#and how the isolation and conditions quickly drive him to insanity

[adamsandgirl]

Existential Crisis At The Museum

Teddy Roosevelt is a near perfect replica of the 26th president of the United States of America. Teddy Roosevelt is not his real name, of course, but the name of the one whose image he was made in. He is not important enough to have one of his own.

He makes his rounds through the museum halls, footsteps clinking against the tiles with every step of his casual gait. All is well, for now, but that can change at any second and he has to be ready for any trouble that might come charging his way. It’s not his responsibility, and not even something he’d particularly want to do, but it’s what the man he’s supposed to be would do, and that is all he knows.

He’s passing by the Ancient Egypt Exhibit to do his nightly check in on the Pharaoh Ahkmenrah. Teddy turns to his right to stare down the shaking sarcophagus of of the pharaoh and he sees the face of a ghost staring back at him through the display glass.

Nothing that Teddy has is his own. Everything that he is belongs to the real Theodore Roosevelt. He has his face, even his memories, but he does not have his soul.

He is not Roosevelt.

The pharaoh thrashes and screams from within his sarcophagus as he has done every night for the last 50 years. It’s the same routine over and over again. Ahkmenrah wakes up from the dead and finds himself without light, without movement, and without air. He screams for hours on end, enduring the torture of having his soul trapped in corpse until the sun rises and he dies another day until the cycle repeats. A mindless ouroboros of death and death and death.

And despite all this, Teddy envies him.

At least the pharaoh was once a living man. The real Ahkmenrah whose face was painted on those walls. Not some imposter. Neither one of them is flesh but the pharaoh at least is bone and teeth and nails and Teddy is just wax shaped to the form of a monster in the form of a human.

The pharaoh’s death is restless but it’s proof that he was alive. That’s more than Teddy will ever have. He will never know death because he was never alive to begin with. If there is such thing as an afterlife, he will never know it. Either he will spend an eternity trying to fill the shoes of a man long dead or one day he will return to the form of an inanimate sculpture never to be sentient again and be none the wiser.

Sometimes he thinks about leaving the museum. He thinks about walking out the front door with his same casual gait that he adopts whenever he pretends he has everything under control. He imagines walking all the way to Central Park, finding a nice bench, and watching the sun rise for the first and final time.

But he’s too much of a coward to do it. After all, he’s not Roosevelt. He’s not even a person.

Teddy turns on his heel, continuing his rounds as he walks down the halls. With every step, Ahkmenrah’s screams fade further in the distance. With every step, Teddy pretends he doesn’t know he’s pretending.

[rackraccartpage]

idk if anyone will care about this but this is my pressure oc! yes its roblox...

Read more for LOREE!!!

**Descriptions / Pre Infection** Kalo R. was hired as a security guard in the Hadal Blacksite facility in 1776, two years after Blacksite officially opened. He was assigned to the west wing, doing rounds down the halls during night and lunchtime (hours of high bloodlust and aggression among the inhabitants).

Lee Hoffman was a specialized scientist administered to environmental and botanic experiments and samples in 1775, a year after Blacksite's opening. He first worked in the general labs as an observer in the North wing, but was given his personal lab bordering the west wing in 1776. There, he began his experiments and studies on the grass and the green fungi, often accompanied by a dark substance.

During his hours, Kalo often ventured off path as he did his rounds, visiting his acquaintance, Hoffman, at his lab. Hoffman was a rather strange and isolated staff of the facility, mainly adhering to his lab rather than conversing with his colleagues however warmed to the quiet and stable presence of Kalo when the guard would come by.

**The Infection** As his study of the mysterious deep purple substance, found in the cracks of walls or behind abandoned rooms, delved deeper, Hoffman became obsessed. The scientist could no longer look away from his work and spoke to it under his breath. If taken from his lab, Hoffman would become aggressive and angry, a new development in the scientist's temperament. Despite Kalo's early and growing concerns about Hoffman's health and well being, Hoffman reassured him with promises that he would never keep. Hoffman believed he was brink of something more powerful and amazing than anyone could imagine. The fungi entered his thoughts, speaking to him incessantly...

**The Breakout** Hoffman's condition only worsened in the following months. Kalo planned to exterminate the samples that Hoffman had been cultivating within the lab and mend his friend back to health. However, before he could the containment breach occured within Blacksite. Kalo was stranded inside the facility and quickly sought refuge in Hoffman's laboratory. Within the lab Kalo found Hoffman no where to be seen, left without a trace, a stark difference from the man who had been living unofficially in his lab before hand due to his studies. Upon realizing this, Kalo thought the worst. He discovered vials of the strange substance, rats and other animals mutated in cages, and a journal detailing all of Hoffman's tests and discoveries.

For days, Kalo rarely went out of Hoffman's lab, hearing destruction and violence beyond the reinforced door until eventually it was silence. Only then, the guard ventured out cautiously, gradually discovering what happened and how he was left behind and locked within the facility with rogue experiments. Knowing the facility inside out was standard for Kalo, especially the West wing where he formerly made rounds, however the issue was the mental turmoil and dangerous creatures. There are only so many bullets in a gun. Securing Hoffman's lab as a makeshift base, and accepting his new situation, things began to change. Being to close to the samples began to effect Kalo, causing more and more obsessive behavior towards Hoffman's journal and eventually the fungi itself. Driven by his gradual obsession, and the information of the possible buffs that the experiments had achieved with the injection of such goo, Kalo began injecting the substance into himself quickly driving himself into insanity.

**In Game** Very rarely, the player can find a guard administered radio and unlock the "Walky Talky" achievement. The radio is broken at first, occasionally producing static and choppy dialogue from Kalo. It may consist of hellos, pleads, or memories or paranoid ramblings. Kalo is driven mad and desperate to communicate with Hoffman again. At Sebastian's shop, with the radio in inventory, the player is offered a repair kit. Using the one-use kit, the radio can be fixed. The fixed guard radio has two uses before running out of battery. With a 7/10 chance Kalo can differentiate which doors are false for the player. With a 2/10 chance, Kalo can maliciously guide the player to a false door where they can trade items. If taunted with a flash beacon, Kalo will become angry and can potentially kill the player with a 1/30 chance.

[ifearifearifear]

Company.

Springtrap gets a visitor.

Contains: Vivid descriptions of musty, gross surroundings. Rot. Gore (not actively gore-ing, but referenced in high detail). Rodents. Isolation??? This may also qualify as angst, I'm not completely sure.

It’s spring again. He can feel it in the air. The stiflingly, suffocatingly humid air. If he still had to breathe, he might have found himself struggling between the vivid scent of must filling the air, and the condensation collecting on his decayed flesh. But as it stands, the only inconvenience it brings is the ever-worsening rust corroding his joints. And the maddening reminder that the world outside of this room is still moving forward without him.

The weather is worse than normal, he thinks. Though, he can’t be certain. He had long learned to tune out the sound of rainwater dripping from the ceiling and hitting the filthy, mouldy tiles. For all he knew, a tornado could have ripped through the town and knocked down everything but the crumbling, rotting tomb he remains trapped in. He didn’t care much to pay his surroundings any mind. Not after so long stuck in this dark, dreary room. The only thing that ever changed was the number of mouseholes lined the edges of the floor, and how far the mildew stretched across the walls.

How long had he been trapped here? He had lost track. Twenty years? Twenty-five? Maybe longer. He couldn’t tell. The obsessive counting of minutes and hours that he’d done early on had only served to drive him further into the margins of insanity. He’d stopped thinking about it, for the most part. If only to preserve what little of his lucidity remains. Very few things drew him from his thoughts, nowadays.

A rat pads up to him, squeaking, sniffing at the dried, blackened flakes of blood around his feet. He slowly shifts, sitting up from his slouched position against the wall. The rat startles at the unexpected movement, quickly darting under his leg.

A painful, creaky noise crackles from the shredded remains of his throat. Something broken, roughly approximating a laugh. It’s funny, seeing something scared of him in this state. Granted, that’s probably the most appropriate reaction to seeing an old, rotten animatronic, filled with the gore and carnage of its creator.

He tilts his head, spotting the beady black eyes of the rodent cowering under his leg.

Early on, he’d found the small creatures a pest. Insolent little menaces that often crawled up to him, nipping at the vestiges of the man he once was. But as the years wore on, and they became less keen on eating him, he found them… less insufferable.

He holds out his hand before the rat, and after a moment, it quietly emerges from under his leg. Its head cranes upwards, its whiskers twitching as it sniffs the decaying fur of the thing looming over it. Slowly, it creeps forwards, sniffing and poking at his hand with its blunt, slant snout. It climbs onto his fingers as it investigates, its short, sharp claws scratching at the bared metal of his endoskeleton.

It's hard to tell in the darkness of the room, but from the weight, he’d say it’s a juvenile. Were it not for his current condition, he might see the humor in a young soul finding him in this sorry state. But as he is, he finds no such insight in the interaction.

It’s a cold comfort. He remains trapped in the unwelcoming clutch of the dark, dank saferoom. Met with the presence of a creature perfectly capable of leaving whenever it pleases. A puny, filthy creature. Endowed with all of the freedom he could never again have.

The furred critter crawls along his hand, its claws digging into the ruined, rough felt covering the plastic and foam shell. He turns his hand over, and the rat skitters over his knuckles, squeaking as it’s raised from the floor. He holds the tiny creature before him, staring at the thing’s dust and grime-covered face. It stares back, crawling to the tips of his fingers to sniff at his 'face'.

The thing has no idea of the horrors he has committed. The pain and heartache he has put so many through. The suffering he has, himself, experienced.

It is oblivious to the mistakes of the world.

An innocent being. Unable to comprehend or commit such atrocities.

...

He supposes it could be worse.

At least with the company, he doesn’t feel quite so alone.

[wistfulrat]

this week’s fics! feat. bakeries, bookshops, bisexual awakenings of the angsty and fluffy sort, wolfstar goddads being tender as hell, desi harry reconnecting with his culture, domestic drarry, a lap dance set to akon’s smack that, and more!

But That’s History by @ebbet - 54k - T Harry Potter starts his first year as Muggle Studies Professor only to find that Draco Malfoy has been hired to teach History of Magic.

listen to me. this is one of the funniest drarry fics i've ever read. i was cackling in my bed at 2am because harry’s internal monologues throughout this fic are unhinged. insanely quotable. “what was he, a lothario” and “you were crushing me with your muscular thighs!” are lines that live rent free in my empty head. harry has never played anything cool a day in his life. there’s a faculty meeting where the teachers are planning the yule ball and debating the merits of a DJ when harry decides he must defend his muggle-music-loving honor by dancing seductively to akon’s smack that while a blushing draco loses his mind. i fucking screamed. and the best part is that in between the comedic scenes threading the overall story, you have extremely tender moments of like, padma patil helping harry become a more rooted desi by sharing their cultural traditions, harry proudly donning his sherwani. draco wrestling with his past, going to harry’s lgbtq+ club for students, being sheepish with ron and hermione. ugh, comedic writers with emotional depth are clever and talented as hell!!

Realities, Unfurling by @ebbet - 45k - M Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban into a changed world.

incredible collage-fic told from multiple povs. 8yrs post-war and everything’s changed. the current state of the magical world unfolds via slice-of-life snapshots from a truly stunning cast. non-binary harry whom is running a non-prof org dedicated to building tolerance and establishing equality for marginalized identities. post-prison-release draco whose life will be changed by the internet. neville’s tender relationship with blaise. andromeda’s fiercely protective mothering. remus and sirius being alive and very hot and just, the tender goddads harry deserved. cho chang being brilliant. baker pansy’s softened edges. found families abound. harry being flustered by their crush on draco and making personalized playlists on an iPod nano.

that all might sound narratively cluttered but the author more than pulls this off. glorious, start to finish.

Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (an @hd-erised​ fic) - 83k - E This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

cinematic. a love letter to oregon’s expansive landscapes and lively cities. it’s harry finding home in unexpected places and people. in the vast silence of rolling fields, endless coasts, and starry night skies big enough to feel like you’re adrift in space. and it’s also the lingering, intimate quiet of early mornings in a bakery, sitting on a park bench overlooking the city as you eat ice cream next to your crush. it’s harry watching ginny and luna dance and work around each other like bees. it’s the slow unfolding of harry and draco’s relationship as they fill each other’s quiet. finishing this fic is like waking from a good dream. transporting, immersive, lovely. 

Harry Potter and the Bisexual Awakening by @writcraft - 20k - E Harry is perfectly content being single, heterosexual and living in Godric's Hollow with his very clingy rescue dog, Snitch. When Draco Malfoy turns up on Harry's doorstep demanding that Harry teach him how to drive, things quickly become a lot more complicated.

first of all, i feel very seen by draco being a gay-who-can’t-drive. it’s called representation. but mostly i love the ease of harry and draco’s banter, a flustered harry discovering his sexuality, and the way this fic addresses biphobia. also very emo over this exchange: “I think I might be scared of you, but probably not for the reasons you think.” “Yes.” Draco stares at Harry. “I think I might be scared of you too.”

Forged through flowing water by @tedahfromtayla (an @hd-erised​ fic) - 40k - E When Hermione sets up a diplomatic mission to begin repairing the damage British colonisation did to Indian magical communities Harry isn’t going to pass on the opportunity to visit and help his family’s home country. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions about the personnel she had recruited for it before signing on because Malfoy surely has an ulterior motive to be there.

so much to love about this fic. the beautiful settings, from kolkata to mumbai, to the holi festival and colorful lively streets, to remote cave settlements and old intricate temples. it’s harry in the homeland, reconnecting to his family’s heritage and confronting the weight of imperialism in his history. it’s nipping the white savior complex in the bud. this part: That is what England left behind. That is what it still stands for, despite whatever mask of respectability and honour it presents. . .You don't get to step aside and let someone else deal with the mess. You have to listen and learn and then act, Malfoy, you need to learn how to fix your own mess. This is why we're here. my indigenous ass cheered. HP certainly sells the british fantasy but HP fanfic?? fuck jkr, fuck the crown. i love that this fic doesn’t romanticize england’s history. i love that we get to see the vast resilience and beauty of post-colonial india.

Purity Control by yrfrndfrnkly - 28k - T In which Harry tries to ignore his trauma with fantasy Quidditch but Malfoy's Thereness™ is distracting and all his classmates want to talk about are unicorns, virginity, and Muggle music.

tender 8th year fics where they go from bristly as fuck to understanding and soft 100% guaranteed to make me emo as hell. all the teens have traumas and no one wants to talk about it but eventually Things are Talked About. it’s good of the adults to finally notice. everyone just wants someone to hold their hand. and this part: “You’re the only person around here who’s a bigger mess than I am.” “I thought maybe we could be a mess together,” pls don’t look at me as i weep over their gentle empathy.

Advent, a comic by dustmouth - WIP - T It's Harry and Draco's first Christmas together and Draco is determined to live his full yuletide fantasy, come hell or high water.

dustmouth, patron saint of whimsical drarry. whose illustrations singlehandedly reinvented wizarding fashion. whose cheeky and tender comics are like a soothing balm to the utter depravity of this carnal world. harry and draco being domestic, draco’s xmas spirit brand being “traditional unhinged”!! extremely my shit. we’ll absolutely be reading this all december.

Little Spaces by @dracoladon and @lazywonderlvnd​ - WIP - E Draco's back from France and working on the spell damage ward at St Mungo's with Hermione, who invites him over for dinner. Without telling Harry. This is a roleplay, which means Harry is written by one author (lazywonderland) and Draco by another (dracoladon).

the switch in distinct character voices works so well for this fic!! tonally i feel like i'm watching an episode of the office. i personally love harry and draco being Pissed Off at how much they want to bone each other. the battle of the tapenade was the most riveting dinner scene i've read in a minute. clever, hilarious, emotionally tense. can’t wait until that inevitable moment post hate-sex when they’re gonna be like “oh noooo it’s a Heart Boner as well!! >:((” hell ya we’re subscribing for chapter updates.

Dragons Don’t Know Paradise by @teacup-tai​ - WIP - E In 2004, when Remus spends two scary weeks in the ITU due to complications of pneumonia and his HIV condition, Sirius walks around the house like a ghost and Harry finds comfort and strength in Draco through a chat in an online LGBT forum. Harry falls for him, but Draco has a lot of secrets and, before long, will need to come clean—even if he believes that no one is able to understand a dragon.

non-magical bookshop AU. remus and sirius’ relationship is a marvel. the ease of their affection with harry makes me so emo. draco’s friends being insistently present even as he tries to isolate himself. this is a story about acceptance, found families, and falling in love at a distance. the intimacy, the longing, the tenderness. what a fic!! i keep coming back to this part:...he looks at ease, inside his body, a body he needed to fight for. He’d made peace with his struggles and his scars. And Draco realises he wants that. He wants to be at ease inside his body, the body that now carries a virus. He wants to be at peace with his own existence. you hurt for draco so deeply but you get moments like these where he affords himself a kindness that feels foreign and it’s just!! the boys navigating grief and learning to be vulnerable. so good.

[jordanstrophe]

Be a Good Guest part 10

CW: Whump, broken/conditioned whumpee, dependent on whumper, isolation, panic attacks, *inhales* overprotective, possessive, parental, manipulative and intimate whumper, blindfold/belting mentioned, shackled

Masterlist

Gabriel sat at the table devouring bacon off his plate. He had been fed the exact same thing for weeks, he could have been given the most bland thing and still would have been grateful. But today, he got bacon. His eyes were still adjusting as his vision felt fuzzy, he kept trying to focus on something and blink rapidly, as if that would clear anything up better.

Walter stood at the counter baking a celebratory pie for breaking him  for Gabriel to finally come around. He just wanted a son, an obedient, dependent, helpless little son who needed him. Gabriel was helpless, fragile and weak. 

He was perfect. 

He jostled when he felt something wrap around his arm tightly. Gabriel was still gaining his strength to walk, but he somehow stumbled over and hugged his arm for support. He rested his head on Walter’s shoulder as he watched him elegantly decorate the pie in fancy cuts and details. 

Walter smiled as he pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. “Can I help?” Gabriel murmured. Walter chuckled with delight as he moved behind him, wrapping both arms behind his waist to help keep him upright as he took both of his hands in his. “Of course you can, little dove.” He smiled, placing a strip of dough in his hands. 

He showed him how to cut it into fancy shapes and sizes, holding his wrists to keep his trembling hands steady as he worked. 

“That’s it, you’re doing wonderful.” He encouraged. 

Gabriel’s weight collapsed, his knees buckled underneath him as he dropped a few inches. “Woah there!” Walter instantly caught him, holding him up under his arms as he gently lifted him bridal style. 

“I-I’m so-sorry!” Gabriel cried, latching onto his neck tightly. His body cramped up with tenseness as he quivered.

Please I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry don’t lock me away again

Walter gently sat him back at the table, placing a hand on his cheek as he felt him shaking like a leaf. 

“You’re alright, son. Take it easy now... Maybe we need to go for a steady walk, get your strength back up”  

“NO!” Gabriel cried, curling in on himself in the chair. 

“I wo-won’t go outside! I’m not going! I won’t!” He sobbed, his nails digging into his scalp as he hid his head. Walter grabbed both his wrists to pull them away. He tried to say something soothing to calm him down but... He couldn’t stop smiling.  A huge twisted grin was spread all over his face as he tried to relax it. 

He cleared his throat as he tilted Gabriel’s chin up. “Darling, It’s okay! You’ll be alright in time.” He tried turned his grin into a more loving smile. 

Gabriel didn’t know he was crying until Walter thumbed away a tear that was making its way down his cheek. Walter stood up and offered his hand wordlessly. Gabriel looked from his hand, then to him, confused, but he took it. 

He helped him to his feet as he took his arm, leading him to the piano waiting for him in the living room. Walter sat next to him on the bench as Gabriel leaned against his shoulder for support. He placed his twitching hands on the keys letting out a huff as he let his hands play the first thing that came to his mind, the last song he ever heard...

The song that ran through his head on repeat after the door closed, sealing away his existents. He never thought he would see light again, or hear music, or feel a warm touch. Walter terrified him, but he was scared of something more now.

Isolation.

A drive to insanity. 

Maybe this was the reason Walter is the way he is? He quickly shook the thoughts away. If he learned anything, it was to be appreciative of what he had.

It was better than nothingness... *Riiing!*

Gabriel violently flinched at the loud sound of the phone blasting, shaking on the wall making a loud clattering noise against the old cabin walls. Walter placed a soothing hand on his shoulder to calm him down. “It’s okay! It’s nothing, just keep playing.” He said, quickly striding into the kitchen for the phone. 

Gabriel felt sick to his stomach as his warmth and comfort left. He struggled as he tried to keep his posture up by himself. Soon, the ringing stopped

“Hello?” Walter asked.

Gabriel almost froze when he realized he answered it. However, Walter was silent for a moment. 

“No! I mean yes.. I’m here, I’m sorry I just... I never thought I would hear from you again...” 

“H-... How have you been?”

“I’m alright. Great actually! I’ve erm... I finally got a grip on my life.”

“No, it’s not the radio, that’s my son playing.”

“I know! I know... He’s wonderful. So talented.”

“Of course he’s like me!”

Walter’s voice trailed off as he moved to the other room to finish the conversation. Questions swam through Gabriel's mind. Questions he knew he could never ask.

Walter came back shortly empty handed, sitting next to him as Gabriel quickly reclaimed his spot against his shoulder. He really wanted to ask who that was, it was clearly someone he knew, but thought better of it. Just be cute, sweet, and don’t ask any questions.

“I love this song.” He murmured, gently taking Gabriel’s left hand in his, as he quickly stopped playing. “It’s okay! just keep playing the melody.” He smiled. Gabriel was confused, but didn’t question it, as he continued one handed. 

All of the sudden, Walter’s hand appeared in his vision, playing the base melody alongside him. 

“I didn’t know you played.” He rasped, almost with amazement.

“I used to, many years ago. I’ve learned quite a bit just from watching you though.” He planted a kiss on Gabriel’s temple as he smiled. 

-

That night, Gabriel was skittish. He sat on the couch, watching, watching for it all to go wrong. Was today just a cruel reminder of how much better life could be? 

“Gabriel!” Walter called, entering the living room. “Did you get washed up?” He asked as Gabriel nodded. 

“Alright, good boy. It’s bed time now.” He said, walking over and taking his hand to help him to his feet. Gabriel’s heart pounded against his chest, but he obediently followed him like the frightened duckling he was.

“Tense little thing...” Walter commented under his breath. He walked him passed the kitchen to the-...

No.

Gabriel dug his heels into the wooden floor beneath him.

“NO! Please! I’ll be good! Please no! NO!” Gabriel screamed. 

“Hey! It’s oka-” “-I’m begging you! Please don’t! Please! PLEASE!!” Gabriel twisted his body and clung to Walter’s chest, almost climbing on top of him.  

Walter’s eyes shot wide as he stopped struggling to fight him and bent down, hoisting him over his shoulder. Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut as he screamed and cried, he would rather take the belt to his back for his outburst then be locked away again. 

The air from his lungs was knocked out of him as he was dumped backwards, his back hitting a soft surface. He blinked his eyes open to see he was in his bedroom, with the soft blue bed with the painting on the wall. He had almost forgotten what this place even looked like...

“Gabriel, calm down, now.” Walter ordered.  “You’re not going anywhere bad, little dove, take a breath.” He crouched over him while tracing his jawline with his fingertips. Gabriel was silent aside from his heaving breath.

“That’s better.” He smiled, playfully tapped his nose. 

Gabriel heard the rattle of the all too familiar noise as he whimpered, covering his face with an elbow.

“Nah ah! leg up.” He ordered. Gabriel hesitated, but eventually presented his ankle as the heavy shackle was clasped. Walter gently tugged the blankets over him, placing a hand on his forehead before flicking the light off. 

As soon as he made his leave, he heard a loud clatter from behind him, with a heavy weight slamming into his back as he gasped. He felt arms wrap around his chest as he was held from behind.

“Can I a-ask for something?” He murmured, his voice muffled from being pressed into his back.

“Of course, little one.” He sighed

“Pl-please don’t leave me alone...” He whined pitifully. Walter was left frozen from surprise. 

He turned around and carried Gabriel back into bed, pulling out a key and popping the shackle off. 

“Behave, and this thing stays off, mmkay?” He asked, pointing the key at him. Gabriel nodded, slowly collapsing back into bed as he curled up. 

Walter stayed with him the whole night, running his fingers through his hair, tracing his hairline and gently reminding him he was okay every time he jolted awake, unaware of where he was.

“You’re safe, darling.”

“You’re with me.”

“Everything is fine...”

@alien-octopus @yesthisiswhump  @lave-whump @whumpasaurus101 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @hamiltonwhumpdump @just-another-whumper @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @approach-me-and-ill-cry  @whump-it @kixngiggles @as-a-matter-of-whump  @five-fictions-5-9 @rippedjeansandfadeddreams

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ  Thank you for reading!

[trying-write-fanfics]

Shouji Mezo X Reader Remember part 10

Kirishima was one of the students who didn’t have much of a relationship built with Y/n, but he knew she had a lot going on. He also wanted to know why she bugged Bakugo so much. 

“So your father called you? Are you guys close?” Kiri asked. 

“Not really, I bet you he just found out that I wasn’t home.” Y/n told him. 

“Wait why would it take this long?”

“Campaign stuff has him traveling all the time.” Y/n said. “He’s got an image to keep.”

“Oh that’s gotta suck. Are you nervous?”

“No, he’s more chill than my mom. When I was in the hospital after Aizawa messed my shoulder up, she didn’t even go in to see me. I had no idea she was dealing with my case until he told me.” Y/n explained. 

“What! That’s insane!” Kirishima couldn’t believe it. “You don’t even know how long you’re gonna be here do you?”

“Do you? I think it’s all conditional, like till something big happens. Like I mess up or the case reopens”

“I hope nothing else bad happens, we already had that attack on the USJ.”

“You guys didn’t catch the main guy though, you think they’ll give up?” Y/b asked

“Well we’ve been preparing if he doesn’t!” Kirishima told her before she got to the front office. 

Y/n was hesitant to pick up the phone. Her and her father had to of known the call would be recorded, but what was off limits. Everything she knew was isolated, she didn’t know what information was completely public. Her dad has to know why she was here? He does have the number.

“Hi dad! You miss me?” She asked cheerfully.

“Y/n, it’s so good to hear your voice. I got home yesterday and noticed you weren’t there. I thought you were out with friends, but you never answered your phone. I was so worried. You mother filled me in.” He told her. 

“Are you upset?” She asked.

“No, no. I figured each of my kids would have a scandal  at some point.” He joked. “I could yell at you to be more careful or to stop what you’re doing, but I figured out heroes are doing that already.”

“Is mom in denial about it?”

“You’re a good kid, worrying about your parents, but we’ll be okay. I still have to tell your siblings. They’re all over the board.”

“They won’t care too much I bet. I don’t think we’re gonna watch fireworks this year.” Y/n said. 

“Ha, Ha, that’s your big concern right now?” 

“Yeah, that’s when you guys let me scream all I want.” She told him. 

“We’ll all watch fireworks again, I promise.”

“Do you think you can tell mom to send me some of her homemade painkillers? I’ve been quirk training.”

 That's when the mood of the call changed.

“Y/n I thought we told you to not use your quirk! You don’t have to listen to every single thing these people tell you! Don’t they see the side effects?”

“I have a bit of a hard time using it, sometimes it just goes off.”

“Y/n you have controlled that before. You just have to try harder to suppress it. What were you doing when we were gone and you were home alone?”

She test drived anything in the house ranging from alcohol, mislabeled medication in the cabinet, to website mixes on things to relieve pain. She thought alcohol could help because all the tv shows had drunk people drunk to “not feel anything.”

“I would try to sleep it off, but I can’t do that here.” She put in a white little lie. 

“Your mother doesn’t make drugs, don’t say such silly things. I called to check on you and you seem fine other than the teachers forcing you to use your quirk.” Was her father’s goodbye.

No “love you”, she didn’t even get to say bye. Y/n walked and saw the secretary perk up to try and pretend they didn’t witness such an awkward phone call. The gloomy cloud formed as the conversation set in. Outside the front office, she felt too far away from her dorm. She wanted to be hidden. 

 What kept her strong for so long was though she knew her parents weren’t perfect, no one was. They loved her though. They just had bad ways of showing it. The worse thing they did to her wasn’t because of a punishment, but to further their dreams and ideals. They were confident they could achieve it through their children and Y/n was their last hope. Her body wasn’t strong enough, though they failed, Y/n did too. They did their best to accommodate Y/n’s life with her body weakening. They tried to redeem themselves, to protect their daughter. 

 Students flood the halls as their classes were done for the day. She was holding the tears back. Her parents were two people who had dreams, who thought they could handle parenting and their goals at the same time, merging them. They could try again if she could manage her quirk. Find a bathroom, no one will be in there. However in the fret of looking for one, her face crashed into someone. She pulled back quickly, before realizing who it was she was already apologizing.

“Sorry….I’m so sorry I’m just-“ her voice shook as she was still looking around. 

“Are you okay?” 

Looking up, it was Shouji. Why did it have to be a class 1-A student? She already knew what her face looked like. She had so many lonely nights that she couldn’t help to look in the mirror and how her face would break into a sob. She was doing her best not to shatter yet, not in front of the school. 

“Yeah, you saw me kick Iida’s ass.” She tried proving her case.

“I thought you said you shouldn’t compare yourself to others.” 

“You got me there!” She fought against the tears harder. If she could smile they wouldn’t leak out. 

“Do you have to go back to the classroom?” He asked her.

Probably. 

“Yeah, I just figured I’d take the long way.”

“How was the phone call with your father?”

Right in the weak spot. He wasn’t playing games. Straight to the point. 

“It was good enough, you know how dads can be.”

“I didn’t think they were all the same.”

“Well he’s a normal guy nothing weird.” She told him trying to walk away. 

“You’re going the wrong way.” He told her. 

Fuck! She was going towards the bathroom. 

“Well have to pee.” She lied. 

 Going into the bathroom she found no one. It was just like when she was in school. No one goes to the bathroom at the end of the day. She took the paper towel and let her eyes tear up and flow out. She held the sobs back. If everyone wanted to be a hero and heard her cry they’d be nosy and want to know what’s wrong. Today she couldn’t rationalize her dad’s words. Maybe he was just trying to protect her, but he didn’t listen. When she went for lunch the quirk activated on her foot pushing her forward down the stairs. She had to use her hands to save herself. It wasn’t shocking to her or the family she had poor control over it, but everyone thought it was easier than it was to constantly hold back. The painkillers lessen the effects of power. Instead of bleeding, sometimes it would bruise. The breathing problems would have blood. The pills would make her more tired, but numb so of the effects. She wanted them if they were gonna make her use her quirk. 

 Looking into the mirror her eyes weren’t ass puffy, and she didn’t look too bad. No tear streaks. Y/n felt good about that at least.

“You never cease to amaze me, body!” She told herself. 

 Y/n opened the door and found Shouji there, waiting. 

“What are you doing!” She yelled at him. 

“I didn’t know if you used your quirk or not, you could have fainted in the bathroom and no one would know.” He told her. 

“What a sweet hero you are. Now I’m fine, so no more worries!” She told him. 

“I don’t know enough about you to trust you won’t faint.”

“Fine, follow me!” She yelled. She really did lose her right to privacy!

He probably used his ear hands to ease drop. He wasn’t saying much as they walked back to the classroom. The silence was the worst. Were dots being connected? Could his ears listen to her thoughts and read her mind?

“I wanna go to the grocery store so bad, I need a self care day after sitting in a classroom all day so damn much. It’s too much of a change being around so many damn people. You might feel the same having so many ears and noses! You probably get overstimulated and stuff!” Y/n rambled, hoping to throw his thoughts somewhere else. 

“Yeah it gets like that.”he said being vague as possible, only furthering her frustrations.

“How are you so chill about it! If I get slightly uncomfortable I make a scene!” Y/n said loudly.

“You tried hiding.”

“That doesn’t count! If I was with my family I’d tell them I threw up somewhere in the house and forgot where!” Y/n said. “This one time when I was like 6 since my parents were gone all the time my older brother got a dog and a cat because they didn’t notice for two years. Once they found out they couldn’t do anything because we had gotten away with it so long and we were hella responsible.” 

 “How was the phone call with your father.” Aizawa asked because they got to the class, hoping he would not have to hear more about Y/n’s secret cat as a child. 

“Oh why tell you! You’ll be listening to it anyway! And look, your gold star student escorted me all the way back here!” She pointed at Shouji. 

“Thank you Shouji.” Aizawa said. “You probably have some studying you want to get to.”

“I’ll get going.” Shouji bowed.

Y/n’s nerves were calming down as she was helping Aizawa with paper work. He had already listened to the phone call. The phone call didn’t have enough evidence that Y/n’s parents have experimented on her, and even if they did it can’t be proven how harsh it was. Testing has happened to save lives. Her family could have lessened her quirk to save her life. Doubt it, but still a possibility.  Aizawa already filled the holes in himself. The isolation tactic was to silence her from reaching out to anyone. 

“If you need something to take care of the pain, I can take you to the pharmacy or a doctor to run some tests.” Aizawa told her.

 Her general provider was a doctor who worked for her mother. The numbers couldn’t have been all real. 

“It’s fine. I’ve managed my quirk this long.”

“Poorly.”

The emotions were boiling over. Everyone has always been so quick to judge, so quick to label. Why was she being singled out? Was it because of her crimes? Everyone breaks the law sometime! Aizawa has probably made a mountain of mistakes surely!

“What do you even know? All you have is a faux file.” She growled. “My parents love me and want what’s best for me. That’s why I’ve been following your stupid rules and not escaping so they don’t have to worry anymore.”

 It was silly when she heard it out loud. Why did she commit crimes in the first place? If she cared about her parent’s concern, why then?

[sgtrolandhills]

Mime of My Life || Arthur & Roland

TIMING: About 5 days ago PARTIES: @arthurjdrake & @sgtrolandhills SUMMARY: After finding Arthur injured, Roland goes to visit him in the hospital to get information about his attacker. 

With the injuries addressed, Arthur had been transferred to a spare bed in an isolated area to recover after the ordeal of the night. One of the hospital security workers had been stationed on the door, just in case whoever had attacked him thought of coming here to finish off the job. Nurses flitted in and out of the ward, occasionally taking readings from the monitors and otherwise checking in on how he was doing. Mostly Arthur slept. 

After being checked over and with some of the tubes extracted from his throat, Arthur was left with an oxygen mask and a meter on his finger. The slow beep of the heart rate monitor and whirring electricity the only noises to keep him company in the otherwise silent room. He lay there, eyes closed and feeling like he’d been flattened by a trillion kilo steamroller almost certain that if there was one thing that would drive him to insanity that beeping would be it.

The hours ticked by, no one else turning up to check on him. No visitors, no family or friends. A lonely fact, but simply another part of Arthur’s world. He only hoped everyone else was safe. And so he was left to sleep and dream of his own doppelganger driving a blade into his chest over and over the memories occasionally causing his monitors to spike and a concerned attendee to return. It was after waking in a morphine induced numbness that his eyes blearily focussed on a nurse standing nearby speaking words he could vaguely make out. “Mister Drake? There’s an officer here… He’s hoping to get a statement about the case… Can I let him in?”

He nodded mutely, the act enough for the nurse to smile, pet his hand and tell him that if he needed anything just to press the button on the remote attached to his bed before she vanished once more. Leaving Arthur to sink back into the pillows, his eyes rolling closed as he took slow shallow breaths from the mask covering his face.

No matter home many times it happened in his career, Roland always hated coming across an injured civilian. Ideally, he wanted to be on the scene before anyone had the chance to get hurt. The world rarely ever worked out that way, but it was still nice to strive for as much every time. He was able to accept that all he could do for the people in his community was his best. This man had been unconscious and severely injured when Rolan came across him. Hopefully, he was able to recall the details surrounding his injuries so they could get the culprit behind bars sooner rather than later.

Conducting investigations in hospital rooms was not his favorite. Hospitals always left him feeling slightly uncomfortable and with good reason. His own discomfort couldn’t get in the way of his doing his job. Violence in the community had spiked and if his hunch was right, the mimes had something to do with this man’s injuries. It was hard to be certain of what their motive was, but they definitely had a taste for theatrics and violence. 

One of the nurses had escorted him to Mister Drake’s room so he could ask a few questions. Hopefully he wasn’t too much of a bother, but the longer the waited, the more likely the perpetrator was likely to get away scot-free. With a nod, he walked in and took a seat by the bed. “Mister Drake, I’m Officer Hills. I’m the officer who found you on the scene. I was wondering if you’d be able to answer a few questions regarding your attacker.” 

By the time the officer in question was brought to the room, Arthur was barely half-awake on the morphine being drip-fed into his arm to stave off the pain from the several stab wounds across his chest which were now patched with sterile surgical dressings. Perhaps if he’d had a chance to get to his supply he could’ve dealt with the more significant damage, but the situation and amount of blood expended during the course of the fight hadn’t lent itself to that. And so, here he was, rigged up to an oxygen tank to take some of the burden off his lungs. One of which he’d been helpfully informed had collapsed from one of the stabs he’d received but had since been drained and reinflated. But it would take time to heal.

His eyes cracked opened, rimmed by tiredness despite the apparent amount of time he’d spent sleeping focussing on the uniformed man that had taken up a seat beside the bed. Officer Hills. He repeated the name to himself in his mind for a moment, feeling uncharacteristically slow on the update but he likely had the drugs to thank for that. A hand raised after a moment, grasping the mask and pulling it down so he could speak.

“I’ll do my best officer… Not sure,” he coughed the act making him grimace at a flare of discomfort in his chest “not sure… It’ll make much… sense. But I’ll try.”

There was a good chance Roland would have to revisit Mister Drake at a later time due to his current condition. It was likely he was on a lot of pain medication, but he hoped the man had enough of his mental facilities to at least give him a physical description of the perpetrator. The sooner they knew who they were after, the better. If time hadn’t been so vital in these cases, he’d have let the man have some more time to rest. 

He had a mask on and his eyes were just barely open and looked tired. Roland would make a point of getting through this quickly so he could go back to getting some much needed rest. His body had taken a lot of trauma and needed time to recuperate. “I appreciate as much,” he said, offering a sympathetic look as he pulled out his notepad. 

“Do you have any recollection of what the person who stabbed you looked like,” he started, it was the most important question so he figured it was best to get it out of the way first before the morphine or exhaustion set in too deep. 

Arthur gave a small nod, moving to sit up a little more with aid of the electronic backrest of the bed. It wasn’t very comfortable but it would serve for the time being he supposed. Idly his thoughts went to Mercy, Nadia, Evelyn, Regan… All the others out there in town that might not know about whatever was unfolding in town. He’d have to ask one of the nurses whether they might be able to pass on a message for him. A phone would keep him far more sane in this room all things considered. 

But that wasn’t the thing to focus on as Officer Hills was asking a question he both anticipated and dreaded. How did you even begin to explain what had happened without sounding out of your mind?

“He… He looked like me but… a mime… Silent. It was-- fuck it was freaky.” He swallowed thickly, closing his eyes for a moment as he replayed the events of the night in hazy flashes the heart rate monitor’s beeps speeding up just a fraction. “I was asleep… Woke up to it just standing there over my bed and blood everywhere… But no weapon… There was no weapon...” How was there no weapon and yet… This? Was it just invisible or something else?

Roland’s brows furrowed as the man explained the mime looked exactly like him. His mind quickly darted back to the mime he arrested that looked just like Winston. This whole thing with the mimes was getting crazier the deeper he dove into it. Gangs weren’t a foreign concept, but why mimes? It’s not like they were clowns which were more traditionally seen as frightening. They were mimes! Clearly, they were doing a fair amount of damage in the town. 

It was a lot to take in, especially the lack of weapon. That could have been the drugs talking though. They had Forensics on the scene to collect more evidence. “Another mime impersonator. This isn’t the first report we’ve got of this. I can assure you we’re taking this very seriously. Are you sure you didn’t see any sort of weapon? This could help us identify and capture the perpetrator.” 

Arthur knew how it sounded and seeing the way the Sergeant’s face changed was enough to tell him enough about what the result of this investigation would be. It wasn’t really surprising, but if he really wanted to pursue this then all credit to him.

“Another?” how many more of these things were out there… “This has happened to other people?” Fuck, there was a moment of panic that sent the monitors beeping a little more rapidly. “How many?” Gods damn it why had he not grabbed his phone? Who did he need to check on? Frey, Nadia, Evelyn, Regan, too many people to count. But the next question brought his drifting mind back to focus for a moment. “Right…” very seriously, somehow it didn’t put Arthur at all that much ease to hear “no weapon... but… we fought… Maybe it... fell out of his hand?” It wasn’t true and Arthur knew, but he didn’t want his hospital stay extended by this sergeant thinking he was out of his mind.

Roland hadn’t meant to cause the man any alarm. Recovering from traumatic injury was difficult enough as it were, the stress of murderous mimes only made it worse. If he wanted to capture these murderous mimes and figure out what their aim was, he needed to chase every lead that came his way. 

“Yes,” he said calmly, no need to tell the already shaken up man that all the mimes they had arrested had disappeared from their cells without a trace, “We’ve had several reported cases and arrests in regards to similar situations with the mimes. We’re doing our best to track down who’s calling the shots.” It appeared he’d have to take a look over the scene again. No weapon had been found in an initial sweep, but maybe it was stashed away somewhere. Fingerprints would be a good start, “We’ll take a look over the scene again to see if perhaps they left it behind. Prior to this, have you had any negative dealings with the mimes?” 

Arthur’s expression remained visibly worried at the mention of there being several more incidents. Of course there had been, some of the earlier tiredness had been replaced by a mild case of fear regarding the well-being of several of his close friends. What if they didn’t know? “Surely… Shouldn’t the town be warned about this? People... need to know...” 

“Were there… reasons for the other attacks?” Idly Arthur wondered if this was all pre-meditated somehow, but then what had he done to warrant this? If anything he tried to go the opposite direction whenever these mime fucks were involved. In his opinion the further he was from them the better in the grand scheme of things. Though… look where that mentality had gotten him. “No… well, I was assaulted at a person’s birthday party… It was held at that stripe club place… But nothing happened.” For a moment he grew quiet, wondering whether it was pertinent… But he supposed mentioning it wouldn’t hurt in the grand scheme of things, “I… Um… I don’t know if it’s relevant but… I’ve been… Well, feeling like I was being followed for the last week… It was weird because I was always alone.” But maybe he hadn’t been… The question was how had these fucks gotten around without him noticing?

The more Roland learned of the now widespread mime attacks, the more confused he found himself. There were always more questions than answers the more he thought it over. Nothing quite added up. Pieces fit together, but the whole picture was just missing something. It was reason to be alarmed and he’d made sure the citizens knew as much, even if he did have to face backlash from that one mime restauranteur. 

“Nothing connects the other attacks just yet, but we have taken steps to make sure the people of the town are on the lookout for mimes impersonating them,” he answered calmly. He tried to keep his voice soothing, not wanting to cause too much stress to the man as he was healing from substantial injuries. “So you’ve visited The Stripe Club. That’s some sort of connection. What was the nature of the assault at this establishment? Were there indications that any of them were violent or had some sort of leader?” It made sense that he’d have the feeling of being followed if the mime was impersonating him. They had to learn mannerism and appearances to make this whole very strange series of attacks possible. “Did you notice the being followed shortly after you visit to the Stripe Club?” 

In a way, Arthur felt bad for those that chose to deny what was right in front of them. He understood why they did, of course, but it was difficult to just stand by and watch someone try to work through something they truly had no answer for. But he’d done enough when it came to bringing certain people into the know, and somehow he wasn’t sure the sergeant would believe him even though he would have been telling the truth. But none of that mattered, the main thought his hazy mind kept circling back to was his friends. Did they know? Gods he hoped they knew.

Clearly whatever steps they had tried to implement weren’t enough, the thought caused a slightly sour expression to cross his features. Why else would he be here save for not knowing a damn thing about what was going on? 

But focus was drawn once more, and he blinked past the haze of the drugs clouding his mind. Slowing it down and leaving it drifting in circles. “Once… It was… a joke honestly,” he didn’t even know the guy in question, “nothin’... serious… Just a mime… a mime fucker trying to drag… drag me on stage. But I didn’t...” He shook his head at the next question, “no… but… There was-- one… Obsessed with… uuuh washis name? Fuck dog… pest control… Lanky?” He groaned mildly in frustration over the details of everything being so fuzzy where he was used to clarity of detail, one hand going to his face as he pressed his eyes closed. “Karen… Langley? It was his party… One seemed to be in charge then… maybe?” He tried to think, focus on the exact information that seemed to slip from his grasp every time he tried to retrieve it. “No.. No, started last week.”

Roland was surprised to hear that Mister Drake knew Langley though he supposed it was a small town. The officer couldn’t have been more grateful to have missed that trainwreck of a birthday party. Mister Drake was a better sport than he was, even if he had moved here already, there was no one worth stepping in a mime strip club for. There were certain lines and a mime strip crossed about twelve of them. Especially now with all the mime violence, it had even less appeal. That little detail didn’t help with making any more sense of this whole strange situation the town was going through. 

It was hard to not notice the change in expression and Roland knew he had to wrap this up. Mister Drake needed rest and some time to not think about mimes. He looked down at his hands clasped around his notepad, his right hand squeezing the pen harder than he needed to to jot down the information Mister Drake provided. 

“Thank you for the information. I can assure you we’re looking further into this and bringing as many of the violent people dressed up as mimes in. I’m sorry you had to go through this,” he said, his gaze cast back on Mister Drake, as he frowned slightly. “Last week, that’s something to work with. Have you been anywhere in the last week that would have security footage I could look into? I promise this is the last question and you can get back to resting. I know you need it.” 

Arthur wasn’t sure whether it would be beneficial in any way, but it was the nearest thing to organised structure and even that was a leap and a half. Honestly, what did any of them truly know about the mimes? Other than the fact they were now trying to murder the townfolk. But what could be done to stop them? There had to be some kind of answer… Maybe once he was back on his feet he’d look into it.

He gave a small nod of his head feeling a wash of tiredness creeping over him, apparently trying to think about everything that had happened took a fair chunk of energy. Not to mention the current shock of coming to terms with the fact he’d almost died today… And the fact he’d killed someone.

There was blood on his hands, and whether it was self-defence or not… The notion was enough to make him feel all sorts of queasy. He was a professor, he taught people and helped them better themselves… He didn’t… He didn’t kill people or even things that resembled people… “Um… I walk… The Quarter - downtown… Near the university.” There might be more, but the pieces were falling from his mind like fine grains of sand slipping through a net. “M’sorry…” his voice wavered, uncertain and upset. Gods was he a murderer now?

It appeared Mister Drake was becoming more and more strained, so Roland opted to end any further questions. The Quarter was something to work with, or at least it had been a little more of a lead than he previously had. After the incident at A Quiet Place, it was clear getting straightforward answers from any of the mimes working at the mime restaurants and bars in town. It was frustrating, but it meant he’d just have to get more creative with how they solved the case. 

“I can check that out. In the meantime, you rest up,” he answered, trying to keep his voice level and soft. Once he healed up, Roland’s card would be there for him to use if he thought of anything else. Right now, he could work on chasing a new lead and hoping it led somewhere. He placed his card on the table by the bed, “If you think of anything else, give me a call.” 

With a nod, he left the room so Arthur could get some much needed rest. It was hard to see someone in so much pain. He could only hope they got to the bottom of this mime situation sooner rather than later.

[stusbunker]

Later the Truth Breaks

For Better or Worst: Chapter Six

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC

Other Characters: Castiel, Dumah, mentions of Naomi, OC Bandit (their dog)

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 2263

Summary: Mangled magic, dissecting illusions

Special shout out to MJ @thoughtslikeaminefield for beta reading this installment for me.

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

“What the hell?!” Sam snapped, spinning in the driver’s seat to face this, this stalker.

               “Calm down. I just want to talk,” Castiel replied brusquely.

               “Yeah, well, ever heard of the phone? Or a damn email? Who even are you?!” Sam held up his hands waiting for answers.

               “My name is Castiel, and I’m your friend, Sam. You and your brother, Dean, tend to call me Cas, for short. It’s sort of a nickname,” he over-explained.

               “I know what a nickname is,” Sam pinched his eyes, the headache had returned full force. Though he felt stable, not close to blacking out again. Not yet at least. “But what I don’t know is how you know me or that I had a brother named Dean.”

               “Had? What do you mean had, Sam?” Cas’s jaw jutted out, sitting up to hear what this version of Sam could be talking about.

               “Had. As in past tense, Dean died of a heart condition like twelve, thirteen years ago.” Sam watched the weird man process the information. “Why? Does it matter?”

               “The spell is more complicated than I imagined, they not only hoodwinked you into being in love with that woman--- they completely rewrote your past,” Castiel peered into Sam’s eyes with the intensity of a microsurgeon.

               “Whoa, buddy. Easy there. That woman is my wife, and she’s amazing.” Sam tried to get the man to relax, to realize how insane he sounded. “You okay? You need a ride somewhere? A doctor maybe?”

               “No, I am not ill,” Cas answered unironically. “Though, you seem to be quite muddled.”

               “Yeah, well, you caught me off guard. Excuse me for being pissed about it,” Sam snapped before locking onto this Castiel’s gaze once more, seeing him completely and with startling familiarity. “How do we know each other? What am I missing here?”

^*^*^

               She probably should have eaten something or sipped rather than chugged the wine. Emery was flushed with more than the jets from the tub. Slowly she was able to let the day’s disappointments sink to the back of her mind and just be. No super professor mode, no chipper neighbor filter, no patient and dutiful wife efforts, she was just her. Which wasn’t something she got to do very often, in this life or the life she left behind. When Emery wasn’t working or being for someone else, it got very loud in her head. But tonight, though the thoughts were there, she decided to just push them back, to let them hold her up instead of weighing her down. Emery decided to float above the worries in the fuzzy heat of a drunken bath.

               This was ridiculous. There she lay, in a huge tub in a huge house in an overpriced neighborhood. She started to laugh at herself, at Sam, even at Bandit, wherever he had gotten to. She was a freakin’ professor at an amazing school. This was the dream. A dream she got out of nightmares. She didn’t deserve this place, she didn’t need it, it was too much. Suddenly she started to cry, tears leaked down her face, which only made her laugh harder. The absurdity of it all.

               Emery inhaled and sank beneath the few remaining bubbles, hovering in stasis until her lungs brought her surfacing. She exhaled. Letting her bangs fall as they may, she hid beneath the mask of heavy, wet reality. Gravity won in the end, and she crawled from the drained tub and burrowed into Sam’s oversized robe. It wasn’t overly soft like hers, though it was thick and comforting, but mostly it smelled like his aftershave. She started working the conditioner into her hair, twisting and pinning it for the night. She was half-assing it and she didn’t care. She swayed absently on the balls of her feet to a playlist as she finished putting her hair up. There, close enough; she had her scarf secured before she scampered downstairs, robe hem dragging behind her like a train.

               The haunting blue of the clock above the range glared at her, shuffling into her relaxation like an unsignaled merger. What was keeping Sam?

^*^*^

               “Is there somewhere we can talk? I don’t think this is the best place to do this,” Castiel suggested. Sam couldn’t help but agree, a public place would be safer. And much less creepy, as long as the guy didn’t slit his throat the second, he faced forward. Unconsciously, Sam started driving to the bar Cady had suggested, but stopped before the final turn.

He cleared his throat. “You hungry? Emery was going to bring home dinner, but I can just get a drink—if you want.”

“I don’t eat,” Castiel explained.

“Of course, you don’t,” Sam grumbled, pulling into the parking lot beside the chain bar and grill. Appetizers and a stiff drink sounded like manna from heaven at this point in his day. Sam didn’t know why he was hearing Castiel out, but he somehow knew to trust him. To listen, to wait until all the information was explained before deciding on his sanity. Call it instinct or something deeper, Sam wanted him to feel heard.

Once they were settled, drinks in hand, Sam decided to press back. “So, why don’t you eat?”

“This is just a vessel, my grace sustains me and this form,” Cas replied leadingly.

“Your grace?” Sam’s brow furrowed and a smirk played on his lips, despite the constant tension in his jaw.

“I’m an angel, Sam. Much like Naomi, the one who put you in this situation. And apparently buried your memories. Of me. Of Dean and what brought you to this town, away from your family and your calling,” Castiel prodded back, looking for any blip in Sam’s eyes, any wavering, any weakness.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “My family? I don’t have anyone, man. All I have is Emery and Bandit, and that’s more than I could ask for,” Sam explained. “My mom died when I was a baby, Dean when I was in college and Dad right after that. Why do you think you know anything about my family?!”

Castiel sighed. “I really am an angel, you know. I’m not saying these things to upset you, Sam. I am saying them to see where it started and try and pull back the curtain, as one would say. To reveal what they’ve been hiding from you. I need to search your thoughts and it would be much faster if I could just see what was there.”

“What? Dude. That’s just—” Sam froze, Castiel didn’t wait for an opening, he simply placed two fingers on Sam’s forehead. Suddenly the pain from looking at the self-proclaimed angel started to wane, as their surroundings became overwhelming. The sounds of the patrons and the smells of the food and the beer spattered floor grew too much. Sam hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes, but just as he was about to be sick, Castiel’s fingers spread wider and a deep penetrating chill fell down his back. The nausea disappeared as quickly as Sam opened his eyes.

Perhaps there was something in his drink or maybe he was more exhausted than he thought, but in truth, inevitability had started to creep through the wall of reason and spell work inside Sam Winchester’s mind.

^*^*^

It was fine. There were no problems. He was just going to be late. It was only an hour passed the latest he could have possibly been at work. Things came up. It being his birthday, shouldn’t cause her any more alarm or distress. They were going to be alright. They were safe. Sam would be home soon. Wouldn’t he?

Emery had torn into the bag of caramel corn they’d bought for movie night as she worked through the possibilities in her head. Shoveling handfuls of the tacky sweet kernels into her mouth between checking her phone and looking to Bandit for explanation. The dog, though concerned, had little rebuttal to her teetering train of thought. He did his part by cleaning up after his mama. He was a good boy after all, and she was having a day. She grabbed a fresh bottle from the rack and poured herself another glass. Standing around stewing wasn’t bringing him home any faster and she would not lower herself to be the nagging wife. He was just late.

They had left off in the middle of a season of the latest edgy, politically charged amalgamation of horror and drama on the easily affordable default streaming service. She didn’t want to have to re-watch it when he finally arrived. Which was why, Emery flipped, blazing through the slew of options, from trending to suggested, nothing seemed to hit her fancy. When ‘Touched By An Angel’ appeared from the recesses of heartwarming and nostalgia she dropped the remote and finished her latest glass, tongue worrying over the latest crumb wedged in the back of her gum. She didn’t even want to think that they could be involved.

^*^*^

Three months before

Dumah had her doubts about the whole thing. Naomi using Michael to fuel Heaven and keep the Winchesters apart and isolated, in attempts to keep them from them finding out. It was a knee jerk solution to a problem that was bigger than the few remaining angels could handle. So, she watched the newlyweds go about their days. Invisible, but ever present from their walks to their jobs and home again. She saw how miserable Sam was. How frustrated and untrusting he was of her kind. She also saw Emery, doing everything she could right. It was like the spark that had held them over from their vows never left her. That small dose of true love from the cupids had nestled inside the woman and held firm. Her faith and her determination only fueling the bond that had been formed.

Dumah almost felt bad for her, but she had a stake in the deal too. She had an endgame, or at least a shiny carrot on the end of her stick just as Sam did. Perhaps her naivety helped the disguise, or maybe her need was that much greater than Sam’s. Either way, the angel knew that Emery wasn’t backing down. If this ruse was going to fall apart and leave Heaven at risk, clearly it wasn’t from the wife’s side of things. No, for this to succeed for as long as possible, Sam Winchester needed to be kept in line.

She wasn’t ever there long; Heaven would have noticed her absences if she lingered. Instead Dumah made a game of the randomness of them: length, location, and target all varied. Occasionally it was just her and the dog, sitting in the winter afternoons. It was on the last week of their first month together that she had started hearing the prayers that Emery had been offering up to the Father that never listened.

‘Make this work. Mold us into what is needed for your good works. Let me be enough.’

In the early morning hours, Dumah entered the den and watched Sam toss and turn. He had continued to refuse his wife’s offers to share their bed again. It was there, in Sam’s dreams, the maladjusted angel started building the bridge in his mind, slowly and carefully. She left, just as secretly as she arrived, but not before leaving something upstairs, an innocuous physical aid to bolster the fledgling marriage before it imploded.

^*^*^

“How did you meet Emery, Sam?” Castiel changed the subject on a dime, causing Sam to gasp as he gathered his bearings.

“Uh, a co-worker introduced us,” Sam nodded, a tired smile barely registering on his face. “What does that have to do with anything? Did you see my thoughts or just shove some serious vertigo at me?”

Cas didn’t flinch. “How long did you date?”

“Not long, why?” Sam signaled the bartender for another drink, before realizing Castiel hadn’t touched his.

“Why did you move here? Isn’t it odd to leave one place and pick up somewhere completely different? Especially between terms.”

“Emery got offered a better position,” Sam shrugged. “Listen, I’m all for playing nice here, but you still haven’t convinced me of anything. How are we somehow being used by angels? I mean, you make them sound like the bad guys.”

Castiel didn’t answer right away, instead he grimaced and thought about how to approach Sam, now that he had no history with him. As if he was a stranger needed convincing for the sake of someone, he thought dead.

“You said Dean died while you were in school. Were you with him when it happened?”

“I was—” Sam broke off as his mind reeled, a broken heaving Dean sprawled out on the floor of a stranger’s house. Blood was everywhere, his clothes and his body beneath them, torn to shreds by some invisible force. He closed his eyes, trying to see the memory he thought he knew. Only to be met by another image of Dean, older than he ever could have been. Heavy with anguish and satisfaction, his handsome face mutilated when he looked into Sam’s eyes. A single phrase surfaced, like a fist working against a thick pane, ‘proud of us’ pummeled repeatedly, until it broke through the barrier in Sam’s mind.

The moment Sam was back, Castiel saw it. In his eyes, the set of his shoulders, the tension in his hands. Sam gasped, and gritted his teeth. “Is Dean gone?”

The need to know flooding past the grief and bewilderment.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered. “That’s what we’ve got to figure out.”

^*^*^

Read On: Older Bonds and Deeper Ties

[hangonimevolving]

The Happiest Place on Earth, and New Year 2020 Adventures

Dear readers - I have a really convoluted update for you all today, but (I think) it has a happy ending!

First of all. HAPPY NEW YEAR 2020! Hope the new year brings us all peace, fulfillment, and most of all.... GOOD HEALTH.

The family and I kicked off the holiday season in a veritable flurry of activity. The kids celebrated their school holiday show with great fanfare...

And then I had a personal high, as I completed my second-ever Jingle Bell Jog 5K race successfully!

This was the first event of my race series and fundraiser for the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research. so I was extra happy at having ticked this item off my to-do list.

That same day, just hours after I crossed the finish line, Dr. Spouse, the kids and I packed up the car and headed north to the Orlando area, for a 6 day vacation. The week was planned to include a four-day stint visiting the parks at Walt Disney World along with my parents, who would be flying directly from New Orleans to join us.

We had a blast on this trip! After a few rough months, it was so much fun to make new memories with Ajima and Thatha, especially since taking the grandkids to Disney has long been an item on Thatha’s bucket list. We were delighted to help him work on this one!

The trip was *almost* perfect. Almost. There was just one hiccup.... and fortunately/unfortunately, it mainly involved me.

I woke up on the final day of our Disney parks adventures - Thursday, December 26 - ready to tackle Epcot, which is my favorite of the four parks. But the minute my eyes popped open, I just knew something wasn’t 100% right with me. I felt like I’d been hit by a BUS. I had horrible body ache all over, my head was pounding, and my chest felt heavy, as if someone had poured a gallon of wallpaper paste into my lungs. I groaned to myself, knowing what this meant - I was probably coming down with a cold - but I still forced myself up and to get ready, since it was our last day of the trip and there was no way I was missing it!

By the time we loaded into the car and headed out, the leaky faucet nose had started.  I definitely sneezed a LOTTTTTTT through the entire day - huge, rib-cracking sneezes, that had my entire rib cage and back hurting well before lunchtime and through the evening. But I pressed forward, tried not to make a big deal. As I had been throughout the trip, I was even more militant in insisting the family use hand sanitizer and antibacterial hand wipes all day long than I already had been (which was a lot). But yeah, it was a very long and difficult day.

I put myself to bed in isolation that night - I didn’t want anyone else catching my germs!  The good side of my isolation is, I didn’t disturb anyone else’s sleep that night, and I managed to abstain from infecting anyone. One down side is, I suppose it meant that no one in the house saw how sick I actually was, and by the transitive property, perhaps even I didn't register how sick I was. That night, I ran a very high fever, yet was having teeth-chattering chills for hours. I couldn’t breathe through my nose, and coughed nonstop. I got awful, fitful sleep, with weird, violent, vivid dreams all night.

The next day, I started suspecting that maybe I didn’t just have a cold - maybe it was the flu?  We tried to locate an urgent care clinic where I could get a rapid flu test, but it proved hard to find anywhere with a <6 hour wait, and I was absolutely determined not to get anyone else sick (least of all my post-CABG father or my two young kids).  So I insisted Dr. Spouse just call in a Tamiflu prescription for the entire household - it would be therapeutic for me, and prophylactic for all of them. He dutifully obliged, and we were all on Tamiflu by 2:30 pm Friday. We said goodbye to my parents this evening - they flew out of Orlando directly to New Orleans - and Dr. Spouse, the kids and I would drive back to Miami the next day.

That night’s sleep was worse than the previous, and featured the worst fever sweats I’ve ever had in my life, soaking through all my clothes, all the bedsheets, down to the mattress cover. It seriously looked like someone had dumped the Gatorade bucket on me after winning the Super Bowl. And again, I had violent, bloody dreams of war imagery all night....

The next day was every bit as painful as the last, and perhaps more so - my entire head and chest were clogged with sludge, the body ache was debilitating, and worst was that I felt like I couldn’t really think straight or make good decisions.  In a nutshell, we weren’t packed up at all, and I woke up from fitful sleep about 9:30 that day and to my horror realized we had to check out of the rental cottage by 11 - - I was trying to run around and pack, but my body and brain were literally not working properly together.  It was brutal - and we were definitely an hour late vacating the property.  I ended up falling asleep within minutes as we started our drive home, and slept 3.5 hours of the 4 hour drive, which SHOCKED me and Dr. Spouse - I never sleep on road trips!  Should have known this was a bad sign that something was really wrong.

Sunday and Monday, things started looking up. I still had terrible sinus congestion, but the cough and fevers were improving, and my energy level was slowly returning! Hurray! Time to get back to normal..... except, weirdly, some new weird symptoms popped up. I was blowing my nose a LOT, admittedly - but I developed a nosebleed sometime early Monday morning, and it just... didn’t stop. For well over 24 hours. Then I noticed a few weird red spots on my face and neck - I assumed maybe I’d scratched in my sleep when I was sweaty at night? But by Tuesday, there were more red spots in more places. Everywhere. On my back, stomach, chest, arms, legs, feet... my sinus symptoms were better, but these spots were weird.  It hit a head on Tuesday morning when Dr. Spouse and I sat down to breakfast. I definitely had more spots than I’d had an hour before. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and began to eat, but then I noticed my mouth felt funny. I realized, to my horror (sorry, TMI) - I had big spots in my mouth too, and they looked like these blood-filled blisters all over the insides of my cheeks and the back of my throat. They looked like dark purple jellybeans, stuck everywhere on my oral mucosa - and some of them were doubling and tripling in size before my very eyes. One burst, right there at the table, and suddenly a trickle of blood oozed our the corner of my mouth. Dracula Mommy, yikes - Dey was at once amazed and horrified. And all the while, my nose was still bleeding.

Dr. Spouse looked grave and got panicky. He had three patients to see in clinic, but he wanted me to get medical attention ASAP.  I initially felt like maybe this was a bit of an overreaction, I didn’t think it warranted an ER trip, and I was feeling rather sheepish to bother a lot of people, and bewildered at the childcare logistics - especially considering it was New Year’s Eve.  Besides, my sinus congestion and energy level were feeling better - so how sick could I really be?  

Well, turns out I was wrong. It turns out there was actually something seriously wrong with me.

Blood tests revealed I had developed a very serious condition called thrombocytopenia. This is a condition where a person’s blood platelets levels drop dangerously low, making it difficult or impossible for them to clot. It makes any sort of wound or injury or weakness in any vessel or the body a potential site for deadly hemhorrage. In my case, it happened to be very severe. The normal lab ranges for blood platelets are between 150,000-400,000. At my ER admission, my labs came in at 1,000, with a little downward arrow next to them! It was a dire situation - basically, I could have hemhorraged from anywhere, from my head to my toes, from my brain to my entire GI tract.  I could have died.

Very quickly after the issue was diagnosed, I was administered a transfusion of IV steroids, followed by two units of donor platelets.

After the platelets, I had to receive something called IVIG, or IV immunoglobulins. I believe these are to boost my immune system and help it stop accidentally nuking itself in the course of fighting the flu virus, or whatever pathogen started me down this insane road. The IVIG infusion, as it would turn out, would take like HOURS - maybe 8 hours total - and it was determined that I’d have to be admitted to the hospital (to the ICU, no less!) for a whopping FOUR DAYS, to receive further IVIG treatments until my platelet levels came back to an acceptable range. I was FLOORED and overwhelmed at this news, of course - again is really thought perhaps Dr. Spouse was being overly cautious initially. But I soon realized the gravity of the situation and promised to comply with all the healthcare professionals’ advice.

Although I cringed to do it, knowing a) what they’ve gone through recently, and b) the fact that we’d JUST spent the week with them in Orlando and sent them peacefully home, I found myself with no choice but to phone Ajima and Thatha from the ER and explain what was going on. True to form, they mobilized within minutes, and had plane tickets booked in no time. They arrived right around midnight on New Years Eve to relieve our wonderful friend/former Nanny S, who graciously pinch-hit and babysat the kids at home so Dr. Spouse could come be with me. I’d been in the ER from about 1 pm till maybe 5:30 or 6 pm, and eventually been transferred to an intermediary ICU room, where I’d spend the next 4 days.

Do you see my purple spots??  Hard to visualize in these pics, but they’re there.

I spent the next 4 days mostly in bed - I wasn’t permitted to walk around unattended, use the bathroom on my own, shower without supervision, etc. because even though I felt fine and am ordinarily physically able, I was considered a bleed risk if I accidentally stumbled or took a fall.  So in bed I stayed.  And for about 10-12 hours each day, I received IV infusions through both arms of steroids and IVIG.  It was a surreal experience, but also an incredibly fortuitous one, in that I didn’t really feel all that sick!  Dr. Spouse would come visit me for a few hours each afternoon through the nights, and my parents would bring the kids for about an hour each evening.  I had a wonderful crew of nurses who looked after me, talked with me, made sure I was comfortable and well-fed.  And my medical team was also very good, especially my hematologist, who was careful, methodical, and very even-keel about everything, explaining what had likely happened to me, what the next steps were, and what I should look out for in the future. 

I have A LOT more to say about this experience, especially all that has now happened afterwards, and all the follow-up care I must now receive.  It is going to be a journey for awhile longer.  But for now, a few thoughts in closing out this post....

It’s weird. Obviously, I wish NONE of this had happened - but I also felt so incredibly lucky.  Because: 

1). I’m so glad my post-heart surgery dad, senior citizen mom, and young kids didn’t get this virus, and that it was only me.  I’m also glad Dr. Spouse, our primary breadwinner, care provider for hundreds of people, and our beloved daddice of our family didn’t get it.  

2). If this absolutely had to happen to me, I consider myself lucky that in recent years, I’ve put my fitness first, and especially these last few weeks, I’ve been training for a race series, which means I’ve been eating right, training rigorously, attending to my cardiovascular health as well as my lean muscle composition, taking lots of multivitamins, and even pursuing yoga for restorative, rehabilitative, and emotional/mental health.  Basically, I was AS HEALTHY as I could have been going into this, and I think that saved my life.  I didn’t have a fatal vascular weakness that gave way to hemorrhage, because I’ve had the blessing of the opportunity to take good care of myself.

3). I have an ANGEL on my side.  My uncle Marley was definitely looking out for me.  Aside from being a huge source of love and support - it so happens that Marley suffered for many years from a platelet disorder which was constantly being managed.  He was of course the first person who came to mind when I got diagnosed with this issue - - and I swear he was looking out for me. I even have evidence to that effect.  Will share in a followup post.

4). Last but not least - - this one is overwhelming and wonderful.  

I met my husband when we were about 18 years old.  I had no idea at the time what the future held for us - but this person has evolved into many things, including a WONDERFUL, sensitive, intelligent, and proactive physician. He is REALLY, REALLY good at what he does for a living - and I think that’s because he would do it even if he didn't make a living doing it.  He LOVES his particular field of medicine.  And it so happens that he is a stroke neurologist, who sees patients with brain bleeds and emergency events related to bleeding/clotting every single day.  So it was my incredible fortune that the man I’m married to, saw what was happening with me, wasted ZERO time, and insisted I get care. 

My husband saved my life.  He is my hero.

Alright.  I think I’ll end this one here.  In upcoming posts, I’ll be discussing several things, including:

- the aftermath of my great Flu Adventure - the types of follow-up care and remaining question marks about my health (and hopefully I’ll be getting some reassuring data to share here!)

- an update about my Race Series!  Obviously (and heartbreakingly) I’m going to have to rejigger some things here.  I am working on my emotions with this.  But I’ll share it all with you.

In conclusion - -  I want to wish you all a happy new year.  May it be a year of good health and fortune for everyone!  Big hugs and big love  :)

[theuniverseofgail-blog]

Okeechobee

This entry will not do my experience at Okeechobee justice. Not only because I am waiting over 4 months to finally try and recount my time there, but because words are at a disadvantage when it comes to taking raw feelings and identifying them. Here is my attempt: 

My invite was as last-minute as it gets. This festival had been planned since Christmas for my boyfriend, Sam, and his brother, Jacob. Maddie, Jacob’s (now ex) girlfriend would accompany the two and arrange for everyone to link up with this group of mutually acquainted festival-goers. Unfortunately for Jacob, his asshole professor refused to work with him and his chemistry test on the intended day of departure, leaving his ticket up for grabs. For some bizarre reason I was on the fence about taking his spot. Whether it was out of guilt or fear, who knows. I am just relieved I grew a pair and looked past my irrational skepticism. 

The drive was 11 hours and actually passed fairly quickly. Dab breaks definitely played a factor there. When we finally got there, there was no time to feel out the place, we immediately unpacked what would become our little home for the following days. Tent and all, we set up and decorated a personal campground for our hippie gang. I loved living that way. There is something so satisfying about simplfying living conditions down to the bare necessity. Cutting out the luxuries we use and overlook on a daily basis -television, air conditioning, refrigerators, microwaves, bathrooms, chargers- and instead relying solely on nature. Setting up our campground in a way set up the experience. We mingled and made friends easily, that component is key. I grew ridiculously close to the people inhabiting our grounds in a ridiculously short period of time. But that's just the (amazing) thing, it’s impossible to walk out of a festival without friends. It feels like everyone there is on the same peace and love-endorsing wavelength. It is something else. You don’t know anyone’s story, but you know that everyone there sacrificed the time and money for the sake of music. You’re all there for the experience and for improving it, which creates immediate fellowship. There’s an unspoken understanding that the only thing appropriate for radiation is positivity. It’s almost like the festival rewired the brain chemistry of the occupants strictly to favorable thought patterns, like even our vocabularies underwent an unusual excess of encouraging words. It quickly became evident, that regardless of where you were, if you ran into people, they were undoubtedly enjoying themselves. 

Once we were all moved in, Sam and I channelled our excitement into pregaming. We didn’t waste any time getting beer drunk for the upcoming performers. That night turned into a necessary wakeup call in regard to my bodily limits. It turns out, I can’t stomach like 10 beers in like 2 hours. The fun ended in a puddle of my piss. I decided to lay down in the tent before recuperating... that escalated. I sincerely thought I was on the brink of death that night/morning. I peed my pants, the sleeping bag, the blankets, hell the whole tent, in addition to throwing up pretty much any vital body part in my stomach. I was mortified with myself and feared judgement from my renowned and respected hippy gang. Of course hardly anyone noticed, nor mentioned it. At this point, I acknowledged my size and decided to let it dictate my choices in regard to all of the illegal unmentionables, aka drugs and alcohol. 

This first night nightmare actually shaped me up nicely. I managed my Molly and acid intake responsibly, which is where it counts. It was my first time taking Molly and looking back I really wouldn't have done it differently. I knew it had kicked in when my body was possessed by this unshakable urge to move. Which is exactly what I did. Sam and I literally danced our asses off for who knows how long. It was amazing though. Every nerve in my body wanted to express how good the music made it feel, so it did just that. It’s like your body enters “Molly mode,” complete with an endless tank of dance moves, energy, and happiness. Heat and exhaustion will, however, challenge the “endless” aspect of this tank, let me warn you. The acid, on the other hand, rocked my world, in the best way ever possible. 

I’ve messed around with psychedelics a good bit so I knew what I was getting into. Sam, however, was an acid virgin. It was the last day and acid was brought up and some things lead to another and we decided to trip together. I was reluctant because, well acid is acid, and you can’t predict how your mind responds to psychedelics. A festival is a prime acid environment if you are familiar with tripping, but to a newbie it could be way too overwhelming. Sam handled everything perfectly though, to my pleasant surprise. Which is the only contender when it comes to choosing words to adequately describe that experience... perfect. Despite belonging to a bigger group, Sam and I generally ventured off on our own. It was nothing against our company, but really just a way to ensure we could see my favorite artists -his too, I just had three times as many. This isolation bonded us on its own -the simple concept of two people, in a crowd of thousands, desiring nothing but one another’s company. As long as he was with me, I felt comfortable and safe, oh and then there was the uncontrollable happiness. Hand in hand, it felt like it was us against the world, in a world that wasn't even out for us, more like a world that worshipped us. Not that the world worshipped us, as in a materialistic manner, but that it worshiped us together, the unification of us. Everything, every little thing, felt so insanely right. There was this palm tree forest of hammocks tucked behind the walkway, and we laid there for forever. I was just so intently content. Our playlist was whatever the next unthinkably talented band or artist wanted to perform for us. All of it, regardless of the genre, was extraordinary. (Excluding like this 45 second clip of a trumpet in dire need of tuning. It resembled the noise a cat makes when you strangle it following a vocal-cord removal procedure.) But as I was suspended in that Eno with Sam, I had this recognition, a magical one. This feeling, a feeling that nothing in the world could pollute, no outside force could alter, was love! I was in love with this boy. I thought that perhaps the acid was making the sun’s warmth feel affectionate, and turning the air sweet, and giving the palm leaves personality, and revealing to me all of these unidentified colors... but I was wrong. It was love! Processing that discovery was glorious. I looked at Sam and was completely overcome by affection for him. Acknowledging my love for him either instilled or made light of a new, unwavering faith in us. Accepting my love for him was like taking a blurry pic of all of the wonders of the world and watching it focus into a clear, sharp, edge-cutting masterpiece. It was the epitome of bliss. I’ll carry a photographic print of the ways his eyes looked around at the world and perceived it through his own personalized lenses forever. They would water because he would forget to blink because he saw earth for the astonishing exhibit it is. He is so incredible in the most subtle ways. Throughout the entirety of the trip, I became more and more drawn to him. I was so oblivious to the effects he had on me until I was forced to face them, all of them. As it got darker, I found my body longing for his. I lusted him unlike any time before and couldn't quiet the thoughts and desires without him physically putting them to peace. And as you can guess, that’s how the perfect night following the perfect day following the perfect trip ended. Some good, old-fashioned tent sex. But really, that was my favorite sex, to this day. Every sensation was heightened, it felt euphoric. 

And that’s how it went. That’s why it was so good. Two kids, completely and irrevocably in love, at a music festival. But don't get me wrong, it wasn’t the experiences themselves -not even the private concerts from bucket-list musicians- but the ability to share those experiences with the love of my life. He wasn't just there for some of the best memories of my life, he helped create them. 

So that’s a recap!

There are my favorite days of my life succumbed into some paragraphs. 

[helice-haides]

“That’s not my intention. My intention is to merely give some perspective. Anything else that comes out of it is solely up to you.” Helice said. Change was hard. It was the hardest thing. But also one of the most rewarding things a person could do. “I specialize in taking down things like human trafficking rings and quirk labs. I’ve met a lot of people who’s stories could break you apart if you let them. My job isn’t an easy one, and most who are in my field either die or leave quickly. It takes someone who knows how to handle trauma of all kinds and stuff function.”

“But I have a few particular stories to share. On is of a little girl, Sara. She was born in quirk lab. Her biological parents were two villains who created her to be a weapon. Have you ever heard of the villains Foxglove and Wolfsbane?”

The boy’s eyes widened. The two supervillains had only been dead two years, but everyone in the underworld—and many in the upperworld—knew who they were. Foxglove was a psychopath Serial Killer who delighted in murder. Wolfsbane was heavily involved in the black market, and while his kills were more purposeful, he’d had a kill streak nearly as long as Foxglove. Their reign of terror had lasted nearly two decades.

“You have. Well, those two conceived a child solely for the purpose of weaponizing her quirk. And they definitely got a quirk that was easily weaponizable. Sara was kept in this quirk lab. She saw many, many batches of children come in. Most of them died rather quickly. When her quirk manifested, she threw a fit because all of a sudden she could feel EVERYTHING the villains in the room felt, all at once. And, being a child, she cried and threw a fit. Her quirk almost exploded, and drove the other people in the rooms to vegetables, mentally. The remaining villains saw that they had found the weapon.

“For the next four years, Sara saw hundreds of children come in. She saw many of them die in their cages, where they were kept in conditions worse than animals. And, she was made to end a good number of them with her quirk. She was a child, there was only so much she could do to resist. Because of her biological parents, the villains couldn’t hit her or rape her like they would the other children to make her comply. But they would withhold food and water. Or make her watch as they harmed the other children. So, in the end; she did most of what they said and used her quirk to drive person after person insane.

“There was only one kid who survived along with her. It was a ten year old boy who was brought in with a batch of other children when Sara was five. This boy, Bibi, she called him, was kept alive on purpose. Not just because of his quirk, but because he was the only one who could calm Sara. You see, it wasn’t totally within her control when her quirk overwhelmed her and sent her into a temper tantrum of sorts. Before Bibi, she’d been kept in isolation until she managed to gain control. Which sometimes would be days. Bibi, however, had little siblings before he’d run away. He knew how to calm a panicked and scared child. And so, for the first time, Sara had someone to cling to.

“Not that it made it any easier, but it made it more bearable. Bibi had stories he would whisper to her through the bars at night when the villains left them in the dark in they’re indivisible cages. Sara had never seen outside the compound. Never seen the sun, or moon, or rain. Sometimes he’d hum quiet little tunes—she didn’t know music either. Other nights he’d attempt to teach her letters, or words. Whenever he thought it was safe, he’s slip his hand through the bars and into her cage so she could hold it.

“It wasn’t until Sara was nine that a covert hero managed to infiltrate the lab. A few months later, that same hero escaped with an unconscious Sara as the lab burned to nothing behind them. Bibi had used his quirk to destroy the entire place so Sara could leave.”

She paused for a moment to catch her breath.

His head ached as he slowly woke up.

“Welcome back, kiddo.” A female voice, gentle and soothing, said.

@sadistic-flesh-n-guns

[brianculmo]

A trip around the WURL pt1: Getting There

The WURL is a significant challenge, something I absolutely needed in my life, and something that I am truly honored to say that I somehow completed On Saturday/Sunday August 19-20th 2017. Before I get more into my own story I just want to make it clear that this was not a solo journey. I want to thank everyone that joined me on the route, offered support or encouragement and anyone that simply didn’t think I was crazy to even attempt this thing. Special thanks to Seth Myer, Justin Daining and Aaron Williams for joining me out there during the struggle. 

I’ve had a tough year. I’ve been through a lot mentally and emotionally. The year started with a tough injury and thus time away from fitness which left me feeling isolated, alone and inadequate. It was extremely tough to get myself through seemingly endless recovery. My knee took a very long time to start feeling to a point where I was comfortable doing the things that I define myself by. When so much of my definition and view of myself is linked to my ability to run and do physical activities, it is extremely difficult to have that stripped away. I was lost and felt I was just a shell of who I thought I was. As I said, it was rough. Come March I was spending literally 2-3 hours a day on the indoor bike trainer in my room, just staring at the wall, and literally going insane. I was seeing it as the only way to make actionable steps to get better. It was miserable and I was miserable, but it felt like the only thing I could do to get better; I’m finding out now that isn’t completely the case. 

While my injury was sidelining me in my physical endeavors, I was about ready to uproot the rest of my life in an attempt to just mix it up in an attempt to just have any sort of positive change. I was planning on moving out of my apartment and into my truck. The only problem was I didn’t have my truck yet and I still had a ton of work to get my camper livable, and I was broke from countless repairs on my old truck. There was a lot going on and even if I would have been healthy, running had to take a back seat to all the other changes happening in my life. Eventually things came together. I moved out of my apartment, my roomate and one of my few friends in SLC moved away. Truck life began in May. 

For most people the idea of living in a vehicle would be a source of problems and stress. I was in such a terrible spot previously that I was looking forward to just anything that was different. I was instantly happier in my truck. I was in complete control as to where I could go. My life immediately simplified significantly, for the best. I started feeling healthy enough to run a little, than run a little bit more. I still had a lot of work to get to where I wanted and needed to be, i was happy to make steps forward. I was signed up for High Lonesome 100 miler at the end of July. That date was fast approaching and I was cutting it extremely close with my recovery in terms of feeling 100% ready for that race. Luckily my training started going really well. My mileage and vert increased quickly, but probably more importantly I was having more confidence and self assurance. 

It is important to thank the Wasatch Mountain Wranglers here. That group of people helped me get up and out of a dark place. The simple act of seeing familiar faces on Wednesday nights got me through each week. As the summer has gone on, these amazing people have become great friends and have proven to be an incredible group of support and encouragement. 

Going into my 100 miler I was finally starting to feel good about myself, my fitness and my readiness to take on such a challenge. I went to Colorado a week before the race to acclimate to the altitude as much as possible. I rested and got all my supplies ready for the race. I struggled to find pacers, so i had made a plan to run the tough mountain race solo, in what was shaping up to be tough rainy conditions. What was confidence became nerves. Things weren’t perfect, but I had to continue to stay positive and not let negative thoughts creep in. I checked in the afternoon before the race. I went to my truck to sort out last minute gear and drop bags. I started feeling pretty nauseous, so i opted to just resting and lying down before the pre race meeting. Just before the meeting I emerged from my truck into a rain storm and extreme nausea. I felt absolutely terrible. As other runners are walking into the high school auditorium for the meeting I find myself outside throwing up in the bushes. I’m a complete wreck at this point. In pain and in tears I drag myself into the meeting. My entire race is in jeopardy, everything is uncertain. I can’t even get through the meeting without having to step out a few times more to throw up again. Everything that I built up for is slipping away right in front of me, so close to the race start. After a tearful phone call with my mom (sorry for being a wreck Mom), we decided I needed to go to the hospital. I somehow managed to drive across town to the hospital where I promptly threw up upon parking. Luckily a nurse witnessed my struggle and helped me get to the ER. Once admitted, they put me on an IV and gave me some other drugs to help me feel better. I still felt terrible, and the overwhelming stress of this 100 mile race looming in less than 12 hours was extreme. By the time I talked with the doctor and was in the hospital for a few hours it became clear I was not even going to start the race. It was one of the hardest things to do to call the RD and tell him I wasn’t going to make it to the start. My long term goal that I was using to pull myself out of injury and a dark place was gone. Immediately upon my decision not to race brought on me feeling better. My stress went way down; I went from straight up hyperventilating in stress to just trying to relax and focus on trying to feel better. Luckily my race crew of Rob and Maggie showed up at the hospital and then they proceeded to take care of me in a very different way than planned. They were amazing support for me in the hospital as I continued to feel awful and sick. It turned out I had come down with just a nasty stomach virus at the absolute worst time. We drove to a nearby campsite that night and I tried to sleep in and sleep off the pain. We casually started the next day and I started feeling better as we drove the few hours back to Rob’s house. I had to pull over 2 separate times on the 2 hour drive to take naps, I was rundown and beaten down. It only took a few days to start feeling much better. By the time I made it back to Utah I was healthy, hungry and motivated to find something else to commit to. 

When your goal is stripped away from you out of your control it does weird things to you. I felt like I should have been sad or bummed, but thats not really how it was. I just felt kind of empty and lost. so many people offered condolence and support, which was incredible, but it somehow felt undeserved. I am super thankful for everyone that reached out, but I was just not mentally equipped to deal with a situation like that. 100 milers demand you be ready for the possibility of a DNF or a rough day, but I had never anticipated a scenario like I went through, I felt unique in my odd struggle. At the end of the day I just had to remind myself that I was healthy, fit, confident and able. The whole weird experience helped me realize and embrace a lot of good things I had going on with my life; things that I had lost sight of in the winter and spring. I was ready to push on to the next thing. 

Enter the WURL....

Continued in pt2 here:  http://borderlinedesigns.tumblr.com/post/166513260001/a-trip-around-the-wurl-part-2-survival