#and with casey he really does just sort of poke him until casey gets in touch with his inner darkness. coming of age story!!

[batsplat]

insanely good tags by @rubyreadd, need them on the post

above and beyond that kind of.,,, narrative satisfaction. garnered from Casey The Super Talent sharing the spotlight with him.... for valentino it's enjoying the viciousness and also kinda the HONESTY of it. like again i do think casey's post-retirement narrativisation is more complex than just straight-talking hater dropping truth bombs etc etc. there's distortions there's dishonest framing there's inaccuracies... including in how casey approaches the valentino rivalry. but. BUT the pure resentment in itself is coming from a very honest place from casey. which is something valentino always says he prefers from his rivals!! and maybe that's not always as true as he thinks it is but idk. i think conceptually having his great rival regularly slag him off in the press is like. fine. if casey occasionally wants to go on a bit of a rant about what a dickhead valentino was, then that is his god-given right y'know

there's an ask i got ages ago i never finished responding to so i'm not sure i've actually talked about it properly on here. but it's kinda... why were casey/vale Like That in 2011-12 when. again. it's fascinating how mutual it is because either one of them could have just, y'know, decided to give it a rest, like they don't NEED to be doing this. there is literally no point and they're exchanging barbs for two years straight anyway. which at times are *beyond* bitchy like the tone of the discourse is lower than anything the two of them muster towards anyone else. gutter stuff. for casey there's the Biding His Time element where he's kinda been waiting three years to get one over on valentino, and i still fully believe in his heart of hearts he would've preferred to do so *on* the track. (see him dipping his toe into self-insert fic post jorge/vale's motegi 2010 spat about how casey would GIVE IT BACK TENFOLD if vale tried to laguna him again like come on, this has nothing to do with you, did you want jorge to crash valentino out you repressed nutter.) but instead he has to go on this two year schadenfreude tour which... y'know. he can work with that. still think he'd preferred to beat valentino in a title fight to get the laguna revenge he was crazing, but valentino's pure and utter failure also tastes pretty sweet. and the other element is i genuinely reckon it did him some good to release the negative pent-up energy lol. casey's very committed not to feud with jorge/dani so valentino is this super convenient target where you kinda know he'll bite. a way for casey to get it out of his system so he could keep it cool with his actual main on-track rivals

whereas on VALENTINO'S end it was this way of relieving stress at his competitive frustrations. plus he was so on edge he was more likely to jump on any provocations from casey's end, like i do think there's some bickering valentino would not have lowered himself to in a more competitive time. but also... it's fun. valentino enjoyed it. he likes a bit of healthy antagonism... and casey/vale in those years just kinda got to the point where they could say any old shit about each other. in a way it's almost liberating because at a certain point you've been so rude about each other that it's not going to make things WORSE if you drop a bitchy line in another interview, like who cares at this point. and well, casey must have also gotten SOMETHING out of it, some sort of emotional release. idk, i reckon they got some weird kick out of just endlessly antagonising each other, post-2009 it was just Their Thing in a very weird way... valentino thinks casey's finally being honest and just saying what he Really Thinks - and let's face it, he's right this time!! like casey clearly was actually repressing how he really felt post-laguna! congrats valentino, this guy did actually secretly hate you all along! call a national holiday! two guys so committed to having a dickhead-off that their conspiratorial leanings are being vindicated

and to bring this back round... casey is always the more complex tormented side of that rivalry where i DO think he kinda low key enjoyed being a dick sometimes but high key can't admit that. and i'm not saying the valentino rivalry was a particularly healthy outlet, like i don't think a therapist would recommend it, but also 'healthy' is overrated... casey's very much a guy who can stew in his own negativity but also can derive a fair bit of pleasure from his more negative emotions, cf his intense flirtations with schadenfreude. valentino bringing him in touch with his darker side again lol. but on the other hand casey does also have like. real pain and torment related to the valentino rivalry and sometimes he does also want to publicly exorcise those demons to Be Understood. whereas with valentino... well, yeah, idk. ofc casey did manage to genuinely piss him off a fair few times, but in a way was casey not the sparring partner? he's not just the major valentino rival who has the best h2h with valentino in extended duels (they're very close to being even, which is insanely impressive if you think about it - compare and contrast with jorge which is far more lopsided than you'd think), not just this Most Talented Of All Time on-track rival - he's also the valentino rival who is by far the most adept at coming up with snappy retorts for valentino off the track. like i mean it's not even really competitive because he's basically the only one who ever managed to do it. the massive W off-track at jerez 2011, just in a completely different league to anyone else in the fighting valentino game, is really just symbolic of that

so yeah. casey really is the ideal sparring partner. which of course means he's going to piss valentino off plenty in the moment because they're in opposition to each other!! but also, valentino fundamentally LIKES sparring. he loves having rivals! he loves some good old-fashioned bitchiness!! anyway what all this means is i reckon there's a serious risk that to valentino, him vaguely hearing that casey's had another go at him in the press basically constitutes like. #throwbackthursday

from a post a week ago, and now apparently casey is going around calling himself 'calculating' after I implicitly placed him on the other end of that particular spectrum. I genuinely am unsure whether casey has ever used the word 'calculating' before to describe anyone. follow-up to me saying the casey/valentino dinner stonks were looking low, twelve years into casey's retirement, only for it to take a literal month before they eat dinner together. casey's contrarianism is on such generational levels that I'm now beginning to feel he's coming for me specifically

now obviously, there is plenty to be said about casey implicitly grouping himself in the 'mind' (dovi, pecco, valentino) camp rather than the 'ability' (dani, marc) camp. much to be observed about his self-conceptualisation. and just like the dinner thing 🤓🤓🤓 it doesn't contradict anything I've said ☝️ 🤓 because the whole point is that casey is the valentino rival who can best dip into valentino's bag of tricks. like, on the one hand you have the dichotomy --

-- but on the other hand, obviously you have casey's entire preoccupation with learning from valentino (x) --

-- AND you have casey whole THING about confidence and the hatred of being seen as mentally weak in any way, paired with this idea he has of himself of someone who is people smart and can read others well (x) --

-- and what you're left with is a collapsing of the boundaries (x) --

-- that neatly separate the two of them. as a dichotomy, it can be confounded. both of them are often happy enough to play into the whole 'ambition vs talent' framing that forms the bedrock of their rivalry because it does to some extent also reflect what both of them genuinely value. casey needs to have supreme confidence in his own natural ability, valentino likes to outsmart his competitors and is flattered by the idea of beating a rival as ridiculously capable as casey. they're not ALWAYS comfortable with it, they've definitely gotten prickly about it in the past... and casey in particular certainly doesn't like the idea valentino could get one over on him psychologically (notes from a girl who tried and failed to spell that word correctly about half a dozen times, which is perhaps the most embarrassing word for me specifically to not be able to spell)

been collaboratively workshopping a theory that part of why valentino appears to be so supremely unbothered by casey talking inordinate amounts of shit about valentino these past few years is that... fundamentally, most of the things valentino is being attacked for he doesn't exactly mind. substantively, casey's critiques have focused around 1) valentino making an enemy out of casey, 2) valentino not paying casey any respect, 3) valentino shooting himself in the foot by making an enemy out of casey, 4) valentino not doing enough to keep his fans under control, and 5) valentino using the media to make casey's life miserable. valentino could argue his case here and plausibly argue casey is misrepresenting a few key details, but fundamentally if casey thinks 2007-08 valentino deliberately antagonised casey outside of the scope of their on-track rivalry... well, whatever, rivalries are fun! if valentino is going to be portrayed as the bad guy in this rivalry then. who cares. and (3) is fairly obviously incorrect - it represents casey's idea of what he would have liked their rivalry post-laguna to have looked like, but it's also not going to bother valentino insofar as it's clearly wrong. makes it less likely it's something he's sensitive about, right. every story needs a villain, and my guess is that there's portrayals valentino would object more to than 'machiavellian dickhead'

on casey's end, obviously there's also an element of self-consciousness to casey struggling to find a word to describe himself. talent is the obvious one to go for... maybe just doesn't want to use that as his word. when jorge recently described his fellow aliens, he associated dani with his incredible technique, marc with his fearlessness, casey with his unconventional talent and capacity for improvisation, and valentino with his intelligence, charisma and lucidity when racing. to be honest, if I were doing this exercise for casey, I too would probably tend towards that improvisational ability first and foremost - adaptable, maybe. the words he uses for doohan and fabio respectively, stubborn and resilient, also would be fairly close to the top of my list. so idk, isn't it interesting he goes the other way!! such a fun lil nugget that taps into his self-conceptualisation - and from the pov of the casey/valentino rivalry, something about how he recognises in himself the traits he begrudgingly respected in valentino. this is why they're so fun, right:

but casey's timing is still funny. did also give that post-ranch interview on the same day as I posted about how he'd soon go back to slagging valentino off, which I still fully believe but didn't pick a great time to talk about. give it a rest, man

[schmicoadventcalendar]

December 22nd: Christmas Ham

Nico’s nervous. He doesn’t know why, but he’s nervous. And he hardly ever is.

“Relax, Nico.” Levi says as they exit the car with an armful of wrapped presents. “It’s just Casey and Taryn.”

Nico almost rolls his eyes, but just gives Levi a look. Easy for him to say. It’s not like Levi’s the bad-boyfriend-turned-ex-turned-booty-call.

“You sure they’ll like the wine?” Nico grabs the bottle from the backseat and tucks it under his arm. It’s moscato because Taryn likes sweet, bubbly things.

This time, Levi does rolls his eyes. “Yes!”

“But it’s —”

“Don’t you dare say cheap. We’re broke residents. Not everyone is a hot shot attending like you.”

Nico frowns. He wants to say he doesn’t mind spending more. Especially because they’re Levi’s friends and Nico knows how important they are to the resident. But he doesn’t say anything, unsure if it’s something he’s even allowed to say in their current relationship status, so he just nods.

He’s almost at the door to the apartment building before Nico notices Levi’s not following him. He turns around and finds Levi staring back at him, brows furrowed. Like he’s trying to solve a particularly hard problem that’s on Nico’s face.

“What?” He asks and takes a step towards Levi.

Levi hums and shifts his hold on the presents. “This is our first Christmas together.”

It is. Last year, Nico had gone to see his family. This year — this dreadful year — he had assumed he’d be spending it alone with his cats. But Levi had asked him, saying he was part of their bubble anyways and Nico had accepted because he didn’t want to have yet another boring, lonely Christmas.

Levi still looks puzzled. So Nico asks, “Is that… okay?”

It's a moment before Levi answers, as the icy winter wind blows between them and the evening streetlights flicker on. Levi’s curly hair falls over his face, his eyes wide and green as he looks back at Nico.

Nico shivers, both from the cold and from the way Levi makes him feel: excitement, fondness, warmth. Like he always had. Nico misses that.

“It’s our first Christmas together,” Levi says again, now frowning too.

“Yes, it is,” Nico confirms and nods, trying to figure out what exactly Levi is trying to say. Now Levi just looks distressed as he hugs the load of presents closer to his chest and Nico doesn’t like that. He looks small and worried and afraid. Nico wants to know why. So he takes the three steps to close the distance between them.

“What’s wrong?” he says slowly, pushing away at the messy fringe on Levi’s forehead.

The resident closes his eyes and sighs, his head falling onto Nico’s shoulder.

Then, finally, a small muffled voice says, “I didn’t get you anything.”

Oh.

And Nico just starts laughing. It starts quiet but he’s quickly and quite unashamedly laughing and it’s loud. He can’t help it. A hundred and a thousand thoughts had run through his mind (Was Levi suddenly regretting inviting Nico? Was he going to demand that Nico leave? Did he not want his friends to know about them? Were they supposed to pretend that they weren’t sort of-kind of-maybe together again?) but none of them were what he thought Levi would say. It’s a relief, really.

Levi looks up, almost pouting and definitely mad that Nico’s laughing.

“Stop it! I’m serious. I totally forgot I should be giving you something. I was so focussed on finding that damn gay giraffe mug Taryn saw one time on Instagram and everything Casey wants could be bought at a Hot Topic so I just completely forgot.” Levi’s head falls back down in defeat against Nico’s chest. The sharp corner of one of the presents smooshed between them pokes at Nico’s hip. “Shit. I’m such a bad boyfrie—”

They both stop, hearing Levi’s words.

Nico thought he would’ve wanted to run if he heard that word again from Levi. It’s not something he lets himself think about. He didn’t even think they’d ever get to that point again. He had been ready to just — exist as they were, as stress relief, until the world went back to normal. He couldn’t even bear to think what would happen after either.

But now?

Nico can’t help but smile at the thought.

“Boyfriend, huh?” He sees Levi take a peek up at him, his cheeks bright red. He continues, “I see we both suck at it. Because I didn’t get you anything either.”

It’s a second before Levi starts laughing too and now they’re both laughing. Holding onto each other and realizing just how ridiculous this whole situation has been. They’ve been each other’s stress relief for months now. It started off as just sex, but then it turned into stress relief sleepovers because Jo’s apartment had no walls and Nico’s was closer to the hospital. Then it was stress relief dinners because eating alone at a restaurant sucks. Not to mention all the stress relief grocery shopping together or the stress relief car rides in the middle of the night that turned into stress relief cuddling after a long, hard day.

Somehow, between their break up, the pandemic, and all the using stress relief as an excuse, they had somehow, miraculously, learned how to be together again. And it was a better way of being together. One that knew its boundaries and one that was able to ask what the other wanted. And one that understood that when things just couldn’t be, it was still okay.

It really took a whole damn world-wide pandemic to bring Nico and Levi back together again.

And Nico really wants to kiss Levi just about now. He really does, he thinks, as he brings a hand up to hold Levi’s face. His skin is hot beneath Nico’s fingers and it warms Nico’s cold, freezing hand.

He really wants to kiss his boyfriend. So he does.

***

“What’s taking them so long?” Taryn asks, slouched over at the dinner table. There’s a whole ass ham in the middle that she had spent all afternoon covering up with pineapple and honey. And now it’s getting cold. “Are they making out? Tell me they’re not making out.”

Casey’s by the window, peering down at two figures outside. “They’re just hugging — oh, nevermind, now they’re kissing.”

It takes all of Casey’s army training to stop Taryn from catapulting the ham out the window and onto their poor, unsuspecting guests below.

[davids-cartoon-corkboard]

Y’all know my theory at this point: when Raph was little he got separated from his family somehow and had to survive on his own for a while; the trauma from this caused him to develop DID.

It’s pretty clear Savage Raph formed specifically out of that isolation/survival trauma, but we met a third alter in “Pizza Puffs”, who I am calling “Red” for now. What’s his deal? When did he form and why?

-----

Raph: These guys are lost without me! Maybe I should help them.

Red: Make them do it themselves. It’s the only way they’ll learn.

Raph: But they’re just kids!

Red: And you can make them men!

-----

Raph: I gotta get in there!

Red: No. They’ll never learn if you always help ‘em, Raph.

Raph: But I can’t just sit here.

Red: This is for their own good.

-----

Raph: I knew you guys could do it.

Red: No you didn’t! I did!

Raph: Oh, you wanna go?

Red: Bring it.

-----

While Savage fronts when Host can’t handle being literally alone, Red spoke up in “Pizza Puffs” because Host was struggling to deal with being sort of... metaphorically alone? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and weren’t taking him or the situation seriously. Normally “it’s not good to be too dependent on others”, “kids need to grow up” and “sometimes you have to do things you don’t like” are good life lessons, but in this particular situation the life lessons should have waited until after the boys weren’t poisoned anymore. Sure, they pulled through, but Raph staying behind added an unnecessary level of risk. There’s a level of disjointedness between Raph and Red that I’m hoping will be explored and resolved in the future.

New alters form when preexisting alters are unable to handle whatever is going on in their life. What situation would Raph have been in for Red to form? When was “be independent/grow up/do something you don’t like” important? "Pizza Puffs” was the first time we’ve seen Raph do a solo mission, but it’s not the first time something like that has been mentioned.

“You went out on your own when you were [Mikey's] age.”

Thirteen is a very lonely age to be. I’m thinking events went something like this: Raph started hitting puberty at around 12/13 and Everything Was Awful. He was suddenly a lot bigger and stronger than he was used to, so he would accidentally break things around the lair more often, or get a little too rough when playing. I know we tend to poke fun at the “nobody understands me and everything sucks” mindset teens fall into, but as a mutant, Raph’s world was so, so small. Disconnected from his brothers, whose minds hadn’t hit the same milestones yet. Disconnected from his father, who would be passed out in the middle of a “Scorpion Treadmill” marathon whenever Raph needed guidance. Disconnected from April, a normal human girl who lived a normal human life he could never have.

Raph’s temper is relatively mellow now, but back then? Under those circumstances? He went too far.

And then he ran off topside, shame and nausea biting at the leftover fury in his heart.

In previous iterations, this is when he would run into a certain masked vigilante. But not in this universe. Not on this night. Casey wasn’t out pummeling pickpockets, she was training at the Foot dojo. They wouldn’t meet until “Hot Soup: The Game”, a couple of years later.

So Raph curled up on a roof somewhere with only his awful, awful thoughts for company. His little brother had been so scared of him... he couldn’t go back and face his family after what he had almost done. But he couldn’t stay up here alone either. What could he do?

Grow up.

He’s stronger now, and he has to be braver, too. He knows the way back home and there’s nothing out here that can hurt him. He can stand to be alone for a bit.

But he can’t stay here forever. He’ll have to go back home and do what he can to make things right, no matter how much it hurts.

So Red breathed in the cold night air for a while, and then retraced his steps back to the lair.

-----

But how are Raph and Casey going to properly meet? We saw her get kidnapped by that shadow thingy at the end of “Always Be Brownies”, so the resolution to that whole situation should be involved somehow.

Draxum gave Big Mama an orb covered in clawed, three-fingered hands. Then we see that Big Mama’s new assistant has such hands, as does the entity that took Meat Sweats and Casey. Clearly Big Mama is having her assistant kidnap people to fight in her “Fantabulous Battle Nexus Wizbang”. The turtles will be pulled into this because you can’t just not have your protagonists participate in the tournament arc.

We have yet to see Casey go well and truly Apeshit, because her previous fights have always had a certain level of shenanigans to them. Mikey fought her with an umbrella and a beach ball. Leo shoved a portal under her feet. She accidentally slashed up a corpse flower and fell into the goo. Her bonding moment with Splinter made her less willing to fight. The FBNW will give her the opportunity to show us what she can really do by pitting her against an opponent who is no-nonsense, one hundred percent ready to throw down.

Who could possibly be a better opponent for her than Savage Raph? (Perhaps Big Mama’s shadow captured the Sando Brothers, and they gave Big Mama information on a better fighter in exchange for their freedom?)

The two are evenly matched, of course, but the fight gets interrupted by the other turtles causing a mass breakout thanks to Leo’s emergency leader skills. Savage runs into his brothers amidst the chaos and they get Host to switch back in again. They defeat Big Mama and her shadow together and head home, yay huzzah plot concluded.

Casey, forgotten, also escapes and sneaks off to brood somewhere.

-----

A few episodes later, Red slips away to cool off for a bit (a habit that formed when he did, a way to decompress whenever they felt their temper getting the better of them) and happens to see some hockey mask-wearing lunatic picking fights with pickpockets. He hops down and holds her back, letting the would-be thieves get away with their skulls intact. “Listen, I get that you’re mad, but you can’t just go around-” And then he gets a baseball bat to the head.

"Back for round two, are you?!”

Red shakes the stars out of his eyes. That voice sounds familiar. “Hey, I don’t wanna fight you! Pops told us you left the Foot, we don’t have to be enemies anymore! Your heart’s in the right place with this whole crimefighting thing, but you’re going too far.”

Casey laughs a laugh that’s more taunt than humor. “Crimefighting? You think that’s what this is?” She gestures at the direction the thieves went with her scuffed and bloody bat. “This is training! You ran from our fight in the Nexus and I have been itching to beat you ever since. Die, coward!”

Red just barely manages to dodge the second bat swing. “What are you talking about? I never even saw you in the Nexus!”

They trade blows for a bit, Red’s attempts to calm her drowned by Casey screaming and cursing out this “lying turtle scum”. “Where is your fury? What happened to your viciousness? Why won’t you give me a real fight this time? Why are you holding back?!”

Her voice fades and all Red hears is the high shrieks and low roars of a crowd, harsh lights dulling the twin moons set in the green sky above as she lunges towards him and-

The bat hits his side with such force that the wood cracks a little, knocking the wind out out him despite his sturdy shell.

Casey stops bludgeoning him to better focus on gloating. “That move didn’t work on you last time. Did the first hit scramble your brains?”

Red kicks her feet out from under her and bolts, running back to the lair as quickly as he can manage with his head full of sights and sounds he can’t quite grab onto.

-----

Leo had stayed up to wait for his brother to return, so he grabs the first aid kit the moment Red emerges from the sewer tunnel. He starts to ask what happened as he unspools a roll of bandages, but Red asks a question instead. "What happened at the Nexus while I was... gone?"

Leo knows what he means, and the sun starts to rise as he fills in the gaps in his brother's memory.

-----

Casey’s ankle is twisted from Red's kick, so she can’t run after him for more than a few steps before falling over. Limping back home, she puts on her motivational Lou Jitsu playlist and begins to scheme.

---

For the record, I do think Raph and Casey will eventually become friends. But in the meantime... what kind of superhero doesn’t have a nemesis? :)

[dershloopmain]

End Of Everything - Chapter 2

‘’Jesus,’’ Casey said, looking down at the broken fence with multiple zombies, all in different states of living, tried to claw their way out of their barbed wire and wooden confines.

‘’Tell me about it. I knew they were dumb but I thought they were supposed to have dope eyesight? Doesn't look like it to me,’’’ Raph scoffed, pulling his own splintering baseball bat out of his bag, poking the arm of the closest trapped zombie.

‘’Won’t Donnie want a sample for his tests? Don't poke em too much what if they come free you ass!”

‘’They won't come free! I dunno I thought he was good for all that.’’

‘’I dunno either but shouldn't we at least ask him? Besides, we need the help,’’ Casey said with a shrug, ‘’and stop poking em Raph!’’

‘’What? You can ask him, but if I show my face in that lair before this is done, Leo will end my life so you’re going,’’ Raph said, pulling back from the undead recipient of his abuse.

‘’Fine, I’ll go alone then.’’

‘’Don’t say it like that you’re making it seem like you're going out into a haunted forest. You just gotta drop down the sewer pipe and walk like 100 feet then you’re at the turnstiles.’’

‘’I know! I also know I am, just as susceptible to Leo’s… whatever we’re calling them.’’

‘’First of all, when did you learn such a big word Jones and second just text him then you big dope,’’ Raph rolled his eyes, turning back to his undead victims, beginning to poke and prod at their bodies.

‘’I said stop fuckin’ poking em dude!’’ Casey said, pushing Raph away from the fence with his foot as he tapped out a text to Donnie, ‘’And it's surprising what hanging with D all day makes you learn.’’

‘’Hey! Rude. They're not gonna hurt anyone they're stuck as anything in there. Besides, I’ve been hanging with Don for years, you won't get smarter in a couple of months. Half his ramblings are gibberish at this point,’’ Raph said, sitting up and continuing to poke the zombie. Casey rolled his eyes, realising he wasn't going to win this.

‘’I dunno. I guess I just actually pay attention to him,’’ Casey said with a glare.

‘’Oh sorry,’’ Raph said with a sarcastic high pitched tone, ‘’What is he your boyfriend now? Why’re you getting so defensive?’’ Casey shot another glare at Raph, ‘’Yikes, touchy subject then. I’ll support you no matter what bro, and if you wanna kiss some time, just let me know,’’ Raph said, standing and pouting his lips while moving towards his friend.

‘’Dude stop it,’’ Casey laughed, pushing Raph back, ‘’No he isn’t either I’m just saying, maybe you’d be less of a bone head if you actually listened to him.’’

‘’Nice to know I’ve still got a chance with you then,’’ Raph said with a smirk, ‘’And who are you calling ‘bonehead’ Casey Jones, you���ve got more skull than cells.’’

‘’Alright alright I get it you’re gay for me, its hard not to be, just don't let Mona hear or she will kill both of us. I’m also just gonna ignore that last part but what I said still stands you’re a bonehead.’’

‘’I show you bone head,’’ Raph said, diving at Casey and tackling him to the ground, locking him in a headlock, ‘’Say I'm not a bonehead and I’ll let you go.’’ He said with a smile.

‘’Never!’’

‘’Well then, I hope you like the taste of dirt and sweat because I ain’t moving until you say it!’’

‘’Children, children, come on stop it,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes as he pulled himself out of the sewer. Raph looked up at his brother and smiled, allowing Casey a moment to flip Raph up and off of him. He landed on the dusty, cracked tarmac with a shout of surprise, before huffing and pulling himself and Casey up off of the floor, ‘’Now then. What’s the problem?’’

‘’We need help and Case was wondering if you needed new samples to test,’’ Raph said, pointing at the hole in the fence and multiple zombies clawing at the floor in an attempt to pull themselves free and feast on the 3’s flesh.

‘’Right… I’m guessing Leo said you couldn't have help right? That’s why you texted me?’’

‘’Yup.’’

‘’Thought so,’’ Donnie said softly with a small grimace on his face. A grimace that didn't go unnoticed by Casey and Raph. Nothing was said regarding it but yet… they all understood. A silent yet ever-present cloud hung over them all but not a word was said. Raph cleared his throat.

‘’Right then,’’ He spoke, rubbing his hands together readily, ‘’Let’s get on with it.’’ With that, the moment was over and the cloud disappeared, however not completely. It still loomed over them, threatening to take over their beings at any point. Donnie and Casey nodded, pulling their splintering boe staff and baseball bat out respectively and begun to shift the monsters, pushing them back from a safe distance.

‘’How long have our defences been compromised?’’ Donnie said, straightening up and letting out a deep breath.

‘’Not sure,’’ Raph said, copying his brother, ‘’But they’re really stuck in there so it must’ve been at least a couple of days. Probably longer.’’

‘’Why did Leo only send you two to do this?’’

‘’Your guess is as good as mine. He probably still hates me because of what happened.’’

‘’He can’t be still hung up on that. It’s been 3 months.’’

‘’I know,’’ Raph let out a shaky sigh, lifting his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘’He's not the only one who lost someone important though. We all lost something but we aren't all tyrannical megalomaniacs.’’

‘’You know how close Usagi and he were though. You can’t be mad at him for missing him.’’

‘’It’s past ‘missing him’. Fuck, I miss Mona too but it’s not my fault it happened I just- I just hate that I can't stop loving him. He's my brother, no matter what he does to me. I nearly died on that supply run, if it weren't for Casey I wouldn't be here but… no matter how mad it makes me I can’t stay mad at him,’’ Raph bit his tongue, his shoulders sinking in defeat, ‘’I’d do anything to get him back.’’

‘’I know Raph. I know,’’ Donnie said softly, moving towards his brother and wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his shell comfortingly. Casey didn’t say a word, he only followed Donnie’s lead and wrapped his own arms around his friend.

‘’Fuck me, man, there's something about the apocalypse that's making us all sappy,’’ Casey laughed, pulling an arm away from Raph and wrapping it around Donnie, who evidently also wasn't taking the entire situation well, but was just a lot worse at talking about it. He could tell from the turtle's physique that it’d taken a toll on him. Initially, while he had always been relatively thin, any muscle mass he had had before was gone, leaving nothing but skin, bone and organs. The eye bags Donnie had always sported seemed deeper and more rooted in weeks of sleepless nights rather than days of late nights and early mornings. His face was sallow and thin, his cheekbones protruding through his skin, almost pushing to escape their green confines. But he never said a word. Not to him. Not to Mikey or Raph. Not even to April. He was a silent sufferer, he wouldn't say a word to anyone but yet everyone knew. One of these days, Casey thought, he was going to have a proper conversation with Donnie. A proper talk. Even back before all this, they hadn’t been insanely close. Always at war over something or other yet something drew Casey to Donnie. He wasn't sure what yet but he’d figure it out. Eventually.

‘’Guys you do realise there's still zombies literal centimetres from us,’’ Donnie said, glazing towards the green-grey decaying hand reaching out for Raph’s ankle.

‘’Oh shit yeah,’’ Raph and Casey said in unison, pulling away and starring down at the writhing mass.

‘’How are we gonna move ‘em then?’’ Raph said, pulling a broken hockey stick out of Casey’s bag and poking the creatures again.

‘’My God Raph you’re like a 6-year-old. Stop. Poking. The. Fucking. Zombies!’’ Casey said angrily, ripping the hockey stick out of his hand and shoving them firmly back into his bag.

‘’Well, by the looks of things,’’ Donnie said, crouching down and levering the creatures up using his staff, ‘’They’ve been impaled by the fence. Pushing them back is just going to lodge them in even more and break the fence even more. We need to create some kind of lever system to lift them up so we can push them off the fence and out of our perimeter,’’ He stood up again, stretching his legs out and giving them a small shake, before looking over at Raph and Casey.

‘’This is why you’re the brain’s and I’m the brawn D,’’ Casey said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pushing him down into a headlock.

‘’Cut it out Casey,’’ Donnie said indignantly, squirming in an attempt to get out of Casey’s arms.

‘’Yeah Casey, cut it out. We gotta sort this out before ‘Nardo throws his rattle out his pram,’’ Raph rolled his eyes and Casey grimaced, loosening his grip and allowing Donnie to pull himself free.

Without another word, Donnie pulled a small toolbox out of his bag and placed it on the floor not too far from the creatures writhing in the barbed wire and jagged wood. Opening the box gently, he pulled out a small, clean-looking glass syringe and a neatly folded wet wipe.

‘’Ok,’’ He said finally, ‘’I need you two, and its imperative that you listen and do exactly as I say because I’m your only hope for a cure and if I get turned you’re all doomed so,’’ Donnie pointed at the pile of zombies, ‘’hold them down and away from me. But under no circumstances are you to do ANYTHING that could kill that one. If they die, their sample will be tarnished and it won't be effective,’’ He finished, a stern and serious expression on his face.

‘’Got it, Don,’’ Raph said, walking towards the pile and pushing his foot down onto the head of the creature Donnie had said, ‘’Casey, can you hold the others back while try and sort this one out?’’

‘’I’ll try,’’ He said sheepishly, looking down at the 3 or so other zombies laying at his feet before quickly composing himself and beginning to use his hockey stick to lift them up and pushing them back and away from his friends and home. Stepping over the barbed wire and broken fencing, he jammed his hockey stick back into his bag and pulled the splintering bat out, moving towards the now free pile of freaks.

‘’You want me to kill em, D?’’

‘’Can do,’’ Donnie said flatly, not looking up from his test subject.

‘’Uh- You know what never mind I’ll just kill em,’’ Casey said, swinging his bat in a downward arch, smashing the creatures’ skulls in, killing them all instantaneously. Mushy brain and dark, viscous blood splattered on his sneakers and jeans, coating them in another layer of grit and grime. He had to admit, the idea that these were once living people was disturbing to him. They’d once had lives, jobs, families and friends. They’d been like him once. Alive and free. Would everyone have bashed his skull in if he’d been infected? Or would he have been corralled and used as a test subject for Donnie to find a cure? He hoped the latter but… He wasn’t sure. After what’d happened, he wasn’t sure Leo would’ve been insanely happy with the idea of keeping zombies in the lair, especially not him. Being low on the hierarchy had its perks but not having Leo on his side in regards to anything was not one of them. He sighed, shaking the viscera off of his shoes and bat before stepping back into the borders of their home.

‘’Nearly done Don?’’ Casey said, crouching near him. He glanced over at his

‘’Nearly and… there we go done,’’ Donnie said, wiping the mucus and deep red blood from the small wound he’d just created, smiling at his work.

‘’Why’d you wipe it after. They’re dead their entire body is infected,’’ Raph said, removing his foot from the creatures head and letting Donnie back up before dropping its arms and dashing around to the other side of the fence.

‘’Force of habit,’’ Donnie said quietly, clearly uncomfortable with what was about to happen.

‘’We have to do it, Don, I know you don’t like it but we do,’’ Raph said, walking over to his brother and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Donnie looked away, gently placing the syringe into a ziplock back and putting it back into his toolbox.

‘’I know you do I just- I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing them be killed. They used to alive and through no fault of their own, now they’re monsters I- I don't know how much more of this excessive violence and murder I can take,’’ Donnie said, his eyes filling up with tears.

‘’Hey, hey don’t get upset. Crying’s healthy and all but if you start, I’ll start and even Raph might start- hey ow!’’ Casey exclaimed, whipping around and shooting Raph a death glare. Raph snorted, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. Donnie laughed, wiping away yet another batch of unshed tears.

‘’Sorry it just… gets a little much at times,’’ Donnie shook his head, rubbing his elbow nervously.

‘’Don’t apologise for having emotions you big dummy,’’ Raph said, walking to stand next to Casey, ‘’I gotta say, me and Casey aren’t exactly peachy. I doubt Mikey and April are either. Don’t even get me started on Leo. It’s ok to feel like this Don, just stop bottling it up. That’s where it’s not healthy.’’

‘’I can’t believe for once WE are the one's schooling Donnie,’’ Casey said, crossing his arms and shaking his head jokingly. Raph rolled his eyes, as did Donnie.

‘’Now the sentimental shit’s over, let’s just finish up here and go down, I seriously doubt ‘Nardo is gonna be happy with how long we’ve been,’’ Raph said, trying not to think about what was inevitably to come.

‘’Tell me about it. D, we’ll deal with the creature and you can like, close your eyes and ears if that’ll help, then we’ll get started on the fence,’’ Casey said, trying to add an air of enthusiasm to his voice to bring up the mood, however, even he could tell it wasn’t working.

‘’Sure,’’ Donnie said, walking back to the manhole cover and looking away, covering his ears as Raph and Casey pulled out their respective weapons and began pulling the zombie out of the barbed wire and splintering wood, replacing it out onto the dusty street. Then, Raph stepped towards the thing that was slowly attempting to crawl back towards them and slammed his sai down into its head, cracking its skull and killing it, once and for all. He felt the vibrations up his arm as the metal of his sai clashed with the concrete, causing him to shiver a little, before pulling himself up and shaking the remnants of blood and brain off of his sai.

‘’Ok D, all done,’’ Casey shouted over, turning around to his friend and giving him a reassuring smile, who offered a small, shaky smile in return.

With that, Raph tucked his sai away and stepped over what was leftover of the small portion of the fence.

‘’You got any nails in that thing Donnie?’’ Raph asked, gesturing at the toolbox.

‘’I should have a few, I brought some hammers too, I figured you two wouldn't have remembered to bring any with you,’’ Donnie said, opening the toolbox and pulling out a handful of nails and handing them to Casey, before pulling his backpack around so it hung over one shoulder and rummaging through it for a couple of seconds before pulling out 3 relatively clean hammers and handing one to each of them.

‘’Well then, let's get to it,’’ Raph said, swinging the hammer around and grabbing a couple of nails from Casey’s outstretched hand, before picking up one of the wooden boards and beginning to bash it back into the wooden post that protruded from the tarmac. Casey and Donnie soon followed suit, before finally beginning to carefully pick up the barbed and wrap it around the makeshift fencing.

‘’That wasn’t so bad,’’ Raph said, grinning at their handiwork.

‘’Definitely a lot quicker with you here D,’’ Casey said, smiling at his friend.

‘’No problem Casey. I know how Leo can be, so just text me if you ever need help with anything. He already doesn't like you coming down to my lab. Thinks you’re stopping me from working or something,’’ Donnie said with a sigh.

‘’Well, I’m not gonna stop coming unless you tell me to. I don’t care what he thinks,’’ Casey said defiantly, putting his hands on his hips as if he were some hero.

‘’A real modern-day revolutionary you are Casey Jones,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes with a smirk.

‘’Should we head back? It’s getting cold,’’ Raph said, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing them in an attempt to preserve any sort of body heat he could.

‘’Jesus it is. Must really be September,’’ Casey said, stuffing his hands deep into his hoody pockets.

Donnie nodded, flexing his fingers before pulling them back into a fist multiple times.

With that, the three headed towards the manhole cover and climbed down back into the sewer. It was surprising how much you learned about New York’s bathroom habits after 6 months of the apocalypse. Raph had always assumed that there’d always be greywater down here, no matter how many humans lived up top yet somehow, the sewers had run dry. Remains of final faeces and bathroom breaks lay dried up or non-existent along the floor of the sewer. It was almost impressive yet disturbing. The world really was ending. Or, as Donnie had put it ‘’Humanity's end as the dominant life force on earth’’.

‘’Bite your tongue Raph. If Leo says anything, don’t bite,’’ Donnie whispered as they hopped the turnstiles into the lair. Raph swallowed in a desperate attempt to dampen his dry tongue, failing miserably. He could feel his stomach turn in knots and any food he’d eaten in the last 24 hours was churning in his stomach, threatening to make a reappearance.

‘’Raphael,’’ Leo’s deep voice filled their ears, Raph flinched, ‘’I trust your supply run went well.’’

‘’Yeah. Got more medical supplies. There wasn’t much else we needed though so that was it.’’ ‘’What about our defences. Are they secure now?’’

‘’Yeah. Casey and Donnie helped me patch it back up so it should be fine.’’

‘’Donatello helped? I thought I told you that you and Casey were to do it alone.’’

‘’Yes, I know, I’m sorry but he was already up there to get another sample from the zombies and he had stuff on him to help so…’’ Raph trailed off, his eyes trained on the ground. He refused to look into Leo’s cold, uncaring eyes. If he did, he already knew he couldn't hold himself back.

‘’Hmm. Donatello? Is this what happened?’’

‘’Yes, Leo. I promise you, they didn’t ask me to help them. I asked them if I could come up to get a sample for my studies,’’ Donnie said sheepishly, looking up at Leo, trying his best not to let his fear be shown.

‘’Fine. I’ll believe you. You may all leave now.’’ Leo said plainly, glaring down at Casey and Raph, both of whom were starring at the ground still as they walked away, shoulders hunching slightly.

Leo nearly felt himself crack. He wanted to stop them, tell them he was sorry and wanted everything to go back to normal but… he couldn't. He couldn’t stop hating them for what happened. He couldn’t stop his blood from boiling every time he saw Raph walk past him to leave the lair. Maybe time would heal all wounds, but for now, he was perfectly content blaming and hating his younger brother for what he’d done. Not just because of what he'd lost. It's what all of them had lost. It was how reckless and immature Raph had been and HOW he'd caused it. All of it added up into a pit of rage that had been brewing for years. The number of times he'd been kidnapped or injured because of Raph's idiocy and complacency and arrogance. What had happened had broken him, the small, sane and happy, innocent part of him had snapped. Maybe if Usagi returned that part would be reconnected but… he knew that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. And it was all Raph’s fault.

[crystalwillow]

Exiled Problems - Chapter Five

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Casey Valentine (F!MC)

Features: Bryce Lahela

Word Count: 2.7K

Warning: This AU features themes of; Angst, Swearing, Alcohol Use, Violence, NSFW Material (Mature Themes, 18+)

Taglist: @sophxwithers @otakudreamer @an-jell-o @curiousconch @mm2305

=========================

Later that evening Casey walked through her front door, head lowered as Ethan and a couple of police officers file in behind her.

“Casey?” Nigel asks hesitantly, “why are the police here. And why is Dr Ramsey here?”

Slowly, Casey looks up revealing the stitches in her lip and the slight black eye that’s formed from where her mother’s hand caught her eye.

Her father gasps in horror, rushing over and searching her eyes. “Who… who done this?”

Casey glares at her mother and spits venomously, “She did.”

Nigel looks over to his wife in pure shock. “Dorothy!?” he exclaims, inspecting Casey’s face before looking back at his wife. “Why?”

“Oh spare her the pity, Nigel. She was being an ungrateful bitch. She’d rather run off with him and ruin the image we’ve worked so hard to build than marry the suitor we’ve picked.” her mother replies just as venomously, the glare she gives Casey matching the intensity of her words, as she points towards Ethan harshly.

“Now you listen here you-” Ethan starts to seethe but stops when Nigel raises a hand.

“I’m disappointed in you, Dorothy.” he expresses sorrowfully, “Whilst I agree we have to make sure she maintains her own image, as well as the family’s; violence is not the answer here.”

“No. It’s okay dad. I’m not staying.” Casey informs them. “I’m just here to collect a few things.”

“What do you mean?” Nigel asks with confusion on his face.

“I’m staying somewhere safer than here.”

“You are safe here, poppet. Come on, your mother didn’t mean this.”

Both women scoff at him before heading off in different directions leaving Nigel standing in awkward silence with Ethan and the officers.

Later Casey struggles down the stairs with 3 big suitcases full of stuff.

“Is 3 suitcases really necessary, Casey?” Ethan asks as he’s drawn back into the moment from the commotion.

“Yes. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Casey quips.

“I’d think likely 3-5 days. Give things time to blow over and settle down.”

“I don’t want things to blow over and settle down, Dr Ramsey. I want them to change and I want to be able to date who I want to date and not be forced into some loveless marriage for money and my image.”

“I… Right, I see.”

“Do you?” she challenges. “Do you really?”

Ethan gives her a look of surprise at her sudden outburst and she sighs after a moment of tense silence.

“Sorry,” she apologises. “I… I shouldn’t be taking my anger and frustrations out on you. It’s not your fault.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m used to being blamed for things that aren’t my fault. I am a doctor after all. You have to learn to grow a thick skin to these sorts of things.” he smiles back kindly.

An hour later the pair walk through the front door of Ethan’s apartment, abandoning the suitcases by the door. Casey settling on the couch, Ethan disappearing into the kitchen and reappearing with two glasses of water, offering one to Casey as he settled next to her.

“Th-thank you.” Casey stutters as she accepts the glass.

“You’re welcome.” Ethan smiles kindly taking a gulp of water from his own glass.

They sat in silence for a while, the energy awkward and weird as they looked to anywhere in the room but each other.

“So-”

They both started at the same time, chuckling nervously as they cut each other off.

“Sorry, I- You go first.” Casey blushes.

“I was just going to ask you if you would like me to show you to your room?”

“Um. Yeah, I’d… That would be nice. Thank you.” Casey smiled as they rose to their feet.

Ethan led Casey to one of his spare bedrooms, wheeling two of her cases with him. As they entered, Casey’s jaw dropped. She looked around at the homely yet clean decor that inhabited the room; Ethan chuckling as he noticed her expression.

“Impressed?” he asked with a bemused smirk.

“Uh.. no. I just… wasn’t expecting something with such a homely feeling for a guest room.”

Ethan nods understandingly at her honest answer. “Most people don’t. And by most people… I mean about 45% of the 37 people I’ve had stay the night, before you. You’re now the 38th person I’ve allowed to stay here.”

Casey chuckles as she sits on the edge of the bed. “That’s so you.”

“What is?”

“Focusing on the statistics of reviews from people you invite or allow to stay here.”

“Oh? Analysing me now are we, Miss Valentine?” Ethan asks as he sits beside her

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Casey scoffs, gently shoving his arm with a shake of her head

“Me? Ridiculous? Now where would you have come up with that idea?”

“You literally lost all sense of rational thought and invited me to visit you at work the other day for a quick hook up before our date later that same night. You cleared your desk and readied protection in an easily accessible place. No man with a ration or logical, over-ticking mind… does that.”

“So what I’m hearing here is that… I’m not like these other men who are douchebags and expect the women to take care of the protection they should carry. Which in turn makes me a unique and rare find. Some, any woman who is willing to do irrational and illogical things when it comes to quelling the fire in her loins, would date.”

Casey looked at him with a goofy yet bemused smile of her face before they both burst out into laughter, falling back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as the sound died down. After a while Ethan pulled himself up, Casey copying his action.

“I should let you sleep, and get to bed myself. I… have an early shift tomorrow.” Ethan says clearing his throat.

“Yeah, sure.” Casey nods, “Um… goodnight.” she smiles as she follows him to the door. “And thanks again, for letting me crash here. It… means more than I’ll ever be able to explain.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” he soothes, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and rubbing slightly. “I will admit that it’s a new thing having the woman I’m sort of dating staying in my apartment for a prolonged period of time. But, it’s going to keep you safe. That’s what I care about.”

Casey’s eyes shine with tears as his kind words sink in and Ethan pulls her into his chest, rubbing her back soothingly as he feels some of the tears soak into his shirt. After a moment they pull away from each other, Casey swiping the remaining tears from her cheeks with a small chuckle.

“Goodnight Casey, sweet dreams.” He smiles softly, cupping her cheek; wiping away the last stray tear.

Casey places her and over his, returning the smile. “Goodnight, Ethan.” she whispers back as Ethan plants a soft kiss on her forehead before wordlessly leaving the room with one last smile.

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

The next two days passed by peacefully of Ethan and Casey falling into a new routine Ethan would wake up for his early shifts and leave breakfast for Casey to heat up when she woke up, they would meet up for lunch at Derry Roasters and then Casey would cook a nice meal for when Ethan got home. After that they would settle together and play a board game, listen to an audio book together or Ethan would binge true crime videos with Casey until it was time for them to head to bed. The morning after she moved out of her parents house for her temporary stay at Ethan’s, Casey had contemplated not turning on her tablet or laptop and being present for work, but then she remembered; she’s not THAT petty. So she took a shower, got ready for work, conversed with Ethan a place in his apartment she could use as her work space during the daytime, and that’s how things had been going.

Smoothly.

And for Casey that brought a sense of comfort and calm she hadn’t felt for a long while, it’s also what she was currently zoned out pondering on as Ethan spoke to her about ideas for dinner.

“... or we could go down the route of- Casey… Case?” Ethan asked, poking at her arm gently. “Hello? Earth to Casey.” he spoke louder waving his hand in her face.

Casey blinked a few times before looking to Ethan, letting her eyes adjust to his face. “I’m… sorry. What were you saying?” she asks flushing a bright rosy pink.

“I was making suggestions for dinner tonight. Maybe a pasta dish, something like spaghetti and meatballs, or ravioli. I was then suggesting we could take the lazy route tonight and just order something in.” Ethan responds.

“I can do spaghetti and meatballs. No problem.” Casey smiles brightly, taking a sip of her coffee before her face drops when her attention is draw to the door as the bell tinkles. “Oh no.” Casey whispers before ducking behind Ethan.

“Casey? What are you doing?” Ethan whispers.

“It’s him. THAT’S Bryce Lahela. The one I have an arranged marriage with. Just… act normal.” she whisperer yells back remaining in her spot.

Ethan watches from the corner of his eye as Bryce orders a coffee and then looks around the cafe, his eyes stopping on Ethan and a smirk sliding onto his face before he siddles over to the table.

“Ethan Ramsey.” he states.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says after a moment, looking up from the newspaper in front of him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Bryce says nonchalantly “You don’t. But I sure as heck know you.”

“Obviously. You addressed me by name.”

“OOOO. You’re as stiff as your reputation perceives you to be.”

Ethan shakes his head indifferely. “No… I don’t think I am. I just... don’t go looking to cause trouble with random people as you seem to be doing.”

“Oh, don’t act dumb Ramsey. You know why I’m here.”

“Enlighten me.” Ethan chuckles as he sits back in his chair.

“Where is she? Where’s Casey.” he demands

“The family sent you to do their dirty work have they?” Ethan retorts, clearly unimpressed.

“She’s my fiancé and she should be at home with her parents where she belongs. Not wherever you’re holding her against her will.”

Ethan laughs in his face at the weak veiled threat before looking Bryce in the eyes with a bitter coldness.

“Listen here, twerp. Casey is not being held anywhere against her will, where she is, she’s there because she feels safer than at home where she could be abused in any way, at any moment, by anyone. Now if you have a problem with that, take it up with the police. But if I were you my friend, I’d keep in mind they organised this whole thing.”

Bryce stares Ethan down for a couple of minutes before his name is called out, with a slight aggressive grunt he turns on his heel, collecting his coffee and then leaving the store.

After about 5 minutes, Casey pokes her head out. “Is it safe?” she whispers to Ethan, who looks around and then nods. She crawls out from behind him and then sits back in her chair. “Sorry about him.” she smiles shyly.

“It’s okay.” Ethan says shaking his head lightly with a soft smile. “Don’t apologise for him. Ever.”

“O-okay.” she nods, finishing her now cold coffee before closing her salad pot and placing her phone on top as Ethan left the table ordering two to-go coffee’s. As they stepped outside, Ethan turned to Casey. “Let me drive you back, just incase there’s any unwanted visitors around.”

“I- That would be great, thanks.” Casey smiles as they head over to Ethan’s car.

After dropping Casey back at his apartment safely, Ethan headed back to work; groaning as he entered the lobby hearing a familiar voice shouting in the main lobby.

“Well he works here doesn’t he?! So why can’t I see him!”

Gripping the handle of his briefcase Ethan straightened his spine and walked past the commotion only to have to do an eye roll before slipping into professional mode as her turns too address the shouts

“There he is! Oi, Ramsey!”

“Bryce Lahela. Or should I say… Daddy’s trust fund baby?”

“Ouch. That one hurt. You’ve done your research I see.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Ethan snorts, “I was on a call with Casey for our entire conversation. Just so you know, you’ve pushed her further away.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“And what reason would I have to do that?”

“You’ve been on dates with her. You want to keep her all to yourself.”

“How are you so deluded?”

“I’m the deluded one? That’s rich coming from you.”

Ethan laughs a little. “As thrilling as it would be to put you in your place where you belong… I am going to be the bigger person here and ask you to leave before I have to call security.”

“Aw, don’t want to lose your little job as a doctor because you’ll no longer be able to impress Casey?”

“Actually, no. I don’t want to lose my job because I enjoy it. As for impressing Casey, I have more than one way to impress her. Whereas you…” he trails off looking bryce up and down with a scoff of disgust. “You have none.”

The air around them tensed as nurses and fellow doctors within earshot alike stopped as they heard Ethan’s words. Bryce stood opposite Ethan his confidence wavering as more time ticked by with him saying nothing back.

“Yeah… Well she probably fakes it anyway.” Bryce spat in a panic before stomping out of the main doors.

Ethan chuckled as he watched Bryce go, clearly flustered that Ethan had been able to render him speechless.

Later that evening Ethan arrived home to the aroma of garlic, tomatoes and pasta wafting through his apartment. “That smell is divine.” he smiles as he enters the kitchen to the sight of Casey dishing up two plates of food.

“Thanks.” she smiles up to him before placing some garlic bread into a basket. “Dinner will be served out on the balcony tonight, if you would be so kind as to go and take your seat, kind sir.”

“Well this is certainly new.” Ethan chuckles. “I never thought I'd see the day where my apartment turns into a personal restaurant.”

Casey giggles. “Just go and wash your hands, then head outside.”

Ethan salutes her and heads off to do exactly that. By the time he’s comfortably seated, Casey heads in his direction with a tray of drinks. “One scotch with water not ice?”

“Oh, thank you.” Ethan smiles as Casey sets the glass in front of him.

Casey smiles as she sets the glass of wine in her own spot. “Your food will be with you shortly.” she smiles with a nod and slight bow before turning and heading back inside, only to reappear moments later carrying the same tray now adorning their food. She places it carefully on the table before placing the tray inside on the coffee table, returning to take her seat.

Ethan smiles at her as she takes a sip of her wine.

“What?” she blushes, shyly tucking her hair behind her ear.

Ethan smiles at her for a minute longer before shaking his head. “Nothing. I’ve just never felt so free and unjudged around someone before. Nor have I felt so loved by someone other than my dad.”

“Oh? What about… what about your mom?” Casey asks hesitantly.

“I… We don’t discuss her.” Ethan replies, voice turning cold as he looks to the horizon.

“Oh… Sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay to ask questions, Casey.” Ethan says warmly as he turns back to Casey. “I just prefer not to talk about her.”

“That’s fine too.” Casey smiles. “We can talk about other things. Like… how was the rest of your day?” she asks.

Ethan gives an amused smirk as he launches into telling her about Bryce and their exchange, Casey’s eyes widening and her cheeks flushing red as he mentions the part about what he has that can impress her. Talk then turn back to their work days and how that went for them as they eat on the balcony with the Boston sunset as the perfect backdrop, laughing well into the night.

=================

[morningsound15]

casey x izzie for 14!!!

Casey x Izzie + “things you said after you kissed me”

i call this my brief foray into 4 +1 but with kisses (and almost-kisses) for a ship from a show i don’t watch! i hope i have done them justice (i watched their scenes on youtube to try to understand the character dynamics)

also this is a long one! might be its own fic

also also woweeee do i love a simile

1)

“I’m sorry,” Izzie says, “about everything,” and Casey wants to believe her. But there have been too many people in her life recently who have been letting her down, too many people dropping the ball when it counts, for her to trust again so easily. First her mom, for cheating on her dad because she’s going through some sort of selfish, late-in-life crisis; then Nate, for also trying to be a cheating dirtbag; Izzie, for believing her boyfriend over her best friend for no reason other than fear and half-baked, misguided loyalty. It’s like the only person who really has her back these days is Sam.

Is that ironic? It feels ironic.

“I got jealous,” Izzie says, when Casey doesn’t respond, “and I was… afraid of losing someone that I love.” Which is dumb. That’s dumb.

“I would never come between you and Nate.” Because she wouldn’t. She knows what cheating does to a relationship, to a family; she’s seen it first-hand. She isn’t that kind of person. She would never be that kind of person. And this whole situation sucks like… way more, because the fact that Izzie thinks she would, that that’s the kind of thing she would do, hurts worse than anything. It hurts like… like maybe they actually aren’t that close. Like maybe she’s misjudged the whole course of their relationship, because if this is the kind of person Izzie thinks she is, maybe she really doesn’t know her. Has Casey been wrong about everything? Has she really been such a bad judge of character?

(Besides, she thinks to herself, after somewhat of a delay, I have Evan, and I love him. What would I want Nate for? She doesn’t need to steal someone else’s boyfriend; not when she has her own.)

But Izzie just shakes her head. “Screw him,” she shoots back. “No, I was—afraid of losing you.”

And: Oh. That… that does something unexpected to her, pokes at some feeling Casey can’t identify. There’s something that feels like a string, tugging between her heart and her stomach; a rubber band stretching tight. She takes a breath, feels hot behind her ears and behind her eyes. “Oh,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else.

“It just… before you got to Clayton, I… felt so out of place. Like I couldn’t be myself.”

Out of place. Casey’s felt out of place her whole life. With her family, with boys, at school. Weird, intense, too focused on sports, too crass when she eats and speaks and curses, hair too short, body too boyish, the girl with the autistic brother.

Izzie’s still talking. “And with Nate… our lives are just so different.”

“Yeah, like he’s a huge douche and you’re not?” Casey grumbles.

Izzie looks her in the eye, dead serious. “Yes.”

Casey bites her lower lip, trying to control her smile. It doesn’t work, of course, but she still lowers her head, her cheeks pinking.

“And then you and I got into that big fight—” Izzie says quietly. Casey feels the smile slowly slip from her mouth. She breathes evenly, but doesn’t look at her. Not yet— “and we stopped talking. And… I missed you.”

There it is again: that rubber band stretching tight.

Talking with Izzie has always been so easy. That’s partly why they got so close so quickly: even when they hated each other, even when they were fighting and shooting nasty, ugly barbs towards each other (or, more accurately: when Izzie was shooting nasty, ugly barbs towards Casey), the conversation never lagged.

And now, they’re best friends. Even after their fight, even with their almost-fallout… Casey can’t deny that. Maybe she doesn’t trust Izzie fully right now; maybe she won’t for a while. But the girl’s good at apologies, and with only a few sentences they’re laughing together like everything is normal. Maybe it isn’t, not yet; but maybe it can be.

When Izzie says “Let’s forehead promise to never leave each other again,” Casey has no idea what she’s talking about — it sounds like another crazy idea, like building a tent out of a couch and some blankets in her family room. But that had turned out well, and if Izzie wants them to promise they’ll always be friends, Casey is going to promise. She’s never really had a friend like Izzie, before. Now that she has one, she doesn’t want to lose her.

Pressing their foreheads together feels weird, and Casey can’t help but giggle. She doesn’t have much experience being this close to someone who isn’t related to her or that she isn’t trying to make out with, so it feels more than a little ridiculous to be doing it with Izzie, of all people.

Izzie laughs too as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. Her bracelet clicks against her earring. “Is it obvious that I just made this up?” Izzie says, her own cheeks pink and her laughter embarrassed.

Casey smiles, close-lipped, her eyes crinkling shut. They look at each other like that, smiling for a few moments. But then a few moments turn into a few seconds, and a few seconds turn into a few more, and they still haven’t moved. They’re still on Casey’s bed, foreheads pressed together, hands and knees brushing on Casey’s duvet. Their smiles fade into something softer, and then into nothing.

The rubber band stretches and stretches until it catches, lodged somewhere in her throat. Casey swallows, feels like she can’t breathe. There’s nothing but breath between them. Their noses brush, and Casey’s eyes drop down to Izzie’s lips like there’s some magnetic force pulling them there. There’s a tremble to Izzie’s lower lip as she exhales shakily. Casey can’t stop staring. Izzie’s lips are pink, shining with gloss. She can’t help but wonder, somewhere in the back of her mind behind the roaring rush of her own blood in her ears that’s drowning out just about every sound but her own breathing, whether or not they might taste faintly of candy.

Who leans in first? She can’t say for certain. But one moment Casey is staring at Izzie’s lips, and the next Izzie is actually biting them, and then Casey’s eyes are drifting shut, and she’s not sure what makes her do it, but she lifts her chin and feels Izzie shift to meet her—

Maybe it’s for the best that her mom barges in. Besides the absolute humiliation of being caught almost kissing her best friend on her bed by her mother, obviously. But though her cheeks burn and her eyes feel wet with embarrassment, and though she feels this sick twisting in her stomach that might be guilt or might be shame or might be fear or might be understanding, and though she can’t quite look Izzie in the eye, she’s a little grateful.

She almost did something she’s sure she would have regretted.

.

.

.

.

2)

To her extraordinary relief, they come to the mutual (yet unacknowledged) understanding that whatever weird thing is going on between them, those weird emotions that made them maybe-almost-but-not-quite kiss in her bedroom on her birthday? They’re not going to talk about it. Not over text, not in-person… Casey almost can’t believe her luck. She had had absolutely no idea how she was going to play this off — their guilty, jump-away-from-each-other reactions had made the whole situation feel too real to be a joke, but the fact that it hadn’t actually happened (that they hadn’t actually kissed) means that they don’t necessarily, specifically, technically have to address it.

After a weird two days where Casey pretty blatantly ignores her, Izzie texts her an old selfie she found of the two of them. Casey opens it and maybe it’s the fact that she’s in a great mood, or maybe it’s because Sam is graduating, or maybe it’s because she had sex again last night with Evan, but she looks down at the picture and she smiles. Hang out later? she asks.

Sure! Izzie shoots back a moment later. What did you have in mind?

Casey stops and thinks for a moment. Slurpees?

.

.

“I can’t believe we drove four towns away just to find a 7-Eleven that serves cotton candy Slurpees.”

Casey laughs. It’s not a complaint, more an expression of I-can’t-believe-we-actually-came-up-with-this-idea. “I have no regrets.” She pauses, toying with her straw. She chews on her lip as the silence grows between them. It’s not uncomfortable, not really, but it’s something like pre-uncomfortable, and Casey feels the need to talk, the need to spill (the need to brag) bubbling up within her. “So guess what?” she says with a coy smile, eyes on her drink. She answers herself before Izzie gets the chance to. “I had sex again,” she says quickly, her coy smile growing into more of a pleased grin. She feels like a teenage boy, bragging about his sexcapades with his buddies to prove he’s better, smarter, more mature. Then again, teenage girls really aren’t so different from teenage boys, and sexual posturing isn’t exactly unheard of for girls like her. She hears it all the time in locker rooms, at lunch, from people on her various track teams.

(Izzie has never spoken about her sex life with Nate, though Casey knows they must have one.)

“With Evan?” Izzie asks, and it sounds teasing, but also maybe not? Like there’s an edge to her voice Casey can hear but can’t place.

She goes with ‘teasing’ back. “No, with myself,” she says, deadpan. “Still counts though, right?”

Izzie laughs and glances at her through her eyelashes, a move that makes Casey forget, momentarily, what it is they’re talking about. “Shut up.” She scrunches her face up and brings her drink to her lips.

Casey isn’t looking directly at her, so she can’t exactly see the smile slip from her lips, but she can feel it, because hers does, too. The car feels different, markedly different, in the span of only a few seconds. She says, quieter, finally in response: “Yeah, with Evan.” Another pause as she looks up straight ahead of her and sets her mouth. “I really love him,” she says, nodding a few times for emphasis (what is she trying to emphasize? what is she trying to prove? and who is she trying to prove it to?).

They’re both staring straight out ahead, not looking at each other. “I know you do,” Izzie responds, just as softly.

“It’s just, sometimes a thing feels… so right, y’know?” And she doesn’t know who she’s talking about, anymore. In her mind she’s picturing Evan, or at least she’s trying to, but she can’t stop her brain from flipping back to other moments. You know you are not what I expected — Nate’s awesome, but sometimes it feels not quite right with him — I knew you two would fall in love — We can stay in here forever if you want — This might sound lame, but you’re like my new favorite person — I was afraid of losing you — I missed you — Is it obvious that I just made this up?

She doesn’t know what she’s thinking, anymore. This whole thing is too confusing, and she feels like she’s twisted up inside, like a pile of necklaces someone’s just pulled out of an old shoebox that after 40 years going untouched now has to be untangled.

Izzie doesn’t answer. Casey can feel an electric current running between them. They aren’t touching but the air inside Casey’s car feels super-charged. Like one spark and the whole thing might go up in flames.

Izzie still hasn’t said anything. Casey, strangely, is beyond expecting her to. The silence feels like more of an answer than words ever could. Without saying a word, the entire atmosphere of the car, of this hang, of this night has changed. Where before it was easy, natural, normal, now it suddenly isn’t again. It’s like they’re back in Casey’s bedroom, foreheads pressed together, some spell cast over them that makes it feel like they’re having entire conversations just with the placement of their bodies, their eye contact, the spaces left between their words.

Casey doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t think she can. But she knows what Izzie is about to do a second before it happens. Izzie’s pinky finger reaches out, brushes against the back of her hand. Casey’s fingers twitch, but she slides her hand slowly, softly, just far enough so that their pinkies can hook together in between their seats.

They still aren’t looking at each other. They can’t. If they look at each other the spell will be broken, this moment will end, and whatever liminal space they’ve entered will shatter and they’ll be forced back into reality. Casey doesn’t want that to happen. She can’t let it happen. There are infinite futures spooling out from this one; she thinks she could trace their trails, like following a line of string through a maze, if only she had enough time to parse through them all. She can see where this might be going and it terrifies her, freezes her still, but she can’t quite make herself pull away from it, yet. She’s had a taste and she’s so curious… she wants so much but could never say…

It might be Casey or it might be Izzie or it might be both of them working in tandem (or it might be neither of them; some greater force, some higher power acting upon them and nudging them in the right direction), but their hands come together, their fingers come together, and Casey’s hand is palm up and it fits so perfectly with Izzie’s, so natural, so easy.

Casey can’t remember if they’ve held hands before. She thinks they probably have. They’re teenage girls — what teenage girls haven’t held their best friends’ hands?

But it’s never felt like this, before. So noticeable. So present. So obvious, conspicuous. She feels the anxious urge to glance around, to make sure they aren’t being seen, to make sure that no one is walking near her car, to make sure that there’s no one around who might know them, who might find this behavior strange, who might report back to the others at school (no one around here could possibly know them; they’re four towns and nearly an hour away from home. But still, she worries).

Casey’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She pulls it out with one hand, trying not to jostle the precarious position they’ve found themselves in.

Evan Tuba her phone screen reads. She swallows down the rise of hot panic that threatens to overtake her throat, her mouth, her head, and silences her phone.

She doesn’t look anywhere but straight in front of her. To look anywhere else would be tantamount to betrayal, or maybe admittance (or maybe acceptance).

“Newton?” Izzie ventures quietly, and Casey almost jumps at the sound.

She swallows. Slowly turns to face her.

Izzie is staring at her. It’s a little disconcerting, but more than that it’s almost invasive. She feels like Izzie is looking straight into her soul, like she’s reading every thought, every excuse, every explanation on Casey’s face.

“Clayton,” Casey says back, reaching desperately for a joke, a laugh.

Izzie doesn’t laugh. She’s still holding Casey’s hand, her fingers holding tight to Casey’s. And oh, the feeling is so much stronger now that they’re looking at each other. Casey’s standing on a precipice; one wrong move, one strong gust of wind and she’s bound to go toppling over the side.

Izzie licks her lips, and Casey’s eyes are drawn to them almost unbidden. She feels her own mouth go dry, but ignores the urge to wet her lips (licking lips is a clear sign a girl wants to kiss you; Sam told her that once, and she thought it was ridiculous at the time, but now she can’t stop thinking about it).

Izzie gets so close. A foot away, maybe less. Her eyes are already closed, her head cocked to the side just-so.

Casey is half a second away from closing her eyes and meeting her in the middle, over the center console (she can’t stop thinking about Izzie’s lip gloss; she never did get to find out if it tasted like candy), when—

Her phone buzzes again, and Casey pulls away from her as if burned. She drops Izzie’s hand and clears her throat loudly. “It’s late,” she says, also loudly (too loud for the impossible stillness in the car). It’s only 9:30, well before her curfew, but sitting in a parked car with a girl as pretty as Izzie is dangerous; it feels dangerous, like inviting disaster. “I should take you home.”

Izzie, to her credit, returns to her seat and doesn’t speak for the rest of the ride home. Casey doesn’t think about what she might be feeling — if she’s disappointed or humiliated or ashamed or scorned or sad or angry or heartbroken or regretful or concerned. She doesn’t want to know the answer.

.

.

.

.

3)

Madison Walcott’s 18th birthday party features a lot more booze than Casey thought it would. (Then again, Madison is rich, crazy rich, and her parents basically gifted her their house for the weekend so she and her friends could throw a rager — what kind of parents do that for their underage kid? — so really, the only thing that should surprise Casey is that there isn’t a catered, open bar.)

“Casey!” Madison yells as she throws the door open. Casey smiles, hopes it doesn’t look too pained. Madison has a bottle of beer between her fingers and she’s already a little unsteady, her face flushed and hair mussed. “I’m so glad you came! You guys, Newton’s here!”

There’s a chorus of shouts from inside the house. Casey glances over her shoulder. Her mom is still idling on the curb. She looks at Casey seriously, head lowered and peering through the front windshield of the family minivan, like maybe she’s thinking about getting out and coming up to the house to examine this clearly-parentless situation for herself. Casey gives her a wave and follows Madison inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

She’s surprised when she gets inside and sees only the majority of the Clayton track team sprawled across couches, in various states of dress, from skirts and croptops and heels to pajamas and socks. She chances a glance down at her own outfit — oversized yellow sweatshirt, black jeans, Doc Martens — and breathes a sigh of relief. She’s not underdressed, not overdressed; she’ll blend right into the crowd.

Still, the lack of men present is surprising. She doesn’t know Madison very well, but she doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who would pass up an opportunity to get drunk with a bunch of teenage boys. Not to slut-shame, or anything.

Guilty about the thought, Casey looks around again, and asks, “Is anyone else coming?” Izzie waves at her from the couch, her smile wide and her eyes a little cloudy; she looks like she’s already had a couple drinks. Casey bites her lip and waves back at her. She’s not shy. She’s not. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

Madison knocks her shoulder. “Thought you had a boyfriend, Casey,” she teases. “You want some boys to distract you for the night?” A few of the other girls laugh. Casey tucks her hair behind her ears and looks down at her feet.

“Oh, leave her alone.” Izzie’s next to her in a moment, slipping her arm through Casey’s. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly, so only Casey can see. “Ignore them. You’re new to the tradition, it’s not your fault you don’t know.”

“Tradition?”

Madison calls, from somewhere in the kitchen (Casey hadn’t even noticed her leave), “Friday night is girls’ night! The party with the boys always happens Saturday, but Friday is just for the ladies. Isn’t that right, ladies?” There’s a cheer from the main room. Girls raise their solo cups of cheap liquor, their bottles of light beer. They laugh as they clink them together.

“Girls rule, boys drool!” someone shouts. Casey can’t see who. More cheers, more clinking of glasses and bottles.

“C’mon,” Izzie says, pulling her towards the kitchen, “let’s get you something to drink.”

“Are Madison’s parties always like this?” Casey whispers, her eyes glancing about nervously. There are no parents around, no authority figures to bust them for underage drinking. But still, she’s never done something like this. She isn’t the kind of girl who goes to high school parties, who gets drunk on a Friday night just because she has nothing better to do. It’s intimidating. A little exciting, too, but she can’t help but feel like she’s someone’s younger sister; a movie character, smuggled into a scene where she doesn’t belong.

Izzie laughs. “You should have seen last year’s. You’re lucky you missed the morning after. Madison banned whiskey from all future gatherings because of it.”

Casey winces. “Yikes.”

“Yikes is right.” Izzie holds her arms out, presenting the drinks in front of her. “What are you feeling? Vodka soda, rum and coke, wine, beer?”

“Umm…” Casey swallows, staring at the collection of alcohol. God, she doesn’t know. She’s never done this, before. She’s had some wine at Christmas dinner, stolen swigs of vodka with Izzie when they were locked in together that day after school, but she certainly doesn’t know enough about alcohol to know what she likes.

Izzie can apparently see the panic on her face. She pats Casey’s elbow. “Don’t worry, Newton. I’ll make you something you’ll like.”

Casey breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thanks. I’m… pretty out of my element, here.”

“You know you don’t have to drink, if you don’t want to. No one’s going to be a dick about it if you’d rather stick to soda.”

But Casey shakes her head. “No, I… I want to. I do. I’m not some prude.”

Izzie rolls her eyes. “Not drinking doesn’t make you a prude, Newton. But okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am. I want to have a good time, tonight.”

Izzie’s returning smile is nearly wicked. It hints at something more, something unknown. Casey feels a jolt of fear that quickly turns into exhilaration. “Oh,” Izzie says with a slow, lazy wink, “I think we can make that happen.”

.

.

She trips on the carpet in the foyer. The toe of her shoe gets caught under the lip and she nearly goes sprawling. “Casey!” Izzie whisper-laughs, grabbing at her elbow and yanking her back up. Izzie’s hand on her arm is the only thing that stops her from crashing to the ground and probably breaking her nose. But Casey’s stumbling makes Izzie break out into a fresh bout of giggles, loud, snorting sounds that echo across the wooden floors, off the walls and ceiling. Casey shushes her immediately, glancing up at the dark upper landing towards her parents’ room. The last thing she wants is to wake up her mom, while she’s drunk, at 11:45 pm on a Friday night.

Izzie can’t stop laughing. “Izzie!” Casey warns, and Izzie slaps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes are wide and rapidly filling with tears. Casey looks at her and feels her own laughter bubble up in her chest. She coughs, trying to cover it. “Be quiet,” Casey hisses, smiling wide, “we don’t want—”

“Casey?” Casey jolts, turning around at once. She spins on her heel and almost topples over again, but Izzie’s hand on her lower back stops her (the second time that night Izzie has stopped her from falling). Her mom is standing at the top of the stairs, gazing down at the pair of them.

Casey immediately straightens. Izzie tucks her face behind Casey’s shoulder. Casey can feel her shaking against her, trying to hide her laughter. “Oh, h—hi Mom. What’s up?”

Her mom’s eyes narrow. “Who drove you home?”

“Uber.”

“Hmm,” she hums, looking them up-and-down again. Casey wills herself not to sway. Izzie’s fingers are fisted in the fabric of her shirt, which is decidedly not helpful. “Are you two drunk?”

Casey shakes her head vehemently. “No,” she says, shaking her head some more for emphasis.

“No,” Izzie parrots, finally lifting her head from Casey’s shoulder. Her face is red and she’s still shaking, still trying to swallow her laughter. “No, Mrs. Newton, definitely not.” Casey tries to elbow her in the ribs. She misses.

Her mom sighs. “Well, you’re back before curfew and you didn’t drive. We’ll talk about this in the morning, Casey. Get some sleep, girls.”

“Yep, we’re right on that.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Newton.”

“Izzie!”

Izzie sputter-laughs. “Thank you, Mrs. Gardner,” she corrects. Casey’s face is flaming red, embarrassed. She grabs Izzie’s hand and pulls her up the stairs, her eyes down as she avoids looking at her mother.

They stumble into Casey’s bedroom, the door slamming behind them a little louder than they maybe intended. As soon as it’s shut Izzie collapses. Her knees give out and she slumps against the door. She’s grinning like the cat that got the canary, and Casey can’t help but roll her eyes at her (but she’s smiling, too, too pleased with herself to really articulate). “That went well,” Izzie teases.

Casey punches her lightly on the shoulder. “And whose fault was that! I was cool out there.”

“Cool as a cucumber.”

Casey laughs. “You’re the one who couldn’t hold it together in front of my mom.”

“Your mom loves me.”

“Yeah, you got her daughter drunk.” Casey digs around in her dresser, looking for an extra pair of sweatpants. Why is this so difficult? It’s not usually this hard for her to find items of clothing. “See how much she likes you in the morning.”

Izzie scoffs. “Sorry, who was handing out vodka shots tonight? Was it me?”

“Yeah, well who challenged me to ‘Text or Shot’ thirty minutes before we had to leave?” Casey shoots back.

Izzie shrugs. “Not my fault you wouldn’t let me send those texts. Send the text or drink, Newton; those are the rules. You chose to keep drinking.”

Casey turns around and throws a pair of sweatpants at her head. Izzie lets them hit her face, a lazy smile on her lips. Her arms reach up to grab at the fabric a half-second too late. Her reflexes are jank right now. “You tried to sext my boyfriend from my phone,” Casey says, crossing her arms over her chest. It’s maybe supposed to be accusatory, but it doesn’t really come out that way.

Izzie just laughs. She kicks off her jeans, only stumbling a little. Casey keeps her eyes firmly on her face and tries not to think about the way the back of her neck flushes at the glimpse she gets of Izzie’s toned thighs. “I was trying to spice up your sex life,” Izzie says as she yanks Casey’s sweatpants up her hips. They’re too big for her — the hems drag along the floor, even with the waistband rolled once. Casey thinks she’ll need to cuff them, if she doesn’t want to trip every time she has to walk. “Really, you should be thanking me. I saw some of the texts you guys send each other. Gag.”

Casey turns and grabs a pair of pajamas for herself. “Evan and I have a great relationship, thanks.” And if it tastes like a lie coming out of her mouth, well… that’s probably just the tequila talking.

Izzie doesn’t respond. Casey clears her throat, making herself busy so she doesn’t have to think about why that makes her uncomfortable. “Did you bring a toothbrush?” she asks, purposefully casual, glancing over her shoulder in Izzie’s direction.

Izzie hums and shakes her head. Her eyes are drooping now. Casey knows she only has a few minutes to get her into bed before she passes out where she stands. She nudges her with her foot. “Izzie,” she prods, and Izzie hums again. “C’mon. Gotta brush your teeth.”

Izzie groans, and turns her pouty lips up in Casey’s direction. “Carry me?” she asks, eyes wide and pleading.

“Your legs work just fine.” Izzie whines again and Casey rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she sighs, turning her back on Izzie. She bends her knees a little to brace. “Get up.”

Izzie squeals and must mine some deep energy reserves, because she leaps onto Casey’s back with more force than Casey thought capable for a girl who weighs barely 125. Casey grunts as she catches her, her hands cupping the backs of Izzie’s knees, and she stumbles forward a little as Izzie laughs. This would be a lot easier if she hadn’t been drinking.

She manages to make it down the hallway without either of them toppling over, which she’ll happily call a win. The only time she’s really at risk is when Izzie lowers her head, her nose brushing behind Casey’s ear. Her hair falls over Casey’s shoulder and it smells like lavender shampoo. Her breath tickles the back of Casey’s neck, whooshes past her ear and makes goosebumps erupt up and down the right side of her body. Izzie’s breath smells like tequila and juice — not the best combination in the world — but as her nose brushes the shell of Casey’s ear she forgets all about that. Casey flushes bright red (she can’t stop blushing tonight) and her knees wobble, unsteady for a moment, before she grits her teeth and barrels on.

She ends up dumping Izzie, a little unceremoniously, onto the bathroom tile. Izzie’s feet are bare and she shivers as they touch cold linoleum.

“I think we have extra toothbrushes in here somewhere,” Casey says, dropping to her knees and digging around in the cabinet under the sink. “My mom always buys in bulk, because Sam only uses one brand and he’s crazy vigilant about switching to a new one every month. He thinks it’s disgusting if you don’t.” She roots around under the sink for a few more moments before emerging, triumphant, with a brand new toothbrush still encased in plastic. “Aha!” she says, rising so quickly her knees crack. She holds it out in Izzie’s direction with a grin. “You can’t tell him you used one of his toothbrushes, but there you go. Brand new.”

Izzie doesn’t take the toothbrush from her. She’s just standing there, blinking in the bright lights of Casey’s bathroom. There’s a strange expression on her face. Casey can’t place it, not really, but it makes her throat run dry. The smile wavers on her lips and she drops her hand. The rubber band is back, pulling tight on her chest, making her stomach flutter. “Izzie?” she asks, and she’s surprised to realize how breathless she sounds. “You okay?”

She’s not sure quite how it happens. It’s like there are a few frames missing from her memory. Like a picture book with a couple pages torn out. One moment Izzie is standing in front of her, looking at her with her lips half-parted, and the next…

Izzie’s lips are soft. It’s the first thing she notices. Her lips are soft, and her breath is hot on Casey’s face, and her hair is fanning out and it’s built a cocoon of lavender around them, and oh, there’s that feeling again, stronger again, and oh, Izzie’s turning her head, her lips are moving against Casey’s, her mouth is opening and there’s a little shudder of breath, a shiver that travels down her body, and she feels… she feels…

Casey reels back. Her hips slams into the bathroom counter and she winces, the area already smarting, already blossoming with burst blood vessels and the precursor to a hefty bruise. But she can hardly feel it. Her lips are tingling, her heart is hammering in her chest. Her eyes are wide, and there are fingers on her lips — her own, she realizes belatedly, brushing against the thrilled skin, feather-light and barely-there.

Izzie’s eyes are just as wide as hers. Casey thinks, if she were to look in the mirror behind her, her face would be as flushed as Izzie’s. It certainly feels that way. Red and splotchy and over-heated, and not just from the alcohol.

Izzie stares at her, eyes wide and open. She looks more sober than she has all night. Casey doesn’t know why that’s so disconcerting. She reaches out, her hand moving towards Casey’s waist, but Casey blinks, flinches away from her, and turns her head to the side.

Izzie’s hand drops to her side and it’s like her whole body crumbles. The room is quiet. It’s so quiet. Casey can hear everything, every movement, every hitch in Izzie’s breath…

“Casey,” she starts to say, and Casey just screws her eyes shut tighter and doesn’t look at her, “I’m so—”

“Don’t.” Casey is staring down at her shoes. Tears prick behind her eyes. She thinks she might be sick. She feels dizzy and queasy and unsteady. Her hands grip the countertop behind her as she tries to steady herself.

“I’m sorry,” Izzie says again, but Casey can’t even look at her. “I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry.”

“I think you should sleep downstairs.”

“Casey.”

“Please.”

She doesn’t look as Izzie leaves, but she hears the door close, hears her footsteps trudge dejectedly away, hears the way the stairs creak as she shuffles her way down them. She should have given her a blanket, or a pillow, at least. The couch downstairs isn’t terrible but it isn’t comfortable, exactly, and now Casey’s relegated her to a night of cold tossing and turning, and she didn’t even think to have the decency to get her a blanket or something. God, she’s a bad person. A miserable, stinking retch of a human being. Her eyes water, brimming with harsh, angry tears. She wipes them away furiously and yanks the bathroom door open.

She doesn’t go back to her bedroom, and she doesn’t follow Izzie downstairs (to apologize, to forgive, to ask for forgiveness, to fight, to yell, to kiss her again…). Instead, she stumbles towards Sam’s room on unsteady feet. Her head hurts. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink tonight.

“Hello,” Sam says to her when she pushes open his door, which is a little surprising, because he doesn’t like her in his room any more than she likes him in hers. But his eyes are fixed to his penguin live stream, so maybe he’s just too distracted to fight her on it. “Why are you here? Where’s Izzie?”

“Izzie’s sleeping downstairs.”

“Oh, okay. Does she want to go home? Did she get sick? Sleepovers make my stomach hurt most of the time, I don’t like being away from Edison for so long.”

She’s not sure what does it. He hasn’t said anything to upset her. But Casey can’t help it. She bursts into tears.

Sam sits up a little, startled. “Why are you crying? What’s happening?”

Casey rubs roughly at her eyes, frustrated with herself for falling apart so easily. She isn’t like this. She doesn’t do this. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink tonight. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. Can I sleep in here, tonight?”

“What’s wrong with your room?”

“Please, Sam.” She doesn’t like asking him for things; she doesn’t like asking anyone for things. And yeah, he may be her older brother, but she’s looked out for him her entire life. It feels strange to be here, needing him like this. But she does.

He’s her brother; they’re supposed to protect each other.

Her admission, when she finally says it quietly, sounds like: “I don’t want to be alone.”

Sam looks at her and frowns. “Fine. You can sleep on the floor but not in my bed.”

She laughs at that, a watery cough of tears. “Okay. Can I at least have a pillow?”

“No, get your own.”

.

.

.

.

4)

“Izzie kissed me.”

Evan looks up from his phone, confused. There’s still a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, which doesn’t make her feel any better. “Huh?” he asks, like he hasn’t heard her.

Casey takes a steadying breath. “Izzie and I kissed.”

“Wait, what?” He blinks, looking lost. “I mean… what? When?”

“Saturday. After Madison’s party. I didn’t want to tell you until I could see you in person, I didn’t want to tell you over text.”

“Wait, wait slow down a second.” He shakes his head and sits up a little straighter. Casey tries very hard to control her breathing. “You and Izzie kissed? Why would you… what happened?”

She’s been planning this for days, now. For days she’s known she’s going to have to tell him what happened between them. She had a whole speech blocked out, explanations and pleas and bargaining and groveling and apologies. But when the time comes, she can’t remember any of it; none of the sentences she practiced in the mirror with sweating palms and evasive eyes.

The words fall from her mouth, come tumbling out in a mild panic. “Well we were pretty drunk after the party,” she starts, all in a rush, “and she was supposed to be staying at my house, and things had gotten pretty rowdy at Madison’s, so after we got dropped off we were pretty tired. And then somehow it was just the two of us iand we were laughing and joking around and then we were in my bathroom and suddenly she kissed me and I was like woah and then—”

“Wait…” Evan shakes his head, frowning. He doesn’t really look angry, yet. Is that a good thing?— “she kissed you? Even though she knows you have a boyfriend? That’s messed up.”

“No, I know. It is really messed up.”

Evan takes her hands, his expression serious. “I think you should have a talk with her. Your friends aren’t supposed to make you uncomfortable like that.” God, he isn’t— he isn’t even angry with her. He’s being all noble-protective-not-jealous-boyfriend about it. Why can’t he just be petty? Why can’t he be angry, rage, throw a fit and make this whole thing a lot easier on her? “Like, non-consensual kissing… big no-no. And you guys just had that argument about her boyfriend doing the same thing. She should know better.”

God, Casey is a bad person. She is such a miserable, horrible person. “Right, well…” She clears her throat, retracts her hands. “I mean, I did kiss her back.”

Evan stops moving. He suddenly looks a little pale, though maybe that’s how he always looks. Is she just protecting? Seeing fear and recognition and understanding dawn over him because she feels it herself? “Wh—” and the conversation, suddenly, has taken a turn. She can tell. Evan, it seems, can tell, too. “For… for how long? Like was it just a peck, like a peck between friends, or—?”

“For like…” Casey swallows— “it was a solid amount of time. Um. More than a peck. I think. Um… yeah.” Evan’s just kind of… looking at her. Blank eyes, blank stare. Mouth slightly-parted. (She thinks, unbidden, of Izzie’s lips slightly-parted, of her eyes shining in the bathroom, of the way she looked, haloed and back-lit against the mirror, the way she felt with her lips and her skin and the soft press of her body against Casey’s—)

She shakes herself. How long has it been silent between them? How long has it been since someone last spoke? Why isn’t Evan saying anything? “So…” she starts rather slowly— “that’s… do you understand? I can explain better if—”

“I just…” Evan cuts her off, holding up a hand to silence her. “I need a few seconds, Case, okay? Just… give me a few seconds.” He swallows. Rubs his hand over his face, from his forehead to his chin. “Are you, like… were you just drunk? Or did you want to—”

“I wanted to.” Casey flushes. Tucks her hair behind her ears. Her stomach is sick and roiling, and she knows the conversation isn’t going to get any easier. “I mean… I mean I didn’t, not really, because I ha—have a boyfriend and I’m not a cheater, y’know, like I would never cheat on you.”

“Okay, but you kissed someone else. How is that not cheating?”

“Well, it’s just I don’t think I would have done it if we hadn’t been drinking? Like before when we almost kissed, I didn’t—”

“Wait, it’s almost happened before?” He’s staring at her again, but less confused-wounded-boyfriend and more disbelieving. “You… You’ve kissed before?”

She shakes her head. “No, we’ve never kissed before. It’s just… like it almost happened a couple times before.” Is she sharing too much? Is she telling him things that aren’t hers to tell, revealing things she hadn’t want to reveal? But then again, doesn’t he deserve to know? Isn’t it about time she starts trying to be honest, with him, with herself?

He looks at her then strangely, somewhere between afraid and sad. “You have feelings for her?”

Casey’s stomach swoops. “I don’t know,” she says quietly, fidgeting with her fingers. “I can’t… it’s all just really confusing, mostly? I don’t know how I feel about her. Sometimes it’s like ‘oh she’s my best friend I love her so much’ and then… and then sometimes, it’s like, ‘woah, I never noticed she had this many freckles before, why am I only seeing them now they’re crazy pretty’.” She looks at Evan nervously. She can’t read the expression on his face. “Does that make sense?”

“You like her,” he says, instead of answering, and Casey licks her lips nervously.

“I don’t know,” she repeats. “But… I think I might.”

Evan nods. She thinks he’s doing a pretty good job processing this, but then again it’s hard to tell; he’s always been quiet, always been thoughtful, always processed things in his own way, and sometimes it’s just impossible to tell what he’s thinking. He keeps a lot of thoughts to himself.

“So where does that leave us?” he asks after what might have been half a minute, or maybe much longer; she isn’t doing the best job of keeping track of time right now. Her head hurts a little and her palms are really sweaty and she can’t stop bouncing her leg and it’s easier to focus on all of those things than it is to focus on how quiet Evan is, how serious he’s being, how very unpredictable this situation has become.

“I don’t know.”

“You said you loved me.”

“I… I know I did—”

“Was that all just a lie?”

“No. No, Evan, it… I believed it when I said it.” She snaps her jaw shut and immediately closes her eyes.

Crap. That was definitely the wrong thing to say.

His face falls. “You don’t believe it anymore.”

It doesn’t really sound like a question. Casey still feels the need to answer it. She shakes her head. “I’m just confused, is all. I don’t know what I’m feeling, I don’t understand what this all means. But I felt… I had to tell you. It wasn’t fair not to tell you. And I think… I think I need some time. To try and figure things out. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” he looks sad, but also resigned. Casey isn’t sure if that’s a relief or not. “Some time would be good.”

.

.

.

.

(+1)

“Evan broke up with me.”

Izzie’s head shoots up. She’s sitting on the steps that lead down to the track. It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since the weekend before. They hadn’t even run into each other during the school day, and that’s a pretty crazy impossible feat, since Clayton is a very small school and there’s been a week of classes between that fateful Saturday night and now. Casey thinks Izzie’s purposefully avoiding her. She doesn’t exactly blame her, but also that isn’t fair of her to do, because they’re in this together, now, and if they’re gonna deal with this then they’re gonna deal with it. Izzie can’t avoid her forever. Casey catches her in the five minutes or so between when school ends and when track practice starts.

“What?” Izzie asks. Her eyes are scanning Casey’s face. Like after a week of not seeing her, she can’t look away.

“Evan broke up with me. Because we kissed.”

Izzie swallows, flushes with shame. “Casey, I am so sorry about that—”

“No it—it’s okay. I’m actually kind of glad.”

“Oh. Wait, really?”

“I mean, not really. It kinda sucks.” She toes her shoe against the ground, tugs at the ties of her hoodie. “But I’ve been thinking a lot this week. About what I want.”

Izzie stands slowly. Casey’s still looking down at the ground, her hands fidgety at her chest. She doesn’t notice the way Izzie smiles at her, a slowly stretching thing that sweeps gently over her. “What you want?” she asks, her voice almost a whisper.

Casey looks up. Izzie is close to her — not unreasonably close, not overly-friendly close, but closer than normal. Casey is hyper-aware of her, the way she’s smiling, the way she’s biting at her lip—

Casey swallows. “I didn’t know you were, um… interested in girls.” Her eyes widen, almost comically. She hadn’t… “That’s not what I meant to say.”

“I’m not.” Izzie shrugs, answering her anyway. “Or, well… not historically. I don’t know. I don’t really know how I feel. But I, um…” She swallows, and smiles a little tentatively, and says, a little breathless, “I like you.”

The earth pitches beneath her; it feels like an earthquake, like the earth trembling. Casey smiles, impossibly wide. “I like you, too.”

Izzie releases a breath. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah.” They look at each other for a few more moments, neither saying anything. There’s a pinch of tension, pulling them closer together, pushing them apart. Casey clears her throat. “So should we, um…” she rubs the back of her neck— “like… date?”

The tension melts a little when Izzie laughs. “Maybe we should just go out once and see if it feels right?”

“Oh.” A relieved little puff of air. “Okay, yeah. Yeah that’s better.”

“You free Friday?”

There’s an eruption in her stomach. Butterflies, maybe; nerves or excitement or worry. Casey nods. “I can be free, yeah.”

“Pick me up at my place?” Izzie grabs one of the ties of Casey’s sweatshirt and twists it around her finger. She tugs, and Casey falls a few steps forward. She’s grinning, smiling so wide that Casey can feel her cheeks ache just looking at her. Or wait, maybe that’s because she can’t stop smiling. And damn, Izzie is good at this. Natural and comfortable and not at all the nervous, sweaty wreck that Casey feels she’s currently emulating.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. 6:30 okay?”

“Perfect.” She winks, teasingly, and backs away.

Casey feels her heart follow after her, several seconds before her feet pick up.

.

.

Casey couldn’t tell you what that movie was about if you paid her. It was so boring that she stopped paying attention 25 minutes in. To be fair, it also didn’t help that Izzie was sitting right next to her, smelling amazing, looking straight at the screen with rapt attention while Casey snuck sidelong glances her way. It didn’t help that Izzie had her hand on the armrest between them, her fingers lazily sliding along the fabric there, like she was daring Casey to take her hand. Casey did, obviously; she knows how to take a hint.

But all of these things combined together to lead to, inevitably, Casey having no fucking clue what it was they just watched. The main character’s name was… Alice? No, Anne? Or was it Emilia…?

God, she really hopes Izzie doesn’t want to talk about it. What is she supposed to do, just stand there and nod like a dummy without contributing? Why couldn’t she just just have paid attention for a shitty hour and forty-five minutes? Why did Izzie have to tickle the back of her hand with her fingers, making it quite impossible for Casey to care what was happening on the screen in front of them? Why—

“So that sucked, right?” Izzie says in that moment, leaning against Casey’s mom’s minivan.

Casey laughs, a burst of relieved energy that actually startles her. “Oh my god, thank god you said that. It totally sucked.”

“I swear Madison said it was good.”

“Well, Madison has terrible taste. We always knew that.”

Izzie grins at her, open and free and unassuming. She pushes herself off of the car and turns until she’s right in front of Casey. Casey, her back to the cool metal, feels her knees quiver under her. She wills them to hold still. “Hi,” Izzie says softly. They’ve been together for almost two hours, but the new greeting still feels appropriate; they’re closer than they’ve stood in weeks, since that night in the bathroom, and as the air shifts between them the mood follows, and Casey feels so new, she feels like this is all novel, like she’s a new person with new feelings and emotions because she’s never felt like this, before. She thinks she’s never felt like this before.

“Hey,” Casey says back. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket, trying to furtively wipe her palms against the fabric.

Izzie takes another step forwards. Their thighs brush, but she keeps her torso an almost-respectable several inches away. Testing the waters. “So, what’s the consensus?”

Is she being too obvious, staring at Izzie’s lips like this? She feels like she’s being really obvious. “Um… that the movie sucked?”

“No, I mean…” Izzie slides her hand down Casey’s arm, loosing her hand gently from inside her jacket. Casey watches the movement with rapt attention, the way Izzie’s fingers practically glide over her skin, tan against pale, until their fingers slot together. Her palms don’t feel quite so sweaty anymore, which is a relief, because Izzie’s hand is cool and soft and she smells great and God, Casey might just go crazy with the wanting of her. “I mean does it feel weird, between us?”

“Well, my heart feels like it’s about to explode, but I think that’s just my high blood pressure.”

Izzie laughs. She tips her head up and looks at Casey through her lashes. Is this how girls flirt with each other? She has no idea. It feels foreign and unnatural and exhilarating and right all at once. Izzie swings their joined hands a little, a playful motion. “Do you ever feel that thing?” Izzie asks, and Casey’s so busy staring at her mouth she almost doesn’t recognize the words coming out of it.

She frowns a little, unfocused. “What thing?”

“That thing that feels like a rope pulling your heart and your stomach together?” Casey blinks, her eyes suddenly back on Izzie’s. Izzie bites her lip and smiles a little half-smile. “Do you know what I’m talking about? Or do I sound crazy right now?”

Casey just nods. “Yeah, it… yeah. The rubber band.”

A breath passes between them. Izzie tightens her hold on Casey’s fingers just a little. “Yeah,” she says, and she sounds as breathless as Casey feels, “the rubber band.”

“I feel it right now,” Casey whispers. Is she the kind of girl who whispers, now? “I feel it every time you get close to me.”

Izzie has to stand on her toes to bring her face level with Casey’s. There’s a lurching feeling in Casey’s gut, something that drags her forward, and then their foreheads are pressed together again and Izzie’s nose is tickling hers and her skin smells like coconut and her breath smells a little bit like popcorn and Sour Patch Kids and Casey closes her eyes and hopes that they can stay in this moment forever. “You feel it now?” Izzie mumbles. When her lips move they brush against Casey’s, and Casey shivers.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

[mutated-green-things]

Illness Chapter 1: Treated

Rating: R Words: 1,459 Warnings: Talk of depression, nightmares, and eventual self-harm Summary:  An exploration of Leonardo Hamato's depression and how his relationships, familial and romantic, help him navigate such an intensely emotional part of his mind, character, and life. Based in the 2003 universe and specifically around the events of Season 4 of that show.

Leonardo comes back from Japan cured. With their home in ruins and Karai after them, it takes Leo's family a full week to really settle and appreciate this fact. It's strange, the way they went from walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around every word and action when Leonardo was near. To back to... same old Leo. Better than sometimes. He's quicker to take jokes as such, less grumpy, and less distant from his family.

So it takes a week for them to slide back into that. Mikey winces whenever a silence follows a joke. He expects Leo's harsh, scolding voice. The worst he gets is an eye-roll. Raph doesn't leave the lair, doesn't start fights until it's clear that Leo will shoot back with banter or competition rather than with seething hot rage. And Donnie hovers over Leo, searching carefully for signs, for scars, for the damage he'd seen before.

He'd offered medication. Before Leo left. When he was so clearly drowning in his trauma. Leo had refused each time. First softly, firmly. Then more defiantly. Throwing the bottle in the trash. Then with bursting solar flares of emotions that left Donnie burnt and in pain. He had shouted. The bottle and pills had hit the ground with a clatter. And he ranted for what seemed like hours about how he needed to be focused, about how any kind of drug could throw him off, make him useless all over again. Donnie recalled now that it had been only fifteen short minutes before tears started to form in the corner of Leo's eyes. The yelling stopped, and he excused himself.

Donatello didn't offer anything to Leo now. He just watched, studied, inspected, waiting for one of the cogs in his brother's mind to pop out of place again. So hopefully this time, he could apply some tools, and some elbow grease to slide it back into where it was supposed to be.

Until a week passed. And their family, both immediate and extended let out a small sigh a relief that none of them had realized had been caged in their lungs.

Still. It took months for whatever passed as normalcy to really set in. April and Casey visited over and over. More overjoyed to see Leo healing each time they poked into the lair. Healed. The cracks in his resolve paved over with forgiveness and wisdom. Usagi even managed to check in on them. Which after some confusion (panic and despair and anger) involving the destruction of their old home, he too was happy to see Leo's calmer, softer self.

Leo didn't want to dwell on it, but perhaps happy wasn't the right word. And well... relieved was putting it mildly. Usagi had visibly shaken when they'd embraced. When Usagi had yanked them together in a strong, tight hug. "I thought..." Leo could hear his friend choke up as he started the words. He didn't finish them. Usagi simply pulled back, sniffed and went back to a (mostly) rigid samurai. He was still shaking slightly, and the way he smiled betrayed the way a giant weight had lifted off his shoulders too. Then. When he recovered. He gave Leonardo an address. Of sorts. They were characters, characters that would make sure his letters were dropped in Lord Noriyuki's mail room whenever Leo etched a portal into their world. "Always drop them off at night. The couriers will be long done with their duties by then. I don't want any of them getting a direct route to you or your family. We don't want another Kojima situation. That had been foolish of me."

"But what about-" Leo could think of a million problems with Usagi's plan still. How would the mail get to him? Wouldn't it still be painfully slow? Wouldn't Noriyuki and his men get suspicious of weird letters kept showing up in his mail room? There was only so much one could write off as a lapse in attention.

"Plus..." Usagi interrupted, smiling mischievously, happy that he had an answer for all the questions in Leonardo's eyes. "Noriyuki has agreed to overlook the appearance of any strange mail addressed to me, and deliver it as fast as possible. Most importantly he has agreed to keep our correspondence unopened, untampered, and safe. Normally I do not ask for payment from him. He is just and fights just battles, but after all my service for him. I did not see a problem in asking for one small favor."

At the time Leo had snorted at the word small with all the resources that request could potentially take, but he couldn't help but toss a letter through the portal a day after Usagi had left. And was overjoyed when a response came two weeks later, as warm and witty a normal conversation with his friend. Even if it put somewhat of a burden on the young lord, Leo dropped any worry he'd held quickly. He couldn't see how he'd lived without this connection for so long, and wasn't about to give it up. Leo wondered briefly if it would have saved him. Before his father had to step in and ship him off to Japan.

So they exchanged letter after letter after letter. By the time Usagi visited again, six months later, bringing small, inexpensive gifts for them all, Leo knows so much more. Knows why Tomoe Ame and Gennosuke are so important to him. Knows who Mariko and Jotaro are, and the tragedy and hope surrounding them. Knows of Usagi's rival in love Kenichi, and about Jei, the demon who still regularly haunts Usagi's nightmares.

But the exchange goes both ways. Usagi knows so much more too. About his brothers, about April and Casey and Leatherhead and their adventures in space and time.

He and Leo hug warmly and spend the next two weeks sparring, meditating, discussing haiku and war. Leo's feel soothed all over again. He had stopped fighting himself thanks to the ancient one. But there is an ease, a happiness that he feels in Usagi's presence that he can't remember ever experiencing. And he rolls back to that thought during their time together often, frowning when that truth is shoved to the forefront of his mind.

But time cycles on and eventually Usagi has to slip back into his own world. And as he does, Leo returns to his desk, already drafting another letter. He sends it out that night, and there's a new yearning for the next reply, stronger than before. He meditates, trains, examining the feeling in all it's facets, and trying to stave off his impatience for Usagi's next letter. His focus is so internal that he doesn't notice winter slowly setting in until he wakes one morning and practically feels the ice in his blood.

Donatello was more prepared, thank the gods. But even with the heaters and lamps, their reptiles, and Leo still feels sluggish as they move through their morning kata. Frustrated with that and still stuck on his new feelings, he works an extra two hours, only stopping when Michelangelo pops in, gives him a worried look, and tells him lunch is ready.

He knows that look. Recognizes it on all of his brothers from when he was at his worst, enraged and sharp-edged. So he breathes, goes to eat, and resigns himself to rest for the remainder of the day. He spends the evening playing board games with his brothers and father. And though he only wins once, he feels much better as he heads to bed.

The frost has set in and Leo's unconscious mind is not kind during the night. He runs in his dreams, but the cold makes him sluggish. Makes him always just a hair too slow for his father, for each of his brothers, and even for Usagi. Later he'll find that strange. He's been friends with Usagi for a time, but he's only showed up in this recurring nightmare now.

At that moment though, he wakes angry and scared. His emotions flood out details. He slips out of his room, jumps the balcony, and runs to the dojo. He picks up each of his katana, and simply holds them in his hands. Leo wants to unsheathe them, wants desperately to feel the security in their humming steel. But its 3 in the morning, and he knows where this road leads, and more importantly he can still see Michelangelo's anxious expression. It's seared there, wordlessly telling him to put the swords down. He does. With a slow, shaky exhale. Leo backs out of the room and climbs the stairs, one after the other.

He does not sleep again, but he goes back to meditation, and that's slightly more restful than his terror-infested nightmares

[moreofus-story]

Chapter 2

Cleo looked around the sewer pipe, following Raphael’s lead. He couldn’t help but find himself a bit surprised – when Casey and April were down here for the first time, they were grossed out. But Cleo was more…observant.

Well, if what she described earlier was any indication, she’d lived through worse.

Now that he wasn’t in his suit, he was only as tall as her shoulder, which made him a bit flustered, but at the same time, it wasn’t her fault. He decided to just leave it there, in his thoughts.

Eventually, he stopped. “Here,” he told her. His sudden voice made her stop, but she stepped to his side and watched curiously as he grabbed a pipe. In a row of four, he grabbed the third one from the left and pulled it down like a lever. Two brick walls opened, revealing a living room of sorts.

Cleo gasped and ran in. “Woah! Y’all got some sorta underground lair in here! Rad!!”

She dashed to one of the arcade machines, laughing like a child. Raphael chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly. He followed her, watching as she messed with the joystick. “How’d y’all get this down here? Any of it?”

“With a lotta pain an’ sufferin’.”

They shared a look then both started laughing in their own way.

Raphael sighed and glanced around the lair while Cleo was focused on the game. “…I don’ think anyone else’s awake yet.”

He paused, but turned to Cleo again. “Rememba’ what I told ya earlia’? That they don’ know I’m Nightwatcha’?” His tone was but a whisper.

Cleo nodded. “You wanna keep it that way?” She whispered back.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She nodded again as he straightened up. “You can go chill on th’ couch if you want. We got tv, but no cable. I’m gonna go lay down for a bit…least, ‘til everyone wakes up.”

Cleo peeked over the game machine, and over at the couch. “Ok. Ah’ll call fer you if ah’ need it.”

With that, he went off to his room and she went to the couch. After setting her bag on the ground and curling up in a ball on the most-right cushion, she eventually dozed off.

Footsteps sounded, and Cleo’s head shot up, adrenaline shooting through her system. It calmed relatively, however, when she saw two turtles, slightly shorter than her friend, walking down the stairs. One had an orange mask on, the other had a purple mask.

She blinked, and as soon as they looked over at her, everyone froze in their spots. The orange-banded turtle blinked once, Cleo blinked twice. The purple-banded turtle blinked three times.

When the two turtles yelled and dashed over, pulling out weapons, Cleo made a noise of surprise and tucked into her shell. She poked her head out of her shell, but squeaked when she saw a bo staff pointed at her face.

“Ehh…Raaaaphaelllll!!” She cried.

The two masked turtles shared a glance as their brother came dashing down the stairs, almost toppling over at the bottom. “Mikey, Don, she’s with me!”

Mikey and Don shared another glance, but the purple one spun his staff around and tucked it back into its hold. The orange one followed his lead and tucked his nunchucks away.

Raphael sighed in relief and looked back over at Cleo, who was slowly coming out of her shell – quite literally. She popped her arms out before crawling to the side of the couch, resting her hands on one of his shoulders and peeking over. “Guh…howdy?”

“Raphael.” Came a new voice from the shadows. Out stepped a giant rat wearing a red robe. He stopped and stared at the newcomer. She lifted a hand and shyly waved at him.

“Howdy-do.”

The rat’s eyes shot to Raphael. “You brought a stranger into our home?!”

“She’s fine, Sensei, I promise – she’s on our side.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Cleo’s gaze darted from Raphael to Sensei, back to Raphael, back to Sensei.

“’Cause – she stopped th’ Kraang.”

All eyes in the room fell on her, and in turn, she nodded. “Yep, ah’ did.”

“Can you prove it?”

“…ah’m a giant talkin’ mutant turtle covered in scars from it. Not…not too sure how else t’, y’know, prove. ‘Less y’all want me t’ tell ya th’ whole story.”

Mikey, Donnie, and Sensei all leaned forward in interest. Cleo blinked at Raphael, who gave her a nod and sat on the arm of the couch. She shuffled back and cleared her throat.

“Daaang! You led a whole rebellion?!” The orange-masked turtle wiggled excitedly in his spot on the floor.

“Yup! Funny ‘nuff, ah’ was one a’ the only gals. An’ th’ third-youngest. Funny how it all works, ah’ reckon.” She passively shrugged, knees pulled up to her chest. Raphael sat next to her, legs crossed, one bouncing.

“So, the Kraang are all dead?” The purple one asked. “They’ll never bother us again?”

“Ah’ sure hope so. We made sure every one we killed was, y’know, dead.”

Raphael’s brothers looked at each other before laughing, beaming and high-fiving…well…high-three-ing.

“Yeah, dude!!”

“We never have to deal with those bozos again!!”

Cleo couldn’t help the gentle laugh of her own. “Golly, ah’ didn’ think ah’d meet anyone else who hated them as much as we did.”

Raphael shrugged, ceasing the bounce of his leg. Beside him, the rat watched the two curiously.

“May we ask your name?”

“Oh!! Ah’ totally forgot.” She laughed again. “Name’s Cleo Patra Rui! Though, y’all can jus’ call me Cleo. Ev’ryone does.”

“I’m Michelangelo! Everyone just calls me Mikey.” The one in orange pointed to his purple-wearing brother. “That’s Donatello, or Donnie. You already know Raph.”

Raph pointed to the rat with his thumb. “An’ this is our dad, Splinta’. We all call him Sensei, though, since he teaches us how t’ fight.”

“That explains the masks!” Cleo’s gaze moved to his red mask. “Ah’ thought it was some bad attempt t’ conceal yer identities or somethin’. But yer ninjas, ain’t’cha?”

“Yeppers!!” Mikey beamed. “The best ninjas you’ll ever meet, sis!”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we’re the only ninjas she’ll ever meet.”

“You neva’ know,” chimed Raph. “If she managed t’ find me, she coul’ find anyone.”

Cleo chuckled until Splinter placed a hand on Raph’s shoulder and pushed his back to the couch so he could better see her. “How did you meet my son?”

A brief look of panic flashed on Raph’s face for a split second, but Cleo’s wave of hand centered him. “Eh. We bumped on a roof top. Ah’ve been inta’ parkour fer a few years. That’s all.” She shrugged. “We started chattin’ fer…obvious reasons.”

“Huh,” Donnie mumbled. “Strange how two of the only mutated turtles in New York found each other on a roof…”

“Oh, we ain’ th’ only ones.” Cleo shrugged. “There were a couple from th’ rebellion – ah’ dunno where they are, though. Slash, Spike, Tokka, Jon…an’ me! Ah’m sure there were a couple more ah’m forgettin’, but that’s jus’ off th’ top a’ ma’ head.”

Raph’s brow rose. “Oh?”

Cleo nodded. “Yeppers. They were big helps, ‘specially fer me. They helped me figure out ma’ body. Like how ah’ can do this!” Then, she tucked her limbs and head fully into her shell. It plopped onto the couch, earning laughs from the other mutants.

The female popped back out with her own laugh. “Thank ya, thank ya, ah’ll be here ‘til Friday!”

Mikey, in between giggles, managed to let out a “you should stay forever!!”

Cleo, Raph, and Splinter all froze, sharing confused glances.

“F-for…”

“…ever?”

Cleo and Raph both just stared at each other. Mikey, meanwhile, wiped his eye. “Yeah!! You’re funny, Cleo. I like you!!”

Donnie eased himself back down to reality. “Mikey, I don’t really think-”

“Aw, c’mon, Donnie! Cleo!! How old are ya?”

“Uh – 20, now…if ma’ math is right. Ah’ was with the Kraang fer a while…”

“Where d’ya live normally?”

“Wit’ ma’ momma an’ lil’ brother. Well, kinda. Ah’m never home, really. Ma’ sorta-kinda-adopted sister’s in ma’ room. She moved in when durin’ th’ rebellion. Why d-“

“You gotta job?”

“Not a solid one.” She paused again. “It’s hard fer, uh, someone wit’ a…condition like mine t’ get a full-time job – an’ ah’ don’ jus’ mean th’ mutation.”

She laughed aloud, but it slowly turned into more of an awkward chuckle. Mikey and Donnie shared a glint.

“I mean,” Donnie muttered, “it’s more than Raph.”

“HEY!”

Cleo blinked over at him then laughed again. “Pfft, you ain’t gotta job, looooserr!!”

Raph nudged her in the side, making her just laugh harder. After a moment of glaring, he surrendered and started to laugh himself.

Donnie and Mikey shared yet another perplexed look. “Raph can laugh?!”

Cleo lifted a faux-brow in their direction, sparing them a peek. “’Course he can! Anyone can!”

“Not Raph.”

Donnie shook his head before standing up, Mikey following his lead. “Well, it was fantastic meeting you, Cleo. We gotta head to work now.”

Mikey pouted, but Donnie elbowed him in the side before tugging him away from the couch, but not before getting a last word in; “don’t leave ‘til we get home!! I wanna talk mor-“

Donnie pulled him off.

Raph shook his head, kicking his feet up on the table in front of them. “Dorks. Seriously, it’s a wonda’ I didn’t smack ‘em both upside th’ head t’day.”

Cleo giggled to herself. “Yeah – ah’ have a lil’ brother ma’self, ah’ know how it can be. They ain’ done nobody no harm, though.”

Splinter reached over for the remote, but couldn’t reach. Cleo noticed his frustration, so she used her foot to grab the remote and drop it in her hand. Then she handed it to him. “There ya go, sir.”

He blinked, somewhat impressed. “…thank you,” he mumbled, flipping through the tv channels.

A snore brought their attention to Raph, who was out like a light. Cleo froze before snickering a bit. “Oh. Reckon he’s tired after all that parkour we was doin’. Y’all think he’d freak out if ah’ brought him t’ his room?”

Splinter shook his head. “It’s upstairs – the second room on the left.”

“Coolio.”

She stood up, stretched a bit, then scooped the smaller turtle up. His head quickly moved to the crook of her neck, making both Splinter and Cleo chuckle to themselves.

[junker-town]

Andre Drummond’s hot start only raises more questions

Andre Drummond is having a career year for the Pistons.

The Pistons’ big man is having a career year. Can we trust it?

The NBA is littered with players who stifle their own talent. Plenty good enough to dominate their role, they misunderstand/outright reject who they are, and how they can best impact winning. Andre Drummond has been on this list for most of his career, but right now it’s worth wondering if he’s nearing off it.

Nine games into his eighth season, Drummond is averaging 22 points — a personal best by a significant margin — and has never been more efficient. He leads the league in minutes, and only Giannis Antetokounmpo has made more baskets. Drummond’s rebounding has always been comically dominant, but right now the gap between him and everybody else is over 50 boards. At 26 years old, he’s already the best rebounder of his generation, and it’s not particularly close.

All these stats are amazing, but it’s too early to call them a revelation, or use them to erase the myriad questions that still contaminate Drummond’s overall effect. Even if they sustain, there’s a harmful insecurity in Drummond’s game that has increasingly led him outside the lane any competitive team would prefer he stay in. The putbacks, one-dribble drop steps, and picks that peel defenders off teammates are all helpful.

But for every sign of progress — he’s shooting a career-best 67.3 percent from the free-throw line and the percentage of his possessions that end as a roll man are currently double what they’ve been over the past few years! — there lies a hideous push shot, unnecessary foul, or forced foray into a reminder that every player has their limit. Right now Drummond averages more seconds and dribbles per touch than every other center except Julius Randle — aka more than Joel Embiid, Nikola Jokic, Karl-Anthony Towns, and Anthony Davis. This should not be.

“Every year, [Drummond] is going to bring something new to the table,” Pistons head coach Dwane Casey recently told reporters. On its face that’s not a bad thing. But just because he wants to moonlight as a point guard and shoot threes doesn’t mean he should. Take whatever it is Drummond tried to do here — which was followed by a booming and hilarious HELL NO from the Wizards bench — as an example. Sequences like this have not been rare this season:

Not all of this is his fault. Drummond is compelled by a roster that’s been ravaged by injuries to several important pieces, including Blake Griffin, Derrick Rose, and Reggie Jackson. Last year, the Pistons fell apart on offense when Griffin played without Drummond; lineups featuring both were as efficient as the Milwaukee Bucks. Now, surrounded by Markieff Morris, Bruce Brown, and Tony Snell, opportune moments are unavoidable. It’s hard to get mad when he rumbles coast-to-coast for an and-one or pings a perfect bounce pass from the elbow. And there’s value in Drummond reminding defenses they aren’t facing Rudy Gobert:

Parsing productive growth from self-serving desire isn’t easy, though, especially in an NBA that’s trending towards generalists and away from niche skill-sets. Common sense would tell you that it’s beneficial to have Drummond explore different ways he can impact a game. But too much of what he does has the feel of a high-school student skipping their actual homework assignment to do extra credit.

When he sticks to what he’s great at, you can’t help but wonder how he’d do surrounded by players who fill in the areas he wants to occupy. Picture Drummond injected into a reality-check ecosystem that doesn’t let him test drive skills that belong in a garage. If he can ever self-simplify his responsibilities, opt to maximize what he already does well, and, you know, try harder, that’s a wrecking ball.

That expectation is a leap of faith against over 17,000 minutes of evidence; Drummond is -374 for his career. Context regardless, it’s OK to think he’ll never reach whatever ceiling many believed he had after his first couple seasons. At the same time, it’s also OK to believe the trajectory of his career will eventually tick up once he accepts who he is. That type of power is undeniably important.

Drummond sprints the floor when there’s a carrot at the end of a stick. He’ll outrun his man, seek contact for the seal, make himself a target, then finish strong at the rim. Hurray. Unfortunately, every compliment is accompanied by a catch. Beyond his impaired technical prowess, Drummond’s energy level fluctuates with infuriating regularity: It’s hard to embrace a defensive identity when your starting center refuses to sprint back in transition.

Drummond compounds the issue by spending a good chunk of his minutes in foul trouble, a habit that tampers down those fiery moments that are hard to forget. When active and committed, he’s a nightmare in the paint.

It’s all very tantalizing, and not seeing him play that way from possession to possession, let alone quarter to quarter or game to game is what makes Drummond such an exasperating figure. It also makes you wonder what he could do as the third wheel on a different team, one able to harness all his strengths the right way.

A trade feels highly unlikely anytime soon. Detroit’s owner, Tom Gores, loves Drummond. But when asked about the organization’s path one month ago, Gores also said “I think right now we feel really good about where we’re at. Obviously, we have to succeed and win, and judge by if we’re not winning. But right now we feel really good about it.”

The Pistons have tread water without Griffin, and if barely making/missing the playoffs is how they want their foreseeable future to go, they’ll sit tight with them both. But logic suggests a shakeup at some point. And if Drummond continues to produce at a rate unseen since Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, will Gores sell high?

Chances are it won’t matter. Drummond can exercise a $28.5 million player option and become a free agent this summer. It’s hard to imagine any playoff team 1) believing he can push them over the top, while 2) sacrificing enough assets to make a trade worth Detroit’s while.

For fun, though, there are a few teams that should poke around, pending their own need to shake things up/prepare for a lengthy playoff run. Drummond makes conceivable sense on every team in Texas. It’s way too early for any one of them to bend over backwards in a negotiation, but perhaps Detroit will listen if the Houston Rockets ever feel desperate enough to offer Clint Capela. The Pistons do it to receive a cheaper big under team control through 2023 who has extensive playoff experience and can either be flipped down the line or seen as part of their inevitable rebuild. Future picks, of which Houston barely has, would need to be involved, but Drummond is a much better player; if the Rockets want to go all-in (again), this sort of talent upgrade makes sense.

What if the San Antonio Spurs push Patty Mills, Rudy Gay, Lonnie Walker IV, and their 2020 first towards the middle of the table? Their spacing would be even more cramped but assuming Gregg Popovich can turn Drummond into the consistent center his talent suggests he can still be, that’s an intimidating frontline. If the Spurs like what they see and can keep Drummond motivated, they can phase into their next era with him and Dejounte Murray leading the way.

It’s hard to see the Dallas Mavericks interrupt their momentum for someone who probably wouldn’t close games, but just picture Luka Doncic running a stagger pick-and-roll with Drummond and Kristaps Porzingis. One pops and the other rolls. How do you guard that? (Sadly, the Mavs also don’t have much to offer beyond Dwight Powell, an expiring contract, and Jalen Brunson.)

There are other teams that would have theoretical interest — like the Los Angeles Clippers and Boston Celtics — but none are realistic enough to write about. If Drummond chooses to text the market this summer, would the Atlanta Hawks, Charlotte Hornets, or Cleveland Cavaliers bite?

What it all comes down to is situation, fit, and how dominant Drummond can still be if he’s willing to embrace a specific role. Despite his jaw-dropping numbers right now, it’s impossible to say he’s part of any short or long-term solution where he is. Including this year, Detroit’s defense is annually not good when he plays, and in eight seasons he’s only appeared in eight playoff games.

Something has to eventually break. Until it does, the Pistons will take the good with the bad, even though change feels like it’d do both sides a world of good.

[sayonaralullaby-a]

Okay, here’s a list of my reactions to the Woods because I love it so much and I Gotta™, plus an Anon was wondering about my thoughts on it, so it’s there at the end. Warning for spoilers, of course. 

MY REACTIONS TO THE WOODS:

Someone be hurt ( killed? ) already in the film, what a great start

Though can I just say that the very first severals shots of the sceneries were absolutely stunning?? W o w

AND THAT INTRO MUSIC, FUCK YEAH, I’M LOVING IT

AND MY THREE BOIS LOOKING NICE AF, ESPECIALLY JAMES

Dammit Cib, smh, ya gonna kill everyone with your smoking shenanigans 

Cib’s soft “sorry” though after Steven told him not to smoke in his dad’s car, awe

The shots in the grocery stories and the boys entering and going across???? My Aesthetic™

Cib’s????? laugh??????? What was that??????? lmfao

Who dat cashier man??????????

James’ enthusiasm for marshmallows and throwing the bag of it at Steven is honestly Me As Fuck. Plus I can honestly imagine I’d be like that to Casey if we ever go shopping together. Just fucking throw food at him that I want to buy.

wAit wasn’t that janitor the guy from the beginning of the film???????

Also rip bottles

DEVIN MY BOI, AND DAMN, WHAT AN AESTHETIC LOOK™

To be honest, this whole film is an Aesthetic™

Mhm, poor Devin

As I hope Mimi and Elliott’s relationship would be fixed soon,,,,,, I’m so gay for Mimi,,, by e,,,,

Man, the cabin looks really coolio, lemme comment on that

Steven standing and looking out at the porch?? Good stuff

W E L P THAT’S GROSS

BUT ANYWAY,,,, THE COLOURING OF THE NEXT SCENE IS SO NICE???????

GET SLAMMED DEVIN

Cib giving a surprise peak kiss to Mimi and being a dumb dork asdfasdfasdf

Where ya going, James?

,,, OOF,,,, STEVEN BBY 

I don’t care how cheesy scenarios like that is, but I absolutely fucking love when there would be a scene when Character A would be distant with everyone else who were having fun and such, and Character B notices A wasn’t around and decided to hang out with them before they just have this moment together that is a mixture of silliness and seriousness, but even if the characters laughs and pokes on each other, there is still something behind that particular part that just makes your chest get that feeling of butterflies fluttering regardless.

“Love you, man.” Awe

Cops…. Uh oh.

Oh God, I hate when a music that’s like funky switches over with a scary and mystery vibe to it, I don’t trust it

I also don’t trust when there are shots taken behind the cop’s back when he approaches by the cabin’s door, n o p e

“Steve Steven” Was that meant to be a dad joke @ Officer

And we’re back to the funky music with nothing too bad happening during that scene, good ( I mean, shits gotta strike soon, so… )

AND DEAR POOR CAE WAS WRONG

BIT C H WHAT THEFUCK THIS SOON ALREADY???

Smh teenagers

O sh I t what the fuck was that and Steven be spooked 

Steven pouring alcohol on Cib’s head??? That would be Casey at me, tbh

“Steven waterboarded me” asdfasdfasdfasdf

Someone should really need to help Mimi and Eliot with their mess of a relationship, oof

Aa a a a. Aa. Aa a a a a a a aaaaaaa I’m so shook the cop be d e a d

OH MY GOD IT’S THE D E M O N

ELLIOTTTT N O

THE SHOT WITH MIMI AND STEVEN TOGETHER ASDFDASDGAGS 

CHRIST, EVERYONE’S EXPRESSIONS DURING THAT SCENE WERE DONE AT SUCH PERFECT POINT THAT CAN MY HEART AC H E

OH NO,,,,, DEVIN,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

OH MY GOD CIB FUCK NO NOT YOU TOO

IMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

YES DEVIN SHOOT THE BITCH

AWE CHRI S T DE VI NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN

NECK TRAUMAS ARE ALWAYS THE WORSE FUCKING THING TO GO THROUGH AND I HATE NECK TRAUMAS SO DAMN MUCH ASDFSASDFDAASD FUC KKKKK CIB NO MY BOI

MIMI’S ACTING IN THIS PART THOUGH I WANT TO CR YYYYY ASDFASDFASDF

ALSO WHEN JAMES LOOKED AT HIS HANDS AND SEE THERE WERE BLOOD ( CIB’S BLOOD ) BEFORE HE YELLED, “FUCK NO” AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

STEVEN’S EXPRESSION, I WANNA HUG HIM,,,,,,

I WANNA HUG THE THREE OF THEM SO MUCH, NOOOOO………..

James’ small speech about Cib with what he thought on the stars, fUC k me U P

Mimi asking if they’re going out asdfgsgagshd m e

Go d I’m so scared, I’m clinging on to my Eevee plushie so hard pffffffttttttttttttt

When Steven turned on the car engine and the music blasted out, that’s honestly Iconic

W H O M S T

HEY, IT’S THE CASHIER MAN WITH THE JANITOR

Steven’s expression when Mimi asked him if he knew the cashier man omggg I love him so much

Holy shit

HOLY SHIT

J A M E S  F U C K I N  D E A N G E L I S

OH MY GOD, WHAT A FUCKING BADASS, JAMES I LOV YOU SO MUCH

THE MUSIC ASDFASDFASDF HELLLLL YEAHHHHHHH HHH H 

MY OVERALL THOUGHTS ON THE WOODS:

It’s indeed a good short film, I’ll tell ya that! Though because the film was done in 23 minutes, I assume due to time constraints with the budgets and such, I won’t touch too much upon the main and sub plots and characters, as making connections with the characters or not. I personally feel like with the Woods being filmed for only 23 minutes, one shouldn’t be too harsh on how the plotline wouldn’t make a lot of sense as it was needed to be fleshed out more or how the characters are bland, something along the line.

The acting was wonderful, though kudos to Mimi and James for making the certain scenes more emotional than it should’ve asdasdfasf ( which isn’t much of a surprise because James’ known to do acting, though I’m not too familiar with Mimi so I don’t know about her, but despite the shoutouts, everyone did awesome regardless ).

Makeups are mmmm 👌👌👌 — also that demon though, omg, I’m just grateful its’ appearance design didn’t give me any nightmares when I went back to sleep after watching the film, but I really like the design to it.

They did a pretty good job on making the scenes not being too short or long.

Good music choices. Definitely fits along with where the scenes goes.

I don’t really hold a lot of expectations from plotlines of the films ( an hour/two hour or less ) that holds horror elements to it since it’s pretty predictable what would happen ( also the Woods sort of gives me that Until Dawn vibe, oooo ), BUT when Steven, James and Mimi were escaping from the woods, it still got me tensed anyway as bOI where the Hell was that fucking demon and I don’t want Steven, James and/or Mimi to die as well, y’know???? Also the ending????????? I seriously didn’t expect that. At all.

Do I even need to comment on the visuals/choreography? God, does it deserve an award for having an amazing choreography.

I’ll most likely add more into this post as I probably forget a bunch, but final thoughts??? I’m extremely proud of the Pine Crew. Really, I personally don’t care that much of how good the film was done as in the plotlines, characters, pacing, etc, and all of that professional stuff. I just love how they’re experiencing something different and new than what they usually do in their channel, and the fact they filmed all of this with such passion and love into it for three days only and it’s their first film is phenomenal. I extremely hope they’ll be able to do a next film, maybe even for Christmas, but!!! Despite the cliche plots and bland characters, the Woods is a good film that was created with a lovely amount of enthusiasm and effort into it nevertheless, and I love it so much. It definitely made this year’s October more meaningful to me.

[jtq1844]

One day into this and I’m already behind ...

Where did the day go?  So much for taking this opportunity to build in some writing discipline into my life.  I actually have a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing (Antioch University -- Los Angeles, 2017).  It started out as “an external goal” in 2015, something to try after we moved as empty-nesters up to Washington State from Santa Cruz.  The program is “low residency,” meaning it is mostly online.  I had had a few stories published already, so I had reason to think it was doable.  I like story-telling.  I like writing.  What I discovered was that, while I have some writing competency, I don’t exactly have a passion for it. 

Here is one of the CNF essays from my official portfolio to amuse you until I compose a more heartfelt and informative post for tomorrow … er, I mean, today … um.  You know what I mean.

-=-=-=-

Sister Clorina, Saint Blaise and Doubting Thomas by Jean Tschohl Quinn

    It can take years to come to an understanding about something. Alternatively, an understanding can barrel into consciousness like a grand and glorious epiphanic elephant.  Sometimes, both happens. I love paradox.  I adore the celestial AND. It is in this sort of epiphany, decades in the making, that I found Bahá'u'lláh.

    Sister Clorina hated me. No. That’s too strong. She simply did not like any girls not named Mary. She didn’t like me in particular because she had suddenly been “demoted” to second grade from fourth grade where my sister Mary was -- sweet, clever, pious and faithful.  How could I compete?  My best friend then was named Mary too.  Mary Wirhanowicz was also sweet, clever, pious and faithful. I hold no grudge against the average Mary. They’ve got the whole Blessed Virgin Mother expectation thing to deal with and had no choice in the matter because that was their collective given name. It is, apparently, a lot of pressure. There is the occasional exception of the BVM standard when there are multiple Marys in a single classroom.  Some of them get an out if they had, say, a younger sibling who called them something else and the teacher approved for clarity’s sake.  One of my grandmothers was one of those. There were several Mary’s in her one-room schoolhouse in Nova Scotia. Her younger brothers and sisters called her Mayme already and so she was dubbed in the classroom and life in general. To this day, I consider her the sanest person I’ve ever met. However, in my second grade classroom, Sister Clorina felt she had reason to suspect me as nefarious.  First, I was not named Mary.  Second, I was “philosophical.”  

     Her move down to second grade was precipitated by Sister Marie Madison’s hasty withdrawal from the convent life after only a month with our class.  We were informed that we had simply “driven her crazy.”  Mea culpa.  Mea culpa.  Mea maxima culpa. (That’s not quite accurate; it was post-Vatican-II. We didn’t actually learn any Latin.)  The girls of the class all knew the blame rested solely on the antics of Vince Wederath, Brian Doherty, and Eddie Marx. They were the bad boys. Maybe Tim Relihan too. We were sure of it. Twelve or so years after the fact, I bumped into Eddie on a bus as I headed home from college for a weekend of free laundry and food.  He was still proud of his part in the good sister’s loss of faith. We choose our triumphs; this apparently was one of Eddie’s.

    Sister Clorina emanated a stern energy.  I cannot tell you whether she was tall or short from my second-grader memory, but I do recall her immense energy.  Sometimes, she’d fill in on the organ at Mass when the ridiculously cherubic Sister Acquitaine was overwrought or under the weather.  Sister Acquitaine was the music teacher.  She felt my brother Kevin’s musical talent was extraordinary -- it is – and so she kept him in at recess for violin lessons because we already had a violin that Grampa Hanson had picked up at St. Vinnie’s for $7 in 1967.  Kevin did not like missing recess. He abandoned the violin at his earliest possible convenience. I still have and play that violin, mainly because no one else had a use for it. I have always felt that I have a right only to that which is of no use to anyone else. It’s a youngest child thing. In second grade, I even went so far as to claim my favorite color as moss green because I felt sorry for it.  

    In any case, Sister Clorina as a substitute organist kept the tempo “up” much to the consternation of the older folks. My family liked it that way; it was zippy. She would shout over her shoulder, “Hymn number 8.”  Only I thought she was saying “Hit number 8” like Casey Kasem might, so I thought we were going to sing Winchester Cathedral or Last Train to Clarksville depending on the week. I somehow knew never to expect Wild Thing.  

     I had high hopes as Sister Clorina glowered over us in the hall outside the classroom. I reached for her hand, trying to be the brown-noser I knew myself to be.  She sniffed and tucked her arm inside her surplus.  Her disdain for me was immediate.

    First grade had been a long line of substitute teachers after Mrs. Conti-Morgan left to give birth after an entirely crabby last month. She and Mrs. Lambert, a squat dynamic storyteller, in the fifth grade were the only lay teachers in the school.  Second grade looked like the beginning of a whole new world. I was finally going to be close enough to a nun to touch one.

    After Sister Marie Madison bailed on us in the second-grade, I suspect Sister Clorina took the move from her already beloved fourth grade class to our clearly evil second grade as a demotion. The smaller four and fifth grade classes would be combined with the incredible Mrs. Lambert at the helm. My sister Mary was immediately named co-chair with Mrs. Lambert of their mutual admiration society. Mary has that mysterious charm that immediately made her teacher’s pet. Every time.  

    My year with Sister Clorina should have been a good one.  She did Science. We studied the classic simple machines: lever, incline plane, screw, pulley, wedge, and wheel and axle.  She even pointed out that a screw is really just an incline plane wrapped around a pivot point. This was good stuff. We learned about meteorology and taxonomy. Why wasn’t it working?  For one thing, she had no joy once Mary Wirhanowicz got really sick and was gone for weeks.  I brought homework to Mary and back to school regularly.  Did I get any credit for helping the BVM wannabe?  No I did not. Looking for credit is always a sure way to not get any. I was dead last in the rankings of teacher’s pet, even behind Renee Kucze and she NEVER adhered to the dress code.  

    Mary eventually recovered and returned to class. My only hope was merit by association.  No luck. Christmas rolled around and the requisite study of the Nativity. We learned about the Magi, those astrologers from the East. The question was obvious, so I asked it, “If they understood how important Jesus was before He was even born, shouldn’t we be studying their Religion?”  Sister Clorina never called on me again.  

    Second grade crawled on. I was dying to ask about the blessing of the throats on Saint Blaise Day, February 3, but I couldn’t ask Sister Clorina. I thought the hubbub was kind of cool -- how we’d line up and have blest candles criss-crossed about our necks with a little prayer for health offered – but still didn’t understand it.  My mom, who was much more informed and cynical than I could have realized then, knew a little about it. One of the miracles attributed to Saint Blaise was miraculously saving someone from choking. His “day” was the day after Candlemas, February 2, when families traditionally brought in all their candles to be sanctified.  

    “While this is completely pointless in the 20th century,” she postulated, “imagine what candles meant to a family three hundred, five hundred, seven hundred years ago.”  Having them blest would be a prudent gesture to Christians throughout Old Europe and the Byzantine Empire, she hoped I would agree. In my limited comprehension, however, I continued to attempt reconciliation of all of this with Groundhog Day.  Maybe the flicker of candles cast interesting shadows on any groundhogs popping out of holes on the same day.  

    By Lent, I knew better than to ask questions. During the required Tuesday-after-school Stations of the Cross, I languished with questions.  It’s not three days between the afternoon of Good Friday and dawn of Easter Sunday.  It’s two. Much later, I learned that the Jewish day starts at sundown, so it was definitely only two days. I did not dare ask. And the renaming of Simon to Peter, the rock.  What was that about? That was a whole lot of palaver over one little verse and the power that Saul/Paul grabbed anyway. I didn’t get it and couldn’t ask.

    At Pentecost, I remember sitting amiably in the pew, gently kicking at the kneeler after the Gospel Reading, followed by a rambling homily about Doubting Thomas. He misses a visit from the post-Resurrection Christ and demands physical proof.  Christ does come to revisit and offers Thomas a chance to “probe the nail holes.”  Thomas believes even though there’s no record of him poking his fingers anywhere – seriously not in a single one of the four Gospels -- just being with Him again is sufficient.  Christ then adds “blessed are they that have not seen but still believe.”  

    Yes, I committed to myself – kick, kick, kick -- I will never be like Doubting Thomas, needing proof like that.  To this day, I have never witnessed any firsthand wowza moment. Some friends of mine have hosted these remarkable, spiritual ongoing events where miracles of joy, epiphany and synchronicity are a regular occurrence for years. Long-lost friends reunite. Extraordinary fund-raising. Mysterious healings. You name it. Whenever I show up, it’s invariably an “off night.” My friend who has witnessed it all invariably shrugs and says, “I don’t know what happened this time. Maybe it was the traffic.”  I trust their reality.  I have to, because I wasn’t there.  

    I was still mindlessly kicking the kneeler.  Why didn’t they recognize Christ as Jesus when meeting Him after the Resurrection? Seriously, they don’t recognize Him at first. Why would that be? What was the big deal about a physical resurrection anyway? The Old Testament was full of them.  I could get the importance of a spiritual one – I thought: Peter … Rock … denied Him and the hiding … rock rolled away … blah, blah, blah … Didn’t Jesus call His followers His body?  I was not about to ask questions. The symbolism worked so much better than literal story.  Don’t ask; don’t tell.  Just get through second grade.

    By the end of that year, Father Podolak, that gentle, rambling soul who would eventually preside over my wedding years later, announced that the school would be closing at June. My sister and I were devastated.  My brothers and older sisters were already going off to junior high and senior high school, mercifully saved from attending more Catholic school by the cost of tuition times six. Mary and I lay in bed with the blankets kicked off, feeling entombed by the muggy heaviness of Wisconsin in the summer bemoaning our fate, a public school education with their loose morals and strange ways.  Of this we were sure.  No potentially free music lessons from Sister Acquitaine; no exciting tales about WWI in Italy from Mrs. Lambert; no stern preparation for junior high from Sister Rhodelia whose great contribution to our family was her encouragement to my parents that my shy, nervous, older sister Jackie would achieve every regular thing, just in her own time. We were off to public school and weekly Catholic CCD (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine.  I kid you not).

    How wrong we were! At the public school, we got free music lessons on any instrument we chose from hip young musicians; one for band instruments, the other for strings (my choice, obviously).  And Mrs. Grossman taught us singing. She really liked how Mary (either one) and I sang together.  By the following Christmas, my sister now a fifth grader and I a third grader sang in front of an audience of hundreds a harmonized duet of Mel Torme’s A Christmas Song. Afterwards Brian Doherty spoke directly to me, probably the only time he ever did, “You have guts. Double guts.” Respect. I don’t remember seeing him after that.

   We also had a regular dedicated art teacher, Miss Sanford.  She got a nose job the following summer and nobody recognized her when she returned. The best part was, my third grade teacher, Miss Nawrocki. She looked like a Barbie doll. She wore wigs of different colors and lengths. She got married halfway through the year and became Mrs. Raniewicz. Dang.  We had just conquered spelling capital-N A W R O C K I. She directed a class musical. I had lunch with her a couple of years ago.  She is still awesome, although significantly shorter than I thought. Public school was fine. Better than fine. It was great. To heck with you, Sister Clorina.

    Around ninth grade, Confirmation rolled around. It was time for me to publicly commit to God and His Church, whatever that meant. Among the somewhat arbitrary options for going through a Catholic Confirmation is taking a new name.  It has little or no intrinsic meaning within Western cultures, but the vestigial tradition hangs on.  My 15-year-old self was interested in saving the world by becoming a medical doctor – didn’t happen: boys, booze, and a reading disability derailed that vague idea during the first semester of college – so I chose the name “Blaise” as my Confirmation name.  I had mistakenly thought he was the patron saint of physicians. I was a piss-poor researcher back then too.  So many of his miracles had to do with healing, particularly having to do with throat ailments and choking. Who am I kidding?  I claimed the name Blaise because the choice was due the week after the whole Candlemas/Saint Blaise weirdness -- exactly forty days after Christmas. What was this thing with forty days anyway?  Noah in the Ark, Jesus in the desert, Buddha under the Bodi Tree, the Prophet Mohammad in a cave.  There’s Lent.  There are periods of mourning, of fasting or of thanksgiving in most belief systems.  

    In any case, my choice of Blaise, a male name, upset a fair few people, so I had to write a couple of letters to some persnickety council of some kind. The request was okayed … with reservations. The actual Confirmation was forgettable other than choir director being in a car accident on the way there, so the choir – which included my mother, my sister Mary, Mary Wirhanowicz and me – had to wing it.  

    “So why was the name Blaise so important to you?” Father Podolak asked me months later.

    “Well, if this spirituality stuff doesn’t work out, ‘Blaze’ is a good name for a stripper.” The words were out of my mouth before I ran them through my brain. I kept walking.  

    The next time I saw Fr. P, he said, “Jean, do you know how we make holy water?”

    “You bless it?” I stammered.  

     “No, you boil the Hell out of it.”  He smiled apologetically and gently clarified, “That was a joke.”  

    I chatted with a priest at a wedding I was hired to sing for a few years later, I mentioned the parish I grew up in. The priest said, “Ah!  Bill Podolak, a kind man.”

    “Yes, indeed.” I was running out of things to say.

    “… not a dynamic speaker.”

    “No, indeed.”  We laughed, all too cruelly I believe.

   In spite of my bad research skills, Saint Blaise continues to intrigue me. Having been martyred by being beaten to death with iron combs used for wool combing and carding, Saint Blaise has since been associated with any trade having to do with wool since the Middle Ages, not the healing arts. So, after all the hubbub about me picking a male saint’s name, perhaps it works for me.  After all, what is my essay-writing but glorified wool-gathering?  

    The year after my Confirmation, I lived in Tunisia through a foreign exchange program the same summer that Monty Python’s Flying Circus filmed Life of Brian a mere 100 kilometers away.  I did not find out until just after my return to the US, by watching an episode of Saturday Night Live hosted by Eric Idle.  His monologue was about the long, sad love songs Tunisians sing with such relish and the ubiquity of jasmine there. Mr. Idle’s monologue went over like a fart in church as the saying goes.  My family, however, laughed spasmodically as they recalled the similar stories from my letters home. Dad with his ever-present bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest, fell off the couch chortling. Mr. Idle’s underappreciated monologue notwithstanding, my summer in Tunisia changed my perceptions of just about everything. I had lived with a Moslem family in a Moslem neighborhood in a Moslem village. They valued education and kindness, respect and humor, the individual and the collective. The child peeking out of the doorway to see the American girl may have looked like an advertisement for C.A.R.E., but I came to know that her family loved her abundantly, fed her regularly if frugally, and had dreams and hopes for her.  Neshua, the daughter of my host family closest to my age, and I were invited to several homes. Some of those invitations were offered because I was a curiosity to the village. In most of the humbler homes, there was a carpet in the works, a large frame taking up a wall in their main living space.  A color plot hung taped to one of the loom’s posts.  I learned to knot and trim the wool according to the plot, to shift the heddle and weft shuttle, to tamp work with the kleleh to compact the threads.  We sat together, partly in fellowship, partly to contribute to the household. One little girl elbowed her way next to me knotting two to my one and announce that she would teach me the Arabic alphabet. “C’est très important” for me to learn how to read Arabic. I never did, except for “Coca-Cola” which I suspect had more to do with it being on large red billboards.

    I was quite full of myself. Eventually the lessons of that summer, about the oneness of Religion, not the Arabic alphabet, sunk in. No longer would the coat of we’re-right/they’re-wrong Christianity fit me properly.  

    Eventually, I was off to college where at some point I made out with a guy who decided to become a priest.  I think there may be something more to process about that.  Maybe not.  I ended up eventually working in Washington DC and met my future husband Mike at a Trivial Pursuit party in the apartment complex we both lived in.  We were both Arabic-speaking (although mine was pretty patchy), left-handed (which has its own complications in Middle Eastern countries), green-eyed Catholics.  It was Kismet.  Oh, and we both preferred to drink milk with pizza. Like I said, Kismet. We went through all the Catholic wedding hoops and started our family when I got pushed onto a spiritual journey by a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses.  While the JW logic never worked for me, I will forever be grateful to Betty and LaVonne for starting me on the journey.  Here I will skip chapters full of synchronicities that only Baha’is would find amusing, we attended some meetings referred to as Firesides after moving to San Jose, California a few years later.

    The speaker one evening expounded on the subject of Progressive Revelation.  In brief, Progressive Revelation encompasses the idea that Religion is unfolding over time as humanity becomes ready for a fuller understanding of the true nature of Reality. The speaker went on to offer examples of how Judaism begot Christianity and primarily affected Europe in its initial reach and development. Likewise, Hinduism begot Buddhism which moved out to Asia.  Islam is also Abrahamic but was couched in Zoroastrian customs as well. It spread into North Africa, the Middle East, Oceania.  The Baha’i Faith was revealed just as the world needed to start thinking globally, in the mid-19th century.  Any corruption of Religion has to do with mankind messing with it, not with the purity of the original Message.  This made some sense to me, but I didn’t know anything about Zoroaster. The speaker recognized my raised eyebrow-of-confusion and explained.  

    The moment the speaker explained that the primary understanding of Zoroastrianism in the West would be the Zodiac. He also mentioned that the priesthood was referred to as the Magi, as in the “astrologers from the East.” In that moment, all the disparate thoughts from the time I was seven onward coalesced in my mind’s eye like a jigsaw puzzle completing itself. I wiggled in my seat in excitement, trying not to disturb the tiny middle-aged woman of Asian descent or the black man next to me who had fallen asleep. He was snoring full out and no one was perturbed by it. His wife, a white woman at least a head taller than he was, later explained that he had had a stroke during brain surgery a few years before and often fell asleep. The oneness of God, the oneness of Humanity, the oneness of Religion all made sense to me. In that blink of an eye, I saw the interlocking of fact and legend, of the Magi and the Baby, of tradition and skepticism. I was back with Sister Clorina, Saint Blaise, and my family in Tunisia.

    It was both in an instant and over the course of my lifetime up to that point that I came to this understanding. A few weeks after that night, Mike and I together declared our Faith in Bahá'u'lláh, that is to say, became adherents to the Baha'i Faith. We have found our lives infinitely richer because of that choice, so have our children (so they tell me).  It is not easy to always keep in mind that each and every person that exists or did exist or will exist is unique and beloved by God, or that our individual Free Wills can send us in all different directions, or that "This is the changeless Faith of God, eternal in the past, eternal in the future" as Bahá'u'lláh says. In fact, it's mostly challenging. Building Heaven on Earth is not for sissies. However, I know it is the right thing for me to pursue.

    I still do not get my faith confirmed by fantastical measures.  I’d love to see a crowd of people collectively gung their foreheads with the heels of their hands that the oneness of Humanity is a fact and the work it will take for every person to feel loved and beloved as the family we are will be worth the effort and sacrifice.  I’d love to see someone healed miraculously.  I still get the sense that I won't ever witness events like that first hand.  

    Occasionally, I do witness people who die with grace or see a smile generated from a purely motivated kindness perpetrated on an unsuspecting grump. It is things like that -- tiny, lovely indications that my spiritual path is worth toddling upon – with which I chose to be satisfied. I promised myself so long ago that it would be enough.

     Sister Clorina was only in my life for six months over fifty years ago.  She still pops into my head, usually when I am accused of being “too sensitive” about something. I’d love to prove to you that she’s not important to me now, but you’ll just have to take that on faith.

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Update on Pastrnak and de Haan; Silfverberg; Toews; Trocheck – March 19

  The big injury news from Monday was that David Pastrnak was skating on the top line for the Bruins in practice as he returns from an arm injury. He’s officially a game-time decision for Tuesday’s contest. Though the team has just three games over the next six nights for fantasy semi-final week, getting the Czech superstar back in fantasy lineups will be a huge boost to any fantasy roster.

The Bruins also had a quartet of injured players skate on Monday as Kevan Miller, Marcus Johansson, Torey Krug, and Matt Grzelcyk all hit the ice before practice. The latter did so without a stick as he continues his own recovery from an arm injury. There’s no confirmation of an immediate return for any of them, but Johansson in particular could help in H2H playoffs next week – aside from Krug, who is already rostered in almost every league – as the Bruins have four games and they include the Panthers, Rangers, and Red Wings. We’ll update further when we get more news.

*

Calvin de Haan returned to practice for the Hurricanes, having missed the last few games after taking a stick to the face. There is no apparent long-term injury here which is fantastic news for de Haan. He hasn’t been much use outside of deep leagues this year and I don’t anticipate this will change over the next few weeks.

There’s, uh, also this:

  De Haan just said after he took the stick to the eye he was poking around his eye socket making sure his eyeball is still in place because he didn’t want it dangling around and he couldn’t see a thing

— Sara Civ (@SaraCivian) March 18, 2019

  Yikes.

*

It’s that time of year where it’s hard to pay attention to the dregs of the league, but it’s worth noting that after his current recent hot streak, Jakob Silfverberg is up to 22 goals on the year. He needs one more to tie his career-high of 23 in 2016-17.

I will say that while this is pretty cool for Silfverberg, this is kind of disheartening for fantasy owners. I don’t think I’m the only one who was waiting for the 28-year old Swede to have *that* magical season where he posts a high shooting percentage and explodes offensively. Because he does currently have the highest shooting percentage of his career (15.2 percent) by a wide margin (previous high of 10.1 percent in his 23-goal season). But he’s missed some games due to injury and the team was terrible and injured basically up until a month ago, and that has kept his assists to a minimum.

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After spending some time on the top line in the team’s last game, Rangers forward Pavel Buchnevich was bumped down to the second line in practice on Monday. He was a guy I thought could do very well moving up the lineup post-trade deadline and he does have 5 goals in 10 games (no assists, though). In 33 games in calendar 2019, Buchnevich has 11 goals and 19 points in 33 games, which pro-rates to 27 goals and 47 points over 82 games. He’s done this while playing less than 14:30 per night in that span. I will continue to bang this drum until it happens: Buchnevich is on the cusp of being fantasy relevant in all formats, he just needs a coach to give him the consistent minutes.

*

This is more for the postseason than anything but Mats Zuccarello is expected to start practicing with the Stars on their next road trip. The problem is the next road trip is next week and that won’t give Zuccarello many, if any, games to get up to speed before the playoffs begin.

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James Neal was skating at Flames practice on Monday though at this point, I don’t think he’ll be much help in almost any format. This is really just news for the DFS people out there.

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Some people may be disappointed with Colin Miller’s fantasy performance this year, and I get it, but let’s step back for a second.

Before the season, Miller had an ADP somewhere between the 40th and 50th defenceman off the board. In standard Yahoo! leagues, as of Monday afternoon, he’s the 49th-ranked defenceman. Considering both draft investment and performance, there really isn’t much lost here. 

Beyond just his fantasy ranks, he’s been a bit unlucky. He sits at minus-1 on the season but has received .909 goaltending behind him at five-on-five on a team that sits at a .916 overall. He’s still been one of the best play drivers so there’s not much concern of a rebound there so long as he gets better goaltending in 2019-20. He’s also shooting less than half his career average (5.9 percent) this season (2.5 percent). If he shoots anywhere near his normal rate, he’s pretty much in line with his double-digit goal production rate from last year.

In short, Miller has been about as expected this year, if a bit on the unfortunate side. He’s firmly behind Shea Theodore in the pecking order now, though, so I wouldn’t expect his production to pick up next year. He’s about a 35-point guy and that’s just fine.

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Our Dobber Hockey fantasy playoff draft list is now available for pre-order in the Dobber Shop here. It is an invaluable resource for those participating in any sort of playoff league, be it fantasy, pools, or just picking teams.

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Just wanted to extend a hearty welcome to Chris Wassel, who is joining the Dobber Prospects team covering rising stars from the New Jersey Devils. I’ve known Chris for years and if there are two things he’s fanatical about, they’re fantasy hockey and the Devils. If you’re a New Jersey fan, be sure to check out the Dobber Prospects pages from time to time to read Chris’s work.

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I know some people are concerned about the Nashville Predators heading into playoffs given their perceived lack of scoring but I think it’s a bit overblown. At five-on-five this year, the team has scored 2.58 goals per 60 minutes, 12th in the league and sandwiched between Vegas and Winnipeg. Combine that with the best blue line in the NHL outside of maybe San Jose and this team is just fine. The power play is an ongoing issue, of course, but I’d rather have a team struggle to score on the PP than 5v5. Having all their players healthy for an extended period may help in this regard. The West has a lot of very good teams, even if the Predators are bounced in the second round it’s hard to say they’re failures. 

*

It’s gone by fairly quietly, but it’s worth noting that Jonathan Toews has cracked both the 30-goal and 70-point plateaus for the first time since 2010-11.  Scoring is up league-wide so players posting great years compared to recent seasons isn’t usually noteworthy, but Toews hadn’t cracked 60 points, let alone 70, since 2014-15. He’s currently on a point-per-game pace – heading into Monday night’s game – and if he can maintain that, it’ll be the first time in his career he’s accomplished the feat.

Sure, Toews is shooting 15.2 percent, and that’s a three-year high, but it’s not abnormal for him. He has five different seasons over 15 percent shooting and was never below 12.4 percent in his career until 2016-17. His 20:52 per game and having line mates who score are really helping Toews’s season here. His on-ice shooting percentage, or the rate at which the team scores with him on the ice, is just over nine percent and his Individual Points Percentage (IPP) is well within his career norms. In other words, Toews isn’t really getting lucky this year. It’s a good scoring environment and he’s getting loads of ice time. Something to remember for next year.

*

Steven Stamkos became the Tampa Bay Lightning’s all-time leading goal scorer by tallying his 384th goal with the franchise in Tampa Bay’s 4-1 victory over the Arizona Coyotes. That was his 36th of this season, giving him a chance to crack 40 goals for the first time in four years. Maybe he’s not the player he was five years ago, but he’s still pretty good!

Yanni Gourde scored an empty net goal, which was his 20th goal of the year. He hasn’t been able to follow his breakout season last year, but getting the 20-goal mark is no small feat. I do wish he would shoot more, though, as he’s going to finish under two shots per game again this year even playing 16 minutes a night.

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More updates in the morning

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He was injured for about two months and that will probably frustrate his fantasy owners, but even in a shortened season we’ve seen the levels of production that Vincent Trocheck can bring. He’s averaging over two hits per game, about 2.7 shots per game, would fly past 50 blocked shots had he played 75 games, and sits with roughly a penalty minute per contest. Perhaps the point production is a bit lacking but it’s worth noting his current shooting percentage (5.8 percent) is about half his three-year average from 2015-18 (11.4 percent). If you double his current goal total to account for the shooting percentage drop, he’s up to 0.31 goals per game coming off three seasons of 0.33, 0.28, and 0.38 goals per game. In other words, things are pretty much normal here.

It’s just a reminder that in multi-category leagues, Trocheck should still be considered one of the top options available. He’s lost nearly 90 seconds per game in ice time and is still just a shade under 20 minutes per night. The Panthers centre also doesn’t turn 26 until July. He’s a name to stash away somewhere for drafts in 2019-20. The injury-shortened season combined with an unsustainably low shooting percentage will guarantee a depressed ADP compared to 2018-19. It is exactly the type of situation savvy fantasy owners should embrace in the search for draft value.

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I want to hear from Casey Mittlestadt keeper owners. What do you think of him this year? Are you happy to have him on your dynasty/keeper league rosters? Are you concerned about him not having talent on the wings to play with or are you taking a longer view? Is there anything that’s stood out about his game you’ve liked or disliked this year? Hit us up in the comments.

from All About Sports https://dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-update-on-pastrnak-and-de-haan-silfverberg-toews-trocheck-march-19/

[theparaminds]

Keshi’s music isn’t for every moment in life, no, instead his music is specific in the situations it hopes to embrace and stamp with its mark. A drive in the dead of night, a fight that ends in forgiveness, a regrettable phone call that still leaves you longing for more. The emotions he articulates in sound are that of human connection, and more so, the balance of positivity and loss it leads towards.

Don’t get it wrong, his music will be there for you whenever you need and want it, but the true power of his lyrics and ideas will strike when you least expect, when you’re lost for an answer and misunderstanding the questions. His music is for souls lost, for souls in love yet confused, for souls dreaming, and for souls of sorrow sick with isolation.

It’s a tender and soft set of production brushed over with a hauntingly vulnerable voice, a voice we all know from our own heads, our own hearts. Keshi is not just a musician, but a reflection of our own insecurities and worries of tomorrow. And in this, in his understanding of the universal fears we all face, he takes our hand and reminds us we’re not alone, and reminds us that no matter what, the sun will continue to rise.

PM: Our first question as always, how's your day?

K: It's been pre good, can't complain. To be honest, the music is starting to take off so fast I can't keep up. Its rewarding in that regard.

PM: Have you found it a little scary since its been picking up?

K: Yeah, it's overwhelming, surprisingly stress-inducing, but it's what I live for. It's the most fulfilling thing.

PM: I'd love to start with your sound and the uniqueness of it. You're someone who has changed their sound but has kept the core elements of it intact. It's definitely more structured as opposed to the classic lo-fi style. Where did change come from, how did it help you as an artist?

K: I've always been a songwriter first, that's always what I've labelled myself as before I even ventured into production. When I think of growing, I think lo-fi as a gateway to production as a whole and the most important thing to me has been to create a soundscape that is very dynamic. I've always tried to do that, no matter what I was making. After some time working acoustically I got really tired of it and kinda got tired of music in general. And that's when the lo-fi started taking off and I was falling in love with certain producers ability to incorporate non-musical elements into their music, like rain or cans popping open. I just thought of music of a series of glued together sounds and lo-fi was the best way to conceptualize that. Of course, the inspirations were tomppabeats, In Love with the Ghost and Joji, and that’s where I was just honing the producing craft, shifting away from just a songwriter.

PM: Other than those who inspired you in a lo-fi way, when you were growing up, what other artists were pushing you to get into music?

K: The very first musician I listened to seriously was John Mayer, and he opened a whole new world for me music wise. He showed me how to do things on the guitar I had no idea you could do. Chord progressions you don't usually hear and unconventional sequences, he was really able to explore the fretboard in that way. He really exposed me to songwriting, which as I mentioned earlier was my first real driving interest. As well, I'd say Drake because after years of John Mayer I just got some listener fatigue, even though I still loved him. But Drake showed me that hip-hop could be melodic and not obnoxious, which was my impression of it at the time. 'Take Care' really changed my views, and honestly, I listened to it really late, like sophomore year in college. And around that time, when I was just so into Drake, was when I had this unfortunate performance in LA and I wanted to quit music. I just realized I had to go back to the drawing board, knowing I had to change something.

PM: Are you able to speak about what happened at the show in LA and what went wrong?

K: Basically I had won this competition in Houston, they then flew me out to LA to perform against the other winners from around the US. When you win a competition like that you feel like you're pretty good at what you do, but once you get to next level with people on your skill level, you realize you aren’t AS great as you thought you were. I guess it was disheartening and I didn't feel like I was being the artist I wanted to be, there was something that was lacking.

PM: And that failure led to the growth and positivity that you're seeing now, I'm guessing?

K: Yeah, it was really that performance that spurred the moments leading up to the creation of Keshi.  I went and made this Soundcloud account under that name, not telling any friends or family, as I wanted to change some aspect of my music without being under scrutiny. At the time the only listeners I had were those friends and family, so to do that was scary and liberating. I felt free to make whatever I wanted, just see what catches on. I really was just making sample-based lo-fi hip hop and trying to practise production. But eventually, I released my first song with lyrics, ‘if you're not the one for me who is’, and it did well for itself, but it wasn't until ‘magnolia’ got picked up by the channel 'Anime Vibes' that things started to really take off. And the thing is with these youtube aggregators like Anime vibe or Ambition is that they really get to help who makes it and who doesn't, they've established this consistency as a curator with a good ear and this relationship with their viewers who trust them, so at that point whatever they feed to their followers they'll eat up. And being there and being put on by that really just sparked what I see before me today.

PM: Does the name Keshi mean something and why did you choose that as the word to represent you?

K: I get this question a lot lately, My name is Casey but my girlfriend and childhood friend is Japanese and every time I go to their house, to this day, still they call me ‘Keshi’, so it's just a username I picked and it was supposed to be anonymous, but still me with a nostalgic charm. I didn't think people would take to it honestly, I thought I would end up under a different name eventually, Keshi was just supposed to be a demo account.

PM: How has being in love and those sort of experiences helped you as a musician and have some of your inspirations grown from that aspect in your life?

K: For sure, in the beginning when I wrote songs they all tended to be love songs. But I feel like the one aspect of the whole relationship ordeal I really like to poke at is the extremely vulnerable state you're in with someone, because not only are they the person who is there for you the most, they're also the one who could hurt you the most due to how close you've allowed them to be. And that bittersweet aspect of love, in general, is something I love to touch on, I have this strong fear of loneliness and that shows up in my music as well. I guess when you delve into everything Keshi says and sings, people may find it romantic, but it's extremely selfish, it's supposed to be an unbalanced raw emotion, which is whiny, and moody, but people can relate to that which I'm glad about.

PM: When you speak, you mention Keshi in the third person, do you see him as a separate person and as a vessel for your creation?

K: I don't really see Keshi as myself, I see him as a separate entity and kind of as a musical project more than anything.

PM: You also have a beautiful arm sleeve tattoo, I was just wondering what that art means to you and what you would say to anyone on the fence about getting them?

K: Thank you, I appreciate the love! To anyone afraid to get them I would just say to go get one, If you're curious about them, you're engaged enough to try them, it's not gonna hurt! In regards to my own, when I went to Japan to meet my girlfriend's family, I wanted to get a traditional tattoo by someone who knows the craft, if you get my gist. I found a guy and he was gracious enough to work with me and give me a beautiful Japanese sleeve.

PM: To look back at your music, you’ve been on this incredible stretch of releasing music that's growing and improving, I wonder what your vision looked like at the beginning compared to now and what's shifted since then?

K: I've always just wanted to make great art, I think that now I've found a really sweet spot in my music where I can do that and I can narrow down on the sounds I want to do. I guess when you start growing you stop looking at the start line and then just start looking at the race; one day you may have 2000 more listeners than the last and you can only think that it's not good enough because last week you had 5000. You need to step yourself away and become grateful for where you are and what you've done. Don't stop chasing the dream but don't lose sight of the growth.

PM: As well, do you have any upcoming projects people should look out for and how does it compare to previous work?

K: I think the stuff recently has been a progression since the earlier music, more dynamic and =more energized than before. I do have a project on the way hopefully around November-December, it'll be an EP with '2 soon' included. The songs are done, I'd like to announce the songs are finished. At this point it's an internal conflict of when to release and how to market them. I don't want to give too much away, but long story short, I've got shows planned for January and the dates will be announced soon, and the first show will be in LA.

PM: How are you preparing yourself this time for performing in LA and having a good experience?

K: Back then I didn't have an idea of what I wanted to be, but Keshi is so fleshed out and he knows who he is and what music he wants to do. At this point, I need to get some equipment sorted out and then we're good to go, it'll be an amazing show.

PM: What would you say is your favorite song of your own and why?

K: It's definitely 'if you're not the one for me who is', for a couple of reasons. The first is because it conceptualized Keshi and what he is today. But the main reason is that it explores this duality of relationships I was talking about earlier, explained perfectly with the title. On one side of the coin, the aspect of having only one person who matters so much in the world, but also the fear of loneliness because if they're not the right one, then who else could be? I loved that dichotomy.

PM: Do you have a favourite video game of all time?

K: Holy shit yes. It’s gotta be Nier: Automata, oh my god that game changed my world. It came out a year ago and was a really revolutionary beat em up game kinda like Devil May Cry, it was just so artistic and beautiful.

PM: What would you say has been the best memory of last year, something that sticks out as super positive and special to you?

K: I haven't told anyone this, but basically I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life so I just ended up where I am today. Kinda dreading work and dragging my feet. At the beginning, I wanted to go to Berkeley School of Music, which is every kid interested in music’s dream. Of course, my parents pushed me to something stable, and I always resented that decision. But because I didn't, I'm here now, if I went there I would've been doing something different and Keshi wouldn't exist. Well, one day at my day job I got a message from a guy who's attending Berkeley and he was telling me how he loved my work and was wondering how the hell I did what I was doing. I was just so stunned, I don't know if it was irony, the whole time I wanted to go to this place but in the end, I didn't really have to go. It really was the most validating for my music and knowing I was doing the right thing.

PM: Do you have anyone to shout out or anything to promote? The floor is yours!

K: So, as I said, I have shows getting ready in January and there is new music coming soon, thank you so much for listening and thanks so much for taking the time to get to know me a little bit better.

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