Note: Hi Everyone. I wrote a Thing. Many thanks to @mulder-fight-him and @kateyes224 for encouraging me to write it and for making it not suck. As this is the first Thing I’ve written in over a year, I’d appreciate any feedback. Except the feedback of “You suck, this sucks, never write again.” My brain tells me that every time I write a Thing, I don’t need you telling me that too. :-)
She is a coffee connoisseur. Dripped from a
contraband coffeemaker in a dorm room during an all-nighter to try to
understand biochemistry. Gulped without tasting, still scalding hot, as she ran
between patients. Sipped from a mug that warmed her hands as her eyes twinkled
at her lover in his parents’ cabin after an unsuccessful ice fishing
And then…Styrofoam cups in police stations,
ranging from barely palatable to resembling raw sewage. Fuel just to keep up
with her brilliant partner and his spooky leaps of logic. Picked up from gas
stations and drive thrus, as they ran from case to case. Chipped mugs in diners
with free refills, as they tried to find enough motivation to chase down
endless dead ends on the search for the one lead that would answer the
question, slay the monster, save the day. Pots made in a dingy basement office
and then ignored as their arguments about the merits of the case energized them
more fully than any caffeine could, where winning meant they would stay in the
musty dark room but losing meant traipsing through fields in the rain and
chasing Bigfoot. She’d never admit it, but she there were times when she
preferred it when she lost, because losing meant a new chance to share a secret
world with this man, one no outsider would ever understand.
She had opinions on the quality of coffee around
the country. She could tell whether she’d have heartburn from it with just a
sniff of the air as she walked into the convenience store – often before the
bell on the door had stopped chiming. She knew which chains refilled their
carafes regularly and would request stops there.
One convenience store in Utah had no coffee, the
Mormon cashier saying that caffeine was against his religion, but could he
interest her in a coke instead? Mulder had laughed as she had ranted about
ignorance, the comparative levels of caffeine in cola versus coffee, her First
Amendment rights, and the heartburn caused by the carbonation for the next 50
But she didn’t remember the taste of the most
important cups of coffee in her life.
The mug she left half finished at her mother’s
kitchen table after scattering her father’s ashes, claiming a work emergency so
she could make a quick escape because she couldn’t handle expecting her father
to join them any second, complaining that they hadn’t saved him any, stealing
sips from her mother’s cup as they talked and he waited for a refill to brew.
The disposable cup Mulder had pressed into her
fist in a Minneapolis field office, giving a statement as she tried to regain
her professionalism after losing her composure in front of 20 agents.
The pots she made in her mother’s kitchen,
drifting on autopilot after they had buried her sister. That day, she tried a
bag of “Tranquil Moments” herbal tea Melissa had left in the cupboard and had
once tried to make her drink because it “isn’t healthy for you to be running
around nonstop, Dana, you need a chance to breathe too.”
The cup a week after her first round of chemo,
which tasted like metal covered in dirt. She had spat it back into the mug and
thrown up in the kitchen sink. For months afterwards, she’d silently accepted
every cup Mulder offered her, but threw it out as soon as his back was turned.
The coffee breaks she’d shared with Mulder while
they were stuck on Kersh’s fertilizer duty, walking down the street to the
hipster coffee shop with the twenty year old whose facial hair changed weekly.
After one particularly awful session in the AD’s office, Mulder had asked for
an application, and the barista laughed, assuming he was joking. She was only
half sure he wasn’t.
A thermos full of Irish coffee as they propped
themselves against the chain link backstop of an abandoned baseball diamond,
talking about everything and nothing, still feeling the heat of his body
pressed against her back and wondering if she should have turned around and
kissed him when she had the chance.
The slow brews she’d shared with Mulder on lazy
Sunday mornings, the taste chased from her tongue by Mulder’s slow kisses.
The ones she’d refused while pregnant and
nursing, the lack of sleep and caffeine adding a dream-like state to the
months, so that when she looked back at that time, it took on an otherworldly
sheen. (It didn’t help that any explanation of those two years sounded
absurdist to any outside observer – “My partner was abducted by aliens,
returned dead, buried for three months and then exhumed because he wasn’t dead,
just in stasis.” “Even though I had no ova due to experiments conducted on me
against my will by a shadow government, I had a baby who was considered the
greatest single threat to an alien invasion and consequently was in constant
danger until I gave him up for adoption.”)
The cup that sat on her mother’s table as she
tried desperately to explain herself, (“I don’t think I’ll ever understand,”
her mother had responded tearfully), her own tears blurring her vision as her
mother kissed her grandson goodbye for the last time.
The rushed caffeine fixes on the run, cups she
picked up at 5AM in truck stops, wearing a hoodie that covered hair dyed blond,
brown, black, and even for a little while back to red, while Mulder hid in a
run-down motel room. She couldn’t remember the taste of anything during those
months, fear chasing all the flavor away.
And then, once again, gulping scalding servings
down between patients, children this time, as she saved other people’s babies
because she was unable to care for her own.
Impromptu coffee dates with Mulder, him sipping
his morning coffee with bleary eyes and bed head, her drinking a cup of decaf
before bed, smelling of antiseptic soap and latex, fighting sleep because she
hadn’t seen him in three days and she missed him.
The cup she made all alone in his kitchen (no
longer hers, all her belongings packed up and in the back of her car), leaving
the pot mostly full so he’d have something to drink when he ambled out of his
lair, washing the mug so it wouldn’t sit in the sink for days before walking
out the door.
Then one day, the coffee pot ignored once again
in the basement as they discussed cases, tentatively at first as they tried to
regain their footing, then found themselves and each other again. One morning,
as she dropped her briefcase off in her area, looking at his desk in his
office, she wondered if she hadn’t found herself back in the same endless
circle. Then Mulder had shaken her out of her musings with a hand on her
shoulder and a discolored mug as an offering. Their fingers touched and she
realized that they aren’t circling back to the start but traveling onwards
The coffee Mulder made as she tried to arrange
her mother’s funeral, untouched in the carafe as she thought about her
reuniting with Ahab and Missy, and jealously wishing that she’d be with them
soon (but only for a moment before pushing the forbidden thought out of her
And then, one night, the specialty coffees
Mulder brought to her apartment, sitting untouched on her kitchen counter as
they fell into bed together again. She made a fresh pot for him the next
Sam Winchester is fifteen years old. He’s whip smart and dangerously clever. He’s a damn teenage tease and ruiner of big brothers everywhere (except really only his big brother, unless all the guys who get ruined by Dean for even looking too long count, too).
He’s fifteen and he looks all kinds of innocent right up until he doesn’t, when he takes innocent things and makes them fucking sinful, the more witnesses the better. Dad makes for the best audience because Dean can’t do shit while he’s watching and Dad can’t say anything either, not unless he wants to acknowledge that his youngest son is being deliberately provocative and why? The only ones who see him are his father and brother.
But Dad’s not around, holed up somewhere three counties over with Caleb hunting God only knows what, so it’s just Sam and Dean and a greasy diner off Route 66. Sam had batted his pretty boy lashes and played it up for the middle-aged waitress who seemed taken with his soft voice and good manners.
She left the bill on their table along with two knock off tootsie pops, refilling Dean’s tiny diner mug with coffee before going back to the counter. Dean only takes his eyes off his brother long enough to fish the cash out of his wallet, but as he returns it to his back pocket and looks across the table, Dean almost chokes. His mouth waters instantly and he pushes a harsh breath out his nose, his lips pursed together firmly.
ok ok so I saw this post and well… this is lowkey my first fanfic, so if this even gets any views, lemme know if it’s trash (it really is trash). ALSO I FEEL LIKE IT SUCKS SO THIS IS KIND OF EMBARRASSING I’M SORRY.
p.s. - I love bughead. that is all.
Jughead clunked down the rickety steps of his hammered father’s crappy trailer, sighing heavily. His body felt like a worn rag that had once been wet, but all of the liquid had just been wringed out of him, coiling him up tightly, before leaving him with nothing but threads and fragments of worthless cloth, strung high and dry. It was a numbing feeling, something so hollow that even the sun in his eyes couldn’t bring forth any recognition that there was a living occupant in his vacant shell of a body.
The thing that hurt the most was that it didn’t even surprise him anymore, it wasn’t a shock to open that door and find the habitat of a drunken caveman who reeked of beer and broken dreams. The clothes and nameless items that had been scattered in either aimless notion or an inebriated rampage weren’t an unfamiliar sight. That was the worst part, the defeated state of giving up, of realizing that Jug’s father was - and has been for the most recent years of his adolescence - a lost cause. That slim, but helplessly ever-so-present, optimism snapped in half years ago, crumbling like a stale pastry beneath the weight of so much worthless hope.
Ever since that distinguishing moment, Jug’s frame displayed his fatigue - the constantly weary and disheveled look he always wore, just like the yarn beanie which rested atop his head like a crown for the broken. His shoulders remained slightly slouched, the signs of many sleepless nights lodged itself just beneath his hurricane eyes that brewed a never ending storm. The pink and purple creases beneath his impenetrably far off eyes stood stark in contrast of his pale skin, yet the habitual chugging of nearly burnt coffee practically every morning would help mask this over - paint a prettier picture - since no one ever seemed to like the truth.
A curl wormed its dazed way before the boy’s slate grey vision, temporarily blinding him of the gravel beneath his boot-covered feet. The humidity seemed to rise as the tussling stray rocks crunched beneath him, before making a shooting escape from beneath his soles as they darted away - projected by his weight. Jughead lifted his dull gaze to the sky for two reasons: 1) to shoo that goddamned stray lock from his eye, and 2) to determine the forecast like the amaetur meteorologist he was. He wondered whether it would rain, the winding roads claimed by the South Side Serpents were always slicker, and much harder to navigate on his banged up steed, than with dry terrain.
While the only person who truly knew the deep dark despairs of the one and only Jughead were simply himself, and his piece of crap journal. The thing could barely be constituted as a diary, considering how exteriorly damaged the leather-skinned booklet was - torn to shreds, to the point of peeling. Yet, the trashed object was his only prized possession (aside from his beanie, of course) and it always was there to console him when no one else was - especially when his father relied heavily on his best friend, beer. FP swam in ale in order to drown his sorrows, yet the consequences always gave him a good kick in the gut, piling on more problems, hence leading to another round of drinks. It’s an endless game of hide and seek - FP hid in booze, his issues tracked him down until they were solved, but they never were.
Despite all of the following, Jughead managed to keep a somewhat steady leeway at school. Since the raven-haired boy grew up on the South Side, he grew accustomed to the Serpent way. As long as you stuck up for yourself and “don’t take shit from nobody,” (one of FP’s favorite phrases) you were good to go. Jughead most certainly wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for the fact that his father was the leader of the Serpents (though he doesn’t like to admit it), he had too kind of a soul for the expectations that were meant to be upheld as a Serpent. So, Jughead learned. He was beat down, bullied by the others, but FP didn’t put up with it. Jughead had to stand up for himself, and he did, but only by his father’s rough pressure (which he claimed the kid would thank him for later).
Still, Jug pulled through, and somehow earned himself a respective slot in the social class during high school. And maybe, just maybe, the other teens respected him because of his father. Not only did he have friends, but girls seemed to really dig his brooding, bad boy look. While the other boys had similar style (all of them pretty much along the lines of bad boys), Jughead had this kind of look about him, as if he couldn’t give a shit if the world ended that day or not, and truthly, he didn’t. However, the suggestion always seemed to be enough for the ladies, and Jughead would play along. The chase always gave him a distraction from reality - the really shitty situation he was stuck in and couldn’t seem to get out of - he couldn’t move because he didn’t have enough money. He was practically dead to the rest of his family, Mom and Jellybean didn’t want him around, he was just another unwanted dead weight - a reminder of the past.
So, he distracted himself with girls, hooking up with them for game. He didn’t do it unless they were okay with it though, assuring that all they wanted was a fling. He couldn’t commit to a real relationship, and he made sure everyone was aware of it. The bursts of heat and pleasure allowed himself to let go for a while, distance himself from his current situation. The only other outlet he had that gave him temporary piece of mind was writing, in his shredded companion, of course. That’s really what he spent doing, writing in his small journal, tracking down girls like a hound, or doing random, slightly illegal, tasks for the Serpents - most of which his father forced him into (drunk or sober).
This day, Jughead decided to ride over to Pop’s for his daily coffee. He enjoyed relaxing and jotting down things in his journal - some days what he wrote was about his life, other times about someone else’s. As he arrived after nearly hydroplaning off the slick roads on his way to the diner, Jughead parked his bike in one of the open spots near the entrance beside another pair of motorcycles - probably belonging to a couple of his Serpent pals. He walked inside, being automatically greeted with some hoots and hollers from the other Serpent teens sitting in one of the booths. He didn’t bother going up to the counter, they already knew his order by heart since he practically recited it to them every day since freshman year. So, he waltzed over to his “pack,” plopping himself down next to one of the members. They all greeted him with a slap on the back or a slapping high five, causing him to grin.
Jughead lifted his gaze to the door as the jingling of the bell promised another person’s entry - a person who took Jug’s breath away. A gorgeous blonde shuffled through the entrance, her long lengs guiding her to the counter where she began to speak to the employee. He couldn’t look away, his stormy eyes trained on her pink lips as they moved fluidly, emitting the words which formed a sentence that Jughead’s hazy mind couldn’t process - too enveloped by the abrupt appearance of the beautiful girl. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen this gal before, or at least, he couldn’t remember it. There’s a good chance that they actually had met before, but as babies, minds too new and fresh to comprehend anything put before them. Or maybe their parents knew each other from way way back, everyone knew everyone in the tiny town of Riverdale.
As the new girl took her seat at the booth three rows in front of him. Jughead caught himself, realizing that he’d been staring for far too long. He jerked his gaze away, but he was hooked like a fish, unable to yank himself away from the magnetic appeal of her features. She caught his misty gaze, sensing his eyes on her. Emerald green met cadet grey. Something shifted within both of them, but neither would feel it until it was too late to go back. A pounding on his back and a whisper-shout in his ear shook Jughead out of his own brain.
“Ooooh, looks like little Juggies has a crush on the blonde,” Jeff, one of the boys murmured not-so-quietly, his toothy grin saying it all.
Jughead shook his head, but couldn’t hide his shit-eating grin at the thought of actually speaking to the model. All the boys seemed to become even more rowdy if possible, as one of them got a seemingly wonderful idea.
“Dude, who wants to bet that Jug can charm that broad and get her to slum it with ‘em in three days?” Tom asked, the biggest brute of the entire group.
Everyone was enthused by the idea, resulting in another uproar of laughter and boyish commotions. Jughead even enjoyed the idea a bit himself, the prospect of meeting her got his blood boiling and his heart thumping. Someone who worked at the diner set his mug on the table with a soft clink. The steaming cup of coffee reflected what he felt - a burning desire. He had to get this girl, he had to charm her, he knew he could. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings though, so maybe he would spend time with her and simply tell the boys that he did - even if it was a little white lie.
Numerous uplifting things were announced by the boys - most of which sounded like they should come from a coach’s mouth - as they shoved Jughead out of the booth. They all patted him on the back reassuringly, attempting to boost his confidence and self-esteem. He made his way over to the blonde slowly, drawing her attention as he perched himself on the empty bench across from her. She lifted her gaze, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow in inquiry, as she inspected him closer. Before either one of them could say a word, Jughead swiftly reached across the table that was bolted to the floor and snatched the girl’s cherry which was placed on the top of her strawberry milkshake. Jughead was known for his smooth moves and sly pickup lines, but little did he know that Betty wasn’t one for that.
“Hey! You stole my cherry,” Betty snapped, her face changing to quick anger, lips downturning to an agitated frown.
“That’s one thing checked off my ‘To Do List.’ Now I just need to pop your cherry,” Jughead decreed, that cocky smirk playing on his mouth once more.
Betty’s eyebrows rose even further, her green eyes widening at his suggestive words and conceited tone. She leaned in a bit, playing along.
“Oh, yeah?” Betty implored, wondering just how long she could toy him along with this.
“That’s right. What’s your name, baby?” Jughead questioned, entranced by her natural beauty, which happened to be even more stunning up close. He tried not to give off just how nervous he was, keeping his hands under the table to hide just how badly they were shaking.
“That’s really none of your business, but you can tell your buddies over there that it’s Betty. I’m sure they’re going to want a name for the girl who embarrassed the hell out of you to tell the story later on,” Betty elaborated in a sickly sweet voice, laced with poison meant to kill.
Her smile said otherwise, reflecting the cheeky smirk Jughead had been wearing before. As he processed her words, his face shifted from arrogant to confused. Betty took the opportunity to stand up, pour her milkshake on his crotch, and strut out of Pop’s. An appalled Jughead was left sitting there, his jeans wet, his dignity completely gone. His heart, however, had walked out the door in Betty’s hand. He was definitely going to make her his, whether it was three days, or three years, that was it. Betty and Jughead were endgame, and that was the one thing Jughead was sure of. The crowd of teens came jumbling up to Jughead, shouting and guffawing at his milkshake coated pants. Jughead just sat there, displaying a broad smile, totally dumbstruck - a rare sight indeed.
Nurseydex where they're both trans please please please
hahaha okay! So I been thinking about what to write for this for like a week now. but you know what I wanna right some fluffy stuff that isn’t about the “bad days”. I have read enough “bad days” to last me a lifetime on top of actually living them. I am sorry if its not explicitly enough about them being trans.
Thank you for the prompt!
He doesn’t want to open his eyes. Its the one freaking morning that he can sleep in. He buries himself further into the blankets and his pillow. The other side of the bed is cold. Dex must have gotten up early. He smells coffee and rolls over to the smell. He squints at the “Dr. Cool” mug on the nightstand. He snorts. It was Dex’s Secret Santa Present to him a couple of years ago.
“Well they didn’t have ‘Nurse Chill’ mug , so, this was the next best thing.” It’s Nursey’s favorite mug. Dex’s buys him a new one every year to have spares for when Nursey eventually breaks one. Nursey is really careful with them to spite Dex. He likes to imagine that they will have a whole shelf of these obnoxious red 50′s diner mugs.
Right now though, he debating the merits of moving from his side of the bed to get said coffee. Its like asking him to cross the Arctic Circle for a cup of Jo, yanno know? He snorts again. He should write that down… But, that would mean leaving the bed. Hmmm… Yeah, it wasn’t that good of line anyways. His brow furrows at the mug until he rolls back over to look at the window. He can see the birds working on their nest and chirping louder than necessary. Yet, he still finally closes his eye for what must have been for a minute, maybe more than minute. Then, there is spreading icy chill spooning up to his back. He eyes snap open and he groans.
“What the hell, Dex? Did you hang out in a freaking freezer this morning?” Nursey hisses over his shoulder. He can feel the huff of a laugh against the joint of his shoulder and neck.
“Hmmm… Maybe.” Dex presses the words into his bare shoulder with cool kisses. “It was definitely weirdly cold walking to and from the doctors.” That’s right, Dex had his annual physical today. Nursey turns in Dex’s arms to face him.
“So, How did it go? Everything good under the hood?” Nursey wiggles his eyebrows and leers. Dex rolls his eyes at Nursey’s ridiculousness.
“Doctor had no complaints. My levels still looked good. None of my freckles are cancerous, yet.” Dex chuckles at that before continuing, “ She gave me the “do not forget to wear sunscreen, try to minimize my stress, and, I should consider using birth control” speech, again.” Nursey startles with a laugh. Nursey was there the last time she gave that speech. She said it as more of a disclaimer than to actually lecture Dex, but, it was still funny to watch.
“Did she do in that voice this year?” Nursey clears his throat.
”Now William, I can not stress the importance of sunscreen for someone of your complexion. Skin Cancer is no joke, mister.” Nursey mimicking the doctor’s very dry monotone voice.
“OMG. did you have to remind her the whole ‘accidental pregnancy’ thing is impossible with us?” Nursey beams at his realization. Dex face palms and groans.
“Yes. I didn’t phrase it nearly as appropriately as you did last year. You would think that because she and her husband sees both of us that she would put two and two together. But, ugh, enough about my oblivious doctor, whats on your agenda for today?” Nursey pretends to think it over, before, he pushes on Dex’s shoulder until he is laying on his back. Nursey swings a leg over to straddle Dex’s lap.
“Well I didn’t have anything planned, but, I can think of a few things to do.” Dex’s hands coming to grip at Nursey’s waist and ribs.
“O. Really?” Nursey leaning down to give Dex a small kiss.
“Yeah, maybe you should move your glasses out of harm’s way.” Dex nods in agreement and takes off his glasses. Nursey instantly pulls Dex into a searing kiss, which, Dex will later claim that was the reason why he was so distracted.
Dex tries to place to glasses on the nightstand without breaking off his kiss with Nursey. He is reaching and groping for the hard surface of the wood. He is tempted to just throw them in the direction of the nightstand, and, get back to more important matter at hand. No, he needs his glasses to see, but, he could get Nursey hunt for them later. Then, the edge of his glasses catch on something and he just pushes the glasses the rest of the way. The following shatter echoes through their apartment. Nursey breaks the kiss to look at the sound. He burst out laughing.
“ What? Nursey? What fell over?” Nursey is laughing so hard he can’t breathe.
“I can’t believe,” He gasps, “ you just broke the mug.” Another gasp for oxygen,”Who knew, you, could be so accident prone?” Dex collapses back on the bed. He flushes in embarrassment, but, not before his hand are covering face. Nursey continues to fall into a giggling fit at Dex’s collarbone.
“Jerk.” Dex says when moves his hands to push at Nursey’s shoulder.
“Yeah, but you love me, right?” Nursey lifting his head looking so sincere and vulnerable. Both of them are staring at each other. The sunlight is catching their profiles. It’s one of those moments. Those moments where they are reminded that love isn’t built on big grand moments, but, on small ridiculously silly domestic ones. Dex sighs happily, the answer is always the same.
The reader is a witch and she travels to johns world through
her dreams, but she thinks it’s just a dream and john is constantly trying to
convince her that it’s real. I know a crazy idea but I really good at coming up
with crazy ideas So Sorry.
Author’s Note: I
kindda sorta changed it a tad. I hope that’s okay? Enjoy!
He handed me the
bourbon, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal glass. So, real, it all
seemed so real. I raised the glass to my lips, the alcoholic smell hitting my
nostrils at full blast. Gingerly I took a sip and let the liquid fill my mouth
before swallowing it. It burnt a trail down my throat before settling warmly in
I raised the glass
back to eye level.
“It all seems so
real,” I murmured.
A dark male head turned to
me “, what was that?”
I shook my head “,
His long elegant
fingers entwined with mines. The warmth that emanated from his fingers also
“You sure,” he
whispered, the words rough.
I looked to the black
pin pricked sky “, it all seems so real.”
He leaned closer to me
“, it is y/n.”
I shrugged and continued
looking at the shimmering stars.
These dreams all
happened less than a week ago. The stars and planets had aligned for the first
time in one hundred and fifty years and on that said night, a star fell from
the heavens. It was lore that once you made a wish it was bound to come true –
at least that’s what my best friend told me. On a whim and out of loneliness I
made a wish, a wish across distance and time to find my one true love.
The following night
the dreams began. In misty surroundings, I wandered lost and confused, until I
stumbled upon a glass house. I entered the premises and found a raven-haired
man dressed in a crisp black suit sitting on the porch drinking. He like myself
had seen the star and made a wish but neglected to tell me what it was. John
Wick he introduced himself as and offered me a drink from a crystal decanter. Despite
myself I accepted and felt the familiar feelings of warmth and comfort float
over me in his presence, almost like I had known him all along.
It continued like this
for several nights. Every time I closed my eyes the foggy settings and glass
house greeted me along with the raven-haired man.
I sat with my best
friend Marie at our usual breakfast diner. A mug of tea rolling between my
“Earth to y/n!” called
I jumped “, oh! Sorry,
was thinking about some dreams I’ve been having.”
Her eyebrows raised
slightly “, nightmares?”
I laughed lightly and
leaned back against the chair “, no, no, no – just – I dunno how to call it. It’s
just a dream with some handsome guy named John.”
“A wet dream?”
I reached forward and
slapped her arm, she recoiled laughing.
“No, not a wet dream! It’s just a dream in
this foggy setting with this glass house…” I trailed off when I caught Marie’s
wide eyed expression.
“Marie?” I called
Her eyes darted
sideways then back to me “, you wished on the
falling star for your true love, didn’t you?”
I nodded, a bit
“Did you try finding
each other?” she asked eagerly.
I frowned “, why,
would I do that?”
“Because it’s real!”
I huffed a laugh and
took a bite out of my waffle “, it’s just a dream, Marie and wishes on stars
don’t come true. I was just feeling a little lonely when I wished for that but I’m
She shot me an incredulous
look “, it’s real! My brother-in-law’s great grant parents met that way and
they described the same settings you said.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You have seven days
to find whatever it is you wished for,” stressed Marie “, once that time is up
everything would be lost forever!”
I stared at her
dumbfounded for a second.
“It’s just a dream
Marie!” I snapped “, things in dreams can feel and taste real.”
“But what about John
I held up a hand
silencing her “, don’t you think I looked him up on a hope that he might be
real, he’s not! He does not exist!”
Marie’s eyes drooped
as she regarded me and a resigned look settled over her. She stood and placed a
hand on my shoulder “, the star fell Sunday and today is Saturday, it’s the
last night until the next hundred and fifty years – just try for me.”
“It’s just a dream,” I
repeated and watched her leave. A sinking feeling developing in my stomach.
It’s just a dream I
mumbled to myself as crawled beneath the covers. My heart however thought
otherwise and hammered away in my chest. I wanted it to be real so badly and
the crushing sadness I felt when I looked for John only to find out he didn’t
exist broke my heart. There was no one for me in this world and even if it was
just a dream, I was going to enjoy every second of it.
I closed my eyes and
let myself drift off.
The familiar setting
of the misty grounds and house appeared before me. As usual I found John
waiting for me on the porch, a glass of bourbon waiting for me.
“I hope you weren’t
waiting long,” I announced as I took my seat beside him.
He gave me a small
smile and handed me the glass which I took. I rolled the glass between my hands
watching the liquid tumble in the cavity.
“How do I find you?”
whispered John, his gaze upwards.
I looked to him “,
what do you mean?”
He turned, dark almond
eyes locked on mines “, this isn’t a dream y/n, this is real.”
I huffed a laugh and
rested the glass back on the table “, wow, the brain has some really creepy
ways of internalizing and sorting information.”
He grasped my elbow
and tugged me lightly “, I’m not joking y/n, I thought the same way as you
until a few days ago when someone told me the same thing happened to their
I stared at him, alarm
growing in my chest.
“They both wished to
be with the ones they were faithed to be with for life on the same shooting
star we saw and under the same events.”
I was gaping now “,
the planets had aligned like they are now and when the planets shifted out of
alignment the dreams ended. During that time, they believed that they were
dreaming real time events and throughout distance and time they eventually
found each other.”
I stood abruptly, my
chair falling over and stalked away from John. The information I had just
received was a bit too much to process at the moment.
I carded a hand
through my hair “, but it’s just a dream – a dream.”
The mist was
thickening, shrouding the place in white, signalling the end of the dream.
“Do you know what I
wished for?” called John, his voice sounding a bit disconnected.
I was just a dream,
things like this didn’t happen. I didn’t respond.
“I wished for the one
who would ease my burdens, who would love me through it all and not matter what
could see past all the faults that I have,” his voice broke a little.
I turned, his from was
growing further away from me and his voice was becoming difficult to hear.
“You showed up y/n
like a dream – the dream I’ve always wanted, except it wasn’t a dream,” he
Maybe it was real,
screamed my mind. I didn’t want to lose him on a whim that this was a dream. It
could all be real – it could! I ran towards his disappearing form. My legs
moved sluggishly and heavy, like I was manuvering through mud.
“Wait!” I screamed at
his form “, John!”
My hand flew to my
throat and I ripped my mother’s locket from my neck and tossed it at his form.
I was unsure if he had caught it but I hoped. God, I hoped.
A sob ripped out of my
throat as his form vanished “, I love you.”
A thin voice floated
on the wind “, no matter where or when you are, I’ll find you.”
I woke to a mellow
yellow light, with a violent sob wrecking through my body. I dragged the pillow
from the unoccupied side of the bed and cried into it. All this time I wasted
thinking that it was just a dream and it could have been real. I reached for
the necklace round my neck, needing to feel it’s comforting presence in my
hand. It was missing. Did I really give it to him in the dream? A tiny flare of
hope flooded through my body.
The doorbell rang and
the flare grew larger. I flew from the bed to the door and yanked it open. A
Jehovah Witness advocate stood in the doorway offering to read prayers. Numbly
I declined and shut the door in their face. I pressed my back against the door
and slid down onto the floor.
Who was I fooling? It
was a stupid dream after all and I had lost my necklace, not given it away.
3 Years Later
I weaved through the
bustle of foot traffic on my way from work and made my way to the train
station. I took my usual seat by the window and waited for departure. My hand
snaked to my neck looking for the locket I had lost some years prior. I tapped
the spot on my chest it used to rest idly. I dozed a little until the ride
ended and disembarked at my stop.
I walked up the subway
stairs, huffing lightly. I was getting out of shape. A raven-haired man in a
crisp suit zoomed past me as I made it to the top of the stairs.
“Watch it!” I shouted
after him and continued on my way.
“y/n?” a husky male
I froze. That voice, I
knew that voice. My heart began thundering in my chest as I slowly turned. I
gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.
“John?” I whispered in
“I promised you I’d
find you,” he whispered back.
I flew into his arms
and buried my head into his chest deeply inhaling his fresh clean scent. Home,
John smelt like home. He wrapped his arms around me holding me tightly, his
lips pressed to my head.
I raised my head and
looked at him, my eyes brimming. He withdrew a hand from me and fished it
around in his pocket. He pulled out a gold locket and dangled it before my
I gasped lightly and
touched it “, I believe this is yours.”
“It was my mom’s,” I
replied and brushed aside my hair so he could attach it round my neck.
“After so much
searching, finally I found you,” he sighed, his head dropping towards mines.
His dark eyes, so much
like the dream flicked to my lips then back to my eyes. I tilted my head to his
granting his access. Gently he pressed his lips to mine before pulling back.
I frowned “, is that
all?” I questioned a bit disappointed.
He grinned wickedly
and deftly captured my lips again for a feverish kiss. He pulled back “, how
about now?” he asked slightly winded.
“Better, much better!”
I panted with a huge idiotic grin on my face.
“I love you too,” said
John, his eyes soft and a light smile on his lips.
1 Cuil: I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. You tell me that with hard work anything is possible and give me a stack of calculations to quintuple-check.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea, but it turns out I don’t really exist. Where I was originally standing, a page of calculations rests on the ground.
3 Cuils: You awake as a mathematical theorem. You start screaming only to have the first six-hundred and eighteen digits of pi fly from your lips. The world is in sepia.
4 Cuils: Why are we speaking in Caesar cipher? Nikola Tesla cries softly as he cradles a pyramid. Your father stares at you as the pyramid falls apart into pieces. You look down only to see me with one eye. I am singing the song that gives birth to the universe.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. You tell me the truth. As you begin to answer me, your right eye starts to bleed. Across the street, a man in a diner drinks a cup of poisoned coffee. You swallow and look down at your hands.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. You swallow and look at your hands. You cannot swallow. There are children at the diner with mugs of coffee in their hands. A page of equations sitting on the desk nearby shifts uneasily.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. You look at my face, and I am pleading with you. The children are crying now. You open your mouth to speak and tears stream down your face as you do.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. You are on your knees. You plead with me to go across the street. I hear only children’s laughter.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. You are screaming as you drink the tainted coffee. I am your child. You cannot see anything. You speak. The coffee disappears down your throat. You awake with a start in your own bed. Your right eye starts to bleed.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. As you kill me, I do not make a sound. I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea.
I ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea. Your attempt to reciprocate is cut brutally short as your body experiences a sudden lack of electrons. Across a variety of hidden dimensions, you are dismayed. Carl Sagan hands me a prism, but it slips through my fingers. I am reborn as a raccoon. You disapprove. A crack echoes through the universe in defiance of conventional physics as cosmological background noise shifts from randomness to a perfect rising Shepard tone. Children everywhere stop what they are doing and hum along in perfect pitch with the background radiation. Birds fall from the sky as the sun engulfs the earth. You hesitate momentarily before allowing yourself to assume the locus of all knowledge. Entropy crumbles as you peruse the information contained within the universe. A small library in Gravity Falls ceases to exist. You stumble under the weight of everythingness. Your mouth opens up to cry out and collapses around your body before blinking you out of the spatial plane. You exist only within the fourth dimension. The fountainhead of all knowledge rolls along the ground and collides with a small possum. My head tastes sideways as spacetime is reestablished. You blink back into the corporeal world, disoriented, only for me to ask you if anyone else helped you come up with this idea as my body collapses under the strain of reconstitution. The universe has reasserted itself. A particular small possum is fed bacon for the rest of its natural life. You die in a freak accident moments later, and your soul works at the returns desk for the Gravity Falls library. You disapprove. Your disapproval sends ripples through the inter-dimensional void between life and death. A small child begins to cry as he walks towards a diner where a man with yellow eyes stands.
Anon ask:Remember when Emma and Regina left Storybrooke to find the author, what if while out they also find Emma’s first child when he/she attempts to steal from them but gets caught.
(A/N): Okay so I tried to keep it neutral , if you see any mistake with the pronunciation, don’t hesitate to tell me. You can also kill me if you want to Anon because I SHOULD HAVE FINISH THIS A LONG TIME AGO SO SORRY LOVE
I also don’t know how old is Emma , she’s like what? 30 something now? let’s stick with 30 something okay? okay.
Emma wasn’t having the best time of her life. First was Lily and now her car needed a new tire
“you okay?” Regina said while she close the door
“this has happened before” Emma said “the wolf on the road and the accident- the first time I tried to leave Storybrooke”
“Stop overthinking” Regina said giving a look to Emma’s car “it’s not fate, it’s just a flat, we need a new tire” Emma wasn’t actually listening too much what Regina said.
“unless fate wants us to go to the coffee mug diner for help, I’d chalk it up to ‘accidents will happen’… I’ll get a new tire, you get some coffee”
And with that the started walking away from the car, little did they know that it wasn’t just an accident. A young thief was planning to steal the car. I know what you are thinking, How can a little kid steal a car? even more specific, a car with a flat tire? Well, this kid is not just an ordinary kid, this young thief has magic on their side and a pretty rough history, but most importantly, magic. With a little flick of their wrist, the flat tire got replace with a new one. A little smirk was now plastered on their face.
“easy peacy” they exclaim. Now all they needed to do was start the engine. with another flick of their wrist, the car started growling. “hell yeah, let go for a ride sunshine” They started driving around to test the car, it was a pretty cool car, it was yellow a color that Y/N loved. Y/N stopped near the coffee with the intention of searching through the yellow beetle, to see if there was something of value.
In the Enchanted Forest, it was a tradition; Grace would go out with her small group of friends, to the Christmas Stalls alongside her friends. This was the night she would buy her papa and her ‘Princess-Who-Ran-Away-Stepmother,’ (Not always a good title, considering some stepmothers,) Christmas Presents. If the snow was thick on the ground, she would stay out, making snow angels with her friends, but not before her father had told her to 'wrap up warm,’ and 'stay away from the woods.’
Being a princess, and after running away to be with the man you loved, most things had been taught to you, such as wrapping up presents. You had taught Jefferson a more efficient way to wrap all of Grace’s gifts, and leave them under the tree. Although throughout the process, he would grumble, nothing could make a smile appear on his face faster than when you told him how cute he was.
Soon, several presents were wrapped in gold paper, completed with curled white ribbon, (A speciality of yours,) and placed under the tree. Jefferson, now completely covered in glitter and ribbon, was standing next to you, a ribbon stuck in his long hair.
“Y/N…” He began, pointing at the ribbon “Help…"
You chuckled, pulling out the ribbon gently, and dropping it to the group. Although his head was dropped in embarrassment, you sighed, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and kissing his forehead. He smiled, taking your hand into his.
The moment was almost ruined, when Grace entered, a small basket with presents wrapped laid inside. She ran over, nestling herself between her two parents, happy they were all together at last.
Christmas in Storybrooke was a little different. On Christmas Eve, you found yourself sitting at the counter of Granny’s Diner, a mug of Peppermint Hot Chocolate in front of you, spinning it aimlessly with the spoon you had been given.
The bell rang, causing you to turn around, seeing who had entered. There, stood a man, with his dark hair and clothing, but this time, holding a golden-parcelled present, a white ribbon decorating the whole box. You saw this man nearly everyday, yet, you couldn’t work out where you had seen him. You were just a simple dressmaker, after all.
Instead of saying anything, he placed down the parcel next to you, before adjusting his scarf, his look resting on you for a little longer. Raising your eyebrows, you pulled the parcel closer to yourself, turning in your chair to face him.
"Thank you…” You begin, wanting a name.
“Sorry. Jefferson-” He holds out his hand, which you shake gently, a flash of regret across his dark eyes.
“Y/N.” You respond. He watches as you finger the package, wondering what on earth it was. “It looks familiar…” You mumble to yourself.
“It should do.” He speaks, softly enough for you not to hear. “You taught me.”
“DON’T TOUCH ME!!! There’s blood everywhere! Get it off me, get it off please. Oh God, please!” She cried even more pleading to take the blood off of her - oblivious to the fact that it’s not true. Natasha tried to stop her from moving by pinning her down, Steve tried talking her out of her virtuality. They all just waited until she was normal again.
When her cries quietened down, she looked at all 11 avengers. “I-I’m sorry.” That was all she had to say before she got up and ran out of the room.
The incessant pounding in my head made it hard to control my emotions. My hands were trembling. Why would they do that?
“Here’s your coffee, extra shot of caffeine sweetie.” The waitress of the diner passed a white mug towards me. Moving my hand to grab it, I placed it right in front of me, my head still bowed down. I stared at the bubbles on the surface of my coffee as the TV host started to introduce the next song.“ok guys, now it’s time for Sia. Here she is with her song - Alive.”
“Excuse me,” I called the waitress, “could you possibly put up the volume, just a little? Thank you.”
I was born in a thunder storm, I grew up overnight I played alone, I played on my own I survived
The words me like knives, oh how true they were to me at this point. Tears streamed down my face - my concentration still on the coffee. Fire was visible in my eyes, my body overwhelmed with emotions.
My coffee started shaking, spilling all over the tabletop. The chairs shaking all around me, people screaming as they thought it was an earthquake. Kids grasping on to their parents as they were scared of what was happening. But then… everything froze mid-air. No one what to do. My sobs became uncontrollably silent, causing fire to succumb my body.
I’m still breathing.
“Mommy! That girl’s hands are on fire! Why can’t I have that?” An innocent boy’s voice filled the diner.
No, Thomas. We don’t want something weird like-”
“You wouldn’t want to have her powers because then you won’t be unique. Wouldn’t you like your own special power?” Turning around to my defender, I met with Steve. “But how about we get you home, (Y/N)?”
Everyone turned back to what they were doing, yet their focus was still on us, more like on how Captain America had perfect timing to step in and save the weirdo girl.
"No, Steve. Thank you for offering me to join the team, but I have been surviving this inescapable hell hole on my own for 3 years.” I returned to my original position, facing the table. As much as My mind didn’t want one of his patriotic lectures, something deep inside me craved company from someone.
"Look, (Y/N), you’re young. It’s your choice of you want to still be part of the team, but anything can happen and you’ve got your whole life in front of you. You need to know that what you might be signing up for contains suicide situations, things that mean we need to make life changing decisions in the heat of the moment. Are you willing to take that risk?” As much as I wanted to deny the offer to join the Avengers, I just couldn’t. I turned towards him to finalize my decision, when-
"I’m sorry, Could you repeat that? I thought I heard a punk talk about how risk taking is bad as if stupid isn’t his middle name.” What was he doing here? Standing up to signal that we should take this elsewhere, we began a journey towards the tower.
"Sorry, I thought that he could relate more to you.”
"It’s fine Steve, really.” My hands wandered their way into the pockets of my leather jacket.
"H-Hey, you are not the first person which that happened to. Stop letting these little things get to you, (Y/N), you wouldn’t be recommended to join the avengers if your strength and capability was not up to standard. So you’re special.” After hesitation, Bucky finally mustered up some words of advice for me, well a lecture full of advice. But anyone could tell that his insecurity about his left arm kicked in when he place his right hand on my shoulder. “Should we get out of here?” On instinct, our way out of here had begun. I wasn’t ballistic like the public made me out to be, no. I just didn’t have control over myself.
Look, don’t beat yourself up because of what happened before. Trust me when I say this, your reaction was what they were hoping for.“ Steve’s words of wisdom calmed my ever growing nerves… How does he do that? Bucky’s fingers lightly grasped onto my sleeve and pulled me into the tower once again, as soon as he realized that I was ready to bolt in the opposite direction.
"Welcome again, Agent (Y/L/N)” reassuring greeting flew from every angle when travelling through the building. Tony’s love for ACDC evident as it filled the silence of the lift.
Huddled around a… Laptop? All nine of them. “Oh, oh I found the three heat signals.” Clint’s excited outburst caused the rest to sigh in annoyance.
"Idiot. What the hell do you think we were looking at this whole time? Look for where they are.” Natasha explained because a certain someone couldn’t comprehend as to what the simple task was. Even I understood that they were looking for us and we just came into the god damn room.
"Found them. Right here?” Perplexity took over them one by one.
"Guys, we’re right here. For God’s sake, look up whenever someone walks out of the elevator.” Enlightening the mood immediately, Steve emphasized how they should pay attention. Wanda was the first to engulf me into a hug. I felt her sympathy, y'know. It was genuine. Oh, yeah, then individually they all hugged me (Thor lifted me), Tony… Lingered.
"Hey, if the window of opportunity is still there, can I join the group?”
"Hey, hey, hey. Who said that you were out of it anyways? Yeah, we just met you couple hours ago, but you’re one of us now.” Natasha was one of the toughest ladies you will meet, but believe me when I say, she will make you feel like you’re family.
”(Y/N), the Christmas party’s coming up, help us plan it and you HAVE to attend. But for now, move in to your new living quarter.” Tony lead me and the rest of the group to where I’m going to be staying. “It’s small, but I hope it’s ok. You be staying in the same floor as Barnes, so I hope to see no walk of shame… Yet.” His outgoing remarks earned him a loud smack on the head from Natasha. And as for the living quarter, let’s just say it was more of a one story MANSION. This was bigger than anywhere I lived before.
My belongings had already been brought up to my room, courtesy of Fury, but it was left to me to unpack. A walk in closet? Don’t mind if I do.
Hanging up my clothes, I realized how much of it I had - living with Fury really had given me the opportunity to be more free.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. Extracted from my trance, I administered to the continuous knocking on my door. “Yeah? Who is it?”
“Uh, Bucky.” Doing a once over in the mirror, I opened the door to welcome my fellow colleague.
"Hi.” I moved to the side to signal for him to come in, all he did was nod. He sat on the bed which was on the right of the room, seriously? All you’re going to do is sit there?
"Oh, did you want some help unpacking?” He rose from his seat, still not holding eye contact. Accepting his kind request, we made our way to my closet.
"Yeah, I mean all I need to do is hang my tops up there and if you wanna fold my jeans and put them on the shelf on your left, that’ll be great.” The extra help allowed me to do all this much quicker, giving me time to explore later. Sitting on the floor, I began to hang my dresses individually on the velvet hangers I have previously bought.
"Really?” A murmur too quiet to normally be heard, but in this silence, it was too loud to be passed. Beginning to fill my mind of the possibilities as to what might have caused him to say that, my cheeks began heating up in anticipation.
"What? Did you come across something embarrassing? I’m so sorry, I literally just threw my stuff in there-” words spilled out of me like water.“
"No. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, just, where should I put… This?” Shit. No, shit. Fuck. My bra, it had to be my bra that he picked up. Leaping forward, I grabbed my bra out of his hand replying they if he comes across anymore, then to leave it or throw it at me. After moments of silence, I realized where i landed, into his lap. Laughter burst out of me due to the current dilemma, Bucky’s laughter followed suit, only to be cut off shortly after by the sound of the door opening.
"Thank you for helping me Bucky, sorry about seeing.. Yeah, thank you anyways.” And with that, he made his way out, and Natasha walked in. Her curvaceous figure leaned against the closet door, jokingly explaining how I shouldn’t leave my room door unlocked as unwanted visitors can just walk in.
"Anyways, Stark wants us all to go shopping for the party. So unless you got a dress that looks like a million bucks, get your shoes on.” Why argue? It’s not like I’ll look good in any of the dresses i currently own anyways.
A/N: I’m so sorry it’s crap, I have a HUGE plot line sorted out for this now, and please tell me what you thought was good and how I can improve.
i hate when diner mugs have those little handles you can only fit your index and middle finger in. maybe mr. manager these tiny little mugs are satisfactory for your traffic cop patrons and 2 fingers is enough for your rheumatoid widowed ladies and their decaf but i go for the GUSTO, i want a BIG mug of coffee with a 3-finger capable handle, at LEAST