#|| like all of that is a LOT to deal with and this was utah in the 80s.

[revvnant]

were it not for the everything i need to get done right now i would drop the most nuclear meta about how william views parenting michael.

[pathologicalreid]

Hii I am making a Spencer Reid x citizen! F reader. They have been dating for a really long time but for a while reader has been dealing with a stalker, suddenly the stalker becomes much more violent and maybe even kidnaps her if we want to get real cray cray. Just lots of protective reid and angst to comfort!!

don't lose your head | S.R.

a stalker uses your work as a tudor history professor to follow your every move, so you go to the only place you can think of for help - the BAU

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: professor!reader, fiance!spencer, erotomaniac stalker, lots of tudor history facts, kidnapping, decapitation, happy ending, s11 (post-maeve), guns, death, spencer feels a lot of guilt, unhelpful police, exhaustion, nausea, dry heaving word count: 3.71k a/n: yall if i wanted to make this into a series would you read it 😭 i had so much fun writing this!!! and yes the title is a reference to six! thank you sooo much for requesting!!

you

You told Spencer after the fourth note. While the first two had been near your office door – harmless enough to have been brushed off as a student prank, the third note had been left on your desk. When someone had gotten into your locked office to leave you an intense love letter, you knew you were out of your depth.

After years of hearing stories about the BAU needing to battle the chain of command, you thought the best thing to do was to first go to the campus police. You were a professor, so the natural assumption was that they’d look into it.

They didn’t even take a report. No one listened to you.

From the campus police, you went into the city police, then the county, and by the time you marched into DC Metro, you hadn’t slept in a day. Spencer was in Utah on a case, and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Once DC Metro told you there was nothing they could do without an open investigation or further evidence, you went back to your apartment.

The fourth note was there waiting for you, covering the camera that you kept on your front door.

Since you had the first three notes already in your bag, you plucked the newest one from where it was stationed on the front door and stuffed it in with the others before making the trip down to Quantico.

You had no idea when the team would be back, but the security guards at the front desk recognized you from the times you’d come to pick Spencer up or bring him lunch and they let you up anyway.

There were no notifications on your phone from Spencer letting you know that they were flying home, but the only place you felt safe was in their headquarters. The idea of going to see Penelope crossed your mind, but as a profiler-adjacent, she’d likely see right through you. You never dropped by, especially not when Spencer was away.

Settling yourself at his desk, you pulled an empty manila folder from a drawer, placed the notes neatly inside, and left it on Spencer’s desk before sitting in his chair and waiting for something to happen.

“Hey, Reid,” you heard a familiar voice from behind you. Slowly, you spun the chair around and looked at the team as they filtered in the glass doors.

Confused, Spencer tilted his head at you, clearly wondering why you were staking out the bullpen as he approached you. As he got closer, he observed the bags under your eyes, bloodshot from your lack of sleep over the last few days, “What’s wrong?”

Chewing on the inside of your lip, you clutched the folder like your life depended on it – for all you knew, it did. Your eyes followed Spencer as he knelt in front of you, accepting the folder when you handed it to him, “I think I’m in trouble,” you whispered, voice raspy from lack of use.

Your fiancé flipped through the pages, reading each of them a few times while you garnered attention from other members of the BAU. Tara, Derek, and JJ all crowded around Spencer’s desk, curious on your surprise appearance.

“I…” you faltered as you tried to explain what felt inexplicable. “The first one was folded over the doorknob of my office, the second one was slid beneath the door to my office, the third one was left on my desk, and the fourth one,” you glanced nervously at Spencer, “it was on the apartment door.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, “apartment door? Our apartment door?” As he questioned you, he stood up, leaving you with four federal agents staring down at you.

Despondently, you nodded, steepling your fingers in your lap and letting your shoulders droop.

“I’ll go get Hotch,” JJ said, nodding at everyone else to confirm her intentions before turning around, making her way up the steps to Hotch’s office.

From there, you ended up in the roundtable room. Tara had personally brought the letters for the lab to be checked for prints, and the techs had sent Garcia scans that were now projected on the screen. Each member of the team had them up on tablets, but you and Spencer knew the words by heart.

Shaking her head, Tara looked up at everyone, “I mean, who writes like this anymore? ‘But if you please to do the office of a true loyal mistress and friend, and to give yourself up body and heart to me, who will be, and have been, your most loyal servant,” she shrugged, continuing to look over the letters.

“They’re love letters,” you explained, tugging the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your palms before crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “The words aren’t original, they’re all passages from the love letters of Henry VIII to Anne Boleyn.”

Pointing to something on her screen, JJ frowned, “And what does his greeting mean? He always starts with ‘my rose without a thorn’.”

Nodding dejectedly, you focused your eyes on the now-empty manila folder on the table in front of you. “That was what Henry VIII called Catherine Howard, she was his youngest wife. It’s widely accepted among scholars that she was around seventeen when they got married, but others say she could’ve been as young as fifteen,” you answered, wondering if more details would help the investigation.

“So, we have Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard, which wives were those?” Rossi asked, looking around the table for someone who knew the answer.

In the middle of scrawling something on an evidence board, Spencer answered quickly, “Two and five.”

Folding your hands in your lap, you scoured your memory for anything that could be helpful. When Hotch asked if those numbers meant everything to you, you just shook your head. “Is there any significance to the two wives he chose being Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard?”

Your lips parted in surprise as the blood drained from your face, “They were the two wives who were beheaded.”

An eerie silence fell over the room, interrupted only by a chime from Penelope’s laptop, her shoulders slumped forward in abject disappointment, “The lab didn’t find anything on the letters. No prints, no hair… nothing, but uh…” her voice trailed off as she looked up at Hotch, it was almost like she was seeking permission.

Each member of the BAU looked at each other with the same concerned expression on their faces. “What do you all know that I don’t?”

“Two bodies turned up last week in the greater DC area,” Morgan was the brave soul who spoke up, “they were both missing their heads, and they were both college professors.”

Goosebumps spread over your entire body, a chill of fear causing the tip of your nose to feel cold, “Oh, I…” you fumbled over your words, standing up from your chair and rushing to leave the roundtable, nearly throwing yourself out of the bullpen on your way to the women’s restroom.

Entering one of the stalls, you haphazardly gathered your hair at the back of your head and you dry heaved into the toilet. You dropped to your knees as nothing came out.

A knock at the door barely garnered your attention, you didn’t even bother responding as Spencer was already entering the stall, “Oh, honey.”

That was it, you sat back on your heels as tears welled in your eyes, looking up at Spencer as he sat down next to you. Immediately, you turned your body to face him and leaned forward.

Welcomingly, Spencer grabbed you, firmly wrapping his arms around your torso as he pulled you into his lap, “I have you. I’m right here.” His voice was gentle, no more than a whisper as he kept a firm pressure around your body, “You’re safe with me,” he reassured you, using one hand to keep you upright and the other to rub your back as you cried.

Your face was buried in the crook of his neck as you wept, the sensation of fear ran through your body like electricity, and you felt content for the first time in days in the safety of Spencer’s arms. “I- I just teach. I’m n- not built for this,” you cried, words slightly muffled by his shoulder.

You were a history professor, teaching a course on the six wives of Henry VIII, this was never even in the realm of things you considered when putting together your syllabus.

Taking a shaky breath, you pulled away from Spencer, and he reached behind you for a wad of toilet paper to dry your face. “Spence,” you said, though it came out as more of a whimper.

“When’s the last time you slept?” He asked, cupping both of your cheeks in his hands while he studied your exhausted expression.

Shrugging, you shuffled off of him, dropping the wad of toilet paper in the bowl and flushing it, “A day? Two?” You weren’t entirely sure what day it currently was, the events of the last few had caused everything to sort of blend together.

Spencer nodded in understanding, “Okay,” he responded, slipping his phone out of his pocket before typing something out, “Why don’t you go lie down in Morgan’s office for a little while? He won’t mind.”

You blinked a few final tears from your eyes before affirming, “Yeah, uh. I need to grab something from my car.”

“Okay, are you parked in the garage? I’ll go down with you,” he offered, getting up and lending you a hand up, mumbling about the state of the bathroom floor as he did so.

After washing your hands, the two of you made your way through the hall and to the elevator before Garcia called out for Reid, “Hotch needs you for something, he said it’s urgent.”

Glancing back at you, he pursed his lips before selecting a lower-level special agent to go with you to the parking garage. “Be right back,” you told him as you stepped onto the elevator.

him

Once he was finished with Hotch, Spencer made his way back down the hallway, expecting to find yourself settling in Morgan’s office only to find it empty. Turning back in the hallway, he nearly bulldozed into Morgan and JJ, “Hey, what’s the rush?”

“Have either of you seen Y/N?” He asked, trying not to let panic rise in his voice, but there had been ample time for you to get to the parking garage and back. You should’ve been back by now.

The two of them shared a look, “Uh, no, I haven’t seen her since she left the roundtable room. Is she alright?” JJ asked, blue eyes filled with concern.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Spencer hit the number one on speed dial – your number – and brought the phone to his ear before rushing to the elevator and moving to the side as JJ and Morgan piled in with him. Frantically pushing the button for the parking level, he cursed as the phone went to voicemail.

“Reid, what is it?” Morgan asked as the elevator started moving down.

Redialing your number, Spencer muttered to himself, hoping you’d pick up, “I sent her down with an agent. Hotch needed my apartment key so that Tara and Rossi could go look for anything.”

As the steel doors opened, the three of them drew their firearms, each of them taking a different direction when Spencer realized he didn’t even know where you had parked your car. “We have an agent down,” Morgan called out, calling Garcia and putting the phone on speaker. “Baby girl, we need medical and crime scene techs down to the lower-level parking garage,” he said into the phone.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, garnering his attention as he made his way through the garage to where JJ and Morgan were now stood, Morgan was applying pressure on Agent Franks’ wound, and JJ was looking at a car.

The passenger door to your car was open, and the vehicle was chiming as an alert to get you to close the door. As he stepped forward, something glimmered at the edge of his vision. Crouching down, he picked up your engagement ring from the cement, “He’s got her,” he said, a wave of déjà vu nearly toppling him over.

Impatiently waiting for the elevator to take him back up to the sixth floor, Spencer trudged to the roundtable room, desperate for another look at the evidence board. The dates of each letter that you had received, the content of each letter, and the reason for all of this didn’t make any sense to him.

It had to be an erotomaniac, it was the only thing that made sense. You were an object of someone’s desires, and their delusion had to have become so strong that they took you.

Quietly, someone stepped into the roundtable room behind him, “What are you thinking about?”

Imminent death. Statistics of harm and death in cases involving erotomanic kidnappings. “Synchronicity,” he answered simply, entertaining JJ’s conversation as he continued to study the letters. The love letters were at the core of it all, so the answer needed to be written in there. Everything that had come to you was almost an exact copy of words written by Henry VIII.

“Ah, that’s Jung, right?” JJ asked, her voice was kind, and she was using the same tone she used when doing cognitive interviews with victims. He didn’t have time for her pity, they were on a clock.

Sighing, Spencer picked his dry-erase marker back up and scrawled on the board, “It’s a concept that he introduced, yes. It’s meant to describe the occurrence of events which seem like they’re significantly related but there’s no discernable causation.”

JJ nodded understandingly, taking a spot next to him and looking at the notes, “And what occurrence of events are we thinking about right now?”

“I suppose more than anything, I’m wondering if there’s an action that I took in the past that somehow caused me to find myself in this situation twice,” he answered, circling the word ‘the place chosen by yourself’ on the evidence board.

Humming, JJ turned to face him, “Does Y/N know?”

Pressing his lips together in a thin, white line, he nodded tightly, “I told her years ago, when we had first started dating, actually. I never thought…” his voice trailed off as he set down the marker, “She came to me, JJ. She came here to be safe, and he grabbed her from the parking garage.”

“You sent her down there with an agent, you thought you were doing the right thing,” JJ tried to comfort him.

Scoffing dismissively, he stepped back and took a seat in one of the chairs, “I can’t stop thinking about if it would’ve made a difference. If her asking me for help would have fixed anything, or if it would have ended the same way.”

Taking a seat near him, JJ paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss for words, before responding, “We can’t really afford to think like that though, in our line of work.”

Spencer scoffed, “No, we can’t. Especially not now, but the timing of it is weird. It’s been almost exactly four years, and now…” his voice trailed off as his eye caught on something on the paper. “The timing is off,” he muttered, picking up the first letter you had received.

“What is it, Spence?” JJ asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.

Shaking his head, he read the letter again, “This letter, it’s from the first letter Henry VIII wrote to Anne Boleyn, but in this version, he says he’s been waiting for months to be with her, but they waited seven years to be together because they were waiting for his marriage to Catherine of Aragon to be annulled.”

Still confused, JJ leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, “Okay, what does that mean.”

“We ruled out a student because the crimes didn’t read as mature, but what if it’s a different kind of student?” He proposed, standing up from the chair abruptly and starting to write on the board.

Rolling her chair closer to the board, she shrugged, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Holding up a single finger, Spencer wrote a name down on the board, “Y/N has a grad student TA, he’s been working toward his PhD for seven years. He’s been her TA for three months – that lines up with the timeline in the letters.”

“Okay,” JJ said, starting to follow along, she waved at the team members in the bullpen to get their attention before hitting the call button on the conference phone. “Penelope, what do you have on a Geoffrey Williamson? He’s a TA in Y/N’s class.”

There was typing on the other line before a sound of disgust came from the technical analyst, “He is a different kind of smarmy, it looks like he transferred programs two years ago to Y/N’s university after he… oh. It looks like he bounced from foster home to foster home as a kid, his parents never fully gave up their rights but couldn’t follow through on their case plan. He was unsuccessful in his last dissertation defense three months ago,” she continued clacking on her keyboard, “after which his mentor teacher dropped him and the school gave him one more semester before pulling his funding. He asked Y/N to be his new mentor teacher and it looks like she turned him down -very nicely, might I add.”

Scoffing, Morgan crossed his arms in front of his chest, “That sounds like a stressor and a trigger if I’ve ever heard one.

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke into the phone, “Do you have a location for Williamson?”

There was more typing as Spencer could feel his carotid pounding in his throat, “It looks like he lives in student housing, but… he recently inherited an old factory after his biological father passed away two weeks ago.”

Nodding, Hotch looked around the table, “Send us the address, and forward it to Rossi and Lewis too.”

“Done, go get her,” Penelope urged into the phone before hanging up.

He slipped your engagement ring into his pocket before adjusting the strap on his Kevlar, thrumming with nervous energy as Morgan coordinated with SWAT, waiting outside of the old textile factory as the tactical team organized themselves in front of the BAU.

Spencer and JJ took the left side, Rossi and Tara took the right, and Morgan and Hotch went through the main doors.

“No!” Your voice broke out through the steel corridors of the factory, immediately followed by a yelp.

There was an awful noise then, like metal scraping against itself, “Fucking say it!” An unfamiliar male voice broke out in a holler.

Steeling himself, Spencer had to hold himself back from rushing into the room where your voice was coming from, each one of your sobs was like another strike at his resolve. “Good Christian people,” he heard you say, your voice was strained, “I am come hither to die, for according to the law, and by the law I am judged to- to-“ Your voice broke off into a heap of wails.

“What is she saying?” JJ whispered, waiting for SWAT to clear the corridor.

All of the blood had drained from Spencer’s face, “She’s reciting Anne Boleyn’s execution speech, from right before she was beheaded.”

JJ nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation – they needed to get in there, and they needed to do it quickly. SWAT waved them over, and the two of them filtered through the open doorway. The space was dimly illuminated by candles, but the only thing Spencer could focus on was your head, bowed toward the ground as you watched the ground. Above you, Geoffrey was holding a sword, ready to cut your head off.

“Geoffrey Williamson, FBI!” JJ called out, announcing themselves to the UnSub before he could get any further in his convoluted execution, “Put the sword down! Let Y/N go.”

Spencer clocked the UnSub’s grip tightening on the sword as he zeroed in on you, “I can’t! She has to pay for this! She has to finish the speech.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but as you raised your head slightly, he found himself silenced by your gaze. Roll, he mouthed the words to you, hoping Williamson was too focused on JJ to notice what he was trying to tell you.

“And by the law I am judged to die,” you continued the speech, your voice wavering.

Taking a deep breath, Spencer watched as the UnSub raised the sword despite JJ’s instructions to set it on the ground, “Y/N, stop talking!”

Releasing another sob, you finished the execution speech, “And therefore I will speak nothing against it.”

As soon as the last word was out of your mouth, Williamson brought the sword down, and as it swung, two things happened. JJ pulled the trigger on her firearm, killing the UnSub, and you rolled out of the way, the chains that bound your hands and feet clanging on the ground as you did so.

Holstering his weapon, Spencer ran over to you, dropping to his knees in front of you, “It’s done. It’s over,” he tried to reassure you, but you had begun struggling against your restraints as Spencer tried to settle you down, “Stop, it’s me, baby. Baby, it’s me,” he said desperately.

Once you had maneuvered yourself into a sitting position, you looked at Spencer with big, watery eyes before completely breaking down. “I just wanted it to end,” you babbled as your face crumpled.

“I know, honey,” he said, reaching out to pull you close as JJ contacted the rest of the team, asking for a chain cutter to get your restraints off of you as they weren’t able to find the keys on the body. “He’s gone, you’re safe,” he urged, holding you tightly.

You weren’t seriously injured, but there were enough bumps and bruises to make Spencer insist on a trip to the hospital. Until the EMTs could make it to you, he was fine with holding you on the floor of the factory. Keeping you close. Keeping you safe with him.

[scribbles-ink]

im just thinking what if mike schmidt is the son of the movie's equivalent of henry emily. i had this thought on the way home from the movie at like. 10 pm so at the time it was incoherrent, but im going to expand on it here.

point 1- garrett played a similar role to charlie emily, in that despite being watched over they were both killed by william afton.

p2- in the flashbacks, its very obvious that the entire family is in a place away from society. they're literally in a forest. it wouldn't make sense for william of all people to be there if he wasn't close to the family.

p3- the books and the game mirror eachother, so there is a chance that schmidt could be another fake name, one william recognized because, again, he was a family friend.

p4-what happens when your kid goes missing? idk probaly witness protection or an urge to seperate yourself from the incident, both reasons for the name change.

p5-(kinds joke reason) abby rhymes with charlie and looks similar to her (brown hair, brown eyes)

p6-i argue that abby also took on the role of the puppet/charlie at the end of the movie. she didn't necessarily give them life, not like what was done in the game, she shoeed them how they died. she reminded the children of the life they had before, and of who really took it. by doing that, in a way, she gave them that life back. she gave them their real personality back, one not influenced by william. she cut them from his influence, she gave them the gift (the picture) and it gave them life (their memories)

p7- in the movie, mike says his father 'couldnt deal with it' and left after his mother died. yk what that sounds similar to? book henry emily killing himself in despair. maybe mike's dad is alive maybe he's dead, we dont know. but it is similar enough, an act of completely removing himself from the equation.

p8-book henry has a sister named jen, yk what name that sounds like? jane. who was mike and abby's aunt, and we dont know which parent she was related to.

p9-'but wouldn't mike know about the pizzaria if william was a family friend?' honestly, probably. but theres also a high chance that he wouldnt. if the family lived in nebraska, (which im pretty sure they did) they wouldn't have a need to go to utah, not even for a friend's restaurant. sure, he might know that his dad's friend had a restaurant, but not that it had animatronics or anything. the family probaly moved to utah after garrett's disappearance and after freddy's closed down.

p10-'wouldn't mike know vanessa? theyre similar in age' if they didnt live in the same state, probaly not. william in the movie was a, suprise suprise, shitty father, even foregoing the stabbing of his kid. i doubt hed care enough to take her with him on like. a short out of state trip.

p11(edit)- in the books aunt jane was killed by evil charlie to get to charlie, yk what that sounds like? the animatronics killing aunt jen to get to charlie

p12(edit)-the words at the end of the movie say 'come find me' and the music playong at the end is the puppets song so i think garrett is the puppet which is. again. an emily thing

p13(edit)- mikes dad looks like a mechanic shown in the training videos [cough henry emily cough]

if i think of anything else ill add it but anywys this is why i think the schmidts in the movie are the emilys equivalent. also check out the notes on this post because theres a lot of replies n reblogs that support my theory

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Utah’s getting some of America’s best broadband

TOMORROW (May 17), I'm at the INTERNET ARCHIVE in SAN FRANCISCO to keynote the 10th anniversary of the AUTHORS ALLIANCE.

Residents of 21 cities in Utah have access to some of the fastest, most competitively priced broadband in the country, at speeds up to 10gb/s and prices as low as $75/month. It's uncapped, and the connections are symmetrical: perfect for uploading and downloading. And it's all thanks to the government.

This broadband service is, of course, delivered via fiber optic cable. Of course it is. Fiber is vastly superior to all other forms of broadband delivery, including satellites, but also cable and DSL. Fiber caps out at 100tb/s, while cable caps out at 50gb/s – that is, fiber is 1,000 times faster:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/10/why-fiber-vastly-superior-cable-and-5g

Despite the obvious superiority of fiber, America has been very slow to adopt it. Our monopolistic carriers act as though pulling fiber to our homes is an impossible challenge. All those wires that currently go to your house, from power-lines to copper phone-lines, are relics of a mysterious, fallen civilization and its long-lost arts. Apparently we could no more get a new wire to your house than we could build the pyramids using only hand-tools.

In a sense, the people who say we can't pull wires anymore are right: these are relics of a lost civilization. Specifically, electrification and later, universal telephone service was accomplished through massive federal grants under the New Deal – grants that were typically made to either local governments or non-profit co-operatives who got everyone in town connected to these essential modern utilities.

Today – thanks to decades of neoliberalism and its dogmatic insistence that governments can't do anything and shouldn't try, lest they break the fragile equilibrium of the market – we have lost much of the public capacity that our grandparents took for granted. But in the isolated pockets where this capacity lives on, amazing things happen.

Since 2015, residents of Jackson County, KY – one of the poorest counties in America – have enjoyed some of the country's fastest, cheapest, most reliable broadband. The desperately poor Appalachian county is home to a rural telephone co-op, which grew out of its rural electrification co-op, and it used a combination of federal grants and local capacity to bring fiber to every home in the county, traversing dangerous mountain passes with a mule named "Ole Bub" to reach the most remote homes. The result was an immediately economic uplift for the community, and in the longer term, the county had reliable and effective broadband during the covid lockdowns:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Contrast this with places where the private sector has the only say over who gets broadband, at what speed, and at what price. America is full of broadband deserts – deserts that strand our poorest people. Even in the hearts of our largest densest cities, whole neighborhoods can't get any broadband. You won't be surprised to learn that these are the neighborhoods that were historically redlined, and that the people who live in them are Black and brown, and also live with some of the highest levels of pollution and its attendant sicknesses:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/10/flicc/#digital-divide

These places are not set up for success under the best of circumstances, and during the lockdowns, they suffered terribly. You think your kid found it hard to go to Zoom school? Imagine what life was like for kids who attended remote learning while sitting on the baking tarmac in a Taco Bell parking lot, using its free wifi:

https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2020/09/02/elem-s02.html

ISPs loathe competition. They divide up the country into exclusive territories like the Pope dividing up the "new world" and do not trouble one another by trying to sell to customers outside of "their" turf. When Frontier – one of the worst of America's terrible ISPs – went bankrupt, we got to see their books, and we learned two important facts:

The company booked one million customers who had no alternative as an asset, because they would pay more for slower broadband, and Frontier could save a fortune by skipping maintenance, and charging these customers for broadband even through multi-day outages; and

Frontier knew that it could make a billion dollars in profit over a decade by investing in fiber build-out, but it chose not to, because stock analysts will downrank any carrier that made capital investments that took more than five years to mature. Because Frontier's execs were paid primarily in stock, they chose to strand their customers with aging copper connections and to leave a billion dollars sitting on the table, so that their personal net worth didn't suffer a temporary downturn:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/04/frontiers-bankruptcy-reveals-cynical-choice-deny-profitable-fiber-millions

ISPs maintain the weirdest position: that a) only the private sector can deliver broadband effectively, but b) to do so, they'll need massive, unsupervised, no-strings-attached government handouts. For years, America went along with this improbable scheme, which is why Trump's FCC chairman Ajit Pai gave the carriers $45 billion in public funds to string slow, 19th-century-style copper lines across rural America:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/27/all-broadband-politics-are-local/

Now, this is obviously untrue, and people keep figuring out that publicly provisioned broadband is the only way for America to get the same standard of broadband connectivity that our cousins in other high-income nations enjoy. In order to thwart the public's will, the cable and telco lobbyists joined ALEC, the far-right, corporatist lobbying shop, and drafted "model legislation" banning cities and counties from providing broadband, even in places the carriers chose not to serve:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/19/culture-war-bullshit-stole-your-broadband/

Red states across America adopted these rules, and legislators sold this to their base by saying that this was just "keeping the government out of their internet" (even as every carrier relied on an exclusive, government-granted territorial charter, often with massive government subsidies).

ALEC didn't target red states exclusively because they had pliable, bribable conservative lawmakers. Red states trend rural, and rural places are the most likely sites for public fiber. Partly, that's because low-density areas are harder to make a business case for, but also because these are also the places that got electricity and telephone through New Deal co-ops, which are often still in place.

Just about the only places in America where people like their internet service are the 450+ small towns where the local government provides fiber. These places vote solidly Republican, and it was their beloved conservative lawmakers whom ALEC targeted to enact laws banning their equally beloved fiber – keep voting for Christmas, turkeys, and see where it gets you:

https://communitynets.org/content/community-network-map

But spare a little sympathy for the conservative movement here. The fact that reality has a pronounced leftist bias must be really frustrating for the ideological project of insisting that anything the market can't provide is literally impossible.

Which brings me back to Utah, a red state with a Republican governor and legislature, and a national leader in passing unconstitutional, unhinged, unworkable legislation as part of an elaborate culture war kabuki:

https://www.npr.org/2023/03/24/1165975112/utah-passes-an-age-verification-law-for-anyone-using-social-media

For more than two decades, a coalition of 21 cities in Utah have been building out municipal fiber. The consortium calls itself UTOPIA: "Utah Telecommunication Open Infrastructure Agency":

https://www.utopiafiber.com/faqs/

UTOPIA pursues a hybrid model: they run "open access" fiber and then let anyone offer service over it. This can deliver the best of both worlds: publicly provisioned, blazing-fast fiber to your home, but with service provided by your choice of competing carriers. That means that if Moms for Liberty captures you local government, you're not captive to their ideas about what sites your ISP should block.

As Karl Bode writes for Techdirt, Utahns in UTOPIA regions have their choice of 18 carriers, and competition has driven down prices and increased speeds. Want uncapped 1gb fiber? That's $75/month. Want 10gb fiber? That's $150:

https://www.techdirt.com/2024/05/15/utah-locals-are-getting-cheap-10-gbps-fiber-thanks-to-local-governments/

UTOPIA's path to glory wasn't an easy one. The dismal telco monopolists Qwest and Lumen sued to put them out of business, delaying the rollout by years:

https://www.deseret.com/2005/7/22/19903471/utopia-responds-to-qwest-lawsuit/

UTOPIA has been profitable and self-sustaining for over 15 years and shows no sign of slowing. But 17 states still ban any attempt at this.

Keeping up such an obviously bad policy requires a steady stream of distractions and lies. The "government broadband doesn't work" lie has worn thin, so we've gotten a string of new lies about wireless service, insisting that fiber is obviated by point-to-point microwave relays, or 5g, or satellite service.

There's plenty of places where these services make sense. You're not going to be able to use fiber in a moving car, so yeah, you're going to want 5g (and those 5g towers are going to need to be connected to each other with fiber). Microwave relay service can fill the gap until fiber can be brought in, and it's great for temporary sites (especially in places where it doesn't rain, because rain, clouds, leaves and other obstructions are deadly for microwave relays). Satellite can make sense for an RV or a boat or remote scientific station.

But wireless services are orders of magnitude slower than fiber. With satellite service, you share your bandwidth with an entire region or even a state. If there's only a couple of users in your satellite's footprint, you might get great service, but when your carrier adds a thousand more customers, your connection is sliced into a thousand pieces.

That's also true for everyone sharing your fiber trunk, but the difference is that your fiber trunk supports speeds that are tens of thousands of times faster than the maximum speeds we can put through freespace electromagnetic spectrum. If we need more fiber capacity, we can just fish a new strand of fiber through the conduit. And while you can increase the capacity of wireless by increasing your power and bandwidth, at a certain point you start pump so much EM into the air that birds start falling out of the sky.

Every wireless device in a region shares the same electromagnetic spectrum, and we are only issued one such spectrum per universe. Each strand of fiber, by contrast, has its own little pocket universe, containing a subset of that spectrum.

Despite all its disadvantages, satellite broadband has one distinct advantage, at least from an investor's perspective: it can be monopolized. Just as we only have one electromagnetic spectrum, we also only have one sky, and the satellite density needed to sustain a colorably fast broadband speed pushes the limit of that shared sky:

https://spacenews.com/starlink-vs-the-astronomers/

Private investors love monopoly telecoms providers, because, like pre-bankruptcy Frontier, they are too big to care. Back in 2021, Altice – the fourth-largest cable operator in America – announced that it was slashing its broadband speeds, to be "in line with other ISPs":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/27/immortan-altice/#broadband-is-a-human-right

In other words: "We've figured out that our competitors are so much worse than we are that we are deliberately degrading our service because we know you will still pay us the same for less."

This is why corporate shills and pro-monopolists prefer satellite to municipal fiber. Sure, it's orders of magnitude slower than fiber. Sure, it costs subscribers far more. Sure, it's less reliable. But boy oh boy is it profitable.

The thing is, reality has a pronounced leftist bias. No amount of market magic will conjure up new electromagnetic spectra that will allow satellite to attain parity with fiber. Physics hates Starlink.

Yeah, I'm talking about Starlink. Of course I am. Elon Musk basically claims that his business genius can triumph over physics itself.

That's not the only vast, impersonal, implacable force that Musk claims he can best with his incredible reality-distortion field. Musk also claims that he can somehow add so many cars to the road that he will end traffic – in other words, he will best geometry too:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Geometry hates Tesla, and physics hates Starlink. Reality has a leftist bias. The future is fiber, and public transit. These are both vastly preferable, more efficient, safer, more reliable and more plausible than satellite and private vehicles. Their only disadvantage is that they fail to give an easily gulled, thin-skinned compulsive liar more power over billions of people. That's a disadvantage I can live with.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/16/symmetrical-10gb-for-119/#utopia

Image: 4028mdk09 (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Rote_LED_Fiberglasleuchte.JPG

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

[lelelego]

You've vaguely mentioned Eli's life pre-bullet to the head before so I was wondering, is there any part of his old life that's liable to come back to haunt him eventually? Ex partners, old debts, stuff like that?

if anyone it'd most likely be his ex partner, who i frankly have not developed very much under the guise of "many of eli's memories from Before He Was Shot In The Head has been muddled resulting in a return to his bolder personality from when he was younger". he's got a name like damian, or ethan, or nathan (eli genuinely can't remember so neither will i!!!!)

anyway very long post about what happened pre-new vegas and what may come back to bite him in the ass that got away with me under the cut. SORRY IT'S SO LONG!!!

eli only remembers bits and pieces of this, but the essential bullet points of that mess is as follows:

eli gets into a travelling caravan that wants to see more of the world outside of shady sands. the caravan's leader is damian/ethan/nathan/gathan/kathan. he is very charming and very lovely to eli, as are the other people in the caravan (~about 7-8 people large, with 2 brahmin.)

he decides this is an excellent opportunity to pick up being a mailman to earn some caps along the road in addition to being the caravan's travelling engineer/repairman.

they make a happy bunch, taking on non-violent freelance work such as scavenging, repairs, ranching, trading, transport... making a good amount of caps for necessities and a treat or two. they get along, and eli is more and more charmed under the arm of dathan/iathan/rathan, and eventually confesses to him, much to the guy's delight and they start a Thing that eli is too scared to put a label on for fear of being booted out of the group by Creating Drama

they travel into utah and arizona.

-than is very hot and cold with eli; one second he'll be nudging shoulders with him and telling him sweet things, and the next he's yelling at eli for being too much of a burden because of his leg. (this is where eli gets very good at maintaining his leg brace.)

as they travel in utah and arizona the idea of becoming a caesar's legion protected caravan grows teeth in -than: there's more than enough work and it's no surprise that CL caravans are well protected and reap various benefits that simply don't come with being freelance.

while resting for the night sometime they're approached by a CL scouting squad and the leader has a drink with -than. obviously a recruitment effort, and it solidifies the idea for -than - but the scouting leader requires a buy-in or offer for caesar of some kind, caps, a valuable invention, or (you guessed it!) a pretty slave.

and boy, isn't eli just the prettiest thing?

so they start to travel together towards a bigger legion camp, but the CL scout doesn't exactly keep this deal under wraps, and espouses to eli the wonders of being a slave under caesar's legion. he could have such a wonderful life being his, not having to worry where he slept, when his next meal is, hell, not having to think at all! wouldn't that be wonderful?

eli escapes that mess the very next night. being small and quiet's always had its disadvantages, but not that night.

eli ends up escaping to the nearest town without a CL flag and pays what he can to another caravan to bring him along, that he can fix things real good and pay them a little more from his paycheck from the mojave express.

he manages his way back to shady sands to his sister camille, who's working as part of the local police force (still under NCR?) in the city, but the anxiety that -than knows where he might be gets to him and he starts travelling in california again, jumping from caravan to caravan and town to town delivering mail and earning what he can by offering repairs and gun/armour mods.

up until he lands the strange job to new vegas.

so like i said before eli really doesn't remember a lot of this, all he knows 100% is that there was a guy named -than who tried to sell him into the legion in exchange for a caravan contract, and he managed to run away. he gets bits and pieces in dreams that make his heart rate increase by 200% but that's really it. i imagine -than was probably very unhappy he escaped and the big fat paying contract with CL either fell through or he got something subpar, and holds a grudge against the one person who decided not to go along with his plans for once.

and if you made it here thanks for reading!!!!

[laundrybiscuits]

Eden actually likes her name. When she thinks about the muslin-draped horrors she could’ve gotten stuck with, like poor Suzie, she feels guiltily glad she dodged that bullet. If she’d been the one who had to shoulder the impossible burden of being named Suzie, who knows how she might’ve turned out.

Eden is a word that could go a lot of ways. It’s almost as good as Lilith or Isis or something. It’s the kind of name that could be sexy, in the right hands. The kind of name you could say on stage: ladies and gentlemen, introducing the one and only Eden—

That’s where the picture stalls out, though. Eden Bingham is pretty awful, no matter how you spin it. She wants to pick a stage name like some glamorous Hollywood actress, but she hasn’t decided exactly what she wants yet. She thinks it would be real elegant to pick something French, like…like Verne. 

There’s a battered paperback tucked under her mattress at home, where sticky, prying little fingers can’t get at it. She’s not a fast reader, but she’s read it about a million times by now. Sometimes when she can’t sleep, she’ll take it out and just squint at it in the moonlight, tracing her fingertips over the faded elephant on the cover. It’s a story about some guy who was so bored he decided to travel all around the world, and nobody stopped him. He could just go. He didn’t have any kids or anything that he had to take care of or look after; in fact, there was some guy whose whole job was to look after him. 

For a little while, Eden thought about borrowing the main guy’s last name, but Eden Fogg sounds kind of old and stuffy. She could take the French valet’s name, but she’s not completely confident she knows how to pronounce Passepartout, and she’s terrified she’s going to say it wrong and nobody’s going to take her seriously ever again. 

The author’s French too, though, and his name seems a lot easier to handle. So, lately she’s been looking in the mirror and saying Eden Verne, hi my name is Eden Verne real quiet to herself, just testing it out. She’s not sure about it yet, but it’s definitely better than Eden Bingham. 

Eden Bingham is just a handful of years away from Edie Bingham, who spends her time looking after a house full of kids and wears shapeless floor-length dresses. But Eden Verne could be someone who travels and wears exciting makeup. Eden Verne drinks and swears and smokes, and she never has to deal with kids ever again. Beautiful, sophisticated men and women alike despair for love of her, but she never lets anyone stay more than a night. 

Anyway, she doesn’t have to figure out if she can carry off Verne yet, because the stupid boy she followed halfway across the country introduced her to his friends as Eden Bingham, so she never got the chance to decide if she was going to say something different. She probably wouldn’t have, but—maybe she would. Maybe. She’ll never know.

The thing with Argyle fizzled out pretty quick. He’s cute, and making out with him is fun, but he doesn’t ever seem to want anything real out of life. Eden can’t understand him at all, and worse yet, she’s pretty sure he doesn’t understand her. When they’re high, they communicate just fine giggling about the cosmos, but that’s not enough. She’s sure there’s supposed to be more, even if she’s not entirely sure what that means.

She broke up with him on an impulse, and sometimes she regrets it. He’s a good guy. He’s not like any other guy she’s ever known. He’s willing to drive clear across the country, which is what she liked about him to begin with. Maybe that’s as good as it gets for her.

But she can’t take it back now. It’s not even that she thinks he’d say no, necessarily; she just can’t handle the idea of trying to walk back something like that. She’d die of humiliation before the words made it out of her mouth. 

So Eden’s just here, in Hawkins, staying in her ex-fling’s best friend’s step-dad’s spare room because it’s still marginally better than having to hitch home to Utah. Argyle is planning to drive back to California in a few weeks, so she’s going to just ride with him then. In the meantime, she’s going to have a nice, quiet vacation in Indiana, doing whatever it is Midwesterners do in the summer, and then she’ll go home and nothing at all about the life of Eden Bingham will have changed.

[misery-has-no-company-now]

For angst purposes (and loosely based on Nevada Joins the Table) -

Gov has a lot of control over these states; far more than any other. The higher the percentage of federal land in the state, the more control he has over that state.

Nevada practically has to agree to everything Gov wants. He barely has any choice in his life anymore. Gov practically owns him.

The top 5 states (Nevada, Utah, Idaho, Alaska, and Oregon) can actually easily be summoned by Gov just by him saying "(State), come here." All the 10 can be summoned by Gov actually but the lower 5 (Wyoming, California, Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico) are tougher to call like that since they have more power to refuse but the upper 5? No choice. Whatever they doing, it doesn't matter. They are forced to stop it and appear in front of Gov. Nevada and Utah have on multiple occasions been called in the dead of night when they were fast asleep (yes Nevada needs his beauty sleep) to 'see' Gov and they had to go. In front of the other states, Gov just pretends that with the exception of Nevada, he cannot summon any of these other states without Florida's help. But when no one else is there, he uses the power he holds over them thanks to the federal land he occupies in these states freely as he pleases.

Gov also uses this to his advantage by forcing these five to agree with him on whatever he says doing the meetings, much to their (and everyone else who knows') anger.

They spend many a night crying in each other's arms due to the helplessness that engulfs them daily. Sometimes there's also bitterness towards and resentment against the other states who are 'more free' than them. But it's not like they can do anything about it anyway, though the other states sometimes try to help them by convincing or forcing Gov to not do something he wanted to towards them/make them do something he wished for.

Since some of the states on this list were amongst the last few ones to be admitted to the union (like Idaho, Wyoming, Utah, New Mexico, Arizona, and Alaska), they didn't realise for quite a long time that Gov's power over them was not normal, and that most of the other states had a lot more control over their land and themselves. Nevada and Oregon are kind of older in terms of statehood (so is California but he's not in the top 5 so didn't feel the effects this much) and thus they knew from the start that this was not right; but obviously again there was nothing they could do. It just hurt them more since they were aware of the freedom they were denied.

Literally all these states are in the west. Except Washington and Montana (and I guess Hawaii too but she doesn't consider herself as in the west since she joined the meeting of misfits so...yeah), all the western states are in this list and highly under Gov's control (maybe that's why the west decided to take turns in being the leader, because none of them wanted to be around him for longer than they needed to be, and that's why Washington went first). Gov finds it more convenient and easier to deal with have meetings with the west and all the western states (including the other two) are kind of scared of him and his power even if not all of them show it.

Since New Mexico and Wyoming are my go-to angst states (aka the ones I apparently love hurting the most), even though they have more control due to a smaller percentage of their state being federal land and Gov technically should have less power over them, he has hurt them and threatened them so much (like with atomic bombs in New Mexico's case, implying/outright announcing that he might take away their statehood and make them a territory under his charge again to both of them, then in Wyoming's case reminding him how much the others forget that he is a state - and now Gov is one of the few who remembers their existence, etc.) that he exerts a lot more authority over the two of them too.

All of this is largely why the West is so messed up :( [in their heads, I mean]. That's all I have for now but feel free to add on. Unfortunately for these states, I consider the west the best for angst (:

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

In light of the angsty comic headcanon I just posted and in light of the season, here's a more wholesome comic headcanon

Ambrosius fucking LOVES Christmas (literally canon)

No but fr this bitch goes to Utah Mom levels of holiday cheer, as early as it is even remotely reasonable to consider decorating. Ballister comes home to his boyfriend, who is disabled with a spinal injury, balancing on a ladder putting lights on their roof in like. Late October. He tried many times to get him to stop but eventually just gave up and built him a safer ladder. Ambrosius is ANNOYING about it but Ballister doesn't want to rain on his parade so he kind of just lets him do what he wants even if their house is covered in tinsel and pine needles for three months.

They also both fill each other's stocking which is a tradition of theirs since Ballister gave Ambrosius his first proper Christmas when they were little ❤️ Ambrosius is like a little kid like he will shake that thing upside down to look at all his stuff at once while practically vibrating with excitement even though it's just like. Candy in there. He makes them watch cheesy Hallmark Christmas romcoms and he makes fun of them with Ballister but he also just really enjoys simple, wholesome Christmas love stories that follow a predictable formula.

This is all a lot for Ballister to deal with but it's worth it because Ambrosius is ten thousand times more affectionate (in more than just the innocent ways) and cute, and he likes seeing him so happy. It reminds him of when they were younger.

[moregraceful]

Isn't it so sad that Bryce harper is a baseball player mormon and not the faggiest draggiest at gay brunch. I'm assuming you also think about this semi-regularly

It's literally all I think about and since this post game interview with Fry was so excruciating I had to turn the entire game off, let's get into it. One thing I find very interesting about Bryce is he is like. VERY aware of the media panopticon and his place within it. I don't think that informs how he does his faith -- I have not known very many Mormons but from everyone I run into outside of Nevada and Utah who is Mormon there's always been a kind of, quietness about it?; mb this is the coastal elite version of Mormonism but I think often of a coworker that worked at the library for decades and no one knew she was Mormon until she found out I'm Christian and started talking abt it -- anyway where I was going with it is, he is very aware of the panopticon and also probably very aware of how the outside world sees his faith in addition to that. Bryce Harper is loud as fuck and annoying as hell but I've noticed that there are parts of him that are very quiet on the public stage and I kind of wonder how much else is buried under there.

And I'm not diagnosing that man but I think there's been a kind of laser focus on baseball from his teenage years on that has allowed him to put on a version of himself that feels safer? like to be clear he is at any given moment the most emotionally dysregulated player on a field of neurospicy athletes, but I've listened to a couple of interviews with and about him in the past couple of weeks and it's definitely like...like he found a niche and he was good at it so he stuck with it. So I like kind of wonder how he deals with that when his body is no longer able to sustain play. But that's kind of how it goes with a lot of athletes lmao

Which ofc means in kas fudanshi world means he has to have some HUGE bodily and religious reckoning in approximately 5-8 years when he retires -- yk the kinda mixed ok if this body and this sport was where I felt safe, what do I have outside of that AND a little bit of, if I return to Nevada full time and find that the experiences I've had outside of it had made it so that my faith no longer aligns with the values I hold (as it went with some of the ex-Mormons I know).....ok Bryce well now you have a long dark night of the soul and I for one hope you come out singing.

this is maybe too serious tho to be fair you did ask the gay religious blog about the man who should be gay but is instead religious...my final take is there is an Orville Peck concert tomorrow at the Met in Philly and while I am not really an Orville Peck scholar and I don't think Phillies management is rly prone to the dramatics of some other teams, I do think if Bryce went along with some friends or whatever, and heard "Chemical Sunset" by Orville Peck featuring my queen Allison Russell in the wrong mood, he WOULD be calling up Trea Turner after the concert just to start an argument:

I can see it in your eyes, you're not afraid to die, can I walk by your side? / dancing on the deck of the Titanic, the glow of the world on fire / Why tell a lie? I feel so alive, I wouldn't try to fight the flames / I do a pirouette in the chemical sunset, come and see me, baby, it's the end of days

girl (bryce harper), it is really not that serious. you can say fuck god and kiss boys if u want. you're literally bryce harper It's Fine

bro should be terrorizing people in a marketing department and going out to gay brunch on saturdays where he drinks bottomless mimosas and talks insane shit about the 76ers because the Flyers are off topic ever since he had that assignation no one can ever talk about without him going nuclear...instead he's playing baseball? wow. life is crazy

[sergeifyodorov]

of the teams w the old captains who do u think are going to be their successors/if u could replace all the captains who would you replace them with

not entirely sure but: for every team with no captain OR a pending UFA captain, here's my thots:

ducks: this team does not appear to have a leadership group at all? is that normal? like no one with any letters??? anyway i predict mason mctavish will get the captaincy. it was probably flirted with to give it to trevor zegras at some point while the getzlaf era was fading and then they quickly realized it's like. trevor zegras. terry/vatrano/maybe gudas? will probably get some kind of A situation

kraken: i don't traverse kraken fandom spaces a lot but it is my understanding that yanni gourde is the sort of spiritual captain already? i also am going to assume that shane wright will get a full call-up next year, considering he's no longer slide eligible. i imagine the plan might be to sort of. ease him into Second Official Captain Of The Seattle Kraken type deal

blackhawks: jesus that jones contract is bad. like Bad bad. i can only imagine out of some misguided hope (because i am not Entirely sure hawks management knows what they're doing) they want to give the captaincy to The Sacred Child but again, he's like 3 and doesn't really seem attuned to that so it would be a bad idea imho. maybe seth jones then? i do feel the need to state though that There Is No One On This Team. it's nick foligno connor bedard seth jones and a dream.

avalanche: now i know i said in cases of no captain or UFA captain only but. i'm saying it now, i don't think landeskog is coming back. maybe he will pull a carey price -- hack out a couple games at the end of this season or next, to raucous applause and the game is good when he's in it, but for all intents and purposes we have witnessed the end. that being said they're no doubt going to give it to cale makar, which will be a mistake

utah hc: it should be clayton keller as i've been saying

sabres: exciting exciting !! the sabres have a history of trading their captains which means sabres captaincy is solidly a Cursed Thing To Bear which i enjoy. anyways mostly because he appears to be being set up for it (youngish player, touted prospect, wearing the A already) and also in the interests of torturing the blonde man i think it should be rasmus dahlin

lightning: not that there isn't a pretty significant chance of him returning to tampa but should stevie stamkos leave in free agency i think they'll probably pull a marchy-in-boston and name victor hedman captain. mostly because they don't really have any notable Youths to Pass The Torch too, other than, like, mikhail sergachev, and as cunty as he is he's not really like. captain material <- as far as i'm aware (plus he doesn't even have an A)

[senashenta]

Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: NC-17 (in future chapters)

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: This is my first time writing Destiel OR SPN (though I have written SPN AU in other fandoms) so please bear with me while I get my footing.

Also HH was originally supposed to be like a 10-page one-shot and the next thing I knew it was 79-pages-of-11-pt-Arial-and-counting and I was looking for places to divide it for chapters so. Yeah. This storyline kind of just took over my brain and became a THING.

Top Dean and Bottom Cas which I know is the reverse of how 90% of the fandom writes them, but I am tentatively planning a sequel to HH (depending on how well it does or doesn’t go over) that will flip them around so be patient shhhh.

Cas is younger than Dean in this AU by like… six months. Dean’s official birthday is January 24th, and I used Jimmy Novak’s birthday for Cas, which is July 10th. Since they’re both in the same grade that makes Cas younger. Just accept it and move on.

I have never been to Jacksonville or Florida, so everything contained within this fic is completely fictitious; business names, street names, school names, place names, everything except Jacksonville, Florida itself. :D

ALSO, before anyone corrects me on stuff, I am CANADIAN and I know the CANADIAN high school system/curriculum. I really have very little idea of how the US school system/classes work so like. I’m just making it up as I go. :D;; (Literally how many classes do US high school students have in a day?? Up here it’s FOUR.)

Please excuse my interpretation of jorogumos, I took a LOT of liberties.

Chapter Two will be posted next Friday, if you're into that sort of thing. You can also read this HERE on AO3.

HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

HORROR HIGH Chapter One By Senashenta

Dean Winchester crept up the steps of Caspar High School in Jacksonville, Florida, and ducked under the line of police tape that marked off the area, heading for the little tent that had been erected just to the side of the building, near the bushes. The whole scene was theoretically being guarded by the police—but the officer they had left behind was asleep in his police car out front.

Bang up job, Jacksonville P.D.

That aside, Dean was good at his job, so sneaking into a crime scene was no big deal for him, guarded or not. And this was just your basic body check, there wouldn’t be any fighting or anything to wake the cop up—or that was the theory, anyway. (Even if there was, it wouldn’t be his first time being caught and or arrested, either, but they would probably just chalk it up to him being a nosy kid regardless.)

This was the first time his Dad had trusted him enough to drop him in a town to take care of a case alone. Of course, Sam was in Jacksonville with Dean while their Dad headed to Utah to look into a recent spate of killings there, but Sam was pretty much confined to school and the motel on this outing, as per their father’s orders. Still, Dean was going to be keeping a close eye on him: Sam had been known to rabbit in the past and he didn’t want to have to call his Dad and explain that he had lost his little brother (again.)

Now, Dean stealthily unzipped the tent flap and stepped inside, letting it fall closed behind himself.

What he was confronted with when his eyes adjusted to the darkness wasn’t a body so much as a cocoon, an oblong, rounded object the size of a person and wrapped in layers and layers of what looked almost like off-white cheesecloth or gauze. Dean leaned down and tapped at it with his fingers. It was soft, like silk.

Well that would explain why the police hadn’t taken the body away yet; there was no body, per se.

“Let’s see what’s inside you.”

Dean pulled the buck knife out of the back of his jeans, unsheathed it, and got to work cutting the cocoon open. The wrapping, though soft, was tough and sticky, hard to slice through, but eventually he hacked a seam lengthways along the cocoon, at which point he set his knife aside to pull the damned thing open.

Inside was the actual body; male, probably, and curled in on itself, shrivelled and desiccated and dried to a withered husk. At least it didn’t smell. Dean still made a face, even as he released the cocoon and picked up his knife, tucking it away again before exiting the little tent and heading off down the street, making for the motel he and Sam were staying at.

The Seafoam Motel wasn’t exactly high-class, but then none of the places they stayed at ever were. But it had walls and a roof, good locks on the door, it was cheap, and nobody asked too many questions about the occupants of the rooms, and those were all the important things. The Seafoam Motel ticked all the boxes for a financially strapped Hunter—and for his kids, too. Not that you would know it from Sam’s complaining.

At least it had wifi, the kid would have pitched an absolute fit if it hadn’t.

When he got back to the room the door was predictably locked (good job, Sammy), and Dean banged on it a couple of times, calling out, “Sammy, it’s me, open the door!”

After a moment of silence there was the sound of the chain lock and deadbolt being unlocked, and then the door was yanked open. Sam stepped aside to let Dean in and then closed and locked the door behind him, just like it had been drilled into him so many times in the past. “What’d you find?”

“Cocoon.”

“Come again?”

“Cocoon.” Dean repeated as he crossed the room, pulling his knife out and setting it on the little kitchenette table, then dropping into one of the rickety chairs. “You know, like the movie? The body was inside it. Wrapped up in this tough, sticky… I don’t know what. But it sure looked a hell of a lot like a cocoon to me.”

Sam was already heading for his laptop. “That gives us a place to start, at least.”

“Oh no, no no.” Dean headed him off at the pass, practically diving over and snatching the computer before Sam could get to it. “You’re not doing research all night, we have freaking school in the morning.” And then, “…I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Yeah, because you care about school.” Sam rolled his eyes and made a grab for the laptop, but Dean held it over his head where he couldn’t reach. “Dean.”

“I care about the girls at school.” He informed his brother with a grin, then added, “and it’s nearly two a.m., we’re going to bed. Research tomorrow. Sleep now. Besides, I have to check out the school some more anyway, just a cocoon isn’t going to give us much.”

Sam grumbled, eventually agreed, but still held his hand out for his computer. Dean deposited the laptop safely into his grasp and then started stripping down, falling into bed once he was in just his boxers and a t-shirt. “Get the lights, Sammy.”

Sam flicked the lights off with a long-suffering sigh.

-- --

Castiel Novak wasn’t having a great first day at Caspar High. He was relatively used to being the New Kid, his father’s job had them moving around a lot so he switched schools on a regular basis, but the hazing at Caspar was particularly mean spirited, he was finding, not to mention the building itself was an absolute maze, and he had been late for literally all of his morning classes simply because he hadn’t been able to find them and no one had been willing to help him out.

Now he was seated in the cafeteria, by himself but surrounded by the rest of the bustling student body, unsure what to really do with himself.

This wasn’t his first time being the New Kid. He and his father moved around a lot for his father’s job and Caspar High was the third school he’d transferred to since September. It was now January. His father promised that the moving would slow down, though; he could see how much it wore on Cas, even if the boy never said anything about it. He was going to start travelling for his seminars, instead, now that he felt Cas was old enough to stay home on his own. So Cas could potentially be at Caspar for a while.

He probably should have been worried about making friends. For most kids his age that would have been top priority, but Cas had always been a little different, and he thought he was fine on his own, if it came down to it, especially considering the first impression he was getting of the other students so far. It figured that the High School he was likely to actually graduate from would turn out to be full of nothing but jerks.

He was also possibly a little jaded from all the moving around he’d done in the past.

For the time being he just dug his lunch—a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple and a bottle of water—out of his backpack, unwrapped the sandwich and began to pick little pieces of it off and eat them, rather than taking proper bites as he usually would. He wasn’t really all that hungry, considering there were at least a hundred pairs of eyes on him at the moment.

And then—

“HEY NEW KID!”

When Cas looked up, a basketball was flying at his face and he had no time to duck out of the way—but at the last possible second hands shot out of nowhere, snatching the ball out of the air before it could hit its’ target. Blue eyes blinked, and his head swivelled sideways to take in the stranger that had just saved him from a black eye at the very least.

The guy wasn’t overly tall—probably around Cas’s height, give or take—with short, tousled brown hair. He was sporting a t-shirt and a flannel button-up under a worn black jean jacket. He was also wearing ripped jeans. But Cas was most taken by his eyes, which were a sharp, beautiful forest green. As he watched, the other boy eyed the kid across the cafeteria who had thrown the ball to begin with—then abruptly pitched it back at the offender. The ball slammed into the other kid’s head, sending him flying backward out of his seat and causing laugher to erupt all across the cafeteria.

Then his rescuer just looked down at him for a moment before dropping down to sit next to him, straddling the bench. “They tried that on me my first day here, too. Same thing happened then. You’d think they’d learn.”

“Thank you.” Cas offered with a blink.

“No problem.”

“I’m Castiel.”

“That’s a mouthful. I’m Dean.” And then, “the fact that you’re wearing a tie right now isn’t going to help your popularity. Also,” he reached over to physically pull the tie off Cas’s neck and dropped it on the table in front of them. Cas allowed it, somewhat baffled. “You had it on backwards. Honestly, dude, just wear t-shirts like the rest of us.”

“I can do that.” Cas agreed. He owned t-shirts. He grabbed his tie to stuff it into his backpack. Then he returned to looking at Dean, taking in his features and mannerisms. He was exceedingly good-looking, Cas decided almost absently. At the same time, Dean was looking him over as well, seeming to take stock of him, gaze alert and analytical. Scrutinizing.

Eventually Cas shifted a little and asked, “are you new, too?”

“New-ish.” Dean shrugged, “I transferred in two weeks ago.”

“That’s why you’re nicer than...” Cas trailed off and glanced around the cafeteria.

“Literally everyone else here?” Dean suggested with a laugh.

“I didn’t want to say it, but yes.”

“It gets better. After a few days they forget. They’re dumb like that, the masses.”

“Zombies.”

“Uh,” Dean hesitated, but then allowed, “yeah, sure, kind of.”

“You don’t sound very certain, Dean.”

“Well, Cas, I just think zombies are probably different than in the movies.”

Wait. “Cas?” He called himself ‘Cas’ in his head, but no one ever called him that out loud except his father.

Dean gave him a little amused look, “’Castiel’ is a lot.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“As long as it’s fine with you, that is.”

Cas nodded and offered a smile. “It’s fine with me.”

Dean gave him a little grin back. “Great.”

The rest of lunch hour was spent with Cas actually eating his lunch properly while he talked with Dean and they got to know each other a little. No one else bothered them for the rest of the time they were in the cafeteria, and Cas was hoping he would have at least one of his afternoon classes with Dean, but when they compared their schedules, it sadly wasn’t to be. Cas resigned himself to hazing throughout the day for at least the next week or so—until the rest of the student body moved on.

It was a novelty to talk with someone who overlooked his innate strangeness. Cas was so used to people giving him odd looks that Dean chatting with him as freely as he was now, was… almost baffling. Dean seemed like the kind of guy who could be popular, have tons of friends easily, and instead here he was wasting his time with Cas. It was… weird. Not that Cas was complaining.

When the bell rang to signify the end of lunch hour, Cas was mildly disappointed that their conversation had to end. He shifted in his seat a bit before asking tentatively, “you could sit with me again tomorrow, If you wanted?”

“I’ve already got a spot where I spend lunch hour, usually. Not in here.” Dean replied casually, making Cas wilt a little, then; “but you can join me if you want. Meet me by the gym tomorrow at the start of lunch, okay?”

Cas brightened again, nodding. “Okay.”

“Cool.” Dean stood up and brushed the nonexistent dust off himself with a grin, “then I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas.”

Cas smiled back. “Mm, see you tomorrow.”

He didn’t know where Dean was going, but he was off to calculus class—assuming he could find it.

-- --

“Hey, New Kid.”

Cas was really getting tired of being called that, but at least this time there had been no malice behind it. More curiosity, if anything. He was seated in calculus, having found it with (relative) ease, trying to keep his head down and out of trouble when the voice spoke up from in front of him. He reluctantly lifted his head.

The girl in the seat in front of him was twisted around in her chair to face him, a wide smile on her face. Her hair was the reddest red that Cas thought it could possibly be. She gave him a little wave. “I’m Charlie. What’s your name?”

Cas hesitated before offering, “Castiel. But just Cas is fine.”

“Wow, yeah, ‘Castiel’ is…”

“A lot.” Cas echoed Dean’s words from earlier in the day. He was starting to relax now that Charlie was turning out to be friendly. He sat up a little straighter. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you, too!” Charlie glanced around, “I know most of the population of his school are jerks, but calculus is a pretty safe class, so you can relax a little. Oh!” She gestured to the side at another girl, “this is Jody,” and then to the boy sitting in the seat beside Cas, “and this is Garth. They’re cool too.”

Jody had short brown hair and dark eyes, and almost a maternal smile; Garth was tall and lanky, kind of goofy looking but gave him a greeting grin that Cas couldn’t help smiling back to. He was definitely feeling more comfortable now, in this class, at least.

“I saw what happened at lunch,” Charlie said, pulling his attention back to her, “Dean Winchester saved you, which, like… what was he even doing in the cafeteria? He always vanishes at lunch time. No one knows where he goes. It’s a mystery.” She wiggled her fingers a little, “he must like you, ‘cause he usually just keeps to himself, or he has since he transferred in, anyway.”

“Mn, he said he was new, too.”

“Yeah, by a couple weeks. No one dares pick on him, though, he’d kick everyone’s asses.”

Cas coughed out a little laugh. “I got that impression.” Then, after a slight hesitation, “he said I could sit with him at lunch tomorrow. So.”

“Ooh, exciting! You’ll have to tell us where he eats lunch, then!” Charlie grinned at him, then rolled her eyes slightly, “aaaaaaall the girls have a crush on him. He’s handsome and mysterious and blah blah blah.”

“You think he’s over-rated.” Jody informed flatly, though her expression was amused.

“Over-rated?” Cas questioned.

“Charlie is gay.” Garth explained. “Like, so gay.”

“So gay.” Charlie agreed.

“Oh.” Cas shrugged. It didn’t bother him. “I’m not entirely straight myself.”

Charlie just grinned. “So you don’t think Dean Winchester is over-rated.”

He cleared his throat and glanced down a little. “He’s not unattractive.”

“Yeaaaah that’s what I thought.”

“I like girls, too, though, I just… I like who I like. I don’t care about their gender.”

“That’s valid.” Charlie gave him a reassuring smile, then just changed the topic entirely; “where’d you move from?”

Cas blinked. “Wichita, Kansas. My Father and I move around a lot for his job… or we did. Now that I’m older I guess he trusts me to stay home alone so he’s going to start travelling instead. So I’m stuck here.”

“It’s not so bad here once you settle in,” Jody reassured him.

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded, “and you’ve got us now, so it’s not like you have no friends.”

“You just have weird friends.” Garth laughed.

Cas couldn’t help the little grin that crept across his own face. He was actually perfectly okay with having weird friends.

-- --

In history class, after calculus, somebody tripped him on his way to his seat and Cas fell flat on his face. The rest of the students laughed. Cas just got back up and continued on, pretending nothing had happened. That was the best way to deal with bullies, he had learned, over his long and sordid history of transferring from school to school. Ignore them until they give up and go away.

Or, alternatively, have Dean Winchester throw a basketball at their face. That apparently worked, too.

In any case, after the incident in history, the rest of the day passed easily enough, until Cas found himself standing outside the school after final bell, just taking deep breaths of the fresh air and looking up at the sky—soaking in the fact that he was free, at least for the rest of the day.

“You going left or right?”

Cas blinked at the familiar voice and turned his attention to Dean, who had come up beside him while he was distracted with the general out-of-doors. He glanced toward the route he had to take to get home. “Right. Why?”

“Me too. I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh. Okay.” And then, “thanks.”

“Don’t gotta thank me. I’m walking that way anyway.” Dean nudged him to get him moving, and Cas headed off with the other boy by his side.

“No, I mean,” Cas waved one hand in an absent sort of gesture, “I mean for earlier. In the cafeteria. You really didn’t have to do that. And one of the girls I was talking to later said you don’t even usually go in the cafeteria, so I just… thanks. For going out of your way. I appreciate it.”

“You were gossiping about me?”

“I—” Cas began, then clapped his mouth shut again and shook his head in a quick negative. When he spoke up once more it was to mutter, “of course not.”

But Dean was already grinning, looking overly amused. “It’s fine, Cas, I’m used to being gossip fodder. What was she saying about me?”

“That all the girls here think you’re handsome.” Cas told him easily, but conveniently left out the part where he agreed with them. There was no sense in telling a guy he’d just met that he was already developing a crush on him, especially when he might be moving again any day. He really wasn’t sure he trusted his father’s promises that they were going to stay put this time. “And that no one knows where you disappear to at lunch time, apparently it’s a big mystery.”

Dean laughed. “Well you’ll know, starting tomorrow.” He pointed out, “you’re still gonna join me, right?”

Cas actually gave him a surprised look. “I didn’t think you actually—”

“—meant it?” Dean finished for him. His smile softened for just a second before returning to his previous jovial expression. “Mmm… I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it. And besides, you’re different from all those other assholes, I can tell.”

“I like to think I am, anyway.” Then, “you are, too.”

Dean grinned again. “I think we’re going to be friends, Cas, I really do.”

Cas offered up a smile of his own, “I’d like that, Dean.”

They walked together for a few blocks, until they got to James Street, at which point Cas paused and gestured down it. This was his turn off, he had to walk down James to get to King Street where he lived, and it was… well, the term “sketchy” came to mind. James Street was all run-down houses, broken fences, guard dogs and probably drug dealers. Dean looked down the street, giving it a thorough eyeballing, before declaring—

“Nope!” He gave Cas a little push toward the street, but then followed him, falling into step beside him as they headed down James. “No way are you walking down here by yourself, dude, that’s just asking to get axe-murdered. Or worse.”

“Worse than axe-murdered?”

“Oh, trust me there are so many worse things than being axe-murdered.”

Cas would have to take his word for it. He couldn’t personally think of any, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. For now he was just going over and over in his head how this guy he had just met was walking him all the way home through a dodgy part of town, even though he didn’t have to. His tiny, newborn crush on Dean Winchester was probably growing teeth already, and it hadn’t even been a day.

“When’s your birthday?”

“Huh?” Cas blinked back to reality at the question and actually had to fumble for a response before managing, “July.”

“January.” Dean was paying very close attention to their surroundings while also trying to maintain a conversation and that was obvious. “So I’m older.”

“Only by six months.” Cas pointed out.

“Still counts. Means you have to do what I say.” Dean grinned at him fleetingly, “those’re the rules!”

“I don’t like those rules.” The younger teen gave a token protest. “I think you made those rules up.”

“Possibly, but they’re important.”

“Why?”

“Could save your life one day.”

Cas laughed softly at that, but Dean didn’t, instead falling silent until they were past James Street and out of the sketchy area that Cas had very much walked through unescorted on his way to school that morning. Dean relaxed visibly as soon as they were back to “normal” neighborhoods, his steps easier and his shoulder slouching a little, where they had been tense and taut only a moment before.

Honestly, Cas wasn’t entirely sure what was up with Dean, but clearly something was going on inside his head. He would love to have picked Dean’s brain about it, but he really didn’t think Dean would be up for sharing. Maybe he had an incident in his past, something to do with a neighborhood like James that had him acting like he was now. Cas thought possibly once they got to know each other a little bit more, he might ask, but for now…

“I live on King.” He gestured down the street in question when they neared it, “I really can walk from here, I… um. But thanks. Again.”

Dean’s steps slowed to a stop and he glanced around, as if checking the surrounding neighborhood before deeming it safe. “Okay, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow, right? Be careful walking that way on your way to school in the morning.”

“I will.” Cas gave him a little smile, “thanks, Dean. See you tomorrow.” Then he turned and headed across the street to King, where his father was likely waiting to hear a rundown of his day.

-- --

Lunch time the next day found Cas nervously waiting outside the gym, half expecting Dean not to show—that it had all been an elaborate prank.

Cas’s morning had gone alright, though, everyone seemed to be steering clear now that it had circulated that Dean Winchester was looking out for him. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, Dean had done to garner his reputation, but whatever it was it had been effective.

“Hey.” A hand clapped into his shoulder and when Cas glanced up, Dean was standing there, “c’mon.”

Cas just stared at him. “You actually came.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean gave him an odd look, then gestured for him to follow and headed into the gym. It was empty right now, except for them, and Cas trailed after Dean as they walked around the side of the bleachers—and Dean ducked into the back of them, then dropped down and settled with his back against the wall. He waved a hand for Cas to join him.

Cas clambered in behind the bleachers as well, taking a seat beside Dean and setting his backpack beside him. “This is where you spend lunch?”

“Yeah. It’s private. Quiet, usually.” Dean shrugged, “I don’t mind you being here, though.”

Cas blinked at that, not quite sure what to say. “I—thanks?”

Dean tossed him a grin. “You don’t have to thank me for everything, Cas.”

But it was the polite thing to do. Cas opened his mouth—then closed it again. After a moment he just shrugged almost awkwardly and dug in his backpack for his lunch, unwrapping his sandwich and beginning to eat. He was so severely unused to having friends that this was difficult for him—socializing. He didn’t really know how to do it.

“Hey, what’s your family like?” Cas glanced over when Dean spoke up. The other boy had his head leaned back against the wall, his hands laced over his stomach and his eyes were staring off somewhere into the middle-distance.

“My family?” Cas swallowed a bite of sandwich and resisted the urge to shrug again. “It’s just me and my Father. He adopted me when I was five, but I don’t remember anything before then. It’s always just been the two of us.”

Dean smiled a little and looked at him. “I’ve got me, and my Dad, and my annoying little brother. But we get by okay.”

So neither of them had Moms. That was interesting. Cas took another bite of his sandwich and asked, “how come you transferred here? Does your Dad move around a lot for work or something?”

“You could say that.” Dean agreed, “what about you?”

“Same.” The younger teen nodded, in-between bites of food, “my Father is a motivational speaker, and he does series of seminars all over the place. The last couple months we were in Kansas, and Oregon before that. Now we’re here.” Another bite of sandwich and he continued, a little muffled, “he says we’re going to stay here, though, now that I’m old enough to stay home on my own. He says he’ll start travelling for his work instead.” A shrug, “I don’t know if I believe him or not.”

“Your Dad lie to you often?”

Cas sighed. “No, it’s just… I think it’s a stretch. That he’s suddenly decided all this.”

“Mm.” Dean seemed sympathetic, though Cas wasn’t entirely sure why. “Sucks that it’s this school that you’d be stuck at, after everything.”

“That’s what I was thinking yesterday.” Cas admitted, balling up the wrap from his lunch and dropping it back in his bag. Then he hesitated before offering, “but then I met you, and… things got better.”

Dean grinned again. “Yeah. I think we’re gonna be good friends, Cas.”

Cas found himself smiling back—and then Dean lifted his arm to run his hand through his hair and Cas’s eyes caught on a tear in the cuff of his jacket. He tilted his head curiously. “What happened to your jacket?”

“Huh?” Dean lowered his arm to peer at the rip. He shrugged. “I don’t even know, honestly, half my stuff has holes in it and I never know where they came from.”

Cas was already digging through his backpack again, and this time came up with a spool of black thread and a needle, much to Dean’s obvious surprise. He waved one hand toward the older boy, “take it off and I’ll fix it for you.”

Of all the ways this lunch hour could have gone, this was not one Dean would have predicted. He looked at Cas almost blankly for a moment, then let his eyes flick down to the other teen’s backpack. It was covered in vibrant patches—a cartoon PB&J sandwich, a pizza box, an LGBTQ flag, angel wings, etc.—all obviously hand-sewn on. And oh. So sewing was a thing with Cas. Okay.

Dean pushed away from the wall just enough to shrug out of his jacket and handed it over, watching curiously as Cas measured out a length of thread, then snapped it off with his teeth, threading the needle and knotting the thread a second later. He was obviously practiced at this particular skill. So was Dean, but for different reasons.

A few minutes of concentration later and Cas was finished with repairing the rip in his jacket, knotting off the thread and snapping it with his teeth again, then tucking the needle and thread away before sheepishly handing the jacket back to Dean.

“It’s not perfect, but it’s much better, right?” He asked almost shyly.

Dean gave him a genuine, grateful smile. “Thanks, Cas. It’s great.”

Cas watched him pull his jacket back on, smiling himself now. “I like to sew. It gives me something to do with my hands when I’m feeling… I don’t know. Antsy, I suppose. Like some people play with pencils or fidget toys, I have a needle and thread…”

Dean was inspecting the newly-sewn spot on his cuff, and looked up with a grin, “I play with knives.” He informed Cas, only half-joking.

Cas, not knowing any better, laughed anyway. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… being nice to me. Thanks for this. For… being my friend.”

Dean almost told him he didn’t need to thank him again. Instead he just smiled, almost fond, and said, “you’re welcome, Cas.”

-- --

“What do you mean you’re not going to tell us where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”

This was from Charlie, who had one hand clasped to her chest and a positively shocked and scandalized look on her face. The entire thing was an act and Cas knew it, even having only known Charlie for two days. “Charlie.”

“What do you mean you’re not going to tell me where Dean Winchester spends lunch hour?”

“Aaaaaand there it is.” Jody drawled. Garth chuckled.

Cas just smiled apologetically. “It’s kind of a secret. I don’t think he wants people to know.”

Charlie pouted, “you just want him all to yourself, that’s what I think.”

Cas coughed and glanced down at the same time as Garth commented, “as if you care. You couldn’t be less interested in Dean Winchester if you tried, Charlie.”

“Not true!” Charlie insisted, “he is, indeed, a mystery that I am interested in solving! Just… not in, like, a romantic sense. Because ew.” Then she paused before adding, “I mean, objectively I can see where you would find him attractive, Cas, but just… no thanks.”

A soft laugh from Cas, faintly embarrassed. “Sorry, Charlie. I’m still not going to tell you.”

The girl heaved a suffering sigh. “You disappoint me, Castiel Novak.”

Again. “Sorry, Charlie.”

“You are not.”

He wasn’t even a little.

-- --

It became habit that Cas met Dean outside the gym every day at lunch and they spent lunch hour behind the bleachers, talking and laughing and becoming better friends, Cas’s minor crush on Dean growing into a huge monster of one very quickly.

Dean never had anything to eat at lunch and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Cas, though he had thus far neglected to say anything. But the longer he knew Dean and the more time he spent with the other boy the more it bothered him. He wasn’t bringing anything from home, obviously, and never bought anything from the cafeteria, he just sat through lunch hour watching everyone else eat and going hungry himself, scribbling in a battered notebook that he carried in his inside jacket pocket.

And that didn’t sit right with Cas because some days it was obvious Dean was hungry from the way he watched Cas eat out of the corner of his eye. But why he never had food was probably a sensitive subject and Cas didn’t feel he had the right to ask.

He could, however, do something about it.

So the next time Dean plunked himself down on the ground behind the gym bleachers at lunch time, Cas sat down next to him, then swung his backpack around and fished out not one but two sandwiches, each individually wrapped in cling-film. He blinked at Dean and held one out. “Here.”

Dean just stared at him. “Dude, what are you doing?”

“Feeding you.” Cas stated matter-of-factly, and when Dean didn’t immediately take the offered sandwich, he just set it in the older boy’s lap and returned to his bag, digging out two apples and setting one next to Dean’s sandwich. This was followed by a pair of bottles of water. Then he shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”

“But—I—you—this is—”

Cas could sense where this was going. He headed it off at the pass. “It’s not charity, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s as easy to make two sandwiches as it is to make one.” He was already unwrapping his own sandwich, and paused to glance sideways at Dean before taking a bite; “we’re friends and friends help each other out, right?”

“We are, yeah…” Dean continued looking at him rather oddly while he started to eat, like he was having trouble with the idea of someone doing something so nice for him and not wanting anything in return. Eventually, though, he glanced away, as if suddenly shy, and carefully picked up his own sandwich, unwrapping it and taking a huge bite right off the bat. He was obviously starving. Once that was chewed and swallowed, he cleared his throat and offered, “uh… thanks, Cas.”

Cas shrugged again but gave him a smile. “As long as you don’t mind peanut butter and jelly, I don’t mind sharing with you.”

“…I am not eating the apple. Apples belong in pies.”

The next day Cas started bringing him a fruit cup instead. “It’s close to pie.”

“It’s not even.”

Despite his protests, Dean ate it anyway.

-- --

On top of eating lunch together, it had also quickly become habit for Dean to walk Cas home—mostly because he was very suspicious of James Street and that neighborhood in general, and he didn’t want his only friend to be snatched up by some monster, or even a common-place serial killer. A life of being a Hunter’s son had made him more than a little paranoid when it came to things like that.

Usually Cas made it outside first, and just waited around by one of the retaining walls until Dean emerged from the school a few minutes later, at which point they set out. Cas kept telling Dean he really didn’t need to walk him home, and Dean kept doing it anyway.

Because aside from his paranoia, he really did like Cas, and enjoy spending time with him, possibly too much, really—but walking Cas home also got him away from the crappy motel and his annoying little brother for just a little while longer, which was always a bonus. He was a Hunter, and he had a job to do, his dad drilled that into him all the damn time, but he was also not-quite eighteen and needed distraction every now-and-then.

“You’re quiet.” Dean was always quiet when they were walking down James Street. Cas always tried anyway. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking it’s going to rain.”

Cas glanced up. It was severely overcast, with storm clouds overhead and the humidity was through the roof. Dean was probably right. “Yeah, probably.” He agreed. “Hey, do you want to walk all the way to my house today? I could introduce you to my Father, if he’s in. We could hang out.”

Dean flashed him a little smile. “I can’t. I’ve gotta get home to Sammy.”

‘Sammy’ was Dean’s younger brother, thirteen from what Dean had told him, and attending Bedwin Junior High. Bedwin was Caspar’s affiliated Junior High, so if they were around long enough, Sammy—Sam—would go to Caspar as well. Dean seemed to feel that they wouldn’t be around that long, though, which was… disappointing. Upsetting, even.

Cas was used to moving around, himself, and in the beginning he had been young and hadn’t known better, he had made friends wherever he went, and then inevitably had to leave them behind. When he got a little older, he started purposefully avoiding making friends, so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing them.

Now, at Caspar, he had dropped his guard again, and even if his father kept his word and they didn’t move again, and he was able to stay friends with Charlie, Jody and Garth, Dean… he and his brother were in the same boat as Cas had been in previously. So, Cas had gotten to be friends with Dean without even meaning to, gotten close to him, developed a huge crush on him—though he never let it show—and Dean could be leaving any day. It was only a matter of time, really.

Cas had thought that he had hardened himself to the reality of losing friends, considering how he’d grown up, but the thought of Dean taking off just… put a lump in the pit of his stomach. He really had it bad for the older boy, had since Day One, probably, Charlie was right about that much.

But Dean was funny and smart and so attractive, so of course—

Something heavy slammed into Cas’s back right at that moment, the blow cushioned only by the fact that he was wearing his backpack, and Cas yelped out a startled noise even as he tumbled to the ground, landing roughly on the hard pavement.

Whatever had crashed into him was still on top of him—a person, he thought—and scrabbling at him, one hand holding him down by the chest while the other grabbed at his hair and shoved his head to the side. Then they lunged forward and bit into his neck—Cas gave a sharp cry—and abruptly Dean’s voice shouted something unintelligible and he yanked the person off, flinging them away.

When Cas looked up, the person who had attacked him was standing a few feet away, wiping at his mouth and spitting. Dean was between him and Cas and had a huge buck knife in one hand (where had that come from?), holding it at the ready. When the stranger stopped gagging and lunged toward Dean, Dean braced himself and full-body tackled the man, knife flashing—first silver and then red—as he stabbed it into the man over and over again.

After that onslaught, though, and despite being stabbed several times, the stranger wrenched himself away and took off, fleeing into the oncoming storm.

Dean stood where he was for a moment, heaving, before wiping the knife on his jeans and tucking it into the back of his waistband, where Cas assumed it had come from to begin with. Then he hurried back over to Cas and crouched down, hands hovering uselessly. “Shit, Cas, are you okay?”

Cas brought one hand up to the side of his neck where he had been bitten, wiping there before dropping it again to look almost blankly at the blood on his palm. That was about when it started to rain. Dean reached to help him up, and together they got Cas back to his feet. He actually didn’t feel too bad, all things considered.

Dean was already checking out his neck, ignoring the fact that rain was pouring down on them now. “It doesn’t look too bad. It didn’t get you too deep. Could’ve ripped your throat out, you’re lucky.”

“It—what—he bit me—and—you stabbed him and he didn’t even—"

“Cas,” Dean looked him in the eye, deadly serious, and told him firmly, “that was a vampire.”

[bleue-flora]

https://www.tumblr.com/bleue-flora/756891956367556608/ngl-i-thought-the-anon-that-said-a-few-characters?source=share

Good points although I suspected it was about them because c!quackity had the urge to burn down kinoko kingdom because he felt left behind by his friends lead to him self sabotaging, also the whole controlling c!slimecicle thing ect,,, then for c!tommy ig attacking c!wilbur with a sword when c!wilbur said he was going to utah, hating c!ranboo for taking c!tubbo away, and the other self destructive based. Apparently directly after the 'the discs were worth more than you ever were' there was a lot of regret, which reminds me of going from saying something horrible then immediately regretting but I don't have bpd, I've only been told by a therapist that I have bpd traits so I cant say much either. Now that I think more about it, maybe they meant c!wilbur

To be fair, wanting to burn down Kinoko Kingdom after losing his fiancés is a fairly understandable urge (especially given the context of the dsmp vs the real world you wouldn’t go burn down someone’s house because they hurt you) and I’m not so sure controlling Slime is a very BPD thing to do, is it? Eh I’m not sure, given his history of manipulating others to his agenda I’d say Slime is only one of the victims, just the most impressionable. And given his other behavior I think we are perhaps dealing with another person with Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD). His disregard and non consideration to how other people may feel. To the point of blowing up Purpled’s spaceship and thinking he’d be fine with that. His lack of understanding of the consequences of his actions, like being utterly confused by doomsday, as if they didn’t poke the bear by attacking Technoblade. Perhaps because he’s older than Tommy is, he has a little more skill in blending in with society and has grown his manipulation skills to get what he wants…. I don’t know, certainly his enjoyment of torturing another human being for about 80 days is a bright red flag…

I mean both of those things happen at the point where Tommy is already getting more unstable, and him stabbing Wilbur for leaving makes perfect sense to me honestly. And Tommy is scared, so lashing out as someone who makes him feel safe is leaving would trigger a strong reaction. As for Tubbo, their friendship is very… messed up and I think while Tommy doesn’t seem to value Tubbo more than the discs, he still is more akin to a valuable thing to Tommy. A thing Tommy feels entitled to, and that belongs by his side following his every whim, and just like the discs he doesn’t appreciate Tubbo being stolen from him. But also jealously is a typical thing to happen so that isn’t the most deranged thing he had done to be fair.

I mean we all say things we regret later, especially in the heat of the moment with emotions high. But even though he seems to regret and want to take it back minutes later, his behavior has also backed up this statement. Again dragging Tubbo into war and war to get hurt, his hesitation to give up the discs for Tubbo’s life in both of the disc finales. If it was one isolated statement then sure, but it’s backed by his actions which reflect a similar sentiment.

I think we can have some traits that perhaps look like a lot of disorders or whatever, but that doesn’t mean we are, if that makes sense. I’ve had people say that about autism where they’re like - well I do that too so does that mean I’m autistic, everyone can’t be autistic just cause they do blank - but it’s not about one thing or two things or even things that look similar. It’s about a culmination if that makes sense, as well as the context and reasoning behind the behavior.

As for Wilbur I don’t think he has BPD but instead I actually think he’s a Narcissist, I mean reading the Millon Theory breakdown of Narcissism [here] it just seems to fit to me.

[demonicchicken1121]

I know I ask this a lot but it's because I really like your Michael but can we hear More about him?

Youre "charlie likes horror movies and michael Does Not" has fixed my months long procrastination on how to deal with Michaels relationship with horror, so heres that:

Michael liked horror movies well enough when he was younger, but hated them as he got older. I don't think he hates horror as a genre; i actually think he would like the modern horror genre because a lot of it is focused on family tragedy, and he would find that relatable. (tho i think its funny because that subgenre was largely inspired by fnaf.)

He hates gore and body horror played for shock value, since hes lived a lot of those horrors himself, and it can trigger his ptsd. but i also think a more deeply rooted hate of those types of films comes from a lot of the villians being queer-coded, mentally ill, physically deformed, etc. which are all labels that apply to him and a lot of the people in his life. The heros are never as fucked up or as complicated as he is, or his friends are, or his father is

bit of a side tangent, but "queer, mentally ill, neurodivergent, etc villain vs queer, mentally ill, neurodivergent, etc hero" is like my favorite dynamic. Bill Cipher vs the Pines, Megatron vs Optimus (TFP specifically), William Afton vs Michael and/or Henry just to name a few

Though i think that Mike would really love the kinda cheesy childish horror. Jump scares, tacky halloween decorations, haunted houses, and zombies especially. The Haunted Mansion ride at Disney and The Nightmare Before Christmas? He LOVES that shit. He likes startling people and being startled. Its kind of a form of affection he locked away after the bite, but came back after getting Ev's forgiveness and learning he doesnt have to hate himself and never have fun for the rest of his life.

Hed probably have this really goofy high pitched screech followed by nervous, slightly crazed laughter whenever hes snuck up on/tickled from behind/jumpscared/generally not expecting something. He's got Henry, Charlie, Evan, and Jeremy constantly trying to get him to do the Goofy Screech. fun family vibes.

He likes messing with the weird cryptid hunters whenever they ask around town about him. like "hello are you aware of the utah purple man" "yeah man im pretty fucking aware of him"

[actual-arrrchie]

What are some of ypurMichael/Jeremike headcanons? Could you share them with us?

Oooooh there's SO MANYYY These two are all I've been thinking about for over a year now and I don't plan to stop anytime soon lmao Putting a read more in there so you don't spend 10 years scrolling past this post

MICHAEL W. AFTON (voice claim: Kenai from Brother Bear)

His full name is Michael William Afton, he never mentions his second name to anyone for obvious reasons though

He was born in Utah

Autistic

Bisexual

Big sharp canines

He has vitiligo

He's a momma's boy

Pathetic wet cat boyloser

Clara and William divorced when the kids were very young. William got to keep them because he had better income and could provide "a better home" for them. He made it impossible for Clara to meet the kids again and told them that mom doesn't love them anymore. Michael didn't want to believe it but as the time passed, he eventually did

Clara was writing letters to the kids but William would burn them all before they could see them

Michael took the worst traits after William, unfortunately. He deals with sudden mood swings and serious anger issues

He was never taught a healthy way to cope with his emotions.

Michael sucks at explaining what he feels so he would often get frustrated and angry when people don't get why he's feeling a certain way

He's been dealing with night terrors every since his parents divorced

William always treated Evan and Elizabeth better than him so he feels jealous of them. Evan was too little to truly understand what's been happening around him but he did have a feeling that it's unfair, Elizabeth on the other hand was a daddy's girl and despite feeling like Williams wasn't giving her enough attention, she still always agreed with him and would stay on his side

Michael breaks stuff a lot. His room is always a mess because of this. He tore apart countless sketchbooks and notebooks, broke mirrors and even threw furniture around. After this kind of anger outbreaks, he always breaks down in tears and cries himself to sleep

Mike rarely looks in the mirror because of his many times people told him he looks just like his father. He never looks at family photos either

Michael and William have more in common than their appearance. Mike's small gestures and body language are exactly the same too. He hates it because people point it out all. the. time. There's nothing ha can do about it though

Even tho Michael hates his father, deep inside he still desperately craves his love and attention so he clings to any, even the slightest bits of kindness he gets from him. That makes it really easy for William to manipulate him and make him do whatever he wants him to do

Michael gets in fist fights a lot

He's not a stranger to violence in general but he's also really anxious and insecure. He always feels like he has to prove to everyone that he's nothing like William but most of the times it only shows how similar they are

Michael only cries when he's sure nobody can see it. William used to yell at him for crying when he was a child so he learned that he can never show any weakness

After the bite of 83, Michael experienced really bad panic attacks when he was exposed to animatronics or even his Foxy mask.

William would still force him to help in the pizzeria and make him work with the robots on purpose

Michael was forced to help at the diner/pizzerias since he was only 8 years old. Even when he was older, he never got officially hired there. William would just pull the "I pay for everything, you live off of my money so you owe me" card and make him work

He was anemic when he was about 13-14 years old, mostly because of how quickly he grew in that time and bad eating habits

Michael frowns a lot, not only when he's angry or irritated though. He tends to frown as a default expression which leads to a lot of misunderstandings

He's REALLY bad at taking care of plants

He loves cats and animals in general

JEREMY "REMY" FITZGERALD (voice claim: Seán McLoughlin aka Jacksepticeye)

Irish

Nonbinary [he/they]

Gay

Has two older brothers

Himbo

Big dumb silly idiot

Jeremy was born in Galway, Ireland and moved to California with his brothers and parents when he was 3 years old

They moved to Hurricane, Utah 16 years later and lived alone since

BIGGEST QUEEN FAN

Absolutely adores plants and has so many of them in their small apartment

Did construction work before getting a job at Freddy's

Has lots of religious trauma, all of it actually

Many piercings, most of them done by himself (idiot)

Has a big ivy tattoo

Was kicked out by his parents for being gay and struggled a lot to survive before starting a construction job. He even had to steal food a couple of times

Has ADHD

Has type 2 diabetes

Jeremy always dreamed about having a beautiful home with a big garden with lots of flowers and other plants in it but the best he got was a small old apartment filled with plants in pots.

They're very allergic to cats but that doesn't stop him from shoving his face into every kitty's belly

Jeremy was neglected as a child, his parents never planning a third child and not being too keen on having to raise another one. They put most of the responsibilities on their older sons which made them dislike their youngest sibling from the very beginning

Mary Anne and Patrick (the parents) never really tried to hide their indifference towards Jeremy, at east when they weren't in public. Because, naturally, they would hate for people to talk badly about them

Jeremy spent most of his childhood alone in their room, wandering the streets or spending time with Citlali, their best friend, and her parents. Remy adored them all and preferred hanging out with them over being with their own family

After moving to Utah he became very open about their identity. Moving away from his parents was difficult but also provided a whole new opportunity to finally be himself and make their own decisions

there is A WHOLE LOT more but this is all I've got in my head right now saiduhsada SHAMELESS PLUG TIME BUT YOU WILL LEARN A LOT MORE ABOUT MY JEREMIKE IN THE FIC I'M WRITING, IT'S CALLED "Insufficient" ON AO3

[theoriginalmarke]

FRIDAY FINALE

My mom fell and is in the hospital. Her home health nurse called me yesterday and said she's a lot worse than she's been telling me so I'm packing up and heading there Sunday or Monday.

I was going to take the car but now it looks like I'm taking the bike instead. That will leave Kitten with a decent vehicle and my mom has a much newer Ford Edge there. I just won't be able to carry as much with me as I'd hoped and I'll be stopping a lot more on the way to stretch. My butt is going to be hurting.

Her mom is at times doing well and at times not good at all. Her nurse suggested we try Tylenol PM to help her sleep but the antihistamine in it had the opposite effect and she was wired last night. Not good.

I hate leaving Kitten to deal with all this by herself. Her mom, the dog, the cats, her job, the house. Did I mention the dog? Oy. At least she's done teaching in two weeks so she'll have Thursday evenings back.

I'll have my mom, her two dogs (a hyper goldendoodle mix and a geriatric pug), her house, and Utah to deal with. And getting our pod delivered and unpacked.

Now if you'll excuse me we have to get her mom ready for a cardiologist appointment.

I love you, baby. So so much. MWAH!

Y'all have a great day.

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Dieter and Emily go to Sundance … and visit her Aunt Helen on their way home.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 6900

Notes: Any opinions implied about religion (especially Mormonism) and having children are my own and based on my own experience.

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites @weho2kcmo

Dieter flew back to Toronto and I slowly picked up the pieces after the accident. Oladele took care of the insurance details (my car was indeed totaled) and everything else, so I had plenty of time alone in Dieter’s house to think about things. 

“It’s so weird to be here without you,” I told him when he FaceTimed me that first night. 

“Get used to it,” he said wryly. “You’re going to be living there full-time and I’m not always going to be home, unfortunately.” 

It was true. I was used to being apart from him but it would be different once I had moved from my own place. “I know, and it’ll be better once I’m settled in, but right now I feel like a gatecrasher.”

Dieter laughed. “Then you’re the most well behaved gatecrasher of all time, babe. I can already see that you reorganized my closet.”

”That’s because I was bored,” I replied. “And because you left it a mess. The hangers were all tangled up. And half of them were backward.”

”Just don’t put them in Dewey Decimal order or anything weird like that,” he said. “But you can shove my stuff over to make room for yours. We’re gonna have to share.”

That innocent comment made it all feel very real. I was going to be living here. This was going to be our bedroom, our closet, our home. It was exciting and scary at the same time. 

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

I was a nervous wreck driving Audrey home a few days later. Not because of the memories of the crash, but because I was deathly afraid of getting a scratch on Dieter’s baby. The bright red Audi was a dream to drive but I felt so conspicuous that I putted along in the slow lane right at the speed limit and only changed lanes if I absolutely had to. 

Work was a blur. Everyone had a million questions about the accident, and once I’d answered all of those, there were two million questions about the job, on top of the daily routine. The principal had asked me to prepare a detailed list of all my job duties to help whoever they hired to replace me “get up to speed as quickly as possible.” When I got home each day, I spent a few more hours packing and cleaning. There was so much to do and less and less time to get it all done.

About a week before he was due to come home, Dieter FaceTimed me. “Want to go to Sundance next weekend?,” he asked. “My friend Miguel has a film entered. He offered me tickets. We can meet there and fly home together. It’s perfect timing.”

“I’d love to,” I said, “but if we go to Utah, I’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t visit my aunt in Salt Lake.”

“What if we just don’t tell her?” Dieter asked, half-serious. He’d heard plenty of stories about Aunt Helen.”

“I can’t do that,” I said. “If I post anything … and I mean anything … about going to Sundance on social media, she or one of my cousins will find out about it and she’ll be on me like a duck on a June bug.”

Dieter laughed. “We can just stop by to say ‘Hi’ on the way to the airport,” he said.

“You do not understand my aunt,” I said. “If I don’t spend at least two days, and spend time with all my cousins and their kids, she’ll lay a guilt trip on me and bad-mouth me to the rest of the family. And she’ll insist we stay at her place because, and I quote, ‘family doesn’t let family stay in hotels’.”

Dieter shrugged. “So we spend a couple of days. It can’t be that bad.”

I gave him a look. “She’ll make a big deal about making us sleep in separate rooms,” I said. “And make lots of remarks about ‘living in sin’ and when you’re going to ‘make an honest woman of me’. But not in front of anyone, oh, no, just when we’re alone so she can make me squirm.”

Dieter hugged me. “Then I’ll just make sure you’re never alone with her,” he said. “Or we tell her it’s none of her business. Besides, we’re engaged, what’s the big deal?”

“She lives in Utah,” I said. He gave me a blank look. I sighed. “They’re all Mormon.”

“Are they the ones from that musical? With the magic underwear?,” he asked. 

“Yeah, the ones who think women should shut up and be good wives and mothers, and that homosexuality is a sin, and used to be polygamists,” I said. “She and my dad got into it a few times, and she always kept her beliefs to herself around our house, but after my parents passed away she got worse. Not that she’s into polygamy, but she’s pretty … conservative in her outlook.”

“So you don’t want to go to Sundance?” He pouted.

“I didn’t say that.” I couldn’t resist Dieter’s pout face. “When do I have to be there?”

“Dom will email you all the details once he books the tickets,” he said with a big grin. “All you’ll have to do is call your aunt.”

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

Sundance was crowded and cold and crazy, but some of the films were good (several went over my head, but Dieter seemed to enjoy them) and our hotel room was cozy and romantic. After basically being apart since New Year’s, we were more than ready for some alone time.

We also needed to talk. I’d thought about a lot of things after the accident, including the topic that had come up during our last night together.

”There are going to be a lot of kids,” I warned him when our visit to Aunt Helen’s came up. “I mean a lot of kids. And questions. About kids.”

Dieter gave me a blank look for a long moment, then comprehension dawned in his eyes. “Oh, those sorts of questions.” He nodded. “And you think we should have some answers for them.”

“Look, I know we haven’t talked about all this yet, and I understand if you want to wait until we’re home …”

He held up a hand. “We can talk about it right now,” he said gently. “I just might not have all the answers for you.” He sighed. “I don’t think I’d be a very good parent. I certainly didn’t have the best role models.”

”Freddy seems to be doing okay,” I said. 

“Freddy was never as fucked up as I was,” he said. “And he takes more after our dad. I’m … I’m more like Mom.”

”Deet, I never met your mom, but from what little you and Freddy have said about her — I think she was a bit of a narcissist. Which you are totally not.”

”What about you? Think you’d make a good parent?”

”I honestly have no idea. I do know I’ve never felt less than for not having kids. I have friends who have always known they wanted to be a mother, and some who have always known they absolutely didn’t. I just figured I’d cross that bridge if and when I got to it.” I shook my head. “Okay, look, let’s put it this way. Setting aside the issue of what kind of parent you’d be … do you want kids?”

He closed his eyes. “I honestly don’t know,” he said after a long pause. “I’ve never really thought about it.” He opened his eyes. “And anyway, like you said before, at your age — no offense — it’s not very likely.”

”But it is possible,” I said. “So we need to figure out if we want to try or not, and if not, what we’d do if it does happen.”

He got up and walked around the room a few times. “I don’t want kids,” he said when he sat back down. “I don’t think it would be fair to you or to a kid with me being away working so much.”

”I don’t want kids, either,” I said, relieved that we were both aligned on the subject. “I mean … if it happened, I’d love the kid, no question, and we’d make it work but I don’t need a child to be happy or fulfilled.”

”Okay, then, so we’re going to visit a bunch of conservative religious folks and tell them we don’t want to procreate,” Dieter said with a mischievous grin. “‘Sorry folks, we just fuck because we like it.’ This is going to be fun.”

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

We were in Park City for three days, and then it was time to go to my aunt’s place. She’d been thrilled when I told her I’d be in town and wanted to visit, but her level of enthusiasm had dropped when she realized I was bringing Dieter with me. I’d told her we could easily get a hotel room in Salt Lake, but she insisted she’d find room for us, even though one of her daughters-in-law (and her three kids) was staying with her and my uncle while my youngest cousin Simon was out of the country on business for six weeks. His wife needed the help, since she was six months pregnant, and the little ones were all under the age of six.

Our driver pulled up in front of my aunt’s suburban home on the outskirts of the city. Dieter unloaded our luggage from the trunk while I steeled myself for the coming introductions.

“You’re here!” My aunt came running down the walk toward the car. 

“Aunt Helen!” I hugged her. It really was good to see her again. She looked so much like my mom. I turned and introduced her to Dieter. She politely shook his hand, but Dieter pulled her into a hug.

“We’re family,” he said when she protested. “Well, going to be, at least,” he clarified. 

“Yes,” she said, stepping back to give us the same look she’d have given me when I was little and did something bad. “When is the happy event?”

“Aunt Helen,” I warned her. “I told you we haven’t decided yet. Sometime this summer, probably.”

She looked down at our joined hands; as soon as she’d stepped out of his embrace, Dieter had grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers. “Well, don’t put it off too long,” she sniffed. 

She turned and led us into the house. I helped Dieter carry the luggage, which drew another condescending look from Aunt Helen. She probably thought it was terrible that he didn’t carry everything, but there were too many bags for one person and as Dieter had made clear early on in our relationship, traditional gender norms didn’t mean much to him. 

“Uncle Jeremiah, hello!” I said when we got inside. He gave me a restrained hug; his family was not very demonstrative. What a difference from Freddy and his family. “This is my fiancé, Dieter.” He shook Dieter’s hand and then continued on his way to his office or wherever else he disappeared to every day. The last time I’d visited I’d seen him maybe three times in a whole week.

“So, I did some shuffling,” Aunt Helen said. “I’ve put Dieter in the small guest room, and you and Mary are in the big one. The kids are bunking down in the playroom, except the baby, he’ll stay in the port-a-crib with you and Mary.”

“You don’t have to put the kids in the playroom,” I said. “They can stay with Mary and Dieter and I can take the small guest room.” I knew she’d say no, but I had to say it.

The look she gave me would have made ten year old me cry. “You are not staying in the same room with a man who isn’t your husband,” she said sternly. “Not in my house.”

“Aunt Helen, we’re engaged, and I’m moving in with him as soon as we get back to L.A. And we just shared a hotel room in Park City,” I said.

“I’m well aware,” she snapped. “But my grandchildren are not going to be exposed to that sort of behavior.”

“What behavior?” I snapped back. “It’s not like we’re going to have sex in front of them. Hell, I don’t think anyone could have sex in this house, not with you lurking around every corner.”

“Whoa, whoa, ladies,” Dieter said. “Calm down, babe,” he said to me before turning to Aunt Helen. “There is a simple solution to this. We’ll just call the driver back  and get a hotel room.”

“I’m not having family stay in a hotel,” Aunt Helen said. She turned to me. “You can stay here in the small guest room and he can get a hotel.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “If I stay here, he stays here. If we were already married, you wouldn’t have a problem.”

“If you were married, there wouldn’t be an issue,” she said. “But you aren’t, so here we are.” She huffed out a breath and stared down her nose at me. “This is my house, and these are my rules.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Dieter grabbed my hand. “It’s fine, Em,” he said. “It’s just a couple of days.” He turned to Aunt Helen. “I’ll take the small guest room. Thank you.”

I helped him carry the luggage into his room. He’d asked me to bring him some fresh clothes from his house, so we needed to unpack his things before I could move my suitcase into the room I’d be sharing with my cousin-in-law. I grumbled as I pulled his clothes out and handed them to him. “I’m almost fifty fucking years old, I think she’d realize I can run my own life, thank you very much.”

“It’s only a few days,” Dieter said quietly. “I think I can handle sleeping alone for that long. Hell, I’ve been doing it in Toronto for over two months.” He hugged me with one arm, pulling me into his side. “Just tell me what to do to make a good impression, and I’ll do it.”

I sighed for about the millionth time that day. “Just don’t swear, don’t mention being bi … oh, shoot, I forgot about your coffee!” He looked puzzled. “They don’t drink caffeine,” I explained. “We’ll have to get you some instant or else I’ll have to do a Starbucks run every morning.”

“Hmm … I can live without sex, but not without coffee,” he admitted. “Maybe I should get a hotel room ….”

“No,” I said. “You are not leaving me here alone with her!” I hugged him with both arms. “I’ll get up early and get you the biggest, strongest cup of coffee in all of Utah. Every day. I promise.”

He chuckled. “Okay, I guess that’ll be okay,” he teased. “But please explain to your aunt why I’m grumpy in the mornings. Or we could just tell her it’s because she’s making me sleep by myself ….” He winked.

“I’ll kill you,” I said. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” 

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

Dinner was only mildly awkward, as I had to remind Dieter not to start eating until my uncle had said grace. Mary was busy trying to keep her kids from making a mess. The oldest, Tom, was five; next was three-year-old Liz; and then just over a year old Noah. She looked exhausted. Uncle Jeremiah never lifted a finger to help her, but both Aunt Helen and Dieter jumped in to assist when things got too out of hand. 

When Mary tried to tell Dieter he didn’t need to help her, he waved her off. “I helped my brother with his kids when they were little,” he said, “and lots of my friends have kids. I’m a pretty good uncle.” He wiped Tom’s face and caught Noah’s sippy cup before it flew off the table for the third time. I did what I could, but from where I was sitting, Dieter and Aunt Helen were closer to the kids.

”He’ll make a good father,” Aunt Helen said to me.

”Oh, we aren’t planning on having kids,” I said. 

The table fell silent, except for Noah’s fussing.

“No kids?” Mary asked. “Then why are you getting married?”

”Because we love each other and want to build a life together,” I said. “A life that doesn’t happen to include children.”

Dieter jumped in. “We’ve talked about this, and at our stage in life, and with my occupation, it just isn’t a good idea. We’re both in our forties, closing in on fifty.”

”Your cousin Sarah is your age and she’s pregnant with her fifth right now,” Aunt Helen said.

”Which is awesome for her,” I replied. “But it’s her fifth kid. She knows how her body will handle it.”

”You work with kids,” Aunt Helen pressed. “I thought you liked kids.”

”I work with teenagers,” I said. “And I do like kids. I love kids. I just … don’t feel like I need to have any of my own. And neither does Dieter.”

”Aunt Helen,” Dieter said. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I know you want Emily to have what you’ve had. A family of her own. But she has a family. She has all of you, and now she has me, and my brother and his wife and kids.”

”It’s not the same,” Aunt Helen said. “A woman hasn’t reached her full potential if she’s not a mother.”

I put down my fork. “We’ve had this conversation before, Aunt Helen. And I’m not going to have it again in front of everyone. So we can either change the subject or I can walk away from the table.”

Uncle Jeremiah cleared his throat. “So, Dieter, you just came from Toronto. How was the weather there? Been a bit snowy here but not enough to make driving difficult.”

The conversation turned to winter weather and driving in the snow and how lucky we were to live in California where the snow stays in the mountains. I said a silent prayer to the Universe thanking Uncle Jeremiah for jumping in. I didn’t flatter myself that it was because he felt sorry for me; he probably just wanted to eat his dinner in peace.

After dinner, Dieter offered to help with the dishes, which elicited a shocked look from everyone, even little Tom. “What?,” he said. “I always do the dishes at home.”

“We’re guests,” I said, knowing full well Aunt Helen would expect me to help out and heading her off at the pass. “Aunt Helen would never ask a guest to help with the dishes.”

Helen smiled. “Of course,” she said, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “Go, sit in the living room, relax.”

Uncle Jeremiah needed no urging. He went into the living room, plopped down in his recliner and started scrolling through the guide on the TV screen. The kids tumbled into the room and started playing with some toys on the floor. Dieter and I sat on the couch. He automatically put his arm around me so that I was sitting right up against him. I saw Uncle Jeremiah look over at us and give a little cough. I elbowed Dieter and he mumbled, “Sorry,” before moving his arm so I could scoot away from him. He leaned over to whisper in my ear, “You weren’t kidding.” I stifled a laugh.

Mary came out after helping carry the dirty dishes to the kitchen. I could hear Aunt Helen clattering everything in the sink. She firmly believed that dishwashers were for lazy people and didn’t get things very clean anyway.

Mary sat next to me. “So,” she said. “You got engaged! Can I see your ring?”

I liked Mary. She was sweet but naive, one of those women who wholeheartedly believed what she’d been taught since birth and never questioned it. I held out my left hand and her eyes went wide. I knew her own engagement ring wasn’t fancy; Simon was still in college when they got married, and they hadn’t had much money. He was the youngest of my cousins and the one I knew the least well. His brothers and sisters were a bit closer to me in age.

“Are those sapphires? They’re so pretty! But I thought maybe you’d have a bigger diamond.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Helen said Dieter has lots of money.”

”Size isn’t everything,” Dieter said. I shot him a warning look, but he raised an eyebrow in confusion. “The number of carats is just one of the things you look for in a diamond. Clarity and cut can make a smaller stone worth a lot more than a bigger one.”

I sighed in relief. “When did you become so knowledgeable about jewelry?” I asked.

”When I worked in a jewelry store for six weeks back in New York after I ran out of restaurants that would hire the world’s worst waiter,” he said. “I wasn’t much better at it than waiting tables, but I learned a few things.”

”Did you have a lot of different jobs before you became an actor?” Mary asked.

Dieter laughed. “I had a lot of different jobs after I became an actor. Waiting tables, the jewelry store, a couple of bookstores — those didn’t last because I spent too much of my paycheck on books instead of rent — an upscale clothing store that thought hiring actors would make customers come in to see ‘the beautiful people’. But the whole time I was auditioning and doing crappy little plays and commercials and whatever I could. It wasn’t until I moved to L.A. and got that first movie gig that I was really able to focus on just acting.”

Mary was fascinated, but Aunt Helen came in right about then and as usual, she dominated the conversation. Uncle Jeremiah was lost in a WWII documentary on television, and Helen nattered on about who was coming tomorrow and who was coming the day after, and how she wished we were staying another day because it had been tricky for my cousin Josh to get the day off when his usual day off was the following day, but we take what we get, don’t we …

Mary and I nodded, both used to the way Aunt Helen conducted conversations. Dieter followed my lead, sitting quietly and letting her do all the talking. At one point, his hand crept over and took mine, even though Helen shot him a murderous look. He ignored her, and gently rubbed my hand with his thumb, silently reminding me to relax. 

Mary put the kids to bed at seven, and the evening crept on. Dieter and I were used to curling up on the couch with our respective books, or watching something together on TV, but Uncle Jeremiah controlled the remote, while Aunt Helen kept up a one-sided conversation. Mary was busy folding the kids’ laundry, but Dieter and I were stuck. Finally, the clock crept to nine and Uncle Jeremiah shut off the TV.

“You’re probably on Hollywood time,” Aunt Helen said, “but Jerry has to go to work and Mary has the little ones so we go to bed early around here.” Helen was the master of the backhanded compliment.

I walked Dieter to his guest room. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea,” I said. 

He shrugged. “We’ll survive,” he said. “Just relax. Don’t let her get to you.”

“But she knows exactly how to push all my buttons,” I said. He pulled me into a hug and kissed me goodnight. I heard Aunt Helen clearing her throat at the other end of the hallway and fought back the urge to flip her off. 

Dieter chuckled and kissed my neck. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, “but don’t give her the satisfaction.” He stepped back, gave Helen a jaunty wave and disappeared into his room.

I stomped past Helen and into the other guest room (at the other end of the hall from Dieter’s, of course) where Mary was already in her flannel nightgown and turning down the bed. I grabbed my nightshirt and headed for the attached bathroom. I changed, washed my face, and walked back in, reminding myself not to take out my bad mood on poor Mary.

“What time do you get up?” I asked her quietly. Noah was asleep in a port-a-crib next to her side of the queen sized bed.

“The kids get up about five thirty or six,” she said. “I get up whenever they do.” She crawled into bed after checking on Noah.

I knew that even if Dieter went to bed now, he still wouldn’t be up that early. Most likely, he’d sit up reading for a while, and I’d be very surprised if he was awake before nine a.m. “Can I borrow your car in the morning?” I asked.

“Um, sure,” Mary said. “Why?”

“I need to make a coffee run for Dieter,” I explained. “I know Aunt Helen doesn’t have any in the house, and poor baby can’t survive without his caffeine fix in the morning.” I laughed. “Is there a Starbucks or something nearby?”

“I think there’s a Dunkin Donuts at the shopping center where Helen goes grocery shopping,” Mary said.

I pulled out my phone and texted Dieter.

ME: Mary says theres a dunkin not far. Ok for the am?

DIETER: works for me. Ur a live saver

“You couldn’t go knock on his door and ask him?” Mary said.

“And risk Aunt Helen accusing me of trying to sneak into bed with him?” I said with a snort. “Not likely.”

Mary stifled a laugh. “She is kind of nosy sometimes,” she said. “Are you … are you really going to live with him before the wedding?”

“Yeah,” I told her. We were lying down, facing each other, like pre-teen girls gossiping at a slumber party. “It doesn’t make sense for me to keep my place anymore. I’m quitting my job and I’ll be working for the corporation — Dieter Bravo Limited. Right now it’s just his acting and endorsements but eventually he wants to get into producing and stuff like that. So I’ll be moving in when we fly home.”

Mary shook her head. “I can’t imagine … I mean, my parents would have disowned me if Simon and I had … you know.” She blushed. Married, with three kids and another on the way, and she actually blushed!

“Well, look at him,” I said. “Could you say no to that face?” Her eyes went wide. “Although actually, it was my idea, the first time. I mean, he’d hinted — a lot — but it was my decision. So technically it was a case of, could he say no to me?” I giggled, and after a moment, Mary joined me.

“You are terrible,” she teased. “Helen warned me about you, you know.”

“I’m sure she did,” I said. “Aunt Helen and I have an … interesting relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but we’ve always butted heads. I’m too much like my dad, I guess.”

There was a long pause. “And you really don’t want to have kids?” Mary asked, her voice small.

”Yes,” I replied.

”Good for you,” she said, which surprised the hell out of me. “I know Helen brought up Sarah.” She bit her lip. “I wouldn’t say anything in front of Helen but we’re worried about Sarah. Simon and I decided that after this one,” she patted her belly, “that’s it. Four is plenty and having them close together means we’ll have more time to be just grandparents when they’re grown. But Sarah … Daniel has four brothers and they all tease him about only having girls. So Sarah’s determined to give him a son. Even though …” Her voice dropped even lower. “She’s had three miscarriages and the doctors told her not to keep trying. It’s dangerous at her age. Even Daniel told her the girls are enough but she wouldn’t listen.”

”Wow, I didn’t know all that. Aunt Helen just called me all excited about another grandkid on the way.”

”I don’t think Helen knows as much as the rest of us girls do,” Mary said. “Sarah was afraid to tell her mom about what the doctors said.” She took a deep breath. “All that being said, if you do end up pregnant, promise me you won’t … get rid of it, okay? I know they say that in Hollywood that kind of thing happens all the time and …”

I took her hand and squeezed it. “First of all, Hollywood is pretty much like anywhere else. And second of all, even though we’re not planning on having any kids, if it does happen, Dieter and I will love and cherish that child. I can promise you that.”

“Good. I feel a lot better now. Well, we’d better get to sleep or we’ll still be talking when the kids wake up, and once they’re up, there’s no time to rest, believe me,” Mary said. “Good night.”

“Good night,” I said. Mary clicked off the bedside lamp and the room darkened. She fell asleep quickly, but I lay staring at the ceiling for a long time. How much did Aunt Helen know about Sarah’s situation? Was she worried about her and just putting on a brave face? Or did she really, truly think that having babies was the be-all and end-all of her own daughter’s existence?

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

Noah woke us up at 5:45 the next morning. By the time Mary got him out of bed and changed his diaper, the other two were awake and climbing into the bed asking for breakfast. I took my clothes into the bathroom, got dressed, brushed my teeth and hair, and put on some mascara. By the time I got out to the kitchen, Mary and Aunt Helen were filling cereal bowls and pouring milk and juice into cups.

“Where’s your car keys?” I asked Mary. 

“What for?” Aunt Helen asked sharply.

“I asked to borrow her car,” I explained. “I’m going to go get some coffee for Dieter. He won’t be up for a while, but if he doesn’t have his coffee first thing he’s a real grump.”

“Addicted to caffeine?” Aunt Helen asked smugly.

“Pretty much,” I said cheerfully. “Hey, he could be addicted to worse, so I’m not complaining.” Mary had fetched her keys from her purse and handed them to me. I picked up my own purse and said, “Anyone want anything from Dunkin while I’m out?”

Uncle Jeremiah was coming into the kitchen as I left, his tie carefully done up and his white shirt buttoned up the very top. He gave me a curious look as I disappeared, but didn’t say anything. 

I had to adjust the seat in Mary’s car, which was set up to accommodate her pregnant belly, and looked up Dunkin on my phone. It was only a few miles away, but I drove slowly to enjoy the break from Aunt Helen. I got an extra large black coffee and an espresso, with creamer and sugar on the side, as well as a black tea for myself and a couple of donuts.  

When I got back, I walked right into Dieter’s  room, daring Aunt Helen to say a single word, and opened the lid on the espresso. Dieter was buried under the covers, face smashed into the pillow, but as I waved the cup around in front of him, he slowly began to stir.

“What time is it?,” he asked groggily.

“Almost seven,” I said.

“What the fuck?”

“Language,” I chided. He groaned and half sat up, the covers sliding down to reveal his bare chest. I handed him the espresso as he blinked his eyes. “Drink that and then I have more.” I showed him the giant coffee cup and opened the bag of donuts to let him peek inside. He grunted, and threw the covers back. 

I heard Aunt Helen in the hallway outside, so it was a good thing Dieter was wearing his pajama pants instead of just his underwear. I ruffled his hair with my free hand and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Drink your espresso, get dressed and we’ll see you when you’re human again, Mr. Bravo.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, already halfway done with his drink. 

I left him to emerge from sleep on his own schedule and walked past Aunt Helen, smiling at her as I did. “He’ll be up and about in a while,” I said. “He’s not much of a morning person.” I went back into the kitchen, where I drank my tea and ate a donut. About fifteen minutes later, Dieter wandered in, dressed but still sporting some impressive bed hair.

“You could have combed your hair, babe,” I said, using my fingers to make it look a bit less wild.

“Need more coffee first,” he said, handing me the empty espresso cup and taking the lid off the coffee so he could dump some creamer and sugar into it. He yawned and I put a donut in front of him.  He grabbed my hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss on the palm. “Bless you.”

I laughed and got up to toss his empty cup and the donut bag, then sat back down to finish my tea while he ate and consumed more caffeine. All the while, Aunt Helen was just watching us like a hawk. Mary was busy with the kids, and Uncle Jeremiah was reading the newspaper while he mechanically ate his toast and scrambled eggs.

Aunt Helen launched into a recitation of the day’s schedule. She had six kids and each one was married and had kids of their own, so she’d blocked out time for each family to come by and see me without overwhelming her house. 

The day went by fairly quickly, with a parade of cousins and second cousins, and Aunt Helen bringing out food and drinks every time I turned around. Dieter was wonderful, charming the women, chatting with the men, and playing goofy games with the kids. Aunt Helen was in her element, surrounded by grandchildren, and I actually had a good time catching up with everyone. One of the older boys was a huge Cliff Beasts fan and spent a good deal of time quizzing Dieter about the finer points of the movies’ lore, which was hilarious, as Dieter had told me several times that he had no clue what the hell was going on in that film, since he’d been high half the time and the script had been “a piece of shit of craptacular proportions.”

We had dinner with my favorite cousin, Ryan, and his family. His wife Sheri was hilarious and had me laughing all through the meal. When they left, Dieter insisted that we would do the dishes. “You’ve been running around all day, Aunt Helen,” he said. “Go, sit down and relax.” Surprisingly, she agreed, and he and I got a little bit of precious alone time while we washed and dried the dishes that had accumulated throughout the day. Maybe we took a little longer than strictly necessary, and snuck in a few kisses here and there, but for the most part we stuck to our task.

Aunt Helen managed to be in the hallway again when I said goodnight to Dieter at his bedroom door, but this time I didn’t care. We kissed a bit and after Dieter closed his door, I smiled at Aunt Helen on my way to the other guest room.

The next morning, I repeated my Dunkin run, this time bringing back a dozen donuts. I lured Dieter out of bed with coffee again, much to Mary’s delight. She let the kids have a donut each, and Tom insisted on sitting on Dieter’s lap to eat his, while Liz climbed into mine. 

The rest of the family came by that day, including Sarah. Her girls were dressed in matching plaid dresses, each one a different color, with corresponding ribbons in their braided hair. Sarah was all smiles, but looked exhausted and Daniel kept making sure she was sitting down and fetching her food and drinks. 

“How are you doing?” I asked her when I got a chance to sit beside her.

”Oh, I’m just fine,” she said, too brightly. “A little tired but that’s to be expected, with four kids and another on the way.” She rubbed her belly. “So, Mom said you’re getting married. Guess it’ll be your turn soon.”

”Not if I can help it,” I said. “I really admire you, Sarah, going through a pregnancy at our age.”

”Well, I know not every woman is willing,” she said, her voice brittle, “but Daniel deserves a son and I want to give him one.” She started to get up.

I laid a hand on her arm. “I know. I didn’t mean to say anything to upset you. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you and I hope everything goes smoothly.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Mary talked to you, didn’t she? I told them not to worry. I know what I’m doing.” This time she did stand up, waddling off toward the other side of the room.

Aunt Helen came over and took her spot. “That last trimester is the worst,” she said, nodding toward Sarah. “And I know you probably think she’s crazy to be having another one at her age but she’s happy, I promise you.”

”Is she? Did she tell you that or did you just assume?”

”She told me,” Aunt Helen hissed. “You think I don’t care about my own daughter? I’m as worried about her as everyone else, but I know being a mother is what brings her joy. So I support her.”

”Then why don’t you support me? What’s the difference between supporting a woman who chooses to have a baby in her late forties and supporting one who chooses not to? Is this a religious thing?”

”No,” Aunt Helen said. “Absolutely not. I gave up on trying to convert you a long time ago.” She smiled wryly. “I just — I see so much of your mother in you and I miss my sister so much …” She took a deep breath and forced her face to remain smiling. “I see my kids with their kids and I know that’s my legacy. But Jamie only had you. And if you don’t have a child, then her legacy stops with you.”

”Her legacy will live on,” I assured her. “I might not have a biological child but every kid who I helped find a book they actually wanted to read carries on Mom’s legacy. And I’ll share my memories of her with your grandkids, and Dieter’s niece and nephew. She won’t be forgotten, Aunt Helen.”

”I know that, up here,” she said, tapping her temple. “But I don’t know it here.” She laid her hand against her chest. “I just … I want to see a little bit of my sister living on into the future, the way I see bits of me and Jerry in our grandchildren.”

”I get it,” I said. “And there’s a little part of me that thinks ‘If I was younger ….’ But I’m not.”

”I just want you to be happy,” Aunt Helen said. “And I have never been happier in my life than the moments when I first held my children in my arms.”

”If it makes you feel better, I am happy. I’ve never been happier. Dieter has changed my life.”

”But he’s away so much,” she said. “Won’t you be lonely? You’ve been alone for so long, Emily.”

”Maybe we’ll adopt a dog or a cat,” I said. “Then I won’t be alone when he’s working on location. Or I can go with him, travel to all the places I never got to see because I couldn’t afford it. I’ll be fine, Aunt Helen.”

I looked across the room to where Dieter was politely listening to my cousin Ethan, who was prone to long winded, rambling stories about boring topics. He caught my eye and winked at me. 

“I’ll be fine,” I repeated.

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

Our flight to L.A. left at 10:00 pm, so we headed out right after dinner. At seven, Uncle Jeremiah and Aunt Helen ushered us to their car; she insisted they would drive us to the airport to save on the Uber fee. Finally, at 8:15, they dropped us off at the gate at Salt Lake airport and I wrapped my arms around Dieter.

“I am so glad that’s over,” I sighed into his chest.

“I thought you liked your family,” he said, rubbing my back.

“I do, but only in small doses,” I replied. “They’re like cruciferous vegetables. Good for you but you don’t want them every day.”

He laughed and kissed my forehead. “So what am I then?”

I thought about it. “Bread,” I said.

“Bread? Why bread?”

“Because I can’t live without bread,” I said. “You know that. I could never go on one of those low carb diets.” 

“Then you’re coffee,” he replied.

“Toast and coffee,” I mused. “They go together well.”

Dieter hugged me tighter. “So do we,” he said.