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thecomposerofstories · 3 years ago

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The Story of a Toy: The full story (So far, anyway, I still have a lot left to write, and any ideas are fully welcome! 💖)

~ The Story of a Toy~

UNDERSTANDINGS.

Amy didn��t understand it at first, why did play-time have to end? Why couldn’t they just play together, like they always did? But now she knew why.

Children grow up, and they leave. And her owner may forget the days they spent playing, and may not miss her the way she did, but Amy would remember, and as long as she did, she would be fine.

She hoped.

Her owner placed her carefully in a box, smiling sadly, as if she knew the small ragdoll she held was sentient, which was, of course, impossible.

Amy never understood the rule toys had to abide by, but always listened to them, because she had seen enough horror movies featuring dolls coming to life to know that humans frowned upon that sort of thing, and Amy, not wanting her owner to fear her or call an exorcist, stayed still.

But she had looked at her as if she were real. All those days spent running around in the park, lazing in the sun, her owner reading to her stories. Her owner’s favourite stories were always The Wizard of Oz, Peter Pan, and Alice in Wonderland. (Whom Amy’s owner had been named after)

Amy noticed that Dorothy, Alice and Wendy all wore blue, and travelled to fantasy worlds which by either flying, tornado, or Rabbit hole, respectively. And all were an allegory to leaving childhood. Which was an interesting coincidence. And much like those characters, Alice had to leave her childhood –and Amy- behind.

Shutting the box deftly, closing Amy in an only temporary darkness, Alice climbed up the steps of the attic.

Placing down the box beside the others, she left unceremoniously.

Amy moved her limbs dully, coming to life. She peered out from the box to get a closer look at her surroundings.

“Hello?” She called out tentatively. Using other objects placed within the box, -some books, old records, and a jewellery box- she clambered out, tumbling over. She coughed at the dust, adjusting her dark hair so it didn’t blind her. “H-Hello? Is anybody there?” She called out again, a little louder.

Nothing. She was the only toy there. Other toys had been sold, lost, and some had even lost hope in Alice and left. All but Amy.

Amy, feeling aloof and uncertain, just stood there.

I’ll wait, she thought. Someone, at some point, will open my box and play with me, or hand me off to a place where I could be played with… or something, hopefully.

And so the poor, steadfast ragdoll stood, waiting to be played with.

CHAPTERS

Reading was always a favourite pastime of Amy’s, a habit she had picked up from Alice. And it seemed to be reading that was keeping her sane. She read any books she could find:

Horror. (for days that she was bored and needed a scare, to give her an extra kick of adrenaline to keep her going,)

Picture books, (Her favourite was one about Dinosaurs, her favourite being the Tyrannosaurus Rex. In the book –Which to Amy didn’t seem that factually accurate- the T- Rex was described as ‘Fearsome and scary’, but she didn’t really think so, especially since she had read a famous quote: 'Green is the prime colour of the universe, and that from which it's loveliness arises', she reckoned anyone who was green would know that.)

Comedies. (Which made Amy laugh even if she didn’t get it.)

Even a huge dictionary titled: Strange Words and Their Meanings. (She adored going through the pages, memorising each word carefully.)

Over the years, Amy had read all of these books, more times than she could count.

Rest of the time spent in the attic she looked out of the window, while perched on a tower of boxes where she could look out but and no-one could see her. Like she didn’t exist. Either with a book or gazing dully out at the passing world outside, in her own little reverie.

Today was just like any other day. Or, it started out like one. Amy knew Alice’s parents had moved out of their house, a few months ago, and was wondering when someone else would come along.

Today was the day! A blue mini-van-like car parked itself in front of the garage, Amy guessed, a moving-van in tow. ‘Egg-Man-Movers’ was spelt along the truck, with funny looking literal egg-like man moving a bunch of boxes with the letters that spelt the name on the truck.

As the car stopped, a little boy, around six or seven, jumped out the car, holding two small figures Amy couldn’t quite see, though she was certain one was wearing a hat. The boy wore a hat, too, a red one. A woman also stepped out of the car, presumably the boy’s mother, and they both got a small creature, probably a baby, out of the car too.

Amy jumped down from the window sill, enthusiastically spinning and laughing. “It’s today! It’s today! A new owner! Yes!” She squealed, she did a fist pump in the air and danced around like some madwomen, spinning, until she tripped over her feet. Laughing, of course.

This was what she was waiting for! Amy loved reading, but do you know what she loved about it the most?

Starting new chapters.

NOTHING

Nothing.

Non-one.

Amy expected for someone to bring some boxes into the attic, notice her and take her out, but no. Why bring stuff with you if you’re just going to put it away and never see it was the only explanation.

Sometimes, she could hear the boy, and the mother, and the baby.

Sometimes, she could hear other voices coming from downstairs, too. The child’s toys, she figured.

They’re having so much more fun than me, I bet. Amy thought. She was never really a bitter person, but she couldn’t help but be a little jealous. OK, a lot jealous. But what could she do?

Wait.

That was it, all she could do. Stupid, stupid, stupid! She mantra’d in her head.

She was sick of it. She wanted to play! To have conversations! Where was the Adventure? While the toys in the little boy’s room were having much more fun than her. Amy elbowed a box in frustration.

A pile of old records and magazines fell on her head.

Yearsshe had been waiting. Decades, even. Amy used some spare chalk to keep track of the days she’d spent in the attic. Today was day number sixteen thousand, six hundred and eighty-six, to be exact.

Today was just another number, it was late afternoon. Amy stepped down from the boxes, covering the window with a curtain. She walked into the middle of the dusty room, thinking. Amy knew she could climb out the window, what if someone sawher? What if she slipped? What if, if she successfully got to a near window ledge, and the window was locked? What if the toys threw her back out for intruding? She couldn’t just stay here forever… but what if she did?

All these thoughts coursed through her cotton-stuffed head, her thoughts so loud she nearly didn’t hear the attic stairs being used, creaking with each step.

She was so shocked she ran and hid behind a vase, narrowly escaping being seen. Through a small hole in the box she peeked at the mother of the little boy and baby as she dumped some boxes and left.

TOYS IN THE ATTIC

“W-where are we?” a voice whispered nervously, other voices replied, “How am I supposed to know?!” “S-sorry…” “Let’s have a look!”

Amy stayed behind the shelf, peeking from behind a vase. She’d had been longing to speak to other toys for so long, so why was mind screaming for her to hide?

Four toys stepped out from the box. First, a rather foreign, futuristic-looking action hero who was a bit taller than Amy, with all sorts of fancy buttons and gadgets attached to them. “Which planet is this?” he asked his friend, a much taller, lanky ragdoll who wore boots with spurs and a cow-print vest over his checked shirt. he straightened his brown hat, taking in the surroundings. “It’s not another planet, Buzz, it’s just the attic.” He said calmly, or dryly, depending on how you read it. The third toy literally sprung out of the box, as he had a spring for a body with a dog’s head and backside at opposite ends. His springy body rattled and made a satisfying noise.

The last figure surprised Amy. A strange creature at first, well, all the toys looked strange and new to her, but this was by far the strangest.

He was a little bit shorter than the one in the hat, but only because he was hunched low, fumbling with his little arms. He was green, his scales made of plastic. Amy tried to place where she had seen a creature like that before, before it hit her: It was a dinosaur! A Tyrannosaurus Rex, to be exact.

She was so enamoured with the creature she leaned against the floral vase to get a closer look, as he observed the room with his friends.

But she leaned to hard, and the vase tipped and smashed. Amy ducked behind some plates before the strangers saw her.

The four toys turned to the sound of the noise, terrified. ‘Buzz’, as his friend had called him, pointed a shining red light attached to his arm at the broken pieces of porcelain.

“What was that?!” the Dinosaur whisper-screamed, hiding behind his friend. The Springy Dog turned to his friends, equally stricken, stating, “We gotta find a way outta here!”

The one in the hat nodded “You’re right, Slink.” he turned to the trap door at his feet, which got them there in the first place. He pulled at the latch, but it wouldn’t open. “It’s locked!” “And the dormer is sealed… it seems we’re trapped.” Buzz fathomed, after analysing the door on the floor.

The dinosaur started to freak out. “We can’t stay in here forever!” Buzz cut him off, “Come on, Rex, calm down!” This only made the poor thing ramble on more. “But what if Andy forgets we were in that box? We’ll be stuck here forever!” “Stop it!” the other three shouted at him, annoyed.

Amy felt the overwhelming need to go and comfort the poor thing, or, Rex, as they called him. She understood how he felt. It was dark and gloomy, (or Mirk, as Strange Words and Their Meanings would say.) She couldn’t blame him for being scared.

Amy wanted to help the other toys, but was confused as to how to introduce herself. She couldn’t just step out of nowhere, as Rex might just die of fright, and she didn’t want that.

Instead, she just kept listening to the other toys’ conversations.

“Maybe we can find another way out of here?” The one in the hat thought to himself. “Great idea, Woody!” Buzz praised, before striking a pose and exclaiming, “I’m ready for a new mission! Buzz Lightyear will have you out of this attic in a flash!”

The other toys just stared, deadpan, at him.

Slink spoke up, “It won’t be easy, we need to find something to light this place up first” Woody agreed, “Yeah, It’s getting dark, soon we won’t be able to see anything” “Oh, I don’t like this at all! I’m afraid of the dark!” Rex sputtered, Buzz shushed him “Quiet, I’m trying to analyse the problem” he thought for a moment, before declaiming, “We can use my laser for light!” he shined his laser into Slink’s eyes as an example. “I don’t think it’s enough to light the whole place up, Buzz.” Woody pressed gently, Slink scoffed, rubbing his eyes with his paws “Yeah, but it’s enough to blind me!” Amy giggled at their banter, as quietly as she could. “Maybe there’s some Christmas lights in here or something”

Woody though aloud, Rex nodded. “Yeah, there’s loads of old stuff here, we’re sure to find something!” Woody placed a hand on Buzz’s shoulder, “And you can always use your laser to see what’s inside the boxes” Buzz grinned.

“I’ll look in the closet!” Slink said over his shoulder, while Woody looked behind boxes with Buzz.

Rex gulped, standing in the middle of the room. He went to inspect the broken vase by the shelves. He was now so close Amy could see all the detailing in his plastic skin.

His eyes locked with hers, eyes wide, and he yelped in surprise. So did Amy.

“Rex! What happened?” Buzz called, his friends following him and rushing to the panicking dinosaur. Amy fell out from her hiding spot, finally exposed. What could she say? “H-h-hello…?” she said, awkwardly, to the other toys who stared at her.

FRIEND FOR LIFE

“Hello” Slink said first, going up to the frightened ragdoll and speaking softly. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you, do ya have a name?” Amy got up from the floor, dusting off her denim dress nervously. “I-I’m Amy…” the ragdoll stuttered. Woody tipped his hat and shook her hand. “Well, nice to meet you, Amy, I’m Woody.” “Nice to meet you too.” Amy responded nervously. Buzz shook her hand next, firmer than Woody. “I am Buzz Lightyear, Space Ranger. I mean, well not really…well, it’s a long story.” Amy smiled. Slink was next. “I’m Slinky Dog, but you can call me Slinky or Slink if you want.”

Rex was last, he approached her more cautiously, shaking her hand nervously. “I’m Rex, nice to meet you, Amy.” he said warmly, before asking quickly afterwards, “Did I scare you? I’m supposed to be scary, ya’see, so please, tell me honestly.” Amy stuttered a response “N-nice to meet you, too, R-Rex, and I was terrified... But I’ve always wanted to meet a dinosaur.” Rex grinned bashfully, fiddling with his hands. “Really?” “Y-yes.” Rex giggled “I like you, Amy!”

Woody laughed and rolled his eyes. “You’ve made a friend for life, now, Amy. Do you know if there’s any way to get us out of here?” the cowboy asked, (not that Amy would know he was one at this point), but she answered, nodding, “There’s a window above those boxes there, behind that curtain.” she gestured at the tower of boxes in front of them, laid out in just a way that they looked like stairs.

Woody, Buzz and Slinky descended up the boxes. Rex looked at Amy, grinning. “Aren’t you gonna join us?” “Really? C-can I?” “Of course! We can’t just leave you in here! It’s scary! Besides, it’d be nice to have a you around!” Amy smiled, climbing the boxes to reach the others.

Once they reached the top, Buzz pushed back the curtain and while the other toys climbed out. Amy was last. She took one last look at the attic, before straightening her back and walking out on the window ledge.

ANDY’S ROOM.

A breeze hit Amy in the face as she stood on the window ledge outside. Her dark hair flew in front of her face in annoying tendrils. The sky had darkened considerably, which made it even more thrilling. Rex shivered, “Oh, it’s so high!” Amy nodded, looking down at the ground. Amy watched as the three other toys grabbed the drainpipe and slid down to the window just below. Woody waved from below “Come on! Someone could see us!” Amy stuttered “B-but what if I fall?” “You’ll be fine, I swear!” Amy smiled wearily. She gripped the drainpipe, took a deep breath, jumped and slid down to the side of the window.

She screamed internally, holding on for dear life. Her legs and arms wrapped around the pole, eyes looking down at the pavement where she would surely end up. She had only been still for about a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime. Could she do this? Would she do this?

She jumped.

Landing in a heap, nearly knocking Woody and Buzz over.

Rex leapt next. He couldn’t properly jump, so Amy and Woody had to pull him into the window. “I’m alive!” Rex breathed, Woody rolled his eyes for what must have been the second or third time today.

Woody turned to Amy. “Welp, welcome to Andy’s room.” Amy turned to face the room.

It used to be Alice’s.

Now, everything was different. It was a strange feeling, nostalgia mixed with the feeling of being in a new place.

The shelf was always there, yes, still there, same colour, too, only with new bits and bobs and toys and books placed on it. Everything else was foreign and strange. Even the wallpaper.

Amy stepped on a desk that wasn’t there before, well, there was a desk there before, but it wasn’t this one.

Amy watched as the four other toys jumped down from the desk to a chair to the floor and copied their example, sort of. She fell in a tangle on the floor.

A group of toys surrounded the five, the first to speak was a funny looking creature with a mustache and a bowler hat with a Brooklyn accent, akin to the shape of a potato “Who’s the newbie?” he asked, Rex replied quickly “This is Amy, we rescued her from the attic!” Amy spoke up gently “Well, rescued is not a word I would choose, really, I’d say they more encouraged me to leave, I say they, but really-” a female voice cut her off “Well, whoever you are, welcome”

The speaker of these words was a porcelain doll, much taller than Amy, who smiled warmly yet dryly, with a skirt that flared out so wide it reminded Amy of a parachute. She carried a long blue cane, holding it professionally.

A small cluster of sheep made bleating noises at her feet. Amy guessed she must be a Shepard.

“I’m Bo Peep.” She stated, extending a hand. Amy shook it nervously. This woman radiated beauty, with her shiny porcelain skin and her golden curls. Amy felt slightly intimidated and uncomfortable under her blue gaze. “Hello, B-Bo, heh, that rhymes, doesn’t it? Nice to m-meet you, and I hope you don’t mind me asking, but are you that same Bo Peep from that nursery rhyme?”

Bo smiled, amused at the ragdoll’s nervousness and tendency to drabble, letting down her guard a little bit. “Yes, I’m the same Bo from the nursery rhyme.” The ragdoll grinned uneasily. She remembered when Alice was little, she would read nursey rhymes.

“Andy’s comin’!” a toy yelled, a piggy bank whom Amy hadn’t been introduced too yet.

The other toys zipped in different directions at lightning speed, Amy didn’t know what to do.

So she fell to the ground, inanimate.

~A Dinosaur's Distress~

REPLACEMENT.

“These toys are so much better than my old ones, Mom!” Andy called as he rushed into his room.

He placed the big paper bag with the words ‘Dinosaur Museum’ he was carrying on his desk. “I never knew how many cooler dinosaurs there were!”

Rex cowered, his vision felt like he was watching the whole scene through a fish-eye lenses. He lay frozen, watching Andy tear away the plastic wrapping and boxes the toys were in.

“Andy! Dinner!” Andy’s mother called. Andy trudged downstairs reluctantly down stairs. “Coming!”

Rex felt like he was being choked, his mind clogged with rambling thoughts.

He’d always dreaded this.

Shakily, he moved his limbs, walking towards the desktop. He twiddled with his hands nervously and winced, so wrapped up with what could be up there that he didn’t notice his friends were missing.

He called out tentatively, “H-h-hello…?” he squeaked. The room felt both big and small, a nauseous, nightmarish feeling. But the most horrifying thing was how Rex was alone. No-one could stop him from panicking this time.

The new toys arose and jumped, slithered, crawled, and trudged down from the desk, towering over Rex and cornering him so quickly it was as if they were always there.

“Andy don’t need you no more…” one toy –if he, or maybe it, could be called one- slurred, grey saliva clung to his teeth in thick, sticky ropes. His scales rough and uneven, grotesque muscles rippling in a sickly shade of orange.

“You’re weak. Pathetic. Andy needs a toy that deserves him.” A purple one said, sickly yellow eyes narrowing. This one had many horns adorned to its face and body like piercings. Rex had never seen dinosaurs’ like them before.

The toys seemed to strangely multiply, each one different. Each one better them him. Scarier than him. And much stronger than him. They all taunted him. His anxiety, his arms, his cowardice.

One grabbed his arm with sharp taloned fingers, snickering. “Look at this! What kinda toy factory allowed this thing on sale?” He snickered. Others did the same. Jabbing and poking him till he could take it no more. Rex screamed.

“Stop! please,” he sobbed, pulling away and backing up against Andy’s starry wallpaper. The grotesque creatures just laughed bitterly, prodding him and pushing him and even hitting him.

“Oh, does that hurt?” (Saying it hurt was an understatement.)

“Look at those stupid arms! So flimsy!”

“Look at you! who would want you?”

“Pathetic!”

“Idiot!”

Rex tried screamed for his friends “S-STOP! PLEASE! H-HELP!”

The toys sneered. “They can’t hear you!” the tallest, largest one slurred with his sickly tongue. He was the worst-looking of the lot. His eyes bloodshot and his arms long and rippling with muscle. His bumpy scales the colour of green toxic waste, so ugly looking it glowed. His voice sounded like an earth-quake, loud and booming, yet scratchy, like nails against glass. “But if they did, why would they care? You’re their punching bag. Even they make fun of you!”

They began to taunt him again. Rex tried to cancel them out, squeezing his eyelids shut.

They laughed. Rex screamed again, though it did nothing.

He began to lose consciousness.

BREATHE.

“Rex?” Amy whispered, nudging him a little. Rex had been placed on the bed by Andy, -Who was getting ready for school- and had fallen asleep. Amy had been reading underneath the bed up until he had started muttering in his sleep.

Rex bolted awake, breathing heavily and shallowly, hyperventilating. All the other toys in the room turned and stared at him. Amy looked at him with a concerned expression. He’d been getting more and more jumpy lately since it was declared that Andy was going to the Museum.

Rex jolted awake, shaking like he’d seen a ghost.

Woody, who was also on the bed, went to the dino to see what was wrong. Rex pinned his small hands on the cowboy’s shoulders. “Where’s Andy?!” He said urgently, shaking the confused cowpoke. Woody looked at Rex, bewildered. “Getting ready to leave for school? Is everything alright?” “NO! Everything is NOT alright!” Rex screamed hysterically “Andy’s going to the Dinosaur Museum, and I’m gonna get replaced!” “No he’s not! If Andy was gonna get a new toy, he would have made some withdrawals. And Hamm would know about it.” Woody argued. Then he turned to Hamm, who was on the desk. “Hamm, has Andy made any withdrawals?” the cowboy asked. Hamm looked solemn. “Nope, only deposits.”

“See?” Woody said, trying to calm the dinosaur down. He did. A little.

The toys heard Andy talking to his Mother from inside the room. “Mom, can I have some money to bring to the Museum?” “Sure! I’ll give you five dollars.” “Thanks Mom!”

Hamm watched them leaves outside from the window, with Molly, of course, driving away in the car.

Rex froze. “So it’s true… I am going to be replaced…” he said sadly, quietly, his stress building up from there. “What should I do… what should I do… WHAT SHOULD I DO WOODY WHAT SHOULD I DO!?” Rex screamed, his claws dug in Woody’s shoulders again, shaking him.

The some of the toys –Buzz, Mr. Potato Head, Bo and Hamm- swarmed around the bed. “Rex! Calm down! Please!” Rex couldn’t hear them. he kept fretting. “I’m gonna be replaced! I can’t deal with this! Woody, I CAN’T! “REX!” Woody yelled, shrugging him away.

Amy watched on from behind, unsure what to do. Rex was stressing out, hyperventilating and fretting, all the toys swarming around him, cocooning him in loud noise and emotions, yelling at him to quieten down or he’ll wake the neighbours. Amy moved in front of Rex quickly, to give him some space and probably calm him and everyone else down, when a hand smacked her in the face and she fell to the duvet cover.

Everyone in the room stopped. Amy lay motionless, next to Rex, who stood in silent horror. Her dark hair covered her like a curtain, she wasn’t moving.

Rex stood still, shocked. “A-Amy?” He stuttered. The other toys backed away. Buzz looked shook. He didn’t mean for that to happen…

Amy stirred. “R-Rex...? what happened…?” She murmured. Then it came back to her. “Are-are you okay?” she asked Rex, he looked taken aback. “A-Are you kidding? Y-y-you just got slapped! I-I should be asking you!” he said, still shaking after his outburst, his breathing still shallow, but his voice quieter, making sure his friend was alright. “No, you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.” She answered, while getting up, with deep concern for her friend. “Amy, you- you’re hurt!” Rex exclaimed. Amy touched her cheek were Buzz had hit her.

She could feel soft stuffing coming out of a small cut on her cheek, she gasped.

She turned to Buzz. “Why did you do that?” she asked softly, in shock. Buzz stammered. “I-I’m so sorry, Amy, I didn’t mean to hurt you…” he started. Amy then looked at him with a soft expression. “What about Rex?” the ragdoll replied. She spoke quietly, still dazed. Buzz gulped. “I thought it would…” “Would what?” “…I don’t know.”

Buzz moved closer to Rex. The dinosaur jerked back, still freaking out. Buzz put his hands up in peace. “Rex, I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to hit you. It was a foolish mistake.” Rex nodded slowly, understanding “I-I understand.” He still looked shaky. He whimpered. He felt terrible. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He mantra’d in his head. How could he have been so stupid? How could he… all thoughts and sounds pressed against him, squeezing his chest.

Amy turned to Rex. “Rex,” she whispered softly, “What’s wrong?” Rex stayed silent for a beat before speaking. Despite not really having a throat, his voice came out hoarse. “I’m g-going to be r-replaced, Amy, and Andy’s going to get a-a dinosaur w-w-who’s much better than me…” he rambled. He shook, fidgeting with his hands.

The other toys weren’t sure what to do. Rex always was a neurotic, but seeing him freak out like this saddened them.

Amy locked eyes with Rex, backing away from him far enough to give him space to breathe.

“Breathe,” Amy told him gently, “Deep breaths, and you’ll feel better, I promise.”

He took one shaky breath. Then he took another. And another. And another. He could feel air coming in and out of him a bit more normally now.

That was a start.

“Do you want me to talk to you alone? You’ll feel better if you talk it out.” Amy assured. Rex nodded.

ASSURANCE

Amy was walking around the room with Rex, trying to calm his nerves. The other toys had gone back to their own business, a tad confused, and more than a bit worried for their friend.

“W-what about your cut?” Rex asked, Amy dismissed it with a wave of her mitten-like hand, like having her face carved up with stuffing peeking out was the most normal thing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it later, I need to help you first.” She said calmly, absently brushing her cheek. It felt weird, kind of numb, but she would fix it later. Then she added, “And you shouldn’t worry about being replaced, either.” She thought for a moment, calculating what to say next. Could she dare to ask why?

They walked in silence for a while before Amy broke it. “Rex, why are you so worried?” she asked softly, hoping she wasn’t going to upset him. Surprisingly, Rex replied better than she expected.

“Andy g-got me from the Museum…” he started shakily. “The toy company that I was owned by and the Museum had an agreement to sell toys there…” his gaze drifted away from the ragdoll, into the past.

“…I remember the children pointing at me, saying “Hey, look how small it’s arms are!” and ‘and “Heh, look at his dopey face” … They were always more interested in the scarierlooking toys… not me.” Rex trailed off.

“I learnt that the Tyrannosaurus Rex is supposed to be the most fearsome dinosaur –no, creature- to rule the earth.

There were posters in the gift shop where I lived, before Andy. Scary, big pictures of dinosaurs, roaring and growling, scaring everyone… They were respected. And children thought they were cool.

I wanted that. I wanted to be respected. But whenever I try, I become an idiot. I can barely roar. I know everyone in this room thinks I’m annoying, and I don’t blame them. And I don’t hate them for it.

I just know, one day, maybe even today, Andy’s going to get a newer, respectful dinosaur, and I’m going to be abandoned. Discarded. Because I can’t even do what I was made to do. to be scary.

I want to be scary, because I know that’s the only way people will like me. I was alone in that gift shop; no one would talk to me… they hated me for being myself. For not being what they expected me to be.” he paused, before laughing ruefully, sadly. Trying to keep it together, trying to keep from crying. He’d been needing to tell someone that for a long time. “I must be acting really pathetic, huh? And your p-probably bored… forget what I said…” Amy shook her head as if that was the silliest thing she’d ever heard. “No, you’re just talking to me because you’ve had no one to talk to. You shouldn’t pretend to be someone you’re not just to be loved or feared. That’s crazy. We all like you for being you.

You’re special to Andy. And even if he does get a new dinosaur, Andy will play with the both of you. It’s like Woody and Buzz, remember when you told me how much they hated each other at the start?” He nodded. After Amy had arrived to Andy’s room, Rex had felt responsible to tell her everything that had happened to him and his friends. “Well, you’re sure to have a friend in that new dinosaur, if Andy gets one.”

Rex wasn’t so sure. “But what if the new dinosaur is bad? Like… evil?” “Well then, we’ll just do what Woody did and throw him out of the window the window.” She said, smirking. Rex laughed.

PATCHED-UP.

The rest of the day had gone without error, for a room as chaotic as Andy’s. Amy now sat down on top of Andy’s desk as Rex tried to sew Amy back up. She had politely declined at first, but Rex had insisted. He wanted to help, but also, unknown to Amy, because he had nothing to do but worry otherwise otherwise. Also, he felt safer when he was with his friend.

Amy noted the small hollows beneath Rex’s eyes; from all the worrying, she presumed sadly. The poor thing…

She watched as he sewed her cheek up with a needle and a small piece of thread while Amy was seated on top of some building blocks so Rex could reach her. Rex was, surprisingly, really good at sewing. Probably because his fingers were small and nimble. Checking the stitches weren’t loose, he tied the thread off. you’d never know the cut had been there.

Rex remembered, with guilt, how Amy had got the cut in her cheek in the first place. “I’m sorry about your cut…” Rex apologized.

Amy sighed softly. “Well what could I have done? I couldn’t just let you get hit.” “But it’s my fault he tried to hit me in the first place! If I hadn’t’ve freaked out the way I did, if I hadn’t been so dramatic, you wouldn’t have gotten hit! It’s all my fault…” he looked like he’d let her down.

But he hadn’t. “You couldn’t have acted any other way. You were scared, you couldn’t control yourself. and I understand that. And I promise that if you ever feel like that again, I’ll help you. I don’t care how hurt I get; I’ll be able to sew myself back up afterwards.” She smirked.

Rex sighed. “But I was being dramatic! And needy… while I’m whining about my own life… you were cooped up in that attic…” “You were anxious; everyone is dramatic when they’re anxious.” “You’re not…” Rex trailed off. “You’re much braver than me.” He admitted. Amy sighed. But not out of annoyance. “Yes, you are.” Amy countered. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here. And it was brave of you to tell me why you were scared in the first place, it shows good character.” “… it shows good character to be a fraidy cat?” “Yep. When you’re scared, you become stronger by facing what scares. And I know you can face them, Rex.” Amy smiled at him. “What if I can’t?” “You can. And I’ll be right beside you if you need me, no matter what.” “T-thank you, Amy.” Rex stuttered, but grinning.

Well, if Amy thinks he could, he thought, maybe he can.

GLOWING.

Rex fiddled with his hands nervously in the remaining hour till Andy got home. Amy, Hamm, Woody, and Slinky tried to distract the dino with a game of cards.

“He’s coming!” Mr. Potato Head yelled, and the other toys ran back to their places. Amy helped Rex back onto the bed. The dinosaur in question had a pained expression on his face. And he whimpered, staring into space. Amy smiled sympathetically “You’re going to be fine, Rex, I promise.” She whispered reassuringly, before going limp as Andy burst into the room.

To Rex’s dismay, he was carrying a paper bag. Just like the one in his nightmare. Just like the one he’d came in years’ prior today. He felt sick. So this is it…Andy grinned and took the object out of the box, ripping it’s packaging. I’m doomed… Rex thought, he tried to focus on what Amy had said, but he couldn’t…

Rex wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or laugh as Andy pulled out what he had bought.

It was a lamp. He had worked himself up. For a lamp. Its lampshade had a Jurassic landscape on it, with T-Rexes and Triceratopses and other dinosaurs on it.

Andy spotted Rex on the bed. His face lit up. “Look! It’s the most fearsome creature on the planet!” He grabbed Rex and a few other toys, and started playing.

This playtime, Rex was a ferocious, toy-eating carnivore, stomping across the saloon, eating all in sight. (Even cacti!) He had taken Amy hostage, and she screamed in his grasp, trying to swat him away with her soft cotton hands to no avail. “Help me! Help me please!” she screamed. Luckily, Woody and Buzz, (Ever the dynamic duo,) defeated Rex. Buzz had distracted him with his laser, and Rex followed it like a cat, entangling him in Woody’s lasso, (Slinky). Andy’s Mother then called him downstairs for dinner/tea.

As the toys sprung to life, happy about tonight’s playtime, Rex was undoubtedly the happiest. He grinned at Amy, who was beside him. “You were right.” He said, Amy beamed, “See? What did I tell you? Andy would never replace you.” Rex blanched. “Yeah, but why…?” “... Because who would?” Amy muttered to herself. She wasn’t sure if Rex heard, and she wasn’t quite sure why she had said it.

It was true that she was fond of Rex, but of course, not that fond. After all, he was a dinosaur, and she was a ragdoll, it would just be far too strange. And what if Andy gets another dinosaur... one with pretty scales…? Amy thought with worriment, before snapping out of it. Oh now I’m doing it! She mentally scolded herself, as she and Rex continued to converse.

That night, when Andy was getting ready for bed, the lamp was the only source of light. Silhouettes of dinosaurs patterned the walls with a warm yellowy glow. Rex watched the dinosaur shadows with amusement. Amy had been right. But say, if Andy ever did get a dinosaur, he or she, or they, for that matter, no matter how cool or scary they were, could never replace him. Also, he decided, if Andy did, it might not be so bad.

Especially if the other dinosaur was just as kind as Amy.

#the story of a toy #rex toy story #hamm #woody pride #buzz lightyear #slinky dog #toy story fanfiction #fanfiction #bo peep #mr. potato head #amy the ragdoll #toy story oc #oc

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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I. What's in a name (that which we call a Bucky)

Summary: What kind of name is BUCKY? Your dog's name is BUCKEYE. Much better. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: A more humorous work... be alert: everyone in this fic is a lil shit. Dog-lover reader. Enemies to friends to lovers and strap in kiddos, we’re going to Ohio!

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

It’s past midnight when the bell on your doorknob titters. A high-pitched whine follows the noise and you drop the book in your hand before emitting a loud groan of annoyance. As a response to your complaint, footsteps quickly pad back towards the computer room you sit in.

“God damn it,” you scold towards the door, “I just took you out like an hour ago.”

It’s half-serious, half-playful as you point a finger towards the 50-pound mass of pure muscle now pitifully cocking his head to the side. Your dog, Buckeye, lovingly named after your alma-mater’s mascot whines pathetically as he falls forward onto his two front paws and gives you the saddest look he can muster. The slate-grey skin between his eyes bends upwards in crinkly folds as he continues to peer at your perched figure on the swivel chair.

You shuffle your desk space around, placing the heavy tome from your hand over the mountain of other paperbacks scattered about. Taking one final look over the paper you’d been working on for the last two weeks, you hit save, making sure it uploads itself to the online drive before stepping away.

The clock on the lower right-hand corner of your monitor reads 2:30. Fuck. Way more than past midnight. You had been so focused on writing you didn’t even realize how late it was. Sending an apologetic look to your dog, you rub his ear before heading down the hallway and grabbing the leash by the door. Poor guy, you hadn’t taken him out in almost four hours.

He’s striding towards you, tail wagging back and forth at the sight of your hand on the leash. His tongue flops out stupidly and you giggle at how dumb he looks. Before clipping the leash to his collar, you give him a big kiss on the head and push your face affectionately. He’d come such a long way in the past five months.

“Okay, big baby. Let’s go.”

The training bell hanging from the knob flails against the door as you step outside, closing it shut.

You and Buckeye head downstairs, your slippers squishing against the wet grass as he leads you over to his favorite sniffing grounds. Under the lamp, you scroll on your phone distractedly, making sure you’d replied to all the e-mails you had received earlier in the day. Eyeing him from time to time to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to, you tap out a quick response to a group message from some classmates. They’re probably awake at this time anyway, you muse bitterly, graduate school can be a real bitch like that. Tucking the phone into your back pocket, you fiddle a doggy bag from its container strapped to the leash and maneuver it over your hand.

“No sniffing that poo.” You command Buckeye, and he gazes back over his shoulder at you for a single brief second, as if truly contemplating your authority before giving it a quick whiff anyway. You scoff before tugging him from the pile and further back into the grass. “C’mon, Buck. Dude, I gotta get back in. Please poop. The bag’s ready for you.”

You wave it around helplessly as he traipses on, keeping close, but really pushing your patience. Ten minutes later, you decide you’ve had it with him and start tugging him back towards the sidewalk. He resists at first and you have to use your “mom” voice a couple of times before he follows your lead and drags himself back to your side.

This was the usual routine of your life: wake up, go to campus, work on campus, work from home, find time to eat, work some more, go to bed. In-between all of those activities was of course, take Buckeye outside to jog, pee, shit, and socialize… when he was up for it.

You “adopted” the big lug from the shelter six months ago, falling head over heels for that stupid white oblong patch (you called it his Penis Patch because c’mon… it looked like one) and that wrinkly-ass forehead of his. He had been abused as a puppy and then abandoned in an alleyway with a handful of other pit bulls. By the time he got to the animal shelter, he was massively underweight and terrified of being near humans. He was only two months old. It took a lot of work on your end to get him back to a normal weight and as much as people loved to praise how you “saved” him- it was honestly the opposite that happened.

Yes. It was cheesy and gross as fuck to admit out loud, but that dumb animal actually saved you.

If you hadn’t adopted him and decided he was going to be your tether to this fuck-ass world, you were cock-sure you’d have tied yourself a noose out of bedsheets already. It’s what you told your therapist because it was just the damn truth.

The spring air of Manhattan whips over your face as you make your way towards the stairs of your unit, taking glances here and there to make sure nothing scary was happening. Your location was relatively safe, but honestly, you never know with people. You had seen your fair share of frightening and inexplicable things from your time in New York.

As if you were summoning the bad luck to your doorstep, gunshots ring out from a few blocks away. At least you hope it is, because the echo throughout your apartment unit suggests that it’s much closer. Buckeye starts twitching, darting left and right at the sound. You’re steeling your body as he begins to pull and snap at him with your fingers, calling his name. He heads quickly towards the apartment. Another shot resonates between the buildings.

On your right, Buckeye lets out a high-pitched yelp and jumps as rapid footsteps approach behind you. You barely make it two steps out of the way before a heavy body barrels into you and knocks you onto the sidewalk. Both your knees hit the concrete hard and you immediately roll to your side and fumble to find the leash that fell from hand. Your dog is losing it, and frankly, you are about to as well.

He starts to take off towards the darkness of the grass and you’re screaming his name, trying to scramble up to catch the plastic handle of the retractable leash that’s dragging against the ground. His tongue is loose and panting as he whips his head back and forth between you and the darkness, unsure of where to go.

“Come here! Come!”

You ignore the searing in your kneecaps and reach out as you take a step. Before you can make it much farther, an arm swings itself over your neck and strangles the rest of your words.

A single shot fires off at your dog. Buckeye is outta there. He’s yelping the whole way and you cannot stop yourself from shrieking.

“Don’t fucking speak.” A voice growls behind you. The body it belongs to is distinctly masculine as they knee you in the back and prop you up to stand beside them. The cold barrel of a gun presses itself against your temple and you freeze, hands quivering at your sides. Your heart has either imploded or is about to because you can’t tell if it’s beating or not anymore. There is ringing in your ears from the gun being fired in such close quarters, your eyes struggle to focus.

You have so many questions, but your mind is currently a squirrel in traffic running between the front axle of two tires labelled: “Is this where I fucking die?” and “Is my dog okay?”. Getting splattered to bits by either one was dealer’s choice, and your dealer didn’t seem too choosy.

In the distance, footsteps approach and you see two large frames enter your blurry field of vision, lit up under the streetlamp. There are two glimmering silver shapes reflecting that flickering light, one in the shape of a … dinner plate? And the other… another dick. What the hell? Oh god, you think automatically about your dick-spot-shaped dog. Where is he?

“Let her go!” the dinner plate yells. The barrel presses further into your head.

“Drop your weapons!” your assailant calls back, “Or she dies!”

You’re in a bad procedural cop show or something, you swear. Or Ashton Kutcher is 50 years old and he is laughing his ass off in a van right now, filming a new season of Punk’d. You squeeze your eyes shut when the gun clicks against your head, which is generally right after it goes off, according to the movies. There’s a warm sensation against your back and you hope to god that it isn’t you pissing yourself. When you smell the coppery scent rising, you realize it’s the man’s blood. When he sways a little and your body droops with him, you are positive it’s his blood.

The funny silver California/dick shape in the distance moves and becomes a small circle, with a dark spot in the middle. Is that a fucking gun? You blink a couple of times to see the shadowy outlines of the two people stepping closer. There’s aggravated whispering from both of them and your attacker begins to yell about something before a deafening blast cracks past your eyes.

Warm blood sprays on your face when the man falls backwards, heavy limb taking you down with him. You get some of it in your mouth and you scramble to fuck off as far as you can from this now dead body. The two shapes are running towards you, one of them gripping you hard by the arm and pulling you up.

“Buckeye! That is not protocol!”

You dizzily shake your head at the sound of your dog’s name and find your balance on the sidewalk, toes pressing against your slipper to have it back on your foot correctly. In front of you were two enormous men, and you recognize them immediately: Captain America and Winter Soldier.

“You know I don’t miss.” The Soldier retorts, bottom half of his face obscured by his signature black latex mask. It muffles his voice, but you can clearly hear the agitation. Captain America looks over your dripping red knees. “You okay, ma’am?”

You ignore him. As far as you are concerned at this point, they’re both just as dead to you as this other fucker on the ground. You want to find your dog.

“Buck?” You call into the patch of darkness as you carefully tread into the grass, wincing when your knees sting with every step. You don’t see the two Avengers looking at each other in confusion.

“BUCK!” You scream again, panic returning to your chest as you think about your dog scurrying around in the dark, dragging his damn leash, and spiraling back into the hot mess he was six months ago. Damn it, it had taken you so long to train him out of being skittish, and now he was going to be right back in it. You look around the dark, turning the flashlight on your phone and follow what looks like to be a trail of blood. It’s not yours, so you correctly deduce it’s Buckeye.

You start to hyperventilate, shaking with every step.

“Oh, Buck, you piece of shit you, I swear to god, if you’re dead, I’m going to kill you.”

“…Ma’am?”

You whip around and glare at Captain America, “What!” He takes a step back, hands coming up as if to deflect your outcry. His partner next to him places his gun back in the holster at his hip with a quiet click, eyeing you suspiciously. Captain America looks around, like he’s surprised you’ve yelled, because he probably doesn’t get yelled at very often by people he saves.

“…Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Th’ broad’s mental.” The Soldier scoffs, heading back towards the limp body on the ground. He digs his hands into every pocket of the corpse, even opening the mouth to peer inside. “We need to move this body.” He pulls out a tiny USB from a sewn-on pocket inside the vest and puts it in a pouch on his belt.

“I’m looking for my damn dog.” You hurl, “I’m looking for my fucked-up rescue dog, who was doing very well and on his way to being a proper good boy, before you fucks came along and shot him!”

You hear yourself being more and more hysterical with every syllable. Your pitch is increasing with your heart rate, and the part of you that fears retribution from super soldiers is raising its hand up to be called on by your dominant lizard-brain. Your lizard-brain is soaked in fear and refuses the hand.

“That guy shot your dog.” The Soldier nudges the body with a steel-toed boot.

“You scared him! He’s afraid of loud noises and you were shooting up the place, you trigger-happy motherfucker,” you point a finger to the offending Avenger, “You could have shot me, you bag of limp dicks.”

Winter Soldier lets your insults slide; you’re definitely off your meds, he thinks. “Like I said, I don’t miss.”

Captain America finally snaps his shield back onto his back and runs a hand through his hair. You’re half surprised he’s not wearing that dorky-ass helmet he’s usually sporting but turn around regardless and start walking faster, ignoring the muddier ground the further you go in. From the position next to the soon-to-be chalk outline, the two Avengers argue quietly before one of them groans and they both fall silent. You figure they’ve kissed and made up.

Grass is shuffling behind you as Captain America effortlessly catches up to your uneven steps.

“I can track your dog. Let me help.”

You say nothing because you’re so preoccupied with being pissed off that this happened in the first place and because you honestly couldn’t refuse the help regardless of how overinflated your pride was. You couldn’t see for shit in the dark and you’d rather have Buckeye back than any amount of satisfaction flinging insults could bring. Stepping back, you let Brown-Beard take the lead and follow him through the mud and into the back of a unit now five buildings away.

When you slip on a particularly wet patch, he’s quick to grab your elbow and support you. He also takes it as an opening to make conversation.

“What’s type of dog is…”

“Buckeye.” You say, pulling your elbow away and falling back into step. He turns around and raises a single eyebrow.

“Buck…eye?” The second syllable is dropped low- as if he’s unsure that it’s the right thing to say.

“….Yes. Buckeye.” You hiss back.

“Buck…eye.” He repeats again, moving the sounds around in his mouth carefully. You pull a face but say nothing. Boy they sure like to make ‘em big and dumb, don’t they?

“He’s a pit bull. He’s gray with a white patch on his chest. He’s not fucking lethal or anything- like people think he’s just… damaged. He’s not even full-grown; just an oversized ball of anxiety and post-traumatic stress.” Your voice becomes distressed the more you talk about your good boy, and you decide to shut up before you can burst into tears.

“We’ll find him, promise.” Captain tries to send you a smile, but it gets misplaced in the thick of his beard and you’re not even looking anyway, pretending to follow the trail so he doesn’t see your eyes well up. You’re thankful for his help. But fuck him still; he scared your dog.

“There’s no more blood, which is good,” He says, “Steps are getting closer together, so he’s not running anymore. There’s a funny… thing- though. What’s he dragging?”

“His leash.” You mutter.

“Ah.” There’s a pause, “You know, that’s actually a good thing- it’ll slow him down.”

It’s at least another twenty minutes of walking in silence as you follow Captain Star Spangled Banner out of your apartment complex and down three completely decrepit alleyways, at least one littered with broken glass. Upon entering the fourth one, you swear you hear clattering in the back and pick up your speed, calling out.

“Buck? Buckeye? Is that you?” Your voice is quivering in the dark. Your companion has stilled beside you, not letting his footsteps drown out your voice. “Buckeye, come here.” You’re as careful as can be as you quietly step forward, a tiny bit closer to the slow shadow in the corner.

When a car drives by on the main road, the shine of headlights reflects two glowing blue pearls that you’d recognize anywhere. His tail is wagging happily against the pavement of the alleyway, and it breaks your heart to see he’s battered in blood.

You put both your arms around him to settle him from possibly scurrying away at the sight of Captain’s figure, who hangs in the back, but is still so large that it disturbs Buckeye. “My big guy,” You sob into his stupid, dirty neck, “You’re all muddy... Oh Buck, you big idiot… you dummy.”

You find the handle on the leash again, but Buckeye is tentative to follow, stumbling when he stands up on all four feet. When you lean over to examine him, he’s all cut up on his paws and you see it now, the big streak of open flesh on his upper thigh that’s crusted over into a brown stripe. The shiny fur that’s beneath it is matted with more dried blood and it’s so large that you break out into tears all over again. You don’t think he’s able to walk anymore, which might have worked out in your favor; it did stop him from running.

Captain slowly makes his way toward the two of you and reach both hands out, kneeling and laying one gently underneath Buckeye’s snout to scratch him. Your dog inspects the hand nervously before giving it a quick lick. He pants happily at the scratch to his chin and you can’t help but snort at his simplicity. Captain offers to pick him up for you and you let him, surprised that Buck’s letting someone other than you be so close. You’re glad for it, though, since you would not have been able to pick him up out of the alleyway on your own.

“I’ve been compared to a Golden Retriever before,” Captain says amiably as he easily holds Buckeye in his arms, leading you out of the dark path. He’s got a glint in his eye like he’s real proud of himself for that quip. “I definitely think of myself as a dog person.”

You scoff and save your retort for another time, pointing him in the direction of your local pet emergency hospital instead.

It must have been a sight for them, Steve ponders as he sits in the waiting chair of the hospital, giving away smiles at the receptionists and nurses who occasionally gather to stare at him. When the automatic doors slid open, they probably weren’t expecting Captain America in full tactical gear to walk in with a dog in his arms. Not to mention the young woman who followed, looking in not much better shape than the dog.

He glances over to you as you lean back in the plastic chair resembling more of a bucket than anything comfortable. Both your knees are completely skinned raw and the trail of blood reached your feet, caked in mud. The woman at the front desk offered you some bandages and antiseptic, which you’d haphazardly sloshed all over yourself before resigning to let it be. Your eyes have slipped closed as you wait for the nurse to come talk to you about your dog; it is late, after all—nearly four in the morning, and Steve lets you rest when he hears your breathing slow.

He begins to check his phone, punching in a text to Bucky with updates, barely able to hold back the giddy energy inside of him. Bucky was going to flip when Steve cracks open the can of worms that is the dog’s name. And it’s going to completely boil his noodle when he hears that your description of your dog almost perfectly matched Steve’s own description of Bucky. He swears right now, under these old fluorescent lights and with God’s blessing that he would never, ever, let Bucky live this down.

“You… use…a … flip… phone?” Your disbelieving voice is so quiet that Steve thinks a ghost is making fun of him.

“Well, it does flip, and it is a phone.” He retorts, face completely blank for a couple of seconds before breaking out into a smirk.

Your sit up in the chair, looking over to Steve incredulously. “Who are you, my dad?” Your features twist into a disgusted sneer, but he catches the amusement in your eyes.

He chuckles in response. It’s not the first time Steve’s been told that his jokes were corny, at this point in his life, he’s decided to just go with it.

“Don’t you have someplace to be? Maybe more Avenging in another quiet neighborhood?” The snark comes out sharper than you intend it, but between the two hours of sleep last night and probable zero hours of sleep you’ll get tonight, you’re on autopilot.

“It’s being taken care of.” He stares straight ahead. Your comment implies that you’d rather him leave, but he feels in part responsible and obligated to stay. Besides, you’ll need a ride home and someone to carry your pet to the door. “I’m sorry about your dog.”

“He’s not fucking dead,” You huff, “If he was, you and Bicentennial Man would be fucked. You won’t believe how many knives I can carry in my mouth alone.”

Steve almost gives himself whiplash as he does a double-take on your completely placid and unfazed profile view. He thinks it’s better not to ask about the capacity of knives your mouth can hold or about how you know that very specific fact about yourself. However, he can’t help from letting out a wheeze of a laugh because the feral image frankly reminds him more and more of Bucky; Steve has definitely seen Bucky with a knife in his mouth.

Another fifteen minutes pass of drifting in and out of sleep before the nurse peeks her head out and calls you into the treatment room. She stares open-mouthed when Steve followed dutifully behind and closes the door with a quiet click.

Buckeye is lying in a lethargic daze on the table with a plastic cone around his neck. The large gash on his leg has been stitched and carefully covered by gauze and his paws are bandaged up as well. At the sight of the two of you, his tail begins to pat slowly against the smooth surface of the table in quick taps before trailing off and starting back up again. He is looking into your eyes, but Steve can see his gaze wander around the room in a medicated stupor from time to time.

His stomach tightens when you begin to sniffle and draw lazy circles on Buckeye’s head with your thumb. The nurse runs over the health diagnostic for your pup and all seems pretty well, considering the doleful state he’s in.

“He might not eat for the first day, but you’ll have to try to make him...” The nurse hands you a large zip-loc full of bandages, ointments, pills, and paper. “Keep the cone on for at least two weeks and stick to the dosage schedule… Do you have any questions?”

You shake your head, rifling through the various items in the bag before zipping it back up.

“Okay. Well, he’s doing really good, and I think he’ll make a speedy recovery soon.” The nurse offers you a smile and you reply kindly, thanking her for everything before sighing at Buckeye. Steve steps forward in the silent moment and scoops your dog’s tired body into his arms before thanking the nurse as well. She goes white as a sheet when you open the door to let him out. Steve hopes there won’t be any tweets later about Captain America saving puppies.

At the front desk, Steve watches you shuffle side to side when the receptionist rings up each cost. Dressed in an oversized Ohio shirt and pajama shorts, it’s obvious you are not prepared for this. You were probably just a college student, and since he didn’t see you make any phone calls to your parents or family members who might foot the bill, he assumes you’re on your own. Before the receptionist can hand you anything, Steve shifts and tilts his right leg forward.

“Can you reach into this pocket?” He asks, startling everyone in the vicinity: you, the receptionist, and your dog. You stare at him dumbly for a minute, grimacing at the leg pointed in your direction and the back-and-forth Captain America’s eyes keep sending you. It goes from your face to his pocket and every time it returns to your face your frown drops more.

“What?”

“For my wallet.”

“Fuck no!”

“C’mon… I don’t think you have any other options,” the sentence hangs on a truth you don’t need spoken. You pale and begrudgingly reach for the snap closure on his thigh, widening grimace now making your face look like a melted Dali painting. The receptionists’ eyebrows go higher and higher the closer your shaking hand gets. Captain America bounces his leg to shake the leather case loose as your hand digs inside and gets stuck between fabric and muscle. Buckeye grumbles in his arms at the jostling and his holder whispers a quiet apology before nuzzling him with his nose.

He doesn’t notice you staring. The receptionist does.

When the wallet is finally pried free (why are his pants so tight, anyway? This bitch is dummy thicc, too, you think) he motions for you to pull out a black card with a surprising bit of heft to it. You nervously hand it over and avoid eye contact with him as the transaction finishes, stuffing the damn thing back in and snapping it shut in one swift motion. You can feel your face stuck in a rigid expression of bewilderment the entire time.

“I-- uh... thanks... for that.”

He motions you with his head to go outside and when you follow him through the automatic doors, a black car is parked in front. The Winter Soldier is in the driver seat and reaches over to open the door. He’s taken his mask off and looks over at the Captain with your dog in his arms. He’s all stubbly and homeless-looking, you think, the complete opposite of Golden Boy Rogers in front of you.

An exhausted look passes over his dark features as he glances from Captain to Buckeye to your fucked-up knees. “...Just... get in.”

The ride is silent save for the sound of Buckeye’s soft whimpers in the fit of a nightmare. You hush him with soft pets and coo his name in his ears. “It’s okay, Buck. I’m here, Bucky.”

The Soldier snaps his gaze up to you from the rearview mirror. Captain America smirks. You catch neither of their expressions, transfixed on your dog who resembles Frankenweenie more than himself. Stupid fucking bad guy. Stupid Avengers.

“What did you just say?” Winter Soldier slowly asks, and you glare at him in the rearview mirror.

“What?” You snap back. What the fuck was his problem? “Mind your fucking business, I’m talking to my goddamn dog.” Buckeye whimpers again and you pat him lightly to soothe his crying. Captain America begins to chuckle quietly from the passenger seat the longer Winter Soldier stares at you. “Eyes on the fucking road.” You hiss when you catch his glare.

He’s probably going to shoot your ass, you think. Your dog begins to whimper again, a broken string of yowling erupting from him before he stills. The taped gauze on his side has started to turn a slight pink. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck.” You sigh.

“Jesus, what the fuck are you saying?” Winter Soldier nearly shrieks as he pulls sharply into a parking space in front of your building. His volume startles your dog and he shoots up with a loud whine, hitting the plastic cone on the back of the driver’s side. You quickly place both hands on his back to settle him down. “Buckeye, it’s okay.”

Captain America is in a full-on giggle fit now, having to hold his sides to stop himself from seizing. He briefly pauses to apologize and puts a hand on your dog’s head, quieting him with a lazy pet.

“It’s her dog, Buck!” “Yeah I know it’s my dog, Buck.” You snarl, confused as to why this is even a topic of discussion.

Red, white, and shit-for-brains starts up again with the laughing. “Th-the dog’s name--” He wheezes. “Is Buckeye.” There’s a flash of recognition that sweeps over the driver’s reflection in the rearview before it turns into one of annoyance. Then it turns into disdain.

“What kind of a fucking name is that?” He spits before smacking his hand into Captain America’s chest.

“Hey! Shut the hell up! That’s my alma mater you uneducated dickbag!” You point to your red Ohio State shirt with the big “O” right in the middle. It’s so worn and old that the red has faded, and the white print of the O is all cracked, but anyone with two braincells knows exactly what that means. You start bellowing the Ohio State Fight Song proudly and halfway through the second note Buckeye starts to howl weakly beside you.

Captain America bursts into another fit of laughter and pounds on the dashboard with his fists.

The Soldier whips around and slams his metal hand against your mouth, pushing your entire head back against the cushion. “Will you shut up!” To spite him, you continue humming to the best of your ability, even with your lip smushed up against your teeth and his cold palm. You raise your middle finger up between his eyes before holding the last note out particularly long.

Buckeye yowls and yips at your side, punctuating the tune with a quiet whine at the end. He lazily reaches up and licks the elbow joint between the front seat, leaving a slobber trail. He notices his reflection in it temporarily before getting distracted by Captain’s chuckle and lying back down.

Winter Soldier finally pulls his arm away and you take the opportunity to spitefully lick a similar stripe onto his palm, leaving it dripping with the spit you’ve accumulated in your mouth.

He crossly slumps in his seat. “I fucking hate this girl.” He mutters.

“It’s mutual, princess.” You retort, rubbing your stiff jaw and running your fingers against your lips. “What’s your problem with my dog’s name?” You’re a bit suspicious because he doesn’t seem like a college sports guy since he was non-responsive to your shirt but he sure as hell is not a fan of your dog.

“Do you know our names?” Captain America asks you, eyes alight. You shrug, because like, not really. World War II was interesting when you were in the sixth grade and morbid as fuck but it totally went in one ear and out the other for your entire college career. Even more boring was the Captain America propaganda, Super Soldier serum, humanity’s hubris bullshit. You were one of the few people you know who was not losing their mind when Tony Stark toured your university. More than anything, he annoyed you; he caused a huge traffic jam on campus and it ruined your route home. They just weren’t your thing—the Avengers.

“I mean, Stevie Ro… Rober—“ you gauge his reaction carefully, “Ronald— Ro— Ross? Rogers!” You breathe a sigh of relief as he memory of Emily Booth in fourth period doodling “Rogers” inside a million hearts appears in your mind. Then you turn to The Soldier and shrug. Plain as day, you could not recall his name whatsoever. You just called him the Dead Commando in that fourth period American History II final paper.

You got a passing grade, so “Dead Commando” stuck.

“It’s James Buchanan Barnes.” He grits out between clenched teeth.

“That’s fancy.” You deadpan, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Bucky. For short.”

“Buck, for even shorter.” Rogers pipes up, still all twinkly in the eyes, waiting for you to put two and two together. Yeah. You do. It makes you want to die a little.

“Ugh.” Is all you can manage.

He shows up the next morning in civvies: white T-shirt, navy blue bomber jacket, and well-worn dark jeans. You stare dumbly at him as he leans against your doorframe, almost as wide as the entrance itself. You’re half-asleep and dressed in the clothes you had on last night: crumpled red Ohio shirt, mismatched pinstriped blue and white pajama shorts.

Your phone had been misplaced amidst the ruckus of the search party, so you just planned on missing your meeting today. It wasn’t like you could properly function anyway, barely getting to bed at 5:30 and waking up at the asscrack of dawn with Captain Underpants at your door.

Even his knocks sounded patriotic. Big, strong thumping blows that rattled all the way into your bedroom.

“Rough night?” Steve Rogers asks as you try your best to smooth the flyaways of your bedhead. Stupid, perfect, blonde and blue-eyed giant man.

“Am I being haunted? What are you doing here?” Your voice sounds like gravel in a blender as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

He shrugs, looking down at his shoes and smiling secretively, like he’s got another corny joke up his sleeve. “Just wanted to see how Buck’s doing.”

“Don’t you have your own Buck to babysit? From what I remember, he needs a leash more than mine does.”

You let him in anyway, and your dog is waiting patiently by the couch, tail slapping the carpet as he remembers his savior from last night. Steve starts to coo as he scratches Buckeye’s chin and head, careful not to rile him up too much. He looks in complete ecstasy when Steve picks at a particularly good spot.

You shift awkwardly as you stand by the kitchen bar, leaning against a stool. How does one man still manage to look like his superhero moniker in civilian clothing? You bet yourself that his closet hung the same monochromatic color pallet—as if costume director dressed him, just in case he forgot he was Captain America.

“Well...” you begin, moving to the kitchen to brew yourself some coffee. Halfway to the single-serving French press, you trade it out for the larger one and add extra water in the kettle. You’re not sure what to say, so you shut up and groan inwardly as you grind the beans. You dip into the restroom and return with your toothbrush, scrubbing quietly as you watch Steve get on the floor to rub your dog’s pink tummy.

“If you pet him with your foot he won’t know the difference. Save ya knees, man.”

“This good boy deserves a real tummy rub, doesn’t he?” Captain America is using baby talk on your dog. It makes you feel... all funny.

Steve Rogers stands up and beams at you from across the counter. You frown because his perfect white smile is brighter than the sunlight streaming in through your window. You spit and rinse your toothbrush in the sink to avoid the shine, but he’s still there when you return. Great. Not a dream. Maybe a nightmare.

You take the kettle off the stovetop when it starts to squeak and blurt out another snarky comment just because you really hate silences and love being awkward. “Buckeye’s gonna get neutered soon. Wanna take yours too?”

Captain America chuckles and shakes his head, blue eyes twinkling at the hand on your hip. “You know, that smart mouth o’ yours is gonna get you into trouble one day.” You gulp as you pour the water suddenly aware that there is a real, live, broad-as-hell man standing in your living room and looking at you like you’re somebody... and he called your mouth smart.

You’re also suddenly aware that you look like shit and your hand shakes a little when you place the filter over the top of the floating coffee grinds.

“Fuck, I think I’m already in trouble.” You mutter into your shoulder as you turn.

Steve doesn’t catch the comment and digs his hand into his back pocket, producing the phone you’ve been missing since last night. You sigh in relief when you see it- as good as it was before, partially cracked screen, but still working. It’s warm when he puts it in your hand and you automatically pull a face.

“Butt heat. I mean--- hot! Hot ass!—Oh, damn it.”

You shut your eyes and the world feels like it’s stopped spinning altogether. Please god, you think, please let him be gone when you look again because you don’t think you can stand another minute on this Earth. Damn your stupid no-filter smart mouth.

He’s still there, though, because life is so stupid and whatever creator that exist hates you. His left eyebrow is raised, and he’s crossed his arms over his chest, smirking.

“You need to brush up on your compliments.”

“Not a compliment!” You hiss, “Don’t put people’s phones in your back pocket! You’re too fucking big to be sitting on them. But thank you for giving it back.”

Steve laughs as you push the filter down on the French press. He’s saying something about how Bucky wanted to put his hand through the device, but your ears are ringing too loudly to hear him. You feel relieved anyway, because you think that you’ve reached your quip-quota for the day.

You pour yourself a cup and he puts his hands up to stop you, excusing himself-- somewhere to be, some old lady to save, he says. You fumble around a bottom cabinet for a second before pulling out a thermos and dumping the rest of the press’ coffee into it.

“Since you did hand-deliver my phone to me, it’s the least I can do. It’s blue, too. Complements your eyes.”

He smiles and takes the thermos from you. “That was a good compliment.” He says, all twinkly again.

“Complement, not compliment.” You correct bluntly.

He takes two steps to the door before turning, “No, the compliment was that you noticed my eyes at all.” He laughs when your face scrunches up, miffed. Captain America was a real … sonuvabitch. “By the way... I left you a number for a dogsitter, just in case you need one.” You rotate the flat rectangle of your phone against your chest as he yanks the door open. “It’s a good service. Reliable. And they text, too.”

And just like that, he’s gone. You stare at Buckeye, who whines pathetically at the door.

You cock your head, looking at the time on the splintered screen. Might as well, you think, reading 7:15 flashing back at you. You could make it to campus by 9.

The meeting drags on with your advisor, and it’s almost noon before you realize that you’re going to get hauled into another one of those pop-up seminars the faculty has been putting on all year. You’ve managed to avoid two because there’s just no fucking time to go! How are they expecting you to finish your thesis, go to class, grade a hundred stupid student papers, hold office hours, respond to a thousand e-mails a day, and keep your sanity?

It’s something you’re eager to complain to your therapist about any time she starts asking about your personal life. Which, you’ve been dodging re-scheduling recently. Shit.

You calculate the hours you’ll be away as you sip room-temperature coffee from a fuzzy paper cup. It’ll be another four hours before you can make it home and Buckeye really needs to go outside and have his bandages changed before then. Shit.

Your thumbprint opens the home screen and you scroll through your contacts, searching for that aforementioned “reliable” dogsitter. You hope to hell they’re also immediately available as you part a crowd of undergraduates to exit the building. Tapping the message bubble button, you open up a new thread.

You: Hello. I was referred to your services by a friend. Are you available today by any chance?

Your phone almost immediately vibrates back and you sigh in relief.

Dogsitter: That was fast.

You’re confused, but another response pops up again.

Dogsitter: What time do you need me to come by? And for how long?

You: ASAP? If that’s okay? Um. My dog is really fine on his own, but he’s been in an accident and I need him to have his bandages changed and given medicine. Also, he needs to be taken for a potty-break.

Dogsitter: Potty break, medicine, bandages. Got it…. And what about your key?

You: Yeah, I’ll send you my location for my key. What are your rates by the way?

You open up your map and set the pin to your location before sharing it with the dogsitter. It feels way too good to be true, but you’re a little crunched for time and even if he’s a crazy serial killer, you’ve got a pit bull and nothing of value in your apartment. You feel pretty secure.

The attempt to share your coordinates is rejected and you close the notification. Your phone buzzes in your hand again.

Dogsitter: My rates really depend on the dog… and shouldn’t you be asking for my name, or some identifying marker to recognize me by before I show up and take your [1/2]

You stare blankly at the green speech cloud. What the hell… even twitter updated its character count to 280… who the hell is living so far in the past… before you can finish your thought, the following green balloon appears.

Dogsitter: house key? Stranger danger, ma’am. [2/2]

All the right gears start clicking in your brain and suddenly two perfect pieces of the puzzle fits together. The mystifying black shadow on the other end of the line begins to come into view.

You: ….Steve... Roberts?

Dogsitter: Rogers!

The sound that erupts from your mouth is inhumanly pathetic, a mixture of a groan and a whine. Who did you piss off in your last life to be this cursed?

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #Steve x Reader x Bucky #fanfiction #self insert #stucky x reader #FiMS #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader

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jonerysau · 5 years ago

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Jonerys AU: Fallout 4

Before the Great War, Daenerys’ life had been a simple, yet beautiful one. She had a husband that just returned home from overseas, a proud soldier that served their country and a newborn child, a son who she loved and doted upon from the moment he was born. Though that happiness had been taken away one cool morning on October 23 2077.

She had been up early that day, Rhaego had woken her out of her sleep, his hungry cries not even bothering her husband. Dany smacked his shoulder playfully when she realized he had only been pretending to sleep. “It’s okay, I’ll deal with the baby.” She scoffed with an eye roll as Drogo snickered, eyes still shut.

There had been a light fog that had settled on the ground as she held Rhaego to her breast. It was calming to her, a beautiful morning, the sun rise had brought a beautiful shade of pink to the sky. The birds had just started chirping and the cool breeze played with the strands of her silvery blonde hair. Today would be an important day for her husband, he would be speaking at the Veterans Hall about what war could do any young person coming home and how to cope with the changes. She already had a dress picked and a nice outfit for Rheago, the neighbors would often squeal about how perfect their family was, how nice her life was.

When Rhaego was finished feeding, she laid him back in his crib and went for a shower, greeting their Mr. Handy who had just whirred to life to start the day. “Mum” He greeted in a smooth accent. “I’ll start breakfast and wake the husband.” He tells her.

“Thank you, Codsworth.” She gently speaks before sliding the bathroom door shut and starting the shower. She isn’t alone for long, Drogo sees to it as he slides the curtain open and joins her with a laugh, his arms wrapped around her and she lets out a bubble of laughter. “Oh so now you’re awake and ready to start the day?”

He chuckles, burying his face into her soft hair. “Of course I’m ready to start the day.”

By nine she’s dressed, make up done and sips her coffee before the doorbell rings. “It’s that salesman.” Drogo tells her. “He’s been wanting to speak to you for a while.”

The man behind the door is in a yellow hat and trench coat, he goes on about the bunker that had been built above their neighborhood and somehow persuaded her to get a spot in the vault a week ago. He had only asked her to sign a few papers and after the exchange, she turned to see Drogo watching her, brow raised. “It’s nice to have a sense of safety.” She tries and Drogo just laughs it off while Codsworth comes out to them.

“Mum, sir, the little man has not stopped crying, I think that he might need that-”

Suddenly the saturday morning cartoons flashes off and replaced with an urgent news report. The man on the screen looked sullen, all hope erased off of his face. “Citizens of the United States of America, we have gotten reports of a nuclear attack. There has been reports of touchdowns in California, Nevada, Virginia- and- oh God it’s the end.” He sobs out, “They did it, they really did it.”

Drogo turns off the tv quickly and runs to go grab Rhaego from his crib. Sirens fill the sky as the sound of military choppers whir overhead. “Daenerys, we have to leave, now!”

She jumps at the sound of his voice and nods her head quickly, following her husband out. There is panic all around them as they run up toward the vault. It all happened so quick, a group of soldiers took them through the gates as people who had not been chosen for a bunker where sobbing from the otherside of the chain link fence. “What about them?” She asked the soldier who was taking them a cog shaped platform.

For a moment, an eerie silence filled the air and then from beyond the horizon, the bomb touched down. The sky burned an angry red and hellfire unleashed through an earth shaking rumble. She had never seen anything like it and barely heard the soldiers screaming to send the platform down. The heat hit her face as the elevator began to move and her and her family where sealed underground. Everyone that stood with her stayed quiet, shock had taken over them all. She barely registered the fact that she was being escorted to a ‘decontamination pod’ until the vaults until Rhaego began to cry. She looked over at her infant son and ran her fingers through his dark hair. “It’s okay, I’m right here.” She soothed him. “We’ll settle down soon.”

As she steps into the pod and the door swings shut, she catches her husband’s eye as he stepped into his own pod, Rhaego in his arms. Her hand touches the window and then everything feels cold and goes black.

She wakes up shivering, hearing voices. Dany hadn’t known how long she had been out. But as her eyes adjust to the dim lighting outside her pod, she panics. Why was it so cold, why was there frost on the window of her pod. That was when she heard voices, she began to pound her hand against the window, her voice not yet working. There was a man in a leather jacket and two people in hazmat suits.

“This one right here.” He points to Drogo’s pod and one of the people in the suits begins to type away at the computer. Drogo’s pod opens and he begins to cough as Rhaego cries.

“What happened?” Drogo sounds weak. “What’s-”

“It’s alright.” One of the women says, “Give us the baby while you calm down.”

“N-no, you can’t- why can’t I-”

The woman in the suit reaches up, trying to take Rhaego from his arms. “It’s okay sir, just give us the baby and we’ll explain everything.”

Daenerys watches in horror as she bangs on the glass window while her husband tries and fails to keep their child safe, because the next thing she knows there is this loud popping sound and Drogo slumps over. “What about her?” One of the women asks and the man turns and sneers.

“Her? Freeze her up again, we might need her later.” He laughs wickedly as the pod begins to freeze again and she is left in the same cyro state.

-----

The next time she awakens, there are many voices and hissing of pods as they open. “This one is dead as well, Jon.” She hears a gruff voice as she blinks away the haze that has clouded over her mind. “Pretty sure they are all dead, so what is even the point.”

“The point is.” A soulful voice says. “To help anyone in need and the fact that we were able to access this vault now fifty years after my family settled here. It can’t be an accident. Keep opening the pods, there has to be somebody.”

Daenerys tried her best to move, to make some noise, but she couldn’t, just like last time. “It looks like they’ve been woken up before.” Another voice, a young female one says. “They all look terrified.”

Finally the voices draw closer. Two men and a woman, their backs to her as they open up Drogo’s pod. “Someone has been here, this poor guy has been shot.” The gruff voice states and Dany whimpers, her hand reaching up and lightly pounding on the glass. All three people turn around, eyes wide when they see her.

“Davos! Open it up, this one is alive!” the other man demands. There is a hiss and the pod door flies open. The man who had discovered her quickly steps in front and catches her as she falls to the floor. She puts all of her weight onto the man who doesn’t stagger once as he holds her tightly.

She can’t stop shaking, her body refuses to warm up and she sobs in fear when she looks over the man’s shoulder to her dead husband. “Oh god.” She whimpers weakly. “Where, where is he?” She asks, teeth chattering.

“I’m sorry?” A girl who looked like the man, yet shorter asks.

“M-my son, they took my son.” Dany gasps. “They shot my husband and they took my son.” She felt so weak, her body wasn’t responding to her commands to get up and find Rhaego. The man she had fallen into gently scooped her up into his arms and stood up. Her vision was getting burly again and the world around her sounded distorted.

“It’s okay miss, we’ll help you find your son. Everything will be okay.” He tells her as she fades out again.

-----

The next time she wakes up she is on a bed with a blanket pulled over her body. She blinks the sleep out of her eyes and sits up, running her hands through messy silver strands. Daenerys pauses as she takes in her surroundings. She’s in a shack, that was for sure. There is a nightstand beside her with a glass of water and a steaming bowl of soup. She can hear an ember pop from the fire that warmed the small adobe, there is a faint song playing from another room. She stops and listens, realizing it was the Beach Boys. Dany stops when she hears panting by her feet and nearly jumps off the bed out of fright when she sees a large albino dog watching over her. “What the fu-” She breaths as she staggers, her back hitting a cool glass window.

And when Daenerys turns around, she realizes that she isn’t in a shack, but a treehouse that towered over her old neighborhood. Tears sprung from her eyes as she took in the scene, the pretty suburban neighborhood with the blue and yellow houses had been turned into something she didn’t recognize. It was almost like a sprawling city small homes built over the shell of the houses she and her neighbors once inhabited. The place she once called home was strange to her. The surrounding landscape was utterly destroyed, though new life seemed to have taken over, after the bombs, Dany guessed nature took over. So how long has it been? How long had she been asleep?

“I’m not going to lay that sort of information on her like that!” She hears the same voice that got her out of her frozen hell. “It would be best for her to see her old house. That Mr. Handy has been having panic attacks all day. We should break the news that way, it’s what would be safest for her.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Dad to make a choice?” A new female voice asks.

There is a pause. “No, he and Robb are at The castle, best we not bother them with this.”

“She is a two-hundred and ten year old woman, I think dad should know!” The girl argues again and another female voice cuts in, it’s the one from the vault.

“Jon is in charge at Sanctuary, Sansa. It’s his city and we need to respect that.” The girl from the vault says and then the door opens and she is greeted with the man from the vault. His dark curls had been pulled back, showing off his handsome face. On his right stood the girl from earlier. She was the shortest out of the two, she looked just like the man, but grey eyes with shoulder height hair that flowed freely and on his right was a new face, a stunning woman with fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes. Dany stares at them, unable to form a complete sentence as she takes deep breaths to calm herself down. Worry is written all over the man’s face as he approaches her. She sits back down, hands on her knees as she attempts to wake herself up from this nightmare

“Daenerys, correct?” He asks as he kneels down in front of her. “My name is Jon Stark, those are my sisters Sansa and Arya. Do you know where you are, what happened?” When she shakes her head no, Jon sighs and covers her hand with his for comfort. “We found you frozen in Vault 111-” He begins, looking back at his sisters. “Do you remember how you got there, or-”

“We were getting ready to leave for a brunch-” Dany croaks out, her throat burning. “Then the bombs- we thought we were safe but- I’ll never forget that feeling, the heat on my face.” She stops and chokes out a sob. “How long was I in there for?”

“Bombs, you saw the- God, she is prewar then!” Arya exclaims before being elbowed by Sansa

Jon licks his lips and then bows his head. “According to the terminals, two hundred and ten years. You might feel a little strange for a while, adjusting to this will take time and you’ll have to learn how to live-”

Realization finally hits Dany and she sucks in a breath. “Did you see a baby in there, my son, people came into the vault and took him, is he here?” The looks on their faces gives her the answer. “I need to find him.” She says while trying and failing to stand again.

“Did you get a good look at them?” Sansa asks. “Like what they were wearing?”

“I don’t know, white hazmat suits- it had a red logo on it.” Dany squeezes her eyes shut. “It looked like The Vitruvian Man.” They seemed to know what she was talking about because their faces fall. “What?”

“The Institute?” Sansa whispers, giving Arya a look of concern.

“We think we know who might have taken him. We’ll help you find him,” Jon tells her. “I swear.”

#jonerys #jonerys au #jon x daenerys #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #got au

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trauma-13 · 6 years ago

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Recently, a woman I respect and think very highly of told her story of domestic violence when she was around my age. I've been very quiet about my own struggle with domestic violence from a past relationship. However, I think in light of her own bravery, it's time I tell my own story. Fair warning, long post and domestic violence trigger warning.

It was 2014 when I got into a relationship with my ex. We had met online, like so many relationships do now a days. Everything seemed great, he seemed like a wonderful guy. Treated me well, gave me attention, promised me all the silly things boys always promise.

Looking back, there were red flags from the start that I just never saw at the time. Everything is great through rose colored glasses, you know.

He lived 3ish hours away from where I live. So after about 6ish months into our relationship, he chose to move to the city I lived in. He was supposed to only stay with my roommates and I for a short time until he got his own place. However, he moved in fully after about a month of looking for apartments of his own.

I'm not going to go full into detail about all of the red flags leading up to the blow up. However, I will tell you, there were so many signs of abuse. Emotional and physical that I ignored. He had pushed me on multiple occasions, pinned me against the kitchen counter and yelled in my face, would physically abuse my dogs when I wasn't home, would constantly tell me I wasn't good enough and that I was lucky to have him.

Fast forward to June of 2017, I decided (with the help of two my very, very close friends) that I needed a vacation. I flew to New York and spent about 4 days in upstate with them. While I was there, I received so much love and support from them and other people I had just met. I was also witnessing what a normal, adult, functional relationship was. All while I was in NY, my ex was constantly calling and texting me accusing me of cheating on him. He was making threats towards myself, my two best friends I was with, and other friends of mine as well as my dogs. It was that trip that I decided when I got back to Arizona, I was leaving him. I had even contacted my mom and let her know I needed her help with my dogs, because I knew he would hurt them, in order to hurt me. For the remainder of the trip, I chose to play along and reassure him that I wanted to be with him, in order to protect my dogs while I was in New York. I had my mind made up, I just needed money in order to get away from him.

When I got home he was cold, and dark towards me. He wouldn't talk to me, at all beyond yelling at me and accusing me of cheating. I was terrified to be at home, I was terrified to leave because my dogs would be alone with him. I lived in fear because of him.

Shortly after I got home from NY, my best friend and I went to look at apartments so I had a plan lined up for when I left. My plan was for him to go to work, I would pack up my stuff, and leave him. I didn't see any other way out, without risking my life and my dogs.

The day her and I were looking at apartments, he called me, hysterical, yelling, and threatening again. He had logged into my computer and onto Tumblr and saw messages between another friend and I about my plans to leave him. I've never in my life driven so fast, and dangerously to get home to my dogs and protect them.

When I got home, he was pacing, screaming at me, and holding a knife. He had the dogs harnesses on, and kept telling me to say goodbye to them because it would be the last time I saw them. My best friend was waiting outside, and had called the police and informed them what is going on and that she was afraid he would attack me.

It felt like hours arguing with him, and pleading for him to let me take the dogs and for him to leave. The entire time he was holding the knife and would occasionally stab towards me, although he never made contact. I remember very vividly thinking "okay, if he stabs me, I know what to do. I'm a medical professional and I can save myself," my biggest concern was for my dogs lives, not my own.

After an eternity (or maybe it was just 30 minutes, I don't know) he grabbed my dogs leashes and left through the garage. He had no idea Mesa PD was outside. As soon as he saw PD, he dropped their leashes and lunged at me. Thankfully I was far enough behind him and around the car, he couldn't get to me. Everything after happened in such a blur, I know my best friend grabbed the dogs and put them in her car and that he was then on the ground with tazers and guns aimed at him. He was cuffed, and pinned against the wall by two police officers, while the 3rd officer walked me past him to guarantee my safety. He was yelling the entire time, screaming at me for being a selfish horrible person, that I was making a mistake, and that he would make me regret every thing. I was in hysterics, crying into this poor cop while my best friend got the dogs situated in the car. I don't remember much of my conversation with the officer, except him saying "this is your opportunity to get out, you need to take it,"

I watched them put him in a the squad car, with him yelling at me the entire time, and I was still terrified of him. What if he got out? What if he found me? I chose to stay with my friend because 1. He had no clue where she lived. 2. I knew it was a comfortable place for myself and the dogs until I could get into an apartment.

For months I was terrified, every sudden movement or loud noise around me made me jump and start to panic. I was afraid to go to work because he knew where it was, same with school. I was afraid to go into public places for fear of him being there. Although I had a restraining order against him, that only does so much until police arrive if he was to show up.

A few months after, James came into the picture. We had been friends for years, however that was it. He was one of the first people I confided in over what happened. Still to this day, I've never seen him that angry. He was furious that I had gone through that and had been made to live in fear for so long. He was one of the few people I felt safe around. I made the choice to tell my coworkers what had occurred, that way incase he showed up, I had help. Every night I had an escort to my car by one of the male nurses or techs, if James wasn't working. My tribe of support had continued to grow, and expand, when a few short weeks prior I thought I had no body.

I'm still anxious. I still worry. I still get nervous going into a restaurant, or store that I'll see him. I still have nightmares about him killing my dogs. I've woken up in tears and panic more times than I can count, just to realize he's no where near and that we are safe.

Everything occurred nearly 2 years ago, and I'm still recovering from it. I didn't write this as a sob story, or to get sympathy. I wanted to tell my story, to hopefully help others realize they are not alone. Domestic violence is a very real, and dangerous problem within the United States. So many people are killed prior to being able to leave, or are in fear of leaving because of the unknown of afterwards.

I'm so thankful I was able to get out before something drastic happened to myself or the dogs. I'm so thankful for my amazing tribe of friends and family who stood with me, and had my back when he trashed my name. I'm so thankful for James for showing me what love truly is, and how relationships should be. If anyone who sees this wants to talk about their own experiences or has questions, I am open and willing. Everyone deserves safety, and happiness. Nobody should have to live in fear.

#personal #tw domestic abuse #tw domestice violence #domestic violence #domestic abuse #meee

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sakurablossomstorm-blog · 7 years ago

Note

I was rewatching “Soulmates” and Leslie said she loves dogs, and I realized I REALLY want a fic where Leslie and Ben adopt a doggo together! Or one where Leslie gets a doggo without Bens input and then he has to discipline/spank her... that escalated quickly. Sorry

Hey anon!

First of all - I LOVE THIS! Never ever change.

Second of all - I did write something, but it’s not very dirty I’m afraid, actually very family friendly, but it supports the headcanon I have that Ben and Leslie get a dog AND a cat.

Also I tied it in to fit with Star Wars Day.

On ao3

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ben asked nervously as he watched the five beagle puppies happily running around their pen. “I mean, we’re constantly out of the house, the triplets might be allergic-”

“Ben, we’ve thought through every possibility and it’ll be fine. We can get dog sitters when we’re out of town, and the triplets will love the puppy. They’ve been fine whenever we’ve taken them to April and Andy’s, and they love Champion,” Leslie said, leaning down to pet the nearest puppy. “Oh I think I have my heart set on this one, he’s adorable.”

Leslie had been casually talking to one of the mothers at the triplets school one morning when she told her that her dog was expecting puppies, and how it was a bit of a shock. She then offered Leslie one of the puppies, and she thought it would be great to have an family pet, especially with the triplet being five now, it would be good to teach them to be responsible.

The puppy barked playfully and licked Leslie’s open palm. “Ben, he’s perfect. The triplets are going to love him.”

Ben looked down at the puppy. Ok, he was pretty adorable. The puppy had big floppy ears and sparkling puppy dog eyes.

He was pretty sure he was falling in love with the dog.

“Kids, get down here, we have a surprise,” Leslie called as they walked back into their house.

Ben was carefully holding the puppy in his arms, and the puppy was desperately trying to make a break for it, clearly not being a fan of being held.

The triplets all hurried down the stairs. It didn’t take long for one of them to notice the squirming puppy in Ben’s arms.

“Mommy!” Stephen squealed. “Is that a puppy? Is that our puppy?”

Leslie barely got out a ‘yes’ when all three children were hurrying towards Ben and fawning over the puppy.

Ben carefully set it down on the floor, and the puppy bounded from each triplet, unsure which one to go to. The puppy barked and excitedly licked Sonia’s face when she got too close.

“Alright, guys. We need to decide on a name for this little guy,” Ben said, crouching down and rubbing the puppy on the head.

All five of them bounced names around. Sonia was adamant that she wanted the puppy to be called ‘Princess’, while Stephen kept chanting ‘Monster’ over and over again.

“I think he should be called Patches.”

Ben looked over to his youngest son, who’d been pretty quiet during the naming. “What was that, Wes?”

“Patches,” Wesley said again. “He’s got brown patches on his back, see? Patches would be a good name for him.”

Sonia wrinkled her nose up, and looked at the puppy. “Huh. I guess Patches works.”

“Stephen, are you happy with Patches?” Ben asked his eldest son.

Stephen scowled. “I want him to be called Monster.”

“I know, buddy. Maybe Monster can be his nickname. He’ll definitely be a trouble maker,” Ben said, playfully patting the dog’s back end.

“I like Patches too,” Leslie said happily. “And I think he’ll be a great addition to the family.

Patches barked in agreement.

It had been three years since Leslie and Ben got Patches for the family, and having a dog was hard work, but amazingly rewarding.

Wesley always wanted to accompany Ben on the daily walks, which gave Ben and Wesley a chance to bond. Stephen would play with him in the garden and when he got tired, he’d snuggle up on Sonia’s bed with her.

Ben couldn’t imagine life without him. And he was sure that the entire family felt the same.

He’d been working late one evening. Things were heating up in congress and he found himself spending more and more nights in the office. It was raining once he stepped outside onto the path. Ben tutted and put up his umbrella.

That’s when he heard the unmistakable sound of a meow.

At first he thought it was just the rain on the pavement, but nothing could mask the high pitched noise. He tried to ignore it, walking towards his care, when he heard it again, and again.

No, he couldn’t ignore this. He’d never forgive himself. Listening carefully, he followed the sounds of the meows until he came across a beaten-up cardboard box with a tiny, black and white kitten inside.

The kitten looked terrified and was meowing for help. Ben’s heart contorted. Someone must have abandoned this poor kitten, and it was scared.

“Hey, it’s ok, come here,” Ben said calmly, reaching out to stroke the kitten. At first, it backed away, but softened as Ben managed to rub it’s soaked fur.

Carefully, Ben lifted the kitten into his arms and tucked it under his coat to shelter it from the rain, then he sprinted back to his car, managing to text Leslie one-handed that he’d be late home.

“So I guess we’ve got a cat now too?”

Ben smiled sheepishly at Leslie as she watched the triplets (and Patches) play with the small kitten. It seemed a little hesitant, and kept looking over at Ben, but was now playfully swatting at Patches’ nose.

“The vet said she’s recovered well and is healthy. If we don’t take her they’ll take her to a shelter. She’s not chipped or anything, we could keep her if you wanted to?” Ben said to Leslie.

Leslie looked down at the kitten. She was black all over with the excepting of her back paws, which were white.

“She is really cute,” Leslie said. “And Patches seems to like her too.”

Leslie shrugged her shoulders. “Ah, why not. Plus it’ll be nice for Patches to have some extra company when we’re not at home.”

Ben grinned, then a thought slipped into his mind. “Now we have to go through the painful process of naming her.”

“Dad!” Stephen piped up. “It’s Star Wars Day! May the 4th. We should give her a Star Wars themed name.”

“Hey, that’s a good idea,” Ben said, walking over to his children. “What were you thinking?”

“Yoda.”

“No, we can’t call her Yoda,” Sonia cut in. “That’s so obvious. We should call her Chewie since she’s furry.”

“That’s even more obvious than mine!”

“Well what about Leia?” Leslie asked. “Or Organa?”

She winked at Ben, clearly wanting to show off.

Suddenly, the kitten broke off into a run, sprinting out of the room and towards a chair in the hallway, where she settled down, tail curling around her body.

“Hey, come back,” Wesley said, standing up.

“No, leave her, buddy. She probably wants to be alone,” Ben said, stopping his son.

That’s when it came to him.

“Hey, I have an idea,” Ben said out loud. “When I found her, she was alone. Or solo you could say.”

He turned to Leslie. “Do you see where I’m going with this.”

“No,” Leslie shook her head.

“Solo! We should call her Solo. It’s got a Star Wars angle and it fits her perfectly.

“I like it,” Stephen said. “Solo and Patches. The best pets ever.”

Ben smiled. “I agree.”

And later that evening, when everyone was in bed, Ben felt something press against his arm.

He looked down to see Solo curled up in the crook of his arm, purring softly.

Ben smirked. “Welcome to the family, Solo. And may the force be with you.”

#patches and solo #Anonymous #the dynamic duo #parks and rec fic #parks and recreation #star wars day #may the fourth be with you

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teenwolimagines · 7 years ago

Text

Your Baby - Teen Wolf Preferences

Stiles

‘Aw look at at the little duck.’ Stiles babbled, making shadow puppets on the wall.

Your one year old daughter Isabelle loved her daddy’s shadow puppet show, so she giggled and clapped excitedly before standing on wobbly legs.

‘Come to me Izzyyyy!’ Stiles growled, moving his hand.

Baby Iz was just figuring out how her legs work, and you and Stiles were working on her walking.

She looked at the distance with a frown, but a quick “Wa Wa! Come here!’ from Daddy made her giggle and take the first step.

‘(Y/N), get the camera.’ Stiles said urgently.

You quickly pulled out your phone and hit record, this would be the furthest she had walked so far.

‘Go on Izzy you can get there.’ you encouraged when she started to stumble.

She balanced herself and clumsily closed the distance, leaning against the wall.

‘Aw you did it!’ you praised.

‘Mr. Duck is so proud and happy to see you, he could eat you up. Couldn’t you Mr. Duck?’ Stiles asked.

‘Yes she is so sweet looking like candy.’ he voiced, making a “chomp” noise,making the shadow bite at Izzy.

Unfortunately, Isabelle hadn’t been expecting it was so frightened by the sudden attack she let go of the wall and down she went.

‘Oh my God!’ Stiles panicked as he quickly picked her up.

‘Stiles!’ you gasped, rushing over to them.

‘I didn’t know our daughter was so easily frightened, thank God we moved. She’d have a heart attack in her nursery in Beacon Hills.’

Scott

You were in the kitchen making the table for breakfast, waiting for your husband to come down with your son Alex.

Scott came down looking very tired, but empty handed.

‘Where is Alex?’ you asked.

‘Playing with his toys, refusing to listen to me.’ Scott grumbled before kissing your cheek.

You sighed, Alex was in his terrible twos and since Scott was so forgiving in his nature Alex gave him more hell than you.

‘I keep telling you to be more stern.’ you said as you made him a plate.

‘I am stern.’ he tried.

‘Not stern enough, I’m gonna get him and tell him to apologize and you will let him know you will not be disobeyed. Understand?’ you demanded more than suggested.

‘Yes ma’am, I love it when you get bossy.’ he grinned.

‘Oh hush.’ you laughed as you went upstairs to get Alex.

Your son was in his room playing with the Lego Star Wars set Stiles had given him for his birthday.

‘Why aren’t you downstairs eating breakfast?’ you asked.

‘I’m playing.’ he said.

‘I didn’t ask what you were doing, I asked why you disobeyed Daddy and didn’t come down for breakfast.’

Alex looked down in guilt.

‘Your Daddy loves you and wants the best for you Alex and sometimes that’s not what you want. Now I don’t mind making you do what you have to, but Daddy likes seeing you smile too much.’ you explained as you picked him up.

‘You really upset him when you don’t listen, Alex. Go and apologize.’ you instructed as you sat him down once you were down the stairs.

Alex ran down the hall to the kitchen.

Just as he entered the kitchen a loud roar echoed through the house.

Alex came running right back to you with tears in his eyes. but he seemed too scared to cry yet.

‘Oh my God.’ you gasped as your son clung to your leg.

‘Scott!’ you yelled.

‘Too stern, that was way too stern.’ Scott replied before he rapidly apologized to his terrified toddler.

Jackson

It was Saturday and your family decided to eat out tonight.

Jackson being who he was had picked the nicest place in town, unfortunately your daughter Adena didn’t care about that at all.

The lighting was too dark or the live music was too noisy, whatever it was she was not happy and the whole restaurant knew it.

She was screaming her head off, yelling, not a tear in her eye, just yelling.

‘Give her something, people are starting to stare.’ Jackson whispered.

‘They’ve been staring, now they’re glaring. I’ve given her every toy in the diaper bag, she’s just being fussy.’ you replied.

‘What about paper? She loves paper.’ he suggested.

‘I don’t have any.’ you groaned.

‘I’m so sorry, I understand that you’re trying, but the other customers are starting to complain.’ the waitress said apologetically.

‘OK let’s try this.’ Jackson said as he pulled out a few bills and you thought he was going to try to bribe the poor girl.

Surprisingly enough he handed the money to Adena.

Even more surprising was that your daughter immediately stopped yelling and took the money.

‘I can not put into words how concerning that is a father.’ Jackson sighed.

‘We’ll deal with that later, for now lets just enjoy the peace and quiet.’ you smiled.

‘While it last.’ Jackson added.

Aiden

So your daughter looked nothing like Aiden or you for that matter, but put her next to your dad and you couldn’t tell them apart.

The fact that she also happened to be on the chunky side, like you and your dad both were just sealed Katie’s fate.

Still she was the most beautiful girl in the world to you and Aiden, and most importantly, to herself.

You had never seen so much confidence in a four year old.

Tonight was Family night and your parents were over for dinner and like always Katie and your dad were going to give a show before you all would relax in the living room.

‘So Katie, what song are you gonna sing tonight?’ you asked as you took up the empty plates.

‘It’s a surprise, but it’s gonna be our best show yet.’ she said excitedly as she hopped out of her chair.

‘The best.’ your dad agreed as he too stood up.

He took Katie’s little hand and went upstairs.

‘Where are you going?’ Aiden asked.

‘We gotta put on our outfits.’ Dad answered.

‘Outfits?’ your mom asked.

After you had the dishes in the dish washer your daughter called from outside the kitchen.

‘Everyone close your eyes and don’t open til I start singing.’

You rushed to your seat next to Aiden and closed your eyes.

‘We’re ready.’ you called.

You heard shuffling before an unforgettable tune started.

‘I-I-I...don’t want a lot for Christmas.’

You opened your eyes and lost your mind at your Dad and Daughter in matching candy cane sweaters and your dad in a horrid blond wig.

‘Oh my God!’ you cooed.

‘There is just one I need.’ Dad came in.

As the two sang and danced your husband whispered in your ear.

‘You made a beautiful star (Y/N).’

‘I had a little help.’ you smiled taking his hand in yours.

Liam

You were a dog person, obviously, you married a werewolf after all.

You had your dog Simon for five years and he was your good boy, problem is your son Nial didn’t like sharing attention.

But he was also very impressionable, he seemed to have the thought process that if Simon could do it he could do it cuter.

Last week Liam had to explain that humans don’t pee outside like dogs do.

You had just managed to get your son out of the tub after a quick reprimand and put on his pull up when Liam walked in.

‘How was he today?’ he asked before he kissed you.

‘Less than behaved, he threw a fit in the store, wouldn’t put his toys away and refused to get out the bath.’ you said tiredly.

‘Little man front and center.’ Liam said.

Nial looked down as he walked to stand in front of his father.

‘What have I told you young man?’

‘Listen to Mommy.’ the boy mumbled

‘That’s right, now go to bed.’

Your son walked over to the corner were sweet innocent Simon had been laying.

Nial swatted at Simon until the dog got up.

He smugly laid in the dog’s bed.

‘Nial!’ you started to scold, but Liam stopped you.

‘It’s cute.’

You wanted to argue, but when you saw how Simon simply laid next to Nial, curling around the child.

‘This time, this time it’s cute.’ you conceded.

Isaac

When you told Isaac you were pregnant you had both been fresh out of community college, living in a horrid apartment.

You had thought he would say it wasn’t the time, or that he wasn’t ready.

Isaac just held you promised everything would fine.

He more than doubled his efforts to find a better paying job, he spent half a check on baby books for you. When he did find a better job he started putting the money away.

By your third trimester, with the help of a friend from college who was in real estates, you and Isaac had found a nice little house with two well sized rooms and bathrooms.

And once your little girl Emily was born you knew for sure that Isaac had kept his promise.

You recall that promise every time you see the way he looks at your daughter, like she was his world and he tear the universe apart for her.

'(Y/N)? What are you looking at?’ Isaac asked as he played with Emily in his lap.

‘Nothing, its just... you are an amazing father to your kids.’ you smiled.

Isaac made a confused face for a second.

‘Kids? We only have the one kid.’ he said.

‘Kids, Isaac.’ you smiled, placing his on your stomach.

‘Are you...?’ he asked with wide eyes.

‘I am.’ you said with a watery eyed smile.

He smiled brightly before he kissed you, when he pulled back he looked down at Emily excitedly.

‘You’re gonna be a big sister Em!’ he cooed.

The one year old giggled happily as she threw herself into his arms.

Peter

You almost doubted your daughter had a single one of your genes.

She was one hundred percent Peter Hale.

In her looks, her mannerisms, and especially her attitude.

She was a very opinionated child, much to yours and Peter’s dismay sometimes.

It was his turn to get her dressed today, and she was giving him hell like always and it was hilarious.

‘You have to put on a shirt.’ Peter argued.

‘Why?’ Amanda asked.

‘Because I said so.’

‘Why do you say so?’ she challenged.

‘Because I’m the parent and if I say you need it then you do.’

Amanda stomped her little foot and knocked a pillow off her bed.

‘No throwing fits, big girls don’t do that.’ you scolded.

‘Big girls can make choices and I choose not to wear a shirt.’ she pouted.

‘Well this isn’t a democracy, pick up the pillow and let me put you shirt on.’ Peter ordered, frustrated with his child’s stubbornness.

Amanda picked up the pillow and threw it at him before turning to stomp off.

Your eyes widen in shock, that was the most disrespectful thing she had ever done.

Before you could begin to yell at her to get back here, Peter had thrown the pillow at her, making her fall.

‘Peter! you yelled as you ran to pick up your now crying child.

‘Normally I’d baby you Amanda, but you were wrong this time. Now go put on your shirt and go to bed, we’ll talk about punishment tomorrow.’ you said as you carried her back to her room.

You took the shirt from Peter and put it on her.

‘In the bed.’ you said before cutting off the light as you and Peter left the room.

‘I shouldn’t have gotten angry.’ he groaned.

‘You shouldn’t have, I know she is frustrating but that’s no excuse.’ you replied.

‘Did she have to come out just like me, she couldn’t have half your personality?’ he asked.

Jordan

You knew every parent felt this way, but you thought your daughter Venus was the sweetest child on earth.

She was the spitting image of Jordan and had all his sugary sweetness too.

‘Look Mommy, I put on my own pull up!’ Venus said proudly, causing you to turn away from the closet.

‘You sure did.’ you smiled.

‘Is Cupid taking a bath next?’ she asked pointing at the golden retriever.

‘Not today, but tomorrow Daddy is giving him a bath.’

‘He can use my towel!’ she cheered.

She ran over to the dog and covered it with her ducky towel.

‘Its my favorite one so don’t chew the duck part, OK.’ she said while petting the dog.

‘He won’t, I promise.’ Jordan said as he came in, still in uniform.

‘Daddy!’ Venus shouted as she ran to him.

He picked her up and kissed her cheek.’

‘Were you good today?’

‘Always.’ she said with her chest puffed out.

‘Good, and were you good today (Y/N)?’ he asked you.

‘Never.’ you grinned before kissing your husband.

‘Just the way I like you.’ he whispered so Venus wouldn’t hear.

Theo

When you told Theo you were pregnant he almost immediately moved you out of Beacon Hills and to a little country farm house.

Apparently where he once stayed with the dread doctors.

Out of the way, but close enough to town that making trips won’t be super inconvenient.

Your daughter Anna seemed take to farm life as soon as she was born.

She played with toy garden tools, and loved all the animals.

Anna was also adorably clumsy, her top half seemed too heavy for her to carry sometimes. Teaching her to walk had been a miracle.

‘Come, it’s your day to feed the chickens.’ Theo said, holding up the bucket of food up.

‘Yay, chickens!’ she cheered running to you.

You picked her up and you all headed to the chicken coop.

You sat her down and Theo held her hand as they went up the steps.

The chickens crowded her, but she wasn’t a bit scared.

‘Feed them.’ Theo encouraged.

Confidently she took the smaller bowl from the bucket of bird feed and filled it and threw some of it to the chickens, unfortunately she leaned forward a bit an lost her balance.

‘Oh goodness!’ you panicked as you helper up.

‘I’m OK.’ she assured.

‘How about I pick you up and you throw the food down.’ Theo offered.

‘I can’t pet the chickens from that high.’ she pouted.

‘Will you fall again?’ you asked.

‘...yeah.’ Anna confessed.

‘I’ll keep an eye on her.’ Theo sighed.

‘I’ll get the first aid kit.’ you added.

Derek

So giving birth sucked so much worse than you thought it would, but you had no regrets.

You loved your son Nick.

So did Derek.

You looked at all the toys in his nursery and you just knew you were gonna have to keep Derek from overly spoiling him.

Your son was only three months, but he seemed to agree that less was more. He preferred to play with your set of keys as opposed to the hoard of light up toys Derek bought.

Though he did sleep with the stuffed wolf toy Derek gave him his first night home.

Derek had wanted to get a new photo of Nick for his phone background, because he was that Dad.

He had the baby on the couch, propped up.

‘Look this way Nick.’ Derek smiled.

‘Derek, he’s sleepy.’ you said.

‘But I need a new photo.’ he pouted, accidentally taking a photo.

The loud clicking noise startled the child so much he just toppled over.

‘Aaawww! Nick!’ you swooned.

‘I wish I had that on camera.’ Derek said as you picked up the baby.

‘Maybe I could try it ag-’

‘Don’t you dare.’

Original post by: @mysticalbanshee

#teen wolf #teen wolf preferences #scott #derek #peter #aiden #isaac #stiles #jackson #parrish #liam #theo

193 notes · View notes

ecotone99 · 4 years ago

Text

The Whispering Walls

The town I grew up in was filled with bad memories, and though it seems my parents' skepticism would spare them it’s terrors, my curiosity would serve only to fill me with a permanent unease.

Early in my life, I developed a habit for inquiry and so I took up an investigative initiative when my best friend told me he heard voices in his walls. We were both eleven when he confided in me about his fear in my family's backyard. He told me in the late hours when all the light had successfully drained from the sky he could hear whispers in the dark, defined enough that he felt certain they were there but still so faint he could not articulate what secrets they passed. He told his parents and his father brushed it off as an overactive imagination or the wind. But my friend felt no discouragement in seeking answers.

A short time after he told me of the strange voices dripping from the darkness of his home he convinced his parents to let him host a sleepover. He invited me for my faith that he was telling the truth about what he'd heard and another friend of ours who remained dismissive of the claim of voices in the night. And so just as my friend had experienced many nights before we awaited the blackest hours of the night and sat in the darkness with flashlights off but with our fingers hovering over their switches so that the very moment noise could be heard light could be cascaded over an answer to my friend's curious occurrence. And in the pitch-black room under the blankets clutching a flashlight I heard them, I heard them clearly. At first, a faint whisper the origins of which are unknown but clearly of one voice, and then another, and the number of voices seem to double every minute until every inch darkness seems to converse with another. And at that moment I remembered the flashlights, and as my light cut through the darkness my friends followed no longer distracted. And the light revealed only the blank wall on the west side of my friend's cramped living space. The emptiness did not interrupt the whispers still dancing in the air. We stood up quickly, sprung up by our confusion. We turned all the lights in the room and attempted to trace an origin to this murmuring in the house. As we paced silently my friend approached the blank western wall of his room and inched closer with silent initiative. He pressed his ear to the wall and that very moment a scream seemed to pierce through the air in every direction like a loud tempest whose thunder hammered into our eardrums. We curled back in terror clutching our ears as the tortured wailing overtook even the very sound of our terrified screams. My eyes shut and my hands tightly closed on my ears I lay upon the floor curled up, filled with a terrifying panic reserved for rabbits pursued by wild dogs. When just as suddenly as it began it ended and the night air was empty of even the sound of crickets and frogs.

That silence was broken by the overwrought footsteps of my friend's father running to the room we were in calling out asking if we were okay, as his father rushed through the door he called out with protective worry. We simply looked up at him terrified and still frozen, he broke the silence quickly inquiring as to why we screamed. No amount of explanation could have convinced him of what we all heard as he was adamant that the only screams he heard were ours. Our fear turned to frustration and soon our voices overlapped one another and the explanation, no matter how it was repeated, was slowly drowned in our bewilderment.

My friend didn't sleep in his room after that and instead reserved himself to the couch downstairs. He explained to me in every single bedroom he heard those murmured cries, and though the screams never returned he still felt afraid to touch the walls, deterred by the knowledge that something resided just behind those barriers. Nonetheless, as he spent many nights through into his adulthood sleeping in every room in the house until he discovered the one place where those voices lay silent. The couch became his bed and the parlor his bedroom. The voices stayed far from him, where he slept sat a minimum of ten feet from any wall and the silence was only interrupted by the sounds of the woods outside his home and he knew an uneasy peace for the remaining years he spent until adulthood.

I returned to my hometown for a visit sometime after I finished college and nostalgically I phoned my old friend who's parents by this time had passed and resided in the church cemetery for several years. He now owned the house and my predisposition to snooping had known no boundaries as my immediate attempt to catch up was stifled by my desire to know why on earth he would not only continue to reside in that dismal structure but do so alone after all the years of unease it brought to him. He simply explained to me that it's perfectly bearable to live in that hissing structure as there's almost no cost to live in it, it was paid off before he had even left high school, as far as he was concerned the headaches of a new mortgage and moving costs would haunt him greater than the phantom voices residing just past his wallpaper. I questioned it no further and we resumed the merrier side of our catching up.

Many years would pass and the extent of his ordeal would be lost on me as I had moved many miles away and had not seen or spoken to him in many years. But news of his ordeal would find its way to me as it always had, the news of what he did to that house found me in the form of a phone call from his last relative, his cousin, a sweet woman who was kind enough to tell me everything without gilded words.

As he got older it became more apparent that living in that beastly structure was beginning to chew at him, and the wound it opened up inside him remained raw even when he had left that crooked home built from blackened stone and dark walnut. Apparently, as the years passed he cut out people from his life, what used to be days he filled with excuses to be out of that place, were now absent from his presence. He soon entombed himself there, retreating further into the mausoleum that was once known as his home. No one ever saw the upstairs lights turn on but candlelight danced from the windows of the first story, and soon after that every window was boarded up but the parlor window, it's thought by the more prying of his neighbors that he never left that room. But one day the neighborhood was awoken by a light in the distance, flames dancing in the windows of that house with my friend now pale with uncut grey hair standing emaciated and cold on his front driveway watching the monstrosity be engulfed with flame.

The fire department didn't get there in time to save the house and what remained was charred wood and ash, and among the rubble of that colossal wreck, the fire department pulled the bones of no less than a hundred children. Many feared that he'd been a boogeyman preying upon children and burying the remains under his house but the autopsy report showed those bones were there long before he'd even been born, the only conclusion left is that they were a horror left from the original owners, a shadowy mark upon the history of our town left buried in the walls, mere feet from where he laid his head to rest as a child.

I drove him to the psychiatric hospital his cousin picked out for him, that poor man hadn't left his house in almost 18 months when he burned it to the ground. What was left of him was quite malnourished and stiff, he had pale skin like what you would see on a corpse, his eyes had dark circles indicating he gave up on sleep long ago. So fragile, and stiff, it almost seemed he'd fall apart if you touched him. But the man who sat next to me in that car didn't make me feel pity, only overwhelming despair. I asked him what happened, and with a shuttered voice he explained how those wretched murmurs only grew louder and louder until he had to nail every room upstairs shut. And he said the voices kept getting louder still until he started hearing them call out to him clear as day. He said he tried to leave the house one day so that he could finally abandon that dismal crypt, but as he reached for the handle it reached back and grasped his hand tightly as if a child's hand had reached out to him, the hand felt ice cold like grasping the hand of a bronze statue. He retreated to his last refuge, the parlor, and stayed so as a sentry resigned to his duty, he thought he'd die in that spot. He'd always see slowly rotting hands reaching to him from every wall at night, and every attempt at escape would be interrupted by a spectral child's hand reaching out and grabbing him as if to pull him into the wall. He fearfully rationed his food and water and kept away from the walls until one day a storm caused a tree branch to fall through the roof of his kitchen, breaking into one of the walls it revealed something that answered all of his suspicions and revealed the origin of his torment. Behind bricks lay a rotting gallery of bodies tightly packed together like luggage, countless small corpses all but rotted away, some with looks of terror still upon on their mummified faces, blood and scratch marks in front of some, some held their own limbs, some were missing heads, all with bones broken and bent out of shape as if to further ensure their demise. Evil built that house he said with a cold declaration. He said he then proceeded to knock out every wall in the house with a sledgehammer, brick by brick, not a single wall was empty. When every inch laid bare before him and the gallery of evil was fully revealed, he saw them move, their gaunt arms outstretched and their jaws creaking open and shut demanding him, “FREE US”. He said he did what they asked and that was why he had to destroy what was left of that miserable prison of souls.

I felt compelled to visit what was left of that blood-stained property, perhaps I felt sentimental. But I know I'll never return there again, as I looked upon that gloomy heap of ash and suffering I felt a thousand eyes watching me from just beyond the trees. And I felt no inclination to linger in the now hollow spot that sits at the edge of the woods surrounding my home town, a barren mark where only whispers can be heard.

submitted by /u/StillShmoney [link] [comments] source https://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/iymbmo/the_whispering_walls/ via Blogger https://ift.tt/3kHVVyb

#Blogger #Story

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magicfeatherspecialist · 5 years ago

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Tsubasa Chronicle Month - Day 7: Horitsuba

This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever written, and somehow also the longest lol.

(AO3)

---

The students at Horitsuba Institute were accustomed to the unique environment of the school. It was an exceptionally friendly and accommodating place to be, even if some of the staff were rather…eccentric, to put it kindly.

One such example was Fai Flourite, high school Chem teacher. Easy-going and knowledgeable, he was beloved by the student body for his easy smile and interesting classes. That love, however, couldn’t hide the fact that he was a rather particular person.

(“He’s so passionate about his subject!” Sakura had said once when trying to describe him.

“More like unhinged.” Added Syaoran, with a worried tone.

“He’s your friendly neighbour mad scientist.” Finished Syaoron easily, hitting his twin on the shoulder.)

He liked to make his classes interesting, with experiments that may or may not end on fire. Everyone has to use safety measures though, so no one really gets hurt. Sometimes he’d show experiments that didn’t look suited for high-school. Other times he’d show experiments that didn’t look possible.

His age was a complete mystery. The only thing everyone agreed on was that he looked 27-ish but definitely wasn’t. Students had asked him, but they quickly realized he gave a completely different answer each time.

Asking Yuui, Fai’s twin and also the Economics teacher, wasn’t helpful either. The man had a more serious aura than his brother. Fai must have told him of his little game, however, because questions about his age were met with a fond laugh and nothing else.

The third thing everyone knew about professor Flourite, is that he was married. He mentioned his husband constantly, often by an array of equally ridiculous nicknames.

(Who calls his significant other a dog? Syaoran often wonders.

I think it’s rather cute! Sakura answered once when she was within earshot.

I change my mind. Syaoran immediately declared, causing Syaoron to laugh for five minutes straight.)

For what they have gathered from all his mentions of him, the mystery husband is also a teacher; more serious than Fai although that wasn’t a hard feat; a bit grumpy at times but ultimately an extremely kind person.

The real kicker came, however, when they asked Yuui about the husband. “Oh, he works here as well” he had said casually, like he hadn’t just thrown a gossip bomb to a pack of young, bored hyenas.

The students had started a sort of competition to figure out who the husband was. Fai had obviously heard about the game, because he had taken to not answering any questions on the subject, clearly enjoying the goose chase he had produced.

Syaoran had thought that the whole thing was ridiculous, and that the teachers’ personal lives wasn’t any of his business. So it was mostly by chance that he discovered the truth, one afternoon in P.E class.

The P.E teacher, Kurogane Youou, was another member of the staff with an odd reputation.

The man was another mystery. He rarely talked about anything that wasn’t relevant to his class, if he spoke at all. He had a look on his face that gave the impression that he was five seconds away from murder at any given time. He was also extremely tall, with a build that would give a professional martial artist a run for their money. Unlike Fai and Yuui, it was a known fact that he was in his late twenties, but he looked older. Jaded.

Are his eyes really red? The first years usually whisper in the first classes, It HAS to be a trick of the light.

Check the moon calendar, One student had once told another, when they were informed he would be absent that day. Maybe he’s a werewolf.

He was definitely a cop or in special forces, Other student had whispered, as he saw Kurogane break out a fight. He had picked up both students off the ground and each other at the same time, without any effort.

He has killed a man, for sure. Yet another said, after he had thrown a broomstick to the ceiling to retrieve a ball that had stuck between two crosspieces. He hit it point blank, like he had just thrown a lance. The broomstick cracked.

(That’s so rude! Sakura had anguished, having heard that last comment. He’s a really nice man!

Yeah, Syaoran had agreed. He’s super cool if you don’t piss him off. I’m sure the guy he killed definitely deserved it.)

The day Syaoran unintentionally won the competition they were playing football. Syaoran had missed the ball and suddenly found himself on the floor. When he tried to get up, his ankle burned furiously.

Syaoron was at his side in an instant, asking him if he was ok. He was about to call the teacher when the strong ringing of Kurogane’s whistle bounced through the gym. Syaoran was still amazed at the lung-power the man had.

“You okay, kid?” The teacher asked, kneeling in front of him.

“I think I twisted my ankle.” Syaoran told him, signaling to his left leg.

Kurogane directed his attention to his ankle, briefly asking him permission before touching it gently. Syaoran hissed.

“Yeah, you need this checked.” Kurogane said. “I’ll take you to the infirmary, everyone else wait here and don’t do anything stupid.”

The rest of the class agreed in unison, looking rather scared. Syaoran thought that there wouldn’t be a single noise coming from the gym for the following ten minutes.

“I’m going with you” Said Syaoron, in a voice that left no room for argument.

Kurogane nodded, and then told Syaoran: “I don’t want you making it worse, so I’ll just pick you up, okay?”

Syaoran’s face reddened. “You don’t need to do that!”

He tried to illustrate his point by getting up. His ankle had other ideas, and if the teacher and Syaoron hadn’t caught him in time, he’d have landed face-first on the floor.

“Yeah, obviously.” Kurogane deadpanned, still holding him by the shoulders. Syaoran admitted defeat.

Kurogane then kneeled with his back to him and told him to hang on from his shoulders. Syaoran did, and rather effortlessly, Kurogane stood up and started walking out. He didn’t even look fazed by the added weight.

“Do I weight anything to you?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“No.” Kurogane told him without missing a beat. Behind him, he could hear Syaoron snickering.

They made it to the infirmary, and Kurogane left the twins with the nurse to wait outside. As the woman checked his ankle, he couldn’t help to overhear a rather loud exchange happening outside:

“Look who’s here?” Said a sing-song voice belonging to their chem teacher. “you don’t show up in the building much, I thought you were soul-bound to the gym by now.”

The twins shared a dumbfounded look, while the nurse just rolled her eyes.

“Flourite sure is brave…” Commented Syaoran, doing a poor job in pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Or stupid.” Said Syaoron, who was pointedly and unashamedly trying to listen in.

The nurse clearly was ignoring everything, instead giving Syaoran an ice pack for his ankle and going away to fill his injury slip. The conversation outside continued.

“How the hell do you manage a class speaking like that?” Kurogane’s voice was sharp and dry. It was the kind of sound one would make if they had to explain what sandpaper was using only auditory cues. Syaoran shuddered a bit.

“Oh, you know you love it.” Fai said, voice unmistakably flirty now.

The twins were frozen in place, wondering how their stern, terrifying P.E teacher was reacting to all of that. However, the man’s next words left them both completely speechless:

“I told you a hundred times not to flirt with me when we’re working. Try and be professional.”

“Always so grumpy, big bad wolf.”

“Call me that again and I’ll divorce you.”

The twins looked at each other, as if to check if they had heard correctly. Kurogane Youou was the mystery husband?

Syaoran backtracked on his initial stance on his teacher’s love life. This was something else. Sakura would surely find this development adorable, somehow.

#TsubasaChronicleMonth #trc #tsubasa reservoir chronicle #horitsuba gakuen #kurogane #fai #sakura #syaoran #there is so much bullshit going on here #syaoran's characterization is me missing ccs!syao's personality lol #I love trc!syao but I miss that angry gremlin with a heart of gold!!#I'm skiping day 8 (since it's just the same prompt for days 10 and 11 in my case) and jumping straight to rare pair

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lauraramargosian · 5 years ago

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When is the Logan Paul vs KSI fight?

When is the Logan Paul vs KSI 2 fight?

LIVE ON BOX OFFICE!

#KSILoganPaul2 is live on Sky Sports Box Office on November 9. Full details of @KSIOlajidebt vs @LoganPaul spectacular rematch in Los Angeles here: https://t.co/3AQvCCJSLu pic.twitter.com/pgYyIYijSq

— Sky Sports Boxing (@SkySportsBoxing) October 7, 2019

Logan Paul and KSI (Olajide Olatunji) are prepping for the second fight, which will take place at the Staples Centre in downtown Los Angeles on November 9th.

Further, 21,000 eyes are going to witness history, and it will all begin with insane amounts of wonder regarding who will lose.

What time is the Logan Paul KSI rematch?

First and foremost, let’s hash out the important details about the Logan Paul and KSI rematch.

The two will tap gloves on November 9th, Saturday at 3:05 p.m.

Unfortunately, many missed KSI vs Logan Paul’s first fight.

To be brief, KSI and Logan Paul first touched gloves in Manchester and their fight was ruled a majority draw, setting up a second fight between Logan Paul vs KSI.

With that in mind, Logan opened up about KSIs toxic persona.

For this reason, Paul texted him asking to “keep this slightly professional,” but it didn’t work.

Ultimately, they now have both insulted one another, which in Logan’s head will make for a “great fight.”

“How many times can I let a man insult my family, my girlfriend, my vulnerability. It’s disrespect, it’s hectic.”

For this purpose, we have no doubt Logan Paul has trained hard to put KSI in his place with the highly anticipated Logan Paul vs KSI fight.

"I texted him and asked him not to."

@LoganPaul is using @KSIOlajidebt's words from the press conferences as motivation ahead of November 9

Full interview here: https://t.co/HnPt2IoKKl pic.twitter.com/C4cxdXsiTu

— Sky Sports Boxing (@SkySportsBoxing) October 27, 2019

Which celebrities are attending the Logan Paul vs KSI fight?

It begins, the highly anticipated event has attracted the eyes and minds of many celebrities including Justin Bieber.

In fact, Logan made a statement about respecting J-dawg.

“By the way, if anyone in my family and friends section asks Bieber for a picture, I am kicking you the f*** out.

Just leave the kid alone. I just want to promise him sanctity and safety and entertainment.”

With that in mind, it’s nice to see him looking out because all talent receive a lot of unwanted attention during their free time.

Justin Bieber and Tom Cruise in the UFC octagon?

Justin Bieber came out to support Logan Pual after YouTube posted a trailer for the fight. Bieber commented “Rip his head off,” which indicates he’s definitely in Logan Pauls’s corner.

Isn’t it true it would be interesting to see the Biebs take on KSI (just throwing that out there)?

In fact, we’ve seen him box before and he’s fire BUT that’s for another story.

Fortunately, the first Logan Paul vs KSI fight had quite a few celebrities in attendance including…

Jake Wood English actor.Wes Nelson Professional UFC fighter. Jimi Manuwa English retired mixed martial artist.

Aside from Justin Bieber, who will likely have Hailey Bieber right by his side as a date, many are expected to attend the fight.

Interestingly, Logan Paul happened to name-dropped Brooklyn Beckham who may attend the Logan Paul vs KSI fight.

Where Can I watch the Logan Paul vs KSI fight?

When is the Logan Paul vs KSI fight? Get more details right here on positive celebrity gossip, film and entertainment news!

According to released details, viewers in the UK can watch the fight.

Sky Box Office offers a great deal for merely £9.95.

Next, those who are outside of the UK can view Logan Paul vs KSI fight by using DAZN.

Further, on DAZN you can watch and stream stacked lineup fights for fall. You also get Canelo, GGG, plus some of the biggest re-matches of the year including Ruiz vs. Joshua 2.

What happened at the Logan Paul vs KSI fight press conference was pure disrespect.

Unfortunately, on October 7th the pair exchanged some major insults during the press conference.

In fact, Logan Paul was mocked by KSI after he stepped onto the stage with a Pomeranian.

In case you missed it, Logan recently lost a pet named Kong.

As a consequence, charities like PETA are standing on Logan Pauls’s side of the boxing ring as well.

As a result, PETA had some harsh criticism for KSI.

“A news conference – with its bright lights, loud noises, and crowds.

It can be stressful enough for humans, let alone small animals.

who aren’t inanimate props to be used for a cheap gimmick.”

“Peta encourages fighters to battle it out between themselves – and leave animals out of it.”

Unfortunately, when KSI took to the stage and announced the name of his dog as“King Kong.”

Truthfully, this was a disgusting attempt to hit Logan Paul emotionally.

‘That poor dog is terrified, can we get him off the stage please?’

Logan Paul is ready to show KSI he’s not playing a video game for YouTube.

Most importantly, you never attack someone’s family, including pets who have passed away.

In any case, that was pure disrespect to Logan Paul.

Despite the draw, the fight will continue, both fighters have been training hard.

Lastly, check out the fight below and sound off in the comments below!

Blessed be!

KSI VS. Logan Paul – FULL FIGHT #KSIvsLogan

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cecilspeaks · 8 years ago

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Ghost Stories

You can purchase Ghost Stories here.

Transcript of the bonus tracks here.

1. Intro

Meg Bashwiner: And now, listeners of every kind: the voice of Night Vale, Cecil Baldwin!

[applause]

Cecil: We have nothing to fear but fear itself. Also many other things, several of which can be found in your home. Welcome to Night Vale!

Listeners, honest honored listeners, Cecil here as always your voice to carry you through the lonely hours. Today is a very special day indeed. Today, as we all know, is the annual Night Vale ghost story contest. In which every citizen is required to put forward their scariest, spookiest tale of spectors and haunts. The City Council chooses their favorite, and the winner is, through a process that is truly terrifying in its simplicity, turned into a ghost. The losers are forced to continue in forms that primarily depend upon the containment and transportation of oozes and glob.

Now I’m sure that you’ve all been preparing your own entry for the ghost story contest, since all of you will soon have to stand up and deliver it to the gathered people. But before all of you each individually have your turn, I thought that I might indulge myself for a moment and tell you my own entry to your ghost story contest. Are you all OK with that? [applause] I have no idea what you just said so, gonna nod and give myself a thumbs up and I think we’re all good here.

2. Horoscopes

But first, let’s have a look at today’s horoscopes. Leo? [silence] Leo? [audience whoops] Leo! Bet all your money on red! All those material possessions were only weighing you down. Soon you will be in many ways – free-er than the rest of us.

Virgo? You know that one spot on your back that itches and itches and itches and you just can’t stand it? Well, good thing: you won’t have to deal with that or anything else after tomorrow night.

Libra? Draw your loved ones closer to you. That first drawing you did was no good, no, draw them like closer to you. There’s too much white space on the page! How are your loved ones supposed to love you if you can’t even draw them right?

Scorpio? OK so, I think we all know by now that this is the sign of.. uuughhh.. Steve Carlsberg. Who is my sister Abby’s husband. Now, usually the horoscope just happens to turn out something quite mean for Scorpio. Purely through the unknowable combination of fate and random chance that is the meeting of the stars. But Abby said that the stars had better knock that off! Especially if they want to be invited to their niece Janice’s first ballet fight. So, let’s see how this goes. Scorpio. Things are looking bright. What a great day you have before you! Look how clear the sky, how green the grass how – dumb and oversized your feet look. [gleefully] No really, I hope you don’t trip or rip your pants not even once! How terrible it would be if that happened! But it probably won’t through, so there you go. [mutters] Scorpios…

Sagittarius? Ahahahahahahaha, aahahahahahahaha, aaahahahahahaha!

Capricon? Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. The blood (--) [02:42] tide is loosed upon the world and everywhere! So your home carpentry project will not go well next week. There’s just too much blood.

Aquarius? OK, you are just two dogs in a trench coat, Aquarius. I mean I hate to break it to you, but you have no opposable thumbs, or language skills. And you’ve always been two dogs in a trench coat! [cooing] Yes you are, yes you arrre!! [kissing noises] Now go outside! Good dogs!

Pisces? If you don’t have anything nice to say, try saying something mean. I mean there are lots of options for things to say.

Aries? Ooh. OK, so this horoscope is just a picture of a bear. And next to the bear is the lizard and next to the lizard is the pelican. And there’s a combined speech bubble above them all that says “We regret the storm that took your lives.” And they’re smiling and (-) [0:03:57] some mugs of beer together. And they have their feet up on skulls. And if you look really closely you’ll notice that they’re not standing on a pile of sticks, but on a pile of human bones?! And unfortunately I believe that in this cartoon, Aries – you’re the pelican!

Taurus? No sunshine for you, Taurus! Nope! The sun’s light has been blocked, but only for you. Oh yes, everyone else will walk in sunny rays, sunshades and shorts, wide smiles and hat brims, SPF 50 and a Frisbee at the beach. You will likely lose feeling in your skin due to the cold of a [sinister voice] sunless world! [friendly voice] Good luck!

Gemini? They say an onion has many layers. Gemini, you are like that onion. Time has peeled away, one after another, each of your hard, pungent layers: snap, snap, snap! They (pry) off and urgent fingernails pry away the remnants as you grow smaller, wetter, less complex. Ooh, also like an onion, your odor makes as cry.

Cancer? Well this just says “chainsaw accident”. So I bet that’s a metaphor for something really goood!

3. A Word from our Sponsors

Cecil: And now a word from our sponsors. For that, we have a sentient patch of haze here in the studio with me, and her name is Deb! Deb?

Deb: Thank you Cecil. Today I am here on behalf American Airlines – your partner in the sky.

Cecil: Fantastic. What does American have to say to us today?

Deb: American Airlines is committed to.. [giggling] your safety! And comfort.. [giggling] and getting you into the air. It is our promise that we will get you up there. You will rise from the ground. For sure, that will happen. And you will soar above the clouds.

Cecil: Well that’s wonderful to hear, you know it’s reassuring to know that American Airlines will see us safely and comfortably through takeoff, flight, and landing!

Deb: [long beat] No Cecil. We didn’t say that. We don’t wanna promise we can’t say for sure we can deliver on. We will get you up there.

Cecil: And then what then?

Deb: Oh, what anywhen? Do we see the future?

Cecil: Oh?

Deb: No.

Cecil: No.

Deb: Life is chaotic, and it would be irresponsible to start making promises.

Cecil: Yes, but mostly you land those planes, rights?

Deb: I haven’t checked lately. But if it helps you to say that out loud, then certainly you should do that, yeah, mm hm.

Cecil: Why do I always end up so worried after talking to you, Deb?

Deb: American Airlines. What goes up, must come down. We guarantee it.

Cecil: Alright, well thank you Deb.

Deb: So you’re all telling ghost stories, huh?

Cecil: Oh yes, yes we are.

Deb: Good. I have a wonderful story of a haunting to tell. It’s very popular among us, sentient patches of haze.

Cecil: Oh please, tell it.

Deb: Once upon a time, a nice family of sentient patches of haze moved into an ooold house. They were young and optimistic and ready to start a home, but soon they realized something was teeeerribly wrong. They heard noises in the night. Voices, folky yet slickly produced singer-songwriter music. At first they assumed it was just their imagination, but soon they saw shapes in the halls and bedrooms. They noticed movement in the corner of the parts of their haze that they used to see with. One day, one of the sentient patches turned the corner and there – [disgusted] was a human standing there! As clear as a day, as opaque as flesh. Well, that poor little patch screamed and floated away. But now they knew, [creepily] there were humans haunting their house.

Cecil: Now wait. Humans often live in houses, I mean did the humans own the house?

Deb: Oh Cecil, there you go again. Serving as a propaganda mouthpiece for the capitalist machine that says sentient patches of haze aren’t allowed to move into and take over any house that a human “owns”!

Cecil: Wait, a mouthpiece for the capitalist machine? Deb, your job is literally to be a spokeshaze for multinational corporations!

Deb: Hmph! Hmph! Hmph! How dare you! My contradictions are my own to grapple with. I’m leaving. Thank you for giving me time on the air, I appreciate it.

Cecil: Well it was an ad, and I’m assuming you get paid for those?

Deb: Sure if that assumption is helpful to you, goodbye Cecil.

Cecil: Alright, thank you Deb!

4. Ghost story #1

And now, listeners, a ghost story. MY ghost story.

It begins ten years ago, on a night just like – tonight. Heavy fog covered the town of Night Vale, turning the world into a blurry approximation, familiar landmarks into educated guesses. No stars, and the full moon diffused by the mist into a soft, feeble light from all around.

A man was driving down a dark road, there were no other cars around. And on the side of the road, up ahead, he saw a figure. A figure made strange by the half-hearted moon, a brief pause in a long fog. Now the figure had its hand up. It did not (thumb) (-), but instead gave a languid wave, more of a summons than a request. And the man shivered, for he knew that it was on this very stretch of road one year to the day before that day that was ten years ago on a night just like tonight. The oooold mill, finally burned down. And when it went, there was a woman inside of it. Now, it’s hard to fathom why she was there in that abandoned disused mill, but she was. And the unthinkable happened, without anyone having to think of it at all. And since then, it has been said that in the darkest hours of the darkest nights, a young woman flags down cars on the side of the road where the old mill used to be. And if they’re foolish enough to let her into the car, she stares directly at the driver. And if the driver is foolish enough to look her in the eyes even once – she takes them to her home. A dark, eternal place from which no one, ever, returns.

Still, he couldn’t leave behind what could be a person in need of aid just because of some spooky old story. So he pulled over, and the figure reached out her hand and opened the passenger door and – there was a cold breath, air from dead lungs that the mist curled into the car, and the figure sat.

And the driver was careful to look not too closely or for too long. “Um, uh, where are you headed?” the man said, but the figure was silent. So he began to drive once again. And the fog billowed as he drove, and he could swear that he could see that old mill as it had once stood, leaning and ramshackle. Now, that mill had not been in working order in decades, it was probably just its time to go when it burned, but still. He mourned the loss of what had been a part of his own. “Where to?” he said again without turning or looking at his passenger. And the figure spoke. The figure spoke with a voice that sounded like a body hitting freezing water, like the distant thud in an old house in the smallest hours of the night. [creepy voice] “You know wheeeree,” the figure said. “You know where I want to goooo.” And he did know. “I want to go – hoooooome.”

And he held the wheel tighter, and he pressed the gas harder, and he stared unblinkingly at the door because he knew that the figure’s face was only inches away now, and staring directly at him.

Oh, listen to me yammer on! Haha. You know, I should really get to some of the other business of community radio, or Station Management will [chuckling] just kill me. [long beat] At least I hope that’s all they’ll do to me.

The rest of this ghost story soon.

5. Tamika Flynn

Cecil: But now I have a really special guest in the studio today, who has their own ghost story to tell. She is one of our community’s most active young people, having formed a militia to keep our town safe from corporations and librarians, oh – and she is also an avid reader. So please welcome to the show – Tamika Flynn! Hi Tamika!

Tamika: Hi Cecil. [chuckles]

Cecil: You said you have a ghost story that you wanna share?

Tamika: Yes. I love books so much, and one of my favorite kinds of books is the ghost book.

Cecil: The ghost book? You mean horror novel, yes?

Tamika: You say potato, I say pohtata.

Cecil: You do?

Tamika: Yeah!

Cecil: Pohtata?

Tamika: Pohtata chips, pohtata salad. Pohtata poutine.. [chuckles]

Cecil: But that’s kind of a weird way to say potato.

Tamika: Well I learned English from reading it Cecil, not from listening to it! [chuckles, snorts repeatedly] Anyways. I love ghost stories because they’re so rich with symbolism and meaning. A lot of people think that ghost stories are just a one-note tale about a ghost haunting an old house, but if you look deeper under the surface, ghost stories are really about dead people who are now invisible or translucent beings who interact with the living in antiques homes, so..

Cecil: Very important difference.

Tamika: Would you like to hear my favorite ghost story, Cecil?

Cecil: Oh yes, please!

Tamika: Many years ago, in this very town.. [whispers] there was a librarian! Ooh! And the librarian would creep around the public library, hunting and slaughtering book lovers for sport! Innocent people would go to the library hoping to find a good book, something new and interesting. Maybe a classic of modern science fiction by Octavia Butler, or some surrealist literature by Amy Bender or, oh, maybe some pedantic buzzkill space essays by Neil deGrasse Tyson. [chuckles]

Cecil: Now, wait a minute! To be fair to Neil deGrasse Tyson, his Victorian era romances are really goo-oo-ood!

Tamika: [long beat] Anyways. One day, there was a young girl, a really smart girl. [chuckles] She was also really fit, like REALLY fit! [chuckles] But also smart like the smartest girl you can know. Ahem. And also really tough. Anyways, she went to the library to get a book, and just as she was perusing a collection of plays by the 17th century poet and spy Aphra Behn, she could smell something terrible, like an infection, like wet fur. It was humid suddenly, and she felt something watching her, slithering about just over her shoulder.

But this girl, she was fast too. She jumped to the side quickly just as a spiked tentacle came crashing down next to her, crushing the shelf containing play scripts by Pulitzer winner Annie Baker. Without thinking, the girl – she was also intuitive, like [whispers] soo intuitive! [chuckles] – she grabbed the tentacle before it could retract into the librarian’s protective shell. She then grabbed a copy of the “Complete Works of William Shakespeare” by Francis Bacon. It was the special edition that had the machete taped right there on the book jacket! [chuckles] She tore off the large knife and swung, striking the tentacle at its base. She swung again, landing an accurate blow between the soft small crevice and the hard skin. This girl was amaaaaziiiiing! The librarian shrieked, then with a double back flip – which was pretty easy for this girl… she narrowly avoided the splattering acid blood of the flailing creature and dealt a mortal blow right to its disgusting neck! She didn’t even need a blade to finish off the monster, she just used her fist! Splat! Pffffff! [breathes heavily] True story of the badass book loving girl there ever was! [chuckles]

Cecil: So this is a story about you, right? And how you defeated the librarian during the Summer Reading Program a few years back?

Tamika: Oh no. That story was about my best friend Jessica Littleton. She’s so smart and talented, [high-pitched] I just love her, she’s the best!

Cecil: OK Tamika, while I hate to nitpick, that was a really great story but that was like, [hoarsely] monster story, not like a ghoooo-oooost story.

Tamika: Well. Jessica jacked up that monster and now it’s a ghost, boom, ghost story! Well I gotta go do my math homework, and then we have the teen militia meeting this evening at the new skating rink, so bye Cecil! [chuckles]

Cecil: Bye, thank you Tamika!

6. Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner

It’s time for another edition of the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner!

Did you know that time travel exists? OK well not yet, but we have learned from time travelers that it will be invented in just under 30 years. Now given that knowledge, I thought it’d be kind of fun to do a little experiment together, so. If you are legally allowed to own a smartphone, take that out now and open up that calendar application. No go ahead, don’t be shy!

Now what I want you to do is create a recurring event that starts on this exact day and time, and title that event, well, “travel back in time”. Ooh, and be sure to note your exact location, OK? Now, when you’ve done that, set that event to recur every year on this anniversary. That way, when your future self does eventually have access to a time machine, they’ll know to come back to this. very. Moment. And then once you’ve done all of that, hit “save” and your future self should appear immediately right in front of you!

OK, so do you see your future self? Alright, well you may have to look around just like a little tiny bit. Hold on, hold on. Do none of you see your future selves? Uh oooh…

[long silence]

Well, this has been the Children’s Fun Fact Science Corner!

7. Teddy Williams

Cecil: Now, a look at the Community Calendar. So let’s start off with an event that is happening today. To get in on the annual ghost story contest, Teddy Williams, owner of the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, announced that he will be offering 20 per cent off admission and double game tokens for anyone who dresses up like a deceased ancestor, historical figure, or departed pet.

We have Teddy in the studio with us now to talk about some of the themed activity going on at the fun complex. Teddy?

Teddy Williams: Hello, Cecil.

Cecil: Hello.

TW: We are really getting into this ghost stories festival over at the Desert Flower today and we wanted to celebrate the spirit of the event [chuckles], no pun intended.

Cecil: No pun understood.

TW: OK well we’re getting into the ghost story.. mood. Over in the bowling lanes, we’ll be turning off all of the lights, and as customers try to navigate and stumble around in the dark, our staff will sneak up behind them and shout classic ghost things like “BOOO!” and [hoarsely] “Hello again son, I miss you, it’s so cold here”.

Cecil: Well that sounds like great fun that people will remember not unpleasantly for the rest of their lives.

TW: We hired some pretty expensive lawyers to make sure of that.

Cecil: Now Teddy, you seem to really love this day. Do you have a ghost story you wanna share?

TW: Well, OK sure. As you know we built the new skating rink on top of the old pet cemetery. And there’s this gost cat, a Persian cat. Super cute like you just wanna grab his little flat face and go [high-pitched squeaking] with your own face against his..

Cecil: Awww.

TW:..but you can’t. Because he’s a ghost and so your face just goes through, it’s just.. it’s like rrow, rrow. Anyway, turns out this cat belonged to former town billionaire Marcus Vanston. Marcus of course disappeared one day and no one knows for certain what happened to him..

Cecil: Oh, I-

TW: Or we do know, but none of us are legally allowed to say.

Cecil: Of course, because we can’t legally acknowledge the existence of..

TW: None of us are legally allowed to say Cecil, it could have been anything.

Cecil: Yeah of course. [whispers] Angel.

TW: So this ghost cat belonged to Marcus, and Marcus was so rich that he had taught the cat French.

Cecil: Ooh.

TW: Yeah. Now I myself don’t speak French, but I do have a Russian dictionary, and I feel like both languages are so dissimilar form English that they must be similar to each other.

Cecil: That’s an excellent point.

TW: Right? Anyway, the cat told me that his name is Peanut, and that he died of sorrow when his master, whom he loved so much, passed from this earth and left him alone in their vast palazzo. That as a cat, he cannot cry, so he simply shivered with sadness by himself under the basement stairs every night, until his body wasted away into such a thin whisp that the wings of death could easily and sweetly carry him off to be with his owner once again. But he has yet to reunite with Marcus and so now he has only lonely immortality and no conceivable escape.

Cecil: That’s heartbreaking!

TW: Yeah. So then I told him, [excitedly] “My name is Teddy, and I love video games!”

Cecil: Oh.

TW: [laughing] I tried to feed him one of those little fish treats. It just fell right through his… He’s forever hungry and he can never eat! Ooo, anyway. So I’ve been trying to learn Russian better so that we can speak in French.

Cecil: Sure, yeah.

TW: And he’s been coming around more often saying something that, okay sounds a little bit like “Je suis triste”, “Je suis mort”. Which I figured out means, “Hey Teddy, it’s great to see you!”

Cecil: Umm, now it’s been a moment since my French brainwashing in high school, but I’m pretty sure that “Je suis mort” means..

TW: “Great to see you” yeah, I know Cecil. Alright well, I gotta get back to the complex and I hope to see everyone out there. Now don’t forget that it’s happy hour from four to six at our bar. If you can be happy for those two straight hours, you get three-dollar draft beers and well drinks. So far, no one has been able to do it. Well, je suis mort, Cecil! Ha ha!

Cecil: Aha, thank you Teddy! [whimpering] Oh, Peanut!

8. Steve Carlsberg

More on the Community Calendar.

So listeners, I love ghost stories because they are so disturbing, but. Within the safety of a fictional narrative. Unlike my brother-in-law Steve, who just showed up uninvited to my studio and is disturbing in real life.

Steve Carlsberg: Well, now Cecil, you asked me to come up to the station to tell my ghost story!

Cecil: What, I did? Wait, why would I do that? Is that the kind of thing that – oh yeah I do remember (--) doing that. Well, go on with your story, Steve.

SC: Okey-dokey. [clears throat] Down by the old railroad tracks, on the eastern edge of town, it is said that if you go there just after dusk, you can see the ghoooooooost childrenn!

Cecil: Alright, well, we should go now, you know. Lead the way, Steve, and all of us will be right behind you, eventually.

SC: OK. Many decades ago, a school bus full of children stalled on those train tracks. The driver – whose name was Mab – tried to stop the engine, but it just kept grinding and grinding. There was noo moon! See, this was before the moon was invented by NASA scientists. Remember I told you?

Cecil: [mumbles]

SC: Alright. Mab probably didn’t know she’d stalled on the tracks, she just kept trying to restart the engine, to nooo avail. Suddenly there was a loud horn and a deep, rhythmic rumble from below them, as the tracks trembled!

Then, in the darkness, came a light. A single yellow glow, small and distant. The light was growing, as the sound of the horn and the rumble of the tracks crescendoed. The children spotted it first. [funny voices] “It’s the sun!” one of them called. “No, it’s a lightning bear!” called another.

Mab kept trying to start the bus, the horn of the train boomed, the tracks below the bus barked and rattled, and the light was so big, moving so fast, and the kids screamed “Traaaaaiiiin! It’s a traaaaa-a-a-a-aiin!” And then they all cheered because they love trains, hahaha! And then they all watched the train pass, clapping and laughing the whole time because hey, they got to see a train! [chuckles]

Cecil: So wait, the train didn’t even hit the bus?

SC: No no no no, see, turns out the vibration of the tracks had made the bus roll over them. A near miss, whew! Well, Mab called the Bus Barn and AAA and everyone got home safe and sound. But. It is said that out at the old train tracks, just after the dusk, on a night where there is no moon, if you put some powder on the trunk of your car and stop on the train tracks, your car will begin to move slowly off the tracks, without you touching the gas pedal. And then, if you check the outside of your car, you will see a series of small handprints on the powder! The ghosts of those children who were on that stalled bus so many years ago will push your vehicle to safety!

Cecil: But those kids didn’t die, I don’t understand how they, like how are they ghosts?

SC: It happened 70 years ago, Cecil, I’m pretty sure most of those kids are ghosts by now.

Cecil: I mean, are you leaving the car in drive, because then it’ll just move on its own without you having to press the gas. Oh and plus, those handprints are probably just your own handprints that form as the powder absorbs the oils that were already there.

SC: Sounds like you’re too chicken to go out on the old train tracks..

Cecil: Ugh.

SC: ..and see the ghost hands of ghost children who all died after bearing on that stalled bus!

Cecil: Yeah, from natural causes, yeears later!

SC: Which is all after they were on the stalled bus! Who-o-o-ooo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo, spookyy, spookyy! Do you need a hug?

Cecil: No. [beat] OK Steve. [sighs]

SC: Look, it’s very scary, OK? It’s not just the handprints, but if you get there too long after dusk, the sky will be mostly void. You’ll stare into that infinite maw, sizing yourself down and down, until you understand that you are a fleck, a speck, a nothing nobody loser, who will be gone and not missed. Even the stars, for all their mass and might, are replaceable dots, soundless and similar. Even a ball of nuclear explosions, 2000 times the size of our own Earth, and which will burn mighty for millions and billions of years, is an indistinguishable blip that most can’t even name. What is the use of any of this?

Cecil: OK, now I’m actually scared.

SC: [breathes heavily] So yeah, make sure you show up at the exact right time [chuckling] to see those handprints, OK?

Cecil: OK. You’re done talking now?

SC: Yeah.

Cecil: OK, great. So listeners, we now continue with our Com- OK Steve, you gotta, you gotta go.

SC: Yeah, one hug.

Cecil: No oh geez, alright, fine.

SC: Oh there it is! Ah, we did it! Ah, I’m so scared, it’s so spooky! [chuckles] You’ll need another hug later on, (big guy).

Cecil: Alright. [sarcastically] Thank you Steve.

9. The Community Calendar

Where was I? Friday morning, the wooooop will be whoooooaaa and then later, ah ah a-a-a haha, if you catch my meaning, hahaha! [beat] Oh yes, that was probably very confusing for the radio, so. Friday morning there will be nuclear arms testing just along the canyon east of Route 800. Please remember to take shelter inside your car or under a very sturdy table. As lovable cartoon character, Andy the Atom, always screams: “A nuclear bomb is probably more afraid of you than you are of it!”

Saturday night is Night Vale high school’s annual prom. Afterwards there will be a casino-themed lock-in party. Now this is to encourage kids to stay in one place together, having fun with friends, and not being out on the streets drinking and driving. It is also to encourage kids to gamble. Some of the fun casino games featured will be lottery scratch-off tickets, Three Card Monte, and trust falls.

Monday is the day that Nostradamus told us would happen. [long beat] You know, Jeremy Nostradamus told us that this particular Monday would happen and listeners, Monday is indeed happeniiiiing-ah.

Tuesday evening at 7 PM, the Night Vale school board will be holding a hearing to discuss whether or not testing helps measure children’s abilities, or whether it’s already pretty obvious that the electrified maze is just like totally unbeatable. This hearing is open to the public.

This Wednesday will be re-experiencing last Wednesday. I mean, last Wednesday was just so much fun, we are gonna repeat it over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over… [mumbles] and over.

10. Ghost Story #2

Back to a ghost story, already in progress.

[dramatically] It was ten years ago, on a night just like tonight. Here was a man driving down a dark road. No other cars. Where are all the other cars? Where are all the living people in the dead of night, I don’t know.

And this, the anniversary of the burning of the oooooold mill, in which a young woman had died horribly, by fire. And here beside him, a passenger with a strange voice asking him as the woman would ask all doomed innocents that stopped for her to take… her… home.

“Oh you [clears throat], you want to go home?” the man said. “Yeah sure, sure. Umm, where is home?” [growling] “I will give you directionsss,” the stiff dead throat of the figure rasped, and a hand touched his shoulder. He could just see it. Flesh and bone? Maybe. Meat and (symmetry), perhaps. But that does not make a thing human. And he knew from the stories that those who followed the directions of the woman from the mill would find themselves taking narrow, shaded lines, winding downwards and downwards, to a destination and hollow as the pupil of a dead eye.

“Oh sure, well I’m heading into town myself,” the man said, grasping for any kind of human conversation. “Well maybe I can drop you off somewhere – close to home, like the Moonlite All-Nite Diner or Mission Grove Park?” [growling] “No! Take. Me. Home!”

And before he could stop himself, the man turned and met her eyes, and the man saw, the man saw her face crearly. Stop. Stop right now. I want you all right now to close your eyes. Close your eyes and imagine – trench warfare. Imagine bodies writhing out of holes in the ground to die in muddy no man’s land. Imagine a plane in a thunderstorm where the whole of the universe becomes nothing but lightning and quake.

Imagine closing yourself into your bedroom at night and seeing the shadow imprints of your eyelids after you’ve closed the door. A hunched figure at the end of the hall, flopping around on the floor, in a sheet and muling.

Imagine pulling into your driveway in the dead of night and seeing, you think – but did you? – a grey face with a crude smile peeking from your bedroom window. Imagine being home alone in the middle of a vast nowhere. [click] And the power goes out. And it’s a long, long night until sunrise. Be quiet for just a few moments, and imagine all of this.

Now imagine the face of the woman in the car. Yes. Yes. That is it. Exactly that. [growling] “Tuuuuurn heeeere,” she said, incdicating a dark narrow side road, its pavement cracked and buckling, a side road he had never seen before. [increasingly scary voice] “Tuuuuuurn heeeere, take meee hoooooooooommmmme”. And without knowing why he did it, or where the path would lead, he turned down that side road and left the main road behind.

11. A Public Service Annoucement

The finale of my story coming up. But first, a public service announcement.

After a few recent wildfires, the Night Vale Fire Department would like to remind our listeners about fire safety. They began a new campaign to help parents talk to their kids about this important civic issue. The campaign is called “Your Treachery Has Been Noted”. And the mascot is this adorable cartoon vulture with a camera for a face.

Fire chief Ramona Incarna(-) that it’s important for parents to teach their kids about the three R:s of fire prevention: relent, renounce, repent! She said that most common house fires and wildfires are started by your kids. And here she pointed straight at you! And then she said, “Those children came from your body!”

And then she retched. Sorry.

As part of the campaign, the Fire Department issued a pamphlet to help parents with the education business. Now this pamphlet is adorned with colorful drawings of pyramids and floating eyes, you know, to make it more relatable to teens. And these pamphlets will be distributed to all Night Vale Public School students via repeating audio loops while they sleep.

12. Pamela Winchell

So, because the ghost stories competition is such an important event in our town, Night Vale’s Mayor has sent her Director of Emergency Press Conferences, Pamela Winchell, here to deliver an emergency press conference. So please welcome Pamela Winchell!

Pamela Winchell: Hello, Cecil! Hello, people of Night Vale! Hello, people or whatever of space, who are receiving this long-ago podcast millions of light years away, millions of years in the future. Hello, mutant hollow-eyed child in the dark corner of the radio studio!

Cecil: Oh my god! What.. But..

PW: He’s cute right?

Cecil: I ha- I have never noticed him before. [long beat] [whispers] Pamela!

PW: [whispers] Yes?

Cecil: [whispers] He’s staring right at me!

PW: [whispers] That’s what he does!

Cecil: [whispers] He’s horrifying! Is he a ghost?

PW: [normal voice] You can tell by his grey complexion and glowing yellow eyes and complete lack of facial expression, he is not a ghost. That, my friend, is one of the undead hollow-eyed messanger children from City Council.

Cecil: How long has he been here?

PW: Probably since the last time City Council issued a press release.

Cecil: But that was like a month ago!

PW: Well you answered your own question there, didn’t ya? Cecil, you are supposed to send the undead messenger children home when you’re done with them. If you don’t, they’ll just hang around in the dark watching you all slack-faced. I mean, kids are innocent but they aren’t very smart!

Cecil: So he won’t like hurt me, right?

PW: [singsong] I never said that!

Cecil: [laughing hysterically] Aahahaa, hahaha, he-hey there little guy! What’s your name?

[music]

PW: Oh, that was my grandfather’s middle name! [chuckles]

Cecil: How do you even spell that?

PW: Oh, B-U-M-P-F-B-U-M-B-F-F-F-G-G-G-W-silent Q. It’s Welsh. Also, my grandfather was a bird. He is no longer with us.

Cecil: Oh, I’m so sorry for you loss.

PW: What? Why?

Cecil: I mean your grandfather passing away and..

PW: It was just a bird. Calm down, Cecil. Anyway, the Mayor sent me to do an emergency press conference about ghosts.

Cecil: Excellent, go right ahead.

PW: Quiet over there, kid, I’m talking.

People of Night Vale. There is a certain rock in the desert. The rock is cone-shaped, perfectly smooth and inverted, balancing precariously on its point. If you stand in the long shadow of the rock, you can see the entire universe in the midday sky. Stars you have never seen before, every. single. star. Constellation spinning out great and terrible forgings. You will understand that history is a myth, and humanity a fever dream, and you will also hear a very dull hum. Really dull. I got bored like 30 seconds into it. [sighs]

But the rock is really cool, OK? It is stone, white and carved into it is the entire text of Gillian Flynn’s best-selling thriller “Gone Girl”. The words are printed upside down and in Latin. Now, no one in Night Vale knows Latin, the only books on it are in the library and there’s no way any of us is going there. So I’m just assuming that it is “Gone Girl” because while I never have read the book, I’ve definitely seen the movie and it’s awesome. I’m not sure why they called movie “Furious 7” instead of “Gone Girl”, but it was really really good! So I’m just gonna say that’s a Latin translation of “Gone Girl” on the rock and not some ancient curse of rare religious relic.

Cecil: OK, is there a ghost anywhere in this story?

PW: I don’t have to say that there is a ghost in a story for there to be a ghost in a story, Cecil. Like 16 billion people have died since the lizard people first invented humans. Ghosts are everywhere, all the time! I mean, I mentioned a desert, do you need me to say that there is sand there too, or cacti, or shirtless 20-year-olds burning a giant effigy and buying 8-dollar bottles of water from corporate sponsors? Of course those things are there, it’s a desert! [sighs]

Cecil: So I’ve never seen this rock, but I’m actually really interested because I loved that movie too. I actually like the book just a little bit better. I’m actually not sure why they called the book “Ms. Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs”, but it was still really good. So where can I go to get a look at this fascinating rock?

PW: I ate it.

Cecil: What- you what?!

PW: I. Ate. It. It wasn’t good, I mean I liked the movie way better than I liked the stone, the stone is terrible, ugh. I haven’t been able to use the restroom in weeks.

Cecil: Ugh.

PW: Really turned me off ever reading Gillian Flynn. Anyway kid, you wanna go back to City Hall? Alright, cool. I’ll give you a ride, just hop on this horse with me and let’s go.

Cecil: Oh wow, I just now noticed that you were sitting atop a horse.

PW: Sure am. See you, Cecil! YAAAAOW!

Cecil: Oh, oh..

13. Ghost Story #3

Cecil: The finale of my ghost story. It was ten yeears agoo, on a night just like tonight. The man and his passenger drove through a road that cut through the low branches of the forest. You know, the (dry) of the desert, trees take strange forms. They writhe and loom, their shape a history of their tortured growth.

“Keep going,” the figure rasped. “Yeah I know the way,” the man said, and he did. Because the road, like this story, leads to only one place. A dark and secret place, from which no one ever returns. “Do you know why I was in that mill when it burned?” He did not. “It was because I loved that mill, and I couldn’t let it go alone. Where were you, Cecil? Where were you when that mill burned down?” “I dunno, I was, I was at work,” the man said. “I I I didn’t know it would burn down that day. I mean, I guess a part of me thought that nothing burns down and everything is forever.” “Old mills burn, Cecil. That’s what they do.” “I know I’m just I’m I’m trying to say I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.” “It’s OK. You’re here noow!” And the car reached the end of its road, the asphalt giving way to thick bramble. And the bramble rose and fell, like it was the hair on the back of a huge breathing (animal) and above them, the mill burned. It took up the whole sky. The whole night sky seemed like it was on fire, and the man, hardly able to breathe through this terror, turned and he met the face of the woman and she turned back to him and he saw, he saw the face of the woman clearly, and her face was gone. And in its place was the face that the fire had given her. And her lips opened into what would have been laughter, and she reached for him with what would have been her hand!

[quiet speech] Listeners… I’ve been lying to you. Or not lying, I’m sorry, but what’s the word for when you tell someone a fiction that you would like them believe about you, whatever that is but listen I can’t go on doing that, I need to tell you the truth. And I will. Coming up. The real story, the… the true ghost story that I have been trying to tell you. But first, the weather.

15. Epilogue

This is the true story. It is also a ghost story.

Ten years ago, on a night just like tonight, a man was driving down a dark road, a man who defines himself much of the time as a radio host. But on this night, he was just a driver. And he saw a figure ahead, on the side of the road, a brief pause in a long fog. But he knew exactly who it was, and he took five seconds to collect himself.

And he let her in. Because he know on this very stretch of road, one year to the day before that day that was ten years ago on a night just like tonight, a woman died. Oh, not the woman by the side of the road, she was still alive. Or she IS still alive. The woman who died was an old woman.

And this old woman did not die in a mill fire, there are no old mills in Night Vale, it had just been this woman’s time to go. And this way of passing was mundane. The way that death always is. But still. He mourned the loss of what had been a part of his life.

“Where you headed?” he said. And the woman from the side of the road spoke in a voice that sounded like – a normal voice, like anyone’s voice. “You know where,” it said. “You know where I want to go.” And he did know, because well, she called him and told him where she wanted to go. “I want to go home,” she said. And he looked into her eyes and he saw the familiar face – of his older sister, Abby. She looked tired because she, too, had been thinking about that woman who had died. Because before that old woman had been just a memory. She’d been their mother. The unveiling of the gravestone had been that day and… There were stories to tell. Too many stories, and the weight of them started to seem physical. And now this, her car breaking down on the side of the road?

“The service was nice,” she said. “I think Mom would have…” she said. “Yeah um, yeah. Mom would have,” he said.

See, my mother disappeared when I was only 14. Abby had just started school, but she had to drop out to return home and raise me, and I thought that Mom would be back at any moment, like maybe she was away on business. Our out for a walk. Or just hiding.

But Mom did not come back, not for my entire childhood. And I was petulant and subversive, and Abby was reserved and controlling and she blamed me for having dropped out of school and I blamed her for just… not being Mom.

But in our adulthood, my mother did return home, sick and sorry to two children who barely spoke to each other in the morning. But we came back together to be with her and Mom… [softly] She looked older than she was. And her face – was gone. And in its place was the face that time had given her. She’s lost many battles to herself. Alcohol, debt, and lack of treatment or even awareness of a mental illness.

See, some creatures have claws, and and and and some have have pincers and and and some have venom, but some creatures have wings. And Mom flew away, when all other defenses failed her. But still, Abby and I started talking to each other, once again, trying to heal ourselves and navigating that dark and narrow path of forgiveness. And then a few months later – Mom left us again. This time for good. And a year after that on a night just like tonight, a man drove his sister home. And she gets out of the car, and and and she goes into her house, and and and he drives away, it’s it’s simple it’s this, then this, then this, then this, then this.

You see, the reality of ghost stories is that they would be comforting, not scary, if they were true like reassuring proof that we go on, after the after. Or a chance to speak with someone that we will never be able to speak with again, but instead we live in a story about us, and about our relationships, and about our families, and the choices of our families going back and back and back. And this story in the same way that a ghost story is scary because it is – unresolved. And filled with symbolism that we just don’t understand.

And family history, after all, is just another kind of ghost story. So ten years ago, on a night just like tonight, when the fog lay heavy on the lowlands, a man drove his sister home. And eleven years on a night just like tonight, their mother died, and it didn’t –mean- anything, but it happened. And the sister stood by and watched it happen and the brother, talked on the radio and didn’t even know that it had happened until afterwards, and there was nothing that they could have done. But still they regretted everything they didn’t do, and when she called to tell him what had happened, they were both silent for ten. full. seconds.

[sighing] [long beat] Thirty years ago, on a night just like tonight I, I tripped on this wire, here at the radio station, and now sometimes I can still feel it. Fifty years ago on a night just like tonight, a baby was born. Oh, no one important to this story, babies are always being born. A hundred years ago there was a war, or not, you know, a hundred years ago exactly but more or less a hundred years ago on a night just like tonight, there was a war. On a night just like tonight 300 years ago, a woman picked up a handful of grass on a sunny day and realized she was not living the life that she wanted to live. She was not sure why she picked up that handful of grass, she was not sure why she did that either. On a night just like tonight 600 years ago, feudalism. [long beat] I think. I’m actually not quite sure when feudalism was.

Oh, a 1,000 years ago on a night just like tonight, a man had the best pear he would ever have. But he didn’t know it at the time, he just thought, “Wow, this is a really good pear. 1,002 years ago on a night nothing like tonight, the same man would have the worst pear he would ever have. Oh, but he knew it at the time, he was like, “Agh, this is a terrible pear!” 3,000 years ago on a night just like tonight, people scraped in the dirt for food or they looked for it in trees or, they reached their hands into water and came out clutching what they found there, which in essence was another day of life, and they took that, wriggling, into their bodies and consumed it. 22,000 years ago on a night just like tonight – trees. That one I’m entirely sure of. There were a lot of trees then. And now but then, more of them now. 103,000 years ago on a night just like tonight, a child felt very bad about something that he had one, but not knowing how to make up for it, he ran away. But then having nowhere else to go, he returned home the next day to a family that had already forgiven him. 100 million years ago on a night just like tonight, there was (-) and stars and accidental beauty that would not be described as beauty for millions of years, and colors that were not colors just yet, just a different type of light.

And millions of years later, a man would drive his sister home because he loved her, and because it was their story to tell, they were living in a ghost story that did not have the comfort of fear, but merely a dull ache and tangle, at the heart of it. And millions of years before that, a volcano erupted and for just one moment, it looked like a fountain of jewels, but no one was around to see it happen. And hundreds of millions of years later, there would be babies born at every moment and everyone would see everything happening and it would always be so loud, but millions upon millions of years ago, before ghost stories, before even stories, it was quiet sometimes, sometimes it was quiet for a long time. Hundreds of millions of years ago it was very, very quiet for a very long time.

[long silence] And then of course, there was small talk. Laughter and love. Love of every kind. And getting to sit next to your sister, watching her daughter, your niece, in her first ever ballet fight. Feeling – lucky to be haunted by the family that you have. Huh. Well. That’s my story submission.

And it looks like I got it in just in time, as the City Council indicates that the ghost story competition is coming to a close, and they will announce their dinner very soon. Win-winner! Winner! They will announce the winner very soon, that’s yeah mm hm, yeah.

Stay tuned next for that uncertain moment of silence between the last word spoken and the first applause. And from a night that is so much like tonight, as to almost be – indistinguishable.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

[applause]

Meg Bashwiner: Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor with original music by Disparition. [applause]

#ghost stories #welcome to night vale #wtnv transcripts #this was a really moving live show #the last part is so beautiful

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realityisonlythebeginning · 8 years ago

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*whispers* I need some fic. *yells* Please! It's been FOREVER since you posted any! (Well 2 weeks, technically) *cries hysterically* I'm going crazy without Robron! Fic is the only thing keeping me hanging on. *yells through tears* Please?!? Take pity on a poor talentless idiot who misses her boys! *whispers* sorry for this ask, I really am losing it. :-(

Hiiii!

Okay so I don’t have any fic to post on AO3 but I’m awfully nice and can’t resist a message like this so I sat down and came up with this for you…I hope it helps a little ☺️

—————————————–Aaron flicked the switch up and down a few times until Robert huffed in annoyance,“It’s not gonna work.”Aaron looked over at him, narrowing his eyes slightly and flipping the switch again,“Aaron!”He laughed as he dropped his hand,“Calm down. It’s just a power cut.”Robert leant over the counter and looked out of the window,“House over the road has lights.”Aaron shrugged as he pushed himself up to sit on the other counter,“So?”He reached for a biscuit from the half empty packet, making a mental note to put more on the shopping list,“So…means there’s something wrong with our lights.”Aaron chewed the biscuit and nodded his head toward the utility,“Checked the fuse box?”Robert threw his hands up, voice drenched in sarcasm,“Of course! The fuse box. Never thought of that, thank god you’re here.”Aaron scoffed,“Alright, no need to be like that.”“Don’t suggest stupid things then.”He jumped from the counter,“Deal with it yourself.”He started to leave, pulled back suddenly by Robert’s hand around his wrist,“I’m sorry.”Aaron raised his eyebrows, letting Robert pull him in with a roll of his eyes; instinctively reaching for his waist,“It’s just a power cut.”Robert put his arms around Aaron’s neck,“I just want this place to be perfect. And if there’s a problem then I need to know.”Aaron smirked,“Control freak.”Robert scoffed,“Lazy arse.”Aaron pulled him close,“Best watch your mouth Sugden.”Robert pushed a hand through the man’s hair,“Oh yeah?”Aaron nodded,“Yeah.”Robert smiled as he closed the gap between them, kissing him with a satisfied moan. Aaron’s mouth had just fallen open when the crack of thunder pulled them apart with a start,“Jesus.”They looked at one another in surprise,“That explains the power cut then.”Robert was staring up at the ceiling, as though expecting the lightning and thunder to come straight through the roof,“Robert?”He didn’t answer him, focused on the ceiling as the rain started, heavy against the window,“Robert?”He looked at him, eyes slightly wide,“Did you count how far the-”He gripped Aaron tightly as another crack of thunder happened,“Oh my god!”Aaron couldn’t stop the smile from creeping to his lips,“You’re not scared are you?”Robert scoffed, stepping back,“Course I’m not. Don’t be stupid.”The sky outside light up brightly as lightning struck, followed seconds later by a crack of thunder,“Fuck the fuck off that was right above us!”Aaron looked down at the hands that were tangled in his shirt,“Robert-”“Yes! Okay? I hate thunder. Go ahead laugh at me.”Aaron opened his mouth just as the sky lit up again. He reached up quickly and covered the man’s ears with his hands; grinning at him as he squeezed his eyes shut,“Okay?”Robert nodded as Aaron lowered his hands,“Since when are you scared of thunder?”Robert looked around,“Can we move from the kitchen? If that strikes above us, we’re de-oh come on that’s right above us now!”Aaron cupped his cheek,“Muppet. Come on.”He led him through to the sofa,“Sit.”Robert pulled him down with it,“It’s just noise.”Robert pushed his hands through his hair,“Yeah I’m not a child.”Aaron bit his tongue to keep from making a comment, instead he gripped Robert’s hand,“I don’t mean that…I’m trying to-”He winced in pain as Robert squeezed his hand tightly at another crack above them,“Okay! Explain…explain why you’re scared?”Robert rubbed his face,“I just…I’m not scared. I just…hate it. Just drop it.”Aaron looked at him; all traces of humour gone,“Okay. Okay I’ll drop it.”He rubbed the man’s back as he pushed the balls of his palms into his eyes and clenched his jaw at the noise above him,“God, why is it so loud?!”Aaron hated the way his voice cracked,“It’s okay.”Robert didn’t answer him; Aaron was about to speak again when he heard him humming to himself. He leant down and tried to figure out what the song was, wracking his brain until he placed it, he rubbed Roberts back rhythmically and pulled him closer, leaning into his ear he started singing the words quietly,“Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me…”Robert mouthed the words as well; keeping his hands where they were and going over and over it until a solid five minutes had passed without any thunder. Aaron looked out at the window then leant over and kissed Robert’s head,“I think it’s passed.”Robert took a few deep breaths then lowered his hands and looked over at the window,“Still raining.”Aaron sat back,“Yeah but rains fine. Might clear that bird shit from the upstairs window.”Robert gave a small laugh, making Aaron smile as he nudged him,“You okay?”Robert looked at him,“Yeah…yeah I’m okay. Sorry about…all this. Managed to keep it secret.”Aaron put his fingers through Roberts hair,“It’s fine. Put up with enough from me.”Robert shrugged, busying himself with picking at a thread on a cushion,“Yeah but you’ve got reasons.”Aaron frowned,“It’s not a competition, mate.”Robert paused a moment then met his eye,“Bit pathetic innit? Thirty year old man freaks out over thunder. Even…dogs don’t freak out.”He pushed his hands through his hair again as Aaron moved around, kneeling in front of him and taking his hands,“Robert…look at me.”Robert met his eye somewhat reluctantly and Aaron squeezed his fingers,“I’m scared of spiders. Fucking terrified of them.”Robert cracked a smile; the memory of Aaron screaming and shouting before falling from the shower after seeing the creature was still amusing,“Yeah.”Aaron shrugged,“Fears are fears.”Robert nodded, staring down at their joined hands,“I have some bad memories…associated with thunder. And when it happens it just…brings it all back. And I can’t-”He exhaled sharply,“I hate it.”Aaron pushed his hands up and down his forearms,“And the song?”Robert gave a small smile, still staring at Aaron’s hands, “My mum used to listen to it. When I was little…I remember sitting in the kitchen and it was on the radio. Makes me calm.”Aaron nodded slowly,“How did you deal with it? With Chrissie?”Robert scoffed,“Hid it…managed pretty well. You’re the uh…you’re the first one I’ve ever told.”He shrugged,“You’re the first person I’ve felt safe enough around to know.”Aaron stared up at the man; his heart fit to burst with how much he loved him,“Tell you what.”Robert met his eye,“What?”Aaron smiled,“You protect me from the spiders, and I promise…you’ll never have to be alone during thunder. Okay?”Robert smiled at him, a smile that still made Aaron’s heart skip a beat,“We got a deal?”Robert pulled him in; pressing their lips together before breaking away and resting his forehead against Aaron’s,“Deal.”Aaron cupped the back of his neck and closed his eyes, smiling gently as he massaged circles into the man’s skin. Suddenly the room filled with the sound of the TV, the place lighting up brightly, the two men broke away and looked around,“Hey. See? Told you. Just a power cut.”Robert stared into Aaron’s eyes with a small smile,“Yeah.”Aaron grinned kissing him quickly then standing up,“So…about that dinner you were gonna cook me?”He headed toward the kitchen as Robert smiled to himself, wiped his cheeks and stood up, he watched his husband as he got a beer from the fridge and smiled before heading over toward him. All thoughts of panic and thunder finally ebbing away.

#emmerdale #robron #quick fic #Robert sugden #Aaron dingle

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poop4u · 4 years ago

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The Thunder from Up Over

#Poop4U

Last week we had one hell of a thunderstorm in the middle of the night, and for only the second time in five months, Skip barked in his crate. (The first time he had diarrhea.) Skip is normally a dream dog in his crate. He goes in happily, lies down and goes to sleep. Skip has been a “downstairs dogs” since he came, at first because I followed generic house training rules to introduce him to one area of the house at a time, and then he injured himself and couldn’t go upstairs at all. So right now he sleeps downstairs in his crate, while all the rest of us sleep upstairs. (Upstairs privileges are on the agenda for this month.)

While I blearily decided what to do, it being 2 AM, Skip let out a heartbreaking howl after an especially loud boom, and I scurried downstairs and began a counter conditioning program. It’s easy, if you can call anything easy at 2 in the morning. Skip and I lay on the rug, and every time it thundered I said “Thunder Treats!” and gave him a treat. The idea is as simple as the execution–teach the dog that thunder means something really good is about to come. Classical counter conditioning is a powerful tool, and I didn’t hesitate it use it right away at the first sign of Skip being afraid of thunder.

I’ve had great luck with it with my own dogs, and also with hundreds of clients. It was heartening, but no surprise then to see that a survey of dog owners found it to be more effective than other methods of treating thunder phobia. You can read about it here in Zazie Todd’s Companion Animal Psychology blog, where she writes about a study that finds classical conditioning and “relaxation therapy” to be the most effective method of dealing with thunder. (As described by owners.)

Of course, it’s not simple if your dog is so frightened that he won’t take food. In that case, you have to start at a much earlier point. I wrote the steps to take in a post of mine from May 2009. I include them here because thunder season is starting here in the Midwest, and if there was ever a time to jump on it, now’s the time. (I highly recommend doing this to prevent thunder phobia if you live in an area with a lot of thunder storms.)

From May 2009:

Counter Classical Conditioning: This is the first treatment I recommend, and it is especially effective in mild or moderate cases. I’m doing it now to prevent thunder phobia in Will, who is one of the most sound sensitive dogs I know, but so far has not reacted with any anxiety to thunder. In this paradigm (described in a a general sense in The Cautious Canine), you pair something the dog adores (food or play best) with a damped down version of what scares him. Your goal is to condition your dog to associate thunder with something he loves, so that his emotional response to the loud noise is “Oh boy!” rather than “Oh No!”

To get this to work:

~ You need to start at whatever stimulus first elicits any sign of fear in the dog. Dogs backward chain storms so well that you can use them as meteorologists… beginning to pace and whine when the wind comes up, and in extreme cases, when the barometer drops long before the storm rolls in.

~ The thunder or other stimulus has to be mild enough to prevent eliciting extreme fear (you can also use CDs or tapes of thunder, but need to have speakers distributed around the room, overhead being best).

~ The “treat” (food or play) has to be highly desirable so that the emotional response it elicits is more powerful than any fear elicited by the thunder.

~ The thunder/noise has to come first… so that it becomes a predictor of something good.

~ You need to proceed in a step-by-step manner, gradually linking louder and louder thunder with the food or play.

In other words, you hear thunder in the far distance, you say “Oh boy! Thunder Treats!” and give your dog a piece of chicken, or throw the ball if they are more motivated by play. Your goal is for your dog to emotionally respond to thunder as a predictor of something good, just like a clicker in clicker training.

Yeah, I know. Believe me, I’ve been through it myself with several dogs. You see the problem here…. how, exactly, does one make arrangements for thunder storms to begin in May with tiny, little quiet thunderettes and then gradually work their way up into glass-rattling boomers once your dog is ready for it? Well, you can’t (if you can, please write soon), but you can give your dog the ‘treat’ (I used food for Pip and play for Luke & Willie) whenever the thunder is relatively quiet, and then just stop once it becomes loud. I’d run outside with Luke and play ball when the barometer dropped and the wind came up, continue playing until the thunder started far away, and then come inside when the thunder began to get so loud that it would overwhelm Luke’s love of ball play. Then we’d go inside, I’d let him hunker beside me, rub his belly, sing and laugh. He got through it in two seasons (I’d call his case a moderate one, not at all severe, while Pip was severe for a few years but came through it fine after two summers of thunder = chicken.).

Back to the present: More thunder is expected this week, so I’ll be cooking up some chicken and getting other treats ready for Skip’s counter conditioning. There’s lots more to read on this topic if you’d like, I’ve written several posts about this topic, it being such a critical issue here in thunder alley. You can read about it (and my changing perspectives) in blogs on May 8, 2009, and June 26, 2018, or go to the Learning Center in my website.

I should also mention, that since I wrote those earlier blogs, a new medication, Sileo, specifically designed for noise phobias has been released. Several people commented in earlier blogs that they had found it helpful. I’ve personally had no experience with it, so chime in if you have.

MEANWHILE, back on the farm: Picture perfect weather allowed us to have a picture perfect night in the tent on Saturday night. I wouldn’t say it was the best sleep we’ve ever had, due to the nearby, and seemingly unceasing, chorus of coyote yips, howls and tremolos. Tootsie, by the way, seems to love the tent because she gets to sleep in the bed all night. (Another reason why sleeping in the tent is not the place for a good night’s sleep. Toots is not allowed on the bed in the house because she has fallen off of it, landing in a terrified, and terrifying, thump at dark-thirty in the morning.) In the tent we surrounded her with pillows, and carefully arrange our legs on either side of her and try not to move much.) Speaking of picture perfect, the dogs lined up like this on their own while Jim was building a fire, and if it didn’t call for a photograph, I don’t know what does.

The colors this time of year are so rich and varied. I loved this simple view of our Lilac tree in front of the light green Sunburst Locust.

Speaking of color, we have one Tree Peony bush that blooms for just a few days in the heat, but oh my, when it does . . .

The butterflies and bees are out in abundance now. Last night, a pair of Swallowtails flitted over and around my head in what I am guessing was a mating dance. They were so busy getting busy that they were oblivious to me–I expected them to alight in my hair while a bluebird perched on my shoulder and Bambi nuzzled my hand. Here’s one busy gathering food.

One more thing before I go. I have made it a point to avoid anything even vaguely political in this blog since its inception thirteen years ago. That decision was as much for my sake as for others; I wanted, and still want, this site to be a place that provides knowledge about human-animal relationships, and the joys and challenges of this remarkable miracle that we call life. Disagreements and controversies regarding training methods and beliefs have always been welcomed, as long as they are done with compassion and respect.

However, the events of the last week and a half in our country are so huge, and so critically important, that it feels unethical to ignore them here. I have struggled how to handle this for days–say something or say nothing? I’m aware that having a public forum is an honor, and should not be taken lightly. There are reasons for me to continue staying out of current events even today. I’ve received many comments over the years from people thanking me for keeping the tone and focus off of anything that doesn’t relate to animals and animal behavior.

But I have to say something today about what’s going on in our country–our poor, challenged, partially broken country. I just have to. Here is all I’ll say here: Jim and I believe that enough is enough. That there is deeply ingrained racism in this country that has been highlighted by the brutal, and heartbreaking, murder of George Floyd. That police departments need more support for community policing, for cops who bravely call out colleagues who betray the public’s trust, and less emphasis on violent, aggressive behavior. Jim and I are doing our parts as best we can. We’ve marched with protest signs in a small group of socially distanced friends. (Afterward I thought I should have made a sign that said “Old people for Equality.”) We’ve made numerous contributions to organizations that we feel are working toward positive and realistic changes. I’ve been involved for the last year in encouraging every citizen to vote, and I will redouble those efforts. We read and talk and listen and question and keep asking ourselves “what else can we do?”

I say this not expecting any responses; I just needed to say it. I apologize for breaking the “rules,” but as the duck said in the movie Babe, “That’s a good rule. But sometimes rules need to be broken.” I’ll post short comments related to this that are compassionate and respectful, but promise to avoid letting the blog be overwhelmed by controversy.

Thanks for hearing me out. Stay safe friends; let’s be careful out there.

Poop4U Blog via www.Poop4U.com Trisha, Khareem Sudlow

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an-escapism-blog · 7 years ago

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SALVATION

“Where are you?! Stop hiding!” He said out loud. I was in a cabinet hiding as silently as possible. My heart was racing and I was having a hard time catching my breath. I didn’t know how it ended up like this. I didn’t expect to be so caught up in this. I just wanted some money. Sigh, you’re probably wondering how I ended up in this mess, so here is my story.

My name is Finn. I am a poor 24 year-old house painter. I guess I’m not really satisfied with my job. Anyway, I was hired yesterday to paint this old gigantic house near the street. This house was owned by some rich woman who wanted her house to look more modern and all that since it looked old and crappy. To be honest, it looked really hideous from the outside. Anyway, I should probably stop judging her house since she’s paying me a lot. So, I stopped by and she greeted me. She was nice, I think. She got all the materials and the paint and then asked me to first paint the left side which by the way, faced her neighbour’s house very immensely. She then continued to tell me that she was going out quickly to buy food for dinner. So she locked all the doors, let some house painter she didn’t knew outside her house, and left.

I climbed the ladder, and then started to paint. While I was painting, I could see through the neighbour’s window and I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was a man filled with blood on his clothes. His face wasn’t visible and he just wasn’t moving anymore. I felt sick to my stomach and it was the first time I saw this much death in a room. It was terrifying so I quickly went down the ladder and got my phone. I immediately called the police and waited for about 10-15 minutes. While waiting, I quickly climbed up the ladder and checked if the corpse was still there, but the curtains were closed!

The police arrived, knocked on the door, and then someone faced us. It was a tall man with a beard and it was pretty noticeable that he was puzzled by the presence of the police. He told us that his name was Luke. The officer told him that he was going to search the whole place to find a corpse and the man was surprised as to what he has heard. I told him that I saw a dead body while I was painting right beside his house, specifically in the living room. Luke was becoming a bit angry so he told the officer that he couldn’t care less if they search the whole house. He also told them that his brother would be coming soon so they should just talk to his brother instead of him. He was frustrated so he told us not to disturb him since he was going to relax and listen to music. And just like that he went upstairs to his room.

There were six rooms in the house in general. The police searched every room from corner to furniture. Every part of this house was inspected and even I joined in searching where the dead body could have been hidden. Night time was arriving and unfortunately we could not find it anywhere. The police were doubting my accusations at this point but something within me tells that beneath these walls lies a dark mystery.

The other brother finally arrived and he introduced himself as Brooke. I was immediately amazed at how much they resembled each other. Maybe they were twins, I don’t know, I really should focus on the situation here. He told us that there were only two people living in this house which was him and his brother, Luke. The police asked Brooke if they could search the room upstairs which was the last room to be inspected. We went to the room and began to look. Luke was silently lying in bed with his eyes closed listening to an unknown artist. I guess this is what he meant when he said he was going to “relax.”

I could tell that he really was unbothered while we were searching. The officer looked at the window of this room only to find out that there was a large tree in the back of this house. The officer ordered the police to try and climb down to this tree while carrying another person to see if it was possible. The police then tried one by one to see if it was possible but apparently, it wasn’t.

While the Officer was still interrogating, Brooke told his brother to turn the music off since it was too loud. The music stopped while he was still lying silently and still in his position. At this point, everything at the house was already searched through. The police have concluded that my story was clearly false. We went back downstairs and apologized to Brooke, and despite my unwillingness, I also apologized.

I was back in my small apartment since they asked me to go home. The woman also told me to just start painting tomorrow. Anyway, I was still thinking about where the corpse was hidden. How did the corpse disappear when there were literally no way out? Was this all really a product of my imagination? I was perplexed. When suddenly without a doubt, I went outside of my apartment and ran all the way back to that house. I ran as fast as I could. It was the most absurd thing I could think of, but nothing could stop me from finding out what really was beneath those walls.

The next thing I knew, I was already trespassing and I thought that if I climb their large tree, I would be able to enter the house and searched through more. So I climbed silently until I reached the part near the upper room’s window. I noticed that Luke was still in the same position as when we left him. I observed a little longer when suddenly something made sense. I entered the room quietly and walked carefully. I searched through the room and found Luke’s phone beside him. Luckily, it had no passcode so I turned it on and found out that the music was put into timer! I went closer to Luke who was lying peacefully and then I did it. I checked his pulse and in that moment, I confirmed that he was dead all along. The corpse was Luke! What we have been searching for was here in plain sight. I immediately went inside of the nearest closet and called the police one more time. The officer answered and I asked him to come back to the house. He immediately declined so I told him that I finally found the corpse, when unexpectedly the sound of footsteps entered the door. I stayed silent, hoping that the person would leave, but my phone released a noise. It was the voice of the officer, and then someone shouted, “Where are you?! Stop hiding!” and I found out that it was Brooke who was yelling.

So enough of the flashback, here I am panicking and paranoid. But I thought that this would be my chance to know what really happened. Is he the killer? If he is, then why would he murder his own brother? I was so curious in finding out the truth so I spoke to the phone and said “Officer, listen carefully and quickly come here right now!”

I went outside the wardrobe and asked, “Why did you kill your brother?” I told him that his brother was the corpse we’ve been looking for hours. I then pushed his brother which was unresponsive, confirming that it was dead all along. He became furious. I told him “This was a great plan of yours I suppose, but it did not go well. Right after you saw me discover the body, you immediately washed the blood away, dressed him and made him lie on this bed. Then, you came to disguise as your dead brother and meet us and the police.” He screamed at me and told me to stop, but I didn’t have any plan on stopping. I then explained more and said “You are twins if I’m not mistaken, it would be easy for you to fool strangers since your faces are identical. To make your alibi better, you said that you were going to listen to music so we should not disturb you. After you went upstairs you put the music on timer and you used the tree to climb down and then you re-entered the front door of your house as yourself! Isn’t that right?” I said.

He stopped for a moment and after a long pause he shouted “I am the killer! I killed him! Do you know what I’ve been through?” As he was uttering these words to me he put out a knife. I believe he has gone insane at this point. I quickly ran through the house and locked myself in a room so he couldn’t get me. It was traumatizing and suddenly I heard his footsteps once again. While he was walking slowly, I checked if the phone was still on and the police was still listening. I was just hoping that they were on the way since this madman could potentially end my life. Brooke uttered, “I have no money anymore! He was constantly blackmailing me! I was living in hell because of him. I was tired and I couldn’t bear it anymore!”

I had no idea what he was saying. All I could do was wait for the police to arrive and save me from this madness. I could hear Brooke’s footsteps become louder. It was like death fetching me instead of the police. I suddenly heard him again saying, “I was drunk driving, I thought I could trust him! You would never understand how much I struggled. So now that I killed him, I can finally live my life!” he said. I then saw a lot of newspapers which contained all the same hit-and-run case. It says here that a man died because of it. As I was reading the case, Brooke’s story made sense now. He ran over the man in the newspaper and he told Luke about it so Luke abused him and constantly asked Brooke for money or else he would send Brooke to jail! Brooke is now barging at the door repeatedly. I am panicking, but luckily I now hear the Cops siren. I then uttered, “Salvation.”

Few weeks passed and Finn was enlightened. He finally realized his potentials and decided to use his skills and pursue his dream which is to become a detective.

About the author:

Timothy Caballa is an aspiring web designer. He believes in the saying “Fake it till you make it” and he also likes to talk to his dog sometimes.

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