#//I had his wired charger and everything and it was making a lot of noise but NO one came to check so lucky me <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[balloonboyismyson]

Imagine taking a little nap and when you wake up, you hear snoring

You turn around

It's Monty

How did he get out of Pizza Plex and into your house?

The REAL question is how did no security guards or security cameras catch me smuggling him and bringing him home with me

[petalsfm]

if you’re hearing PARANOID by POST MALONE playing, you have to know HUNTER CLARKE (HE / HIM; CIS MAN) is near by! the TWENTY-EIGHT year old LAWN CARE TECHNICIAN has been in denver for, like, THREE MONTHS. they’re known to be quite SECRETIVE, but being ASTUTE seems to balance that out. or maybe it’s the fact that they resemble NICK ROBINSON. personally, i’d love to know more about them seeing as how they’ve got those THE SMELL OF CIGARETTES AND WEED LINGERING LONG AFTER YOU'VE LEFT, THE ECHO OF AN UNFURNISHED APARTMENT, ALWAYS HAVING YOUR ( WIRED ) EARBUDS IN YOUR EARS, THE FEELING OF THE WIND AGAINST YOUR SKIN AS YOU BIKE AROUND TOWN vibes. and maybe i’ll get my chance if i hang out around the LAKERIDGE DISTRICT long enough!

STATS:

full name :       hunter theodore clarke nickname(s) :     n / a birthplace :      montrose, colorado date of birth :       02 / 14 / 1995 parentage :      georgia hansen clarke & jonathan clarke sibling(s) :      n / a relationship status :     single gender identity :     cis man ( he/him ) sexual orientation :      heterosexual faceclaim :      nick robinson

BACKGROUND: ( tw: emotional abuse, running away, homelessness )

never stays in one place too long. honestly he’s surprised he’s been in denver for 3 months. staying places and making connections isnt really his thing

EMOTIONAL ABUSE TW ! grew up with two parents who had more interest in arguing with each other than raising their own son

hunter was not a bad kid by any means, his parents were simply unfit for their roles. becoming parents at the age of eighteen and twenty-three, they were forced into a shotgun wedding and ended up living in a trailer home. neither of them actually WANTED to be parents-- they didn't want to hear any noise, be disturbed, nor did they want to help him with any problem he may have had-- academic or personal

being the cause of many of their arguments was not good for the young boy. hearing the two scream back and forth about who went wrong in what area of raising their son made it incredibly difficult for him to want to stick around TW END !

so, at the age of fourteen he snuck out in the middle of the night ( with nothing but his birth certificate, social security card, and cash he'd stolen from his parents ) in hopes that everything would just be over

he didn’t have a lot of money and couldn’t officially start working for another two years so he had to improvise. he began going to different neighborhoods and offering to mow the lawns of rich people with yards bigger than his old house. only a few people said yes, but it was enough to keep him afloat for a little bit. 

obviously, once that money was gone he had to look for some other way to at least keep eating. as stupid as it sounds, he resorted to stealing phone chargers and selling them / phone parts for cheap. iphones and galaxy’s were really gaining popularity back then so he was lowkey making bank

he hated stealing but you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes

he didn't really have enough money to leave montrose for awhile so he just hung around parts he knew his parents would never go to

the one place he could find solace was at the few churches he could find that left their doors unlocked overnight. he'd grown accustomed to being a light sleeper, but being able to lay down in the pews and just close his eyes gave him some comfort.

eventually, though, with his limited amount of money, he was able to go back and forth between colorado and utah, just finding any place he could work himself into

as he got older he got into stealing more things because it was easier than trying to get a job ( which is almost impossible when you have no address ) and was definitely almost caught multiple times

once he got enough money ( and barely missed getting arrested ) he skipped town and went to las vegas for awhile. he thought it’d be easier because there are so many people there and he could start a new life. however, he ran out of money quick and couldnt find anyone. he’ll tell you he likes and prefers being on his own but he’s really bad at life without a little help / push in the right direction

so he’s back in colorado!! he found his way to denver back in june, which seemed like the perfect time to get back into the lawn care business

honestly now ?? he’s tired of stealing so he’s probably just mowing grass and pulling weeds to stay afloat. it's the easiest job he can picture for someone who dropped out in the ninth grade

he never means to hurt anyones feelings but if it happens it happens

doesn’t really apologize lol hes GARBAGE!

never ??? sees when hes in the wrong ??? nothing is ever his fault.

MISCELLANEOUS / HEADCANONS: ( tw: drug mention )

has never spoken a coherent sentence in his life

he probably gives everybody a fake name. it started at first because he didn't somehow want his parents to catch wind of where he was ( not like they'd care much ), but continued as he grew older just because he feels his real name isn't actually that important to learn

he also never remembers the names he gives people. you could be calling "james !!! james !!!" and he'd have no clue you were calling him fjdhgfdkjgh

speaking of names, he's horrible at remembering other people's names. you will have to tell him a hundred times

definitely owns an iphone 8 he bought off craigslist. was mad as hell he had to buy a dongle to make his wired earbuds usable, but he's never letting the wired earbuds go.

also, definitely doesn't have any numbers saved in his phone. every time he gets a text his automatic reply is "who's this?" even if there's text history

he steals shit and barely has money but he’s definitely the type to flex on these hoes! smh probably goes into an expensive ass store and tries on a watch, takes a selfie with it, then says hes not gonna buy the watch. if u ever ask him abt it he says he lost it or he chooses not to wear it bc time is a social construct.

really bad with feelings. like so bad. he doesn’t know them. has never felt an emotion ever, actually.

the least confrontational man on the planet. he hears a raised voice? he's gone faster than you can say the fake name he's given you. will literally never argue and has never argued in his life.

his most prized possession is his bike, which is the one nice thing he's ever bought for himself. he doesn’t even want a car he really does not. he’s such a fuckin loser but he just loves riding all around denver. new route every day.

the only piece of furniture he owns is an air mattress that lays in the center of the living room in his studio apartment.

probably always wearing a hoodie. he likes looking ~mysterious~ cus hes a LOSER

trying to save up his money for vegas 2.0 but definitely spends it all on cigs and weed LOL hashtag grown man things

[jj-iz-bae]

Don't tell me not to worry

Word count: 1722 words

Requested by @sunwardsss : Can you do comfort 38 and 43 for Chase please? 38: “I’m in the hospital.”43: “You don’t have to sleep here just because I got admitted.”

Pairings: Chase Stokes x Reader; Chase Stokes x Rudy Pankow; Rudy Pankow x platonic!reader

Warnings: Hospitals,seizures,Fluff,bad spelling and grammar

Note from author: so this is actually based on a seizure episode I had. It only happend one time and was caused by strep throat which triggered a reaction in the auto immune disorder (the disorder basically is that instead of my immune system attacking the virus or illness, my immune system attacks my brain causing all sorts of weird things to happen. When I was younger only strep throat triggered a "flare" of increased symptoms ie ocd,anxiety,age regression,mood swings,foggy brain and other things. Sadly the disorder has developed so that I flare with any illness, not just strep) ANYWAYS 😂 I hope you enjoy this Fluff with a tiny pinch of angst. Just a tiny bit if you squint. Ace is my nickname for Chase and I've used it in other blurbs. I just think it's cute. Kinda like how I call Rudy Panky🙃

Chase was wrapping up a day on set, shoving all his belongings into a backpack. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and grabbed his keys ,leaving his casting trailer when his phone started ringing. He just realized he hadn’t heard from you all day. Seeing your name flash across the screen, he stopped in his tracks and answered. “Hey baby girl! I haven’t heard from you all day!” Chase exclaimed as he started to kick a rock around with his foot. “Sorry Ace. Please don’t freak out.I’m totally fine now but I'm in the hospital.” you explained slowly. Chase’s eyes grew large as he starred jogging to his car. "Don't tell me not to worry baby! Where are you? What happened?" Chase asked as he reached his car and fumbled with the keys, trying to move quickly in his panicked state. He swore under his breath as he dropped his keys and put you on speaker phone while he picked up his keys. You heard the rustling on the other end of the phone and grew nervous. "Chase! Babe are you OK? Calm down I promise I'm OK!" Rudy just so happened to be walking to his car when he heard your voice and saw Chase cursing at his car keys. "Hey dude! What's going on? You OK?" Rudy asked as he walked over to Chase. "Rudy! Y/n's in the hospital and I need to...I just can't.." Chase stuttered. Rudy grabbed the keys out of his hands. "I'll drive. You just talk to her." Rudy threw his stuff in the back of Chase's car as he hopped into the drivers seat and Chase ran around to the passenger seat. "OK sorry babe. Rudy is driving cause you're freaking me out. What happened?" Chase asked, running his hand through his wavy hair as Rudy pulled out of the set parking lot. "Thanks for taking care of him Rudy! I swear I'm fine! I'm at St. Marcus hospital. I think it's pretty close to town." Rudy picked up his phone and pulled up directions on his GPS before placing his phone in the cup holder so he could see the map. "No problem hun! Now tell us what happened before Chase pulls his hair out." Rudy answered ."Yeah you're scaring the shit out of me,Baby girl." Chase let out a breathy giggle.

"OK. Well I had my mom over and we were just hanging out watching TV and everything went black. Everything sounded echoey and I tried to open my eyes but it was like i had no control. I started convulsing and got sick. Mom called an ambulance and they brought me to the ER. The Er sent me here so I've been in the ambulance twice today!" You sighs. Chase nervously picked at his lips. "So what does that mean? Like did they run any tests yet?" Chase asked as Rudy broke a few traffic laws to get him to you quicker. "They have me hooked up to all these monitors and I'm going for an MRI tomorrow. The doctor said I most likely had a seizure." You explained as you looked at all the wires and iv lines covering your body. Chase let out a breathe that he didn't know he was holding. "OK baby. We will figure this out! Rudy, how far away are we?" Chase looked over at the blonde with red eyes, on the verge of tears. "It's right up here on the left." Rudy mumbled as he leaned over the steering wheel to make sure it was clear to turn. "OK babe. We just pulled into the parking lot. Where do I go?" Chase asked as he unbuckled his seat belt. "I'm on the 7th floor room 54." You said yawning. Rudy pulled up to the main entrance and stopped the car. "Go ahead man. I'll park the car and meet you up there." Rudy explained as Chase gave him a quick hug and jumped out of the car and jogged to the entrance. "OK I'm getting in the elevator now. Ill see you in 2 seconds OK? I'll be right there!" Chase babbled on as he put the phone up to his ear, taking it off speaker. "So how was work?" You asked trying to distract him a little. "Y/n as much as I wanna tell you about my day, I can't remember shit right now." Chase smirked as you hummed in response.

The elevator dinged and Chase got off the elevator and walked up to the nurses station. He put his phone on his shoulder so he wouldn't look rude for not giving the nurse his full attention. "Hello miss! My girlfriend is here somewhere. Room 54. Her name is y/f/n y/l/n. I can give you her birthday if you want to verify I'm not some weirdo." Chase said talking a mile a minute. The nurse just smiled and got up from her desk. "You must be Chase! She told us you were coming! Said you'd be the tall surfer guy with the chocolate brown eyes. Follow me." The nurse smiled before walking down the hall with Chase on her heels. She got to a door and knocked lightly before opening it. "Hey y/n! Surfer boy is here!" The nurse giggled as Chase walked through the door and the nurse closed it behind him. You were laying in the hospital bed with leads attached to your chest and stomach. You also had an iv in her arm and a couple stickers with wires on her head. Upon seeing Chase, you total lost all your composure and started sobbing. Chase rushed over to your side and gently hugged you close. "It's OK baby. I'm here. I've got you." Chase cooed as tears started to run down his face. You scooted over on the bed making room for Chase to lay down. He carefully made sure all the leads were out of the way and nothing was being pulled before tucking you into his chest. " It was so scary! I didn't know what was happening or why." You sniffed as you snuggled into his chest. "Shhhh. It's OK now. It's over. You're here now ad we will figure out what happened and why. Just relax baby." Chase cooed as he rubbed your back. A soft knock made you jump in your sleepy state. Chase said come in before kissing the top of your head, noticing the jolt of your body at the sudden noise. Rudy entered the room with Chase's backpack on his shoulder. "Hey y/n. How you feeling, sweetheart?" Rudy asked in a soft voice as he crouches down next to the bed. "I'm exhausted and confused as to what happened but I feel ok. Thank you for making sure Ace got here OK. I really appreciate it." You said while reaching out to grab Rudy's hand. "No problem at all! JD is coming to pick me up so Chase's car is here." Rudy explained before putting Chase's backpack down. "I thought you might want your bag." Rudy nods to Chase as he stands up. "Thanks man. I owe you one." Chase bumped his fist to Rudy's. "No you don't! You would have done the same for me. You rest up OK y/n? Don't let this guys puppy energy keep you up." Rudy said pointing between the two of you, which made you let out a small chuckle. "He smells like the ocean and is warm. I think I'll have no trouble falling asleep." You mumbles as you snuggles into Chase's chest again. Chase smirks ,holding you close. Rudy's phone dings and he waves good bye so he doesn't disturb the half asleep girl on Chase's chest.

You awoke from your nap to Chase still at your side. You smile up at him. "Sorry I fell asleep on you. You didn't have to stay." Chase opened his eyes lazily, drawing shapes on your arm with his finger. "No way am I leaving you baby. But since you're awake now. I really need to pee." Chase chuckled as he slowly scooted off the bed and walked to the bathroom on the other side of the room. You turned on the TV and sat up a little, looking at the screens and wires all around you. Chase came out of the bathroom, tossing a paper towel into the trash bin, before grabbing his bag from next to the bed. He pulled out his charger and plugged your phone in before putting it down on the table next to you.As he placed the bag down and sat next to you on the bed, a nurse knocked and entered the room. "Hey you two! I have extra sheets and blankets for you! This chair fold out into a lounger so you both don't have to smush together all night." The nurse explained as she sat the extra blankets and linen on the chair. "Thank you so much!" Chase beamed as the nurse came over to your bed side to check all your vitals. "Is there anything I should look for overnight?" Chase asked the nurse."Well if she has any convulsions or gets sick, press this call button." The nurse said pointing to the red button on the wall. "Other than that, if anything has you worried press the button and we will come make sure everything is OK." The nurse smiled as she finished getting your blood pressure and typed the vitals into her laptop before leaving the room. Chase got up from his seat on the bed and opened up the lounger chair, putting on the different sheets ad blankets. "You know, you don't have to sleep here just because I was admitted." You smile watching his basically throw blankets round until he was satisfied. He came and laid down next to you again before pecking your lips. "I told you ,baby. I'm here with you for everything. We'll figure this out together." Chase cooed as he pulled you closer and watched SpongeBob with you on his chest, running his ringers through your hair. "I love you, Ace." You said before kissing his hand. "I love you more,Baby girl."

*photo cred to pintrest*

Taglist:

@afterglowsb-tch13 @cherryobx @sunwardsss @yourlocalauthor @starkeymarkey @k-k0129 @royalpogue @ilovejjmaybank @beatement-l @miniatureauthorpartyspy @bxmaaa @allielozoya @shawnsthighs @i-love-scott-mccall @lilbabyharrys @dannii-li

Comment tag list on any of my writing to be added❤️

[borderlinedennisr]

fic: mac/dennis, dennis-centric

i started thinking about what dennis would do if ur heard that ms kl*nsky had just passed, and i got carried away

warnings: csa mentions, suicidal ideation, self harm mentions, alcohol abuse

.

Dennis is drunk. It’s not out of the ordinary. What is, however, is the fact that he’s wearing a half-buttoned suit, Italian leather shoes, and he’s sat in a waiting cell with three other arrestees.

His head is swimming. Every noise reverberating through the police station is starting to chip away at his patience. Could someone just get him some fucking ibuprofen? He’d happily comply to anything for 400 mg of Advil and a cup of hot coffee.

He tries to focus. He taps a steady rhythm on his knee. His vision is cloudy. He had a lot to drink tonight. And this afternoon. And this morning. His stomach gives a wrench and he involuntarily groans.

“Turn the other direction,” someone hisses at him. “I just bought these shoes.”

Dennis wants to laugh, but everything hurts.

“Hey, this dude’s ‘bout to hurl! Can we get a trash can or something.”

“I’m fine,” Dennis protests. He holds up a hand, but it trembles.

“Dennis Reynolds?”

He points his head in the direction of the voice, but closes his eyes against his blurred vision. He might actually throw up if he doesn’t get it under control.

“It’s time for your phone call.”

Dennis is hoisted upward involuntarily. He’s glad he doesn’t have to think about who he’s going to call. His head is pounding.

.

Mac’s woken up by the sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table. The sad part is it’s only 9:30 P.M. He’d clearly fallen asleep watching some ... game. His hand grabs the phone and answers it automatically.

“What’s up?”

“Mac? It’s Dennis.”

Mac’s heart stumbles a little. Dennis sounds weird.

“Dude, where are you? Are you okay?”

Dennis heaves a long sigh. “Look - I’m a little bit drunk and I, uh - well - just come to the police station, okay? I’ll explain in person, when ... when I’m more sober.”

Mac blinks. “You got arrested?”

“I’ll explain when you get here,” Dennis insists.

“Dennis, are you okay? What were you doing tonight?”

“Mac, I’m kind of on a tight schedule, here.”

Mac doesn’t seem to register that, because he continues waxing poetic.

“It’s just - you’ve seemed off lately.”

“Mac,” Dennis says sharply.

“Yes?” Mac asks

“Just come to the police station. I have to go.”

He hangs up, leaving Mac listening to the dial tone. Mac sighs.

.

Nobody at the police station knows how to do their goddamn job. Mac just needs to make sure Dennis is okay. He seemed spooked on the phone. In that way that Mac knows to associate with dissociative episodes.

“I’m just looking for my roommate,” Mac presses, pleading with the officer currently on desk duty.

“Sir, you’re gonna have to wait a minute; I’m on in important call,” she snaps out.

“You don’t understand,” Mac retorts. “He’s - he’s vulnerable. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“Sir, if you just give me one second - “

“I can’t wait a second. I need to know he’s okay. He - he gets in these moods sometimes, and well - I don’t really know what he did to end up here, but he’s usually more of a danger to himself when he’s like that, and - “

“Dietrich?! Get over here, and get this man out of my face.”

Mac watches an officer at least a foot taller than him round the desk. He falters.

“Look, I’m not trying to cause, trouble. I’m just worried about my friend - “

“Mac!”

He turns, a grin of relief spreading across his face. Dennis is walking down a hallway, hands cuffed, being lead by the arm of another, nicer-looking officer.

Mac makes a dash for it, skirting the freakishly tall Dietrich, and heading for Dennis. The officer holding his arm grips tighter.

“Excuse me, sir. Please take a step back.”

Mac does. “I’m his roommate. Just tell me what his bail is, so I can get him out of here.”

The officer sighs. “He doesn’t have a bail yet. We’re on the way to his initial hearing right now.”

“What? What are you charging him with?”

“Indecent exposure - “

“It’s not what you think,” Dennis immediately protests. “I - uh - “

“Disorderly intoxication.”

“That’s just downright - “

“And grave desecration.”

Dennis just purses his lips in respond.

“Not to mention your priors.” The officer tugs him roughly. “Now let’s go.”

“Wait - “ Mac starts.

“Boyfriend! You can come too,” the officer says. “Now, quit wasting my time.”

Mac pulls out his cell phone as he follows after them.

“I’m calling Frank,” he tells Dennis. “We’ll figure this out.”

.

“Mr. Dennis Reynolds.”

“That’s me,” Dennis mutters.

“You’ve been brought to council under the chargers of indecent exposure, disorderly intoxication, and grave desecration. Do you understand these terms.”

“Yes,” Dennis says shortly, “but if I could just explain - “

“You’ll get your chance in a minute. Now, - “

“Ayooooooooo!”

The doors to the room fly open, and through them walk Frank, Charlie, and Dee. Dennis groans. He’s still way too drunk for this.

“Uh - excuse me - who are you?” the judge asks.

Dennis wishes he could break out of these handcuffs. Just to give Frank a good neck-wringing.

“Not. Now.” he hisses through his teeth.

“I’m here to pay my son’s bail.”

“Right,” the judge says. “Well, that is what I’m trying to decide. If you could please take a seat and allow me to do my job, we will get there.”

She clears her throat.

“Mr. Reynolds, when you were brought in, your blood alcohol content was .25.”

Somebody whistles. Dennis doesn’t want to know who, but he has a feeling it’s his dumbass father.

“I was drinking today, yes.”

“That excessively?” The judge’s gaze bares down on him over the rim of her wire glasses.

“It’s been a hard day,” he forces out. His throat is suddenly dry.

“Mr. Reynolds, it would be easy to assume the ramifications of grief in your incident, had we only the public intoxication and the presence of yourself in a graveyard, yet -“ She makes a show of checking the police report. “You were found urinating on a grave.”

Dennis clenches his jaw. “Did you get a name on the grave?”

The judge checks the file. Her eyebrows crease together. She glances to someone off to her right, who then approaches her. They whisper something Dennis can’t hear.

“We did not get a name, Mr. Reynolds. However, the owner of the grave has no relevance to - “

“Klinsky,” Dennis interrupts.

“I beg your pardon,” the judge says.

“Klinsky,” Dennis repeats. “The name on the grave was Klinsky.”

Dennis doesn’t have to look to know that behind him, all members of the gang have become rife with tension. The judge clearly notices it too, because her expression changes. She glances at the members of his support party.

“I take it you know this person,” she says, awkwardly clearing her throat.

Dennis laughs, darkly. It probably doesn’t help his case.

“She was my school librarian.”

He lets the silence ring for a second. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. He doesn’t like sharing, but it feels almost involuntarily.

“When I was 14. She - “ Dennis swallows hard. This better fucking emancipate him. “She molested me, several times.”

After a long, agonizing second, the judge takes a deep breath and collapses against the chair.

Dennis feels impatience buzz under his skin. “What, you don’t believe me?”

The judge shakes her head. “Mr. Reynolds, I’m dropping all charges. You’re free to go.”

A couple odd claps ring out. Dennis doesn’t care. He shoves his wrists to his public defender, who motions for the attending officer to join them. He unlocks the handcuffs. Dennis glances at his long-fading scars while he rubs his tender skin.

Mac is the first to reach him, placing both hands on either of Dennis’ upper arms. “Den, are you okay?”

Dennis chuckles. “Why wouldn’t I be? I just got off scott-free. I don’t even know why she believed me.”

“Because you’re crying, Dennis.”

His eyes snap up to meet Mac’s. An involuntary hand feels his face. His fingers come away with tear stains.

“Oh.”

Mac wipes a fresh tear from his cheek.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dennis shrugs. “It was just a chance I saw that Facebook post. Everything after that was rage.”

Mac cups his jaw with one hand, keeps the other on Dennis’ bicep.

“Let’s go home, get you sobered up.”

Dennis doesn’t really like the idea of sobering up, but at least if he’s with Mac, there’s a silver lining.

.

Dennis falls asleep with ease, lying comfortably in his bed. Pleased, Mac passed out beside him, foolishly reassured.

It’s still dark outside when Mac wakes up to an empty bed. Panic floods Mac’s bloodstream. He unceremoniously de-tangles himself from the blankets and stumbles upward. He hears a violent fetching sound and hurries to bathroom.

Dennis is pale-faced on the floor, and in the fluorescent light from overhead, Mac can see the excessive damage he must have done to himself in the past 24 hours. He makes a mental not to keep on eye on the state of the wounds while Dennis regains his composure.

“I drank . . . a lot.”

Mac eases himself to his knees.

“How much are we talking?” he asks, placing a hand on Dennis’ clammy forehead. “Should I be worried?” He grabs Dennis’ chin and forces it up, trying to get a better look at Dennis’ eyes.

Dennis clears his throat. “Nah. I always thought alcohol poisoning was pretty much how I would go anyway.”

Mac frowns. “Don’t do that - “

Dennis laughs, darkly. “It’s not like I have a history or anything.”

Mac’s expression flips, and he looks at Dennis with glassy eyes and a trembling mouth. “Were you - ?”

Dennis shrugs. “Who knows.”

Mac grabs his neck, almost roughly, and cradles his hand against Dennis’ skin. “Talk to me,” he begs.

A warm, disruptive tear slips down Dennis’ cheek. He sighs. He’s tired of involuntarily crying. He’s still blasting chunks, but god does his hand itch for the bottle.

“What do you want me to say, Mac?” he asks, voice low and gruff, barely above a whisper. “That I’m angry? That I’m sad?” He offers a crooked smile. “That I’m furious at that bitch for fucking me up beyond repair? And maybe I wish I could have gotten even just a word in edgewise before she decided to croak? That now I’m so fucking depressed that I want nothing more than to just kill myself so I can stop feeling this horrible and endless hurricane of emotions?”

He spits into the toilet. “Because I’m fine. I’m glad that perverted old bitch is dead. I’m ecstatic.”

Mac heaves a deep breath. “Dennis - “

He’s saved the trauma of continuing the conversation by another wave of vomit forcing its way out.

.

When dawn breaks, Mac hears his name in a soft voice. It takes him a moment to register that Dennis is awake in the bed beside him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks earnestly.

Dennis’ voice trembles. “If our situations were reversed, I would remove everything sharp from our apartment.”

Still a bit bleary, Mac takes a second to digest the words before fully realizing what Dennis is saying. Then he’s on his feet.

“Is your secret blade stash still in the loose floorboard under the sink?”

Dennis blinks. “I - “

Mac nods. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

By the time Mac has packed every knife, blade, and vaguely edgy kitchen utensil in a plastic bin and dropped it off at Dee’s, Dennis is asleep again.

Mac doesn’t disturb him.

.

It happens when they’re eating breakfast. Mac looks up to discover Dennis crying into his eggs. He makes a move to get up, but Dennis shakes his head.

“Den?”

And he laughs. He laughs and he wheezes and his eyes start to water even more and Mac just stares, confused.

“Mac, you should have seen everyone’s faces when I walked into the funeral home drunk as shit and grabbed the mic. I made up a touching story about how I babysat her cats once and may or may not have stolen a family heirloom in a crime they cannot prove.”

Mac stares at him, half horrified, half amused. “You crashed funeral?”

“And I flirted with her grandson. Sorry, babe.”

“It’s fine. Clearly, it didn’t work out.”

Dennis heaves a stuttering breath the tears starting up again.

“I always hated you guys for bringing her up, but you were always right.”

“Dennis - “

“And, I know I’ve done a lot of bad things, and - “

He presses a shaky hand against his chest. He might be hyperventilating, but he can’t stop babbling now.

“Dennis, you don’t have - “

“Sometimes I think - sometimes I think I deserve it.”

“ . . . Dennis.”

He smiles at Mac. “You can’t argue that, and you know it.”

Mac shakes his head firmly. “You were a kid - “

“And look at me now.”

“Dennis Reynolds, stop being fucking stupid. You were a kid. You did not deserve that, and you still don’t. And I’m sorry.”

Dennis looks up, curiously. “For what?“

Mac shrugs. He’s crying. Dennis doesn’t comment on it.

“That that happened to you, man. It’s like - you know how you and everyone else kept trying to get me to come out of the closet and admit who I was to myself?”

Dennis nods, uncertain where this is going.

“It was killing me. Keeping everything bottled up, not letting myself feel things, forcing myself to live in fear everyday - it made me hate being alive. Dennis, you’ve been suicidal since we met. You have to let go of everything you’re holding inside, and this is the start. I know it hurts now, but it’ll change.”

Dennis looks to the ceiling and squeezes his eyes shut. A sob chokes it’s way out of his throat.

“I don’t even know where to start, Mac,” he whispers.

“Anywhere,” Mac tells him.

Dennis wishes he has the energy to smile, but he’s so tired. He pushed his plate away. He wipes at his eyes and sniffs.

“Can we call in today?”

[twdmusicboxmystery]

FTWD 5x08: Analysis

Okay, how did everyone like the episode? I really enjoyed it. I’ve got lots to say here, so hunker down.

***As always, spoilers abound for FTWD 5x08 in this post. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

The title is Is Anybody Out There? A lot of it was about broadcasting voices on the radio, which ties it pretty strongly to the mysterious radio voice at the end of 9x16. More on that in a minute.

In the opening sequence, we see every member of the crew—Morgan, John, June, Lucia, etc.—broadcasting on the radio. 

It's pretty obvious this is a flashback from before the season began. That's important because, once again, they’re going back to show us what we missed. This is one of those things that was so subtle, I never even expected them to go back and show it to us. They always show us things that we missed eventually. So once again, they have to go back and show us what we missed with Beth after Coda, eventually. They ALWAYS do this.

Morgan and Alicia talk and Alicia suggested perhaps they really are the last ones left in the area. It just reminded me of Beth and Daryl’s conversation after the prison went down, when Daryl kept insisting no one else survived. Beth kept saying they had, and she was right. Similarly, Morgan was right in this instance. Again, this is before the season started and obviously they’ve found more people since then.

Then we have an interesting sequence where Morgan and Alicia walk away from the radio. As soon as they leave, a voice starts broadcasting, asking if anyone is there. In this case, it’s Logan’s voice. The guy who tricked them and took over the denim factory. So male, rather than female. Even so, this was an exact parallel to what happened at the end of TWD 9x16. Judith and Ezekiel walked away from the radio, and THEN a voice started asking if anyone was out there. So again, they’re tying this heavily to what’s happening in the narrative of TWD right now.

Then we move to the present. Basically, we have Morgan Alicia and Grace trying to lead walkers away (because the walkers are coming toward the sound of the sirens from the reactor). Al, Strand, June, and Luciana still trying to get the plane ready to take off, and John and Dwight are still missing and out of range.

Morgan, Alicia, Grace:

Morgan, Alicia, and Grace are together. Alicia told Grace that she got the blood from the infected walker in her mouth. Grace and Morgan actually don't seem to be terribly worried about it. That's mostly because they're trying to get out of the area before the reactor melts down, and Alicia isn't sick yet. It's something we'll probably just have to watch moving forward to see if she becomes ill. But it's not a super-urgent story line right now.

At one point, Morgan, Alicia, and Grace are in the truck and try to get away from walkers. Grace crashes the truck into some other cars. This configuration 

looks exactly like the one in 5x09. Here, let me show you: 

And that made me realize that this whole sequence might be a parallel to what happened with Beth.

We have them get stuck in the car, and they all duck down and watched walkers go by. 

If Beth was left in a car somewhere and a horde of walkers (the 800 reported on set for the filming of Coda) walked by, it's very possible something similar happened with her in those missing days after Grady.

Inevitably, something goes wrong. The sirens (the klaxon Morgan refers to; I had to look that up to see what it meant) stopped making noise and we hear an explosion. So basically, the meltdown is happening to the extent that the sirens short circuited and went out. When that happened, the walkers were no longer walking past the truck and toward the reactor. They turned and started coming back toward the truck.

The problem there is that there’s going to be a situation where Morgan, Alicia and Grace and trapped and surrounded by walkers, much as Daryl and Aaron were in 5x16 before Morgan arrived. Well, Morgan/Grace/Alicia are smart and know this is going to happen. Before the walkers reach them, trapping them, they jump out of the car and run on foot.

Do you guys see? We’ve always thought Beth was left in a car, and probably because they thought she was dead and therefore was “dead weight.” So what if in the days after Coda, something similar to this happened? They had her body, put her in a car, but something happened where a walker horde overtook them. (Maybe because the car and/or firetruck stopped working?) And then something went wrong and they were going to be trapped, so they had to jump out and run, but of course they couldn’t take Beth’s body because they wouldn’t have gotten away if they had, so they left her in the vehicle. That would explain these scenes of them running:

Meanwhile, in this episode, we have a configuration of cars that looks exactly like the ones in 5x09, which also shows a female walker who looks like she’s wearing Beth’s sweater waking up in the front seat of a truck, a lot like the one Grace was driving here.

Later, they make it back to the plane but are running on foot with the walker herd behind them. Once again, I was reminded of the random running in 5x09.

One more small, random detail: When they’re all on the plane, Alicia says the kids are buckled in. Strand answers, "you got them on the plane." The way he said it just reminded me of Beth's line from the prison, when she said she was searching for the kids “to get them on the bus.” Similar inflections and I wondered if it might be a parallel. Maybe, maybe not. Just reminded me of that.

John and Dwight:

While trying to get back to the plane, John and Dwight find a parking lot of cars that used to be for sale. They keep trying to hot wire them. Interestingly, contrary to what we’ve seen in the past, they show a car with red and green wires as well as one with black and white wires—both color combos we’ve seen around Beth—and neither of them work. When John finally finds a car that does work, the wires are blue and yellow. 

We’ve also seen those colors around Beth. She wore a lot of blue at Grady and of course there's the yellow polo. We believe yellow represents escape, but specifically escape from walkers. So this could be a foreshadow the John and Dwight (and the group at large) will be running from walkers and will escape them.

Especially given what I said above about Morgan/Grace/Alicia escaping the truck and the walkers on foot, and how it might parallel what happened with Beth, I think the yellow and blue are significant here. I really need to officially update my color scheme theories. It’s not so much that they’ve actually changed as that we’ve come to understand more nuanced definitions of the colors. I’ve recently said that yellow = not just escape, but escape from walkers specifically. I’ve always said blue = captivity, but I want to put forth that it specifically means being trapped. Yes, I know those two things are super-similar, but Beth specifically talked about being trapped (or NOT being trapped) at Grady, and we’ve seen this representation of being trapped in a vehicle with a walker horde around you many times since Coda aired. So I think it’s more specific than just “captivity.”

More thoughts on the colors of the wires? Well, usually the red and green, which represent death and resurrection, are the ones that work. They did last episode. But I sat back and thought about it. Remember in S4, which is the first time I remember seeing red and green wires being used to hot wire a car, Daryl tried to use them to hot wire a minivan they found the “hell” gas station. 

At first, the red and green wires didn't work because the battery was dead. When they “brought the battery back to life” so to speak (and with water, no less) then the red and green wires worked. So obviously for any of the wires to work, the battery still has to have juice in it. Which is true both literally and symbolically.

But we saw a lot of battery-dying stuff in this episode. Later on, the car Dwight and John successfully hot wired (the one with the yellow and blue wires) dies on them. 

At first, I thought they ran out of gas, but they went out of their way to say that they had plenty of gas. The battery simply died. This makes me think I also need to revamp my battery theory. We saw a lot of battery stuff around Beth at Grady (hence my Battery Theory) but it was hard to decipher what exactly it meant. 

A dead battery could basically = death, and then revamping the battery, whether with water as they did at the gas station, jumper cables, or using a re-charger, like Carol did with the car in 5x02, could = resurrection. So that’s the most I’ve been able to figure out about batteries in the past.

But I’m seeing things now that are more specific to the plot. I think the batteries have everything to do with communication and being able to get someplace (in a car). So when the battery dies, there is no communication and no transportation. That very well may be why we saw so many batteries at Grady. I'm working it into my theory about how Grady was perhaps associated with the helicopter people, even clear back in S5. Maybe the reason they needed batteries and mentioned them so heavily is that they were trying to keep in touch with the helicopter people. And why we saw the battery symbolism so heavily around Beth is because without the batteries, she can’t communicate with TF or get to them.

After the car dies, and John is still miles from the plane, he and June talk on the walkie. John makes June promise to leave without him if he doesn't make it back. He says, "Even without me, you find something to live for and you live." Then battery on his walkie dies.

I think this could be applied to Beth and Daryl too. We’ve always said that Daryl has been super-depressed and hasn't had much character development since Beth died. That actually changed last season with Lydia. Everyone chalked it up to Angela’s writing, and I think she’s a big part of it, but I also think it was planned that way. They weren’t going to deal with Daryl’s character much for several seasons. 

And of course, he’s always lived for TF. To help and protect Rick and the others. But he’s also been depressed and it always seemed like he was just going through the motions. Last season, we saw him take a more active role in what was happening, take on leadership against Alpha, and even smile a little when looking at Glenn’s, Hershel’s, and Beth’s portraits. When he was talking to Lydia at Hilltop at the end, for the first time since S5, he actually seemed fairly happy and excited…just in general.

So my point is that taking on a fathership role where Lydia is concerned is Daryl, for the first time since S5, finding something to live for and starting to really live again. I think, thematically, he had to do that before Beth can return to him. I know a lot of TD has thought that Beth will return when he’s at his saddest to “save him” emotionally and bring him back to life. But I’ve suspected for a long time that the opposite will be true. He has to live first, with faith and hope in the way she taught him in S4. It’s almost like he has to do that in order to be worthy of her. (Again, keep in mind this is thematic, not literal). And we started to see him do that for the first time in S9.

John and Dwight then see something interesting on a tree. There’s a ladder and a phrase that says, “if you’re reading this, it means you’re still here.” So let’s review these symbols. 

I need to update my Ladder Theory, so maybe I’ll save that for later. Just know it’s a thing. 

The “you’re still here” is something we can definitely connect to Beth. I do think we’ve heard it several times from different characters over the seasons, and I won’t remember all the instances off the top of my head, but it’s always in conjunction with Beth symbolism, kind of like here. The instance I always remember is when Carol says it in 5x06, Consumed. After the shelf falls on Noah, Daryl asks Carol if she’s okay and she replies, “I’m still here.” And that’s while they’re searching for Beth. Then @frangipanilove reminded me that Beth said the same thing herself. In 5x07, after Carol had been brought into Grady, Beth went in and took her hand and said, “Carol, it’s Beth. I just wanted you to know I was here.” So this is definitely something we can trace back to her.

Meanwhile, here, June does what John told her to. Even though the thought of leaving him behind broke her heart, she got everyone on the plane and would have gone, keeping her promise to him and living. And it’s almost like because of THAT, she was rewarded when John made it back in time. Yes, spoiler. John and Dwight find Sherry’s old car and make it back in the nick of time.

Kind of a random detail, but when the plane takes off, several of the walkers grab onto the netting of the plane and are weighing it down. Al actually uses the phrase “dead weight,” saying they need to get rid of it or the plane won’t get off the ground. 

I don’t talk about this too much because it’s so subtle, but I do think “dead weight” is a Beth theme. Weird, I know. But one of the governor episodes (4x07) carried that title. I’ve always thought of it as being that she was left behind because TF thought she was dead and therefore dead weight. They couldn’t carry her and hope to escape. So even though that may seem like a random theme to keep bringing up, it’s a very big part of the reason she was left behind in the first place. And we’ve seen it as a recurring theme in the show.

When the plane takes off, John and June have yet another conversation I feel could be applied to Beth and Daryl. John says that when the walkie went out (battery died) he never thought he'd never be able to speak to June again. He realized he left a lot of things unsaid, and the dude literally proposes right then and there. Go John!

I’ve said this before too, but I think that once Beth returns, things will happen romantically between her and Daryl very quickly. This is exactly why. Daryl was, of course, very hesitant before and shy in S4, and tptb like to say that he didn't understand his feelings for Beth. But after all this time and all he’s seen, I think he comprehends them perfectly now. He already lost Beth once and he won't want to lose any time. He'll simply tell her how he feels. So, this convo between John and June is yet another Bethyl foreshadow.

Sarah, Wendel, Daniel and Logan:

In the denim factory with Logan, we see two dolls and a ripped Bunny. These are all symbols we've seen before. Dolls are usually associated with Sophia and the missing girl symbolism. And of course bunnies are something we saw a lot, especially in S4, such as around Lizzie and Mica, but other places too.

As it turns out, Logan only took the factory because he’s looking for something. His people search for it and can’t find it. They basically say if he doesn’t find it for them, they’re going to kill him. These people he’s with aren’t exactly loyal to him.

Meanwhile, Sarah and Wendell are trying to figure out how to light up the runway, since they’ll be flying in at night. Sarah asked Logan for help and he categorically refuses. Thankfully, Daniel shows up to save the day.

Christmas lights! Daniels solution was to put Christmas lights on the runway. The Christmas/St. Nick symbolism is alive and well.

As the plane comes in to land, we had something interesting with Wendell. Some walkers came out of the darkness and tripped over the lights, unplugging them, which made the runway go dark. Wendell literally leaps from his wheelchair in order to get the lights back on at the last second, so the plane could land safely.

I'll have to think about it more, but it brought to mind other overturned wheelchairs we’ve seen. There was one in 4x06, which was a governor episode when he went upstairs to get the backgammon game. In that same episode, we also saw the Beth-walker in a yellow wheelchair with stigmata wounds in her feet. This could be more of that same symbolism. Again, not entirely sure what it means. In this case, Wendell lunged from the wheelchair, unsure if he’d survive, and even saying a goodbye to Sarah. So he kind of sacrificed himself in order to save others. Maybe the wheelchair symbolizes something along those lines. In this case, however, Wendel DOES survive. And of course we think Beth did too. But it’s hard to pin down exactly what this means.

So, the plane does land safely, which is an end to this arc they've been following for 5a. The plane crashed in the first episode, and it was all about getting back where they needed to be which they finally achieved here. Then we saw some of our favorite thing about TWD: reunions! Yay!

I thought it was funny that Daniel thought Dwight needed a haircut. I couldn't help but wonder what he’d think of Daryl. ;D

Then, right near the end, they hear a female voice on the radio asking for help. Could it be the helicopter people? Or just the next people Morgan's group will help? No way to tell yet. But again, it definitely mirrors the voice in 9x16.

Logan shows up and finally seemed to come clean about who he is. He tells them he’s looking for Clay's journal, which will lead them to fuel. He also reveals that the people he's with want the journal and would kill him if they knew he’d told Morgan's group about it.

First of all, they're looking for a journal. Something Beth also had. (Remember that Clay was called “Polar Bear” which is part of the Sirius/return symbolism. So Clay = Beth, and he kept a journal. Just saying.)

Second, within the journal is the answer to something that will help save people. Yeah, that’s pretty important.

We also heard Logan use the A/B Theory here. When asked why they should believe Logan, he said, 

A) his convoy would kill him if they knew he was there and 

B) he had shit to make up for, too. 

So, kind of an interesting example of the AB theory. A always seems to equal death (remember cell block A at the prison was death row) and I think B represents “trying,” making up for past wrongs, and NOT dying. It's living in moving forward in some way.

I thought this was a fitting end to the first half of the season. I didn’t get a chance to watch TTD because there was too much going on at my house last night. I’ll watch today and report anything I find. Interestingly, FTWD returns in 3 weeks. Not a very long hiatus. I’m not complaining. Just saying it’s interesting. Obviously, they really want to get the B part of the season in BEFORE S10 of TWD starts up.

I’m very interested to see where things go moving forward. The female voice on the radio wasn't exactly a cliffhanger. She could lead to the helicopter people, but it also might just be whatever Morgan’s group will dealing with in 5B. Either way, the helicopter people are still out there, and plenty of seeds have been planted for further interactions between Morgan's group and theirs. What did everyone else think of the episode?

[theonyxpath]

This week for Fiction Friday, we’re pleased to offer Part Two of Catherine Lundoff’s story for the upcoming World of Darkness: Ghost Hunters, “A Cry in the Night”. Catherine also wrote a story for the V20 Dark Ages anthology The Cainite Conspiracies, and we are thrilled to have her back for a new supplement. Missed part one? Catch up before you read part two!

He nodded and she shoved a CD into the car’s player as they drove away from the store. The park was deserted when they got there, not a jogger or a dog walker in sight. Bethany’s stomach twisted. What if that woman at the convenience store wasn’t nuts? Her feeling of dread got worse as they found a parking lot near the bend in the river where the woods started and Al pulled in.

She looked around, hoping to see campers or boaters or anyone who looked even halfway normal. Not a soul in sight, but there was one small bright spot. “Look,” Bethany pointed at a park sign. “We have to be out of here by 1 AM anyway.”  She hated how relieved she sounded, how glad she was that someone besides her was putting a firm time limit on this whole thing.

“Well, there we are then.” Al sounded the way he always did when he was trying not to sound nervous. “Let’s get this over with.” They piled out of the car and popped the trunk. The Specter Detector with its sensors and temperature gauge and records was there in all its homemade glory, not a wire out of place from the trip in, nothing to delay them or prevent them from lugging it into the woods with them.

Bethany looked at it and chewed her lower lip. Al tapped a couple of wires like he was hoping they were loose. But no such luck. They loaded it into the backpack. She grabbed the cameras and portable charger, then handed Al a water bottle and a flashlight. He picked up the pack and swung it onto his back with a grunt. “Ready?”

“I guess.” She turned on her flashlight, grabbed her bag and walked with Al up to where the park ended and the woods began. They clambered awkwardly over the wooden fence that separated the two and found a narrow trail that wound off into the underbrush. The moon was up now and almost full so they didn’t really need their flashlights yet, but the trees looked thicker up ahead so they kept them ready.

Under the trees, the woods were utterly silent, apart from the sound of their breathing and their footsteps on the pine needles and brush. The noise from the video suddenly echoed around them, bouncing off the trees and lifting the hairs on the back of Bethany’s neck. From the corner of her eye, she could see Al shiver and rub his bare arms. It had been a warm night when they left the park, but now there was a glacial chill all around them. Bethany thought she could see her breath in front of her. The noise faded as quickly as it had started and the woods fell silent around them.

It was still cold, though. She tapped Al on the shoulder and he turned around so she could reach into the backpack. Bethany flipped on the Detector and it started with a low, high-pitched whine. Immediately, the temperature gauge went to its upper limit and the box shook. Bethany tried tweaking the settings, her fingers freezing on the metal dials. “Shit, Al. I don’t know what’s going on here.” She gasped through chattering teeth and suddenly, as if her words had banished whatever it was, the chill disappeared.

“Well…” Al volunteered after a long pause. “That was weird.”

Bethany didn’t trust herself to respond. Instead, she pulled out one of the sensors from the backup and showed Al the recorded reading. The temperature had gone all the way up to freezing, then dropped just as suddenly. “If you’ve got any ideas…” she trailed off.

“One of those temperature inversion things? Giant refrigerator in the woods with the door open?”  He looked up like he expected to see a freezer suspended over their heads.

Now that Bethany had warmed up, she was starting to tremble again. Every instinct told her that there was something nearby, something that felt old and predatory. Part of her screamed that they should run or at least hide. The hush in the woods now was so intense it was as if no night birds or animals lived anywhere in these woods.

Maybe there weren’t. Maybe that’s what the cold was: the ghosts of a hundred owls and robins and whatever else used to live here. Al took off the pack and started fiddling with settings while Bethany watched the trees around them. For a moment, she almost thought she saw a face, pale and white and glowing under the moon, peering down at them from the treetops, but it disappeared at her strangled cry.  Al jumped and looked up at the branches, then back at Bethany. They both let out nervous giggles.

The quiet that descended after they stopped was even worse than before, if that was possible. Then, just like that, the cold was back, covering them like a blanket and seeping into their skin. Al pulled Bethany close to him in an involuntary gesture and they huddled together, looking around them with fingers too frozen to work their equipment.  This time, the cold came with bursts of air, yanking Bethany’s hair loose from its ponytail and making the straps on the back snap.

Something was watching them. Bethany could feel it now and she squinted into the wind, trying to see whatever or whoever it was.  Something howled long and low and otherworldly, then switched octaves to the sound they had heard on the video. It was somewhere between a howl and a shriek and both of them clapped their hands over their ears in a futile effort to shut it out.  

The wind picked up, knocking them to their knees with an icy breath and Al tore one hand loose from his ear to flip the switches on the monitors. The camera kicked in as well, just in time to pick up the sound. He smacked his free hand over his ear again and Bethany could feel his body tremble as they huddled together.

She tried hard not to scream, tried to think of bunnies and kittens or work or whatever would help her check out of this and stay sane. Instead, her mind kept returning to the video. What had happened to those people after their camera went dark?  Bethany really, really didn’t want to find out. Al’s low groan cut across her thoughts and she swiveled sideways to look at him, hands still clamped over her ears.

He convulsed, only the whites of his eyes showing and she grabbed at his shoulders, trying to hold him still. “Al! Al! What’s the matter?” He twitched under her hands and the noise intensified for a long moment, the woods shaking with unearthly wails. Bethany screamed, covering her ears again while Al suddenly floated upward, eyes still rolled back in his head. His body went rigid and he rose to about two feet off the forest floor. Bethany stared at him open-mouthed, frozen in cold and terror.

It was only when a white fog rose from the ground and started to move him forward into the trees that she snapped back to a version of reality where she controlled her body. Jumping to her feet, she scrambled after Al, trying to catch him. The fog struck her like a hand between her shoulders, knocking her back down to the ground.  She tried rolling away, but it reached out and wrapped around her like a sleeping bag. Then it rolled up and covered her face until she couldn’t see the trees anymore.

She flailed, punching and kicking out at the cloud of white that enveloped her, trying to see where they, whoever they were, had taken Al. Rolling and flailing, she dropped down into a hollow patch in the forest floor and the fog lifted a little so that she could see out again. Not that it did her much good, but at least she could see that the mist, fog, whatever it was, filled the forest around her now.

Then she saw the dim pale shapes moving around between the trees, hovering above her, rising from the ground like mist. Once she saw them, they saw her too. With a screech, a pale, bony face with eyes that were great black pits and a mouth that opened into something endless and horrible, shot up into hers. It made a sound like laughter when she screamed and struggled, trying to break free of the fog. It swung off into the mist, then another and another creature like it appeared. She could see an ornate knife in one skeletal hand, something that might have been a gun in another.

She screamed with everything she had in her. Al was out of sight in the mist and she could barely move, but she kicked and flailed and did her best to break free. The howling slowly died away but the fog stayed on, holding her, trapping her. The skeletal figures vanished into the mist, following Al, and she screamed and cursed at them, threatening them as they faded. Her brain kept rejecting what her eyes were seeing. This wasn’t happening, it was a hallucination or some kind of setup. If she just repeated that enough times, maybe it would be true.

From deep in the woods, she thought she heard an answering scream, then from much further away, sirens. The wind spun her around, lifting her off the ground and she flailed wildly, trying to catch hold of a tree to brace herself, to stop them from dragging her away to some netherworld or worse. A wave of icy cold struck her and an instant later, something else was looking out of her eyes.

Bethany could feel herself pushed aside in her own mind by something ancient and powerful. The fog bonds that immobilized her vanished but she was trapped in her own body now. Whatever it was that rode her opened her mouth in a screaming laugh. Then she found herself standing up and running after Al and the ghostly figures that followed him. She willed her legs to stop, willed her feet to stumble, willed herself to blunder into a tree, anything to slow down, to get herself back.

None of it worked. She could see Al through the fog now, still floating above the ground. He was stationary in a clearing in the trees and the two figures she had seen earlier were drifting around him, as if waiting for something. Whatever was in her head felt like it was eager, anticipating something that was going to happen. All of a sudden, the forest turned red, as if covered with blood. It oozed down the trunks and up from the ground. The sky began to rain red, soaking the world around her.

Bethany, squashed into a corner of her own mind, could feel the thing inside her mock her, even without words or coherent thoughts. She was still fighting it when everything went red again, this time clouding her vision. The sound was back and her head was full of it and red, so much red. She had no idea where she was or where Al was or if they’d make it out of here. With what little shreds of sanity she had left, she vowed that she would never do this again, that this time she would quit, no matter what Al said.

That last bit of her awareness drowned in a sea of otherworldly cold and red and noise. She didn’t see the misty figure press a spectral dagger into her cold hand, didn’t feel it turn solid. Didn’t feel her arm go up in the air or get guided down by icy, foggy hands. Didn’t see the look in Al’s eyes when they released him, just before the blade sank in.

Bethany had nothing to say when the police found them afterwards, following up on a tip from the convenience store clerk. She was crouched next to Al in the woods, rocking back and forth on her heels, the bloody knife a few steps away. She didn’t resist being restrained or tested for alcohol, didn’t respond to any of their questions or object to getting loaded into the back of their car. It was only when the ambulance stopped nearby and the paramedics came to pick up Al’s body that she seemed to come to life. She threw herself at the door as it closed, screaming, “He’s still out there! Why are you leaving him?”

The door closed and the only sound she heard was the howl from the video. But now it sounded like laughter.

• •

It was a very different Bethany who appeared at the convenience store in Cobb’s Center six months later. Her brown hair was cropped short and her eyes behind her glasses were still wide from the drugs that they’d given her at the psych ward. She was thinner and up until yesterday, she’d had a tremor. But her hands had stopped shaking today. They were steady enough to help her escape, help her find the Specter Detector in Al’s garage. His roommates had packed it away, maybe keeping it as a memento.

She made some adjustments to it before shoving it into the pack. She didn’t go in to the house to ask about it or anything else. After all, they thought she’d killed Al; they’d never help her. But one of his roommates still kept a spare car key hidden under the floor mat in the back of his car. She took the car and the pack with the Detector in it. There was an old jacket in the back of the car and she put that on as she drove down the snow-covered road.

The same clerk was working that night and her eyes got wide when she saw Bethany walk in. There were more faces, more names, on the board, but Bethany didn’t waste her time looking at them. They didn’t matter; Al was still out there, though, picture or no picture. She knew it, bone deep. She couldn’t have really killed him; those things had just messed with her mind.

So she was going to rescue him tonight, whatever it took. She was done with nightmares about howling and mist, blood and terror. Here, standing in front of her, and cringing away from her, was the answer to how she was going to do it. “I know you know what’s out there. You called the cops because you knew what kind of danger we were in.”

The clerk shook her head as if her tongue was frozen. Her fingers shook a little as she played with some kind of religious medallion on the chain around her neck. They stared at each other until the clerk choked out, “You shouldn’t have come back here. You were…the only one who got away. Get out of here, go!” She raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the door.

Bethany squinted at her. “You’re coming with me. I can’t do this by myself. We have to do it tonight, before they…look for me here.” The clerk shook her head, reaching behind the counter for an alarm or a weapon, Bethany didn’t know which. She lunged across the counter and grabbed the woman’s arm. “How long are you planning on just putting up flyers, knowing what you know?”

Leaning in this close, she noticed the woman’s nametag. “Ellen. You don’t want those things to go on doing what they’re doing, do you? Gives you nightmares, too, doesn’t it?”

“You’re nuts,” Ellen’s voice trembled. “Why do you want to go back?”

“Because I know Al’s still out in those woods and I’m going to bring him back. Now, are you going to let whatever’s out there kill me this time?” The clerk closed her eyes and clenched her necklace tighter with whitening fingers. Bethany crooned, her voice turning singsong, “You believe that they’re real.” She gestured her free hand at the posters. “We didn’t. They didn’t. But you do and that’s how we’re going to save him. I can fight what’s real. You make them real, I’ll do the rest.”

Ellen drew in a long and shuddering breath, then exhaled and opened her eyes. She stared deep into Bethany’s dilated pupils, then went limp and nodded. A few minutes later, they were in the car, a sign saying “Closed for Family Emergency” on the door of the darkened convenience store behind them. Bethany murmured, “There is something out there. There is. I’m coming for you, Al” like a prayer as they drove through the quiet town toward the dark woods.

[sweetimagines]

S is for Serpents not Slut

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Sweet Pea x Reader

Description: Y/N gets messed up with Ghoulies and Sweet Pea tries everything he can to protect her. Will it be enough, though?

Prompt: 1. ‘Back off, Serpent slut.’ + 24. ‘Stay away from the Ghoulies at all costs.’

Warnings: Swearing and fighting. 

Word count: 2323

A/N: For @tailsbeth-writes writing challenge. This is my first challenge and the first I write for Sweet Pea, hope you like it! 

Tag: @southsidejuggie @ju-gg @lostnliterature  Let me know if you still want to be tagged on future work. And if anyone wants to be added to the tag list :)

Y/N is in Southside High’s library with her head stuck in a book. She’s made quite a good friendship with the librarian, so the woman let’s her stay in late. Pages are flying as she’s reading as fast as possible since the story is almost ending. However, the lights go off, something that doesn't usually happen on nights she stays in. She walks out confused - anybody who sees her can tell she’s a bit scared, for the Black Hood is still out there and she has her fair share of sin. Noises are coming from down the hall. It’s not the smartest thing, but she carefully walks towards them. Y/N spots three ghouls standing over a boy whose face is covered in blood. She only recognizes him because of the unique beanie he wears. Something comes over her and she rushes to stop them. Y/N stands dangerously close to the stronger one that’s laughing at what his accomplices are doing. “Stop.” She doesn't have to shout to get their attention, but there sure is some demand on her tone. The surprise of it makes them switch focus to her, leaving the beat-up boy twitching slightly at the pain. 

“Back off, Serpent slut.” The words fall from his lips in what could be interpreted as fear if it wasn't coming from a Ghoul. “Or what?” Y/N doesn't know if this new-found courage is from her deep disgust for the Jingle Jangle dealing gang or from instinct to protect her friend at all costs. “Or you’re next.” He squints his eyes, scanning her from top to bottom, as if he’d rather do something else to her, proving Toni’s suspicions on cannibalism to be real. “I doubt that’s a smart move for you. But please, do try.” She bumps her shoulder on his when walking past him and kneeling down on the ground to pick Jughead up. As much as the boy is thankful, he’s terrified, for he can handle a beating, not watching Y/N get the same for helping him. 

Sweet Pea parks his 1991 Harley-Davidson FXSTC in front of the school with the other Serpents’ bikes. He dismounts and smooths out his hair after removing his helmet. It’s not usual for him to ride to school alone, and that generates a cold feeling on the pit of his stomach, telling him something’s wrong. Ghoulies eye him as if they know something he doesn't. That puts him on edge. He just stares back at them, not letting show that he hasn't got a clue what’s going on. “Gotta keep your slut on a tighter leash.” A Ghoul spits the second he steps foot on Southside High. Pea bumps onto him with strength. On an usual occasion he’d beat the shit out of a Ghoul for even talking to him, but circumstances tells him there’s something more important to do.

He rushes to the familiar path to Y/N’s locker with a strange feeling taking over him. All kinds of scenarios are going over his mind, none of which he’s fond of. He’s already planning his revenge if they laid a finger on her. Guilt finds its way in, for dragging Y/N into this, even though she’s not a pledged Serpent. The thought of seeing her hurt, or worse, NOT seeing her at all scares him. He’s not ready to admit fear yet, so he forces himself to walk slower and breathe regularly, but his heart is still racing. 

The sight of his gorgeous girlfriend staring down at a book soothes him. He takes a moment to inhale deeply, get his heart rate back to normal and slip back into his confident self before walking up to her. “I rode by your trailer and you weren't there. I called you last night and you didn't pick up.” He pushes his worries to the back of his mind. “I came in early. I’m sorry, my phone died and Jug only had an Apple charger.” Pea frowns at her reply, backing off unconsciously. “Why were you at Jughead’s?” She can feel jealously and a hint of insecurity in his voice. “Nothing like that, Sweets.” Y/N brushes her fingers on his arm, going down his hand, feeling the cold metal scorpion ring on his finger. “The Ghoulies rounded him up last night.” She makes it sound like it was no big deal - and for teens in Southside High it definitely isn't . “What? Did they hurt you?” Sweets inspects at every inch of her body searching for evidence. “No.” She nods. “But they hurt Jug. They would've done worse if I hadn't stepped in.” The mere thought of it being worse is spine chilling for her. “You did what?” He bumps his fist on the locker next to hers, making a bang noise and calling attention to them. “Relax, Pea.” Y/N cups his face on her palms, making him look at her. “It was just three of them. I could handle it if they snapped.” The girl doesn't want him to worry, but that seems a too far fetched wish now. “Oh, Y/N. You clearly haven’t met Malachai.” He pulls her close to his chest, resting his chin on her hair, placing a sweet kiss, breathing in her perfumed smell. She wraps her arms around his waist, felling his heart accelerate against her skin. ”You have to stay away from the Ghoulies at all costs.” Sweet Pea whispers in her ear. 

Pea has been walking her to every single one of her classes. His arms around her shoulder and a nasty look on his face every time a Ghoul walks past them. “Here. I got a charger from Fangs.” He hands her a twisted cord with wires coming off from the ends. She’s just about to thank him when Jug walks past them, trying to hide the bruises on his face. “You shouldn't have gotten involved.” Sweet Pea would do anything to change that. “No Serpent is left for dead.” Y/N quotes his own rule. “He’s not a Serpent, and neither are you.” He wishes he could take those words back since he’s just scared for her. It’s no excuse, but the only fear he knows is inextricably bound to violence. “So you wouldn't step in to help me because I’m not a Serpent?”, she questions. “You’re my girlfriend, of course I would.” He runs his fingers down her face, resting on the crook of her neck, tattooed thumb on her chin, raising it. “So, unless I’m dating Jughead I can’t provide him help? Is that what you’re saying?”, she almost shouts. “No...” Sweet Pea feels cornered. Either he contradicts himself or he lies. He’s frustrated that he doesn't know how to express himself. The boy is telling her with his eyes that he’s scared out of his mind. “I gotta get to class.” She see his conflict but can’t deal with it at school.

When Y/N’s phone finally charges, she turns it on, peering at the notifications on the lock screen.

1 Missed call from: Sweets

Y/N giggles at that, but covers her mouth immediately after, because even in the back of the class her voice is still heard. She knows Pea’s like that, if you don’t answer on the first ring he doesn't insist. The girl’s sure it’s a part of his tough act. She’s broken down many of his barriers but there’s still a long way to go. Y/N is not giving up on him, no matter how hard it may be to get him to open up.

The whole week teachers have been impressed with Pea’s attendance rate, so much that they’re not even stopping him from sitting on classes he doesn't take. What they don’t know is the reason behind it. He tried having Topaz and Fangs keeping an eye on her, but he couldn't rest until she was in eye sight and safe. The boy even gave her his pocket knife, just in case. She’s feeling a bit suffocated and overwhelmed with all that. She also believes it’s overreacting, but whenever she tries to bring that up with Pea, he shuts it down. It’s like Sweet Pea has turned into her bodyguard and stopped being her boyfriend. Y/N understands it completely, the boy doesn't want her to get hurt, but she’s missing her Sweets.

Jughead enters the Wyrm wearing the Serpents jacket he got from Tall Boy. “I think this Northsider is lost.”, Sweet Pea says, still playing his pool game. Y/N rolls her eyes and grabs Jughead by the arm, dragging him to a secluded corner. She can feel the furious stare from Sweets even if she’s not looking at him, but the girl can’t take the jealousy anymore. Y/N knows she has to warn Jug that joining the Serpents isn't just putting on a jacket and saying you’re one of them. Which is exactly why she hasn't pledged yet. The beanie-clad boy doesn't seem to care and he walks away to talk to Tall Boy and start his initiation. She turns around and Sweet Pea is there, standing tall with his bad boy facade on. Y/N can’t deal with that at the moment. “I need some air.” He doesn't protest. The boy is too mad to see straight, not even at her, let alone at himself for feeling such petty things.

Y/N walks out to clear her head, walking around the bar’s parking lot. She is practically run over by a red 1936 Chevy Sedan with the unique flame marks on its front wheels, which she knows perfectly well who it belongs to. The owner gets out of the car and the studs on his leather jacket shine because of the headlights. Three Ghoulies come behind him. The girl recognizes them as the ones who jumped Jughead. She knows what’s going to happen. There’s no turning back now, so she puts on a brave face as to trick herself into believing it will be ok.

“Heard you disrespect some of my boys.” Malachai’s superiority complex is evident not only on his words but also on his lifted chin. “They were three against my one friend. Not much honor in that.” Y/N counterattacks, folding her arms around her body. “As far as I know, the boy’s not spoken for.” He speaks as if he has everything figured out and that annoys Y/N. “The “boy” is Jughead Jones.” She emphasizes his name. “If I were you, I’d watch who you send your boys beat up.” She can see that revelation is the last thing the Ghoulies’ leader needs to hear now. “Who the fuck do you think you are talking to, Serpent slut?”  He hides behind curses not to let his angst out. “I know I’m talking to the head of a bunch of psychopathic thugs. Also, I have a name, Y/N. I suggest you use it.” She’s bold, maybe a bit stupid to provoke him, but she doesn't see how that could end any other way, so she may as well speak her mind. “You talk tough for someone who doesn't belong to either side.” He chuckles. “Oh. I belong to a side alright. You don’t wanna find out which.” Malachai motions the Ghoulies to stand their ground and steps closer to Y/N. She doesn't flinch or move away even if every side of her is screaming her to run.

His fist coming towards her is the only thing she see clearly, everything else is a blur. Y/N eventually finds herself with a swollen eye and a hurting chest. Malachai is about to mount her and finish deforming her face. She takes Sweet Pea’s penknife out of her jacket’s inside pocket and pops up the blade. It cuts through Malachai’s abdomen as he leans in. He looks surprised that the girl was armed. “Bitch... stabbed me.” She feels the thick blood that dripped from his wound. His weight is no longer on her as his Ghoulies are fast to pick him up and speed out of the Wyrm before anyone else gets involved.

The loud noise from the Chevy starting up makes the Serpents come out from the bar. Sweet Pea recognizes the girl lying on the ground. He runs to her She holds onto the collar of his leather jacket and places an iron-tasting kiss on his lips. “I think I can handle initiation now...” Pea can’t seem to laugh at her statement. If she wasn't bleeding in his arms, that would've probably been funnier. “First let’s get you patched up.” He grabs her legs and holds her bride-style, taking her inside the Wyrm to get her injuries looked at.

Jughead’s got his heart on his throat as he waits to hear how Y/N’s doing. He’s feeling guilty for not being able to defend himself, ending up with his friend getting beaten up as well. Sweet Pea walks up to him and extends his hand in a truce attempt as his stubbornness is what got them in that mess in the first place. They shake hands but don’t exchange words. 

Sweets sits next to the beanie-clad boy in the high stools in the counter. He’s promising himself that from now on he’ll never let anything happen to Y/N, specially because of him, as he feels guilty for making her walk out of the bar, even if she’ll never blame him for it. He’s not feeling worthy of her at the moment, but he’ll work as hard as he can to be again, because he loves that girl more than anything.

[atc74]

Fast Cars and Freedom - Part 4

As the story of Dean and our reader evolves, I felt the aesthetic needed to grow as well. Catch up here.

Word Count: 3955

Warnings: Hospitalization, major illness, pregnancy, labor (not graphic) and so many damn feels. This is super flangsty. 

A/N: This was originally inspired by the song Fast Cars and Freedom by Rascal Flatts (duh) but has now taken on a life of it’s own, as so often happens. I am not sure how many more parts I will do, but I know it isn’t over just yet. If you have ideas for future parts that you think may inspire - send me an ask!

A/O/N: Previous chapters have all been from Dean’s POV, but to make this one work, it will be from our reader’s POV. Italics indicate flashbacks. Many, many thanks to my bestie @just-another-busy-fangirl for once again being the best beta ever. Thanks to @iwantthedean and @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms​ for their help with the medical stuff. It pays to know people, people! Love you girls!

“Do you remember the last time we were in this very hospital together?” Dean asked me, as I sat next to him in the waiting room. It was nearing midnight and our six and eight year old sons were asleep in the double chair in the corner of the room: Will on one end, RJ on the other.

We had gotten a call from Ellen, my step-mother, about two hours ago that my dad was being rushed to Sioux Falls General. We packed up the boys and drove to the hospital. I was tired, already eight months along in this third pregnancy, and rested my head against my husband’s shoulder as he held me close. He always has been my rock, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

“Yeah, I do remember, Dean. That was an awful night,” I recalled. “I still remember exactly what I was doing when you called me.”

“Y/N?!” Dean’s voice crackled through the old dorm phone, but I could hear the panic in it and my heart started to race.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” I shot up straight in my bed, knocking my books to the floor.

“Y/N, it-it’s Bobby. He had a heart attack. We’re at the hospital. I need you, Kid,” Dean’s voice broke as he tried to hold back his tears.

“Dean, take care of my dad. I will be there in three hours. I love you,” I told him, trying to keep myself and Dean calm, though I was breaking down on the inside. I had already lost my mom, but Dean had lost both his parents.

“I love you, Y/N. Please drive safe,” Dean insisted.

“I will, I promise.” I placed the phone back on the receiver and began to throw things in my bag. I didn’t need much as I still had clothes at home, but I needed my books. I put on boots, grabbed my cell phone and charger, a coat and my keys and I was out the door in under five minutes, running to my car.

Dean took good care of my car and I knew I could push her limits, but that didn’t stop her from protesting a little when I pressed harder on the gas pedal as soon as I hit the entrance ramp for I-29 South. I made what should have been a three and a half hour drive in a little over two and half. I pulled into the hospital lot and ran through the front doors screaming my father’s name at the poor woman at the front desk.

“Miss, please keep your voice down,” she scolded me as she looked at me over the rim of her glasses.

“My father had a heart attack and you want me to keep my voice down? Fine,” I challenged her, my voice at a lower decibel. “My name is Y/N Singer. My father is Robert Singer and you better tell me where he is right now or I swear to God I will smack those ugly ass glasses off your fat face!”

“Room 452,” she spat. I could still hear her as I headed for the elevator, mumbling under her breath about the disrespect of today’s youth.

I was out of the elevator before the doors opened completely, taking off at a run checking room numbers as I went. I wasn’t paying attention and I ran smack dab into someone in my hurried search. “Son of a bitch!”

“Y/N?!” the voice sounded familiar as I looked up.

“Sammy!” I wrapped my arms around him as hard as I could, not wanting to let him go. “Where is my dad, Sam?”

“Right here, Y/N/N,” his voice was soft and deep, calming me slightly as I entered the room. My dad was laying so still, a nasal cannula providing oxygen and wires sticking out from under the hospital gown. He looked so pale and small, smaller than I have ever seen him look before.

I stood frozen in place just inside the door just watching him breathe. I didn’t even register that Sam had entered the room with me, or that anyone else was there. All I could focus on was my dad.

“Kid, I am so glad you’re here,” Dean’s voice shattered the quiet of the room and the noise in my head and I threw myself at him, snaking my arms around his neck and burying my face in his flannel. It smelled of exhaust and oil, but the smell was so Dean I was comforted, not caring that it was dirty. I was home.

I felt his arms envelop me and I allowed myself to cry for the first time since he had called me. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to provide any words of comfort; he just held me like he knew I needed. I took what I needed from him for several minutes, before letting go and walking over to the bed, taking my dad’s hand in my own; they were always so much bigger than mine.

“Dean, what happened?” I asked, not taking my eyes off my father’s face.

“He was in the pit this morning, we had a few oil changes. Everything was fine, he came up more than usual today though. I asked him if something was wrong. He told me I worry too much and brushed me off. I found a bottle of aspirin in his office though. We had just finished up on the Sheriff’s cruiser when I heard him drop his wrench. I quickly ran down and he was on the floor. I threw him over my shoulder, hauled him up the stairs. Sheriff Mills was still there so she called it in and the ambulance was there real quick and they loaded him up. I grabbed Sammy and the Sheriff drove us here,” Dean recounted the events and I listened carefully.

“The doctor said he suffered what she called an NSTEMI heart attack, something about a blocked artery,” Dean paused as the door opened and a doctor peeked her head in.

“Ms. Singer?” the doctor looked at me. She was petite woman with dark brown hair and a kind face.

“Yes, I am Y/N Singer, his daughter,” I confirmed.

“I am Dr. Sullivan, may I speak with you in private a moment?” she looked between Sam and Dean before making eye contact with me once more.

“Dr. Sullivan, my father is Sam Winchester’s legal guardian, same with his brother, Dean, when he was a minor. They’re family; whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of them,” I answered calmly, more calm than I felt.

“Ms. Singer, based on his blood work and the electrocardiogram, your father suffered, an NSTEMI heart attack, or non-ST segment elevation myocardial infarction. I have already given him some nitroglycerin, which will relieve some of the chest pain and improve blood flow. I will also be prescribing a blood thinner and a beta-blocker,” she informed us.  

“When can he go home?” Dean probed the doctor. He wanted out of this place as fast as possible.

“I would like to keep him a couple days for observation. What type of work does he do?” Dr. Sullivan inquired.

“He is a mechanic; owns his own shop. Dean works with him,” I replied, already flying on autopilot.

“Ms. Singer, Mr. Winchester, I am also putting him on light duty restrictions, which means for the next month, paperwork only. He can still drive, but nothing more strenuous than replacing a wiper blade or headlight. He also needs to follow up with his cardiologist in a week. Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Sullivan asked.

I looked to Dean for confirmation and he shook his head. “Not at this time, Dr. Sullivan. Thank you for taking care of my dad.” I smiled, looking her in the eye. She returned it and walked out of the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

“I am going to get some coffee. You guys want anything?” Sam asked us.

“Yeah, coffee would be great, Sammy,” Dean replied.

“Yes, please. And thank you, Sam,” I smiled at the not so little boy who had become my family.

“Since when did he get so tall? I was just home two weeks ago!” I exclaimed when he left the room.

“Since when does driving safe mean ninety the whole way?” Dean ignored my question, raising his eyebrows.

“Since you take good care of my girl and I know she can handle it,” I replied nonchalantly.

“I will always take good care of both of you, you know that, Kid,” Dean pulled up a chair next to me, pulling my free hand into his lap and holding tightly.

“When school is over, I am transferring, Dean. I can’t be that far away if something happens. I need to be here for him,” I sniffed, swiping at my eyes in frustration.

“You don’t have to do that, Y/N. I can take care of the old man and Sammy,” Dean assured me.

“Babe, I know you can and it isn’t that I don’t trust you to do it. But what if something worse happens and I am not here? I’m too far away. Besides, finals are next week and then I am home for the summer anyway. I need to be home with my boys,” I admitted. “I need to make sure you are all eating healthy and not gorging on junk food all day! ”

“Hey! Sam makes us eat vegetables!” Dean joked, cracking a smile for the first time since I arrived at the hospital and it made my heart melt.

“Thank you for being there for him, Dean. And for me,” I rested my head on his shoulder and he held me tight. Moments later, a knock at the door brought us back to the real world.

“Hi there. I am Ellen, and I will be looking in on your dad for the next couple of nights while he is here. I just need to check his vitals and I will be out of your hair,” she was an older woman, about Dad’s age if I had to guess. She was pretty with light brown hair and eyes that lit up when she smiled at us.

“Will ya idjits just go home so I can get some rest already? Ya done nothing but blabber since ya got here. Quit yer fussing and git,” Dad opened his eyes and glared at us.

“Now Mr. Singer, is that any way to talk to your children?” Ellen teased.

“Well hi there. You can call me Bobby,” Dad smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Alright, Bobby. How are you feeling?” Ellen asked as she checked all the monitors.

“Like I could use a nap and these brats won’t stop running their mouths,” he scoffed.

“Well, how about I kick them out since visiting hours are over anyway?” Ellen gave him a smile.

“Yeah, then you and I can have some alone time, get to know each other?” Dad winked at her.

“Dad! You could have died today and you’re flirting with your nurse?” I blurted out.

“You only live once, Pumpkin. I ain’t wasting any more time,” he declared.

“Robert, let’s get you better, first. One step at a time, okay Cowboy?” Ellen laughed and we joined her, not noticing the perplexed look on Sam’s face when he returned with the coffees.

“What’d’I miss?” Sam asked.

“Bobby flirting with his nurse and she is giving it right back,” Dean answered.

~*~

The next few months were hard on all of us. Dad stayed in the hospital two days, and I stayed home two more after that. I had been communicating with my professors so I didn’t miss anything and aced my finals the week after that. Dean had driven up with Dad’s old pickup and together we packed up my dorm room.

“Come on. Let’s get you home,” Dean opened my car door for me.

“No place I would rather be,” I kissed him passionately before climbing in and starting her up.

Sam was working at the county library full time that summer and Dean hired someone part-time at the shop at Dad’s insistence.

“Boy, I ain’t gonna be around forever! It is about time you start learning the ropes around here,” Dad told him one night at dinner about a month after his heart attack.

“Bobby, you aren’t ready to retire yet,” Dean protested.

“No, I ain’t. But I kinda like this light duty thing. So you’ll run the shop, I continue to do the books and help out from time to time. But you gotta hire someone that can help out and operate the flatbed. I am too old to go out and tow wrecks and junkers in the middle of winter,” Dad added.

So Dean hired a man named Nate Williams. He was a local, married with two small boys and was looking for something less stressful than the dealership he had been working at and he would be getting more hours at Singer’s.

~*~

“It’s official. I will be a South Dakota State Jackrabbit come September!” I laid my admissions papers and transfer documents on the kitchen table.

“Pumpkin, that is still an hour away,” Dad grumbled as he picked up the papers, shuffling through them.

“I know, Dad. But the good news is I have been taking extra credits each semester anyway, so I only have three more to go. It is worth it if I get to be home with you,” I was sweet talking him and he knew it, but let me get away with it.

“Well, you are on dinner duty. Sam is at the library and Dean is in the shop,” Dad said as he stood and walked to the stairs. “I got me a date!”

“With the pretty nurse?” I presumed.

“With the hot nurse!” Dad corrected, laughing as he continued upstairs. “Don’t wait up!”

~*~

I heard footsteps and I lifted my head from it’s perch on Dean’s shoulder, opening my eyes. My vision was blurry, but I could clearly hear Ellen’s voice as she whispered my name. I rose from the chair so quickly I startled Dean.

“Ellen!” I called out to my step-mom of thirteen years as she greeted me, hugging me tightly, despite the bump between us. She lovingly rubbed the swell of my belly.

“How is my granddaughter doing?” she smiled, her eyes lighting up, despite how tired she must be.

“Already giving us a run for our money,” I replied truthfully, rubbing my back. “How is Dad?”

“He is resting. They have already done the bloodwork and everything. They want him to rest first, but have already given him everything they did last time, but this one was different, Honey,” Ellen blinked back her tears.

“Worse?” I feared.

“Yeah, Baby. It’s what they call “the widowmaker” but somehow, through some grace of God, he made it. He will have to have a bypass this time,” Ellen elaborated.

“Ahhh oooohhh nooo,” I doubled over, clutching my stomach.

“Y/N!” I heard Dean and Ellen call for me at the same time.

“Oh shit, Dean, her water broke. Get a wheelchair!” Ellen commanded, staying calm, all her years of nursing paying off twice in one night.

“Dean, it’s too early,” I cried. “The boys!”

“There’s an extra bed in Dad’s room, I will bring them with me. You two go!” Ellen waved us off as another nurse escorted us to the maternity ward.

I was scared and nervous. I had both my boys at the specialty birthing hospital and my doctor wasn’t here. What if something went wrong? It was too early.

“Kid, I know what you are thinking and it’s going to be just fine. It’s not all that early, just three weeks, and Will was two weeks early. She is going to be just fine; perfect like her Mama,” Dean murmured words of encouragement the entire trip up to the eighth floor.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester. Little one can’t wait, huh?” the doctor greeted us, a warm smile on his face. “I am Dr. Fisher. Let’s get you into a room so we can see what is going on in there, okay?”

“Dean…” I cautioned my husband and he just followed the nurse into the private room.

“Okay, Mom and Dad. Here is your gown. Just go ahead and get changed and I will be back with the doctor in a few. I am Ana by the way,” she called out as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Who are these people? Why are they so chipper? It is two in the morning!” I practically screamed at Dean.

“Baby, I need you to calm down just a little, okay? Let me help you change and into bed. Then I will call Ellen and tell her what room we are in,” Dean was calm and it was starting to piss me off. This baby was three weeks early and I knew enough to know it was probably due to stress and my dad, but we were not ready just yet for her. We hadn’t even picked out a name yet.

“Yeah, okay, let’s do this,” I breathed out as another contraction hit. “Ahhh fuck!”

“Okay, kid. In and out; slow breaths. You can do this,” Dean breathed right along with me.

I looked up into his bright green eyes that I have loved for so many years. I was impressed that he remembered the breathing exercises from our birthing classes over a decade ago when RJ was born. The contraction passed just as the doctor knocked and walked in.

“Mrs. Winchester, I want to get you hooked up to the fetal monitor and see how your little trooper is doing and we are going to get you examined, too,” Dr. Fisher explained.

“Y/N, please,” I breathed out, feeling another one coming on and gripped Dean’s hand tightly.

“That is two minutes apart Doc, we don’t have time for this. She is coming now,” Dean relayed to the doctor.

“Right, let’s take a look, shall we?” Dr. Fisher covered my legs with a sheet. Ana was right there and pulled out the stirrups and a portable lamp.

“Y/N, I am going to need you to push when you feel the next contraction, alright? I can see the baby’s head, so this is going to be quick,” Dr. Fisher was suddenly all business and that actually calmed me down. I needed no nonsense at this point, not someone trying to my best friend; he was already here.

“It’s coming!” I shouted and squeezing Dean’s hand once more, I beared down as Ana counted.

Fifteen minutes later, our daughter made her debut into this world, screaming her little lungs out, at 2:35 in the morning. She weighed a respectable six pounds eight ounces and was 20 inches long. After the doctors and nurses left, I closed my eyes and thought about all that had happened in the last five hours: I thought my dad was dying, then my daughter was born. Emotions were running at an all time high and I broke down. Tears of relief flowed freely as I looked over at my husband, cradling our newborn daughter in his arms, cooing softly to her just as he had done with both our boys. I could tell my the look on his face and the tears in his eyes, she already had him wrapped around her little finger.

“Hey, Handsome,” I whispered and Dean looked over at me, a look of concern crossing his features.

“Hey, Kid, what’s wrong?” Dean asked as he rushed to me, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, one arm supporting our baby, the other wrapped around me.

“I’m okay; I’m happy, Dean. My dad is okay and our baby girl is here. I am relieved that everything worked out today; it is just a lot to take all at once,” I confessed.

“I know, Kid. I know. Look at our little girl, Y/N; she is perfect. You did good,” he looked down at me with so much love in his eyes.

“We did good, Dean. Now we just need some rest, but first, pass me our daughter, let’s see if she catches on as fast as her brothers did. Oh God! The boys! We need to tell everyone!” I gasped.

“We will. Let’s get some sleep first,” Dean kissed me and we both gazed down at our baby girl as she latched onto my breast and started suckling. Time seemed to pass quickly as she fed and soon Ana was back with a bassinet to take her to the nursery. We kissed our baby goodnight and then Dean stretched out on the sofa while I curled onto my side and slept.

~*~

Morning came quickly and before I was even finished with breakfast, a nurse was back with our daughter and the phone was ringing. She passed Dean the phone and me the baby for her morning feeding.

“Yes, Ellen, everything is just fine. We will be down in a an hour or so. I will, Okay, love you, too,” Dean placed the phone back on it’s cradle and just laughed.

“She can’t believe we haven’t brought her down yet. The boys are bouncing around and your dad is awake,” Dean relayed his conversation as both you and the baby finished your meals. “I also called Sammy, asked him to run by the house and grab the bags, he should be here any minute.”

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. “Is that my beautiful niece?” Sammy’s voice filled the small room.

“Hey, Sammy, come meet her,” I smiled up at him, and passed her to Dean, while covering myself back up.

She looked even smaller in her uncle’s large arm than she did in Dean’s. “She is going to be so spoiled forever.”

“Yeah, she is,” Sam replied, a stupid grin etched into his face, making his dimples pop even more than usual.

I eased myself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Although I wasn’t as sore as I was with either of the boys, I still had some discomfort so the leggings and flannel I pulled on felt like heaven on my skin. I quickly brushed my teeth and hair, washed my face and was ready to head down to see the rest of our family.

~*~

“Knock, knock,” Dean rapped on the door of my dad’s room before pushing me through the opening. I was immediately swarmed by Ellen and both our sons, gushing over the newest addition to our family.

Dean and Sam made their way to Dad’s bed, greeting him with a handshake and a quick hug. Ellen pushed me closer and I eased myself out of the wheelchair. I rested my behind on the edge of Dad’s bed. “I would like you to meet your granddaughter,” I passed him the sleeping pink bundle.

“Hey Pumpkin, you can call me Papa,” Dad was already smitten with her and I couldn’t blame him really; we all were.

“Mom! Mom! Mom! What’s her name?!” Will started jumping up and down.

I looked over at my husband with raised eyebrows. He replied with a shrug.

“Boys, meet your sister; MaryEllen Grace Winchester; she is named after your grandmothers,” I announced and looked over at Ellen. Tears sparkled in her eyes and she wrapped me in a hug, holding tight.

“Thank you,” she whispered in my ear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I told her, my face buried in her hair.

Tags - feel free to do the thing: @iwantthedean @chelsea072498 @paintrider13-blog @d-s-winchester @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @just-another-busy-fangirl @winchesterprincessbride @waywardjoy @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @mamaredd123 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @sis-tafics  @katymacsupernatural @tankcupcakes  @death2thevirgin  @wonderange @padackles2010 @smoothdogsgirl @meeshw777 @tmccarney @milkymilky-cocopuff  @ashstrom87 @zeppo-in-a-trenchcoat @scorpiongirl1 @gemini75eeyore @katewatso @cosmicpeanuthologram @jotink78 @l8nitl0vr @supernaturalyobsessed @memphisgirl1977 @bmcnally85  @ruprecht0420 @mskitty416 @theoriginalvicki @hexparker @nanie5 @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @sandlee44 @fangirl1802 @moonstar86 @raylin19 @niamandthings  @feelmyroarrrr @kittenofdoomage @t-bear99 @hamartiamacguffin @colorfulobjectenemy @uttertrash--butlikecutetrash  @sammieb1127 @evyiione @you-didnt-see-that-cuming @moshingatthedisco  @winchestersmut  @alicat-life @mogaruke @cyrilconnelly @growningupgeek @charliebradbury1104 @evansrogerskitten @therewillbeblood @docharleythegeekqueen @megansescape @taste-of-dean  @scarlet-soldier-in-an-impala  @deathtonormalcy56 @wildfirewinchester @notnaturalanahi @jensen-jarpad @impalaimagining @fangirlextraordinaire @itseverythingilike @jesspfly @love-kittykat21 @mrswhozeewhatsis @aiaranradnay @supernatural-jackles @samwinlover @iamnotsaneatall @autopistaaningunaparte @blacktithe7 @emoryhemsworth @dracotomanddeansprincess23 @bringmesomepie56 @devilgirlsarah @spnbaby-67 @holytrenchcoatedsubtextchuck @emilycollins11 @myoutletforfanfiction @deansangelgirl @mizzzpink @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @kayteonline @rockhoochie @wheresthekillswitch @percussiongirl2017 @fanfreak07 

Dean/Jensen only: @anokhi07 @perpetualabsurdity @txp87 @akshi8278  @iamabeautifulperson18 @suzannebeaketa @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deandoesthingstome @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @boxywrites  @deansangelgirl @sparklesuperwholock88 @ericaprice2008  @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid  @winchestersnfriends

[hiissingwastes-blog]

tea & sympathy

More writing? In one day? On MY tumblr? It’s... apparently more likely than I’d thought, at least. My darlingest qpp Wes who is sadly no longer on tumblr but does indulge my nonsense on twitter sent me a winter fluff prompt and here it is because what Wes wants, Wes gets! If you’d rather read on AO3 here’s the link!

If you’re interested in my particular brand of nonsense I’m going to accept a couple more prompts off that list so feel free to send one in.

Pairing: Dorian Pavus x Krem Aclassi

Prompt: we were going to go walking around the neighborhood to see all the pretty lights but you woke up feeling a bit under the weather and not up to being outside in the snow so i snuck out early this morning and made a video of them all for you so you didn’t have to miss out

Rating: G. Maybe T, if you squint? There are kissy boys and feelings and not a whole lot else. 

Warnings: N/A

“I’m not parading you around outside with a head-cold, Dorian. Absolutely not. Not even if it’s stopped snowing tomorrow and that’s final.” Dorian can hear the set of Krem’s jaw in his voice despite Krem being in the next room, puttering around their small kitchenette pouring a fresh mug of tea.

“It’s nothing, Amatus,” he argues through a sniffle, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Okay, but it’s not nothing,” Dorian blinks his eyes open as Krem slides a cool hand across his forehead and into his hair, brushing a few fallen dark waves back from his face. He holds Dorian’s mug out to him and keeps talking, leaving no room for a word in edgewise. “And even if it was nothing I’d think you’d want it to stay nothing instead of turning it into a miserable something so you won’t even enjoy Christmas!”

Dorian frowns a little but accepts the refreshed, newly-warmed mug from Krem and holds it close to his chest. The herbal, minty steam swirls in front of him and he breathes it in with a resigned sigh, lets his eyes slide shut as the warm, moist air works its way through his sinuses.

Krem’s right, of course he is, but despite believing it his stomach sinks and his chin starts to dimple. He knows it’s not his fault, not really, nothing he can do about a cold. But this, a late Christmas Eve walk together through their new neighborhood to see the decorations and lights - something Krem had said he’d always done with his family - was the only thing Krem had asked for them to do and blast, he’d been looking forward to it too. So of course Dorian had woken up shivery with a raw throat and the start of a headache which had only progressed since then and ruined everything.

“I wanted to go. I really did,” he says plaintively, almost on the verge of tears. He's not sure if Krem can hear him between the noise of the dishwasher running and his hoarse voice. He doesn’t think it shakes too much. “I didn’t - I never - want to disappoint you. I'm sorry.”

“I know you did,” Krem calls from the hallway before bustling back in with another blanket which he spreads across Dorian’s lap. It’s warm, fresh out of the dryer and he burrows further under it unconsciously as Krem kisses his cheek. “And you never do disappoint me, carissimus. There’ll be other years.”

Dorian nods as he rubs at his throat with two hooked fingers, trying to coax his voice back into existence. Krem shucks his jeans, letting them pool on the floor and slides into bed next to him. He hands Dorian a small cup of viscous red liquid, Dorian scrunches his nose but knocks it back.

“I hate this,” he complains into the side of Krem’s chest, coughs a little. Krem chuckles and loops an arm around his shoulder, hand starting to thread purposefully through his hair.

“Oh, love... I know,” Krem murmurs, voice pitched soft and low. Krem’s hand pauses, still tangled in his hair, and Dorian bumps his head lightly against his palm, missing the touch. Krem gets the hint, starts again to lazily twist strand after strand between nimble fingers and Dorian hums contentedly. Finally warm, his eyes start to flutter closed again and he lets them; he’s safe here.

“Well,” he mumbles, already starting to drift into the pull of sleep; the cough syrup was strong. “Not this.”

Krem chuckles again, rearranges them so Dorian’s head is tucked into the curve of his shoulder, presses a kiss into his hair. “I know that too.”

Krem keeps talking to him, softly, slowly. Dorian’s suddenly too exhausted to focus on what he's saying but Krem's soft lilt is comforting and he lets the words blur into nothing but a soft rumble of background noise. He curls his fingers into Krem’s shirt and moments later he’s fallen asleep.

Dorian suspects it might have taken some sort of divine intervention but he sleeps through the night, the sun’s been up a few hours by the time he blinks back into consciousness. Sitting up makes his head pound and leaves him dizzy but while he doesn’t feel any better than he had yesterday he doesn’t feel any worse either. It's a small blessing. Maybe he’s being spared.

Krem’s side of the bed is empty but Dorian can hear shower water running in the bathroom. He’d be back. There’s a blister packet of fever reducers on his bedside table and he swallows them with a sip of water from the bottle left next to them.

The notifications light on his phone is blinking insistently and the screen wakes to a text from Krem. A video text from Krem.

“‘Morning, babe!” Krem waves into the camera, his nose already pink with cold. The sun’s just starting to come up behind him. His breath hangs in the air in soft, white puffs and Dorian shivers sympathetically.

“Hopefully this is going to work and you’re watching this hours from now. Please don’t tell me if I woke you leaving at arse o’clock in the morning, I’d never forgive myself,” Krem’s voice narrates dramatically from off-screen, camera pointing down at the scuffed toes of his boots as he jogs through the snow.

“I thought,” Krem swears suddenly from the background and the screen shakes violently. Dorian’s worried for a moment before Krem’s face flashes into focus, he’s grinning. He shoots Dorian a thumbs up before focusing on a tree branch heavy with fresh snow. “Sorry love, tripped. I thought that since you can’t come see the lights with me this year, I’d bring them to you!”

Dorian bites the inside of his cheek to try to keep from smiling, blinks back the swell of heat prickling behind his eyes. He didn’t deserve this. Krem’s walking down their street now, stopping to show off Lace’s balcony twinkling with fairy lights and glass ornaments hanging among them. Krem lingers near the Chargers’ communal house, taking a moment to recover and catch his breath after the display of x-rated snow people has him doubled over laughing. Laughing makes his throat ache but Dorian thinks their effort earned it.

“And that is an… ice caduceus? I think? Stitches outdid himself this year.” Dorian finds himself nodding in agreement. The EMT had clearly missed his true calling. Sera and Tally had made anatomically accurate (read: breasted) snow angels, instead of light-strung wire reindeer Cullen had mabari, each with a red ribbon tied in the place of a collar. Cassandra’s snowman was conventional with a carrot nose but it did have a large, lovingly sculpted and very detailed sword.

“You’d hate it out here, love. Bloody freezing. Almost envy you, having an excuse to stay in,” Krem whines a little though his voice is tender as he blows on his fingertips then chafes his hands together. Dorian wishes he was there, could pull Krem into his arms, fold Krem’s hands into his own and hold him until they were both warm again. He hates that he isn’t. You ruined everything, he reminds himself bitterly, shame thick in his mouth. Just like you always do.

“I know what you’re thinking, you want to apologize. Don’t. It’s not your fault and I know you know that but… I know how you are, carissimus.” Krem’s face pops into the frame again and he’s laughing silently, the corners of his eyes crinkled so tight with smiling they’re nearly shut. Something clenches in Dorian’s chest, he hates the he’s not there to see that look in person. “I… uh. I just kind of made this up, this whole walk thing. It wasn’t an old family tradition. I don’t give a toss.”

Krem laughs again, a little nervously this time. With the next breath of cold air he coughs a little into his shoulder. “You just kept asking me for an idea and I guess it was the first thing I could think of and it sounded nice but uh. I just ever wanted Christmas with you, I don’t care about the details.”

A rush of warmth fills him that has nothing to do with the fever. He doesn’t care either, Dorian realizes with a quiet, sad sigh. None of the details, all of the plans ruined by his immune system’s failure mattered. Suddenly their bedroom with just him in it feels too big and empty. He doesn't want to be alone anymore. He just wants Krem.

Krem’s voice continues, muffled from where his phone is clutched against his chest. “But I do want a do-over next year, to pick something else! Something inside. Holy balls it’s cold out here, this was a horrible idea! I love you and I swore I wasn’t going to cut this short but I’m coming home.”

Dorian looks back at the screen just in time to see Krem glaring. “And if I get home and you’re awake and haven’t taken that medicine I’m going to… well, I don’t know what exactly but I’ll do something you won’t like!”

"Take care of yourself, alright?" Krem's face softens, falls a little. The next words are breathed out so quietly they're almost not picked up on recording. "Hate seeing you like this."

Oh, he whispers softly to himself. Oh. Dorian sniffs back a sudden tear, presses a knuckle to his mouth as he sets his phone down gently. A wave of fatigue washes over him and he curls up a little smaller under the blankets, hopes Krem will be out of the shower soon.

He’s a few breaths from sleep when the bedroom door clicks softly open, Krem pads so softly across the carpet Dorian thinks he imagined it until the mattress dips next to him. Without opening his eyes his hand finds Krem’s. Krem moves Dorian’s head into his lap and strokes his hair.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Krem murmurs.

It wasn’t what he’d imagined or tried to plan for them but with his head pillowed in the warmth of Krem’s lap and Krem’s hand soothing him back to sleep as more snow piles up outside Dorian has to agree. Merry Christmas, indeed.

[tymedfire]

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270723

After three weeks of non-stop fighting, they had finally gotten a break and Allura took the castle-ship to deep space for a much needed reprieve. It had been a hard decision, but her paladins had needed a break, and the castle-ship needed some repairs. Each paladin had slept for a solid day, even Shiro, though that was more due to the fact that the others had insisted on a “paladin pile”, as they called it, in the lounge.

After that initial rest, however, the paladins all went back to their own stress-relieving projects. Hunk made some recipes he had been dying to try, Keith and Shiro began to train and spar, occasionally taking a break to visit Hunk, Pidge hid herself in the green lions hangar to work on a “top secret project that you are all gonna love me for”, and Lance wandered. Sometimes he sat with Blue, talking to her for hours; other times, he checked on all his teammates. More than once, shouting could be heard from the green lions hangar for minutes at a time before Pidge emerged, grumbling irritably, and made her way to the kitchen and then her room, ushered by a satisfied Lance.

Two days into their mini vacation, Pidge ran into the kitchen, where all the other inhabitants of the castle were waiting for breakfast, at full speed, clutching a bundle of wires, with a huge grin on her face. It looked to Lance like she hadn’t slept at all the night before, and he gave her an irritated look that she ignored.

“It’s official, I am a genius, and you should all bow to me, because I just made your lives so much better!” She jumps up and down, excited and probably more than a little caffeinated.

“Uh… why?” Keith asked.

“Because of… these!” She thrust her bundle of wires in Keith’s face so hard he almost fell out of his chair.

Holding Keith in place and smiling slightly, Shiro said, “You might want to explain what those are before trying to suffocate people with them, Pidge.”

“Oh, right!” She untangled on of the wires from her bundle, which turned out to just be a smaller bundle of wires with a somewhat solid end. Glancing around the kitchen, she seemed to find what she was looking for and dashed to one of the Altean cooking things that reminded Lance of a toaster. Hiding what she was doing, she set to work. After a minute she turned around triumphantly, holding her phone that was - oh. Oh! Lance gaped at the shining light coming from her phone screen and she grinned at him. “I made chargers.”

After, there was complete chaos as Hunk and Lance hugged Pidge, yelling about how wonderful she was, then set to work untangling their own chargers. Shiro, obviously, didn’t have a phone, and Keith hadn’t had one even on earth, so they explained what Pidge had done and why they were so excited about it to Coran and Allura.

For the rest of the morning, Hunk played music gleefully in the kitchen and cooked, Lance sitting folded into himself at the table, looking through his pictures and videos. They talked occasionally, but mostly they just enjoyed each other’s company and the earth music.

After lunch, Lance was the first one to leave, unplugging his phone from the charger, ruffling Pidges hair as she flipped him the bird, and dashing out as fast as he could. Allura raised an eyebrow at Lances behavior and looked at Hunk questioningly. Hunk could only shrug and smile, just as out of the loop as the rest. Once everybody is finished, Hunk happily cleans up, then retires to the main hangar to work on Yellow. Hours later, Keith storms into the room, followed closely by Shiro, the latter looking exasperated.

“What is Lance doing?” The red paladin demands. Hunk blinks at him, putting his Altean kind-of-wrench down.

“I don’t know? What is Lance doing?” Now that he thinks about it, Hunk hasn’t seen his friend since lunch. Usually Hunk sees Lance at least twice a day when the blue paladin comes to check on him, but he hasn’t come at all today, which worries Hunk.

Shiro sighs, cutting Keith off and placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s been on the training deck for hours and he won’t open the door or even say anything. I think what Keith means to say,” he gives the red paladin a look at this, “ is, is Lance okay? He doesn’t normally train extra, and he definitely doesn’t usually ignore us.”

Hunk is suddenly even more concerned because, no, that is not like his best friend at all. If he was in a bad mood or didn’t feel good, he would have come to Hunk or Blue or Coran. Lance loves people, he takes comfort in being around people. Hunk can’t think of a reason that Lance would lock himself away from others. “Yeah, yeah, that’s weird. Did you try the door to the observation box?”

Shiro nods. “Locked, too. We couldn’t find Coran anywhere, so we came to you.” Keith crosses his arms and nods, too.

“Oh, well, I don’t have the code for it, but Coran should be in the infirmary. Come on, I wanna know what’s wrong with Lance.” They all leave together, walking quickly to the infirmary. They grab a slightly confused Coran and haul him out, explaining the situation. They’re all walking so fast they literally run into Pidge, and the small girl hits the ground with a loud oof! “Sorry, Pidge, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you, are you hurt?”

Pidge picks herself up from the floor carefully, dusting herself off and picking up her phone. “Hunk, I’m fine, I promise, it’s okay. Where are all of you going in such a hurry, anyways?”

Coran answers her quickly. “We’re going to see what is ailing number three, he’s locked himself in the training deck. Would you like to join, number five?”

Pidge rolls her eyes at the nickname. “What makes you think something’s wrong with him? Couldn’t he just be training? You guys train all the time.”

Hunk shakes his head and says, “ Yeah, but for hours?”

Pidge tilts her head, considering. “Well, didn’t Keith just beat that new level with the gladiator? That made him kinda jealous, he’s probably just trying to beat Keith.” Keith makes an “as if” noise. “But if you still want to see, I’d love to see him get his ass kicked.” She turns to walk ahead of them, but not before Hunk catches the way her face falls into a look of concern, making him think she doesn’t entirely believe what she said.

In just a few minutes, they’re in the observation box. They pile in, all straining to look out the window. “What is he doing?” Keith asks, confused when they find the blue paladin sitting in the middle of training deck, legs bent and eyes closed, arms hanging limply by his side.

“Is he okay?” Pidge asks worriedly. Coran reaches for the intercom just as everything clicks for Hunk. He gasps and all but yells, “Wait!” Coran freezes and they all stare at Hunk.

“Just wait. I know what’s happening. Coran is there a way for us to hear the training deck, but for the training deck to not hear us?” Coran nods and Hunk can’t help but grinning. “Okay, do that. You guys just watch, I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier, I’m so stupid!”

“You’re not stupid,” Keith protests, but Hunk shushes him, shooting him a smile.

Coran hits a button and music suddenly fills the observation box. At first it’s just piano. Lance sits in his position, eyes closed. Keith starts to open his mouth again but Hunk holds up his hand and points back down at Lance, still grinning. The piano slows down and they hear singing.

And Lance moves.

At first, it’s small. He moves his right hand and left leg at the same time, pushing them both out and down. He slowly releases his head toward the ceiling, then he plants his hand on the floor and twist over himself, standing up, and he’s off. For someone as tall and lanky as Lance, he moves with surprising grace. His movements flow, and he reminds Shiro of the ocean tide, pushing and pulling his body with practiced ease. They watch, dumbfounded, amazed. Lance steps with the beat of the drum, side then front, and then he’s spinning with his leg out at a ninety degree angle. A fouette, Shiro thinks it’s called. From what little Shiro knows about dance, he thinks those are supposed to be pretty hard. He can imagine, with the balance and the spinning, which is why he’s amazed when Lance does eight. He doesn’t stop, though, instead pulling his foot in to touch his knee for two rotations, then his ankle for three more rotations. He ends by throwing his arms in front of him, palms spread wide, and sliding down into a middle split before rolling and standing again. Shiro can only stare, and suddenly he understands how Lance can shoot his bayard so quickly with so much accuracy, because the boy doesn’t even look dizzy. He just keeps going, keeps moving, and Shiro can’t help but marvel at how flexible his teammate is. He thinks the team needs to start taking Lances comments about stretching before training more seriously. Behind him, he hears Hunk start talking, pride evident in his voice.

“Lance and his older sister used to take dance classes together. I remember, after the first one, Lance talking for hours about how much fun it was. They were both really good, too, especially together. Believe me, those two loved to perform for literally anybody anywhere, so I’ve seen a lot. That’s actually how Lance got to go to the Garrison. This guy, really rich, told them both that he’d give them full ride scholarships to his school. His sister accepted, but Lance said that he wanted to be a pilot, which was luckily the perfect thing to say, because the guy had lots of family at the Garrison too. He told Lance that if he worked for him, teaching little kids to dance, for a few years that he would pay for Lance to go to the Garrison. I’m pretty sure he fainted when he heard that. He was always so worried that if he didn’t do well that his scholarship would get taken away. But anyways, I can’t believe I didn’t realize this is what he was doing, he hasn’t gotten to dance since the last semester at the Garrison because of those stupid cadets making fun of him, of course he’d do it for hours once he got his playlist back!”

Keith isn’t too shocked that Lance had needed a scholarship to attend the Garrison with how big his family is, not to mention the fact that Keith himself had a full ride scholarship, but he is surprised at the source. Though, considering what he’s watching, he really shouldn’t be. The song below changes, this new one faster and with a heavy beat, and Lance changes with it, pausing for a second and listening before moving again, a grin splitting his sweaty face. Keith stares, entranced, as his teammate movements become faster and sharper, more precise. He looks like he’s concentrating really hard, and when he stumbles and stops for a second before resuming, Keith realizes that Lance isn’t just making this one up as he goes; he’s trying to remember a previously choreographed dance.

As the song fades out, Lance slides back to the ground. The song changes, but Lance doesn’t move. He just lays there on his back, breathing hard and smiling contentedly. Hunk ushers everybody out quickly, claiming Lance wouldn’t like to know that they’d been spying on him. Coran looks at him, utterly dismayed at this proclamation.

“Why the quiznack would Lance be anything but proud at that? Even by Altean standards, that was fantastic!”

Hunk sighs. “Yeah, you know that, and I know that, and Lance knows that, he does, but… You gotta understand. It doesn’t matter how good he is. People have made fun of him for it, and it hurt him. He loves dancing and performing, showing off, but what those guys said really tore into him. And it wasn’t just once. They made fun of him hard and for a long time, and his self-esteem was getting better, but then it wans still pretty low. The only time he felt confident was when he was dancing, and they ruined that. He stopped dancing in front of people after that, and I know I should have stopped you guys and respected that, but… I wanted you guys to know how awesome he is at it, once I saw him doing it again. I can see how impressed you guys are, and I love that, because I’m still impressed every time I see him, but please don’t tell him you saw him.” Hunk finishes, his hands out pleadingly.

Shiro nods and claps a hand on Hunks back. “We get it, Hunk. You want to protect him. We’ll try, but I gotta say, at least for me, it’s gonna be pretty hard, because that really was amazing.”

-

Despite Hunks pleads, over the next few weeks, they all watch Lance dance. Even Allura. Every time Lance locked the training deck, at least one person was in the observation box. They can’t help it, he’s just so fun. He’s good and talented, sure, but that’s not all. The way he moves just catches your eye, and you can’t help but watch him, because it’s so obvious that he’s having fun and enjoying himself, and that just makes his audience enjoy themselves.

At dinner one night, Lance comes in late. He’s freshly showered and he looks tired, but nobody comments on it. He sits down beside Hunk at the table and plays with his food goo. About twenty minutes later, when the various conversations dwindle out and everybody is fairly done eating, Lance looks up and around at the group. “So,” he says, waiting until all eyes are on him before looking at Pidge across the table. “Did you enjoy the show?” He asks calmly. Pidges reaction is instantaneous. Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and her mouth opens and closes multiple times before she just squeaks and covers her face with her hands. Lance raises his eyebrow at her and looks around the table. Everybody else’s reactions were about the same, varying in degree of horror and shame. It’s silent for a few seconds before everybody starts talking all at once.

“I’m so sorry-”

“We didn’t mean to-!”

“We didn’t realize that’s what-”

“We can explain-”

They all cut off when Lance throws his head back and laughs. “Guys! It’s okay, I promise.” His grin changes then, to something more earnest and vulnerable. “But seriously, what did you guys think? I mean, I know it’s been awhile since I really practiced, and the songs aren’t always exactly right, and I messed up a lot, and I’m not really where I used to be-” His rambling is cut off by Pidge, and she looks flabbergasted.

“Are you kidding me?! You are literally amazing! We were all so impressed when we first saw you, I had no idea you could move like that!” Everybody else nods in agreement. Lance smile grows bigger and bigger with every word.

Hunk smiles at him. “Yeah, dude, you still got it.” He looks at Lance with apprehension evident on his face. “But, how did you find out? And why aren’t you mad?”

His returning smile is one full of love. “You guys really aren’t subtle, like at all. I finished that first day Pidge fixed the phones and spent a good 15 minutes preparing myself for you guys to question me nonstop about why I was on the training deck for so long, but not one of you even mentioned it. Not even Keith, and let’s face it dude, you monopolize that place like no other and you always get pissed if you can’t use it. But you didn’t say anything. At all. That was suspicious. Then, Pidge gave me all the music from her’s and Hunk’s phones, and made a point to say that a bunch of them had really good beats, which, okay, isn’t all that suspicious on its own, but combined with everything else, it was wacky. And then Coran showed me how to do an Altean dance, just, out of the blue. And Allura! Allura asked if I could help her dust up on her ballroom dancing for diplomatic relations.

“So, yeah. And I’m not mad because… well. I guess I should be. But once I figured out someone was up there watching me again, I was nervous at first, but then… it became easier. More fun. I started doing things to impress you guys and then I just felt so loose and free, because it’s been so long since I did something like that, since I pushed myself like that. I mean, sure, we push ourselves with our lions and in training, but that’s never been just fun for me, ya know? Not like… not like that, not like when I’m dancing. And, I mean, it actually does help, with training and stuff. It’s not just goofing off or any-” He’s cut off by an insistent Keith throwing his hands in the air and all but shouting,

“Dude! We know, and even if it was just relaxing, it’d be okay. You deserve it. We all do. And… honestly, I’d like to learn how to do some of that stuff.” Keith pulls his hands to himself and looks down, suddenly apprehensive. “For training. Just for training.”

“Did the great Keith Kogane just ask me to teach him how to do something?” Lance stares at him for a second and then throws his head back and laughs delightedly. He jumps up and runs around the table, and before anyone can say anything, he throws his arms around Keith in an embrace. “Yeah! I totally will, dude! For training! I’ll totally teach you how to dance!” Keith looks very uncomfortable squished up against Lances side, but gratified all the same.

As he lets Keith go, Lances smile turns into a smirk and he says, “Maybe we can have a bonding moment.”

Keith’s face turns red in embarrassment, then anger. “You son of a bitch!” He reaches for Lance’s arm, probably to break it, but Lance dances out of the way, cackling. “Get back here so I can shove your bonding moment up your ass! LANCE!” Keith leaves the dining room at a run, leaving Pidge and Hunk cackling, Allura and Shiro looking embarrassed but amused, and Coran looking confused.

Lance ends up giving the entire team dance lessons. They go about as well as expected.

[felicezhukov]

:: Dear Nicolas Jaar ::

Yesterday I wrote you a letter about rape, which can wait, because it’s not fully formulated yet and I have 23% left on my laptop battery and no charger and I need to get all this out today and in a public forum. I write you quite a few letters that never see the light of day, are tucked away in journals, they’re more to process what’s been happening, then the ones online serve as statements I guess, conversations with myself in public spaces. Because I come across as articulate, confident and possibly even at points a bit brutal in my delivery, but there is much I can’t say, the words won’t form on my tongue, but they will emerge from my fingers, I have always preferred text to phone call’s, I love writing emails, the written word is a friend of mine that allows me to draw out the details and the nuances of my thought, so today I must write an open letter to my housemates, a letter inside a letter, an ever expanding maze of dialogues, not that they may ever read it, but it’s out there, in a sphere they can access and therefore makes me feel somewhat better about the situation I’m currently in.

But first and foremost, my sister is in labour right now, speeding through jagged country lanes, probably spewing obscenities as she has the mouth of a sailor without being in rivers of pain anyway, I’m with her, in that car, I hope she can feel me there, squeezing her hand and singing strange lullabies to her stomach. We call the baby the wigglytuff, its its due date today and my sisters 29th birthday, obviously the tuff is eager to share, I guess that’s a good trait?

Here goes nothing, perhaps I’ll regret this I’m not sure; perhaps it’s all poppycock garbled in my head by overthinking:

DEAR HOUSEMATES (vun and tuu of you; swee: I don’t feel the need to reach out to as you seem to be living in your own world, unfettered or affected by me),

Yesterday my laptop charger broke, on closer examination it was rotting at the root of the wires, I found it whilst sitting at my desk, my wonderful desk, my sanctuary, the place I have attempted to make mine after the fallout of a brutal, powerful relationship that I’ve spent the last 10 years in. I was texting the moon when this happened, it was point of frustration, horror, in my day, because the main bulk of the work I’m making at the moment is editing and computer based self portraits and writing, all these things are reliant on this piece of metal and plastic perched on my lap right now, without it I can’t finish my films and what’s more, yesterday, I couldn’t let it absorb me, create a distraction from the aural environment of my room.

When I first came to look at the room I was struck by the light and the breeziness, the people I met were friendly, they shared wine with me and we talked about art, it felt like a place I could make my own for a short time, escape the violence of a previous life and begin to heal. At that point I was moving through a painstaking and hollowing breakdown, all bent around the dissolution of my relationship with the moon, I needed a refuge, a place I could close the door to.

For 10 years I couldn’t close my door to the moon, I know it’s something I chose and at points was wonderful, there were many jubilant moments wrapped in each other's minds and bodies, sharing ourselves completely. But the cycles of abuse also knew no limits and at times when things were particularly difficult the only place I could lock myself away was the bathroom, and even then I could hear him through the door, if he was on one of his spirals, launching angry tirades, because when he was like that virtually nothing could knock him off course, the only way I could break it was by getting in a more emotionally volatile state, which often involved heavy crying, screaming, lashing out physically. Just before I moved out one of the worst episodes occurred in recent history, because I’d had my phone stolen drunkenly, irresponsibly, I endured over 90 mins of vitriolic rage, cunt, bitch, stupid bitch, cunt, over and over and over, admonishing me, bashings things in blind anger, seemingly on the verge of causing me injury but never quite going that far, a staple in the ongoing abuse we’d been moving through.

This time I was to drained to counter anything and just let it wash over me, but it still was absorbed into my soul, and caused a rupture inside me, something deeply painful which hurts now even after time and distance it brings sour tears to my eyes to stroke the memory.

So you can’t imagine the release I felt moving into my new room, closing the door and gently pressing my ‘everything is going to be ok’ poster to the wall behind my headboard, I felt like I’d finally escaped, like the cycle would disintegrate and I could be with myself, get to know me, no longer have to avoid my bedroom with cider and outlandish performances, I could relax and let my bones breathe. This summer was to be the summer I found myself, and sure enough the muhrmaid samurai became my icon, self care, striving for something better in myself was the goal, through determined self examination, meditation, studying and exercise.

But of course things aren’t perfect, to endure is human, is the root of existence, we err and we endure. The wall’s are paper thin in my room, this has become apparent in the last few week’s, I might be able to close my door but smells and sound can travel through walls and increasingly I’ve felt like I’m in a box, in silence or peace you can expand, your mind can travel because you can imagine malleable space outside of where you stand. But if you are surrounded by noise, by elements you can’t control, then its like you are encompassed, trapped, and currently I have no where else to go.

I have no studio, no gym membership, no job (happily that changes next week),I have friends who I do visit pretty regularly but I don’t want to have to go to them because I don’t want to be stuck in my room, I want to be able to go to them for pleasure. I understand that not having a job these past weeks has been causing me more stress and also means I’ve been in the house more frequently, I have had no money and no real freedom which of course will have a knock on effect to my psychic wellbeing. I chose to have no studio, because I wanted to get through everything I have made this year before I start on new projects and felt that being locked away with all this material would force me to pour through it, organise it and understand what I have been doing a little more. Which in truth has happened.

But last night, in front of the candle I’ve been lighting when I sit for mealtimes, over one of the most delicious meals I’ve made for myself in a long time, surrounded by a kind of screeching from all the angles of the house, I held my head in my hands and sucked up tears that threatened to fall. The moon rang and heard the break in my voice, I couldn’t speak to him and I hung up. I tried to just brush it off, endure, we all live on top of each other in this city and I’m only subletting this room, the people I share with, especially you who I’m writing to, have real home’s here and I don’t want to interrupt your ways of life or ask you to censor yourselves.

I’m not 100% sure how it started, possibly because there was a period of 4 days where every morning I was woken by banging and speaking loudly outside my room, then I casually asked by text just to be notified of any decisions made regarding the house, not protesting anything, simply saying I needed a little notice as I was destitute and waking up to a note demanding money without any prior warning felt somehow unfair. Something changed after this message, as if I had stepped outside of my allowable boundaries, despite the fact that it was not rude or aggressively delivered. The next morning I was jolted awake by shouting outside my door, about not doing anything, part of me felt like it was directed at me, possibly that’s paranoia but whatever its intended purpose it certainly caused me shock.

Ever since this I’ve felt a slow decline in our relationship, partly to do with what happened above, partly because I stopped smoking and drinking, so for a few weeks was really tense and desperately avoided the common area’s, the kitchen, the designated smoking area, especially fell out of favour with me and it’s then that I started to really enjoy my solitude.

I’m sorry, I’m not like you, maybe I’m on the autism spectrum somewhere, I’m not sure, but I don’t feel the need to be part of a group and I want the place I live to be a place of reflection. I find interactions with people quite difficult a lot of the time and often feel like I’m not being true to myself in how I behave, so my ideal place is somewhere where I don’t have to worry about this, where I can have a causal relationship with anyone that I cohabit with and not feel like I’m somehow breaking the rules by not wanting more than a light hello when we come across each other. I just want privacy and peace, I want to be alone when I’m at home.

Following from the shouting outside my door it felt like the living room next to my room started to become used more commonly, which I don’t have a problem with as such except that the sofa is adjacent to the back of my bed and I spend a lot of time in bed writing at the moment, so the walls being as they are, its as if we’re sat in the same room with our backs to each other.

During a day that preceded; shouting excited chatter resounded, which is fine but was unusual in the timeline of my stay here, it migrated to the sofa and morphed into the melody of pop song, which in its heightened volume bashed me round the back of the head and knocked me from my train of thought. I hate to complain, will avoid it at all costs, I don’t want to inhibit other people especially regarding noise as I feel like it’s a freedom we don’t get to enjoy often. But it was evening, a week day, it just seemed without necessity and wasn’t creative, I stalked into the living room, bent in anger and spat out about how I’d like you to come hear it in my room and understand how thin the walls were, it was jumbled, I didn’t want to come across that pent up, but I was, I was shaking and my heart was palpitating, conflict is not native to me, I don’t know how to handle myself in that situation. You respectfully turned it down, I hoped it would be the end of it, but the very next day it graduated to a new level of absurdity.

My bedroom is my studio, it has to be, I am too poor to afford anywhere else to create. I make films and music, so I have to record somewhere. I’d been on a roll with my film and as I’d been struggling previously it was a relief to be in sync with editing again. This portion of the trilogy is a strange sort of karaoke I was acting out in my studio in outfits from the past; to songs which have resonated during my life and symbolically described the parts of my oeuvre I used as staging throughout the piece. So I was recording music. It wasn’t an invitation, I would much prefer to have done it somewhere privately, but with nowhere else to go, beggars can’t be choosers….

For some reason it whipped you up outside the room, I don’t know if that was already on the cards before I started to sing but it was suddenly like I had a chorus, an uninvited chorus which totally detracted from what I was trying to accomplish and also made me feel invaded somehow, like it robbed me of the authenticity of the action I was involved in. Somehow this pivoted into karaoke in real time, which you jollily invited me to participate in, totally disregarding the fact that I was engaged in something else and then taking offense to the fact that I didn’t want to be your backup singer or chorus girl.

I’m glad you let me know it was going to happen, but it was unbearable when it finally kicked off, stomping and screaming to lady gaga right next door to me, it felt like you were pointing the noise in my direction somehow, there are many ways to have fun and there was something somehow aggressive about this. I was bowed over at my desk whilst you screamed, with nowhere to go, I had been so happy making my film and suddenly was brutally exposed to the lack of power I held in my own home, how easily my holy sanctum could be penetrated. Not just this but something malicious lay over this moment, and this is what was deeply upsetting, that knowingly you were being cruel, it was not an act of joyous celebration which you painted it to be, but in fact like you were holding my head and rubbing it into the dirt, to remind me of my place, to satiate your own delicate ego’s.

Now you’re not evil people, and these shocks are fairly minor really, I know I’m not a saint and do not claim to be standing above you somehow, I’m just trying to write everything down here so that a mode of communication can be established. I’m writing it down to better understand it myself and because usually in cycles like this, they are unwittingly entered into and not directly intended to be spiteful. They stem from a breakdown in communication and I’m no better than you in this regard, the longer things drag on the angrier I become and now I can barely look at the pair of you. I don’t want to come into contact with you at all though you are regularly forcing me to be aware of your existence and somehow participate in your lives.

I know from experience, from a lot of previous happenings, that this is a pattern, this is how the whole things works. The more I draw away, insulate and attempt to be detached from people, the stronger the resistance and the more relentless their behaviour becomes. Last night was the most recent example; thankfully this isn’t daily, it seems to be happening at the beginnig of the week mostly and from next week I shan’t be exposed to it as I shan’t be here, so hopefully naturally it will lessen its grip on me.

But I was upset again last night, and have started to dread the evenings Monday through to Thursday and beyond, dread having you come home and the circus begin all over again. I know this is your home and if this noise had been so prevalent from the outset perhaps it wouldn’t have affected me so much, but it is different from the first 6 weeks I was living in this house, I know we go through phases but I can’t help seeing a correlation between when I first protested and when it started to get louder and more frequent.

Yesterday I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be perturbed from using the kitchen, that it was my common space as well and even if it was awkward I was well within my rights to cook in there, I was hungry and I had just ventured to a distant supermarket so was keen to get my goods steamy and on a plate. I didn’t want to socialise, because I feel like when I speak to you it’s inauthentic, I am not coming from a place of genuine inquiry and I just want to potter about my space and get on with my life. I hoped we could share a room without this being an issue but of course that was denial on my part somehow. 

As I stated I am probably spectrum, a part of this is that I don’t like to be touched, which irrelevant of the culture you come from should be a respected thing, you could've just asked me politely to move, especially if you’d gauged that I was in a bit of a state and didn’t really want to interact at all. But you touched me and it felt like an invasion, I’m sure it’s just because you’re a tactile person but I can’t help my reaction and don’t feel ashamed of it. You could’ve just asked me to move.

Then the shouting to another fettered guest, one of the parade that seem to be trounced about the house on a weekly basis. It was as if you were using this visitor as a pawn for your agenda of diminishing me somehow, shouting at the top of your voices like you were on a busy junction and ambulances were all around you. I know you have full right to express yourselves in your own house but a modicum of respect could of been used, you had seen me in a pent up state, clearly not in the best place, a feeling and kind reaction to this would of been to temper yourselves just slightly, to understand that I needed a little space. You could still of talked, just things like not bellowing and making a fuss could’ve been levelled, it would of been the kind thing to do.

I’m not 100% sure if you now feel like you’re in a tug of war with me regarding noise, I’m not asking you to not have friends over or to stop living your lives, I’m not asking you to relinquish any of the freedoms you hold dearly, I’m just asking if you’ll consider me sometimes and try to understand things from my perspective. I don’t want a deeper relation or to become friends because I want my home to be a place of respite from the outside world where I can be alone, I don’t wish you ill and I will make an effort from now on the affect small talk, to try and build a bridge, so at least it’s not quite so awkward or angry. I guess that’s my failing and something I need to work on, I need to put my face on, because ignoring people or not engaging with them is also its own act of cruelty and probably comes across as rude. Really I lived in a shared house, I am not alone and can not expect to be left alone entirely.

The truth is there is nowhere I can really expect everything from and as an adult I must realise this, that all places in my life at this point require me to compromise somehow. A muhrmaid samurai would compromise, a muhrmaid samurai would do this without jeopardising their beliefs. 

Honestly I do like coming back to the common areas being occupied and lights being on, it feel’s more homely, I just also want to be comfortable in my space, able to go to the toilet, make myself a cup of tea, and not have to feel like by not being overt and excitable I am somhow being rude. I want my home to be my safe space, increasingly its getting further and further from this and its causing me to agonise over what I can do to remedy the situation, how I can counter it with meditation, repeating mantra’s to myself about the hero, channeling the muhrmaid samurai.

Possibly I’m just a difficult over emotional and intense artist, I’m expecting to much and this is madness. But if either of you have read this and somehow recognise what I’ve written down here, please just have a little more care when I’m at home, that’s all I ask. I don’t want this to escalate any more or to feel like I can’t come home, I’m not attacking you, I just want you to understand things from my perspective a little and I know fully well I wouldn’t be able to say this as clearly as I can write it, the words would come out backwards and upside down and you’d probably just take offense.

YOURS UNEXPECTEDLY // DIMINUTIVELY // RESIGNEDLY   Felice

Phew, anyway I think I’ve written my piece, I guess those that read and have somehow experienced this before, I have friends who struggle with their housemates as well for instance, might sympathise a little. By putting it all out into the world I hope it will stop fueling the feedback loop in my head….

Now back to baby alert, we’re getting updates on the family whats app group, how meta we are as a unit, the millennial equivalent of the weasleys in a world where magic is interchanged for technology.

I hope you’ve managed to bridge any communication breakdowns in your life Nicolas and I wonder what domiciles you’ve moved through.