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notthelatin · 4 years ago

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This is the House We Get Murdered In: The Ritual (2017)

The first time I saw David Bruckner’s 2017 monster movie The Ritual I liked it a lot. The second time I watched it I fell head-over-heels so hard that I decided to just start a blog so I’d have somewhere to deliver this dang sermon. If you’re on the fence, and you like monsters, or creepy forests, or just really good character writing, go watch it. If you still need some convincing, read on.

There’s a thing that happens in horror sometimes, where the building of tension supersedes the building of character. I get it, I do, they’re trying to scare us, and sometimes they get so focused on threatening the people on the screen that they forget to make us care about the people on the screen. Horror that emphasizes thrills over depth can be fun, can even strike terror if it’s good enough, but it’s harder to inspire real horror when your audience isn’t sure why they should care in the first place. Sometimes, in acknowledgment of this, a movie shoehorns in a little monologue just before the climax, in the hopes that it will inspire us to suddenly love this person enough to care when their face is bitten off in the next scene. The Ritual is a movie that seeks not just to avoid that particular narrative sin, but to avenge the audiences that have fallen victim to it. And holy shit, do I feel avenged.

Never mind that the setting is gorgeous, that the sound design is stellar, that the dream sequences are my favorite of any movie I’ve ever seen. I could tell you that the performances are all believable and touching, and that the monster design is the most unique I’ve seen in years.

But what I NEED to tell you about is the writing.

This movie spends its entirety rendering a careful, thoughtful portrait of its four main characters. Four men in the early half of middle age, Hutch, Phil, Dom, and Luke, on a multi-day hike through Scandinavia. It’s a trip their friend Rob wanted to take before he died. They’re here to memorialize him.

Every interaction and every scrap of dialogue between these four is beautifully intentional. Every joke or offhand comment is there to tell you about one of these men, or about their history together, and none of it feels extraneous. When they find a spooky cabin in the woods, one quips “This is clearly the house we get murdered in”. His friend shoots back: “not as bad as our uni accommodations”.

This is the only mention of their time in university. A movie that trusted its audience less might treat us to a flashback of their freshman hall, or a stiffly recounted anecdote about how they all met. The Ritual knows that we don’t need anything more. We know that these men, who are at the stage of life where they’re moving from benders to brunches, have been friends since college, since they were barely more than kids. It’s a world of history rendered in a single joke line, and it feels natural, it feels genuine. Every decision in this movie is made with the same care- from the jokes they make at one another’s expense, to the way they react to the growing tension of knowing they aren’t alone in the woods, to the ways they comfort themselves and one another when things start to go wrong.

There’s a scene where they’re marching, hungry, though the woods, daydreaming about the meals they want when they reach safety. Amidst conversations about steak and red wine, Dom announces that what he REALLY wants is a “McDonalds burger, on a metal tray, eaten alone”. It’s played for laughs, but it also tells us exactly what kind of man Dom is in one line.This is a man who chooses quick, emotionally satisfying, nutritionally empty solutions to his problems, and doesn’t care if it isolates him. Later, when he decides, in a fit of frustration, to march away down a random path that’s heading in a different direction than the one they need to go, completely alone, we BELIEVE him. This is not a random panic decision, or a stupid unrealistic plot choice made by writers who wanted to get their characters lost at any cost. That path is a McDonalds burger, and he’s happy to eat it by himself. Similarly, blame is the cheap, easy solution that Dom turns to in his grief. Dom is angry and in pain over the loss of his friend Rob, and blaming someone is the easiest way to make the pain more bearable, even if it means pushing a living friend away. It’s quick, it’s easy, it feels good. It doesn’t bring Rob back.

The visuals in this movie are striking in a way that something so sparse shouldn’t be able to pull off. The colors are desaturated, the lighting is a uniform diffuse, overcast gray. And yet, when weird shit happens, that pared down approach lends itself to a certain shocked surreality. The signature quick-cuts and zooms we find sometimes in monster movies aren’t here in the Swedish forest. When there’s something terrible to see, we just see it, full screen, steady cam, quiet. It’s worse that way, somehow. Like the characters, we can look away, but that doesn’t mean the terrible thing is gone, and the daylight doesn’t soften anything.

The only missteps I found in this movie are towards its climax. The terror has been ramping up in such a satisfying way, and we’ve spent so much time in the quiet, measured, tense isolation of the forest, that when the setting changes to something man-made it feels almost mundane. We’re not sure whether to be terrified or sort of relieved. In the midst of some excellent character development, a nameless Swedish hillbilly wanders in seemingly just to mutter exposition? This is how the movie decides to tell us just what’s been stalking the woods all this time. The scene is brief, but in a movie that’s so careful, almost miserly, with the information it gives us, even that feels like a clumsy info dump. The character motivation for divulging this information isn’t very clear, and honestly, the writer’s motivation isn’t either. It seems like, for just a minute, the director stopped trusting us. “We can’t let an audience draw ALL the conclusions, can we? I’ll just spell this one out”.

Ultimately, that brief stumble before the (excellent) climactic scene doesn’t really detract from the movie. The Ritual is a smart, thoughtful, careful character portrait, and a touching exploration of grief, guilt, and the ways that we find to forgive ourselves and each other. It’s about standing up, sticking together, and moving forward.

Also, the monster kicks every ass. 10/10

#The Ritual #Horror #Horror Movie #Horror Movies #Monster #Ritual #Review #Monster Movie #Horror movie reviews

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00gangfriend00 · 4 years ago

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I was tagged by @jade-marie and @bourbon-ontherocks to list my top 10 books fics I read in 2020.

and lemme tell you..

i’ve been WAITIN’ for this one!!

This IS a bit tricky because I spent most of 2020 just lurking on AO3, no acccount, no commenting, no kudos. so there are just so so so many fics that I remember pieces of, and have little headcanons that LIVE with me but I have no idea who the author is or what the fic is called.

so.. that being said, the top 10 is ever changing and could never be fully complete. I just love every author and every fic, you are all so wildly talented.

❤ a song inside the halls of the dark - ms_scarlet (@mego42 )

This fic has everything!! a sexy ex-lover rival gang leader, relaxed rio, angry rio, angsty kitchen sex rio. LOFT rio. AND it’s my favourite post-S2 reckoning of all time. There are moments in this fic that I just want to SPAM the gg writing room with. like scrap ur plans. DO. THIS. Overall, this is such a creative and well-written series. The characterization is superb, the smut has.... so many feelings, and the angst is AMAZING. There are a couple chapters (I wont give spoilers) that involves Beth in a hotel in Canada that I legit could not stop reading. it’s just all... so damn GOOD. favourite line: You thought I could be something, right? Well, this is that something. The bitch you trained bit back.

❤ we’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks - BourbonOnTheRocks (@bourbon-ontherocks)

Whew! this fic has EVERYTHING. safe house brio. KARMA. brio ignoring each other. snippy, cranky brio. baking shows. mick overhearing loud shower sex. zero communication. brio getting high and giggling! all the feelings. I looooove this fic. like I LOVE it. it's so creative and it feels so real!! I can play it like a movie in my head. There is so much fun smutty build up, so much tension, anxiety and a very, very, good Thaw Of Feelings which is my fav. I will forever have a soft spot for safe house fics, but this one hilariously twists the trope by doubling down on their idiot stubbornness. genius. favourite line: He's using her and she's using him. Maybe it's the only thing they're truly equal at.

❤ my girl - elizabethmarks (not on tumblr?)

This fic has everything!!!!!!! (but TW that everything is not for everyone, as the plot primarily revoles around a rape scene.) This fic sets up some of the most soft, emotional, protective brio moments. I also adore how this author handles the delicate subject matter. I work from time to time as a crisis advcate for women and ...... this fic is so accurate and well written. All the emotions beth feels, the way rio reacts to her. everything. I have read this SO many times. It also inludes a Mick POV that will TUG at your HEART. favourite line: *When on route to Rio’s loft* Rio nods, with that gentle look he has. "Alright, mama. Let's get you home." There's a beat, they both catch it, but neither of them make the correction.

❤ working on things - odenkirk (not on tumblr?)

THIS fic, now this fic has everything!!!!!!!!! masturbation! sexting! weed-smokin horny rio! DEAN?!??! in a way that didnt repulse me???? SEX. kinda threesome??? a heck of a lot of things that I didnt think id be into but then read it and was like HUH, guess i AM. and last but not least, deliciously perfect characterization. This is a fic I ask you to take a risk on. It will pay off. Its fun and oooh soooooooo sexy. Yes, dean goes to pound town too, but I promise- odenkirk makes it WORK. Blush meter: off the charts. I had to put my phone down and reckon with Jesus. favourite line: Rio: Don't get precious, sweetheart. It's you cuz it's you. AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

❤ miles before you sleep - FakePlastikTrees (@nakedmonkey)

THIS AUTHOR has EVERYTHING! FakePlastikTrees is one of those authors where... I read one fic - then buckled my seatbelt and clicked on her account so I could systematically read through every. single. fic. They are often short scenes that feel so true. Her Rio characterization makes me green with (benevolent) envy. and her smut?? oof. top notch. This fic in particular lives in my heart because it really truly feels like a missing GG scene between Beth and our favourite tattooed babysitter. The atmosphere is tangible and the author slows time down for these two, it stretches out like you are smokin in the suburbs with them. I love a MickFic and this one is top tier.

favourite line: “Oh come on. He’s a little unhinged.” “Takes one to know one.”

❤ people can be so cold - s_t_c_s (@sothischickshe)

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh this fic has EVERYTHING. scrabble competitiveness! annie speaking truths! christmas beth! christmas rio?!?! delicious bickering! CABIN isolation! gift giving perfection! I could go on and on and on. This fic just pulls you straight in. stcs crafts the timeline so effortlessly, and weaves it with so many endearing and authentic feeling details (beth has her own ‘guys’ now, and we know this bc she gives them sweets and food. OF COURSE) The longing between her and rio is so RICH. if you want your heart to swell a million sizes - this is the fic for you. favourite line: They hadn’t – been intimate yet, back when she got him arrested, or the first few times he’d shoved a gun in her face. And the sexual part had been all done and dusted prior to their, god, kidnapping and shooting fiasco. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t present throughout – a hovering spectre, forming a treacherous spine through all their endeavours.

❤ listening through the air shaft - ms_scarlet (@mego42)

now this fic. actually for real, has everything. because its every POV you never knew you NEEDED. and mego42 absolutely nails each and every one. especially Dean. Its a complicated look into his blubbering sexist mind, and misguided fixations that is really well-written. The way in which brio has their own arc throughout the chapters, but told through the eyes of those around them - is amazing. this fic just makes you love every character even MORE. favourite line: well.. annie, mick and ruby have a group chat and thats all you need to know. anytime that comes up = favourite line.

❤ instigator - nomind (@inyoursheets)

be still my bisexual heart. this fic has everyONE! Yes, this fic dissolves into perfect threesome smut BUT before you get there, you get this awesome set up of a dangerous-feeling connection between Rhea and Beth. They are honest, open and fully acknowledging the fuckedupness of their desire. For how small a part Rhea has in the show - this author NAILS her voice, it’s uncanny. Both of them talking about rio? sign me up. Rio coming home to it? sign me UP. favourite line: “Jesus,” she hears behind her. “What am I looking at right now?” Rhea smiles down on her, ignoring him, running her fingers through Beth’s hair.

** shout out to another be-still-my-bi-heart fic : @sothischickshe’s “its a dirty, dirty, game”

❤ do not pass go - linzackles @mrslackles

this. fic. has. every. thing. I am currently putting every single important thing in my life on hold to PLOUGH through this series. like full speed ahead. UGH. marcus!!! beth and rio at an event! a fancy one! big bad business dudes! betrayal! beth making bad choices! rio unable to fully communicate the weight of his desire for her! angst! just excellent, excellent, excellent plots. i like everything!!!!! favourite line: truly impossible. they are all art. but this one made me cackle. Shrugging, she responds. In the bathroom, eating nuts.Annie’s reply comes through instantly. Rio’s???????

❤ meet me under the mistletoe - sdktrs12 (@sdktrs12)

this fic.... has.... everything. I want to include this not only because I loooOoOOOved it, but also because this author just has a talent for creating holiday themed brio fics that are not in the slightest cheesy, or forced. which is... hard! to! do! I read her halloween series while in quarantine, and it became apart of my little daily routine. each fic containing at least one moment that made me go AHHH these two!!!!! so in short - thanks for infusing all my holidays with stellar brio. then christmas comes around and she nails it again! beth and rio begrudgingly working late? YES. they migh each have a date but they dont DARE talk abut their jealously? YES. Bourbon as a third character? haha YES! Beth looking smokin hot? YES. favourite line: “Is that your move? Meet me under the mistletoe?” “Oh baby, you know my moves.”

and PHEW. there ya go!

Thank you amazing fanfic authors for making my year 10000000% better.

I TAG @whiskeyjack @purplemagic @sdktrs12 @joeyjoeylee @ama-ssiempre @roxy206

#favfics #nbc goodgirls #good girls fic #good girls fandom #top10fics

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sammystep · 4 years ago

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No One Lives Forever- CH4

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

It took time to feel like he really belonged to the Joestar pack- not being related by blood or adoption like most of the others, but Kakyoin felt like he learned to navigate the dynamics fairly well. After being isolated for so long with just his father and human mother it seemed almost like fate when he met Jotaro at college. Both had chosen to attend Cornell to escape the bounds of family territory and struck up a fast friendship even though they were studying for different professions. Kakyoin’s gift for art and science led him to study architecture, while Jotaro seemed to select ecology and forest management on the basis that he would be guaranteed time away from people and in nature.

The years at school quickly passed and it became more unusual for Kakyoin to return to his father and mother’s house for breaks than accompany Jotaro back to NYC to be with the rest of his pack. He still made an effort to speak with his parents of course, and video calls made it much easier on all of them, but his father always had been a lone wolf. Not much room in his life for other people- including his wife and son. So, when Jotaro took up the responsibilities of pack alpha it wasn’t a hard choice for Kakyoin to follow as the beta.

Even after knowing Jotaro for 10 years, the man still manages to surprise him though. This time he’s almost overwhelmed because that’s another wolf he’s carrying through the forest. Kakyoin is stopped in his tracks, probably a good thing he’s stunned silent as Jotaro seems unusually agitated. What are they going to do? Obviously, she’s not the threat if Jotaro’s bringing her back to the cabin, but she’s another wolf in their territory. Are they going to let her pass through? Or invite her to stay, at least until the mystery of why she’s injured is cleared up? What is the rest of the pack going to do, do they…?

Kakyoin’s spiraling thoughts are cut off as he processes the order from his alpha. Right, he’ll clear the way, make it safe for the new packmate.

He runs into Mr. Joestar and Polnareff first in the clearing in front of the cabin and promptly sends them out in the opposite direction after explaining the circumstance. Avdol is swift in his search for the first aid kit, so Kakyoin goes on patrol around the perimeter again. No telling what other bizarre thing was going to happen this afternoon, it was best to be prepared.

It seems like forever but what was probably two hours at most he hears Avdol tell the others it was ok to go inside again, but to be respectful of their guest. Guest… his instincts may have been right earlier about the ‘new packmate’. Kakyoin finishes the last leg of his patrol before he too goes inside. Mr. Joestar has already made himself comfortable in the big arm chair in the lounge, Kakyoin can only see the top of the woman’s head from this angle, but the smell of her blood is still in the air almost making him nauseous. Polnareff is hovering in the doorway leading to the kitchen and dining room so he ushers him in to sit and leave the two alphas to discuss whatever business they had.

Avdol is rummaging through the fridge when Kakyoin makes his way into the kitchen, “Avdol?”

“Hmm? Ah, Kakyoin. You’re curious about our guest, yes? Help me prepare the meal while I tell you what I know.”

“Tell me how I can help.”

“Here, cut this into cubes while I gather the rest.” Avdol hands over the large selection of meat he’d retrieved from the fridge, “Unfortunately I don’t know much right now. Her name is (y/n). She sustained an injury to her leg. Multiple injuries actually. With silver birdshot.”

“Silver? Her attackers knew she was a wolf?”

“Wolf hunters are uncommon nowadays, but not unheard of. No. I’m more concerned that it was small pellets used. The hunters weren’t aiming to kill.”

Kakyoin nearly drops the knife he was holding over the cutting board, “Not aiming to kill? What kind of hunter doesn’t kill their prey?”

“The worst kind.”

The kitchen is silent while the two men work to prepare the food. Once the ingredients are all in the pot and simmering away Kakyoin retreats to his own room to contemplate the situation.

Without more information to go over he’s stuck in a loop. It’s a welcome interruption when Avdol calls him for dinner, hopefully they’ll get to the bottom of this quickly and lay it to rest.

Avdol must have been keeping his mind occupied with cooking, the table has an assortment of bread rolls and side dishes that were not even started when Kakyoin left the kitchen. He takes his seat at the large round table between an already seated Mr. Joestar and Polnareff. Avdol is placing the last dish on the table when they all flinch at the quiet whine of pain from the lounge area.

Jotaro and (y/n) make their way into the dining room and everyone seems to freeze for a moment. She hesitates but seems to pull herself to stand up straighter and lean less on Jotaro’s arm as they walk to the open seats. Another realization snaps into place in Kakyoin’s mind. This woman is not just another member of the pack, he’d bet his last dollar she’s another alpha.

“(Name), this is the pack. Everyone, this is (Name).” Jotaro does a poor job of introducing them, he seems to be more focused on loading up his plate and subtly offering the food to (y/n). They go around the table and introduce themselves properly and she seems to settle into her seat as everyone begins eating.

“I don’t mean to push you unnecessarily, but,” Kakyoin is interrupted by Polnareff.

“What the hell happened out there?”

Jotaro growls a bit at the line of questioning but Kakyoin persists, “I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but you see we…”

“Noriaki.”

Jotaro doesn’t have to say more, the command was evident in his tone. Stop questioning, now.

(y/n) doesn’t heed this warning though. Instead, she puts a hand on his arm as if to hold Jotaro back before she addresses the group. “You guys deserve to know the truth. I don’t blame you for wanting to know what happened in your territory.” She pauses and puts her hands in her lap, head bowed as if apologizing. “I’m sorry I brought the trouble to your doorstep, but the ones who shot me, they were a band of wolf hunters. That wasn’t even the first time I’ve run into these ones, but that was the closest they’ve ever gotten to…” (y/n) trails off as Jotaro growls a bit more. It’s unlike him to be so expressive, he must still be reeling from his shift.

“Anyway, they’ve been on my tail since the last town over. I thought I’d have an advantage if I got away from humans and could shift and take them on, but they ran me off the road when I wasn’t expecting it. So I ran. All I could think of is I should have listened to my parents, not strayed so far from family territory.” She shakes her head to clear it before continuing.

“It’s been getting bad for lone wolves for a while now. You hear rumors and think ‘oh that won’t happen to me’. I’m not even sure what gang, or cartel, or whatever these guys were working for. I doubt they were just ordinary religious zealots; I don’t think I would have gotten away if they were.” (y/n) looks down at her plate and picks around at her food as the pack takes in this information.

Kakyoin feels a cold chill move down his spine. It has been a long time since he’s been a lone wolf. But he remembers. How isolating it was, no support system, far away from home territory…

“I’m sorry for entering your territory without permission. But I want to thank you. For helping me,” she turns and looks at Jotaro, “for saving me.”

Jotaro has been entirely focused on (y/n) throughout dinner, this may be the first time he looks away from her as he lets out a gruff “Don’t mention it.”

Kakyoin wears a small smile on his face. Yeah, Jotaro is hooked already.

I hope you are all ready for what’s coming- I finished my first draft outline for this story and its currently sitting at 52 chapters total. Expect a lot more action, monsters, supernatural things, new original characters! I’m still going to aim for at LEAST one chapter a week, but with the outline done it may be more if I have time :)

#jotaro x y/n #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #jojo's bizarre adventure #stardust crusaders #jojo part 3 fiction #no 1 lives forever fiction #jjba fanfic #werewolf #family pack #jjba au #noriaki kakyoin

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency.

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people.

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe.

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools.

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up.

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal.

Stern wants to reach through the screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

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Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

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What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus.

Nope, not at all.

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

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions.

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

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

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on.

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug.

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty.

“What’s your address?”

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

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door.

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times.

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home.

Barclay.

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in.

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens.

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words.

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous.

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order.

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere.

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold.

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough.

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies.

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker.

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant.

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world.

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder.

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook.

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice.

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.”

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

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

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen.

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does.

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out.

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

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

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot. Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem.

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best.

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away).

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

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

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs.

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.”

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist.

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks.

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk.

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

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

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together.

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was.

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner.

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek.

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #taz amnesty #college AU

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piduai · 3 years ago

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Hello. I remember you saying that you’re tall and intimidating, but I also remember you saying you were stalked on your way from work? Is harassment any worse in Japan than in Europe? Do you feel unsafe during commute for example? I know harassment on trains is a big deal in Japan and now they have female-only cabins… What’s your opinion on the current situation? I used to get harassed on the reg when I was younger and only recently it kinda got better in my town, but now I’m moving to Osaka in the end of the year, and this sudden fear hit me out of nowhere… I don’t mean this in a racist way when I ask about Japan specifically, it’s just that women’s experiences are slightly different in different countries.

yeah a while ago some dude insisted i go drink with him and followed me to the train station and after i told him to fuck off he told me he knows where i work and should be more careful 😑 and then a few days later i saw him walking past the place where i work. the stalking happened when i was in uni though, it was ugly and involved the police.

but these were isolated incidents. japan being as safe as it is is one of the biggest factors that made me decide to settle here. men hit on me on the streets and other public settings, they can come on super intensely in bars and clubs, i was grabbed and groped and forcibly kissed when walking down the street on nights out and other minor stuff, but it isn't the norm at all. most times you're left alone. i get off work at 10 pm so it's night time when i go home but i don't feel unsafe at all, when i pass by a group of young men my throat doesn't tighten with fear. cat-calling is not a thing here, at least i never experienced or witnessed it. it's actually other foreigners who are more annoying, with most japanese men they leave you alone if you tell them you're married but other foreigners are always either "well he doesn't need to know" or "i'm just trying to make friends". assholes.

i actually think that this sense of safety i feel in japan has spoiled me. a few years ago while in italy i felt actual, unadulterated fear when walking down the street at noon and a guy started coming onto me rather aggressively and yelling after i started walking faster. same kind of fear persisted when in france, and definitely when in eastern europe - i usually try to be home by 8 pm when there. last time i was there i dropped by a supermarket and this disgusting, pimply dude at the register attempted a few pick-up lines on me before scanning my items, and it was like 8.20 pm, and the rage i felt was unimaginable like my guy, it is dangerous for me, stop wasting my time or i'm gonna shake you. never happens in japan. i can be out at 11 pm, go buy a snack at 2 am, come home after a night out at 5 am, i feel equally safe. there's a dude on twitter who collects photos of people passed out after drinking in very public places, i've witnessed these poor souls countless times when going home after a night out myself, and they don't even get mugged. back in the small town i used to live people were feeling safe enough to leave their wallets in their bicycle front basket which they parked in public spaces.

as for train harassment, the most i got was randos hitting on me, i never personally experienced any groping or harassment on the trains. the truth is that the most common victims of chikan are girls in school uniforms, a lot of working women reported that the harassment stopped once they graduated high school. the other truth is that the women-only train cars aren't really respected... when i take the train i try to ride a women-only car and there's always quite a few men there.

not saying that japan is a safe heaven of rainbow butterflies, crime does happen of course, harassment does happen of course, assault does happen of course, and it's never an over-measure to be careful. crowds and public spaces inherently hold some degree of danger, even in a perfectly safe society your luck can bring you face to face with a deranged weirdo who decided to ruin your day. but if you base your sense of safety to what you're used to in europe (if you're european) then you shouldn't be too worried. a few things though: it is illegal to carry sharp stuff or pepper spray here, so if you're really worried about self-defense i'd suggest one of those safety keychains. and all i've said is *my* personal experience, things that i lived through and witnessed and observed, it can be wildly different for other people. i *am* tall and intimidating, that much is true, i have a "leave me alone" face and am mostly left alone. but i have friends much smaller in frame and more approachable, and i don't remember them being harassed on the regular either. and also goes without saying that it depends on the place, while during everyday activities harassment is rather low, it will grow tenfold if you go out in an entertainment area. it’s prudent to never walk alone at night in areas that have a lot of bars and clubs, each time i was alone in kabukicho, for example, incidents happened.

also, this is all based on my experience in tokyo/kanto. i've only been to osaka once and the vibe was identical so i don't think things are much different there, but you could ask queen @huehanya if you want, she should know better about osaka than me. it's alright to be anxious and over-think stuff in this kind of situations, good luck with your move!!!!

#anon

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yenni19 · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 10

Akamari is upset crying in her room, Souske knocks at the door

Souske(opening the door): can I come in?

Akamari: your in already so shut the door

Souske: I'm sorry....

Akamari: why did you throw a fit....what's your deal with Sarutobi anyway.....he did nothing to you...it was just a present

Souske: it's not what he did....its what he is to you...and because of his father

Akamari: I don't understand...

Souske: what if I told you that you and Sarutobi are related by blood in some way...how would you see the situation then?

Akamari: it wouldn't matter....

Souske: even if you and Sarutobi share the same father...how would you feel about him then?

Akamari: your lying...that's not true!

Souske hands her a picture of her mother and Kawaki in the hospital room holding thier child

Akamari(crying): no....this can be any other kid!...or....or.....

Souske: this is a picture a day before she died...your grandmother took this picture hours after giving birth

He hands her a small photo book, she flips through it,when she gets to the last picture it's her mother and Kawaki showing a tiny Akamari

Souske: now you know the truth....

Suddenly out of nowhere Souske gets sucker punched as he gets thrown and breaks the door

Souske(scared and coughs up blood): Akamari.....I'm......sorry.....I........didn't....want...to....upset....you....

Akamari(angry while activated byakugan): you and him both....are shitty excuses for parents....him for being a coward....but you....you are the shittiest.....for not coming to see me....now I know why

Souske(catching his breath): no Akamari....that's not true...you still are my daughter.....

Suddenly her gift starts to show red instead of gold causing things to turn to ash

Souske(pleading): Akamari.....please honey...let's calm down...

Akamari(laughing): sorry dad....but I no longer am calm....(screaming) I see red!

Suddenly the whole room is ash as she disappears, Sauske saves his son by teleporting him to the living room

Sauske: what the hell was that Souske...

Naruto(interrupting): it's begun hasn't it...Kayuga's gift is evolving inside Akamari

Souske: it's not the first time this happened....

Sakura: how long ago...how old was she?

Souske: it was was around the time Samari was little...Akamari was seven and they were playing....Akamari got tired of playing but Samari pestered her....and that's when I noticed the gift turning red causing a knife to fly directly across the room almost Stabbing Samari....ever since then I've been so terrified of a tragedy happening that I isolated myself from her and kept her occupied at all times...making sure she had no room for anger...but my biggest mistake was separating Samari from Akamari by sending her abroad just so she was not hurt by her own sister

Sauske: well we better find her....if not there's a chance she's not in this realm....we are gonna need Boruto and her father....

Sakura: but she might attack him....like she did Souske...

Naruto: we must take that chance....its the only way to bring Akamari back here....ready Sauske

Sauske: when ever you are....idiot

---‐--------------------------

Akamari reappears but in a meadow, with a big tree in the middle, it's night as she looks around and sees tall grass with every wildflower in it. Fireflies in every direction lighting up the night like tiny stars

Akamari: where am I.....how did I get here...I really need to control my anger....(smacks her head) damn it why am I so temper mental....why the hell am I this way

She looks around and notices a cabin....she goes inside and sees its dusty....she cleans it

Akamari: this place must of been abandoned....for awhile....well its looks better now since I cleaned it (cracks her nuckles) well its time to start a fire....its getting cold

She starts chopping wood....and gets a fire going, she notices the book shelf with several books, and picks one out to read....within minutes she falls asleep

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

Back at the leaf village, the Uzumakis and Uchias including Kawaki and Sarutobi are trying to find Akamari

Sauske: there's no trace of her....anywhere

Sakura: maybe she's hiding somewhere we don't know about

Hinata: I just hope she's okay.....

Naruto: where can she be?

Boruto(running to his parents): it's been three hours...we have to call it a night...and start again in the morning

Kawaki(meeting up with Boruto): we can't she might be in trouble....who knows where she is

Sarutobi(running to meet up the Uzumakis): I looked as well...its like she disappeared leaving no trace I can't even sense her chakra signature anywhere

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

Four days pass, Akamari wakes up from a deep sleep, she finds a way out from the meadow heading back to the leaf village

Akamari(entering the village): man I'm starving...I'll probably go to the Ramen noodle shop...and order thier special

Suddenly as she's walking...Akamari notices surprised stares coming from the villagers

Akamari(confused): that's weird...why do they look like I was reincarnated or something

She goes to the ramen shop....as she enters inside....everyone is shocked and silent, she shrugs it off and orders her food, the waiter nervously hands it to her

Akamari(smiles): thank you

Waiter(nervosly): your welcome

Phara(sitting next to Akamari): you girl have a powerful gift dont you....its must be amazing to be the last Otsutsuki in your bloodline

Akamari(confused): I'm sorry...who are you?

Phara: my name is not important....but I must tell you something....on the twenty first year of your birthday you will give your life for the sake of humanity as the last Otsutsuki

Akamari: the last Otsutsuki....give my life...

Phara: yes your life....because your gift is rare and powerful you will be a target for those like you....they will stop at nothing to gain it...heed my words and from here on out be careful who you surround yourself with...life is precious

Akamari: but I'm not an Otsutsuki....

Phara: your father is Kawaki Madra holder of the karma.....your mother is Himawari Uzumaki daughter of the jinchuriki who held the ninetail fox and the bayakugan princess

Akamari(shocked): how do you know that....

Phara: I've been watching you my dear....my duty as a birther was to look after you...I'm the last one of my kind who still alive and holds the gift of the forseer which let's me know about catastrophic events

Akamari: but you look so young....how old are you?

Phara: four hundred and fifty years...

Akamari(spits and chokes on her soup): what....you....are....four hundred and fifty....years.....old?

Phara: yes I've was around even before clans turned into cities like this one...I've been and seen how ugly wars can be between Otsutsuki and humanity....you are the last of your bloodline....you will fulfill your duty in order to stop another war from happening....you are destined to be a fallen hero

Akamari(sad): a fallen hero....me....but I don't even train....

Phara: in time you will....you will pick a sensei that most thought to be dead...but don't worry he'll find you...and you will know

Akamari: who...?

Phara: he'll be a man missing a limb....with spiky white hair....a legendary sage who trained your grandfather Naruto...but be cautious he's not who he use to be...he's mean and strict...but I believe you can soften his hard shell

Akamari: wait a minute...the woman chaser that always got my grandfather in trouble....Jiraiya

Phara(smiling): so you know of him...but don't worry....he has lost the habit eversince he realized that he was at the brink of death....he even lost his will to write those repulsive make out tactics...now he just writes poems that are famously known around here...he even changed his name which is now Jerico Myzuki...a famous poet

Akamari(shocked): wait...are you saying my favorite poet of all time...is Jiraiya....Narutos sensei...the so called pervy sage...are you sure it's the same person....

Phara: yes....(getting up to leave) well I have to go I believe you have somewhere to go at this moment....Jerico is having a book signing today and you will miss it if you don't hurry

Akamari: but his book signing isn't four days from now at eleven thirty specifically

Phara(pointing at the calendar): but it's the eighteenth today and it's ten thirty

Akamari(shocked): omg I've been gone four days!...(pays for her food) thank you lady I got to go...I'll see you around

She arrives at the book signing....there are crowds of women waiting for the largest book store in the village to open for the book signing

Akamari(disappointed): damn if I knew there would be crowds of women here I would of came an hour early

Mianari(walking up to Akamari): are you here to get a signature from Jerico Myzuki?

Akamari: yeah why

Mianari: no reason.....I need to see if this was the right book store....there are two more but they are on the other side of town....I just stopped by to give my husband his lunch

Akamari(surprised): wait....are you Jerico Myzuki's wife....

Mianari: oh I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself I'm Mianari Myzuki wife of.....

Akamari(mesmerized): you were the famous singer who managed the group Starfall....which is my favorite group of all time...but it still upsets me till this day they disbanded about four years ago

Mianari: well it was a good fifteen years with them....but the group just wanted to do thier own things....I believe the main singer is a father of two beautiful little girls...and the guitarist is a pharmaceutical tech the other three became solo artists

Akamari(pointing at the crowd): um...one question...how will you get through the crowd of fangirls wanting your husband....

Suddenly Akamari notices the group move to one side of the book store. A large man in a black suit and silver hair walks past the crowd of scared girls and walks up to Mianari

Mianari: Izuke....there you are is my husband inside?

Izuke: yes he is (showing Mianari the way) he is waiting to have lunch with you before the signing miss

Mianari: oh great I thought I came too late (to Akamari) well it was nice getting to know you...hope to meet you again

Akamari(smiling): yeah I hope so too...and by the way Jerico is lucky to have a wife like you

Mianari: thank you well I'm off bye

Akamari(waving): bye...Mrs Myzuki

#fan fic related #anime #comics

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border-spam · 4 years ago

Text

(Featuring @godkingsanointed ‘s amazing OC JK)

Mid COV

“There’s a H… there."

Seifa tapped a black nail into the paper Jak-Knife was staring at so intently their mask’s front grill brushed against the page. They let out a rumbling groan, slowly shaking their head side to side as she reassuringly patted their hand, leaning pressed against the length of their back so she could peer down at the scrawled letter splayed on the table in front of them.

"A H? Why??” they whined, cupping the sides of their head in calloused hands with a dejected sigh. Words were stupid.

It had been a long day for both of them.

Sei had only just made it to her ship after a night of red tape and managing delays in her office below. Tyreen’s Saints had incredible skill in somehow making sure their daily business ended up impacting Troy’s in some way. Missing shipments, deadlines shifted far shorter than possible with no warning, the usual shit. She’d sat for hours after her shift, gritting her teeth while pouring through their condescending e-coms, pausing every now and then to distract herself from the frustration by catching flashes of today’s arena stream.

The Blight Devil had ripped through raiders on the flickering office screen as her papers shuffled. Heretics who’d led an assault on a protected settlement and refused to repent now faced the Holy Father’s executioner, a fitting end to parasites sucking lifeblood from the isolated villages the COV kept in food and medical supplies.

She’d found them after the fight as she left her office that night, leaning silently against the elevator gate in the lower workshop that lead to her ship docked above the Mechanicum. Head bowed and tilted to the side, ankles crossed and arms folded across their chest. They were spotless as usual, arena blood expertly removed from their skin, but the weight of the fight was visible on their frame - tired and quiet.

They’d perked out of their doze as she approached, and lifted a bag filled with something hot and spicy from the Slums as a greeting. JK was always like this. They had as much an open invitation to her home as the others, but while she’d retire some nights and find Ven and Eli already smiling cheekily from her kitchen table and expecting dinner to appear now that she’d gotten home, or Troy curled up asleep in the same tiny wall cot that she’d told him was his years ago, JK never entered without her.

Always waited by the elevator with offering in hand, a gift of food or beer like an olive branch. Habit, she figured. Something from a life of survival in Pandora’s roaming clans she’d maybe never understand, but she could appreciate even though she reassured them it wasn’t needed every single time.

She could tell they were struggling to keep going now still, heavy muscle shifting under her ribs as they groaned at the letter covered in smudged ink between their elbows on the kitchen table, muttering about the rogue “H” through their mask’s respirator.

Words made no damn sense, even less when they were marked down in writing.

Bandit cant had always served JK well, icons, symbols, communication scratched into rocks and dirt and corpses with the tips of jagged blades. Writing was pointless, they’d been told that for as long as they could remember. Adults in their clan had mocked newcomers to Pandora, said their big words and fancy letters were just to hide behind. A mask without a mask, so they could pretend they were better, stronger than the salt and blood of the earth that crawled across the planet’s dusty wastes in scavenging mobs.

You didn’t need to write or read when your family could respond like a singular pack unit to bird whistles or rhythmic pounding on dry rock. Learning would be a waste of time and resources better used to serve the marauding horde.

This H was a waste. The flimsy, golden pen clutched in their calloused fist was a waste, a symbol of wealth, education, of weakness on Pandora. If it hadn’t been a gift, they’d…

“Because without the H it says tanks. Like, war-machines, you know?” Seifa laughed, pushing against them to her feet and shooting a deadeye finger gun at their chest with a silent pow as she back stepped to her side of the table.

“But gotta say, that looks like a love letter, JK” she grinned, lowering herself into her seat with an ungraceful thump.

“..She a fan of tanks?”

They huffed quietly, refusing to meet the shit-eating grin they knew she was aiming at them as she shuffled the papers in front of her and leaned back into her chair with a creak of wood.

��She likes tanks, yeah. She.. likes all weapons. All machines. Makes ‘em, fixes 'em..” they murmured as Seifa clicked her tongue in response, wolf whistling.

“Sounds like my kind of woman.”

“She’s… my kind of woman.” Jk replied through a crackling laugh, scratching the pen against the paper with practiced concentration. “She should have nice things like.. letters. She should have poems, songs.. chants… and thank you.” they looked up, catching Sei’s inquisitive gaze “Thank you for helping me.” She followed their hand, gesturing towards the paper with a blunt finger.

Sei laughed, smoothing loose hair back over her shoulder. “Don’t thank me, pal. I think if anything, I’m using you as a distraction..” she sighed, expression turning somber as she dropped the stack of papers to the table in front of her, grimacing.

“This jank is terrible.”

“Words?” they offered, lenses catching the light as their eyes followed her when she stood.

“Nah JK, numbers” she scoffed, rolling sore shoulders as she stepped towards the kitchen counter to their side. “WAY worse. Listen, want to try something gross?” the chair struggling to support their bulk squeaked behind her as JK turned to face the cupboard she was rooting through. “I got this new coffee..-somewhere.. where is..- Ahh!”

“I like coffee, sure!” they chuckled with a nod, thumping their fist onto the little table the pair had been sharing in her ship’s kitchen

“This coffee though - ” she corrected smugly “This coffee has been shit out of some horrible little monkey thing on Eden-2” she smirked, stifling a giggle in response to the barking guffaw that erupted behind her.

“WHAT” they yelled through the muffle of the mask’s filters, deep voice cracking in amusement.

Sei turned, waving the foil bag towards them playfully as she leaned back against the counter.

“I’m not joking, gift from an ore dealer me and Ven had to sweet talk into very generous trade agreements on Astrensis a month ago. I don’t know if he was trying to impress me or what, but this is basically worth its weight in platinum and it’s-”

“ - It’s shit juice!” JK gasped between rolling belly laughs.

“It’s fuckin’ shit juice pal, you’re not wrong!” she chuckled, smile wrinkling across her nose as she flipped the coffee maker’s switch, grinning softly as the clunky hiss of the machine filled the little kitchen quarters.

Jk sighed happily behind her, twisting to stare at their paper again. “Rich people are so wrong. They don’t belong, not here, waste everything. Just walking sacks of ego thinking their paper money will stop this place taking its due from 'em”. They grunted thoughtfully, then continued in a quieter tone.

“I thought you were a rich person when we first met, another off-worlder.”

Seifa turned, wide-eyed in surprise at the comment.

JK was someone she’d known for years now, but even with so many hours of quiet time together in this ship, a quiet hiding hole away from the Holy City’s heaving bustle and fame both their titles reluctantly carried, even after all this time, they rarely spoke of their own feelings in this manner. JK’s thoughts were something they held deep in their chest, opinion’s they’d share, advice they’d willingly give, but their thoughts? She wanted to hear more, it was an unusual glimpse into an incredibly interesting mind.

“You thought I was rich?” she balked, pointing towards her chest. “How? You seen the way I live?”

Their head tilted, turning slowly to glance around the cabin. Clean, homely. Plants and textiles covering cracked wall panels… repaired and well-maintained kitchenware, the coffee machine behind her newer than nearly anything else surrounding it. They shifted, looking down at the polished and well loved table, the stains and scratches buffed but still visible in the finish. Years of love and use.

They made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, tilting their head slowly to the side. “Not about what you own, Seifa. It was how you carry yourself. You’re the only person in the room till you don’t want to be, then you were never there at all. Eyes miss you.” they rumble.

“Don’t belong here. Don’t belong out there either, in the city. Covered in gold, thought you were like the others. You aren’t though.” JK hums, shifting their eyes to the scrapped together coffee machine behind her.

“..You’re like him.”

She’d laugh if that wasn’t such an insult, rolling her eyes and huffing a chuckle into her fist.

“Thanks. What a compliment.” she groaned, flashing a quick grin before lifting a finger to scratch at her jaw thoughtfully. "… I’m not rich though I fleece the twins for all they are worth, sure, but that’s just good business.“ the homemade machine behind her whistled quietly as she paused, breathing deep the acrid aroma of roasted coffee wafting through the room.

"My clan might not be called that, but it’s still what they are. We’ve a creed of support. One of us does well for themselves? Strikes it rich? Lucks a factor as much as skill. There’s 10 bad deals for every good one.. some get a real bad streak, JK.” they nodded, understand her meaning if not her experiences.

“There were times before the twins where I needed help from family, care packages and donations to keep my ship running and fuel tanks full, now I repay that debt with what I earn here, spread the wealth to others who struggle now like I did then.” Seifa shrugged, uncomfortable in sounding anything close to generous regardless of the truth. “ It’s our creed, like I said. Family first.”

Jk grunted, nodding to themself as they stared at the table in front of them, the scrunched letter in shaky lines.

“Family first..” they echoed, not quite to themself, and not quite to her either.

Family.

They let their eyes rest on the pen gripped in their hand, tilting it slowly. The solid gold barrel reflecting light the same way the gilded fangs in his crooked grin had as he pressed the box into their open palm. Troy had been so happy when he handed them the case, blushing and shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for them to open it. They’d not known what to do with the contents, looking back and forth between the solid gold pen and him awkwardly. Waiting for him to explain how they should react, anxiously hoping he’d guide them as always.

He’d laughed, plucking it from the case and pointing at the name etched into the bodywork.

“It’s for you, see, it’s your name like we p-practiced. J.a.k-.k.n.i.f.e, see it?” his hand had been trembling with excitement, cheeks flushed and smile squinting his eyes as he loomed over them, pressed close enough to hear his ragged breaths.

“Now when you write you’ll know I got your b-back, yeah? I’ve got your back, understand? 'Cus you’ll know that I know you can do it, and I’ll keep teaching you.”

They hadn’t known what to say, the words that felt right were choking in their throat. They knew Troy often compared himself cruelly to them, would emasculate himself by placing aspects of who they were on a pedestal then berate himself for not reaching. It was hard to communicate their awareness of it with him. He was so easily hurt by his weaknesses being recognised, it was easier to pretend they didn’t notice and insist on complimenting him when they spotted him sinking under his own detrimental thoughts. Lift him up when they saw him flag.

But this, writing? Reading? Troy was excellent at this. It was something he could help them with, and as soon as he’d realised they could do neither, he’d jumped on the opportunity to teach them. They understood it was a repayment of his own volition, even if they couldn’t understand why God King Calypso would feel like he’d owed them in any way. They were his guard. They shielded him. They didn’t need to be thanked, you don’t need to thank a brother…

Seifa waited for as silence fell between them, giving JK the chance to continue, but they said nothing, nodding almost imperceptibly as they continued to stare at the pen.

They got lost sometimes in the depths under that mask, but the people close to them understood, and it was easy enough to bring JK back into the current. Wait a moment, give them a chance to snap back, then pull them back into the conversation.

She cleared her throat to break the quiet.

“So, is this lady rich then? If she likes poems and songs… and weapons?”

It snapped them out of their daze immediately, turning snake quick to glare through the mismatched lenses at her instead.

“She… she has money yes, she works hard. Very hard. I don’t know if she even would like a poem. It’s just something.. I see sometimes on the echonet, those movies Troy watches.”

“You give poems to great women, don’t you…?” their voice caught on a question towards the end, something they weren’t wording but clearly needed an answer for.

Sei stepped towards them, reaching out to lay a hand on their shoulder as she carefully arranged the words that felt most right for them.

“Maybe..” she started tentatively, leaning down a little to meet their eyes through the mask’s glass. “..if that’s what she wants, sure. But it sounds like this woman doesn’t need fancy things, JK. Sounds like she’s plenty good at seeing the truth of what things are, huh?”

They nodded emphatically, the quiet choking sounds from under their mask emphasising their eagerness to agree.

“Thought so” Sei grinned cheekily. “Why not write how you see her then, huh? No poems, just the truth of how things are.” They rumbled as she patted their shoulder, turning back to the small kitchen to prepare their drinks.

She smiled triumphantly to herself as the welcoming sound of the pouring coffee mixed with the scratching of their pen behind her, before it was interrupted by a stern grunt.

“Seifa, how do you spell refuge?”

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #calypso twins #leech lord #seifa #jak-knife #my writing #my hcs #lldrabbles

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cecilspeaks · 4 years ago

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169 - The Whittler

Let us go then, you and I When the evening is spread out Against the sky And pick up some Dell Taco for dinner. Welcome to Night Vale.

Beyond our town, past the Sand Wastes, in the Scrublands, sits the old general store. An oaken cabin style A-frame with boxed windows and a covered patio. On the porch there sits a swinging bench and upon that bench sits an elderly man, his face crumpled like a discarded letter, his eyes like tire tracks hidden beneath the shady brim of a straw cowboy hat. The old man holds a block of Elmwood the size of a potato in his right hand, and in his left, a carving jack. He whittles away at the knot of food, shaving off small corners, making detailed lines and indentations. The wood is all his world. And this world is quiet in his lap, on his bench, on his patio, before his general store amid the Scrublands past the Sand Wastes, which curl about Night Vale like the gentle but calloused hands of a father holding a newborn. As the old man whittles, he whistles sad songs with no words. But all those who hear the notes know they are bout loss. That they are about loneliness. But no one hears those notes. Not yet. No one sees the old whittler, nor his general store far out in an uninhabited stretch of desert. Not yet. If they did, they would wonder how an old general store, which was not there yesterday, was suddenly here today, a shop that by all accounts had weathered decades of abusive heat, wind, and isolation. They would hear his sad song, and the universal language of wistful sorrow would hide from them their understanding of time.

Let’s have a look now at sports. This Saturday night, the Night Vale High School Scorpions basketball team begins the district tournament. The Scorpions, having finished the season 18-2, earned the number 1 seat this year, but face some tough competition in their bracket. In the first round, they must battle another basketball team. This is logical, because most basketball tournaments feature other basketball teams. But the other basketball team is considered weaker than the Night Vale Scorpions, because a series of accumulated numbers indicates this is so. Should the Scorpions make it out of the first round and into the semi-finals, they would likely battle the number 4 seed, Nature. A tougher matchup to be sure, as Nature is unpredictable and ubiquitous. Nature’s style of play is best described as capricious and random, sometimes showcasing an array of flashy skills like sunny days, crystalline lakes, and otters. But Nature is a lockdown defensive force with effective momentum stoppers like lightning, quicksand, and poison ivy.

And in the finals, the favorites to compete for the title are Night Vale High School versus themselves, perhaps the toughest battle of them all, as each player must confront their harmful secrets, painful pasts, and darkest nightmares. Themselves are able to match the pace and power of Night Vale’s offensive and defensive sets, and we expect an excellent game. Good luck, Scorpions!

Most days the Scrublands are absent of humans, unapproachable and hostile. Today is not most days, as a line of Night Vale citizens has formed outside of the general store to see the old whittler and his wood menagerie. Parents ask for photos of their children with his work, and he only whistles and nods nearly imperceptibly. It could almost be interpreted as a slight twitch of the neck, rather than an affirming nod, but interpretations grow liberal when want is high.

Fathers and mothers snap pictures on their phones of children accepting gifts of wood figurines from the old man. The kids stare into the thin black ellipses that pass for his eyes, searching for the charming smile of elderly approval. But instead, seeing every single constellation of the night sky inside slits as thin as thistles and as black as tar. The historic expansion of the universe cannot be fully understood in words or even human thought, but it can be comprehended in the eyes of the tanned, wrinkled stranger.

The old whittler does not charge a penny for any of his work. He does not smile nor accept the many thank-yous coaxed out of the young ones by their manner-minded handlers. Nor does he accept requests. Children have many mascots, heroes, and cartoons that they love to possess via keepsake totems, and they repeatedly ask the old man for whittled representations of their favorite things, like Pokemon characters or one of Pixar’s anthropomorphic cars, or even Ted Allen, host of Food Network’s long running cooking competition “Chopped”. But the old whittler only carves what he carves. And he carves tiny horses, little cowboys, old-timey wagons, armadillos, tigers, tractors, almost anything you can think of. He finishes his sculpture of a koala bear and hands it to Amber Akinyi, who looks at her husband Wilson Levy, who is holding their sobbing, screaming 16-month-old baby Flora. The couple smiles together, never knowing that this balsa koala is everything they could have ever wanted beyond a loving family. Wilson begins to cry at the simple beauty of this craft. Amber begins to cry at the feeling of being understood, and young Flora stops crying as she fawns over the 6-inch tall antipodean marsupial, cartoonishly gnawing on a eucalyptus leaf.

The whittler also carves people. Small human figures, yes, like firefighters and ballerinas and clowns, but also actual people. Harrison Kip told the old man he wished to be happier in his own skin, and the old whittler grabbed Harrison’s cheeks and brought Harrison’s round, soft face before his own crinkled countenance, and Harrison screamed. He screamed in fear of what the old man was about to do. He also screamed in joyous anticipation, and the two screams were discordant like adjacent keys pressed simultaneously on a church organ. The old whittler pressed his knife against Harrison’s chin and began to pull the blade back, using the force of his thumb and the trunk of his forefinger. He repeated throughout Harrison’s assenting and defiant shouts, and after a few moments, Harrison stopped yelling and stood. His jaw squarer, his nose thinner and longer, his shoulders broader. And Harrison smiled.

Soon, the whittler began carving houses, roads, and city buildings. They were larger than the koala, much larger, for they were full-sized renditions of these things. He sliced and sawed away at block after block of red oak, hackberry and peachwood, forming new arteries of city travel, whole blocks of residences, and even cultural landmarks and venues. And the town of Night Vale, in a single late morning, began to expand into the distant and uninhabitable Scrublands of our desert.

Let’s have a look now at horoscopes. Gemini. Bury yourself in your work today, Gemini. Pile that garbage high and rest your weary head beneath its odorous, but comforting weight. Cancer. No more Mr. Nice Guy, Cancer. Today you are Mrs. Disinterested Lady. Get out there and be uninvolved in everything. Leo. You’re the talk of the town, Leo. Word after word is about you, and it is juicy! Like a rare steak, like a blood orange. Juicy like 2008 coutoure. Whew! You should hear what they’re saying. Virgo. You are not what you seem to be, Virgo. You seem to be a blackberry shrub, overreaching and prickly. But really you are a human, squishy and small. Continue to be the thorny fruit-bearing bush, though. Libra. You seek balance, Libra, but you are as lopsided as wealth disparity graph in an economist’s classroom. Share your worth, distribute your value fairly and compassionately, Libra, for the villagers are sharpening their tools. Scorpio. Hey Steve, love you pal!

Sagittarius. Your (-) [0:10:42] in relationships is going to be your downfall, Sagittarius. You’re an obsidian monolith, towering over everyone, absorbing all light, except the faint reflection of those who want to know what glows inside your stony façade. You don’t have to be a diamond, Sagittarius, or even quartz. Just try for salt lick, OK? I think you can achieve that.

Capricorn. Oh the games you play, Capricorn, you wicked little sea goat! You naughty caprine ocean dweller with your horns and scales, vexing us with your riddles and labyrinthian logic! The stars offer no advice for you, Capricorn, only envious praise. Aquarius. Put your money where your mouth is, but wash that money first, Aquarius. It’s been in so many other people’s mouths, ever since we added Jolly Ranchers as legal currency. Pisces. You’re swimming upstream, Pisces. Figuratively speaking, of course. I mean you are a human who does not need to actually swim upstream for food or a mate. Get out of the metaphorical stream and avoid the damage you’re going to do to your body and soul. Except for you, Tim. You’re a woodchuck, who is literally swimming upstream. I don’t like you, Tim, because you are eating my tulips. You can drown. Aries. Fake it til you pretend to make it, Aries. Taurus. Don’t hide your feelings, Taurus! Frame them! Display them ostentatiously on the wall. Mount them on plinths behind velvet robed (-) [0:12:33]. Curate an exhibit of your feelings, Taurus. Charge admission.

And now the news. The Night Vale City Council deliberated today on whether the old whittler in front of the old general store in the Scrublands was friend or foe to our town. Those voices arguing in favor of the old man celebrated the huge municipal expansion he was creating so quickly onto undeveloped land.

“This new infrastructure would have taken us dozens of years and millions of dollars to deploy, and he has accomplished it all in half day!” these voices said in unison. “Plus,” they added, “he whittled a little army man for my kid, a bracelet for my wife, and a sweater for our cat. It’s everything we ever wanted!”

The dissenting voices, and they were few, could only argue that he failed to acquire proper permits for any of this construction, let alone an outdoor vendor’s license which is mandatory even for giveaways. Excepting restaurant samples, marketing promotions, and military dispersion of chemtrails. The many-voiced, uni-bodied creature that is the City Council, huffed in nearly unanimous support for this old man. His sad whistling, his prolific whittling, and his beneficence to our city. “Did you see?” said there of the voices, “that inside the general store there’s everything you could ever need. Cans, boxes, shelves, counters! Walls. It’s amazing. Everything is craved from a single block of wood, and it’s all connected! No glue or bolts or rivets anywhere.” “He’s a deft hand,” concurred four other voices. “How does he even find single blocks of wood that huge?” wondered a solo voice aloud. “Whatever!” the entire City Council roared in unison. “That old man is a superb whittler!”

And now financial news. [hysterical laughter Ha ha hahahaha hahaha every-everything’s fine! It’s just dandy! Uh, thank you for asking.

And now back to our top story. Out in the Scrublands, an entire wooden suburb has grown from the withered hands and sharp knife of the old whittler, who has for the first time today, moved from the porch of his general store. He stands now upon a stage, a round platform on the center of a great amphitheater, which he personally carved deep into the cracked, red rock of the desert floor. The people of Night Vale gather and sit on wood plank rows, which curve in a semi-circle around the old man on the stage. Each person in attendance holds in their hands a whittled object given to them as they entered the audience space. The items are all different, esoteric, and unique, each item and unexpected gift of the whittler. Each item the very thing they have always wanted, even if it was never what they thought they wanted. They hold gently their presents, protecting them with their very lives. The whittler, with his straw hat still shading his keyhole eyes and riverbend mouth, stands before the people of Night Vale who sit in an arena of his own making, each cradling a beloved statuette of his own making. The old man reaches out and takes the hand of his bride. She, of course, is of his own making as well. She is craved of weeping cedar. Her veil, though entirely wood, is somehow translucent, and her sorrowful eyes are faintly visible behind the intricate work of the whittler’s blade. The old man whistles once again, and the crowd whistles along with him. They know the song now. It lives in them like longing, like blood. Like a soul. They know every word of the wordless (-) [0:16:51], and the notes of loneliness spread across the Scrublands to the mountains’ edge and echo back in the key of hope, with a lilt of contentment and satisfaction. They will only be happy when he is happy and he is, indeed, happy. As the whittler clutches the hand of his newly carved betrothed, the clouds part, revealing the happiest thing of all: The weather.

[“Embroidery Stars” by Carrie Elkin http://carrieelkin.com/]

Into the Scrublands I went, myself already as happy as I could ever be for I was with my own true love, my husband. I journeyed to see the whittler for myself, as an effort of journalism, a chronicler of interesting events. I wanted for nothing. My happiness cannot be improved. Or so I believed.

When I arrived, the whittler more than 100 feet a way, and through a mass of thousands, greeted me with a nod so unobtrusive, I believed it to be a trick of the eye. But from the distance, I could see the whole of the universe in those dark eyes under dark shadow, behind the final violet of sunset. I knew he meant me.

Carlos and I stepped to the podium, and the old man opened his palm to reveal an original carving just for me. I had hoped it was a Nintendo Switch, but it was a [sea plane] [0:23:05]. Carlos, like a child on Santa’s lap, cooed and asked the old man for a superconductive supercollider. And the old whittler, his burlap cheeks heavy with gravity and history, reached into the breast pocket of his (-) shirt and handed Carlos a tiny wooden rose. Carlos hugged his rose to his chest, and I my (sea plane). The whittler took the hand again off his bride and gazed upon her, her veiled eyes met by his boundless stare. They stood like that for more than an hour, not speaking. The only sounds were the cicadas chirping and the crowd whistling.

But the tune faded, and soon only the cicadas cut through the silence of a still desert twilight. And one of us, Larry Leroy, stood and walked on to the stage. He touched the old man’s shoulder. The old man did not turn. He did not speak. He collapsed into black ash. Then his bride, then the seats beneath us, it all gave way to crumbling nothing. Then the buildings and roads and even the general store turned into ash. Finally, every one of our object dissipated, like Eurydice almost free from Hades. A gentle cool breeze arrived to sweep our hope away.

We returned home, wordless, with occasional whistles of the whittler’s tune, once again in a sad and lonesome key. Our cherished gifts, we told ourselves, were nothing more than baubles, ephemera, however blessed or magical. They were mere things, not love, not family, not true love, they were objects, toys. Props. Distractions. They were everything we have ever wanted, because we could hold them, see them, touch them. We can no longer do that, but we can remember what it was like. The rough of the wood against the soft of our hand.

Stay tuned next for our new game show: “Name all the nouns!”

And as always, good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Give a man and a fish and he’ll wonder what your deal is. Teach a man to fish and he’ll ask you once again to please leave him alone.

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 169 #the whittler

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queenangst · 4 years ago

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november ice breaker

i either do tags immediately, start one and leave it in my drafts for 3 months, or forget. got caught at a good time. thank u @erascrhead for tagging me <3!!

1 - What was the last thing you were really excited about?

The Mandalorian. In the off chance that anybody couldn’t tell how the show has taken over my life in the past week.

2 - What do you wish someone taught you long ago?

Honestly, I wish someone taught me that it’s okay to say no—you don’t have to do things you don’t want to, and you don’t have to please everyone all the time. You can’t be expected to, anyway, so don’t make choices that will put you in situations you’ll end up regretting. You don’t have to be helpful all the time. You don’t. It’s okay to ask for help, too.

3 - What are some of your guilty pleasures?

I am guiltless, honestly. I try my best to shameless enjoy things for the most part?

4 - What topic could you give a twenty minute presentation on without any preparation?

Many, many things.

Why everyone should watch The Farewell (2019).

5 - What scene in a movie or tv show gives you goosebumps every time you watch it?

There’s so many? Heroes: Rising—the X-Catapult move, Bakugou and Izuku reaching for each other during the final fight, or when Bakugou has OFA and he just... melts through everything.

6 - What were some of your favorite holiday traditions growing up?

To be honest, my family isn’t big on celebrating holidays, less so I think when we got older. We don’t have anything super consistent, at least not enough that I’d call it a tradition, which is a little sad, I guess, though we do spend time together.

On New Year’s though mostly we get together with close family friends for dinner and a party, and it’s always been really nice. Hmmm, every year around Christmas there’s a (rich) neighborhood that has a decoration contest, and they’ll let people drive around at night and look at the lights. When I say decked out, I mean decked out. My mom loves looking at these kinds of things, so I’m fond of how excited she gets seeing a lot of complicated and pretty holiday lights.

7 - What book had the most significant impact on you?

Unfortunately, still Percy Jackson. I will love PJO until I’m dead.

8 - What weird thing do you have nostalgia for?

I dunno if it’s weird, but I don’t think everyone does this, lol. Wednesday evenings on campus. Every now and then, I’d get a giant smoothie from Smoothie King (they’d have this Wednesday student deal), head to the small friendly student TV organization meetings (our short film division), and then Wednesdays are Pokemon Go raid hour so I would step out, meet my friends for a raid or two, and head back to the meeting. I miss those.

But if we’re talking really nostalgic... I miss Girl Scout camping. I was never particularly close to any of the girls in my troop (or those I was left) and oftentimes I felt kind of isolated from the others, and actually no one else really liked camping that much as I found out in my later years. But when we were Juniors and Cadettes we went camping probably twice a year out at various Girl Scout camps, and I miss that slice of life away from home, doing different activities and exploring outdoors, the Girl Scout cabins, campfires, singing songs, SWAPs, getting to see the stars, the mess kits, Girl Scout Journeys... all of that. Once we were really, really in high school, we stopped, partly due to being busy and partly because no one wanted to. But I miss it a lot.

9 - What’s a problem you have, that might be entirely unique to you?

This is a small, terrible problem, but it is a problem nonetheless. I have not had boba in like, eight months. I went from getting some every week with friends to completely nothing, and I miss paying an awful amount of money in exchange for my lychee boba tea.

10 - What are two of your favorite snacks?

Ooh! Recently, it’s been a mix of Honey Nut Cheerios and chocolate chips (because... I have a giant box of Cheerios and a giant bag of chocolate chips, so I figured I’d eat them together). I’m a big “cereal as a snack” person. Hmm, and cheese (or ham, or both) on crackers.

tagging anyone who wants to pick this up!

#i promise not all my snacks are multi step processes tho #i do have. a bag of chips sitting on my desk #asdglnaskdgn #tags #tag games #FUCK i really miss girl scout camping :(#about me #not fandom

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dylansfm · 4 years ago

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〔 ZOEY DEUTCH, 22, CISFEMALE, ODIKINESIS 〕╰ _DYLAN O’SHEA _ just came over half - blood hill . you know , the child of ARES who was claimed 3 years ago ? i've heard chiron say that pronoun is COURAGEOUS & INDEPENDENT , but if you ask the aphrodite kids , they'd say they're COMBATIVE & SPITEFUL . i'd say they remind me of drinking whiskey, broken glass, the glow of a flame, bruised knees, split lips & basking in the feeling of victory, especially since they're AGAINST THE NEW CABINS. ( ✎ tobi , 20 , she/her , mst . )

hello everyone ! i’m tobi, 20 years old, and this intro post is really late but here it is ! i haven’t rp’ed in forever so i’m probably going to be a bit rusty, but i’m excited. you can find some quick wanted connections at the bottom of this. i’ll reblog some wc gifsets and try to write up a proper post later. if you want to plot, like this post and i’ll message you, or you can get me on discord logan lerman's side bitch#7115 !

name: dylan alexandra o’shea

nicknames: her mom calls her dyl pickle, call her that if you dare

birth date: january 2nd

gender: cis female

pronouns: she/her

ethnicity: kinda obvious i think

nationality: american

hometown: memphis, tennessee

demigod abilities: odikinesis –– the ability to arouse feelings of anger, hatred and bloodlust in others

cabin number & godly parent: cabin five, ares

edie o’shea is your average southern belle. little rich girl, ex-beauty queen, ex-cheerleader, known around the neighbourhood for her beauty and being the definition of southern hospitality. but when she was 18, she went through her rebellious, punk, 90s grunge phase ( or at least, as grungy as you can get in the deep south ). and it was during this phase that she had her fateful encounter with ares. they met at a bar –– or was it a club ? concert ? she can’t even remember anymore –– and he introduced himself, didn’t even bother to hide his name. edie assumed it was a nickname or a joke.

they had a brief, intense, torrid love affair for a few months before edie became pregnant. ares gave a quick explanation of his situation ( edie was so infuriated nothing he said even registered ) and he split, leaving edie with dylan as a goodbye gift. edie quickly went back home, got back into her parents’ good graces, and tried to forget ares and get her life back together for her little girl.

dylan’s grandparents are similar to emily and richard gilmore from gilmore girls –– they’re snobby, controlling, and a bit too invested in their granddaughter’s raising. dylan loves them both, but her complete lack of care towards social status and reputation is a constant battle.

dylan o’shea is very much the opposite of your average southern belle. seemed to have inherited both her mother and father’s wild ways, going against all of her mother’s attempts to tame her. she’s aggressive, coarse, and tactless. she’s attended and been expelled from damn near every school in the city, gotten into more fights than she can count, been arrested enough times that she knows quite a few officers by name. she’s been uncontrollable from day one, a hurricane that constantly leaves destruction in her wake.

her mother never intended to send dylan to camp half blood, she thought dylan was bound to get herself killed if she was left by herself. but dylan’s demigod ability, odikinesis, began to manifest when she turned 14. she had always had a penchant for getting into trouble, but it seemed like she was constantly being provoked into fights. her family never believed her when she said that she wasn’t doing anything, that people always came at her. they figured it was her nature, per the course as a child of the god of war.

the day things went to utter shit –– she doesn’t remember much of what happened now. it was over something stupid, a guy saying a stupid, shitty comment that shouldn’t have made her as angry as it did. next thing she remembers she’s face down on the ground, held down by 3 police officers and thrashing around like a wild animal. she’s told she beat him near to death ( or maybe –– ? she never asked, never really wanted to know ) and she lands in juvie. it was run down, under supervised and overcrowded, and her powers only grew stronger with time. a year of fighting ( both inmates and guards ), getting sent to isolation, and doing it over and over again finally broke her. abruptly, the fights stopped, and like a switch, instead of constant anger, she felt nothing at all.

her mother saw her state and knew both that something was wrong, and that she wasn’t the one who would be able to fix it. for the first time, she swallowed her pride and prayed to ares to guidance, help, anything. dylan was released soon after, something about early release for good behaviour ( ha ! ) and she immediately goes on the long drive to camp half blood. only when they get there does she learn that she was being haunted by a ker ( female spirits who personify violent death ), which was drawn to her ability and underlying power. she arrived at chb when she was 15, and has been there ever since.

some quick facts about dylan !

she has a thick southern accent and possibly the smoothest voice you’ve ever heard –– expect more than a few y’all’s here and there, though i’ll try not to be too obnoxious

she likes using nicknames –– lamb, pumpkin, june bug, the works –– just to be condescending

she’s quick to insult and even quicker to anger, but not necessarily unfriendly. she genuinely doesn’t mean any harm –– most of the time

she has a awful temper. as in, had-to-take-anger-management-classes awful. it genuinely takes a toll on her and she constantly struggles to keep her rage in check. she’s had enough years of learning that on a good day, she’s fine. on a bad day –– whew.

her inspirations incl: jessica jones ( jessica jones ), katarina stratford ( 10 things i hate about you ), reyna avila ramirez-arellano ( the heroes of olympus ), clarisse la rue ( percy jackson & the olympians )

despite how she comes across at first ( idiot jock ) she’s generally very intelligent. she especially likes history

she’s very flighty, her mind never stays on one thing and she’s constantly doing, forgetting about that, starting that, dropping that and –– you get the point. talking to her can be a bit daunting because she’s constantly changing the subject on you

the only time she’s really focused is when she mid-battle, on a quest, or thinking about strategy ( she’s a bit of a stereotype, she already knows )

from her time in juvie she’s learned quite a few –– skills. how to pick a lock and how to sneak contraband being the most relevant ( less relevant: how to turn a battery into a lighter & make booze using just bread, sugar, and fruit juice ). she’s managed to get some contacts whenever she’s permitted to leave camp for a quest, so she always has a decent supply ( weed only, she used to run with bad crowds, seen the damage the other stuff can do )

after her experience with the ker, she’s has a genuinely, almost debilitating fear of spirits and hauntings specifically. it’s a trait about herself that pisses her off to no end, and she’d die before letting anyone find out about it.

& now for the ·。ﾟ𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 ! as i said above, i’ll write a proper post when i’m a little less tired

platonic

rivals –– friend version ! dylan is quite possibly the most competitive person on earth, it’s in her genetics. she thinks of everything as a competition and she always has to win. however, a victory is only sweet when it’s against a true adversary. she spends a lot of time with this person and she’s convinced herself that it’s so that she can eventually prove she’s their superior, but she actually just likes being around them.

( bonus points –– sparring partners no rules sorta deal, out in the woods, scratches from twigs, bloodied rocks, anything to let some of her aggression out )

opposites attract –– this person is different from her in almost every way ( grumpy, combative, wild vs friendly, sweet, caring, etc ) and by all accounts should provoke her ire and contempt. yet somehow, she instead genuinely care about this person and their wellbeing ( and it makes her sick to her stomach ).

romantic

crush –– oh it’s just so pathetic. dylan prides herself on being untouchable, with a dark black hole where her heart should be. however, this person is a very unwanted reminder that she is, in fact, a real person with emotions and feels and ugh. she’s carried a torch for this person from the day she met them, and she’s been unable to rid herself of these feelings despite her best attempts. this person definitely doesn’t know ( she tries to convince herself of this ) and she plans to ignore the nervousness, unconscious smiles and, ugh, butterflies until the day she –– dies, i guess.

antagonistic

rivals –– enemy version ! dylan is probably the most competitive person on earth, which also makes her one of the sorest losers you’ll ever meet. she hates losing, and she finds it difficult to keep that sentiment to herself. for whatever reason dylan doesn’t respect this person, and therefore can’t handle losing to them as graciously as she might otherwise. despite her temper she’s usually not the type to hold a grudge ( more the fight and forgive type ) but her hatred of this person is a giant mental block.

#˙・゜◤ 𝔻𝕐𝕃𝔸ℕ – 「 the grace of the 𝓰𝓸𝓭𝓼 comes by 𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮. 」#ambrosia:intro

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andrea-lyn · 5 years ago

Note

'The worst part was when my mother asked me why we didn’t see each other anymore, casually, with a flippant sort of curiosity.' Maria and Alex friendship RNM during/after the love triangle

10 degree angle

For ten years, Alex didn’t speak to any of his friends while he fought someone else’s war.

He makes a lot of excuses for it. He’s busy. He’s not in the right emotional space for it. It would be unfair when so much is classified and he can’t share that with them. The truth is that he’s making excuses because Alex doesn’t really like the person he’s become and he wants to keep Roswell separate from that – or maybe just his friends. Definitely Michael.

When things go to hell the day Max dies, Alex finds himself withdrawing again.

He speaks to Kyle, he and Michael and Isobel talk about alien plans and strategies, but what hurts the most and feels the strangest is that even though he’s back in town, he’s stopped talking to Liz and Maria, because he’s not sure he can.

Why he can work with Michael and not talk to Maria, he’s not sure, but he thinks that it has to do with the fact that he and Michael have been through so much and maybe Alex feels like he deserves a little suffering, after what his family has done to Michael’s. He can cope with Michael hurting him with spiteful words and bitter looks, because he knows it’s better than Michael deciding to exit Alex’s life for good.

He’s just not as sure what he’s done to Maria to earn that kind of pain.

Life is full of suffering, though, a lesson that Jesse Manes had beat into Alex’s head.

They don’t speak, at all.

Days turn into weeks, and Alex only drinks at the cabin – six-packs that he grabs from the liquor store or Kyle picks up for them – and then weeks become awkward months.

Somewhere in the middle of that icy silent treatment, Liz folds. She shows up at Alex’s cabin with a plate covered in tinfoil, the smell of churro pancakes wafting through the door even as he stands there and debates sending her away.

“Please, Alex,” Liz insists. “I need to apologize and I have news.”

His stomach rumbles, betraying how hungry he is. It’s the only reason he folds in the end, opening the door to Liz and nodding for the kitchen. “Forks are in the first drawer on the right,” he says quietly, still not sure why she’s here because she’d made it clear that she wanted Michael to move on to something new.

That someone isn’t him.

Still, she says she’s here to apologize, so Alex will take it. “So? What did you want to say?”

“That I’m sorry I took a side and thought that I knew the whole story. I’m sorry I put my nose where it didn’t belong, and I’m sorry I hurt two of my best friends in the process.”

Alex frowns at her, even as he digs into the pancakes. “How the hell did you hurt Maria?”

Liz shakes her head, letting out a rough sounding exhalation. “I really thought Michael and her would be good. I thought he’d let her in, that whatever kept you two apart meant that she and him could have something, but then he lied to her. He lied to her about his hand and about his past. I’m pretty sure I haven’t gone a week without at least one frantic text or call from Maria asking what’s so wrong with her.”

Liz stares at the pancakes miserably.

“She went from upset that she was feeling the way she was to completely torn apart thinking that she was losing her mind, like her mother.”

“I don’t think you should be telling me this, Liz,” Alex warns.

She might be one of his best friends, but she does this. She charges in headfirst and she doesn’t stop to think about the consequences. With a pang, Alex thinks about how Max had a habit of doing the same. Maybe they would’ve been perfectly suited to one another after all.

“I know. Shit, I know,” Liz admits. “I’m here to apologize, I’m here to say I’m sorry, and I am here to beg. Please go talk to Maria? Please?”

Alex wants to know why Liz isn’t asking the opposite.

“Why can’t Maria come here?”

“Because I sort of thought that at least if you go to her, the liquor would help a little more than being isolated in the middle of nowhere,” Liz says bluntly. “You know that she and Michael are done. That’s the news,” she says, as if everyone doesn’t already know that. It hadn’t been a quiet flame-out, even if Alex hadn’t known what to make of it. “And I think you’re both miserable over a self-destructing alien, and we need all the friends we can get.”

Alex could say that he’s got all the friends he needs, but he knows it’s not true.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells Liz, which isn’t a promise.

She nods like it is, though, and leaves him alone.

He knows he should feel bad about the fact that he doesn’t go to the Pony to talk to Maria, but he needs time to process all of this. He’d been hurt, genuinely hurt, and while he knows that other people have to live their life, it doesn’t mean that he’s ready to open the door and go right back to square one.

He tells himself that it won’t be like this forever.

Unfortunately, he’s deliberately ignoring the part where unless someone does something about the situation, then it very well could be.

30 degree angle

Kyle is, weirdly, the one who convinces him to go back to the Wild Pony.

“Kyle, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Alex, come on,” Kyle protests. “You are literally avoiding the Pony just so you don’t talk to her and I can’t drink in the weird bunker much longer.” He shakes his head. “It’s sad. It makes me feel like we’re turning into our fathers. It’s been months and Guerin is fucking half the town, but neither of you. I know that’s shitty to hear, but what’s done is done. Okay? Can we please go back to the Pony.”

He could say no, but Kyle’s the one steady friend he’s got right now. He’s pretty sure that if he pissed him off and lost him, then he wouldn’t have anyone, which even he can acknowledge wouldn’t be a good look for him.

“Fine,” he accepts. “When it’s awkward, just remember that you’re the one who asked for this.”

Kyle ignores his plight, clapping him on the back as he forces them to charge headfirst into a place Alex has been avoiding for weeks. It hasn’t changed, but he’s not surprised. It hadn’t changed in years, why would a few weeks have managed to change the Pony. Once Kyle’s inside, he heads off to the bathroom in a completely unsubtle way the second Maria finishes up with her patrons and locks eyes with Alex.

Kyle really would make the worst criminal, wouldn’t he?

“Alex,” Maria greets him, sounding nervous. “Hi. Kyle texted, said you were coming.”

“Did he?”

“I might have tried to lean on him to get you here,” she admits. “I wanted to talk to you and you ignored Liz, which I didn’t think was possible.”

Alex turns his beer, picking at the label as he tries to avoid looking at her. It’s awkward, if only because he knows that they need to talk, but he doesn’t really want to. Maybe they can make this work, though, if he sets down a few firm ground rules.

“Fine,” he allows, “on one condition.”

Maria eyes him warily, with that look on her face like she’s trying to read him. “Okay?”

“We don’t talk about Guerin,” Alex says flatly. “Not while I’m here.”

Maria opens her mouth, like she wants to protest, and Alex gets it. There’s a lot between them that’s gone unsaid that has to do with Michael, but he can’t deal with it. It doesn’t matter that Alex and Maria both aren’t dating Michael, he’s not ready to sit here and rehash a history that’s still too painful to relive. Alex is putting all his energy into not walking away. He really doesn’t think he can muster up the energy to deal with reliving the pain of Michael walking away from him and turning the tables – only, it’s not into the stars, as Alex had been expecting, but into someone else’s arms.

It doesn’t matter that he and Michael are friends. It doesn’t matter that Michael and Maria aren’t sleeping together.

He’s just not ready.

Maria doesn’t look fully convinced, but she seems to understand that Alex isn’t offering a choice. It’s either they avoid the topic or they don’t talk at all.

“Fine,” she relents, after a long pause. “Did you see what that asshole Wyatt did? Using Hank as an excuse to go after Isobel because he thinks she had something to do with it is low…”

Well, Alex never did say that they couldn’t talk about Michael’s family, so he’s stepped right into that one. Still, Maria’s got all kinds of gossip that Alex never would’ve had otherwise, because he’s been self-isolating himself out at the cabin.

“I hadn’t heard,” he says, and slides in closer to listen to the rest of this juicy tale.

At some point, Kyle rejoins him like he’s figured out it’s safe to re-enter the fray. Alex glares at him because it’s clear that he’s been avoiding them until he’d decided that things are safe, but he’s also quietly relieved that Kyle had been so adamant that they come here tonight. He knows that there’s a long way to go before they can bridge the gap, but this feels like a good start.

“What are we talking about?” Kyle asks, pressing both hands on the bar like he’s ready to jump in.

“Rosa’s fashion sense,” Maria shares, because they’ve moved on to one of their old hobbies – critiquing other people’s clothing. “She’s stuck a decade back and none of us have the heart to tell her because…”

Well, how do you tell the dead girl that maybe she needs to find a pair of pants that aren’t ripped?

Also, Alex thinks that’d be the pot calling the kettle black, given his former tastes.

“Yeah, not it,” Kyle scoffs. “She pre-hates me for being the half-brother she never wanted. You really think I’m about to tell her that her flannels need to be retired?”

They spend the next few hours talking about their fashion tastes, for better or worse, and Michael’s name doesn’t come up once. It only occurs to Alex when Kyle drops him off later that Michael hadn’t come up at all and it hadn’t felt strange or awkward to avoid talking about him. Why should it? Michael came into their lives like a hurricane long after Maria and Alex had forged their tight-knit friendship.

To get it back, they’re going to have to figure out how to do it while he’s there, but for now Alex will focus on the foundation and one day, they’ll see if their new friendship can withstand that hurricane.

right angle – 90 degrees

Just as Alex feels like he and Maria have managed a détente, the universe barges in as if trying to point out that what they’re doing isn’t enough.

“Alex.”

He’s in the middle of Liz’s lab, readjusting his prosthetic after a quick visit to talk about aliens, having taken off the leg to give himself a quick massage while Liz went to grab coffee. He turns to see Maria in the doorway, and no Liz in sight.

He has to wonder if Liz put her up to this, but Maria’s got her coat over her shoulder and a visitor’s badge on, which means that she’s probably not here for a casual visit. It’s not the first time the both of them have been in the same space, but it feels strange to run into her here. It’s not like he can run. For one, his leg’s not on and for another, she’s blocking the door.

“Is everything okay?” he asks warily, glad she’s not in a hospital gown, but what other reason could she be here?

Maria averts her eyes. “Mom’s here for some tests.”

Guilt hits Alex quickly, thinking about how his avoiding Maria and talking to her because of how much it hurts means that he’s also taken to avoiding Mimi, which makes him feel like a complete ass. He opens his mouth to say as much, apologize for not being there, when suddenly, the piercing sound of the fire alarm goes off.

“What’s going…?”

Maria doesn’t even finish her question before the sound of the door bolting shut echoes in the room. Alex’s eyes widen in alarm, because he has a bad feeling. He gestures for the door as he efficiently works to get the prosthetic back on. “Maria, check the door,” he says.

As he’s buckling himself back in, Maria’s tugging on it, pounding her fists against heavy glass. “Hey!” she shouts. Can anyone hear me? There are people in here!” She keeps working on it, but it’s clear that they’re not the only ones in this situation and being in the lab, they’re far from the most critical case.

Alex stares at the door and can’t believe what he’s about to say.

“I guess we’re going to have to wait it out.”

The doors still haven’t unlocked two hours later, but Maria and Alex have migrated to sit on the floor, side by side. “You know what the worst part of today has been?” she says quietly. “On the drive here, Mom asked me why we didn’t see one another as much anymore. It’s like she knew, like she could feel it, and I hate the idea that the universe is so out of balance that my Mom’s third eye picked up on it.”

Alex gets it, he does, but the problem is that he also doesn’t think that he’s ready to forgive and forget.

“I think part of the reason I’m so mad at you is because you did everything right,” Alex admits, feeling a clicking in his throat as he swallows. “You stayed. You didn’t walk away from him. When he held you after the incident at the UFO Emporium, you didn’t tell him to go and you didn’t run either. When he kissed you, you stayed to talk. And I’m mad at you because you were able to do that and I couldn’t, not with my fear of Jesse in my head,” he gets out, gritting his teeth to get the words out. “And I’m so mad that you could, and I know it’s Michael who showed up, but I was mad at you.”

Maria stays silent, like she knows that Alex needs to get it out.

It’s not even about how much he loves Michael, though he does. He hasn’t ever stopped, and he’d stood in an exploding building, willing to die for Michael. No, instead, he’s pissed off at Maria for being the kind of person that Michael’s been looking for.

Talk about not being fair, but it’s not like Alex understands it.

“Well, then, I’m on the train of being pissed off, because we broke up within weeks because he wouldn’t tell me the truth and I was mad at him. I’m mad at him for making me open up to the idea of him, of making me want him and even love him, but then for him to keep secrets from me that he still won’t tell me, but he’ll clearly tell everyone else! I’m so pissed at Michael Guerin for coming into our lives like a tornado and not even being able to be mad at him because he destroyed himself worse than he took me out.”

Alex lets out a ragged and pained sounding scoff. “Well, then the trifecta’s complete, because I am one hundred percent sure that he’s pissed at me and has been for a decade,” he gets out, and wishes it didn’t hurt so much, but it does.

For all that Michael looking away reminds him of the last ten years, feeling that derision and hate from Michael about how Alex walked away and how things between them don’t work is like someone’s carved a hole in his chest that he doesn’t know how to fill.

Maria threads her arm in with Alex and curls in against his shoulder. “Michael doesn’t hate you.”

“You haven’t seen him, Maria,” Alex says quietly. “He’s pissed at me because I keep walking away. I didn’t know what else to do, but he’s pissed and…” And maybe Alex can’t blame him, because look how crushed he got when Michael did the same to him only the once.

“If he hates anything, it’s how much he loves you. Even when we were together, there would be these small moments when we’d be lying together in bed and I’d feel this aura radiating from him.” She squints, like she’s trying to put a name to it. “And it took me a few days to realize that it was the same hope that came from you. It was a longing and seeing as I was right there with him, I don’t think that it was me he was longing for.”

Alex feels the ache deep in his chest, because it’s all well and good to hear that from her, but it doesn’t matter.

“He’s fucking someone inappropriate every week,” Alex bites out. “I know that I kept walking away and I know I told him I wanted to be friends, but it hurts, Maria. Thinking about you with him, it hurts, because it makes me feel like I’ve never been enough and I missed my chance…”

He rubs at his eyes, hating that he feels so torn up about this.

“I’ve loved him since I was seventeen,” he says quietly. “I let my fear be louder than that love, and now I’m paying for it. I lost my friend, I lost him, and now I don’t know if I’m going to get either of you back.”

“If you’re done being mad at me,” Maria says quietly, pressing her cheek to Alex’s shoulder as she holds him in, like she’s scared he’ll run, “I could use my friend back.”

Alex turns into the warmth of her body. She smells of her intoxicating perfume and the sweet smell of liquor that means she’s been doing inventory. She smells like Maria and Alex burrows in for a one-armed hug, not sure he’s ready to keep being mad at Maria, especially when he’d forgiven Michael a while ago.

“Maybe we just have to figure out how to talk to each other,” Alex says quietly. “I didn’t exactly write much when I was in Iraq.”

Maria’s quiet for a minute, then adds, “Neither did I.”

Maybe Liz hadn’t been the only bad friend of the three of them. Maybe they all need lessons on how to open up, be vulnerable, be open.

The doors unbolt in the middle of their awkward seated hug, and within seconds Liz is bursting into the room. “Alex! I’m so sorry, it’s the new security feature after the last incident and…” she trails off when she sees Maria and Alex hugging on the floor. She blinks, clearly stunned that it’s happening, but there’s also relief in her eyes. “Can I get in on that?”

Maria nods, her eyes blurry with tears, and waves at Liz eagerly. “Get down here!”

They’re free to wander the hospital, but Alex doesn’t want to move when he’s finally feeling like he’s grounded and in the exact right spot for the first time in so long.

120 degree angle

It’s been ten months since Alex and Maria stopped talking.

It’s been eight months since they started again.

Both those numbers seem ridiculously small, given what happened last night. It feels like those incidents should have been years ago, but they’re not. Alex is nervous as hell, but he’s here at the Pony, sitting at the bar and waiting for Maria to finish serving a few customers because there’s something he needs to talk about with her.

“Why are you so nervous?” she asks, squinting at him. “No psychic read needed, I think I felt your leg shaking from down the other end of the bar.”

“Last night, I went on a date,” Alex shares, anxiously.

“Which one was it?” Maria asks eagerly, leaning in with wide eyes. “That hottie from the base? Forest? Your tinder date from Santa Fe?”

Alex hasn’t been chaste for the last half a year, exploring who he is now that his father is in a medically induced coma and can’t interfere in his life again. It’s been incredible to learn about what he likes, but last night had reminded him that above all else, he loves one thing the most.

“It was Guerin,” Alex says. “Michael.”

He’s been dreading telling her. He’s been worried and barely slept because he’s been so excited to come rave about this, but he’s also been picturing every scenario in his mind. He watches her for every facial tic and reaction, but there isn’t a hint of jealousy on her face and there’s no anger. It’s been ten months since they almost let themselves splinter and Maria understands how much Alex loves Michael.

He’s here, he’s staying, and finally, he’s decided to fight for Michael.

“Please tell me he took you somewhere better than that trailer,” she says with a disgruntled snort. “You made sure he used a condom, right?”

“Aliens,” Alex reminds her. “He can’t get diseases, even if he tried his best to act like a sexual lint roller and press himself up against as many dirty surfaces as he could find. Metaphorically,” he deadpans. He knows he doesn’t sound very excited, but he’s been grinning since he’d admitted to going out with Michael, and not just that, but the way his name had sounded out loud. “We went out for a nice dinner at Isobel’s. She cooked pasta and Michael grilled, and we had a really nice time,” he admits.

Maria gives him a curious look, like there’s something about Alex she’s not getting.

“Am I still hopeful?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, and smiles fondly at him. “You’re past hope. This time, you know.”

“You’re not mad?” is his next question, which is the one that he’s really worried about. They barely survived Michael barrelling in between them the first time. What happens if this is all Maria putting on a front and he loses her? He doesn’t want to admit it, but if it came down to Michael or Maria, it’d be a really rough call, as things stand these days.

“Tell me it’s not a fling,” she says.

“It’s not,” Alex insists instantly. “It’s really not. I love him.”

“That’s why I’m okay,” Maria admits, even if her smile isn’t as wide as it could be. “It hurts because I want something like that and I thought that maybe I could get it with Guerin, but I can’t steal other people’s happy endings to make my own.” She smacks her rag on the counter, a determined look on her face. “Besides, I deserve a man who’s willing to tell me the truth.”

“You definitely do,” Alex agrees. “We’ll stay away from here for a while, though, just until things calm down.”

The last thing he wants to do is mount Michael in the middle of the Wild Pony, because that feels a little like cruelly rubbing Maria’s face in it. From the look of gratitude on her face, Alex knows it’s the right decision.

“I’m glad you two are making it work,” she promises, reaching over to squeeze Alex’s hand, closing her eyes, which means she’s reading him. This time, Alex lets it happen, because maybe there’s something good hanging around the corner. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but it looks good, Alex,” she promises, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “You’re happy. And you’re surrounded by friends.”

It’s pretty much all he could ever hope for, even if he’s not sure how he managed to deserve it.

“Thank you,” he says, and means it with all his heart. “Thanks for letting me have this happiness.”

“You’re one of my best friends,” Maria promises. “We’re not forgetting that, not anymore, not either of us.”

180 degree angle – straight angle

“Are you ready for this?”

Alex stares at himself in the mirror, glancing over his shoulder to where Maria’s poking her head in the door of her bedroom. She’d given it up to him for the day, because the cabin is too far for them, but it makes him feel like he’s intruding on her space. Still, given her responsibilities, Alex is also fairly sure that giving up her bedroom and her mirror is the least she can do.

“How’s my tie look?”

Maria wanders closer, adjusting the flare of her dress as she fidgets with it, getting the orchid bowtie back in shape. “Would I be a good maid of honor if I let you go out there without looking your best?” she quips, and gets it straightened up. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” Alex is nervous as fuck, because it’s been years and he knows that he and Michael have created a strong foundation, but sometimes Maria and Michael will have one of their serious talks and Alex will wonder if today’s the day Michael realizes he’s made a mistake.

Maria constantly reminds him that they’re only friends, but that little voice in Alex’s head doesn’t want to go away.

“You should see him,” Maria shares, with the secretive wink that only another person who’s slept with Michael can truly give. Of all their friends, no one else will ever appreciate Michael in that way, because Maria is the only one who knows about all the devious tricks that Michael can do. “I think he managed to convince Isobel to get him a pair of pants that fits just a little too small.”

It’s exactly the relief Alex needs and he catches himself laughing at the image he’s creating in his mind.

“Or he washed them and shrunk them and Isobel’s only noticing now,” he jokes, trying to calm himself down. It’s not that he’s worried about making a mistake, but he’s still in disbelief that today is happening. After all, with all the speed bumps they’ve gone through, the suspension of their relationship ought to be wrecked.

Instead, here they are, getting married.

“How are you doing?” Alex asks.

Maria squints at him like he’s lost his mind. “You’re the groom. I’m not the one who should be answering that question today.”

“Yeah, I’m the groom and I get what I want. What I want to know is how you’re holding up,” Alex keeps stubbornly charging down that road. “I know how hard weddings can be, never mind when one of the grooms is your ex.”

“It’s been years and Michael and I went on about two dates,” Maria says, rubbing Alex’s shoulders as she gets him positioned in front of the full-length mirror. “I’ve seen his vows and yours. I know that the words you two use to describe each other would’ve never been him and me, and that’s okay. I’ve learned to be okay with that. I’m gonna go find my own cosmic, epic, connected romance and then I’ll make you suffer through it.”

She leans in to kiss him on the cheek.

Instead of ducking away, though, she lingers. “And,” Maria promises, wrapping her arms around his back in a tight hug, “just to make things fair, you can make out with him a few times so our friendship playing field is evened out.”

Alex lets out a soft laugh. “Michael might get kind of mad about that, but we’ll see,” he playfully says.

Maria finally releases him to duck away, heading out the door.

“Don’t be late! The rest of your life is waiting for you at that altar,” Maria calls over her shoulder, “and he looks hot in the kind of way you definitely wanna tell your Mama about!”

And soon, Alex is going to take that last name and all that goes with it, and he’ll have his best friend at his side while it happens.

He’s absolutely ready for this.

#maria and alex friendship #mostly gen #malex ending #past miluca #angst #pain #and then productive healing #with talking #anon this was a fab prompt #it challenged me #and I loved it #roswell new mexico #tumblr prompts #the great 800 follower fill #Anonymous

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epicstuckyficrecs · 5 years ago

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Weekly Recap | August 12th-18th

Sorry it’s a bit late! Here’s what I read in the last week :)

Complete

Water Landing by romanticalgirl (Modern AU | 8K | Teen): From the prompt: My dog is the size of a mini horse and forcibly knocked you into the duck pond for that hot dog you were about to take a bite out of.

here is no mistake by amethystkrystal (Post-Endgame, canon-divergent | <1K | General): Bucky Barnes is worthy.

we were running riot by steveandbucky (canon-divergent, TFA | 2,4K | Explicit): The train is still running at full speed. Steve swears under his breath. He almost just lost Bucky.

Have You Seen This Person? by fallendarlings (Post-WS | 2,5K | Teen): Missing persons fliers start showing up in Steve's apartment. They have his face on them and they're written in Bucky's handwriting.

💙 Collar Full of Chemistry by 2bestfriends (Modern AU, BDSM | 188K | Explicit): Steve is very rich and desperate to feel in control of his life again after a recent divorce has left him feeling bitter and lonely. When he keeps crossing paths with a disaster twenty-something, an unconventional solution presents itself. Bucky is very broke and can’t seem to catch a break, especially after some asshole fires him for one fucking mistake. So of course, it follows that he should sign a contract agreeing to do everything and anything that same asshole wants for a whole year in exchange for a payout that could finally change his life for the better.

💙 the way you slam your body into mine reminds me i’m alive (but monsters are always hungry, darling) by voxofthevoid (Shrunkyclunks, Avenger Bucky | 3K | Explicit): Steve doesn’t wait for an invitation, bodily pushing Bucky out of the way and kicking the door shut behind him. Bucky wouldn’t put up with that shit, not normally, but Steve lays his hands on him, hot and huge over bare skin, and then there’s teeth closing in on his throat, and Bucky can’t think. (Part 4 of couldn't get the boy to kill me)

tell yourself this is how it's going to be by belovedmuerto (post-CW | 25K | Mature): Steve is absolutely one hundred percent not going to cry himself to sleep.

Good Friends by eadunne2 (Evanstan RPF | 3,8K | Explicit): “I was just wondering what you think about the fact that everyone thinks you’re dating?” “I mean we’re good friends so, thanks but no thanks.”

Happy Birthday, Sebastian Stan by dixons_mama (Evanstan RPF | 2,5K | Explicit): Chris surprises Sebastian on his birthday, and things take a turn that neither expected. Maybe birthday wishes do come true.

Something Simple by Catchclaw (Evanstan AU | 2,9K | Explicit): Chris woke up with a hangover and a half-hearted hard-on and a softly snoring dude in his bed.

My Arms Are Open by dixons_mama (TFA | 2,9K | Explicit): When Steve sees that Bucky is struggling after escaping Azzano, he decides to do all he can to help the love of his life recover.

Starbucks by lockedlocke (Modern AU, skinny Steve | 4,3K | Explicit): Bucky presses the middle button on his phone again, and then once more to unlock it. He instantly taps the white text bubble in the green icon, goes to the chat he’s got with Steve and starts to type. He presses send before he even realizes what he wrote. “I will suck your dick if you bring me Starbucks.”

Parade Rest by caleprwrite (Shrinkyclinks | 12K | Explicit): Bucky can be a cranky asshole, but Pepper knows best just what he needs. Bucky will get it whether he likes it or not. And he'll say thank you. Enter Steven Grant Rogers, Massage Therapist and friend to Pepper Potts.

In Repair by sablier_bloque (post-Endgame | 3,8K | Mature): In 2023, Steve Rogers lays down his shield, joins Twitter, and finds purpose beyond the battlefield—with Bucky Barnes at his side.

WIP

💙 Like Real People Do by 2bestfriends (Shrunkyclunks, canon divergent post-Avengers | 59K | 9/10 | Explicit): Seven years into an isolated retirement after the Battle of New York, Steve has carved out a place for himself in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains. He has a best friend (his dog, Lady), a frenemy (a local black bear named Rufus), and a cabin in the middle of the woods, an hour’s drive from the nearest town. As November comes to a close, he heads into town to pick up supplies and ends up with a stowaway.

we miss being ruffians by napricot (Post-WS, canon-divergent | 67K | 12/? | Explicit): Assorted snippets post-they're gonna send us to prison for jerks 💙. Chapter 12: Maybe there was some modern context Bucky was missing. Not that it mattered. What mattered here was Bucky’s innovative new plan to combine winning date night with pranking Steve. Because what was better than getting Steve all hot and bothered? Getting Steve hot and bothered while mildly terrorizing him with terrible Captain America merchandise, that was what.

💙 This Side of the Blue by notlucy/ @notlucy (Mermaid AU | 27/44 | 97K | Explicit): A trick was the only explanation for what Steve saw floating there. This figment of his childhood. This myth. This legend. Within the tank, the siren bared its teeth.

Solitary by exclamation/ @jessicameats (Canon divergent | 38/? | 94K | Mature): The Winter Soldier has been a prisoner of SHIELD for about a year and a half, placed in solitary confinement under strict security when it was clear he wasn’t going to respond to the best interrogators and deprogrammers SHIELD had available. When Fury asks a newly awakened Steve Rogers to assist, Steve is hesitant. He doesn’t understand why Fury thinks he would have a better chance of getting through to this guy than all the people who have tried and failed.

💙 Political Animals by crinklefries, Deisderium (Modern AU, politics | 1/9 | 5K | Explicit): Okay, so the real problem is that you shouldn’t fuck your arch-rival, political enemy, and the person you loathe the most in the world where you work. Or like, at least, you shouldn’t keep doing that.

Re-Read

Flying Practice by cyclamental (Dragonriders of Pern AU | 11K | Explicit): Bucky gets his ass-cherry popped, an allegory heavily inspired by the Dragonriders of Pern. So, you know - First Time, but with dragons.

💙 some days i (wish that i wasn't myself) by notcaycepollard, Roga (Evanstan AU, journalist Seb, actor Chris | 6K | Mature): The problem, Seb never meant to say out loud, has always been that if he got Chris Evans’ dick in his mouth it would definitely end up making the story.

mere colors by brostucky (orphan_account) (Soulmates Uni AU | 27K | Teen): That’s when Bucky takes a deep breath and shoves his way through the crowd.And, really, it’s that moment that shit starts to hit the fan.

Stars Out Of The Blue by luninosity (Evanstan RPF | 6,3K | Teen): Chris Evans accidentally kicks Sebastian Stan off a broken helicarrier set on Monday afternoon. It’s the worst moment of his life. Monday evening, however, contains the best moment. Indisputably. Ever.

#stucky #stucky fic #stucky fanfic #stucky fanfiction #stucky fic rec #weekly recap

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thecleverdame · 5 years ago

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East Of Nowhere - Year Five

Sam x Reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: You and Sam are strangers trapped in a desolate mountain town where you live alone, isolated from the outside world, for five years.

Warnings: language, violence, smut, talk of past trauma

Beta: ilikaicalie

This story is complete (44k) and available now on Patreon for a pledge of 2.50. >>CLICK HERE<<

Four Years, Six Weeks

Sometimes you stand naked in from the full length mirror in the bathroom and look at the shiny pink scar on your stomach that bears a stunning similarity to a washed up fish bone. Running the pads of your fingers over the raised skin you think about Sam, as if you’re rubbing a locket that reminds you of his unwavering love. A different version of yourself would be bothered by it, the tough, mangled flesh that healed without concern for aesthetics. But you feel grateful for Sam and, in a strange way, appreciative that Shadow Hill exists.

You’re lucky to be alive, this is your daily reminder.

Four years, Two Months

It’s mid-morning when you finally drag yourself out of bed and meander downstairs. There’s coffee in the pot and bagels on the counter. Sam’s seated at the table still in his pajamas, bent over a copy of The World Hardest Crosswords Puzzles, Volume 7.

“Morning,” you greet him, casually reaching out and touching his shoulder as you pass by.

“Mornin’,” he responds without looking up, his tongue pressed between his lips in complete concentration.

“You making any progress?” He’s been stuck for two days.

“What?” he asks, utterly indifferent to clarification.

“Nevermind,” you pour yourself a cup of coffee, tugging open the refrigerator in search of milk. You’re normally a ‘black-cuppa-joe’ girl, but every once in awhile, you treat yourself to milk and sugar. You watch him as you stir your coffee, unable to keep from smiling at the sight of his wild bed head. Cupping the mug in both hands, you take a sip and gag as the rancid taste hits your tongue. Turning to the sink you spit it out, then stick your entire mouth under the faucet as you rinse the taste away.

“What the hell?” Sam looks borderline irritated that you’re interrupting his progress.

“The milk’s bad,” you say it before you realize the meaning behind it. Sam looks at you cockeyed and gets up from his chair.

“That’s impossible,” he picks up the milk jugs and smells it before taking a sip himself. “Oh my God,” he gags, pushing you aside gently to spit into the sink.

“See?” you raise an eyebrow, vindicated.

He pours himself a glass of water, resting his butt on the counter. “It’s probably just a glitch. I mean some things stay where we put them, so maybe a couple of wires crossed somewhere.”

“Maybe,” you’re not unagreeable. Stranger things have happened before, never with the food, but there’s a first time for everything. So the next day, when there’s fresh milk magically waiting, you don’t give it too much thought.

Four Years, Three Months

“Do I look older to you?” You stop in front of the mirror in the dining room, patting at the corner of your eye.

Sam wanders up behind you, looking at both your reflections. “You look beautiful.”

You smile, tipping your head to the side as you examine small wrinkles. “Thank you, but I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I mean it, do you think I’ve aged since we’ve been here?”

Sam thinks about it, stepping close and inspecting his own skin. “I don’t know. I can’t tell a difference. Do I look older?”

You turn to him, running your finger along his hairline, then down the side of his jaw. “No,” you confirm, “not a day.”

Four Years, Four Months

Sam looks back to make sure you’re still behind him and picks up his pace, racing up the steep hill that leads to the library. He loves mornings like this, late fall when the air is chilly before the first snow. The cold air stings his lungs, but it feels good to push past it and get his blood pumping. He knows you can’t quite keep up, but he’ll circle back for you, right now he just wants to move faster, pushing beyond invisible barriers. By the time he’s at the top of the hill, the muscles of his legs are burning just the same as his lungs.

He jogs in place catching his breath and tipping his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. On days like today, he wakes up with the energy to do something new. He’ll settle for any-fucking-thing because the days are a mind-numbing repeat of the weeks and months before. He just wants something to take his mind off the thoughts that play on repeat in his brain. It’s a never-ending loop of worry and fruitless anxiety that picks at his insides until he wants to cut himself open for surgical removal.

He wants to hunt, to have a mystery he can solve because the one he’s trapped in has beaten him ten times over. He wants to take you on a fucking date, go to a restaurant and have a stranger take your order. He wants to take you to the cabin on Astor Lake that Bobby took him and Dean to when they were kids. He wants to go to the bar with Dean, drink too much, and get into a fight over the pool table. He wants to be more than Shadow Hill will allow, so instead, he runs as fast and far as he can.

“You’re killing me long legs,” you pant, trotting up behind him. That voice, your voice, somehow makes it bearable. He turns, watching with amusement as you lean over with both hands on your thighs, gasping for air. Your cheeks are bright red, hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. He can’t imagine loving anything more he loves you, just like this; exasperated, but determined.

“You wanna head back?” he chuckles, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Never,” you gulp, standing up straight, “I will not be defeated.”

“I’ll slow down a little, give you a fighting chance,” he takes your hand and pulls you across the lawn toward one of the dirt paths that lead through the tree line.

He takes it slow, running side-by-side down the winding path, determined to enjoy the parts of this life that are good, and there actually is a lot of good. There’s immense comfort in the sound of your footfalls and labored breath beside him.

The tree that catches his attention isn’t far from the house, it’s just of the edge of the housing development. He slows and you fall beside him, “Hey, look at that.”

Wandering over to the old oak tree, it takes you a moment to see what he sees. All the trees are a shell of their summer selves, naked and stripped of leaves, nothing but raw, boney branches stretching toward the sky, but this one is different.

“It’s dying,” you mutter reaching out to touch the bark, peeling it away from the hollow wood underneath. “Sam, I’ve never seen anything here die. Not like this.”

Four Years, Five Months

“Sam,” you whine, wiggling under the full weight of his body. He’s not sure he will ever get used to the way you say his name, especially like this. What brief slivers of pleasure he’s had throughout his life never came close to the way he feels when he’s with you, naked on a sunny afternoon.

It feels like every inch of his skin is touching yours; his lips on your lips, his chest pressing against your warm, soft breasts. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, thighs squeezing either side of his hips as he rocks slow and steady on top and inside you. He reaches back hitching your leg higher around his hip, adjusting the angle just a little, but it’s enough to make you moan, clenching his cock with fluttering muscles.

Part of him wants to reach down and suck a nipple into his mouth, he does love sucking your tits while he fucks you, but there’s just something about the closeness of this moment that he hesitates to interrupt.

He likes to watch you, loves the way your mouth falls open as your head thrashes from side to side. You furrow your brow in pleasure as your fingernails dig into the flesh of his biceps, pulling him closer, urging harder. When you’re laid out like this with him grinding into you, he doesn’t even need to touch your clit to make you come. The slow, firm slide of his pubic hair over your sex does the same work his fingers normally do.

You come with his name on your lips. Sam follows soon after, spilling into you with his face pressed into your neck.

Neither of you knows it yet, but this moment will alter your future in a most profound way.

Four Years, Five Months, Three Weeks

The timing of your birth control pills is something you don’t play around with. There’s an alarm in the spare bedroom that goes off every morning at 10 a.m. sharp, screeching through the whole house until you run upstairs, tap the ‘off’ button and slip into the bathroom to swallow your daily dose.

Today is nothing special, you slap the clock radio silent and pop open the pink pack of pills. It’s the second day of your sugar pill, which means you’ll start bleeding by tomorrow morning. You gulp down the medication and smooth a panty liner into your underwear.

It’s the next morning before you realize your period is late. It’s still early when you blink awake, still tired and sweating because Sam’s wrapped around you in a tangle of arms and legs. He’s like a furnace, skin running hot even after he’s kicked the sheet off his side of the bed.

You squirm out of his grasp, slipping from the bed. He catches your hand, asking without opening his eyes, “Where you going?”

“I have to pee.” Yawning, you meander half asleep to the bathroom. Without checking, you grab a tampon from the drawer before sitting on the toilet. It’s then that you realize: there’s no blood.

Your menstrual cycle is normally like clockwork, so this should send up a warning sign, but you were late once before so you chalk it up to nothing and assume it’ll come tomorrow.

Tomorrow turns into two days, and two days turn into a week. It’s real.

You take three tests, line them up on the sink and set the egg timer. You sit on the edge of the tub, legs bouncing with anticipation as the seconds tick by agonizingly slow. You haven’t felt strange, no nausea or dizziness, but you wouldn’t, not this early.

You’ve been trying to convince yourself there’s another reason for Aunt Flo’s sudden departure, but in your heart you know before you even look at the three positives looking back at you in happy pink letters.

Your heart drops to your stomach.

---

Sam’s gutting a series of two way radios; wires and circuit boards littered over the living room floor. He wants to figure out how to boost the strength of the signal, so they’ll work at opposite ends of town.

Squinting down at the diagram in ‘The Ham Radio Electrician’s Guide,’ he thinks he might need glasses. He hears you pad down the stairs, the soft rustle of bare feet on the carpet. He’s about to ask where you’ve been all morning until he hears you sniffle.

You’re crying.

His chest is tight, fear rising from his gut to his heart. “What’s wrong, baby?”

He stands and you stop walking in the middle of the room, taking a deep breath of courage. There’s no point in trying to hide it, you don’t hide things from each other, not here. “I’m pregnant.”

Sam’s face falls slack as the words make their way from his ears to his brain, forming the thought: pregnant.

“What?” he stutters. “How? I mean, are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m late and I took a test, more than one.” You wait for him to respond feeling lost in the center of the living room.

“I, um, I don’t know what to say.” He’s hard to read, expressionless, and stationary as you take a step closer.

“Not the best news, huh?” you confirm with a sad grunt.

Sam takes your hands into his, looking you head on. He doesn’t want there to any miscommunication. “I love the idea of having a baby with you, hell, I want to have fifty kids with you...just not here. I don’t know a goddamn thing about childbirth, something could happen.”

Sam can tell himself all the lies he wants, but somewhere deep down he knows this is the only place he could ever be a father. Back in the normal world, he would never bring a child into this life. His whole existence has been a careful dance to stay alive and adding a baby to the mix would be just about the most selfish thing he could ever do. If this was ever going to happen, Shadow Hill is the only place it had the opportunity to come to fruition.

“I can do this.”

“And what if you can’t? I’m not a doctor.”

“You don’t think I know that? Sam, women have been having babies for thousands of years without doctor and hospitals.”

“So, we’re just going to roll the dice?”

“What else is there? Do you want to get rid of it?”

“No, I don’t know...” he rubs his lips together, his heart breaking from the way you’re looking at him. He pulls you to him, closing his eyes and holding you tight, his heart beating out of his chest. “No, of course not.”

“I know that we-” you’re stopped as an uncontrolled sob tears from your throat and your voice leaves you.

“Don’t cry baby.” Sam squeezes you tight, one arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head.

“I don’t,” you gulp, pressing your face into this chest, “I don’t want you to hate this baby.”

“Y/N,” he sighs, pulling your head back so you can look at him. “I could never hate something that we...created. I just don’t want to lose you.”

It’ll take him a while, but he’ll find a way to temper the dread with joy. He’ll grow into the idea of having a little one and start preparing for the day when he’ll need to add ‘midwife’ to his ever growing list of talents.

Four Years, Eight Months, Three Weeks

There’s a part of Sam is truly excited about the prospect of being a father. When he was in college and with Jess, he could imagine what it would be like: he’d be a lawyer, she’d work in a gallery or teach in an elementary school, they’d live in a suburb, and try to start a family once they’d been married for a few years. They talked about it, how many kids they wanted, what they would name them.

Sam’s dream of an all-American family died along with Jess. He never imagined that in his thirties, he’d be given the opportunity. It’s not what the younger version of himself imagined, but what truly is?

He’s sprawled out in the bedroom across the hall from the one you share together, surrounded by the parts of a crib, each section laid out neatly. He promised he’d have it done by tonight, but he’s no longer so confident. He’s solved a lot of puzzles in his life, but the instructions for this particular item of furniture appear to have been written by someone with a questionable grasp on the English language.

You’re only four months along, but showing, just a little but really showing, the bump he not-so-subtly sneaks peeks at when you’re changing or standing naked in the shower. Now, your stomach is rounded out, a perfect little globe, nestled in your midsection. There are little things about this child that makes his heart flutter, mundane details that end up replaying in his head. He likes the way your shirts stretch over your stomach, the material barely roomy enough to do the job. He loves the way you look when he fucks you, a surge of caveman pride stirring in his gut at the thought of you carrying his child. Mostly, he enjoys the idea that you’re going to be the mother of his child, that the two of you created life. He thinks it must be fate; must be written in the stars. He tells himself that fact when he can’t stop thinking about all the things that might go sideways.

There’s no way the series of events that led to this is at all random.

Four Years, Nine Months

You wake up nude.

It’s not unheard of, there are plenty of nights you fall asleep naked after being thoroughly worn out from Sam being between your legs. There’s always the intention of peeling yourself away from him to find something to sleep in, most of the time it doesn’t happen.

As you blink awake, it’s clear what woke you, you’re freezing. There’s only a sheet pulled up to your waist and your nipples are rock hard, a fully exposed barometer. You can feel Sam behind you, an arm heavy over the edge of your hip. You wiggle back into him, finding the curve of his body as your back meets his broad chest, round ass cheeks pressing into his warm, soft cock.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, sliding a hand over the curve of your stomach, flexing his bicep, squeezing you even closer.

“I don’t want to wake up yet.” Grumbling you press your face into the pillow. His hand starts to travel south from your belly, but stops short, moving back up to cup your breast.

“You’re freezing.” His mouth is at the back of your head, a smile in his voice as he rolls a nipple between his thumb and index finger.

It’s going to be one of those mornings.

“That’s why I have you.” You run your hand over his arm, covering his much larger hand where he’s kneading your breast. “That feels good, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sam places a kiss on your shoulder, then another and another as a chill runs down your spine. You run your fingers over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder, it might be lazy morning sex, but today, you don’t mind it a little rough.

His hand slides down, this time all the way to your sex, wiggling his middle finger between soft flesh. He makes slow circles around your clit with just the pad of his finger.

He’s erect now, pushing forward into your ass, just enough to ease the tension. You reach behind you, snaking a hand between your bodies and wrap a hand around his cock. You both come like this, you writhing on your side and Sam spurting warm and wet on the small of your back.

After you both come down and clean up, you open the dresser drawer in search of underwear and clean clothes, but much to your surprise the dresser is empty. Before calling for Sam, you open the closet to find two shirts hanging on the rack. One is Sam’s, the other yours, the clothes you woke up in when you first came to Shadow Hill.

Every subsequent morning you’ll wake up to a guessing game of what’s missing from the house, some mornings its clothes, other times toothpaste or canned goods. This reality is an analog station whose frequency is half-static as it tries to retune itself.

Four Years, Eleven Months, One Week

One thing is clear, this world is falling apart. What were once glitches and inconsistencies are now full-fledged issues that you find yourself combating on a daily basis.

“Sam!” You yell for him from the bottom of the stairs. The larger your belly gets the more you let him to come to you.

“What’s wrong?” His head pops around the corner at the top of the second floor hallway.

You really don’t want to tell him, he’s got enough to worry about, he doesn’t need something else, but there’s no way around this. “All the food, is, um...bad.”

“What do you mean?” he bounces down the steps.

“It’s spoiled.” You offer, letting him pass you, then following him to the kitchen.

“What’s spoiled? It’s probably just…” his voice trails off as he opens the refrigerator and finds shelves of molding, decaying fruits and vegetables. “Shit.”

“It’s everything, the bread, too.” Sam believes you, but still grabs the loaf off the counter. There’s green mold pressed against the clear plastic packaging.

“It’s okay,” Sam shrugs, his mouth fighting a grimace. “Lets just go into town, see what’s going on at Tolliver's. You alright to walk? ”

“Sure,” you nod. “Might as well go now.” You make sure to stay active, walking several miles every day so fitting this situation into your daily routine feels somewhat reassuring.

Sam has to pace himself, walking slow enough that you’re able to keep up as you meander down the street. He holds your hand, his vice like grip betraying his nerves. He might be pretending to play it cool, but inside, he’s on the verge of panic.

Once you arrive at Tolliver’s, you discover moldy fruit and soured milk. After popping open a couple of cans, Sam sighs with relief. At least the items with a longer shelf life are still edible. He fills his backpack and you make the journey back to the house. That evening you feast on a dinner of baked beans and canned chicken.

“I’m sure we’ll wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be back to normal,” he assures you.

Sam’s wrong. The next day, and every day after, you’ll eat food from a jar. The easy days are over and the challenges that lie ahead will be the toughest you’ve experienced so far.

Four Years, Eleven Months, Two Weeks

The summer has been unseasonably hot. The four previous years brought favorable temperatures, never anything this extreme. By noon everyday, the gauge on the porch reads the outside temperature to be hovering close to 100°F. A heat wave like this, coupled with your pregnancy, means you relegated to the house and the air conditioning.

Once the sun goes down, you mill around the yard and try to save your dying garden, but for the most part, you spend your days reading baby books and trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re going to give birth in a ghost town.

It’s mid-afternoon when you lay down to take a nap on the couch. Sam’s gone on a trip to the library with your wish-list of literature along with few of his own. You’re not sure how long you’re asleep, but when you wake up it’s incredibly uncomfortable. You smack dry lips together and sit up as sweat rolls down your forehead and into your eyes.

“Oh God,” you groan rocking to stand up off the couch. Your shirt is stuck to your chest, sweat stains soaking through. You pad to the thermostat to check the temperature but the small screen is blank. “Wonderful.”

In the small bathroom off the living room, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your face is bright red, cheeks looking like ripe peaches. You strip right then and there, taking a cold shower. Once you’re done, feeling more like a normal person, you pull a clean tank top and pair of panties from the dryer, it’s about all you can stand to wear.

An hour later, Sam walks the through the front door, drenched in sweat from his bike ride, expecting a blast of arctic air, only to be met with your sweltering home. He drops his backpack to the floor and kicks off his shoes. “Y/N?”

“I’m in here.” Sam finds you at the dining room table in your underwear with a glass of ice water, situated in front of a box fan you pulled from the storage closet.

“What happened?” He asks taking the glass of water you offer.

“I don’t know, it’s just not working.”

Four Years, Eleven Months, Three Weeks, Six Days

There’s a “boom!” right outside your bedroom window that jolts both of you awake. Sam’s out of bed before you even sit up, pulling back the curtain to look at the yard. You don’t realize it at first, but there’s a glow on his face from something lit up outside. You blink, watching his eyes widen and mouth fall slack.

“Holy fuck.” He’s staring in awe at whatever scene is unfolding before him.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” It takes you two tries before you successfully swing your feet over the side of the bed and walk to him. You pull back the other side of the curtain and your heart nearly stops. It looks like a scene from an apocalyptic movie. There’s a hole in the roof of the garage across the street and it’s on fire. What appears to be fiery debris is raining down all over the lawn, a million tiny embers falling from the night sky. You don’t say anything, you just stand next to him as another giant rock, the size of a car, falls from somewhere above and makes a crater in the middle of the road, just down the street from your house. “What do we do?”

“We get ready,” Sam looks at you, his face expressionless.

Five Years

“We’re gonna die,” you whisper, tucked under Sam’s arm sitting on the front steps of your house. You both should probably be inside taking cover in the basement, but it seems futile. There’s fire raining down around you, a world ablaze as it self destructs in one final, glorious crescendo.

“I’ll be with you when it happens,” he pulls you tighter to his side, closing his eyes as tears roll down his cheeks. The arm around your shoulders pulls your head to his chest, his other hand resting on your stomach, covering his unborn child.

The roof of the house across the street collapses when it’s hit with what looks like an asteroid. This is biblical: fire from the heavens.

“I’m scared Sam,” you lift your head to look at him, “I’m not ready.”

“I know,” he wants to tell you he’s scared too, he wants to scream and beg and lose his damn mind with grief and panic. But, he can’t do that to you, you need him now more than ever. “I didn’t think it was going to end like this.”

“What? Death from above?” you laugh, half crazed, wiping your wet face.

“Well that, too...I always thought I’d die saving someone, on a hunt with Dean. But, this is better.”

“How could this possibly be better?”

“I’m a father and husband. I have you. It could be a lot worse.” His voice cracks at the end as he cries. You pull him to you, grasping each other.

The ground shakes and the sky rapidly turns black, inky clouds swirling overhead. There’s a deafening sound, like the universe is tearing in half. You both know: this is it. Sam takes your face between his hands, kisses your lips softly, “Just look at me.”

You look into his eyes, shaking in fear. “I love you, Sam.”

His mouth twists in agony, blinking out final tears as he says “I love y-”

He’s gone.

The hands holding you are suddenly absent. You blink and he vanishes.

“Sam!” You scream at the top of your lungs, frantic as you call for him. “Sam!”

You scramble to your feet ready to run, to find him, but you don’t know where, you don’t know what to do. The panic overtakes you completely, clasping at your chest trying to breathe. The child inside you, in just as much distress, kicks the inside of your stomach. You gasp, what will be your last breath in Shadow Hill whispering, “I don’t want to die alone.”

Everything fades away and suddenly your world is black, void, and nothingness.

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