#30% to both and the other 40% of my brain is white noise

[sanchoyo]

haven’t been online a lot bc been watching totk streams and have gone full zeldabrain. Really really enjoying the new mechanics and enemies. I need to dig out that post I made abt my wishlist for things I wanted in the game bc at least a few of them are in it so far… very happy :3

[ratlordsarah]

additionally, here are some more

Mr big

Honestly, I do believe that he is some form of neurodivergent, it’s just the vibe he gives off, maybe autism or adhd, but definitely one of the two. I am mostly looking towards autism for him due to his hyper fixations about bunnies, but also honestly he’s really silly

if he were to be an irl character, he’d look like if Donald trump had a normal color palette

probably anywhere from his late 40s to early 60s

His money is inherited from his dad, who owned a railroad company

leslie

I feel like she’s autistic as well, mostly due to her mildly monotone voice (bigslie is such a neurospicy ship 💀)

I like to think she’s somewhere in her early thirties to early 40s

she is obsessed with nearly every fandom imaginable like… you could literally ask about anything from breaking bad to dnd to wonder pets and her eyes would light up that you are into that stuff

she just gives off vibes that she somewhat is like miss Pauling from tf2

she will listen to any music, but she absolutely loves abba (her favorite songs are money money money, and dancing queen

would probably be a will wood fan, and if she were, her favorite song by him would be either white knuckle jerk, white noise, or cover this song(a little bit mine)

used to baby sit, and still does when she has free time. I like to feel like she genuinely loves kids and there are a good few that she visits regularly to the point where they are basically family at this point

lives with her grandma to help take care of her

had a hippie phase at one point as a teen& young adult(was absolutely beautiful)

If she has an ounce of liquor, she has a very high tolerance but will be literally so open, and she will breakdance, and she will sing, and she will be a totally different, and she will be a totally different person

her, lady redundant woman, and miss question are besties, and do one can change my mind

her, lady redundant woman, and granny may are the ones who are in charge of the villains association meetings

Has one of those blue eyed cream colored cats with a brown face and paws named Fiona

miss power

Somewhere in her 30s in her appearance in the show

the reason why she can see people’s weakness so easily is because she is able to read people’s minds and see their past via alien brainwaves.

she is actually very empathetic, but doesn’t know how to show it, and she also just gets embarrassed from being nice because she’s just that way I guess

very much of a person to do before thinking

she cannot stand losing, so if she thinks she isn’t gonna win, she normally tends to back off before that happens

honestly, I like to think that she almost has the same thing going on as dr two brains, although it goes a lot smoother than him ,basically where she is part lizard, and that lizard part of her shared brain room and the spinal cords are braided as well, but it’s basically where she is a good person at heart, but she says mean stuff due to the lizard part of her being more critical and stuff. Also, her two brains also share a mind, so it’s mostly where you can’t even tell it’s two different brains

I like to think that she is a that handsome devil fan, her favorite song would probably be twist the knife

Lady redundant woman

she was mild friends with Steven before the two of them became villains (ofc, they both secretly liked each other, I like to start drama between characters)

In her early to mid 30s

I like to think she has mild dyslexia, it seems to suit her

whatever you do, absolutely never under any circumstances attempt to interact with her before she has 3 cups of morning coffee. No exceptions.

also a fan of abba, and ehr two favorite songs are California dreamin and dancing queen

has Italian and Greek roots, and does the Italian hand thing when she’s angry 🤌🤌

if pushed to, she will in fact, dropkick a child, and will not regret a thing

invisi-bill

Extreme adhd

If he isn’t talking, he will stay invisible while playing tricks on people. I mean totally freak people out. He will stand over someone’s shoulder at their house for 2 hours while making a sound every once in a while to freak them out, and then once he gets bored, he will jump scare them, and terrorize them (did this to two brains once and he screamed so loud he nearly ruptured invisibill’s eardrums, so he won’t scare tb anymore)

him and miss question are actually good friends

samw thing with the whammer

the butcher

In his 40s

I like to think his irl name is either a frank or mike

has Bosnian mild polish roots, like to think he’s also a bit irish

loves southern rock

has literally 0 enemies (wordgirl doesn’t count)

half of his crimes are just done because he likes to have convos with wordgirl (he honestly kinda sees her as a niece or something)

this mf is like…6’4

chuck

in late 20s

will either love or absolutely despise a hug depending on his mood

Watched joker and thought that he should adopt that persona, and got mad when people didn’t look at the deeper meaning behind him nearly crucjimg a school on a sandwich press over a hairnet

favorite game is either Tetris, or Atari breakout (also likes Mario games)

his favorite sandwich is surprisingly a foot long from subway (with extra onions)

extra 2 brains stuff because I got a lot for this guy

Super jumpy. Even as Steven, he’d jump and scream when someone knocks at the door, but as two brains with the mouse instincts, he 1. Could scream louder than a freight train under the right circumstances. 2. May instinctively punch, throw nearest object at, or kick whatever made him jump, 3. For the next minute after being jumpscared, his heart rate will be like… 250 bpm

sleep schedule is the worst in the world. This man will fall asleep at 3pm, wake up an hour later, and repeat that for a month, and the next week, he’ll be asleep for 3 days in a row

has nearly overdosed caffeine multiple times throughout his life as both Steven and two brains

80s music obsession

favorite movie is man with 2 brains for obvious reasons (beforehand it was either cloudy with a chance of meatballs, or the outsiders )

on the topic of movies, I like to think amazo literally cries at the end of every movie he watched. His favorites are how to train your dragon, and shark boy & lava girl

setting hcs

The show takes place from 1999 to 2002

fair city is either in New Jersey, or California

I am gonna reblog with even more, believe it or not, about a silly au I’ve been cooking up for the longest time

whispers got any fun headcanons on any wordgirl characters… or maybe if you’re really crazy a whole wordgirl oc?… or even a au… fades into the shadows of anonymity

THE WAY I CACKLED AND SCREAMED AHAGAH

I will not miss this opportunity 🫡

Headcannons/theories:

for two brains (there is a lot)

The way Steven’s brain is fused with squeaky’s caused part of his skull to crack off and while part actually popped off during the transformation, it also caused a fracture or two in his skull, so whenever the mouse brain pulsates, it is basically a mix of feeling like your head is going to explode, and the brain slightly pushing his skull, causing the fracture to never properly heal, because it gets slightly opened up again as it pulsates

another thing I’d like to point out is I feel like two brains would occasionally black out and also have a seizure every once in a while due to the electricity during the transformation. This also goes with the fact that he also could get frequent nosebleeds too, if he injured his brain in a certain way.

Also, a hot take of mine is that 2 brains is basically just Steven, but being mostly forced/controlled by squeaky, and of course, his dna is modified too.

another hot take is that it’s only his scalp hair that turned white (maybe a salt and pepper mix everywhere else?idk) because his eyebrows are still brown, and in ballad of Steve mcclean, he is shown to have brown facial hair too, so maybe it was only what touched the helmet in the experiment to turn white, and the rest of the den was sort of scattered everywhere

As a more silly hc of mine, I like to think that squeaky likes to play silly games where he attempts to freak Steven out every once in a while, by causing auditory and visual hallucinations, but Steven later just gets used to it

Also, due to the change in eyes, he’s probably a little color blind, so I like to think that he sees colors the way the color settings were inside the hospital in the house md pilot episode, or maybe just having him see more in a slight grey scale? Idk

The way I like to think squeaky takes control is via brain stem, so it’s basically where the mouse brain still has the brain stem and spinal cord attached to it, and it’s braided and tangled with Steven’s spinal cord, so if Steven and squeaky are fighting for control, it looks like two brains is fighting an invisible person in an arm wrestle or something.

Another hot take is that two brains is still able to remember everything as both Steven and two brains, so have fun with that one as you wish 💀

also, the mouse brain is obviously anatomically incorrect, in both looks and scale, so my theory on how this was achieved was during the transformation, the mouse brain almost blew up due to the electricity, so the brain is basically very inflamed and bloated. As far as the brain wrinkles go, I like to think that squeaky was originally genetically modified before Steven buying him, causing the mouse to basically have the same brain as a human, and squeaky was actively seeking revenge

as far. As cheese goes, I like to think squeaky is really the only one enjoying the cheese, while Steven is purely sick of it, like where after the first month of being two brains, he was just done with cheese, but he’s basically addicted to it due to squeaky. Also, I like to think that two brains can hardly eat anything that’s not cheese, and if he eats something that’s not cheese, he’d have to put so much cheese on that food to the point where you can’t even taste the stuff that isn’t cheese. besides orange juice, because squeaky likes that stuff. In other words, I also think that if he were to put something that’s not pure cheese in his mouth with the intention of eating it, he’d immediately throw up because squeaky doesn’t like rebellion (squeaky read about famous dictators once pre-transformation and decided that’s what he wanted to be)

also, because of only eating cheese, this is why he tries to have as wide of a variety as possible, to at least try and keep it a little interesting.

with that being said, I feel like if the mouse brain were removed, he’d probably puke at the sight of cheese, from how much he had to eat, and due to squeaky, even normal food would probably not be that appetizing either.

Also, in the show, he is built like a noodle, despite how much cheese he eats, so my theory is that he stays like this because the transformation made his metabolism go into overdrive, and usually, fast metabolism causes excess body heat, so if two brains were to take his lab coat off, you can literally use him as a radiator, because he’s gotta get that energy burnt off somehow lmao.

also, mice can’t sweat, so unless unter extreme circumstances, he’s basically just chilling radiating heat like it’s nothing because this genetic trait somewhat transferred during the transformation

Also, throughout the show, he is seen multiple times to worry a lot about how people think about him, (prime example is the episode ballad of Steve mcclean, but also you can see little dribbles of this trait in invasion of the bunny lovers, fill in, wordgirl & bobble boy, and rat trap) and honestly I think this is caused because of the obvious genetic changes that happened, so he obviously gets a lot of stares and weird looks in public, due to his appearance, so imo, he gets that from his appearance.

Due to the cheese consumption this guy does, I feel like he’d definitely have some problems in his digestive tract, as well as a vitamin deficiency for obvious reasons 💀

Also, I like to think that during the transformation, he was a week away from turning 30 (what a great way to start off your thirties XD)

Also, as far as Charlie and meatloaf, I have another hot take that they don’t live in the warehouse, and only two brains lives there. Someone could protest on that because in the new year episode, they are seen to sleep in the warehouse, but I like to think this as more of a thing that they only do every once in a while when two brains is planning a crime that requires them to be there really early. So essentially, they basically work based off of when dr two brains calls them over for the scheme. as Steven

As Steven, I like to think that he had two tuxedo cats. A long haired tux cat named Dennis, and a shorter haired girl tux cat nicknamed mags in public, but is truly named plunger

he was certainly a cat person pre-transformation. Look at him. (You cannot change my mind)

I also like to think that he has a huge cage set up for the lab rats and mice that he had to work with, as he felt really bad for having to use them, so he tried his best to compensate by spending a butt ton on of money on spoiling the rats, and getting a big place for them to stay. (I also am convinced he would name them after the first thing he sees them do, but doomed to the worst way possible, so he named a lab rat piss finger, or Ricky pee pee, and he has a whole long story on how he decided to name the lab rats those names

i like to feel like he was in a science trio with tubing and doohickey, and they were probably great friends

honestly idk how much I agree with the hc I made, but I’d like to feel like doohickey and Steven are probably cousins (blood related or not)

I’ve even pondered ideas like how I feel like Steven is a mix of Irish, Romanian, and maybe a little bit Italian (mother is Irish, and dad is an Italian Romanian mix)

also, I feel like Steven was actually friends with lrw when she was Beatrice, and they’d have some long conversations while he is having his science research copied and stuff

also, I like to think that he and Huggy were good friends,too, and would discuss ways to help wordgirl fight crimes sometimes

I feel like Steven and amazo guy were really good friends and the two would have karaoke night at least once a week, and they’d prolly also chill a lot cracking beers and playing with Steven’s cats and stuff like that.

I feel like he has a phd in engineering, some form of degrees in both biology and chemistry, and a minor in culinary arts

this man can make the best food in the world, but the way he makes it will make Gordon Ramsay cry

has an o

Charlie

The reason Charlie doesn’t talk is either due to nonverbal autism, or a certain condition that causes him to not be able to talk.

either way, Charlie is so silly and honestly I feel like two brains has a soft spot for him(same bro, same)

I like to feel like he is more of a silent observer, like heavy from tf2

amazo guy

Honestly, I like the hc that people think his name should be Adam so much to the point where sometimes I forget it’s not cannon💀

so yeah, his name is Adam

i like to think he also came from lexicon, but on his own accord when he was 21.

he has the same language powers as wordgirl, but just doesn’t make them his main focus.

hes obsessed with pizza and pizza rolls. He would literally rather have a pizza party by the city than 1million dollars.

he was actually fighting alongside wordgirl, and teaching her how to deal with villains until about a month before Steven turning into two brains

he ended up leaving to go and help another city , because she thought wordgirl was ready to fight the villains herself.

i like to think that he was an extreme back street boys and David Bowie fan, and whenever there was a ceremony for him, star man would certainly be playing

he secretly loves the song baby one more time by Britney Spears, but will tell no one

he is more of a dog person, and words cannot describe how badly he wants a golden retriever or German shepherd

wordgirl

She made it to earth with huggy when she was about 9 months old

the reason why lexiconians are so good with reading is that lexiconians use their powers to travel to neighboring planets and galaxies to help others in need, and they achieve this by being able to hyper-adapt to any different language, like to where the average lexiconian can learn Russian fluently in just a week

hot take but lexionite it’s doesn’t come from lexicon, but an enemy planet trying to make a weakness (I say this because it doesn’t make sense to have something from her home planet be her weakness, so it’s basically a hc of mine to not go bonkers over that lmao)

wordgirl is fluent in many other languages, like French, polish, Spanish, and mandarin

Due to her high iq, she still has the energy of a kid her age, although the mental age of a 30 year old, which is why she is so good at talking with other adults

Near perfect memory (why she can remember how she got to earth

early 10 year old at the time the show starts, and either young 12 year old, or almost 12 towards the end of the show

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | chapter eleven

chapter eleven

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: Y/N POV: details of what happened to Stephen, her grandmas cancer, and very detailed explanations of how babies are made (as biologically accurate and not very graphic as possible) this is an angsty trauma filled chapter that made me cry a lot just writing it so I'm sorry in advance

word count: 3K

from the beginning <3

June 13th, 2010

There’s a knock on her parent's door at 4 in the morning, Y/N’s sound asleep on the couch back at her grandma’s, awoken by said grandmother as she hears all the noise beyond the porch. There are 2 cop cars at the main house, worry starts to settle over them.

She puts on a pair of shoes, taking her grandmother's hand in hers as they begin the early morning trek up the road, anxiety seeping in deeper and deeper as they get closer to the lights illuminating their driveway.

Her father is talking to an officer on the steps, her mother is crying behind him. “We’re so sorry for your loss,” the officer says and Y/N’s blood runs cold, numbing her from the impending despair.

“What happened?” Her grandmother asks, rubbing a hand along Y/N’s back in preparation for the worst.

“Evan was in a car accident,” her father says softly, knowing that Y/N knows Stephen was with him tonight. She breaks away from her grandma and without thinking she’s right in the officer's face.

“Which one of them died?”

“Ma’am,” it was never a good way to start the worst conversation of her life with that word or in that tone. She felt like a '40s housewife learning her husband wasn’t coming home from the war, only he wasn’t even her husband yet.

He would have been on next Saturday.

“I’m sorry, Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” he says the worst sentence she’s ever heard, and now she’ll never forget it. “The passenger side took the worst of it, once again, I am so sorry for your loss.”

She’s surprisingly calm, managing to whisper, “thank you,” before she’s walking off into the field, pushing everyone's hands away as she travels as far as he feet will take her.

She ends up at the willow tree by the pond as soon as the sun is rising, it happened a lot earlier in June than the rest of the year. The birds singing, the wind blowing against the leaves making them carry a tune in harmony together. The world is still spinning, life is moving on, but how?

She sat there against the tree for a while, picking blades of grass and weaving them into a chain, soothing her brain as she makes a pattern. Giving her hands something to do so they stop going numb, it’s the only thing that really reminds her that she's real, that she’s controlling the twists and tucks, the shape and length and the fact that it was created at all.

Ending the life of the single blade of grass as she picks it, never to be whole again. Snatched from its happy place, where it grew loved and surrounded by other matching green strands as they blew in the wind.

Then she's pulling fist full after fist full of grass out of the dirt, her hands covered in mud as she shouts, throwing handfuls of grass and dirt towards the pond. The once blue water starting to turn cloudy; disrupted and upset with her anger as it swallows her weapons, but it doesn’t make her feel better. All she did was disrupt the earth, changing the way this once beautiful patch of land used to look. She couldn’t help but sob, realizing that she was like this field now and her beautiful green pasture was disrupted, overturned and ruined.

The life that flowed through her died along with the love of her life.

“Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” the words echo in her mind in a constant circle like she’s stuck in a tin can.

It starts to reverberate, getting louder and louder as the same 7 words all run around in her head. Bouncing off the walls, smacking her down again and again as she hears them over and over and over… she’s holding her hands on her ears, shaking back and forth, sobbing when she feels someone wrap their arms around her.

She doesn’t open her eyes, instead, she's rushing to push them off of her, struggling out of their grasp as she fights them. Finally, she loses, being held in her brother's embrace as they both cry, he barely has a scratch on him when she finally looks at him.

she’s never been physical in her life, but she punched him right in the face. Her twin brother, best friend in childhood and the person she’s known the longest in her life. He held her close in the womb, crying if they separated as soon as they were born, she loved him deeply and yet she hated him something fierce at that moment.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Evan cries, “we were stopped at a red light, Y/N!”

“I don’t care! He was supposed to be my husband!” She swats at him, smacking his arms again and again as he tries to hold them back, holding her so tightly as she basically screams bloody murder in the field.

All she can see is his face, her beautiful happy Stephen. The first time she ever saw him, standing under a street light in Boston, papers in his hand and wonder in his eyes. The way he looked up at her, the glow of the light making a halo glow over his head.

She should have known he was too good to be true. Always destined to return to the heavens, he was truly angelic with his big emerald eyes that were only the tiniest bit yellow on the edge of the pupil, the way her name sounded on his tongue like a blessing coming true.

They buried him 2 days after what was supposed to be their wedding. Disrupting another beautiful patch of earth to hide him away forever, she placed a single rose on his casket, she never said goodbye and she never planned to.

“See you later, superstar,” she patted the glossy black box once last time before sending him down into the earth.

—

September 2012

This fucking willow tree and 7-word sentences…

“What do you mean you have cancer?”

Her grandma let a tear slip from her eye, “I’ve got colon cancer, honey, the doctors said I have another 2 years, maybe 5 if I'm lucky.”

Every time someone sat beside her in this one spot, she learned the worst information in the world. Sure Evan didn’t mean to kill Stephen, doesn’t mean she’s talked to him at all in the last year. with Grandpa dying only a few summers back, her favourite house cat now buried in the yard, she can’t lose her grandma now too.

“Okay,” she starts to plan in her head, her eyes about ready to jump out of her skull as she tries to think of all the things they need to do before it’s too late, “let’s go to England, let’s blow my bank account, you can’t leave me without going to England with me? We were supposed to get tea and pretend to be the queen and princess?”

She couldn’t stop the tears, her whole body heaving as she sobbed into her grandma’s dress, “you can’t leave me too!”

“Your grandfather and I have a fund for you, you were the last baby we got to raise when your mom went back to work, I want you to use it for that baby we talked about,” her grandma’s voice is barely a whisper, softly getting the words over her vocal cords as the tears joined Y/N’s on her dress.

Without another word, she took her hand and walked home, getting in her car together and heading to the closest fertility clinic, she booked her first insemination for February, pre-paying for a round of IVF hormones and everything to start in January, she had 3 months to plan.

Finding the perfect donor was the only hard part. She had 3 different books to choose from with all the clinics in the DC area sharing 1 sperm bank. She finally made her decision 3 weeks before they were set to get her pregnant when they updated the books.

Sample 2319, male 30’s, healthy, high IQ, 6’1, brown eyes, brown hair (curly). “Sounds a lot like Stephen,” her grandma agreed, saying his name for the first time in over 2 years, she knew this was her guy.

—

June 14th, 2021

Peeing on a stick shouldn’t be as terrifying as it is.

She hasn’t been this nervous since the first time Dr. Collins inseminated her. Laying back on the table at a weird elevation to make sure she got pregnant, her whole body tense as she thought of the possibilities of her future child.

Sample 2319 sitting in a cup not too far from her face as she prepared for a man she barely knew to put the semen of another man she didn’t know, inside her. She only picked this guy cause he was smart and tall, no health issues to report and the number made her think of Monsters Inc.

In her mind, she made a baby with a man she named mike wazowski, not knowing his real name was actually Spencer Reid and he was only just down the road at Quantico the whole time. It was the weirdest day ever, and then it became the second-best day of her life

Nothing could top holding her baby in her arms for the first time. Her grandma and mother beside her as they all cried, the perfect purple baby screaming on her chest as they tried to wipe the white gunk off her tiny body. her sweet little coos, seeing her swollen eyes open for the first time, the silence that overcame her as they made their first introduction to each other. Her little person, the love of her life, her wonderful Amoreena.

Her cry was perfect, like music to her ears she wanted to hear her little voice as long as she could because it meant she was alive and real. She was healthy and beautiful and the most perfect bundle of joy she could have ever made.

Now she was hiding in the bathroom to pee on a stick while her 7-year-old had breakfast in the next room. Oh, how times changed, but one thing remained the same, she was finding out alone again. Only this time she meant for that to happen, it was exactly 4 days since her period was supposed to start and it wasn’t there, neither was Spencer.

He had something to do that morning, but he’d be meeting them later that afternoon, it was Amoreena’s last day of kindergarten after all. She wanted time to either enjoy the thought of having another baby or cry in peace because for once it didn’t work, giving her a week to recover before trying again.

Amoreena was a miracle, the easiest IVF baby they ever made at the clinic, apparently. If she was pregnant this easily again it was a sure sign that he was Amoreena’s father too, only he could get her knocked up while not even trying.

She didn’t remember pregnancy tests taking this long, she flipped it over and walked out of the room, unable to think of anything else while she waited for 3 minutes to pass. Amoreena noticed she was being weird, studying her mother's movements as she paced the hall outside of the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?” She asked, curious as ever as she twirled lightly in her new princess dress.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Always mom, I’m the best secret keeper in all the kingdom, remember?” Amoreena smiled, holding onto her leg as she stared up at her.

“Your dad and I tried to make a baby,” she whispered, petting the litter hairs on her forehead as Amoreena looked up at her, her first little baby. “I’m waiting to find out if it worked, but we can’t tell anyone in case it didn’t, okay?”

Amoreena’s eyes were wider than she’s ever seen them, her mouth opened slowly as she understood the words in her mind. She didn’t look happy or surprised, nor upset or worried. She looked confused, “how?”

She laughed then, shaking her head as she lifted Amoreena into her arms, she would have to know soon anyway. “You know how every month mummy has a bad week where she bleeds and her tummy hurts?”

“Yeah?”

“When people with our parts grow up they make little tiny eggs but we don’t lay them like chickens do, they stay inside our tummies and wait to become babies and if they don’t we have a period and release all the stuff our bodies saved up that month to make a little person. You’ll have one soon too in a few years, probably when you're 12 like I was, and when people with a penis get old enough they’re able to help us make the babies like roosters help the chickens. Our bodies are really special and make some really cool things when we try to,” she explained it in the most simple farmhouse way she could.

“Like when the goats are all born in the spring and they just show up?” She tried to clarify, understanding it at the basic level.

“Kinda, you’ve seen the photos of you in my tummy and how aunty Shannon’s stomach grew when she had your cousins, I’ll get really big like that too if I’m pregnant, the baby will grow for 9 long months till they’re nice and healthy and then we���ll have another person in the family,” she couldn’t help but smile as she thought about it.

“How do we find out?”

She opened the bathroom door then and carried Amoreena inside, setting her down on the sink and pointing at the upside-down test stick. “We create a special hormone when we’re pregnant, it’s something that can be detected in our pee!” she explained it like it was magic, watching her get excited instead of grossed out.

“So I peed on that stick and if it has 2 lines I have a baby in my tummy, if not then your dad and I have to try again.”

Amoreena picked up the test and looked at it, keeping it out of her mothers sight as she did so, “there’s two lines,” she lit up waving the stick lightly as she squealed.

Y/N wrapped her up in her arms and twirled her around, “you’re gonna be the best big sister ever!”

“How do we tell dad?” Amoreena’s soft voice whispered in her ear as she snuggled into her shoulder.

“I have an idea,” she whispered back before carrying her back into the kitchen.

Her All About Me project was sitting on the counter, ready for Y/N to drive her into school today. She set Amoreena down on the floor to watch her as she took some tape and taped the stick to the bottom corner of the project. “Pass me the marker, please?”

Amoreena ran to the counter to get it, coming back and placing it in her mom's hand before leaning in to watch what she was writing.

“I’m going to be a big sister sometime next February!” Amoreena read the words as her mother wrote them, unbelievably excited.

“Your dad can read that at the ceremony tonight!”

“I thought you said we can’t tell anyone yet?” Amoreena questioned her, like always.

“Your teacher can know, the other kids won't know what it means, it’s just important Spencer sees it, but we will wait to tell nanny and poppy, okay? Sometimes the babies don’t always stay, it’s sad so we keep it a secret until they’ve got a tiny little heartbeat in there,” she didn’t want to scare her, but she knew it was always a possibility.

“Then we try again,” Amoreena smiled, “It’ll be easier now that you don’t need Dr. Collins to help you, how did you even make me without Spencer?” She didn't use his real name often anymore, only in times when she wasn't referring to him as her father.

She sat down then, pulling Amoreena into her lap so she could hold her while she thought of the right words. “So we have eggs, but people with penises have something called sperm. When adults, and I mean adults you have to be at least 25 to have a baby it’s the rules,” she teased her slightly, ticking her arms.

“Adults have sex, babies are made when someone with a vagina and someone with a penis get together. But when you don’t have a partner with a penis to help, sometimes they’ll donate their sperm to the doctor's offices to help people like me make their perfect little families all by themselves.”

“Interesting,” is all her little mind can say, she has learned so much in one day, Y/N was surprised she was still listening and surprisingly still for once. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“We won't know for a while,” she smiled, holding Amoreena closer to her chest. “How do you feel about all this?”

Amoreena was quiet as she thought about it, “is Spencer the guy who gave the doctors the sperm for me?”

“We think so, but we don’t know, why?”

Amoreena looked at her softly, “it wouldn’t be fair, I know he said I don’t need a father but why do they get to have him for both?”

“I think Spencer is your father, you’re just as smart and wonderful as he is, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re his baby too. but if you want to know if he isn't, when you turn 18 the doctors will tell you who it is, it's completely up to you to find out,” she whispered, the tears starting to fall down her cheeks as Amoreena tried to wipe them away.

"I like thinking he's my father, so he is." Her mind worked in the most wonderful way. Y/N couldn’t help but hold her close as she lightly cried, “I had a dream yesterday that I had 8 sisters,” her voice was so soft and innocent as her tiny hand cupped her mother's cheek.

She gasped lightly at the words, remembering Spencer’s panic in the middle of the night last night, how scared he was to leave her all alone with 9 babies and no one to help her. They knew something that she didn’t yet, cheaper by the dozen seemed less like a dream and more like a prophecy.

“I’m so happy to make your dream come true,” Y/N whispered, “I promise I’m happy, the baby just makes me emotional.”

Amoreena placed her hand on her tummy then, “I love you, baby.”

Y/N stuck her tummy out as far as she could, “I love you too, big sister,” she said in a funny voice to make Amoreena laugh, leaning back in the chair as she held her.

And just like that, getting pregnant with Amoreena was bumped into 3rd place for the best day of her life. Sharing the moment with her and no one else was perfect, insuring she knew that she was just as important moving forward as the little person she was growing this time.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 let me know if you would like to be added as well!!

[kismetfakemon]

Name: Lambaa Name Origin: Derived from lamb and baa Type: Fantasy Classification: Sleeping Pokemon Ability: Comatose Evolution Method: Evolves into Ba'allubye at Level 30 Flavour Text: A cute little thing that just can't help but falling asleep all the time! It loves to eat the sweet dreams of kids and tries to get them to fall asleep with sweet lullabies it plays from its horns, but it often ends up making itself fall asleep instead. They're popular with families to give to small children who have issues going to bed. Cuddling a Lambaa's fur is practically sleep-inducing in itself, but if that doesn't work the songs it plays from its horns will have them both snoozing in no time. Using its magical abilities, Lambaa is somewhat capable of navigating the world whilst asleep, but it often ends up floating and bumping into things instead. But don't worry, it's amazingly soft wool protects it from any harm.

Name: Baallubye Name Origin: Derived from baa and lullabye Type: Fantasy/Sound Classification: Dream Eater Pokemon Ability: Comatose Evolution Method: Evolves from Lamba'a at Level 30. Mega Evolves into Mega Baallubye whilst holding the Baallubite. Flavour Text: Baallubye is both asleep and awake simultaneously. It has three eyes, two of which are always closed in a deep slumber, and the third eye on its forehead is what it uses to see whilst awake. It's rumoured that its brain is split into thirds: one-third being "awake" and the other two-thirds being "asleep." If all three sections are awake and active, Baallubye's attacks become more powerful and deadly. It lulls both Pokemon and humans alike to sleep with soothing tunes blown from the horns on its head and gentle bell-like chimes from the organ on its neck. It does this in order to eat the dreams it needs to stay alive. This Pokemon can subsist on regular food but dreams are to it as ambrosia is to the gods. The yellow orbs in its wool are said to be physical manifestations of the dreams it eats. They even have a subtle glow to them.

Name: Ba'allubye (Critical Burst) Name Origin: Portmanteau of Baa and Lullabye Type: Fantasy/Sound/Psychic Classification: Dream Eater Pokemon Ability: Magic Guard Evolution Method: Critically Burst from a Ba'allubye holding the Ba’allubance Flavour Text: It's awake! And with it's awakening comes newfound power. The blue orbs on Baallubye's body are crystalised psychic power that allow it to see the wildest dreams and most horrific nightmares from even awake Pokemon. They let off a mysterious ring when this Pokemon attacks. They are also capable of seeing the universe if one gets a chance to gaze into them. The purpose of this is unknown. White Noise Fantasy Special 40 BP / 100 Acc / 10 PP Ba'allubye's Burst Move. This move turns Ba'allubye's Hypnosis into White Noise, a move that puts the opponent to sleep and damages them for 2-5 turns

 (Fantasy is another new type of mine. You can find more info on my Carrd.)

[goldenraeofsun]

just say yes

The latest installment of this verse... or 5 times Dean tries to propose to Cas.

Dean bites his lip as he scans the menu. What the hell is branzino, and where the fuck are the prices? He flips the flimsy piece of cream-colored paper over, but no dice. 

Thank god there’s a steak listed among the five lone entrees. It’s probably five times his normal dinner price tag, but Dean already made peace with putting off buying that 30 year anniversary Rush album. It’ll still be there after his next pay check. 

Cas eyes him over the top of his own menu. “What are you thinking?”

Marry me.

Dean doesn’t say that, though. He has plans. Keep his trap shut until dessert. Tell Cas he’s going to hit the head. Pull a waiter aside and ask for two glasses of champagne. Return to Cas. Hopefully not shit his pants as he proposes. Drink champagne. Go home and have fantastic engaged sex.

Dean has high hopes for the last part of the plan.

“Dean?”

Belatedly, he says, “The steak.”

Cas hums. “That does look good.” He ducks back behind his menu. “I was thinking of getting that too. But maybe not.”

Dean takes a hasty sip of water. “Get the steak if you want it, man. We don’t go to places like this often.”

“I think I’ll get the honey glazed salmon.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says lamely. He drinks more water. At this rate, he won’t have to fake the bathroom run.

Aren’t they supposed to have alcohol by this point? They’ve been sitting at their fancy-ass table in this fancy-ass restaurant for nearly fifteen minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have picked the newest five-star restaurant to propose to Cas. He’s already on edge from the pressure, and the pristine white tablecloth isn’t helping. He can already see five ways he’s gonna stain it. There are several forks in front of him. For fuck’s sake, this place has an actual chandelier. Dean hadn’t honestly thought they existed outside of billionaire mansions and Disney movies.

The live music is nice, though. A sedate piano tinkles in the background, barely audible over the buzz of polite dinner conversation.

Dean catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the dark windows to the street. He looks a little sweaty, but not as nervous as he feels, thank god.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t even be nervous.

They’ve talked about marriage before. They’re adults in an adult relationship, so popping the question out of the blue would go down like the time Dean swept Cas away for a surprise camping trip. Turns out, Cas did not like camping. Which Dean would have known if he had asked anytime in the past four years.

But… that marriage conversation was two years ago. Dean wasn’t ready then; they both weren’t. Cas was still in a bad place with Jimmy and Claire, and Bobby had just died, so they weren’t about to roadtrip to Vegas anytime soon.

Now, Claire can have a civil dinner with her parents, and the hole Bobby left in Dean’s life can go unnoticed some days.

The deal is, Dean can’t chicken out tonight. He already told Claire to make herself scarce. She can sleep at her parents’ or at Krissy’s, Dean doesn’t care, as long as she is not crashing on their sofa when they get back from dinner.

Dean would rather read a hundred plagarized student essays on The Very Hungry Caterpillar than admit to Claire he failed to ask Cas to marry him. 

So, proposal time.

The waiter comes by with their drinks and takes their orders. Conversation is a little stilted, but hopefully Cas chalks it up to Dean being outside his comfort zone in this fancy-ass place. There’s no steady thunk of darts hitting a board or clack of pool balls in the background to put him at ease. Just that lame piano.

Cas makes porn noises over his salmon at first bite, which Dean totally doesn’t get. It’s fish.

“How’s your steak?” Cas asks as he surfaces and dabs his mouth with his cloth napkin.

Dean belatedly slices off a piece of his meal and pops it in his mouth. A generically bland compliment dies on his tongue. Jesus Christ - that’s some good cow. It practically disintegrates before he can chew. “Great,” he tells Cas honestly.

Cas hums in contentment.

“And since you’re practically at third base with that salmon,” Dean starts, “I take it-”

“Oh my god!” a woman’s voice squeals behind them.

Dean reflexively turns his head in the direction of the commotion. A few tables over, near the center of the restaurant, a man is down on one knee, and - son of a bitch.

Dean watches, his mouth hanging open, as the woman shouts, “Yes, of course, yes!” Waiters walk past their table with a whole fucking bottle of champagne. People at nearby tables fucking clap.

Dean resolutely turns back around to face Cas, at a loss for words that aren’t extremely loud swears.

“Isn’t that nice?” Cas says mildly.

“Yeah, very nice for them,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

Of all the goddamn nights. Of all the goddamn restaurants. What are the goddamn chances?

Dean slices into his steak with extreme prejudice. If he could murder the happy couple, he would. With zero regrets.

Fuck it all, Claire’s gonna be insufferable.

  A CHARMING B&B IN VERMONT

Dean wakes up delightfully cozy with Cas spooning him from behind. No memory foam, but the bed is delightfully springy anyway. It was definitely what they needed after a full school day and a nine-hour road trip. Luckily, the owner of the bed and breakfast, a charming older woman actually named Mrs. Butters, was happy to wait up for their late check-in last night. She even had hot cocoa waiting.

Dean had held out a slight hope they could christen their room before they turned in for the night, but Cas passed right out before Dean turned on the lights. Poor guy had to deal with three sets of angry parents, and it was only the second week of school. Something about how their supposed-genius kids should be in AP Latin instead of the Fun Latin class - aka the one for dumbass seniors.

The mid-morning sunlight filtering in from behind the plaid curtains casts everything in a warm glow. The room itself is beyond charming. There’s a legit fireplace next to the bed, and they’re currently nestled under a patchwork quilt. The wood panelled walls give a distinctly rustic feel to the place, despite the reasonably sized television screen mounted on the far wall.

Dean turns over in bed so he’s facing Cas instead of the door. He resists the urge to poke him awake, and instead prods with a gentle, “Cas.”

Cas grumbles wordlessly. Fucker doesn’t even open his eyes, although Dean can tell from how his breathing changes that he’s awake.

“Cas.”

Cas wrinkles his nose and shoves his face into the pillow. “What, Dean?”

Dean can barely make out the words, but he gets the gist from the million times Cas has done the exact same thing. “I smell bacon.”

Cas’s eyes slit open. “So?”

“Don’t you want bacon?”

Cas huffs, and Dean can tell the exact moment he resigns to waking up. “Then go get the bacon. Nobody’s stopping you, Meat Man.”

Dean wiggles in bed, jostling the whole mattress. “Come on, babe.”

“I was sleeping.” Cas raises his head to look squint out the window. “It has to be before ten am. Since when are you a morning person?”

Since today is the day Dean is going to propose.

Instead, Dean reminds him pointedly, “Bacon.”

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he sits up. “I expect at least a blow job after breakfast if we’re leaving bed this early.”

Dean slaps his ass and jumps out of bed before Cas can retaliate. “Up and at ‘em!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

* * *

Claire 11:02 Did you ask him yet? If he said no I’ve got chunky monkey waiting

Claire 11:31 That was a joke Uncle Cas will say yes Theres no way he wont

Claire 11:40 If you’re not answering because of sex don’t tell me

Dean sighs as his phone lights up with Claire’s latest text. In the bathroom, Cas hurls again. 

Dean 11:41 No proposal

The bubbles showing Claire’s typing start almost immediately.

Claire 11:41 Are you serious? He’s not goin to turn you down!!!

Dean 11:41 Food poisoning

Claire 11:42 HAHAHAHA

Dean scowls at his phone.

Dean 11:44 Not now, Claire.

Claire 11:44 Wait Seriously?

Dean 11:44 We think it was something he ate at breakfast

Claire 11:44 Oh fuck I’m sorry for laughing

Dean rereads her text. He hasn’t ever received a straight-up apology from Claire before. Unsure of how to respond, he sets down his phone and gently pushes open the bathroom door. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Cas, slumped over the toilet and looking like death warmed over, raises his head an inch. “It seems to be easing up.”

“Really?”

Cas vomits into the toilet again. He groans.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he crouches next to Cas. He rubs his back with one hand. “Do you think you can get some water down?”

Cas nods, so Dean straightens and fills a glass next to the sink.

As Cas drinks, Dean runs a hand through Cas’s sweaty hair. His forehead has a sickly sheen to it, and the back of his neck feels hot.

“Dean -” Cas breaks off to cough the water right back up into the toilet. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says quickly as he refills the glass. “Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“But you had all these plans,” Cas moans as he takes the water to try again.

“We’ll do ‘em some other time.” He wets a washcloth and wipes down Cas’s forehead.

“Before Thanksgiving,” Cas rasps, “we’ll come back. I don’t want to miss the leaves changing.”

“Of course,” Dean says soothingly. He moves the washcloth to the nape of Cas’s neck. “On the bright side, you’ve been puking for, like, an hour. There can’t be much left.”

Cas, the dramatic bastard, nearly brains himself on the toilet seat with the force of his next hurl.

  HOMEMADE DINNER

After the disastrous fancy restaurant and B&B, a homemade dinner has to be the way to go. They’ll be in their own goddamn house - that has to cut down on the number of things that can go wrong.

Dean spends a whole week deliberating on what to make. He could do his usual burgers and fries routine, Cas’s favorite, but it should be special.

He settles on beef wellington. Pie for beef!

It’s a bitch to make - both because puff pastry from scratch is no joke, and hiding his first experiments from Cas means inventing increasingly convoluted reasons to get him out of the house. And, sure, every Youtube chef and Great British Bake off contestant has said store-bought puff pastry is fine, but Dean doesn’t want fine, he needs perfect. 

Dean picks a day when Cas has Model UN afterschool. It’s in the middle of the week, but at least Cas is guaranteed out of the house until six at night.

By 5:58, Dean is ready. The Wellington is cooling on the counter; the red wine has been breathing (whatever the hell that does) for the better part of an hour; and he’s showered and made himself presentable.

His phone pings at six pm on the dot. 

Heart sinking with foreboding, Dean taps the screen.

Cas 6:00 I’m going to be late for dinner. There was an accident with chemistry club a few minutes ago. The building had to be evacuated.

Dean 6:00 Are you OK?

Dean takes a moment to hammer the heel of his hand against his forehead. One fucking break. That’s all he’s asking for. One goddamn evening to go right.

Cas 6:00 Yes, and the kids are too. They’re airing out the halls now, but we won’t be let in for another half hour.

Dean picks up the wine with the hand not holding his phone. 

Dean 6:01 What time do you think you’ll be home?

Cas 6:01 7:30 maybe? I’ll keep you updated.

Dean swigs back a gulp straight from the bottle before he can answer. Fuck this.

Dean 6:02 Great! I’ll order pizza when you’re on your way back

Cas 6:02 Meatlovers?

Dean 6:02 Unless you’d like something else

Cas 6:02 No thank you :)

Dean flips on a recorded Jeopardy! episode as he cleans up the kitchen and texts Charlie. He has a free dinner waiting for her if she can hightail it to his place in the next hour and never speak of it again.

  HOMEMADE DINNER #2

If Dean is anything, he’s stubborn. John Winchester raised no quitter. Try, try, and try again. And try a fourth time, when the first three go sideways.

Burgers, this time. They don’t need a days’ worth of prep. And they’ll go over well.

“Dig in,” Dean says as he sets the plate down in front of Cas.

“This looks delicious, Dean,” Cas says sincerely as he picks up his burger.

Dean waits, and he can see the moment Cas tastes the molten cheese stuffed in the middle of the patty. His eyes go wide with surprise.

“Like it?”

Cas nods vigorously and inhales the rest of his burger in record time.

“There’s enough for us to have thirds,” Dean says smugly. 

Cas smears ketchup all over patty number two, and beams at him. “These make me very happy.”

Dean laughs. “That’s the goal-”

Cas’s phone rings.

Dean falters.

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“You should get that,” Dean says, his shoulders slumping as he sets his burger down. It’s probably a bad sign he was already half-expecting things to go south. “It’s probably important, or whoever it is would’ve texted.”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Cas protests even as he reaches in his pocket to pull his phone out. “It’s Claire,” he says, baffled, before he picks up. “Hello?”

Cas sets down his half-eaten burger. He listens, his brows slamming down forbiddingly as Claire’s voice gets louder and louder, but still not loud enough for Dean to make out actual words. Silently, Cas takes his napkin off his lap and pushes his half-empty beer in Dean’s direction. Finally Cas says, “Yes, of course, Claire.”

Dean frowns as Cas lifts his gaze up to meet his. “Jimmy and Amelia?” he mouths.

Cas shakes his head, speaking into his phone,  “Does Kaia need a pick up from the hospital?”

Dean goes cold. Kaia was actually one of his favorite students. While she was in his class, she won a Scholastic Gold Key and honorable mention for two of her horror novellas and always did the reading. But Dean and Cas haven’t seen her since she broke up with Claire the summer before college.

“Is she okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas’s mouth thins. He gives a short nod.

Dean sighs and picks up the plate uneaten burgers. He can probably reheat the patties. The fries won’t keep, though, so he leaves the plate in front of Cas. He shoves a few in his mouth and gets to his feet.

He’s halfway through cleaning the frying pan when Cas gets off the phone with Claire.

“Are you heading out?” Dean asks gruffly while he gives the iron a particularly hard scrub.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short.”

“Hey, it’s Kaia. ’Course we gotta help.” Dean forces an understanding smile on his face. “I’ll make up the couch while you pick her up?”

Cas squeezes him gently before moving away. “Thank you.”

“You got time for the cliff notes on what happened? Why’d you get the call?”

Cas leans against the counter next to the sink. “Kaia was in a car accident. She’s a little banged up, but mostly fine. A few bruised ribs and a possible concussion.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You know Kaia was never especially close with her foster family, so Claire got the emergency call.”

“Huh.” Dean grabs a plate to clean. “It’s been two years since the split.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure what their situation is. I know Claire was surprised. She’s already in her car, and she should be here by midnight. Hopefully she recognizes Kaia’s injuries,” he frowns, “and they won’t try any… any ‘hanky panky’ tonight.”

Dean laughs, and if it’s slightly higher than normal, Cas doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grabs Cas and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are ridiculous. Nobody says hanky panky. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cas scowls. “They have to be well past kissing at this point.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that ship has long sailed, dude.”

Cas throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have enough sleeping surfaces to separate them.”

Dean sets the dirty plate down to face Cas fully. “Do you really think they’ll get back together? Kaia broke Claire’s heart not too long ago.”

Cas throws him a look like he wonders where the hell Dean’s logical brain has flown to. “Are you asking if I think couples can get back together after a harrowing break up?”

“… no.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You’re more like Claire than I ever was, and you took me back.”

“Huh,” Dean wipes his hands off on a dishtowel, “you might have something there.”

“You do call me the smart one,” Cas says as he pushes off the counter and heads to the doorway. “It has been known to happen.”

“Smartass,” Dean corrects loudly as Cas grabs his coat and keys.

“Semantics.” Cas doubles back to kiss Dean a proper goodbye, and it’s just as electric as it was when they were seventeen. Cas tastes like Dean’s cooking, and he’s been letting his stubble grow out, the short hairs rasping against Dean’s palm as he cups Cas’s cheek.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says as he draws away.

Dean grins. “I know.”

Cas huffs an almost-laugh as he heads back towards the door. “Now who’s the smartass?”

  IN BED

Cas, the son of a bitch, falls asleep before Dean can wring out a second orgasm out of him. Such a godamn shame. Just goes to show, they really aren’t teenagers anymore. At least Dean got to use the new vibrator he bought for the occasion and the edible panties. 

Dean flops back in bed. Maybe he should put the proposals on pause. Clearly, marriage isn’t in the cards. He can be a bit dense when it comes to Cas and him, but there’s dense and there’s denial.

It’s been two and a half months. Five proposal attempts. They’re nearly halfway through October, and he’s no closer to getting a ring on Cas’s finger than he was in late August, sweating bullets in that stupid fancy restaurant.

He can’t keep planning and failing to propose to Cas every other week. One, he can’t handle the stress and constant brainstorming. And B, he’s way behind in writing college recommendations and grading his freshman’s essays on Animal Farm. 

Cas isn’t going anywhere. Dean isn’t going anywhere. So Dean can cool the proposals for now and start fresh in January.

  SCHOOL ASSEMBLY

“I hate these,” Dean mutters to Benny. He frowns across the top rows of the bleachers where the seniors are supposed to sit. There are a few notable faces missing, but nobody that belongs to Dean’s homeroom, so he couldn’t give less of a shit. Below them, sit most of the juniors, and pretty much all of the sophomores and freshmen.

“It’s thirty minutes, brother,” Benny says, patting his arm. “You’ll live.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean grumbles back as Jody strides to the middle of the gym, microphone in hand. He asks Benny, “Do you know what this one’s about? Bullying? Cliques? Hugs not drugs?”

Benny shakes his head.

Jody sighs loudly into the mike. Clearly, she wants to be here just as much as he does. “Thank you all for coming,” she starts like any of them had a real choice. “First things first, Halloween is in two days, and while costumes are allowed and encouraged, don’t be racist.” She grimaces. “God help me, I don’t know why I still have to say that. If you are unsure if your costume is racist, it probably is. Wear something else. Secondly…”

Dean tunes her out. Instead, he scans the bleachers again, this time looking for Cas. He should be with the other sophomore homeroom teachers, but there’s no sign of him. Dean frowns. He can’t remember the last time Cas played hooky. And never without Dean. Dick move, Cas.

Movement at the edge of the gym catches Dean’s eye, and he watches, puzzled, as two students roll out one of the old projectors. The overhead lights turn off.

Is Jody seriously going to make him sit through a slide show? They’re wasting a prefectly good Friday morning on a goddamn PowerPoint?

The projector flips on, and the first photo is… of Dean. 

What the fuck? His mouth drops open in horror. In the picture, he’s in his junior year of high school - he can tell from the hair - with a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Plus Cas, who’s at the next table over in the cafeteria, head bowed over a book and slightly out of focus.

There’s a click, and text scrawls along the bottom of the screen, Destiel Met in Edlund High School Fifteen Years Ago! 

The projector flips to the next photo, this time showing Dean’s senior yearbook picture.

More than a handful of students peer excitedly in his direction, undoubtedly hoping for a reaction.

Scowling, Dean cranes his neck to search the crowd for Charlie’s flaming red hair. She’s the only one who refers to the two of them as “Destiel”. Everyone else uses their names like sane people.

But the projector clicks to a photo of Cas, and Dean can’t help getting distracted. In the picture, Cas is alone at a table in the library. God, he was cute back then. His cheeks were a little fuller, and his hair was curlier. He still had the same intense blue-eyed stare, though. Patented Cas.

It all started with a tutoring session. Young Mr. W needed help in Latin, and our future Latin teacher, Mr. N, was up to the task!

Dean is going to kill Charlie. He tries to get to his feet - maybe she’s hiding behind Jo or something. But Benny’s hand grips his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t,” Benny says softly.

“What?” Dean demands as he tries to shake Benny off and fails. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Stay.” The corners of Benny’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Watch.”

Dean huffs a breath and turns back around. If it was anyone else, Jo or Charlie, he wouldn’t trust a word out of their mouths. Benny, though, he’s not the type to make Dean sit through this without a good reason.

But that’s all ancient history. Destiel really got started five years ago, in this very gym.

The projector shows a picture of their class reunion, when Dean met Cas after ten years of no contact. They’re standing pretty close together (but that doesn’t mean much with Castiel What-Is-Personal-Space Novak), and they appear deep in conversation.

Since then, they have been inseparable.

Dean and Cas at a softball game. Dean and Cas at homecoming. Dean and Cas at GSA’s pride party.

Here’s to fifteen more years of Destiel!

The students clap and cheer with more than a few laughs.

Musical Interlude! flashes in front of a picture of Dean playing guitar to a group of pajama-clad students at last year’s Senior Lock-In.

The lights flip back on, and Dean blinks as his eyes adjust. By the time the spots have cleared from his vision, the projector has been wheeled away, leaving the main floor of the gym empty.

A staticky crackle echoes around the gym. And - is that Def Leppard playing on the speakers?

As the intro to Rock of Ages plays, the cheerleading team troops out from the locker rooms. 

They start a routine Dean’s never seen before. To Rock of fucking Ages.

The cheerleaders sings along with Joe Elliot, “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth falls open as the entire high school chants back, “I want rock and roll. Long live rock and roll!”

By the time they get to the “Rock of Ages” chant, all the students are on their feet, clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The song dies down soon after, and Dean, a broad smile on his face, turns to Benny. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I dig it.”

Benny laughs. “Good. He’ll be pleased.”

Dean’s just about to ask who he is (he’s 99% he knows), when Cas walks out from behind the bleachers. 

Cas takes the microphone from Jody. He coughs nervously, waiting for the students to settle back down. “Thank you,” he says to the cheerleading team. “That was... awesome.” He glances up at the assembled students and teachers. “Dean-” he pauses as the cheers and clapping start up in earnest “-can you please come down here?”

But Dean’s frozen to the spot.

Benny gives him a not-so-light jab with his elbow. “Go on.”

Dean shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the gym floor, and he swears his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Alright, you got my attention,” Dean says with forced bravado. “What’s up, Cas?”

The students hoot and holler.

Cas reddens as they die down again. Clutching the microphone in a death grip, he says, “Dean, we have been together for a number of years.”

Dean grins, a wonderful, all-consuming giddiness filling him the longer he stands in front of Cas. “I know, dude. I was there.”

The students laugh and someone, probably Jo, wolf whistles.

Cas swallows. “I wanted to do this here, where we first met, where you first asked me out on a date, where we had our first kiss.”

“Don’t tell ‘em about all our firsts on school property,” Dean says in a stage-whisper, “or Jody’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Over a fresh round of student laughter, Jody puts her head in her hands. Donna, the school guidance counselor, pats her a few times on the back.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, and, shit, his hands are shaking. “I have loved you for more than half my life, and I look forward to far more than fifteen years by your side. Will you marry me?’

Dean’s not stupid. He had a strong hunch, ever since Rock of Ages played - aka the cassette he put in the Impala the first time he took Cas for a drive fifteen years and a lifetime ago - that this was what Cas was leading up to. 

He’s mostly surprised Cas had the guts to pop the question this way. There was a reason Dean tried to keep his proposal plans mostly to the two of them. One of them is practically a social hermit, and it’s sure as shit not Dean.

“Just say yes, jerk!”

Dean spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Fuck, that’s Sam. His giant of a brother is hovering right outside the gym’s double doors, beaming at the pair of them. Claire gives a little wave from where she’s half-hiding behind him.

Dean turns back to Cas. He can’t think about Sam right now. Or Claire. Or the five hundred students with their eyes on them. 

Only Cas.

“Cas,” he says, and it feels like the whole room is holding their collective breath, none more so than Cas, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “Man, I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale of relief, and Dean laughs. He takes the microphone from Cas’s now slack grip, steps all the way into Cas’s personal space, and kisses him.

The cheers from the assembled students are nearly deafening.

[jaeknightorbats]

Tunnel Caprica [M]

Pairings: Baekhyun x Sehun (SeBaek) 

Ratings: NC-17

Genre/AUs: Smut, dark romance, slice of life

Description: It was a normal day for convenience store worker Byun Baekhyun when Sehun—a wealthy looking man—entered the store, only getting overdosed by drugs afterwards.  It was the encounter that would change Baekhyun’s life. It was the encounter that introduced him to a world that should never exist in this already problematic world. 

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, substance use, drug overdose, alcohol, and strong language

Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (NEW!)

Synopsis: Tunnel Caprica connects two cities under the huge and long mountain ranges of the country Ioca [a-yo-ka], making it one of the longest tunnels in the world with a distance of nearly 40 kilometers. However, people choose to drive the 3-hour long pass than driving through the tunnel, because driving through the tunnel can be claustrophobic—an hour drive with nothing but repeating images of the never ending tunnel. But through the tunnel also hides the entrance to another world that Baekhyun is yet to find out.

Part 1

Word count: 3.9k

Just a single response—a single response that could make everything better.

Or could make matters worse.

It had not been long since his girlfriend replied—five hours outmost. But five hours felt like a day to him. Getting used to quick replies, it’s making him crazy as to why he wasn’t getting any response even after sending her messages and giving her calls.

She’s mad.

He couldn’t help but think, and it’s making him weak. He doesn’t like anyone getting mad at him, especially if it was her.

Ple—

He stopped typing. He shouldn’t bother her, she’s at work. He shouldn’t annoy her. She must be annoyed. He wasn’t at work—it was his rest day, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his phone. Nothing worse than that—overthinking.

He dug his face on to his phone, praying to the gods to make a miracle for him.

He waited, and he waited. Still got no response.

Maybe staring at the screen would make a difference. He stared at every icon he could see, scrolled from side to side.

Why am I lying to myself?

Nearly 30, he was, but he could be still naïve at times. He was a high school dropout with divorced parents.

What divorce? They have no money for such things, his parents only lived separately, and things were too confusing for him. He ran away from his home at the age of 17, and started to find ways he could live on his own. Things never worked out for him, still broke at the age of twenty-nine. He’s renting a small, cheap apartment, and he had a third-hand car that needed constant maintenance. He worked at a convenience store near where he was staying, only a 15 to 20-minute walk.

Byun Baekhyun considered himself as a good-for-nothing, and was only working to survive. The only thing that was making him somewhat happy was his girlfriend’s affection. Now, the person giving what he wanted was mad at him.

He took a deep, hopeless breath as he dropped his head down to his table from where he was sitting. At the brink of losing hope, his heart jumped when his forehead felt the vibration of the table coming from his phone.

He didn’t check from who it was, and immediately clicked the notification and read the message.

Disappointed, he was, when the text message was from his carrier, reminding him that his phone bill’s due was approaching.

This girl, now this. His grip to his phone loosen, feeling weak—he could hear his heart beating. He felt like he was losing his mind.

A picture of his wallet flashed through his head, remembering exactly how much money he still had before his next pay. $43.05.

His phone bill usually cost $45.

He didn’t want to double check his wallet, it was too heartbreaking for him. He recently spent most of his money buying his girlfriend a nice dinner and a new phone—a phone she didn’t like that’s why they’re in a fight. She wanted an iPhone. He couldn’t afford such phone. He himself was sticking to his 3-year-old phone. As long as he could send his girlfriend a message, he was fine with any phone.

He pressed his eyes closed, thinking what should he do to pay his dues and to make his girl happy. His feet couldn’t stop tapping—he couldn’t think of a solution.

“Money can’t buy happiness?” he muttered to himself. “Bullshit.”

He stood up from his chair, threw his phone to the sofa just to release some stress—even a tiny bit. He needed a break.

He started walking circles in his small place, thinking of different things how to earn enough money to, at least, pay the bills.

Baekhyun never turned his head so fast when he saw his phone screen flashed from his peripheral view, hearing the vibration from the sofa. His feet dragged him fast towards the sofa and his hand grabbed the phone.

Disappointed again, it was from his friend, Park Chanyeol.

Im coming 2 ur place.

Baekhyun felt so pissed. He was hoping it was from someone better—his girlfriend. “I don’t need you to come,” he muttered to his phone.

Subsequently, a rapid knuckle impatiently knocked on Baekhyun’s door. It paused for a quick while, then started knocking again.

Baekhyun already knew who it was. He stomped his way to the door to stop the noise.

The grin on Chanyeol’s face faded, cocking his brow after he saw Baekhyun. “What’s with the face?” He made his way into Baekhyun’s place without permission and went straight to Baekhyun’s living room.

Baekhyun followed Chanyeol with a glare as he closed the door. “What are you doing here?”

What a stupid question—Baekhyun realized immediately. Chanyeol only visited Baekhyun for one thing, and one thing only—sniff drugs.

“I’m telling you, bro. You should break up with Yuri. She’s just using you,” Chanyeol said as he was pulling out his cheap snuff set from his jacket, placing it on the glass coffee table afterwards.

Chanyeol already knew what was bothering his friend, especially when Baekhyun made a face like what he was wearing. Nothing else bothered Baekhyun but women. Sometimes, Chanyeol knew Baekhyun doesn’t know how to straighten his priorities just for the sake of a woman.

But Baekhyun doesn’t like anyone minding his own business, so Chanyeol only watched him be stupid.

Baekhyun ignored him, and changed the topic. “Hey, when are you going to take home your shot. It’s taking a lot of space on my fridge.” He only had a mini fridge, it could only fit a few drinks and few foods.

“For as long as I don’t need it,” Chanyeol blatantly replied. “I don’t want my mom seeing that, she’ll start asking questions.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You already said that.”

Chanyeol still lived with his parents since he spent a lot of his money on the things he liked to snort.

Baekhyun pulled a chair on the dining table, and watched his friend do his thing.

Chanyeol carefully released a portion of his powered drug from a tiny airless balloon on Baekhyun’s table. Chanyeol pulled his wallet out and took a card to collect the scattered powder on the table and made a thin line with it. He licked the remaining powder that was on his card. Then, took his already-rolled-up bill from his kit. His nose made a loud noise as he snorted the powder. He twitched both sides of his nose and sniffed again, just to make sure his brain received that well. His eyes slightly became watery from the mild burning sensation that went through his nose. He cleaned the white dust excess on the table with his finger and brushed his gums with it—every bit counted.

Chanyeol sighed, satisfied, as he rested his head on the sofa.

“What was that?” Baekhyun asked.

“Heroin.”

Baekhyun was still a traditional man. Drugs never interest Baekhyun. He’s tried a pot, but it was never for him. He’s seen people around him done it, and he didn’t like what it did to them. Besides, these substances cost too much.

“By the way,” Chanyeol lifted his head up and pointed at Baekhyun, “I told boss you’re gonna take my shift tonight.”

Chanyeol also worked at the same convenience store, that’s where they met each other.

Baekhyun reacted, “What?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you. I have some business tonight.” Chanyeol winked mischievously—obviously planning something sketchy.

Baekhyun thought he’d have his rest day for himself.

Then, Baekhyun remembered his bills and his girlfriend.

Maybe he needed that shift.

“Breaking news: Kang Sunmi filed a divorce. The fifteen year old allegedly—“

Snapping fingers diverted Baekhyun’s attention from the television back to his manager who was in front of him. The manager pointed his pen to Baekhyun and said, “That news will stay for a while, customers don’t.”

Baekhyun nodded lazily.

It was past 3AM. He was on his second cup of coffee but he still felt drowsy, his eyes wanted to close itself. He’s not used to night shifts unlike Chanyeol, who could do any shift at any time of the day. Baekhyun still had an 11AM shift after his shift at 4AM. He’ll have less time for sleep, but a little more money for him. He needed every cent.

Less than an hour left.

There weren't many people at the store, so he was pissed off at his boss for being such an uptight motherfucker.

He couldn’t wait for his shift to end, he missed his bed. But he missed his girlfriend, Yuri, a lot more. She was still ignoring Baekhyun’s call and messages, making him miserable. He didn’t know how to make her notice him again.

I’ll pay her a visit after my shift. I’ll be there before breakfast, before she leaves for work. She’ll be surprised, see my effort and sincerity, he thought.

The idea washed away his sleepiness in a snap. He got excited to see Yuri’s face again. Baekhyun hoped she would forgive him and give him a kiss or hug.

His brain cells started to work actively, thinking of what things he should say.

How should I apologize?

Thinking of what he should do.

Should I text her first or knock straight away at her door?

Should I buy her a chocolate?

No, maybe hotcakes. She loves hotcakes.

He was alone with his thoughts, distracted by the challenges of love.

The bell on the top of the door rang when somebody pushed it open.

It woke Baekhyun up from his thoughts, his instinct greeted the customer who got in. “Good evening.” He, then, realized it was already early in the morning. He corrected himself, “Morning, sir.”

They were trained to greet anyone who came in the store.

Baekhyun watched the tall man take big steps as the man walked in, not even turning his head to Baekhyun’s direction. The tall man vanished from Baekhyun’s sight as he passed by the tall shelves.

Baekhyun had seen different types of people enter the store when he took night shifts on some occasions. There were people in pajamas buying food for breakfast, or maybe for their late night snack. Guards, drivers, and night shift employees buying coffee. Normal looking families who were on a trip buying snacks. Bunch of drunk teenagers wearing cropped tops and/or bomber jackets who came from a party buying cigarettes, or water for their friend who kept throwing up. People of any age wearing tacky clothes who were obviously on drugs—he could tell it from their teeth—buying lighters. Some people looked dangerous, he dared not to judge the things they buy, but they were usually alcohol and cigarettes. And, some men buy condoms.

But Baekhyun had never seen a person walk wearing sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses late at night?

What was also striking was the man was wearing an obviously expensive black coat. It was beautiful how vivid the color was; it was the blackest of the black he had ever seen. If the man came from a party, it must be a fancy one, might be a ball, or a fancy wedding of a multi-millionaire. Baekhyun thought the man was lost. The man should have asked his butler or driver to buy things for him.

A pair of heels started to echo his ears—it got louder as it got closer.

Of course, he has matching Italian shoes.

Even the most decent shoes don’t make a sharp sound like that.

Baekhyun turned his head to the man’s direction as the man got closer to the counter.

The man stopped in front of Baekhyun, still holding on to his items. He slightly lifted his head and scanned his eyes around the top shelves that were behind Baekhyun.

Baekhyun noticed the man was wearing a high-end brand of sunglasses. The way the light reflected on the black frame and on the black lenses, it was something else. His skin glowed as the light met his face, showing his healthy and almost poreless skin.

“Do you have anything besides Jack Daniels?” the man started to speak.

Baekhyun turned around and scanned the shelves himself. He knew the man was looking for something hard. “We have Johnnie Walker. Red, black, and double black.”

He rarely drank such expensive alcohol, but he enjoyed the scotch he recommended when he tasted it.

The man scoffed. “I’d take the bourbon.”

Baekhyun nodded and stretched his arm to reach the box of Jack Daniels.

The man placed his item on the counter. Baekhyun scanned the box, and the cotton balls that the man placed.

“Is that all?”

The man looked down at the front of the counter, turned his head from left to right, searching for something. He finally reached for something that caught his interest. He lightly threw the item on the counter

“That’d be all,” he said as he revealed a part of his side body under his coat, reaching his back pocket for his wallet.

“$27.14,” said Baekhyun after scanning the box of condoms—the ultra-thin one.

The man took another item in front of the counter the moment it caught his attention.

Baekhyun scanned a small bottle of lubricant. “$38.54”

The man initially took a hundred-dollar bill out from his wallet but he put it back. He extended his arm, slightly revealing a shiny silver watch under his sleeve, and gave three 20s instead.

The man looked at Baekhyun and said, “Keep the change.”

Baekhyun's eyes slightly widened, his lips curved upward. He couldn’t be happier, he needed every cent of money he could get.

It must be his lucky day.

“Thank you, sir!”

The man cocked both of his brows as a response while he put the smaller items inside his coat and carried the bourbon by the hand. Then, Baekhyun watched the man leave the store.

Baekhyun couldn’t stop grinning as he put the change on his wallet after he cashed in the payment.

“That was a nice watch,” he muttered to himself. It was like love at first sight when he saw the man’s watch. It was still at the back of his head.

Baekhyun looked at the store’s watch.

Ten minutes left before 4:00.

He started to fix his things at the staff room. Removed his tacky uniform under his white shirt, and wore a cozy jacket. He bid his goodbyes to his co-worker and manager and left the store at 4:05AM.

Cold wind blew on his face, making him shiver. He dug both of his hands on the pocket of his jacket, and started to walk across the almost empty parking lot.

He couldn’t spot a single person around. Few vehicles, yes. It was still early. The area of the city he’s in wasn’t exactly the busiest.

Baekhyun put a smile on his face. “I’m gonna buy hotcakes. I’m gonna see Yuri.” He felt excited. He tried to paint the look on Yuri’s face when she saw him at the front of her doors.

“We’re gonna have breakf—“

A long honk of a car distracted Baekhyun from walking. He turned his head where he heard the noise, but he couldn’t see anything—it was too dark, and the parking lot was too huge.

He turned around, checking if other people were around. But he was alone.

It was still honking, it wouldn’t stop. There was panic in Baekhyun’s eyes, his heart started to pound hard, he was nervous. Other parked cars seemed peaceful. His eyes searched everywhere, but he seriously couldn’t see anything. He started to walk hesitantly where the loud beep was coming from, he was unsure.

Silence.

Baekhyun’s ears rang and felt deaf after the vehicle stopped honking. But he was still worried. His feet wouldn’t move, his mind went blank, his ears still ringing.

Then, a tiny, orange light suddenly emerged from his sight from where he was walking to. The light was from inside a car. He could see tiny silhouettes in it.

He started to walk forward, but still hesitant. He turned his head from left to right to check if there were other people besides him. He was still alone.

The light got closer and closer as he walked nearer.

“HEELP!”

A loud screech of a woman alarmed Baekhyun, putting him to a stop.

“HEEELP!”

Baekhyun ran as fast as he could to the light, to the woman’s voice who cried for help. He saw the woman looking in his direction. Baekhyun was having a hard time to breathe because of the cold wind blowing against him, but he ran faster after he saw an unconscious man next to the woman.

Baekhyun panted heavily when he finally reached the vehicle. Him and the woman looked at one another with panic in their eyes.

“HELP!” The woman cried while she was shaking the man on his shoulders.

Baekhyun shifted his look to the man—it was the man who tipped him earlier. He was unconscious.

Baekhyun opened the door. “What happened?!”

The woman was in a state of panic, she didn’t know what to say. She was only worried for the man.

“Have you called 911?”

The woman blinked. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

Baekhyun looked around the vehicle. He saw a spoon, an elastic band, a syringe, a dust of power, and cotton balls. Baekhyun suddenly noticed the man had his sleeve rolled up.

“He fucking OD’ed?!” He concluded after he saw the things around them. The man got overdosed by some drug.

The woman didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were shaking—she was unsure if she should trust the man.

“You must call 911, or he’ll die!” exclaimed Baekhyun.

“No, no, no. Please don’t call them!” the woman begged.

Baekhyun knew if they called 911, they'd go to jail after he regained his consciousness because they were doing illegal drugs.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun cursed, he knew the woman won’t change her mind—he had met a lot of people on drugs, so, he somewhat understood. He removed his jacket, dropped both his bag and jacket on the concrete.

He stepped up to their high SUV and searched for the recliner lever of the man’s seat. But he couldn’t find it. “Where’s it?! How do you recline this fucking seat?!” Baekhyun yelled at the woman.

The woman jumped in panic, “Fuck.” She pulled something behind the seat of the man she was with to recline the seat.

Baekhyun lent his face to the man’s face to feel and listen if he was breathing. He wasn’t. “Fuck.”

“Don’t fucking die on me, Sehun,” the woman begged, pulling her hair. Her eyes began to tear up.

Baekhyun held the man’s face upward. He’s going to perform CPR.

He had his face close to the man, then the woman spoke. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Do you want him to fucking die?!”

Baekhyun exhaled all the air from his lungs and passed it to the man. He pumped his chest with both of his hands intertwined.

No response.

Baekhyun performed another around. He gave air, pumped the man’s chest.

Still, no response.

Baekhyun performed another, and another, and another round.

“Fucking shit. Don’t die on us, man.” He kept pumping his chest, sweat was breaking on his forehead despite the chilly climate.

The man wasn’t breathing.

Then, Baekhyun remembered his friend, Chanyeol. He remembered that he had Chanyeol’s adrenaline shot in his fridge.

“Fuck.”

Baekhyun carried the man on his shoulders and transferred him to the back of the car.

“What are you doing?!” The woman freaked out, confused. She followed them behind the car.

“Keep giving him CPR. I have something in my place that might help.”

Baekhyun went in front of the car, fixed the seat, and started driving. He drove as fast as he could to his place, he had the hazard lights on, he didn’t stop at any red light, he kept honking the car on every car that was on his way. Every second counted. The man could die at any moment.

They reached his place in 3 minutes.

Baekhyun carried the man on his shoulders and ran as fast as he could to his door steps.

Baekhyun’s eyes widened. His keys were in his bag.

He left his bag in the parking lot.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t happening,” he muttered to himself.

“What? What’s happening?!” The woman freaked out while she held the man’s face behind Baekhyun’s back, trying to wake the unconscious man.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun panicked. He didn’t want to let the woman know. She’d make him freak out more if she knew.

Baekhyun searched his pockets. He was starting to feel the weight of the man on his shoulders. Baekhyun gulped. Then, he felt the bulk in one of his pockets. It was his wallet. He remembered he had a spare key in his wallet.

He immediately took his wallet and searched for the key inside his wallet.

It was the biggest relief of his life when he felt the cold brass meet his finger. It was his key.

He opened the door, then carefully placed the man in his living room.

“Keep giving him CPR,” he ordered the woman as he ran as fast as he could to his mini fridge, and took a package on the top shelf.

He ran back to the man. His hands were shaking. He had read the instruction of how to use the shot countless times when he had nothing to do with his time and when he attempted to throw it away because it took a lot of space. Chanyeol had also told him how to use the shot once or twice just in case Chanyeol got overdosed himself. But Baekhyun still read it, just in case he read it wrong before.

But he was shaking, his head couldn’t think straight. There was an unconscious man in front of him.

“Fuck this shit.”

He’ll have to trust his memory.

He opened the package, and there was a tiny bottle that came with a huge syringe in it.

“Rip his shirt open,” Baekhyun commanded the woman as he tried to inject the 6-inch needle to the bottle with his shaky hands.

Baekhyun breathed heavily. He held his hand high over his head with the syringe, focused on the man’s chest. He had to inject the shot hard enough to get through his ribcage to his heart—to make his heart pump again with the adrenaline shot.

Baekhyun’s breath got heavier and heavier by the second.

Just a single response.

Baekhyun held his breath and stabbed the man with the needle.

A single response that could make everything better.

The man arose from his position, making a loud noise as he inhaled every air his lungs could get as he came back to life.

In a shaky voice, breathing rapidly, the man cursed, “Fuck.”

Or could make matters worse.

To be continued...

J/N: Send notes, reblog. Follow me on twitter @/jaeandbats for updates

**

Read next chapter

**

Tunnel Caprica: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (NEW!)

[sesskag1postchallenge]

Operation Grandpup Drop (A SitBoy Discord Crack Fic)

Created by awesome people on the SessKag SitBoy Discord, one post at a time in complete wild abandon. This is a SessKag crack fic. 

Chapter one:

Walter20507/29/2019 He found the group surrounding the campfire. Jaken was intent on trying to steal the Tetsuiga once again for his master Lord Sesshomaru, but something caught his attention as he peered through the bushes. The strangely garbed miko that he had sparred with when they first encountered each other had pulled something strange out of her yellow satchel. It appeared to be...

 SlayerYesterday at 9:05 PM

Something he had never seen before. Jaken's poor little brain had no idea what the object was so he pocketed it when her back was turned. And ran back to his Sesshomaru-sama.

 imjaneeesYesterday at 9:21 PM

It was... triangle shaped. With three holes. And the other was a stringed object but this one had two triangles but smaller than the first.

Strange object it was, it was somewhat elastic too. The fabric was nothing he's ever encountered before and thought to ask his lord about it later, HE was sure to know. His lord knew everything. Upon closer inspection, the odd objects were strangely decorated too, with something that could probably pass as a Neko if you squint enough.

Walter205Yesterday at 9:42 PM

Jaken was so busy examining his ill gotten goods that he didn’t notice the oni until he ran smack into the large demon before falling back onto his toady old behind. The demon turned as he dumbly stated what a good snack Jaken would make. For his part Jaken was just about to yell for help from Lord Sesshomaru when a red line appeared at the top of the oni’s head and ran down the creature’s midsection before stopping at the groin. The red line grew in size before the oni became two distinct halves of his former self as they fell apart from each other. In their place stood a distinctly female version of Sesshomaru, one which triggered a familiar memory within Jaken before she spoke; “Little Imp, you are my son’s servant are you not? Would you be so kind as to lead me to him?”

   Jaf JafYesterday at 10:26 PM

Jaken scrambled around for an answer, his words a jumbled hot-mess of incoherence and babble until he finally managed out a wheezed "Yes." He tucked away his loot from the miko into the depths of his sleeves, before beckoning Sesshomaru's mother with a bow and another polite rush of words.

  Stormie Like WeatherYesterday at 10:39 PM

Meanwhile, back at camp, Sesshomaru couldn't shake the feeling something unfortunate would be occurring soon. Generally this gut feeling took him to the problem and he would obliterate it without issue, however this itch did not bring with it a path to follow. Left with nothing to go on, he found himself brooding in thought against a tree. His mood sour.

 Walter205Yesterday at 10:55 PM

But Sesshomaru was pulled out of his musings by the appearance of Rin, accompanied by Ah-Un and Kohaku. The last had just joined his group along with Kirara to aid in the hunt for Naraku. Previously the last he had seen of the whelp was four years ago during the events surrounding the events at Mt Hakueri but he had heard through the Shikon Vine that his brother and their companions had managed to free him from Naraku's control and restore his life while removing the Shikon Shard embedded within his neck. Sesshomaru kept a disapproving eye on the young whelp as he knew he had taken a fancy to Rin and didn't approve of the two being together. 

 The crunching of twigs and leaves drew Sesshomaru's attention to his left. He found Jaken as expected but he was accompanied by...his eyes grew wide as Rin and Kohaku both let out a startled gasp.

 Stormie Like WeatherYesterday at 11:13 PM

Encouraged by the gasps of the teenagers, InuKimi did her best to sound exasperated, "My, Sesshomaru, I expected to see some young with you at this point, alas there is no sight nor scent of a pup and Mate having been near you." Folding her arms across her chest, she pinned him with a glare, "Just what have you been wasting your time on?"

She glanced back over to the teens, "And just what is your excuse? Young virile humans, get to it before you die."

 Walter205Yesterday at 11:40 PM

Both of their faces turned beet red and briefly they glanced at one another before turning away while making startled exclamations and excuses for why nothing was going on. Jaken watched in some amusement before he remembered about the strange thing he had snatched earlier from the miko's satchel. 

 "Oh my Lord, earlier I retrieved something from your brother's wench that may prove useful," the toad said as he withdrew the oddly shaped and patterned cloth. Inukimi stood directly behind the toad and snatched the garment as soon as she saw what it was. She scented it deeply before tossing it in her son's direction. 

 "Memorize that scent my son, it reeks of both pureness and wholesomeness, rare traits to find in this day and age, at least by lowly human standards."

 Somehow, somewhere, she didn't know why, but Kagome felt like she reaaaally shouldn't be anywhere in the feudal era but alas, duty calls and the shikon no Tama won't put itself back together.

 Walter205Today at 12:09 AM

"Almost time for bed. Sango, want to join me in a hot springs dip?" asked Kagome as she stood and stretched. Shippou took notice with an exasperated sigh as both Miroku and Inuyasha stole glances at her filled out form before both quickly glanced away again, Miroku having the added incentive of Sango wagging her fist at him. 

 "No Thanks Kagome, I think I'll sit this one out and keep an eye on the others," she replied while side glaring Miroku. 

 "Oh all right, I'll be back shortly," she said as she disappeared into the woods. Having finally learned after a few years, Inuyasha waited until she had disappeared before snorting and muttering that she would take a lot longer.

 imjaneeesToday at 12:30 AM

Kagome walked off to the springs, a smile on her face as she thought of the soothing feeling the warm waters would give her aching muscles.

She reached the hot springs and proceeded to undress and dip herself in the water, a moan escaping her lips as soon as she was settled. One of the few perks in the feudal era: free hot springs. 

Deciding to do some cleaning while she was at it, she reached for her bag and dug her hand in. After some reaching, she frowned. That was odd. She knew she put it there earlier. Rising to her feet, she looked inside the bag, the noises she made rummaging through her bag blocking the snap of a twig she normally WOULD have heard.

 Jaf JafToday at 12:35 AM

Sesshomaru approached from the trees, an un-amused grimace plastered on his face while he watched the girl spin around and stare at him in mortification. His hand behind his back and a lifted brow, he would have sneered. "Do you need a moment?"

Kagome hissed and slipped back into the water, trying to recover her dignity more than anything. "Excuse you," she hissed watching his impassive face for any hint.

"Hn." He gave none, but proceeded to slowly circle around the hotspring. "You seem to be missing something miko, and not just your sensibilities. Honestly. Bathing by yourself, in a forest, at night. Shameless."

 Walter205Today at 12:40 AM

Briefly, she considered calling Inuyasha for help, but didn't want him gazing at her in the nude or a huge fight to break out when she was trying to bath. Plus, so far he hadn't tried to attack her but rather was just prancing around the edge of the Hot Springs. 

 "What would you know about it?" she asked while trying to gauge his intentions.

 Stormie Like WeatherToday at 12:42 AM

"Being a youkai myself, I can attest that if I were a lesser sort you'd be in very real danger. Be that as it may, my intentions are pure this night."

 Jaf JafToday at 12:45 AM

"If your intentions were anything other than being an asshat," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Then I'd purify that pretty pale butt of yours on the spot."

"Oh," Sesshomaru's lips curled up in a flash-quick minuscule smirk before disappearing back into a thin line purse. "Is that a bluff or a promise?"

 Walter205Today at 12:49 AM

"Enough of this game," said Sesshomaru in an odd tone of voice as tentacles suddenly exploded out of his form. Kagome barely had time to open her mouth for a scream before they wrapped around her head and arms, trapping her in place. 

 She watched in sudden disgust and horror as Sesshomaru's form transformed from that of the stoic demon to Naraku in the flesh. 

 "You're far too trusting of your allies my precious little shard detector and now I once again have you within my grasp. Oh, and about your purification threat, I have something right here for that," he says as he brings his other hand out from behind his back, revealing a collar that he places around her neck just as she starts calling up her powers. 

 The pink light fades from her as she starts to feel weak.

 Jaf JafToday at 12:57 AM

It's one of those brief fleeting moments, that Kagome experiences every now and then. Some might call it a near death experience. Others might call it a miracle. Some may say it's the receptors in a brain trying to make pain less than what it really is.

But in that one second, the miko saw a figure in the treeline. Glistening white fur, round coal eyes, and large white paws. The pink bow and the denim overalls were a dead give away. Hello Kitty stood in all of her glory, wide face as expressionless as the hanyou-formerly-disguised-as-demon-lord was.

"Kagome," Kitty whispered, fading into the forest. "One of the best feelings in the world is knowing that both your presence and your absence means something to someone. Are you really gonna let this slinky bastard get you when no one will notice?"

Kagome felt a spike in her consciousness and anger. I'm so not going down as a "shard detector".

  Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:01 AM

Naraku brought his face close to her's, his cold wet tongue slithering out to taste her sweet pure collar bone. Tentacles as slimy as an earthworm, she forced herself to wriggle her arm free. As he chuckled, "I thought I'd never get you alone girl, now that I have you-! Gaaahh!" Her thumb went into his eye socket with a squishy plop.

  Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:04 AM

Enraged, she bit the closest appendage and growled, "You think without my powers you can take me?!" Blood speckled her face, "Think again!"

  Jaf JafToday at 1:05 AM

Naraku floundered back for a moment, his tentacles splashing up water as he flailed for balance. His voice floated over the wind like squeaky nails on chalk as he howled in pain.

 Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:12 AM

The momentary distraction was enough for her to slide out of his slick tentacles like a piece of soap in his hands. With a splash, she began to climb out and run. Not looking back to see how close he was, she focused on her feet hitting the ground. Branches scraped along her skin, and she could hear him screaming in frustration behind her. Each foot fall took her farther away. The fact that she was naked didn't register as she had one thing on her mind, survival.

 Jaf JafToday at 1:16 AM

Nothing mattered to her other than retreating to safety. The scrape of branches and wood, the bite of insects and grit. Not a single thing fazed her as she made her escape. She ignored the sharp needled twinge that spread along her bare feet, and the icky prickling of goosebumps along her skin. Her one train of thought was get out get out get out get out.

 Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:21 AM

With no sense of direction, it had only been a matter of time until she hit a point where she could no longer run. Her heart thundered as she was forced to pause. Blood rushed through veins. Water rushed over the cliff before here, splashing into a river many meters below. The cliff before her could mean death, but waiting around could mean worse than death. She bit her lip, and made a decision that would determine her fate.

 Jaf JafToday at 1:24 AM

"Presence or absence," Kagome muttered, whispering the wise kitten's earlier words. "I'll be missed. Someone will notice."

Without a second thought, she lunged off the edge at the thundering sound of Naraku's approach. She was willing to risk the thundering waters over the hanyou. Surely the drop-off would be more kind to her than he would.

 Walter205Today at 1:54 AM

She felt the embrace of strong warm arms mid-fall that whisked her away from the torrent below. Opening her eyes, she beheld focused blue eyes and black hair held back by a brown bandana. Her eyes opened wide before glancing back up the cliff face to see Naraku staring down at them from the opposite cliff face. 

 "Kouga!" she exclaimed with a mixture of relief and surprise. He turned down to ask her what she was doing way out here naked and without puppy face protecting her, only to see that she had passed out cold. Not knowing anything of the current situation beyond their mortal enemy chasing her down, he made the decision to leave Naraku behind in a cloud of dust as he retreated with his intended back to the wolf demon hideout.

[monster-bait]

For the asks: 2, 7, 14, 17, 23

2. What is the most rewarding thing about writing for you?

The characters are by far the most rewarding aspect for me. I’m not someone who writes for headpats and comments from strangers, I don’t need a ton of external validation. (What I need is an agent. Help a girl out, Tumblr!) I’ve created characters I really love (like Merrick) and characters who have felt like real people I’ve known all my life (like Lurielle) and characters who I feel fortunate and privileged to have met for even a brief moment (like Fionghall) and that’s wonderful and I love it...but then every once in a while, a character like Idiot or Tate or Silva will move into my head, and their stories are so much bigger than I first imagined, they themselves are so much deeper and more complex than I ever would have guessed, and it really takes my breath away. Sharing my brainspace with them and learning their stories is the biggest reward for being a writer.

7. Which authors/artists are your biggest inspiration?

Peter S Beagle’s The Last Unicorn is without question at the top if the list. I loved the movie as a child, loved the book as an adolescent, and my love and appreciation only quadrupled as an adult. I’m hard pressed to think of another book that so brilliantly illustrates the ideas that magic and wonder do not solely belong to children, and that sadness and regret are not strictly emotions for adults. There’s not a woman alive over the age of 30 (or 40 or 50) for whom the “How dare you come to me now, when I am this” scene with Molly does not resonate. I based a character in my novel Wingman on King Haggard, and he is by FAR my favorite character to write, lol! Lir’s soliloquy at the end—”Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.” ...the story is the story, with both sweetness and pain, and we must experience both to enjoy the HEA. “There are no happy endings, because nothing ever ends.” “I will keep the color of your eyes when no other in the world remembers your name.” Like, just put me on a spit, I can’t take how beautiful every line in this whole damned book is. Lots of works inspire me, but none as much as this “children’s book.”

14. Do you like it to be silent or for there to be background noise when writing? If you like noise, what’s your preference?

Silent or low television background noise/white noise in public. I am incapable of listening to music passively, so I can't have music on when I write

17. Do you like to reread your own stories?

I sometimes spend more time rereading than I do writing! I spend more time developing character voice than I do developing plot, and I reread to get back into the headspace of the characters. Sometimes it works--I reread Lisette & Gel’s story last week, and wrote the follow-up in an hour, and then other times--like right now it doesn’t work as well. I’m trying to bust out my Merrick revisit, and I’ve been away from these characters for so it’s like, Aw fuck. Other times I’ll reread something and think “I have no idea who wrote this, but it sure wasn't me!” (ie: the way I feel about trying to get back into the voices for the Mermaid fic. Not only have I been away from them for a long time, I wrote the first 5 chapters with a very deliberate rhythm and cadence, and I’m struggling to refind it!) 

23. How do you deal with writer’s block?

I really think writer’s block is a state of mind. I’ve watched writers write paragraphs-long screeds on how they can’t write anything, their inspiration is gone, they cannot possibly put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboards)...but they write their whole sob story with ease. I think sometimes we get hung up on our own stories, or our characters lead us down a dead end, or we don't know our own plot, or or or. So pivot. Write something else. If you’ve lost passion for a project, call it what it is, and move on to something that *does* excite you. We get so tangled up in explaining away our writer’s block, that we become unwilling/unable to actually identify the issue, and stay stagnant. If you can write about your writer’s block, you don;t have writer’s block. Your brain just doesn’t want to write that particular thing right then.

Thanks for the asks, Traveler!

[firstdegreefangirl]

Maybe it’s not the sunlight

So. I wrote a thing. Inspired by my own struggles as a day sleeper (which totally ARE because of sunlight, and also construction noise) and helpfully urged along by @vesperass-anuna​. I’m also gonna tag @stargazerdaisy​ because these two are the only people who’ll be half as excited about this as I am.

Posting to ao3 later, but that’s an after-work thing. 

It’s 10:17 in the morning when Maya finally pushes her front door open. She’s trying to do the math on how many hours she’s been awake, but other than “too many” and “over a full day,” she’s too tired to count them all.

(The answer is almost 30. She woke up for work at 4:45 the day before and, thanks to a delayed transport back from Oklahoma, has been awake for almost 30 hours.)

As she toes off her shoes and lets her duffel drop unceremoniously onto the floor next to her, she fires off a quick text to Abe. He’ll want to know that she’s home safe, and also that she didn’t give into the urge to kill the chatty recruit she spent seven hours waiting on a plane with.

He replies with a smiley face and a promise to drop by with food after he’s off work. Because that’s where they’re at now: the occasional roll in the hay turned into drinks after work turned into … whatever they are now.

They’re not dating, Maya ponders, as she wipes her makeup off and brushes her teeth. They’ve been sleeping together in the physical sense off and on for a few months, and in the literal for the last month or so. After work they’ll have dinner together, watch some TV and, really, what’s the sense in one of them driving half an hour home just to go back to work the next morning?

But they haven’t put any labels on it yet. They haven’t had that conversation. Maya is changing into her pajamas when she realizes that maybe she wouldn’t mind a label if they were to have that conversation at some point in the future.

She pulls the curtains closed and wraps herself in her quilt, planning to sleep for at least four or five hours until Abe comes over with dinner.

Two hours later, she’s still lying there, tossing and turning, trying to will herself to fall asleep. The room is dark. She’s counted hundreds of sheep, then grouped them backwards by sevens. She’s taken deep breaths. She’s put on her favorite fuzzy socks.

She’s exhausted. But none of it is enough. She groans and rolls over again, hoping that this time lying on her stomach will do the trick.

It doesn’t, and 10 minutes later she rolls back over and checks her phone. No new notifications, just the same unopened text from Abe, telling her to get some rest and sleep off the homicidal tendencies if she wants him to bring dessert too.

As if she’s not trying.

She puts on classical music, and another hour passes as she wonders why nobody told Mozart that all his songs sound the same. Last week she passed out watching Parks and Rec, but today she listens carefully, trying to figure out what part of government work these people do that’s kept them from becoming jaded by the bureaucracy.

Eventually, she gives up and resigns herself to her inability to sleep in the middle of the day. It didn’t used to be this way; in college, she could stay up all night finishing a paper, turn it in at 9:30 and sleep for 15 hours uninterrupted. During boot camp, she’d be up until 3 a.m. for drills, back up at 7 for revile, then sleep as soon as they were released for recreation, whatever time that was.

But even that was seven years ago, college a full decade behind her. She’s 33 now, and supposes that an actual sleep schedule is her body settling into its age, however mentally and physically drained she may be.

She doesn’t get up though, choosing instead to cling to a last shred of hope that she’ll fall asleep in the two or three hours Abe is still at work.

Maya can’t tell how long it’s been, but she knows it hasn’t been two hours when she hears a key turn in the lock and the door shift gently open. There’s rustling, which she knows is Abe putting bags on the counter, then footsteps down the hall and a soft knock at her door.

“My?” Abe whispers as he pushes the door open a crack, just far enough to peer in at her. “You’re not asleep?”

She groans and shifts around on the mattress. “Nooooo,” she whines. “I’ve been laying here all damn day and I haven’t slept even a minute. Guess my all-nighter days are behind me.”

Abe pushes the door open the rest of the way and steps into the room. He hasn’t changed out of his uniform, but he’s stripped off the button-down, leaving him in a white T-shirt and his dress pants.

“Couldn’t nap on the flight? I know Marine transport puts you right in the lap of luxury.” He moves to stand next to her bed and gently pushes her hair out of her face.

“Ha. Not with that boot sitting next to me. Swear I could pick his grandma out of a criminal lineup, much as he talked about her.”

“Yeah? Didn’t bore you to sleep?”

“Ugh, I wish. I’m so tired.” She relaxes into his touch as his hand comes to rest against her face, thumb brushing softly along her cheek.

“Well there’s Greek food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” Maya hides the grimace as her stomach rolls and groans.

“God, how bad is it that I’m too tired to even think about eating right now?”

“That’s because you’re supposed to sleep at night, My. Not sit on a military base and wait for a plane.” He’s teasing, but his tone is almost as gentle as the way he pulls his hand back and stands up. “But don’t think about eating now. I’ll go put the food up and change, you think about falling asleep.” He’s gone back down the hall, whistling some Top 40 tune Maya is too exhausted to place, before the domesticity of it all hits her.

Abe is in her kitchen. Putting away takeout he bought for both of them. From her favorite place, because he knows she’s had a long day. And he’s changing out of his work clothes in her bathroom, probably into the jeans and T-shirt he left behind last weekend. But they’re not dating. There’s no label attached.

She’s still thinking about it when he comes back – in the jeans and T-shirt, sure enough – and settles on top of the covers next to her, resting a book on his thighs. The movement of the bed is enough to jostle her from her train of thought, and she turns her head to stare at him curiously.

“Nothing good on TV this time of night. But Rami suggested this book, so I figured I’d check it out. Besides, this way you’re not in here all alone.” Abe crosses his ankles and cracks the book.

And she blames it on the exhaustion, but suddenly Maya’s eyes are misty. She’s had her share of exes, but the simple, seemingly thoughtless, care is new to her. He could have sat anywhere else in the apartment with his book, but he chose not to make Maya lay in an empty room. NO matter how tired she is, though, she’d never give voice to how nice it is to have someone care about her in all the little ways.

Especially if they’re not dating.

So, she shuffles closer to him instead, leaning her head against his bicep and yawning hard enough to pop her jaw.

“Take it easy, Dobbins, good God. Are youtryingto break your jaw?” But he’s smiling when he says it, still speaking gently.

Before she gets herself settled in, Abe pulls his arm out from underneath her, dropping her head to his chest and shifting his book to one side.

Maya pushes herself a little closer into his torso and yawns again, smiling when Abe’s free hand comes up to run tenderly through her hair.

“Sleep, Maya. You know your body wants to.”

“Yeah, it does.” Another yawn. “But my brain has spent the entire day proving that I can’t sleep when the sun is up.”

“Mmm, circumstantial evidence. Keep trying.” He’s quiet for a moment, then, in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, starts reading his book out loud. Maya has no idea who the characters are or what they’re doing, but she closes her eyes and listens, feeling Abe’s chest rise and fall beneath her.

When she opens her eyes again, the first thing Maya notices is that she’s the warmest she’s been all day. The second is that the book has dropped flat, Abe’s leg holding the pages open. The room is dark now, and silent, save for the sound of his quiet snoring.

Before the wakefulness can set in all the way, though, she closes her eyes again and brings a hand up to tangle with Abe’s, spread out on his stomach. She sighs when she feels the fingers in her hair tighten just a bit – a sleepy reflex to her movement, she’s sure – and is met with two thoughts as sleep pulls her back under:

Maybe you don’t need a conversation to have labels.

And

It’s entirely possible that the sunlight wasn’t her problem with day-sleeping.

[acekatherineplumber]

Questions! Yay questions!

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most? Out Tonight (RENT), Tightrope (The Greatest Showman), Candy Store (Heathers), Delicate (Taylor Swift), Gorgeous (Taylor Swift), So Much Better (Legally Blonde)

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Taylor Swift. It would be so nice.

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17. You will have to pay for excess baggage.

4: What do you think about most? How much cleaning I constantly have to do

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say? “I once again work until [private information], but I hope you have a great day”

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on? It depends. 

7: What’s your strangest talent? I’m doubled jointed in three places

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)Girls are wonderful. Boys can choke.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you? No.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar? No idea.

11: Do you have any strange phobias? I’m afraid of stairs

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? When I was like 5. It was a bead.

13: What’s your religion? Atheist

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? Taking a walk

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind it

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? I like solo artists more

17: What was the last lie you told? I don’t remember

18: Do you believe in karma? Kind of? I believe that the way you treat people affects how they treat you.

19: What does your URL mean? Katherine Plumber is ace. Fite me.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength? Perfectionism, passion

21: Who is your celebrity crush? Emma Watson? I just think she’s pretty, but I’m not sure I want to date her because I don’t even know her, and I’m not sure she would like that.

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping? I have a hot tub, so regularly.

23: How do you vent your anger? I like to vent it through art

24: Do you have a collection of anything? I used to collect state quarters, but nothing current

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Phone

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become? Sometimes yes, sometimes no

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love? I hate windshield wipers, I love cats meowing

28: What’s your biggest “what if”? Everything is a what if for me

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Yes to both

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm. My earbuds, one of my cats

31: Smell the air. What do you smell? I have a stuffed nose today, so nothing

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to? Probably my old private school

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast? East

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender? No.

35: To you, what is the meaning of life? Finding and pursuing your own happiness

36: Define Art. Anything that makes you think (except Modern Art, because that is fucking elitist and pretentious and terrible)

37: Do you believe in luck? I believe in making your own through hard work, but sometimes shitty things just happen.

38: What’s the weather like right now? Cloudy, slightly rainy

39: What time is it? 10:07 am

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed? Yes, and unfortunately yes.

41: What was the last book you read? The Count of Monte Cristo

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline? I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it

43: Do you have any nicknames? Yes, but it’s personal

44: What was the last film you saw? The Princess Bride

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? I’ve had a lot of bad sprains. Also a concussion.

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly? Yes

47: Do you have any obsessions right now? Bubble tea. Don’t judge me

48: What’s your sexual orientation? Asexual

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you? I used to be bullied really badly, so yes

50: Do you believe in magic? Yes

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? Yes.

52: What is your astrological sign? Leo/Virgo

53: Do you save money or spend it? I try to save it

54: What’s the last thing you purchased? A stuffed cat

55: Love or lust? Love

56: In a relationship? Yes

57: How many relationships have you had? Technically 5, but only 2 of them have been really serious

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?No

59: Where were you yesterday? At home for most of the day

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you? My cat’s nose

61: Are you wearing socks right now? No

62: What’s your favourite animal? Cat

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? Honesty and passion

64: Where is your best friend? At her school. She has a summer class. The other one is at work.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr. @hoogwoorts @schmackarys, @keepers-quaffles-and-old-clocks, @berrykikwi, and @purplerainbowsrachel

66: What is your heritage? German, English, Irish. Very white.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM? Browsing the Internet.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last . It’name? I don’t give out the last names of real people.

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off? Yes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and is actually really healthy. It’s good for anxiety.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend? I hope so.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? I call someone else over and head on my way.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid? I would probably wait until my last two weeks to tell people. I would travel. Yes, I would be afraid.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love. I don’t trust people anyway, so love

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it? Love Song by Sara Bareilles

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number? Not giving that out.

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship? Honesty, kindness, and common interests.

77: How can I win your heart?You can’t! You can have eggs and you can have bacon, but you can’t have Elphie because they are taken!

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity? Yes, but it should still be medicated

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far? Going to London.

80: What size shoes do you wear? 7.5-8

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone? I don’t know, but I think it should be in French.

82: What is your favourite word? At the moment? Princesa.

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart. The color blue.

84: What is a saying you say a lot? It’s amazing what you find when you clean up.

85: What’s the last song you listened to? Delicate

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours? Aqua

87: What is your current desktop picture? Liberty Leading the People

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be? Mike Pence. I hate Trump, but Pence is scary and would be harder to impeach.

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on? Everything that is wrong with my brain.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? Run and lock the door.

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? Invisibility

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? Probably the latter half of the first act of Les Mis in London.

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? The thing that caused my PTSD.

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be? I don’t really want to do that. I don’t know of trust them.

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? Berlin.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail? No

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?Yes

98: Ever been on a plane? Yes

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say? Something about education rights for all.

[justanotherfacet]

I ended up on SSDI because it was the best of bad options and I check a TON of privilege boxes including the huge white one. I am completely unconvinced that this is going to get more than maybe a TINY few of you a job that both pays the bills and lets you be you to an extent that doesn’t almost kill you. (I’m really happy that one of my ex-bosses got back into IT, because she was cool as a person/boss while working together and a combo platter of really toxic management-above-her-pay-grade folks and “you’re never REALLY off plus you’re managem

For sure do not believe them if they’re using Woke Speech and I’d be really skeptical about becoming more than work-cordial with anybody you work with, even same-level people and for SURE anybody who’s even sort of a boss. 

(Tl; dr why under the cut. VERY LONG FOLKS.)

(Protips, young ‘uns: do not combine a traumatic brain injury with undiagnosed bipolar II and probable autism or at least a sensory disorder that’s pretty close to it. I did this back in the 90s when nobody knew shit about TBIs, so according to my bff I refused help at the scene and then showed up at her current place at 2 AM. She MADE me go to ER, and I have basically no independent memory of ANY of that. I started getting stress-linked tremors, proceeded to tell all lab partners that they’d need to be the one holding the glassware because I had shaky hands and some study groups that involuntary noises were also a possibility, and was mostly “SCORE, I can medically drop this one class with a horrible-according-to-other-people-too prof that I’m failing because the stress it’s causing is giving me tremors just THINKING about itand it won’t fuck with my transcript”. In other words, THEN-me wasn’t terribly concerned about that shit and I went right back into STEM major classes.)

Got through college mostly okay (including getting some kind of a B for the medically dropped class with a GOOD prof), bounced through a bunch of jobs, did the “3 shrinks/10 years” standard thing for a bipolar II diagnosis (I’d mostly been PRESENTING depressed which made sense for my family history and we didn’t know one of my aunts was too then), and started spinning the roulette wheel because I was apparently REALLY manic. Started with 4 days on lithium which fucked me UP mood-wise and we think it killed some speech cells I needed. Basically anything else that works for SOME bipolar people has been either “your prior history means this is unlikely to work and unsafe to try” (as in, apparently the stress-induced tremors were starting to be medication-induced as well) or otherwise wasn’t worth it side effect-wise. So I’m on divalproex which sort of works but a) I can’t fake neurotypicality on it and b) I can’t pull a full-time job without tremor issues on it either even WITH a shitload of clonazepam in the cocktail.

I was privileged enough to have had those jobs add up to long enough to even be eligible FOR SSDI, and even more so by being one of the 30% who qualify for SSDI their first try (70% at least have to appeal, 40% of the people INITIALLY applying eventually qualify.) 

At that point, I STILL had to wait 24 months/2 years for Medicare, so for a bit it was actually a good thing I had polycystic kidney disease, because this was pre-ACA/Obamacare and that meant I could qualify for my state’s “we’re gonna rip you off and not cover MUCH but you do technically have insurance” crap.

I kept trying for quite a while there (there’s a couple kinds of “if you want to try to work you can with stipulations and keep your check/Medicare” that applied to my situation), and I kept having either “can’t fake an arbitrary standard of normal” or tremor-induced absentee-ism or both. It turns out that when all your best skills are back-office and your body treats a full-time job as “time to fuck you over AGAIN”, it is virtually impossible to find a job because everybody wants 40/40+.

I do seasonal taxes now, and I told my current crew “this is as neurotypical as I get” in my hiring interview. They didn’t care, but I get paid $11/hour for a job that EVERYBODY (my shrink assures me that his “fairly neurotypical the rest of the year” family members are included in that) is diagnosable for something in the DSM by mid-March, DEFINITELY requires a lot of customer service skills beyond the geekery, and is otherwise a hard slot to fill considering it’s not even living wage here.

I live and work in a heavily working poor mostly Latinx neighborhood. Being on SSDI amounts to “I infodumped and code-switched for MYSELF successfully, don’t expect me to believe 6 impossible things before caffeine and I will do my best to get you paid smoothly by doing that for you” credibility, and also gets me some “it’s not the same and it’s nowhere near the same level of intensity because I LOOK like the Karen meme but the system’s not super fond of me either” rapport.

I lucked out because I racked up about 5 years of time doing the same thing for a different employer.. The universe decided to be nice by making my immediate superior realize almost immediately “I’m going to need to BE this lady’s reasonable accommodations or she isn’t going to last a month” because they tossed me in at the deep end.

She had my back through all the seasons we worked together, including being “Excuse ME? Do you want her medical issues? No? Then STFU because she’s doing the best she can” and my first season her and OUR boss were “you are the first first-year we’ve ever had it make it through a season and the first one we’ve actually liked enough as a person to do this, let’s go have ‘we survived the season’ lunch”. She went above and beyond, and we’re sort of a weird kind of family-ish thing to each other now.)

So yeah, basically I’m very privileged both in where I started and in the people who helped/are helping me on the way, but that privilege basically got me to “seasonal job that’s sort of a win all around”, NOT actually being able to “job that allows me to support myself AND pretty much be my authentic self, disability issues and all”. I’d love to be able to tell y’all that you can do the same,  but my own lived experience makes me pretty dubious. 

I said recovering from illness to explain the 7 year depression gap in my CV and they were just like ok u healthy now? cool. and moved on. It's that easy

[bowlegsandbiceps]

otp questions meme #6a

What is their favorite feature of their partner’s? (Dean’s Version)

“You seem stressed.”

Castiel glared into the mirror, his brother smirking at him over his shoulder then returned his gaze to his tie that was, once again, backwards. He growled as he undid it to start over again. Dean always tied his tie for him but Dean wasn’t allowed to see him yet. A stab of longing hit him, the same one that had been poking at him the entire day, the entire past week really.

The wedding was Castiel’s idea. He kept reminding himself of that. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Big venue, family and friends, a string quartet for the procession, and a five-piece band for the reception. White roses mixed with hydrangeas and magnolia leaves. Ties and dresses the perfect shade of green to compliment Dean’s eyes. 

Dean had wanted to go to Vegas. A smile tugged at the corner of Castiel’s lips but it fell quickly. He missed him.

He was being ridiculous. They were getting married. They literally had the rest of their lives together. Divide and conquer was the easiest solution to last-minute additions, picking family up from the airport and what seemed like a million other small tasks that needed to be done leading up to their big day. Being too busy for anything but a quick peck on the cheek before they were off to the next thing was a small price to pay for the perfect day. Hadn’t Castiel been saying that all along? 

Finish on A03 or

There was a knock on the door and Castiel looked over to find Sam poking his head in, his face lighting up as he let himself all the way into the room. He held up an envelope.

“Special delivery for the soon-to-be Mr. Winchester.” Sam wiggled it at him and Castiel frowned. 

Castiel sighed. Couldn’t the caterer wait to get the last half of their payment until after the ceremony? Or maybe it was the band... ”What is it?”

“It’s the last of your 30-day wedding letter writing thingy.”

Castiel smacked himself on the forehead. They’d spent the last month following a list of daily prompts for love letters leading up to their wedding day. Castiel had written his in batches, leaving them for Dean on the driver’s seat of the Impala every morning and tried not to be annoyed when it was well into the afternoon before Dean got around to giving him his.

“Shit,” Castiel muttered shuffling over to his bag, pulling out the last of his stationary, the final prompt scribbled on a post-it stuck to the front. “Favorite feature”

“Don’t tell me you forgot to write your last letter,” Gabriel teased, side-eyeing Sam who had the decency to try and hide his smile. “After all the bitching you did about Dean trying to double up when he missed a day-“

“Shut up Gabriel.” Castiel’s voice was sharper than he meant it to be, sitting at the small table to write his letter. He’d wanted to save this one for the day-of, thinking it’d be extra special.

Castiel glanced over at Sam who was tapping the envelope against the tips of his fingers as he leaned down to speak quietly with Gabriel. It was one of the standard security envelopes they used to pay their rent. Castiel looked down at his $40 stationary set with specialty fine-tipped pen, all archival quality, and matching the paisley pattern Castiel had chosen for the groomsmen’s ties. 

It was all just too much. Dean didn’t care about any of this. So he decided to take a page from his future-husband’s book, tossing the stationary aside and peeling off the post-it note before he scribbled “your dick” under the prompt.

“Give me that, Sam.” Castiel stood, holding out a hand and Sam sprung into action, handing over the envelope with great care. His brows creased as Castiel ripped it open and pulled the piece of creased notebook paper out before shoving the post-it note in and thrusting the envelope back at Sam.

“Uh.” Sam looked down at it, seemingly at a loss for words. “Is... are you sure you-” Sam’s mouth snapped shut at the look Castiel gave him and looked to Gabriel who was eyeing his brother.

"We’re gonna give you some space, buddy.” Gabriel reached out and patted Castiel’s bicep, a placating gesture that only made Castiel frown more. “Only got-” Gabriel shot out his cuff to glance at his watch and gave a low whistle, “-twenty minutes before the big show.”

Gabriel clapped Sam on the shoulder and started herding the younger man out of the room. Sam looked like he wanted to say something but ultimately gave up, exiting with Gabriel who pulled the door shut behind him. 

Castiel sighed, looking down at the creased and crookedly folded note in his hand before he shook his head and threw it down on the footstool next to the full-length mirror, going back to his examination of himself. His suit was perfect, exactly what he’d wanted, sage jacket and pants with a slate gray vest, sky blue shirt, and paisley tie. Sophisticated and stylish. Dean would compliment it in a slate gray suit and vest paired with a paisley shirt and sage ascot. The dork loved an ascot.

Castiel looked down at the note again and sighed, snatching it up to unfold it. It ripped a little at one of the folds and Castiel winced, peeling back the layers more carefully to find the entire page filled with Dean’s neat copperplate. His handwriting varied as did the color of the pen he’d used. Things were scratched out and extra words squeezed in here or there by use of a carat. Castiel’s brows furrowed as he began to read.

Cas,

So it’s finally here, your big day! You’ve worked so hard over the past year to make sure everything would be perfect. I know I’ve been pretty useless and you’ve been frustrated because I don’t care much about the place settings or the font on the invitations. I mean I do CARE but not as much as you... and really only because you care so much about it. If you want a perfect day I want you to have it, right down to the green - excuse me, sorry, SAGE - shoelaces and that includes this, the final installment of The Sapfest Chronicles, so here it goes:

Favorite Feature: I’m sure you’re expecting some smart ass answer for this like, “your dick”

Castiel snorted, shaking his head.

And it’s my second favorite dick, don’t get me wrong, but we are so much more than our dicks, Cas. Didn’t you tell me that once? Or yelled it after you told me you loved me for the first time and I said “I know” not realizing you wouldn’t get the EXTREMELY ROMANTIC significance of it. Honestly, I should have known but when you said it, that you loved me -ME! -for the very first time, I remembered being four years old, watching the VHS tucked between my mom and dad and Sam was kicking me in the ribs from inside the womb. I had the same floaty feeling in my chest when you said it as when I was a kid and I get it every time you tell me to this day, ten-some-odd years later.

So, not your dick. Not your eyes either, though obvious choice. Your voice, panty-dropper as it is, came close but when I took the time to think about it, like really think about it, on my way to work to distract myself from opening your letter while driving. Or on my break eating the entirely-too-healthy lunch you packed for me. Or on my way home, trying not to speed because if I got pulled over I definitely wouldn’t catch you before you ran out to do final wedding crap. 

It wasn’t until I was laying in bed next to you, up before my alarm like damn always and you, unconscious and drooling while making that cute little snuffle noise that I don’t call a snore only because calling it a snuffle pisses you off more than saying your snore. The sun was just starting to come up and I laid there facing you watching as your features became clearer. I always hold your hand in the morning, did you know that? It’s right there flat against the bed between us and I’m able to slip my palm under yours, line up our digits and press my rough fingertips to yours, softly calloused from all those book pages and computer keys. 

It was laying there, palm to palm that I realized I couldn’t get enough of your skin. You called me “a tactile individual” in one of your letters (I had to look that up by the way - no fair using your big ivy league brain on the grease monkey with the GED) and you’re right. I do love you with my hands and love when you love me with yours. I love the feel of your lower back, warm when I rest my hand there while you’re smelling the rind of every melon in the bin in the grocery store. I love smudging my thumb against the line between your eyebrows when you concentrate too hard. I love grabbing your face with both hands while you’re yelling at me and kiss you until you’re not mad anymore. I love pressing my mouth to the faint line at your hip bones where your swim trunks sit and my tongue is very familiar with the taste of that freckle under your nipple. 

You know me inside out, the only person I’ve let take me skin on skin and your touch has healed something in me that’s been broken nearly my whole life. I’m a better man for loving you and despite your insistence otherwise, I will never deserve you. I plan on spending the rest of my life working at being worthy of you, Castiel Novak-soon-to-be-Winchester.

Yours, Forever and Always, Dean

P.S. I apologize in advance for wrecking whatever it is that I’m bound to wreck on your perfect day. I know I botched the letters pretty good and I’m sorry about that. Yours were just so good, this simple mechanic could never come up with anything like the “melodious prose” (thanks Sam) your poet soul conjured up. I can only say that I love you, and hope that it’s enough.

Love, D

Castiel had managed to lower himself to the footstool, thick tears streaming down his face and spotting the silk of his tie. The notebook paper trembled in his hands, smooth and worn from living for god knows how long in Dean’s pocket, smudged with grease and Cheeto dust and who even knew what else. Castiel looked up into the mirror and had to look away. It wasn’t Dean who wrecked his perfect day. It was him for being selfish enough to make Dean think it was only Castiel’s day and making him feel like his love wouldn’t live up to Castiel’s lofty expectations. 

He sniffed hard, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand and stood abruptly, clamoring out of the room and looking back and forth down the long hallway of the farmhouse turned bridal - well in this case groom’s - suite. He ran towards the back stairs, nearly slipping down them in his dress shoes and rushed frantically from the sitting room where the rest of the wedding party was assembling to begin their procession out to the barn. He skidded to the kitchen and then another sitting room.

Someone called his name behind him but his hand landed on the knob of a closed door and he twisted it open, finding Dean glancing over his shoulder into the full-length mirror to get a look at his ass. Castiel stepped in and slammed the door shut behind him just as Dean caught sight of him in the mirror. He turned, eyes wide in question before he yelped and snapped his eyes shut, clapping his hands over them for good measure.

“You said I’m not supposed to see you!”

“Fuck that.” Castiel was across the room, hands wrapping around Dean’s wrists and pulling to reveal the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen. When he glanced down at where Castiel held him by the wrists his lashes cast shadows on his freckled cheeks, plush bottom lip snagging between his teeth.

“You read my letter...” 

Castiel looked down, finding the paper tucked against his palm with his pinky and ring finger, using his forefinger and thumb to grip Dean. Castiel sniffled and Dean’s face went blank in alarm, shaking off his hold to grab on to Castiel’s face, thumbs running over the wet tracks on his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, his voice low with dread. “Is it the flowers in the barn? are they wilting? Do we need to do pictures now? I’m ready.” 

Dean took a step to the side like he was going to usher Castiel out the door and Castiel just dropped his chin and sobbed. hands coming to cover his face.

If Dean was alarmed before, he was absolutely panicking now. “Fuck, Cas, what is it? Who did it? I’ll kill them.” Dean’s fingers tightened at Castiel’s biceps and Castiel gripped his elbows to steady himself.

“It was me,” Castiel practically wailed, hating himself for his dramatics but dammit he was a poet he couldn’t just turn that off and on. “I’ve wrecked everything, Dean. I can’t believe I did this to you.”

Dean blinked, mouth falling open and he looked around the room as if he might find an answer tucked somewhere. His brow furrowed and he licked his lips as he tilted his head down trying to snag Castiel’s gaze. “I’m sorry, what now?”

“You... you wanted to go to V-Vegas.” Castiel was hiccuping now, the letter now tucked in his fist that laid against Dean’s chest, smushing his boutonniere.

Dean let out a surprised burst of laughter. “Babe, I don’t give a shit. You know that.” He rubbed his hands up and down Castiel’s arms, face crumpling in concern when Castiel’s mournful blue eyes met his.

“This isn’t just my big day, Dean. It’s supposed to be ours. And I...” Castiel looked around the room as if lost. “I just-”

“Hey, it is ours,” Dean’s eyes held Castiel’s and gave a short nod of his head. “I just want you to be happy. You’re happy I’m happy.” Dean gave a more authoritative nod and Castiel didn’t think he could possibly feel worse but that did it, more tears gushing down his face. Dean was back to panicking.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to m-m-make you feel inf-f-ferior. Your letters were... were wonderful.”

“They sucked pretty bad,” Dean chuckled, wiping at Castiel’s face again and Castiel shook his head adamantly. 

“This.” He held up his fist, the folded paper peeking out from under his fingers and Dean’s face went blank, eyeing his hand and swallowing hard. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.”

“Oh come on, Cas,” Dean tried to pull away, his ears going blood red, neck and cheeks pinkening too but Castiel held fast.

“You are certainly worthy of me, Dean Winchester.” Castiel sniffled, shoving the letter in his pocket before gripping Dean’s face hard and lancing him with an ethereal blue stare that made Dean’s entire body go lax, his beautiful face turning soft and fond. “Your love is the only thing I will ever need and I need it like I need air. It will always be enough. You are enough. And I definitely don’t deserve someone as kind and patient and nurturing-”

Dean waved a hand cutting him off with a smirk though his face was quite red now. “Yeah you do, you just got stuck with me instead.” 

Dean grinned at him almost bashful and Castiel huffed out a watery laugh, letting his forehead fall forward to rest against Dean’s chin. Dean’s lips pressed warmly to his temple before he pulled him in for a hug that nearly had Castiel in hysterics again. God how he’d missed him.

“Oh,” Dean said after a moment, shifting so he could slip a hand into his pocket and Castiel looked down to find him pulling out a folded yellow post-it note.

Castiel looked at it in absolute horror. “Oh my god, Dean. I am so sorry. You wrote me this beautiful, soul-bearing letter and I gave you a fucking snarky post-it about your genitals.” Castiel made to grab for it, attempting to crumple it in his palm but Dean hastily grabbed his wrist and hand.

“Okay, one, what have I said about using the word genitals?” Castiel looked down at his feet and mumbled something incoherent that sounded contrite so he missed Dean smothering his grin. “And, two, this was the best fucking thing... probably ever.” Dean shook his head and laughed, finally plucking it from Castiel’s fingers. “I mean, if this doesn’t prove I’m a terrible influence on you then I don’t know if anything else can.” Dean flicked it before tucking it back into his pocket.

“But I did it on our wedding day,” Castiel whined, shame burning hot in the back of his throat and Dean’s delighted laugh was severely at odds with what Castiel thought Dean should be feeling.

“God, that makes it even better.” Dean chuckled spastically and shook his head. “Look, babe.” Dean grabbed his arms again, forcing Castiel to look into his eyes, pausing to smudge a knuckle against Castiel’s cheek just to try and get him to shift out of sheer misery. “You wrote me twenty-nine epic love letters. Twenty-nine.” Dean’s eyes were wide and astonished, mouth slightly agape. “I cried every fucking day this month, you asshole.”

Castiel perked up, giving a soft sniffle. “Really?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. Your weird kink for making people cry is honestly the only unattractive thing about you.” Dean gave a dramatic sigh and Castiel couldn’t help but grin.

“I love you, Dean. I’m sorry I’ve been crazy about this stupid day. It doesn’t matter. None of this bullshit matters,” Castiel looked down at his tie, still backwards and angrily tried to right it but it only flopped backwards again.

Dean gave a soft chuckle. “I know, Cas and there’s nothing to be sorry about.” Dean undid the knot at Castiel’s throat and situated the two sides of his tie against his chest before he began the loop. “We’re gonna have the best kick-off-” Dean leaned in to peck Castiel’s lips, coaxing a small smile out of the poet. “-to the best marriage-” Dean pecked his lips again. “-with the hottest sex-” Dean’s next kiss was more of them laughing into each other’s mouths. “-and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dean leaned back to shift the knot of Castiel’s tie up against his throat, looking at it critically before holding up his hands and gesturing as if to say “ta-da!” He stepped aside, shifting so he was behind Castiel at his shoulder so Castiel could see himself, see them both really. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat, begging his mind to freeze this frame in his memory forever while what felt like a hundred sonnets began whirling through his brain, making his fingers itch for a pen. 

Dean’s arms slipped around Castiel’s waist, eyes holding on his in the mirror as he rested his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. He swayed them gently from side to side, the movement soothing and Castiel turned his head to nuzzle at the hair at Dean’s temple before puckering his lips against the skin there.

“Tell me you love me,” Castiel breathed and felt Dean shiver, pulling his head back just enough so that he could look Castiel in the eyes.

“I love you.”

Castiel’s lips curled up into a smile, sparking a grin that spread across Dean’s face as well when Castiel replied, “I know.”

[getoutofthisplace]

Dear Gus,

As always, I was humbled by the number of happy birthday wishes I got on Facebook. I’ve made a tradition of sharing with everyone a detailed account of how I spent my birthday. Here’s what I told them about today:

It started around 3am, when I woke up with a piercing headache. I rolled around until I found a position on the pillow that somewhat alleviated the pain, I convinced myself I didn’t have brain cancer, then I fell back asleep until I heard Gus quietly crying in the next room around 5. I walked by the light of my phone screen from our bed to Gus’s room. When I opened the door, he pushed himself up and looked at me from his crib—he’s a stomach sleeper, like me. I closed his louvered closet doors some so the light wouldn’t be blinding, and I reached in to pull the string so I could see well enough to change his diaper. He stopped crying when I leaned over the crib rail and picked him up. Holding him against my chest in the middle of the night is always a reminder that I have the power to calm him with nothing but my presence and love—a power so raw and wonderful that I don’t understand how any parent ever takes it for granted. Gus cried again when I placed him on his changing table, but I quickly put a pacifier in his mouth, which stopped the crying and allowed me to switch his wet diaper out for a dry one. I put him back on my chest and walked him over to the closet, where I again pulled the light string, but I didn’t rush to place him back in his crib. I walked slowly, stepping side to side trying to rock him back to sleep while his trusty owl nightlight on the table emitted a constant stream of white noise. But even after he fell asleep I didn’t want to put him back down because he felt too precious in my arms to abandon for even a moment. But I did put him down, and he complained sleepily, but then fell asleep again.

I used my phone to light the path to the bathroom, where I stepped naked onto that unforgivable bastard of a scale, which read 195.2 pounds, up a little from Sunday morning because I gorged myself on corn casserole and cherry pie at my grandmother’s house in honor of my family’s plethora of January birthdays. I showered, spending more time than usual letting hot water run over my head because it made me forget about the headache, and I dried off in the dark so my eyes could adjust well when I tiptoed back through our bedroom without waking Liz up. However, when I opened the bathroom door and came into the room, I heard her whisper “Happy birthday” from our bed in the darkness. I felt my way to the side of the bed, then sat. I leaned down and began making kissing noises, which she reciprocated—it’s a game of “Marco Polo” we developed long ago to find each other’s lips when it was too dark to see them—until our lips met. “I hope you have a great day,” she said, before I tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the hall bathroom, where I got dressed and brushed my teeth. I let Suki out into the backyard to pee, put food in her bowl. I let her back in, grabbed my backpack, then went out to my truck.

At the office by 6:30am, I got the parking spot closest to the door, but there were a few cars scattered in the lot. I saw the light on in the gym and wished I had the discipline to develop a regular exercise routine. When I got close enough, I could see Jordan Culver in there like a champion with his headphones in his ears and a kettle bell in his hands. A few minutes after I got to my desk, my sister showed up at my cubicle in workout gear. “I have breakfast for you, but you can’t have it until after I get done in the gym.” “Oooo…” I said. Sometimes my brother-in-law makes breakfast for her and makes enough for me, too. I assumed that was the case. Around 8am, my headache intensified, which reminded me of the promise I made to Liz to call the doctor. I set up an appointment for 1:30. At 8.30, my coworkers gathered in a conference room around a breakfast casserole Chris Nick made and some fruit and they sang happy birthday to me while I wore the designated birthday sombrero and I assured them that—despite the #40andfabulous hashtag Liz used in the Instagram post she made that morning about me—I am not 40 yet.

I worked at my desk until noon, when I drove to Boulevard Bread for lunch. When I got there, I found Clayton Scott Grubbs and Ryan Hitt behind the counter making sandwiches. I asked Ryan what the special was, but he said there wasn’t one. “The first rule of business is to always have a special,” I said in a mock corporate tone the two of us used when we worked together back in 2010 at the now-defunct House Restaurant. I ordered a smoked turkey sandwich and some Zapp’s chips, then sat down until Joshua Asante came over to say hello. He asked me what I’m up to and I told him I was meeting the woman who just walked in. Hilary Trudell runs a storytelling show called The Yarn. We agreed to have lunch because I’m trying to back out of participating in her January 22 show because I don’t think I can tell my story in a compelling way within the allotted time. The show’s theme is “Adoption Stories” and I have a good one about how Lance Lang is my blood, but was adopted by another family at birth, then he sent me an email 52 years later because 23andMe.com said we share some DNA and now he’s family again. Hilary said she really likes the story and she gave me some ideas on how to approach it with brevity. Then we talked about Argenta Reading Series and how she and I are both trying to navigate the waters of nonprofits when neither of us knows anything about it, but we’re both committed to our causes. I promised her I will do my best to get my story where it can be told from her stage, and I’m 50% sure I can make it happen. I want to, and not being able to see the finished product in my head, which aches, so close to the date of the show disappoints me. It makes me feel inadequate as a writer. Like maybe all I’m good at is unnecessarily documenting things—like an entire day—and posting that exhaustive documentation to social media in the hopes of approval from a group of friends and acquaintances who might see it, based solely on some kind of bullshit algorithm that I used to feel I had a grasp of, but now I don’t know.

I drove to North Hills Family Medical Center, watched some sort of house-hunting show on HGTV in the waiting room for 40 minutes while I waited on someone to open a door and call my name, which finally happened. A nice woman in a surgical mask recorded that the scale she put me on read 204 lbs. “The boots,” I told her. She chuckled, and walked me to an exam room, where she declared my blood pressure is great. I told her about how I’ve had a headache since January 1. How the intensity of it comes and goes. The doctor told me a CT scan would be the course of action, but it’s probably just allergy-related, so a scan probably isn’t necessary. “I should tell you my father died of brain cancer in March,” I say. The doctor tried not to react, but his stumbling over words gave him away. “Just to be safe, let’s go ahead and do a CT scan.” And I could feel the pressure of my headache consuming me in that moment as I was reminded of all the doctors’ offices I sat in with my father in those three and a half years that it took him to die.

“If you aren’t in a hurry, he wants you to sit tight while we go ahead and get approval from your insurance to do the CT scan so we can get this going as quickly as possible,” the nurse told me. The urgency. I sat in the exam room and thought about how cruel life is and how I’m already aware that I should’ve met Liz and had Gus a decade ago so I could’ve spent more time on this earth with them as a family. I will be 71 when Gus is my age. To take my mind off of the fact that I may need to gear up for a fight against a brain tumor, I picked up the copy of WebMD Magazine on the table beside me. (How do you have a print magazine when your whole schtick is that you are on the web?) I skimmed it carefully when I read how broccoli might break-down cancer cells. I love broccoli. I should eat more broccoli, I told myself. And then I questioned why in the hell I would be eating turkey sandwiches for lunch when I am smart enough to understand the detrimental effects deli meat has on my body, not to mention the turkey’s. I committed silently to eating nothing but fruits and vegetables and beans and whatever else Clayton Bell's Facebook posts tell me to.

When the nurse came back, she told me the doctor changed his mind about calling me with the results of the CT scan, which will be Tuesday at 2.15pm. Now he wants me to come in on Wednesday so he can go over the results with me personally. It occurred to me that he’s taking the necessary steps to deliver bad news.

Liz wanted me to call her on my way back to the office, so I did. I told her the headache is probably nothing, and she agreed that it’s probably nothing. But she registered my fears through the phone because she picks up on the nuances of my behavior that I am unaware of. It’s a wonderful thing to share this life with someone who loves you enough to notice the subtleties of your voice.

Back at work, my coworkers asked me if I felt better. I can’t remember if I told them about my headache or they deduced that I wasn’t feeling well because I went to the doctor. Either way, I said, “Not really.” The left side of my head pulsated. Around 4:45, Laura messaged to ask me when I was leaving work. She had a gift she wanted to give me before I left. I walked to her office and pulled a box from a bag. Inside was a framed Kodak newspaper ad from way back. “I saw this at an antique store and it made me think of you and Liz.” It’s a black and white photo of a man and woman on snow skis. The man is looking into an old camera and the woman is grinning playfully beside him. It looks like an old-fashioned mirror selfie. “Kodak as you go,” the copy reads. I pulled a card from the box. Inside the envelope I saw Laura’s handwriting on folded up notebook paper. “I wrote some thoughts down on paper when you were in Arizona, I think. August 2016, I think. Dad was sick and you were gone and I know I’ll never do anything with them, but I thought you might like to have them.” I read the small pages. A rare glimpse into my always-professional sister’s emotions. She is my father reincarnate. The note says how she remembers us going to take family portraits in the early 90s, when Dad was preparing to run for the Arkansas House of Representatives. She remembers the man being there that served as Dad’s campaign manager and how she knew from that point on that she wanted to do marketing in some capacity. She and I have never talked about that time, but I tell her, “I think about that guy a lot, too, and what his job was,” but I never thought about the influence he had on my own desire to work in marketing. He was such a minor character in our lives—he had nothing more than a cameo—but then there Laura and I were, sitting in the office where we both do marketing, trying to remember his name. Only now that I write this the next day do I actually remember it. Chuck Hicks.

At home, I found Liz and Gus and Suki on the couch. My head hurt. “Gus is exhausted, I think we can put him down early,” Liz told me. So I took him back to his room, changed his diaper, put him in his pajamas. I turned on the space heater we have in his room, then handed him to Liz, who would feed him in the rocking chair after I turned out the lamp and went outside to throw the tennis ball with Suki until I could see Liz through the window in the kitchen, starting dinner. She bought things to make pad thai for my birthday dinner. I love Asian noodles. While she cooked, we traded stories about what happened during the day. “Oh, God. Were you able to contain yourself?” Liz asked me when I told her about talking to Joshua Asante at Boulevard. I’ve always admired his commitment to his art, and when Liz and I first started dating, I mentioned that I was possibly too intimidated to even talk to him. Now she always ribs me about it. But once she’d had her fill, we agreed that we should go to the gallery opening for his and Matt White’s photography at the CALS bookstore Friday. We decide we can just bring Gus with us. That some art will do him good. And then my head started hurting again, so I sat on the couch and rested my skull against the back of the sofa. After a couple of minutes, Suki pressed her nose against my hand, so I reached down to pet her. I touched dirt on her leg. “How much time do I have until dinner?” I asked Liz. “25-30 minutes,” she said, cutting tofu. “I’m going to give Suki a bath.” I picked all 45 pounds of her up and carried her to the hall bathroom where we have an outdated whirlpool (that I like but Liz says it has to go). I stripped down and got in the tub with Suki. I stood her up under the faucet and shampooed her. She hates baths. When I let her out, she got crazy, as she always does, running around the house spastically, and I tried to rush her into the back yard before she woke Gus up. I closed the patio door behind her and rinsed off in the shower. When I got out and dried off, Liz and I ate pad thai on the sofa while watching The Wire and she said, “I’m sorry the pad thai didn’t turn out better.” She always apologizes that her meals aren’t better, but they’re delicious 95% of the time. I’ve always loved her cooking and I always will. She doesn’t follow recipes.

We were in bed by 9pm, tired, but happy. When my headache surged again, I placed a helpless hand on my head the way my father used to and I tried not to think about it.

“It’s probably nothing, right?” I said.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said.

Dad

North Little Rock, Arkansas. 1.8.2018 - 8.24am.

UPDATE: The CT scan was clear. Turns out I have tension headaches caused by stress. The doctor recommended muscle relaxers and a massage.

[theviewfromthebooth]

Unbearable

Hey everyone. I've not written anything in a while, or had much motivation to, but everything is all over the shop right now, and a couple of weeks ago, something just came out of me. Back in those quaint times when we all still hoped this wouldn't be as bad as it is now (roughly three weeks ago), I made a joke in The Anfield Wrap office about making a disaster movie involving the Coronavirus and Liverpool's title party - the two biggest things in all of our worlds at the time. 

Well, I did it. It's a short story, but I've dreamt it as a movie, and hopefully the words will turn into images for you too. It was meant to be funny, but halfway through I realised that it isn't. It's also a bit too niche for most football or literary fiction sites (apparently), so I'm putting it up here. In the absence of any kind of appetite for the usual April Fools shenanigans, this is a good time to drop it. 

 It became a way for my mind to deal with everything – by laying out the worst case scenario, our situation becomes more bearable by comparison. Also worth noting that this was written before the government backed away (publicly at least) from herd immunity.... 

 Dedicated to my two biggest creative inspirations – Matt Groening & John Gibbons. 

                                                           -x-

UNBEARABLE:

A short story from the brain of a trying-not-to-panic Liverpool fan "For years Evertonians have been saying that the world will end if Liverpool ever win the league again......what if they were right?”

Ronnie has been planning his title party for years.  In the pub, in bed, at work, on the toilet. While his beloved Liverpool drifted nearer, then further from their holy grail, he has never wavered from what he calls his life's work. Torture is what Jan calls it. He still doesn't know how close she came to leaving after the open top bus fiasco in 2014,  but he knows he never wants to see that look in her eyes again.  She'll come around once she sees it, and feels it.

That day in 1990, when he was the same age as little Dirk is now.....the street party. The last time he remembers his parents happy. All he wants is that same unlimited joy for Dirk... and to keep him in Red. Kev was  a stubborn little so-and-so, but that won't happen again.

Back then he only had Roy Evans and his sporadically brilliant Spice Boys as ammo – now he's got Jurgen Klopp and his mentality monsters. Even Jan is changing her tune.  Ronnie couldn't believe his luck when she agreed to let him dress Dirk up as the Premier League trophy, complete with silver paint & ribbons. They won't need a bus – Adam down the road will bring his flat-bed truck. What better memory for the lad than to be paraded through the streets of Anfield, held aloft by thousands of jubilant Kopites? Just 2 wins away. He can almost taste it. Nothing can stop them now....

“It has been confirmed....all football in Britain is suspended until at least April 30th, as a result of the coronavirus. BBC Sport understands FA chairman Greg Clarke expressed his fear at Friday's emergency meeting that the season may have to be abandoned....”

The blood drains from Ronnie's face as he stares through the TV screen. The phone buzzing in his pocket snaps him back to reality, as news reaches the Whatsapp group:

Within the  walls of Whitehall, Clarke almost slips as he gets up from his chair. His head is so scrambled he offers Hancock his sweaty hand, before quickly whipping it away much to the amusement of Hancock and Johnson, and eventually Scudamore. Their laughter sends a chill through his bones. They think they've cracked it, but he KNOWS football fans. Closed doors aren't enough to keep away fans who've been waiting 30 years. And Liverpool have a LOT of fans.

As the chauffeur moves away, he takes out his phone to Google 'Herd immunity'.........

Ronnie's phone is red hot. Plans are moving at pace. Everton have been squashed and Operation Palace is full steam ahead. Dirk is bouncing off the walls in excitement and it's not even 10 am. Luckily a cuddle from cousin Danny always calms him down. Danny's dad is no such help. Kev has always been the bitterest of Blues, but claiming Dirk's life is at risk feels pretty low, even for him.

Ronnie plants a kiss just above the paint line, before pulling the woolly crown tight over the boy's ears, and hoisting him onto his shoulders. Dirk's laughter vibrates through his back as he shouts “You better get in that bunker of yours if you're that worried”, turning his snarl to a smile.  Jan takes a picture of her glassy eyed husband with the Premier league trophy, which goes down a treat in the Whatsapp group, followed by the obligatory joke about 'going viral'.

Only this time it's no joke. By the time they get to Adam's garage the streets are packed. Half of Liverpool have descended onto the estate. And they've all come to lift the trophy.

Johnson's brow furrows ever deeper as his aide lays out the situation - hiding his eyes from the mess he's created. Liverpool Council can't control the crowds. Reports suggesting as many as 3 million people are on the streets. Budget cuts sanctioned by his hand have left emergency services at breaking point, even before the 600% increase in population. Suspending public transport has caused queues of 10 miles and counting in every direction. Vaccines are running out fast, with nowhere near enough immune patients to protect the vulnerable.

His hands tighten on each other, as if the answer can be wrung from them. With the pleading eyes of his aide boring through his thinning scalp, the spell is broken. A menacing silence hangs between them.  He knows the whole country hangs on what he says next.

He knows he needs a miracle.

As the clock hits 90 minutes, so do Crystal Palace. Liverpool have roared back from an early setback to lead by 4 goals to 1. From the swaying throng in the garden of  Hotel TIA, Ronnie can feel himself let go of 30 year's worth of tension. 30 years of balls hitting posts and staying out. 30 years of penalties not given. 30 years of “should've saved that”. 30 years of “should've been us”.  All gone.

The final whistle is met with a guttural roar.  A roar 3 million strong, a roar so full of electricity that it creates a mushroom cloud over Anfield skies. Dirk reaches for his father, who doesn't miss a beat with his mock trophy lift, complete with the Henderson stutter step. Silver tears stain his face as he watches his son surfing the sea of hands.

A moment like no other.

It's only the thought of sharing the moment with Jan that causes Ronnie to reach for his phone. 34 missed calls. 55 unread on Whatsapp. “The Reds are still massive!” he thinks to himself as he opens Jan's most recent message:

“It's too late. I'm sorry. Good luck. I love you both.”

“With their country now stabilised, this new Chinese study into the Coronavirus will become the template for the rest of the world to follow. There has been some surprise at the results.  It appears children under 8 are the biggest carriers, while the fatal age threshold is only 40 years old, and could be even lower for those with a higher than normal blood alcohol level. The bad news for us here in Britain is the government's controversial 'Herd Immunity' strategy has been completely discredited”.

“FOR GOD'S SAKE TURN IT OFF!”

Anxious limbs fumble at the remote for what feels like hours, before finally, silence. Three pairs of eyes dart from George Alagaih's worried face to that of the Prime Minister.  Hancock musters the courage to meet his glare.

“At the current rate of infection, Liverpool will be at 90% by 7pm this evening. Considering what we now know about their vaccine levels, and....alcohol consumption....”

“HOW ON EARTH HAVE YOU FUCKED THIS UP? YOU TOLD ME THE SCIENCE WAS WATERTIGHT!”

“It was as watertight as could be in such an unprecedented scenario. The goalposts kept moving...” “I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKING GOALPOSTS! ALL I NEED TO HEAR FROM YOU IS HOW WE STOP IT SPREADING!”

“W-we do have a plan”.

Hancock hands over the proposal, and takes three deliberate steps back. He allows himself to exhale once he sees Johnson's eyebrows rise, and then settle, from behind the folder.

“I've run the numbers, with Sunny & Wallace. It's tight, but we can afford it.”

The Chancellor  nods slowly as Johnson looks in his direction.  A nervous head appears through the crack in the door, like a tortoise unsure of Spring.

“We need a decision, sir.”

Ronnie pants hard, darting for space like Mo Salah in a forest of defenders. He can't bring himself to believe it. Not yet. Not like this. No time. Just keep running. Half a mile from home. She'll come around once she sees us.

Dirk lets out a yelp as they're brought to an abrupt halt by Breck road traffic. Ronnie looks deeper into the faces around him. What was once drunken ecstasy is now something very different. All he sees is agony, smudged with silver. Doors have been bolted, windows shut. Songs are now screams. Visible waves of panic ripple through the crowds, as infection and information sow their seeds in real time. It takes him a while to recognize the hard thudding against his spine isn't his own heartbeat – it's his son coughing. He whips Dirk off his back and holds him in front of his face.

“Don't cry mate, it's gonna be okay” he croaks, barely able to say it let alone believe it.  Suddenly a cheer rises up ahead.  Ronnie instinctively moves towards the sound. That sound he thought he would feast on forever. Before he can pinpoint it, a larger sound fills the space. Less a sound than a NOISE. A long, buzzing noise, that prickles the neck and causes everyone to look up.

Bright white foam boxes with big red crosses fall from the sky.  More and more. Hundreds. Thousands. Cheers break out all over as boxes are ripped open, and the hugging of strangers resumes.  Ronnie releases Dirk's hand as he catches the box thrown at him, and pulls off the top.  He takes out the tablets and the bottle of water, and rubs his boy's back as he swallows them down. Overcome with relief he takes the trophy for one last spin, before placing him back on his shoulders. Home time.

“We shall not, we shall not be moved! We shall not we shall not be moved! Just like the team, that won, the football league...”

“WE SHALL NOT BE MOVED!”

Dirk waves to the little planes in the sky that saved the day.  He continues waving at the much bigger planes looming, and the giant glass bowl they're carrying.

[emmagrace-frost-blog]

Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring

Name: Emma Grace Frost

Nickname: Em.

Reason for name: Seems like a natural progression from Emma but she wouldn’t tolerate something like Emmie

Birthday: October 3

Age: 30

Gender: Female

Place of birth: Boston, MA

Places lived since: Star City, CA, New York, Las Vegas, 

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Winston Frost (father; deceased);Hazel Frost (mother; deceased)

Number of siblings: 3 ( Adrienne Frost (deceased), Cordelia Frost and Christian Frost)

Relationship with family (close? estranged?): Her father was abusive, especially to her brother and did not care for her or her two sisters due to their telepathic powers. He did end up choosing Emma as an ‘heir to the fortune’ but she basically said go fuck yourself and left. So, not close with the parents. She was close with Adrienne and is really chewed up about her death, even still. Cordelia and Christian are estranged from her.

Happiest memory: Graduating from college on her own.

Childhood trauma: Her father’s abuse and mistreatment of her and her siblings.

Children of his/her own?: No.

PHYSICAL

Height: 5′10″

Weight: 144 lbs. but heavy as fuck, almost 500 lbs when she is in her diamond form.

Build: Tall and curvy.

Nationality: American

Disabilities (physical or mental, including mental illnesses): PTSD @ Genosha. [Note: it likely will not come up often but i promise to do research and not be a dick about a serious mental illness. My sister suffers from PTSD and it’s not to be made light of, so message me if you have any concerns about its portrayal, please <3]

Complexion (freckles, acne, skin tone, birth marks): Emma is pale in the winter but has no problem tanning. She has dark freckles here and there, one on her neck, a few on her back and shoulders, a couple on her hips and thighs and during the summer she gets a smattering of little freckles across her nose and cheeks that she hates.

Face shape: heart.

Distinguishing facial features: slightly crooked nose from when she broke it when she was 13, don’t bring it up she will fight you. Pouty lips.

Hair color: naturally blonde but has been dying it brown.

Usual hair style: down in soft curls.

Eye color: Green

Glasses? Contacts?: Both. Always wears contacts except at night.

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Always to the nines. She is always put together and always showing a little something. She follows the Chanel rule of always taking one thing off before leaving the house, that being said an outfit isn’t complete without good shoes and a better purse. But she lives in sweat pants at her house.

Typical style of shoes: heels, usually. A casual pair of dressy sandals if she is being “casual”

Health (is this person usually sick? or very resilient?): Emma doesn’t get sick often but when she does it’s a doozy.

Grooming (does she/he wear makeup? shower daily? wear only clean clothes? pluck her eyebrows?): Emma showers every night, she always wears make up but goes for a natural look, she likes to cover her freckles and make her eyebrows look murderous. She likes a nude lip and some brown eye shadow. She is meticulous about her grooming and facial routine. Gotta fight those wrinkles. SHe gets frequent facials and gets her nails done.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: earrings, necklace, an old ring of Adrienne’s she stole a long time ago and now treasures. 

Accent?: Slightly northern american.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits (bites nails, talks with hands, taps feet when restless): Emma clenches her jaw when stressed, spins the ring she always wears, sometimes she focuses on shifting each finger from flesh to diamond when she is bored.

Athletic?: She runs, but likes pasta.

INTELLECT

Level of education (high school drop out, undergrad BA/BS, PhD, MD, etc.): She started off as a sub par student much to her parents dismay, but ended up with an MA in literature.

Level of self esteem: Emma is very confident in her appearance. She knows she is beautiful and often plays to it. But is pretty convinced she is a garbage human and knows that beauty doesn’t always last and she’s headed nowhere fast. So -- confident she is hot, cripplingly insecure  in herself as a human (mutant).

Gifts/talents: She can turn into diamond which makes her very resilient, she can read people’s minds, project things into their minds and she has some ability for telekinesis but she is weaker there.

Shortcomings: Insecure, petty, shallow.

Style of speech (loud, mumbler, articulate, etc.): curses a lot.

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: little bit of both i would say. Emma is pretty calculated most of the time but does have a habit of letting her emotions rile her up.

Artistic?: she was trained to play classical piano and violin by her rich family growing up, so a little.

Mathematical?: Not very.

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: She wants to say logic always but -- like 60% emotions 40% logic.

Neuroses: cleanliness is next to godliness.

Life philosophy: Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring. -- Marilyn Monroe

Religious stance: her family was religious but she is not.

Cautious or daring?: Depends on the situation. Cautious with herself and her feelings usual, daring if she has to be.

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: being turned away for who she is, mutant and all that.

Optimist or pessimist?: Realist.

Extrovert or introvert?: in the middle she likes to be the center of attention but likes to be a shut in too.

Level of comfort with technology: Competent and uses it often. 8/10? She can’t hack or anything but can use social media and a computer/phone/tablet without trouble.

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: single

Sexual orientation: bisexual

Past relationships: define relationship? Emma isn’t really a relationship kinda gal. She’s very good at loving them and leaving them. She had one serious relationship and after he found out she was a mutant, after she changed into her diamond form to save his life, he left her.

Primary reason for being broken up with: because she was a mutant.

Primary reasons for breaking up with people: She’s not trying to be vulnerable about anything, ever. 

Level of sexual experience: experienced. 

Story of first kiss (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen?): When Emma was 14 some boy on her block was making fun of her and called her a frigid bitch, so she kissed him to get him to shut up. When he was all stunned she told him being rude wasn’t the way to get things he clearly desired.

Story of loss of virginity (if any—if not, how does he/she want it to happen, if at all?): It wasn’t magical, she had sex with some guy in high school, then avoided him hard. He trailed after her all love struck.

A social person? (popular, loner, some close friends, makes friends and then quickly drops them): Emma is what Emma is which most find to be pretty infuriating even the ones who like her or tolerate her. But she cares for the people she cares about so her circle is small but she’d do anything for them. She’s tough to like though.

Most comfortable around (person): Erik Lehnsherr (ew), Jean Grey

Oldest friend: Erik Lehnsherr, Professor x, Jean Grey, Mystique

How does he/she think others perceive him/her?: Stuck up non-feeling cunt, shallow, thoughtless, airhead?

How do others actually perceive him/her?: Stuck up non-feeling cunt, shallow, smart, cunning asshole.

VOCATION

Profession: Women’s literature professor

Past occupations: Teacher, henchman, leader of the nefarious.

Passions: reading, cooking french cuisine, learning languages, piano, good wine.

Attitude towards current job: She likes it because she gets to read a lot and hopefully influence kids that felt lost like she did but found a home in education.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees: She can’t be bothered with most of them, but doesn’t have a big issue with them either.

Salary: $75,000 a year but she inherited a lot of money when her folks died.

SECRETS

Phobias:  Athazagoraphobia: the fear of being forgotten or left behind.

Life goals: peace for mutant and human kind. Maybe a picket fence and kids and someone who thinks she hung the stars and moon, but she wouldn’t tell you that.

Dreams: Same as the goals.

Greatest fears: Having lived a life Adrienne would be disappointed in.

Most ashamed of: spending her time pretending she is something she is not.

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to him/her: Emma is hard to embarrass, but when she was young she had a hard time in public speaking and she lost her concentration and started repeating the words she was hearing in someone’s head and it was some steamy details about the teacher and how that student wished she were naked.

Obsessions: lipstick, shoes, wine.

Secret hobbies: piano playing, doing the NYT crossword.

Secret skills: piano playing making a bomb-ass quiche.

Crimes committed (and was he/she caught? charged?): Like -- so many. Murder, theft, defacing things, assault, carrying a deadly weapon, like probably espionage. and no never caught or charged.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her current life: She wants to be proudly out and mutant and not give a fuck about the current state of where she lives.

What he/she most wants to change about his/her physical appearance: She’s pretty chill with that, she wishes her nose was straight again, but not enough to get surgery.

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Daily routine: Get up, take her hair out of a bun, moisturize, brush teeth, make coffee, shake her ass to some music while she puts on make up, gets dressed, pours coffee, heads out.

Night owl or early bird?: night owl.

Light or heavy sleeper?: light sleeper. She needs music or white noise to sleep.

Favorite food: sushi or handmade pasta.

Least favorite food: lima beans.

Favorite book: Where the Wild Things Are.

Least favorite book: The Grapes of Wrath. How are you going to write a. whole chapter about a fucking turtle stuck on its back as an allegory for the times economically speaking. Get over yourself.

Favorite movie: Amelie

Least favorite movie: Titanic.

Favorite song: Don’t make her choose.

Least favorite song: Never going to give you up - Rick Astley

Coffee or tea?: Both.

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: smooth

Type of car he/she drives (or wishes he/she drove): white infinity

Lefty or righty?: lefty

Favorite color: white/blue

Cusser?: fuck yes.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: smokes a little, drinks a lot.

Biggest regret: not telling Adrienne how much it meant having a sister like her around.

Pets?: glacé, a japanese spitz.

[junker-town]

Why have Americans traveled so well for the Women’s World Cup?

Despite language barriers and ticketing issues, Americans are loving France — likely because their passion for soccer has created a sense of instant camaraderie.

They’re easy to pick out, on United States game days: swarms of Americans, hauling their rolling suitcases and camping backpacks, staring up at departure boards and comparing tickets. Dotted throughout, familiar jerseys in red, white, and blue, some with three stars, some with two. They’re on their way to Reims, to Le Havre, to Paris. They’re waving the stars and stripes from the stands, temporarily turning the stadium into home turf. In a sense, the United States women’s national team hasn’t played a single away game since they began their 2019 World Cup campaign.

American fans tend to travel well for the national teams, and France has been no exception. Every train from Paris out to the cities the United States has played in has been so packed with Americans that you might be forgiven for thinking you’re back in the States, but for the speed and efficiency of the train. They’ve come from all over, alone or with friends or with family, flying in from California to Tennessee, from Texas to Michigan. Some are world travelers. Others have never been to Europe before. But when the World Cup was awarded to France, they all knew they had to go.

But why? Of course, France is a lovely destination lure, and plenty of fans said they deliberately rolled the World Cup into a summer vacation package as well. But they weren’t planning European vacations until the World Cup came along. The chance to be part of the capital-T Tournament was the trigger instigating a wave of ticket purchases, flight schedules, and hotel bookings.

Why are human brains wired to seek out emotional highs and lows, to crave excitement and fellowship? Why do fans huddle together in the stands in abominable weather for the love of something that has no regard for their feelings, that sometimes seems as susceptible to the whims of an uncaring universe as our own random lives? The Americans I spoke to were almost uniformly cheerful about flinging themselves into a country where they don’t speak the language and don’t know the systems — like my own travel group, who got stuck on the turnstiles exiting the Metro the first time because we didn’t realize our tickets wouldn’t let us exit in that zone. But most US supporters haven’t found it a problem at all.

Katherine Bickford, a strength training coach who traveled from Oakland, says an earnest attempt at a few French phrases enables her to find a Parisian happy to help. Karimah Browne, a teacher from Houston, says she underestimated how difficult it would be to get around without French, but that even while staying in a part of Paris with fewer tourists and therefore fewer English speakers, she found the people kind and helpful. The American fans uniformly seem in high spirits as they Google translate their way through the country. Perhaps it’s easy to stay chipper when your team is racking up record numbers of goals through the group stage, but you get the sense that even in the event of a loss, there would be that air of bonhomie that comes from being in this thing together.

Some of these fans have been watching the USWNT for a few years, others their whole lives. But the intensity of the devotion is the same, uniting them all here in France, an ocean away from home. Many fans I spoke to described an instant attachment to the USWNT, a sharp realization of compatibility that served as a point of no return. Elise Stawarz, a digital marketer who traveled from Nashville, went to a USWNT game in 2016 at the invitation of friends. At the time it seemed like good value for money at $20 a ticket, and as Stawarz puts it, “a good excuse to day drink.” She was hooked after 90 minutes and has been a fan ever since.

What is it about sports — about anything — that can create such an instant moment of sympatico? Maybe it says as much about the person as it does about the sport. For some fans, it’s a bolt out of the blue. For others, it’s a slow and steady affection over time, turning to love somewhere along the way.

Bickford says she was excited for the 99ers, stayed an intermittent fan for the next couple of World Cups and Olympics, then finally took the plunge about three years ago. Her wife suggested going to France for a couple of weeks and they’ve been hopping around the country, watching not just the USWNT, but other international players they came to know and like from NWSL.

Browne started following the USWNT during the 2011 World Cup and she “ended up becoming obsessed with all things women’s soccer.” She wanted to go to Canada in 2015, but as a fresh college graduate, it wasn’t feasible at the time. She resolved she would go in 2019 and spent a week in France during the group stage.

Jenna Choquette, an engineer who traveled from Ventura, California, attended a group game during the 1999 World Cup when she was around 11 and hasn’t stopped watching since.

There is a sense of sharing among all these fans, not just of a common experience, but of a pooled experiential history. Maybe you weren’t at the same game, but you remember that play, that miss, that goal. Or you weren’t a fan yet, but someone at a nearby table was there, and is only too happy to pass down their knowledge. It’s almost a kind of informal oral tradition, passing around stories until there’s a collective consciousness around them, and around the team.

As for the tournament itself, there have been logistical ups and downs. Stawarz hasn’t been able to buy merchandise at stadiums without considerable effort, waiting in line for 40 minutes just to buy a shirt. Choquette was trapped in a couple of bottlenecks at stadiums due to insufficient female security guards available for pat-downs, and also encountered extremely long lines for merchandise. Steph Bauchet, a student from Houghton, Michigan, says security in Nice was disorganized and created long wait times to enter the stadium, and that merchandise options were both disappointingly limited and in scarce supply, with some shirt sizes nearly sold out just 30 minutes after the gates opened. And Bill Nottingham, who traveled with his wife and two daughters from Chapel Hill, was one of the unlucky fans who got caught up in the ticketing mess. His family’s tickets for USA vs. Chile were scattered across several rows and they were left to sort things out themselves by going to the box office on game day.

But every American I asked about their experiences in France came down on the side of positivity. Long lines, paltry fan souvenirs on offer, tickets gone wrong — as long as they actually got to see games, none of them seemed to mind the surrounding noise.

“The community’s just so great,” says Hallie Craddock, who traveled from New Jersey for the first week of the tournament. She was there to watch as many teams as possible in the short time she was in France. Some of the teams she liked because they had internationals in NWSL, some just because it’s easier now to follow teams outside of the US. When asked if she could sum up the main thing she wanted to get out of this tournament, she said, “Connect with more women’s soccer fans from different parts of the world and get to see some really awesome football.”