#St. Joseph's Hall

[bikinikillarchives]

kathleen hanna performing with bikini kill at St. Joseph's Hall, Washington, DC, October 19, 1991. photo by Amy Pierce.

[virtie333]

For it is love that I desire, not sacrifice,/ and knowledge of God rather than holocausts. (Hos 6:6)

[queer-book-character-tournament]

Character, book, and author names under the cut

Joseph Delgado/Remy St Patin- Here We Go Again by Alison Cochrun

Luc O'Donnell/Oliver Blackwood- Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall

Zong Jiu/No. 1- Thriller Trainee by Wang Ya

Keema/Jun Ossa- The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1916 – Approximately 1,000 copies of The Proclamation of the Irish Republic are printed in Liberty Hall in a print office set up by James Connolly.

The proclamation would be read by Pádraig Pearse outside the General Post Office on Sackville Street (now called O’Connell Street) on Monday 24th April. The proclamation was printed secretly on an old and poorly maintained Wharfedale Stop Cylinder Press in the printing office that had been set up by James Connolly in the basement in the original Liberty Hall in Beresford Place, Dublin. All seven…

[archinform]

Adam N. Schuster Residence, St. Joseph MO

An 1880s residence in the Hall Street Historic District

Built: 1881

Architect: Edmond J. Eckel (Eckel and Mann)

Address: 703 Hall Street, St. Joseph MO 64501

Growing up in St. Joseph, Missouri, in the 1960s and 70s, my main source of fascination was the city's historic architecture. A major gateway to the West during the 1800s, the town once rivaled larger cities in importance, and great fortunes were amassed there in the wholesale, outfitting, and mercantile industries.

The fortunes accumulated by "Old St. Joseph" were notoriously never invested in the city's growth; they were put into bank accounts where they preserved the power and influence of the Men Who Made St. Joseph the City Worth While (the title of a local history), while making the city a hermetically sealed place where nothing changed, and no outside influence or investment could penetrate.

It was a strange atmosphere in which to grow up, in a town where time stood still, and a conservative, repressive, and airless atmosphere prevailed.

On my many bike rides around the city as a teenager, my favorite areas were Museum Hill, just north of the downtown area, and the Hall Street historic district, just to the west. These areas displayed an opulence and a sense of past glory that hinted at St. Joseph's glorious past, yet a past that stood still, transfixed in a time warp from the turn of the 20th century.

Thanks to injections of cash, some of these mansions have been not just preserved but restored to their once-grand glory. The Adam N. Schuster house, pictured below in views from the Historic American Buildings Survey (Library of Congress) is one such mansion, a building that captured and held my interest from my teen years onward. Variously operated as a B&B and private residence, the mansion has survived into the 2020s in a good state of preservation.

In about 1985, when Linda Farber, its then owner, disposed of the property, I attended an estate sale in the house over a period of two or three weekends. Among my purchases were a painted folding screen, a pair of cast brass Chinese candelabra, a signed fan photograph by movie actress Norma Talmadge , a Royal Rudolstadt porcelain ewer, and an oil portrait of an unknown woman. These items were all disposed of years later before my move to China to begin a new life as a teacher.

The Schuster Mansion remains the most well-known local historic residence, along with the Wyeth-Tootle Mansion on Museum Hill, for many years the site of the St. Joseph Museum, and now a combination museum / events center.

Below are photographs from the HABS survey of 703 Hall Street, along with a video about the house from a Kansas City TV channel. The interiors are quite striking, and hopefully the houses' current furnishings are in keeping with its grand past.

Schuster Residence, St. Joseph MO

Credit: I_Dig_Doug's photos on Flickr

Facade, from the HABS archive

HABS image

Tower and ornamental roof trim

Video: Schuster mansion, KC By Design

Description of the house from the HABS Report

Toni M. Prawl's 1994 dissertation on architect Edmond Jacques Eckel [E.J. Eckel (1845-1934): The Education of a Beaux-Arts Architect and His Practice in Missouri] confirms Eckel and Mann (formed 1880) as responsible for the Schuster residence's design. Of interest is the mention of Stigers and Boettner as builders. Eckel had been in partnership with Francis R. Boettner until 1979, after Lewis Snell Stigers had supposedly retired. I will need to do some fact checking on this chronology.

The following photographs are from the HABS report, Library of Congress collection.

Stained glass windows in the main entrance doors

Southwest room (parlor), first floor, showing two layers of decorative ceiling treatments

Second floor bedroom and upper stairway hall

Central bath and stair hall ceiling decoration

Schuster (1881) vs. Wyeth-Tootle (1879) mansions: Two Victorian Italianates, symmetrical and regular, with projecting porches and bay windows. They differ only in the heavier cornice and prominent roof on the Schuster, and the extra attic story on the Wyeth-Tootle, not to mention the asymmetrically-placed tower at the left, an influence of castles on the Rhine.

Here are some screencaps from the video above:

Entrance hall and stairway; the Library to the right of the entrance doors, main floor

Interestingly, I haven't located any interior photographs of the Schuster residence online, other than the HABS images. Other Hall Street interiors have been illustrated on sites such as Zillow, but not this one. If anyone knows of such images, please contact me.

[barringtons-wedding-cars]

One of our Imperial Viscount Landaulette wedding cars outside St Joseph's church in Blundellsands. Guests had a London red bus to take them to Knowsley Hall

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I can't believe that this phenomenal 1888 Victorian in St. Joseph, MO is less than $1m. 4bds, 4ba, 5,062 sq ft, $765k.

The woodwork is incredible and it looks like they used Bradbury & Bradbury wallpaper. These Victorian homes that have the sitting area for waiting guests in the main hallway are pretty cool.

Sunny regular sitting room off to the side has a wonderful fireplace and stained glass. There're also window seats, pocket doors, and leaded glass.

Elegant dining room. The floors in this home are incredible. All of the woodwork is perfectly preserved and the fireplace surrounds have such colorful mosaic tiles.

Look at the rounded wall and window. This leather table looks like a gaming table- would be great for a puzzle. Beautiful fireplace, too.

Glimpse of the stunning vintage 1/2 bath shows several original features.

The kitchen remodel is good, b/c it matches the original wood, but the counter seating around the island throws it off a little.

Coming up the stunning stairs- arches, wood ceiling, carved railings, and a stained glass window.

Wainscoting along the hall to the bedrooms.

The primary bedroom is so beautiful.

And, look at this- a balcony.

This ensuite bath is utterly incredible. The wood, marble, and reproduction fixtures are just superb.

Look at the rounded closet.

Linen closet in the hall.

The black and gold look lovely in this bedroom.

Wait. I recognize this absinthe holder in the home office. I posted this home before. I can't believe it didn't sell, especially for the price. It's a steal.

I also recognize the guest bedroom and bath with the mini sauna. I don't think I could even fit in that thing.

Nice garage. Look at the little door on the end.

The yard is large enough to put in a pool, patio, etc.

The home has beautiful carvings outside.

Lots of trees make the 1.57 acre lot very private.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/631-Hall-St-Saint-Joseph-MO-64501/110497130_zpid/

[dvesinthewind]

Dream of You | Gladiator/ST Crossover

During final season, you drag Eddie along with you to gather information on a particular Ancient Roman art piece. Unexpectedly, the experience hurls you past the line between real life and fantasy.

A/N: WC 3.3K I got the inspiration from a book I'm currently reading; A Witch in Time by Constance Sayers. Much like all of my works, this is entirely self-indulgence. Though I am a history geek, there may be some historical inconsistencies. I am aware the real Emperor Geta did not look anything like Joseph Quinn. Nevertheless, enjoy ;)

Warnings: eddie munson x f!reader x emperor geta, mentions of passing out, head injury, switching of time periods, blood, mentions of death typical to the period, wounds, fluff, angst

Hawkins, Indiana. 1986

A sharp pain swiped across your forehead as you rubbed your temples. The bridge of your nose left heavy from the frames resting upon them. Glaring at the exhibit in front of you, what stared back was an article of clothing, or what was left of it, from the Roman Empire. The garment was plain and ravished of its original pigment, yet it stood powerfully inside the glass casing. In fabulous shape for its age, the item was described to be feminine. It was completely unfamiliar and a stark difference from the fashion you were clad in currently. Nevertheless, you felt a wave of nostalgia for something that was never yours.

Your hand skimmed over the stitching of your jacket, leaving your fingertips curious if the soft material would survive such turmoil. It was then that you imagined yourself in the garment, standing on uneven ground in a bustling empire. You imagined the fluorescent lighting beaming down on you as the harsh Roman sun, penetrating your skin sweetly during the summer months. Eyes finding your own reflection in the glass pane, the silhouette of the mannequin merged with the outline of your own shape. Completely submersed, you neglected to see the figure approaching from behind. A swift hand found its way to your waist, a chin tucking along the cave of your shoulder.

"Might I say, you'd look fantastic in that? Whatever it is."

You spun on your heels to face the culprit. Smirking infamously, your boyfriend peered right back at you.

You scoffed. "You don't even know what it is."

"Does anyone?"

Brows raising playfully, you responded. "Arguably, yes." Your final paper was supposed to consist of research on a particular piece of ancient art and its function during the time period. Eddie didn't care for school like you did, and though the assignment was dreadful, it filled some of that insatiable hunger for knowledge everlastingly persisting in your brain. So, as long as Eddie was able to stick by your side, he was happy to comply with educational activities.

"Is this what you were looking for?" He asks. His face contorts into slight shock, as if he were disappointed in the garment's lack of personality. Your head bobs up and down in response. The two of you stand side by side, viewing the exhibit before you. Eddie's leather jacket and combat boots were yet another stark comparison, and it leaves you wondering what he might've looked like centuries ago.

Bemusement settles into the gap between his brows, eyes skimming the description behind the glass; a small panel inscribed with such little detail, for it's all that is known of this article. Eddie allows his weight to shift onto his opposite foot, expressing what you interpreted as impatience. His leather garments squeak with every uncomfortable shift, prompting a frown to settle along your lips. "I'm sorry this is so boring to you." You stated, avoiding eye contact even through the glass.

The brunet shifted towards you quickly, and in the corner of your eye, you could see his immediate apologetic pout. "No, no, I'm not bored at all. It's just that there's something I want you to see."

Eddie has you clinging onto his bicep as he weaves through the museum halls, as if something is drawing him to a particular exhibit. Concentration swallows his brown irises. Each stride has you quickening your own steps, leaving your heeled shoes clacking in competition with muted conversations. Your boyfriend loses the determination in his broad shoulders, noticeably loosening as his gaze settles on a near statue. Breathlessly, Eddie laughs. A tint of pink rushes over his pale complexion. "Now, I want you to know I don't see it at all."

"What are you talking about, Eddie?"

As you approach the marbled statue, a chill settles deep inside of your spine. It's uncanny. The hair sticks up on the back of your neck, almost as if it's prying itself off. You know he's scanning your reaction, yet your mouth cannot change from its position fixed agape.

"One of the workers approached me, told me I resemble—"

"Eddie," you choke out. "It's uncanny." You can't put a finger on why it's making you speechless, yet the sculpture is terrifyingly familiar. The feeling is intimate, like being reminded of a memory from when you were a child—you never remember the picture clearly until someone paints it for you. Emperor Publius Septimius Geta, it inscribed. Yet, it should've had your boyfriend's name instead. As the peculiarity of it somewhat haunted you, everything that happened in Hawkins was way more concerning. You never believed in the mythical, but as the marble statue stared back at you, you pondered the existence of reincarnation.

"Sweetheart, you're fucking with me, right?" But any protest was left hanging lifeless on the tip of your tongue. Mouth dryly agape in disbelief, you examined the sculpture of the late Roman emperor. How had you not seen this before?

Each detail, from the bridge of his nose to the curvature of his brow, mirrored those of Eddie's. His tousled curls were much shorter than your boyfriend's, yet your own fingers tingled with nostalgia. You could feel the curled strands slipping off the pads of your fingertips and bouncing back against the head of hair. Eddie rambled on about his spoken ancestry, denying any possibility of relation.

"This isn't the craziest part, though." Eddie reveals, excitedly. Grabbing your limp hand, he drags you to the following display. Something resembling a cruel joke, the painting before you delicately expressed Geta and Wife, in which the woman beside the Emperor was adorned with a complexion identical to yours. Age had swept greedily over patches of the canvas, but her features were undeniably yours. Staring back at you with identical irises and jewels resting on her bare neck, the woman somewhat mocked you.

Eddie rubs the back of his neck as he takes in your shellshocked state. An uncomfortable chuckle leaves his lips. "Kinda creepy, right?" You can't respond. Your heartbeat rattles against your temples. "I guess we found our celebrity doppelgängers." Eddie laughs once again, and had you not been so focused, you would've felt the warmth trickle from your nostril, splashing onto your black shoes like a drop of rain. "Honey, you're bleeding." The brunet brings your chin into his hand and hisses at your noticeable decrease in temperature. The color drains from your face, dragging your vision along with it. It spills onto the ground, beside the splatter of your blood.

"I don't feel well." The words leave your lips successfully, but you are unable to hear them for yourself. The symphony of ringing against your eardrums mutes any plea for assistance. Eddie's frantic expression is the last thing you see before your body hits the hard surface of the linoleum.

Rome, Italy. 209 A.D.

An inconsistent breeze brushes against your skin. Eyes closed, you imagine the ceiling fan clattering above your head. Envisioning Eddie's bedroom fan as it rotates, brushing cool air that trickles down to your position on his bed. The surface beneath your back is somewhat harsher than you remember it to be, however. You don't inhale subtle breaths of your boyfriend's cologne; instead, the ground beneath you begins to dig into your delicate skin. The warm air engulfing you prompted confusion. How long had you been out? Expecting such memorable scenery, you slowly adjust to prying yourself from slumber. Expecting the inevitable darkness that was Eddie's shaded room, you instead peel your eyes open to see a handful of leaves being thrust into your face. Each stroke pushing fresh air into you, as coos are heard around your fragile silhouette. Several pairs of eyes grow in size as they watch you gain consciousness. Frozen on the apparent concrete, the whites of your own eyes swelled. The person fanning you paused quickly, and a feminine gasp left their lips.

"Augusta! You are okay. I must gather your husband." The woman all but jumps from her crouched position and runs out of the small box-like room. Her native tongue is far different than yours, yet your fluency in understanding is just as bizarre. Surveying the crowd of oddly dressed people and their pitiful glances, you soon realize the humor at hand. You must be dreaming of Ancient Rome. Your heartbeat thumps against your temples, rattling loud enough to deafen any surrounding clatter. Gentle hands find the crevice of your elbow and lift you from your fallen state. Only then do you get a glimpse of the exact state you're truly in. Oh, my God, you beg breathlessly. Knees buckling like they had in the museum, you're caught by the same strong arms. Moving for you, the individual places you into a sturdy chair, where you can successfully overlook the Colosseum's promising views in their glory.

A man, paler than a vampire, tilts his head sideways, peering at your delicate state with faux sympathy. Thin lines become of his blue eyes, and a condescending smirk spreads across his sick face. "Brother, it appears your wife has seemingly lost it. Perhaps in such a fugue state, she will choose a new husband." He snickers. Brother? The acknowledgment of your situation only worsens the nausea menacing in the back of your throat. Had this truly been a dream, why did it make an example of all of your senses? If you had truly concussed yourself at the museum, why were you living and breathing in a flourishing ancient empire? The golden wreath situated on the infected one's head beamed pridefully in the Roman sun. His confidence was as repulsive as his appearance.

"Shut up, Caracalla!"

"She cannot handle it; you shouldn't have brought her here again." Caracalla spits. Turning to face your defender, your gut churns as if one had tampered with the very water several women were pouring down your dry throat—maids of some sort, you assumed. Servants that worked for the familiar man sitting directly next to you. His large brown eyes plead as he examines your body language. Those same freezing goosebumps mumbled threats against your clothed spine. You couldn't help but gasp as you caught his gaze.

"Eddie?" You know it isn't him, yet you couldn't hold the name back from leaving your agape lips. Suddenly, your lips felt overwhelmingly dry against your complexion, as if the very name spilled venom over your already split pout.

The man raises a hand, caressing your temple. A streak of blood paints his fingertips. Yet, he doesn't react to it like he does the fallen gladiators. This drop seems to offend him. You watch as his thick brows furrow in frustration, and he barks at a nearby servant. "I should never have brought you here. Either the persistent heat is flustering you, or the series of deaths in the arena." The same brows lift in anticipation. He is demanding. You've learned that rather quickly.

"Perhaps both." The Emperor's shoulders loosen slightly at your small smile. Studying your husband, you are seeing him for what he has never been before. In the flesh, Geta is cruelly pale. It is apparent he is decorated for the occasion, as his eyelids are messily black as if a toddler broke into their mother's makeup. Tousles of yellow curls flush against his head—a color you'd never expect your beloved to cherish. Familiar with seeing Eddie clad in an ocean of black, Emperor Geta is confidently donned in an array of vibrance and a parade of wealth. You supposed you were as well, as the tired eyes of the patrons sitting beneath you reminded you of your apparent status. Your status?

Conflicted in what was real and what was fantasy, you found yourself absorbing the sweet Roman air. It was better than you had envisioned in the museum. The clang of clashing swords mirrored the golden bangles decorating your wrists, clattering in their own fashion as you nonchalantly caressed your cheek. Your gaze avoided the violence raging before you. It was one thing to read about it and another to see it for yourself. Your gaze was not the only one paying no mind to the excitement. Reluctantly, turning to face the man beside you reminded you of your own boyfriend centuries into the future. Geta’s face was scrunched in skepticism, as if your thoughts were being whispered to him while you conjured them. The fine lines in his forehead mirrored those of Eddie's. The way he studied every inch of your being for maltreatment, injury, and inflicted imperfections was inherently familiar, just as it was romantic. It was extraordinary how different, yet similar, both men were.

Geta stretched out a gentle hand, where you met him with your own. The calluses imbedded into the plush of his parched flesh could not be the result of vigorous guitar playing but the executions of an emperor.

His attention to you was cut short by the demands of a cacophonous arena, ravenous for a gladiatorial victor. Concert venues you’d attended had nothing on the boisterous Colosseum crowd. The starving eyes of vengeful spectators met your seemingly naive ones. Children just the same age as Will Byers when he was taken scream piercingly for the Emperors to choose the inevitable fate of the loser. Spits of sours amongst miscellaneous objects hurled into the dirt-like stage. And as Geta arrogantly signifies approval for the unfortunate’s execution, your quick feet exit the secluded box—leaving you exempt from watching the gladiator’s life seep back into the earth.

Back in the palace, you'd somewhat begun to adjust to life in a different time period. It helped that with each step you took, someone was almost walking for you. Every corner you rounded, an anticipated item of decor greeted you pleasantly. This was your home after all, and it began to not feel so paranormal. Admitting to yourself that you were the historical wife of an emperor was a different feat altogether.

Finding yourself in the very bedroom you and the Emperor shared, you sat quietly in your desk chair. The mirror before you presented the makeup delicately added to your complexion. Paler than usual, you did not resemble the illness your brother-in-law wore pompously. Hair swept up into a neat updo, the skin of your neck was exposed. Goosebumps gathered along your shoulders as the bedroom door whisked open. Standing rather awkwardly, Geta once again resembled the man you loved in Hawkins. His shy demeanor struck you as peculiar. As he approached your sitting silhouette, a gentle kiss was felt on the side of your neck. "Something is different about you."

Heat settles into the pit of your stomach, finding yourself somewhat starved as his lips left behind a burn on your skin. Wanting more, you reply. "Admittedly, I am a bit scattered today."

Geta crouches down to your level, grabbing your hands in the process. How does this work exactly? Is it a vivid dream you'll be reluctant to wake from, or an alternate reality? His pleading eyes prompt guilt into your gut. "Darling, allow me to jog your memory." He says, though it resembles more of a beg. Effortlessly, your husband leads you across the grand palace. With each step echoing on the polished floor, Geta waves off the entourage of guards following suit. It is just the two of you standing under the beaming sun now, surrounded by a garden larger than the town of Hawkins itself. Still adorned in his attire from the Colosseum, Geta glows under the warm lighting. His yellow hair absorbs the glare, illuminating proudly in response. It is there that Geta embodies a God. Every inch of his entirety soaks in the golden brilliance. From the prominent bridge of his nose to the rise and fall of his armored chest, you admire him shamelessly.

"It is as if you do not recognize me." He admits. "As if this is your first time seeing me."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Geta shakes his head profusely, a frown etching on his pale face. He steps before you then, blocking the beaming sun from heating you any further. You are reminded that in this life, he controls your well-being. Yet, as his hand cups your cooling face, the Emperor is not your ruler, or your God, but your equal. "Your silence wounds me. Please, confide in me."

It is your turn to bob your head sideways in objection. A pitiful laugh escapes your stained lips. "You will think I am mentally disturbed."

The blond tilts your chin for easier access, dipping his head to caress his lips to yours. Embracing his kiss pleasantly, you bring a hand to the back of his neck—almost in desperation for the moment to never fully conclude. Against your mouth, Geta whispers. "I wish nothing but to bring life back to yours."

The man held you whilst waiting for your confession, yet you couldn't shake the concern that if you confessed, you'd be sent forward in time. Had you revealed the truth of your origin, would you wake up from this fantasy you had grown to adore? Eddie was presumably waiting for you in the 80s, where your life expectancy was much longer. Geta would die in a few years at the hands of his own brother, meaning your life would likely be cut short as well.

"I am not from this time. I'm from 1986." The statement felt as ridiculous to hear aloud as it did in the comfort of your head. Geta's gaze never left yours, but as if he could get any paler, any semblance of color drained right from his face. You imagined it seeping into the ground, just as the gladiator's had. Panic began to brew.

"I'm not understanding. You're from years into the future?"

"Yes, at least this version of me."

His lingering hand leaves your cheek, once again staining it with heat as it departs. Your husband runs the newly free hand over his hair, tousling the curls into a mess. "But you're here? You are my wife. We are married."

"I'm not exactly sure. It feels as if I'm dreaming. I suppose both things are true at once."

Geta nods in what appears to be acceptance. Whether or not he understands is unclear, but as he grabs a rose from the bush behind him, he appears to be in solitude. Fumbling with the green stem, you watch as uncertainty settles in his brown eyes. There are a million things he could ask you, compromising things that could change the outcome of the future and many series of events. The curiosities congregate at the front of his brain, pulling the infamous furrow between his brows. Yet, he won't ask. Instead, he brings his grip onto your clothed waist, pulling you into his firm body. The sun beats down on the two of you, though its embrace is nothing compared to the Emperor's. Geta tucks strands of hair behind your ear and offers you the white flower. "If this much is true," he begins. "I shall love you in every lifetime."

Geta presses his lips onto yours once more, and by the time you open your eyes again, you are back to where you started.

Seemingly in the museum once more, Eddie holds your head in his hands, as if it would roll off if he lessened his grip. He searches your face vigorously, brows pinched in desperation. He brings your limp hand to his lips and presses them to your skin. His long hair tickles you gently, yet you hiss as you feel a sting along your fingertip. Glancing down, you find a minuscule hole poked into the plush of your hand. Blood pours from the wound leisurely, as if plucked from the grasp of a rose's thorn.

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Dennis Reynolds is AUTISTIC!!!!

(At least, I headcanon him as such).

Here's why:

Sensory issues:

If you've watched the show, you probably already know what I mean, but Dennis really struggles to deal with sensory input. When there's a loud noise, he often covers his ears- like in Family Fight:

or he gets frustrated, lashing out at diners for being too loud (The Gang Dines Out), getting annoyed at Frank for chewing gum too loud.

It's worth noting that later on in this episode, Dennis can hear Frank chewing gum from the other room. He's clearly hypersensitive, and perhaps this even goes to explaining a little bit why his room is soundproofed? Could it be that rather than not wanting people to hear what's going on inside, he's desperate to block the noise coming from outside?? (this was suggested by @kod-lyoko , and I LOVE IT).

There are SO many examples of Dennis plugging his ears (often when the others don't react in such a strong way):

There are way too many examples to list here, and too many images I could give (the above were taken from @dennisboobs ' gif set) but hopefully you get the impression.

Social issues:

I feel like this one is pretty self-evident, but I find deconstructing the things Dennis does super fun, so I'm going to explain anyway: Dennis does NOT know how relationships work. There are a great deal of factors at play to cause this (I would argue that his early experiences in life definitely moulded his view in an unhelpful way) but the systematic way he looks at interactions REEKS of autism to me.

The DENNIS system is hardly peak autism representation (it's certainly not the bright and bubbly stuff people often talk about), but the fact that he has a system for romantic/sexual interactions, both for men AND women, feels super autistic-coded. He quite literally has a script which he follows to make interactions easier, one which he sticks to rigidly. And if anybody tries to implement this carefully thought out system incorrectly? Well, he'll let you know (e.g in The Dennis System episode where he blows up at Mac and Charlie for not getting it right at the fair).

He masks his social deficits well, but sometimes things don't go to plan. Sometimes, the girl on the cruise ship runs away, and Dennis announces that 'that's not supposed to happen'.

He comes off as creepy, but that's not his intention. He doesn't understand the way he's perceived by others in general- he thinks he's the King of St Joseph's, not realising he was actually an outcast all along. Just like a lot of autistic people, he didn't understand that he was on the fringes of society until it was thrust in his face, and that hurt.

Speech:

While Dennis often appears to speak pretty normally, there are a few occasions where his frustration causes this mask of normality to slip.

In The Gang Finds a Dumpster Baby, Dennis is caught off guard by the hipster's reading of him, and immediately goes back to Frank and Charlie, parroting almost the same words he heard right back to them, despite not seeming to understand them at all (perhaps a form of echolalia?).

"I'm out here trying to make a difference, and you're over here rummaging around in the trash like a couple of narcs! Okay, you can't just come down here with your mainline cashmere, mousse... quaff... hairspray, and start being like, a suburban tool!"

It's also worth noting that even the poetic way he speaks when he's angry could be a trait ?? As a recently diagnosed autistic person, in my report they spoke about how I used 'idiosyncratic' language (basically, peculiar language lol), and listed terms like 'connoisseur', which I guess were deemed pretty formal for casual conversation.

And it got me thinking, who else do we know who uses VERY idiosyncratic language? Dennis. Reynolds.

"The thunder of my vengeance will echo through these halls, like the gust of a thousand winds"

"Begone, vile man, begone from me!... I am untethered and my rage knows no bounds!"

"You didn't tell me there was to be pollen!"

Etc... etc...

The way he repeats 'savages, idiots!' during his rage at the frat bros feels very autism coded to me. Repetition of certain words and phrases is common!

Heightened emotions:

Again, something that I didn't know until I myself was diagnosed is that for a lot of autistic people, we spend most of the time at a pretty 'flat' emotional state, but when we do experience emotions, we experience them intensely. Frustration turns into anger, sadness turns into despair, happiness turns into ecstasy- it's why some autistic people might be misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder!

This, of course, fits well with the way Dennis experiences emotions. He spends a lot of the time believing he doesn't have any at all, and when he does feel something, it's overwhelming.

"And I have feelings! Of course I have feelings, I have big feelings, okay? And it hurts."

These lines hit hard regardless of the extra weight you put on them, but when you see them through the lens of autism, through the lens of a lifetime of misunderstanding and overstimulation, it makes them hit even harder.

It hurts him to feel. His emotions are so strong that they're painful, and he's never been taught how to deal with them, because nobody even knew he had them in the first place.

Stimming:

Finally, I think Dennis stims. A lot. If you search up 'Dennis Reynolds autistic' on this very site, you'll find gifsets and videos illustrating this.

He has a few very common ones, like tugging on his earlobe when he's anxious, playing with his fingers, etc, but if you pay attention to him even when he's in the background of scenes, you'll pick up on a lot. Dennis is constantly moving, and while you could suggest this is simply a result of Glenn's ADHD, I'd argue that some of these stims happen so frequently in Sunny specifically, that there's no way they're coincidental.

Glenn makes a lot of very specific acting and directorial choices in Sunny, so why dismiss these as choices too?

That's all I can be bothered to type up now, but here's my case for Autistic!Dennis ! Of course, he's a complex character so there's always room for different interpretations...

but as an autistic person, I hereby claim him as One Of Us™.

[radiojamming]

Hey guys! We're looking at another severe weather outbreak tomorrow evening/night and it's shaping up to potentially get nasty. Like, bad enough that storm chasers I know are already either leaving for southern Kansas and northern Oklahoma, or backing out entirely because they're worried about what's going to happen. Last time, the post I made got a little bit of traction, so I thought I'd go for it again on the off chance that it's helpful at all.

Here are the following regions currently set to be impacted, according to today's (5/24) outlook from the Storm Prediction Center:

MODERATE (MDT): Oklahoma City, OK; Tulsa, OK; Wichita, KS; Norman, OK; Lawton, OK

ENHANCED (ENH): Kansas City, MO; Overland Park, KS; Kansas City, KS; Topeka, KS; Olathe, KS

SLIGHT (SLGT): Lincoln, NE; Springfield, MO; Abilene, TX; St. Joseph, MO; Fayetteville, AR

MARGINAL (MRGL): Dallas, TX; Columbus, OH; Fort Worth, TX; Cleveland, OH; Omaha, NE

The SPC will update this forecast tomorrow (5/25) morning and will monitor it throughout the day and make changes if need be.

Here are my tips (as well as @fruitsmother's great advice!) from the outbreak two weeks ago.

Another great resource for right-to-the-minute weather updates is Ryan Hall, who will more than likely livestream tomorrow and is great about providing watches and warnings as they come in and giving advice about what to do. He also runs a 501(c)(3) non-profit The Y'All Squad that provides assistance and relief in areas hit by severe weather events.

Just to hit some key points for this forecast and reiterate the biggest pieces of advice:

These storms are forecasted to produce damaging winds, large hail, and potentially strong or violent tornadoes. These storms may hit during the night, meaning there will be low visibility. Do not just rely on sight to monitor the weather; rotation may occur right above you and not all tornadoes are immediately visible. Listen to NOAA weather radio, news stations, or any other resource you may have.

If the weather gets bad, go to a basement or the lowest level of a building. If the building doesn't have a basement, go to the most interior room (usually a bathroom or closet) with no windows. If in a bathroom, consider bringing in couch cushions, pillows, or a mattress to cover yourself in case of falling debris.

Stay away from windows, especially with the potential for high winds and hail. Do not open your windows (see: common tornado myths).

DO NOT GO OUTSIDE TO WATCH. Even if there isn't a tornado, flying debris and huge pieces of hail falling at incredible speeds are a real issue! If you've never gotten clocked in the head with an ice chunk, now is not the time to find out how it feels!

If you haven't already done so, now is the best time to consider your severe weather plan and set up your safe place. Some items you might want to have on hand are things like flashlights or lanterns, extra batteries, phone chargers, food, water, clothing, blankets, several days' worth of medicine if needed, and a first aid kit. If you have pets, it might be best to put pet carriers, extra food, water, leashes, or anything else you may need in this area as well.

Review some basic first aid skills and tips.

If you're on the road, do not go up under an overpass. This is very '90s advice and has been proven either ineffective or outright dangerous. Go into a ditch and try to get yourself as low as possible.

In the worst case scenario of a tornado or other destructive event (microbursts, derechos, etc.), be a help, not a hindrance! Don't clog roadways; allow emergency personnel to get where they need to go!

Just as well, this is not a day for amateur storm chasers. Chaser convergence has been a real problem this year and as we've learned (unfortunately) in the past, tornadoes don't always follow their usual rules, which can put even the most seasoned chaser in danger. This is going to be a great day to watch Pecos Hank or Skip Talbot videos while being as safe as possible.

I'll keep you guys updated as the models from the SPC change or if anything else comes up. Mostly, stay safe!

[scotianostra]

January 4th 2011 saw Scotland lose one of it’s most talented singer/songwriters when Gerry Rafferty passed away.

Gerry Rafferty came across as a shy, introverted performer, he did little publicity and promotion for his music, preferring to place himself inside the recording studios, and letting the songs speak for themselves.

His introverted ways even went as far as to preferring art work for his albums depriving fans of photos of himself, although ‘Night Owl’ did feature some pics of Gerry in the studio on the LP’s sleeve. He was unlike any 'pop’ artist of the time, Rod Stewart, Elton John, Billy Joel and Paul McCartney were singers whose images were front and centre of their music and fame. Gerry struggled with fame and with alcoholism and depression and the increasingly erratic behaviour they spawned. Perhaps his upbringing didn’t help.

Rafferty was born in Paisley, an unwanted third son. His father, Joseph, was an Irish-born miner. His mother, Mary Skeffington, whose name would provide a Rafferty song title, dragged young Gerry round the streets on Saturday nights so that they would not be at home when his father came back drunk. They would wait outside, in all weathers, until he had fallen asleep, to avoid a beating. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d leave,” Mary told Gerry. Joseph died in 1963, when Gerry was 16.

Alcohol often played a part in Gerry’s songwriting, “One Drink Down”, “Baker Street”, and “Night Owl” at the time of writing these his marriage was struggling, it eventually ended in divorce in 1990 but they had been apart for some time, his ex-wife Carla said: “There was no hope. I would never have left him if there’d been a glimmer of a chance of him recovering.”

In July 2008 while staying in the five-star Westbury Hotel in Mayfair he began a four-day drinking session that left his room extensively damaged. Speaking to The Independent newspaper later, the hotel’s director commented: “It was such a shame. In person, Mr Rafferty was a really nice man, he kept himself to himself and didn’t bother the other guests but he was clearly on a downward spiral. He was in self-destruct mode.”

Conflicting reports and statements from his solicitors included a stay in St Thomas’ Hospital suffering from a chronic liver condition, brought on by heavy drinking, a newspaper reported that the hospital said he had left the hospital leaving all his belongings there and he had been reported missing, this proved to be false and the truth was he was moving from one London hotel to another. During this time, he met Enzina Fuschini, an Italian artist living in Dorset. Rafferty and Fuschini rented a large home together in Upton, near Poole, Fuschini claims she cared for the singer during 2009 and tried to help him overcome his alcoholism, and that he proposed to her at the Ritz Hotel in Paris on Christmas Eve that year.

In November 2010, Rafferty was admitted to the Royal Bournemouth Hospital where he was put on a life-support machine and treated for multiple organ failure. After being taken off life support, Rafferty rallied for a short time, and doctors thought that he might recover. Rafferty died of liver failure at the home of his daughter Martha in Stroud, Gloucestershire, on 4 January 2011.

A requiem mass was held in St Mirins Cathedral in Paisley on January 21st, attended by many politicians, and musical friends through the years, people from all over the world came to Paisley and listened to the mass, a spontaneous round of applause rung out as his coffin was driven away to the towns Woodside Crematorium, Gerry’s ashes were taken to the Holy Island of Iona and scattered, a sad loss to Scotland.

The following year Barbara Dickson Jack Bruce and the Proclaimers joined others along with the Rafferty Family for a tribute performance held Royal Concert Hall in Glasgow.

[bikinikillarchives]

bikini kill performing at St. Joseph's Hall, Washington, DC, October 19, 1991. with Unwound. photos by Amy Pierce.

[virtie333]

The Lord is with you when you are with him, and if you seek him he will be present to you. (2 Chr 15:2)

[shifterdomain]

Hospital Confessions / Jonah Hauer-King X Actress!Reader, Halle Baily & Cousin!Reader

Summary: You are starring in a big fantasy/action feature, but in doing your own stunt, you get hurt and end up in the hospital. When your cousin Halle visits you, together with Jonah, you end up confessing your love to the latter. Warnings: Some Cringe. Also mentions getting injured pretty badly, followed with fluff and comfort. A bit of angst as well and one cuss word. Word count: 2391

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

”No, I can do this,” you assure the director as you both go over the next scene and he reminds you of the possibility of calling in your stunt double. Even though the stunt wasn’t that dangerous or complicated, he didn’t want to risk you getting hurt, which obviously you understood. But you had always wanted to do your own stunts, especially after hearing the stories of how other actors like Tom Cruise always did them themselves.

You hadn’t been in the business of acting for the longest time, only being fairly young yourself, so you wanted to try everything you could to make a name for yourself. And the stunt wasn’t that big of a deal, so why not?

You were put into a harnes by the crew, wires attached as the backdrop of the soundstage showed the location of your scene, which was the mansion of the big bad. As your co-star got on their mark, the director yelled action.

“You see, Y/C/N, I always win,” your co-star recited their line, a smirk on their face as they pushed their hands forward. As they did so, the wires of your harness swung you back, making you fly across the room with a high speed. But as your back hit the backdrop, you heard a snap before everything turned to black.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

A soft humming echoed through the sound stage, the angelic voice earning smiles on the faces of the crew as Halle had had the song ‘Part of Your World’ stuck in her head for a few days now. They waited for the crew to be done setting up the last scene for the day, which would be the wedding for prince Eric and Vanessa. Melissa was still in the hair and make-up trailer, getting her wig fixed, Javier talking to the director about his views for the final fight scene, which would be shooting a week from now, and Halle and Joseph sat somewhere in a lonely corner. Halle, ever so gracious, sat patiently in her cast chair. Flipping through the pages of the script to prepare for the scene as she excused her humming as warming her vocal cords. Jonah, on the other hand, sat on the floor across from Halle, immersed on a game of Angry Birds on his phone.

It took them a few takes to get the full scene just as Rob Marshall wanted it to look, and once he was sure that he had the perfect shots, he dismissed the cast and told them they were free to leave.

“You wanna go and grab a bite?” Jonah suggested, quickly catching up with Halle’s steps. “I was thinking of some Nando’s?”

“Sure, that sounds good,” she nodded, looking back at Jonah with a warm smile, sliding her hand into his. But before getting a chance to even get out of their costumes, Halle’s phone begun to buzz in her purse, which still stood on her cast chair.

“Hello?” she answered, holding the phone up to her ear, catching Jonah’s attention.

A deep voice answered, saying: “Good evening, my name is Doctor Sharpe of the St. Thomas’ Hospital. Am I speaking with Miss Halle Bailey?” The voice sounded serious and Halle could feel her heartbeat gradually increasing, worry etched onto her face, causing Jonah to frown as well.

“Yes, this is her.”

“I am calling regarding Miss. Y/N Y/L/N, you have been listed as her emergency contact. I am sorry to inform you that she has been in an accident and is currently going into surgery,” the doctor explained and her heart dropped in her chest with worry and fear.

“I’m on my way,” she stated, hanging up the phone and quickly putting her things back in her purse. She hadn’t even realized the worried looks, mainly coming from Jonah, as she was too wrapped up in wanting to get to you as quickly as possible.

“What’s wrong?” Jonah questioned, concern lacing his voice as he shuffled closer to her to try and comfort her. Her state of panic had drawn Javier’s attention as well as he approached the two, gently placing his hand over Halle’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, hoping that the fatherly gesture would help in calming her down.

In a clear state of panic, she pushed her belongings into her purse with trembling hands. “Y/N/N- Y/N/N has been in an accident and- and she’s- she’s into surgery,” she stammered, her words rambling.

Jonah’s heart dropped at her words, having the same reaction as Halle had upon hearing the news. Not wasting a second, he fished out his car keys. “I’m driving,” he stated, leading Halle back to the car as they drove towards the hospital to get to you.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

Jonah’s heart broke when he saw you laying in that hospital way. He wanted nothing more than to go over and comfort you. Hug you and never let you go again. The way you lay there with your arm in a cast, a nasotracheal tube taped to your rosy cheeks. But he let Halle be the first to go over to you, waiting by the doorway and ready to offer his support when necessary. After all, you were still asleep and probably needed it.

Halle was pulled away by the doctor to fill in some forms, seeing that she was the one registered as your emergency contact.

You had always valued family, but no one was as close as you and Halle were. Since you were children, you had been unseperable. It took a lot of tears and getting used to when you moved to London, but it was the best option when you had signed for a role in the British hit series of Doctor Who a few years back. But when you heard that Halle got the part of Ariel and that shooting was mostly going to take place nearby, you both were absolutely stoked.

Halle moved in with you for the time being, so naturally you spend a lot of your time together. But in that time, you also got to know Jonah. It only took a day for you to become friends and within a week you knew. You tried to deny it at first, but it became impossible. You had turned to Halle and said ‘one day I’ll marry him’. You just knew. He was the one. The one.

Jonah sat at your bedside. The hospital chair was uncomfortable, but it didn’t bother him. His hand gently held yours, your fingers entwined as he crossed his arms at the edge of your bed, his chin resting on top. His eyes were glued to you, a frown on his lips.

As night came, Halle had finally managed to drift off on the small couch that stood in the corner of the room. But Jonah hadn’t moved, refused to do so. He wanted to be sure to be there when you woke. He wanted him to be the first you’d see, selfishly so. He couldn’t seem to sleep anyway, his mind plagued with thoughts of what could have happened had you not fallen on the mat below you, but on the floor instead. He tried not to think of it, the thought of living without you being an unspeakable thing to him now, but he couldn’t help it. So he remained determined to stay awake until you’d come to.

It felt like an eternity, but was in fact a mere few hours. Your fingers twitching around his, an almost drunken smile on your lips as your eyes slowly fluttered open. “Jo,” you whisper his name, your voice a little rough from not using it.

“Hey there sleepyhead,” he greeted you, a relieved but tired smile tugging at his lips. “You gave us quite the scare.”

“Why?”

Jonah couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at your question, noticing the dilation of your pupils as the pain medication was very clearly still in affect.

“Because of the accident, sweetheart,” he answered. “I was worried about you.”

“You’re so sweet.”

“Well, I’ll wait with scolding you for doing your own stunts until you’ll feel better,” he replied teasingly, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I mean it. You are sweet! And- and handsome,” you start to compliment him, your words slurring slightly from both the medication and the sleepiness. “And really funny. And handsome. And- and why am I saying this?” you cut yourself off with a chuckle, pulling his hand a little closer as you begin to play with his fingers. “You’re sweet.”

“You said that already,” he commented with a grin, his free hand moving to push the hair from your forehead. “But you’re just very, very high.”

“I wanna get high more often.”

Jonah let out a laugh, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your forehead, your heart leaping in excitement as your cheeks flushed a deep red. “Don’t let the press hear,” he teased, pulling away again.

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Shhh,” Jonah hushed you with a laugh, moving your hand up to press another kiss to the back of it. “Sober you might want to keep your career,” he added, pressing the back of your hand against his cheek.

Your hand reached up, the tip of your index finger poking his dimpled cheek. “These are very cute,” you note, your voice hushed as you look at him intently. “You are very cute.”

“And you’re adorable,” he grinned cheekily, giving you a playful wink. “Adorably not in your right mind.”

“No, high me equals brave me.” You keep your eyes on him, your finger moving from his cheek to trace the seam of his lips. “You are cute. And funny. And kind. And caring.”

“You’re making me blush,” he replied jokingly, trying to hide the effect your words were having on him. He wanted nothing more right now than to lean in and kiss you. He had wanted nothing more for a while now, but he had always denied Halle’s claims of him liking her. He was afraid that if he’d admit just what he felt, you would reject him and realize you could do better. He didn’t know that you feared the exact same.

“Jonah-”

“You should get some sleep,” he interrupted you, fearing that if he didn’t end the moment right now, he actually might give in to the undeniable desire to kiss you. Finally be able to feel your lips on his as he’d imagined doing since the day you met.

But you were on pain medication. You weren’t in your right mind, and he didn’t want to take adventage of the vulnareble state you were in. He would hate himself for it, never forgive himself if he ever did anything to hurt you in the slightest.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

You were still asleep when Jonah awoke the next morning. After your pleas, he had given in and crawled on top of the bed, slipping under the thin covers beside you. His arm wrapped protectively around your shoulder, careful not to hurt you, as his other hand rested on your hip.

Listening to his heartbeat under your ear, you slept better than you had in days, not even really minding the injuries. They felt impeccably small when Jonah was at your side.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Jonah murmured when he felt you begin to stir.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice still hoarse from sleep. Your eyes opening and looking back up into his, only now realizing that he was still in his prince Eric costume, a handsome suit that made him look more dreamy than ever. Well, apart from his plaid pajama pants and dark blue pajama shirt that is.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Alright.”

“Really?” he inquires, the worry still etched onto his features. “Because if you need anything, I’ll get it for you.”

“You really are sweet.”

“Yeah, you mentioned something like that.”

“And I mean it,” you reply, your eyes locked on his. Your heart was pounding anxiously, causing you to blush slightly in embarressment when you heard the beeping of the machine that tracked your heartbeat. Gathering all the courage you could master, you decided that now was as good a time as any and added: “I meant all of it.”

He didn’t know what to say, you’re words catching him off guard but working wonders in waking him up. “Are- are you sure? ‘Cause, you kinda said a lot,” he chuckled nervously, not daring to hold the hope that maybe she indeed felt the same way as he did.

“Not enough,” you reply, sitting up slightly as Jonah follows your movements, his hand instinctively coming to rest on the small of your back. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship, but there’s something I just have to say and if I don’t do it know, I probably never will. Jonah, I- come on, Y/N/N, Jonah, I have feelings for you. Feelings beyond friendship. And I don’t know if I can call it love, but it’s strong and undeniable and I- I care for you. Perhaps more than I should. But if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

Jonah remained silent for the longest minute of your life. His eyes glossed over, a breathy laugh falling from his lips as a smile tugged at his lips. “Y/N fucking Y/L/N, I love you.”

You had never expected those words to fall from his lips. Even as you confessed your feelings, you had thought he’d find you crazy and never talk to you again. How could you possibly be lucky enough to receive the love of a man as kind-hearted and beautiful as Jonah.

As he leaned in closer, his hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone as you saw nothing but love and adoration in his eyes. They were the perfect mirror of how you felt for him and your joy could never be put to words as you knew that he felt the same way, as you felt the softness of his lips brushing timidly over yours.

Jonah counted himself the luckiest man alive, smiling into the kiss before whispering against your lips: “I love you, Y/N.”

And maybe he had been right all those months ago. Because, a week after you met, he had turned to Halle and said: “One day I’ll marry her.”

[blossom--of--snow]

Merry Christmas @lolcat76! Have some sickeningly happy Shandy <3

St. Joseph’s newly renovated reception hall was full at 7:30 on Sharon Raydor’s wedding night. Sharon and her bridesmaids had spent the previous night stringing twinkle lights, drinking wine coolers, and creating the reception playlist to replace the DJ who had the audacity to cancel the week before the wedding. By the time the vows were sealed with a kiss, bunches of baby’s breath peeked out of the vases on every table, lights sparkled in rows across the room, and place cards assigned everyone to their proper place.

Andy Flynn and Sharon Raydor deserved nothing less than to celebrate their nuptials in style.

As tradition demanded, husband and wife graced the dance floor first. The cream colored pleated skirt of Sharon’s reception dress fluttered against her knees every time she took a step, and Andy’s eyes devoured the skin peeking beneath the lacy top. “Any regrets so far?” Sharon teased, inching one side of her v-neck to cover more of her tasteful cleavage. She giggled when Andy tugged her off balance only to catch her in time for the first step.

“None.” Andy’s breath warmed the skin behind Sharon’s ear, validating her decision to pin her hair up.

After nuzzling Andy’s neck, Sharon eased back far enough to show him how happy she was. An hour and half and counting, and she couldn’t stop smiling. Just when she thought she could give her cheeks a rest, he would kiss her hand, or feed her cake, or pick “Unchained Melody” for their first dance and let her lead.

“We did it,” Sharon said, draping her arm farther around his neck. Tearing her eyes away from Andy’s giddy smile, Sharon scanned the room full of family. “And everyone’s here.”

Andy spun her a few times, because he knew she loved to see her skirt twirl, but pulled her back before too long. “Yeah, we know how to throw a party, huh?”

Sharon scoffed. “I’ve only had one drink and not quite all of one dance. The party’s just getting started.”

Glancing at the bridal party’s long table, Andy rolled his eyes. “Tell that to Provenza. Three glasses of champagne, and he’s practically under the table.”

“Ah-ah,” Sharon said, fingers covering Andy’s lips. “No grumbling today, remember? This is our day to be blissfully and disgustingly happy.”

Andy kissed her fingertips. “You make me this happy every day,” he murmured.

Oh, this man. Sharon stopped smiling for long enough to hum and kiss him, in front of everyone, because she could. They could make out for the rest of the night, right here on the dance floor, and no one could say a word. Today gave them license to show their entire little world how much they looked forward to spending the rest of their lives together.

“You’re so hot when you multitask,” Andy breathed against her lips when he realized Sharon hadn’t missed a step. 

Sharon laughed wickedly as Andy lowered her into a deep dip, prompting claps and whistles from their guests. “Then you’ll love my plans for this evening.”

Growling, Andy pulled Sharon upright, their noses inches apart. Sharon’s smile softened his intent, and they only exchanged an Eskimo kiss. Sharon smoothed her hands up Andy’s lapels and around his neck, coaxing him closer as the dance ended[R1] . Their guests’ applause broke them apart, and as planned, their children swept them up next. Ricky and Nicole each grabbed a parent, leaving Rusty and Emily to open the dance floor for the rest of the party. Before long, most of the bridal party was dedicated to embarrassing themselves by dancing to songs that only the older half knew.

By the next dance, husband and wife were reunited on the dance floor. Looking around at a room packed with friends and family, Sharon was relieved to see her happiness reflected on so many faces. Even Sanchez bore a grin, but since he chose Chief Johnson as his dance partner, he couldn’t hide his amusement. Cathy Tao kept far away from her husband, whose dance moves were frightening even before alcohol. Andrea, whose inhibitions were too strong to be conquered by pesky emotions, enjoyed herself on the sidelines with Fritz and a hefty slice of cake. Amy and Wes huddled in a corner with Elliott, trying to avoid dance partners. Andy’s grandchildren—Sharon’s step grandchildren—chased each other around the reception hall.

“Hey.” Andy squeezed Sharon’s waist. “You okay?”

Sharon’s smile could have lit all of Los Angeles. “I’m perfect. Everything is perfect. I’ve never been so happy.” She shook her head incredulously. “How did we get so lucky?”

“Hey, we worked hard for this,” Andy said, only half teasing. “Everything we’ve endured, everything we’ve given up, everything we’ve suffered—and we ended up here.”

Here, swaying in the arms of the love of her life, surrounded by everyone they love. Leaning forward, Sharon rested her forehead against her husband’s. “I’d do it all again, to be here with you.”

In the midst of a crowded dance floor, Andy Flynn kissed his wife breathless.

[derelictlovefool]

❝​🇬​​🇺​​🇮​​🇩​​🇪​​🇱​​🇮​​🇳​​🇪​​🇸​❝

Author: Achilles, he/him & they/them pronouns

Status: Hobbyist, low writing activity

Writing: OC x Canon, Reader Insert, Original Fiction

Requests/Suggestions: Open

note: i'm a full time student so any requests I get will be done when and if I have time and they spark my interest!

Active in regards to fandoms & characters simply means most enthused about and interested in writing, inactive means least interested in writing but still willing if the idea sparks my creativity.

❝​🇫​​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​​🇴​​🇲​​🇸​❝

active | inactive | semi active

Far Cry 5 | Supernatural | The Last of Us | Marvel | DC | Doctor Who | Sweeney Todd | The Witcher | Dying Light 2 | Z Nation | Inkheart | Bridgerton | Slashers | Outlast | Resident Evil | Overwatch | Undertale/Deltarune | Ib | TWD Telltale | Motor Crush | The Arcana | Kingsman

❝​🇨​​🇭​​🇦​​🇷​​🇦​​🇨​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇸​❝

active | inactive | semi active

Faith Seed | John Seed | Joseph Seed | Jacob Seed | Sharky Boshaw | Hurk Drubman Jr | Adelaide Drubman | Jerome Jeffries | Mary May Fairgrave | Eli Palmer | Grace Amestrong | Joey Hudson | Staci Pratt

Dean Winchester | Sam Winchester | Castiel | Charlie Bradbury ||| Joel | Tess ||| Wade Wilson | Tony Stark | Pepper Potts | Bucky Barnes | Steve Rodgers | Thor Odinson | Bruce Banner | Natasha Romanoff | Clint Barton ||| Harley Quinn

The Doctor (4, 9-15) | Jack Harkness | Rose Tyler | Donna Noble ||| Sweeney Todd | Mrs Lovett ||| Geralt of Rivera | Jaskier/Dandelion | Yennefer of Vennenberg ||| Hakon | Aiden | Lawan | Frank ||| Alvin Murphy | Roberta Warren | Addison Carver | Cassandra | Sarge | George St Claire

Mo | Dustfinger ||| Penelope Featherington | Benedict Bridgerton | Anthony Bridgerton | Colin Bridgerton | Eloise Bridgerton | Violet Bridgerton | Kate Sharma | Edwina Sharma ||| Jason Voorhees | Michael Myers | Bubba Sawyer | Brahms Heelshire | Thomas Hewitt

Eddie Gluskin ||| Ethan Winters | Karl Heisenberg | Alcina Dimitrescu | Donna Benniviento | Slavator Monreau | Mia Winters | Chris Redfield | Leon Kennedy | Ada Wong | Claire Redfield

Jack Morrison | Gabriel Reyes | Cole Cassidy | Genji Shimada | Hanzo Shimada | Mei ||| Sans | Papyrus | Asgore | Undyne | Mettaton | Queen ||| Gary ||| Calax Gothard | Domino Swift | Lola Del Carmen | Sonoya Vernilion ||| Asra | Nadia | Dorian | Portia | Muriel ||| Merlin/Hamish Mycroft

OC's: David Thorn (Slasher), Z (God Symbiote), Xander (Robot)

❝​🇹​​🇷​​🇴​​🇵​​🇪​​🇸​❝

Tropes I enjoy writing:

Variations of the Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers | Childhood Friends | Neighbour across the hall/street | Mutual Pining | Devotion and Obsession | Making each other worse | Making each other better | Romance in Violence | Ride or Die Friends | Royal Guard/Gardener x Royalty | Crime Boss x Bodyguard | Dog Coded x Cat Coded | Fuck Love Triangles Make it Poly | Fake Dating | Meet Cute and more!

❝​🇼​​🇮​​🇱​​����​ ​🇩​​🇴​❝

— male/trans/enby/gn!reader (I'm here for the guys and gays)

— oc x canon, oc x oc, canon x canon, reader x canon, reader x oc

— sfw & nsfw

— platonic, queer-platonic, romantic, familial, etc.

— headcannons, one-shots, multi-parts

— AU's, crossovers

— gore, violence, toxic relationships, death/angst

❝​🇼​​🇴​​🇳​❜​🇹​ ​🇩​​🇴​❝

— fem!reader (There's thousands out there already y'know)

— genderbends

— pregnancy related topics

— self harm topics

— incest, paedophilia, zoophilia, necrophilia and any of that nasty crap

— non-con

— infidelity

— Characters I really don't know or care about </3