#I drove up the street to the cul-de-sac end and went to turn around and there was a white car that had been parked there the whole time

[cipher-fresh]

Did my best impression of Crowley today by driving around listening to sad music. I also endangered other cars on the road but that part’s not as important

[atlaese]

at the end of the cul-de-sac — s.h.

summary: almost 10 years after leaving Hawkins and subsequently your best friend, you move back to start university. Haphazardly reconnecting with Steve means old feelings might resurface — if Steve hasn't moved on to another already.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader tw: childhood best friends to lovers, fluff, no spoilers, minor mentions of injury sustained as a kid (scraped knee kinda stuff), misunderstandings (so a tiny smidge of angst) robin is a sweetheart <3, I have decided there is a uni close to hawkins, happy fluffy ending!! words: 4.4K a/n: hi! i started writing this somewhere after vol 1. but I had finals, went to a festival & had covid, so that's why I only got to publish it now. i still hope you enjoy it though <3 thanks for the support <3 and I hope you have a good week!! p.s. i now have a library blog! go follow @aeristhotle and turn on notifs to get notified when i update!

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ✨💗

STEVE HARRINGTON MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

It had been nearly a decade since you said goodbye to Hawkins, Indiana, trading in the sleepy town for the bustling city of Washington. Your father had accepted some office job that forced you to say goodbye to everything you had ever known in your life.

You remembered thinking that it was the end of the world, leaving behind all your friends that had been there since the very beginning when you finally drove away from the street you grew up in.

The pale yellow house at the end of the cul-de-sac, the old pine your dad always complained about, the leaky gutter that always overflowed when there was a storm and the dent in the wall from where you had butted your head after cutting the corner short and sliding straight into the wall.

Now, it was all getting smaller as you looked out of the rear window, a long drive ahead of you. It was such a peculiar feeling to say goodbye to the home you grew up in. The place where you lost your baby teeth, where your dad taught you to drive a bike, the stick of a broom taped on as a handle to keep you balanced.

As your dad rounded a corner, the house finally disappeared from your vision. You weren’t sure if you’d ever see the house or the street it sat on ever again. Goodbye to the park behind the Rodneys house, goodbye to the countless hours you spend playing on the carousel and goodbye to the monkey bars you sat on as Steve climbed up the steps to join you.

Goodbye to Steve, too.

“I’ll write you letters, I have new stickers to decorate them, too,” you said, sitting next to Steve on the carpet at your house. The Harrington’s came over to say goodbye to your family, your parents’ friends ever since high school. 

“You have to!” Steve exclaimed, his little hands wildly gesturing. “You should send me a postcard of the Lady of Liberty, I heard she’s like 1000 feet tall or something.” 

“Lady Liberty is in New York City, silly,” you corrected him, “I’m not sure she’s that tall, but if we ever visit her I’ll let you know.” 

Laughter drifted in from the backyard where your parents were having drinks, and Steve’s head dropped down. Even at age 10, his hair had a life of its own, curls sticking out in every possible way. 

“Do you really have to go with them? I’m sure my mom would let you sleep on the couch if you asked her nicely,” Steve said, his voice toning down as the weight of the situation finally dawned on him.  

You grabbed his hand in yours, two little palms fitting over each other as they had done so many times before. 

“I’m starting at the new school next week and most of my stuff is already packed and ready to go in the truck.” 

Steve nodded, brown eyes getting a little red now he was sure his best friend was permanently leaving his life.  

“We have to keep in touch, pinky promise,” he finally looked up, his other pinky out for one of the most sacred promises a little kid could make. 

“Promise,” you said, wrapping your pinky around his as you had a final look at his boyish face. 

Promises made by little kids never are followed-up, unfortunately.

You wrote Steve three postcards and he called you twice on the house phone before you lost contact.

You quickly moved on to new friends at your school and Steve started hanging out with Tommy and Carol. Kids are always more focused on the present rather than on the past. You couldn’t blame it on anyone.

Steve Harrington would be nothing more than a sweet childhood memory, someone you thought about when you passed by the monkey bars or when one of your friends started dating a Stephen. A fleeting thought – a second that brought a smile to your face before disappearing again. Yet, he always held this fond space in your heart – and you knew that feeling would be for forever, and it was fine like that.

And now you are back in Hawkins, a little less than a decade later, a little taller than before and freshly graduated from high school, ready to start university close to the town you once called home. It only made sense for both you and your parents that you’d move back to the safety of the small town. God knows what goes on in those big cities.

The fact that Steve probably still lived in Hawkins was the deciding factor to pack your belongings and move back. Something, somewhere deep inside you longed to be close to Steve again. 

Though you had made new best friends, Steve was still the one that held a big piece of your heart. You had been friends from the very beginning, and it felt impossible to share such a bond with anyone else. A little voice at the back of your mind whispered that Steve would still be there, still the same loving boy who once called himself your best friend and that you’d be back to said status in no time. The same voice also whispered in your ear how Steve might have waited for you and you felt flutters erupt in your stomach. You always had a weak spot for his droopy brown eyes.

It was a tiny apartment that once belonged to one of your grandparents, a fifteen-minute drive to your campus, and close to both the local supermarket and some other shops you were sure you’d frequent often.

One of those shops was a branch store of Family Video and it was coincidentally the last thing on your list after a long day of moving in. 

Your plans were to rent a movie, pop a frozen dinner in the microwave, and enjoy your newfound freedom away from parental figures. The next few days you’d hoped to come across some familiar faces, but tonight you just wanted to get settled in.

It felt good to be an unsupervised adult.

The store was quite busy as you pushed open the door, most of Hawkins’ pre-teens and young adults looking for the perfect movie to end their day.

You slid into an aisle and tapped with your fingers against the spines of the VHSs, mumbling the names of the movies as you passed them. 

“E.T., seen already,” you murmured against yourself. “Superman was boring, let’s be honest.”

Your eyes landed on Ordinary People, and you grabbed the VHS and went on your way to the cash register. There was no use in hesitating to choose – with half of Hawkins in the store you didn’t want anyone to snatch the movie away right in front of your eyes.

“Hey, you little shit, that one is too scary for you, it says 18+ for a reason!”

“Quit bullshitting, it’s just a serial killer, you know I’ve seen worse,” a teen said to someone typing away at a computer, his face hidden by the massive machine. “C’mon man, you know I’ll keep complaining until I have it.”

The teen kept sliding the VHS over the counter, only for the cashier to slide it right back without even taking a second look at it. 

“Knock it off, Dustin, you’re gonna scare the customers away and I can’t lose another job!”

Dustin was about to slide the VHS over again, probably with a come-back, when he saw you standing behind him.

“Look I’ll even let the lady go in front of me, and you better get me this movie after as I’m also a paying customer!”

You pressed your lips together in a smile as a way to say thank you and pushed the VHS over the counter, hoping to get out of the busy shop quickly. 

“Name, please?” the guy said, not even looking up from the screen.

You had just uttered your first name, hadn’t even started on your last name as his head whipped away from the screen, brown eyes scanning your face instead of putting the movie in the system and telling you when to bring it back.

“Y/N?” he muttered, the floppy brown hair and puckered pink lips reminding you of your childhood best friend.

“It’s Steve, Steve Harrington,” he said now, still not believing it was you who was standing at his counter, so many years after he had last seen you. “You remember me, right?”

He, too, had grown a fair bit taller, but he still had that same doe-eyed look in his eyes, he still puckered his lips in the same way – he just had a little more confidence than when you left him. He had finally grown into that massive head of his and it looked like he found his own style, not anything like the clothes ms. Harrington used to put him in. Imagine if he still wore those obnoxious trousers with suspenders and a shirt with the top button done.

“Of course, I remember you, Steve,” you said, “I never forgave myself that we lost touch. Never.”

Steve looked down, guilt painted on his features as he recalled the few times he did reach out to you. “Me neither. I lost one of the best friends I ever had and it was my own fault.”

“But you’re back now!” he added, a new sense of joy replaced the guilt on his face. “Or is it just temporary?”

“I’m here for college, so we’ll see how that works out.”

“Hey now, you knew all 50 states before I could even say the alphabet, you’ll do great.”

You were about to ask him to hang out later, to reminisce about old times and to catch up on what you’d missed the last few years when a beautiful girl popped up behind him, a million freckles gracing her face – each one seeming to call Steve’s attention.

At her appearance, you immediately felt your confidence chipping away. The joyful bubble burst and it was time to pack up the beautiful daydream that started forming in your mind.

Why would he have waited on you? There had never been an indication you’d come back, never a moment where you had gotten back in touch with him. Who’s to say he hadn’t moved on and forgotten about how good you two were together? Why would he ever wait for a possible ‘what if’ if there were so many other opportunities, right here in Hawkins?

“Hey dipshit,” she called out to Dustin, slinging an arm over Steve’s shoulders as he remained comfortable under her touch. “How many times have we said no about the 18+ movies? You’re lucky we’re letting you get the 16+ ones!”

“Robin, stay out of this,” Dustin now bit back good-naturedly, still tightly gripping the VHS,  now counting a few coins as he seemed to be 100% sure he’d get the movie. 

How foolish that you thought you could just waltz back into Hawkins and expect everything to be the same. Steve was even friends with random kids now, and here you were, thinking that you could pick up where you left off. 

“Uhm, so when do I bring this back?” you spoke up, making Steve whip his head back to you as Robin checked you out, her eyes carrying an analytical weight trying to figure out who you were.

“It’s uh, one week, so next Saturday, but you can always call to extend,” Steve said, not realizing how uncomfortable you were all of a sudden. 

You rummaged around in your bag in search of a few dollar bills in exchange for the movie, “yeah… I’ll be fine, a week, okay.”

You hastily pressed the few dollars against the counter and plastered a quick smile on your face.

“Hey, y/n, Robin and I were thinking of hanging out tonight if you wanna come.”

Steve looked at you expectantly, brown eyes hopeful for an affirmative answer, but Robin’s stare made it into a definitive ‘no’ as much as you wanted to say yes. Her stare wasn’t mean or anything, you just felt like you had disrupted a moment between them and wanted to get out as quickly as possible.

“No, it’s fine, I really need to get home,” you said as you already started backing off. “Moving. Shit ton of work, you know.”

You were out of the store in the blink of an eye, leaving Steve wondering if he had said something wrong.

“Do you know her?” Robin asked, now picking at her nails as she threw another death stare at Dustin. “It’s still a no for you.”

“Yeah,” he trailed off, still looking at the door where you disappeared through. “That was my best friend who moved away.”

“That's the best friend huh?”

Robin now flashed her signature smirk, unknowing to Steve.

“Got anything to tell us, Steve?” Dustin now piped up after seeing Robin’s smirk. “You’re not really one to reminisce about the past.”

“Growing up with someone… it’s different. She was my whole life and I was hers,” Steve softly said, eyes glazed over with a mixture of wanting, loss, and a speck of hope. “You should know how bad it is to lose a friend like that.”

Dustin and Robin shared a look. They couldn’t believe the effect you had left on Steve, even if it was just a short visit.

“Whatever.” Steve stood up, shaking the feeling off and straightening up. “Hey, you get another movie now , or I ban you for the next year. Yeah, a year, you heard it right.”

“C’mon Steve, you’re being an ass,” Dustin pleaded, still trying one last time to get the adult-rated movie for his own movie night.

“Now!”

“Fine! Jesus, you’re getting old and cranky already,” Dustin stormed off, immediately talking in his headset to relay the message to his other friends, probably already scheming revenge on the older brunette.

“They’re your kids,” Robin snorted as she turned around to get back to reshelving VHS tapes, leaving Steve who felt like he had just been hit by a bat – twice.

After sulking all weekend that perhaps you weren’t as memorable as you thought, you returned to the video store on Monday, hoping to quietly drop off the movie and not come across the two people you desperately wanted to avoid. Egos were on the line, okay?

You not so subtly peered through the glass into the store, your body poorly hidden by a  few huge cutouts in the shop window. It felt like you were starring in a bad detective movie.

It was a quiet Monday at noon, with one car in the parking lot and no one visibly behind the counter.

Would it be so horrible if you just left the VHS on the counter and made a run for it? 

The door creaked as you pushed it open, which made Robin’s head pop out from under the counter immediately, her brown-blondish hair a fashionable mess as she plastered a smile on her face.

If it was socially acceptable to throw the VHS in her vicinity and run as fast as your feet could – you’d do it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t and Robin was already waiting behind the counter for you, her fingers rhythmically tapping the wood. 

“That was quick,” she stated as you slid the VHS over the counter, avoiding her eyes as she kind of intimidated you.

“No use in keeping it longer than I have to.”

You politely nodded and tapped the counter before turning back to the exit.

“He has told me a lot about you, you know, the past few years that I’ve gotten to know him.”

“Me?” you said as you turned around. Why would Steve be talking about you still? To someone that you didn’t know? Someone who could mean a whole lot more to him than you ever did.

“Yeah,” her voice had a hoarse tinge to it as a smile overtook her face. “When a certain song came on the radio he’d say something like ‘this song was y/n’s favourite’ or when we passed by that one curb he’d say ‘I ate shit here and y/n patched me up with those blue bandaids with little teddy bears on them.’”

“He talked about me?” you repeated, still not believing her, though everything she mentioned sounded like things that happened in your past, stuff that you had seemingly forgotten and now it replayed in your mind. 

“That boy was in love with you and I don’t think a lot has changed.”

There was a lighthearted smirk on her face when she saw you get flustered, a sudden meek smile transforming your face in a heartbeat. 

“Don’t… you didn’t know him back then,” you countered, trying not to get the lighthearted feelings to your head. “He’s always been a flirt, he’s always been like that.”

“No no no,” she shook her head, her hair happily bouncing around, her freckles blurring together. “I know Steve and the way he acted after you left? That didn’t even happen when he started crushing on Nancy again.”

“Again?”

“She’s long in the past – just a mere detour from you ! Don’t worry about it,” Robin waved your worries away, her giddy nature making you feel giddy about it as well. Maybe you really shouldn’t have judged so quickly.

“C’mon, let me set you up or something, it’s been a while since I won a bet from Henderson.”

“You’re betting? Already?” you asked. It was never good if bets were involved, but Robin seemed so trustworthy. 

“You’ll get used to it,” she winked, preluding that maybe many more adventures with this group of friends would happen. “Do you want me to call Steve? I bet he’d get that ass over here in a heartbeat for you.”

You laughed at her readiness to change up her whole day, even if it was a slow day at the store.

“No, it’s okay, I need some time to think,” you rapped your fingers on the counter before pushing off towards the exit. “But I really appreciate this, Robin, I’m a little less doubtful about the future now.”

“Where are you going?” she called out. “It’s so boring here I need entertainment!”

“To this place where I bust my knee once,” you said, pointing to the knee with the weird scar. “It’s a special place to me.”

“Alright,” you heard her trail off before you left the store and got into your car. “I don’t like places that have bad memories but okay…”

The park behind the Rodneys house was still there, though the Rodneys themselves were no longer there, the house was now just gathering dust, well on its way to becoming the backdrop for many ghost stories.

The swingset had gathered some rust during the time you were away, the shackles making that eerie sound that every small town swing set seemed to make. 

But as you sat down on the weathered wood, you instantly felt years younger – as if the swingset was a time machine that transported you right back to before you left. The only thing missing was Steve pushing you, his giggles and snorts floating up in the air as you encouraged him to push you even higher. 

After everything Robin had told you, you desperately needed some time to think and process – the apartment felt suffocating and you didn’t want to hang around town in fear of encountering the one your thoughts were filled with.

Then you found yourself in front of the old park where you spend many hours running around with Steve and it all clicked.

Leaning your head against the shackles of the swing, you softly swung and watched the sunset. The sky was painted in hues of ripe plums and fresh raspberries – the colours bleeding over into each other as if someone had accidentally mashed the juicy fruits together. But just as everything that happened by accident, it had a bittersweet undertone that made everything worth it.

Just like years ago, it didn’t take him long to find you.

The other swing creaked as he sat down on it, his feet now touching the ground as his legs had grown, unlike back then when he barely could get up on the swing without almost breaking his neck.

You both stared at the skies for a bit, words on the tips of your tongues but not willing to break the silence that felt safe – just like how a kid felt safe from the monsters under the blankets.

“I was thrown off when I saw Robin,”  you started, testing the waters as you kept staring in front of you. “Though I had no reason to be, it was stupid and I’m sorry for assuming stuff and running off like that.”

Steve let out a soft sigh as he pushed his hand through his hair, his lips as always cherry-coloured. “You really don’t have to apologise. You did what any normal human being would do.”

The words clung to the air as you felt a little breeze pick up, the leaves on the bushes adding to the background noise.

“How’d you know I was here anyway?”

“Where you busted your knee and then had to get stitches and they healed in this super odd shape that either resembles an open mouth or weirdly shaped D .”

“Robin,” you tsked. “Right, you were there.” 

“I held your hand while they put in the stitches,” he snorted, eyes zeroing in on the scar on your knee. “You had a tight-ass grip for an 8-year-old.”

“After all those hours with you on the jungle gym, you bet I had developed some muscles already!” 

Once more you felt like no time had passed between you leaving and coming back. Between leaving Steve behind and finding him back. And even if time did pass, it felt like you could just continue on from the point where you left – the shared history would always be there as a background to provide a common ground no other people had. It was unique to the two of you – something you’d never find in any other person. 

“I did move on, you know,” he now made eye contact as he spoke truthfully, the pinkish colours of the sky now beautifully reflecting on one half of his face. “I moved on many times, yet any time I came close to loving someone, you were always at the back of my mind. Always.”

And while that statement did hurt, it also felt very familiar. It was something you, too, could relate to. To the loving someone else, yet this one person is still on the back of your mind, an itch waiting to be scratched, a memory, hidden somewhere deep only you could find. 

And Steve would be the only one to understand, too. Your new friends in the city couldn’t understand the impact he had had on you, just like his new friends couldn’t understand it to its full extent either.

“There was always this ‘what if’ scenario,” you whispered back, your hand now coming up to still the swing he was sitting on so you were at the same level. 

“Uhu,” he murmured back, his eyes constantly twitching between your eyes and your lips as your bodies were now immensely close you could feel the heat radiating off from him.

God, how handsome he had become. 

“I know we haven’t seen each other in like…years, but it feels like hardly any time has passed. Like we were both stuck in a limbo while the rest of the world kept turning,” you softly said. 

“You were always better at putting things in words than I was,” Steve mused, his left hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I feel exactly the same.”

At that moment, it felt like the final puzzle pieces fell into place – the jagged edges morphed together into a perfect picture.

His lips on yours were an unfamiliar feeling, yet it couldn’t feel more like coming home – that warmth and the softness, the scent of his cologne, and the hand on your cheek that was shivering just a little.

It couldn’t be more perfect.

After pulling away from this sweet kiss, Steve immediately pulled you back, a feverish look on his face as he couldn’t get enough of the feeling. Couldn’t get enough of you. Couldn’t get enough of this sudden hold you had on him, again. He had always been yours, even when the two of you didn’t know.

Both his hands were now holding on to your face, as yours were trying to stabilise the swings you were on, though most of your concentration was focused on Steve. 

Steve’s hands, his lips, the feeling of the slight stubble that was rubbing against your skin, his scent that still smelled like him, just now the added intoxicating smell of his cologne that made your head spin round and round. 

The two of you had sat there for hours, it felt like, but it could also be a few seconds. The only thing that marked the passage of time was the sky that had turned into a purplish blue, the sun now fully gone and a few stars twinkling in the sky.

“Just for the record,” Steve broke the kiss, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “You’ll be here for a while, yeah? No running off to the big city any time soon?”

You pressed a soft kiss against his lips, a smile curving against cherry red lips from kissing.

“I’ll stay here, Harrington, even if it’s just to see your stupid face,” you laughed, putting a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Still, we can always meet here, at the end of the cul-de-sac.”

“Hmm, I’ll take what I can get,” he pressed a kiss against your cheek, then onto the corner of your lips. “Even if it’s just a few kisses at the end of the cul-de-sac.”

Once more, you kissed him. 

Though it had been a long time since you were in Hawkins, these first few days showed that the sleepy town hadn’t changed a whole lot and that you still fit perfectly into this town, right beside your childhood best friend, once again ready to face the world together.

[kylie-writes-stuff]

Too Far

pairing: rodrick heffley x gn!reader ; greg x platonic!reader (but it's mostly a sweet family fic between rodrick and greg)

warnings: cussing, rodrick thinks greg ran away/is missing, rodrick's probably ooc, uh idk what else

word count: 1.7k (why is this the longest thing i’ve written-)

summary: (takes place during rodrick rules) y/n has been a good neighbor and friend for a while now. either of the heffley boys can go to them for anything.

a/n: im a strong believer in the fact that rodrick has a soft side and he truly cares about his little brother. he doesn't show it a lot but it's there. i love rodrick so much so i wanted to try writing for him. sorry if it's ooc but i dunno, i like it. let me know what you think :)

--

You were watching tv, no clue what just happened in the house down the street, when there was a knock on the door.

You got up, groaning. Who would be here this late? 

You opened the door, somewhat annoyed, until you saw that it was... Greg? 

It was Greg, the young boy from down the street, with tears in his eyes.

You immediately wrapped an arm around him, leading him inside, “Woah, kid, what’s wrong?”

As the two of you sat back down on the couch, he choked out an answer, “R-Rodrick.”

“What did he do this time? Want me to beat his ass for you?"

A small smile crossed your face when you were able to make the boy chuckle.

He explained that him and Rodrick had a great night together but things went bad once they got home. He said that their parents found the pictures from the party last week, which you had attended, and both the boys got it trouble. But that wasn't why Greg was crying. He was crying because Rodrick was disappointed in him and said some hurtful things.

You didn't push any further. Greg was a tough kid, most of the time, so whatever Rodrick said must've been really bad.

"Wait," you said after a few minutes, "Do your parents know you're here?"

"N-no. I snuck out."

"Greg, you can't do that," you said sternly. You weren't angry, just worried.

"You and Rodrick both sneak out all the time," He tried to reason.

"That's different. We're both old enough to take care of ourselves. No offense, but you're still just a kid. If your parents find out they're gonna be worried sick."

"Can I just stay for a while longer? Please? Besides if they find out I'm gone, they'll probably check here first."

It was true. Greg and Rowley would come to your house sometimes, just to have a different place to hang out. Your parents were away a lot of the time so it worked out.

You were Greg's babysitter when he was in 5th and 6th grade. Ms. Heffley knew you were a responsible kid and she didn't exactly want Rodrick in charge. Now he's in 7th and he's trusted a bit more so you didn't have to take care of him anymore. During that time was when you and Greg got close. The two of you became friends.

You had gotten pretty close with Rodrick too. Especially since you had a lot of the same classes in school. The two of you had similar interests so you would hang out sometimes.

Of course, you couldn't say no to Greg.

You two sat and watched whatever he wanted to watch. You told him that he could have whatever he wanted from the kitchen, it didn't matter. He immediately searched for ice cream, making you laugh.

Soon there was another knock on the door. This time you looked out the peep hole.

"It's Rodrick," you whispered to Greg.

"I'm not here!" He whispered back, running up the stairs.

You waited until he was all the way upstairs, before you opened the door, "Rodrick? Hey, what's up?"

He looked back at you with panicked eyes, "(Y/n), you gotta helped me."

You ushered him in, just as you had done with his younger brother not long ago, and you two sat down. "Of course, what is it?"

"Well I- me and Greg got into a fight I guess? I said some stuff I shouldn't have. I- Fuck, (Y/n), I messed up... I took it too far."

You gently put a hand on his knee, "Hey, relax. You're okay. What do you mean you took it too far?"

"I told him that... I said 'you might be my brother, but you'll never be my friend'. W-We got in trouble for something and I got mad at him. Obviously I don't mean it, i-it just kinda slipped out."

"Okay, well, we both how Greg is. I'm sure he'll understand if you just tell him and apologize. You two will be fine," you offered him a soft smile.

To your surprise, he shook his head.

"That's not what I need your help with."

"Oh," was all you could say.

"I went to check on him a while ago because he's never been in this much trouble, I wanted to make sure he was okay. Mom and Dad were already asleep. I- I went into his room and... and he was gone. (Y/n), I don't know what to do."

You pulled him into a hug, him quickly latching onto you. You gently ran your fingers through his hair. "It's okay Rodrick. I'll help you find him."

Of course, you knew where he was. But you wouldn't give away Greg's spot if he didn't want you too.

Rodrick looked up at you, "You will?"

"Of course, let me get a jacket and we'll go."

You went up the stairs and into your room, where Greg was sitting on your bed.

"Dude, he-"

"I heard all of it. I understand."

"Oh good," you said, waking to your closet to get a jacket, "So, do you forgive him?"

"Of course, he's my brother," The two of you smiled.

As you pulled on your jacket, you asked, "Well what do you wanna do? He's ready to go searching for you."

"Maybe you two can drive around for a while and come back, and i'll just be on the sidewalk around here? I don't know, I just don't him to get at you for lying." He suggested.

You thought about it, nodding.

"Okay... but be careful, alright? Stay in here for like 15 minutes, then you can go out."

You went back downstairs and grabbed your keys. Rodrick followed you out and into your car.

"He couldn't have gone far, right?" He asked, bouncing his knee up and down.

"Nah, i'm sure he stayed close. Lets just check the neighborhood, yeah?" You said.

You drove around, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the center console where Rodrick was holding it tightly.

--

"H-he can't be gone. (Y/n), he can't!"

Of course, you haven't "found" Greg yet. Rodrick was freaking out.

You pulled over and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles, his hand still in yours.

"Hey, Rod, it's okay. We'll find him, I promise."

Rodrick shook his head, his eyes becoming glossy. You felt bad for letting him believe Greg was really gone for so long, but you told Greg you'd stick with his plan. And you were true to your word.

"What if we don't?" His voice cracked.

"We will, I promise. But it's getting late and you should rest. We'll go looking for him first thing in the morning. I bet you he probably went to Rowley's house."

"Yeah... yeah, that makes sense," Rodrick nodded. "Thank you."

"You know I'd do anything for you. For Greg, too. I love that kid."

Rodrick smiled, hearing you speak so fondly of his younger brother. In that moment, he knew everything would work out.

You started driving back to the cul-de-sac you guys lived on. Rodrick leaned his head against the window and started to dose off, his hand still holding yours tightly.

Then you saw it. Greg walking on the sidewalk, just like he said he would.

"Rodrick! Dude!" You shook him awake.

"Huh? What?" He woke up, startled.

"Look!" You pointed over to Greg while pulling over.

Rodrick saw him and as soon as you stopped the car, he opened the door and stumbled out.

"Greg!" He called out to his younger brother.

Before Greg could even turn around, Rodrick had him engulfed in a hug. The display of affection obviously took Greg by surprised.

"Don't ever do that again," Rodrick paused, trying to come up with some sort of insult, "... dumbass."

"I won't, I promise."

You watched as the two brothers smiled at each other. A rare occurrence for sure, but a nice one.

Rodrick lightly pushed Greg towards the car and they both got in.

"Hey (Y/n)." Greg said from the back seat.

"Hey, kid, glad you're safe," You smiled back at him.

"Yeah."

"Had this guy close to bursting into tears," You snickered, gesturing towards Rodrick and trying to lighten the mood.

"Don't tell him that!" Rodrick mumbled as he nudged your arm. This only made you and Greg giggle more.

You saw a smile form on Rodrick's lips, despite him trying to hide it. Laughter was, indeed, contagious.

You poked his cheek, making him chuckle.

You started to drive towards the Heffley house, the mood in the car now light and playful. You pulled into their driveway and unlocked the doors.

"Go inside, twerp. I'll catch up." Rodrick said.

"Okay," Greg smiled, getting out and heading towards the door.

"(Y/n)... thank you." Rodrick said, his voice softer as he looked down at his shoes.

"For what?"

"I dunno, everything. I mean, who would get up in the middle of the night and help some loser look for their little brother?"

"Oh c'mon, Rodrick. I'd go to the ends of the earth for you or that kid. It's no big deal, really." You said.

"It is to me. Thank you," He finally looked up at you, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"Anytime."

"Can I- um... can I try something?" He asked. His eyes darted away from you for a split second.

"Well, uh, yeah. Sure." You said, curious to as what wants to do.

Suddenly, Rodrick put his hand on your cheek and leaned in. You felt his lips press against yours softly and closed your eyes. The kiss lasted only a little bit, but it felt much longer.

You couldn’t lie. It felt amazing. Kissing Rodrick just felt so... right. It’s like your lips were made for each other.

He pulled back a little and you smiled, laughing softly.

"Is- Is that a good thing?" He asked.

"I dunno, you tell me."

You leaned in and kissed him again. He was quick to kiss back. Eventually you leaned back.

"You should get inside," Another kiss, "Don't want you getting in more trouble."

Rodrick's usual confidence came back and he smirked, "If it's for you, it's worth it."

"Shut up!" You laughed.

He chuckled and pecked your cheek, before walking to the door.

As you pulled into your own driveway, you smiled.

Your relationship with Rodrick Heffley had changed tonight. But you know it had changed for the better.

[honey-dewey]

We all Cope Somehow

Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2,017

Warnings: Javier gets sad, Steve gets drunk, Javier is creepy for all of two seconds, Javier has a breakdown, talking about scars and injuries. 

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

The fight is hard, and at the end of the day, everyone has their coping mechanism. Steve drinks until he can’t remember why he opened a bottle. Javier gets lost with some corner girl who won’t remember his name or face. You cook and nurture your boys because no one else will. That’s just how life is, until Javier comes home late, unable to find his forgetfulness.

“Javi?” 

“What?” 

You shuffled slightly, the ache in your back ever persistent. “I made dinner. Are you staying?” 

Javier nodded, putting out his cigarette and coming in from the balcony, seeing Steve with his third drink at the table already. “What’s for dinner?” 

“Figured we could use a taste of home,” you said, putting a plate with a steak on it in front of Javier. “Texas, right?” 

Another nod from Javier, who wordlessly began to eat. Steve gulped down his drink and shakily picked up his knife. You immediately stepped in, taking the steak knife and cutting Steve’s food for him. 

“Thank you,” he slurred, and you smiled.

“Any time.” 

After dinner, you cut Steve off, giving him some water and bread and sitting him down on your couch. Javier scooped his jacket up and made to leave, turning back to look at you one last time before silently slipping out. 

You noticed Javier leaving, not bothering to say anything. Turning to face him walking out your door would be painful, seeing him and knowing he was going to bury himself in some stranger on the street, not looking for comfort but escape. Knowing those kind eyes would go dark with a feral, primal lust that couldn’t be stopped. You tucked a blanket around Steve, left him two painkillers, and went to go sleep yourself. 

Harsh knocking at your door hours later woke you. Steve groaned, and you immediately tugged a robe around yourself and ran to the door. 

“Go back to sleep Stevie,” you said softly, peering through the door’s peephole and seeing the back of Javier’s head. “It’s just Javi.” 

Steve fell back into the couch, disappearing into sleep once more. You tugged the door open quietly, shushing Javier as he went to talk. “Shh. Steve’s asleep.” 

Javier nodded, gesturing to your bedroom. You silently agreed, bare feet making almost no noise as you two headed towards the room. 

“What are you doing back here?” You asked, shutting your bedroom door and turning to Javier. “You never come back after you leave for the night and, Javi!” 

You shouted his name, shoving his hands off your body. In the dim bedroom lights, you could see his pupils blown wide with that lust he reserved for women who could handle it. But now, with no outlet and no other options, Javier was turning to the next available thing.

“C’mon,” he crooned softly, reaching out for you again. “You know you want me.” 

“Not like this!” You shouted, jumping away from his wandering hands. “Javi! Christ, get away from me! Javier!” 

That seemed to break Javier, his body crumpling as you shied away. You knew that no matter what state he was in, he would never hurt you. But this still wasn’t comforting. 

“Javi?” You asked softly, seeing him still. “Javi, honey, you okay? Are you in there?” 

Javier shook his head. Tiny, minuscule movements that made you scared. 

“Hey,” you said, reaching out but not touching. “Let’s go for a drive.” 

He followed you out, numbly climbing into the car and waiting for you to start it. Taking a midnight drive probably wasn’t advised, but it calmed Javier down and to see him smile again, you’d personally fight Escobar, no matter the odds. 

Taking a turn out of the neighborhood and finding your favorite winding road, you drove in relative silence, Javier gazing out the window as the lights grew smaller and smaller until they looked like bright stars in the sky, making messy bunches of constellations. The hum of the car and the rock of the road beneath you calmed him, easing his troubled mind until he finally began to cry. 

“Oh Javi, honey, it’s okay,” you mumbled, stopping the car in an abandoned parking lot and leaning over the console to hug Javier. “Hey, it’s okay honey. You weren’t right, and that’s just fine. It’s okay to not be okay, you hear me?” 

Javier nodded, burying himself in your arms and mumbling out soft, broken, apologies. 

You hummed, smoothing a hand over his heaving back. “Javi, I forgive you. I will always forgive you.” 

Another agonizing ten minutes passed, during which you held Javier as he shook and cried and let everything out. You simply rubbed his back and held him close, promising you would always be there. 

Finally, finally, Javier pulled away, still trembling. You held his hands, smoothing your thumbs over the scarred skin on the backs of his hands. “You never told me about this,” you realized, peering deeper at the pebbled scar that spanned the entire back of Javier’s left hand. 

Javier pulled in a breath. You couldn’t tell if he knew you were trying to distract him, but you needed to get his mind off his current pain. “My brother,” he said slowly, a horrible rasp to his voice. “we had a treadmill, and my hand got caught in it. My brother was running on top of it. It wasn’t his fault.” 

You smiled, examining his face. Pushing sweaty hair off his forehead, you traced another scar, barely an inch long, in the dead center of Javier’s forehead. “This one?” 

“I was six,” Javier remembered. “My sister threw a ball under a table, and I ran too fast to duck in time. Hit the stupid thing head on. Thirteen stitches.” 

Another kind smile, and this time you moved forward to press a warm kiss to the scar. “And that one on your elbow you refuse to tell Steve about?” 

That was able to draw a laugh out of Javier, even if it was skittering and faint. “My other sister, the oldest, let me have her old roller skates when she outgrew them.” As he talked, Javier’s words got steadier and steadier, the shake to his hands slowly fading. “We lived on a street with a cul-de-sac at the end, and there was a hill leading up to the circle. My sister showed me how to turn at the cul-de-sac, in a big loop. I started at the top of the hill to gain speed. But I fucked it up. I was going too fast and couldn’t control myself, so I ended up tripping, and skidded three feet. It’s a miracle I didn’t break something. My elbow was somehow the only casualty.” 

You giggled, rolling his sleeves up and lifting his right arm so you could kiss the quarter sized scar. “A daring injury,” you promised. “That one on your ankle I teased you about?” 

Javier shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. “A glass cup my sisters used to shave shattered in the shower. Cut me in two places. Why are you asking about the boring ones?” 

Shrugging, you traced a longer, more wicked scar on Javier’s left arm. “Because they’re fun scars. War stories are interesting, but they’re not you.” As you explained, you felt a knot in your chest grow, drawing the breath from your lungs. “Those little scars, they tell me who you are. You’re a dork, a family man, a brother, a lover, a truster. When I ask about the bad scars, all I see is a soldier.” 

Javier grabbed your arms, steadying you. “Tell me about this,” he said, poking a scar on your cheek that was often mistaken for a dimple. 

You nodded. “I was a toddler. Ran into a bannister in the hallway, and the sharp edge got my cheek. I needed two stitches.” 

Tracing down your arms, Javier turned your wrists over and thumbed over the identical lines that were burned into the crease of each wrist. “These?” 

“A common contact point for the blazingly hot pots and pans I cook with.” You shivered as Javier kissed each one. “I dunno if there’s much feeling in that bit of my skin.” 

Javier’s eyebrows knit, the worry plain in his face. “And you cook anyway?” 

“It’s my escape,” you said softly. “When I cook, I can imagine we’re not getting death threats, that we’re just a few close friends on a trip together and we didn’t want to go out for dinner. I can imagine I’m back home, cooking for my family or that we’re celebrating your birthday when I make a cake instead of us getting a huge lead. You find women who help you forget, I cook and bake to escape.” 

“Oh.” Javier smoothed a thumb over another small scar, half an inch long, on the delicate flesh between your finger and thumb. “Knife?” 

You nodded. “I got myself pretty good there when I was cutting veggies a few years back. No stitches, but I bled like crazy. My roommate thought I was super hurt.” 

Gently resting your captive hands on the wheel of the car, Javier ticked the radio up, letting soft music fill the space. “Thank you,” he said. “For driving me out here. For not hating me.” 

You shook your head. “I could never hate you Javi. You were just lost. I helped find you again.” 

That grin you’d worked so hard for finally returned, the one that he’d give you over dinner when you made something impressive and when he had to help you with your bulletproof vest. “Should we go home? Steve’s gonna wake up soon.” 

You nodded. “Sure. Poor thing’s gonna be so hungover today.” 

Sure enough, when you two got home, Steve was sitting up on the couch. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but you were DEA agents. You woke up before the day even started. 

“Where were you?” Steve said, standing and stumbling to the door. “I was so worried!” 

“We went for a drive,” you reassured, grabbing Steve’s arms to steady him. “Javi, darling, will you grab a pack of bacon from the fridge? I’m gonna make breakfast.” 

Javier grabbed the bacon while you steered Steve back to the couch. 

“You called me darling,” Javier noticed once you’d entered the kitchen, tossing on an apron and turning a small portable radio on. “Intentional?” 

You grabbed his shirt collar and kissed him. “Yeah. Intentional,” you said as you broke away, opening the bacon. “Start the coffee?” 

Javier swore softly, grabbing the coffee and three mugs. “I guess I should stop finding those corner girls to help me forget, huh?”

Taking out a pan, you shrugged. “I could always teach you to cook,” you said. “Or you could take up photography like Steve. Or, better yet, sewing. I know you can already do it.” 

“I cannot sew.” 

“Yes you can,” you countered, reaching around Javier to grab the eggs. “I watched you fix a shirt once.” 

Javier swore again. “I think I’ll try cooking,” he decided, standing behind you and loosely wrapping his arms around your middle. “Scrambled?” 

Nodding, you cracked six eggs into the pan. “Start making the toast please,” you said, and Javier did so, touching you every time he passed. Just soft touches, a comforting hand brushing your back or shoulder when he walked behind you. 

Over breakfast, you read the paper as best you could, occasionally asking Javier to translate. Steve had his head in his hand, the other hand holding his coffee cup. He listened halfheartedly, not making a sound as he took in the information. 

“Alright,” you said, folding the paper and standing, taking everyone’s empty plate. “Get ready for work. Today’s gonna be busy.” 

Steve left, heading upstairs to grab clothes. Javier went across the hall, finishing first and coming back, finding you already ready, adjusting your lipstick in the mirror. “Waiting on Steve?” 

“Waiting on Steve,” you confirmed, turning to Javier. “Well don’t you look good.” 

Javier smiled. He was wearing the red shirt you openly adored, the top few buttons popped open. 

“Lovebirds,” Steve said from your doorway, adjusting his own shirt. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.” 

You laughed. “We could never. Not with how you drive.” 

Javier nodded his agreement and followed you out to the car. Steve looked back at the two of you, arm in arm. “So, what’s this?” 

“This, Steve,” you said, turning a finger and gesturing for him to look where he was going. “Is love.”

[cyberfairyblog]

Odyssey Mystery Hour #1 Part. 1: The Knight Travellers

Vanessa had only intended to stay in Odyssey for a few days. But after accidentally stumbling upon a break in and subsequently a larger conspiracy she decides to help her new friends solve the case. The kicker: they have to go it the old fashioned way...literally. Rewrite the cartoon adaptation of radio serial "Adventures in Odyssey."

Rain battered down the streets of the quiet neighborhood as a car drove past the neatly kept houses. The destination? A white Victorian-styled mansion spanning the entire dead end. The car circled around the cul-de-sac before parking on a dirt patch next to the mansion's built-in nursery. The driver, draped in plum and a cowl carefully obscuring their face, surveyed the house to make sure no one was home. The owner may be out of town but you'd never know.

Then they heard a put-put-patter and saw a red motorcycle come into view Perfect timing, the figure sardonically mused as  the two arrivals hop off and joined them. The motorist was much taller and had a five o clock shadow on his equally large chin. His passenger was short, squat, and boasted angular features. Both wore similar outfits but with the colors inverted from one another. The shorter man began to speak.

"Sorry boss we were stuck in traffic and dumbo lost the map so we got lost and-"

"Quiet! You'll wake the whole neighborhood with stupid excuses!" The figure shushed the small man.

The aforementioned dumbo stormed over to the back door and pulled a tiny piece of something out of his pocket. After a few moments of jiggling they heard a satisfying click and the man pushed the door open. Cautiously they crept into the house. The hallways were quiet and warm.

"This place don't look very bad," gushed the giant. He whiffed at the air and smiled. "Smells yummy too!"

His partner rolled his eyes then glanced at their boss. "So who're we hittin' up this time?"

"An old friend of mine," the figure replied simply.

They came to the end of the hallway. Just like before the larger man fumbled with the knob until another satisfying click could be heard. The leader turned on theur flashlight and guided them down a flight of stairs. Inside they could see pieces of metal and wires and tools. The tall man noticed a plate of biscuits on a nearby stool. He hadn't ate thirty minutes ago...

The leader's eyes fell upon a large object covered in tarp. That must be it!

At the same time a Black woman drove through the neighborhood searching for a hotel. She had been travelling through the county when she was caught by the freak storm. She had hoped to find somewhere to stay for a night. Suddenly heard gargling a bang and the car came to a stop. "Darn!" 

She got out and checked the underside of her car. "I knew I should've stopped at that gas station" she fretted. The rain began to worsen, sending her to the nearest shelter she could find: the porch of the white mansion. Hoping someone was home she knocked on the door. "Hello? Anyone there?"

"Excellent, I don't even have to lift a finger!" The leader ex claimed gleefully.

"This thing heavy!" The short man whined as he and his partner carried the machine back up the stairs. They had just made it out the door when they heard someone knocking on the front door.

"They found us!" The large man nearly dropped his end of the part in panic.

"Don't crush me nimrod!" The small man barked as he felt himself go up and then back down. The boss face-palmed.

"You imbeciles hurry up before they catch us!" They growled impatiently. Short and Big hurriedly rushed towards the exit. Once outside they began to put the machines parts inside the trunk and passenger sides.

"Let's see if there's something else for us to borrow," the short man nudged his friend and winked. They went inside to find some more items. But arrogance could only go so far until it was met with an obstacle.

They hears a growl this time not from their master.

"Oh hai doggy," the big man said happily, entirely unaware that a bloodhound was baring its teeth at them. The hound began to bark furiously and began to chase the screaming duo down the hallway.

Hearing the commotion the woman walked around the back and saw that the door was open. Suddenly a giant man rushed out and she screamed, startling him even more. In the frenzy he missed and knocked her to the side. He gasped as he realized what he had done.

"Oh no I hit a woman, mama's gonna be so mad at me!!"

"Forget your mom come on!" Shorty shouted as as he quickly hopped into the drivers seat, moaning as the large man plopped onto his old spot which made the bike fumble before speeding off. Unable to catch up the hound sauntered back to the house.  However when it saw the woman lying on the grass unresponsive it gave a nervous whimper and sniffed her. She didn't stir.

"Sherman!" A woman's voice rung out. Sherman barked alerting her to the scene. Two new people arrived one in a green raincoat and the other in red. The woman the clasped her hands over their mouth. "What happened here?!"

The man in red crouched down and pressed two fingers on the woman's neck.  "Fortunately she is not thank but she is cold," he said. "Let's get her inside. Get a first aid kit too!"

"On it and good boy Sherman," the green person cooed as she petted the loyal steed. Together they carried the woman inside - no easy feat as she was taller than either of them. The man took off his coat, revealed himself to be a wiry brunet wearing thick glasses. The lady shrugged off her poncho revealing red hair in a ponytail and a baggy sweater of matching green.

"I'll go find some blankets," the ginger said and left the room. The man began tending to the fireplace, Sherman pacing around with a worried expression.  "Eugene come quick!"

Eugene dropped the wand and ran to where she was and skidded to a stop. The door to the basement was left open, tarp strewn over the floor where they knew the machine was supposed to be.

"That does not look good Miss Kendall," Eugene said as he tried not to lose his cool.

"Who'd do something like this?" Miss Kendall pondered as she lifted the tarp. She found the plate of leftover crumbs and exclaimed, "They even stole his biscuits!"

"Let me go call Whit and let him know," he said before running to call his employer. Deep down he was shaking.

He thought about that woman they found. Could it be her? She didn't look like any of their usual patrons. Maybe she was trying to break in and something happened? They wouldn't know until she woke up and gave them answers.

[wouldduskwood]

Descendants of Despair Part 61

I sat, staring at the various windows in front of me, none of which could bring back the lost connection. Somehow, I felt suddenly frantic. There didn’t appear to be any indication of why. Everything had gone relatively smoothly with Lilly and I hadn’t heard anything that indicated a problem, but somehow something didn’t feel right. “Jake, something doesn’t feel right. Can you get out of there?” I begged. There was no response. Then, suddenly the GPS on his phone was moving, slowly, but still moving. I sat, watching it helplessly, unsure what to do.

Just as I was about to completely lose the plot, my phone began buzzing. I picked it up and was overcome with relief as I saw Jake’s contact splashed across the screen. I answered it and was about to speak when he cut me off. “Listen, I’ve had to ditch the car. I think Alan has found it and nearly had Lilly and I. I took her back to her car and told her to drive straight to Dan and stay there. I’m going to try and find a way out, but I'm not sure how far I’ll get. Just, know I love you, whatever happens now, I love you.” Whatever relief I had felt when seeing his call was undone in an instant as I processed what he was telling me. Then, the line went dead.

Shit. I found myself suddenly stuck in the middle of nowhere with no vehicle and no way to save Jake from Alan’s grasps. We were fairly close to Duskwood, but being on foot would hamper any effort I made to track him down before Alan did. The one hope I had was that Alan wouldn’t be able to keep up. If he were following in a car, he wouldn’t likely be able to take the same path as Jake, and on foot I had no doubt that, even with police training, he wouldn’t likely be able to keep up. Without thinking, I pulled up Jake’s GPS on my phone and took off, heading in the general direction that would hopefully allow me to cross his path. I wasn’t entirely sure what I’d do if I found him, but I needed to do something.

As I ran, I stuck to the road I was on, rather than taking the shortest route. The occasional vehicle lined the streets and I was looking for one I could take. Generally speaking, I didn’t tend to take cars off people. However, sometimes there was just no real way to avoid it. I would try and return it later, if that was at all possible. Eventually, I stumbled on a small hatchback that was sitting on the curb beside a long driveway into a tidy farmhouse. This was exactly what I’d been looking for. The door was clearly unlocked and it wasn’t likely any occupants from the house would see. I climbed in and took out my knife, pushing it into the small gap under the steering wheel, levering off the plastic covering and exposing the wiring underneath. I quickly sliced through this and exposed the ends, touching them together and smiling in triumph as the car started.

Grabbing my phone, I balanced it as well as I could on the dashboard and began driving towards the small dot that was Jake. “Jake, I’m heading towards you now. I’ll pick you up from the closest road.” I said without much hope that he would actually hear me. As I drove, steering with one hand, I pulled my hood as far over my face as I could. I knew Alan would connect Jake and I, and if there were Police scouts out there somewhere, I didn’t want to make their job too easy for them.

Reaching the road that bordered onto the area Jake’s GPS registered at, I began to slow, keeping my eyes peeled for him. Suddenly, a dark figure split through a couple of trees, running while looking behind him. “Jake,” I called, pulling up beside him. Relief washed over his face as he jumped into the passenger seat. “Drive, drive!” he panted, casting nervous glances behind him. I didn’t need to be asked twice. Losing a tail is less about speed and more about precision. Driving in random directions, taking unexpected turns while following the speed limit was often enough to force a mistake from any followers. Driving the speed limit also had the advantage of making less mistakes, like taking cul de sacs. I meandered through various streets, watching behind me to make sure that nobody followed.

Eventually, I headed back towards our home. Jake had remained silent, his eyes darting uneasily all around him. “It’s okay, nobody is following us,” I breathed quietly. “Fuck, MC. I thought I was done for,” Jake cringed. “What if they went after Lilly?” I put my hand on his knee as I drove up the driveway. “Listen, Lilly isn’t wanted, they can’t legally go after her. Maybe intimidate but not legally follow.” Jake nodded weakly. “I know...I know you’re right, but fuck that was close. I should have put more thought into it rather than rushing in before I lost my nerve. If I had, I would have considered the fact that Lilly’s phone may well have trackers on it.”

‘Fuck’ I cursed myself silently. He was right. We had rushed in, only really scratching the surface of the potential difficulties with that mission, and in doing so had risked everything. “Now what?” I groaned. Jake didn’t respond, instead he turned to face me, his eyes, shadowed by his hood, were dark and torn with inner conflict. As I tried to register his emotion, he pinned me against the seat and pushed his lips roughly against mine. As his breathing started to become heavy, he pulled away. “Now, now we go inside,” he murmured darkly.

18+ Part 6 - Smut, can skip

Part 62

[chandelier-s-notebook]

Hey look it’s chap 2! They won’t all come out today I promise.

(Also the other characters tagged appear later in this chapter after the :readmore: this isn’t cross tagged for publicity purposes)

Let me know if you wanna get tagged when I post new chapters in “These Streets Are Made For Walking”. @sleepysnails.

Ao3 Link

-------------------------

After school, Dream, George, and Sapnap tossed their bags into Techno’s trunk. Technically, he and Dream did have PowerPoint projects to complete, but it was a solo project and he already finished it at lunch.

Snagging the shotgun seat, Sapnap cheered, “To the mall!”

Techno grimaced. At least Sapnap was excited.

Actually, there was one good thing that came from them: friendship. Techno had met Dream at one of these mall fights while they went to different middle schools, then they ended up at the same high school and started to drag Dream’s other friends to them. Techno didn’t mind George and Sapnap, they were just more Dream’s friends than his.

Techno drove them out of the city, and they cruised down the highway for twenty minutes before pulling off to the exit towards the abandoned mall.

“I’ve never understood why this shit happens right after school,” George said.

Dream answered him, “It’s because the cops think this stuff happens at night. They don’t think to look for this stuff during the day.”

“Plus, there’s a lot more of the other stuff going on, so they’re busy.”

“Why do you know that, Sapnap?”

“Reasons.”

Techno rolled his eyes at the trio, and pulled the first aid kit and his backpack out of the trunk. “I’m gonna stay in the car today.” He handed the box to George. “Math homework due tomorrow,” he explained.

“Ah man. That’s too bad,” Dream said, stretching out his arms. “More practice for me.”

“Maybe you’ll even beat me next time,” Techno joked.

Dream wheezed, and Sapnap had to push him away towards the building.

Techno got back in his car, cranked the radio, and blasted the AC, shutting the windows tight. Throwing the bag into the seat next to him, Techno pulled out his binder, and opened it to a fresh piece of graph paper. Study time lasted all of forty minutes before the sirens rang out.

“Snitch,” he muttered to himself. He slumped down in his seat, and pulled out his phone. He debated who to text before deciding that George was least likely to be busy at any given moment.

Techno Got snitched Cops in lot

George Fuck Dream says leave Drop our stuff at Bad’s Drop Tubbo with Punz

Techno Roger

A squad of four cars descended on the parking lot. Most of the officers stormed the mall, but three stayed behind. Two began making their rounds around the parking lot, but--of course--the other was left behind to secure the entrance. It was standard procedure, so Techno wasn’t very surprised to see this happening.

Techno made the decision to continue doing his homework rather than try to get away. He tossed his phone on the passenger seat and turned the radio off.

He was calm. He was cool. He was doing his math homework. He was rolling down the window when prompted by a tap on the glass.

“Captain Craft,” the officer stated.

“Pleasure,” Techno responded.

“License and registration.”

Techno grabbed his wallet from his backpack and gave Captain Craft his license. He leaned over to the glove box to grab his car’s registration. “Afternoon Sir,” he muttered, handing over his paperwork.

“Techno Blade? Unique name.”

Techno snorted at the officer’s attempt at small talk. “Was born with it, I'm afraid.”

“That’s cool.” He handed Techno back his paperwork. “What are you doing here?”

Techno gestured to the paper in his lap. “Homework. Got a calculus test next week.”

“Smart kid.” Captain Craft was writing things down in his notebook. “Do you know why the police were called to this location?”

“No Sir.”

“What brings you here?”

“A quiet space to work, the foster home gets really loud. Normally this place is empty.”

“Normally it is,” Captain Craft agreed. “So you don’t know anything about a potential drug deal?”

The surprise on Techno’s face was genuine. Yeah this was an illegal ring, but drug deals? Really? “No Sir. I’m just doing my homework.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah,” Techno said, not playing the officer’s game.

Captain Craft leaned back to look at the backseat.

Techno had never been more thankful that Dream, Sapnap, and George liked throwing their stuff in the trunk for more leg room in the backseat.

Captain Craft patted the car. “Well. I feel comfortable letting you go free kid. Clearly you have nothing to do with this.”

“No Sir.”

“Techno Blade was it?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Do you have a number we could potentially call if need be?”

Now, Techno would have loved to give the officer his home number--giving the police a direct line of contact with his cell didn’t sound good--but that was a horrible idea. One of the other kids would pick up the phone, and they’d talk. Or the Foster Bitch would pick up, and she’d just cuss out the poor person who called. “Yeah. Let me get you my cell number.”

Captain Craft scribed the number down in his notebook. He flipped the page and ripped off the next page. “Doctor’s note to get you out of the parking lot.”

Techno snorted as he grabbed the paper. “Thanks.”

Techno shifted the car into reserve and pulled out of his parking spot. He drove towards the checkpoint and didn’t roll up the window until the officer standing guard approved his departure.

Techno arrived at Sapnap and Bad’s house. He pulled into the parking spot in the apartment’s garage that Bad paid for, so Sapnap’s friends could leave their cars when they came over. He grunted in annoyance at the weight of the three backpacks; there also wasn’t a convenient way to carry three backpacks. He rode the elevator up to the first floor and buzzed Bad’s apartments.

“Who’s there?” Bad’s voice crackles through the intercom.

“Techno, I’m here for delivery and pickup.”

Bad laughed.. “Hi Techno, they’re in the middle of something so it’ll be a little while.” The buzzer sounds and Techno steps into the room, taking the elevator to Bad’s floor, which was unreasonably high. How was Sapnap supposed to climb through the window late at night at this height?

Although Techno was required to have someone buzz him in, he conveniently had his own key for the door, and could use that. Techno couldn’t be bothered to remember which room was Sapnap’s, but he knew where the guest room was, so he tossed all their stuff in there.

“Hi Bad. Have any snacks?” Techno asked, entering the kitchen. Mario Kart sounds floated over from the living room. “It’s time to go home!” Techno called out to the kids.

“Why?” Tommy yelled back.

“Because. Also Tubbo, Dream said that I’m dropping you off with Purpled at Punz’s place.”

“Oh.” Techno could hear the way Tubbo’s face fell. “He got into something again?”

Techno took the plate of sandwiches from Bad and brought them out to the boys. He gave Tubbo a tight smile. “Apparently, but he’ll be fine.”

Once the boys finished their game--Ranboo won--they all bid Bad adieu and head back for Techno’s car. The boys and their backpacks file in. Tommy sat up front; Tubbo situated himself on the middle hump, and Purpled and Ranboo arranged their legs accordingly.

He let the boys karaoke on the way to Punz’s place. They were very loud, but it helps that he didn’t have to worry about where he was going, as he is far more familiar with these streets than he would have liked to be.

Techno pulls into the driveway. “Get out.”

“Thanks for the drive Blade!” Tubbo said, following Purpled out of the backseat.

“Good luck!” Ranboo yelled after them, stretching his legs into the newfound space he had at his disposal.

“Stay safe!” Tommy shouted, only half joking. “Let’s get out of here.”

Techno pulled out of the area once Tubbo and Purpled had made it into the house. He then drove them out of the slums to the richer areas of the city where Ranboo lived. He parked the car in Ranboo’s cul de sac.

“This is my stop,” Ranboo said lowly.

“This is your stop.” After a few minutes of silence Techno spoke again. “You gonna get out?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Ranboo opened the door. “Thanks for the ride!” He pushed it shut once outside and walked up the lawn to his manor.

Tommy waved goodbye to his friend then turned to look straight ahead. “Let’s go back now.”

“Are you still mad at me for hanging out with Dream?”

Tommy didn’t respond.

Techno pressed on the gas and brought the car back to the main road. “I’m allowed to have friends, kid. I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Then stop. Stop defending yourself. You don’t need my approval.”

“When did you get older than me?”

“When you started hanging out with kids who get put in the newspaper for petty crimes!”

“I’ve been hanging out with Dream since long before you even got here.”

“And? People change. Little Dream isn't big Dream!”

“I know who my friends are,” Techno bit.

“I hope you do. Because Tubbo is having a sleepover with Purpled which means Dream isn’t home. And you were there. So what happened?”

All of Techno’s pent up energy left his body, and he fell into a steely expression. “Nothing.”

“Something happened! Why isn’t Dream home?”

Techno turned on the radio.

“Tell me bitch boy!”

“Do you want to eat tonight?” Techno shouted back at him, turning to face him directly now that they were stopped at a red light.

Tommy’s eyes were wide. He had one hand on his seat belt buckle and one on the door handle. He was as pressed away from Techno as he could get in the car. He was holding his breath and his body was tense. “Please,” he whimpered.

Techno tensed up as well. He had gone too far. He knew he had gone too far. That wasn’t cool playing on Tommy’s fears like that. “Tommy--”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up. Please. I know it’s your stash. Please.”

“Tommy.” The light turned green. “We’ve been over this. My stash is your stash.”

Tommy mutely shook his head, refusing to reply.

Internally sighing, Techno tapped his finger on the side of the steering wheel, his brain working hard. He should have known not to say that with Tommy, but of course he had to mess up again.

The car behind them honked its horn loudly, jerking Techno out of his thoughts. He lifted his foot from the brake, and placed it down on the gas, accelerating forwards, and allowing the long line of traffic behind him to go.

Tommy still hadn't spoken, but was shaking slightly, and it wasn't because he was cold.

“My stash is your stash,” Techno reiterated, if only to fill the silence.

“No it’s not,” Tommy said in a small voice. “You keep saying it is, but it’s not.”

“Then steal from my stash to make your own stash. You’ve done that before.”

“Not from people I need to like me.”

Techno stopped looking at Tommy in hopes he would calm down slightly. “I do like you,” he reassured. “If I didn’t I wouldn’t be trying to convince you that we share a stash.”

Tommy fiddled with the radio stations and made a noncommittal sound of what Techno pretended was agreement.

Techno and Tommy spent the rest of the ride home in silence, Techno glancing at Tommy out of the corner of his eye the whole time.

When they arrived home, Techno put the car in park, and undid his seatbelt, but made no move to get out of the car. Twisting his neck, he looked Tommy in the eyes.

Techno knew what Tommy needed to hear, even if he hated having to need to say it. “You can eat tonight. Grab whatever you want from my stash.”

“Really?” Tommy asked more hopefully than Techno was comfortable with.

“Yeah.”

Tommy then bolted out of the car, as if to make sure he did the thing while he had permission before it was taken away abruptly.

Which Techno would never do. Techno was feeling like shit playing on Tommy’s insecurities to get him to shut up. That wasn’t cool and he knew that. Techno slowly pulled himself out of the car. He grabbed his backpack, and the one Tommy had left in his haste.

Walking slowly to the house, Techno gave Tommy some time to settle in before entering their shared space. Yes he generally wished that Tommy was quieter after 10pm, but tonight it would be for the wrong reasons.

At least Tommy didn’t seem to think Techno was about to hit him.

[whump-tr0pes]

HB4-42/Whumptober day 29

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, and Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

~

Content warning: blood, bad guys controlling the economy, past torture, dehumanization

I could use another OC, right? *starts sobbing*

~

Gray picked up the cell phone on the seat next to them and flipped it open. The car jolted as they rolled through a pothole, bigger than it had been before spring arrived. Gray flipped open the phone and went to the last message they’d received.

Come to Crayton asap. Have news about a refugee. Keep this private. Call when you enter the town.

They selected the number and hit the button to dial it. They held the phone to their ear as it rang. The clear blue sky stretched above them as they drove through the farmland that bordered the town on all sides, the plots spread out enough so as not to crowd each other, but close enough that they were in sight of each other.

The people up here kept each other safe. They watched each other. They took care of each other.

The phone rang once. For the dozenth time since Gray had left the house this morning, they wondered, dimly, if this was a trap, of all things. Called to a stranger’s house in the middle of the north, the remnants of the Stormbeck territory burning several hundred miles to the south, to be caught in some sort of plot.

The phone rang a second time. Gray chuckled. Plots and conspiracies and secrets were all a little above their interest anymore. Caring for their family was its own full-time job.

Someone picked up in the middle of Gray’s chuckle. They cut themself off and cleared their throat. “Hello?” they said, trying to keep their voice even.

“Mx. Gray Uriah?” a nervous-sounding man’s voice said on the other end.

Gray swallowed. “This is they.”

“Oh.” A sigh of relief. “Good. Are you by yourself?”

Gray’s hand tightened on the wheel. “I am. What’s going on?”

“I, um…” A slow, shaking breath. “We should really talk about this in person. I need you to come straight to my house. 913 East Holter Lane. It’s off Cherry and ninth. There will be a garage open. Drive into it. I’ll lower the garage door, and we can talk.”

Gray laughed delicately. “No, thank you.”

There was a pause, then a crinkling, like the man was shifting the phone in his hands. “Wh-what?”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I am not about to drive into a stranger’s garage with no explanation. Especially for something so clandestine that I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone I was coming. Now.” Gray pulled onto Main, and shops rose on either side of them. “We don’t have to share details. But I do need to know what it is I’m getting myself into before you close that door. This is about a refugee?”

The man paused, and Gray could hear him breathing on the other line. “Yes,” he said, the relief faded, with fear replacing it.

“Alright. Did something happen? Is someone hurt?” In with a slow breath, out with a slow breath.

“N-no, I… It’s just… please, Mx. Uriah. You and your family are known for, um… d-doing the right thing. And… we need help with this.”

Gray look a left on ninth. It took them away from the row of shops, and into a neighborhood. Most of the houses were run down, but maintained. Ivy grew on the walls behind gated fences. Each house had a yard, overgrown with bushes, overhung by tall, gnarled trees. It was a street where families lived.

They wet their lips. “Hm. My family is also known for putting themselves in harm’s way for the ‘right thing.’ Is this something that comes with risk?”

“I…” A sigh. “I don’t know.”

Gray’s stomach clenched. “Ah. Thank you for your honesty. I’ll be there in five.”

“Oh, thank you. Th-thank you. Good. Okay. Five minutes.” The man’s voice faded. “Five minutes. Yeah. Get your stuff.” The man’s voice became normal volume again. “Thank you. Truly. 913 East Holter. We’re the light brown house. The garage door will be open.”

“Understood. Be there soon.” Gray snapped the phone shut and dropped it onto the seat.

They blew out a slow breath. They wished they’d called before they reached the city, wished they’d demanded to know what was going on before even getting in the car to make the trip. Of course there would be risk to their family. Gray tried to think of what exactly would be so important that the town’s mayor could not be informed. It was obvious that it was Daniel Schiester being kept in the dark about this. Dread prickled on the back of Gray’s neck as they wondered what, exactly, the price would be if this plan, whatever it was, was discovered.

They took a left on Cherry, and saw a street sign for Holter Lane immediately on the right, branching off into a cul-de-sac. Tall trees with wide, newly-leaved canopies cast shadows in the yards. None of the houses were visible from the street. One house, painted light brown brick, had its garage door open. As Gray drove into the driveway, they checked the address. 913.

As they pulled into the garage, they peered around, pushing down their rising nervousness. The walls inside the garage were bare. They turned the key in the ignition and shut off the car.

The door to the house opened, and a man peered out. He hit a button on the wall. The garage door began to close. Gray got out of their car, briefly wishing they’d brought Isaac or Vera with them.

Isaac is in Burmingham helping Gavin, and Vera—

It’s not their responsibility to protect me. They’ve given enough. No matter what, this was my choice.

Gray held out their hands to their sides. The man’s eyes darted between them, then back to their face. He stepped out fully into the garage in his bare feet. He shivered and wrapped one arm around himself. The other he thrust out to shake Gray’s hand.

“Mx. Uriah,” he said, his voice breathy with relief. “Thank you so much for coming.”

Gray tilted their head at the man. He seemed familiar, but Gray couldn’t place him. “You’re welcome,” they said, gently, as they clasped his hand. “Now, I hope, you can be more forthcoming?”

The garage door settled to a stop behind Gray. The garage was lit dimly by the single lightbulb above them. The man nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding quickly. “I’m, um, Mathias, by the way.”

“Good to meet you. Have we, ah… have we met?”

Mathias met their eyes and nodded again. “Y-yeah. You have. The first day you came into Crayton. I was on one of the teams that guided you in.”

Gray sucked in a breath. “That’s right,” they murmured. Mathias had been one of six people to stand by the team, heavily armed, while Daniel Schiester introduced himself and discovered Gavin among them.

Mathias had also been one of the only guards who didn’t take the opportunity to beat Gavin while he had the chance. Gray’s shoulders relaxed slightly.

“So there’s, um… a lot to explain.” Mathias glanced at the floor. “I’ve been, um…” He shrugged and rubbed his arm. “I… shit. You know Mr. Schiester helps process the refugees that come through Crayton.”

“Yes,” Gray said, nodding. “I’ve helped him several times. It’s very energy-intensive work.”

“Yeah, it is,” Mathias said distractedly. “Um. Well, I… I had one come through early this morning. Young kid. And I… well, maybe you should just meet him.” The man turned and called into the house. “Hey, Zach! Uh— Zachariah. Come on. They’re here.”

Gray watched as a young man stepped into the doorway. His head was bent, his warm brown skin streaked with mud and something Gray strongly suspected was blood. He clutched a filthy backpack over his shoulder like his life was contained inside. He kept his eyes down at the floor, trembling, as he shuffled out into the garage. His lip was split. The knuckles on his right hand were bloody.

A breath rushed out of Gray’s mouth. “Oh,” they whispered.

Zachariah lifted his gaze to Gray. He met their eyes for a moment before he shifted them back down again. “M-Mx. Uriah,” he said softly.

“Zachariah,” Gray answered. They held out their hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

Zachariah took Gray’s hand and shook it once. “Th-thank you.” He pulled back his hand and buried it in his pocket.

Gray looked sideways at Mathias. He chewed his lip. “I, um… found him during processing. You know that screening form we use.”

“I do,” Gray said gently.

“Well…” Mathias rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s, um… the kind of thing we screen for.”

Gray’s head snapped to look at Zachariah. “Why is that?” they said, tension tightening in their voice.

Mathias nodded at Zachariah. “Show ‘em,” he mumbled.

Zachariah threw a terrified glance at Gray. He reached for the sleeve of his t-shirt – the kid was out here in only a t-shirt – and rolled it up.

The Stormbeck crest was tattooed across the top of his arm.

Gray fell back a step, their eyes riveted on the stylized raven’s head, the vines surrounding it. Their gaze snapped to Mathias. “So he’s—”

“Just a kid,” Mathias said, meeting Gray’s eyes and taking a protective step in front of Zachariah. “And you need to listen to him.”

Gray wet their lips and nodded slowly. We’ve got our own ex-syndicate boy. “Alright,” they said, and their voice sounded more steady to them than they felt.

Mathias nudged Zachariah with his elbow. Zachariah shuffled his feet and stared at the floor. “Um…” He shivered, and goosebumps raised on his arms. “I… I was a, um, a-a guard. In Colleen Stormbeck’s house.”

A chill twisted in Gray’s stomach, but they stayed silent.

“I didn’t… I didn’t want to… to be there. But they said it would just be security. They said they’d pay me well, and they’d completely taken over the jobs in Fort Meyers… There was no way to get a job in Fort Meyers without them assigning you one. I needed… Mx. Uriah, please, I h-had to…”

“Were you there with my family?” Gray said through their teeth. “Did you ever hurt any of them?” Their right hand curled into a fist. Their knuckles cracked.

“No,” Zachariah whimpered. “I… I was on the unit that guarded them when they first came in. But I never… n-never hurt them. I transferred as soon as I could. I worked the other side of the house, at the front door. “I…” He whimpered again, tears shining in his eyes in the dim light in the garage. “I never wanted to hurt anyone. They said it was security…”

“How long were you there?” Gray said flatly.

“A m-month. I was hired a, a week or two before they showed up. And I left, um— the d-day she was killed.”

Gray’s eyes went wide. “And it took you… twenty-four days to make it north?” Their heart squeezed painfully in their chest.

“Ah… y-yes, Mx.,” Zachariah said. “It was… a h-hard road. I walked, um, a lot of the way.”

Gray pursed their lips and gestured at his arm. “Why did you get that tattoo? When?”

“Um…” Zachariah swallowed and looked down at the sleeve of his shirt. “They, um, s-strongly recommend we, uh, get them. I got it the day after I was hired. They say it, um, distinguishes us.”

“Like a brand,” Gray breathed.

Zachariah froze, his eyes wide. “What?”

“That’s like a brand. They’re convincing their battle fodder to put that mark on themselves.” Zachariah flinched at battle fodder. Gray’s face softened. “Apologies. I… um…” They blinked and folded their hands. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

Zachariah sagged with relief. He looked at Mathias, and Mathias nodded at him. Then he turned to look at Gray again.

“What do you need from me?” Gray said, looking at Mathias. “What do you… what does this all mean?”

Mathias chewed his lip. “I’ve been on Mr. Schiester’s payroll for… a long time.” He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Long enough to know that, uh… when we come across people like, like him…” He nodded at Zachariah. “…kids who got caught up in the wrong jobs, people with syndicate associations who are just looking for freedom, those sorts… they get, um… rough treatment, through the placement process. And I just…” He glanced at Zachariah. “With his, ah, associations, and that…” He glanced at Zachariah’s arm. “…I knew he’d have it rougher than most. And, I mean… Look at him. He’s been through enough.”

Gray blew out a breath through their nose. Their eyes moved over Zachariah, taking in once again the blood crusted on him, his tattered clothes, the way he trembled under Gray’s gaze. They set their jaw.

“What do you need me to do?”

Mathias’s eyes slid shut as he sighed. “Just house him, just for a few weeks. I’ve been sending my…” Mathias giggled. “I’ve been calling them my own ‘rescues,’” he said, looking nearly delirious with relief. “I’ve been sending my rescues through a friend north of you. I’ll need to secure housing for him, but it’ll take some time. I just need to know he’s safe. I can’t keep him here.” Mathias glanced around his garage. “Too many eyes. Too risky.”

“I think I understand,” Gray said, and placed a gentle hand on Mathias’s shoulder. “And I think I can help.”

Zachariah’s eyes flicked up to Gray’s. “You can?” he breathed. He looked like he was about to fall over. “Thank… thank you.”

Mathias rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get him going, then,” he said quickly. “Zachariah, you should sit in the back. At least until you get out of town. Thank god you don’t have to go in the trunk.” Mathias laughed again, high-pitched and frantic, and Gray was beginning to wonder exactly how rough a treatment Zachariah would receive if he was found out before they left the city.

Or Mathias, for that matter.

“Mathias,” they said gently. Mathias immediately stopped laughing. His hands shook. “What happens to you if you’re found out?”

“Oh.” Mathias laughed. “Nothing. I’m just worried about the rescues. They deserve better than they get, and it’s not their fault people don’t stop long enough to hear their story.”

“I kn-know— knew someone like that,” Gray said, nodding. They held out their hand to Zachariah. “Here. Let’s get you into the back seat, then. There’s a lot of legroom. Lots of room for you to lay on the floor. And blankets.” Gray walked around the side of the car and pulled out a blanket. “Here.”

“Th-thank you, Mx.,” Zachariah sighed as he gratefully took the blanket. It was gray and patchy, but he clutched at it as if it was a lifeline. He dazedly stepped into the back of the car and slumped in a pile behind the passenger seat. He placed his backpack carefully in front of him. Gray gently closed the car door and walked around to the driver’s side.

“Thank you,” Mathias breathed. “I… I see a few of these come through every year. Shit circumstances. Every time. And I…” He rubbed his hands together. “They can’t help the world we live in. I just want to… help the ones that don’t have someone they can, um, trust up here. The mayor is a good man, but—”

“But some fall through the cracks,” Gray said gently, carefully watching the man’s eyes, his hands. “I know.”

“Yeah,” Mathias huffed. “Well… I’ll, um… let you go now. Thank you. I won’t… won’t make this a regular thing. I promise.”

Gray shrugged. “Where we can help, we will.”

Mathias nodded. He stepped back into the doorway to his house. He pressed a button on the wall, and the garage door creaked and began to open.

Gray settled into the car and tipped his head at Mathias. Mathias nodded.

“Zachariah?” Gray said, looking over their shoulder at the boy.

He was huddled behind the passenger seat, his head tipped back against the door, already fast asleep.

Continued here

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[ghostbustermelanieking]

oddly specific memories i have of listening to tma

in honor of the finale, and because i am a sentimental asshole, i bring you this potentially uninteresting and completely pointless list. i'm gonna miss this show a lot

half my original reasoning for listening to the podcast was to motivate me to walk on the treadmill. this did not work. but i did it the first time, when i was going through the trailers and anglerfish, and i remember the room where my dad keeps the treadmill is really dark and the spooky chanting sort of freaked me out

after the treadmill, i ended up listening to the bulk of the first four episodes on the couch, and halfway through i let my oldest cat, winnie, who always lived outside (i know, i was very against actually keeping her outside) in the house. and she jumped up on the couch with me, which she literally never did. (she was very grumpy and not super affectionate.) i had that cat since i was five, and she passed last june, and i really miss her. quarantine kind of gave us the opportunity to hang out with her a lot, because we were home so much. so i'm glad these memories are kind of intersected in my mind. (below: a pic i have from that day.)

my friend sarah relistened along with me the first time around, which was extraordinarily sweet of her, and also led to some interesting interactions. for example: she forgot when it was revealed that sasha was dead, so she accidentally spoiled that for me when i asked when the others would find sasha (and i spent all of season 2 just like. anxiously vibrating over this fact). she also made this post, when i was still in like early first half of season 1, and my immediate thought was "oh no martin is dead." i hadnt even MET martin at this point

back in early quarantine, my mom had this rule that we had to do something new every day (to keep away the depression... ha ha). anyways, all i wanted to do in my free time was sit around and listen to tma (and also watch this show i was into on netflix), so i came up with some lame excuses, one of which was "i'll give myself a pedicure." this led to the memory i ultimately associate with mag 56 (trevor herbert 2) being me sitting out on our roof balcony thing, giving myself a horrendous pedicure

another time, my family wanted to go play tennis, and they brought me along and brought a hammock for me to lay in. there was this excess material from the hammock, and the sun was in my eyes, so i ended up pulling it up and over me to block the sun and creating this ridiculous hammock cocoon thing. one of the episodes i listened to that day? "tucked in."

before i ever started the show, my friend sarah stayed with me while i was pet sitting. i remember when she got there, she'd just listened to 150 and was telling me how freaky it was (she was still trying to get me into the show), and she was like "of course we're staying on a CUL DE SAC." (that was also the weekend she watched us for the first time and was very upset because i slept through the whole thing, which is scary when you're staying somewhere by yourselves.) anyways, i spent the whole show waiting for the scary cul de sac episode

while i was listening to the show for the first time, my step-dad (an artist) started painting an EYE on the door downstairs near my bathroom. a fucking EYE. he didn't finish it til i had finished the show. but still weird!!

i binged like 12 episodes in one day to finish season 4, which is not impressive at all, but it's still my personal record. i just remember staying up late in my dark bedroom (til like.... 11 i'm lame and i go to bed early), listening to like 158 & 159 & 160 and just being knocked on my ass by how good it all was... i was SUPER spoiled by this point, through my own fault, and i knew exactly what was coming, but actually experiencing it was nuts

the second week i listened live was 167, where the public release was delayed by a couple hours by accident. i spent like 20 minutes refreshing spotify, thinking it was broken, before going on tumblr and seeing what the deal was. (and 167 remains one of my favorites of s5 because i remember just going "thank god it was worth the wait.")

this one car ride where sarah and i made some of our friends listen to the first three episodes of the show. it was the middle of the night and we were just like blasting down i40 listening to anglerfish and do not open etc

the night the what the ghost episode publicly dropped was the night after my graduation, and i was sleeping out on the couch in the living room so my grandfather could sleep in a bed. it was super dark, and i am a jumpy person, and i Remember being mildly disgusted with myself because the corny sound effects were actually freaking me out. (i think i mightve actually seen something weird that night, maybe, but that's another story.)

the weekend my parents moved me into college, we couldn't get the cable in the house we were staying in, and we were all sitting around doing nothing, so i jokingly suggested starting tma with them, and they were like ok grace. my step-dad promptly fell asleep and my mom zoned out -- which is probably good, she doesn't like horror and she's super claustrophobic, so it's probably better we never got to do not open

my brief roommate in college talked about how she was into those youtube channels where people just read scary stories, so of course i was like try tma out. so she listened to the first episode on her own, and we were out one night, and she started mag 02 while i went into an ice cream place. she was into it (she kept being like open it, ya pussy) and wanted to keep listening while we went home, and even back in our room. i had only been in town for a couple weeks, and barely knew my way around, but i also didn't want to turn the gps on and be interrupted every five seconds. so i tried to find our way back on my own. it took the entirety of mag 03, and into mag 04, before i did it. so now i will forever associate across the street with all those wrong turns i took in a dark, semi unfamiliar city, trying to get back to our college without a gps

the day of the early drop for 179 was the day i moved back home from college -- a five hour drive by myself. i ended up listening to it on the final stretch of the trip, when i was super tired and it was dark and i knew it'd probably be a crazy episode. just me full blasting down i40, drinking an energy drink (which i never do) through a hole punched in the top, listening to daisy's death

186 early dropped the day after initial u.s. election day (when we still didn't know anything). my mom had set up a "watch party" in the living room with these giant air mattresses, and we all sort of spent the day crowded around the TV watching the numbers. not much of a memory, but i remember sitting on that air mattress and listening to martin's monologue in the midst of that messy week

i had a virtual therapy appointment on the day of 187's early drop, and my dad was home, so i drove to an empty parking lot to do the session in some privacy. i was trying to listen to the episode before the session started, so i ended up listening to the last half sitting in my car, in the pouring rain, just staring at my radio in shock (187 remains one of my favorite s5 episodes)

my friend sarah had just come home for winter break the day 189 dropped, and we decided to listen together, just like driving around in circles drinking coffee and listening and speculating on whether or not that was really martin

i started my relisten right after thanksgiving and was just kind of blowing through fast as i could through the whole of december. i had to go back to college to empty out my dorm, and i went to the beach after, and i ended up listening to mag 11 while just like walking around in circles in the tide pools. the closer it got to christmas, the more christmassy i wanted to keep things, so i would like. listen in the mornings and turn on one of those Netflix fireplaces and get all cozy

my other friend went with me on a mini bagel road trip in december, and he was still trying to get caught up, so we listened to mag 169, 170, and 171 on the drive home. (by this point, i was accustomed enough to s5 and smiting scenes to automatically reach for the volume controls when jude perry and jared hopworth died.)

when i relistened to mag 47, i was sitting with my cat beezus. i paused the episode to write this big long meta, so i was in a different headspace when i pressed play again. jon immediately yelled for sasha and i immediately jumped, and beezus gave me a searing glare and just got up and left

i relistened to piecemeal while i was cooking, which i thought was kind of funny and also disgusting

after christmas, i got into the habit of bringing my cat georgia into my room in the mornings, and she'd crawl under the covers with me while i listened to tma

one story i've always liked to tell from my first listen is how when i first listened to the meat arm grinder episode, my dad asked me to help him cook hamburgers later that day and explained how hamburgers are ground up (to my disgust). i hit meat grinder in my relisten and um. you'll never fucking guess what i made for lunch that day

so i had all these arbitrary rules for myself when i started tma last april, and i've broken like all of them. i started listening to tma while virtually working -- you just pull it up on your computer and it works. (i got the life scared out of me when one of my coworkers started talking over the podcast, wondering who it was that had walked into jon's office and why he wasn't reacting and why i didn't remember it.) i also started listening a lot while driving, which led to several long meta posts i wrote being typed up in a parking lot somewhere

i spent the entirety of 194 anxious-cuddling georgia. (i tried to do this for 198 and then didn't have any anxiety to cuddle her over.) i fully plan on doing this for 200, where i am sure i will need it again

my favorite place to listen to tma probably ended up being the roof room at my mom's, and unless something goes awry, this is where i will listen to the finale. (with georgia, of course.)

this list is super uninteresting, like i said, but here it is. i'm gonna miss this show a lot. i can't wait to return to it, later in life, and make all new listening memories in the process

[wlw-imagines-blog]

The Darkest House on Christmas Day {Carol Danvers x Fem!Reader}

Summary: Hallmark movies are so overrated. You and Carol are pleased to learn that you are every hallmark movie’s nightmare; a couple of gays. After moving into a small, ideal town, you and your fiance experience small town minds and souls. There must be a way to get through the season in one piece.

Pairing: Carol Danver x Fem!Reader

Word Count:

Warnings: indirect homophobia, heteronormative themes

A/N: This was super fun to write, it was inspired by a Hallmark movie!

Moving houses is always stressful. Moving houses a week before Christmas is unbelievably hectic. 

Your fiance, Carol, had assured you that the move would be a breeze; load up the truck in the morning, drive an hour, unload in the afternoon, then settle into the new house for the night. The new house was absolutely wonderful. The sweet little two story was at the end of a cul-de-sac, coloured blue with white shutters, and a large front porch.

The drive had been stressful to say the least. Going through snow and sleet on a highway of insane Christmas drivers. After an hour and a half, the two of you arrived, at your new slice of heaven.

“Get a load of this!” Carol called out, jumping onto the porch. She threw her arms wide. “It’s wonderful out here! There’s so much more space!”

You grinned, burrowing your face into your scarf. “It’s lovely! Much better than my shoe box in New York!”

Just as you were going to step off the porch, Carol wound her arms around your waist. “Come oooon, one inaugural dance to christen the porch, what do you say?”

You turned, throwing your arms around her neck. “I can think of a better to christen it.”

“Oh yeah?” She grinned, cheeks dimpling. “Wanna come inside and show me?”

You stole a quick kiss. “After we set up the bed, yeah?”

Carol hummed, distracted by your mouth. She dove back in, pressing sweet kisses to the corners of your mouth, before landing one directly on your mouth.

“Um, excuse me?” A voice pulled the two of you out of your reverie. 

Carol and you turned to see a middle-aged woman, wearing a Christmas jumper that could have been mistaken as a ugly sweater. She was bottle blonde and bristling, with heavy pale eye shadow and flared jeans.

“Are you the new... neighbours?” she asked in a bright, obviously confused voice. Her eyes darted from you to Carol.

Carol untangled herself from you. “Hi! my name is Carol Danvers, and this my fiance, Y/F/N Y/L/N. We just moved in two minutes ago.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” you said, reaching out to shake her hand.

She smiled and hesitantly shook your hand, eyes remaining cloudy. “My name is Brenda, I live next door with my husband Richard. We’re so... pleased that you moved in five days before Christmas!”

Her honeyed tones did nothing to sweeten her sour mood and bitter words. Carol blinked at you and you raised your eye brows in response. 

This wasn’t going to be good.

You intercepted before Carol could say anything too scathing to your new neighbour. “Right, we had no time before today, and we needed to be out of my apartment by yesterday. Five days is still a lot of time before Christmas!”

Brenda’s fake smile only widened. Jesus, this lady was making you sweat. 

“Of course! It’s just the neighbourhood has a theme every year; all white!”

The two of you balked, mouths open.

“Every house must be adorned with all white lights!”

Carol visibly relaxed while you breathed in deeply. “Lights! Of course. We’ll, uh, see if we can make time to put something up. We’re going to be pretty busy with moving.”

“I totally understand,” Brenda said in a tone that made her seem to not understand at all. “But you better put them up quick, you don’t want to be the only dark house of Christmas!”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” you found yourself agreeing. “It was nice meeting you, Brenda.”

Brenda smiled and nodded, as to say yes, it is nice to meet me.

You and Carol waved goodbye as Brenda turned sharp on her heel and returned to her home. 

She turned to you. “Everything about that conversation was disarming. Her vibes are disgusting.”

“Hey, don’t be too mean; we might need to borrow a cup of sugar from her one day.” You laughed, shoving her gently. “Come on, let’s unload before it gets dark out.”

“Right!” She clapped her hands. “Then we can christen the house!”

You shushed her playfully then followed her to the moving truck.

***

With all your kitchen supplies in boxes, and no groceries in the fridge, you and Carol drove out to the nearest restaurant on the downtown strip. 

Downtown itself was festive and cozy. Lights were strung up on every shop, with wreaths and Christmas trees at every door and corner. People bustled about, shopping and spending time with their families. A gentle snow had started, gently peppering Carol’s light hair and landing in her eye lashes. 

You smiled at her, winding your hand in hers.

There was a small diner on the corner of the street. It wasn’t as quiet as you had expected for a Tuesday night. From the looks of the patrons, it was the usual crowd; the owner and his wife, enough women to create a book club, and a few bachelors loitering at the bar. No one paid you much attention.

Carol squeezed your arm. “I’m going to the little girl’s room, grab a table for us?”

You nodded as she left. 

The owner’s wife finally saw you as you sat down at a small table for two. 

“Well hello!” She wandered over to you. “How many tonight?”

“Two of us, thank you.”

“So, where’s your husband?” The perky woman asked nosily, eyes landing on your engagement ring. She was older, with grey hair and bright blue eyes. 

You paused uncomfortably, taking the napkin from the table. “My fiance is in the bathroom. We’ll order in a bit.”

She nodded, not aware of your sudden attitude shift. 

“My name’s Joan, i run The Diner with my husband, Don. We’re the town’s central hub for good food and even better company!”

“It’s a lovely little place.”

“Are you and your husband passing just passing through?”

“No, my fiance and I just moved in this morning. She was excited to visit downtown.” you stated pointedly. “It’s beautiful this time of year.”

“Wow, moving in just before Christmas!” Joan steamrolled along. “He was right! Downtown is absolutely gorgeous during Christmastime. The snow, the lights, and the people make the town absolutely dream-like.”

This entire conversation made your skin prickle. You looked past Joan and saw Carol leaving the bathroom, drying her hands on her pants. As discreetly as possible, you shot her a look that screamed help.

She picked up immediately and fast walked to your table. 

“Excuse me,” Carol turned up the charm by a hundred percent. “Just need to sit down.”

Carol’s presence turned Joan completely on her head at such a fast rate, you though she needed to sit down. 

“I-I, uh, right,” the older woman stuttered out as your fiance seated herself across from you.

“What looks good, hun?” She asked conversationally.

You hummed. “Pasta or burgers, baby?”

“Ooh, pasta sounds divine.”

Joan stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I’ll-I’ll send a waitress when you’re ready to order.”

As she left, Carol leaned over to you. “What was that all about?”

“That was Joan, she and her husband Don own the diner. I told her that we just moved into their small town; she was really excited to meet my husband.” 

“Oh. Did she give you any flack? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. This is a small town, we have to assume the worse.”

Carol reached out and held your hand. “We just got here, let’s give them the benefit of the doubt.”

You smiled and brushed off the weird interaction with Joan. The evening was pleasant, despite the looks that Don and Joan shot you and Carol. You and carol ate quickly, paid the bill, tipped 15%, and left without a word. 

That night, you and Carol set up the bed, and unpacked the toiletry boxes. 

After a quick shower, you went downstairs to the box-filled living room and found Carol sitting cross-legged in front of a long box. 

“So, I found the tree,” she gestured to the fake tree at her feet. “Wanna put it up?”

You groaned, flopping next to her. “It’s almost ten, hun, how do you have the energy?”

“I drank a red bull. Come on, it won’t take us too long!” 

It took a few minutes of convincing, but she managed to sway you into decorating the downstairs with garlands, tinsel, and wreaths. The tree stood tall, broad, and covered in silver and gold. 

It took plenty of effort, but the two of you managed to move the couch from the garage to living room. You flopped there, Carol burrowing into your side and wrapping her arms around your waist. 

“I’ll put the lights up tomorrow,” She whispered into your neck. 

“You don’t have to, Carol. Just ignore what Brenda said.”

“It’s not because of Brenda. I just want to put them up,” Carol replied with faux innocence.

You sat up and looked at her. “We have one million things to do, babe. Why the lights?”

“Don’t worry about it, boo. I’ve got it all under control.”

You shrugged, not having time to worry about it, as Carol began to kiss your jaw, hand sliding under your shirt.

You were pretty busy for the rest of the night.

***

The lights did not surface in your mind until the next morning, when Brenda knocked furiously on your door. 

“Hello?” You wore a bathrobe and had a cup of coffee in your hand.

Brenda was in her usual attire of mom-clothes and heavy makeup. “Hi Y/N! can I show you something?”

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed your arm and pulled you outside. She turned and pointed to your roof. “Look.”

Carol had put the lights up before you had woken up. She had found the white lights, and had expertly hung them along the exterior of the house. To you, they were lovely. 

Brenda was pointing to a string of lights that hung on the garage’s roof. Among the row of white bulbs, was a single, bright red bulb that sparkled brightly.

“It’s red,” you exclaimed, pleased at how smart and wonderful your fiance was.

Brenda pulled a white bulb out from her pocket. “Here, I brought this.”

“Oh! thanks,” you were about to take the light bulb when Carol appeared at the front door. 

“Morning, honey,” Carol hopped down from the porch and joined you and Brenda. “You like the lights?”

“I do, babe, but why the red light?”

Carol looked affronted. “Have you never heard of the Spanish tale of the ‘One Red Candle?”

You suppressed a grin. “No, I haven’t.”

“Well, you must have, Brenda,” Carol turned to your neighbour. “Right?”

“Oh! Of course I have,” Brenda stuttered awkwardly. “I just didn’t know you practiced it!”

Carol took your arm and began to steer you away. “We have a lot to do today, Brenda, and we’re sure you’re busy too! Don’t let us keep you!”

Brenda didn’t have a chance to say goodbye, and you closed the door on her face. Pressing your back against the door, you pulled Carol flushed against you.

“So, what’s the legend of the One Red Candle?” you whispered against her mouth.

Carol snorted. “No fucking clue. I made it up on the spot.”

“That red light is going to drive her crazy until the season is over; you know that right?”

“I’m counting on it, baby.”

[dontdietwd]

Day 219

TRIGGER WARNING for impacting death.

Contrasting with the heat I’d felt inside the car with my dream, it was chilly outside the morning after we found the Morales’. There’d been a solid, heavy sadness inside my chest as I opened the back door and let my legs fall outside. My throat was tight and I just wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe I’d dream of him again.

God, I hoped he was alive.

Please, don’t die…

But as always, stuff happened to take my mind off it. That morning, in came as the sound of barking. Loud, thunderous barking, clearly from a large dog. I got out of the car to look around just as the others did too, we all looking at each other trying to understand it. Seconds later, the barking stopped and we saw it. The dog was running towards us, fast, looking back over its muscular shoulder twice.

Oh, for fuck’s sakes, don’t make me kill a dog! Walkers, fine. People? If I have to. But a dog?!

But it didn’t attack us as we’d been prepared for, all weapons ready. It stopped and turned looking to where it had come and as if on cue, a herd showed from behind that huge pile of wrecked cars. Like twenty, thirty of them. The dog, smart thing, didn’t bark again, just stood there nervously, pacing and looking around at the living people it had found.

“Let’s move!!” I yelled at all the others from where I was standing at the side of my car and moved to close the back door. Before I could, though, the dog had sprinted over, startling me like hell – damn, that was a big dog – and jumped into the car, crashing loudly against the inside of the opposite door.

With the herd coming I had no time to make any decision. I closed the back door, trapping the dog inside, and opened the driver’s, hopping in and turning on the car. I looked back over my shoulder to reverse the car and the dog was there, breathing hard with its tongue out.

“Please don’t attack me!” I told it and reversed.

Our five cars – including the truck with all the metal scraps and Morale’s white van – got out of the junkyard, the walkers nearly catching up, but we left them behind quickly. My heart was pounding; it all had happened do fucking fast! I had been sleeping, like, two minutes ago and now I was accelerating on the road back home with a huge, bulk gorgeous dog on the back seat.

“Holy fuck!” I let it out, and as if I was calling the dog, it placed its large head right by mine between the seats and started smelling my face. It had a terrible breath, seriously, but I did nothing, I let it smell me and it didn’t seem threatening. So as I drove I lifted a hand to it, letting it smell me there too. It did for a moment, then stopped, passed between the seats, flopped down the passenger seat and started panting with the tongue out, it’s face looking adorably like it was smiling.

“Well, hello!” I caught myself speaking sweetly to the bulk dog as I reached out to pet the large head. “How the hell did you end up here?”

If it had an owner, I was sorry, but there was no way I was going back there to look for someone. Too many walkers, I wasn’t endangering myself and my group to reunite a dog with its owner. But taking a better look at it, I saw it was muscular but simply because it was probably a trait of the breed, because I could see its ribs and how thin it was on the sides. It’d probably been out there for a long time.

“Hey, you a boy or a girl?” I tried to see, still petting it, looking from the road to the dog repeatedly, and I was able to take a look. “A girl, alright! There you go, we girls gonna stick together then, right?”

She had a short, light brown coat with a large white spot on her neck going down her chest. Her head was huge, similar to a pit bull’s, her ears were cut to make them pointy and her eyes were a beautiful honey brown. And she was huge, really too thin in the middle for her size.

We took over one hour to get back home. During this time, the dog had slid from her seat to my lap, where she laid and let me pet her all the way back home. It was like she was starving attention, as well as food, most likely, and she basked on the attention. Shit, I had a dog now! She jumped out of the car just a moment after me and followed me around as I walked over to talk to the others.

“Welcome home, Morales family!” I told Mo and Miranda as they got out of the white van. “This is it,” I gestured around, at the opening, at the first houses we’d been staying in and down the street.

“Wow...” Mo said looking around. “This is amazing, Sam…”

“Well, it’s good, ain’t amazing yet. There’s lots of work to do yet, first thing will be to set the gate.”

“Yeah, I see why it’s so important,” he says eyeing the big opening. “If I can see the projects I think I can start working on it right away.”

“Have a rest first, ok? You two can pick a house for you, just stay close to the others, there’s one right on the corner down there,” I pointed to the end of the main street. “It’s already cleared of walkers. After we clear them all you can pick any house you want.”

Then I introduced them to Will and Mikki, who were a bit wary but welcomed them. By now the dog had also been welcomed by everyone. She was the clear image of what people call a gentle giant. She let everyone pet her, licked their hands, and only after a while she took off to look around, smell the place, probably pee all over.

When the Morales’ drove their van slowly to the corner so they could unpack the little belongings they had on the corner house, I sat on the steps of the house I’d been sharing with Merle, Michonne and Andrea to have something to eat. The dog sat right in front of me, never trying to take the food, but staring with huge puppy eyes, so I got back into the house to get her a bowl and in there I emptied two cans of tuna. Going back outside, I put it down and she tried to get to it immediately.

“Wait!” I told her and he stopped instantly, sat on her heels and looked up at me, expectantly. Uh, interesting. Whoever her tutor had been, she was a well-trained girl. I allowed her to eat after a second and she swallowed all the tuna in no more than two bites. Damn, it was gonna take a lot of food to maintain her. I decided to call her Honey because of her eyes, and because I had never seen a dog named Honey.

Now it’d been oven a month since she came home with us, since the Morales’ were here. With a group of eight, one elder and one dog, we were building a place to call home. The gate was functional, Morales had done an incredible job in partnership with Merle and Mikki, and now it was a tall, sturdy metal gate that slid sideways and had strong locks. Also, we’d built a wooden platform where we could climb up and watch the whole entrance and outside area, it was where people kept guard at all times in a scale.

After I filled Honey’s bowl with her dog food, I had a cup of unsweetened coffee and a bowl of oatmeal with raisins for breakfast, and was out of the house through the back door with the first day light. Honey took off to take her morning pee as I stood for a minute looking at the lake.

A deep breath, hand on my stomach, a grounding moment to face the day.

I had already picked my own house and was living alone there. Each one of us had our own space, except for Will and Mikki who shared the house with Ma, and the two Morales’. Merle had stayed in the one we’d shared in the beginning, Morales and Miranda decided not to move from the first one they stayed in at the corner. Across from them at the corner and by Merle’s, Michonne had picked hers. Andrea was her neighbor on that street, the one the circled the lake area. As for myself, I’d chosen a more isolated one. The street around the lake area was a big circle that covered most part of the community and returned to the corner of the main street. In it, a few small streets originated, little cul-de-sacs, and mine was at the very end of one of them, its back to the lake, lots of trees all around, and it was quiet. The house was a one bedroom, trailer like, the front door opened to a living room with a good couch. The living room was separated from the kitchen by a small counter, this was also small but had lots of cabinets, and I had gas and running water. By the kitchen there was a small 4 seat table. Ahead there was a tiny corridor with a door to the bathroom and another to the bedroom, which took the entire back area of the house. A double bed, a dresser and a wall mirror, and that was all. It was smaller than the one I’d live in for so many years in Savannah, but it was better. It was mine.

Honey came back to me after doing her morning routine and after a pet on her large head – the girl had been gaining weight and now looked even stronger than she did before; she surely was intimidating - I started my morning walk. I had taken on doing it every day before going to the entrance of the community were all the others lived. I walked among the trees around the lake, taking a look at the fruit ones – we were not in season, so no fresh fruit for a while. Reaching the back hedge of the community, I walked along it, checking if it was all okay, including the little gate which locks we’d reinforced, and then went back to the street, circling the whole community. I went to take a look at the coop construction, which seemed nearly done, all we’d need now was the chickens, and at the vegetables garden, where we’d been growing a few things from the seeds we looted from a gardening store – an imitation of what we’d done before at our first house.

Things were good here. We needed more people, of course, and there sure were enough houses to call it a town one day. We’d named it simply The Village, because it had been the official name of the place we’d found on the projects at the office. The Village Mobile Home Park had been the planned official name before the investments had been cut off and it went on without even being named. Lots of people had lived here though, even without the concretion of the self-sustainable community plans. The Village needed a population, needed more people to work on the land and the security and on building up for the future.

It needed my original group.

We all had well defined jobs. Morales was responsible for planning and executing constructions. He’d made the gate, the platform, was working on the chicken coop, and he’d been drawing the plan for build a brick wall around the Village, just inside of the hedges. He had help of all others to perform the constructions.

Miranda, the sweet, God sent woman, had nursing experience and she was taking care of everyone’s health. Every other day one of us would get hurt by something and the was the one to take care. She took inventory of the medicine we brought home, controlled stock, cleanliness, she’d medicate and bandage us and even the dog, who once got a huge splinter on her paw and needed care. Miranda had been monitoring my baby’s growth, would listen the liquids and blood flow with a stethoscope, measure my belly weekly, made sure I took the little vitamins we’d been able to find around. She was very dedicated. We had transformed one of the houses in an infirmary – it was the one across the street from Michonne’s place – and Miranda took great care of it.  

Merle was responsible for security, and the irony was never lost on me because he was doing the job Shane once had done. And he was good, I don’t think he’d ever known he could be good at something like this. Even with all things considered, back in the previous life Merle would have been a hell of a good cop if he’d wanted to. He took care of the watch schedules – always one person up the platform and another circling the inside of the Village’s hedges in three-hour shifts – and the organization, maintenance and stock of all weapons. He also went out once a week to go hunting and sometimes stayed out for as long as two days, and would rarely come back without any meat for us all.

Andrea was a valuable assistant to various parts. She helped Miranda at the infirmary when it was needed, then helped Merle with the planning for security, then Morales with the projects, and she even helped keep to take care of Ma – who was now believing she was her daughter and adored her company. Also, surprisingly, Andrea was the best cook among all of us, although Miranda was great competition, and she was getting a taste in cooking family meals for everyone every now and then.

Michonne took care of the runs. She was always out there, she’d decorated the area maps in her head and would show me all her plans for runs, telling me exactly where she’d be and where she was planning to go next. Someone would always go with her for safety and so they’d be able to carry more stuff. She always brought the most different sorts or cargo. Once she brought us a whole set of walkie radios, with spare batteries and all, and we now used them to communicate inside the Village and small distances outside too. There were also baby clothes and bottles and cans of formula, even a disabled crib, a stroller and a baby bath. She brought clothes, towels, bed cloths, blankets, pillows, washcloths, toiletries, cleaning products, furniture, mattresses, wires, ropes, seeds, seedlings, all kinds of canned and dried foods, candy treats, weapons, ammo, arrows, once she even came back with a military armor. She was good in recognizing the hide spots of stores, the underground or attic storage rooms nobody had looted yet. There was a maximum security prison nearby, just around 9 miles away through the main roads that Michonne wanted to go take a look. She’d seen it from far and it was totally infested by walkers. If all the inmates had turned while in there the inside must be the proper sight of hell. She believed we could find valuable stuff in there, mostly weapons and armor, but she was reluctant to try.

Mikki took care of the general maintenance of the Village. She’d worked with the landlord before the end and she knew this place like her own hand. She kept the water pumps going, and with Morales had made sure the solar panels were working. It was not a lot of energy, just enough to have the lights on at night in the houses, to turn on the electrical stoves, keep a small refrigerator going, and to have warm showers every couple of days. It was incredible. Mikki was also always checking on the fences, plumbing and anything else that broke or needed repair.

Her brother Will could never get involved in too much because he was the primary care taker of their elder mother, but he did take guarding shifts at the platform, sometimes went out with Michonne on runs and helped the others on small necessary things.

And as for myself… I was the leader. I knew how to do everything the others did, and what I hadn’t known, I was learning. I made the decisions and gave orders and approved or disapproved ideas, and they all heard me. I was overseeing the whole Village and I knew constantly everything that was going on inside the walls and with each one of the family. These days, however, almost thirty-four weeks pregnant, I was slowing down, even though I didn’t want to. I got tired easily, my back hurt, the heartburns were killing me and my feet looked like loaves of bread in the end of the day. The others wouldn’t let me carry heavy things, walk too much, and Merle was insisting I’d let the crossbow go at least until I was back on my feet after the baby came. I did not let go of my crossbow, though. Never.

 * * *

 I was training Honey. She was a great learn, seemed always eager to pick up new tricks. She was unbelievable in her obedience to me. I’d had no experience with dogs at all, so it couldn’t be a talent of mine. I was sure Honey had belonged to someone who’d trained her before, so she was used to commands and following them. She’d chosen me to be her leader now, and I adored it. Honey was a huge, muscular American Bully, absurdly smart and a total sweetheart. Now I was with her near the lake among the trees testing a few commands. She was playing around, sniffing trees and stuff, and I gave her two short, quick sharp whistles. She immediately ran to my side and stopped there, facing the same way I was. Then I pointed to the ground, leaning down just a bit, which made her lie down. Then I walked away and she stayed, eyes always on me, but unmoving. I gave her the two whistles again and she ran to my side. Such a good girl!

My radio came to life on my waistband just then, static preceding the message.

“Goldilocks, I need ya at the gate pronto,” it was Merle’s voice. “We got company,” I was already moving, Honey on my heels, as he continued. “Hell, gotta have ya’ll nearby just in case.”

Shit.

I took the last few yards by running and quickly climbed up the platform where Merle was planted, looking outside. Sure enough, there was a group of four men outside, ragged and thin as all of us still living people must look like these days.

“What you want?” I asked instantly, observing each of them.

“We’re starved!” the one upfront said. “Please…”

Well, they did look starved. “You name?”

“It’s Charlie, ma’am,” he said humbly. “These are Tom, Phil and Nick.”

Each one of them nodded at me the mention of their name. I thought those names sounded made up.

“Where ya coming from?”

“We were trying to get to the coast, see if there was help there. Before tried Fort Benning.”

Silence. I looked back and behind me to share a look with Andrea, who was standing down there with a .12 in her hands. What if, after all, my group had decided to go there? If they didn’t know Shane killed me because of the Fort Benning idea, they may have tried it.

“What was it like there? Fort Benning?”

“Was down, ma’am. Exploded and overrun. Corpses wanderin’ around all over.”

“Did it seem recent? Or down for a long time?”

“Uh… I’d guess a long time, ma’am. There was no fire nor smoke, just the burned building and the corpses. Pro’ly a long time.”

Please tell me they never went to Fort Benning…

I nodded gravelly at the man. I needed to check if they were safe, I’d been thinking how I’d deal with a situation like this for a while now. At some point somebody was bound to find us, ask for help, to want in, it just took a while for it to happen.

“You armed?” I asked.

“Uh… Just the knives. Gotta have’em these days.”

I nodded again. Sure, he was right. “Did you cross too many of them?”

“Yes… Many of them.”

“So you know how to deal with them?”

“We mostly avoid’em, run… But when we gotta, yeah. We know how to deal with’em.”

“What about people?”

“Ma’am?”

“People out there. How do you deal with’em?”

“Uh… Uh… We, uh…”

Man, if for him answering to this question was so fucking hard I knew I wouldn’t like the answer. But as he stuttered, another one of them, I guess I’d seem him nod at the name Nick, took a step forward and said, “We do what we gotta do, miss,” his voice was more sure and more firm than Charlie’s. “How we kept alive so far.”

Fuck.

“And care to tell me what is it that you gotta do?”

“People you find wandering around there don’t share… Miss. Sometimes what separated us from death was the things people didn’t want to share.”

“You mean you took things,” I said to confirm. “And killed’em?”

“I know you’ll understand, Miss. Can’t have a place like that and not take things and deal with’em out there.”

Holy shit, this was getting dark. I just nodded, as if I thought what he was saying was normal, and he continued.

“If you let us stay we will do it for ya. Work, I mean. We’ll earn our keep.”

Merle leaned down, resting his hands on the top of the fence on the hedge, staring right at them. He had a smile on his lips and was nodding, then looked sideways at me and gave me his opinion by shaking his head minutely. I obviously was thinking the same he was. So I looked back at them.

“You hungry, we’ll get you a bag with some provisions,” and I looked back at the street where the others were and nodded at Will, who nodded back and ran into the first house right there, where we kept out stock. “But ya can’t come in.”

“Ma’am?” Charlie said again, a plead in his eyes.

“We don’t take strangers in. This is a closed community.”

“But, ma’am –”

“We’ll work for you!” the other said. “Whatever we gotta do.”

“You not once offered your services to help with maintenance, cleaning, lookouts… Ya offered me your services to steal from and kill from people out there. Ain’t the kind of service I’m interested in.”

“No! I said whatever we gotta do, if what we gotta do is cleaning then we’ll do it.”

“I’ve made my decision.”

Will came back with a heavy bag and I turned around to climb down the stairs making a gesture for Morales to open the gate and I took the bag from Will. I walked out with it hanging on my shoulder. Up on the platform and behind me, I heard all the others’ weapons getting cocked, ready. I stopped in front of Charlie and Nick and slid the bag from my shoulder and handed it to them. Charlie took it, placed it on the floor and opened it, his companions coming to look over his shoulder.

“That all?” Charlie said.

“You’re kidding me?” Nick said from his side.

Oh, motherfuckers. The bag was not bad at all! There were at least fifteen varied cans inside and about ten bottles of mineral water. It was certainly gonna help the get along until they could find some more.

“Keep complainin’ and I’ll take it back,” I told him.

Nick straightened his back with a can in his hand and I saw so much hate in his eye that my hand closed over the handle of my pistol. This seemed to anger him even more, to the point of desperation, because even with at least four weapons cocked and pointed at him, Nick striked, a knife quickly sliding from his sleeve to his hand. My reflex got me turning my torso to the side because his knife was plunged right towards my belly.

He��d seen it. He saw my pregnant belly and was so… Indescribably son of a fucking bitch that he tried to stab me there.

Not fast enough. Caught by surprise, not fast enough.

I turned but not enough by inches. The blade cut though the left side of my stomach and stuck in there. It was all very confusing after that. I heard shots, many of them, and then all the man in front of me fell dead on the asphalt, and then I was falling myself, shocked by what had just happened, paralyzed from fear and pain. Terror like nothing I’d ever felt before, comparable to the feeling of Shane strangling me, swooped into my veins, making me cold, frozen. And then I was getting carried away, people were screaming all around me but I didn’t hear a word, the world around me a blur of color and sound, but nothing was felt anymore, just the cold, solid terror for by baby.

Then I was in a high bed and Miranda and Andrea were all over me checking the stab, trying to figure where it had hit me, if the baby was fine. I could barely breath, waiting for a signal that it was all fine because if it wasn’t I would ever breathe again.

Time had no measure anymore because it felt like an eternity and like just a few seconds until they decided it hadn’t hit me anywhere vital nor on the baby. I have no idea how they got to that conclusion, but then they were taking the knife off and it hurt like a motherfucker, making me scream and try to get away, but hands of other people kept holding me know, saying it would be fine, calm down, but I was out of my mind in pain and still shocked and panicking from the stab.

Merle was there, holding my face in his hands, and told me firmly that I was fine, wasn’t too hurt and that the baby was fine. The baby’s fine, he repeated over and over, trying to get to my head, Slowly, he did and I stopped struggling, letting Miranda and Andrea work cleaning and stitching the cut, that apparently had only been superficial.

Apparently I had turned quickly enough, after all.

I kept repeating it like a mantra in my mind, I’m fine, the baby’s fine, but convincing my body was another whole thing. Things were calmer around me again, everyone relieved it hadn’t been bad, when the first pain came. I doubled over, sitting up and then the panic around started again, nobody understood what was happening.

Miranda said it could be just a natural reaction of my body to the stress, that I needed to calm down, relax, get it past, get some sleep, and it might be over, but I’d need to be closely observed so someone would stay with me tonight. I was taken back home and my sisters started taking shifts watching me, and I knew even when one of them wasn’t there, they weren’t sleeping. Michonne, Andrea and Merle were around all the time, watching me as pain after pain it came back, never fading, just getting closer together. Miranda came back when it was clear it was not just a stressful reaction.

I was in labor.

I was in labor.

Painful, sharp contractions every fifteen minutes, and then every ten. At less than eight months of pregnancy. No, no, no… Too soon! To fucking soon. But they kept coming, and Miranda checked me and… God, the worry in her eyes when she removed her hand from me. There was fear and sadness there when she told me I was getting dilated, ready for birth.

I was in early labor.

He was coming. The baby was coming and he wasn’t ready, I knew he wasn’t ready. He’d gone through too much, he needed as much time inside as he could have to be ready to be born, he could not come out now. He wasn’t ready, please, please, he ain’t ready!

Michonne didn’t leave anymore. She sat with me in bed, held my hand, and didn’t leave me alone for any second. Right there too, was Honey, lying on the mattress with me and whining, knowing something was wrong. When the pain was gone she’d come near for me to pet her, trying to give me some comfort.

I was incoherent, my thoughts all over the place and in a pain I hadn’t imagined. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about labor because I was scared of it. With no resources, no medications, no hospital, anything could go wrong, so I just avoided thinking of it. And it was all happening now.

Merle came and went, pacing all over the house and around it, but when my contractions seemed to never go away anymore and Miranda measured me again, he stayed. It was time. My boy was coming. Merle sat behind me to keep me propped up and Michonne held my hand and encouraged me. I sweat, screamed, hit Merle’s legs and squeezed Michonne’s fingers and cursed with all the words I knew.

It took no more than three hours from the first pain to the moment he came out. He came out. My baby was born. Miranda held him, cleared his airways, pat his back and got him to finally, finally, God, whimper.

He didn’t cry. He whimpered.

Miranda lifted him and showed him to us all. My boy… He was so small, so tiny, a wrinkled little thing and he was whimpering, his little chest working hard, trying, trying so hard… I reached out for him and she handed him over. I rested him on my chest, liquid and blood all over and someone placed a sheet on top of him…

And I cried. I cried because I knew.

I had a baby and he was right here, real, he existed. I looked down at him, his little face, held his tiny hand between the tips of my fingers and spoke to him, rocking back and forth. Merle got up from behind me and was looking at the baby and at me and Michonne was crying by my side, but I didn’t look at anyone, I didn’t lift my sight from him even for a second.

I looked at him for his entire life.

I kissed his head, is hands, I talked to him. I love you, my angel. You’re loved. You’re beautiful. My little angel, my precious little boy. I love you so, so much…

I held him in my arms during his entire life.

I had suffered and cried painfully many times in my life. Many times in the past few months. But nothing had ever, nor ever would again, hurt this much. Nothing had ever hurt and would never hurt me as much as the second I realized, a couple of hours later, that he wasn’t there anymore. That he’d stopped breathing, losing the fight.

He fought. He fought hard, my brave little warrior. He fought his entire life. He was held and loved for his entire life.

 * * *

 Mich and Andrea washed me like they’d do to a baby. I was limp, just letting them. The cleaned me, dressed me, took me to bed. I don’t think it was my bed, it was some other one, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care, I fell asleep.

Woke up to Miranda checking on me and Merle making me drink some water. He said something, I didn’t register. Woke up again to Michonne petting my hair, saying I had to eat something. Woke up again to Honey licking my hand, trying to get me up. Woke up again to Andrea forcing spoons of broth on me. Woke up again feeling I needed to pee. Woke up again when I peed all over myself. Woke up when they took me to shower again.

No matter how much I wished I wouldn’t, I kept waking up.

It was hell, I didn’t want to wake up anymore. I don’t know what day it was, how long it’d been, I just knew he wasn’t there anymore.

He was nowhere, he was not inside my womb, he was not in my arms.

What was I even alive for?

[saintcheesus]

A Modern!Au with a teenaged Arthur and Charles and an pre-teen John! I also posted it on Ao3, it’s called “Halcyon Days” by Foreverwholockedme for those who want to follow the story! 

-------

“John!” 

Arthur raised his hand high up in the air and waved as he flagged down his little brother. This wasn’t the first time he picked John up from school, and it wouldn’t be the last, but he was always relieved whenever he saw his black-haired brother parting from the swarm of middle school kids also searching for their rides home. He came running over to him with a piece of paper flapping in his hand. Arthur figured that he didn’t smile much but the sight of John happy was contagious. John skidded to a halt in front of his brother and immediately held the paper out to him. Arthur read it, feeling a bit self-conscious about his reading skills while he did so. 

“Detention again, John?” 

“I had to go to the bathroom and Miss Grimshaw said no, so I left!” 

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked around at the other students who were matched up to their families. Something in his heart twinged when he saw the smiling parents eager to pick up their children. He looked back at John, who had his head down and his arms crossed. 

“When is it?” Arthur found himself asking this question too many times to count and at this point it felt more like reciting a line from a script. 

“Tomorrow at three. I don’t get out till three-thirty though.” 

Arthur put both his hands on his hips and looked down at the unruly eleven-year-old, trying to think of something else to say but sparing John the embarrassment of being scolded in front of the rest of his school. It also wasn’t like Arthur was much older than him anyway. He was eighteen, to the other parents it would look like a kid yelling at another kid. Besides, John doesn’t listen or respond well to lectures and he’ll just do it again anyway. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly won’t be the last, if John had his way. Arthur just sniffed and ruffled John’s hair. John looked up at him and Arthur gave him a small smile. 

“Now get in the car.”

And like the gremlin he is, he launched himself in the car as soon as Arthur opened the door for him. He went in through the backseat but he would definitely end up in the passenger by the time the ride was over. Arthur pulled off and the first three minutes of the ride was spent in silence, with just the sound of the radio lowly playing some country music. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

Arthur’s eyes flicked up into John’s through the rearview mirror for a brief second before they were back on the road. He wanted to give off that he was angry but Arthur already knew and John’s question confirmed that he was nervous more than anything. He shook his head. 

“No, you ain’t.” 

“Really?” 

“Nah. The way I figure it, there was worst things you could have done.” 

“Like piss on her floor!” 

“Watch your mouth, boy!”

John huffed and rolled his eyes. Arthur made a turn and chuckled. 

“But yes. Now come up from back there and talk to me!” 

John perked up at that and there went that tired smile across Arthur’s face again. In a flash John was scrambling into the passenger seat, his book-bag thrown on the floor in the back in his haste. Arthur’s chuckle turned into a full laugh at the sight. The radio was promptly drowned out by John’s enthusiastic retelling of his day. Apparently he was a rock star to his friends after that incident. Listening to John’s day always helped calm Arthur’s nerves a bit while he drove back to their house. He never knew what state their father was in when he came back from picking John up. But so long as John was smiling, he guessed he could find a reason to as well. He made another turn, hands gripping the wheel a bit tighter realizing that he was very close to home. He felt even worse when he saw a police car parked in front of their house. It was the least nicest one on the block. It looked almost like a house where a family could live decently, but all of their neighbors, and the ones that lived in it knew that was far from the truth. He was surprised that they were still able to live in the area. It wasn’t fancy like the suburbs, and it was a step below a cul-de-sac, but it was a ring of homes and Arthur could pretend sometimes that he really did live in a nice suburban home. But he was in a knock-off one because his family was poor, his dad paid the bills just fine but the rest of his money went to drinking, women, and drugs. Arthur worked at a McDonald’s drive-thru and whatever money he earned went solely to John and himself, and the upkeep of the house. 

John stopped talking and Arthur knew that their quiet before the storm was over. He got out the car first and John followed after him. The cop was knocking hard on his door, seemingly waiting there for a while. 

“Is there something you need, officer?” 

The officer looked him up and down before giving him that usual stare like Arthur was beneath him. He was sure by now that his house was the talk of the police station with how many times their dad got busted for belligerence.

“Are you Lyle Morgan’s boy?” 

“I’m the oldest one, sure. John’s the youngest.” 

The other cop muttered something like, “That you know of” under his breath and chuckled to himself. Arthur’s fist coiled but he was able to steady his hand. The cop banging on the door just walked over to his car and opened the door. His father lolled out of the backseat, passed out from another night of heavy drinking. Arthur looked around and saw that some of the neighbors were watching the scene unfold and even though he knew that this was nothing new and they were as used to it as he was, it was still mortifying and painful to have to go through it. The boys watched as the cop swung Lyle’s arm around his neck and dragged him to the front of the house. Arthur quickly moved to unlock it and the cop threw Lyle to the floor like he was a ragdoll before stepping back out of the house. 

“Son, I’m sure you know what to do from here.” The cop said. Arthur, embarrassed into muteness nodded and watched the two lawmen go back to their car and drive away. When they were gone and the prying eyes of nosy neighbors went away, Arthur looked over at John and mustering the best smile he could, motioned for his little brother to go in first. He hated at how silent John would get when things like this happened. He kicked his dad’s limp feet the rest of the way into the house and moved to close the door when he caught eyes with Charles. 

Charles and Arthur are the same age, and they were in the same classes each time, on account of the town being small. They never really talked much, not even after he learned that Charles lived across the street from him since first grade. And it’s not like they would have had time to chat in high school, Arthur dropped out sophomore year to take care of John. He was playing with his dog, Copper in the yard and no doubt saw Lyle’s arrival. He was in the middle of wrestling the Frisbee from the dog when they clapped eyes on the each other. Arthur was glad that he couldn’t see the brimming tears in his eyes. Charles smiled and it made Arthur feel warm. He waved at him, Arthur waved back shyly and ducked into the house. 

John was standing in front of their blacked out father, holding one strap of his bag. When Arthur finished locking the door, he looked at his dad and exhaled. 

“Come on, John. Help me get him to the tub.” 

Arthur quickly wiped away a tear when he heard John’s soft, “Okay, Arthur.” and shed his book-bag to hold his dad’s arms. 

[njolras]

les mis walking/metro tour of paris

first of all i can’t even start this post without giving the biggest thank you to whoever is behind chanvrerie.net, because their website is truly where i found all of these details. i just pieced them together in a way that covered more ground, but they also have a marais walking tour if you want a smaller area, and more sites that i left out for various reasons. regardless of if you’re even going to use my guide, though, you should still check out the site. it goes into a lot more detail about the history of all the sites in question, although i’ll fill some in here too, and in general about how the paris of les mis became the paris of today.

that being said, parts of chanvrerie are sadly outdated -- the website doesn’t seem to have been updated since 2014 -- and when i went on earlier this week no pictures would load on the site. i had already wanted to do a walk around some of the most famous sites from the novel, but i thought i would try to make it something i could pass on to others as well due to that. read on if you’re interested!

this tour will probably take you about an hour and a half. it can be done either by paying 1€90 for a metro ticket at one point or by walking the distance, which is certainly doable as well. the picture above isn’t EXACTLY the route i describe here, because google maps is dumb, but it’s close enough that you can get a general idea of what you’re looking at. the RED on the map is the walking route -- the bulk of what you’re going to see. the place where there is no red is where you can either choose to walk or take the metro.

at the end of the post, i will go into a bit of history that you can read if you’re interested, and i also at some point will probably make a second post with tips for the metro stops and other places you can see along the way which aren’t necessarily les mis-related but are cool anyway.

the tour starts at the metro station sainte-françois xavier, which is on line 13.

PART 1 - LEFT BANK/LATIN QUARTER

Stop 1: Rue Plumet (Rue Oudinot)

When you exit the metro station, you will come out on a triangle of sidewalk in the middle of the street facing the church Saint-François Xavier. Cross the street to your left, so that you end up on the left side of the main wide street (Boulevard des Invalides) and continue to walk in the direction you were facing when you came out, keeping the church on your right side until you pass it entirely. Directly on your left, you will pass high black fences with gold ornaments at the top. The Rue Oudinot, which is the modern location of the Rue Plumet, will be a left turn right after that black fence ends.

(Unless otherwise noted, all quoted material will be from the Chanvrerie website.)

There’s a rue Plumet in modern-day Paris, but it’s way off in the 15th arrondissement. The street Hugo had in mind has been renamed the rue Oudinot, though many of the surrounding streets–including the rue du Babylone–still exist under the same names.

Sadly, the rue Oudinot is only on one side of the street and the numbers begin in the mid-20s and count down -- therefore, there’s no number 55. On Chanvrerie the author says that Theodule’s barracks are still visible, but also mentions a cul-de-sac at the end of the street, and I could find neither of those things. There is a public garden with an entrance on the rue Babylone, one street over, if you’re wanting a moment to lift up your skirts and run dramatically through some greenery, or perhaps two hours to bonk your head against a tree, but due to restructuring and continued urbanization, none of the current houses have yards that are accessible save for a small private garden in front of a modern apartment building.

Corner of the rue Oudinot from the Boulevard des Invalides, just before you should turn

View looking down the rue Oudinot from the corner

Stop 2: Faculte de Droit (Law School)

This is where you have a few different options.

The first choice, which I would recommend if it’s really hot, really cold, raining (like it was when I did this), or if you get tired easily or can’t walk very long distances, would be to get on the metro. To do this, when you reach the end of the rue Oudinot, turn right onto rue Vaneau. Continue until the end of that street, then turn right again. The metro station Vaneau, on line 10, is right around the corner, clearly marked with metro signs. There’s also a big Egyptian-style statue in a niche in the wall next to it. 

Signs marking the Vaneau station (sorry it’s so blurry)

Go down onto the metro (you will need to purchase a ticket if you don’t have one, which costs 1€90) and head in the direction of Gare d’Austerlitz. You will ride for 5 stops, and then get off at Cardinal Lemoine.

From Cardinal Lemoine station, exit onto the street with the same name (if you recognize it, Hemingway lived on the street for a few years while in Paris) and walk up the hill until you hit rue Clovis, which will be a right turn. Continue on the same street -- if you get confused at all, you can just follow signs that point towards the Pantheon. Shortly, the Pantheon will become visible, and you will pass Saint-Étienne-du-Mont church on your right after a few blocks, at which point the rue Clovis will turn into the Place du Pantheon. (Victor Hugo, along with a lot of other famous French people, is buried in the Pantheon.) As soon as you pass said Pantheon, the Faculty of Law is right up ahead -- it’s a big building with columns out in front and “Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité” emblazoned over the entrance. You can go inside the courtyard if you’d like, and there’s a small plaque out front explaining the building’s history -- albeit in French. Unlike a lot of the other buildings on this tour, the Faculty of Law was built in the 18th century, so the building that stands today is as Hugo pictured it.

Your second choice for reaching this building if you’re up for a longer stroll or want to see more of Paris is to walk. There are a bunch of different routes you can take and it really depends what you want to see, but by and large it’s a little over a half an hour to walk to the Faculty of Law from the rue Oudinot. Definitely doable, especially in nice weather. Heads up, though -- depending on how you walk from there to here, you may end up backtracking on your way to the next stop. Another reason why I recommend the metro!

The building as viewed from the Place du Pantheon

A closer view

Stop 3: Cafe Musain

As one could probably expect, the Cafe Musain’s location is pretty close to the rest of the university. To get there from the Faculty of Law, just continue onto the main road that goes ahead from the Pantheon, which is called the rue Soufflot. Don’t cross the street; you’ll want to be on the same side as the Faculty of Law. It’s a really nice walk towards the Jardin du Luxembourg -- the sidewalks are very wide and there are a lot of little shops and such. When you’ve gone as far as you can and are looking at the traffic circle in front of the entrance to the gardens, look left, and that’s the site of the Musain. Across the street from a McDonald’s... a beautiful view of the Jardins... okay yeah it’s a Burger King. Sorry. :-(

Hugo tells us the Café Musain was on the Place Saint-Michel, but the spot that bears that name nowadays was called the Place du Pont-Saint-Michel back in the 1830s and the Place Saint-Michel itself was by the Jardin du Luxembourg. It’s now called the Place Edmond Rostand.

This from Chanvrerie is, I’m assuming, true, but also, the street that makes a right angle with the rue Soufflot is, in fact, the Boulevard Saint-Michel. 

The former Cafe Musain

PART 2: RIGHT BANK/LE MARAIS

Stop 4: Javert’s Suicide/Quai de Gesvres

At this point, you’re going to cross the Seine and the Isle. If you’re facing the Luxembourg Garden, turn right from the rue Soufflot onto the Boulevard Saint-Michel. From there, it’s a straight shot out through the Saint-Michel neighborhood, across one side of the Pont-au-Change (the bridge that the boulevard becomes at the river), over the isle, and across the other side of the bridge. The part of the walk alongside the river on the other side from where we’ve been for the past few stops -- known as the Right Bank, as opposed to the Left Bank -- on the right side of the bridge is the site of Javert’s suicide. Specifically we’re talking about the area between the Pont-au-Change and the Pont Notre-Dame, which is officially called the Quai des Gesvres. There’s a little walking trail below street level, some picnic tables. It’s pretty nice.

Javert did not, as is commonly believed, throw himself off a bridge–he jumped off the embankment on the side of the river, into a part that’s placid enough right now but had nasty rapids back in 1832. Before he jumped, he left several notes for the good of the service at the Place du Châtelet police station, which still exists opposite the Pont Notre-Dame.

Funnily enough, due to the absolutely miserable weather when I was taking these pictures, the Seine looks pretty ominous here. If you turn to your right once you get to the other side of the river, you will reach the station.

The ill-fated site, as seen from the Pont-au-Change

The Châtalet police station, with the sign for Quai des Gevres visible. Again, sorry for the picture quality. At this point the weather drove me home because it was becoming impossible to hold my umbrella and my phone at the same time, so the pictures from here on out are going to be sunny.

Stop 5: Courfeyrac’s apartment (16 Rue de la Verriere)

After you reach the station, turn left at the corner onto the rue Saint-Martin, then walk until you reach a big intersection. From here you want to walk down the diagonal road that’s at about a 2-o’clock from where you’re facing. It’s called Rue de la Coutellerie. Once you get to the end of this street, you’ll be on the rue Rivoli. Turn right and walk in the direction of the giant building you’ll see -- this is the Hôtel de Ville, the Paris city hall. You’ll also be able to see the BHV across the street on your left side, which is a department store. Both are big, recognizable, and clearly marked. Keep walking on the rue Rivoli in the same direction until the BHV ends; then go one more block until you can turn left. As of June 2019, it was a Starbucks on the corner where you should turn. The street is the rue des Mauvais-Garçons. Walk down it for one block, and then it’s another left onto the Rue de la Verriere. Courfeyrac’s apartment where Marius crashed with him on occasion was the number 16, which currently houses a fancy pastry shop on the bottom level.

Another one that hasn’t changed or been renamed. Courfeyrac moved out of the Latin Quarter and into the rue de la Verrerie to be in the part of Paris “where insurrection liked to install itself,” and indeed was only a few blocks away from Saint-Merry.

A few blocks away is a little generous, as you’ll see in a second, but regardless it’s definitely closer than the Latin Quarter.

The current number 16 rue de la Verriere, with a pastry shop on the bottom floor and apartments above

Stop 6: Jean Valjean’s Apartment on the rue de L’Homme-Armé (Rue des Archives)

Continue walking left on the rue de la Verriere until you reach the corner, at which point you should turn right; this is the rue des Archives. You should walk on this road until you reach a large stone building on your right.

The section of the rue des Archives between the rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonnerie and the Clos des Blancs-Manteaux used to be the rue de l’Homme-Armé. There’s a plaque on no. 40 indicating the former name of this part of the street, though it should be noted that this is not where Valjean’s apartment would have been–no. 7, rue de l’Homme-Armé would have been the fourth building on the other side of the street.

Number 40, now a nursery school, does indeed have a plaque giving its address as being on the rue de l’Homme-Armé. And assuming that there were no odd numbering issues on the street, counting the fourth building on the other side of the street (from the start of the original road) would make Jean Valjean’s apartment’s current address 25 rue des Archives, on the corner of the rue du Plâtre. The bottom floor is an upscale boutique.

The plaque on the nursery school

25 rue des Archives

Stop 7: The Barricade

Saved the best for last, and thankfully it’s also a simple walk. The streets of the Marais can be a little confusing at times since it’s such an old neighborhood, but this one is not so hard. Just walk in the same direction, away from the river, along the rue des Archives until you come to an intersection where there’s kind of a kink in the road and it doesn’t continue on exactly straight. Ahead on your right you’ll see a big, very old-looking building which is the French National Archives. Here, you want to turn left onto the rue Rambuteau, and again, it’s a straight shot. You will see the Centre Pompidou, the big building with all the pipes on the outside, after a few blocks. At this point the rue Rambuteau widens and becomes a very walking-friendly area. Just keep going the same way. Pay attention to the side street names. It’s easy to get confused or miss what you’re looking for. 

The climax of the novel takes place in the redoubt of the ill-fated barricade in the rue de la Chanvrerie. Hugo describes its precise location amidst the tangle of streets between the Halles and the rue Saint-Denis, but reconstructions in the mid-19th century obliterated the original maze of slums and alleys: the rue de la Chanvrerie was not so much renamed as swallowed up by the rue Rambuteau. Nevertheless, many of the original streets survive–even if Corinthe has been replaced by a lingerie shop.

Les Halles, though it used to be a market, is now a mall, and the streets are much much wider than they were during the June Rebellion. Take a look at this map with the site highlighted in red, again of course from Chanvrerie, and you’ll see that technically the barricade occupied the space on what is now the rue Rambuteau from the rue Saint-Denis to the rue Mondetour. The “front” of the barricade, or at least one of them, would be located at the current intersection of the rue Rambuteau and the rue Mondetour. It is no longer a lingerie shop -- as those of you with REALLY sharp eyes or strong devotions to George Blagden probably noticed from his Drink With Me video, it’s occupied by a bistro. However, I’m pretty sure that the bistro is now up for sale, so don’t count on that one hundred percent.

The approximate location of the barricade in June 1832 (my picture, June 2019)

The same intersection in a screenshot from George Blagden’s video (June 2016)

END OF TOUR!

if you or anyone you know actually does this, please send me a message and let me know how it went! also just in general, if you have any questions let me know. i would also still urge you to visit the great chanvrerie site for more history and sites that i didn’t include on this tour!

enjoy :~)

[alicescripts]

Live show: Los Angeles, California

On October 30, we are releasing the Alice Isn’t Dead novel, a complete reimagining of the story from the ground up. It is a standalone thriller novel for anyone looking for a scary page-turner, whether they’ve heard this podcast or not. Available for preorder now. And preordering helps authors out tremendously, so please consider it. Thanks so much!

Hi, this is Joseph Fink. What you’re about to hear is the live Alice Isn’t Dead performance at the Largo in Los Angeles on April 5, 2018. This live episode was not any material from the podcast, but instead was a standalone show focused on the weird and interesting sites and places of LA. It was an incredible night, and thank you to those who came out to see it. Enjoy the show.

--

Oh. I’m sorry, I uh, I didn’t expect um, I-I didn’t know that anybody would be listening. [clears throat] OK. Um, when you tell a story, you should expect an audience but sometimes I don’t think about that. I just tell the story the same way I breathe, just move life in an out of my body.  I suppose you could listen if you want.

My name is Keisha. I’m a truck driver. It’s weird isn’t it the-the way say our jobs as though they were an identity rather than a thing we do for money. I mean do you think that outside of capitalism we’d confuse our self image with what pays the bills? [chuckles] Sorry. I-I got away from myself. Story not polemic, right.

I became a truck driver because, well, that-that’s a long one. I thought my wife alice was dead. But she isn’t dead. And she’s out there somewhere on the highways and back roads, and I’m trying to find her. Just driving my truck around and around looking for her. That’s who I am really. I am the one that looks for Alice. And Alice is the one who isn’t dead, but isn’t here.

I was in Los Angeles. All downtowns are the same downtown, they are landscapes built for the facilitation of money and business without thought to he human experience. And we are tiny to these monuments and that we are allowed to pass among them is a privilege, not a right. Still each downtown bears some mark of its city. The LA downtown, despite surface similarities, could not be mistaken for New York or Chicago, it’s too eclectic. It’s too strange in its architecture. LA is, is much more than movies but – movies infuse everything because movies are the only history the city will acknowledge. The history of the indigenous people, the history of the Latino people, these are set aside. The city looked at all the people that had already come and thought, ah! A blank slate! And so they did not draw from the Gabrielino or the Chumash or even the Spanish in their missions, they drew from the movies. From the foundational idea that LA could and should be anywhere in the world. So the style of LA is every style, each house and each neighborhood built in wildly different ways. It’s art deco and Spanish stucco and mid-century modern.

In Brand Park, out in Glendale, there’s this enormous house turned public library that is less actual Middle Eastern and more movie Middle Eastern, built by the wealthy white man whose garden that park once was. There’s nowhere in LA that feels stylistically of one piece, and it is that incoherence that provides the coherence of the city.

You see, I’ve come to town on your word, Alice. Only it wasn’t your word direct of course just – whispers through a network of safe houses and gatekeepers, those living on the fringe of society who can be trusted with the kinds of messages we send back and forth. But who knows how the messages mutate mouth to mouth? But still, even through this mutilation of intent, I can hear your voice, like a heartbeat, your skin and bone.

It’s Tanya in Omaha, a friend of the cause, who reaches out to me on my radio to finally lay your words to rest. There’s a meeting in Los Angeles, you’ve heard. You don’t know the exact nature and purpose of this meeting, no one seems to, but the word is that it’s a meeting of those at the heart of it, the ones that are making the real choices, that shape every decision that we think we freely make. So I’ve come to town to find that meeting. I will find this meeting and then… shit, I don’t know. And then I will decide what to do next.

I’m faced with a mystery that’s so much bigger than myself that it sits like an uneven weight in my chest. I feel off balance, so I take comfort in smaller mysteries, ones that don’t matter at all. In Pico-Robertson, a five minute walk from six different synagogues, and a celebrity chef kosher Mexican restaurant called Mexikosher, is a strange synagogue with no windows. The architecture is unmistakable. Modern LA Jewish has a certain look and this place has it, right down to the arches designed to look like the two tablets of the Commandments. Except this synagogue is several stories tall, and with no visible entrance.

What does it mean to blend in? What-what does it mean to, to disguise, what does it mean to stick out? These are intrinsically Jewish questions. A people that has, throughout over a thousand years of oppression, variously done all three. And this way too the building is very Jewish. Of course it is not a synagogue. It is, in fact, 40 oil wells hidden inside a soundproofed structure designed to look like a synagogue. And it is not the only one, just five minutes down the road is an office building with no doors and no windows, that one is 50 wells.

The machinery of our system is not hidden below us, it is disguised among us. Rocks that are actually utility boxes, trees that are cell towers. That vacant house that we walk by day after day, the one with the opaque windows? Actually a maintenance entrance for the metro.

Which buildings are real and which ones are disguises? It doesn’t matter, I suppose. But that’s what makes me enjoy considering it.

Sylvia’s here too. She’s really come a long way from the teenage runaway I first discovered on the side of a highway. Did you tell her about the secret meeting, Alice? She is both more vulnerable and far braver than either of us, did you send her to this place? [sighs] We reunited on one of the vacant cul-de-sacs near LAX, where neighborhoods that had once been an airport’s buffer zone were now demolished.

“Heya,” Sylvia said, as though we were meeting at the continental breakfast at a hotel, not on a dark empty street after months of not seeing each other. “Hey yourself,” I said. “Why did you come?” She shrugged, performed nonchalance. “Same reason as you, I guess.”

Well then I guess neither of us knew. Because I had no idea why I was there, I didn’t even knew who was meeting in this town, let’s start with that. OK what what organization, what secret brotherhood, what ancient cabal that influences world events is now sitting around the table in some sterile backroom in this sunny, thirsty city?

I could have asked Sylvia what she knew about it, but I didn’t. I felt like I would be following a script you gave to me, Alice, and I am not interested in your dictating my actions. So instead I asked her: “How you been?” And she took a long slow breath that was more answer than words could ever be. “[sighs] I’ve been good,” she said. “You know, trying my best, finding places to sleep, finding a friendly face on the other side of a meal.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s the same struggle for everyone. But those of us who live on the road, everything is amplified, you know?” I do know. Goddammit, I know.

I wasn’t even sure where in the region this meeting might be held. So I drove out east to the desert where the mountains looked like set backdrops, unreal and perfect, taking up half the sky. Palm Springs, the town killed by cheap plane tickets. Why drive two hours from the city for the weekend, when it’s possible to weekend in Honolulu or Costa Rica instead? Then, having died, Palm Springs hung on just long enough for everything dated about it to become vintage cool. Now it’s back, a mid-century modern paradise of steel beams and rock walls and that style of beautiful, but featureless wooden security fence that only exists in Southern California. Old motels not updated since the heyday of the 50’s now are converted to hip resorts with (farmed) table food and upscale tiki bars. The city is an Instagram feed. Which is both snark and compliment, because it is a genuinely beautiful place.

I wondered the town, feeling that there was something worth finding there, but unsure where it would be hidden. I visited Elvis’ Honeymoon Hideaway, a garish airplane of a house with giant wings of a roof looming at the end of a cul-de-sac, providing kitsch to the dwindling population of Elvis enthusiasts.

That house was built on sale for 9 million a few years back and is now reduced to an easy 4, so make those owners an offer and you too could own a house that is listed as a historical site. A place where Elvis had sex a few times. It probably doesn’t have a dishwasher, though, so… Just south of Cathedral City, I saw a sign that looked familiar. It’s this huge neon pink elephant, mouth wide in mid-laugh, splashing herself. A pink elephant carwash. The sign has a twin sister in Seattle, that one is famous. It was weird running into her in the desert too. It was like driving through the suburbs and suddenly finding out that 150 years ago, they also built an Eiffel tower in Pomona.

I stopped the car and I just gawked up at her. It made me so happy. And then, looking down from the sign, the horror came to me. I saw someone walking towards me with a shuffle that I recognized. Like their legs had no muscle or bone but were heavy sacks of meat attached to their body. One dead leg thrust forward after another, and as the man came close, he looked up and I went from dread suspicion to horrible certainty.

He’s one of those creatures that I call Thistle men. Sagging human faces hung limply on skulls that are the wrong shape. Yellow teeth, yellow eyes. They are serial murderers hunting the back roads of our highway systems, and one of them was here.

He made eye contact with me. He laughed, a sound like hanging knives clattering together. And then he was gone. The neon elephant’s face no longer seemed friendly. I mean it, too, seemed to be laughing.

Sylvia and I, we split up for the day. We just watched the traffic and people, looking for suspicious crowds, folks that don’t fit in with the tourists and the beautiful people working as baristas just for now. Of course we don’t know what those suspicious crowds would even look like. Grey men in grey suits going greyly about the tedious business of running the world? Or, like the Thistle men, monsters of hideous aspect?

I reached out to my friend Lynn who works as a dispatcher at my trucking company. She and I became friends soon after I started. She doesn’t take shit, I don’t give shit, we get along that way. “Any unusual moments in Los Angeles?” I said. “Strange shipments, unsual routings, anything?” “You know I can’t tell you that,” she said. “What if I said please?” I said. She snorted into the phone. [chuckles] “In that case, sure,” she said. “I always like you when I’m polite, let me see what I can find.”

Sylvia and I saw nothing of note that day. We ate together at a Korean barbeque place built into the dome of what had once been a restaurant shaped like a hat. “This is nice,” she said towards the end of the dinner. It was, it really was.

You know, a city is defined by its people but it’s haunted by its ruins. There are no cities without vacant lots, the skeletons of buildings, ample evidence of disaster and failure. Our eyes slide past them because they tell a different story about our city than the one we wanna hear. A story in which all of this could slip away in a moment. Even though we know this fact is true, even more for Los Angeles than most cities. This city will some day be shaken to the ground, or burned, or covered over with mud, or drowned by the rising sea or strangled by draught. The question is, as it is for each of us in our personal lives, not if it will die but how.

I like to go and look at these broken places where the refuse of recent history shows. It allows me to look at a region differently, maybe see what I was missing. And if a secret meeting was gonna be hidden here, where but in the cracks? So I peer in. I search.

Above the Pacific Coast highway in the hills of Malibu that are so beautiful when they aren’t falling or burning, is what remains of a house. That house was a mansion built in the 50’s and burned in the 80’s when its location finally caught up to it. There’s now a popular hike that goes right into the ruins, so any walker can go see this place where people lived as recently as 30 years ago. A ruin shouldn’t be so new. A Roman home destroyed by a volcano, well OK you know. A medieval castle, sure. Even an old stone settler’s hut, 100 years old, alright, OK that make sense. But a house that once held a television and a shower? It feels wrong to walk on the foundation, stepping over the bases of walls and around the chimney. It was a home not so long ago, and now it is transformed. Transformation is uncomfortable, and easily mistaken for an ending.

In Griffith Park, I met with Sylvia in the old zoo. All the animal enclosures are still there, and you can sit in them and look at where once caged animals lived, and now wild animals are free to come and go.

Sylvia and I sat in the artificial caves, trying to imagine what the purpose of this secret meeting was. Sure, generally the word was out that it was a meeting of those in control in order to further control us, but specifics were, as they often are, lacking. Sylvia asked me: “Do you feel like this story is too convenient?” And I had no way to respond but nodding. “But we still have to look for it, right?” she said. And I nodded again.

As the sun moved behind the hills, it got very cold. She said, “Yeah”. And I said, “Yeah.” And neither one of us meant it.

Gentrification comes for us all. Let’s leave aside for a moment the many issues of endangered communities and rocketing prices, and consider just two cases of what people will look past to get access to LA property. December 6, 1959, in the hills just below Griffith Park, a doctor lived with his wife in a mansion with an incredible view. The Christmas tree was up for the season, wrapped gifts underneath. At 4:30 in the morning, the doctor got out of bed, retrieved a ball-peen hammer and murdered his wife with it. Then he attacked his daughter, though she survived. And then he took a handful of pills and was dead by the time police arrived.

That house stood empty ever since, still filled with the family’s things: the furniture, the tree, wrapped gifts underneath. A prime house in a prime LA area, but who would live in a house where such horror had happened? For 60 years, no one. Well, the house sold for 2.2 million last year. A view of the city, just above those (-) [0:21:06]. Well at this point, who wouldn’t take some hauntings and a terrible bloody past for that?

Meanwhile the Cecil Hotel in Hollywood, site of an inordinate number of murders and suicides, where the Night Stalker lived in the 80’s while causing terror across the region, where just a few years back, a body floated in the water tank for days before being discovered, is now the boutique Stay on Main. A rebranding for this rebranded city. Even our murders are getting gentrified.

Maybe it’s me. I don’t know, maybe I just don’t like change. Change is often wonderful. But we should definitely think hard about what we are changing into, and what that change might mean. We should just spend a little time thinking about that.

[long break]

Still searching for this meeting. I went up the coast, over the Grade and down toward Axnard, not as cool as Ventura or as rich as Camarillo. Oxnard gets by. As I waited to hear from Lynn, I walked on Silver Strand, just watching the surfers. Many, even now in the winter. Nothing will keep them out of those frigid Alaskan currents. I headed south to Channel Island harbor. It was absolutely peaceful on its shore. The ocean is chattering and restless, the harbor sleeps. It does not stir except to send crumbling waves in the wake of the few boats in and out.

During my walk, I saw a rowboat. Old, practically falling apart. Something about the occupants of the rowboat made me look closer. Stooped figures in awkward postures that looked painful. One of them turned to face me, though the boat was 60 feet offshore, and even at that distance, I could see. Two Thistle men, floating in a rowboat in the (Sound).

“Ooooooooooooooooo,” one of them shouted at me in a gentle high-pitched voice. “Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffff.” There was something that looked a lot like a human arm poking out over the rim of the rowboat.

I returned to my truck. Not everything is my problem.

Worship is a feeling so all-encompassing that it can be easy to misunderstand from outside. Take the worship of Santa Muerte, a Mexican (folk) saint of death, likely a legacy of pre-Colombian devotion, dressed in the clothes of the colonizing religion. The church has spent a long time trying to suppress her worship, but of course the church has never been good at actually suppressing much, and devotion to Santa Muerte has only spread in recent times.

Like many figures of death, she represents healing and well-being. Religion often lies in embracing contradiction. Those on the outside, they see this as a weakness but those on the inside recognize it as strength. The temple of Santa Muerte in Los Angeles is just down on Melrose Avenue, sharing a building, as everything in LA does now, with a weed store. It is a one-room shrine established by a husband and wife, full of life-sized skeletons bearing (-) [0:25:04]. It would be easy as an outsider to default to one’s own associations with skeletons and come to one’s own emotional conclusions, but it is healthier to embrace the contradiction of these symbols of death. That, after all, physically hold us up for as long as we live. To deny Santa Muerte is to deny our own bodies.

Meanwhile on the other end of the spectrum, the Bob Baker Marionette Theater carries a different kind of worship: devotion to a performance style that time has left behind. And the outside of the building is – let’s face it, it’s creepy. Because, like skeletons, puppets have taken on a certain cultural connotation in the wider world. But we should try to see it from the inside, as the earnest expression of performance and joy.

Mm mm. No I can’t. Mm mm, I ju- not with puppets. Skeletons, fine. Loose-skinned monsters from whatever world, well I’ve deal with them, but puppets? Mm mm.

Lynn got back to me. “You didn’t hear this from me,” she said. “That goes without saying,” I said. “No it doesn’t,” she responded, “because I just told you that. Now, there have been some shipments that don’t belong to any company. Or the company info is missing from them, I can’t understand what I’m looking that. They certainly don’t hold up to any scrutiny at all, so I don’t think that they were expecting scrutiny. These things stand out so bad that they might as well be big red arrows pointing at a location in Los Angeles.”

It was late afternoon. Sylvia was asleep in the back of the truck’s cab. I lowered my voice. “Where?” She told me. I looked at Sylvia, knowing she would want me to wake her up, to take her with me. But I didn’t. I let her sleep. I went alone. Better that one of us survive.

I went where Lynn told me: up La Cienega, past a mall and a hospital. I came to the address she gave me. An unassuming place. If it weren’t for the brightly lit shine, I might not have even spotted it from the street. I went through the gates. There was a courtyard there, deserted. The air was still and there was no sound, but the stillness felt temporary, like the pause after an act of violence before anyone can get over their shock and react. I continued through the doors to a dark room. Not the grand hall I might have expected for a meeting like this, but a cozy place. Rows of theater seats. A stage draped in red curtains, from which a speaker stood addressing the crowd. There was music. Was that music? Or was it the shifting and squirming of inhuman bodies? Because there was something inhuman in this place, I could feel it. Not the people in the seats, they seemed completely human. Looking up at the person speaking, following the narrative, and slowly having information dawn on them.

In fact, the people in the seats did not at all seem like the kind of people I would expect at a meeting like this. Were these the powerful, the wicked? Were these the unseen hands ushering us to disaster? Looks can be deceiving. Everything can be deceiving, up to and including the truth, but no. I did not think that these were monsters, I thought they were people like me. People lured to the spot for the same reason I had been, because the story of the meeting had been a very good story. It played exactly into how I had thought the world works. It fed my suspicions and it led me to this place. And I think the same is true for every person in that room. They were there, like I was there, looking for a good story. But why were they led there? Hmm? If the meeting itself was a decoy, then what was the true purpose of this moment?

And that’s when I saw them. Lingering in the shadows at the edges of the crowd. Men with faces that sagged. Flesh that peeled. Yellow teeth, yellow eyes. Thistle men ringed the crowd. (Wools to sheep, parks to bunnies). Hunters. Prey. Did the people in their seats notice? Did they look into the shadows and see the inhuman eyes peering back at them, did they smell the breath of the Thistle men, like mildew, like soil? A smell of rot from deep within, cold lungs, did they hear the occasional laugh coming from a gurgling broken throat? Did they look beside them at seats that were empty and think, wasn’t someone here just moments ago? Or was there? But surely there wasn’t, because where could they have gone? And then the shadows at the edges of the crowd, the people that had once sat in those seats, were led into a place from which they could never return.

I understood. A simple plan: tell an irresistible story. A story that is exactly what all of us fighting Thistle might want to hear. That we were right all along. That the world really is against us in so simple and easy a way that the culprits could all meet in one room. And we would come to hear that story, and then Thistle would take us. Why hunt when instead they could lure?

Standing in the door to that hall of horrors, I saw the faces of the Thistle men as they turned and noticed. One gave a yelp and started to lope towards me and I fled. Where the courtyard had been empty, it was now packed shoulder to shoulder full of men with loose faces and eyes that went yellow at the edges and wet lips hiding sharp teeth. They were waiting for the crowd inside. Hungry creatures preparing to feed on any person that stepped out of that theater. I pushed into and past them, using their momentary surprise to escape, and I ran until my throat was dry and ragged, through that courtyard and out to where the lights of the strip club across the way flashed back and forth, back and forth, and then into my car and then onto the maze of freeways where it is so easy to disappear.

I kept my eye glued on the mirrors, but no one was chasing me. Somewhere behind me, an audience of innocents remained in Thistle’s trap, and I wouldn’t help them. I couldn’t.

Instead, I went back to the truck. Sylvia was still asleep in the cot. I sat in the driver’s seat. I was exhausted. The sun had fully set, and I allowed my eyelids to drift downwards. “Hi,” said Sylvia. She was in the passenger’s seat turned sideways towards me. It was light again. I don’t know how long I’d slept, I know I didn’t dream. There are small mercies in life, I guess. “Did you find out anything?” Sylvia said. I looked in her eyes. She’s so young. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair that she was out here like me on this labyrinth of roads and rest stops. But that’s just what it was. For her and for me and for so many others.

And she looked at me with trust. And I looked right back and I said, “I didn’t find anything. I don’t think the meeting is even real. Let’s get out of here.” Sylvia yawned, she stretched, she nodded. “Yeah OK,” she said. “Might as well. Too bad this turned out to be nothin’.” “Too bad,” I said.

So now here I am telling the story from just outside of Ashland, Oregon. Los Angeles is hundreds of miles behind me now. It isn’t far enough.

I love you, Alice. I stayed alive another day. You do the same, OK? OK.

[applause]

Joseph Fink: Thank you to everyone who came out for our Largo show. We will be back in two weeks with chapter 1 of our third and final season. This show would not be possible without our Patreon supporters. Such as the incredible Ethel Morgan, the indomitable Lilith Newman, the victorious Chris Jensen, and the electrifying Melissa (Lumm).

If you would like to join these folks in helping us make this show, please check out patreon.com/aliceisntdead, where you can get rewards like director’s commentary on every episode, live video streams with the cast and crew, bonus episodes, and more.

Thanks for listening, and see you soon.

[vantovan-blog1]

A beginning

Well, here we go, better late than never? This is a blog to get some of the experiences Tash and I have had and will have this year as we travel Australia and the world to find family, friends and fun, ending up in Vancouver where we plan to stay for a while before we head back to Melbourne, our home city, when it feels right. 

Our instagram account (@van.to.van for those playing along at home) has captured a lot of the best moments, but it's time to get some words down too. It's been just over three months since we set off from Melbourne. 

Leaving was harder than we anticipated. We found it tough to say farewell to our house, having only been in it for a year, to friendships that were really solidifying, and to family and familiar faces and places. It was an emotionally, mentally and physically tiring couple of months leading up to departure - there is a lot to organise when you upturn a settled existence - but we got there in the end and drove away from Melbourne excited, nervous and a little uncertain about what was ahead of us.

Australian road trip

Life in the van was amazing. It's a cliche, but it's remarkable how simple life becomes (temporarily at least) once you've pared down your possessions to the essentials. Fewer things in front of your face means less to think and worry about, and we quickly fell in love with the lifestyle, where the principal concerns are what you will eat for the day and where you will park the van for the night.

Our road trip took us almost all the way up the east coast to Port Douglas, a small tourist town north of Cairns, then cross country to meet the Stuart highway, down through Alice Springs to Adelaide, then back home via a few wineries in the Mclaren Vale, Barossa and Clare Valley regions.

It's difficult to pinpoint highlights as there really were so many; this trip gave us both a newfound appreciation for the beauty and variety of Australia, and as is often the case when you travel, the journey itself was as good and sometimes better than a lot of the destinations. I will, however, pick out a few.

We rushed through it more than we should have, and really want to go back again, but the section of coast between Sydney and Brisbane was spectacular. Some of the best beaches we have come across anywhere in the world are in that region. We stayed with friends in both Sydney and Brisbane who generously hosted us and put up with our larger than normal car.

There were some pretty amazing beaches above Brisbane as well, a highlight for us being the Agnes Water/1770 region, where we stayed in a bush camp right above a surf beach. Magic. Another highlight was Magnetic Island, just off the Townsville coast, where we spent a few days with some family friends Ric and Candy in their oasis of a home. A beautiful house at the end of a cul de sac right below a cliff, complete with decor from PNG and a dip pool, all accented with colourful lead light lamps and wall art made by Candy. They were very lovely hosts as well, which made it a very special few days. 

Above Townsville we ran into bad weather and didn’t get to see the best that the Cairns and Whitsundays regions had to offer, but still got a good day on Whitehaven beach (Whitsunday Islands) and out on the Great Barrier Reef. It was nice to see it while it is still there; who knows how much longer it will be alive. I tried diving for the first time and had a ball. 

We got rained out in Port Douglas and spent a solid two days in the van in a caravan park as landslips had closed the roads in and out of the place. That was testing, and we got very bored at times. Thanks to our good friend Pat Fountain who we stayed with in Brisbane, we had a fan to keep the insane humidity at bay. At times, it was intolerably hot and muggy. Combined with the inability to move from the car, we went a bit crazy in Port Douglas.

Once the rain cleared we schlepped across Queensland and half of the Northern Territory to the Stuart Highway, taking the long route as flooding had closed the main highway. Long stretches of road were at times very fun and at times intensely boring. We listened to a lot of true crime podcasts and audiobooks. There was also a fair share of silly dancing to loud music, something I hope we will never stop doing. The heat up north is something else in March and we were very grateful for the quality air conditioning in our van, Sheila. 

We stayed with a friend in Alice Springs who took us on a tour of the West Macdonnell ranges just outside town, exploring water holes and canyons. We also spent a good chunk of our time in Alice Springs watching Ru Paul’s Drag Race; an American reality show about drag queens I hadn’t watched previously but now love. A lasting memory of Alice Springs this time will be the flies, they were awful. Not awful enough to ruin the experience, but enough to leave an impression!

After Alice, we took a few days to get down to Adelaide (via Uluru), covering big distances across the NT and SA deserts, which are vast. They are beautiful in their own way and we came to love the landscape. In Adelaide we stayed with friends of a friend and had a couple of lovely days and nights out in a city we fell in love with. It has to be the most underrated city in the country and we want to go back for the fringe festival sometime. We used the opportunity to taste some excellent wines in the regions around Adelaide and had a couple of nights on the coast south of the city. A fantastic section of Australia. 

We stopped for a night in Ararat with a friend to break up the drive home, having a quick look at the new build he is project managing and were back in Melbourne just before the end of April. 

Another massive highlight of these two months was the three weddings we attended, two of which we flew back from Townsville then Alice Springs for. They were all wonderful and we felt very lucky to have such great friends around us and to be invited to such beautiful events. The first was for Simon and Bec (Simon is Tash’s old boss at Isobar). Theirs was at Emu Bottom Estate just outside Sunbury in Melbourne. The next was Tom and Hannah, good friends and neighbours of ours, who got married at Wye River where Hannah’s mum owns a house. The last was Andrew and David (I work with Andrew) who got married at Mt Ophir Estate near Rutherglen in the Indigo Valley, Victoria. 

South East Asia

This leg kicked off with a bit of minimoon crashing, as we joined forces with Tom and Hannah of above wedding fame for a beach/poolside holiday in Bali, split between Canggu and Uluwatu. This mostly consisted of chilling at the private villa we had in Canggu (outrageous I know), eating great food, drinking too much and reading lots. It was particularly nice to explore Uluwatu a bit, where Tash lived for a few months in 2014. Spending time in the beach clubs (the Lawn Club and Ulu Cliffhouse) also deserves a mention; it’s amazing what you get for your money in Bali. Only lowlight of this trip was Hannah coming off a scooter and badly hurting her leg, though this turned into a highlight when they got to the airport as she got ushered through check in and security in a wheelchair. Win. 

Next stop was Vietnam for a couple of weeks. We flew into Ho Chi Minh City to hang out with old friends and colleagues of mine from when I lived there back in 2006 and to explore old haunts. It was great to see the school I taught at again and spend lots of time with my good friend Mr Huy. We had dinner at his family’s house one night which was fantastic. Tash was unwell for much of our time in Ho Chi Minh which was disappointing, but otherwise it was a good time. It was also fun to get back into speaking Vietnamese, which I can speak conversationally, and which came in handy when getting around outside the tourist districts. 

We then spent a few days in Hoi An, where we surprised one of our neighbours from Flemington, Mara, for her 40th birthday. This was great fun, particularly the day we all dressed in matching fruit salad print threads and went out for lunch. Mara and her husband Petro have three adorable boys aged 7, 9 and 11 who were great to have around, and the whole thing was made possible by the two socialites of our street, Mark and Adrian, who are a bunch of fun to be with. Being with our neighbours made us miss home a bit and solidified both Tash and my love of our neighbourhood. 

Next was Hanoi for a night then up into the mountain town of Ha Giang on a sleeper bus to do a five day motorbike tour of the hills near the Chinese border, something I did with a uni friend back in 2011. The scenery in the mountains is spectacular, and seeing it from a motorbike is definitely the best way to do it. We ate fantastic local food, feasting every night in homestays. The only downside of this part of the trip was doing it with a guide, which seemed unnecessary. When I did it seven years ago, we didn’t see any tourists on bikes and didn’t even consider the possibility of doing it solo, but this time there were a lot, most doing it without assistance, which made us feel a bit silly for spending money on the guide when we could have done it ourselves. It was nice not to have to deal with the bike breaking down though, which it did, three times. 

We had one more night in Hanoi after the tour then spent five days in Bangkok with my uncle, who owns an apartment near Sukhumvit where he spends a few months of the year escaping winter and learning Thai. It was lovely to spend some time wiith him, poking around the local streets and riding the Klong (river canal) boats. A highlight was a night out at Blue Elephant restaurant, a Michelin guide restaurant, for a fancy many course meal with matched Thai wines.

Serbia volume I and Bosnia

We arrived in Serbia on 2 June where we will be spending about a month, collectively, in Novi Sad, the city where Tash’s dad’s family live. We are staying with her aunt and uncle in their house with a huge vegetable garden that spits out flavourful tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, lettuce and all kinds of fruits and berries. These are fantastic complements to what is otherwise a very carb and meat heavy (and endlessly delicious) diet. Tash’s aunt is the best cook in Serbia in my humble opinion.

We have spent a lot of time hanging out with family, drinking coffees, rakija (brandy) and beers in the back yard, and doing a bit of gardening when the time is right. We have done a few trips into the city to explore and shop, and been for long training walks (for the West Highland Way walk we are doing in Scotland in August) and bike rides. We have also had a couple of days at the Strand, a beach on the Danube river where there are lounges, bars and loud music playing all day. Fantastic people watching and a great way to spend a sunny day.

We recently had five days with Tash’s mum’s side of the family in Banja Luka, the second largest city in Bosnia and Herzegovina, in one of the Serbian controlled regions. I have been brushing up on my history a little, learning about how complex the politics and consequent wars were in its region of the world in the 1990s. There is just nothing good that seems to come from war. It is striking how recent it was and to notice some of the cultural, physical and emotional scars that still remain.

This week, there is an international wine festival on in Novi Sad, which we will imbibe in, then we have a family friend’s apartment booked in the city centre for the weekend. Next week we are taking Tash’s aunt white water rafting, then the week after that we are off to Greece for a couple of weeks. Tough life...

[pbandjesse]

My allergies are really bothering me so I’m wheezing a lot but I just took some allergy pills so hopefully that helps me feel better soon. Today was kind of hard. I had trouble falling asleep last night because I couldn’t breathe. So my alarm went off I was kind of miserable. But I got up and got ready. I didn’t feel particularly good about myself today. Having long hair for so long was definitely a security blanket for me that I knew was going to be difficult when I cut it. And it’s really something I’m still getting used to. But I try my best to work with it and learn new ways to style it.

I left here and got the bus. I was very concerned that I was going to be late because my phone said that the bus was running 15 minutes late but then it showed up so it was no big deal.

Work itself was fine. We’re finishing one job pretty much all day. And I was kind of bored honestly. More and more I am waiting to do things that are not fun until the very end of the job. And that a lot of the time includes a lot of stuff that is clearly, and sometimes marked from, the dollar store. And honestly it doesn’t make sense for us to be working on that stuff because of how much the insurance companies are charging to clean them. I mean I still feel very strongly that no matter the actual value of the objects, they still very much matter of the people that own them. But it still feels silly to clean something that cost less than $5 at a rate of almost $100 an hour plus materials. I actually brought it up with the girl in the office and she said that we aren’t supposed to be cleaning stuff that is clearly marked from the dollar store. So I’m curious if anyone will bring it up with my direct manager and we can have some more clarification on what we are actually supposed to be doing. There seems to be a lot of confusion, in the whole company honestly.

Me and Mike had to drive up to Delaware to do a drop off in the afternoon. And that was a lot of fun, he is a lot of fun to talk to. He actually invited me to hang out with some of his friends since I don’t really know anybody in the city yet. So that’s really cool. We talked a lot about our Ambitions and where we hope to be in the next year. And it’s still really hard on that front too because I generally do like the work that I’m doing. When it’s photos and actual art and objects and antiques. But it seems a lot of the time the stuff that we pick up doesn’t necessarily warrant my time or degrees. I still want to take care of the objects because they do matter to someone but some of the stuff that we get in has been so poorly cared for even before the payroll that happened to them that it’s frustrating to spend hours on that stuff.

We’ll see what happens. I’m just going to keep plugging forward.

The little town that we got to to do the drop off was very cute. And the girl we were dropping off at was an artist. The apartment building had a fire and her apartment was damaged in that. When we got there though her apartment was empty. There was no floor! We knocked on the open door but there was nobody in there it was just a bunch of tools and boxes! So we called her again and it turned out that the complex had moved her to a different apartment in the same cul-de-sac. So we just had to walk across the street and it was very fast after that.

We drove the hour-and-a-half back to the shop. After making a quick stop over at a rest stop where I got pretzels and french fries. It was a nice drive home but the sun was way too bright, driving right towards it. But we safely made it back to the shop and had less than an hour of the day left.

I didn’t really want to work on anything else because the only things that were left were clocks that I didn’t want to deal with. So I swept around my desk and organized. But eventually I did go and get the clocks. One of them had a lot of battery acid and the other had dead flies on it. I made Mike deal with the dead flies. And then soon enough it was time to go home.

Well it was on the bus I saw a picture Jess had posted of her apartment decorated for Christmas that I really loved. Just the way the lighting was and the angle. I texted her to let her know and I was struck with inspiration. We’re going to do a collaborative project where she sends me photos that she takes and I create a diorama of that scene. We’re going to do an Instagram account where we post the original image, process pictures, and the final piece throughout the week. We think that it could be a really cool project to do together. And jokingly are saying that we are going to become Instagram famous from it. But I think that with enough time I might be able to drum up commissions from it. And with Jess managing the account and figuring out how to promote it I think we could be a really good team for that. I’m excited so when I got home after I had dinner I went downstairs and started sketching. Oh! I check my mail when I got back here and the book I wanted that mom ordered came. I am very excited to read it. Thank you mom! I put away a bunch of clothes and organized a little bit. But then I went back down to my studio and worked. I made a lot of progress on the scene that we’re working on. And I’m really excited. I got to use my bandsaw a lot and I wore the new ear protection I bought the other day. And it works so well so I’m really pleased. I made the window and the dresser and decided to stop for the night.

I took a bath and wash my hair. Did my eyebrows. And now I’m just laying in bed I’m very tired but I think the allergy pills are starting to work because I can breathe again. Still a little Weezy though. Tomorrow at work I’ll finish those clocks and will start on the next job. Which at least will have a bunch of photos for me to work on hopefully. I hope you all sleep well tonight stay comfy and warm. Good night.