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virgil-writes · 3 years

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ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

chapter 11 - fever dream

trigger warning, body horror and blood, lots of blood. around 3.8K words.

He knew he had overstayed his welcome by the tiredness in her eyes, a stab of guilt very close to piercing through his skin though he resisted. He had struck a nerve without meaning to, his flirting and prodding taken too far, what he intended to bring them closer making her recoil instead. Heisenberg had left her cabin with shoulders slumped and heart heavy, but the way she had bid him goodbye told him everything would be just fine. It was all forgotten by the time he turned the corner to go further into the forest, all suppressed under a boot-clad stomp. He would not consider how he might have personally hurt her, how he might have dug in too deep and crossed the few lines she had established. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a stupid little voice told him that he cared, even if he didn’t mean to, and there was only so much he could ignore it before it bubbled to the surface. He had dealt with worse. Keeping feelings and memories buried was a skill he had developed over almost a hundred years.

Her feelings were not important right now, he reminded himself, because the plan took all precedence. There would be no more village if Miranda saw her plans fulfilled, no little witch to offend and no metal man to call stupid nicknames. Maybe once they were free he would be interested in truly making friends, sitting down to talk things through and giving her time to answer his questions, not when he pressed but when she was ready. Bah, who was he kidding? He was not a man meant to play house, to have healthy relationships that were based on dialogue and mutual understanding with. He was the worst friend a person could have. She could die mad.

Still, perhaps there were lines he would better not cross, at least to keep her complacent. From the very beginning he had intended to keep her in the dark as much as possible, only tell her what was strictly necessary to have her help him. Learn what she could truly do, exploit it as covertly as possible, then unceremoniously dump her so he could finally fight his battles. Get from point A to point B, make himself an ally, but not a friend. She was a tool, as were all others, living or dead. He would see his ambition realized. He would set himself free.

Hours bled into days and into a week before he saw her again. His days once again become a blur of planning and building, head empty if not for the thoughts of revenge and the rage that fueled him ever onward. Research at the factory was going smoothly enough, problems here and there. Miranda was mostly out of his hair, as was Alcina, having finally given up after he told her, time and again, that nothing other than lycans inhabited the woods. Some power failures in Eins were a true head-scratcher, night after night of writing and drawing, assembling and disassembling. It was a good way to pass the time. Sturm was still a failure, a project put on the back burner until the right inspiration hit him.

It all reached a boiling point not soon after, stress catching up to him when a mining drill down the mine shafts malfunctioned and exploded, the cave-in cutting off a whole team of haulers and all the resources they had gathered. The bodies soon began to rot and the stench filled the vents, crept through tunnels to find him in all rooms he thought he could hide in. Night and day his soldiers would drill and get nowhere, night and day he would work to see no returns. He had descended into a fit of rage that brought out the worst within him, his transformation no longer his to control after the first few minutes of thrashing and shouting. It hurt as much this time as it did every other, flesh tearing and pulsing and twisting and expanding, tendons pulled, muscles sore, skin stretching far beyond what it should ever be able to. Pain seared through every inch of him, a gust of flame where his blood should be. It burned unbearably hot while chilling him to the bone with the sheer horror of it.

His conscience would never fully slip him in those moments. He would not recognize himself in the mirror, his appearance no longer that of a man, but he was still him, still a genius of engineering, still a silver fox that could charm the pants off of anyone if he wanted to. At least that was what he told himself, though there was definitely and underlying hunger that he could not suppress, that was not entirely his. Not for meat like the Duke’s, not for blood like Alcina’s. Not at all physical, but gnawing on his bones nonetheless. A need for violence, for terror, to destroy everything and crush everyone. Turn every living being to a pulp and make art with the carnage, paint the walls red and hang their insides from the ceiling. His fingers itched for it even when they no longer existed, his heart pulsating with rage and anticipation. It was hard to keep himself in check sometimes, to stop the spiral that brought him ever downward, towards the blackened waters of oblivion that he felt were always so dangerously close to consuming him. He would be no better than any of them if he gave in, he repeated it as a mantra, no better than the family of abominations who consumed flesh and drank blood like the finest wine, no better than the lycans who toyed with the villagers only to eviscerate them and then suck the marrow out of their bones. But how would it feel, a small voice asked in the back of his mind, to be so free, to let his rage flow with the blood he spilled, vindication for thousands of days of suffering. He could almost taste it, feel his sins washed away by the sacrifice, dangerously within reach, so very tempting. Every time he resisted, and every time it became harder to do so.

He can’t remember the last time he’d lost control, the last time he’d blacked out and woken up a day later in his birthday suit and covered in guts that weren’t his. He can’t remember if it had been yesterday or last year or thirty years ago, but he remembers the feeling all too well, the sickening soft touch of tissue, foul smelling bits of flesh underneath his nails. He could never know who, or why, or how, and could only hope he hadn’t blown his cover, hadn’t killed someone Mother would miss. The last time, he never quite managed to wash the contents of the poor soul’s stomach from his hair, the stench nauseating. It had been the first time he had taken scissors to his hair and cut it with a fury and desperation he did not know he possessed. Ther uneven strands only served to remind him that his monstrous self was but a failed project away, looming in the darkness, a return to the bloody roots Miranda had ingrained within him on that operating table all those years ago.

Fists slam against the table in an attempt to let off some steam as he curses his temper, his family, that crow bitch for ruining him forever. But it only serves to stoke the fires, to anger him further, cloth rips as he yells and everything goes downhill from there.

These moments between man and beast are always the most difficult, the ones that seem to last forever, the ones that plague him with so many thoughts he feels his head will explode. Would an army be enough to stop her? Hundreds upon hundreds of lost souls hanging overhead, conveyor belts transporting his army on an endless display of his greatest accomplishments. He could only hope enough of his machines would survive the waves of lycans she would throw at them; he could practically see it, teeth bared and eyes gaunt, claws reaching to grab onto something, anything that would give it purchase, an armor plate, perhaps the tube that kept the soldier’s blood pumping. One after the other the lycans would fall, until they had become too many, a pile of writhing half-humans feasting on its disgusting prey. He could practically hear it, and every exploded reactor chipped away a sliver of his confidence - and his sanity.

He never intended to get involved, never intended to join the battle and cut through monsters. His eyes had always been set on Mother, Mother and the stupid lieutenants she called her children. Moreau crying for it all to stop, Donna cowering with Angie behind moldy wings. Alcina would be the only one to face him head on, he knew, and finally he would be able to tear her apart with her own nails. He would then pluck one out to shoot it right at the dollmaker’s face, right onto the squirming parasite that inhabited the half of her face where her eye ought to be. To Moreau he would give a present, a grenade for him to swallow whether he felt hungry or not, a tasty last meal for the disgusting fish man who scraped the bottom of the muddy river. As for Miranda, he hoped it was enough, he was enough, all of his experimentations and studying and training coming together to make him unstoppable. Only time would tell, and with each passing day he grew wearier, and the beast stronger.

But what did he have to lose?

His mind barely registered his actions as he made his way out of the factory, a bundle of papers tucked under his arm, hammer and cigar long forgotten. The world greeted him with a sheen of milky fog, of faded colors that threatened to jump at him in full vibrancy at a moment’s notice, threatened to overwhelm his already weakened perception. His tendons pulled and muscles ached with each agonizing step, left knee and elbow burning like he had shoved them inside a furnace and forgotten to take them out. His head hurt worse than the most gruesome of hangovers, light swimming in his eyes and creating a dozen blind spots that could lead him to any number of traps. Beads of perspiration had gathered on his brow despite the cold, the kind of feverish sweat that keeps you awake at night and makes you see stars and aliens, eyes rolling back but somehow wide open in a never ending fever dream. He had grown accustomed to it, the high of growing into a behemoth of flesh and steel, and the lows that came with it when it was all over and he had to return to being a shell of a man with enough rage to make the devil jealous.

Most times he would lie face down against the factory floor, let the stone ease him into restless sleep, until some hauler tripped over him and decided to drag him along and out of the way. It had become so common he had instructed them for it, too, to leave him at his quarters and then carry on working, so that he could also carry on working as soon as this hurdle was over with. But then sometimes the fever grew so hot he would stumble out into the yard to find the nearest mound of snow to flop onto, and he could swear he could hear it fizzle under his skin.

This time he had taken to walking, the only thing in his mind as his body protested and he pretended not to listen, one foot after the other, though he had no clue where they would take him. His wounds bled as they always did, a new collection of scars every time he transformed and the metal lodged itself deep within his flesh, left a trail behind as he made his way down towards the river, the trees his only support. It was then he heard it, the faintest of whispers, the most alluring of laughs. He raised his head to catch a glimpse of her, running away to hide from him, inviting him to chase her and catch her, lay her on a bed of twigs and thorns and explore her endless delights.

His little witch in the woods, naked under the moonlight just like he had imagined, standing right in the middle of the bridge that shook more violently than ever before. She did not seem to mind the cold, did not care about her dignity, her cheeks flushed and desire in her eyes as she called to him, and he could not help but follow.

He had stumbled on the last plank, foot stuck between a rusty nail and loose splinter just as he was about to catch her, when he reached out his hand and felt her hair slipping between his fingers. His face had hit the ground before he could register what happened, his little witch gone, a mouthful of snow and dirt all he had, papers scattering in the wind with the fall.

In his clarity he could hear the shuffling of feet in the distance, the frantic sniffing as the wolfmen smelled its prey in the air. Dozens of pairs of eyes watched him from behind the trees, hungry, desperate, waiting for his conscience to slip, for him to never get up, for him to stop walking, to heed their call and fall into their trap. The anxious tingle on his fingertips tells him he’s on edge, that fear creeps up his bones and into his blood and out of his pores like the sweetest of perfumes. But his bones hurt, so very much that there is no space for anything else in his mind. He picks himself up and walks, walks like he has a purpose, like he knows where to go and just what to say. Heisenberg no longer strode with the confidence of a man who knows there is nothing in this world more dangerous than himself, but with the sensation of being so small, so insignificant, a bundle of flesh and blood that could be torn and consumed. All that was left was the hope, the knowledge that something old prowled the woods, older than himself, something immensely powerful that meant him no harm.

He cannot tell if the sigh of relief stays only in his head when he sees the fence in the distance, rounds the yard lightning fast for a feverish man, the sound of his steps crunching the snow almost comical as he tried to run faster than his legs could take him. He catches himself on the porch railing before his teeth can hit the wood as he stumbles once again. There is no fear, only humor in his laughter, because he has made it, reached the safe haven of that decrepit cabin hidden between the mountains.

The witch stood at the porch, basket of laundry at her hip as she made her way out the door, an improvised clothesline strung between a post and a lantern hook. She was not startled this time, the expression on her face telling him he was expected, the smell coming from inside the cabin making his stomach rumble. He tries not to stare too long, not to pay attention to her beautiful features; every second they seem more twisted, a sinister smile, a hole where her face should be, a multitude of eyes, a pair of antlers. The disappointment was perhaps the worst of all, the look of disgust in her eyes. He cannot tell apart reality and dream and at this point he would prefer not to.

She blinked once, twice, confusion adorning her features as she looked him up and down but surely failed to understand just why Karl Heisenberg had dragged himself all the way up to her home wounded, naked except for his trench coat and hat, and looking like a man so high he could see beyond time. He had no shame left in him, between his confidence and the fever, and despite the weirdness of the situation, she was unfazed after the first few seconds, even when she lifted his chin to look him in the eye and he recoiled like an injured beast. If she hounded him for answers, she would get none. She would be lucky if he managed to mutter his own name.

He can’t tell if he had found the sanity to greet her, mind relaxing and patting itself in the back for successfully bringing him to his destination. She sets the basket down and walks towards him to come fetch him, one hand on his shoulder and the other settling on his waist as she guided him inside, and he cannot help but notice there are fingers and toes where her laundry should be, a bountiful, but gruesome harvest. A warning light flashes in his head when the cabin looks different, hands and organs and heads displayed in a macabre backdrop of blood and guts. He is shaking like a leaf when she sits him down on the couch, papers (papers?) taken away from him to be placed on the dinner table, and only when he motioned to grab them did he notice his hand was long gone, blown away like it had been caught in a shrapnel blast. He bites down on his lip as a last ditch attempt not to scream in horror, teary eyed and hurting. An entire mess and a half, with no explanation to give either him or her, but she did not seem to mind, busy grabbing her tools (saw, knife, cutters), wearing the bloodshed like a cape that was made to fit her.

She left him unattended but a moment before returning with the same box of supplies she had used when they first met (surely the tools she had hid within her apron pockets), cloth and antiseptic and the promise that this would burn, bad. He had half a mind to tell her not to worry, to let him bleed and heal on his own like he knew he would. He meant to tell her it was all good, and he had lost that hand before, and the leg, and the blood, and the sanity. It hurt but would not kill him, nothing could, even though he had tried. Instead he said nothing, for he had vastly overestimated his capabilities, less than half a mind at this point, pain and fear sloshing within him like a furious tide. The hat was the first to come off, and he tried to ignore how gentle her touch felt when she brushed back his hair to get a better look at his face.

“Are you still with us, my lord?” Her voice was but an echo inside his head, light as a feather as he rested against the couch and felt sleep tugging at his conscience, though the shock would not let him go. He is unsure whether he is asleep or awake after that, if the feeling of her fingers tracing over his skin are a hallucination or reality, but he sees it clearly regardless, feels it just the same. He taps his foot on the floor impatiently and notices that it is wet, it is all wet, the waters come in through the open door and flood every nook and cranny, only a matter of time before they are both drowned. Not water, no, blood, viscous, fresh, warm blood.

His trench coat is gently pushed off his shoulders, blood staining the throw that lined the couch but getting lost in the scenery, and dexterous fingers run over his scars, find their way to the open wounds speckled on his skin like a starry sky. Her touch was gentle but it hurt regardless, the haze in his mind imprisoning him in what felt like a perpetual state of suffering. The burning turned instead to the raw sensation of being torn apart, the flesh of his abdomen rending impossibly under her ministrations. He looks down to see her hand has disappeared on him, no, in him, the corners of her mouth stretched into an impossible smile. He is fully gone when something tugs at him, within him, bile gathering in his throat at the thought, at the feeling of having someone poke around his insides - again.

It is then that it all hits him, laughter explodes and he bellows - he has finally died. He sees it now, how it was all an illusion, and in reality he had been splayed in the snow all this time, blood pooling around his body and inviting all manner of predators to feast on him when the bones of the earth failed to claim him so many times before. A clever lycan had found a nice open spot to wedge its claws in and pull his guts out to munch on, another tore unceremoniously through to the same effect, and his visions of the witch were nothing but a pleasant mirage his brain had decided to afford him, a small mercy as he bid his consciousness goodbye at long last.

Tree tops and the dark sky are all he sees when he opens his eyes. At least he’d go in style, he thought with a snicker, and the hallucinations of her hands on him just like he’d fantasized spurred something within and made him stand to attention. What a fitting end, open and spilled like a bag of grain, guts wrapped around the papers he had brought with like an exotic crimson ribbon, and the biggest hard-on he had ever had.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x oc #karl heisenberg x reader #only the gods can judge me #virgil writes

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 6 years

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Humans are Weird: Boredom

Pet Owner Training manual.

Chapter 1

How to Keep Your Human Happy

As you have learned by now, this manual has nothing to do with the upkeep of beasts, but more about the upkeep of human companions. As we all know, the Galactic Assembly does not categorize the human as a Pet species, but there has been some call from nonhuman- coworkers for a manual on dealing with their human companions.

The publishers of this manual were unsure how insulted humans might be on the creation of this manual and therefore put it under a different name for we know that humans have an odd hatred for following concrete instructions, and therefore usually do not read users or construction guides.

We would like to begin by stating a truth universally known: Time and time again, history has proven that an unhappy human is a destructive human. As a super-complex emotional species, the human has many ways of being unhappy, they can be angry, sad, depressed, annoyed, frustrated, hurt, betrayed, or bored.

In turn the influence of their destruction can be wide ranging or even dangerous. The spectrum can range from self destruction all the way to homicide.

Humans are more emotionally complex than any species in the galaxy, but they are also one of the youngest sentient species as well with an extreme connection to their animalistic instincts compared to more evolved species.

Not to say that the human isn’t intelligent. The cortical capacity of a human is as wide ranging as their emotional spectrum. They can range from a low G-6 classification with brain damage to an A-9 genius level.

The human cortical capacity to learn and grow is beyond what we have seen from almost any other species. They need to learn, and they need to be occupied to satisfy the brain, and thus the emotions, in an engaging way. While we will be discussing all classified forms of human negative emotion, we are first going to begin with one of the most dangerous and brilliant of human motivations.... boredom.

Boredom is characterized as the feeling a human gets when they are not being cognitively challenged, and ignoring the signs can have dire consequences.

The inside of a rundi prison couldn’t be categorized as very homey. It was almost.... nothing.

It was the absence of extremes. The white walls reflected all light, the floors were not to hard or to soft, the atmosphere matched average body temperature, There was nothing to look at, and nothing to talk about. There was hardly any background noise at all.

Krill might have found the environment relaxing if it wasn’t for his human companion pacing angrily back and fourth across the cell.

Ever since being thrown in this cell, the captain had grown increasingly agitated. The first few days he had quietly sat in the corner making smalltalk with Krill to let the time pass, but it was hard to define time in a place like this, and the human had grown increasingly agitated.

Krill felt fine, but the human clearly wasn’t.

“It’ll be fine captain, this is all just a misunderstanding. Once the crew finds a good negotiation strategy things will work out.”

The captain paused turning to face him with his one working eye, and the look Krill saw there was almost chilling. “If I don’t get out of here soon, I am going to go insane.”

Krill paused not sure if that was just exaggeration on the captain’s part or if it really was true, Humans tended to have odd reactions to things that normally wouldn’t bother the rest of the galaxy.

“Captain...” He ventured softly

“The walls are white, the floors are nothing, the sounds are nothing, the heat is nothing. I cant FEEL anything, and there’s nothing to do.”

Krill stared on in fascinated horror as the human continued his tirade which quickly devolved into nonsensical ramblings as if his only goal was to fill the room with noise. He paced pack and fourth at an increasing rate until the pacing turned into circles and the circles turned into frantic wandering.

“W-what’s wrong with you.... what’s wrong captain.”

“I’m BORED.” The man snapped flopping down on his back to stare up at the ceiling, He stayed that for a while before rolling over to beat his fists against the floor.

Krill pulled back.

The human stood lunging towards the door to beat on it savagely with his fists, “LET US OUT.... LET US OUT YOU BASTARDS.”

The human stepped away again before charging back towards the door.

He must have been at that for an hour before sliding down against the wall to stare at his feet.

Krill stayed fixated the entire time.

When the human wasn’t sleeping he wasn’t still for long moving from one activity to the next at a manic pace. Krill had heard about a human state similar to this, but assumed it only appeared in the pathology of mental illness. He didn’t think the captain was ailed with such problems, but here he was growing more and more irritable by the minute,

His quiet muttering turned to humming, and then the humming devolved into soft singing, then the singing became shouting.

He stared at the door as if hoping to get someone’s attention, and then he would fall back to the floor and fall asleep. He would sleep for hours upon hours before waking again to return to his manic state of before.

“Talk.” The human demanded, “Don’t just sit there, say SOMETHING!” his one eye rolled with savage insanity

Krill stammered, “Captain, I.... What do you want me to say.”

“Anything, Anything.... Please.” The human begged

“Oh ok.... um Ok.... how about I... teach you.... my language.”

The human paused lifting his head and tilting a little to the side. He walked over and calmly sat down next to Krill, “Go on, I’m interested.”

Inside Krill gave a sigh of relief. The human had relaxed though the way he was watching him, so intently, was rather unsettling. Humans had terrible focus, but here he was more focused than Krill had ever seen him.

This pattern continued for days, and the moment Krill let his guard down and allowed the room to go quiet, the human slowly started devolving back into the more savage state.

It was very stressful.

One morning, he rose from a meditative state to find that the human had disassembled his prosthetic leg and was using its pieces to build small animal figurines. He seemed relatively pleased with himself almost back to his normal state.... before he ran out of materials and grew board once again.

Didn’t take long before the human was speaking in full sentences with Krill without the aid of his universal translator. He had to admit it was rather nice.

Until the next morning. The human had admitted to him problems with sleeping, but Krill couldn’t keep an eye on him at all times, and the next morning he came too to find the walls painted with long wavelengths.

Red

He shot up in shock and horror to find the human sitting by the wall using his fingers to paint pictures against the white. HIs fingers were coated in blood.

“Captain.” he shrilled in horror

The captain looked up at him and shrugged, “It’s alright,” He held up his hand, pricked my finger last night. Thought this place could use a little color.

Krill couldn’t stop staring. The human had gone insane.

The captain walked over and sat down beside him, “We were working on motion verbs yesterday.”

How could that happen. He was insane one minute and almost calm the next.

“are you alright, Captain?”

The man shrugged, “I was bored last night, but then you woke up, and now I’m fine.”

Krill shook his head in consternation. He couldn’t take much more of this, and he doubted the captain could either.

When the crew finally came for them, the captain had systematically learned a second language, destroyed his prosthetic leg, scarred his hands, painted the room red, screamed his throat raw, and gone nearly insane.

Upon hear of the incident The Galactic Assembly took action voting to add a subsection on humans involving the intergalactic prison system*

*upon conviction, humans are to be housed in prison facilities equipped with an acceptable number of cognitive enhancing tasks to avoid the likelihood of prison cell insanity.

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #earth is space australia

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insideoutstory · 5 years

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Inside Out - Chapter Thirteen

summary: The party ventures to Hawkins Middle to test their plan. They won’t like what they find. word count: 5.5k warnings: n/a

[ masterlist ] [ FF.net ]

Christine—Needed a bigger radio. Gone to AV club. Be back soon.

Christine crumpled the note in her hand as she trudged up the steps to Hawkins Middle School. Her legs were screaming at her to stop moving, just for a while. She was getting seriously tired of all the running around. She was gonna kill Mike Wheeler when she found him.

Walking into the middle school always felt weird. Well, it hadn’t when she was still a student. She was only a year and a half out and already the halls seemed smaller than she remembered. Had she really sat at a desk that tiny in her English class? Or was that desk the same as the one she used now, only shrunken by memories?

That was one thing that made the hallways seem weird. All those memories. Her locker had been down this hallway one year. She remembered getting the zipper of her sweatshirt stuck in the door, and Barb nearly tearing her arm off trying to get it open again. That was the side door she usually left through when it was time to go to the high school for science. There was the athletics department corkboard, still full of photos of the school’s teams. Once she’d stolen a polaroid of Steve off when she thought no one was looking. It was probably still sitting in her desk at home.

The other thing that made it weird was the people. Or rather, the lack thereof. Christine had spent the entire ride to the school thinking of excuses, prepared to run into a concerned teacher who would want her off premises. But there was no one in sight. She peeked into a few classrooms, swung by the cafeteria, only to be met by silence at every turn. No one was hanging around.

She wasn’t surprised to find the door to the AV closet locked. It usually stayed that way until it was time for a meeting. She knocked hopefully anyway, and called through the door.

“Guys? Dustin? Mike? It’s Christine. Anyone in there?”

No response.

Christine sagged, chewing on her tongue. If they weren’t inside the AV room, they must be with everyone else. Besides a fire alarm, there was only one thing she could think of that would get everyone out of class like that. And seeing as a student’s body had been found at the quarry yesterday, she was willing to bet ‘assembly’ was the winning answer.

She made her way to the gymnasium. The distorted bass of the crappy sound system was echoing down the hallway. Knowing she was on the right track, she picked up the pace.

“The school counselor will be available should any of you need to talk,” the principal announced as she drew level with the doors. “But remember. Counselors aren’t the only people to ask for help. Turn to your parents, your teachers, your peers. We can all help each other, and keep Will Byers in our hearts. Thank you.”

Christine peeked through the window, but everyone was already getting up. The crowd stormed the doors, full of indifferent students who would rather be in class than pretend to care about Will. Christine had to scramble back against the opposite wall to avoid being flattened. She inspected the crowd, looking for Dustin’s hat or Eleven’s close-cropped hair. But none of the party was in sight.

“Christine?”

She whirled on the spot, and had to hide her disappointment when it wasn’t one of the kids.

“Oh, uh—hey Mr. Clarke!”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His pleasant surprise turned stern as he added, “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Um…yeah, I know,” she said, running a hand through her hair and inventing on the spot. “But with everything going on, you know, with Will I just…I just wanted to be there for the boys.”

Mr. Clarke softened. He always did, at stuff like that. He was easily one of the most compassionate teachers at the middle school. It was what made him Christine’s favorite.

“I understand,” he said solemnly. “Still, skipping class…”

“My dad already knows. And…well, between you and me, Dustin’s missed curfew a couple times this week. The boys were so sure they were gonna find Will. So, his mom asked me to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t run off.”

“Well, that’s good,” he agreed. “I mean, the whole thing is horrible, but I’m glad the boys have someone on their side.”

Christine smiled nervously. Kids were still rushing out of the gym, no nerds in sight. It was getting harder to hide her panic.

“You don’t know where they are, do you?” she asked fervently.

“Oh! Um…well, I don’t see…They were definitely here—I walked them down to the assembly a couple minutes late—but they could’ve slipped past us. I gave Michael the keys to the AV room, though, so that’s probably where they’re headed.”

“Okay, great! Well, it was nice seeing…”

“Nonsense! I’ll walk with you.”

“Oh…okay…”

Mr. Clarke led the way through the sea of students. Christine was still scanning the crowd routinely, but couldn’t find anyone she recognized. She was so focused she almost didn’t notice when Mr. Clarke spoke.

“So how are things going up at the high school?”

“Hm? Oh, um…they’re good. Normal. Mostly.”

“You’re still enjoying science?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m taking physics now. It’s not chemistry, but I still like it.”

Mr. Clarke smiled proudly. “A mind like yours, I’m sure Mr. Austin’s class is no match.”

“I don’t know,” Christine said airily, her mind drifting to a certain head of brunette hair. “Physics has its perks.”

“You know, I remember watching you in biology. You were always staring out the window or—or disassembling your mechanical pencil. That’s when I knew you needed a real challenge. I always knew we made the right call advancing you. One of the best decisions I’ve made as a teacher. Oh, and one of the hardest, mind you. But I’m proud of it. That, and pairing you with Barbara Holland for your first lab project.”

Christine was glad that he couldn’t see her miserable smile. “Yeah. I think that was a pretty good decision too.”

Mr. Clarke continued to talk as they walked to the AV room, talking about their latest ham shack and what kind of students he had in his classes these days. Christine listened, interested but too tired to truly participate in the conversation. It was a relief when they got to the AV closet. He let her be with an enthusiastic farewell, and a promise to catch up when all the craziness had passed. He was just about to leave when he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know things have been tough this week. But you’re a smart kid, Chrissy. I don’t think the boys could ask for a better mentor, or a better friend.”

Christine had been too embarrassed to muster a response. Thankfully, her bashful smile seemed to be enough. With a pat on the back, Mr. Clarke headed back for his own classroom.

It was a few minutes before the boys caught up to her.

“Christine!”

Mike skid around the corner first, grinning and out of breath. Dustin and Lucas almost collided with his back. They were giggling as well, impervious to her stern glare.

“Yeah, it’s me. What the hell is going on?”

“Aw man, it was sick,” said Dustin jovially. “We were at the assembly right? And Troy was being an asshole about Will, laughing through all of Principal Sherman’s speech. And then Mike goes up to him, right? And he shoves him over like…!”

“Not at the assembly,” Christine hissed. “I told you idiots to stay at the house! What are you even doing here? Someone could… Eleven?”

She almost hadn’t recognized her. Standing nervously at the back of the group was a small girl with light blonde hair. She wore high tube socks and a vividly pink dress, which looked at odds with her blue windbreaker. Gone were the circles under her eyes, the pale skin that almost showed her veins. It looked like she was actually wearing makeup.

Christine narrowed her eyes at the dress.

“Where did you get that? That’s not mine.”

“It’s Nancy’s,” Mike explained. “We had to go back to my house for the wig.”

“You had to—You went back to your house? Mike! What if someone had seen her?”

“They didn’t!” Lucas assured her. “We were super careful!”

“And it worked, didn’t it?” asked Dustin. “Even you didn’t notice!”

“Alright, if you were going to leave, why couldn’t you just use my clothes?”

“Cause you didn’t have a wig. Duh. Also cause Lucas was afraid to go in your closet.”

Lucas promptly shoved Dustin into the wall.

Christine sighed, rubbing her hands down her face. These kids were easily going to be the death of her. But before she could get too stressed, Eleven walked up to her side. She pulled on the sleeve of Christine’s flannel, and then pointed to her own hair.

“Same,” she said with a soft smile. “Pretty.”

The anger slipped out of her, which was very inconvenient.

“Yeah,” said Christine with a smile. She poked El on the nose, making her jump. “You’re very pretty, El.”

Lucas elbowed Mike, who rolled his eyes. “Can we get on with this now?”

Mike unlocked the door to the AV room, and all five of them piled inside. Just like the hallway, the room seemed smaller than she remembered. There were more electronics piled on the shelves. Mr. Clarke was always acquiring new toys without throwing out the old ones. However, there was one toy that stood out from the rest.

“Holy shit!” Christine was unable to contain a gasp of delight as she saw the radio on the table. She pushed through the boys, ignoring their complaints as she plopped down into the chair. “Holy shit! You guys weren’t kidding! This thing is huge! The signal alone—geez, this thing is a proper, international radio! And with technology like this? Shit, you could pick up walkies, pick up ham shacks, radios. Across oceans! You could hear anything!”

“Yeah,” Mike said sourly. “That’s kinda the point?”

“Come on, Chris,” said Dustin, easing her out of the chair. “You can geek out over the Heathkit later.”

Mike shook his head. “It’s like working with little kids.”

Eleven was ushered into the chair in front of the radio while Lucas locked the door. Then they all gathered around to watch.

“So how does this work?” asked Dustin. “Will doesn’t even have his supercomm.”

“It’s not a manual connection,” Christine explained. She leaned over the radio, powering it up and pulling El’s hand to the tuner. “She navigates the stations herself. Like she’s finding Will’s frequency, not his radio.”

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolding it to reveal another one of Will’s missing posters. She laid it out in front of Eleven, who looked nervous.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Christine asked.

Eleven nodded stubbornly. She closed her eyes, and began to focus on the radio.

Loud static filled the room. Just like last night, the sound was enough to put her on edge. Something about it sent a shiver up her spine. She couldn’t tell if it was her anxiety, or some sixth sense that knew something unnatural was going on.

“She’s doing it,” said Mike in amazement. “She’s finding him!”

“This is crazy,” Dustin breathed.

“Calm down,” Lucas scoffed. “She just closed her eyes.”

On cue, the light over their head blew out. Everyone except Eleven jumped. Christine fixed the boys with a hard glare in the semi-darkness.

“Will the three of you shut up? She’s trying to concentrate.”

Dustin smacked Lucas on the shoulder. “Yeah, dude. She’s trying to concentrate.”

They quieted down to listen to the radio once more. It was definitely picking up something. There was a repetitive thud or—no, a clang. It sounded metallic, whatever it was. Too steady to be anything human, too slow to be much else.

Christine furrowed her brow. “What is that? Some kind of interference?”

She reached for the dial, only for Mike to grab her wrist.

“I don’t think so. Listen.”

It was quiet. Then a little louder, then a little more, like Eleven was honing in on the sound. In a matter of seconds, it had clarified to a whimper. That was unmistakably human.

“Mom?”

Just the boys’ reaction was enough to confirm Christine’s suspicions. Will’s voice pleaded from the radio, the clanging getting louder around him.

“Mom! Please!”

“No way,” said Lucas, and Christine shushed him again. But they were too frantic to listen to her.

Mike grabbed the microphone, repeatedly jamming his finger on the button. “Will!”

“Will, it’s us! Are you there?”

“Can you here us? We’re here!”

“Guys, stop,” Christine ordered. “Stop!”

“No!” Lucas yelled. Will was still pleading on the radio. “Why can’t he hear us?!”

“I don’t know,” Mike groaned. He jammed his finger on the buttons again. “Will?!”

“Guys, I don’t think it works like that,” Christine pleaded. “Will doesn’t have his supercomm, remember? This isn’t a real connection. There’s nowhere for your voices to go.”

The boys were ready to argue. But at that exact moment, the banging stopped. Will’s voice faltered, and another sound swelled in the speakers. It was…something she couldn’t place. Familiar in the way that crept up the back of your neck but didn’t quite connect in her brain. The only thing she could think to describe it was clicking, but not in the way a machine would. It was the way an animal might, if it was blind or making a call of distress. She racked her brains, trying to think of an animal that fit, but fell short.

The clicking grew into a growl, then a roar, and the boys turned to look at her in fear.

“Chrissy?” Dustin asked weakly. “What is that?”

“I—I don’t know…”

Will’s voice was growing frantic.

“Mom! It’s coming! It’s—It’s like home, but it’s so dark! It’s so dark and empty! And it’s cold! Mom? Mom, please!”

The roar turned into a high pitched screech, and all four of them stumbled back from the radio. They responded just in time. A moment later, the entire Heathkit radio went up in flames. Sparks flew out in all directions, and a cloud of smoke encircled the room.

“Shit!” Christine cursed. She scrambled around the table, pulling the kids back. “Shit, get down! Dustin! Fire extinguisher!”

Dustin was already a step ahead of her. No sooner had the words left her mouth than a stream of white shot at the desk. It kept the flames at bay, but the smoke had already triggered the alarm. Christine resisted the urge to cover her ears. She dove over Eleven instead, as if her body might be able to block her from the harsh, loud noises.

“It’s okay, El. It’s gonna be…El?”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, Christine was too shocked to finish her sentence. She knew that Eleven’s powers took a toll on her, but yesterday hadn’t looked like this. Already, she could see the blood seeping from her nose, the dark veins crawling over her head. Yesterday they’d been purple. Now, they were a dark and alarming black.

“El!” Mike was trying to elbow Christine out of the way. “Are you okay?!”

He and Lucas both let out gasps of concern when they saw her. But Eleven was completely nonresponsive. Her eyes wouldn’t focus on them, like part of her was still stuck someplace else.

“We need to get her out of here,” Christine ordered. “Now. Go! Move!”

She swept Eleven up into her arms, and the entire party fled for the door. The fire alarm was giving her anxiety, but it had its benefits. The whole school had been swept up into a frenzy. With everyone running up and down the hallway, no one looked twice at the nerds sprinting like they were being chased, or the random teenage girl carrying a sick child that didn’t even go to their school.

They had a short argument when they reached bike rack. Christine was reluctant to let go of Eleven, but Mike insisted that his bike would be better to transport El. In the end, Christine relented and gently loaded Eleven on the back of his bike. She slumped heavily against his back and Mike had to steer with one hand, the other holding her arms tight around his waist. Christine rode close behind them, just in case.

The fact that they made it back to her house without any major calamities was a miracle itself.

Christine ushered everyone through the back door, leaving their bikes toppled and askew in the backyard. She swept Eleven back up into her arms and carried her to the bedroom. Then she darted back to the kitchen, grabbing the same supplies as the night before, and returning to take care of Eleven. This was very difficult with the three boys hovering around her. Mike wouldn’t move away from the bed, and Dustin and Lucas seemed to be glued to Christine’s sides. After several minutes urging him to back up so she could wash Eleven’s face, Christine finally snapped.

“Out! All of you! Get out of my room!”

“But, Christine—!”

“Nope! Wait in the living room! You can check the windows, you can lock the doors, you can raid the kitchen, I don’t care! Just get the hell out of my room!”

She had to shove them into the hallway, and slammed the door behind them.

It was easier after that. She cleaned Eleven’s face and tried to get her to drink some water. The problem was, El was still in shock. Her arms hung like deadweight, and Christine couldn’t even change her out of the dress and into something more comfortable. The only time she got a response was when she tried to take off the blonde wig.

“No…”

Eleven couldn’t lift and arm to stop her, but she whined as Christine pulled it from her head.

“I know,” she whispered gently, running a hand over Eleven’s natural hair. “But you’ll sleep better like this. And you don’t want to get blood on it, right?”

She whined again, looking longingly at the wig.

“How about this? I’ll let you hold it, and you can keep it right here. This way if you want to put it on when you feel better, you can.”

The offer was good enough that Eleven summoned the strength to take the wig from her, and hugged it to her chest. It broke Christine’s heart in a way. This tiny girl had superpowers, but the thing she cared about at that moment was keeping the wig that made her feel pretty.

“I’m gonna go talk to the boys,” Christine said, patting the blankets. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

Eleven nodded. Or she tried to, but she already appeared to be half asleep. Christine waited until she’d stopped moving, checked to make sure she was still breathing steadily, and then headed out to the living room.

“Is she okay?” Mike demanded as soon as he saw her.

“She’s fine,” Christine assured him. “I told you, it drains her. I think holding the connection for so long was risky, especially after she was pushing it last night.”

She collapsed into the armchair, rubbing her temples. The boys were scattered throughout the room. Lucas was sitting on the couch, his head similarly in his hands. Dustin sat on the floor, his legs in front of him, his arms limp. His mouth was hanging open as he stared into space, like he was still trying to process everything that had happened since that morning. And Mike, of course, was pacing around the room. Christine wasn’t going to waste energy telling him to stop.

At a loss for anything else, she cleared her throat. “Lunch?”

There was no response. But what other choice did she have? So she dragged herself to the kitchen and started making sandwiches.

Christine wracked her memory for the next hour or so, but she couldn’t think of a time the party had been this quiet for this long. She couldn’t remember a time where just Dustin had been quiet for this long. It was unsettling. She didn’t blame them, of course. Not after what they’d heard. But she couldn’t figure out what to say. Any assurance that Will was fine would be sickeningly hollow. She wasn’t prepared to make anyone believe that, not when she could still hear the unearthly clicking in her ears. And she knew the others must be hearing it too.

It wasn’t until later, when the boys had picked apart their food, when Christine had tired of watching them pretend to eat, when she’d taken the plates back into the kitchen to wash, that someone finally spoke.

“Is this seriously all we’re gonna do?” It was no surprise that Lucas asked. “We’re just gonna sit here eating PB and J’s while Will’s somewhere out there being hunted?”

“We don’t know that,” tried Mike.

“Yes, we do! You heard it! I heard it! We all heard it!”

“What was it?” asked Dustin shakily.

“We know what it was. It was the Demogorgon!”

“You said the Demogorgon wasn’t real!”

“Did that thing sound real to you? Cause it sure as shit didn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before!”

“Okay, hold on,” Christine interrupted. She threw her towel down on the back of the couch, hoping she seemed more authoritative than tired. “One thing at a time, remember? We can’t help Will until we know where he is.”

“But we don’t,” said Lucas. “All of that, and we still don’t know! I mean, what was even the point of this?”

“Because El was telling the truth,” Mike said fervently. “We know she wasn’t lying. We know Will’s alive.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Dustin asked.

It sent a chill around the group, which Christine did her best to push out of the room.

“Focus. First thing’s first. What did we learn from the radio?”

“Right,” Mike agreed. He was pacing again. “What was Will saying? Like home…Like home…but dark?”

“And empty,” Lucas added.

“Empty and cold,” said Dustin. “…wait, did he say cold?”

“I don’t know! The stupid radio kept going in and out.”

“It’s like riddles in the dark,” Dustin sighed.

“He kept calling for his mom,” Christine supplied.

Mike gave her a weird look. “What does that matter? He’s scared. Of course he was calling for his mom.”

“I don’t know. It sounded more like he was talking to her. One half of a conversation.”

“Okay,” Lucas said slowly. “But Will’s mom isn’t missing.”

Christine frowned. That was a point. If Will was…somewhere, and his mom wasn’t, how was she talking to him too? Unless she’d also found a powerful superchild to help her contact “the other side.” She wanted to ask, but she couldn’t imagine how that conversation would go. Was she just supposed to call up the Byers house and ask if Mrs. Byers had spoken to Will lately? She couldn’t even tell her about Eleven. What if Christine was wrong, and she just pushed a grieving mother to the edge? What if Jonathan picked up the phone instead?

“Like home,” Mike was still muttering. “Like his house?”

“Or maybe like Hawkins,” said Lucas.

“Upside down.”

Everyone turned to the hallway, where Eleven had reappeared. The circles under her eyes had faded a bit, but she still looked unsteady on her feet. Her wig was back in place, albeit slightly off center.

Christine would have rushed to her side, but Mike beat her to it. He grabbed her by the arm, helping her over to the couch so she could lie down. Lucas scooted out of her way, wrinkling his nose.

“What did she say?”

“Upside down,” Mike repeated. “Upside down!”

“What?”

“When El showed us where Will was, she flipped over the board, remember? Upside down!”

“Wait, when was this?” Christine asked. “The board?”

“For our campaign. We were in my basement, and she said Will was hiding. Then she flipped the game board upside down. Dark, empty!”

“Do you understand what he’s talking about?” Lucas asked Dustin, who shook his head.

“No.”

“Guys, come on, just think about it,” Mike complained. “When El took us to find Will, she took us to his house, right?”

“Yeah,” Lucas said flatly. “And he wasn’t there.”

“But what if he was there? What if we just couldn’t see him? What if he was on the other side?”

“Wait, the other side?” Christine asked, squinting. “Are we back to the ghost theory?”

Mike groaned. Without invitation, he grabbed one of the magazines off the coffee table. Then he went to Christine’s card table and grabbed the sharpie she’d been using to do flashcards. Uncapping it, he began scribbling over the back of the magazine.

“Hey! I was reading that!”

“Shut up, it’s just an add.”

He scribbled until the whole thing was black, then tossed the marker aside. He tapped on the front of the magazine.

“Look, what if this is Hawkins, and this…” He flipped it around to show them the black side. “…is where Will is? The Upside Down.”

“Like the Vale of Shadows,” said Dustin, finally catching on.

“Beyond the veil?” Christine asked. “It still sounds like we’re talking ghosts.”

“No, not ghosts. Dungeons and Dragons.”

Dustin held up a finger, running to his backpack. He pulled out a thick black binder, which he slammed on the coffee table next to the ruined magazine. Christine watched as he flipped through pages and pages, all adorned with pictures of large dragons, elves, and dark forests. Involuntarily, she raised an eyebrow.

“You carry your rulebook around with you?”

Dustin glared at her.

“Here,” he said, when he’d found the correct page. “The Vale of Shadows is a dimension that is a dark reflection or echo of our world. It is a place of decay and death. A plane out of phase. A place of monsters. It is right next to you and you don’t even see it.”

There was a heavy beat as all four of them exchanged dark looks.

“An alternate dimension,” Mike breathed into the silence.

“But…how…how do we get there?” Lucas asked.

Dustin checked the page. “You cast Shadow Walk.”

“In real life, dummy.”

“We can’t shadow walk, but…maybe she can.”

In unison, they all turned to look at Eleven. She was dozing on the couch, still half asleep, but her eyes were open.

“Do you know how we get there?” Mike asked, and somehow Christine was still surprised by the gentleness in his voice. “To the Upside Down?”

Eleven shook her head into the pillow.

Lucas groaned, but Christine shook her head.

“Forget about getting there. How do we even find it?”

“Well it’s the Upside Down, right?” Dustin tapped the floor underneath him. “Hypothetically, you open a portal and there it is.”

“Yeah, but what if you open the portal and get the wrong one?”

“What do you mean?” asked Mike.

“Well, we’re talking about alternate dimensions, right? The multiverse?”

The boys blinked at her.

Resigned, Christine walked around to the coffee table. She kneeled next to Dustin and picked up the magazine.

“You’re talking about the Upside Down like it’s the only other possibility. But quantum physics suggests that if there’s more than one dimension, then there’s thousands of them. Infinite dimensions stacked on top of each other. And because they each exist in a relative state, there’s no definitive order to them. Kinda like this.”

Christine held up the magazine. She showed them the front, then the back, then all the pages in between.

“So the front is Hawkins, the back is the Upside Down, and in between you have infinite possible alternate universes. And every time I open the magazine, the pages are moving around. I’ve got no way to know if I’m gonna open up on Hawkins version one, twenty, or seven million three hundred and sixty-seven.”

“So how do we get to the Upside Down?” Lucas asked.

“I don’t know,” said Christine. “That’s what I just asked.”

“You don’t know?” Dustin asked incredulously. “How can you know all of this and not know?”

“This is theory, Dustin! None of this shit has been proven until now. If Will’s in another dimension, it’s the first time in scientific history it’s happened.”

“Then guess! You’re in physics, right?”

“I’m in high school physics! Not quantum physics, dumbass!”

“She’s right,” said Mike. He was looking warily at the magazine. “We need someone who knows more about this than we do. Someone who really knows their stuff.”

“Mr. Clarke,” Dustin answered almost instantly. Lucas and Christine shot him the same disbelieving look.

“Really?” Lucas asked. “You wanna ask our science teacher how to open up a portal between infinite dimensions on the forefront of scientific research?”

“Yeah. Do you have a better idea?”

Lucas turned to Christine, who shook her head. Ideas were something they were fresh out of.

“Okay,” said Mike, slipping back into plan mode. “So we bike back to school and find Mr. Clarke. Then we can ask him…”

“No one is biking anywhere,” said Christine.

“What? Why not?”

“Mike, we just set fire to the most expensive radio AV club has ever owned. Do you want to go back and face Mr. Clarke right now?”

There was a grumble as the boys agreed with her.

“Whatever you want to ask Mr. Clarke can wait until tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Dustin groaned. “Tomorrow!”

“What?”

“It’s Will’s funeral.”

Christine sighed. “Alright. So we go to the funeral, and afterwards…”

“Why do we have to go to his funeral?” Lucas asked. “He’s not dead, he’s in trouble. We can’t waste time going to his fake funeral.”

“And you don’t think it’s gonna look weird if Will’s three best friends don’t show up?”

“Who cares if it looks weird?” asked Mike. “We’ll just say we were grieving and it was too painful to go.”

“No,” Christine said again, putting her foot down. “Look, setting off the fire alarm today was bad enough. We’re not supposed to be drawing any attention to ourselves, remember? Incognito. Eleven has to stay hidden.”

“Then she can stay here with you,” said Mike. “We’ll go to the school, and…”

“Mike, you’re not listening to me. You said there are people looking for Eleven, right? The bad men? And that they have insane resources that could probably monitor even an anonymous tip to the police station and get her caught?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, don’t you think they’d be monitoring this whole town for weird things? Will is the only kid to go missing in this town for probably like a century. And if the three of you don’t keep up appearances there, it’s gonna qualify as a really weird thing. We go to the funeral, and deal with Mr. Clarke after. He’ll probably be there anyway.”

“What about Eleven?” Mike asked. “She can’t come with us.”

“She’ll be fine here by herself. The funeral will be an hour, tops.” Mike made to argue, but Christine held up a hand. “I will come directly back here, Michael. There’s no adults, she won’t go near the windows, and no one will see her. It will be okay.”

Mike turned to the other three kids. Again, they were out of ideas and options. Lucas and Dustin merely shrugged. Eleven just followed the conversation with wide eyes and no input. Finally, after staring at her for several seconds, Mike sighed.

“Don’t call me Michael,” he grumbled. “What are you, my mom?”

As the planning continued on, Christine couldn’t help but think that she certainly felt like it.

#ocappreciation #fyeahstrangerthingsocs #stranger things oc #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #inside out #chapters #chapter 13

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atc74 · 6 years

Text

Little Shingles, Big Love

Square Filled: Domesticity

Warnings: swearing, Daddy!Dean, threats of physical violence (minor), cute!Dean, Frustrated!Dean

Summary: Dean has a great idea for your five year twins for Christmas, but you have your doubts.

Pairing: Dean x Reader AU

Word Count: 1607

Written for: @spnaubingo and @winchesterprincessbride‘s Funny Stuff Jen Says Challenge. My prompts were: “What part of “not a morning person” is not clear to you?” and “I love you but I’m still going to beat the shit out of you.”

Beta’d by: @hannahindie who always makes me smile with her comments! Thank you love!

October 15, 2018 11:22pm

“Let’s get Ella this dollhouse!” Dean gushed. He was sitting in bed, laptop open and browsing for gifts for the kids for Christmas. You had vowed to do better this year, hence the early shopping. Christ, it wasn’t even Halloween yet.

You shuffled from the bathroom, toothbrush still in your mouth to look at the picture on the screen. “Dean, do you have any idea how long this will take you to put together? This is a three story Queen Anne dollhouse. It even has a turret!” you mumbled around your toothbrush, blue foam dripping down your chin.

“Babe! I am a skilled mechanic and have been taking things apart and putting them back together my entire life. I can handle a little wood and glue,” Dean boasted, a giant smile on his face as he clicked the ‘add to cart’ button.

One child size wooden work bench for Ethan and a few smaller gifts later and Dean had the kids presents done. You had to say you were impressed with his creativity with the gift ideas, picking out items both kids had already asked for, but you were skeptical. Your husband could disassemble a big block v8 engine with his eyes closed, but a delicate dollhouse? You had your doubts. Even more so, you would probably be doing most of the work. As if having five year old twins wasn’t hard enough; a thirty-nine year child was sometimes the most work of all.

December 24, 2018 4:15pm

“Sonuvabitch!” you heard from the living room. You rolled your eyes, knowing Dean had finally taken all the pieces of the dollhouse out of the box, laying them out on the middle of the floor.

“Honey?” you called from the safety of the kitchen where you were putting the finishing touches on the Christmas pies for dinner tomorrow.

“I got it!” he grumbled.

You checked the clock and realized that if it wasn’t for the kids sleeping over at Dean’s brother’s house with their cousins, there would be no way Christmas was ever going to happen for your little ones.

You finished up the pies and placed them in the oven. Once the timer was set on your phone, you stuffed it in a pocket and brought Dean a fresh cup of coffee. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of your living room, little wooden pieces surrounding him. It reminded you of Gulliver’s Travels. You know, the movie with Jack Black where he is taken down by the teeny tiny soldiers? Yeah, that one!

“Do you need some help, honey?” You bent over, kissing the top of his head and sneaking a peek at the instruction manual, which appeared to be about fifty pages thick.

“No! I have this handled!” He had barely even started and was a tad salty already.

“Okay, I am going to start on Ethan’s workbench. Let me know if you change your mind,” you kissed him once more, then retreated to the other side of the room.

December 24, 2018 6:08pm

“Hon? I’m all done with the workbench. How about I make us a couple of sandwiches and we take a break, huh?” You walked over to Dean and could swear he was crying.

“Uhm, yeah, babe. In a minute. I think I finally got this thing figured out,” he replied. You studied him for a moment. His hair was a mess, like sex hair messy and his tongue was sticking out between his teeth as he looked between the piece in his hand and the manual.

You smiled to yourself as you walked to the kitchen. Within a few minutes, you had two sandwiches made, some chips and some apple slices. You carried the tray into the other room and set it down on the coffee table. You handed Dean one of the two beers you’d brought with you.

“Honey, you need a break,” you reminded him, waving the beer in front of his face. He really could be a stubborn bugger sometimes.

“Yeah, okay,” he resigned and stood up, most of his joints cracking or popping in protest.

We sat down, enjoying each other’s company for the first time all day. It was going to be a long night and you needed this time.

December 24, 2018 9:54pm

You trudged your way back down the stairs after showering and changing into your comfiest pajamas. Dean was still working away at the dollhouse, bit by bit. At least he had taken your suggestion and set up the card table so he wasn’t hunched up on the floor.

“Dean, go shower, I’ll work on it while you’re gone so we don’t lose time,” you promised and he dipped his head down to kiss you sweetly before heading upstairs.

The house was actually coming along nicely, albeit slowly. You picked up where Dean left off, gently pushing in the little white wooden railing on the second story. Ella was truly going to love this dollhouse and lose her mind when she opened it. You smiled while you worked, humming softly to the Christmas music playing in the background.

“Wow, you move fast babe!” Dean complimented your work, returning fresh from his shower.

“Well, we’re almost done,” you replied, putting the tiny wooden shingles on the turret. “But, we still have to add all the furniture and it will need to time to dry before we attempt to wrap it. Order us a pizza?”

“Done,” Dean grabbed his phone and entered your favorite order into the delivery app.

With both of you working, you finished assembling the dollhouse just before midnight, with full stomachs and smiles on your faces.

December 25, 2018 1:13am

“I love you, you know that?” Dean looked over at you from his spot on the other side of your daughter’s gift.

“I love you, but I am still going to beat the shit out of you,” you replied, not missing the look on his face.

“What? Why?” he gasped, shocked at your threat of physical violence.

“Because, your brother is going to be home with our children in less than,” you paused, checking the clock, “seven hours! We still have all this itsy bitsy furniture to place, the even smaller dishes and then I have to make the beds!” You were beyond tired and there was easily another hour of finishing touches.

“Well, I love you more now,” Dean chuckled as he painted fake grass on the wood for the ‘backyard’.

“Remember how much you love me next Christmas when you decide to buy incredibly complicated presents for the twins,” you playfully punched him in the arm and carried on.

December 25, 2018 3:06am

“I hate you,” you yawned, crawling into bed, thanking yourself for having put on pajamas hours before.

“I love you, too, babe,” Dean laughed, flipping off the lights. He climbed into bed next to you, but you were already out like the lights.

December 25, 2018 8:00am

The alarm was going off. It wasn’t a work day. Why the fuck is the alarm going off? You cracked one extremely heavy eyelid to see the time. Oh shit! It was Christmas morning. You and Dean had shuffled to bed in the early hours, much closer to morning than you had planned on, all thanks to the ginormous and intricately detailed dollhouse. The thing with kids and Christmas? It’s brutal. Horrifically brutal. And you were not a morning person. Neither was Dean, but he wasn’t in bed with you.

You reluctantly pulled yourself from the comfort of your warm bed and to the bathroom. With business out of the way, you slogged down the back stairs to the kitchen, the aroma of coffee filtering through your brain and your gears slowly started moving.

With a steaming mug in your hand, you wandered into the living room, to find your husband sitting on the sofa, a matching mug in his own hands.

“Coffee first,” he mumbled, taking another sip.

“Dude, why did you set the alarm?” you questioned, sitting down next to him. “What part of “not a morning person” is not clear to you?”

What?” he groaned, not taking his eyes off the mug he was holding like a lifeline.

“On our first date, I told you I wasn’t a morning person. What part of that did you forget when you ordered that contraption for our daughter?” I exclaimed, leaning back into the soft cushions.

“Oh, I didn’t forget. But it’s always easier to beg for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission with you,” he turned his head, smiling at you. “You’re welcome for the coffee, by the way.”

“Mom! Dad! We’re home! Merry Christmas!” The children burst through the door, Dean’ brother, Sam, trailing behind with their bags.

“Was Santa here?” Ella ran toward you and Dean. Her eyes going wide at the site of the gifts spilling out from under the blue spruce.

“Can we open presents?” Ethan asked, jumping between you and Dean.

“Ethan, look!” Ella pointed toward the tree as she climbed into her daddy’s lap.

“Maybe they get that whole morning person thing from your brother,” you shrugged and welcomed your little ones home.

“Who wants to open presents?” Dean stood, one kid hanging from each arm.

“ME!” they answered in unison.

All the hours, the splinters and sore muscles were worth seeing the looks on their shining little faces when they opened their presents.

“I love you,” I whispered, reaching for his hand.

“I know,” he said, taking it with his own. “Merry Christmas.”

The Whole Enchilada: @closetspngirl @emoryhemsworth @iwantthedean @meganwinchester1999 @sis-tafics @wilde-abandon @wegoddessofhell @holyfuckloueh @horsegirly99 @smoothdogsgirl @dolphincliffs @neeadinghugs @roxyspearing @theoriginalvicki @andkatiethings @mrswhozeewhatsis @linki-locks11 @evansrogerskitten @hennessy0274-blog @hobby27 @kdfrqqg @gh0stgurl @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7 @the--blackdahlia @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @roseblue373 @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @cherrycokegirls1

The Dean’s List / Jensen’s Jamboree: @supernatural-jackles @dean-winchesters-bacon @cameronbraswell @docharleythegeekqueen @maddiepants @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @adoptdontshoppets @wingedcatninja @akshi8278 @kathaswings @deansgirl215 @x-waywardaf-x @elara98azalea @jerkbitchidjitassbutt

#spnaubingo #dean winchester au #daddy!dean #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader au #Dean x Reader Au #daddy!dean au #supernatural au #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fluff

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stephhannes · 5 years

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212.

one year ago, we left new york.

a week before we moved out of our apartment, i started cleaning. our kitchen was a straight-up disaster zone. when we first moved in, the AC unit in the kitchen was leaking underneath the tiles so everything was just….moist for awhile. for whatever reason, nathan refused to call maintenance whenever something was broken in the apartment so we lived with a wet floor for months until it started leaking in the apartment below us and they fixed it one day when i was at work.

because of that, there were weird remnants of amazon boxes that had melted and become a frankentile with the flooring. and we put off cleaning that for….the entire time we lived there. nathan’s whole concept of cleaning was “we can put it off until right before we move, it’ll be fine, we’ll still get our security deposit back.” i, however, could not live in a scum palace, so i would clean up once a week, but a lot of it slipped through the cracks. so the week before we left, there i was, cleaning all the cracks in the kitchen. i sat and scrubbed the kitchen floor for hours, painstakingly scraping up weird sticky spots and cardboard. there was a drawer that just had loose rice in it from a broken bag, and cleaning that was surprisingly tricky. i lysol’d the chicken shelf. i completely dismembered our stove to scrub underneath the burners. i swept up all of the onion skin and coffee grounds that had fallen in the crevice between the counters and the fridge. and then i moved onto the bathroom. while i wish i could have taken a match to the room, i just poured fabuloso all over the entire space, which is basically the same thing. my favorite part was when nathan came home one day and was like “wow, the bathroom looks so nice….why did you clean it?” and i was just like…..because, you idiot, we’re moving in a week and i’m trying to get a security deposit back. the only thing worse than having to clean all of the hair out of the sink was the period of time that our bathtub wouldn’t drain and i had to take a bath with every shower i took.

i’m a person who likes to be over-prepared. especially when it comes to things like traveling, or moving. i make lists, i get all my ducks in a row ahead of time and count them twice. nathan is the exact opposite. we left nyc on the morning of may 23rd, and i couldn’t quit work until may 21st, because i couldn’t afford to take any more days than that off. in my head, i anticipated that on the 22nd we would have been doing the final touches on cleaning and packing. we would have all our furniture out, all of the floors swept, everything we were taking back to texas in suitcases. the only thing we’d have out is the mattress so that we could go to bed at a decent time and be well-rested for our flight the next morning, the only thing we’d have to do in the morning is toss our mattress on the streets and leave.

but of course, that’s not how it panned out. the week leading up to moving, nathan did absolutely nothing in regards to packing. the only thing that got done was the prior cleaning i had accomplished. on may 21st, i got very drunk at my going-away party at work, came home at some stupid hour and fell asleep. i woke up at like 2pm on the 22nd, and nathan still hadn’t started anything. i had to go run an errand downtown, so i picked up the halal guys on my way back uptown. when i got back, we ate and then he went to the gym and then i was like uhhh ok i guess i should start getting shit together. so while he was at the gym i packed up all of my clothes. then, when i moved onto packing up the kitchen, i realized there was a lot of alcohol still left, and me, being a certified poor person, didn’t want to waste the money i had spent on it, so i started drinking while cleaning. when he got back from the gym, we accomplished my favorite part of moving- we slam dunked his nasty basketball shoes right into the dumpster.

we took turns throwing trash out into the hall, and leaving furniture down in the lobby. and eventually, around 4am, we had most of our garbage cleaned out of the apartment. also by this point, i had sobered up from drinking earlier in the night and was feeling dehydrated and terrible. all i wanted to do was sleep, but we still had so much to get done. by this point, i was getting stressed because we definitely were not close to finishing on time.

my breaking point was when we were trying to re-assemble our smoke detector. we disassembled it at some point early in our time living there because it would go off even if we were just boiling water. nathan struggled to put it back together for like 10 minutes and called me into the hallway to advise. me, being a person who’s done this before suggested, “oh so you have to flip that latch and then put the battery on top of it, then screw on the top,” and of course, immediately, nathan was like “no, that’s not right that doesn’t make any sense,” and after struggling for five more minutes i pushed him out of the way and was like, “oh my god let me do this” and i re-assembled it on my first try. because i was right.

we watched the sun rise over the GWB one last time.

our flight was leaving in 3 hours. we still had a couch, and a bed, and a table in the apartment. i had a headache. we hadn’t eaten in hours. so while nathan ran out to get bagels i cried for a solid 15 minutes out of exhaustion and stress.

i moved to new york with two suitcases. one for all my clothes/shoes, and one for towels, linens and pillows. somehow i thought i’d be able to leave new york with two suitcases, despite having accumulating even more stuff. i was shocked when i was actually able to fit everything that i owned and wanted to keep into one suitcase, my second one was basically just dedicated to nathan’s shoes and winter clothes.

when we were leaving for the airport i remember mentioning, “hey we should probably call an uber because i doubt all of our suitcases are going to fit into a taxi,” but nathan refused, so we walked two blocks to get a taxi and then had to spend a stupid amount of time playing jenga to get our suitcases into aforementioned taxi. two fit in the trunk, one was in the front seat, one was in my lap.

my suitcase was 10lbs overweight and southwest charges $75 for an overweight bag. so of course i lost my god damn mind and started crying and flung myself to the floor and started throwing things out of my bag and trying to shuffle things around to get it underweight. i was an airport goblin. here’s the thing: i’m actually very good at traveling. i’ve gotten my personal travel down to a science and i love flying and am usually very collected. but i was so stressed, i hadn’t slept in a day, and it truly brought out the worst in me.

once we made it onto the plane nathan told me that he never wanted to travel with me again because i am a disaster, and i promised that i’m not usually like that, but he definitely didn’t believe me- i’m so glad i made a good first impression. whenever we got to our parents’ houses back in texas i sent him a very nice text apologizing for being the human equivalent of a hurricane and he was just like, “it’s fine, you’re lucky i love you and also that i know exactly who you are.” which is true, i’m lucky that he knew and accepted exactly what kind of gremlin he was about to spend the rest of his life with.

despite paying a disgusting amount of money in rent, that was a dope little apartment. we had more space than we knew what to do with, literally half of our furniture in the living room was just a pile of nathan’s clothes because we needed something to take up some space. it was nice to have a doorman, even though there were a handful of times when i got stopped on my way into the building. my favorite time was when i rolled in at 3am after drinking with coworkers, and i had left my columbia ID in the apartment. usually this wasn’t an issue, but the person at the front desk stopped me for once and wouldn’t let me go upstairs without it. when you’re an actual columbia student, it’s not an issue because you can just give your student ID number to get in, but i was like “uhhhhh i don’t have one, i don’t go here, my husband does, please just let me into my home i want to be in my bed i am so drunk” and they were like “ok well he can bring your ID or he can sign you in,” and i was like “I PAY SO MUCH MONEY IN RENT HERE. MY ID IS UPSTAIRS, IN THE APARTMENT THAT I PAY RENT FOR, I CAN GO UPSTAIRS, TO THE APARTMENT I LIVE IN, AND BRING MY ID AND SHOW IT TO YOU” at this point, the doorman was DONE with me and was like, “well if i let you upstairs to get your ID, i’d still be letting you into the building without an ID and i can’t do that,” and i stood corrected, yeah ok touché, and then i had to call nathan to bring down my ID. luckily he was still awake, and since i was very drunk and love drama when i get stressed i started crying in the lobby while i was waiting for nathan to come downstairs. i would say this was my NYC rock bottom, but my NYC rock bottom was obviously the night i threw up in a mcdonald’s and 3 subway stations and lost my phone.

even though i was constantly stressed living in NYC, it was nice being able to come home to an apartment that wasn’t tiny, had a ton of natural light, and never had a rat (or carpenter bee) problem. i’m also so glad we got to avoid having roommates. we never really “moved into” our apartment- all of our furniture was trash we collected off of the streets, i never decorated anything, or even hung up all of my clothes. we knew we were going to be leaving new york after that year, so we tried to invest as little money as possible into the apartment. in fact, we invested so little money in the apartment that i didn’t have a mirror the entire time we lived there- we also had no overhead lighting. we found one lamp, so our bedroom got a lamp. if we wanted light in the living room, instead of just buying two lamps, we’d have to decide which room needed the light more and move the lamp accordingly.

when we moved to philly, even though all of our furniture was the cheapest we could find at walmart, we still actually spent money on buying matching furniture. pretty much all of our decor came from my old apartment in austin, but at least we tried to do some decorating. even though we put effort into having a kind of put-together home, it still felt less like home than 60 haven avenue did.

here’s a few pictures of our old apartment. first, the living room- where you can see “the pile” in its full glory. instead of folding and putting clothes away, nathan just dumped all of his clothing in a pile in the living room, partially because he didn’t care about organization and partially to just fill up some dead space. second, a corner of our bedroom- we fit a full mattress and still had a ton of space in the room. the window looked out at the GWB, which was my favorite part of the apartment. third, the bathroom- the only reason the shower curtain and bath mat look coordinated is because i brought them with me from my austin apartment. (the only reason we have a shower curtain is because i brought it. nathan didn’t think we needed one, and literally didn’t have one for a few weeks before i moved in). finally, the kitchen- it was pretty small but it did the job. this is a terrible picture of it, but you can see the amazon boxes that got fused to the floor when the floor started to leak. also pictured is a broom and dustpan, two items that sat in plain sight in the kitchen the entire time we lived there, but that nathan was still shocked to learn that we owned the first time he saw me sweeping the floors.

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motergkarazoportas-blog · 5 years

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How to Replace the Main Gear at a Garage Door Opener

It is 6:00 AM and you are leaving for work. You press on the garage door opener wall button and listen to a subtle hum from your electric motor but the door failed to maneuver. In case your garage doors springs are intact chances are you garage door openers primary drive equipment has neglected. You can easily inspect your drive gears by simply clipping your garage door opener and taking away the metallic cover. The primary drive gear is made from a white plastic which normally will be your weak link in the opener. Several things can cause this equipment to fail. Some causes of wear are:

O Garage door out of equilibrium (Springs busted or in need of modification ) O Chain to tight a o Old age o Excessive use or higher cycle o Factory flaw or lack of grease at time of fabrication

Fixing the white gear is a very low cost, fast and simple do it yourself repair as long as you've got a few simple hand tools and then adhere to the safety measures. These gears are available online in various degrees of components.

Before you get started It's important for You to Have a record of the few Straightforward tools needed to accomplish this job: O Hammer o Half inch wrench or adjustable wrench or pliers o 3/8" Socket or Nut Driver o 1/4" Socket or Nut Driver o 5/16" Socket or Nut Driver o Flat Standard Screwdriver o 5/32" Punch or comparable

~WARNING ~ To prevent possible SERIOUS INJURY or perhaps DEATH out of electrocution, ALWAYS Disconnect the power cable out of your garage door from the outlet prior to proceeding with any repair or inspection.

Step #1 Ensure your garage door opener is currently unplugged. This step insures that nobody inadvertently tries to close or open the garage door when you are working in it or you don't inadvertently activate the door while servicing it.

Step #2 Disconnect the doorway from the outside trolley by dragging on the red disconnect rope and manually close the door.

CAUTION The Garage door MUST be in the completely closed position during all repairs and inspection.

Assuring that your garage door will be closed will guarantee that your door will not fall or make any movement that would lead to injury or direct you. We recommend that when the door is closed that you clamp the door down using a vise clamp or grip above one of these rollers to stop the door from being opened from the outside.

Step #3 Slacken the series or straps tension by losing the pressure nut on the garage door opener trolley. Typically that is nut and may be adjusted with a 1/2" wrench.

Step #4 Remove the sprocket or belt pulley retainer cap. Usually this has a clip on the back if you press in it will release.

Step #5 I always recommend marking the position of the chain or belt to the sprocket prior to removing. This can easily be done with white out, tape or any other means. This step helps assure that your chain or belt gets reinstalled in the correct position and makes for quick and easy reference if needed later. Remove the chain or belt from the sprocket and then slide the inner trolley to the closed position until it engages the outer trolley. Place loose chain/belt on the end of the rail closest to the sprocket. I typically duct tape the chain to prevent it from falling to the floor and getting all twisted and dirty.

Step #6 It is now time to remove both end covers and the main housing. The end cover are each attached by three or four 1/4" head screws that may be removed using a 1/4" nut driver or socket. Be sure to unplug the wire to the circuit board.

Step #7 Remove the retaining clip and the drive gear for the limits. Also at this time remove the limit switch assembly by squeezing the sides just below the bracket by the drive gears. There is no need to disconnect the wires as it is OK to leave this limit assembly hang by the wires. Do not make any adjustments to the limit assembly screws, this will insure that there is minimal adjustment needed to the limits after you complete your repair and run your garage door opener.

Step #8 Now its time to remove the RPM sensor this can be easily done by unplugging the wire harness and remove the RPM sensor from the securing tabs.

Step #9 Disconnect the red, blue and white wires from the motor. It is important that you note where these wires go. The same color wires go to the same terminals on the capacitor red/red and blue/blue.

Step #10 Remove the four 5/16" hex head screw that hold the motor into the frame of this garage door opener. Make sure you place your hand below the motor prior to removing the last screw to stop the motor from falling. Slide the motor rolling off the drive shaft and set in a secure place. (Not on top of the ladder for obvious reasons).

Step #11 Remove the three hex head screws holding the sprocket assembly to the major chassis employing a 5/16" nut driver or socket. Now it is time to decide if you want to replace the main gear only or the entire sprocket or all chain drive models 1984 to present.

Step #12 Skip this step if you are replacing the entire gear and sprocket or pulley assembly. If you are going to replace the drive gear support the driveshaft on a block of wood and drive the lower roll pin/Tension pin out with a 5/32" punch. See photo example below.

Step #13 Remove and replace the worm gear. Generally it is not necessary to substitute the worm gear unless it shows signs of wear. Should you would like to replace this equipment eliminate the rotating collar with a 1/8" hex wrench. Please be sure to note the location of each of these components as you disassemble so you can re-install in proper order. When you receive your gear kit, you will find there are parts not used in your model this is because these kits are universal and work with many models of Sears, Craftsman, Wayne Dalton, Master Mechanic, Liftmaster, True Value and other brands of garage doors openers. Only replace the parts that are used on your garage door opener. Remove the 3 nuts that hold the motor to the frame and then remove the worm gear. Install the new worm gear making sure the roll pin is properly seated in the new gear. Re-install other components in reverse order. After you complete this assembly I recommend you lube the worm gear so you do not forget.

Step #14 Begin reassembly in reverse order. Be sure to thoroughly lube the main drive gear and that grease is on each and every tooth. Attach the gear and sprocket or pulley assembly to the main chassis with the three 5/16" screws. Install the assembled motor framework to the chassis with the four 5/16" head screws and reattach the red, blue and white wires; now install the limit assembly and the limit drive gear making sure they mesh properly. You can now install the RPM sensor and reconnect wires. Install the metal cover and end panels, be sure to plug in the circuit board and reconnect photo eye and push button wires.

Step #15 Reconnect the power cord to the opener and cycle the opener until the sprocket completes a complete clockwise cycle. The trolley must be in the fully down position before installing the chain. Now you can remove the tape from the rail and reinstall the chain. The chain and sprocket reference mark should be close to lining up. Tighten the chain so that the chain is 1/2" over the bottom of the rail at midpoint for"T" style rails and 1/4" for square tube rails. Secure the chain tightening lock nut.

WARNING Note when adjusting and testing your garage door motor it is important to make sure no one is in the path of the moving door.

CAUTION It is important to know when testing your garage door opener it is possible to over cycle the motor and have the motor temporarily overheat and stop operating. To prevent this try and not operate the door opener more than 10 cycles without giving it 5-10 minutes to cool off

Step #16 Now run the opener and test to see if the door opens to the correct position and closes to the correct position. If you need to make adjustments use the travel adjustments screws to make fine adjustments. I recommend only making slight adjustments 1/4 turn or less at a time. For reference one full turn of the screw equals approx 2" of travel on 1/2 and 1/4 HP versions and 3" on 3/4 HP models.

Step #17 Once you have your doors travel adjustment correct it is time to adjust the force. This is the pressure that it takes to assure your door opener will operate safely. The first step in this process is to check the down force. With the door open simply activate the garage door opener and when the door reaches the half way point grasp the door from the bottom and try and stop it. If the door is hard to stop or does not stop decrease the down force adjustment in small increments until it reverse upon reasonable force. If the door does not close and the light begins to blink increase the down force adjustment in small increments until you can check the reversal at half way. Adjusting the force does not guarantee that your operator will reverse on 1-1/2" object at the floor. To learn more about adjusting the change at the floor find out the owner's manual or call the manufacturer.

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dikeoucollection · 5 years

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Behind The Scenes of De-Install

March 29, 2019 was the last day Dikeou Collection was open to the public, marking the beginning of the collection’s very first full exhibition rotation. Since April we have been hard at work de-installing, packing, and storing the work of 37 artists occupying 33 rooms and 2 buildings in preparation for the forthcoming Devon Dikeou Mid-Career Smearretrospective exhibition opening on February 20, 2020 at Dikeou Collection. If you have visited the collection before, then you are aware of the scope of this project and might be wondering how we handled some of our very large and complex pieces, like Johannes VanDerBeek’s Newspaper Ruined, Nils Folke Anderson’s Untitled (California), and Agathe Snow’s Sludgie The Whale. We can’t reveal all our secrets, but we are happy to share a little glimpse of some of what’s been going on behind the scenes here for the past couple months.

Dikeou Collection is known for being home to artwork that challenge ideas of space, scale, and material – objects that many would consider “difficult” to house and maintain. Johannes VanDerBeek’s Newspaper Ruined is arguably the most intricate piece in the collection, consisting of four large tables pushed together upon which a city made entirely out of newspaper rests. It took a lot of preliminary planning on how to go about removing and storing this dense and fragile installation.

Many detailed photos were taken of every square inch of the work, documenting where each little piece sat in relation to another. Our art handler Dmitri developed a number-letter system to determine where everything goes on the tables, and then stored each piece in a box or tray labeled with the respective ID. It took over a week to complete!

Untitled (California) by Nils Folke Anderson is a very large movable sculpture (so large you can’t even fully walk into the room it occupies) made out of nine interlocking Styrofoam squares. This piece was constructed in-house by the artist, so it didn’t come equipped with any original packing material or deconstruction method. Because of its large size, unpredictable mobility, and deteriorative nature of the material, we had to completely dismantle the work.

While this may seem like heresy, we did it in the most honorable way possible by communicating with the artist beforehand, documenting the process, and preserving leftover remnants of the work. What took a couple days to construct was disassembled and removed in a matter of minutes.

Agathe Snow’s Sludgie The Whaleis another large-scale installation that envelopes a whole room with painted tarps, foam rolled and wrapped in muslin, plastic, and wire.

Like Untitled (California) this is another work that was assembled by the artist without specific instructions on how it all comes together, so our research assistant Hannah created a “map” of the work and developed an ID system similar to Newspaper Ruinedso we will know how to put it back together when we re-install the collection in a couple years.

One of the central tenents of Dikeou Collection is that all artwork remains permanently on view – exhibitions are not rotated but rather expanded – so de-installing the collection in its entirety is now a major chapter in its history. Soon we will begin the process of installing Devon Dikeou’s artwork for Mid-Career Smear, curated by Cortney Lane Stell, which will mark another milestone for us. It has been quite the journey leading up to this point and we can’t wait to share more updates with you along the way.

-Hayley Richardson

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hypothetical-warped-spaceti-blog · 6 years

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I’ll Keep You Safe

- I'll Keep You Safe - AO3 LINK:

Flynn pulled the edge of his blanket down, propping a pillow against the headboard before he sat against it; a pen gripped between his teeth, his hand holding his tablet with a bulky and worn journal stacked atop it.

Lucy has been writing in them to recount the history of before their traveling – since she could no longer travel she wanted (needed) the journals. Even if her memories couldn't recall what she wrote, it was soothing to her to know she preserved the original timeline, in some way, even if it was only herself that appreciated it.

He opens the wikipedia page of Ulysses S. Grant, occasionally lifting the journal and cross referencing the bullet point things that she wrote before handing it off to him. Finding that there were only minor changes in Ulysses' life.

(The time team were very quick and efficient this mission, there weren't any hiccups for once.)

Satisfied and more than a little relieved that the timeline didn't change too drastically; Flynn sets his things down on the bedside table before pulling the string on the lamp. There's a creak down the hallway as a door opens – he smirks before he grabs the pillow at his back and begins to clear space in the middle of the bed. His ears hone into the tiny footsteps as they raced down toward his room.

The doorknob twists very slowly as she cracked it open; standing in the sliver of light that broke in through the gap. Looking up at him sheepishly. Her hands twisting and folding the hem of her sleeping shirt in front of her. Chestnut hair a tangled mess of delicate waves.

“Come on,” Flynn said quietly, smiling warmly at her as he gave a pat to her spot. The words were barely out of him before she's rushing up the foot of the bed; extra cautious not to disturb her sleeping mother.

He lets out a grunt of pain when she accidentally knees him in the groin. Tiny arms winding their way around his chest; nudging her face into the crook between his shoulder and neck. An exhale of relief escaping her once she was snuggled in and situated half on him and half on the bed.

Flynn takes a moment to adjust his hold on her; the faint scent of strawberry shampoo still lingered in the hair that tickled his nose. His palm moved up and down the span of her back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“You're okay.” he cooed, angling his head to kiss the side of hers.

They stay frozen like this for several minutes. When her body started trembling ever so slightly; it took a while for him to realize she was silently crying. But when he does, Flynn pulls away from her tight hold as a growing wetness puddled on his skin. “Hey,” He said while craning his neck uneasily trying to catch a glimpse of her face. “What do I always tell you before bed each night?”

The back of his finger skims down her cheek when she lifts away from his neck, erasing the tracks of her fallen tears. She sniffles a few times; unwrapping her arms and then placing a palm flat at the center of his chest, pushing upward until she was just slightly above his eyesight, holding his soft gaze.

“That you'll never let anything happen to me.” Alice's quivering voice causes his heart to cave in upon itself. Her head drooping down, long hair moving forward to conceal her face- but Flynn saw the deep frown that settled its way onto her and it broke his heart all the more.

Flynn hooks a finger under her chin, drawing her head back up, “Nothing will ever happen to you.” he vowed sternly.

In moments like this, when Alice was terrified of the monsters that creeped in the night. He's transported back to his very last night with his other daughter, and he could almost feel the hard plastic of the water gun in his hands; his tongue itching with empty promises of protection not unlike the ones he gives her. “I promise.” he rasps, knowing full well that while goblins weren't a threat to his kids, Rittenhouse was still very actively trying to hurt them. And he'd be damned if he let them steal one more child from him.

She pouts while nodding her head. “Can I stay daddy?”

This utter clone of her mother (with a few personality traits inherited from him that he just knew were going to cause him trouble later in life. It was already causing him trouble now...). Knew full well that he'd never say no to her. She was hardly even approaching six and was already too smart for her own good.

He could just envision her curled under her blanket fighting off sleep. Tossing and turning in the dark as she waited out her mother. Alice had so much patience, and she knew that Lucy was less likely to cave into her.

“Of course you can.”

“Good,” Alice slips away from him entirely, taking her spot in the center of the bed, highly pleased with herself. “I know you checked under the bed, and all the closets, but Niko said monsters are smart, but goblins are way smarter... and they're not afraid of parents, they eat parents.” She rambles. Letting out an overly dramatic shudder that shakes the bed before twisting onto her side, looking up at him with big brown doe-eyes.

The Labyrinth was Nikola's favorite movie at Alice's age; but perhaps the goblins were a little much for her sprightly imagination. Something told him he should have asked Jiya not to let her watch it on the night she babysat, but the kids and Jiya were just so excited. And Lucy didn't seem all that opposed to it either, so he quieted his thoughts.

Flynn struggles to withhold a laugh as he lays on his side, sliding off his pillow so he was a little more level with her.

“It's not funny.” Alice says a little too loudly.

He brings a finger up to his lips with a muted chuckle.

“Sorry,” She mumbles dejectedly. “But, it's not funny. Stop smiling...” she warns, narrowing her eyes at him and sticking her pointer finger atop his lips, bringing up her thumb, trying to pinch them closed.

Flynn helps her by pressing them together, ridding the smirk from his face. “I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's your brother that I find amusing.” he whispered, reaching out to brush the sticky hair off her face and neck.

“Nik's not funny either.”

“You know, we can scare them away so they never come back. I bet aunt Jiya and uncle Rufus have something-” Flynn suggests after a beat of silence.

“Impossible.” Alice scoffs, cutting him off.

When Alice was determined to win an argument she resembled him. He often wondered how his own mother felt when he'd shoot this very same look at her. All scrunched eyebrows and hardened glares, the sheer determination of not being wrong.

How did she keep a straight face? How did she find the strength to say no?

There were so many details he has unwillingly lost about Iris over the years. The sound of her giggles when he'd come home and surprise her. He couldn't remember the made up songs they used to sing during bath time. However, he did know that he never had this problem with her. Her moments of stubbornness were rare and fleeting, and she wasn't at all this argumentative. She had Lorena's gentle temperament. Not an ounce of him in her besides the color of her eyes and his love of horses.

Iris was delicate, a definition of innocence. A very stark contrast to his children now. With Iris, it was sunshine and castles in the sand on weekends. Sneaking ice cream and cartoons before dinner when Lorena was working late-

The tiny things a person never really takes for granted, and hardly recognizes the normalcy of, until everything changes.

His children were never given the opportunity to have the childhood she had. And Iris was never exposed to the life they lived now. She didn't know how to throw a proper punch or kick someone. Never had to memorize an escape protocol – didn't grow up seeing her family carry guns or come home in different period clothing covered in blood. It was deeply unfortunate that the cost of their innocence was knowing just how dangerous their life actually was.

Lucy and Flynn tried desperately to separate the kids from the worse of it, though their children were far too intelligent, and by the time they could understand lying, they understood mom and dad didn't have regular jobs; and the weren't playing pretend. Understood that there was a more complicated reason they weren't in schools or outside playing like kids on television.

Nikola was almost nine the first time Flynn took him out of the safe house to talk to him about gun safety. He's ten now, with the ability to assemble and disassemble a gun, he could shoot and aim with impressive accuracy. Flynn wished that his ten year old son didn't know how to, that instead of an actual weapon skill – Niko should have had foam bullets and wooden stick horses, like other boys had at his age.

They certainly weren't raising tiny desensitized time bandit soldiers. His children remained sanguine and moral. However, if Nikola had to protect his sister, if his parents weren't around; as awful and terrifying a situation like that may be; it was necessary that he could.

Everything wasn't all grim though; at times there were even moments when everyone, including the time team, forgot they were still fighting in a war.

When there were lulls in their battles they had plenty of time to believe the delusion of a regular family. Jiya and Rufus had vintage movie and game nights. Wyatt and Jessica would host campouts indoors once a month; and all of their children would gather under sheets asking to hear stories from their past travels.

Jiya and Rufus' twin sons loved hearing about the time their mom saved the team from only a Star Wars reference. Whereas Nikola and Wyatt's son preferred the tales of all the historical figures uncle Flynn has punched (Thomas Edison always got a laugh) – Alice who was not a fan of the scary stuff or the violence only wanted the stories about the medieval castles, princesses, and knights. Those were also Flynn's favorite.

Days like that, when it was quiet and simple. It was so easy to lose track of time and place.

The fact that they had these stolen moments of a semi-normal life was a gift.

Flynn only hoped that one day – this will all be some far off memory, that perhaps all their future grandchildren could have the lives their kids deserved and were denied of.

Alice says something while touching his forearm and it's enough to stray him away from his thoughts. Not enough to comprehend what was said, but he was thankful for it nonetheless. Flynn quickly diverts the conversation, hoping that she doesn't notice that he wasn't paying attention.

“Tell me something, how come they don't want to take Niko?” Flynn questions, observing her eyelids growing heavier the longer his fingers dusted over her upper arm; tracing random patterns over her skin. Something she found soothing ever since she was a toddler.

“I- I don't know.” Alice offers meagerly, snuggling deeper into the pillow, shifting a little closer to him. “Do you think they'll want the new baby? When he comes... do you think they'll take him like they took Toby?”

“It's only a movie sweetheart.”

Her eyes open dreamily to his. “You travel through time, you're telling me the monsters in movies are pretend?”

Dear God...

“Fair point.” He waits until her eyes resealed before he smiles, his pride becoming overwhelming.

“I love you.” Alice ushers out through a yawn. Lifting her arm blindly and taking his hand, wrapping her little fingers around his. Three words and the smallest of hands had the ability to fill his eyes with tears instantaneously.

“I love you more.” Flynn said back, leaning forward so he could lay a kiss to the center of her forehead. “Get some sleep, there won't be any midnight snacks for the goblins tonight. Dad's on guard.”

“You're really not funny.” One eye cracks open, a hint of a grin toying at her lips.

Flynn holds her hand even after she drifted off to sleep. The fear that tensed her muscles had long since subsided. Her lips parted as lowly emitted snores started to escape her. He was too wrapped up in Alice to notice that Lucy woke up. Surprised to see her move and then her voice breaking through the quiet. “You're in so much trouble.” Lucy teased in an almost sing-song way, the baby bump making the turn over to face them awkward, when her eyes drop to their still joined hands she laughs. “So. Much. Trouble.”

“What are you going to do whenever she starts dating?”

“You think I am going to let her date?” Flynn sighs.

“Oh god, what will you do when her heart is broken?” Lucy ponders and Flynn isn't completely sure if he was truly meant to indulge her with an answer, or if she was just lost in the thought and speaking aloud.

“I'll kill them.” He jokes.

Lucy shakes her head, rubbing a hand over her belly. “I know I wanted another girl, but perhaps another son was a blessing- because if you had to juggle one more daughter I think you'd go even more grey than you already are.”

She reaches forward and grips his shoulder, giving it a squeeze before dropping her hand and petting down Alice's hair. “You have to talk with Niko, he only listens to you. I know that it's hard Garcia, but she needs to be comfortable in her own room. You're both making this transition very difficult.”

“It's physically impossible for me to say no to her.” Flynn shifts from looking at Lucy back down to Alice, her chest rising and falling evenly. “When she looks at me with those eyes, and that quivering voice- Lucy it cuts through me.”

Lucy grips the center of the blanket and pulls it to fit over their daughter. “If you make this a habit, she'll only become more dependent on your presence when she sleeps.” She chides gently.

“What's so wrong with her being dependent on me?” Flynn whispered under his breath dispiritedly.

“Do you really want a six year old in our bed each night?”

She was growing at an alarming rate. Only slightly older than the age he lost Iris. It's not like he doesn't notice how overbearing his protection extended – he knows, he's over protective of both his children. Flynn just couldn't control it. There was still an ever-present fear that something could and will go wrong, that he would wake up one day and find himself drowning in their blood.

Or worse – that they never existed at all. That this corner of happiness Lucy and Flynn carved out for themselves could just vanish (that it was something completely out of their own control).

Every time he enters the Lifeboat there's an ache in his chest. A fearfulness that when they return all he'll have are the stories Lucy wrote about them in her journals – and memories that will fail him in time.

Lucy cups his cheek and breaks him out of his personal disarray, her face was soft with understanding, the pad of her thumb sweeping over his cheekbone. He leans into her palm, kissing her wrist. In the amber light still falling inside from the ajar door he can just make out the wetness that glistens in her eyes.

“I'll have a talk with Niko in the morning.” Flynn speaks, her fingers slipping into his hair and threading through. He sighs contently when she scratches lightly at the base of his neck. “And I will talk with Jiya, we can build her some kind of monster be gone – something that will give her that feeling of safety.”

“Garcia-” His name falls from her lips almost inaudibly. Those pesky tears she withheld now spilling over. She starts to lean over the child between them, her stomach nudging Alice in the back.

Flynn moves to meet her in the middle, furrowing his brows – mouth opening to speak but Lucy shushes him. She licks over her bottom lip before pulling him toward her. Their mouths meet languidly. In the way their morning kisses usually were.

Even after all the kisses they've shared throughout the years, Lucy still left him breathless and shaken. When she pulls away their foreheads rest against each other.

She swallows around the lump that forms in her throat, “You're her safety. I never want you to replace that... we'll figure something out. Maybe she can move back in with Nik, for a little bit.”

Flynn hums. “He might actually enjoy that. I think he secretly hates sleeping alone in this place too.”

“This place, just like the others, is only temporary, in a few months we'll be out of here.”

She kisses him chastely, “Give me your hand.” He obliges, closing his eyes as she positioned it over the growing swell of her stomach. Feeling the powerful kicks below the surface. “We have a trouble maker in here. He never wants to sleep and I don't know if I told you, but he's now using morse code in his kicks. Mmm- are you reading, waffles?”

Flynn laughs, “Midnight waffles... sounds good to me.”

A solid kick lands right at the center of Flynn’s palm. “I think he's trying to say that we're happy you're home.”

“You might not be once you read over what we did to Ulysses.” Flynn teased.

“Garcia what happened-”

“-I'm only kidding, everything is fine.”

“Ally's right. You're not funny...” She smirked. “Let’s go wise guy. You promised us waffles and he’s getting impatient.”

#garcy #garcy ff #flynn x lucy #future baby / kid fic

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