seen your dad disprove of or your mom mention after meeting one of your cousin’s spouses. “And there’s going to be a dish in front of you, and my mom will say she messed up the recipe or doesn’t like it and wants you to try it and you’re going to pretend it’s the best thing ever and even if you don’t like it much you need to get a second serving.”

Taeyong listens. He waits for you to continue speaking, watching your chest move up and down with your face, switching emotions every few words.

“And offer to help clean up but if she says no, don’t ask again, just nod and say you can help if she needs it. Then when dessert comes, get a slice of cake and compliment the icing and ask about the recipe so my sister can get some compliments.”

You continue to talk about things your parents and siblings will do. Taeyong stays quietly next to you. He’s trying to keep track of everything you say, but soon your words are blending together, and he’s left stranded in his thoughts.

You finally arrive in front of your parent’s house and park the car. “Was there anything else?”

You look at Taeyong for an answer. He looks at you. Lost in the situation at hand.

“It’ll be fine. They will… love you.”

“I hope so.” Taeyong smiles and pats your leg.

You flip down the vanity mirror and scan yourself. Taeyong straightens out his shirt. He waits for you to open your door but after a minute of waiting for it and it not happening, he broaches the silence and the halted breaths. He pats your shoulder and opens the passenger side door. He waves for you to follow him and walks three steps towards the door.

You groan and step out. Your shoulders are hunched forward, and you seem lost as you trudge past Taeyong. You take his hand as you walk and pull him along. He waits with more patience than you would have in front of the door, with your knuckles hovering over the center of it. You squeeze your eyes shut and rap your fingers against the frame before you back out of the meeting entirely.

Before the drive over, Taeyong was nervous. He spent hours getting ready, talking himself up even longer before that, and was prepared for you to tell him it would all be okay. Instead, when you arrived, he saw helplessness in your eyes, and the first words out of your mouth were of quitting. You’ve spent the entire day mumbling about what you hope your parents will do and how you want your sister to act and what Taeyong should do, and how you should act.

Your dad opens the door. You look similar, but your dad wears a stoic expression that would be foreign on your face. His eyes are bored as he looks over you. He doesn’t say anything and steps back, gesturing with his hand for you to come inside. You gulp and pull Taeyong in. Taeyong can see your father eyeing him up and down as he passes. He’s silently exhilarated that he’s on the opposite side of you.

Your dad points past you, into the kitchen, and you nod your head. You roll your shoulders back. You give yourself a moment before you walk into the kitchen. Your mom stands in front of the stove, mixing something in a large pot. She looks over at you and smiles.

It’s a weird smile that makes Taeyong uncomfortable. A scrutinizing and fake-happy smile even Taeyong can read through. She walks over and hugs you. Both of you are stiff with the movement. Your sister is flipping through a cookbook and barely looks up when you say hello. Your mom shoos you out of the kitchen and tells you to stay in the living room until the food is done.

Your dad is nowhere to be seen, which makes Taeyong nervous, but being able to hear the puttering of your mom and sister in the kitchen helps slightly. You hold Taeyong’s hand and fiddle with his fingers.

The dinner is completed soon after, and your sister silently beckons you into the dining room. You sit at the end of the table, with Taeyong next to you, but your mom shakes her head at you when she places the first dish down. You sigh and stand up, moving to sit across from Taeyong. He reaches forward with his foot, knocking his toes against the bottom of your shoe.

Your mom finishes placing all of the dishes on the table and finds the seat across from your dad. She slowly picks her napkin up and drapes it across her lap. Then, as if on cue, she asks Taeyong to serve himself first.

He politely declines and shakes his head when your mom offers it again. Your dad serves himself first, then your mother. Your sister doesn’t hesitate to grab a spoon before your mother is even finished. You help yourself next and nod for Taeyong. He serves himself and waits.

Your dad begins to eat, and the dinner continues in painful silence. Your mom takes a bite and watches Taeyong. She waits until nobody has food in their mouths and gestures to the dish in front of Taeyong.

“I think I may have added too much salt. Do you think you could taste it for me? Give me your honest opinion.”

You watch Taeyong with bated breath as he gives himself a serving and takes a bite. He hums approvingly and begins to compliment it. He serves himself more and continues to eat it, hoping his reaction didn’t seem as fake as it felt.

You tap on your thigh, looking straight down the entire dinner. After your father is finished eating, your mom begins to clean everything up, interrupting you and Taeyong from stuffing your face to avoid the silent stares. She picks up your plate and points to the dishes upon dishes of food. 

“Grab some of that and come help me.” She states, and you prepare yourself.

“Would you like me to help?” Taeyong asks, placing his napkin down.

“No.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it, but her straight face and stern voice are evidence enough for him to stay still.

You gather the food, shooting Taeyong a “save me” look. You follow your mom into the kitchen and begin to divide the leftovers into containers.

She begins speaking, and your heart falls to a halt. “So, he is the one you spoke about?”

“Yes.” Your reply is curt. Not wanting and not ready for any argument but aware one is to come.

“Hm.”

“I don’t want to hear it, mom.” You shake your head and stack the dirty dishes. “He’s nice and sweet. He loves me. I love him. I brought him here because I thought it was the polite thing to do.”

“Is he the reason you’ve begun speaking like this?” She asks, waving around a spoon as if it’s the most menacing weapon in existence.

You hold back from rolling your eyes. “I’ve always thought these things, and I’ve wanted to say them for a while now.”

“Is this the person we’ve raised you to become?” She asks. She puts down the spoon and shakes her head. “I’m disappointed.”

“You’re disappointed I’ve found a person I wanted to bring home? Is that why you’re disappointed, or are you disappointed that I found someone that makes me happy?”

“I’m glad you’re happy. I think you could be happy with a nice girl and have a wonderful family. A girl who listens and obeys-”

“Obeys?” You gasp out the word. You place the dishes in the sink and begin running water. “That’s barbaric, even for you.”

The soap pumps out slowly, needing to be refilled soon. Your mom stacks up unused containers to put back in cabinets. You stay in silence for a while before your mom decides it would be best to speak again.

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anyone.” You wash the plates and cooking dishes, shaking your head the entire time. “I don’t need you to approve of him. I just want you to be nice to him. I know our family isn’t big on conversation, but the least you can do is talk to him.”

“We don’t like him. Are we supposed to lie to him?”

“You didn’t give him a chance! You don’t even know him-”

“I-”

You speak louder than you ever have in front of your parents. “You don’t like him because he’s a man!”

“Don’t you raise-”

You shake your head and turn off the water, throwing the scrub brush down. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m sorry I have these beliefs. I’m sorry we raised you-”

“Yeah, you raised me straight, and you see that turned out.” You shake your head and roll your eyes. “You didn’t even give him a chance, mom. Why does his gender matter? Why do you care about anything other than him making me happy?”

“Because your happiness doesn’t matter compared to-”

You tune her voice out halfway through the sentence. She stands, talking, as tears prick the corners of your eyes. You pull at your hair. You start to argue against her, opening and closing your mouth repeatedly. You push through the dining-room door. She yells at you not to walk away from her, but you ignore it, and the looks and complaints from your father for raising your voice or causing a scene.

“I’m sorry I brought you here,” You hold your hand out for Taeyong and smile. It’s a sad smile that Taeyong never wants to see again, and your heartbreak is visible behind the motion. “We should go.”

Taeyong no longer cares about impressing your family. Instead, all of his worry goes into your sad eyes and defeated posture. He stands, not looking at your sister’s angry manner, and walks you out of the house without a second thought.

He sits in the driver’s seat this time. Tears spill over your cheeks as the doors finally close and you cover your face.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? None of that was your fault.”

“I shouldn’t have-” You sniff and shake your head. “I shouldn’t have brought you. I had hoped they would act differently. I hoped they would finally be accepting, but I knew. I knew they were going to give you the cold shoulder tonight. I knew my mom was going to act like that.”

You wipe at your face. You’re rolling your eyes, and Taeyong isn’t sure if it’s at yourself or your family.

He reaches out to rub your shoulder, waiting for you to calm down a bit more before he speaks. “It’s not your fault your family acts like that. Nothing you did, especially not dating a guy, deserves that kind of treatment.”

“But I knew they were going to do something like that, and I still forced you to come along.”

“You didn’t force me to do anything.” Taeyong turns to you and takes your hand in his. “I willingly came along.”

You lean your head back, sighing deeply. “I’m still sorry.”

Taeyong pats your shoulder. He kisses your knuckles softly. “I’m just upset we couldn’t get dessert. Those cookies looked pretty good.”

You start smiling halfway through his statement, and you’re laughing by the end. He smiles with you. 

“It’s not your fault. And if you ever want to go back, even after I saw how they were acting, I’ll be happy to join you.”

You breathe out and shake your head. “That’s not going to happen any time soon.”

[ptergwen]

play me a song

listen to thinking out loud while reading for a good cry!

a/n: i made myself big sad with this so you’re all welcome for that. also i know zero things about the guitar ummm if anything doesn’t make sense i’m SORRY i tried my BEST :(

-

it’s a chill weekend for you and the rest of the holland-osterfield-barrett household. you’re each spread out doing your own things. tuwaine is on the couch playing video games, harrison is chasing tessa across the backyard, harry is taking videos of it for instagram, and you’re outside reading while it all goes down.

the last time you saw tom was at lunch, where he quickly excused himself from the table after pecking your lips and tossing his plate in the sink. he must have gotten an idea. an idea he’s really into.

whenever tom is passionate about something, he gives it all the energy he has and works until he can’t anymore. everyone knows it. he wants the results to make himself and, more importantly, anyone else who sees to feel good. big projects or small, they all matter the same to him. his dedication to everything he does is genuinely one of the things that you admire most about him.

“tessa, no! leave the chickens be,” harrison scoops her up in his arms before she can reach the chicken coop, only to be tackled down. tessa is a lot stronger than you’d think. she holds harrison down with her paws and sniffs all over his face. snickering behind the camera, harry zooms in on the two of them on the ground.

you love those boys and obviously tess to death, but the chaos is distracting you from your book. you fold down the page you’re on with a quiet laugh to yourself and head inside. not to your surprise, tuwaine is staring up at whatever new video game he‘s gotten the rest of the house obsessed with. you’re the only one who isn’t a gamer, and you stand by that.

“hey, t. mind if i sit?” his eyes stay glued to the screen. he smashes a bunch of buttons on his controller, taking out an earbud once he’s killed some sort of alien in robot tech. “nah, it’s cool. i’ve been stuck on level nineteen for ages. help your boy out.” “i’ll pass.” you take a seat next to him on the couch. “i’m not good at anything unless it’s nintendo. maybe ask tom.”

a noise of defeat plays in tuwaine’s earbuds. he curses under his breath and leans forward to see better. “i’ve already tried, man’s busy upstairs. this is my sixth try on this crap.” “good luck to you, buddy.” you pat his back, flipping open your book.

your reading is once again interrupted a few minutes later. the noise is coming from upstairs this time... pretty noise. music. now you’re intrigued. so you don’t bother tuwaine, you get up without a word and leave your book on the couch. the music gets louder as you walk up the stairs.

it sounds like chords on a guitar, and it’s coming from yours and tom’s room. your heart soars when you realize tom is the one playing them. he’s shown you a few old videos of him strumming to songs, but he hasn’t had time for his guitar in a while. it’s so to wonderful to hear him pick it up again.

when you reach your bedroom door, you stand outside and listen to tom try out different harmonies. they’re simple, but beautiful. he never ceases to amaze you with each and every one of his talents. you know he’ll get embarrassed if you go in now, so you wait until he’s finished.

“i’ll be down in a few, tuwaine. i’m just-“ tom glances up and sees it’s you standing in the doorway. a shy smile takes over his lips. “you’re not tuwaine. what’s up, bug?” “i heard you playing,” is all you can say. you’re still moved by what you heard. perking up a bit, he motions for you to come closer with a nod of his head. you do.

“did you?” “mhm. it sounded really good, tom. you should play more often.” he lays his head on your stomach from where you’re standing. your fingers start to comb through the curls that recently grew back. his exhale of relief encourages you to continue the soft way you’re tugging at his hair. he’ll never get tired of the feeling.

“i was only messing around, getting used to it again. thought it would be nice to do a video for the fans.” there’s your modest tom. “i’m sure they’d love that. they’ve been begging you for the longest time. is that what you were thinking about at lunch?” you twirl one of his curls around your finger. he nods against you.

“how to cheer everyone up, yeah. myself included. it’s refreshing to do something different for a change, y’know?“ it’s bittersweet hearing him say that. on one hand, he’s happy about switching things up. on the other, he didn’t have that spark before.

you simply press your lips to his hair, his hands running up and down the back of your legs. “i know, my love. i know. i even tried reading earlier.” “and that went...” tom starts, a teasing tone to his voice. “i couldn’t focus ‘cuz harry and haz were terrorizing tessa. then i came up here.” “poor girl. those idiots are always causing trouble.”

there’s a comfortable silence that falls between you two. tom just enjoys how calming it is to have you toying with his hair. “tom?” your voice comes out almost as a whisper. “hm?” “i was just wondering, could you play me a song?”

you’re met with a beaming tom when he pulls away to look at you. “come sit.” he parts his legs, holding his guitar off to the side. you sit criss cross in the space he leaves and lean your head back on his shoulder. tom’s chin rests on your own shoulder with his head turned to see you.

both of his arms around you, he holds the guitar out. you pluck a random string to test how it sounds. tom smiles at that and copies the note you played. “i could give you a lesson sometime, if you wanted?” he offers lowly, not sure if you’ll be interested. “really? that would be so cool, yeah.”

tom nudges your neck with his nose, drawing out a giggle from you. “i’ll start with a mini one before the song.” he grabs his guitar pick and slides it over a few strings at the same time. “what was that?” “it’s called a C chord, which just so happens to start what i’m playing.” you reach up and ruffle his hair again. “good transition. ok, it’s all you now.”

taking a breath, he pats the guitar four times in a rhythm. he’s counting down in his head. his fingers hover over the strings before beginning to strum the melody. it doesn’t take too many notes for you to know exactly what song he’s playing. thinking out loud by ed sheeran.

it was on the radio the night tom asked you to be his girlfriend. you’d been driving around in the rain after a dinner date, going absolutely nowhere, killing time that you finally had to spend together. you just finished belting out one of your favorite songs for him. by the first chorus of thinking out loud, the two of you were officially a couple and kissing in his audi on the side of the road.

you close your eyes and let yourself go back to the memory, tom holding you tighter against him. you’re positive you’ll start bawling if you look at him right now. the feeling only gets stronger when he starts humming along. the only times you really hear him sing are in the shower or happy birthday, which makes all of this so touching and so special. you can’t help the tears welling up in your eyes.

tom is on the second verse of the song when he realizes you’re crying. he puts the guitar next to him, gently holding your face in his hands. “why are you crying, lovebug? does it sound that bad?” his voice comes out quiet. he uses his thumbs to wipe the tears off your cheeks. you wave your hand dismissively and give him a teary smile.

“no, no, you’re doing amazing. keep going.” “not until you talk to me, y/n.” tom lowers his head to be level with you. you meet his eyes that are filled with concern. “that’s our song,” you murmur. “and it reminded me of some stuff, and i just love you so much, tom. you- you have no idea.”

he nuzzles his face into your neck again, leaving a soft kiss off to the side. “god, i love you even more.” another kiss. “i’ve always thought this song describes us perfectly. sort of like it was meant to be playing when i popped the girlfriend question. believe it or not, listening to it makes me pretty emotional too.” “i do believe it. you’re a big crier, tommy. it’s a known fact at this point.”

you feel him chuckling against your skin, joining in his laughter. “since we’re all good now,” he speaks after a little while. you already know what he’s about to do, grinning at him when he places his guitar in your lap. “how about i finish serenading my girl?”

[adoraang]

She-Ra Week Day 5 by @fauxghosts

Prompt: PRINCESS PROM / healing

Summary: When Glimmer and Bow bet Adora she can't ask Catra to prom before the end of the spring musical, she gets frustrated with her feelings.So what do you do when you've got a bunch of pent up frustration?You duke it out in the Denny's parking lot with your crush in a lightsaber duel.

Read it on AO3

“You’re not gonna do it.”

“I am not gonna do it,” Adora said dramatically as they stepped off the stage after finishing Act Two.

Their school, after constant begging, had finally decided to do a production of Les Miserables. After doing things like Seussical (they don’t talk about that) and High School Musical (nothing wrong with it, just mundane), the theatre department wanted something more serious. Something that would challenge them.

So they forced their director, Double Trouble, to fight with the school about doing Les Mis. Despite some of the… suggestive stuff from the show, the school probably didn’t want to fight some theatre kids, and let them have their show.

The audition process is always the scariest. Being a soprano, she only had one role really available to her: Cosette. Glimmer and Bow peer pressured her into auditioning for a lead instead of going straight to ensamble, and she still wasn’t going to do it, but then Catra asked her to do it, and she couldn’t say no.

Adora ended up cast as Cosette, and she had practically cried of happiness when the cast list came out. Glimmer had gotten Fantine, being a very low mezzo. But then Catra’s name was listed for Eponine, and she just about proposed right there.

They were far from love interests. In fact, they were love rivals. Sea Hawk was the one playing Marius, and the two girls spent the entire show in love with him, which wasn’t the funnest. Neither of them even liked boys, so for Catra’s character to die because she was delivering a letter to Marius… It was a trip.

Even if they weren’t true love interests, and only shared one song with each other that wasn’t the Act One finale, Catra and Adora still spent the most time in rehearsal together. Ironic, because the one song was called A Heart Full Of Love, and it’s Adora’s hardest song, in her opinion.

She gushed about Catra to Bow and Glimmer everyday in the car home from rehearsal. “Guys, I think my heart is full of love. Would it be weird to ask Double Trouble to switch Marius and Eponine? I’d rather spend the whole show simping about Catra then Sea Hawk-”

“Adora!” Glimmer cut off. “You’ve been halfway in love with Catra since Seussical, and I think that’s saying something. You should tell her. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“She rejects me, never talks to me again, drops out of the show, and I can’t spend the rest of senior year with her or college, since we’re both going to University of San Diego together to major in theatre, and she’ll never want to be in another role with me!”

“You’re freaking out again,” Bow childed, not turning away from the street as he drove. “You know Catra isn’t like that. And I don’t think she’ll reject you in the first place.” “I am so tired of hearing Adora talk about Catra when Catra probably likes her back,” Glimmer growled. “I’m going to do something about it.”

She reached into her pocket, and Adora almost hopped over the console. She thought they were going to call Catra and tell her something, and it was enough to make her take off her seatbelt, despite Bow’s car safety. “Glimmer, wait-”

Instead, she pulled out her wallet. “I will give you fifty dollars if you ask Catra to Princess Prom as a romantic date. I’ll double the offer if you do it before closing night.”

“An extra twenty if she says yes!” Bow chimed in.

Glimmer and Bow don’t struggle with money, so a hundred wasn’t a lot for them, but Adora’s eyes grew wide as she thought about it. Of course, it involved asking Catra out, but she’d figure that out later. “You have a deal.”

“Now please put your seatbelt back on!” Bow screeched, his voice cracking.

Which brought them to now, as they got into position for curtain call. She’d be bowing with Sea Hawk after Catra had hers with Kyle (who played Enjorlas, and it’s still shrouded in mystery how he got the role). Glimmer was one of the first to bow, but she still caught the wink as she walked away.

“That thing is huge,” Catra mumbled when she got in line backstage, waiting for their cue.

Adora looked down at her costume. The huge wedding dress wasn’t her favorite costume from the show, but it couldn’t be more appropriate for the moment (or inappropriate, take the pick). Catra couldn’t look more beautiful in her sleeveless white shirt and brown skirt that hit the floor. Despite the fact that the belt on her waist was big on her and she had dirt slathered all over her, she’s never looked better. Plus the red cap… That stupid thing was going to be the death of her.

“It’s always been like this,” Adora replied, falling into her place next to Sea Hawk, who busied himself with Kyle. Her heart thumped with the question. She doubted Catra had feelings for her, but she could always ask as a friend. Not like Glimmer and Bow needed to know anyways…

Bow had been a life saver in tech. He always knew when to turn off people’s mics, including that one time he turned off Catra’s when she started shit talking principal Hordak backstage when he came to watch rehearsal. Luckily, he turned them off now as Adora made her attempts to approach the subject.

“Princess Prom.” That’s not a question, it’s a statement! “Uh, I mean…”

“Catra, you and Kyle are next,” Scorpia, their stage manager, said.

Catra nodded, then turned back to her. “So, this is it, huh.. Our last curtain call as seniors, being cast as the leads for the first time, our last show in general until San Diego.”

“Don’t remind me.” She already cried in her car as she drove herself and Catra to school, emotional about ending her last show already. Closing nights are always a mess, but it just hits differently as seniors, and when you’re playing love rivals with the girl you’re pretty in love with.

“I’ll see you on the flip side,” she whispered before she ran out on stage, the bright lights shining down on her.

Even though Adora could only see Catra’s back, they were both sad about this being their last show. They had identical tears pricking their eyes, and when she rushed off stage with Kyle, she braced herself for the emotions to come.

She took Sea Hawk’s hand, and they ran to center stage when Scorpia gave them their cue. She couldn’t stop the tears from coming, even as she bunched her dress in her hands to give the curtsey bow. Sea Hawk did the Jeremy Jordan bow, where he clasps his hands in front of him and takes his bow.

Their last show…

The cast got into a line going horizontal, pointing to their lovely orchestra for their part of the bow. They started to make their way backstage again, and Adora took Catra’s hand. For emotional support, you know? She wasn’t going to see the blinding lights or the tech week shenanigans or the mic taped to her forehead in high school again! Obviously she’s going to be very dramatic about it.

As the cast made their way to the green room, everyone was in the same mood: sad. Catra had opted for letting go of her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders as they silently sniffled. She was going to miss this…

“Closing night isn’t over, people!” Sea Hawk shouted, pumping a fist into the air. “Let’s go say goodbye to Double Trouble, and head over to Denny's!”

Ah, yes. The theatre kid ritual. Every show, they have to go to Denny'safter closing. It’s the law, and she looked forward to it every time. It always created the best memories, like when the obnoxious senior from last year, Octavia, got arrested for stealing a shopping cart.

Denny's always made her night.

“He’s not wrong,” Catra said to her. “Am I driving with you?”

“Duh.” Wasn’t that a given? Or was it too forward to assume. Or maybe-

“That’s what I thought.”

But when they stepped into the green room, all thoughts of Catra disappeared (for one second exactly) as Double Trouble walked in, whopping loudly. They gave their speech about this being one of the funnest shows to do, but Adora was too busy wiping her wet cheeks to really listen.

“Go out there, kids, and rule the goddamn theatre world!” Double Trouble finished, dismissing them for the night.

“To Denny's!” Glimmer exclaimed, giving everyone the pick-me-up they needed.

“To Denny's,” Catra repeated to her, quieter. To Denny'sit was. They walked to the parking lot, heading to her car, but Glimmer caught her wrist as she was opening her door.

“You only have a couple hours left. Use them wisely.” Satisfied with her words of wisdom, Glimmer got into the passenger side of Bow’s car parked next to them.

“I’m really going to kill them,” Adora whispered to herself as she put the key into the ignition. Her little yellow beetle may not be anything for any other high school kid, but it was perfect for her.

“Why?” Catra asked, having apparently heard her. Rats.

“Because.” And it was left at that before Adora opened her mouth again. “Princess Prom. That’s a thing that’s going on. It’s going on very soon. Like, in a month soon.”

“Yes, what about it?” Catra seemed so dismissive of it. She looked out the window, listening to Somebody’s Watching Me on the radio. Was she even going to go? What if she asked and Catra had no plans of going, and Adora’s unknowingly forcing her into it?

“Nothing.”

“Oh…” Catra traced the window with her nail. Now why was she all deflated? This girl is way too confusing for her brain. “I want to go, but I don’t want to be alone.”

Adora is going to kill someone. Seriously, all it would take is driving the car into Denny's. “Really? You’re going?”

“Not as of right now, but I kind of want to. Like I wouldn’t wear a dress or heels. But… I would want to wear a suit and maybe get my nails a color that isn’t black. But I don’t know who I’d go with.”

She momentarily turned away from the road to look at Catra. Bow would be screaming at her right now, but she couldn’t find it in her to care. She was basically given an invitation to ask, but what if Catra didn’t want her to ask? What if she’s just talking about it? What if she wants Adora to set her up with someone else?

Catra opened her mouth to say something, but she got distracted by something gleaming in the backseat. “There’s no way I didn’t notice these earlier!”

She reached into the back, leaning across the console. Her white sweater rode up on her waist, and Adora exploded into a blush at the sight of some skin. Seriously, what is wrong with her? And because she doesn’t get cold, she wore a cropped red cami and regular black jeans. Her outfit did nothing to hide the blush.

Catra came back up, holding the hilt of two lightsabers. They were both big Star Wars nerds, and she spent thirty dollars (each) on these sabers. But the money from the bet would pay it back, if she actually did it. Catra dove into the backseat again, bringing the two sticks of plastic that she fastened back onto the hilt.

She pressed a button, and the blue light from Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber lit up the car. Catra stared at the saber, and Adora couldn’t help but notice how her skin managed to light up perfectly in the blue light. “Try the red.”

Catra turned off the blue saber, and grabbed a hold of Darth Vader’s lightsaber. The red added a dangerous feeling to the atmosphere. Blue was fun and playful. Red was full of passion, and the silence that followed afterward proved her point.

Finally, Catra cleared her throat, moving the saber around a bit. “Oh, I like this one.”

“But I like that one,” Adora protested as she pulled into a parking space at Denny’s. She could see everyone had already arrived. Not like she was driving slower than usual just to get a couple more seconds of conversation. No doubt they would see the red light and question what they were doing.

She pointed the end of the saber at Adora. “Well then, I guess it’s going to have to be a duel to the fate.”

Adora rolled her eyes at the reference, but grabbed the blue saber from the console, igniting it with the push of a button. “Okay, Eponine ‘I Died Delivering A Letter To My Love Interest That Was Actually About Another Girl’ Thénardier.”

“That’s the show’s fault, not mine.”

“Unimportant.”

Catra opened the car door, bouncing to Adora's side within seconds. She hastily took off her seatbelt, practically sprinting out of the driver's seat, spinning the hilt in her hand. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never fought with one of these.”

Adora scoffed. “I own them.”

“Yeah, just like I’m gonna own you!” Catra charged forward, raising her saber above her head before bringing it down on Adora. She barely had time to respond, lifting her own saber to block it as she sunk down to her knee.

“Hey, I just ordered our table! It’ll be ready in a couple minutes,” Scorpia said as she came out the door in time to see Adora stand and knock Catra away from her. “What are you guys doing?”

Catra held Adora in a parry as she turned around to yell, “Fighting, duh!”

“Yeah, we see that!” Bow shouted as Adora brought her sword back to her chest, making Catra stumble as they slowly moved away from her car. “Why are you guys mad?”

“Not real fighting!” Adora answered, moving in closer to Catra as their sabers met in the middle time and time again. “I’m defending my honor and rights!” “Yeah, her rights to dance with me instead of fighting in a parking lot!” Catra responded.

Adora faltered at that. Before she could begin overthinking what that meant in the middle of a lightsaber duel in the Denny's parking lot with the entire cast of Les Mis watching, Catra caught her saber and twisted her arm, causing Adora to completely let go of her saber.

“It’s over, Adora. I have the high ground,” Catra boasted.

“Not yet!” She dropped down low, catching the saber by the hilt before it hit the ground. She brought her blade back up, the two of them getting caught in another round of aimlessly swinging and blocking.

“You guys are ridiculous!” Glimmer shouted, her head in her hands.

“You don’t appreciate the true art of Star Wars like we do!” Adora yelled back.

Truthfully, this isn’t how she expected her last post closing night dinner at Denny’s to go.

When she was talking about it to Catra on their way to school, they imagined a tearful night. Majority of the cast and crew were seniors, and everyone loved them. Glimmer had basically adopted a little sophomore, Frosta, who played Gavroche (no one even noticed the genderbend!). They all thought they were going to be sad, and cry in the back of Scorpia’s pick up truck as they sang One Day More as a cast, one last time.

Instead, Adora was sword fighting Catra in the parking lot as all of their friends watched.

A great conclusion to her senior year musical, honestly.

Adora stood in front of Catra for a moment as they caught their breath. In an instant, they started twirling their sabers in their hands. The light from the blue and red was a whirlwind, and Catra laughed as they recreated that one scene from their favorite Star Wars movie: Revenge of the Sith.

Catra’s laugh was intoxicating. It made Adora let out her own giggle. They went back to fighting after a second, but Catra’s face illuminated by the red light in the nighttime made her stomach go up in butterflies.

“You were supposed to join me, not leave me in darkness!” Catra recited, smiling the whole time.

Adora swiped the saber at her feet, and Catra hopped over it. “Well, I love you!”

She froze, and Catra even faltered. But because she froze, Catra pushed her onto her back, pointing the red saber at her. “I know!”

For a moment, she forgot it was a reference to another one of the movies. But Adora let her saber fall out of her hand, looking up at Catra. The red light was stunning. Everyone else around them had fallen silent to watch the exchange. She then realized no one else knew what the reference was from.

“Guys, it’s from one of the movies!” Adora called out from her place on the ground. “Empire Strikes Back, it’s pretty good. You guys should watch it!”

Catra panted, looking down at her. “What?”

She was equally as confused. “What? What happened?”

“Oh, forget it.” Catra turned off the saber, holding her hand out instead. “Want to rule a galaxy together instead?”

“How about we start by taking over Broadway,” Adora grinned, helping herself up with Catra’s assistance. She turned off the blue saber, but they continued to stare at each other. Catra continued to hold her hand, but neither made any attempt to move away.

“Did we just hash everything out in a Denny’s parking lot?” Catra asked.

“I think we did..”

“Adora!” Glimmer shouted, interrupting their staring contest. “So like, I have a hundred with me. Bow has a twenty, but…”

The bet. A hundred and twenty dollars if she successfully asked her crush out to Princess Prom and didn’t get rejected. But they just beat each other up with plastic toys from the Disney store. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. Or maybe they were, but then one of them would fall to the dark side and tragically die. Who knows?

“Oh, that thing where Glimmer and Bow were going to give you money if you asked me to Princess Prom?” Catra raised an eyebrow, laughing at Adora’s horrified face. “Bow told Scorpia, and she accidentally let it slip.”

Adora groaned. She wanted to go fall in a hole and die in a ditch. Maybe she should’ve been shot on stage instead of Catra. “Yeah, about that-”

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me,” Catra said, tightening her hold on her hand. “I didn’t think I wanted to go, but then I heard that and I realized… maybe I did. The dances and stuff always felt really corporate to me, and it wasn’t my thing. But I went home everyday wondering why you hadn’t asked me yet, and then I realized-”

“Oh my god I am so sorry,” Adora interrupted. She was horrified. Catra knew the entire time. She’s been tripping over herself for the two months of rehearsal and three weeks of the actual production, but never stopped to think what if she already knew. She’s absolutely mortified. “You got dragged into this mess of a joke between me and Glimmer then Bow came in and I just thought, I don’t know. I don’t think or I think too much. Oh my god, I can not believe this is happening!”

Catra chuckled when she spoke without a pause. “Breathe. I’m not mad. Or upset or anything like that. I like you too, Adora.”

Her cheeks flamed. “You did?”

She nodded. “You’re not exactly subtle, per say…”

Adora didn’t feel like crying out of embarrassment anymore. She put her free hand in her pocket, ghosting her fingers over Catra’s knuckles with the other. “You actually like me?”

Another nod, accompanied with a gorgeous laugh. “Yes. Yes, I like you and all your high notes. You think I liked seeing you kiss Sea Hawk every rehearsal and show?” They both laughed. Neither of them like it, apparently, because Adora didn’t. “You and your private story where you rewatch Clone Wars with me and we both cry, and I get to see the video and laugh at how oblivious you were to notice that I liked you. You and your bootleg pirating, despite the fact that Newsies is your favorite and it’s literally proshot. So yeah, Adora. I do like you. You and your overthinking.”

Adora was over the moon, and she wanted to stay here in the parking lot all night and talk. But first, she had something to conclude. “So, Princess Prom. That’s a thing we should go to together.”

“We should.”

They did.

[erinchalstead]

The Joys Of Loving You

Plot: Erin and Jay enjoying breakfast.  Rating: M Word count: 1,352

Enjoy!

The sun shines through the window, giving the room a golden glow. Erin feels the warm sun hitting her face, which wakes her up. She rubs the sleepiness out her eyes and they quickly adjust to the familiar sight of her handsome boyfriend sleeping next to her. She smiles to herself and thinks about how lucky she is to be with Jay, him being her partner on the job and in the bedroom. She gets out of bed, heading for the kitchen to make some breakfast.  Jay wakes to the sound of the radio playing and the sweet smell of coffee sneaking in from the kitchen. He rolls on his side in the search for his girlfriend in the bed. He feels a little tuck of sadness on his heart when he realizes she’s not there. He gets up and throws on a pair of grey sweatpants in his search for her. He only makes it to the door that connects the living room to the kitchen when he finds her. There she is, indulged her own little world making breakfast and dancing to the songs on the radio. He just stands there and watches her, admires her. Erin stretches her tiny body to reach the coffee mugs on the top shelf, his old t-shirts she is wearing slips up her body to reveal the black lace panties she is wearing underneath. Jay’s breath hitches in his throat at the glorious sight and he makes a mental note that he needs to buy her more lace panties he can rip off her perfect round butt.  He sneaks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She jumps a little by the surprise, but relaxes as soon as she smells his scent. It’s the best thing she knows, it reminds her of love, of home, of him. “Good morning beautiful, what are you doing? I missed you in our bed”. She smiles at the words, missed you and our bed. “Good morning handsome, I am making us breakfast.” Jay smiles at the gesture, loving her for taking care of him. “It looks delicious, but I am craving something else. You”.  He spins her around and pushes her against the kitchen counter, kissing her deeply. She groans at his lust for her and wraps her arms around his neck, bringing him closer to her. She lives for this, the passionate ways of declaring their love for each other. Jay grabs the hem of her shirt, ripping it of her body with eager. His hands roam her body like they have done so many times before. She will never get tired of the feeling, she almost misses them when they are not on her. His hands make a stop at her butt, kneading, caressing, just loving the feel of her silky skin beneath his rough hands. He hooks his hands under her thighs and lifts her onto the counter. Erin immediately spreads her legs for him to stand between, wanting him as close as possible. Her body tingling with anticipation and lust. Their lips meet again in somewhat sloppy kisses, their desire for each other taking over. His hands lands on her hips, slowly gliding up her sides, finally reaching her breasts. He fondles them lovingly, tugging and pulling at her nipples. She moans at the sensation which goes straight to Jay’s crotch. His mouth moves onto her neck, kissing roughly, sucking to leave a mark. A mark to show the world she is his. It sends chills down her spine. It makes her need grow to a point where it is almost torture. She groans. Erin’s hands feverishly roam his body, finding their way to the waistband of his sweatpants. She wants them off and yanks them down his strong, muscled legs. Jay does nothing but complies by wiggling them all the way off and kicking them to the side. His hands find the little taunting piece of lace covering her most delicious spot. He slides them off her soft legs and flings them across the kitchen. His fingers quickly land on her bundle of nerves, making her head fall back and arch her body towards his skilled fingers. He smiles to himself, pleased to know he has this effect on her. Erin leans back, steadies herself with her arms as Jay’s fingers go on further exploring. They glide through her wetness with ease and he slowly slips a finger inside her. She moans out, finally getting the long-awaited friction she craves. He switches between going slow and going fast, driving her crazy. She cries out his name as asking for more. He adds another finger and she groans at the lovely stretch he gives her. The tightness he feels around his fingers makes his already throbbing erection twitch with anticipation. He quickens his pace while he rubs her bundle of nerves, sending her right over the edge, moaning loudly and grabbing his arm in need of something to keep her on earth. He slowly strokes himself while watching her come down from her high, it probably being the hottest thing he has ever seen. Erin gathers herself and hungrily eyes the man in front of her. “Hey, that’s my job”. She sends him a smirk and slaps his hand away from his erection, wanting to do the job herself. He moans as soon as her delicate hand wraps around him, slowly stroking him up and down. He grabs on to her thighs to steady himself from the hot friction his girlfriend is giving him. He leans in and kisses her wildly, wanting all of her now. Her stroking gets sloppy as the make out session gets hotter and he drags her towards him. Her body ready and waiting for his taking. She looks at him with lustful eyes as he aligns himself with her, slowly entering her, pushing all the way in. Erin moans loudly and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come from the pure sound of her. He taunts her with his slow trusts and she complains, wants it faster, harder. “Jay…. come on” she pants. He smiles devilishly at himself and decides to give her what she wants. He quickly speeds up the pace, meeting her with hard thrusts. She moans while her hands search for something to hold on to. They settle at his hips, feeling how his muscles clench every time he thrusts forward into her. Her moans get breathier, telling him he’s on the right path to send her on another high. His fingers dig in to her skin as he drives himself into her, hard, chasing the long-wanted release. He feels her walls clench around him, he presses on her bundle of joy and she explodes around him, screaming his name so loud he is sure the neighbors know they are up. Her arms buckle underneath her und her back hits the counter top with at small bump, her body having a mind of its own when she is in this pure ecstacy. Her screams are like sweet music to his ears and it sends him spiraling, seeing nothing but stars and reflections of his girlfriends before his eyes. He collapses on her stomach, listening to her breathing as it gets back to normal. He tries to control his own breathing, but the feel and smell of her always make it take a little longer. She runs her fingers through his hair, making him turn his head so he can look at her. Erin smiles lovingly at him. “Hey… That was the best breakfast I have ever had.” Jay smiles back at her with an even bigger smile, “Yeah, I think it is my favorite.” She chuckles and raises herself up on her arms, making Jay lift himself of off her. He just stands in front of her, looking at her all loved up. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” She blushes at his constant eyes on her. “Nothing, I am just looking at you. Wondering how I ever got so lucky to be the one you love.” Her heart skips a beat at his words and she wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him with all the love she has for him.

[coyotesongwriting]

When It Rains, It Pours - Ch. 15

Avengers - Bucky Barnes/Reader

Chapter 15 - A Fresh Start

Story Summary:  Things are going great between you and Bucky, until one day they aren’t. He dumps you, not knowing that what you’d wanted to talk to him about was the positive pregnancy test you held behind your back.

Chapter Summary: It's time for Bucky to take you out on a date. Will you still have the same feelings? Will you still be able to make it work or is this something better left in the past so you can focus on Aspen?

Author’s Note: Thank you guys for reading this, all mistakes are my own! Tomorrow will be the last chapter/epilogue.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters so don’t sue me please. I just really like them haha

Tag List (if you want to be added or removed let me know!):    @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @queenoftheunderdark  @samsgoddess @redfoxwritesstuff​ @iheartsebastianstan​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @fookingmuffins​ @yasnooshka24​ @redfoxwritesstuff​ @amazon-belle​ @shootingstarsaretearsofheaven​ @kinkywitchy​ @superwonderwholock​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @paranoiadestroyah​ @cool-kids-cant-be-dead​ @sarcastic-and-cool​ @atlasmgy2000​

Previous Chapter

Bucky had convinced you to stay in the tower for a few days so he could plan the perfect date. He’d taken some time off from missions, although he was still on-call in case of an emergency, and you’d been spending a lot of time with him and Aspen. This morning, the three of you had gone to a small toy store downtown, and you realized just how wrapped around her finger he already was. 

Every time Aspen found a toy she loved, he’d picked it up and added it to the basket. At first, it had been cute, but when he tried to add a rather loud singing toy you’d had to stop him. When you shook your head at him and put it back on the shelf he shot you a small pout.

“Do you want to hear that thing at all hours, non-stop? Because I swear that's what will happen” you laughed softly.

“But she loves it!” he frowned, sighing at the toy.

“Bucky, you’re already buying her half the store here. I promise you she won’t even remember the toy in a minute” you smiled at him.

Bucky tried to argue with you, and when that didn’t work he’d resorted to pleading. You laughed and dragged him away from the toy. It wasn’t long before Aspen - and Bucky - were playing with a set of blocks and they ended up in the basket too. Sure, Bucky couldn’t deny your baby girl a thing, but you weren’t sure you could deny him anything either. 

You’d steered them to the front, making your purchases and had returned to the tower before you realized that he’d managed to sneak the noisy toy in. Aspen was sitting on the floor, happily playing with the blocks when you turned to look at Bucky, a mock glare on your face as you silently held up the toy. Of course, the moment you moved it the loud music kicked on and your daughter turned to you, clapping and reaching for the toy. 

You’d given her the toy, and thrown a pillow at Bucky’s face. Twenty minutes later, it seemed like the tune had played for the millionth time. Every time the song started over, you shot a glare at Bucky who at least had the decency to flash you a sheepish grin. You’d finally excused yourself from the room to go get a snack, leaving Bucky behind to deal with the obnoxious toy. 

As you stepped out of the guest room that you had claimed as your own, you paused, glancing across the hall at the room that had once been yours. You’d refused to step foot in there ever since that night. With the door shut behind you, you froze in the hallway, torn. 

After a deep breath, you stepped forward and reached for the door handle. They’d never changed your permissions, and the door opened for you without resistance. As you walked in, shutting the door behind you, you flipped on the light switch and took in the scene in front of you.

The room looked almost as you remembered it. The pictures you’d taken with Bucky still covered the walls, and the Winter Soldier bedspread you’d bought as a joke was still on the bed. The closet door was open, and behind the clothes, you could make out cardboard boxes with your name written on them. 

On top of the dresser sat the photo taken the day you’d gotten engaged, and you picked it up carefully. You were wearing your favorite sundress, and your hair was being blown around wildly by the wind. The trees behind you were gorgeous shades of red and gold, but that wasn’t what drew your eye. No, Bucky was kneeling, your hand in his as he asked you to be his wife. 

The smile on his face was big enough to melt even the coldest heart, and you'd never imagined you could be as happy as you had been that day. Until the day you’d welcomed Aspen into the world, it had been the happiest day of your life. Now, it was just a bittersweet memory. You took a seat on the bed, looking around the room quietly, overwhelmed.

Memories of everything you’d lost began to race by and you struggled to fight back tears. A few moments later, the door opened and Bucky stepped in, shutting the door behind him again. You looked at him, puzzled, but before you could speak he beat you to it. 

“Clint and Nat have her, and it’s time for us to go on that date” his voice was nervous, watching you cautiously, “Does that work for you? Do you need time to get ready or are you good to go now or…?”

“Um… can you give me 15?” you asked, nerves beginning to settle in and overtake the sadness of the past. 

He shot you a soft smile, “I’ll meet you in 15 minutes, in the hall.”

You smiled back and slipped out of the room, back into yours. Clint and Nat were sitting in there, entertaining Aspen. Without saying a word to them, you took a seat on the bed and rested your head in your hands. Neither one spoke, both staying on the floor with Aspen as they waited for you to open up.

“What if this is a mistake?” you grumbled, “It’s been two years guys. What if we’re just better off as friends?”

“Well, I know you guys still have chemistry” Clint smirked, “I still have nightmares about walking in on you two in the lab!”

You let out a low chuckle when you heard his quiet yelp as Nat smacked his shoulder. You shot her a grateful smile and you waited anxiously to hear what she’d say. She had always been known to give you some pretty great advice. 

“First off, if you think you two would be better off as friends that’s completely fine. You don’t need to date him to have him in Aspen’s life, so don’t feel like you need to do this. However, I also know you are still in love with him, and I think you owe it to yourself to find out where this goes and you’ll regret it if you don’t” she chose her words carefully, watching you.

“I do want to give him another chance... I want this but what if he does this again? If he breaks my heart I don’t know how I’ll face him. And then how will that work with Aspen?” you gently chewed your lower lip. 

“I can’t tell you what’s right for you. But, I know that no matter what happens, you’ve got this. Things will work out with Aspen, I promise. You are both adults and you both adore this little girl, nothing will stop you from making sure she gets to be a part of both of your lives. If you want to try this, just focus on you and him tonight, just don’t worry about the rest. You can do that tomorrow. Just focus on tonight” Nat smiled softly at you.

“Come on [Y/N]. Don’t be a coward, go get laid” Clint laughed, grabbing Aspen up and skipping out of Nat’s way before she could smack him again.

“Are you seriously using my daughter as a shield right now?!” you stared at him, shooting him a playful glare.

You could see the thoughts racing across his face as he slowly set Aspen down by Nat and backed away. Once she was safely in Nat’s arms, you grabbed one of Aspen’s blocks and threw it at his head, and while he was distracted blocking that one you threw another one at his shin. He cursed, grabbing his leg while you got to your feet.

“You’re right, Nat.” you quickly brushed out your hair and changed in the bathroom before stepping back into the hallway at exactly the 15-minute mark. 

Bucky was wearing a maroon button-up shirt, and his hair was tucked back behind his ears. A soft smile graced his face as he looked you over. You smiled nervously at him, wringing your hands nervously in front of you. 

“You look gorgeous, Doll” Bucky held out his hand to you.

“Thanks, Bucky, you look good too. Where we off to?” you asked, slipping your hand into his.

He shot you a smirk, “You’ll see!”

The two of you bundled into Bucky’s car and began to drive. The ride was nice, peaceful as the two of you talked. Eventually, you’d turned on the radio and had begun to sing along with some obnoxious pop music. Bucky rolled his eyes at you, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. The drive to the shore passed quickly, the two of you lost in the moment.

You paused as he led you up to the familiar diner, eyebrows drawing together curiously as you turned to look at him. He grinned, turning to face you again.

“We never got to go on the date you planned, I thought maybe it was time” his voice trailed off like a question, suddenly doubting he’d made the right choice.

A slow smile crept across his face as you pulled him towards the door, “It’s perfect, Bucky.”

~~~~~~

The evening passed in a blur. The food had been great and the two of you spent the evening laughing and talking. It had seemed like no time had passed at all, and as the sun began to set you headed out onto the shore. The crashing of the waves on the sand drew you in and you kicked off your shoes, strolling through the shallow surf. 

As the sun sank down below the horizon, Bucky pulled you down onto the sand next to him. The sky lit up in vibrant shades of red, pink and purple. You tucked yourself into his side, resting comfortably as night fell.

“I love you, [Y/N]” Bucky’s voice was quiet as he spoke, as if afraid to break the spell that had fallen over the shore.

“Bucky… I love you too” you gently pressed your lips to his cheek before leaning back, “But we need to talk about all this. If we want to do this, if we want to try again, we need to go slow. I can’t risk this going south, it would only hurt Aspen.” 

He smiled softly at you, pulling you close again, “I’m okay with that, Doll. We can take this as slow as you want. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I love you, and I hope I can earn back your trust..”

“I’d like that, Bucky” a small grin crept across your face as you curled up into him.

Find This Story On AO3

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 1/?

Happy birthday, @teamhook​ ! You have been a faithful reader of my fics from long before I came over to tumblr, and I appreciate your support so much! As a matter of fact, you were the first one to encourage me to get a tumblr blog. Anyway, I hope you have a marvelous day, my friend.

You told me this Gabrielle Aplin song was one of your favorites that reminded you of CS, so I wanted to incorporate it into a fic. Then, just a few days ago I watched a Hallmark Christmas movie (yes, I’m already watching them, don’t judge) called a Christmas to Remember. It had Elle McKinnon in it, who played young Alice Jones on Once, and the whole thing gave me CS vibes. Then I realized the song really fit the movie’s plot, and this fic was born. Unlike the movie, however, this doesn’t happen at Christmas. I also couldn’t finish it in a one-shot, so here we go, another MC/WIP. It’s worth it for you though, @teamhook​. I hope you enjoy it!

Many thanks to the CSRT discord chat for helping me brainstorm parts of this, especially @shireness-says​ for giving me the idea to make Emma part of a rock band. I was having a very difficult time coming up with a band name that hasn’t been used yet in the fandom, when the name of a band from my college came to mind - Wendy Sews it On. It suddenly hit me what that band name is a reference too, and I was giddy with excitement!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is?

Side note: Has anyone else written from the point of view of someone who can’t remember her name? Well it’s hard, ya’ll - lol!

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and both Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 2,500 in this chapter

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging the usuals::@snowbellewells @kmomof4@jennjenn615 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook@kmomof4 @bethacaciakay @profdanglaisstuff @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @tiganasummertree​@whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @winterbaby89​ @distant-rose@shireness-says​ @xhookswenchx​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @branlovestowrite​ @welllpthisishappening​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​

Oh today I’m just a drop of water and I’m running down the mountain side. Come tomorrow I’ll be in the ocean. I’ll be rising with the morning tide.

The road stretched before Emma’s tiny yellow bug, she was sure, for miles upon miles of the thick forests of northern Maine. Yet all she could see out her windshield was about a car’s length in front of her through the thick swirling snow. Her tires kept sliding on the slick roads, and more than once she had trouble keeping the car pointed in the right direction. It didn’t help that she was completely and utterly lost, her GPS losing signal at some point miles back.

Emma cursed rural Maine, cursed the snow, and even cursed Regina for suggesting this week of r&r to begin with. A cabin with all the amenities next to a spa sounded like heaven. Or maybe anything secluded sounded like heaven - a place to get her head on right again, maybe even write a new song.

She just wasn’t sure it would be a love song like Regina and the record label was hoping for. She added Walsh to her list of stuff to curse.

Her headlights, for a brief moment, illuminated a sign up ahead: “Welcome to Storybrooke.” She cursed again as she squinted down at her phone which still mocked her with the little swirling icon and the word “buffering.”

“Come on,” she muttered. She started to type in “Misthaven Resort and Spa” again, glancing from her phone screen to the road and back again. She knew it was dangerous to use her phone while driving, especially in weather like this, but if she didn’t figure out where the hell she was, she might run out of gas and die out here in the snow anyway.

It was a cost benefit analysis, really.

God, she needed to start spending time with people besides Regina and Walsh. She hadn’t even seen her former bandmates since this solo career train had catapulted out of the station.

Anna would have loved that mixed metaphor. It was the kind of line Emma’s red-headed, bubbly, almost little sister would have put into a song. Like the Beatles, every member of Wendy Sewed it On wrote songs for the band. Anna’s were quirky and upbeat, Elsa’s were soaring, epic ballads, Ruby’s were tongue in cheek and driving.

And Emma . . . well, fans said her songs were sad and haunting, but deep. Wendy Sewed it On had their biggest hits with Emma’s songs, even though it was Elsa who belted them out. Being all alone on that stage, laying her soul bare with those lyrics . . .

Emma’s thoughts were cut off and a scream flew out of her mouth as a wolf bounded onto the road in front of her. It was all a blur after that: breaking glass, her continuing screams, pine trees surrounding her on all sides as she plowed off the road and down an embankment of snow.

There’s a ghost upon the moor tonight. Now it’s in our house. When you walked into the room just then it’s like the sun came out.

A severe winter storm warning has been issued for central Aroostook County. Visibility will be extremely low, roads impass-

Killian switched off the radio in his pickup, not wanting to alarm Henry. His windshield wipers were on the highest setting, his lights on bright, and for now, he could still make out the road far enough ahead of them that he was fairly confident they would get home long before the storm reached its peak. Part of him was second guessing bringing a ten year old along on this call, but Henry had been so excited at the prospect of helping deliver the foal at the Nolan farm.

“Dad,” Henry said, picking at the aluminum foil Mary Margaret had used to wrap up a plate of her famous chocolate chip cookies, “why doesn’t Uncle David work with you anymore?”

“Well, he and Mary Margaret had been saving up for years to buy that farm. I always knew horses were his dream, not the animal shelter.” He glanced from the road to grin at his son. “And you’re dying to have one of those cookies, aren’t you?”

Henry’s eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

Killian laughed. “I’ve been a dad for a decade now. I have a sixth sense.”

“So can I have one?”

“No, you have to share with Alice.”

“Aw man,” Henry pouted, but it was short lived. Both of his children were extremely curious and regularly peppered him with questions. “Why couldn’t Uncle David just deliver the foal himself? He knows animals.”

“Because it was breech - that means it was upside down inside the mother horse. David’s not a vet, so he called me.”

Henry arched his brows. “And they pay you in cookies?”

Killian chuckled again. “David and Mary Margaret, yes.”

“They are good cookies,” Henry agreed, taking a big whiff of the plate in his lap. “Maybe Alice wouldn’t mind if we - DAD!”

Killian saw the figure in the road at the same moment his son did, so before the word even left Henry’s lips, Killian was swerving to avoid the person. The roads were wet and slick enough to send his tires sliding, and if Killian didn’t have so much experience driving in such dangerous conditions, they may have ended up in the ditch. When the truck finally came to a stop, he turned first to Henry.

“Are you okay?” Killian asked him, running a hand nervously over the boy.

“Yeah,” Henry gasped, “I’m good.” The boy twisted around in his seat. “What was that?”

That was a good question. It had looked like a person, but who would be out in this weather? Unless they were in trouble. Killian quickly unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Stay here,” he instructed Henry, giving him a steely look lest his overly curious oldest child be tempted to disobey. Thankfully, Henry nodded, his face a mask of intensity.

After Killian exited the vehicle, he could clearly see a woman stumbling around in the middle of the road. He approached her cautiously, fully aware that a man appearing before the woman in the middle of the forest could be frightening to say the least.

“Are you okay?”

She turned then, and he could tell from the blank expression on her face that she was in shock. She had obviously experienced some sort of trauma, and his heart plummeted at the thought. He walked slowly closer. The woman was now turning in a circle, unsteady on her feet as if she might be inebriated. Her gaze was lifted to the tops of the trees, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings. When he was close enough, Killian reached out tentatively to rest his hand on her upper arm. She was wearing a red leather jacket; not the smartest choice of outerwear for snow like this.

“I’d like to help you,” he said in the same gentle voice he used on injured animals. “What are you doing out here?”

She blinked, as if trying to focus on his face. Her skin was almost alabaster, her hair completely coated in a layer of snow, and he wondered how long she’d been out here in the elements. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She looked down at it, almost in confusion. When she did, he noticed the blood matting the top of her head.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered.

“I - am?” she whispered back.

He smiled, relieved to hear her voice finally. “Aye, you have a rather nasty gash on your head there. Were you in an accident?”

“Was I?” her voice sounded thready and far away as she reached a trembling hand up to touch her head. “Ow, that hurts,” she gasped. Yet she kept patting at the wound frantically.

“I’m not surprised, so let’s stop touching it shall we?” he took her slender, ice cold hand in his to still her nervous movements. “What’s your name? Can I call someone for you?”

“I . . . I . . . “ she began to sway as her words turned to incoherent mutterings, then she crumpled against Killian’s chest. He scooped her up in his arms, turning his gaze nervously to the sky as the snow fell in fat, thick flakes. He followed the tail lights back to the truck. He had no choice but to take the mysterious woman home with him before the storm got worse.

**********************************************************

She awoke in a strange bed in a strange room with a strange little girl staring at her. She hurt everywhere, but her head especially throbbed with a sharp, jabbing pain. The sunlight pouring through the window made her wince, and the image of the little girl sitting at the end of the bed went fuzzy.

“This is my room,” the child told her, “but you can use it until you get better.”

She looked around her, evidence of a child everywhere from the dollhouse in the corner to the childish artwork tacked all over the walls. What was she doing here?

“My name is Alice,” the girl continued, bouncing on the bed a bit, making its injured occupant wince. “I’m seven. How old are you?”

“Alice,” another voice gently rebuked from the doorway, “let our patient rest, please.”

“Okay, daddy,” the little girl sighed, but obeyed, skipping out of the room.

A man drew closer to the bed, and her heart thudded wildly in her chest, the urge to flee overwhelming. He lifted both hands, slowing his approach, a gentle look in his eyes. It didn’t help - she didn’t know this man or where she was.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said gently.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my family’s home,” he explained, “my name is Killian Jones and my son and I found you wandering in the road. We’re in the midst of a bad storm, so I had no choice but to bring you here.”

She had never been so confused in her life, and she let her head fall back on the pillow. A sharp pain caused her to cry out, and she reached up to find a bandage on the top of her head.

“What happened to me?”

“Well,” Killian told her patiently, “you had a gash on your head and some other cuts and bruises. I bandaged you up.”

“You’re a doctor?”

He smiled, and despite the situation, she found it charming. “A vet, but the principles are largely the same. Nevertheless, I’ve called the town doctor and he’ll be coming out once the roads are cleared.”

“The roads?”

“We’re snowed in.”

She moaned. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and shame washed over her. She couldn’t let this stranger see her cry.

“Listen,” he said softly, “you were hurt and wandering around. Do you remember what happened?”

She lifted both hands to cover her face. “No, I have no idea where I am or how I got here.”

“Well, how about your name? Let’s start there.”

“My name is -” Suddenly, her chest tightened and she couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “Oh my God. I don’t know! I don’t know my name!”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Killian soothed, laying a hand tentatively on her shoulder, “you hit your head, so it’s understandable. I’m sure it will all come back to you soon.”

How could he be so damn calm? She didn’t know who she was!

“I . . . I . . . “ she looked down at herself and saw a pajama top covered in pink roses, “I’m in pajamas.”

The man smiled again in that way that made her heart flip like a damn teenager. “And you look good in them, so that’s a win.”

“I hate pink,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “And flowery shirts.”

Killian’s eyebrows quirked up. They were quite expressive, she noticed. “Well there you go, you remember that!”

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, “how did I get into pajamas?” Surely she wasn’t wandering the road in her pjs.

His eyes grew large and he lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “It wasn’t me! My friend Mary Margaret did that. She’s a volunteer down at the hospital.”

“I helped!” Alice called out, popping up from the foot of the bed. “Cause I want to be a nurse. Or an artist. Or a pilot.”

“Alice Milah Jones,” her father scolded, “I thought I told you to give our patient some peace and quiet?”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

Killian looked back at her, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime? Anything I can get you?”

She bit down on her lip, those damn tears threatening to spill over again. “No. I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

He frowned, the pity on his face clear. She hated pity. How did she know that? And that she hated pink? And flowered shirts? But not her own damn name?

“Okay,” he told her softly, patting her foot gently through the down comforter on the bed. He was handsome too, she noted. Dark hair, a strong jaw covered in nicely trimmed scruff, bright blue eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that somehow made them more piercing. Suddenly, taking him in from head to toe and thinking of quirky but sweet little Alice, she was sure that she was in a safe place. How she knew she wasn’t sure, but it settled deep within her and took root.

Killian left, closing the door silently behind him. She slid beneath the warm blankets as her eyes fluttered closed. She dreamed of snow and blue eyes and strong arms but not of who she was or where she came from.

[mattzerella-sticks]

A Whole Lotta Love (a Dean/Cas Coda to 14x09 “The Spear”)

With a broken tape deck, Dean and Cas have a long stretch of silence to fill. But just how do they do it? And they say driving helps take your mind off of things... even forget dangling pianos hanging over one's head.

           “You know what would be good right now?”

           Cas glances at Dean from out the corner of his eye, the other man focused, for once, on the road ahead. “Some Zepp,” he says, “I can picture it – us tearing down this open stretch of highway with Immigrant Song playing in the background. Oh! Or maybe Kashmir…”

           “That would be nice, yes,” Cas sighs, “…if our tape deck weren’t broken.”

           “Yeah – yeah…” Dean drums his hands on the wheel. “Y’know, I don’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve driven this long in silence? Not that this isn’t nice. It is. Its just music –“

           “Fills the background,” Cas finishes his thought, “adds layers…depth… security.”

           Dean murmurs his agreement. They drift back into themselves, the tides of their conversation slowly receding from shore. It’s been like that since they left the Bunker. Every so often one of them would start speaking, only to lull back into the quiet. Dean would point out different road signs, crack a joke or two to Cas. And Cas would smile, respond with his own observation; maybe a memory that would have both of them grinning at each other. Enjoying the shared moment.

           “I feel like we haven’t had a lot of this,” Dean says, unprovoked.

           “A lot of what?”

           “This.” Dean circles his finger in the air. “You and me. Shootin’ the breeze instead of demons or vamps or whatever else supernatural creature the world throws at us.”

           “Really?” Cas asks him, “Has it been that long since you and I were… alone?”

           “Yeah,” Dean says, blushing, “Not that I’ve been… counting, or whatever. But between Michael, Jack, and the growing network of hunters it’s hard to just find time to think or… breathe.”

           “Those seem like things you don’t need another person for.”

           “I like having you near when I do those things.”

           “Even breathing?”

           “Even breathing…”

           Cas watches Dean pay the road more attention than he’s ever seen him give it. Like the stretch of asphalt holds all the answers their destination was promised. Its unnerving that he thinks good safety practices as weird behavior, but he misses having Dean’s eyes on him rather than what’s ahead. ‘We’ve had enough luck to not crash so far… I’m sure we can push it a few more times.’

           “Hey Cas?”

           “Yes, Dean.”

           “How was Heaven?” Cas pauses, unsure of how to answer. Dean fills the vacuum with his own drawling ramble. “I mean, you didn’t talk about it much after bringing Jack back and – you said it was in trouble? I know since Gabriel didn’t make it back, stuff up there was running kinda off and – I mean, if you needed to go and make sure… it’s not like I can stop you –“

           “My service to Heaven is over,” he tells him, “I have done… all I could. And I feel I have repaid my debts to the other angels. Naomi told me as such –“

           “Naomi? Ol’ girl’s still kicking?”

           “Apparently it takes more than one old scribe and a rebel angel to kill her.” Cas chuckles, “She has been keeping the peace among all seven of my brothers and sisters that serve under her now.”

           “It’s gotten that bad?” he asks.

           Cas nods. “I don’t know how Heaven might survive. And that might be a problem we deal with later, once our Michael problem is solved.”

           “We?”

           “Of course… Dean,” Cas says, “you didn’t think I would go back, after all this was over. Did you?” The thought stings, but he doesn’t let it fester. ‘Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, Castiel…’

           Dean shakes his head furiously. “No, no I would – not realistically, after all we… but…”

           “But…”

           “It’s stupid…”

           “If it’s causing you this much stress, I assure you it isn’t.”

           “Well, I don’t know,” Dean sighs, grip tightening on the wheel. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m gonna blink and – poof! You’ll disappear. It’s irrational and dumb but it… it sticks. Even though you’ve proven time and time again you’re here to stay and I want to believe it. Except this little part of me thinks it might be… too good to be true, y’know? Kind of why I wanted only us on this I… I needed you here beside me.”

           “Dean I…” ‘When you finally allow the sun to shine on your face… that’s when I’ll collect you.’ “I don’t plan on leaving. Ever. I wish there was something I could do to relieve you of that worry.”

           “I don’t think you ever can but… being here it – it shuts it down.”

           His heart aches, yearns, and reaches out to the other man. But Cas keeps it behind steel walls, ensuring his secret never comes out. ‘It’s for the best… for all of us.’

           “God that was – this is what I mean,” Dean warbles a laugh, rubbing at his eye. “If we had music we wouldn’t – it’s stuffy, isn’t it? Could you roll down – I’m gonna roll mine, I think we need some air, so could you…?” They leave the windows half-up. “Yeah… that’s better.”

           He still looks uncomfortable. Dean shifts continuously. Sliding his hands up and down the wheel, taking one off to lean either on the door or to fiddle with the radio. Cas suggested they turn it on, when Dean discovered the tape deck was broken. “I don’t… it’s not the music I wanted you to hear.”

           Cas understands how much music means to Dean. What it means to probably every person on Earth. Each vibration and note a key that unlocks a part of the soul. And when someone shares music, they’re giving you a chance to know who they are and what they feel.

           Dean handed him the mixtape ages ago. He barely looked Cas in the eye when he did it, muttering all the while. “I know Metatron beamed probably the entire discography of the world into your head but I… figured you might want to hear what good music sounds like for yourself.” Cas enjoyed it immensely. He found himself banging his head to the loud, fast tracks. He crooned along to the power ballads. Even in moments alone, Cas hummed the melody, the words on a loop in his mind as he performed for no one yet also one very special person.

           “You need coolin’… baby I’m not foolin’…” It’s a low whisper, his gravely voice shredding the words in a discordant tone. “I’m gonna send you back to schoolin’…”

           “Way down inside,” Dean joins in, his own voice just as rough to hear, “honey you need it.” He finally looks away from the road, to Cas, his jaw slack with awe. “I’m gonna give you my love…”

           “I’m gonna give you my love, oh…”

           Together. “Wanna whole lotta love… Wanna whole lotta love…” They’re smiling, infected with the rhythm. As Baby purrs down the highway, Dean and Cas Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” from the top of their lungs, voices echoing into the clear, blue sky. At some points, Dean forces Cas to play the air guitar. And he does, indifferent to how ridiculous he might look. Their singing mixes with laughter, and near the end the melody gets lost in the shuffle.

           Gasping for breath, Dean glances at Cas one more time before returning his gaze on the road. “What made you pick that song?”

           “I… I don’t know,” Cas confesses, “When I would listen to your… your mixtape I wound it back time and time again – just to that song. I think it’s my favorite.”

           “Not Stairway to Heaven?”

           Cas chuckles. “No this one… means more to me.” He finds something to distract himself, fiddling with the map in hand. Cas checks a passing road sign. “I think we’re coming up on the turn… you might want to switch lanes.”

           “Yeah, yeah…” Dean turns the wheel, Baby cruising over onto the right-most lane. They make it off the highway, closing the last couple of miles between them and the Spear. “Hey, Cas?”

           “Yes, Dean?”

           “That song means a lot to me, too. I’m glad you… appreciate it, same as me. S’why I put it at the end; kinda… ties it all together, in a way.” His neck is on fire, the red blush creeping up from behind his collar with unmatched speed. “I think we’re here… sheesh, what a dump.”

           “Well, it’s quite literally a dump, Dean.”

           “I know but you’d think she’d clean up since we’re paying her a house call and all.”

           “…She doesn’t know that we’re coming. It’s the element of surprise?”

           “Cas,” Dean says, his voice tinged with exasperation and something else, “…keep being you.” He drives Baby between two tall stacks of crushed aluminum and plastic. “Roll the windows back up, don’t want any stench messing up our ride.” Cas does so as Dean parks. He readies to leave, but something drapes over his hand, stalling him.

           “Hey, Cas…”

           “…Yes, Dean?”

           “I – um, I don’t know,” he rubs at his neck with his other hand, looking at Cas through his lashes. “I mean, I do know – it’s just…” Dean laughs, smile stretched wide across his face.

           The sight parts the clouds within Cas’s mind, and he feels a flicker of warmth burning inside his chest. “What?”

           “I think maybe I can get this out but… just give me a minute?” he asks, “There’s… a lot going on in my head.” Cas allows him to gather his thoughts, eyes never straying from his face.

           Except there’s a slight buzzing to his left, like a gnat flying to close to his ear. Cas turns to see what it is and –

           Duma stands a few feet away. Except it’s not Duma, it’s the Empty. They watch them, face etched in a cannibalistic grin. Behind them swirls a dark energy, a mass of shadowy tendrils swaying, as if ready to strike.

           The clouds roll back in.

           And Cas pulls away. “Maybe later,” he apologizes, “Dark Kaia might know that we’re here and… move. From what you’ve told me she can be very tricky.” Dean’s expression changes in an instant, and even though he tries to cover it up, Cas could see the flicker of disappointment flashing behind his eyes. As if Cas chopped down a tree in his emerald forest that took ages to grow.

           “Yeah… yeah.”

           Cas swings the door open, stepping out into the waste yard. Dean follows at a slower pace, head down, already readying the bag of weapons they brought with them. He watches the other man, pain and sadness welling inside of him, because of what he had to do. ‘Not now… I can’t – I can never…’ He slams the door. ‘I may never have it, but Dean deserves it.’

           “You seem good, lately. Happy, even…”

[shes-claws-deep]

Bumblebee - Christmas Reunion

Not a Bumblebee/Charlie fic. Don’t tag as such.

“Do you want to go visit her?”

Bumblebee jumps to his feet with a cry, his hands flying to his chest and his head snapping down to see you staring up at him with an amused little smile on your face.

“Visit…who?” The radio crackles as it switches channels.

You nod to the well-worn picture he has in his huge hand. “That girl there. That was from when you first fell, right?”

The scout looks down at the picture, his finger tracing across the girl’s face gently. “She…was…my first friend.” The yellow beetle in the corner looked worn and in disrepair, a sign of the state he was in when he first arrived. “She saved me.”

“I know,” you murmur, stepping close so you can tug his hand down, carefully examining the photo and the date stamped in the corner. “1987. That’s uh, that’s a while ago, hey?”

A sad trill. He sags a little and crouches down again, his antennae falling flat against his helm and his optics turning downcast. Like this, he looks like a kicked puppy, those baby blues casting a soft light upon the old picture. The radio crackles to life once more, the old thing spitting out a record so old that you haven’t heard it in ages.

O, my love, my darling I’ve hungered for your touch A long lonely time Times goes by so slowly And time can do so much

You smile, leaning against his leg and peering at the photo. “She has good taste.”

Bumblebee whirrs and nods, the radio spinning once more to play some of the classics she showed him. For a good hour, you sit with him, singing along and dancing when certain beats urge him to move his body to the tune. The clanging and stomping draw a certain pair of twins who eagerly join in, showing off their jet judo skills as they do. Bumblebee, refusing to be outclassed, keeps jamming, his doorwings fluttering with his every move.

It’s adorable to see him expressing joy over the memory of his old friend instead of sadness like before. The picture rests safely in your hands as the soldiers dance the night away, and it is then that an idea hits you.

“Where…are we…going?” The radio dial twists and turns of its own volition as you drive Bumblebee down winding mountain roads.

“Oh, just a little joyride,” you reply with a secretive smile. “Don’t worry, I asked the Commander for permission.”

The scout chirps curiously, prodding you for answers and guessing when you still refuse to tell. After a while he stops asking, but then starts to poke you. Just a little bit.

The seats move back and forth. The seatbelt tightens and loosens. The gearstick switches positions whenever you go to change gears. The air vents shifting and blowing hot and cold air in your face. It should be annoying rather than funny but you can’t help but snort and let him disturb you as much as he likes. Anything to distract him from where you’re bringing him.

Also, he’s your backup driver if his antics do distract you from the road.

It takes the better part of a day to get where you need to be and by the time you do get there, night has fallen. The stars twinkle merrily above you, cold beacons of light that frame the pretty town below the dark sky.

“It’s beautiful~” A woman croons out from the radio, Bumblebee’s wondrous whirr following behind it.

“It is, isn’t it?” You smile and head into town, pulling down into a suburb filled with little apartments and houses.

329.

331.

333.

335- Ah, here you are.

You stop at the curb, getting out. “Wait here for a minute, okay?”

“Roger that.” You can almost imagine Bumblebee’s signature salute – a fist pump high into the air. It makes you smile. Well, that and the thought of how he might react in a couple of minutes.

The little apartment block is clean and well maintained if perhaps a little old, but you’re not here for the building. You’re here for who’s in it. Up one flight of stairs. Another. Then you knock on a door.

“Just a moment!”

Shuffling. Thumps. Then a “Shhh honey, go into your room. Mommy will be back soon, okay?” A pause, then the door cracks open just a little. “Can I help you, miss?” A pair of sweet, dark eyes peep out from the crack of the door.

You smile reassuringly, easing out of your military posture to flash her a picture on your phone.

Utter silence. The woman’s jaw drops and her wide-eyed gaze flits up to yours. Then she sets her jaw and nods. “One moment.” The door is shut, chains undone, and she opens the door wide to let you in. “Come on in.”

“Thank you.” You nod at her, wiping your shoes and staying in the entryway as she checks the bedroom doors and calls her husband to her side. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, ma’am.”

“Oh no!” She shakes her head, dark curls falling around her pretty face as she comes back around the corner. “It’s fine. Just putting the kids away after dinner is all.”

It’s then that her husband pops his head out of the kitchen to join her, his poofy hair appearing before his kind face does. “A drink for you, miss?”

Shaking your head, you reiterate that you’ll only take a moment.

The woman and her husband exchange a knowing glance and he steps out of the kitchen, still wiping his hands with his apron. She takes a deep breath and lets it out, opening her mouth to start speaking when you cut her off with a gentle hand.

“I don’t think I know your name, miss, but I probably shouldn’t know either. I just wanted to know if you are indeed the young lady in this photo.” You wave the phone, the picture of a picture still displayed. “If so, I have someone you should meet.” That sounds bad. “Uh, I mean, not the military. I am from the military but the ‘someone’ isn’t the military.”

Both woman and man crack a smile. “You’re cute,” the woman comments, her eyes tearing up a little as she takes the phone gingerly from you. “Where did you find this photo?”

Doffing your knuckles on your chest, you quip, “Thank you. I think I’m cute too.” Then, falling back into seriousness, you lean forward and gesture for the phone back. “I got it off a little bee. They carry a lot more than just pollen, you know?”

Her hands immediately fly up to cup her mouth, her throat bobbing as though struggling to swallow, and her husband presses his solid form up against her – a solid pillar for her to lean on. “Is-please, if you’re lying-”

“I’m not.”

She chokes out a wet laugh, bending over ever so gradually, chanting ‘oh my god’ under her breath. As though gathering herself together, she pulls herself up and squares her shoulders. “Please, can you-” Then something hits her and she looks at the closed doors to her children’s’ rooms.

Her husband pipes up then, soft eyes also filling up with tears and his hair bobbing as he jerks his head in the direction of the rooms. “I’ll take care of them, babe. You go see him.”

“I won’t make you take long, ma’am,” you chime in.

“Thank you.” Her voice is wheezy and thin but her body stands firm as you usher her out.

Your voice is quiet as you descend down the flights of stairs. “We’ll have to drive out to a quieter area. He isn’t outlawed here but…just in case.”

She smiles wetly and nods in agreement, still too choked up to speak properly. However, when you lead her out to the pavement, she freezes and sways a little. You grasp her gently, guiding her into the passenger seat and getting into the driver’s side yourself.

Beneath you, you can feel Bumblebee still, his radio falling silent after playing some silly songs for himself. You can feel him relinquish all control to you as he keeps his attention on the woman in his passenger seat. He doesn’t even pay attention to where you’re going, only that you drive him into a secluded area of the nearby park, only that you get out and give him the all-clear signal after fiddling with your jammer pack. Only that the woman in his seat is crying softly as he transforms before her.

Bumblebee kneels, his polished armour gleaming in the light of the streetlamps, the scratches and scars coming into stark relief, his new form alien and familiar at the same time. The woman wipes away her tears roughly, laughing as she launches herself into his arms. “‘Bee!”

“Hello again…Charlie.”

You smile, tears also building in your eyes as you watch their heartfelt reunion after thirty years. Turning away, you ready yourself to do a patrol of the area just in case someone stumbles upon the lot of you. As you do, though, your radio crackles and a scratchy voice comes through and a big smile cracks across your face.

“Thank you, my love.”

Turning around, you wink at the bot who is gazing at you with wide, baby blue optics, and mouth, “Happy Christmas, Bumblebee.”

[doomedandstoned]

Closer To The End (part II)

~By Billy Goate~

Art by Ruso Tsig

Everyone has bouts of sadness, loneliness, heartache. For better or worse, it's a part of the human condition. There was some discussion after my last article about whether depression is something we can choose to walk into or away from -- like a bad attitude -- or whether in some people it may be more deeply ingrained in the psychological makeup, whether by nature or nurture. I thought it would be helpful to give you a window into my own background so you can understand when depression first made itself manifest and the different strategies taken to deal with it over the years.

Banished from this world, and from its toil I can only watch, grieve and pity Stare at stupid likes, wonder at people's smiles

I get more and more stress Nothing anyone can offer, more or less Done grieving, closer to the end

DON'T KNOW WHY

I vaguely recall spells of melancholy in childhood. The return from summer camp to a boring home with mom vacuuming and dad at work had me feeling quite empty and blue. It was a strange, bewildering state of mind to be in. Mom told me to snap out of it or else. There were a few moments that shattered my reality as a child. Realizing, for instance, that mom and dad were having marital problems. Hearing my pastor of a father say a swear word. Often, I would be startled awake in the dead of night to my mom shrieking at my dad, throwing dishes, insisting that he was against her. My dad was a patient man and knew that all was not right in her world. These things jolted me into new layers of reality, each accompanied by periods of moodiness and anxiety.

By the time I was in the 4th grade, I started having trouble in school. I was placed in one of those "talented and gifted" programs, though I never really understood why. I knew I couldn't see what my teachers were writing on the chalkboard. Panicked, I would ask students nearby what the hell the teacher was writing, only to be scolded for distracting the class. One particular teacher was downright mean to me, until she found out that I was having vision problems and needed glasses. Once she realized I was also the son of a preacher man, she tripped all over herself to be kind. Maybe she felt guilty?

Something else odd happened around this time. I came home with division homework one day and just decided not to do it. I don't remember if it was because my parents were too busy to help or I was just too stubborn to ask. There was no rational reason for it. The next day, I was shamed in front of the entire class by an Admiral Ackbar looking mother fucker named Mr. Davis. "Billy Joe, why didn't you do your homework?" he demanded. "Why?" His hand lifted my chin, forcing me to stare up into his beady little eyes peering menacingly behind his spectacles. Mr. Davis' rosy complexion turned beat red when I answered: "I...don't know."

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who I am

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who to be

SATANIC PANIC

My parents were tethered to a particularly pernicious strain of fundamentalist Christianity that got caught up in the "Satanic Panic" of the 1980s. That meant no D&D for me! Urban legends were shared in Sunday school and from the pulpit about young people who had necked because their character "died" in this forbidden game. It was the most sinister proxy for evil that I could envision at that time.

The Satanic Panic put everything else under the microscope: toys, comic books, and popular music were all suspect. A copy of Phil Phillip's 1986 "expose" Turmoil In The Toybox lay on the coffee table, pages well-worn and highlighted. He-Man, G.I. Joe, even Star Wars were viewed as tools of the Devil to recruit a desensitized generation of youth into his heathen horde. I'd wake up from one day to learn about something else I couldn't have, play, watch, or do. Video games would not be far behind.

One day, my mother caught me rocking out to the Scorpions in my room and immediately confiscated my radio, outlawing metal from the house (and basically anything with a rock 'n' roll beat). MTV lasted only long enough for me to be exposed to Metallica's visceral "One" and Guns 'n' Roses' "Welcome To The Jungle." While the classic days of rock's infancy were viewed as a time of innocence (I don't think my folks really got what "Blueberry Hill" by Fats Domino was about), anything stemming from the late '60s counterculture forward was viewed as dangerously corrupting.

Various factions within the church began playing games of connect-the-dots with the songs of Jefferson Airplane, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath, tying them into a subservice plot by Luciferian cults and the shadowy elite (at that time Communists -- a favorite boogeyman of the era) who were trying to undermine undermining of God, family, and country by subverting its youth. All of popular culture was roped in with the conspiracy, too. Though the house was cleansed of its ungodly influence, the worst was still ahead.

Soon, my mother started cutting me off from neighborhood friends and finally pulled me out of public school altogether around middle of 5th grade. She had learned about this radical new response to America's failing education system through friends from another church who had just taken their own children out of school. Emboldened, she began homeschooling us in West Texas in the mid '80s, during a time when it wasn't a clearly legal practice. Every time the doorbell rang my siblings and I would run and hide, thinking the truant officer had come to take us away to foster care. I didn't understand at the time what I do now: my mother was mentally ill. Furthermore, she was in over her head. This became apparent when she tried to take on the role of teacher.

While I am extraordinarily grateful for the year or two of solid education she gave me (particularly in the writing and public speaking departments, two areas she and my father were naturally gifted in and which have been the buttress of my career), it wasn't long until she became frustrated with the Abeka and Bob Jones University curriculum we were using. One day, when I was struggling with algebra, she declared that we wouldn't have to learn it. "After all, who actually uses algebra in daily life?" she wondered. We were now self-directed learners, a radical new idea that was controversial even in the homeschooling movement ("un-schooling," they called it). Of course, I wasn't allowed to just sit around and watch TV. Consequently, I shifted my focus to the things that were more interesting to me: music, art, history. Math and science? Not so much.

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

For years, I remained blithely unaware of what was happening in the world around me in the world of music. I lived in Arlington during the rise of Pantera, Topeka during one of Guns ‘n’ Roses most controversial shows, and Oregon during the height of the grunge era and the sunsetting of the Grateful Dead -- all of it veiled from notice. My life was devoted to church and, if anything, I tried to convince fellow Christians to separate themselves from the tainted allure of the fool’s gold of popular music, television, and video games. For a while, I was a true believer. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, if you like. Infractions of the moral code -- and the slightest temperament of rebellion -- were met with a freshly cut switch, which would leave stinging welts up and down my calves, tights, arms, and back. Thus my conscience was conditioned.

I remember happening upon the pornographic scene in George Orwell’s 1984 and afterwards feeling that the only right and proper thing to assuage my guilt was to burn the everlasting shit out of this smut. Even then I loved the novel, but I couldn't reconcile my faith with this section of it, so I purged it in the flame of backyard trash barrels. At my most fervent, I also lit the match to a stack of MAD Magazines and comic books. As harmless as they might have seemed to the average Joe blinded to the wiles of the Devil, these were gateways into realms of the flesh. “Walk in the spirit, not the flesh,” I recited to myself as fire brandished the yellowed pages of print, slowly turning them black until they were embers caught up by the wind and scattered into the sky. True story: I once threw away a perfectly good copy of Downward Spiral after one hearing the demonic screams of "Becoming" (not to mention the brash blasphemy of "Heretic").

The me that you know doesn't come around much That part of me isn't here anymore

The me that you know is now made up of wires And even when I'm right with you I'm so far away

This kind of extreme separation from the world really fucked me up socially. For years, I couldn't hold on a conversation with another person my age. What would we talk about? I was clueless about anything happening in the world of sports, music, television, or the culture at large. Even though conversation is no longer a problem for me, I still feel odd about friendships. I have an irrational fear that they're going to be taken away from me at any moment, so I keep everyone at a comfortable arm's length. At times, intimacy feels painfully awkward.

Maybe this is why I'm so notorious for leaving shows immediately following the last song. I’ll give my smiles, shake hands, and say goodbye, but avoid sticking around long enough to really get to know people. I’ve been invited to crash on couches to avoid the long drive home, but I always politely decline. Certainly, I don’t want to come across as rude, I just feel like an outsider to the world -- someone who just doesn’t fit in, doesn't belong. Not now, not ever.

TEENAGE ANGST HAS PAID OFF WELL

As I reached my adolescent years, I began going through prolonged spells of melancholy. The prospect of sharing this with others was extraordinarily embarrassing, so I kept it all bottled up inside. Mostly, I tried walking it out on long excursions through the open field next to our house. I worked through a lot of issues during that time and credit those walks with helping me to keep my sanity. As a matter of fact, I recommend daily constitutionals to everyone as a general principle of good mental health. It would be a mistake not to mention that my belief in an omnipresent God at this time played a medicinal role in helping me to cope with my depression, though my views on religion would one day reverse course.

By 18, symptoms of major depression surfaced like a noxious weed and even God could not get me through it. I prayed, too. God, how I prayed, sometimes hours on end. That year, I fell into a downcast mood that refused to dissipate and remained there for months -- four of them straight. I sought refuge in the music of Tchaikovsky, working my way from the fateful Symphony No. 4 to his Symphony No. 6, the Pathétique. The sounds I was hearing tapped into a new emotional alphabet, impossible to transcribe into any tongue. It was remarkable: somehow the music knew precisely what I was feeling. I finally had a soundtrack to my depression.

One day, a buddy and I joined the military on a whim, though he'd later get disqualified for asthma. I felt the Army would provide a much needed "Be All You Can Be" boost to my confidence and a crash course in normie life. I shipped down range to my duty station, Fort Benning, Georgia, for infantry training. My new home would be with Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 58th Infantry Regiment -- the infamous "House of Pain." In the space of 14 weeks, I was exposed to every aspect of humanity imaginable. From the "shark attack" welcome of the drill sergeants on Sand Hill to the rude middle of the night awakenings for physical training, I was in shock most of the time. Slowly, though, I eased into this strange new world and got my bearings.

Almost a full month into this prison world, we were allowed to visit one of the on-base shopping exchanges. I immediately looked for a CD player and began checking out the music section, trying to see if there were names I recognized. "Guns 'n' Roses? Sure they're cool," shrugged my buddy Bradley, a floppy-eared Gomer Pyle looking dude. "But you really need to check out some Soundgarden, dude." I did, picking up their latest, Down On The Upside, and it was like salve to my soul. The music spoke of being trapped ("...and I don't like what you've got me hanging from") and being eternally at odds with the world ("Born without a friend and bound to die alone"). There was even a song about "Boot Camp," the short album closer. The nihilistic despair was strangely comforting.

I must obey the rules I must be tame and cool No staring at the clouds I must stay on the ground In clusters of the mice The smoke is in our eyes Like babies on display Like Angels in a cage I must be pure and true I must contain my views There must be something else There must be something good far away Far away from here And I'll be there for good For good

The song did not resolve happily, and I feared my life wouldn't either. After a serious injury left me permanently wounded, I began to feel my life wasn't being guided by the Hand of God of all, but the random throes of Fate. Maybe they were the same thing. I resigned myself to the misery of a long recovery, during which time I had to learn to walk again. It's a three beer kind of story, maybe I'll share it sometime. Probably not. Returning to civilian life proved to be even more of an adjustment than the military had been, and my shadows of depression lingered with me even as I tried to remain one step ahead of them.

MELANCHOLIA

I have long held a theory that human beings are not built for the world that we have constructed for ourselves. Whether we're talking Seattle traffic or the constant buzz of social media, the frantic pace of our rapidly evolving technocracy has left us a worried, frazzled mess. The studies are conclusive: almost one in five have experienced depression and one in four struggle with anxiety, with PTSD being a household acronym.

A counselor once asked if I enjoyed being depressed. I found it a bit of a repulsive question. I can tell you that there is nothing glamorous about depression. There's no reason to idolize the angst of those sad Kurt Cobain eyes. Everyone has experienced feelings of being bummed out, and for most folks it is a transitory feeling. It comes when one of life's storms arises and leaves when the situation resolves itself. There's a whole section of us, however, for whom the dark clouds never leaves. It just hovers around our heads, like the oppressive, low-hanging specter of an Oregon winter.

Depression isn't always about feeling sad, either. Often it manifests in a general malaise -- you can't bring yourself to care about the things you used to. Other times, it works in tandem with anxiety, seizing your heart at the thought of all the day holds in store, then punishing you with the feeling of dread. We may feel sad, anxious, or fearful and not be able to give a rational explanation for it. In those moments, I cannot imagine a more miserable place to be. With that said, I hasten to add that my description of depression may not align with your own, as it is an intensely personal experience.

Release your head from the world Keep yourself underground No one understands your mind

Humans programmed like robots Making sure you don't belong No one understands your mind

I suspected I had depression in the clinical sense, when I realized that though I wanted to feel better, all I could do was subsist in the misery. Those of you who've been able to talk yourself out of such states will scoff. My mother, who suffers from a host of afflictions that have never been properly diagnosed, was notorious for telling us kids to "snap out of it." I do understand that kind of no-nonsense perspective. Her father and mother were staunchly independent homesteaders of the WWII generation who braved the untamed wilderness of Alaska and the exotic dangers of Australia. The '60s and '70s generation grew up fearful of losing such independence to mental institutions that locked up people, merely because they acted in ways society didn’t understand. The stigma of psychiatric care was every bit as real as the stigma of mental illness. Thus, her approach was quite practical: take Saint John's Wort, get on a good diet of vegetables and fruits, drink plenty of water, get fresh air and exercise. If that doesn’t work, there’s always Jesus.

Despite plenty of prayer and a multitude of home remedies, depression continued plaguing my mind. People frustrated by what they viewed as an easy fix would imply that depressed folk like me just wanted to be depressed, maybe because it got them attention or they were just spoiled rotten. Soon I stopped sharing altogether. As one friend of mine, a real no-nonsense type, told me: “No one cares. You have to get on with your life.” “How do you manage that?” I asked. “What's your secret?” “You just have to shrug it off,” she concluded. I envied the cold, pragmatic stoicism and wished that I could just shrug my shoulders and let everything slide off. At one point, my depression was so acute, I looked into electroconvulsive therapy, memory loss be damned. During my consultation with a specialist, I learned the procedure had advanced since Jack Nicholson’s unfortunate end as a mental patient in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Ultimately, I decided against it.

SEARCH FOR ANSWERS

As with most human situations, our problems stem from a complex mixture of nature and nurture. I posed a question to my psychology professor one day: "Does depression cause us to think depressing thoughts or do depressing thoughts cause us to be in a state of depression?" His answer surprised and relieved me. "Both," he said.

In Psychology 202, we were in the midst of a chapter on depression and other mental disorders. Having recently experienced the loss of my grandmother, I was feeling especially hopeless and decided to ask my prof another burning question at the end of class. "If a person were to see a therapist, does it go on his record?" In my mind, counseling was for the weak and hideously broken. "Not at all," he responded with a smile. "Even psychologists seek help from other psychologists for their depression and anxiety." Then he really blew my mind: "I have a therapist myself. See her once a month. Sort through a lot of life decisions that way." He also assured me that there was no master file of such visits. While a therapist might keep her own notes, it's certainly not something shared with employers and as a rule is kept strictly confidential, as are all medical records.

My first visit to a counselor was nothing like I'd imagined. I wasn't given pills, invited to lay on a couch and look at ink blots, or even asked questions about my parents. Instead, the counselor initiated an open-ended conversation that encouraged me to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings I'd been bottling up inside. It was the first time I'd ever talked about my experiences in the military or about the emotional upheaval of my childhood. I felt liberated after just a few weeks of these sessions. For a time, I felt very much on top of my problems. Maybe this counseling thing wasn't so bad after all. I even began to recommend it to my friends and stood up for psychologists when mom would bash the profession in one of her trademark rants.

Promises abound You rarely find it to begin Maybe I'm afraid To let you all the way in

I excuse myself I'm used to my little cell I amuse myself In my very own private hell

I noticed a pattern to my depression: it seemed to be triggered by situations in which I felt helplessly incapable of controlling my environment, decisions, and destiny. You know, other people taking advantage of me, a nightmare roommate, an overbearing boss, unrequited love -- that sort of thing. It was like a switch flipped and all of the sudden the feelings flooded in and surrounded me for days, even weeks.

Feelings of loneliness and disquiet were often compounded by negative thinking about the situation. "What's wrong with me that I can't find someone to be with? Am I that unattractive or uninteresting?" The negative self-talk wasn't helping my situation. In some ways, it even turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'd walk around with a scowl on my face, prompting friends and family to constantly ask, "What's wrong? Is everything ok?" That's why I realized it may take more muscles to frown than to smile, but that undersmile sure is a lot more comfortable. No wonder people kept themselves at bay.

I actually started practicing my smile in the rearview mirror on the way to school every day, just so I remembered what that felt like. Fake it 'til you make it, the saying goes. Even if I was feeling like a miserable wretch inside, I certainly didn't want to betray those feelings to the world outside. So I got good at being a fake. When people asked, "How's it going?" I'd say, "Fine, just fine, thanks. And you?" (One of my counselors would later call me on that every session: "How are things really?").

When I got married, depression reached peak levels, only now that oppressive, low-hanging cold front wouldn't burn off with the sunshine. The mood never lifted. It was with me 24-7. It wasn't unusual for me to be severely depressed during the normally halcyon days of summer. I knew something had to be done, so I confronted another long-time stigma of mine: medication.

To be continued...

This whole house of cards crumbling slow If I disappear would you even know? The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

So far under Too much pain to tell And now I'm ripped asunder So far under

[measuringlife]

Measuring Me: An Ode to My Love of Music

This Bob Marley quote has always resonated with me: “One good thing about music. When it hits you, you feel no pain.”

I must confess I am not musical. I can’t carry a tune, play an instrument, or read music of any sort. I think because I am not personally musical, I deeply appreciate music. I feel music with every fiber of my being. Music is my drug of choice.

It calms me down.

It picks me up.

It comforts me.

It’s something I can lose myself in.

I really started my love affair with music during my tween years, but those were all the years of the end of my parent’s marriage and my Dad moving out. Music was a good escape. I then turned to music to help ease the heartbreak of unrequited love in college. Music to help calm the stress of grad school. Music is where I turned for comfort after my Dad died. Music kept me going when I first running and continued to motivate me through thousands of miles over the years. Music helps me focus on work in the office or make a tedious task more enjoyable. Music drives the choreography of BODYPUMP and other Les Mills workouts.

I both hate and love how accessible music is in this day and age. I’m actually listening to the best of Broadway from Amazon Music as I type this thanks to yelling for Alexa to play “showtunes” for me. I remember creating my Pandora account in August 2005 and thinking WOW! Actually at one point in my life just after grad school circa 2008 the most expensive thing I owned (aside from my car) was my iTunes library. I would argue in my early high school years the most expensive thing I owned was my cd collection. For the record I still have all my CDs - I’ve just removed almost all the jewel cases and keep them in books or on a spindle. I also have ALL my early iTunes music saved to 2 different iPods.

Thinking back I remember certain songs from my childhood like “Kokomo” by the Beach Boys or “I would do anything for love” by Meatloaf or “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen or various broadway showtunes ranging from Jesus Christ Superstar to Phantom on the Opera to Grease and Rocky Horror. My Dad and my Aunt who were my stronger early musical influences had a penchant for Andrew Loyd Webber and campy shows! I also remember one of the first CDs our family purchased as a “hits of the 50s-60s” two-disc collection - it has a sad song I loved called “Tell Laura I love her” by Ray Peterson that I particularly loved. Spoiler alert the more heartbreaking the song the more I tend to like it.

CDs gained widespread popularity when I was in junior high school which was perfect for an angsty teen. Some early teen year CDs of the late 90s I loved were Eve6, Bush, Hootie and the Blowfish, Limp Bizkit, Third Eye Blind, and Matchbox 20. I really REALLY loved “Outside” by Staind and Fred Durst, I remember listening to that track from the 1999 Family Values Tour CD on REPEAT. However I also was a total teeny bopper with an eternal flame for Hanson, but also loved all things boys bands like Nsync, BSB, 98 degrees, 5ive, O-Town, and the “fake” boy band 2gether.

I went to my first concert in 2nd grade to see teen pop sensation Debbie Gibson! I didn’t go to another concert until 9th grade when I saw Backstreet Boys. From there I went to concerts as much as my mom would let me. Once I got my license my concert going really picked up. Jones Beach Outdoor Amphitheater was THE venue as a teenager, so many amazing summer concert memories there.

My love of music took another turn in college. Right away I joined the college radio station and all of a sudden had access to all these new artists on the rise. I remember my first semester of college in Fall 2001 getting a cd and small-time merch from this up and coming singer-songwriter who had Connecticut roots. You may have heard of him, his name is John Mayer. I honestly have COUNTLESS bands that I discovered through my college radio days (shout out WQAQ - the soundtrack of Quinnipiac). There is so much music I associate with college that it’s hard to recall when I was first introduced to them - like Dashboard Confessional, Jimmy Eat World, Something Corporate, Fall Out Boy, Yellowcard, Jack Johnson, and Ben Harper to name a few. I also recall listening to quite a bit of “screamo” back then like The Used and Hawthorne Heights. The band I will forever associate with QAQ is the Spill Canvas and they are still of my favorite bands. In fact, I’m seeing them in concert later this month!

I also went to a ton of concerts in college, one band I haven’t mentioned is Incubus. They are also one of my all-time favorites. I saw Incubus a number of times in college, most memorable were two tour stops in 2002. One at the Garden in NYC and one at the Hartford Civic Center. They started the shows playing full blast electric then they changed the vibe of the stage and did a couple of acoustic songs before switching back to full electric. The crazy thing is that so many of their songs work just all acoustic as they do full blast.

Going to concerts was also a great way to discover music through opening acts. I’ve always been a person to get to a show to see the opening act. The all-time best chain of introduction to music was when I went to my first John Mayer show in November 2002. It was the Sunday after Thanksgiving and we all arrived back to college that afternoon with the concert that night. The drive up we listened to John Mayer the whole ride. The venue, the Oakdale Theater in Wallingford CT was small (I just looked it up the capacity was 4,800) and so intimate. Everyone there were passionate John Mayer fans, the opening act had their work cut out for them. Enter: Maroon 5 as the opening act. They melted my face off. They had the most unbelievable energy and hot damn could they shred on guitar. John Mayer even came out before his set to shred with them on one song. My best memory of that set was when Adam Levine covered Nine In Nails “Closer.” Holy hell, still one of the best performances I’ve seen. Ever. Just to be clear the John Mayer show was also amazing, the best one of his I’ve ever gone too because of how small it was I think. However, I walk away from a stellar John Mayer show still buzzing from Maroon 5. I could write a whole blog post of my Maroon 5 fandom in their early days (like how I was part of their “street team” and was invited by their management to go to their first Total Request Live performance because they wanted fans who could sing along to every word in the audience). Anyway back to the chain of amazing artist introduction. October 2003 I was going to NYC for the night to see Maroon 5 and low and behold their opening act was a newcomer named Gavin DeGraw who stole the show, his cover of Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get in On” is yet another top concert memory. I should also note 30 Seconds to Mars opened for Incubus when I saw them in Hartford in 2002. 

Another note from the early 2000s history books, during my college years Kazaa and Limewire were at their height. Plus being on a college ethernet that was not yet “wireless” we were able to log into a campus-wide music portal some smart computer programming major kid set up where you essentially made you music public for others to copy and you were able to search and copy other people’s music. SO MUCH MUSIC. I was particularly obsessed with ripped live versions of songs.

Looking back at the top 10 performances/shows I’ve seen - not including festivals - because that could be its own category. If there is a particularly noteworthy song I’ll note it.

Incubus - 11am acoustic (2002 - Hartford Civic Center)

John Mayer (2002 - Oakdale Theatre)

Maroon 5 - Closer (2002 - Oakdale Theatre)

Third Eye Blind - (2003 - SPB Concert at Quinnipiac - Josh Kelley opened and was awesome)

Gavin DeGraw - Let’s Get it On (2003/2004 - NYC and Hartford - both were amazing)

Spill Canvas - All Hail The Heartbreaker (2004 - The Attic, Hamden CT)

Maroon 5 (2004/2005 at two tiny Long Island venues)

David Cook - Permanent (Night for Hope 2012 - State Theatre, Falls Church VA)

Jimmy Eat World - A Praise Chorus (2017 - Bristow VA)

Hanson - (2017 - The Fillmore - Silver Spring - also 2018 - Wolf Trap they played Yearbook for the first time ever on tour during their String Theory shows)

Top 10 influential albums by a single artist/band listed chronologically - not including any soundtracks, showtunes, or festival albums which each could be its own categories. You may notice there are some artists where I can’t choose one either due to both being amazing or discovering them around the same time and listening to them digitally in a shuffled mix. 

Hanson - Middle of Nowhere (1997)

Third Eye Blind - Third Eye Blind (1997 self-titled debut)

Eve 6  - Eve 6 (1998 self-titled debut)

Incubus - Make Yourself (1999)/Morning View (2001)

John Mayer - Room for Squares (2001)/Any Given Thursday (2003)

Dashboard Confessional - The Swiss Army Romance (2000)/The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most (2001)

Maroon 5 - Songs About Jane (2002)

Gavin DeGraw - Chariot (2003) / Chariot: Stripped (2004)

Spill Canvas - Sunsets and Car Crashes (2004)/One Fell Swoop (2005)

David Cook - Analog Heart (2006)

Honorable mention all of David Cook’s albums from his old band Axium

[fvcksuga]

Cold Blood

Warnings: sad, trigger warning

Words: 2.2k

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: angst

A/N: I’m Australian so if any lingo in here doesn't make sense I'm so sorry just message me or google it lol.

The engine roars to life as hot air blasts through the heating vents, warming your cold hands. 

“You ready to go?” Jimin asks with a smile. He is taking you out to a bar as a change up from your regular dinner dates at fancy restaurants. You both want to let loose tonight. You zip your jacket up higher to your chin and put your hands in your pockets, your warm breath forming puffy clouds in the still cold air in the car.

“Yep, let’s go,” you reply glancing at him, smiling a hidden smile beneath the collar of your jacket. 

He pulls out of the driveway and switches on the radio. Instantly, a cover of Can’t Help Falling In Love, you had been playing earlier pours through the speakers` and both of your faces light up. You both love this song.

As the lyrics flow throughout the car, Jimin reaches over and places his hand on your thigh and begins to sing along. The drive to the bar is quiet, but not awkward. You listen to the well-fitting lyrics and watch the headlights of other cars passing by, thinking about and imagining their lives. 

You pull into a parking space across from the bar. Jimin switches the car off and hops out, making his way to your side of the car. He opens your door and bows.

‘M’lady,” he giggles with a smirk. You step outside with your bag in your hand. You walk up to him and plant a kiss on his cheek. 

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ you respond with a curtsy. After closing and locking the car, he takes your cold hand in his warm one and walks with you across the road to the bar.  

You are about to walk inside when you're stopped by the bouncer. 

“I’m going to need to see your ID,” he says to Jimin sternly. Jimin shoots you a look. 

‘Every fucking time,’ he mutters just loud enough for you to hear. You stifle a laugh as he fishes his licence out of his wallet. The bouncer examines his ID while Jimin glances at you, rolling his eyes. 

‘You're all good to go in,’ he says to you, handing Jimin his ID back. As you walk inside the bar, you’re hit with the strong smell of mixed alcohol and the underlying musk of cigarette smoke. The bustling atmosphere makes you giddy. A live band plays in the corner of the room, sending an electric feeling rush through you. 

Jimin takes your hand and guides you over to the bar. You follow him through the crowd, already smiling to yourself. You love him so damn much. You take a seat and the bartender walks over to you both. 

“Just a Gin and Tonic please,” he says, looking back up at you, gesturing for you to order something.

“Oh, just a Whiskey on the rocks, please,” you say to the bartender with a smile. You don't usually drink alcohol, but tonight, you're letting go and having fun. He nods and walks away.

“Man, I really like it here already,” Jimin shouts over the music. You laugh and nod. 

“So do I. I am so glad we did this,” you yell back with a grin. The bartender walks back over to where you are seated and hands you your drinks. You pick up the glass and raise it towards Jimin. 

“To us letting loose!” you shout, clinking your glass against his. 

“To us,” he copies. You pull your glass back and take a sip. You feel the burn in the back of your throat and the warmth it emits in your stomach. Suddenly, the music switches over to one of you and Jimin’s favourite songs. You both smile in unison and stand up, taking your drinks with you, erring on the side of caution. You both dance together on the dance floor, shouting the lyrics at the top of your lungs and laughing between sips. You feel truly happy in this moment, dancing and singing with the love of your life right in front of you. 

“I love you, Y/N,” Jimin calls to you.

The end of the song approaches as you move closer to him. The song ends.

“I love you, too, Jimin,” you yell into the now silent room, accidentally. Everyone looks at you and Jimin bursts out laughing. Everyone is giving you strange looks but you don’t mind. You join him soon after as the next song starts to play. You laugh so hard that your stomach hurts, even though it wasn't that funny. Jimin is trying to catch his breath also. You think that maybe your giddiness is down to your alcohol consumption, glancing at your almost empty, second glass. As you laugh, you feel a presence behind you. Hands grip your waist and you feel a hot breath on your neck. 

“Nice dancing, baby, lets go back to mine and you can show me what a girl like you can do,” whispers a low, husky voice. You lurch forward out of the strangers grip. You spin around and see a tall figure with his hood over his head, a smirk painted on his face. Before you can say anything, you’re pushed to the side. 

“Hey man, she’s with me, yeah? Watch yourself,” Jimin warns darkly. The man simply laughs and backs off. He turns to you.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to?” his words tumble out. 

“Babe, I’m fine. Thank you for coming over. What a creep..” you respond, reassuring Jimin. He lets out a deep breath and grabs your hand. 

“Good. If you see him again just let me know, okay?” he asks worriedly. You nod with a small smile. He leads you back towards the dance floor. You dance some more, drink some more and sing some more. You are having the time of your life with Jimin. Your vision starts to blur a little and you feel a bit sick. 

“Hey Chim, I’m going to the bathroom, I’ll be back shortly,” you call out to him, releasing his hand. You half walk, half stumble towards the bathroom. You open the door and walk to the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is a mess and most of your eye makeup is smudged. All you can do is laugh at yourself alone in the bathroom. After refreshening a little bit by splashing water on your face, you exit the bathroom. Just as you close the door, a hand clasps around your mouth and drags you away. You quickly register in your mind that this is a stranger, and you're in trouble. You kick and scream, trying to free yourself from the strangers grasp, but they are far bigger than you and no one can hear you over the blaring music. You can't escape. 

You're dragged out the side door into a dark alleyway. You're slammed against the brick wall harshly. You yell out in pain as your ribs collide with the graffitied wall. The stranger spins you around roughly and pins your arms to the wall. It’s the creep from inside. 

“Hey baby. You miss me?” he breaths into your ear, sending chills down your spine. He runs his hands over your body and you assume the worst is about to happen. You scream out but no one can hear you. You begin to cry.

“Shh shh. Don’t cry beautiful, I am going to give you exactly what that little fucker can't,” he says to you, referring to Jimin. You spit in his face. 

“Fuck you,” you bark through gritted teeth. You instantly regret your decision when the man raises his hand and slaps you hard. Your face stings from the sharp contact and you yelp. 

“That’s it, bitch. No more Mr. Fucking Nice Guy,” he screams in your face, ripping your shirt, exposing your bra. He eyes your body as you squirm in discomfort. You feel disgusting. You feel violated. All you can do is cry. The man is about to unbutton his and your jeans when the side door swings open. 

A livid Jimin spots the two of you and charges towards the man, catching him off guard and tackling him to the ground. They hit the hard ground with a crash. You breathe at the release of your wrists. Jimin raises his fist above his head and lets it plummet into the strangers face, over and over again. A sickening crunching sound along with JImin grunting is all you can hear.

“Don't you fucking dare touch her like that. Or anyone,” he screams as he repeatedly hits the man. The man suddenly regains his strength and flips Jimin over to his back, laying punch after punch into his jaw and ribs. You glance around, panicked, looking for anything to get him off Jimin. You see a wooden crate. You pick it up and throw it on the mans head, causing him to topple to the side. You heave Jimin off the ground and grimace at his bloody, battered face. You pull him away from the man of whom you assume is unconscious.

“Oh my god, Jimin, we need to get you to a hospital,” you exclaim, cradling his face in your hands. He shakes his head and blood sputters out of his mouth. 

“Bruises will heal, babe, let’s just get out of here,” he croaks. 

You nod vigorously and start to gather your things when you notice the man stand up. He stares at you both, sending chills through your body. His hands are in his pockets and blood is erupting from his nose, mouth and one eye. He takes one step forward. You would run if you weren't supporting almost all of Jimins weight. You step back with Jimin. The man smirks at you. The rest happens in slow motion.

He pulls a knife from his pocket and lunges towards you. Jimin pushes you back towards the wall behind you and jumps towards the man. You scream his name. The man thrusts his hand forward and you feel all oxygen leave your body as you watch the knife pierce Jimins stomach. You watch Jimin fall to the ground. The man turns on his heel and sprints out of the alley way, laughing manically. Jimin hits the ground with a thud. You rush towards him, crying and screaming. 

“No, no, Jimin, baby, look at me. Look at me, Jimin, you're okay. It’s all okay. You’re okay,” you stammer, sobbing. 

Jimins beautiful eyes meet yours, his breathing is laboured. He slowly places his hand on his stomach and then raises it to his face, glancing at his blood-soaked hand before letting out a halfhearted chuckle. 

“Wow, I’m bleeding really heavily, aren't I?” he remarks, gulping hard. You panic, holding his head in your lap. You fumble through your pockets looking for your phone. You retrieve it and dial the emergency number. 

“Hello? Oh my god hello, I need an ambulance right now. My boyfriend was stabbed, please hurry. Where am I? Oh, um, I am at the Vibe Nightclub and-” you're cut off by Jimin grasping the phone and lowering it. 

“Y/N...this is pretty bad,” he coughs, blood spraying everywhere. “Please just spend these last moments with me. Pretend..pretend I haven’t just been stabbed, okay?” he pleads with a forced smile. 

A strangled sob escapes your throat. “Jimin, you're going to make it, don’t talk like that, please,” you ask, your voice cracking. You fumble for his hand, holding it firmly while brushing his hair out of his eyes. You can hear the operators voice faintly through the phone that is now lying on the concrete ground. 

“Tonight was really great, Y/N, I am glad we spent it together,” he whispers laboriously. 

You run your hands through his hair, your tears landing on his cheek. “Stay with me, baby, they know where we are, they're going to help you,” you reassure him, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. He smiles a small smile.

“I couldn’t-” he coughs with such force, blood begins to run from his nose. “I couldn’t have asked for anyone better than you. Thank you so much. I’m so sorry that tonight wasn't what you wanted.” He coughs again. He squeezes your hand. You can hear sirens in the distance getting closer and closer. 

“They're on their way, baby. They're almost here. Keep talking to me,” you say sternly, stroking his cheeks. The colour from his face is fading fast and you know deep down that there is nothing they can do. The blue and red lights are getting closer, as Jimins grip on your hand loosens. 

He licks his bottom lip slowly, before whispering, “Don’t you ever forget how much you meant to me.” The use of past tense in his sentence makes you choke up. You begin shaking violently with each sob as you watch his eyes close. His breathing starts to slow. The ambulance pulls up at the end of the alley way and everything happens in a blur.

 Paramedics race towards you just as Jimins hand falls from your own to the harsh ground. Your hand flies up to your mouth as paramedics attempt to revive him. They try for several minutes. You lay in the foetal position, hugging your knees to your chest, muffling your own screams with your hand. The paramedic touches your shoulder, causing you to sit up, wiping your face and smearing his blood across your cheek. The paramedic sits in front of you, blocking the view of Jimin. 

“I am so sorry. He is gone.”

[biebsimagine]

Forbidden Touch (Mature)

I hope you all enjoy this imagine! The concept is little different, I know it’s not the usual writing you get with Justin Bieber imagines but I had fun writing it. I feel the end might be a little messy but I’m sticking to my word of uploading tonight. Enjoy!

She lays rigid with her head resting on the pillows, and she looks more peaceful than I’ve ever seen her. I don’t want to wake her but I know if I don’t, the sun will do the job eventually.

“[Y/N],” I whisper, leaning over her. “Baby. C’mon, wake up.”

It takes a few more times for her to start to stir and then she does, she stretches just as a cat would and it makes me fall in love with her even more. When her eyes open, they land on me and I see the magnificent colours wrapped around her pupils.

“Morning,” she croaks and performs another stretch that lands her on her stomach and on the other side of the bed. “Do I have to get up?”

“If you wanna get breakfast before dinnertime, yes,” I chuckle and move away from her as she throws the covers off of her body. She lets out a heavy sigh.

“Lay with me,” she mutters, patting the space next to her. I suspect she instantly regrets her words, knowing the impossibility of what she asks of me. The silence is tense for a few seconds. “I’m going to get a shower.” She sends a small smile my way while clambering to her feet, abandoning the warmth of her bed. She reaches out to me before quickly withdrawing her hands, and moves towards the door. I see the sadness flash in her eyes.

“I love you,” I say, throwing in every ounce of emotion I can.

“I love you too,” she replies and she’s out of the door. It isn't long before I hear the water running.

I can’t help but think about how lucky she is to be able to touch her soft skin - I can only assume its softness - and caress her body. She could spend all day running her hand across her legs or playing with her hair, I imagine myself in her place and it seems to far away.

Unable to stop the thought from popping up in my mind, I’m forced to think about it in the car. It’s worse thinking about it while she’s so near; a part of me feels like I’m betraying her, like I’m having thoughts that are forbidden. I’m always afraid she can sense whenever it’s on my mind.

The car ride is silent for the majority of the time, but it’s comfortable. [Y/N] hums to the songs on the radio every now and then and it makes me smile, I so desperately want to reach out and touch her hand but I don’t.

“Justin,” she says, breaking the quiet. “Can I ask you something?” She stares ahead. She hasn’t been humming for a while.

“Of course, princess,” I switch between the road and her side profile.

“Do you think we can ever be normal?” she asks, still not looking at me. I hold back a sigh.

“You wanna do this right now? [Y/N], you know this conversation only upsets us both.” This would be the point where I’d lovingly hold her hand. I ache to do it.

“I do, because we never finish the conversation. We always find a way out of it, I’m always left reassured but I don’t care if it leaves me crushed, I need that, I need honesty.”

I don’t say anything for a while; I let her words hang loosely in the air before finding the right words to say. “Honestly? No. I don’t think we’ll ever be normal, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work. We’re different than normal couples, but we’re in love, it has to work.”

She nods, acknowledging that I spoke, not that she agrees. “You say we’re not like normal couples as though it’s something so simple. You touch me, you die. I could kill you, Justin. We’re so far from not normal.”

I watch her curl up into herself, and I feel the familiar clenching of my heart with the knowledge that I can’t physically comfort her. In moments like these, dying seems worth it.

“Some people say they’d die for their partner. In our situation, it’s reality,” I whisper. “I’d die for you if it meant I got just one minute to touch you.”

“Don’t say that,” she lets out a whisper of her own. “You wouldn’t,” she says, but I know she doesn’t believe herself.

“It’d be a blissful way to die.”

Neither of us speak after that, not until we’re parked in the parking lot of the cafe we’re so used to having breakfast in. I shut off the engine and wait for [Y/N] to make the first move.

“I don’t want breakfast anymore,” she informs me, finally looking over at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask, knowing a frown is etched onto my face.

“We can’t go in there and have breakfast like a normal couple after you’ve just said something like that. I want to work on this, on us.”

I understand what she means and immediately start the engine of the car once more, ignoring the growling of my stomach. “So, where do you wanna go?”

“I want to go home, just to be with you,” she says. “We can make our own breakfast.”

We drive home and I’m almost certain [Y/N] has heard my stomach growl multiple times throughout the journey.

“Tell me what you want? What do you want to do?” I ask, shutting the front door. [Y/N] turns to face me after having kicked off her shoes.

“I want to be loved.”

“You are loved,” I say, quickly moving closer. “I love you so, so much. I heart aches with how much love I feel for you.”

“No,” she says, “loved. I want to be touched and held. It hurts that we can never be intimate together.”

“I’m sorry too. I want that as much as you do, baby.” I send her a loving look that I realise could be mistaken for pity.

“How are you still with me?” she asks, and I’m sure I feel my heart crack a little.

“Because I love you, not being able to touch you isn’t a deal breaker for me,” I rasp, moving dangerously close to her, so close that I could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. “I love you just as much as I would if I could feel you.”

“You’re so sweet,” she whispers and I’m sure I see her eyes watering. “I love you.”

“As I hoped you would.” I grin. “So, you wanna experiment?”

*****

Barging through the door, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much excitement rushing through my body. I practically trip my way up the stairs with the bag clenched in my fist. The mere thought of [Y/N] waiting for me is enough to make me shiver.

And she is, she’s spread out beautifully across her bed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so wonderful. She smiles when I enter and it causes me to imitate her instantly.

“Hey princess,” I rasp, and she simply continues to smile while rolling around the bed slowly.

I’ve never witnessed [Y/N] naked, not in the entire two years we’ve been together. We didn’t think it was necessary; we can’t touch each other, why dwell on it? Although, now I’m in this situation, my mind is full of many scenarios, the scene laying ahead of us being one of them.

“Did you do what I said?” I ask, knowing I don’t really have to as her hands wander beneath the covers.

“Mhm.” She bites down on her bottom lip with a seductive look in her eyes. I feel energy building up inside me and I can’t hold off on digging into the bag.

I refrain from looking back at [Y/N] until the vibrator is out of the box and in my hands and ready for use. When I do, she’s watching me with an intense gaze, I suppress a groan and crawl onto the bed.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks.

“Only if you are. I’m not doing this unless you want to.”

“I want to, I really do, but I’m scared, Justin. You shouldn’t come near me,” she says.

“[Y/N], it’s going to be okay. Just relax. Please,” I whisper, grabbing the corner of the covers and slowly pulling them away from her body, all while making sure not to touch her.

To my surprise, [Y/N] didn’t make any movement as her body was revealed me. It made her even more attractive to me to know she wasn’t insecure. And she had no reason to be; she was perfect.

“If we were normal, you have no idea how long I’d spend caressing your skin.”

“I’d love that,” she whines, arching her back.

“I know this is my first time seeing you like this, but it’s slowly becoming my favourite side of you,” I mutter, letting my eyes slide over her figure innocently, although they rested on her hardened nipples for a while longer.

One simple movement causes [Y/N]’s breath to hitch and her body to come alive. I can only guess that her skin is burning like fire. Moving towards her, my heart is stammering in my chest, so much that I’m sure it’s going to break through.

The vibrator echoes through the room, the hum changes to a lower pitch as it presses down against [Y/N]’s clit. She gasps louder than I expect, and I moan along with her.

“Baby,” I whisper, kneeling before her. “That good?’

“Oh my God,” she mumbles. Her eyes are already rolling back into her skull. “Justin, please.”

I can’t help but think about how beautiful this experience is. I hope that with her eyes closed and her mind wandering, she can find peace and lead herself to imagine it’s my fingers touching her and bringing her closer and closer.

“Talk to me, babygirl. Talk to me. Am I working you right?”

“You’re so good, baby,” she pants. “But do you know what would make this even hotter?” she asks as she rolls her hips up to meet the vibrator twirling against her clit. “If you got off with me.”

“Really?” I question her, but I’m already dying to release my growing hard on. “Here, hold this.” I hold the tip of the vibrator, letting her grab it in her own dainty fingers. Standing up, I pull my shirt over my head before beginning on the button of my jeans.

I relish in the sight of [Y/N] pleasuring herself; her head lolling backwards every now and then, as though it’s impossible for her to keep it up in the height of her pleasure.

Once my jeans and boxes are discarded on the floor, [Y/N] averts her eyes towards me. I grin as she looks me up and down, she doesn’t do it for long because she arches her back and lets out a small cry.

I take back control and resume my movements with the vibrator against [Y/N]’s clit, now sliding it up and down and watching as her body jerks in surprise. Meanwhile, I feel the heat within the room now that my hand is paying close attention to cock.

“I-I’m close,” she trembles while her fingers grip onto the bedsheets beneath her. I can see sweat forming at her hairline, and I’m sure my cheeks are turning just as pink as hers are.

“Holy shit,” I grunt, speeding up my strokes when I feel my stomach tighten momentarily.

I’m both distracted and spurred on by [Y/N] and her orgasm nearing. I struggle to jerk myself and keep the pressure on her clit.

“Do something for me. Whatever you think’ll help you cum harder, do it,” I say, almost breathless.

She presses her boobs with the palms of her hands, rubbing in a circular motion. Once again, her back arches and it’s still a wonderful sight this time around.

“Are you gonna cum for me?” I know she is.

“Y-Yes,” she whimpers. “Justin, I’m there. Please-“

She doesn’t finish her sentence, she cums instead. The sight of her hands groping her boobs and the sound of her is enough to bring me dangerously close, especially the cry that leaves her lips; it’s longer and louder than anything I’ve ever heard come from her mouth.

“Oh my God.” She relaxed and sinks into the pillows, licking her lips. “Fuck.”

I’m on the edge and don’t trust myself to utter a word. Instead, I focus my eyes on [Y/N], just her, and stroke my cock just a little faster. Involuntary moans escape my parted lips, and it causes [Y/N] to open her eyes and look at me, as though she’s just remembered my climax is near.

“Cum for me,” she whispers. “Please, Justin, I want it so much.” Her voice is smooth like melting chocolate over intense heat, and I can’t put off obeying her.

“Holy shit,” I whisper one last time before my stomach tightens completely and my body falls into a spasm. I feel [Y/N]’s eyes on me as feel the pleasure seep through my veins. Despite the intensity, it lasts a mere few seconds more before I’m left breathlessly.

“That was so hot,” I moan and fall next to her. I notice her flinch away instantly but I don’t say anything. “See, we can still have these moments.”

“You’re right,” she whispers. “That was perfect.”

I feel closer to [Y/N] all of a sudden, even though I haven’t laid a finger on her. I don’t feel so alone. I can only wonder if [Y/N] feels the same, after all, it’s her that commits murder if she touches anyone.

[dailyhockeyimagines]

sidney crosby // rise and fall

warnings: none

who: sidney x reader

premise: you get in your first real fight

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sidney was the easiest person to get along with. That was one of the reasons you loved him: his mellow, agreeable personality. Sure he was passionate, the most passionate individual you had ever encountered, but he knew how to make a relationship work: compromise and understanding.

That's why you two worked so well: his calm nature always perfectly balanced your hurricanes of emotion and  impatience. You ignited him as he doused your raging fires with soft words and fluttering kisses.

It was hard to anger him; he was used to being intentionally shoved by jealous players into solid ice and booed by opposing fans when ever he was on the road. Anything you could do never matched the adversity he dealt with on a daily basis.

That's why, in almost three years of dating, you had hardly had an argument that surpassed a raised voice or a passive aggressive comment. It was almost unnatural how perfectly you got along, filling the spaces in each other's lives perfectly, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

Everyone always tried to find the holes in your relationship. Interviewers were always looking for a juicy story of your latest brawl, a sign that you two weren't dolls living out a perfectly designed happily ever after.  They always groaned when Sidney would smile, shake his head, and share a small moment of the love you two shared, your little pockets of heaven.

The only thing is that perfection doesn't exist. Some days prove it to you more than others. Some days play every bad card they have on you, testing you, watching to see you break.

And, unfortunately, today was when of those days. To start, you were absolutely exhausted. Work had been especially draining this week, leaving you with sleepless nights filing reports and sending e-mails. And, to make things worse, Sid had been away the entire week. When you returned to your shared house every night, the emptiness consumed you. All you wanted was to be held by your boyfriend as he made you take a break, sleeping and feeling at peace with yourself as you felt overwhelmingly safe and loved. But without him, you became a bitter shell of yourself.  

All this pent up exhaustion and bitterness culminated when Sidney returned home late from his trip, waking up the five seconds of relaxation you had experienced in days.

You didn't mean to snap but you couldn't help it. That was not how you wanted to welcome your boyfriend home: you knew he had had a rough week too, losing two games on the road and being criticized throughout Pittsburgh for his performance. But the collection of weight on your shoulders didn't exactly allow for your sympathetic, loving girlfriend mood to come out.

You had yelled at him, called out his weak spots, and slammed the door on him, condemning him to the cold, drafty guest bedroom, all in the span of 5 dreadful minutes.

He didn't stay silent, though. For the first time, you had pushed him past his breaking point. He yelled right back at you, saying things you could have never imagine he would, matching your anger and shooting you a stare filled with daggers.

As tired as you were, you couldn't sleep well that night, your pillows stained with tears as you replayed the words he spoke over and over.

"You're selfish. You always have been, always will be."

"God, who even are you?"

"I'm sick of this. Your words, your attitude. You."

You knew he didn't mean it. You knew he was angry and he said stupid things, just like you. You knew he just wanted to make you feel as bad as you had made him feel. But, damnit, it worked.

The words completely consumed you– you couldn't escape them, no matter how hard you tried.

You tried to not let it get to you, failing immediately and letting your grief devour you.

By the time the morning came around, your sadness had been replaced by another round of anger. Things had changed so quickly. This time yesterday, you were a girl waiting to be reunited with the boy she loved. Now you were questioning everything. Would you two ever be the same again?

You walked over to your vanity to examine the puffiness of your face that last night had left you with only to catch a glimpse of your calendar. Shit.

Today was Sidney's mother's birthday and you were planning on going with him to visit her, a two hour drive away. Normally, you would take more time away from him, hopefully letting this blow over and getting to talk through where you two stood when he returned. But, you loved his mom. You two had always gotten along extremely well and you didn't want to disappoint or upset her on this day.

You rushed to get ready, putting on a  necklace she had gotten you for Christmas last year and a maroon sweater dress with black boots. When you got downstairs, Sidney was waiting with his back to you in the living room, dressed in your favorite button down of his, the one that perfectly hugged his body.

You knew he had probably come to the same conclusion as you, confirmed as he silently got up and opened the door for you, gesturing towards the car. A gentleman until the end.

As you buckled yourself into the passenger seat, a world of emotions flooded your senses. You were nervous: was he holding off breaking up with you until you saw his mom? Did he hate you? Did you hate him? You decided you did not.

As angry as you felt right now, you still had an overwhelming amount of love for him.

You knew he was it for you and that you couldn't let him go. But you weren't ready to get over what he said just yet.

As Sidney sat down in the driver's seat, his face stuck in a stern grimace, you knew that these would be the longest two hours of your life. The tension could be cut with a knife.

The minutes rolled along like years as you tried to distract yourself with anything and everything. You could see he was struggling too, hyper focusing on the long expansion of road in front of him. This was the loudest silence you had ever experienced, both of you screaming without making a sound.

An hour in, and the silence was unbearable. You knew Sid had reached his limit too as he turned to switch on the radio, letting the monotonous tone of the weather reporters fill the tight space around you.

As the tape approached its fourth loop, you jetted your hand out to switch the channel just as Sid did, your skin meeting for the first time in seemingly forever. His hands were icy cold and the sensation lingered as you pulled back, trying to gauge his facial expression without meeting his eyes.

He switched the channel to a music station that was on a commercial break, rambling about pointless events and news stories that you couldn't bring yourself to care about.

Finally, the music was starting up again. You froze as you recognized the beat, your cheeks flushing. Your song. Of all of the songs in the world, the station had played your song. The song that had been playing when you first met three years ago. The song you would lovingly sing to each other on sleepy mornings and during drunk karaoke dates.

You could feel the bad energy leaving you as you are rushed with memories of love and happiness. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a smile creep across Sid's face.

So much for the silent treatment, you think, before you instinctively sing along.

In seconds, Sidney is joining you, starting off quiet before belting it. You giggle as you both struggle to hit the high note, knowing you won't make it but trying every damn time anyways.

Everything is easy: you're you and Sid again, not puppets dragged into roles too big for them to comprehend.

Life is blissful for about 3 minutes before the music stops and your left with the mess you still have to handle.

You shut the music off, realizing that it's now or never.

"Sid" you speak, barely a whisper.

"No." He says, his voice demanding and strong.

Before you can inquire more, he cuts you off, continuing the though.

"No, I need to go first. (Y/N), I am so sorry. I can't tell you how heavy those words felt on my tongue last night and how painful they feel in my thoughts. I didn't mean it, God, (Y/N), know that I didn't mean it. I was afraid– afraid that maybe you didn't need me anymore. That you didn't need me as much as I need you. Because I need you, (Y/N). I need you so much that it hurts. And to think that I hurt you..."

He looks down, a single tear remaining still on his cheek.

You put your hand on his knee, willing him to continue.

"I love you. I'm sorry and I love you. I don't even know how to ask for your forgiveness but–"

"Sid. Stop talking like that. I forgive you a million times over. But you aren't the one who needs to apologize. I hate myself for what I said last night. I get tired and cranky and a new side of me comes out. I think that's why what you said hurt me; because I knew it was true. I'm sorry that I'm selfish. I'm sorry that I'm too selfish to let you go. I'm sorry that I never will. I love you too, Sidney."

Your eyes catch Sidney's again so he can mouth I love you to you. As his eyes turn back to the road, he shakes his head softly, smiling a bit.

"What?"

"(Y/N)" he said, his voice back to his teasing ways.

"Can we never fight again?"

[victorluvsalice]

AU Thursday: As Long As You Love Me -- I Don’t Care Who You Are

Yes, another installment! I’m sorry, I just had a HUGE burst of inspiration for this particular AU after coming up with it, and there’s a lot of snippets to share! This one comes right after last week’s Bullet Time and is inspired by this clip: How could you possibly not know that? (I’m assuming this bit came after her killing the mechanic, since at the end we’re very clearly getting into the biker gang kill). Alice is obviously rather more worldly than Bart, but there’s still things she doesn’t know. . .

"I'm not going to apologize for killing him."

"I know you're not," Victor said quietly. "And I am glad you saved my life again. It's just. . ." He waved a hand in the air, attempting to find the words. Just the way she'd stalked up to Tannen, utterly sure of herself in a way he'd never been. Just the way she'd stared death in the face and hadn't even blinked, completely confident in the universe's ability to save her. Just the way she'd so methodically beat the man to death, killing as if it was just another day at the office. ". . .a lot to take in."

Silence descended again, even more oppressive than before. Alice grunted in frustration and switched the radio on. "You're listening to K109, where the rock and pop don't stop!" the overly-chipper DJ chirped. "Here for your noonday pleasure, it's the Backstreet Boys, with their hit, 'As Long You Love Me!'"

A cheery, quasi-romantic melody Victor remembered from long car trips to and from his father's various factories and his mother's various parties started up. Without really thinking about it, he began singing along a beat ahead of the lyrics. "Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine, I'm leaving my life in your hands. People say I'm crazy and that I am blind, risking it all in a glance. But how you've got me blinded is still a mystery – I can't get you out of my – head. . . ."

His voice trailed off as he noticed Alice kept taking her eyes off the road to give him curious glances. "Er – something wrong?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter. "I'm sorry, if this is annoying you, I'll stop–"

"No, no," Alice said quickly, snapping her head back toward the windshield. "It's fine, it's just – you know all the words?"

Victor arched an eyebrow. "Er – yes? I wouldn't call myself a fan, but I think this is one of their better songs, and I heard it a lot growing–"

He stopped. Growing up. Suddenly Alice's confusion was a lot more understandable. "You've never heard the Backstreet Boys before, have you?"

Alice wrinkled her brow, then shrugged. "I haven't a clue. My parents generally played classical music and early rock like the Beatles, and Lizzie was more into jazz. And Rutledge was not a good place to indulge one's musical tastes. I probably did hear them once or twice on the radio when I was small, but the experience is lost to the Cemetery of Forgotten Memories or some nonsense like that in Wonderland. I certainly haven't heard them enough to know all the words to one of their songs." She stared at the road, a quiet, sad heaviness about her. "I don't think I know all the words to any song."

Victor was struck by a sudden attack of sympathy. Yes, Alice was a rather terrifying force of murderous nature, but – she was also a young woman, just about his age. A woman who'd had her entire childhood stolen from her by the worst humanity had ever vomited up. It was quite possible that she'd never gotten the chance to sing along to the radio with her parents and sister on a car trip. (Neither had Victor, actually, but at least his mother had never objected to him singing quietly to himself. And he and Mayhew had shared a few fun impromptu karaoke sessions to and from school.) And for all her faults, she'd been nothing but nice to him. Well, apart from threatening to break his fingers for grabbing her arm, but she hadn't actually done that, and he knew better now than to touch her, so. . . . Full of the desire to make things right, he turned up the volume.

Alice glanced at him, slightly puzzled. "Is my conversation that ba–"

Victor shushed her with a finger to his lips, then mimed holding a microphone. "I try to hide it so that no one knows, but I guess it shows, when you look into my eyes," he serenaded her, along with – whatever Boy was singing, he'd never bothered to learn names. "What you did, where you're coming from, I don't caaaaare – as long as you love me baaabaaay."

Alice stared for half a second – then snorted. Victor's face flushed with embarrassment. What the hell was he doing? His musical talents didn't lie in imitating tween pop singers. Nor did they lie in making women like him, honestly. This was just like the time he'd tried aping the muscle-bound football players to ask Barbara Porter to dance at the junior prom and she'd laughed him all the way back to the buffet. Looking away, he reached to turn the volume back down.

Only to feel a hand on his wrist. "No, I didn't – I like it," Alice told him, tone shockingly tender. "Please continue?"

Victor snuck a glance at her. Something about the way she smiled at him, eyes sparkling with what looked like genuine happiness, made him blush all the harder. But he pushed on regardless – anything that made her happy had to strengthen his own chances of staying alive, didn't it? And besides, it was nice to see the non-psychotic smile make more appearances. "I don't care who you are, where you're from, don't care what you did, as long as you love me. Who you are, where you're from, don't care what you did, as long as you love me. Who – who you are, where you're from, as long as you love me. What you did, I don't care – as long as you love me."

Alice gave him a brief round of applause – Victor's first instinct was to check the wheel, but the car didn't drift an inch. The universe again? Maybe it liked the Backstreet Boys. "Bravo," she said, and it didn't sound mocking at all. "Can you do the next one?"

Victor tilted his head as the Boys faded out and the next song faded in. "I'm afraid I don't know this one," he admitted. "I'm like your parents – I like classical music when I'm at home."

"Well, turn it up a bit more and we'll try to learn it together."

Victor obliged. A female voice came on, one that he was reasonably certain was Taylor Swift. "Midnight – you come and pick me up, no headlights," she crooned. Victor began mouthing along, fixing the words in his brain – he could see Alice doing the same. "Long drive – could end in burning flames or paradise. The end of you – oh, it's been a while since I have even heard from you – heard from you. And I should just tell you to leave 'cause I – know exactly where it leads but I – watch us go round and round each time. . ."

Alice tossed her hair right in time with the start of the chorus. "You've got that James Dean daydream look in your eye! And I got that red-lip, classic thing that you like," she (rather poorly) lip-synced, grinning brightly at Victor. He grinned back. Tannen's blood might still be splattered all over the front of her shirt, but the horror of last night felt a million miles away. This was just – nice. "And when we go crashing down, we come back every time – we never go out of style, we never go out of style! You got that long hair, slick back, white T-shirt! And I got that good girl face and a tight little skirt! And when we go crashing down–"

BANG!