#and they all started yelling at me that there was a giant semi truck behind us that wasn't going to do that

[stackyshenanigans]

A lot of the time I feel embarrassed or shame when I say I'm autistic because I'm self-diagnosed and there's a small margin of error in that, because all I have to go off of are online evaluations and knowing that it runs in my family

But then my mom will make fun of me for something stupid like. Going the speed limit or something similar. and I get so upset and frustrated because HOW am I supposed to know which rules are "okay" to break?? Trying to navigate unspoken social norms is the worst fucking part of being neurodivergent and it makes me want to cry.

[scully-xo]

Quantum Files part 6 of 7

Fictober, part 6 / My version of fictober: No beta readers. Quick drafts. Incomplete, though outlined. Next chapter to follow in a few days. Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2022

AO3 Link

X-Files/Quantum Leap crossover, rated T, words 2920/10854, Canon Divergence, Pining, Slow Burn (kind of), Angst

Chapter: 1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 

https://youtu.be/y9Hqn8x6a8s / ‘Songbird’ by Fleetwood Mac

***

Chapter 6

It came after 6 days. The last leap. Not a week! Mulder wanted to yell. You cheated me out of a day! But, of course, no one was listening.

With each unsuccessful leap home, three altogether, Scully drew inside herself. The few smiles he’d wrangled out of her in their time together were long gone. She didn’t ask him questions, nor did she answer his when he attempted to change the subject. It was like she only had energy to exist in his space while she was here. To sit silently and watch the world around them. He caught her looking at him, like she wanted to memorize his face. It was something he recognized, because he was trying to do it himself.

Their connection was tenuous - always had been. It began in person, a few brief moments he cherished, but it had been forged from light, her projected image shining out at him. Now she flickered, crackled - tiny lightning-bolts arcing through her façade. Or was it all in his head? Had his visions of her become more real than her manifestations? Or with each leap, was he surely, inevitably, fraying the threads that let her appear to him? Would the day come that he wouldn’t see her at all? Or would he continue like normal, talking to a figment that truly wasn’t there?

He was in a semi, driving along a deserted highway. Tall green redwoods on either side told him he was on the north-west coast. Gray skies and rain-blackened asphalt beneath told him it was spring.

He’d never driven one of these giant trucks, but like everything else he knew how to do when he leaped into a body, it felt completely natural. His gnarled, wrinkled hands knew which levers to push to activate the windshield wipers. His feet moved on the accelerator with just enough force to drive smoothly. Fog began to move over the road, wispy apparitions that looked like they were materializing from the trees themselves. He slowed, applying precise pressure to the brakes, and scanned the road ahead. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sensed Scully appear. Her hair was escaping from the ponytail she wore, crimson tendrils cascading over her neck. She never looked more tired. Hopefully this would be one of the last times she would appear to him, and things would go back to how they were… before.

“Just… be careful, Mulder.” 

He didn’t turn his head, heeding her advice and keeping his eyes peeled on the road ahead. Pushing the brake a little bit more, he slowed to a speed that would surely aggravate anyone traveling behind him. So far, though, it was deserted.

He reached his hand to the console between them. The barrier was nothing compared to the one that separated them by an unknown distance and time. Somehow, he didn’t have to look to sense that she put her hand near his, her pinkie intersecting with his own. 

“Don’t do anything heroic. Stick to the plan.”

He turned then, for a brief second, and gave her a tight smile. “Me? Heroic. Think you have the wrong guy, Scully.”

He heard her sigh, then everything was quiet. The rain began to spatter on the car, dotting the windshield with translucent spheres in an unpredictable pattern. Like his leaps. Moving from one person to another. No determining factor except they were all normal folk, people who had bad things happen to them. Moments in time that created a forked path. The raindrops made rivulets against the glass, then were washed away by the wipers, only to start over. Again and again.

Sometimes, he wouldn’t know what decision he would have to make. But today, the moment seemed obvious. Ahead of him, the bright lights of another semi shone against the mist, fuzzy and indistinct. Unmistakable, though, in the long stretch of road.

Mulder braked, and the truck hissed and slowed as he pulled over to the shoulder of the deserted highway. He switched on the hazard lights. Turned to Scully, her outline indistinct like the fog that swarmed outside the cab.

“Remember, Mulder.” Her eyes pleaded with him and then she was gone.

He stared at the passenger seat for a few seconds, repeating her words to him like a mantra. Of course, he’d remember. How could he not? Switching on the CB radio, he turned the dial to the channel that most drivers used to communicate with each other, and spoke into the mike.

“Any trouble over there? Over.”

Only the crackle of static. But underneath it, oh so quiet, he thought he heard a voice.

Hanging up the mike, Mulder checked the side-mirror for any traffic and jumped down to the road, his hand grasping familiar handholds so he wouldn’t stumble. The truck ahead of him was carrying oil or natural gas, its rotund trailer appearing in the mist as he walked forward. The gravel underneath his cowboy boots crunched, and he hunched into his jean jacket and ratty ballcap. Did the previous driver continue on, concerned with his own payload?

As the other semi solidified as he grew closer, his own truck all but disappeared. One last look behind him, one more hesitation. I have to do this right. He knocked, a loud double rap that shattered the foggy silence around him. No response.

“Hey, need any help in there?” he shouted, stepping onto the running board and peering into the cab. The windows were rolled up against the rain. Wiping the moisture from the window and cupping his hands around his eyes, he looked closer, but all he saw was the faint outline of seats in the darkness. No one slumped over the steering wheel, or against the window. Maybe… maybe this wasn’t what he was supposed to fix?

As he stepped down, though, he heard something. The same noise he’d heard on the radio, but louder. A voice, high-pitched and muffled. He couldn’t hear what they said, but he knew the tone. Fear. Desperation.

Maybe this was where he was supposed to be.

There was a switchblade sheathed on his belt. He retrieved it and flipped it open with a flick of his wrist. Testing the handle of the door to the sleeper of the cab, finding it unlocked, he eased it open silently.

“Hey, what the fuck?” a gruff voice from deep inside the cab yelled out. 

The driver scrambled for something, but Mulder didn’t wait. He lept into the cab and tackled him against the opposite door. Thank god, the body he inhabited, despite his age, was fit and strong. Wiry muscle and adrenaline fueling his effort to hold him down, to pin his arms behind his back and press his face against the seat.

And then Mulder saw her.

A girl, no more than 14. Julie. Was it her? Or had he forgotten her face?

She was huddled at the far end of the sleeper, holding onto her left arm. Her face was bloodied, her bottom lip swollen. Green eyes, red-rimmed and furious, shone out at him over an oversized sweatshirt. Tattered jeans and tennis shoes curled up against her chest. 

He saw red; his own on rage drowning out every other thought. When he slammed the driver against the wall, heedless of whatever metal handles or knobs dug into the other man’s face, he squealed in pain.

“This ain’t what it looks like. She’s my niece.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Mulder gripped the knife. He knew what to do with it. This person he inhabited must have been a hunter. Slide the knife right here, that was the kidney. Or maybe a bit lower, the stomach, to make it painful. No less than he deserved.

“Do it.” a hoarse voice commanded.

Mulder looked back. Julie, or not-Julie, watched from the shadows, back straight and a dangerous glint in her eyes. But her hand trembled as she held onto her injured arm. Even if she could take some satisfaction from it, he couldn’t kill this guy in front of her. More violence in an already violent life. He had a choice, and he would make the right one this time. For her. What he needed to do was make sure she would be okay. That she would be safe. That she couldn’t disappear again. Run off into the darkness, only to find someone else to victimize her.

He should radio the police. Get this fucker put away so he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. But who knew how long he’d have to stay, needing to be a witness for a crime the person who’s body he inhabited wouldn’t remember?

There was only one thing to do. Mulder cold-cocked the guy, leaving him unconscious on the narrow floor of the sleeper cab. He turned to Julie.

“I’m gonna help you, okay? Take you somewhere safe.”

“You’re not gonna kill him?”

“I’m gonna radio some guys I know, they’ll take him to the police–”

“No police.”

Mulder sat on the seat, keeping his distance. Nodded. “No police. But you need that arm checked out.”

Fear flashed through her eyes for a second, disappearing under her defiant mask. “No hospital.”

“Where can I take you?”

Her jaw clenched. “Who the fuck are you? How do I know you’re not just like him?”

“Name’s Mulder.” Fuck. That wasn’t the name of this guy. Too late. He sighed, then snapped his blade closed and handed it to her.

“What kind of name’s Mulder?” She took the knife, drawing her hand along the pearl-inlay. Fumbling with the switch, she opened it with an awkward grip..

He shrugged. 

“That guy has a gun. I think I want that instead.” She held the knife at him, though it wavered in her hand.

Directing him under the driver’s seat, he found not only a rifle but a semi-automatic pistol, still in its holster. He unlatched it, and made sure the safety was on before handing it to her. She didn’t seem to notice, her shoulders relaxing visibly as she held onto the cold steel.

“Where can I take you?” Mulder asked. “Is there someone who can help you?”

She bit her lip, looked past him at the unconscious truck driver lying on the floor of the sleeper. Then her gaze shifted to Mulder. “I was… I was going to my aunt’s. She’s a vet tech. She…”

“Tell me where. I’ll take you.”

Julie nodded, scrambling off the bed of the sleeper and out of the cab. She stumbled as she jumped down, awkwardly holding onto the weapon with the hand of her injured arm, but Mulder didn’t intervene, just watched to make sure she wouldn’t hurt herself. He followed at a safe distance, pointing towards his truck to the rear of this one. The mist had cleared somewhat, in the few, short minutes that he’d found this girl. Ahead and behind them his truck appeared, a ghostly apparition in the fog. It’s black paint and shining grille a beacon, pulling them forward.

When they were settled inside, Julie sitting behind him awkwardly pointing the gun, he radioed the people that this body knew. Told them what they’d find here on the stretch of deserted road. Mulder had no doubt that the silence and whispered curses on the other end meant bad things for the other driver. If he was killed or badly beaten, at least it wasn’t in front of the girl.

When he revved the engine and left the tanker truck behind them, they both breathed easier. Like another chapter was ahead, and surely it was a better one.

Julie scrounged up food from the mini-fridge he had stashed in the back. The gun laid beside her, only a few inches from her hands at all times, while she got crumbs all over the upholstery. He passed back his thermos, which he tasted and thought only had coffee in it. The radio blared, tuned to a country station and he switched to it one they both preferred: classic rock. Though maybe it wasn’t so classic for her. Mulder hummed along and drummed his fingers over the steering wheel and attempted to make small talk. To find out about her. Her glare caught him in the rear-view mirror, and he stopped pretending he could be more than a temporary blip in her life.

And beside him in the passenger seat, Scully appeared. Her image blinked furiously, then solidified, though the edges of her body reminded him of the fog he was quickly leaving behind.

“Mulder.”

He didn’t look at her. He knew what she was going to say. 

“You have to turn around, Mulder.”

He shook his head, enough so she would know that he was answering, but hopefully not enough that Julie would find anything amiss.

“You’re going to miss the window, Mulder. Please. She’s safe now. That’s-that’s what it means.”

He turned his head slightly, pleading with his eyes, and he wished he hadn’t. Hands twisted in her lap, Scully was chewing on her lower lip and watching him with an agonized expression. She knew as well as he did what he was going to do.

It meant he was gone. It meant he’d be in this body forever, that the trucker would be, essentially, dead. It would mean he’d never get his answers. Would never know the touch of Scully’s hand, the feel of her lips on his own. He’d never get to live his life by her side. It’s what he wanted. More than anything. Now that it was torn from his grasp, that he would never have it, that idea solidified in his mind, as real as the trees that grew beside him. As real as  the road under his truck’s tires. A fact. But just as true as knowing she was the person he was meant to love, was that he would never get to show her.

But giving all of that up would mean Julie was safe. It was a choice he’d make over and over again.

“Please, Mulder.”

The song changed, and Mulder sang along, glancing at Scully as long as the road allowed, and as long as he could stand to see her face. 

“And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score… And I love you, I love you, I love you like never before.”

“Mulder–” Scully reached out and the absence of her hand moved against his. The heat from the sun, blazing through the trees as they drove from the mist, warmed his hand, and he imagined it’s how she would feel.

“And I wish you all the love in the world but most of all, I wish it from myself.”

Julie didn’t interrupt, or tell him to stop. Perhaps she liked the song. Perhaps she heard the tremor of emotion in his voice as he said the words to the woman who she didn’t see. 

“Mulder, I know you can’t do anything else. I dreaded the day this would happen. Knew it would, eventually. And maybe that’s why I fell in love with you, too.” Her voice faded, becoming thready and weak. “I’ll– I’ll do what I can, but…”

“I know.” 

A four-way came up, and he stopped. Julie was asleep in the back. Facing Scully, he reached his hand up to cup her face. She leaned into it, and he imagined he could feel her light.

“It was enough, you know. Meeting you. If this is all it can be, it’s enough.” Mulder caressed his thumb over her cheeks. It was only electromagnetic radiation. And maybe not even that. Chemicals firing in his brain. Making him pretend to see an illusion.

“I should have–”

“No, Scully. You did what you could. I need– I need you to move on. Don’t blame yourself. Please. I need to know you’re out there living. It’s the only thing that’ll keep me going.”

“If I know you’re out there, Mulder. I can find you. I can.”

“I know you can’t see me. But look at me. I’m at least sixty. How old are you now? Whatever time this is?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. I don’t want that for you.”

“Goddamned self-sacrificing asshole.” She smiled sadly, and pulled away, looking out the window. “I’ll stay as long as I can but… I might disappear without any warning.”

“I’ll take it.”

Her eyes were wet, but her face dry, as she looked at him. “Goodbye, Mulder.”

“Bye, Scully.”

Their hands found each other, and at least they occupied the same space if they couldn’t touch. 

She stayed for thirty minutes, and then she was gone. Eyes burning with unshed tears, he looked straight ahead, pretending that there was a ghost in the seat next to him. Julie was quiet, and he was thankful.

He drove for another two hours. Julie got to her aunt’s house. Not Julie - Vicky. Her aunt screamed her real name as she ran up to the girl stumbling out of his truck and wrapped her in a giant hug. Mulder looked away at that, blinking back tears. He should have smiled at his success, but he felt empty.

Mulder got back on the highway. He knew where he was supposed to take his cargo. He would be penalized for being late. His heart ached.

Pulling into a truck stop despite his tardiness, he laid on the bed in the back of his cab. The light of dawn shone on the horizon before his mind was empty enough to fall asleep.

He didn’t dream.

[prorevenge]

Threaten to call 911 on our house’s construction? Get your yardsale ruined...

Let me start off with a backstory. I come from a long line of firefighters, and so when a few firetrucks from the fire company the men in my immediate used to volunteer at came up for sale, my grandfather bought them and fixed them up. However, my grandpa had a town house, and only had just enough room to park them in his back yard, but not enough land to build a building to store them. When my dad bought his property with a few acres, if was decided that a barn would be build to store the firetrucks on my dads property. This property didn’t have a house and used to be designated as farm land.

Now we get into the story. When my dad wanted to build a house in this little bit of woods right off of a new neighborhood, on land he bought, he had to get the government to rezone it to be residential. This isn’t that difficult, just holding a court session to make sure nobody has any legitimate objections to the procedure. However, for some reason, one more neighbor was just too much for a decent chunk of the existing neighborhood so a bunch of them came up with every dumb reason as to why that land had to be left alone.

The woman who will feature prominently later in this story, and we’ll call Mrs. B from now on, suggested that the land would be much better suited for horses to frolic in. Nobody in the neighborhood knew of anybody in the town who owned horses, and there wasn’t enough land for horses to legally be allowed to live upon it...

So after about 2 weeks of this and similar nonsense, the court rezoned the land and finally construction of the house began. As soon as the trees were cut down the firetrucks were moved onto the property where the barn would be built once the house was done. Once all the trees were down my dad built up a burn pile to dispose of all the wood, and before he did, as well as him being a fire fighter himself, called the fire department to let them know what he was doing, and they said it’s alright because he was right in the window of land where no permit would be needed and a big bonfire also wasn’t a problem. So he lit it up.

Soon Mrs. B come strutting you the road, phone in hand, yelling at my dad that she’s calling the fire department. He tells her he is with the fire department and in case she’s blind there’s 2 firetrucks already on the property just in case (they were antiques, but they’d still get the job down and were ready to). She continues screaming so dad gets on the phone and calls the fire department once again, asking if anyone has called to complain about a fire at his property, to which they respond say no fires had been reported that day at all yet... So dad hangs up and starts calling Mrs. B the liar that she is, and to go back to her house and quit disturbing us.

We have a few more interactions like this over the process of us moving in, but nothing deters us, and so finally a barn is built for the trucks. Eventually things die down in regards to the neighbors and we make good friends with about half the neighborhood.

Now a year or so after the barn is built another local fire department my grandpa is involved with is working on selling one of their old trucks, a giant Ford Louisville model, basically a semi truck with a firetruck body. They don’t have the space to store since it’s replacement has come in, and until they find a buyer, they need a place to store it, so my grandpa offers to store it in our barn. Part of this deal involves us running the truck around once a week because letting the truck sit too long could cause damage.

Well during this time Mrs. B starts having a ton of yard sales. We noticed a few people parking on our lawn during this, not like, one tire on the grass or something, no, there are people using our yard like it’s a parking lot! We always tried to ask people to move because it is OUR lawn after all... but yet it keeps happening. One day we learn why, Mrs. B keeps telling people to park on our lawn. We figure a good solution to this is to put up a sign that’s been spray painted to say NO PARKING in big black letters, clearly legible so everyone knows. Our lawn stops being used as a parking lot for a bit...

Until one day Mrs. B decided to march on over, rip the sign off its post, rip the post out of the ground (it was all temporary so it was just temporarily duct-taped together and pushed into the ground a little), and proceed to throw into what’s left of the woods behind our house. My parents were furious. People began parking in the lawn the way they used to again the next day.

This is when my dad comes up with a genius plan.

He puts the sign back up, but he’s not done, it’s just that time to take the Ford around the neighborhood. My dad has been driving trucks like this since he’s had his license, so he knows just how to get it to do what he wants it to.

He takes it out, goes up to one end up the neighborhood, turns around, and starts headed back. This truck had a 10 speed manual transmission, and in this half mile long stretch of road, he got the diesel motor into 8th, waited until just before he reached Mrs. B’s house, and by the time he had reached the edge of her property the truck was in 3rd. Now this truck was diesel powered, and all that slowing down makes the truck roll some serious coal, with the exhaust pointed straight at the yard sale on a relatively calm day... needless to say, while nothing looked all that bad, maybe a little darker than before, the worst part was the smell. Diesel fuel stinks really bad when it’s been coal rolled.

Within a few days everything left from the yard sale was packed up into garbage bags and was sitting next to her trash can. She might have tried to call the cops, but would the cops even acknowledge her if she told them that her neighbors firetruck drove by spewing black smoke all over her yard sale items ruining them? I don’t think so...

After this, not only did she leave us alone, she stopped having yard sales all together! So point being, since Mrs. B was horrible to us that whole time we’ve owned property in the neighborhood, we cost her hundreds, if not thousands of dollars she could’ve made at that yard sale, and any others she might have had in the future.

TL;DR: An entitled neighbor try’s to prevent us from moving in, threatens to call the fire department on my fire fighter dad for making a legal burn pile, and rips down our no parking sign so that her customers can treat our lawn like a parking lot. My dad then proceeds to cost her hundreds with the help of a firetruck...

(source) story by (/u/CaptainCrutch5373)

[borkthemork]

Nightly Escapade (A Messy Drive Date Connverse Fic)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: General

Words: 5,158

Pairings: Steven/Connie (Connverse)

Summary: Movies are perfect. What's not to like about them? They're stories told on the big screen, they could leave you shaking from the flood works or clammy from the explosions and ticking timers, and, most importantly, it's the best plan if two lovers ever wanted to go on a date. For Connie and Steven: planning a movie date was easy, there's nothing better than preparing a good ole' car of refreshments for a long drive, but executing it (without it going wrong) was another thing entirely.

Reblogs are appreciated!

He should've gotten them sooner.

One could retort that he only heard of the movie details today, but he felt guilty regardless when he eyed the lack of vacancy when he tried to apply his—newly gained—credit card to it. It was a one-in-a-million (or was it a billion? He'd have to ask Connie later) experience, and since his jam bud now had access to PG-13 movies just like he did, they thought it would be a great time to start something. An adventure. Or was it a date? A cool date adventure!

…

Dateventure!

Hahaha, he was a genius!

When she arrived at his house—naïve to the idea being dashed to shreds—he told her of the lack of tickets, feeling the crummy jumble of his heart with each shift in expression Connie had. She was looking forward to this film; she would rant and rave about Ghibli films like they were cinematic masterpieces, leaving him confused but intrigued. He never touched a Ghibli film before, so it was a beginning bout of interest that made him ask what was so special about them in the first place.

"You don't understand," she lamented when asking days prior, "Princess Mononoke was way ahead with its themes and dynamics regarding nature and humans. I would trade my own hands—not really since I need them—to see it on the big screen! To see it on any type of high-definition!"

Who knew Delmarva starved for this kind of content? Well, he should've recognized this when Ronaldo brigaded him with film advice but he never really took those consolations in a serious light. Even if he did, he still would've been short of time.

Now they’re here: Connie pacing in his room under the beating weather; fingers on her chin, her shoes clicking on the floorboards with hardened focus. "Well, we could see another movie since it's not that big of a deal."

Steven was fumbling with the wrinkles of his bedsheets, the screen of his laptop closed in a subtle defeat. The guilt fettering his torso. "I'm sorry, Connie. I know that you really wanted to see it."

"Hey, it's all right." She smiled at him. "Even if we can't see the movie, why not just go on the date, anyway?"

She stumbled with the word when it came down to it, shooting him an awkward glance. His stomach was bound in a knot; this was the first time they ever mentioned it out loud.

"Yeah!" He piped up, cheeks flushed in heat. "Nothing can stop us, we're jam buds after all!"

A petal-soft laugh. "Jam buds 'til the very end."

With that, they got started. The problem with planning—and the advantage of their duo—came down to the many ideas flung around the room like paper balls in the occurring scuffle for supplies. Steven would suggest something and then Connie would add to it—flinging it back to Steven and then back to her—until the ideas they've manifested became more like snowballs the size of boulders. So the tiny notion of a movie date transformed into a nightly car date, the dondai befitting blankets, a radio, a grocery bag of snacks, and other accoutrements such as the medkit bunched in the back. When asked about it, Connie remarked with a simple, albeit embarrassed, "better safe than sorry" as they listed off their roster.

"So, let's get this plan straightened out one more time," she announced in the car, Steven saddling up his seatbelt and fiddling with the ignition. "We're only following the routes near the coastline. I have some money we could use if we ever run out of gas cans. If we see an ice cream stand, we're definitely stopping for it. And—"

"We'll drive to Viewover Point so we can watch Unfamiliar Familiar at the drive-in," he concluded, churning out a carnie accent. "Now in 3-D with a limited purchase of Archimicarus and Lisa chibi plushies for only nine ninety-five!"

She laughed. "Correct! And we'll buy ten of them, five for you and five for me."

"What about fifteen?"

"Twenty?"

"Thirty!"

"Fifty!"

Both of them exploded into giggles, Connie playfully smacking with his shoulder. "Just drive!"

The engine growled to life. With the sun still perched in the sky, the two of them drove off with a rumbling trail of radio music and road-crunched gravel, not a single worry in mind; just two best friends against the long-winding asphalt lines.

-----

There’s a thing Steven had to learn the first time he began his traverse into the world of semi-adulthood: that driving had a few loopholes that society was okay with trespassing into. In one particular memory, he attempted and went with the minimum speed range in Ocean Town—following the procedures, being loyal to the rules for the sake of being a good Samaritan—only for a cop car to drive alongside his window to force himself to speed up, whose eyebrow quirked in irritation. Apparently, the road he occupied was one lane, and the townies (ranging from a mile long) behind him weren’t happy about it.

He tried to laugh it off, brush it off like it was sand peppering his shoulders, but Connie was with him when it happened. She never let him down for it. Ever.

And that’s what lead to them bolting past the Beach City safety limits, windows popped open—gushing them with the wind—as the two hollered over the Mike Krol ratatat’ing their space. Overall, he’d like to thank Beach Town for this valuable lesson. He’ll never forget it.

“What if I told you that the world was gonna end!” Connie held an unopened granola bar, singing into it as Steven did a clean turn, the tail of their car following the drift in consecutive ease; the windows displayed to the right reflecting sheens of the calm ocean, skies bearing unrestrained galaxies from light-years away.

She directed the granola towards him, who yelled out in glee, “and you had fifteen minutes to spend with me or your friends!?”

“I guess we don’t even need to use the phone!”

“I don’t need your answer, I’ll be spending it alone!”

Cue the dance break. Connie did a little jig in her seat as he rocked his head to the remainder of the rhythm, heart battling in his chest, hoping that his attentiveness could keep them alive at the presence of the cliff that loomed to the right of them. Their laughter was of pure delight, wild and untamed, the childlike initiative riling them like cinders.

At the introduction of the woods behind an impending crossroads, he made a left turn, cutting into the Delmarva wood.

“Wait, that’s the wrong way!” Connie said.

“What!” He tried to turn it around but it was too late. The car clipped from the road, leading them scrambling in a quaking mess, the vehicle gatling its way into the unknown, into the webs of branches and darkness.

Ears pounding with the tremors.

The violent shudders.

Dissonant heaves.

And groans.

It then stopped. A warmth enveloped them in a luster of pink, the car remaining still as the creaks of its metal came to a halt. He looked over to Connie, easing his heart when he saw that she looked fine. Disoriented, confused, but fine. The windows were crowded by brambles, of hardwood needles, trickles of murk peaking in between.

He groaned, rubbing his head. The dizziness settled down. "Strawberry, you okay?"

"Roger that, biscuit." She unclipped her belt, heaving out breaths as the two of them calmed their frazzled senses, inspecting the enclosed space around them with unease. They were settled in the belly of a mechanical beast, brittle with cracked glass and wretched frame, the outside covered in dimly lit brush. "That was a close call though. The air bags didn't even work."

"Either that or my bubble’s forcing it down." He considered the sturdy barrier. It wasn't a bubble, looked more of a compartment that twitched and receded when they moved too much in the limited spacing, glowing its familiar hues and glint. He needed to meddle with this later. "We should get out though."

A brief nod. "Agreed."

He didn't know how long it took. All he could focus on was the buzz in his ears and the careful work he did to keep the bubble (morphing and melding to his command) under control as they crept out by the backseats; courtesy of Connie, who didn’t hesitate to pierce one of his windows with the medkit when the doors didn’t budge.

In the final shimmy, the two of them plopped onto an unsteady incline of dirt—the bubble dissipating—keeping hold of one another until the pathway below them cleared to unrooted ground. Glancing through the canopy overhead, Steven thought of it as a giant colander; how the moon pouring into his sights a few moments ago was now trying its best to sneak past the floral arms, to catch him even while shrouded in cold.

"Okay," Steven felt Connie's hand wrap around his, easing up as she started to move, his eyes trying his best to follow her outlines. She pointed to a mess of lights opposite the car, meshed with the silhouettes of broken-limbed shrubbery. "We came from there. Let's try to get some cell service, that way we can get a tow truck to our location and the dondai."

"Oh, man." Steven looked back at his car, a wheeze in his throat. "Yeah, we definitely need a truck because the car's donedai!"

Nothing but an awkward chuckle. "Stay focused, Steven. Let's go."

The woods were thick with underbrush. Portions coddled them in aggravating clumps, having them push and shove their way through. A good thing about Steven, however, was that they ignored this with a snap of his bubble, hamster rolling their way out through the elongated tunnel they burrowed through the brier. He would minimize it when the arching leaves and branches were too stubborn to part, and sometimes the spikes protruded from them like machetes, ready to press and nip them into splinters.

"How far did we drive in?" Connie mumbled after a few minutes passed. Leaves nested themselves in her hair, the scuffs on her arms still muddied from their vehicular escape. In all honesty, it reminded him of earlier days, where they wandered the Delmarva wood with nothing big to solve, their imagination pulling their way to the next great exploit. "It looks like we’ve gotten way off the mark."

He winced. “Don’t worry, we’ll be okay.”

“Steven, are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” He told her. “I’m just pining for a way out, you know? We’ll be fine in no time.”

“Steven, we've been at it for five minutes.”

"If that’s the case we're in a sticky situation then," Steven said, letting out a high-strung chuckle. "If I just took the right turn, we woodn't be here."

She halted in her tracks—the boy tripping from the stop, saving himself before he slammed into the bubble. "Steven, tell me."

"Hm?" He looked over, scrambling straight. "Why d'you stop?"

"Something's on your mind," she said. "And we'll not take another step until you spill the beans."

"Well, the beans are back in the trunk."

"Steven!"

He jumped. "Okay, okay! Sorry, I won't joke about beans anymore."

"That's not what I'm talking about here." She rubbed the bridge of her nose, fatigue on her lips. "Something's bugging you; I don't want to make any assumptions so you need to be honest with me." Her countenance softened, Steven bristling at the slight squeeze of his hand. "Please."

He wasn't the kind to turn the other way, especially with the plaguing memory of separation that tailed him ever since he lied to her two years ago. A promise was a promise, a solid bond of trust he’d never wanted to break, and even if the anxiety toiled and fought against him, he couldn't help but be reassured that Connie would still be there regardless. She was his jam bud. His confidant when the times oozed by. One of the few people he could open up to in a clear fashion. What was he afraid of? Nothing, hopefully.

He released a sigh—ladened, heavy-like. "I don't know, I just feel like such a dunce sometimes."

She knitted her eyebrows. With a swift beckon of her hand they sat down, still enraptured in rose pink; words soft, gesturing him forward. "And?"

"We were having such an amazing time," he crossed his legs, not helping the lean for warmth as she pulled him towards her, the thump of her pulse meeting with his own, "and we had these plans, these amazing plans, but I was able to ruin it in a single minute because I didn't follow the route." A scoff. "A new world record. It makes me wonder why I deserve you sometimes if I could mess up something simple like a dateventure."

"Hey, now!" They held contact, her voice stern. A shudder overcame him, feeling the slivers of grit in the way she spoke. "That's not true. Trust me when I say this: you're the best thing that has ever happened to me and I'll not let your self-doubt believe anything else. You messed nothing up, I’m serious about that."

"But the tickets."

"They were out before we even checked on them."

"The dondai."

"We'll find a shop that'll fix it up."

"But what about Viewover Point?"

"From what I've heard the reviews weren't that good." She shrugged, fingers weaving through his chocolate curls, careful and diligent, each press to his scalp making his lids heavy. "And I wasn't gonna enjoy the movie anyway if you weren't there to have fun with me."

“So, you’re not mad.”

“I could get mad,” Connie murmured, “but what’s there to be mad about? We’ve been through worse stuff than this, way worse, nothing will make me full-on angry with you, period. You’re important to me, and I’d rather fix our messes than leave someone else to fix it for us.”

The dance of her fingertips made him hum, clouded, lifted elsewhere to a softer portion of his mind; he wondered if Connie always had this effect on people, to calm them with the rationality and pin-point affection that they needed? Or maybe it was just him who felt that way? Maybe he cared too much? Perhaps...it was enough.

He allowed himself to breathe—in and out—until the tension in his shoulders melted to nothing; heaviness still resided, but everything appeared more comprehensible now, less complicated than what he described in his brain. With it came an idea. A goal. Something to accomplish. He affixed her a look. "When we find some wifi, would you like to stargaze with me?"

She chuckled. "Why wouldn't I, you dork?"

"I just wanted to ask." He stood up from his place, inviting her with an outstretched hand. She reciprocated, comfort collecting in his palms. "Because if we’re going to make the most of it, we might as well enjoy each other’s company."

Her hand tightened on his, thumb brushing down on his knuckles. “An adventure then.”

Steven nodded, beaming of joy—heart rattling in his chest. “A dateventure.”

“Fine.” She snorted, motioning them forward, the light at the end growing to the size of a faint firefly. “A dateventure.”

Their trek was masked in the brilliance of pink, holding on to the other as the illumination in front of them grew to the size of golf balls—relieved that the bubble saved them from bumbling ceaselessly in the dark. With their advancement, they went faster. Each spike pierced the natural fetters, leaving Steven in a fit of elation when they pushed through, their barrier popping at the final trudge.

The floor was a mess of tickling thicket. He giggled at the brambles, dirt crawled up into the niches of his jacket. Connie was beside him, stretching her legs as she stood up, noticeable in the newly acquired light.

The environment returned to quiet solitude. Steven gave it a mindful gaze: in front of him were the dug-in trenches left from the remainders of the dondai's wheel tracks, each recess printed with its cross-cross and trailing-black smears; the moon brought itself past the covering of shaded evergreen like an angel, leaving them doused in glare; the road was discernible against the earth, cracked and marked with fading yellow lines, making him wonder how deep the direction would've gone if he kept course.

Connie ushered them to walk.

The trek emulated his reveries. Calls of the night sang to them in a cacophony of rustles, hoots, and night creature scuttles; Connie, in her rousing, stopped at certain points to name plants and animals that festered around them, easy to find when she raced off to examine a retreating mammal or lizard.

"That is an owl, of course." She noted the furry-cocoon from a faraway tree, who, if one faltered their blinking, shot them split-second glances with worn yellow specs. "Probably a great-horned owl; look at the tufts on its head!"

Steven squinted. Above the brow, the bird adorned furry wisps, reminiscent of a character from Connie's favorite series. "Wow! How did you know?"

"I had a book about Delmarva geography before. I sold it since I didn’t have much use for it when I finished, but I'm surprised it came in handy now."

He pointed over to the trees. "Then what are those?"

She rubbed her chin. "If I could recall, they’re sweet gum trees...or maybe black gum. I don't remember the difference between them," she admitted.

"That's cool, though." He told her, surveying the wildlife, a wonder pooling on his own. "How come we never do nature walks? It's so peaceful here." Even if the shadows lingered, he emitted of pleasure, the crave of curiosity like a boy first exposed to something new. This was one of the few times where he didn't feel like he was about to perish under some forsaken weight; the concept of having himself run around in terror or disgruntlement long over.

“We just never had the time to. With the two years you’ve been busy and my space camp involvement, the prospect of it never hit me,” she nudged him, a zephyr trailing past them. “But it wouldn’t be too late to start now.”

He grinned. “You see any hills, captain?”

A tilt of her head. Then a pointed finger to a far off ascent. “There!”

“Race you there!” Without hesitation, Steven broke off into a sprint.

Connie, in a fit of snickers, darted after him with an undignified yell.

Fast-smeared colors. Blur of the tenebrous. The rush of one’s ears, laughing in bounding race, lighting the sky with ardor. Fireworks—music—bursting with each spring and skip, Steven crying out in gaiety. Pain and guilt weren’t his master, for he took the reins of the woodlands and made them his own; satisfaction kindling his heart to the size of a bonfire.

When he stopped he took his time gulping down air, throat blazing with invisible fire. He couldn't stop his giggles, the feeling of euphoria that rushed over him like a hyper song; Connie enduring the same, their giddiness flowing to the remains of the land—down below, sprinkling the billowing leaves of their victory.

The ground became their beds, lounging them in verdant cushion as the sky opened up to glowing display. Stars. A cascade of twinkling fires that Steven tried to frame in his hands. Bringing them to his eyes, he examined each one with starry wonderment, Connie whispering to him now and then when he asked a question.

"What about that one?" He directed a finger to the corner of the night sky.

"That’s the Big Dipper."

"And that one?"

"Mmm," she fumbled, clicking her tongue. "Aquarius? It's hard to pinpoint from all the stars—they're so bright you'd think I'm mistaking Orion for something else."

"I don't think that's a problem." He commented, fingers lifting towards the speckles, connecting each one with imaginary twine. "It just means we'll have to work harder to solve the puzzle, and as long as we got each other it shouldn't be that hard."

She released a cool wisp of air from her lips. "You're so sappy, but the sap was definitely needed."

A frown. "What's wrong about being sappy?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," she told him, sincerity leaking through. "You're the sappiest guy I've ever met and...I can't help but adore how loving you are, it just fits you so well.”

"Who, me? I'm just being my wittle self," he cooed, her laugh accompanying it.

"See?" Her hand returned to his, brushed by the moonlit turf. He felt light, the world appearing to slow down with each breath he took, heart bumping like a wave-carried boat. "Who wouldn't love to have someone like you? If I never arrived at Beach City on the day we met, then we wouldn’t even be here. Just enjoying the view."

Joy rose from his chest. "Enjoying you."

"What was that?"

"That, that was a—!" He sputtered.

She burst into laughter, cheeks dark under the light. "Oh my lord!"

"I'm sorry! It just slipped!"

"Steven!"

"I meant that I enjoy your company," his voice was desperate, cracking like a misaligned symphony. He sat up in a panic. "Not like in a weird way, I'm sorry!"

"Steven, Steven!" He went taut; she didn't look mad or grossed out or judgemental. Instead, she was hugging him, keeping him still with each moment that passed—arms returning the gesture in a tight embrace. "It's okay. It's really sweet of you!"

Steven groaned. "But it sounded so weird, I didn't mean to gross you out."

"You didn't." Connie kept him close—fondness pulling on her lips, chuckle carried off into the cool Delmarva breeze. "You're just being yourself."

Steven considered it. Even through his panic he never restrained his smile and the rush of closeness that came with it, he kept put, taking in her proximity. "Did we call a tow truck yet?"

"Oh." They pulled away. Connie rummaged for her phone. "Nope, we still have to do that."

Steven placed himself back onto the ground as she started a conversation on the phone—shadows painting her in a soothing color, moon cradling her figure. Slow and winding, gifting them of a connection that pushed him down to rest. The natural, the dark and hushed, all of his surroundings gestured to a lullaby, massaging him of burdened weight. His eyes drew closed. Exhales lingering, languid in the crisp weather.

A click of the phone resounded. Then a rustle, settling down close to him with a small grunt. Crickets chirped their song, hoots traveling overhead. "I gave them our location. We'll just have to stay put."

"That should be no problem." He stretched out. "We're the masters of it, after all."

A snort. "You’re right."

Listening to the shuffle of grass, Steven added on. "We should plan another one after this."

"Another call?"

"No, I meant the thing we're doing right now."

“The dateventure?” She asked.

“Mhm.”

Hesitancy. "Uhm, I guess."

"Well," Steven flinched at the noticeable lilt in his voice. "If you don't want to do another one, then that's okay."

"No, no," she blurted. "I want to. I'm just thinking about something."

"What are you thinking about?" His gaze still prepped up at the sky, coursing by them in a crawl.

"Just a few questions...about us." The sigh from her left him restless. What about them? "We've always been close, really close. You've noticed it, right?"

A few moments came to mind: movie nights on the weekends, blanket nests sheltering them in watchful rest; boardwalk strides with cotton candy and snow cone mouths, carrying a blue-striped bear won over from a ring toss stand; close talks at sleepovers, imagining the hereafter, breathing in the possibilities they have—which was what they're doing right now as they speak.

"I've noticed."

"It always made me wonder." She started fumbling with her fingers. "Why haven't we started dating sooner?"

"I," a quick exhale, "didn't think it would be such a big deal."

Quiet. The question raised high above their heads, Steven squirming in his place. That was a good question, why didn't he ask her earlier? He never gave it much thought, for the idea seemed unnecessary—they were good enough as is. Nothing stopped their cuddling, nothing stopped their intimate affection when consequences encumbered them above, nothing stopped them when they had their first kiss. The only thing they’re presumably missing was a label. They didn’t need it. They would still be close even without the titles of 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'. Or 'lovers'. Or even 'jam buds'. The question left was:

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me," she spoke under her breath. "We've always been close; I'm just curious about why it took so long on my end. Was I antsy? Afraid?"

"For me, I guess I was just waiting for you." The words stunned him. It was the only answer he had, the rest of him trying to pinpoint a more exact reason. "I felt comfortable with what I had, just being there by your side, so the only change between us is if you made it official...if you get what I mean."

"I get it." The flight in her reflection—pulling out from the dip in tone prior—brought him to relief. "Then I'm glad I asked." An idyllic hum. "Clarifications are everything, well, communication in general; I didn't want to worry about going on an assumption, or just toeing around it like last time."

"You're right," he said, pulling overgrown bits of grass under him. "I should've told you when you first kissed me."

The noise she made piqued of chagrin. "Oh man, you still remember that?"

Steven smiled overhead, hoping the stars humored them. Out of all the personal disasters they’ve done together, he didn’t mind that their affection lead to their foreheads banging together—it was his favorite memory. "In clear detail."

Connie groaned, hands wringing through her hair. "That was so embarrassing."

"I don't see it that way. I'm thankful for it." He snickered.

"Steven, noooo."

"It made me realize you were flirting with me before that!" Her hand pressed against his mouth, leaving him to struggle and teeter under her in muffled hysterics.

"Steven Quartz Universe, you need to stop talking right now!" She was in hysterics too, Steven trying his best to wrestle his way out. "Cease your lies!"

"Never!" He wheezed, face red as an apple. "You can't deny the fact that you were!"

"Shut your mouth!"

The struggle continued. He didn't know how long it went—seconds, minutes—but the next thing he could perceive was the taste of mint. Bubblegum. Pine needle. Face cradled in her hands. He couldn't conjure a word when she parted from him, mouths agape, keeping them bathed in lunar splendor on their glorious hillock.

A moment of breath. Then another. Each one keeping their eyes on the other, lips turned in candy-sweet beams.

"You didn't use Wikihow this time?"

She smirked down at him; a pepper-light kiss pressed to his forehead. "Steven, I'm already beginning to regret this."

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He reassured her, happiness emanating from his smile.

Contentment. A solid form of trust he wanted to cherish for hours and hours on end. If all he could do was just ask for the day to become never-ending, tend to a cycle of rendezvous and silver lining with her by his side, then things would’ve been perfect, but he knew the future waited for them—to grow up, to adore each other without the pressure of failure, to seek comfort in times of rock bottom.

There was no going back, huh? The label was there, they just had to use it. Nothing would change even if he uttered it. "I love you, Connie."

But there was satisfaction in hearing it. "I love you too, Steven."

Then came the rotund buzz—vibrating between them with a shocking velocity—both of them clambering back to their regular positions as Connie, who dug her fingers into her pockets, conjured her phone to the edge of her ear. "Hello, who's this?"

Pinpricks of noise sputtered from the receiving end. She bit her lower lip, nodding sparingly throughout. "Okay, okay. Pearl, we're fine, but please bring the emergency medkit just in case."

"Wait, Pearl is on the other end?"

Connie nodded before returning to the call. "Garnet's right. We went through an accident but we have our location if you want to come pick us up."

“Can I say hi to them, Connie?” He tried to look over her shoulder.

"Yeah, sure!" She then rebounded back to the caller. "Steven wants to talk to you guys; yeah, we’re on a hill, and I have a moderate battery life so you could call us when you get here." She handed him the phone.

“Steven, are you there?” The high-strung inquiry left him sweating.

“Yes, it’s me, I’m fine!”

“Oh thank goodness, Garnet told us you two were in trouble a few minutes ago and we were worried sick.” Something gushed against the speaker, clipping of the audio for a second. “Amethyst is bringing us there as we speak so it won’t take long!”

"That’s great." He peered over to Connie. "We got out of the car with no bruises, and we're just on a hill waiting for help."

Pearl’s tone sharpened. “I know you two will keep together but stay where you are, make a smoke signal if you have to.” Staying put was enough as is. “We’re on our way!”

“All right, I love you guys!”

"I love you too, Steven, keep in touch. Use your powers if you find a scratch, we don't want an infection."

"Will do."

With that, the cell went dark. Steven placed it back to Connie’s palms as they reclined, allowing themselves to wade in the sea of green; the wind picking up now, billowing through their locks, as they busied themselves with the heavenly sights. Pondering on the situation at hand.

“Hey, Connie.”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t we just ask the gems to lift the car out instead of calling a towing service?”

“Oh.” Silence. “Oh my God, you’re right.”

He shot her a sheepish look. “Well, at least I got to spend time with you, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Even with his limited view, he knew that she was flushed, Steven grunting at the half-hearted punch to his shoulder. “You’re showing your sap again, dork.”

"At a time like this, sap ain't that bad, especially if it means I get to do a sneak attack!"

Falling on her like a tilted stone, she shrieked as they resumed back into a fit of wrestling, hearts strung to the sound of their mirth. There’s nothing wrong with a little sap, he thought, for the night was still young. And the future was theirs.

[goddessvicky]

The Writer

Chapter Four

                                      C H A P T E R    F O U R

Summary: Darcy Lewis finds a temp job with S.H.I.E.L.D. until she can work with Jane again. Data entry and organizing aren’t her favorite things, but she sucks it up. When she finds out the Avengers have a Fan Club and an email account with hundreds of unread letters, she figures no one will care if she <i>pretends</i> to be the Avengers, right? <i>Right</i>?!

Characters: Darcy Lewis, Jane Foster

Warnings: Curse words. Obscene levels of cheese being consumed.

                                            (Read it all here!)

                                                  *~*~*~*~*

Darcy’s toe tapped relentlessly against the concrete floor, eyes closed and face turned up toward the ceiling. She swiveled slightly from side to side, the office chair squeaking as she did so. She’d read the latest email over and over, unsure how to proceed. Since she’d started this little project, she’d tried to keep her answers light and universal. She didn’t want to put out a bad image of the superheroes she was impersonating channeling. This was made infinitely harder by the fact that the letters were a product of the time; the world seemed to be in perpetual free fall, chaos and anarchy in the government, protests in the streets, and the letters that’d begun to be sent to the Ask Avengers email reflected that hardness.

She knew that any response would be appreciated, but she didn’t want to just answer. She wanted to heal, to comfort, to say the words that someone so desperately needed to hear. She wanted to have an impact, wanted to put hope out into the world like the rest of the super friends. She couldn’t wrestle giant beasts or carry a nuke into space. She didn’t have the power to move things with her mind, and couldn't pull from the extensive spy training she’d practically been a part of since birth. She wasn’t a mutant, couldn’t bench press a semi truck, and the last time she’d checked, she couldn’t turn into a giant green rage monster (though it was a close thing, depending on the time of the month).

Words, though. Words were a weight she could carry.

Letting out a trumpet of air, and deciding that all she could do was her best, she pulled her chair back toward the desk and lowered her fingers to the keyboard.

 Everything is horrible. It’s hard to drag myself out of bed in the morning. How do you keep going? – Norrine

 **

Norrine,

Firstly, thank you for your letter. I know it isn’t hard to admit things are difficult, but you did it, and that makes you brave.

I have a friend. This friend took care of her mother in the late stages of Alzheimer's. She would tell me how tired she was, how emotionally crippling it was to see this entirely other person looking at her from behind of her mother’s blue eyes. Why did she continue to take care of her, someone has asked, when there were homes and hospitals for people suffering from the same disease? Why did she put herself through it?

She shook her head, a small smile on her lips. ‘It’s hard,’ she started, ‘and I get why other people might not be able to. I’m a nurse, so I’ve got more experience. And she’s my mother. She took care of me when I was little, gave me a home, and a life, and a family. Most of the time are bad days, days that we struggle, days that she slaps at me, and says she doesn’t’ know who I am, that I’m hurting her, that I’m torturing her. She’ll say things to me that are so utterly devastating that I sob myself to sleep at night. All of that pain, all of that hurt and agony? It’s worth it for those tiny, fleeting moments when I can see my mother refill her eyes, when her shoulders rock back and she becomes the strong, beautiful woman I’ve always seen her as. She pulls me to her, tells me how much she loves me, how proud she is of everything I’ve accomplished, and kisses me on the forehead like she did so many nights when I was growing up. Those minuscule seconds with my mom are worth everything else.’

People like Susan are what keep me going. People who see the darkness in the world and tell it ‘no’. And when the world doesn’t listen, they say ‘hell no’ and demand better. Who fight against pain, and hurt, and oppression. They stand up for the little guy, and aren’t afraid to yell when they see injustices. Teachers. Doctors. Nurses. Garbage Men. The ones who do the hard work with a smile on their face and a helpful hand up from the dirt when it’s needed. I have a cape. They have the real power.

And it’s in you, too. That power. The ability to create brightness and light. All it takes is one small spark, the tiniest of flames, and that compassion can grow into a fire that can’t be put out. Start a riot in that heart of yours, and you’ll be able to see that orange glow in others’ eyes, kindred spirits who are stumbling in the dark but don’t mind the skinned knees. Reach out your hand, and you’ll be surprised how quickly another grips it.

The world is dark right now, you’re absolutely right. But let me tell you a little secret:

You are the light it needs.

Shine brightly.

Your friend,

Carol Danvers A.K.A. Captain Marvel

 Darcy knew Captain Marvel was, essentially, the new kid on the block, but from what she’d been able to read about Captain Danvers, she’d battled through the ranks of the air force, during a time when female fighter pilots were just a pipe dream. She’d gone missing, but made a miraculous reappearance (something that seemed to happen pretty frequently lately, for whatever reason. Darcy liked to think everyone knew a story like the one she’d told; she’d watched her mom work long hours at the hospital, only to come home and take care of grandma. She wasn’t sure where her mother had drawn all that strength from, but if her story (told through a pseudo-surrogate) could help someone else? It’d be worth it.

Like it always did, Darcy’s stomach jumped as her index finger hovered over the mouse. She let out a deep breath before she clicked the ‘send’ button.

[afriendlyphobia]

“Got My Ion You”

pairing: Spider-man/peter parker x reader

genre: flufff

warnings: none :)

Request?

word count: 2.6k

A/n: tbh i got this idea while i was cleaning my room. so idk if it even makes sense and i haaaate itttt also this is the longest one shot fic i’ve ever written lord help me

—————————————————————————————————-

You looked up from your homework, chewing on the end of your pencil lightly. It was a habit that you had never been able to let go, but you claimed it helped you “think better”. You eyes narrowed in on your best friend who was currently lounging next to you on his phone.

“Hey Pete.” The brunette looked over at you, eyes wide with a puzzled expression.

“Exactly how does being on your phone help you with studying for finals?” You questioned him jokingly. After all, he was the one who had begged you to come over and study claiming that he couldn’t focus alone.

“I already know all the material.” He shrugged, going back to scroll through his feed.

Your eyebrows bumped together and confusion. “Then why did you beg and plead to come study with me?”

“Is there a problem with me wanting to hang out with my best friend since second grade?” He questioned you innocently, rolling onto his stomach. He placed his head on his palms and blinked at you with puppy eyes.

Okay, you had to admit he had a point. The two of you were practically inseparable. From spending almost everyday together or on video call to constantly texting, you almost considered him your brother.

Almost.

See, you happened to have a rather huge crush on none other than Peter Parker. You’d started having feelings for him nearly two years ago, and assumed that the butterflies would die in a few month. But you were wrong...so wrong.

The butterflies had seemed to multiply and now you were in love with the curly haired, starry-eyed, beautiful boy whom you called your friend...and nothing more.

But there was nothing you could do to fix your problem. You risked a lot by telling him about your feelings. Peter wasn’t the type to stop being friends with you just because you liked him, but you didn’t want to ruin things and make it awkward.

It was cliche, you knew that. But this was real life. Things don’t work like those movies and books do...right?

What you didn’t know is that Peter wasn’t much better off that you. He had liked you since, well, you first met him. He had just never said anything due to the same reasons you had.

That and recently Peter had started having a growing attraction to someone he could never tell you about in a million years.

You shook your head, coming back to reality, and rolled your eyes at him. “What are you doing anyway?”

He showed the screen of his phone to you before moving it back. “Reading science pick up lines.” He said, as if the pastime was completely normal.

“Oooooh~ Peterrr wanna tell me about her?” You cooed, mimicking a basic highschool girl while moving closer to him.

“Nahhh.” He rolled over onto his side so his back was facing you. “Don’t think I will.”

You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit that you’re heart dropped for a second. But how could you not expect him to have a crush on someone else. Honestly you were surprised he didn’t even have anyone in the first place considering how beautiful and perfect he was.

You didn’t reply, only going back to study your notes. Your answer being in the form of the sound of you writing.

“Do you wanna hear one?” His soft voice asked after a few seconds of silence.

You signed and slowly nodded without looking up, but you could just tell he was beaming at the moment.

“Ok ok... So. My love for you is like the universe.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “Never ending!”

His face almost made you laugh, but just for the spite of it, you kept a straight face and slowly shook your head in fake disapproval.

“Not feelin it?”

“Try another one, Champ.” You rolled your eyes, a tiny smile pulling at your lips.

“Fine.” He sighed, scrolling through his phone for another second before glancing at you. “Do you like science? Cuz i’ve got my ion you.”

The joke was bad enough, but Peter, being the little shit he is, added a wink into the mix. To avoid blushing madly from the tiny gesture, you picked up a pillow and threw it at him as hard as possible.

“What the—Ouch!” He flailed off the bed, exaggerating his pain and rolled around on the floor. “Oh i’m wounded!” He groaned before picking the same weapon up and chucking it back at you.

You ducked, missing his attack completely. You smiled widely at him, holding up two middle fingers innocently.

“You’re the worst.” You rolled your eyes, a tiny giggle still detectable in your voice. “You and your pick-up lines.”

“Hey, I’m just warming up.” Peter sat up, pushing the messy curls from his eyes. “You must be a 90 degree angle because to me, you look just right.”

“PETER!” You yelled, once again chucking the pillow back at him. This time however, you were giggling at his stupid self. It wasn’t long before he too joined you as a laughing mess. All which was music to your ears.

~•~

The next day was an absolute roller coaster for you. It started out like any normal day, but after getting an Avengers alert in the middle of AP Chem, things got a little crazy.

That would be your third unexcused absence that week. If you kept your side job up, your mother would start to wonder what you were doing instead.

Of course it wasn’t your fault, it was either get perfect attendance or save the world. You chose the latter.

Stumbling out of school, you ran into a abandoned alley way and began hurriedly stripping out of your school clothes, revealing the slightly armored spandex suit that was hidden beneath. You shuffled through your bag, pulling out the black, red, and silver mask.

You stuffed your school back in its normal hiding spot before running down the alley, failing to notice the webbed (in plain sight) backpack also there.

“Hey. F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” You tapped your temple.

“Yes, Ms. L/N?” The automated voice responded.

“Pick me up.”

“Already on it, look behind you.” You glanced over your shoulder, smiling under your mask as your similarly colored motorcycle approached from behind.

Doing a backflip at exactly the right moment, you landed perfectly on the seat of your ride. Gripping the handles, your sped up, moving faster towards the indicated spot on your mask’s digital map.

“Incoming call from: Spider-Man.” You raised your eyebrows at the notification but told F.R.I.D.A.Y. to answer it.

“Hey Webhead!” You greeted your partner. Without the original Avengers around to protect Manhattan, the two of you had become the next generation. The dynamic duo. Partners in fighting crime. “How’s downtown looking?”

You heard incoherent sarcastic mumbling before getting a reply. “Looks like a giant mechanic thingy.”

“Thingy? Very professional.”

“—Shut up. You’re late anyway.”

You swerved hard around a truck, leaning in order to make it in time before oncoming traffic reached you. “Sorry we live in Manhattan. Traffic isn’t always ideal.” You rolled your eyes at your partner.

“Wanna take the high route?” You could hear the ‘thwip’ sound of his webshooters, knowing that he was already in his way.

You didn’t reply, just ended the call and gave F.R.I.D.A.Y a quick command. “Hey take over for me, will you?”

“Of course.”

You let go of the handle bars, raising one arm, knowing your spider-friend wasn’t far away.

A gloved hands clasped your semi-covered one and pulled you into the air.

“Yoink!” You looked up at the hero, knowing that he was grinning behind his mask.

“Really? Every time?” Your mask’s eyes narrowed at him in faux disapproval.

He shrugged, using the momentum of swinging to pull you up against his body. You wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing him to let go of you and use both hands to swing through the city. You could feel his heart beat, and it was racing. You could only assume he was nervous about the fight; you were too.

The two of you were close, fighting crime together for almost a year now was one of the factors. However, you didn’t really know who he actually was.

It was a promise you both made when you signed up for the job. You weren’t gonna let your personal lives get mixed with your hero lives. It was sensible, but it didn’t keep you from wondering what he looked like under than mask. You’d be naive to assume he never thought the same.

Not long after, the two of you were standing on a rooftop, watching as the giant mechanical monster worked it’s way towards the heart of Manhattan.

You breathed out an exasperated breath as you watched it. “Hydra again?”

Spider-Man crossed his arms across his chest and shrugged. “I’m assuming so. Looks tougher than last time though.”

“Don’t be a whimp.” You shrugged, attempting to mask the worry in your own voice. “You ready to go, Spidey?”

He looked from you, to the machine, then back to you. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He held out his hand, ready for your famous handshake.

You smiled, following his lead before jumping into action.

~i can’t write fight scenes help~

Nearly two hours later, you sat on the same rooftop from before as a bruised, sweaty, and bloody mess. You could feel the wounds healing due to your healing factor, but it hurt none the less.

Spider-man has dropped you off (per your command) and was dealing with the clean up and press. but you expected him to be back at any moment.

As if he had heard your thoughts, the masked web-slinger showed up. He landed on the rooftop, his body language showing how exhausted he really was.

He stumbled over to you, sliding down the same half wall you rested against.

“Back from the red carpet?” You quipped, trying to control your heaving breathing.

“Har. Har.” He mock laughed, placing a hand over the burned scar on his abdomen while wincing.

He glanced at you, one of his fiberglass eye-lenses was cracked, giving you the first look at his real eyes you had ever seen. But there was something else, the tiny part of his cheek you could seen was...pink? Was he blushing?

You shook your head. No, of course not. He was probably just worn out.

But his eyes didn’t leave your figure. They were searching you, even though most of your face was covered (except for the parts now exposed from cuts and burns).

But there was something familiar about those eyes. Something that you couldn’t put your together due to your hazy, tired mind.

Your partner seemed to be thinking something similar as you. But he gave up, resting his head back against the wall and sighed heavily.

“Hey.” He breathed, not looking at you. You didn’t verbal reply, just looking at you with tired eyes. “Do you like science?”

You raised you eyebrow, mouth moving to open as you finally began to piece two and two together.

“Cuz I’ve got my ion you.” Laughing breathlessly at his joke, the hero attempted to lighten the mood. the effort caused him to wince several times during the process.

“Wha...what the?” You slowly sat up, eyes widening. “Peter..?”

The visible eye widened in shock. “Uh, uh.” He cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “What are you talkin—“ You pulled off you mask, eyes still wide with surprise. “Y/N?!!”

Spider-man reached up and pulled up off his own mask, his eyes nearly as wide as yours.

There sat your childhood best friend, bruised from battle, with his mouth hanging wide open.

“How can this be?” He asked, his voice going an octave higher as he stuttered. “My best friend is also my hero partner? That’s crazy, i mean, what are the chances of that? And to think I stopped liking you because i thought i had no chance and I started liking your alter ego—wait, shit.” He covered his mouth with his hands.

“Peter...?” Leaning towards him, your voice fell to just barely above a whisper. “You like...me?”

“Well I...” He glanced at you and pushed back his messy curls from his forehead. “Yes...I like you. I’ve liked you ever since we met.” He admitted sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked softly, already knowing the reason.

“Because...you just seemed so out of my league.” He glanced down at his hands, fidgeting nervously with the webshooters. “You’re amazing, sweet, kind, and absolutely beautiful. Plus we have such an amazing friendship I—“ He took a deep breath when you placed your own hand over his, slowly interlocking them.

He looked up at you, a sudden wave of boldness washing through his veins. “—I don’t wanna just be your friend.”

His free hand moved up to cup your cheek; his eyes glanced from your eyes to your lips. “I want to be more.” He breathed.

You didn’t reply, your actions speaking for you as you leaned closer to him.

“Can I..?” Peter asked, unsure suddenly as doubts began to flood his mind.

You could tell he was about to say something else, but before he could say anything, you gently pressed your lips against his.

And suddenly a beautiful feeling washed over you. Those butterflies you had been holding onto seemed to burst into freedom. Your lips moved in sync, like they were made to be together.

Peter’s hands found your hips naturally, holding onto you as if you were his lifeline. You hands wrapped around his neck, fingers twirling gently in his soft hair.

Pulling back for hair, your chests heaved, but you kept your forehead pressed against his.

“Hey Pete?” You asked softly.

He hummed in response, face still red and heart pounding.

“I think...I love you.” You whispered now only a few centimeters from his lips.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat when you said those words. Those magical words he never thought he would hear you say. He bit his lips, savoring the sound of you saying it play over and over in his mind.

“Can you..” He hesitated. “Can you say that again?”

Your eyebrows bumped together as you leaned back to get a better look at him. “I love you?”

Like a giddy middle school girl, he fell backwards, nearly giggling from all the emotions that were coursing through him.

“Oh my god, Y/N!” He laughed, covering his face with his hands before jumping up.

“I love you. I love you. I love you!” He laughed, forgetting all previous pain. You looked at him, smiling at how genuinely happy he was. He reached a hand out to you, pulling you up.

He twirled you around, causing you to giggle at his pure reaction to the event. Coming back in from the twirl, you wrapped your arms around his torso, hugging him tightly.

He laughed softly, resting his head in the crook of your neck, beaming like a little kid in a candy store.

“Are you less than 90 degrees?”

“Peter, don’t you dare—“

“Cause you’re acute girl!” He laughed, and you pushed away from him, punching his chest (lightly of course). He laughed, giving you the biggest grin possible. “You know you love me.” He smirked, winking at you.

You blushed, shaking your head as you crossed your arms. “Yeah..” You huffed. “Yeah I love you..”

You smiled at each other, getting lost in the magic of the night.

[qtcomicsblog]

Justice league unleashed fan episode 5 “Grand theft javelin”

Justice league Unleashed "Grand theft Javelin" Night time at the Watchtower the league are in the hall as jessica is preparing to show them something in the hangar Jessica: Now everyone, you all maybe wondering why i called you all here? Hawkgirl: Does it have anything to do with matching footie pajamas? Jessica: No, i was gonna talk about that next week. I've been working on a little project and i'm ready to show all of you Superman: ok jessica lets see it Jessica:Alright everybody, Behold! Flash: What are we suppose to be beholding? Jessica: Huh? She turns around and sees the hangar is empty Jessica: AAAUUGGHH! IT'S GONE! Hawkgirl: Wait wasn't the javelin in here? Someone steal the Javelin?! Superman: Excuse me? Wonder woman: huh? Jessica: How did this happen?! Hawkgirl: WHO DID IT?! Somewhere in the sky the javelin is flying through the clouds and supergirl is piloting it Supergirl: Oh yeah! The league are outside on a roof Wonder woman: How did you lose the javelin?! Jessica: It wasn't my fault! Superman: Fighting will get us nowhere, lets just find it ok J'onn: Now if we're going to find it we'll need help Superman: Their's only one person that comes to mind At the Batcave batman is at the bat-computer and the league busts through the ceiling Superman: BATMAN! Batman: Clark, you have 10 seconds to tell me why you bust through my ceiling Flash: Someone stole the javelin! Jessica: Not my fault! Flash: And with need your help to find it. Batman: I'm busy. Superman: Come on bruce you can't just turn away, we need your help and who else than the worlds greatest detective Batman: Time's up. Batman presses a button and a giant pipe tube sucks in the league and are thrown out of the batcave. They are on the ground in a pile. Hawkgirl: Well i saw that coming. Jessica: I guess we better do it ourselves, lets go rough up some villains J'onn: But where do we start? Flash: i know a place, back in central city. The Javelin zooms by in the air as supergirl laughs. The league arrives at the bar. Flash: Alright this is the place. Jessica bust through the door. Everyone in the bar looks at them. Jessica walks in looking all tough. Bartender: Can i help you with anything? Jessica: Yeah, Me and my associates are looking for a super powered jet. You see one around here. Bartender: Depends, are you a cop? Jessica: Not exactly, i'm like a space cop. I'm a green lantern. Bartender: Oh really. The bartender presses a button under the bar Hawkgirl: Uh jess I don't think this is working Flash: Uh guys... The league sees that the entrance is being blocked by Villains. Jessica: Oh... Thug 1: You put alot of our buddies in the slammer Justice freaks the only way you're getting outta here is in a black bag with a zipper in the front Thug 2: A body bag Thug 1: They know what it is! J'onn: Perhaps we should've plan this better The villains close in on them Bartender: I'm going on my break. The bartender goes outside. Sounds of fighting from the bar echo outside. The front door opens and the league walks out unscaved Superman: Well that lead us nowhere Wonder woman: Yeah, and i think i scuffed my boots in that fight J'onn: We should keep going Jessica: Thanks for nothing bad guys! The villains in the bar are all beat up in a pile Hawkgirl: now what?! Jessica: Hey guys! I just remembered something, i put an emergency shutdown protocol in the javelin! Jessica pulls out a small remote Jessica: All we gotta do is press this button and the javelin will shut down and land and all we have to do is use the tracker to find it Wonder woman: What?! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU COULD'VE DONE THAT THE WHOLE TIME?! Jessica: Yeah, i uh... forgot. ALRIGHT! Jessica presses the button and the tracker finds the javelins location Jessica: I found it lets go! Back at the javelin supergirl is under the hood trying to get the javelin working again Supergirl: uh stupid shutdown protocol. An ice cream truck stops next to the javelin and harley quinn walks out Harley: The leagues super jet? Here? Harley sees supergirl under the hood Harley: Hey goodie goodie need some roadside assistance? Supergirl: Huh? Harley: Huh, Big blues little sister? Supergirl: Wha? I'm his cousin! Harley: Could've fooled me Supergirl: Why are you here clown? Harley: I was taking a stroll in my ice cream truck when i saw the leagues jet and i thought i might spend some time making fun of them. Then i find out it's just you here. Supergirl: umm hmm Supergirl hears something in the distance Supergirl: huh? Uh oh. She hears the league coming her way. Supergirls face turns pale. Harley is sucking on a Popsicle Harley: Hey what's with you? You look like you got hit with scarecrows fear gas. Supergirl grabs harley and goes into the ice cream truck Harley: Hey, what's the big idea?! Supergirl: Just hang on tight. Supergirl start the truck and drives off in high speed. The league arrives at the javelin Jessica: That was harley! Flash: Yeah but who was the one with her? Wonder woman: I know that color scheme anywhere, because it's your color scheme kal Everyone says the same name Superman: Kara! Wonder woman: Kara! Jessica: Kara! Flash: Kara! Hawkgirl: Kara! J'onn: Kara! Jessica: Ofcourse it was kara why didn't we think of it before Hawkgirl: Uh guys they're getting away. Wonder woman: Come on we can get them on the javelin Jessica stops them Jessica: WAIT! Right now is the perfect time to introduce the new features i added to the javelin. Hawkgirl: Really? Now? Jessica: Yes now, observe. Jessica presses a button on the remote. The Javelin begins to transform, it gets a more bulky look much like an armored van and it gets 6 large wheels. Jessica: I introduce to you, The Javelin "ON ROADER!" Everyone is silent and confused Jessica: Get it? On roader, like an off roader but the javelin has wheels so it can drive on the road? Superman: We get it lets just go In the ice cream truck supergirl is speeding through traffic Harley: SLOW! FAST! BREAK! BREAK! BREAK! Supergirl drives pass an old lady crossing the street. The on roader javelin is following behind them. Jessica: now that auto pilot is engaged allow me to show you around the new Javelin On Roader. Jessica shows them the workings of the javelin on roader Jessica: Over there is navigation, Over here is a "what for it?" Seat controls for each specific member, and there is the... Wonder woman: Soft serve Ice cream Machine!?! Wonder woman opens her mouth over the nozzle and pour ice cream into it Jessica: All for you diana Wonder woman: It's beautiful! The javelin turns a corner bumping into things Superman: JESSICA WATCH THE ROAD! Jessica: I wouldn't need to if you would just take your seat Superman: Huh? Jessica pushes a button and a chair appears Jessica: It's the big one with your logo and your exact lumbar settings Superman: Amazing Jessica: Captain the com is yours! Superman sits down and floors it catching up with kara and harley Harley: You stole the javelin from the justice league? I thought i was crazy, but you just a mad woman! Supergirl: I am not taking the fall for this! Harley: But what can they do to you? Supergirl: What are you nuts, the league are monsters! They make me clean the entire watchtower without my powers and diana will make me watch educational show while eating plain steamed broccoli. The javelin pull up beside the ice cream truck Wonder woman: Kara i know you're in there i can see your S, Kara! Wonder woman clears her throat Wonder woman: Oh Kara if you stop right i swear no punishment will befall you, i give you my oath as an amazon Supergirl: That is a lie, they're gonna lay into me if they catch me! Supergirl speeds up Flash: We gotta stop that truck! Jessica: I'll stop it with the Blast cannon! Jessica aims a cannon at the truck Wonder woman: Jessica harley's in there! Jessica: Can i atleast go semi-lethal? Everyone yells Superman: NO! Wonder woman: NO! Flash: NO! Hawkgirl: NO! J'onn: NO! Jessica scoffs Jessica: Uh you never let me shine! Fine harpoon hooks it is Jessica shoves her ring into a slot and construct harpoon hooks shoots out of the side cannons and hook onto the truck. Wonder woman and flash climb onto the chains Wonder woman: Alright clown, stop that truck full of delicious ice cream! Jessica: Yeah hand over the fugitive! Supergirl: Don't snitch me out bro! Wonder woman and flash walk across the chains Supergirl: Do something Quinn! Harley: Well since you put it that way Harley pushes a button. The back of the truck opens up from the middle and the ice cream on to of the truck turns into a cannon Harley: I SCREAM! YOU SCREAM! WE ALL SCREAM! FOR ICE CREEEEAAAMMM!!!! Flash: That doesn't look good Harley loads the cannon with ice cream Harley: Have some tooty fruity! Harley fires a barrage of ice cream scoops at them Superman: Watch out! The ice cream hits the windshield Jessica: Hey watch the paint bucko! They speed up Superman: Jessica what else you got in this thing? Jessica: Ofcourse i do, hawkgirl would you mind pressing the pad on your station? Hawkgirl sees the rectangular pad Hawkgirl: You mean this? Hawkgirl presses it. Side launchers open up from outside and fires spiked balls. One of the spiked balls hit a street light and explode Jessica: I call them "Mace mines!" Specially made just for you. Hawkgirl: They're so destructive, reminds me of Thanagar. Hawkgirl get misty eyed Jessica: are you about to cry? Hawkgirl: No! SHUT UP! LETS GO GET THAT LITTLE TROUBLEMAKER! Harley reloads the ice cream cannon Harley: Exploding spikes huh, how about a big ol' scoop of, EXTRA ROCKY ROAD! Harley fires the ice cream Flash: Oh no. Flash dodges the ice cream shots. Diana eats the ice cream scoops. Diana is chewing Diana: We gonna take out that cannon Flash: I got an idea An ice cream scoop hit flash in the face and he falls off Wonder woman: Flash! Flash rolls on the ground. he gets back up and runs after them. Harley is still firing and diana is still eating the shots, she catches alot of them in her shield and eats out of it like a bowl. Flash runs up to the side of the ice cream truck. Supergirl sees him and freaks out and tries to hit him. He runs so fast he turns into electricity itself and goes into the trucks motor and talks through the radio. Flash: You are in so much trouble! Supergirl: AAUUGGHH!! She screams and punches the radio, the force cause the whole truck to flip over. Wonder woman flips up and lands on the windshield while still eating the ice cream Superman: What the...? The Javelin stops. Still in his lightning form flash leaves the truck and goes to the javelin and turns normal again. The league steps out and diana finishes the ice cream. Harley and supergirl crawl out of the truck. Harley: That's it I'm out! THIS IS BETWEEN YOU AND THE LEAGUE, I'M THE INNOCENT BYSTANDER! Harley pulls out her hammer and activate the rocket turbines and spins out of control away from the scene Supergirl: Wait, Wait, DON'T LEAVE ME! The league stay behind her looking disappointed Superman: I literally have no words to describe how disappointed i am of you. So diana's gonna say it for me. Supergirl hangs her head in shame Wonder woman: You, YOU, RECKLESS IRRESPONSIBLE! YOU ARE GONNA BE CLEANING THE ENTIRE WATCHTOWER FOR A MONTH YOUNG LADY! FOLLOWED BY MOWING THE LAWN CLEANING THE FOUNTAIN! WHILE EATING A GIGANTIC HELPING OF STEAMED BROCCOLI! END.

[patronusofthepugs]

The McCormicks Are On Their Way

“Fuck, Karen, who fought in the War of Roses again? Wasn’t it a bunch of pissy Englishmen?”

  Kenny frowned and tapped his fingers rhythmically on the wobbly table. His history textbook and notes were spread out around him, a collage of scribbled writing and portraits of stuffy old men glaring at him from his textbook. Fucking bastards, he wished one of them would open their painted mouths and help him write this stupid history report.

Karen laughed from the living room. “Kenny, we’ve been over this! The War of Roses was between the House of York and……?

“…The Lannisters?”

“That’s Game of Thrones, moron, but you’re on the right track, it’s the House of Lancasters.”

Kenny groaned and buried his head into his arms. God, fuck this paper and fuck the British, especially their dumb fights and stupid names. He stood up and chucked his history book onto the floor with the rest of junk.

 Eh, the paper could wait another day or two. Kenny ambled into the living room and threw himself onto the couch, sprawling next to Karen. She turned to look at him, smiling at Kenny’s pouty face.

“How’s the paper coming, Einstein?” she said teasingly.

Kenny sighed, “It would be going a lot better if the English would use different names instead of naming every bastard, George or Henry. Just once, couldn’t they have named a kid with a cooler name like Jason.  But anyway, how the hell do you know so much about the British monarchy? You’re eleven, you weirdo kid” he said turning to squint at his sister.

Karen huffed and flicked his nose, “Uh, because the British monarchy is totally in right now! Haven’t you seen the newest reality show about Queen Elizabeth? God, she’s such a bad bitch, she flipped off like a whole bunch of reporters at her husband’s funeral and told everyone to kiss her royal ass. Now she’s traveling around London getting into pub fights and gambling away the family jewels. I hope I’m like her when I’m old and wrinkly.”  

Kenny chuckled and shook his head, “’Sure Kiddo, when you’re old and wearing adult diapers, I’ll break you out of the nursing home and we’ll go to Las Vegas to rule the casino scene.”

Karen grinned and held out her pinky, “Promise?”

Kenny carefully hooked his pinky around hers, “I promise.”

The McCormick siblings grinned at each other in unison before flinching as the front door suddenly flew open. Kenny shot to his feet, his arm outstretched in front of Karen as he warily eyed his drunk parents stumbling into the house.  Dad stood in the doorway, staring at them with bleary eyes and a tired frown while his Mom took off for the kitchen, stumbling and cursing over the trash on the floor.

   “Alright Kare Bear, off to your room now. I’ll come and get you later for some ice cream,” Kenny whispered to his sister, gently tugging her up from the couch.  Karen only nodded, her brown eyes glued nervously to the floor and her shoulders hunched forward as she slowly shuffled away from Kenny.

  He waited until she had left the room before sitting back down onto the couch with a sigh and bringing his knees to his chest. Time to watch the fire works as always.

Dad squinted and sniffed the air nosily, “Bitch, the fuck is that smell? You burning something?”

Mom squawked from the kitchen and stumbled back into the living room, holding a joint in one hand and a beer can in the other. “I ain’t cooking anything asshole. Mind your own fucking business,” she snarled at him before taking a long drag and puffing a cloud of smoke into his direction.

He shook his head like a bull and clenched his fists, his cheeks were flushed pink as he took a step towards her. “What the fuck, did I say about getting into my stash! Get your own weed, bitch.”

His mom laughed, the grating sound like shards of glass flying into Kenny’s ear. Someone was going to end up with a black eye.  “Try and take it from me, dickhead.”

Kenny instinctively ducked his head as his Dad launched himself over the couch in one long angry jump. He heard his Mom shriek and run back into the kitchen, where more sounds of broken glass and yells could be heard.

He hesitantly lifted his head to see his Dad running out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell and his Mom running after him with the coffee pot lifted over her head like she was going to smash out his brains with deluxe expresso beans. His mom launched the coffee pot with all the grace of an Olympic champion where it soared through the air, missing his dad entirely and nailing Kenny right in the face.

God fucking damn it, Kenny thought as he crashed to the floor, his hand instinctively going to cradle his aching face as the glass coffee pot bounced harmless onto the floor next to his head, surprisingly still intact. He could still hear his parent’s angry shrieks, but it was fainter now as if he was on a train getting farther away from his parent’s jeers and screams.

  He blinked slowly up at the dingy ceiling, noting the many spiderwebs and grime that coated it. He should lay on the floor more often. Lots of interesting shapes in dust. One blob of dust by the ceiling fan looks just like Cartman’s fat ass. He laughed weakly and closed his throbbing eyes, his right side of his face felt like one giant pulsating bruise.

 Kenny cracked open his eyes to see Karen’s pale face leaning over him, her long brown hair hung like a curtain of silk around them, shielding Kenny away from everything. He reached up to brush away her tears that had begun to fall.

“Shhh, don’t cry. Princesses shouldn’t cry,” he cooed and then promptly passed the fuck out in a very manly manner.

  Kenny awoke hours late to the sensation of frozen peas being awkwardly smushed against his face and the sound of the Dr. Phil playing faintly in the background. His eyes fluttered open and he groaned as feeling once again came back to his face. Shit, his face felt like he’s been dragged along the highway attached to a semi-truck.

 He slowly sat up, tossing the bag of half melting peas next to him and leaned against the couch. Kenny tilted his head back to look at Kevin, his older brother who was huffing away on cigarettes on the couch like a pissed off Thomas the Train.

“Sup bro,” Kenny mumbled running his hand through his hair.

Kevin was silent as he grind his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and shook his head at Kenny. “What happened this time?” he asked quietly.

Kenny shrugged, “Same shit as usual except Mom tried to throw the coffee pot and her aim fucking sucks.”

Kevin sighed and clenched his fists, “You could have died.”

Kenny smiled, “I’ll survive. I always do, don’t I?”

Kevin shook his head again, “We can’t keep living like this. I had to leave work cause Karen thought they killed you. God, I thought you were dead when I saw you just lying there. I’m not waiting for one of them to kill you or Karen. I’m sick of this shit. We’re leaving tonight.”

 Kenny stiffened, his smile dropping off his face and his eyes wide as he turned to look at his solemn older brother. Kevin’s brown hair was as untidy as ever and he had a scruffy beard beginning to creep up on him, but his eyes were dark and serious as he looked at his younger brother. Kevin was only nineteen, but he was as broad as a mountain with patience that ran a mile deep. He was usually placid and calm but this time he looked properly pissed off.

“Where would we go?” Kenny whispered, his heart beating frantically in his chest as he couldn’t even believe they were having this conversation. Running away had always been a dream between the McCormick siblings, but it was always just whispered conversations in pillow forts and late-night musings. Kenny had never taken them seriously until now.

   Kevin leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees and laced his fingers together, “Four hours away from here is a little town called Nockfell. The price of living is real cheap over there and I can find work easy. I even have a place picked out for us, I talked to the owner while driving home and I’m going to place a deposit down. Ken, you, me, and Karen are leaving tonight.”  

   Kenny turned away from his brother’s hopeful face. He had a thousand of excuses and arguments, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. His brother had made up his mind. He thought of Karen and the way she was practically disappearing into herself. Poor kid didn’t even have any friends at school, just her reality TV shows.

   Kenny was scared, probably more scared than he had ever been his entire life. South Park, even with his crappy parents has always meant home to him. To leave everything behind was like jumping into lake with an endless bottom. Who knows what else was out there. But still, he had to for Karen’s sake. Kenny turned back to look at Kevin and nodded.

“Okay, I’m in. Let’s do it.”

Kevin grinned, his brown eyes lighting up like fireworks. “Atta boy, I knew I can count on you. Go pack your stuff, I’ll help Karen pack her room. We leave in two hours.”

Kenny got to his feet with a groan and gave a mock salute. “Ay, Ay, Captain. Where’s our folks though?”

Kevin snorted, “They drove to Denny’s and started fighting the in the parking lot. Cops took them away and letting them sleep it off overnight in jail. They won’t miss a thing when they get out.”

Kenny rolled his eyes and laughed. Of course, why wasn’t he surprised. It didn’t take him very long and in two hours the McCormick siblings were packing their worldly possessions in Kevin’s beater car.

Kevin got into the driver’s seat and Karen and Kenny slid into the backseat. Karen gazed out the window at their house, her eyes soft and sad. Kenny slung his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close.

“We’re going on an adventure, Kare bear. It’ll be fun.”

Karen leaned against Kenny and sighed, “Well at least you don’t have to do your history paper now.”

Kenny laughed, “Fuck history. Hey how about when we get to the new place, I’ll watch that Queen Elizabeth show with you.”

Karen brightened up and she nodded excitedly. She began to chatter eagerly about the different members of the royal family. Kenny leaned his head against the window, letting his sister’s voice wash over him as he watched the rest of South Park get farther away.

 He’ll have to email the guys when they get to their new place. Stan was at band practice, Kyle was at some debate tournament and who knows what the fuck Cartman was doing. But they’ll understand why he had to leave. At least probably. Ah, well fuck it, he’ll just probably be replaced. Like always.  Kenny’s face began to ache, and he closed his eyes for a second.  

“Wakey, Wakey, Sleepy Head! We’re here!” Karen sang loudly in Kenny’s ear.

   His eyes shot open and he flinched, pushing away his laughing sister. “Alright, alright, I’m up, you banshee,” he grumbled unbuckling his seat belt and practically falling out of the car. Kenny looked up at their new home.

“Addison Apartments,” he read out loud before shrugging. Seemed alright to him. Just an ordinary apartment for their new ordinary life. No more crazy shit for them, just smooth sailing for now all. Kenny grabbed the handle of his duffel bag and hauled it over his shoulder.

 As the McCormicks made their way up the sidewalk and into the building, Kenny felt a cold chill run through his spine as they stepped into the doorway. He shivered and looked around. He thought he had saw something black and shadowy sink into the walls but that was impossible. He was probably just tired. Or had a concussion.

 He shook off the strange feeling of foreboding and followed his brother and sister. Everything was fine. Addison Apartments was going to be the best home that they ever had. He was sure of it.

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

Virgil the (Semi-)Friendly Ghost

Second Thing’s Second: Part two is here!

Third thing’s third: Part three is here!

Fourth thing’s fourth: Part four is here!

Fifth thing’s fifth: Part five is here!

Whole Story Summary: Patton Sanders has finally moved into his new apartment, only to learn that the room upstairs isn’t as vacant as it seems. With his new neighbors and friends, Logan and Roman, Patton meets the spectral squatter, not quite prepared for the spectrum of events to come.  

Chapter Summary: Patton’s the new kid in the apartment complex, and new neighbor Roman is more than willing to help him with anything, be it moving boxes or getting acquainted with local lore. His other neighbor, Logan, is less than enthused with his hallmate’s theatrics. 

Chapter Characters: Patton (Thompson), Roman (Sanderson), Logan (Foley)

Pairnings: None explicitly stated, but I imagine ships could be read into some of their interactions.

Warnings: mentions of throwing up and drunkenness; a little bit of yelling and arguing; a tiny bit of spook (?) 

Word Count: 2052

Tags: @ssides @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @pantasticpanini

A/N: So, I saw a text post from @thoselittlesandersides (I believe; sorry if I’m wrong) about a Moxiety AU where Virgil haunts Patton. I also just blew through @pirate-patton ‘s “The Haunting of Thomas Sanders,” so I’m feelin’ real spooky and angsty right now. I really love this AU concept for some reason, so I might write my own take on Thomas being haunted in the future. Or something else. We’ll see. ANYWAY here’s this one.

After 2 years and a couple of shortfalls, Patton had finally found it: the perfect apartment for him.

It was spacious, but not too roomy, with one bedroom, one bathroom, a full-sized kitchen, a small dining room, and a cozy living area, all for an affordable price. The medium-sized Florida town was a great place for a young man like him to get a fresh start, far enough away from the stress and stench of college dorms that he finally felt like a real, new man. The only issue was, it was also far enough away from his home town that his parents and siblings couldn’t help him unpack, and he’d feel horrible if they had to take off work just to help him move some boxes and things. It wasn’t his fault that the landlord was insistent he move in on a Tuesday, but you take what you can get, sometimes. Patton, however, had it good, as far as he was concerned.

He stood beside the U-Haul he’d rented, gazing up at the eight-level apartment building for a moment before reaching back into the truck’s cab to grab a box of his most precious items. He inhaled deeply, set a smile on his face, and slammed the door shut as he approached his new home.

After he checked with the office manager and officially got his keys, Patton made his way to his apartment, fairly skipping as he went from excitement. When he finally reached his door, number 12 on the second floor, Patton carefully balanced his box on one hand and tried to jimmy his key into the lock with the other. He was so focused on his task that he started and nearly fell entirely to the floor when a booming voice broke the silence of the once-vacant hallway. 

“You must be the new neighbor!” Patton looked over his shoulder and found a grinning young man strolling up behind him. 

“Yup, that’s me!” Patton affirmed, returning a bright grin of his own before turning back to the task at hand. 

“I’m Roman,” the other youth introduced himself as he came up beside Patton. “You need some help, there? These locks can be a real pain sometimes; you gotta stick the key in at just the right angle and- may I?” He gestured toward the lock and key.

“Be my guest.” Patton breathed. “And thank you. My name is Patton.”

“No problem at all, my newly minted neighbor. I’m always willing and able to help those in need!” Roman declared, turning the key and pushing open Patton’s door with a flourish. “Speaking of which, do you have any more boxes to cart in? I’d be more than willing to help!” 

“Well, isn’t that sweet of you!” Patton gushed as he breezed past the other into his new living space; he gingerly set the box of precious momentos on the kitchen table and turned back to the door. “If you really don’t mind, I’d sure appreciate it! It’s only me, here,” he commented, the slightest twinge of sadness in his tone. “So I could use all the help I can get!”

“Brilliant! We’ll get this all done in no time at all!” Roman cried and turned quickly on his heel, Patton right behind him.

The halls echoed with the booms and trills of Roman singing “Whistle While You Work” as he made his rounds up and down the hall. By the time the pair was serenading the walls with “Almost There,” a bespectacled youth, with disheveled hair and sporting navy-hued pajamas, had stepped out of his apartment and was looking up and down the halls for the source of the merriment.  

“Ah, Logan, beloved hallmate!” Roman called, waving as he and Patton made their last trek back to Patton’s door. “What brings you from the depths of your lonely apartment cell?”

Logan pushed up his glasses and quipped, “You know perfectly well, Roman. This time of day is a crucial rest period for me, and your loud merry-making has disturbed my adjusted sleep cycle.”

“Oopsy, I forget you’re literally a night owl!” The other laughed loudly, continuing into Patton’s apartment while the other stopped in front of Logan. 

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry, uh-Logan!” Patton smiled apologetically. “If I’d known you were sleeping, we would’ve been more quiet.” 

Sighing, Logan reassured him, “It’s quite alright, um-”

“Patton.”

“Patton. I am quite used to loud noises and-” Logan glared in Roman’s direction. “Other interruptions. I allow plenty of rest time to compensate. Fortunately, I was past the end of a REM cycle anyway.”

“Good to hear!” Patton headed toward his apartment. “Well, gotta get unpacking here, but it was nice to meet you, Logan!”

“And you as well, Patton.” The other called as he returned into the dark depths of his own abode. 

“Well, that didn’t take too much time at all!” Patton surveyed the stacks of boxes around him and turned to Roman with a broad smile. “Thank you so much for your help, Roman; if there’s anything I can do in return, please let me know!”

“Speak nothing of it!” The other proclaimed. “As I said, I am always willing and able to help those in need!”

“I appreciate that! How about dinner? My treat? We can invite Logan, too, if that’s okay. I’d like to get to know my neighbors as soon as possible!” 

“Marvelous proposition!” Roman’s voice was somehow even louder than before. “That bookworm needs to have social interaction every once in a while.” Roman continued, and Patton noted a touch of fondness in the other’s voice. 

“It’s a date, then!”

-------

“So wait, you threw up ON stage?!” Patton stared at his neighbor is disbelief, his final forkful of fettucini stopped halfway to his mouth. 

“Projectile vomited, actually.” Roman declared, as if showing up drunk to play the male lead in a musical was something to be proud of. “Right off the side of the giant fake ship, onto one of the dancers below.”

“Well, they did say “anything goes,” after all!” 

Logan rolled his eyes as he sipped on a glass of water. “I’m amazed they still allow you to participate in the drama program at all after that incident. Thankfully, they were all able to convince the audience that it was an original, humorous improvisation. The show received effusive reviews from those who believed them, so Roman’s position was secured.” 

“That takes some talent! Pats off to you, sir.” Patton giggled as Roman made a show of fake bowing, nearing tipping over all of their drinks in the process.

“And at the rate you are presently consuming alcohol, you’ll make an impromptu, no-budget repeat performance.” Logan swiped his own glass from Roman’s range, scoffing as the other merely laughed in return.

“Oh hush, you know you adore my skills, Calculator Watch. I saw you laugh during my performance as Jack Worthington, or Earnest, if you prefer.”

“Perhaps, but that was a one time appearance.” 

“Oh, Lo, you’re no fun!” Roman whined, grimacing further when their checks came. 

“I’ll get it, guys!” Patton exclaimed, eagerly reaching for his wallet.

“Well, are you sure, Patton? You only just moved in today, and I imagine funds-”

“It’d be my pleasure!” The soft-hearted man grinned widely at his two companions. “In celebration and gratitude of two new neighbors and friends!”

“Indeed!” Roman raised his glass. “To comradery!”

“Or something of the sort.” Logan barely raised his glass, taking a final sip and rising with the other two to leave.

“I’m glad we walked!” Roman declared as they thanked their hosts and stepped out into the crisp evening air. “It’s perfect weather right now! The mugginess of daytime has dissipated, but it’s not cold yet!” 

“It is nice, isn’t it?” Patton mused, taking in the buildings, the people, the streetlamps all around him, wanting to become familiar with his new home as soon as possible.

“Thank you for dinner, Patton.” Logan said quietly, walking alongside the other man as they allowed Roman to trounce in front of them, earning himself full-body looks from men and women alike. “It was quite nice, and it will be a relief to have someone a little more...level-headed around.” Logan grumbled as Roman and Patton both squealed in delight at a giant, fluffy, brown Newfoundland, the latter bounding up beside Roman to cup the sweet creature’s face in his hands. 

“His name is Chocolate, Logan, look!!” Patton practically screaming, wrapping his arms around the panting pup and squeezing him tight.

“Indeed, how befitting.” Logan commented, waiting patiently as the two took a few more minutes to fawn over the large dog. “And thankfully, our apartment building is just right there.” Logan thought to himself, not sure how much longer he could tolerate his tipsy neighbors’ antics for right now. He did have to smile a bit, though, at how purely happy and tender they were. Perhaps life with these two could be enjoyable in appropriate doses...

“Ooooo hey Patton, look!” Roman gestured toward the third floor of their apartment complex, pointing to the window of the room right above Patton’s. “There’s a ghost in there, you know!”

“What?!” Patton screeched, his eyes combing over where Roman’s finger pointed. 

“Yeah, I heard about it from this couple who lives up there, Joan and Talyn, and they said that-”

“Please, do yourself a favor and do not pay him any mind, Patton.” Logan cut in, rolling his eyes. “There are a number of explanations for the noises heard coming from that room, and ghosts-”

“Are the most likely one!” Roman yelled, having come up in front of Logan, their faces so close they almost touched. “Joan and Talyn saw it; they told me so! They were walking past that door to get to theirs, and Talyn saw a dark shape leaning up against it, watching them!” 

“Why just Talyn and not Joan?” Logan retorted. 

“Because ghosts can do that, Logan, GEEZ, I told you you’re no fun!” Roman pouted, folding his arms like an petulant child.

“That’s alright with me.” Logan quipped back, looking down when his watch beeped at them. “Well, I was hoping for a few minutes of reprieve, but I must be off to the observatory. I will see you both as time permits.” Logan left them with a small wave, looking both ways before crossing to his parked car in the parking lot across the way. 

“Observatory?” Patton asked.

“Yeah, Logan’s a fancy smancy astronomer, or something.” Roman rolled his eyes. “Nerd loves space, but he’s too much of a nerd to get to go up in it, so he stays down here and studies it.”

“That’s so cool!” Patton exclaimed, looking after his neighbor with a new sense of awe. 

“Yeah, I guess, but not as cool as being an ac-tor!” Roman proclaimed with relish. 

“Both are cool to me!” Patton smiled; he turned back to their building, eyes flashing up to that third floor window again when something shifted, probably a curtain moving under an air vent. “So, about that apartment...”

“Yeah, it’s weird.” Roman turned with him, gazing up at the window with a mischievous smile. “They’ve never found any people in there, no food trash or even hairs or anything, but the furniture moves around a bit sometimes and there’s noises, too. All sorts of weird noises. If you’re interested in really hearing some good stories, I can introduce you to Joan and Talyn! They’re really nice, and I’m sure they’d love to tell you about it!”

“Maybe later.” Patton replied, a slight chill going up his spine as the curtain shifted again. It looked like a face...

“Well, the theater calls!” Roman cried dramatically, taking Patton’s hand and gracefully bending to one knee. “I must be off, my newly minted neighbor, but I am grateful for the nourishment and for this time to become better acquainted. I eagerly await our time together in the future!”

“Right back at you, buddy!” Patton laughed, pulling Roman up with the hand he’d taken. “Bye, Roman!” Patton called as Roman waved and strode the opposite way, the theater only being a block from their complex.  “What a funny guy.” Patton mumbled to himself as he turned and walked into their apartment complex, keeping an eye on that window as he went.

Second Thing’s Second: Part two is here!

Third thing’s third: Part three is here!

Fourth thing’s fourth: Part four is here!

Fifth thing’s fifth: Part five is here!

All of my Sanders Sides fanfics

[elizabethrobertajones]

13x01 Watching Notes

The common pronunciation around these parts for “Nougat” is "Nugget" FYI

There's a secondary mission here to find out WHY DID DABB TWEET "BUTT SHAKE"?

Expectations: I'd say a good 95% new plot action nonsense to 5% mourning and we've seen all of it in fragments because they're spoiling the good stuff to lure us in; we're doing well as a season if Asmodeus isn't horrifically hammy and looks like he'll be able to carry all the Buckleming episodes they'll surely shove him in, and Jack is either not a pillock or is clearly *supposed* to be a pillock and the writing reassures us of that, although I did start to warm up to him in those tiny glimpses of promo stuff so we might be good there.

Aside from that I'm so superbly chill about this season (not worried about Cas, assuming Mary needs to get back as well, I'm just going on trust that Michael is well cast based on the actor's fanbase after scrolling his twitter the other day and the fact he seems cool in the promo stuff in a way that does not make me nervous unlike the other 2 new characters, and like no preconceptions about what I need this season to be) that I've actually achieved what scientists may have thought was unpossible... I made it through an entire hiatus embedded in the heart of a wanky fandom and I don't really have strong opinions or needs for about what's to come :P

FUCK ME UP, DABB.

-

OH THE TITLE CARD IS GOING TO BE GOOD THIS YEAR

I say after just seeing "the road so far" because that looks classic. I can't remember which other season it most looks like because I'm way too hype but it looks good.

Gah I have the Worst Song Comprehension in the entire world WHAT IS THIS? There's just a montage of TFW hugs of various types going on and

"I never opened myself this way" and Dean in 12x22 opening up Mary and then the FREAKING GRENADE LAUNCHER MOMENT okay so the recap definitely is telling us the meta theme of season 12 in case we missed is so we're all on the same footing for season 13. This family loves each other a lot and we're busting down walls.

I watched the rest of the "road so far" then said out loud, "No. NO." as it wound up nursery first, because "no" are they not even going to show - OH SHIT IT'S THE SAME VIDEO AS THE ONE IN THE SUMMER. NO. We're ending this thing on dead Cas and Dean.

If this is how they mean to play it, I think I wanna take back that "fuck me up Dabb" from the previous point.

-

OH NO  I got tagged in a post like this last week about the bit in 8x19 where Sam goes into Hell and there's the woman there in one of the cages who is like "we've been waiting so long! You finally came!" and like... did I think she meant she was mistaking Sam for Lucifer, and I always think YES that is a GREAT reading for that scene and fuuuuuuck me I should have reblogged that post and gone looking for links to some of the other cool posts about that because that's like one of the small redeeming things about 8x19 to me, because that is just such a good creepy amazing Sam thing and also I am still so freakin bitter that Lucifer was Nick in the cage because he should have looked like Sam and 11x09 and 11x10 should have been Sam v Lucifer!Sam moments because where the FUCK did Nick come from...

Anyway you can probably guess exactly how far I've got into this episode aka 1 entire one word line but it's already completely fucked me up.

If you all don't remember my season 12 experience, yes I am the biggest Destiel shipper on the planet but I actually get super hype for good Sam plot stuff and I dug every moment of the season 12 Sam stuff about his powers and everything and this is a confrontation that *I* personally think was built up and due because of the evolving way it's going - they confronted his past, the parts he had no control over happening to him in season 12, and I surmised that season 13 ought to be about the parts that WERE in his control, and Sam coming to terms with some other old mytharc stuff that happened to him, the way he managed to fuck up the world on a cosmic scale that Jack will have to come to relate to and he can use to guide Jack...

So yeah, this is not the first time this has happened to Sam, but this is definitely the much much better, more potent way it's happened and I am DELIGHTED and we're 1 word into the season :D

-

*Dean stares at Cas* *stares at Cas* *stares at Cas* Yep I need to go shoot something.

-

YEAH GIANT FLOATING EYEBALL TITLE CARD I KNEW IT.

-

Sauron is the big bad, but where is the one ring.

-

More seriously fuck yeah that gives complete continuity between my watching notes from 12x23 to this one because I am pretty sure I stopped them (aside from final whimpering notes to wrap up) thinking about Sam and Jack with yellow eyes and how this all looped back to the start. And how that was the key visual imagery, the way that Jack had yellow eyes and Sam's whole legacy of that stuff - things I've been screaming about since 12x12 and how it all came back into the story. I mean the scream I made in 12x12 when Ramiel flashed his eyes is a noise I've sort of low-key been making right until this point and I'm just so delighted about this imagery being given such a central place because it's not JUST Jack's eyes, even though he obviously has the most terrifying yellow fire floating around in his eyeballs, the colour is a motif that takes us right back to the beginning in terms of the story...

-

HECK YEAH MARY -

wait

this isn't a recap going to a Mary scene

LOL SUBTLE DABB

This nursery, as we were saying after season 12 ended, is just *soaked* in the vibes of the original nursery from the show... I kinda think the bad energy in that place would probably have given Dean that nightmare ANYWAY but it's symbolically super relatable to everything that's going on, especially as he's got to deal with re-losing Mary, and Sam's dealing with the massive heap of themes about trauma from the Pilot onwards...

I'm sort of vibing with 6x01 re-doing the burning on the ceiling thing to re-start from the start (8x01 also re-started from the start but borrowed different imagery and also addressed Sam's arc through the Trials stuff hence the 8x19 thing and also him talking about how pure he was in 8x21) - obviously we have been saying this all seems like a season 1 re-do in a weird way, especially taking the Winchesters back to basics (but in an awful way), and I think for Sam, just meeting Jack under those circumstances we ended the season on were enough to loop him back to the start, because baby in nursery and yellow eyes blah blah, but for Dean his trauma in the Pilot was Mary specifically (and 1x01 separated out him and Sam that his trauma was Mary, Sam's was Jess - which 8x01 borrowed for Kevin and his girlfriend, because Kevin was always a Sam mirror and had glowing golden god power eyes when he was activated in 7x21)...

So yeah Dean just got a top up of Mary trauma because the fucking WEATHER around here is pilot mirrors.

-

I would assume also probably maybe that was a semi-magical nightmare but I would not fucking put it past them to just show us Dean having a bunch of nightmares and like 7x05 maybe where he woke up from a dead Cas dream, we get stuff like that to show his absolutely wrecked mental state so I'll hold out hope it was kind of just Dean's imagination tormenting him, because we've only seen his nightmares extremely rarely in the absolute worst situations.

Just as a "the show is about more than sam and dean" stance, fuck the shipping, it needs to be so obvious on screen that Dean is suffering from losing Mary AND Cas in a way where it's obvious the dynamic can not just be Sam and Dean any more.

-

OH NO SEAGULLS

(Uh, I mean, they are by a big lake, but yeah they are a bad bad omen. I think there was meta about them circa 10x14, to give an idea of how bad hearing seagulls is.)

-

Wow Sam and Dean are having a lot of bad sleeps now.

-

"Wait, was that -" "Lucifer's son." look, Sam knows how Jack started his life. That he has the concept of "father". That it's about all he's said and all he's motivated by right now apparently. Sam sounds pretty freaked out and putting a LOT of weight on that concept - not "Kelly's son" or "the nephilim" - the fact Jack was born, and asked about Lucifer, and then walked buck naked out of the room and now we ain't got jack on Jack, like... This is a Lucifer related PROBLEM.

I just say, because I am pretty sure Sam's gonna be defending the kid in a couple of minutes so I need to lay out all the thoughts on what Sam knows and his headspace I possibly can as I go.

-

Oh nooo Cas's truck.

And I tell you what, I wrote a meta after 12x23 about how it was impossible to work out where Cas's truck was parked in the entire final conflict, and there was no fucking WAY the Impala and the truck were within shot of each other. Well guess fucking what. They are easily contained within frame now. I know you could just say minor continuity error but that's not why I'm yelling :P 

I'm yelling because I was writing about how the placement of their vehicles shows their closeness to each other or other metaphorical things (such as the no personal space parking job from 9x10 where Dean then pulled away and left the pimpmobile behind) and aside from the super dusty car, I am pretty sure I am saying that Cas's truck has appeared in visible shot because now it's not getting in the way of the action they can use it to symbolically show that Dean and Cas's vehicles are basically flanking the shot - but also they're so far apart and the house, representing Jack, and Kelly, and how Cas died, is between them.

-

(This meta business is like riding a bike :D)

-

Nakey Jack getting the same walk shot as Amara did.

Amara got it because creepy feet.

He's getting it because penis.

-

Hey there's the pirate place Dean's going to punch.

-

Holy shit I have never laughed so hard at the show in my entire life. I had a coughing fit that's scared the neighbour's dog.

(wait, good laugh - 10x15 still owes me a drink)

Salty Butt Combo sounds good anyway.

(this must be why Dabb said "butt shake", the fucker. The absolute fucker. I am going to kill him.)

-

I'm laughing on a meta level too (I mean, hysterically, out loud, but also meta) because especially in season 8 burgers were connected to humanity and Dean's return from Purgatory, and Dean has a history on the show of eating cheesebutts all the time for various reasons... I mean... This is liiiitterally turning Dean's favourite, metaphorically significant, food into butts.

I mean... do I just... run with it? I mean like... is this the new meta thing? We now have to associate Dean digging into a burger with eating ass? I mean what are you doing Dabb?

I actually have a headache now because I laughed too hard and too loud.

-

Please please tell me Jack comes into this place, accidentally kills these dudes, and leaves a trail of destruction that when their supervisor gets to the store to deal with it, the police are like... trying to deal with the bodies but also cracking up a little and finally she looks up and it's like... HIGH SEAS BUTT COMBO

I mean that's going to make it into the newspapers

-

Oh wait, the inventor of the Buttshake is the guy from the police station that was talking to Jack so he's going to at least make it out of this scene.

-

See, that picture of Jack with pants on was in the PR photos and I was like "naaah" and defended that Jack did not have pants on and people didn't believe - no one understood. I knew this was gonna happen and because I don't lay down too much spec and what good would "Jack wanders around buck naked for like the entire first quarter of the episode" have done anyway so I was just making fun of him for being fully grown and naked in the hope that the fact he was naked was a major character trait because it was one of like 2 we knew about him... Yeah I'm feeling vindicated on a crack spec I can't really prove, especially as I was joking that Sam shames him into manifesting pants but I mean... I knew. Guys, I knew.

This has gone from horror to stoner movie classic in about 2 minutes flat.

-

I fucking love this show.

-

ALL THE CREATIVE WAYS THEY HIDE JACK'S NAKEDNESS THOUGH.

I am gonna make a gifset if I can stop cry-laughing for long enough

-

"Hi baby! .... *How naked*?"

Yep.

-

I mean I think it's adorable that Jack wandered down to the nearest place with more people to make enquiries but this is also wigging me out a bit because I thought that the smart thing to do would be to give him like all the functioning knowledge for this world (I do remember a post going around Tumblr that babies learn like 6x Les Mis amounts of words in the womb) BUT start him from scratch but that it would be super hard to pull off, and essentially they've decided to do exactly what I thought was going to be the most intelligent handling of the situation but not exactly the easiest, and he seems to really have been born with a single motivation and the most basic understanding of the world that his little baby cosmic supercomputer brain is going to have to piece together the entire world from context cues and natural intellect to deal with the rest...

I'm all for it as long as they handle his progression well. And don't use him as the ... butt ... of the joke.

-

I assume we all know the butt thing was because Jack is naked and it was joking about the fact he's wandering about butt out but they can't show it so they're just like butt butt butt on the menu board instead.

-

Promo scene! Oh no! We're not thinking about it. Not over it from last night. Dean is piiiissed.

-

Sam saying he had it under control is interesting now we have seen the actual scene in question. Sam did not really have it under control. He was babbling uncertainly like, no I'm not your father and also btw that freaks me out because he HAS possessed me before and being mistaken for him is SUUUPER uncomfortable and he's the reason for like 100% of my trauma past and present, and you're freaking me out... And yeah, between scenes he's decided they can't hunt Jack, that even if he seems to be laser focused on finding his father there has to be hope for him. This context is important: That Sam knows Jack's motivation and what it MEANS on a deeply horribly personal level and is defending him anyway. (I mean that "anyway" in the context of what Sam might think or feel rather than from my perspective where I can see it all from space and obviously Jack is not just any of this and anyway he'll be hunting with them sooner or later and there's presumably hope for Jack in this world...) But yeah, Sam knows how it is, searching for your father, for one thing. Which, interestingly, costuming aside, I don't think there's been MAJOR John and Lucifer parallels (hilarious that Lucifer changed his clothes just in time) in the same way that like, God and John were paralleled at a major narrative level. But now Jack wants to find his dad, which is the season 1 motivation for Sam and Dean, and that makes Lucifer and John narratively paralleled.

I don't think Sam is necessarily defending that Jack came out the womb with a one track mind to find Lucifer (maybe he wants to kill him, we haven't asked the guy his opinion yet) but that of course he thinks Jack can be reasoned with, saved from himself, and Sam relates heavily to being given powers beyond your control, and that there's hope for Jack to have a normal-ish life etc. None of which can be accomplished by just killing him outright.

-

Dean's just mad because Cas is dead and none of this would have happened if not for Jack

There's literally NOTHING TO META over on the Destiel side of things

-

I am feeling the void that they just left Cas there while rushing out to deal with Jack but I guess he's such an urgent problem Cas can wait and the house is remote enough that the milkman isn't likely to come round and see Cas lying dead in the back garden.

-

"Before he hurts anyone else" - he barely hurt you guys, it's more like he banged you up a bit and it was obviously a terrifying display of power and you don't want him to do *even that* again but - I mean - Dean, honey.

-

those words are going to be my approach to him for a while I think :P

-

That sheriff car really pushing the Twin Peaks vibe just because of the mountains on it... Was comparing it last season... Watched Twin Peaks for the first time shortly before the finale and caught Dabb just outright stealing an entire line from one of its episodes.

-

Either the police station is super close or Jack has been unintentionally terrorising the guys in the pirate restaurant for like an hour while just staring at the sign. He's thinking really hard about ordering the salty butt combo.

-

So we're really pushing how creepy Jack is. I mean, duh, it's the first episode and the first like 5 minutes of his screen time so he'll smile scarily for us.

They definitely cast him well for looking like Kelly but also having a really evil looking smirk.

-

Oh no. Cas.

They said Dean put the sheet over him and he's indoors so I guess that scene just happened in between things although right now we have no context for that so unless the angels say they didn't move Cas inside and put a sheet over him we don't have anything but actor confirmation this was a thing that happened, which is, of course, meaningless currency but makes for good headcanons... 

I mean I paused it on his dead face and went "waaaah" so I need to watch the rest of the scene but this is where I'm at going into it anywho.

-

Nope, one angel had to ask which means they are investigating the house which meeeeans that this was how Dean left Cas and it's implied by the subtext that this is what happened in one of those "the subtext isn't an ineffable cloud of possible happenstance, they just didn't show it on screen so this fills in the blank for us" ways and I am not okaaaaaaaaay

Also we have them as our straw man angels - one saying he deserved better (LOL I HOPE ALL THE CAS STANS ARE HAPPY THAT'S BEEN SAID IN THE STORY) and one who is saying he didn't. Representing that Heaven is conflicted about Cas's actions and that some still revered him and some still loathed him.

-

Also the one who hated Cas called Kelly a "Brood Mare" so he's a dick and I hope he gets stabbed pretty soon because we know there's angel stabbings in this episode, and I just was not paying any attention whatsoever to them in the spoilers.

-

So the clothes Jack ended up in were spares from the police station. The kid who worked at the pirate place has come along with them because fuck responsibility (he is so the bad influence cool guy and I hope Jack kinda gets a little puppy love crush on him although he's calling Jack weird still...)

That statement that no one is weird but normal in their own way was really nice though. Positive influences around Jack! Yeah!

-

Hahaha they literally said "Lost and Found" for where the clothes came from. Subtle. Jack's lost and found - he's a spare thing left behind, to be collected by the original owner or taken by someone who needs them more.

I used that phrase for a fic title back in season 12 about Mary about how she had been lost and found - died and came back - but also how she felt lost in the world now and then was found again when someone who related to her situation bonded with her and - okay it just turned into Charlie taking Mary back to her place and them making out but the point is that's the emotional tone I was using the title for. I assume it also applies to Jack's emotional state, but he hasn't been "found" yet and I'm assuming Sam will do that for him, but I don't think they'll go back to their place to play video games, drink a few beers and learn the ways of luuurve.

(I know some people were (crack?) shipping them but even though Jack's an adult now and technically only like... well, the actor would be within the window to have a thing with Sam and for it not to be weird age wise, but the whole framing of it... Jack acting like a grown up baby... yeah. We'll see how it goes but the dynamic wider fandom has built for them has been with Jack as a child. The way I see it is more the intern dynamic if he joins up with TFW, but the way they relate to him will have to be as a child by necessity at least until he's demonstrated emotional and intellectual maturity to them, and even then I think the impression will linger for a while...)

that was a weird side note... these notes are a disaster. Look it's been MONTHS and I didn't do rewatch notes for season 10 over hiatus like I meant so I am out of practice at this.

-

I also took a short break to chat with Mittens to confirm I wasn't going crazy, that WAS the same song as the other video they released in the hiatus, and yep we got the Nothing Else Matters destiel music video as the season opener. No I haven't processed it yet :D

-

Oh gosh Jack remembers his mom (HI KELLY, RIP) and he says she's in Heaven (can't recall his surname), and that memory was basically the footage from the USB stick, so he's internalised that somewhere without watching it. It's 2 influences, good and bad - a pure perfect dead mom (booo tropes the show was supposed to have ditched dramatically via Mary) and a literal satan father who "should have been there" but wasn't - ironically removed from the narrative by the reformed pure dead mom from last season, Mary. These are the two biological influences on him, anyway. The 2 sides of his nature he may struggle with and the way the conflict may be framed for him.

Buuut and here's a thing that might be contentious. So he knew Lucifer was supposed to be there when he was born and that he has to find him? He seems to have had that low level awareness of the world around him even in the womb, or at least was born with messages or some sort of communication from Lucifer lingering in his subconscious. Lucifer seemed linked to him while he was in the womb and I suppose this confirms it may have run both ways. Bleh.

The Jack As A Blank Slate characterisation is good because it excuses his actions from season 12 as done without knowing intent as he's still figuring it all out now, but these lines do implicate him in the actions, by giving him a sense of at least semi-awareness, of having a missive from before he was even born, knowing that he was supposed to find his father.

I think that also goes with Kelly leaving him the USB stick with the message on it - he has a missive from both his parents. Kelly's of course being so positive and hopeful for him, and Lucifer just kinda... being threatening to his goodness by wanting to be anywhere near him.

-

OH GOSH and he remembers burning Dagon. He did have an awareness of what was going on towards the end of the pregnancy!

"I remember the universe screamed" well that would be opening the AU I guess

-

yeah the thumbprinting thing isn't going to do much good :P Blank slate imagery again - he's not on the system, he's new!

-

Oh boy the stoner movie kid is going to have a wild ride explaining this.

Jack's getting better at full sentences though.

-

*blink blink*

-

And that was the Invention of Sarcasm.

Or he was telling the guy how stupid he was like... I have a superior intellect. I know this is a chair and this is a floor and this is the planet earth. Thank you, moronic human who keeps asking me the most obvious questions ever, it's really helping me collect my thoughts and begin to understand my environment. Are all humans as stupid as you?

-

Uhoh, the "I'm hungry" did not bode well with Amara. But is this going to be a fake out? He didn't seem about to attack the guy for his soul, so is he just going to have a whole ton of junk food when we get back and the guy is like yeah I knew he had the munchies so I raided my stash of M&Ms I keep here and it's all good.

I really can't tell how much of Jack's story is Ominous Nephilim Shit and how much is Stoner Bro Movie Lols

-

Here's the context about the curly butt fries line and destroying the world. People took it literally and it always seemed like this would be the context that Dean was putting fake words in Jack's mouth because he does it ALL the time. Like the line about getting bored of croquet so you know what's really fun? MURDER. I love it when he does this. I need to make him do it more when I write him.

-

Anyway Sam understands Jack, he can guess his location. Dean is doubtful and *specifically* mentions torching Chicago I think because of the 5x21 reference to his pizza date with Death. I think that is actually a good comparison because cosmic being but one who was a good ally in his own massive cosmic way. It's a nice omen. Dean is being wrong/right with his sarcasm. It's complicated :P

The fact he is letting Sam go in there also means he doesn't think that Jack is in there probably because the shack is still standing. Sam is going to go find clues! But while they're sitting in the car and Dean's sending Sam into a shack alone I can't help but remember 2x21 which was of course where Sam got snatched in a fast food shack and Dean asked for pie and it aaaaall began. I also wonder why Dean punches the sign and that makes me think that something might happen to Sam somehow although I can't guess how.

-

I have never related to anyone more than Drunk Fries Girl except I've done it in reverse, just missing the deadline on hashbrowns in McD's and stomping out of the store instead of just ordering fries :P

-

Sam deals with the awkwardness of asking for a tall naked guy with a level of composure Dean wouldn't manage in a million fucking years.

That's the entire meta.

-

You were right, Sam!

-

Sam's asking after Jack as the FBI and it's a way to not have him act as his father on the phone. But the thought occurred to me and I wonder if it passed Sam's mind or if he's judged Jack's age that they're not terribly far apart - less than 10 years.

I don't think they're really playing into this comparison right now anyway - like it was just for the opening scene, or the sheriff would have asked, "are you his father" and put Sam into the awkward position and THEN have him say that he's an agent.

-

This is literally the best exchange in the entire show because Sam is having to pretend to be FBI while talking about Jack, with Fries Girl and Over Enthusiastic Pirate Guy watching, and his eyes just went to the cheesebutt menu and he saw it and he did not laugh on the phone. 

I think Sam is strong and brave and of pure heart and fuck the "trials" or whatever the fuck shows the measure of a man, he just passed through the fucking abyss and came out the other side because he didn't laugh at Cheesebutt.

And, look, I laughed at the cheesebutt thing and the way it reflects hiiiilariously on Dean and the burgers thing. We all laughed at it. But Sam just blinked off in short succession a gay accusation and the urge to laugh at cheesebutt like it didn't even fucking affect him and I am just

I

Dabb

what

-

At the end of 12x23 my only conclusion was "i have been mindfucked"

and I thought

maybe season 13 will be you know... normal

Dabb it has been 15 minutes and I am so fucked up about everything :P

-

And now we cut to Dean with his messed up knuckles. Did he just go punch something off-screen?

(You know, the pirate sign that he punched in the promo for a totally random out of nowhere example of punchable things in the vicinity)

I hope he's not coping so badly that we're getting it in angsty flashbacks because that blood was not there before. And angsty flashbacks basically mean Destiel is canon.

OH NO FRIES GIRL IS HERE.

The drunk are an open and friendly people... Is she going to get Dean to open up? She's literally infodumping her life story on him because she's been up all night and her feet hurt and no one will give her fries, and I think she's about to fucking put the moral of the season in Dean's head somehow I don't know yet because I have literally paused because I was contemplating removing the dash between me bitching at Dabb for the wonderful fucked up episode and this commentary on it :P

Yep she told him that she punched Becky's stupid Elsa poster (what is Dabb's deal with Elsa from Frozen? Does he have a small daughter we don't know about that inflicted Let It Go on him in a loop? :P) and lit all her stuff on fire and started rambling about just burning the world down in her rage.

And then called Dean sensitive to Sam and this is amazing because her drunk wisdom sees right through his shit. I love fries girl.

-

I LOVE Fries Girl, she wrote "bitch" on the car :D :D :D

was THIS why Baby is all dusty? People are writing rude words all over everything this episode. I mean it's like a theme. A theme of desecration and burning the world down around you and who gives a flying fuck about consequences - you can change all the menu items to Butt because your mom's the sheriff and banging the guy who owns the restaurant or whatever, and if your roommate is a bitch, burn down all her things.

I mean then she writes it on the car which is sort of ominous about all their stuff being burned up.

I mean Dean did have that dream about Mary

He's lost Cas, that's his world burning down around him.

-

It's... Look, it's weird they have put off whatever Dean did in the intervening time Sam was eyeing up the cheesebutt menu to show later because we know we see it later because there's a hanging "what happened to your knuckles" question and we saw the clip in the promo. It's a storytelling decision to delay this, and we just see Dean dealing with it by drinking, splashing some alcohol on the cuts, and that's that for now.

What a fucking mess. Dean. Honey.

I suppose to keep the action flowing we deal with Jack but Dean's emotional story is running alongside it and it's being put off, held back... but it's not being held back forever. It's going to be opened up to us. But for NOW we just see kinda what Sam and outsiders see - the same thing I was meta-ing about the promo scene, about how they kept us outside the car for that conversation, about how we're not being allowed into Dean's grief and not being able to name Cas is another thing, another delay, another inability to confront it, just... we're outside, we're watching Dean struggle from afar. From Drunk Fries Girl POV.

-

This episode is fucking magnificent.

-

Maybe Jack is eating Clark, which is the name apparently of the kid.

-

Or are they laughing?? I think I heard laughter?

-

LAUGHTER and the munchies fake out.

I love you Dabb.

This literally says EVERYTHING about Jack and I now trust him completely.

-

Jack's first part of the story has gone from ominous to what a fucking cutie. He might not actually be a stoner but he's adorably sort of mascot-y to this guy and it's just hilarious that he can be like fuck the system I want candy, let's misuse my powers to get more candy because I love nougat. I mean I was wrong that the world would be saved in 13x23 because of trousers because that was a joke but I am legit thinking that this Human Things redux arc for Jack is going to save us all because fucking nougat. And that's a serious spec you can hold me accountable for at the end of the season.

The fact they're sitting on the floor giggling together is just sweet. Jack is learning about friendship so I doubt he would hurt Clark intentionally now, so if Clark does get hurt by Jack it's going to be a tragedy. Maybe something to show Jack how dangerous his powers are and make him want to be more careful and respectful to human life. I think Clark maaay be in the firing line as an adorable toy that gets mangled because Jack doesn't know how rough he's playing >.>

-

Also Jack you should probably not eat so much candy, because you'll get sick.

-

OH NO JACK. Is angel radio messing with your head?

-

OH NO he hurt the sheriff!

-

OH NO this is how he does the lights blowing walk? IT's AWFUL. PROTECT MY CANDY LOVING GIANT MAN BABY.

-

SAM TASED HIM

NO

-

I am so upset. I apparently am extremely protective of my Nougat and angel radio hurts him and they're yelling about him and want to kill him and he's sensitive too :<

(whatever wizardry Dabb wove with the stoner movie subplot worked.)

-

Sam and Dean are not hailed as heroes for stopping Nougat, they're arrested to and given the first ever proper search to confiscate all their guns and knives by a cop who knows what the fuck she is doing. Now Dean has to answer for themselves, using his real name and actual job. He's not got a fuck to give.

-

She asks him if he's a superhero and some part of Dean just crumbles away inside and he says no. In 9x07 especially there was a strong theme of Dean being a superhero and Thinman also had superhero comparisons to them and it was part of the shine of the job wearing off - one of the more subtly horrible Dean moments in season 9 is that superhero action figure melting on the hob yelling "I clobber evil!" into a horrifying mangled sound. I think I just saw his face convey the exact same symbolic awfulness just in his eyes. Fuck you Jensen.

Note to self: gif that if somehow or other someone else hasn't yet.

I mean it's all shattered because the illusion is gone, Dean has nothing left to live for, he's just a guy doing a job. There's no meaning, no personal glory, no one to do it FOR. He's just the tool that gets it done because it has to be done, because what fucking benefit does he get from any of it if the job is also just watching everyone he loves die. That doesn't make him feel like a superhero that makes him feel like total bleak nihilism where you might as well just be upfront and dead inside and tell the truth because what's even the point of lying.

This episode has a lot of nihilism but some of it is fun buttburger style and some is killing me inside :P

-

Also Dean had to confirm angels are real, and the look on his face when he does THAT is ALSO AWFUL. Because everything is awful.

All that baggage where confirming angels are real he knows what people think. He knows what HE thought. He knows how what he thought was different from what other people thought about angels (see: the entire conflict between him and Sam in 2x13) and what angels eventually became to him. That one angel WAS watching over him. That there was one who broke the pattern and was ... Cas.

Help.

-

I tell you what I thought while I was getting dinner... This is the first time I've felt like we're in a show run by the guy who helped create Plucky's.

This is the tone. This is the exact right mouthfeel for Dabb era. This is what it SHOULD be.

-

FINALLY the Sam and Jack confrontation we deserve!

Sam is getting through and chatting! Jack is talking about why he was scared which is nice and symbolic about sharing and caring feelings for better communication and understanding!

Sam's still scared of being in the same room as Jack, flinching when he moves, much like when he's around Lucifer. He's legit scared of a thing and Sam is the biggest badass hunter in the world (like, no offence Dean, you have an impressive and showy history but in terms of brute strength and raw badass mofo power it's Sam :P He's Sam Fucking Winchester and you have a much more personal, over-dramatic flair to the big kills and such)

Jack moves forward intently because he doesn't know that this much eagerness is a trait stamped out of adults, and sits cross-legged, childish, but still imposing. He's learned cross-legged is a fun way to sit and I'm really liking the choices here to make him both naive and powerful.

-

He's fucking sitting with the Mr Burns hands i knew it i knew this was going to be a trait of his, I called it from like 2 promo pics. God damn I'm good at reading body language from just a few stills :P He's exactly what I was expecting but in full 3D animation.

It's just... a cute weird trait. He doesn't know what to do with his hands so he just rests them where they are and lets them hang, because he doesn't have any tics or mannerisms. He's mannerismless. He's so new he hasn't got the faintest trace of social anxiety. This is a raw, undamaged soul.

I am going to weep when Nougat gets hurt in the bits that make him so sweet.

-

See now he's apologising for hurting people.  He sounds so confused when he says "I'm sorry" like he's sounding out the concept but the great thing is he's learning 1000 miles an hour. Anna told Cas he doesn't know what it is to be sorry and Cas still struggled with it in season 7 in the "playing sorry" game and only in 9x11 expressed that he truly understood empathy and human emotion now. Jack tries on an emotion for size, discovers it, and now seems to be fairly earnest about it.

-

Sam: *blink blink*

Sam was RIGHT. <3

-

Hahahah he says Kelly is a part of him. Another point for me! That was one of my specs for how he got to learn English and concepts so fast - that the reason it's fatal to birth him is because he's going to not just absorb the basic baby stuff like nutrients and stuff but he's going to suck her dry of facts and concepts and that's what destroys her. It's like what Amara did but far more complex.

Damn, I'm sorry you had to die for this Kelly, this is a pretty terrible idea in some ways. I better not overthink it.

He just said that his powers are him but not him - he sees them as something other from himself. The whole deal that he needed to be born powers and all, that taking the grace was taking a part of him - yeah. The Cas argument about his grace too, that it can be removed from him and he'll still be Cas, the grace is just power... If Jack sees it as a separate part of himself, a "Not Me" part of himself... That's a huge thing.

-

Oh my fucking GOD He thinks Cas is his FATHER OH NO OH NO OH NO OOOH NOOO.

(Also thanks a LOT people reading along with me for not telling me. Look, the analysis about Sam thinking it was Lucifer and Dabb's BIG Nougat Fake Out build up were all like... how it was meant to be read :P I guess that's why they backed off the father thing for Sam immediately after using it in the one place it would hurt the most.)

I mean Cas did basically act as the co-parent with Kelly and I am pretty sure our Nougat has some lines crossed here and OH MY GOSH DABB YOU MAGNIFICENT FUCKER

See when I said they were making Jack look SUPER FUCKING CREEPY when he was naked at the drive in obviously that was a fake out because I knew he was gonna be hunting with them later but oh my fucking fuck de fuck I want to go back and watch Jack's bits all over again where he's wandering around naked (as Cas is wont to do) asking for his father because FUCK.

He's born as Cas and Kelly die and now he's wandering around asking for Cas and that whole opening, that whole build up where he seems sinister... He remembered Cas all along... Oh gosh I said some things about him back there... I should go back to that scene immediately.

...

I nearly cracked a fucking joke that Jack doesn't have a last name just like Cas and it turns out that scene was a joke about Jack not having a last name because Cas is his father and HE doesn't have a fucking last name.

I hate everything.

"I'm trying to find him. I have to find him" YEAH SO JACK IS ON THE "WHERE IS CAS" TEAM AND THERE'S ANGELS SAYING CAS DESERVED BETTER, I THINK DABB HAS BEEN READING THE BLOGS AGAIN. 

Jack picked Cas to be there to be his parent and guide when Cas said that thing about being his guardian to show him the righteous path and Jack heard it from the womb and was like YES I CHOOSE YOU PIKACHU and that was that, Cas was his father now. Found family in the extreme. Who is the best family, the good family? I'll have that one please.

Oh gosh and now it's sadder that the sheriff was asking for a phone number or address because Cas HAS those. He has a HOME.

...

Anyway back to the Sam and Jack scene, which I already watched through but I want to watch AGAIN DAMMIT.

Gosh this is magnificent though because it puts Cas so squarely in the middle of everything - even though he's dead he's Jack's focus and he's Jack's moral centre and everything that is good about Cas is what Jack wants to beeeeeee and oh my gosh is he going to choose the Winchesters to be his new guardians because they were Cas's family? HELP ME.

-

I'm still kinda not over Jack completely becoming Kelly in the womb and being born by sucking her goodness out from the inside.

What a godawful parenting metaphor/commentary on the mother's sacrifice.

-

Oh and the door to the other world thing as the lead in to talking about his father? I was so sure it was going to be about Lucifer and then -

oh god I am in pain.

Because he diverts from talking about the portal to talking about needing to find his father to protect him and I was like A: well you need the portal for that and B: nooo, Nougat, you don't need that fucker in your life! and then -

oh.

Ow.

-

Anyway Sam's face while talking about Cas is just... ARGH. And Jack's so earnest and happy about Cas protecting him and how he had to grow up

-

And then poor Nougat's face when Sam tells him Cas is dead and he's SO ANGRY. And THAT, my dear Nougat, is how you get to the lovely position of being furiously vengeful against your birth father in order to avenge your chosen father and I am delighted.

Cas is Jack's Bobby.

-

OH NO Clark has gone out to smoke with headphones. He's so gonna get angel murdered if Jack's not gonna kill him (because he is a soft squishy nougat person) and then Jack's going to be even more hurt.

STOP HURTING JACK.

-

FRIES GIRL IS AN ANGEL.

-

THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING.

-

SAM, TELL DEAN ABOUT THE CAS'S SON THING.

HE SAID LUCIFER'S SON, THAT'S NOT HELPFUL.

I suppose Sam doesn't want to convey that to Dean because he knows how Dean is with concepts he hates because he's currently flippantly talking about killing "Damien" out back rather than engage with the subject matter, but tbh I think bringing up Cas would be such a knock to the feels that Sam might be able to get in the line that "this kid seems to have a Cas-guided morality" while Dean is still emotionally picking himself up.

-

AHAHAHA Dean said "that won't do jack against her" - he's still using "jack" as a phrase

-

Dean's Becky... what a surprise :P Maybe Fries Angel writing "Bitch" on the car wasn't subtle enough.

The angels find Dean an annoying roommate whose drama they're always having to deal with.

Mittens just reminded me I wept about 9x07 to her and the poor melting action figure and how the angels want to burn Dean down. I am not okaaaay.

-

OOOH we're getting angel radio now because Jack's our in!

I don't think their eyes normally light up to communicate with it but new season new rules and this must be a mechanic we're dealing with more than just this one example.

Poor Clark - Jack briefly had a friend, learned to sit cross legged and eat nougat from him, and now his friend who made him laugh is dead. It's a HARD LIFE being a Winchester.

-

Also the main Winchesters are getting smashed up

Wait Dean just got back up with STYLE. Nice fight

-

Hey Clark is still alive-ish... Maybe Jack can heal him.

-

OH NO BANISHING HURTS NOUGAT TOO.

That was some great quick thinking by Sam.

Guess walls affect it or Fries Angel was too far away.

-

Fries Angel needed to stick around to deliver some Destiel exposition that she knows Dean's first thought to "Jack can do anything" was not "I will use him to reopen that portal and get mom back" but "I will get him to resurrect my dead angel" and just immediately goes from that to crushing Dean about Cas's death

"Castiel, he's dead. All the way dead. Because of you."

That is.. the worst line

-

"Or what, Other One?" Jeeeze the angels really do have more of a beef with Dean about the whole Winchesters thing for some reason. That really means in a couple of lines of exposition that every time heaven has mocked Cas about The Winchesters they really have meant Dean... Just, you know.. remember who wrote the eeny meeny miney mo scene for a sec, back when he had to be subtle about Dean calling Cas but that just being a random happenstance to what the angels were talking about, essentially :P

-

Oh no she stabbed Nougat!

I assume he doesn't die because... you know.. spoilers.

-

He's got his own Cas-like pull the blade out moment, but... Wow.

-

HOLY SHIT SOMEONE SAID THE LINE "I'M FINE" ON THIS SHOW AND MEANT IT

IT IS A NEW ERA

NOUGAT IS THE HERALD OF BETTER TIMES

-

Poor guy is stunned and confused and a little hurt though.

-

Oh no Clark is fine but going to hospital. I mean I assume this means doctors will help him. His mom is telling him he'll be brave and so on.

-

Poor Nougat is so sad about how horrible this world is. Cas isn't here to protect him and Sam and Dean just did a moderately adequate job at fending off the angels while getting the shit kicked out of them because angels are scary and powerful again.

-

Sam tries to bring up the keeping Jack thing again and Dean's like yeah we can keep him but he's evil so I guess that means you clean up the mess a la taking a puppy home? 

Dean's still convinced Jack is evil and brainwashed Kelly and Cas - it's kinda more terrifying that he BECAME Kelly and absorbed her, and I do think he chose Cas to be his father and none of it was malicious, and they gave him the love and promise of protection he needs to be good and all and it's a billion times more nuanced than Dean thinks... He's being protective of Cas, depressed about their life and their chances... I think he's going to be pretty wrong about Nougat because from 12x19 it was obvious he had chosen Cas BECAUSE Cas was good and would protect him. Even when he didn't think he could do it himself. So I think Jack, uh... motivated Cas... because he wanted him... Like, I still think Jack did shit to Cas because he did creepy shit to Kelly which we're apparently going to move on from because he is an adorable squishy guy who I want to follow with a blanket and a stick to beat off people who will wear him down. But yeah, 12x19 is super weird and I don't *like* the method Jack acquired his mom and dad, even if I do think that he's not evil and the end result seems extremely positive if he popped out the womb determined to find Cas, and has a Cas-centric morality. Loving Cas is obviously the good and best thing you can do on this show and it's vindicating in spades he's a nice guy because he loves Cas and considers him a father for the protection he offered.

(Still think if he was pure good to start with he'd have SAID "hey I plan to be born a full grown adult, you don't need these diapers" but that WAS what caused him to open the rift so maybe his attempt to warn Cas went astray... :P)

But yeah I still find Jack "choosing" Cas to be his father and to create that bond out of nothing, almost instantaneously, to be a little suspect in the happenstance of it, even if as I've been saying all along I have been completely open to him turning out to be, well... Nougat.

-

But Dean doesn't care, he wants to kill Jack. "At least the only people he can hurt there are you and me" WOW DEAN.

WWWWOOOOOOW.

-

OH NO OH NO OOOOH NOOOOOOOOO O OoOOOOooooOOOooo o Sam is saying "are you sure about this Dean? It's Cas" - I assume in reference to burning him rather than burying him and Dean's gonna be like, Fries Angel said he was dead as dead. 

I don't wanna see it.

"You don't think I've tried that" OH NO

Here's the flashback! Told you it was coming! (You have all seen this episode no one is mad enough to wait 18 hours just to watch for the first time with my notes) But yeah as I was saying, sidelining Dean's emo stuff to focus on the action, to set it aside, to put us away from it, to keep it back for when it would hit most. To do some god damn STORYTELLING around here. Some fucking ardfgjhlsksdfhjklslhfdjqp storytelling. That when all the action is done, when Dean has been ground down into a fucking paste by this day, the day of having to come to terms with the loss of Cas, when we know he went off to have some private punching things time and Sam was being the least gay to possibly gay in the comic stoner movie side of the story, Dean was having a moment SO POWERFUL that it could ONLY be conveyed to us by not showing it happening until we were deeply, truly, in the context of Dean mourning Cas and where we could focus on that with nothing left to distract us that this is the Worst.

-

.... I have been sitting here not pressing play for over 10 minutes

-

OH NO

I have paused it immediately

because they used the camera angle from Baby

the Roadhouse one

and the one from the fight where Cas was on the phone

-

so uh

Add hysterical weeping to the things this show makes me do because I was one stoic snarky hahaha isn't this ridiculous Jack planned to adult all along so the diapers thing was a massive prank kinda person and then bam Dean went out back to pray and I was scream-crying and then he said Cas was his everything and I am never going to be chill again

-

Okay, Chuck… or god, or whatever. I need your help. See, you– you left us. You LEFT us. You went off. You said… You said the earth would be fine because it had me… and Sam, but it’s NOT, and we’re NOT.

We’ve lost everything. And now you’re gonna bring him back. Okay? You’re gonna bring back Cas, you’re gonna bring back Mom, you’re gonna bring ‘em all back. All of ‘em. Even Crowley.

’Cause after everything that you’ve done, you OWE us, you son of a bitch. So you get your ass down here and you make this right, right here and right now.

Please. Please help us.

-

Thanks Mittens.

So.

Uh.

-

First name basis with the guy upstairs: this is a personal appeal in case he ever actually cared. (Spoiler alert: I don't think Dean is going to come out of this with a better opinion of God)

*I* need your help. Not we, *I*. This is on Dean's behalf for Cas.

He brings up the line which we went into Dabb era on and I ripped to shreds critically at the time that Chuck ever put that burden onto Dean because he has some broad ass shoulders but they are not big enough for the world and his whole problem is he's always been carrying it in the first place so Chuck didn't do SHIT to make him feel better AND NOW DEAN IS CRITIQUING THE CARETAKERS OF THE EARTH IDEA. THAT IT SHOULD NOT BE HIS BURDEN. MAYBE NOT BECAUSE HE CAN'T DO IT BUT BECAUSE HE SHOULD NOT BE EXPECTED TO DO IT. He was singled out as the firewall between light and dark but he doesn't feel like a superhero. He doesn't clobber evil. He's being STRIPPED DOWN AS A PERSON. WHO EVEN IS HE. WILL DEAN QUIT HUNTING? JESUS CHRIST, I SAID THAT LINE IN 11x23 WAS AWFUL FOR DEAN BUT I DIDN'T THINK DABB WAS GONNA GO *THERE*

And he says the world isn't fine - and they're not. Their emotional state reflects the world. The centre of the universe thing, in the storytelling, makes the world reflect Dean. His misery or happiness is on a cosmic scale. This tangledupness of him in the middle of it all is killing him because the world will be in danger and that can't all land on him. He can't be the Atlas of this world. But he is. OH how he is. But this isn't a world with superheroes. Just HUMAN GUYS DOING THEIR JOB.

And then the transition. The terms and conditions. The "you have given me a fucked up burden so pls unfuck it and here's how" swinging around from "everything" to "him". The implicitness of it all. The... The fact everyone knows it's about Cas. It's not about Mom. It's not about Crowley. He can say their names. He couldn't say that Cas was dead. Fries Angel immediately identified it. Cas is the answer to all the questions, where all roads lead. And they've come back to the house where he died, FOR Cas, and Sam asks about praying and Dean has already asked and got no answer, already been told Cas is permadead, and THIS is where we deliver the bombshell. Everything flows into "him".

Cas is Dean's everything.

And yeah he wants Mary back and fuck it fuck you God fuck everything just fucking include Crowley to because why the fuck not, you owe me. All that pointless stupid death and loss, it's enough to make me feel bad that Crowley is gone.

And oh the wank over the summer he would ask for Crowley back too (and I smacked the desk and hooted with laughter, with tears still in my eyes, reeling from the "everything" line because I called the way Dean would ask for him back. I knew it!), it just... Even Mary doesn't compare because she's tacked on in the repetition, the clarification that everything is him is Cas. And it's totally fine for Dean to ask for these others he's lost back, for them to be in the same sentence as Cas, because yes he lost them and it hurts and it's awful, but there is a very special awful reserved for Cas. The kind of awful where Sam has to pause and ask Dean if he's sure, if he doesn't want to find a way to bring him back. And we ALL know we're not supposed to bring people back because there's consequences. We're all adults in the room, they both have done it, seen and FELT the consequences for having it done TO them. But Sam knows. He just knows what happens when it's someone like Cas. And maybe we don't have any more bullshit, we just ask politely and carefully if this is going to be a "bring them back at any cost" situation, and how can I help?

And then at the end of the prayer Dean cracks out the exact look and angle of expression for his Plea To God face that he has used... once. In 5x14. When utterly at the end of his rope. This is what losing Cas has brought him to - the lowest point, the one back in season 5 that was a danger to the guardianship of the world lumped on Dean's shoulders, because it was where he was when he nearly said yes to Michael, the despair cycle he couldn't deny any more at the time... Yeah, this has kind of seen and waved at season 7 on the way to hurtling all the way back to the Worst Dean Has Ever Felt To Date.

-

Nice.

-

And Dean has given up all faith in God ever helping them or caring about them.

-

OH NO

NOUGAT

Sam has taken him to see his dead mom. :(

Time to grapple with the concept of loss.

*beeps her big toe*

Oh Nougat I truly feel bad for you now. Look at his big soft face. He consumed her to gain his life and powers and his intelligence and his GOODNESS and oh no that means he's gonna feel baaad about it.

-

But Dean is downstairs with Cas, alone. Can this episode get any fucking worse.

-

THOSE SERIES OF ACTIONS QUALIFY AS WORSE I AM WEEPING AGAIN.

Oh god Dean.

You should have told him.

You should have fucking told him.

-

Oh Nougat you... sweetie. He has no clue what to say. :(

Sam tells him to say thank you, because he devoured Kelly, and to say sorry.

-

Oh Sam, he's crying for Cas as well.

-

OH NO Dean's so defeated about Mary it's just... UGH.

I assume these are the first things he says today where he gets immediately proven wrong - I assume the last scene will be a hop across the universe lines.

"They're all gone"

This is simultaneously the best Sam stuff in 1000 miles of canon and the worst Dean episode ever and I am in agony.

-

Yep that billisecond of footage was completely right. Sam is sad, Jack, who we didn't see, is struggling sweetly with the concept of death and what it means and how to act and feel right now, and Dean... has checked the fuck out.

-

RUN, MARY

-

I LOVE HER.

-

FUCK YOU LUCIFER BTW

-

Ugh her face is like mine when he says he needs her. The shot looks like the fucking Titanic poster. I'm assuming they do not get very far before Michael gets involved, though.

I'm gonna go back to ugly-crying about the rest of this.

-

This is Dabb's best solo episode hands down. I laughed, I cried, I struggled with the complex philosophy of being human and if you should consume your mother from the inside out in order to be born as a full-grown man.

I think I'm keeping Nougat.

[hornsbeforehalos]

Hunter And Arrow: Part Six

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OFC Warnings:  Language, the fact that I wrote it, violence, discription of death, main character death, smut, kidnapping, semi-abusive relationships A/N: I do not own TWD or any of it’s characters besides the OFC’s I’ve created. Do not repost my work anywhere without my permission. 

Felt the need to write some Daryl...it’s been a while since I’ve updated this one lol.

SERIES MASTERLIST

TAGS: @make-things-beautiful2 @reigningqueenofwords @srj1990  @jesbakescookies @aquivercactus  @daddy-kink-confirmed @kellyn1604 @reedusteinrambles @dragongirl420 @addiction-survivor25 @through-thesilver-lining  @redm81

Hunter woke up the next morning alone, Daryl’s side of the bed messy and cold. She furrowed her brows as she sat up, scratching her head before making her way towards Arrow’s room, finding it also empty. 

Where in the hell could those two be?’ She thought to herself as she made her way down the stairs, her feet stepping onto the cold Linoleum at the same time that the back door opened and the pair came through the entrance. 

Hunter’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of her daughter, hair a mess of wild curls caked with blood that dripped down across her face that held one of the proudest smiles she’d ever seen.

“Mama! I shot four squirrels!” The little girl said happily, hoisting up a string with her kills laced through it to show off.

“Well, look at you, sweetpea. Gettin’ better!” Her mother praised, smiling down at Arrow and taking the string of carcasses from her.

“You gon’ tell me why my three year old knows how to shoot a damn bow?” Daryl asked, half angry and half estatic, “She too lil’ too be knowin’ that shit.”

“Obviously she’s not, Husban’,” Hunter cocked back, her eyebrow raising at the same time as she held up her daughter’s handy work, “She’s a better shot’n you.”

“Pffft” Daryl huffed, his hand moving to his daughter’s disheveled hair to rough it up, “She gets it from ‘er daddy.”

“Nah-uh, Daddy. Mama taught me.” Arrow grinned back, looking up at her mom with bright eyes, “Mama taught me errythin’!”

“Mama also taught you how to go wash your ass, too, now git in that tub before I hose you down outside,” Hunter popped, flinging a towel in her direction that Arrow dodged as she ran up the stairs.

“You mind startin’ her water for me while I start the coffee maker, babe? Too early for squirrel bodies and the stench o’ Death to not have caffeen if you ask me.”

“On it.” Daryl called back as he rushed up the stairs to help his little girl.

A few minutes later he came back down, his face and hair drenched in water that he was attempting to shake dry as he mumbled, “Sneaky little brat.”

“Gotcha, didn’ she?” Hunter chuckled back as she tossed her husband the cup towel, Daryl taking it and wiping his face off. 

“So how she know all that? Girl had those squirrels strung up so quick I thought I was watchin’ you.” Daryl asked, his fingers figiting with an invisible speck on the tile counter.

“We’ve been alone, jus’ me and her, for a while now. I couldn’ just leave her alone while I hunted, so I brought her with me. She learnt to be quiet and eventually wanned to practice with the bow.” Hunter shrugged, not really sure wehy it was so concerning for Daryl, “Figured somethin’ might happen to me sometime ‘r another, didn’ see the harm in her learnin’ to fend for herself.”

Daryl stared at his wife for a moment from behind his bangs, his voice deep and raspy when he spoke again, “You’re an amazing mom, you know that?”

Hunter smiled at the unexpected sweetness, knowing words had never been Daryl’s strongest gift. She nodded her head at the compliment, looking back down to the counter as he pulled her hand over to his, “’M glad you kept her safe.”

“Me too, Dare. Me too.”

“I gotta run to make to Hilltop, she asked if she could go with me.” Daryl said after a moment of staring at their joined hands, his eyes finding hers again as he waited for her answer.

“That’ll be fine. Mind if I join ya?” She asked as she heard her daughter holler that she wanted out of the tub.

“You thank I was jus’ gon’ let you stay here ‘n be lazy while I deal with her crazy? Pffft” He teased, pulling her around the edge of the island and into his arms.

“Is Daryl Dixon afraid of a three year old?” Hunter deadpanned, eyebrow quirking up in amusement

“YESSS! Daddy’s terrimified of me! Rawr!” Arrow suddenly roared, bolting down the stairs dripping wet and butt naked with a towel flowing behind her like a cape. She ran a fast circle around the couch in the living room before darting towards Hunter, smacking into her leg with a thud as she wrapped herself around it. 

“Le’s get you dressed, crazy, then we can show daddy how really scary you can be!” Hunter laughed as she scooped the sopping girl up into her arms to carry her back upstairs. “Daddy, get the hairbrush, you’re on curl duty.” 

“NO! Nobody brush my hair!” Arrow screeched back.

“Be fuckin’ still, girl! I ain’t tryna rip the stuff out!” Daryl complained as Arrow squirmed around in the little stool she was sitting on, smacking Daryl’s legs as he tried to tame the giant fluff ball that was her hair, “How the hell do you do this?”

“Jesus Christ, Dare, stop.” Hunter rolled her eyes as she took the brush from her husband’s hand, the little girl instantly stopping her movements as her mother took over. Arrow let Hunter comb through the roots of her hair and hike the rest up into a ponytail, wrapping the elastic around the strands with ease on the top of her head, “There. Done.”

“Wasn’t so hard, was it daddy?” Arrow snorted back with as much attitude as her mother, sticking her tongue out at his annoyed face.

“Well I’m sorry, smart ass, I ain’t a proffessional girly girl like ya mama.” Daryl stuck his tongue out right back at her. 

“Cuz you’re a stinky boy!” Arrow replied.

“Tha’s right. All boys are stinky.” Daryl agreed, crossing his arms with smug satisfaction. 

“No, daddy, jus’ yew.” Arrow clarified with that no-it-all tone to her voice again.

“Jesus Christ, this is what I have to look forward to?” Daryl huffed, throwing his hands up in defeat as he retreated from the bathroom.

“Better or Worse!” Hunter called back.

“Ya’ll better hurry up or I’mma leave ya’ll!” Daryl hollered in response from the bottom of the steps. 

“We’re coming!” Both girls chimed back in unison.

“Look, Daddy, that’s a tree! That’s a flower, That’s a deer! Look, mama! A deer! Daddy, shoot it! Shoot it!” Arrow screeched, bouncing around the cab of the truck and crawling all over Daryl while he was driving.

“Can’t shoot while I’m tryna steer, Aare, now sit still.” Daryl chuckled back, swatting the girl from his lap and back into her seat between the two.

“Mama! Shoot it!” 

“I ain’t shootin’ shit from the window, Arrow Rae, now sit yer butt down!” Hunter replied, forcing the girl to sit in the seat correctly.

“Ya’ll suck.” Arrow huffed, crossing her arms in anger and pouting.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Daryl huffed, shaking his head before side-eyeing his wife, “This’ your fault.”

“What’s my fault? She’s adorable.” Hunter deadpanned with a smirk.

“She’s definately a Dixon,” Carl chimed in from his spot in the back seat, snorting back a laugh as he listensed to the little family bicker. 

“Shut your mouth, Carl, ain’t nobody ask you.” Daryl grunted with his own grin, his hand reaching over his daughter to smack his wife on the thigh playfully as he continued to make their way to the sister community.

“Oh, no, nope, I will not have that woman on my premises.” Gregory stammered hotly, his emotions getting the best of him as he caught sight of Hunter and Arrow climbing out of the truck.

“An’ why not?” Daryl growled in reply, his voice deep as he advanced towards the ‘leader.’

“Last time she was here she killed three of my men! She’s a psychopath is what she is!” Gregory continued to accuse, his finger pointing at Hunter as the fear splayed across his face before he moved to point at the little girl “And that’s Negan’s daughter!”

“That’s my daughter.” Daryl roared back, fist jerking Gregory up by the tie, “She’s my blood, and tha’s my wife, you gotta prollem with that?”

“She killed three of my men!”

“Because they left the fuckin’ gate open and my daughter almost got killed!” Hunter clarified, crossing her arms and cocking her hip out as she shook her head at his incompetence

“Yeah! Got me bit!” Arrow roared in her own angry voice.

“Got you what?” Gregory questioned, confusion encasing his face as he peered down at the little girl who was stalking up to her daddy’s side. 

“You got me bit by those stinky things and I was sick for a week! I don’t like you!” Hunter yelled, her tiny foot stomping on his toe. 

“What’s goin’ on here, Daryl?” A voice suddenly sounded from behind Gregory, who instantly relaxed upon hearing it. 

“Jesus, y-y-you were here when this woman k-killed-” He started, but was cut off by Arrow again.

“JEEBUS!” The little girl squealed, running towards the long-haired man who leaned down to engulf her tiny frame in a bear hug.

“Arrow! Is that you! Look at how you’ve grown!” Paul laughed back as he rose to his feet with her in his arms, her hands instantly invading his hair to tug and pull on it as they made their way back towards Gregory and Hunter.

“You-You-You....” Greggory attempted to compain.

Ignoring him, Paul pushed past Gregory to stand in front of him, smirk playing on his lips as he examined Hunter before his eyes flicked back to Daryl, “So it’s true, huh? The notorious Hunter finally killed Negan?”

“Notorious?” Daryl mumbled, eyeing his wife suspiciously.

“Deader’n a doornail.” Hunter nodded. 

“She stabbed him in the throat!” Arrow squealed in Paul’s arms, the man looking back to her with his nose scrunched in amusement.

“I see you are just as blunt as ever,” Paul laughed as he sat the girl down, Arrow moving swiftly to hang from her daddy’s utility belt until he picked her back up into his arms. 

“This my Daddy, Jeebus. His name’s Daryl.” Arrow said proudly, her tiny hand moving to cup her father’s scruffy face. 

“Daddy, huh?” Jesus’ eyebrows about shot up to have tea with his hairline as he choked out an embarrassed laugh, “That’s unexpected.”

“Ya know, that’s what everyone else said too.” Hunter snorted, moving to stand closer to her husband, peering up at him with a shit-eating-grin before they followed Jesus to where the supplies were kept.

“Tol’ ya I got half the damn population thankin’ I’m gay cuz yer ass.” Daryl mumbled as he intertwined his hand with his wife’s as they walked, not seeing the curious expression still lingering on Gregory’s face where he was left behind them. 

[hencethebravery]

Title: “The Spooky Truth with Dr. Jones,” (3/3) | 1 • 2 • 3

Summary: Emma Swan is a podcaster looking for a semi-interesting story. Dr. Killian Jones is a paranormal investigator who doesn’t believe in the paranormal. Emma Swan absolutely does not want to write this story—but it seems to be writing itself. A CS Black Tapes AU.

Notes: It's done you guys. It's really done. I am an entire human tear dripping down the face of improbability. I hope it was worth the wait. I’d like to thank and/or notify a # of awesome people who helped with this or if you’re following along: @seastarved @zengoalie @ofshipsandswans @abbadons-little-witch @the-reason-to-sail-home @businesscasualprincess​ @swanandapirate @piratesails @phiralovesloki. Also on Ao3.

+ Early on in her career at ACRS, before she had even begun to trust David and his suspiciously kind wife, she had quickly developed the habit of recording everything. She found it comforting and helpful, as if she were writing in a journal or diary, only something about speaking felt easier. When she wrote things down, it took significantly more time. To consider each and every word before it hits the paper, as if putting the words down in ink somehow made the ideas permanent. Speaking felt a little bit less so, there was less of a censor in her own head. For whatever reason.

“Never really kicked the habit, I guess,” she says, speaking quietly from a too-soft bed in Killian Jones’ guest room. It’s early in the morning, around 3 AM, and she feels like she hasn’t slept in a week at least.

 “A few hours here and there,” a half-spoken whisper, “but I just haven’t been able to stay asleep. I keep having these… dreams.”

The studio in Maine is empty. The headphones are on, the red light shines bright, bright, bright—so bright, she can feel a dull pain somewhere behind her eyes when she looks at it. It’s recording, and she begins to speak, only no words emerge from between her lips, no sound. She shouts, yells and screams, clutching at her own throat, wondering where her voice has gone—panicked that no one can hear her cries for help.

That’s when she hears it. The heavy, dragging footsteps from down the hall, accompanied by a slow, wet squish. The air smells… tangy, like iron. Like salt on your lips after a day at the beach, only it feels like she’s lived in this building her entire life. If someone were to ask her in that precise moment, “What does the beach look like?” she probably wouldn’t be able to answer.

He’s walking down the hall, calling her name, only… it’s more like gasping her name. Limping down the long, endless hallway, barely getting out the “Em—” and she’s shouting his name, trying to tell him that yes, she’s here, she’s right here, only her voice is just… gone. And he doesn’t turn to look at her, just moves on, ever forward, sluggish and slow.

Standing up, she always stands up, running after him, only he disappears behind a door that suddenly appears at the end of the hall. Sprinting down the long hallway that only seems to grow longer, and finally, finally arriving at the door, wrapping her hand around the hard, cool doorknob and stepping out into… trees.

Tall, dark, imposing trees, so thick with leaves that she can’t know whether it’s day or night. A silent forest but for the low, steady hum of choral music somewhere in the distance, growing louder the closer she gets to the large, towering inferno of blazing light. As she observes the gathering of cloaked figures, listens to their unsettling, cacophonous song, she sees him. Wearing the same outfit he had donned at the lecture, the charming professor, only it looks like he’s been put through the ringer—his jacket torn, face bloodied, on his knees at the feet of a tall man dressed all in black.

Still asking for her, begging for them to tell him where she is, and she shouts again only nothing comes out, her voice is still missing, which is when, of course, she notices the long, cruel blade in the tall man’s hand. And it’s only after he’s raised the blade high into the air, after her knees hit the dirt too late, her hands sticky with his blood, it’s only then that she wakes up.

“Hush now,” she hears, as if the words are being sung into her ear like a lullaby, a warm hand brushing the damp hair away from her forehead, “everything’s fine, love, you’re okay. It’s okay.”

When his voice, his words and reassurances, finally settle somewhere in the pit of her writhing insides, she can hear the insects chirping outside the half-open window. A truck barrels down the highway up the hill, and the normal sounds of a normal dawn disrupt the terror of her nightmare. The feeling of his chest as it moves behind her; in and out, in and out. His lips are resting somewhere against her gross, sweaty hairline, but she can’t quite muster up the energy to care.

“Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

Shaking her head no, like a child afraid to speak in case she’s still trapped inside her nightmare, silenced by some unknown adversary. And who is she if she’s stopped from speaking? No one. Useless. Old news. Certainly, a smart, successful professor from a prestigious university—why would he care without that?

“Have you been sleeping, Swan?”

She shakes her head again and tries to ignore that feeling—the same one she had tried to ignore after he had threatened to leave the first time and she had said nothing. A dull, vicious pressure that exists only to remind her that she’s started to care, that maybe she wants someone to stay. That maybe she wants to stay.

He exhales with an, “Oh, Emma,” which is when she realizes that she’s begun to cry, which would explain the lightness in her head and her heart, like there’d been a brick tied to her feet and she’d been drowning only she hadn’t even noticed until now.

It’s not as if the feeling of his hands against her face is a completely foreign sensation. She had, unfortunately, felt and known their roughness before. Had felt his thumb wipe a streak of wayward ink from her cheek, the lined palms of his hand cupping her jaw. And usually, in the past, she had locked it away somewhere, locked it away with the rest of her subjects; her projects, her stories, only now, in the post-drowning light of morning, she holds his rough hands to her heated face like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, relieved at the sound of her own voice. “I should’ve listened to you.”

“No,” he answers, sternly, adamantly, “you have nothing to apologize for. He is a cruel, manipulative man who will stop at nothing to hide the truth of what he’s done.”

Her teeth sink into the flesh of her bottom lip a little too hard, but it’s just… somehow, astonishingly, there are words that Emma Swan does not know how to say. She talks for a living, so it’s odd to think that she hasn’t spoken them before, but when the words pass her lips, it feels kind of like a step has been made in the right direction. A giant, terrifying step.

“I’m afraid.”

Her hands fall heavy into her lap, and she feels the exhaustion from the night before return in a wave. “I don’t want to go back to sleep,” she whispers, “but I’m so fucking tired.”

“Emma,” he says again, wiping the remaining wetness away from her cheeks and chin, “look at me.”

“No.”

“Emma.”

It’s something a bit like being a disgruntled teenager when she finally gathers the courage to look up at him, only she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a slightly awed by what she saw. This gentle twinkle in his eyes, like he had some sort of secret, like she didn’t just let loose her feelings all over the place like the emotional time bomb she had always known she was. How fucking embarrassing.

“Wipe that crazy grin off your face, Jones. You’re freaking me out.”

He laughs and she can see the sun start to rise behind his head. The wind blows gently through the room, cooling her flushed face, and she can smell the fresh, piney scent that comes with being surrounded by miles of lush forest. It’s like a balm for her frazzled nerves, and she finds it harder to keep her eyes open.

“I was just thinking,” he says softly, re-adjusting the blankets over the two of them, “about that time in the coffee shop. Do you remember?”

She can feel herself starting to drift off, but with the warmth of the sun on her face, the feeling of his arms around her, it’s harder to be frightened.

“You mean when you flirted with that poor, innocent lumberjack-barista?”

“Other than that.”

He pauses for so long she thinks he’s fallen asleep as well, only she can hear his voice again, in the final few moments before she manages to fall into blissful unconsciousness, “You said you were a ‘brilliant reporter.’ Put me in my place for being such an arrogant prick.”

She manages to snort, before he continues, “You shouldn’t be afraid, Swan. He should be.”

She’s standing in a library. At least, she thinks it’s a library—there are books on all of the shelves, although many of them are blank, and she can’t seem to find the exit. There are windows on either side of her, but all she can see is grey. Whether it’s fog or sky or what have you, she can’t really tell, it’s just a muted, monochromatic unknown.

It’s silent but for the sound of her shoes against the hardwood floors, the leather bound books sliding against one another as she tries to make heads or tails of the content. All of them blank.

The bookshelves are tall, so tall, in fact, that she can’t seem to find the tops of them. They seem to ascend forever, into infinity, and that’s about when Emma suspects she might be dreaming. Surprisingly there’s no real urge to panic, just a sense that she needs to keep walking, as if there was anything else to do. A library full of blank books seems to be about the most useless place her mind can conjure.

She starts to wonder if she’s been walking forever (and curious as to whether or not anyone has tried to find her) when she finally spots her. The brunette a few feet away, tall and lovely, her hair voluminous and wavy, it outshines the drabness of the room. The floors are a lackluster shade of brown, the glossiness of the wood fading; the windows warped and grey, the books all manner of muted colors, and while the woman’s hair is indeed its own shade of brown, there’s something vibrant about it, isn’t there? Like melted chocolate on the stove, winking in the warm light of an early morning. Her lips are a soft, rosy pink, pursed as they are as she peruses a rather heavy tome.

“How are you reading that?” Emma asks, perplexed. It seemed to her as if all of these books were frustratingly empty only moments before.

“How does one read anything?” the unnamed woman sighs, her eyes skimming blank pages as if they were following words from left to right.

“Cryptic,” Emma answers shortly, one eyebrow raised in annoyance. “What does it say?”

“It says you’re in love.”

Emma startles at the sound of a book falling somewhere behind her, only she can’t turn around since it feels like there might be something creeping up back there. She only noticed a few seconds ago, but still, not the best feeling in the world, is it? She doesn’t know much, here, in this odd, pointless library where no one can read a thing except for one, vague ghost-person. And what’s so special about her?

“With who?” she asks quietly, trying to keep his eyes out of her head, the startling gentleness of his hands against her face.

Milah, because that’s who she must be, slams the book shut, a cloud of dust escaping from its pages. When she looks at Emma, there’s a strangeness about her flesh, as if it were stretched thin, the color pallid in contrast to her lips and hair.

“You are a sight, aren’t you?” she wonders aloud, circling Emma like she were a caged animal, an almost-smile on her face. It’s unsettling, like it’s too much work for all the bodily mechanisms to hold in place. “I can see why he likes you.”

Emma swallows and her mouth is dry, impossibly, as if she’s been wandering in the desert for days, only she can’t remember where she was before this, or where she might go afterwards. All there is seems to be right now, and she still can’t turn around, cannot think of what to say—which is new for her. Maybe she’s finally growing as a person.

“Don’t fret, Emma,” Milah says reassuringly, coming to a stop behind her shoulder, like a perched bird, her lips brushing against her hair. “I have a message for you.”

There’s an impossibly large book at Emma’s feet; maybe it’s the one Milah had been reading moments earlier, but they all the look the same so it could just as easily not be. This one, thankfully, not blank, but marked with a rather large map of... “Maine?” she asks, whispers, moves an unsteady hand to tuck a lock of thick, blonde hair behind her ear.

“Milah?” she asks, glancing to her left only to find the woman gone. Nothing left but air and bookshelves, and there’s a shiver down her spine, like the kind you might get from wearing wet clothes inside an air-conditioned room. And there’s still that warning firing somewhere in her brain. Something bad will happen if you turn around. Don’t turn around.

On a second look it does seem more familiar, the roads and curves and landmarks appearing more and more like Storybrooke, or a couple of miles outside of it. She follows the red road with her eyes, as it moves and moves and moves it seems as if it’s turned into a river, wet and viscous like something she can’t remember. Like wine? Like oil? And it’s suddenly very warm, like there are flames licking along the sides of her face, and the map seems to vanish before her very eyes, lost as it is in all that wet and red, and when she scans the room for Milah once again she sees her.

A lone figure straight ahead, her eyes unseeing only they’re staring right at her, through her—and when Emma looks down again she can’t see her shoes (if she was even wearing shoes), lost as they are in a deep, thickening puddle of deep, red blood. Which, yes, that’s the word for it. When she looks back up Killian’s deceased lover (apparently) is closer, not so close that she can smell the death on her, but close enough that when she opens her mouth in some kind of wild, untethered shriek, Emma feels herself falling backwards, only there’s no puddle of thick blood to break her fall.

And that’s when she wakes up.

Episode 9 opens with the hushed, comforting sounds of two friends talking over coffee. It’s almost eerily relaxed, a different mood than their listeners might have come to expect. You can hear the breeze passing beneath the softness of their voices, catching the cavernous spaces of Killian’s high ceilings. There’s the occasional call of a bird, someone’s chair shifting to accommodate their weight. She loves the sound of the coffee swirling around in the bottom of her mug—adjusting the volume of all that ambient noise with David in the editing bay. “For mood,” she says, laughing at the sight of his indignant face.

“You must have come across it before,” Killian suggests gently, “the mind can work wonders when it's had a proper rest.”

“I’ve never seen it before,” she insists, though any note of anger or frustration one might have expected to hear from her is oddly absent. “Killian,” urging him to understand, “she was showing us where to look.”

“I’ve started sleeping again,” she begins in Episode 8, “Turning the Tide,” “and we put new locks on all my doors.”

At the beginning of this thing, David had given her a 10-episode run. With two more left, she has, admittedly, started to worry about how they’re supposed to wrap this whole thing up.

“We’re no closer to figuring out what happened to Milah,” in a recorded meeting with David, “or pinning anything on Mr. Gold for her death.”

“Her disappearance,” David corrects, “weird dreams don’t count as evidence.”

She sighs and glances at the chaotic map of faces and photographs on the wall in David’s office, trying to make all the pieces fit together. She’s hung up one of those large old road maps, and it dwarfs the rest of their Murder Wall (as she’s begun to so humorously refer to it). And along an infrequently traveled route around Storybrooke, past the town line, closer to the Canadian border, she’s drawn a line in thick, red ink.

They find Milah Gold in Episode 9, and it’s not some ghostly vision, it’s her actual body. David catches some flack from the production company, mostly because there’s only so much they can play and describe. Not to mention the fact that it becomes an open murder investigation. There’s also the pesky matter of taking Killian Jones’ feelings into consideration. He hasn’t seen Milah for years, but he did love the woman a hell of a lot. Enough to risk his career and his reputation. Hell, her disappearance changed his entire professional trajectory.

“I’d always been the skeptical sort,” he had mentioned to her, late one night after another round of drinks. There was always something about his house. Or maybe it was him. All large, blue eyes and genuine concern. Seriously, the house was nearly as open as he was, surrounded by sweeping green vistas. Wide glass windows always open to let in the air and the smell of the trees. Everything about him was so available, so it was no wonder she had fallen into his arms like a besotted damsel.

“You’re always welcome, love. You don’t even have to ask.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that ya know,” she had answered, hiding her feelings behind a wink and a smirk because she would most definitely cry otherwise, “you might start to give a girl ideas.”

Killian had never cared much for the occult. He had been a fairly straightforward history professor before Milah came along. She had enchanted him almost immediately, headstrong and sharp, they had gotten into a debate about contemporary witchcraft; about legitimacy and belief and all those tricky subjects you might try to otherwise avoid.

“Said she had proof,” he said sadly, taking another sip from his glass, “that it was all just waiting there for someone to notice.”

“You don’t have to go in ya know.”

“Yes, Swan,” he says, somehow, impossibly understanding. “I do.”

She’s the nervous one. The one that doesn’t want to go in; they both know it, but the really magical thing is that he doesn’t say so. He just lets her have her moment of selfish kindness and she kind of hates herself for it.

The fluorescent lights in the coroner’s office flicker on and off as the heels of their shoes make uppity shopping lady noises against the tiled floor. Emma wrinkles her nose as soon as they pass through a pair of heavy double-doors, the smell of antiseptic and formaldehyde overwhelming nearly all of her senses. Irritating the fine hairs of her nose, tasting it on her tongue. Her eyes even start to water, but that could be the newfound connection with her inner self. Doubtful.

“I’d never been in a morgue before,” interrupting the episode to speculate, “but it’s kind of exactly what you’d expect. Right down to the wall of tiny doors. Like you’re supposed to knock and ask if there’s anyone home.”

The twisting of a handle, the yawning chasm as it opens—her body rolling on a track, like those first few moments on a rollercoaster.

“I couldn’t really tell Killian this,” nibbling on her lower lip, “but she looked almost exactly the same as she did in my dream.”

Only difference being the hair. Not quite so vibrant as she remembered.

“Cause of death was suffocation,” the coroner drones, remarkably unaware of the emotionally distraught man practically crumbling in front of him. “The mouth was sewn shut. Full of some dark, dense sand. It’s being analyzed in the lab.”

Honestly, Emma had assumed the woman had been dead this whole time. Hell, she’s pretty sure that Killian had assumed she’d been dead this whole time. Turns out, it’s only been a couple weeks.

“Mud preserved the body, that’s why she looks so good.”

Killian barks out a laugh and Emma stops recording.

It ends up being one of their softer episodes, tonally speaking. Opening with coffee and ending with a corpse. There’s little dialogue; it doesn’t feel as if there’s much to talk about, and to be honest, every word or inarticulate groan that had come out of Killian’s mouth in the few hours between searching for the body and actually finding it were a bit too heartbreaking to share with the world in their entirety. Normally so attuned to any recording device she happened to be carrying around with her on any given day, during this particular case, he spoke with an uncharacteristic candor, as if he had forgotten the recording devices were even there. Seemed a bit unfair in her opinion.

“So humiliating me in the midst of a public lecture is okay?”

“Hush, you.”

“So?” Emma had asked David, her eyes bloodshot, hair a wild nest of stressful finger-combing. She’d come damn near close to cutting most of it off in a sleep deprived rage. “How do we do this?”

They had so much naked audio. There was too much, too many revelations, too many emotions. Hours and hours and hours of close conversation and police sirens and quiet sobs. And what could they air? They still had a story to tell.

“I won’t publish anything you don’t want me to.”

“Bloody hell, Emma. What does it even matter?”

“It matters, Killian. Okay? It matters.”

Lots of clinking silverware, like a spoon against the rim of a mug. Rain against the windows of their car, and mud caught in spinning tires. It’s not completely devoid of dialogue, they ended up using some interview footage with the police, including the awkward as hell press conference where she got blinded by about a million flashing bulbs. What year was this, anyway? Flashing bulbs? Relax.

There’s a shaking anger in his voice when he does speak (or at least, when he speaks and she keeps it in), especially towards the end of the episode. This vengeful, emotionally unstable monologue that they use to devastating, cliffhanger-like effect. It’s why they get a little bit of a backlash after the show ends. Apparently it wasn’t “wrapped up” enough.

“But ya know what, people? This is real fucking life.”

Mr. Gold and all his disturbing taxidermy disappear. Into thin air, seemingly. And most of the townsfolk can barely recall whether or not he was there at all. Which is a mindfuck of a whole other sort.

“Bloody useless,” Killian had muttered through clenched teeth, “she died for nothing.”

“Not nothing, Killian,” Emma had tried to gently reassure him, “the world knows you’re innocent. You weren’t responsible for her death.”

“I may as well have been.”

There’d been a piece of paper tucked into Milah’s pocket, barely legible, but in the end a string of numbers and letters leading to a safety deposit box in the middle of freaking nowhere.

“And I mean nowhere,” trapped in her bunk on a long train ride out West, “it’s not like a cactus needs a bank.”

It really does feel like they’ve traveled back in time. Everyone calls Emma “Ma'am” and Killian “Sir” in truly clichéd Southern twangs and often assumes they’re married, which the Twitter followers just love. To get even more trope-y, there’s another note from Milah in the box, something along the lines of “If you’re reading this I’m dead, and if I’m dead, it was my husband who done it.”

Only her husband doesn’t seem to exist anymore, as it turns out.

“I’ve got his voice recorded,” Emma argues to a detective, Killian standing stoically behind her, staring hard at rows of empty shelves. “He’s a man that exists in the world, okay? I’ve got proof!”

The files are corrupted. But she knows what she heard.

“Robert Gold is real. And you all know it too. Robert Gold is real,” she says again, spittle hitting the microphone, “and he’s a murderer.”

Dr. Killian Jones still doesn’t believe in the supernatural. But he thinks the power of suggestion is pretty freaking close. Which, sure, okay, but even he has to admit—

“The dreams were pretty weird.”

“Not necessarily.”

The last few moments of their final episode are wildly popular, only Emma can’t quite figure out why, given the facts of everything else that goes down in the finale. The note in Milah’s pocket, returning to Gold’s shop with the police only to find it empty, the freaking cemetery. Good Lord.

“I know we’re cute and everything, but this is what they get excited over?”

“You are one of the smartest people I know,” Killian says drolly, his smugness dripping over every word, “and yet it astounds me that you could still be so frighteningly obtuse about these things, darling.”

“Thank you,” Emma says, her fingers lingering atop the cold, hard stone. For saving my life. For saving his life. For giving him up. Must’ve been hard.

Killian speaks quietly at her side, the sound of a crow cawing in the distance a perfect soundtrack to their brief visit to Milah’s grave. It’s a simple headstone; given the popularity of the podcast, they hadn’t wanted to draw too much attention. But he insists she would’ve liked it. No use in kicking up such a fuss over something so trivial as her death.

“All those years,” he says quietly, “I assumed she must have abandoned me.”

True story is, of course, she had left to protect him. To keep him out of Gold’s gnarled, wizard fingers. The details are fuzzy, and there’s more bullshit to sift through before this whole thing is over, but she hadn’t left him for want of love. If anything, it had been for too much of it.

“I know how she feels,” Emma answers a few moments later, her hand slipping into his. “You’re one of those things worth saving.”

Those last few titillating moments take place in the midst of a delightfully warm autumn day. Mid-September, so you can still sit outside without wanting to run inside for a parka, and Emma Swan has known Dr. Killian Jones for almost an entire year.

“Feels like a freaking century.”

“You flatter me.”

The leaves rustle and fall around their ears as white, fluffy dandelion seeds hover around their heads and make quick work of landing within the curved shelter of his annoyingly perfect eyelashes. She fleetingly wishes that the technology would evolve enough so that they could feel it—the sun on her legs, the smell of the grass in her nose, that hint of colder weather catching up to them. At the same time, fuck ‘em, this is her finale. Not theirs. In her finale, she gets to keep him.

Although, to be fair, she’s never exactly denied the charge that she’s a prideful person. Which is precisely why she posts the picture.

“You are a charming girl, Miss Swan.”

“I know, Dr. Jones. I know,” she hums and presses a loud, smacking kiss against his jaw, just enough so that it shows up on the recording. Which, she will insist, was an accident.

“This is Emma Swan, ACRS, signing off.”

[overeducatedandoverworked]

Accidentally On Purpose: ...Can You Even Tase An AI?

“Uhhhhh…” Darcy moaned, holding her heels in one hand and her taser in the other.  She slumped further onto Thor’s shoulder, hoping the elevator stopped soon.

Thor let out a gentle laugh, carefully shifting Jane in his arms so he could better support her.  “I suppose your Misgardian mead was a bit too strong for you this night?”

“Hey, big drinker, don’t tease me about alcohol,” she slurred, wanting nothing more than to lay down on the ground and use her purse as a pillow.  At least she still had her purse this time around.  “I lasted way longer than Jane did.  Three tequila shots and she was dead to the world.”

“Indeed,” Thor said, stepping forward as the elevator doors opened onto their floor as Darcy stumbled behind him.  “I don’t understand the convention of licking salt off someone’s body, but it is not an unpleasant experience.”

“Don’t wanna know, dude,” Darcy said with a groan, scrunching her nose at the memory of Jane licking salt out of Thor’s belly button.  That’s going into the list of ‘things I want to have blacked out of my memory by alcohol’.  Hopefully some sleep would relieve her of that mental image.

“I will escort you to your room once I have prepared Jane for sleep,” Thor said, heading into their bedroom, Jane cuddled into his (really quite nice) chest.

“No worries!” Darcy called back, taking a few steps forward and having to brace herself against the wall to keep from toppling over.  “I’ve got this!”  That was a complete and total lie, but she wasn’t about to deprive Thor of his Jane-care time.  He had such a sweet, nurturing side, one that he really didn’t get to use on Jane nearly enough.

“Oof!” Okay, she just ran into a wall.  Less thinking, more doing.

“JARVIS!” she urgently slurred, trying to keep

her voice low enough that Jane wouldn’t wake up.  “A li’l help here?”

“Of course, Miss Lewis,” the AI replied, in his beautiful, British voice.  Mmm… she needed a boyfriend with a British accent.  They were absolutely intoxicating.  He turned on the lights hidden in the sideboards that lead her to her room.

“You’re a champ, Jar,” Darcy responded, with a bit of a smile, before carefully feeling her way along the wall to her doorway.

Once she made it in, she had JARVIS turn on a few of the lights in her room, and peeled off her sparkly silver mini-dress, throwing her purse, shoes, and taser towards the nearest wall.  Her hand slipped, though, and she could have sworn that the taser was on when it collided with the power socket.  She gasped, falling backwards onto her bed, and the lights flickered a few times before returning to normal.

She hesitantly picked up her taser, but it was all out of juice.  Huh, she’d have to charge it in the morning before she left the tower.  She looked between it and the bed, trying to decide what to do.

Nope, she was way too drunk for this.  She’d deal in the morning.  She crawled into bed without changing, and managed to mumble “JARVIS, lights off,” right before she became dead to the world.

Of all the terrible things to happen in the morning, being awakened at seven am by your boss yelling about a mandatory, emergency meeting in twenty minutes was definitely the worse.  Especially with a hangover.  Oh good Thor, had she really forgotten to lay out the water and pain meds?  Her tongue tasted like she’d licked a metal pole, and her head was about to explode.  She groggily turned on her light, before hissing at the pain that it caused.  “JARVIS, for the love of Thor, please dim the light!”

To her utter relief, he did, although without the usual sassy comment about alcohol inhibition.  She grabbed the first clean clothes that she touched, and threw on shoes, glasses, and a hat before stumbling into the elevator with a bottle of water from her fridge.  She groaned when the elevator opened, cursing the loud noise and the fact that she couldn’t find her giant sunglasses that fit over her normal ones.  Stupid eyes, with their stupid nearsightedness and stupid needs.  Who let eyes error out, anyways?  Humanity in general should fix that, just for her.  Maybe Tony would figure it out someday.  Or maybe Bruce.

She managed to stagger her way into the meeting room, where the table was set up with, thank Thor, coffee already made up.  She grabbed a cup and curled into her chair, slowly peaking around the room, trying not to let the light make her head hammer any harder than the rock drummer in her brain was already pounding.

Naturally, Tony was at the head of the table, although he looked like a semi-truck had run him over.  Then backed up.  Then ran him over again.  If it was possible, he looked to be in even worse shape than Jane, who was leaning on Thor’s shoulder, sunglasses on and coffee in hand.  Knowing her, it’d taken Thor dragging her out of bed to be down here, and even now she was whimpering softly.  Clint was also in the corner of the room, the dark circles under his eyes in juxtaposition with his upright stance.  Must be a superhero thing.

Naturally, the rest of the Avengers looked to be wide awake and perky.  Natasha was chatting intently with Bruce, both of whom seemed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  Darcy couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke.  And even though Captain Underpa—Steve (damn Tony’s nicknames!) was in sweaty workout clothes, he was still sitting with a cup of coffee and better posture than she’d ever had.

All in all, it seemed like a pretty normal morning, if one that started far too early.  There just seemed like something was missing.  Wait a minute…

“Tony?” Darcy croaked out, her vocal cords still rusty from disuse, “Why isn’t JARVIS calling the meeting?”

Tony looked at her, and the spark in his eye seemed to intensify.  He slammed his fist onto the table, and the sound made every conversation in the room stop, along with causing the drummer in her head to start a new solo album.  She saw Jane whimper across the table, and even Tony winced.

“Let me explain in quiet, for the walking hungover among us,” he oh-so-generously stated, making Darcy consider kissing him if it wouldn’t lead to so very, very many terrible consequences.  Like getting fired.  Bad brain, back on track!  She focused on Tony’s voice in time to catch him say, “I noticed this morning that JARVIS was a bit… off.  JARVIS, would you like to explain it yourself?”

“Nah thanks, partner,” JARVIS said in… is that a Texan accent?  His robotic voice had gone from the pleasant, soothing lullaby that the Brits did so well to a gruff drawl.  She saw the others were confused, too.  She took another sip of her coffee, because if the Avengers were baffled, this was a problem she really needed to be caffeinated for.

“This is particularly bizarre,” Tony continued, “Because I never programmed JARVIS for this type of intonation.  I’ve been working on it since three, when I noticed it.  I checked his records, and the switch occurred at 2:11 this morning.  So,” he turned to look at each person at the table in turn, “who’s gonna ‘fess up?”

“I was in my room by half past eleven last night,” Bruce said, getting up to get himself another cup of tea.  “I’m sure JARVIS can pull up the recordings in my room.”

“I sure can, buccaneer,” JARVIS said, sounding almost embarrassed for himself.  Darcy raised her mug in solidarity with the AI.

“And you, Lewis?” Tony asked.  “You look like death warmed over.  How late were you out?”

Darcy pulled her hat down further as she answered, “I can’t remember what time we made it back.  It’s all pretty blurry.”

“We arrived at the tower at three minutes past two this morning!” Thor cheerfully declared, causing Darcy to sink further into her chair and Jane to let out a low moan.  Thor’s smile turned into a concerned grimace, and he leaned down to pet Jane’s forehead and, she assumed, whisper an apology.

“Sir?” JARVIS interjected, although it sounded more like ‘saa-er’ to her.  “I think I found ‘da problem.”  The AI let out what sounded pretty close to a sigh, and said, “I do here think I need to get fixed right quick.”

“What is it?” Tony asked, ignoring the way Clint and Thor were quietly laughing.

“Well, it here does say that this do-hicker was caused by an electrical overload, that originated at ‘da 86th floor, where Thor, Lewis, and Foster slept.”  He paused, and said, “I do here ‘pologize for ‘da informality.”

“We’re good, keep going,” Jane mumbled from her seemingly-unconscious position.

“So, which one of you hacked into my AI’s system and screwed with his voice?” Tony asked accusingly, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on the table as he looked from her to the others.

“I do not believe that this happened due to the interference of one of us,” Thor calmly stated, with a protective look at both her and Jane.  “By the time we reached the tower, my Jane was asleep from too much liquor, and Lady Darcy quickly left for her room.”

The lights flickered for a moment, and Darcy groaned as the memory came back to her.  She slowly raised her hand and said, “Uh, I might know what happened.”

Tony gave her a look, and motioned for her to continue.  “Well, I was putting my stuff down last night, and I think my taser was on, and hit one of the electrical sockets…”

“You tased.  My AI.”  Tony’s jaw just about dropped, and he looked up at the ceiling for conformation.

“It here-does look like ‘dis looker caused the electrical system in y’all’s floor to short-circuit, causin’ an electrical reboot ‘dat made mah system ta restart.  ‘Dat must uf made mai original Bridish accent become jarred, an’ caused it ta become ‘da accent I heard last, ‘da one on ‘da western channel Barton was watchin’.”

“JARVIS,” Clint absently said, “Your accent is thick as pea soup.”

“Thank ya kindly,” the AI replied.

“Okay, so you tased JARVIS,” Tony repeated, seemingly still in shock.  “I have no idea how you did it, but you tased JARVIS.”

“Apparently,” Darcy said, standing up to get another beautiful, precious mug of the life-giving coffee.

“Ser, it looks mighty like y’all’ll need ta do a manual reboot ta cause my systems ta run as normal.”

“In other words, turn it off and back on again?”

“That’s right, sugar plum!”

“JARVIS, stop flirting with my employees,” Tony said from where he was face-down on the table.  “Everyone, expect a small brown-out some time in the next two hours.  Meeting adjourned.”

Fortunately, between Bruce and Tony, JARVIS’s voice was back to normal by the time her hangover was over.  Still, Darcy was pretty sure that JARVIS had forgiven her, and found at least some humor in the situation.  At least she thought so, based on the way he kept changing the music in Tony’s lab to the sound track of Oklahoma!.

(She sends a smile at the nearest security camera every time Tony flinches upon hearing a southern accent.)

(Tony keeps twitching for the next two months.)

[gerards-parasite-blog]

BREAKING POINT

ok hi. This is a story I wrote in LA class and why not post it? It’s from the perspectives ( It will say the characters name, and that’s when the perspective changes) of the three main characters, Azayliah, Zander and Ariah. So um yeah I hope you like it!

Azayliah

I was spinning out of control. My damp palms were slipping off the handlebars. I could feel the motorcycle tipping out of control. I could see the water below me. I watched it climbed up the side of the cliff, it's foamy white reaching out to grab me and pull me back down with it. Azzy! Look out! My sister. Azzy! Azzy! AZYY!

“ AZZY!”

I was pulled up from the depth of my troubled sleep. The sun sent its death rays through my cracked and grimy window. Curled up in the corner of my filthy mattress, threadbare blanket long ago discarded, I signed away from the light, my eyes streaming with pain.

“Azzy!   You need to get your butt in the car, we need to leave! I’ve had the truck packed a certain way so don’t shift anything! NOW MOVE!!” I realised that this normally gentle ( Now not so) voice belonged to my sister Ariah. Weird, she was never harsh.

“ Ariah what the hell! It’s-” I grabbed my phone from the floor “ 5:30. And you can say ass you know. There’s no law against it, and you’re 16, so man up.” I sat up, grudgingly rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“AZAYLIAH!”

That grabbed my attention. My sister never used my full name unless,

“ No.No.No.No.No.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO. They can’t be here.” I stared into my sisters hazel eyes, wishing she was lying. Hoping this was a prank.

“ Zanders in the car you have 5 minutes. Mom and Dad are coming home early.”

I scrambled around my musty miniscule room, emptying the contents my giant black backpack onto my bed, then throwing whatever I thought I would need inside: clothes, picture stack, money, food stash, the only photo I had of my family. My parents together and happy. My parents together and sober. I rushed into the bathroom, just barely taking time to glance in the shattered mirror before grabbing every stick of deodorant in sight, back to bedroom, toothbrush, makeup. I was forgetting something. Shoot what was it! Hair Ties! Yes! Wait no, I had those! What was it?? I had charging cables, underwear. Ughhh.  OH GOD. I pelted back into my room and grabbed my biking helmet. Just touching the black plastic made me stop in my tracks. I remembered how I’d won this. It was in a motorcycle gang race, my first. But definitely not my last. I had beat everyone. It was like my acceptance letter, everyone in the serpents had signed it. There was their logo on the side. Pink Lemonade. I was one of them; I had their backs and they had mine. A 14 year old? They'd laughed when I asked to try, they weren’t laughing when I beat them all. I was leaving them behind. But they’d understand, this was life of death, the PL were familiar with life or death situations, I’d come back. Now if I didn’t go I would actually be dead. No shit sherlock I thought to myself as I finished zipping up my bag. Goodbye hell. Hello freedom.

Zander

Ariah was back outside and in the passenger seat in a number of seconds, her sandy blond hair combed into a perfect bun at the top of her head, her eyebrows morphed together in concentration as she began mapping our way on the dashboard, which had all the folded up road maps we could afford.

“ ARIAH DO WE HAVE ALL THE MONEY???” I peppered at her, I was a nervous wreck, my body trembled in the seat.

“ Yes.”

“ DO WE HAVE OUR LICENSES AND ID??”

“Yes they’re in the glove box, I also have chargers and snacks in there, I packed them while you got the bags ready.” She responded, not lifting her eyes. “ I also made sure we took all the car keys, and broke the tracker you put on the side of the car, I don’t want mom and dad finding us.” Still no eye contact.

“ Ok good. GOD.” That at least semi relaxed the knot in my stomach “Jesus, for a 16 year old you seem 20.” I leaned over and squeezed her

“ It’s ok Zander, we’re going to make it out of this. And for a 19 year old, you seem 2, which is just fine with me.” She mumbled into my shoulder.

God what did I do to deserve such an awesome sister. I thought to myself.

“ Where’s Azzy?” I asked, taking a chug of cold coffee.

“ Remind me why we decided to let her sleep in?” She joked. I couldn’t help but laugh at her rare outbreak of humor.

But my laughter was cut short as I saw the red van turn around the corner, its tires skidding back and forth on the road. Our parents were here. They said they’d be back in a week, giving us all the time we needed to prepare and get out of the house. When I got a text from my buddy Matt, saying he’d seen their van whilst driving on the highway, I’d flipped out. They said they’d been coming back next week. APPARENTLY NEXT WEEK IS NOW THIS MORNING APPARENTLY. If they found us in the house, they’d put us in child care, and none of us three wanted that. Less freedom than we already had.

“ AZAYLIAH, GET OUTSIDE NOW!” The knot was back. We had to leave now if we wanted any chance of getting away

“ WAIT!” I heard her strained voice say

“ AZZY GET IN THE CAR!” I hollered out the car window, as she finally staggered out the door. God why was she so slow!!

“ AZZY! CAR! NOW!” no response

“ AZZY!” Ariah was yelling too, tears now streaming down her face. I could only imagine what she was thinking, but I knew it was probably very similar to my own thoughts.

“ I’M HERE GOD DAMN IT! THE CORD HOLDING ALL YOU SHIT IN THE BACK WAS BROKEN, IF I DIDN’T FIX IT YOU’D BE RUNNING OVER EVERYTHING WHEN YOU BACKED OUT! SO YOUR EFFING WELCOME!” She shot back.

“ YOU TOOK A MELENIA NOW GET IN!!!!” pushed her through the window that she was currently shimmying through, I still hadn’t gotten around to fixing that door. Oh well.

“ Zander, I can build a droid in under 10 minutes, yet you lack the brain cells to fix this goddamn door, it was your ginormous bag getting in the was so don’t you dare say I took long.” She glared at me, smacking me on the head with that ridiculous helmet.

“ Are you actually bringing that?” Ariah asked, wiping at her eyes.

“ Yes, now, I thought we were escaping from parents that WILL kill us. I don’t know about you but I’ve been beat enough times that I’m more than ready to get out of this hell hole.” Azzy began braiding her platinum blue hair, I knew that was a sign that we needed to move, or we had a panic attack on our hands, and I knew neither Ariah or I were up to dealing with that.

Araih

“ Zander, they’re here.” I felt myself deflating, we were done for.

The red van screeched to a halt at the bottom of the driveway, blocking our escape. And there they were. My father, shirtless and scruffy, he needed to shave, and then my mother came staggering out of the van, not even attempting to conceal the bottle of vodka in her hand. They were both drunk, high stoned i couldn’t even tell at this point. They’d fallen so far down the rabbit hole that there was no way they could come back. My father. He was in front of the car now. Banging on the hood, screaming indecipherable insults, I turned around to cover Azzys ears, but she was already doing that, curled up in the back, this was the rare times I saw her this scared, I hated seeing her like this, so I pulled her upfront to sit with me. I gripped her with all my strength trying to drain the fright out of her quivering frame. I turned over to Zander. We both knew what this meant. This was the end of the road. Our mother was there now, leering at our cowardice, get out of the car she said, or she’ll burn it. Huh, never heard that one before.

“Zander get out of the seat.”

We both looked at the lump in my lap, Azzy was staring stone cold at our brother. We both knew what this meant.

“ No you are not driving.” I said to her, gripping her even tighter “ Zander stop her!”

He looked at me, then to Azzy, then outside.

“ Get us out of here Azaylia.” He said, a wicked grin breaking out all over his face

“ Hell yes!” She high fived him as he clambered into the back.

“ZANDER SHE’S 14!” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, normally Zander didn’t let Azzy even touch the wheel.

“ Ariah, this is our last time to do something before we’re put in foster care or some bullcrap like that. If we’re going to go out, we might as well do it in style.” He smiled to me, his expression dappered.

“ Azayliah, if you hurt anyone I’m going to stab you with a broken shard of the window, so you better watch your ass and be careful, but let's go.”

Azayliah

No way. My sister was letting me do this. I stretched over and pulled her into a bear hug. I had this all mapped out. I wanted to make as much damage as possible, rage and excitement were clouding my vision. I started to back up, letting my parents get even more mad, my father stated towards the car. And that's when I started.

“ AZZY WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING??????” Ariah was wailing in my ear.

Zander was in the back whooping like his favorite soccer team had just won the world cup. I had reversed so I was almost touching the van, before I revved the engines and bolted forward, taking a sharp right turn onto the lawn, ruining it past fixing point. That's for every time you beat us. Just barely hitting my parents, That’s for every time you yelled at us. I hit the gas. That’s for never being a parent to us, when we needed you most, now look who’s alone. And we were off. There was hair in my face and tears in my eyes, but we had done it, we were free, on the road. Freedom.

“ WOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” We were all crying all laughing. Free. That's a new word. But we were together. And that's what mattered most. Screw the cops, we could do anything now. We had eachother. Love was our strongest bond. We were there for eachother. Forever and always. That was a quote we later painted on the roof of the car.

“ I love you guys.”

[ds4design]

Driving A Stripped-Down Turbo Miata Kit Car: Doors Are Overrated

Photo credit: npshots.com

This might not look like a 1999 Miata but it is. It’s a stripped down version of one, only consisting of the bare essentials. This is the Exocet from a company called Exomotive. Starting around $7,000, you can build one yourself by getting a hold of a donor NB Miata (1999-2005), ripping it to shreds and throwing on a tube frame and chassis that’s built by Exomotive. Of course, there’s a teensy bit more to it than that.

The idea is to disassemble your donor Miata until you’re left with its engine, transmission, driveshaft, wiring harnesses—the basics. Then you mate the Exocet chassis that you purchase from Exomotive to the Miata drivetrain, install the steering wheel, pedals, seats and safety harnesses. And after about 50-100 hours of work (depending on your experience level), voila, you have the best toy an auto enthusiast could have.

Photo credit: npshots.com

The Exocet I drove is owned by Lukas Giley, who reached out to me one day with, “Hey, check out my car that no one knows about.” He’s right. Hardly anyone knows about the existence of these and neither did I. But that’s not surprising because I live in my own world, generally oblivious of everything that’s going on around me.

Lukas did the smart thing here and, instead of building an Exocet himself, he bought one from a guy who put in blood, sweat and tears to create one. He went all out, too, and upgraded the engine, suspension and many other stock Miata components. My favorite upgrade is the Flyin’ Miata Turbo Kit that produces 245 horsepower to the rear wheels.

This car (kart?) only weighs 1,500 pounds, which translates to a power-to-weight ratio of only six pounds per horsepower. In comparison, a 650 HP C7 Z06 has a ratio of five and a half pounds per horsepower. Make no mistake, this is one crazy fast go-kart!

Coping with 245 HP in such a light car was too much for the original 205 mm wide tires. So they were replaced with beefier 245 mm wide tires that not only look nicer but can put all that power down to the ground properly.

The Exocet might be street legal thanks to its Miata roots, but its race car-grade engineering makes it challenging to just hop in and go fast. First of all, getting into the car is tricky and requires a fair amount of physical contortion. It might not be a bad idea to take a yoga class or two beforehand to avoid pulling any muscles.

Once inside the cage, you then strap yourself in tightly with a four-point seatbelt. As you get situated, you’ll find yourself sitting inches off the pavement, about to enter a dangerous jungle full of road rage-filled workaholics and half-asleep big rig drivers daydreaming about sipping piña coladas on the beach.

Photo credit: npshots.com

The Exocet is so light and has such a sensitive throttle that it always wants to go. I was taking off from every stoplight like a bat out of hell. Not because I wanted to, there was just no other way to drive it. Drivers in a Ford Focus and a Land Cruiser gave me strange looks as I flew past them, screeching tires and all. Everyone looked at me and wondered if I had somehow confused a normal road for a racetrack.

Driving The Exocet Is Not Exactly A Relaxing Experience

Since you’re strapped onto the seat so tightly with the four-point seatbelt, it’s tough to lean forward to adjust the sideview mirrors. It takes some huffing and puffing to reach out and position them correctly. But all that work is for nothing because as soon as you start picking up speed, the wind pushes them out of place and you have to re-position them again.

You would think that visibility would be good in something as open as this, but it’s not. The mirrors that you work so hard to adjust and adjust and adjust again are useless so you just end up turning your head all the way to check for other cars before changing lanes.

Besides checking your own blind spots, you have to watch every other’s blind spots, too. Because the Exocet is so low to the ground, you have to assume that you’re invisible. A mother in a Prius, busy yelling at her kid in the backseat would have no clue that only seconds ago, she smothered you and your Exocet all over the pavement.

While that cut-down speedster windshield looks cool and saves weight, it means you must do without any kind of visor. That didn’t seem like a problem until the sun was so painfully bright that I had to use one of my hands to shield my eyes, while steering and shifting at the same time. It became clear that multi-tasking is of utmost importance when driving an Exocet.

What It’s Like Being So Exposed On the Road

I thought it was scary driving a tiny 1967 Mini, but this was a hundred times worse. You’re acutely aware at all times of impending death. One time I found myself behind a truck with giant wooden planks that were bouncing around in the bed.

I was worried that one of those planks would fly off any second and shear my head off because in the Exocet you have no protection. If a semi’s tire happens to blow and all that rubber comes flying at you at 70 mph, then you can only hope that you’ve lived a great life. Why was I driving this car again?

There were more things to be scared about in the Exocet since everything’s manual with no ABS. A simple mistake or pushing too hard in the Exocet could easily mean that you wreck and end up in a mangled mess of equal parts Miata, Exocet, and human.

I’ve never felt so much fear and enjoyment at the same time. Everything you feel, hear and encounter in the Exocet is heightened. In what other car can you listen to the wonderful noises made by the turbo, hit 60 mph quicker than a Porsche 911 and breathe in the emissions of a Range Rover with its tailpipe right next to your head in traffic? This was a pure, untainted experience modified by nothing.

Usually people go to the track to feel alive and amp up their driving enjoyment. With the Exocet you can find the same thing on normal roads. Even rolling around at 20 mph in traffic can be a blast.

Driving an Exocet is excellent therapy. You won’t think once about all those bills you need to pay, your annoying coworker or that strange noise coming from your attic. (Must be a ghost.) You’re guaranteed to lose yourself in the experience of driving an Exocet.

Yes, driving a Miata is a blast, but you know what’s even better? Getting rid of all the stuff you don’t need and sticking with what’s absolutely necessary. Try it and maybe you’ll realize you never needed that stuff anyway.

Photo credit: npshots.com