#old west town furniture

[kollectorsrus]

#adult collectors #adult collectibles #figures #toys #action figures #collectables #bmc #made in usa #grandpa garden #military playset #air force #machine guns #fall harvest crops #antique furniture #mars base camp #modern furniture #old west town furniture #city street accessories

[sailor-aviator]

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter One

Don't Hang'em Til Noon: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger posse of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Warnings: Language, reader being a tad bougie, flirty Jake, ogling men, use of y/n...I think that's it for this one?

Word Count: 2.95k

A/N: Here it is! Chapter One! I hope you all enjoy reading this! As always, likes and reblogs are very much welcome as I crave validation. And again, this blog is 18+!! You are responsible for your own reading! You can also find this story on AO3 written under sailor_aviator!

Series Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

People bustled about the small town as your carriage passed by. Children ran ahead of their parents, men stumbled out of what could only be the local tavern, and women dressed entirely too scantily waved at anyone who passes by. Frowning, you sat back in your seat, once again contemplating how you ended up in this situation. Peering out the window, you looked up to see a tall, wooden building painted in a fresh coat of white paint. Blue shutters hugged the windows along the walls, and a wooden sign with your family’s name hung just past the set of stairs. Most importantly, a tall man stood at the base of the steps, grinning from ear to ear.

A grin of your own broke out and the carriage had barely stopped before you’re throwing the door open and practically flinging yourself out and into the arms of the man before you.

“Benji!” you exclaimed with a laugh, hugging your brother tightly. He reciprocated with a chuckle, resting his cheek on top of your head.

“It’s good to see you too, Scout.”

It had been months since you had seen your brother. Benjamin had insisted on moving out west before you in order to get things settled. You were to stay home and oversee that your family’s heirlooms were shipped safely to your new home. That had been six months ago, and now here he stood before you, still clean shaven, but he had definitely developed a golden complexion during his time in the town of Maverick. Pursing your lips, you look up at him.

“Benjamin, how much time have you spent in the sun these past months?” you scolded. He had the decency to appear ashamed as he ducked his head down, offering you a sheepish smile.

“Longer than you would approve of, I’m sure y/n. But, the house needed seeing to and land was not going to till itself,” he smirked, taking your arm in his and walking up the steps of the building.

“The house?” you inquired with a raise of your eyebrow. Benjamin nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Oh, Scout. You’re going to love it! It’s a grand old thing. The furniture has already been placed, but of course you’re more than welcome to rearrange. I’ve even set aside a small plot by the side of the house for you to garden.”

“You have?” you asked as you walked into the building. A parlor of sorts greeted you with newly made furniture and various pieces of artwork hanging on the walls. A door opened up into the hallway that held, what you assumed, the offices for the firm.

“Oh, Benji,” you breathed, placing a hand over your heart. “Daddy would be so proud of this place.”

Benjamin’s chest puffed up in pride as he led you down the hall and into his office. You passed a woman who came out of the office closest to the door. She was beautiful with her dark hair pulled back and blue dress perfectly complimenting her complexion. She offered you a smile and then looked expectantly at your brother.

“Benjamin,” she began, “aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“Of course,” chuckled Benjamin. “Y/n, this is Natasha. Natasha, this is my younger sister, y/n.”

“Please, call me Phoenix,” she said, offering you a hand. You took it and gave it a firm shake. “A pleasure, Phoenix.”

“Your brother has been so excited to see you. All he ever does is talk about you! I feel like I’ve already known you for years,” she teased, causing your brother to blush. You chuckled and drop your hand back to your side.

“I know the feeling. He’s gone on and on about the ‘remarkable, young woman who I’ve had the great pleasure of taking on as my new secretary.’”

“Must you two tease me so?” Benjamin groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“I have work I need to return to anyway,” laughed Phoenix, already turning to head back to the entrance. “Don’t be a stranger now, y/n.”

“She seems nice,” you said to your brother once Phoenix had rounded the corner. Putting a hand on your back, Benjamin guided you into his office, taking the chair opposite you as you both sat down.

“She certainly keeps things interesting around here,” he laughed. You scoffed, thinking back to your earlier conversation with your driver.

“As if things need to be more interesting around here,” you muttered. Benjamin gave you a perplexed look, and you sighed.

“I know all about that…Dagger posse, Benji. Outlaws running about? Honestly, I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming here.”

“The Daggers are nothing to be concerned about,” he started, stopping when you shot him a skeptical look. Sighing, he continued, “They don’t usually cause trouble for those in town. Maverick has a sort of…truce with them.”

“Usually?” you questioned, still not convinced.

“There have been the odd occasions,” he stated slowly, seeming to pick his words carefully. “Usually when the odd person in town picks a fight or one of them gets too rowdy at the tavern. It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Scout. Really.”

“If you say so,” you relented, dropping the subject and looking out the window. Benjamin sighed in relief, and the pair of you sat in silence for a moment.

“I really am glad you’re here, Scout,” he said softly. Turning to meet your brother’s gaze, you saw the familiar fondness in them that you had missed the past six months. Benjamin was eight years your senior, and had declared himself as your protector from the second you were born. He had been one of the many constants in your life, and now he seemed to be the only one left.

Sighing, you replied, “You’ll have a lot more convincing to do in order to make me decided that this was a good idea.”

Benjamin cracked a smile, and placed his feet on his desk, leaning further back in his chair.

“I’m willing to do that,” he grinned.

“Get your feet off the desk, Benji,” you scowled. “We’re still civilized even if we’re living in the middle of nowhere.”

Ignoring you, Benjamin reached down to open a drawer, pulling out a packet of paper. Dropping the large stack onto the desk with a loud bang, he looked back up at you with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

“I’d love nothing more than for you to keep me company, Scout, but I still have paperwork I need to do before I’m finished for the day. If you’d like, you can sit here while I get it done, or you can get acquainted with the town you’ll be calling home.”

“Without an escort?” you spluttered, eyes widening in shock. Benjamin let out a hearty laugh, his head falling back as his shoulders shook.

“Welcome to the west, baby sister.”

You walked slowly down the dirt road that ran through the center of the bustling town. Each building is painted a different, bright color which made it easier to distinguish which business was which. A group of young boys suddenly ran in front of you, nearly knocking you to the ground. Stumbling back a few steps, you managed to regain your footing as the boys shouted an apology back at you from over their shoulders. Looking after them with a bemused look on your face, you felt a chill run up your spine as you hear a low chuckle from the porch of one of the buildings. Glancing up, you see two older men leering at you. Both missing several teeth and covered in layers of dirt, you suppressed a shudder as one of them gives you a gummy grin. Smiling politely, you quickly made your way down the road.

The sun was starting to set, and a chill now settled in the air. A stark contrast from the heat of that morning. Slowing to a stop, you watched as several men went around lighting the lanterns outside of their businesses and along the streets. At least some things were reminiscent of home.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the large figure walk up behind you. You jumped when said large figure bumps into your back. You spun around to come face to face with a beautiful, buckskin stallion. Placing a hand on your chest and letting out a sigh of relief, you gave a half hearted glare to the horse before you.

“You scared me,” you griped, earning an ear flick from the stallion. Turning to face the creature fully, you placed your hand gently on its snout, stroking lightly.

“My, aren’t you a pretty thing?” you cooed. The horse swung his head up and down as if nodding in agreement. You giggled, moving your hand to stroke his neck as he nuzzled into your hand.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything for you,” you laughed, earning another ear flick. You wondered how long he had been left out here. The reins attached to his bridle were tied around a post along with three other horses who paid you no mind. Humming, you look into his eyes.

“You know,” you began thoughtfully, “it wasn’t even my idea to move here. I left all of my friends back in Baltimore. I would go to parties in the evening and go for a stroll in the park the next day. There’s none of that here, I’m sure. What even is there to do?”

The horse moved closer, pushing his head into your arms.

“Perhaps you’ll be my friend,” you mused. The horse lets out a snort and you laugh out a breath, smiling softly. Your father had loved horses, and he had made sure to pass on that love to his children. Many happy memories were made riding along the countryside of your family’s country home.

“You’re right,” you relented, “I doubt I’ll be seeing much of you after tonight.”

You continued to stroke the horse’s neck, murmuring soft praises as the large beast seemed to bask in the attention.

“Well, darlin’. There must be something special about you, huh?” came a male voice from behind you. You whipped around just as a sturdy body leans against the post. He was unbelievably handsome. Gold hair complimented golden skin, and green eyes held twinkles of mirth and mischief with a smirk to match. He wore a simple, white cotton shirt with a brown vest and wool pants. His boots and the blue bandana tied around his neck looked a little worse for wear. You blink as you realize that you’ve been staring for longer than would be deemed appropriate.

“I’m sorry?” you questioned, still caught in a daze at the beautiful man before you. You didn’t even think men like him existed in this part of the world. The man gestured to the horse you were still cuddled up by.

“Whiskey here doesn’t warm up to just anyone,” he grinned, resting a hand next to yours. “In fact, he doesn’t like much of anyone accept me.”

You didn’t answer, not sure how to respond. Instead, you turned your attention back to Whiskey who was attempting to nibble at the strands of hair that had fallen out of your updo. Giggling lightly, you pushed the horse away and take a half step back.

The man took a half step closer to you, the grin having given way to a salacious smirk. “I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts before. You new in town?”

“Yes,” you answered politely. “I just arrived here.”

“Figured,” he chuckled. “I would have remembered seeing someone as pretty as you walkin’ around.”

You blushed, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. This seemed to embolden the stranger.

“So, sugar,” he started, “how much for your debut?”

You looked at him with eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

Chuckling, he continued. “How much is it going to cost me to have you in my bed for the hour?”

Surely you had misheard him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“C’mon, honey. It’ll be worth your while,” he smirked, running his eyes up and down your form. “Promise it’ll be good for you too. Hell, I’ll even pay for the night.”

You felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, and in a most completely undignified manner, you began to splutter, trying to maintain your sense of calm while feeling a red hot wave of rage overtake you.

“How dare you!” you shrieked. You saw the smirk on the stranger’s face falter. Good.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

“The matter,” you seethed, “is that you have just assumed that I am some woman of ill repute, sir.”

He paused, studying you. “Well, I just figured since you were dressed up so pretty, it must have been to draw in customers.”

“I’m not a whore!” you shouted, drawing looks from passersby. The man held up his hands in surrender. In any other situation it would have been almost comical how frightened he seemed of you considering how he towered over you.

“My sincerest apologies, miss,” he offered, trying to hold back a grin. You turned to walk back towards your brother’s firm with a scowl. Stopping, you peered over your shoulder, fixing the stranger with another glare.

“I would advise you, Mr…?”

“Seresin. Jake Seresin.”

“Mr. Seresin,” you breathed. “I would advise you to not make such horrible assumptions next time you come across a woman you don’t know.”

You didn’t wait for his response as you continued walking. You hadn’t made it ten steps before a shadow blocks the last remaining rays of the sun from your field of view.

“What are you doing, Mr. Seresin?”

“Call me Jake,” he smirked. You frowned up at him, stopping in your tracks to face him.

“I most certainly will not,” you huffed. “Now answer my question.”

Jake stared at you for what felt like entirely too long, and you started to fidget under his gaze.

“Well, since I accidentally insulted you,” he cocked his head at your glare, “I figured the least I could do is walk you to wherever it is you’re going.”

“While I appreciate the gesture,” you said with gritted teeth and a polite smile, “that is entirely unnecessary.”

“Nonsense,” Jake chirped, “what kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed a beautiful young lady to walk around unescorted through town?”

You gave him a dubious look which only caused the smirk on his face to grow into a full blown grin. Huffing once more, you turned back towards the path and began walking. Jake slid up to your side smoothly and offered you his arm. You scoffed at him, and he raised his eyebrows. Scowling, you took his arm and tried your damndest to ignore the obnoxious grin on your companion’s face. It took you only minutes to arrive back at the firm, and you turned to face Jake who glanced from the firm back to you.

“The lawyer?” he questioned, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yes,” you stated simply, stepping away from him to put some distance between the two of you. Jake crossed his arms and stared up at the building.

“You come here to join your fiancé?” he asked, tone even and face still unreadable.

Surely he wasn’t... “Are you jealous, Mr. Seresin?”

Jake looked at you then, jaw set and green eyes ablaze. “Answer the question, darlin’.”

You shook your head. “No. I’m not even engaged. Benjamin is my brother.”

He seemed to relax at that. He gave you another look that you couldn’t quite place before shifting back to his now familiar smirk.

“I don’t think I got the pleasure of your name, sugar.”

“I highly doubt you’ll need it,” you stated simply. He raised an eyebrow.

“And why is that?”

“Because I don’t believe our paths will cross again, Jake,” you said, lips curling in a small smile.

“Ah, that’s no fair, darlin’. All I want to know is your name,” he grinned, leaning in so close that you could feel his breath fan across your face. Your own breath catches as you locked eyes with him.

“Just my name?” you whispered. He nods.

“Just your name.”

At that moment, your brother and Phoenix chose to walk out the door, stopping in their tracks at the sight before them.

“Scout?” Benjamin said hesitantly at the same time Phoenix said your name. Jake’s eyes shifted to the pair, and that smirk settled on his face once more. His eyes flickered back to you as he leaned away and you found that you were able to breathe normally once again.

“Y/n, huh?” he chuckled. Then he cocked his head and gave you a mirthful look. “Or is it Scout?”

“It’s neither to you,” you scowled, causing him to let out another laugh.

Benjamin walked quickly down the steps and down to your side where he leveled Jake with a stare.

“How can we be of service, Hangman?” he asked tensely, and you looked up at him with a puzzled expression. Hangman? But that was the name of…

Your head whipped back around to look at Jake who just grinned at your brother before shooting you a wink.

“Just escorting your sister back to your door, Benjamin. Wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, would we?” he grins, not taking his eyes off of you. Benjamin stiffened beside you.

“Yes, well,” he began, “thank you, Hangman. It’s greatly appreciated.”

“Anytime,” replied Jake, already turning to walk back. He gave you another wink. “I’ll be seeing you around then, Scout.”

And with that, he turned on his heels and walked away. The three of you watched him walk away in silence. What on earth had just happened?

#jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x you #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman imagine #jake hangman smut #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #top gun fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #hangman x you #hangman x reader #fluff #angst #smut #slow burn #mutual pining #happy ending #western au #dhtn #mine #enemies to lovers

[jackoshadows]

One of Arya’s canonical relationships often ignored or minimized, because of fandom sexism, is that of her and Rickon Stark. Despite the text mentioning several times that Arya loves to play with babies, this is ignored simply because her character is often critiqued - by both feudal Westeros and fandom - for not performing femininity as per patriarchal ideals.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father's table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. Fat Tom used to call her "Arya Underfoot," because he said that was where she always was. She'd liked that a lot better than "Arya Horseface." - Arya, AGoT

Arya has a closer relationship with both Bran and Rickon, right from when they are babies - it’s not just a case of her hanging around the boys. When Robb takes Sansa, Arya and Bran down into the crypts to prank them, it’s Arya’s hand that baby Bran clutches when he is scared.

Her brother Robb had taken them down, her and Sansa and baby Bran, who'd been no bigger than Rickon  was now. (---) Sansa kept looking at the stubby little candle, anxious that it might go out. Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. "There are worse things than spiders and rats," he whispered. "This is where the dead walk." That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya's hand. - Arya, AGoT

Sansa’s only nostalgic memory of Rickon in her POV appears when she thinks Arya is safely back in Winterfell:

Once in a while, Sansa even missed her sister. By now Arya was safe back  in Winterfell, dancing and sewing, playing with Bran and baby Rickon,  even riding through the winter town if she liked. - Sansa, ACoK

And when Arya misses her family back home:

She wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. - Arya, AGoT

After going on the run, Arya is concerned and worried for Rickon and wonders how tall he would have grown:

A whooping gang of small children went running past, chasing a rolling  hoop. Arya stared at them with resentment, remembering the times she'd  played at hoops with Bran and Jon and their baby brother Rickon. She wondered how big Rickon  had grown, and whether Bran was sad - Arya, AGoT

For a moment Arya forgot to breathe. Dead? Bran and Rickon,  dead? What does he mean? What does he mean about Winterfell, Joffrey  could never take Winterfell, never, Robb would never let him. Then she  remembered that Robb was not at Winterfell. He was away in the west, and Bran was crippled, and Rickon only four. It took all her strength to remain still and silent, the way Syrio Forel had taught her, to stand there like a stick of furniture. She felt tears gathering in her eyes, and willed them away. It's not true, it can't be true, it's   just some Lannister lie. - Arya, ACoK

She watched the parchment twist, blacken, and flare up. If the Lannisters hurt Bran and Rickon,  Robb will kill them every one.  - Arya, ACoK

So canonically it’s Arya who played with baby Rickon, misses him terribly in KL, wonders how tall he has grown and worries over what is happening to him in Winterfell. All this is Arya, not Sansa.

Note: This is not a critique of Sansa and how much she thinks of her family. There is nothing wrong in not wanting to be near babies or not wanting to play with babies. There is nothing wrong in not wanting to hang around little children or not wanting to care for them. Especially as Sansa and Arya are themselves children!! They are only 9 and 11 when the story starts and are now 11 and 13.

This is a critique of a fandom that twists Arya into some ‘NLOG’ caricature, ‘male-coded’, masculine, being violent, impulsive, too damaged, going around biting people, who can only fight or kill, wanting to sail away instead of being home with family, cannot become Lady of Winterfell because she is not the right kind of lady, has internalized misogyny etc. - all because her character disliked a few activities like sewing, singing and dancing. And all the while projecting qualities like motherhood, maternal feelings, womanhood, romance, marriage, children on 11/13 year old Sansa.

Things get even worse with the Jon/Sansa shippers, who turn Jon and Sansa into some masochistic, twisted idea of Ned and Cat (Because of course Jon Snow is a self-loathing, pathetic, shallow, sad sack of shite craving Catelyn’s approval and falling for the daughter who looks like Cat and acts a snob towards him simply because she’s too beautiful to resist at 11 years old 😭) and therefore Rickon is going to see them together and think they are his parents....

Like I said, taking from Arya’s canonical relationships in the books and giving to Sansa because the tradfem section of fandom are unable to read Arya as having a loving and caring relationship with her little siblings.

And then there’s Rickon Stark himself. First of all, Rickon would surely remember Jon Snow and Sansa as his siblings? Why would he think they are Ned and Cat? They are not clones!! 

Secondly, Rickon and Shaggy were mirroring each other’s wildness before they even left Winterfell. It’s Shaggydog who was biting people! Rickon then grew up during his formative years with Osha in Skagos or Cannibal Island. Osha is of the Freefolk and the Skagosi, like the Freefolk, talk in the Old Tongue. They live in caves and perform human sacrifices. This Rickon is going to see Jon and Sansa and go all ‘Mama and papa!’ and think he is their baby?! 😂😂😂

Then there’s all these future speculations and theorizing about how Sansa is going to become Rickon’s regent in TWoW. Again, how? Sansa is 13 in the TWoW sample chapter. Is she suddenly going to magically grow 3 years in the next chapter and turn 16? Additionally, the regent should have a good know how of the North to help the Lord of Winterfell run WF and the North - again, canonically it’s Arya who knows how Winterfell works, who refers to her father’s advice and teachings and who follows her father’s idea of Northern justice.

The only Stark/Snow who currently has the age and experience to become anyone’s regent is Jon Snow. And I don’t even see him being appointed as one, rather it’s more likely he is made KITN.

So after Bran, the Stark closest to Rickon is Arya. And then it’s most possibly Jon Snow. Jon who tells Tyrion to take a message for Rickon in Winterfell and Rickon who stopped to tell Jon hi at the feast and kept asking Bran why Jon was not sitting with them.

The only reason 13 year old Sansa keeps being connected to Rickon as some kind of maternal mother figure is because of fandom sexism and their rigid ideas of gender, femininity and even toxic masculinity.

#Arya Stark #Rickon Stark #asoiaf #Fandom sexism

[rainbow-nerdss]

After the "earthquake", Steve's parents decide to officially move out of Hawkins for good. They don't bother selling the house -- they won't get much for it, considering there's a rift running through the backyard and it's not worth dealing with a realtor. They really just want to cut ties and get out of there for good.

Steve's an adult, they say they'd happily support him if he went to college but since he chooses not to, the extent of their "help" is passing the deed of the house on to him and acting like they've made his wildest dreams come true. All it does is saddle him with bills and property taxes and a big empty house which holds nothing but bad memories.

He puts the big house on the market, hoping for the best. In the meantime he offers rooms to people displaced by the rifts.

Steve manages to get enough work that he can afford to rent a little two bedroom in town. The second bedroom is more of a box than anything, but he's glad to have it for nights when Max can't face staying with her mother, or when Robin stays over and he's too tired or tipsy to drive her home.

There's a faucet in the bathroom which leaks a steady drip, drip, drip, and one of the windows in the kitchen gets easily jammed, but the lights are well maintained and never flicker.

It's small, a little rough around the edges, but full of life, and it's his. The kids help him decorate, painting the walls and moving the furniture that Hopper gave him, from the cabin -- a little tattered, a lot worn, but comfortable. The living room winds up with two blue walls and two orange, because Dustin and Max argued over the choice and this was their compromise. The curtains are frilly and ridiculous, an old pair from the Henderson's house.

He's got a painting hanging pride of place on one of the walls, bright and full of love, presented to him by Will shortly after the move. In it, the party stand together arm in arm, and Steve wields his nail bat with pride.

It's the complete opposite of the house he'd grown up in, and Steve knows his folks would hate everything about it. It's nothing short of perfect.

The apartment is where Steve comes out to Robin, it's where he kisses Eddie for the first time, it's where he first understands what home means. It's a home, much more than that big cookie cutter house he grew up in ever was.

Gradually, it becomes a space for more than just Steve. At first, Robin is always leaving things behind, so he starts putting them away. A shelf here, a drawer there.

The more Eddie starts to stay over, the more the place starts to look like his too. Metal albums mixed in with Steve's collection, a guitar in the living room, D&D books on the coffee table -- but maybe those are Henderson's, Steve doesn't really know.

When Eddie moves in with him, it's not that much of an adjustment. Eddie has basically been living there for months. They only bother making it official to convince Wayne it not to leave the larger bedroom in the new trailer for Eddie.

Steve tells Eddie he can use the spare room for his music, they can set up a desk for d&d planning, but Eddie's shit still spreads throughout the whole apartment. Guitar picks and scraps of paper and half-drunk bottles and pencil scratchings of lyrics directly on the walls that irritate Steve to no end until he reads what they say and his heart melts because he loves this man so much.

Eventually the big old house sells -- not for what it was once worth, probably, but Steve's just glad to see the back of it. He doesn't use the money to move anywhere else. He likes his little apartment, this life he's managed to build for himself.

He buys Robin a car, a beat up old thing which is the most she'll accept from him, and he teaches her to drive it, since she doesn't have him to chauffer her around in her college town.

He puts the rest of the money aside. Max is the only one if the kids without anything resembling a college fund. Shewants to go somewhere out west, he knows. Somewhere near her grandma, her dad. If she wants it, it's there for her.

For Max, for Robin, for any of the kids. It's there for the future that he's finally allowing himself to dream about.

#hi this has been slowly growing from a passing reference in one of my wips so please enjoy #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #steddie fic

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

Home

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

#fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #john winchester #slow burn #witch reader #witchcraft #romance #the hunter and the witch #banter #childhood home #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester x witch reader #dean winchester x you #lore #witch lore #light angst #dead parents #winchester x reader #supernatural season 1 #supernatural fanfiction #writing

[xlycorisxradiatax2]

Cozy edits ✨

Modlists:

(AT) Geometric Rugs

(CP) Grace's Wood Lamps

(CP)(DGA) Retro Style Furniture

(DGA AT) HxW Fairy Garden Furniture

[AT] Grace's Beds

[JA] DAILY PANTS SET

[JA] DAILY SHIRTS SET

[JA] DL HATS SET

[JA] IYAHO All Shirts Pack

[JA] IYAHO Hats 58p

[JA] IYAHO Hats 58p Small

Alternative Textures

AntiSocialNPCs

Asta Cute Navy Outfit (FS)

AT opulence wallpapers

AT Opulence

Better Artisan Good Icons Fix

Better Artisan Good Icons

Cat Replacements

CJB Cheats Menu

CJB Item Spawner

CJB Show Item Sell Price

Content Patcher

Cottagecore Fences

Woomeewong Villagers Portrait (CP)

Crops Anytime Anywhere

Custom Music

Custom Wallpaper Framework

Customizable Baby and Children

Cuter Crops and Foraging

DaisyNiko's Earthy Recolour

DaisyNiko's Tilesheets

Dog Replacements

Dynamic Game Assets

Earthy Interiors

Expanded Preconditions Utility

Extra Map Layers

Farm Type Manager

Fashion Sense

Fishing Made Easy Suite

Forest Meadow Farm

FS - SH's Animal and Mythological Creatures Stuff

FS - SH's Gloves and Sleeves Pack

FS - SH's More Accessories and Stuff

FS Simple Farmer Dresses

FS The Coquette Collection

FS Wabi's Wardrobe

FS Clothespack1

FS Clothespack2

FS_Daily hairstyle

FS_HatsPack

Generic Mod Config Menu

GH's Peach Body type (female)

GH's Peach Tall Body type (male)

Gwen's Path

Hats Won't Mess Up Hair

Horse Replacements

IdaIda Wallpapers and Floors for CP

IdaIda's Furniture Recolour (for AT)

JA - Luo Li's top and skirt2

JA - Luo Li's top and skirt3

JA_Uniform Pack

Json Assets

Kitchen Replacements

Lnh's Cellar

Lnh's Farm

Lookup Anything

MailFrameworkMod

Miss Coriel's NPC Unique Courtship Response 5

MissCoriel's Unique Courtship Response CORE

More Grass

No Crows

No Fence Decay

NPC Map Locations

Old Cola Interface

PyTK - Platonymous Toolkit

Sabrine's Cottage (AT)

SafeLightningRedux

Script Font

Shop Tile Framework

Show Item Quality

Simple Foliage

Simple Resources

SkullCavernElevator

SpaceCore

Spanish Revival Buildings

StarAmy's Comprehensive Walls and Floors

StarAmy's Cozy Walls and Floors

StarAmy's Natural Patterned Wallpapers

StarAmy's Wild Greenhouse Furniture for DGA

Sweet Simple Greenhouse

Take a Break

TMXL Map Toolkit

Tractor Engine Sounds

Tractor Mod

Transmutation Time All

Way Back Pelican Town

West Elm Furniture (AT) by Atlas

Wildflower Grass Field

Winter Grass

Yandere Sebastian Dialogue Expansion

Yellog Flower Dialogue UI

#stardew valley #stardew valley mod #stardew valley mods #stardew valley farmer #sdv #sdv mod #sdv mods #sdv farmer #sdvmod #sdvmods #stardew #stardew farmer #stardew mods #stardew oc #pc gaming #pc game #pc games #games #pc gamer #gamer #game #gaming #pc #gamers #edit #edits #game edit #gameplay #sdv community #pixel

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Like Breathing - One

Title: Like Breathing

Word Count: 3.2k

Part Warnings: Dead and injured animals, killing animals, blood, harassment, and stitching up wounds

Summary: Bucky’s life in Cove is far from perfect, mostly because Cove’s residents want nothing more than to scare him away. Luckily for you, Bucky isn’t easily scared off.

A/N: This is the first part of Like Breathing. I hope you enjoy! As always, thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Dividers by @firefly-graphics​​

Translations:

Маленький = Little one

Like Breathing Masterlist

Bucky didn’t kill anymore. His therapist reminded him of that daily, which he loathed, but he still nodded along every time she said it. Of course, it wasn’t true. Bucky had killed yesterday.

The sleepy little town he had been placed in as part of his pardon was practically idyllic. Neatly trimmed lawns lined litter-free streets, and each afternoon when the schools let out, children rode their bicycles up and down the sidewalks. They played ball in the cul-de-sac and Bucky swore that one afternoon he’d even seen an ice cream truck turn the corner west of his house. The ranch-style, one bedroom home had been loaned to him by the FBI. It wasn’t something Bucky would have picked on his own, but Steve had reassured him that once he got his bearings, he could decorate it to feel more like his own place. Bucky had not done that. Everything was exactly as it was the day he moved in—basic furniture with no decor. The only personal items he kept were his clothes, a small box containing pictures and other items sent to him by the Smithsonian, and his laptop, which was also given to him by the FBI. It was most likely bugged, just like the house and the phone. The majority of the items in the house were either already there when he moved in or things he’d purchased for Alpine. Bucky always thought of those as her personal items, not his. She was the only other living being that had ever been in his house. Not even Steve had come to visit.

In the four months he’d lived in Cove, he had limited his interactions to the soft-spoken volunteer at the animal shelter and the older woman who manned the register at the pet store. Both of them had been instrumental when he adopted Alpine, a soft white cat who’d been surrendered to the shelter after she’d hissed at the previous owner’s kids. Bucky didn’t think that was a good enough reason to get rid of a pet. He hadn’t planned on getting a cat, or any kind of animal for that matter, but after his therapist suggested it, Bucky hadn’t been able to get the idea out of his head. It turned out that while Alpine had more attitude than Steve, she was affectionate when he needed it. Other than that, she preferred to keep her distance the majority of the time. She was welcome company while Bucky worked each day.

Laughter and jeering from his front yard drew Bucky’s attention from where he’d been reviewing surveillance data on the bugged laptop. He sighed and got up from the kitchen table, pushing his chair back and ignoring the screech it made as the legs scraped across the old linoleum. Alpine darted out from underneath the table at the sound, sprinting down the hall to the safety of the bedroom, just as she did every day at this hour.

As he trudged through the living room, Bucky didn’t have to wonder what was waiting for him when he opened the front door. Every time it was the same: a pickup speeding off with men teetering in the bed and some form of roadkill bleeding out on the sidewalk in front of his house. His stretch of sidewalk was the only one that kids never played on, and for good reason. The brown stains left by months worth of dead animals never seemed to go away, no matter how much Bucky scrubbed.

Jaw clenched, Bucky grabbed the bucket of tools from just inside the door and headed down to the front of his yard. The deer was young, practically still a fawn, and his chest tightened at the sight. Its chest rose and fell unsteadily and the panicked look in his eyes was all too familiar.

Slowly, Bucky knelt down beside the frightened animal, his back to the street. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he soothed. 

The animal had been hit by a car—he’d seen these wounds plenty of times—and there was little chance it would survive. Most likely, it would bleed out excruciatingly slow on the sidewalk as the sun sank below the horizon.

“Let’s get you into the backyard, huh? It’s okay.” He kept his voice soft and even as he spoke to it, explaining what he was doing. He knew it couldn’t understand him, but after months of practice, he knew that talking to them kept them calm and kept him from getting a hoof or claw to the face.

Bucky unfolded the tarp from the five-gallon bucket and carefully manipulated the poor animal onto the plastic. Dragging it across the yard to the back of the house was easy, and when it was situated with the forest in view, Bucky left it to get his bucket of tools.

He hated every minute of this ordeal. Sometimes the animals were already dead. Those were the good days. He could simply haul the animal into the woods and leave it for the scavengers. This kind of animal, the ones that were left to suffer in plain view of his living room, were the cases he hated. His nightmares were plagued with them now, their whimpers interspersed with those of his victims long ago.

The most humane thing Bucky could do in situations like these was to put the animal down himself. The first time the creature had still been alive when the men had dumped it, Bucky had attempted to take the animal to the emergency vet less than a mile away. He’d been turned away at the door. The police were no help either, as the sheriff was almost always seated in the back of the pickup. He’d tipped his hat at Bucky one day while they sped away. Bucky had punched a hole in the living room wall.

“You’ll feel better soon,” Bucky said, eyeing the deer as he loaded what he would need into his waistband.

He dragged the tarp into the woods, into the clearing near the meadow. The young deer lifted its head, its longing for the rolling waves of grass and wildflowers clear as it groaned and settled back on the forest floor. Blood slicked over the blue plastic tarp beneath it and Bucky looked away, readying his weapon.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. He looked away as he pulled the trigger. The familiar sound of the silenced gunshot didn’t phase him, and Bucky quickly cleaned up the remains, leaving them for the scavengers once he’d removed the bullet.

After hosing down his equipment and leaving it in the garage to dry, Bucky grabbed a bucket of soapy water and the stiff-bristled brush he used to scrub the sidewalk. He stepped out of the garage, but froze almost immediately.

Another animal had been left in the deer’s place, this time significantly smaller in stature. Bucky glanced back at his drying tools, then set his cleaning bucket down on the driveway. Water sloshed over the side onto the asphalt but he ignored it. In just a few long strides, Bucky knelt down at the animal’s side.

The cat’s fur was matted with blood and it whined pitifully as soon as he was within earshot, but when Bucky reached out to touch it, it hissed and tried to scramble away.

“Hey, I ain’t gonna hurt you. It’s okay.”

A flash of white made Bucky pause. He blinked and Alpine was between him and the other cat, her tail aloft as she stuck her curious nose in the injured feline’s face.

“Alpine, leave them alone!” Bucky scolded. “How did you even get out here?”

Alpine simply ignored him and moved to investigate the other animal further. He looked around, spotting the front door open. He must’ve forgotten to close it and Bucky inwardly kicked himself for making such a stupid mistake. It was usually more about what—or who—could get in his house than what could get out.

Sighing, Bucky reached out to pick up his cat. She obliged his touch, affectionately rubbing her head against his hand when he was close enough. The cat laying on the sidewalk watched Alpine intently as Bucky scratched behind her ears, then scooped her up and carried her back up the driveway and into the house. He shut the front door behind her, then went back to the injured animal’s side.

“You gonna let me help you now?” Bucky asked, keeping his voice soft. “Huh?” He reached out a hand and though the cat tensed, he was able to smooth back the matted fur to find the injury.

The cat had a long cut stretching down its right hind leg, from the hip all the way down to the paw. The blood had already begun to clot, which was a good sign, but it was still a cause for concern. If he jostled the animal too much, they could begin to bleed again. 

“You really got into some trouble there, didn’t you?” As if to reply, the cat meowed and laid its head down on the stained concrete. It still watched him, but it had relaxed and Bucky felt a bit more confident in his ability to move it into the house where he could stitch up its leg. 

“Alright, I’m gonna pick you up. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he said. He continued to softly narrate his actions as he lifted the cat and held it against his chest, then went into the house through the garage. He jabbed his metal thumb into the button beside the door so that the garage would shut behind him, just in case Alpine decided she wanted to do any more adventuring today.

Alpine, true to form, was waiting for him when he stepped inside the house. She immediately started weaving around his feet, and Bucky would’ve tripped over her if he wasn’t as agile.

“Careful, sweetheart. We gotta be nice to our guest,” he chided when she jumped up on the table. Bucky set the cat down on top of the newspaper he’d left spread out during his research earlier that day. He could get a new copy later if he needed to. Right now his priority was to clean and stitch up the cat’s wound. 

After an hour of work, the injured cat had a freshly shaved leg with a freshly cleaned and stitched wound. She had, surprisingly, stayed still and quiet for the majority of the time, only watching Bucky with wide, frightened eyes. He’d discovered that the cat was a girl partway through, which had been more of a relief than anything. Alpine had taken quite a liking to the new animal. Maybe once the animal healed, his little friend could have a friend of her own, given that nobody came looking for her. Friends he could handle, but kittens were a whole other story.

Bucky shook his head as he went back to cleaning up the table. It was a methodical task, one he could appreciate, but he kept glancing back over his shoulder to check on the cat, who’d fallen asleep shortly after he’d finished. He’d set her up near the litter box, and he’d moved the food and water a bit closer so that she wouldn’t be walking as far on the injured leg. Alpine had curled up for a nap of her own on the floor nearby.

When you woke, it took you a second to remember where you were and what had happened. It wasn’t the first time you’d woken up in a strange house in your feline form, but the injured leg and the fluffy white cat snoozing nearby were a first. Rarely did you ever get hurt. Usually the wound healed well enough on its own, but the trauma from being grabbed by the strange man with the grubby hands and then being tossed off the back of the pickup had exacerbated the cut and your healing had come to a halt.

You’d been wary of the dark-haired man who’d found you. He’d had an aura of shame and fear about him, and you’d immediately recoiled. Then, the little white cat had appeared out of nowhere. She was his cat, she’d said in so many words, and the man was good. He fed her, played with her, and the house was warm and safe. You’d relented and taken a good look at him. Warmth had settled into your bones despite your injury and your gut had told you that the white cat was telling the truth. The man with the metal arm was good.

He had carried you inside, cradling you against his chest with the gentlest of touches. He seemed to know what he was doing as he fixed up your leg. At some point after he’d tended to the gash, you’d passed out from the pain and exhaustion.

Now, you were in a soft bed on the floor of his laundry room. You slowly uncurled and managed to prop yourself up without putting too much weight on your injured leg. You had to be careful—if it didn’t heal right, you could get stuck in this form forever, or your human form could suffer the effects of the injury as well.

Alpine lifted her head and blinked sleepily when she sensed your movement.

You’re awake.

“How long has it been since I passed out?” you asked.

She looked towards the back door, where the night sky was visible through several small panes of glass. Only a few hours.

A shout from upstairs made you jump, and Alpine was off like a shot. She raced out of the laundry room through the kitchen, and you heard her scramble down the hall. Another shout piqued your curiosity and you limped after her. Whimpers and a heavy sob were enough of a trail for you to follow.

The man was sitting on the edge of the bed, Alpine clutched against him and his face buried in her fur. He cried as you cautiously hobbled into the bedroom, sticking to the shadows along the walls. Your fur wasn’t dark enough to hide you completely, but it would keep you hidden long enough for you to judge the situation.

Alpine purred soothingly and you listened to the man cry as you looked around the room. The top of the dresser and the nightstand were empty except for a small digital clock and the man’s charging phone. Every space in the house, from what you’d seen, was strangely barren. There was nothing personal to tell you about your rescuer, and while that should have made you uneasy, it only made the sad pit in your stomach grow deeper.

You let out a quiet whimper when a twinge ran down your leg and the man stiffened. He lifted his head from Alpine’s fur and peered around the room.

“Маленький?” he murmured. “Is that you?”

Hesitantly, you crept away from the wall and into the dim light coming from the moon outside. You knew your eyes would glint in the light and he’d be able to find you easier that way. 

Just as you’d suspected, the man’s attention snapped to you as soon as you were in the light. He set Alpine down on the bed and carefully knelt on the hardwood floor, his hand trembling as he reached out to you.

“You shouldn’t be up and moving around so soon,” he chided, and you meowed in irritation.

He hovers, Alpine said from her perch on the bed. You glanced up at her. When he’s worried, he hovers. When he’s scared, he hovers.

You let the man brush his fingers against your fur. He exhaled shakily and you stepped closer until he could run his hand over your back. The feeling was sublime and you arched under his touch. It had been so long since someone had touched you with such gentleness and care, and you knew then that you were a goner. You’d stay with this man for as long as you could.

“Thank you for saving me,” you told him, though you knew he couldn’t understand you in this form. 

The man smiled a little. It didn’t reach his eyes, but he seemed to appreciate the tidbit of interaction you’d given him. In response, you bumped your head against his knee, rubbing against the soft fabric of his pajamas.

“I wonder if you’ve got a name or an owner out there,” he mused. He continued to pet you as you rubbed against his legs. Eventually, you stood still and peered up at Alpine, who had settled with her tail just over the edge of the mattress. She twitched it, knowing you could see, and you narrowed your eyes at her challenge. Alpine was a young cat, and though she was sweet and naive enough to believe that you were just like her, you sensed an air of playfulness and spice about her.

Noticing your change in focus, the man scooped you up and lifted you onto the bed. You wobbled a little on the mattress before batting at Alpine. She flipped over to play and you indulged her, playing as much as you could without putting the health of your leg in jeopardy.

“What’s the man’s name?” you asked, dodging her paw.

Alpine chirped back at you. Bucky, she said. That’s what the men on the phone always call him.

“The men on the phone?” 

They call almost every day. He likes some of them. The others make him sad and angry.

You filed that information away for later use, and you were reaching out to block Alpine’s paw again when Bucky picked her up. He shifted her up near his pillow, then reached for you. On instinct, you backed away, your ears flattening when the metal of his arm glinted in the moonlight filtering in through the window.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Bucky soothed. “I won’t hurt you, remember?”

Another twinge of pain shot up your leg to your hip. You let out a sharp yelp when it twitched and hit the bedpost. Instantly, Bucky’s forehead creased in concern and he eased his flesh hand between your back and the wooden post.

“Easy now. I don’t want you falling off or hurting yourself more. You wanna get down off the bed? Is that what you want?”

You let out a slow breath and stared at him, forcing yourself to relax. You looked down at the floor and then at him in hopes that he would take that as a ‘yes’. When Bucky reached out and moved to pick you up again, you let him. He lowered you down onto the floor without another word. You scooted underneath the bed, closing your eyes when the feeling of being sheltered and safe settled into your bones. 

“She’ll be okay, Alpine.”

Bucky’s voice was barely audible in the silence under the bed and you peeked open an eye, listening.

“She’s gotta be.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

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Forever: @aya-fay​​

Bucky Barnes: @lipstickandvibranium​​ @valhalla-kristin​​ @buckymcbuckbarnes​​

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#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky x plus size reader #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky angst #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #marvel #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel reader insert #reader insert

[440mxs-wife]

The Country Doctor, Chapter 1: A Fresh Start

Pairing: Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy x F!Reader (eventual). Other Characters are the usual suspects: Jim Kirk, Nyota Uhura. Spock, Montgomery Scott, Hikaru Sulu, Pavel Chekov (to be introduced in later chapters.) OMC's Travis Myers and Miles Cooper.

Word Count: 4530

Warnings: Divorce, break-up, ruthless businessmen, mentions of infidelity, but mostly fluffy (for now)

Summary: Fresh off of his divorce, Dr. McCoy receives word that he has inherited a 5,000-acre farm and home in Logan, Montana. Finally, he has an opportunity for a clean slate and to start his own clinic out west and leave his ex-wife behind. Along the way, he'll meet a cast of unique characters, each with a place in his new small-town life. But there could be trouble ahead in the form of a powerful CEO hell-bent on acquiring Leonard's property by any means necessary.

A/N: This idea was posted by @hailbop1701, with a specific list of plot points/dialog to be included. I won't put the list here, because it'll give away too much. Not sure how many parts there'll be, but I hope you like where I take the story.

A/N 2: If you’ve been tagged here, it’s because you’ve interacted one or more times on a McCoy story of mine, or we’re moots. Whether you like or reblog, I am eternally grateful for your support. If anyone else would like to be tagged on any future Karl Urban character postings, or would rather leave the Crazy Train, please let me know. Thank you, and enjoy the show!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Court is adjourned."

That was the declaration eight weeks ago, when Dr. Leonard H. McCoy sat at a table with his attorney in the Fulton County Courthouse in Atlanta, Georgia. The Honorable Judge Michael Simmons had just pounded his gavel on the bench to signify an end to the McCoy v. McCoy divorce proceedings. Unfortunately, his now-ex-wife, Jocelyn, had the better attorney, which resulted in a somewhat less-than-equitable division of their assets.

At least Leonard was able to keep his vintage pickup truck and the 4-bedroom, 2 bath, ranch-style home he had lived in with Jocelyn. She basically got everything else in the settlement, though, including most of the furniture. She didn't technically need the furniture, since she was moving in with her new boyfriend. However, he had a rental property that needed furnishings, so that's where they went.

Two weeks after the divorce was finalized, Leonard received correspondence from a law firm in Montana, with a request for his presence. The letter did not specify the reason for the request, and when he called the law office, no one was authorized to divulge any information. He didn't want to find himself on the wrong side of the law and besides, he was more than a little curious. Luckily, the law firm had a satellite office in Atlanta, so that's where he attended the meeting.

An hour or so after the meeting ended, a slightly dazed Leonard walked out of the attorney's office with a file folder and a property deed in his hand. The meeting was for the reading of the will for his distant uncle, Walter McCoy. Around 5,000 acres of land in Montana along with an old craftsman-style farmhouse were bequeathed to him to do with as he pleased. There were also various outbuildings on the property, such as a machine shed, a barn with a hay loft, and horse stables.

He had options. There was an Eastern conglomerate, NorthStar Corp, that was willing to pay a more than fair price to buy it from him, lock, stock, and barrel. With what they were offering, Leonard wouldn't have to worry about money for the foreseeable future, if ever. Or, he could make the break from Georgia and his ex-wife with her boy-toy to make a go of it in Logan, Montana. Although Leonard wanted to stay near his mother, Eleanora, he had to consider that this was his chance to start over somewhere else.

When he told his best friend, James T. Kirk, about his inheritance, Jim could hardly contain his excitement. He considered it to be the start to a great adventure and was more than willing to accompany Leonard.

Jim had no family ties to speak of, preferring to live a sort of nomadic existence. He even offered to take turns driving the moving truck the 1,900 or so miles to Montana. "Good music, good snacks, and good company are all we need to get us to our destination, Bones," Kirk told him with a wide grin.

The more Leonard thought about it, the more he warmed up to the idea of starting somewhere new. A place where he wouldn't have to worry about running into someone who knew about the divorce and wouldn't hesitate to share an opinion about it. So, with Jim's help, he cleared his house out of any remaining items, put them in storage, then contacted a realtor to list it for sale.

After only a few showings, a deal was quickly closed, with a $30,000.00 profit in his bank account to show for it. Leonard and Jim loaded up his remaining possessions into the moving van, hooked up a car trailer with Leonard's pickup truck on it, and headed west to Montana. The pair made a few stops along the way, renting a hotel room to rest for the night before hitting the road again the next morning.

The more miles Leonard put behind him, the more comfortable and free he felt with his decision. He wasn't too keen on leaving his mother behind, but she assured him that she would be fine, even encouraged him to take this leap. He made a note to send her a plane ticket so she could visit once he got settled.

Nearly four days and more than 1,900 miles later, Leonard turned into the gravel driveway that led to his new home. It was a charcoal gray with white trim craftsman-style farmhouse with a tall, red brick chimney on one side. The wooden wrap-around porch was accented with white, tapered columns, set on top of the slotted railing framing the area. He appreciated the large windows, which would bring in a good amount of natural light, as well as soft breezes on lazy summer days.

"Well? Is it everything you expected?" Jim asked.

"I didn't exactly know what to expect, Jim. I don't even remember either of my parents ever mentioning an 'Uncle Walter McCoy'. He isn't someone I knew well enough for him to leave me something like this, but I'll do my best to make the most of it. From what I've seen so far, though, at least the outside looks fine," Leonard replied.

"That's the spirit, Bones! Let's go have a look at the grounds, then inside the house. After that, we can start unloading your stuff," Jim grinned as he scrambled out of the truck.

Leonard stepped down from the driver's seat and closed the door. "Sure, Jim. Why not," he muttered to himself. He fished the house keys out of his pocket on his way up the porch steps. The front door was made of solid oak with a dark finish and leaded glass panels arranged in a geometric design. He inserted the key into the lock and tilted his head back. "Here goes nothin', I guess," he murmured, pushing the door open.

***

At just after 2:00pm, you stopped by the post office to retrieve your mail that had piled up over the last couple of days. Before you left, you strolled up to the counter to chat with your best friend, Nyota Uhura. Her shift was almost over, so she suggested the two of you meet for coffee and a snack at the Java Station Café on Main Street.

While you waited for her at the café, you thought about how you met her and what brought you back to Logan, Montana. Your now-ex-boyfriend, Travis Myers, had convinced you to move with him from Logan to Bozeman. He'd landed a lucrative position as in-house counsel for a large and powerful corporation. You found work at a tech company doing data entry work for a medical office. Not too terribly taxing nor was it what you wanted for a career, but it paid well.

Around the six-month mark of living together in the big city, Travis started coming home later and later in the evening. Missed date nights and other outings were becoming more frequent, with him coming to bed late and leaving before you woke up. Whenever you tried to talk to him about it, he always chalked it up to working late on a big case or project, so you let it go.

The last straw was when the two of you were supposed to meet a few of your friends for dinner. Since he was late picking you up from home, you asked one of them to drive you to the restaurant. From the lobby, you called Travis and told him to meet you there.

Just before you said your goodbyes, you heard, "Come back to bed, baby, I'm cold" in a woman's voice. You were furious, demanding to know who the woman was and how long he had been seeing her. After first denying everything, he ultimately confessed it was his assistant and it had been going on for about six weeks. You felt your world collapsing around you at his admission. Dinner was forgotten while your friends drove you back to the apartment to pack up your belongings.

You couch-surfed for about a month before finding an apartment back in Logan, where you had previously lived with your parents. Because Travis paid for most of the expenses such as rent and utilities, you were able to save up quite a nest egg to cover your new living situation. However, you weren't sure how much longer your savings would hold out, so you decided to look for a job to make ends meet.

The bell above the door tinkled, and Nyota rushed over to your table. After a brief hug, you both sat down and waited for your server to appear and take your order. Uhura was practically vibrating with energy, which meant she had something exciting to share. A few minutes later, with your order submitted, she spilled her secret.

"You'll never guess what happened today!" she exclaimed. "Two men came in today to file a change of address card."

You snorted. "That sounds like something that happens every day around here, Nyota, not that interesting. You're nearly jumping out of your skin about this. What is so compelling about them that has you barely able to sit still long enough to tell me?"

Uhura made a face at you to show her displeasure. "If you can keep from insulting me, I'll tell you," she pouted. You held up your hands in surrender as her cue to continue. "They moved here from Georgia, and one of them has the most tantalizing Southern accent. They were both tall, one blond hair with striking blue eyes, and the other dark hair and hazel eyes. He seemed a little grumpy at first, but Blue Eyes was the more charming of the two," she explained.

"Did you get a look at their new address, the one here?" you asked.

"The one with dark hair listed his name as Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, and his address matched the one for Walter McCoy's place," she replied.

Now she had your attention. Every so often, you drove by the farm, wishing you lived there instead of your small, one-bedroom apartment. You had thoughts about what it would be like to buy the place one day so you could fix it up and return it to some of its old glory. You'd heard through the grapevine that the owner passed away a few months back. It was also mentioned that ownership would pass to his only other living relative.

"I've always thought about that place, what it looks like inside, how I would spruce it up. Wait a minute, did you say Doctor McCoy?" you squeaked.

"And her brain has finally caught up with her mouth," Uhura joked. "I was wondering when you'd catch on to that tidbit of information. That house has a separate office space, ideal for treating patients. Word travels fast in this town, and once folks get to know there's a doctor in town again, Dr. McCoy is bound to need help. You know, with paperwork or coordinating treatment of his patients. Know anyone with those kind of skills?" she grinned.

In addition to your data entry job, you had acquired some basic medical training. The town had a couple of paramedics within the Volunteer Fire Department for the more serious cases. For now, it was enough, but it would be nice for the vacancy to be filled, especially by a handsome doctor. "Hmm. Maybe I should head out that way, introduce myself, see if he needs any help." Beg him for a job, you silently added.

"That's the spirit! If you're done with your coffee, we should drive out there and check things out. You in?" she held out her hand for you to shake.

After draining the last of your cappuccino, you nodded and shook her hand. "I'm all in," you declared.

***

Leonard and Jim wandered the property, taking in the condition and contents of the outbuildings. Many of the machines and tools were left behind. They noted which items were and were not still functional, to determine what could be easily returned to service or sold for parts. The good news was, the buildings themselves were structurally sound, although at least in need of a new outer coat of paint.

As for the house itself, Leonard was pleased to find a side entrance that led to an office, set apart from the main house. It was perfect for starting his clinic, with a small area that could function as a waiting room, and enough space for a reception desk. He made a note to check in town for a secondhand store to pick up a desk, some chairs and other furnishings.

Jim joked and told him that all he needed now was a pretty receptionist who could also perform nursing duties. Leonard glared at him in response, reminding him that after the way divorce went, he wasn't at all interested in dating. "Just doctorin'," he affirmed. "Maybe fishin', if the winds are just right," he added with a smirk.

A tour of the home's interior revealed hardwood flooring in the bedrooms and living room, while ceramic tiles covered the floor in the eat-in kitchen. There was a separate dining room space between the kitchen and living room. The centerpiece of the living room was a fireplace made with gray bricks and had a dark wooden mantle above it.

Before his arrival, Leonard contacted the utilities and asked for them to be turned on and transferred into his name. That gave Leonard and Jim a chance to determine what worked and what needed repaired. For the most part, the electrical system was in good working order, except for a few outlets that may need replaced or updated.

The water situation was another story. At first, when Jim turned on the high-arching faucet in the kitchen, the white farmhouse sink reflected a light brownish tint to the water. The pedestal sink and clawfoot tub in the main bathroom, plus the sinks in the half-baths were the same shade of brown. However, the more they let the water run, the clearer it became, which helped ease their minds a bit.

Leonard walked back out to the porch to make a mental list of what he'd need to bring the old house back to life and working order. The hardwood floors were in good condition, though they could use a bit of polish applied to them. There were a few non-working electrical outlets that would need an electrician's expertise to chase down the problem. In the bedrooms, there were spots where the wallpaper was peeling away from the wall. Not exactly a fan of wallpaper, Leonard decided it would be better to tear it all down and paint instead.

Overall, the pluses outweighed the minuses, such as the updated appliances in the kitchen and quartz countertops. Leonard could definitely see himself cooking up a Sunday dinner of his mother's chicken and dumplings with a peach cobbler. As an avid reader, he also loved the built-in bookshelves to showcase his personal library of classics. And the side-door entrance to the office space provided a break between his professional life and his personal life.

Jim joined him out on the porch and gazed out over the mature trees that dotted the property. "So now that you've taken the grand tour, what do you think, Bones?"

Leonard thought for a moment before answering. "Think I'm gonna like it here. Let's start unloading the truck," he directed. "Good thing we hit those consignment shops on the way here, or you wouldn't have a bed to sleep in," he jested.

Jim was about to unlatch the door on the moving truck when he noticed a car turning into the driveway. "Welcoming Committee?" he wondered. Leonard shook his head and rolled his eyes while he walked over to stand next to Jim. They both watched as the car rolled to a stop near the front of the truck.

***

The drive to the McCoy place only took about twenty minutes, which you spent silently reviewing your qualifications. Uhura could tell you were worried about making a good impression, which she was sure you would. She told you not to worry about it, that you were the best candidate for the job, if Dr. McCoy was hiring. "What if he's not hiring, though?" you asked.

"Then we'll have to convince him that he'll need your help, being the only doc in town. There really is no way around it, he will require an assistant," she reasoned. Her response sounded logical, so you accepted it and kept driving out to meet your prospective employer.

Soon your car was pulling into the driveway, where a large moving truck was parked. Upon seeing the two men standing to one side, you had to admit that Uhura was right. They were both strikingly handsome men. The dark-aired man carried a stern look on his face and his arms were crossed over his chest. The blond seemed a little more easygoing, self-assured, bordering on cocky, as if he knew what a good-looking man he was.

As you exited your vehicle, the men had started walking in your direction. "You ladies lost or somethin'?" the dark-haired man drawled. Ohhhh, that accent was enough to make you weak in the knees, you thought. You held on to your open door for balance.

"Yeah, can we help you?" the blond man wondered with a smirk.

When your brain finally rebooted, you responded, "Actually, we were hoping to be of assistance to you, since you're new in town." At this, you introduced the two of you and learned that the blond was James T. Kirk, or "Jim" he offered with a waggle of his eyebrows. His grumpy companion with the dark hair was the Dr. Leonard H. McCoy who now owned the property.

"I think we can manage fine with just the two of us. Good day, la--" Leonard was interrupted by Jim, who pulled him aside.

"Wait a minute, Bones, let's not be too hasty. I mean, these are a couple of gorgeous women who showed up out of nowhere to see us," Jim pointed out. "It wouldn't hurt to hear what they had to say, now would it?"

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation. He was here to be a physician, to take care of people who need help, not dip a toe in the dating pool. When he looked up, he noticed that Jim had left his side and was talking to Uhura, while you had stepped up in his place.

"Excuse me, Dr. McCoy? I understand that my friend and I just turned up unannounced on your doorstep, and you don't know anything about us. But this is a pretty small town, and I should tell you, it won't take long for people to learn that we have a new physician to replace old Doc Thomas. Therefore, I'm offering you my services. I have some basic medical training, and I used to do data entry for a medical company back in Bozeman," you explained.

"Bozeman? Why on earth would you ever leave there to live here? Not to say that what I've seen so far of Logan isn't simply charming," Leonard added with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"I'll be glad to share that little tidbit of information once we've gotten used to working together," you shot back. "By hiring me, you'll have a well-organized appointment calendar, along with accurate patient files. You'll also have someone who knows how to take and record vitals, which leaves you free to do the doctorin'. So, do we have a deal?" you asked, your hand outstretched.

Leonard took a moment to consider your offer, bold though it was. He had to concede that in a town of this size, word would get around about a new physician and spread like wildfire. He'd probably end up with a huge influx of patients. Even if it was only at first, he might become easily overwhelmed. Patient care was of the utmost importance to him, and if you could make things easier for him, who was he to reject such a proposition?

His lack of response translated to you as a decline of your offer of assistance. As you started to withdraw your hand, he quickly grabbed it and clasped it between his own. "Whoa, hold on there just a minute. All right, you have a deal, but we'll do this as a trial run. A three-month probationary period, take it or leave it," he bartered, fighting the urge to smile.

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy! Three months? That'll be more than enough time for you to decide you can't live without me! In-in the office, I mean," you clarified.

Leonard couldn't help but smile at your blunder. "All right, now that we have that settled, I hope you'll excuse me and Casanova over there with your friend. We have a lot to unload, and I'd like to sleep in my own bed tonight rather than the couch," he stated.

"We can help, if that's okay with you? With four sets of hands, we can be done in no time. Besides, I've always been kind of curious about what the inside of your house looks like," you admitted.

You are one interesting woman, Leonard thought to himself. "Okay, let's get started then. Once we get everything out of the truck, I'll take you on the nickel tour," he winked. He whistled to get Jim's and Uhura's attention, then opened up the back of the truck.

***

"There, I think that's the last of it," Leonard declared after he removed the final box from the moving truck and placed it on the lawn. He jumped up to grab the leather strap, then pulled down the rolling door until it was flush with the deck. He latched and locked the door, picked up the box, and brought it into his new home.

 Jim and Uhura had taken your car into town to pick up something for dinner, which left you alone with Leonard. During the unloading, you didn't get much of a chance to stop and look around. But now that most of the heavy lifting was done, you seized the opportunity to take in your surroundings.

You were so caught up in admiring the home's features that you didn't hear Dr. McCoy slide up next to you. "If you have your nickel, I'm ready to start the tour," he grinned. You dug in your pocket, which luckily contained the right coin for the price of your ticket. "Ready when you are, Dr. McCoy," you replied, handing over the 5 cents.

***

Video Conference Call -- Bozeman, Montana

Travis checked his watch to see that he had another ten minutes before his conference call was scheduled to start. He opened the blue file folder in front of him, which was sent from his employer regarding a property they wanted to acquire in Logan, Montana. He sat back in his chair as he thought about how you'd moved there after breaking up with him. Before he could stroll any further down Memory Lane, his alarm beeped to let him know it was time to start the call.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," Travis greeted. He could see the CEO, Miles Cooper, at the head of the table, surrounded by other members of NorthStar Corp's Board of Executives.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Myers. I see you have the file in front of you, so let's begin. We understand that the principal owner of the McCoy property has passed away. As such, we want to move forward and make the new owner an offer to purchase the parcel of land and whatever's on it. The house, barn, stables--everything, down to the last shingle," Mr. Cooper explained.

"My source tells me that the new owner drove all the way from Atlanta, Georgia to check out the property. He is also a doctor, and the town has been without one since the last one died. In my opinion, this could present a problem. He may decide to stay and 'hang out his shingle', as it were," Travis pointed out.

Mr. Cooper leaned back in his chair and rested his steepled index fingers on his chin as he contemplated his next move. As he considered this new development, conversation buzzed around him among the other executives. According to one of the scientific reports he received, there were plenty of reasons for encouraging the good doctor to sell.

The report mentioned the discovery of several veins of copper and silver running beneath the surface. The financial gains from mining those resources would more than cover the initial investment paid to acquire the property. Whether the new owner was aware of these precious metals was unknown, but Cooper needed to act fast before the doctor learned of their existence.

With a wave of his hand, silence returned to the board room as Mr. Cooper had made a decision. "Mr. Myers, I suggest you do your best to convince Dr. McCoy to sell the property to us. I will have a new purchase offer drawn up that's more than fair, and you should strongly encourage him to accept it."

Travis carefully considered Mr. Cooper's words that carried the barest hint of a threat behind them. "Sir, I will present your offer; however, we should be prepared for him to turn it down and decide to become the town's doctor."

"You worry about getting a signature on that purchase agreement, Myers, and I will worry about whether or not a contingency plan will be needed. Before the previous owner's death, this was a working farm, right? Lots of tools, machinery? Farming is considered to be one of the most dangerous professions, you know. Accidents can and do happen. It would be unfortunate if an accident should befall the good Dr. McCoy," Mr. Cooper replied darkly.

There was no mistake in Mr. Cooper's intent this time. "Absolutely, sir. I will find a way to present your offer that will make it difficult if not impossible to decline it."

Mr. Cooper's eyes brightened and a smile graced his face. "Excellent, Myers, I knew I could count on you. I'll send that new offer over to you as soon as I have it and we'll go from there," he stated. "I appreciate your cooperation, Myers, I certainly won't forget it."

"And thank you, Sir. I welcome this opportunity, and I will not let you down," Travis concluded.

"Let us hope not, Myers. I'd hate for you to experience any....negative fallout, should you be unable to close this deal," Mr. Cooper remarked ominously before disconnecting the call.

Travis relaxed in his chair and began to formulate a plan in his mind. A sly grin crept across his face as he thought of the perfect way to get an inside look into the doctor's life.

Of course, it involved a trip to Logan and should he happen to run into you, so much the better. For him, anyway. Though there was a near 100% chance that you would want nothing to do with him. If that was the case, his plan may be a bust before it even gets started.

Especially after the way things ended between you discovering his infidelity. For that reason alone, it was likely your walls of protection against him and his crap were nearly guaranteed to be sky-high. But it was a chance he was willing to take, because he did not want to disappoint his client. Something told him that with a failure of this magnitude, Mr. Cooper was capable of making his life a living hell.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tags: @marvelouslytrekking @spacedancer1701 @anna-phora @hailbop1701 @writercole @lassie-bird @never--doubt @phoenixisred @wayward-dreamer @erindiggory @strangesgirls @dumpsterhippie @genevablog26 @lokis-deares @medicatemedrmccoy @rooweighton @mamamercurymist @d-doki-doki @malmeansbad @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @ghosttrekkie @noforkingclue @bellestalesoffiction

#leonard bones mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy x reader #au leonard mccoy x reader

[squirrelofcelestialintent]

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest

ROUGH TRADE

Art by @alicetallula

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,000

Major Archive Warnings: Non-con

Dean is used to doing what he has to in order to get by, especially whenever his tough, temperamental father kicks him out during one of his rages. Even if it means getting on his knees for a little extra cash. He can take care of himself.

He always knew the dangers of a trick going sideways, and he accepted it. What he didn’t expect was for someone to burst out of the darkness and save his sorry ass. Least of all a weird, nerdy little dude who seems to have just as many secrets as Dean and doesn’t know how to use a vending machine.

Dean has street smarts and Castiel has (a little) cash. They’re both headed for the west coast to find their families. Teaming up seems like a safe bet.

But the more time Dean spends with Cas, the weirder he seems. And the more he suspects that what he saw Cas do to his attacker on the day that he saved him - the terrible, inhuman thing - wasn’t a trauma induced hallucination after all.

Screw it. With someone on their tail, Dean’s going to find out who his real enemies are soon enough.

….

The next time Dean comes to, he feels much more alive, which is good, but also means everything hurts.

It’s dark, but there’s enough light filtering in through a window for him to blink the world into focus. He’s in a bed, if the blankets around him are any indication. Not a nice bed, but a hell of a lot better than the ground. Slowly, he picks out the typical accoutrement of a shitty hotel spread out around him: boxy tv, cheap plywood furniture, rattling A/C unit.

And an old, threadbare armchair with a man sitting in it.

Dean gasps, startled, before he abruptly remembers how he got here.

That must be Blue Eyes. He’s wearing slacks and a white button-down, looking too put-together for a dive like this (or even a middle-of-nowhere town like this). There’s a tan, blood-spattered trench coat draped over the chair behind him, and he seems to be asleep.

Panic begins to rise in Dean’s chest. He doesn’t think this man is a threat to him, not really. But he was half-numb through everything before, and it feels like all the panic he couldn’t feel then is catching up to him now.

He can hear a raspy, gagging sound for a few seconds before he realizes it’s the sound of him trying to breathe. His chest is heaving, and it feels like his heart is in a slowly-tightening vice. The panic rises higher and higher in his heavy body until it feels like he’s going to choke on it.

It only takes a few seconds for the noise he’s making to wake his rescuer. The man opens his eyes, looks around and then sits bolt upright, going from passed out to fully-aware in a half a second.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” the man says, moving to sit at the end of the bed. He looks at Dean with sympathetic eyes, but he doesn’t make a move to touch him, and Dean is incredibly grateful for that. “Just breathe. Everything is okay. Breathe.”

The man gestures to himself and models breathing - in and out, slow and deep - as Dean tries to copy. It feels like it takes forever, but gradually Dean manages to take full breaths, feeling the oxygen return to his limbs and no longer sounding like an animal caught in a trap. His body relaxes back into the mattress incrementally.

“How do you feel?”

“Okay, I guess, all things considered.” His voice is raspy as fuck, but it works. “Why did you save me?” The words are out of his mouth before he realizes he was thinking them.

The man tilts his head and frowns. He’s looking at Dean like he just spoke in a foreign language, but it seems like a reasonable question. There’s a long pause before either of them knows what to say.

Eventually, the man takes a deep breath and frowns even more.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

#deancashorrorfest #destiel murder husbands #cw: panic attack

[roseoftrafalgar]

OC Home Origins Template

Hello 👋 It’s been awhile, but I had a spur of motivation to draw & thought to make a visual depiction of my One Piece s/i OC’s home of origin. Feel free to use the blank template w/credit or link back if you post it as your own post. (Michelle’s info below the cut)

Info:

- Flora: Tree-blooming yellow apricot blossoms that are abundant during New Year’s, lotus (national flower), and highland roses

- The clothing my s/i wears is inspired by ‘ao vien linh’ worn during Vietnam’s mid-late 18th century and early 19th century.

- Hairong sits atop a waterfall (etymology ‘Hai’ = sea and ‘rong’ = dragon) & possesses both tropical and temperate climates depending on the region. It is situated to the southeast of Kano Kuni in the West Blue.

- My s/i lived in Hairong as a turner’s daughter (made essential parts for furniture, weapons, tools, etc.), until a civil war masterminded by the WG broke out. She was only 6 yrs old, when her family escaped on refugee boats and found themselves in the North Blue. Her eventual foster father, a detective named Vincent H. Dupin, who lives in the town of Vestaria in the North Blue, is a quarter Hairongese from his maternal line.

- When she returned (still playing around with where that fits in), there was a difference between geographical sections defined as “New Hairong” and “Old Hairong,” despite the country being ‘united.’

(I’ll attach the dragon myth explanation as a picture, so the text doesn’t get too long 😂)

Significance of Dragons:

#original characters #s/i oc #oc info #my oc #template #oc template #templates #oc background #traditional clothing #location description and lore #hairong #michelle info #michelle #my art

[strangeracrossthestreet]

At midnight on 22 October, a large number of Israeli forces stormed the town of Beit Sira, west of Ramallah in the occupied West Bank. The soldiers raided a number of houses, including the home of 25-year-old Arafat Hamdan. The soldiers swiftly moved around the house, breaking the furniture, and beat family members. First they attacked the father, tied his hands, then put a black bag over his head and made him sit in one of the rooms. A soldier then asked about Arafat and for his ID to confirm. Other soldiers handcuffed him, beat him, and covered his head with a foul-smelling burlap bag. This was the first time he had been arrested. His younger brother, Mohammed, 16, had recently been released from prison, where he spent five months, after he was shot in the leg by soldiers who claimed he was throwing stones at them near a checkpoint by the town's entrance. The family had barely started trying to find out information about Arafat and the circumstances of his detention when the news of his death in detention struck down like a thunderbolt. Arafat died in the Israeli Ofer prison on 24 October, only two days after his arrest. Mahmoud, his cousin, said Arafat was in excellent health. He had only suffered from diabetes but wasn’t taking medication for it, just following a diet to keep it under control. According to testimonies by prisoners, Hamdan was severely beaten in prison after his arrest, and his family hold Israeli prison authorities fully responsible for his death.

shameless.

they are shameless.

#palestine #west bank #genocide

[philosopherking1887]

A Penguin By Any Other Name

[Apparently it has become my habit to speculate on the origins of characters’ names if they have Jewish associations (see also here and here). Also on AO3.]

“Oswald Cobblepot,” Ed said thoughtfully, rolling the syllables around his mouth as if he were tasting an unfamiliar wine.

Oswald looked up from slathering jam on his toast (he had a sweet tooth, it seemed) with a faintly annoyed expression. “Yes, Edward Nygma?”

“It’s quite a name. Did your mother give it to you?”

Oswald stared at him, nonplussed. “You haven’t said anything about a father,” Ed explained. “So I assumed it must have been your mother’s idea.”

“Yes, my mother named me,” Oswald said shortly, then took a delicate bite from the corner of his toast.

“What was her name?”

Oswald finished chewing and swallowed his bite of toast before he replied—he always ate very decorously—fixing Ed with a suspicious gaze all the while. “Why do you want to know?” he finally asked.

“Just curious. It’s not as if I can do her any harm,” Ed pointed out.

The muscles in Oswald’s jaw clenched at this reminder, and for a moment he looked as if he wanted to jump at Ed, but he just looked down into his mug of tea. “No, I suppose not,” he said tightly. “Her name was Gertrud.”

“Gertrud Cobblepot,” Ed tried. “Also quite a name.”

“Gertrud Kapelput, actually.”

Ed raised his eyebrows. “You changed your surname?”

“No, she did. She thought it would help me to have a name that sounded as English as possible.”

“Well, ‘Oswald Cobblepot’ certainly succeeds at that.”

“Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot,” Oswald amended, with a twitch of a smile.

“Wow—very English. Where did the ‘Oswald’ and ‘Chesterfield’ come from?”

“I think she found ‘Oswald’ in a book… she said she liked that it was an aristocratic English name, because it sounded like ‘Ostwald,’ which was her mother’s maiden name. She saw ‘Chesterfield’ in a magazine and just thought it sounded distinguished.”

“Isn’t that a furniture company or something?”

“Yes. They make sofas. It’s also a town in England, apparently. I looked it up once. It’s in Derbyshire, wherever that is.” He pronounced it incorrectly, like the hat plus the place where Hobbits live.

“North-west midlands,” Ed recalled, picturing a map in his head.

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Whatever that means.”

“Ostwald is German for ‘east woods.’”

“Yes.”

“I found you in the east woods.”

“What an interesting coincidence,” Oswald said insincerely. He took a long sip of tea.

“Curious that your mother changed your surname but not her own.”

“She still had a foreign accent. What good would an English name do?”

“Fair point. A German accent? Austrian?”

“She was from Hungary… but her accent was more Yiddish than anything.” Oswald stared at Ed as if daring him to say the wrong thing.

“Hmm. Kapell means ‘chapel’ in German; Pütt means a pit or a mine. So Kapelput means ‘chapel pit.’ A crypt? Or a mine near an old chapel, maybe. That seems more likely, if it’s a Jewish name.”

Oswald shrugged. “She said her family didn’t know where the name came from.”

“Did you know, it wasn’t the Jewish tradition to have hereditary surnames? They used patronymics: son or daughter of someone. People still do that in Iceland. But in the eighteenth century, civil authorities in European states started requiring everyone to have a surname that they shared with their whole family. Easier for census and taxation purposes. So Ashkenazi Jews had to make up their own surnames. Some people just turned a patronym into a family name, like Mendelssohn or Jacobson, and some used the conventional method of naming themselves for their occupation—butcher, tailor, goldsmith, or what have you. But a lot also used place names. Sometimes the city or country they were from—like Berliner, Landau, Unger, Deutscher—but often just a local landmark near where they lived. That’s why so many Jewish names end with -berg, which means mountain; or -feld, which is field; -thal, valley; or -wald, of course. Kapelput could be one of those.”

“How do you know all that?” Oswald demanded, eyes narrowed. “You’re not Jewish, are you?”

“No. I just heard it in a radio story once. I like to listen to the radio while I work—news, stories, quizzes, not music. It helps me focus. And I retain facts.”

“Including facts about penguins, apparently.”

Ed’s face split into a wide grin, without his quite intending it. “You remembered our first meeting.”

Oswald pulled his mouth into an exaggerated frown, a kind of facial shrug. His face was always so expressive. “It was fairly memorable. Most people don’t introduce themselves to me in quite that way.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so.”

“And what about your name, Edward Nygma?” Oswald asked pointedly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that last name before.”

“No, you wouldn’t have, because I made it up.”

“Of course. A man who loves riddles wouldn’t just happen to be named ‘E. Nygma’ by chance.” He smirked and took another prim bite of toast.

“Though a boy named E. Nygma would be more likely than chance to end up loving riddles.”

“Or hating them,” Oswald added, after swallowing. “Why did you change your name? Clearly you weren’t going for something that sounds English…”

Ed looked down and his hands clenched. Well, really, you should have expected that, the bolder version of his own voice drawled in his head. You’re the one who started the conversation about names.

“Had a falling-out with my parents,” he said shortly. Understatement, much? the brazen voice interjected with a snort.

“Ah. I’m sorry,” Oswald said with surprising delicacy.

“Don’t be,” Ed said brightly, forcing a smile. “No attachments means no weaknesses, remember?”

“Right, of course.” Oswald’s answering smile seemed just as forced.

“New name, new start. You became a different person when you became ‘the Penguin,’ right?”

“Yes, I suppose I did. When I stopped hating the name, anyway.”

“You made it yours, so it couldn’t hurt you anymore. You chose to become that name.”

“I guess we’ve both chosen our own names, in that respect.”

What, are we going to reclaim ‘Riddle Man’ now? ‘Psychopath’? ‘Freak’?

“And why not?” Ed retorted. “We’re free, aren’t we? We can be whoever we want.”

Oswald hummed noncommittally into his tea. They both knew that neither of them really believed that—that the names of Kristen Kringle and Gertrud Kapelput would be carved into their hearts forever, as much a part of them as their own names, and they had no choice in the matter at all.

#sorry everyone #it's getting bad #gotham fic #nygmobblepot fic #jewish oswald cobblepot #glad to see that's a tag #jewish character headcanons #gertrud kapelput #oswald cobblepot and edward nygma #you can read it shippy if you squint #oswald cobblepot #edward nygma

[msmargaretmurry]

Please elaborate about the border patrol incident

okay so, the border patrol incident is not really that dramatic, but it is very funny to me. when i was a young 20-something, one summer a friend and i decided to go on a month-long roadtrip across the continent and back. we had a lease on an apartment that didn't start until september, shitty little service industry jobs that didn't care if we disappeared for four weeks, and absolutely no standards for like, sleeping conditions or whatever. we got a hotel or motel room every 4-5 days to shower and stuff but mostly we were living out of my 2001 toyota camry, which ran just fine but was not in the best shape aesthetically due to being pretty old and also due to young me having sub-par depth perception and occasionally backing it ungently into things. also, because we were between apartments, the vast majority of our earthly belongings were packed into the backseat and trunk of this car.

the route of the trip was pretty meandering, but some stretches of it were based on the summer tour dates of bands we liked -- one of my favorites things to experience in a new city is its small/medium music venues, so this was a great excuse for doing that. anyway, we'd started the trip by driving north to montreal and then cutting west, but instead of going over the great lakes through western ontario we headed south, crossed back into the us at sarnia and went up through michigan's upper peninsula, wisconsin, minnesota. the night before we crossed the border again, we parked the car in the massive parking lot of the walmart supercenter in bemidji to sleep, which i remember distinctly because of the paul bunyan and babe the blue ox statues looming suddenly upon us in the middle of the night as we drove into town. that's not important to the story, but i am setting the scene here, which is that leading up to this encounter my traveling companion and i had just spent several days driving through a lot of deeply rural lake country with very little human contact except each other. the plan that day was to hit a concert in winnipeg and so we awoke with the sun, availed ourselves of the bemidji walmart supercenter facilities, and headed north.

the border crossing our google maps directions took us to was the one on route 59, which is a very small and not very busy crossing. i think the border guards were quite bored. in retrospect i can see how a couple of young women in this old, stuffed-to-the-gills car with virginia plates seemed pretty strange, but also in retrospect i still maintain they didn't have to be dicks about it. they checked our passports, asked where we were from and where we were headed -- to a concert in winnipeg -- and then decided that they needed to unpack the entire car to make sure we weren't carrying anything illegal, because, they said, groupies like to bring drugs to concerts.

please recall that we had so much stuff in this car. clothes and books and food and small furniture. the tetris of packing it was both an art and a science. i was NOT happy to have it dismantled by these border men. at one point they were like, ohhh see ALCOHOL and i was like, yeah, it's in the trunk so obviously no one is getting at it while driving so who cares?? and also it's not enough to have to declare so truly who cares. by the end of this process our cache of earthly belongings was scattered around the car in the road on the canadian border, and they begrudgingly allowed us into the country, but a single other vehicle had arrived at the crossing so they told us we needed to hurry up and get out of the way.

now i was already stewing in anger over a) the characterization of us as female fans traveling to a concert as "groupies" and b) the characterization of groupies as ~obviously~ carrying drugs. no disrespect to actual groupies or to drug users, live ur lives!! but we were neither if those things in that moment and i found the generalizations very gross, so i snapped at the border guards that the car takes a lot longer to re-pack then unpack and also maybe they should consider being less sexist. they did not like this very much. i also do not think they liked my lecture about their assumptions about female music fans, but imo they deserved it. afterward when we were finally driving into the grand prairies of manitoba, my friend was like, becky...... maybe in the future consider not picking fights with the border guards considering they get to decide if we cross the border. and i was like. well. we got in didn't we lmao.

in conclusion we did make it to the show in winnipeg, where we failed to read the fine print on the parking signs and also i sliced my foot open on something in the mosh pit, turning me into a person who now will tell literally anyone at any given opportunity, "yeah, i've been to winnipeg, and all i got was a parking ticket and a flesh wound."

#ask #i would like to say my decision-making skills have improved since then but #well #it's up for debate #anyway i am still in the mountains but thank u to the people who have sent kissing prompts i am excited to write them

[siberian-xanadu]

First page of An American Odyssey

Hope you guys like it!

Los Angeles, the city of angels. The only angels there, however, are the long-forgotten, long-dead dreams. Of course, there's the random success story of a young person going out West, seeking fame and fortune, and actually stumbling upon it. Other times, people make it through connections, either from relatives, friends, or sex work. Both of these cases are far and few between. Most of the time, people go out there, expecting success to come to them due to a mythologized perception of Hollywood being a magical place, a myth that Hollywood perpetuates, and some grandiose feeling that they are somehow the lucky one. Instead, they end up doing endless openings at bars, performing on street corners, or doing commercials for products that end up being a sham. By the time their dreams are dead, they’ve been chewed up and spit out. Many end up becoming addicted to various substances, offing themselves, penniless, or some combination of the three. Some, if they’re still young enough, might attempt to make their way back to their hometown, or somewhere like it, to settle for comparative mediocrity. Octavian James, frontman of a psychedelic rock band that has long faded into obscurity, is one of the latter. 

The band, Bad Bodies, had spent ten years chasing fame out in Los Angeles, after Octavian dropped out of high school. They spent ten years opening for slightly less obscure bands at shady, seedy bars and clubs. Tens years packing in the backs of cars, along with the piles of heavy equipment, the smell of stale beer, stale sweat, and stale vomit, and the heavy miasma of disappointment, trying to cough up enough gas money to trek to their next gig. Ten years of trying to get record companies to notice them, of sucking up to older, blading producers, smoking Cubans, with the same old tired phrase: “Sorry, kids, you’re not what we’re looking for.” Ten years, with nothing to show for it except their worn-out instruments, the clothes on their back, and some new gray hairs. Octavian, his bassist Walter, and their drummer Rick, had finally gotten that little yellow eviction notice on their apartment door,  after missing rent and allowing their guitarists, Robby and Jack, to sleep on their couch after they had been kicked out a month prior. Octavian had long been sick of the L.A. heat, anyhow. He had been just waiting for a reason to get out of that town, to finally lay to rest his fly-by-night teenage dream, and that yellow, slightly greasy piece of paper might as well have been gold. He wouldn’t be leaving much behind this time, just a dingy, overcrowded apartment with a slight rat infestation (as if a rat infestation could be “slight”), some cheap furniture from Sears, and his dreams, washed away with time and sunken deep in the waters of the grand Pacific. 

The last time he left was quite different. The memories of afternoon sunlight, filtered through trees in the late summer, a creaky wooden porch, the sticky humidity of that last day in Ithaca… No, not the island of Ithaca in Greece, Octavian had never so much as had the chance to leave the United States, but of its namesake in western New York. That was his hometown, and despite ten years and roughly three thousand miles of distance, he could instantly transport himself there with a thought. What he had left behind then was two loving, supportive, albeit confused parents, a steady part-time job and another job lined up for him at his parents’ store, and a beautiful young lady, his high school sweetheart. Chasing the highs of Ashbury in 1967, he left that all behind, now sentenced to mere memory. Since the reality of his decision had hit him, he consistently chided himself on making such a foolish gamble. He found himself stuck with a druggie, a restless vagabond, a jester, and an emotional outcast. He was spent, and in some form or another, his compatriots were too. 

“Alright, buckle up you fucks, we’re going home,” he said, after ripping off the piece of paper and crumpling it in his hand. His voice was passionless yet firm. He was not to be swayed nor argued with.

#violet writes #yeah I know this sucks its a first draft ffs #also not adding the rest of the chapter yet lol

[artificialinsanity]

Hunting the Missing Link

Story Summary: When a mysterious individual crash-lands in the sleepy town of Starlight Edge, four unassuming individuals begin on a journey to find its origins, kickstarting a chain of events that would alter thier lives forever.

Chapter Summary: When Emily gets a new car, she takes them for a road trip to all thier favorite places, as a start to the most interesting day in the rest of thier lives.

[Next]

Story under the cut.

Just a few hours drive west from Empire City lies a small, sleepy town by the name of Starlight Edge, with a population in the low ten-thousands. Though small, the town is quite a hotspot for tourism due to the Starlight’s Edge of which the town is named after - a massive 100-foot cliff overlooking a series of 16 waterfalls flowing into a deep lake, known by the residents as Lake Selene.

A few miles away from Starlight Edge, on a street leading in from the town, lie 4 houses in a cul-de-sac, though only one has a vehicle parked outside - a yellow sports bike. Inside this house, a young hyena woman is tinkering with something while the 8am news plays in the background.

“In global news, Sonic the Hedgehog appears to have stopped the evil Doctor Robotnik yet again in the outskirts of Metropolis Zone,” reports the newscaster. “Sources say the Doctor, quote, ‘Didn't put up much of a fight.’”

“Why does this idiot keep trying these stunts!?” shouts the hyena to an audience of none. “By this point he should KNOW it’s not gonna work!”

Dressed in black with the proper safety equipment, the hyena is hard at work; soldering electronics together with a tutorial on her phone. Electronics lay all over her “garage”, from busted CD players, to old computer motherboards, to failed projects, parts and tools litter the place like they’re a rare commodity. Outside her work space, her living space isn’t much better, with clothes scattered all across her furniture, mainly centered around a single chair in the back corner.

Next to her TV is a slew of various SEGA video game consoles - Genesis, Saturn, and even Dreamcast - and next to those is a shelf full of video games, all of them about Sonic the Hedgehog. From the first one on Genesis to the last one on Dreamcast, she has them all. She even has the ones released after that, but those are on her PC, which lay just next to the shelf of video games.

With one final solder, the hyena raises her safety goggles to her forehead, eager to test out her contraption, when she hears a knock at the door. Steadily, she removes her safety gear, attaches her contraption to her wrists, and begins preparing herself.

This perky young hyena girl has big dreams, big ambitions, and a surprisingly ample bosom. Her fur is a creamy tan, like a warm latte, contrasting well with her clothes dark as night, much like the markings dotting her fur. She wore a light, yet tight black tank top with a cute yellow star adorned on its front, a black-and-purple tartan skirt with a purple waistband, some tight black sport shorts, purple combat boots that go up to her knees, and a crop top leather jacket with pins of some of her favorite musical acts - Neck Deep, State Champs, and All Time Low. Her eyes were a much darker shade of brown than her fur, much more akin to the trunk of an old and world weary oak tree. The contraptions she placed around her wrists were gold ring bracelets. Upon her hands, she also wore fingerless gloves, revealing the black tips of her fingers; and also had small purple glasses, which she wore on her nose. As for the girl’s name? It was-

“Stella!” barked a deep female voice from beyond the door. “You ready yet? I got something to show you!”

“Just a minute, Emily!” Stella yelled in response. Quickly turning off the TV, she rushed out the front door, eagerly awaiting what the day may bring.

“There you are, slowpoke!” said Emily. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry! I was fixing up my Light Bracelets.” Stella replied. “Why’d you call me out, exactly?”

“Come on! I got something to show you!” exclaimed Emily, clearly excited; which was rare for the porcupine, as she mostly stayed to herself. Her quills were a deep maroon, like autumn leaves, with her pupils a fiery red. She wore indigo boots with white stripes on them, jean shorts, and a pink tube tank top, with an indigo vest overtop. She was also one of the few members of this group to wear eyeshadow, hers being a striking lavender in color. She also had white gloves with spikes on them, as well as spiked bracelets around her wrists.

Emily took Stella two houses down, where a rounded object covered in abstract haphazard D.I.Y. canvas rest just out front, where it didn't just an hour ago.

"What's this?" questioned Stella, knowing full well what might be under the sheet, but feigning ignorance for pleasantries.

“Can’t say right now,” replied Emily. “Gotta wait for Lyla and Vicki first.”

Emily looked around.

“...Hey, where are Lyla and Vicki?”

Just then they noticed two figures racing down the street, one of them hovering just above the ground. As the figures got closer, Stella and Emily noticed it as a cheetah and a crow, rapidly approaching. As they got even closer, the cheetah slid to a stop just in front of the others, while the crow flew face first into a telephone pole. Everyone winced.

"Ooh, you okay, Vicki?" asked a concerned Stella.

"I- I'm fine!" said the timid crow, holding her head, dizzy. "Just a small bump, is all."

"I'll trust you on that, Victoria." Stella then replied.

Victoria is a shy, mild-mannered crow. Shorter than the rest, she wore a pristine white dress overtop her black feathers, though now its formerly spotless appearance has taken on dirt, grime, and a small bit of snow from the wintery ground. She doesn't seem to notice, or care, though. She's spacey - appropriately keeping her head in the clouds and rarely focusing on the situations at hand. Her hair feathers are always frazzled, despite her keeping them in a ponytail, and her boots are as black as her feathers, making them almost invisible unless you're focused on them. She also wore, on a chain around her neck, a small yellow heart-shaped gemstone, burning with a small flame to match, kept inside a small iron cage. Supposedly, in the time she’s owned it, Vicki has never seen the flame go out. 

"Probably shoulda warned ya about the pole, Vic. Sorry!" Said the cheetah in an oddly chipper tone.

"Yeah, maybe you should have, Lyla. She could have gotten seriously hurt!" Stella yelled

"Don't yell at her, Stella! I'm fine!" said Vicki in response.

Lyla is an upbeat, chipper cheetah with a heart of gold and balls of steel, despite being a girl. She will charge into any situation and will not stop until she either saves the day, or gets so hurt she has to retreat. She's impulsive, sporty, and VERY friendly, but has a fear of heights. She's also somewhat inattentive, often not realizing the true gravity of a situation. She wears a navy blue sports bra and sport shorts, as well as sneakers in the same color. Her short, manic hair is a rich, creamy brown, that falls overtop the rest of her bright yellow fur, and her eyes are a deep, rich blue that almost pierces into your very soul. She smiled, rubbing the back of her head in a bashful manner.

"You know I worry about you, Vicki," Stella said. "I just don't want you to-"

"I get it, mom. You don't have to lecture me, I'm fine," replied Vicki in response.

"Now's not the time for arguing, you three!" exclaimed Emily. "We can worry about this later - I have something to show you all."

"I take it it's underneath that car-shaped cloth?" Stella pointed.

"I told you not to peek, you jerk," Emily teased.

"Oh yeah, sure, I'll just NOT look at the biggest thing on the street right now. Sure. That sounds reasonable." Stella jokingly replied.

"Alright, I get it!" Emily jeered. "You've made your point."

"Alright, so what's under the cloth? Better be something good," Stella asked. "If I find out you bought a damn mom car, I'm going to be most displeased-"

"Don't worry, princess," Emily teased, "I know your taste in cars is very exquisite."

"It's a symbol of EXPRESSION!" Stella yelled.

"So you've told me a thousand times," Emily responded, rolling her eyes so hard they could drive down the mile street to Starlight Edge and back. "Don't worry - I picked out my favorite. And it should be one you'd enjoy."

Emily grabbed the cloth, said "I present to you:", and yanked it off with force, revealing a red Mitsubishi Eclipse sedan, with a vanity plate reading "VELS"

"VELS?" questioned Stella.

"It's our initials," responded Emily. "Vicki, Emily, Lyla, Stella. V, E, L, S."

"Chaos, why didn't I pick a name with a better initial?" joshed Stella, snickering. "Like Andromeda, or Aurora?"

"Oh yeah, because 'VEAL' is SO much better-" Emily teased.

"At least it's a real word!" yelled Stella in response.

"Whatever," brushed Emily. "So, you guys wanna go to the shops, and take this puppy for a spin?" She said, twirling a keychain on her index finger.

"YEAH!" Lyla, Stella, and Vicki all cheered in unison.

"Great! Let's go!" Emily exclaimed, excited.

Emily hit a button on her keychain revealing possibly the coolest thing about her new car - It was a convertible.

Everyone's eyes lit up brighter than the moon.

"Wait," Stella puzzled, "would putting the top down really be a good idea? It's January."

"Well, it's not snowing right now, is it?" Emily responded.

"Hmm, fair enough."

They all jumped into seats - Emily took the driver's side, as she's the only one legally allowed to drive; Stella took the passenger's side; Lyla sat behind Emily; and Vicki sat behind Stella. With everyone seated, Emily put the key in the ignition, turned it, and sped off down Parker Street into Starlight Edge.

It was a cold January day in Starlight Edge - the town had just been hit with 6 inches of snow just a few days before, and the town itself lit up brighter than ever before with the reflective snow on the ground. The small town adores its winters, having wonderful celebrations with each one. Just in from Parker St. is the shopping district, starting with Saturn Blvd., the biggest street in shopping in Starlight Edge by far, with stores, fast food restaurants, and even the Hogpine Mall, still kicking despite the decline in malls all over the world. Stella likes dropping in from time to time to pick up a CD or 2. After the shopping district is the residential district, where the citizens of Starlight Edge, well, reside. There's a few small shops in here - small mom and pop shops, convenience stores, bars, and some more fast food joints, but most of the space is taken up by housing. And just beyond the residential district is where the tourism takes charge - on the far East edge of town lies a renowned observatory, public pools, springs, parks, forms of entertainment like sporting fields, amusement parks and arcades, and beyond even ALL OF THAT lies the ever famous Starlight's Edge. Though that's MILES away from the town for the safety of its citizens, of course.

As the red Mitsubishi Eclipse pulls into town, the question arises among its passengers: Where to first?

"First things first, I should REALLY pick up Vimu," Stella said first. "I wanna have him with me, and make sure he's okay!"

"Then I wanna go to the bar!" Vicki yelled.

"Are you even old enough to drink?" Lyla asked, half joking.

"Oh, I'm not interested in alcohol!" Vicki responded. "I wanna swindle some suckers at darts and billiards! It'll be fun!"

"After that I wanna go to RCS Field on the East End," said Lyla. "My 1200 meter record is 25:58, and I wanna see if I can beat it!"

"Good luck with that!" scoffed Emily. "The only person who can run 1200 meters faster than 25 seconds is Sonic himself!"

"You don't know that!" yelled Lyla in response.

"Okay, but before you do that, I wanna buy CDs at the Hogpine Mall!" Stella butted in. "RCS Field is on the other side of town! It'd be a long drive there and back!"

"Stella, it'd be far quicker to get your CDs on the way back," Emily said. "If we're going to the far side of town anyways, better to get it out of the way as early as possible."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Stella said. "After, then."

"And then after all that we can get some fast food and go home," said Emily. "Sound good to you guys?

The car said "Yeah!" in unison.

"Great, then that's our day. Hope you're all ready!"

"I know I am!" said Stella.

"In it to win it!" said Lyla.

"I'm ready!" Vicki chimed in.

And with that, thier day had truly begun.

- - -

Thier first destination was Clysedale Care Clinic on Stellar St., the street Stella got her name from. The clinic takes care of all manner of creatures, from Chao, to Wisp. They're very trustworthy, with plenty of glowing reviews, which is why Stella has enlisted thier services for a while now.

Emily pulls the Eclipse up front, and Stella gets out.

"Wait here, guys," Stella said. "I'll go in alone."

She walked in the door, and the bell rang to signal her presence. Upon walking up to the counter, she was greeted by one of the Clysedale siblings - Ezrieal.

"Welcome to Clysedale Care Clinic!" They say in that customer service tone. "What can I do for you today?"

"Hi, Ez!" says Stella. "Is Theo in today? I'm here to pick up Vimu."

"Ah, of course! Let me call them out!" Ez says, before disappearing into the back. After a few seconds of muffled shouting Stella couldn't understand, a tall figure emerged from the back. They had glasses and brown hair, and just kind of looked tired all the time. His eyes quickly looked to Stella, seeming to know exactly what she was thinking.

"You're here to pick up your Chao, yes?" They said in a sleepy tone.

"Y- Yes, sir." Stella stammered, slightly intimidated. Dr. Theo always gave her a weird feeling.

"Let me get him for you then," He replied, disappearing into the back.

After a few seconds, they re-emerged with a white robotic chao with a screen for a face.

"Vimu!" Stella shouted, and gave him a big hug. "Oh, I'm glad to see you're okay!" Vimu made a cute little chime in response.

"Your Chao was a tad bit… unorthodox for us," Dr. Theo said, "But he appears to be perfectly healthy. No slowdown, no clutter, no viruses. One of the healthiest we've ever seen."

"Thank you for your services, Dr. Theo!" Stella exclaimed. "How much do I owe you?"

"The standard fee, my dear," Dr. Theo replied. "30 Rings an hour."

She paid the fee - 2,160 Rings. The price was steep, but it was her own fault for not coming to get her Chao sooner.

Theo did some counting, gave a satisfactory nod, and put the rings in the register on the front desk. "Once again, it has been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Stella."

"I'm just glad the work you do here is so sublime!" Stella said. "Thank you!"

"Any time, my dear. Do come back if you require our services again."

"Of course! You guys are the best in town! Have a good day!"

"You too, Miss Stella."

With Vimu in hand, Stella walked out of the clinic, and got back into the car. Lyla and Vicki immediately greeted Vimu with pets and treats.

"Weird group of folks, those guys," Emily made an off-handed remark.

"Yeah, but they do good work, though," Stella replied. "They're not hurting anyone, so I don't judge."

"They've got some odd vibes about them, though," Emily said.

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing, Emily," Stella assured as Emily pulled out from the clinic and got back on the road. "Where to next?"

"Mighty Bar & Grill," Emily said. "Vicki's request."

Vicki pumped her fist in response.

That would take a trip to the residential district, which, like most things in this town, was relatively uneventful. After arriving at Mighty Bar & Grill, on the corner of Calmac St. and Griffith Rd., the band of four went in. Lyla, Stella, and Emily sat at the bar - Vicki had other plans.

"Don't you think it's a bit early to get sloshed, ladies?" the barkeep, a British mouse with the nametag Carrie queried.

"We're not here for alcohol," Emily responded. "These 2 are underage, and I'm driving these idiots."

"What? I'm 21!" Stella interjected. "I just personally abstain."

"Fair enough," replied Carrie, pulling out a glass. "What'll it be?"

"You got any sports drinks?" said Lyla.

"I'll take a sparkling water," said Stella.

"Orange juice for me," said Emily.

"Very well," Carrie responded. "It should be ready in a few minutes. In the meantime, have some fun!"

Which is what Vicki was already in the process of doing. She was haggling as many patrons as you could ask for at 10 in the morning to play her at various games, claiming she could beat them with her eyes closed. She'd even take bets - sometimes up to 500 Rings! Her strategy was foolproof - deliberately missing the first few shots, but then cleaning house after turn 3 or so. Darts was easy - with a steady aim, and enough precision, she could hit the bullseye or triple 20 every time. Pool was a bit more difficult, requiring a bit more skill to be able to handily win without sight. But Vicki's been at this for years - she's studied the slight variances in every pool ball, being able to pinpoint each ball without even knowing what color they are. Sure, for every 5 wins at pool, she had at least one loss. But that was the thrill of the game to her.

After getting thier drinks, Stella, Lyla, and Emily all went off to do thier own separate things. Stella perused the various arcade games at the bar, playing Sega classics like Hang-On, and House of the Dead with Lyla joining in. And when she wasn't playing with Stella, Lyla was indulging in some of the other games at the bar, namely the basketball hoop. She missed nearly all her shots, but she had fun at least. Emily, however, just sat at the bar, drinking her orange juice and scrolling social media on her phone. She didn't want to get too involved into anything, because she had to drive these dorks across town when this was over.

By noon, Stella and Lyla had gotten bored of the activities, and Vicki was finishing up her escapades, beating some poor sucker at Darts 501 for the fifth time in a row. He wasn't even drunk.

"Come ON!" he said, agitated. "There's no WAY this is legit! You HAVE to be cheating!"

"Maybe it's just a skill issue, Charles," Vicki said to the patron, spinning a dart on her finger. "I'll be taking those 50 Rings you wagered now."

"NOT till I have proof you ain't cheatin'!" Charles yelled in response.

"Forget it, man!" another patron yelled from across the bar. "She's legit. Just give her the money."

Charles, reluctantly, reached into his pockets and gave Vicki 50 Rings.

"Thanks for being such a good sport, Charlie," Vicki said smugly. Charles just glared in response.

"Yo, Vic!" Lyla said to her. "You almost finished yet? We've been here almost 2 hours now!"

"Yeah, I'm done," replied Vicki. "Let's go, then! Don't keep me waiting, slowpokes!"

As they went to leave the bar and reenter the car, they had a small conversation.

"What's got you so cocky?" Stella asked.

"Feeling like I'm on top of the world with all those victories!" Vicki responded.

Vicki accidentally walked into the door on her way out, causing the rest of the group to wince, though Stella winced the hardest.

As they got out of the bar, Stella asked Vicki "You okay?"

"I'm fine!" Vicki retorted. "That was all part of my scheme, anyways…"

"So how much did you make out with this time?" Emily inquisited.

"Meh, only around 850," Vicki responded, disappointed. "We gotta come back here after 8pm when everyone's sloshed - I'll make out with plenty for sure!"

Vicki giggled to herself, and everyone else smiled and joined in, laughing and giggling all the way to the car, where they then headed to RCS Field on the East side of town.

RCS Field was a hybrid football and track field, where the local football teams regularly practiced. While physically large, the field itself drew few visitors, namely due to the small size of the town, and the fact that the only games that really took place here were local anyways.

Lyla didn't really care much about the local football team - she was banned for being too violent as a kid anyways. What she cared most about was the track.

Olympic sized at 400 total meters around, Lyla practices her speed here many times a month to ensure she's in top shape, still trying to beat her best time - A little over 25 seconds for 3 laps around. She's tied it 3 times since she set it, but never passed it. She's hoping today she can break it wide open, though at this point, even a millisecond faster would be enough for her.

The track was in pretty good shape, as the architects had the foresight to put a glass roof overtop the field, so that the players would be unaffected by the weather, though Lyla did have to brush a small bit of snow off the track, as it had started snowing by this point in the day..

Lyla lined up at the starting area, with Stella on stopwatch duty, and Emily and Vicki on the sidelines for moral support. Stella was just glad she wasn't the one running.

"What are you gonna do when you beat it?" asked Stella. "You'd need some kind of a celebration."

"Think I might load up on lasagna and pig out for a bit." Lyla replied. "But that's IF it's possible."

"Alrighty then," Stella said. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"GO!" Stella shouted as she started the timer. And with that, Lyla was off to the races, literally. She had a bit of a rough start, as she typically does, but after a few minutes, she put her arms at her sides with her fists in front, and ran as fast as she could, completing 3 laps in 31 seconds.

Lyla was a bit upset, but she didn’t let it get to her - her first run wasn’t going to beat her record anyways. So she lined back up at the start, and ran the track again, and again, and again, over and over, slowly but surely closing the gap. 30 seconds. Then 29. 28 seconds. 27…

While Lyla was running, Stella began shivering. It was the middle of winter, and the thickest jacket she packed was a leather jacket that didn’t even fully cover her torso.

“Brrr! Is anyone else feeling a bit chilly?” She said to the rest of the group. Vimu huddled up next to her to try and warm her up.

“Maybe you should have packed for the weather, then,” Emily said, pulling out a puffy jacket.

“I don’t feel cold!” shouted Vicki.

“Here, take this then.” Emily threw a wool blanket at Stella. Stella nodded as thanks.

Lyla kept running, over and over running 3 laps around the track, closing the gap ever further, down to a 26:01, then 25:98.

“Just a little bit more!” Lyla exclaimed. “I think I can do this!”

Lyla lined back up at the start, determined to run as fast as she ever had. Stella yelled “Go!”, and Lyla was off, running at speeds she hadn't reached before. However, halfway through her second lap, she tripped on her feet, falling to the ground. However, making a miraculous recovery, she rolled into a ball, got back up, and finished the rest of her laps, finishing with a final time of…

“25:5…9.” Stella read off the stopwatch.

“59!?” yelled Lyla. “I tripped and fell, and was able to miss my record by a single millisecond!?”

“Well, this rounds up to 2 places, and milliseconds are counted in thousandths,” replied Stella, “So it could be anywhere from 1 to 10 milliseconds.”

“So? I missed my record by 10 milliseconds! By tripping and falling!” Lyla screamed. “Can I get a redo on that? Please?”

“Sorry,” Emily butted in. “You’re out of time for today. It’s 3 pm - The sun’s almost setting.”

“Damn it!” Lyla yelled. “But I’m coming back to tackle this tomorrow! I know I can do it!”

“Yeah, but we have other things to do today,” Emily replied. “Sorry.”

Everyone slowly walked back to the car, Lyla upset, but regaining her composure shortly after. Getting back in the car, they realized it was snowing harder than before. Not snowstorm levels, but definitely more than the light sprinkle of earlier in the day.

Emily drove the car back to the west side of town, but stopped at a grocery store instead of the Hogpine Mall.

“You didn’t clear this destination by us beforehand,” Stella said. “We cleared our destinations with you.”

“I know,” said Emily. “I just need to pick up a few things real quick. I’ll only be a second, I promise.”

And with that, she got out of the car and went inside. Stella, Lyla, and Vicki were left in the car to do whatever they wanted, though for some reason, Emily left the top down on the car. After 20 minutes, Emily still wasn’t back yet, so everyone was just doing their own thing. Lyla was playing a Game Boy Advance, Vicki was reading a book, and Stella was listening to music. Suddenly though, something caught Stella’s eye - someone shivering in a back alley. With the snow, Stella knew they wouldn’t last long out here, and considering the person was shivering in an alley, they likely didn’t have any place to go. Stella looked around for some way she could help, and noticed a taco truck on the other side of the street. After quickly instructing Vimu to stay put, Stella began to hop over the car door, when Lyla took notice of her.

“Where are you going?” she questioned.

“I’m just going to do something real quick,” Stella responded. “I’ll be right back.”

And with that, she hopped out of the car, and ran to the taco truck.

“Ahh, if it isn’t my favorite customer!” the truck owner said to her. “How many will it be, Stella?”

“Five, please, Donnie!” Stella replied.

“And I take it 3 more for your friends?” Donnie joked.

“No, just 5,” Stella said with a giggle.

“Coming right up!” Donnie said. “They’ll be done in just a minute, so don’t go anywhere!”

“OK!” Stella responded. In the wait she was able to get a longer look at the stranger in the alleyway - They appeared to be a female wolf with black, matted fur. She was covered in dirt and snow, and shivering from the cold. Her clothes; a red flannel, black jean shorts and combat boots, and white fingerless gloves, were tattered and torn, not nearly in enough shape to survive the winter. She had a gray muzzle and yellow eyes, and looked clearly distraught, almost on the verge of tears. Stella felt really bad for this woman.

“OK, kiddo!” Donnie said, startling Stella. “Here’s your tacos!”

“I’m, uh, still 21 years old, but thank you!” she said in response.

“Just because you’re 21 doesn’t mean you’re not a ‘kiddo’, kiddo,” responded Donnie. “25 rings please!”

Stella paid the 25 rings, and proceeded to move to the other side of the street, slowly. Lyla caught a glimpse of Stella, and noticed her going into the alleyway.

What are you doing, Stella? Lyla thought to herself.

Stella approached the mystery girl slowly, so as not to startle her. She was whimpering, rubbing her hands together next to a small fire for warmth. As Stella got close enough to the girl, she began to take notice of her, at which point Stella outstretched her hand and offered a taco.

“Here,” Stella said. “Take this.”

The girl did not. Instead she growled, bit Stella’s hand, and sprinted away on all fours, behind the store and out of sight of Stella.

Weird girl, Stella thought to herself, as she walked back to the car.

“So what happened?” Lyla asked Stella as she hopped back into the Eclipse.

“Not much,” Stella lied. “I bought tacos though!”

“Sick!” Lyla responded.

“Your hand!” Vicki pointed out, noticing the bite mark. “What happened?”

“I saw a homeless girl in the alley, and offered her a taco, but she bit me and ran away,” Stella answered.

“You gotta be more careful around strange girls, Stella,” Emily responded, exiting the store. “Is it infected? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“I’ll probably be fine,” Stella responded. “Just gotta wash it and bandage it.”

“Nuh-uh. Not good enough for me,” Emily responded. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“Alright, fine,” Stella responded. “I bought you a taco!”

“Sick” Emily said as she took it, and began the drive to the hospital.

- - -

“See, Em? I’m fine!” Stella said as they left the hospital on the east side of the residential district It was just about sunset now after everything that had happened throughout the day.

“Better to know for sure than to assume,” Emily retorted.

“But I’m going to be fine,” Stella said, pointing finger guns at Emily with her newly bandaged hand.

“Be more careful next time,” Emily scolded with a sigh.

“Whatever,” Stella says in response. Vimu made a happy noise.

Emily looked up into the sky. “It’s getting late,” She said.

“Maybe we should be heading home?” Vicki added.

“Good idea! My legs could use a break from all this walking!” Lyla chimed in, stretching.

“Were we out all day?” Stella questioned. “Maybe we should make tomorrow a bit more low-key.”

“Good idea, ladies,” Emily chimed, pulling her car keys from her pocket, pleasant with how the day went on. “Get in. Let’s go home.”

The drive home was less talkative and less chaotic than the rest of the day had been. Everyone was mostly just talking about some of the things that happened today, and new interests of thiers - but softly so as not to disturb Vicki, who had fallen asleep in the back seat. Suddenly, the topic turned to sports, and Stella tuned out, looking out the side of the convertible car that still had its top down. She began looking at her bandaged up hand in the fading sunlight, and for a brief second thought she caught a faint glimpse of the mystery girl again, but when she turned to look again, the girl was gone, almost as if she was never there.

“You okay, Stel’?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stella sheepishly said in response. “Must be a bit tired, is all.”

“I feel you there,” said Emily.

By the time they had arrived home, the sun had fully set. Checking her phone, Stella noticed it was 5pm, which made sense, as it was late January. Everyone had gotten out of the car, and was about to head inside and turn in for the night, when Stella looked up and noticed something.

A meteor shower! Here! The Starlight’s Edge would probably be a better place to view it, but nobody wanted to miss a single second. Light shows like this were a rare occurrence, especially meteor showers and shooting stars! Everyone began “ooh”ing and “ahh”ing at the pretty lights and colors, and quickly began pointing out pretty stars. Stella even pulled out her telescope, The Constellation as she called it, to get a better view.

“I like that one!” Lyla said, pointing to a star that was shooting especially fast.

“That one’s very pretty!” Stella said, pointing at one of the brighter stars in the sky.

“I think that one’s pretty cool,” Emily said pointing at a large star.

“That one’s not even moving!” Stella responded.

“Should we wake Vicki up?” Lyla inquired.

“No, let her sleep,” Stella replied.

“Uh, guys?” Emily asked, slightly concerned and pointing at a particularly large star.

“Yeah, we get it, Em. You like the large one,” retorted Lyla.

“No, I think she’s onto something,” Stella said, now worried. “Is it getting bigger?”

“Hit the deck!” Emily yelled, causing everyone to scatter into different directions. Which was a good call, as the “star” crash landed in front of the Eclipse, tearing open the pavement and waking Vicki with the noise.

“What’s going on?” Vicki slurred, bleary eyed.

“We don’t know!” Stella yelled.

“Stay calm, Stella!” Emily commanded.

“Looks like… a person?” Lyla noticed.

To which she appeared to be right - as what has just crashed into the pavement is no ordinary debris or meteor. Sure, it LOOKED almost otherworldly, as it sparked on its way down, but what remained in the crash site looked far too…

…Mobian…

To Be Continued...

#hunting the missing link #act 1 #prologue #the cold boot-up #mainline story

[carolmunson]

In ur rockstar!Eddie’s fics what do u imagine there house as?

Okay. So. It varies. (Also, keep in mind, I don’t know shit about the west coast).

In the beginning of their relationship they have separate houses — The Hollywood House (Eddie’s) and The Beverly Hills House (Stella’s). That’s where they live separately when they’re just dating but they keep the homes they lived in.

The Hollywood House is all black and gray and neon lights — very 80s rockstar vibe. He definitely had someone come in and decorate for him because he wasn’t gonna bother. The only room in his house that looks like ‘his’ is the basement studio and his bedroom where he has all of his posters from when he was a kid onward.

The Beverly Hills House is early 90s beach house meets Barbie, very soft colors but still smartly decorated, modern (for the time) furniture. Looks like a movie star who only plays good girls lives there and for good reason. She has a circle bed and silk sheets, her closet might as well be a completely separate house (it literally has a lounge and it’s own bathroom). When Eddie starts staying with her more, she also puts a recording studio in her basement. Eddie eventually moves into the The Beverly Hills House with Stella. (He keeps the Hollywood House because he needs somewhere to stay when he’s in the dog house.)

Later in their relationship they have:

The Malibu House which starts off as just a ‘staycation’ home right by the beach. Lots of airy sunlight, country accents, bright and cozy in a summery way. This home eventually becomes their ‘family home’ when the twins are born because they have only happy memories here and they want to keep that going. (This is the house they’re in when they watch The Sex Tape for the first time). They sell the old homes soon after they fully move here as their permanent residence.

Lastly,

The Hawkins House is built while Stella is pregnant with The Twins. It’s in the nice part of town, a five bed, four bath two and a half floor home with a finished basement. Wayne stays here whenever they’re home and they always say he can stay year round but he likes staying in Forest Hills (he didn’t even take the house Eddie first bought him). The house is also more on the country style side, cozy and cute, you feel like home when you’re there.

#rockstar!eddie